#the economy is getting more and more fucked by the day

[thedropsofblood]

Awesome!, can I please request a platonic yandere dad with a serial killer y/n! In which he doesn't mind and is actually encouraging them!

Word count: 6k

Being a full-time serial killer, as cool and amazing as it sounds, is honestly a really shitty job, especially when you're only doing it for the money. Your family was torn apart by a nasty marriage, leaving you with your dad while your brother goes with your mother.

Your father's performance at his job worsened because of it, leading to him being demoted to a fairly bad position, and suddenly you can't afford to attend school anymore.

Something worse than having to say goodbye to your classmates is having to find a job in this economy, who in the world would hire a 16 years old for a full-time job without any degrees or prior work experience? Even if they do, the pay would be so bad that you might start picking up spare coins in the streets instead. You went through sleepless nights extremely conflicted and stressed out just because of it. While at your darkest moment, your mind threw an idea at you that made you question yourself more than expected.

What if you became a serial killer? There's plenty of information on the internet to help with it. And organs sells, doesn't they? Even a kidney or an eye makes a person rich overnight on the right market, and one less person on this earth wouldn't hurt, would it?... You mean, you'll only be targeting junkies and prostitutes anyways, and that'll be fine, right?...

And that's how you committed your first murder, a man high on drugs in the middle of an alleyway at midnight. A clean stab at the back of the throat followed by one to the head. You had to hold back the urge to vomit as you wrapped his body into a plastic bag and into your basement while your dad was asleep.

With a surgical knife and gloves on, you became your "procedure", lungs, heart, liver, wrapped neatly in ziplock bags and placed on ice. You tried not to think back about it when you held the wads of cash in your hand, blood money, as they said. But does blood money really matter if you have enough money to sustain your family for months on end?

You hoped he wouldn't mind you lying about winning a scratch lottery that day. As time goes by, you've long gotten used to the feeling of taking a person's life and repeating the same step over and over again. Kill, down to the basement, dissect, sell and profit. It was a neat little routine, you've even bought a lock for the basement, just in case your father decides to enter it at some point.

But no amount of preparation could've prepared you for this. You opened the door to the house, clicking your tongue at the creak before dragging the bagged body in, making sure to close the door behind you. Your victim for today was a prostitute, normally, it would've been easy to just blindfold them and slice them cleanly in the neck, but this time, you got careless and couldn't finish them in one or two stabs, getting yourself a nasty bruise on the side of your head and injuries on your arms. You still finished your job, of course, what kind of killer would you be if you didn't?

As you dragged the body towards the basement, you were flashbanged by the lights of the hallway turning on. Panic surges through your body, causing you to freeze in your place before snapping your head to look at your father looking back at you in the end of the hallway. You looked at the bagged body and back at your dad, trying to find an excuse.

Your words were caught in your throat, no matter how much you tried to speak up, nothing came out, only a silence filled between you and your dear father.

A sigh escape from your father broke the silence, the eyebags on his face, the exhaustion in his sigh, fuck, he was waiting for you and here you were, coming home at 2 in the morning, dragging a dead body towards god knows where?

You grit your teeth, before you can even speak up and make an excuse to defend yourself, he barks at you with a stern tone. "Sit down. You can explain it to me later, why were you out so late and why are you bleeding?"

You jumped at the mention of your wounds. Right, you completely forgot about that. You decide to bite the inside of your cheek and sit down onto the couch, preparing yourself for an hour lecture or worse, getting kicked out of the house and being left to rot on the streets. Your dad wouldn't do that, right? Sure, you've been a problem child ever since you were a kid, but your dad loves you... Right?...

Your thoughts were cut in half when you felt the sting of alcohol being applied onto the wounds on your arms, causing you to hiss and look up at your father. You wanted to complain like you usually do, yet, you couldn't bring yourself to do so, especially not when your father still had the same worried look in his eyes. Instead, you bit your pride and let your father bandage you up.

He pulled you into a hug, something completely unexpected from somebody like him. You've always seen him as such a strong, superhuman person, the pillar of your family, but you've never seen him feel so... Helpless? Worried? Scared? Ever since the divorce with your mother.

"You worried the hell out of me, kid. You don't even know how many calls and messages I've sent you, I thought you fucking died in a ditch somewhere. And don't even give me the 'I was working overtime' bullshit, I've seen enough, I'm not five, I know what you do."

Your body completely froze in his arms as you looked at him with wide eyes. You hesitantly hugged him back, burying your face into his shoulder. "And you don't hate me because of it?"

Silence filled the room, broken by a sigh from him. "No. You could've just... Chosen a normal job instead of risking your life everyday over a few wads of cash. I don't care what you want to do, as long as you're safe and happy."It felt so weird to have someone finally supporting you after trying to be independent for so long, you tightened your hug around your father before you buried your face into your father's shoulder, tears beginning to build in the corner of your eyes.

As you sobbed quietly, your father's hand patted your back, silently comforting you until you succumbed to sleep. You've already had a long day today, he doesn't want to bother you anymore.

The next night, when you were getting ready to set out, you made sure to put the lunchbox filled with the dinner your father made for you into your backpack on your way out for your 'job'.

A/N: I'm not even gonna lie if I had a dad like this I would be killing people left and right /nsrs

[phpruitts]

The fire in Phoebe's chest kept burning— each one of his words was another piece of fuel, every kiss, every squeeze of his hand fanned each ember into a blazing flame.

Was she going to burn up?

It felt that way, but right now, Phoebe didn't even care. Raf seemed to be burning alongside her— breathing just as hard, chest heaving in tandem with hers. They felt ... perfectly in sync. It was sort of intoxicating, honestly, feeling her body so perfectly aligned with every thrust and movement.

'I’m gonna see you every day,'

The rhythm of her heart stutters even more.

'Even if it’s just a few minutes. Even if I don’t have the time.'

His mouth returns to her collarbone, and for a minute Phoebe's eyes flutter shut, imagining the privilege that would be, the luxury of seeing Rafael every fucking day. Every day. Whether it be a Monday, or a Saturday, a precious day off— did Rafael ever get days off? This was a man who influenced and owned the entire city, the man whose businesses effected entire economies, both above and under the table. Phoebe was a stripper. An ex-junkie and a nobody who came to Las Vegas with two suitcases and a ratty green backpack and little else. What right did she have to Rafael's time? What right did she have to occupy his sphere?

All Phoebe can do, in a moment like this, is squeeze his hand back, tight, and infuse all the gratitude she can into the movement— when she said she was going to figure this out with Rafael, she meant it. He could have all the time he wanted to find out.

"Come see me every day," she affirms, mouth agape in pleasure. "Call me at four in the morning and I'll get up for you. Tell me to meet you wherever and I'll go across the entire fucking state."

Even if Phoebe had to take the bus. Even if Phoebe had to walk across boiling concrete, dip out of her shift on her break and swing into Rafael's corvette for a fraction of an hour together. Hell— even if Phoebe didn't have a break, she'd go. What was a dance or two, a couple hundred dollars compared to seeing him.

Their hips continue to meet. Continue to press and drive and rut.

'I’m close,' Raf, says, and Phoebe's eyes flutter open, fighting against her daze of pleasure to focus on his face. God. The way he fucking looked at her. Gazed at her breasts, her abdomen that kept tensing as she rode him. There was so much ... admiration there, maybe even adoration, and Phoebe knows it's a look that is going to be seared into her memory for the end of time. Even if he stopped wanting to see her. Even if the whirlwind of his life got in the way— Phoebe would always remember this moment, this memory, cradled close inside her chest in the most precious moment of intimacy she's experienced in her entire life.

'Need you to finish with me. Please.'

'Please, baby.'

Phoebe just has to take care of him. She has to. How can Phoebe look into those eyes, blue as the Aegean, blue as a storm, and not give him this request?

And so one of her hand disentangles from his hair— slips down to cup his cheek, soft, soothing, pressed against the lovely lines of his bone. Her thumb brushes idly against his skin on it's own accord.

Rafael had said please. Phoebe nods, as a gasping, shuddering pant escapes her. "Then come with me. We're gonna come together."

Her hips roll, muscles almost aching from the exertion of the movement, pressing her clit down against the friction, trying to take every single inch of his and beyond. But— more. Phoebe needs more. And so she leans in. Kisses his cheek, tenderly, before leaning back to admire his face. Rafael had said please, but Phoebe, and the fire crackling inside her, are just as needing.

"I have you..."

Phoebe was so fucking good. And kind. Offering to help him figure it all out, despite not knowing what exactly he was talking about. Or maybe she did. Maybe she knew exactly, and that’s why it meant so much that she would offer.

Rafael squeezed her hand back.

Maybe it was that, and the promise to see each other every day, that had Rafael’s breath growing ragged. His stomach felt all tight, and he knew that he’d be close soon. Just from looking at Phoebe, and all the emotions that were stirring inside of him.

He wanted to finish with her, wanted to hold her in the afterglow of their pleasure.

“I’m gonna see you every day,” Rafael managed, in between heavy breaths. It felt like an important promise to make. “Even if it’s just a few minutes. Even if I don’t have the time. I’m gonna see you,” he promised. He leaned forward, pressed his mouth against her collarbone. He squeezed her hand tight, wondering if she knew how much he meant that.

Even if he couldn’t stay for very long, Rafael wanted to see her. He wanted to kiss her in the mornings, or before he went to bed. In the middle of busy day, stacked with meetings. He just wanted to see her, no matter the circumstance.

And it was that thought that nearly pushed Rafael over the edge. The excitement in seeing her every day, in getting to kiss her, in spending the night in this tiny little apartment.

He stifled a groan. He tilted his head back, mouth slightly agape. He looked into Phoebe’s eyes.

“I’m close,” he whispered. His eyes fell onto her body — perfect, slender body. Perfect breasts, right in his face. Her beautiful neck, the hickies that he’d left there earlier.

“Need you to finish with me. Please.”

Rafael never said please. He never asked for anything, never begged for anything, but he was now. Whenever it came to Phoebe, he felt so fucking desperate and hungry for her. He’d crawl on his knees and ask, if he had to.

His eyes locked on Phoebe’s again.

“Please, baby.”

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

literally what is even the point of trying

[bacchuschucklefuck]

while teen while goblin while aroace while injured while doing your best

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

catching up on well there’s your problem podcast bonus episodes, thinking about cars a lot, and a fucking fiat would serve 99.999% of my car needs perfectly well. i would be perfectly happy driving a little tiny fiat! they’re fun to drive! i got a subaru hatchback bc i knew i was moving cross country soon and wanted reasonable cargo space, and i wanted a four wheel drive vehicle for the rest of my time in w mass. i have needed to rent or borrow a truck Twice outside of major apartment moves.

however! with all these fucking pavement princess trucks in houston, where the hoods of these giant fuckoff trucks are a full head above my car’s roof, im genuinely afraid that an entire fiat would fit completely within their front blind spot and i would be squished!!!

[thedisablednaturalist]

People should get reimbursed for commute time

If it takes someone over an hour to get to work, that should be part of their pay.

Many people have to commute long distances/through areas of slow traffic because they cannot afford to live closer to their workplace. This is also why work from home is a big thing.

If corporations want people to return to their offices, they need to make it appealing enough. I'm not going to fight through traffic for 2 hrs in my free time just to sit at a computer all day, when I could just stay home and don't waste that time.

Corporations would be forced to invest in local affordable housing, perhaps even affording housing credits. They would need to invest in local infrastructure (which in the US is falling to pieces) and improve public transport in their area (faster commute -> less cost to the company, less cars on road -> traffic moves faster, employees without cars would still be able to get to work). Also people would be less stressed and actually take the time to drive safely because they wouldn't feel the need to rush. It would make companies actually take an interest in how their workers get to work and investing in local communities.

I live sort of near DC. We have a HUGE amount of workers commuting into the city and its surrounding cities. Retail workers also have to commute to these cities and suburbs because they cannot afford to live in those areas. My boyfriend commutes an hour to his part time job at a kennel in a rich town. A lot of people live in the more affordable, lower income, far away areas in the nearby states because housing prices in my area are fucking insane. I knew someone who commuted 2+ hours to work and 2+ hours back. There are people who drive even more than that.

And where do these employees have to live? Food deserts. Crumbling infastructure. No parks, no walkability, no public transport, bare bones everything. Only the cities which only the few can afford have basic infrastructure. And even the people living there have to commute to OTHER even richer areas. There's a ton of places where housing developments have just been shoved and are surrounded by nothing but farms. There's nothing local to do, so everyone goes to the closest town and city. It's also why you see a lot of older towns have abandoned main streets. Why have your business cater to the 100 people who live there when you can be in a city with thousands?

There has been some recent interest in paid commute times. 1 2 especially with corporations trying to get workers to go back to the office. Personally, I love working in my office because having a separate space outside my home helps me keep work and home separate and allows me to focus easier since I'm not in "home mode". I don't have room for an office in my parents house so working from home kinda sucks rn even though it would help a lot since I'm disabled. But it is nice being physically near my coworkers, even if it gets annoying sometimes. Also many jobs involve fieldwork (like mine!) which can't be done remotely anyway!

There would be incentive for corporations to keep their employees close AND provide more remote work options for those living farther away. As well as matching pay to fit rent/housing prices in the area (or vice versa).

Also there needs to be something done about corporations having their entire workforce sourced from another country entirely, working for pennies. But that's an even more complicated situation that I don't have experience in.

[sureuncertainty]

if i have to see one more post about disney from people who don't work here or at least live in the area i'm gonna lose it

[k00ldino]

slamming my head against a brick wall WHYYYY WON’T IT LET ME FILL OUT THE FAFSA WHY WHY WHY WHY

[rosicheeks]

4:35 and I'm thinking about putting a baby in a certain sexy Tumblr mutual

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

[floral-hex]

no see I WILL write something eventually, I haven’t been putting it off, I’ve just been uhhhhh cultivating the story for a couple of years yeah yeah

[gentlethorns]

fuck dude i have got to find a job where i can be self-employed and creative. i cannot be in fucking retail hell anymore

[gender-euphowrya]

non mais ça va pas

[medicinemane]

At least even when I was a teenager and identified as communist, I was still never a soviet apologist

(And as I got older I came to dislike the USSR more and more and more, also seeing that soviet apologism kinda tended to fuck things up for western communists cause they'd be so busy running defense for people who didn't like or care about them, that actually getting policies passed to help western workers came second to being a tankie)

(Straight up, while I was volunteering in Quebec, one of the people I stayed with had this book by her uncle about being a Canadian communist, and he basically pinned soviet apologism as the whole reason he left the party cause they were more interested is doing PR for the kremlin than they were interested in like... unionizing in Canada)

Anyway, tankies suck, soviet apologism suck, and I'm glad to be able to say that even when I was a communist I didn't fall into that trap... like thank fuck for that, you know?

[deathisamotherofbeauty]

Another day running on 6 hours of sleep (⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠)

[inkskinned]

you're in the habit of denying yourself things.

if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.

but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?

what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.

and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.

you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.

so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.

it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.

sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.

oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.

[random-fanfic-ideas]

Jesus Christ! I forget that the twisted wonderland characters are like Rich Rich, and so I wonder if they ever try to explain that to the main character?

Like imagine Leona is desperately trying to get you to notice him. At first he just tried being flirty, but every time it went over your head. Then when you did physical Ed together, Leona would really get into it and he thought that would impress you to. It did, but you would just complemented him and then go about your day like nothing. He’s even trying to skip his naps to go and hangout with you more! Homie is desperate! I tell you!

One of these times you guys go to his room together and Leona is trying to impress you again, by showing off about such and such and causally mentioning the price of stuff. Every time he does that, you just say “Neat” with this plain expression on your face. This bugs the hell out of him, which is made worse by the lack of his usual afternoon nap, and so he just ask why. You just stare at him “Leona, I come from another dimension. I have no reference for how much thaumarks cost. So to me all these prices are just a bunch of question marks!” And then Leona really wakes up from his sleepiness then and there. Leona sits you down and explains how the whole economy of Thaumarks work.

After a long time, you finally take in the price of everything. Of the economy, the price of night raven college tuition, and all the little things that you have to worry about when you’re thinking about money. Then it kinda dawns on you how much the room all together cost. You look at this mother fucker and ask him how much does he get payed! You meant it more as a rhetorical question, but he blows your freaking mind with the answer he gives you.

You: “You get this yearly???”

Leona: “No, this is my monthly allowance”

You: “Jesus Christ!!!!”

Leona: “Who’s that?”

You: “Never mind that! How the fuck do I get your job homie?!”

Leona: “Herbivore you know, you have to be born into it”

You: “Fuck I know! But like damn! It would be sweet to be a prince right now!”

Leona: “I can’t make you a prince, but I could always make you my princess”

WHAT????

You: “What are with you guys and casually proposing?!”

Leona: “You already got proposed to?”