welcome to my trash home

the way im incapable of having a conversation about weight with normal people. those conversations feel like a mine field because there are no right answers. im not gonna feel sorry for you that you gained weight and i dont have any dieting tips and your self depreciating weight jokes arent funny and i dont feel like congratulating you on your weight loss with how mean to your past self you are being and it doesnt feel good that you think that me wanting to gain weight is weird or stupid. sorry

thinking abt stacker pentecost feeling his drift partner die in his mind and then somehow, somehow carrying on, standing alone when no one had ever done that before, burning as the radiation threatened to consume his mind and body. thinking about pentecost winning that impossible fight and stumbling out of the corpse of his jaeger - skin smoking and body screaming and mind gaping from the loss of his partner, looking out at a battlefield of gray and blood and emptiness, of death and metal and alien flesh and then out from it all stepping a little girl, just a tiny girl clutching her shoe like her bleeding heart in her hand, staring up at him with an awe that strikes him deeper than the radiation ever could. she smiles at him like he is the sun, like he is her messiah, and in that moment, he feels his breath start in his chest again. through her he remembers what he is doing this for, who he is suffering for. through her he finds the beauty of humanity, the goodness in every person he is fighting to protect. he goes down to her, his mind and body burning, and he carries her home. she carries her shoe, and he carries her. both of them hold their hearts in their hands.