#i'm living off of savings at the moment and still paying rent while i live with my parents

[bumblebeepixie]

[enderwolf91]

☆彡彡 A New Start ミミ☆

synopsis: life has become dull working your office job, unable to go out and enjoy yourself anymore. upon opening a letter your grandfather left to you after his passing, you find yourself on a bus to a new life, hoping to find that spark you so craved for in life.

word count: ~2.6 k

warnings: none!

notes: rewrite of this. the first part to (hopefully) a good series. this is the first fic I've written for an audience in a long time, and I want to put a lot of effort into each chapter, so I apologize if updates to this are slow. I also apologize if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, English isn't my strongest subject despite speaking it my entire life lol. Enjoy!

“Three more? I just got done with the two you gave me yesterday!”

“I'm just here to give you your assignments, if you have problems take ‘em to the boss, Daniel.”

A loud scoff comes from the other side of the cubicle's wall, the sound of papers being taken with an aggravated force. “Whatever…”

A few moments later, a short figure takes up the opening to your cubicle, a man you're unfortunately familiar with as he holds out two Manilla folders with a bored expression. “Your next assignments for the week.” He speaks as if on the verge of yawning, casually glancing around the small, gray box at the minor number of decorations taped to the walls.

“Thanks, Paul,” you respond, less than enthralled to see more folders to join the stack on your desk. “I'll get started on them tomorrow morning.”

Turning back to your computer, the lines of words and numbers on the document you've been writing have started blurring together. But the looming presence still in the doorway of the cubicle draws you back to Paul, who's still looking around at the papers and photos you've taped up and the cliche cat poster the company gifted everyone last year that's started to wear and tear at the edges.

“Is there… something I can help you with, Paul?” You question him, biting back a grimace as his ears turn a light red as he finally looks at you.

“Hm? Oh! Actually, yeah, I wanted to ask if you were free tonight? There's a… bar nearby if you want to get drinks after work?” He fidgets with the stack of folders in his arms, shifting from one foot to the other as he can't seem to meet your eye.

It's the third time he's asked this month.

“Paul…” You sigh, “I appreciate the invitation… but I can't. There's stuff I need to finish by the end of the week, and with more work being piled on top of that. I just- I don't have time to go out.”

The disappointment is evident in Paul's expression as he gives a tight-lipped smile, “right. I'll… let you get back to work then.”

“Yeah…” You drift off, slowly turning back to your computer as Paul shuffles to the next cubicle, his voice notably less energetic than before.

Sighing, you go back to typing away on your computer, the hours of the work day passing by without you. Though, your own words keep echoing in your mind and distract you from work.

I don't have time to go out.

It's an unfortunately true statement. Ever since you got this corporate job for Joja Mart, you just haven't had time to spend on anything else. Oftentimes staying late at the office to finish a report, or taking the work home when the janitors eventually had to lock up the building for the night. Though the mountain of work does come with a generous pay, enough to pay for your rent and groceries and then some. Money saved up for the off chance you did get time to go out, go to the mall or a bar, but that day has yet to come.

Fortunately, the company graced you with some paid vacation time for your hard work, allowing you to fly back home for your grandfather's funeral. Long expected but still unfortunate, he was somehow always the optimist, telling everyone around strive for a long life like he had, strive for a happy life like he lived.

And while he gave everyone else in the family small trinkets and heirlooms, you received an envelope with your name written on it and a small note.

‘Open when you want a new start’

The envelope sat heavy in your bag on the trip back, and now sits waiting in the top drawer of your desk, your curiosity of what's inside still hot on your mind as you pull open the drawer.

The envelope sits atop a stack of graphs and old papers, a crimson red seal plastered to the front with an unfamiliar emblem, a sort of peace sign looking symbol you've never seen before.

The note written above the seal calls out to you, ‘a new start’ drawing your curiosity out even more as you pick up the envelope. Using your office scissors, you carefully open the envelope and pull out the paper folded inside.

Seeing the handwritten makes you smile softly, the neat print your grandfather seemed to have perfected being a bit shaky and smudged from his old age.

‘So, my dear, you want to start anew, huh? A change of scenery? Fortunately, I didn't leave you with just a silly old letter while the others got gifts. I own a plot of land in Pelican Town that I'm leaving to you. It's an old farm I used to live on when I was about your age and moved away from home, needing a change in scenery. Take good care of the place for me, will ya? The residents of the town knew me well, I'm sure they'll be happy to hear you're coming to town. The number at the bottom will call an old friend of mine, let him know you're on the way and he'll take care of you. With love, your old pa

Jack: xxx-xxx-xxxx’

It was a stretch, moving to a town that was over a seven hour bus ride away, packing up all your belongings from your apartment and saying goodbye to the company that's paid your monthly living expenses for the past few years; all to live on a farm that would become your only source of income, selling the fruits of your labor and not knowing anyone in town.

The bus wasn't as comfortable as you were hoping, but you could lay across the row of seats since there weren't many other people, and no one who was on the same journey as you're on. It was nice watching the world go by in the comfortable silence of the bus.

The bustle of the city and slowness of the traffic opened up to calm suburbs and residential areas, a park passing by every so often with children and dogs running around with parents watching over them; which all faded to the quiet of the countryside, rolling hills of grass and the occasional spotting of trees, it was then you drifted off to sleep to the lull of the bus driving and lack of bright lights.

The next time your eyes open, you're still driving and now you're going through a mountainous area. There's a few people on the bus again, all sticking to themselves until the bus stops at a town, though not the one you're going to as the doors close and the bus driver heads back onto the road.

It's only when you go through a tunnel and pop out the other side you start to feel like you're getting close. The scenery is starting to clear and open up more, and just as you look out the window you drive past a sign signaling the next stop to be Pelican Town.

Seeing the sign sends a jolt through you, realization of what you're doing settling in as you look down at your luggage stuffed under the seat. It dawns on you, you just threw away the security of the life you had to move a day away from anyone you knew and potentially lose everything you have, all because you couldn't stand your office job anymore.

“Pelican Town,” the bus driver's voice shocks you to focus, seeing you've stopped at a bus stop with the town's welcome sign outside.

“Right… thanks,” anxiety crawls through you as you grab your bags, giving the driver a nice tip before stepping off the bus with a shaky breath.

And before you can change your mind, the doors close behind you and the bus is taking off again. Without you.

Looking around, the bus stop is nice, unexpectedly away from the main town. Instead it's in a nice fenced area, a few trees, benches, and a paved path leading out of the area. It looked more like a rest stop than the entrance to a town.

Even more to your surprise, a voice calls out to you from the paved path. “Hey! I knew I heard the bus come by, you must be Samuel's grandkid, right?”

A tall woman approaches you with a kind smile, her white locks pulled back into a tight ponytail as she brushes off the sleeves of her dark green jacket.

“Uhm… yeah, I am,” you nod shyly, tightening your grasp on your bag as the woman greets you up close.

“I'm Sojourn. Jack said you'd be coming to town soon. C'mon, I'll show you to your grandpa's old place.”

Without saying much, you follow Sojourn down the path, taking a right at the fork and following until you see another fence up ahead and a large cabin-like home comes into view.

“Here it is,” Sojourn hums, opening the gate onto the property. “It's seen some better days, or years, but it's all yours now.”

Your eyes are wide as you take in the plot of land. Trees are everywhere, though not dense enough to make it a forest, weeds and miscellaneous plants fill the ground and leave little room to move around. Large logs and fallen over trees and rocks litter about the area. A large pond near the gate is filled with lily pads and overgrown roots, but would make a nice place for fish to live in once cleaned up.

The only part the seemed to be taken care of was the small area near the gate and house, clear of bushes and weeds and any overgrowth.

“We took some time fixing up the house for you, though most of the old furniture was rotten and broken down so we had to get rid of it,” Sojourn explains. “But, we got you a new bed, dining table, fixed up the fuse box and got you a new TV. It's only the essentials, but we didn't want you left with nothing on your first night.”

“Wow…” You can't help but stare up at the house, seeing it's bigger than your childhood home. “Did… Grandpa build this place?”

“From the ground up, though he had some help,” a man comes out of the house, the door swinging fully open. You recognize his voice as Jack's from when you called him a week ago, the night you had opened the envelope. Jack closes the door behind him, before properly greeting you with a warm smile. “Good to meet you, kid. After I heard what happened with Sam, I hoped he mentioned this place to someone, or at least sold it to someone so it didn't go to waste. Glad to see he kept it in the family though.”

“I don't think anyone in our family knew about this place,” you admit, unable to recall any stories about a farm from your grandfather.

“Sounds likely,” Jack chuckles. “Old coop didn't tell us he had kids, let alone grandkids, until he was too old to make the trip out here. Got his letters about your entire family about a year ago.”

“That's when Jack wanted to start cleaning up this place,” Sojourn adds. “Kept coming out here by himself and disappearing all day. Found him out here all tuckered out from pulling weeds and decided to help him out.”

Jack sighs, looking across the plot of land, “don't know how he took care of this place by himself. Took us a year to just freshen up this much. But he had rows of crops planted year round, and had everything nice and organized. Too bad the old barn and coops all rotted away, the greenhouse took plenty of weather damage too.”

The thought makes a weight sink in your stomach, the anxiety of your situation surfacing again, the realization of your new life coming to light.

Just as you start to look around in a panic, a warm hand lands on your shoulder, Sojourn speaking with a sincere kindness, “if you need help with anything, don't hesitate to ask. Once you've settled into the house, we can introduce you to some people in town who can help spruce this place up. I'm sure Satya and Zarya wouldn't mind planning out a new chicken coop and barn for the future.”

“Torbjorn can take a look at Sam’s old tools and fix them up for you too,” Jack adds with a nod. You look between them, names going over your head as you focus on the fact that there's an entire town of people your grandfather knew, yet never mentioned to your family

“Why don't you settle in for now, get used to the place, work on the landscape if you feel ready for it,” Sojourn suggests to you, realizing you're still carrying your luggage, and have yet to see inside your new home.

“There's a box with some farming supplies inside. For now, don't worry about paying for food, stop by the general store or the tavern whenever you need to eat. Once you start growing crops, you can sell them to the general store to start your income. Just know, you gotta work to get paid, just like your grandpa did. So work hard on your farm, kid,” Jack rubs the top of your head, ruffling your hair up before he leaves with Sojourn, letting you go inside to settle into your new life.

The moment you go inside, you drop your bags and fall back on to the bed, thankful for how soft it is as you sink into the covers. The strain of sitting and laying on a bus seat for so long puts a strain on your spine, the pain easing away as you stare up at the ceiling, contemplating what to do next.

You'd never worked on a farm before, let alone ran one on your own. You had some experience in taking care of plants thanks to your mother and her backyard garden, and your grandfather used to let you watch him make things in his garage, he had shown you how to use his power tools and how to put together pieces of wood. You had the knowledge of what to do, but not the experience enough to make it your lifestyle, your new way of living.

It seemed that had to change then.

Sitting up, you look around the open space, finding the box of supplies Jack had talked about. Inside of it you find old tools; an ax, hoe, watering can, and pickaxe; a large bag of fertilizer, and packets of parsnip seeds.

It's a start, and you manage to carry the supplies outside to the open patch of land in front of the house.

Getting a hold on the tools was a bit awkward to get used to, and having to dig through the lily pads to fill the watering can was a close call to falling into the pond, but by the time the sun began to set you stand in front of a plot of planted seeds, all watered and fertilized to grow fast and well.

And the first call of an owl makes you slouch and yawn, already feeling sore from the extensive physical activity you haven't experienced since taking your old office job. Barely conscious as you shower and change into pajamas, you slide into the new bed, feeling like heaven under your exerted body, the blanket providing a warm comfort as you easily drift off to the sounds of nighttime bugs and critters.

[cataclysmiceuphemism]

20 for dolenzmith please?? i just love the way you write them <333

Aww thank you!! They're my otp so of course :D

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss “number 20...on a scar.

Mike sighed.

"Between your leg and my finger, I don't know what we were thinking, doin' things this way," he said, "Maybe you ought to play the guitar on this one, Mick."

He knew perfectly well that Micky could have. It used to be, after they'd all started living together but before they'd started the band, that Micky would walk around playing a guitar and singing some pretty little nothing song to himself all the time. Watching Micky sing and play guitar while he sat in their big bay window had made Mike's heart stutter- stop. It had made him fall in love. It had made him want to be the one sung to, instead of the one singing.

It had been the reason Mike had decided to broach the idea of them all starting a band together. Micky had been the one to poke a hole in it with, "Three guitars? What're we gonna be, a mariachi band?" That had been enough for Mike to want to take it back. If Micky was saying his idea was silly then it was obvious the other guys thought it was, too. And maybe it had felt like Micky had been poking a hole in his love-sickness, too, even though it would be quite a while before Mike could ever think of saying I love you to Micky out loud instead of just in his own thoughts. But right when Mike was stuttering through an it was a joke, Micky had started walking around hunch backed, rubbing his hands together. "We need a drummer," Micky had continued. "Couple'a guitars, a singer," he indicated Davy with a nod of his head, "What we don't got is a drummer. Me! I'll do it! I've always wanted to play drums. We just gotta buy them. See—" he ran around, slapping the tables, the chairs, Mr. Schneider, Peter, in some eager beat, "I'd do a real good job, right, Mike?"

Even the cheap drums were two hundred dollars, which was nothing to sneeze at considering the reason Mike had suggested becoming a band at all was because they were struggling to make rent as it was. Being a band didn't seem more likely to pay the bills, and in the months that came they'd prove that with all the times Babbitt came banging on their door. But it seemed better, in Mike's mind, to struggle working at a job they loved than it did to struggle at jobs that they hated. But they'd managed to buy Micky a set and he'd taken to it like a fish to water, save for having to switch the setup to accommodate a weak leg that would give him fits if he'd spent its energy on the kick-drum.

Micky had stopped playing the guitar almost altogether once he'd gotten his drum set.

After Mike had spent the afternoon trying and failing at a song his finger wouldn't let him play, he found himself wishing he'd been the one to volunteer to play the drums instead.

Micky rocked his head back and forth, bottom lip pouted out, considering. Then he smiled brightly and said, "No thanks!"

"Why not? I'm sure as hell not doing any good over here."

"You're a better guitarist than I am, babe. And you don't play the drums. And we have a gig on Friday. Kinda short notice to be changing our lineup," Micky said mildly. He spun his drumsticks around in his fingers, stopping with a jump only when he almost took out his eye.

Mike frowned. Peter and Davy had taken off more than an hour ago. It was only the two of them, and probably would be for some time. "Might be our best bet at this point."

Micky sagged. He tipped his head and watched Mike a moment. "You'll get it. Do you tell me to pack it in when my leg gets tired?" It still did, sometimes, even with the accommodations they made for it.

Mike shook his head, but he didn't say anything more on it, staring down at the ground.

"Y'know," Micky started. He stopped. "I know I don't really got magic fingers. But I do got some magic in my back pocket, just for occasions like this."

Mike looked up, curious, when Micky left his drum set and walked over to him. He watched as Micky took his hand and brought his stiff, ankylosed finger up to kiss it. Their eyes met and held. A long, lingering moment Micky held Mike's hand up to his lips. Mike had known those kinds of kisses to be a placebo since he was a child who had skinned his knee on the sidewalk; back then, he'd taken the kiss and limped away for the pain to ebb on his own. Now there was nowhere to limp off to, because Micky was right there beside him working through the song.

His finger was worse off than a skinned knee. It wasn't one of those sweet, placebo kisses that did it. It was Micky looking at him over that kiss, those eyes saying so certainly you can do it. It was Micky passing his faith in Mike into Mike's own hands. It was the fact that even when Mike had no confidence in himself, he could never stomach the thought of letting Micky down.

Soon enough it clicked. The piece came together and sounded beautiful, without changing anything at all. And Micky left his drums again, dropping his sticks as he walked fast to Mike and grabbed him close, drawing him in for another kiss-- on the lips this time, barely a kiss at all, but their mouths meeting in excitement in the midst of laughing and talking and singing.

[bipolar-boygirl]

Not to be a Salty American (though as the great Hannah Gatsby once said, making fun of Americans is still technically punching up,but that window is closing), but I've been thinking a lot about a specific video from a Nigerian creator I follow whose platform is about showing that africa as a whole isn't poor and a lot of the things the west sees as signifiers of poverty are culturally preferred methods and items. Her videos are very lighthearted and funny normally, but I saw one recently about how Africans (her words) don't pay for things with credit, and that we (Americans and I'm assuming the west in general) can't live without credit, our whole system is based on credit. And she's right, but it was treated as some sort of Gotcha moment, and not the horrifying mechanic of capitalism that it is

I was lying in bed this morning after having a nightmare that I lost a part of my arm and couldn't afford the surgery, the whole dream was me trying to find ways to make the surgery cheaper, to find loopholes in my insurance, stressing about missing work, and it ended with me sobbing because I finally had enough money for the surgery but it would wipe out every cent I had, and I would be left with nothing while recovering and unable to work. This was something my subconscious mind conjured because I'm dealing with a much less life threatening equivalent of needing to get my wisdom teeth removed and not being able to afford it (though the longer I go without it the more likely I am to get an infection and if that gets into my blood or my brain I'm fucked, I'm catastrophizing here, but it's a very real fear I'm dealing with).

My options for getting my wisdom teeth removed are: to continue to try to save up the money regularly, which is a very slow going process and at my current rate of saving I could break even on the surgery in about 4 months, but much like my dream it would take every dollar I have, so that's not actually true, is it? It would take me much longer to save up enough to not go broke, so realistically at my current rate I'm still probably over a year away.

Or: sign up for something like care credit, which is basically a loan specifically for medical costs. It's even interest free! Unless of course you're unable to pay back the full loan in the agreed upon time frame and then you owe a predatory interest rate on the entire amount they loaned you, regardless of how much you have left to pay off. If I had a better credit score, I might be able to put it at least partially on a credit card which would have an interest rate from the start but a lower one. But I don't have a credit card because I was forced into a position where I HAD to get a car with a car note and due to my non-existent credit score at the time I had to settle with a 20-something % interest rate and now have a $450 car note a month for like 6 years. Most starter credit cards require a cash deposit and between all my bills (aside from rent, my car note is the most expensive which is why I brought it up) and trying to save up the old fashioned way I just really don't have the money to spare to get a credit card. I could probably get one without a cash deposit, but then we run into the issue of the predatory interest rates again

Or: I could set up a gofundme, which is a whole other can of worms and with everything else happening in the world, with all of the fleeing families, and the abuse victims, and people with actual life threatening medical needs on there, my silly little wisdom teeth don't seem all that important.

So yeah, Americans can't live without credit, but it's not something we chose. It's just another tool capitalism uses to drain every last penny they can from people after inventing credit scores (didn't exist til the 80's) and making everything so fucking expensive you can't even afford it with insurance (yeah that amount I'm saving towards? That's my cost WITH insurance), so you have no choice BUT to pay for things on credit

I know it's fun to make fun of Americans guys, I used to do it all the time myself. But, just, we aren't doing so hot.

[rosesforwildwitches]

As someone who really likes Buzzfeed Unsolved and Ryan and Shane's later work on Watcher, I think that the watcher team has vastly underestimated how crucial the fact that YouTube is free is to their business model. I initially got into buzzfeed unsolved as a broke ass highschool student who didn't even have a job because I had an interest in true crime and goofy banter, but my mom's cable service was mostly filled with low effort shock bait. If buzzfeed unsolved had been initially a subscription service and had not been free to watch on the viewer end (with ads supporting it), I wouldn't have ever picked up watching it because I couldn't ever afford to. Even now that I'm almost a year out of college, at my most financially stable I was paying half of my paycheck per month for rent and couldn't afford to pay for my own car insurance and cell service without help from my parents despite being employed full time in a pharmaceutical testing lab that analyzed patient samples, and currently I'm burning through savings to not get evicted while job hunting and I just sent in an online application for food stamp benefits with my state last Sunday. I'm only subscribed to one service, Hulu, because I bought a 1 year subscription on a black Friday sale for 70% off all at once as a lump sum last November, and I only bought that because it has over 200 movies and shows I am actively interested in watching on the platform. I've enjoyed mystery files and buzzfeed unsolved greatly over the years, but that was only ever made possible for me by it being available for free on YouTube, and as of right now I sure as hell can't subscribe to a new service for one or two shows only. And while my situation may be particularly precarious, I'm going to bet based on everyone who I know who's also a fan that most of the fan base is in the same economic boat as me, as basically everyone I know who's a fan of the show is around my age and either still living at their parent's house or is surviving off of food banks at the moment. The Watcher team has greatly overestimated the financial stability of their viewing audience, and it's going to cost them so much.

[gravelgirty]

How I lost a month of work and health

This is not easy for me, but this is the situation. Buckle up, this is wild.

Our ex-roommate is a hoarder and has all of the mental health issues you may imagine. Among them is executive function disorder, the inability to make important decisions and procrastinate until it is almost/too late to do anything.

After 4+ years of threatening to move when we tried to get them to agree to a cleaning program so we could, you know, live in a healthy house, they found a new place to live. Cue worst moving company ever, that are so terrible they would make you feel sorry for the FAWLTY TOWERS cast if they contracted out to these misogynistic, lazy and ham-fisted movers and I won't name them because their employees have a disturbing history of holding your goods for ransom (extra fees out of nowhere) and actually threatening you if you hold your ground. Let's say the company name starts with S and rhymes with 'makeway' and leave it at that, ok?

Well, roommate had 2 cats rescued from the great outdoors and when they were kittens they were shy and skittish but they were somewhat socialized and gentle. But after about 4 years of living in a hoarder's classic labyrinth and losing every imaginable social interaction with humans, they went feral.

I tried to stop them from escaping the bedroom because the movers were leaving the doors open (another thing they ignored while they were busy breaking stuff).

Three of us wound up in Urgent Care that night; me, my kid and the roommate because these poor creatures thought they were fighting for their lives. I hold them no grudge.

Doc says if things don't improve in 2-3 days go straight to ER.

Well. My hand balloons up in short order and I can't bend my thumb at all. I dutifully pay for a Lyft (roommate is gone even if their things are still here) and this happens:

Diagnosis? Septic Arthritis.

This is a rare and scary condition. Cat bit through muscle, tendon sheath, tendon, and even impacted the BONE right at the thumb joint which is a spot almost impossible to reach with oral antibiotics. There's just not enough circulation for the drugs to do their work. So. To save my hand the plastic surgeon on call opens me up AND STRIPS THE SHEATH. I don't know how many stitches I even have.

They have me on a lot of antibiotics plus opiods for the pain and a shunt and tubes and all the good stuff.

Then they put me on vincomiacin, which is a common allergen. I woke up trying to take off my hair in the middle of the night. Like a hive of stinging wasps were under my skin. Cue IV benadryl for 2 nights.

I wound up paying $60 to get my hair cut short as a breath in vacuum when I was back on my feet because my scalp still hurts and is sore from the reaction.

I wasn't even the only person hospitalized in the largest hospital in South Puget Sound over a cat-inflicted wound. I was the 3rd. If you count the first night, I was the 5th. The winner was a woman who kept 4 unspayed cats in her house and thought she could wade in and break up a cat fight.

Priceless was the moment when the salty old nurse in ER muttered that at least I hadn't been bitten by humans, and it turned out she has Seen Things from the ambulance behind the mall on certain nights.

Ultimately, because I can't use the thumb without incredible pain and the mobility is toast, I'm off work until the 10th of November. I used up all of my employee sick leave and will have to muddle back to work and talk to HR about other options on getting some sort of emergency compensation to survive. Friends and family have been wonderful. They've helped with rent and offered rides, helped us get groceries, and all the things you need to make it through.

But I've lost my independence and it hurts, bone-deep. It's deeper than the injury.

We are facing a deep clean of the apartment because we love living here and we love the landlady and maybe if we'd been a harder a** about the hoarding this wouldn't have happened. Who knows. But lyft rides have cost us $200 and there will probably be more to come as I muddle through rehab and appointments and exams. I'm annoyed about the hair cut. I'm not feeling great about the ballooning weight and I am baffled that there is still a ton of stuff that isn't ours, waiting to be hauled out and the rental agency wants me to pay an extra $500 to re-word the lease (re: start over) because rental controls are on the ballot and they would make it hard for these jokers to sock me with admin fees if the new controls are met and I'm betting this is why they are trying to get the money NOW. In the meantime, the carpet needs to go because my kid has asthma and cat pee carpets aren't healthy for anyone. Not a word about the cleanup has been made from the person who caused this mess. I don't expect it, either. They are mentally ill and not capable of drawing the dots when it comes to things like this. Nor do they have the money. Hard lessons learned.

I'm not posting any of this to beg for money. Frankly, nobody I know has it to spare. As I sit at home I'll slowly work my way through my ko-fi page and try to sell more fiction, and art if my confidence levels go up.

But this is health care in America and I am considered one of the lucky ones because my co-pay stopped at $75 for the emergency X-rays and my pharmacy (Rite-Aid) is finding new and improved ways to keep us from getting our RX in a timely fashion, ran out of bandages, and my GP is tearing her hair out because she faxes meds to me and they simply don't read the faxes that come in.

There is no transportation assistance on my insurance--and I repeat, I am considered one of the lucky ones with a state job + benefits.

I'm applying for emergency assistance to see if there is anything out there because pride goes first.

My sister likes to say, "Life's a lesson, sometimes you're it." This is my lesson. Don't vote down health care. Vote up.

[positivelybeastly]

To Simon’s roommate: have you figured out a way to pull your own weight, or are you still trying to cope with. All that

Not that you need to, necessarily, but it seems like you’d be bored out of your mind hiding in an apartment from orchis

Hank stops for a moment - he's constructing the small climbing frame that Simon allowed him to buy through Amazon, making sure all of the pieces fit together sturdily - and peers at the Anonymous questioner.

"Well, I've started to help pay Simon's - our, rent, if that counts?"

Allan key, apply a bit of pressure, there we are, make sure everything's snug - last thing he wants is to plummet to the floor mid-inverted thought.

"My other self's assets all seem to be relatively intact - a fair amount of patents for things I don't recognise, an Avengers and S.W.O.R.D reservist wage that seems to have increased over time, he even seems to have made some fairly smart investments in various technology firms.

And there seems to be rather a lot of money that he hasn't touched for a while, either. I never really thought about it, but living rent and expense free in places like the Avengers, Defenders, or X-Mansion really does build up the old savings account if you're frugal.

I've . . . donated, a good amount of it. There's a Terra Verde relief fund that. Well."

"They seem like they need the help."

He stares off into the distance for a moment, thinking deeply, before blowing out a breath.

"I've started doing tech support, for various people in the building. Fixing broken computers, AC units, stoves, that kind of thing. A lot of it gratis, but not always, sometimes people insist on paying me. And, of course, any time anyone needs help moving something, I'm only too happy to assist."

Where does this piece go . . .

"I feel as though it'd be much more boring if it weren't for Simon. Plus, there's, the thought that . . . trying to help has, clearly, not worked out too well in the past. The idea that maybe I should just leave well alone helps stave off the boredom. Better to be bored than unhelpful, after all."

The last piece goes together and he hops up, hanging upside down, hand on his chin, feeling the frame flex at his weight - but it holds. He closes his eyes and hums.

"That being said. Always thinking, even if the thoughts don't go anywhere. Maybe I'll hit on a good idea eventually of what I can do to help. To, as you say, really pull my considerable weight. But, for now, I think I should leave it all to the grown-ups. I feel as though I'd just get in the way."

[dzpenumbra]

2/26/23

I didn't get a lot of sleep today. I woke up early. I think I had intense dreams, again, don't remember. I got up and was going to pass out in the comfy chair, but just decided to stay up.

I finally got a bookcase. It was delivered yesterday. I spent a big chunk of the day putting it together, and fixing up the old table I got from my brother and sister in law. So... for the first time since my move-in in mid December... I started to unpack my stuff.

For years and years, I lived in my old house with stuff still in boxes in the living room. Like... 80% of my possessions just sitting in cardboard boxes in my living room. I had 3 empty closets and tons of space to put stuff. And I just... I couldn't figure out why my house was so messy! And I couldn't figure out the subconscious logic behind the boxes.

Now... it's starting to make more sense. As I finally make deliberate different choices, the contrast is starting to make sense. I'm making this place my home. I'm settling in.

The irony? The bookcase that my mom got me is designed to be foldable... so that it's easier for me... when I inevitably move. Like... even she is subconsciously aware of this, and hasn't connected the dots on why all my shit has been in boxes for years.

Why would I unpack? I might have to leave overnight. I might get my financial funding pulled. I might get evicted. I might <insert PTSD disaster scenario here>.

I remember back in like... 2016? 2017? My former best friend and her husband were like... showing off their bug-out bags to me, and talking about how they were like... because of the "tension with China"? or something? Ready to dip out in a moment's notice. Well... I mean, they'd be able to dip out for like... a few days... The rest of their stuff would be fucked if they left it.

But me? The majority of my precious possessions would just need to have the box they're stored in taped shut and put in a vehicle. My entire house is a bug-out bag. XD And it has been for a very long time. Ever since I moved off my parents property.

I came back from college and moved into my parents' property, above a 2-car garage. I actually moved in there, I made it a home and everything. When my ex and I "decided" to live together... aka when I decided to move... I wanted to make that a home as well. I tried to. But I wanted to make it a home with her. Together. But she was... obsessed with "work". Obsessed with making money. Obsessed with being "productive". Obsessed with paying off these mysterious debts that she never talked about, never showed me, never... oh boy... big red flags there, eh? Well, you know... you try to be nice and not pry when people seem really anxious and insecure and uncomfortable... and they just really take advantage of that, don't they? Yikes.

So... I got her a job. Through family connections. A great job, at a cool place. And she spent all her time there, and like no time with me. And when she got home, she'd just go in the spare room that was supposed to be my art studio... but became reserved for her second work-from-home job. And she'd just go work a shift there. And I'd take care of the dogs, and cook dinner, and play games and watch TV. And we'd just like... never really do shit together. We would play games sometimes - Diablo 3, Minecraft, League of Legends, Starbound, Starcraft 2 - I taught her from scratch, she got pretty good. But she would get frustrated and just drop it after a while. Work always took center stage. Despite rent being completely covered for her. Despite all her bills being taken care of. Despite never discussing a plan and refusing to discuss budgeting. Despite me giving her basically all of my savings to help her pay off her debts.

I know that in the future, if I see that, I need to be more suspicious. It feels unkind to do so, and I really don't know how to be... careful? Self-protective? In a way that is respectful. In the sense that... I err waaaaaay too far onto the side of self-sacrificing, yielding, etc. Giving way too much benefit of the doubt. But I'm not going to crack that nut tonight.

Because of this massive rift she was creating, how busy she was intentionally keeping herself, we had less and less in common, less and less shared. That, combined with her odd paradoxical obsessions with wanting to stay in a relationship with me, but being obsessed with the concept of "independence"... she ended up enslaving herself. And blaming me.

I didn't deserve the blame. I was just trying to create a home. A life. A shared home. A shared life. (again, a goal that... apparently... due to her obsession with independence... she did not share and did not disclose.) I put the development of that home on hold until she was ready to participate. And the place was cavernously empty for like 2-3 years. Because I was just... waiting. Waiting for her to make up her mind. She started to rent her own apartment on the side, while "living" in my house. We would fight regularly and she would retreat to her apartment. That went on for months. If only I had a good friend to like... sit down and tell me that was... really not normal. And that what she was doing behind the scenes... was not worth giving her dozens of second chances for. That I deserved much better.

All the while, the majority of my possessions were being stored above my parents' garage, still waiting to be moved in. And... my mom started renovating it. And she told me to get my stuff out of there, but I didn't really have a place to put it. I didn't want the clutter in the main room to upset my ex or make the place feel like... like it wasn't a home. I didn't want to store my stuff in "our" empty, unused studio space, which eventually just turned into... her spare bedroom while we were mildly fighting. Barren, dark and haunted when she retreated to her apartment when the fights got bigger.

After the breakup, and a long mourning period because this breakup synced up with some very tragic deaths, I reclaimed my possessions from my above parents' garage. That's where the boxes came from. The dreaded boxes. That's when the boxes started.

A lot of my possessions were covered in a coat of drywall dust. Splattered with paint and stuff. It... sucked. It hurt. Like... my college degree was damaged in that process. Whatever an art degree from a state college is worth in fucking 2023. And it hurt a lot. And I blamed myself. I didn't really feel like I had a choice, and it wasn't my fault, I was the victim there... but... I blamed myself. I salvaged what I could, which was a lot. But I left a lot of it there, and I wouldn't be too surprised if it was just kinda gone now. Things with my family were... shockingly horrible at that period in time. Surreally transforming. I think it was mostly because of my older brother getting married, big life transition growing pain kinda stuff. People don't tend to really understand that even big good things can also be traumatic, it's all in how it's processed and what it does to you. And I really think that's what was going on there, and no one really knew what was going on? Why they were so upset and the world was really threatening all of a sudden? (spoiler: it was big change) And I, the middle child, the black sheep, the weird dude with tattoos and camo pants and a Parkway Drive wifebeater with a peace sign on it, barefoot with stupid cheap sunglasses and a short mohawk... I'm an easy target. I'm a skateboarder. It's really fucking easy to have your boss treat you like shit and just take it, have someone cut you off in traffic and just take it, have a cop give you a stupid ticket for no reason and just take it, and then find a skateboarder skating in your parking spot and scream at them for 20 minutes about how they're going to hurt someone and "that's fucking illegal!"

I wish I wasn't used to it.

ANYWHO. Big can of worms there we're not getting into tonight... XD

So, the boxes that I brought back from my old place, from above my parents' garage, that had been there for like... a year or so already? They stayed on the floor of my main room in my old house for... 3 years? Give or take? Maybe 4? Early Summer 2019 to... Winter 2022. 3.5 years, let's go with that, split the difference.

I got a lot of shit for my stuff being there. And... I never unpacked it. I mean, I did with some of it, but like... not all of it. Just what I needed at the time.

My home did not feel like my home. Because it was never intended to be my home. That was never the plan. And I tried to make it my home. Especially during the pandemic, after I got off meds. I turned the old haunted workspace into an art/streaming studio, which was tremendously emotionally difficult and subsequently liberating. I made sure my dog knew very clearly that the futon mattress that my ex used to sleep on in the spare room was 100% hers (my dogs, that is, not my ex...), but I was going to nap on it with her sometimes because I wanted to be close to her. I reclaimed the space. The best I could.

And it was a house. But it was not a home. It wasn't my home. It was someone else's home that I was living in. And they lived on the property. And they were just... biding time until I left. Completely unaware of the severe water damage to the walls from shoddy construction. And I have no idea how they were unaware, because they were literally picking up pieces of rotting wood falling off of the walls when they were mowing the yard. But that, also, is a story for another day.

This apartment. It's... hard to tell what it is to me. Is it a transitional space? Is it... dare I say... home? At least for now?

I had no problem making a space a home for my dog and cat (who I miss so, so dearly every day), I have no problem making a space a home for a partner. Especially if it's a task we do together, building a home together. Good lord, that's an absolute fantasy of mine. I've wanted that for so long. But, apparently, I have a problem making a home for myself.

I have no problem making a home in Rimworld. Or in Minecraft, I've made tons of homes in Minecraft, and they're all very neatly organized and designed really cool and everything. I can actually see them in my head right now! The one I made in a snowy pine biome, the A-frame with the big floor to ceiling glass windows looking out over the valley. The farm house by the beach on the old modded server I played on with my ex-friend from Florida and his dad, with a big Chisels and Bits roof, and a deck looking out over the big corn and cotton and strawberry fields. With the huge sprawling dirt roads that stretched to a small coastal village with a marble train station with Chisels and Bits stained glass windows in it. The beach house I made in my last Valhelsia Vanilla world... then the starter house and the 2-story farmhouse and the massive wheat fields and Create windmill that I expanded to later... on my short lived but long-payed-for 2-player multiplayer server. Fort Saiga, with it's giant hedge maze inside the perimeter of the walls, that I built with my friend who lived in North Carolina back in like... oh good lord... this had to be... 2012? There was even a home that I built into the interior second floor of a gigantic Aztec temple that I built on the multiplayer server where I was a Mod and met my ex-Florida friend. So many homes. I'm not even going to get into Rimworld. I've almost hit 4k hours in that game. Countless homes.

So I can make a home for myself. And I enjoy it. But... I don't.

Because life is not secure for me. It's not predictable, it's not safe. I might have to pack all my shit and move in a week. My life has just... been that. That's my best guess. That's the closest I can get to unraveling this mystery right now. And I'm sure... like the mystery of my ex hiding her expenses and normalizing renting an apartment while in a live-in relationship... in about 5 years time I'm going to look back on this and see it clear as day. So here's a message to Future Me. Hi. You're kinda lucky. It's pretty spooky to be in this place. Not really knowing why shit is happening, big blank spots where there should be answers. Having all the data in front of you and not being able to piece it together.

I guess that's just... life. Right? Like... that's the point of learning, right? XD I mean, it's so damn simple but I don't think people really think about it. I hear shit like that a lot. "I don't know how to play guitar, so I'm never going to learn how to play guitar." What?! XD That's literally how learning works. I mean... no one can just... Matrix jack download information directly into their brain, it just doesn't work like that. Even if you could, you would lack context. That information would sound like gibberish, you wouldn't have the hands-on experience to apply it!

I fixed a piece of furniture today. I was warned that the legs of this table were wobbly, and the drawers were sticky. They were not wrong. I made the error of attacking this problem first, then assembling the bookshelf second, which was an error because... I didn't have a hex wrench. I always lose them. And the bookcase had one in it the whole time. Apparently people are just using the most annoying, easy to lose tool on the planet as the standard hardware now... I mean, it makes sense, it's a good design, lots of leverage, less risk of stripping screws, I get it... but hex wrenches hurt the hell out of my hands and I lose more of them than I do socks. Just sayin.

My point here is that I flipped this table over and studied the parts. Legs attached by screws with a washer and a metal ring, for spacing I guess? A wood corner piece that it screws through to hold the leg in place, on all four corners. Hex screws on all of them. So I took the legs off, checked the metal sockets on the legs to make sure they weren't loose or wobbly, seemed legit, and then screwed it back in and used pliers to get them firmly tight. That's where the hex wrench would've come in handy... Then I removed the drawers, studied the construction. Basically a piece of wood tacked to the bottom with a slot in it, and the corresponding puzzle piece attached to the table itself. I inspected the inside of this lock and key kinda mechanism and saw a lot of... some kind of residue built up. Could be anything really. So I spent a good amount of time getting sandpaper in there and just... sanding and wiping the gunk out of it. The best I could. The part attached to the table itself was easier than cleaning out the slot, but I did a pretty good job. Then I just put them back in, made sure they were aligned right and... ta-da. Not really good as new... if I actually manufactured new wooden parts for it, I would absolutely say so... but... much improved! Very stable, the drawers slide fine, don't stick.

All it took was an inquisitive mind. And a willingness to make mistakes. And to learn from, and fix those mistakes. That's all. And I learned a lot today about that, I feel much more capable of taking on other furniture projects now. Assembling the bookshelf after that felt like putting together legos compared to troubleshooting something without a manual or instructions. You know? It's a completely different experience, a different way of using your brain.

So... I guess I'm kinda hinting at... well, kinda more than hinting at, I'm kinda just saying... Maybe it's okay for me to not fully know what the deal with the boxes and making big messes everywhere is about. I'll find out in time. That doesn't mean... stop looking. That doesn't mean "never learn guitar". That doesn't mean "I'm a messy person, so fucking deal with it." It means... I don't know now because I lack that perspective. But I might in the near future. And it might teach me a lot about how to improve my life even more. It might just be a blind spot for me.

That said, I think I started to open the door on that realization today. And the ironic part, I had a live stream on most of the day of this pair of bald eagles nesting in California. Here, I'll share the link, I've been visiting a bit.

As I was sorting my stuff, putting some in storage, putting others in a more... accessible, intentional space on a bookshelf... I was kept company by a family, in their home, with their expected children. It was heartwarming, and I think encouraging.

I got a lot done, about half of the main room is in much better shape. My work space is coming up next. And my new computer desk should be arriving soon to herald that next phase of home development. My whole computer and work space is shared right now, and it's incredibly cramped. The new desk will be wonderful for computer and music stuff, writing and maybe even some drawing. Then art projects will happen on my drafting table. For now... until I can get a table that's a bit more sturdy, that ideally has a pegboard or built in tool storage included.

Until then? I'm going to have a massive pile of art supplies and tools just chillin on the floor within a reasonable arm's reach. Which... if you've ever met me in the wild - which you haven't because I'm a hermit... but... let's just use our imaginations here - is kinda just my natural state of being.

Hey, check that out, I don't even have to reset the vibes at the end of this. :) It's been a while! Have a good night!

[00katrinka00]

Landcaster Legacy Gen 7 Update #59

Dear Diary, Today is moving day. Jenna's nana was willing to rent us a place in Del Sol Valley, and I can't wait until we get there. I know with hard work and dedication I will be able to become the absolute best signer in the save file. -Violet

As soon as Violet stepped downstairs, Grandpa Matthew pulled her in for a hug. "I'm going to miss you so very much," he told her. "Oh, Grandpa, we'll be fine." "I know you will be; I'm not worried about you. Make sure you watch that great great grandmother of yours though."

"Haha, Matthew," replied Lacy and she pulled her Grandson in for a hug. "This isn't my first time living in Del Sol, remember." "I'm only teasing," Matthew assured her. "I'm ten times more responsible than Violet, you should be having me watch over her." "I don't think so."

After goodbyes were said in Copperdale, Mads and Ethan helped the girls move their things to Del Sol Valley. "That looks like everything," replied Ethan. "Thanks for everything, Dad," said Violet. "Just make good choices," he told her. "I know you're going to do great things."

"Oh, Lacy," Mads began to say. "I know these last few months have been hard on you, but feel free to call whenever." "Thanks, Mads," replied Lacy. "Seriously, if you just need someone to talk to, if you want meals prepped, anything, just call." "Will do."

Hugs were exchanged. In the moment Mads wasn't feeling too emotional, but she knew that would change as soon as she and Ethan left. As soon as it fully hit her that half of her children were out of the house. What would she do now? Mades contemplated going back to work.

While Lacy bid her goodbyes to Ethan, Violet stood with her mother. "I love you so much sweetheart." "Love you too mom." "You're probably tired of hearing this but make good choices. You have so much potential to do wonderful things, and I'm proud of you." "Thanks mom."

After Mads and Ethan departed, Violet turned to Jenna and Lacy. "Okay, so why did I get stuck with the smallest room?" "Um, maybe, because I'm the one who got us the house," Jenna said. "I was forced to room with you for 4 years. I deserve the larger space," replied Lacy. "Ugh!"

"We should start looking for jobs," Violet changed the subject. She knew their bedrooms wasn't going to be a topic she'd win. "It's our first night in Del Sol," complained Lacy. "She's right though," Jenna agreed with Violet. "We will need jobs to pay rent."

After their conversation, Jenna headed to her room to film a video in the hopes she might finally be able to receive some royalties. Violet began her job search online. She was really willing to take just about any job out there, at least until her music career took off.

After she finished filming, Jenna headed out into the living room to watch TV. Meanwhile, lacy was checking herself out in the mirror, and very much so NOT looking for a job. "You look amazing," Lacy told herself, and then an idea popped into her head.

"We should go out to the club tonight!" Lacy exclaimed excitedly. "But what about work?" asked Jenna. "It's still our first night, we should go out and celebrate. We can deal with the job thing tomorrow," Lacy tried to convince her. "Okay fine!" Jenna agreed excitedly.

Lacy headed to Violet's room to invite her. "It'll be so much fun, Vi." "Lacy, no, I have songs I have to write, demo music to record, and a filler job to find. I simply cannot go gallivanting around the city drinking in clubs all night." "You used to be fun." "Lacy, NO!"

While Jenna and Lacy got ready, Violet decided to try writing some songs, so she headed to the piano. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" asked Jenna. "I'm sure," Violet replied "You're just going to sit around the house all night?" "Pretty much." "See you later then."

Jenna and Lacy immediately headed to the dance floor. After a few songs, Jenna spotted a very attractive stranger at the bar. "Lacy, do you see that hot guy over there?" "Yeah." "Should I go talk to him?" "I don't see why not," replied Lacy. Jenna headed for the bar. "Good luck!"

While Jenna chatted up the attractive man at the bar, Lacy spotted an attractive sim of her own. "Hey there," Lacy greeted her. "I couldn't help but notice you." "Same to you," the women replied. "I'm, Carla." "Lacy." "You come here often?" Carla asked.

Carla pulled Lacy over to a much quieter part of the club. They spent a bit of time talking, and flirting with one another, but all the talking very quickly subsided.

"You want to head back to my place?" Lacy asked. "Absolutely," Carla replied Lacy headed over to where Jenna still sat with the man at the bar. "You ready?" "One sec," Jenna then turned back to the man. "We're going to head out, but I did give you my number. Make sure to use it."

Once home, Jenna headed to bed, and Lacy brought Carla back to her room. "It's nice to be alone, somewhere quiet," she muttered. "I know what you mean," replied Carla.

[sinemaveriteofficial]

My Life Story

I was born to a middle-class family in NYC in 1899, the second of four children. I had a quite normal upbringing; my parents were very kind and understanding, and I was close with my siblings despite our occasional quarrels.

I've always had some concept that I seemed to experience the world differently than my peers. My interests and preferred conversation topics were considered too advanced or boring to relate to classmates and neighbors. I did endure a bit of bullying in elementary school, but Lewis put a stop to that very quickly.

I did reasonably well in school, graduating high school in 1918. During my senior year, I told my parents about my discomfort living as a female, and desire to create a more authentic life for myself. My parents were wonderfully supportive of my wishes, and helped me as much as was possible.

In spring of 1919 I finally had everything prepared to move. Once I left, taking my new documentation we had created, my parents held a funeral for their eldest daughter. They buried an empty coffin in a grave with my birth name.

I wrote a lovely eulogy under my new identity, with the pretext that I was a man that the deceased had been courting, and my parents saw me as a son because of this, giving an understandable reason for us to maintain a close relationship rather than severing ties.

Knowing I wanted to pursue a career as an actor, I moved to New Orleans, Louisiana. The film industry was smaller there than in New York, but still a very viable opportunity for a young actor. The environment was perfect for me; lively, and populated enough that I could blend in with the crowd. I was able to rent an apartment on my own, finally fully independent.

However, with so many people packed so densely, there were always those who were looking to take advantage of the unaware. They lurked in every shadow, waiting for someone they deemed an easy target. Everyone knew they were there, and everyone sober enough to remember knew to avoid them. But eventually, in 1924, one bastard made the last mistake of his life.

I had spent the evening on the town, drinking and dancing with a couple of friends. Our darling Lily was quite the lightweight. She loved partying, but the girl couldn't hold her liquor no matter how much she tried. We had left her alone for a moment; I had gone to get another round of drinks while the others danced, leaving sweet Lily, too drunk to dance, to hold our table.

That was the last time I saw that gentle girl. When I returned to the table she was no longer there. I asked one of our companions to check the washroom while I stepped out to see if she had gone for fresh air, only to see her leaving in a taxi. I never saw anyone with her, so I assumed she was calling it an early evening and going home safely.

However, the next day, the news broke, her name in the headlines. She had been found by her roommate, assaulted and slaughtered in her struggle to save herself. The night after her funeral, I swore to all things holy and otherwise that I would make the bastard that did this pay.

And make him pay I did. He never harmed anyone again, after that. Neither did my next target, or the next after that. It was incredibly therapeutic, really. Their begging, their screams… It makes the results all the more satisfying, the more they fight to live.

I know, so many have said it's tragic, a waste of human life. But these pieces of shit were far more useful in death than in life. I promise you, I'm not one to be wasteful. I only left enough to identify the dead, as their families and victims should receive that closure. I allowed the first one to be found, though; that was a message, on Lily's behalf. It was the only warning I allowed for the others.

Unfortunately, it seemed that I began getting credit for deaths that were not my doing. There were announcements about a serial killer, listing off those I had killed as well as others I had not. Either the news was getting trigger-happy over every unconnected death, or I had a counterpart in the city.

I suppose it was inevitable, really. If I believed in a higher power I'd say it was fate. We first met in a dingy speakeasy, drinking and dancing the night away. We ended up dancing together, then talked for hours, into the small hours of the morning.

We parted at closing, presumably strangers never to meet again. I found my next dinner on the way out that night. He was incredibly bold, pressing me for a proposition in clear public. So, I decided to allow him to follow me home. He was a bit lean for my preference, but a poor dish is an small sacrifice to get him off of the street.

I was just getting started taking care of him, when I realized my window had been opened and someone had entered. I went to check on it, leaving the creep tied in my kitchen. When I returned after finding nothing, I saw the man from the speakeasy standing in front of the creep, holding a knife and smiling but looking rather surprised.

After several awkward minutes, I found out that he was responsible for the deaths that had been confused with my work, and vice versa. He stayed that weekend with me, helping me dispatch and clean up our shared interest. We found we had even more in common than we realized, and a friendship formed.

As I write this I find that it sounds incredible cliched and corny, but after that night he was always part of my life. Neither of us trust or care for others easily, so there were several months of tentative friendship and testing the waters. But within the year we were as thick as thieves. Be it working up a target, a night out on the town, or a quiet dinner at one of our homes, we found ourselves happy and comfortable together like neither of us had been before.

With all this given, is it really so surprising that we ended up in a committed partnership? We both knew that we weren't the romantic sort, but it was very logical to make the decision to work to maintain such a rare relationship as what we had. Eventually we moved into a nice little house together, a close pair of bachelor friends as far as any outsiders were concerned.

That arrangement worked beautifully for years, the closest thing to domestic bliss that a pair like us are prone to. But it came to a terrible end in 1933. He had made a kill, and left to dispose of the remnants while I cleaned up at home. He was always prompt, always precise, but that night he was late returning.

I waited, assuming that an acquaintance had stopped to talk to him on his way home. But as the hours passed my dread grew. I fell asleep by the door, still waiting and hoping to wake to him walking in with a smile and a cheery explanation of the delay. But that never came.

What did wake me was a sharp knocking, so harsh and unlike him. When I answered the door I was met by a policeman, asking to speak to me. He asked me questions about Al, about his work and his hobbies. Eventually the reason for his visit came out.

Al was dead. Found burying human remains, and shot by an elderly hunter in the dim light mistaking him for a deer. I never thought that one could experience heartbreak without romance, but I learned otherwise that day.

I carried on for years, always doing everything I could for his memory. I was more ruthless than ever. I kept my mask in place for my daily life, always the actor. But I was slowly losing control of myself in my extracurricular activities.

I believe the only reason I was never caught was because I had become so erratic. My methods changed so drastically that law enforcement assumed I had to be a different person. I made kills outdoors, picked up targets in far too public places, even left behind tools. But eventually I would rejoin my dearest in the grave.

In March of 1938, nearly 5 years after the greatest pain of my life began, I found my peace. I finally slipped up; I discovered too late that the target I had just killed lived with his police officer brother. The brother came home as I was beginning to work up the body, drawing his pistol, and… I woke up in a strange place, with a different body.

Once I realized I was in Hell, I was able to find Alastor easily enough as he was already making a name for himself as a rising overlord, a story most everyone knows well. There's little to tell beyond that; Hell has been much the same for the near century we've been here, the only real changes being the rise and fall of overlords as newcomers make their way.

Alastor made his way to the top, every new soul he owned bringing more power. At some point, I'm not sure how many decades ago now, we decided it ebe prudent to legalize our partnership as a failsafe in case misfortune were to befall either of us. As part of our marriage contract I signed him my soul, and took partial claim of those that he owned then and in the future.

We were once again content for many years, until his recent unannounced sabbatical. Again I found myself left behind, picking up the pieces of our life and managing a small empire without him. With him gone his souls and responsibilities fell to me, which I dare say I handled dutifully for the better part of a decade.

I was beyond ecstatic when he returned, however. I am not fond of being an overlord myself, and everything besides those responsibilities I had let fall away. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was a broken man, being the one remaining for the second time.

But, he did return this time. And together we are rebuilding our status, reminding the masses why we were so feared. We've also been investing a great deal of time into our new project, helping young Princess Charlie Morningstar create and run her Hazbin Hotel.

[misterellyott]

This economy is so fucked right now, I just don't know how much more we can do.

Currently, I'm working my full time 40 hour a week job, and my side job I was only getting about 26 hours. As of this week and the foreseeable future, my side job is bumping up my hours.

While the extra money is going to be a blessing, I'm already absolutely exhausted just thinking about it. This week alone in my second job I'm working 32 hours and it looks like 32-40 is going to be my new normal with my side job.

My wife also got more hours at her normal job, bumping her from 24 to 28 and her side job will remain at 16.

The hard part is, the entirety of her normal jobs paycheck goes to us paying for food, household goods, and pet supplies.

And my paychecks go to everything else, bills, car payments, the rent, electric, etc.

And it seems like every time we get a bill to come down in price, by either lowering what we are getting (like canceling amazon, hulu) or by getting low income/Washington state help (like reducing our internet bill by half) something else always comes up.

Like our son getting his phone stolen at the fair, and now we have to increase our monthly phone bill to ensure that he has one. And it is something he absolutely has to have for us to get ahold of him when he is at home or out with his friends.

Winter is coming and bills are only going to be going up, electric goes way high for us in the winter trying to keep our house warm, as the trailers heat that we usually pay for propane to use often times doesn't work and we have to supplement with electric heaters which spike our electric bill considerably.

Luckily as of November we will have lived in our spot for a year and we will be able to apply for comfort level billing, but still that isn't all the helpful.

Our tiguan just got new tires, and needs a new part that is going to cost us upwards of 600 dollars, that we can't afford right now as we are still paying off the 600 that we still owe on the tires.

Our credit is in the trash due to us having to default on some of our credit cards in order to have a debt relief agency help us reduce and pay them off.

We have nothing saved at this moment for Christmas and we have only paid back about 500 dollars of the 1k we owe our son for the money we borrowed from his savings to pay a down payment on a much needed second car as it was getting too complicated trying to juggle four jobs between the two of us and only one car.

A part of me wishes that my father wasn't such an asshole and that we could find common ground so that we could at least have someone to fall back on, on this hard times. But, a bigger part of me has been relieved not to have to deal with his harping and bullshittary for the past three years.

As of this moment, I don't have much if anymore, free time to be able to find another job. I wish I had some sort of computer/online skill in which I could market and do during some of my 'free' hours at night when I'm working my hotel job where I'm largely alone and my duties only take a small portion of the eight hours I'm at the hotel.

I'm constantly looking online for all kinds of side hussles that really work, that really make any kind of money and I'm not really finding any and it sucks, cause we could really use some more income.

I could ask the gas station to give me more hours, but he has already moved me from only working there four days a week to five. Which leaves me only two days a week where I would have any free time to do something.

One of those days is our family or date night and the other is my only day off during the whole week that I like to use to reset and recharge to begin my long six day work week.

I'm barely making it through my weeks as is. I'm using Nicotine as a way to energize myself and get me through my long as fuck work days (some work days are 17 hours, some are 14, with only two days where I work only 8 hours) (My 8 hour days are Monday, but I typically work a 17 hour shift on sunday, get less than 6 hours of sleep and work my 8 hours on monday and then I work another 17 hour shift on Tuesday, then I get a full 16 hours before I'm due back to work for another 8 hours overnight, before my day off on Thursday.)

Coffee and energy drinks no longer help me. I drink them because I like the taste and want to avoid the headache from lack of caffeine when I'm already struggling with head and neck pain due to whatever is going on with me.

I smoke a joint or two before I sleep because I can't get myself to fall asleep otherwise.

My eating habits are shit. I eat what I can, sometimes just a handful of grapes, or some of the candy I have in my backpack that I keep on me to keep something in my mouth to avoid me picking at my nails. Why this is my new habit to stop that one, I have no idea. It just works.

I don't know. I guess I need to sit down and look at the bills and see what else we can cut, change, switch to, etc to reduce money. At this point though it just feels like beating a dead horse.

[timeoverload]

Ok I guess I'm sort of feeling better than I did last night. I have been thinking about stuff all day and I've been trying not to have an episode but I did anyway. I can't help it. I'm having a hard time controlling my impulses too. I'm just too sensitive. I am so anxious, emotional, and tired. I'm a wreck. I felt like I was dying all day and I had to leave work an hour early because I thought I was going to throw up. I look terrible and people kept asking me if I was ok because I've been disassociating all day. I'm just so sick. It doesn't help that I've given up on putting on make up so everyone can see the bags under my eyes. I can't focus and I had to keep going to the bathroom to hide. I wish I could eat something but my stomach is in knots. I also don't want to spend money on food right now. I got 3 hours of sleep last night so I've been a little grumpy.

I think I'm also just insecure and terrified about losing you. I'm so sorry for being a nosy bitch and I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I really don't want to be separated anymore because it sucks and I hate it!! All I want is to be able to hug you and that would make me feel so much better. I miss you so much!! I love you!! I'm also scared because I'm not going to be able to go to the tattoo shop much longer. The appointment that I have in October will probably be my last one for a while and I'm sad about it. That's like the only thing I have to look forward to. I need to be responsible though and my body isn't strong enough at the moment to keep getting tattooed.

I have to shift into survival mode right now. I am trying to save up money so that I can go part-time in November so I can apply for disability. I don't have a choice because I don't want to suffer anymore. I don't want to wait that long to do that but I don't have enough money right now. I need to get all of my doctors appointments out of the way because I'm going to lose my insurance. I don't know how I'm going to afford my medication and I can't stop taking it because I'm psycho without it. I need to be able to provide for myself somehow. I still have a mountain of bills to pay so I'm glad that I don't have to worry about rent too. I have started stocking up on things that I'm going to need. I am going to have to live off of canned food and ramen noodles for a while probably. I might be able to get temporary assistance but I'm not sure how to go about getting that. I don't have any guidance in this situation and I don't know who to talk to about it. I'm so lost.

I'm struggling so much to do simple things. I can't take care of myself. I took a shower earlier and I didn't have the energy to shave my legs so I've given up on that. I haven't cut my hair in so long and it looks like shit and I'm breaking out so bad.

I'm in so much pain and I hate standing for long periods of time but I have to. I'm pissed because they said they were ordering me an adjustable table for my station like 8 months ago and I still haven't gotten it so I'm constantly bending over to do shit. I have a chair that I get to use sometimes but usually I don't have time to sit down. They keep preaching about safety and using safe lifting practices because so many people are injured but they don't actually give a shit about employee safety. I'm still lifting heavy ass pans all the time. I have been trying to avoid it as much as possible now and I can't dispatch or load the big autoclaves anymore even though I used to enjoy doing those things. Luckily the younger people have started doing those things because they can tell I can't do it anymore. I hate wearing my stupid back brace and it gets so hot but it's the only thing that helps me get through the day.

My room is also already a disaster again even though I did a lot last weekend. I just can't do anything when I get home except for sit here and try to recover. I don't have the energy to do anything else and I'm so mad. I want to be productive.

I don't want to work myself to death. I feel trapped. I heard so many people complain today about how bad things are getting and the turn-over rate at work is so high. People are so negative and always complaining and it is bothering me a lot. There's always drama. The morning team lead is leaving next week and I know I don't always get along with her but things are going to be shitty without her there. I will probably get stuck doing extra work because we don't have someone to replace her. I will be alone in the morning until at least 8am every day unless my boss is there but she has been getting chemo so I never know when she will be around. I don't want her to work too hard anyway because I feel so bad for her. I think I'm going to have to start going in at 6 again to help out. I almost started crying in the locker room when one of the surgical techs was talking about how defeated she felt and how she would be so happy if she never had to come back. I feel the same way. It's so depressing and no one should feel that way. There are only 2 eye doctors that will even acknowledge my existence and say hi to me. All of the other doctors are so rude. I feel like I'm just a peasant and I'm just there to do all of the dirty work that no one else wants to do. I've sacrificed my body and my mental health so that they could be successful and they don't give a fuck. Of course I care about the patients that I help but the work load is really getting to me.

I probably shouldn't be drinking right now but I don't know how else to deal with the stress that I'm under right now. It's crushing me. I'm trying to be ok. I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry again for being so emotional and dramatic. I will try to make tomorrow a better day. 💖

[x-rambles]

June 15, 2023

I do not want to ruin my life.

I appreciate my attorney's advice, and of course, she's the expert. It would be best not to continue "pouring money" into this house without being clear.

The house did not appraise. This means I would have to give 15k...

There is so much on my mind and on my heart. I do not feel good living with my boyfriend. I do not want to live with a man who is unsure of me. I do not feel comfortable with his perspective of me. He's unsure, he has questions, and he.....I cannot focus on him. I wrote at the top of my journal, Why do I want to be married? It's an important question for me to reflect on.

Unfortunately, I know a big part of this is not wanting to spend time in "limbo" which in some ways is what my relationship feels like. I also don't feel good...I don't want to spend my birthday with him (again) I don't feel confident in his ability to make me feel special. Unfortunately, I just suspect that because of his view of me, as selfish, and not giving enough, makes him unable to give to me. Some of it can also be our differences, he may not see gifts in the same way. But I do feel that he used to be giving, and he's not anymore. Like--he's not thinking to do anything special for me, and also...his financial situation is very particular at the moment.

If I'm honest in so many ways my twenty-fifth year has been Hell. I pushed myself so hard, to do so many things. And I have done so many things. I'm proud to have a driver's license, a teaching license, and a new, higher-paying job, and I know that I will be proud to own a house too.

Even closing on a house where. I pull money out of my pocket and am left with barely any savings, I will be proud. It's crazy, these accomplishments, do not fill me up. These accomplishments do not make me whole. Yes, I grow, and I learn, but they do not make me love myself. I've pushed myself in such a big way, and I have not been taking care of myself as much as I intend to.

I remember talking to my friend once, I said the to-do list never stops growing. It's true. I genuinely feel that, when I get my house, I will focus on myself. I know for sure, I'll have to stay in my house most of the time. I want to journal, I want to pray, and I will invest in therapy (may have to put off French class) but therapy is a NEED.

I would rather deplete my house with these savings. I truly have faith that the money can come back. I have to believe I can get reliable enough tenants, who will pay their share. My alternative is spending A LOT on rent. If I don't move forward with the house I keep renting? Continuing to rent does not feel like an option. I love my apartment, I love all it's done for me, and I will miss it, but I have to move on.

I have to remember that refusing to continue renting is not ruining my life. My boyfriend thinks living together would be a good "test" he told his mom we'd see how it is, to "test" how we feel for each other. I am not a test. And he would view living together as a test. I do not want to ruin my life by leaving my apartment. My house still feels complete up in the air "there are aspects of real estate that nobody controls" and it's so easy to Would've, Should've, Could've--but if only I had more comfort zones in life. I was dealt my hand in life, and I could never pretend that the blessings and favor were not abundant,

Realistically my options look like:

-I move out of my apartment, save. the $$ living with my boyfriend, and soldier through this process for two months max, ending with much smaller savings and closing on my house. I will stress about my tenants, I will RUSH & JUGGLE to get things in order for tenants, and AirBnB (ASAP)--it may help move things along, and I'll PRAY by the time I'm in front of students, I'd be stable

I would still need to talk with my boyfriend about dividing money while living together.

-I move out of my apartment, save the $$ living with my boyfriend, shit hits the fan, it's weird and confusing, and I SOB because the deal dies. I pray gratitude that my deposit is returned, so my savings are still intact. I keep saving... I can talk with my boyfriend about how we'd have to divide $, I'd still be saving without rent, utility, and wifi Bills. I'd have to talk with myself--I cannot be a test. Do I requalify with this program in September? When do I decide to leave his home?

Either I close on the house, or I do not close on the house. But if I'm honest, the house is so perfect. I really feel in my heart that it's meant to be mine. I'm not compromising on anything with this house. My only compromise is sacrificing a big piece of my savings...

There are still negotiations, and I still have professionals working. on this. I'm overwhelmed, with all the shit going on, I am overwhelmed. I have so much shit I have to do, and yet, I feel very depressed. I'm not really able to do anything, not able to be productive...

I have never overwhelmed myself like this before in my life. But I know that I always work, I always do things. And at the end. of the day, a lot of these things, I lot of these requirements have a time clock on them...the time will pass either way.

There is a lot going on. When there's more information I'll be able to update. In 12 days, I will be 26 years old.

XoXo, C.

[reveries-and-radiance]

Physical abuse TW

No one to talk to about this. So I'm just gonna tell my whole life story here before I decide to do anything drastic.

I grew up with an emotionally and physically abusive mother who financially depended on me in the last few years of my highschool life. I studied hard and got accepted at the only out of district school they'd let me leave to so I could be away from her. I lived with my grandmother and studied while working 2 part time jobs and volunteering up until the pandemic happened. At this point, my mother had come to my grandmother's house and had been living there with us since the winter. By mid-August, I was completely back in a traumatic and controlling environment filled with rage and violence, as my grandmother and mother did not get along. We all fought a lot daily. At this point, I was still volunteering and was helping doing covid related work for my volunteer organization. I started looking for work to get me out of the house and was lucky to find a well paying job. Coupled with my funds I'd gotten from being laid off, I figured I had enough resources to leave after a particularly violent altercation with my mother about me volunteering too late one night (at this point I was 20 years old)

I got all of my things together to leave the following day to stay with my friend and my mother and grandmother assaulted me. I was beaten with a wooden rod, a metal canister and slammed onto the ground and sat on. They even put their arms over my nose and mouth so that I couldn't scream for my friends outside. It was one of the most terrifying moments I've experienced in recent years.

I got out and the following day filed a restraining order and got the rest of my things. Those first few weeks were incredibly difficult. I had a friend who said that he'd move away with me to help with rent costs as he wanted to leave his home too, but he changed his mind.

I found a place to live, moved and worked for a few months until I experienced sexual harrassment and discrimination at my job and then my contract was not renewed. After losing that job, I burned through all my savings, tried to work at other places I wasn't suited for and then eventually got another temporary position. After that job ended, I was completely drained and in a very depressed state as my friends all moved on to do other things with their lives. I was isolated, broke and vulnerable. I couldn't even afford to continue studying so I just stopped taking classes. I lived off of unemployment for almost a year during this time while waiting for my lease to end so I could move away with a friend I reconnected with. When the unemployment was almost up, I got a summer job and worked to save up money for the move. The friend who said they'd move away with me changed their mind and bought themselves an in development condo so that they could become a landlord and rent it out. I was devastated and the plans I'd made fell apart again. By then my current lease was up but I couldn't afford to move into a new place on my own so I decided to rent a room. When I finally found a seemingly decent place in a nice neighbourhood, I thought that everything would be okay.

The landlord at that house was an awful person to me. The house and my room became infested with gnats due to her plants. She brought in other tenants so the house was full of men and I was the only girl. I wasn't even given a key to the door of my room. She used to listen to when I would go into the washroom and timed how long my showers were. The fridge I was allowed to use was a mini-fridge that I had to share between two other people. My food would always go bad and I lost a lot of meals and just eventually stopped eating. I lost a lot of weight over those months. While that was happening, I got a job but was then let go two weeks into my training because they thought my performance was inadequate. I then found another job but I wasn't trained there at all and got berated by clients for my mistakes. By Christmas, I had no money, food and I needed to leave as soon as possible for my safety and health. I broke my lease and moved but they lied about the room needing to be "deep-cleaned" and took my safety deposit. I was able to find another place but have had no luck in getting a job so I've been trying to make money off of art commissions. Every month has been a struggle. I can't move back in with my family, I don't have anywhere else I can go. I have tried over and over again but nothing is working. I own nothing, I have no one and I honestly don't even want to live anymore. Just years and years of misery. I feel like I was pushed to making so many decisions that I thought would help but kept making things worse and worse. I feel like I have no future.

Now, at 22 (23 next month if I make it till then), there is little opportunity for me to do anything anymore. I can't afford to go back to school, I can't find a stable job, I have no assets, no in-demand skills. I live with debilitating mental and physical conditions but can't even get the support I need to survive. I feel like I am a week away from homelessness. The only thing I can do is draw and sing but no one wants that from me. I'm mediocre at best and I'm a nobody. All this to say, I don't want anyone to be angry with me if I decide that I can't do this anymore. I tried to live with the circumstances I was given, but everything's fucked now and I'm tired. I'm tired of going hungry and being alone. I didn't deserve any of this. I didn't do anything to anyone to live this kind of pathetic life. I just wanted to draw comic books and make art. This is everything that's happened to me in the last 5 years. I am at the darkest point in my life and there's no one who wants to help me. I feel like such a waste.

[robogart]

Hi! It's ok if you're not comfortable awnsering- but I was wondering how much you make a month from art on average? I'm going into my second year of art school and I'm getting worried about how lucrative online independent work would be. You seem to have a system that I could see myself enjoying, specially compared to the usual instagram and youtube artists you see thriving from online work. And if you don't want to give out numbers: Does it make a living or do you need/work a second job? Ty <3

Hey! This is a great question and I’m going to apologize in advance because it’s going to be a LONG answer! Mostly because I think this is a great way to shed some light on just more “regular” type circumstances for art jobs things! But I hope I can answer this question sufficiently!! 🙏💖

Okay - so I don’t feel comfortable saying how much I make (I’m superstitious that if I share it in a public space it will be dashed IMMEDIATELY) but I can definitely talk about logistics!

So to preface everything with the simple answer: I DO make enough now to have a living! It’s a SMALL living, but I’m able to focus just on my artwork for now! Which is honestly still wild to me and I AM waiting for the rug to be pulled out from underneath me at any given moment (I am throwing some salt over my shoulder as we speak, just in case)

Now I just want to talk about some general insight points about my current situation/how I got to this current situation:

I have only JUST been able to move out (I’m 28 now)

I live in a shared apartment with my friend (fate was SO on our side and this has been a whirlwind 2.5 months omg)

I have student loans to pay off ($400/month! Gross!) on top of rent/life payments. If you’re in this boat, always keep it in mind!

For 7 years after college, I was working on art (commissions, personal, etc) and also working “part time” (30+ hr work weeks so lmao not really but for employer-benefit reasons 🙄) This is for 7 years after school! It took a bit to get here!

I only had to pay a small rent when I was living at home so while it took 7 years (underpaid, family circumstances, physical/mental health woo!) I WAS able to save enough to move out

most days I can still hardly believe I’m here @ w @;; and it’s a constant working process to figure out how to stay here as well! I work 8-10 hour days, 6 days a week. 

And if you’re like me, I don’t come from money, so my parents aren’t in a position to help and I have student loan debt. This has informed a lot of my adult life!

That said, I have been lucky to be in a family with a steady lower-middle class income AND ALSO in a pretty stable/functional family situation so that I was able to move back home for a while to save a bit of money. Not everyone has those circumstances to plan financially! But if you come from a more secure/affluent financial background, some of this might not apply to you - which is fine too.

My advice would be to first and foremost make a budget list for yourself (love my google sheets! I have MULTIPLE budget lists lmao) 

Make a budget list that covers what you would NEED to earn each month. And then from there, make a sheet that shows what you DO earn each month from art!

Try to track that income for at least 3-4 months of steady work!

If those numbers continue to meet up, then I would say that’s a green light!

If they don’t meet up - maybe look into some part time stuff! Which, like I said before, can be REALLY solid. And it’s always solid at least for a steady line of income, which is great! 💪✨

And remember to treat your job like a JOB! Clock in and clock out! It’s just a job! Not your life! Keep doing you! 💖 Too many times have I given 100% on jobs when it really should be like 80%! Save your energy for yourself too!

And if you are able, think about moving back home. Saving money is ALWAYS a solid choice. Give yourself some time to figure shit out and get your ducks in a row. 

I’m only able to do what I can now because I lived at home for 7 years and worked pretty non stop! (working in the morning to afternoon at my first job, coming home doing chores, and then working from 8-11 on art) 

BUT, always know, that we are NOT the same person!! You’re going to have a different path from me and so will many others! But in case you wanted a general picture of my circumstance, I’m hope this helped!

And as always, do NOT feel pressured by my advice here! 

Advice is just to help INFORM your OWN decisions! Never to make them for you! 💖

I feel like I both talked about A LOT and I’m ABSOLUTELY missing something from here! 🤔 So I apologize for such a novel! 

But if you or anyone else reading this thinks of a question about this type of stuff, let me know! I try to be pretty transparent about this since I feel like I’ve only seen a lot of advice from people not with students debt so it’s always been a little frustrating 😔💦

This work IS possible, but it was a lot of work to get myself here! And it’s still a constant dance of figuring out new things (which is equally exciting and a bit stressful) ^ w ^;;; 👏💖💖💖

But thank you for reading this far omg! I hope it was a little helpful at least! ; w ; 🙏💕

[inkyquince]

BAILEY AS A FATHER

I promise I'm working on my asshole ensemble stuff but I was bogged down with Dad!Bailey brainrot so...

Here's sfw, trying his best, Bailey as a Father. Mentions of just... Trying hard, a tad of slut shaming, MORGAN MENTION MORGAN DESERVES THEIR OWN WARNING BUT MORGAN IS MENTIONED, Bailey does fully think about shooting Avery. A slightly turbulent relationship but hey, its Bailey. Worries about Leighton. Mentions of abortion and cuz its Bailey, its quite crude.

One hook up. Enough to ruin his goddamn life. How did he know the bitch refused to get rid of the crotch goblin? For fuck's sake, he was just out of school and she was just a few years older, he would shell out for the clinic visit! Should have broken into her house with a hanger.

Worst of all, after trotting around town, pregnant belly barely covered by her top, she gives birth to you. Bailey refuses to visit. It takes him one night after months to feel a new feeling prickling at the back of his neck. He's an orphan and you only have your stupid fucking mother. Swears and yanks his clothes on, makings sure to stomp down the stairs so the crotchety old caretaker wakes up. Deserves it.

Barely even sees you. Walks past her house on Domus street and sees you with your older sibling, Char-something. Spots a lick of hair peeking out of the blanket you're swaddled in and he bolts. Done. He did more than his parents did already.

A few years pass. You should be about 4, but he's not fucking keeping track... 4 and a half.

Your mother happily drags you and her other kid around, delighted in taking you to the shopping center and clothing you. Word gets back to him that she loves to compliment your sweet personality, especially compared to your father. Who cares. He slowly saves up, from mugging Randoms, to swiping other orphan's underwear to sell to perverts. When he's really hurting for money, he goes to Quinn and helps them threaten their opposition when they make their way up in government. Leighton is also a pretty cash cow, from yanking their wallet out of their pocket and delivering a gut punch to selling them the aforementioned orphan underwear... And delivering a gut punch.

He just needs enough for a car. Then he can live out of that until he has a house. Preferably on Danube. Bailey smiles at the thought, already hearing Avery's teeth grinding together when he sees him.

Then his life is ruined again. Everyone knows so. Your sibling dies but not before Morgan's dirty laundry is aired out. To the public. If the news had been breached in just the perverted circle of the town, that would have just been extra fap material, but no. The few remaining morally upright citizens are scandalized and your mother disappears. Leaving you. Morgan was always vocal on who your father was.

You didn't ruin all of his life. Well, the caretaker got on his ass, screaming about throwing him and the wailing toddler out, that he better pay rent now, he's 18! He shoves you at one of the fellow orphans and work double shifts. Day dreams about taking your wriggling little body and dumping it at the docks. Comes home and can't really bring himself to follow it out.

No, you helped start his life. Roughly around age 6. After all, if he didn't come home, worn out and angry, to find the caretaker in his room, shushing you as you whimpered, his hand slowly tugging his belt off, he'd never have inherited the orphanage. The other orphans stay quiet as Bailey orders the spring to be filled in and he moves into his caretaker's old room. Has to take a moment to decide on what to do with you. He could pretend he was just an older orphan who shared his room with you while you were young and ignore you. He would have done that, if you had been dumped on him at the age you are.

But in his cramped little bed, he had to hold your sleeping body close so you didn't fall off. Your tiny puffs of air hit his collarbone, so quiet he held his breath sometimes to hear if you were still breathing. Bailey never questioned himself if he was hoping or dreading the silence that would come if you weren't. He struggled to settle on leaving you. Which was stupid, he argued to himself. He wouldn't be gone from your life, he was the caretaker. But something in his stomach clenched when he thought about going into your room and you wouldn't give him a chipped tooth little smile.

So the two of you continue to share a room, right up until you're 10. Whine for your own room, scuffing your boots against the floor of his office. Bailey puts you in his old room and you grin at your father. He isn't a... Physically intimate person, so the two of you share smiles and shoulder pats as your way of showing love.

Hates it when you get sick or injured. The other orphans could get their teeth knocked out, and he'd shrug, and he did raise you as a tough little kid, but he hates the wobble of your lip when holding a bloodied knee. Not just because he hates the sound of kids' crying.

You can tell others that your father is overbearing and they wouldn't really believe you, with all the plasters over your elbows and nose, scuffed clothes and hair cut kinda skew, but you know the truth. The moment your temperature rises, he's hauling you off to the doctor. One such fever really ruins it all, when the doctor idly asks you if you're liking school and you look blank. Fuck. He says he forgot secondary school was mandatory for kids at 11, but he's lying.

Heads into Leighton's office and before any pleasantries, grabs him by the collar and drags him over the desk. Nose-to-nose, informs him that if his kid can't be threatened or shamed into silence. He will know everything. Leighton blinks at him and quietly informs him that school started months ago and it's nearly Winter break. Bailey spits in his face and tells him to expect his kid on Monday.

Forgets school fucking sucks. Late nights at the table in his office, wondering when the fuck did they change maths? Maths is maths, why the shit did they change Maths?

Does forget to pick you up. Forgets to give you bus fare. Doesn't check homework. You pick fights and he just kinda wants to know if you won them. But every time you come home after detention, Bailey grills you on what you did. Lines, sorting lost and found, helping the librarian sort through returned and damages books and he exhales slowly.

He's not a good dad by any stretch. You have to yank at his arm and demand new clothes, your sleeve cuffs are basically halfway up your forearm by now. Doesn't check if you're eating or not. If you bug him too much, he gives you a look that tells you that you have 10 seconds before he grounds you for the rest of the year. He's not a dad you can talk to about your emotions or the changes to your body.

But when you're sleeping, Bailey does slip in, just to listen for your breathing for a few moments. One time fully just... Punched your schoolmate for mocking you. Lets you take dance lessons and lets you take the bus to the arcade on Sundays. Doesn't even raise an eyebrow when Robin takes a liking to you despite your father being the source of their nightmares. If you want to go to the Temple, you're welcome to, but unless its on your head, don't let anyone touch you. Has business at the Brothel and you have a fever one weekend so grudgingly invites Briar to the orphanage. Holds a meeting while you're fully passed out on the sofa in the corner. Briar calls you cute and Bailey pulls out a knife. Briar reassures that they meant cute as in a cute kid. Bailey returns the knife.

There are earth shaking fights and arguments. Giving each other the silent treatment. Days when you're badly hurt and Bailey feels powerless. Weekends when you're bored and throwing paper airplanes at his head and he chases you around his desk. Your relationship was always bound to be turbulent when you hit puberty but when you turn 18, an age you expected more freedom, Bailey is reluctant.

Threatens every sweetheart you ever had. If Robin shyly gives you a flower, Bailey pulls them aside and warns them if he finds out that they've snuck into your room after hours, he will torture them. Not pleased at all with Kylar, reminds him of Morgan and tells Kylar to treasure his ankles while he can. Whitney? Horrifically, likes them just a bit. Not the calling you a slut bit, but for beating the shit out of others when it comes to you. Still, grips Whitney by the hair and tells them that if you ever came to him crying for something they said or did, he will vanish them. He knows people he can and will sell Whitney to. Does look down on Alex until it turns out that he's in an all out war with Remy, and does respect their hustle a bit more. Thinks Sydney is a fucking nerd. Doesn't take them seriously until you've gotten your claws into them a bit more and likes them just a bit more.

When Avery takes an interest, Bailey digs through his contacts and criminal connections, and buys a gun. Y'know, just in case he ever saw that car idling outside.

Does flatly tell you that you need to pay rent at 18, but while Robin runs around for his £2000 a week, Bailey sets you up at the cafe and just wants £250 for room and board, and if you fall short, you have to do an orphanage worth of chores. Can never... Really sell off Robin like he was going to when you're very close to them.

You're the only one who doesn't look at him like a monster, and corny or not, he does love you for it.

Kofi

AO3

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