i get to be on staff and help out

I don’t know if I’ve ever posted about them here before but this is one of my characters Rosal? They’re 19 at the beginning of their story and 27 at the end. Rosal is 5'6, half Filipino, half Mexican and In school for being a social worker.

I created them as part of a disabled superhero support group. Essentially they started out as part of a superhero team defending their city, harnessing super speed powers. However, their powers did not come with any healing factor and the joints in their knees became an issue for them. They were warned by medical staff if they continued to use their powers they would only suffer further damage.

Rosal couldn’t give up being part of their team or helping people.

At first, they could get away with elastic knee braces to keep down the swelling. It got progressively worse, resulting in it being unbearable for them to use their powers and they were required to use a hinged brace at all times. On bad days they’re on crutches or their chair.

Frustrated with staying at home all the time, restless from the super speed vibrating within, they were disappointed to find that there was absolutely no support for disabled heroes.
Determined to prevent the helpless feeling they experienced from happening to anyone else, Rosal set out to create a team of retired heroes who help folks transition from their life helping people to a life of looking after themselves.

If you read this, thanks for reading my nerdy AF ramblings.

A Plea

Hi guys! Yesterday, I found out that Tumblr decided to flag this blog as NSFW. If you follow me, you know I don’t post any sexually explicit photos or videos of people committing suicide or any other content one may consider NSFW. I just write scary and weird stories. So, until I get this straightened out with Tumblr, this is now considered an adult blog.

What does this mean?

It’s really hard for me to get new followers now :(

Tumblr delists the tags I use like “scary stories” and “horror stories” and stuff like that and prevents my blog from showing up in searches. For all intents and purposes, unless someone encounters this blog through a reblog or finds it through another indirect way, no one will know it exists.

Here’s what I’m hoping you can do until I get this fixed:

If you have friends or acquaintances who are into scary stories who may not know about @unsettlingstories, ask them follow. If you think a story I write may appeal to your own followers, reblog it and ask people to follow. Tumblr has made it extremely difficult for me to grow this blog now, and I need your help.

Thank you <3

My best friend and manager was filmed without his knowledge telling a kid he couldn’t buy a mature game without an ID and the kid (a 17 year old) posted it on Youtube, complete with demeaning comments, hateful commentary, and bullying.

If you go into a Gamestop just to harass and demean the staff, you’re a loser. Plain and simple. We DON’T SET TRADE AMOUNTS, we DON’T SET PRICING, and we FOLLOW FEDERAL LAWS REGARDING MATURE CONTENT. 

I don’t want to link the user or the video because he’s a tiny little account and the video has like, 120 views, and I have no intention of bringing that number higher. He is never going to be popular, and I guess I can find solace in that. But my friend is hurt and embarrassed nonetheless. 

To give perspective, this is a man who has lost many people who are important to him. He works to support his girlfriend and his father, who is battling very intense cancer. He is smart, loving, funny, and one of the most admirable people I’ve ever met. This makes me…irrationally angry. This guy can’t catch a break. He is the LAST PERSON who deserves this. He is trying to get through every day smiling and this is the kind of shit we have to put up with.

My first reaction is always to get blood when someone attacks a person I care about so much. But I don’t want my friend to suffer more embarrassment by drawing attention to the video.  

So instead, I want to do something else. 

Just leave a nice message in the replies on this post. Even if you don’t know him. His name is Don. Just…any nice anything. I want to show him that people don’t want to see him struggling like he always is and that he doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment for doing his job. 

It would really mean a lot to both of us.    


Tom Holland x Reader / Sebastian Stan x Reader
Prompt: “ can you make one where you’re part of the staff when they were filming civil war but you also are friends with everyone and Stan and Tom Holland doesn’t really get along and Seb finds out Tom has a crush on you so he starts flirting with you to make him mad” by anon
Words: 868
Notes: It turned to be more a Tom imagine than a Sebastian one,but I hope you enjoy it!

Originally posted by tarjeisandviks

Being part of the staff of civil war was insane. But it was mostly insane when you realized it was such a big franchise and lots of people counted on your work. You tried your best to help trough everything, leading everybody to their spots or organizing papers and scripts, but the best part was their friendship.

The whole cast was amazing and nice, not spoiled famous people. Maybe just Robert Downey Jr. but he was nice as well. But the most closer to you were Sebastian and Tom Holland. Sebastian was a ball of fur and nice with everyone and Tom was near your age, so you two bonded very well but it seemed that, somehow, the two of them didn’t get along properly.

“So Harrison was trying to make a move on this girl…” Tom’s voice was reaching your ears as long as you two walked together to set, his hands making gestures while talking. You were very focused on his beautiful face and smile to hear anything else. “And she threw the drink on him. Can you believe it?” You laughed, having no idea what he was talking about.

“No way!” He laughed with you, his hand touching you slightly on the shoulder while he looked in your eyes.

“Yes! It was much more funny there, you should be there to watch.” He looked deep at you, your mind trying to ponder the meaning of his words. You smiled shyly.

“Maybe the next time, huh?” You lifted an eyebrow and poked his cheek with your finger, leaving his face a little bit pinker.

“I hope so.”

He winked at you and went away to do his scene while you went to do your stuff. Meanwhile, a man with black and long hair looked at the two of you from afar. His features in a angry mood at the sight of the two of you liking each other. Sebastian didn’t know why but he hated that but, surely, he was aware that Tom truly liked you and he was better for you, principally because of the age gap. So he just smiled and thought about how the spider boy would react at his crush receiving his flirting and smirked, his feet moving towards you without you thinking.

“Hello there, beautiful.” He whispered but kind of loud, so Tom could hear, next to your ear. His hands wrapping around your waist in a hug.

“Hi, Sebastian. How are you doing today?” You smiled sincerely to him, hugging him back. You saw him as a really good friend and, being aware he would never want something with you, as a big brother.

“Better now, love.” You felt your face heating up, what the hell was he doing? He never did something like this before, always acted like a big brother with you. Besides, Tom’s gaze was fixed into the two of you, not being able to concentrate on his scene.

“W-well, I’m glad about it.” You let a nervous laugh come out of your mouth and Sebastian’s grin grew bigger.

“Did I say how beautiful you look today?” Tom was now near both of you, the director asking him to chill out and he leaving towards you immediately. “Did I, kitten?”

“W-what the hell you are doing, Seb?” You stepped back when he leaned closer to you. Tom had his knuckles white because of the fists he was doing.

“I’m just complimenting the beautiful woman in front of me…” He let the phrase get out in the air, his fingers wandering through your naked arm skin. “I don’t think the spider boy has been doing that properly…” He inhaled, Tom had his face so red of anger that if someone saw him, would think he would explode. “Even though he says he has a crush on you…Tsc tsc.”

“What?” Your voice sounded as a whisper because of Tom’s shout.

“Enough, Sebastian!” He was so close to the older man, you thought he was going to punch him. “Leave her alone.” The black haired man laughed and held his hands high innocently.

“If it is what she wants.” Both of them looked at you as you whispered ‘please’. “Fine, then. But Tom, it’s so easy to annoy you.” And with a laugh coming out of his mouth, he was gone.

“Is that true?” You voice was still a whisper while your eyes tried to look at Tom’s face without getting embarrassed.

“Y-yes…” He looked to nowhere but your face, unaware of your big smile now.

“And are you pretending to ask me on a date now or just in your next life?” You poked him with your finger and he lifted his face up, his eyes shining bright.

“Would you go?” You nodded in affirmative while he happily jumped and hugged your body. “What about tonight?” His face filled with excitement and expectations.

“Sounds lovely.” You kissed him in the cheek and started to go your way. “See you at 8, Tom.”


You heard his scream from far away and laughed with that. After on that day, he had some more troubles to concentrate on his scene but, this time, it was because he was going on a date with you.


Hey everyone, as I posted earlier today I’m going to sell several more cameo slots to help with bills. Ultimately the vet trips ate a bit shy of couple thousand out of our living budget so I still need to play catch-up to meet our living costs.

So, here’s a chance to get the character of you or someone you know immortalized in Creepy Castle! These NPC cameos will be similar to the Nicalis staff cameos on Zylindarr- an NPC illustrated by me featuring dialogue written by you. You get to pick where you would like the character to be placed and they will be included in the update going live within the next three weeks!

If you’re interested, please send an email to krystalflamingo@hotmail.com and we will send you a form to get things rolling! Thank you for your time!

A meltdown explained from the inside. Store, loud, crowded. People, clients, talking loud, don’t understand. Can’t make out words. Doesn’t make any sense. I’m talking but I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m pacing. I forget what I’m supposed to do. He’s yelling at me. He looks angry. I give up. Ask for help. I escape before it’s too late to keep the stimms in. I’m rushing to the staff’s restroom. As soon as I lock the door I cry, I tap my head with my right fist. I’m rocking and balancing. I’m out.
When I finally get out 20 min have passed. I need to leave. I can’t hold it in. It’s Sunday. Can I find a doctor ? It says only emergency on Sunday. Is it a emergency. I’m rocking, Hyperventilating and crying. Is it an emergency ? I call. I say I’m having a melt down but I don’t know if it’s an emergency. She says it is. Come at 2:30. Building’s code is 5983
5983 5983 5983 5983 5983598359835983

Hey everyone! So, I’m posting this on @/k rusca’s behalf (adding a space to her url so it wont show up in search), because she has been dealing with staff trying to get her account unsuspended, and they aren’t responding to any of her requests to reinstate her account, even though it’s been two weeks since she was initially denied access. It seems like the only way to get them to act is to bother them until they can’t keep ignoring her (just like before with her other account), so if you could take a minute to help her out by sending a request (go to settings> type something into the ask bar for the “contact us” button to show up at bottom) on her behalf that would be awesome! You can say something like: 

“Could you please unsuspend the blog @/k rusca? I’m asking on her behalf since she has been receiving no reply despite her reaching out to tumblr support and staff multiple times.”

Thanks in advance, and if you could reblog this too to help out that would be super helpful!! <33333


Day 9 : FUCK knows where.

Ok. So what started as a simple plan of fly to Berlin, just a 90 minute flight, kind of went a bit to crap when the airline decided they no longer fly that route. The fact they decided that the day before we were meant to fly, and didn’t bother to tell us until we got to the airport was a bit shit.

Thankfully we’d arrived early as our simple direct 90 minute flight turned into 9 hours of flying and transiting through Paris and just general annoyance.

Have to say all the staff we’re really helpful, and tried their absolute best to get us to Berlin as quick as possible.

Finally arrived in Berlin around 10pm. Got a great room upgrade. And now I’m about to pass out from exhaustion. Zzzzzzz

three things that happened yesterday that define what it’s like to be a professional organizer in NYC right now:
  • got an email from an editor at a glossy women’s magazine. “our staff are concerned about these things Trump is doing,” it said. “many of them want to volunteer with your organization.” the editor reserved their conference room for me later this week, and will be inviting all the staff to meet if they want to learn more.
  • swooped in to rescue, at a friend’s request, a high schooler who had made a facebook event for a protest that now had… 6k people going. she’d never organized anything and was pleading on the wall of the event for sponsors, for people who knew what they were doing. we now have three organizations that are willing to cosponsor, I talked her out of getting a permit, and we’re gonna make it OK
  •  out on Long Island I helped my comrade facilitate a meeting last night. Afterwards I commented “this felt a lot like the first days of Occupy.” he concurred - tons of random people in a room, new to political action, and those of us with relevant experience in anything at all helping the group to decide what it wanted to do. what was different? it’s so much easier to explain “building power” when you can couch it this way: “what will put us in a better position to, with other groups, oust the regime in a year?” and everyone in the room cheered. 
I’d never hurt my son

Anal tearing. That’s what the doctors said. My son had anal tearing.

He’d come in from gym class complaining of a bad stomach ache, nothing out of the ordinary. The nurse sat him down in her office, turned around to get some a thermometer, and suddenly heard a big clattering noise. She turned back and he was on the floor, curled up in the fetal position. She’d bent down to help him back up and saw a pool of blood forming in the seat of his pants. The school called me, I ran to pick him up in a panic, and we rushed to the hospital.

At first, everything was just outright confusion. School officials were asking questions, hospital staff tried to root out answers, and no one could offer up anything useful. Tommy, my son, was silent. When I tried to talk to him about what had happened that day, he just stared at me; a big, doleful child’s stare, full of trusting love and wonder and admiration and nothingness. I’m a good mother. I attend every PTA meeting, frequently participate in school events, cater to even the silliest need without going overboard, and have never laid a hand on my child.

After three days of silence, wary eyes turned to me. Tommy and I live alone and I don’t have a boyfriend. There was no suspicion of abuse anywhere else. During church, I could feel stares lingering on the back of my neck, the pious turning clangorous gears in their heads. When I dropped Tommy off for school, whispers seemed to dance in between the cracks in the sidewalk and other parents spoke in hushed tones. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t get Tommy to talk to me about what happened.

Therapy did nothing. I never believed in it myself, but I was running out of options. This reservation, it seemed, was reflected back in Tommy. It was all I could do to just get him out the door on the days of his sessions. Even when he opened up to Dr. Presbyzk, a stout but comforting man with a giant wiry beard and small half moon glasses, it was only about the inconsequential. His day at school, little stories about his friends, things like that. The few times Dr. Presbyzk tried to nudge the conversation towards his injuries, Tommy seemed to just shrug it off, almost as though he had no idea what was being asked

All in all, the good doctor decidedly cleared my name, but that didn’t stop the rumors. This is a small town with small people and they can’t help but pull at any loose threads they might get their fingers wrapped around. Even walking through the grocery store, I could feel the probing eyes of strangers giving me a once over and wondering what horrors and atrocities I must commit behind closed doors.

For what it’s worth, I did my best to ignore it. Tommy didn’t seem phased by anything. In fact, he seemed even more energetic than usual. From everything I’ve read (and I’ve devoured my fair share of parenting books), abuse is usually correlated with despondency in children. Changes in habits, but towards the negative. He just seemed happier. The doctors had suggested that I keep an extra close eye on him over the next few days in case his behavior changed any further, but other than that, everything seemed fine to them. This could have just been a freak accident, a stress injury from overexertion during gym. There was nothing else they could do at this point. The tearing had healed and Tommy didn’t seem to be in any more pain. I was still at a loss, but after another week or so, the rumors had died down and at least things hadn’t gotten any worse.

The incident at his friend’s birthday party sent things spiraling out of control again.

The day of the party, Tommy had a little more trouble waking up than usual. Fortunately, it had fallen on a Saturday, so there were no worries about scheduling with school and most of the parents were off from work. I had an early meeting, but I’d left Tommy bundled up in bed after checking on him that morning and had gotten home before 10 AM. The party wasn’t til 2. After calling out his name a few times to see if he was just up and playing video games or watching TV, I ventured upstairs. If he was going to get ready for the party in time, he needed to get up soon. Little boys can be even more difficult than girls to manage.

I knocked softly on this door. No answer. We have a very liberal policy when it comes to privacy, and being thirteen, I know what kinds of things children can get into behind closed doors. Nonetheless, after everything that’d happened, I was a little more on edge than usual. I gently opened the door, and peered into the room. The bulge in the sheets that was Tommy’s sleeping body was almost exactly where I’d left it. I walked over, sat on the edge of the bed, and lightly shook him.

“Tommy, wake up sweetie, it’s time for breakfast.”

No response.

I shook him again. “We really need to get ready for Addy’s party”.

Nothing. A sense of dread slowly crept over me. What if something was wrong? I reached to pull the sheets back. At the same time as I touched the comforter, a hand grabbed me from behind.


My heart leapt into my throat and I spun around, falling off the bed.

“Tommy!” I shouted. He was standing there, a huge grin plastered across his face, the success of his ruse bright as day. I picked myself up off the floor and ripped back the sheets to uncover an extra pillow and a few stuffed animals.

“Gotcha” he said. I shook my head, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“You get your butt in the shower and then get dressed. We aren’t going to be late. And for god’s sake, don’t you ever do that again. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

He stuck out his tongue and scampered away to the bathroom. So much energy. Such a little brat. He was never a lazy or easily bored child, but this behavior was definitely something new. I heard the shower turn on and got to fixing the bed. I tossed the stuffed animals to the side and started pulling the sheets up and folding the comforter. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a smudge of black on the fitted sheet, almost imperceptible against the dark violet shade of the cotton. Poking at it with a fingernail, a portion of it flaked off. I picked it up and brought it closer to my face; it didn’t look or smell like anything I could recognize. I shrugged it off.

Breakfast was uneventful. I made omelettes and Tommy and I talked about the party. I caught him staring off into space a few times. Nothing out of the ordinary, but the look in his eyes was a bit unsettling. Glassy, almost.  I nonchalantly brought up the black smudge on the sheet, and he readily had an explanation that he’d been drawing under the covers (he was quite the budding artist) and had spilled some ink. I accepted the story, but it did seem a bit too ready. Again, I shrugged it off.

We made it to the party at 1:45 on the dot. I always prided myself on being overly punctual. The kids were running around in the backyard while the adults sat on the porch and talked about sports, the weather, work - same old, same old. I left Tommy to go running off with Addy, the birthday girl, while talking to her mother Louise about an upcoming school event. Despite everything that’d happened in the last few weeks, things felt normal. I couldn’t help but smile and relax.

The birthday cake arrived, all sparkles and stars and three colors of frosting. Louise turned down all of the lights and Addy’s face beamed brightly from behind thirteen candles, tiny shadows dancing across her excited gaze. I was always blown away by the pure power of a child’s astonishment. We sang happy birthday, and as the last few echoes of “to you” rang throughout the room and Addy made her wish, a scream broke out from the far end of the table. Confusion, shuffling, and the lights were back on. All horrified eyes in the room were locked on Tommy, head down in a plate reserved for cake, with a pool of black liquid surrounding his face. I ran over as fast as I could, lifting his face out of the plate, only to find him completely despondent, a torrent of the sludge jetting out of his mouth with the speed of a sink faucet on high. The entire party dissolved into a panic.

That’s all I can really recall from that day. Or, rather, want to. The rest was a blur of ambulances and doctors, CAT scans and tubes and IV drips. So many tests, throughout which Tommy was entirely catatonic. The concerning thing, said the doctors, was that his brain activity was completely fine. All of his vitals, too. On the inside, he was functioning without any problems whatsoever. On the outside, it was as though he’d become a shell.

The party was just over three weeks ago. I took Tommy home from the hospital after a week had passed. The doctors said that there was nothing they could do for him, and recommended a specialist rehabilitation center in Chicago. On the third day of his stay in the hospital, i woke up at four in the morning. I don’t know what woke me, but as soon as I was conscious and had blinked the sleep out of my eyes I knew something was wrong. Looking around the room, I realized that Tommy’s bed was empty, and felt my entire body go cold. Before I could react further, in the dim glow of moonlight pouring in from outside, something caught my eye.

It was Tommy, out of bed, his face pressed up against the window. Given his previous state, this should have been cause for celebration; and it would have been, had he not been ten feet off the ground. I don’t know how I remained calm, but I did. I didn’t move an inch. I watched, my eyes heavy-lidded but my body shocked into a state of pure terror, as he crawled farther up the window, a wet smacking noise coming from some unseen source. I couldn’t see his face, and for heaven’s sake, I probably wouldn’t have wanted to, but it sounded as though he was dragging his tongue along the surface of the window, tasting it. A trail of the same black sludge I’d seen at the birthday party was following him as he ascended, dripping silently back to the floor. It was all I could do to remain calm. I slumped farther down in my chair and closed my eyes as tightly as I could, praying to whatever spirits might still be listening in the presence of this unholy abomination which had stolen away my son’s body. The smacking, sucking noises continued. Eventually, whether from the fear I felt or the absurdity of the situation or maybe just sheer luck, I managed to pass back out. My dreams were empty, an expanse of endless voided grace.

When I woke up again, it was morning, just past nine AM. Tommy was back in his bed, all tubes and monitors hooked up, still as an angel. One of the tending nurses came in and checked a few machines, changed a bag out, smiled at me, and left. No aberration  in the reports. On shaky legs, I hesitantly walked over to Tommy’s bedside, and gazed down upon my son who had, just a few hours ago, been doing his best impression of some hellish version of Spider-Man. Not a single hair looked out of place. The window, previously dripping with an unknown ooze, was sparkling clean. I’d wanted to believe that it was just a silly nightmare, something brought on by the ultimate stress of the situation, but I knew deep down in my heart that everything I’d seen had been real. This was wholly confirmed for me when I woke up to the same thing the next night, and then subsequently every other night that week. The wet smacking noises. The dragging of mucous on glass. The black sludge coating every surface he traversed.

By the seventh night in the hospital, I’d gotten so used to the sight that I almost looked forward to it. I had no clue what was happening, but at least it was some version of my son, something alive and alert and active. I don’t know what woke me up every single night to bear witness to this miracle, but whatever it was, I silently thanked it. By that seventh night, as I watched Tommy scamper across the walls and windows, it was as though every inch of the room was pulsating with a sort of sentient life underneath the sludge. I could feel it calling out to me, a physical pull from a formless beast, begging for mother. It was that night that I first touched it, that I even dared to move while watching these events unfold. As Tommy was busy sucking up the shadows in a far corner of the room, I gingerly reached out a hand to the wall closest me and dipped it into the sludge. It seemed to open around the point of entry and then envelope my finger, a hungry piglet connecting with the waiting nipple on a mother sow. It was warm and inviting, and the entire room seemed to throb. A strange euphoria crept up my spine and washed over my entire body. I would have held it there for the rest of the night had it not started burning. It felt as though I’d shoved my hand directly into open flame. I held back the scream begging to burst out from my throat and quickly ripped my hand from the wall, wiping the tender skin onto the inside of my jacket. The skin looked raw, almost boiled. My entire body felt as though I’d just run a 10k marathon. I shot a glance at the corner of the room where Tommy was still crawling, and he hadn’t seemed to notice the intrusion. My hand was sending jolts of pain throughout my entire body, but I didn’t care. I had regained some sort of connection with my son, and that’s all that mattered. The next day, it was as though everything fell directly in place. The doctors informed me of their inability to proceed with anything conclusive, handed me the information for the specialist facility in Chicago, and granted me full permission to take Tommy home until the initial appointment upstate, one week from that day. The hospital staff seemed robotic, almost as though they were running on a track. I’d even noticed, in the background of conversations, some doctors and nurses repeating the same motions over and over, their faces blank slates. But none of that bothered me, and none of it mattered. All that mattered was the fact that I had Tommy back, that I could take him home.

In the week since we left the hospital, things have become so much easier. Tommy is more active than ever and I’ve never felt prouder or more fulfilled as a mother. It was a bit disconcerting when I walked in on him in the midst of his “business”, but like I said, I’ve always kept a pretty liberal mindset when it comes to the surreptitious activities of thirteen year olds. I’d opened the door without thinking so I could bring in fresh sugarwater (it seemed to be his favorite now, no more ketchup and fries for my boy), only to find him bent over backwards, knees jutting at impossible angles, both hands clearly crammed into his rectum up to the wrist. He’d shouted at me, telling me to come back later. At least that’s what I imagine he said; the buzzing sound emanating from where his mouth used to be doesn’t make much sense to me. Thirteen year old boys can be so difficult to understand sometimes. I sighed, smiled, and backed out of the room, but not before he managed to fully tear open the hole he’d been working on, sending a finely-haired black barb jutting out from somewhere deep inside his body and splattering my face with a mixture of blood, muscle, and the familiar black sludge.

I’ve managed to avoid the sludge for the most part, as I still distantly remember the burning pain, but after the little mishap in his bedroom, all of my worries have faded away. Every conceivable space in the house is coated with it, creating a cocoon of eternal night, and it was only a matter of time. The flesh and muscle where the sludge had kissed my face had melted away about an hour after it’d made contact, and after the pain subsided, it was almost exciting to see the bone glistening underneath. What mother wouldn’t be excited to have a makeover taken care of by her son?

We’re a happy family. Whole. It’s becoming a bit harder to type with only one hand, but that’s a price I’m willing to pay. Tommy is a growing boy and needs as many nutrients as he can get. I’d give up anything to make sure he was happy; I’d give up the world. He still gives me that big, doleful child’s stare, full of trusting love and wonder and admiration and nothingness. Now, it just comes from a few more eyes. His entire body is covered in thick black hair and most of his bones are exposed, but they’re slowly blackening and curving into fine points; claws, almost. Anyway, who  am I to judge? I used to get a little wild when I was a kid. Trends these days can be so odd, but I’ll support him no matter how many stages he goes through.

As I sit here now, rocking my little boy on what’s left of my lap, I couldn’t be more proud. He’s gnawing away at a new hole just under my ribcage - so diligent and talented. A son always knows the way to his mother’s heart. Most of my body is gone, given to the sludge, but I can still bounce him just the slightest as he cracks open my ribs and slides the barb inside, laying the first round of eggs. Covering the hole with a fresh layer of membrane, he nuzzles my cheek, dissolving the skin and exposing my teeth. I would’ve smiled anyway. He skitters off, buzzing excitedly, and I lay my head back, feeling love and contentedness spilling from every inch of my being.

I’ll be a grandmother soon.

Hi Everyone~ An update on me.

I’m sitting here watching the Super Bowl game for the first time willingly and by myself. I figured I would take this time and update you all on my life changes of moving to Chicago. I have officially been here two weeks now and have finished my first week of work!

Job: I love it! I am working at a Korean non-profit in northern Chicago. We offer services to the Korean elderly population as well as new ethnic immigrants and refugees or any low-income families. My staff and boss is amazing. It has brought me so much nostalgia about Korea. Everyone is friendly and kind and welcoming to me. I think it helps that I am very understanding of the Korean culture. It feels just like I am in Korea (in a good way) when I go to work. I get a free Korean lunch every day and I work closely with my boss. I really hope to gain a lot of professional development from her and figure out what my future career goals are. Working with the Korean Ajussis and Ajummas are great. I love that they can speak a little English because I can interact with them better than when I did in Korea. Everyone is curious about me since I am a newcomer and am not Korean. But, with the basic Korean that I can use, they’re so thankful for that. 

I’m excited for a lot of projects I will be working with at this organization. I am learning a lot about non-profits and how many are struggling in Illinois. I was not aware of how terrible their governor is. My org has not receive funding in two years so they’re so grateful for my service at their location. 

I haven’t made much new friends yet because I haven’t been proactive about being social. I am still just trying to settle into a routine before I go and make friends. However, I am having such a fun time because my friends and family have been visiting me here in Chicago. 

This leads on to my next thing. So, I decided to try dating again. I am in a new city, new pool of people to date. Not much ways to try dating than online dating right? So, I set up CMB and Tinder  for fun. I am poor as an AmeriCorps worker so I’ve really just been on a prowl for free food and drinks. Luckily, it’s been in my favor! People are supportive of my service and offer to buy me food!

I went on two dates already since being here. One with a Korean graduate student and one with an Indian American guy. The Korean guy, I should have known from the get go would have been a shit show. He was nice upfront, but when he realized that I would not “submit” to him and be this girl he could control he responded in text “I can’t be with you because I can’t handle you”. He didn’t like that I was opinionated and that I was someone who did not want to be taken care of and be innocent or “immature”. Yes, he legit said “i want to control you”. The fuck???

The Indian American guy was nice, but he was a mixture of a frat/bro type guy. I wasn’t feeling it. I friend zoned him, or tried to, but he gave me a kiss at the end of or date so that was a fail on my behalf. 

I have an upcoming date with a Taiwanese PhD student and a White guy who works for American Airlines. He has already offered to take me on trips, and to be honest, I want to milk those benefits to my advantage! Haha. 

I am trying to be open-minded with who I will be dating here in Chicago. I am least attracted to white guys, but, there seems to be so many here in the US. I still prefer to date Asian men, but a lot that I have come across (Asian American) men) have been extremely douchey. It’s funny, I read an article once about how Asian girls don’t like dating Asian men for a,b,c reason. I disagree with it, they’re my first preference, but they’re making it hard to be likable. Of course, I am not going to generalize them all in one category. Seems like the only Asian guys into me are international Asians…do they just want a green card? Hahah, JK JK. But formal though. So, anyways I’ll update you all on my always fails of dating!

I hope all my readers are well. It’s weird that I keep getting an influx of porn blogs. Porn blogs, please stop following me. I am not your fetish. 

Hallucination!Ozzie thought

OH HEY! you know that moment in the trailer for How the Riddler got his Name where Ed is being all introspective and ‘I’ve always felt there was someone I’m supposed to me, it’s just about figuring out how to be him’ or whatever?

I’d been wondering if maybe he was talking to a random in that moment - like a member of staff he’s tied up and gagged while he gets on with setting up his plan

but guys GUYS do you now suppose he’s TALKING TO HALLUCINATION!OZZIE?

because, like, Ozzie is the one he feels most comfortable baring his soul to? and asking for help from in figuring himself out? and aaah, you know?

Good timing

A few weeks back my old boss offered me a full-time night position to come back to my old unit.  I turned it down.  I actually really like the unit I moved to.  I am getting better nursing experience by getting to deal with so many different types of patients.  Plus and I don’t have to be charge nurse stuck at the desk and dealing with being responsible for all the other staff.  Even better, the nurses on my new unit are all so great at working together and helping each other out.  I didn’t realize how toxic of an environment my old had until I was in one that was so different.

Then this week I heard that my old boss is quitting.  I imagine it is because of how horrible our CNO is and how she makes life hell for the managers.  Seriously, thank fuck out I got out of there when I did.  That unit is going to go to hell without her there.  I feel bad because if she does leave they are going to need so much help.  They are already going to have to be training a new night nurse both on the floor and on the desk plus then dealing with a new manager.  But, I have to do what is good for me.  

How to make Rey’s staff (A quick and crappy tutorial by me)

So surprisingly, I have been approached by several people asking how I made my Rey staff for my Star Wars: The Force Awakens costume. I thought, instead of continuously rattling off how to’s on different platforms, I would put my own little how to here. I made mine long before the movie came out and was going off nothing but reference pictures but it was an interesting experience.

Equipment: For mine, I used the following materials - 2m pine staff, foam sheeting (I used A4 sized sheets roughly 5mm thick and layered to help get the shape. Can’t remember the number of sheets I used so lets go with a lot), Super glue, Black gesso, black stray paint, clear spray paint, duct tape, brown paint, plaster bandages, screw hooks, a pencil.

All of this cost me roughly $25 (not including the stuff I already had at home)

Step 1: The base of the staff. I used a 2m long pine staff, cutting it down to size. I estimated that a rough size would be about 10cm taller then the cosplayer. Using that thought, I printed off a enlarged version of the staff for reference.

Step 2: Getting a rough estimate of the pieces. I drew lines on with pencil to show where I wanted to put everything.

Step 3: Layer and shape. This is the longest and most frustrating piece of this puzzle. Took me almost three days of cutting and gluing to get a shape I was happy with. I also used different coloured foam to help keep track of what I had done (And more the once ended up supergluing my hand to this thing but that is a story for another time).

Step 4: Once you get the basic shape, time to stablize with a few layers of black gesso and paint. The gesso to stop the paint eating away at the foam and the spray paint to get into the cracks. I also used a clear spray paint over to prevent paint rubbing off on my hands while I worked.

Step 5: The hand grip. I used a layer of duct tape over the wood which I painted brown. The I cut two long strips of plaster bandage and wrapped them around the staff where my hands would go to get the right look.

Step 6: Almost done. Add the hooks to attach your sling.

And you are done. Be proud of your work and the hours of your life you are not getting back for this, while also kicking butt as our newest hero.

Vernon - Kiss kiss fall in love

Request: Hello!! How are you? I am new to your blog and I was hoping you would take my request😊 May I have a scenerio where Vernon falls in love with a half Japanese and half American girl? Thank you x

Note: Since the request was pretty open I just made it into fluff

It hadn’t been long since you started working at Pledis, well maybe it can’t really be considered working as you just helped out your mom who was part of the staff of Pledis. She was in charge of their hair and while she wasn’t born In South-Korea she still managed to get hang of the language a little bit. You on the other hand were only fluent in Japanese and English… When your mom got the chance to style Pledis artists your family moved to Korea. You didn’t mind, you tried studying Korean but it certainly wasn’t that easy. 

All you’d been doing was holding/getting stuff for her and getting her drinks, it was a small job for in the summer when others took some time off but the pay wasn’t bad and you got to meet some idols so why not. You’d met Nu’est briefly and you even got to talk a little with the members of Pledis Girlz who spoke (some) English. 

It was honestly a dream job for you. And today it was Seventeens turn, you knew about them but besides Woozi, Seungkwan and Vernon there weren’t that much familiar faces. You always tried your best to learn the names the day before you met them (even if you’d never talk to them) just to be sure. But this time there were 13 members and it had proven to be a little difficult. 

When the day came you were more than impressed. They were all so nice and they even tried talking to you, this guy Hoshi started talking in Korean when your mom probably explained you didn’t understand and he started speaking Japanese! You were glad you could talk to an idol with confidence that you wouldn’t fuck up. He also uncovered that you were mixed and he immediately wanted to set you up with Vernon because ‘hey you’re like the same’ you were slightly offended because, it doesn’t work like that, it’s just race. But he quickly explained that it was because you would understand each others problems as being called a ‘halfer’ by some people and such

You were still slightly skeptic that was until you met him. He was so sweet and shy how could you not like him (and I mean we can’t deny this boy looks effing fine). He made a pretty great first impression for you. He was so down to earth and also oddly smooth… Like not flirting but it’s just the ways his eyes twinkle when talking to you or his little laugh when you tell something funny that make your heart flutter. Little did you know that he was scared you’d hear his heartbeat when you blushed your hand against his arm as you helped your mom do his hair.

You were getting some well earned rest by sitting on about the only couch that wasn’t occupied and checking your tumblr. You quickly changed the app when you saw Vernon approach you. “I hope I’ll see you again Y/n… My hair’s never looked this great before haha.” But you both knew he didn’t want to see you again because of his hair. “Hansol we’ll see eachother tomorrow again don’t you remember? You have to do a stage and you gotta look fresh.” At this moment even you saw the way his face lightened up.

“Oh nice! I mean… Aju Nice…” He said with a horrible wink. “You moron…” this caught his attention, “Oh oh what did I hear there? I-I didn’t quite catch that??”  

“Nothing, I said nothing” you bluffed. “Nono I think I heard something? It sounded a bit like… uhm moron? Hmm?” you kept denying and playing along with his game and before you knew it he was tickling you until you were close to crying of laughter. 

You were now very close to Hansols face and he had noticed too. You were about to say something but he made sure you didn’t by giving you a short kiss. “I normally don’t do this after meeting someone just that day but I just, you’re so lovely… So uuhm…. you want me to do that again or we awkward buddies now?” he asked with a shy smile thinking he already knew the answer.

“How about you take me out and we’ll see…? But for now, you know what? Fuck that why not?” playing hard to get was never a thing you were good at. Also saying no to Hansol wasn’t really easy and you had the biggest crush on him let’s be real.

So he kissed you again but a little longer this time, really savouring the moment. Just after you parted your mom came to get you to leave. “Wait Y/n here my number I guess you’d want that hah.” “Charming as always. But thanks!”

Of course Vernon got teased so much as Hoshi saw everything that happened and he was not gonna let go of it easily how he basically set you two up.


Something came up at work and I find that I’m really hurt by it.

This morning my supervisor called and said that a client I had worked with back in November basically felt like they didn’t get their money’s worth with me (I was with them for four days). I was shocked, as was my supervisor since she was listening to me via conference call for my entire first day with them. I don’t know where this is coming from. When I left, everyone was very happy with the progress we had made (it was a consulting engagement helping them to create forms). The client lead was only there for one day and wasn’t even involved when he was there so where is getting his information from? His staff? We created ten forms with proposals to go with them. That’s a shit ton of work; a lot I did on my own when they really should have done it themselves.

I know I shouldn’t let it get to me, but as I was typing out my email to my supervisor and her supervisor having to justify my work, I started feeling so defeated.

Headcanon: Vault 95

[soft gasp] What if someone intrepid finds Vault 95 after the Sole Survivor and Cait clear it out, and they use all the documentation, medication, and findings from Vault-Tec to create an actual drug and alcohol treatment program for the Commonwealth? Oops, now they’re the program director!

At first the program director is just in it for the caps, but they find that they actually make more money with a legit program than selling snake oil. It’s great motivation to keep it legit, and they grow to enjoy the work they do. Sometimes the caps come from repeat business (Vault-Tec left behind a program manual for relapses), but most of it is through word of mouth.

It’s a rocky start, lots of mistakes are made, a few people get pretty sick, maybe someone unfortunately dies under their care. Thankfully, Vault-Tec left behind some great program manuals; they wanted the best data for this experiment, and with enough time and feedback, the program director actually sets up some great programs thanks to those resources.

They hire and train counselors, they have a kitchen staff, security staff, housekeeping and maintenance staff. Vault 95 becomes a legit employer down in the southern end of the Commonwealth. They even set up a few sober living houses when they have enough profit and find that the people in the program have better success.

Thanks to @cyborgsurprise​ for helping me hash this out!

How fucking sad is it that, when I contacted a vendor about an issue with an order I placed (I’ve ordered from them before and have only ever received good service from them, so I really wasn’t all that fussed) and asked if I could return the incorrect product and have a new set sent out (and pay whatever additional charges would be incurred), the lady I spoke to told me I was the first person to not yell at her today.

Seriously ffs why is it so hard for people to treat retail staff with dignity? I shouldn’t have to be praised for not being a fuckstick.

Jesus Christ.

(She actually helped me with the issue very promptly and was so friendly, so I told her to keep a transcript of our conversation to give to her boss so she could get a little recognition. I thought she was going to cry.)