#should i open up a go fund me page

[iiotic]

Rhetorical Question (Il Dottore x Wife! Reader)

SUMMARY: you decided to stay in your husbands office as you didn't want to go home alone in the cold. it was already late, you didn't control your mouth and just said the first things that came to your head.

1.1k words | masterlist

─── જ ‎` ‎𓂃 TAGS: dottore x fem! wife! reader, fluff at first, angst/no comfort, immortal x mortal, let's just say that dottore didn't make you immortal in this scenario, death, mentions of Pantalone, akademiya flashbacks, mentions of kidnapping, ooc dottore? lowercase intended, not proffread, please inform me if i missed something.

NOTES: im back with writing y'all!! i dont know when i will post this yet but im so happy that im finally motivated again. this was suppose to be shorter but oh well. i also can't make summaries so forgive me.

the wind hitting the window could be heard even inside to coziness of your husband's office. the dangerous winter of sheznaya was not for the weak. you were thankful that you didn't need to work in the cold, thankful that you can stay inside on Zandik's couch under a warm blanket near the fireplace.

you sighed, snapping out of your thoughts. looking away from the window you acknowledged the closed book lying on your thighs. you forgot to mark the page again.

"what time is it?" you asked, eyeing your zandik who was apparently fighting with some paperwork, trying to get more funding from regrator.

normally he'd give the job to one of his segments, but ever since the ninth got an envelope covered in oil and other kind of sticky substances, signed webby ;3 he demanded that dottore need to write it himself.

"ten past eleven" he responded shortly after. "you know you can go home at any given moment. i could have one of my assistants escort you safely."

before you could protest he added. "as much as i appreciate your company i know that you might start talking gibberish somewhere around these hours."

"pff.. no, i will not." you murmured to yourself. you opened to the book that you were previously reading, searching for the page that you ended on. the clock hit twelve am. you soon started to get sleepy but didn't want to wake up to your husband saying "i told you to go home."

"if i were to leave you" you started but immediately cut off.

"are you planning to?" dottore eyed you from behind his desk, momentarily stopping his writing.

"no, of course not." you chuckled slightly at your husbands reaction. "it was a rhetorical question." he let out a pleased hum, signalling that you can continue your meaningless questions.

"rhetorically speaking, if i were to leave you or if i would get kidnapped, what would you do?" you laid down at the couch, not looking at dottore, however admiring the flames of the fireplace.

"dear, what kind of a question is that?"

"a rhetorical one."

he was silent or pheraps silenced. the room was silent, besides the wind hitting the window and the cozy fireplace burning. there wasn't any sound of dottore writing the letter. you could feel his eyes staring at the back of your head.

after a minute or two you started to question yourself if you should apologize. you relaxed slightly as your heard zandiks laughter echoing in the room.

"you'd never do that, i'd make sure of that." he replied shortly, already ending the conversation at that. he thought that you will stop but he was entirely wrong.

"you're right i wouldn't, BUT rhetorically speaking-" you started, but got cut off yet again. you sighed hearing dottores response.

"i do not answer dumb questions."

annoyed, you opened your book yet again, searching for the page yet again as you forgot to mark it again. you knew that arguing with zandik was pointless. if he doesn't want to say something, he won't. soon enough, your eyes felt heavy. you could feel them closing by themselfs.

later that night you woke up to a sudden weight beside you. groaning, you opened your eyes slightly to see your husband sitting on the other side of the bed.

"apologies, i didn't mean to wake you up." zandik said, slipping his shoes off and coming under covers to your now awake figure. you mumbled that it's fine, half sleeping. as soon as he fully laid down you cuddled your lover.

"i was thinking about the question you asked me earlier." you hummed in response, feeling his arm move to your hair. "if anyone or anything would take you away from me i'd go crazy." he chuckled lightly

"i'd send every single fatui to look for you. search every nation, every nook. i.. i know i don't say this often nor act like it but you mean so much to me. i don't know what i'd do without you. if you were to ever go missing i'd kill anyone just to see you again. i'd do anything just to see you again. i cannot imagine my life without you."

"oh.. my sweet zandik." you sighed, looking up at your lover "i will never leave you, i promise. im sorry if i upset you, i didn't mean to.

"you lied." dottore murmured looking at your lifeless body infront of him.

it was so terrible, so terrible. your eyes deprived from any emotions looking so lifeless, your body stabbed in various places. hair devolished, blood on your clothes. it was too late he told himself.

he crouched to your body, closing your eyes gently. why? why do you look so beautiful even though that you're no longer with him. you will always be the most beautiful creature in the whole universe for him.

later, he moved you to one of the rooms in his lab. a room that only he had access to. there you were laying in one of these gorgeous transparent coffins, one candle being the only light source in the room. you looked gorgeous, as always in your wedding dress that dottore himself changed you into.

he stood there just infront of you, fingers digging into his legs surely they started bleeding by now.

"you always made my days brighter when we were still in the akademiya, days seemed to go slower than now. at first you annoyed me terribly but i could never bring myself to tell you to leave. it soon formed into something more, at first fondness, friendship then love. i-i didn't know how to feel about this so i just distanced myself from you, but i couldn't bear it much longer as everything reminded me of you. your gorgeous smile, beautiful eyes, angelic voice.. how could you leave me like this. if only you told me about thise earlier, we could find a solution together. mortality is a curse.

© 2024 iiotic. — do not steal, translate or repost any of my content onto any other platform

[markscherz]

Can I ask how you feel about your Tumblr fame?

I get the impression you just made this account for normal casual funsies reasons, but it kinda blew up by happenstance. If that's right, I'm curious if now you feel like it's kind of a more serious thing, where you have an opportunity to sorta act as a science communicator with a reach you otherwise might not?

Or maybe something else? You gonna see if you can somehow leverage your Tumblr fame to get research funding? Deputize us to harass polluters and developers destroying habitats? Crowdsource name ideas for new species?

It's a bit bizarre, in that it has very little real-world-ness to it. I showed my mother the ongoing tumblr celebrity poll, and she was like 'how many people could possibly be interested in frogs?', to which I replied 'well as of today about 46,000 and counting'.

I have always had an unhealthy relationship with fame. I spent most of my teen and young adult life fawning after it, as is I suppose very often the case.

More after the cut…

I always really wanted to be famous, but I was never really interested in changing who I was or what I represented in that pursuit. That is to say, I wanted to be known for what I was already doing, or for things that were already interesting for me, rather than things that might have much higher chances of success but require more effort or be less in line with the things that I am interested in.

I had my first brush with virality in 2012, when a poem I wrote went a little viral (largely thanks to StumbleUpon). I remember the rush of seeing how much attention it was getting, and staying up late to keep refreshing the page as the visitor numbers went up and up and up.

But not long after that, I had some closer encounters with fame and people becoming famous. That was extremely eye-opening. I witnessed first hand how strongly that can affect someone's life, for good and for bad. That experience also made me realise, quite jarringly, that famous people are still just people; that celebrity is something extrinsic to them; that they also wipe their own butts (if they are able); and that in many cases, it is a substantial inconvenience if not downright pain in the ass for them. I think this is why we see so many of the big celebrities having mental health crises or trying to live as much of their lives out of the public eye as possible.

That experience pretty much stifled my desire to achieve fame, and really changed my relationship with it. I should add that I could say much more on this topic, but nothing so coherent or insightful as John and Hank Green, who have given me so much clarity on this topic over the years through their thoughtful commentary on youtube and their podcasts.

Anyway, in spite of the fact that fame itself doesn't really appeal to me anymore, I do still have a problem wherein I quickly became addicted to the microdosing of euphoria associated with every reblog and like and follow. So I put huge efforts into social media in order to try to gain traction in the space that I felt I could really compete in—Very Niche SciComm™—and build up a following.

Tumblr was the first platform where I felt that really succeed; I managed to fight my way to a few thousand followers with a thick queue of regular posts about herpetology and other science. At that time, there was a great community building up in the rudimentary private messaging system—I am still friends with several other tumblr bloggers from that era (none of whom I have ever met in person). From that early time (2013), I think my most successful post was probably this one about germination of 32,000 year old seeds—a post that, as of today, has 836 notes, but at the time felt huge and exhilarating.

As I went through gradschool, I got more and more active on twitter, and less and less active on tumblr (by the time I wound down, I had about 8,000 followers on tumblr). This was partly because of the pornbot takeover on tumblr, which meant I basically could not go on the platform in public or at work, but also because the audience and interactions are just fundamentally different. Twitter had a different kind of vibe and energy than tumblr, and there were real SciComm experts there, who were doing it just completely differently. More importantly, I became more focussed on doing outreach aimed at colleagues, rather than non-experts.

Then, in 2017, I hit headlines for the first time. The description of Geckolepis megalepis made it big on social and traditional media, and I had my first experience with real media attention. I had a flurry of late-night phone-calls with journalists in the US. This was a different animal altogether than the few viral posts I had had until that point. It was extremely stressful, but exhilarating. Then in 2018, our chameleon fluorescence story made similar headlines, and in 2019 the Mini frogs, and in 2021 with gecko fluorescence and the smallest chameleon.

Seeing my name on the BBC News website and in the New York Times and National Geographic—those things have been the most surreal moments of near-fame I have experienced so far. The number of followers on social media is quite difficult to conceptualise, but seeing your own name in a media outlet that you consume regularly, or have grown up with, is more palpable.

In any case, I continued to run with twitter as my main platform for years, because I found the interaction with colleagues and other academics highly stimulating. In 2021, I even posted a twitter thread about a different species of frog from Madagascar every day for the full year. All this work was ultimately greeted with mediocre success; I just crested over 10,000 followers a few months before the Musth takeover. But then the platform became basically unusable. And in the fallout, I came back to tumblr, where, just by chance, I happened to find a post about the Mini frogs and reply to it and it went properly viral and now here we are. In the space of a year, I went from having 8000 followers to having >46,000.

How do I feel about that? It's bonkers. I think it is great that so many people are interested in hearing the Good News about frogs and other creatures. But I also feel like I am not really on the same playing field as most of the others in that poll mentioned above, in that I do not have any of the celebrity that several others have. And I know for a fact that there are fanblogs with far, far larger followings than I have. But perhaps that is the great thing about tumblr; that the playing field is somehow levelled…

What's the point of this ramble? Well, first I guess it is to outline that I have given fame a lot of thought over the years, and I have a long-standing and complicated relationship with it, and take it quite seriously. Second, to illustrate that I have been working on as a science communicator or person in outreach for many years—it has kind of been my social media brand since I started gradschool in 2013. And third, to kind of outline how we got here, because I often feel like you have to know where an arrow has come from in order to figure out which direction it will continue to fly.

You asked if I would somehow try to leverage my tumblr fame to get research funding—I already do that. In fact, my social media activity had a signfiicant role in landing me my current job, and will continue to help me achieve tenure. Outreach is an important part of my job, and funders like it too.

I would love to have the community-building power and tenacity of the brothers Green; Nerdfighteria has achieved some incredible things over the years, and the power of that community is now being seen at an unprecedented scale in their battle for equitable access for tuberculosis diagnosis and treatment. But I do not have that in me; this platform is the wrong one for community activation, and my community is still too small for that. Moreover, it is not organised or structured, in the way that I think effective deputisation would require.

As for the crowdsourcing of name ideas, that is currently off the table. I like to try to name things on my own or with my colleauges; it is a very good part of the process. And I have yet to hear a suggestion for a Mini species epithet that I had not already come up with myself, so I am not convinced that this would really augment the experience.

So for now, I hope that the main way I use the platform, and the power that comes with a few thousand followers, will be to spread the Good News about frogs and other wonderful animals, and the other kinds of science happening around us (and occasional other off-topic content). I hope that you are encouraged to explore the world around you, and to do your own reading to find out more about the subjects that interest you. And also I will continue to try to make meme-worthy content, because it does nice, if addictive, things in my brain when I get the clicks.

Thanks for asking, anon, and sorry for the Wall of Text.

[bigglywiggly]

The day had finally come, you were finally going to meet the girl of your dreams, in person! Her name was Honey, she was a beauty streamer you had been watching for ages. Try-on hauls, pool streams, workout videos, all of it, you'd been here number 1 fan since day 1, donating thousands of dollars over the years to fund her lavish lifestyle, sending skimpy clothes and outfits for her to try on during her streams. To say you were smitten was an understatement. You would've done anything for even a minute with her, and luckily, that day had finally come.

One day, as you're tuning in to her stream, she posts a link on her page for "boyfriend applications." She wants to let her fans submit credentials and headshots for a chance to get more intimate with her, in a more personal way. You were astounded by this and instantly clicked the link and submitted an application. Seemed like pretty basic questions: height, weight, income, a headshot, basic things to understand the attractiveness and practicality of a person she deemed dateable. After filling it out to the best of your ability, you sent it in, a flutter and a hope in your chest. After, you tuned into the rest of the stream for the night.

The next week didn't go by quickly. Every day, you would sign in, check your inbox, emails, in hopes to see a response. As the end of the week neared, you lost all hope until you heard that melodious ding on your phone. At the top of your mailbox, you saw a new, unread email from who else, but Honey.

"Wow, you're super cute! I'd love to get to know you better, we should totally meet up!"

You almost dropped your phone, the air left your lungs and you were astounded, you punched and kicked yourself to make sure you weren't dreaming.

Nope. This was real. This was happening.

After that, time flew by to this very day. You had hopped aboard a plane, flew across the country, took an Uber to her house and were now standing on her doorstep. The reality of it all was finally hitting you. What if this was a scam? You'd heard about these fake streamers that lure unsuspecting fans out to these abandoned homes and robbed them, leaving them with nothing. This surely wasn't one of those times, right? Maybe you should text someone to let them know where you were? No, there's no way your parents would understand, and your friends would just mock you for being some sort of pathetic weirdo. You'd gotten this far, you were gonna see it through.

You walked up to the door, with a pit in your stomach, and shaking, reached up to press the doorbell.

*RING*

Silence. You sat there for a few seconds, but nobody showed. Was this all fake? You went to ring again, out of hope, when you heard footsteps from behind the door. Fairly heavy footsteps. You could almost feel it, and...were the sidelights shaking? Must've been your imagination. 3 more thuds and you heard the lock click. Then another lock. 3 locks? That seemed odd, but who knows, she's pretty famous, can't have enough security right? The door swung open, and the first thing you saw made your jaw drop.

"Hey cutie~!"

You looked up and there she was. As stunning as the day you first tuned into her stream. Face first with the most incredible curves you'd ever seen, if you weren't so entranced with her body, you may have also picked up on the sheer height of her. You weren't short by any means, you stood at a comfortable 5'11, but this woman was something else. As she filled the door frame, you were face to face with a trench of cleavage that could strangle an elephant.

"Nice to meet ya, I'm Honey! I see you've met the rest of me already! *Giggle*

You blushed, quickly snapping your head up to meet her gaze. As you locked eyes with her, it was like the whole world vanished. Pale, blue swimming pools stared straight into your soul, piercing through you.

"Umm..sorry. Yeah, hi, ma'am, I'm-"

"Oh sweetie, I know who you are! And what's with the ma'am? It's Honey!"

She playfully pushed your shoulder, slightly for her, but you felt there was some gusto as it almost made you step back.

"Well come on in! No use standing outside gabbin!"

She stepped to the side and gestured you in, you carefully stepped into the house, walking light footed as if you needed to be delicate or careful, like what you were doing was lascivious.

"Take your shoes off, make yourself comfortable!"

She spoke behind you, closing the door and doing up the 3 locks.

"I don't often get visitors here, so apologies if the place is a bit messy!"

As you walked into the house, something already felt odd. Like there was a chill in here of sorts, but you figured it was just from standing with the door open so long. You heard her thuds from behind and she walked past you, beckoning you to follow her into the main area. Following her, you started to take in your surroundings. Pictures on the wall of just Honey, all above your head though, if she lives alone it makes sense though, but to only have pictures of yourself up seemed a bit odd, no?

Stepping into the main area, you encountered another odd feeling as you took it all in. The furniture was surprisingly tall, taller than you'd seen. The couch looked like it came up to your waist. Stools at the kitchen counter were almost shoulder height to you. Had she custom ordered all this furniture? Some of it almost seemed even too tall for her?

"I see you noticed the furniture, don't worry, I'm still growing into it myself!"

Growing into it? What was that supposed to mean? Maybe just a figure of speech? You pondered this as you saw her walk over to the couch and plop down. She shot you a glance and patted the cushion next to her.

"Come sit! We should get to know each other better, this is our first time after all."

You awkwardly smiled back at her as you walked over to the couch. As you got closer to the furniture, your observations weren't unfounded, this couch was truly massive. Her sitting on it made it look like a normal sized piece of upholstery, but next to you, it made you feel like a kid again.

"Sorry, couch is a little high, I gotcha though!"

"What do you-?"

No sooner did the words come out as she put two hands under your arms and lifted you up, with ease, and plopped you down on the cushion beside her.

"Wow, you feel a lot lighter than you listed on your application! Granted, maybe this growing girl just doesn't know her own strength yet!"

Growing girl? Twice now she's referenced growing and still it made no sense. This girl was already massive and clearly approaching 30, how in the world was she growing?

"So, before we start, I wanted to thank you. I've noticed you in my streams for the last couple years. I see the donations you send and the clothes you ask me to try on. No doubt these gals have caught your eye." She shimmied her shoulders and gestured to the heaving shelf of breast hanging from her torso.

"I appreciate the clothes a lot, it's never easy covering these puppies up, believe you me. I swear, they eat up whatever I cover myself with and then some."

You blushed, she was clearly very comfortable in her skin, I mean hell, she shows herself off online for millions of people to see, why were you surprised. You kept darting glances down to her chest as she spoke. God they were huge, unrealistically so. How could something so massive come into being? Something so warm and inviting yet erotic and arousing all at the same time.

"Ahem. Did you hear anything I just said?"

"What? Sorry, I was jus-"

*Giggle*

"I'm just messing with ya! You clearly are having a little trouble paying attention, almost like somethings...caught your attention?"

She slowly rose from the couch and crawled towards you. Her heaving chest swinging from even the slightest motion as she closed the distance between you. The closer she got, the more of your vision was obscured by that inviting trench in front of you. God what you wouldn't have given to dive right in there.

"Ya know...these girls really have a mind of their own sometimes...they get hungry, and when that happens, there isn't much I can do to calm em down. They just keep growing, year after year, bigger and bigger as time passes."

Inches from your face now, you can smell the sweat from her skin as her cleavage floods your vision. Swinging, back and forth, pendulously in your face, they're all you can see.

"Would you like to...see them get even bigger?"

Oh god. You're on the brink, you feel your faculties leaving you, almost as if you're regressing to a more animalistic state. You need to touch them, feel them, taste them, you need to be between them now. In an instant you throw up your hands on either side and dive face first into that canyon.

*Giggle* "You're not one to mince words, are ya? Just going headfirst, well don't let me stop ya, explore to your heart's content."

You mash your face in between them, pressing down on either side, burying your face more and more. The more you explore these mighty breasts of hers, the more you seem to lose yourself, the less the world around you seems to matter. Squeezing, smushing, licking, this has become your world now.

"There's a good boy, you really know how to make a girl feel good..."

Her voice invades your mind and almost snaps you out of your trance, you start to notice little changes. When were you on her lap? Was she always caressing your back? Wow, these breasts truly are enormous, it's incredible how your hands just...sink into them like pudding. It's almost like...the longer you caress and squeeze, the bigger they get...

As these thoughts flood in, you notice that you're struggling to breathe a little. You haven't come up for air in a while. You try to pry the breasts back a little bit to let yourself some air but...they won't budge? In fact, they feel so heavy, you're hardly even squishing into them anymore. You place your hands on the front of her breasts and start pulling back, trying to pry your head free, until you finally released yourself with an audible *POP* and tumble backwards.

The world all slowly comes back into view, your surroundings start to become more clear, but something's off now. You start to pull yourself up to stand, but feel the couch beneath your feet? Your senses start to come back rapidly as you see you're standing on the couch, but the back of the couch is towering over you. You gulp, shocked and start to panic.

"What the hell is going on?!"

"Shhh, sweetie, relax."

You hear her low, sultry voice as you look back on her and almost fall back by what you see. There she is, on the far side of the couch, vastly looming over you. From your vantage point, she must be at least 35ft tall.

"What's going on?! What did you do to me?!"

"Aww, baby, can't you tell yet?"

She reaches out to you, you quiver as you see her gigantic hand approaching you, each finger bigger than a summer sausage. You try to push her hand away, but to no avail, she's far, far stronger than you. She wraps her fingers around your torso, lifts you up and carries you over to her face.

"Sweet pee, I wish you could see how cute you are right now. You're like a little bitty toy. You've done so much for me already, I wanted to thank you. You've really made an excellent donation."

"Donation?? What do you mean? Why am I so small? Change me back!!"

"Oh hon, I wish I could but your size is going to somewhere much greater. Just watch."

You see her bite her lip as the changes slowly take effect. You hear a subtle groaning as you witness her transform before your very eyes. You first notice the fingers holding you in place start to thicken, covering more and more of your torso. Then you see her thighs slowly plumpen, growing thicker and lusher. Then you notice the biggest part: her chest. Each breast begins to balloon, almost as if inflating, growing outwards and upwards, you can hear her bra beginning to creak and snap under her newfound weight. Her tank top straps strain and spaghetti before snapping and falling limply down her torso.

By the time it's all done, you see her take a deep breath as the tatters of her old outfit start to slip away.

"Wow, that was the best one yet! I just knew you'd be my biggest supporter. Apologies for these old rags though" as she gestures to her clothes, "allow me to slip into something more...fitting."

In a flash, you see the clothes on her body begin to morph, a black tank slowly forms from her old rags and lines up to hoist up her immensely enhanced bust. The straps, incredibly thin, squish down into her soft, pliable flesh.

"There, that looks better on me, dontcha think?"

"What the hell is going on?? How are you doing this? Why are you doing this?!"

She lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Hon, how do you think I got like this in the first place? How do you think I got this incredible body that lead to all these followers and all this fame? Donations of course! The sweet, perverted masses like yourself that so kindly add to, well, these masses!" She says as she honks her left breast, it's girth pouring out between her fingers.

"But, why? You don't even know me! I loved you and your content, I was happy to make those donations if they made you happy!"

"Hon, you and I both know why you made donations to begin with. You haven't been able to look at anything else since you got here, that's why you came here in the first place. You don't care about me as a person, you care about this body. Well, now you've made a contribution to the maintaining and improving of this body! You're almost there!"

You feel a sinking feeling in your chest as you swallow deeply.

"Almost?"

She flashes you a devious grin.

"Of course, hon." She speaks in a deep, sultry tone. "There's still so much of you left."

Your eyes open wide as you start kicking and flailing in her grasp, doing anything you can to get away from this monster, but to no avail.

She lets out a low, echoing chuckle, "You'll have to try harder than that, hon! I can hardly feel your weight, let alone your struggles! And as much as I LOVE watching your little flailings, Mama's got a stream to do tonight, so."

And with that, she slowly brings you closer to her chest, dangling you above the gully that is her cleavage, and flashes you one last smile.

"Thanks for the donation, hon!"

With that, she stuffs you down between her breasts, deep, deep down, almost as if into the core of some desolate planet. As she reaches the centre, she releases her grip on you and retracts her hand. What little light you see from above vanishes as her hand leaves your prison and the crushing weight of her bust surrounds you. You try to move, try to kick, punch, scream, bite, anything, to no avail. You feel a vibration echo around you, clearly she's laughing at your struggles. The pounding of her heart starts to fill your ears, it's low, resonating rumble almost calming you as you miserably accept your fate. You close your eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

-Hours later-

You slowly awaken, hot and sweaty, a dry scratchy feeling in your throat, no doubt from your screaming. You're not sure where you are though, your eyes are hazy and struggling to adjust to the darkness, but you see a small sliver of a silvery haze far, far, far above you. Moonlight? You reach out for it, only to feel a warm, moist mass beside you. What is this? It almost feels like-

Your heart starts racing. You start to panic and snap your head around to acquaint yourself with your surroundings, until you hear a loud, roaring rumble echo around you. A snore. You find yourself plastered to the side of her breast, deep within her bosom, the sliver of light a small amount of moonlight peaking into her cleavage. You try to yell out, but you're still hoarse. You can hardly move your limbs as you try to scratch her breast. You feel a sudden movement as you think you've gotten her attention. Your hopes are instantly crushed as the light vanishes and you start to feel the weight of her other tit come crushing down on you. Your incredibly mild annoyance only caused her to roll over in her sleep, crushing you further down as the goddess around you rests. All that's left to hear is the subtle beat of her heart all around you.

You close your eyes and let out a single tear as you accept your fate, the irony of the situation finally settling in.

You always wanted to contribute to those beautiful breasts, and now, you finally have.

[eddiediaaz]

hi guys, i am kind of ashamed and embarrassed to have to do this, but i figured it can't hurt to ask. basically i am really struggling right now (i know a lot of us are). i need financial help, so i set up a ko-fi page ☕

any kind of help would be so appreciated and i am so grateful for anyone taking the time to read this little post.

long story short: because of situations completely out of my control, i lost my job in vfx after almost 8 years and i am now forced to switch careers. i'm going back to school and can't find a part time job even tho i have been working non stop for 15 years. financial aid will only cover my rent, so i absolutely need to work 20 to 30 hours a week to cover the rest of my living expenses, but it's really hard to find a job. i am also currently over 10k cad in debt from my film school loans and credit cards.

signal boost would be appreciated, if you can 💕

my situation in more details under the cut for those who are curious

i was working in the vfx industry as a 2D compositor since 2016 (i have worked on over 40 films and tv shows), but in december of 2023 i lost my job due to the hollywood strikes (as expected, and as it should—i fully support the strikes). this was supposed to be temporary for a couple months where i could get unemployment benefits (only 45% of my usual salary though). unfortunately, on may 31st 2024, my government announced that they are significantly cutting the funding & tax credits for the vfx industry where i live. what does this mean? mass lay offs. thousands of canadians and other people in the world working in the industry are losing their career, including me. there will only be about 20% vfx jobs left where i live by 2025. vfx shops and production houses have already started to close doors here. i'm still mourning this career i have been working in for 8 years and loved, even tho it's been difficult and demanding at times (lots of overtime), but there are just no jobs right now (unless you are a senior vfx artist with decades of experience) and the future will only get more bleak. i could move abroad and follow the industry that is already moving somewhere else, but i don't want to do that on my own (i am already super lonely as it is!!) and i can't afford it.

my unemployment benefits will run out by the last week of september. in 4 weeks. i've been sending resumes everywhere, both online and in person, but i am just not getting anything in return. even tho i have over 15 years of experience working in various jobs and i have never been fired from anywhere. even tho my resume and cover letters are solid because they have been approved my professional counselors (a free service for people under 35 where i live). so much for they're hiring everywhere...

since my vfx compositing skills are very niche and not really applicable to much else, i decided to go back to school, taking college classes in the admin and excecutive assistant fields, since it's something that i think would be good for me and there are lots of jobs for that here. i will be getting some financial aid, but it's nowhere near enough to survive. it will only cover my rent, and that's because my rent is super cheap for my city. my college classes start on september 30 and i am excited for it, but also very stressed because i still don't have a part time job.

i've been living on my own with a small salary for over 10 years now, but it truly is the first time that i'm struggling this hard. i honestly don't have anything worth selling except some taylor swift perfumes, which i sold this week. i also have over 6k of credit debt and another 4.5k of school loans left to pay. at the bare minimum i will need about $1.000 CAD/month to cover my other bills and expenses after rent, hence why the need for a job ASAP. i am desperate and my mental health has been a huge mess. this is why i decided to open my ko-fi accounts. not that i'm expecting much, but anything can help, i think.

i don't have much to offer in exchange, except gifs? i'm wondering if (cheap, low price) gif commissions are a thing? i have no idea know, but i set up a poll on my ko-fi page to see if anyone would be interested.

thank you for reading if you've made it here, it's appreciated 💖

[maximwtf]

“Should have known better.”

Kinich x Reader

Words: 2500

Google Docs Pages: 4.1

Warnings: Kinich character story spoilers, angst/hurt w comfort/good ending, saurian death?, platonic relationship

Opening: Kinich is not one for strong reactions, even when dealing with bigger issues. But does his composure falter when a pressure point from the past is pressed?

AN// G/N Reader. Tell me why I completely missed out on Kinich lore even after getting him the first day the banner came out :”D ANYWAY now that I’m in the loop, this just had to be done. Likely not going to write for him again, just felt like doing this one. Hehe, anyway I’ll now disappear to work on another Capitano fic ;; (Was excited about that so I'm sorry if the ending of this is ooc and/or rushed)

“Should have known better.”

Tagging along with Kinich while he was on the job wasn’t something you were used to doing often. But on the other hand, you knew he didn’t mind having you there. Company apart from Ajaw seemed to be something he craved every now and then, not that you blamed him for that. Plus, you never asked for any portion of the funds he was going to get for the commissions even after helping him complete it. Simply enjoying the time spent with him, which had been hard for him to understand in the beginning. Why would someone work on a commission for free, only taking his company as payment? But by now, he seemed to not mind whenever you tagged along. 

And it wasn’t like you were completely useless either. A rather seasoned warrior and a fighter as you were, allowed him to get through commissions faster which wasn’t something he’d turn down especially if it was for free. 

The area this time wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before. Some high cliffs that surely would have frightened the less seasoned, but by this point standing on the edge of one didn’t stir those feelings within anymore. Not even while in the heat of battle, like now. 

Your eyes followed Kinich, hooked onto a saurian after having just gotten rid of one. The pack was rather large this time, having caused so much trouble for the people near the cliffs that they’d asked for help from Kinich. 

Your attention was brought back to the situation at hand soon after. Dodging the saurian’s hook, taking a little more speed into your steps before raising your weapon against it. Eyes keen to follow each step of the creature, making sure the hit would land. But while your attention was occupied, Kinich noticed another one  behind you. An easy target, really. It hadn’t even targeted you yet, so getting it to fall off of the cliff would have been easier than having to spend time on fighting it. Kinich loaded his shot, aiming with practised ease and watching to make sure it hit the creature. Though, as soon as it did the saurian managed to hook itself onto your ankle before the explosion ultimately made it lose its balance. Slipping off of the cliff and into the ravine. Affectively throwing you off of your feet with the heavy pull, quickly starting to drag your form along with it down the steep drop. 

There wasn’t any vegetation to take a hold of, grassy ground with dried bushes and a few flowers. Your hands grasped the ground, digging up dirt along the way. Attempting to kick the hook off of your ankle, but it held on tight. Especially when the saurian was basically dead weight in the ravine. Hanging off of you, making its hold ever stronger.

Your eyes quickly moved to Kinich, aware how little there was you could do anymore. A moment flashing by as pure desperate panic flooded your eyes, no words coming out in the moment. Focused solely on trying to get your body back up as it was actively being dragged into what seemed like the end. But your companion appeared frozen. 

Kinich had but a few moments to react, if even that. Having noticed the hook attached itself and soon after you were already hanging on the edge. Grasping at anything nearby to hold on. But even that feeble moment had been enough to make his mind run a course into a dark pit of memories. 

The young yet such a tough boy who’d been chased out by his father. And by a mere mistake, had watched his by then fragile father stumble. Taking a step back a little too close to the edge of the cliff, and with a heavy thud land on the bottom. 

How his body had frozen just as it had on this day. How his whole body had felt the tremble going through it, something he’d never felt before. A warm pressure at the back of his eyes as his body began to move towards the edge. How he’d seen what remained at the bottom of what seemed like an endless drop, having pulled himself back straight after. Chest tightening by the minute. The young yet such a tough man from then on clutching his small hands into fists. Fighting the tears back down, gritting his teeth as his mind raced. The situation was more of a mess than anything he’d seen before. Yet by some miracle he was able to numb his mind enough to push himself back onto his feet and find a grapple hook to bring his father to proper rest. 

But all that was then. Something he thought he wouldn’t have to ever think about again. Yet the lump in his throat as he approached the edge of the cliff proved him otherwise. But what was he so frightened of? And just then, he heard a thud. Something that echoed for but a mere moment. But a sound that felt like something in him had shattered. No rational thought of ‘I haven’t even seen what happened yet’ was able to ease his mind.  Yet his body felt almost as if it was moving on its own. It had been from the moment he’d watched your fingers slip off the edge. Hurrying there to see what could be salvaged. 

Even if his mind had seemingly decided the fate of the situation, his body hadn’t. He wouldn’t allow something like this to happen again. This was not a way to go, for anyone. Least of all you. 

You felt the ground under your hands slip, the last bit of the cliff giving in under the weight. Falling alongside you and the saurian. The speed of the fall was so frightening you could have sworn your heart stopped beating for a minute, before even the thought of doing your all to survive came to mind. 

The walls of the ravine in certain parts were tight enough for roots to connect from one side to another. Not all of them would support the weight of a human, but a few of the older ones were thick enough to be worthy enough to give it a try. To try and wedge yourself between a pair of them. 

And by a miracle, the Night Kingdom wasn’t going to have you on this day. Not now, at the very least. You’d managed to grip a pair of the roots. Gravel, dirt and smaller rocks trickling down the sides of the ravine at the sudden pull on the old roots. For a moment fearing they would give out like the edge of the cliff had. 

You held your breath, eyes widened. As if even the most subtle movement would restart the fall. Even the saurian had mostly stopped thrashing around, almost like even it understood the gravity of the situation. And if it did, that was a problem. The roots weren’t going to hold up the weight of you and the saurian. It had to go for a chance to get back up to even be possible. 

As soon as the air stilled, confirmed the roots were going to allow you a chance. To watch you fight for your life while hanging off of them by your arms. You started kicking the saurian, wiggling and moving the ankle it was attached to. The hook’s hold had slipped earlier when you’d lodged yourself between the roots, so it was no surprise that the already frightened saurian couldn’t hold on for longer. Its hold slipping, keeping you on the edge up until you heard the loud thud that echoed at the very bottom of the ravine. 

The air was so still, only the sound of your heavy breathing and soft trickle of the gravel that fell from the walls of the ravine. Following the fate of the saurian. Leaving you hanging before even thinking of trying to find a more stable spot between the roots. Kinich being still up on the cliff having slipped your mind completely. Focusing all your energy and instinct on finding the most suitable spot to get on before even attempting to come up with a plan to get back up. 

Kinich so desperately wanted to hesitate, not look down the ravine. Not after the thud that had echoed from the bottom of it. The sound that had stirred those memories to resurface, powerful enough to make him wonder if he even wanted to check and confirm the source of the sound. 

But then again, Kinich couldn't just leave and assume what had happened. Peeking over the edge, keen eyes scanning the bottom of the ravine. Only being able to spot the saurian, unmoving at the bottom. His brows furrowed, eyes moving across the walls of the ravine in confusion. A silent breath escaping him after spotting your form lodged between the roots, having heard the rustle of the dirt falling down from around the roots. Not even giving himself time to be relieved before his mind started ticking. Trying to figure out a way to fish you back up. 

“Hold on, I’ll reel you back up.” He called out, voice stoic as ever. And if you hadn’t been in such an attention requiring situation, you could have heard the slight waver in his voice. 

You peered up, merely seeing the man’s shadow before he disappeared off of the cliff edge. Way to leave someone hanging, you thought. A slight snarl appearing on your face before at last making it close enough to the wall of the ravine to calm down for a moment.

Soon a few rocks fell from the top, catching your attention. A grappling hook slowly lowered itself to your level before Kinich appeared at the top. “Wrap it around yourself.” He instructed, the same tone of voice still there. Doing his all to hold it together. Panicking now would only lead to worse losses, and that wasn’t a price he was willing to pay. 

Though, he would have been a fool to not admit the way he was feeling. Having noticed how his hands had shook while fetching the hook. How his breath had hitched at the thud, how tense he felt even now. 

The tug at the end of the rope caught his attention, peering back down to make sure you were securely attached to the grappling hook. 

Trying your best to help him, you used the wall closest to you. Placing the tip of your boot to each crevice you could spot, making the weight a little lighter for him. 

Soon a heavy breath escaped your lips when the familiar grass appeared back into view, crawling back on the top of the cliff. Kinich taking a hold of you, easily lifting your form back up. Dragging you rather far from the edge without even noticing before he let go. 

You allowed yourself to lay on your back, breathing heavily as the seriousness of the situation slowly started to sink in. Staring at the sky, following the few clouds that travelled across in that time. Turning to look at Kinich, watching as he hadn’t allowed himself to sit down. Leaned against his knees, hair hiding most of his face as he stared at the grass. Breaths heavy. A relieved yet tense silence between the two of you. 

Observing him a little longer, it wasn’t hard to tell that he’d clearly been shaken up by the events. And maybe it hadn’t hit you just as hard yet, but you felt almost worse for him than yourself. It wasn’t often that you nor anyone else saw him like this. 

With a silent groan you sat back up, thinking for a moment before deciding to speak up. “You couldn’t have known it would attach itself to me…It’s okay.” Knowing he wasn’t going to let this slip with you merely telling him that it wasn’t his fault, yet still trying. He wasn't the kind of person to not blame himself when he’d been involved in something like this. “No, I should have known. Waited for you to get out of its range. I knew better than that.” Kinich replied, voice surprisingly calm as he stood back up. Completely dismissing your earlier forgiveness. 

You couldn’t get a word in after, not that there was much you could say. He wouldn’t believe you if you kept telling him that he was not at fault here. Merely watching as he kneeled in front of you, eyes scanning your form before doing a more thorough check up for injuries. Lifting each of your limbs, moving them to make sure that nothing was out of place. Mumbling something about the adrenaline wearing off soon and having to check up on you after that again. Gaining him a slight eye roll from you. 

The chuckle you let out couldn’t hide the nervousness still deep in your system, still feeling the need to make him understand. To make him listen, it wasn’t his fault. That there was no reason to think of how it had happened, but to move on and be glad you’d both made it out in one piece. 

You took a hold of his hand, stopping it from wandering around your form. Obsessively checking that everything was okay. Giving him a look before pulling the man down to sit and calm down. Feeling his hand still tremble, clear that he was still on edge about this.

You may have not known everything of his past, and you didn’t have to. No matter what he may have encountered before you’d even met him didn’t matter now. He was allowed to be shocked and panicked, but what you firmly believed he shouldn’t do was to force himself to be so uptight. To make himself move on so quickly. Especially when that didn’t seem to be an unconscious choice, it was one he forced himself to make. 

“Hey, we’re both alive and well…mostly in one piece. Calm down, eh?” You tried to smile at him. Watching as his eyes stared into yours, careful as he eased out and more willingly sat down. A breath escaping him, giving in. If just a little. 

You placed his hand against your chest, breathing calmly. In a way an attempt to calm yourself at the same time, maybe tricking your brain by doing this for him. Watching as wind so high up in the cliffs blew against the both of you, sitting there in silence. Waiting until the initial shock wore off. 

And likely would have waited for longer. If it hadn’t been for the subtle grunt that escaped you when letting go of his hand. Likely having sprained something in your shoulder due to the fall. But it was enough to bring Kinich back on track, quick in his actions as he tugged you back onto your feet. Mumbling something about not wasting any more time and having to go find a medic. Gaining him another eye roll.

[kurishiri]

03 ┊ A match of life and death, the art of self-protection

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— jude⌛'s past records, record #3. i'm so, so sorry for taking so long on this ,, orz

— cw: brief mention of human trafficking in the end.

Jude: I’ll give ya more in return. So give that medicine to me.

Going so low as to threaten him with a shattered bottle, it resembled what had been done to us by our father and brother.

God knows how long we glared at each other.

But the one who opened his mouth first was the doctor.

Oswald: ...Listen up, lad. An investment is lending out funds with the expectation of future gains.

O: Only an ignorant and selfish child would think he could receive funds just like that.

(...!)

(Hate to admit it, but this damn doctor’s got a point.)

I could shout and yell out all until I gave out, but in the end I was only saying bratty, spoiled nonsense.

Unable to say anything back, the doctor handed me a thick medical book.

Jude: What’s this for?

Oswald: By the time I come around next time, have this entire book memorized.

O: If you can demonstrate your abilities, I promise I will administer the medicine.

The book he gave me was so thick, it could probably kill a person if they got hit with it.

And the doctor came around here once a week.

——All that to say.

(He’s thinks I don’t got it in me from the start so he’s givin’ me this tall order.)

Jude: Ha, bloody hell... all of ya lookin’ down on me, aren’t’cha.

(But it’s this or nothin’ for us.)

(I’ll weave from a single straw if I hafta.)

To get more out of this than if I were to steal and sell it for a likely-high price,

I was grateful to my mother, who had taught me how to read.

Jude: Couldn’t ask for nothin’ more. I’m in.

——is what I said, but memorizing everything was far from an easy feat.

Jude: Ether has been used as a narcotic in treatments...

J: Tch, there’s way too many fancy words in ‘ere.

I felt like my heart was going to get crushed countless times.

But, if that happened, that would really be the end for us.

I absorbed myself to the point I neglected sleeping and eating——

And then, one week later, I memorized everything.

The damn doctor would point to a page, and when I recited its contents, he let out a satisfied laugh.

Oswald: Haha, to think you really went and memorized everything. That was quite a feat even for myself.

Jude: The hell? Weren’t ya the one who told me to memorize this entire thing?

Oswald: Indeed. It’s my defeat.

O: As promised, I will treat you guys.

Jude: As ya should, ya git.

Jude’s little sister: ...Hey, mister doctor.

Oswald: Hm? What is it, kiddo?

Jude’s little sister: Will... will ya really fulfill your promise?

Jude’s little sister: ‘Cause even if my brother makes a promise, all the adults go ‘round breakin’ ‘em.

Jude: ......... (O_O)

Oswald: I could say anything with this mouth, so I was intending to show it with my actions...

O: But I will not break the promise. ——And that is absolute.

And so, the damn doctor, as promised, periodically administered the medicine to us.

My sister and I then slowly recovered.

While under the treatment, the damn doctor didn’t utter a word. Nor did he show us any pity.

He simply treated us as another human being, on equal footing——and while I hated to admit it, that made me happy.

So that may have been why my mouth ended up slipping.

Jude: They would’ve wanted us dead. Which was why I did everythin’ I could not to.

Dammit, I had thought then——but the damn doctor responded with a dispassionate voice, all the while continuing the treatment.

Oswald: If you died because others had wished for you to die, that would be the most uninteresting thing.

O: So, if that’s the case, why not live a stubborn life? That is the ultimate revenge.

In an act of amusement, he would tell me about lots of things.

And I would come to absorb more and more of that knowledge.

But, such a peaceful time would end and fade away in an instant.

Jude: The hell? ...Ya sold her?

to be continued…

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masterlist🌙 ┊ ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

[thecraftydragonc]

Hello everyone, I am opening up donation commissions! Specifically for these donation drawings the cause I want to focus on is the ongoing genocide and humanitarian crisis in Palestine. It is more important than ever to donate to help Palestinians as Israel's attacks only get worse by the hour. It may be easy to feel disconnected from something happening on the other side of the world, or that there’s nothing you can do to help. However, even just a small act of kindness can change someone's life. I know this small donation campaign won’t single handedly change the world, but I am hoping it can be that small act of kindness that someone needs right now. 

So, how will this Donations for Drawings campaign work? It’s pretty simple, you donate to a cause that helps Palestinians and I will draw something for you! The more you donate, the better the drawing will be, but no donation is too small! This campaign will run for 2 weeks from 5/29 to 11:59pm PST on 6/12. Additionally the campaign won’t end until we reach the goal of at least $100 in donations (but we can go over the $100 goal in the 2 week timeline). I am accepting donations to family fundraisers, eSims, and donations to organizations/charities, however escape funds and eSims are a priority right now. If you need help figuring out where to donate, here are some options. This isn’t every fundraiser out there but it’s a good place to start.

Family Fundraisers (These are all vetted fundraisers): Gaza Funds (If you’re having trouble deciding on a family to donate to this site will automatically suggest a fundraiser when you open it) Operation Olive Branch Help Gaza Gaza Evacuation Relief Fund fundsforgaza | Instagram | Linktree

eSims: https://gazaesims.com/

Organizations/Charities: PCRF CareForGaza Supporting Displaced Families in Gaza https://piousprojects.org/campaign/2680 State of Palestine | World Food Programme Doctors Without Borders The National Emergency Appeal: Medical Aid for Palestinians Crips for eSims for Gaza | Chuffed | Non-profit charity and social enterprise fundraising (if you can’t donate an eSim yourself you can donate here)

Once you donate you need to send proof of your donation to me. This can be done through a direct message or this google form https://forms.gle/bUzTb4bgCefc3Wec8. Proof of donation should include a timestamp, what type of donation you made, and how much you donated. Please remove or blackout any personal identification or banking information. Also, specifically for eSim donations you must also show that you forwarded the eSim to gazaesims@gmail.com. I am only accepting donations made during 5/29 or later.

For the drawings themselves, I am up for drawing anything (though I’m best at drawing dragons), Oc’s or Canon characters, just nothing that is NSFW, gore, or has hateful imagery. In your message please include a link to the character's profile (like a toyhouse page or wiki for canon characters) and/or include a reference image. The more you donate the better the drawing will be! Images of Palestinian solidarity can also be included in the drawing for free if you’d like, just specify that in your message. Additionally, these drawings will likely be posted to promote this donation campaign as well as donating to Palestinian causes in general. I can either tag you in these uploads or you can remain anonymous if you wish. 

Thank you for reading all of the info for the donation commission! If you have any questions feel free to ask.

Additionally, if you want to help Palestinians but unfortunately can’t donate, there are still so many ways you can help! You can participate in boycotts https://bdsmovement.net/get-involved/what-to-boycott, do your daily click https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/, call and email your representatives to demand a ceasefire, and keep yourself educated by listening to Palestinian voices and learning from resources like https://decolonizepalestine.com/.

[leebrontide]

A legit way to fight the climate crisis from where you're sitting right now

As promised, in honor of Earth Day, I've written some suggestions for how you can write a letter to the editor for your local paper, and reach some people who otherwise might get a more...shall we say restricted view of climate news. Letters to the Editor remain a surprisingly important political vehicle. People see letters to the editor and they feel like they're hearing from their neighbors- real people with authentic, down-to-earth agendas. They're the second most read part of the paper, after the front page. Take that stage!

Step 1- Pick an article in your local paper to respond to. Today is Earth day, and lots of papers will have at least something about climate crisis or environmental protection on it's pages. Local papers are better, because, as you can imagine, papers like The New Yorker get a lot more submissions to compete against, and anyways they don't have the same sense of local opinion.

Don't fret if your local paper leans conservative! That means it has readers we REALLY need to reach! And they may be more open to reading about these issues in a paper than online, which particularly a lot of older, don't feel like "the real world".

Step 2- Figure out what you're going to say! Maybe there's a glaring error in the article you want to address. BUT, if you're not sure, you can look up your local organization that's fighting for these goals. For example, I could look up and find MN350, because I'm in Minnesota. Going to their social media and their webpage/newsletter archive gives me an inside look at what people who are really immersed in these subjects have to say about what's going on.

So, for example, I see that my local group applauds Minneapolis's efforts at going to all clean energy, and has a timeline, but that people on the inside are saying that without a dedicated funding stream, people implementing these changes will have to either hope federal funding stays stable or fight for funding in the city council every year. Ok, now when there's an article about Minneapolis's plans, I have something to say.

Step 3- Draft it up.

The goal here is to be short and to the point.

Opening line: Identify which article you're responding to, and maybe your feeling about it.

First paragraph: What is the specific issue? What is a relevant fact and why does it  warrant public concern?

Second paragraph: What would you say that we do in response, or what would you ask your neighbors to do?  Why?

Third paragraph: What is currently being done to address the issue and how could people who have been persuaded act?

This should be no more than 150 to 250 words TOTAL.

While you're wording it, some things to keep in mind- stats and facts are good, but don't use a lot of acronyms or jargon. Expect your readers to be coming at this with about an 8th grade education.

If you have a sense of what the people you're talking to find persuasive, lean into that. For example, for my letter to the editor, I emphasized that chaotic funding leads to lack of ability to plan ahead or bulk-buy. I know the people I'm talking to like things to be common-sense and detest governmental waste, so that's an easy one.

If you want extra help, I have a list of best practices for communicating about the climate crisis right here.

Step 4- Proofread, then submit it via whatever process your local paper has. The goal, if you can manage is, is to submit something within 48 hours of the original article's publication. That's the sweet spot for most papers.

BONUS ROUND!

You did that, and still have a little energy for the environment left? There's one more thing you can do to super-charge your effort!

Guess what, you can stack the deck in favor of your specific letter being published.

But it will involve using a phone.

That's right, if you REALLY wanna turbo boost this thing, you're gonna call the paper (or have your non-phone-adverse-friend or family member pretend to be you and call the paper).

Call as soon as possible after the editor would have received the material.

Use pleasant persistence to speak with the right person. Don’t stop at a receptionist or secretary. Create enough POLITE urgency about your letter that you get through to the specific reporter or editor who will decide whether or not to print your piece.

Provide the editor with specific local info and urgency. Focus your conversation on why this issue is relevant to their readers.

Get specific feedback and/or a specific commitment from the reporter. If they don’t want to print the letter, find out why and what adjustments you can make to get it printed.

If they agree to print it, find out when you can expect to see it in the paper. The you can tell other people. Even if memaw isn't a big climate activist, she might show your letter to everybody she knows if she knows you wrote it.

And that's the process! I know that's a lot of information to throw at you, but ultimately, it can be pretty quick to crank these things out. And, again, these have been proven to be powerful persuaders. We need as many people as we can to be in this fight, so go and get them!

And always remember, you're not just combating ignorance, you're combating hopelessness, helplessness, and burnout! You can inspire people to think about what's possible.

PS if any of you actually do this, please let me know. It'd make me so happy.

@onbearfeet @basil-gardens @punkypine @rederiswrites @veritatemquarens @radioraja

[tozettastone]

With the usual disclaimers that this is a draft, may be subject to change, etc. etc., I have come to show you the first part of the draft of my OC×Itachi Covenant Fic (paging @mixelation and @waffliesinyoface, my covenant buddies). This is also to prove I am definitely writing it, 100%, promise, LOL.

I think for me right now, this opening sets up all the things I want it to, but it's pretty slow and it introduces three (3) OCs, when the preferred number is probably one (1). That's kind of a product of its setting, but maybe that means I should have picked a different one. Well, we'll see how I go.

---

It was almost impossible to buy close-toed boots in the elemental nations.

Fuyumi had tried. For years, Fuyumi had tried. Suppliers who produced them — mostly those in the frigid mountains up near Lightning, go figure — did not make them in her size. Everywhere else, they were a custom product, and requests were met with furrowed brows and eye-watering prices.

Fuduka Fuyumi, an unaffiliated ninja doggedly avoiding her own debtors, certainly could not afford to have warm, dry toes. This was why her toes squelched when she stepped out of the river that morning.

There absolutely existed ninja in this world whose chakra control was good enough to jog five miles down a swift-flowing river and simply avoid wet toes altogether. Some of those ninja even stopped in Uteki village, actually, since they were so close to Ame, where the worst-hidden secret society of ninja criminals on the planet made their base. Fuyumi was not among their august number, though. She had her own tricks and talents — she could drink grown men under the table and crush watermelons with only the undiluted power of her thighs. Fine chakra control? Not so much.

The dock was a floating wooden platform that bobbed along with the current of the river. The boats that arrived there were mostly long river barges, and the waterway was narrow enough that some of them were even drawn by horses or oxen pulling along the far bank. The bleached and battered wood creaked under the feet of the labourers, rough-looking men whose jobs consisted in the logistics of all this industry, taking from boats onto carts into warehouses and into, presumably, other carts.

In this part of town, the warehouses huddled like stout ugly sentinels over the river, surrounded by detritus of crates and ropes and rusted horseshoes and canvas. Further in was the market square, which was a bloody grand name for a place where they generally sold sweet fuck all.

Despite her squelching footsteps, nobody even glanced twice at Fuyumi when she returned. The tiny Fuduka family was well known in the village. It was her home now.

While she'd been living there, Fuyumi had never once thought she'd come to miss the dubious luxuries of her old home town. She'd grown up on a hard-packed red-dirt road between an electrical supply store and a farm equipment supplier. She'd had dial-up internet well into the 2010s, and the places to be seen were the mobile monthly disco and the shopping centre car park. But the elemental nations, in aggregate, had really made her count all the blessings to which she no longer had access. You know: a variety of beautiful out-of-season foods, healthcare that wasn't based on vibes alone, taxpayer-funded disability and aged pensions, a twelve-year educational curriculum… and fucking shoes. With covered toes.

Fuyumi even missed XXXX, which was, frankly, saying something. She had yet to find a single lager in the elemental nations.

She squelched a little more on her way to the market, waving to the few people who lifted their hands at her in passing, most of whom she recognised vaguely from long nights spent in the bar. In her experience, docks always had the better bars. Anywhere the wharfies were, you could guarantee no wine sat open long enough to sour.

Although heading immediately to a bar at noon on a Wednesday was not totally unknown for Fuyumi, she did have responsibilities, and today these took her down towards the market instead.

The warehouses were quickly exchanged for symptoms of consumer commerce: faded striped awnings and peeling wooden signs arranged loosely down a tiny street of semi-permanent storefronts, manned by farmers' wives and the odd travelling merchant. The very moment she stepped out of the shadow of the teahouse on the corner, a creaky voice called out:

"Oh, Fuyumi-san! Could I trouble you to help me with this?"

'This,' was three hefty crates packed tightly with bottles and straw, and 'me' turned out to be an ageing woman Fuyumi recognised only vaguely. She might've been one of her grandmother's friends. (Akane, despite her entire personality, had many friends.)

"Sure," said Fuyumi, because her next destination was her mother's house, and there was pretty much no task Fuyumi would disdain in pursuit of procrastinating against that eventuality. She unloaded the clinking bottles under the twin glowers of the midday sun and of the lady, who turned out to be called Aya. It wasn't ringing a bell? But Fuyumi didn't really mind moving heavy stuff for old ladies even if she didn't know them. If Fuyumi was ever old — which experience said was… uh, not likely — she'd want local ninja to unload crates for her. Right?

The bottles turned out to be full of oil, so they were light, but there were a lot of them and their shapes made them awkward to handle. While she was drifting between the crates and the shady insides of Auntie Aya's little wooden store, Fuyumi learned that the crates were outside on the street because that was where Aya's son had delivered them, instead of putting them inside the shop where they could be locked away from harm.

"He's useless, you know," Auntie Aya said, watching Fuyumi's progress from her three-legged stool. "You mustn't marry him. Although I suppose you'd be useful enough for two. You ninja have to have so many skills, it's a tough job for a woman…"

She went on in this vein for some time, and Fuyumi mostly let it wash over her.

Before she let her go, Aya said, "Those ninja men in the black coats have been around again," which really just went to show why you should always help lonely old ladies when they asked.

"Huh. Good to know. Are they… bothering you?" Fuyumi wondered. She didn't know what the hell she was going to do about it if they were. She was a ninja, but she wasn't, like, the kind of ninja you asked for when Uchiha Obito was causing a nuisance and you wanted someone to stop him, you know? She licked her teeth. She could help with an expeditious evacuation, in a pinch.

"Oh, no, they never bother us here." Thank fuck for that. "But I thought a kunoichi should be careful."

Fuyumi cracked her neck and rubbed her nose. "That's good advice, Auntie," she agreed.

She left the store, richer by a single bottle of oil Auntie Aya pressed upon her, and went about her business, which today consisted in collecting groceries for her mother — the inimitable and moody Fukuda Setsuko. She kept an eye out for a flash of red clouds and black swishy fabric while she did it, though.

Once upon a time, back in, like, 2007, the person currently known as Fuyumi had read a shitty scanlation of the Naruto manga. She'd done this via a screebly dial-up connection, hunched over a glowing CRT monitor while the fan clicked lazily (and futilely) overhead. Later, she'd caught… most of the Shippuden anime, probably, on her laptop, and managed to figure out the rest via social media osmosis in between her university classes.

Back then, she hadn't been an Akatsuki fan. Even the most fleshed out of the characters had seemed to have confused (and confusing) motives, and some of them were completely incomprehensible. Now, living as she did in Uteki, she'd actually spotted several of those men in the wild, and she… still wasn't an Akatsuki fan? They were extremely impressive ninja, sure, but the elemental nations were full of extremely impressive ninja, and not all of them were sixteen personality disorders in a flappy coat.

Fuyumi had even spotted the much-beloved figure of Uchiha Itachi once, from a distance, and her thoughts on that fan favourite were: wow, there's really no accounting for taste, huh? She didn't get the appeal. He was a pale guy with a resting bitchface that could kill someone from fifty paces, and he walked around swaddled in a coat too big for him, looking exhausted.

Personally, Fuyumi's favourite character had been Tsunade, because she was an absolute fucking legend who could break walls with her pinkie and Fuyumi badly wanted to get a drink with her one day. This was lucky, because she was so famous a figure in the elemental nations that, if asked, Fuyumi could still say, 'Well, I really admire Senju Tsunade,' and even random guys in bars just grunted and nodded their heads sagely.

So… Suck on that, Itachi girls.

Despite her drifting thoughts, knowing that there were Akatsuki members in Uteki did make Fuyumi move more purposefully and quickly. As a born unaffiliated ninja, she had no bounty, so there was no reason they'd be interested in her — but she had no interest in courting a surprise introduction to, like, Hidan or something. Christ. That would suck.

Setsuko lived six miles out of town, which would have been an absurd walking distance to Fuyumi in a previous life. For a ninja, blessed with a chakra-fortified body and training that commenced in early childhood and never really ceased, it was forty-five minutes, while carrying the groceries, taken at her laziest jog. Fuyumi would have preferred internet access and childhood immunisations, sure, but since she was stuck here, chakra and absurd physical fitness were pretty cool consolation prizes.

"Did you roll in mud before visiting me?" sighed Setsuko when she saw her daughter. Thirty-nine, five foot nothing, and pale, Setsuko had a perfect round face and the deceptively delicate look cultivated by true, old-fashioned kunoichi. She was pretty, poisonous, and not nearly as fragile as she habitually pretended. Today there were hydrangeas decorating her hair, a splash of purple against its midnight darkness. In spring, it had been fruit blossoms.

"I think you get bigger every time I see you," she said, tapping her lower lip as Fuyumi ducked into the shade of the house and kicked off her sandals. They were dry after the trip here, at least.

"I've been going like a cut cat all morning, so, no, I didn't shower. They had dogs," she explained, eyeing her own ankles. Her mother, predictably, reached up and rubbed her fingertips across the scars on Fuyumi's face. She didn't mention them aloud but her expression said a lot, none of it good. "I ran the river to get back so nobody'd track me."

Her hems were pretty grotty, a fact that had totally escaped her until it had been pointed out. Her legwarmers really needed a wash.

Setsuko's eyes had drifted in the same direction. "You should get rid of those," she said, for perhaps the sixth time. "You must have dropped six separate stitches."

"I made them," Fuyumi protested, as she always did. So what if it was hard to keep track of her rib stitch? "Out of nothing. Like a god." She sucked at all the girly arts her mother had tried to pass on to her. Handicrafts were just one among a million.

"Out of yarn," her mother pointed out. "And… more like a toddler."

"Where do you want your onions?" she asked, even though she knew exactly where they went. It was time to change the subject before her legwarmers got confiscated straight off her legs, somehow.

Setsuko was, Fuyumi thought, totally capable of getting her own groceries. She could even have sent a water clone, if her knees were really causing her so much pain. But Fuyumi valued the routine of bringing her weekly shopping to her, when she could. This way, her mother could not claim she was being cruelly neglected by an unfilial child, but Fuyumi could show up, unload groceries, and be gone in twenty minutes, if she was lucky. It was a perfect system.

However, if she was not lucky…

"I'll need you to get on the roof and get some of those branches down before something makes a nest up there. And there are some trees I've been meaning to transplant, so you'll need to do the ditches."

"Okay," said Fuyumi, letting this information drift over the surface of her mind without touching down.

She liked doing menial chores for her mother a lot less than she did for the grandmothers about town. What she really wanted, she felt, was a drink. Or five. Just to get a little fuzzy at the local bar and not think too hard about anything at all. But before she could do that, there was roof-climbing and trees, apparently. And, inevitably, Setsuko.

"You don't think you're still growing, do you?" she wondered, peering up at Fuyumi.

At over six feet tall, Fuyumi was an anomaly. She came by it honestly, though: her dad, long dead, had been a giant among men, a hulking taijutsu expert from up in the mountains somewhere.

Having a lover — a male lover — built like a brick shithouse was one thing. But, for Setsuko, having a daughter follow in his footsteps was quite beyond the pale. And she'd been chucking an extended wobbly about it on and off since Fuyumi was about twelve.

"Hardly matters," Fuyumi responded with forced cheer. "I'm already the tallest person you know. Let me get the roof out of the way first," she added, putting away a huge sack of rice and closing the cupboard door, "and then we'll see about the garden."

Her body shape wasn't the only way in which Fuyumi was nothing like her mother and a whole lot like her absent father. She also had his elemental affinity for earth. Her poor control meant that, unlike him, she was only entrusted with the creation of roofing tiles at moments of direst need. But she was an expert ditch-digger.

Despite her facility at the task, her mother kept her hard at work in the garden under an endless stream of helpful criticism for another ninety minutes, after which Fuyumi made her excuses with more firmness than tact.

"Going off to drink too much with Harusame, I assume," Setsuko sniffed. "Your father drank with that man for ten years and he ignored me for eight of them. I've never come to understand what the appeal was."

Since this was indeed, exactly, one hundred per cent what she intended to do with her evening, Fuyumi just shrugged. She bent down to put her shoes on at the door again.

Setsuko sighed a deep, put upon sigh. "Just… please tell me you're not sleeping with him."

Jesus fucking Christ, the things that worried this woman. "I am not sleeping with Harusame. Don't be ridiculous."

Setsuko examined her sternly, but her mum-senses must have detected no lie, because she made a little noise of relief and adjusted her hydrangeas. "Fine. Go, then. And wear your knee brace, Fuyumi!" she added, apparently unable to prevent herself from offering one more parting criticism.

It was, at last, probably good advice. As soon as Fuyumi figured out where she'd put the stupid thing, she'd follow it.

Right. That was her day done, then. Mission: finished. Pay: collected. Mum: visited. Now, to the bar, and Harusame's careless temper. And if she was very, very lucky, she'd get exactly drunk enough to stop thinking without getting sloppy.

---

Of course, now that all the worst parts of her day were over and she couldn't use them as an excuse to put anything off… this was when Fuyumi spotted the Akatsuki members about town. Naturally.

She took the same route back as she'd taken to get to Setsuko's home. The stores and stalls were closed now, and the faded awnings seemed exhausted in the golden light of the early summer evening.

She stepped into the square proper, and was smacked in the face by a tidal wave of chakra that was so massive even she couldn't help but feel it. Water, she thought, even though she'd never once picked someone's elemental affinity from feeling their chakra before in her entire goddamn life. It was just… very obvious.

Fuyumi's heart thudded heavily in her chest. She exhaled, slow and careful, and took a step back again. Whatever that was, she probably didn't need to run headfirst into it.

She licked her lips and scaled one of the nearby buildings for a better view of what the hell was going on. It was a residential one, so they'd probably be pissed off when they discovered the damage she did to their flowerpots on the way up.

Crouched on the roof of the two-storey building, Fuyumi squinted against the sunlight, catching mostly chakra, golden sun glittering on an expanse of water that categorically did not belong where it was surging, and dark silhouettes trying to kill each other atop the choppy flow of it.

The surface tension of the water was defined by chakra rather than any normal physics: it eddied around buildings and flooded the streets, and then when it reached the edges of the chakra bubble in which it was permitted, it just kind of… stopped, huddling wetly, a tame wall of fluid.

The amount of chakra that must have required was… astronomical. Fuyumi felt faintly queasy just thinking about it.

Hoshigaki Kisame was easy to pick out: he was big and waving his feared sword, which looked sort of ridiculous when you actually saw it. It might have been a veritable cheese grater of a weapon, each spiky protrusion perfectly lethal and thirsty for blood... but it looked like it was some kind of fluffy animal puffed up in indignation.

He was fighting someone small and fast, who was wearing sensibly tight clothing rather than a giant flappy coat. He was not in much danger of victory, Fuyumi judged, but he was giving it a red hot go, twisting and darting in and out with his superior acrobatics, evidently in an attempt to out-manoeuvre the mix of absurd power and even-more-absurd reach that made Hoshigaki Kisame such a bloody hard opponent. It was a respectable way to face his certain, grisly death.

She watched for a second, transfixed. Hoshigaki's defence was airtight. His footwork on the moving water was precise and practised. He was calm, he was controlling the distance between combatants, and he was setting the pace. He was indomitable. The fight was clearly his.

If she'd been the other guy, she'd have called it and run.

While she was distracted watching Hoshigaki's fight, a second silhouette darted out from the shadow of of his opponent, leaping away from the fight, zooming over the water at speed. It wasn't an illusion: its feet hit the water audibly.

It hit the ground running and didn't look back, racing past her perch on the roof.

In hindsight, Fuyumi could actually pinpoint exactly the moment that would change the trajectory of her new life. Since it was a brutal fiery murder, it did not, at the time, seem very auspicious. This — again, in hindsight — was probably the kindest warning fate had ever given her.

Uchiha Itachi still looked like he was swaddled. The coat was too big for him, and he hadn't even bothered with the arms this time: it just hung off his shoulders, sleeves flapping.

He appeared in one of those dizzying Konoha-style body flickers, standing still and moving at light speed, and the running figure made a noise of shock and dismay that she could hear even up on her roof. It drew a short, curved sword, upon whose sharp edge the setting sun burned golden.

There was a clank as it met Itachi's kunai and was deflected with, apparently, no effort, even though a kunai had nowhere near the weight of the short sword. Fuyumi watched, dazed, as the two exchanged a lightning-fast flurry of blows. Dirt sprayed underfoot.

Itachi took one easy, elegant step back — like he had predicted every movement, like he had all the time in the world — leapt over the sweep of the sword, and, while performing a mid-air flip to avoid the follow-through with the shuriken, formed several hand-signs. They were just… not even fast. It looked almost languid, even though it was probably about twice as speedy as Fuyumi herself had ever managed.

His pale fingers moved deftly through the signs like he knew the rest of the world was just waiting for him to finish before it continued apace. His enormous dark coat fluttered. His hair streamed in the breeze, long, dark, and, somehow, nowhere in his line of sight.

Fuyumi was barely twenty metres away, and even though she could see the effect of his chakra, she couldn't feel even a whisper of it against her own senses. The world before him burst, beautifully, into flame.

The swordsman didn't dodge.

Maybe he'd been distracted, like Fuyumi was, by watching Uchiha Itachi's long pale fingers and effortless athletics.

There was a lot of screaming, then.

Fuyumi watched, transfixed, from her crouch on the roof. He had really nice hair, she thought, stupidly. It looked so silky. It positively glowed in the blazing light of his burning victim. She had the sudden, powerful image of just… sinking her hand deep into it, closing her fist, and giving it a firm tug. She could pull his head to one side, expose the soft, vulnerable part of his neck. He might even like it.

You cannot do that, she said to herself, firmly, reeling from both the intensity and the stupidity of such a thought. You cannot do that, because that is Uchiha Itachi.

There was an unsettlingly familiar warmth in her belly that told her she was going to think really hard about it anyway.

Fuyumi wasn't suicidal, so she licked her dry, dry lips, got silently to her feet, and retreated from the market square entirely. She could take the long way around to the bar.

On her way, she thought about how the Itachi girls had somehow been right all along. Fuck. What the fuck. No. No.

----

"I've never seen you rhapsodising like this about anyone without tits," Harusame mused, nearly two hours later.

Harusame, dark eyed, dark haired and broad shouldered, was nearly double Fuyumi's age and, technically, had been a longtime friend of her father's. But her dad was long dead, so she'd laid claim to him now. He wore a set of swords: a wakizashi and a katana, both on the same side of his sash. His blue and grey yukata gaped, exposing pale bandages wrapped around his waist and an old amulet dangling on a necklace.

"He doesn't even have tits," she agreed, putting her face down on the sticky wood.

"You have no idea where that bar has been. Do you know what kinds of people they serve here?" He didn't actually sound particularly concerned. "They serve me here."

"The bar has no idea where my face has been," she countered after a long, blurry second of thought. Her brain moved fast, but her tongue moved underwater-slow.

"...I guess I have no way to refute that." He scratched his stubble.

She rolled her face to watch him light his next cigarette with the glowing butt of the one that came before. Then he dropped the dead one into his empty sake bottle and took a long drag.

It wasn't like people had failed to recognise the link between smoking and, you know, dying, in the elemental nations. But Fuyumi thought that they probably didn't understand the full impact of the practice here. Once upon a time, she had been raised on a diet of government PSAs and gruesome cigarette package art of infected fingers and eyes.

Harusame had a cough. But he wore it pretty well... for now. He was only thirty-six, though.

"Don't look at me like that. It makes you look like Setsuko."

"Fuck off," Fuyumi said, automatically. The last thing she wanted to hear about, pretty much ever, was her mother. "What are you going to do if you need to run somewhere, old man?"

"I'm retired," he said. "If I need to run somewhere, something has gone horribly wrong in my life and I probably deserve what's coming."

Ugh. "Idiot," she muttered. She looked away and immediately spotted a red and black cloak in the smoky dimness. Naka Tetsumaru was perfectly recognisable: snow white hair, lily-pale skin, overconfident swagger. He was deep in conversation with a hunched and misshapen figure in one of those ominous Akatsuki cloaks, which made her nervous to see in her local bar. They were sure out in force today, huh? This figure was recognisable, but it was decidedly not —

"Uchiha Itachi, huh," Harusame interjected thoughtfully, spinning his bottle on the bar. "You know... usually I would tell you to chase your dreams. But... Uh, I'm not so sure about that one, Fuyumi."

"Don't worry. He'd outrun me. Like, effortlessly."

"That certainly is the rumour, yes," Harusame agreed. "So? You going to do anything about it? Look for some sweet, dark-haired gentleman to take you home?" He flipped his own hair, which was, as advertised, long and dark.

Fuyumi snorted. "Well, obviously I'm going to sit here and drink and complain that it's unfair that a deeply unwell missing-nin should be more beautiful than he has any right to be."

"Uh-huh."

"And if I see him again," she thought about it, "I guess… I should go introduce myself?" It seemed unlikely that he'd outright kill her for, like, saying hi. Wasn't he meant to be a pacifist at heart or whatever? It couldn't really hurt, right? "What else do you do when you think someone's hot?"

It wasn't as though Fuyumi genuinely thought Uchiha Itachi was going to let her pull his hair and fuck him. But one thing that remained regrettably true between worlds was that… no matter how unlikely a thing you wanted was, if you asked about it, your chances of receiving it usually rose.

The spinning stopped. "Introduce yourself?" Harusame repeated dubiously. "Er, to... Uchiha Itachi?"

"Yeah?" She raised her head and propped her chin in her hand. She'd wanted to be drunk — rather badly — but now the bar seemed loud and close, her stomach was a little unsettled, and she needed to piss. "Jeez, don't look at me like that, it's not like I want to marry him. But how else do you meet someone?"

"Right." He took a long, long drag on his cigarette, presumably to stall for thinking time. "I think girls are supposed to wait for someone else to do that, aren't they?"

She snorted. "Girls like ma, maybe. If I waited for other people to want me, I'd never get a date. Luckily, confidence is sexy."

He frowned at her, the uncomfortable kind of frown of a man who was vastly out of his element but felt he should say something anyway. "That's not true."

She scoffed, and levered herself off her stool. She felt wobbly but she imagined she probably didn't look it. "Hardly matters, anyway," said Fuyumi, who was not very genre savvy, "what are the chances I'll see Uchiha fucking Itachi again? Really? Be back in a minute."

Visiting the bathrooms in this particular bar was a bit like spinning a roulette wheel. Thankfully, this time the only body in there was visibly still breathing, and didn't even twitch when Fuyumi stepped over her to use the single toilet with the stained bowl. It smelled overwhelmingly of bleach, which was a lot better than all the other things of which it could have smelled.

Her face in the cracked mirror was... Well... If a casting call had gone out for a fierce looking female villain, they wouldn't even have had to put makeup on her: her eyes were dark, hear features were hard and sharp, and her complexion was already showing the wear and tear of too many nights in a row on the booze. There was a scar that bisected her left eyebrow, a long, interrupted red line that scored over her cheek and dragged off into her hair. It was pretty red today, which had probably been what her mother had been so displeased about earlier. Ugh.

Her face covered the front of her skull, and that was basically all it had going for it.

"That's its only job, dipshit," she muttered to herself. She turned the water off, stepped over her snoozing bathroom companion again, and headed back into the bar.

[thoughtsforsoob]

their s/o is a teacher! - nct dream

a/n: lmao ig im just gonna have to ignore that hate ive been getting! I'm gonna write for nct dream this time because for some reasons some MOA's are not being very kind towards my work. That is not an attack towards MOA because I am one of the biggest MOA's I know...it's jut not fair that some of the people I should be cool with are being so incredibly rude...over and over. anyways, that is all from me on that. please enjoy! as always, requests are open!

(I'm gonna add a cut off here so if you don't wanna read, you don't have to)

☆ mark lee ☆

he thinks it's so cute, especially if you teach little ones (kindergarten/1st grade)

he loves asking you about your classroom and how your work is going

he even helps you grade students assignments and he loves seeing what they say on their assignments

he also likes seeing their art work

he meets your students when you have a classroom part and he helps you set up

they immediately start to ask 100 questions, like kids do, ad he is totally okay with it.

he enthusiastically answers all their questions and they love him

they always ask for him every day after that

☆ huang renjun ☆

renjun thinks it's funny if you teach middle school

he is too good at listening to what happened during your day

he laughs at all the stories of students running around and causing chaos

he love's looking at the assignments you give them and tries to do them himself

he whines when he can't get something right and whines even more when you tell him you students got 100% on that question

☆ lee jeno ☆

he's one that thinks you teaching the older ones is cool

you're actually a college professor so he think's that's WAY cooler

he enjoys hearing you talk about the subject you teach and love's to hear you talk about your students and the assignments you gave them

when you offer to give him a your of the campus you work at, he is jumping at the chance

he even buys gear from the university you work at and wears it all the time (the letterman style jacket you got him is his favorite! he wear's it often and even wore it during a soundcheck of one of nct dream's concerts).

you bump into a few students and say hello, introducing jeno as your boyfriend

☆ na jaemin ☆

you teach kindergartners and he adores it

you helps you set up the different bulletin boards in your classroom and helps you organize/set up everything else

he loves to ask you about your lesson plans and you always ask him for ideas for activities and he helps you every time

he really want's to meet the little ones so after the year is done and they are graduating, he attends the event

they ask you, "teacher, who is that handsome man you were with? is that your boyfriend?"

they all giggle and go "ooooo!" and you tell them yes, that's him!

they run to meet him after the ceremony

☆ lee haechan ☆

he would probably find it interesting if you teach high schoolers

since the first time you told him about all your students, he always asks about them and want's you to update them about how they're doing

his favorite thing to do for your students is to send them stuff!

he gives you money so you can buy them snacks for your classroom (and other supplies! my teachers in high school always had sanitary pads, tampons, snacks, and other stuff in them in case students needed them)

he wants to help you make sure your students feel safe in their classroom

he also funds the senior pizza party at the end of the year and even makes an appearance!

☆ zhong chenle ☆

I believe Chenle is also good with little ones since he's always posting with his family (especially his, I believe, little nephew)

he love's helping you choose coloring pages for your students to do when they're done with their minute math sheets (the stress it causes is always rewarded with coloring time!)

he also likes to buy nice supplies for you students

you tell hi not to do it, because kids love to break things and lose them, but he doesn't listen

he love's going supply shopping (he get's all the brand names like Crayola :0)

he also helps grade assignments!

☆ park jisung ☆

you teach middle school and he loves it

he loves hearing the stories of your students acting out during class because it makes him giggle

just give him a glare and he will stop laughing at your misfortune

he helps you grade their papers

sighs every time he get's a that says 'idk'

it's all fun and games until get's those papers...then he wants to flip the kitchen table other and help you quit your job

because he knows how much they stress you out, he's always making sure you're distressing at home.

fetching you a warm cup of coffee/tea, making/buying dinner, giving you massages, helping you with other class stuff.

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 Prologue #4: Besties

It’s later in the afternoon. The cake has been cut, presents have been opened, and now everyone is just mingling. The sun is starting to set and Chantal and I are chilling on a bench, too stuffed to move after filling up on chocolate cake and ice cream.

As we chat, I spot Glynnis and Hollis walking towards their apartment and give them a wave. I thought they might stop by and chat, but they seem busy. Chantal sees who I’m waving to and lets out a small gasp.

“Oh my God!” She cups a hand over her mouth. “That’s Hollis Abernathy!”

“Yeah, she’s my neighbor. Do you follow her on Simsta?”

“Yeah, but that’s not where I know her from. Her parents own a bunch of businesses in San Myshuno. She’s the heiress to a huge fortune–or at least she was. Here, look.”

She pulls up a gossip site on her phone and hands it over to me. I see an article from a couple of years ago with a picture of Hollis stumbling out of a club. Plastered in big, bold letters at the top of the page is the headline, "HOLLIS'S WILD NIGHT OUT."

I get a few lines into the article before I start feeling like I’m invading Hollis’s privacy. Besides, I’m not going to judge her off of what some tabloid said about her 2 years ago. People change; I know that as well as anyone. 

“Okay, so what?” I ask.

“Nothing, I’m just surprised to see her here is all.” 

I shrug. “She seems pretty nice. I’m gonna go mingle some more before people start leaving,” I say, and I start to wander around. 

I see my dads are talking to Paul and Lucy, and they’re all laughing.

“Looks like you’re all getting along.”

“Why didn’t you tell us your roommate is such a comedian?” Pops asks. Paul beams at the compliment.

“Yeah, you should have heard the joke he just told us,” Dad chimes in. “You’d love it. What was it again? Something about a stick,” he laughs.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard that one,” I say. “Paul’s always joking around.”

“No wonder you two get along, then,” Pops replies.

“I’m glad for that,” Lucy adds. “I figured you would, but it would’ve been awkward if my brother and my work bestie didn’t like each other.”

“Oh, I’m your work bestie, huh? Not just your bestie. I see how it is.”

“You’re totally her bestie,” Paul interjects. “Trust me, I know these things.”

“Oh, come on, you know what I meant,” Lucy tells me. “I blame it on my pregnancy brain.”

“What, you’re pregnant? And you didn’t tell me? Some bestie you are!”

“I didn’t? I thought I did. Anyway, isn’t it obvious, what with how much I've been throwing up and how big my belly's getting?”

“I have four sisters,” I point out. “I know better than to make an assumption about a woman’s body like that.”

“And that’s why you’re my bestie.”

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

Transcript of article below:

HOLLIS'S WILD NIGHT OUT

08/17/2021 08:00 AM PST

Hollis Abernathy caused quite the scene on a wild night out celebrating singer Christina Dotson’s 18th birthday! Did someone forget to tell her that the drinking age is 18 in Del Sol? The blonde beauty was spotted downing drinks all night–despite only being 17-years-old.

Hollis’s parents, business-moguls Robert and Bianca, plan to give her access to a large trust fund on her own 18th birthday next year; however, friends of the socialite report that her recent antics are putting that plan in jeopardy.

“Her parents have had enough,” a source tells us. “They don’t like all of the negative attention her partying is putting on the family. They’re worried about how it will affect their reputation, especially with the Carlisles.”

Hollis has been dating 17-year-old Hunter Carlisle for several months, a relationship that was likely orchestrated by the pair’s parents who are reported to have a lucrative business venture in development. At first, Hollis and Hunter seemed like a match made in heaven, but things have quickly become hellish for the couple.

“Hollis and Hunter got into a huge fight at the party,” our source tells us. They were screaming in the middle of the club. People are saying they broke up. Christina was so embarrassed.”

Hollis’s wild night didn’t end there. Moments after her fight with Hunter, our photogs caught her making out with an unknown blonde woman. Could Hollis’s sexuality be the reason for her troubles with Hunter?

“I’m not sure if Hollis is interested in girls or not, or if she just wanted to make Hunter mad,” our source said. “But she seemed pretty into the kiss.”

The kiss was cut short when Christina and their friend Mikayla “Micki” Davison dragged Hollis away from her would-be lover. Hollis could barely stand as Christina helped her into Micki’s convertible. Once seated inside, Hollis began yelling obscenities at our photogs, to the dismay of her friends.

“You ruined my birthday!” Christina was heard sobbing from the back seat.

SMZ reached out to Hollis’s rep who simply said, “No comment.”

[ms-nesbit]

Title: cosmic (a jason todd x reader fic)

Chapter I of ???

Rating: 18+ (eventual smut, language, violence i guess, and mention of past abuse)

Tw: abuse, violence, and smut.

Summary: 

y/n meets dick and barbara, who try to set y/n up with dick’s big little brother.

ao3

“Can you turn the goddamn air up?”

Gothamites were becoming increasingly brusque as the summer heat slowly suffocated them. Typically, one can notice the season in Gotham based on the layers of clothing (or lack thereof) that each resident sported on the Gotham streets; however, tube tops and 1970s-style track shorts were no match for the heat index rising above 115 degrees, an unusually sweltering day for the sinful city.

“It looks like Gotham is finally getting a taste of what the afterlife is gonna look like.” One resident snickered with a twisted smirk as he laid change down on the newspaper stand to pay for the Gotham Gazette. “Lotta fire in those parts, don’t’cha think?”

“I don’t know - never believed in the stuff.” replied y/n, who sat on the other end of the newspaper stand. She counted the dirtied coins and wrinkled up dollar bills before placing them in the register, sitting on the stool with a sigh. She glanced at the clock on the upper corner of the interior of the stand as the upper hand mocked her boredom.

Y/n worked at the newspaper stand part-time since graduating from NYU - she fled New York City, hopeful about Gotham despite her friends’ pleas for her to stay after the break-up.

“Y/n, seriously? Fucking Gotham?” Amulya spat the city’s name, her boxed wine almost out with it. “What the hell?”

Sarah shook her head, the wiry blonde strands going with it. “Is it because of the superheroes?”

“No.” Y/n replied, her voice less convincing than her face’s poor attempt at hiding guilt. “I just think that I want to see more than NYC.”

“Then go to San Francisco, for crying out loud!” Amulya stood on her feet this time, glass full of wine sloshing with every movement. “Or at least Bludhaven. I’m with Sarah on this one: I think you’ve finally lost it, hun.”

Y/n sighed as she stared at her flats. “I’ll come visit, I just… can’t stand being here after everything.”

Since moving to Gotham, y/n caught up on the news: Batman was a household name, due in part by the Gotham News and Gazette. His name was both a prayer and a curse, spoken by all sorts of residents as they pointed to him. After a couple of weeks, it clicked for y/n: Gotham’s incessant violent crime ceases to stop due to Batman’s no-kill rule.

One day, while job hunting (for the third week in a row), y/n picked up a thrown out Gazette paper, with a piece titled Are You There, Batman? It’s Me, Gotham by Keke Throwma. She read it, then clipped the newspaper article into a scrapbook upon her arrival to her shared apartment. The following day, she applied for a position at the newspaper stand, writing articles in her downtime on shifts (which was often - the digital age nearly extinguished the paper business entirely).

“Do you think it’s ever going to change?” Y/n heard from a passerby who stopped at the stand to read the cover page of the paper.

The man standing beside the passerby shrugged, but grinned optimistically. “You know, all it takes is implementing a rehabilitation program, which Gotham should fund!” His voice was as deep as his shoulders broad, and only then did y/n notice the badge clipped on the man’s belt. “Could I just get this one?” He made eye contact with y/n, his blue eyes soft and welcoming.

“Yeah, no problem.” y/n opened her palm for the cash as she watched the man remove the wallet from his front pocket.

“What do you think about all this?” The woman asked y/n, pointing to the newspapers.

Y/n blinked for a moment, her mind blank despite preparing for this question for months. “The rehab center wouldn’t account for people like Joker, who believe that rules are meant for breaking.” she counted the coins after the man gave her the money, and pushed a button to open the register.

“See? Thank you!” the woman threw her hands up, her buttoned-up top rising from her slacks. “Grayson, you’re the only person who thinks Batman is in his right mind.” 

“Not right mind,” Dick corrected, “just on the right path. Big difference.” He folded the newspaper and placed it in his armpit, thanking y/n.

“You’re Detective Grayson, right?” y/n leaned forward in her stool in curiosity. “And Commissioner Gordon!” she grinned, awestruck by the pair standing before her.

“Yeah, we are.” Barbara replied. “Y’know, people aren’t always this excited to see us.”

“Unless they have a loaded barrel and a death wish.” Dick added, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Sorry, I just see you two on TV, I hear about you in the papers, and I think you’re doing a great job of interfering with the vigilantes.”

Dick blinked quickly, pursing his lips as he looked to Gordon for her reaction. She beamed, “Yeah, I know a lot of people are upset about that, but from working closely with my father until his death, I saw the often fatal flaws of enabling vigilantism, let alone encouraging it in Batman’s case.”

Y/n nodded, following along. “Yeah, we studied vigilantism in a couple of my criminal seminars in school. Although Batman has respectful intentions for the legal system in Gotham, he isn’t contributing to the reform of the system, essentially being a catalyst for the cycle of retribution and re-offense for these criminals.”

“Exactly!” Barbara laughed. “Where did you study criminal justice?”

“Criminology.” y/n corrected. “At NYU. I moved here a few months ago hoping to get a job as a journalist, but apparently they’re all booked up.”

“Figuratively or literally?” Dick asked, quirking a brow. Y/n and Barbara laughed in response. “I’m not surprised that you weren’t brought on at the Gazette, if that’s what you applied for, but we could always use you at the PD, if you’re interested in some additional training.”

“Recruiting me? For the police? No offense, Detective, but I’d rather stay here in the sweltering heat.” y/n waved her hand.

“Don’t like the grunt work?” Barbara asked, intrigued.

“No, I love that stuff,” y/n sighed, “I just don’t… like the cops, y’know? Feels dirty." She looked around at the floor beside her, covered in old gum, trash, and remnants of rodents. “Dirtier than this place, I’m afraid.” Y/n realized what she said and quickly added, “No offense.”

“None taken.” Dick replied. “Seems like you should meet my brother. He is, for lack of a better word, ashamed of what I do for a living.”

Barbara nodded in agreement. “I’ve been over at their place for holidays a couple of times, and Jason hates him for it. It’s kind of funny, actually.”

“I don’t know why he doesn’t hate you! I don’t get why it’s just me!” Dick’s voice is irritated, half-laughing at his own words.

“I know, I know.” Barbara rubs his back soothingly. “We’ll get going soon, but we didn’t catch your name. What was it?”

“Oh, it’s y/n.” Y/n replied.

“If you want,” Dick’s chest rose as he took a sharp breath, “you can stop by at the station, and I can take you to the criminologist. I dunno if she needs an apprentice, but I do know that she needs help with a couple of cases.”

“Or you can just stop by Wayne Manor next week for the gala and introduce yourself to the PD.” Barbara interrupted. “It would be bold, but that way you can meet them, and possibly Dick’s brother, whom you might just like.”

Dick side-eyed Barbara, swallowing a smirk. “He might not even show up. He doesn’t like parties, and he doesn’t like cops. It’s like his worst nightmare.”

“I can stop by. Is it black tie?” y/n rested her hands on her knees as she watched the pair shake their heads almost in unison. “Okay, I’ll do that, then. I don’t like parties as much, but fuck it, I could use a better job than this.”

“Okay, we’ll see you then.” Dick smiled, holding up his coffee cup.

“See you then, y/n.” Barbara playfully grinned before leaving.

[celticcrossanon]

I found this interesting

I ran across article linked below today. It is about the Annual Report of the Royal Household, and it raises a few point that I found significant, noted below as quotes from the article

NEW VALUES

The Royal Household has published a new set of written values, designed to guide the institution in the years to come.

Recording them in its annual report, it said: "The new reign has given the royal household the opportunity to define a new expression of purpose underpinned by a refreshed set of values."

Those five values are: "Act with Care"; "Make an Impact"; "Succeed Together"; "Stay Curious"; and "Lead by Example".

The stated purpose of the Royal Household is now to "support the sovereign in serving the UK and Commonwealth to help shape a better world".

EDIT: I am getting controlling vibes from this, i.e. 'do what I say or else', and I have no idea why that is. I have to look up what the old values were so I can compare them.

NO MORE ACCOUNTABILITY IN HOW PUBLIC FUNDS ARE USED

It [the report] retains a pledge to place "strong emphasis on value for money" but removes a clause from last year's report which promised "accountability in the use of public funds and resources".

EDIT: This is a large red flag to me. I see no reason for going from being accountable for the use of public funds to not being accountable for the use of public funds unless said public funds are going somewhere that they should not be going.

REMOVAL OF EMPHASIS ON DIFFERENT GENERATIONS

In a section about the Royal family's role in supporting the King, the 2023-4 report has also deleted a line from 2022-3 which said that: "The different generations of the Royal family help to make the work of the monarchy relevant and accessible to people at every stage of life."

EDIT: This is a minor point. I am simply wondering why this line was deleted.

RETAINS THE REMOVAL OF DUTIES FOR THE MONARCH, DONE IN THE LAST YEAR OF QUEEN ELIZABETH II'S REIGN

In 2022, the same section of the Sovereign Grant report, which introduces the role of the monarch, was rewritten to remove duties the then Queen "must fulfil".

The edit, the first of its kind in at least a decade, took out a 13-point list of specific events that were previously said to be necessary by "constitutional convention", including the State Opening of Parliament.

This year's report retains most of those changes.

EDIT: This is interesting to me because of the implications for The King's health. The duties were removed in the last year of the Late Queen's life, and many people speculated that it was because she was physically unable to perform all those duties anymore. When The King leaves those duties out, instead of putting them back in, it makes me wonder if he is physically unable to do them all as well.

I will have to take the 13 points from old financial reports to see if I should be concerned.

Edited to add in my opinion. :)

ARTICLE

For Reference - link to financial reports 2023-2024

I shall have to read and compare the reports for the last few years before I come to any conclusions. This is my reference and reminder post so I don't forget.

[void-my-warranty]

Open House (18+)

Pairing: Victor Creed/Fem Reader Content Warnings: None Word Count: 3.2k

Safehouse Chapter 7 (all chapters here)

He lied. 

Well, technically you don’t know that at first. You go about your life that first week, floating on a rose scented cloud, secretly happy and oblivious to any problems around you. Any day now, he’ll be back. Knocking on your door or waiting for you on his porch or, hell, you’d even take a break in. But days pass and he… doesn’t. 

And then the things start happening.

Your workplace has local news always playing in the breakroom, and in the back of your mind you’re aware that they’ve been talking about some double suicide for the last two days, but it’s not until the phrase, “Friends of Humanity,” finally works it’s way down your ear canals that you actually look at the TV. There, right on the screen, is the face of the man who was addressing the crowd at the rally. On the other side of the screen is a face you don’t recognize, but the news anchor lets you know he’s some important person in the organization. 

It seems too incredible to believe. You were so angry at that man less than a week ago, so much that you wanted to hurt him, and now he’s dead. He and the other guy must have found a scrap of conscience and decided to end it. But you look at the date of the deaths, and it doesn’t make sense. You heard him speaking just the day before, saw the fire in his eyes at how firmly he believed in his cause. A suicide you can imagine, for some unrelated reason, but a double suicide? Of two people in the same organization? Incredible.  

But that’s merely the smallest of The Things. 

It’s the following week when you log in to pay your mortgage before you get a late fee, and you’re mindlessly searching around, clicking between pages, not sure what you’re actually looking for because this part has always been so automatic. You frown and actually pay attention to the screen, to where you need to click, and you finally comprehend that the button is gone. You squint incredulously at the screen, trying to decide if you just imagined that orange ‘Submit Payment’ button that used to be right there. Has the website changed? Moved the options around?

You’re stubbornly clicking around for a few minutes before you finally give up and call the bank. They go through the normal verifications and finally you get to talk to somebody. 

“Okay, yeah, so I went online to pay my mortgage and it’s not giving me the option to do that for some reason.”

“Okay,” replies the bank lady, “let me check it on my end… Okay, yes I see the loan… okay, so it’s already paid.”

“No, no, I haven’t paid it yet. That’s what I was trying to do.”

“I’m sorry—“ there’s a moment of confused silence before she says, “I’m not understanding the problem. The loan is closed, it’s been paid in full.”

Okay, so this isn’t going to be as easy as you’d hoped. “No, listen, we got this house like, two years ago. I’m just trying to make my monthly payment.”

There’s a resigned sigh, like she just can’t believe that you’re asking questions about your own financials. “Okay, let me pull it up.”

A few minutes of silence later, and, “This loan was paid in full on the seventh of this month, with a funds transfer of four-hundred ninety-two thousand dollars and sixty-four cents. Your letter of mortgage release should be in the mail very soon.” 

You just sit there, stunned, your frustration melting away to shock. “Can you…” you get out weakly, then clear your throat and try again, “Can you see who did the transfer?”

“Mmm, yes. I’m looking at it right now, and it’s got your signature.”

“Okay… O-okay, um— Thankyougoodbye.” 

You end the call and lean back in dumb shock, failing to fully process what just happened. Intellectually you know that this is not a mistake. This kind of bank error would be one in a billion on its own, but to have your own signature there… It's not a mistake. It’s real. Intellectually you know this. But you also know that there’s only one person in your life who might have the means and ability to do something like this, but the idea that he would want to is just totally impossible.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

You lift your eyes and blink up at Tyler, who in your stupor you didn’t notice approaching your desk. And that’s just great because you’ve done so well avoiding him until now. 

“Um, hi Tyler. I'm sorry, it’s kind of a bad time. I'm on my lunch break and I just got some news about… something. Just trying to process it.”

“Aww man, I’m sorry. I just, uh, wanted to touch base with you, since we haven’t talked since the date and I’m not really clear on… what happened.”

“What happened?” You repeat back stupidly. 

“Yeah. I mean, did we…? You and me?” He lowers his voice and asks, “Sleep together?”

Oh. Scenes of a very different happening that night flash unconsciously through your mind. You, naked from the waist up, getting Victor’s claws on your skin for the first time. You spilling out all of your biggest fears, and him just patiently listening. You, with nowhere to go, pressed up tight against a hard chest while he pushes you into the relief you need. 

“Nothing happened,” you mumble. 

It was nothing. Just a one night stand, and he didn’t even let you exchange phone numbers, and it meant nothing. And the fact that your mortgage page is staring at you right now with a zero dollar balance is actually, truly terrifying. There was no conversation about this. At no point did you ever consent to, fuck, a sugar relationship. There’s no way to transfer the money back, no way to ever pay him back for this. He slept with you one time, and he bought you an entire house. It’s… degrading. 

It sinks an absolute boulder of anxiety in your stomach at what he’s going to ask for in return. 

What’s even worth half a million dollars? Surely even surrogacy wasn’t nearly that much. Maybe a… kink… surrogacy? Where he impregnates you and makes you eat shit and sleep in a dog crate or something? You could see that hitting the right dollar amount, but Christ, to pay up front before you come to any kind of understanding…

“–So anyways, I’m free tonight if you want to come over. We could watch old movies or something. Do you like old movies?”

Your vision slowly adjusts back to Tyler’s face. He’s smiling a big ol’ fake smile, becoming more and more forced by the second. You can practically see the wall surrounding him, hiding who he truly is behind a plastic sheet of how he wants to be perceived. 

“No, I don’t want to come over tonight. I think we’re done, Tyler.”

The smile falters and then drops away completely. You see a nasty light in his eye that you never thought him capable of before, and he mutters, “Bitch,” before turning and walking away.

“Incel,” you mutter back, too quiet for it to carry. Your lunch break is up and you try to work, mind all a blur.

You go home that night and sit in your decorated living room and just stare. Look around at that house that’s now somehow yours. Not the bank’s, not your ex’s, yours. With that extra money every month you could decorate the whole thing. Wallpaper everywhere, a jungle of plants, a piano… Shit, you could invest. Max out your retirement fund every month and buy some stocks. 

Or you could sell it. Move to an apartment and immediately have more money in the bank than you could have ever imagined. If you invested that, things would really get going. Regardless of what you choose, regardless of what Victor wants in return, you sit there and feel a weight lift from your chest, one sank so deep into you that you never noticed its existence until it’s gone. 

It’s such a relief that when the one, final, colossal Thing happens, it totally blindsides you.

---------------------------------

You’re walking William for a little Saturday sunshine, and everything is good. The air is slightly less humid and there’s a little wind, so you go farther than you normally do. All the way to the end of the sidewalk, just like you walked that one night with Victor. It’s approaching three weeks since you last saw him, and that’s unsettling. The vague idea that something has happened to him grows more and more urgent every day, but you have absolutely no way of knowing or checking. You only have a first name and a face. He’s given you nothing, purposefully, like that’s not going to have you running what ifs through your mind for weeks. 

On the way back you walk down Victor’s cul-de-sac like you usually do, like you’ve done every day since you hooked up, and your attention is held by the SUV you see parked on the curb in front of his house. It has to belong to one of the neighbors, right? That happens. Neighbors sometimes park in front of an adjacent house, even though, fuck, the next door neighbors have completely empty driveways. 

You’re approaching his curve of the sidewalk, scanning for any clue to the vehicle, and Victor’s front door suddenly opens. Your feet come to a stumbling halt, because out walks a blonde woman. 

She’s pretty. Older than you, but prettier. She’s got nice clothes and perfectly styled hair, and you’re just so aghast that Victor has a woman in his house, you don’t notice the sign she’s got under her arm until she stops by the sidewalk and begins to hammer it into the dirt. 

She finally looks up to acknowledge your incredibly rude, open mouthed stare, and says, “Good morning! Are you looking to buy in this neighborhood?”

“U-um,” you stutter, “Maybe.”

“Well this house is fresh on the market! It’s got some nice updates inside. Open house is tomorrow at noon if you want to stop by!”

You mutter a thanks and force your feet to keep walking. It’s so unexpected and awful that you walk all the way home before the understanding fully sinks in. Victor’s not coming back. He’s fucking gone. You had a one night stand, and he knew he was leaving so of course he didn’t take your phone number, and he paid off your mortgage to soften the blow, or to maybe to keep you quiet about what you suspected. You’ll never see him again because you’re a liability. You fingered him for who he is, and he had to cut his losses. He practically told you as much– fuck– when he had his hand over your mouth. 

You’re just an inconvenience who’s too stupid to bother killing. That right there, that knowledge is what really guts you. Makes you sit down and stare numbly at the wall and ignore William’s questioning licks on your fingers. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with you, what you’ve been chasing all this time: you can’t bear to be inconsequential. The need to be someone, to do something with your life, has always lit a fire in you. And maybe all this desperate longing to be wanted by someone important is just your way of meeting that need, because it’s the only option you feel you have. You know you won’t ever have a significant job or kids or power of any kind, but for one day, you had Victor. And it felt like a little bit of consequence, for that one day.  

All night you tell yourself you won’t go to the open house, but when the time rolls around you go anyway. You can’t help it. All those months you wished and imagined getting to see the inside of your mystery man’s house, and were always denied the pleasure. Well, today you can just walk right in and snoop to your heart’s content, so you do. 

“All the furniture conveys with the house,” the realtor announces cheerily. “The kitchen and master bath have been recently renovated with subway tile.”

It’s nothing like you pictured. There are no half cleaned guns lying across sofa arms, no energy drinks or building plans spread out across the coffee table. It’s like a hotel in its bare, dull mediocrity. Normal, normal, everything is fucking normal. Not a single scuff on the walls or personalization of any kind. 

You stare down at the couch, where you had imagined so many times a scene of you right here, in his living room, straddling him on the couch and making out until he begs you to touch him. And there’s the dining table, where you fantasized about eating cereal with him while he deftly avoids your questions about what he does for work. You almost don’t want to see the master bedroom, but you do anyway because you deserve that pain. You need to see every bit of this house, and let it fully sink in what an absolute fool you are. You must feel like this so you will learn this lesson once and for all. 

Finally your allotted torture is done, and you step off the porch and look back at the house for one, final longing. The security camera is gone. Everything that ever made this Victor’s house is gone. Well, except the rocking chair. 

An idea sparks in your mind, and you head home before anyone can somehow pluck it from your thoughts. It’s literally so dumb and foolish, but your wounded heart latches onto it and won’t let it go. You obsess over it for the rest of the day, into the night, and finally when it’s late enough that most people are asleep, you go. 

With a promise to William that you’ll be back soon, you close your front door behind you and walk down the sidewalk until you get to Victor’s house. The realtor’s face is smiling brightly back at you from the For Sale sign, and it seems so wrong that all of the outside lights are on like that. The exterior is still plain, but for some reason it just looks incredibly ordinary now, and you’d never give it a second glance if you saw it tonight for the first time. 

You climb those steps and walk across the porch to sit in the rocking chair. There are little gouges at the end of the arms, like someone came by and stuck a pen knife into the wood a few hundred times. You lay your palms out flat against those imperfections and let the sensation of roughness permeate your skin. 

You sit there and look out across the lawn to the sidewalk, and in your mind’s eye you see yourself walking by. First with your old dog, looking curious and on edge at being alone in a new neighborhood. Then with William, sad but recovering, more confident now because you have little left to lose. Your hair is pulled back in a ponytail and you’re wearing that pink sports bra that always peeks out the neck hole of your shirts. There is nothing interesting or significant about you except the fact that you’re fucking annoying, barely giving the other houses a look before staring intently at this dark porch, hoping to invade someone’s privacy with your idiot eyes. 

You imagine sitting here, pockmarking the wood because you’re so pissed off at this woman. All you want is a little bit of time to relax after fucking murdering someone, and you’re giving off every possible sign that you want to be alone, and this stupid girl won’t stop walking by and perceiving you. First you’re mad. You consider killing her, nice and slow, making her apologize sweetly to you and mean it. But what kind of hitman would you be if you let someone as weak as her dictate your emotions? You change your mind. You turn the light on, let her see you and how big and dangerous you are, but she’s too pathetic to care. It only eggs her on, makes her walk by more often and stare more openly. 

So you stalk her one night. She’s started going out of the neighborhood, which is really fucking convenient for you because there won’t be as much immediate suspicion when she’s found. There’s woods there and you could snatch her so easy, gag her and make sure she feels the agony of what she’s gotten herself into. It’ll feel so good to let her see every horrible part of you, just like she’s wanted all this time, and for her to take it all back and regret every second that she ever wanted to know. 

But for some reason you don’t. You walk right back to your house and ignore the way she’s trying to get a look at your face. It doesn’t make any sense why you don’t take her, but you decide not to linger on it. There will be plenty more opportunities to make her pay. She’s just as easy to stalk the next night, and this time you’re nice and prepared. Black and menacing and bloodthirsty. You make sure she’s properly frightened even before she can see you. Normal people would run, give you a fun little game, but of course she’s too stupid for that. She runs her mouth. Explains how perceptive she’s been, gives you every fucking reason to end her. And you don’t. You still don’t understand why, but you let her go. 

She makes contact the next time. Invites you for a walk and then over to her house, gives you the perfect setup for a slow and private murder. And then she’s there in the kitchen, confessing her stupid feelings for you, and you see the perfect opening. You see how you can ruin her and then make her live the rest of her life in that wreckage. It’s the evilest thing you can imagine, so of course you do it. You touch her and listen to her and call her baby and make her cum hard. You make her feel special, like she means something to you. Like she’s somehow earned your attention. And then you fucking leave. Oh, it feels so good.  

With a deep inhale you, yourself, pull out of the fantasy. You sink your own fingernails into the wood of the rocking chair and clench your jaw hard enough to hurt. You still haven’t shed a tear on Victor’s behalf, and you’re not about to start now. You just stand up and, heart pounding, and carefully hoist that rocking chair over your head.

It’s late enough that not a single soul catches you carrying that chair, one step at a time, all the way back to your house and around to your backyard. You put it on the back deck because, though excitement is coursing through you at your crime, you’re too nervous it will somehow be recognized on your front porch. Chest heaving from the exertion of getting it up the stairs, you plop down on Victor’s stolen furniture and breathe steadily until everything slowly settles inside you. 

And you get out your phone and download Tinder.

Next Part

[justsayyesmiss]

TRANS RIGHTS

PAGE ONE

Panel 1

A white woman with a white tank top and pink hair leans into frame, her elbow over the lower panel border, waving to the reader.

LUCY:

Hi. I’m Lucy. That’s not my real name, and this isn’t what I look like. But that’s fine, because while this is my story…

LUCY:

It’s one that thousands of other trans people have lived through, at least a little bit. It’s our story too.

Panel 2

A map of the United States. States colored in red are those with anti-trans laws on the books. Those states are: New Hampshire, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, Kentucky, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Louisiana, Arkansas, Missouri, Iowa, Texas, Oklahoma, Nebraska, South Dakota, North Dakota, Arizona, Utah, Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana.

LUCY:

I’m here to tell you how nightmarish Project 2025 will be for trans lives. Before we get to the main event, let me set the stage.

LUCY:

I’ve been out and medically transitioning as a trans woman for several years. It costs me thousands of dollars in medical expenses each year.

LUCY:

Also had to flee my home state due to bigoted laws, and faced discrimination everywhere from my own family to my job.

Panel 3

Lucy holds up up a giant textbook-sized printed copy of Project 2025. Her expression is one of outrage.

LUCY:

It’s pretty bad. And if Trump gets reelected and Project 2025 is brought into action, it’s only going to get much worse.

LUCY:

“Transgender,” “Gender Identity” and “Biological Sex” are used over thirty times in this Phone Book of Hate, so I’m going to keep it simple.

LUCY:

Three policies. Just three. That’s all they need.

Panel 4

Lucy sits at a computer, typing away. She looks over her shoulder at the reader.

LUCY:

Let’s start at the top. Page five. “Pornography, manifested today in the omnipresent propagation of transgender ideology.”

LUCY:

Any trans person’s story would be labeled as pornography. Our lives. Our experiences. Every part of us.

LUCY:

Immediately followed by, “Pornography should be outlawed. The people who produce and distribute it should be imprisoned.”

LUCY:

I think you can see where this is going…

PAGE TWO

Panel 1

Lucy sits on a cot in a prison, hugging herself in despair.

LUCY:

That means that any trans person talking about their transition could be imprisoned. Every statement about our lives, a potential offense.

LUCY:

Hell, the story you’re reading right now would qualify.

Panel 2

Lucy stands behind a counter with a cash register in front of her, ready to scan a bag of chips on the conveyer belt. She looks annoyed and exhausted.

LUCY:

Next. “Rescind regulations prohibiting discrimination on the basis of […] gender identity, transgender status, and sex characteristics.” Page 584.

LUCY:

Paired with page 495, “a general statement of policy specifying that it will not enforce any prohibition on […] gender identity discrimination” it paints a picture.

LUCY:

Discrimination towards trans people at places like their jobs will be fully legal, leaving us open to unmitigated harassment and hate.

Panel 3

Lucy is curled up in a ball, looking small, looking like she’s just finished crying her eyes out and is just empty.

LUCY:

Page 485. “Withdraw all guidance encouraging Ryan White HIV/AIDS Program service providers to provide controversial “gender transition” procedures or “gender-affirming care”.

LUCY:

Page 462. “Fund studies into the short-term and long-term negative effects of crosssex interventions, including “affirmation,” puberty blockers, cross-sex hormones and surgeries.”

LUCY:

Page…take your pick. There’s a dozen more.

Panel 4

Lucy, still running on empty, holds a vial of Estradiol in her fingers and stares at it. It’s nearly empty.

LUCY:

By cutting federal funding from any medical facility that offers trans healthcare, and standing against it as official policy…

LUCY:

Hormones and gender care will become almost impossible to find. For those of us who are already on them, it’ll wreak havoc.

LUCY:

Our mental health. Our bodies. Damage that will ruin lives. And for trans folks who can no longer produce a safe level of hormones…

Panel 5

Lucy looks right at the reader, her expression serious and angry.

LUCY:

It could kill them.

Panel 6

Lucy sits cross-legged on the floor, pointing directly at the reader.

LUCY:

I know there’s a lot to keep track of. I haven’t even covered all the anti-trans proposals in Project 2025. If you take nothing else from here , take this:

LUCY:

For transgender people across America, defeating Trump and Project 2025 isn’t just a political race.

LUCY:

It’s a fight for survival. And we need all of you fighting with us.

https://stopproject2025comic.org/comic/anti-trans_discrimination/

[polutrope]

@ettelene requested Feanor + boycotting a holiday for the modern AU holiday prompts! Here you are, ~775 words of condo developer Feanor, his family, and his many rivals. No warnings besides a little cursing (one f-bomb), as usual.

Amid zoning feud with City Hall, Ambar Metta withdraws funding for Yule Parade

Future of beloved celebration threatened by powerful Beleria development group. Has Finvesen’s grudge gone too far?

Fëanor slammed his laptop shut. “Ridiculous accusations,” he muttered into his coffee before taking a sip and grimacing. Too hot.

His phone pinged.

Nelyafinwë 🧡 Did you read it? 8:05am

Fëanáro Slander. Let them lob their accusations at us, you know it’s nothing to do with grudges. If that Singh-Goel had given us the permit for Himring Towers we would not be in this situation. 8:05am

We don’t have the budget! 8:06am

Elu has no one to blame but himself!! 8:07am

Three dots ticked along the bottom of his messaging app. Fëanor slammed the table and slurped his coffee. His eldest could be so infuriating sometimes! What was taking him so long to reply?

Nelyafinwë 🧡 Right. I know. But if Sindar Herald is painting it that way don’t you think we should consider the possible consequences for the business? 8:09am

Thumbs flying in outrage, Fëanor typed a reply. Then deleted it. Then retyped it.

Fëanáro Did your boyfriend put you up to this? 8:11am

Nelyafinwë 🧡 Omg no dad! Fingon hasn’t even seen the article. Curufinwë sent it to me. 8:11am

Fëanáro Curvo sent you this? Why didn’t he tell me himself? 8:11am

Nelyafinwë 🧡 I don’t know. Can I call you? 8:12am

Fëanor closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Fëanáro Not right now. 8:12am

Have a good day Nelyo 🙂 8:13am

Fëanor swiped his phone app open and clicked the first name in his call history.

“Hello? Dad?” answered Curufin. His voice was hoarse.

“Curufinwë, why didn’t you tell me about that article?”

“What article?”

Fëanor huffed. “The libel about the Yule Parade sponsorship!”

“Oh, yeah — fucking bullshit.”

“Do you know what your brother said to me? That we should ‘consider the business consequences.’”

“Ugh, really? Sorry dad, I was going to call you, I swear. But I didn’t want to just dump it on you — ugh, Nelyo! — but Tyelpë has a cold and he’s staying home from school, I didn’t have a chance to—”

“What! Tyelperinquar isn’t well?” Fëanor’s indignation over the article was immediately swept aside by a surge of panic for his favourite (only) grandchild. “Why didn’t you ask us to take him! Bring him over at once. I have told you a thousand times, your mother and I can take him anytime you need—”

“No, we can’t.” Nerdanel strolled into the dining room, dressed smartly in a long pencil skirt and blazer with her hair pulled back in a tight bun.

Distracted once more, Fëanor lowered the phone from his mouth and gawked at his wife. “What’s the occasion, Raspberry? You look fabulous!”

“I have that meeting about the wire sculptures at the Aelin-Uial Park light display.” She sighed and slipped into a pair of glossy red flats. “They’re saying we can’t afford the blue and green LEDs — well, they were the ones who wanted the tunnel to have an oceanic vibe.”

“I guarantee Singh-Goel’s behind that!” Fëanor shouted, forgetting he had his son on the phone.

Nerdanel rolled her eyes. Scooping up the paper from the foyer table, she dropped it in front of Fëanor. “Here. I think you should read this. Goodbye, dear.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and was out the door.

Fëanor looked at the front page headline.

The holiday spirit is saved! Hithlum Properties picks up the tab for Yule Parade

By Melkor Cifarelli

Underneath this was the grinning face of Fëanor’s greatest rival (damn his brilliant blue eyes and perfect jawline!), he who had won the bid for the redevelopment at Mithrim Lake: Fingolfin Noldoran Finvesen. The biological son of his late beloved father and that gold-digging witch from Valma.

“That bastard!”

“… Dad?” Curufin said on the other end of the line.

“Sorry Curvo dear, I have to go. Oh, Fingolfin, you—! You’ll regret this.”

“Wait, what did he—”

Fëanor ended the call before his son had a chance to finish and furiously scrolled through his contacts for the personal number of Mayor Elu Singh-Goel.

“Yes, hello, Elu! Happy Diwali! Oh - right, of course. What? Of course I knew it happened already. Anyway, I have reconsidered the sponsorship of the Parade. In fact, I’d like to increase Ambar Metta’s funding this year.”