#won’t be able to afford living in society at this rate

[goldenphlox]

third summer in a row my landlord has increased the rent 🙃

[forasecondtherewedwon]

3!

Thanks for the ask!!

Shuffle #3: “Rich Girl” - The Wrecks (cover)

And don't you know that a love can't grow / 'Cause there's too much to give, 'cause you'd rather live / For the thrill of it all / 'Cause you're a rich girl

Take What Is Given

Pairing: Hetty/Belle Rating: T Word Count: 912 music shuffle fic game

Summary: Following Red's caesarean, Hetty reassesses what Belle means to the Port Victory Royal Hospital—and to her.

It’s how she won’t hold the baby. She would, surely, if Hetty needed her to, but she doesn’t ask to. Belle’s eyes are on the neat stitches with which she’s closing up Red’s belly, lifting to glance at the small girl in the crook of Hetty’s arm as she gently dabs away the blood with a wet sponge. When she does look, her eyes are warm and bright, like the life Hetty can barely feel weighing down her arms.

“She’s just beautiful,” Belle pronounces.

“You’ve got that right,” Hetty agrees, leaving off the sarcastic “Princess” her tongue threatens to tack on.

Because Belle’s actions today don’t speak of entitlement. That doesn’t mean Hetty’s going to forget the attitude of confident ownership Belle’s displayed since the first time she set foot in the hospital—how she’s assumed leadership of a fleet of nurses and laundresses, bossed Prof, and monopolized Jack’s time. But Hetty isn’t too proud to admit that some of it is paying off: Belle has cleaned the wards and managed to keep them that way, and has clearly learned enough about surgery to preserve not only Red’s life but her dignity, sufficiently adept to fill in for one of the male surgeons actually employed by this hospital.

The baby must be cleaned and checked now, thoroughly; after they sneak Red out of here with her daughter, who knows when mother and child might next be able to receive medical care? Hetty does this, wiping the good gore of a healthy birth from behind the ears and between the fingers as she jounces the baby to keep her from bawling from the lungs she’s already proven are in good working order. Belle spritzes Red’s closed incision with carbolic acid, and when she turns to Hetty, still smiling from their success, Hetty hefts the small bundle slightly. Offering.

Belle shakes her head.

“Not again,” she says, righting Red’s clothing. “Not before her own mother can take her in her arms.”

Hetty can feel that she’s staring at Belle in surprise.

“What?” Belle asks. “She isn’t a prize, she’s a person. Even if she is a very small one.” Her smile is momentarily only for the baby, but it beams on Hetty when Belle’s eyes meet hers again.

“You tend to behave as though this hospital and everything in it belong to you,” Hetty begins, and Belle’s expression grows immediately guarded. “On some points, it’s good. You’ve made improvements.” She pauses. “I believe we’ve also improved you.”

Hetty gives Belle as sly smile. Directed at a man, it could be a flirtation.

“You certainly lent me some of your composure today,” Belle says. “Your steadiness impressed me from the first time I watched you in the theatre. I should’ve said. Today…” She shakes her head with what appears to be bewildered joy.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You called me ‘Belle’ before.”

Hetty’s lips part, but she turns her focus to the baby.

“Well,” Belle carries on, “I can try to pretend you didn’t.”

“Alright, ma’am.”

“Hetty, you needn’t.”

Hetty raises her gaze.

“Needn’t what?” she inquires lightly. “Obey the rules of society?”

“Exactly. I’m not. Clearly.” Belle sweeps a hand down her front, indicating the leather apron that shields her voluminous skirt.

True, her dress is completely impractical. It wasn’t a hindrance, but if Belle thinks the juxtaposition of her wardrobe and a risky caesarean is tantamount to flaunting the social hierarchy to which they both belong, she’s guttingly naïve. The fact is that she can afford to ruin her dress; whether it’s by burning a hole in the skirt while embroidering at the hearth on her family’s estate or splashing blood up the sleeves delivering a baby from Red’s sliced-open womb in an operating room is irrelevant. For Lady Belle, there will always be more where that came from. This is a thrill for her, an adventure—a benefit to the patients too, but Hetty can’t focus quite as blindly on the shine of another miraculous procedure when she assists in a dull grey uniform that’s been worn by half the nurses in this hospital while Belle stands next to her in a flipping ballgown that might very well have been shipped here from France.

She wonders what Red would say, and glances at her unconscious face. The ether seems to numb the ears as much as the rest of the body, blocking out all sorts of irritants.

“A surgeon princess,” Hetty remarks before she can stop herself.

“And you are an absolute queen,” Belle counters, dodging offence and dipping her hands into a basin of clear water. Blood swirls from her submerged wrists like red ribbons. “This surgery would have been impossible without you.”

Hetty smiles to herself and rocks the baby as she goes to stand at Belle’s side.

“Where do they think you are all the time, your parents?”

Belle shrugs.

“Unless something’s been arranged, my time is mine to spend.”

Like your money, Hetty thinks wryly, but when Belle casts her gaze around for a cloth while her hands drip, Hetty shifts the baby and flips up her cotton apron, offering the clean underside. Belle hesitates, so Hetty steps close to her. It’s the nearest they’ve been to one another without a body laid out between or before them. Their skirts brush. Red rustles on the sheet, approaching consciousness.

Belle reaches out and their hands touch through the apron. Hetty clasps her, finger by finger, and pats Belle’s hands dry.

[ledenews]

Santorine: Housing the Homeless Is Not the Issue

Much has been written about the homeless problem in Wheeling, and there are so many “claims of compassion” when it comes to dealing with the only growing part of our community. Before I talk about housing the homeless, it’s important to remember that you really have to work at being homeless and hungry in Wheeling. If you are homeless and have children, there are multiple programs for that life scenario. Veteran? There are programs for that, too. Need food? Social programs? How about healthcare? There are multiple organizations for all of it. More precisely, there are many programs available, and they are run by talented people who bring a wealth of knowledge and tremendous compassion. And a tremendous number of federal and state donated dollars are in place to “cure” this problem. There are federal programs, state programs, and church-based programs, all of which are run by knowledgeable and skilled people. It’s an incredible brain trust whose efforts are blunted by bureaucratic programs with a narrow scope. Legislation put in place spending the public treasury and making tiny improvements because “Congressman Big Spender” is looking for instant results. Straight up, if you’re hungry and homeless in Wheeling, something is really, really, really wrong. See, I’m a landlord. Our units occupy a niche between federal housing that you might be able to get into, and market-rate housing which you need a skilled job to afford. So, if you have been convicted of a felony, or can’t get gas, electricity or water in your name, there are landlords, like us, who can house you. The problem as of late, though, is the quality of the homeless tenant is in sharp decline. I’m using the term “quality” because it’s the only descriptor that seemed to fit. What should be viewed as a gift – the taxpayers paying for your security deposit and a couple of months of rent – is now viewed as an entitlement. They are “supposed to get” this or that, because why? It’s certainly not because of the taxes they didn’t pay. And with that entitlement, they are not going to listen to the agency paying their rent, or the landlord. They have rights, don’t you know. The plan is to get them housed and keep them housed, and this landlord wants that to come true. The agency working with the homeless wants that, too. It’ not about housing them for a couple of months and then finding them on the street again. The goal is to put them on a long-term trajectory that allows the homeless to transition to permanent housing and a being productive members of society. But no one seems to know what the homeless want, and they don’t want to listen to those who are attempting to help them in any way, shape or form. The apartments which are offered to them, I’ve heard, are not nearly deluxe enough, or in what they consider the right neighborhood.  When they don’t get their way, they do what they do on the street. That includes destroying what has been provided for them, with no understanding or respect for the fact that it costs them and their peers money. I have friends whose families rented apartments when they grew up. They treated the rental apartments well, because it was their home. They were not about to live in squalor. Their rented apartments were clean, squared away and proper. They didn’t ignore the trash that the raccoon pulled out of the trash can. They picked it up. Someone had to do that, and the renters did it. The progression today fairly clearly demonstrates that what worked yesterday won’t work today or tomorrow. Today, an agency gets the homeless housed. They pay the security deposit and some months of rent. Some even help the homeless find jobs, but the homeless can’t seem to show up for work. When dismissed, finding another job is just too difficult. But the homeless work overtime to get themselves evicted and the disconnect here is this – it seems to be the only thing they successfully work toward. Evicted because they invite 10 of their closest friends from the street to live with them, violating their lease and driving the other tenants in the building away. Evicted because their apartment is so filled with filth that they can’t pass either the government’s or the landlord’s most basic inspection. Evicted because they want to bring their homeless “street life” to wherever they are, and that includes starting a fire on the paved driveway. Evicted because they are entitled to pick an argument with their neighbor. Evicted because their couch-surfing nephew from Cleveland is dealing drugs from their living room. All this is indicative of a much deeper problem that is going to require old solutions. I believe that mental illness is the underlying problem. Today, society is prevented from addressing the problem in the way we did in the past. So, we have these people panhandling on our streets, destroying the valley’s rental apartment inventory, and utilizing a huge percentage or our police and emergency medical resources. So, how do we provide for the mentally ill in our community? Very poorly. This needs to be addressed, or the homelessness and the drugs will continue. The people running the agencies know how to fix this, but the bureaucrats and the legislators don’t choose to listen. It requires fundamental change that runs counter to the current narrative. The one that has been forced upon us demanding that we be gentler and kinder. The third rail that social services dances around because pointing to the real root cause will draw battle lines. It does not matter that they are incapable of making decisions, they have rights. This circle is driving the local landlords to a point of indifference. Renting to the homeless at one point was helping. Today, it’s a sure way to lose money and spend ridiculous amounts of time fixing an apartment that we had just repaired 60 days before. It’s going to make housing the homeless that much more difficult, if not impossible. But hey, maybe they could decide to set up a camp across the street from you. https://ledenews.com/novotney-this-is-sad-on-so-many-levels/ Read the full article

[boardwalk-absurdist]

This is exactly why when we read “Into the Wild” in my high school English class, every single person got really pissed. Why? Because we lived in interior Alaska. We were about 2-3 hours away from Denali. The actions of Chris Mccandless (going alone into the wild without adequate training or prep, refusing to take any advice or help from locals, other shit I can’t remember now bc it’s been over a decade since I read the book) were irresponsible and lead to a tragic outcome that *should* have been a cautionary tale about doing your research and respecting the wild. Instead, through Krakauer’s shitty transcendentalist hero-worshiping, it turned Mccandless into some kind of idealistic martyr, dying alone in a broken down tour bus as a final middle finger to society. As a class, we were shocked to learn that most non-Alaskan students found the book and the story inspirational.

Unfortunately, Krakauer’s treatment (and yes I blame him more than Mccandless, Chris was a naive kid who met a tragic end but Krakauer irresponsibly turned him into a hero) meant that loads of tourists over the next several years would repeat the same mistakes. They’d go off into the wilderness, try to find the bus, and wind up in need of rescue or body retrieval like the story above. For a long time, it was a huge problem for the interior. They couldn’t get people to stop hiking out to the goddamn Cocky Moron Bus (which for the record was not even in the “wilderness”, it was abandoned along a goddamn trail in the park. The trail is pretty rough, though, and you do need at least a basic level of understanding on Alaskan conditions, which both Mccandless and many copycat tourists refuse to research.) They couldn’t afford the time or resources to airlift out the bus for a long time.

At least 4 other people died trying to follow in Mccandless’s footsteps, one as recently as 2019. Several other visitors had accidents and needed to be rescued. The government was FINALLY able to airlift out the bus in 2020, and I believe it’s now at the museum up at the university.

I won’t say fuck Mccandless directly, I don’t think he was trying to be an inspirational figure and at any rate, he got cocky, squared up to the wild, and lost. But absolutely FUCK Jon Krakauer, fuck Into the Wild, book and movie. Fuck the romanticization of these extreme hikes. Do your research, prepare properly, and show the wild the proper respect.

I cannot stand the kind of motherfuckers who do extreme solo hikes, no GPS, just a 20-40 year old straight white man with overconfidence in rugged terrain with minimal gear. Why should we pay millions of dollars in search and rescue resources so you can fuck around and find out?

[hualianff]

Vampire/Human AU

(Slight NSFW, angst)

Thinking about vampire HC who owns a vampire-friendly bar with humans who apply as donors to supply fresh blood for vampires willing to pay the expensive prices. When a human with beautiful amber eyes, soft facial features, and blood that smells absolutely delectable, walks in, every vampire whips their heads towards the door. The human approaches one of the staff, YY, to inquire about becoming a donor. HC watches as the enticing morsel follows YY into a room to finalize his application.

Right after the human leaves thirty minutes later–YY probably having said it would take a few days to find him a match–HC pulls YY aside, demanding to have a look over the papers the new donor filled out. After a quick scan, HC shoves the papers back to YY with a click of his tongue,

“No need to find him a match. He’s mine.”

A human whose blood smells heavenly, who has never been bitten or even nipped by a vampire. HC wants to corrupt him. Ruin him.

The next night, HC has the human, XL, meet him in his personal feeding room. There’s a luxurious velvet couch to the side, a pristine glass table with fancy wine and glasses, and a king-sized bed with crimson silk laid upon the mattress.

HC, like most vampires, typically feeds while stimulating their donors. This can be done with something as simple as kissing or full-on intercourse. Not only does this relax the human’s nerves so they won’t tense up before being bitten, but the toxins injected into their system after being bitten feels incredibly euphoric, serving as a kind of aphrodisiac. Many humans donate their blood in this way for the sole reason of attaining this heightened sense of pleasure.

But as soon as XL enters the room in front of HC, his mind freezes as he sees the bed.

“I’m a virgin,” he blurts out, wide eyes panicked as he looks at the vampire. HC raises his eyebrow, unperturbed.

“We can work with that.”

XL gulps.

“I’ve also never kissed anyone.”

HC runs a tongue along his sharp fangs.

“Do you want to change that?” The vampire asks, walking up behind the human, pressing his chest against XL’s back. HC hears XL’s heart rate pick up at the proposition. It’s an unspoken yes, though XL also imperceptibly nods his head. He does not see HC’s lips spread into a vicious grin. However, XL does feel lips brush against the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“Use your words, precious. Do you want to be kissed? Want to be touched, experience pleasure beyond comprehension?” HC murmurs, skimming his lips across XL’s nape. “I can fuck you too. Push into your little body as I sink my fangs into your neck. I’d place them right here-“ HC taps XL’s jugular, the human jerking to the side with a gasp. “-oh? So sensitive. All the better. I can make you feel so good.”

XL’s breath quickens, ever so slightly leaning back into HC’s tall frame. HC leans forward to catch a glimpse of those doe eyes regarding him with caution. Oh, how he wants to eat this human alive. HC turns XL around by his shoulders. He lowers his head to bump foreheads with XL, forcing the human to look into his red-tinged eyes.

“Is that a yes?”

XL blinks those doe eyes once, then twice.

“Yes.”

HC brings his hand up to brush a hair away from the human’s head.

“Wonderful.”

***

XL is at the point in his life when he lost everything. He chose to pursue a career outside of his parents’ embroidery business despite being expected to take over the shop after college. Abandoning college altogether, XL went off on his own to chase his dream to become a singer.

A few years later, where XL was provinces away from home, XL’s parents’ business had gone under, devastating them as they could no longer pay for their medical bills. Upon hearing the news, XL rushed back home to take care of them. It seemed they had kept their declining health conditions under wraps. They were too prideful to admit their weakening physical states; they also did not want to guilt XL into giving up on his ambitions to take care of them.

XL’s parents lasted one year before passing away, his father first due to prostate cancer, his mother one month later after succumbing to exhaustion and grief. XL lost their home along with the shop merely a week later, unable to pay off the debt. His parents had used up their savings for their medical expenses and XL had been scraping by as a musician for years. Additionally, there was no one he could confide in. He had lost contact with his friends as he moved from city to city, busking on streets, attempting to catch the attention of music labels.

XL was utterly alone. There were days when not even music could bring an ounce of comfort. However, music was the thing that kept him sane between the various side jobs he managed to pick up to keep him off the streets.

As if the fates decided XL had had enough bad luck for a lifetime, a CEO of a fairly well-known label offered him a business card after a busking session. It was JW of Capital Records who gave XL hope of achieving his dream. XL spent most of his late 20s under the label, training and practicing and producing. He had the chance to record a couple of singles and one mini-album–which he didn’t get to participate much in the production side–but other than that, XL didn’t make it far. He was tremendously overworked and yet, still discarded to the side.

Wondering why he wasn’t provided the opportunities other artists received to further their careers, XL scheduled a one-on-one meeting with the CEO to ask what he was lacking. JW had insisted he could give XL more opportunities if XL could offer something more than just his serene vocals and pretty face.

The unspoken suggestion that XL offer up his body pierced his heart with yet another stake. Overwhelming disappointment and betrayal crashed into XL, but perhaps he should have known better that the whole situation was too good to be true. XL vehemently rejected this idea, angering JW who eventually tore XL down to the point of a medical emergency that allowed him to leave the agency without repercussions.

At age thirty-two, XL was left with no family, mental and physical trauma, and a dying will. Ironically enough, the song lyrics he’d written after experiencing so much loss were the closest thing to making music he’d gotten. But in the end, XL still felt like a failure.

Now in Xi’an, XL was left with limited options to earn money for rent. He already worked two part-time jobs in addition to writing music—though even time set aside for this has dwindled.

One night, as XL was walking home after closing up the convenience store, he saw the neon lights of the sign “Ghost City.” He’s heard many things about this club and is no stranger to the existence of nonhuman creatures roaming amongst human society. After hours of research, XL decided to apply to become a blood donor. It’s not like he had a better option that paid more anyway.

XL’s hope to somehow redeem his past actions has all but fizzled out. He doesn’t expect a vampire like HC to care about his comfort or consent when feeding, though HC still prioritizes these things for some reason.

XL has never looked at his body and thought about the best ways to pleasure himself. HC shows him how. HC caresses and kisses XL like he’s worth being handled with care; HC also invades XL’s body as a threat to break it, broadcasting a vampire’s strength, speed, and endurance in the bedroom.

XL can go as far as to say he even looks forward to his time with HC. In between a busy work life and dealing with people who would rather look the other way than give him the time of day, XL’s mind and body steadily weaken.

It starts with memory loss, where XL can’t clearly remember the conversations he’d had the day before. One of the reasons this develops is because he goes through many days without having anyone to tell about his day. It’s like the life XL lives is so insignificant, nothing about it is worth remembering.

Then, it’s the lack of eating. Most of XL’s money goes towards rent, essentials, and groceries. But he’s not a great cook. And he’s already drained by the time he gets home after working both jobs and visiting Ghost City. XL’s stress doesn’t help, adding to the fatigue that gradually shuts his body down.

While HC might not be able to taste a difference in XL’s blood, he does notice how frail the human moves around. How delayed XL responds, more so than he should be–even as a human. XL has scheduled more visits: three times a week this time. However, his words become less. He stops telling the little stories that brought a small smile to his face. XL doesn’t even mention the songs he’s been working on lately.

HC forces himself to ask about them after an especially rough coupling.

“How’s the songwriting going, darling?” HC asks quietly. He props his elbow upon his pillow, resting his cheek on his hand as he intently observes the human struggling to catch his breath, eyelids fluttering.

“I haven’t written anything new,” XL breathily answers. HC purses his lips. He ducks down to affectionately tongue at the skin his fangs pierced.

“No? In how long?” HC asks. XL sighs heavily.

“Maybe three weeks.”

HC doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s not one to console anybody. No one had afforded him that luxury, and naturally, he did not grant anyone else his concern. The silence that follows is unbearable.

***

The next time XL visits, he’s the one to initiate their first kiss. HC growls happily against his human’s lips, pinning him against the closed door of his private room. XL moans obscenely as HC languidly licks into his mouth. His arms desperately wrap around HC’s neck to bring him closer.

“Someone’s eager,” HC says with a chuckle as he pulls back. XL instantly attaches his lips to the vampire’s jaw, peppering light kisses along the pale skin. HC can’t help but think he’s taught his little human well. XL hums while trailing his lips back to HC’s, capturing them in a kiss that’s the sweetest one yet.

HC should’ve noticed how unstable XL’s legs seemed, how dreadful the bags under his eyes looked before indulging in their bedroom activities. He should’ve kept track all along of how thin XL is, how much more skin and bone he had become. HC is certainly not one to intrude on someone else’s life and scrutinize all their choices. But he should’ve said something sooner.

Maybe then, XL’s heart wouldn’t have stuttered so violently, or completely stopped beating for five counts.

HC watches in horror as XL’s eyes roll into the back of his head. His human’s body goes limp in his arms, collapsing into HC’s chest. When XL’s heart beat starts up again, it’s very weak. There’s a noticeable abnormality in its rhythm.

HC quickly gathers XL in his arms and speeds to the bed. He sits back against the pillow, placing XL to recline against his front. HC hooks his arms around XL’s middle from behind, anxiously listening to XL’s irregular heartbeat that seems like it takes all of his human’s energy to pump. Luckily, XL awakens a few minutes later. He registers a cold embrace and warm puffs of breath lingering near his ear.

“Did I pass out?” XL wheezes out, unconsciously melting into the body behind him.

“Yes,” HC says tightly. “Your heartbeat is uneven. Something is wrong.”

XL can’t tell if he’s imagining it but that sounded like worry in the vampire’s tone.

“Oh.”

HC inhales sharply.

“You just fainted, Xie Lian. Hell, your heart just stopped for a few seconds, and all you have to say is ‘oh?’” HC grinds out.

So he is upset. XL swallows thickly, not wanting to escalate things and further upset the vampire.

“It’s okay,” XL says. “I’m okay-“

“No. You’re not,” HC interrupts.

XL takes a deep breath, wincing slightly as HC tightens his arms around his hips. He’s more sensitive than normal, XL realizes. Before XL can defend himself further, HC grasps XL’s chin and turns his head to face the vampire.

“You’re hiding something from me,” he states. He hears XL’s heart speed up. “There’s no use in lying. I can tell you’ve grown weaker since you first came.”

“Well, I have been donating my blood to a certain vampire for a few months now. I’m bound to be a bit weak in my legs,” XL replies as a matter of factly. He means to poke fun at the situation rather than acknowledge the severity of it. HC knows this because he’s done it numerous times himself. But when XL does it, it makes HC’s blood boil.

“Are you saying I am causing this- this deterioration in your health?” HC asks tensely. XL lets out a gasp, whirling around in HC’s arms, immediately backpedaling.

“No! No, not at all.”

HC’s eyes assess his human who trembles slightly in his arms. He cradles XL in between his legs, hands shifting XL further up his body so he can rest his head on HC’s chest. HC gently pets XL’s hair, an action that was uncharacteristic of him months ago, before XL had walked through the entrance of his bar.

XL gently smiles in an attempt to placate the vampire.

HC’s eyes flash a frightening scarlet.

“I don’t believe you.”

XL’s face crumples.

“It’s true! I’ve just been really busy is all. Work has been hectic and- and-“ gone is the innocence that HC once saw in XL’s doe eyes, instead replaced by stress and utter brokenness that alarms the vampire to no end. A voice in the back of HC’s head snarls that those emotions had always been behind XL’s eyes; they were simply better hidden, and HC had been too lust-driven to notice.

XL continues his rambling, frantically shaking his head. “-I took some extra shifts because I needed the money to pay for some water damage that flooded half my apartment. I’m fine—truly.“

If HC had a beating heart, it would have dropped down to his stomach at the sudden realization. His fingers dig into the paper-thin skin of XL’s hips, then trace up the bony knobs of his spine.

“You’re not eating right.”

“Wait- S-san Lang-“

The nickname HC had asked XL to call him is hurdled back into his face like a stone aimed to shatter. It sounds like a cry for help.

“And you’re not getting enough sleep,” HC concludes with a disapproving frown. His eyes now glow a deep crimson, matching the silken sheets that HC ensures are in perfect condition every time XL visits.

“Fuck, XIE LIAN, you know you need proper nutrition and rest to recover from each night you spend with me!” HC is nearly shouting now, voice wavering out of his control. Who knew another creature could make him feel so strongly?

“I-I am!”

“I SAID NOT TO LIE TO ME. I CAN TELL WHEN YOU’RE NOT BEING HONEST,” HC explodes, spatting those words with a poison that he often uses with uncooperative subordinates, but never directed at XL before.

Tears glisten in XL’s eyes as he’s cornered with no way out, no relief from the building pressure that suffocates him. Right now, after everything XL has been through, this seems to be his tipping point. He never expected HC to care this much. Or perhaps HC is just concerned his reliable supply of blood is flaking out on him, just when he’s had a feasible taste.

XL is sure HC has plenty of other donors to feed on. It’s not like XL is particularly special in that way. Frankly speaking, XL had time and time again asked the universe to give him one last sign that his life mattered in some capacity. But if he couldn’t see the value in his own life, who else could?

XL scrambles off from HC’s lap, allowing himself to speak with the deep-seated spite that has grown in his heart like an untamable weed.

“THERE’S NO NEED TO GET SO WORKED UP OVER MY HEALTH!! I’LL BE GONE SOON ANYWAY! THE DOCTOR GAVE ME THREE MORE MONTHS,” XL screams, having to catch his breath after exerting so much power into his voice. “So there. You have my answer. I’m not lying this time. Just one a couple more months and then- then you won’t have to deal with my shit anymore, okay?”

HC can’t move. He can’t speak either. The shock taking over his system renders his mind and body completely useless. He can only stare blankly at XL whose tears now cascade down his cheeks.  

No, this cannot be happening-

XL’s whimpers pull HC out of his head. The human hugs his own frail body, shivering from a coldness that does not exist in the room.

How did HC let it get so bad?

“I’m sick, San Lang. Very, very sick. Not just physically,” XL whispers defeatedly, letting out a small hiccup.

HC doesn’t hesitate to surge forward to throw his arms around XL, hugging him once more. It’s a habit now—to hold XL whenever he could. Now, HC wonders how many more times he would get this chance before it was inevitably the last.

“Xie Lian…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I-I just can’t eat. Sometimes from stress, other times I completely forget. And I want to rest, but I end up laying in bed awake for hours a-and my mind just won’t let me sleep-”

For the first time in over a decade, there is someone else to hear XL’s agonized wails.

“Please believe me, San Lang. Please."

[jeongvision]

Member: Jaehyun

sugar dadddy au ,“Can I taste you?”

thankyou❤️

pairing. sugar daddy! jeong jaehyun ✗ sugar baby! fem! reader

genre. borderline smut, sugar daddy au, non idol au, strangers to lovers au

warnings. cursing, suggestive themes (heavy make-out scene), implied smut, not proofread bc i’m tired as heCk

author’s note. SKSKKS okay so kiss scenes are prob my BIGGEST weakness so bEAR WITH ME HERE i’m trying my best but feedback is awesome guys bc i can’t tell if i’m doing it right send help

Anyone born in the modern era can absolutely vouch that college is a fucking bitch to fund for, for society has decided that it would be a great idea to force the young generation into thousands of dollars in debt just to get a degree you probably won’t have a use for. In no way are you saying that obtaining an education is useless—in fact you love learning new things around the world—but you find it utterly repulsive that there is this pressure placed on you to get a college degree or else you’re deemed a failure to the public’s eye. And with the increasing debt from your loans and the interest rates attached to them, you were desperate to find different means in paying them off than working your ass off for the next twenty years.

What better way to pay them off by having someone pay it off for you?

Succumbing to the internet has landed you with a single businessman in his twenties, fully loaded with cash to spend on anyone who is willing to attend with him on one important business affair to scare off possible marriage proposals from his potential business partners.

The man’s name is Jung Jaehyun, and holy fuck is this man knees-down attractive. You were a little skeptical at first of his offer because what’s so hard about acting like a trophy girlfriend wrapped around someone’s arms when there at thousands out there that would do it for free? Whatever, you thought. Easy job, easy money. And it was an easy job indeed, for he was gentleman all throughout the whole evening. He made sure you were taken care of, pampered for, and made sure that you were comfortable for the entire evening you were with him. He was a sweetheart, and you felt like you were on the top of the world. You get to have your debts paid off and spend some time with an attractive businessman. Nothing gets better than this.

Oh darling, don’t speak too soon. This is just the beginning.

You sat in Jaehyun’s passenger seat as he drove you back to your home. For the first time in years, not a single dime in your wallet has been spent for the latter has provided it all just for you. From the dress you embodied to the jeweleries you complemented all the way down to the heels you traveled on, you wondered how this feels to be part of the upper class. To be able to afford such luxury without fear of making a dent in your bank account seems like a dream too good to be true. And yet here you are, having already a taste of what it’s like to become the rich, you couldn’t deny how glamorous you felt.

However, rules are rules, and it’s upsetting to say that you won’t be experiencing it again any time soon. You and Jaehyun have already agreed that this is a one-time arrangement and you two shall depart from each other’s live once he drops you off at your door. It’s a shame really because you were actually enjoying his company, exponentially exceeding your expectations of how a rich person acts. In the short amount of time you’ve spent with him, if you were to erase his title of a rich businessman, he is just like every one of your friends, just a dash more mature.

You let out a sigh. ‘If only I could spend a little more time with him,’ you thought.

“You okay, y/n?”

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts and looked over to the driver side, Jaehyun half-concentrating on the road and on you.

You giggled a little. “Yeah I’m okay,” you shrugged. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

The time on his dashboard currently reads 11:34pm, certainly coinciding with the dark skies splattered with millions of diamonds. You immersed yourself into the leather seat and looked out the window, gazing at passing cars and trees as you reached closer to your home.

You could hear a chuckle from his end. “I just want to say thank you for joining me tonight. It really means a lot to me.”

You smiled, your expression reflected on your windows to which he catches a glance of. “Of course, it’s the least I could do for our agreement.”

Right when those words left your mouth, there’s a bitter aftertaste on your tongue. You winced a little. Was it wrong of you to say? You’re not sure. One thing you’re sure of is that it’s the truth, and sometimes the truth hurts.

As your front door came to view, Jaehyun parks his car in your driveway. Turning the ignition off, he was quick to unbuckle and exit his vehicle to open your passenger door, sweetly smiling down at you. You couldn’t suppress the chuckle in you. “I guess chivalry is not dead,” you joked, earning a smirk from him. You got out of his car and walked up to your doorsteps, Jaehyun following behind once he shut and locked his door. You two stopped in front of your entrance and faced each other, your porch lights automatically illuminating the dark after sensing your presences.

He gazes down at you, intensely, eyes peering into your own that sends shivers down your spine.

“I-I guess this is goodbye then,” you whispered.

He nods, his eyes never leaving you. “I guess it is then.” You two continued to stare each other down, time slipping into a continuum where nothing else mattered in the world. It’s just you and him, alone at night, the crisp air failing to cool down your heated cheeks as he gazes down at you intensely.

You shakingly let out a sigh. “Be careful driving.”

And right when those words left your mouth, there’s a sweet taste left on your tongue, your body trapped against your front door. Jaehyun’s lips are pressed against yours, his arms pinned on both of your sides. You reciprocated his kisses, moaning in between as your mind loses all focus. He was soft, sweet, and so delectable that you left you wanting more, craving more.

He pulls apart from you, breathing heavily as a translucent thread of saliva connected both of your now-swollen lips. Your face is flushed, your pupils are dialated, and the growing tent in his pants makes it harder and harder to think rationally.

All throughout the night, he adored your innocent nature, finding it no less than adorable for a compassionate individual you are. In just a span of a few hours, he found you more intriguing than all the other women he encountered in his lifetime. He wanted to get to know you more, explore further into the depths of your lens and see the treasures that holds within.

He places his hands on your waist, pulling you close against his own body and knocking the air out of you. “Ma chérie,” he groans, “may I request one more favor of you for the evening?”

You wrap your arms around his neck to bring your face close to his own, your lips only gasp away from crashing into his.

There’s a saying that the eyes are the mirrors of one’s soul, and you’d be damned in hell for lying through your teeth that you didn’t anticipate for this moment to come. You saw how he looked at you the whole night, and you were dying to see more sides of him.

You nodded. “Be my guest, mon cher.”

He sighs deeply. “Can I taste you?”

May all your innermost desires be released from their shackles, for the taste of temptation is too great to bear within.

You let out a mischievous giggle. “Do as your wish, love.”

Oh darling, looks like your professors won’t be seeing you in class tomorrow.

jeongvision’s milestone event!

[rametarin]

The problem with Eat Da Buuuuuuugs.

It’s not that insects aren’t a high protein, nutritious meal. Because, objectively, they are that. The problem also isn’t “high class vs. low.”

The problem with Eat Da Booooooooogs is that it’s based on moralism and oughts. You OUGHT to brush your teeth, so we invented a state-mandatory toothbrush; it now records the number of times you’ve brushed your teeth and rates how you did it and informed your insurance provider. You OUGHT to have, but you didn’t, so now the state will punish you with higher personal fees and lower how much it will help subsidize the cost, and state subsidies make medical and dental care affordable, so the end result is you pay a literal fortune for not doing what the state thinks you OUGHT.

There are people alive, right now, that for religious reasons, pseudo-spiritualist reasons, moralist dogmatist reasons, absolutely abhor the consumption of red mead and the use of plains and grazing lands, for grazing and feeding animals for food.

Some abhor it because they believe that private property should not exist, and they do not feel people should be able to own livestock; that ‘society’ should own all livestock and be forced to share it. Whether you’re a productive member, or you just sit on your bed playing The Sims and doing ketamine all day. Guess which of the two likes this idea more.

Some abhor it because they’re exisetnailly terrified of life and its consequences. They crave some sort of logic and reason to their existence and a life after death, and aren’t satisfied with the Christian version, so they drift back and forth between their own schizophrenia and the world’s pseudo-spiritualism/New Age Enlightenment, “I take a little bit from all the popular religions and choose what my personal bia- I mean, sixth sense, validates as reasonable to me.” So they dislike the idea of eating red meat, because they don’t want to die and come back as an animal for slaughter. They’re terrified that in a past life or in a future life, they’ll be the meat and suffer for someone elses enjoyment.

Some are spoiled, out-of-touch moralists that believe it’s based on “suffering.” They morally believe penning, owning, feeding and then consuming animals for their flesh is ethically wrong, and so have decided that shouldn’t be a thing other people are allowed to do.

Some are simply shills for Russian or Chinese or Brazilian cattle grazers and want other western countries to adopt anti-meat eating policies under the beliefs that lack of access to red blooded animal protein will reduce the size and strength of their enemies, as well as give them the market on beef, pork and chicken exports to other countries- both legitimate and contraband meat.

Some are simply uppity futurists that believe for humanity to experience a, “global, social evolution,” we have to give up the personal private means of owning and producing anything and turn it over to a central authority that manages that and distributes resources accordingly. They don’t like meat eating, because it’s messy and requires a lot of trained, knowledgeable people to make the food. If everybody just ate plants, they wager, they could grow more in bulk and not only secure where the food comes from through controlling arable land for growing food, but control everybody dependent on the food.

Some are trendy know-nothing, “environmentalists,” that will hop on whatever poorly informed bandwagon that touts itself as progressive. Just, the sort of soy sop that will scream about loving science one minute and then ignore where the cloth medical mask says, on the fucking box, “it won’t prevent viruses like COVID-19.” But still wear it and goose step around demanding you wear it to show your patriot- I mean, to show you believe in THE SETTLED SCIOOONCE. These ones believes that cow farts and burps are extremely detrimental to the atmosphere in the form of methane produced, as well as their production of CO2 from breathing and to a lesser extent, living, dying and excreting.

The problem with that is that cows, chickens and pigs are also part of the carbon cycle, and as far as CO2 production, agricultural meat is kind of.. benign. Meat eating does not affect the CO2 cycle directly. You can argue that transportation of it might affect some, but if you switch out gasoline and diesel for electric vehicles, suddenly red meat drops to virtually nothing in the CO2 department.

And then if you count the methane emissions, well, we have workarounds to virtually eliminate cow, chicken, pig, goat and all major red meat food gasses.

So CO2 outputs and methane outputs can drop to virtually nothing, we can clean up our agricultural sector into non-problematic in any way. To where any argument that growing animals for food has any effect on climate change, at all, just becomes an bogus lie from someone hellbent on using the institutions of our society to make cattle, sheep and pig farming, legally impossible.

And ultimately, why?

Because you can grow more bugs in a smaller space on shittier diets? We already have meat alternatives.

The biggest argument for bugs as food is you might be able to grow more of them in space for cheaper and take them further. That’s it. A million bug buttholes still produce noxious clouds of nitrous oxide, carbon dioxide and methane. Leafcutter ants down in South America make bacteria filled piles that rival human wastewater treatment plants, for example. They still emit the same noxious gasses that animals do.

And when it comes to methane production, cows don’t hold a candle to the amount of negative atmospheric effects that rice farms do. Are we going to tell Asia, “no more rice,” because the global effects of climate change? It makes no fucking sense to single out cows, sheep, pigs and chickens as even relevant sources of these gasses, where even IF we can deal with every conceivable complaint or concern, people still just want you to no longer be allowed to grow them and just EAT the BOOOOOOGS.

I’m not opposed to crushed up insects as another alternative protein. I am absolutely, 100% opposed to vegetarians or vegans or fabian socialists trying to get the government to subsidize this source of protein, demand that every taxpayer put forwards money to public schools to provide the bug pattys as their source of nutrition (if only by not just the factually reduced cost but the suddenly subsidized captured market that is school lunch budgets and mandatory purchases), and either charge cattle and beef plants more as a “luxury tax” or punish them for being, “dirty, environment destroying” sources of food.

These people are not content to leave you alone to the things you enjoy, you have to be financially and economically incentivized to give them up, institutionally punished, or effectively give away your opportunity for a brighter future if you persist in consumption and traffic of them. Eat Da Boogs is about whether moralists are allowed to use the institutions and the legal system to enforce subjective, preferential things on other people for bogus reasons, and if you can be compelled to do someone elses, “right thing,” or what they think you OUGHT to do.

So. I’m not against bugs as a supplemental nutrition source. I’m against uppity vegans trying to make the government subsidize it and violently take over every single niche, both economically and through government regulated FIAT to eliminate the one held by beef, sheep, goat, chickens and pigs from our agricultural sector and culture.

Once humans are no longer allowed to grow animals for food, and they’re all effectively killed and disappear, there’s no undoing that. That culture will disappear. And that’s ultimately what they’re counting on.

After that, all they need to truly force vegetarianism on “society,” is eliminate the legal growth of insects as a food source for the same moralist precedent reasons as they deemed red blooded animals to be no good as food or agriculture. With no remaining alternative but to try and domesticate other animals.

The Bugs are about more than crushed up insects on a patty. They’re about using shitty false pretenses to eliminate choice from you and take agency away. It’s not about not wanting to eat bugs, it’s about wanting to eat pork and beef and chicken and the existence of an alternative emboldening them to try and ban those.

[fineillsignup]

Hello! can i ask ur opinion on konoha HIGHLY SUGGESTING HAVING MULTIPLE PARTNERS to tackle their high death rate? I have this weird headcannon where, if kishimoto wasnt shy abt sex, the konoha 11 would have been taught/encouraged/endoctrinated to be sexually active... which would give the story a darker tone and perhaps add more (?) chemistry between the characters?? idk wht r ur thoughts? (^^ゞ

Do you mean to encourage a higher birth rate to counteract the higher death rate? I totally agree with the fact that, as depicted in the series, the death rate/birth rate is more disproportionate than real world inverted pyramids like Singapore, as evidenced in my dryly named tag “ninja world demographic winter”.

Here are the things in the real world which raise birth rates:

It is at least as affordable and socially beneficial to have (another) child versus not have (another) child

The culture expecting/supporting/approving large(r) families and marrying young

Inability to easily access various birth control methods from condoms to pills to abortions

I put the birth control thing third because I think the first two things matter more. There are countries in the world with easy access to birth control and much higher rates than other countries with more difficult access and lower rates (example: Israel vs Brazil). And to a large extent, access to the latter depends on the cultural attitudes in point one and two. Societies where it is easy to access birth control but people have larger families anyway do so largely because of point one and two. So I rank those two higher.

So across the modern developed world it is points one and two that are the major driving factors behind falling birth rates.

Konoha culture, as depicted, ought to be very pronatal from point one and two; “the kings of the Leaf are the unborn children” is so pronatal it’s almost like a Handmaid’s Tale parody. Yet Kishimoto either is unable himself to imagine something so unlike modern Japan in terms of family structure, or he thinks his target audience (modern Japanese teenage boys) won’t be able to enter into it. So the TFR is like Japans’ modern sub-replacement fertility rate of ~1.6 (in the 80s and 90s when the readers of the original run of the comic were being born).

Would increased sexual activity raise the birth rate per se? I would say not, as long as points one and two don’t change.

It’s worth pointing out that societies of impermanent sexual partners with raising children tend to be matrilocal (children don’t leave their mothers, often even in adulthood) and matrilineal (descent is reckoned by the mother), such as the Mosuo, Note that I do not say matriarchal as, while these societies often have more female equality, they aren’t necessarily “female dominated” in the way that we see patriarchal as “male dominated”. Instead, the important men in a woman’s household will be her brothers by the same mother or her mother’s brothers etc; they will live together and work together. And these men usually have quite a lot of say in how things happen.

Children require a lot of work and resources and to have kids women expect, deserve, and need help of many kinds; the Mosuo work as a culture where the babydaddy doesn’t do much because the mother’s brothers and matrilineal family do that support instead.

But the bottom line is that the culture in Konoha and across the ninja world is weirdly apathetic about anyone having kids, including people with bloodline based superpowers, where, IDK, it seems like making more bloodline based superpower children would be an interest of the military government. I don’t think adding or subtracting sex per se is the issue here.

Unless you’re suggesting some kind of Sparta scenario where people are encouraged to have sexual relationships with their teams so as to be less likely to get their teammates hurt, and lower the death rate that way? Cracky, but potentially solid smutty fanfic AU idea there! I don’t know if it would work, mind you, because the whole point of military anti-fraternization policies is that they also cause lots of drama, stress, jealousy, manipulation, etc; but if it’s a fanfic, go nuts with it.

[ledenews]

Santorine: Housing the Homeless Is Not the Issue

Much has been written about the homeless problem in Wheeling, and there are so many “claims of compassion” when it comes to dealing with the only growing part of our community. Before I talk about housing the homeless, it’s important to remember that you really have to work at being homeless and hungry in Wheeling. If you are homeless and have children, there are multiple programs for that life scenario. Veteran? There are programs for that, too. Need food? Social programs? How about healthcare? There are multiple organizations for all of it. More precisely, there are many programs available, and they are run by talented people who bring a wealth of knowledge and tremendous compassion. And a tremendous number of federal and state donated dollars are in place to “cure” this problem. There are federal programs, state programs, and church-based programs, all of which are run by knowledgeable and skilled people. It’s an incredible brain trust whose efforts are blunted by bureaucratic programs with a narrow scope. Legislation put in place spending the public treasury and making tiny improvements because “Congressman Big Spender” is looking for instant results. Straight up, if you’re hungry and homeless in Wheeling, something is really, really, really wrong. See, I’m a landlord. Our units occupy a niche between federal housing that you might be able to get into, and market-rate housing which you need a skilled job to afford. So, if you have been convicted of a felony, or can’t get gas, electricity or water in your name, there are landlords, like us, who can house you. The problem as of late, though, is the quality of the homeless tenant is in sharp decline. I’m using the term “quality” because it’s the only descriptor that seemed to fit. What should be viewed as a gift – the taxpayers paying for your security deposit and a couple of months of rent – is now viewed as an entitlement. They are “supposed to get” this or that, because why? It’s certainly not because of the taxes they didn’t pay. And with that entitlement, they are not going to listen to the agency paying their rent, or the landlord. They have rights, don’t you know. The plan is to get them housed and keep them housed, and this landlord wants that to come true. The agency working with the homeless wants that, too. It’ not about housing them for a couple of months and then finding them on the street again. The goal is to put them on a long-term trajectory that allows the homeless to transition to permanent housing and a being productive members of society. But no one seems to know what the homeless want, and they don’t want to listen to those who are attempting to help them in any way, shape or form. The apartments which are offered to them, I’ve heard, are not nearly deluxe enough, or in what they consider the right neighborhood.  When they don’t get their way, they do what they do on the street. That includes destroying what has been provided for them, with no understanding or respect for the fact that it costs them and their peers money. I have friends whose families rented apartments when they grew up. They treated the rental apartments well, because it was their home. They were not about to live in squalor. Their rented apartments were clean, squared away and proper. They didn’t ignore the trash that the raccoon pulled out of the trash can. They picked it up. Someone had to do that, and the renters did it. The progression today fairly clearly demonstrates that what worked yesterday won’t work today or tomorrow. Today, an agency gets the homeless housed. They pay the security deposit and some months of rent. Some even help the homeless find jobs, but the homeless can’t seem to show up for work. When dismissed, finding another job is just too difficult. But the homeless work overtime to get themselves evicted and the disconnect here is this – it seems to be the only thing they successfully work toward. Evicted because they invite 10 of their closest friends from the street to live with them, violating their lease and driving the other tenants in the building away. Evicted because their apartment is so filled with filth that they can’t pass either the government’s or the landlord’s most basic inspection. Evicted because they want to bring their homeless “street life” to wherever they are, and that includes starting a fire on the paved driveway. Evicted because they are entitled to pick an argument with their neighbor. Evicted because their couch-surfing nephew from Cleveland is dealing drugs from their living room. All this is indicative of a much deeper problem that is going to require old solutions. I believe that mental illness is the underlying problem. Today, society is prevented from addressing the problem in the way we did in the past. So, we have these people panhandling on our streets, destroying the valley’s rental apartment inventory, and utilizing a huge percentage or our police and emergency medical resources. So, how do we provide for the mentally ill in our community? Very poorly. This needs to be addressed, or the homelessness and the drugs will continue. The people running the agencies know how to fix this, but the bureaucrats and the legislators don’t choose to listen. It requires fundamental change that runs counter to the current narrative. The one that has been forced upon us demanding that we be gentler and kinder. The third rail that social services dances around because pointing to the real root cause will draw battle lines. It does not matter that they are incapable of making decisions, they have rights. This circle is driving the local landlords to a point of indifference. Renting to the homeless at one point was helping. Today, it’s a sure way to lose money and spend ridiculous amounts of time fixing an apartment that we had just repaired 60 days before. It’s going to make housing the homeless that much more difficult, if not impossible. But hey, maybe they could decide to set up a camp across the street from you. https://ledenews.com/novotney-this-is-sad-on-so-many-levels/ Read the full article

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas: Alleycat

Also on AO3! 

TL;DR:  

The story of the Erasure villain: Alley Cat and his heroic kittens. Aizawa, a rather nomadic villain, accidentally acquires two teenagers and a four-year-old. It's not the most conventional family, but it'll do.

villain aizawa: hes incredibly brutal and efficient, kind of an antihero type. he shuts down some things the heroes dont see, patrols the sketchy areas, looks out for children

he kinda,,, accidentally adopted some children

shinsou and izuku were runaways from a terrible foster home that tracked down the 'villain' alleycat and basically said

"are we worth anything to anyone?" and aizawa sees these kids hurt by heroics and takes them under his wing

eri is a kid izuku stumbled upon while out with shinsou before they met aizawa, and izuku basically adopted her straight out, came back to shinsou like "hi we have a little sister now" they are like 12, eri is 4

so aizawa accidentally gets 2 teens and a lil kid and he finds out they lowkey wanna be villains like him bc they wanna help and heroes dont help people like them. aizawa's heart breaks bc he doesn't want these kids to have the life he's had, so he promises to train hitoshi and izuku only if they try for the hero course

they agree. a villain begins to train heroes to enter the very thing that hurt them, with hopes of changing it from the inside out

ok also: in this au whatever horrible thing happened to shirakumo,,,, didnt. and he's 1A's homeroom teacher. hes bright, bubbly and cheerful, with the same expulsion rate aizawa has

so, shirakumo's hero name is cloud nine, hizashi's is feedback, not present mic. they both think aizawa is dead, and separately have to deal with the villain 'alleycat' as his territory intersects w ua's zone

aizawa, as alleycat, is a lot gentler to shirakumo and hizashi, more polite when speaking to them, less brutal with his takedowns. hizashi notices, but says nothing

hitoshi and izuku, with their baby sister eri, end up living with aizawa, training to be heroes to improve them fucked up society that taught them they were worthless in the  first place

he takes them on parkour routes in the early morning, teaches them how to disarm people with knives, to use an opponents size against them.

izuku hones his ability to analyse, hitoshi learns how to push peoples buttons. there is no such thing as a fair fight for them. they break each others noses, chip a tooth or two, get black eyes. there are no hard feelings, they are together through everything

the 4 of them live pretty rough, only on what aizawa can get as a villain/working day shifts in a dodgy bar. aizawa pretends to be their dad for anything legal, says they had two different mothers. it works, somehow.

Some minor cosmetic changes:

Izuku, Hitoshi and Eri all dye their hair black. It started as them quietly wanting to look like their ‘dad’ for sentimental reasons, but they quickly worked out that it made the lie a lot easier for others to swallow.

They all take the surname Aizawa

Eri’s hair is cut into a messy bob – she loves getting Izuku to give her pigtails with the little sparkly hair ties Shouta stole for her. Izuku’s hair is shorter at the back and longer at the front, obscuring his eyes a bit. Hitoshi’s hair is shoulder length and growing, he ties it back in a low bun.

All three of the kids have scars. Eri’s are like canon but a less extreme because her quirk only just showed up. Izuku and Hitoshi have some from bullies, horrible foster parents and reckless sparing. Izuku has a few more little ones because he developed his not-dad’s love of cats and is unafraid of getting bitten – on top of his lack of self-preservation.

they go to aldera middle school, bakugo is still a little shit. to be honest, izuku hates it the most when bakugo burns his uniform - they cant afford to buy extra. there have been a few weeks hes just had to where shinsou's spare and roll the sleeves up

izuku and shinsou have a bit of a spat the afternoon of the sludge villain. it's nothing either of them remembers in a weeks time, but it means shinsou leaves school first, without izuku

bakugo corners him, notebook, allmight, etc

izuku has to ask

all might says no

izuku crumbles, such a dramatic shift from the calm but nice boy he'd been before. you can see the moment his heart breaks. all might feels terrible, but izuku has jumped down the fire escape before he can say anything.

to be honest, izuku is moments away from a full-fledged breakdown. He shoots shinsou a quick text about the villain, but pauses when he hears explosions. He knows the chances its Katsuki are tiny but he’s never been a lucky guy, so he runs towards them

basically the rest of the episode plays out like canon, izuku goes home and meets with his whole ass family panicking because he sent a vague text about a villain then was totally AWOL for 2 hours

hitoshi hugs him really tight while aizawa mumbles something about a tracking chip.

Izuku tells hitoshi about all might, but just tells aizawa vaguely that hes getting a quirk, no he isn’t in any danger, yes he’ll be safe, no he can’t tell you how.

Izuku and Hitoshi both pass the entrance exam with a mix of hero and villain points.

Izuku still doesn’t his whole bone breaky routine but he also manages to take out a few robots by himself before that. He ends up with the highest score.

Hitoshi takes out a few more robots but spends a fair bit of time pushing people out of the way of robots, yelling at people to be more careful about the others around them, and controlling people to get them out of the way of debris. He gets into the top 10.

Nezu is very very interested in the two ‘brothers’ with very different quirks that both did so well. He resolves to keep and eye on them.

Shirakumo is a riot as a teacher but boy is he stressful to be in a class with. The first insult out of Bakugo’s mouth and hes kicked him out of his class, telling him to try class B or get out of the school. (Blood King takes him. Bakugo is a little less horrible to izuku, at least where others can see)

Izukus having a quiet panic attack because Bakugo is going to kill him, and Hitoshi is caught between respecting the balls on their teacher and being pissed at the guy for putting izuku in a terrible position.

No quirk test, they do actually go see the opening ceremony. Hizashi and Shirakumo chat in sign while the principal’s speech drags on. Hitoshi and Izuku watch on, trying not to laugh when they start signing that they want to go to sleep.

Then they do the quirk test bc shirakumo’s a bastard. They end the day with Bakugo kicked out and Hagekure hanging onto her place by a thread. Izuku and Hitoshi come 4th and 5th respectively, despite not being able to use their quirks in the test. Shirakumo is interested.

Skipping to the interesting bits:

The USJ is just as terrible as canon, with the added fact that some of the thugs totally recognise izuku and hitoshi. Izuku works out how to use one for all at 1% during the attack. Hitoshi ends up with a scar on his eyebrow from a person with a claw quirk, Izuku gets a broken arm. Hitoshi sees all might in his skinny form for the first time and is suitably surprized

The sports festival goes a lot like canon in the first round, the second round features a team-up of just Hitoshi as the horse and Izuku as the rider bc they are so used to working with each other they felt it’d be more trouble to have extra team members. They arent exactly wrong and that round ends with them still in control of the 1’000’000 points band – along with a fair few teams just sitting on the sidelines with no idea how they got there.

Tournament round has izuku fighting Todoroki in the second round like canon, but in this universe, he wins (after helping him because whats izuku without a saviour complex). Hitoshi beats Tokoyami and Sero, but loses to Bakugo. The final round is Izuku vs Bakugo, they tie.

The stain arc is a riot. Izuku is interning w Gran, Hitoshi is with Nighteye who happens to be looking for ‘Alley Cat’. Hitoshi is so done with this.

Izuku finds Iida about to be attacked by stain and swoops in. Stain recognises him instantly

“Oh, you’re one of the cat’s kids, aren’t you? Let me deal with this fake hero and you can show me what your dad's taught you.”

Iida is confused – resolves to ask about it later

“You step away from him.”

“What?”

“I said. Step away from Iida. He’s – We’re going to be heroes. We’re both going to be heroes and I won’t let you hurt him!”

Stain pauses, then smiles.

“Lets see if the apple falls far from the tree, hm?” And he launches himself at Izuku

Izuku can dodge with the best of them, but he can’t get close enough to hit stain while protecting Iida. He manages to escape paralysis, but by the time Todoroki arrives stain has barely taken damage.

Todoroki isn’t the only person that responded to that warning. 1 city over, Hitoshi is franticly begging Nighteye to do something, because his brother is in danger. Nighteye is shocked at the fear in the previously apathetic child’s voice. He alerts heroes in the area, and makes his way over with a nervous Hitoshi in tow. On the other end of the city, where he’d been trying to keep an ear out for his kids, Aizawa gets the text and his heart drops. He begins running over.

Stain is taken out before any more help arrives. Without ropes, Todoroki freezes him solid in a block of ice. Endeavour arrives, as does Nighteye with a panicked Hitoshi. Aizawa arrives soon after, perched on a nearby rooftop, ready to whisk his kids away to safety should they need it.

The nomu swoops down, grabbing Izuku. Stain can’t help – trapped in his block of ice. Aizawa runs after Izuku. The nomu drops Izuku off at Shirgiraki’s feet, who is rather delighted to have the annoying boy from the USJ delivered to him out of the blue. He’s not, however, so happy with the knives he finds flying towards him. Kurogiri redirects them and the portal fades just in time for them to come face to face with the villain ‘Alley Cat”

“Well that was a cheap shot Alley Cat, what crawled up your ass and died?”

Aizawa places himself in front of Izuku, teeth bared. Izuku is clutching the leg of his costume. “Don’t hurt him and you won't lose a hand.” Kurogiri goes to attack, but Shigiraki waves him off, letting Aizawa take back Izuku.

“Sir?”

“Don’t you see? There are villains in the hero course. I smell a side quest, don’t you? We might even get some new party members out of it.

[emtalksbooks]

Beyond Education: Radical Studying for Another World by Eli Meyerhoff

Topics: Higher education, history of higher education, community education, organizing and protesting

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Discussion: Meyerhoff's 2019 book discusses, the failures and shortcomings of the promise of higher education in North America. Slim in size and massive in stature, this book is essential reading for anyone currently in higher ed and sick of it, in any capacity.

Meyerhoff lays bare the failings of the university for everyone -- particularly graduate students, staff, and precariously employed faculty -- but his lessons can be applied to any student struggling against a seemingly impenetrable wall of what we know, in our bones, higher ed is supposed to be. He argues against the narrative of romanticized education -- the education is always a form of love [see an upcoming post on Sarah Jaffe's Work Won't Love You Back for more about this], something to be strived for, achieved, and universally acclaimed.

Education doesn't have to be the box checking, stifling, claustrophobic and cloistered thing that it has become, Frankenstein-like, as federal and state funding plummeted and universities became business-ified in a death spiral of dollars and cents.

By discussing the narrative of "drop outs" as a moral and policy failure, Meyerhoff shows the deeply racist, classist, and sexist underpinnings of how we ("we," here, being people who make our living in higher ed) talk about education. Instead of a romantic model, a model of love, education can be a resistance, a means to greater power in politic and abolition, a celebration of community knowledge, and a non-hierarchical space to create something new. Meyerhoff, it would seem, recognizes the capitalistic and human limits of these endeavors, as shown by his chapter, a sort of self-assessment, of a free university he and his peers attempted to run while in graduate school.

While reading this book, I thought a lot about privilege, access, and resources. Meyerhoff situates himself as someone for whom education was at first romanticized; later, he discusses how the free university model he attempted to run co-opted university spaces and resources to engage with other students and the community. But you have to get in the door to steal from the shelves of the university in this way; the price of admission is astronomical, in terms of either familial wealth or student loans, and only certain people have the access to an undergraduate education, much less masters and doctorate level programs. You have to play the game to a certain extent to even get in those spaces to steal time, resources, money, and spaces to create the "free" university of Meyerhoff's attempts, and I would be interested to see the literal dollar signs it took everyone in the free university space to even be able to access this "free" model. Additionally, access for people with disabilities, people of color, poor people, and people who were otherwise cast aside by the k-12 education system will prevent them from being in these "radical" higher education spaces and graduate programs -- all of which means that "radical" systems in graduate school often take the shape of people, poor for the first time in their lives, are incensed by their chosen lot. Many of the discussions in this book can and should be applied elsewhere in society, to groups of people who did not romanticize their profession, but rather, needed to go into it to survive.

I'm skeptical of any book of education that looks so far into the past as this one does, back to the 1300s in this case, to discuss today's higher education crisis. I believe, of course, that historical perspectives can illuminate our struggle today, but this chapter felt disjointed from the rest of the text, and required a different background and understanding than the very twenty-first century rest of the book -- perhaps I am not the person for this chapter, and that's okay.

I also wonder, at times, what undergirds the romantic view of the university for people who are not Meyerhoff. For me, the university is a place of infinite play -- playing with language, playing with words, playing with ideas. Again, my post on Jaffe's book will expand upon the understanding that play for your boss is still work. But, for those of us who did come into higher education with language, writing, and creation on our minds, the university does, in fact, give us ample place to do so, so long as we are not so enamored that we miss the capitalistic, neoliberal foundation on which it was built.

Can we be romantic without romanticism? That is: Can we love the affordances of higher education, including that I was able to read and write for 6 years, an immense privilege, and know that it was not the place necessarily that did that for us, but rather, the time, the invisible debt or scholarships or family money as "income," the walkability of our campuses, the dining halls that took care of our meals, the mentors, professors, and staff who literally cleaned up after us? Can we see all of this, all at once, holding inside our minds the idea that the university did this and that we don't need the university to do this, if we had truly radical societies in which all our needs were collectively met, so that we could read, and write, and hang out with our friends, and know that breakfast would be waiting for us, hot and ready, in the morning in the dining halls?

Because I think, at the heart of it, the romanticizing of higher ed from those of us still inside of us is about the future -- our whole life's work ahead of us, so brilliant, of course, genius even -- and for people who went to college and then left, what they want is not the university, but to be nineteen again, surrounded by friends, challenged, allowed to fail in spectacular ways without serious consequences. Of course, I am speaking in generalities here, and know that not everyone's college experience was as rose-tinged as my own.

As an instructor, I can (and do) talk a big game about teaching and empathy, teaching radically, radical honesty and care for students, but at the end of the semester, I input grades, mark attendance, and turn my students into so many squares in the learning management system. I do this because I like having a job, and I like keeping it. Someone has to pay the bills. Someone has to make the breakfast. Someone has to take the trash out. Someone has to live in late capitalism.

And at the heart of my frustration with this book, and every single book like it, to no fault of their own, is that individualized solutions to the crisis of higher education simply will not dismantle the underlying issues of access, equity, and surveillance that pervade our students' lived realities. Faculty, too, have a lived reality, of mortgages in increasingly expensive rural college towns, of childcare challenges, of needing dental insurance. The system is so far beyond higher education -- the system of our country, and the world now, so removed from a utopian space -- that any university-utopia would be an aberration, a blip in the fabric of this country. It would not fix it.

Link: To read: Free on Meyerhoff's website.

[jocazep]

In The Whole Wide Train | Chapter 9

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Reader (Jo, OFC), slight Edgar x Reader 

Warnings: Major spoilers for SNOWPIERCER, dystopian society and its countless problems, mentions of forced abortions, language, violence, deaths, slow burn, eventual smut

Synopsis: Having grown up in the Front Sections of the Snowpiercer, you venture down the train when a rare opportunity presents itself, but the excursion quickly changes flavor when you arrive in the Tail Section.

Author’s notes: Smut in this chapter! My first smut so please be gentle LOL.

Taglist: Now Closed

Series Masterlist

Chapter Nine - Washing Up

“Do you know if we got any soap for trading?” Edgar asked Curtis as they stood outside Gilliam’s quarters, waiting for Jo to finish her meeting with Gilliam. Around them, the dimly lit tail-section buzzed on with ordinary routines and shenanigans.

“Why? Are you taking after Jo’s habit?”

“Oh, oh no... Just, I thought it’d be nice to give her a welcome gift...” Edgar’s voice traced off.

Curtis scratched his head through the beanie. “Yeah check with the back lot, I think the going rate is three protein blocks for a half-bar.”

“That’s stiff man. I only have a third of a block. What’d ya reckon I can get for that?”

The rhythmic clicking of the train cut through Curtis’ reverie. He focused his eyes back to the present. They had won. Mason was still locked in his chock hold, Grey had more or less subdued Franco Sr, and Franco Jr. had dropped the knife from his hand.

But as Curtis took in the brutal consequences of the victory, his eyes found you hunched over Edgar who was lying prostrate on his back. You had both your hands on Edgar’s side, desperately trying to stop the bleeding with pressure. But foamy blood was gushing out, staining your hands, your face, and your clothes in an alarming scarlet.

Curtis didn’t need to look at Edgar to know that there was no saving him. He knew he had to carry the heavy burden of Edgar’s life on his shoulders the moment he chose to go after Mason. But you...you still hadn’t accepted it.

Wiping your face with the back of your hand, you whisper to Edgar as you tightened his overcoat around the wound and began to perform CPR.

“Stay with me, Edgar, stay with me. It’s ok. It’s ok.”

You thought back to Doris. To Timmy. To Andrew. To Yuna. But you pushed all thoughts from your mind but one--he’s not dying on your watch.

Curtis could hear your voice breaking, and it was all he could do to keep himself from wrapping you in his arms. But he looked back at the section in the wake of battle, and gritting his teeth, walked on to tend to the latest POWs.

You were running on autopilot. Pumping Edgar’s chest and breathing into his mouth, as if doing so would transport some of your life force into him. It wasn’t until Gilliam ambled up next to you, and placed his hand on your blood-drenched hands, that your brain began to process it all.

Your hands stopped, still quivering. You held your breath as well, forcing the visceral pain down with the pocket of air in your lungs. You were scared that if you breathed out, you would break and there would be no putting you back together. And you couldn’t afford that.

But there was nothing to say. His own hand trembling, Gilliam took your hand and guided you to close Edgar’s lifeless eyes. Sometime later, Curtis finished chaining up the POWs, and stumbled back to you and Edgar. A thump as his knees hit the floor next to you, his mind equally numb with pain. Taking heavy breaths, he pulls off his beanie, a last salute to his closest friend.

“Survivors, wash yourselves,” Gilliam’s voice came out strained, and raspy as usual, but it jolted you back to the present. As Curtis gulped back tears, he watched you stagger to your feet, hand and face caked in dry blood.

“The water supply section. Wash away the blood.“

The hours flew by as you lost yourself in cleaning and treating the wounded revolters, letting the rush of triage flood your mind and drown out the whatever pain, guilt, and self-doubt marinating inside your head.

Meanwhile, Curtis found himself chaining Mason to a water pipe in the furnace room, his rage slowly finding its way back after the grief and pain started wearing off.

“It’s Wilford you want, not me!” Mason was practically another person the minute she felt steel against her skin.

“Call him, see if he’ll come save you.“ Curtis heard himself say. It was a different kind of rage within him, calmer, surer, more deliberate, “We’ll rip you into pieces, he still won’t come?”

“He won’t leave his engine.”

“Well we control the water. We turn that off, he’ll have to come.”

“Turn off the water? Well you’ll only be condemning your own people. The water comes from front.” Mason’s eyes glimmered, finding a last shred of hope in the information she possessed.

“The nose of the train, it breaks up the snow and ice, and turns it into water!”

Curtis felt his confidence slipping. As Mason droned on about the front of the train being an elephant’s trunk, he turned to Tanya and whispered, “get Jo.“

When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness of the furnace room, you saw Curtis holding a knife to Mason’s neck.

“Curtis!” You rushed over and placed your hand on the blade, afraid that Curtis might kill Mason in the heat of fury.

“You keep his name out of your mouth, or you can fucking die.” Curtis was almost too angry to hear you.

“Curtis! Stop it!” Your hand pulled on the blade harder.

Mason’s eyes shifted from Curtis to you, regarding you and turned back to Curtis.

“Just as hot blooded as they say you are.”

You felt Curtis’ hand waver as he took in Mason’s remark, and slowly drew the knife from his grasp.

“Yes, we know you well, mister Curtis Everett. And you, Jo--”

You level the blade back to Mason’s neck.

“I can help you! I can help you! Wilford is not coming, you’ll have to go to the front, and I can take you! I can guarantee you safe passage!”

“You would betray your benevolent Wilford?“ You stared down at Mason, who held your gaze for a beat. A silent negotiation taking place between the two of you.

“I know the train. I know things you don’t.”

“Why the fuck would we trust you?” Curtis interjected. He still thought this was about the revolt.

“Because I want to live.”

You were dumbfounded by the sheer cheek of her. Was this really the same Mason that you knew before all this started?

The room was equally quiet. Who doesn’t want to live?

---

Night fell soon after. Things quieted down as both revolters and the invisible front-sectioners retired for the night.

Curtis and Gilliam arranged for patrols to guard the water section, and joined the revolters in the section that hours ago was an inferno of blood and fire. They were discussing whether to push ahead when Curtis realized that you were missing.

“Have you seen Jo?”

Gilliam shrugged, “I suppose she’s still in the water section, tending to the wounded. She’s taken it quite hard, after Edgar.”

Curtis found you sitting next to Edgar in the water section, hugging your knees close to your chest. You thought after all that you’ve been through, you would be too tired to feel, but you were wrong. You were feeling all right. There was a throbbing pain running along your right side, but you no longer cared.

You were too busy hating yourself. You hated yourself for not being able to save Edgar. You hated yourself for letting Mason talk you into sparing her life. You hated yourself for doing the math and deciding to put a wall around your grief instead of dealing with it. You hated that your eyes were completely dry.

“Hey...” Curtis squatted down next to you, his voice low and careful.

You turned your head from Curtis, and pushed yourself up. “I’m fine. I just need to, uh..., check on Bertie, he’s wounded pretty bad--”

“Jo.” Curtis caught up with you, his broad shoulders blocking your escape route. For the first time since the fight, he had a good look at you, and quickly realized that your clothes were covered in blood stains, some scarlet, others turning brown.

“Curtis, seriously I’ve gotta--”

“It’s OK. I’m here.”

You look up at him. “What?”

“I’m here.” Curtis wrapped his arms around you, and rested his chin on your head. “It’s OK.” His voice reverberated through his chest, slowly thawing the fragile barrier you put up. But it somehow felt safer, warmer, and you closed your eyes.

And the tears finally came.

When you were eventually all cried out, Curtis cupped your head in his hand, and murmured, “Let’s get you washed up.”

You nodded against his chest, and let him lead you towards the showers. The communal space was empty as everyone else had taken their wash already. After showing you how the water worked, Curtis left to wait outside, but soon a pained gasp from you sent him running back in.

“What is it?” Curtis found you mid-motion, trying to remove your blood-soaked coat.

“I think I cracked a rib...I can’t lift my right arm...”

No further explanation was needed. “Turn around.”

You did, and Curtis peeled off the coat, the water running in the shower the only sound echoing within the otherwise empty space.

Your silk shirt was next. What am I doing? You thought to yourself, but caught in the trance, you unbuttoned the front, and Curtis gingerly slid it off you, revealing the fading bruise from the guard’s rifle butt that now seemed a million years ago.

“Does it still hurt?” His voice was raspy and made you very self-conscious in your underwear and jeans.

“Not as bad as it did before.” You replied, keeping your voice as you could manage, fully aware of the tension between you.

Curtis shifted his eyes to your jeans. “Can you...”

You tried reaching down, but the blinding pain pierced into your right side, making you gasp as your legs wobbled. Curtis stepped up behind you, catching you by the arms and steadied the two of you, now standing unsustainably close to each other.

The room was getting foggy with the hot water running. You could hear Curtis swallow before he spoke, “Careful.” His breath swept past the back of your very naked neck, sending your stomach into knots.

He lifted his hands away from your arms to hover near your hips, but not quite touching you. You could feel the warmth radiating from his hands as you ached for more of his touch.

There was nothing Curtis wanted more than to pull these pants off of you and run his hands over every inch of your body. But he waited, his hands determined not to touch you until you gave a signal of what you wanted.

“What?” You willed yourself not to turn around.

“Are you sure about this?”

There was no reply. Instead, you took Curtis’s right hand in yours, and guided him to pop open the button on your jeans. That was all the signal Curtis needed. His warm hands ran down your hips, pulling your soiled jeans down, his fingers grazing your skin all the way down to your ankles.

You could feel the tension pooling at your core as you lifted one foot out of your crumpled jeans, and with the other foot, flicked them aside.

Curtis felt his hardness increasing as he straightened himself up half way, and traced his fingers lightly around the faded bruise on your back. You gasped out of surprise and pleasure as you felt his fingers trace upwards along your spine, ending up on your shoulder, where they were replaced by his lips.

You tilted your head, feeling the friction of his beard along the crook of your neck, light moans escaping your mouth, your uninjured arm reaching up to push off his beanie and run your fingers along his buzzed hair. Curtis’s hands were equally busy, flinging off his coat into a pile of grey and black on the floor.

You turned around to watch as he finally discarded his many layers of old sweaters and shirts, his muscled chest heaving, his toned arms pulling off his pants, and oh god--that bulge in his boxers. It was positively throbbing as you laid eyes on it.

“Hello.” You couldn’t help the wise-ass inside you as you took one step. Then another, and another, slowly closing the distance, watching Curtis’ eyes grow darker with lust, feeling your own heart pounding until you were close enough to notice the tiny specks of gold scattered in his sea-grey eyes.

Curtis reached down, capturing your lips in a fiery kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as his arms wrapped around your figure, pressing you close to his body, his cock hard against you. You turn into putty in his arms, hanging on by your left arm hooked around his neck as your right arm roamed his stomach, exploring his abs by drawing circles around, making his erectness pulse inside the thin fabric. But as you reached down, Curtis stopped you.

“Not yet, baby.“

One hand holding you tight by the waist, and the other one cupped on your left breast, he walked the two of you towards the shower, until your back made contact with the moist wall of tiles. The coolness of the tiles, in stark contrast with the warmth from Curtis made for a strange yet wonderful sensation. Thank god for the running water, or your wetness would be quite noticeable as it soaked through your panties.

Curtis broke off the kiss, and trailed his lips down, past your heaving breasts, down your stomach, before resting his face between your legs.

“What are you--Ooooooh Curtis...” Your voice echoed loudly in the shower room as he ran his thumb across your core, pressing it into your clit. You look down to see the most imperceptible smile on his face as he slid your underwear off and lifted your right leg onto his shoulder.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his tongue met your dripping pussy, lapping up your juices as he sucked, sending you waves of ecstasy as his tongue explored your core.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Curtis all but commanded. And you were eager to comply as your hips rocked in tandem with his strokes, moans of pleasure tumbling out of your mouth as Curtis added his fingers to his attack, rubbing and pushing your sensitive lips. Your walls tightened as you felt Curtis’s tongue enter, and your hands flailed for balance as your knees buckled at the new high, before Curtis snaked his free arm up, grabbing your breast and steadying you against the moist tiles while his tongue and finger worked together to send your juices flowing.

“Curtis I’m gonna come--“

“You like that, baby?” he hummed into you. You nodded and squirmed as you felt your climax approaching, pressing your hips into his face.

“Yes, Curtis, just like that, I’m gonna come---” The wave of high washed over your entire body, your hips shaking and your pussy clenching as Curtis quickening his pace through your climax.

It was all you could do not to collapse as you came down from your orgasm. Curtis stood up, and you grabbed his face to catch his mouth in a sloppy wet kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue as the running water soaked both of you, washing away your fatigue. As the two of you entwined, you pushed off his boxers,  and took in his girth. There’s nothing you wanted more than for it to fill you and make you come again.

“Fuck, Jo.” Curtis breathed out as you finally took his shaft into your hands, stroking it despite of its hardness. You tried to bend down and return the favor, but the sharp pain in your side screamed in protest.

“It’s OK, it’s OK baby,” Curtis helped you back up, and stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, his right hand cupping your breast, and his left raising two fingers near your mouth, “Just suck on these for me.“

You held out your tongue, slobbering his fingers in your mouth before sucking and pulling away with a faint pop.

“That’s so hot,” Curtis whispered against your ear as his right thumb played with your hardened nipple, and his shaft rubbed against your wetness, making you moan and squirm in his hold.

“Are you ready?” Curtis lined the head of his cock at your entrance. You nodded, your entire body yearning for him to be inside you.

And what a sensation that was. Both of you groaned as Curtis’s cock pushed inside you. Curtis could feel your walls tight and warm around his cock, jerking him off. The strokes were slow and deliberate at first, each one going deep into you from behind, making you call out Curtis’s name in pleasure. The water, mixed with your juices, mixed with Curtis’s precum, ran down your legs as the rhythmic echoes filled the room.

Soon you felt the coil in your stomach building as Curtis picked up the pace, sending ripples in your body as he pounded into you. Mesmerized by the moaning figure in front of him, Curtis felt your pussy tighten around him, and gritted his teeth in concentration. It’s been a while, a long while since he’s had any sex, so he’s really sensitive, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get this right. He wrapped one arm around, capturing your clit between two fingers, while his other arm held you closer to him.

“Oh go--You’re gonna make me come if you keep--“ You all but cried out as he rubbed your clit, his lips latching onto your ears and neck, his cock drilling into you.

“Come with me, baby.“ Curtis’s breathing became labored as well, as his own pleasure began to crescendo. He walked the two of you into the tiled wall, your back arched, your breast against the wetness, your hips clasped in Curtis’s hands.

“Like that, just like that, Curtis.” You felt your pussy twitching as his wet cock slid in and out of you, quicker and quicker, each stroke hitting your sweet spot. Curtis laid his head on your shoulder, his own moaning mixing with yours as you  pushed your left hand against the wall for balance.

“Baby I’m close.“ He entwined his fingers with yours, his right hand returning to your swollen clit as he picked up the speed “I want to you come with me. Can you come with me?”

“Yes...Yes! Curtis, yes!“ You feel waves of pleasure shooting through you as he buried his face in your neck, his dick stretching your walls, his fingers taking your clit to the limit. You could hold on no longer--your legs started shaking, your pussy clenched down on his cock, and your entire body shook as the orgasm came crashing down on you, taking Curtis right over the limit as well.

As his cock twitched inside you, he caught your lips and kissed you deeply, both of you catching your breath. The warm water raining down on you as you lingered on this fading ecstasy, trying to make it last before returning to the cruel world beyond.

---

After you eventually did the actual washing up and got dressed again--Curtis had to go back to the Protein Block section to borrow Paul’s clothes again, since your own clothes were practically soaked in blood--the two of you tiptoed back to your sleeping spots.

Lying on his coat, with your head cushioned on his chest, Curtis remembered snippets of his conversation with Gilliam: “It’s much better to hold a woman with two arms, don’t you think?” But this really wasn't just any woman, was it. This was you. He looked down at you and held you tighter. You didn't look up--she must have drifted off, Curtis thought as he buried his nose in your hair and stole a quick kiss.

You, however, were quite awake. After Curtis's breath evened, and his heartbeat slowed down, you looked up at the sleeping man, tracing his long-lashed-eyes, his well-defined nose, and his soft-pillow lips with your gaze. An entirely different conversation was haunting you:

“When the time comes, don’t let anyone stand in your way, not the tail-sectioners, not Gilliam, not even Mason. You’ve gotta learn to make some difficult decisions, my child,” Wilford looked at you with his piercing blue eyes, “for one day this train will be yours to run.”

Taglist: @torntaltos @emmalbg @ajosieface 

[the-odd-job]

Harem AU Chapter 1 - Where It All Went Wrong

Rating: Explicit Warnings for Chapter: None Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Unnamed Characters, Original Characters Relationships: Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Sticky, Abduction Words: 9898

Where it all began! No real warnings for this chapter, just keep in mind the fuck uppedness this AU devolves into starting from Chapter 2 :D

That I’ll hopefully have completed in the coming days.

“The rules are simple,” Sideswipe grinned at his audience, showing his cards between his claws. “One winning card, two losing cards. I shuffle them, you pick the winning card. Easy money! All you gotta do is point at the right one.”

He laid the cards on the table in front of him, face up, winking at a particularly attractive mech in the crowd watching him. “Whaddya say? Earn yourself a few creds to spend in a nice bar?”

“Sounds easy,” one mech rumbled, and Sideswipe nodded in agreement.

“It is easy. Just gotta watch carefully and you’ll have me parting ways with my money in no time!” His laugh earned a few chuckles from the onlookers. “Kidding aside, I won’t make this easy for you,” he teased the player stepping forward. “This wouldn’t be profitable if I was bad with my cards.”

“I can take you on,” the mech said confidently. “I’ve got a keen optic.”

“And you’ll need that! Five creds says I’ll win.” Sideswipe showed his credit chit for the mech to scan, five credits programmed into it. The mech mirrored him with his own credit chit and Sideswipe prepared the transaction after confirming there were five credits on that card as well. The mech accepted it and placed it on standby, the final recipient to be determined.

Then Sideswipe grinned, ready to play. “Take a look,” he said, tapping the table in front of the winning card. After the mech had nodded at him, Sideswipe flipped the cards over in quick, practiced motions.

Then he shuffled on easy mode, keeping the movement of the cards slow enough that his play partner had honest chances of winning.

Once the cards were properly mixed up, he pulled his servos back. “Time to pick, my good mech.”

Without hesitation, the stranger pointed at the middle card. Sideswipe flipped it over, and lo and behold, it was the winning card. He laughed and the crowd cheered for the other mech. “Ouch~ Five credits to you, then.” He completed the pending transaction in the other mech’s favor. Sideswipe, five credits poorer; the stranger, five credits richer. “Another round? Ten creds says you won’t pick right this time.”

“Deal.” And Sideswipe prepared the transaction, shuffled his cards a little faster than the first time, and had the mech pick again.

“No slag!” he shook his helm with another laugh when the mech picked right again. “You’re gonna turn me into a guttermech at this rate. One more round, fifteen creds. I promise you won’t win this time.”

“Like pit I can’t,” the other grinned at him, showing his credit chit again and initiating the transaction. Sideswipe accepted it and shuffled his cards once more.

But he’d done this since he was a youngling. It wasn’t profitable if he only relied on other mecha’s failing senses, and he couldn’t afford losing. He and Sunstreaker, they needed the credits. 

His player turning him into a guttermech? Couldn’t do that if you were already a guttermech. His audience didn’t need to know that though—didn’t need to know how he’d go hungry if he failed at the game. He kept his finish in a decent state just for this. No one trusted a guttermech. They were always desperate for survival and guaranteed scammers.

Sideswipe though? He was no scammer, for sure not. He looked just like any of them, didn’t he? He shone well enough, he had no undue amount of scratches on him, no unusual grime, no nothing.

He was just your regular entertainer, here to show you a good time.

They didn’t need to know he feigned the cards’ positions mid shuffle right under their optics, his claws quick in the act.

He’d long since trained himself out of any physical reactions when he did that, not even his spark flaring despite the zap of nervousness that always came with the chance, however slim, that someone would pick up on the cheat. Years of practice paid off though, and no one said a thing this time either, just like no one had said anything the whole day. Cybertron’s star was already in its downward arch and he’d call it a day soon.

He had decent winnings in his pocket already, fooled from other tourists—and some locals—that felt like taking their chances with him. Him and Sunstreaker, they wouldn’t go hungry tonight.

Sideswipe only hoped Sunstreaker had made enough for them to upkeep their frames. His own profits weren’t going to be enough to cover that, and they couldn’t afford to look like the lowlifes they were. None of this would work otherwise.

“Alright. Which one?” Sideswipe asked with an easy smile for the third time.

The mech pointed at a card. Sideswipe turned it over.

It was not the winning card.

“Aw, shucks,” he said, his smile turning into an expression of sympathy. The transaction was completed in his favor.

His player shook his helm, but he was smiling, showing no signs that he suspected he’d just gotten cheated on. Good. “Damn your servos are quick when you want them to be,” he joked lightly, and Sideswipe laughed along.

“I’ve been doing this for a while, is all. Say what though, one more time. Five creds. Pick right and you won’t have lost anything. You in?”

The mech considered that for a moment before nodding. “Alright, sounds good to me.”

Sideswipe grinned, initiated the transaction, showed all the cards, flipped them over, shuffled, swapped, and once again the mech picked.

It was not the winning card.

“Damn,” the other sighed, but they were still in relatively good spirits. “Give it one more go, I want my credits back.”

Sideswipe made a show of hesitating, before he nodded cautiously. “Okay, one more game, ten creds. But if you lose this time, gonna be the last one. I don’t wanna clean your pockets.”

“No worries, I’ll win.” His player’s optics were already intense on the cards, determined to pick right this time around and land himself back in his starting point.

Sideswipe didn’t stress the scrutiny. He showed the cards, flipped them around, and repeated the trick.

The mech chose the wrong one.

They both shook their helms in disappointment. “Like I said, I don’t wanna clean your pockets. You’ve lost enough.”

“Fair, I guess. You’re good at this,” the mech shrugged. The final transaction completed and Sideswipe bid the player goodbye.

Then he turned to the rest of his audience. “Anyone else feel more lucky, or you think I’m too good for you all~?” Sideswipe grinned.

The attractive mech he’d noticed earlier stepped forward, and the scam continued.

-----------------------------------------

Before the last of daylight faded, Sideswipe grabbed his cards and the table he used and deposited them in his subspace. The few mecha that had still been around to watch him got a cheery farewell before Sideswipe headed for the driveway, transformed, and set course towards the energon dispensary. Iacon’s towers rose high up into the clear sky as he drove along the roads weaving around and through them, and above or below each other. Fliers zipped around overhead, following their own marked flight courses between the gleaming towers.

It was called Cybertron’s brightest spark, the city-state of potential, that all others envied. Word was that your fortune and dreams awaited if you saw through the trouble of becoming a permanent resident. Even those that didn’t want to make the move often came around to bask in the city’s glory, providing him with the visitors he needed to continue his games. 

Sideswipe didn’t know how true any of that was. Maybe they treated mecha coming from the outside differently, but he was created here.

And even in the brightest spark of Cybertron, he’d still ended up in the gutters far below the sparkling decks and high towers the tourists saw, scraping by just to earn himself the right to continue onto the next day. Was that by design?

No one had ever shown any care for two abandoned younglings whose commissioners found they couldn’t afford to mentor them after all. They sure hadn’t found their fortune here, just fallen through the cracks of society to end up on the streets with barely a thing to call their own.

But they’d learned to make do. They’d scammed and thieved their way to their current position, each of them a practiced con artist, but Sunstreaker now able to make his portion of their living through honest work.

They wouldn’t have gotten to that point without breaking the law countless times, though.

And it wasn’t enough to get them off the streets. Housing was costly. If they wanted to keep their frames functional and fueled, they couldn’t afford it.

The streets were their home, but that was fine. They’d learned to navigate them and the dangers that came with a life like theirs. Unexplained disappearances, murders, assaults… The enforcers didn’t care enough to dedicate time and resources to seeing to all the plight that guttermecha faced.

As far as most of Iacon was concerned, they didn’t even exist.

But they scraped by and made their life the best they could in their circumstances. Fuel for the night was a good tally on the scoreboard of their life.

He arrived at the dispensary already crowded with others, mostly lower class mecha that weren’t much better off. Those with enough credits to live properly didn’t particularly visit this part of town.

Sideswipe drove next to the walkway and transformed to step off the road, waving a greeting at a few acquaintances he knew from the lower levels—the gutters. A few friendly words were exchanged while they waited in the queues, some laughter, jokes.

The kind of things that lighted a hard life just a little bit.

Then it was his turn and Sideswipe paid for two medium ratios, just enough for their frames, a little larger in size than the average Iaconian.

Mid transaction he glanced over his shoulder at the sound of someone shouting his name.

Uppercut. His optics brightened with delight and Sideswipe subspaced his freshly acquired cubes before jogging over to the mech waving for his attention.

“What’s up, mech?” he asked as soon as they were in greeting range, their servos clanging together. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been busy,” his fellow guttermech said coyly, and Sideswipe could just imagine what Uppercut had been busy with. 

He laughed. “Yeah? And do you have something to show for it?”

“I do, actually,” Uppercut continued, and Sideswipe looked at his friend with more interest. He recognized that tone. The fun times tone. Uppercut leaned in conspiratorially, like he was about to pass a big secret. “I’ve got creeeeeds.”

Sideswipe knew his next line. “What you gonna use them for?”

“Well, now that I ran into you, I figure we can crash a bar and get wasted. My treat.”

“That much?” Sideswipe asked, more than a little in awe. His optics were probably as impressed and surprised as his tone. Uppercut snickered at him.

“Told you I’ve been busy.” Well, apparently hard work paid off sometimes.

He knew the story though. Credits , but not enough to change your life.

Not enough to get you off the streets.

So why not spend it on something fun instead?

The more fortunate probably would’ve just told them to save up , because surely they would eventually have enough to climb from the gutters. And maybe that was true if you could get more than what you immediately needed to spend for basic survival, like Uppercut had.

It was never that simple though, never just about the credits. You needed a job to keep whatever level of comfort you managed to gain, and if your income was even a little unsteady…

Uppercut had had a good run recently, but there was no guarantee that would last and that he wouldn’t just lose everything all over again, if he tried to reach higher.

“You in?” 

Stupid question. Sideswipe grinned. “Pit yeah.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

They drove to even lower levels to hit up a bar as cheap as they could find. The shiny, well lit, clean streets turned into dim lights, grime, and oil stains, cracks and dents, lined with mecha that made their homes in the creaky abandoned buildings and dark alleyways.

This was their world, the place where all the trash from the upper decks fell.

Drunken mecha were being loud outside of the bar they’d chosen as their target, probably kicked out for having gotten too rambunctious. Dangerous, but dammit they wanted those drinks.

So the both transformed next to the walkway, right next to the drunken group, and tried to ignore them.

They still got a few proposals and gropes, but that was it before they’d already slipped through the doorway and into the bar that was no brighter on the inside than the streets were on the outside. Nor any cleaner.

“So how’s your brother doing?” Uppercut asked as they sat down at the long bar and ordered their drinks. Sideswipe chose cheap because there was no way he wanted to waste Uppercut’s credits; Uppercut went for something a little better now that he could afford it, for once. 

“Sunny’s good. Still runs his thing at the park. Locals are starting to recognize him. A few times the tourists’ve said he was recommended to them even, imagine that!”

“Nice,” Uppercut said, as impressed as Sideswipe had been when his friend had practically waved his credits in his face.

“Yeah,” Sideswipe grinned at him, then shrugged. “Maybe we can afford a little more maintenance at some point, if he gets more popular and can raise his prices.” A little extra for some personal care sure sounded nice. Uppercut nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, the first thing I did was get some oil into my joints and replace some of my fluids that were running low. Still had some left over, so.” He raised the drink the barkeep handed to him before taking a long swig.

“Thanks for bringing me along,” Sideswipe said, sipping his own drink. Crappy quality like everything here, but it was high grade. He wasn’t going to say no to a good buzz every now and then.

“Sure thing. You’ve helped me out when you’ve had extra. Just wanna return the favor.”

“Eh, wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“Maybe, but I wanted to, so you’ll just have to live with it.”

Sideswipe just laughed at that and kept drinking. The conversation flowed as smoothly as it ever did between the two of them, and he had to admit he had kind of missed the mech when he’d dallied off to Primus knew where. There’d never even been a guarantee he’d return, but that was a possibility you just had to live with when making friends here.

He was relieved that Uppercut had indeed returned, and once the charge in his systems started to rise… That started to show a little more. Jokes turned more lewd until they were outright flirting, and then paying for a private room at the back for an hour or two, and before he knew it, he was already pinning Uppercut to the dirty berth that was stained with who knew how many other mecha’s liaisons. His friend was moaning as they kissed and groped, and Sideswipe didn’t exactly keep quiet either.

Especially not when his spike finally found its way to Uppercut’s valve, wet and hot. The calipers clenched around his length as he started to rock in and out, increasing his pace when Uppercut’s legs wrapped around his waist. Charge crackled through their systems, high grade in effect as much as their arousal, lighting the gaps of their plating with blue.

They both liked it a little rough, so when Sideswipe leaned down and bit hard on Uppercut’s neck cabling, all he got was a moan and dull claws digging into his seams with little bursts of pain from his sensors. He drove into his friend, chasing after his high just as much as he was pushing the other higher right along with him.

They’d done this enough times that it was familiar by now.

Uppercut came first, crying out his name as his frame stiffened and his overload crackled over him. The uneven clenching of his valve drew a strangled groan from Sideswipe before he tipped over too, releasing his transfluid deep into Uppercut’s valve.

He didn’t quite collapse over the other mech in the aftermath, but it was a close thing. His arms shook as he kept himself propped up, their fans whirring and vents heaving as they tried to dispel the heat from their systems.

Uppercut’s optics opened after a delay, and when they did, Sideswipe grinned down at him. “Again?”

“Again.”

Sideswipe’s spike sprang right back into pressurization when Uppercut rippled his valve around it.

--------------------------------------------------

Three rounds later they both stumbled out of the private room, then the entire bar, giggling and giddy from the afterglow of good overloads and the high grade in their systems. A kiss of goodbye later they parted ways, driving because who gave a damn about laws and safety, Uppercut most likely headed to continue working, and Sideswipe making his way through the streets to a different destination.

The area around the bar was a hotspot for activity, but some streets later things quieted down. There were still mecha around, but they were ones that had built their shelters here, little nooks and crannies they claimed as their own and defended ferociously.

The twins were no different, and Sideswipe stopped in front of one particular alley. His transformation felt a little wonky, high grade still cruising around his fuel lines, and his… Step wasn’t completely even, was it? He was pretty sure the buildings weren’t about to collapse no matter how his vision tried to convince him otherwise.

Sunstreaker was sitting on the mat they called their berth, doodling around on his sketchbook. He glanced up when Sideswipe got closer, raising one stately optical ridge at him. “Had fun?”

Stupid question, he already knew the answer. Sideswipe nodded anyway, collapsing next to his brother and peeking at what he was drawing.

More cityscapes. He was getting really good with those. “Made enough today?”

“Yeah,” the golden twin confirmed. Good. That meant they could hit one of the public washracks in the morning, before heading back to the upper levels for the day.

Reminded of that, Sideswipe pulled the cubes he’d bought from his subspace, offering one to Sunstreaker. He set aside his sketchbook and accepted it, and the both of them fueled in silence—and quickly, lest someone get the idea of trying to get their fuel from them.

He felt a little bad that Sunstreaker hadn’t gotten to come along to their bar night, but he also knew Sunstreaker didn’t really like getting drunk, so it worked out in the end. The low grade he’d been able to afford would be enough to fill his tanks comfortably.

It took him a while because wow the high grade was really making his processors fire in all sorts of funny ways, but eventually Sideswipe could focus enough to… Feel.

The disquiet. 

He really had to have been distracted to miss that. Now he couldn’t rid himself of it.

“Something’s bothering you,” he said, poking Sunstreaker on his arm.

His brother frowned, staring at his worn claws. It took him a while to say anything.

He did speak up eventually, though. “I’ve had this… Feeling, all day.”

-------------------------------------------------

It started in the morning, almost as soon as he and Sideswipe had left the public washracks they’d cleaned themselves up in and parted ways to hit different parts of the city that rose all around them. He felt… Watched.

And Sunstreaker had lived on the streets long enough to trust his gut when it said something was wrong. Ignoring your instincts was one of the best ways to get yourself killed—or raped or mugged, if you were lucky.

So he didn’t take the routes he normally would have, weaving instead through the streets he knew so well to more lively areas, until the feeling went away. Even then he didn’t take the straightest way to the park plaza he’d made his spot. It was a hot spot for tourists, exactly what he needed, and when he arrived, a little later than he usually did…

The feeling didn’t come back.

Sunstreaker sighed in relief as he transformed and walked to the shady little area he had made sure he could be found in every day. Word of him and his skills was spreading around slowly but steadily, but if he wanted those potential clients to reach him, he needed to be present.

He set up shop in short order, pulling out his foldable seat and the sign that presented his services and prices, as well as a few example pieces of what he could make, and placed them on the ground like he always did.

Then he sat down. Sideswipe was prone to calling for more “customers” quite loudly, but Sunstreaker had never fancied doing that. Personally he just found it grating. So, as usual, Sunstreaker merely pulled out his sketchbook, entertaining himself with practice and people watching as the activity on the plaza slowly increased. He got looks, his display got looks, and Sunstreaker caught optics and smiled to put on a friendly face and avoid driving off any potential clients by being a grump, as Sideswipe called him.

It wasn’t that long into the morning before he got his first customer. “Hi. Is this your work?” one of the mechs in the group of three asked as they got closer.

Sunstreaker smiled in greeting. “It is. A few credits and I can create something custom just for you.”

The mechs exchanged glances, then some words. About how his prices were fair, his works gorgeous, and how they could watch the entire process to make sure they weren’t being ripped off.

There was no need for concerns like that with him. Sideswipe, on the other hand… Well, a bit of caution was always well founded when in an unfamiliar city.

Or even when the city was familiar. Because the feeling creeped back to him. He had to suppress a twitch and a suspicious look around while he waited on the mecha, but his sensors swept wide, scanning the area as far as they reached.

They reported nothing out of place, but the feeling would not go away.

He hid his tension when the trio turned their attention back to him. 

“I’d love to get a work from you.”

“Me too.”

“Easily done,” Sunstreaker promised and pulled two canvases from his subspace. “Payment upfront and I’ll get started at once. I’ll need a few minutes.”

Their optics were brightening in excitement over the concept of getting this kind of memorabilia from their trip, and both were quick to pay him. Sunstreaker nodded his thanks before grabbing his pens and brushes and setting to work. He’d done this enough times that he was perfectly capable of being quick about it without lowering the quality of his work, and in relatively short order the patient pair were handed their finished pieces.

Both started squealing over them instantly, and this time Sunstreaker’s smile was honest, just a little bit of delight flaring in his spark. Sideswipe was poking at it instantly, but Sunstreaker ignored him in favor and thanking his first clients of the day. They thanked him profusely in turn before walking off with their new possessions.

It was always nice to be appreciated.

Not every customer he ever got was like that, but it was just a matter of staying firm even when they demanded refunds—likely not even because they were honestly unhappy with his work, but because they just wanted it for free.

Sunstreaker didn’t let himself be cowed, though. The plaza was always buzzing with activity and patrolled regularly by enforcers. It made it a safe location for a bit of lawful work, and even if someone would’ve tried something… They would’ve been the ones to get in trouble for it, not him. There was nothing illegal about what he did.

But all the while. All the while the feeling wouldn’t leave him. He smiled and kept his frame loose, inviting, polished as well as he could manage to make him blend in with all these mecha that didn’t live in the gutters, but he felt he wasn’t blending in well enough. Like someone was paying attention just to him specifically.

He couldn’t get paranoid and start looking around in earnest though. He had a facade to keep up, but now it felt like shackles around his wrists, binding him dangerously. 

There weren’t as many customers that day as he would have hoped, but there was enough. They could get by with relatively little, and Sideswipe brought in his own share of credits as well. They’d be fine until tomorrow.

When it was already turning well into the evening, Sunstreaker finished his last customer’s work before he began to pack up, his plating crawling all the while. It was driving him crazy, but now he could look around more freely, and did so as he gathered his things and organized them back into his subspace.

There were mecha walking about, alone or in small groups, going who knew where to do who knew what. Nothing was out of ordinary about it.

None of them were looking his way.

There were mecha sitting on some of the benches as well, alone or with company, again. Some were clearly partners, snuggling into each other, all lovey-dovey. Sunstreaker snorted at them, but still there was no one who stood out to him. No one even remotely appeared like they were or had been looking at him.

What was amiss? He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling and it put him on edge well beyond comfort, but even as he cast his optics around him for a wider view of his surroundings… There was nothing he could see out of place.

Was he losing his mind here, or was there really a danger he couldn’t pinpoint?

It could be the former, his imagination just playing tricks on him, but Sunstreaker acted like it was the latter. He hadn’t survived this long only to die because he got careless. 

He headed for the nearest stretch of road and took the short way to the closest highway, merging into the constant traffic of the larger roads, and again took a long, winding route through too many needless curves and sudden turns.

The feeling would not abandon him.

And he couldn’t drive around all night hoping he could ditch it sooner or later. He and Sideswipe couldn’t afford to waste fuel like that.

For that reason he eventually had to give and head towards the alley they had claimed for themselves.

But he didn’t go there. Instead he stopped a street away and entered one of the abandoned buildings with a knock on the perpetually open doorway, scanning the area for spark signatures.

One came up. “Lossless? Mind if I hang around until Sideswipe gets back?”

Lossless peeked his helm from the next room and waved in greeting. “Hey Sunstreaker. Sure thing, come on in.”

Sunstreaker took the invitation and walked in, and… The feeling receded. Oh, he was still a tense bundle of nerves, but it was an improvement, and he was downright relieved when he sat on one of the dirty couches Lossless and his company had scavenged from who knew where. It made his plating crawl for entirely different reasons, but sooner or later he couldn’t have helped it anyway.

There was no staying clean for long down there, not when you practically slept on the ground. They hit the washracks every damn morning for a reason.

“So where’s Sideswipe?” Lossless asked, reclining on another couch.

“Drinking, from the looks of things,” Sunstreaker shrugged, relaxing on the sofa to the best of his ability. 

“Wow, really? Did you get lucky with creds?”

“Not us, but one of his friends did.”

“That’s a nice treat. I wouldn’t mind if I had enough money on me to do the same.”

“Who would mind?”

“Don’t think I know anyone who would,” Lossless grinned at him, and Sunstreaker’s mouth twitched in something akin to a smile too. “How has your work been going, by the way?”

“I think I’m gaining some reputation.”

Lossless’ cadre slowly trickled in from wherever they had spent the day—stealing, scheming, scamming, if he knew them at all. They were pretty serious about parting better off mecha with their credits by any non-violent means necessary. He and Sideswipe had used many of the same tricks when they had been younger—one working as the distraction while the other handled the stealing.

But where they’d eventually moved on from that to some less risky methods, Lossless’ cadre had continued. They were good at what they did, and equally good at leaving the scene if something went wrong.

He and Sideswipe had run with them a few times, but as much as they admired the cadre, they had never felt the draw to join it.

At the end of the day it was just the two of them—one spark in two frames.

Conversation flowed around him easily, laughter echoing in the room as the cadre pooled the day’s resources, had their energon and counted their funds. He enjoyed the atmosphere as always, soaking it in well into the night. They didn’t kick him out despite how long it took Sideswipe, but as soon as Sunstreaker could feel him closer, he thanked them for having him and left their building to a chorus of goodbyes.

He had hoped that the feeling or the reason for it would have died off during his visit in the cadre’s housing, but he wasn’t even halfway to their alley before it came back.

He was getting ready to lose it at that point, but he had no target, because no matter how he scanned his surroundings with his sensors, he couldn’t find anything to explain the sensation of being watched. 

Aggravated, Sunstreaker transformed outside their alley and marched into the gloom, his engine growling as he sat down on their mattress with more force than necessary. There were only two ways to even go, and he still couldn’t see anyone!

He pulled out his sketchbook and tried desperately to distract himself until he could hear Sideswipe’s engine closing in, and then his brother was already staggering into the alley. Sunstreaker raised an optical ridge at him. “Had fun?��

Drunk or not, Sideswipe still drank his energon with him, but it took him a while before he managed to push through his overcharged haze and pay attention to Sunstreaker’s unease. He was poked in the arm, and usually Sunstreaker would have reminded Sideswipe not so kindly to watch the finish, it was already hard enough to upkeep, but not this time. Instead his optics dropped down to his own claws, dull from overuse and poor maintenance.

They didn’t really have the funds to replace the metal to have something to sharpen into an actual edge again.

“I’ve had this… Feeling, all day,” he spoke up eventually, glancing at Sideswipe. His brother’s optics gained more focus as the severity of Sunstreaker’s inexplicable anxiety slowly worked its way through the high grade in his systems. “Like someone’s watching me. But I haven’t seen anyone or anything.”

Sideswipe thought about that for a moment, then glanced around himself. “I mean… I don’t feel anything, but then again I’m drunk as fuck so that would probably explain it.” Anything but dismissal, Sideswipe instead frowned at his inability to trust his own presently addled instincts. “What do you think we should? One stays up as a watcher?”

“I think that’d be safest,” Sunstreaker agreed. It happened every once in a while that things just got too dangerous for the both of them to recharge at the same time. There was a good reason most of them tried to band together with at least one friend who they could trust to watch their back and vice versa. You never knew what might strike if you were alone.

“I’ll take the first shift, you need to sleep that high grade off,” he continued. Sideswipe nodded at him, not really disagreeing.

“Yeah, I probably should. Ugh. Well, better get started.”

Sunstreaker could feel Sideswipe’s unhappiness with his current overcharge, but there wasn’t really anything but time to take care of that. Sunstreaker scooted to the side enough to give Sideswipe room to lay down, and his brother was down and out within seconds.

Sunstreaker snorted despite himself even as he picked his sketchbook back up and continued working in the light of his optics. His sensors he threw far and wide, on constant lookout for anything out of place.

As the night crawled on… The feeling started to pass. He still couldn’t figure out what had caused it in the first place, but slowly his mind started suggesting that he had just overreacted to some small thing that had been amiss without him making conscious note of it. Which seemed like a pretty likely answer to things.

He glanced down at Sideswipe, his brother’s engine rumbling peacefully and lulling Sunstreaker further into the new explanation for his jumpiness. It had probably been nothing all along.

But should he nevertheless wake Sideswipe to take watch for the rest of the night? That had been the deal and he knew Sideswipe would be upset in the morning if he found out Sunstreaker never had woken him.

Was it necessary, though? It was always better to get a full night’s recharge. Sunstreaker wouldn’t get that at this point no matter what, but he could still grant it to his twin.

There was the scuff of a pede against the ground at the end of the alley.

Sunstreaker’s optics snapped up at once to the image of a mech’s silhouette against the dim light of the quiet street.

Quiet and still and in the dead of night when mostly everyone, even those who liked to stay up late, would be in recharge. A quick scan came up with no spark signature.

Either he was looking at a ghost, or someone living was intent on being bad news.

Not good. “Sideswipe!” Sunstreaker hissed immediately, shaking the red mech’s shoulder until his optics opened. Slower than usual to catch up with things, Sideswipe took a painfully long moment to brush the recharge from his mind.

“What?” he mumbled a little before that process was even over, glancing up at Sunstreaker, then in the direction Sunstreaker was looking at.

Then he froze just as Sunstreaker had.

“Run?”

“Run.”

They got up as one and booked it into the opposite direction, unwilling to find out just what random strangers in the middle of the night would’ve wanted from them.

There were only two ways to go, but the other way wasn’t blocked so that didn’t matter.

Until it did.

One step outside the alley and onto the street and arms shot out to grab Sideswipe, a servo wrapping around his throat with a grip tight enough to silence his vocalizer. Sunstreaker barely had the time to register that much before servos landed on him as well, his throat similarly caught into a crushing grip until he could only spit static.

The third mech appeared from the alleyway just when a fourth one cruised over, but it was only this one that made Sunstreaker’s energon run cold.

The big mech turned into a van, and was currently in his alt-mode. His side door opened as he got closer, revealing a space big enough to hold all five of them.

Sideswipe was struggling, Sunstreaker was struggling, but each of the mechs was a helm taller than they were, and more solidly built. And they acted as if they’d done this before, knowing just how to hold them to keep them from breaking free of their grip, or from screaming.

As humiliating as crying for help would’ve been, sometimes you would’ve needed to do it anyway.

Of course, there was no guarantee that anyone would risk their safety to check what the noise was about.

The van stopped in front of them and they were unceremoniously dragged inside by the mecha both larger and stronger than they were—and they were no weaklings themselves. The third one climbed in with them, and the door closed with a slam.

Clamps were placed around their throats at once, muffling their vocalizers but freeing the mecha’s servos so they could wrangle them onto the ground on their fronts. Their arms were pulled behind their backs despite their resistance, the larger mechs’ strength just greater than theirs, plain and simple. There their arms were tied together by the wrists. Sunstreaker immediately tested the binds, and felt Sideswipe do the same, but the conclusion they both came was that they were solid. 

Sunstreaker growled as he was manhandled onto his back next, Sideswipe panting hard next to him as the same was done to him. The mechs were speaking, but Sunstreaker couldn’t make sense of the language.

Which was enough of a clue on its own. Their optics were Northern blue, but that was an easy detail to fake. He suspected their original color was red.  

The larger frames that didn’t look like they even came from the Northern hemisphere, the harsh language … Those had Kaon written all over them. 

He hoped he was wrong. He hoped these were locals, that they were merely being taken for some manner of forced labor—industrial workers, miners, whores, there were all kinds of functions mecha were pressed to illegally. But if they stayed in Iacon… They would have a chance of reclaiming their lives.

If they were carted to the other side of Cybertron, to Kaon, how were they ever going to get back?

One of the mechs hooked into the medical port at the back of Sideswipe’s neck, heedless of the static coming from his vocalizer that would’ve been creative cursing and insults without the muting clamp. Sideswipe’s mental defenses were overrode with frightening ease, and they couldn’t even place the how before his brother’s chestplates were already splitting apart.

Sideswipe stilled in horror for one precious second before he bucked up, trying somehow to keep the mecha off of him with another quiet screech of static.

It was a fool’s errand. His spark chamber wasn’t pushed forward, but his internals transformed out of the way to give access to it.

One of the mecha held up a small device for their scrutiny. “This, is an explosive,” he spoke up in standard, getting their attention at once. “I will place it into your chassis. We have the trigger. If you try to run, boom.”

Sideswipe’s engine had stalled entirely as dread flooded over the both of them. He had no idea if what the mech said was true, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was.

And he wasn’t very willing to call his bluff in fear that it wasn’t a bluff. 

True to his words, the mech placed the device into Sideswipe’s chest, right next to his spark chamber despite Sideswipe’s continuous efforts to somehow prevent it all. Whatever witchcraft the one plugged into his neck was using, it prevented Sideswipe from closing his chestplates to shield himself from the treatment.

And then the device was in place and now Sideswipe’s internals shifted back into place and his chestplates closed tightly with a clang.

Too late.

His twin was left to heave ventilation after ventilation when they moved their attentions to Sunstreaker instead. He growled at them, engine revving an useless warning that they completely ignored, and plugged into his helm like they’d done to Sideswipe. There was nothing he could do but watch as his coding’s safeguards went simply ignored with whatever the mech did, and then his chestplates were parting too, without any input from him whatsoever.

It was not a pleasant feeling, and it was a very small comfort that his spark wasn’t bared on the same go. A device identical to Sideswipe’s was placed into his chassis before his internals returned back to their rightful places around it and his chestplates closed over it.

Potential explosives in their chassis? That was not on their bucket list.

The van they were in kept moving. With their escape made considerably less safe, the twins went mostly ignored by the three mechs in the hold with them. Their abductors spoke with each other almost nonstop, which didn’t matter one bit because they couldn’t understand a word of what was said.

And they couldn’t get a word in from the squeeze on their vocalizers.

They drove for a small eternity, their internal clocks counting on mercilessly. Now was the time they would have gotten up. Hit the washracks. Showered and polished to the best of their ability to get rid of the dirt they’d have inevitably accumulated. Headed out, Sunstreaker to the plaza, Sideswipe to any of the locations he rotated between.

Instead the van kept moving.

It was impossible to relax, but boredom seeped in despite the nerves making their spark flutter wildly. Sunstreaker stared at the ceiling and tried to build images from the bangs and scratches in it. Sideswipe was passing his optics between their captors, just to have something living to look at. 

Then they slowed, and finally stopped. Sunstreaker tensed all over again and Sideswipe followed suit as the mechs started to move around with more purpose. The side door opened to a flood of light, their optics struggling to adjust as the first of the mechs hopped out. The other two hauled them upright and onto the ground outside.

Which turned out to be an airfield, once they had a look around.

That… Likely meant they were going to get taken to a far off location, if nothing gave.

As if reading their thoughts, one of the mechs tapped Sideswipe’s chestplates. “Remember. Trigger.”

Sideswipe growled at the touch, snapping his denta at the mech, who laughed and said something to his fellows. They laughed too, and Sunstreaker found his own engine growling right along with his brother’s. 

But they weren’t clued in on the joke.

Instead and while completely ignoring their struggles, the trio marched them towards an aerial, in their alt-mode just like the van that never bothered to transform. There were airfield workers near the aerial, but Sunstreaker’s hope that they would be of help died off very quickly when they merely gestured for them to hurry up.

It wasn’t exactly difficult to see they were being taken against their will, was it? But the workers barely glanced at them. 

They were led up the ramp into the aerial’s cargo hold, full of what looked like perfectly legitimate cargo about to get transported to who knew where.

And now the twins were going to be along for the ride to that who knew where location.

They were shoved onto their knees at the very back of the cargo hold, out of sight of anyone who didn’t bother to walk well into the hold. The three mechs stayed with them, leaning against the wall as the aerial lifted off.

Sunstreaker glanced at Sideswipe and Sideswipe glanced at him, anger and fear mixed in his brother’s gaze. Sunstreaker expected he looked little different.

It was… Starting to look more and more likely they were on their way to Kaon specifically. And that was the opposite of good. Nothing good was ever said of Kaon. Not that there was much to say about a city-state that refused to interact with the outside word. A dictatorship that held a vice hold of its citizens and didn’t allow anyone in, or anyone out, with very few exceptions… Not a lot of stories escaped that place.

That was all he knew about it, but it was enough to make him desperately unwilling to go there. If they didn’t escape before that… What were their chances of getting out Kaon afterwards?

And why were they being taken there in the first place, he would really love to know that. It was a long way to transport two lowly Iaconians. Longest way there could be, what with Iacon standing proudly on the Northern pole, and Kaon doing the same on the Southern pole. 

But escape would be difficult if their internals were really going to get blown to smithereens were they to try.

They’d gotten out of many tight situations in their short lifetime, some life threatening, but Sunstreaker wasn’t sure how to turn this particular one around. He’d been held at gunpoint, stabbed with the intent to kill, gotten hit by one very angry truck, had the living daylights beaten out of him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time… But he’d never been told his spark would be blown apart if he made a wrong move.

They needed to get those damn bombs out of their chests, which was easier said than done when their hands were secured at their backs, tightly enough that their twisting did nothing to loosen the bonds.

What about trying to get someone’s attention to alert them to the fact they weren’t going anywhere willingly? But they couldn’t scream, and he would’ve bet on their abductors being prepared for something like that, ready to prevent their chances of it.

He was pretty out of ideas beyond that, as was Sideswipe.

It made him hate the situation quite a bit.

---------------------------------------

The aerial flew for a significant amount of time, but having never left Iacon before, having never flown before, Sideswipe had no frame of reference for how far they’d actually traveled. How fast were they even going? And w here? Southward, probably, but there were a lot of stops they could hit on the way to… Wherever they were going.

Kaon was their best guess.

He really wished they were wrong about that.

They did eventually land, and the cargo doors opened, and… It was night. The moons were high in the sky, the only things visible from all the light pollution.

They were escorted out first, in a hurry it felt like. Sideswipe wanted to stall, because if their captors were in a hurry that could mean someone they didn’t want around was coming, and that could be their chance to escape–

But they grabbed him by an arm and dragged him along when he tried to dig his pedes in, and he wasn’t big or strong enough to keep them from doing that.

There was another van waiting for them. They were pushed and pulled into it, and the door closed, and they were off along ground all over again.

He had no idea which way was which anymore, his internal positioning system so confused it was no help. Sunstreaker was vibrating with anger, but their spark felt fear next to it. Fear of the whole situation.

Fear of the unknown.

They’d never left Iacon, and they hadn’t exactly been planning to do that either. Where would they have gone? How could they have gone? Travel was expensive, and they could barely afford to take care of themselves.

If they’d ever gotten that much extra… Then yeah, seeing what the rest of Cybertron looked like would’ve been nice.

Now? Iacon was far behind them. The streets, the gutters, all the mecha they knew… So many miles away he couldn’t even count them. Their whole life was so far away.

Under better circumstances Sideswipe would have called this adventure and embraced it with all he was.

Under these circumstances he wanted nothing to do with it.

They drove another small eternity. Sunstreaker managed to kick their captors a few times when they strayed too close to his pedes, but surprisingly, there was no retaliation beyond something they assumed were expletives, spoken in another language. In the end one of them had just sat on Sunstreaker’s legs, putting an end to most of his motion. Sideswipe was already pinned to the floor of the van by another of the mechs, using his aft as a seat.

He was seething, Sunstreaker was seething, and their spark kept fluttering with fright they didn’t want to admit to.

The sun was back in the sky when they finally stopped and the door was opened. They were dragged out with as little fanfare as any time before. A look around showed a city skyline in the far distance, although he would’ve never been able to tell what city it might’ve been.

In front of them, there was a rotorflier talking with a couple of others, again in the language Sideswipe could only guess was Kaonite. Nothing for them to understand, which was probably according to plan. The mecha had shown they could speak standard too, just… Chose not to.

Which was smart enough. They could talk about whatever they wanted to without having to worry about the twins hearing it. Why give them any edge in the situation, anything they could’ve used to their benefit?

As nonexistent as their chances of actually getting anywhere from the situation were to begin with. If they didn’t have the damn explosives in their chests, then maybe.

It was a possibility they weren’t lying about the whole bomb thing. Sideswipe didn’t want to test it out, because if they weren’t lying?

Boom. Gone.

And he liked living.

The rotorflier seemed to greet the trio leading them along, exchanging a few words before he transformed and they were handed off to the other two mechs. Their original abductors didn’t follow when they were pushed into the helicopter. When they were seated in the heliflier between the two new mechs and they took to air, Sideswipe could just so see the other three returning to the van.

But there were actual windows this time, which was a nice change. They could see the scenery, for all the good that did.

It was a distraction though, because their spark was about filled to bursting with apprehension. Something made Sunstreaker think they were getting close to their final destination, and Sideswipe couldn’t really argue with that.

They’d traveled for a long time already.

Unexpectedly the mech sitting next to Sunstreaker pulled out two cubes from his subspace as soon as their flight had steadied. One was handed past the twins to his comrade, and then… They turned their attentions to the twin sitting closer to them.

Sideswipe tensed immediately.

“Drink up. You’ll need your energy soon enough,” one of the mechs leered, and Sideswipe did not like that tone. He growled despite the scared pulsing of his spark, and Sunstreaker revved next to him equally unhappily.

There was suggestion behind those words that neither of them appreciated, anxiety surging anew where they’d already partially gotten used to the whole gig of getting hauled all over Cybertron. 

They weren’t stupid. They knew a lot about the reasons mechs got taken off the streets, and what the mech was hinting towards…

Sideswipe fervently hoped they were wrong about it, but he had to resign himself to the possibility they were right in their assumptions.

None of that meant he wanted to be freaking fueled by their guards. Sideswipe kept his mouth stubbornly shut even when the mech next to him came to bring the cube closer. “Aw, don’t be like that,” was the disappointed sigh he got for his trouble before the mech started to just… Touch him. “Where’s your secondary intake? Hm? Here? Nope. Here? Ahh, there we go.”

Enough poking around his lower chest and back later he found the cover to his secondary intake from his lower back. He was shoved forward for the mech to have more room to work, and the cover got pried open in short order. Sideswipe hissed through his vents at the sting, but he went ignored as the guard started to sloppily pour the cube into the intake connected straight to his tank. The other didn’t care if half of it went to waste, but Sideswipe still watched his tank’s capacity meter fill up a little, even as much of the energon stained his armor and seeped to his internals through the seams in his armor.

The other guard had managed to pry Sunstreaker’s mouth open, and was with equally little care directing the cube’s contents down his brother’s throat. Sideswipe could feel Sunstreaker’s muted fury at the energon that was soiling his chin and front, but with the tight grip on his jaw holding him in place he didn’t manage to do much about it.

Primus, he wished they’d had their arms in use.Then they could’ve tried to do something at least. His shoulders were aching from being in the same position for so long, but they’d made no move to cut them free at any point.

It would’ve been pretty stupid to do that, but a mech could hope.

Forced fueling aside the trip was as uneventful as everything preceding it. The guards chatted with each other and the rotorflier, but none of it was in standard so he couldn’t do more than let the prattle wash over him. The scenery outside was no more entertaining, just flat fields of metal as far as the eye could see.

He didn’t know enough about Cybertron’s landscapes to confirm their position. Only their guess remained. He didn’t think they’d have to wait for too much longer before they’d find out the answer one way or another.

It turned out he wasn’t wrong about that. Sunstreaker was the first to notice it, his alarm jerking Sideswipe out of his thoughts and into scanning their surroundings again.

The walls that rose in the distance were unmistakable even to street urchins like them.

Kaon. Cybertron’s impregnable fortress, scaled up the size of an entire city-state. 

They hadn’t been wrong after all.

And that wasn’t a very good thing.

The lowkey fright that had been their constant companion ever since they’d been driven out of their alleyway reared up properly now. No one sane ever wanted to go to Kaon. It was where freedom went to die under a lone ruler running the show with an iron fist.

And now they were being taken into it despite Sideswipe considering them both perfectly sane.

His spark was spinning wilder and wilder the closer those walls got, and Primus but their sheer size. The towers within still rose higher than the walls, but that didn’t make them look any smaller.

The heliflier gained altitude just to even get over the walls, and as he did the amount of guns embedded on and in them became apparent.

It was insane. Fragging insane. Sideswipe could see why they called it a fortress, even if before he had thought it a little bit exaggerated.

It wasn’t exaggerated. It wasn’t exaggerated at all.

If the whole place was locked up as tight as the walls suggested, how were they ever going to get the pit out of there?

The rotorflier flew over the walls, with the guns at the top of the tower aimed at him all the while. It was freaking nerve wracking. What did he know, maybe they’d get shot down for whatever reason these mecha saw fit to shoot others down, and then the explosives in their chests wouldn’t much matter anymore.

But they didn’t get shot at at all, and just kept flying.

And kept flying.

And kept flying.

They wove between the towers to what Sideswipe guessed was towards the city’s center. The towers… They were so different from Iacon. They didn’t shine. They didn’t look like polished silver.

These towers were matte and dark, almost black. They were thicker, wider, and looked just as durable as the walls did.

It was like the whole city was built to handle a full blown bombing effort. He wondered if it had been bombed at some point, and how that had gone. None of the history files he’d ever integrated said anything about something like that happening, but he knew how lacking their education was.

They kept going long enough that his marvel of the city and everything he was seeing started to die out. He entertained himself by watching the other fliers passing them by. They were different from Iaconian fliers too. These were on average larger, with only a few smaller, defter aerial thrown in there.

And some were total behemoths. You’d only really seen them in the industrial sections of Iacon, but here they seemed to be flying all over the place.

The highways far below were darker in color too, but otherwise the way they ran between and through the towers was familiar enough. 

The whole city was so… Bleak, right down to the cloudy sky blocking out direct sunlight.

When the rotorflier started to slow down and lower itself, Sideswipe started to wish they’d kept going for a while longer. For like, so much longer they flew straight out of the city on the other side. That would’ve worked for him really well. 

Instead they were apparently coming to their destination. Sunstreaker straightened and tensed next to him, and Sideswipe copied him when he could feel them touch down on the landing pad of the particular tower. Their transport’s rotors slowly died down, and then the door was opening again.

Two burly mechs in identical dark paint jobs were already waiting on the other side. The twins were pushed out of the flier by their existing guards, words were exchanged around them, and once again they changed hands. The big mecha took a hold of each of them by the arm, and then it was back to being dragged to some unknown destination.

They entered the tower through large doors that led to a wide, long hallway. They were led along it, through several turns, one elevator ride, then more turns, until Sideswipe was hopelessly lost and Sunstreaker faring no better.

But finally they stopped in front of yet another set of doors. A green and purple mech was already there waiting for them, looking grumpy. Which was a nice enough contrast to the stoic guards that had been hauling them along.

The new mech plugged into their necks as they came to him, and this time they were legit medic’s overrides that opened their chestplates. The explosives—if they really were that—were plucked out of their chests and their chassis closed back up, then the clamps constricting their vocalizers were removed, and before they had the time to even react to that, their arms were freed.

No restraints. No muters. No could be bombs.

Free, except for the fact they were deep in one of Kaon’s towers with no idea which way the exit even would’ve been at.

They didn’t have enough time to do so much as share a glance between them before the doors were opened and they were shoved through them, stumbling into a room full of mecha large and larger.

More than a dozen optics snapped to them as soon as they entered, and Sideswipe felt his spark shrink at the emotion he could recognize in them.

Lust.

[ledenews]

Santorine: Housing the Homeless Is Not the Issue

Much has been written about the homeless problem in Wheeling, and there are so many “claims of compassion” when it comes to dealing with the only growing part of our community. Before I talk about housing the homeless, it’s important to remember that you really have to work at being homeless and hungry in Wheeling. If you are homeless and have children, there are multiple programs for that life scenario. Veteran? There are programs for that, too. Need food? Social programs? How about healthcare? There are multiple organizations for all of it. More precisely, there are many programs available, and they are run by talented people who bring a wealth of knowledge and tremendous compassion. And a tremendous number of federal and state donated dollars are in place to “cure” this problem. There are federal programs, state programs, and church-based programs, all of which are run by knowledgeable and skilled people. It’s an incredible brain trust whose efforts are blunted by bureaucratic programs with a narrow scope. Legislation put in place spending the public treasury and making tiny improvements because “Congressman Big Spender” is looking for instant results. Straight up, if you’re hungry and homeless in Wheeling, something is really, really, really wrong. See, I’m a landlord. Our units occupy a niche between federal housing that you might be able to get into, and market-rate housing which you need a skilled job to afford. So, if you have been convicted of a felony, or can’t get gas, electricity or water in your name, there are landlords, like us, who can house you. The problem as of late, though, is the quality of the homeless tenant is in sharp decline. I’m using the term “quality” because it’s the only descriptor that seemed to fit. What should be viewed as a gift – the taxpayers paying for your security deposit and a couple of months of rent – is now viewed as an entitlement. They are “supposed to get” this or that, because why? It’s certainly not because of the taxes they didn’t pay. And with that entitlement, they are not going to listen to the agency paying their rent, or the landlord. They have rights, don’t you know. The plan is to get them housed and keep them housed, and this landlord wants that to come true. The agency working with the homeless wants that, too. It’ not about housing them for a couple of months and then finding them on the street again. The goal is to put them on a long-term trajectory that allows the homeless to transition to permanent housing and a being productive members of society. But no one seems to know what the homeless want, and they don’t want to listen to those who are attempting to help them in any way, shape or form. The apartments which are offered to them, I’ve heard, are not nearly deluxe enough, or in what they consider the right neighborhood.  When they don’t get their way, they do what they do on the street. That includes destroying what has been provided for them, with no understanding or respect for the fact that it costs them and their peers money. I have friends whose families rented apartments when they grew up. They treated the rental apartments well, because it was their home. They were not about to live in squalor. Their rented apartments were clean, squared away and proper. They didn’t ignore the trash that the raccoon pulled out of the trash can. They picked it up. Someone had to do that, and the renters did it. The progression today fairly clearly demonstrates that what worked yesterday won’t work today or tomorrow. Today, an agency gets the homeless housed. They pay the security deposit and some months of rent. Some even help the homeless find jobs, but the homeless can’t seem to show up for work. When dismissed, finding another job is just too difficult. But the homeless work overtime to get themselves evicted and the disconnect here is this – it seems to be the only thing they successfully work toward. Evicted because they invite 10 of their closest friends from the street to live with them, violating their lease and driving the other tenants in the building away. Evicted because their apartment is so filled with filth that they can’t pass either the government’s or the landlord’s most basic inspection. Evicted because they want to bring their homeless “street life” to wherever they are, and that includes starting a fire on the paved driveway. Evicted because they are entitled to pick an argument with their neighbor. Evicted because their couch-surfing nephew from Cleveland is dealing drugs from their living room. All this is indicative of a much deeper problem that is going to require old solutions. I believe that mental illness is the underlying problem. Today, society is prevented from addressing the problem in the way we did in the past. So, we have these people panhandling on our streets, destroying the valley’s rental apartment inventory, and utilizing a huge percentage or our police and emergency medical resources. So, how do we provide for the mentally ill in our community? Very poorly. This needs to be addressed, or the homelessness and the drugs will continue. The people running the agencies know how to fix this, but the bureaucrats and the legislators don’t choose to listen. It requires fundamental change that runs counter to the current narrative. The one that has been forced upon us demanding that we be gentler and kinder. The third rail that social services dances around because pointing to the real root cause will draw battle lines. It does not matter that they are incapable of making decisions, they have rights. This circle is driving the local landlords to a point of indifference. Renting to the homeless at one point was helping. Today, it’s a sure way to lose money and spend ridiculous amounts of time fixing an apartment that we had just repaired 60 days before. It’s going to make housing the homeless that much more difficult, if not impossible. But hey, maybe they could decide to set up a camp across the street from you. Read the full article

[nocturnals-anonymous]

The absolute rage expressed in this piece borders on the righteously murderous. I would wager it’s a sentiment shared by at least 70,000,000 Americans. This mom is angry and tells it like it is:

I was born at the end of Gen X and the beginning of the Millennial Generation, and grew up in a middle class town. Life was good. Our home was modest but birthdays and Christmas were always generous, we went on yearly vacations, had 2 cars, and there was enough money for me to take dance classes and art lessons and be in Girl Scouts.

My 1940s born Dad raised me to be patriotic and proud, to love the war bird airplanes of his era as much as he does, and to respect our flag and our country as a sacred thing. I grew up thinking that being an American was the greatest gift a person could have. I grew up thinking that our country was as strong, and honest and true as my Dad. I grew up thinking I was free.

As an adult, I have witnessed the world I grew up in fall to ruin. I have watched as our currency and our economy have been shamelessly corrupted beyond redemption. Since we’ve been married, my husband and I TWICE had our meager investment savings gutted by the market that we were told to invest in, now that pensions no longer exist and we working stiffs are on our own. We will be working until we die, because the Social Security we’ve been forced to pay into has also been robbed from under us.

I have watched as our elected officials enter Congress as ordinary folks and leaves as multi millionaires. I have watched my blue collar husband get up at an ungodly hour every day and come home with an aching back that we pray will hold out long enough to get him to old age in one piece. Outside of shoes, socks and underwear, almost everything my family wears was bought used. We’ve been on one vacation in 12 years.

We don’t have cell phones, or cable, or any sort of streaming services, just a landline and internet. We hardly ever eat out. Our house is 1400 square feet, no air conditioning. I cook from scratch and I can and I garden and I raise chickens for eggs and meat and I moonlight selling things on Etsy. Still it is barely enough to pay the bills that go up every year while service quality and the longevity of goods goes down. What I just described is the life you can live on 60K a year without going into debt.

At last calculation, when you consider all of the federal, state and local taxes plus registration and user fees, Medicare and SS payroll taxes, almost a third of what my family earns is stolen by the govt each year. What’s left doesn’t go far, just enough to cover the basics and save a little for when the wolf howls at the door.

I watched as my family’s health insurance was gutted and destroyed. Our private market insurance, which we had to have because my husband’s employer is too small to have a group plan, was made illegal. We were left with the option of either buying an Obamacare plan with unaffordable deductibles and insanely ridiculous out of pocket maxes, or paying the very gov’t that destroyed our healthcare a fine for not buying the gov’t mandated plan that we cannot afford. We now have short term insurance that isn’t really insurance at all, and I live in fear of one of us getting injured or sick with anything I can’t fix from the medicine cabinet.

I have watched as education, which was already sketchy when I was a kid, became an all out joke of wholly unmathematical math, gold stars for all, and self-loathing anti-Americanism. My family has taken an enormous financial hit as I stay home to home school our child. At least she’ll be able to do old-fashioned math well enough to see how much they are screwing her. A silver lining to every cloud, I guess.

I’ve sat by and held my tongue as I was called deplorable and a bitter clinger and told that I didn’t build that. I’ve been called a racist and a xenophobe and a chump and even an “ugly folk.” I’ve been told that I have privilege, and that I have inherent bias because of my skin color, and that my beloved husband and father are part of a horrible patriarchy. Not one goddamn bit of that is true, but if I dare say anything about it, it will be used as evidence of my racism and white fragility.

Raised to be a Republican, I held my nose and voted for Bush, the Texas-talking blue blood from Connecticut who lied us into 2 wars and gave us the unpatriotic Patriot Act. I voted for McCain, the sociopathic neocon songbird “hero” that torpedoed the attempt to kill the Obamacare that’s killing my family financially. I held it again and voted for Romney, the vulture capitalist skunk that masquerades as a Republican while slithering over to the Democrat camp as often as they’ll tolerate his oily, loathsome presence.

And I voted for Trump, who, if he did nothing else, at least gave a resounding Bronx cheer to the richly deserving smug hypocrites of DC. Thank you for that Mr. President, on behalf of all of us nobodies. God bless you for it.

And now I have watched as people who hate me and mine and call for our destruction blatantly and openly stole the election and then gaslighted us and told us that it was honest and fair. I am watching as the GOP does NOTHING about it. They’re probably relieved that upstart Trump is gone so they can get back to their real jobs of lining their pockets and running interference for their corporate masters. I am watching as the media, in a manner that would make Stalin blush, is silencing anyone who dares question the legitimacy of this farce they call democracy. I know, it’s a republic, but I am so tired of explaining that to people I might as well give in and join them in ignorance.

I will not vote again; they’ve made it abundantly clear that my voice doesn’t matter. Whatever irrational, suicidal lunacy the nanny states thinks is best is what I’ll get. What it decided I need is a geriatric pedophile who shouldn’t be charged with anything more rigorous than choosing between tapioca and rice pudding at the old folks home, and a casting couch skank who rails against racism while being a descendant of slave owners.

I’m free to dismember a baby in my womb and kill it because “my body my choice”, but God help me if I won’t cover my face with a germ laden Linus-worthy security blanket or refuse let them inject genetically altering chemicals into my body or my child’s. I can be doxed, fired, shunned and destroyed for daring to venture that there are only 2 genders as proven by DNA, but a disease with a 99+% survival rate for most humans is a deadly pandemic worth murdering an economy over. Because science. Idiocracy is real, and we are living it. Dr. Lexus would be an improvement over Fauci.

I am done. Don’t ask me to pledge to the flag, or salute the troops, or shoot fireworks on the 4th. It’s a sick, twisted, heartbreaking joke, this bloated, unrecognizable corpse of a republic that once was ours.

I am not alone. Not sure how things continue to function when millions of citizens no longer feel any loyalty to or from the society they live in.

I was raised to be a lady, and ladies don’t curse, but fuck these motherfuckers to hell and back for what they’ve done to me, and mine, and my country. All we Joe Blow Americans ever wanted was a little patch of land to raise a family, a job to pay the bills, and at least some illusion of freedom, and even that was too much for these human parasites. They want it all, mind, body and soul. Damn them. Damn them all.