#i paid $60 for this shit i’m not taking it out

[cactuseri]

why do i keep hurting my new piercing how do i manage to walk bellybutton-first into every door

[lisenberry]

WIP Wednesday Thoughts        

Working title:  There’s smoke seeping out of your bloody teeth (but you’re home somehow)

(From 28 by Zach Bryan)

Recovering Price x Recovering Reader

A/N: I have way too many WIPs at the moment, but this one came out of nowhere and I’m wondering if there’s something more here.

It’s a little darker than my usual, but somehow rides the line of more fluff than angst if you can bear with me through the backstory.  I’m also seeing a trend where I love to paint Price as a complete mess and struggling with himself.  I just know he has some Big Repressed Feelings buried deep in that broad chest.  Like, the Captain takes care of everyone else on missions but needs more help than he lets on in the real world.

CW:  Accidental overdose, Addiction/Recovery, Alcoholics/Narcotics Anonymous, a whiff of PTSD, single parent/recovering addict Reader, written with afab/fem reader in mind, but it came out fairly neutral. Overall heavy subject matter, but with some hope/humor to follow.

John fucked up.  He knows it, Kyle knows it.  And now Kate does, too.

He’d promised his sergeant that he’d lay off the whiskey, but he didn’t tell him about the pills.  The oxys and the benzos.  And sometimes, when things got really bad and he got in a little too deep, the ketamine and fentanyl. 

It was pure luck that Kyle found him.  That he was worried enough to kick the door in, strong enough to pull him out of the bathtub, and quick enough to do CPR until the ambulance arrived with the Narcan. 

He hadn’t meant to end it.  His life, that is.  Just the never-ending pressure in his brain.  The headaches, the sensitivity to light, everything being so bloody fucking loud.  Two decades of explosions, gunshots, and crashes had racked up on him, each one a tithe to be repaid down the line.  And it seemed they’d all come due at once.

In the aftermath, Kate had paid him a visit when he’d been ready to check himself out of the hospital, and she’d given him a directive.  It wasn’t even an ultimatum.  There was no other choice. 

Get help.

She wasn’t kicking him off the team.  She wasn’t even putting a note in his file.  The military wouldn’t know, other than an extended personal leave signed off on by high enough names no one would question it.  A 30-day stay in a doctor-supervised substance abuse treatment facility, and another 60 days at home with weekly check-ins.

Who he told other than Garrick would be up to him.

He agreed, of course.  It was his last chance to get his shit together, maybe even more than he deserved.  The look on Kyle’s face when he regained consciousness would be ingrained on his brain for the rest of his life.

“I always thought it’d be Ghost.  Never you, Captain.”  It wasn’t disappointment that clouded the kid’s eyes with tears, but fear.  That it could happen to any of them if they weren’t careful.  That the danger didn’t end when they came home.

Price hadn’t asked for help, but he knew when to take it.

Which is how he met you...

He tried to attend four to five meetings a week.  They were usually at night, after dark, when the urge to settle into his chair with a bottle of scotch and a few extra Percocets was all he could think about.  When the distractions of the day faded and he was alone with himself. 

If he could hold the urge at bay long enough, in the company of others, even if he just sat and listened, then it would pass like a mad dog thrown a bone.  And then he could go home in peace, until the dog came back around again.

In the beginning, he jumped around to a new meeting each night.  There was St. Stephen’s, St. Giles in the Fields, St. George’s, the Salvation Army, and the Tenant’s Hall.  Some were for beginners, and others just for men.  He didn’t want to become familiar with any particular one, preferring instead to lean on the Anonymous side of the program.

He sipped his tea and ate his biscuits, all from the back row.  Quietly reflecting on the opening speaker, and the stories of hope and struggle that followed.  At first, he found it hard to relate.  Kids who got hooked on drugs in school to escape from abusive parents, or former gang members and dealers looking to buy their way out of poverty and the system that abandoned them.

He’d been born into money, went to good schools.  His demon didn’t come at him until later.  It had taken its time and made roots into an already established foundation.  Like a parasite, it didn’t take him young, or weak.  It took him when he was at his strongest and broke him down from the inside out.  He was already infected long before he saw the signs.

He had no one else to blame, and didn’t think he’d find much sympathy from telling his story.  He didn’t want it, anyway.  He just needed to get through his 60 days and be back on a mission again.

But then one Friday evening, he walked into your regular 7pm meeting in the basement of an old church and everything changed... 

It was the best around, because they had a small children’s area in the next room, with a library and a sweet old nun who would read books and watch the kids for free.  It had become a local favorite for parents without childcare, and the group had grown as close as a family. 

There were a few of you who took the snack duty very seriously.  There were no stale, day-old donuts or flavorless boxed biscuits.  Instead, the spread was enough to rival the set of the Great British Baking Show.  Cakes and puddings, shortbreads and tartes.  The coffee was freshly brewed, not the cheap instant granules.

It had made you very protective, still always a little wary of newcomers, as against the spirit of the program as that was.  It had become your safe space.  Where you brought your children, and shared your biggest regrets and darkest moments.  And mainly because, despite the progress you’d made in your recovery, you’d never fully be able to trust again.  To look at another person and not see a potential threat. 

Outside the church, you knew where the dealers stood waiting to find you on an off day.  Where the pimps lingered in the dark alleys ready to meet you when you were broke and desperate.  They were the obstacles you could see.  Like a video game level you’d failed so many times you could jump and duck and kick your way a little further with each respawn.  You already knew there was a bad guy waiting on the other side of that door and all the tricks to avoid him.

It was harder to tell with the quiet, six-and-a-half-foot tall, bearded man in the beanie hat and combat boots slumped in the back row.  He’d popped up about a week ago, and always arrived exactly five minutes early.  He'd wait patiently until the snack line died down and load his plate before sitting in the same seat, closest to the door.

He hadn’t shared with the group yet, but offered a few pleasant nods and greetings to anyone who’d initiated a conversation.  It seemed rude not to reach out, if for no other reason than to gauge his intentions for yourself.  Was he here because he was serious about his addiction, or was someone forcing him to come?  Some set number of days on his coin before he’d be free from his sentence and never be heard from again.

It didn’t matter, and it wasn’t any of your business.   

But that didn’t stop you from looking over at him a few times during your share, only to find him paying close attention.  His serious features unreadable. Enough to make you stumble on your words and lose your train of thought.  Everyone there knew your story already and could probably recite it for you.  It just helped to recount the good parts, along with the bad.

“Did you make these?” he asked afterward, a rumbling voice breaking through your thoughts as you sat in a folding chair sipping the last of your coffee. 

He held up a half-eaten salted caramel chocolate chip blondie.

“Yes, those are mine,” you answered with what you hoped was a polite smile.

“I thought I saw you bring them last time I was here.  Fucking delicious.”  He popped the rest of it into his mouth, catching the crumbs with his thick dark beard.  “But your hair’s different, isn’t it?” he added, once he’d swallowed his bite.

You reflexively raised a hand to your head, remembering with a laugh the events of your day.  You’d nearly forgotten the fiasco at work a few hours before.

“I work at a training salon.  I let the students experiment on it when there aren’t enough dolls.”  You didn’t have time to fix it before you had to pick up your kids from their afterschool program.

“It’s green.”

“Very green, yes.”  You found yourself smiling again.  Before that, it’d been black with purple tips.  “Who knows what color it will be next time.”  You stood and folded up your chair.

And tried not to read into it as he took it from you promptly and stacked it over with the others.

“Reason enough to come back and find out, then,” he called over his shoulder.

And you didn’t miss when he stopped to grab the last blondie on his way out.

[galeorderbride]

Hiii!!

I discovered your account recently, and I'm a fan! This strengthens my love for Gale even more! I have a request, is it possible to use the following prompts :

3)Touching foreheads

7) Kissing scars

11)Sharing secrets

41)Washing each other hairs

52)Crying into their shoulder

60) sitting in their lap

i will probably ask for others prompt later ahah!

thanks you so much 🖤

Thank you for the request!! I’m stoked to know I’ve helped strengthen your love for everyone’s favourite rizzard lol. And send as many prompts as you like!

Your prompt awaits:

Rated: M (Gale and Tav sharing a bath, non descriptive nudity).

Gale x F!tav

Words: 1652

...

Wash my Troubles Away

Baths were always the way Tav chose to unwind after a stressful day. Before the nautiloid, and after, although she’d been seriously lacking in access. In all honesty, she was surprised it took this long for her to break down. Months on the road, toiling through endless swaths of blood, shit and tears with the onus on them to solve everyone’s problems. At first, Tav enjoyed helping, seeing new friends suffer a little bit less in such a difficult society. Once they reached Rivington, however, her patience ran drier than a dead fountain. 

Thankfully, they found the Elfsong, where a private bathroom awaited. As soon as the fee was paid, Tav thought about taking a bath—craved it. A space to calm her muscles and cry out her troubles without drawing attention. 

Hot water flowed against her naked back, bubbling with lavender oil and sudsy soap, emanating the scent of vanilla and oat. Tav tucked her legs to her chest, curling into a ball of frustration and embarrassment as she couldn’t stop crying. Tav needed more resilience than this. Facing the end of the world required stalwart bravery, and she was having a meltdown over finding gold for a bank manager. How in the hells was she supposed to take down a giant brain? 

Meanwhile, everyone else had no problem being selfish. A toy maker set explosives in his own products, totally willing to kill children to save his own skin. Idiots tying up Volo just because he was talking about the things they wanted to ignore. Ironhand gnomes masking abusive bigotry with a shining cause. Tav was tired of everyone’s bullshit, making excuses for themselves, taking zero responsibility when she had no other option but to face problems head on. 

Her self pity was interrupted by a knock at the bathroom door. The sound of a lilted, erudite voice coming through the wood: 

“Mind if I come in, love?” 

Gale appeared in the doorway after Tav agreed he could enter. Holding fresh towels and a wicker basket of different bath products, looking brand new as if he’d just returned from an apothecary. Tav splashed water in her face to mask the puffiness of her eyes, as if her detail oriented wizard would ever let a thing like that get past him. 

“You seem like you could use some company. And so far, I’ve been very skilled and…calming you down, so to speak. I fetched some products from Bonecloak’s, all your favourite scents. Jasmine, pomegranate, aloe vera. If you’d prefer to be alone, know you won’t offend me. I just wanted to give you these so you know someone is thinking about you,” he said. 

Tav turned her head, grinning as best she could, easier because of his presence. Since their romance had begun, he was the only one virtually incapable of annoying her. He always knew what to say, always understood the right words or actions to keep her grounded. No one had been such a positive force in her life, and every morning, no matter how terrible, she thanked the stars for finding that unstable portal. 

“I’m not enviable company at the moment, but yours, would surely heal my weary heart,” Tav replied. 

Gale smiled, “No matter how you’re feeling, there is no one in the realms I’d rather spend my time with.” 

Times like this were when Tav didn’t believe she deserved his sweetness. Doting on her out of an adoration she couldn’t figure out. He placed the bottles on a tiny stool beside the tub, undressing so he could join her in a warm, sudsy water, snapping his fingers with a little magic to heat it back to ideal temperature. He made use of the large, circular space as he sunk in behind her, enveloping her in a comforting embrace as she rested her back onto his chest. Little hairs tickled her skin, causing her to chuckle for the first time all day. 

Careful movements of his fingertips massaging her scalp sent shivers down Tav’s spine. Scents of pomegranate and jasmine soothed her sinuses, letting the hot water pour down her head, through strands of clean hair. Tension from her muscles seemed to dissolve with each considerate touch, Gale’s hands created to caress her skin. When he finished, he wrapped his arms around her, rocking her back and forth as they both watched the window ahead. A clear night gifted them glimmering stars, a cool breeze whistling out of a crack in the insulation. Tav leaned back, resting her head in the crux of Gale’s shoulder as she closed her eyes. A few, stray tears fell from her eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden comfort of her magical lover lifting her through the ache of evening. 

Gale didn’t press her for reasons, didn’t rush to solve the problem when he noticed her tears. He just held her, waited in solidarity until she was ready, happy to let her sink into his life force to refresh her own. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally said with a tearful chuckle, “You must think I’m ridiculous. Crying for no reason like this.” 

“Well, my love, your mind may be telling you that there is no reason, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. With all our travels, all the weight on your shoulders, you have every reason to cry. You’re more resilient than you think, I’d have crumbled long ago,” he said. 

Tav looked up at him, in utter admiration for his thoughtfulness, his beauty, everything. If she could, she’d sing his praises for a thousand years, to make up for all the times Mystra never did. Or anyone else who didn’t care to see the magnificence of him. 

Her fingers traced up his collarbone, around the mark the orb left that paved a path to his wonderful neck. A forced tattoo sunk into the surface of his skin, binding him to his well intentioned folly. Their foreheads touched as Gale lowered his head, wishing desperately that he could hold every

 part of her at the same time. Mage hands and mirror images weren’t enough, it had to be him. 

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?” He asked, words hanging on between their breaths, lips hovering over each other but never quite meeting. 

“Hmm, you’ve already told me about Mystra. And that you haven't spoken to anyone in over a year until me. Oh, and that you get excited when you see me bloody after a fight. What else could there possibly be?” She asked, flirtatiously smiling at him with her eyelids batting just the way he liked. The smirk he made when he saw it was irresistible. 

Gale chuckled, “This one is far less serious, but might be what you need to hear in this moment.” 

They adjusted slightly, Gale sitting up as he pulled his arm out of the water. Just above his elbow was a superficial scar, raised tissue blending in with the rest of his skin. An uneven line travelling up his arm, about three inches long. Wherever he got it from, it had to be years ago. 

“People don’t notice this scar much anymore, not with the giant black circle on my chest. But people used to. I’d tell them it was from a kitchen knife,” he said, “But…really I accidentally set fire to my neighbour’s rose bushes when I was a child. I was trying to conjure, and the fire got away from me. Singed my arm in the process.” 

Tav turned, scooching further onto his lap as she examined his arm. She couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s your secret? Ruining a bush?” 

“Not just any bush. A rose bush. One of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. I’d pass by those roses every day, stare at them for a minute or two. Just to see something be so effortlessly perfect in its imperfection. They simply grew that way, and then I destroyed them. All I could do was cry, sob over how I tarnished something so innocent and pretty for my own sake. I don’t talk about it because…well, it’s silly, but it’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt. It’s stayed with me my entire life, and the burn scar only serves as a beacon for it,” he explained. 

“Even worse than what happened with Mystra?” She asked, grazing her fingertips across the uneven line of the scar. Eyes stuck to the mark as if it was the last thing she’d ever see. 

Gale hesitated, taking a heart wrenching pause. Tav noticed his eyes staring ahead, fixated on the window. A heavy, unsaid energy hung over him.  

“It was the catalyst. For everything. Had I not set fire to that bush, Elminster never would’ve found me. And then I’d never have attracted Mystra’s attention. A boring existence…but maybe a better one,” he said, voice trailing along the waves of his melancholic thoughts. 

Instead of responding, giving him a treatise on how he didn’t need to feel guilty anymore and burning a flower bush wasn’t a definer of his total character, she pressed her lips against the burn scar. Counting her kisses for every year of remorse he felt since setting that fire ball. Ever since their first night together, he slowly began to shed that overconfident veneer, more comfortable to show her the parts of him that hurt, the deep cuts that both of them wished they could bury. 

“Seems we both have a guilt problem,” Tav said. “Come here.” 

Tav moved to straddle his lap, taking the ceramic bowl and filling it with the warm, soapy water. Gale rested on her shoulder, as if on impulse, while she poured the liquid down the long strands of chestnut hair. Running her shampooed hands across his scalp, satisfied every time she heard his happy moans against the scratch of her nails. After rinsing, she kissed the top of his head. 

“Thank you for telling me a secret,” she said, “I’ll tell you one of mine tomorrow.”

[looptroupe]

HI GORGEOUS!!!!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TELL US ABOUT YOUR WIPS AND AUS IM REALLY INTERESTED 🙏🙏🙏

Foams at the mouth

I’m in the middle of writing up a whole HC post for someone asking about a highschool AU but I’m gonna take this opportunity to sidetrack the conversation towards something I’d love to genuinely see from the series… a HEAVY (film) noir lean. Think: Bogart, Framed, Gilda, Vertigo… probably pushing the era back 40’s, 50’s way (Maybe even some 30’s lean in there, if I could get away with it) instead of the general 60’s vibe Lupin has going for it.

I think there’s a TON of potential there. I mean, I’m aware something like this was pitched (and never picked up, sigh…) so there IS sentiment there, and the idea has been thought about, but instead of TWCFM’s ‘serious Lupin’ I’d love to see a true noir ‘serious Lupin’. I think you can put these characters into a serious setting without making them straight up evil, and I’ll be honest, I think it would be way more appealing than the stuff they’ve been releasing lately (besides Zero. I have to admit that I loved Zero).

I’d want the gang to actually feel like criminals, though. Cutting shady deals in illegal bars, Lupin running his mouth to big players about whatever new heist he has up his sleeve. I’d take them back to being Miyazaki-esque ‘living paycheck-to-paycheck’ rather than ‘insta-rich Lupin funding his hedonistic spirit’ because I think that would work better in this universe: Lupin is constantly getting them in hot shit with the big leagues because he can’t keep his mouth shut. Jigen has shot ten guys this week who have come knocking at their hideout’s door looking for trouble. Goemon’s sick of digging graves and is antsy to finally be who he dreams of being. Fujiko’s got her eyes on a bigger prize, like always.

Zenigata’s an underpaid beat-cop-turned-inspector who has been trying to climb the ranks for a long while. He’s ambitious, but a little too soft for his own good: he’s hopeful in a way that most of the guys in his squad aren’t, and that makes him the perfect candidate for when the commissioner has to shill a shitty 9-5 case on an unsuspecting worker. A file lands on his desk, and he flips through it with this eager fire, like he’s just been asked to take on the world, and Lupin and his gang smile up at him from the pages.

Lupin is a crook, he learns. Part-time petty thief, full-time smooth-talker: a man with a legacy to live up to and not a whole lot to show for it besides a reputation as a lady-killer and a particularly long unpaid tab at the seediest bar in town. His sticky fingers have landed him in more trouble than they’ve gotten him out of, and recent reports say that he’s managed to get under the skin of the most notorious once-criminal-now-film-director in town… the very criminal that underhandedly paid Zenigata’s boss to start an official investigation in the first place.

Jigen is a gun-for-hire. Babysitter, bodyguard, hitman… whatever you need, he’ll do, however begrudgingly. He’s not a guy you mess with: and his reputation is actually pretty good in criminal circles. He’s well-respected and well-liked. Or, he was, until the monkey-faced man at the bar implicated him in a crime he didn’t commit. Now, he’s babysitting without pay, and he’s starting to get a little sick of having to put bullets into the faces of old friends who decide his bounty is worth more than his loyalty. Figures.

Goemon’s a man slightly-less-out-of-time. A famous Japanese-American film star, he’s known world-over for starring in Samurai flicks alongside his leading lady, Fujiko Mine. The thing is, Goemon is classically trained in swordslinging, and when Lupin offers him an opportunity to be the very person he’s been portraying on screen, he’s more than happy to throw his reputation away. He never cared much for fame, anyway. There’s just this one little hitch: he’s enamoured with the sword he last used on set, and he won’t take no for an answer when he asks Lupin to retrieve it for him.

Fujiko has her eyes on a prize a little more exciting than Zantetsuken: the film empire she’s helped build herself. The tabloids can’t get enough of her, and she knows that a marriage to the most famous director the world has ever seen might just secure her a place in history. The thing is, the man she’s trying her best to seduce has stopped paying her attention since his beloved priceless-antique-turned-prop-sword went missing, and she’s determined to get it back for him. Because what would make him fall quicker? Ah, there’s just one catch: Lupin is kind of charming, and the life he’s living is… exciting. Tempting. Fujiko likes playing with fire, but she’s starting to get a little too close to this one particular flame. The heat has her cheeks burning… Or maybe that’s Goemon’s doing.

They’re a strange little bunch, the Lupin Gang. But man, do people have a habit of underestimating them. Zenigata included. Because what he thinks to be a simple case of theft soon turns into something more sinister as the layers of movie-magic veneer begin to peel away. Maybe Lupin was onto something, targeting this guy, and maybe this hotshot director isn’t quite as reformed as he says he is.

He went to court recently, after all. Say, how much did he pay the judge to overturn that guilty verdict? Zenigata would like that sum as a pay rise once this has all blown over. That, and some fresh smokes.

((Mmm someone should hop on board and help me develop this I think. Could be a fun little exercise on the side… if it’s up anyone’s alley >:) ))

[filth-burps-writing]

Belly Flu

A diligent young man who usually abbors ungentlemanly behaviour gets influenced towards some gross habits while home sick with the flu by his slobby friend Alex.

Sunday

Robert Albert Lightley could best be described as old fashioned. He wore a perfectly pressed shirt to his college classes everyday and his work uniform (a janitors overalls) were also perfectly ironed. He ate every meal at his dining table/desk in his dorm. He was slightly underweight but he took that as sign to simply up his red meat intake. He was a pinnacle of male excellence … if it was the 60s. Unfortunately it was 21st century and he was frequently told to relax. He paid them no mind. A gentleman never gets his feathers ruffled by other’s opinions of him. He merely puts his best foot forward.

He thought of just how happy his life made him as he settled into bed with a book. A classic of course. He had loved reading ever since he was child. He had also insisted at a young age on only reading older books. He had always found that the children’s books from nowadays relied too much on toilet humour. However, now he was struggling to read and had a rising headache the more he tried. He rubbed his temple to ill effects. He got out of bed, took a pain killer, took off his glasses and went to sleep.

Monday

As the morning came he felt … off. His breathing was shallow. His head felt far too full. He nose felt itchy and blocked.He was so very tired. He had a cold. He got out of bed and started running the hot water while thanking his luck he had his own bathroom. He breathe in the steam and tried blow his nose. No luck. He waited a minute and blew again. Still nothing. He decided to get dressed, eat his breakfast and try again later. He quickly found the Herculean affair. His arms were too heavy. His legs wouldn’t move as fast as usual. Every time he tried to lean he felt like he was going to fall forward. After a while he got dressed and texted his friend to let the professor know that he’ll be late.

As he placed his toast in the toaster his dorm mate walked in. Alex had a very different reason for moving into the one building of single dorms on campus. Alex was a certified slob. He was always wearing the same large black hoodie and pair of pyjamas that had gotten increasingly stained and tight over his beer belly. Robert lived right next to him so got to hear all of his digusting noises first hand. “Hey bro you look like shit” Alex said while heating up his ramen. Robert responded “ I appear to have the flu thank you for inquiring”. “Then why the fuck do you have your weird suit on. Are you really in going to class? It’s post-COVID genius” Alex said as Robert’s phone dinged. He read the message and it told him to stay home. When he looked for notes in his email he found an auto-send that said he risked expulsion by going to class or to the library . “I cant go to class but it’s still a day and I’m going to try to be as productive *cough* as possible.” Robert said as he placed his toast onto a plate then onto a tray and pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Dude you are sick. Very sick by the looks of things. You have the best excuse ever to loosen up for one day and relax!” Robert shot him a look and went to his dorm.

He nibbled on his dry toast while thinking about what to do that day. His rising discomfort aside he still had to be productive. He pushed his glasses back up for what felt like the billionth time before noticing his entire body was slick with sweat. His clothing was already soaked. He finished his toast before dabbing himself dl with a towel and taking another pain killer. Then brought his tray down to the kitchen and cleaned his dishes. The task took almost an hour and soaked him with water. Maybe for today he could wear something more comfortable. Or at least get changed out of his already unpleasantly wet clothes. He went back to his dorm and stripped off his clothes then looked around for something he might feel a bit better in. As he tried and failed to blow his nose the only thing he could think of was the vest and shorts he did his callisthenics in. But they were already dirty, sitting at the top of his laundry from a recent workout. It wouldn’t matter anyway he thought to himself. He would probably get whatever he wore sweaty anyway. He returned to returned to his daily activities slightly less distracted but still sick and struggling.

As 11am rolled around he was finding it hard to breathe. He went to over to the sink and tried to blow his nose using steam again. It didn’t work. He got an idea but it was so disgusting he dismissed it. But after four more tries it popped back into his brain. Just this once he said to himself. He started picking his nose. It felt like there was wall of dried snot in both his nostrils and if he could wriggle it free he be able to successfully blow his nose. He admittedly felt quite good as he pulled out a large booger in his left nostril. He immediately got to work on his right nostril and after thirty seconds of dedicated digging he unsheathed the critical booger. Feeling slightly gross but incredibly accomplished he blew his nose and to his glee the snot blocking his nose came out. He wasn’t completely clear but he could breathe and that was the important thing. As he blew one more time something gurgled in his gut and an almighty belch passed his lips. Usually he would’ve have stopped it but as he was busy blowing his nose he didn’t notice. It was loud. Very loud. He didn’t know where it had come from.

As he sat embarrassed and red, feeling sorry for himself a knock fell on his ears. It was probably his friend giving him his notes. He hoped he wouldn’t judge him for his shabby appearance. He answered the door but instead it was Alex. “That was incredible belch dude. I know you’re all polite and shit but game can’t help but recognise game ya’know? Hey you look comfy.” Alex grinned once he took in Robert’s sweaty gym clothes. “ I was blowing my nose and it flew out while my guard was down. Excuse me.” Robert got even more embarrassed. “Hey don’t be worried bud I’m impressed! Wait.. did you pick your nose?” Alex looked like he had won the lottery. Robert felt like he wanted to cross the gates of tartarus. “Yes I did. I couldn’t blow my nose and I wanted to get it clear so I could study. Can you leave now?” “ Felt so relieving though right? And really fun to get your finger up there?” Alex sat down on Robert’s desk chair. “ well yes. It was a one time thing I’m never -“ Robert was cut off by a tell tale gurgle in his gut. He rushed to the bathroom before another mammoth belch flew out of his mouth and even forced his lips open. He then slinked out, the colour of a tomato. “Holy shit dude that was awesome. No need to try to modest dude the whole building could hear that! And you need to clear out your guts as well as your nose. Don’t be scared bud.” Alex was excited at first but tapered off into something more gentle. “Really?” said Robert. “Yeah. Clearly there’s something up in there. Enjoy it! In fact I’ll be back.” Alex ran out the room as Robert sat on the edge of the bed.

Alex returned with a two litre bottle of ginger ale and a plastic cup. He sat noticeably close then poured Robert a cup. “ Ginger ale is a famous sick person drink. That combined with relaxing your gut will make you feel way better I promise. *BBUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRPP* see I feel great!” Alex put one arm around Robert and put his other hand on his belly. Robert’s belly immediately felt better as Alex’s warm greasy hand started to rub gentle circles on his distended gut.Robert let out a rumbling fart. “Haha nice one. That’s it. I know you’re embarrassed but just let it all out.” Alex’s gentle even tone lulled Robert as a he took a few sips of the ginger ale then let out a short loud burp. He felt a strange warmth in his chest and couldn’t help but chuckle. Alex may be a horrid, disgusting person but he was … kind. Robert closed his eyes and relaxed his posture as Alex rubbed the gas out of his belly. “Don’t you feel better?” Alex said. “Hmm yes. But now I’m tired.” Robert eyes were heavy and he kind of wanted to lie down. “ You should rest then bro. I’m glad I could help.” Robert lay down as Alex tucked him in. “ why are you doing this?” Robert said. “ I love watching people act gross. Taking care of people when they’re sick is actually fun for me”. Robert would’ve usually sneered but he was grateful for the company so he just turned on his side and fell asleep.

When Robert woke up it was dark and his nose was full again. He thought about what happened with Alex earlier. So gross. So ungentlemanly. So … fun. So relieving. So loving. He felt the warmth in his chest again. As he felt his nose he sat up and looked at his already sweaty clothes. He picked his nose and picked out a particularly large booger then blew his nose into his t-shirt. It felt incredible. His nose was clear. He was happy. He felt a strange giddiness. Being gross is fun. He was missing out. No no. Being a gentleman was his duty! He turned and went back to sleep. He was allowed leeway for being ill perhaps.

[poisoned-pearls]

Enzi Bucchi Lore drops (aka random facts)

She grew up with a LOT of Faraja’s hand-me-downs. Ruggie may be in a better financial position now but he is NOT passing up free shit.

the hand-me-downs only stopped once Enzi got to 5’1 and stayed there, while Faraja went on to be around 6ft. She still will ruffle through any old stuff Faraja wants to get rid of tho.

she is actually very highly ranked in her own town! Bc hyenas pass title/social ranking down to their youngest, she got the title of metaphorical Queen from grandma Bucchi (who will never die to me I’m sorry her and Epel’s grandma get immortality). She plays a LOT into hyena body language, and tries to establish herself as a worthy leader as soon as possible. Does this mean she can be a bit aggressive and unhinged at times? Yes- but it’s most often just to make sure no one tries to take her title. Show no normal signs of aggression and she backs off pretty quickly

speaking of which, oh my god she was kinda a little shit in the time period RIGHT before she got her title but when she knew she was gonna get it. I just can’t wait to be king energy. Terror to the town. Ruggie would yank her up by the back of her shirt a lot during this era

her prosthetics are entirely paid for by the royal family. Leona got ruggie a meeting time so he could go rant their ears off abt how THEY should pay for her legs bc it’s THEIR orphanage THEY endorsed and run (one of many but still) that neglected her so much that she got an infected bite by a wild dog. He got what he wanted though! (And someone in the financial department definitely groaned when enzi got into athletics, bc now they have to pay for a running leg too)

SPEAKING OF SPORTS! She plays soccer!!! That’s not even apart of her school it was just a HUGE thing with all of the neighborhood kids and a large part of their town and she’d play constantly. Still does!

also she can kick like hell. Her non amputated leg is jacked as shit to compensate when she just, exists without her leg on. When she gets a good kick in she can LAUNCH a ball. Football teams would love her (<- has never played football)

she goes to school in the city! Takes a subway in the morning. The savanna has had a lot more development in rural areas so she uses it to go to the closest magic school

she found out she could use magic one day when she was 12 bc she was too lazy to get up and put on her leg. She just groaned, did a little hand grab (it’s halfway across her room) and the thing SHOT out at her and right into her grasp. She screamed dad so loudly ruggie full on thought she’d woken up without her ears.

anyways the reason she’s not at nrc is actually bc she found out abt her magic so late. Ruggie couldn’t transfer her into any magic school until she was 15, and couldn’t send her to nrc with literally like, basically no training. He did what he could before she was 15 but still, needed legit classes.

speaking of- she’s actually very quick at learning magical things. Does it mean she’s always super good? No, but she rarely ever actually fucks up smth. If she needs a fireball she’s gonna have a fireball! It may be only the size of a ping pong ball but hey! The kid over there had 17 different things fly out of their wand, so that’s a win for her!

she does eventually transfer to nrc tho! Is it for her gf?…….. no comment

no but actually it’s only like 60% for her gf she also got a frantic call from Faraja being like “Enz I don’t trust any of these idiots.” (Faraja did not have a Dan(tm) in her dorm)

Anywaysss thank you @snowwhite0430 for the idea/prompttt

[compacflt]

you're a legend for referencing lauren berlant and michael warner in relation to your top gun fic and I'd like to think that they would say the same!! the stories that you've created are beautiful explorations of some of the biggest questions posed in queer theory: who are we in public? who are we in private? where is the line that separates the two (spoiler: there is no way to actually separate the two, no binary) and what are the structural forces bearing down upon all of that bullshit! I for one would love to see your questions about privacy and respectability explored with rooster and ice and mav. especially considering the generational cliff between them, with the aids crisis in the background of rooster's childhood when they were all the closest, in your world. anyway! you are an incredible writer and it's been a privilege to read you work :)

thank you so much for this ask!! yes i have spent so much time thinking about this. In March i started working on a new-yorker-style interview that tried to address a bunch of these questions. Since I didn’t do wip wednesday yesterday (sorry) here’s some relevant sections of that wip related to your ask. I don’t think it’s spoilers since I’m not sure id ever post this anywhere—you can see for yourself how entertaining the writing is and it’s overly political and didactic. Just a lame hegelian dialectic where im interrogating my own characters (at least, my own interpretations of them) on their politics. And I’m not an expert on any of this stuff (currently on the slow uphill climb out of the valley of the dunning-kruger graph—trying to learn). Nor am I fact-checking it & that feels irresponsible to post For Real. so just take this post as a fun (for me) exploration of what i (20y.o., ignorant, no editorial oversight, smooth-brained) think Might be some political implications of my fics, trying to write from a lib-moderate pov (tough!)

talking points I wanted to address:

The politics of ice’s career, both internationally & domestically (some wild navy scandals happened under his “tenure” [fat Leonard most pressingly—would LOVE to know how actual TGM’s ice & mav felt about that bc it was SO FUCKING CRAZY, navy officers & admirals having wild sex parties paid for by a singapore defense contractor (the details are so fucking crazy i can’t even say them here—one anecdote involves 7th fleet officers using WWII/Korean war general macarthurs historical memorabilia during sex acts—go read about it) a couple PACFLT RDMLs were charged with actual crimes, 60 admirals (of the navys total 160 admirals) were under investigation & both my and TGM’s ice & cyclone would probably have been two of them, basically if you were a pacflt officer in the mid-2000s-2010s you were under investigation it was so fucking wild]) —and another geopolitical look at the implications of both top gun movies (reagan weighs in from beyond the grave)

Ice and mav who can’t win—they want their relationship to Not Be A Big Deal. leave us alone. We’re Normal. we’re not Weird or anything. —but can’t understand WHY their relationship is so sensational/political—yes, boys, it is a big deal, sorry!! mavericks probably the last Ace the world will ever see & ice is the secretary of the navy and they’re married, fuck yes that’s newsworthy!!!

my version of Ice acceding to SECNAV at the intersection of a couple crucial contextual moments for the navy/military as a whole: 1. Recruitment is currently fucked. This interview takes place in 2020/early 2021, and things were bad then, but the numbers just came out for the Navy this year, and hoooooly shit they are so bad. And blame is falling along partisan lines like always: Ds blame low recruitment numbers on lack of benefits etc, Rs literally i am not shitting you are mostly blaming low recruitment numbers on the military going Woke. The USN has long been seen as the most obnoxiously woke/gay (derogatory) service to conservatives & there’s a lot of political baggage that comes with having a SECNAV who, while not openly identifying as gay, is openly married to another man. especially with a recruiting crisis like this one. 2. Withdrawal from afghanistan obviously. kind of a shit way for ice to end his career ngl. It Did Not Go Super Well. 3. rising tensions in eastern europe pre RU-UA invasion in 2022, what that means for the MIC and procurement, etc. 4. The joint chiefs openly declaring they (& by extension the military as a whole) would not support trump’s coup attempt post-J6—the end of that extremely politically polarized presidency—what does it mean for the following Dem president to then have a gay secnav after that? It’s HUGE. SO no matter what, Ice as SECNAV is going to go down in history. He just wants it to be for his actions, not the fact that he’s gay.

Icemav’s relationship with their identities. We really really don’t want to be known for being gay. “Ask me what my proudest achievement is, I’ll tell you without a second of hesitation—my family. Without a doubt. But does any military man really want to be best-known for his marriage?” We want to be known for being the BEST at our jobs, which we are. We’ve earned that title! There’s so much more interesting stuff about us than who we got married to.

AND how that is a liberal-moderate-conservative median-50% meritocratic WET DREAM of an ideology. an interview like this one is a straight fluff piece pre-ice’s confirmation to secnav—it lets him prove to the moderate liberals that he’s left-leaning enough to protect social justice interests in the USN, AND prove to conservatives that he’s right-leaning enough to not let identity politics/“woke bs” get in the way of the navy’s mission of providing a lethal maritime fighting force. the merits of this ideology are up for debate.

maybe helping the conservative viewpoint of that ideology: The fact that the Kazansky-Mitchell-Bradshaw-seresin family is so not-stereotypically gay. Like, look at these four guys. 9-to-11 combat kills between them (11 in my universe where ice gets an extra 2, 9 canon confirmed) in a period of history/modern warfare when ANY air-to-air kill is/was massively historically significant. Extremely macho & tough. They present themselves about as traditionally and toxically masculine as you could possibly get. Theyve KILLED PEOPLE. They’re not “soft” by any stretch of the imagination. Physically & emotionally they ARE extremely conservative, and there’s something to be said about the politics of that too—molding yourself into the shape of what you think a man should look like, just to avoid persecution, and then performing masculinity BETTER than even the men who would want to persecute you…!

Related to your ask: the modern/young ppl inclination to make sexuality SO political and public. When asked how he could reckon with joining a DADT-ruled navy, rooster answers: “hope I could do something to destroy it before it could destroy me.” When asked why he DIDNT use any of his considerable power to influence the repeal of DADT, ice answers: “it was better than the blanket ban that came before it. And maybe I’ve always wanted neither to tell nor to be asked.” the conservative respectable opinion that your intimate relationships ought to be PRIVATE, doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight—just do your job, and preferably do it well. yeah, don’t ask and don’t tell. It’s not anyone’s business. ice doesn’t have a philosophical problem with DADT, because he agrees sexuality should be private & secret. —is it anyone’s business? whose business is it? How much of your personal life do you owe the public if you’re a public-facing individual like the COMPACFLT or SECNAV? all good questions!!!!

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I'm So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 13B: She's My Addiction

Soundtrack: “She’s My Addiction,” Fozzy, 2012 [click here to listen]

“Thanks again for doing this, man. That was a killer set.”

Jamie popped open a Coke bottle, took a long swig, and set it back on the card table that a roadie had hastily set up. “Colum said you’re a fan. Is that true?”

Geordie Ash had been nothing but professional since Colum brought him backstage as soon as the gig finished. Jamie had introduced him to the other 2 members of Print – Ian Murray (bass, Jamie’s childhood friend and brother-in-law) and Angus Mhor (drums) – and Claire, of course. Then Ian had walked away to call his wife (and Jamie’s sister) Jenny and talk to the kids before they went to bed, and Angus had drifted away with the two giggling groupies who had diligently followed the band on every stop of this acoustic tour (nice girls who had absolutely nothing going on in their heads).

And Colum had led Jamie, Claire, and Geordie to Jamie’s dressing room. On the short walk there, Jamie’s guitar tech pressed the now-customary post-show apple and bottle of Coke (the drink, not the drug) into his hands, and Claire whispered a short, private message to Geordie – a stranger who could reward or ruin their lives.

“I’m definitely a fan.” Geordie settled in his (uncomfortable) seat, drumming his fingers on the table. No notebook, pen, or recording device – as Colum had promised. “Went to a couple shows on your tour in ’86, too. You’ve got a sound like nobody else. I won’t lie, when people found out you were in rehab there was real concern that that was the end of the band. Clearly that’s wrong.”

Jamie took a bite from his apple, and wiped the last sweat from his forehead with the towel that always waited for him backstage. “Colum says you two go way back.”

Geordie smiled. “I cut my teeth as a reporter for Creem in the late 60s and early 70s. Got paid next to nothing to travel around the country, writing about the bands I idolized. I remember Colum as this crazy little shit who was a foot shorter than Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, but he could haul wires and amps better than anybody else on that crew.” He paused, sipping a cup of coffee. “But he got me time with those guys on the Starship. And at the Riot House. Robert Plant proclaiming to the world that he was a golden god? That was me. So Colum really helped me get to the next level. Even though he stole the girl I’d had my eye on all summer.”

There were parallels that Geordie could draw to Jamie – but neither man said anything.

“Anyway, the new stuff is really, really good. Have you played it electric yet?”

Jamie paused. “No, not yet. The guys and I, we hadn’t even been in the same room together until six weeks ago. I played for them all the stuff I’d written in rehab, the way I’d written it. On the acoustic guitar. And that inspired Ian to write a few songs of his own, and all of a sudden we’ve got an album’s worth of material. And we’d just taken on Colum as our manager, so I said, let’s do it. Let’s get back on the road.”

“Would you consider doing an all-acoustic record for your next album? That could be really interesting.”

Jamie spun the bottle cap on the table. “It’s a good question. To be honest, I hadn’t considered it. It’s certainly a slower pace, this acoustic thing. But I miss my Strat. I miss Ian’s Rickenbacker bass. And Angus is being a really good sport with the acoustic stuff, but he’s just dying to hit the shit out of his drums.”

Claire still knew next to nothing about the music industry – or the lives of professional musicians. Aside from the past few weeks, she’d never seen Jamie at work, either. But she could tell when he was really engaged in conversation with someone. And this Geordie guy seemed to be the real deal.

“I get that. Do you miss playing the older stuff on this tour?”

“Yeah. But I really needed the time away from all those songs. It reminds me of…some not so good times. Getting sober was hard, and staying sober is so much fucking harder. This acoustic tour has been a good way to ease back into everything before it all starts again.”

“When you play the songs you wrote in rehab, do you think about being in that place?”

Jamie looked over Geordie’s shoulder, at Claire perched in her chair.

“Sometimes. Mostly I think about where my head and heart were at. Not just in getting clean, and learning new habits. But also about Claire, and how fucking terrifying it was to be falling for her. I told her that I’m the last thing she needed in her life. I still feel that way.”

“What does it mean to have her with you on this tour?”

“Everything.”

Claire’s eyes shone.

“It means fucking everything to me.” Jamie looked straight at Geordie. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her. She’s the reason I wake up, and try my best to live a good life. She chooses to be here. I appreciate her, and I sure as hell don’t take it for granted that she’s here.”

Geordie unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket and set it on the table. “Like I said, I’ve been a fan of yours for years. I’ve been to two other shows on this tour. And I’ve written down the chorus and bridge from ‘She’s My Addiction’ because I’ve been wanting to ask you about it. May I?”

Jamie nodded, clearly surprised.

Geordie began to read:

She’s my addiction // No rehab can break this chain She's my addiction // Her poison shoots right through my vein She's my addiction // A one way ticket back again She's my addiction // This damn woman's drivin' me insane

“It’s catchy as fuck, Jamie. I guarantee it’ll be a big hit. But you know that everybody – and I mean everybody – is gonna ask you more questionsabout who this woman is, than they’ll ever ask you about all the sordid details on the kinds of drugs you went to rehab for. You get me?”

Jamie nodded. “I get it. Claire and I have talked about it. We’re ready for it. Besides, everything I wrote is true. She is my addiction now. Being with her is better than any drug I ever took, better than any alcohol I ever drank. And you know what the best part is, man? I want it. And she wants me. Fucking magical.”

Geordie nonchalantly re-folded the paper and slipped it back into his pocket. “Are you saying that it’s a long-term thing between you two?”

“Forever, if she’ll have me.”

Claire snorted audibly.

“Would you believe it if I told you she didn’t know who I was, when we met at The Ridge? Do you know how awesome that is?”

Geordie smiled. “It’s not that much of a surprise. But after you record this new stuff, and it hits the radio – I guarantee that there will be even fewer people in the world who don’t know your face and voice. Or your story.”

Jamie took one last bite from his apple. “That’s OK. I want to enjoy every damn minute of it. I look forward to it. It’ll be a hell of a ride, but I won’t be alone this time.”

[auckie]

I’ve only ever bought a comm twice and the first time I hated the result but it was only ten bucks so who cares but the second time they just didn’t. Do it and didn’t refund me. Or dm me back. And that one was like 30, so again. Not that bad. But so many comm artists I know are always like ‘dude I’m so behind I’m so nervous my clients keep dming me’ and on one hand I get it bc I take forever to do anything but on the other hand maybe that means you took too many or gave them an unrealistic timeline. Sorry but it’s true. And that’s why unless an artist is huge and reputable I’m hesitant to get one, or unless I know the person well and either trust they’ll get it done at some point. Any point. Refund me. Or I like them enough to be like well you probably need that 60-90 more than me so we’ll let bygones be bygones huh? But then. But then you see them draw someone a free gift. And yknow. It’s like when someone’s ignoring you and you see them active elsewhere. Hey I get it we’ve all been there. It happens and I can roll with it. But just as when like a week passed and you still get peanuts. How can you not take that personally? (*saying this as someone who does this and doesn’t mean offense but recognizes how rude it is and will just be like shit I guess I can’t keep up with 300 acquaintances or old friends who live six hours away). So when it’s like, 5 personal pieces, two freebies for friends, and 0 comms. It’s a little insulting. I think you get to an age where you realize running around like a chicken with its head cut off isn’t cute anymore and as you try to get your shit together and stop the cycle of ‘guys! I’m okay!’ And everything is clean and organized and you’ve answered all your dms, paid all your bills, gone grocery shopping and done laundry and meal prepped for work. Then one thing goes wrong and it all goes to shit and you spend three weeks slowly trying to rebuild the house of cards. Then you’re back to ‘guys! I’m okay!’ Rinse and repeat. So seeing others still in it. It’s…relatable, but when money or time is on the line it’s a little annoying. I guess at least it’s not some sort of formal, corporate contract ofc. You try to be empathetic. Maybe they’re busy, or deal with chronic pain. Maybe something stressful just happened like an illness or death in the family, a breakup, job loss. Tons of shit could be happening. But if it’s a recurrent trend? Maybe. Don’t sell commissions. Or just limit yourself to three, I see a lot of artists do that. It’s smart and manageable. You can get in line to be emailed when they open comms again. Charge like, nothing. So it won’t matter as much if you have to refund. Don’t spend the money you get before hand till it’s done too. Take tips from the freaks who pump out tens of comms a month. What sortve scary tricks do they use? Is it viable? Are there shortcuts you can take, like those stupid ps yt tutorials? I dunno man I couldn’t imagine doing writing commissions. So I don’t. As much as I enjoy writing fuck that noise! Too busy and messy with my own life let alone tasks that don’t have set deadlines and scary employers standing over my shoulder. Bc I know my weaknesses and they are many, and I don���t like screwing people over lol— even if it’s only ten bucks.

[jackie-and-gecko]

Slightly more serious post than usual:

Please keep your local library staff dear to your hearts because boy howdy, they put up with so much strange shit every day. Inner city libraries are particularly crazy, violence is not uncommon, and abuse is ridiculously regular.

I had lots of antisocial behaviour at my library today (UK based), mostly by white teenage boys, I also got assaulted (minor assault but still). We’re a pretty big main city library, we can’t afford security, and we’re often short staffed.

Only ONE library member stood up for us. Out of about 60 people on the top floor where the problems were, an aging, white, academic man was the only person to assist in calling out the behaviour taking place. Nobody in the shopping centre outside said anything when the trouble moved out the doors. Nobody going in or out of the library said anything as my colleague, myself, and the one shopping centre security guard got numerous, horrible curse words and homophobic slurs thrown at us. Nobody said anything when one of the nasty little boys laid hands on me. And nobody checked on me afterwards, except for that one library member and the other staff/security guy.

Guys, you live in a community, I really can’t stress this enough. Your library is YOURS. It’s your privilege, it’s your right to information, and it’s YOUR responsibility to help take care of it. That includes the staff and your fellow library goers. I’m sure most folk would leap to the defence of a librarian or retail worker who was being harassed, but today I got absolutely zip from a huge number of potential allies.

Public libraries are moving stories, grand stage plays, with different players and parts every single day. They succeed or fail depending on how well the fluid players work with the permanent actors (library staff), but more importantly how well they work with each other. We are all responsible for safety and kindness in our communities. Sure, I choose to be paid minimum wage and go to my job. I choose to work in an environment with volatile, vulnerable people every day. I choose, despite having many qualifications that would net me higher paying private jobs, to be a public servant. But I don’t deserve or choose to be treated like garbage, and I really expect better from my fellow humans.

Nobody will see this but I need to vent and there’s a library tag so 🙃

[echonvoid]

My version of the Poppy Playtime protagonist. They’re based on Aliens Ripley but if older. They couldn’t remember a whole bunch from the week or so around the Hour of Joy; they were attacked by Huggy and managed to make it right outside the front doors with the help of one of the other employees, who, valiantly (read *stupidly*) ran back inside to try to help. He never came back out. Anyway, Protag was found by paramedics, but the inside was empty of bodies by the time they got there. There was a shit load of blood, and after a brief scan by the cops, they just shut that shit down. They lost a couple cops and paramedics, but mostly used their instincts and ran. Like smart people who survive a horror movie.

So the protagonist ends up in a couple month long coma and comes out of it with a severed nerve that connects to their larynx. Now they haven’t been able to properly talk for 30 years (ignore my math, I’m still unsure how I fucked it up so bad)

I can’t decide if they’re late 50s or 60s. They’re farsighted, but their reading glasses have broke, so it’s really hard to see all the small faded text (which is why you can’t just read any ole file while playing)

They feel guilty bc they had been so proud to be a part of something with so much benefit and joy to kids, and now they’re finding out the actual *EVIL* that was happening to those with connection to the place. They feel guilty bc they feel like they should’ve known; *how could they have let this all happen right underneath their very nose*;etc. etc. they also have a burning hatred for the other managerial heads in the company (they themselves being head of toy production; their name is destroyed bc the prototype was enraged that one of the five main evils of the company got away or some shit like that)

It took them a while to figure out how to live and function without speech; and after a few years of slogging through a comphet (compulsory heteronormative) marriage, they finally went through a nasty divorce. Shortly after they figured out their own gender identity (or at least started the awkward process of) and their own sexuality.

Thirty years later (almost on the dot) they got the message and tape that cried for help from the factory and nearly shit themselves. Proto definitely assumed that the company had just shut down, cuz you know that the cops were paid to keep a building with almost 500 (or so) employees, that went missing and were presumably dead, under wraps from the public. They’re definitely super grateful they’ve been doing tumbling and martial arts classes, so they have been in incredible shape and can do all the crazy shit required to stay alive.

Edit: this is what I’m gonna call the Survivor AU cuz I realize that the game takes place in 2005 and not, like, 2025. And we apparently played hooky during the “hour of joy” in canon lore. Oh well

God this chapter fucked me up, in a good way. It was spooky as fuck, tense and terrifying; they’ve super upped the quality. But now I have just enough brain rot and characters to attach to to actually go through and draw up the design that’s been banging around in my head for ever.

[icyhotheartwritings]

Tl;dr of the unasked for Pat Parelli rant

-Pat Parelli is a con artist who beat his wife and scams people out of their money using extremely clever language

-Don’t even get me started on Parelli’s use of “horsenality” which assigns the stupid left-brain right-brain thing to horses. Along with introvert/extrovert but that’s semi-excusable. But, seriously… he’s advertising these horses as left-brain extroverts and right-brain introverts. Which, as I’ll touch on later, appeals to one market which makes the whole thing feel a bit suspicious.

-Liberty work IS an extremely valid way of working with horses, I partake in some level myself, but Parelli touts his methods as the only valid way while charging hundreds of dollars to “move up” levels in his program (where you aren’t even “allowed” to ride until level 3).

-Parelli’s website will sell you the same shit you can get at Tractor Supply or your local feed store for double the price, sometimes more.

-The most egregious item might be the Pat Parelli’s Rancher Roper, priced at $6,250. You can get a custom saddle fitted to your horse for less. My most high end saddle cost a staggering $600.

-Don’t have a horse? Don’t worry, Pat Parelli has your back! For the low low price of $5000-$150,000 (NOT a typo), you can get your very own Parelli trained horse! Purchases less than $25,000 even get levels 1-3 of the online program for free! Wow! Purchases above the price of a small down payment can claim 10 whole days of training with Pat Parelli himself! Just think, what else would you have spent that money on? I mean, a normal trainer costs about $3k/mo, what a deal Pat Parelli is giving you! For the cost of 8-50 months of training you get ten whole days with him and a horse!

-The most expensive horse at the moment, a 12 year old German Warmblood priced at $150k, only scores an 84/100 on the Parelli assessment… with a 6/10 on “Parelli Training.” It might just be me, but if I was buying a horse for more than some homes cost I would want that number to be a little higher in the training department than the 9.5/10 he got in “Look.” I’ve seen him sell an 11 year old gelding for $300k whose top characteristic was “very handsome.” Over half of this year’s highly bred Kentucky Derby horses cost less than that.

-For a quick horse price reference I have never paid $1k for a horse and my current budget is a bit over $5k. For $5k I had the opportunity to buy a dead broke papered quarter horse gelding under 10 years old. I would be hard pressed to pay $5k for a horse over maybe 13 years old unless it had like, insane breeding and/or training. Pat Parelli is selling a 16 year old mare for $15k.

-If you need more Pat Parelli in your life, you can join his campus program for 24-48 weeks for just $1000/week, where you’ll perform exciting horse training activities like building fences, a skill specifically mentioned in the application! Of course, you can only apply for this course after you’ve paid your hundreds to thousands for mere access to the online courses and additional materials and your $60 fee for each video application to move up a level! What a bargain!

-For his next in person event, you can lease a horse for the bargain price of $600/week on top of the $6500-10000 tuition for the two week program!

-Parelli’s program very clearly appeals to new, young, inexperienced horse owners. On the application to join his $1000/week program it’s asked how many hours you have spent riding a horse across your life. I’ve owned my own horse since I was 5 and started taking lessons at 4. My horse riding experience is old enough to join the US military. No way in hell would I be able to even BEGIN to calculate the amount of time I’ve spent riding. (I’m sure there’s something to say about the fact that this mostly appeals to women, and the former comments about how he treats his wife…)

-Pat Parelli’s cult feeds off of some weird form of elitism. Everyone who follows another method is wrong and abusive. Only members of Parelli’s program are good horse owners, and the more people you can convert to his methods (and website) the more good you do for horses. You’d never see a fan of Monty Roberts saying that.

-For context on training prices I’m taking an hour lesson with a trainer on my buddy’s horse to see if I mesh with the trainer for $70. Highest I’ve personally seen was under $200 a lesson and she’s a HUGE name in a specific breed. Dominates the show scene. Everyone knows her. Even the aforementioned Monty Roberts, one of THE big horse training names for DECADES only charges $300/hr for a 1-on-1 video call. Sending your horse off for training with 1-3 lessons a week usually runs $3k/mo.

-Pat Parelli isn’t fit to kiss my fucking ass.

[piratekane]

How do you stop yourself from burnout working in education? I’ve only been qualified for 3 years but i am so burned out already. I love teaching and i love the kids, and i feel so guilty for being tired. But i have been working 60 hour weeks, only being paid for 36 of them, constantly trying to deal with aprents and please the school, being expected to volunteer for sports clubs and activities for 2-3 hours a few times a week, weekend clubs, constant grading. It’s not the kid’s fault, it’s the system. I’m spending upwards of $300 on school supplies regularly because the school won’t, i have a 1h commute. Our school refuses to hire subs where possible so not only do i have my own kids and subjects to worry about i have someone else’s. The system is broken and i am broken by it. Is there a way to stop feeling this way?

Teacher burnout is for real. Teachers are underpaid, underfunded, and overworked and frankly, it's an epidemic. You should not feel guilty for being tired because what you're doing is exhausting work. It is a broken system and sadly, it doesn't look like much is going to change quick enough. And it's a loss. Because there are tons of teachers like you, who I'm sure are insanely talented, insanely devoted to furthering young minds, and you're being trapped behind bureaucratic lines that expect everything from you but give you nothing in return. (And don't get me started on the parents. There should be a course in 'How Not To Be An Asshole' that's mandatory.) It's okay to admit that a kid's love and admiration and growth isn't enough to keep you going some days. It's certainly not enough to keep on your lights or put gas in your car. Without you, children grow less. Without you, minds shrink. And yet... The system actively works against you, throwing roadblock after roadblock. And that? It fucking sucks.

I don't know you personally, but I'm going to assume that you care about your kids and you care about your work and if no one has said thank you today, thank you. Thank you for making and keeping those kids your priority. Thank you for putting so much of yourself into your work - no one just spends their personal money because they don't care. No one drives an hour each way because they don't give a shit. No one asks these kinds of questions because it doesn't mean a thing to them. So thank you. Thank you for all you've done and thank you for all you continue to do. You're someone's favorite teacher. You're probably more than just one kid's favorite teacher. You matter. Your district can suck it.

I wish I had some practical advice. I wish I could say "do yoga, go for a walk, go out with friends" and that would work. But the most I've got for you is this: take care of yourself. And maybe, sort of, I am saying do yoga. Because what you need to do is set time for yourself. What's that post about hope being a skill? Self-care is a skill. And you need to practice it daily. Read for yourself, even if it's just for 15 minutes. Pick up gardening or get some plants. (Plants helped me through that first long lock down period, I swear it on my life). We have a teacher at our school who was struggling hard and she saw that and said, I need to do something for me. She tackled our garden area and she's insistent it saved her life. It certainly saved her career - she was going to burn out quick and hot. But she put time into something that she could see and it totally changed her perspective. Pick a self-care practice where you can see progress, something tangible. Because it's nice to think, "I'm doing so well at self-care" and it's another to see the change. I personally find that more rewarding than the abstract. So pick something. Pick more than one thing. And in between the school day and the grading and eating (please, eat regularly and make sure there's some veggies in there), set aside some time to do something just for you. Watch yourself progress and know that if you were getting a grade in self-care, it'd be top marks. (But don't push it. Don't turn it into another thing you stress about. Pick something that feels good, that makes you want to get through A, B, and C so you can get to you-time.)

My other advice is to adopt a cat. That's always a game changer.

[oreganocactus]

gintama if they were squid games

i love squid game and i love gintama hence this post.

gintoki - inkling with some kind of roller. you’d think he uses the splatana but that’s dead wrong he’s one of those dudes who vaguely flings into your direction then you’re dead because the splash damage is fucking insane OR he just rolls over you without noticing. i’m thinking the dynamo roller bc dynamos don’t do shit but when they do its real fucking scary

kagura - take a guess. (octoling + splat brella b/c undercover brella sucks ass rn and they wont fix it)

shinpachi - inkling splattershot. don’t lie to me of course he’d play that. he tries to “change it up a little” from splattershot jr but he just plays splattershot instead. he’s not that good but he at least tries to lay down cover fire so you appreciate him

katsura - inkling splatana. you KNOW he doesn’t play about run speed up he’s running like 10 subs of run speed up and like 4 of quick respawn up. one of those dudes who rushes into main every single time and consistently gets his ass beat OR spends 30 minutes inking spawn

takasugi - inkling pussy who plays inkbrush and whines whenever someone doesn’t die in like 2 hits because they know the basics of how to counter. he sucks as an inkbrush and honestly should be just playing like a blaster but he refuses to switch

sakamoto - you KNOW it’s gotta be dualies. dualie squelcher octoling that never dies but also only gets 3 kills so who’s really winning here? you gotta love him still because he keeps that one sniper so distracted they can’t shoot you

kondo - octoling heavy splatling who is absolutely insane on the rare occasion his shots connect. you kinda wish he wasn’t there but he’s great on salmon run

hijikata - (controversial) sploosh-o-matic. + octoling. absolutely amazing player but he dies every 3 seconds bc he rushes out into mid and dies instantly

sougo - are you kidding me. explosher inkling. he’s one of those exploshers that truly make you wonder why the fuck you paid 60 dollars for the game + 20 dollars for nintendo online

kamui - clash blaster octoling that spawncamps like his life depends on it. makes you quit turf war so you go play anarchy and he’s sweating in tower control. everywhere you turn BAM another clash blaster

mutsu - jet squelcher octoling. she’s always got your fucking back always camped out somewhere and ends up with like 14 kills and you never see her ever

tsukuyo - bamboozler inkling. makes you want to blow yourself up because she’s really really good with it. absolutely makes use of crazy amounts of run speed up to hit-and-run

kyuubei - octobrush inkling (notice the transgenderism) who isn’t that good at covering turf but splats like their life depends on it

otae - flingza roller inkling who goes after everyone in sight and will never let any shooter rest as long as she is alive

[alradeck]

Whole comic so far found here: https://caelumsky.thecomicseries.com/

So I'm going to start assembling a Caelum Sky Narrated Series on my youtube channel here: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCiSg4laObGuDFeg3orfKvVw This is something I've wanted to do for a while, and folks seem to like them, so it's time to heap more onto the plate, haha. THIS POSITION IS PAID: I'm a firm believer in paying folks for their time. Also bearing in mind this is entirely funded on my own, so be reasonable. Please include your rates/hr in your email to Juncagen@gmail.com! You don't have to be a professional voice actor to apply! But a clear, clean voice recording (ie, decent mic, no dogs barking in the background/ noisy AC) is essential!  Must be able to record/ send files  (through audacity, what have you)   Voice lines are recorded a chapter at a time.  If you've voice acted in the past, be sure to include that on the email! CHARACTER NOTES- When you're trying out for these characters, please use the lines provided. This helps me gauge people 1:1 VOICES NEEDED: Neri - Main Character - Demon/ dinosaur - Female - Early 20's Neri is optimistic, and often sassy. Bright, energetic at times, worn down and cynical at others. Smartass preferred. Can be higher or lower, would prefer ability to growl the dinosaur lines with the same tone as the human lines a little more as inflection. More Sultry than Perky. Less Catty, none ditzy, but plenty vibrant. Sample line: " Ah, wow, cool, I'm just here minding my business, but thanks for stabbing me again" - Raziel- Main Character - Angel/ Exorcist - Male - Mid to Late 20's Raziel is tired. Worn down, unhappy, not droopy-esque though. To the point. Frustrated. Lower-ish voice, but young enough there's still a hint of energy to it. Can be lighthearted, often not. Not gruff, but not emotionally embellished in tone.  Embodies the person who's leaving work in an hour but got a task that'll take 4 hours past that. That's Raziel. 500% done with the world also works. Sample Line: "Listen, it's been a long day, I've got a busy day tomorrow of answering stupid questions, so if we could just... move on?" - Cempe - Major character- Demon/ Big Worm - Female, mid 30's. Cempe enjoys chaos, and mostly enjoys screwing around with other people. Enthusiastic. Sick of everyone's shit upon meeting. Ready to tease the big details in front of you only to pretend she's never offered them. Energetic, almost comically diabolical. Playing the game where only she holds the cards. Looking for someone to be able to growl the words a bit when in big wiggily form. Big "wine mom' energy. Sultry as heck. Sample Line: "Oh i'm so sorry! You can't just waltz in here and expect answers! That's paid for in blood." - Priest (His name is Dave) - Minorish Character - Human/ Exorcist/ Priest - Male - 60's Fatherly, a bit older. More optimistic at times, but tasked with trying to keep charge of chaos. Lighthearted at points, helpful but cautious. Is used to cleaning up messes and making sense of bad decisions. Tired. But less tired than Raziel. Sample Line: "I keep telling you, we can't keep saving every sad-eyed animal we come across. And no pet demons!" - Katherine - Minor Character - Human - Mom -Female - late 30's Weathered. Sassy. Deeper smoker's esque voice (no comical smoking voices) Level-headed, apprehensive. Has had a rough life, but exists in calm currently (somewhat) Distrustful. Hard to convince. Sample Line: "If you can just ask doggy to not, uh, rip open any more walls, I'm sure it'll work out okay" - Amber - Minor/Majorish character - Human - Female - 4 and 8 years old. I can't rightfully expect someone to be able to replicate a literal child. I'm also not gonna dabble with doing hyper baby-ish voices. Looking for a lighter voice, quiet, happy. Optimistic, Bright. Impervious to seeing the bad side of things. Excited to have a giant dinosaur as a friend. Sample Line:  "That's just fine! If you stay here at the house, then we'll never have to deal with the other monsters!"

[elendsessor]

maybe i shouldn’t be complaining since i refuse to buy any of the new pokemon games until there’s an improvement quality wise but for the people sticking around with the franchise the sv dlc is actually insulting. ngl i feel the need to emphasize that i do still love pokemon despite all the blunders in recent years and i’m only so harsh because i want the series to improve and also prove that it doesn’t have to be the butt of jokes now that it’s become infamous for low quality and a rabid fanbase. hell, the fans deserve so much better. they have saintly patiences to put up with the treatment nostalgia blind or not. they shouldn’t be treated like mindless consumers that will buy every bit of slop put out because they, too, love and want to see the franchise they adore get better.

but i don’t care how many copies it sold or how good the story is. i don’t care if it’s overhated or something. i don’t care who decided for it to be priced the way it is or if the staff working on it did the best they could (because it is the higher ups’ fault). this is an insult. this is inexcusable. this is a prime example of how far not just the series but triple a gaming has fallen.

if you have violet, you have to wait a couple more months. if you don’t have the switch online membership or friends to trade with, you have to buy the same game—a game that costs $60 without tax—and, regardless, pay over half the price to experience a dlc for a game that released in such a poor state that there was mass refunds and nintendo actually had to issue an apology for. that’s visually horrendous and runs like trash for a modern title for a triple a franchise. that still has bugs and glitches galore that hasn’t been ironed out much if at all. that’s basically another cog in the modern gaming mentality machine that is “release the game unfinished.” that’s only backbone is the pre existing fanbase and, again, nostalgia like its goddamn disney. all for a couple new pokemon and the chance that it’s better than the base game. if it has to cost money, at most, it would be worth $10.

i have no idea who decided the pricing but. higher ups at game freak, nintendo, whatever, you make millions upon millions every quarter from merchandise alone. the team that works on these games is incredibly small and not even near the number of workers on other gaming projects by other studios not nearly as successful as the pokemon dev studio. there’s not many who need to be paid and hell they’re probably getting paid the bare minimum. pokemon is the highest grossing franchise in the world. you can afford to make the dlc cheaper. you can afford to take more time to develop newer shit. nobody will complain or care.

please for the love of god do not support this. even if you decide anyways to pay for the dlc, don’t just turn a blind eye to what’s actually going on and where your money actually goes because it does not go towards the improvement of the product’s quality. this goes for anything, really, but for such a big franchise this is especially appalling.