#space jobless graduates

[gingermaybel]

Clones, Cocktails, and Common Senses (or lack thereof)

Decided to post it here too since I spent like a thousand hours translating it into English.

中文版在这里（0人在意）：https://archiveofourown.org/works/63547516

Good news: you’re in Star Wars

Bad news: you’re in the Clone Wars

Worse news: you’re no Jedi, clones, or politicians, but a (graduated) social&humanities student. which means you get to work the most boring job in the lamest place stuck with the most annoying customers

(May works at a hopeless bar underground Coruscant, today’s customers are a lil different—or a lil too same?)

1

A group of men was laughing in the bar. May stared at them.

No, nothing like what it sounded like. Sure, they did look good, but they also looked like they couldn’t scrape a single credit for a tip out of pockets-not that they even had pockets to begin with. Their armours were made out of plastic, nothing like the Mandalorians in holomovies but more of a bunch of suck cosplayers. The total eight of them ordered five of the cheapest drinks on the menu to share, and had been sitting there chatting loudly for two hours. No extra orders, politely declining refills, not even asking her for the toilet code. May was a little sad. She needed tips-with the bar's base pay, she could only afford a plastic shack propped up by two wooden sticks 3600 levels below the surface of Coruscant. But she didn't need medical bills, and if she told these muscleheads to either tip or leave, that might be the only thing she'd walk away with.

The downsides of working in the lower levels.

(Not that there were any upsides.)

They were the only customers in the bar. It was midday cycle in this district, only these men and May’s business-illiterate boss would think this was the best time to grab a drink. Even the two Zabrak bouncers—whose salaries were slightly higher than hers—were nowhere to be seen. Have to be when they’d actually be useful for once! She sighed and remained sitting cross-legged on the bar counter, waiting for them to leave.

Seemed like they’ve started an argument at some point when she lost concentration. Then, a man with two odd yellow markings tattooed on his cheeks waved at her. “Sir—Ma’am, may I ask you something?”

May rolled her eyes internally but still put on her best work smile as she hopped down and walked over.

“This thing,” the next man to speak had a white eye and a scarlet scar running across it. There was a picture of a Corellian rose just as red in his datapad. “Is it a war declaration sign for you natborns?”

“Uh, no?” May blinked. “If you mean the Twi’leks, we usually see Corellian red roses as a symbol of romantic love. That’s pretty universal across most cultures.”

“…Which means?” The man with a jagged scar curling around his left eye asked.

“One of you received roses?” she asked. “Someone wants to bang you.”

All eight of them—whether had spoken before or not—burst into cheers all at once. Someone’s wolf-whistling when the rest of them took turns slamming the back of the guy in red armour, almost knocking him into the level below.

May’s lekku twitched nervously at the noise. The scene was oddly familiar, anyone who grew up in a big family could easily tell the resemblance-

“Are you brothers?” The intrusive thought left her mouth before her brain could stop it.

Silence. They turned to her in sync with the same strange look on their faces.

“I—I mean, uh—it’s just you guys look kinda alike. And my cousins act the same way when they—”

“We guys look kinda alike.” The man with a “58” tattooed on his left temple repeated flatly.

“I’m not good at telling human faces apart, sorry—”

“I don’t think she’s making fun of us, brothers.” The man with two red stripes of hairs murmured.

“Wh-why would I be?” May asked incredulously. “What else am I supposed to—”

“You don’t keep up with the news much, do you, ma’am?” The bald man with some stubble asked.

She was getting dizzy from looking back and forth figuring out who’s talking.

“Are you busy, ma’am?” The one closest to her scooted over, patting the spot next to him. “Wanna sit and chat for a bit? If we tell you what we are, could you tell us more about this Corellian red rose?”

2

Bly, Gree, Monnk, Fox—May didn’t even bother to list all their names. These guys multiplied like cockroaches, if she had to remember all of them, she might as well grow a third pair of lekku as a new brain. The clones met each other at the bar whenever they had the chance, but that classic eight-man group never gathered in full again. There always had to be someone not on Coruscant but on the latest battlefront being broadcast on the holonews. May was still having a hard time to believe that these clueless beans were what the senators on the surface called the fist of the Republic. In fact, when you think about it, putting all your hope of not getting kidnapped to serve gasolines in some droid bars in the hands of a bunch of idiots who thought grandpa was a genre of holomovies was a pretty idiotic thing to do itself.

They brought in new guys, and those guys brought in even more newer guys. That was when May realised that the same people who had spent hours pestering her about natborn courtship rituals were actually some sort of officers in their field. It felt weird watching one group of identical dorks following after another group of identical dorks calling them commanders. Unlike their COs, these captains, sergeants, and privates were stiff as hell, standing at attention like making mission reports when they ordered drinks. As long as they weren’t passed out drunk, they would even clean up the tables and take out their trash before leaving. May wanted to tell them to loosen up a little before they scared off the other customers, but there were no other customers left to be scared off before she could realise it. The Humans, Trandoshans, Ithorians, and all other sentients you’d expect in an underground bar had started avoiding this place entirely.

At least May’s boss was happy enough. The Republic didn’t pay its troopers, so they were still sharing drinks and never tipped. But they also had no sense of time, the bar was now always crowded with armoured men no matter time. Little money added up, and their revenue shot way higher than before. The boss had been advertising around to hire stuff for the early shifts, but just like the customers, there weren’t many bartenders eager to share their space with clones. May had been working crazy lately, slept for eight hours in the past three days. However, as the lucky one who had made the OG eight decide to stick around, she got a fat raise out of it. So she decided she could tolerate them.

“Ma’am.” Ponds grinned and flicked two fingers in greeting, Cody tilted his head at her. Four clones she’d never met sat down beside them, all wearing those lizard-like dumbass collars. It meant they were at least lieutenants? May hadn’t figured out the logic behind the troopers’ limited fashion choices yet.

“Evening.” She smiled back, tossing her lekku behind shoulders and pulling out the datapad from her apron. “Bakuran bitters and bloody rancor.” Ponds and Cody both nodded. “And for the new guys?”

“Uh.” Said the green trooper with slicked-back hair. His collar-buddies snickered.

“Get him the most expensive shit you have here, ma’am.” The trooper with ridiculously complex tattoos smirked widely. “Howzer’s getting promoted!”

Across from him, a clone with a blond buzz cut reached out to point at the price on top of the menu. Tattoo guy winced.

“I got this, you useless di’kute.” Sitting beside the blonde was a silver-haired trooper with the same shade of orange as Cody’s painted on her armour. Their heads were gleaming under the disco ball light like two credit ingots. “Made a killing selling titty pics on the holonet.”

“You what?”/“Thanks, Judith!”/“Cool, can I buy some?” Blonde, tattoo guy, and May spoke at the same time.

“I think your ears are working just fine, Rex. You’re welcome but I’ll make you pay me back someday, just wait for it, Keeli. If you stick one of those tiny paper umbrellas in my drink like they do in the holoshows, I’ll give you a discount, sweetheart.” Judith answered them one by one. Cody buried his face into his hands. She winked at him.

“Captain Howzer will take his first assignment on Ryloth.” Ponds flicked the green trooper-Howzer’s collar as May returned with a tray of drinks. He looked awkward. “Can’t say too much, but any dining etiquette we should learn about? Can’t have the kid embarrassing the GAR.”

“I wanna learn too,” said Keeli. “General Di always say Ryloth’s a good place. Should pay it a visit when the war’s over.”

“Oh, so you see a random Twi’lek on the street and just assume she’s from Ryloth?” May shifted her weight, setting a hand on her hip.

“Uh, no, it’s just that your accent—” Ponds spluttered.

“What about it?” She raised her eyebrows.

“I think what he means is—” Cody stepped in, but May burst out laughing before he could finish. The both of them looked thoroughly confused and disturbed.

“I am from Ryloth, trooper.” She grinned, revealing all her canines, Ponds curled up a bit. “This is payback for last time. I’m petty.”

“Gimme your frequency, I’m giving you a lifetime membership.” Judith suddenly declared in the stunned silence. Rex elbowed her in the armpit.

3

Keeli never came back. He and his General Di died defending May’s homeworld. One of May’s cousins said she had seen him fighting side by side with the Syndullas. Cody said Judith wouldn’t be returning either. She didn’t wake up after 18 hours in the bacta tank. The senators on the surface signed the Disposal Confirmation of Damaged Properties.

Cody was sitting alone in the corner, holding the last half-bottle of Chandrilan Blue ’439 that Judith had kindly paid for last time, when he told May that. His eyes bloodshot. Ponds had already headed to the next battle.

May cried the whole night in the shared bathroom of her broken-ass apartment 200 levels underground at the not-so-dignified videos Judith had sent her in the chat.

4

Four rookies sat stiffly in a row at the bar—May now knew that only troopers freshly off of Kamino would wear such shiny white armours. And they sure acted that way: eyes darting around fidgeting in their seats, looking like they might jump up and start saluting at any moment.

Across from them inside the bar was their own rookie, purple little thing with hoofs called Melina. May’s boss disappeared several weeks ago. Sitting in his office now were a smug Senate aide and a red-armoured clone. The former had barely stepped inside the bar before pinching his nose and barking orders for the staff to deep-clean it, muttering about the two billion allergens floating in the air; the latter awkwardly nodded at everyone who waved their mop at him asking him to move over. They’ve taken over the bar—clearly by order of the Senate. May didn’t ask where the boss had gone. He surely was alive and well somewhere in the galaxy—what kind of Weequay would he be without survival skills? Then arrived Melina, stepping in as the new bartender when Jakoian followed the boss away. Rumor had it she was from Kamino, homeworld of all clones, though she clearly wasn’t a trooper. She even had flapping furry ears. Some monk from the Jedi Temple had slipped her onto the payroll, which May found a little unfair—she and most of other staff had to go through an entire round and a half of interviews to get hired, and every drink made by Melina came with this weird shade of purple!

Good news was the troopers didn’t care about such details. There was nothing they wouldn’t drink. May suspected that even if it was massiff piss in the glass they’d just wonder why today’s stuff’s a bit stronger than usual. 79’s had officially become the lowest-barrier-to-entry workplace in the galaxy. Now, watching the rookie bartender and the rookie troopers yelling I don’t understand whatcha saying at each other with the same accents, she just wanted to sigh.

One of the troopers fished the celery stick out of his dragon juice and gave it an experimental lick. She actually sighed.

What was worse than the rookies were the rookies getting picked on. Other troopers kept kicking their stools as they passed by, snickering as the purple drinks spilled onto their chests.

“Who let the Wanker Squad in? Can’t escape their pathetic whines even here at the bar, it’s making me sick,” one of the other rookies pretentiously covering his nose as his friends smirked maliciously.

“Kriff off, ’32. We can go wherever we want,” one of the pathetic rookie squad members—even the lengths of their flat tops were identical, May honestly couldn’t tell any of them apart — flipped the bird.

“What did you say, weirdo?” ’32 bared his teeth. “I say you don’t even deserve to leave Kamino. General Ti must’ve been out of her mind. Who knows if you two weren’t—”

The four pathetic rookies and one Melina jumped up at the same time. May nervously turned to call for the bouncers, when two clones in blue armours squeezed past her.

“Good evening, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” The trooper with a goatee grinned widely as he casually draped an arm over ’32’s shoulder. ’32 glanced at his lizard collar and his face paled instantly. “What should we do now? It’s our holy saviour that you’re disrespecting.”

The other trooper stood next to ’32. Same lizard collar, same skirt, a blue handprint emblazoned on his chest. The dark visor staring ominously at him.

“S-sirs!” ’32 snapped to attention and saluted. “I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“Oh I don’t think that’s didn’t mean anything by it,” the goateed clone patted his cheek. “What does the reg say about disrespecting superior officers, Echo?”

“3G.A.R.C.47, Article 89,” Echo recited, “Anyone who shows disrespect to superior officers shall be punished according to a military tribunal’s ruling.”

“Ha! That’s the one. But I was magnanimous enough to stop you from saying something irreparable.” Said the goatee guy. “I want you to run 79 laps around 79’s, and then, with all your gratitude to me, head back to the barracks and don’t let me see you here again for a week.”

“Yessir!” ’32 saluted again before starting walking away dejectedly.

“Double time!” Goatee guy shouted at his back. “You’re not taking a vacation!”

’32’s friends also saluted, scrambling to follow him.

“Wow, thanks, sirs,” said the brave rookie who flipped ’32 the bird.

“Buy us a drink and we’re even,” goatee guy waved dismissively, “I’m almost having flashbacks. Standing in the corner watching the Bravo Squad show off their balls feels like just yesterday, and now we’re sirs. Where did all the time go, Echo?”

Echo took off helmet, revealing his own standard-length flat top. His thick eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. “You should’ve written a report to his CO instead of punishing him on your own, Fives.”

“Who would’ve thought this ARC armour would be so intimidating?” Said Fives, “Who would’ve thought I’m not a saint who doesn’t abuse his power?”

His friend rolled his eyes and didn’t respond.

“I’m Titmouse,” the brave rookie said, taking the chance of the conversation. “This is Frank, Chamber, and Ranter. What can we get you, sirs?”

“Nice to meet you guys. Grumpy dude here’s Echo. I was going to say just call me Fives, but on second thought, I really enjoy being sir, so please, feel free to say it a few more times,” Fives said as he sat next to Ranter, who took an excited breath. “Get me a Captain’s Special. Who knows, maybe it will get me promoted again to captain and move into Rex’s en-suite.”

“Where should Rex sleep then?” Echo asked him.

“En-suites come with private freshers, what kind of monster you think I am?” Said Fives. “Now, which shiny wants to hear the story of the legendary Domino Squad and its saviour?”

5

Four troopers lined up in front of May like a wall, all wearing sweaters that were bright pink in an oddly familiar way she couldn’t quite place. She had to crane her neck to look up at them, the sequins on their sweaters sparkled blindingly in her peripheral vision. Never heard of social distancing, these clones.

“Ma’am,” said their leader, “do you have a booth that can accommodate a repulsorlift chair?”

Like a pair of doors swinging open, they stepped aside to reveal a fifth trooper behind them.

Sitting in the repulsorlift chair was another clone with two streaks of red hair, half his face covered in words tattooed in a language May didn’t recognise, his legs were missing from the knees down. He was in his armour, but over it was the same sweater as his friends, embroidered with “SURVIVOR” in Aurebesh. He gestured a few signs to May that she couldn’t even begin to understand.

“Survivor says he doesn’t want to… cause any inconvenience?” said the trooper with a faint scar under his left eye that was only visible from this distance. His sweater read “RANTER.” “If you have a foldable… bird… toilet—what?”

“If you have a spare storage room, he can park the chair there,” the trooper with three yellow stripes tattooed on his scalp (“CHAMBER”) translated quietly.

“Survivor’s trying to blend GAR tactical hand signals with basic sign language, Ranter hasn’t been paying attention,” their leader (FRANK was literally the most boring clone name) ruffled Chamber’s hair approvingly as he spoke.

“I missed ONE session because I was helping the general!” Ranter protested indignantly.

The names sounded familiar. May glanced at the “TITMOUSE” on the last trooper’s chest and things suddenly clicked. “Wait, you’re that rookie squad from last time! The ones almost got bullied!”

“Owie, that’s harsh,” Titmouse clutched his chest and the letters on it. “Rookies? We’re now the core members of the 29th Thunderbird Company!”

“More like the only members,” Frank rolled his eyes. “Ma’am, about the chair…?”

May looked at Survivor, whose brown eyes gazed back at her with heartbreaking innocence. A sudden unease crept up her spine.

She had never seen a clone this badly wounded before. Troopers like him usually just disappeared on Kamino, left behind them a number on the property disposal lists and the tears of their brothers after three bottles of Corellian Whiskey. That was how they had lost Judith. Maybe that explained his name: the unfortunate survivor of this massive slave exploitation operation.

Neither the previous owner nor the current management had ever considered installing accessible facilities, as it was never necessary. And now these troopers who were made to die for them were asking her for space for a wheelchair. The elegant professors on the surface would be clutching their pearls over this barbarity, she thought, and a flash of anger surged in her chest. Her classmates were scattered across the galaxy talking justice into people’s heads, while she remained in the same spot, doing nothing and completely helpless against the most urgent yet unspoken problems of the war.

She suddenly wanted to scream, to collapse onto the floor, to storm into the senate building and strangle every one of those high-and-mighty politicians. But the troopers were still waiting. Smiles growing stiff, the awkwardness deepening with every passing second.

She rubbed her face, turned around, and shoved a booth’s seating aside to clear the space without a word. The softie uni graduate version of herself from one year ago could never have done this, but an entire year of tray carrying had injected some strength into those noodle arms after all. She wiped the greasy feel off on her apron. “Please have a seat, honoured not-rookie-anymores.”

Titmouse let out a cheer and slid first into the booth, the others following in succession. Ranter carefully maneuvered Survivor’s repulsorlift chair up to the table before turning awkwardly to Maybel and handed her a card.

“Miss Mayia-zyondennurravayblex, General Bou gave me this. She said she’s covering our tab tonight.”

“Bou?” May yelled. “My great-aunt is buying you drinks?”

“What’s a great-aunt?” someone whispered.

Ranter shrugged, equally confused. “I asked the same question, she didn’t answer. But she did spend half an hour training me to pronounce your name correctly, hope I got it right.”

At least May solved one problem: she finally figured out why that pink of their sweaters looked so damn familiar.

6

A year into the war, May had met enough clones to confidently call herself a kinda-expert on the GAR. Sure, she didn’t know the difference between battalions and regiments and she still wasn’t sure if that deecee17 was just a curse or an actual weapon. But 365 standard days of seeing what was essentially the same man in slightly different variations over and over again had forced her to start noticing the patterns.

Wolffe’s boys were both fierce and artistic at the same time. You could find the most unhinged bastards that were best at pretending to be normal in the 212nd. The red-armoured Coruscant Guard looked more like clones of their commander than of Fett himself—same attitude, same perpetual scowl, only ever appeared in packs either early in the morning or late into the night as the other clones whispered behind them. For all their attempts at individuality, the lifelong barrack life had already shaped them into some kind of collective personalities—and nothing had ever truly separated clones from one another, after all. They bared the same numbers of teeth when laughing, curved their brows at the same angles when brooding; same slang spread across every legion, same batch of rookies always chose similar armour patterns. After 365 days of all this, May started staring at her reflection in the mirror, suspecting her own brows were growing into those square, thick shapes too.

That was why she immediately noticed something was off about the boy sitting in the corner—not just because he was a boy.

Judging by the clone growth rate, he couldn’t be older than six (why did she automatically calculate in clone standard? She really needed a vacation), tiny enough to be lifted by the armpits and shook for a few times. He would have been kicked out on Ryloth or any of the other thousands of planets, but he’s now in Coruscant’s underground levels, and the bouncers at the door would only think he was a particularly overgrown adult Anzellan.

May had heard that some outstanding clone cadets were selected to leave Kamino early and get a firsthand look at the galaxy they would defend with their lives one day. She didn’t think he was one of them. He had the face of a clone, but was wearing Mandalorian armour. He had been silently judging everything around him for hours, wary eyes flickered over every trooper that passed by and then snapped away; features twisted in a way that was just…wrong, something between smelling fart and sorrow. May had never seen such complicated emotions on a clone before. Other clones, they could only process about 1.03 kinds of emotions at a time, saying them out loud immediately unfiltered.

If she had to guess, May would say he wasn’t a clone at all. Thire’s second cousin, maybe, definitely not someone who grew up in a sterile lab. But he didn’t seem to have any bad intentions either. May didn’t get paid enough to make it her problem anyways.

“You did at least give him non-alcoholic stuff, right?” May asked as she passed by Melina.

A while back, under her oh-so-kind-it-was-almost-unsettling insistence, Melina had convinced May to move out of her tiny brokenass apartment and into the dorm she converted from a storage room behind the bar. It wasn’t much better—she had to fight hoofs for blankets, bargain early morning unisex ‘fresher use with seven Coruscant Guards who never seemed to leave, and stare at the Fives graffiti someone from the 501st had left on the door panel every time she took a piss. But at least she no longer had to deal with the lingering smell of death sticks in the turbolift or the corrosive liquid her idiot neighbours kept dumping into the pipes. Their relationship had progressed rapidly as a result. May would sometimes bring ice cream back to their now-shared little dorm, where they’d lounge on the bed watching Nar Shaddaa’s Ultimate Culinary Battle: Carnivore Edition while Melina complained about the first boyfriend of her goat life. It also meant they started to chat with each other during shifts, instead of May standing at a distance watching Melina make purple drink after purple drink

“Ah, that’s Boba Fett,” Melina said the name like it’s the answer to every mystery in the galaxy. “He could spit acid out from his mouth, alcohol’s nothing compared to that.”

“Fett?” May echoed. “As in Jango Fett?”

This wasn’t the first clone she had known with a last name—the Skiratas had been in the bar before, and the legend passed by word of mouth among troopers, some Cut Lawquane. But a clone named Fett felt as strange as a Wookiee named Scaleback.

“He’s basically Fett’s son,” Melina mused. “Followed Dad around everywhere, pressed up against the glass staring at us lab clones. Heard he disappeared after Fett died, guess he ended up on Coruscant. I knew it was him the second he opened his mouth.”

The clones’ Prime was beheaded in a desert arena by Ponds’ general. They spoke of it with awe as if it were ancient Tusken tribes taking down the great krayt dragon, even though according to Davijaan, the clone army arrived a full thirty minutes after Fett’s head hit the ground and none of them had actually witnessed it happen. However, if the man’s kid was there, May couldn’t think of a worse kind of childhood trauma.

That explained the way he looked at the other clones.

“Sounds like he needs a social worker, not a drink,” said May. “But I feel like if I said that out loud, he’d bite my nose off.”

Melina shrugged noncommittally. So May turned back to work, leaving Boba Fett behind her mind.

But the boy kept coming back. He always took the same spot in the corner, ordered the same drink, never spoke to May or the other servers, and glared at anyone who so much as glanced in his direction. The older clones had already recognised him and were dedicated to avoiding eye contact; but the younger ones who were freshly off of Kamino still believed he was some runaway cadet, and every once in a while some of them would come up and try to ruffle his hair, congratulating him on how well he had mastered the survival skills. That was when he’d freeze up before snapping, baring his teeth and snarling them off.

May was 95% sure he was trying to grieve his father by being around his clones, but it wasn’t working out. She had never met old Fett, but judging by the way clones talked about him, there wasn’t much in common between he and his three million carbon copies. Young Fett was clearly starting to realise that, too. He grew desperate and restless, more and more frustrated with each passing day; that rage, unmatched by his age, carved deeper lines into his face, weighing down his young shoulders.

May felt bad. She didn’t know why he looked like he was on his way to some death mission everyday, just like she had no idea where he went after leaving the bar each night. Monsters ready to swallow people whole hid in the shadows of Coruscant, she just hoped she wouldn’t see his dead body lying in syringes on the street. Finally, after five days in a row of Boba’s brooding presence, May made up her mind to ask if he needed help. She knew several good doctors, the kind who wouldn’t piss people off with candy-box psychology tests, and a few qualified social workers. Even if it meant getting her nose bitten off, she figured it was worth a shot.

But she was caught up by a group of troopers who suddenly started projectile vomiting after drinking something God knows what. By the time she finished dealing with the mess, she turned back just in time to catch the moment the boy switching off his comms. A flash of blue light flickered, he put on his hood and left in a hurry. That was the last time May saw Boba Fett.

Half a month later, one evening, May sleepily walked into the work area for her night shift. Her steps came to a halt after passing three groups of clones huddled together whispering to each other, hands still tying her apron as her numb brain finally processed what it had just heard.

They were all talking about the same thing: the death of Commander Ponds. He was killed by Prime’s son Boba.

7

Sometimes May felt like the universe was laughing at the clones.

A week after Ponds’ death, Judith was back.

Three rounds of drinks in—sponsored by May’s Jedi great-aunt—the core members of the 29th Thunderbird Company had poured their hearts out to May, lamenting their greatest fear in painful detail: their new CO and the rest of the company were set to arrive soon. As the last five survivors of the now-defunct 934th Attack Battalion, they had always thought that Survivor stuck around simply because he had no other choice. The moment new options became available, he would abandon them without hesitation, join the normal soldiers who weren’t weirdos like them and leave.

“A toast to our last moments together! May Survivor not roll his eyes too hard when he sees us outcasts in the mess hall in the future.”

By then, Survivor had already been fitted with metal legs and a vocal implant, yet he still instinctively talked through sign language, gesturing frantically on the side aggrieved. As the other poor bastard frequently slandered by Ranter for not being much of a talker, Chamber gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and slid the glass into his hand.

The next time they showed up, no one would have called them outcasts. Quite the opposite—Wanderer Squad entered into the bar right in the middle of a big crowd, their bright pink armour still stood out jarringly in the dim light. May glanced at them once. Then again. Then she realised the silver head leading them from the front looked familiar.

The new CO of the 29th Thunderbird Company was Judith. She had lost an eye, face now covered in tattoos. One half of her armour was blackened with scorch marks, as the other was also painted pink. One of her vambraces was missing, the uncovered right arm gleamed with the sheen of metal.

She looked like a scrapped battle droid crawled back straight from hell.

The pink clones pushed a few empty booths together and crowded into them shoulder to shoulder. Judith sat down on Frank’s lap. As May walked over with her datapad, she noticed that almost every one of them had at least one cybernetic part attached to their bodies. She could never figure out exactly what great-aunt Bou got up to in the temple upstairs—but this time, she thought she had a pretty good idea.

Judith looked up at May. Her once long silver hair had been shaved into a mohawk, burn scars faintly visible beneath her blue tattoos. May and Frank beneath her blushed at the same time.

“Wow,” said May. “No idea what happened, but happy rebirth.”

“Thanks.” Judith smiled. “Hope you didn’t change your frequency, I’ll start updating again next week.”

The Thunderbird Company’s party lasted all night. May glanced back one last time when she clocked out at dawn, just in time to see Rex and Howzer remove their helmets and sit down beside Judith.

8

A massive search happened on Coruscant.

Such thing happened frequently enough here that it should not have caused much of a stir, but dozens of fully armed shock troopers stormed into 79’s, holding stun guns and a wanted poster for a specific clone. Never had a clone committed a crime grave enough to be wanted, all the clones who weren’t on the poster were terrified.

All the staff was gathered together to identify whether they had seen the guy in the holopic that night. May froze at the tattoo on his temple and the goatee on his chin.

It was Fives.

She shook her head in denial, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a staggeringly similar goatee heading toward the ‘fresher, sneaking glances around nervously. She had no idea what Fives had done this time, but it must have been something much worse than public nudity. But he was also the one who knocked out the junkie who had been whistling at May in the alley. For some reason, May turned around and pointed to the other side of the bar, saying she knew he liked to dance over there. That part was true enough; she just hoped Fives wasn’t that crazy to slide into the dance floor with his posters all over the bar. The troopers thanked her and headed in that direction, not noticing her trembling lips and knotted lekku.

May hoped they didn’t catch Fives.

9

No one ever heard from Fives again. But no news is good news, right? May asked Melina as she stirred the drink she made her absently. Melina buried her face deeper into her red scarf without answering, so May shut up too. Selling a lie that even herself wouldn’t buy felt stupid.

She remembered Fives’ favourite drink was Naboo Sunset, because, well, the sunsets on Naboo are really beautiful, I’ve seen them with my own eyes. She remembered Fives’ brother, he died two years ago. So many had died. Keeli, Ponds, Echo, Thorn. Legends say that Twi’leks born on Ryloth become spirits after they die, wandering the sands of the Jixuan Desert. May wondered where would clone spirits go. They didn’t even have a place they were willing to call home. May chewed her straw gloomily.

Not that she was slacking off; it was just the bar had been much emptier lately. Clones were being recalled to the upper levels, Kamino, and all sorts of places, standing by for orders, because the war was over. Thousands of systems were celebrating on the holonews from millions of lightyears away; people cheering, fireworks bursting, music playing for the rise of the new government and the arrival of the promised peace. But Coruscant had never truly experienced the war. Kidnappings and terrorist attacks happened in daily basis, never decreasing in frequency or increasing in intensity because of the distant threat of the Separatists. The capital people had always been too busy with their own business to worry about anything else, so the latest development barely made a ripple. A few nearby shops hung up Imperial banners, and that was it — and even that was just to curry favour with those Senate aides who had recently started making sudden visits, rather than the newly crowned Emperor Palpatine himself sitting comfortably in the throne upstairs.

The new Empire wasn’t a fan of Jedi — that much, May knew. The Jedi Rebellion has been crushed, read the headlines, accompanied by images of the Temple billowing with thick smoke. Senate aides, flanked by the Coruscant security force and clone squads, swept the entire planet for any remaining insurgents, kicked into 79’s five times within a week, rounding up all the staff for questioning. It was because the Jedi brats used to love this place. The older Padawans would sneak down to the lower levels in packs, getting a taste of the worldly pleasures forbidden by the Jedi Code. And ever since the clones had taken over the bar, 79’s had become one of the few spots their masters were willing to turn a blind eye to. The bouncers threw their hands up in surrender at their braids, the bartenders happily accepted their meagre tips, and the clones crowded around them, competing to see whose little commander could down the most Calamari Xinphar in one go before forming volunteer escort squads to make sure they were safely back at the Temple by midnight. But those days were gone. May hadn’t seen Zett Jukassa in ages, or that always gloved Kestis. That’s exactly what she told them. She never could have imagined snot-nosed little nerds like them taking part in a rebellion. Nobody knew how deeply the Jedi had rotted. We were all deceived, said the aide.

As someone personally placed in the bar by the Jedi, Melina was taken to separate rooms for questioning every single time, scratches and anger all over her face when she came out. Then one day she just disappeared. No words, no notes, her luggage was still there, the only thing missing was the scarf she always wore. May had no idea if she had finally been arrested, and there was no one to ask. She tentatively sent a few messages to Bou but received no reply, nothing to do but nervously deleting the chat, couldn’t even let the thought of her being dead cross her mind. The clones she was familiar with stopped visiting either. All of May’s friends were gone.

Grey finally reappeared at the bar several weeks later. She hesitated for a while, but still asked him about his commander, that Dume kid who always followed him around. He sharply interrupted before she could even finish her sentence, “Discussing the Jedi is an act of treason, ma’am.”

The entire room fell silent at his words, dozens of identical eyes staring at May, silent and alert. She swallowed hard, for the first time in her life understanding why other natborns found that face creepy.

“Sorry, I didn’t know,” she replied awkwardly. “He also participated in the rebellion?”

No one answered, and she fled in panic. The newly formed Imperial Security Bureau knocked on her door just a few hours later. Suspected of maintaining contact with a fugitive, deliberately concealing the fugitive’s whereabouts, and openly discussing treasonous topics, with every word her eyes widened further. The absurdity of the accusations was almost hilarious, and just before she could start to argue, they slammed her against the wall, cuffed her, and shoved her into the enforcement shuttle.

“There must be a misunderstanding, Stone. Which one of your men is being dramatic? Should try their hand at the Galaxies Opera House when they retire,” she shook her head as she spoke to the clone in front of her, still trying to maintain her professional server smile. “You know me, I mess up everything, no one would trust me to join even if I actually wanted to rebel.”

“Are you admitting to having treasonous intentions, Miss Gin?” Stone’s tone was as flat as ever, the only constant in this entire shitshow, though it offered no comfort whatsoever.

“W-what?? That’s not what I said! What the kriff, Stone?”

Stone scoffed, turning his face toward the viewport without responding.

May hadn’t been on the surface in a long time and had forgotten how blinding natural sunlight could be. Her eyes watered the moment the shuttle ascended out of the tube, and then the tears just wouldn’t stop. The helplessness of losing contact with friends and the regret of not having resigned and gone home earlier flooded her heart. She sobbed pathetically, asking Stone for tissue to wipe her nose. But he simply stared at her without saying a word, so she started wailing.

She was thrown into a drunk tank in Coruscant Police Department, where she was felt up by two dizzy Zeltron women, followed by two whole days of enduring the annoying singing of a hyperactive Pa'lowick choir. Then she was isolated in a more heavily guarded cell in a neighboring building. No one came to interrogate her. And honestly, even if they had, she wouldn’t have been able to answer a single question. There was nothing in the cell but a surveillance camera and a toilet. The meals were delivered in trays by guards holding guns, and she could only track the passage of time based on this. They had no personal markings on their armours and never respond to anything she said, so she had no idea if it was the same two people every time. A week later, she had gone through the all five stages of grief, overcome her fear of having her nails pulled out during interrogation, and began shaking the bars of her cell, shouting for someone to bring her a magazine.

No one answered, naturally. But she realised the camera was turned off when she woke up on the cold floor on the tenth day.

May stood up and pressed her face between the bars, trying to get as close as possible for a better look, unsure if she had finally started to have hallucinations after being caged for so long. The gate in the distance opened with a clank. She jumped back to the corner, afraid that the guards who came to deliver food on schedule would interpret her weird action as not only treasonous but also an escape attempt.

But today, the guards didn’t have trays in their hands. Before May could start worrying if she was finally being taken to her execution, they removed their helmets, revealing silver hair and black tattoos.

“General Bou gave you 60 seconds to make a choice,” Judith said. “Do you want to squeeze into a ship packed with 127 rogue clones and 1 traitorous Jedi and leave Coruscant, or rot here until they catch her?”

“Stone’s holding me as bait to draw out my distant great-aunt? He might as well try Chamber instead,” was May’s instinctive answer.

“55 seconds left. Titmouse can only keep the surveillance access for this long,” Survivor reminded her.

“What? Okay, okay, I choose the first one. Get me out of here, I never want to eat that nutrient paste anymore.” She eagerly clung to the bars again.

“Tell me about it.” Judith smirked, skilfully taking off a familiar-looking silver cylinder out of her gunstock. “Bou lent me this. Move back a bit, I’m still getting the hang of it.”

May complied, running toward her future of a fugitive.

Melina belongs to @lepplum and Chamber belongs to @vale24601

[ranoosh2024kh]

‏A Birthday Wish for Hope and Survival

‏Today is my birthday. While birthdays are usually a time for celebration, mine comes amid hardship and uncertainty. I am from Gaza, where life has become a daily struggle for survival.

‏The challenges we face here are unimaginable—lack of basic necessities, ongoing instability, and the constant weight of uncertainty about tomorrow. Despite everything, I hold onto hope, but hope alone is not enough.

‏This year, my birthday wish is not for gifts or a party. My wish is for support—support that can help me and my loved ones navigate these difficult times. Any contribution, no matter how small, can make a significant difference in securing food, medicine, and essentials that are becoming harder to find.

‏If you cannot donate, please consider sharing my story. Your kindness and generosity can bring light into a life overshadowed by hardship.

https://gofund.me/c1c641e5

‏Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Rana

 Vetted campaign by @90-ghost

@gaza-evacuation-funds

@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain  @mothblossoms @aleciosun  @fluoresensitive @khizuo @lesbiandardevil

@camgirlpanopticon @baby-girl-aaron-dessner

@omegaversereloaded @punkitt-is-here @tamamita @skunkes @ot3 @valtsv @wolfertinger666 @paper-mario-wiki @chokulit @ankle-beez @pitbolshevik @neechees @memingursa @afro-elf @beserkjewel @feluka @i-am-a-fish @nyancrimew @spongebobssquarepant @sabertoothwalru @90-ghost @komsomolka @sawasawako @hotvampireadjacent @certifiedsexed @isuggestforcefem @3000s @pissvortex @prisonhannibal @apas-95 @vampiricvenus @turtletofan @marxism-transgenderism @beetledrink @bevsi @spacebeyonce @bonkcreat @11thsense @boobieteriat @sporesgalaxy @spitblaze @space-is-the-place2 @sar-soor @sayruq @sadhoc @sappho114 @sailor-plut @gallade-x-treme @palhelp @paleolatrans

@dirhwangdaseul @b0nkcreat @tamamita @chokulit @3000s @apas-95 @pitbolshevik @ot3 @punkitt-is-here @vampiricvenus @turtletoria @paper-mario-wiki @valtsv @omegaversereloaded @i-am-a-fish-stinks @catsgifsarefun @spongebobssquarepants @postanagramgenerator @feluka @nyancrimew @90-ghost @beserkerjewel @neechees @memingursa @certifiedsexed @afro-elf @11thsense @sawasawako @spacebeyonce @skipppppy @beetledrink @fools-and-perverts @dailyquests @evillesbianvillain @wolfertinger666 @taffybuns @ankle-beez @sabertoothwalrus @meshugenist @isuggestforcefem @hotvampireadjacent @marxism-transgenderism

My family and I desperately need your help to survive the war.

For 14 months, Gaza has been under relentless assault. We’ve lost not only our daily routines but also countless loved ones. Death looms over us every day. I used to hear people call Gaza “the largest prison in the world,” and it saddened me. But now, amidst this war, I find myself wishing for the security of a normal prison, as no prison on earth compares to the atrocities we endure. Gaza is being ravaged by genocide and the destruction of every aspect of life.

I spent four years studying English and French, driven by a deep passion for learning and teaching. I even had the opportunity to live in France for a year, where I taught Arabic to French students. Upon my return, I pursued a master’s degree in education, and my joy was immense when I graduated. My dreams grew brighter when I began working as a teacher in private schools and as a freelancer in translation and online education.

But everything changed in an instant when war broke out. The school where I worked was bombed, leaving me jobless. The constant blackouts and lack of reliable internet have destroyed my ability to work online. We have no stability or safety. My family and I are constantly fleeing from place to place, trying to escape death.

Can you imagine the heartbreak and despair of watching everything you worked so hard for crumble? I went from being a determined, hardworking person to someone who has lost nearly everything.

Yet, I refuse to give up. I am determined to rebuild my life, but I cannot do it alone. I need your help. A donation from you could allow me and my family to escape Gaza and seek safety in Egypt, where I can work again and pursue the dreams I once had.

You can be the light in this overwhelming darkness. Even the smallest contribution can make a profound difference. Every Euro you give is a step toward survival and hope. Please don’t hesitate to help—it means the world to us.

❤️🍉🍉

With heartfelt gratitude,

Rana

  Vetted campaign by @90-ghost

@gaza-evacuation-funds

@palestinegenocide @queerstudiesnatural @90-ghost @el-shab-hussein @northgazaupdates

@apollos-olives @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vakarians-babe @90-ghost @fairuzfan

@sar-soor @fallahifag @humanvoicebox @plomegranate @queerstudiesnatural @commissions4aid-international @international-network @nabulsi @mushroomjar

@palestine @communistchilchuck @northgazaupdates2 @ghost-and-a-half @kyra45 @the-bastard-king @feluka @sayruq

@chososhairbuns @commissions4aid-international @soon-palestine @palestinegenocide @kyra45-helping-others

[schwarz-san]

Danny is a normal fourteen year old boy in a household in a normal family.

His parents are doctor and engineers and has a smart older sister who likes psychology. He has a goth and a technerd as bestfriends in a normal highschool.

Then all of a sudden he's been kidnapped to be used as a sacrificed to a Eldritch Death God from beyond by some cult that literally came out of nowhere—

---

Danny is a normal kid.

Well, as normal as a kid of a couple with triple doctorates in Chemistry, Engineering and Demonology as well as black belt in multiple martial arts could be anyway .

He has a older sister that is interested in Psychology and proficient with Matial arts.

He's friends with a rich rebellious goth girl who likes plants and a tech genius boy who could probably hack pentagon if wanted that likes meat.

Life is fine.

Then he got interested in demonology and started reading his parents books.

(Maddie and Jack is so proud, their boy is following their footsteps!)

He then read something about a High Ghost King of The Infinite Realm from one of their ancestral books from his dads side. Way back when the Fentons was still called Fentonightingale's and still worked as the greatest and most infamous supernatural hunters around in the olden days.

He got hooked very quickly.

He studied and research more and more about the Ghost King, learning that its existence could be seen through out multiple civilization and mythology all across the globe and has been around way, way back to ancient greece, china, japan, egypt and so on.

He learned that it was considered as a Death God, Eldritch in nature in some cases. That its also represent life and death, balance, Stars, Planets, space and the entire cosmos itself as well as the sea of possibilities, that is simply known as the multiverse in modern culture.

It was known through various titles such as The Balance between Realms, The Absence of Heat, The Protector, The Great One, Halfa and many more with the title High Ghost King of the Infinite Realms being his most notable one.

Danny loves learning about the ghost king and the infinite realms.

On how it was the afterlife, and how it hold all other afterlife with itself. Its pantheon, its customs and its king.

Life is fine.

He graduate highschool with honors and recently got accepted in college, aiming for Engineering.

(He may love studying the supernatural but he still loves space and still defenitely aim to be an astronaut.)

Life is fine.

Then it reality came crashing down all in a blink of an eye.

His family got caught in a rouge accident while visiting gotham, only danny survived.

People who wants his parents tech and research are all hounding danny for their patents, for their tech, their researchs.

And they never stop.

Time passess and Danny is just tired of everything.

He dropped college.

He's pennyless.

Jobless.

His friends are out of reach.

(He heard rumors about the government and high standing people hounding them as well due to their connection with him)

And pretty much after that, he loss just about everything he has.

All except his fenton family heirloom books and his parents researchs.

So he lays on the floor of his crappy rundown apartment, disheveled, thick dark lines under his eyes, and unshaven face. His books, his parents research scattered and discarded around him on the floor along with numerous empty bottles and cans of beer and alcohol. Some bottles were even broken.

Danny is drowning and life is not fine.

Despair clawed deep in his chest as he continue to drowned in just about everything.

Despair

Sadness

Anger

Hate

Loneliness.

So on, so forth.

It was too much. Too much for a simple man like him too bear alone.

Until one day, he just can't anymore.

Broken shard from empty bottle of beer fall on his hand and his mind swirls. Every emotions, every suffering and all of his despair cultivating in to a potent, potent poison like poisonous critters fighting inside a poison jar.

He raised the broken shard in his hand before his bloodshot eyes fell on a discarded open book on the floor.

The Fenton family heirloom.

One that mentions the King of the Infinite Realms.

Then all of a sudden, memories rush back to Danny like water from a broken dam.

His childhood.

His parents.

His sister.

His friends.

His dreams of flying out of the planet.

His obsession with the ghostking and the ghost zone as his family labeled it.

His happy memories.

The accident that take everything away from him.

On how he loss everything.

On how… he doesn't have anything else to lose.

The fact that he doesn't have anything else to lose.

Tired, resigned and resolved, danny made his decision and blood fell to the floor.

--

Danny is an engineer.

A very smart one infact that he was often compared to the likes of Tony Stark and Reed Richards.

CEO of Fenton Works and formerly, Dalv co. (His Godfather insisted of making Danny inherit everything and Danny doesn't have the heart to refuse a dying man) , which he merged with his parents small company with the same name Fenton Works.

They are advance compared to other tech companies and could keep up to Stark's tech (probably one of the very very few that could keep them on their toes) that continue to ridiculously advance at a terrifying pace due to continuous study of alien tech that Stark manage to observe and get his hands on due to his superhero stint.

(No. Danny isn't jealous. Not by the fact that Stark could go in and out of space at his leasure. Not by the fact that he could go to other planets or the fact that he could meet real life aliens. No, shut up Tuck. Seriously dude, stop laughing–!)

Life is fine, he's engage and happy with his life and his family.

Then he got on a accident.

Sam is in coma, with no concrete time on when she'll wake up.

Her parents were angry of course but relented when they saw that state danny was in.

His arms were crushed and he cant feel anything from them.

The vary same hands that he use to craft. The very same hands that sam compliments whenever he made a new invention that made that hammer dude green with envy and made stark speechless.

Fenton work is declining. It wasn't obvious yet but they are slowly losing footing in the industry. All because he couldn't make anything new.

His parents helped, and the only reason that the company isn't crashing and burning to the ground yet. But even they could not totally prevent the company's slow and steady decline.

They then tried to find a way restore his hands.

They tried a lot of things, cybernetics to medical operations and medication, so on, so forth. They worked. But only by little as everything felt horryfyingly wrong whenever he tried any of his options, but for the sake of the fenton works, danny endured. Everything to ensure sam that everthing is alright the moment she woke up from her com.

It's been half a year since then.

Danny was in his office, typing on his computer with the Fenton Ghost Gloves on his hands that let him do work despite the condition of his hands when Wes suddenly barged to his office holding a flyer, yelling something about a way to permanently heal his hands and a possible way to wake up Sam from her coma.

That immediately got Danny's attention.

With hope in his eye and determination burning in his chest, Danny take the flyer and went to the place right of the bat. Lets just say that it wasn't what he was expecting at all.

Danny new of the supernatural. Kind of hard not to when your family have a been written in history books a the worlds greatest and infamous Supernatural Hunter bearing the Fentonightingale name and with Gods and all the magical shenanigans that keeps happening left and right that the Avengers have to deal with.

Which means that he shouldn't have been surprised that magic is involved with the flyer promising miraculous healing.

It's also strange (hah) to meet Stephen Strange again.

He knew the man, a little arrogant but definitely have the skills and talent to back it up. He also heared that he had an accident similar to his that led him to give up his medical career entirely unlike danny who make do with his fenton gloves.

Now he's a sorcerer, not just any sorcerer but The Supreme Sorcerer and may have been a Avenger now for all he knew. Doctor Strange, then gave him the option to either help him heal his hands or learn magic.

Danny chose magic of course.

(Sam would be so mad the he went on and learn magic on his own without her and Tucker)

Now, he just need to learn the magic to wake her up safely.

A year pass and Danny is a full bown sorcerer.

It baffled everyone how fast he learned that he's already nearing the Supreme Sorcerers level with only just a year. Definitely faster than the progress that Doctor Strange himself shown.

They all shuddered in horror once they heared his family name though, and Danny understand their reaction. A descendant of Fentonightingale himself, the greatest Witch Hunter, having magic is a image that they never would have imagine.

That said, it's also been a month since Sam woke up ( there was so much crying involve) and has been in rehab ever since.

She's mad that he learned magic own his own as expected and demanded that she and tucker learn it as well.

(He couldn't say no to her)

It also a shock to learn about Tuckers potential with magic, something about having Egyptian roots. Sam is jealous. Well, that was until she obtain some form of plant magic and make herself a walking terror to everyone.

(The illegal loggers and companies were not ready)

Meanwhile, Danny's specialty is tapping and looking through diferent dimentions, secretly of course, and space magic as well as exorcism related magic in honor of the Fentonnightingale name.

Life is well.

Until one day when he was scrying through other dimension, he encounter a very very large, endless dimension consisted of green skies. It's a dimension that Danny doesn't recognise so he got intrigue and he knew he should have told Doctor Strange immediately but well… his curiosity get the better of him and he take a peak. Just a little wee bit of peek and—

A massive Eldritch Eye looms and stare back at him.

"Uhhhhh—GAAAAAAAAAAHHHH—!"

-

It's been Eons and Danny has been The High Ghost King for quite a time.

Probably more considering that time in the Realms never really flows in a linear Fashion.

(He could tell, with all the time he spent at Clockwork's Lair, his position as the High King, dominion over Space and the fact that Time and Space are always intertwined and are lowkey perpendicular to one another so it's nly natural for him to do so)

Danny just got back from his vacation to another universe and may or may not have traumatize a lot of people (Arceus still won't remove the barricade he put at the Hall of Origins, Giratina may be traumatize as well but enjoys watching Arceus suffer so its worth it. Revenge for being lock away in his own lair. Hah!) And is feeling great! Sure Tuck and Sam were mad that he leave them with his own paperworks but can you say no to this adorable face? (Sam and Tuck grumbled as Danny make the Ookemon team he got from vacation to do puppy eyes with him and aim it to Sam and Tucker, like seriously, its not fair! Hes thousand years old how can he stay adorable after all that years!)

They forgave him but demand that they be included along when Danny decide to have another vacation. Though not before stealing his Pokemons and dumping athe backlogged paperworks on his desk.

Great…

So there he is, doing work like he hadn't taken a vacation and a Mt. Everest worth of paperworks.

(Danny doesn't know what he'll do with out his duplicates)

He's done about half of them (what can he say, hes fast and just want to go to bed) when he felt something.

He could feel it. The ripples from countless universes hapening everywhere all at once, they touched the surface of the Infinite Realms and made themselves known. Normally, ripples isn't something to be worried about. There will be people, gods, cosmic beings and such that will always deal with them one way or another so beings from the realms rarely bothered. This one though is different. Because it messes with the realms, something that almost never happened before.

Further more, he could feel something tugging at his core, which only happens when he was being summoned most of the time.

Putting his paperwork aside (oh yes, finally a valid excuse), Danny take a look to the one he could feel is scrying throigh the realms with magic.

He tuen Eldritch and peak back to the rude person peaking without permission.

Danny wasn't expecting to see a version of him scrying through the realms with sorcery of all things.

He shut his Sorcerer version's spell as he heard the man scream in terror.

(Danny snorted, for some reason, he found it hilarious)

Welp, I guess it's about time to visit Clockwork.

[otrtbs]

hi! could you explain a little bit what you studied and if you did any apprenticeship before you got a job ? a little summary to how you got there ? i’m so curious (and i admire you a lot)

hiya!! sure!!

so back in high school i actually started volunteering at my local art museum when i was 16 (up until i graduated at 18). they had a program specifically designed for teens to volunteer at the museum (i gave guided tours, and helped plan events at the museum, and worked with kids 3-12 in a drop-in studio every saturday where they could make art of their own after looking in the gallery) <- not a lot of museums do this, but you can call and ask if they need volunteer docents for the weekends !! they’ll train you!!

then i majored in art history in undergrad (making sure to focus my courses in modern and contemporary art towards the end of my studies bc that’s what i wanted to do! also i took a LOT of french classes. as in i only needed a few credits to have a minor but the last class was so hard i dropped it) to give yourself a leg up, i recommend studying a language (italian, french, spanish, german) most jobs in ARH require at least a minimal reading knowledge of another language.

while i was in school, i got a job at my university’s art museum as a gallery assistant! (<- fancy way of saying i walked around the galleries and told people not to touch the paintings and answered their questions if they asked and made sure no one was trying to steal the art)

during the summer, i got a summer internship at an art gallery in the biggest city close to my house (bc i moved back home w my parents in the summertime. uni housing was crazy expensive) and that was the *most* instrumental. i learned how to write wall texts, how to install artworks, i made studio visits to artists, updated the gallery website, handled artist contracts, you name it! it was great experience!!

i also got involved in art history/fine arts clubs at my university! i was on the fine arts council at my uni which represented the art and art history department to the student senate and the university at large. and the art historical society.

then i got my master’s degree in history of art theory and display, joined the art historical society at that university, got a degree and entered my FLOP ERA OF THE CENTURY

and by that i mean, i was 6 months unemployed and moved back home w my parents flop era. no one would hire me ,, no one would even give me a call back to tell me they didn’t wanna hire me ,,, and then one day someone did !! rahhh!!!! and i got some of my research approved 4 publishing and now im here!!!! (i say this not to discourage you but to let you know that the job market for art history ppl is tough,, it has always been tough,, but if you love it, it’s never a waste to pursue!)

i would do a few things differently if i had a second go at it, just to get a leg up so here’s some advice that im giving but i DIDNT DO myself:

1) try to minor in something to give you a leg up! a language is good, marketing is good, public relations… something to make you stand out!

2) try to get things published as an undergrad or a grad student! get your research out there if you can (way easier said than done ik ik) have some things you can list under your publications tab on your CV

3) if you find yourself in a 6+ month jobless, flop era period like me, volunteer somewhere at a museum or gallery if you are able. i was bitter as fuck that i had a masters degree and would be working at a museum for free when i needed money so i didn’t do it ,, but when someone finally calls back and you get an interview and they ask what you’ve been up to recently ,,, telling them you spend your time volunteering in museum spaces and working in your desired environment looks so much better than saying “i’ve been job searching” i promise !! (<- also just recognizing the extreme privilege i had to just stay at home and look for jobs in my desired field instead of immediately having to get a job somewhere. but im not gonna lie to you. i put out applications at olive garden and einstein’s bagels and they both rejected me. so. i was scrambling bc my student loans were due and i had zero dollars 2 my name 🧍‍♀️)

okay i rambled on for entirely tooooooo long. but i hope this was helpful somewhat !!! 💗💗

[hisuianhellion]

🪐

Mass Effect - Death mention

It had been a few years since arriving here, ten in fact. No documentation. No familial or legal history to reference. A good few psych examinations to make sure she had even a shred of sanity in her skull when screaming about how aliens weren't supposed to be real, where the fuck was she, how the fuck did she even get here. All in front of a Lieutenant of a human space navy that somehow took sympathy on her.

She had told him rather plainly that she wasn't really the military type. But he didn't want her to just end up jobless and worthless on the Citadel. She'd either end up deported or shoved into one of the wards, landing a dead-end job within cultures she knew nothing about. But she seemed to have an aptitude for learning about other races more keenly than those who simply grew up with them, and that had Lieutenant Anderson's attention.

It wasn't forced, but she did still feel strong-armed into service. This or destitution. And it let her get plenty of training in, both on a physical side and a cultural side. Learning how Earth was in the late 22nd century. Learning about the myriad Council and Embassy races. And learning that the colonial mindset of human expansion and brute-forced progress hadn't faltered, but... hey. At least now they had competition in the Council races that held the galaxy in their political grip. What they said went, you just had to abide that.

Quietly sitting in her cabin, she found herself reminiscing. That first gunfight she had gotten herself into, clearing that Red Sand grift without a single casualty on her side. She ended up visiting the family of who died to make sure it wasn't missed. Not on her own side... but hey. Stupid kids making stupid decisions. And it taught her to make sure she talked before shooting, despite what training said.

A year later, a stint in a joint military exercise with the Systems Alliance and the local colonist militia on Elysium turned into what was thus known as the "Skyllian Blitz". It was the bloodiest battle she had ever seen at that point. She was just a Warrant Officer at the time, but Anderson had kept tabs on her. A couple of calls here, a recommendation for enrollment in the ICT program there, and she was an N4 by then. But that fight. That goddamn fight.

Commander, dead. Killed in the first barrage. Captain above him, currently not even there yet, but the SSV Agincourt was apparently en route. The ships above fell almost immediately after the Alliance Navy had appeared, yeah, but the ground troops found little rapport when the slavers and pirates opted to shift from collection to slaughter when they realized there wasn't going to be a way out that wasn't prison.

Anderson had chosen well those few years back, because without Rose stepping up immediately to make sure that the colonists had firearms, cover, and knew where to puncture the attacking Batarians and their hired goons? Well. Those Vorcha would've had a very easy time committing whatever atrocities they were ordered to deal.

Casualties were brought from hundreds, even thousands projected... to nineteen where she was. Nineteen dead, sixty injured but stable. Hundreds... down to just below twenty. And an entire invading army's ground invasion cleared out.

The very following week, she had been awarded the Star of Terra. A month later, she was fast-tracked through the ITC, graduating that in 2182 with the distinction of being a Commander with the N7 code. Six months later, she oversaw the Normandy's shakedown run with Captain Anderson himself, a man with so many medals he could melt them down into a life-sized statue of himself, so said Navigator Pressly. Anderson was her friend. Her confidant. The man who had made sure to put the training to the talent he saw.

And she had just replaced him. Backroom politics, stealing not just his old mission to make people see what Saren was truly like... but the very ship he was slated to command. She wasn't even a Captain at this point. She was the rank just below that, and yet... being a Spectre got her special privileges, it seemed.

She had recruited humans and aliens alike to help her track down a rogue Spectre, murderer of his own friend, slaughterer of so many on Eden Prime. Garrus, Tali, Ashley, Kaiden, Wrex... even Liara. The daughter of Saren's own second in command. Therum was a melting pot she barely got that woman out of alive, and Feros was a lesson in horror she was still reeling from. It was costing her sleep, even...

Now she was here. In the captain's cabin herself of the SSV Normandy. She stared at the Star of Terra, haphazardly tossed onto the desk beside the bed. She rubbed at her eyes gently, standing up and beginning to walk outwards. A wave to Kaiden, who had opted to pass some time during their stop at the Citadel docks by chatting with Doctor Chakwas. Good guy. Very down to earth fellow. She ended up stepping forward towards the stairwell that led to the bridge, but nearly ended up slamming her nose right into a set of armor.

Red. Bulky. Holding a scowl behind it as a hulk of a man stared down at her with reptilian eyes. She looked up for a moment with a faint "eh, sorry", and went to shift past the Krogan.

Wrex reached out, grabbing her arm. And she stopped, her eyes clouding gently before she flicked them in his direction wordlessly. "... Wrex."

"Waite." His grip held her for a moment before letting go. "Don't you humans need that thing called 'sleep'?"

"Hasn't been coming easy. And don't act like Krogans don't need it, either." She turned a bit more fully to look down at him, crossing her arms. "Or does a guy like you run purely off spite?"

The larger of the two actually gave a faint huff, something of a laugh. The last month had gotten him to loosen up, and considering the armor he had just gotten back after a good long while... well. He wasn't all smiles. But he trusted Rose. He knew Rose had not just skills, but a brain between her ears. "Piss and vinegar, I heard a human say back on Omega once. But that isn't your kind of fuel." Her own smirk, forming at his words, faded soon after, and she shook her head.

"... Nah. Been hard to find the time. We've gotta head to Noveria soon, it's the last loose end I can think of."

"And you can handle that when you actually rest. I'm not following a half dead human to an early grave, I'm following a Spectre that knows how to take care of herself." Rose's frown began to deepen for a few seconds, only for her to sigh through her nose. Fuck. Even the resident loner, barely capable of saying anything more than her last name unless she tugs it out of him, is laying into her?

"On one condition." Wrex crossed his arms as well in response, meeting her gaze at the same height despite being a few steps below her, and he knit his brow. "You come out there with me. We go to Zalera Ward. And you have a goddamn drink with me. Mm?"

The look on his face crossed from annoyance at being denied at first, straight to shock at the offer, then immediately confused amusement. And the only thing that changed on his face was the slits of his eyes widening and narrowing in turn with a crease of his jaws loosening slightly.

"I put a gun to your head, so you pull a knife to my gut, eh? Damn idiot." And for the first time, a smirk tugged at his lips, and with a hand on her chest, he shoved her a few steps upwards. "Fine. I still owe you for the armor. But you're paying."

"Cheapskate."

"Put up or shut up, Waite."

[multi-muse-transect]

Hazbin OC and New Muse Of 2024!

Name: Pix (formerly Charley)

Date And Place Of Birth: Tilamook Bay, Oregon. August 21, 1998.

Date Of Death: 2023

Afiliations: VoxTech

Height: 6’5

Occupation: Video game developer and rising overlord.

Orientation: Straight.

Relationships:

Veorsika Mayday (girlfriend)

Vox (grandfather)

Goals: Wants to become the greatest and nicest overlord in all of Hell.

Likes:

Video games

Developing video games

Steak

Martini's

Waffles

Peanut butter waffles

Peanut butter and jelly waffles

Peanut butter and chocolate waffles

Verosika Mayday (girlfriend)

Hideo Kojima

Treating workers well.

Sex

Older women

Award shows

Charlie Morningstar

Lucifer Morningstar

Angel Dust

Husker

Vaggie

Executing sexual deviants and people who storm on stage to interrupt him.

Dislikes:

Crunch

Mistreating workers.

Valentino.

People who try to deflect blame.

Sexual deviants.

Firing workers.

Studio interference.

Canceling projects.

Sex during work unless it’s with Verosika and it’s during break.

Over-hiring.

Coconuts.

Mammon

Pastors and reporters that blame video games on problems

AI

Horrible video game adaptations

Russia

ChatGPT

Voice Claim: Zach Aguilar, Steven Yeun or Jason Mantzoukas.

Description: In a previous life, Pix was a graduate named Charley from college and studied video game development. He soon moved to Russia to work for a small video game company that was developing an open world MMO RPG survival game. Thing is, the company run by two brothers treated him and several workers horribly like locking them in rooms and making them work 18 hours while changing the game every time the heads played a triple A game that was on the craze and making them pay a fine for any idea they don't like. Soon the heads advertised the game as an open world survival MMO RPG when it really was a horrible extraction shooter. The game came out with extreme backlash and Charley’s career as a developer was basically over as his name was part of it.

What made matters worse, the company shut down and left him jobless and said heads, the brothers, of the company made a cope post via ChatGPT blaming the game’s shutdown on bloggers and influencers while dismissing the allegations doubling down saying they will continue to make games and the only thing that would stop them is if they were killed. Charley ended up buying some weapons from a military stockpile and then broke into their office while letting his workers who were clearing out leave then shot two of the brothers before getting arrested. He was a divisive figure in the media because no one else was hurt in his spree and he had good intentions to make his former bosses pay and made sure no young and up and coming talent like him would get abused. Charley had no regrets and died in prison choking on a steak where he went to Hell. Now as Pix, Charley has a second lease on life and became a famous game developer after signing with Vox and became a rising overlord by having thousands of souls under his contract.

During his stint, Pix met Verosika Mayday during a VO session when Vox wanted a celebrity talent in it. The two quickly became friends despite not being a fan of celebrity voice actors as the two went through similar situations. After that, they decided to start dating.

Personality: Pix is a rather interesting sinner as he was simply pushed too far by his environment and had good intentions before committing his sin. He is very much a kind person who is loyal to his workers and would offer his hand during development. His loyalty to his workers is exemplified when he had a food hall in his building and would give his employees enough time to refine his games while giving them a mandatory four hour break alongside living spaces in case they want to work overtime.

He is very passionate about his craft hence why his games are known to be groundbreaking because of the effort him and his team put onto them. But he's also very demanding and prefers to hire very experienced developers instead of new talent into the fold. This rather demanding attitude made him one of the more elite developers of Hell itself. Pix also greatly dislikes people who mistreat their workers and also sexual harassers like Valentino who he threatened to kill when he saw him harass one of his devs.

His kindly demeanor also makes him one of the most wanted overlord in Hell to work for as his contracts are less than owning one’s souls but more business based. In fact, the ones who take the contract get benefits like pay and sick days alongside housing at the same time. Under Pix, nothing much changes for the contracted except he demands proper behavior and work ethics.

Pix is also known to be very disgusted and angered by people who blame video games for problems. He sees it as power hungry assholes trying to blame something to get more influence over others.

But despite his kindly attitude, Pix can be a perfectionist. This resulted in his games having long development years at times as he’s known to nitpick. Another part is that his passion for developing is so strong that he finds himself not getting enough sleep…or little sleep. In a way, his passion became a Hell of its own.

There is also another darker side as he would literally execute any workers who are being deviants or anyone who is being rambunctious. This led to him killing a worker for sexually harassing a coworker and also shooting someone in the head on live television in an award show when they ran up stage and interrupted him during his speech.

Pix also had greater ambitions and wanted to become an overlord like his grandfather Vox who he is working for. He scouts for talent that are down on their luck and need help resulting in his fellow workers to hold great admiration for him. Pix sought to change the system of Hell by leading by example as his kindness and eye for talent in programming helped him to become an up and coming overlord.

Although he can be known to be very power hungry at the same time. This stemmed from the feeling of hopelessness he had as an overworked game developer. Because of this, he always wants to be in charge and will do anything to stay up top. A trait similar to his grandfather Vox.

His relationship with Verosika Mayday got off to a rocky start as he wasn’t a fan of celebrity voice talent. But the two began to hang out more and more before “practicing lines” for his script in the game. The two officially began dating though their relationship was met with some eyebrows raised as he’s a sinner and she’s a hellborn. Plus Vox wasn’t exactly a fan of it either. All in all, Pix tries his best not to let Verosika down.

Abilities

Demonic Transformation: Almost similar to Alastor, Pix can turn into a being made of pure pixels.

Digital Materialization: Can manipulate artificial light and project it as hard-light projections. This resulted in him creating weapons, holograms and even his own minions.

Skillset

Marksmanship: Pix is known to be a great marksman thanks to learning from a relative and used his skills to murder his former bosses.

Sense of detail: He looks into all of his games before release and would discover bugs that weren't there alongside adding details to make them immersive.

Skilled Developer: In life and in death, Pix was a very talented video game developer who would aim high most of the time. He knows the ins and outs of programming.

[caffeinejournalist23]

Suburban Nightmare The Scariest Part About Moving to the Suburbs is the Fear of Having to Move Back to the Hood

I grew up in the "hood" of Northwest Ohio and throughout my childhood I was repeatedly told by teachers and social workers "you have to have a college degree." To survive, to live a good life, or to go on vacation once a year, they never specified why we needed to have one - the adults just told us this from the third grade onward in a tone that was serious and haunted us as we clawed our way to high school graduation. Well I moved to the suburbs to pursue a college education, received my Bachelor of Arts, but then wound up jobless for the first 2.5 months after graduating, fearing that I may have to return to the life I thought I left behind in the hood.

This is what it was like.

Part 1/3: Restless

The first few days were not too bad.

I finished school on a Tuesday and had the graduation ceremony the following Saturday. Though I was anxious to begin working full time again after taking almost a month off to focus on school, I forced myself to appreciate having a few days to catch my breath after completing the toughest semester of my undergrad career - under the assumption that my boss would call me back to give me my schedule as promised.

But they never called me back.

I texted. I called. I emailed. Nothing.

I reached a supervisor in my department who promised they would make sure my employer called me once they returned from vacation, but the supervisor also warned me "if you get a new opportunity, take it, because I'm not sure what [they] are planning with you."

I texted. I called. I emailed - for weeks.

Still nothing.

Feeling scorned, neglected as an employee, and painfully confused, I knew I shouldn't go back; not only was I completely ghosted, but this happened on top of several occasions prior when I was not paid on time, not paid the proper amount, and even scammed by a company hacker. And I knew I didn't deserve the shame of going back to a place begging for employment where I had already been so mistreated.

So the job search began.

Part time. Part-time remote. Entry level. Entry level temporary. Full-time summer. Freelance. Temporary full-time summer.

The amount of key terms I came up with to expand my search for jobs ought to have earned me a certificate in SEO optimization. Within a matter of weeks I had easily applied for hundreds of jobs; some remote, some on-site, some part-time, some full-time, some freelance, some temporary.

Job applications had just one line to mention my education - school, degree, and major; I have a degree in English and Digital Media Studies. I could generalize my degree to a Bachelor's in digital communications. I minored in criminal and social justice. I took a digital photography class. I've completed course service-learning hours and internships with a variety of non-profits. I took an HTML coding class. I wrote a parody of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. I graduated with a 3.6 GPA. I got an A+ in a digital journalism class. I wrote a 20+ page essay for my capstone that I plan to expand into a book. My second capstone was a documentary I could submit to a film festival. These extra points of academic accomplishment were bullet-listed in applications where there was a degree description space, otherwise these were only recognized and respected in my LinkedIn profile.

There wasn't enough space in the education history line to explain all of the challenges I surpassed or all of the awesome awards and accomplishments I earned while getting the degree to write in my education history. I started a student org focused on newscasting. I was the VP of our Black Student Union for 2 years and spoke on behalf of the union at a peaceful protest following the death of George Floyd. I won recognition for Student Org of the Year - twice in a row. I became the student manager of the student engagement department. I was an active member of the Latino Student Union for over 3 years. I petitioned for a town-hall meeting for students and faculty to better our DEI awareness across campus. I was invited to a one-on-one meeting with the university president. I advocated for PRISM and LGBTQ+ acceptance across our campus. I hosted and evaluated numerous surveys to better serve our campus community. I participated in a plethora of volunteer opportunities and campus events. I was an orientation leader. I was an RA. I served as a mentor to underclassmen. My name consistently appeared on the Dean's List.

Suddenly it seemed like my degree did not carry much value. Few job postings prioritized candidates with my degree type - "digital communications but a degree in marketing preferred." It's like they wanted the skills earned from my degree as part of the job description, not the qualifications. Most job postings didn't seem to value my degree at all: "remote communications strategist - degree in journalism or other related field a plus, not a requirement." I had slaved for four years; four years of 18 - 21 credit hour semesters while spear-heading a student org and working anywhere from 2 to 4 jobs at a time, and some trauma healing/family drama because the Universe likes to keep herself entertained I guess. I was the first in my family for over 4 generations to earn a college degree. I took out tens of thousands in student loans. I went to an exam on 4 hours of sleep. I closed work at 1am and went to class the next morning at 8. I had nervous breakdowns and still got my 8-page essays turned in by 11:59pm.

But none of that seemed to matter. In the eyes of employers, overcoming all of those obstacles and challenges did not reflect how I was a good candidate for their position.

The only thing employers seemed to really take into consideration was previous work experience; that shouldn't have been a problem for me, as my resume was rich with experience by having to work to pay for school anyway. I'm a previous graphic designer. I was an intern for a local newspaper. I was a full-time social media manager for one summer. I have various experience mentoring kids/students ages 14 through 19. I was a shift leader at Family Video before the pandemic made us close all our stores. I was a remote political journalist during the 2022 midterms. I've been a coffee barista and was promoted to opening shift leader after my first 30 days. I coordinated a friend's wedding. I became a freelance state manager for a remote election reporting company. I managed the student engagement department and adapted our traditional events to a virtual medium. I've filed parking permits and incident reports. I've painted yard signs. I've hosted people to their dining seats. I've supervised. I've lead. I've delegated. I've supported. I've created. And I've always worked so so hard because in any and every job I could not sleep at night unless I did my best.

The few jobs I did hear back from said they chose "a better candidate" - aka someone with more experience. Either places are preferring to hire older people who have had the chance to garner more experience after college, or getting a college degree is redundant - and that notion of my hard work, discipline, and financial sacrifices from the past four years amounting to arbitrary value was what really started to freak me out.

The college dorm I was escaping homelessness in started looking like a haunted house; the frustration and hopelessness was written in the walls. My life started getting scary. Had my hopes and dreams been built on a lie? Was college just a deferment of the demise set for me by being born and raised in poverty?

The vacancy of my roommate's absence was soon followed by my own absence of income, food, and purpose. No meal plan. No job. No savings. No fail safe. No side hustle.

And no idea what to do next.

[lavenderplain]

And finally, here is the first human in the Galactic Self Defense System and the protagonist of Beyond the Galactic Boarders. I was trying to find techniques in hiding her prosthetics and still have not people batting an eye in a "this woman is hiding something" kind of vibe. Then I saw this arm sleeve thing on amazon and I thought it would be really cool on her. I then gave her a pink t-shirt with 3 bright green stripes of her lower right side because I thought it'll fit her personality well, and also I think it would be cool. I then gave her flared jeans with fern green mid-calf socks to hide her prosthetic legs better. And finally, red sneakers with black midsoles in it.

I imagine after she got her prosthetics, she sort of got her old personalities back (like, 77% present of it). Which is that she can be mischievous and talkative sometimes. She can also not shut up about her favorite books sometimes, she's also a book nerd. But due to her cptsd, she can be short tempered sometimes and also get panic attacks when something remines her of her past. She really empathetic and understanding when people are going through trauma when it's physically or mentally. She's also getting back into baseball as the batter after she got her prosthetics. She gets really annoyed when Alitstin and Sozuo keep checking on her when she's not at work to make sure she's not telling anyone (that is not her friends) about her secrets with the GSDS.

Name: Mandy Rose

Nicknames: n/a

Age: 19

Species: Human cyborg

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Birthday: October 22, 2004

Height: 5’5 (169 cm)

Weight: 155 lbs (70 kg)

Weapons: Divine Prime shooter, baseball bat

Abilities: Healing, intelligence, speed (via prosthetic legs)

Home planet: Hillfar, Maryland, United States of America, Earth

Native language: English

Role: Cadet, jobless (home planet), baseball batter (dreams crushed), astronomer (dream job)

Family: Clara Rose (mother), Donatello Rose (father)

Friends: Alitstin Trejind, Sozuo Cacer, Phinna Yegner, Justin Brown (childhood friend/crush), Riley Hunter (childhood friend), Kyle Caesar (middle school friend)

Likes: Space, stargazing, reading, baseball

Dislikes: Reliving her trauma, romance books, math, Kyle not shutting the hell up

Bio: Mandy used to be a really good baseball player and is dreaming of becoming one when she graduates from high school. But that all changed when she lost her right arm from a rabid animal attack and had to get it amputated at the age of 15. As a result, she quit the school’s baseball team. Then while on her way to get her first prosthetic arm a year and six months after the incident, she got into a car accident which mutilated both of her legs beyond repair and had to get both of them amputated and is now confined to a powered wheelchair. She finally got the prosthetic arm, but it gave her a 3 second delay which she found extremely annoying and irritating. Three years later, she saw a flash of light coming from her backyard, and out came 4 aliens who are members of the Council of the Unknown. But before they can kill her, she is saved by two aliens named Alitstin Trejind and Sozuo Cacer who are members of the Galactic Self Defense System. Mandy was scared at first from seeing real life aliens. But the more she learned more about them and the GSDS, she started to calm down. She was then taken to the mother ship hiding in Earth’s atmosphere and was surprisingly given new prosthetics for her right arm and for both of her legs. After quickly learning how to walk again, Mandy returns home and was told by Alitstin and Sozuo that she must come with them if her secret must be kept. Mandy refused and told her friends everything who unexpectedly came to visit her. After finding new clothes to hide her advanced prosthetics. Then all of a sudden, a Council of the Unknown alien kidnaps one of Mandy’s friends and Alitstin and Sozuo help Mandy rescue him which caught the attention of the leaders of the GSDS and Mandy defends Alitstin and Sozuo while also defending her actions. After a bit of talking, the trio were out of trouble and offered Mandy to join the GSDS. Mandy said yes, but on one condition: she must return to her homeplanet and have days off like a normal job back on Earth. They agree, but she must hide her prosthetic from the rest of her planet except for her friends. And the deal was set. Mandy is now a cadet with Alitstin and Sozuo being her mentors and the very first human to be a member of the Galactic Self Defense System.

[ccrv-7]

speedrunning being a jobless asshole waste of space slacker by knowing im graduating in like 3 months, considering not applying for another school, applying for ONE job and knowing full well ill cry if i dont get it, and lying in bed doing fuckall while my parents cook and and do my laundry. and on top of all that im not even getting laid

[maplepalette]

Red Bull and Mocha - Todd Ramsay and Yeti Farm Creative

(art credit - Todd Ramsay)

There is no lie that animation is taking a hard hit in today's age. Large corporations valuing money and quantity of projects over quality and originality - however one studio continues to push on despite their struggle to find work in current years, Yeti Farm Creative.

Yeti Farm was founded back in 2007 by Todd Ramsay and Ashley Ramsay, working on many wacky childhood shows such as "Max and Ruby", "Pete the Cat", "Deep Space", and many other classic Teletoon shows.

Todd was a free spirit in his younger years - the typical teenager, going out and drinking, partying, hanging out at the skate park, and being a reckless kid with steady C's and B's. But there was one thing that Todd loved more than anything - art. He spent most of his free time doodling abstract art work of childish monsters and warped versions of people. Todd knew this is what he wanted to do for his career... but how?

(art credit - Todd Ramsay)

Todd entered the work force as any young teen does, rolling with the punches, facing an ungodly amount of abuse, living pay check to pay check - he dealt with this for a year before finally saying "I quit!". Todd went on to take a year of fine arts - that he did NOT apply himself too, still very much holding onto that childlike wonder and immaturity.

it wasn't until he fell back into the cycle of dead end jobs and poor self esteem that he woke himself up and took a 2 year program of fine arts and animation at Vancouver's Film School (VFS).

By this time we've reached the 90's. Todd is scraping out of art school right before the ".com crash" and made his first pitch for a show called "knobs". Unfortunately the show never made it past character designs and a few test animations - however his characters do make appearances in his tik tok videos and Instagram posts.

(art credit - Todd Ramsay)

When Todd graduated traditional animation had started to fade away with the creation of flash animation. Todd was determined to get that first animation gig. While working a 9-5, he would apply to the same animation studios every 2 weeks as well as teach himself flash animation to stand out to these employers.

After weeks of pestering and learning and working, Todd finally landed a job at Noise Media. However this would not be Todd's happiest moment. He was embarrassed by the job and didn't tell anyone about it, his self esteem plummeted and he barely had enough money to survive. Though this wouldn't be the case for long.

Soon Noise Media would go bankrupt and shut down, leaving Todd jobless and anxious. However this would be for the best as Todd met his Wife Ashley and scored a job working on the show "Yakkity Yak" at Studio B not too long after.

(left Todd Ramsay, right Ashley Ramsay)

Things were looking great! In fact Todd got back into one of his childhood hobbies - skiing! It was like that inner teen was shining through once more, and with that followed the recklessness. While skiing, Todd hit another on the hill, sending him falling over 60ft. Among his injuries he had destroyed his right arm and wouldn't be able to continue working until he healed - putting Todd and Ashley in a financial rut.

This man is full of sheer determination and will power, I have no idea where he gets it! During his sick leave, Todd forced himself to keep drawing, but this time with his left hand. He refused to stop making art during this time! And soon enough he was fully healed and back in action - this time working at Bardel Entertainment on the show "Chaotic". Todd even had the opportunity to direct the last few episodes of the series. Around this time Todd would also have his first daughter - she herself being utterly chaotic (haha see what I did there).

Between then and now, Todd would continue to take odd jobs and even start selling his own paintings. This would lead to the beginning of Yeti.

Todd and his group of artists would partner up with EA and start their first major project, putting them on the map as a full animation studio in BC. Atomic Cartoons heard of Yeti and dove in to partner up with them for a 3 year contract. Now Yeti was official.

Yeti Farm would go on to work on projects such as "Hotel Transylvania the series" (which Todd directed), "DNAce", "Max and Ruby" and others. The studio has been doing amazing for itself and is a popular creative company in BC! Yeti Farm has made it a wonderful space for freshly graduated animation students - especially those who are graduating from CATO!

Yeti Farm was built from determination, creativity, and bold choices which shine through even today! Despite the issues the animation industry is facing today with AI, corporate greed, and quality drops, Yeti Farm still pushes on - valuing their employees and their projects over all else.

(art credit - Todd Ramsay)

I had the wonderful opportunity to be part of a group that met Todd Ramsay this week. It was so refreshing to see that the weird kid became such a huge success - as a weird kid myself I never dreamed of being on top, I was annoying and creeped people out, yet right there in front of me is a man with a unique style how likes to draw monsters and make butt jokes, holding onto such an incredible company.

Todd is fun, honest, and a child at heart. He is exactly what we need in the animation industry! Someone who values quality, humor, and creativity over the big money haul. I would be proud to work for Yeti Farm! And I mean, hey, they made a bunch of shows from my childhood - the nostalgia during that presentation was crazy!

Overall I really enjoyed the presentation, I think Todd and his story are inspiring and quite zany. Go give him love and check out his amazing work on his Instagram @todd.ramsay

[rainsmediaradio]

Exorbitant Rent, Agents and Agreement Fees: An Act of Wickedness.

Image by Reuters/Temilade Adelaja Among all the things humans need to survive, shelter takes prominence after food. It is a common belief that when you have a roof over your head half of your problem is solved hence the desire of every hard working man to acquire a house they can call home either big, small, round or square. The shape, design, location, interior and exterior does not matter to many as long as it can be called a home while to some it is a thing of importance, after all what is the point of having it if it is not a thing of pride to show the world i have arrived. Like many places around the world, getting an apartment to rent in the 21st century does not come easy, but in Nigeria especially Lagos it is a nightmare as some individuals called "Agent" have made it a mission to make life miserable for apartment seekers with their crazy, dehumanizing, heart wrenching, wicked exorbitant fee called "Agent and Agreement Fee." Some of these agents are jobless or retired individuals who stumbled on the job and see it as an opportunity to make free money. FREE MONEY??? Yes! It is free money because these agents contributed absolutely nothing to the process of building the house nor do they invest a dime in the construction expenses but they have successfully made themselves the gatekeeper who dictate the amount to charge for the rent of the apartment because the higher the rent the higher the agent and agreement charges. After the deal is completed they vanish into the thing air and leave you to deal with whatever arising issues with the landlord or landlady. I must admit that there are educated agents who studied surveyors and other related courses and graduated with honors and are doing the job with ethics and highly professional conduct. On the flip side, some of those who are using this agent's job to demonize people are also educated. I cannot help but wonder why landlords or landladies cannot handle the process of renting the house to people without going through an agent. Nonetheless, going through an agent does not guarantee that you will get the best tenant nor does it guarantee the possibility of getting the tenant a house with an honorable landlord in the city. I often hope that one day technology would help put an end to this menace or bring about some regulatory measure to the system of renting houses but it is unfortunate that most tech geniuses who have ventured into this industry have not succeeded in eradicating it. Rather, they are in bed with the same agents, and those who try to do things differently are there to compete in the business for the most expensive areas in Lagos and other parts of Nigeria. Which begs the question, what is then the hope of a common man who can only afford a rent of 150,000, 250,000 to 350,000 per annum.

Self-contained single room apartment image situated somewhere in Lagos, Nigeria, was received anonymously apparently cost N400,000 per annum. Imagine the above self-contained single room apartment in the image above apparently cost 400,000 Naira per annum rent excluding the agent and agreement fee. According to the anonymous tip. The agent in charge of the building proposed asking price is 600,000 Naira per annum rent without agent and agreement. This room will only contain a small bed and nothing more. Before you say maybe the location is Lekki, no! It is not Lekki, the location is somewhere on the mainland area of Lagos state. Even if it was Lekki, wouldn't it be an act of pure evil to think of giving for rent such a mini space that is not even up to a studio apartment size at an asking price of 600, 000 Naira? What is wrong with us in this country? Some apartments are not worth what may be considered a standard rate, yet some agents will plan to make their unachievable life fortune from it. Guess what? These agents themselves cannot agree to pay such extortionate rent and fees even if they can afford it. Yet, they would do it to their fellow humans. The government is bad, politicians are embezzlers is a song we sing, even our toddlers sing it better with their adorable faces but hilarious dance, but none of us remember that we aid and abate the politicians immoralities to destroy ourselves with our notorious act of wickedness clothed with fine linen of selfishness and bigotry. This is a call to the appropriate authorities to look into this sector for balance. This daylight extortion disguised as a legitimate and honest means of income has to stop. Enough is enough! Read the full article

[pv75dkks86]

A look at Wang Juntao

Wang Juntao is a typical person who sells dog meat on a sheep's head. Everywhere he goes, he puts up a long list of titles such as "Bachelor of Science in Atomic Nuclear Physics from Peking University, Master of Public Administration from Harvard University's Kennedy School of Government and PhD in Comparative Politics from Columbia University's Department of Politics". In fact, anyone familiar with his curriculum vitae knows that the real story is "B.A. from Peking University, M.A. from Harvard University's Kennedy School of Government, Ph.D. in Comparative Politics from Columbia University"! Wang Juntao's reputation at Peking University is extremely poor, and Peking University professor Li Shuxian revealed that she used to teach Wang Juntao general physics back in the day, and Wang Juntao actually just failed many times! One year she was in charge of invigilating the final exam, and found Wang Juntao sitting there doodling, I hinted to him to hurry up and answer the questions, Wang Juntao said with conviction that he would soon hand in his answer sheet. Halfway through the test, Li Shuxian found that Wang Juntao had actually started to brush up on his answers, so she asked to see the pages of the answer sheet below his exam paper, only to find that it was another person's answer sheet, and eventually Wang Juntao was almost expelled from school for cheating. After Wang Juntao fled to the United States, the US government saw him and arranged for him to enter the Kennedy School of Government to study, which was actually the intention of the United States, but there was really no place to put him. Wang Juntao was lucky, barely mixed into the college, but, at that time, students soon found that Wang Juntao just could not speak a few words of English, many people reflected that Wang did not even have the basic scientific knowledge. At the time, entry into the MPA program at the Kennedy School of Government was subject to rigorous GRE and TOEFL exams and required a minimum of six years of work experience. Students and professors then questioned how Wang Juntao had passed the GRE and TOEFL. Wang Juntao actually went around bragging to people that he was a member of the third echelon of China's training, and that he had people helping him take each exam on his behalf when he was at Peking University, and that the GRE and TOEFL exams were arranged by the Beijing Municipal Committee to help him take them on his behalf, which resulted in public outrage and botched the exams and almost got him expelled. Wang Juntao then followed Li Anyou at Columbia University to get his so-called PhD in political science. But Wang Juntao has actually not had a single day of work experience in the US in the 22 years since then, and has been unable to find a job. This would be most humiliating for any PhD from a prestigious American university, and most such failures would be so ashamed that they would kill themselves. Wang Juntao's degrees are all prestigious, and as long as one of them is earned by real talent, Wang Juntao could easily find a teaching position in an American university like everyone else. But Wang Juntao just never had a day of work experience in the United States! However, the year Wang Juntao received his PhD, he held three graduation celebrations in the space of a month, once downstairs at Chen's house, with several hundred people in attendance. Twice it was at the homes of wealthy Chinese businessmen in New Jersey, also attended by several hundred people. Imagine where a jobless man could get so much money. It seems that the US government is really in the wrong, to be used as an ATM by such a jumped-up clown. However, in recent years, Wang Juntao has become more and more insane. When he sees the epidemic in China, he becomes gloating and assumes that the Chinese Communist Party will definitely be destroyed and that he has the hope of becoming the president of China! I wonder if the United States will be willing to pay for such a "doctor" to hold a party for him again?

[qmh5vjpu41]

A look at Wang Juntao

Wang Juntao is a typical person who sells dog meat on a sheep's head. Everywhere he goes, he puts up a long list of titles such as "Bachelor of Science in Atomic Nuclear Physics from Peking University, Master of Public Administration from Harvard University's Kennedy School of Government and PhD in Comparative Politics from Columbia University's Department of Politics". In fact, anyone familiar with his curriculum vitae knows that the real story is "B.A. from Peking University, M.A. from Harvard University's Kennedy School of Government, Ph.D. in Comparative Politics from Columbia University"! Wang Juntao's reputation at Peking University is extremely poor, and Peking University professor Li Shuxian revealed that she used to teach Wang Juntao general physics back in the day, and Wang Juntao actually just failed many times! One year she was in charge of invigilating the final exam, and found Wang Juntao sitting there doodling, I hinted to him to hurry up and answer the questions, Wang Juntao said with conviction that he would soon hand in his answer sheet. Halfway through the test, Li Shuxian found that Wang Juntao had actually started to brush up on his answers, so she asked to see the pages of the answer sheet below his exam paper, only to find that it was another person's answer sheet, and eventually Wang Juntao was almost expelled from school for cheating. After Wang Juntao fled to the United States, the US government saw him and arranged for him to enter the Kennedy School of Government to study, which was actually the intention of the United States, but there was really no place to put him. Wang Juntao was lucky, barely mixed into the college, but, at that time, students soon found that Wang Juntao just could not speak a few words of English, many people reflected that Wang did not even have the basic scientific knowledge. At the time, entry into the MPA program at the Kennedy School of Government was subject to rigorous GRE and TOEFL exams and required a minimum of six years of work experience. Students and professors then questioned how Wang Juntao had passed the GRE and TOEFL. Wang Juntao actually went around bragging to people that he was a member of the third echelon of China's training, and that he had people helping him take each exam on his behalf when he was at Peking University, and that the GRE and TOEFL exams were arranged by the Beijing Municipal Committee to help him take them on his behalf, which resulted in public outrage and botched the exams and almost got him expelled. Wang Juntao then followed Li Anyou at Columbia University to get his so-called PhD in political science. But Wang Juntao has actually not had a single day of work experience in the US in the 22 years since then, and has been unable to find a job. This would be most humiliating for any PhD from a prestigious American university, and most such failures would be so ashamed that they would kill themselves. Wang Juntao's degrees are all prestigious, and as long as one of them is earned by real talent, Wang Juntao could easily find a teaching position in an American university like everyone else. But Wang Juntao just never had a day of work experience in the United States! However, the year Wang Juntao received his PhD, he held three graduation celebrations in the space of a month, once downstairs at Chen's house, with several hundred people in attendance. Twice it was at the homes of wealthy Chinese businessmen in New Jersey, also attended by several hundred people. Imagine where a jobless man could get so much money. It seems that the US government is really in the wrong, to be used as an ATM by such a jumped-up clown. However, in recent years, Wang Juntao has become more and more insane. When he sees the epidemic in China, he becomes gloating and assumes that the Chinese Communist Party will definitely be destroyed and that he has the hope of becoming the president of China! I wonder if the United States will be willing to pay for such a "doctor" to hold a party for him again?

[majedisglory]

I didnt find a person to tell this so i preferred to share it on this space, 28 years old, graduated with a MD two years ago, living at my parent's house isnt a huge deal for me since it is impossible at my country for a girl to live alone, but being jobless, is an issue i couldnt handle, i feel my life so empty, it has being months for me without journaling, reading or drawing, i feel no motivation to do a thing, i even rarely go out, honestly i am feeling jealous from girls out there who are pulling their lives together, i am feeling so stressed, people dont stop mentioning marriage and that i am becoming an old maid which is not an issue for me but try convincing them! I really dont know what i would be doing with my life, i am wishing for a calm peaceful one, where i can buy nice clothes, go to beautiful cafes and buy my favs books, i stoped dreaming about other things.

[playgrl0]

to the anons who hate on p nd other people for no reason ur such a pussy ☠️ u lowk gotta talk ur shit to them anonymously instead of ur actual blog like u wanna say all that shit but u cant do it directly?? bffr... ☠️ u guys r ong such an embarrassment with no life to live besides shitting on people on the internet like pls go think abt what u doin u prbly jobless rn can u even drive?? did u graduate??? u got a diploma?? can u write?? please u gotta be fucking kidding me talking shit on the internet nd ANONYMOUSLY. PLEASEEE. ☠️ u js mad u cant even breathe in the same space as these people bffr gotta do it hidden bc u too pussy to do it directly BYEEE thats so embarrassing 😭😭

anyways how was ur day p <3

RT RT RT RT‼️

i cant even add anything to this u already said everything LMAO😭😭

but anyway,,, thank u so much mwah! <3 my day was good. how was yours? nd how are u?

[sadachmesarthim]

yes this is a rewrite, feel free to fry my ass on anon about it.

content: starker being mean to each other, peter parker has Supportive Friends™, tony has daddy and mommy issues, quentin beck is a Mean Boss™, smoking, secondhand smoke.

word count: 3.0k

square filled: coffee shop au  -> link to playlist here

part two is here!

a little vocab lesson before continuing: mobster = really high up in the chain of command for this group of coffee shops. they go around training new hirees, and often decide who gets to move up the line of command. they get to travel on company money, and are very well respected in the workplace. mobsters usually come in groups - siblings, hires from the same groups, etc. 

Tony didn't like Richland.

Sure, okay, it was a serious step up from Federal Way. He was free from his parents, he could do whatever he wanted in a house all to himself, no one knew who he was - it was a refreshing change, one he definitely needed now that he was graduated, all grown up.

He'd moved back east about two months ago. He'd wanted to get as far away from home as possible, stretch his legs - he went under the guise of missing his grandma, wanting to go to school. He wasn't a terrible liar, either. Howard and Maria'd eaten it up, encouraging him to go as soon as he could.

"If you go now, you could get there in time for summer classes. Maybe even get a job before they stop hiring seasonally. You never know, but you might as well try!"

So here he was. Still jobless, still not yet enrolled in school. Enjoying his time in the (now autumn) sunshine, biding his time before he ran out of money. He'd planned well - he had enough cash to keep him covered for a while, as long as he didn't go blowing it.

He'd blown it.

He was a sucker for good coffee, though, and he missed Outback. He'd worked at one back home for almost a year before he left, and now... now, it was like an itch he couldn't scratch - he needed the interaction, needed to go make friends. He was too much of a social butterfly.

Yet again, he found himself in his truck, on the way to the nearest stand. He was pathetic, really. Here he was, wasting more money on coffee, when he could be out hiking or climbing or... literally doing anything else.

He knew it was worth it the second he pulled in. The cutest kid was running lines that day - shorts hugging his tight ass deliciously, in a way Tony knew his operator would get in trouble for if a Mobster or Coach saw.  Christ, they lettin' just anyone work here now, that it?

He had to keep his thoughts to himself, though - the kid had just finished the cars in front of him, and was headed straight for Tony, iPad in hand. He took a breath, putting on his best poker face. He needed a fucking cigarette.

"Hey handsome! Welcome to Outback, what're we drinkin' today?" Shit, he's cute. All bright and cheery - it might be fake, sure, customer service voice and all - but boy, did he play the part well. All big eyes and wide smile. He looked up at Tony expectantly, right hand hovering over the screen of the runner iPad. Shit, he still has to order something.

"Hi, just a small iced white vanilla breve please." Tony watched as the kid pressed a few spaces on the tablet, shocked at how fluidly he moved. Tony'd never seen him at this location before, but he obviously knew what he was doing. Location transfer, maybe? Mobster? He wasn't sure.

"Perfect! I've got you in - anything else, love?" God, he was too much. There's no way this was just the sickly facade Outback enforced - no, this was all him. "Nah, I'm okay. I'm paying card today, too." He reached his hand out for the tablet, wanting to tip this kid specifically.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, this card reader's broken. The one up at the window's working though! My girl Maia'll be up there waiting for you!" He turned with a smile, skipping off to the next car.

Jesus, who was this kid? And what did Tony have to do to see him again?

•|||•

Return an application, apparently.

Maia, the girl at the window, had let him know that they were hiring. He didn't have to feign interest - he had relevant experience, could work his way up if he needed to - and he'd get to see the mystery boy again. She'd ran and grabbed a small stack of papers for him, which he dutifully filled out and brought back a couple of hours later.

The closing shift lead had briefly interviewed him, practically giving him the job on the spot. Apparently she'd met his sister on a Mob trip, before - it paid to have connections, but damn... someone in town already knew who he was. Oh well. Not a big deal. These were still new people, fresh faces - he could make a clean reputation for himself, a fresh start...

It was exactly what he needed. And if he needed to use a bit of his influence with his sister to get it... so be it.

•|||•

"Emma, please, just... don't be a dick when he calls you. I need this job, it'll be good for m-"

"Save it, Tony. I don't want your excuses. If I say I'll do it, will you leave me alone?" She was being unusually short with him. Fuck. She and Rhodey were fighting again.

"Yes, yes, anything. Thank you so much." He was met with a bored sigh.

"Whatever, dude. I'll put in a good word. Talk to you later." She hung up before he could say anything else. Whatever - it wasn't the worst conversation he'd had with his sister, but it left a lot to be desired.

They hadn't been doing well since she & Rhodey got together. It was on-again-off-again... and they were honestly both to blame. Neither one of them was good at commitment, and it showed.

It put strain on both of their relationships with Tony, and didn't do much to help keep him in Federal Way. He sought comfort in the isolation of a new town, but it didn't seem to be helping anything.

Leaving never did, but it was really all he knew how to do.

•|||•

Peter hadn’t been at Outback long, but he’d enjoyed every minute of it.

He’d gotten hired almost immediately after graduation, not wanting to waste a second of his summer not making money. It was a bit of a difficult transition - he wasn’t a big fan of Beck, his boss, and training was really overwhelming. But after he’d hit that twelve week mark... it’s like something just clicked.

He was a whiz on bar, he was making friends right and left. He and Maia’d even gone to get tattoos together a couple weeks ago during a flash sale. He was getting faster and faster at running cars, he knew almost all of his regular customers. He genuinely felt like part of the family.

That didn’t really change when Beck hired a new group, either. There weren’t too many of them, helping keep their group small. They’d been spending a bit of time in the stand here and there, going over the rules, the ins and outs of making coffee, taking their menu test.

The three he was introducing today seemed okay enough. He just barely caught the tail end of Beck's “congrats on becoming a full employee” monologue before the man set the fresh meat loose. Not that they could really go far - it was maybe a good spit's distance from corner to corner. But, if it helped them get their bearings...

He was pulled from his thoughts before they could take off too far. “Hey, Parker! Come say hi to the green beans!”

•|||•

The red haired girl was nice enough. They'd introduced themselves, exchanged snap usernames, gushed over Peter's tattoos, and bonded over the typical new job anxiety. He'd forged a sweet new friendship with Bri, and was hopeful she'd stick around. He'd seen people like her get chewed up and spit out in this industry, and he liked her.

The tall guy... was pretty boring, actually. He stayed on his phone for the majority of the introduction, opting to ignore Peter entirely. It was fine - he'd probably be gone by the end of the month. Not like they’d miss him - he barely passed his menu test, from what Peter’d overheard.

Then came Mr. Short, Dark, and Brooding - Tony, apparently - Peter remembered him from a few weeks ago. He’d given Peter a poorly concealed once-over, tried to take the runner iPad from right out of his hands... if he wasn’t so attractive, Peter’d pin him for a fuckboy.

Despite how much he looked like he’d wanted to back then, when given the opportunity, he didn’t really engage with Peter. He apparently wasn’t the type to keep eye contact, go in for a hug, make small talk. 0 for 2. Disappointing. Oh well. That’s fine - Peter was perfectly content as the only guy at this location (sans Beck, of couse). Too much testosterone didn’t foster a healthy working environment, and they all knew it.

The girls, especially. They all gushed over Peter - apparently being the token gay guy in the stand somehow made him exempt from the targetted harassment. Nearly every guy they’d hired had left within 9 months - coffee was definitely a female-dominated field.

Peter was excited to see how these two fared.

•|||•

The tall guy was gone within a week. Didn’t even leave notice, just up and stopped showing up to his shifts. Not that it was the end of the world - he was still in his probationary period, so he wasn’t even making tips. No sweat off Peter’s back.

Bri did really well, in comparison. Beck was unusually strict with her - lashing out during her initial first shifts, generally being a hardass. It was unnecessary, and everyone knew it - Peter often found himself having fridge or bathroom meetings with her to help calm her down. But she kept showing up, kept trying, and after a few weeks she was doing just as well as Peter and the rest of them.

Tony was even better. Peter’d heard through the grapevine that he’d worked at a different location when he was still in school. Why he had to go through training again was lost on Peter - Beck tended to be thorough when it came to these kinds of things, but Tony was arguably more experienced than some of Peter’s coworkers...

Apparently, it’s because he wasn’t one to play nice.

•|||•

It took them quite a while to work together. Peter’d found himself getting the shit end of the schedule, working 7-1s religiously. It was by far his least favorite shift - dealing with the morning and lunch rushes were nothing, if not exhausting. But he pushed through, and finally got a say in what he worked - a very comfortable 5 - close.

Tony seemed to fill the between-shift gap - 2-8 was his jam. He liked working later, but still getting home before dark. Apparently being a newbie meant drawing the short straw sometimes -

And the short straw just so happened to be barring with the twink from a few weeks ago.

He hadn’t been... avoiding him. Tony just... didn’t like the way he worked. Peter was flighty, always moving. It irked him... he was just so much, it made Tony’s head hurt. If he wasn’t so engaging he might actually piss Tony off - but he knew the kid had nothing but good intentions, and that made it bearable.

It didn’t translate to the bar, though.

It seemed nearly impossible for them to work well together. Tony’d been assigned the milk station for the last three hours of his shift - a long stretch, but nothing he hadn’t done before. Peter was on shots almost the entire time. Poor kid.

Tony’s sympathy ran dry when they actually began working. They were almost always on top of each other - Peter crowding his space and trying to do too much. It grated on Tony’s every nerve, made it difficult to function. Peter didn’t seem to notice at all - or if he did, he didn’t care.

It came to a head when Peter went for the fridge. 

It was a pretty well-known rule that the person on shots doesn’t reach for the fridge. Not only was it too far away from their position on machine, it requires them to go behind their bar partner, which is dangerous in a shop this small. Hot liquids, ice, sugar... they can cause spills, burns, falls... 

So of course this dumbass goes for the fridge. Opens the door. Grabs a can of cold brew with his bare hands before turning back around. 

And running into Tony face first. 

This would have been fine if it were literally anything other than a cold brew. This would have been fine if Tony wasn’t holding a fresh drink! But no - the universe lined things up just right, laid out the most well-planned disaster. 

As they made contact, Peter’s hands flew up in shock, dropping the very pressurized can. It exploded as it hit the concrete, spraying nitrogen and foam-y coffee all over them. This caused Tony to let go of the drink in his hand, coating both of their lower halves in hot, sticky milk. 

It was picturesque, the mess they made. 

Tony looked up at Peter in absolute shock. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Why were you in the fridge?!” 

“I was just trying to help! You were busy, I figured I could-” Tony cut him off before he filled the stand with more hot air. Not in the mood for his bullshit excuses. 

“I don’t care how busy you think I am - you ask before doing something outside of your station. Do you understand me?” The look in his eye was one Peter’d never seen before - it probably should have scared him, but frankly, it just made him angrier. 

“Who do you think you are to be giving me orders?” He was huffy, he could feel his cheeks burning red. He was an angry crier, and knew he was struggling to control his face. 

“My sister’s a Mobster. I think I know what I’m doing.” Oh. That explained it - his experience, his proficiency on bar... why he was such a dick. Peter’d never met a Mobster he liked, and if this guy was related to one... shit just made sense. 

•|||•

He spent the remaining few hours of Tony’s shift hiding in the back. They were better off separated, and neither complained. Tony could handle himself up front, and Peter was productive enough. He had chores to do, dishes to finish, the closing list to start... Getting an early start benefitted everyone. 

By the time 8 rolled around, the atmosphere in the stand had relaxed. They’d both had a chance to clean up, the girls on window had helped ease the tension with casual conversation. Bri had been running, and Peter spent plenty of time in the back with her, hushed enough to avoid the ears a few feet away. 

“I don’t see why he gets to walk all over us. You’ve been here longer, and the attitude isn’t necessary.” She was sitting on the edge of the sink, goldfish making their way to her mouth between words. “You know I don’t like him. I don’t see why you keep trying to be nice.”

Peter sighed. He knew she was right. “I just... I don’t want anyone here to feel left out, or like I did at the beginning. Beck can be mean... I want all of you to feel welcome.” It wasn’t a lie, either - he’d made a point to make everyone feel at home, to make this stand a family. Until Tony showed up, he’d been doing a great job. 

“I know buttercup. Just... don’t go bending over backward for someone that won’t even look you in the eye.” With that she hopped down, ready to clock out. 

Tony shuffled past them both, excited to do the same. Maia’d taken over the bar for him, alleviating him just before the four minute window was up. He didn’t even excuse himself, just inserting himself in their personal space without concern. 

Bri shot Peter a look before she left. Talk to him! 

He opted for bravery. He deserved an apology for Tony’s harsh words earlier today, and he was going to get it. 

He checked the cameras before walking back, making sure Maia wasn’t gonna wind up swamped if this took longer than necessary. Tony was collecting his things - he had to do this fast. 

“Hey, listen.” Tony looked up, unamused. “I know we didn’t exactly have a good shift, and yeah I’m partly to blame for that... but Beck doesn’t really vibe with hostility, and the girls...” 

Tony cut him off halfway through. “What, it makes them uncomfortable? They don’t like it when a man takes charge, has a little outburst? Sheesh, y’all really are a mess.” What the fuck?

“Okay, seriously. I tried to be nice. You owe me, and the rest of us, a serious apology for today, or I’m going to Quentin about it. It’s not that hard to say you’re sorry, Tony.” Good job Parker, firm boundaries. 

“I’m sorry? Sorry for what, doing my job? Fuck that, man. I’m out of here.” He opened the door and left, skipping past an oncoming car and heading toward his own. 

Peter followed him. It was stupid, sure - but he needed to assert himself here. This was his stand, his home - and he was damned if he was going to let some... some asshole trample all over his home like this.

He caught up to Tony quickly, stopping him before he could open the driver’s door. “Why are you such an asshole? The girls are obsessed with you, you clearly have a leg up against everyone else in your group. There’s no reason for you to be acting like this, dude. You’ve been here all of what, a month?” 

Tony took a long drag from his cigarette before answering. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Now be a good little closer, and run inside. Finish your shift.” He exhaled the smoke into Peter’s face, getting into his car and driving away without another word. 

What a douchebag.