hi i'm slushie! i make comics and drawings of mostly my take on guy and honey from redacted audio + project meridian & other audio rps. i write occassionally.
requests are sorta kinda open + it depends on if I feel like doing it or not but feel free to suggest something if you want!
a kiss so good it brought me back to this account! the goodbye post still stands, but yknow.. sometimes the muse just strikes so hard that i can't promise being away forever lmao
honestly i've had this vision for doc and hush since that first audio, doc being a more outspoken and firm person and hush being their gentle counterpart
Hi, everyone. I apologize for the long absence and disappearance, but after being gone for a while, I realized that I'd rather not leave without saying goodbye.
Sadly I have lost interest in Redacted and will no longer be active in this account. Although I might still use my ao3 account to post writing in other fandoms and things that catch my eye. This account will still be up! As I understand how painful it is to lose archive of the things you like, I won't deactivate the account so everything will still be here to come back to.
Creating art and writing for this account got me through a very difficult period of my life- and it's all thanks to the support that I've gotten from everyone. Slushiepizza has felt like home for me for a long time, and it's given me the chance to talk and interact with really kind and talented people. But it's time for me to pack my bags and move on to other things.
I'm very grateful to have found all of you, and I'll always look back on the fandom, Guy, and the friends I have made here very fondly.
And If you're wondering about the lack of resolution in my Guy comics, just know that in my mind, he and Honey are getting ready for work in the morning with the sunlight passing through the curtains of their room. Guy has had his most recent screenplay approved, and Honey is very proud of him. They're still very in love.
It's post new years, and they're awaiting the future with open arms because they know that things are good and will get better.
Everything will get better.
I hope this year and the next and the next and the next treats all of you just as kindly as you have to me. See you around! Thank you so much for everything.
trick or treat, lovely🎃 ahh if I'm lucky enough, I'd love to have a treat with Guy and Honey, please!!
~@slushiepizza
Hello, Slushie ^.^
For some reason, whenever I attempted to write this request, it would always involve some level of angst despite Guy's goofy nature.
But as I was listening to the concert audio, I leaned into the concept. Why not add in some angst since Guy mentions all the issues from the concert and concerts can be quite overstimulating even without puking people and general admission tickets?
I scrapped this fic TWICE, but it came back and so I figured what the heck, take some Guy comforting Honey through a hectic concert ^^ Things aren't always this simple to fix, but Guy is great with communication and I feel he would do his best to remind Honey that things aren't going to fall apart just because they have a spat.
-0-0-0-0-
TW: Referenced/Implied Social Anxiety, Described Overstimulation of Senses, Implied Past Abandonment, Referenced/Implied Fear of Abandonment, Brief References to Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
OHHHHHH THIS IS AMAZING!!!! I love, LOVE how you write them 😭😭 This made me so emotional, especially with how caring and kind you write Guy. I really love the way you wrote his texting style, I don't know if this is intentional or if I'm looking too deep into it, but I love that his eloquence peeks through his writing. Guy's so emotionally intelligent, it's really charming.
Hi, another campaign i was hoping you could help spread. This is for Dr Maryam Sendawi’s family. Maryam herself is in Egypt where she works as a surgeon, but her family is in Gaza. Her mother and one of her nephews were martyred early on during this genocide, and her father has medical needs. There are also children in her family. She’s had very little support so far. She told me her first priority is to raise 5,000 to evacuate her father so he can get medical care.
Thank you for sending this in ❤️ Here is the link to their gofundme again:
Hello world, I am writing to you so that I can save my … Maryam Mohammed needs your support for (Urgent) Help Dr Maryam’s family evacu
Their goal is €60,000 and is at €1,589 as of writing this. Still far to their goal but as stated in the ask above, they are prioritizing to reach at least €5,000 to evacuate Maryam's father. They're not that far off of that initial amount so please donate whatever you can and share their links. Follow Maryam's instagram as well and give her engagement there to boost her posts:
Welcome back to Instagram. Sign in to check out what your friends, family & interests have been capturing & sharing around the world.
Another update, this time from Maryam herself: she sent me this video last night to get a second opinion. She is exhausted and devastated by her family’s situation and the fact she’s in Egypt working long hours as a doctor. She has told me repeatedly that she “saves lives everyday but can’t save [her] family”. Please, please share this and help her.
Maryam just needs €14 more to reach €2,000!!! again her first goal is to evacuate her father which is €5k, but with the invasion of Rafah her family has had to evacuate once again and they may need supplies so please don’t hesitate to help! i know a lot of folks in the states are getting paid tomorrow so if you can, please donate!
i see people in my notes right now liking posts i reblog so if you in my notes seein me on your dash you need to reblog this post. i am so dead serious.
reblog this post. dont just like it. reblog it. donate to this campaign. especially if you know me personally and consider me a friend, REBLOG THIS i aint playin
Her family finally surpassed €2k!!! this is a huge jump from overnight when she hadn’t even hit €2k!!! thank you to anyone who saw this from here and donated and reblogged. there is still a long way to go and Maryam was horribly depressed last night. she told me about her day and how heartbroken she is, and i just hope that this gives her some hope because this is an incredible jump!
i printed some fliers which someone she knows had made that i’ll be hanging around my area along with two other GFM fliers so if anyone wants the flier for her campaign to post up here it is:
Please remember DO NOT SCREENSHOT THIS. a screenshot will corrupt the QR code. if you have any issues downloading this please DM me and I will send you the file i have directly.
thank you again to anyone who might have helped her get this far overnight. ♥️
Our house in Gaza was bombed, we escaped to #Rafah, and now Rafah is being evacuated, and my mother lives on the sand without shelter, not even a tent 😭😭
As you can see, her hand injury is getting worse due to the lack of food and medicine, causing her to have spasms in her extremities 💔💔
Please, my mother is in danger, help her get out to a safe area before it is too late🙏
Please share and donate, believe me every single dollar will make a difference and save my family life😔🙏
welcome everybody
I am Alaa from Gaza I created this link in order to sav… Alaa Al khateeb needs your support for Help my mum to trav
this is a vetted fundraiser which as of today (05/10/24) has reached £4,080/ £6,000. if you feel hopeless and helpless because of the situation in Gaza please think of the positive impact your donation could have. you could be saving her mother's life! even a small sum helps.
this is a vetted fundraiser as seen on @/el-shab-hussein's list. i am also in contact with Alaa via whatsapp and can attest this is legitimate.
as of today (05/09/24) this fundraiser has only reached $ 2.836 out of their $ 15.000 goal.
please consider donating, even a small amount genuinely helps to save this couple from impending doom. they are only two people and this goal is comparatively easier to reach. if you feel hopeless amidst the destruction and genocide in Gaza and don't know how to help, with a small donation you can make a real impact for this family.
Tags : Father-Son Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Mental Health Issues, Angst, Hurt-no-Comfort, Executive Dysfunction, Guy is more similar to his dad than he thought much to his dismay, and he has to grit his teeth and move on Toxic Family Dynamic
Word Count : 1,772
ao3
notes: something something he's gonna make it through this year if it kills him /j; both guy and his father are hinted to have mental health issues that i didn't specify for fear of ruining the immersion, but i do have a specific condition in mind when i wrote them this way
Guy knew what sort of day it was as soon as he woke up that afternoon.
His small dorm room was a vacuum, where time moved both like molasses and the speed of light. The dollar-store curtains did little to keep the afternoon sun away from the room. The AC slowly hummed. He could hear laughter outside- probably people coming back from class. His bones were stationary, and the defeated sort of embrace of the blanket welcomed him like a home.
He mentally started counting down from ten and forced himself to move. He slowly made his way to the bathroom in the muted darkness, wincing when he accidentally kicked something plastic and sent it skidding across the floor. He’ll get it later.
Guy found himself in front of the bathroom mirror and recognized what was in his eyes as something pathetic. The look on his face was familiar, and he’d seen that look a million times before.
He hated what he saw.
—
Small hands slowly nudged a weary shoulder that early June. Everything was hazy in the heat of summer. A talk show- no, a sports program, was playing in the background from the CRT screen.
“Dad. Daaad. Play with me,” he whined at the fresh age of five. “I’ll be the fire truck, ‘an you’ll be the train.”
His Dad, a mountain of a man impossible to climb, laid himself against his chair. In that house, everyone shared everything except for that chair in the corner of the living room. That chair was his, and over the years, it’d soon mold itself into the shape of his body and its fabric would be stained with his beer.
“Why don’t ‘cha bother your mom, instead, huh?” he grunted, unmoving.
“She’s at the store,” Guy replied.
“Go outside, or something. Y’know when I grew up, we used to just go to the woods and just. Played with sticks. You young’uns are soft, always need coddlin’ and buggerin’. Can’t even sit still for a second.”
He looked up at his father’s stubbled, rugged face. Marred by the heat of the sun. “I can do that?!”
“Sure, son,” the man looked at him with an almost sad sort of look. His labored arm, wiry and thick from long hours at the auto shop, reached out to muss up his hair. “Your Pa’s… tired.”
Guy was hunting for bugs in the backyard when his mother came back home from the store and yelled at her husband for letting him get dirty. And for sitting there all day, never doing anything useful. And that she wished that she never married someone who’d give up so easily as him.
He remembered that his father was tired a lot.
—
Guy did the least he could do. He brushed his teeth and had a single slice of bread for breakfast. Anything is better than nothing, a dear friend told him. He guessed it was right because, on days when he felt like he wanted to let the mattress mold itself to the shape of his body, the only way he could survive was by keeping the ball rolling. A routine- or some form of it. What he did barely counted as one, but it was better than letting himself fall into the trap of falling back asleep.
He opened the laptop, checked the calendar, and mentally kicked himself.
The deadline was today.
Guy liked to believe that he was a capable, competent person. But as soon as he opened the word document to write the last act of his script- a task that he’d put off from days before- his mind was full of noise.
He craved mind-numbing comfort, so he sought it. He sunk into his chair and scrolled on his phone. In the back of his mind, he felt angry.
_
Business was rough for the auto shop, and it later closed when Guy was sixteen. His dad never looked for another job- and he soon took his role as a stay-at-home father.
The arguments soon died down, maybe because his parents had already worn each other out by that point. They barely saw each other anyway- his mother’s job at the hospital as a residential nurse kept it that way.
His father was itching for control- and home was the only thing close enough to that.
He was neurotic about where things were supposed to be. The chairs were supposed to be aligned with the floorboards, and Guy has had to sweep the floors multiple times. If a strand of his hair was found- it’d send his father into ballistics.
Hair was another issue.
“Isn’t it time for a haircut?” his dad asked as he vacuumed, without ever meeting Guy in the eyes.
"I like it this way,” he replied.
“Makes you look like a chick.”
—
The videos on his phone flashed colors and various soundbites. It felt incomprehensible to him, and his mind fell into the space between awareness and daydream- a thick fog.
He didn’t feel like catching the deadline. Maybe he should just give up and not do it. He could lie down and not do anything at all.
“This is how I stayed productive even on days when I was exhausted and didn’t have any motivation. The Eisenhower matrix can help you manage your time-” the YouTube video droned and Guy felt himself slip away.
He probably was just lazy. He needed one day to get himself together and he could train himself to have discipline and not rely on motivation, or start time blocking, or start writing bullet journals and get his life together.
—
Guy grew to realize that he hated his father. Hated the way he seemed to always park himself in front of the TV and not shower for days. Disgusting and good-for-nothing. The way he would only get up to go around the house and make sure that everything was in pristine condition. Unused, untouched. Guy hadn’t eaten in his dining room for ages.
His father could’ve tried if he wanted to. He could’ve applied for other jobs, could’ve cared more about him. But he wallowed in the unknown frustrating corners of his mind and let days pass him by.
He could see the weight sagging his mother’s shoulders-the exhaustion in her eyes as she picked him up from school before going to her night shift.
Guy’s biggest fantasy when he was growing up was for his parents to get a divorce. It never came, and in a sick and twisted way, they did need each other to survive. She needed the illusion of a family, and he needed the money.
“Why can’t you do it for me!” he yelled in a particularly heated fight.
“I’m doing this for you! What do you even want?! For this family to be torn apart and to become the talk of the town?”
“I don’t need you to stay together when all you do is yell at each other,” he pleaded.
“You don’t understand,” she said and ended their discussion there.
—
Before he knew it, it was dark outside and he hadn’t written a single word for his script. The deadline was in five hours, and he was sure that he’d be dropped from the project if he didn’t manage to make it.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A mix of voices rang in his skull: ‘The deadline is in five hours. You’ve done nothing, stupid.’ And ‘maybe you should eat something. You’re hungry, and you’ve only had bread.’ with ‘you should try starting now. You can still fight for this gig. It’s not over yet.’
Guy stood up and approached the pile of laundry on the corner of his bed. He mechanically folded them and arranged them in his drawer of clothes. It gave him the feeling that he had his life together. He hated the fact that he had to do such an ordeal just to do basic tasks. Double the effort for half the result.
Everything felt like a hill he had to climb. Strategies, timers, to-do lists, tricks. It was frustrating, the fact that he was so damaged that he couldn’t straightforwardly do anything.
Tears started to cloud his vision and all he could do was blink them away in anger. Anger at himself for being affected by people who do not care for him in the slightest (A lie, he will soon realize. They did care- but it was the only sort of care that they understood.) He hated that he was a carbon copy of his father despite having tried so desperately to be different.
He studied hard in school, and he worked double, and triple shifts at Max’s to support himself. But he couldn’t escape from what he was. This… sickness, the willingness to give up so easily was passed down from his father like a curse. It was in his blood, written in his bones. At the end of the day, he was still his father’s son.
—
The thing is, his dad did try. Between the narcissist, and the mid-life crisis-ridden man, there were glimpses of what he was underneath it all. What he could’ve been.
He remembered when it stormed all morning before he had to turn in a science project for freshman year in high school. He’d woken up late, and by the time he was at the bus stop, lugging poster board and styrofoam diagrams in a wheelbarrow behind him, it’d left.
His father had run to catch up with him with an umbrella.
“I’ll walk ‘ya to school. Don’t want ‘em to get wet when you’d barely sleep making them.”
It’d been embarrassing. For someone his age to be walked to school by his dad. But all he noticed was the fact that his father had leaned the umbrella completely over him and the wheelbarrow. He was drenched, and he’d never been too fond of the cold.
“I can wear my jacket,” he mumbled. “Just tilt it your way. You’re getting wet.”
“Doesn’t matter,” his dad replied. “The only thing that matters is for you to get to school okay. Get good grades so you don’t become a loser.”
—
Guy wiped his tears and sat himself back down in front of the laptop. He let the all-encompassing, overwhelming mix of anger and sadness run through him. He wasn’t going to fuck it up. He wouldn’t let anything get in the way of the work that he loved doing. He gritted his teeth and did it even when every part of him protested.
Tags : Father-Son Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Mental Health Issues, Angst, Hurt-no-Comfort, Executive Dysfunction, Guy is more similar to his dad than he thought much to his dismay, and he has to grit his teeth and move on Toxic Family Dynamic
Word Count : 1,772
ao3
notes: something something he's gonna make it through this year if it kills him /j; both guy and his father are hinted to have mental health issues that i didn't specify for fear of ruining the immersion, but i do have a specific condition in mind when i wrote them this way
Guy knew what sort of day it was as soon as he woke up that afternoon.
His small dorm room was a vacuum, where time moved both like molasses and the speed of light. The dollar-store curtains did little to keep the afternoon sun away from the room. The AC slowly hummed. He could hear laughter outside- probably people coming back from class. His bones were stationary, and the defeated sort of embrace of the blanket welcomed him like a home.
He mentally started counting down from ten and forced himself to move. He slowly made his way to the bathroom in the muted darkness, wincing when he accidentally kicked something plastic and sent it skidding across the floor. He’ll get it later.
Guy found himself in front of the bathroom mirror and recognized what was in his eyes as something pathetic. The look on his face was familiar, and he’d seen that look a million times before.
He hated what he saw.
—
Small hands slowly nudged a weary shoulder that early June. Everything was hazy in the heat of summer. A talk show- no, a sports program, was playing in the background from the CRT screen.
“Dad. Daaad. Play with me,” he whined at the fresh age of five. “I’ll be the fire truck, ‘an you’ll be the train.”
His Dad, a mountain of a man impossible to climb, laid himself against his chair. In that house, everyone shared everything except for that chair in the corner of the living room. That chair was his, and over the years, it’d soon mold itself into the shape of his body and its fabric would be stained with his beer.
“Why don’t ‘cha bother your mom, instead, huh?” he grunted, unmoving.
“She’s at the store,” Guy replied.
“Go outside, or something. Y’know when I grew up, we used to just go to the woods and just. Played with sticks. You young’uns are soft, always need coddlin’ and buggerin’. Can’t even sit still for a second.”
He looked up at his father’s stubbled, rugged face. Marred by the heat of the sun. “I can do that?!”
“Sure, son,” the man looked at him with an almost sad sort of look. His labored arm, wiry and thick from long hours at the auto shop, reached out to muss up his hair. “Your Pa’s… tired.”
Guy was hunting for bugs in the backyard when his mother came back home from the store and yelled at her husband for letting him get dirty. And for sitting there all day, never doing anything useful. And that she wished that she never married someone who’d give up so easily as him.
He remembered that his father was tired a lot.
—
Guy did the least he could do. He brushed his teeth and had a single slice of bread for breakfast. Anything is better than nothing, a dear friend told him. He guessed it was right because, on days when he felt like he wanted to let the mattress mold itself to the shape of his body, the only way he could survive was by keeping the ball rolling. A routine- or some form of it. What he did barely counted as one, but it was better than letting himself fall into the trap of falling back asleep.
He opened the laptop, checked the calendar, and mentally kicked himself.
The deadline was today.
Guy liked to believe that he was a capable, competent person. But as soon as he opened the word document to write the last act of his script- a task that he’d put off from days before- his mind was full of noise.
He craved mind-numbing comfort, so he sought it. He sunk into his chair and scrolled on his phone. In the back of his mind, he felt angry.
_
Business was rough for the auto shop, and it later closed when Guy was sixteen. His dad never looked for another job- and he soon took his role as a stay-at-home father.
The arguments soon died down, maybe because his parents had already worn each other out by that point. They barely saw each other anyway- his mother’s job at the hospital as a residential nurse kept it that way.
His father was itching for control- and home was the only thing close enough to that.
He was neurotic about where things were supposed to be. The chairs were supposed to be aligned with the floorboards, and Guy has had to sweep the floors multiple times. If a strand of his hair was found- it’d send his father into ballistics.
Hair was another issue.
“Isn’t it time for a haircut?” his dad asked as he vacuumed, without ever meeting Guy in the eyes.
"I like it this way,” he replied.
“Makes you look like a chick.”
—
The videos on his phone flashed colors and various soundbites. It felt incomprehensible to him, and his mind fell into the space between awareness and daydream- a thick fog.
He didn’t feel like catching the deadline. Maybe he should just give up and not do it. He could lie down and not do anything at all.
“This is how I stayed productive even on days when I was exhausted and didn’t have any motivation. The Eisenhower matrix can help you manage your time-” the YouTube video droned and Guy felt himself slip away.
He probably was just lazy. He needed one day to get himself together and he could train himself to have discipline and not rely on motivation, or start time blocking, or start writing bullet journals and get his life together.
—
Guy grew to realize that he hated his father. Hated the way he seemed to always park himself in front of the TV and not shower for days. Disgusting and good-for-nothing. The way he would only get up to go around the house and make sure that everything was in pristine condition. Unused, untouched. Guy hadn’t eaten in his dining room for ages.
His father could’ve tried if he wanted to. He could’ve applied for other jobs, could’ve cared more about him. But he wallowed in the unknown frustrating corners of his mind and let days pass him by.
He could see the weight sagging his mother’s shoulders-the exhaustion in her eyes as she picked him up from school before going to her night shift.
Guy’s biggest fantasy when he was growing up was for his parents to get a divorce. It never came, and in a sick and twisted way, they did need each other to survive. She needed the illusion of a family, and he needed the money.
“Why can’t you do it for me!” he yelled in a particularly heated fight.
“I’m doing this for you! What do you even want?! For this family to be torn apart and to become the talk of the town?”
“I don’t need you to stay together when all you do is yell at each other,” he pleaded.
“You don’t understand,” she said and ended their discussion there.
—
Before he knew it, it was dark outside and he hadn’t written a single word for his script. The deadline was in five hours, and he was sure that he’d be dropped from the project if he didn’t manage to make it.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A mix of voices rang in his skull: ‘The deadline is in five hours. You’ve done nothing, stupid.’ And ‘maybe you should eat something. You’re hungry, and you’ve only had bread.’ with ‘you should try starting now. You can still fight for this gig. It’s not over yet.’
Guy stood up and approached the pile of laundry on the corner of his bed. He mechanically folded them and arranged them in his drawer of clothes. It gave him the feeling that he had his life together. He hated the fact that he had to do such an ordeal just to do basic tasks. Double the effort for half the result.
Everything felt like a hill he had to climb. Strategies, timers, to-do lists, tricks. It was frustrating, the fact that he was so damaged that he couldn’t straightforwardly do anything.
Tears started to cloud his vision and all he could do was blink them away in anger. Anger at himself for being affected by people who do not care for him in the slightest (A lie, he will soon realize. They did care- but it was the only sort of care that they understood.) He hated that he was a carbon copy of his father despite having tried so desperately to be different.
He studied hard in school, and he worked double, and triple shifts at Max’s to support himself. But he couldn’t escape from what he was. This… sickness, the willingness to give up so easily was passed down from his father like a curse. It was in his blood, written in his bones. At the end of the day, he was still his father’s son.
—
The thing is, his dad did try. Between the narcissist, and the mid-life crisis-ridden man, there were glimpses of what he was underneath it all. What he could’ve been.
He remembered when it stormed all morning before he had to turn in a science project for freshman year in high school. He’d woken up late, and by the time he was at the bus stop, lugging poster board and styrofoam diagrams in a wheelbarrow behind him, it’d left.
His father had run to catch up with him with an umbrella.
“I’ll walk ‘ya to school. Don’t want ‘em to get wet when you’d barely sleep making them.”
It’d been embarrassing. For someone his age to be walked to school by his dad. But all he noticed was the fact that his father had leaned the umbrella completely over him and the wheelbarrow. He was drenched, and he’d never been too fond of the cold.
“I can wear my jacket,” he mumbled. “Just tilt it your way. You’re getting wet.”
“Doesn’t matter,” his dad replied. “The only thing that matters is for you to get to school okay. Get good grades so you don’t become a loser.”
—
Guy wiped his tears and sat himself back down in front of the laptop. He let the all-encompassing, overwhelming mix of anger and sadness run through him. He wasn’t going to fuck it up. He wouldn’t let anything get in the way of the work that he loved doing. He gritted his teeth and did it even when every part of him protested.
