#I'm also like 200 words in or whatever

[bacon-neko]

Nano 2023 Day 19

The boys start hatching a plan

“Unless I tell Father what you’re planning,” said Hermes, gears turning, a plan forming.

Apollo froze, bright eyes hard and sharp. “You wouldn’t.”

Hermes shrugged. “I might. What’s stopping me?” The archer’s hand flexed and Hermes rolled his eyes, waving him off. “None of that. I’m looking for a deal, not a fight.”

The messenger floated in a circle around him, laid back, arms crossed beneath his head, while Apollo’s eyes trailed after him, appraising him with a thin frown. “What kind of deal?”

“One that gets us both what we want,” Hermes supplied. “Athena was gonna send the boy to Tartaros.”

Apollo’s brows shot up. “What?”

“On Father’s orders but still,” Hermes said. “I wanted to go against it, but Athena reasoned that he’d be bound to notice. I mean, his top general and head messenger trying to hide something he wants very dearly to get rid of? The odds weren’t exactly stacked in our favor.”

The realization dawned across Apollo’s face. “But Ares is different.”

Hermes grinned. “Bingo.”

“Father doesn’t want Ares around on the best of days,” Apollo said, excited now, waving his hands as he spoke. “There’s no way he’d notice he’s gone now. We’d just need to keep Father from noticing while we track the two of them down.”

“And between us, we’d have no trouble,” Hermes finished, delighted to be on the same page.

But then Apollo paused. “Us?”

Hermes clicked his tongue. “Well, that’s where the deal comes in: I want you on Olympus with me.”

“Why?”

“I want you help.”

“Wouldn’t that raise suspicions?” Apollo argued. “God of prophecy and all hanging around, making people wonder why I’m there?”

“More than you roaming across the countryside?” Hermes gestured to his everything. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“I can be subtle,” he said, a mite defensive, chin upturned.

“You could be a distraction. Look, I can lie through my teeth all day, but Father is.” Hermes sighed and scrubbed his hands down his face. “He snapped at Athena yesterday. We’re on thin ice up there and I don’t wanna see what happens when it cracks. I’d feel better if you were there.”

[ariaste]

listen ok so i made some good jokes yesterday about Lestat having an onlyfans but i am back today with a new essay and this one is entitled

Why The Invention Of Social Media Is Going to Permanently Save Loustat's Fucking Marriage

come on this journey with me.

ok so on one hand we have Louis, who does not like to leave the house except when he absolutely fucking has to and even then he resents it. my man wants to be at home with a book 100% of the time and he's so fucking valid for that. When he leaves the house, bad things happen to him. He has learned this and honestly i can't fault his evidence. it sucks out there. it truly incredibly sucks out there.

the problem is that sometimes he is married to lestat, who starts clawing at the walls if people aren't paying attention to him for 12 consecutive seconds, and being Out Of The House is the best place for him to go foraging for People To Pay Attention To Him. my man once had a rock star career the way that some people get addicted to meth brewed in a trashcan in someone's garage. Louis, through no fault of his own, is simply not capable of filling this psychological need no matter how hard he tries, except he should not even HAVE to try like that, because no one can do it, because Lestat is fucked up and like wasn't hugged enough as a child or something

this imbalance in their relationship is the core source of all their marital problems since day 1: THIS man's idea of a good time is chilling on the sofa in silence and maybe staring contemplatively at the wall for a while, and THIS man starts self-destructing at a truly astonishing rate if no one is making eye contact with him. If you make Louis go outside and socialize with people, he's miserable and sulking and whining about "are we done can we go home". If you make Lestat sit in silence in a chair for five minutes he starts crying and claiming that No One Has Ever Loved Him, Ever, Ever, And No One Understands Him, And He Hates Everyone In This House and He Is Being Actively Neglected And Cruelly Mistreated Right Now And No One Even Bothers To Feel Sorry For Him, This Is BASICALLY Domestic Violence Against Him Personally, If Only Anyone Knew About The Quiet Hidden Tragedies Of An Unhappy Marriage, and then he breaks some furniture and a window and isn't seen again for six weeks and comes back like "you will not believe what just happened, i [checks notes] met Merlin and also a dragon who gave me three wishes, brb i'm going to write another book about it :))))"

all you fucking have to do to fix their problems is to hand Lestat a cellphone and say the words "do you know about social media? you can say whatever shit you want and there's always someone awake in some time zone to talk to you." Suddenly Lestat is now very interested in sitting quietly on the couch, Lounging Alluringly and posting thirst traps on instagram and finally getting emotional fulfillment from all the likes and comments of "omg???? omg this is the hottest man alive". he does not have to leave the house anymore to get his attention meth. His yawning abyss of neediness is being fulfilled by having parasocial relationships with millions of strangers online who all think he's sexy and don't have to experience how fucking awful he is up close. he can flirt pointlessly with 200 people at once which is FINALLY ENOUGH FLIRTATIONS FOR HIM TO SATISFACTORILY JUGGLE

Meanwhile Louis is 3 feet away, vaguely reflecting to himself that HE is feeling all emotionally fulfilled because they're spending this great Quality Time together in perfect silence while he reads his book and Lestat plays on his cellular telephone and only OCCASIONALLY giggles to himself or says "louis which of these photos do you think is sexier, the one with four buttons undone or the one with five buttons undone" Louis is feeling like his Opinion is being Valued, Louis feels like he is being Consulted on Matters that are Important To Lestat. He has opinions about the photographs. It is not that much trouble to be interrupted from staring philosophically at the wall to spend five seconds looking at a photograph and then saying "that one". Finally he is experiencing Cozy Domesticity. he is so horny about it. lestat is surprised and bewildered about the sudden sharp increase in the amount of sex he is now getting but before he can make any vaguely mean comments about it (bc he's confused and vaguely defensive and worried that it's going to stop out of nowhere and he doesn't know any other interpersonal skills for expressing a thought) his phone pings about how he's just broken 5 million followers on instagram and he totally forgets to even mention the sex thing, which means that he continues getting the sex instead of inciting an argument about the sex and going through his 800th divorce from Louis

all their friends are extremely confused when a whole month, and then six months, and then a year goes by without another Loud Divorce happening and no one crashing through their front door like "I HAVE TO SLEEP IN YOUR GUEST COFFIN FOR THE NEXT MONTH, HE IS INTOLERABLE". They are worried. they are concerned. what is going on over there. are they both dead. no, they can't both be dead, Lestat just posted another tiktok of him sucking on his own fingers, which he would not be doing if Louis were dead. there is an ecosystem collapse happening in the groupchat and it's because the main Drama Vectors have been neutralized

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Nothing weirder than waking up to your dogs barking, going to investigate, and finding there are three men on your roof cutting the thing apart. Hi. Hello? Who are you?

[chuusmuts]

imagine innocent!kabukimono going wild

smut. afab reader, fingering, tiny angst before kabukimono went wild. not proofread so... grammar errors(?)

i was too busy playing project sekai, everyone. i'm sorry. also, thank you for 200 followers. .·°՞(≧▽≦)՞°·.

kabukimono was a puppet. a naive puppet. or at least that's what you thought. he was new to the world, especially to human's feelings. he didn't understand them yet why– why did he feel so warm around you? why was he so afraid you might leave him as well? why did his heart goes doki-doki around you and his palm grow all sweaty whenever he's with you?

ah, it must be that– friends. but wait, friends don't feel like that toward each other, was what one of the kids in the village said. at last, he made up his mind to tell you about this matter instead.

"y/n?" as usual, you were reading a book when kabukimono suddenly knocked on your door. you turned around to find him looking at you with that innocent face of his. "hm? what is it?" you petted the empty space beside you, inviting him to sit beside you on the bed.

kabukimono walked over to you, noticing how tired you looked after helping the villagers for the day. he sat down beside you and laid his head on your lap, his arms snaking around your waist. he felt safe and loved being close to you. he didn't know why he did this, but he couldn't help himself. he just really liked to be near you.

naturally, you ran your fingers through his indigo hair despite being in confusion. "what's wrong?" your eyebrows furrowed as you asked him softly. did something bad happen to him that caused him to be this clingy? you were beyond concerned.

he suddenly looked up at you, his eyes full of tears, causing you to panicked. "I don't want to lose you," he whispered, his voice shaking. seeing him cry definitely made your heart ache. you quickly wiped his tears away as you too began to feel emotional, feeling tears forming in your eyes. "i- i won't leave you. i won't leave you, okay? so don't cry." your voice cracked as you said so.

kabukimono hugged you tighter, burying his face into your chest. he believed that you wouldn't abandon him, no matter what happened, but he's still scared. it was as if there's a voice in his head telling him you'd eventually leave him sooner or later. even so, having you there gave him some comfort.

"gosh..." a silent sigh left your lips as he cried softly on your chest. he's too schmaltzy, you couldn't even do anything about it. that's when you got an idea. "shall i kiss you to cheer you up?" you suggested, trying to stop him from crying. a little crazy idea, but that would do it.

kabukimono looked up at you, his eyes wide with surprise. he didn't expect such a thing from you, but he also didn't mind it. he nodded eagerly, his cheeks still wet from his tears. without a word, he leaned forward, giving you permission to do whatever you wanted. you could do anything you wanted to him, and he would let you.

you let out a chuckle as you felt him getting more and more excited. you couldn't help but think of him as a sad puppy. when you gave him food, he'd immediately get excited. slowly, you leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw, and lastly, his lips. the kiss was slow and short as your hand crawled up to cupped his pale, soft cheeks.

a moment later, you pulled away to be met with a warm cheeks kabukimono. "there. do you feel better now? or should i kiss you more?" you asked with a small smile. your cheeks weren't that different from his, hinting that you're probably shy and your heart was beating millions per seconds yet you still acted like this was nothing to you.

the corner of kabukimono’s lips curled upward, feeling much better. you kissed him just to cheer him up, and he was grateful. he leaned closer to you, giving you another small peck on the lips. this time, he held onto you tighter, not wanting to let go. you instantly reciprocated his hug, feeling warm in your chest and butterflies in your stomach. you pinched his cheek softly, earning a grunt from him, "you're so cute. i wish i could kiss you more." you blurted out accidentally.

kabukimono looked up at you with surprise, his eyes glistening under the room's light. he knew you meant well, and he trusted you completely. he leaned in again, he didn't hesitate as he pressed his lips against yours. he was nervous, but he also found himself enjoying the sensation. the reason was unknown, but he liked it so much, and he knew he wanted more. more kisses, more touches, more closeness. he needed them to survive.

you closed your eyes, savouring the taste of his saliva and the feel of his skin against yours. but the kiss quickly turned into a heat make-out session as he pushed you, so you're laying on the bed while he's on top of you. his wet tongue was now inside your mouth as he explored the depth of it. though, the longer you kiss him, the harder it was for you to breathe hence you pulled away, trying to catch your breath. kabukimono was fine as he's a puppet, he didn't need to breathe.

"have you kissed someone before?" it was kind of unbelievable that you're asking this question. but he was just too good at kissing, and it made you flustered. and for a second, you forgot you're making out with kabukimono, himself.

he shook his head, unable to speak due to the lack of vocal cords. he looked fine to you, but on the inside, he was really nervous and excited. grabbing your hands, he held onto them tightly. he wanted to tell you that he had never been kissed before, and he was so happy that you were his first kiss. he wanted to tell you that he loved you and that he would never leave you. but he couldn't, so he just held onto you, hoping that his actions would convey his feelings.

an awkward smile appeared on your feature when you realised you couldn't move your hands. "i– i see... i'm sorry, that was wrong of me." you teared your gaze away from him as blush creeped up your cheeks, feeling slightly embarrassed because of your wrong assumption.

however, when you turned your head to the side, his hand grabbed your chin, forcefully making you look at him. his eyes held no malice, but it was no lie that you felt a little stunned and shocked at his sudden behaviour. when his eyes locked with yours, it seemed like an electric charge kept you from looking away. before you even realised, he crashed his lips against yours once again. this time, harder with a tad of hunger.

kabukimono moaned softly as he kissed you. his hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of you as you whimpered and writhed underneath him in response. he wanted to touch you everywhere, and he didn't care if it was wrong or not. he was lost in the moment, and he wanted to stay that way forever. as he kissed you, he felt a surge of energy flow through him, filling him with life and happiness. it was the first time he had ever experienced something like this, and he wanted more. he wanted to feel this way all the time, with you by his side.

he wanted to express his love and gratitude to you, but he didn't have the words. instead, he showed you through his actions. he didn't mean to push you, but he was so desperate for affection and connection. his body responded to you in ways he didn't understand, and he didn't care. all he cared about was being close to you and experiencing these newfound feelings. he wanted to feel you deep within him, to hear your moans of pleasure, to feel your body tremble underneath his. he was lost in his own desires.

you couldn't believe how fast things escalated. he was so overwhelmed by his own emotions that he lost control. in the beginning, he thought you would be upset, but when he saw you all blushing and flustered, it only fueled his desire to kiss you more.

kabukimono groaned as he continued to kiss you passionately. he felt his body reacting to your touch, and he couldn't stop himself. he wanted to please you, and he would do anything to make sure you were satisfied. reaching down between your legs, he felt your wetness and excitement. he slid one finger under your kimono and pushed it inside of you, causing you to cry out in pleasure, his other hand still holding on your wrists tightly.

your soft whimpers were muffled by his lips as he began to thrust his slender finger inside you. you kept bucking your hips, trying to chase the pleasure he's giving you. "one– one more finger, please..." you pleaded. how could he refuse, especially when you begged him with your sweet voice and that cute face of yours.

kabukimono nodded eagerly, his eyes bright with desire. he slid another finger inside of you, causing you to cry out louder than before. he continued to thrust his fingers inside of you, moaning into your mouth as he did so. he wanted to make you feel good, and he wouldn't stop until you came on his fingers.

feeling an orgasm building up, you clenched your fingers as your walls clenched tightly around his fingers. when the coil in your stomach finally snapped, you moaned his name loudly, white liquid came spilling all over his fingers shamelessly. you panted heavily as your clit throbbed with neediness. you had just orgasmed, but you felt like it wasn't enough. though, you quickly dismissed that thought as you focused on kabukimono, who's right on top of you.

kabukimono grinned, feeling satisfied with his work. he leaned down and pressed his lips to your neck, sucking on it gently. "I want to please you," he said simply. he crawled off of you, then stood up. reaching for his kimono, he pulled it off and dropped it to the floor. he reached for your kimono as well, pulling it off you. he watched you carefully, wanting to make sure you were okay with everything he was doing. he then took off his own shorts, revealing his eager and hard cock, twitching to be inside you.

he wasted no time positioning himself above you before lining his hardened member with your entrance, wanting to feel your tight walls wrapped around him. he started to slowly enter you, giving you time to get used to his size, which earned a small moan from you.

kabukimono groaned as he felt you wrap yourself around his cock. he leaned down, pressing his lips to your neck once more. he moved his hips, starting to thrust slowly, each movement causing him to moan into your ear. eventually, he let go of your wrists as he reached down, cupping your breasts in his hands. he played with your nipples, rubbing them gently to further stimulate you.

he let out a breathy moan, his eyes shut as he began to thrust into you. he wanted to take you to heaven and back tonight, and he wouldn't stop until you screamed his name (again) in pleasure. he bit his lip, feeling your walls tightening around him and he increased his speed, fucking you hard and fast.

soft moans began spilling from your lips, feeling the way he slammed into you and reached the deepest parts of your pussy. god, you felt so good, your gummy walls wrapped tightly around him.

kabukimono moaned into your ear, his hands running through your hair. kissing your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, he increased his speed, wanting to feel you come around him. he felt your walls squeeze around his cock, causing him to groan in satisfaction. as if that's not enough, he pinched your nipples, causing you to mewled in pleasure.

your moans grew more desperate the faster and the sloppier he thrusted into you. moaning his name loudly as you came on his cock, your thighs trembling and your walls fluttering around his length. he wailed, feeling your walls contract around his cock. he came, shooting his seed deep within you. he held onto you tightly, not wanting to let go. kissing your forehead, he gave you a warm smile. "one more round, yeah?" he whispered before leaning down and giving you an open-mouthed kiss.

[emilys-bangs]

Awww congrats on 200 followers lovely!!! You deserve it, I always find myself rereading your works! So I went to the first section Andromeda, saw prompt #1 “Pull over. Let me drive for awhile.” and thought YES that’s an Emily prompt right there 🤣 I feel like Emily being able to immediately sense reader’s feelings would be super sweet. Like maybe it was rough case/day for reader, Emily steps up, and then starts rambling trying to distract reader so they’re both just laughing and even more in love by the end? Will also read whatever you want to write 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Tysm lovely!!! It amazes me that you reread my fics, I'm so happy you like them🥹!! I changed a tiny bit of this at the end, hope you don't mind <3

Word count: 0.9k

Join my celebration here <3

You’re upset. It’s not hard to see—shoulders rising to your ears, your jaw set, the skin pulled tight over your knuckles as you grip the steering wheel. Add that to the lack of your usual easy chatter and Emily’s worried, absently picking at the loose skin around her nail as she tries not to make it too obvious she’s staring.

The case was hard on you. The two of you shared a room this time, so she was more in tune with you than she normally is. She heard the sounds of distress you let out in your sleep almost every night, the way you’d toss and turn on the bed for hours after. Emily didn’t say anything, held back her urge to talk to you about it, but she noticed the restless frustration building in you, the way you poured yourself into the case. 

It ended badly, and you’ve been quiet ever since.

She hadn’t argued when you grabbed the car keys, figuring you’d appreciate the small modicum of control, but it’s been almost half an hour and she’s grown uneasy from your still-tight grip on the wheel. Her eyes flick to your face just in time to see the tick in your clenched jaw.

Before Emily can think about it, the words are out of her mouth. “Pull over,” she says softly, breaking the stillness. “Let me drive for a while.”

You give no indication that you heard her; silence makes her words hang in the air, unanswered. Her worry increases when you don’t protest, simply pulling over and unbuckling your seatbelt. 

Emily gets out of the car and makes her way to the driver’s seat just as you’re getting out. She knows her gaze must be hot on your cheeks, but you don’t look at her. Instead, your gaze tips up, and she follows it.

The one road leading out of town is dark. Apart from the headlights of the car and a few spare street lamps, it’s swathed almost entirely in darkness, and the sky above you is lit up with stars.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Emily murmurs, desperately trying to draw an answer from your lips.

You hum noncommittally and move past her to get back in the car.

Helplessness crawls up Emily’s throat and settles there like a hard lump. She swallows tightly and gets into the car, briefly unmoored at her reaction to your reaction, unsure why it is that she so desperately wants you to be okay.

The silence is back as she drives off. From the corner of her eye, she sees you rest your head on the window and cross your arms, turning away.

Emily is an expert on body language—she has to be—but this time, she can’t sit and watch you drift away from her, further into your mind.

“Did you recognize any constellations out there?” She blurts out, then winces at the stupid question. 

You’re slow to respond. 

“Think I saw…what was that famous one called? The hunter?”

Relief floods Emily’s veins. “Yeah, Orion.” She nods, turning to get a glimpse of you. Your head is still on the window, but your body is tilted toward hers. Her next breath comes a little easier. “It’s arguably the most recognizable constellation in the Milky Way. It lies on the celestial equator, so it’s visible from both the Northern and Southern Hemispheres.”

“Okay, Reid,” you retort, but the gentleness to your voice tells her you don’t mean any malice. Emily turns and finds a small quirk to your lips; she bites back a smile of her own.

“Yeah, I was a big geek about the stars,” she whispers. Still am. Emily clears her throat. “When I was younger, I used to spend summers in a cabin up in the Alps with my grandfather. He had these huge books about stars and constellations.” You’re quiet next to her, but she sees the way you perk up and shift closer. She never shares her past—or any aspect of her life, really—with anyone, but it’s you, and if it makes you feel even a little bit better, she’ll spell out her whole life’s story for you to hear. 

“The sky was so clear there, it’s insane. I used to draw constellations on the back of my hand and try to search for them in the sky; I spent hours looking up until Grandad called me back. And for each one I’d found, he’d tell me a story.” A wistful smile pulls at her lips. When Emily turns and finds you staring with your head cushioned on your arm, her smile widens.

“Do you want to hear the story of Orion?” She asks softly.

She hears the low whoosh of air as you breathe in, then nod once. “Yeah,” you give her a small smile and warmth spreads all over her body, “I do.”

You’re asleep by the end of it, exhaustion claiming your body, but somehow, at some point, your pinky linked with hers. Both your hands rest on the console now, and Emily looks away from the empty road ahead of her. Your lashes rest on your cheeks, the tense lines of your face relaxing in sleep, and she squeezes your pinky before turning back to the road, her heart somewhat lighter.

taglist: @suckerforcate

[navybrat817]

A Hero's Reward

Pairing: Dark!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky is a hero and every hero deserves a reward.

Word Count: Almost 500

Warnings: Implied NONCON/DUBCON, kidnapping, dark Avengers, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: The Basement Spouses Writing Challenge Week 5! Character: Bucky Barnes. Length: 200-500 words. Prompt: "Wherever you go and whatever you do, all you will feel is me." ❤️ @krirebr , thank you for chatting me about this and everyone should check out What You Can Do For Your Country. Written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Heroes were meant to make the world a better place. They exemplified courage, resilience, and determination while serving as living embodiments of values and ideals that many admired. They offered protection and safety. And you were lucky enough to live in a time with The Avengers, the self-proclaimed world's mightiest heroes who saved the Earth time and time again.

But no one liked to talk about the burden placed on their shoulders. Or that they had their own needs outside of the fight. So what did the heroes take for their reward? Whatever they wanted.

Bucky Barnes, also known as The Winter Soldier, only wanted one thing.

You.

“Look at me,” he ordered above a whisper.

You brushed a tear away as you lifted your gaze and moved back to the corner of your bed to cower. The cell Tony made was comfortable enough, but the massive size and aura of Bucky made it seem small and dark. It would never be your home. They took you from it the moment the Soldier decided he wanted you as his personal doll. You were told it was an honor and a privilege.

The same thing they told the occupants in the other cells, each one a reward chosen by the various team members.

“Bucky,” you said, your voice hoarse from your earlier screams. You managed to break free from your cell earlier that day, but the relief was temporary since you were quickly caught and dragged back. “I just want to go home, Sir. Please.”

Bucky observed you as he walked toward the bed, his icy blue eyes not leaving your trembling form for a second. “This place is only temporary. Steve and I will move you and his girl into our new home once it's ready,” he told you, brushing his metal hand along your cheek as you tried not to flinch. “Do you remember what I told you your first night here?”

“Yes,” you answered, trying to block out the memory.

You fought him. Well, you tried to. He quickly proved why he was a hero in the physical sense when he overpowered you. He then proved why he was your villain when he split you open with his cock.

“Yet you still tried to run,” he said, his voice laced with hurt and anger. “Wherever you go and whatever you do, all you will feel is me.”

A shiver of fear and anticipation ran down your spine as he straightened up and unbuckled his belt. You knew what was coming, but it didn't make it any easier. The worst part deep down was how much you liked him owning you. That was why you had to get away.

But he would never let you go.

“So let me remind you how good it feels when I'm inside you,” he said, tugging the sheet away when you tried to cover yourself. “And let's see you try and run from me by the time I'm done with you.”

He can keep me. That's fine! Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[ckret2]

Ages ago I made a post about what Ford thinks about Bill (in a billford context), and I've had an infodump on what Bill thinks about Ford floating on discord for months, and an ask finally prompted me to post it, so here ya go:

If asked why he likes Ford, Bill himself claims that Ford overthinks everything, but in such fun, interesting ways, and Bill likes the way Ford thinks about things.

But really, Bill overthinks everything too; it's just he overthinks social things. He's always calculating how to persuade, control, manipulate people. He never has a conversation that isn't a chess game, it's exhausting and he won't even admit it's exhausting. When's the last time his top priorities weren't either "how do I convince some sucker to make a portal" or "ugggh I'm so SICK of the PORTAL I'm gonna THROW A PARTY and NOT THINK AT ALL"

Whereas Ford is guy who'd hear someone say something incorrect and bluntly go "no you're wrong" and accidentally offend the hell out of them because he's SO excited to share this fantastic information they don't know. The social world DOES NOT EXIST for him until he's reminded of it.

And so he's free to turn all his brainpower instead to. Like. The environmental impact of barf fairies on fern fertilizer or whatever.

Bill knows Everything™ but he's gotten tired of doing anything with that knowledge. They're all discrete points of information to him. He doesn't have time to muse over things, he's got an inventor to manipulate at 11pm and then a party to get to at midnight. He's never once in his life thought about the impact of barf fairies on the local flora. But he does happen to know the plants in that part of the woods are more acid-resistant and wow is that why???? He's never even thought to think about that before. Thousand year mystery that Bill didn't even notice has been solved.

(On the other hand "Ford doesn't think to think about the intricacies of social interaction" is also part of what makes him so easy to manipulate, he's so much more inclined to just accept at face value a friendly offer of assistance on a big academic project. Sure Bill's helping for the sake of scientific advancement in and of itself, why wouldn't he?)

Bill wants to just, fling random facts at Ford and see if he can think up connections between them. Go nerd boy go nerd boy go

"... So there you have it Ford, that's the problem you'll have to overcome with adapting alien machinery to human fuel sources, now I wanna hear YOUR thoughts on how to overcome that problem." "Well—" talks in an uninterrupted stream that by thirty minutes in has drifted over to the history of kerosene production, which he read an interesting book about between semesters in college— "... I've gotten off topic, haven't I?" "No no, I think you're on to something. This is how brainstorming works, free association of concepts. Keep going."

Ford in the morning: "... oh no I didn't let my muse get a word in edgewise for the rest of the dream, i didn't bore him did I?" Bill: "damn, I never noticed the patent process for hurricane lamps was so contentious. There's little dramas everywhere"

When things are going well, their relationship is,

Ford: "I just wanna hear Bill teach me things about the multiverse forever."

Bill: "I just wanna hear Ford think deeply on any topic that crosses his mind forever."

Both of them when they're in peak harmony: excitedly jabbering at each other at 200 words per minute about the stupidest topic you've ever heard, but you'd need a phd in at least two fields to comprehend it

That's love!!!

Ford, having historically been socially shamed: "... am I being weird?"

Bill: "💕❤️💓yeah❣️💖❤️‍🔥"

Sometimes I think about Bill watching Ford in his sleep and being in awe at this human-shaped genius: you with your beautiful electric mind, packed into this soft flawed uneven body. one would never know it from the outside—but you're in there. This genius with a mind like a galaxy. ... and he's like, growing hair and stuff. wild.

[fatesundress]

⭑ made with love. draco malfoy x reader

summary. it's winter, you’re sick, and draco is extremely rational a terrible, doting mess about it.

tags. fluff! so much fluff! married couple, gn!reader, lots of banter, post-hogwarts with one fleeting mention of the war, draco's anxiety is whetted by a common cold, he basically treats the reader like they hung the moon in the sky and also have the power to yank it down at any given moment. he's very grumpy. but so so in love.

note. my sweet anons!! i tried on three separate occasions to write the requests in my inbox but sometimes i need to be in the depths of hell (ovulation week) to manage smut. i'm sorry. i've made some progress i swear! but the draco hyperfixation came out of NOWHERE and unfortunately i had to indulge in it. also thank you so much for 200! :’)

word count. 1.6k

You are deplorable.

With a fever temperature of 40° and explicit instructions to stay in bed, you’re discernibly not in bed when he makes it home from the apothecary, a jumbled mess of the blankets he’d swathed you in left in your place. Your slippers are absent. Your slippers — in two feet of snow. Your coat is gone too, at least; ridiculously thick and unnecessarily long, though now he’s thankful for it.

Draco paces. Then he sets the Pepperup Elixir over a flame at his desk to keep warm, pours two drops of Sleeping Draught into a mug for your tea, and paces again.

He should have insisted on binding rings for your wedding, he thinks. Something to trace you in emergencies. There’s little to do without them as you’ve evidently either taken the Floo or Apparated, and, in truth, he can’t remember the last time he’s been this nervous. In school, perhaps? During the war? You have him comparing his nerves over a bad cold to those he felt during war. The insanity of that is actually not lost on him, if that counts for anything.

But you are deplorable, and his. His almost as much as he is maddeningly, irremediably yours.

How he allowed an aliment like this to infect him goes against all evolutionary sense. It’s a fever of its own. Incurable despite knowing its cause, and probably festering worse than yours.

And then the fireplace hisses and out you stumble with soot on one cheek and frost on the other, the neck of your coat zipped up to swallow half of your face. In an arm shoved deep in your pocket, a bag swings from the puffy coat crease of your elbow, and Draco baulks. It’s a muggle grocery bag — translucent enough that he can see the square imprint of your favourite sleepy-time tea, a chocolate bar, cans of what he thinks are soup, and — a lemon? Yes. A big miserable lemon that you’ve deigned was worth almost killing yourself over.

Draco does not hear whatever excuses escape your chattering teeth as he plucks your hand from its pocket, puts the bag down, pulls off your coat while you slap at his hands and insist you can do it yourself, and only because he thinks you’d hex him to oblivion if he tried, leads you with a hand on your back to the bedroom rather than hauling you into his arms and carrying you.

“A lemon,” he says, and is aware by the severity of his tone he might as well be saying a gun, or a missile, or a milk crate of Living Death cartons. “You forayed into a snowstorm for a lemon. Do you think I’m incapable of reading a grocery list? I just Flooed —”

“I got more than a lemon,” you huff in a weak voice.

It is appalling that that’s what you take from his admonishment.

Your snow-soaked slippers are tossed aside as you tumble into bed. Draco bundles you in blankets and holds his wand out to take your vitals. You roll your eyes all the while, but once the cold wears off he’s sure you’ll be burning hotter than you were this morning.

He shakes his head. “Lemons are common stock in apothecaries, you know. The shavings are essential in Weedosoros antidotes.”

“Yes, but they’re always so dry.”

“And chocolate — they sell it at Téa’s across the street for the magizoologists. Did you know that?”

“Hmph. No Cadbury, though.”

“And I’ve already warmed the Pepperup and poured you Sleeping Draught, despite your urgency for this —” He pulls the box of tea from your grocery bag, impressed with an image of a little bear with a red nightcap, a steaming cuppa, and a plate of biscuits — “Inarguably superior muggle panacea —”

“I never claimed it was a panacea —”

“Of which we should have distributed to St. Mungo’s en masse. In fact, I should owl them now so they’re informed the Sleeping Draughts are ineffective by comparison —”

“You’re insufferable —”

“Imagine all the orphans without rest —”

“Actually ridiculous —”

“You’re ridiculous. And I hate this bear. Look at his hat. Bloody Gryffindor.”

“Do you know what the wizarding world is lacking? — If you’re concerned enough to make a donation, Mr Malfoy?”

You think it’s hilarious to call him that. He does well not to mention you are, by law, also a Malfoy, and his money is your money to donate as you please.

“What is that?”

“Soup,” you say. “Canned soup — canned with love.”

“We are lacking soup canned with love,” Draco repeats, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be sure to write the Minister.”

“Do.”

“Only if you stay in bed.”

“Hmmm… mmmm… well. Hm.”

“Incorrigible,” he mumbles, brushing the damp from your face before getting up to fix your tea. (He kisses your cheek for good measure, big sop that he is. You do well not to mention it.) “Don’t move or I’ll cast wards on the fireplace.”

“Oh! Cast wards on the doors, too. I might go for a walk.”

He glares at you from the archway. Your answering laugh is broken by a coughing fit, and you look reluctantly glum when he raises a told-you-so brow.

Draco mutters about how ridiculous you are through the kitchen and back, as he steeps your tea, heats your soup, unstoppers the Pepperup Elixir, pours it in an old shot glass from a trip to Italy (you have no graduated plastic cups lying around), squeezes the big stupid lemon in your tea, carries it all to your bed on a tray and realises, still muttering, that these are a lot of steps. But Draco balances the tray without an utterance of magic. It’s rather impressive. You should be sorely sorry.

You are, instead, asleep.

You’re splayed across the bed like something Baroque, limbs fascinatingly posed: half under the blankets and half stubbornly poking out despite his fervent tucking, head nuzzled into the pillow with a slight frown. If Draco were any better with a camera he’d take a picture. Instead he takes careful steps to your bedside, placing the tray on the nightstand and sitting as close as he can manage without disturbing the (once more, revolutionary) arrangement of your legs. It feels criminal to wake you. His fretful anger that you’d gone out in the cold is whittled to a humiliatingly thin and empty husk, and all that remains is mushy adoration. Damn you for that; you look ridiculous anyhow.

Draco kisses your cheek again. Your nose. Your forehead. He traces an invisible portrait of your face with his fingers, as if he’s ever drawn anything better than nasty stick figures on crumpled parchment in school. You, though, he thinks he knows well enough by memory to try.

You stir, not too far from consciousness that it’s a challenge to find it again, but far enough to be audibly vexed by his summons to the surface.

Draco means to berate you in that way he's so good at — chin pointed and scowl permanently etched — but you grumble with a sick, hoarse voice and he falters in a pathetic display. “You forgot your love-suffused muggle soup,” he whispers, one hand cupping your cheek.

“Ugh.”

“Heinous, I know. Sit up for me?”

“Magic word.”

There’s his scowl. “Alohomora.”

“Not that magic word.”

“Imperio.”

“Unforgivables, Draco Malfoy?”

“Hmm, Locomotor Wibbly?”

You sink further into the bed, pulling the uppermost blanket over your head inch by inch. 

“Please,” he says, with profound displeasure.

You sit up and smile.

Draco sighs and lays the legs of the tray out over your lap. You regard his service with sleepy content, one of your hands travelling to his face in what his heart surges to appreciate is an honest thanks after his several near-heart attacks, and then your gaze finds the medically expert Pepperup in an Italian shot glass and it falls.

You groan. “Draco…”

His name says, quite plainly, please don’t make me.

Draco has enough self-respect to at least deny you this. “Wards.”

That says, quite plainly, I was not joking about the fireplace.

You look as though you’re contemplating the severity of two horrors, but it passes fleetingly, with one curse under your breath and a sour expression as you down the shot of Pepperup like… a shot. Burning Ogden’s that scrunches your face up until you shake it away with a blagh noise. 

Come to think of it, Draco's choice of glass is much more appropriate than some medical cup.

“Better?”

You shudder. “I will be.”

“Good. Have your love soup and stupid lemons.”

And then, when he isn’t expecting it, your hot palm finds the place it left off; Draco’s healthily warm, sharp cheek, the soft fuzz of hair beside his ears before your fingers card through the longer strands and you hum like he’s your favourite thing to hold onto.

He melts, eyes fluttering shut. You’re sick, and wholeheartedly deplorable, but you’re safe, and it’ll be alright.

“Draco?”

“Mm.”

“The soup.”

He opens his eyes. “The soup?”

“You know it was canned with love.”

“I trust you wouldn’t have bought it otherwise.”

“And,” you say, thumb flush over his bottom lip as you smile a groggy, self-satisfied smile, “it was made with love, too, right?”

He rolls his eyes, and kisses you nonetheless. “You never cease to ask absurd questions.”

[thatone-brightstar]

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Bear meet Fox

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Out of everyone in the vast city of Chicago, Carmen was glad it was you who stumbled into his rundown restaurant.

a/n: I'm too in love with this man to not write about him, so I'm contributing to our shared obsession with my silly little ficcc.

Also reader is Latina in this and yes it's partially self indulgence.

You couldn't believe you were about to do it.

Not due to  excitement but mostly dread, and a bit of self loathing, that the lowest point in your life had brought you here of all places in the city. Might as well call it point Nemo because there was no way you could get any further away.

Pulling your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, you kept your eyes still on the rundown building across the deserted street, afraid it would dissipate and take with it your only chance of employment in a 200 mile radius. The phone screen lit up with the last message from your brother a few days ago and you wanted to punch him square in the face at the way he worded his stupid attempt at “helping” you find a job.

‘So you stop moping around the house cuz its getting pathetic’

Read the text under a picture of a ‘HELP WANTED’ sign, poorly taped to the inside of a surprisingly clean window, stark contrast to the grimy brick that surrounded it. A second text had also been left on read, with a maps link to the location where you stood, balancing on your feet out of nerves. You contemplated your options, as if you had any; turn around, head home and lay in bed until you withered and died of misery. God, your brother was right, you were getting pathetic.

You took a very deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then blew it out into the cold surroundings. ‘You can do it. It’s just another interview, you've done those before. More in the past month than your whole life sure, but who cares? This is the good one.’ You tried psyching yourself up. It could always be worse, you remembered, though lately it seemed more true everyday.

You forced your feet to move from their petrified state and walked towards the building, made sure that the sign was the same one your brother sent, then stood with an outstretched hand about to pull the door open when a voice coming from the left side of the building called your attention.

“Yo, sweetheart! We open at noon!” A man wearing gray joggers and an over washed shirt stood with his head peeking against the corner of the building. If it weren’t for the apron tied around his waist, you’d assume he’s some stranger sticking his nose in other people’s business, but with the bags under his eyes and the cigarette hanging from his mouth, you recognized the trademark of a tired restaurant worker.

“I’m here for the help wanted ad?” You said more like a question, raising a manila folder and shaking it so he could see that you weren’t there for sandwiches, or whatever it was they sold.

“Why?” He asked skeptically, scanning you from head to toe and taking a drag from his cigarette without using his hands. Show off.

You couldn’t come up with an answer on the spot, out of nervousness and intimidation, so you chose to shrug. You could have said you needed the job or literally anything else, but that answer seemed to be enough for him. The guy took another drag then gestured with his head for you to follow him around the corner. With a doubtful turn to the glass door, you moved to the left and followed the man into the parking spot between buildings where, you hoped, another entrance to the restaurant would be waiting for you.

You moved slowly over the gravel, making your way deeper into the empty space. A breath you didn’t know you were holding left your lips at the sight of a long metal door opened ajar, with the man finishing his cig keeping it from closing. He made a circular impatient motion with his hand while staring at you and that was enough for you to quicken your pace towards him.

“Hurry up babe, we ain’t got all day” He said with a loud voice despite being less than three feet away. “C’mon, I’ll see if I can find my asshole cousin. He’s the one who put that stupid sign up anyway.”

You fully entered the building and were immediately welcomed by the familiar scent of roasted meats and sauteed vegetables, the buzz of old vent pipes and the scraping of metal pans against the burners slightly numbed the anxiety growing in your stomach. This was familiar, this you knew. Down to the Bachata beat playing somewhere inside from an overworked radio and the blinding white lights reflecting off the even whiter tiled walls.

The man seemed to have disappeared somewhere past the kitchen, leaving you stranded in the middle of the Steward station with nothing but a half assed ‘wait here’. You clutched your folder containing your resumé near your chest and tried to make yourself as small as it was possible in the already tiny space, so as to not interfere with anyone who were to pass by in a hurry. It felt like minutes had passed and the guy had not returned. You tried to keep yourself entertained by counting the stained steel pots hanging from the hooks above the sinks, then moved to count the beat up escoffier containers that rested on the rack in front of you. When that was done, you checked your surroundings in search of someone else to help you, as the asshole had been gone for some time and it didn’t seem like he’d be back soon.

About to give up hope and ready to push the exit door, you hear a loud ‘Corner!’ headed your way and turned just in time to see a mountain of pots and pans being carried to the sinks by a faceless body. His head was turned to the other side, probably doing his best to keep an eye on the path ahead. You tried to say something but the words were stuck in your throat, so instead you stepped back out of his way and waited until he dropped the cookware. The faceless person dropped everything inside with a loud bang, then rested his arms against the metal edge, sighed and let his head hang low. From your position, scooted by the door in silence, you waited expectantly for him to turn around so you could say something; maybe explaining why you’re there would be a good way to start. But it took him some time to move. All you saw is the flexing of strained muscle on his arms as he gripped the sink like a lifeline. The movement of his tensed back as he breathed under the thin white shirt he wore brought a warmth to your cheeks and you knew you’re starting to be creepy so you forced yourself to talk.

“Hi-” Is all you get to say before he jumped back startled, wide blue eyes with a wild expression and a hand clutching over his blue apron where his heart was.

“Jesus fuck! Don’t fuckin’ do that!” He shouted at you with a hand raking through his hair. 

“Sorry!” You yelled back. Your heartbeat pounded in your throat and ears and the warmth from a few seconds ago had turned scorching hot over all your skin.

He leaned forward and rested his hands over his knees trying to calm his pulse, then chuckled lightly and regained his composure. “No no you’re good, I-uh I didn’t mean to yell like that but you scared the shit outta me.”

He passed his hand over his face then left it over his mouth, contemplating you for a solid minute. He looked over at you unsure of what to say as you stood holding your folder to your chest and balancing on your feet. 

“Right… so'' He leaned against the sink. “Who are you?”

“Yeah sorry, I saw you were asking for help up front and wanted to see if it was still available.” You said pointing to where you assumed was front of house. In the small space, you couldn’t really make out the layout of the place. “Some asshole guy let me in but then left me here.”

“Fuckin’ Richie” He says under his breath. “Yeah, yeah it still is. You got any papers on you?”

You hand him the folder you had been clutching to your chest. He looked at you one last time then opened it to find your wrinkled resume inside. While he analyzed the information you peeked another look at him. Ashy blond hair framed a strong jaw and nose. He had a broad back and strong arms, likely from all the physical effort it took to work in a kitchen, and even though he took up some space, it seemed like he tried to shrink into himself. The  pale skin on his arms was littered with designs that you couldn’t make out from the distance, but you could see the hyper pigmentation of a few scars.

“Oven?” You ask, pointing to a small angry red mark across his forearm.

“What? Oh fuuuck.” He said as he turned his arm. “That’s the first time I see it, honestly.” 

You laughed lightly under your breath, before he turned to you with a small smile.

“C’mon.” He guided you out the Steward section and you assumed he’d take you to whoever was in charge of the place.

Your nerves had settled due to the familiar ambiance, as he conducted you through the different sections where a few cooks turned curiously, then settled by the expo  that stood tall facing the small window opening into the dining area.

“Mind if we check it here? The office is a shit hole right now.” He looked down at you with expectant eyes.

You swallowed dryly, you weren’t expecting him to be the one in charge. Does that mean you were checking out your future boss? Fuck. You nodded, afraid to trust your own voice. He nodded back then looked at the worn out paper.

“You have a pretty cool resume.” He started. “You’ve been all over the place. Hostess, service, line cook. Private chef for two years, where was that?”

“Uhm, some rich folks up in Lincoln Park. Just dinner and meal prep.” You said as nonchalant as possible.

“Well listen, I don’t think I can pay you as well as they did.” He joked. “We’re not that big of a place and in all honesty, business’ a little tight right now.” 

And there it was, the last rejection you were expecting. You looked down at your hands and did your best to calm the bile climbing up your throat.

“But we could really use the help, so maybe I can offer you to help out up front and once we’re back on our feet, you can move back here. The pay’s not the best and the hours are crazy long but it’s just in the meantime.” He stayed quiet waiting for an answer.

Your head snapped up to look at him after the first half, still surprised it wasn’t a rejection. You didn’t notice you had been quietly staring until he raised his brows expectantly.

“Wait, so that means I’m hired?” You questioned, still cautious.

“Yeah, you think you can start today?”

“Yes, yes thank you so much!” You cleared your throat to hide the too obvious excitement. “Yeah, I’ll just need a place to drop off my things.”

“Great, well we gave Sydney our last empty locker, but you can keep your bag in the office. It’s pretty safe.” He pointed to a closet sized door to the left and asked you to follow him while he explained that family was served before opening and that he’d introduce everyone then.

After dropping your bag inside the dimly lit room, that was indeed a shit hole, he guided you back to the kitchen, then through a white door that pushed into the front of house. You saw the asshole leaning against the long counter separated from the tables, telling a very engaging story to a shorter man in a backwards cap who appeared to just want to finish fixing a broken tap. When the door slammed behind you, they both turned towards you and the chef, who you had yet to know the name of. The taller of the two’s eyes grew in realization and his hand flew to his mouth in a fist to try and hide his laugh.

“Shiiit, my bad doll. I swear I went lookin’ for ‘em but fuckin’ Fak here couldn’t keep his pipe shut and started talking!” He said, using the back of his other hand to slap at the chest of the other man who turned offended to him.

“I didn’t say shit!  You came running to me talkin’ about the pretty girl you had in the bac-” 

“Both of you shut the fuck up and listen” The man behind you interrupted impatient, he placed his hand lightly on your lower back and pushed you further into the room. The placement of his hand did nothing to subside the growing shade of pink in your cheeks from the comment. “This is… shit sorry, I never asked your name.” He turned to you, hand still on your back.

A quiet ‘it’s okay’ left your lips and you introduced yourself to the group of men. The chef repeated your name to himself as a way of memorizing it, then spoke back to the group.

“Richie, she’ll be helping you up front.” 

“Fuck you, I’m not babysitting!” He turns to you. “No offense sweetheart, but this,” He said signaling the bar, “is a one man symphony, okay? I can’t have you screwing with my system.”

You did your best not to roll your eyes at him, because of course you expected him to be defensive about it. Enough experience in the service industry had shown you that older people tended to be quite resistant towards change, especially if the change came in the form of barely 5’3 and female. Sure you were young, you had barely graduated culinary school two years ago during the pandemic, but you had been working since your third year so you were more than familiar with the business.

“Well you have a shitty system.” Said Fak under his breath as he finished unscrewing something.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Richie said, offended. 

“I’m just saying man, you could use the help. I saw you jump at a customer the other day cause he was asking for ketchup.”

“Cause only idiots ask for ketchup with a sandwich!” He threw his hands in the air and turned his back to Fak.

“He was ten!” He shouted back.

“Look, I don’t have time to argue! Richie, you imbecile, take the help cause you need it and stop jumping on people before you catch a case, all right?!” He turned to you, rubbed your back with his hand still there and smiled slightly. “You’ll do great.” He says finally before turning to Richie and pointing up at him while walking back. “Don’t fuckin’ scare her off.”

And he was gone out the door. Richie made a gesture with both his hands pushing from under his chin to where the chef had disappeared then turned to you. He stayed silent, one hand on the bar and another on his hips as he stared at you in intimidation. You held his gaze, not cowarring now that you knew he wasn’t going to murder you. An ‘Aha!’ from Fak brought him back and he slapped his hand on the bar.

“Alright c'mon. I’m gonna need you to organize back here while I sweep around the tables. We open at 12 so we got enough time. Got it? ” He finished.

You salute with your right hand, rolled up your sleeves and walked behind the bar to start working on the task. “Yes, chef.” You mumbled out of habit.

“Nah, don’t fuckin’ start with that ‘chef’ thing with me, I’m already up to my balls with Carmy sayin’ it all the time.” He replied exasperated.

“Fine. Yes, asshole. Whatever.” You respond, rolling your eyes and starting to take things out from the fridge at the bottom of the counter.

You heard a snicker from Fak a few feet away, followed by a smacking sound and an ‘Ow! Fuck you!’ before Richie’s sneakers squeaked away into the other room. What you didn’t see was the small smirk on his face as he started walking away. You had balls, he’d give you that.

You powered through the absolute rat’s nest the bottom of the counter was. An empty jar of pickles, two moldy sausages and a single slab of cheese without the wrapper were only a couple of things you found while trying to clean the mess. You took anything useless and dumped it into a black trash bag Fak was nice enough to get you, before showing you where they kept all the cleaning supplies so you weren’t in the dark. It took you two trips to the supply shelf, a sponge, a rag and half a bottle of dish soap to ultimately get rid of the stale grease that gave the impression to have been there since the opening of the place. Once you were satisfied with the way you organized the station, you moved to scrub the top of all the counters and even give a little swipe with the rag on all the stools.

You had baby hairs sticking to your forehead and cheeks by the time you were done, even your jacket had been discarded and thrown under the now clean bar, but a satisfied smile rested on your face despite all that. God, you really missed working. You finally took some time to admire all the framed pictures littering the surrounding walls. Most were of sports players you weren’t familiar with; one, because you really weren’t a fan of any sport, and two, because the pictures looked so old that most of the specific features had been erased from too much exposure to the sun. There were also football jerseys hanging by a corner near the unlit menu and a big ‘Beef Deli’ sign on the wall behind you. You saw a couple cooks moving around behind the window under the sign and a little knot formed in your stomach at the thought of having to introduce yourself in a while.

You checked your wristwatch on your left hand while you wiped the sweat from your forehead with your right, hoping you still had some time to kill. But before you could look down, a voice by the door called your name. You looked up to see the chef, Carmy you had learned his name was, looking at you with a small smile.

“Front of house looks good, chef.” He complemented, clear blue eyes scanning the counters as he leaned against the door, hands playing with a spoon.

You took a deep breath and smiled back, holding onto your wrists behind your back, “Thanks, chef. I-uhm hope you don’t mind that I took some Fabuloso to wipe down the counter by the window. It smelled like shit.” You finish, pointing at the purple liquid in the spray bottle beside you.

“Yeah, no that’s fine.” He answers, a small laugh stuck in his throat. “But that was actually Tina’s so don’t let her see you used it.”

Your mouth opened slightly as your eyes grew, and you were afraid to ask how bad it would be if she found out. He straightened up with a smirk and tapped his spoon twice on the metal counter before signaling for you to follow him with his head.

“C’mon, family’s up.”

You turned on your heel to follow him into the other room, but jogged back, jumped over the counter high enough to slap the spray bottle with sufficient force for it to fall and roll under the counter. You did not know Tina, but you were sure as hell you also didn’t want to get your shit rocked on your first day on the job. 

You tried tidying up your hair back into a less messy ponytail and combed all the stray baby hairs before entering the adjacent room where the other workers were getting ready for family. Some faces stared from their seats, questioning the presence of the stranger invading their space. A few you had met on the rush while taking the garbage bags out or crossing the kitchen to the supply shelf. Marcus, the pastry chef, waved with a simple smile and pointed to an empty space beside him. The simple action brought a wave of relief over your shoulders as you advanced towards him, hands interlocked in nerves. You mumbled a ‘Thanks.’ and served yourself a glass of water from the pitcher in front of you.

Once everyone was sitting with a container of food in front, the chef introduced you to the table and let everyone know you’d be helping out up front with the service and that if they had any questions, they could ask you directly. The first one to jump at the opportunity was an older man with dark skin, asking you in a thick accent if you were related to Tina. There was a burst of laughter around the table, but he seemed to be serious about his question.

“Ebra, not all latinos are related you racist fucker.” Responded a small woman sitting beside him with a slap to his arm. Okay, so that’s Tina, you thought. “That’s like me saying you and Marcus are related cause you’re both black.” She finished pointing at the tall man sitting beside you.

“We are related.” Ebra responded with a teasing smile, staring at Marcus and you immediately knew where this was going. “I am his grandfather- his mom called me daddy last night!”

Another roar of laughter shattered along the table and you had to stick a spoonful of rice in your mouth to hide your smile. You heard a ‘C’mon man, that’s not right.’ from Marcus as he shook his head, but the creeping grin let you know that it was all in fun. The conversation flowed between comments on the food and stories they all recounted, glad to have a fresh pair of ears to hear them.

One of Richie’s was from a few weeks ago, when they had set up a video game tournament at the restaurant to make some extra cash and the nerds in line had gone so bat shit crazy, that one punched Carmy on the jaw and he had to go out and ‘beat their asses into shape’. You slowly swallowed the bite you had taken and stared at Richie sitting at the end by Carmy.

“Was he dressed like a giant carrot… By any chance?” You ask mortified. 

“No shit! You know the fucker?!” He yelled, slamming his hands on the table. Everyone turned to you like you were holding a new piece to a worthy puzzle.

You covered your face with your hands then crossed them in front of your chin. “Yeah… I think that fucker’s my 19 year old brother.” You affirmed scrunching your face in disgust. Fuckin’ Joshua.

The table went wild with jokes about how Carmy had almost gotten knocked out by a teen and through the hysterics you could still make out Richie’s voice saying “Oh my god, sweetheart. Thank you, really. You just made my WEEK!”  All you could do was pick around your container as heat crept up your neck.

You peered up through your lashes at Carmen sitting with a mortifying look and mouthed a heartfelt ‘Sorry’ for what felt like the tenth time that day. He was leaning back with his arms crossed, smiled with an ‘it’s okay’ and let everyone take a jab with their jokes. You looked back down to your food and did your best to drown out the teasing noises from everyone, but were unaware of how the chef raised his brows and swallowed dryly with his gaze still on you.

After minutes of teasing, everyone picked up their empty dishes and separated into their areas. You stayed in the dining room wiping down the tables that were left to clean before opening service and a couple of ideas came to mind on how you could decorate them to reduce the depressing feeling. At least for now, napkins and holders would do, the rest would have to wait. You power walked to the front where you remembered seeing a packet that looked to be from napkins, but once you reached inside all you found were a bunch of wrinkled brown pieces of paper.

“Richie!” You yelled from your crouched position.

“Yo!” He yelled back, head popping above you over the counter.

“I can’t seem to find any napkins.” You spoke while still searching hopefully in the space.

“You’re holdin’ em.” He stated, matter-of-factly. 

You stand fully and shake the supposed napkins in front of you. “Richie, these are stained and say Starbucks on em!” 

His grin grew wide on his face as he walked back with extended arms. “Welcome to The Beef, kid!” He laughed, then leaned down to unlock the glass door where you could already see some people forming a line.

You quickly dropped the napkins, grabbed the blue half apron you had been given and tied it around your waist as fast as possible. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A fuckin’ heads up would’ve been nice, you thought as you plastered on a soft smile for the clients.

“Alright, fuckos! We’re open!” He shouted into the restaurant and wiggled his brows towards you. “Goodluck.”

Fuck.

*****

He was worried for you for the first fifteen minutes after opening. Afraid you’d see the mess you had stumbled upon or that his idiot cousin would say something that would have you grabbing your bag and leaving without as much as a goodbye. He wouldn’t blame you, hell, he would’ve even done the same if his name wasn’t in the lease  now instead of his brother’s.

He stopped worrying however, when he saw the way you managed yourself around the floor and customers. Empty plates were picked up with ease and replaced with warm ones that spent less than five minutes on the counter, the orders were taken within minutes and served with a kind smile. He was even surprised when you walked away from the other side of the expo with three plated sandwiches balancing in one hand and a forth plate in the other.

“Can you manage, chef?” He even asked when he saw you trying to find the perfect space between your fingers that could balance the plate, your lip caught in concentration.

You looked at him with your head still bowed and a breathy smile. “Yeah, thanks.” Then turned your back to deliver the dishes. 

It wasn’t his intention for his gaze to linger longer than it did as your hips swayed naturally with every step, or when despite the hectic sound of the kitchen he could still hear you laugh politely at a joke from one of their regulars. But it was only until Syd elbowed him in the side that he noticed he was being a bit creepy. Jesus, it’s like your 14 again, he thought.

“You’re worried Richie’s gonna scare her off but you’re the one giving me the creeps with all the staring.” She said after reading the printed ticket for another order.

“Heard, chef.” Was all he said, cleared his throat and went back to work, doing his best not to look up every time you walked to receive a new order.

It was only when the lunch rush died down and he was in desperate need of a cigarette, that he saw you sitting down with your head resting against the cold bricks of the adjacent building and eyes closed peacefully. He didn’t want to bother you, but he also didn’t want to waste the opportunity of telling you how well you had done in the first half of the day. Besides, the heavy door behind him slammed closed and startled you slightly, so there was no going back now.

“Hey.” You smiled softly, stretching your arms above your head and your legs straight forward, then relaxed altogether. 

“You smoke?” Carmy asked, offering you a cig as he sat on the empty crate a few feet away from you, elbows resting on his knees.

You shook your head no, but thanked him anyway. “I quit a few months ago.” You said just as he flicked his lighter on and the tip grew bright orange.

“Shit, sorry. If it bothers you I can turn it off.” He offered. He wanted to say ‘I can go somewhere else’ but he didn’t want to give you the idea that he didn’t wanna be there.

You shook your head no again still smiling and pulled one of your legs to your chest, turning to him. “So…” You asked curious. “How’d I do for my first half?”

Carmy chuckled lightly as he exhaled smoke into the air. He turned to you from his crouched position and for the fifth time that day, he took a good look at your face. Jesus fuck, how could someone as beautiful as you end up in his dump of all places? Despite your overworked expression and a few small bags beneath your eyes, he was sure he had never seen anyone’s face glow with such brightness as yours did now. His eyes danced around your face, taking in every single freckle he could before he tore them away after what to him felt like an eternity of staring- no- admiring your features.

“You did way better than I expected. Truly, chef. Thank you.” He whispered and, despite the noisy Chicago surroundings, you heard every word.

Your smile beamed brighter for what felt like the first time in months and the fist that had been constricting your heart for a while now seemed to give you some much needed space to breathe. 

Carmy finished his cigarette in comfortable silence, now laying back against the cold brick wall that helped ease the rising temperature in his body, while you played with the aquamarine ring on your pointer finger that reminded you too much of the chef’s specific shade of blue eyes.

“What’s Carmy short for?” You asked all of a sudden, pulling him out of his internal thoughts.

It took him a couple of seconds to process the question, then smiled down to the gravel under his feet. “Uhm- it’s short for Carmen. It’s a family name. " He responded.

“Oh.” Was all you said, nodding your head. “It's nice. I have a cousin named Carmen.” You continue with a smile on your lips.

“Yeah?” He asked, turning down towards you, only to see you stand up and  clean off the dust from the back of your black jeans and readjust the apron around your waist.

You stood with your hands on your hips and stared down at him for another second before smiling and making your way to the tall door. “Yeah, but she’s a girl.” You reply without turning back and push your way into the restaurant, leaving the chef with a snickering grin and a lightheaded feeling he wished wasn’t just from the nicotine.

Chapter 2.

[stellamancer]

fics for gaza

hello! like many of my fellow writers, i'll be joining the @ficsforgaza initiative! there will be two ways to show your support!

last updated: aug 20

-> wip sponsorship

how it works: please make a donation to a vetted fundraiser and send me an ask with a screenshot with proof of donation as well as the name of the wip you want to sponsor and for every 1USD you donate I'll write one hundred words for the wip you've chosen! the asks will not be published and I ask for your own safety to conceal any of your personal information when sending me the screenshot!

wip list:

surface of the sun — bnha || fem!reader x katsuki bakugou

summary: your family's restaurant is on the very verge of closing and you do everything you can to keep things afloat. your efforts bring a certain hot headed pro-hero through the door and for some damn reason, he keeps coming back.

estimated word count: 7,000 || current word count: 3,982

donated words: 1,864 || written words: 582

shine on the sea — jjk || fem!reader x satoru gojo

summary: you were excited to return home for the summer, but all that excitement is quickly thrown out the window and you nearly resign yourself to a quiet and lonely summer.

the insufferable merman you rescued, however, has other plans.

estimated word count: 30,000 (10 chapters) || current word count: 9,700 (2 chapters)

donated words: 1,000 || written words: 0

ready steady — jjk || fem!reader + satoru gojo

summary: it is november 30, 2018 and your life is beginning anew.

(sequel to beyond the unending night)

estimated word count: 10,000 || current word count: 200

donated word count: 1,000 || written words: 0

-> requests

how it works: please DM me or send me and ask prior to making your donation with your request so that we can discuss it. once I approve your request feel free to make your donation and send me your proof of donation. (I'm begging please DM me first and don't just request whatever I'll cry) just like with wip sponsorship, the rate is 1USD per 100 words with a cap of 1,000 words. please be aware I will not accept NSFW requests if you are a minor or have no age shown on your tumblr.

willing to write:

jjk — satoru gojo, suguru geto, yuta okkotsu

bnha — izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugou, shouto todoroki

will not write:

pregnancy/kid fic

scat/piss kink

finally please note, I am a slow writer and should you request a fic, it may take some time for me to write. also I am very vanilla so if you request NSFW from me.... lmao.

REQUESTS: 3 / 3

[howtofightwrite]

I'm working on a monster apocalypse story. I've outlined how the monsters emerged and spread throughout the world, as well as the abilities some humans developed to combat them: physical, mental, and therapeutic powers. I also have ideas about the strength and intelligence of the monsters, including some rare unranked ones. The story includes four main powers - Companies, Government, Agencies, and Hunters. However, I'm stuck on how these powers will fight the monsters, how society will evolve, and how to allocate power among the four main groups, especially considering the presence of illegal agencies and hunters.

There's a few slightly goofy things here. Don't take this too harshly, and I suspect this is a translation issue, but “therapeutic,” is probably not the term you wanted. It sounds like, “I hunt monsters through the power of unlicensed chiropractic adjustments.” You may have meant pharmacological powers, as in characters who are chemically enhanced via drugs.

There's also a little bit a weirdness in terminology here, there's three categories of powers (physical, mental, and whatever augmentation you meant), and there's also four categories of powers.

There's a very basic rule of writing, where you don't want to reuse the same word multiple times in a sentence. Except, that also extrapolates out to larger contexts like this. Now, a “power,” can refer to anything from electrical energy, a paranormal ability, or a faction, up to deities. But, if you're going to use a term like this (at least in your world building) you probably want to use it in one specific way. So, for example, you might want to say characters have three broad categories of abilities, and belong to one of four factions.

This kind of word choice can also be very helpful for establishing tone. Consider for a moment how differently it reads if you have a setting “where characters are augmented in different ways, and then work for various powers in their world,” versus one “where characters gain various supernatural abilities and then work for various conspiracies.” Not much changed in the text itself, but the kind of world you're likely to build from that core statement will be radically different.

Now, using the same terms for both is a viable choice, and also has implications. Primarily that those powers derive directly from the powers your characters work for. In that case you would probably want to have a direct 1:1 mapping of abilities to factions. For example, the corporations augment characters (cybernetically, pharmaceutically, or however else), the agencies train psychic powers, the governments provide better tech and support, while the hunters... do something.

Another problem I see up front is a lack of specificity. There are over 200 governments in the world today, with radically different philosophies and approaches to problem solving. So, lumping all of them together under a single banner is peculiar.

Governments depend to be distinct entities from one another, (at least if we're ignoring the specific edge case of puppet governments.) How they interact with one another will reflect their shared and exclusive history with one another. This creates a complex and varied tapestry that is an absolute goldmine for worldbuilding. International relations shapes the world in a way few other things can compete with.

Similarly, “companies,” is incredibly vague. I can make some educated guesses, but it doesn't really tell me anything. Are these private mercenary bands, the military remnants of fallen nations, megacorporations, or something entirely different? Again, the real question you'd need to ask yourself is, “who are these companies?” They're not a monolithic, unified force. In the world before, they were probably in direct competition with each other, and that may have persisted into the apocalypse. Depending on the nature of the story you're trying to tell, is this going to be another case where you have some factions trying to ally with, or use the monsters for themselves? By, “therapeutic,” do you mean that some of these corporations are trying to graft monster parts onto their own loyal subjects, or looking for means to mind control the monsters, turning them into a domesticated combat force, loyal to them?

Agencies is probably one of the hardest to lock down, because that can refer to either a private or public organization. So this is either part of the companies or part of the governments. Unless the intent was to indicate that these were some kind of separate group, like a foundation, or even a guild.

I'm assuming with hunters, you mean freelance hunters. Because, anyone hunting monsters for any of the above groups could be considered, “a hunter,” but this one isn't a big deal.

So what do you do? You probably want to start with the specifics. You might have a general thought, like what you're describing at the top, but ultimately, that's a very brief stepping stone. You'd sketch that out, and then immediately flip over to detailing the various factions and kinds of characters in more depth. You don't necessarily need to have much detail when you're getting started with your story, but you should be able to, at least, name off most of the major factions that you know are important, and how they interact (with each other, and also with the story.)

A lot of world building lives or dies on how well your various factions interact with each other to create a credible gestalt.

-Starke

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[kiefbowl]

i made a string of really dumb financial decisions and now im in debt that might take me years to pay off, do you have any words of wisdom for me queen. like that feels bad. how do i even save up. imagine flushing a pile of money down the toilet thats what this debt it

I know how that feels, believe me. A lot of people do. I'm feeling the pain of my 9 month school loans, and credit cards I had already paid off back "on" again (one in particular is pretty high...whooooops).

Don't lose your cool, I have a couple of flexible suggestions that you take, use, and modify to your specifics:

Tithe yourself - if your job does direct deposit (which most do!), you can direct deposit your money into multiple accounts. Get it set up so your paycheck goes 90% into your checking account, 10% into your savings account so that you're not even thinking about it. You might feel the squeeze for a little bit but you'll acclimate to that "missing" 10% sooner than you think.

Ask for a raise - if you're working, ask for a raise. If you're new, or maybe not that "great", or they're penny-pinchers, or you're just nervous to ask, don't even worry about it. Ask for 3% - this is low, and most jobs will give it to you just for the convenience of getting you to stop bothering them about it (if they can't afford 3%, run run run). For context, if you make $10 an hour, a 3% raise only gives you $12.00 more each week. It's really not much, but not nothing! If you're NOT worried about asking a raise, go all in! Ask for 10%, maybe even 15%. Flex some negotiation skills. Maybe you'll walkaway with 7%, but every penny counts.

Get yourself on auto payments [at the smallest amounts you can] - if you've got credit cards, log in right now and get yourself on auto payments for the smallest amount. If you've got student loans, do the same thing. If you've got utility bills, get them on auto pay. These things take 3 minutes to set up, and there are phone numbers to call if you can't figure it out. These companies WANT you to do this, they will help you get it done.

Work off the smallest amount you owe first [aggressively] - Let's say you have a $60 parking ticket, a credit card you owe $400 on, and three student loans that are currently at $6,000 & $7,000 & $10,000. Forget the student loans right now, you've got them on autopay for the smallest amount you can get away with. First, pay off that $60 parking ticket with your next pay check before it becomes a $200 ticket and a court appearance. Now you can focus on the paying off the $400 aggressively. Your minimum payments will still go off, but every time you get a paycheck, long on and pay an additional amount to the credit card (something you can manage and will also feel good to your brain - $50 feels good when you're thinking of your debit in hundreds for example). Once you've got that paid off, now you can aggressively pay off your $6,000. Don't worry about the other two. Just focus on the smallest amount you owe. Each paycheck, payoff a chunk of your smallest debt. It'll get exciting after awhile, like yes I get paid I can make that credit card even smaller. Gamify it, whatever.

Stop worrying about how long it will all take - Only worry about the smallest amount of debt you owe and how (reasonably) fast you can get that paid off. That $400 credit card, if you can spare $100 each pay check - that's only 4 paychecks. That's not too long, right? That's the way to think of time and debt: how much can you spare each paycheck to pay off your lowest debt.

Ask for help - do not punish yourself by lying to your parents and friends. Tell your friends you can't do fancy dinners because you are paying off debt and can't afford it. Real friends will bring over a pizza to hang with you. Your parents might be willing to send you a check without you asking for it. Don't feel guilty about monetary gifts, just take it. Go to a bank and talk about their consolidation options. Bring a third party so you aren't dazzled by sales pitches. Consolidation loans aren't objectively good or bad, they can be a life saver if they have the right terms that work for you. Don't think it's over your head! Ask as many questions until you understand all your options.

Buy smart, stop suffering - this really should be like 4 different bullet points, but I'm going to be as concise as possible: you'll never get out of debt if you spend your money without purpose, and you'll never get out under the yoke of anxiety that you fucked up if you just squirrel your money away in fear. A lot of people will give you advice that you need to put yourself on a tight, punishing budget. Maybe, but I think those are doomed to fail for most people. And now you feel twice as bad. Don't do that to yourself. Learning the value of $10 is important. So it learning the value of $100, or $1,000. And the best way to learn is to practice buying and using your money - there's a cheap $1,000 and an expensive $10, and you have to learn how much value you are getting out of these amounts for these purchases. If you punish yourself all week, and then allow yourself a "little treat" on Sunday - that doesn't feel worthwhile to me. Those little treats will grow every day. Soon you're stopping at Starbucks every day for "just $10" and your Sunday treat has become a weekly blow out brunch with friends and then week to week you're scrounging to eat Top Ramen and lamenting your dreams are dying. Instead, save money by spending money on things worthwhile that make you budget for them. Go sign up for those yoga classes you want, go sign up for those guitar lessons you want, go sign up for those art lessons you want, whatever it is. Whatever brings value to your life. Your $70 a week yoga membership can now be valued against your $70 week at Starbucks, and as your pockets pinch one hopes you'll choose the yoga over the Starbucks because one hopes that the yoga is serving you better. Or maybe yoga is ass and you want to spend it on Starbucks, at least now you know. Though I recommend your local coffee shop, as Starbucks is a union busting piece of shit corporation :)

[satoruxx]

NORTHERN LIGHTS.

✧ PAIRING: kaeya alberich x fem!reader | 4.5k words

✧ SUMMARY: smut, p -> v, praise, fingering, lots of pining, angst, angsty bc it’s kaeya tbh lol, kaeya lore but it’s vague, also military themes bc sometimes we forget kaeya is a captain and i love the knights of favonius, he’s highkey got commitment issues but i think he’s valid, man is whipped tho, he's just an overthinker and traumatized, also can you tell i’m a med student?

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: first i have to apologize bc this is SO late??? i got this request back for my 200 event, asking for kaeya with the song northern lights by kennie (which is such a good song). at first i was gonna make it a short little drabble, but the more i wrote, the more i wanted to make it a full fic, which is what ended up happening. kaeya's character has so much depth and i wanted to explore it hehe. northern lights is such a fitting song for him so i just had to go all in. but i'm so sorry that i got to your request so late, hopefully you still enjoy it lovely! (even tho it’s not the main focus in this fic, this is technically my first real smut fic so take it with a grain of salt; i don't think i write it that well LMAO)

it was rare to truly know your own weaknesses, but kaeya knew his a little too well. behind his carefree, unbothered exterior he cared a little too much. he cares a little too much when klee tugs on his fur cape and whines about a scolding she’s gotten from jean, and he ends up indulging her with whatever she’d like. he cares a little too much when rosaria spills just a tad more than usual during her drunken ramblings. he cares a little too much when he sees the discomfort in the face of certain fiery bartender as they speak, and he consistently lies awake and remembers days when that discomfort between them didn’t exist.

it’s a curse, he thinks, because he always ends up feeling too attached to people he knows he shouldn’t be attached to.

even now, his weakness is acting up as he barks orders to his soldiers. they scramble around him as they enter the city, carrying their wounded brethren to safety up at the cathedral. kaeya knows he shouldn’t blame himself but as their captain he feels like he should’ve seen this coming. new recruits wouldn’t be able to handle the hordes of monsters at daduapa gorge—he miscalculated.

“take them to the sisters at the cathedral. sister barbara and the others should be able to heal them,” kaeya commands, clasping one of the men’s shoulders and helping him up to the church. he’s ignoring the now dull throbbing in his side as blood stains his clothes—his soldiers were most important right now. like he said, he cared a little too much.

the nurses had set up a medical station at the cathedral, and in between all the commotion, kaeya’s finally able to hand over the groaning soldier to a nurse, who immediately gets to work.

he then takes a few steps back to assess the damage, grateful that all of his soldiers are getting the attention they needed. he’d hate himself if there were any losses today.

he doesn’t even realize that he’s now leaning against the wall, panting shallowly as blood continues to pour from his abdomen. oh well, he’d wait his turn—only after his soldiers were taken care of.

kaeya shuts his eyes, letting his body rest for a minute.

“you’re wounded.”

his eyes shoot open to see you standing in front of him. he assumes you’re not one of the nuns because your clothes are entirely different. you’re young, appearing to be around his age as you eye his torso critically.

“it appears so,” he answers.

“did someone take a look at you yet?”

“i’d prefer all my soldiers be taken care of first.”

your eyes flash with recognition. “so you’re captain kaeya?”

“indeed i am.” he lets his eyes roam over your concerned features.

you give him a small smile before continuing with a sigh. “i can safely tell you that all the wounded are being treated. i’m still an apprentice so i’m only here to deal with the non fatal injuries. like yours, captain.” you crouch down in front of him, fingers reaching towards his clothing with a silent question of permission. he lets his hand slacken as he gives you a nod and you attempt to peel back as many layers as you can to asses the damage before you’re motioning him towards a tent.

a few minutes later and kaeya is letting you strip his torso bare until you have a full view of his injury. your fingers brush over the wounded skin gently, and he wonders if you even touched him at all. “it’s long, but not too deep. a few stitches and you should be alright. if you’re okay with it, i’ll get started,” you tell him.

kaeya wants to tell you that he’s no stranger to the pain of injuries, but he finds something oddly refreshing about your comforting attitude, so he just says yes and lets you begin to work.

you thread through the skin with a delicate hand and despite the sting he honestly can’t even focus on it, choosing instead to analyze your features.

he realizes that you’re awfully pretty.

kaeya makes small talk with you as you work, partly to stay awake through the pain and mostly because he can’t stop his curiosity. he finds out your name, your hobbies, your goals. you may not have the most exciting life but kaeya thinks there’s something so alluring about you it makes him a little dizzy. he's not sure what it is, but he thinks about it the whole time you tend to his wound. realization hits when you finally finish, looking up at him with a smile, and kaeya realizes that your eyes hold the stars in them.

it’s hard to explain but when kaeya watches you work, nose scrunching in the dim lighting of the tent, he thinks you remind him of home.

(kaeya has chased the stars for as long as he can remember. he remembers shouting with diluc in the grass behind the winery, the two of them reaching for celestia because the stars up there were so undeniably pretty.

"we're never gonna get them!" diluc would laugh, trying hard to balance kaeya on his little shoulders. "they're too far…"

and kaeya only grins down at him toothily, raising his fists to the sky. "no way! i'll catch them one day!"

and yet his whole childhood went by without being able to capture the stars. as he grew older he started to learn that it was impossible to steal what the sky so selfishly held on to.

but even as an adult, kaeya knows to appreciate the stars when he gets the privilege to see them in the sky.

especially after he finally seems to find them in the dim glow of a medical tent.)

he hates to admit how often his eyes seek you out after that one encounter. sometimes he’ll see you at the cat's tail, giggling with your friends as you slam tcg cards down on the table triumphantly. other times he’ll catch a glimpse of you at good hunter, chewing on a quick meal as you browse through a book. almost every time he gets caught staring you only smile and offer him a little wave that sends his brain into a frenzy.

(maybe in another life kaeya would allow himself the luxury. he’d let himself go through the motions for you. let himself stress every time you threw a glance his way. work up the courage to ask you out on saturday afternoon. finally get the chance to press his lips to yours. trace your skin with nimble fingers and have the privilege to call you his.

in another life maybe.

but for now he’ll just keep you his own little secret—a guilty pleasure he’ll indulge in because it’s hard to rid an addiction, especially if you don’t have the will to rid it in the first place.)

kaeya’s messed up this summer. he knows it in his soul that he’s made the wrong decision as he watches you babble about something as you lean against his bare chest, still basking in your own afterglow.

he knows that he should have resisted the temptation. as soon as he and the troops got back and he saw you sitting in a secluded corner at angel’s share he knew that his feelings for you hadn’t dissolved.

they say absence makes the heart grow fonder and kaeya only now knows this to be true because just the sight of you sends his mind into a frenzy. you could probably feel his gaze on you because you look up from the book you’re reading and make straight eye contact with him. for a second, he wants to turn away but then you smile at kaeya like you’ve never once forgotten him, and he’s putty. before he knows it, he’s buying you a drink and walking over to your little corner to make himself comfortable.

it’s a slow descent for him because in his head he knows he shouldn’t get too attached. he’ll leave again soon with the troops, and who knows maybe he’ll leave them behind one day too. his future has always looked so clouded to him, and he knows you belong in the sun. he’d like to leave you there in the light—avoid dragging you into his darkness.

so he tries to keep it simple, occasionally meeting you for a drink or catching up around the city. but then you’re showing him your favorite place to study near starfell lake and he’s showing you his favorite stars while laying on his back on starsnatch cliff. and he knows he can’t avoid it.

soon enough he’s giving into everything he said he wouldn’t, finally finding out what you taste like. finally knowing how his name sounds when it falls from your lips.

it's more addicting than he could've predicted, the feeling of your breath against his skin as you pant out his name. kaeya can't even bring himself to pull away from you to stop and think for a second. if he did then maybe he could slap some sense into himself and draw some distance because archons above he was digging himself deeper into this hole. but he can't, not when you're gripping his shoulders as he presses you against the wall of his bedroom, whining into his lips for all that he can give you.

and kaeya is nothing if not generous.

so he indulges both you and himself—the perfect mix of selfless and selfish as he guides you to his bed, nimble fingers loosening the ties of your clothing until you're bare in front of him. he can see the bashfulness settling into your cheeks and he almost feels like goading for just a minute, but he decides he'll be nice.

you've always deserved a nice guy anyway.

he tries to push that thought away, instead distracting himself with the heat of your body, his fingers dancing along your skin eagerly. maybe, just this one night, he can let it be about you two. he can afford to forget about all the old promises he's made—all the responsibilities and duties he devoted himself to a lifetime ago.

kaeya ignores the flush of heat crawling up his neck as he hovers over you, caging your body underneath his as you squirm in anticipation. he understands—the tightness in his pants is enough for him to feel the same. but he's not worried about that, not when his fingers part your thighs eagerly, brushing over heated skin and finding slick wetness there as he dips into your cunt. he hears the sharp intake of breath, the quiet restrained moan, and he preens. kaeya revels in the sounds he pulls from your lips as his fingers curl against your slick heat, your head lolling back against his pillows.

there's a possessive streak of something that cuts through him then—something that tells him how he aches to be the only one who gets to hear those sounds.

it makes him slightly sick.

kaeya realizes then—he's been quite stupid when it comes to you. he's kept the maelstrom of feelings brewing in his soul trapped under all his bravado, arrogant and cowardly all at once. he needs to tell you, needs to be honest because this isn't something he can trick his way out of.

but all he wants to do is run. run so far away from you because he doesn't want you to to get caught up in his own ruin. you're far too good for him, too sweet and carefree to be tainted by his sin-laden hands. he needs to run.

but he does none of that, not when he's guiding his fingers to the apex of your thighs and exploring territory he knows he shouldn't claim. because then you look at him with an expression so blissful—so thankful, relieved that he's giving you a part of himself he never wanted to—and he can't even be angry about it.

kaeya presses his lips to the swell of your chest, feeling the rapid thumping of your heart under your skin, and he shuts his eyes as he breathes out your name. you answer with a resounding mewl, catching his eyes even through the dark strands of his hair.

he then chooses to focus on pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt because archons do you look heavenly when your eyes roll back like that.

but it scares him, the way you leave him open and exposed and aching even when he doesn't want to be.

in his head you're perfect, all bright and glowing under him as you chant his name like he's some kind of savior. but kaeya isn't a savior—if anything he's destruction in human form, sent by the heavens to wreak havoc on those around him. he'd destroyed enough already—he doesn't think he can do it to you too.

but archons the way you're looking at him now, from under fluttering lashes and dewy eyes that shine even brighter when they're trained on him—begging, pleading, and oh so trusting of him and every thing he wants to give you. he can't even help himself.

"i know, sweet girl," he sighs, voice strained as you buck your hips just perfect—a temptress, sent to lead him to his doom. and yet he can't stop his fingers from pushing back your hair from your sweaty skin, knowing that he should be careful because he doesn't want to destroy something as fragile as this.

"kaeya please," your breath comes out in short desperate pants, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders haphazardly.

"i know," he repeats, reaching down to heft your thigh over his waist as he slots his hips against your own, biting back a groan at the sensitive brush against his cock—throbbing, aching, needy.

"ah fuck," he's almost shy at the way his voice shakes as he lines his cock up, the heat and slickness of your cunt a teasing caress against his sensitive head. he drops his forehead against your shoulder, breathing heavily even before he's inside you because something about this makes him so incredibly nervous. a single desperate whine and the soft squeeze of your fingers into his biceps and he's stilling—breath catching, heart pounding.

for a moment, he doesn't even feel like himself. he's not anything, no one.

and then he slides in and kaeya knows that there will never be anything better—another experience that would feel this right in his life.

he pulls out a little, gaze lingering at the sweat beading at your forehead, and something in his chest stutters. "okay?" he traces your face for any hint of hesitation—of the nervousness that he feels in his gut, but all he finds is a stormy mix of desire and devotion.

"uh huh," reassurance, stability—everything he isn't. his brows pinch, eyes shutting because he doesn't want you to know.

he's pulled out of the whirlwind that is his thoughts when he feels your fingers on his cheek, brushing over his skin gently. his eyes snap open, and even through the haze he can feel himself relaxing under your touch, because the way you're looking at him is so undeniably loving and it makes his stomach flip.

"you okay?" you whisper, looking up at him carefully, and kaeya feels as though you've put him between the halves of a microscope slide to analyze him.

"i'm fine," he breathes out, not a lie but not the whole truth either. "don't worry."

his words do little to quell you, but one roll of his hips has your eyes fluttering, a choked moan escaping your throat, and the sound makes his pride sing.

there's an image then—hazy and yet so obvious as his brain registers it. the implications behind it makes his stomach churn.

quiet smiles, hazy kisses, soft goodbyes—and then the inevitable distance as he crosses over the border separating your world from his. a lone figure standing in the streets of mondstadt, always waiting for him to come back. always disappointed.

you buck your hips upward, blissfully unaware of the torrent of conflicting emotions in his head. kaeya's brain short-circuits, and then he's pushing back, a steady rhythm against your gummy walls that takes the breath out of your lungs. you savor every thrust, punctuated by the sharp grunts he lets out against your throat.

your fingers rake over his back, desperate and needy and focused on one thing only—kaeya, kaeya, kaeya.

"that's it sweetheart," he doesn't have any more control—not on his mind, his body, his mouth. they've all escaped his grasp, too spurred on by you and everything you're willing to offer him.

"'s okay…ah fuck…it's okay," kaeya groans into the column of your throat, not sure whether he's telling you or himself. the clench of your walls sends him spiraling, hips picking up the pace as he pistons his cock in and out—trying to find out just how far he can go.

then he hits one spot, and his vigilant gaze catches the way your jaw slackens, eyes glazing over even as they roll back and a shaky moan escapes your throat—surprised, unexpecting. his ego jumps.

an experimental roll of his hips against the same spot and you make a sound so unhinged that he finds himself already addicted to it. and to tease is in his nature.

"yeah? right there?" he drawls, masking his anxiousness with his bravado once again.

"right there," you whimper, nodding meekly as you grip his shoulders. he huffs out a soft laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to your eyelids like he's trying to kiss away the tears that have gathered there. you preen under his ministrations—it feels a little too domestic.

he understands. it scares him, but he understands. he wonders what the point of worrying is—wonders why he's letting his paranoid brain taint this moment that he'd been waiting for. the only solution left is to ignore it. because you're here, writhing underneath him in the throes of pleasure, vulnerable and trusting and just for him. he should give you what you deserve after all.

so kaeya pushes every other thought out of his head, only focused on you and making you feel good because that's what someone like you deserves—everything you desire laid at your feet.

he presses a chaste kiss to your mouth, paired with a languid roll of his hips as he quietly groans. "okay…." his voice comes out an octave lower, pushed down by the barely concealed need for you. "okay sweet girl. i've got you."

another searing kiss as he breathes through his nose, picking up the pace again as he slams his cock into the spot that makes you see stars. your moans get louder even as they remain muffled against his lips, and kaeya can't help but dig his fingers into the meat of your thigh, leaving behind finger shaped dents in the plushy skin.

a claim—possessive, desperate, selfish.

your kisses become sloppier as kaeya leads you closer to the edge, walls clenching around the length of him, tighter with every thrust he delivers. the chants of his name have become almost reverent, and kaeya thinks his name couldn't possibly sound more beautiful than in that moment. he wonders if he could be blessed to hear it for the remainder of his life, and the thought sends pure unadulterated need through him.

his hips stutter, red hot fire coursing through his chilled veins—building, climbing, overwhelming as every sense goes fuzzy with heat. his grunts become more irregular, in time with the reckless thrusts of his cock as your cunt tightens around him greedily.

his cock twitches as you suck him in eagerly, feeling every ridge and vein as he grunts and groans and tightens his hold on you—unyielding, unrelenting, selfish.

your eyes stay locked on his even as your orgasm rips through you, and kaeya sees celestia in them—brighter than ever before. your muscles spasm, clenching almost painfully as you tremble and writhe underneath him, and he follows you to the doorstep of nirvana with a throaty groan. his hips stutter, twitching and throbbing as he pants out a broken chorus of your name and every praise that doesn't do you justice.

then he drops his forehead against yours, watching your eyelids flutter—celestial stars dim. a soft brush of your lips against his.

your muscles go lax, every guard dropped just for him—trust he realizes, trust he doesn't deserve. he doesn't know how to tell you that.

because even after everything—when you're curled up against his chest, skin warm and dewy against his own, he does not think about how he adores the feeling of your hair brushing against his arm, nor does he focus on the soft tickle of your breathing washing over him. instead he thinks about how he's ruined it all, how he's dragged you into him, and how he needs to let you go before he destroys you completely.

at the end of the summer, kaeya tells you he can’t.

“what are you talking about?” you ask him, a light chuckle escaping your lips as you barely focus on his words. your nose is buried in some medical text, and kaeya thinks that the universe is punishing him now by making him repeat himself.

“us. we shouldn’t have…” he sighs, shoulders dropping. “i mean, we should stop…seeing each other.”

he can practically feel the way his words pull your attention and when he looks up he sees the way your grip on the book has slackened. there’s panic settling in your eyes, mixed with a bit of confusion. a conflicted emotion runs across your face and kaeya’s fingers itch to touch you. “w-why?”

it’s a simple question and he should have no problem answering it, but he struggles to get the words out, his throat constricting uncomfortably. “it was fine in the summer, when i was back here with the troops. but now i’ll have to leave and-“

“so what?” you question, turning in your seat to face him completely. his eyes drop to the shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, and he feels his heart squeezing.

“so-“ he gulps, head spinning as he tries to explain himself. he doesn’t even have a proper answer—he just knows that this is his only option. because there’s no way in hell he deserves this kind of comfort, this kind of happiness. “so i cant-“

“can’t what, kaeya?” you stress, voice going slightly higher and he only then sees the real fear in your expression.

he pauses, mulling over his words and the bitter taste they’re leaving in his mouth. he can feel the sting of your pleading stare, and he swallows hard. “can’t stay,” he finally answers, and he’s shocked at how miserable he sounds.

you look at him like he’s insane, and honestly he feels like he might be. you’re confused and rightfully so, because there are so many remnants of him left in your space, so clearly evident the impact he’s left on you.

“can’t or won’t?”

kaeya’s eyes snap up to yours, because the tremor in your voice sends a jolt of fear down to his stomach, churning and roiling until it makes him sick.

he regrets looking, because he can feel himself breaking then and there.

you’re looking at him with these shining eyes and he swears that he’s glimpses them again—the brightest stars he’s ever had the privilege of seeing. for a second he thinks the light of those stars might disappear because that’s what always happens. but they remain, glowing against the backdrop of your irises and he’s captivated all over again.

his plans to leave you in tears fly out the window then and there.

he’s reaching for your cheeks in less than a second, holding them delicately as he lets his thumbs brush over your teary lashes. there’s a reasonable bit of confusion in your face at his sudden change, but when he leans down to kiss you, you don’t protest, melting into him even though he’s so undeniably cold. kaeya doesn’t even realize he’s saying he loves you, choosing to murmur it against your lips because it’s not meant for anyone else to hear—just the two of you.

he remains there, in the quiet darkness of your room for the rest of the night, because he doesn’t want to leave your side even after he told himself he would.

and yes, he dreads tomorrow. he dreads tomorrow because he knows that he will have to choose between the comfortable home he’s found in you or the dark abyss that has swallowed his past.

he’s scared that the more he allows himself to fall into you, and the more he finds that your eyes are the ones that hold the stars of celestia, then the easier his choice will become.

he’s been chasing the stars for so long after all. now that he finally has them, why in teyvat would he let them go?

[letstalkaboutvids]

Submitting to the Zine

Let's Talk About Vids is a zine for talking about vids - otherwise known as fanvids, AMVs, edits, etc.

It was partially inspired by the regular Anatomy of a Vid panel at the VidUKon convention, in which vid watchers choose a vid they enjoy to analyse in depth.

I felt like there was an appetite for more analysis of vids, more detailed discussion about the artistic process of making vids, and more places to share vid recommendations. This zine is focused more on the artistic side than the technical side of vidding, but of course sometimes the latter will come up as part of the conversation!

The first issue of Let's Talk About Vids will come out sometime in the next few months. It will be a PDF e-zine, at least to start with!

The content of the zine will be made up of submissions from folks who want to talk about vids! The zine is seeking:

quick vid recommendations, for vids both new and old (from 1 sentence up to 100 words)

longer pieces that explore a specific vid in depth, whether a close reading or something else (200-1000 words)

vidders' reflections on their artistic process for a specific vid they made (200-1000 words)

longer pieces that explore a specific vidshow in depth, either by the VJ or by someone else (200-1000 words)

If you have an idea for something else not listed here, get in touch! Also these word counts are guidelines to give a rough idea for folks who prefer to have parameters, definitely not a hard and fast rule.

Before you make your submission, a couple of things to note:

1) If you are writing an in-depth piece about a specific vid or vidshow, please do your best to get in touch with the vidder or VJ to ensure they're comfortable with it first.

2) While this zine is a space to talk in detail about vids, right now I'm not up for hosting and moderating conversations about what vids got wrong or could have done better. Submissions should be focused on what you think the vid/vidshow does well, what is interesting to you about it, and how it gets its point across.

3) There's no requirement for any particular level of: formality/structure, vidding experience/knowledge, spelling/grammar, etc - if you've got something to say about vids, say it in whatever way works for you! I may lightly edit for spelling and grammar if needed, with submitters' permission.

4) For now, please submit a maximum of one longer piece and one quick rec, OR three quick recs.

You can make submissions HERE until 25 August.

[vodika-vibes]

Hello! May I please have a Ruby for Commander Blackout or Neyo (whomever's the grumpiest lol) x female reader scenario set in Winter where he keeps hearing about her from a lot of the the shinnies and his vod gushing about how lovely and wonderful she is and it pisses him off for some reason/or he just gets sick of hearing it; until he meets her himself and then he realizes immediately what they mean and finds himself swiftly falling deeply and passionately in love with her because there's just something so bright, warm and alluring about her and he just wants her for himself. Feel free to either make it steamy/smutty or not. I'm just happy with him being super passionate with his attraction and pursuit of her and she reciprocates? And maybe they kiss? But just go with whatever inspires you the most; I know it's gonna be great whatever it is! Please and thank either way! \>v</

Brighter Than The Sun

Summary: The new IT girl at the base Neyo is Marshal Commander of is a thorn in his side, and he hasn’t met her yet. If he has to listen to one more person sing her praises, he’s not going to be responsible for what happens.

Pairing: Commander Neyo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1200

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Hihi! I decided to go with Neyo because I love him! I also, for the first time, went over my word limit. Only by 200 words, but still. Anyway! I hope you like it!

Neyo is not in a spectacular mood.

He woke up in a foul mood, largely due to the sheer amount of snow falling from the sky. And it only became worse when he went to check what was on the schedule for the day only to see that his datapad wasn’t working.

And then he went to the mess hall for some caf, and had to listen to a group of shinies sing the praises of the newest civvie who came to the base. They weren’t saying anything he hasn’t heard before: she’s stunning, with a body to die for, and a smile that feels like the summer sun-

Honestly, if it wasn’t for the sheer amount of paperwork it would take, he’d seriously consider stunning them and throwing them in the brig for being sheer annoyances.

Needless to say, Neyo was not in the finest of moods when his General came over to find out why he was glaring at his datapad.

And her suggestion of taking it to IT to have them take a look at it was not appreciated.

Still, Neyo is realistic. He can’t fix it, and none of his vod can fix it, which is why the base has an IT department in the first place. So he finishes his caf, and the breakfast that he’s forcing himself to eat, and he makes the long walk through the base to the IT department.

There’s only one person in the room when he arrives.

The new girl.

She’s clad in long pants and a vibrant yellow shirt that reminds him of Bly’s tattoos, and she’s standing on a desk while her arm is buried in the room’s heater.

Now that he’s paying attention to it, it is freezing in here.

He clears his throat, and the woman pauses, before she twists slightly on the table to see who’s there. She blinks at him, and then flashes a bright smile, “Marshal Commander Neyo, yes?”

He arches a single brow, “In the flesh.”

“Oh, wonderful! I’ve been hoping to-oh, hold on-” There’s the sound of something hitting something and then she rips her arm out of the heater and shakes her hand out, “Ah, well. I’ll have to try and fix it later.” She mumbles, and then she hops down from the table, and hurries over to him, a blinding smile on her face, “I’ve been hoping to meet you, but you’re a hard man to catch!”

Neyo blinks at her, stunned.

Now that he’s met her, he can understand what his brothers meant. She is stunning. And now he can’t help but think that the way his brothers talk about her is grossly inappropriate.

“Well, I’m here now.” Neyo finally says, “My datapad isn’t working.”

She holds her hand out, even her nails are painted yellow with little white flowers on them. She’s karking adorable. “May I?”

“That's why I’m here.” He presses the datapad into her hand and he watches as she moves to sit at a table overflowing with flimsy. “Are you working alone today?”

“Oh. I’m the only one who works in IT.” She replies, “The previous guy who had my position quit.”

“I…see.” Neyo pokes around the room, there are parts of the room that are very neat, but the majority of the room looks like there was an explosion. “And the heater?”

“Broken.”

“...it’s freezing outside.”

“Well. Yes.” She admits, “But I have a jacket,” She gestures to a winter jacket lying on a table nearby, “I took it off to work on the heater.”

“That’s not your job-?”

She looks up, “Um…well, apparently this base has a manning issue? Maintenance quit too.” She tilts her head, and her hair shifts enough to see that her earrings are little white flowers too. “Did you not know?”

“I don’t generally handle civilian employees.” Neyo replies. 

“Oh, that makes sense.” She messes with his datapad for a moment, “Um…you need a new datapad.” She smiles at him, “If you give me a couple of hours, I’ll get the new one for you by the end of the day.”

“Thanks.” Neyo pauses, “I’ll get one of my brothers to come and fix your heater. Can’t have our IT girl turning into an icicle.”

She flashes a blinding smile in his direction, and Neyo averts his gaze. She has no business being so pretty.

It’s the beginning of a slightly odd friendship.

Neyo finds himself in her office more and more often, it’s quiet, and his presence keeps even the most pushy of his brothers from trying to pressure her into a date. And she is good company, warm and welcoming.

It doesn’t take long before Neyo finds himself yearning for her. 

It’s almost two months later, in the middle of the worst snowstorm that he’s ever seen, when Neyo gets the chance to make a change to their relationship. He’s sitting at a free desk in her office, his feet kicked up on “his” desk, while she’s working on formatting a datapad at her desk when the lights flicker, and then cut out.

Neyo pauses and glances at the lights, and then sighs when he hears the generator kick on. The heat comes back, but the only lights that come on are the emergency lights.

“I guess the storm won,” She jokes with a quiet laugh as she sets the datapad down.

“Guess so.” Neyo tosses his datapad on the desk and leans back to look at her, “No point in even bothering to work now-” He grumbles.

“Well, you deserve a break.” She replies, and Neyo glances at her.

“You work just as hard as I do.” He drops his feet to the ground and pushes to his feet.

“Well…yes. That’s true.” She brushes some of her hair out of her face, “But, well, let’s be honest. It’s not like I can hang out with anyone other than you. Your brothers tend to be kind of…weird, when I’m around.”

“And I’m not?”

“You’ve never made me feel like a walking steak next to a starving man-” She replies, “Not that they’ve ever done anything inappropriate, before you fly off the handle. I can manage a few uncomfortable looks.”

Neyo sighs, “I hoped that they would stop.”

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been dealing with looks like that since I was nine.”

“...that’s sickening.”

“That’s being a woman.” She smiles at him, “Anyway, I guess I’ll just return to my quarters until the power comes back.” She pauses when Neyo’s hand comes out to cup her cheek, “...Commander?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He can feel her cheek heat under his hand, and he can’t stop himself from lightly stroking her cheek.

“You…want to kiss me?” She squeaks.

“I want a lot more than that, but, for now, I’ll stick with kissing. With your permission?”

“I…yes…please-”

His lips land against hers in a kiss that starts out soft and sweet and slowly grows more heated. 

And when he sits her on the edge of her desk, and moves to stand between her legs, with his lips moving to her neck to leave an obvious mark on her sensitive skin…well, he has to stake his claim somehow, right?

[queerprayers]

I’m unemployed dropped out of school before I reached high school and am unbaptised. Does God care about someone like that

Welcome, beloved, to the blog of a high school dropout who walks dogs (but has never actually been employed anywhere), and was baptized as a baby and so did not have any choice in the matter! God cares about both of us, and has given us ways to serve Them in our own lives, as we are now.

Your employment status can obviously matter quite a bit in terms of survival, because of the world we live in, but itself has no bearing on your relationship with God. Whatever the reason you don't have a job, you have a life worthy of care, from those around you and from God. Being employed has never been a Christian focus--devoting your life to God has. Capitalism has changed so much, but please know that the ways the system (and those misled by it) shames you do not reflect the will of God. No human system can decide your worth.

Your level of education, similarly, doesn't say anything about you that God cares about. I dropped out of school for health reasons--whatever yours are, even if you don't feel they're good, whatever! High school was invented like 200 years ago, and has nothing to do with God's care for you. Education is holy--reading, talking to different kinds of people, learning about history and the natural world, thinking about God. This knowledge is in schools but it's also everywhere else. I'm not telling everyone reading this to drop out of high school, but I am saying that there are so many beautiful paths without it. I would also point out that in many places, there is support for people who left schooling early--my city, for instance, has free GED (high school equivalency diploma) programs. If that's something you want to change (of your own volition, not because God will care about you any differently), it's very possible that you can.

Baptism is the most easily changed thing on this list, if you seek it. Most churches require some discussion beforehand, maybe a class to learn about the denomination, but there aren't huge barriers (and there is no test of worthiness). If it's not in your future, for whatever reason, I can still tell you God cares about you, fully, as you are. Baptism is lots of things for lots of people--a symbol, a physical manifestation of grace, a welcoming into a Christian community, a sealing of a covenant--but it has never been the first moment of care from God. That has already passed--it was the first moment you existed. To say you need to be baptized for God to care about you is to say that God doesn't care about anyone from any other religion, or about those who die before baptism--what a sad life that would be. What a limiting belief.

I don't know you, but I have faith you treat others well. I have faith you wouldn't tell me God didn't care about me because of my job or schooling. So don't do that to yourself. I hate to break it to you, but you have no say in the matter. It doesn't matter how worthy you are, or how much you're succeeding by our current society's standards. God is love, a love which keeps no record of wrongs, a love which does not weigh with the measures of this world, a love which cannot be contained in the rituals of an institutional church, a love which does not require knowledge or action or belief to surround us. We are saved by this love, not by a diploma or paycheck or a pastor's words.

Go in peace, beloved. Glorify God with your life, not with someone else's. And anyone who tells you that there are limits on God's care is not talking about the God of the Bible--who works through the underdog, who turns any idea of worthiness on its head, who picks the younger son and the tax collector, the unwed mother and the poor father. God comes to where we are, and takes us by the hand.

<3 Johanna