#but because of that I’ve gotten good paychecks

[camscendants]

Barbie and Oppenheimer open on the same day!

Me:oh haha funny good memes to come :)

Me remembering I work at a movie theater and work that weekend:

[unholyhelbig]

request: oversight au, nat and reader run into reader’s ex or ronnie’s father who was abusive to them… how will mob nat react?

Title: Old Flames [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When reader has an unexpected run-in with an old flame and things go less than well, Natasha takes things into her own hands.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): Talks of past domestic abuse, talks of abortion, buried alive references, broken glass, blood (always), Heights, threatening statements, non-consensual kiss, horrible grammar (aways).

[a/n: Okay, I had way too much fun with this. While I loved writing the main story, it's also super great to branch out into some more dynamics with Mob Boss Nat, because I haven't made her mean enough yet.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

The apartment building on the corner of twelfth and Hawke was a large midcentury brick building that structure that stretched to the sky. A metal fire escape latticed up the side and stretched clotheslines dripping with shirts and pants connected it to the adjacent building that had long since been used for storage.

Up until this point, you had avoided this building. Luckily, the tenants were quite timely with their rent and left little need for an enforcer to knock door to door. But it was right after the holidays and things were tough. That much, you understood. But it didn’t’ change the fact that three units were more than two months behind on their rent.

Them, you could appeal to with hot chocolate and some gentle urging. But according to Clint, there was a particularly nasty group of people living on the top floor that had gotten multiple noise complaints thrown their way.

The address hadn’t seemed familiar until you stood at the entrance and got a good look at the golden door that contrasted the rest of the structure. You’d written the code to the door on your palm, and you were having trouble differentiating the last number. It was a zero, or it was an eight.

“Gross, you’re sweaty.” Kate had pulled your hand a small distance from her scrutinizing stare, trying to read the smeared purple markings. “I knew we should have used the napkin.”

The woman dropped your hand and stepped up to the small box on the side of the entryway. She hit every button known to man until the fragile voice cracked through the speaker. “Yeah, uh-huh, pizza. I have pizza. Pepperoni-“Her ramblings were cut off by the loud buzz in.

You were treated to an innocent smile as she wrenched open the door and allowed you to follow her in. She was innovative, annoyingly so. Most of the time it worked in your favor but sometimes you found her testing your temper just to prove a point. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed your hesitation.

It was coming back to you now; the large entryway that was lined with lock and key mail slots and a bolstered wooden staircase that was scarcely used compared to the elevator. Natasha kept good care of the place, had repainted and made sure every single lightbulb was humming in synch.

Some would say that she improved the neighborhood, block by block. But there were still those who liked the way things used to be; living paycheck to paycheck with an angry and withering stare being sent your way with each collection call.

“I’ve got Miss Henderson.”

“Oh, come on.” You protested “She sounds so cool.”

Miss Henderson was an older woman who lived on the fifth floor. Most of the time, her rent was late because it had simply slipped her mind. One look at Kate and she’d write a check before offering some of the sweetest cookies you’d ever tasted, often sending her back with a plateful.

From what you had heard, she used to travel with a circus as an acrobatic performer. Her act was death-defying; a performance that relied on her partners quick bladework. The Swordsman and his Enchantress. There were illustrations of their travels hung up around her unit- ones that you would kill to see.

“Too bad, next time.” Kate mock pouted at you before clapping you on the back. “Don’t make too much of a mess up on the top floor, alright? I don’t want to scrub carpets today.”

She took the stairs two at a time and left you alone in the lobby. A cool blast of wind hit your back as a tenant walked in with their dalmatian, pink tongue lolling to the side as his owner checked the mail, barely sparing you a glance.

The type of New York residents that occupied this space had changed greatly. The last time you’d been here was a walk of shame that left your feet raw and bleeding. You’d rushed from the apartment with so much fever that you never returned for your shoes, or your dignity, for that matter.

This time, you had shoes on, ones that you had scrubbed free of blood until they looked presentable. They were leaden on the stairs up to the top floor. Once you reached the fifth, you could hear Kate’s distinctive laugh behind the oak door. At least she was close.

The top floor was nearly silent. You could hear a television, a hockey game that you’d been listening to sparingly on the way over here. It sounded like Toronto was pulling through. The sound of a beer cracking pulled you away from the muffled announcers words.

A radio was resting in an upper window. You and Kate had heard it from the street below, a French Pop station that you could barely make out the words of. French was never your strong suite, one language requirement in high school was enough for you.

Silently, you prayed, that it was a coincidence. That the radio didn’t’ belong to the very men that you were meant to speak to. They were flighty, you told yourself. They weren’t ones to stay and if they chose to stick around after all these years- well, you’d be impressed.

You knocked twice on the center door, the deep forest-green paint threatening to chip under the elements. The music stopped abruptly, and while you could hear that someone was whispering quietly in French, you couldn’t make out the words.

The man that opened the door was too familiar for your liking; his pale waxy skin, his deep brown eyes that were so dark they were almost black, the tattoos that were smattered in different designs against his throat, down his collarbone. Pockmarked on his arms. His hair was longer than you remembered, greasier and tied up in a bun.

He took you in for a singular moment, shock reflecting in his stare, but before he moved to shut the door. You stopped the action with one strong hand, putting your boot between the frame and the wood for extra measure. “Don’t be like that, Kazi.”

“All these years, and now you’re coming back for child support?”

He raked his eyes up and down your body in a way that made you feel violated. You held your stance. He seemed impressed by the bout of strength.

You tsked “if I wanted child support, I would have gone after it by now. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

He scratched under the sleeve of his tank-top, considering you the same way you considered him. Eventually, he seemed to figure he had nothing to lose pulling the door back and letting you enter the apartment. Waves of memory washed over you.

Kazi still had the same futon covered in the same ratty blanket. There was a kitchen table that was stacked with different folders that he would never, in a million years, let you view. A blue funnel was drying on the dishrack, and countless liquor bottles that had been emptied and cleaned were lined up, ready to be filled with the slightest bit of homebrewed alcohol.

He was still running the same scam after all of these years. You remembered liking the danger about him, the way his stubble felt against you when you straddled him. He’d been so alluring to a good girl like you. He would street race at night with another guy you’d met a handful of times, Robbie Reyes.

God, you had been so naive back then. He was drawn in by your innocence and you were entrapped by his experience. If only you knew where you’d end up in seven years; with Kazi’s biological daughter being raised by the most powerful woman in the city.

The moment you told him you were pregnant, he told you bluntly to get rid of it. That same night, he’d thrown an empty liquor bottle at you, just barely missing your head. You’d refused outright and accepted his anger in turn. Glass shards cut into the soles of your feet, and stained the snow all the way back to your dorm room.

The way he stared at you now infuriated you. “What do you want, then?”

“You’re two months late on rent.”

“I figured you’d keep tabs. Most women do. But my rent? That’s a new one.”

You picked up a small paperweight that you remember being fond of when you returned to this apartment after a first date where Kazi was a perfect gentleman. He’d bought dinner, and walked you back to his place. The glass object was tinted yellow, a small mosquito suspended in the center. He must have gotten it in a museum gift shop.

“Truthfully, I’m shocked you still live here.” You tested the weight of the object. “Most landlords aren’t very lenient about tardiness.”

“Yeah, well. She’s not very attentive. What can I say?”

Oh, but Natasha was quite attentive in more than one aspect, at that. You couldn’t’ help the smile that spread against your lips. Kazi was growing agitated with your presence, always quick to temper.

With all the strength you could muster, you threw the paperweight at the wall directly behind him. In its innate cheapness, it shattered into a million pieces, littering the carpet and slicing little bites into his skin. Kazi flinched and covered his face with his arms.

“Fuck! Y/n, what the hell!” He screamed.

“You have two weeks to backdate the rent, Kazi. Another week to get us this month’s amount. That sounds reasonable to me. Attentive, even.”

He reached into the back of his sweatpants and pulled out a silver Kimber, pumping the top chamber and aiming it at you with a shaky hand. He was too lax with his hold. A pinprick of crimson was dripping from a cut on his cheek.

“Come on, Kazi. It’s not the end of the world. I’m sure you can push some half-rate liquor. Sell a few of your gold fillings, and come up with the money my employer is required.”

“Employer? You work for that… monster?”

“Now, there’s a big word.” You closed the distance between the two of you, not giving him a moment to react before you wrenched the gun from his hand and threw it onto that ratty old blanket that adorned the futon he’d found on the side of the road. “So much horrible implication behind it too. You shouldn’t name call.”

Your boots crunched against the shattered glass. Kazi was barefoot, he flinched as flesh was dug into by uneven shards. You could smell the rancid coffee on his breath. He had a mole just on small of his nose.

“What happened to you?” he whispered, “Where’s that girl that stormed out of my apartment because she didn’t get her way?”

“A lot can change in seven years, Kaz.” You glanced around his apartment. “Well, most people change. Some people don’t go anywhere in life.”

Kazi pressed forward, his dry lips suddenly against yours. You froze in an instant, appalled by the acrid taste of cigarettes and stale morning coffee that he had no-doubt heated up in the microwave and drank black. The kiss was strong, rushed and painful in the way that his teeth knocked against yours.

It took less than a second for you to push him away. His head hit the cabinet behind it, rattling the glasses inside. Your hand was splayed out on his chest, nails digging into the stained tank-top he wore. He grinned wolfishly at you. Your teeth had dug so hard into his lip that it drew blood.

“I like this rough version of you, sweetheart. It’s hot.”

You reeled back and slapped him across the face with as much force as you could muster in your close proximity. The radio in the window seemed to flicker out of power at that moment, or maybe they had just run out of shitty pop music to play. Either way, the two of you were engulfed in silence.

“Shit, baby, hit me again!”

He had no idea how much you wanted to abide by that, though, you were quite positive that it would do nothing but spur on his arousal. This wasn’t going to work. If he kept pushing the way he was, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from pulling your own weapon.

It suddenly became too much, standing in the middle of this time-capsule of an apartment. The memories were too strong. When the two of you were together, everything you did was for his benefit. And while this had been fun at first, testing him like this, it was too much.

You grabbed the collar of his sweat-soiled shirt, wrapping it around your fingers with enough force to tear the fabric away. “Two weeks, you fucking asshole. If you don’t have the money by then, I’m sure the city will have a fun time scrubbing your brain matter from the sidewalk.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He sneered.

You pressed your booted foot down on the top of his, listening as the glass dug deeper into the soft skin. This time, he did cry out in pain, the grinding of pieces close to bone making his eyes water. You placed your hand over his mouth, muffling his protest. “I will make your miserable existence a living hell, with or without the money, for what you did to me. Do you understand?”

“You’re so full of shit-“ you pressed your full weight down and you squirmed under your hold. “Yes! Yes, I get it. Fuck!”

You pulled yourself away from Kazi entirely, straightening his shirt. He was slumped against the counter, staring at you with pure rage in his eyes. He shifted his full weight to his other foot, grimacing at the edged stain on the wooden floor.

“You should really clean that up.” You gritted, mouth still tasting of stale smoke. “Glass can be dangerous, Kazimirez.”

By the time you got to the car the only thing on your mind was taking the hottestshower possible. You’d pawed through Kate’s glovebox rather frantically and counted it a small blessing that that there was a single unwrapped piece of gum at the very bottom.

She cringed as you popped it in your mouth and let the minty dusty taste coat your tongue. If you could, without raising suspicion, you would have dumped solvent on it, just to take the taste of Kazi out of your mouth.

“I don’t know how long that’s been in there.” Kate said, watching you warily as you picked up her water bottle and downed half of that too. It seemed to take the rest of the rancid flavor away.

“I don’t care”

“You should care, I bought this car used.” She frowned, tapping her fingers against the wheel. “Okay, I didn’t’ buy it. I bought the license plates though, that’s my civic duty.”

Her words were enough for you to roll your window down and toss the gum from it. Despite your profession, you weren’t a very good liar. Not when it came to Natasha. She’d ask you about your day like usual and you’d crumble under her seemingly innocent gaze.

Nothing Natasha did was innocent.

“What happened up there?” Kate asked.

The two of you were well out of the city by now, and still had about a half-hour until you got to the mansion. The family liked their privacy, and after a year of living there permanently, so did you.

When you didn’t answer right away, she kept going. “Because I got cookies. Nearly choked on one when Miss Henderson insisted on a private show. It’s seriously a wonder that a woman her age can still bend like that.”

“Katie,” You warned, “Gross.”

“Impressive actually. She kept her clothes on, which I am eternally grateful for. It looks like you had a more eventful visit with the French dudes upstairs.” She scoffed, “Who the fuck is French anymore?”

You rolled your eyes and slumped further into your seat. Kazi was French. You used to crumble when he gave you the choppiest lines that he could remember. According to him, the language is harder to speak than it is to read and write. You never questioned him, just like you didn’t question a lot of things.

“I have a… history with the man who rents 807.”

“A history, or a… history?”

“The first one. The second one. Shit- I don’t know, both! He’s Ronnie’s dad.”

Kate slammed on the brakes with enough force for a layer of rubber to be peeled from the tires of her mostly stolen care. The seatbelt cut into your neck and you figured yourself lucky that you’d taken a back road that was rarely used, god forbid she cause an accident.

“Dude!” You shouted as she put the car into park.

Kate twisted her entire body in the seat, placing her hand on the back of your seat. The motor was sputtering wildly, trying to compensate for her abrupt stop. Something had to be damaged, you thought, with her force on the pedal.

“Don’t dude me. Are you really that dense? If you haven’t noticed, Natasha is possessive over her things. And you? Well, you’re one of her favorite things. She’s not going to take this well in the slightest.”

“Kate, I think I know how to handle my girlfriend.”

“No, you know how to handle Natasha, the sweet, loving woman who would die for you and your child. Admirable, really. But you don’t know how to handle Miss Romanoff, mob boss extraordinaire.”

But you had seen Natasha in action before, countless times. She’d always kept this calm coolness about her that you were in awe of. Maybe Kate was right. You’d only seen a fraction of her jealous side at the first party you had ever attended in the house. That night she ripped the dress she’d picked out specifically for you to shreds.  

“I was dating a man named Eli when I was first taken in by the Romanoff’s, He turned out to be… not so favorable despite my constant reassurances. Natasha just knows. She had him dig a grave right off I-25 and then she made him lay in it.”

Your jaw threatened to drop at the simple fact. Kate removed her hand from the back of the seat and eased off the brake before she slowly got the two of you back up to an acceptable speed.

“All Eli did was cheat on me one night in a club. It wasn’t great, but I wasn’t sure if it warranted that kind of reaction. I never knew if she was proving a point to me, or to Eli. Either way, the smallest offense against any of us is met with archaic conviction.”

You didn’t respond to Kate, instead you stared at the trees that were whizzing by in a lush green wall of color. You’d decided that she was right- any type of reaction Natasha was going to have to Kazi would be severe.

“You’ll be fine.” Kate tapped her fingers nervously on the wheel, trying to backtrack her words. “As long as he didn’t’ touch you.”

It didn’t seem to matter how ferociously you scrubbed your skin with the honey scented soap you shared with Natasha, you swore you still smelled like smoke. It clung to your clothes, and lingered in the air after you’d shoved them to the bottom of the clothes basket.

The water was blazingly hot, filling the bathroom with a thick mist that made it slow to breathe. Natasha had chosen a dark blue tile that seemed to transport you into another world. Even without the scaring remembrance of Kazi’s lips against yours, his hands where you didn’t want them, you could stay here for hours.

Her hands were freezing cold and startling as they splayed against your naked stomach. You let out a small noise, going rigid before registering Natasha behind you. Her front was pressed against your back, and you’d know the curve of her body anywhere.

“Izvinite, moya lyubov', I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turned in her arms and took in the state of her. She’d stripped down just as you had, small drops of water littering her skin like a constellation in the sky. She’d been in the sun today, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose giving her away.

There was a bruise forming against the side of her jaw, one that you ran your waterlogged fingers over. Her eyes were an intoxicating shade of green, playing off the indigo tiles. You wanted to scold her for getting the bruise in the first place, but you were so entrapped by her simple presence, the way she fit so perfectly against you.

Natasha closed the distance between you both, pressing her lips against yours in a hurried kiss. You moaned into the embrace, allowing her tongue to find purchase in your mouth. God- you had missed her in the short few hours you’d been apart.

“Did you take up smoking?” she asked, barely pulling away, the words were spoken flushed to your lips. “It’s a terrible habit, darling.”

The glovebox gum hadn’t done its job, and apparently the swish of mouthwash and subsequent teeth brushing hadn’t done anything either. Of course, Natasha noticed. Of course. You weren’t going to try to hide it, though the thought did occur to you to save some heartache. But you were hoping you could placate her in a less slippery spot of the house when you were less naked and incredibly turned on by her presence.

A groan of a different cadence than she was used to escaped you as you dropped your head to her shoulder and clenched your eyes shut. “No, I didn’t take up smoking.”

“You taste like you have,” She gently led your eyes to hers. It was tender compared to the first time she had done so. “Licking ash trays again?”

“Gross, no.”

Natasha valued honesty above all. That much had been clear from the moment you met her. She’d nearly taken your head off in the gym when you repeated your one-night-stand with the enemy. The devil incarnate who happened to only be decent in bed. You remembered her hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough for you to give her the answers she craved.

“What is it, pet? You can tell me.”

“Do you… I’ve been with men before.”

She let out a small chuckle that reverberated off the deep tile. “Yes, I know. I didn’t want to make assumptions, of course, but Ronnie does have a father.”

The way you stared at her in the silence that followed the statement made the smile on her face falter until it dropped entirely. She must have seen something behind your eyes, something that weighed the situation down more than she was intending on a typical Wednesday night.

“I’d completely blacked it out and didn’t realize it until I stepped foot into the lobby, but he still lives in the same apartment on the top floor. He thought I was after child support, or something but things sort of… escalated.”

You felt like a child, spilling your secrets about a vase you had broken. This time it was a cheap paperweight with a bug in the center that you frankly felt bad for. The words came out like emotional vomit, granted, Natasha had become used to your rapid admissions.

Her grip tightened against your chin, “Escalated how?”

“He kissed me, and I hit him hard enough to break his jaw.”

That same silence enveloped you again. The scalding water had lost its effect, numb and beating against your back. The two of you were still impossibly close and there wasn’t much escape for you in a shower this size. The glass door having fogged up and only giving you a stunted view of the large bathroom.

Natasha had an immeasurable rage behind her stare, her lidded expression ran as dark as old blood. It chilled you to your core. She reached beside you and shut off the constant flow of water. You’d been in here for about an hour now and the cold air that touched your skin felt like an assault of needles. You instinctively wrapped your arms around your center to preserve warmth.

“He laid his hands on you.”

“Yeah, Nat, he did.”

“He touched you.”

“I gave him hell for it, but it didn’t seem like it was enough.”

“Without permission.”

“He’ll never do it again.”

Whatever split-second decision she made; it was done without the usual calculation behind her eyes. She threw the door to the shower open and forcefully shoved a towel into your arms. While you revered in the warmth, you watched as she sauntered in her usual way out of the bathroom and into your shared bedroom. She was dripping wet.

“Natty!” You stumbled over the partition and nearly slid on the bathroom floor. It was much colder outside of your cocoon of warmth and subsequent mist. She thankfully hadn’t left the room and was pawing through her side of the dresser. You nearly lost your footing once you reached hardwood. “Fuck,”

She seemed to find what she was looking for, a plain black tank top that hugged her sides and looked entirely uncomfortable to wiggle into while damp. You watched with baited breath in a sloping towel as she adorned herself with underwear and pants, before turning towards you.

“Get dressed.” She ordered in a dangerous tone.

Shit. She was going to make you dig your own grave. You’d just showered all of the grime from Kazi’s apartment off and in a matter of minutes you would have dirt up to your knees. Natasha may have let Eli live after his blunder, but maybe she’d cover you completely and let you suffocate in your own efforts.

Numbly, you put on a pair of sweatpants and the closest shirt you had. There was no need to get dressed for your own funeral, you supposed. The worms would chew through whatever you wore regardless.

Clint was stretched out on the chase in the foyer, a pair of thick-lensed glasses balancing on the tip of his nose. Regardless, he still squinted at the book in his hands. You wondered why he wasn’t in the living room, but caught a glimpse of a particularly intense game of twister between Ronnie, Yelena, and Kate.

Darcy held onto the board, flicking the small plastic needle and calling out the colors. When Kate clocked the anger in Natasha’s eyes, she dropped to her back, taking down Yelena and Ronnie with her.

She gave you a pleading look, but you were already too far gone to return anything other than a flushed expression. You followed obediently after Natasha. She opened the front door and watched you with a calculated expression before slamming the front door hard enough to shake the glass fronting.

“Get in the car.”

“Do you want me to grab a shovel?”

“What?”

She contemplated this for a minute, growling softly. The near silence was terrifying. Her arms crossed over her chest was terrifying. Your mouth with incredibly dry, and you wished that you were back under the constant stream of water.

“No. I don’t think we’ll need that. Get in the car.”

Numbly, you did as you were told, placing your hands in your lap. This was quite possibly the last time you would be sitting in any car, much less, next to Natasha. She reached across you and pulled your seatbelt into place, tugging on the upper portion until she was sure you weren’t going anywhere.

The tires picked up traction on the gravel and the drive that usually took an hour seemed to whiz by. Natasha was quiet, the route to the city more than familiar by now. She run her hands against the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. You could hear her breathing deeply, trying to ease her nerves. You didn’t dare say a word.

For a moment, you figured that she’d abandoned the idea of burying you alive and switched her ideals to something much more sinister and public. She pulled her car up to the front of the very building you had left a few hours ago, the sun just barely setting behind the skyline. You blinked at her, and then up at the very property that she owned.

“Come on.”

There was no room for discussion. The air here was clouded with the scent of smoke and the coolness of the cement structures around you. It was moments like these where you much preferred the country.

Of course, Natasha knew the code, she had recited it to you earlier as you and Kate ate lunch by the docks, stretched out on the hood of her car. It was wrong then and your nerves were too elevated to pay attention now. She got in without the theatrics.

There seemed to be more activity as the day for working folks began to wind down. Two people halted their conversation by the mail-slots, nodding solemnly at the woman. On the third floor, you caught a glimpse of a woman struggling to push her keys into the lock, juggling her gym bag. The sixth floor held a small boy who darted from one apartment to another, edging across the hall.

She kept climbing until that same irritating French pop filled your ears. He must keep it on at all hours of the day, just to drown out his own miserable thoughts. “What apartment?”

You lifted your chin slightly, hands shoved in the pockets of your sweatpants to ward off the biting chill. “807.”

“Spasibo, lyubimyy.”

Natasha’s booted foot connected with the center of the very door you had politely knocked on earlier in the day. You flinched, covering your face with a guarded arm. The wood of the doorframe seemed to splinter, slivers reigning across both sides of the entrance.

“What the fuck!”

Kazi was hunched over the kitchen table, the funnel that had been drying by the sink was positioned perfectly in the mouth of a soaked and peeled liquor bottle. He had a stack of his own labels ready to place evenly on the finished product. Both of his feet were haphazardly wrapped with gauze, small sprouts of blood worming through the soft material.

He’d taken care to clean up the glass, but with the way Natasha headed straight towards him, that didn’t matter much. More of it fell to the floor and shattered upon impact. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and started walking him backwards across the living room. Kazi seemed too stunned to speak, his words caught in his throat.

“I-I-I didn’t mean it! Please!”

“When you speak to me, you’ll do it clearly.” She gritted, shoving him towards the window. Somewhere in the scuffle, the radio had fallen from its perch on the cracked windowsill, crashing to the alleyway below with one last fizzled cry. “You had no trouble saying whatever you wanted earlier, did you?”

“I’m sorry! Fuck! I told that bitch I would have the rent!”

“Yeah? Was that before or after you shoved your tongue down her throat?”

Natasha bent Kazi’s torso fully over the screenless window. He grasped frantically at her hands, clawing at them as the balanced him over the long drop to the pavement below. His bare feet kicked, trying to throw her off her equilibrium, but he was much too weak for any type of damage.

“You walked out on them.”

“What? Oh, my god, what?! I told her to get rid of it- I didn’t walk out on anyone! You’re batshit lady!”

To you, it didn’t’ seem very wise to throw insults at the woman holding you above an eight-story drop, but Kazi never was known for his intelligence. His bravado, maybe, but never anything more. He looked so small compared to Natasha’s anger.

“She didn’t get rid of it, Kazi. She kept the kid that you couldn’t have bothered to give another thought to. She made a life for both of them. She fucking loves that kid enough to fill the absence you left.” Natasha let her hand slip, letting him waver in his height for a moment before pulling him back up. He was crying, sobbing for his life. “And you have the nerve, to touch her, to break her and then come rushing back when she was strong enough to pick up the pieces?”

“I wasn’t ready,” he moaned out “I couldn’t be a dad.”

“It seems like there are a lot of things you can’t do, doesn’t it? You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. A pathetic excuse for a human being and once we leave here- I never want to see your face in my city again. Am I clear?”

Kazi let out another course of intelligible, wet, words. His back was nearly breaking under the force of Natasha’s hold, her knee directly up against his crotch, pushing down with all the strength she could muster.

“Y/n, I think this is a teaching moment, don’t you?”

The softness of her words as she addressed you caught you off guard. There was no malice. In fact, she beckoned to you as if she was calling you into the living room to join her under the blankets for a movie. Your heart raced fast enough for your chest to ache as you closed the distance between you both.

“See, the trick is making them think that you’re going to let them go.”

She said this to you as if Kazi wasn’t a slobbering mess under her touch. He’d carved little half-moon marks against the tops of her hand, some of them starting to leak blood with the sheer force of his struggle.

“You have to get creative with the fear aspect. If they think they’re going to die, it tends to work in our favor. Doesn’t it, Kazi?”

“Please,” He whimpered, “I’ll do whatever you want. I’m sorry, y/n, I’m sorry.”

Natasha did the seemingly impossible, she pushed him further out the window, his calves struggling for purchase against the drywall. “Oh, now that simply won’t do. You must keep her name out of your mouth.”

“In situations like these, darling, it’s best to keep full control. If he was anything other than wretched, then maybe you’d have to worry about him fighting back. You’ll get some people like that, but that trick is having leverage, literal and physical in cases like this.”

“I see,” You let the words escape you in a single breath “and how long do we play this game?”

“Until they know it’s not one.”

It took little effort for Natasha to push Kazi the rest of the way out the window. In spite of his clinging grip, the force of gravity was enough to do the work for her. His cry stunted in his throat and it only took a few seconds for a dull thud to echo through the alleyway, followed by the unmistakable sound of a car alarm going off.

With a small gasp, you leaned over the window yourself, staring down at the white Toyota that now had a sizeable dent in the top, the windshield spiderwebbing. Kazi let out a groan that you could hear from up here, blinking up at the sky with malice and shock in his eyes.

“Nat,” You breathed.

“Please, eight stories is survivable. Some people need to be taught a lesson.” She shrugged, pulling you back into the apartment by the sleeve of your shirt. “I’ll pay for the car repairs, if that makes you feel better, detka.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“Of course I did.” She reached forward and cupped both of your cheeks, forcing you to look at her. It was impossible to ignore the gesture, the words that she had said with so much blind passion. Tears threatened to overtake your waterline. “moya lyubov', he put his hands on you without permission and before that… before that he hurt you in ways unimaginable. I meant every word I said.”

You could hear sirens in the distance, a hazard of living in the city. They could be for Kazi, you supposed, something to take care of the surely broken ribs and the bruised ego. But, they could be for something more important.

You pushed forward and kissed Natasha delicately. You wanted to be impossibly close to her. Most gestures you had received in the past had come in the form of flowers, maybe the occasional box of chocolate from the drug store. Once again- Natasha had proved something to you.

Her chuckle vibrated into the kiss, “Mm, we should probably leave.”

You couldn’t agree more. You wanted to get out of this stupid apartment that was teeming with memories of your time with Kazi. The way he claimed his love for you, and forced you to make a horrible decision all in one exhale.

As the two of you walked down the long and winding steps, Natasha asked, “What was with the shovel thing?”

You laughed, suddenly feeling foolish for fearing Natasha in the first place. Her silence caused waves, and somehow, that was worse than if she’d threatened you outright, something that she never did with much heat.

“Kate, she told me about her ex-boyfriend, Eli, I think she said his name was.”

“Ah, Eli.” She frowned, “He cheated on her, and I only made him dig for an hour.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, as long as you never make me dig my own grave.”

 “I would never do that. There is no punishment in things you can’t control.” Natasha gave your hand a squeeze, her solemn words punctuated with a slowly creeping smile. “Besides, detka, that’s simply not my style. It was much too messy.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[dannys-dream]

Invisible String - Jake Kiszka x f! Reader - Chaper One - Series

You’re just a small town girl who always had big dreams of living in Nashville. You hoped your music would get you out of your hometown, and your dreams were finally coming true. You knew you had your best friend, your music, and a new guitar to take you through the new life ahead of you. What you didn’t know was what and who this new adventure would bring you. Used to beach town life, could you adjust to the big city and the big names attached to it? 

Warnings : None this chapter :)

Authors Note : This is something I’ve had in the works for a little while now. I hope you enjoy this series. Please let me know if you have any suggestions, or if you’d like to be added to a tag list! <3

・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・

You couldn’t believe it was actually happening. After years of coffee shop shows, bar performances, and the occasional birthday party or wedding, you were finally moving to Nashville. A dream since you were just a kid, stuck in a small beach town tucked away in the outskirts of Washington. You’d saved every penny from your gigs, giving guitar lessons to the neighborhood kids, and everything you could spare from your 9-5 paychecks. You checked your bank account religiously, waiting for the day you’d finally saved enough. All you needed was a few months rent, and the money to put gas in the U-Haul, yours and Cam’s home for the 36 hour drive. 

Cam had been your best friend since middle school. An absolute force to be reckoned with at your dodgy little public schools. You trusted her with your life, and believe me when I say there were plenty of times you’d gotten in enough trouble to prove you could. The day you told her you’d started saving to move, she started saving too. She told you that you'd have a piece of home with you down in the south, and she couldn’t bear the idea of not seeing you all the time. You thanked God every day since. You couldn’t imagine not living side by side with her either. So the two of you packed everything you owned into a little U-Haul, and drove away from the only place you’d ever known. Away from your families and friends who all waved and cheered you on as you pulled out of the driveway. 

“I can’t stop laughing, oh my god y/n. I can’t breathe. Why were they waving us off like it’s the ancient times and we’re setting sail on the Titanic or something?” She was cackling in the passenger seat, resting one hand on her stomach as she fanned herself with the other.

“Camille, be nice. They just love us.” A chuckle leaving your mouth as you merge onto the highway. You slide your phone to Cam across the bench seat and tell her your passcode. “Put our playlist on. I’m not driving all day without music, you freak.” You roll the windows down and step on the gas as Journey begins to spill from the speakers. 

・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・゜✭・・✫

Day three of driving, your last day. The two of you had fought about pretty much everything, music, who was driving, what hotel or motel you’d sleep in, what was for lunch or dinner. There were good times too, though. Sightseeing, weird rest stops, having to pull over on the highway so Cam could pee because she absolutely couldn’t hold it in until the next bathroom (something you’d be sure to tease her about for the rest of your lives). None of that seemed to matter when the U-Haul was finally parked in your new driveway. A small 2 bedroom brick home stared back at you as you started unloading your things, the emerald green door waiting for your keys. 

“Hey C, I think we should unpack everything and then I can go return the U-Haul. I wanna get it over with sooner rather than later.” Yelling across the lawn, she agreed. You quickly passed boxes to her, not that there were too many in the truck. Finally empty, you and Camille headed inside to start unpacking boxes. You got your room set up enough to sleep in tonight, and told Cam you were headed out to return the U-Haul. You pulled out of the driveway, your favorite song playing as you turned out of the neighborhood, that is until your phone started ringing. Oh great, it’s your mother. 

“Hi momma, we just got to the house! We’re finally home.” Your mother was so excited for you to get out of Washington, even if it meant being almost across the country from her. 

“Hi baby! I’m so glad you girls made it safe. I just wanted to call because I have a gift for you.” Your mom couldn’t help but let out a choked sob. “You worked so hard to get out there, you saved so much money. Your dad and I wanted to get you something special.” 

“Mom, you’ve got me worried. Why’re you crying?” 

“Nothing wrong, y/n. We saved up some money for you to get a new guitar. A special one for your new life, in your new town. I just transferred you the money, my love.” 

“We’ve never been more proud to be your parents.” Your dad chimed in, the pride and sadness of your move evident in his voice.

Tears streamed down your face as you thanked them, and promised to send pictures when you picked out your new guitar. You wrapped up the phone call, thanking her once more, right as you pulled into the U-Haul parking lot. You paid for your rental, and called an Uber, deciding to have it take you to a small local guitar shop. Ramblr’s Music. Repairs, sales, lessons. On top of getting a new guitar, who knows. Maybe you could score a job there. 

A silver Honda pulled up next to you, and confirmed they were your Uber. As you slid into the backseat, you heard the music. A major guitar solo was playing, and it was stunning . Leaning forward and squinting your eyes you could see what it was. Greta Van Fleet. You made a mental note to check them out later, and made small talk with the Uber driver until you found yourself walking up to the little music shop. You’d barely been in Nashville five hours, and your life would already never be the same.

・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭

You’d been perusing the guitars for over an hour, but none of them felt right. You knew they were fine instruments, they just weren’t your dream guitar. They weren’t a vintage Les Paul SG. You’d wanted one for years, since you’d taken your music seriously. The shape, the sound. Something so classic and beautiful that the modern re-releases just couldn’t quite compare to. Fully knowing it was out of your budget, you decided to ask someone anyway. You found yourself walking toward the desk, a short kid maybe 17 standing there on his phone. 

“Hey, I’ve been looking around and I don’t see what I was hoping to find. Do you maybe have any Les Paul SG’s?  Maybe one in the back, or do you know where I could find one? I’m new in town and don’t really know where to look.” You let out a small laugh, immediately feeling out of your element. 

“Actually, yeah. We’ve got one in the back that I guess has been on hold or something but it’s been weeks and the guy never came to get it. It’s in a case and everything, too. Let me go get it.” Popping his gum as he walked away, your heart was pounding. Were you actually about to buy your dream guitar? Something about Nashville was proving to be magical. 

He came back, a busted black leather hard case in hand. “Here, look it over. I think it's a ‘61 but I could be wrong. Just started working here last week.” The clasps clanked as you pulled them up and off, finally lifting the lid to the case. There she was. A beautiful cherry stain on the wood, new strings and a crack down the bottom half of the guitar, only adding personality and proof the instrument was well loved prior to you.  You carried the guitar over to an amp, plugging it in and sitting on the stool. You wrestled to figure out what song to play, finally deciding on one of the songs you’d put time into learning. Nothing Else Matters, your fathers favorite Metallica song. You’d spent hours learning to play it for him, and could remember the tears in his eyes when you finally showed him. A fond memory you now shared with your dream guitar. God, it played like perfection. You knew there was no way you’d walk out of this store without the cherry red beast. 

You walked back to the counter and safely secured the guitar into the case after taking a photo. The new kid checked you out, enabling a purchase you probably shouldn’t have made. You ordered an Uber, and slipped into the backseat with your new baby. 

・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭

Jakes POV

Tour had been beyond exhausting. You loved playing, you loved the fans, you loved seeing the different states and countries. The only thing you loved more? Being at home, in bed with some popcorn and whiskey, watching a documentary on pirates. Especially on a fine Wednesday night such as this. Finally rolling out of bed for the first time in hours, your slippers pull you down the stairs and into the kitchen in search of food more filling than the snacks upstairs. Regrettably, you hadn’t gone grocery shopping in some time, simply surviving on what was left in your pantry before you left on tour. A groan leaves your chest as you trudge back upstairs. Slipping on your favorite blue jeans and a button up, you find your car keys and make your way to the jeep sitting in your garage. You decided that while you were out, you might as well run the rest of the errands you’d been neglecting in lieu of alone time. 

Your favorite playlist queued, and sunglasses pressed to your face, you pulled out of the garage and headed off to Ramblr’s. Your beloved guitar had taken far too much of a beating this last leg, and a crack appeared down the body. You had held her together for the last few shows using some electrical tape, the best thing you could get your hands on while on the road. On the way home from the airport, you dropped your guitar off to be repaired, only trusting Scott, the store owner, to repair your precious cargo. You rolled your car windows up, and hit your vape one last time before getting out and heading to the building. The second the shop doors opened, an uneasy feeling washed over you as the sounds of Scott screaming at some teenager filled your ears. 

“Are you fucking stupid, or are you dumb Jeremy? No, you know what you are? Fucking fired. Get out of my shop!” Scott pushed over a small display of guitar straps and stomped off, leaving who you assumed was Jeremy in a crumpled sobbing mess on the floor. You walked over to him, and crouched down. 

“Hey, Jeremy. Whatever’s going on, it’ll be okay. I’m Jake, and I’ve known Scott a real long time. I’m sure he’s just having a rough day. Let me go talk to him.” 

Jeremy looked back at you in horror, and pushed himself away. “I’m so sorry sir. I’m so sorry.” He picked himself off of the floor, and bolted outside, not even bothering to collect his personal items or clock off. You weren’t sure what happened, but you knew it couldn’t be good. 

You made your way to the back, where Scott’s office was and tried your best to mentally prepare yourself for whatever shit storm he was about to drop on you. You cleared your throat, and Scott’s eyes shot up to meet yours. His appearance disheveled, and tears of frustration threatened to fall down his face. 

“Ah, shit. Hey kid. Come in, have a seat.” He motioned to the chair across from his desk. You shuffled over, and pulled the chair out before sinking into the plush cushion. He avoided eye contact with you, which was very unusual. You also noted him picking at his nails, something he did when stressed. 

After a few minutes of silence, you decided to bite the bullet. “Give it to me straight, Scotty. What the hell is going on?” 

His head dropped in shame, and he took a deep breath before shakily answering you. “Jake, that stupid new kid. He sold your guitar.”

Your blood ran cold, and suddenly all you saw was red. “Scott you’re fucking joking, right? Don’t fuck with me. Bring me my guitar.” 

He shoved the paperwork towards you, all of it showing the colossal fuckup Jeremy had made. “I wish it was a joke, Jake. But the kid sold her off to some girl who came in a few hours ago. I don't even know how he screwed this up so bad.”

You ran a hand through your hair, and sighed. “Make me a copy of this. I’m gonna go find her.”

”I already tried the number Jake. She wont pick up.”

You stood from the chair and looked down at him. “Scott, just make me a damn copy.”

He left the room, and came back with the papers for you and continued to apologize profusely as you walked out of the store. The rain soaked your clothes as you walked to the car, your breath visible in the cold weather. 

The paperwork told you basically nothing. Just her name, and an out of state phone number. The kid didn’t even fully fill out the sale paperwork, leaving the address and email slots bare. You got in the car, phone number in hand and hoped and prayed that she hadn’t left town. That guitar was your prized possession, the best gift you’d ever received. You’d been beyond floored when the Chicago Music Exchange let you have it, free of charge. And now, you had no idea where she was. 

You took a shaky breath, and dialed the number. It didn’t even ring. You’d immediately been sent to voicemail, and the default one at that. You brought your hands to your face, and rubbed your eyes. How could Scott let this happen?

・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・

End of first chapter <3

TAGLIST : @hollyco @literal-dead-leaf @anythingforjtk @do-it-jakey-baby @eternal-life94

[jtl-fics]

Math Nerd AU

I’ve got quite a few time travel AFTG fics banging around in my head but by far the funniest one is this:

Neil dies in 40s to a drunk driver after a respectable professional Exy career, two olympic golds, a very successful and healthy relationship, a steady post-injury career as Ichirou Moriyama’s preferred accountant (kept himself squeaky clean) and years to get his shit together. He wakes up back early on into his runaway life with his mom and is immediately like “oh no I’m NOT doing this shit again.”

He makes a lot of changes, mostly for Andrew’s benefit but also gets Mary to the Hatfords, and gets himself set up in Ichirou’s confidence again because man he’s gonna play Exy again but Ichirou was actually a very solid boss if you’re competent and Neil is very good at managing finances.

Ichirou had plans for Neil. He’s waiting for his father to pass before he brings Neil fully out in the open as one of his since his father is still demanding that the Wesninski heir be given over to his brother and Ichirou is not about to let the only accountant who has ever gotten him a completely legal tax refund go to the NEST. He’s also not about to let the Butcher near Neil so he puts Neil off in the middle of nowhere with a steady paycheck and orders to graduate highschool. Neil picks Millport.

Hernandez still notices that no one ever comes to Neil’s games and that the kid is driven but doesn’t make any real attachments with his teammates despite Millport becoming the Arizona State Champs the year Neil leads the team. So he sends tapes to Wymack and Kevin. Neil is surprised to see them since he’d planned on never getting anywhere near Andrew after he set things up for the blond. (Killed Drake, paid some people to legally adopt and look after Andrew, got CPS to investigate Tilda properly, paid off the right people so that the couple who took in Andrew took in Aaron too, and paid for them to move out to SC (it’s close to the twins remaining family) and then Tilda managed to die on her own from an OD and the twins got the money without Andrew needing to have any part in it.)

Neil ends up signing for the Foxes despite Ichirou having plans for Neil to start attending University of Texas (Great Accounting Program) in the fall. Neil of course completely fails to tell Ichirou this since Ichirou hadn’t said anything beyond finishing highschool and if he had plans for Neil then he should have told him.

Neil, the utterly self-sufficient adult that he is, proceeds to just be the most bizarre stabilizing force the foxes have ever encountered. He knows all about their shit, their issues, their triggers, and how to help them. The Foxes all kind of crave that stability and Neil can take whatever they say unflinchingly. He’ll give as good as he gets but he also makes team breakfast pretty much every morning after he finishes his absurdly early run. Kevin is in heaven with his Striker pick (Neil in this thing is so incredibly boring and well-adjusted that Andrew just cannot believe that he’s a spy so Kevin and Neil start night practices almost immediately & Neil shows Kevin drills that he and Future!Kevin had made and Kevin is just like “I am so good at picking talent. I am a god.”)

The 3 things that make this so funny (at least to me) is:

1. All the Foxes just like not understanding why the hell Neil is a Fox (They’re glad he’s there but it feels like a clerical error that such a nice well-adjusted guy is on the team) until they see him without a shirt and until immediately after the Kathy Ferdinand show where Ichirou shows up and is like “Palmetto doesn’t even have a nationally ranked accounting program!? Also what if this sport gives you a TBI and you can’t do my taxes anymore????”

2. Andrew is just inexplicably and infuriatingly smitten, enamored, crushing, heart-eyes for this BORING ASS MATH NERD. Neil’s sense of humor was honed against Andrew so he’s got like a direct line to Andrew’s funny bone. He never has never once for even a second confused Aaron and Andrew (and they’re a lot closer in this fic because there’s no Tilda angst and the ‘parents’ handled getting Aaron’s rehabilitation handled off the books so he could have a future in medicine.) Even after the whole mob accountant reveal Andrew is seething because even with that Neil is just incredibly well-adjusted and normal despite all the insane shit going on with him. He propositions Neil when Neil mentions having a past male significant other but Neil has the AUDACITY to get all sad-eyed and say that he can’t be with Andrew because his heart still belongs to some CHUMP in his past. (Cue Current!Andrew having an unknowing bitter hatred / rivalry of Future!Andrew and swearing that he’ll woo Neil away from a guy who’s probably in the mob or shitty because Andrew hasn’t seen any evidence of Neil’s SO reaching out to him but he knows Neil isn’t lying)

3. One of the reasons that Andrew is inexplicably and infuriatingly attracted / smitten to Neil is that Future!Andrew did not really spend a lot of time in the future after Neil died and he’s slowly seeping through until Neil’s confrontation with his dad and then Future!Andrew fully wakes up and he’s PISSED because at least in the original timeline Andrew was inexplicably and infuriatingly attracted to the mysterious freshmen who was hiding his appearance, looked like he was seconds away from running across the country at all times, and had a whole aura of danger around him. Now he’s revealed that he’d have fallen for Neil no matter what because he fell for Neil when he was just a BORING ASS MATH NERD and WORST OF ALL Neil went and made him jealous of HIMSELF because Neil didn’t want to cheat on Andrew with ANDREW. What an asshole. He’s gotta kiss his entire face off and tell him that he’s never allowed to cross a street without Andrew again because if a drunk driver is going to take one of them out then it’s going to take BOTH of them out.

[gigi-the-crab]

Budget with me, Leftist edition

⚠️I am not a financial advisor. I’m sharing my personal thoughts and methods. Please research for yourself and seek financial advice from a professional if you can ⚠️

Okay, PSA over

I’ve been an on and off budgeting fanatic since I took a personal finance course in high school that rocked my world. I’ve gotten so much out of the personal finance space, but let’s be real, it’s inundated with hyper-individualistic perspectives. I’ve been craving a blend of personal finance and budgeting with leftist ideas, mutual aid, solidarity, community, free resources, and anti-capitalist relearning for a while. I’m trying to expand my media diet and find that community, but in the mean time I want to take a stab at it myself!

So that brings me to a good old fashioned budget with me. My method of budgeting is constantly being reworked, but after ~10 years of trial and error I’m in a pretty happy place with my system. It takes time and bandwidth, but this is what currently works for me. Hopefully at least one person might find some of this useful, and then I will be eternally gratified.

For important context:

I work part time roughly 24 hrs a week and make $22 an hour. I live at home with family, so rent, utilities, groceries etc. are covered by them. This is possible through intergenerational wealth, being an only child, and existing in a loving and functional family (❤️) among other privileges. My income covers my individual personal expenses.

This situation may not be entirely relatable for many people, but I believe the fundamentals of budgeting are widely applicable.

This is what I do:

I start with budgeting for my weekly payday. I work part time so my salary fluctuates, but I can estimate my gross salary in advance based on my hours worked, then deduct the ~15.33% taken out by my employer for taxes and social security to get my net income.

This week my net income is $271.13 (which is lower than average because I worked fewer hours). This will go into the spreadsheet I use so I can track my paychecks.

I have a general guide for my monthly anticipated expenses (aka my budget) that looks like this:

Because I get paid on a weekly basis, I divide each of these estimates by 4 (roughly 4 weeks in a month) to get my weekly budget.

This is what my monthly budget looks like translated to my paycheck this week, which is lower than average:

I use the zero sum budget method. This means every dollar is allocated to a place, so I should have zero dollars leftover by the end.

I also follow the “pay yourself first” school of thought. 10%+ of my net income will go towards my emergency savings, and another 10% will go towards my mutual aid fund. This might seem particularly high for mutual aid (@pocketchangepools on insta, a resource I like, suggests starting at 1% of yearly income), but I feel strongly about redistributing my intergenerational abundance. I also live a very comfortable life with my basic needs met, so 10% is a comfortable amount for me. This will likely vary depending on your financial situation, but budgeting for aid is a great way to ensure you give what you can afford (and your offerings can include time/labor/skills as well!).

I use a mixed system of digital and cash. For digital, I use my checking account and debit card for most bills and regular purchases. I regularly go through my account history on my banking app and write down every incoming or outgoing item in a physical spending tracker notebook.

This helps me pay attention to every individual movement of money in and out of my account so I’m more conscious of what’s going on. I also use these numbers in my spreadsheet tracker:

I use what are called “sinking funds” for most categories. I might allocate $5 a week for self care, for example. I could certainly afford my self care snacks with that $5, but not my self care nail polish. In order to get a bottle of nail polish I might be interested in, I continue to put in $5 a week to let it accumulate, and maybe buy the nail polish when I hit $15 in the sinking fund. If I have $1 leftover from that purchase, it remains in my sinking fund. This way, I can build a fund for each category and spend the money in it on an irregular basis.

Cash gets a different treatment. I take out cash from my checking account every week for things like “walking cash” (money in my wallet I don’t track and spend as I please) or my cash savings envelopes:

In the past I’ve tried putting all of my cash and card purchases into an app while on the go, but I found it takes me out of experiences. Would I rather buy my friend a coffee and enjoy a chat in a coffee shop, or buy a coffee, take out my phone to record how much that coffee cost me, THEN turn back to the conversation we’re having? Some people prefer to track cash spending with things like tracking apps and receipts. I’ve found I am not one of those people! (It’s also worth being wary of tracking apps considering the state of surveillance)

I do still like the feeling of taking cash out of my checking account and filing it away in little envelopes for different savings goals. These cash savings come from any leftover money after my essential and non essential expenses are budgeted for. Currently my priority is a $1000 emergency fund, but I sprinkle cash around other envelopes, too.

And tada! After all that work, I have completed my budgeting for the week.

In conclusion:

This is how I get to know and direct my money flows! I tend to like things complicated, so this system works for me, but the best way to budget is whatever way you find works for you.

I think if knowledge is a step towards empowerment, then getting to know your personal money flows ought to be empowering, too.

[lost-girl-2021]

Maybe you could describe Quaritch's pov of seeing Spider for the first time after so many years?

Warning: I’m terrible at writing POV’s from parents. Like, the closest I’ve come to a parental experience is when I was a babysitter (and that did not last long). So, I’ve done my best. Also, since it’s from his POV, I’m calling him Miles instead of Quaritch, since it’s his first name.

Miles Junior— or did he just go by Miles? MJ? Junior? —was more of a goal than a person over the years. He’d been so fucking tiny when he’d gone to prison.

It had been over a decade since he’d seen the boy. The first thing he wanted to do when he got out was go find him. And then, he’d find that bastard Sully and get payback for the years he’d spent locked up. He hadn’t really made a decision on how to do it— make an anonymous report to CPS? Maybe he’d find a way to make his wife think he was cheating? He couldn’t do anything too risky, but he’d fully intended on getting revenge for all the time he’d missed out on.

But, Junior came first. He’d done all the tedious work— parenting classes, a steady paycheck. The apartment he’d gotten in the city was looked over what felt like a half-dozen times. But, he’d done it all. He’d gotten a job as soon as he was out, working with half of his old squad as overglorified mall cops for this big company called the RDA. The pay was good, even if wasn’t allowed a weapon and most of it involved driving around scientists and vans full of equipment. It took an entire year, but his restrictions dropped the longer he was out of prison and every day felt like a step closer to Junior.

The day he finally got to see the kid? He was a fucking wreck. Sweaty, white-knuckling the steering wheel the whole drive over. He lived with a foster family right outside the city. The neighborhood was nice, but the house itself was plain. The grass overgrown, flowers dried out. Neglected. Miles kept drifting back to the tiny apartment Paz and him had in the city. All of it was boxed up and collecting dust in a storage locker, like it had been for years. And his kid had moved on without any of it.

He was trying to shake his nerves as he waited outside the door, taking in a deep breath. Miles, Miles, Miles— the kid was all he could think about. And then—

Jake fucking Sully stood in the doorway. Miles wanted to scream, to tackle him. He wanted to punch his way inside, see what the fuck was going on. Some kind of set up?

But, no, because halfway hidden behind a couch, there he was. Blond hair messier and longer than Miles had ever let his own grow, darker than it was when he was a baby. He was tiny— maybe it was the baggy clothes or the sheer amount of hair that made him seem so small.

Miles had been preparing for this day for years.

And then, as soon as he saw his kid?

He couldn’t even move. It was . . . it was indescribable. He could barely believe that this— this teenager was his baby. Miles had been staring at a picture of one-year-old Miles Junior (perfect, light curls, cheeks chubby and red) for over a decade.

His eyes were the same. Wide and brown and filled with curiosity.

His boy. His son.

[charmingpplincardigans]

How’s everyone doing? I’ll go first, I’m bad!

I have been ~*~struggling~*~ since mid-September and in the last two weeks it has just gotten unbearable. I feel like I’m drowning all the time. I’m having trouble keeping up with and reaching out to people I want to talk to. And that’s like, on top of always having been bad at getting back to people. *stares forlornly at the ask Chaz sent me like, literally two years ago that I think about daily but just. haven’t. RESPONDED TO.*

Things are just. Closing in on all sides unfortunately. I’ve been sick several times. I bounced this month’s rent check. A thing I had NEVER DONE BEFORE IN MY LIFE before this last move. My job is literally never going to pay me what I’m worth. Or anyone what they’re worth, frankly. I broke down in front of my boss the other day and just sobbed for an hour because after I pay my bills every paycheck I have just enough left over to buy groceries for two weeks, if I’m careful, and little else. Which means I’m putting stuff like gas on credit cards, which isn’t helping the debt that makes me feel like drowning in the first place.  I’ve been at this job SEVENTEEN YEARS. A steady, corporate job. And I’ve never once in my entire time there made an actual cost of living raise!! The cost of living just keeps raising without me! (And also everyone else, I know!)

I’m super overdue on getting people the art they commissioned from me, but my brain just hasn’t been in a good enough place to create much of anything, and I keep thinking I have to get this done and then thinking they deserve better than this, around and around on a loop ad finitum. And there are a couple of other things going on personally that just fucking blow that I don’t know how to fix and I’m just gonna choke on it.

I haven’t done any fandom stuff since NYCC. I haven’t written on my WIP. I haven’t read fic. I don’t check in on the madness happening on twitter. I’ve barely popped my head into my favorite pirate group chat over the last five months or so. I miss doing all of that so much and my stupid brain is so broken that even when I try I can’t enjoy it.

Shit. I’m having a hard time getting work work done. I just sit down at my desk every day, answer emails, and then spend five or so hours frozen with anxiety because there’s too much to do and doing nothing is only making it worse every day.

I need to be back in therapy ASAP, but unfortunately you can’t eat therapy so I can’t pay for it!!

And I feel guilty saying any of this to almost everyone I would usually talk to. (Congrats and condolences to the rest of you!) Because they’re having a harder time than me. Or because they’d just want to give me a bit of money about it, which would fuck me up even more. Or because it’s just tedious and boring and no one wants to listen to me talk about this over and over again, even though it’s all my brain does every hour of every day. It’s a wonder I’m ever able to talk about anything else.

My boss is pretty great, in spite of it all. She’s constantly supportive (to the extent she can be), and she just. She tells me all the time how creative and wonderful and smart and cool to know I am. And every time I just like, tear up, because none of it feels true. But I also tear up when my friends and my partner say those things too. Because to me, a full grown adult without a savings or a 401K or the ability to like, go get drinks just because I want to, I feel like a complete and utter failure.  So like. Whatever I guess!!

I need to find a new job that pays me way more. Then I can get a therapist to fix my brain and save money to pay down my debts and have money to have fun with my friends and not feel like a constant financial burden on everyone. Then I can have the brain power back to maybe work on my fic or complete that art or like, I don’t know, talk to the people who actively want to talk to me. You wouldn't think that part would be so hard, but it really, really is.

I’m working on it. I’ll keep working on it. I have LinkedIn open right now. I’m gonna fucking sob through it, but that doesn’t mean none of it will get done.

In the meantime, if anyone knows of a good way to make a quick $30 grand, I’m all ears.

[spelllingandthemysteryschool]

hello! (this got longer than intended (sorry!), so feel free to ignore but the TLDR is you’re doing exactly what a 22 yo does and i hope this paragraph is at least a little reassuring) im a little older than you so i'll take this back to when i was also 22 and first, i felt (still feel 6 years later) (mostly) the same way (i feel a little more sure about myself now)! at 22 i had barely graduated uni with no prospects lined up (all my class/friends had already been offered full time positions or were doing post-grad programs, fulbright studies, etc), was tens of thousands in debt, and had no idea what i wanted to do (still don’t!). Eventually i got an unpaid short term internship at a local ngo where i met wonderful friends who helped me apply to this random position that paid pennies but at least it was something. It used nothing i studied in uni and i had to learn everything from scratch (literally the only skill transferred is computer literacy). the workplace was toxic af (like stress manifesting as physical symptoms kind of toxic) but i ended up with two best friends and i learned so much about what i dont want in a workplace and used that experience (with help from another coworker) to move to a different place where i do the same thing but in a better environment. It’s not an exciting job that i dreamed of (corporate 9-5 customer service type), but I’ve gotten good at it, i get benefits, and it’s a steady paycheck that allows me to cover necessities and occasionally the fun stuff and i focus on having a fulfilling life outside of work with hobbies and social activities. I have no idea where i plan to be a year or two from now but i got a concert next year so i know i’ll be there! i try to take it in small chunks bc things have been changing/happening so fast nowadays idk how to make plans. ty for reading

oh my goodness! thanks so much for taking the time to share all this. it’s nice to hear about the meandering path someone else’s career can take because usually you only hear about the position someone ends up at and none of the stops they made along the way. i’m sorry about your stressful work experiences but i’m glad you made good friends and i’m glad you’re somewhere that sustains u and allows for u to do what you truly care about in your free time! i hope things keep going well for you & i hope the concert is the absolute most fun ever hehe. thank you again!

[hayscodings]

what were your thoughts on ethel?

I really liked Ethel. She was a sweet girl with a good heart and I wish her story hadn’t been wrapped up so quickly.

Ethel actually reminds me a lot of Svetlana in the sense that they both have some of the most horrific backgrounds on the show but don’t fully realize the extent of what they’ve been through, or how fucked up it is, because they’ve never known anything else. Ethel defends her rapist and insists that he’s a good man, just like Svetlana defends her father and insists that he had good qualities too. They’re also two of the best parents on the show despite being young and traumatized with very little resources. I’ve often thought about how interesting it is that they both wind up having storylines with Kev and V.

Kev’s heart was in the right place when they were fostering Ethel, and I do think that he did the best that he could under the circumstances, but at the end of the day the truth is is that neither he nor V were equipped to deal with that kind of trauma. It was their first time fostering a kid, and they really bit off more than they could chew. I don’t know that it ever would have worked out long-term, even if they had wanted it to. Ethel was severely brainwashed.

The one thing I didn’t like about the Ethel storyline was how V treated her. I’ve mentioned before that when I first watched the show V was my favorite, but it made me really uncomfortable hearing her talk about Ethel like she was just a paycheck. And I really hated the way that she exploited Ethel’s trauma in order to get her chores around the house done. Ethel deserved better than to be treated like a personal servant. She was a vulnerable, traumatized child thrown into a situation where one foster parent didn’t care for her, only what she could do for her, and the other had no idea how to approach her. It was hard to watch at times.

I never know what to think about the way that she was written out because, on the one hand, she managed to escape the cult that she was in, but on the other she’s a kid who ran off with another kid. And I don’t know how sustainable that would be. I wish we would have gotten to see what became of her.

[zooophagous]

hey, i’m currently at school to become a graphic designer but your rant has recently put down on paper all of my concerns and fears over this industry! i don’t think i can quit now considering how far i’ve gotten so i think what i’m asking is: how do you deal with it? i already despised the idea of working for giant corporations/ more capitalists but i found ways to cope with that and idk! i’m really just trudging along rn lol

I'm not sure I'm the right guy to ask, just because I'm actively switching fields as we speak and shortly I should be working full time as a tattoo artist lol.

However, to cope with it in the mean time the best advice I have is this: Do a job you don't hate. If you believe in something it's easier. Maybe you'll manage social media for a nonprofit you think does really good work. Maybe you'll do logos and signs for small local businesses that actually do need your help. Maybe you can cross train into a field like journalism and make layouts for national news, which is a noble goal despite the ads that go into it. (I worked about half my years as a designer at a news agency and it was by far the least soul sucking of all of my design jobs)

You can even specialize in things like album covers and book covers, you can cross train into photography if you're good with people. It is much harder to find steady work when you're picky about the ethical impact of your job, I won't lie to you. But keep in mind if you give up your convictions for a paycheck it WILL reflect in your performance and it will wear you down much quicker.

[artbyeritza]

Mongolian Chocolates, Bandung Rose Lattes, and Pumpkin Spice

The entire trip, “vacation”, was our usual.

Usual Filipino family toxicity.

 At the age of 26, I’m tired and done.

 At least the trip kept me away from work

 and I got to play games for about 5 days in South Korea.

 I do not hate Korea, like I don’t hate any East Asian countries

 despite what they think of Filipinos.

I kept myself under wraps

 in a quiet little guesthouse in Seonggyunwan-ro.

 I loved the all-meals included, buffet style

 but my stomach was ever sensitive.

 I’ve gotten to the point that Korea is boring

 and wished I was in Mongolia.

 The booking and plan were not mine, since I’m with family.

 I could have had a Mongolian trip,

 if not for my single-entry visa.

 Maybe, someday,

 I would like to go to Mongolia,

 then China, North Korea, and Russia.

 I want to visit Belarus and Ukraine too, Tranistria.

 Seoul sucked the soul out of me, with their foreigners

 looking to hit it and hook up, party, and locals who wanted “experience”.

 I tried to draw and write, I really did

 yet the rain

 and the fact that I could not go around the full day because of it…

it reminded me of the Philippines.

Usually, I wish to go to a country to escape sudden rain

 and typhoons forming, not going into it.

I managed the trip alone for five days

Until they come back to Seoul.

I wanted to get fucked since I got wasted

But I did not choose my sexuality, I knew being AroAce chose me.

I rubbed one out after being hammered and sick

And searched Safari on private if I could bring vibrators in the airport.

I was not about to let myself be touched or touch some rando,

I hate everyone.

When they came back to Korea, they made me feel all bad,

Like usual, like when I was 12.

It does not matter, I get to spend their money

Because they screwed up the itinerary.

I did not get to see Mongolia, however the treats and pasalubong

Are fine and dandy.

I love Mongolian chocolates, and sweets.

You could snack on them even on the brink of an almost sore throat.

American food tends to be too sweet or too salty,

South Korean is too sweet, savory

And Filipino is on the sweet side

But there is something about Mongolian chocolates.

I do not have a good relationship with food,

Yet I snack on them.

My family’s time in Korea was short before we go back home

And now, I recently had my first paycheck after the trip.

I checked on my old friends, against Mama’s advice

(not my mother, but a known, good-looking woman).

And I feel nothing at all.

If they want toxic, if they are not self-aware,

I will not teach them.

I have a full license; I do not teach people for free

And I will not teach them to act right.

If they don’t understand my words and my actions,

And are committed to such misunderstandings,

Why parent the child?

Kids and teens piss me the fuck off,

Adults who act out and are not self-aware are more so.

I guess I try to philosophize, critique,

With all my office work, art, and writing,

With my belly full of fat, coffee,

Pumpkin spice and Bandung Rose latte

Why do people have to be so “mean”, and so “rude”?

I will never know my past’s answers.

I am stuck in a reverse,

In a different delusion.

That is because I was never friended, familied and loved

The way I wanted to be loved,

I never had lovers.

I do not have ex-friends or exes,

If I am the one who sought the most, the one who suffered.

Perhaps friendship and romance are a foreign language,

The one I will never comprehend.

I feel like the Virgin Mary with my friends, with my loves.

Never loved, never touched.

[devildomwriter]

had you obtained the latest solomon card? if so, could you post any spoilers or tell me where i could get them? like omg ive tried sooo hard but no good :')...i love your blog by the way, i feel like an idiot because i only recently found it since i wasnt active and had been searching for devildomqueen this entire time...kill me...

Haha. Well my old blog was Devildomqueen but that was deleted…kill me (if you find any old posts please let me know)

Unfortunately I haven’t gotten the Solomon card yet but hopefully in the future. Currently my last few paychecks have been going toward trying to get my fav Diavolo’s birthday card and dear God the 300+ I’ve spent better be worth it

But after I obtain him I will try more for Solomon and Leviathan. I did get Luke.

A lot of times most blogs will kindly let you know about the cards if you ask.

If anyone who sees this has the Solomon card please DM me the details or reblog the post with them so we can see :D

[thisweekinfandomhistory]

Hello, I’ve been really enjoying your podcast and thinking about various incidents that might make for good episode topics and how they could be approached, and since you seem rather receptive to random suggestions, I figured I’d send some in.

The Black Sails vs OFMD tumblr poll, a recent incident where a tumblr poll pitting two pirated against each other caused mountains of drama, a massive unhinged rant from the op of the poll, and a sort of fandom rivalry. Could be useful as a jumping off point to talk about the way comedy and dramas are perceived in fandom spaces and the ethical issues that spring up around media that whitewashes (in the moral sense, but the other definition could play into the discussion too), completely fictionalizes, and glamorizes real historical figures.

More Star Trek stuff than I can recall in one sitting, but Die Seven Die! was a pretty crazy happening, where a bunch of shippers decided to write fanfic of a certain character dying because she got in the way of their ship (she got randomly paired up with a character she didn’t interact with much, and the rumor is it’s because the actor who played him made a joke about it while negotiating his paycheck). The 1982 Con of Wrath, just a classic convention fuck up. And really, just any given thing happening with Spock’s love life at any given time. I know people got extremely nasty regarding the Kelvin Timeline’s Spock/Uhura stuff and more recently with Spock/Chapel.

I think the release date of the first Big Finish audiodrama could make for a good starting point for an episode about the dr who wilderness years, which could focus on the role fan activity can have in rebooting or reviving a dead series. Or, on a crazier note to reach the same point, the release of the music video for Doctor in Distress, which is something I really can’t describe beyond “a compellingly awful charity song made to get Doctor Who back on the air”, and Hans Zimmer was involved in making it.

I’m sure you’ve gotten suggestions for Thanfiction and the Hamilton AIDS incident a thousand times, but how about the time Voltron fans tried to reinvent the concept of original fiction through the lens of fanfiction. As I understand it they were so upset by the ending of the show that they decided to collectively file the serial numbers off of their fandom. Sort of replacing the actual show with a invented goncharov-thing and writing fanfic for the fake fandom they made. Not sure what ultimate point could be derived from that, but it’s sure fascinating from a sociological point of view.

Thank you for writing in!! Sorry it's taken a little while to reply; we didn't want to spoil too many of our own upcoming episodes in our answer, but it's rude to leave you hanging, so here we go... :)

The Black Sails versus OFMD poll is a great suggestion! And I love your take on how comedy and drama are totally perceived differently in fannish spaces and have such, like, essentially different modes of fandom. It would also definitely have to touch on how OFMD in particular whitewashes real-world slaveowners -- although if we do a Hamilton episode, we'd probably talk about that a lot there, too.

Thank you for sending in some new Star Trek stuff! I (V) hadn't heard of any of those particular events, so I'm excited to dig in and take a look. :)

And I love that suggestion for a Doctor Who event! It's been surprisingly hard to find a good record of fannish history, rather than show history, for DW, which is insane considering what a huge fandom it's had for so many decades.

Thanfiction and the HIVliving Scandal are already on the 2023 schedule, have no fear!

But this Voltron thing sounds nutty. ::pencils it in::

[death-in-a-handbasket]

Ooo definitely! I totally agree with you, and beast really does do a good job showcasing his personality In a more casual setting. I like how his eyes/sharp uncomfortable stare is referenced a few times too. He seems like the type to make uncomfortable eye contact and I love that for him tbh. Do you have any headcannons for him per chance? I have a few if you want me to send them in!

I absolutely love his eyes, I wish the manga carried over into the anime more because I like how solidly dark they look, I love his big unsettling eyes and piercing stare so much man

chefs kiss character design I love characters that have unnerving eyes by nature and he most definitely makes uncomfortable eye contact, I feel like it comfortably affirms his viciousness when he sees the way people get uncomfortable, but I think if someone were to make eye contact with him with such ardent genuineness he’d probably want to look away, like that’s what personally makes him uncomfortable

also I always have hcs in the back of my brain, in fact I’ve been meaning to make a series of powerpoint slides listing off all my thoughts and feelings on him

for one, I feel like his house is not only quite clean but also really underwhelming, like chuuya probably has luxury running through his home even if he still is kind of a ratty street kid at heart, but akutagawa has a relatively simplistic house. nothing that indicates a huge paycheck or the fact that he’s mafia affiliated, just some antique dark stain furniture and maybe a few small art pieces on the walls but he doesn’t strike me as someone who lives lavishly or makes big purchases, if anything he’s probably quite frugal

aside from that, I feel like he’d probably have one home in the city for work convenience but in reality I think the home that he feels more comfortable would be located more rurally?? like I see him living more on the outskirts of the city in a wooded area when he has time off

now this hc stems from something in beast but I think he would have plant and herb knowledge, not only from being homeless and learning what is and isn’t edible, but also from taking care of his illness and enjoying tea, he has a surprisingly high level of knowledge on plant shit, to the point where he could probably tell you the medicinal and poisonous properties of everything growing in the area

I also feel like he prefers not to enter hospitals or be patched up by professionals, he takes care of himself and by proxy has a decent understanding of the human body, it also helps that he’s been killing for so long he’s just gotten to know which parts of the body do what

this is my evidence and I’m citing it 🤌

I also have a playlist for him and bunch of nsfw stuff in mind as well but we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it (I’ll sit down and make some proper powerpoint slides for him LMAO)

also yes I would absolutely love to hear your hcs :D I feel like for a character that is the narrative foil to the main character he should get studied way more, send away 🙏

[fitgothgirl]

I feel like my blog is becoming more so random stuff than fitness/health stuff. I used to try to keep it strictly about health, but in recent years I’ve let it get some random stuff in. It partially started because when I say “health,” I include mental health stuff in that, and basically everything about life can affect mental health lol. Plus just all the fun/weird/interesting stuff you want to reblog just to reblog. And I’m not against all that for my blog but it’s just gotten a wee bit too much for what I want here. So I’m going to try to rein the randomness in a little, and/or try to have more health/fitness stuff in between.

This may include a few more body posts, but I’ll start tagging those with “body” for anyone who wants to block it. For me, it’s not that I want my body to look exactly like someone else’s, it’s just the image of health/strength that’s motivating- someone else being (or at least appearing) their healthiest/strongest makes me want to be my best, whatever that may be. But of course grain of salt with all that - someone’s body doesn’t tell you their health or happiness.

Been so blah since vacation. I’ve also been having insomnia problems as I mentioned a few days ago and it’s taking some effort to get back to normal. But just got wrung out from the lake house overall - I’m not 21 anymore, as they say. But after that vacation and also feeling crappy most of June, I really want to get some healthy habits going again. I went for a walk on Friday evening at least, which was very pleasant and refreshing. I’m still feeling blah today but at this point I know I need movement more than rest. (And caffeine would help too...)

-

I’ve been thinking about money stuff lately too. Of course I need to budget better and control my spending better and all that, but I’ve also been thinking about how I eventually just need to make more money... Even if I wasn’t in debt, I don’t think I can chill around this wage for too much longer if I want to ever be able to retire or just live comfortably. I’m painfully paycheck-to-paycheck right now (hence the ever increasing debt). So last night I was starting to look into what path I could go down next in life where I could make a good 50-75% more at least (and obviously something I enjoy doing for the most part). Right now I proofread medico-legal reports, but I don’t think I want to get into editing, and there’s not really any sort of growth here. I was looking into medical coding and healthcare data analysis and even healthcare recruiting. I feel like these things have too much dealing with other people though lmao. 😂 I really just want to be left alone, by both any sort of customer/patient and other employees. I know I can’t have it super easy though if I want a decent pay bump.

I feel like whatever I land on, if it’s significantly more money then it’s probably going to take at least some sort of certificate program before I can pursue it, if not a master’s... We’ll see about the master’s though lol. Obviously this is a big decision and needs to be thought through. It’s funny though, I got my bachelor’s 6 years ago and was so done with school at that time lol. When I was asked by others about a master’s or whatever, I was like “I can’t speak for the more distant future, but for now, NO MORE SCHOOL.” And here I am, over half a decade later, where I would consider “the more distant future” to be in that regard. Time is crazy...

Obviously I want to stop making my debt worse and *gasp* even get out of debt eventually. But the stuff I would do after that is even more important and has been getting to me lately. Like at this point, I feel like I’m holding my bf back from travelling. He makes decent money and can budget himself unlike me, so it’s always been a thing about whenever I could plan to get together the money for anything. And I recently realized that after over 11 years together, we’ve haven’t done any of the travelling we want to do (as in like, more than a road trip or a quick flight to SoCal or something lol). And I can’t make any of the more “adult” purchases, like I’m sure I won’t be able to drive the same car forever... Or even fun purchases that you think DINKs can make, like my bf and I have always really wanted a hot tub and even somehow have the perfect spot for it in our small backyard haha. But the DINK lifestyle is only as good as the couple’s earning/spending habits allow. (I don’t even put purchasing a house on this list since that’s just laughable no matter what for me IMO.)

Aight I’m going to cut off the money rambles. 🙃

[mysterious-prophetess]

Replaying Witcher 3

So, I got a PS5.

It took most of a paycheck but I got one.

some of my games have a free next-gen upgrade, but I kept running into issues with my free Witcher 3 upgrade so I just bought the complete edition for PS5 because it was on sale for thirty bucks.

Being the longest game I own, I decided to start replaying it to see how it handles on PS5.

It can be a little buggy and the fact this game came out in the early PS4 era shows in how the controls fight me as I play.

But it’s still a damn good game.

I’ve gotten through the first third of the main story mission post-prologue where you deal with the Crones of Crookback Bog

CDPR never did shy away from ugly. They also never shy away from nudity (but I get a fair amount of shirtless Geralt so it’s still fairly nice for me).

I got to the part of the one mission where what you do affects what happens to a certain set of characters.

Save some orphans or save a couple that (should this have been modern times) should have long since been divorced.

First time through, I made a choice based on pure emotions.

I saved the orphans because I found I both liked the kids and pitied them because their parents or adults sent them out to die.

Second time through, I’ve made the same choice because I find the couple even more despicable this time through.

Don’t get me wrong, one half of this couple sucks WAY more than the other, but as I find both awful, I once again chose the orphans.

For one half it’s “Your choices and actions brought you here.” For the other it is “play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

Finally, it’s simple pure spite.

I know the Crones are awful AF. So, screw ‘em. No kids for you to eat.