#I just want a stable income for once in my life

[sweebat]

Have an interview in an hour. Normally I’d be excited about considering 90% of my apps them even make it this far, but it’s my first online interview and my moods been dampened after being rejected every time this year

Feelin Quueeesyyyyy

[lieutenantselnia]

Actually I think it's a bit unfair that I can't be an astrophysicist and a historian and a game developer and a marine biologist and an archaeologist and an author and a seamstress at the same time

[itsalwaysdark]

and also it doesnt even matter if i miraculously get a job tmrw bc we don't have a car . and im too out of shape to walk anywhere bc everything is far away . so i genuinely dont jnow what to do

[delulustateofmind]

This is your home!

TW: Yandere behaviors, Kidnapped-ish Reader, Stockholm Syndrome, Manipulation, Older man x College student! Reader, Toxic relationship, Drugging, trapping. Gn! Reader

Wc: 1.3k

It seems like only a year ago you attempted to break up with your partner.

No—my deepest apologies—you tried to break up with your partner.

You see, he was the kind of lover who made you feel trapped. A man a few years older than you, with a stable job and a steady income, who somehow managed to fall for a mere college student.

That should have been your first red flag.

He begged you to move in, claiming your co-ed dorms weren’t exactly the safest. Did you really enjoy sharing a shower room with strangers? Was that the kind of life you wanted?

So, of course, you followed the hand that fed you. You were young, naive, and far too eager to believe in happily-ever-afters.

You moved in—why wouldn’t you? He was handsome, older, and confident, and his apartment was immaculate, with matching furniture. A dream for any broke college student.

He made space for you. A little nook for your “silly toys,” he’d tease, smiling warmly over his shoulder. He even set up a desk for you in his office so you could “spend more time together.” That is, until you spent that time playing video games instead of working on your finals.

He’d always find a way to scold you for it.

And then he started paying for your tuition.

At first, you refused—it was too much, and you had scholarships to rely on. But those scholarships suddenly disappeared. The donor funding your education pulled out, no explanation given.

So he stepped in. Your dutiful boyfriend.

He even showed you a spreadsheet, breaking down the mountain of debt you’d accumulate if you didn’t let him help. What choice did you have?

You felt bought out.

You felt like you’d sold yourself.

Desperate to regain some independence, you took up a part-time job. But even that became a problem. “I have money, let me take care of you,” he’d say, exasperated. Or worse: “Why are you working so hard when I’m here to make life easier for you?”

Still, you pushed back. For a little while, at least.

Until the day they let you go—just like that.

These strange occurrences… they made you overthink—his words, not yours—as you sat across from him at the café.

Your hands trembled as you raised the coffee cup to your lips, the warmth doing little to steady your nerves.

“Let’s break up,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced away from his piercing gaze.

You caught the flicker of heartbreak in his beautiful eyes, a pain so raw it almost made you falter.

“I’m the problem, not you,” you continued, your words wavering like the hand that held your cup. “I just… I just need to get my life together.”

For a moment, there was only silence. The bustling café around you felt muted, like the world was holding its breath. His gaze remained fixed on you, unblinking, unwavering.

“That’s not fair,” he finally said, his voice calm, but there was a tension in it—a barely restrained crack.

Your chest tightened as you stared into the dark swirls of your coffee, avoiding the weight of his eyes. “It’s for the best,” you murmured.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, fingers threading together as if he were holding himself together. “For the best? For who? You?” His tone was soft, coaxing, but there was a sharp edge beneath it.

You nodded, though the motion felt hollow.

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “You’re not making sense. You say you need to get your life together, but I’m right here. I’ve always been here. Isn’t that enough?”

It wasn’t enough. That was the problem.

You swallowed hard, daring a glance at him. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. Those heartbreakingly beautiful eyes of his—once so warm—now felt like they were cutting straight through you.

“I need space,” you said, forcing the words out before they could dissolve into cowardice. “I need to figure things out on my own.”

His hand moved across the table, fingers brushing yours. It was a tender gesture, but it felt like a trap. You pulled back instinctively, and his expression darkened, just for a moment.

“Space?” he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “I see.”

But he didn’t. You knew he didn’t.

He wasn’t the kind of man who accepted things like this easily. You could feel it—the storm brewing beneath his composed exterior, the questions he was desperate to ask but refused to voice.

“You’re just… throwing everything away?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable. “After everything we’ve built together?”

Guilt stabbed at you, sharp and unrelenting. “I’m not throwing it away. I just need to…” You trailed off, searching for the right words, but they evaded you, leaving behind an aching emptiness.

The sound of a plate clattering in the distance made you flinch. He didn’t. He just stared at you, his gaze so intense it felt suffocating.

“Is there someone else?” he asked suddenly, his voice low but steady, like he was bracing himself for the answer.

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “No! It’s not like that.”

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned forward again, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t have to lie to me. You owe me that much.”

“I’m not lying,” you insisted, the desperation in your tone surprising even yourself. “This isn’t about anyone else. It’s about me.”

A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “It’s always about you, isn’t it?”

You froze, the words hitting harder than they should have.

“I guess I should’ve seen this coming,” he said, leaning back in his chair once more. His eyes flicked to the window beside you, watching the rain drizzle against the glass. “You always did have one foot out the door.”

The knot in your throat tightened, but you didn’t respond. What could you say?

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the space between you feeling insurmountable.

Finally, he exhaled sharply and stood, tossing a few bills onto the table. “If this is what you want,” he said, his voice void of the warmth it once held, “then I won’t stop you.”

But as he turned to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over. Not really.

You managed to find a new apartment—a cheap, incredibly cheap one. The kind of place where the pipes rattled and the paint on the walls peeled if you so much as looked at it wrong. You had to take out a loan just to secure it, and as you stared at the mountain of paperwork, you felt the weight of your choices pressing down on you.

What had you been doing for the past year? Locked away in some castle. You almost cried just thinking about it.

The move was exhausting. Box after box filled with remnants of a life you didn’t recognize anymore. You left some things behind—things he’d given you, or things you couldn’t bring yourself to touch. It felt like shedding skin, leaving those pieces of yourself in the apartment you once shared.

A month passed in strained silence. You hadn’t heard from him, but you felt his presence everywhere. The way your phone seemed heavier in your pocket. The way every knock on the door made your heart jump. You told yourself it was paranoia, that he’d moved on.

Until one day, your phone lit up with a call.

His name stared back at you, bold and glaring.

You froze. The room felt smaller, the air thicker. The phone rang once. Then twice. Then thrice.

You didn’t answer.

When it finally stopped, the voicemail icon appeared, along with a text. You hesitated before opening it, your breath catching as you read the message.

"Can we talk?"

That was all it said.

But it wasn’t just the message. Attached to it was a picture.

Your chest tightened as you opened the image.

It was of your desk. Your old desk. The one from his office. On it sat your “small little toys”—the ones he used to tease you about. The picture was perfectly framed, almost artistic in its composition.

He still had your things. Of course, he did.

You told yourself you should’ve picked them up by now. That you’d been putting it off because you couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing him again.

But now… now you weren’t sure if going back was an option.

Your phone buzzed again, and you jumped.

Another text:

“You forgot these. They’re waiting for you.”

Something about the message sent a chill down your spine.

Waiting. That word lingered in your mind, heavy and suffocating.

You stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. You could just ignore him, pretend you hadn’t seen the message. But deep down, you knew he wouldn’t stop. Not until you answered.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

You told yourself you were overthinking. The picture, the message—it was just him being thoughtful, wasn’t it? After all, he was a caring guy. Always had been.

You stared at the text again. “They’re waiting for you.”

Your things. That’s all he meant.

Still, you hesitated. The memory of his voice, so calm and steady in the voicemail, echoed in your mind. It wasn’t like him to sound so… subdued. You’d expected anger, bitterness—anything but that gentle request.

Maybe you owed him this much. A chance to talk, to clear the air.

You typed out a quick reply:

“Okay. When?”

His response came almost immediately, as though he’d been waiting for you.

“Tonight. I’ll make dinner.”

Dinner. Of course, he’d turn this into a gesture of kindness. That was just like him—always going the extra mile, always making you feel like you were the center of his world. It had been suffocating at times, sure, but it wasn’t bad. Was it?

The memory of his smile tugged at your mind, warm and genuine, the kind of smile that made you feel like everything would be okay. You wanted to believe in that version of him, even now.

So, that evening, you found yourself standing outside his door. The apartment looked the same as you remembered—pristine, welcoming, like it had been plucked straight from a magazine. You knocked hesitantly, the sound of it feeling too loud in the quiet hallway.

The door opened almost instantly.

He stood there, his face lighting up at the sight of you. “You came,” he said, his voice filled with relief.

“I—yeah. For my stuff,” you replied, shifting awkwardly.

“Of course,” he said smoothly, stepping aside to let you in. “Come on in. I just finished cooking.”

The smell of something delicious wafted out, warm and inviting. It made your stomach twist—not from hunger, but from the strange mixture of nostalgia and unease settling in your chest.

You stepped inside, your gaze sweeping over the apartment. It was exactly how you left it. No, that wasn’t right. It was better. Cleaner. More organized. Your things, the ones you’d left behind, were neatly arranged in the same spots they used to occupy.

It was like you’d never left.

“I made your favorite,” he said, leading you to the dining table. The plates were already set, the soft glow of candlelight dancing across the surface. It was the kind of effort he always put in, the kind that used to make you feel special.

But now, it felt… off.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” you said, forcing a smile as you sat down.

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “It’s no trouble. I just want you to feel comfortable.”

Comfortable. That’s what he always said when you’d been upset, when you’d tried to pull away.

The dinner was good—perfect, even. He talked about small things, work, how he’d been keeping busy. He didn’t ask about your new apartment, didn’t press you for details about your life. If anything, he seemed… patient.

When the plates were cleared and the conversation lulled, he stood and gestured toward the office. “Your things are in there. I packed them up for you.”

You followed him, your steps hesitant. The office looked exactly as you remembered it, down to the way your desk was arranged. Your “small little toys” were lined up neatly on the shelf, untouched except for the care he’d taken to clean the dust from them.

“I didn’t want you to feel rushed,” he said softly, watching as you looked over the room. “I know how much these meant to you.”

You glanced back at him, guilt prickling at your chest. He was smiling, that same warm smile that always made you feel safe. But there was something in his eyes—something you couldn’t place.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice quiet.

He nodded, stepping closer. Too close. You could feel the warmth of his presence, the subtle shift in the air as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, almost tender, “you don’t have to go. You can stay here, where it’s safe.”

The words were kind, caring. But they lingered in the air, heavy with implication.

“I can’t,” you said, stepping back. “I—I have to go.”

His hand dropped to his side, his smile faltering for just a moment before it returned, softer, gentler. “Of course,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You swallowed hard and turned away, focusing on the task at hand. You quickly grabbed your little trinkets, each one feeling heavier than it should as you set them into the small box he had left out for you. The edges of your vision blurred slightly, and your mind felt strangely… woozy.

“You feeling alright?” His voice was warm, almost teasing, and you could hear the smile in it even though you weren’t looking at him.

“I’m fine,” you said, but your voice sounded far away, almost like it wasn’t yours.

The room seemed to tilt ever so slightly, and you reached out to steady yourself against the desk. The surface felt cool under your fingertips, grounding you just enough to stay upright.

“I don’t know,” he said, stepping closer, his tone a mockery of concern. “You look a little pale.”

Your head turned toward him, but your movements were sluggish. His figure was close now—too close—and his smile, while soft, seemed sharper somehow, like it could cut you if you looked at it the wrong way.

“You’ve been so stressed lately,” he continued, his voice dripping with honeyed care. “All this running around, all this independence... It’s no wonder you’re not feeling well.”

“I just need to—” You stopped, the words slipping from your mind as quickly as they’d formed.

“Shh,” he murmured, reaching out to steady you, his hands gentle as they guided you back against the desk. “It’s okay. Let me take care of you.”

“I—” You tried to pull away, but your body wasn’t cooperating. Your legs felt like lead, your arms heavy and limp.

“There we go,” he whispered, his voice almost soothing as he adjusted his grip, cradling you like you might break. “Let’s get you back to where you belong.”

The words sank into you like cold water, and your heart pounded in your chest. “I don’t—”

But your voice was weak, and the edges of your vision darkened as your knees gave way.

He caught you, of course. He always did. His arms were steady, strong, and terrifyingly familiar as you seemed to melt into them.

“You’ll see,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your temple as the darkness closed in. “This is for the best. You’ll understand soon enough.”

The last thing you heard was the faint click of the lock turning.

When you woke up, it was in a bed you knew well—his bed. The familiar scent of expensive lavender laundry detergent and faint cologne clung to the sheets, grounding you in a way that made your head spin.

Your body felt heavy, but there was no immediate pain. Just a dull, aching tiredness, like you’d slept too long.

The soft shuffle of footsteps drew your attention, and he appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of food. His face lit up when he saw you were awake.

“There you are,” he said, his voice warm and soothing. “I was starting to worry.”

You blinked at him, your mind foggy. “What… happened?”

“You fainted,” he explained, setting the tray down on the nightstand. “I knew you weren’t feeling well, but I didn’t think it was this bad. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

“I need to go home,” you murmured, though the words felt weak, half-hearted.

He crouched beside the bed, his hand reaching out to brush the hair from your face. “You’re not going anywhere until you’re better,” he said softly, but there was an edge of finality in his tone. “I can’t let you hurt yourself like this.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sincerity in his eyes made the words catch in your throat. He wasn’t angry—far from it. He looked… concerned. Genuinely so.

“I made another one of your favorites,” he said, gesturing to the tray. “You need to eat something. Please.”

And somehow, you did.

The first week passed in a haze. He was always there, tending to you with quiet patience and a gentle touch. He cooked your meals, brought you tea, even read to you when you were too tired to focus on your own.

When you’d ask to leave, he’d smile, tilting his head like you’d just said something silly. “Why would you want to leave when you’re safe here?” he’d ask, his tone light, affectionate. “This is your home.”

At first, you resisted. You’d test the locks when he wasn’t looking, search for your phone, try to reason with him. But each time, he’d find you.

And each time, he’d reassure you.

“I know this is hard,” he’d say, holding you close as you fought back tears. “But I promise, I’m doing this because I love you. Because I can’t bear to see you hurt yourself.”

The way he said it—so tenderly, so earnestly—made it harder to argue.

Months passed.

Your protests grew quieter, your attempts to leave less frequent. He never raised his voice, never hurt you. Instead, he smothered you in kindness, his care so unwavering it became impossible to distinguish from love.

He brought you little gifts—books he thought you’d like, your favorite snacks, new clothes in your size. He’d sit with you for hours, talking about everything and nothing, his laughter warm and infectious.

And slowly, bit by bit, you began to feel it: the comfort of his presence, the safety of his arms.

You still thought about leaving sometimes. But every time you’d imagine the cold, lonely world outside, his face would appear in your mind, smiling, reassuring.

“I take care of you,” he’d remind you. “No one else will.”

And part of you started to believe him.

A year later, the apartment felt less like a prison and more like a sanctuary. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You’d stopped counting the days a long time ago. The routine he built for you was too carefully crafted, too comforting in its predictability. Meals prepared before you asked, your favorite books always within reach, even the temperature of the room adjusted to perfection. He knew what you needed before you did.

But tonight, something felt different.

He sat beside you on the couch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as always, his fingers idly tracing circles on your arm. The television played softly in the background, though neither of you were paying attention.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he said, his tone light, almost teasing. But there was an edge beneath it, subtle but sharp, like a blade hidden beneath silk.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “I’m fine,” you replied, offering a small smile. “Just… thinking.”

He tilted his head, his gaze soft but probing. “Thinking about what?”

“Nothing important,” you said quickly, looking away.

His hand stilled against your arm.

“I hope you’re not thinking about leaving me,” he said, his voice so soft it made your skin crawl.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “I’m not,” you said, too quickly.

He smiled then, that same warm, reassuring smile that had once made you feel safe. But now, it felt like a mask. “Good,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Because you know what happens when you try.”

Your stomach twisted, memories flashing through your mind.

The first time you’d tried to escape, you’d woken up hours later, your body weak and trembling, with him at your bedside, his expression one of heartbreak. “You scared me,” he’d said, brushing a hand through your hair. “I can’t lose you. Don’t ever do that again.”

The second time, he hadn’t been so kind. His voice had been cold, his eyes devoid of warmth as he’d pinned you against the wall, his hand gripping your wrist just hard enough to bruise. “I love you,” he’d whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “But if you try to leave me again, I’ll have to show you how much.”

You hadn’t tried since.

Now, as you sat beside him, the weight of his arm around you felt suffocating. You nodded mutely, your hands curling into fists in your lap.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” he said, his voice bright again, as though nothing had happened.

He reached for the remote, turning off the television, and stood. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand to you. “Let’s go to bed.”

You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand in his. His grip was firm, steady, like an anchor pulling you under.

As he led you to the bedroom, his fingers intertwined with yours, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the hallway mirror.

The person staring back at you was a stranger—someone small, broken, and unrecognizable.

But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Because as he closed the bedroom door behind you, the lock clicking into place, you knew one thing for certain:

You weren’t going anywhere.

And neither was he.

Characters:

BNHA: Hawks, Dabi, Endeavor

AOT: Erwin, Zeke, Levi

JJK: Gojo, Geto, Nanami...(maybe Yuta...if he was older)

HxH: Chrollo, Illumi, Hisoka

[ethearecals]

i wish i were heather...

synopsis: you were under the impression that you were stable in your secret long-term relationship with three of the four marauders, until it becomes clear that you aren't the girl they want anymore. (so you think). will you lose them before its too late? or have you already?

pairings: fem!reader x poly!marauders ` poly!marauders x lily evans

warnings: NO LILY SLANDER!! SHE'S PERFECT AND BEAUTIFUL AND ITS NOT HER FAULT!!, cusswords, ANGST, depressing, a blip of reader skipping meals on the radar but it's srsly nothing crazy, insecure reader, the marauders besides peter are dicks, reader is a little naive, the marauders borderline cheat on you, no happy ending, there might still be one thoughhh, possibly slytherin!reader if you squint?,

part one in the conan gray series

A/N!!: In some of the fic i use colors to represent a certain character! Orange is Lily, Red is James, and Green is Barty :3

wc; 2.4k

LIFE WAS AMAZING, which is not usually how stories begin.

You felt so safe and secure in your secret relationship with Hogwarts' once most eligible bachelors... The Marauders.

The rush of excitement that coursed through your veins every time you shared a hidden glance with Remus, or hiding in the showers of the Gryffindor boys locker room with James after his quidditch victory, and sneaking off to empty classrooms where anyone from anywhere could catch you with Sirius.

It was heavenly, these boys were all you would ever need.

until... now.

You were in Remus' sweater, he said it looked better on you than it did him. If only he knew how much you liked him...

The fireplace erupted with a citrine glow, illuminating the Gryffindor common room beautifully.

Most impactfully, it lit up Remus' scar-kissed features.

His freckles looked as if they were painted onto his face with careful hands by a renaissance painter.

His eyes half-lidded from his lack of sleep from the incoming full moon that was slowly approaching, it pained you to know how much they hurt him.

For once, Remus wasn't in a sweater. Since his was rested comfortably on your body, as your scent comforted The Wolf greatly.

And his scent comforted you, too.

Remus' book had suddenly landed on your lap, and though it startled you a bit. You didn't bother to ask why, until you sat up.

Remus was locked in a passionate conversation with Gryffindor's resident golden girl, Lily Evans.

"Evans, it's lovely to see you."

"Same to you, Lupin."

Godric, was she beautiful.

"I just stopped by to see if you had gotten any of the Defence Against The Dark Arts homework done?"

Lily Evans was as radiant as an angel who blessed anyone with her presence.

"I have; actually, I just finished my paper."

Remus seemed mesmerized by her, the golden gleam from the fire painting her features gorgeously in that same citrine glow as Remus'.

"Could I have a look of it? Not to copy it- obviously, I just want to see how others are wording the question."

You weren't even half as pretty as Lily.

"Of course, and I know you'd never cheat."

"You're the smartest witch in our year."

You tried not to mind other girls flirting with your boys.

Just because you knew that later that night they'd be back to your boys again, and only yours.

As she was about to go, she planted a soft kiss on the side of Remus' cheek, leaving him blushing softly as he bid her goodbye.

Your heart clenched, it was merely a pleasantry. You were being dramatic.

"Are you alright, dove?" Your head perked up at the sound of Remus' voice.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine." You mused, albeit a bit absentmindedly.

"Are you tired?" He asked carefully.

"I am, actually..." You forced a sweet smile onto your lips, as he leaned down to kiss them softly.

That kiss was the last one that felt anything more than a chore, an obligation.

That was also your last kiss with Remus.

Cheering James on at the quidditch pitch was just the thrill you needed after that melancholy moment with Remus.

He soared through the field like he was on top of the world, the players scattered around the pitch for one common goal: to win.

Gryffindor had won the game with 60 points, and James had caught the snitch like usual.

This game was also a rain game.

Just as you were about to head down to showers when you spotted Lily excitedly trailing after James.

You knew full well that James chased Lily tirelessly since they started school, that was also well before you came into the picture.

You also knew that she wanted nothing to do with him or the other marauders, so what was with her infatuation now?

Why your boys? She couldn't find her own boys?

But maybe she was just being friendly, right? The boys would never ever cheat on you... right?

You heard Lily giggle as James so graciously held the curtain open for her to enter the locker room, and your heart clenched.

You followed them in, jealously.

"James?" You called, as James poked his head from the changing area. Sweat glistening off his abs.

"Hi, Y/N." He shut the curtain behind him, as if he had something to hide.

Also; he barely just called you by your first name.

"You didn't come to see me after the game?" You questioned, grazing his cheek gently as he spoke."

"Sorry, Y/N. It was a long one." He excused, as he clearly looked a bit flushed.

"You look red, are you dehydrated?"

"Godric, y/n. you are hardly my mum."

You giggled as if it was a joke, yet he seemed quite stone faced.

You cleared your throat embarrassingly once you realized.

"I... just wanted to congratulate you on another win." You forcefully smiled again.

"Thank you, I really appreciate that." Then, he flashed his classic grin at you.

The grin he hadn't flashed at you since he realized he genuinely liked you.

What the fuck?

"Victory kiss?" You asked quietly, with some false hope mixed in.

"Of course." He pecked your forehead quickly, before hurrying off back to his changing area.

And with that, you had also left the steamy tent and outside into the cool, soft rain once more.

A forehead kiss? whenever he used to give you victory kisses they'd be full-on make outs in that same changing room or the showers.

James was falling out of love with you, and you knew it.

Luckily, you could easily disguise your tears with the excuse of it raining.

"Victory kiss?" Lily mewled, from her position on the stool in his changing spot.

"Just on the forehead, lovely."

You stopped showing up to breakfast, as the one time you decided to go Lily was sat in your spot next to Sirius.

Dorcas was nearly at her wits end with the boys and their antics.

The motley crew of Slytherins were the only ones who knew of your relationship, and they were pissed off.

"Treasure, surely they aren't fucked enough to know that you are the best thing they've ever had!" Barty explained, laying upside-down on his bed across from you.

"I-It's no use, Jr." You cried softly, mirroring his position yet on your bed instead. The tears (and blood) rushing to your hairline instead of your face because Dorcas said 'Your makeup is too pretty to ruin, love.' .

"There is a use, Y/L/N. we'll kill them-"

"Jr, absolutely not." Regulus chided, rubbing your shoulder. "She's clearly upset, I don't see the issue."

"Murder is never a good option, Barty." Dorcas scolded gently.

"So what are we gonna do then? My Treasure can't go on like this!"

"You said you've already talked to James and Remus? Maybe you can go talk to... eh... Sirius." Clearly, that name was hard for Regulus to get out.

"*Sniff* yeah, yeah- I'll go talk to him..." You sat up half-hazardously, and strutted out of the dorm-room to go (hopefully) save your relationship.

You still remember the third of December.

Sirius lounged on the couch while speaking with the other marauders, about some sort of prank on the other group of Slytherins.

"And then, we'll-"

"Hi, Siri." You sat next to him, beaming up at him (hopefully).

"...y/n." He greeted casually, before continuing to talk.

Your smile faded, as he continued to talk to your other boyfriends friends about this horrible prank.

Instead of leaving, you sat quietly next to them, as if you were some decoration or trophy wife.

This was truly your breaking point, as you saw Lily sit down on the couches of the common room as she caught all of their attention, you hadn't seemed to do that for ages. Though, she was wearing something familiar...

Remus'... sweater...

Remus'- YOUR Remus' sweater.

"How's it look?" Lily asked, giving them a twirl. Their eyes locked on her.

"Gorgeous, doll." Sirius flirted, shooting her a wink.

"Truly a sight for sore eyes." James grinned.

"It looks better on you than it did me." Remus took her hand and helped her sit down on the couch in between him and James.

That's exactly what he said to you...

He put his arm 'round her shoulder,

suddenly you got colder.

She's got them mesmerized... while you die.

But how could you hate her?

She's such an angel...

But then again you wished she were dead.

"Why would you ever kiss me?" You asked impulsively.

"What?" James looked up from Lily, all eyes on you.

"I mean- I'm not even half as pretty."

"Y/n, You're overthinking it-" Remus started it.

"You gave her your sweater!" You shot back.

"It's just polyester!" Remus defended.

"But you like her better." You felt the tears rush to your waterline.

"We're done." You whispered, leaving Lily looking so confused and the common room dead quiet.

"What does she mean by that...?" Lily seemed horrified.

"We... weren't really dating.." Sirius attempted to defend.

"Yes, we were, you tosser!" James shoved him.

"You said yourself that you were bored of her!" Remus stated matter-of-factly.

"Was I seriously the other woman?" Lily mewled, her hands clutching the sides of her head.

"Nonono- No, we were planning to break up with her but- because we all wanted you-" Sirius tried again.

"Then don't fuck around with her feelings just to get me!" Lily yelled, standing up quickly.

"I appreciate the admiration- but I need time to process, okay? You all were absolute... arseholes to her, I'll admit." Lily started,

"Are you saying no?" James quickly cut in.

"...No..." Lily ended.

After crying your eyes out to Barty and Regulus over your breakup, December 7th rolled around.

The day that students were meant to be studying for their OWLS and other end of term exams.

You would usually be in the library 24/7.

Lily, had finally come around and accepted the boys' proposal, and their relationship became public quickly.

Lily obviously still felt this bitter taste of guilt in her mouth, as did all of them.

So today, Lily had convinced them all to apologize to you for borderline cheating and lying and manipulating and gaslighting-.

But, you were nowhere to be found.

"Regulus! Regulus, wait up!" Lily ran through the hallways to get to her.

"Evans, Brother.. Potter... and Lupin.." She said those last three names with utter disgust.

"We're trying to find Y/n, have you seen her?" Remus asked quietly, he was definitely feeling the most guilt.

"Y/n? Well, If she was here, I think she'd completely refuse to see you lot." Regulus explained bluntly.

"W-What do you mean "If she was here"?" James questioned.

"I mean, Her, Junior., and the Rosier twins completed their OWLS early and hightailed it to Junior's holiday house for the rest of the break." He explained casually.

"What?" Sirius scowled.

"What the hell is my girl-... Y/n doing with them?" James had the same expression as Sirius.

"They are simply better friends then you were to her, hm? I don't blame her."

"When will she be back?" Lily asked breathlessly.

"End of December, If she ever returns." Regulus strolled away, potions book in hand.

"...We fucked up."

Fin.

[blushstories]

you hide an injury from joel after your patrol shift | hurt/comfort, slight angst

i had two versions for this and they will be split with a —— so please enjoy either or both!

five runners. five bullets. the run down store’s only light came from broken windows and missing roof tiles, and you’ve backed yourself into a corner so that nothing can sneak up on you. your torch casts shadows behind them and they approach in a line. you send a bullet through a head, a kneecap and its head, a neck. you duck one clawing at you and shoot up once from the floor. the screeching doesn’t end, and you pull the trigger again to hear an empty click. your heart stutters, your breath hitches, and you kick at the runner’s leg to send it to the floor, and aim another at its head as you scramble to your feet. you holster your gun and reach for your flipknife. but your pocket is empty. you dig into it a bit more, stepping backwards as the runner recovers, but it’s not there.

you want to scream. not in fear, in fury. a glint catches your eye and your torch has caught the blade of your knife on the floor. the runner charges, and you launch yourself next to your knife, slamming into the floor at full force. you grab it, roll onto your back and catch the incoming infected as it jumps on top of you. gripping it at its shoulder, you stab the knife into its chest, its neck, its temple, until it ceases its movements. its blood seeps through your fingers, dripping onto your chest. with a cry of relief you shove it off of you and wipe your knife on your jeans before pocketing it. its only when you try to sit up that you feel it. a sharp, hot pain in your side, forcing you to lie back again. you glance at the lifeless runner next to you, a distant pang entering your heart at the person they used to be.

you wince as you try to sit up again, inhaling sharply as you peel your shirt away from your side. and there it was, a neat shard of glass wedged into your skin.

—————— track 1 starts here ———————

“oh, fuck.” you sniff, blinking up at the sky. deep breath. removing it might make you bleed out, and you know maria could help you. not tommy; he’d blab to joel, who’s already not keen about you going on patrol on your own. but he has things to do in jackson, you couldn’t let him risk his life out here. it only takes one wrong move.

you lie back, and gently roll over until you’re on your knees, trying to keep your torso as straight as possible. using a nearby shelf, you pull yourself up. it’s fine. it’s not bleeding too much, just leaking here and there. you check again and swipe it up with your thumb. you’re not too far from jackson, you think as you reach your horse. riding on horseback would definitely fuck up your insides, so you decided on a gentle walk. you don’t have much daylight left though, so you try to get a move on.

the sun is kissing the horizon by the time you see jackson again, and the doors open as you approach, as if they had been waiting for you. your feet feel numb, and you’re trying to stand up as straight as you can without wincing. the intruder in your side causing a deep, aching throb. you let go of the reins and let your horse run off towards the stables, right before you hear your name echoing across the courtyard. tommy slips down the ladder from the watchtower like it’s slick with grease, his boots barely touching one rung before it’s met the other.

he bounds towards you, forehead glistening, and slams into your good side with his arms around you. you bite your tongue at the force, feeling the glass slicing into you more. but you mustve let some sound out, becaus tommy pulls away and holds you at arms length.

he breathes your name, eyes assessing you. “jesus. you look— joel’s been about to send a search party for you.”

“it’s not my blood,” you lie. then you sniff, briefly breaking eye contact. “not all of it. where’s maria?”

tommy freezes for a nanosecond, eyes boring into yours. he knows, but he doesn’t ask, using two fingers against your forearm to nudge you into following him. he doesn’t pay any extra attention, as you walk past jesse, dina, and ellie, he probably doesn’t want any sort of rumour to find its way back to joel. and for that, you’re grateful. you smile at ellie on your way past, hand hovering over your wound to hide the bloodstain that was yours. she smiles back, you think. you’ve turned the corner before you and tommy are alone.

“you can’t tell joel.” you say. just then, your foot lands in a hole of land a lot deeper than you’re expecting, sending a painful jolt through your right side, exploding into the wound. you catch yourself on a nearby porch as your knees respond poorly to the shockwave through your body.

“woah,” tommy grips your arms carefully, avoiding your wound. “you’re kidding. he’ll find out when you tell him.” he helps you walk the little bit further to his house.

“no way. he’ll never let me patrol solo again!” tommy looks at you, eyebrows raised.

“is that such a bad thing?” he pushes the door open and shouts for maria to clear the table for an emergency. you hear a clattering and tommy shifts beside you. “sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs, swooping beneath your knees to pick you up and place you on the table. you wince and swallow your cries of pain, hearing his whispers of “i know, i know. shh.” in your ear.

you feel a soft towel beneath you and maria’s supplies are spread on a small table nearby. she’s quick to business, slowly pulling up your shirt just enough to reveal the glass, which to your horror has dug itself deeper into you.

“it’s not that big, right?” you breathe lightly. but you eye tommy in the doorway, whose hand is covering his mouth, raking through his scruff.

“christ.” he says into his palm.

“i need your shirt off,” maria says calmly, and with that tommy spins on his heel and leaves, the door closing quietly behind him. you hold your arms up and allow maria to pull your bloodsoaked shirt off of you, before you hear a flannel being wrung into a bowl of water. it’s warm against your skin, the blood and dirt disappearing. but she’s delaying the inevitable.

she has a pillow under your head, and passes you a dry flannel.

“put it in your mouth,” she says. “i don’t have painkillers.” you do as she says as she readies two pairs of medium tweezers, a lot of gauze and some thread. you feel sick at the sight of it and prefer not to look. so you watch the ceiling as maria counts down, and on two, your skin feels as if it’s being ripped through by a chainsaw. you have to bite your scream into the cloth in your mouth, slapping a hand on top to muffle the sound even more. you’re gripping your own face with such force that you know you’ve left marks behind when maria pauses. she wipes at your forehead with the wet flannel and says she’s giving you a break. you shake your head as a tear slides down your temple and dissolves into your hairline.

“just do it, don’t care. hurts enough,” you mumble, head feeling as if it’s floating away.

“you could pass out. i am not having joel at my ankles for that,” she says, with care. she strokes your head lovingly, and purses her lips. she asks you if you’re ready and you nod.

“the whole thing,” you say, not daring to glance down. maria doesn’t reply, but she readies the tweezers. she takes a breath. and the pain returns. your body shakes as maria tries her best to steadily extract the glass, and you feel something dislodge. maria swears, and somewhere far away, you hear an argument.

the door slams open. the jolt in the room sends a searing pain through to your head, and your throat feels shredded.

“shit, joel!” maria shouts. he’d heard your screams due to the open kitchen window, and fought tommy while he was standing guard at the door.

“what the fuck happened?” joel shouts, stalking towards the table. tommy slips in front of him, hands on his chest shoving him back.

“wait; let her finish. you don’t want this to be worse. trust me.” there’s something serious in his tone that would even make you shut up. joel freezes, and watches maria dump the shard onto the table before starting on plugging the gushing of blood that’s just left your body.

with a deep throbbing ache remaining, you’re too tired to keep your arm up, dropping the cloth away from your mouth as you try to catch your breath. you consciousness is floating away, your eyes unfocused, breaths fractured. joel bats tommy’s arm away and he’s on his knees next to your head, smoothing the hairs away from your sticky forehead. you hold your breath as maria increases pressure on your wound, and joel takes your hand in his.

“that’s it, sweetheart, take it out on me,” joel mumbles into your temple. you squeeze his hand and groan in pain, feeling nausea creep into your throat.

maria’s recruited tommy. he opens a bottle of alcohol and douses a clean rag in it, muttering an apology as he sets your wound alight. joel watches in horror as your body convulses, sees the oozing wound and hoping the blood is only making it seem worse. your forehead is slick with sweat, and you’re only half conscious, murmuring his name while existing on a different planet.

“oh, baby,” he whispers, shoulders hitched high. you’ve started breathing heavily, and he doesn’t relax until maria begins stitching, then eventually wrapping your body. joel helps to hold you up enough, cradling your head and keeping your shoulders up. when maria cleans you up as much as she can, joel whisks you from the table to the couch, pulling up a blanket to your chin to protect your dignity.

when you come to, he’s on the floor, back to the coffee table. he’s kept his head up with his arm braced on his knees as he dozes. you stir, and he snaps to attention. your breath catches in your throat, and you can’t stop yourself blabbing, “joel, it was an accident, ‘m fine, please don’t worry.”

he wants to be mad, he really does. he wants to hit you with a “what were you thinkin’?” but you’re so tired, and your voice is all pebbly, and he doesn’t have it in him. he’s soft on you.

so all he says is, “i know. but i will. and we gotta talk about this soon.” you swallow the rocks in your throat, but you nod. maybe it’s time to stop being a lone wolf. an extra gun could save your life, after all.

———————— track 2 starts here ————————

you stare at it for a few moments in disbelief. heat pools behind your eyes and you take a sharp inhale. the runner twitches next to you and your heart flies into your mouth. you think your wound isn’t hurting as much as it should do, but you’re putting it down to adrenaline.

“fuck me, i guess,” you mutter to yourself shakily, pulling yourself onto your knees and hauling yourself up. should you pull it out? maybe it will fall out itself, it doesn’t seem lodged too deep. you wince with each step you take, and consider using your walkie talkie to call for backup. but you want to deal with this yourself.

the route back has a noticeable lack of infected, which you’re grateful for. your horse, gale, nudges at your shoulder when you seem to slow down, but the pins and needles in your feet can’t be reasoned with.

“‘s fine, gale. we’re almost there,” you say blearily, watching jackson appear dead ahead.

your feet drag against the ground, and your hand is slick holding onto gale’s reins. there’s a strange smell in your nose. pain. it’s metallic and stale, and your eyes feel too heavy for midday.

you don’t know how you find the strength to shout for the gate to open, but you do, and you slide in — they only open it a crack for patrols. you jolt slightly, thinking you’ve nicked the shard on the side of the gate, and with your next step you realise you have. your smile turns wonky, and instead of greeting tommy as usual, you settle on a wave.

you leave gale with the rest of the horses and stumble towards your house, where joel is working in the front yard. his muscles flex underneath his flannel as he moves a bucket of something to one side. he catches a glimpse of you approaching as he sets it down, and you try straightening up. heat rushes from the wound to your face, and you sniff away any cry of pain.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice dripping with honey. he pulls off some heavy gloves and turns around with a smile, wiping his forearm across his forehead. it drops as soon as he sees you. his eyebrows set and his eyes narrow.

“what happened?” he asks, the words stale. you shuffle forwards, aming to dodge him.

“a successful patrol, if you must know. ganked a bunch of infected. i want a shower though,” you say, a little too fast. joel chucks the gloves to one side and doesn’t break eye contact.

“you’re standin’ funny,” he says. you try to play it off.

“you think i stand funny?” you feign hurt.

“knock it off. are you hurt? i need to know, baby,” his mask cracks. there’s a stab in your heart, and your side.

“i’ll get back to you on that,” you begin, sliding past him and climbing the stairs of the porch, using your arm more than your legs to pull you up. but you’ve crunched your side too hard, and you feel the shard begin to pop out. you’re glad you’re facing away from joel as your face crumples in agony, the electric hot wound sending prickles through your entire body. “but right now—“ you wince halfway, “i need a shower.”

the toe of your shoe catches the tip of the last step and you fly forwards, onto your hands and knees. you hear your name behind you and then you feel him. hands. on your shoulders, on your hips. you’ve frozen as the pain rockets through you, stealing your breath and your composure.

“fuck. jesus, fuck.” he’s turned you over and has spotted an angry red patch on your shirt. and it’s growing. he’s so mad. but your eyes are drooping and your eyebrows are all creased. so he bites the inside of his cheek in panic. he taps your cheek with his fingers. “stay with me, now. hold on sweetheart,” he says. you’re whimpering because you need to bite your tongue in case you scream. “you gotta—“ he sniffs harshly through his nose, “you gotta let me help you.”

his hand grasps your shirt and pulls it up. with wide eyes, he whips his head around to scan the immediate area, spotting ellie and jesse emerging nearby. he shouts for help even though his tongue feels numb. he can’t put pressure on the wound — for obvious reasons — but blood’s pooling onto the porch and he feels sick because if you don’t pull through, and the wood is stained forever…

footsteps thunder through your head, and there’s a murmuring that buzzes through your consciousness and you’re falling from joel, further and further.

you wake up in your bed. the sheets are soft and you feel clean. even though joel sleeps next to you routinely, he’s now slumped in a chair, arms folded tightly across his chest and chin falling into his neck. you lift up the sheet covering your body and eye the neat bandage around you, with only a faint patch of red seeping through. your throat is dry, and you feel so tired; a dry crackling at the back of your throat sends you into a coughing fit. the action jerks your wound which in turn remixes your coughs into cries of pain.

joel stirs, then, and his head snaps up. his eyes are bleary until he realises that you’re awake, so he reaches for a glass of water on the side and stumbles over to you. he slowly tips it into your mouth and the cool liquid tastes like gold. you tap his wrist twice so that he doesn’t accidentally waterboard you, and he listens. your coughs die down and you put pressure on your wound in case it makes it hurt less. and then he settles next to you.

“how’re ya feeling?” he says. you nod.

“‘M alive.” you aren’t sure what to say. there’s an elephant in the room, and you’re too scared to address it. joel isn’t, though.

“i don’t know why you’re so reckless. why you try to hide it from me.” he averts his gaze, but it’s clearly planets away. “i’m not putting you on patrol again,” he says. your jaw falls.

“what? but it’s the only job i’m good at!” you insist. “i didn’t say anything because i knew you’d say that.”

joel runs his hand down his scruff. “you could’ve died. hell, you almost did and it wasn’t even a fuckin’ infected.” you know he’s reliving something that you can’t remember.

“exactly, it was an accident. c’mon joel. next time—“

“there won’t be a next time. don’t you get it? next time, a clicker eats your throat. next time, runners take you down. next time, a bloater rips your jaw open—“

“joel, stop—“ you cringe at his graphic monologue.

“no, i won’t stop. you’re a smart girl; why aren’t you acting like it? i’m not letting you out of my sight,” his voice cracks imperceptibly, “m not gonna lose you.”

oh. that’s why he’s lashing out.

“you won’t. okay? you won’t. can we please work this out later? i’m very good at compromising,” you say, your hand finding his jaw and pushing him to look at you. he does, and there’s care in his eyes. he squeezes your hand and inhales steadily, blinking back something.

“okay, fine,” he says. “do you need anything?”

you shake your head, biting back a smile, “just you.” you pat the bed next to you and wait patiently for joel — now suppressing a smile — to stalk around the bed, toe of his boots, and lie next to you. you lean up against him as much as possible, already drifting again into sleep. there’s a soft kiss to your head, and you’re smiling in your sleep.

[aliesbienish]

A study of wolves: chapter three

chapter one ✩ chapter two

Paul Lahote x Reader

- The previous day -

“Why did we even agree to this study, clearly she is going to notice signs that the wolves around here aren’t always of the typical gray variety?” Paul questioned the tribal council, pacing at the foot of the meeting table.

“Son we didn’t have a choice, the majority of the land you boys protect falls out of the reservation. It was going ahead anyway, so it made sense to at least have someone from the council always there to steer clear of anything suspicious,” Billy placated, hands up in surrender to the clearly riled man.

“Billy’s right Paul,” Sam chimed in “there wasn’t an option. Plus this way we get income from the cabin and a guide. You know we need this to complete the maintenance on the school.”

“So you are okay with us becoming a study? Because we all know between the cameras and her field observation training we’re fucked. There is no way we can always play it safe with these cold ones lurking around, a mistake is inevitable.”

“Son,” Billy continued “it’s not even like it’s an issue anymore. You’ve imprinted on her, so she is one of us now. It’s well within reason to tell her what is going on.”

“No” Paul growled. “That is my choice and it’s absolutely not happening. Some silly idea that she’s my soulmate doesn’t change the fact she is a complete stranger. We don’t how she’ll react, there is no way I’m risking it,”

“You might not have a choice if she catches sight of something she’s not supposed to.”

“This is my only choice, and I’m not letting anyone taking it from me. Not even you.”

Billy sighed, resting his head in his hands. The chief was well aware what Paul’s reservations were really about. “Son, I know you didn’t want this. But please understand this is a blessing from the spirits, fighting this will only hurt you,”

“I refuse to let my choice be taken away, and I refuse to let hers. I will help to keep our secret safe but once this project is over she will leave and life will continue. And I don’t want anyone to try to do anything to change that.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The sky was clear but the southerly winds whipped ferociously along the cliff face where Paul parked up. The great blue expanse of ocean was mesmerising, stretching out as far as the eye could see. It was in moments like this you felt solace, out of the noise and bustle of large cities. Just the sounds of birds, waves crashing and winds whistling amongst the trees. After taking the moment to ground yourself you made your way over to the truck bed to grab your gear, Paul doing the same with his own bag.

“What’s the plan?”

“Well the most recent report says the last sighting was off this trail here,” you said pointing across the gravel road and to the unsigned trail head. “It happened in a clearing about four miles in so I think we head out there keeping an eye out on the way.”

“Sure thing boss. Anything you want me to keep an eye out for?”

“If you wouldn’t mind looking for prints, the ground should be pretty muddy under the vegetation cover so anything that’s been here since the previous rainfall last week should have left a mark. I don’t think we’ll actually come across a wolf since they’re nocturnal. But hopefully we can find a good spot for at least one of the cameras,”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

For the past hour you had been hiking in relative silence. Paul lead the way, keeping a steady but maintainable pace. The trail itself was muddy but relatively flat, and wide enough you didn’t have to squeeze past any bushes. So far you hadn’t spotted anything apart from a wild rabbit that darted across the path in front of you.

Seeing a fallen trunk parallel to the path up ahead you decided now was as good a time as any to have a break.

“You keen for some morning tea?” You called to your companion, who gave you a nod and slowed down.

Perching on the thankfully stable trunk you pulled out the first of the sandwich haul.

“What’s your poison; PB & J or ham and cheese?”

“Whatever one you don’t want,”

“Na-ah, that wasn’t my question now was it. What kind of boss would I be if I just gave my worker scraps?”

“A standard one,” Paul smirked. Before grabbing the ham and cheese sandwich from the lunchbox. “Thanks”

“So Paul,” you began after a few bites of food, “what do you usually do besides leading clueless city girls around the forest ?”

“Thanks for making me sound like a serial killer. Plus I wouldn’t call you clueless,”

“I mean in the serial killer equation I think I’d rather be clueless. Would be worse if I willingly followed a killer into the middle of nowhere. Now answer the question idiot,” you laughed affectionately.

“Whatever the council needs really. Usually some form of construction or land maintenance,”

“Do you enjoy it? I imagine it’s nice to be working with your hands and doing something different every day?”

“I do. It’s not what I had anticipated doing, but it keeps me busy. I don’t think I could ever work in an office.”

“What did you think you’ll be doing?” You paused a second, and realised you may be getting too intrusive with someone you didn’t know. Something about Paul just made you want to dig into what made him…well him. “Sorry you don’t have to answer that. I’ll just shut up,”

“Don’t worry [y/n], it’s fine. But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone,”

“I solemnly swear,” you declared grabbing his left pinkie with your right.

“Child,” Pull laughed, before wrapping his pinkie around your own. “I also thought by now I’d be travelling the country. Maybe working with animals on my way, at a ranch or something like that,”

“Nothing wrong with that at all. In fact it’s smart, animals are obviously much better than people,”

“Obviously,” he snorted.

“May I asked what changed?”

“Ah just council things really, it’s my duty to the tribe.”

You could tell he was skirting around the answer, but you knew it would be beyond rude to pry any further.

“Well there’s still plenty of time to try something new,” you declared as you swung your backpack on. “Shall we continue future cowboy?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Hope you all enjoyed xx

Next chapter

[siriuslysmoking]

Hi! I’ve never done an ask but I love your writing and I was just vibing to my autumn playlist and there’s this song by the backseat lovers, I don’t know if you know of them. But it’s called Maple Syrup and I guess creative part of my brain is on because I immediately thought of something based off of that song with Eddie. Like “I saw you dancing at the show tonight, I stood in the back and I think that we both know why” or “did it hurt? When I kicked you to the curb? Now I’m all alone. I guess I’ll never learn” has some pretty good lines. Sorry this is long I’ve never done a request before, but I hope you take a listen and it sparks something for you too! x

Cutting Ties

A/N: it's ex Eddie. Steve and Reader aren't dating, bu they are both there for each other on extreme levels. Also, I know that this trope is overused.

Pairing: Eddie munson x Reader | Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, talks of miscarriage, hurt/no comfort

Summary: When bad memories come strolling back into town you try to protect the few things that you hold sacred.

-Did it hurt when I kicked you to the curb? Now I'm all alone I guess I'll never learn-

He made it big, you always knew he would, you used to talk about it when you both were in high school.

It’s been four years since he left, not wanting to be tied down. Or whatever that means.

You were twenty when he left.

Now, you had your life put together, you had a job with a stable income, you had a roof over your head. You are able to support your daughter in anything she wants to do. She’s in gymnastics and she loves it, it’s a way to get her energy out during the day.

Steve… Steve is your rock.

From the start Steve has been by your side, supporting you in every decision you make. Holding your hand while you sit in doctors appointments. He held you as you cried when the doctor left the room after announcing that you might lose her.

He sat next to you during your twelve hour labour, rubbing your shoulders are you tried to breathe.

You made sure Wayne was in Mia's life, he deserved that much, Eddie doesn't call him anymore.

You didn't know he was in town, you wish you would've. Steve agreed to meet you at three to pick the both of you up after Wayne had made the both of you lunch. The three of you started a tradition, every sunday Wayne would pick you up and either take you out to lunch or one of you would make something.

It was nice. Steve worked sundays so he would pick you up after work.

You wish someone had told you he was in town.

But when there is knocks on the door at 2:30, you meet Wayne's curious eyes, "Did ya boy get off early?"

"I don't think so." You hand Mia her brownie that Wayne had made for dessert, giving her a kiss on the forehead while Wayne goes to get the door.

"Eds! W-what are you doin' here?"

"That's not the welcome I was expecting, old man."

"Wasn't exceptin' ya."

"That's usually what a surprise visit is." Wayne looks to you and it's not like you can't let him in, so you just nod, giving him permission.

Mia has noticed the disruption, stopping mid chew as a strange man walks in. You try to obscure Eddie's view of her the best you can.

Eddie walks in and meets your eyes. He opens his mouth say something but Mia interrupts him. "Mamma, I can't see."

Eddie's eyes go wide as you slowly move over to the side. "Hi! What's your name? Are you grampa's friend?"

"I-I don't understand."

You just sigh, turning to Mia, "Baby, I'm gonna go outside and you're gonna stay and eat this delicious brownie that Wayne made you, okay?"

"otay." and just like that she begins shoving her face once more.

You softly close the door behind you after motioning for Eddie to go outside. "What- Who is that?"

"That's my daughter." You cross your arms as Eddie moves to the picnic bench, you just sit at on the bench while he paces back and forth.

"How old is she?" He knows the answer, you don't have to give it to him, but you do.

"Three."

"You should've told me." Eddie finally meets you eyes, "You should've fucking told me!"

"How?! How was I supposed to tell you? Call you? I didn't have your number, I didn't get an address. You left and said you didn't want to be tied down. What more to tie you down more than a child?" You huff, rolling your eyes at his audacity.

"Even Wayne knew?"

"Once I had her, it was hard to keep quiet." You run your hands through your hair, "It didn't take him long to connect the dots."

"He didn't tell me." Eddie looks angry, he's completely fuming.

"You stopped calling!" You throw your hands in the air, looking at him from across the table.

"Does everyone know?"

"No, they think-" You get cut off by a door opening to your left, it's not the trailer door, it's a car.

"Hey hone-" Steve pauses, looking to you, then meeting Eddie's eyes, "Munson."

"Harington?"

"Steve, will you go get Mia?"

"Uh-yeah."

"Her name is Mia?" Eddie's expression goes soft at that.

That's when Steve walks in the trailer, the door open enough for the words Mia shouts to echo out to the two of them. "Dada!"

"Hey pumpkin."

Eddie meets your eyes, "Is that my daughter calling Steve Fucking Harrington Dad?"

"She's not yours."

"She isn't? So she doesn't have my hair and my eyes?"

"She was and will never be yours, you threw away that chance when you kicked me to the curb."

"I-" He doesn't know what to say and you have no more words for him. So when Steve comes walking out the door with Mia and your bag in his arms, you just turn and get into the car.

-

-

likes are reblogs are appreciated <3

[bekolxeram]

I swear this is the last time I bring up that air tanker in 2x14 voluntarily. The bottom line is, if you believe Tommy did fly that plane, that makes him not even superhero level cool, but Jonny Kim level cool. If you believe he didn't, then he's just as cool, always knowing a guy from all walks of line, ready to help out with whatever resource on hand the second Chimney says the word. At the end of the day, he saved the 118 and a bunch of civilians either way, and he did it again in S7 flying to that cruise ship. He'll always be our cool heroic pilot no matter what.

With that being said, I have some thoughts about the CAL FIRE line from the news reporter in that episode. If you're not interested, please read no further. And if you don't want to see this kind of posts at all but still want to read my other content, please block the tag #aviation realism.

I know Bobby said "217 incoming" when he saw that C-130, only the news reporter mentioned it was with CAL FIRE. That's why I suspect the CAL FIRE line was shoved in after the actual scenes were filmed, because they realized or someone explained to them how impractical and dangerous for an urban fire department to own a giant air tanker and just dump tons of water all over the city.

I saw the same technique utilized for the tsunami arc in S3. Anyone who has taken geography in high school can tell that in reality, there is no megathrust fault capable of generating Indian Ocean 2004 or Japan 2011 scale tsunami off the coast of SoCal. So where did the tsunami come from? In 3x02, before Sue asks Maddie to "triage" the dispatchers, you can hear once again a news reporter saying the tsunami is triggered by an earthquake off the coast of Alaska. This takes the fictional tsunami scenario from having zero basis in real life, to possible in extreme cases and greatly exaggerated for dramatic effect.

I thank whatever divine intervention or persistent technical advisor that made the CAL FIRE line possible.

2x14 was first aired on April 15, 2019. What you might not remember or realize is that something notable happened across the Atlantic on the very same day: the Notre-Dame fire. The entire world watched the cathedral burned for hours while over 400 firefighters all over Paris tried to contain the flame. A certain f...... former US president then suggested on Twitter that "perhaps flying water tankers could be used to put it out."

The French immediately responded by pointing out that dumping large amount of water from an aircraft at low altitude could "weaken the structure of Notre-Dame and result in collateral damage to the buildings in the vicinity." A retired FDNY battalion chief also told the media that water bombing would likely make the situation more dangerous, as civilians on the street might be hit if you miss the target.

The entire internet was clowning on that stable genius for such an innovative idea all afternoon. Imagine if 2x14 aired later that evening with not even a smaller single engine one, but a large 4 engine airtanker somehow belonging to the LAFD, that would come off extra stupid, even meme inspiring. But with the CAL FIRE line, they could at least claim that it was the extreme and rare circumstances requiring additional assistance from other agencies in the area, and it was not part of 911-verse LAFD's normal operation.

If the writers had done their homework beforehand and the CAL FIRE thing was always part of the script, good for them. If it was indeed shoved into the scene last minute, then they should thank their lucky stars.

I can already imagine the headache Bobby is going to have working on Hotshots as a consultant.

[inamindfarfaraway]

AITA for paying my employee minimum wage?

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I suppose unusual events may call for unusual responses. I (male in my 70s) am a wealthy businessman, landlord and moneylender, making most of my income from rent and debts. My clerk (male in his 30s) is my only employee. He has a family with a few kids, not sure how many. I pay him a perfectly respectable minimum wage for his position and I even gave all of tomorrow off with pay for Christmas, despite my opinion that a frivolous holiday is not that good a reason to skip work. He’s worked for me for many years and never once complained about his pay or conditions. He might not particularly enjoy his job either, but he doesn’t have to. It’s work, not play. Hell, I don’t particularly enjoy my job.

However, this evening… I heard another point of view. You’d never believe me if I told you everything and it feels like a dream - I’d certainly like it to be a dream, but I don’t see how I could have thought of it - but let’s just say that I was visited by an old friend. He’d been my business partner (male in his late 60s). Seven years ago he… left and I never expected to see him again. He came back though, apparently just to tell me off. He’s not doing well. He’s been travelling among all sorts of people and deeply disturbed by what he’s seen. The plight of ‘mankind’ and all that. He made a big deal about how I should be nicer to people and more generous and such, as if it were a matter of life and death. Last I knew we were on the same page about everything, but just now he looked at me like I was a criminal. Or an asshole, as it were. I don’t understand it.

I want to stress that nothing I’m doing is illegal. None of my business, none of how I treat my clerk. Well, I imagine that technically, if you were being harsh, you could argue that occasionally my conduct toward him falls under ‘harassment’, but I think that’s a stretch. When I’m strict, it’s out of valid concern for productivity. I am truly dedicated to my work; all I ask is that my clerk be the same. If he needs more money so badly, he should have the guts to ask for it and explain himself (I’d still have to consider my answer, but at least I’d know that he felt that way) or just find a different job or perhaps, heaven forbid, be a bit more financially responsible. If he has to scrape together Christmas festivities, maybe he shouldn’t bother celebrating it at all, for example. Why spend his money on that instead of food or clothes? Or keeping or investing it? I’ve saved as much as possible and I’m all the better off for it. I think it’s far more likely that he simply wants more than he deserves - if he does want a raise, which he hasn’t said! He agreed to this pay. We made an arrangement, and based on the stable routine of all these years, it benefits both of us. I don’t know why my friend thinks there’s a problem.

But he does. He was… he was seriously unhappy with me. I’ve never known him to be so sentimental, and he wouldn’t get that emotional for absolutely no reason, so here I am. Am I ‘the asshole’ for paying my employee a completely legal and normal minimum wage?

Update:

I think I probably am the asshole here. I’ve read your feedback, done a lot of reflection, taken quite the walk down memory lane, and among other things I remembered my old boss and how he treated me. He dominated so much of my life, he could have done the bare minimum or made me miserable, but he was nice. He just chose to be kind. Like he asked “Why not?” when I always tend to ask “Why?”. And he payed me better than I pay my employee, especially relative to his income. I can definitely afford to give my clerk a raise, and treat him with more respect while I’m at it. Authority is a powerful thing. I’ve… I’ve been taking advantage of it. I’ve been taking my clerk for granted. But he’s a good worker and he deserves to be rewarded. I’ll raise his pay when he comes back in on Boxing Day.

Thank you for your advice. I don’t appreciate the insults - I am not a parasite, I have pulled myself up with my own honest work, and there’s nothing wrong with getting ahead when it’s eat or be eaten. We all do what we have to do. But I should also do more. So in hindsight, much of your criticism was accurate and warranted. Good for you. I know it’s a bad time and you must all busy and/or tired. I wasn’t planning to stay up this late. I will now hopefully get some sleep.

Should I say goodbye? I don’t know what I’m doing, I’ve never done this before. What the hell, why not? Goodnight.

Update:

So. Some more stuff happened and I ended up going for a… a walk, an extremely normal walk, and meeting my clerk’s family. Or at least seeing them. It’s hard to explain. What time is on your computer clocks, by the way? I think mine is broken. Anyway, my clerk is like, Poor. Poor poor. And I’m a huge asshole. I knew theoretically that the minimum wage and the living wage are not the same, but I never really thought about the effects of that, I didn’t want to think about it, but I am now! I’m beyond an asshole, I’m a piece of shit!

This family, they’re struggling so much and they have so many other problems and I’ve kept them living on a pitiful salary. One of their children is sick. I don’t know exactly what it is, but it’s bad and it’s getting worse. There is a treatment that could help him, but it’s expensive and they can’t afford it, his parents know they can’t afford it, and if he doesn’t get it… I don’t know how long this kid has left. He’s the sweetest little boy and he might not even grow up. These parents love their kids with everything they have, but they can’t fix this. But! But I’m right here! I’ve been right here with all this money all this time, and I never bothered to ask about his family or care or help. It would have been so easy. I wish I’d realised all of this years earlier. I’m such a piece of shit. But I still have time and a plenty of money. I’m going to help. I’ll do everything I can. I promise.

Also, I am sorry for my replies to some of your comments on my original post. I was spiteful and insensitive. I’ve been… very angry for a very long time, more at the world in general than anything else, and in the habit of taking it out on whoever I could. I need to stop that. I’ll add it to the list. Consider those replies redacted. Once again, thank you for your feedback and goodnight. Merry Christmas. I hope you get enough sleep if you’re awake in my time zone at this hour.

update

do you ever think about how we’re all going to die? we could all die at any moment. we never know when we never know how much time we get and that’s why life is sososo precious and you have to use it wisely. but i have not! done that! i’m old i could die any day now. i could die today and what would i have to show? for my entire great big life? loads of money i’m never gonna use? i always thought that how much of something you had was about how you spent it. money and time. what you get is what you give or deserve. but it’s not! it’s mostly just luck and other people. most rich people are just born rich already. then it’s easy to get richer from there. i wasn’t born rich not really but i had a lot of help, a good school, a good boss, my friend, and now that i am rich i do less work for more money. it’s not fair. i’ve fucked up so much for so long and yet i have so much money and i’ve had so much time and i’ve wasted both of them. i don’t need all that money in the first place but that’s what i’ve spent my whole life on, why? what’s the point?

and then on the other hand you have the fact that. children are dying right now. whenever you’re reading this. loads and load of them all over when they don’t have to. fucking kids. and innocent people good people amazing people who are happy who make people happy who use their time infinitely better than i have don’t earn any reward. they don’t get any justice. most people have less than they need and meanwhile so many bastards have so much more. why? what’s the point of it?

why is it like this? why is the world like this? like we waste so much food and water and money so why don’t we just give it to poor people if we’re not going to use it? why do you have to pay for it if there’s so much why can’t? and like rent why do people have to pay rent? why can’t you just live somewhere? or medicine why do you have to pay for that? it’s. it’s life! why do we have to pay for LIFE when you don’t choose to be born? it’s not right.

and i know that there are laws and politics deciding those big things. but we can still make it better right? we can make a difference can’t we? even though there are so many massive problems like poverty and war and hunger and so many people who aren’t helping when they could. it still matters right? being good. even though you’re just one person. right?

why do kids have to die when they don’t have to die

it’s not fair. it’s not fair

i’m sorry. i shouldn’t even be posting this. it’s just venting and rambling and it probably doesn’t make any sense. i swear to god i’m not drunk or high i’m just having a really weird night. it’s like i’ve shut out a million things over decades and tonight they’re all flooding in at once.

i just. i feel like i’m dying and i need to get these thoughts out of my head. i need to know that they’re real and i’m real and i’m alive. i need to know that it matters.

i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.

UPDATE!

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!! I am not dead and I don’t think I’m crazy, I honestly feel the best I have in ages, and I will not elaborate on last night because that’ll only raise more questions but I will say this! I paid for my clerk’s Christmas dinner and I’m gonna give him a gigantic raise! I also donated a fuckton to charity! Thank you all so much I love you!!!!!

Update:

Happy Boxing Day, everyone. After that rollercoaster, I thought I ought to formally conlude this strange saga. My clerk came back to work this morning and I gave him his raise and a profound apology, as well as paid leave until a couple of days after New Year’s. To call him surprised would be an understatement. It was very fun. I totally understand if he chooses to get a new job now, but I hope we keep in touch. He’s a wonderful person. And I’d like to know if his son will be okay.

Although I haven’t got far yet (I’ve been catching up with family, I was the asshole there too, but no need to dump that baggage on you now that it’s being resolved), I am planning to make some major reforms to my business strategies. I’ve lowered rent on my properties to something affordable, for a start. I’m also researching charities and community projects. I have a great deal of moral debt to redeem. You can make a difference and I’m gonna prove it.

Many thanks for your support and concern, and rest assured that I’m in about as good health as I can be at this age, with the caveat of a mild hangover after a Christmas party. Turns out I like parties. I am processing that… ah, crisis, and I have people who care about me and a strong resolve to ground me. I will look into therapy.

I wish you all the best. I meant it, so I’ll repeat it: I love you. And my old friend, if you’re reading this wherever you are now, thank you for that intervention. It was worth it. I hope you’re doing better and we can talk again someday.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I ask my roommate to move out?

I live in a 4 bedroom house with 3 other roommates. B, C and D for this scenario. B & I are on the lease, C & D are not on the lease. C is my long time friend and disabled in a way that makes staying employed a struggle, so often I shoulder their financial burden for the household - an agreement from when we moved in because it was to keep them from being otherwise homeless. They do the amount of housework their disability allows, which is a reasonable amount. B is full time employed and primary breadwinner for the household (making up 75% of household income) and does minimal housework aside from putting their dishes in the dishwasher when they're done eating, per agreement that in exchange for paying 75% of household expenses and working full time they would do the least domestic work in the household. I'm part time employed, making up 25% of household income, disabled and do the majority of the housework.

D moved in two years ago under the agreement that they would help with housework because they're unemployed while they job hunt and then we would add them to the lease. D is a really good friend and has quite literally saved my life once but they haven't done any housework in the past two years and have yet to find a job as well as being actively detrimental to C & I doing housework (hoarding all dishes in the household in their room regularly despite repeated offers and requests to work out a system) and failing to communicate with us about any struggles they might be facing regarding housework or job hunting so we could try to help with it or at least know what was going on.

Recently D moved their partner who none of us knew into the house without asking or telling any of us (quite literally imagine just coming home and discovering a new person living in your spare room) and told their partner we would be able to house them indefinitely since they can pay a minimal amount of rent. Their partner isn't a terrible roommate but absolutely has to go because none of us get along with them or agreed to them being there and all of us have extensive trauma from a previous abusive roommate that is covered under this, turning this person into a walking PTSD trigger for us even though they didn't do anything wrong. D's partner has found alternative housing and has a move out date but D didn't help at all with it despite claiming they felt bad about causing this distress (and we do all genuinely believe they didn't mean to hurt anyone, but feel an apology without action - for example, promising to immediately start helping their partner find alternative housing, something that has fallen only on the shoulders of their partner and the rest of us - is meaningless in this situation). But we're also all on the same page that after two years of failing to follow through on promises or communicate with us about anything, the breach of trust and lack of any attempt to rectify it is a last straw for us and none of us feel comfortable continuing to live with D.

I know D struggles with their mental and physical health and they don't have anywhere else to go so we're in agreement that we shouldn't give them a hard move out date but we want to ask them to start searching for somewhere else to live, some other friends to stay with, maybe suggest they move to the city where there are more job opportunities and rent is lower. But I still feel guilty about us prioritizing our boundaries and comfort in a household over taking care of them and I'm sure that it'll unfortunately be the end of our friendship even though I wish there was a way we could navigate this and stay friends because I'm up to continuing to support D in the other ways I support them.

The three of us moving elsewhere isn't an option for a number of reasons (just renewed our lease, B's job is in this area and is very stable/pays very well and because of the high rent and stringent rental requirements in our area it would cost more than I make in a year for us to move to a significantly worse rental with significantly higher rent we can't afford - we currently pay half market rate for a similar rental. I'll admit there's also an element of it's my house, I lived here long before anyone else currently living here and I want to feel safe for the remainder of my residency here.)

Would we be the assholes if we told D we don't want to live with them anymore and asked them to start looking for other housing?

What are these acronyms?

[ghostofasecretary]

okay okay okay FINE

it would be great to continue burying my feelings in busywork but we *are on a time limit*

i don't. want to do this.

i don't want to apply again! i don't want to deal with rejection or bad offers again! and it'll be so exhausting!!

and. i mean. i'm so scared of things going well also. because then i have to--to take my newfound not-resilience, my lowered tolerance for personal suffering, and my desire to enjoy my life, and marry that into schoolwork. i feel like i am less curious and more content these days and i don't *like* it and most of it is due to pain making me smaller, not an ambition or desire to have day after day fade into monotony punctuated by my three hobbies and, sometimes, my friends. ...that's a little ungenerous to me, i have maybe five hobbies. and also lots of chores.

but i'm.

i'm *doing bad.*

okay, that horrible annoying prompt, you know the one. imagine a future where you are happy.

i'm married to someone i really like and i come home to them and we're easy with each other and they like my food and do the dishes for me and we have nice sex. i read a lot. i translate poetry. i have enough nice walks and museum time and music and interesting conversations that turning my stress into poetry is easy and i also figure out how to write poems when i'm happy. my friends are close by. i have delicious meals and a moderate amount of luxurious foods, things that are a Line Item on the budget and not just, y'know, beans and tomatoes and onions and [any leafy green]. i like getting dressed and i thrift/change out clothes more often than i do now. i do my [side gig] once or twice a month and the marketing is low effort and the work is fulfilling. i teach. i read. i write. i figure out what help other people can give me and i ask for it and i keep in practice so i don't pause when it's crunch time. i have enough money that i don't worry about being unemployed for two or three months and i have enough income not to worry about rent and i save for retirement. i travel to see friends an extravagant two or three times a year (but just once or twice would be okay, too). i go a few years without something deeply wounding me so i have more of a cushion when the next crisis hits. i'm not afraid of being happy or of wanting things. i present information to people semi-regularly and practice and learn to work different kinds of crowds. maybe i try music, or comedy, or gardening, or rowing. i dunno. i'm practiced at practicing my languages and i have fun with it and i *let* myself have fun with it. i don't flinch from texts and emails. i go to bed and i wake up early feeling rested and i have really satisfying breakfasts, preferably with company.

it's embarassing to want to be married. like i know it's normal, actually, but--ugh. really? me? unfortunately: yes, really me.

the thing is, if i were married and had more money and did more [side gig] and didn't flinch from emails and had fun with *the thing i deeply love actually when i'm not running from it, why do i DO THAT* this would be pretty close to my current life.

so. like. if i were happier and more stable i would be happier and more stable. cool. what was i wanting to get from this, again?

reasons to apply to grad school.

1. you'd be good at it. it's really fun and satisfying to do things you're good at.

2. there are worse ways to start a career where you write and teach and translate poetry than getting a PhD.

3. dating feels completely unmanageable right now because where is my life even GOING, where might i even LIVE, it's unbearably hard to imagine looking for someone to build a life with when i have, like, [actual career path that takes years to build and a lot of grit and LUCK] hovering over me on one end and [idk being a human somehow?????] on the other and i don't know which one i'll pick. or have put in front of me to walk down. or whatever. i'd like to be committed to trying to be an academic or committed to simply Not doing that, before...before.

4. [sunk cost factory so many hours can't stop now]

okay. and reasons not to apply?

1. it's expensive and i don't qualify for any fee waivers and i REALLY TRULY do not have money to burn right now. it's not *dire* but i am, like, next month heading towards a worse financial state than i've been in since i was 15. 18 at latest. and that's *scary.*

2. grief! fuck it! sorry i have emotions but it was kind of crushing in 21-22 to have everyone be like "oh yeah you'd be great at this you'll have your pick you have a very bright future" and then not get in, and last year to have "wow yes we love you please come to our schools" and not get enough funding to *go,* and so much of 2023 was just. waiting. screw that, so much of THIS YEAR was waiting. my whole summer job i told people i was going off to do my MA because at the time of my interview i really really really thought i would still get funding and, hahahaha, nope. and i didn't want to tell people because they'd be weird about it. so instead i was weird about it and felt bad and feel bad. someone smarter than me can probably tell me how i could've sliced that one better but i'm just crying on my housemate's downstairs couch because it feels pretty bad to have hope crushed like that.

also typing this out i DO feel like an entitled prick. sorry. i'm just privileged and lucky and beautiful and smart and ~special~ and a depressed little guy who's had PTSD on two separate occasions, minimum, and is more functional but still pretty fucked up. like all the time.

3. i burnt myself on purpose for spite and justice and no real gain whatsoever, at my first job out of college, and it was an experience and i learned things and one of the things i learned is that it SUCKS and i DON'T WANT TO DO IT AGAIN. and doing a PhD is, like. notoriously "this is a bad experience that makes you crazy." documentably a bad experience that makes people crazy. actually.

and what if i drop out?

then you drop out and find a way to move forward. both your parents did. your uncle did. plenty of people you know dropped out of college or MAs or PhDs. life doesn't end. maybe some people's hopes are disappointed but that's a them problem. your own hopes are disappointed but not trying at all because you're scared you'll fail is. Not a great look?? not something i want to do, particularly.

what if i have a psychotic break (again)?

then you drop out. or take a leave of absence. and either it'll go away or it won't and you'll deal.

yeah but i really don't want to be more disabled.

then drop out before your mental health gets that far down the drain. you were suicidally depressed and mega traumatized for *years* before those two scary weeks in high school, and after the first few hours you basically knew what was happening even if you didn't believe it, and regular degular antidepressants fixed it. you haven't *been* regularly suicidally depressed in years. a bit during The Dog Incident and a bit when you raised your med dosage too high in 2023 and a bit this summer and a bit lately, but not very much. there's a difference between "panic what feels like every day and wanting to die, like, once an hour" and "eating three meals a day, procrastinating, and going 'ugh i wish i were dead' when something especially stressful comes up." not saying it's not on the same spectrum but it is a light to dark scale and you know where the divisions are. and neither of those are "having Stress Pain and chanting "kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me i want to die i want to die i want to die" constantly and especially loudly when you have to walk up the stairs or eat food." which, again: has not really happened ever since you got on antidepressants.

4. ...it feels really bad and embarassing right now because i'm *behind* and i don't have a lot of academic curiosity right now and i haven't written in forever and i don't like putting words on a page and i have to look these people in the FACE and tell them i'm qualified when i Cold Lasagna Hate Myself 1989! i'm not! up for this! i'm gonna have to drag myself over hot coals and stay up late! and how do i expect to do grad school if this one little thing is making me throw such a giant fit!!!!

hi. oh my god.

babe.

give yourself a hug. literally visit a friend and get a hug if you must. rudely invite yourself to someone's house for emotional support. whatever. i don't care. holy shit.

it is, according to the calculus by which i have always made decisions, okay to feel like HOT GARBAGE while you do things as long as you get them done. you can yell! you can say you're awful, just the worst piece of shit, how dare you exist all you want! "feeling bad in the short term is okay if you feel good in the long term" is not a great life philosophy when applied over *months and months and years and years,* i grant you. but i do not think "twelve hours, tomorrow" is the same thing.

and you can have your friends take you out for ice cream once you get it done.

and this week you'll go teach first and second graders for the first time ever, and prepare some poetry and translations, and fuck up your homework, and probably fail to feel good about your life, but it will be YOUR LIFE. WHICH YOU'VE DECIDED TO LIVE. EVEN IN YOUR DREADFUL BACHELOR STATE OH MY GOD WHAT IS W I T H MY DREAMS

so. go text your IRL friends.

done.

congrats. you have Asked For Help. if your IRL friends cannot provide ask T and then D and then C and then G/E. or a group chat. you never know.

maybe also. call your mom and make a plan. she's probably free.

okay. cool. have Had Some Feelings. seems better. than what i have been doing. go me

go take outfit photos and make apple cider and go to bed

[itsjustbeek]

Man. Life is crazy.

To think 5 years ago I was depressed off my ass wandering aimlessly in my life, looking even more bleak getting laid off from the pandemic n all...

and now jump to here, living it up in Hawaii for a few years now, stable income with a regular stream of work, a cute dog, getting my name changed soon, looking at a house...

Like shit this is all stuff i thought I'd never get to do ever in my lifetime but man, a lot of shit can happen in a few years - even for the better!!

Idk I guess I just wanted to ramble positively for once!

[owenfelford]

Day 3 - Mushroom

Oh man I love Call of the Abyss 7

I started off this day with a lot of notes, I wanted to keep in mind some design choices that were made, why certain things the way that they were, and also how specifically Lord of Calamity works.

My conclusion?

Now Aesop and Norton, something you need to know about them is that they are complete opposites when it comes to wanting.

Aesop wants for nothing - not just because he's fairly well off under Jerry Carl's care, but because he doesn't want anything. The most he wants is quiet and to embalm another person, even that want is more something he feels he needs to do. Aesop Carl wants nothing because he is simply a vehicle for other's peace. He is basically not a person in his own eyes. That is who he is simply...

Even if he can't acknowledge his want to embalm is another form of grief, even if he can't acknowledge he has literally lost everything and has nothing to show for it.

Norton on the other hand, has never had anything and as a result wants so much. He wants riches, he wants comfort and a stable income, he wants to stop working in the shitty mines that presumably killed his father... He wants the people who wrong him to die and go to hell.

None of what he wants is unreasonable. It's all very. Human. Even if he uses extremes to actually get what he wants.

So then, to have the man who wants everything and goes to extremes to get it fall so easily to the Lord of Calamity and the man who wants nothing and only mourns to chase after him, once again losing someone else he cares for...

I'll tell you something it's too fucking easy.

So!

I got to work with that concept in mind. I changed around a few things for Norton in the final - such as the ribbon that was originally Aesop's going from an ascot to an arm band he wears on his lower forearm, but, everything is relatively the same.

Maybe Aesop fell into the Lord of Calamity's hands because he he continued to lose, because he thought it was his 'own time' or any number of reason - hell maybe he was a part of the initial scouting mission and just died.

Either way, Norton chases after him.

He'll meet him again in the after life.

Just as Aesop had always hoped for.

[thewritingofspencerrose]

Mamma Masterlist

Two Years Later

December 2022

"Eleanor Mae!" I find myself calling out, her chubby little legs carrying her faster than I expected through the exiting crowd of Rogers Arena. "Ellie!" I call again, my nerves spiking when her dark mop of hair disappears from my vision.

"Mom! Incoming!" Jack Hughes' calls to his mother, the Hughes family having flown in on mutual breaks to support Quinn, getting to watch his team win.

What Ellen hadn't known, was what Jack was referring to until a child crashed into her legs, Jim placing a hand on his wife's back to stable her.

"Oh! Well aren't you adorable," The mother coos, getting down onto her knees to be at the child's height as the little one looks over the boys, her dark hair falling in front of her familiar green eyes. "What's your name sweetie?"

"Eleanor Mae! Ellie!" A woman's voice can be heard, a panic to it that the Hughes parents recognize themselves. A panic you only have over a child.

"Did you run away from your mommy?" Ellen asks, the girl giggling with a nod. "What's your name?" She tries once more, now that the girl seems focused enough to respond.

"Ellie."

"I'll flag down the mother," Luke offers, being the tallest of the family while he waves in the direction of the woman's still panicked voice.

"How old are you Ellie?"

"Almost 2!"

"Eleanor, thank God," I want to cry, seeing her little body thanks to the waving hand, pulling her into my arms, my head ducked into her Hughes jersey.

The head of blonde in front of them is ever familiar, just as the girls eyes were, but no one had any connections until they saw the back of the little girls jersey.

Hughes 43.

Quinn, that's who's eyes they were reminded of.

"Holy shit," A voice, scarily familiar to my ears, mumbles from above me, my arms scooping Ellie up as I move to thank the people who found her.

Only to meet with the faces of my worst nightmare.

"Ruthie?" Luke is the one the question, eyes showing all the hurt that my heart feels.

"Hi Moose," I greet meekly, looking over the family. Jim and Ellen somehow managed to never age a day, while the boys seem like 2 years were really 10. Turning to Jack, I can't help but smile. "I saw you got drafted to the Devils, I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks Rue," He thanks, smiling himself, before his eyes move to Ellie, her babbles catching his attention. "And who is this cutie?" He questions, coming up and taking her hand, giving it a kiss and making her giggle.

"Uh," How do I tell Quinn's family that this is their niece and granddaughter? "This is Eleanor, although I really just call her Ellie."

"Hi Ellie," Luke is the one to greet, coming up to Jack and I with a little wave. "She said she was almost two?"

Of course she did. "I- I'm not exactly sure how to tell you all this," I explain quietly. Not noticing a brunette Canucks player approaching behind me, only thinking he is approaching his family and a fan. "Eleanor is my daughter, but she is also Quinn's. I found out I was pregnant the day he broke up with me," I explain. "I uh, based her name off of yours Ellen."

She sobs. The woman who I grew up having as a rock in my life starts sobbing, her arms being thrown around Ellie and myself. "I knew it as soon as I saw her."

"You knew she was pregnant?" Quinn's voice rings from behind me, making my entire body tense. He rounds me now, standing by his brothers as he gets a look of my daughter. Our daughter. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I had the pink onesie and the sonogram photos in my pocket to tell you when I walked out your door for the last time," is all I can think to answer. "I had a whole plan in my head, how I was going to tell you, how it was going to be a lot to handle, especially with hockey and school. And then you broke up with me."

"I broke up with you to make things less complicated!" His voice raises, making Ellie cover her ears with her hands.

"Quinn," I can't help but whisper. "Nothings more complicated than finishing college with a baby, I-"

"Momma," Ellie interrupts my rambling, "Is daddy?" She asks, pointing at Quinn, the tense of his shoulders releasing as he looks over her.

His hair, his eyes, my face.

"She knows me?"

"I wanted nothing more than you to be in her life. To be in our lives," I answer him, turning to my girl. "Yes baby, this is daddy."

"And I'm Uncle Jack!" Jack exclaims, clearly ignoring the magnitude of this entire conversation, something Jim seems to notice as he reaches for his middle child's shoulder, although Quinn shakes his head, watching with the smallest smile.

"Hey, you can't introduce yourself first, you'll be her favorite just based on that, and I need to be her favorite!" Luke complains, shoving up to where Ellie has hidden her head in the crook of my neck, her cheeks bright pink. "I'm Uncle Luke, and I'll be your favorite."

"I like Daddy," Is her response, still not peaking out, but based on Quinn's smile, he definitely heard her.

"Is that so?" Quinn asks, handing his equipment to father, looking hesitantly to me, silently asking if he can take her from my hip. I nod, him reaching over and her sliding into his arms without a second thought.

"She's always loved her Daddy," I explain, smiling at the interaction I've been waiting to see since I found out we'd be having a little us. "I've told her all about you all since she was little, stories of the lake house, school, Q's draft," I list, Ellen moving around the boys and wrapping me in a side hug.

"I can't wait to learn who she is," She mumbles, just to me.

"You said you knew... how?"

But she just gives me a mother's smile, all knowing. "I just knew. Just like I knew that you two would find your ways back to each other."

[granulesofsand]

Making a list of all things I’m looking forward to about having an apartment. It’ll be a while before we can actually afford one, but it keeps me motivated.

Morning chores make me sick. I know they have to be done with work his many bodies in the room, but having a time limit and little leeway forces me to overwork our body. (We do dishes, tables, and sweep and mop every floor space not behind a door. It’s never clean, but we have permission to only do it once a day — it takes us two hours.)

We can buy our own food. We have food stamps for our area, so we can at least make salads and stuff without getting in trouble. Utilities are something else, but we’re stingy at this point so it should be tolerable (AC and water scare me, but some places include that or estimate the budget).

Laundry. Fair chance that won’t be too soon, but I want to do my laundry whenever I feel like it and not have to drag it to the laundromat every time.

There’s a church around here that helps furnish apartments, so we could probably get something to sleep on soon. The beds here have actual mattresses, but one day we’ll save up and be able to afford our own.

Not having to clean the bathroom every day will also be so nice, provided future roommates aren’t too uptight about it.

Leaving and coming home whenever we want, not having to worry about missing jobs or putting lives at stake cause we just couldn’t make it to work.

Not getting booted for missing chores or not being dressed on time.

I wonder if we could get a microwave. Some places have kitchen areas, and we have our one pot that we defend like it’s made of gold. An oven! Roast meat and baked goods whenever I have the foresight.

We might have a room to ourselves. That would be so nice. We could maybe talk out loud and leave notes for each other. We kinda like sharing a room with multiple bodies, but just one other sets us on edge if we don’t know them. I can think of some other things I’d like to do with our own room.

We would have an income and an address. We could get mail without others going through it, apply for aid, start a savings account — the savings account would be as soon as we had enough money to avoid monthly fees, so probably before an apartment even.

We could have a real budget, maybe even have fun money for coffee and headphones and the like.

We could go to college again! Our plans are always changing on that because we need to be alive to go to school, but a permanent address in this county would enable us to take classes at the community college right here (and we could keep our friends!)

Driving lessons. There’s a place that offers them in the county, but we’ve not had the money for it. Once we have stable housing, we can start saving for goals. A car, eventually!

We’ve had some good interviews lately, and we’ll start applying again Monday. That income is a huge determiner for getting out of here and getting our shit together. Gotta look into the PCP again, find someone who’ll take our insurance. That’ll start the process for (re)documenting our disabilities, which we need for aid and accommodations.

I really want to prepare for apartment life instead of street life. I can see how I want it to come together. Please please please let us get a job soon