#let alone something with DECENT wages

[kelpeigh]

The need to get a better job that pays a livable wage

versus

The instant tailspin into cataclysmic despair into which I’m thrown upon merely opening job listing sites

[pemiski]

tags primary teacher! sae x fem! reader, unnecessarily detailed imagery of sae jumpstarting a car because that’s a very beautiful man I do not apologise

author’s note you thought I was never gonna go back to teacher sae again huh?? I know I said I was going to focus on the long fic but I’m unpredictable like that (I’m not I just have no sense of priorities)

The engine gives one last cough before giving up entirely.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath.

It’s been a long day— the kind that stretches you thin in ways only a classroom full of five-year-olds can. You love them, of course you do, but Leah had knocked over one of the potted plants during morning circle, and you’d spent your entire break sprinting to the nearest grocery in hopes of finding a halfway decent replacement.

Then Tommy cried for a solid twenty minutes because Jerry (the class mascot, a laminated cartoon mouse with googly eyes) had gone missing. You’d promised he’d be back by one, and had in consequence spent most of lunch break crawling on the floor, only to discover Jerry had slipped behind the blackboard, wedged in a place your arm physically cannot reach. Tommy had been inconsolable when you told him.

And now, after knowing you still have a stack of marking waiting for you on the kitchen table, you hear the engine turn over, and it’s just one thing too many.

You’ll figure it out, you tell yourself. Or at least, you’ll pretend to. All it takes is a little poking around under the hood until someone who actually knows what they’re doing shows up, if the universe ever feels like throwing you a bone.

“Car troubles?”

You turn your head, slower than you mean to, but he’s already walking over: Sae Itoshi. Again. The newest addition to the history department, too pretty for someone who talks so little. He waves at a kid being picked up at the curb who was calling out one last ‘have a nice week-end!’, and then crouches beside your car like this is routine.

“Car troubles?” he says again, quieter this time. maybe he thinks you didn’t hear him the first time.

You blink at him. Your brain works overtime to find a response that doesn’t sound utterly foolish. Gosh, this is not the bone you were talking about.

“Yeah,” you say, brushing your hair back from your face. “It’s, um… not starting. But it’s fine. I know a guy around here, so—”

You smile too quickly. You don’t know a guy around here. In fact, you don’t know a single mechanic in the entire city. But you’re not about to let him be the one to open the hood and fix it, because, ultimately, you’re not sure what’s worse— the car dying, or the thought of Sae Itoshi seeing you like this.

“I can take a look. Mechanics don’t come cheap these days anyway,” he says, almost offhandedly. “Save you the money.”

You want to say no. You should. You want to tell him that it’s fine, really, that you’ve got it under control. But the truth is— you don’t. Not really. And living on a primary teacher’s wage doesn’t exactly leave room for breakdowns, let alone the cost of calling someone out to fix them.

“Errr,” you start, hesitating, “alright then. At your heart’s content.”

You say it with a smile, trying to diffuse the tension, but then again, maybe it’s just you masking up your own discomfort. Your fingers tighten around the edges of your car as he turns to look at you and gives you a small smile in return. The kind that makes your chest twist a little too tightly.

He pops the hood like it’s second nature, leans forward, and peers inside. There’s a quiet sort of concentration on his face, and the contracting muscles under his shirt make it impossibly hard to look away.

And then, something shifts, and his brows pull just slightly together.

“When’s the last time you had your car looked at?”

You blink, unsure how to answer. “I don’t… remember? It’s been a while.”

Sae glances at you over his shoulder, eyebrows raising just slightly. “You know you’re supposed to get it checked every year, right? For MOT?”

Right. The MOT. The mandatory inspection you’ve conveniently pushed to the very back of your mind, somewhere between laundry day and booking a dentist appointment.

“Technically, yes,” you mumble. “Practically, I might’ve forgotten.”

He huffs a soft breath, something between amusement and disbelief, and turns back to the engine. Your heart is still tapping nervously against your ribs, and his slight snicker does nothing to quell said tapping.

You’re standing off to the side, arms crossed loosely over your chest. It’s cooler out than it was earlier, but the sun is still bright and gleams down at your car.

Sae doesn’t say much while he works— not that you expect him to, anyway— and stands with his weight leaned into the open hood, one hand braced against the frame, the other reaching down to fiddle with something you don’t recognize. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, forearms flexing every time he moves.

You try not to stare. You do. But it’s hard not to notice the way his jaw tenses when he leans forward, or the way his shirt lifts slightly when he shifts to one side. He’s always been a little unreadable, but right now, he feels almost close. Like someone you could touch if you weren’t so afraid of what that might do to you.

Eventually, he steps back, letting the hood fall shut with a soft clunk. He turns to you, brushing his hands on his jeans.

“Should be alright for now,” he says, tone as neutral as ever. “But don’t forget to check it out.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“The car,” he repeats. A beat passes, and then, slightly softer, “Don’t forget to have it checked out.”

Oh. Right.

The car.

@pemiski 2025 - all rights reserved. I do not authorize any reposting translating or modifying of my content on any platform

[halfway-happyyy]

could you perhaps write frankie with reader who has anxiety? ive got something scary happening tomorrow and ive been on the verge of throwing up all day lol help ANYWAYS i get really overstimulated from it and end up being a bitch when i dont mean to and i just need frankie to look after me rn ugh

sorry for the rambles queen ily

sending you strength for whatever you're going through, friend 💙

~

frank's compassion came in a myriad of different shapes and colours.

on nights when your brain waged all-out war on you, his comfort was akin to the flicker of smoldering embers from the tail-end of a fire. his entire body radiated warmth; he was present and gentle with you always, and he never needed to say much. he just held you closer when the tears raced each other down your cheeks.

"i know it's scary, baby. you're not alone in this."

on the days when your thoughts were too much, when your fuse was thread-bare from overstimulation, his comfort was the hazy glow of a nightlight at the end of a dark hallway. being as attentive as he was, he always knew when you were less in need of a cuddle, and more in need of a decent distraction to take your mind off of the current situation. whether it was with a colouring book, or your favourite record, he was ready for you.

and then there were the days where getting out of bed was a task almost too much to bear. when the bad days outnumbered the good and you had a hard time remembering how it felt to feel the sun shine on your skin. when you found yourself in this predicament, his comfort often felt as all-encompassing as the ocean - like you could very easily lose yourself in it, if you wanted to. so he'd shake you awake from your 2 pm nap, with a cup of tea in his hand. "let's get you into the bath, hm? come on, sweetheart." he'd lead you by hand to the washroom where the tub was already full and steaming. "just gonna give you a quick wash-up, and then we can go back to lyin' down, okay?"

there was an intense relief in realizing just how good he was at taking care of you always - but especially when you were down and out.

"it's okay not to be okay, sweetheart. despite how scary it may all seem, the sun will rise and we will try again tomorrow, hm? I'll be behind ya every step of the way."

[lucy-frostblade]

Aster was six years old when their parents got divorced. They didn’t really remember it, they barely understood the consequences of what was happening. 

Aster’s mom moved away when they were seven and Aster stayed with their dad. They weren’t sad about it. At this point, they didn’t remember their mom enough to care. 

Their dad was good, always putting up with Aster’s quickly changing fashion, their different phases that they moved through until they found one that stuck. He was the first one Aster told when they changed their pronouns, the first one he told when they changed their name. He was the one who got it changed in the school system and got them a pronoun pin, one that they still have on their backpack. 

The second person Aster told was Solé, their best friend who they’ve known since they were thirteen. 

Solé was the one who took Aster shopping, pulling them through the mall going into shop after shop to find clothes that fit Aster, eventually stopping in the thrift store, grabbing band tees and baggy pants and cheap jewelry that weighted down their fingers in a good way. Aster spent weeks after that, compiling clothes they liked, hand sewing patches onto their jackets and pants until their hands were covered in bandaids. On their fifteenth birthday, their dad gave them a sewing machine, proudly stating how he looked into finding the best one for them. Aster would never admit it, but they were close to tears. 

Aster’s dad loved Solé, let her sleepover even if it was a school night, took the three of them out to dinner in middle school when Solé’s parents were working late. 

So, when Aster’s dad suggested they get a job, Solé suggested working at the museum together. Their interviews both went well, and they were hired together, thank gods, Aster did not want to do it alone. 

Aster wasn’t good at school, they barely tried, and when they did try, they didn’t do well. Solé was the smart one out of the two of them, scribbling notes faster than Aster could process what was being taught. Aster wasn’t good at school, but they were excellent at making coffee. 

Aster and Solé were expressly hired because no one wanted to work at the cafe. Most people would rather work in the museum itself, or at the mall. (Aster wanted to work at the mall. The record store was hiring, but they never got back to them. Aster was only a little mad about it.) 

They were two of four people on shifts of two throughout the day. They had the afternoon/closing shifts, and the other two had the morning/opening shifts. Aster didn’t know enough about workplace ethics to debate whether or not it was fair, but they got paid a little under double the minimum wage in their state, so they weren’t complaining. 

Aster fell into a comfortable rhythm. Get up, make coffee for them and their dad, get ready for school, get picked up by Solé (Aster didn’t have a car or a license, after failing the driver’s test twice, they gave up.) suffer through school, go to work, have a decent time at work, go home. The routine was good, it was comfortable. They could suffer through high school if it meant they could go to work and have something they were good at, something they liked doing with a person that they cared about. 

Aster twists a ring around their finger absentmindedly as they look for the caramel syrup in the backrooms. They almost missed a letter getting pushed under the door. Almost.

Aster hums and kneels to pick it up, flicking out their pocket knife and tearing open the envelope. Their eyes flick over the letter. No signature, no discernable handwriting. It could be a joke, for all they know. 

Meet at midnight in the Natural History Museum. 

At least they could get in easily. 

Aster shoves the note in their back pocket and stands up, tightening their apron and locating the syrup. The mysterious note was a problem for later. 

[yournaothings]

I have a lot of wip, more for myself that I'll probably, most likely never share. But, I was thinking of all the little fics and stories I've been writing.

Undertale, my favorite Sans is Reaper. Yet, I haven't written anything for him. I have an idea for Reaper, but it involves Geno and Goth.

Basically, reader (totally a self insert by the way 👀) is roommates with Reaper and Geno. Simply because she needed a place to stay when she met Reaper. Of course he told her to move in before asking Geno.

Geno isn't happy about this, especially since Goth is about a year old now. Reaper letting a stranger in their home was reckless, but Reaper promised that reader was safe.

Reader moves in, she doesn't own a lot of stuff, so it's easy and mostly stress free. She has a decent job, getting paid minimum wage. She buys her own food and once in a while will cook for Reaper and Geno. (This doesn't happen until after Geno warms up to her.)

Eventually, Reader agrees to babysit Goth. Here is where it gets messy. With more free time, Geno is able to do more and have more time alone (without Reaper around too, lol.) but, Goth starts loving on reader; because she sings to him a lot. So, Goth recognizes her voice and will want her.

Example; Reader wakes in the middle of the night to hear Goth crying. She goes in to check on him; after she cares for him and warms him up something to eat, she lays on the sofa in the living room while cradling him. They fall asleep there.

Geno wakes in the early morning- the sun isn't up yet. He panics and wakes Reaper. "Goth is missing!"

Reaper isn't too concerned, but he does get up and help Geno search for Goth. He could have climbed out of his crib- after all, he was an adventurous little guy.

Geno rushes into the living and sees Reader cradling a snoozing Goth, while she sleeps. He's well protected, positioned to where when he moves or tries to escape, she'll wake up.

Reaper awes, and is quick to snap a picture cause it's so cute!

Geno is /pissed/ but doesn't voice it- his face sure does show it though. Reaper is not bothered. Geno gently removes Goth from reader which startles reader awake. Geno walks away while Reaper calms the reader's worries.

Days go by, reader notices that Geno is giving her the cold shoulder and isn't allowing her to help with Goth unless Reaper has Goth.

And of course, this makes Reader upset. She goes to Reaper about it. "Is Geno angry with me?"

"of course! He's just been busy with other things-"

"Geno acts like I'm going to steal Goth, Reaper. Did I... Overstep?"

"no, of course not. Don't worry about it, I'll talk with him. He's not angry."

Reader isn't convinced, but is left to let it go for now. Until she over hears Reaper and Geno talking about the issue.

"Of course I'm angry! Goth is /my/ child! I'm the parent! She doesn't need to worry about caring for Goth."

Reaper isn't upset and only grins. "She just wanted to help. Don't be angry, just let her know when you need help-"

"I don't need it."

"....you're jealous that Goth has been wanting to spend more time with reader, aren't you?" Reaper finds this funny and tells Geno this. It makes Geno more upset but Geno eventually promises to talk to reader.

Reader hears most of the conversation and walks away. She decides maybe it's best to move out. She's causing problems with Geno and she doesn't mean to. Last thing she needs to do is split the two up.

Reader leaves for work early the next morning, Geno isn't able to speak with her until she comes home. However, it comes to a surprise when she does come home that she tells Geno that she's found a new apartment.

"I can give my next month's payment before I leave."

"Wha- why are you leaving?"

Reader is uncomfortable with confrontation and starts to get nervous and twitchy, ready to run away if needed. (And trust me, in her head, it's needed.)

"... I think I have overstayed my welcome here. So, I figured I'd find somewhere else to live."

Geno is stunned, speechless. All the while, Goth is in his arms, cooing cutely between the adults. He has no idea the stress they're feeling.

"No- reader. You haven't-" He sighs and begins to apologize for his behavior. "I'm just don't want Goth getting hurt." While it's true, he didn't tell her /everything/.

Reader is tense, but soon relaxes. "I understand being protective. I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions-"

She doesn't move out. From then on, her and Geno are on better terms and Reaper is ecstatic about it.

Then begins the love interests.

I know this is pretty messy, this is kinda how I get my plots put down before writing. 😅 Anyway, if anyone is interested in seeing more of this story, let me know.

Fun fact, by the way. My intentions when beginning stories is writing for she/her but I always end up with "they". Which is weird cause I never used to write like that. But, in the end, it makes me happy cause then /everyone/ is able to enjoy. I hope, anyway.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yanois - Going Slow

With Yancy out of prison, he’s learning the hard way that the world is a lot faster than he anticipated. But it’s not just him feeling the pressure.

Is Illinois nervous about the relationship moving forward?

(Inspired by conversation with @oonessawness !)

Word Count: 1,877

-

Parole was nothing less than a culture shock. Yancy had spent two days holed up in his tiny accommodation in the halfway house in a failed attempt to get his head around everything that was going on. The lack of a strict schedule was a change he had been prepared for, but there were so many other things that had not been taken into account.

Technology! Noise! The stress of hurrying somewhere! Everything was so rapidly paced and intense. If you weren't in a moment, you missed it, and you were punished for it. Cars were fast, bikes were somehow faster.

Prison's pace was slower and steady. There was a repetition that allowed any day to be faced, no matter how daunting it was. The outside world, however, offered no such safety net. Even if there was a routine established, there were too many curveballs and very few opportunities to make mistakes. You either kept pace at breakneck speed, or you tripped and fell flat on your face. There was no in-between.

Yancy was fully prepared to spend the third day in his room, unprepared to look at the world beyond the window, when he got a simple text:

* "Lunch?" 

-

Ah, Illinois. Despite all the difficult changes, it was him that reached out and grabbed Yancy before he sank into the abyss. They had lunch at a small café nearby that Illinois was fond of, followed by an afternoon in the library. It was peaceful, and it was a chance for Illinois to show Yancy different things about the changed world in a settled environment. 

“It’s okay, Yance. You’ll get the swing of it in your own time.”

For every new adjustment to normal life, Illinois was right there. There was always the reassurance and support, even when Illinois was out of town and could only phone. No matter how frantic the stormy waves of the world were, Illinois was his anchor, keeping Yancy grounded and reminding him of the important things in the moment.

As the weeks passed, Illinois was right. Yancy found he could breathe again. He was able to get a small job that gave a decent wage, he managed to keep his space clean, and he was learning the art of budgeting. He was starting to understand the high speeds, and was figuring out ways to manage them in his own way. Sometimes he tripped, but Yancy could get back on his feet before anything bad could happen.

And all the while, Illinois was there.

But once this sense of normality helped Yancy feel more settled, he realised something: Illinois was taking a step back. At first, Yancy put it down to the adventurer simply giving him a chance to be more independent, as though taking the training wheels off a bike. But when Illinois declined an offer to go for a walk after grabbing coffee together, Yancy began to suspect something was amiss. This wasn’t like Illinois.

During his next shift in work, Yancy spent the downtime wracking his brain for ideas. He had been on his best behaviour. He had dressed up nicely, he hadn't said anything reckless, and he had even walked around unarmed. Was Illinois regretting his decision? He knew what he was signing up for when agreeing to date the former prisoner. Yancy hadn't kept the truth about his situation and the parole process a secret.

… Then again, had Illinois told him the truth about his own life outside of exploring? Yancy knew he was a teacher, but he didn't know the age group of the students, let alone the location of work. Yancy didn't have a home address for Illinois either. When he sent a letter, it was to a PO Box.

Was Yancy not good enough to be trusted? Was he some dirty little secret? Maybe the 'exploring' was going back to his real spouse! Maybe Yancy really wasn’t good enough now that he can be seen regularly! Maybe Illinois was seeing the trash that Yancy really was!

No. No. That wasn't right. Illinois had done plenty to prove that side of his life was genuine. Yancy had a small album that housed the postcards he had received. Illinois had shown him photographs. Everything about that side of him was the truth, and he meant it when he said he wanted Yancy there.

But now, that other side of Illinois was right here, waiting to be discovered - and there were no more obstacles in the way. It was clear roads where the cars could go as fast as they wanted. Was the change in the relationship too fast? Was he nervous?

A tap on his shoulder from a co-worker snapped Yancy back to the moment. Surprise quickly turned to inspiration. Why was it only Illinois who was required to reach out? Why shouldn’t Yancy give it a try this time?

-

"Hey, so I's been thinking -"

"A surprising development." 

"Shut up." Yancy leaned forward to lightly shove Illinois' arm, prompting the adventurer to laugh.

"Sorry, couldn't help it. What's on your mind, Yance?"

"I finally have the all-clear from the higher-ups to have guests. You wanna swing by before youse head back?"

Illinois blinked. "Right now?"

"Yeah. I know youse wanna have time to prep before work tomorrow. It won't be a dinner or nothing, but why not see the place?" As Yancy spoke, he watched Illinois' reaction. There was a brief moment of apprehension, followed by a sigh as Illinois forced himself to relax.

"Yeah, why not?"

-

The walk to the halfway house was a familiar one. The pair had taken the journey numerous times together once it was discovered Illinois could get a bus nearby. Yancy kept the conversation light as they went through the reception and let the staff know that Yancy had a visitor. Once the all-clear was given, the pair began the short trip to Yancy's door. It was up one flight of stairs and down the corridor on the right..

"I know it ain't a fancy place, but it's clean and safe. The door's lock works a treat, and the folks either side of me are nice. There's a couple on the left, they's the one who made me that cheesecake, remember?"

The new environment was strange, but Yancy’s voice helped settle Illinois' nerves.It felt like a huge, unexpected jump in their relationship, but Yancy spoke so casually about life in the halfway house. He could never understand how Yancy could take all these changes in his stride once he recovered from the culture shock. It was effortless, almost.

"And here we are. Should be clean. If it ain't, you don't see it and pretend it's sparkling." The click of the lock, and the door swung open to reveal the small place Yancy called 'home'.

The accommodation was laid out like a basic studio apartment. It consisted of one large room with a small bathroom poking out on the right. The kitchenette was on the left, hugging the same wall as the door. In the corner was a small table with a chair. On the opposite side of the room was a window where a worn couch and a small coffee table were positioned. To the right, around the corner from the bathroom, was a drawn curtain hiding the bed from public view.

Yancy stepped into the apartment, turning on his heel with open arms to emphasise the space. "Think I could get used to this sorta living. What do you think?"

Illinois stayed by the door, leaning against the frame as he took the sight in. "It certainly looks more comfortable than your old cell." If Illinois were to estimate, the cell would fit in this apartment twice. It wasn't a huge upgrade, but it was glamorous for someone who was used to the bare minimum. "How are you adjusting to it?"

"It’s paradise! I can read a magazine and leave it out without worrying that someone's gonna penalise me! I can cook cheap crap whenever I want! I don't gotta wait for the shower. Oh! And I can put shit on display! Look! I has a shelf that ain't for clothes!" He hurried across the small space, beckoning for Illinois to follow. When Illinois didn’t move, Yancy returned to the door to face Illinois. He reached out, took one of the adventurer’s hands, and slowly led him toward the living area.

There, at the wall beside the couch, was a small set of shelves. The collection was sparse, mostly consisting of little photo frames and ornaments. Yancy let go of Illinois’ hand and crossed his arms. "It ain't much yet, but I's planning to get a few more things. Maybe some sorta fake plant? Need a bit of colour, but I ain't ready for the commitment of a real plant!"

Yancy's words were partially acknowledged by Illinois, who silently approached the shelf. He lifted a tiny elephant carved from jade, only to put it down and raise a wooden sculpture of a deity that fit neatly in his hand.

"Yancy… Most of this is the stuff I gave you."

"And?"

Illinois looked like he was going to answer, only to change his mind and examine the shelf. It was rare for Illinois to hold his tongue. 

"And," Yancy repeated after a short silence, "There's nothing wrong with that. The Gang is precious to me, yeah, and I miss 'em every day… But you means the world to me, Illinois." It was serious when Yancy used the adventurer's name rather than the endearing nickname. "Every day, I get to come over here, and see all these things… And it's a reminder that even though I never deserved it, I got to meet a guy who loves me. And every day, I tell myself that I wanna make him proud. I wanna be the man worthy of that love."

Illinois took in every word in silence, helpless as Yancy took one hand in his again. This time, Illinois’ hand was squeezed softly.

"I know youse would normally start on 'bout how I is worthy and all that, but that ain't the point. Everywhere you went, you thought of me. I wanna get to that point where I can give you reminders of everything that makes me think of youse." He smiled, before remembering why he was talking about this. "This ain't me trying to put pressure on youse or nothing. I just… Youse waited for me. And I is happy to wait for youse. Now that I'm out here, I don't feel that pressure to act fast no more. I wanna take it slow. I wanna go buy coffee and fuck up youse's order 'cause I keep forgetting what's a cappuccino or what's a mocolotive or whatever-the-fuck the coffee’s called. I wanna go on them little walks 'round the block. I wanna spend a full day at the museum. I just wanna live in this crazy world knowing that youse is there too. One day at a time, yeah?"

"Yeah." Illinois smiled, stepping closer so he could lean against the shorter man. "Thank you."

Yancy grinned, lightly bumping his head against Illinois' jaw. He didn't need to say anything - there was plenty of time ahead of them for words.

[frostedpuffs]

I'm regards of your post about getting a degree, a cousin of mine just turned 30, she has been working with her degree in medicina for a couple of years now, and she told us the other day that she wanted to go back to school because she doesn't like her line of work anymore, she's gonna keep working to pay her studies. I think that as long as we like, want and can afford doing that nobody is too old to do so, I believe that as human we're curious and seek knowledge and bettering ourselves by nature, so go for it if you want

thank you! i agree with you. i think my hesitancy came from not wanting to attend an in-person campus because i would feel out of place around people a lot younger than me. but I've decided to finish my degree in online school & am gonna attend the spring or fall semester next year 100% online.

my desire to go back to school simply stems from wanting to make a living wage and do better for myself, because even though it's possible to find a decent job without a degree, and i know having a degree wont guarantee me an amazing job, it will at least open the door to jobs that pay higher wages. things are getting more and more expensive here in Florida and on sep. 30th my job that actually paid pretty well decided to let 1200+ employees go bc they were "downsizing" (aka: a lot of the jobs have been taken over by AI which just happens in the tech field now unfortunately 😔) and i am just REALLY struggling to find a job that pays more than $15-$18/hr without having any sort of degree. and unfortunately that money isn't going to cut it because i have bills to pay. i have the skills required for the higher paying jobs, but without that degree, a lot of them wont even consider me 🤪 so this has been a big realization that i need to do something now before i get to a point where i am in my 30s and still cant afford to live without a roommate. (not that there is anything wrong with that of course! i personally just really, really want to finally be able to live alone.)

im hoping if i can have a decent degree by the time i am 28 or 30, i will be able to make a better living for myself than i am now! ✨🩷

[flowerwiththemachinegun]

Misconduct Chapter 6

The large body of italicized text is a flash back to the night before (just to clarify). Smh at you reader, you know what you did. Alright, we’re starting a little bit of drug talk here.

*******

“I want to help you.” Once your standoffish behavior subsided, the two of you gravitated to the kitchen. Dressed in only Genesis’ burgundy dress shirt, the man in question is sitting at the kitchen table in nothing but his boxers. It wasn’t like he had anything else to wear.

The brief description of what you do for a living made Genesis quite a bit uncomfortable and despite giving him an unopened bottle of water he ignored it. To think you were worried about him drugging you. 

“Let me get this right, you’re selling unapproved mako injections?” It took a lot to mask the disgust Genesis felt at your revelation. The mako injections that had somehow managed to be approved were a horror to endure. Knowing this drug was being passed around the streets made his stomach churn. Swallowing the urge to ask you how many you have killed to make a bit of money. Was it worth it? 

Mako-related poisoning didn’t make total sense to Genesis, then again, he didn’t know very much about the territory he was treading into. Easily the compound could have been cut with other drugs for a specific effect. It would truly be like no other, paired with the drug problems under the plate and the rising problems on the top plate. Making something almost impossible to recreate is also a decent selling point and likely wasn’t being created by many people. 

“Something like that, I guess. I don’t know too much about you SOLDIERS except that you’re genetically altered. It doesn’t have the same effect I’m sure. It provides temporary power, yes. Not on the caliber of what’s in your body. Plus it’s not quite an injection, well it can be. There’s a few ways to take it.” You acted so blasé about the entire thing as if the reality of what you were doing wasn’t contributing to the climbing death rate. Preying on the citizens of this community was evil. “Anyways, I don’t sell it. I distribute it, big difference. I get a salary wage just like you, it’s just far more imperative that I don’t fuck up.” 

Looking at you, Genesis didn’t peg you for someone to stuff your body with drugs. Drinking, clearly. Maybe smoking. But addiction also doesn’t have a look. “Do you take it?”

The way your eyebrows alone called him a fool for thinking that. “I’m not a junkie, I’m not going to kill myself like they might for a quick fix.” 

And that solidified how shitty you were to him, making it vocally clear you knew what could potentially occur when someone takes this stuff. It made his skin crawl to think he might be in a situation where he’s working with the likes of you. 

For some reason, you refused to give up the name of the drug. Instead of telling Genesis that he would learn more as time went on, names weren’t important just yet. 

“Your turn, what has Shinra done to you?”

**************

Just how stupid could you get? You told a total stranger, a First Class SOLDIER no less, your illegal activities. Here you lay, stark naked, spread across the redhead's chest as he snores softly. The sheets lay messily over the two of you, hardly covering a bit of flesh on either one of you. 

Could you kill him? Probably not, he seemed to be a light sleeper. His physic was godsent, the definition of his muscles alone made it clear that he would overpower you and every time you tried pulling away, Genesis' arms would wrap around you, locking you into place with his voice pleading for you to stay. 

Now, your final question. What made you trust him? You wanted to blame the liquor, and at first, you did. But there had to be a deeper reason behind it. You weren’t just some drunk idiot who would blurt out information that should be kept under lock and key. 

He seemed so sincere and you could heavily resonate with his emotions towards Shinra. You aren’t concerned about the company in general or its wrongdoings to the planet that you hear about, not letting thoughts pass through your mind when it comes to things that are out of your control like the planet dying. 

The only issue with Shinra. 

You can, however, empathize with coming second place in everything no matter how hard you worked. Knowing you were supposed to be number one at everything but somehow still falling short of people who just happened to steal what you were working for. He seemed so honest in his explanation, that it felt like you couldn’t deny Genesis. 

He was so passionate during his rant about Sephiroth and how he wasn’t truly the hero everyone made him out to be. Voice filled with conviction as he claimed he should have been Shinra’s poster boy but the light was stolen by “Shinra’s greatest toy.” 

On the outside, they seemed to be good friends. Now it seemed like it was just for publicity purposes. Of course, they needed their SOLDIERS to give off the impression that all was well, but who knew this would be bubbling under the surface? Two of Shinra’s highest-ranking SOLDIERS in a constant back and forth for dominance? Interesting for sure. 

To have one of them by your side was the cherry on top. Genesis’ overall offer for protection and legal immunity was also far too good to pass up. You knew how important it was to have someone working for you from the inside. Whether it be to dispose of evidence, wipe records, or bring you weapons you couldn’t get on the streets, you knew how valuable he could prove to be. You’d just have to figure out what to do with him if he failed, which was a problem. 

Your eyes trail up taking notice of the scars littered here and there, stopping to gaze at the glorious work he’s put into his core. The only thing covering his core was the crumpled up sheet. ‘Yet another reason to keep him around’ The weakness you were feeling just at the sight of him might have made you feel a bit ditzy. 

Slowly shifting yourself to let your fingertips dance across his stomach's exposed skin, watching his muscles twitch in response to your touch. 

This was easily one of the biggest mistakes you’ve made yet. ‘If that was the case, the urge to keep him wouldn’t be this strong.’ You need to get a grip on these impulsive decisions, there is truly something more to Genesis than how resourceful he potentially is. For all intents and purposes, you replayed the events of the night over and over again. Finding it harder and harder to find any signs of deceit on Genesis’ part. With the passion with which he spoke about his distaste for the Silver General, you’d think Genesis has attempted to murder him on at least three occasions. 

Pulling away from Genesis’ hold at last, finally managing to avoid waking him up as you move about. You begin lazily patting the bed in search of your cell phone. Heaven forbid you miss a call from anyone above you. Once you concluded the phone wouldn’t be in the bed, only to remember you left it in the armrest of his car. ‘Mistake after mistake…’ 

You slide out of bed as carefully as possible and begin to pad your way over to the pile of clothes on the floor to get the keys to Genesis’ car. If memory serves you correctly, you made sure he locked the doors to his car before coming inside so strolling right out there wouldn’t be a possibility. 

As you rummage through the pockets of his pants, Genesis’ voice rings out teasingly, tearing you away from the task at hand. “If there’s something you want, you are more than capable of asking.”

“I just want my phone from your car if you don’t mind. Wasn’t tryin’ to wake you.” 

Something about your accent caught Genesis' attention, it earned a questionable glance from him. He hadn’t noticed the odd speech pattern until now. Undeniably, you were from the slums, but your overall speech suggests you may be from Corel. Come to think of it, there wasn’t much about your background in the files Tseng gave him. Making a mental note to find out more about your personal life as he rises from the bed and plucks his clothing from your hands. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll get it. All I need is for you to keep the bed warm for me.” 

“No can do, I’ve got to get my day started,” your eyes danced along Genesis' body as he slid into his pants before meeting vibrant blue eyes. “Don’t you want your shirt back?” 

“Not when you wear it far better than me.” Cute, a response that earned a hint of a smile from you. Was it really cute? Genesis recalled the previous night’s conversation and the distasteful lack of concern you have for any users of the product you help leak out into suspecting communities. It nearly wiped the thought from his mind, but he couldn’t deny that he found you undeniably attractive. 

One thing Genesis hated in this world was re-wearing clothes. He always had another uniform in his trunk, so he’d be just fine, but putting these clothes back on even for a second still made him grimace while he put the socks on. Watching as you sauntered out of the room and disappeared around the corner, following suit to seek out his shoes. 

Noting the sounds coming from the bathroom, he assumed you were in the shower, finally being granted the time to call Tseng for whatever may come next. 

Genesis navigated his way to the entrance, once he made it to his car to grab your phone and the duffel bag from his trunk. The sound of footsteps creeping up the driveway jarred him from his actions. 

Perhaps it was of convenience that Tseng showed up, partially beats having to find time to make a call. However, is this not possibly impeding the progress that was being made? 

“What are you doing here?” Oh, he didn’t look happy. Then again, Tseng never looked happy to begin with. 

He was doing that thing again. Becoming nonverbal when faced with a question he doesn��t want to answer. ‘No fucking way.’ Looking into Tseng’s brown orbs stunned Genesis. Was his feelings hurt? 

“Don’t tell me you’re acting emotionally right now.” Genesis rubbed the bridge of his nose, further understanding the reasons behind Tseng being removed from your case. “You’re trying to protect them aren’t you?” 

“No, I just want to talk to y/n,” Tseng said as if this was a perfectly reasonable time and place to have a discussion with you. As though it made sense in his mind and it should automatically click for Genesis. 

“What? No. Get out of here. You’re going to ruin everything. If they see you, they’re not going to bother with me anymore!” Genesis had the itch to scream, instead keeping his voice low and adding a bite to his tone. “If you didn’t want what happened to occur you should have said that. Now look at you. Feelings hurt and seconds away from crying on their doorstep. You’re acting based on emotion.” 

Tseng was setting up to deny these accusations, resigning his argument with a sigh. “I-I’m afraid you may be right on this. I tried to sit back idly, I know they aren’t doing this because they want to. I can’t believe y/n gave so much information to you.”

Genesis didn’t like the picture being created as more pieces to the puzzle came together. “You were trying to send me on a mission you never wanted solved? Are you insane?!”

“I want it to be complete. I just need to be the one to finish it. If it wasn’t solved in a year you would’ve been back with Lazard. No harm done in the end. It’s still doing you a favor, don’t forget that.” 

Blackmail. Genesis wasn’t going to play these games with Tseng. Sure, he’s stuck working with him, but Genesis wasn’t going to allow Tseng to treat him like most others he would use underhanded tactics with. "That makes this okay?!” 

“…Not for a second.” 

“A match made in heaven,” Genesis comments dryly, recognizing the connection between you and Tseng both uncaring of what consequences might come upon everyone involved. All but shoving Tseng back as he slammed the trunk shut, parting with one last statement. “I’m sure we can solve it without locking up your…thing. You’ve heard everything I’ve been told. You want to find the head of the table, don't you? Be level-headed, Tseng. Now go away.” 

Genesis couldn’t believe what he was dealing with. Tseng was in charge of the other Turks, normally this is what he would have to deal with, and he was sure of it. Now it was apparent that the real question is ‘Who keeps Tseng in check?’

[milleansxmort]

….i would like Celeste’s thoughts on Maurice’s death 😈

( @2kyears )

Celeste feels the very moment it happens.

If she is completely honest with herself in a way she so often is not, a part of her muted in the name of optimism and denial has felt this coming for years now. Ever since Maurice escaped the Council’s ire by faking his own death, Celeste has been well aware that she is closer to losing him than she has ever been before and with every passing event - Logan’s discovery of the truth, Reginald’s “wanton” turning, the whole situation with Annabel and the Thrill recipe, the way Maurice took the Council and the way he lost it, the angels and the Ring of Fire, the resulting conflict between vampires and humans and how it grows more violent every single day - the fear of it has only grown.

When Maurice races from the relative safety of their basement in order to save Reginald, Celeste wants so badly to follow after him. The call for aid resonates in her blood too, traveling indiscriminately down a bloodline they all share. She sees the blood memories as clearly as he does, and she sees Claude - a vampire just as old and far more ruthless than Maurice had ever been, even at his worst; a vampire who has the physical upper hand in any altercation; a vampire who wants nothing more than to watch his little brother burn. She does not have the luxury of seeing into her brother-in-law’s mind anymore than she can see into Reginald’s or Brian’s, unable to travel further than her own maker, but Celeste has no doubt this is either an intentional trap or an unintentional recipe for disaster that Claude would waste no time taking advantage of. He would know who Reginald was, of course, and he would know Maurice’s loving heart at least enough to see how willingly he would sacrifice himself to save him, angry and desperate enough to face his brother head-on where his mental advantages and quick wit become limited by speed and strength and distance.

But Celeste is needed here. She and Maurice are the only true line of defense their basement full of humans, children, and too-young vampires have against the war being waged above and there is no time to figure out and organize a way around it. They cannot both leave. And staying behind is strategic too. It keeps another bit of leverage out of Claude’s hands - herself. He knows all too well how Maurice’s biggest weakness is his wife and how he would not have to outsmart him if he could just get to her. It was a practice that had been used against them before and while Celeste is a dangerous woman in her own right, she would stand little chance against a vampire twice her age and size.

So she stays.

She doesn’t get the chance to warn him to be careful or tell him for the two billionth time how much she loves him or any of the other things she would have said if only she had known he wasn’t coming back….

Some vampires might have been able to watch the battle rage through their maker’s eyes but not Celeste. She has never been skilled with blood ties, or any of the other mental abilities vampires are gifted with, and age had yet to even make her decent with them. Everything may come in just fine but reaching back out..? That is something she can only manage when she is focused and in close enough proximity, though it remains a weak and feeble connection even at its best. Not even the adrenaline now coursing through her veins can give her the boost she needs. But blood calls to blood in an involuntary way the moment danger is evident, the moment the tides turn. The moment Maurice is outwitted and outmatched.

That alone lets her see. It lets her watch through the blood memories it shares as Claude lunges, stake in hand….

She would swear she can smell the sulfur as he burns and taste the ash in the wind on her tongue as though she stands right there. She cannot tell if the pain that rips through her chest, right to her very core, is her own or the echo of her husband’s. He does not get the time to send her everything he would say either but blood feeds her intention. Celeste feels that last I love you, that final embrace, as a ghost of all their precious, sacred moments. And then, all at once, it’s all gone. For the first time since he saved her life over a thousand years ago, she cannot feel Maurice in her blood. Not even in the muted, barely-there way she does when there is so much distance between them. For the first time in more than a thousand years, her blood falls completely silent. Empty. And it is the most irrefutable proof…

Maurice is gone. Her husband, her maker, her everything is gone.

Legs give way beneath her, hands stifling the cry that tears from her throat. Everything goes red as blood-tears fill her eyes. Celeste has known loss many times before but this is so much worse. It is worse than the memories of little sisters brutally murdered before her eyes a millennium ago, of her daughter’s life ended before it even began; worse than all the friends she had loved and lost over the long years; worse than even Daisy, who had fallen apart in her arms as she tried to desperately to comfort her in her last moments. At least after those losses, she still had something to live for, a purpose to being on this earth well past her time, a love to take solace in. Maurice has always been her one constant, even in their times apart. He was the one person who always came back to her, always stood by her side as the whole world changed around them and everyone else came and went too fast.

What even is a life without him, let alone an immortal one? One of them isn’t supposed to exist without the other. It feels wrong. It feels unnatural. It feels like having a piece of herself ripped from her body, only this would be a wound she would never heal from. In the vast span of a millennium, they have never been apart longer than a year at most. How she meant to face another thousand? Another two thousand? Eternity?

She wouldn’t find out. There was no part of her that wanted to. Had this not been established back at the very beginning? Celeste would not live in a world without Maurice.

Her resolve had been set years ago and it did not change now but she does not abandon the innocent lives she stayed behind to protect. Eventually, Reginald, Nikki, and Brian return. They do not need to confirm what she already knows but they do. There is only one thing left of her husband and she takes the sword in her hands as delicately as if it too will turn to ash if she applies even the slightest pressure. Her tears would later dry into the leather of its scabbard.

There are hours still to pass until morning and they pass excruciatingly slow. Tears fall and dry and fall and dry again. She doesn’t bother to clean the red from her cheeks or worry about the way they stain her clothes as they fall. Eventually, the sun begins to rise - Celeste knows it the way all vampires do even without seeing it - and she slips quietly from the basement to sit amongst the ruins of their home. It had stood for centuries before this. It had been taken down brick-by-brick and rebuilt in the same manner on American soil where they had believed it would collect centuries more shared memories. They would never rebuild it now. Let the Toussants fade from the minds of every goddamned bastard who brought them to this. Let them all witness a world where only the worst one survived. Or let Reginald, the only known living legacy Maurice would leave behind, save all their lives. She didn’t care anymore. She wouldn’t be around to see it. She wouldn’t even survive the morning.

Celeste watches her very last sunrise perched on what was once their bedroom’s outer wall and as the sun rises over the horizon, she takes her very last breath content with the thought that in moments, she will either be reunited with the love of her life once more or she will feel nothing at all. Either one would be a relief. Either one would be better than what she feels now. And when the moon rises in turn, Celeste Toussant is but ash forever filling the cracks and crevices of their ruined home.

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv! This might be a bit of an odd ask/sos hehe

My younger brother (huge hp fan - has never read ffs before) recently asked me for fic recs that have canon-divergence/time travel and I'd love to ease him into ffs (without freaking him out forever) but am desperately in need of ideas. He's particular about characterization and would prefer gen fics (tho he says he's open to any pairing if well-written). As someone who reads mostly drarry, I was hoping you or your followers would have some other suggestions. Ik it's v different from your usual recs, so pls don't be pressured to replyy!! Thank you so much 🤗

Hi anon! Not an odd ask at all, I’m excited to see you gently guiding him into Drarry lands 😂 one of my personal favorites in terms of characterization is WWPWCS but that one is quite romantic, so I’m listing below fics that could be a great entry point if you’re looking for Gen, plot-focused fics. I also have a rec list with G and T works and a Drarry for beginners list (although this is quite shippy so maybe something to explore later on!). I hope you find them helpful and pls let me know how the Drarry agenda goes 🌝

Turn From Stone by harryromper (M, 45k)

Harry knows there’s nothing he can do to stop Hermione (war hero, historian, author of the reissued “Hogwarts: A History”) once she sets her mind to something. Even an extremely risky last-ditch effort to restore the ancient castle and lay its newest ghosts to rest. What he wasn’t counting on was her insistence that Draco Malfoy be part of the plan.

Heal Thyself by astolat (T, 47k)

"Are you going for the course?" Lovegood asked. "You have the NEWTs.” “What course?” Draco said, then, “No, don’t be ridiculous,” when he realized she meant the notice pinned up on the board he’d been staring at: Applicants To The Introductory Mediwizard Course For The Coming Term Shall Present Themselves In The Chief Mediwizard’s Office By August 24th.

The Pure and Simple Truth by lettered (G, 65k)

Harry, Draco, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, and Pansy go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Pansy, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione and Ron go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, and Pansy―you guessed it―go to a pub. I could go on. In fact, I did. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Pansy, Ron, Blaise, Luna, Goyle, Neville, and Theodore Nott go to a pub. In various combinations.

A Young Radical's Guide to Love by blamebrampton (T, 66k)

Memories of the war are still fresh, which is all the excuse Decent People need to do appalling things. In this quietly waged conflict, Draco Malfoy is happy to be on the right side of things for once, and even happier to find he’s not alone.

Timecode by Rasborealis (M, 73k)

Harry Potter has been dead for two years, and Draco would laugh in the face of anyone claiming differently. Well, anyone but Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by waspabi (T, 93k)

'You're a wizard, Harry' is easier to hear from a half-giant when you're eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you're seventeen and late for work.

The Secret Keeper by fools_errand (M, 225k)

On Halloween 1981, Albus Dumbledore made a decision that would change the course of history, concealing Harry Potter’s survival at the hands of Lord Voldemort underneath a Fidelius Charm. But when Harry comes of age in the Muggle world, Dumbledore realises too late that the fate of the world may depend on a boy who has never held a wand.

Eclipse by Mijan (T, 287k)

Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius's imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It's the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But when Draco's world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

what do you want to be in the future?

A psychologist?

Feel free to ignore if you don't feel like it 💌

No it's totally cool! I like asks I just feel bad because sometimes I let them sit a long time... trying to work on uh. Not doing that. Hehe

Uhh, tbh I'm at a bit of an impasse right now with what I want to do. I'm going to be getting a part-time job while I think it over. There's lots of things I could feasibly go into with my knowledge, but honestly I've been more than a little disillusioned with the way things are approached in the fields I've spent the last few years studying in. But I'm taking it one day at a time. I think that's the best way to do it.

I love research and investigating, which is the equivalent of free candy to me, and I have a lot of interest in the genetic and biological basis of psychiatric disorders, especially the less common ones that don't receive an awful lot of literature focus, and therefore are more heavily stigmatized. I'd like to improve understanding and help create better and more targeted treatments, etc. Truthfully, I just want to do something that actually helps people out in the here and now. Psych field's bad rn, if you ask me. Needs to change, like a lot of things in my country, and in the world in general.

Oof, this is a lot. Probably too much; sorry!

(As an addendum, if I thought I could make a decent wage off of writing alone, I might just be an author.)

[bcckmcskcd]

(Nat Wolff) [THE PRETENDER]. Please welcome [LAWRENCE 'LONNIE' DIAMOND (HE/HIM)] to Huntsville, WV. They are an [28]-year-old [VISITOR] who lives in [THE COMMUNE]. You may see them around working as a [DISPATCHER AT THE SHERIFF'S OFFICE]. Poor unfortunate soul. We’ll see if they survive.

Full Name: Lawrence 'Lonnie' Joseph Diamond Birthday: December 17 Age: 28 Hunter or Gatherer: Gatherer Sexuality: pansexual Height: 6'1 Relationship Status: taken (dating Sam Ahn)

The oldest of two, Lonnie was constantly overshadowed by his younger brother. He didn't mind, necessarily - he preferred to have no pressure or expectations, all of that falling on his brother's plate while he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. The biggest downside, though he often acted like it wasn't a problem, was that it left him with a nearly non existent self esteem. While the lack of expectations let him do whatever he wanted, it also left him feeling like no matter what he did, he wasn't seen or praised for it because his brother did it better.

School wasn't something Lonnie excelled in or even really liked, so he was able to skate by; there was no point in putting in more effort than he needed to pass, so why bother? He skipped a lot of classes and just barely managed to graduate, but it was clear that he wasn't going to pursue higher education (not that his parents even bothered to save up a college fund for him anyway).

He worked an array of minimum wage jobs just to stay afloat, opting to move out shortly after his 20th birthday. He loved his brother so much and did miss spending time with him, but his self worth was declining rapidly while living with his parents because he spent a lot of time sleeping or in chat rooms when he wasn't at work, and that wasn't something that was seen as productive or even useful.

Spending so much time on the internet and different chat boards was how he met Narcissa - a spitfire journalist who was researching different abnormal phenomena. She seemed to fixate on conspiracy theories and alien contact, but disappearing towns were also on her radar. Since Lonnie lived two states over from the famed Huntsville, the pair decided to meet up and travel there together, just so that they didn't have to do it alone.

Clearly, that was a mistake, as they suddenly found themselves trapped, and that's when the self doubt really slammed into Lonnie like a ton of bricks. He had told his brother about going on this trip, but no one else - and he hoped that his brother missed him, but the chances of anyone else even noticing were pretty slim. The lack of self worth made Lonnie decide to throw all caution to the wind and was more than willing to take off his clothes for anyone who even suggested that he was a little cute.

The last three years have been an adjustment, but Lonnie's pretty used to the way things work by now. Still deeply convinced he has no other use than being funny and being decent in bed, he will jump at any opportunity to prove himself useful or to get praise, even if he's not particularly qualified, because all he wants to do before the monsters get him (and he's sure they will eventually) is be thought of as someone who useful and had merit.

[toointojoelmiller]

please don’t go: a last of us fic

chapter 12

----

after David / Silver Lake / post-episode 8

angst, Joel & Ellie bonding, 99% canon compliant

rating: mature - content warnings re: s/a, violence, more

I'm no longer copying this over to tumblr because it got way too long and it's too much!!!! Read on ao3 for the updated chapters

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | ch 6 | ch 7 | ch 8 | ch 9 | ch 10 | ch 11 | ch 12

----

The few fleeting years that he got with Sarah were spent spread thin. Time, energy, money, sleep – never enough of any of it.

On the first night that it was just the two of them – along with some newly blank walls, empty dresser drawers, and a bathroom counter that looked alien without brushes and sponges and bottles scattered across it – he had the first panic attack of his life. In the middle of warming up a bottle, he realized couldn’t get any air into his chest - and then he was on the floor, back pressed against the cabinet under the sink - formula spilled, bottle needing to be sanitized again. When the pounding in his ears softened and the world started to leak back in, he heard what he’d been missing for however long he’d spent shrinking into ground - Sarah’s hungry little wail from the living room - calling out for him, helpless and alone in her bassinet. It felt like the start of a lifetime of letting her down.

She was colicky her first year - the sleep deprivation felt like it was breaking him apart - sometimes so exhausted he didn’t trust himself to hold her out of fear he would drop her, so she’d suffer then too, crying for comfort he was too afraid to give. There were life-giving, blissful moments that made him whole - little coos and finger grasps, the feeling of holding and snuggling and breathing her smell in - all perfect and warm - but in between he thought the impossibility of it all would smother him. When she would finally sleep he’d lay on his bed with his heart racing, palms sweating, panting his way through sheer terror - and then she’d wake, and he’d swallow it down - try to hold himself together again.

Tommy helped out where he could, but he was just a kid himself - and then he was overseas - and on minimum wage full-time didn’t even come close to cutting it so Joel needed to work more than full-time hours just to keep her fed with a roof overhead - which meant paying for more than full-time child care - and he hated that he was working for money to spend on leaving her with strangers all day - hated that so much of the time he got to be with her was spent asleep. Most nights he’d stay up too late just to have more time to look at her, watch her breathe - and, always, work away at the never ending list - laundry, dishes - look for better jobs, more jobs - decide which bills to short that month.

The hardest to live with were the weeks, in those early years before he got into some decent paying work, where an unexpected expense would pop up and he’d find - doing the math at the kitchen table at night - that they didn’t have enough money to feed them through to his next pay day. Sarah never went hungry, of course - he did sometimes - but the shame of nearly not being able to provide his baby the bare minimum she needed to grow, to live – felt like it stained him.

It felt a bit like now. He’s craning his neck and squinting to try to sharpen his vision, even though he already knows – it’s obvious from a fair distance that there’s nothing in the traps. It’s not a surprise - probably twice in 20 years has he caught something in a snare that’d been set for less than a day - but he still sags with disappointment. Hates that he went out to look in the first place - something might have been scared off by the sight or smell of him – and Jesus Christ does he smell.

And now he’s walking back empty handed – Ellie will be hungry for another night, tiny body wasting away, eating itself up to keep her going.

He starts heading back to the little building, his brain wandering on its own - he’s wishing he’d never watched those TV specials about eating disorders in girls. He hadn’t actually worried about Sarah that way - girl would clean out the whole fridge in one night if he’d let her - but the perils of teenage-hood had seemed like a terrifying threat on their horizon sometimes.

If only he fucking knew .

All any of that was good for, turns out, was the nagging worry he’s been feeling all day, unable to ignore just how thin Ellie’s become. Unable to stop imagining her little heart suddenly giving out on her.

She’s up and on her feet now - he can see the pale blur of her face peeking out the window in his direction as he makes his way back - raises a hand at her in a little wave.

Most of the day had passed by in a slow daze - Ellie curled up, sometimes sleeping but mostly uncomfortable, repositioning and shuffling with groans - Joel staying at her side, repeating their ice-pack routine a few more times when she’d ask him to.

When she was sleeping, he’d nodded off a few times - struggling to keep himself up, foggy and drained - the warmth built up under the thick sleeping bag-blanket and the sun streaming in the window making it all too easy to relax. He was getting too weak to fight it.

A bonus that he hadn’t expected - the sun was so warm he’d tried putting the first aid kit - half-slush half-water - up on the shelf to bask in it, and when he checked it after a few hours, only water remained - slightly less than absolutely freezing cold to the touch – enough to refill her thermos, and half of his, too. He’d been able to get a good amount of water into her here and there, and got her to crunch up another two glucose-tubes - but she stubbornly refused to have the other, insisting that it was for him.

She’s a bright kid, but if she thinks that he’s going to be having their last one, well -

When he opens the door, kicking the snow off his boots before he steps back in, she’s standing next to window, leaning over a bit, supporting herself with an arm braced on the shelf.

“Nothing?” She asks, not really a question.

He grunts in confirmation, then says - “Oughta get somethin’ tomorrow - mornin’, hopefully. You should lay d-”

“I know - just needed to get off my ass. Feels like it’s gonna fall off.”

He rolls his eyes at her, mainly for her amusement, as he slips the rifle off and sets it against the wall again. Shrugs out his shoulder, trying to loosen up the twinge pinching in his neck.

“I hate just sitting around,” she mumbles.

He snorts a bit at that - “No kiddin’ - think I figured that out about you on day one,” he says. When she doesn’t say anything he adds, “S’just temporary, kiddo. Won’t be for long." 

An anxious look passes over her face as she asks, “When can we leave?”

He sighs. Knows he needs to answer this carefully - not sure if she’s ready to hear what he’s going to say. No clue how much of the logistics of the situation they are in she’s really thought through yet - doesn’t want to distress her.

“Well,” he starts – trying to be cautious but feeling clumsy as he talks through it - “you gotta be able to walk, for - for a few miles, so… And - we’re both - if we run into, uh,  trouble - we need to be able to handle it. Need to get some food in us, first, before we can do much.”

He doesn’t need to say anything further - her face crumples in disappointment - there’s no way around the truth. Still, with the way she’s looking so defeated - he wishes he could take the words back.

“Hope we fucking catch something,” she mutters. She looks down at her feet.

“Yeah,” he says, “Me too.” Still too scared to ask how long it’s been since she’s eaten.

“You warm enough?” he says instead. “Want the jacket for a bit? I’m fine without.”

“Nah. I gotta sit back down in a minute. My fucking head … when astronauts are in training they go in these big spinny things – called a centrifuge -”

Joel feels a small smile tug at his lips - “Centri-fuge,” he corrects her gently - she’d said it with a hard “g”. The sound of her voice, talking in full sentences – talking about the usual shit she loves to talk about - has him feeling a bit lighter.

“Really? ‘Centrifuge’ - anyway, they practice so they don’t like, hurl and pass out when they launch for real — it kinda feels like my head is in one of those.”

Dizzy, nauseated - not unexpected - she’s still only somewhere between 12-24 hours out from whenever her head was hit – “lots”, she had said. The sad little line she’s drawn connecting her space fascination and this hell she’s living through makes the almost-smile drop from his face immediately.

She turns a little to look at the shelf under the window, and he notices for the first time that she’s got the map out spread open in front of her. “Look,” she says, and he steps over to see her finger pointing south of where they are, near Denver - a little red square, next to ‘Dinosaur Ridge’. “And - ” she slides her finger over to the left a bit, until she lands on ‘Dinosaur Journey Museum’ - “was Denver the dino-capital of the country or something?”

He hasn’t let himself think about those days in so long – Sarah always in the lead and pulling him along behind her, chattering away – had something to say in front of what seemed like nearly every exhibit, knowing things she had no business knowing - “Nerd alert,” he’d tease in a stage whisper, and she’d stick her tongue out at him over her shoulder, quipping back “Well somebody has to bring the Miller family IQ up from the depths and it sure ain’t gonna be you or Uncle Tommy” -

The list of things that Ellie deserves and will never get is endless, and this doesn’t compare to the fundamentals she’s been robbed of — family, safety, peace — but he feels a surge of anger at the cruelty of it anyway. It should be about an hour’s drive - they should be climbing in the truck on a weekend morning for a drive-thru breakfast and a fight over the radio station - he should spend way too much money on crap at an overpriced gift shop, a stupid dinosaur hat she won't take off for weeks – instead she gets to look at the names of long gone places on an old, bloody map, daydreaming about what she’ll never have.

“Earth to Joel,” Ellie’s saying in a voice that makes it clear it’s not the first time she’s tried to get his attention.

“Sorry - just thinkin’ –”

She’s looking at him expectantly. He has to work hard to keep his voice sounding light.

“I got no idea what ‘Dinosaur Ridge’ is, but – Denver’s not all that special – I’d guess there’re more than, ah – I dunno – a dozen museums about dinosaurs – nah, more. Maybe one in every state.”

Her eyes widen at that, and keeping up the trend of making her promises he’s afraid he won’t be able to keep  -

“Tell you what - we’ll go someday, find one somewhere still standin’. They have these, ah – sign things all around museums, tellin’ you about the stuff – can finally fact check you, see how much you’re just makin’ up.”

“Shut up,” she says - but her eyes are soft, and she could almost be smiling when she follows up with a quiet, “That’d be cool.”

The nice moment doesn’t last long – she sighs, looks out the window a bit forlornly, and then mumbles, “I have to pee again. Your fault for making me drink all day.”

He puts an arm across her back to help her outside. When the door opens she cringes, hard, scrunching up her face, hissing “Ugh, fuck.”

“Y’alright?” He asks, looking down at her in concern.

She nods, putting a hand up to partially cover her eyes for a few seconds. “Too bright - hurts.”

Even though it’s clearly painful for her to do so, as he helps her get down the steps he catches the way she’s glancing around them in every direction - looking for threats on the horizon.

It’s a repeat of the night before - he shouldn’t have expected anything else. She’s limping, wincing with every step - ends up just tucking around the corner of the building again - so unbalanced he wonders how she didn’t fall over standing up on her own inside. He gives her some space for a few minutes, wandering around aimlessly on the other side of the building, never going far.

When she reappears after a few minutes, steadying herself on the building with her hands, her face has gone completely flat. She looks like a different kid than the one he’d been talking to inside, minutes ago. His heart sinks.

“You alright?” he asks, knowing she’s not. She doesn’t answer – doesn’t seem to hear him at all - looking ahead, eyes distant in that wounded way he’s too familiar with.

“C’mon, you’re ok,” he says - arm back around her to hold her up, hurrying her back up to the door. It seems like she’s barely picking her boots up off the ground – toes dragging each time she steps. Back inside, he takes her straight across the room to her sleeping bag again. She doesn’t fight him on it when he helps her lower back down to the ground, sitting against his pack again.

When she’s tucked back in the sleeping bag, she tugs it up so it’s almost fully covering her head, and turns to her side. Facing the wall, her back to him.

“Ellie?” He tries softly. Feeling helpless.

She’s not asleep, but she doesn’t respond.

Doesn’t move again at all until they hear the gunshot.

----

link to whole story (work in progress) on AO3

[kariachi]

Oh look, fic.

I posted this just the other day, well here's an AU follow-up to an AU. Kwarrel Lives edition.

Kevin and Argit have found a benefit to having a rich boy in the house.

~~

Under most circumstances, if Kwarrel had walked in on Argit with his nose up beneath some other teen’s jaw, Kevin kissing their opposing cheek, he would have turned and found somewhere else to be for a while. The kids deserved their privacy, he had had far more talks with them about being safe and respectful than he had ever wished to have, if there was an issue they could come to him.

Given the other boy in question was Mike, who Kevin was still sometimes wary with two months after letting the kid move in, and that he and Argit both looked like they’d won the lottery, he figured it better to check on things instead.

“I’m not signing off on any marriages,” he said as he shut the door behind him. It wouldn’t have been the first time the idea came up. Argit especially, he had to assume his upbringing had been a whole Thing because that kid was too ready to set aside his own longterm wellbeing for security. Mike rolled his eyes as the other two turned their grins his way.

“Nah, it’s all good!”

“‘sides, we’d need somebody to sign off for him too. Easier to wait the two years.”

“And he still won’t even have his fucking money.”

“Excuse me,” Mike cut in with a sharp look, “I am an investment.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Kwarrel could see, as he reached the couches, that their makeshift coffeetable was strewn with lists and sketches. He crossed his arms and, he was certain, failed to look stern.

“Do I want to know?” Setting his hand back down from where he’d raised it in silent and empty threat, Mike rolled his eyes again.

“They’ve realized,” he explained, “that as a rich kid I know where people keep their valuables.”

“We’ve been planning shit out,” Argit added, eyes crinkled in that way they did when he was up to something, and rapped a fist against Mike’s arm. “If the intel’s good, we should be set for a while!”

“Is that so,” Kwarrel asked, frown slipping onto his face. He knew Kevin and Argit were involved in crime, he knew Mike’s history, and that they’d dragged him into their work a few times already since nobody’s clean work was bringing in enough for them all to live off. That didn’t mean he liked it, or didn’t prefer to avoid being complicit. It was so much easier to talk their way out of something if he really hadn’t known what they were up to. The grin began to slip from Kevin’s face, but it was Mike who spoke up first.

“My mom’s engagement rings alone I’m pretty sure could cover our costs for a few months.”

“Oh,” Kwarrel asked five seconds later when he could breathe again. The kid shrugged, Kevin’s grin breaking back out beside him.

“I don’t know for certain, of course, but I know how much we’re spending each month, and presumably they were a pretty sight more than I was expected to shell out for special occasions, so…”

Kwarrel did not like these kids being involved in crime. He knew the paths that could lead them down. They’d all already been burned by their experiences with it, by choice or not, before they came under his guidance. If he could have his way then he would make enough money they could focus on schooling and trades, rather than worrying about bills. Failing that, they would together be able to make enough through mostly-legal means there would be no urge or need to risk getting trouble.

Their expenses these past few months had been three times his monthly salary, and he was a grown adult capable of getting a decent job with a fair wage and mostly trustworthy coworkers and employers. Not quite legally, no, because nobody in the house had papers, but it was better than the kids could manage. Combined, doing their best, the four of them were still coming up a distressing number short of what they needed to keep everybody properly fed.

Heaving a sigh, he dropped a hand each on Kevin and Argit's shoulders.

“Be safe about it,” he said. “Cover your tracks, move fast, keep your hits spread out, don’t hit the same place twice.”

“We know what we’re doing,” Kevin said with a snorting laugh. “Don’t worry, we got everything under control. Gonna hit up Mike’s old place twice, but we’re spacing it out and he promises nobody’ll even notice the shit we’re grabbing.”

“Personal effects,” Mike clarified.

“Yeah, we’ll be in and out, they won’t even know we were there,” Argit added.

“It’s not gonna be some big windfall all at once,” Kevin said, grin almost painfully wide and sharp, “but with any luck we’ll be in a lot better shape by the end of the year.”

“Alright.” With another sigh and a silent reminder to himself that he did trust these kids- Mike less so than the others, but they were dragging him into the light with time- Kwarrel nodded. His hands fell to his sides as he stepped back, looked the kids over. He remembered being their age, considered a man and so so angry the older members of the herd treated him like a child.

They were so young. And worrying about things like this. They shouldn’t have had to.

“Don’t take him with you,” he settled on saying, pointing at Mike, “if they see him, the whole mess will be ruined.” There was a bit of relief in the way Kevin and Argit laughed, that crumpled, sour look that always came with the idea of people from his old life seeing him forming on Mike’s face.

“Don’t worry, he’s about as stealthy as a '97 F50.”

“Hey!”

[15790483]

Defending Mother Teresa

Mother Teresa wasn't questioning the existence of God in the way that you want to make it seem.

The truth she was afraid that what she had found was worse, it is the truth I've been afraid I've found (many times).

It isn't that God doesn't exist, we have been created. 

It is that God just abandoned us after creation much like the infant in the trash can thrown out by their mother. Unwanted, scared, and alone. It is the loss of nurture. It is the lack of comfort. It is the hell of this Earth. The cruelty of existence for those who love and may not feel loved or safe. It is seeing the pain of the world and feeling it is too much to handle.

God created us. We came from somewhere, we know that to be true. We created a word called "creator" and then we created the word "God." We began to wonder, what if God doesn't care when we suffer? Then nothing does. Nobody cares about the suffering, then the suffering is endless, and in this endless suffering there is no meaning.

“My God, my God. Why has thou forsaken me?” 

If you understood truly then you would understand why Mother Theresa felt this way. I need you to understand that religious people feel afraid to speak their truth. Mother Thersea was allowed to feel weak. She was allowed to feel uncertain. She was allowed to be imperfect. Let me say this also,

regardless of what is or isn't we know blood sacrifice was the law of the land in our beginnings, we know this practice decreased dramatically and that this was important. Another truth is this: once something has made its way into a society it is almost impossible to eradicate. It is difficult to kill an idea and maybe one should understand the story of Adam and Eve in this way. While knowledge helps us survive on these lands, there is toxicity in it also. A poison. Metaphors. Try killing the idea of war. Try killing the idea of slavery...of Kings...of Tyranny. Look at it this way: As long as the idea of slavery exists there will be someone who wants to take slaves. As long as the idea of war exists...there will be warriors and those who wage war. As long as the idea of Tyranny exists there will be tyrants. Kings...well don't let me piss lots of places off like the UK. Ideas don't die. Knowledge and Wisdom are not the same thing. You can have all the knowledge in the world and no wisdom. Furthermore, we all hold our own perspective. I didn't ask for the insight and it wasn't from someone admirable, honorable, or decent but they said something about watching knowledge slowly poison us. That is the truth, essentially. I could explain further what I understand exactly but it would do no good. We are typically our own downfalls. What is here, is here. People just deny as long as they can.

[asurastro]

'😵‍💫' to find my muse alone in the aftermath of a fight [— Ingvar, because even though he doesn't actually have any kind of healing or first aid ability nor knowledge, that wouldn't stop him from trying to help]

Send me '😵‍💫' to find my muse alone in the aftermath of a fight

____

"It's alright, I swear-- Lemme sit down for a moment, will ya?"

♫

Rex was trying to let the giant know the concern shown was greater than necessary. It renewed some of the precious limited hope in the cosmic contender's weary spirit. That desire to do something, anything at all. And from a stranger, no less! To find such valor in an unexpected place was a wonder.

"See? It's just bruises and aches. They didn't pierce the skin or rend my flesh. I'm built to last!"

But it still hurt. Rex himself likened near-invulnerability to being a 'superior punching bag' a fair few times. In the distance, were some of the kaiju he had been wrangling earlier. In this instance, these more like wild animals than size-shifting supervillains, or war-waging mecha.

"They were scared. Thought they had to defend themselves. But they'll be okay once they find some new place to graze. Y'know? I'm just glad the army didn't show up to make things worse, this time."

For all the pain however, Rex was in a decent mood. Though his smile was small, it was a smile nonetheless.

"Name's Rex. I've met some big fellas before, but you're like out of a fairy tale."