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#which is £300 a month

soldier-poet-king · 2 months

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Well. Signed the lease. So. It's done. I can try to calm down and in a few days start thinking abt the fun stuff (decorating, furniture, flea markets, etc) I want to see how many weird fun pieces I can get secondhand before going to the Swedish Store since rn I only have bedroom furniture and a small coffee table lmao

#the duality of fran #me everytime i try to romanticize living in a 500sq ft apartment and being a public transit queen. omg im just like thata celehar fr #(okay i at least have two separate rooms but still)#if i wanted a bigter space id be paying at LEAST 200_#200-300 more per month. and probably be in not as nice an area #and its still bigger than my uni apartment. which was MAYBE 350sq ft #(granted. smaller city. way cheaper)

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phlurrii · 1 year

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So I figured out what’s wrong with my brushes, turns out procreate pushes the Apple Pencil to its limits! So when the pencil breaks, so does procreate ;w;

After having a TIME last night figuring this out and coming to terms with having to blow 200$ on a new pen a month before moving, it was pointed out I should maybe open up some commissions. So whenever my new pen arrives in these next few days, I’ll be opening up comms to refill the dip into savings I’ll have to take! I wanna also state these are NOT emergency commissions in any way, shape, or form. Simply a surprise expense that puts me in the theoretical savings hole and brain no likey when I have to diverge from my meticulously planned monthly expenses TwT

#screaming #I know this is what savings are for #but gdi it gets complicated when you have two countries varying money values to deal with #half my savings be come useless after the first flight XD #also rip the Canadian economy rn jeebus #again I’m not in financial straights #but I only have 300$ CA left to pay for my checked baggage #the cat fee and cats general expsenses this month #which isn’t enough so i hav e to use my savings #which is suppose to be for future apartment and college stuff #damn you livelyhood.

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canarydarity · 1 year

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Hard to tell how indicative the bones on the floor are of anything about the catacombs themselves being how, every few minutes, Pix kills another skeleton adding to the collection. He swipes his sword through the one before him, and it collapses so readily into a pile of bone—like it was made to, like it was just waiting on his sword—that he has to wonder, not for the first time, what was holding it together to begin with. The bones rattle and clatter against those already littered around, and Pix sighs at the further disturbance to the scene as it was when he had entered; accounting for the damage likely done by mobs was going to make this hell to study.

He grabs another torch and sets it inside one of the empty sconces that still adorn the walls, readjusts his grip on his sword—he can hear more lingering around the next corner; the low hiss that means a spider is near, the groan or two of a zombie.

Pix picks up a chunk of cobble from the ground and tosses it down the hall, waits. Sure enough, out scuttles a spider. He disposes of it quickly enough, but it seems he’ll have to venture down the dark hall to goad the zombies. He glances at the clock he placed in his hotbar before embarking on this mission (it’s hard to tell how much time passes underground—something he learned quickly in his line of work). There’s still a good amount of daylight left, and he wants the catacombs cleared; he has other projects he has to move on to, things he needs to finish; he’ll just get through a few more halls—it won’t be an issue, surely.

But the new corner he rounds remains dark even as he places a torch behind him to mark the way back. The groans can still be heard, but a zombie is yet to lumber his way, and so he has to wonder what's beyond his admittedly limited sight. Pix shuffles another foot or so forward, a torch in his non-dominant hand now as well, hoping for light, for vision. The research part of him—the logical academic—knows that it shouldn't still be this dark with the torches placed behind him nor the one in his hand, and that part is so much louder and more important than the one that knows this means something is wrong, the part that says turn around.

The torch is lit, he can feel the heat of the flame as he observes it flicker in and out but cast no shadow on the wall behind—a wall Pix can’t even see but knows is there all the same. The circle of light provided extends no further than an inch or two out from the flame itself—comparable more to that of a birthday candle than a lit hand torch. If he hadn’t been staring directly at it, he would’ve assumed the fire snuffed out.

He feels his eye twitch and his brows furrow. Academia liked concrete answers, things that could be explained and reasoned away—unequivocal proof. But Pix had always had a soft spot for the inexplicable, the ineffable. It was nice when he studied something and found an answer, it was riveting when he didn’t. How much more exciting to study it again and again, a riddle that begged not to be solved. (How much sweeter the prize if he were the one to figure it out in the end).

His interest was piqued. He could feel it, the way his attention focused and his surroundings blurred and left him; his body on standby, his sword hand lowered almost subconsciously.

In other words, it was entirely his own fault when the zombie grabbed him. Panic is never a good thing to welcome into a fight, but it likes to show up uninvited anyway. Pix's entire career revolves around studying human behavior, about how human nature cannot be fought against though it oft leads us to our own downfall and ruin. He finds it uncanny when he's reminded that this is a phenomenon from which he is not exempt.

In haste, he elbows the zombie behind him and turns, back now to the darkness—the one not even his torch could dent. It’s an ugly bugger, eyes soft and misshapen from decay and skin so leathery it’s as if it's been treated and is ready for use as a saddle or armor. Logic replaced by horror, before he can run it through it advances, arms out, and Pix drops his sword to reach back, holding it at arm's length itself; their arms interlocked, pose not unlike meeting an old friend again for the first time in a while. His hands grip the woven fabric of what's left of its shirt, too old and worn to be from any time close to recent, and, despite the very real danger, his mind takes the time to process the period-accurate fabric, the hand-stitched design. He blanches again as he looks into its horrible milky eyes—this zombie was from the capital.

Not sentient enough to know why it’s not actually getting any closer to Pixlriffs, the zombie makes a noise that sounds frighteningly human in its frustration and steps forward, and in his distraction, Pix lets it. The push seems to make his brain function yet again, and he shoves the zombie backward a good few paces away, but the momentum sends him stepping back himself, and his foot finds not purchase but, instead, the disturbing lack of solid ground, and with nothing left to do, he falls.

He hits the ground with a thump and a crack and a lot of other sounds he would rather not describe as he feels they were likely very undignified. Winded but, it appears, still in one piece, he grabs another torch and strikes it against the wall, holding it up above him when it lights and shines this time as torches normally do. He buries the part of himself that is disappointed at this—the part that wants to panic and complain finally louder, now, than the part that says hmm.

He didn’t fall too far, it seems. Now that the torch is lit he can see the gap he’d fallen through, just under a dozen feet or so above where he lays. It's obvious even looking from below how the stone floor had crumbled away, taking maybe one or two hits too many over time from overcrowded mobs or shifts in terrain or pressure aboveground. He tilts his head back but sees only another dead end behind him, and ahead looks like a further, deeper hall of the tomb he hadn’t uncovered yet, though the path is obstructed by debris from above; a net of spiderweb blankets the pile of stone and dirt, but no spider seems to be left guarding the web.

His friend above seems to have lost interest now that he’s fallen out of sight, and its moans and groans get further away by the second.

No immediate threat, Pix lets his head fall back onto the ground and takes a breath. He knew the crypt would be full of mobs, he knew it’d be hard, but still…

No, it’s worth it. It will be worth it. He has a job to do.

At least he isn’t defenseless—it’s more than he can say for the dungeons. Not a weapon to his name, fists wrapped in tape so red you’d never believe it’d been white to begin with; knuckles so raw and scraped and beaten by the time he’d made it out that they’d scarred that way—permanent marks of the fighter he was, of the fighter he’d proved to be.

There was a fear there, too, at that very real and physical understanding of permanence. His studies proved expert in providing examples of what was permanent and what wasn’t, and where people weren’t, things were. He’d spent enough time studying what could be learned about a person by the things they left behind to begin to wonder if anyone at all would’ve remembered him if he’d died in those dungeons—not a singular weapon or item for him to leave behind and tell his story.

Pix stops wallowing. He sits up and reaches over his shoulder for his pick; he isn’t shocked to find that the shaft had snapped in two from the fall, it having been strapped to his back. He sighs, tossing it aside as useless. He’ll make another.

He takes the time to remind himself again that he knew it was going to be difficult, and that difficulty was no reason to not continue. But it didn’t just feel difficult it felt…inhibiting. Dissuading, deterring, impeding. It felt deliberate. It felt like, stay out; like, we don’t want you here; like, leave us to our rest.

(it wasn’t, it was something far more sinister. An idea he’d never thought to consider; like a torch was giving off too-little light in the hallway of a dark, long-forgotten crypt, he couldn’t see any farther than what was right in front of his own face. How cliche it’d be, in the end, when it came to pass—the academic too invested in their own research, too dismissive of the present danger posed until it consumed them. He’d have a moment to laugh about it later, when the dread had settled in and all options—or lack thereof—exhausted. While on the topic of permanence…

It was not go away that the tomb was saying, not a driving force out that was being enacted upon the archeologist, but a more frightening call of stay. A threatening but desperate find…become…join…

No, if it were trying to keep him out, why would it keep pushing him deeper? Add this to the list of things he’d realize too late.)

He stands and dusts himself off. The wall is thick and overgrown with glow lichen, and he grabs the nearest vines and tugs one, twice, three times before deciding it won't give and hoisting up. It takes a few minutes and a fair amount of huffing and puffing to get himself to the top and over the edge but he does it, collapsing on higher ground once again and taking a minute to slow his pulse. When he left the dungeons, he dove back into the studies he’d been missing and decided he’d had enough fighting to last a lifetime—this was not without consequence, he’s not nearly as in shape as he used to be.

His sword is still on the ground where he’d dropped it, so he reequips and readies himself to push his way back out; he’d have to make time to come back and clear the rest another day. He would be back, and he hoped he would be welcomed.

“I don’t mean to disturb you,” he says into the quiet blackness of the catacombs. He doesn't dare speak above a whisper, for there were still mobs around and his voice carried enough as it was, bouncing along the empty stone and quiet graves. “I'd like to tell your story.”

There's nothing to hear but for the scuttling of various creatures far off in the dark, the shrill whistle of stray wind through small openings and holes. He raises his voice only slightly, a bit bolder. “Don’t you want me to do that? Will—would you allow me to do that?”

Silence, and then—the rattle and clatter of a skeleton. It sounds like only one; he lit everything up pretty well on his way in, getting out should be easier. Striking another torch against the wall, Pix prepares to go. For a second, the light is brighter than it should be, its circle of light illuminating the hall completely, the hole he’d fallen into, the distance to the other side. He leans back to avoid the heat of the flame, and he sees it.

The other side of the cave-in leads not to another tunnel but to an alcove, and empty it is not. His torch, though many feet away, sheds light on the scene; the heavily wax-encrusted stone above a pile of used candles and burnt wicks, the coin and other offerings of gold overflowing from bowls and chalices and any other orifice they could be piled upon, and her.

He recognizes her immediately. The tapestry covers the majority of the wall, and though it's faded for certain, the lack of direct sunlight has done wonders at preserving what it could. The colors are familiar to his research, the subtle and light greens under warm oranges and yellows. He’s too far, he cannot see any detail; the background, what she's holding, her face—but he knows her. She’s their patron.

The skeleton wanders closer, its bones clicking and clacking down the hall. Pix swallows.

“I’ll return for you, I will.” It’s a promise. She’s holding a secret, he knows she is—he’s going to figure out what. Pix turns just in time to face the skeleton as it rounds the corner, and soon its bones join those on the floor, new and old alike.

His words still echo off the caverns and crevices of the catacombs after he's left and gone, and though not possible to have been heard by human ears, the crypt whispers back good.

~-~-~-~

Far below even the hole the archeologist had fallen in, leagues underneath the surface of the earth, buried perhaps the furthest underground of anything left behind from the ancient capital—so deeply you’d have to wonder if maybe it was done on purpose—the crown sits in a chest, waiting patiently to be discovered. It’s not a matter of if, but a nice decisive and quiet when. Eventually, the echo of the archeologists' words falls upon it where it sits, and slowly it begins to emit a soft glow. It says stay, it says find, it says become, it says join.

It says soon.

#me when i dont write anything for almost an entire month and then inexplicably come back with 2000 words of pixlriffs fanficiton #all of which is completely self-indulgent #if you couldn't tell by tags on my recent reblogs and by this hey im doing so bad about pix being fucking dead and all #the blind academic...to be so invested in your work that it consumes you...#to disregard danger for the sake of being so close to what you believe is an answer #he studied the past so hard that he became it #hahahaha.#good thing he enjoys his work #because now he can never leave.#okay sorry not to write a 2000 word fic and then also write like another 300 in the tags #but also its mY POST!! GET OFF MY LAWN!! IM ALLOWED TO DO THAT! WAH IM SAD!#last thing but i have so much more to say about pixs background being his weaponless playthrough of mc dungeons. so.#someone talk to me about this /please #i lied. new last thing. now that this is out of my head :) hey :) all my fic planning is done im gonna start writing sentinel species #worm writes #empires smp #empires smp fic #empires smp fanfic #pixlriffs #pixlriffs fic #empires season 2 #esmp season 2

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dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3 · 8 months

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Hey all! So, I have a question that I’ve been thinking about for a while, and I wanted all of y’all’s opinion on it.

So, I have multiple, multiple WIP fics that I’ve never, ever published. Some of them are halfway through, while others are closer to the beginning than the end. I’ve never been a fan of posting WIP fics since there’s always a pressure I put on myself to finish them, but I know that once I stop writing a WIP, it will never be finished. Literally, I have never finished a WIP I abandoned (and yes, I’m starting to think my Bowuigi fic is going to go into that category, I’m sorry to all who enjoy it.)

Anyway. What I wanted to know is if anyone would be interested in reading a fic they know won’t ever be finished. Because I’ll read these WIPs sometimes and I honestly really enjoy them! Even if I never read the ending, I enjoyed the process of reading them, especially since I have the vague knowledge of where I wanted to go with it. I want to share these fics with the world, but I’m afraid that people will be disappointed or off put by the fact that they’re unfinished and likely will always remain that way.

So! I wanted to ask, in a more general, non-specific to any particular fandom way. Would you ever be interested in reading a fic you knew was never going to be finished? Would it be better if you had a synopsis of the rest of the story that would never be finished, kind of like a “after the events here, Character A and B got into a huge fight that made them both cry. Then they ran off and talked to their friends. Then—“ so on and so forth, but better written than that. Just a taciturn telling of the events so you know where it was supposed to go, even if it’s not written. I also want to know if you would prefer it if the fic writer (me in this case) kept it separate from their usual fics, perhaps in a new account.

I’m just curious, so I’ll put a poll. It’s not necessarily about my writing specifically, but just in general.

Without further ado…

Anyway, just let me know! I really like some of my abandoned WIP works and really like the writing, but I just… I just can’t find it in myself to continue. I don’t know why, I just get a block and for me, it’s impossible to overcome it. None of those posts about how to overcome writer’s block work for me, and at this point I’ve come to not worry myself over abandoning fics. I write for fun, and if writing just becomes stressful and unenjoyable, I prefer to leave it than stress. But I still love the WIPs I wrote and want to share them, even if they’ll never be finished.

(Also, I do know that ultimately this is my decision and I can post whatever I want. I more just want to know what all of y’all think about this. I write for me, but I post for others, and I want to know what others would want to see in this case. If that makes sense.)

#My WIPs are from multiple fandoms which is why I’m not specifying that here #And there is technically the possibility of me continuing them one day??#But it’s very very unlikely #Since I will TRY to continue them and I just… can’t #I have two modes as a writer: write 300+K words in a month and a half in a manic drive to write #Or get partway through a fic; grow bored/stuck; and never write for that fic again #It’s honestly a very frustrating trait of mine but eh

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lesbiansanemi · 6 months

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What is the point of insurance. I file a claim. They call me. Say they need more information. None of the information is about the actual incident, it’s all stuff they already have on file about my car (make and model, license plate, etc). Oh! They also have to ask if I had a child’s car seat in the car at the time of the incident, because apparently that’s important. And finally after all of this I ask, “so now what? Are you gonna pay for this?” and the lady goes “to be completely honest, it will probably be cheaper for you to find a shop on your own that will do it the cheapest than go through one connected with your insurance because you’re technically at fault for this and will end up paying for it out of pocket most likely because of the way your copay is set up.” HELLO??? HELLO!?!? I’m at fault for someone breaking my window and trying to steal my car???? God fucking dammit I hate insurance why am I PAYING for this every month just for you to not cover anything 😭😭

#it is a new car and through the dealership I have a full warranty #so fingers crossed THEY will cover the window repair #I just know even if they do it will take WAY longer #and it’s starting to get cold out so I really don’t wanna have to drive long with no window #I guess it could be worse my drive to work is only about 15 min but stillllllll #idk I just called the dealership but no one was available to talk to in the repair center #so I left a message I hope they get back to me at some point in the next couple hours #if not I’ll try calling again #idk… absolute WORST case scenario and I can’t get insurance OR my warranty to cover this #it’ll probably be about 300 bucks based on the estimates I got from a couple other shops #which like is doable for me it’s not the end of the world #I’ll just be stretched tight for a month #and probably have to put off getting my wisdom teeth removed since I was JUST getting ready to set that up #since they’re getting really painful #(if insurance will even cover them el oh el if not I’ll just fucking suffer)#uuugggghhhhh this is just so fucking frustrating and annoying #even the insurance lady was like ‘ooo that sucks it’s a new car too’#like YEAH GIRL I KNOW YOU DONT HAVE TO TELL ME #I’m 😭😭😭😭#kaz rambles

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darlingsart · 12 days

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Oh also!!

This blog recently hit 300 followers! It really means so much to see so many people enjoying not only my art but my headcanons and OCs too, even my fics. I feel like I grow more as artist every time I post so thanks so much for all the love and support! 💗

#angie.txt #300 of y’all here enjoying my stuff is insane like. I’m just happy to occupy this little corner of fandom with you guys ❤️#I’ve made some cool friends over the past few months and I’ve really just been enjoying myself on this blog #especially with my OCs and everything which I was terrified to share at first but I love that y’all love them too and UGH I’m emotional lol

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lionfloss · 2 years

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it does not cost 6k quit lying for tumblr clout

wasn't gonna justify this with a response for obvious reasons but it might be enlightening for the younger crowd or non-usa people

#it's not like some pills where if you don't have insurance it's like $300 #which is insane but i would pay it to get the meds that work #answered x #and i need 300mg a month

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reedox · 2 months

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Feeling so very hmmmmmm at the realization that school is really hard to juggle with life because I keep fucking. Not eating. It's not even because of my mom anymore I am just so broke I would rather go without????

#paychecks go to shows and rent 👍🏻#help me manage by budget *3k a month on diy shows* *$300 monthly on food*#help im starvinng #tw ed #I need to get over it now that I have a job but that requires going to grocery store which I will not have much time 2 dew #self aware that I am being dumb #now I can finally fix it

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