#not consistently which is the problem because there is like nothing I can do every single day at a set time

[phoradendron]

.

[iceunhie]

“and i can go anywhere i want just not home” : genshin men

premise. home is where the heart is—perhaps it's why they feel so empty whenever they're away from you. or, what it's like when they miss you while they're/you're away.

featuring: kazuha, lyney, wanderer, neuvillette.

notes: gn!reader (you/your pronouns), welcome to the depths of my drafts, you can tell where i got lazy and when i got motivated tbh 💀 an attempt at humor (i am unfunny) reblogs are appreciated! like usual, might make a part 2 idk

...alternative title: 3 twinks and a dragon

NEUVILETTE: wait, why's it raining so hard?! 😱 “oh, it's just the monsieur sulking ^^”

neuvilette finds that one of the most inconvenient things granted in his power is the fact that his emotions can be broadcasted live over fontaine at any given moment.

subsequently, it's pouring; buckets of rain that clearly weren't on the daily weather report yesterday. he can see parents ushering children into their homes, the melusines providing umbrellas to those who had the unfortunate problem of not bringing one at the side.

all in all, fontaine is as is, but neuvilette feels even emptier than before.

it's probably because of you. it's definitely because of you. as fleeting as the rain on a summer day, you'd come and went, wishing him well before you'd leave for liyue for a short vacation.

2 weeks....

(the rain showers even more, heavily pouring over the nation.)

his shoulders tighten uncharacteristically, and if you were to see him, you'd tell him he'd resemble a sad fontainian otter with its seashell taken away.

. . . .

BONUS:

"i'm back- GAH! why are the streets flooded?!"

"oh, mx. [name]! welcome back! i'll tell monsieur neuvillette that you're back now!"

two hours later, the sun shines back again as if it hadn't poured consistently during the entire duration of 2 weeks. the people of fontaine rejoice.

KAZUHA: like a bird longing for the sun to shine again (the most normal) 😭

kazuha isn't the type to brood. he isn't, because he knows he has nothing to brood about. well, most of the time, anyway.

this, however, is partly because you're usually with him, you in all your glory, nourishing him with affectionate kisses and letting him feel the breath of fresh air he desperately needs after a long, enduring trip on the crux.

the days you aren't there however are the days he finds himself most appreciative of his reclusive nature. as the rock of the ship against gentle waters make it sway, kazuha thinks of you.

you, you. were you at liyue, doing well as he hopes you always are, trudging away as you work wonders in the kitchen, preparing meals and watching day turn to night, waiting for time to pass, missing him too?

he hopes you are. (he feels like every time you're gone, a part of him can't erase the sense of homesickness. even if liyue wasn't his home, you are the closest to it.)

"you look a bit blue these days, kazuha. missing a certain someone?" a certain captain guffaws, to which the white haired vagrant can only smile to, though the smile betrays his rather dour mood. beidou's tease is only indicative of his longing.

he does miss you. a whole lot. he misses the way you run up to him as he finally steps off the crux's arms, embracing you with fervor and inhaling the cool scent of your hair. only then, kazuha thinks, he could really feel at home. "only a fool wouldn't miss the one they hold most dear to them."

beidou pats him on the back, sympathetic of his plight. he feels a bit embarrassed. beidou always saw through him. "gotta tough it out, kid. just a few more days and we'll be back to liyue in no time."

he wasn't a kid—beidou knows this, but she felt the need to emphasize so, what when kazuha looked akin to a kicked puppy waiting for its owner in the rain. "I'm well aware."

and so she's gone, warbling an old sailor's tune, leaving kazuha to deal with the ache of you behind.

he also misses a lot of things about you whenever you're gone. though temporary as his wanderlust may be, because he promised you—"i will always return to you"—this has brought him to associate everything he sees in your likeness.

is it the poet in him? perhaps. but loving you is as natural as him taking in the sights of nature, as lovely as the moonlit nights he spends, alone, and without you.

tough it out, as beidou says. that's difficult.

watching as the moon seems ever perpetual in the sky, kazuha only hopes he can tough it out well.

(when he comes back, he's thinking of running towards you this time.)

. . . .

"welcome back, kazu-" you don't even make it to the harbor's docks before you're being tackled and literally thrown off your feet. "what the fuck are you doing?!"

or should you say, swept off your feet? you feel every ounce of shame right now, and burying your head in the crook of kazuha's neck. profanity aside, it's hard not to be ashamed when almost every person with a pair of working eyes can see you being carried by your lover.

you can hear the playful whistles and cheers of the crux crew from behind, and beidou's knowing, knowing smile.

"i'm home." kazuha's breath is close to your nape, and you feel the soft press of his lips to your neck. you flush. face him, and you see his dreamy, lovesick eyes.

if he was looking like that, how could you be ashamed? you laugh, even if you see people side eye you into oblivion. brush your noses together, and close your eyes.

"welcome home, kazuha."

he smiles. the day is bright today.

BONUS:

"kazuha?"

"mm, what is it, love?"

"if you do that ever again i will literally drop dead on the floor from the shame, so don't make it a habit."

"haha, i wouldn't dream of it."

(one voyage later, you find out kazuha is a liar.)

LYNEY: 😐 'insufferably insufferable,' given by lynette

if lynette could choose between smelling every perfume in emilie's shop (and put herself through an attack to her very delicate senses) and seeing her brother mope like a deflated balloon over his absence in fontaine, she'd pick the first option.

you are to blame. rather, maybe it's her brother's utter lack of propriety, proclaiming just how much he misses you with almost enough talk to make her want to rip her cat ears out.

or maybe she'd actually claw at him. lyney was just that infuriating. is this what they mean by love changes a person?

(if so, then lynette reckons her twin has changed for the worse.)

okay, she was exaggerating a bit, because she loved you very much and considered you family as well—but she would gladly dropkick lyney any time. they'd been stationed at poisson for a while, set by father. it was cleanup for the remnants of the prophecy, but it provided them sufficient time away from the court of fontaine, away from distractions.

and, in lyney's mind, it also means he's away from you. in lynette's opinion, he should've stayed. that way, she won't get to listen to him prattle on and on about—

"do you think [name] will still love me even if i've been away from them for far too long? ahh, and lynette, these rainbow flowers, do they need a bouquet matching their eyes instead?"

and of course, her brother being the drop-dead love-drunk fool he is (bless your heart for being able to tolerate her sappy and corny brother) has not. stopped. talking. about. you.

you'd probably accept a bouquet with a dead fish in it if it meant lyney gave it to you, but lynette doesn't voice it out. in a corner of her mind, she wonders if she should just actually become a clockwork meka so she could voluntarily tune herself to tune out lyney's voice.

she crosses her arms, putting her (4th) dessert aside. "they'll like anything you give them. and there's no way they'd get sick of you just because we're away for a week, lyney."

her brother sighs, dreamily looking away at the sky. probably thinking about the flutter of your eyelashes and your smile that makes a magician want to bottle it up and never let it show to anyone else—

blergh, she was beginning to let lyney get to her.

"a week is far too long for me." lyney sulks. lynette resists the urge to roll her eyes. you and me both, brother.

"what if they might be in danger somewhere I can't reach?"

but because she's such an amazing sister (factual), she lets go of her temporary reprieve and comforts her utterly hopeless (factual?) brother.

(for your sake too. because lyney has changed. though she may say it's for the worse, that's not true at all. in fact, it's the opposite.)

"relax, lyney." her tone is sincere this time, that in which always gets lyney to look up to her. they're children again, and lynette is facing her older brother, and they're hand in hand together. "[name] will be fine. as long as it's from the heart, you know that they will cherish anything you give them."

because it's you, someone that accepted them, every part of them. lynette doesnt show it much, but it's one of the reasons why she's so fond of you. she grateful, really, that you love her brother.

thankfully, (to her great relief) it seems the hint that you'd rather have him home without anything than not be home at all, has gotten through lyney's mind. he goes silent, and lynette takes it as a successful mission success. another lovesick crisis averted, her brother's relationship with you stabilized.

at last, peace.....

. . . .

"alright then!" lyney says enthusiastically, with an unhappy lynette and a sheepish freminet in tow.

"let's commence operation steal their heart the moment we finish this mission!"

"the what now?"

lynette facepalms. she shouldn't have said anything....

BONUS:

"uh, lynette, what's that?"

"headphones."

"why?"

"....noise cancellation."

freminet looks at lyney, who's pacing around the room, muttering to himself as his grip on the rainbow flower-marcotte bouquet tightens.

"oh." lynette nods at him wearily.

WANDERER: warning! ⚠️do not approach, he bites (scowls) 😨

there are many times when wanderer wants to bash his hat and let it squash the traveller's flying companion, and today was one of those times.

"hey, hat guy! why are you looking even more scary than usual? your scowl can be seen from miles away!"

he can hear her irritatingly cheery voice in the distance, undoubtly exposing him to the eyes of others. damn it.

"paimon, shh...!" aether silently prays to whichever god may hear (hopefully nahida), because for someone so small, wanderer was emitting a very ominous aura not akin to an aura of death.

"quit your nonsense, you-" wanderer barks back, insult at the tip of his tongue, but he tempers his temper (heh), going quiet instead. "forget it. i don't want be pissed off even more from that disgustingly chatty pet of yours."

"what did you just say to me?! urgh, you, you- ugh, paimon can't think of an ugly nickname! help out here, traveller...!"

"i think you should just let it be this time, paimon..."

he ignores the chatter of the two—mortals—thumbing at his vision, and then tenderly at the little doll he's sewed in his likeness, as well as.... your doll.

(you gave it to him once as a keepsake, in exchange for him sewing you the mini him he painstakingly made. when you got your wish, you made the two dolls kiss, saying something so ridiculous as, "that's us now!" his face burned the entire way back home.)

instead, he finds his thoughts lingering to you. you'd seen him off, staying back at sumeru city with nahida as company, leaving him to escort the traveller and paimon to the desert to clear out some ancient ruins. how boring.

you kissed him breathless back there— much to his chagrin at seeing nahida's knowing smile; but he finds himself longing for your voice and your hands in his hair more than ever. at least then he'd be able to solve the ringing in his ears from paimon's voice.

he's long stopped denying his erratic, tumultuous feelings, but he misses you. unbearably, because at least you were better than the two he's forced to babysit accompany.

and he also misses how you would take shelter in his hat in the sweltering desert heat, kissing his cheek when he flew you around to explore the pyramids, and when you would hold his hand as you complained about how long you two would be walking up, all sand and sweaty.

(he'd tease you about leaving you for dead, but was always the first to worry whenever you get dizzy from heat. a walking contradiction, this one.)

"hey, wanderer, you there?"

"you're a little red. are you overheating?woah, so puppets really can do that.... ah, you're spacing out, too!"

ugh. "what am i, a tea kettle?" he scowls, crossing his arms.

he's already counting the days he can finally return to your arms.

paimon stomps her feet at the nonexistent ground, "we're just a tiny bit worried, you know!"

"yeah? well you should do me a favor and shut your mouth a little. otherwise you'll end up overheating from the amount of nonsensical words you spit out."

"this guy's a real piece of work, only being kind to [name], jeez..." to his glee, the pixie mutters angrily. something about being a meanie and insufferable. well deserved.

aether watches the exchange with the soul drained from his body. 800,000 mora, 800,000 mora.....

. . . .

"uh... wanderer?" you chuckle nervously, not knowing where to place your hands as he buries his face head-first into your chest the moment he's home, allowing you to gently caress the soft strands of his hair.

"..."

"so are you gonna talk about it, or?"

"just let me hold you, will you?" he bites, but there's no bite at all. you kiss the top of his head as his ginormous hat is taken off his head completely. he nuzzles deeper into you. "....i missed you."

that shut you up real quick. you try to hide the giddy smile you have, but he lifts his face up to see it anyway.

"i missed you too."

BONUS:

"[name], is that an insect bite on your neck?"

"huh?!"

aether squints at you, "what kind of insect leaves that big of a bite-" his eyes pop out. turns red. "oh."

you look away. one less pure soul in the world.... sorry, aether.

(in a corner of the house of daena, wanderer sneezes.)

more hsr content soon, also for very important reasons: do you think sunday would let you bite the wings by his ears yes or no

© 𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐈𝐄 : do not repost, copy, or plagiarize my work.

[pinkchrissysposts]

🐳Stay consistent and persist don't let the 3D fool you🐳

Why some of us "fail" to manifest is because we are slave to the 3d and negative thoughts no seriously. And waiting for external validation is useless because it's giving the answer you want so why keep asking the 3d if you can manifest a car,money again and again,when we already have it in our true reality that is the 4d. We should not get overpowered by this 3d holographic circumstances and this illusionary thoughts which YOU chose to dwell on.

From my own experience law of assumption is a journey where YOU have to satisfy yourSELF not the 3d, everyone is different,everyone have their own personal favourite way to manifest like states,affirming,visualization or whatever you prefer. In my opinion you can start of with affirming,don't directly try to use states(it's not a method) if you are finding it difficult to embody state,just affirm,persist and saturate consistently,NOT to get in 3D but to satisfy your SELF internally.

Be consistent,discipline and persistent these are the KEY to satisfy your SELF, no matter what method you choose,embodying state or affirming,don't let the negative thoughts lead you back to your old self,be strict like an asian parents,and just how they bring you fruit after that yelling at you to study,your desires will also come in your 3d without causing any problem. Be your own parent during your manifestation journey,treat your negative thoughts like those bad influence kids, and when you start looking for movements and wondering how your desires gonna show up treat them like the judgement strangers who question you for everything you do or you have. Don't procrastinate that is when we usually start get doubts just because we aren't doing anything,activate the asian parent in you and scold yourself,and start to affirm and remind yourself who the boss is.

Also DONOT label any of your desires a "big" or "small" desire,they are all same,under you,YOU are on the pedestal not the desire,if you didn't thought about your desire they wouldn't even exist. So why even worry about them. Manifesting seeing a "butterfly" or seeing a "car" with certain "colour" is equivalent to manifest $2000 dollar out of nowhere,dating your celeb sp,having that hourglass body and waking up in your dream life.

When it comes to how you manifest it doesn't matter whether you affirm or embody state or being,SATS,what matter is your consistency because once you continue to persist you'll notice a shift also don't feel bad if you're someone who affirm for hours to saturate your mind but remember it's to remind yourself that you already have your desire in 4D, if you still feel like affirm and persistent will not take you anywhere go see Taylor Tookes insta and twitter post she is a living proof,most manifestation account from where I see success stories are usually affirm and persist girlies and boys like Taylor, Viper and BigDon three of my favourites on Twitter who share they're success story.

Bonus: Do not worry about your self concept,it's good to have one,but as someone who USED to have a good SC yet still couldn't manifest,I guarantee you it's not needed,but you can work on it if you believe it will help you manifest.

My rules are simple💙

☆.BE YOUR OWN DAMN ASIAN PARENT WHEN IT COMES TO MANIFESTING.

☆AFFIRM AND SATURATE TO SATISFY SELF(4D).

☆.YOUR ARE THE ON THE PEDESTAL NOT THE DESIRES.

☆.YOUR THOUGHTS ARE THE BAD INFLUENCE KIDS TRYI G TO GET YOU BACK IN YOUR OLD STATE AND JUDGEMENT STRANGERS MAKING FEEL LIKE YOU'RE DOING WRONG.

☆.MANIFESTING BUTTERFLY=MANIFESTING CELEB SP IS SAME NOTHING IS BIG OR SMALL EVERY DESIRE IS EQUAL.

[roosterforme]

The Intern Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After you try to delay the inevitable, you begin your job search. At least that way you'll be able to get out of your father's house and away from everyone who acts like you're incapable of doing anything on your own. When Bradley pursues you, in part to bolster his own agenda, he's pretty convinced you're more capable than most.

Warnings: Language, reader's dad has a name (eventually 18+)

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Find the Prologue here.

The Intern masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner by @mak-32

Your father wasted no time over the breakfast that his chef made. You were still in your pajamas which consisted of a white silk camisole and shorts set, but he was already in a charcoal suit and tie, ready to seize the day. Or at the very least, your freedom.

"You need an internship," he said firmly as he smeared jelly on a piece of toast. "You need to complete a professional internship to show everyone that you are clever and talented and can think on your feet. You need to show them in person that your last name has nothing to do with it."

This was going to be a lot more involved than you originally thought. You carefully cut into your poached egg and asked, "So I can't just intern with you?"

He sighed and gave you a bland look. "I would love to have you with me all day and show you the ropes at Avio Technologies, but you already know that's not possible. You need to find a different department or a different company altogether." 

You chewed your food and shot him a bland look of your own. It was almost amusing that he thought he could outwit you when he was the one who taught you how to play all of his games. "Maybe we could talk about this tomorrow?"

"You already got an extra day out of me, Sweetheart. My generosity has been all used up." 

He looked almost amused now, so you knew you were skating on thin ice as you said, "I think an internship that starts in September would be the way to go."

When he set his knife down and bit into his toast, you straightened your back while he chewed. He took his time responding, and when he did, he asked, "And what exactly would you do during June, July and August?"

"There's a lot to be said for a little relaxation, Daddy," you told him in your most professional voice. "I've spent the last six years working nearly every day."

"And I've spent the last thirty five years working nearly every day. Please, get to your point."

You folded your hands in front of yourself and said, "I would be a better intern if I were well rested."

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood, taking one last sip of his coffee. If you or he wanted more to eat, his chef would make it. And you could see his housekeeper standing in the kitchen doorway ready to run in and clean up after him as soon as he left the dining room. All of it made you want to scream. You weren't even sure you wanted this lifestyle. 

"Are you aware of the stipulations on your trust fund?" your father asked you in a voice laced with more than warning. You could feel the blood rush from your face. You'd been waiting your entire life for that money, and not because you wanted to use it the same way he did. 

"Yes."

He nodded at you before he kissed your forehead. "Then make your decisions accordingly. I'll be back in a few hours."

As soon as he was out of the dining room, his housekeeper had her hands on his empty plate and coffee cup, and you abandoned the rest of your food for the relative solace of your bedroom. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet, but it was close to lunchtime on the east coast. Maybe you could call one of your friends from school, but they were probably starting internships of their own this week. You glanced out your windows at the pool, but the landscaping crew was out there with leaf blowers, so you just flopped down onto your bed.

What did you want out of an internship? You wanted it to be like school. You had no problem with hard work, but you preferred it to come with a hefty side of fun. Cocktails, dancing, late night dinners, boys, shopping. You weren't too picky about how that fun was served up, but you were absolutely certain there was more to life than working nonstop. And nobody in their right mind needed as much money as your father had.

You reached for your computer and rolled onto your stomach. The last place you wanted to intern was at Avio Technologies where your supervisor would report every detail of your work back to him. Even if you found a department that had nothing to do with what he was working on, you'd be screwed. Your dad knew everyone. He'd find out if you forgot to cover your mouth when you coughed or yawned too loudly. No, you needed to find something without your dad's help.

After you update your résumé and your LinkedIn profile, you thought about contacting that hot recruiter you met in grad school. You were pretty sure you still had his number in your phone contacts. Maybe you should make a to-do list. Or maybe you should go back to bed now that your dad was gone. You ended up lounging around for so long that your stomach was growling because of your unfinished breakfast. 

"Fuck it," you murmured, strolling out of your room still in your silk pajamas. If the groundskeepers saw you as you walked past the French doors, then it was their own fault. And honestly, you were more covered up now than you were when you were wearing your bathing suit anyway.

The fact that you had to sneak into the kitchen so nobody tried to help you toast a slice of bread was beyond annoying, but you tiptoed through the house anyway. You ended up walking around as you ate the toast, probably leaving a trail of crumbs, but at least this way the housekeeper would be entertained again. You wondered what the staff did all day long when it was only your dad here. He could literally take care of himself if he tried, but why try when you're worth billions?

You popped the last bite into your mouth and started dancing through the foyer to the song that was stuck in your head. You did a few spins and pirouettes, and then you started making up an actual routine as you hummed. When you heard the front door open, you tried to freeze, but your foot caught on the marble floor, and you stumbled awkwardly. Just when you braced yourself for a lecture from your father, you were greeted by deep laughter and amused brown eyes instead.

"Oh," you said, pressing your palm to your chest as you regained your footing. "It's just you."

"Just me," Bradley Bradshaw replied with a shrug. He surveyed your body, and you could tell he was trying his best not to react to your outfit. Or lack thereof.

You crossed your arms over your chest. "Yes. I'm still in my pajamas."

"I didn't say a word about it," he replied immediately, those brown eyes suddenly feigning innocence. 

You knew your shorts left nothing to the imagination. You were also very aware that your nipples were probably peaked against your silk top, but you kept reminding yourself you were wearing less than this yesterday in the pool. Bradley however was wearing another designer suit that hugged him in all the right places, and his tie was once again a little too loose for you to take him completely seriously. His hair was a bit mussed today, too. Maybe his wife or girlfriend had run her fingers through it, but if that was the case, then he shouldn't be looking at you this way.

"What are you doing here?" you asked him. 

His hands were back on his narrow hips as he replied, "Supposed to have lunch with your father."

"At least the chef and housekeeper will have something to do," you muttered to yourself. Then a little louder you said, "My dad's not back yet, and I hope you don't expect me to entertain you."

He chuckled. "Of course not. You look busy as hell dancing around. I definitely wouldn't want to interrupt that."

"Correct," you replied, tipping your chin in the air. "I've got no time for nonsense. Unless... did you bring your Armani swim trunks? It's a little early in the day for skinny dipping." You took a step closer to him. You couldn't pinpoint exactly why it was so fun to tease him, but he looked down at the floor and blushed a little bit before he replied which made you feel even bolder. 

He met your eyes and said, "How embarrassing. I'm too early for lunch, and I'm too early for skinny dipping." His voice was a little softer now and you bit your lip, which drew his gaze to your mouth.

"You could always come back later."

His amused smile from yesterday was back as he said, "You really are a bit of a brat."

Then your father was right there, closing the front door behind him with a flourish as you took a step away from Bradley. He hadn't moved an inch, and his eyes were still on yours even as your father said his name.

"Sir," Bradley replied, turning toward him and holding out his hand. Your father shook it before patting him on the shoulder. 

"We've been over this before, Bradley. You can call me Ted. We've been working together for a while."

"Ted," Bradley repeated, and you could tell that your father was secretly pleased by this show of respect. You wanted to roll your eyes, and then you realized that you were standing in the foyer in your pajama set at noon, and that was going to be a problem. 

When your father turned toward you, his gaze was unamused. "Have you done anything today?"

"It's only lunchtime, Daddy," you replied. "But I updated my résumé."

"You have something better than a résumé," he snapped. "You have connections. Use them. I want you to have solidified an internship by the end of the week."

"But-"

He cut you right off, and you could feel the heat rising to your face as Bradley looked at you a little sympathetically. 

"I don't generally deal with people who force me to repeat myself," your father said. "And I think you'll find I'm not the only one."

Now you were getting a little angry. He was talking to you like you just tanked a business deal for him. "I'm not some random person from your company."

But you could tell he wasn't listening now. He wouldn't really listen again until you had a job. "Once you find yourself an internship, I think you'll see that whomever you're working under won't take kindly to that sort of attitude. Now go get dressed," he said, dismissing you as he nodded toward the dining room and started walking. 

You were left standing there with your hands on your silk covered hips and your bottom lip held firmly between your teeth. Bradley was giving you a curious look as he started to follow your father. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," you replied, barely meeting his eyes. Your dad embarrassed you in front of him. And sure, maybe you should have been dressed for the day, but you just got back to California. You wanted a chance to catch your breath. But now you were standing there watching both of their retreating forms with a bad taste in your mouth.

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

After an uneventful lunch with Ted, Bradley walked slowly back through his house. It was really more of a mansion or an estate, something that Bradley supposed he himself could afford now if he so desired, but he was used to his condo in Mission Hills. And he just couldn't picture having staff living with him. 

He found that his head was on a swivel, peeking out the French doors to check the pool area and glancing up the main stairs to see if you were still around. A smile always crept to his lips whenever he thought about you, and it was obvious why. You were clearly a bit of a handful. Definitely a touch bratty. Old enough to know better, but young enough to not give too much of a damn. And you always made Bradley laugh. 

At Christmastime, you were tipsy and tried to get him to drink a bottle of wine with you. He spent the rest of the night wondering what would have happened if he actually followed you into your father's kitchen, just the two of you. If anyone else happened upon that scene, he figured it would have gotten back to Ted. It was probably for the best that someone else had interrupted that. 

But now his mind was swirling with information. You needed an internship. Bradley was headed off to Europe and could use an extra hand with work all summer. There would be endless meetings and constant schmoozing about the proprietary missile guiding software that Avio Technologies was currently peddling to the US Navy. Bradley was silently dreading doing it alone. 

You might also serve as a useful source of information. If anyone knew what exactly was going on at Avio regarding the misuse of funds that he was certain he'd stumbled upon, Bradley was sure it would be Ted. Your father knew everyone. He had his hands in the research end of things where Bradley worked as well as the sales end of things where his old friend Jake Seresin was currently dabbling. 

This is why Bradley was spending so much of his time here now; he was looking for information. And also for Ted's daughter. If he could appeal to your tastes as far as a job went, maybe he could get you to join him for the summer. 

"Once again, I'm sorry about my daughter," Ted said with a sigh as he walked Bradley across the foyer. "She's stubborn. Headstrong. She wants to have her own agenda. She'll make an exceptional CFO someday."

Bradley couldn't help but chuckle. "Something tells me you're right."

"She just has a lot to learn about staying in your pajamas until noon and working your connections to your benefit, but she'll get there," he replied with a wave of his hand. 

Bradley glanced up the stairs one more time, hoping for a glimpse of white silk and your pretty face, but you had tucked yourself away somewhere out of sight. "Thanks for lunch," Bradley said, holding out his hand for Ted to shake. "I always appreciate when you let me pick your brain, sir."

He chuckled and clapped Bradley on the back again. "How many times do I have to tell you to use my first name?"

"Always one more, I guess," Bradley replied, heading toward the front door with a smile. "See you at the office later this week."

Once he was outside in the sunlight, he slipped on his favorite pair of aviators he'd had since he first started flying F/A-18s and headed for his SUV. He walked past an assortment of sports cars in the circular drive before he got to his more modest black Range Rover Velar. As he drove back into the city to the office, he already started to formulate a plan. He just hoped you'd be around when he showed up again tomorrow. You were already integral to his agenda. 

When his phone rang, he took it in the car as he wove through traffic. He didn't even check the number since only a handful of people had it. "Bradshaw," he said as he pulled up to a red light. "Bradley, it's Judy." He sighed and relaxed back against the seat; his receptionist was exceptional. She could take a pile of bullshit and whittle it down to the bare minimum of necessary information for him. He needed to give her another raise. "I have a few résumés here, and some of them were dropped off by hand. You know... a few Vice Presidents are trying to get their kids jobs in the software development lab. There are also some who are hoping for professional internships. Want to look at them, or should I toss them?"

Bradley ran his hand over his mouth before he said, "I'm on my way back to the office now. I'll take a look at them, but I'm hoping I found an alternative solution to a professional intern that might just be perfect."

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

The following morning, you stood in your closet and held up your white bikini. You looked at it longingly, ran your fingers along the cute triangles that made up the top and wrapped the ties around your fingers before tossing it aside. Instead, you changed out of your pink nightie into an outfit that your father would probably refer to as 'smart casual' as soon as he saw you.

But you were alone for breakfast, because he was already gone for the day. When his chef asked you what you wanted to eat, she looked annoyed when you said cereal and fruit and told her you could get it yourself. The refrigerator was completely stocked, and you loved that your dad had removed cherries from his shopping lists since you found out you were allergic. 

You swiped a peach and some berries onto the counter and started cutting them up, and now the chef looked like she was about to faint. You added them to the top of your cereal bowl and smiled pleasantly at her before you headed into the dining room with your coffee and breakfast. You'd have to contact some potential employers today. You already knew that. But you found yourself lingering over your meal until the cereal was soggy, trying to put off the inevitable a little longer. 

You bargained with yourself. If you spent the morning looking for an internship, then you could lounge by the pool for the afternoon. "Excellent bargaining. You're so smart," you told yourself as you returned your dirty dishes to the kitchen while the housekeeper bounced on her feet nervously. She met you at the sink and snagged everything out of your hands. 

With your computer on your lap, you sat on the couch and made a list of companies in San Diego that might fit the bill. The problem was, Avio was at the top of the list, simply because of the sheer number of different departments housed in the main office downtown. When you clicked on the Research and Development header, you saw a smug looking photo of Bradley Bradshaw and started to laugh. 

"Clearly you know you're handsome," you muttered, reading about him in his short bio. Department Lead for Research and Development at Avio Technologies. Fifteen years as a US Naval aviator. Retired with medals of honor and a rank of Lieutenant Commander. Leading Avio in cutting edge research for naval aircraft software. "Impressive."

You scrolled through a few other departments and made a separate list of people to ask your father to introduce you to. When your stomach started growling, you realized it was already noon. "Time flies when you're not having fun," you murmured as you dashed upstairs, your bikini calling to you like a siren song. 

Only because it would be convenient, you decided to ask the chef to make you lunch so you could eat it outside by the pool. You were just tying your sheer beach cover up over your bathing suit and leaving your room when you heard your dad's voice along with some others. As silently as you could, you tiptoed barefoot down the main stairs, looked both ways and dashed to the left toward the French doors. And then you slammed directly into someone.

"Shit," you whispered, grabbing onto an Armani suit while hands came up to your back to steady you. Then you looked up into those same pretty brown eyes as the big hands tightened around your waist. "It's you again."

Bradley was laughing, and the deep rumble had you pressing yourself against him. "Me again."

You tried not to laugh as you whispered, "If you come with me, you can ditch the rest of the suits." For some reason, you wanted him to join you on the patio, just like he had the other day. He'd ditched everyone else for your company then, and you wanted him to do precisely that again.

You tugged him toward the doors, but he just shook his head. "It's too early for skinny dipping, remember?" A rather inappropriate retort was poised and ready to go, just sitting on the tip of your tongue, but he added, "But I actually was looking for you."

Now your heart fluttered. "You were?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed, releasing his hold on you. Your initial instinct was to whine until he touched you again, and you had to bite your lip to prevent another embarrassing moment. "I couldn't help but overhear yesterday that you're looking for a professional internship."

When he paused, you said, "I am. Go on."

He smirked, and he looked so much like his photo on the Avio Technologies website, you almost started laughing again. "I think I have something that could be exactly what you're looking for. Are you free tomorrow?"

"I could be. As long as it doesn't interfere with my sunbathing," you told him, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as his gaze dipped briefly to your chest. 

Your breath caught in your throat as that pretty pink color flooded his cheeks. He reached into his pocket without taking his eyes off your face and then held a business card between his index and middle fingers right in front of your lips. "Call my office this afternoon. Judy will set something up for tomorrow." He paused again. "If you're interested."

You plucked the card from his grasp, and he smiled as he turned to his left and headed for your father's conference room. As you studied the tidy font, you wondered what he was looking for in an intern. You wondered what he could offer you. After a quick detour to grab your phone, you went outside to make a call.

You were interested. 

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

Interested is an understatement for me. Offer her a job, Bradley! And pack you swim shorts, baby boy. Thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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[mentally-a-slut]

Can I request "The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop." For Gale with female reader please?

Ahhhhh tysm for requesting! You are my first request! Since you didn't give any specifics about the time frame, I just assumed you wanted it to take place within the events of the game, but it didn't really matter anyway. The reader is left undescribed, though it is implied that she is shorter than Gale. I hope I did your request justice, and let me know what you think!

Prompt: "The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

Rating: E

Warnings: I got carried away and made "spicy" into straight up smut... oops? oral (f!receiving), porn with very little plot, smut

Flirting with Gale was a dangerous game. The back and forth we had going on had been constant, never pausing. I loved bantering with him, but the consistent pull back was beginning to kill me.

Harmless flirts with friends are fun, but I had made it abundantly clear to the wizard that it was more than just friendly banter. And as far as I'm concerned, he's been returning that same energy. And yet, every time we get past the line of flirtatious remarks and balance on the edge of action, he would completely pull away. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was afraid of intimacy.

At first I thought he just didn't like me that way, only wanted to banter with nothing coming of it. But something in the way his eyes glittered when he looked at me told me my attraction was not one sided.

When I went to the others for advice, they gave me jack shit. Astarion thought it was hilarious that I was asking him for romantic advice. I had to threaten to cut off his blood supply just to get him to quite yelling about it. Karlach just told me to "fuck it out," whatever that means. Shadowheart just kind of stared at me blankly. I didn't even bother asking Lae'zel, because I value my life. Wyll had good intentions, but he ended up rambling on about proper courtship methods and respectfully, I couldn't care less.

I had exhausted all of my options, which left me with the one thing I had been avoiding: talk to Gale about it.

It was a cool night, a nice change from the overwhelming heat that had layered over our group the last few nights. The day had been uneventful for once, little more than a few ambushes along the roads and some cackling hyenas. The mood around camp was significantly light than usual, everyone content with the lack of carnage.

I didn't give myself much time to rethink my actions, deciding to force myself into the conversation before I could chicken out.

Gale sat in his tent, reading a book with the doors pinned open for anyone to enter. He always stayed awake later than the others, often waiting until everyone else had closed their tents for the night to follow suit. He thought nobody noticed, but it was one of the many things that made me gravitate towards him. He was so naturally protective, unknowingly watching out for everyone.

As always, I took a moment to admire him before he noticed my presence. He looked so calm, contently scanning the pages of the tome in his hands. His everlasting yearning for knowledge was something I couldn't help but admire. I watched as his fingers curled under the parchment of the book and gently flipped the page, hands calloused from years of magical studies.

Gods, his hands that were so veiny and strong, rough but gentle, perfect to glide across my skin and make me shiver with-

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I jumped at the sound of his voice, my thoughts that had previously consumed me dissipating. My face felt hot, blushing as if he was able to read my runaway thoughts. "Hi!"

I internally scolded myself for how not-smooth I was being. He carefully marked his place in the book before setting it aside, still seated in his chair as he looked up at me expectantly. His lips twitched into an amused smirk. Handsome bastard knows exactly what he does to me.

"Did you need something from me?"

I tilted my head at his question, blinking as my thoughts grew a mind of their own. I need you to kiss me until I can't breath. Touch me all over and make me shake with pleasure. I shook my head, gathering my thoughts before saying: "Just... wanted to talk to you about something."

He raised an eyebrow, an action that would have had me down on my knees if I had even just a tad bit less dignity. "Is it... a good something, or a bad something?"

My heart started racing in my chest, blood rushing in my ears. "Uhm... well, I suppose it depends. I think it's a good something, but, well, I can't speak for you..."

He stood from his seat, his movements quick but not aggressive. He always took care to control his actions, never making them seem offensive or startling. My eyes widened slightly when he reached behind me to unpin the tent flaps and let them fall closed, his frame slightly hovering over me for a moment as he did so.

His expression was open, concern and care written all over his face. "You can always talk to me. I'm here to listen."

Good gods I want to suck his dick until his brain explodes.

I cleared my throat and shifted nervously, looking up at him. "Right! So, I just... well, I was talking to the others about- actually that's not a good place to start, uhm..."

His amused smirk didn't go unnoticed. He had always liked when I got nervous, especially if he was the reason. "Take your time, darling."

Fucking Hells, he is trying to kill me.

I fought the urge to avert my gaze, forcing myself to keep eye contact. "Uhm, so, you know how we... well, obviously you know, but I mean- Fuck's sake, I mean to say, you know how we, like, flirt?"

His expression didn't falter, smirk growing into a knowing grin. He hummed an acknowledgement that sent vibration through my body, making my heart race even faster. His gaze flickered over my face, then quickly swept down my body, almost fast enough to miss.

"Well, I- Not that I don't like it, I love it! I- I mean, I don't want it to stop I just- Gods damnit, I just wanted to ask- shit... Why don't you just fucking kiss me already?!"

The silence that followed my stuttering words was overwhelming, blanketing over me and making me want to melt away into the earth to never be seen again. My embarrassment only worsened when I heard the slightest chuckle from the man in front of me. My heart dropped as every worst case scenario ran through my head.

He's going to laugh at me, tell me it was just for fun, that he would never want to be with me, he's going to make fun of me to everyone else-

"The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I would be able to stop."

I was suddenly aware of how hot it was in the close quarters of the canvas tent, and how Gale was only a few inches in front of me. I brought my eyes up to meet his, blinking rapidly as I tried to process what he just said. His stare held mine, a underlying air of vulnerability in his confession. With a shaky breath, I managed to utter out my response.

"Who said you had to stop?"

His lips crashed against mine within seconds of my hushed words, heated kiss melding our lips together. His hands, his gorgeous hands that I had spent weeks fantasizing about, were gripping my waist and pulling my body flush against his. My mouth moved in sync with his so naturally, so smoothly, that we could have been made for each other.

When I realized my hands were idle, I quickly remedied it and wrapped my arms around his neck. I didn't even notice I was tangling my fingers in his hair until I tugged lightly and was rewarded with a soft groan against my lips. The noise spurred me on, and I nipped at his lip lightly. Soon, our tongues were wildly clashing together, breathing heavy as involuntary sounds of pleasure were exchanged within the kiss.

I yelped when he suddenly lifted me off the ground, hands firmly gripping my ass as he held me. I held onto him, giggling into the kiss as he pressed against me. The stiffness of his arousal against my thigh was enough to make me shiver with anticipation, and he noticed.

He pulled away from my lips reluctantly, settling his forehead against mine. "As much as I want to do this," he glanced down at our positioning, my core level with his growing erection, "I want our first time to be something special."

I tried not to show my disappointment, silently nodding as I prepared myself to drop back onto the floor. As I loosened my thighs from his waist, I squeaked in surprise when his hands roughly squeezed my ass. "Ah ah, I didn't say I was doing to leave you wanting, did I?"

My cheeks reddened as I realized what he was implying. "Oh, Gale, you don't have to-"

"I want to. Trust me, I really, really want to."

His words were drawn out, almost a moan as he pleaded. His darkened eyes were practically begging. "I... If you're sure-"

He cut me off with a searing kiss, turning us around and laying me down on his bedroll. My whole body tingled with excitement as his body hovered over mine, lips desperately kissing down my neck. With the way he was panting as he nipped and kissed down my body, I could almost say he was more excited then me.

His stare was piercing as he looked up from my waist, silently asking for permission. I couldn't help but smile as his fingers grazed the waistband of my pants, impatiently fidgeting with the fabric. "Yes, please, Gale."

He all but tore them off, taking both my pants and underwear off in one go. His hot breath tickled my arousal, and I sighed as his hands lightly caressed the insides of my thighs. His touches were gentle, slow movements spreading open my legs and bearing my glistening entrance to him. I tilted my head up to look down at him, only to find his gaze transfixed between my legs. He practically whimpered his next words: "So fucking pretty for me."

I couldn't help but moan at his words, the heat of his breath ghosting over my clit. His eyes broke away for a moment to look at me, and he gave me a smile that made my heart swell before he dove in.

His beard rubbed against my thighs as his lips and tongue explored my cunt, the burn of his jaw emphasizing the blinding pleasure of his mouth. He moaned against me as he licked a long stripe along my folds, the teasing sensation sending a jolt of want through me. Before I could beg for more, his lips wrapped around my clit, sucking gently as he teased a finger at my entrance.

All coherent thought was left behind, all I could think about was Gale, Gale eating my pussy, moaning into me, rutting into the air as he pleasured me. "Fuck, Gale, please!"

He hummed against me, the vibration adding to the pleasure. He slipped a finger into my dripping hole, pulling his mouth away from my clit to look up at me. "Look at you, darling, so wet and ready for me."

I moaned as he pumped his finger, keeping eye contact with him. When he teased a second one, I couldn't stop my head from falling back with a moan. "Please!"

With a soft groan, he did as I asked. "As you wish."

The stretch of his second finger burned deliciously, his pace torturously slow. My walls pulsed around him, the softest parts of me jolting as he brushed against them. His thumb brushed against my clit as he quickened his pace. I reached out a shaky hand, tangling my fingers in his soft hair and tugging him forward.

He moaned at the tug, immediately replacing his thumb with his mouth. My back arched off the bedroll as he sucked harshly, his fingers brushing against all the right spots. He teased another finger, and my grip in his hair harshened. It must have encouraged him, because he soon plunged a third finger inside of me and relentlessly flicked his tongue over my clit as he finger fucked me.

My thighs began to constrict around him, orgasm fast approaching. He groaned against my cunt, gripping my thighs open and speeding up. "Fuck, I'm close!"

Another hum against me had my walls pulsating, orgasm crashing through me as he coaxed me down with his tongue sending overwhelming jolts of pleasure through me.

He gently removed his fingers, caressing my thigh as he swept his tongue through my folds, gathering my arousal. His gentle movements soothed me through the slight overstimulation as he cleaned me up with his tongue. My vision was unfocused, aftershocks still rolling through my body as he finally pulled away, slowly kissing up my body before planting a sweet kiss on my lips. I chased his kiss as he pulled back, and he chuckled as I pouted. "You did so well for me, love."

I whined at his words, desperately clawing him towards me and pulling him into a slow, sensual kiss. His clothed erection prodded my bare thigh, and he groaned when I shifted against it. "Don't tease me, darling."

I smiled up at him, tilting my head. "Is that a threat?"

He gave an amused hum against the skin of my neck, speaking between soft kisses. His words were teasing, yet heavy with intention.

"It's a promise."

[trashmouth-richie]

the boy is mine // ziggy’s version ♡

@carolmunson prompt

♡firstly, i’m so excited about this, for the unification this could have for all of us fandom wide— hopefully there are more ideas like this in the future 💕

tw: depictions of hard times, established relationship, blue collar (?) vibes, money troubles, but you’re in love so it’s a non issue. fluffy, illusions to smut but nothing mentioned.

1.3k

the scene: a romantic night in at the trailer.

props included/mentioned (in passing or can hold bigger meaning): a throw pillow, vanilla frosting, a small notebook.

dialogue included (can be manipulated slightly if needed, can be placed in any order):- "i ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?" - "aw, don't be like that. that's not even true."- "and you like that?"- "if you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."

Birthdays.

Something rarely celebrated between the two of you. Even though you both agree every year would be different, every new year’s resolution—sworn to do it, but always falling short.

Until this year.

It wasn’t a pony or a working television, and still with the daily struggle of bills piling up and work slowing down— Eddie promised himself, your day would be special.

He dipped into the ‘broken window’ fund— started when some little shits tossed rocks at the “freak’s house”. It consisted of an empty pickle jar that lived in the same dark bottom cabinet holding the potatoes.

Just a few bucks, that’s all he would need until payday on friday.

The shopping basket was nearly pathetic looking as he scoured aisles for a special treat, realizing he had come up short when he needed an extra few bucks for gas.

Putting back the cake mix, the card, and a pack of twizzlers—Eddie left the store with a single can of vanilla frosting, the off brand kind.

He rushed home, hoping to still have enough time to beat you there before your shift ended at work.

Scrounging for the small notebook you got him for christmas, he flipped through the pages filled with past conversations about the pros and cons of leaving the trailer park, a forgotten list for groceries, and an even shorter list of bills that could be pushed back a few days.

He finally finds a clean sheet, clear of pen marks and gets to work. His hands flew with D&D esque inspired calligraphy, scrawling “happy birthday baby!” with a tiny jagged heart at the bottom with his initials.

A car door slams on creaky hinges and he knew you were home before even hearing your soft footsteps on the worn concrete— giving him only seconds to do a quick sniff of his pits and rake through his hair with his fingers— rings getting stuck along the way.

Your keys jingle on your finger as you lug your purse by its strap, nearly to the ground like you were walking a dog on a leash.

“There she is,”

The same cheesy charmer line he had greeted you with since you were teens meeting between classes by your locker, faces wedged almost as one to kiss as much as you could before being late. Hormones on fire.

Eddie ‘benjamin button’ Munson aged backwards, you were sure of it. Where you looked exhausted at any given hour, Eddie's puppy dog eyes grew bigger every day, not a single wrinkle on his cherub face.

“Hey babe,” you yawned with a hand covering your mouth, “did’y have a good day?”

His smile, all dimples and porcelain teeth stretched a mile wide along with his arms as you walked into them, pressing your cheek to the middle of his chest, arms slung lazy on his hips.

“Always a good day babe, never bad. And..someone, not sure who, has a birthday.”

Lifting your head his chin is dipped to you, “someone doesn’t like their birthday, Eddie— it’s a waste.”

You never had, it was never happy before Eddie— stemming from divorced parents fighting about which one should pick up the cake, and who was buying the gifts because ‘I did it last year’ which ultimately dissolved into you telling them not to worry about it because it was just another day.

“Aw don’t be like that,” Eddie frowns, “that’s not even true.”

You grumble into his shirt tossing your head further into him inhaling his scent. He kisses your hairline and strokes your back before working to remove your coat.

“Five years we’ve been together, it’s time we celebrate shit, sweetheart.”

Mumbling a drawn out ‘fiiine’ into him he tips your chin, with a curl of his forefinger, a little smirk on his lips.

“You’re really cute when you pout y’know it?”

“and you like that?”

His lips slot against yours, and you hum with content, “oh darlin’” he says with a fake southern drawl, “I love it.”

-

The tub was filled with the warmest temperature the water heater would allow— which wasn’t a lot, but still, it felt nice on your sore muscles from your shift at the same plant both Eddie and Wayne worked at, opposite shifts from you.

Eddie’s rings clacked on the plastic edge as he slid his long legs around yours into the water, sitting on the other end of the tub. He had helped you undress, hanging your coat on the back of a chair, giving you the beautiful homemade card that made tears spring to your eyes.

He followed behind you into the bathroom, running the water and putting the drain stopper into the drain before he ran back out to the kitchen returning with arms filled with stuff that he kept hidden from you until you were comfortably sitting in the cramped bathtub.

He plugged in an emerald strand of colorful christmas lights that you didn’t even know you had. It filled the cluttered countertop, weaving around the bar of soap and kitchen cup designated for holding your toothbrushes, lighting the bathroom in a cozy Christmas ambience… in April.

“We ran out of like, nice cups— is this okay?” He asked before pouring a can of Busch light into two red cups that were nabbed from Benny’s before it shut down.

Scrunching your face you move your arms from the depths of the water to reach out for his extended offering of warm beer, “when have we ever had nice cups?”

He laughed shrugging, “yeah, you’re right.”

Sitting square in front of you, long legs bent and wide open, Eddie holds up his cup in a cheers, “to you, my love, my sweet beautiful hotter than hell girl who for some reason fell for my charm, happy birthday.”

Clinking a his cup with yours you both smile before taking a swig of the cheap warm beer.

“mm, that’s nice.. what year?” you tease, never even having wine in your life.

He plays along like he always does, swirling the cup and putting the tip of his nose to the rim, “ah yes, a refined 1989 I believe— a good year for Busch I've heard.”

You both laugh until your sides ache. This is why you adored him, making a normal day special by just being him—corny, cheesy, poor— and you had never been happier.

“Oh, wait!” he exclaimed, reaching out of the tub, ribs stretching taunt against his skin, soap sliding down them.

He grabs a lighter from the counter and opens the tub of frosting. Brandishing a white waxed candle tucked behind his ear with the flair of a magician, he plants it in the center before lighting the wick and sitting down roughly in the tub, water splashing onto the floor.

The flame lit up his features, his tongue poked out in concentration, the yellow light filling his dark pudding eyes with a boyish glee, and then they met yours.

“Should I sing?”

You shake your head, happy tears stinging your eyes, “no, this is perfect,”

“Well make a wish.”

You close your eyes tight not knowing what to wish for because all you’ve ever wanted is right in front of you. Blowing out the candle you lean forward and kiss him square on the mouth, hard and deep.

The beer tipped into the tub and was long forgotten as your lips worked down his neck, wet strands of hair curled around, his arms pulling you in, making you sit on his naked lap, the frosting birthday cake sitting on the floor.

You kiss for awhile, your chest pressed into his, his hands squeezing your ass, the heel of his foot knocking the plug from the drain.

“If you don’t stop,” you mutter between kisses, “we’re gonna have a problem.”

Eddie smirks, dimples poking out, stroking your cheek thumb sweeping your swollen bit lip, “throw pillow is already on the bed, besides, I’m not afraid of a little trouble baby.”

[botanyshitposts]

Opinion on the US's Cogs damn obsession with corn?

don't know what you're talking about specifically but my understanding of US agricultural policy in general is that being a farmer in capitalism sucks and has since colonization and for a long time the US government tried to make it suck less with subsidies which sometimes work (because people get paid predictably regardless of demand and its less like gambling with crops) but sometimes go over really badly (because then too many people grow it and the price per bushel goes down and then government has too much corn) and then a couple times they got rid of all the subsides and related regulations and that REALLY didnt work (because then the price just crashed hard and with nothing to compensate them a bunch of farmers, many of whom were in debt for other farming-related reasons, couldnt get paid and actually had to foreclose their farms, which accelerated the long-standing trend of farms getting foreclosed on and then being bought out by bigger farms that then ended up running INSANE multi million dollar operations, sometimes even on farms in other states where the owners do not live, in communities they do not contribute to) and they had to backpedal on it and then eventually they just started on the current system where you simply pass a farm bill every 10-12 years instead of yearly or biyearly and that way you simply dont have to think about it, and then when it is election time you go stand by a cornfield for a while for tv. it does not fix the huge enormous farms buying out smaller farms problem or any of the complicated related problems but it DOES put it off for longer which is more important.

sometimes also you (USAID for instance) can give the too-much-corn you have from farm subsidies to a foreign country as a 'gift' and say youre just being a helpful little guy, but in the process of doing so undercut the local farmers in that country because they cant compete with free stuff but that's cool because then the foreign country can't really survive as well without US agricultural aid and you can manipulate them to do imperialism better AND you have more demand for the corn which might raise the price per bushel in the US. also sometimes the corn is fed to livestock en masse because the meat is worth more and sometimes its made into gas or high fructose corn syrup, and sometimes the price is so low per bushel that the insurance on the field is worth more than the actual corn.

but. i CANNOT stress enough that the most important thing about corn is that you can stand next to it on tv and if you cant do that, maybe you can stand next to a guy who is around it a lot and say you are helping him.

in my relatively uneducated opinion the most epic way to solve this complex multi-century interdisciplinary push and pull of supply and demand would be to just pay farmers a salary through the state since youre already paying out massive state subsidies for crops you dont need anyway and the farmers are performing a vital service and that way you can guarantee people a consistent salary AND control how much of each thing gets planted so you dont have a massive stockpile at all times AND you reward individual people instead of paying out large amounts of money to whatever massive operation sells the most corn by virtue of being big, but if you dont want to do that then the second best thing is to just pass another mediocre farm bill whos inflexible 10-ish year lifespan makes it impossible for it to respond well to changes in market demand and that way you can just put off making tough decisions and instead stand next to a guy and a cornfield on tv again. which as we have covered is the most important part of american agriculture

[libraryraccoon]

A Raccoon in Twisted Wonderland ?

Gender : Raccoon

Pronouns : Raccoon

Infos : You're a raccoon. A real raccoon. That's it, that's the story. TW : Rook, bad english, english isn't my first language.

You were a normal raccoon, well normal, you had the power to speak in human language and to be smart.

These were the only powers, the only magic, you had, so imagine your shock when you found yourself at the NRC, the Black Mirror choosing you to be a student.

“BUT I DIDN’T EVEN APPLY ?!” -Raccoon!Reader, when a confused Crowley explained the raccoon situation.

Grim was jealous.

You, a fucking raccoon whose only magic was human language and intelligence, had been chosen but not him ?! Jealousy.

Grim became your rival without being asked, literally trying to be better than you at everything, while you didn't even acknowledge his existence-

You are in Savanaclaw, the only real raccoon there is in Savanaclaw.

When Leona and Ruggie started their plan in Book 2, you knew about it too.

They didn't tell you about it, no, you just had heard everything one day.

"You know this can lead to serious problems ? Like broken limbs ?" -Raccoon!Reader, on Leona's bed.

“Well, the nurse- WTF ARE YOU DOING HERE, FUCKING THIEF ?!” -Leona not having seen you arrive.

He give you money in exchange of your silence.

You are known at the NRC for stealing anything and everything, from money to trash passing by student and teacher files.

You once stole Crowley's file thinking it was Crewel's... You are the only student who knows his age and his true identity (you say nothing in exchange for him turning a blind eye to the illegal things you do).

You didn't know who Malleus was before the NRC, the reason is simple : no one knows anything about magic in your origin little forest. Magic and anything related to it isn't really something animals care about, so you didn't know it before the NRC.

“Oh, child of, uh, raccoon ?” Malleus suggested, confused about what nickname to give you.

"Kits. A raccoon child is a kits." -Raccoon!Reader.

Underrated friendship : Idia & Raccoon!Reader & Ortho.

You were adopted by the Shroud the moment Idia realized that you were not afraid of him and that you saw Ortho as Ortho and not just a robot.

You let them pet you, especially if one of them (most often Idia) is stressed.

You are Idia's support animal and the reason for his occasional attendance at class IRL.

Every class where Idia goes IRL (which is 3 times a month since you've been here) you accompany him and let him caress/pet you.

Imagine the look on all the 3rd years' faces the first time they saw him go to flight class with you that very first time (it was also the first time of all year he go to a class IRL).

Headcanon that you and Rook had some sort of weird alliance that consisted of you giving each other information on all the students.

A scary duo.

Literally the hunter and the supposedly "prey" teaming up was something no one at the NRC expected. Even less that they give each other information about the students.

Crewel is the one who makes your clothes, whether those for classes or those to use in everyday life, because for him it's not because you are a raccoon that you are obliged to have no style.

Lilia 🤝 Raccoon!Reader : playing jokes on students who didn't ask for anything (especially Sebek).

I like to think that Raccoon!Reader would be friends with all the NRC ghosts, and that they would give him free food.

For Overblots where you have to fight, be aware that you will jump on the Overblotter's face each time unexpectedly. No one knows why you do this, not even you. Your only answer is always “instincts”.

And it's not even just with Overblotters, but with everyone who annoys you.

The nurse is fed up with you, that's canon.

The Black Mirror is maybe the only one (with the Shroud brothers) who doesn't regret having you at the NRC.

[prokopetz]

The most consistent piece of playtest feedback I've been getting on Space Gerbils is that the Action Phase sucks, on two counts:

Blowing your roll in the Action Phase can retroactively make the Operations Phase minigame feel pointless, and there isn't really any provision for addressing runs of bad luck; some playtest groups routinely managed to whiff a 15/16 chance of success three or four cycles in a row, which makes the whole engagement grind to a halt, and there isn't an obvious way to mitigate that when an entire round of prep work boils down to a single roll of the dice.

The first point feeds into the second: the Operations Phase has its positional minigame, and the Fallout Phase has those lovely lookup tables, but then Action Phase hanging out between them is kind of nothing, mechanically speaking. Many players have reported that it feels like the Action Phase ought to have a minigame as well, and that it's incongruous for the portion of the phase cycle where stuff actually happens to be the least mechanically engaging.

There've also been reports, where drafts 0.1 and 0.2 would often become unplayable due to the play grid filling up with broken stations, drafts 0.3 and 0.4 have swung too far in the opposite direction and made complications too easy to mitigate. It's unclear whether this is due to the Action Phase's mechanics not throwing complications frequently enough, or due to the Fallout Phase not assessing those complications harshly enough; probably it's a mix of both.

Fortunately, the game's modular nature means that it's actually fairly trivial to rip out the current Action Phase procedures and replace them with something else; very little of the rest of the system would have to change. The trick is figuring out what that should look like.

The most obvious routes involve introducing individual actions in the Action Phase, but that's exactly what we don't want; mechanically, because we just made each gerbil perform a tactical action in the Operations Phase, and doing it twice in a row would double the handling time of an already ponderous system; and thematically, because acting "as" the gerbils' singular assumed persona after doing all that setup as individuals is kind of the whole point!

In balance, this is a good problem to have, because I enjoy designing stupid minigames.

As for what that hypothetical Action Phase minigame might look like, I keep coming back to the idea of taking a page from Gone to Hell and formalising the presently-optional rule that the players should take turns "being" the bounty hunter persona in each Action Phase. That would definitely help with sorting out the forthcoming rules for GMless play, since the players whose "turn" it isn't could step into the encounter management roll. However, that leaves the off-turn players twiddling their thumbs every Action Phase in GMful play, which in turns means either having two separate sets of Action Phase procedures for GMful and GMless play, or biting the bullet and making Space Gerbils exclusively GMless, neither of which terribly appeals.

This post is mostly just me thinking out loud, so I don't expect anyone to have an opinion, but as always, I'm open to suggestions!

[goodluckclove]

On Not Writing

Hi! I'm back. i had a fun two days of doing absolutely nothing writing related, including scrolling this blog. Wife and I played a lot of Valheim. Took a lot of bike rides. Watched Interstellar for the first time - pretty good, kind of silly at the end. It was my first two-day weekend in probably three months, so it was much-needed, hard as it was.

And it got me thinking of some things I wanted to say to the community here. It's especially targeted towards younger writers, of which I used to be one, but I think it can apply to anyone who finds themselves despairing over how much they aren't writing.

Let's imagine you're sitting with me in this coffee shop. It's an overcast Portland morning and I just inadvertently vivisected a croissant. And as we sip our drinks (I ordered a lavender latte), you lament to me. I don't know what to do, Clove. I just haven't been writing!

You know what I say to that?

Good.

This is a new hot take of mine that I, once again, worry about upsetting people with. Because I see a lot of guides here about how to write, or how to write consistently, or how to write through writers block. But I haven't seen a single person talking about the inverse - how to not write. Or - perhaps more accurately - how to exist as a human being separate from your identity as a writer.

This is a problem for me.

Listen - I started young. I was 12 when I wrote my first novella, and 13 when I completed my first novel the next year. Adults in my life were impressed by the big-eyed child writing so many words. They encouraged me. I wrote two more novels, and they continued to encourage me. Because of the potential, right? I could be successful. I could be famous.

People stopped pushing me to try other things. I saw I was getting validation as a writer, so that only pushed me to continue fixating over something I was already enjoying and getting pretty good at. Dad had me writing two thousand words every day, because that's what Stephen King did. At 16 I finished four full-length novels, which everyone thought was really cool and interesting. I was also sporting dual hand braces every day throughout the winter to cope with the carpal tunnel I still struggle with to this day.

There is encouraging a person in their passion. There is also poisoning them with the belief that their self-worth comes from pursuing that passion. This is entirely, absolutely, even more true for younger writers and artists.

I am enraged for the young writer in my heart and in my head. Because they worried about a lot of the same things I see people worry about on here. Oh, if I don't write I'm not a writer! And to an extent they're right, as to be a writer you need to at some point write some stuff.

But here's the fucking thing, Young Clover - a child should not strive for the work ethic of a professional adult. You did not need to write 2k words a day to be a writer. You were a writer as soon as you updated that terrible Invader Zim fanfiction you wrote when you were 10.

And more than that, though, the most important thing to a person should not be their job and aspirations. If you don't write every day, you're still a writer. If you've never written anything, you aren't - and that's fine. You might write something later down the line, or you might not. Either way you are still entitled to exist on the planet and capable of living a full and passionate and wonderful life.

Hear my words: being a writer is not more important than being a human being.

If you aren't writing right now, maybe you're not supposed to be. Maybe you're meant to be nurturing your relationships, or nurturing yourself. Maybe you're supposed to be volunteering. Or meeting new people. Or gaining a new field of knowledge. Or getting really good at making focaccia bread. Or watching every Mark Wahlberg movie.

I don't like to hear this any more than you do. If I was told that I, for some reason, was not allowed to write for the rest of my life, I would be miserable for maybe a long time. After that passed it's my hope that I would move on and do other things, because my worth is not dependent on being a writer. I like doing it. I like being it, and I hope to be one for the rest of my life. But I never want it to be the first thing people see when they look at me. I don't even like bringing it up in conversation with people I don't already know.

So yeah, if you have "writer's block", maybe consider putting down the pickaxe and getting some rest. Step away entirely from the large boulder that stands between you being the next Stephen King or Brandon Sanderson or Teen Dystopia Writer no. 2321. Take a break, and I mean an ACTUAL break, not the kind where you spend the whole time sulking about work.

I am legitimately begging the writers on here to have developed lives and interests outside of writing. I am begging because I do not have that and it has consistently been one of the hardest things of my life.

You prioritize living outside your writing and it will improve the quality of your writing when you get back to it, as it'll allow you a frame of reference that extends beyond our niche industry. Or it might make you realize that, while you enjoy writing, what you really love is ceramics. Or game developing. Or mutual-aid activism. Or the movies of Mark Wahlberg.

It is not your job to treat yourself like you already have a dozen deadlines and an audience teetering on the edge of disappointment. That's ultimately not going to help you. Your job on this earth is to exist fully, for the sake of the universe that wants so desperately to live vicariously through you.

So breathe. Breathe and calm down. You aren't a failure and there's nothing you have to prove. All you have to do today is drink some water and have a nice snack while you look at a cloud.

Please be kind. All of us need to be kinder to each other and to ourselves.

That's all I want to say. I love you dearly. Please let me know if you need anything.

[penncilkid]

Been thinking about my experiences as a POC within fandom while also being an artist and how much that sucks sometimes. This is primarily in regards to the Redacted fandom, but could be applied to any other fandom honestly.

Proper "fussing" under the cut (for those who would rather not see):

Sometimes, I really stop and think about what it must be like to be a white person in fandom, especially when you're an artist. To see yourself reflected in the spaces you exist in all the time. There are some exceptions to this, of course. For example, lack of body diversity is just as much of a problem in my opinion (Like fat people exist. Disabled people exist. Fat, disabled people exist. You can draw them, y'know? /rhet) But generally speaking, it's not difficult to find designs that probably look like you. There will be blondes, brunettes, redheads even— It's everywhere you look.

I don't think most people realize how isolating that ends up feeling though.

Because it's not just the fact that most of the art/designs you'll stumble upon won't resemble you. It's the fact that the prevalence dictates how everyone else interacts with fandom too.

Do you know how much it sucks seeing a post saying "So we all agree that Asher's blonde, right?" and knowing that most people are thinking of a white guy and nothing else?

Or noticing how Alexis, a generally "hated" character in the fandom, is the only vampire most people are willing to make visibly brown?

How about the fact that Gavin, the "thrilling" and "sexy" incubus, has so many black and brown designs— But I can count the non-white Lasko designs I've come across on my hand?

People can do whatever they want. I've said it before, and I'll continue to repeat it when I make these rambles. If you want to make every single design you have varying shades of white and never stray from that, that's your prerogative. But for the love of god, I wish I didn't feel like I was fucking crazy for talking about how much that shit sucks to see as a person of color.

On top of that, do you know how frustrating it is to watch white artists get praised for generic diversity when POC artists have been consistently bringing forth such compelling, stunning designs to table? Like I see the kind of shit that gets praised in this fandom and what doesn't. Racial ambiguity or the slightest addition of a curl gets treated like it's revolutionary— And that's only if it's the "correct" character. It has to "make sense", right? The same way Sam has to have sun-kissed, golden skin even after he's been turned, or the way Guy has to be white because there's no way someone with that personality could be anything but.

Do you know what it's like to be filled with such a sense of joy because someone made a design where a character had your skin tone or hair texture or facial feature? Like, I genuinely have a strong reaction whenever I find a black or brown design in this fandom because they're so rare in comparison to everything else. And when I really stop to think about that, I realize how fucked up of a phenomenon that is.

I love the designs that I've made, but I've also noticed which ones "do better" comparably. I don't change much of anything with how I go about posting or promoting them. The only difference is that some of them fit what is considered widely "canon" in fandom. And the others... don't. I go out of my way to make every design POC in some regard, and you can usually tell visually even without the addition of colors. I'm not gonna stop doing that because I know why I started in the first place. But fuck, it does start to hurt seeing white artists with the same general white designs get hyped up endlessly while I internally debate if I should even make another character look like me or not. If it'll even matter to anyone but me.

Some days, I just really wish it didn't feel like shit being black in this fandom. I hate knowing that I'm gonna post this, and I'll probably get responses for other people of color primarily.

But maybe putting this out will help that pill get easier to swallow.

[thebibliosphere]

TW: MEDICAL TRAUMA AND GASLIGHTING- UK FRIENDS, PLEASE HELP

Hey, this is a long shot, but do I have any followers in the UK--specifically Scotland, but I’ll take anywhere--diagnosed with MCAS/D with a doctor they can recommend?

My younger disabled brother who I share a lot of health problems with has just been hospitalized at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital (aka 'the Death Star') for symptoms consistent with a prolonged MCAS flare. He's hardly eating, he's got undiagnosable bladder pain, blinding headaches, worsening allergies, and his skin/eczema is so bad he’s at risk of sepsis and losing his eyesight because he’s been left to claw himself raw with chronic urticaria near his eyes that has been brushed off for years as “anxiety.” (Which he was then prescribed diazepam for and nothing else 🙃)

When my mother brought up my MCAS diagnosis over here in the US and how similar my brother’s symptoms and reactions are, the attending doctor said that MCAS “isn’t real” and won’t even prescribe famotidine for what my brother is describing as “suffocating acid reflux”—presumably because this doctor is now on some sort of bruised ego trip over my mother questioning his prognosis that my brother is suffering from anxiety and “a lack of personal hygiene.”

(My brother is severely disabled, and my elderly mother has to bathe and dress his wounds daily, just like she’s been doing for the last 32 years since he was born. This is not a lack of personal hygiene this is a lack of medical care!!!)

My mother is trying her best, but she’s got her own health problems and suffers severely from her own medical trauma, which is making advocating harder. They do have an appointment to see a dermatologist on Friday, but considering it's at the same clinic that said my chronic urticaria was also anxiety (🙃), we're not holding out much hope.

I've managed to find him some OTC meds that might help stabilize things, but he's at the stage where he needs a knowledgeable MCAS doctor to either confirm or rule this out and figure out what the hell is going on.

I'm trying to help, but from 4000 miles away, it's proving difficult and every possible lead I've found so far has been a dead end.

NHS is preferable but it doesn't have to be. I will find a way for him to go private if I have to. Fuck if you are an MCAS doctor in the UK, I'll pay for your petrol to go to Scotland. I'll pay for anything. I just can't listen to my mother crying in the Queen Liz car park anymore because she might be about to lose her second child to the illness that almost took her first.

Thank you. Sorry. I just don't know what to do anymore.

[just-a-creep-babe]

X-Virus NSFW Headcanons

Commissioned by @lil-degen -- thank you so very much luv, I hope you enjoy ❣️❤️❣️

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Man’s a switch—and a proud one at that

He has absolutely no problem being submissive or dominant, on the giving or receiving end of things

Really, as long as his partner’s enjoying themselves, he can’t complain

Whether he’s on top or on bottom, there are two things he basically can’t go without; pain and dirty talk

In fact, he almost never submits spontaneously because he much prefers being forced into submission—he wants his partner to be rough and dirty with him

He’ll often act like a major fucking brat just so that they have an excuse to be as cruel with him as they could possibly want to be

They can smack him around, spit on him, humiliate and degrade him, make that pretty boy beg until he’s on the verge of tears

It’s what he enjoys, it’s what he deserves

He will, however, also be returning the favor when it’s his partner’s turn~

If they’re comfortable with it, he’ll push them to the limits, just to test them, just to see how much punishment they can really take

And there’s something really intimate, really sensual about the way he experiments on his partner’s body

He’ll tease and toy with them to his heart’s content, only ever stopping if they use the safe word

He likes seeing how they react to various mixes of different sensations, so things like temperature play, wax play, breath play and bondage are usually involved

There’s almost nothing he isn’t down to try—he’s an experimentalist at heart~

He enjoys overstimulating his partner, but he’d personally rather be teased and denied for himself

Not that he has anything against overstimulation, either~

In terms of size, he’s quite proud of what he’s packing

He’s a tad thicker than average, but his length is enough to merit him being the cocky lil shit he usually is

He also has Jacob’s ladder piercings up the underside of his shaft which, combined with the slight angle of his cock, is enough to make anyone utterly weak

He’s also so damn good with his mouth, it’s actually unfair

It's like he always knows just what to do and where to put that tongue piercing to absolutely wreck his poor little partner

And honestly, one of his absolute favorite things is face-sitting

Doesn’t matter if he’s in a dominant or submissive mood—he’ll either want his partner to absolutely suffocate him between their thighs to shut his bratty mouth, or he’ll tongue-fuck them until they’re shaking and crying in his bruising grasp

His libido is slightly higher than average, but it skyrockets when he’s with a partner he really likes

Like, if he’s on his own, he’ll jerk off a few times a week—sometimes because he’s horny, but sometimes just because he’s bored or stressed from work

But if he’s with his partner, he’ll almost always be down to fuck

It's easy to tell he's in the mood because he gets extra touchy, extra flirty

He likes seeing his s/o get all flustered, all hot and bothered from his suggestive looks and lingering touches

In terms of session length, he prefers taking his time

He wants the luxury of driving his partner to their absolute limit, and while he could get that done fairly quickly and easily, especially with that damn tongue, he just loves making it last hours on end

But because he’s so consistently busy, he knows that’s not always an option, so he definitely has nothing against quickies, either

And he absolutely adores being risky, so pinning his partner against a tree, out in the open, is most certainly a recurring experience~

Only if his partner’s down though, of course

Because despite everything, despite his sadistic side and his extremely ambiguous morals, he’s not a shitbag and will respect every limit his s/o establishes

And because he does a lot of experimental kinky shit, he’ll have a bunch of safewords to practice that ✨safe sex✨

Overall, the guy’s hot and he knows it—and he will use that to his advantage

He always knows just how to make his s/o swoon, and then he can and will fully satiate them in bed afterward ;)

[aurumacadicus]

were u sad by the beginning? were u touched by the story? were u moved by the main characters personalities? tell us more.

Pixar said "What if we made found family for a grumpy old man that consisted of a child whose father is absent and a dog who can talk (and exclusively uses this simply to tell that grumpy old man "I love you")" and I ate that up with a spoon. Anyway.

--

Peter sighed, leaning his cheek on his hand. Saturday number eight ruined, just like the seven before it. "You know, at this point, my advisor would accept me taking out your trash as community service."

"Don't have trash," Steve grumped, not turning from his television.

Peter scowled, even though he knew it was true. For some reason, Steve was really into recycling and composting. It wasn't a bad thing, of course, but it left him with a whopping three things to throw away during the week (the nurses had told him), which he stuffed in his friend's wastebasket when he joined them for dinner on Thursdays. He didn't need to be pushed around in a wheelchair, he didn't need his sparsely decorated apartment cleaned or reorganized, and he didn't need anyone to cook for him.

Which was his problem. Steve had been his assigned elder when his community service advisor had had the bright idea for their class to help out a senior home, and he had nothing for Peter to do. Ned had gotten a neat old lady named Peggy, and MJ had gotten the terrifying but cordial couple next door, Natasha and Bucky. Hell, even Flash had gotten a jovial old man who sometimes insisted he was Norse god. And here Peter was. With Steve.

Now, granted, his advisor had offered to pair him with someone else a couple weeks ago, but Peter had decided he was going to out-stubborn Steve. He had time. Steve didn't. Steve would have to break eventually.

"I could go get you an organic blueberry smoothie," Peter offered, just to see what would happen.

"No," Steve answered, not looking at him.

Peter glanced around the apartment. "I could... take your laundry to the laundry room?"

"No," Steve said again.

Peter's eyes caught on a worn paperback sat spread on the coffee table. "I could get you a couple more of those thrillers."

"No," Steve said, and began to puff up, like he had every other time before he told Peter in no uncertain terms to stop trying to help him and go away.

"If you really wanted to help him," Sam said, amused, as he came into the apartment with a to-go bag from the diner two blocks away. "You'd find his boyfriend for him."

"Sam," Steve barked, at the same time Peter bolted to his feet and exclaimed, "Captain Rogers has a boyfriend?!"

"I don't," Steve told him sharply, then scowled at Sam, more sourly than he usually did when Sam dropped his forbidden lore. "Stop saying that, Sam."

"Stop being a sourpuss and let Peter get his community service credit then," Sam scoffed, pulling out a burger and handing it to him.

Steve looked like he'd sucked on a lemon as he took it. It could be at the thought of letting Peter help him, but it could also have been because the diner used waxed wrappers, which meant he couldn't compost them. "No."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes as he sat down on the couch, giving Peter a 'what can you do' and 'I tried, kid' type of shrug. "Fine, be a miserable old man. I think Peter's stubborn enough that he'll stay until you die, and then he'll take being your pallbearer as his community service."

"It's true," Peter told Steve. "I've got time."

"I like him," Sam told Steve.

Steve took a bite of his burger, probably to keep from gnashing his teeth at them like a wild animal. He looked mad enough.

Sam turned to look at Peter. "Listen. Steve has been hung up on this guy for years. You find that guy, I'll sign off on your community service credit."

"I need Captain Rogers' signature," Peter said.

Sam shrugged, finally turning to his own burger. "I know how to forge it." He patted the couch beside him as Steve tried to squawk and, instead, choked on a pickle chip. "Come on, kid. I got you a burger too."

"Okay," Peter answered with a shrug, coming over to sit down. It would probably be easier to pump Sam for information than Steve, anyway, and Peter was curious.

He'd heard that Steve and Peggy had once been married, and while they were amicable when they met in the halls, there was no spark to be reignited. Peggy had her family after her second husband had passed, and she'd made fast friends with a lady named Dottie. Steve, on the other hand, had seemed to have isolated himself. He had friends, but he didn't go out to the social stuff, which a lot of the ladies tittered was 'quite a shame!' as they winked at each other.

But if Steve was hung up on someone, that was interesting. Steve might be stubborn, but he had nothing on Peter. Peggy had said so, and while it made Peter wonder what all Ned had told her about him, it also bolstered him. He'd help Steve. He'd get his community service credit. And maybe he'd get Steve's respect.

[petrichor-idyllic]

Heyyy! How are you doing? Can you do a story where the female reader accidentally turns Minho on? Thank you

I'm doing good thank you for asking, and of course I can :))

Back on my Minho grind, lmao. Idk why I struggled with this one so much, but I must've rewritten it like seven times, bro.

INAPPROPRIATE WORKPLACE BEHAVIOUR

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Reader is a Runner. Takes place before the arrival of Thomas. You and Minho have always had a tense relationship, but when you guys work in the Map room together, you start to wonder if there's something else. Especially when you get a new kind of reaction out of the Keeper. Kinda enemies to lovers if you squint a bit.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, spice and suggestive content, dumb teenagers and dumber teenage hormones

"Bro, I'm telling you, there's nothing new."

You hate nights like this. It consists of you and the other Runners meeting up and spending hours looking and comparing maps. Once a week.

Every week.

For as long as you've been there. Well, since you became a Runner at least.

And you've been there long enough for it to not be that big of a deal if another girl were to show up.

But tonight is different. It also happens to be Bonfire night. It happens occasionally that Greenie day and the meetings fall on the same day. Most of the Runners left early to go celebrate.

And you did, too, a couple of times. Joining in on the celebrations and congratulating whatever poor Greenie on losing to Gally in the ring.

But you felt bad, so you started staying.

Minho always stayed. It didn't matter what was going on outside; the boy had a job to do, and God dammit, he's going to get it done.

You don't know why you felt bad- or even why you feel bad now. It's not like Minho has ever actually been nice to you. He doesn't take you as seriously as the other Runners and it's not uncommon for him to blatantly ignore you.

Which is shit because the Keeper makes for some great eye-candy.

"I don't care," Minho huffs as you sit with your legs on the table, leaning your chair back, shuffling through numerous sheets of paper. "If you wanna leave, then leave."

"Dude, we've been doing this for literally hours." You try to reason with him but it's not going well.

Minho has been worse as of late. With the exploration of the outer sections coming to a close and the sinking realisation that there isn't actually an exit to the Maze- his bitterness is becoming exponential.

"You can leave." He simply repeats.

You don't understand Minho's problem with you.

In reality, Minho doesn't have a problem with you. All of his extra criticisms and harsh nature comes from a place he doesn't quite understand. You're the only girl in the Glade, and even if everyone else got used to you, he never did. He's had a thing for you ever since he saw you. How could he not?

Which is bad.

Because it's distracting.

So, you can imagine his dismay when Alby suggested you be a Runner.

You pout, letting your feet hit the floor and walking over to Minho. You lean in front of him and across the table, having to stretch further to try and grab more papers that are scattered across the table.

Obviously, this was an incredibly innocent action. You were literally just trying to do more work, but Minho's entire body freezes.

His eyes flicker to your ass as you bend over against the poor wooden structure. It doesn't help that you're still wearing your tight running clothes that leave very little to the imagination. The fabric clings to your ass, and Minho suddenly feels like a complete creep. You mumble something to yourself when you can't reach, but your tone and the lack of coherency just makes Minho's breath catch in his throat.

Ah fuck.

You stand back up, tilting your head slightly as you try to understand whatever pattern Minho swears there is.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. The problem here is that Minho is just as sexually repressed as every other boy in the Glade, but his one-track-mind and work ethic makes it seem like he isn't.

But he is. Boy, he is.

You say something. He doesn't even acknowledge it as he just blankly stares into space, questioning his existence for a second and silently praying that he can keep himself from being... physically affected.

"Minho?"

"Hm?" He looks at you, concern written on your face. Suddenly, he crosses his wrists, dropping them to his crotch. You obviously were not going to look, but as his pencil scatters to the floor and you watch him visibly cringe, your eyes flicker down and then back up. "You good?"

"Mhm."

"You sure? You ignored me, and now you're acting kinda weird."

"No, I didn't. I mean, I didn't ignore you, I was just thinking, okay?" Okay, so he's panicking. He doesn't really want to get caught because that's just going to make things incredibly awkward. He's literally your boss, and with the way he treats you, there's no way you like him back.

"What did I say then?" You cross your arms, looking down at him. He's acting super weird all of a sudden. He seems almost flustered and embarrassed, and with his hands covering up his dignity; you have your suspicions. It's not like it's the first time here you've accidentally given someone a boner. And it's not like it's hard to tell.

If you catch some of the boys on a bad day then they'll get hard if you so much as look in their general direction. But Minho?

Minho?

Always calm, always collected, always in control, Minho?

It's actually kind of entertaining watching Minho's confidence slip away. He's so cocky and self-assured all the time, and you've, what? Leant over a table? And he's lost all capability? Incredible.

You do admire Minho. For many reasons, mostly including his job- but also his self-control. The boy is athletic and confident and bold, all traits that you're attracted to and have been ignoring. But this is now a form of amusement, especially after being stuck in here for hours.

"You don't know, do you?" You ask after an embarrassingly long pause.

"Uh, yeah, no. I don't know what you said. Sorry." He adds the 'sorry' after you raise your eyebrows at him, and it is very clearly reluctant.

"Sorry you didn't hear me or sorry you were staring at my ass?" You cross your arms as you turn to sit on the edge of the table. Your expression is testing as Minho drops his head forward, hiding his face in his hands.

"I, uh, I mean- shit," he grumbles.

"Wow, okay," you scoff, "I was joking, but I guess you really were just staring at my ass."

"I didn't mean- I couldn't help it, alright?"

"That's bullshit, we both know you are beyond fully capable of controlling yourself," Minho suddenly feels like he's getting lectured. But he's your boss, and he really doesn't know how to feel about the sudden shift in relationship dynamics.

"Yeah," he sighs, "you're right, but you- you're just-" You stand up straight, stepping towards him with fake understanding. He shuffles uncomfortably as you stand in next to him, enjoying the newfound power. "You're hot, dude, what am supposed to do?" He sighs, giving into defeat since there's no good way for him to get out of this.

Minho's forward nature shines through, and the compliment actually takes you by surprise. "You think I'm hot?"

"Everyone here thinks you're hot."

"That's not what I asked."

"Yeah," he basically spits out, "I think you're hot. But I also think you're one of the best Runners I've got, and I'm your Keeper, so..."

"Wait, have you been being a dick to me because you're attracted to me?" Minho's guilty expression says it all. "Holy shuck. You have!"

"Alright, alright- slim it," he warns.

"How many times have you criticised me because you actually wanted me?" You lean further forward, one arm on the table, kind of trapping him.

"Listen, don't start-"

"Or the amount of times you've ignored me because I looked too good?"

"Hey!" Minho snaps, even his ears are burning now, "Quit it, alright? I get it. If you're just gonna be a slinthead about it, then go. I don't have time for this klunk. And you might not like me, but I was always respectful and gave you the same workload as everyone else. I can't help being attracted to you, (Y/N)."

His words sound suddenly sincere, like he's been dealing with this on his own for a while now.

"I.." You start, but your words get trapped in your throat, "I never said I didn't like you." You avoid his gaze as you kind of stand to the side of him. There's a scratching scound as he turns the wobbly chair towards you, his attention now peaked at your sudden bashful tone.

"So you like me?"

"I didn't say that, either, just... you're a good-looking guy, Minho. I'm not mad at you 'cause that'd make me a hypocrite." Minho's hands graze your hips, sparking a flame in you but making you flinch. So, he immediately moves away again.

"You think I'm good-looking?" Minho definitely does not need the ego boost, but then again, neither did you.

"Shut up, okay, you're being honest, I'm being honest. It's not a big deal."

"Okay," he holds his hands up, feigning innocence, "guess we're just two attractive people sitting in a room together then, huh?"

You scoff, shaking your head, "No, we're two people who are attracted to each other sitting in a room together. There's a difference." You meet his eyes, and the tension suddenly feels very thick.

This time, Minho puts his hands on your waist with more certainty, and you move closer, swinging your leg over his, straddling him. Suddenly, it doesn't matter that Minho is your boss, or that this could make things awkward working. You just want to feel good, and Minho's flustered confession is making you feel pretty decent all on its own.

"Bold, hm?" Minho mutters, your noses brush, and your foreheads press together. You can feel his breath on your lips, and you never expected this to happen when you came to work during the Bonfire.

"Learnt from the best," you almost speak into him, earning a chuckle. "Is that okay?"

"Mhm," he leans in, finally forcing months of frustration into you as your lips connect. His grip on you tightens and it barely takes anything for Minho to be hardening under you again. Your mouths move in unison, his tongue brushing against your lower lip.

You slip your tongue under his, making him hum as you buck your hips against his. Your hands come to the back of his neck and into his hair, taking the opportunity to ruin his permanently perfect hair style.

He pulls away, panting slightly, "Wait, what does this mean?" He seems anxious, but he's still trying to move under you. You've never seen him like this before, and deep down, you know all you want is to see it again.

"It means I want to fuck you." His body physically reacts to your boldness, almost whimpering under your touch.

"Yeah, alright, I'll take it," you're back on each other in seconds. Having a friends-with-benefits situation with your boss is probably not the best idea, but damn, is it hot.

Friction starts to pick up fast. His hands are under your shirt, papers are flying everywhere as you use the table to try and stabilise yourself and a string of unholy gasping and faint moans is escaping the private place.

That's until there's a cracking sound. Both you and Minho fall in a heap on the floor as the shitty chair breaks, one of the legs snapping off and sending you plummeting. You land next to each other.

"Gally's klunky shuckin' furniture," Minho complains.

And you just laugh.

Not going to lie, lads, this was, for some reason, a complete struggle. Idk why this one was so hard and took me so long, but here it is, and I don't even think it's good lmao. Definitely not my best work, but I'm trying my best.

I hope yall kinda almost enjoyed it :)

[evanoxvt]

The struggles of disabled people without support at home.

I've been away from home for over a week. I have next to no expectations put on me here, but I still have my weekly physical therapy and both myself and Town Crier to take care of.

TC eats 3x a day and obviously, I need food too. My grandparents are cooking about one meal a day at a nearly consistent time, so I'm eating at least once a day consistently. At home, I was lucky if I ate a single meal a day.

I (sometimes) help with setting the table, which consists of paperplates, paper napkins, silverware, and glass cups. Since both me and my cousin help with this, I'm usually not doing any heavy lifting at all.

I spend part of the day downstairs and 'randomly' will go upstairs to lay down for awhile. Usually, after my mid day break upstairs, I bring my laptop downstairs and play some games until dinner and end there or resume playing until the end of the night.

No one critiques my daily routine. No one asks me to do more than I can. Everyone appreciates when I help out.

I was having trouble walking and standing yesterday because I did far too much the day prior, but because I spent the entire day resting I was able to contribute to cooking dinner and I cooked the pasta roni (~10 mins of intermittent standing required). I was able to play games and rest afterward without being yelled at for not doing more, and was even thanked for helping cook a portion of the dinner.

I have a funny sad thing to say about this: Somehow by being asked to do nothing, I've found I can do so much more than when I'm asked to do a tiny bit.

The shittiest part of this story, as random small bits put together as it is, is that I am more disabled when I'm asked to be functional, and less disabled when I can go at my own pace or back out if need be. At home I get asked to do things like empty the dishwasher (which is tons of light to heavy objects, Ina short period of time), vacuum (which is alot of heat, standing, walking, arm movement, a eight on my arm, back movement and back bending, navigation, balance, etc), cleaning things like the bathroom (which required detailed work for some parts plus moving all the things needed so they don't get in the way or touch the chemicals). I could go on and on and on but the point will get muddled if I write the entire list and every problem on every "basic chore" because the truth is that I need alot of breaks, a long period of time, and the option to back out of all of these things to be successful at it without seriously hurting myself. If I do too much today, it will affect me for multiple days. If I do too much for an entire week it will affect me for a month or more, etc. I sometimes feel really good like I did on Friday and accidentally over do it and need to be able to back down from most things for a period of time afterwards.

I normally can't make a box of pasta roni AND move anything heavy (like my laptop) on the same day at home because I'm always expected and forced to do so much more. I usually can't make cookies on days like today where I need to spend multiple hours at a time lying down in between short bursts of sitting or activity, but today I could because there's nothing else I have to do so spending potentially all of my energy is okay. Resting afterwards is okay. No one is upset because less than an hour after making cookies I had to lay down and still am. NO ONE said it's not okay. However if I go home cookies are a luxury therefore the logic goes that "if you can bake some cookies, you can do some dishes too". At home I wouldn't be able to make the cookies because it opens up the idea I'm able to do a ton of chores. I'm not okay right now, that's why I'm resting.

I feel like I'm ranting in circles at this point... but honestly I don't get why most people will see me do one "simple" (for them) thing and assume I'm okay to do things even they don't want to do because it takes up alot of energy... I really don't get it. My health sucks, it goes up and down all day long, all week long, and yet people want to pretend I'm making it up if I can do literally a single thing normal people can...

I hope my fellow disabled friends and people I haven't met yet find themselves in better social situations than me because this isn't okay in any way.