#would minimum wage fix them

[wouldminimumwagefixthem]

Siffrin(ISaT)

[izzy-b-hands]

I will be forever grateful i can be on this new med. it's one a lot of folks also need and can struggle to have access to! It's important i be on it, especially if i start doing any vid collabs

(some of which, really, all of which, i unfortunately actually need to cancel that were in the preplanning stages, bc the election results have me wanting to wait and see how the general atmosphere of the country is before i agree to meet up with anyone. I feel bad for cancelling, but also i just can't know for sure how safe things are/might be going forward and I'd rather avoid the potential of. ya know. various not great things that could happen at a meet up, tho i would certainly hope they wouldn't. i don't feel like actually addressing them rn, u guys know what i mean)

That said, if the truvada initial side effects could fuck off asap would be so lovely. three weeks at worst, then they should be gone/much better or so i am told. really hope that's true bc losing my mornings to being dizzy and nauseous is Not Working for me lmao. im on week two, and now understand why my new doc said to call if i needed any 'cheerleading' and support to get thru the side effects, bc apparently she's done that for several ppl to make sure they actually make it thru the three weeks and keep on it (lovely of her!!)

[undyinglantern]

logically I don’t even think I’m doing horribly (the guy training me told the manager I was doing “pretty well” about handling a “mini-rush”) but mentally my mind keeps telling me oh he’s just lying because we keep getting out breaks at the same time and since I’m practically tailing him of course he’s say that to be nice during the only opportunity to speak to the manager. Only since I’m around and can listen in is he saying something nice.

[goaskangel]

roomates!john and simon x reader

cw : slight somno, smut, toxicity, age gap, quiet reader

you practically jumped from place to place while maintaining a college career. you made minimum wage with maximum rot. everyday seeming to blend into each other, then came the craigslist ad: you found yourself in the hands of ex-military men, looking for another roommate, with dirt-cheap rent. you wouldn’t mind if it felt more like a recruitment than stability. 

they welcomed you politely and casually, like you were an old time friend that was crashing for a while; returning, not arriving. really, you were a burned out kid in her late teens trying to make a living but with two older men.

but nights there weren’t so bad, in fact they were comforting. you’d doze off in your smaller room, nose in notes and snoring into highlighter ink but would wake up on the couch with a hefty blanket atop you. they’d be gone, left a little plate of breakfast on the coffee table. 

slowly, living became less of a hassle without the extra stress of no food, no time to clean, no shelter in general with them. everything seemed so—in control. your favorite lost pens would show back up, sleep didn’t feel like such a privilege. time started letting you catch your breath.

even with all these unexpected advantages, you kept your space and silence. you wouldn’t really run into them very often, not really leaving your room. staying quiet and controlling your breath. but it slowly wore off and you noticed the little things. john smiled at you, often. they both seemed to get along well—had the accents always been there? simon’s footsteps felt like a ghost passing while john was a bit heavier. they had deep inside jokes, you could tell by the way simon would even smirk and shake his head at the bearded man’s recalls. 

you’d start hanging out more in the living room, maybe join them on the balcony. john’s little grins made your thighs feel like tacky magnets. and he noticed.

john was bolder with his moves. you really couldn’t tell when he’d cross the line of platonic and sexual. until one sunday morning before your exams, your breath is picking up as sunlight hits your face. soft winces and thrives of your body until you yawn yourself awake to see john. his fingers lightly skimming over the pretty throb behind your damp panties. he greets you with a good morning like he usually does, your name on his tongue like it’s the only thing that has meaning. casually, as if he didn’t wake you up with his thumb gently stroking your clit. 

“big things comin’ up later this week, yeah? you wouldn’t mind if i lent a hand, just a bit, would you now?”

“john…” 

he moves up next to you, cooing just above your ear. your legs never close, so he takes that as an invitation. he slips his thick fingers behind your panties, humming at the obvious heat and wetness. you’re too tired—too comfortable to resist. he just wants to help you, he knows how stressed out you are, how long you’ve gone without getting touched. 

he was sweet; every time you’d leave for class he’d land kisses on your cheeks, if he’s lucky, your lips. maybe a soft grind to your lower back as he whispers in your hair. displays such acts of attraction, but only when simon’s not around. 

simon had his own ways, he was much more aggressive. once when he came back from the gym, shirt off with a sheeny layer of sweat on his pecs and broad shoulders, just dropped onto the couch and jerked his chin toward you. “c’mere,” he said—he didn’t say things twice. you finished fixing a plate of fresh tiramisu for yourself and sat beside him. 

“rough day?” he asked, “how’d the tests go?” his hand dropped to your knee—bare skin, warm palm. the kind of touch that didn’t ask first. you almost choked on your dessert. he never really talked unless price was nearby. never more than a nod, a grunt, and most definitely didn’t touch you so blatantly. he asked about the homemade trifle on your plate and you offered some to which he just opened his mouth. you hold back your smile, taking a good bite on your fork and feeding it to the older guy. he groaned in satisfaction—one that might as well have had you like a waterfall. you take turns taking bites before he finishes it with a lick to the fork. 

he makes more moves after that, obvious pushing to the kitchen counter. wrapping an arm around you while watching late night television. may have helped you finished one time after hearing you struggle in your room. he sat on the edge of your bed and intoxicated you with praises laced with his accent, your orgasm hitting you like a coma that blocked out the sound of his voice and the buzz of your vibrator. simon took that to his advantage and learned about all your little gadgets. finding each of them and tossing them out—you’ve got two guys in the flat, you need something more natural anyway. 

i wanna add onto this so bad eek a continuation masterlist

[skypperlegacy]

Hello. I'm really sorry I haven't updated here, I really don't know how many people are going to see this. The place in the photo above is called Catia, it is a popular lower-middle class area close to where I live.

Currently in Venezuela the largest electoral fraud in its history is occurring. Thousands of people around the country are protesting against A DICTATORSHIP that has left the minimum wage in misery, economic support for elderly adults in almost nothing, and universities in ruins thanks to the fact that the governors steal the money. money that is destined to fix them. There are few artists or public figures in my country who say anything about it, since many of them have bought their silence. Please, many in our peaceful protests have been kidnapped by the national guard, and they are minors. They are transferred to El Helicoide, the largest torture center in the country.

I am currently serving first aid during the protests, but I also fear for my life. There are seniors and many young people with us. Today a guard almost stole my cell phone.

You would help us a lot as a nation by reblogging this and spreading it, thank you very much. May the virgin bless you.

[elodieunderglass]

Firstly, thank you for answering all the Killie Questions. I've gone from 'Oh, it's the sad, ginger horseboy on my dash again' to telling my wife all about THE SAD, GINGER HORSEBOY 😁 while she makes this face at me: 😐. So, thank you for the indulgence.

Second, I'm desperately curious about the rich weirdo who actually owns Thunder and employs Killie. Who is this person? What is it about pairing Killie and Thunder that delights them so, aside from They Win A Lot? Does Killie actually interact with them much, or is it a 'They Sign My Paychecks' kind of thing?

(Killie the jockey OC)

Ohh this is such a GOOD question and it's really hard to answer!

The Rich Owner is an integral part of the pragmatic underpinnings of Killie's narrative.

Being a stable jockey contracted to a fixed owner in the UK liberates him from having to orbit his family's training yard in Ireland, allowing him some space and independence - normally the jockey children of generational trainers are expected to trot around after their parents and get put up on their horses, keeping everything in the family in a perfectly circular self-sufficient ecosystem. Killie, being a prodigy, has ascended to the completely separate sphere of being on retainer to a stable with limitless resources. (His parents are proud, even if the lack of heir-at-home is destabilising the dynasty.) It means Killie gets distance (physical and emotional) from the evil horse dynasty, that he can focus his energy on the sport, and it means he has a longterm relationship with O Holy Thunder, which is otherwise a bit unrealistic in the modern racing industry. And it means he's tremendously guilty about Not Being Home Where People Need Him - even as they're roaring for him to not worry about that, to conquer the world and have the Tiernan stats raised above all others in the history books, carved in stone and filled in with gold, a fling of faith to restore fading glories of a dying sport, etc.

You can see how all of the dominoes are lined up to topple! So, narratively, the Rich Owner HAS to exist to make all of this happen. The problem, narratively - letting you behind the curtain - is that I hadn't laid out any of Killie's problems with the intention of writing a book!! So Killie's owner has traditionally been whatever I was fighting with at the time, and wanted to rotate. They have variously been:

a terrible boss that puts Killie through the wringer, and he feels like a trapped animal (insert any archetype of a boss you hate, or circumstances of a job that felt like a daily panic attack.)

a great boss who is just so eccentric and charismatic and bugwild and loves treating Killie like a pet, and drags him to fancy rich parties and galas and puts him into terrible, terrible situations. (fun for when you want to imagine rich parties and galas and insufferable rich people. and then to put Killie in them. Sleek and beautiful and tiny and dapper, like a jewelled cufflink, and absolutely nothing but white noise between the ears. a racehorse in a cravat, sent into outer space by a teaspoon of prosecco. someone save him)

a pleasant person with benevolent intentions, who is nonetheless corrupted by their wealth, and you can't ever trust them or forget that (anticapitalist theme for when you're mad at capitalism)

old money

new money

minor royalty

I think old money/minor royalty would be enjoying the pleasure of the captive-knight dynamic you'd get out of keeping Killie. For slightly more than minimum wage salary and the cost of his humble little flat-above-the-stables, you could get quite a lot of amusement

a person with a playboy son who is predatorily interested in Killie (captivated for SOME REASON by his blank stare and wet cough and awkward horsegirl swag) but Killie's impenetrable shield of Killieness, like Saint Patrick's Breastplate cast over a priest before an exorcism, has him completely oblivious to all expressions of interest. the receiver's not tuned to the right channel. possibly not even plugged in. (can be played for comedy or something more sinister.)

not even there because they're not relevant to the narrative (They Sign My Paychecks)

I need to pick one and sort it out so we can get some canon published, but I'm doing it entirely the wrong way 'round so far!

Any advice or archetypes you think are funniest are warmly accepted. we're doing this the wrong-way-round anyway!

[forsaken-headcanons]

I had a simple idea: what if the survivors and killers swapped roles? And that idea proceeded to snowball into a full-blown yap sesh. I’m so silly when it comes to Forsaken, y’all 😋

(This is a VERY long post, so it’s been split up into two sections. Hope you don’t mind, mod!)

“KILLERS”

Noob - Picture a lone noob, lost in the spectre’s domain. No food. No shelter. Nothing. They finally come across another survivor…or should I say sustenance. That’s right. I took Noob’s whole ‘eating snacks’ thing and turned them into a cannibal. How fun! ☺️ Kind-of takes the role of Jason with a hint of Guest 666? That comment will probably change when 666 comes out, but for now, their kit revolves around tracking down survivors one by one. They can turn mostly invisible for a short period, too.

Chance - Two Face with a touch of Jigsaw. Gambling has completely overtaken his life, with his favourite being betting on lives. Never his, of course. And gods forbid he loses… Doesn’t really take the role of anyone. They specialize in ranged attacks, but he has a melee attack, too. He still has the coin flip, but it’s used to give him a random effect (can be anything from speed I to blindness III) and the only way to get rid of said-abilities is Hat Fix. But use it wisely, as that gets rid of the good abilities, too. The only way to earn bullets is by hitting survivors. He can store a max of 3, just like before. No misfiring (🎉), but the gun attack is probably hella telegraphed.

Guest 1337 - Gotta love a corrupt police officer! Well, soldier. But still- I regretfully can’t say who this guy’s main inspiration was, but I can imagine him working closely with Builderman to enact their shared (and crooked) sense of justice. His gameplay loop revolves around running down + stunning survivors. He doesn’t need to block to do a punch anymore. Instead, his block will actually give brief slowness + a highlighted aura to anyone foolish enough to hit him while it’s active. His punch (still) has a delay, but considering how it stuns survivors, I’d say it’s worth it.

Two Time - So obsessed with death/rebirth, they drove themselves mad and proceeded to go on a killing spree to ‘share this truth amongst the nonbelievers’. Mildly inspired by the Cult of the Lamb bishops, and takes the role of Jason (aka the free killer). Bro just runs around with a dagger lol. Though they have a considerably low health pool for a killer, TT makes up for it by gaining access to their second life form upon dying. They move much faster while in this state, so it’s actually advised to NOT stun them all willy-nilly, lest you unintentionally buff the killer.

Elliot - Hell hath no fury like an overworked minimum wage employee. Elliot had enough, and now EVERYONE’S gonna pay for it. Especially vengeful towards c00lkidd, and would play a special theme upon him being the last survivor. Sort of takes the role of John Doe? I mean- he revolves around dropping poisoned pizzas/other pizza-themed traps to slow down and weaken survivors.

Builderman - Oh, shoot! He has his banhammer! Oh no! He’s using it on everyone! Builderman believes that his ticket out of here involves purging the spectre’s domain of evil…but has since developed the morality of a corrupt judge. How lovely! As previously mentioned, he works closely with Guest 1337 to achieve his goals. A mix between John Doe and c00lkidd. He still builds machines, but they act like motion sensors for the most part.

Shedletsky - A self-proclaimed master swordsman, with an ego to match. Shed let the power of being an admin get to his head. He’s the most important person in the room, and will strike down anyone who says otherwise. Takes the role of 1x1x1x1. He’d use different SFOTH swords to do different attacks (Venomshank for basic swinging, Icedagger for Entanglement, Darkheart for Mass Infection,  Illumina for Unstable Eye, and Ghostwalker for Rejuvenate the Rotten). Oh, and someone snatched his chicken. I wonder who? 🤔 

007n7 - Slightly inspired by Bacon General from The Last Guest, this version of 07 wasn’t quite ready to retire, even when a baby was left on his doorstep. If anything, a child meant that he could pass down his skills to someone else. And thus he continued to reign chaos all around him, all the while pressuring his son to do the same. As a killer, he still uses scripts and exploits to give him an unfair advantage. Takes the role of c00lkidd, and uses the same moves as OG kidd for the most part. Instead of summoning clones, he instead teleports to the closest survivor (which briefly stuns him upon arriving, just to nerf it a little).

— Respawn Anon

I think you absolutely cooked on all of these. Specifically Guest 1337, Shedletsky and Builderman. These are so creative.

[pensthoughts]

Hi! Can you do a fluffy/Angst with Van? Like r and Van use to date but no day r dumps Van and then at prom Van sees r on the bleachers by themselves and Van asked to date? And you do your stuff diva. Have a good day night and life!

bleachers | v.p

a/n: i love love love this idea! i incorporated some flashbacks to reader + van's relationship because i felt like it would blend in well with this, hope you enjoy <333 also i did not proofread this so i'm sorry if there's spelling mistakes i will fix them later lol pairing: van palmer x pastorsdaughter!reader summary: you broke van’s heart in a church parking lot. now it’s prom night, and the memories won’t stop — the bedroom confessions, the stick-and-poke tattoo, everything you tried to bury. she’s still looking at you like she did back then. and this time, you can’t look away. word count: 2k

prom — bleachers, present

the music is too loud. someone's playing "kiss me" like it's still romantic even though it's barely audible over the buzz of bad speakers and worse lighting. the gym smells like punch and floral perfume and cheap hairspray. you're sitting on the bleachers, hugging your knees, watching everyone else pretend the night means something.

you hadn't planned to come. honestly, you kind of hoped you'd be anywhere else. but jackie had begged, and you didn't want to explain why saying yes felt like a lie.

you don't look up when the bleacher creaks beside you.

you don't have to.

"hey," van says, like it's not the first time she's said it to you.

like it's not the first time in weeks.

you blink at the gym floor. "hey."

she looks good—stupidly good. loose tux jacket, tie hanging half undone, like she didn't care enough to fix it or she got bored halfway through. she looks like someone out of a movie.

which is unfair. because you're still trying to forget what it felt like to fall in love with her.

"didn't think i'd see you here," she says, voice light. careful.

"i wasn't gonna come."

"changed your mind?"

"guess so."

you reach for your necklace without thinking—fingers curling around the little gold cross that's always resting just below your collarbone. your thumb traces the edges.

there's a beat of silence. the kind that used to be comfortable.

then—

flashback — your bedroom, winter

van's in your bed, sprawled sideways with her feet halfway up your wall, wearing that oversized flannel that used to be yours. she's grinning at you over a half-eaten bag of chips.

"you're staring," she says

you shrug, trying to act normal, even though your heart is fluttering all over the place. "you're in my bed, kind of hard not to."

"is that a complaint?"

"not even close."

she tosses a chip at you, and you catch it in your mouth. van laughs like it's the best thing she's seen all day.

you want to say something brave. like i love you.

you don't.

instead, you sit beside her, press your knees to hers, and say, "you ever want a tattoo?"

she looks at you like you've just offered to fly the moon. "obviously, but, like, not the kind you can afford on minimum wage."

"what if i gave you one?" you ask, almost shy

van's eyes go wide. "you're telling me you know how to do tattoos, and i'm just now finding out? okay, pastor's daughter."

"well, not a real tattoo," you grin. "it's a stick and poke, i saw nat do it once. i'm practically a professional."

now in your bathroom, you're both on the floor, hunched over a clean needle and a little cup of ink you made out of pen caps and eyeliner. you drew two tiny fang marks on van's collarbone and swore you could do it right.

"you sure about this?" you asked.

van tilted her head to the side, hair falling over her shoulder. "if it's from you? yeah."

so you did it. carefully. slowly. holding your breath the entire time. she didn't even flinch.

when it was done, she looked in the mirror, smiling like she had something secret.

"now i'm marked for life," she said, nudging your shoulder. "guess i'm your vampire bride or whatever."

you laughed, but something about the way she said it made your stomach twist. in a good way.

prom — bleachers, present

now, under the hazy gym lights, you glance sideways at her. she's close enough to touch.

you tug at your necklace again, twisting it between your fingers.

"do you still have it?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

van looks over, brows drawing in. "have what?"

you nod towards her collarbone. "the tattoo."

she blinks. "of course i do." her voice is a little softer now, like you caught her off guard. "it's not exactly the kind of thing you scrub off in the shower."

you swallow. "i just wasn't sure. maybe you like—cover it up or something."

her eyes then flick to your hands, where you're still fidgeting with your necklace.

flashback — outside your church, early spring

you broke up with her in the parking lot.

van was waiting in her car, still wearing the hoodie you left at her place, looking like she hadn't slept. she was picking you up from church with plans to take you out after. you came out in your sunday best, your cross necklace glinting in the morning sun.

she looked at you, eyes hopeful. "you look really good today. i mean—well. you always do."

you didn't smile. you couldn't.

"i can't do this anymore," you said.

van blinked. "wait. what?"

you looked away, ashamed. "it's not you. it's just... this." you gestured to the church. to the steeple. to the weight of everything your family believed. "it's not safe for me."

"i'd never ask you to come out," she said quickly. "i know it's not like that for you."

"i know," you said, voice shaking. "that's why i have to let you go. you deserve someone who can love you in the open. someone who isn't terrified every second of the day."

van was quiet for too long. and then—

"so you don't love me?"

you didn't answer. you couldn't.

so you got out of the car without another word.

prom — bleachers, present

van's quiet beside you. there's a crease between her brows, like she's thinking too hard.

"i should've fought harder," she says suddenly. "when you left."

your fingers tighten around your necklace.

"it wasn't about you."

"i know," she says, quickly. "but it still felt like it was."

you swallow hard. "i wanted to say it back."

van tilts her head. "say what?"

"when you told me you loved me." your voice is thin, shaking. "i wanted to say it so bad."

she watches you.

"i was scared," you whisper. "i'd never said it before. not out loud. saying it made it real. and if it was real, then it could be taken away."

van doesn't say anything as you twist the cross between your fingers.

"i thought i could forget you," you say. "but i didn't. i never did."

still nothing.

you turn toward her, heart pounding. "van—"

"i still love you," she says, too fast. then laughs, nervous. "i was gonna be smooth about it, but i'm still the idiot who loves you."

your breath catches.

you reach out, hand shaking, and find hers. thread your fingers together.

and then, finally—you say it.

"i still love you too."

you watch her eyes widen, watch something break open across her face.

"i mean it," you say quickly. "i never said it before. not once. but i wanted to. i just—couldn't."

her hand tightens around yours. "i know you mean it."

"good," you whisper. "because i do. i always have."

a long silence. but this time, it's warm.

you squeeze her hand again.

somewhere across the gym, jackie's voice is echoing over the music, calling someone's name. lottie and shauna are laughing by the punch table. it's loud and messy and full of everything that doesn't matter.

but up here, it's just you and van.

like always.

for a second, you both just sit there. fingers laced together, the music fading into background noise. it's one of those moments that feels like a secret in the middle of a crowd.

van shifts a little, her shoulder brushing yours. "hey." her voice is quieter now, more serious but a little soft around the edges. "do you... wanna get out of here?"

you turn to look at her.

her expression is careful. not cocky, not teasing—just a little hopeful. the way she always looked when she was about to ask you something that mattered.

"like—leave prom?" you ask, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

van grins. "yeah. you've done your time. you danced with jackie. you wore the shiny dress. you looked ridiculously hot. time to cash out."

you roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm. "where should we go?"

she shrugs one shoulder, casual. "thought maybe we could hit the diner. the old one. with the stupid neon strawberry on the sign."

your breath catches.

that place.

it's where you used to sit for hours, tucked into the back booth, knees knocking under the table, van making you laugh until your milkshake came out your nose. you went after every game, every sleepover, every almost-date you were too scared to call a date.

it's where she first kissed you.

"van.."

she squeezes your hand gently. "just us. just for a little while. no corsages, no gym floor, no pretending we're not dying to be somewhere else."

you nod, already standing. "let's go."

diner — 11:47pm

the diner looks exactly the same. sticky red booths. faded black-and-white checkered floors. a jukebox in the corner that hasn't worked right since sophomore year. you slide into the booth by the window, your dress pooling around you, and van sits across from you, undoing her tie the rest of the way.

the air smells like grease and coffee and strawberry syrup.

"feels like no time's passed," you say, resting your chin in your hand.

van smirks. "except now i have a vampire bite permanently inked on me. so y'know. progress."

you laugh, and it feels easy again. not like before—not like before the church or the silence or all the aching weeks in between—but like something new that's been waiting to unfold.

the waitress drops off a strawberry milkshake without even asking. just gives you a wink and a "welcome back, girls" before dropping two straws and heading to the counter.

you and van both go a little red.

"she remembered," you whisper, half embarrassed, half smiling.

"of course she did," van says, sliding the milkshake between you. "we used to come here so much she probably thought we lived in the bathroom." you both reach for the same straw at the same time, and your fingers brush.

you pull back, but van doesn't. she opens up her straw and sips like it's nothing, like it's still her milkshake too.

"i missed this," you say after a moment. your voice is quiet, like it doesn't want to break the spell. "i missed you."

van looks at you, really looks at you, like she's trying to memorize every inch of your face under the soft fluorescent lighting.

"i'm not going anywhere this time," she says. "not unless you tell me to."

you blink back the sting in your eyes, nodding as your fingers reach again for the necklace around your throat, the gold warm now from all the times you've held it tonight.

"you always play with that when you're nervous," she says, gesturing toward your necklace, still resting just beneath your collarbone

"i'm not nervous," you say automatically, then smile a little. "okay, maybe a little."

she bumps your knee under the table. "i'm glad you're here."

you swirl your straw in the whipped cream. "me too."

"i used to sit in this booth after we broke up," van says suddenly, eyes on the table now. "like an idiot. just waiting for you to walk in again."

your chest aches in that slow, heavy way. "i used to drive by. every friday. i'd tell myself if your car was there, i'd go in."

van looks up. "it never was."

"i couldn't make myself stop."

you take a sip from the milkshake and meet her eyes over the rim. "so... is this a date?"

van raises her brows. "do you want it to be?"

you nudge the milkshake toward her and smile, "yeah, i think i do."

van's smile softens into something real, something quiet and warm. she leans across the table just enough to brush her hand over yours.

"i'm not gonna rush you," she says, "i know it's still complicated."

you nod, your fingers tightening around hers. "but it's not as scary anymore. not with you."

outside, the neon flickers. inside, your hands stay tangled. and the milkshake slowly dissappears between two straws, just like it used to.

[feex]

SWANSEA AND DAISUKE

Au where they survived.

There was only one conversation they’d have where Daisuke would open up a little, after the incident leaving him unable to work for himself and now in constant care by his mother it left Daisuke feeling useless and his worry of being worthless was not helping with this. the constant anxiety he felt and embarrassment, he should’ve been in college or have a job that would give him minimum wage. better than whatever state he is in right now, Daisuke never blamed Swansea for what he did to him. He only felt guilty for having been so much trouble, Jimmy had convinced him to go into the vents when directly told of the consequences of what would happen. so why did he do it? Swansea felt as if he had no other choice is what Daisuke would tell himself. He was in the way and caused problems, Daisuke felt even more ashamed after finally knowing what happened to Swansea.

Swansea wouldn’t have felt the need to hurt Jimmy if Daisuke just stayed away from the vents, but he never listened.

Daisuke just wanted the crew to believe he was worthy to be onboard with them, did they really think he wouldn’t notice the weird looks and shifts in attitude whenever he was around? He didn’t ask to be there yet they made him feel like he was just a bother. Everything he ever did was to get their validation.

Swansea only felt disappointed and slightly sympathetic to the younger male, he could understand how he felt on some level. Swansea was always a working man and put himself to work, thats why he was constantly coming back to the pony express. without work Swansea would only be reminded of how limited his talents are, he could fix things and he was knowledgeable about mechanics and such but would that get him anywhere with all of his issues? Swansea relied on the bottle to cope, theres no way a job would let him in. he felt guilty too, he had a wife and kids which should’ve made him feel better but bad habits die hard.

He never wanted Daisuke to end up like him, only putting himself deeper into trouble but Swansea was responsible for why Daisuke was like this. He wasn’t numb to his own emotions, it’s not like the thought of him potentially ruining Daisukes life didn’t haunt him constantly, Swansea had told Daisuke to never end up like him but it seemed that he was only going down one narrow path where it seemed hopeless. no amount of support nor love could ever pull either of them out of this hole they both feel stuck inside of.

They were merely parallels of each-other in a way.

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[wouldminimumwagefixthem]

Javert(Les Misérables)

[harunayuuka2060]

Crowley: MC? MC? I have a new job for you—

Grim: The hench-human is at the roof, fixing the holes.

Crowley: Oh. Would you tell them to get down so we could talk?

Grim: Nah. It's raining. I don't want to get wet.

Crowley: I'll just wait here then. And ooh~ Looks like they've made some changes already.

Grim: They said it was barely habitable. They got a few things from the storage room to renovate the dorm a little.

Crowley: What a talented individual.

Grim: So, what do you want from my hench-human?

Crowley: You see, I'm thinking of turning you both into students of Night Raven College.

Grim: Mryah! Really?!

Crowley: Yes. I've realized that it would be a waste to just have them work as a janitor.

Grim: Mryahah~! Wait. *frowns at him*

Crowley: Is there something wrong, Grim?

Grim: You want to exploit my hench-human!

Crowley: Wh— Of course not! Where does that come from?!

Grim: They're already cleaning the whole school and that isn't enough for you?!

Crowley: I have provided you food and shelter!

Grim: Hench-human has to work outside the school mryah! Because the food you're giving us ain't enough!

Crowley: They still have time for that— *clears throat*— Well, they could've asked for more. That shouldn't be my problem.

MC: *walks in* *dripping wet* Hey, Grim. Can you grab me some towel— *noticed Crowley*— What do you want?

Grim: *flies to their side* He wants to exploit us!

Crowley: Certainly not! I'm here to offer you to officially become a student of our school. *smiling*

MC: *raised an eyebrow*

MC: Yeah. Grim sure could use that.

Crowley: H-How about you? Are you not interested?

MC: Nah. I'm good. I had vocational courses in my world. No need for me to have a diploma here.

Crowley: Oh. I did hear from Grim you got a job outside the campus.

MC: Yeah. I realized I can't live off solely from your benevolence when I'm feeding a glutton.

Grim: I'm not a glutton!

Crowley: ...

Crowley: I see. But as you've said, Grim could use this opportunity. So would you be taking the job I'm about to offer you?

MC: *smirks* Sure. I can use some extra income.

Crowley: ...

Crowley: I can only offer you a minimum wage.

MC: I'm not picky.

Crowley: Wonderful!

Leona: Huh? Who's that?

Ruggie: Don't you know? They're the janitor.

Leona: What are they doing here in Savanaclaw?

Ruggie: They've come to inspect each dorm in Night Raven College.

Leona: Huh?

MC: Some of the rooms here are full of shit.

Savanaclaw students: Why do you care?

MC: Shitty rooms, shitty people. *yawns* I feel like burning this whole place down.

Savanaclaw students: You can't do that!

MC: I can, pals. If you don't start cleaning right now.

Leona: ...

*In the housewarden meeting*

Leona: Hey, Crowley. What's up with that?

Crowley: *smiling* Is there a problem, Kingscholar?

Leona: Why does that punk get to do a dorm inspection?

Idia: Yeah! They have no respect to anyone's privacy!

Vil and Riddle: ...

Riddle: That isn't true at all.

Vil: Heartslabyul and Pomefiore were commended for their unwavering commitment to cleanliness and orderliness.

Vil: And they had asked for permission beforehand.

Azul: Though if you were to decline, they would persist and resort to using force to gain entry.

Kalim: I got scolded for keeping bugs in the kitchen...

Riddle: What the hell—

Crowley: MC's job as a dorm inspector only happens every end of the week. So you have nothing to worry about regarding invasion of privacy. *smiles*

Grim: Hench-human... *seems exhausted* *flies to their arms*

MC: You alright, buddy?

Grim: I hate classes... I give up.

MC: *chuckles* Looks like your preschool brain can't handle college classes.

Grim: Mryah! What did you say?!

MC: *pets him* Told ya to learn your ABC's first.

Grim: MRRAAAAHHHH!!!

MC: Easy, bud. Easy. I got you some food.

Grim: Take back what you said!

MC: Nuh-uh. Just prove me wrong.

Grim: I'll prove you wrong! Watch me!

[lovemikewheeler]

Since the core 4 is gonna be 17 in season 5, here are the shitty minimum wage jobs they would have

Ok so this one may take a bit of imagination, but Mike gets hired at a local automotive shop, the last job he wanted. But after working there and learning about cars he becomes obsessed with cars, and will never stop talking about them. This becomes his special interest since late Junior year, and constantly offers to fix his friends cars because it gives him an excuse to ramble. He dumps random facts onto people and he has no patience with customer service, he’ll give you attitude and call you stupid.

Will works in retail, and has the most insane patience with assholes at his job. He could be getting yelled at and he would say “I’m sorry” or just smile and tell them to have a nice day. But he would go to Mikes and complain about his job. Most of his co workers are older women who think he’s the sweetest thing alive, and are slightly convinced him and Mike are dating.

Dustin works at the local movie theater, and similar to Steve, would sneak all his friends into the movies for free. He constantly brags about having the best job out of all of them. Him and Steve steal candy and popcorn from the concession stand constantly. He takes hour breaks on his 30s, because “no one will stop him” he pushes every single boundary he can, not because he wants to break the rules, but simply he’s curious on how far he can go without getting in trouble.

Lucas babysits, and he’s really good with children. Mostly because he has experience with having a little sister, bug he’s much nicer to these children than he is to Erica (meaning he teases her like siblings do) he’s really good at reading stories and putting the kids to bed, again because that’s something he probably grew up learning how to do. Every time the parents come to their kid so well behaved, they ask Lucas how the hell he did it. Also he gets paid the most in the whole friend group.

[e8luhs]

my favorite customer service story to share with people. context: one time my department had a woman who came to pick her order up and stayed in her car waiting during an ACTIVE TORNADO WATCH. then she had the audacity to bitch out my coworkers saying that she was scared and in danger and waiting for her groceries outside. our store was on lockdown which meant even the customers in the store had all been siphoned into the back room to wait it out. this is insane in itself

this same woman came back eventually on one of Those Days. we were running a crumbling department with 4 entire people total. EVERYTHING was overdue. NO managers present. such is the nature of walmart OPD. i was coming back from speedrunning a pick walk. for those of you that are blessed enough to not work at walmart and therefore dont know what that means: i was one of if not the ONLY person running around on the salesfloor gathering up peoples groceries for their orders that night. my girlfriend (who worked at the same store in the same department as me at the time) comes running up to me bug-eyed saying "hey theres a lady in the back room yelling at us i dont know what to do." id had it up to about mount everest due to the circumstances and due to being the guy whos always put in charge whenever those circumstances arise despite the fact that i am not being paid shit to do it. so i was like "ℑ 𝔚𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔗𝔞𝔨𝔢 ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔒𝔣 ℑ𝔱" smiling like a chimpanzee on the verge of murderous frenzy

lo and behold: i walk into my back room and there she is. the customer is searching through other peoples orders throwing groceries and totes onto the floor and throwing an absolute tantrum. im like "what are you back here for" and shes like "IM HERE FOR MY FUCKING ORDER IVE BEEN WAITING OUTSIDE FOR XYZ MINUTES." so im like "LOOK at the state of this back room. LOOK at how few employees are here. we dont have your order ready because there are literally FOUR OF US here right now. if you want to fix your wait time then you can apply and you can do the job then" which utterly baffled her because as i approached she was like "what the fuck are you talking about? are you trying to FIGHT me?" and i was like ".... No" as it was taking me all of my strength to not completely lose it

at this point my girlfriend ran off to grab one of our stores security guards (which is another can of worms entirely) because if a customer hits you and you hit back in self defense that does mean you lose your job unfortunately. one of my coworkers steps in and also starts telling the customer that she cant be in our back room. she starts ranting and raving and saying "DONT TELL ME MY ORDER IS READY WHEN IT ISNT" so i was like "(gritting my teeth) we have no control over that. thats the SYSTEM telling you that were done PICKING the order. that doesnt mean its ready to be picked up. we are JUST employees making minimum wage" in my desperate attempt at trying to make a customer realize that there are humans who have to do this stupid job to get her her stupid groceries. took a lot of work but eventually me and my coworker ended up corralling her out of the back room and she yelled at us the whole way out name-calling us threatening to call management on us saying she would never come back yknow the works

finally the security guard shows up to make sure were all okay and to figure out what just happened. the night ended and it was horrible and i had walked almost 26,000 steps that day. of course i havent seen her since then thank christ. i do tell this story to every new employee who asks about our worst customers and it scares the shit out of them every time. if you use walmarts grocery pickup and delivery service i am asking you so politely to be kind to the people delivering your groceries or to the employees dispensing them to your car. that is all. THE END

[kafka-ish]

I think if Art wasn’t as serious about tennis he’d be such a coworker. Maybe it’d be in between summers at Stanford and it’s your first week there. He’s scheduled to train you, show you the ropes but when you first walk in he thinks you’re just another customer, a really pretty customer that’s got him changing up the script. Hey! How’s it going? What can I do for you? Find everything alright? He’s already thinking of ways he can slip you his number, maybe he’ll write it on your receipt. And he’s typing in his ID to give you his discount, anything until you say, “Actually, I work here.”

Art stops typing. Looks up, completely dumbstruck because you’re too pretty to be selling yourself out for some minimum wage corporation, to be doing any sort of labor. You need to be taken care of; any reason you should step foot in here would be to pick out a new tennis racket for a match you have. But you’re here. You work here. So he cancels out the order and says something about how he’ll get you a t-shirt, stay there.

He’ll take you to the back where the employee bathrooms are. You watch his fingers when he punches the numbers. “It’s like a six,” he says, and you think about that every time you use the code to get in. He waits for you outside the door while you’re changing, wishing he could get a glimpse, wishing he could be on the other side. He gets hard just thinking about it. He thinks about the kind of bra you’re wearing, if you’re wearing one, what you look like underneath the fabric. And he thinks you look so cute in that work-issued uniform even if the collar of your shirt isn’t folded over correctly - it only gives him the urge to reach over and fix it. Sorry, he says when he retracts his hand and sees the look you give him. He doesn’t mean it, not entirely, by the way a smile starts working its way on his face.

Art would give you a tour before you get started. He wants to show you around and he loves that he gets to be the first one to make an impression. Fucking revels in it. But he’s also weighted with the worry of making a good impression so some of his delivery is awkward: this is the stockroom it’s where we get stuff to… stock / we separate brands in sections so if someone asks where adidas is you can point to the three lines back there / managements making us ask everyone if they wanna round up their change but you don’t have to. I just ask anyone who’s paying cash. Or if they’re cute. The system makes you put their email in. He flushes a little because he doesn’t know why he says that last part.

I think Art would be so patient when he’s training you. He would take his time to over-explain everything and he doesn’t realize he comes off sounding like a douche. Telling you what all the buttons mean and asking if you want to come with him when he’s about to stock something just so you can see where it is for next time, obviously. But it’s just an excuse to talk to you!! He doesn’t know how and he figures since you both work there it’s an easy in and you think it’s so adorable that because it’s a slow day he’s pretending to be your first customer, gathering random items, having you scan them, and reminding you to ask if he wants to round up his change for charity.

“Not today”

“Okay, your total will be—”

“Hold on. You don’t want my email?”

“Well, you said no so…”

“No. Convince me. Really try and convince me.”He wants to know what lengths you’d go for him if this is how you’d happen to meet. So you say, okay it’s for this charity you guys are having.

“Say it’s for homeless animals. They eat that shit up,” Art lets you in on this piece of information like the manipulator he is.

“Is that what you do?”

And Art would make sure to stay near you just in case you need something, always bags the customers’ items so you can focus on the transaction. He loves the way you say his name, how timid you are when you whisper Art when you need help. He imagines that’s how you say it when he’s eating you out.

[dare-to-dm]

I voted earlier today. There were a lot of big things on the Missouri ballot other than the presidential election, such as ranked choice voting, an abortion amendment, sports gambling and increasing minimum wage. So even though I know my state is going to swing red, I don't feel like I wasted my time going to the polls.

However, there was a snafu at the polls. Basically the machine that we feed our paper ballots into jammed. I wasn't too nervous though, because I saw the poll workers there react quickly, calmly and professionally. They immediately started gathering the ballots of those who hadn't been able to put them in the machine, and assured us all that the ballots would still be counted as normal. And they replaced the ballot of the poor guy who jammed the machine, because it was completely shredded.

I reached out to my housemate who was also working the polling place to see if he could give me further insight on how our ballots would be treated. I was a little nervous that my ballot might be treated like a provisional ballot since it wasn't being counted by the machine. Provisional ballots are perfectly legitimate of course, but I just know the Republicans are going to throw up a stink about them this year and try to paint them as a source of fraud.

Anyway, my housemate got back to me to let me know that they had fixed the machine as quickly as possible. And that all the ballots that were collected during that time would be fed into the machine at the end of the polling period and counted as normal.

It's a lot easier to have trust in the system when you're not afraid to ask questions and make sure you understand the process. From what I observed, I have trust that my local polling place is being run ethically and efficiently. I am very grateful that someone I trust is directly involved in overseeing the process. This is the value of community involvement.

[nervousrunawaywitch]

I'm trying to work but my brain just can't stop

So here comes another au or fic idea for SVSSS: Wreck it Ralph.

Bear with me, I swear it makes sense.

So imagine Shen Yuan played a lot in those fliperamas/arcades just gets transmigrated as a character not unlike Raplh from one of the games he used to play; not his favourite though. Because of course his favourites would undoubtely be Proud Imortal Demon Way and the newer a little bit more popular version Proud Imortal Sugar Demon Rush.

SQH as Felix because it's totally his vibe, always fixing peoples messes but never truly cherished exept when he's doing his tax and everything gets incresingly boring and taxing but he gotta do cuz well he needs to eat... He was frustrated in life working a shitty minimum wage job and writting a equaly shitty story just so he could make ends meet and eat and... Now it's the same but he's a character of and old classic game nobody really plays anymore and everything is so dull and always the same. And everything is so goddamn child friendly SQH might as well die because of it.

And then there's Mobei jun is obviously that soldier mommy from that sci-fy game, Sergeant Mobei sounds kinda nice right?! Now, you may wonder where is Binghe in all this?

Bing-mei would be Vanellope and Bing-ge would be like Candy King / Turbo. Cuz Turbo got jealous that other games were being played more than his so he invaded and conquered them rendering both games ungamable, so he tried for more sublte when entering and conquering Proud Imortal Sugar Demon Rush! He couldn't erase Bing-mei presence since he is the protagonist of the game, Bing-ge could be from an earlier version of Proud Imortal Demon Rush, most canonically right as possible retelling of the Stalion Novel but of course without all that openly adult content. Bing-ge could bear with the overly cute, shining silly grafics (that per se is another unfairness in Bing-ge's eyes since the grafics and resolution are slightly better than his own [due to be a newer game, but that doesn't matter to our resident tyrant junshang righ?], another slight against him because why does this weaker silly version of him get to take for granted all those better things? This kinder life? The attention of the players?) just so he could get what he rightfully deserves unlike that weak impostor that got everything in a silver plate. And to get matter worse some HOT guy from ANOTHER GAME cames in and take care from him and SAVES the day while BANISHING HIM. And when Bing-ge's think that it can't get worse than that he end up discovering his, it is his, played HIS game first, HIS, favourite best player that endlessly tirelessly played and played his game trying to get a different end for him and was always ultrajed by the unfairness and all the mindlessly tragedy in his life is the hot guy for the other game. Oh boy, Bing-ge's definitely having a no good, extra bad day.

SQH as Felix and Mobei I don't even need to explain i think... And that's pretty much it!

[Oh and also Xin Mo and SQH's ans SY's systems could be like those cyber alien giant bugs from Mobei's game!]