#how would that even work payment wise?

[vagueiish]

god, genuinely, who gives a shit?

[starshipsofstarlord]

Modern!Nat Being Your Dealer

summary - natasha romanoff is your dealer, and you go to collect your order, however you seem to have forgotten something important… though there is another way that you can pay for your addiction (2.1k)

warnings - 18+ minors dni, smut, oral (female receiving), fingering, drug dealing, sex in place of payment, swearing

natasha romanoff works other mcu works masterlist

Everyone struggled in life, and once in a while they needed a little help. There were many ways people went about that, some people went to therapy, others enjoyed a good book, others listened to waves that had been recorded for that specific purpose. But none of those spectacles of aid made you feel any better.

And thus you had turned to substances instead of white noise, specifically one that was more common and less harmful - weed. A large majority of the population did it, and it was nothing to be ashamed about, it just made you unwind from the trauma that skulked in the darkest parts of your mind and coaxed you into a resting state of sleep.

Unbuckling your seat belt, you climbed out of your beat convertible, locking the vehicle behind yourself as you strode towards the locked hinges of your e of dealer's door. It felt suspenseful every time that you came here, knowing that it could be your last if your supplier was overturned by the forces for her illegal actions actions, and you wouldn't exactly be ignored pu so for purchasing from her.

But everything looked crisp and normal, just the way you liked it. Quickly as to not avert any attention you shot Natalia, the Russian importer a text letting her know that you had arrived to the destination where she handled business. It felt like a lifetime as you awaited for her to open the door and usher you inside, and once she unlocked the barricade of privacy you felt like you were hit by a brick.

It didn't matter how many times that you had seen the astoundingly attractive redhead, you always felt as though you were experiencing whiplash from being greeted with her appearance. It was an unruly kind of magnetism that she styled herself with, her lipstick was blurred subtly past the lines of her actual lips, her short bob was twisted with curls that she had no doubt patiently toyed with as she sat there, looming behind the frosted windows for her buyers.

And you were no more than another one of them, you had to remind yourself, even as slithered past her, both of your breasts briefly brushing as she allowed you entry before she followed your footsteps to the main room after bolting the door shut to as it had been. As usual you took a seat in the dusty and quaint living area as usual, her taking place opposite you as she disgustedly brushed specks off the fabric arm of the chair.

"I don't live here if that's what you're wondering." She smirked, making it undoubtedly clear that her tastes were too clean to permanently reside in a place like this. "So I'll take it you're picking up the usual?" It was the safe assumption on her part, there was no kindness in coaxing you to spend more on the grams of freedom that she rationed out for a price. Not to mention, with spare product there would no doubt be another soul that was prepared to take it off her hands.

"Yeah, please." A curt nod had the woman lounging her body to stretch so that she could pick up the complimentary medicine that she had self prescribed you for. The normal amount was visible through the small and clear baggy that carried the goods, and you immediately rushed to find the notes that would allow you to proceed in your pockets. But they were gone. Shit. This was the last thing that you needed after the day that you had endured with the whispers of thought that clouded your brain.

Panic settled over you, and thus with a dry mouth it was with wise decision that you chose to speak up. There was no point beating around the bush, after all this was your first slip up when it came to this, and you prayed to every ethereal being that it would be the last. "I seemed to have forgotten to put the cash in this jacket, would it be okay if i were to come by later to collect again?" It was embarrassing really, there was nothing that screamed being newer to the scene of all this mutual transaction than forgetting the payment.

"Trial and error one would say." Nat slouched back, dropping the bag mockingly in her lap so that you could see. "The problem is I'm not available for business later." So stupid, you thought to yourself, insulting yourself because she wouldn't for your blatant and misconducted dumb foolery. It certainly may have ben a mistake, but you were no doubt paying for it because you could not pay for what you had really wanted. With a gulp of apologetic waver of disregard, you stood on your two feet, eyeing the door as your escape.

You were just about to begin walking when the red headed conductor silenced all movement your body was ready to perform. "Uh, uh, uh." The noise of scolding that she proclaimed towards you made your heart beat a little faster, afraid that she was going to refuse future service to you altogether. However much you dreaded what she was going to say, you politely listened, intending to remain on her good side. "If you have time to spare, I don't mind being paid in other ways..."

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand what you mean." Maybe it was plain obliviousness to Nat's ultimatum of a suggestion, or perhaps you didn't quite believe your body's instinct to the prowess in her eyes that made your spine coil in a retrograde of quivering arousal, but you avertedly decided to play it dumb. She stood, and strode towards you like a vixen, her wide eyes scorning every inch of your vessel, humming contentedly to herself.

"Don't be so naive little y/n," her tongue peeked out from her mouth, swiping languidly across her plump bottom lip. "You'll still be a respectable woman, you'll just have to respect me too... in an intimate way." Thinking to yourself, the hunger that ran through your veins which yearned for the intoxicating compulsion of the confident redhead was strivingly eager, and the addictive stock that sold, was endless.

"W-what did you have in m-mind?" You wanted some clarification before you drowned yourself in an action that could exempt you from her clientele, even if she had been explicit, only leaving the details of prolific actions out from her spoken equation. The thumping of your heart beat within your ears, running through your bloodstream that was declining from a subsidised high, as you ogled curiously at the the woman with priceless leverage.

"We all have things we want y/n," she admitted vaguely before going into detail, "and I, in exchange want you to give me an orgasm." Her hands rubbed soothingly up your arms, her skin surprisingly cold upon your flesh. She could sense your nervousness, it was openly apparent as you shivered for both her touch and the calming rush that would absorb itself into your form.

"Okay." You spoke meekly, withholding how eager you were to persevere provocatively towards the mysterious woman. A coy smile weaved its route upon her defining features, causing your walls to flutter obscenely below where they were dressed. You'd always thought that you would be above soliciting yourself in exchange for anything, but it proved to show that you could never be certain on an agenda until you came to the crossroads of it.

Your tongue poked outside of your mouth, nervously grooming the indents and crevices at the corner of your lips, preparing yourself for what Natasha was expecting. It made you realise how little you truly knew about the woman before you, the name that she had given you to address her by may have all been a hoax, to conceal her identity from any enforcers whom bought the stronger stuff from ratting her out to the feds.

But in the predicament that you had stumbled obliviously into, you needed to be nothing more than acquainted, it wasn't love, it was just business derived from the figments of pleasure, and whilst you were allured by the pros and cons that weighed argumentatively in your mind, you couldn't help but give this instance a block from your overthinking mindset. "I'm glad to hear," she conveyed, causing a deep laughter within her chest to be released as she noticed how tense that you had become.

She liked to see you squirm, she had decided. And perhaps next time you would forget payment again, of course she wouldn't mind if your skills were up to her standards of course, and if they weren't, she would unshackle the bedroom nerves that you were enduring with her own set of amorous control. The air hung thick between the both of you as she strolled casually back towards the seat that she had already claimed prior to your arrival, sitting down and spreading her clothed legs wide.

"Come here, and make me cum." Her instructions were far too persuasive, and you couldn't refrain from doing as you were told, willingly you fell to your denim clad jeans, watching intently as Nat unbuttoned her own trousers. "I don't even need to tell you what to do." She verbally observed, pushing down the layers covering her bottom half, including her lace designed panties. Her actions served you with the view of her core, and the sight made you salivate.

A part of you felt dirty, but you procured it in an encouraging way, as this was exactly how she wanted to see you. The position that you were in made warmth flush between your legs, even more so when her drug dealing hand swept into your hair, pulling your face closer to her cunt with the harsh grip that she had. You glanced up to watch her lust drowning eyes, before you entangled your lips with her lower ones, tasting her juices on your tongue.

You ran your tongue up her slit a few times, testing the waters before you suctioned your lips around your clit, sucking on the nerve filled bud, her body being devoured by heavenly sensations. "Fuck me." Her breath cast the words out as her emerald irises became obliterated by the bleakness of her pupils, and in a way you were, and to fuck her further into the pleasure that was flooding her veins, you raised your dominant hand, tracing your fingers around her slick entrance.

With integral driven lust, you pushed one of your digits inside of her, her hand weaving tighter within your locks, and forcing your face further into her cunt. You were amidst in an overwhelming sense of reality, as you hollowed your cheeks so that you could put more pressure around her clit. Her mouth gaped open as she leant sporadically in her seat, her hips bucking into your jawline as her legs wrapped around the back of your head.

Pumping your fingers at a quicker pace, you could feel her walls contracting around you tighter, and her moans evoking to a higher pitch. Her sounds echoed around the room that was in need of more furniture, and you knew that she was getting close, and so you continued on with your actions, daring to enter another finger inside of her, which made her reach her breaking point. Her lips floundered in a silent scream, as she came around the fingers that you had stuffed inside of her.

You continued slowly with drawing out her orgasm, before you pulled back and allowed breath to be inhaled through your mouth, removing your fingers so that you had the opportunity to lick them clean. After a few minutes passed, she unravelled her legs from how they had been pressed around your skull, deciding to sit up straighter, as she glowered at you, returning to her formal confirmation.

Silently she slid her underwear and bottoms back up her legs, leaving her fly open as she watched you stand before her, almost desperately. She was almost convinced to return the favour, but that wasn't what it was, instead it was payment, and she had the professionalism to an extent to make that clear. "Pleasure doing business with you again. Here's what you wanted." She threw the baggy at you, and surprisingly to yourself, you had caught the clear packaging that was filled with your goods.

In all honesty you had forgotten all about the weed, you had fallen into a spiral of delightful passion, and you could still taste her on your lips. Now it felt awkward, she was awaiting for your departure without a doubt as she expectedly nodded towards the door. "Uh, thanks." You fumbled with the bag, finding yourself to forget your money again, with purpose, the next time that you visited her to collect.

[teapartyprincess4two]

Corner Store - C. Sturniolo

pairing: Employee!reader x Coworker!Chris

classification: fluff

warnings: use of y/n, slow build up & slight cursing

summary: Chris is your annoying coworker who always manages to make your shifts a little more miserable than necessary, but it turns out he has a misunderstood crush on you.

—

“That’ll be $10.32,” you say, scanning the last item and looking towards the customer awaiting their form of payment. Your shift seemed to drag on, you had already been here 6 hours and still had 1 more to go before your shift was over. Not like you would be able to leave right away anyways, you always had to wait until the next person scheduled arrived to relieve you. When you checked to see who was scheduled after you, you noticed that Chris, one of the few other people who worked here, was scheduled today. Chris was always late.

You watched as the customer in front of you dug through her purse, struggling to find the correct amount of change. “I swear I have the 32 cents,” she mumbled, fishing around for the loose coins scattered at the bottom of her bag. Your fingers tapped against the counter impatiently as you watched her. How had you gotten yourself stuck in this dead end job?

“Here,” she says, finally finding the correct amount of change. She hands you a quarter, a nickel, and two pennies. She waited for you to cash her out, not realizing that she had yet to hand you the ten dollars. “Hello?! I need the receipt,” her voice holds an impatient tone as her hands point towards the receipt machine aggressively. You sigh, knowing that this interaction could go south quickly if you didn’t choose your next words wisely.

You wanted to reply with, ‘Hello?! I need the ten dollars,’ but your shift was almost over and there was no reason to pick a fight now. “I still need the ten dollars, ma’am,” you replied, using your customer service voice at its fullest potential. She facepalmed, realizing her mistake before responding, “Oops! You’re right, sweetie.” Her hands returned into her purse, this time pulling her wallet out and handing you a ten dollar bill. Without a word you take it from her and cash her out, making sure to hand her the stupid receipt. “Keep the change,” she jokes. The joke feels like a slap to the face, there was no change. There was never change. You wanted to bang your head against the wall.

“Have a good day,” you say, chuckling a bit at her sarcastic joke and offering her a fake smile. She walks out with all her items in hand, the ring of the doorbell letting you know the coast is clear. Once she’s gone you slump back into your stool, pulling your phone out to check the time. 30 more minutes and you’d be free.

You’re about to turn your phone off when you notice a text from your coworker Chris.

Chris (WORK): hey you think you can cover for me? I’m running late lol. I’ll be there in like 30 minutes :p

You were fulling expecting him to be late, but 30 extra minutes sounded like actual hell. You groan, running your hands through your hair in annoyance before replying.

y/n: really bruh :|

Why was it so hard for him to get to work on time? He didn’t even live far, you had dropped him off a few times on the rare occasion you were scheduled to work the same shift and he didn’t have a ride. He lived like a full 5 minutes away, 10 minutes if he walked. The text bubbles would disappear and reappear, indicating that he was typing up his response.

Chris (WORK): sorry, I’m waiting for my brother to pick me up. he’s my ride

Another groan of annoyance escapes your lips, annoyed at the fact that a grown man was still relying on others for transportation. The haunting sound of the doorbell rings again suddenly and catches your attention. A couple had just walked in hand in hand. “Hello!” You greeted them quickly using your standard go-to customer service voice as you watched them disappear to the back of the store. You hated greeting the customers, they always ignored you.

y/n: you always do this bro. you could literally still get here on time if you started walking right now

The customers in the back of the store were laughing loudly, causing you to once again look away from your phone and in their direction. They were horse-playing, pushing and pulling each other playfully around the store. As cute as it was, you could only think about them possibly tipping something over and making a mess. The last thing you needed right now was a big mess to clean up.

Chris (WORK): that’s not true.

Chris (WORK): and nah I’ll just wait for Matt to take me

You didn’t even bother replying to his last message because no matter what you said he would still be late either way. A loud crash echoes from the back of the store, the couple gasping right after. You sit up from your stool and tiptoe, trying to see what they dropped. ‘Hopefully they didn’t break anything,’ you thought, but you knew they had. Before you could examine the situation, the couple was running out of the store giggling and laughing.

When you walked over to where they previously were you saw it, an entire 6-pack of Coors Light busted on the floor. You wanted to scream, the only thoughts running through your mind being about how much you hated this job. Somehow this all felt like Chris’s fault because his shift started in five minutes and if you weren’t so busy texting him back you might’ve caught the couple in time to warn them to stop.

“Stupid Chris,” you whispered in annoyance as you bent down to pick the beer cans up. The beer dripped down your arm and onto the floor as you rushed it over to the trash can. You really, really hated this job right now.

—

By the time Chris finally arrived it was well over 45 minutes since your shift was meant to end. You were still cleaning up the mess from before, using bleach and the dirty mop from the supply closet to try and remove as much of the sticky residue as possible.

Chris rushed inside, buttoning up his uniform shirt in the process. Once inside he immediately looked around, trying to find you to let you know he was there and you could leave. “Y/n, where you at?” He called through the store, peering easily over the shelves as he tried to find you. But because you were hunched over scrubbing as hard as possible to clean up the liquid mess on the floor, he couldn’t see you.

He walked down the aisles, picking up a bag of chips on the way. He opened the bag, popping a chip in his mouth as he continued to the back of the store. When he found you, he didn’t even comment on what you were doing, instead letting you know that you were free to go, “hey thanks bro, you’re good to go.” You stood up straight with the mop in your right hand and the bleach bottle in the other as you rolled your eyes at his comment.

A chip fell from his mouth, landing on the floor. This irked you even more. Not only was he 45 minutes late, but now he was actively adding to the mess you were trying to clean up. “Here,” you say sternly, shoving the mop and bleach spray towards him and snatching the bag of chips he was holding.

“Hey! I was eating those!” He exclaims, attempting to grab them back from you. “Bye Chris,” you reply, already beginning to walk off, eating a chip in the process. You quickly learned that you didn’t even like this chip flavor, but you couldn’t stand looking at Chris’s face right now so you took them simply to mess with him. “Wait! You didn’t finish cleaning this up!” He called back, looking between you and the mess on the floor. The mop felt so foreign in his hands, he never mopped. You or one of your other coworkers always did that, but never Chris.

“I’m good to go!” You replied, quoting his own words as you pushed the front door and walked out, the doorbell ringing in the process. You threw the bag of chips away on the way to your car. Now it was Chris’s turn to be haunted by the doorbell.

—

The next day you were off so you decided to focus your energy on studying and binge watching your favorite tv shows. You had a few exams coming up so you made a mental note to specifically study for those. You hadn’t even reached the end of the first day when you received a call from Chris.

You debated on whether or not you should answer it, knowing it had to be a work related call. ‘Someone probably called in,’ you thought. You weighed out the pros and cons quickly in your head. ‘Pros? I answer this call and get more hours. More hours equals more money,’ you thought. On the other hand, the cons were never ending. ‘Cons? everything.’

After letting it ring five times, you picked up the phone and placed it on your ear, “Hello?” You could faintly hear the hum of the convenience store refrigerators in the background along with loud chewing. Chris was definitely eating yet another snack. “Y/n, Marcus called in again. Do you think you can come in?” Chris asks, getting straight to the point.

Why was everyone at your job so unreliable? “Umm I don’t know, I’m pretty busy right now,” you replied, staring at the exam notes sprawled out in front of you on your bed. “You don’t sound busy,” he said sassily and followed it with loud crinkling noises as he tried reaching the chip at the bottom of the bag. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You sounded offended but Chris didn’t notice. He mostly wanted you to come in so he wouldn’t have to get through this shift alone. Of course he could’ve called someone else to come in, but for whatever reason he found himself calling you.

Today was Friday and although your store was generally slow, Fridays tended to pick up around 5pm when everyone was either getting off work or picking their kids up from school. “It means that you don’t sound busy,” he replied again, still crinkling his chip bag. His fingers were so greasy at this point that he kept missing the last chip every time he almost had it.

“I mean, what are you even doing right now? Studying?” He asked again. It was a rhetorical question, but the answer was yes. A loud crunch was heard through the speaker, he finally found that one straggling chip and was now incessantly chewing on it. ‘Lucky guess,’ you thought as you began piling all your notes together in embarrassment. “I’ll be there in 20,” you replied, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation.

“You’re studying aren’t you,” he chuckles, crumpling the chip bag, creating a make-shift basketball. He sits in the stool, shifting his body in the direction of the trash can that sat in the corner so he could throw his bag away. “Shut up,” you grumble, getting up from your bed to start getting ready.

“KOBE!” He shouts, throwing the bag in the direction of the trash can with a swift flick of his wrist. He missed terribly and the bag hit the floor with a soft thud.

—

You arrive to work 20 minutes later, mentally preparing yourself for the long 8 hour shift ahead of you. When you walked inside you noticed Chris had a long line of customers forming, all of them holding a multitude of items. Dread filled your body as you realized that you actually had to work and couldn’t just sit there as you waited for your shift to end.

You made your way behind the counter and situated yourself to the right of Chris, motioning for the next customer in line towards your register. “I can help who’s next in line,” you said loudly. The next customer quickly shuffled over to you, dumping all their things on the counter for you to scan.

The rush doesn’t last long, both you and Chris checking customers out quickly and efficiently in order to get them out the door as fast as possible. “Thanks for coming in,” Chris finally says, watching as you grab a box of candy from under the counter. The box is heavy, causing you to heave slightly when you pick it up. Chris notices this and quickly sits up off his stool to help you with the box. “Yeah, it’s whatever,” you reply nonchalantly, allowing him to help you pick the box up.

He’s now holding the box with ease before inquiring what your intentions with this box of candy were, “you gonna stock up?” You hum in response, ready to take the box back from him so you could begin stocking up the now bare candy shelves around the store. He notices this and offers to help carry it around for you. It was the least he could do after calling you in on your day off. “I got it,” he says, adjusting his arms so the box is comfortable enough to carry around.

“Thanks,” your reply is simple, they always were. Chris had never been able to break through to you on a personal level. Throughout your shifts you would always make small talk to pass the time and he was able to learn small details about your life, but he was never was able to learn anything truly personal about you. On one occasion, for example, he learned that you were working here to pay for your school, but he never learned what you were going to school for. Another time he also learned that you had a dog, but you never told him its name.

All your other coworkers had opened up to him with ease, sharing personal details about their life and even trauma dumping a few times. He wondered why you were always so distant. He wanted to get to know you better, but he didn’t know how.

Chris follows behind you as you stock up the shelves, watching as you organize the rows neatly before moving on to the next. He catches sight of a package of Twizzlers, deciding he was going to use this as his talking point. “These are my favorite candies,” he comments, handing you the package so you can organize it onto the shelf. You don’t even respond, you just continue working like some type of task bot.

He sighs quietly, wondering if he should’ve asked someone else to come in for Marcus. Chris wants to give up, but he decided to try again, “What’s your favorite candy, y/n?” The question causes you to pause. ‘If I wanted to be quizzed, I would’ve stayed home to study,’ you thought, already wishing that these next 8 hours would just be over.

“Um… I don’t know? M&M’s are okay, I guess,” you respond, providing him with a half-ass answer in hopes that he’ll take the hint and stop asking questions. He doesn’t.

“What color M&M is your favorite?” He asks, thinking about the different M&M characters from the commercials. “I don’t know, they all taste the same to me,” you quipped back, trying to focus on neatly organizing the shelves in front of you. He was still trudging behind you and although the box he was holding became lighter with each candy you removed, it was still heavy. He adjusted the box again and pulled it up higher against his chest.

“No, I meant like the characters,” he laughs, his mind replaying all those funny commercials where the M&M’s are getting into trouble. You were silent, seemingly confused with whatever he was talking about. “You know! From the commercials!” He sounds excited, hoping that you know what he’s talking about so he doesn’t sound like an idiot. You don’t remember but decide to just go along with him for the sake of your own sanity, “oh yeah, the red one was pretty cool.”

He scoffs at this response, pretending to act offended, “the orange one was clearly the best.” You chuckle at this and it instantly puts a smile on his face. Finally he was getting somewhere with you.

Chris would be lying if he said he didn’t find you pretty. You were the prettiest girl who worked here, which really wasn’t saying much considering the only other woman who worked here was a 65 year old named Gladys, but he’d been around town and he could never find a single girl hotter than you. So, yes, he’d sneak a few glances your way here and there and was always excited to come into work when you were scheduled. Sometimes he would even come in on his days off to buy a soda for an excuse to see you.

You found Chris attractive too, but you mostly found him annoying. He had a pretty terrible work ethic and every time you worked with him it felt like you were stuck doing all the hard labor. Not to mention the fact that he was always running late, forcing you to cover for him until he arrived. Plus he was always snacking on something and leaving his crumbs all over the place for you to clean. Despite all this, he did have his few good moments. Like right now when he’s helping you carry the heaviest box in the store.

“I knew I could make you laugh,” he comments, handing you the last package of candy in the box. You roll your eyes at his comment before responding, “it doesn’t take much to make me laugh, kid.” Your comment was meant to push his buttons, but he didn’t mind the challenge. “Is that a challenge?” He asks, a small smirk growing on his face as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. This earns him another eye roll from you.

“I’d like to see you try,” you respond with a cheeky smile as you take the empty box from him so you can throw it away. Chris watches as you walk away, feeling absolute smitten by you and confident in his skills to make you laugh at least one more time in the next eight hours.

‘This is going to be fun,’ he thought.

—

Chris spends the next 8 hours of your shift trying to make you laugh. He tells bad jokes, pulls silly faces, and even does stupid little dances all in an attempt to see you smile. You laughed at his first joke, but it was quiet enough for him to miss it. You were grateful for that because it egged him on.

“C’mon y/n! Just one little laugh, one giggle, a chuckle even,” he pleads, walking closer to you from behind the counter. You shake your head playfully as you sit back in your stool and face him. He inches closer once again as his mind comes up with the perfect plan of action to get you to laugh,, “what if I do this!”

He pounces on you, using his fingers to poke at your sides as he tickles you. Immediately you burst into a fit of laughter as you attempt to push his hands away, but he uses his strength to keep them in place. “Chris! Stop!” you say in between laughter. He has the biggest smile on his face because he finally got to hear you laugh after so many failed attempts.

Chris continues to tickle you, failing to notice how your body is beginning to slide off the stool. Before he knows it, you’re leaning backwards and heading straight for the floor beneath you. You shriek at the feeling and reach forward to latch yourself onto Chris’s arms to prevent yourself from falling. He immediately stops tickling you and grabs you firmly by the waist, catching you before you can slip off the chair completely.

At this point his forehead is flush against yours, both your eyes locked in a heated stare as your breath fans against his lips. You tried catching your breath, both from the laughing and from the scare you’d just gotten. The moment feels so intense and intimate, all Chris can think about is how easy it would be to kiss you.

‘Fuck it,’ he thinks as he closes his eyes, ready to lean forward and capture your lips in his before he can psych himself out. You do the same, too lost in the moment to realize that you were about to kiss Chris, your coworker who you found annoying up until a few hours ago. Before your lips can meet, the sound of the doorbell rings through the store causing you to break away as quickly as possible.

You both look towards the front door, fully expecting a customer to be standing there but you’re met with nothing. It was just the wind from outside, it had pushed the door open slightly and triggered the doorbell.

Both of you cough awkwardly, deciding to avoid each other for the rest of your shift.

—

Finally, your shift is over. You and Chris worked together silently to close the store up and restock any bare shelves. Once you grab your things you prepare to walk outside and over to your car. Chris was outside already on the phone near the gas pumps. He was calling his brother to pick him up, but he wasn’t picking up.

When you make your way outside, you use your keys to lock the doors behind you. As you fumble with the keys you hear Chris muttering something under his breath before groaning. You turn to walk over to your car, ready to leave without Chris, but as you reach for the door handle you stop to look in his direction one last time. He’s now sitting on the curb, looking in the opposite direction of you. He’s debating in his head whether he should ask you for a ride or just walk home in the dark.

You watch as he gets up abruptly as he decides he was just going to walk home. He couldn’t bare having to sit in a car with you after what happened today. The guilt ate at you, causing you to offer him a ride. “Need a ride?” You shouted in his direction, waiting patiently for him to turn around and acknowledge you. Immediately his head turned in your direction at the question. He silently thanked God for your offer because he really didn’t want to walk home, but he was to embarrassed to ask for a ride. This also meant that you probably weren’t as upset with him as he thought you were. In reality you weren’t mad at all, but you did feel a little awkward.

He jogged over to your car, standing in front of the passenger side door awkwardly almost like he was waiting for permission to get in. “You getting in?” You asked as you opened the your car door and hopped in. “Oh. Um, yeah,” he stutters before following suit and getting in the passenger seat.

The ride to his house is silent, the only noises being the radio and the sound of the car engine. Considering he doesn’t live far, it doesn’t take long for you to arrive to his house. You pull up to the side of the street and place the car in the park, waiting for him to thank you and get out like he always does when you drive him home. He doesn’t immediately get out though, instead he sits in the passenger seat quietly as he rubs his clammy hands against his thighs to relieve some of the anxiety building up inside of him.

Chris’s mind is racing a mile a minute as he thinks of all the possibilities this night could lead to. He could get out of the car, leaving you with nothing but a simple thank you and then let your relationship return to normal. Or, he could do the unthinkable and gain an outstanding reward in return. Whatever he chose, he knew he’d have to deal with the consequences and right now he was willing to gamble.

“You good?” You ask him as you shift in your seat to gain a better look at his face. He looks so nervous that you almost don’t recognize him because it completely contrasts his usual energetic and confident demeanor. “Yeah, I just-“ he’s struggling to find the right words, afraid to say the wrong thing and ruin it all. “You just?” You push, wanting to know what he’s getting at.

Chris sighs, taking one last pause to gather his thoughts before completely shifting towards you. His eyes pierce into yours as he searches them trying to gauge whether his next move will affect his chances at a future with you. Upon further inspection, he decides to just do it.

“I just-” he begins to say but cuts himself off by planting his lips on yours. You’re caught by surprise at his actions, eyes widening in shock and arms falling stiff to your sides. His hands move up to your face, cupping your cheek in an attempt to get you closer, but once he realizes you’re not kissing him back he completely pulls away from you.

It took you a while to process what had just happened; Chris just kissed you! Despite your reaction, you were satisfied with the outcome of the night. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have-” he begins to apologize, but you interrupt him this time. Your lips are back on his, both your hands cupping his face to keep him as close to you as possible. A sigh of relief escapes him, his warm breath landing on your lips. He melts into your touch, placing one of his hands on yours that rested on his face. Chris tasted like candy which only made you want the kiss that much more.

Finally you two pull away from the kiss, letting go of each other slowly. He has a goofy smile on his face as he stares at you, taking in every aspect of your being. “Stop looking at me like that,” you giggle, covering your face in embarrassment.

He laughs along with you, pulling your hands away from your face before replying, “see, I told you I’d make you laugh.” You roll your eyes, moving your face closer to his once again.

“Shut up,” you whisper, kissing him for the third time that night.

—

A/n: I wrote a Matt story so yk I had to write a Chris story. Nick is next don’t worry lololol. Also, I’ve seen your requests/ anon messages and trust that I’m gonna respond to those too! Thanks for reading 🩵enjoy girlies!

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

[elumish]

My Experience With Digital-First Royalty-Only Publishing (Part 2)

Disclaimer: just my experience, may not reflect other people's

Part 1 (What is this sort of publishing; how did I get published; what does the submission, contract, and editing process look like)

Book Release:

My [redacted] book came out in April 2024. It is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and the publisher's own website, where it is listed for a couple dollars less than on Amazon/B&N. It's available both digitally (in multiple different file formats) and for print (paperback).

I can't speak for whether this is standard across these sorts of publishers, but it probably isn't unusual. This does mean that the book can't be available on Kindle Unlimited, given how Kindle Unlimited's requirements work.

The timing for this sort of publishing is extremely fast compared to traditional or even small-press print publishing. I signed the contract in late August 2023 and sent in the final draft to my editor in late October 2023, and the book was released in late April 2024.

Book cover:

For designing my book cover, they pointed me towards where they pull stock images from and asked me to describe the sort of cover I would want, including possible stock images. They also asked for physical characteristics of my characters, which is when I realized that I had no clue what my characters look like.

The stock image website included AI art, as well as regular non-AI stock images. I specifically requested no AI art, including no AI-generated stock images. As far as I am aware, they respected that request.

Once they created one, they sent me a mock-up and asked about minor changes (typography, etc., from what I remember). I didn't have any changes. Overall, my cover looks like what I described to them, and I'm really happy with it.

Marketing:

My marketing experience with my publisher has been decidedly underwhelming. They seem to have started to revamp their marketing process right around when my book came out, so my book didn't receive/hasn't received a huge amount of marketing support from them.

What they gave me marketing-wise: a few marketing images for pre-release/post-release, including Twitter and FB header images, etc.; general marketing guidance for what I could/should be doing; a couple of mentions on their publisher Instagram post-release and a mention in their weekly newsletter

What they didn't give me marketing-wise: connection to reviewers, including sending an ARC or providing a list of reviewers that might be good to work with; marketing materials for sites like TikTok or Instragram; a meaningful amount of airtime/mention on their accounts; a large following of their own

Overall, the marketing is what is probably most like self-publishing--a huge amount of it is on me (and I am terrible at it). It will be interesting to see what their revamp brings, but they are starting from a minimal following and not a lot of previous activity on their accounts, and so they also need to build their reach to make their marketing on their accounts more effective.

Royalties/payment:

I get paid on a monthly basis through PayPal. I also receive a royalty statement that lists days, amount/type sold, etc. so I can reconcile with what they have paid me. From what I have seen this royalty statement is pretty standard.

So far, they've been prompt and haven't had issues with payments.

However, because of (among other things) their general lack of marketing, my royalty statements have been fairly low. So far (and, granted, the book came out less than 2 months ago) I have made very little money on this.

My Path Forward:

I've thought a lot about whether I will continue to do this sort of publishing. I am currently querying my "main" books, and I don't plan to publish them through this sort of publishing, even if the publisher would likely accept them.

My contract stipulates that my publisher has right of first refusal for the rest of the books in this series. I am currently writing book two, and I plan to also write a third, as I had initially discussed with them. Beyond that, I'm not sure. I don't mind working with them as a company, but I don't know if they have the processes in place for me to make money publishing with them.

One thing I will likely do is explore other romance publishers that accept unagented submissions. They have a much lower barrier of entry and they are often willing to accept books that trad publishers might not want to spend money/reputational risk on.

As such, I would likely submit to these publishers stories that I don't think traditional publishers/agents would likely to be willing to publish, including more niche subgenres and less standard lengths that are easier to publish digitally.

Why do I redact the name of my book?

Honestly because I'm a coward and because people are weird about romance, especially certain subgenres of romance. I also plan to use this account for my main agented publishing, if I ever reach that point, and I don't necessarily want those two pen names associated.

Any other questions about this sort of publishing?

[theminecraftbee]

so, first, accountability statement: I plan on trying to finish the “zedaph steals a baby” fic by the end of the month and god is that one-line summary no longer accurate but we’re sticking to it, said here publicly so now I have to do it. obviously I also have recursive exchange and the writing I have for hotguy comics zine, but I am not SUPER worried about either of those time/inspiration-wise at the moment and also for Reasons I know it won’t be long until I have more free writing time after that, SO.

various items that are on my potential writing docket, I am curious which of these appeal most:

I dust off the supervillain support group au. two ways this could go: I chip away at the second arc of my original outline and acknowledge this will be like a 300k fic I’m not ready to feel “done” with or “ready to post” with for ages, or I re-work it into something a little more doable and less ambitious keeping the same premise (ren runs a support group for supervillains, doc pov as he starts to heal and redeem himself). this MAY honestly be a target for “if I don’t hate the first 50k on re-reading it and I can actually make my brain write the second arc, do a slower release schedule and then start releasing chapters before I’m done writing”? but this ALSO runs the risk of “I stopped writing it, which is often a sign I was having trouble writing it”.

pearl monster au, which has been cooking in my head for a long while. the basic premise is “one day, pearl, with no memory of how or why this happened, wakes up in a facility as a monster and must try to figure out how she got there, escape, and find her way home, even knowing she may be irrevocably changed”. now with bonus season 10 fish flavor to add to this creature design I’ve been iterating on in my head for forever! this one is ALSO an experiment for me in “can I write a fic where I can’t write dialogue for basically the entire first act”, which would be interesting to see from me, you know?

the related “bigb folklore au”, where after secret life bigb is woken up by Cat and Dog by the tracks of the King Snake, which bigb can recognize as the railroad track, and decides to journey down the railroad to see if he can figure out what the fuck is going on. I need to do video review of life series bigb for this one. this is my excuse to get Weird and Metaphorical and also assign everyone to various animals for no reason, along with using some very specific aesthetic I have wanted to use for some worldbuilding but hadn’t gotten around to yet in any of my stuff. man walks through the desert with animal, confronts train that might be the watchers, might be death, and might just be a train. also, realizes that “confront” is the operative word there and has to deal with that. you know how it is.

““office au””, in air quotes because it’s not REALLY what anyone going to an office au is looking for so much as an excuse to write weird horror. iskall, normal-ish software developer man in a boring office job who does game jams in his free time, goes to work one day to work in his boring downtown office on a payment system for a client. and then things, uh, Take A Turn. this would be a LITTLE me going “what if I wrote an au with a guy who works in tech but like, the boring side of tech I’m in. like, banks and consulting and manufacturing and shit. where you sit in meetings all day and tweak java 8 code even though that language is ten years out of date. but THEN. something exciting happens in the worst way possible.” I’m doing to iskall what I did to mumbo stuffed bird is what I’m saying. it’d be fun.

DO ANY OF THESE PARTICULARLY INTEREST ANYONE. your input will be valued. like 50% chance i get hit with a strong bolt of inspiration then IGNORE that input but it’ll be valued all the same,

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Art deco

Artist!Natasha x Fem!reader

TW: smut, legal age gap, fluff, praise kink, degradation (slight), Top!Nat, Bottom!reader, Nat speaking russian, petnames

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors!

Word count: 1.6k

Masterlist

I was now living with Natasha Romanoff for nearly a year, and she was still a mystery to me. She was what you would call a real artist. She lived for her art, sometimes I felt like there was nothing more important to her than her art. Luckilyfor me she called me her art. I was her girl, the women she gifted her heart to, her masterpiece, her muse.

The first time we met was because she was searching for a female act model. Her payment was beyond decent, and I was a poor college student who had just hit her twenties. So, I signed up. To be honest I did not expect the artist for who I would be modelling to be so beautiful. Even beautiful wasn't a match for Natasha’s beauty. The first thing I noticed after she had first opened me the door to her big apartment was, how her green eyes were the perfect contrast to her fiery red hair.

She would draw me, touching my skin whenever she was rearranging my pose, I tried to hide my blush whenever she was touching me. But she noticed it, of course she did, she kissed me, and I didn't push her away like I thought would. No, I pulled her closer. I let her devourer me, touch me and fuck me. I should've felt bad, I shouldn't have told her to do the things to me, that she did.

The morning after I still didn't regret it. How could I regret her, when I loved the things, she would whisper to me in that night. When Natasha asked me to take me out a dinner, I said yes. 4 months later she asked me to be her girlfriend and 6 months later I moved in with her and for 5 months she was working on her so-called masterpiece. Something so great that it would overshadow even her most famous works and I wasn't allowed to see it.

I knock at her door "Natasha, you've been in there for twenty hours now. You need to eat something" I pause and sign "I miss you". After a few minutes she opens the door looking at me confused " TWENTY HOURS... lord I totally forgot the time" She strokes her short red hair. She hugs me pulling me closer to her kissing my forehead. "I'm nearly finished, моя любовь. I just need to add my finishing touch." Natasha grabs my cheeks gently stroking it, while making eye contact with me. "I need my muse in it."

I giggle at her words "First of all you need to eat something" I kiss her cheek softly "I made you Pelmeni and Morozhenoe for dessert" I can see her smiling at me while I grab her hand and take her to the kitchen "You're the best girlfriend I could ever imagine, but I would like something else for dessert you know" She smirks at me. "I love you too."

The dinner was more or less quiet from Natasha’s side she let me go on and on listening to me rant about my professors, exams I had do, or how exhausting it was to work at the local dinner. She would listen to me giving me advise sometimes she would even joke.

"Y/N" Natasha let out a sign "You don't need to work that much, I'm rich I can pay off your student loans. I would love to" She was right, somehow Natasha was always right. Maybe it was her age that made her so wise, or she just was an old soul. "I know, Natty, but I just want to have a small bit of independence."

"I just" she takes my hand in hers gently kissing it "I don't like to see you so sad моя любовь, but enough of that" She stands up taking my hand "I want to show you what I'm currently working on" smile at her walking after her following her into her gallery.

She opened the door me making me step into the large room. It had big windows with a high ceiling making the room appear warmer. Finished and half-finished paintings fill not only the Walls but also the ground. Natasha didn't seem like a messy person, but the room contradicted that statement.

"So, where is this, masterpiece" I ask she comes up right behind me kissing my neck "Right to your feet зайчик" I look down seeing the large canvases laying on the ground without the frame "Natasha, why is frame missing?" She laughs pulling the hem of my blouse out my pants before unbuttoning it "I bet you can figure that out with your pretty head дорогой."  She groans against my neck before turning me around for her lips to meet mine. 

She kisses me passionately and I kiss back with the same passion if not more. Our lips mat like puzzle pieces into each other, like they are meant to be together. Natasha keeps kissing me, pulling me impossibly closer to her. Licking over my lips, asking for permission to enter my mouth, which I didn’t let her have. She groans against my lips.

Her hand travels down my body unzipping my pants before tugging on it pulling off. Before she harshly grabs my ass, squeezing the soft flesh making me moan against her lips. Natasha using this opportunity to slip her tongue into my mouth. We don’t fight for long dominance, I let her have it because I know it would be a losing game.

She trails her kisses down my neck, sucking and biting on it forcing strangled moans from my mouth. “Natasha, please~ touch me” I can practically feel how she smirks against my skin “I am touching you зайчик“. If she keeps calling me nicknames in Russian and I’m going to melt on the spot. I whimper desperately making her smirk only grow wider. Her hands reach to my unhooking my bra pulling it off.

“Lay down for me, моя любовь“ She whispers in my ear biting down on my earlobe making me moan “On~ on the canvas?” I’m breathing heavily at the feeling of her hands kneeling my soft skin “Where else? Like I said, зайчик, I need the finishing touch of my muse”. After her words she keeps kissing my lips helping me lay down on the canvas. The paint under me is cold and in some places still wet.

 Her kisses trail my body down, stopping at my breaths. Taking one of my nipples in her mouth, sucking on it. “Fuck Natty” I moan out throwing. My other boob isn’t neglected, Natashas hand kneels it roughly. She kept sucking on my nipple before biting down making me release a pornographic moan. She keeps kissing and sucking on my skin leaving dark marks behind as if she would want to claim me. Show everyone that I was hers.

Slowly she lowers her kisses to my hips, kissing and nibbling on my skin. It feels like I can’t take her teasing anymore I want more and I want it now. “Natty, come on don’t tease me any longer” I whined out hoping I would make have mercy with me. But she just smiles against my skin “You truly are a slut, so desperate for more, while not thanking me for what I give you. I thought you were my good girl.”

 I can feel how my face reddens at her comment. “I am so sorry, Natty. Please, please fuck me. I’m going to be good so good for you!” She smirks against my skin, lifting my hips slightly to pull down my panties kissing and sucking dark marks onto my thighs. I try to keep my whimpers quiet but fail miserably. Natasha kisses my clit, flicking her tongue over the nob.

I let out desperate moans, grabbing her red hair pulling her closer to my heat. She groans at the slight pain she was feeling on her scalp. “Shit, Tasha, you’re so good” I moan out as she gives me the best pleasure I could imagine. As she moans at my words I feel it vibrating through my body. She pumps one finger inside of me curling and penetrating my hole. “More” I whimper not being able to form sentences in my state of pure pleasure.

She adds a second finger curling it against my g- spot, I scream out in pleasure repeating her name like a prayer. “Fuck Natasha I’m so close, so close” She smiles and fucks me harder. “Cum for me, зайчик“ I cum right after her words with a loud moan of her name. She climbs up my body again whispering sweat nothings in my high built down. My breathing gets calmer as Natasha pulls her fingers out.

“You are so good, so good for me Y/N” She taps her fingers against my legs signalling me to close my legs around her waist. She stands back up holding me in her arms. Natasha looks back down at the painting, that was now smudged in the bottom half from my body. She smiles at me and kisses my head.

“It’s perfect, зайчик“ She smiles at me “Now lets get you cleaned up”

"I love you"

"I love you too"

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for stealing jewelry and a few other items from my hoarder aunt?

This was a few years ago now, I wanna say maybe 2018? My dad has two sisters, Z and K. K is married to a hoarder and has some hoarding tendencies herself so their house and particularly their garage is a mess. Not biohazard levels of mess but for sure just dusty, dirty, and stuffed with with ancient unusable garbage. K and her husband don’t have any kids, they’re both in their mid-70’s and both are in pretty poor health, so Z flew down from Florida and asked my father and I to come help clean. We agreed and came down for a day.

I have a weird relationship with my aunts. K took care of their mother until she died, and until she died my father would be at his sister’s beck and call. He would frequently abandon his own family to go help K and his mother. I don’t blame him for this, he wanted to help his sick mother, but I do blame K for using him as free labor. He built the house K is hoarding in, destroying his body in the process. Now that I’m an adult I don’t really speak to either aunt, like I had no contact with Z since Z’s second wedding in 2013. K is much closer location-wise but I don’t speak to her either because she’s just kind of off putting. The last time I spent time with her we went shopping and she kept telling me stories of her miscarriage and how annoying her husband is and pointing to someone and loudly asking “you think that’s a man or a woman?” Like I understand we are family but K and Z are as close to strangers as family can get to me. This doesn’t even cover my mom’s opinion of them and their treatment of her. Both Z and K have a history of manipulation, deception, and are both very vindictive and ignorant. She hates them both to the point of paranoia. My sister and I have a similarly low opinion of them both, but we both are more tolerable, myself especially.

So we arrive and we clean, Z and I working together to throw away a bunch of shit and my father worked on installing a new dishwasher. I stumble upon this gorgeous hanging lamp that looks like a large full moon. I text my mom about it and she flips. “That’s mine,” she says, “your father and I found that on the side of the road one night when we were first married.” So I load it into my dads car because it’s so pretty and it belongs to my parents. “Hey, you better ask if you can take that” Z says and I flat out tell her that it belongs to my mom. She shrugs and we continue to work. I find another really cool set of hanging lamps and a solid wooden lamp base carved to look like a gazelle that probably belonged to K’s husband’s parents and I took those too, with no input from Z.

These items weren’t lovingly packed and carefully stored away. They were sitting in plastic bins stuffed with dozens of boxes disintegrated plastic gloves and tools that were more rust than anything else. Towards the end of the day we discover some jewelry boxes and I take those inside to go through with K. A lot of it was junky costume jewelry but there’s some incredible pieces including a pair of 14k gold hoops that look like rams heads, a cool brass ring with an enameled signet with the Sagittarius archer, and a huge silver heart pendant. I carefully set aside the items that I would like to take home and K didn’t say anything, either because she didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Finally when we got home I showed my mom all of the cool stuff I found and she kind of scolded me, saying I should have asked to take this stuff and I brushed it off by joking that this was payment for my cleaning services. She was very happy that I rescued her moon lamp though.

I’m wearing that chunky silver heart pendant today and am thinking about it again. K doesn’t have any children so the only people who would ever inherit this junk would be either myself or Z’s kids, but Z’s daughter is no contact with Z and Z’s son lives on the other side of the country. We own the property that K lives on, pay for the taxes on it and pay for the maintenance on it all without charging K anything, so even when she and her husband die my family is going to have to clean it anyway and I can assure you I would be the only person who would actually want to sift through the garbage to find cool stuff. I feel like I saved this stuff from the landfill. I wear the jewelry I took, we have that really cool gazelle lamp displayed in our living room, and my sister said she was going to use the hanging lamps I brought home for when she has her own home. But of course I technically stole all of it and for sure will not be giving it back, even if she noticed it’s missing. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[lady06reaper]

Drug Dealer! Kenny x Stoner! reader

This was requested by @mccormickgf ! I hope you enjoy it!

TW! MENTIONS OF WEED AND GETTING HIGH, IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THAT SORTA THING PLEASE EVACUATE NOW!

Kenny never thought he’d be in a situation like this, both romantic and work wise. I mean, yea, he does drugs, but he never thought he’d be slinging them for extra cash to be able to take care of Karen. But he really never thought he’d fall in love with one of his regulars either. You knew he wasn’t doing this for fun, he was doing this because he had to have the extra money, and of course you admire him too much to buy from anyone else. Weed was the only drug Kenny would sell, just straight bud and carts, and that was the only drug you would do. Truly a match made in heaven.

You had been buying from Kenny since high school really, you were the only girl who understood and was willing to buy from him instead of using your body as payment. You thought Kenny was attractive, but you would never stoop as low as that, and you had a good paying job so it wasn’t a problem. You and him had planned on meeting at his house when he got off work at the mechanics shop and picked Karen up from the babysitters, (it was really Kyle who said it’d be a good idea to have Ike and Karen play together). You got off work a little bit early so you swung by your house real quick to put comfy clothes on to be able to use the product as soon as you buy it. 

You got to Kenny's house just a few minutes after he did, you opened the door and braced for impact expecting a little ball of sunshine to come hurling towards you. But it never happened, you looked around and Karen was nowhere to be found, but Kenny was. He was sitting on the couch sorting out product and counting money. It was like an actual drug den but without the hardcore narcotics. There were beanbags and child friendly tapestries, so it could be Karen's indoor playground but also a safe area to get high. 

“Hey there hot stuff! What we looking for today? THC? Delta 9?” Kenny asked, looking up from what he was doing.

FIRST PERSON POV

“Got any indica carts by chance?” I questioned looking down at the table where all the Devils Lettuce products were sprawled out. Kenny nodded and handed me the cart, I pulled out my pen and twisted in the new indica cart. “Thanks Ken.” I turned on the pen and took a small hit to see how it’d affect me.

“It's on the house don’t worry about it,” Kenny shook his hand to emphasize the no money. I didn’t listen so without a word I threw down 60 bucks on the coffee table, it’s actually 40 but he deserves a good tip. He took one look at it and slide it back over to me.

“I said it’s on the house.”

“And I said it’s 40 plus tip,” I slid the money back to him, he slammed his hand on the money to prevent it from going back to him.

“I can’t take your money right now, it’s not that I don’t need it I do, it just feels wrong charging you seeing as how you’re a dear friend of mine.” Kenny looked me in the eyes when he said that. Dear friend of his? What kinda crack is he on? Kenny never spoke like that, and if he did he was high on something. He didn’t look like he was on something, but he’s also an experienced stoner so it takes a lot to even get him close to a high.

“Well then if you need it then take it, if not for you use it for Karen, I’m sure she’d enjoy some new toys or clothes,” I took my hand off the money and leaned back in the La-z-boy I claimed as my spot for when I come over. 

“You’re not wrong, I’m sure she would, but I just can’t take it.”

“Kenneth McCormick, if you don’t take this money I’ll just give it to Karen and take her on a candy shopping trip so she’ll be bouncing off the walls as punishment for not taking my money right here right now.”

“Jokes on you, I can just drop her off at Kyles and she’ll be his problem when she's on a sugar buzz,”

“Goddammit Kenny, why don’t you just take my money?”

“Because I love you!” Kenny raised his voice a little, he looked down in between his legs away from me as if he was ashamed. I was taken aback, we’ve known each other since elementary school so it wasn’t a huge shock, but it was to my mind. He wasn’t moving, he was waiting for my response to his confession. I got up, moved his arm away from his face, and sat down gently on his lap. He leaned back on the couch to make more room for us, I took his face in my hands to make him look at me.

“I love you too Kenny, and I truly mean it,” his eyes lit up, they moved down to my lips as if he was asking for permission. Before he could with his voice, I moved in and connected our lips. His lips were kinda cracked, but the chapstick I had on helped to lessen the friction between rough and smooth. We pulled away and smiled at each other, he leaned over on the coffee table to grab his pen and the remote to the TV. Kenny turned on a movie, took a hit of his pen, and leaned his head on my head that was resting on his shoulder. I took a hit of my pen and snuggled more into his shoulder, we both exhaled the smoke we were holding in and watched the movie for the rest of the night as stoner lovers.

[lady-raziel]

How Project 2025 could radically reshape higher ed (insidehighered.com)

I know you've heard a lot of things about Project 2025 at this point and most of them are scary, but I think it's things like this that indicate that even the stuff in that plan that seems boring is very scary too. Here's a bit of an analysis on some of the plans regarding higher education.

Basically, they want to make it much, much harder to get student loans, and to make the loans you can get much harder to pay off. For so many people, the only way they'll ever be able to get a higher education is with the help of federal student loans. Without that assistance, and for degrees that don't guarantee a high-paying career quickly (such as art, history, literature-- so many subjects, most of them "soft-sciences") because having a high-income would be necessary to keep up with payments (as income-driven repayment plans will be eliminated)...a lot of people will not go to college. Particularly people from disadvantaged backgrounds.

So it would be that most high-school grads can't afford school, and the ones that take on loans have to prioritize careers that by nature aren't the ones taking on learning from history, culture, or political thought because it's hard to make money and advance quickly career-wise with those. It would gatekeep the "soft-science" subjects that tend to spur criticisms of society, history, and power to those who could afford to pay full-price-- who are also likely to be privileged and in the ruling class and thus the least likely to criticize the existing culture. And by gatekeeping that knowledge and its credentials, they could discredit anyone who hasn't studied the subject by saying that they are uninformed or uneducated and thus shouldn't be taken seriously. They would be in full control of the research being done and the types of papers being written. The end result is crippling the ability to even have academic discourse or research to refute their other policy goals.

Furthermore, the elimination of many repayment plans that already exist serves to punish the people who have already gotten degrees-- if you don't already have a stable job, trying to keep up with higher payments while your taxes go up (increasing tax rate for people making under $168k to 15% of income and eliminating pretty much every deduction, credit, and exclusion) and still affording the necessities (made much harder when Medicaid, SNAP, other social safety nets are cut) will be very challenging. And if you DO have a stable job and are educated on subjects that allow you to criticize the movement-- they can attack you and discredit you and make you lose that job if you publicly disagree. The way Project 2025 suggests restructuring the federal workforce is an example-- even if you're an expert, if you work in a federal agency and don't comply, you're gone.

The long-term purpose of all this is clear-- control the knowledge, control the history, prevent people from developing any skills to oppose you through research or academic theory, prevent people from going to institutions that can get them to question society and power. It is much harder to organize and develop ideas to oppose the people in power if you never get any chance to learn how or what others have done before you.

When the obstacles to getting educated become so great, so challenging, how many people will try? Why risk it, when you have more certainty working a blue-collar job instead? Why push young women to go to school when, if they take out loans, may not be able to maintain the payments if they get married and leave the workforce to have children-- or if they get pregnant (and will not be able to access birth control or an abortion) unexpectedly and also have to leave the workforce? With social safety net programs gutted and women forced to give birth upon becoming pregnant, and no early childhood education program to provide relief causing women to have to stay home, there would be no way to repay student loans for women who leave the workforce in this scenario. Being a woman is too much of a risk for higher ed in this world--how many will take that risk?

And none of this even scratches what Project 2025 wants to do to the colleges and universities themselves and how teaching certain subjects could cause them to lose funding. Again--how many will take that risk? Going bankrupt, or discussing critical race theory?

The real, long-lasting threat of this agenda, even beyond the immediate terrible effects on the LGBTQ+ community and disadvantaged communities, is to make life unlivable for those that disagree or exist in a way the right-wing doesn't like. It uses the whole of systems of power--governmental, financial, social, societal-- to work together in concert to make the only way to live be their way. It's not just one policy--it's all of them working together to crush people and make sure even those in a privileged position who could disagree...won't.

You know the call to action is to vote. But I'd also spend some time educating yourself on some of the more boring-sounding objectives in Project 2025. Don't feel pressured to read the whole thing yourself, because it's very long and dense as it IS actually written by smart and competent people who are conservative academics and former Trump staffers. That's why it's a problem-- these people are smart enough and know enough to make this plan work. But there are a lot of articles from reputable sources out there breaking down even the dullest-sounding parts of this plan-- please spend some time understanding the extent and educate those around you.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Eight

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: None.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.5k

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It's the last day the crew will be spending on the island, and the men have left you in the bar while they load the supplies onto the ship. You don't mind, as you're mending some of their torn clothes while chatting with Cerise, the woman who owns the bar. Cerise is well-informed about the Red Haired Pirates. At least, that's what you surmise from her familiarity and jokes with the crew. The Red Force has stopped on this island before, and their faces are well known in these parts.

Setting Yasopp’s now-mended sash aside, you move on to Lucky’s favorite striped shirt. He owns many striped shirts, as you’ve discovered doing the laundry, but how he’s chosen this one as his favorite is beyond you. Perhaps it’s because of the stain at the bottom; none of his other shirts have a stain like it. Or perhaps it's the most worn in and feels nice against his skin. You can’t figure it out, no matter how long you ponder the topic, and simply deduce it to be a male thing. Or perhaps a pirate thing?

“Certainly not in my repertoire,” you softly say, reaching for a thread color in the set you’ve been provided that best matches the stripes. Lucky Roux is fortunate that his shirt has ripped at the edge of one of the stripes; you can easily hide the repair with your skill set. At least your mother’s intensive needlework lessons are finally coming in handy. There’s something therapeutic about repairing clothing, far more so than mindlessly stitching on a circle loom in some fancy design that will never see the light of day. You like feeling useful around the ship; it makes you feel less guilty about being there in the first place. “I told them I only needed passage, not a place to live on board their ship.”

“Oh, they’d never give passage to a woman in distress and then just drop her off at the nearest port,” Cerise comments, walking over while drying her hands with a towel. “I’ve known those boys for twenty-some-odd years. Shanks isn’t letting you go free because he knows you still need help.”

You pause in your mending, lowering your hands to your lap while contemplating her words. She has a point. Shanks is an honorable man and wouldn’t just ditch you the moment he’d completed what you had asked of him. He hadn’t even wanted to take your pendant as payment! Yes, he took you on board and kept you with him and his crew for three weeks without asking for a single thing.

“I feel like I can take care of myself,” you state, your eyebrows pinching ever so slightly. “I am not well-versed in living by myself, but I am not an invalid nor am I entirely naive to how our world works. All I needed from them was safe passage off Kuri Island, nothing more.”

“You are under the assumption that you have to do everything yourself, Aria,” Cerise wisely informs you, observing you sitting regally on a barstool. Your posture stands out and clearly marks you as someone who doesn’t belong in her bar. “Do you want some advice from an old woman who’s seen a thing or two?”

“I would be honored,” you reply, giving her your full attention. If anything, you know that Cerise’s words are both law and religion to be heeded by everyone in Ingles. When she speaks, you listen.

“The Red Haired Pirates are pirates at heart. The sea is their calling, and they will never be tied down by anything or anyone.” Cerise starts in a frank tone. “They’re fully capable of taking care of themselves, cleaning up after their messes, and mending their own clothing.” Her chin nods to the shirt in your lap. “The only reason why they’re letting you clean up and take care of them is because they want you to feel comfortable on the ship, and if that means you’re doing their laundry and mending their clothes, so be it.”

“They’re… letting me…?” you repeat, trying to control your tone and voice so you don’t show off how upset you are to know this. You want to pull your weight on the ship! Not do things because they let you!! Cerise can see the way your eyes flash in anger and teeth grind together. You’re quite good at controlling your emotions, but she has decades of experience reading people. Leaning against the bar, she pats your hand gripping your water glass.

“Don’t take that the wrong way, missy. They might be pirates, but they are gentlemen, and no woman is going to be cleaning up after them because it’s a societal expectation.” You purse your lips and breathe out through your nose, reigning in your temper.

“I’m essentially freeloading aboard their ship, eating and drinking their supplies, using their facilities and bed… and the only reason why I think I’m pulling some of my weight is because they are allowing me to do so?” Your face is painfully hot and your mind is seething. It’s not quite betrayal material to you, but your heart is very much injured by this knowledge. Is there anything in your life that you are doing because you want to and not because someone else is allowing you to do it?

“Now don’t be getting upset that the gentlemen want to be gentlemen,” Cerise tutts at you sternly. “Besides, it won’t do to have you jump right into an independent life. You’ll get overwhelmed and get yourself into trouble. Sea Lord knows you’ve got the beauty for it. They’re easing you into your new life in a responsible way. You’re lucky to have encountered as honorable men as they are.”

“I just wanted to be treated like every other person,” you say dejectedly, dropping your head into your hand and pushing your nails into your scalp. Cerise hums at you and goes back to cutting up slices of lime and lemon for the night rush.

“Oh dear, they are,” she states. “They treat everyone with the respect that is expected and earned. It is nothing personal to you and your situation. Let them help you, and sneak in things to help them. Just don’t get caught.” You eye the older woman at her last comment.

“Are you telling me to sneak behind their backs?” Cerise shrugs and waves her paring knife around.

“They’re men, not always the brightest in situations and can be too stupid to take care of themselves at times.” You can agree with that statement. You watched Hongo argue with Lucky Roux over a cut he’d gotten trying to juggle knives. It took three days before the cook finally relented to putting a simple bandage on it so it didn’t get infected. “It’s also our job as women to mother them, make them remember that they aren’t invincible, and that having someone take care of them is just as rewarding as it is for them to take care of us. Give and take, girl, no one has to do everything by themselves.”

“You have a point, but the most I can do is sew.” Your sewing skills are actually pretty well-honed… but where does sewing have a place on a ship besides mending clothing? “I don’t even know how to cook.”

“Well, that’s a place to start: learning to feed yourself,” Cerise muses, eyes flickering to the faded oak clock hanging above the bar. It’s seen its fair share of drunk bar fights and revelry. It even weathered being knocked off the wall a time or two. “Tell you what, Aria,” Cerise starts, head tilted to the side in contemplation. “Dinner rush isn’t for another two hours. You come back with me and I’ll put you through my mother’s ringer.”

“Your mother’s ringer?” you repeat in confusion.

“Aye, culinary boot camp.”

Tears stream down your face, welling from your eyes and dripping down your cheeks as you struggle to continue with your lesson. But your eyes sting so bad! You’re fairly certain at this point that what Cerise has you doing could be utilized for torture, not cooking purposes. Who knew simply cutting this root vegetable would cause so much pain and tears?

“Ow,” you weakly mutter, rubbing your watery eye for the thousandth time with the back of your hand. Even with your eyes watering so heavily that it looks like you have been sobbing, you are still persistent in finishing cutting up the onions Cerise has planted in front of you and ordered you to chop.

They all have to be cut a certain way, she told you, showing you the basic knife skill with the first onion of your lesson. It didn’t look hard, and you actually felt comfortable holding the knife, that is until the sting in your eyes bloomed and the tears came. Oh, how it burned, and oh, the look Cerise gave you when you paused in your chopping. A strict teacher she is.

“The faster you cut, the quicker the tears will leave,” she told you, standing across the table from you and chopping vegetable after vegetable without so much as a stutter. You are in awe at how fast she can chop vegetables, barely even glancing at the produce she is cutting. On the bar menu tonight is an Ingles town soup made from vegetables and lamb, the staple meat on the island. According to the bar mistress, a large batch is made, and once it is gone, it is gone.

It is quite the popular soup among the regulars, meaning the bar is going to be packed and the drinks flowing. So you continue cutting these damn onions until you have no tears left in your body, and then continue cutting. She might be teaching you how to cook, but you are eager to contribute and pull your weight for once… and that apparently means cutting an endless amount of onions. You’ll get good at cutting onions by the end of this at least.

Additionally, you can learn to wield a blade by learning how to cook, so you wouldn’t be entirely defenseless before you learn how to defend yourself. It’s not exactly a sword, but a knife is better than a hairpin. Blinking several more tears away from your eyes, you focus back on the onion you are currently chopping. Chop. Peel. Slice. You have to constantly remind yourself to focus on where your blade is going. The three nicks you have on your fingers are proof of that.

Shifting your grip on the knife, you finish chopping the onion and gather the slices to drop into the large bowl next to you. Grabbing the next onion, because Cerise happily dumped another basket of onions next to you, you repeat the same process as you had before.

“Not to be rude, but how is this teaching me how to cook?” you ask, tilting your head to the side as you peel the halved onion in front of you. Cerise chuckles at your words and lifts a large bowl full of cut vegetables to dump it in an even larger pot.

“Chopping vegetables is a large part of cooking easy meals on ships,” Cerise explains. “Get you comfortable with knives, and that’s one hurdle that won’t hold you back. Prepping ingredients is also a good idea. It keeps your kitchen clean and saves time. I’ve got a soup and stew book I’ll give you. I taught you everything you need to know to cook the recipes in the book earlier, and I’m sure that by watching Lucky Roux, you can pick up more skills.”

“Well, I think I can manage to cook scrambled eggs,” you admit, wondering how many eggs you have cracked by now. At least you’ve gotten good at doing that. “Lucky lets me crack the eggs in the morning before Shanks is up, sometimes lets me cook the precooked breakfast sausage. I burned myself on the cooktop once, and he forbade me from going within three paces of it for a week after that.”

“Aye, told you the men were protective. You just have to be firm with them and they’ll eventually see reason,” Cerise says while lighting the giant stove beneath the equally giant pot. The kitchen is soon filled with the soft crackles of vegetables sautéing. While the older woman fusses over the cooking vegetables, you finally cut up the rest of the onions without further incident, much to the relief of your fingers and eyes. You carry the bowl of onions over the large pot and drop the sliced onions into the pot to be cooked as well.

“So, I understand everything you’ve taught me about soups and stews, and you’re going to give me a few books to read… but seasoning is a large part of cooking, and I don’t even know what half the spices are in Lucky’s cabinet.” Your nose wrinkles at the picture of Lucky’s spice cabinet. He keeps it meticulously organized and alphabetized. That’s helpful when learning, but it doesn’t help you in using such spices. “Do I just taste them raw and see what goes well flavor-wise?”

“If you like bad flavor,” she answers dryly before turning to face you. “In your case, I’d suggest following recipes and noting what spices are in them to develop the flavor profile. Then, when you are comfortable, you can start dabbling. Like, mint goes well with artichoke, and cumin with chicken. It’s about what you like. What did you like to eat growing up?” Your brain freezes for a moment.

Freedom of food choice is still a novel idea to you. You don’t know what you like or dislike because your mother fed you what she decided. You have a few food items that you positively loathe due to your mother, but you’ve never had the luxury of deciding to eat or not eat something based on flavor and like alone.

“I… don’t really know,” you admit with a soft shrug of your shoulders. “My mother controlled my diet until I left three weeks ago. I don’t have many memories of foods that I enjoyed eating. It was mostly out of necessity.” Cerise hums in understanding and pauses to think. She has a basic understanding of your situation thanks to a quick word from Shanks. Hongo is trying to ease your stomach into new foods so you don’t get sick like you did the first week on board the Red Force. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have small bites here and there.

“I’d suggest that you try bites of food from different dishes to see what you like and don’t like then, Aria. Not big bites, mind you, sneaky ones so you don’t get Shanks or Hongo on the up and up… but just enough to taste.” That’s actually a good idea. Nodding your head in agreement, you smile, pleased that you have a plan for once. You feel better about staying on the Red Force now. The idea of leaning on the men for help is still difficult for you, but learning to cook puts wind back in your sails.

Date Published: 1/20/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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[packsvlog]

HI BABES <3 hruuuu

I've been on ur page for a while and was curious about the jjk matchup and wanted to try 😭

btw feel free to ignore this if u don't wanna do it 🫶🏻

-appearance wise- short? Not athletic at all, casual goth/alt kinda style hijabi/curly ASF short hair, (kinda really conventionally attractive according to shit ton of people ig😭?)

- schizophrenic? Borderline personality disorder and adhd 💀

-Quite smart actually but js lazy asf so usually no efforts

- procrastinates ALOT like that's a huge part of my life atp😭in literally everything

- not really the type to care for own health or anything

-Got a really bad rbf in public +not talkative AT ALL outside of home💀

a huge girls girl

-Really weird mood swings so either talk wayyy while making zero sense or fully mute

-Overall quite confident esp in own body and all so it's pretty hard for other person to win any argument/insult type of things

-Kinda narcissist? Like 1st priority is me so pretty hard to settle for anyone

-childish in relationships cuz ykk trauma🥰🫶🏻

- not taking ANYONES shi esp from partner soo.....

ANYWAYS THAT'S IT ILYYY BYEEE MWAH

my first sukuna!!!! i’ve been waiting for you mwah. this is true form!sukuna and heian!sukuna. also you’re so badass i got inspired to write a one shot, yay.

•⁀➷ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . ﹫ 𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢 ៹ ༉‧₊˚

sukuna does not give a fuck about anyone that isn’t him or uraume, so when you came on this temple he took for himself with a lot of blood as a payment, he was left wondering.

you arrived as an offering from your village, they couldn’t deal with your personality and ways. never putting your head down or allowing anyone to talk shit. and you, a cursed user, had no restrains on using your technique to defend yourself or prove a point. somehow, they still managed to get you unconscious.

throw at sukuna’s feet, you woke in a daze and you were mad at everyone. seeing this fragile looking little person raising chaos and destruction intrigued him. he killed all of those you didn’t, and you hated him for it.

“hey, you big asshole!” you stormed all the way to his seat. “they were mine.”

“and you are mine now, go with uraume to receive your tasks.”

. . . what?

you start to work under sukuna after that day, he says he doesn’t give a fuck, but it’s an easy lie to spot. sukuna wants to know about your powers, your anger, your everything. and since asking you would be inconsistent to his nonchalant personality, he makes uraume be near you at all times.

uraume hates you. not for jealousy, they just hate how lazy you are with the work. the three of you have an intimidating aura, the closed off faces of you and uraume and the devilish smirk of sukuna is a common last view for anyone who dares face you all.

sukuna begins to view you as something other than a soldier when you keep back talking him more and more. he gets offensive, you defend yourself and nearly gets you face burned or body slashed, that makes you even angrier. he finds amusing your scowling and screeches, so he keeps “missing” his assassination attempts.

sukuna does not court you or asks you on a date, sorry! he will just make clear one day that you are his, like in your first encounter, except this time anyone that comes into his room will be met with a not friendly sight of you on his lap.

now, uraume hates the two of you.

──── 𓇼 ° ⋆ FUN FACTS ᵎᵎ

۫ ּ ﹗it’s all a lie, uraume actually likes you both. and if you ever get sick, sukuna will not help you, but the cooker will make you soup and that’s it. don’t ask the ingredients, though.

۫ ּ ﹗sukuna has a short temper, and you have the light to ignite his anger. you both are very explosive, and yet he stopped getting angry a long time ago, he rather see you worked up. you know where this ends.

۫ ּ ﹗he sees you with a gothic dress, his many eyes won’t leave you alone, never.

۫ ּ ﹗when the culling games start, you come back thanks to kenjaku. it’s like the day you first met, you come his way in a confused state and angry. he missed you a lot.

[yanderehsr]

Hi a request from your 1k followers event (congratulations on hitting that milestone!)

Can I ask for Yandere Childe

The OC name is lukyan, 21 male

Personality wise: he's basically like Diluc, they seem cold and rude though different from Diluc, even when you get to know him he's still cold and distance (he barely interact w anyone and lack social skill badly-)

Backstory: he's basically an orphan in Snezhnaya but was never found out by the fatui, he kinda live in his own w another orphan who also never got found out by the fatui, when they were 15 the friend die and lukyan live alone from then on, he feel so guilty cuz he couldn’t protect his friends, rn he’s doing work like hunting or tree chopping to make sm money and live by the day (I tried to keep it short so now it sound weird😭)

In my canon he never really meet Childe, so you don’t need to write anything long just a general headcanon how would they meet in your mind and how would Yandere Childe work w someone like this

Also if I break any rules do tell me:,)

Ayyyy, thanks for sending the request, hope you'll enjoy😆

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour

Childe had always seen him, sometimes out on the streets doing odd jobs, and sometimes through the corner of his eyes, but one thing always stayed the same, no matter how big the crowd, he could always notice Lukyan.

Observing him became kinda an obsession for Childe, seeing how he would run around, working his ass off for minimim payment... okay that last one makes him quite sad, he shouldn't have to work, Childe thinks that Lukyan deserves to be spoiled, to live a life of luxery.

Childe decides to become that person, the person who spoils and give gifts to Lukyan, presents will always appear in front of him without him seeing who leaves him with them. Childe isn't even liekly to get jealous with Lukyan since Lukyan acts cold and distant with others, in fact Childe prefers him to be this way

But Childe's patience can only go for so long, he grows annoyed that Lukyan isn't his, so what does he do? He uses his own authority as a harbinger to make sure no one is willing to give him any more jobs, no more jobs means no more money, and when Lukyan has no money, well some fatui's might loan him some money.

Money that Lukyan can't pay back, and who else but Childe can offer a solution when the fatui is hunting him down for being late on repayment. Become his and all the debt will dissapear, Lukyan doesn't have a choice.

"Well what do we have here, if it isn't Lukyan, it says you are 3 months late on paying us back... no need to fear, why don't you sit down, I have an offer I'm sure you'll be thrilled to hear about"

[thewisaaaaad]

Hey, I'm back.

so i found out that my last post wasn't seen by many. Also that i forgot to write like half of the post. so uh

HAPPY LATE PIRATE DAY EVERYONE

part one is here. It talks about the Lambs crew, minus three of them. Also about how Flintlocks work in this world (Its magic :))

Anyway, here's the missing three members! They are, obviously, post Captains, so keep that in mind.

First, we have Yarlen! Everyone calls them Stinky, though. They insist its a "cool pirate name". William humors him, with much disappointment.

He has an unnatural lucky streak, having managed to find William's ship in nothing but a rowboat after traveling miles in a random direction. They have also never lost a game of nucklebones, despite only having a vague grasp of the rules.

He works as a mate, helping with everything around the ship that needs it. His preferred weapon is a spear, although they haven't had to do much mono a mono combat, due to the rest of the crew having much more experience.

Then we got Jalala! She traveled from far away, much like her brother, guided by a letter that was bound to a messenger bird that Yarlen somehow found.

Their trip was a lot more eventful, having the ship they were abord crash into Pilgrims Rock, and then meeting Rinor and sailing through the seas of the Old Crew, running into THREE separate primordial entities that only seem to interact with people who have a strong tie to the fate of the world. They also (unlike cannon) managed to catch a glimpse of ???, or The Thing in The Moon, before being captured by Old Crew and then rescued by William Kidd.

They serve as a talented cartographer aboard the Iron Veil, their keen eyes able to accurately measure the distance between islands and also having intimate knowledge of star charts, making them indispensable for navigation.

Jalala is a non-combatant aboard the ship. The crew likes her, despite her nervousness.

Rinor is a capable deckhand, knowing how ships work very well, as well as being able to tie a mean knot. For a weapon, she wields one of the boats iron cleats (the pins you tie rope to) despite also technically being a non-combatant.

They had sailed the sea as a fisher before joining the crew along with Jalala.

Finally, we can get to the crew's friends and... acquaintances. These will be rapid fire, so here we go.

Forneus is a large cat woman who plies her trade on the seas. How does she get her goods? No one knows, especially considering she never takes payment of any kind, and her gifts are all perfectly suited to their recipients. She seems wise even beyond her years, and has somehow evaded the Old Crews notice entirely, despite constantly praising the Red Captain.

(Narinder granted her eternal life after the unwilling sacrifice of her children, as long as she remained on the sea. Shamura got no blessing from him.)

Midas is a problem. He runs a Flint mining operation on a far flung bit of the volcano god, using his gift to control gold to mine it without any consequences. Hes still a jerk, but is the only source of Flint that the crew have.

Rakshasa is a traveling food vendor of the sea. Think Barati from one piece but with a snail theme, and you have it. They are known to deal with the Iron Veil, but they are allowed to operate because they charge William's crew extra (like one gold, but still).

Plimbo is a trader, still. He supplies the crew of The Old Rust-bucket with all sorts of trinkets and goodies between raids.

The fox is not called the Fox. They are instead called The Jackal, The Skull in the End. They are a demon of Death in this world, considering the position was left vacant by Narinder. They have much more tempting deals, too- A life for a life.

Who would you give up for the ones you love?

[drdemonprince]

my thoughts and values align with yours re: STIs and risk AND i keep coming up against resistance to the recent discussions as a high-risk person still living almost entirely isolated amidst the ongoing pandemic. and when i take a second to breathe and think, i realize these are not conflicting at all. the friction isn't that i view illness morally or that i think we should avoid all risk. it's that the majority of folks without question take precautions to reduce STI exposure but the majority of people no longer consider doing the so minorly inconvenient precautions to reduce the spread of covid, which i would argue is much riskier than STIs at this point. and it's so exhausting because then i have to, based on my risk analysis of covid, take way more precautions because no one else is looking out for me. community care and harm reduction are my biggest driving values and i grieve how absent they are around me. i just wanted to share in case others are feeling similarly while reading this discussion. you rock and i so hope i get to engage in a beautiful public kinky scene some day.

Hey, thanks so much for sharing and walking us through your thought process.

What I might add is that individual people might not seemingly put much effort into COVID mitigation anymore because they have next to zero institutional support in doing so. Many of my disabled friends have to work in areas with a high risk of COVID exposure: waiting tables, stocking grocery store shelves, working as home health aids or phlebotomists, or teaching in schools. Some of them are high risk themselves, but because they have no choice but to work in areas where their life is put on the line, they have very high stress decompression needs and feel already resigned to their disposability in society, and so they do also go out to bars with their friends or hold parties or visit clubs.

I also know people who are able to socially distance quite strictly, test regularly, are vaccinated and boosted, but who intentionally make plans to visit cruising spaces or gay orgies very rarely so that they can remain relatively safe COVID wise but also not kill themselves out of despair (I'm not being hyperbolic here, that's exactly what some people have told me are the competing risks they face when they balance COVID exposure against isolation. And I know that many high risk populations face these same severe negative mental health outcomes too -- in fact, I know high risk people who choose to go out in public at times in order to remain sane, but who have to sit with the fact that it could be a mortal danger to do so).

I also think about how the queer community came together in the fight against AIDS to make condoms available, to educate one another about safer sex practices or harm reductionist practices, to engage in sex together in risk mitigating ways (such as gloved fisting) and how they pushed for the government to make drug treatment available to them. I see a lot of queer and disabled advocacy groups doing similar work today to spread accurate data on COVID as best they can, promote masking, organize solely outdoor events, encourage vaccination, and remind people of the stakes.

And I see such a massive gap between the ways in which risk mitigation was made possible through such community efforts, and how catastrophically the government fails us regarding COVID. We are not given free tests anymore. Vaccines aren't free anymore either. It is no longer a state of emergency. Many of us have been forced back into in-person work at our jobs. Our unemployment benefits have been cut. Student loan payments are roaring back into action. Disability benefits and medicare's expansion is rolling back. We no longer have accurate testing and tracing data. Masks are no longer required.

If a person wants to behave responsibly regarding COVID, how are they even supposed to? They can wear a mask in public and not experience in-person community to the extend they might like or need. But they can't actually prevent themselves from getting or spreading the virus because they've been forced back to work. I understand many people do not even take these small steps to reduce harm and that it is dismaying and outrageous. And I think you have ever right to feel outraged by it. But I also think individual behavior flows from social support and institutional pressure, and nearly all of that is heading in the wrong direction right now.

And I think about how collective the push for better government interventions regarding AIDS was, and how much the push regarding COVID instead is focused on targeting individual people for the actions they've made within a very unsupportive context. It was not beneficial to view individuals who had bareback sex or shot heroin as the origin of HIV, and I don't think it's helpful to understand COVID as a phenomenon of individuals failing to mask now.

Granted, it took HIV activism YEARS to get to the point of ACT UP. And we're not so many years deep into COVID yet comparatively. Personally when I look at all these facts in context I see a population that largely did take COVID seriously for a time, but who, due to a mix of institutional failure, mass misinformation, risk resignation, and despair, no longer do so in their behavior.

I don't believe in moralizing emotions and I think from your perspective you're affected by all these factors PLUS the massive risk of developing Long Covid symptoms or worse. And I know you know and live all this shit already so forgive me for preaching to the choir. But I do want to gently push back against the idea that most people don't care about COVID the way they care about STI's. I believe our discourse on both has been horrifically poisoned by individualism, capitalism, and institutional failure.

Some articles I have written on the subject:

[autumnslance]

[Language barriers and the Echo Anon] You ever keep yourself awake at night thinking how they hand waved currency differences in FFXIV. Sure I’m fully aware that tomestones, tribal currency and other such things exist but the majority of things are paid with Gil. It makes sense in Eorzea but less so elsewhere. Kugane can be justified with being the only open trading port of Hingashi, Thavnair receiving trade from Eorzea and the First’s currencies being so tossed about post Flood they accept Gil now but would it really make sense in places like Yanxia or Rak’tika(rural)? I don’t want to think about how places that you aren’t supposed to visit again lore wise(Elpis, UT and the illusory Amaurot in Tempest) can accept gil as payment and or even trade goods.

I really don't worry about it, especially if we go with the idea of Gil being a typical gold-based currency just with a funny name.

It was also an Allagan thing, recycled by Eorzeans. And with trade with Eorzea being common, it does mostly work in the Source. Yanxia is Doma, more open to trade and outsiders than even Hingashi, and has been part of Garlemald besides--and the Empire has no issue taking Eorzean coin and probably has a similar Allagan-inspired currency that's equivalent, given how much else they base upon the old empire.

Mostly it IS a gameplay convenience even more than the languages so players don't also have to worry about the Gil to Koban exchange rate, but there's also nothing saying the WoL and Scions aren't dealing in Koban when in the East and the game just doesn't deal with that.

As for the First, that's just a mess of handwaving a world actively in the midst of apocalypse and maybe we'll get more details in the 3rd lorebook, but they seem to be having a "collapse the languages and currency down since the remaining population is so small" situation there, and everyone has to trade with one another for survival purposes; even the Viis, who start working with the Qitari and the Night's Blessed.

And while a barter system for the Viis on introduction (or even the Xaela of the Steppe) might seem to make sense, it also unnecessarily complicates and bogs down story and gameplay, so like a LOT of other things in the game, shorthands it to "they just take your coin."

Which I find more and more, people kind of forget, especially when criticizing how "fast and easy" something resolves, that in the scope of the game, pretty much everything is shorthanded to keep gameplay and story moving along, from conversations to rest periods to equipment acquisition to scenes we don't see play out between NPCs and to the vast majority of gameplay mechanics where they intersect with character actions and interactions.

FFXIV tries real hard to make some gameplay part of the world and story, like teleportation. Or they make bland excuses on why we can wander around the 3 city-states post-Banquet, or why the WoL isn't given a shock collar too in Tertium, or can keep visiting unique locations for specific storypoints like Ultima Thule and Elpis. And if we were playing a traditional standalone, single-player FF game, those situations would be written and played out differently.

But sometimes a lore lampshade is just a lampshade, and not all game mechanics are actually lore, but ways for players to fill in the gaps when it comes to Roleplay and Fanfiction.

EDIT: And here's a post from some other folks, with some sources, that barter wasn't as widespread as people think, most places--even remote and sparsely populated--had regular commerce, and currency of some form was far more common and far-reaching than might be assumed.

Remember, folks: Hollywood and other media rarely have accurate portrayals of history, and our own modern assumptions of things being different "back then" are often wrong. Street vendors and athletic sponsorships were common in Rome and "Tiffany" is a medieval (nick)name.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Actually, the wise women/Cunning Folk system was Norse in origin and the rest of Europe had wise women replace their own ritualized medical systems (think sleeping at Asclepius's temple) because Europe was conquered by Danish tribes during the end of the Roman period.

No seriously, Scandinavians have (or had, it's dying out because of how good their healthcare system is) a long history of kloke folk that dates back to the pagan seidrmadrs.

Considering what the medical system was like back then, most of the wise women were in many ways a good deal less quackish than the men with MDs, considering they understood the wonders of antiseptics and MDs looked at the concept as some rustic superstition.

No, actually, I want wise women back because their services were free. I mean, yeah, they'd obviously charge a fee NOW, but Granny Weatherwax's comment that, "They didn't pay in cash, but rather in respect, which was cold hard currency" was actually a reality for these women, considering their communities protected them from the witchhunters.

Granted, the witch trials were a little more complicated, considering the word for witchcraft in Nordic countries was troldfolk (who were believed to send curses via illness), who were fought by the kloke folk. ("Sickness is curses sent by the Jotuns" is metaphorically true...) Wise women didn't get properly killed off until the Progressive Era, due to modern medicine finally being both effective, available, and doctors passing laws against "quacks".

Okay, so, by free admission, early modern Nordic history is VERY NOT my main area of expertise. This could all be entirely true for Scandianvian vernacular magic/folk healing practice. But I definitely now it wasn’t true for all practitioners termed “wise women” across Europe.

Just looking into the system of Scandinavian wise women superficially, though, it seems that they- like their British counterparts the cunning-folk, who I’m more familiar with -didn’t need community protection from witch hunters because they were seldom targeted by them. Based on the better sourced parts of the “cunning folk” Wiki page, a charge of “superstition” seems to have been brought against Scandinavian wise women more often, and they did get arrested and sentenced fairly frequently. But the sentence wasn’t usually capital, and for some of them it seems to have acted as good advertising.

(Also in Britain and British colonies, cunning-folk often acted as witch-hunters. So, sorry, granddaughters of the witches they couldn’t burn: you’re actually the granddaughters of the witches who threw innocent people under the bus to deflect suspicion. Or because they genuinely believed those people were evil. Or for the payout. Take your pick.)

I’m also not sure about the assertion that their services were free. In Britain, at least, cunning-folk definitely did not work for free as a rule- why would they, when this was their livelihood? They often received payment in trade rather than currency, but...they very much did expect payment of SOME sort, as I understand it. You have to eat somehow, after all, and I’m not sure one could run a totally self-sufficient farm and a folk medicine/magic practice at the same time.

And even if you could, still better to have Old Tom down the lane mend your fence in exchange for physicking his cow than do it yourself, right? Save yourself the work.

The assumption of total altruism is one of my big issues with this ask series, and the other is the idea that wise women knew Good Medicine and doctors did not. Obviously, yes, early medical doctors were often convinced that folk medicine practitioners had nothing to offer the field, and I’m sure some practices by some wise women/cunning-folk worked.

But.

Some of the latter were also, to put it bluntly, full of shit.

There WERE people, unfortunately, who used the title of “Wise Woman” or “Cunning-Man” or whatever to fleece their community out of resources in exchange for dodgy cures and ineffective charms. Because that’s just how humanity goes: some people are good, some people are evil, and some people are just out to make a buck (so to speak) however they can. I find it very hard to believe that all laws against Quackery(TM) were totally motivated by early modern doctors’ fragile egos, simply because bona fide quacks have been around forever. From my past research, it seems that that British cunning-folk at least seemed given to pronouncing illness that doctors could not diagnose, the result of curses or hexes. While many did practice herbalism, and some herbalism has medical value given that many medicinal chemicals now usually synthesized are found in plants...there was another side of it, too, that could frequently involve attributing medical problems to magical causes.

And I would be very surprised if that were a phenomenon exclusive to Britain and its colonies.

I understand the longing for a time of free, quality medical treatment from your local badass village wisewoman, protected by her reverential community from evil doctors and omnipresent witch-hunters. I really do. But it seems to me that, for a variety of reasons, that time never actually existed.

(Also I would definitely like a citation on the antiseptics thing. Just because they thought garlic could ward off evil or something doesn’t mean they understood that it had antiseptic properties, or advocated for using it in effective ways. And I can’t really blame doctors for questioning ideas like that- phrased that way, it does sound like rural superstition. If nobody knows the background logic behind why something works, and it only works some of the time, and the people saying it works are making that claim for reasons that fly in the face of then-current science...you might understandably think it doesn’t work at all.)

(It’s not like the cunning-folk were saying “use autoclaves for your surgical tools to avoid infection!” and the doctors shot back with “INFECTION IS A MYTH INVENTED BY SATAN!!!!” At least, not that I know of.)