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roosterforme · 10 months ago

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The Intern Part 3 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley had an easy way about him that you appreciated. Working for him all summer sounded promising, and you were determined to make it fun for both of you. But as you dipped your toes into getting to know one another on the flights from San Diego to Lisbon, you ended up closer to him than you ought to be, both conversationally and physically.

Warnings: Language, brief mention of drugs (eventually 18+)

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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

"I still can't believe someone is paying me fifty thousand dollars to spend my summer on a yacht," you mused as the private Cessna jet gained altitude over the California desert landscape.

Bradley turned and looked at you from his plush leather seat across the narrow aisle and smirked. "You needed the money that badly?"

"Don't play games," you told him, and he laughed. "My point is, I would have done this for free just to get Ted off my back."

His fingers tightened a bit on his armrest, knuckles growing white as he closed his eyes and said, "Now you tell me. My department budget could be looking a lot fatter right now if it wasn't for you."

You could feel the airplane leveling out as the flight attendant, a woman named Melissa, stood and made her way back toward the two of you. "Oh please," you groaned, earning one of those grins from him that made you feel light inside. "I know how much the shareholders make, Mr. Bradshaw. It's not like it's not listed on the Nasdaq Composite if you dig deep enough."

"Can I get anything for either of you?" Melissa asked.

"I'll take an Old Fashioned, please. Hold the cherries," you replied while Bradley just shook his head in a jerky motion.

When Melissa disappeared behind the black curtain, you asked, "Why are you so tense? Have a drink and relax."

He huffed out a laugh. "It's eight in the morning. A drink is not going to help me."

You leaned a little closer, and his gaze definitely dipped down to your unzipped sweatshirt. "Don't tell me you're into something harder?" you asked, already thinking you'd be disappointed by his answer. You'd been there and done that. Hung out with and dated guys who were users, and it was not something you wanted to be around. Even out of your sorority sisters, there were only a handful who weren't high all week during grad school.

Bradley looked at you with alarm. "I'm absolutely not going to allow drugs on the yacht, Ivy League."

"Good," you replied right away, already feeling more at ease as Melissa dropped off your cocktail. "Thank you."

But she was looking at Bradley now as she said, "Please let me know if I can get you... anything."

He waved her off as you took a sip of your mediocre cocktail. Melissa had gone a little heavy handed with the bitters, probably because she was too focused on your hot boss to measure things correctly. "Take a sip," you told him, reaching across the aisle with your glass. "You look like you need it."

He grunted and accepted the drink, and a few seconds later, he had downed the whole thing. "Thanks," he whispered. "I hate this part of traveling to Europe for Avio. The flights are going to take forever."

You narrowed your eyes at him and took back your empty glass while he white knuckled the armrest again. "You were an aviator, Mr. Bradshaw."

When he looked at you again, his cheeks were a little flushed as he softly said, "You don't have to call me that. Bradley is fine."

"Bradley," you said with a smile, and his face softened a little bit. "Why don't you like the Cessna? I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't also hoping for something at least a little more luxurious from Avio, but it's not that bad."

He shook his head at you, something you were pretty sure you were just going to have to get used to for the summer. But his mustache twitched as he licked his lips and said, "Maybe chartered flights are normal for you, Ivy League, but I got used to being the pilot. Of something much less comfortable than a Cessna Hemisphere. So this just feels inherently wrong to me. I mean, I just drank a cocktail."

"Inhaled," you corrected. "And technically it was my cocktail," you said, waving to Melissa and holding up the glass and two fingers.

"Semantics," he grunted. "I miss my Super Hornet right now. Not only were there no drinks, there wasn't even a bathroom."

You watched Melissa duck behind the curtain again, probably to forget how to make a cocktail again. "Well, we'll be there soon," you told Bradley.

"I doubt these pilots can do Mach 2, so not fast enough for me."

You sighed, knowing this would probably be a lot easier for him if you could get him to drink a second Old Fashioned, but when Melissa dropped two more of them off, they were both garnished with a cherry. "I asked you to hold the cherries."

"Oh, yes. Sorry," Melissa muttered. "I can remove it for you."

"I'm allergic, so I'll actually need you to remake mine," you replied, and Bradley started to hand his back as well.

"Remake hers, and mine too," he grunted, suddenly looking far less nervous about the flight as he made to stand up. "Fresh glasses and everything. I don't want cherries anywhere near her." You looked up at him in surprise as he kind of rolled his eyes and followed Melissa. "I'll make sure she does it right," he whispered, and you watched him walk up to the curtain, as confident as he usually was.

"Thanks," you replied, even though nobody was there to hear you now. Well, he had promised he'd do everything he could to keep you safe and comfortable. You watched as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, and you pressed your lips together. That blue Oxford shirt was the exact best color he could possibly wear, and you wondered if he knew it or if it was an accident that he chose it.

When he met your eyes, you didn't look away. You didn't really care if he knew you were checking him out. Until you did. Because when he walked back with two new drinks, you realized how little you knew about him. "Here," he grunted, voice deep and raspy. Then he clinked his glass to yours before sinking back into the aisle seat opposite yours again and buckling his seatbelt once more.

"Thanks for doing that."

He smiled at you. "Can't lose my intern on her first day. Especially since I've never had one before."

You perked up, loving that you'd cornered the market. "I'm your first intern?"

"Yeah." He was back to downing his drink and looking miserable now, practically throwing the empty glass aside in favor of gripping the armrest. Abandoning your drink after one sip, you stood and stepped over his outstretched legs, his eyes following your every move as you eased yourself down into the window seat next to him. "You okay?" he asked, looking a little amused now that you were just inches away from him.

"I am, but you're not," you told him with an air of authority. "Just relax," you added as you took his hand from the armrest and held it in both of yours. His brown eyes went a little wider, and his lips parted like he wanted to say something. Probably question what you were doing. But you said, "You'll feel better in a few minutes," as you worked your thumbs along the pressure points in his big, rough palm. And then he closed his eyes and without a word, he leaned back in his seat with his hand cradled in yours. Soon he was sound asleep.

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

Bradley woke up to an almost pleasant humming sound all around him. His hand was warm and wrapped up in something soft, and when he opened his eyes, your face was just a few inches from his as you slept. His body thrummed with something akin to desire as you pursed your haughty lips in your sleep, long lashes grazing your perfect cheeks.

Shit. His hand was resting on your body, fingers tangled up with yours and wrapped in your designer hoodie. His knuckles were pressed to the soft skin which was exposed between your high waisted pants and your damn sports bra. And based on the way the plane was started to descend, he'd taken a five fucking hour nap all cuddled up with his intern. With Ted's goddamn daughter.

Hands off. He'd been telling himself to keep his hands off of you, and just a few hours in, he was literally doing the exact opposite. But you'd been sweet to him, carefully massaging the pressure points in his hand until he was able to fall asleep. You must have drifted off then, too. And now he was loath to remove his hand from your body or look away from you.

He needed another fucking drink. Or several. He leaned carefully over you, and sure enough, he could see the New York skyline coming into view through the small window. And he could smell your perfume. And that was when you opened your eyes, immediately sitting up a few inches and nearly bumping noses with him.

"Sorry," he grunted. "I was just trying to see where we were."

"Where are we?" you asked, your voice soft and a little rough from sleep. Jesus, he liked the way that sounded.

"Almost to New York. Want me to ask the pilot to circle back to Philly so you can wave to your alma mater?"

You laughed and sat up a little more, arching your back, but you didn't immediately let go of him. "No, thank you. I've only been gone for a week, so I'm sure the City of Brotherly Love is enjoying this break."

Bradley found himself continually laughing at your words, but now you were looking at his hand all linked with yours, so he started to pull his free. You didn't stop him, and when you looked up at him, you even asked, "Did you sleep okay?"

He nodded his head once. "I did. Thank you. For making me feel better."

You sat up the rest of the way and stretched, and he had to look away as you said, "A good intern is good at everything."

Your words weren't dirty, so why the hell were his thoughts? He should be trying to find out more about your father, not imagining you wearing a fluffy white bathrobe while you drank an Old Fashioned sans cherry next to his bed. He was miles away in his mind when the plane touched down on the runway before taxiing to the refueling spot. His stomach was growling wildly now as Melissa walked back and offered them a very late lunch.

"I didn't want to interrupt anything," she said, looking between you and Bradley like the two of you had been all over each other. When she turned away to get the salads and sandwiches ready, you climbed over him to use the bathroom, and Bradley watched you ignore a phone call as you went. He also realized that he'd have to tread very carefully around potential clients over the next few weeks. It was one thing for Melissa to make a comment like that, but it would be something entirely different if a line like that got back to Ted.

While the plane was refueled and the pilots switched places for the longer flight from New York to Portugal, you and he ate in companionable silence. You'd returned to your seat across the aisle, and you ignored another call before tucking your phone away in your bag. Bradley also used this time to drink a gin and tonic in the hopes he'd be able to sleep again, slightly afraid you wouldn't join him on his side of the aisle to make him feel cozy again.

"We'll be taking off again in five minutes," Melissa informed him as she cleared away the meal and brought pillows and blankets. Your phone was out again now, and you ignored yet another call as Bradley shook his head.

"Are you going to keep me up at all hours of the night on the yacht yelling at your little boyfriend on the phone?"

You scoffed and looked right at him as you said, "I don't date little boys. Are you going to keep me up calling your wife and kids back in San Diego?"

He didn't want to laugh at the way you talked to him and kept him on his toes. He also registered that the way you'd let him hold your hand while he slept had only come from a platonic place if you were just now asking if he was married. "I don't have a wife or kids."

"Why not?" you asked, leaning on your armrest with your tits smashed together. "You could be married. If you wanted. You're tall and you have all your hair."

"Are those the only prerequisites?" he asked, trying not to look anywhere other than at your face. God, your little bikinis were going to be the absolute death of him if he didn't get fucking laid soon.

"No," you replied without missing a beat. "You're smart, too. Handsome. Tons of money. And you seem nice. Good manners. You make me laugh. Seems like someone would have snapped you up off the market by now."

His cheeks felt warm again as he tried to figure out how to answer. You'd just complimented him nine different ways, and he was reeling a bit. "Because I was in the Navy. Nobody in their right mind would trust a Navy guy with that level of commitment."

"Why not?"

"They lie and they cheat," he said, repeating the lines women had been telling him since he was twenty two. "Nobody you'd want to settle down with."

But you didn't look convinced as your smile tilted a little higher on one side. "Are you a cheater?"

He knew somehow he wouldn't get away with speaking anything but the plain truth to you from here on out. "No."

"I didn't think so." You looked satisfied as you settled back in your seat, about to snuggle under your blanket. The sky was a little darker now, and there was nothing below except for the Atlantic Ocean.

He had a slight buzz from the gin, and he felt a lot better than he had earlier this morning. He reached for his bag and pulled out his laptop before crooking his finger and coaxing you back to the seat next to him. "We have a little work to do, Ivy League."

While he expected you to complain, you didn't. Rather you popped out of your seat with your pillow and blanket, climbed over him and settled in the window seat once more. "What is it?" you asked eagerly, and when he logged in to his email account, he saw something from Ted right away. Just a reminder to keep himself on track.

"I'm going to teach you a little bit about the Avio software we will be marketing, so by the time we land in Lisbon, you'll know as much as I do."

You curled up with your pillow and blanket and looked at him, your words doing more to him than you probably intended. "Don't test me, Sir, or I may end up knowing more than you."

"You're a brat."

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

This time when you woke up, it wasn't to Bradley's touch or his brown eyes. This time it was to Melissa's laughter and Bradley's soft voice. "When are you flying back to the states?" she asked him as you cracked your eyes open.

"Not any time soon," he replied smoothly. "We have a lot of work to do."

"Well I hope I'm on your flight back," she said flirtatiously as you propped your head up.

But Bradley wasn't paying attention to her now as he turned your way. "You're up," he mused, and you just nodded, wishing you'd had time to shower or check how you looked before he saw you. "We'll be landing soon. And then we'll get you and your designer luggage to the yacht."

You watched Melissa roll her eyes at you before she stood. "I'll be right back with coffee and some breakfast."

"Hold the cherries! Please!" you reminded her, just to be obnoxious. When she pretended she didn't hear you, Bradley chuckled. "You know, it's kind of refreshing being given an attitude. Is this how you feel when I give you one?"

His eyes went a little wider. "Don't make me call your father."

"I thought you valued your intern," you replied with a smirk. "So don't make me spread that nasty little rumor around Avio that you went to the University of Bumblefuck."

"Virginia," he snorted.

"Whatever."

Melissa dropped off mugs, a carafe of coffee, cream, sugar and pastries. "No cherry," she said blandly as you reached for a blueberry muffin.

"Much appreciated," you replied as you peeled back the wrapper and took a nibble while Bradley ate an apple danish in two bites before he poured coffee into both mugs. Clearly the two of you were hungry. You also had no idea what time it was. You had to put your phone on silent since your dad wouldn't stop calling you, even though you told him you'd talk to him when you got on the yacht.

"How do you take your coffee?" Bradley asked as you silently chewed. You went to reach for the creamer, but he pulled it away and looked at you.

You swallowed down your muffin and said, "Cream and sugar, but you don't have to do it. I should probably be doing it for both of us."

He shrugged and got your coffee fixed up exactly the way you would have made it yourself, as he said, "You and I will be working in close proximity, and I feel like this is the kind of detail I should know."

"Well how do you take your coffee?" you asked, but he set down the cream and sugar without adding anything to his. "Black, no sugar."

"Black, no sugar," he confirmed before taking a sip. You watched the alluring scars on his neck as he swallowed, once again surprised that he wasn't married. He didn't seem as helpless as your father, but he seemed like the kind of person who should have someone warm at home when he returned from work each night. Someone to look after him.

You took a sip of your own coffee and smiled, because it really was perfect, especially for something that was made on an aircraft. "Thank you."

"Any time," he responded, and you eased back in your seat and looked out the window as the Portuguese coastline came into view. You drank your coffee and picked at the muffin, watching as the very early morning sun made the Atlantic Ocean glitter. There were marinas filled with yachts and sailboats, and you wondered if Avio's was amongst them.

"Were you on the yacht with my dad last year?" you mused as the plane dipped lower in the sky.

Bradley set his mug down, and maybe it was just you, but his features suddenly seemed a little guarded. You'd always been good at reading people, which made it easy to get a favorable response when you needed one. But he'd never looked at you this way before. "For a few days. One of my buddies from the Navy was there too. Jake Seresin."

You blinked and his expression was neutral again. "The name sounds familiar."

Bradley laughed as the plane touched down. "The face will be familiar, too. Soon enough. He's champing at the bit to get onboard for a few days here and there this summer."

You set your mug down as well and said, "Don't worry, Sir. I'll dazzle him to bits during the dinner parties."

Bradley's nostrils flared, and his pupils grew wider. "I don't doubt that."

When you laughed, he smiled before looking down at his hands. "Well, Bradley, I don't know about you, but I can't wait to get on the yacht. I wonder what kind of caviar the chef will serve for lunch."

You unbuckled your seatbelt, prompting him to do the same. "There are different kinds of caviar?" he asked, one eyebrow raised as he picked up your tote and handed it to you.

"Don't embarrass me, Bradley. The other interns will all laugh at me behind my back."

But he just shook his head as he moved to the side and said, "After you, Ivy League." So you led the way to the front of the aircraft, thanked both pilots and Melissa, even though she clearly didn't like you, and you climbed down the stairs onto the warm tarmac.

You shouldn't and absolutely couldn't keep reacting to Bradley the way you were, but when he placed his hand on your lower back and said, "This way," you nearly moaned. You looked up at him as he tried to guide you toward the waiting limousine. "Go climb in. I'll grab the bags."

"I can get my own bags," you insisted.

"I know you can, but you have nine hundred of them, and I'm still hungry, and I can do it faster."

"Fine," you replied, and you could feel his gaze on your back as you walked toward the driver who was holding the back door open for you. "Thank you." As you slid across the leather seat, you watched Bradley effortlessly lift multiple pieces of your luggage at the same time while you bit your lip. What the hell was it about him? You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but he was enjoyable to watch. His voice made you feel a little fuzzy. He was raw and genuine like your favorite pair of well worn Levi's which were tucked away in your Dior suitcase he was carrying with one massive hand.

You looked away. You counted to ten. You already knew this was going to be an issue, so you weren't sure why it was hitting you now. When you glanced his way again, he was bringing his own two, nondescript pieces of luggage to the limousine trunk, and then he was sliding across the seat next to you.

"Twenty minutes to the marina from here," he murmured, his hand coming to rest on the seat next to your thigh. "And then we can get to work."

You pursed your lips. "I was under the impression we would be playing, too."

He chuckled as you started to look through the compartments next to the seat. "We can play a little bit."

You opened what turned out to be an ice chest, and ran your fingers along a bottle of chilled Dom Perignon. "We can start with this," you said, pulling it free from the ice and holding it up.

He was looking at you, not the bottle, but that little twitch of his mustache was his tell. Even though his eyes seemed stern, he held out his hand, and asked, "Think we can finish it in twenty minutes?"

You smiled brilliantly as you handed it to him. "Don't ever ask me that again."

"Sassy," he muttered, unwrapping the foil and slowly twisting the cage loose before wiggling the cork free with his big hands until it popped. "Here you go."

"No," you insisted as the driver pulled out onto the main road. "You first. Drink to a successful summer."

Bradley nodded once and took a sip before handing you the bottle. His eyes were on your lips as you pressed them to the bottle where his had just been. "To a successful summer," he echoed, his voice a deep rumble as the city went by in a blur. You couldn't stop smiling, and neither could he, and approximately eighteen minutes later, when he helped you out of the limousine, his cheeks were flushed pink.

"Is that it?" you asked, very slowly removing your hand from his as two men rushed your way in matching gray shorts and navy polos. There was a massive yacht with Down to Business lettered across the back and Avio Technologies along the side.

"That's it," Bradley confirmed, slipping his black sunglasses on as he reached to shake hands with the two men who introduced themselves as Antonio and Nikolai. Bradley told them your name, and they both took your hand in turn. "She's my intern for the summer," he said smoothly, and then they started to unload your luggage.

"Let's go," you said, glancing back at Bradley as you started down toward the marina gate, and then he was right next to you again with a few long strides. "I hope you can find your Armani swim shorts quickly, because that pool is calling my name."

"I can, actually. One of the benefits to only bringing two suitcases." He helped you over the gap, and as soon as you were on the yacht, you felt at home. You knew this was going to be the summer you needed.

"Let's go meet the captain," he murmured, his hand finding your back again.

"Do you think he has more champagne?"

"Ivy... it's nine in the morning."

"I'm still on San Diego time."

Bradley paused for a beat while he did the math. "It's one in the morning back home."

"Exactly," you told him with a little pout that you knew wouldn't actually faze him. He just smiled as he guided you past the pool you couldn't wait to jump into and an enormous jacuzzi. You walked through a dining room that could seat twelve people and past a fully stocked bar. It was like the best offerings from your sorority house and your dad's estate all rolled into one.

"Welcome aboard!" boomed a voice with a French accent. "We've been expecting you. I'm Captain Marcell." He was probably in his sixties with gray hair and a matching beard, and he reminded you a bit of your favorite professor at UPenn.

"Pleasure," you replied, shaking his hand after Bradley told him your name.

Next to him were lined up two friendly looking women, one with short brown hair and one with long brown hair. Beatriz and Lucia, the stewardesses, would be taking care of everything you needed. And next to them was an attractive man wearing a bit of a scowl.

"I'm Rocco. The chef. I can make anything. I don't like changing the menu at the last minute."

Oh, you liked him already as you shook his hand. And then your heart fluttered as Bradley said, "I need to speak with you about removing any cherries from the yacht before we leave the marina."

"Cherries?" Rocco asked, scowling deeper.

Bradley glanced at you as he removed his sunglasses, and his mustache twitched. "Yes. Can't have any onboard. That applies to the kitchen and the bars. My intern has an allergy."

"I'll take care of it," Rocco replied before turning away, and you'd never been more certain that someone would take care of something in your life. Then Captain Marcell handed Bradley a folder.

"Rough itinerary. Weather report for the week. List of phone numbers. Please let me know how long you'd like to spend in each port. I can of course adjust anything as needed. Now if you will select your cabins, Antonio and Nikolai will deliver your luggage."

"Thank you," Bradley replied, handing the folder to you. "You're in charge of this. Now why don't we head down so you can choose a room?" He nodded his head toward a wide set of stairs.

You walked down to the lower deck, and once you and he were alone again, he pointed to the left. "The sooner we get settled, the sooner the swim trunks come out?" you asked softly.

"Something like that." His soft chuckle was right behind you as you stopped at a mint green door with gold trim.

"Is this my room?" you asked, placing your hand on the doorknob. There was a little keypad next to it.

"If you want it to be," he replied. "Or, there are three others you can choose from."

"Which one are you taking?"

His eyes flitted from your face to a spot a little further down the hallway. "White door."

When you turned to investigate, you saw a pink door directly across from that one. "Wouldn't it be easier if my room was near yours?"

"Probably." His expression was neutral, but that damn mustache was giving him away.

"I'll take the pink one."

"Very good. I'll get the room codes from Beatriz, and I'll tell them where to deliver the luggage."

"Great," you replied, still standing close to him, but he didn't move.

"Perfect," he said, brown eyes focused on yours. The hallway was narrow, and now he was placing his hands on his trim hips, taking up even more space. "Try not to get into too much trouble while you look around."

Finally he turned toward the stairs, but you called his name right away. "Bradley?" He glanced back over his shoulder with a questioning look. "Thanks for mentioning the cherries."

"Sure," he replied easily. "I got you, Ivy." Then he was walking back up the stairs and out of sight.

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

We are about to set sail. Let's get into a little trouble. Let's have a little fun. Already feeling a little tension between Bradley and Ivy League. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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etrsilk · 5 months ago

Note

Hellooooo can I please have headcanons of the main 4 with a sick reader? I really want some comfort because my head and stomache hurts 😭

₊✩‧₊�� ᡣ𐭩 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 ⇝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 .ᐟ

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙨: 𝘒𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘢,𝘎𝘰𝘯,𝘒𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘬𝘢,𝘓𝘦𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘰

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 — ✘

˗ˏˋ ➛ 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

⎝ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚:: hello! Yes of course ! ♡ By the way, you have all my support! I hope you'll be better !! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

—𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐔𝐀ꫂ ၴႅၴ

➘ This guy doesn't really empathize with you at first because he's only been sick very, very rarely in his life!

➘ But alongside your cold, you developed a very high fever that kept you bedridden, and that's when he began to worry about you

➘ His first instinct? Call Leorio!!!

➘ He listened very carefully to all his advice, and applied absolutely all of it!

➘ He takes it very seriously, and if you don't want to take one of the medications he will chase you around until you take it...

➘ He won't stop making jokes like "oh no, you touched me yuck I'm going to be sick" (10 minutes later he'll cuddle and kiss you because he can't be without your physical affection for more than 20 minutes)

➘ He was the most worried of the two of you, you were just like "bro it's just a cough" and he was like "what if it turns into Chronic Bronchitis???? Or what if it's a symptom of the Tuberculosis???"

“IT’S JUST A COUGH AND A LITTLE FEVER”

—𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐊𝐀ꫂ ၴႅၴ

➘ You don't want to admit that you're sick, not at all out of pride, but because you absolutely don't want to worry him.

➘ You know that with his work, he is very stressed and busy so you didn't want to make his stress worse or disturb him. So you simply didn't tell him anything about your state of health and you tried to look as normal as possible.

➘ but one day you passed out in the kitchen

➘ The doctor diagnoses you with some sort of infection and prescribes lots of medications and instructions to follow!

➘ Kurapika gives you a moral lesson for hiding your poor state of health from him by saying that in a relationship you had to say everything and that we went through everything together and bla-bla-bla

➘ While you're healing, he becomes a little overprotective and refuses to let you exert yourself unnecessarily until you're fully recovered

➘ He stays with you as much as possible and cuddles and kisses you a lot to comfort you !!

—𝐆𝐎𝐍ꫂ ၴႅၴ

➘ He feels a little lost and doesn't really know how to comfort you or help you get better.

➘ If he notices that your condition is really starting to get worse, he will call Leorio for advice and Leorio will obviously help him as best he can as a good dad friend!

➘ Gon would make you rest and take care of all the household chores. He would also bring you blankets and sweets, and together, you would spend your days and evenings watching movies, completely wrapped around each other like Legos.

it's so cute…

(He got sick shortly after and it was Leorio who had to take care of you two)

—𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎ꫂ ၴႅၴ

➘ He is very very very slightly happy because he finally has the opportunity to show you these doctor skills…

➘ But otherwise, obviously try to help yourself as best you can.

➘ It makes sure you have everything you need, from nutritious meals to medications to a clean, comfortable environment.

➘ He tries to comfort you by making you laugh with jokes!

"Leorio, I think I should see a doctor."

"Who are you talking to right now? Who is it you think you see? Do you know how many people I treat in a year? I mean, even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe it. Do you know what would happen if I suddenly decided to stop going to work? A clinic big enough that it could be listed on the NASDAQ goes belly up. Disappears. It ceases to exist without me. No, you clearly don’t know who you’re talking to, so let me clue you in. I am not in need of a doctor, my dear. I am the doctor. A guy feels a bit off and gets told to see a doctor and you think that of me? No. I am the one who diagnoses!"

(It was much funnier in my head)

—English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes!!

#hunter x hunter #hxh headcanons #hxh #hxh x reader #headcanons #killua x reader #hxh killua #leorio #leorio paladiknight #leorio x reader #kurapika x y/n #kurapika x you #killua x you #kurapika x reader #hxh kurapika #kurapika kuruta #killua hunter x hunter #kurapika

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 5 months ago

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6/18/2024 - 06/19/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Leslie Jones; Vico Ortiz; Nathan Foad; Anapela Polataivao; Kristian Nairn; Dominic Burgess; Kay Buchanan; Relax I'm From The Future Special Edition; Articles; Fiber Arts Brigade; Gotcha for Gaza; Love Notes; Daily Darby / Today's Taika;

== Rhys Darby ==

So Rhys has decided to send us all to Costa Rica again.

The running theory as to WHY Rhys has decided to give us a topless shot is because of this lovely post by our dear crewmate Moosh, where they requested we post tits on the tl when WBD got down to below $7.

Now that was back on June 17th. Guess what just so happened to happen on June 18th?

So yes, the current theory is that Rhys quite literally did #TitsUpWBD for all of us. Just. Wow.

Source: Rhys Darby Instagram / Moosh's Twitter / WBD Nasdaq

== Taika Waititi ==

Taika was out at the premier of The BikeRiders! Lots of shots both on and off the carpet! Are those Pearls I spot?

@keshiasih's Instagram

Bikeridersfilm Instagram / TylerDisneyOfficial Instagram

Source: @fuckyeahworldoftaika's Tumblr

== Vico Ortiz ==

Vico's got so much going on! Spark comes out on the 24th! Don't tell my Mother comes out on the 25th! Spark Film / Don't Tell My Mother

Source: Vico Ortiz Instagram

== Leslie Jones ==

Leslie's gonna be doing live showes starting in Sept! Preorders are live tonight through tomorrow at 10pm local. https://linktr.ee/lesdogggg

Source: Leslie Jones Twitter

== Kristian Nairn ==

Reminder! Kristian is going to Yorkshire Comic Con this weekend! If you're in town consider dropping by! He also just dropped another episode of Spektrum! Check it out in the link below. https://linktr.ee/kristiannairn

Source: Kristian Nairn's Instagram

== Anapela Polataivao ==

Did you know that our dear Auntie directed the new performance of Red White and Brass going on in AoNZ? Well she's out at the premiere! If you're in AoNZ please check them out!

Source: Anapela's Instagram

== Nathan Foad ==

Nathan out and about with friends!

Source: MonicaHeisey's Instagram / Nathan's Instagram Stories

== Dominic Burgess ==

Dominic is up for Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Limited or Anthology Series for American Horror Stor:y Delicate! Keeping fingers crossed Dominic gets an Emmy!

Source: Dominic's Twitter

== Kay Buchanan ==

Our lovely leatherworker Kay Buchanan has posted some more pictures (some dupes some not) of more leather work she did for OFMD! I ran out of image room on the recap so I made a side post-- please visit it below to see more!

More parephenalia BTS

Source: Kay Buchanan's Instagram

== Relax I'm From The Future ==

One of Rhys' movies-- Relax I'm From The Future has come out with a special edition version with additional improv by Rhys and much more! The link is below! Amazon Link

Source: Luke Higginson's Twitter

== Articles ==

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew spotlighted another article related to WBD. Warner Bros Discovery Falls Apart.

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Twitter

== Gotcha For Gaza ==

The awesome people over at @ofmdaction are still looking for more writers and artists! If you're interested please sign up here! More information on the event here!

Source: OFMDAction Twitter

== Fiber Arts Brigade ==

Our crewmates over at the Fiber Arts Brigade have reached their first and second tier goal for the #ThriveAsACrew fundraiser for SAGE USA! They've put together the first and second Cameo reward (provided by a generous donor, NOT from the raised funds) and you're welcome to check them out! 1st Up is Christopher Corbin (aka Magic Man in the Republic of Pirates)! You can watch it on their Twitter/Facebook page!

2nd is Damien Gerard! (aka Father Teach)

youtube

"Interested in donating to SAGE and getting to the next tier of the Cameo rewards? Please visit #ThriveAsACrew in support of SageUSA! Haven't had a chance to see which auction items were listed today? Check them out here: FiberArtBrigade Ebay Or...Want to donate a textile item of your own to be included in round two for release next weekend? Visit the Donation Form!" Source: Fiber Arts Brigade Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Cast Cards =

Tonight's first Cast Card features Yvonne Zima! One of our lovely writers, as well as "an actress featured on the hoity-toity party boat listed as Fleur de Maquis"! Next up is Richard B. another one of the folks in The Republic of Pirates! Thank you @melvisik for keeping up with these even on your vacation!

Source: @melvisik's Twitter

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies! I realise it's a double day today but I wanted to say Happy Juneteenth to all our crewmates out there. This really is an important day in American History, and it continues to highlight each year why it's so important we learn from history and we don't white wash or shy away from the hard topics of our past. Today I'd like to share some quotes/love notes from Cole Arthur Riley, and some of histories brilliant Black writers/philosophers. Take care lovelies, rest well, we've only got half a week left, and then it's back to the weekend. Sending so much love your way.

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A post shared by Black Liturgies (@blackliturgies)

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View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Black Liturgies (@blackliturgies)

instagram

Source: Black Liturgies on Instagram

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Today's theme is Relax I'm from the future, and because Taika is not in that movie, I'm gonna use one of my favorite reaction gifs instead. It will never get old. Gifs courtesy of the absolutely sweetest, most amazing folks out there, @bizarrelittlemew and @ofmd-ann. Tumblr would be a sad, lonely place without all the lovely gifs you both bring to it <3

#ofmd #ofmd daily recap #our flag means death #rhys darby #taika waititi #nathan foad #Youtube #Instagram

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memenewsdotcom · 8 months ago

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Trump media Nasdaq listing

View On WordPress

#business #Donald Trump #memes #money #Nasdaq #news #social media #stock market #stocks #trump #Trump social

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years ago

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North To The Future [Chapter 9: A Long December]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

A/N: While “A Long December” was originally released by Counting Crows in 1996 (and is thus compliant with the 90s theme), the version I listen to most is Girlhouse’s cover from 2022. So maybe check that out. It is a bop!

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, a tiny bit of sexual content, Christmas with Momtini and Dadtini, Kimmie making a realization, Aegon making a drink, Appletini making plans, Trent making some killer pool shots, the Ice Fisher getting into the holiday spirit, please enjoy this nice little respite before the events of Chapter 10. :)

Word count: 6.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @bornbetter @flowerpotmage @thewitch-lives @courtenbae @tempt-ress @padfooteyes @teenagecriminalmastermind @chelsey01 @anditsmywholeheart

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

You descend the staircase gingery, sheepishly. Your socks slip on the hardwood steps like tires on black ice. You’re trying to avoid your parents, but you can’t wait any longer to eat breakfast or you’ll be late for work. They’re bustling around in the kitchen: cracking eggs, chitchatting, banging plates and pans, cooing over Sunfyre, listening to an R.E.M. album that spins on the record player.

When you walk in, your dad is standing by the stove wearing the apron you got him for his 50th birthday. Pizza Slut, it says. He grins and wiggles his eyebrows. “Hey, ladybug.”

“Oh no.”

“I heard you come home pretty late last night. And then you got right into the shower. Hmm.”

“Hmm!” your mom concurs joyfully.

Your dad nods to the pan he’s hovering over, wielding a spatula. “Salmon omelet?”

You sigh, defeated; and yet, you must admit, you love salmon omelets. “Yeah, sure.” You sit down at the table next to your mom. She’s drinking Earl Grey tea smokey with cream and reading a newspaper: Halle Barry is marrying a jazz musician, Puff Daddy’s Notorious.com is looking for a venture capitalist willing to invest $7.5 million in startup funding, a man was arrested in Times Square for threatening President Clinton, the Nasdaq composite index—fueled largely by the dot-com boom—could hit 5,000 by the end of 2000. You wonder what Aegon’s family is doing right now. Do outrageously wealthy people eat omelets and decorate Christmas trees? Do they hop from store to store in some glitzy metropolitan mall hunting for presents—KB Toys, the Disney Store, Hallmark, Bath and Body Works, Hot Topic, RadioShack, Claire’s, Wet Seal, Yankee Candle—before grabbing a late-afternoon snack at Cinnabon or Sbarro, maybe a smoothie from Orange Julius? Or do they just sit in their mansions under vast unsmiling portraits until they grow dusty and turn to stone: gargoyles, angels, lions bearing their fangs? Are they still human at all?

“How’s Trent doing?” your mom asks. “Still trying to get into the Forest Service?”

“As far as I know. But that’s not who I was with last night.”

Your dad sets an omelet down in front of you, along with a glass of orange juice and one of the same Flintstones multivitamins you’ve been taking since you were in preschool. Jesse used to give me those, you think randomly, recalling the reminders he penned in his clandestine journals. When he was around. When he was sober. Your parents exchange a wary glance. “Oh?” your dad ventures in a squeak, trying to sound casual.

You could lie, but you don’t. Juneau is too small for lies. People know each other too well, they bump elbows in grocery stores and bars and parking lots; they make overly-familiar small talk and inadvertently spill secrets. The last thing you need is someone teasing Trent good-naturedly about your supposed night of passion. He might be dumb, but if he ever gets all the pieces in his titan hands he’ll eventually figure out how they click together. “I was, uh, actually, uh…visiting Aegon.”

They watch you, faces frozen in forced, benign smiles. You pet the top of Sunfyre’s shaggy head with your left hand and stab a fork into the salmon omelet with your right. “Well, that’s great!” your dad manages. “He’s a nice boy, that Aegon. So Greek. And plenty sexy, as we’ve previously established.”

“Is he feeling better?” your mom asks politely, slurping her tea.

“Oh yeah. Much better.” It comes out way too enthusiastic, and hot blood floods into your face. Your parents chuckle…and yet their eyes are troubled, distant, though perhaps in different directions. “Just so you know, things aren’t really working out with Trent. I’m trying to let it fizzle so there isn’t any drama that makes things awkward or creates any…uh…bad blood, I guess. So if you see him around, definitely don’t mention Aegon.”

Your dad does a mock salute. “Got it, General Ladybug.”

“What are Aegon’s plans for Christmas?” your mom inquires. Your dad turns to her, but doesn’t say anything. “It must be difficult for him, being so far from home. Especially around the holidays. I would hate for him to be alone.”

Probably drinking himself into unconsciousness while watching Jingle All The Way and Die Hard. “I don’t know, that’s a good question. I should ask him.”

“He can spend Christmas here with us, if he’d like.” Your mom finishes her tea, sets the cup down on the table, fiddles with it. “We’ll have more than enough food. And we could find a few things to wrap for him so he has presents to open.”

“Now if that’s not holiday spirit, I don’t know what is!” your dad says happily; and if he’s bluffing, he’s good at not showing it. He kisses your mom on the cheek, resting his study hands on her shoulders. She smiles up at him.

You wolf down the last few bites of your salmon omelet, chew your vitamin, knock back orange juice like a shot. “Alright, I should get going, or I won’t be back in time to open the vet clinic at 9.”

“I can always hold down the fort for a few hours,” your dad offers.

“No, that’s okay. I appreciate it, but I don’t want to bother you.” I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want to let you down. “You’ve earned retirement. Enjoy all the Judge Judy and Buffy The Vampire Slayer you can handle.” You pet Sunfyre and tug playfully on his ears. His tail wags at warp speed. “Are you ready to go home to your favorite person now? Are you excited?”

Your dad lumbers off into the kitchen. “Here, bring Aegon some breakfast too…” He piles a salmon omelet, a mountain of hash browns, and toast slathered with butter and strawberry jelly into a Tupperware container. You take it and glance out the window that faces the driveway.

“Oh, great. Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“The cow moose is out there licking the road salt off my Jeep. Can you get rid of her?”

“Again?! Okay, I’m on it.” He grabs some pots out of the cabinet and heads outside. You can hear him beating the pots together and shouting: “Goodbye, moose! You live in the woods, not the driveway! Goodbye! Au revoir! Adios, mooseachos!”

At the kitchen table, your mom laughs. She’s still tinkering anxiously with her cup. “Only in Alaska.”

“You’re really alright with Aegon coming over for Christmas?”

“Of course. I’d prefer it, actually. I’d rather know he’s safe. Not alone, not in trouble.”

“Even though he might end up passed out under the tree?”

She smiles: faint, tired, melancholic. “I’ve seen worse.”

When you let yourself into Aegon’s apartment, he’s dressed for work and self-medicating with a rum and Coke mixed in a cereal bowl; it’s the only dish he has that’s currently clean. Sunfyre bolts to him, barking wildly and jumping up to prop his paws on Aegon’s chest as you slide the Tupperware onto the kitchen counter.

“Hey, buddy!” Aegon cries, ecstatic. “I missed you! Yes I did! Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?!”

“Where are you going?” you ask, scrutinizing him.

“Fishing,” he says simply, like this should be obvious.

“I don’t think you should be going back to work this soon. You just got out of the hospital.”

He shrugs. “I need the money.”

“I can give you money.”

“You definitely could, but I don’t want your money, I want my money. Besides, Trent won’t be able to protect my job forever. If I can’t work, Rusty will find someone else who can.”

“Trent,” you echo morosely, staring at nothing in particular.

Aegon downs the rest of his rum and Coke, then puts his bowl in the sink. He walks over to you, his oceanic eyes cautious, his lock of white-blond hair resting on his cheek. “What did he do to you? At dinner, I mean. Before you called me.”

You take his left hand and turn it over, studying the lines on his palm: past, present, future, all in a language you can’t read. You hesitate; you can’t decide what to tell Aegon. You aren’t sure what you want him to know.

“He didn’t hurt you, right? Or try to touch you in a way you didn’t want him to?”

“He kissed me. I pushed him off. That’s all.”

Aegon watches you, eyes severe and glinting. “That’s not all.”

“I tried to break up with him at the restaurant,” you confess. “First he acted like he didn’t understand. Then he got upset, offended. We agreed to slow down, but I’m not sure what he thinks that means. Maybe he’s planning a summer engagement instead of a spring one, I have no idea.”

“You made him angry.” Aegon’s voice is flat, entirely flat, like he’s battling to keep it that way. “I thought we agreed not to make him angry.”

“Well I didn’t do it on purpose, Aegon.”

“No no no, my bad, let me clarify, I’m not mad at you. I just don’t understand why you would be so direct about it. I’ve broken up with a lot of people without actually breaking up with them. You ignore, you deflect, you do the bare minimum, you are intentionally unappealing in every way…and then eventually they move on. That’s the way to go. That’s how you avoid confrontations.”

“I don’t want this thing with Trent to die a slow death.” Oh, perhaps a poor choice of words. “I don’t want to be with him, to even keep up the facade of being with him. I want to be with you. I want to be with you in every way, everywhere, all the time.”

Aegon smiles. He twists his fingers into your hair and touches his forehead to yours and then kisses you, softly and unhurriedly. As he pulls away, he gently bites your lower lip; his fingertips ghost across the front of your throat like a necklace, like a chain. You moan into him, unable to help it. “I won’t go to work if you don’t either,” Aegon murmurs.

“I, an eternally upstanding citizen, definitely have to go to work.”

“Man, fuck capitalism,” he says, and you laugh together.

Something occurs to you. “You didn’t wait for Kimmie to move on. You broke up with her.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I had another candidate in mind for the extremely prestigious position of being my Juneau girl.”

You tuck his hair behind his ear and kiss him again: heat, rum, memories from the night before. Lust stirs up in your blood like ancient silt in seawater. “Please be careful at work.”

“I will, Appletini. I will. Don’t worry. You’re always worrying about things that haven’t happened yet. There’s no point in that.”

“I think I’m just someone who’s doomed to worry a lot in general.”

He grins. “Yes. But I’m your favorite thing to worry about.” He lays his palm against your right cheek and kisses your left: quickly, lightly, like it’s routine, like he’ll be doing it every day for the rest of his life. “Have fun at the vet clinic. Saving all those furry little lives.”

“I’ll see you at Ursa Minor tonight?”

He winks. “I’ll be the one with the electric guitar.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You get stuck late at the clinic spaying Mr. Mark Morehouse’s Flemish Giant rabbit. By the time you rush through the front door of Ursa Minor—bells jangling, a gust of cold wind at your heels, patrons glancing over with vague interest—the band is already performing. Aegon is wearing his cuffed jeans, black combat boots, and, in a radical departure from his usual color scheme, a royal blue turtleneck sweater. He’s braided a section of his hair on the left side of his head and woven a single, small, blue-dyed rose into it. He gives you a subtle nod when he sees you come in, a sly half-smile. He’s singing a punk rock, up-tempo version of Counting Crow’s A Long December.

“I can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leaving, now the days go by so fast…”

“Heyyy, bitch!” Heather greets you, raising her Sex On The Beach. Joyce and Kimmie are swaying together, brandishing lighters in the air: Joyce smirking and reluctant, Kimmie—a born groupie—shamelessly exuberant. You swing by the bar to get a Bacardi Breezer (blueberry, very good, one of the better flavors) and stand beside Heather. You gaze at Aegon as he strums his battered guitar, and the parallel strikes you for the first time. Aegon too is layered with imperfections: scars, marks, ink, demons with gnashing fangs and needlelike fingers that dangle past their knees. And yet what he gives to the world is so beautiful. And yet he is so goddamn miraculous.

“I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell my myself to hold on to these moments as they pass…”

It takes you a long time to notice that Kimmie is watching you. Something clicks like a dislocated joint popped back into its socket; and that’s the way it’s always been with Kimmie, since she was a child, since she was a five-year-old chasing boys around the playground at recess. The hints pile up—a lot of hints, sometimes years of hints—until eventually there’s an avalanche of realization that hits and drags her under like a rogue wave. She sucks in a breath and her doelike eyes shoot wide open. You try to pretend you didn’t see anything, but that’s not Kimmie’s style. She pushes her way through the audience and grabs your wrist, hauling you away from the crowd. Heather observes this, slurping down her Sex On The Beach, trying to ascertain if you need reinforcements.

“What—?!”

“I didn’t know,” Kimmie says, like it’s an apology. Her eyes are pained and fearful, a deer bathed in headlights.

“You didn’t know what?”

“That you’re in love with him.” Her voice is reedy and trembling. She’s petrified, you realize. She’s afraid that I’ll never be able to be her friend again. Not a true friend, not a pure one. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. I even asked you first. I never would have hooked up with him if I had known, never, never. I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sorry. It didn’t mean anything, it wasn’t like we had real feelings for each other—”

“Kimmie, Kimmie, it’s fine,” you soothe, rubbing her shoulder. She’s wearing a ridiculously fluffy hot pink sweater; it’s like petting a neon sheep. “I’m the one who wasn’t upfront with you. I didn’t think Aegon and I had a chance, so I was purposefully trying to avoid him, to avoid any feelings I had for him. It didn’t work out that way, but…yeah. Anyway. I don’t blame you for anything.”

“Oh my god, so you’re together? Like, together?” Kimmie blinks at you, shocked but not scandalized. You’re not sure it’s possible to scandalize Kimmie.

“We don’t really want everyone to know about it.”

“Oh, because of Trent?”

Now it’s your turn to be shocked. Maybe some of those genius professor genetics made it down the Plinko board after all. “Exactly.”

“Jesus Christ, he’d probably snap Aegon in half if he knew. Like a freaking KitKat bar.”

“That’s a mental image I didn’t need.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Kimmie swears, empowered by this rare, consequential responsibility.

“I really, really appreciate your discretion.”

“You and Aegon, wow…” She mulls it over, baffled. “So you’re pretty kinky too? I wouldn’t have guessed that. You should have told me! We could have gone shopping together!”

Shopping with Kimmie for fuzzy handcuffs and riding crops and, who knows, probably like vibrating butt plugs or something. I don’t think I’m emotionally prepared for that. I will most likely never be emotionally prepared for that. “Boundaries, Kimmie. Honestly, I haven’t seen that side of him. At least not in my albeit limited experience.”

“Huh,” Kimmie says brightly. “I guess he’s in love with you too.” And then she trots off to rejoin the crowd. Boat #27 has concluded their performance and is accepting cheers of acclaim and complimentary drinks from their adoring fans. Joyce hugs Rob, climbing onto her tiptoes and giggling. Joyce!? Giggling!?!? You grab another Bacardi Breezer before heading over, raspberry this time.

“Hey, babe!” Trent booms when he sees you.

Oh god. Oh no. You shrink away when he throws an arm across your shoulders. Aegon watches this as he approaches, sipping a rum and Coke, eyes like blue embers.

“Right,” Trent groans, like it’s some grave inconvenience, like it’s some passing fad he has to endure. “I remember now. We’re taking things slow.”

The clique assembles by the pool table like battle-ready Power Rangers: you, Trent, Joyce, Rob, Heather, Kimmie, Aegon. “Someone should play!” you say, truly a master of redirection.

Trent flips his hair. “Obviously I’m down.” He looks at you expectantly. You ignore him, drinking your Bacardi Breezer and then pretending to drink it once it’s empty.

“Oh, you are going down.” Heather cracks her knuckles and grins, then picks up a cue stick.

“Battle royal!” Rob announces. Joyce sighs and pulls a fantasy novel out of her purse. Kimmie perches on the edge of the pool table: legs crossed, eyes roving, gold hoop earrings glittering under Christmas lights, seeking attention and drawing it to her like Saturn ensnares moons. A gaggle of bashful men appear out of nowhere to worship her. Dale’s stereo pipes out Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You. Dale himself is wearing a red Santa hat and yawning boredly into the back of his hand.

“I need another drink,” you say, and head for the bar. Aegon follows you.

“You don’t want a Bacardi Breezer.”

“I don’t?”

“No. You don’t.” He flags Dale over once you’ve claimed your seats. “Hey Dale, did you get the stuff on the list I gave you?”

“Sure did.” Dale sets an array of items on the bar: apple juice, lemon juice, florescent green apple schnapps, vodka, a single Granny Smith apple, a paring knife, a shaker halfway filled with ice, a small plate covered with sugar, two chilled martini glasses. “You owe me, though. Especially for the schnapps. I had to order a case all the way from Seattle!”

“Add it to my tab.”

“Which you’ll pay when? In 2023?”

“I’ll pay, Dale!” Aegon insists.

Dale rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t seem genuinely annoyed. “Sure you will.” He yawns again and ambles away to take the orders of some locals sitting at the other end of the bar. The thuds of his boots are heavy and slow on the hardwood floor, the same one Aegon almost died on nine days ago.

“What are we doing?” you ask, but you’re already smiling. You have a pretty good guess.

“We’re making appletinis,” Aegon replies.

“You knew how to make appletinis this entire time and never said anything?”

“Oh no, I definitely did not,” he says. “I found the phone number of a friend I met back in San Francisco and figured she might know. She’s a bartender. So I gave her a call and asked very, very nicely and sure enough, she had a recipe.” He pauses, contemplative. “I told her I was in Chicago. Just in case.”

Just in case his ghost manages to track her down. “Have you seen this friend naked?”

“Does it matter?”

“No,” you say, and you find that you mean it. Aegon is here with you now, and that’s all you can ask for. Still, his commitment to relative honestly seems enduring.

“The answer is yes. But it wasn’t like it is with you.”

“Really, it doesn’t matter. I’m not mad or anything.”

“Yeah, you don’t look mad.”

You smile at each other, Christmas-light sparks in your eyes, alone in a crowded room. Well…alone except for Mariah Carey. “Anyway,” you prompt. “Am I getting a real-life appletini or what?”

“Let’s do this. Uh…” He furrows his brow, trying to remember. “Okay. I think I know how it goes.” He adds apple juice and lemon juice to the shaker. He doesn’t measure; he estimates, splashing in a little at a time until he’s content. He caps the container, gives it a few vigorous shakes, then opens it again. He pours in the schnapps and vodka, then shakes again. “Cut a few slices off the apple, vet lady. Nice and thin.”

You do, four transparent crescent-moon slivers. Aegon rubs lemon juice around the rim of each martini glass with his ring finger and then dunks them in the sugar until the rims are covered in fine white crystals like snow. He garnishes the martini glasses with the apple slices, gives the shaker one last whirl, then empties the contents into the glasses: half for you, half for him. He hands you your introductory appletini and toasts his glass against yours.

“On three?” Aegon asks, and you nod, beaming. You count together: one, two, three.

Your first taste isn’t a tentative sip. You take a full, brave swallow of the vivid green brew. It’s jarringly sour, sticky-sweet, crisp and refreshing like springtime. “Oh, I love it!” you trill.

“It’s…uh…” He takes another investigative slurp. “It’s definitely appley.”

“You hate it,” you say, laughing.

“I don’t hate it,” he counters. “I like what it’s doing to you.”

You close your eyes, the sights and sounds of Ursa Minor fading away. You’re somewhere sleek and vibrant and new; you’re in New York City, you’re in Los Angeles, you’re in Las Vegas, you’re in San Diego. When you open your eyes, Aegon is smiling. “Sorry. I was teleporting.”

“Do you want the rest of mine?”

“Yeah,” you admit guiltily, and he slides his appletini over to rest by yours. You drain them both. “I’m like Jack Dawson. I’m the king of the world.”

“You’re very, very cute when you’re tipsy, that’s what you are.”

“My parents think you should spend Christmas with us. I think you should too.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay. Don’t buy me anything fancy, though. I won’t be able to return the favor.”

“Sad impoverished homeless man gifts only. You have my word.”

“Hey!” Heather calls from the pool table. She’s waving her cue stick in the air. “I lost! I’m a loser! I got slaughtered by this jumbo-sized motherfucker! And you weren’t even here to witness it!”

“We should go over there,” you tell Aegon, and he steadies you when you wobble as you slide off the barstool. “Oh, god, I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool. Now I have an excuse to touch you.”

“Dale, can I get some Chex Mix or something?” He tosses you a little blue bag from behind the bar. You miss it completely. It sails over your head and smacks into the floor. Aegon cackles hysterically, but fetches the bag. He even opens it before he hands it to you. Then you set off together for the pool table.

“What’s wrong with you?” Heather asks when you arrive, her eyes narrow.

“I like appletinis. I really like appletinis.”

“It’s December 22nd, the commencement of Capricorn season, and you are celebrating this momentous event with an uncharacteristic display of recklessness and frivolity? Inauspicious!”

“What did I miss? Besides your humiliation.”

“Flintstones vitamins,” Rob says, rubbing blue chalk on a cue stick. He and Trent are playing pool now; Trent is showing Kimmie and several of her sycophants, including Matt and Gary, how he can make a shot with his hands behind his back. Aegon circles the pool table, his hands in his jeans pockets, watching Trent reticently. “Childish and stupid or totally acceptable for mid-twenties adults?”

“Totally acceptable,” you declare, munching on Chex Mix. “I just had one this morning.”

“That’s what I said!” Kimmie cries. “They’re delicious. I could eat a whole bottle of them. I used to lie to my mom when I was a kid and insist she hadn’t given one to me yet so I could get extra. My high score was five in a day.”

“That can’t be good for you,” Heather says. “Wait. Maybe it explains some things.”

“A lot of things,” Joyce quips, turning a page in her book.

Kimmie defers to you, the foremost medical authority present. “Vitamins can’t hurt people, right?”

“Well, that depends on the vitamin.”

“Some can,” Aegon says. “The fat-soluble ones, because your body can’t flush them out as easily or something. Too much Vitamin A can really fuck someone up. There are people who’ve died because they ate a polar bear liver, which has, like, millions of units of Vitamin A. So if you ever happen to eat a polar bear, skip the liver.”

“You can overdose on vitamins?” Kimmie asks him, puzzled. “Like, vitamins can kill you?”

“Oh yeah, lots of things can kill you if you take enough of them. Too much Vitamin A can cause seizures and comas, Vitamin D can give you a heart attack, Vitamin E can make you hemorrhage out of your eyeballs and stuff. And it causes strokes.”

“Oh snap!” Kimmie exclaims in horror, thinking that perhaps she barely escaped with her life. Heather is thoroughly amused.

You look at Aegon as he passes by you like a satellite whirling around the Earth, a blinking light in suffocating darkness. He’s right, but he shouldn’t be. He hasn’t studied medicine. He hasn’t studied much of anything. “How do you know all that?”

He replies curtly: “How do you think?” And then he resumes his orbit.

Rob attempts a shot and misses. “Ha!” Trent says, flipping his hair, and then starts lining up his own. As he leans over the pool table, he asks you: “So, where were you last night?”

Your mind, already hazy, goes useless. Cold sweat bubbles up out of your pores. “What? At home.”

“No you weren’t.” His eyes are on you like a wolf’s, like a beast’s. “I called the house. A couple times, actually. I felt weird about how we left things and wanted to apologize. But no one answered.”

“Oh, sorry, I mean I was at home, but then I went to go bowling with my parents.”

“No you didn’t.” Trent’s cue stick hits the striped red ball, number 11, and sends it hurtling into a pocket. “I already asked Dale. He’s in the bowling league, and he said you weren’t there.”

Two lies. And I don’t have a third. You stand there helplessly, surrounded by Christmas lights and tinsel and pine trees, your thoughts churning slowly, slower, dragging to a full stop. The chatter around you dies down. Wide eyes dart between you and Trent. Joyce closes her book. Even Dale is peeking over from the bar. His face is crisscrossed with lines of disapproval, of fascination.

“Where were you, huh?” Trent takes a step closer. He’s huge. He’s so fucking huge. Aegon picks up the black 8 ball off the pool table; no one else notices but you.

“Trent,” Heather scolds her brother, stunned. “Take a chill pill—”

“Where were you?!” Trent demands.

You try to conjure up an excuse, any excuse. All you can think of is how badly you don’t want to end up at the bottom of an ice-covered lake. I can’t die, I haven’t done anything yet. I haven’t been anywhere yet. I haven’t seen San Diego.

Trent begins one final time, still clutching the cue stick, his voice deafening: “Where were—?!”

“She was with me!” Kimmie bursts out, and everyone spins towards her. “I, um, I was upset. Devastated, in fact. Because of, um. Boy problems.”

Heather titters nervously. “What else is new.”

“So I called and I was an absolute blubbering mess on the phone and she offered to come over and hang out. Watch Buffy with me. Do my nails and stuff. It’s really embarrassing.” She smiles at you, a soft glowing smile. “Thanks for trying to keep my secret.”

“No problem, Kimmie,” you reply shakily.

“Oh, babe!” Trent says, his face splitting into a smile, pressing a hand into the small of your back. He even flips his hair in that simpleminded, horselike way. He can’t be the Ice Fisher. He can’t be…right? You flinch when he touches you. On the periphery of your vision, you can see Aegon rolling the black 8 ball back onto the pool table. “That’s all?! You should have told me!”

“It really wasn’t my situation to share.”

“Damn, I’m sorry.” Trent seems to mean it. “I’m really sorry. That was a dick move, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Hulk smash?” Rob says, and there is laughter, quivering with fresh relief.

“I think I have to go,” you say, rubbing your forehead. “I’m really not feeling great.” And that part’s not even a lie. “I shouldn’t have mixed Bacardi Breezers and appletinis, I’m a total lightweight. And I have work in the morning. I’m supposed to vaccinate like ten of Mr. Campbell’s reindeer.”

“You want me to drive you home?” Trent offers.

No! Definitely not! “Thanks, but I couldn’t bear to interrupt your pool game. Especially when you’re winning.” You can tell Aegon is looking at you. You intentionally don’t acknowledge him. And now you realize that you’re a little trapped: you can’t say you’re driving yourself home because you’re not sober, and you can’t say that Aegon is walking you back to his apartment because then Trent might murder you both right here in the middle of Ursa Minor, blood splattering the deer heads mounted on the wall, femurs and vertebrae littering the pool table.

“I’ll do it!” Heather volunteers. “I’m super not-wasted at the moment.”

“Um, well…”

“Come on.” She’s already going to get your parka off the coatrack. “I can’t in good conscience let you vaccinate those reindeer without a full night’s sleep.” You trail after her, powerless to refuse.

Out in the night-draped parking lot, you haul yourself—with some difficulty—into Heather’s Chevy Suburban. And as she turns the key in the ignition and begins defrosting the windshield, you tell her: “When you leave the lot, make a left, not a right.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re not taking me home. You’re taking me to Aegon’s apartment.”

“I’m…?” She gapes at you as it sinks in like an anchor through dark surf. “Oh my god. Oh my god…?!”

“Affirmative.”

“Oh. My. GOD.” She puts the Suburban in drive and, as requested, makes a left onto Main Street.

Sunfyre is delighted to see you when you arrive. He leaps, barks, pirouettes in circles, accepts copious scratches and Milk-Bone treats. You collapse onto the threadbare couch, and he stretches out on the floor beside you, his quiet snoring soon the only sound in the apartment. Your eyes blur, flutter, close up shop. Maybe twenty minutes later, you hear a key rattling in the front door.

Aegon walks inside, his boots dripping with snow. He doesn’t seem surprised to see you. “You alright, Appletini?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of woozy but I mostly just wanted to leave.” You consider him, wondering how to ask him the question that won’t leave your mind. It claws at the arched walls of your skull like a trapped animal, leaving streaks of blood where its nails were torn away.

“I don’t want to talk about the vitamin thing,” he says.

“I don’t want to talk about Trent.”

“Deal.”

He throws off his parka and boots, turns on the X-Files, and crawls onto the couch with you. You fold into him and he holds you, not hungrily, not asking for a thing. You freefall into sleep with your head against his chest, his heartbeat a distant roar like thunder.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Ice Fisher has left Juneau a Christmas present: Stephanie Nolan, his fifth victim. She was twenty-five years old, an avid knitter, a Blockbuster employee, mother of several adopted Himalayan cats, one of three sisters born barely a year apart. At least her parents still have some children left, you think. At least the pressure to make their sacrifices worthwhile wasn’t all on her. Your dad sneaks a few minutes of news coverage while your mom is in the shower. They’re replaying the press conference that Chief of Police Eugene Baker gave late last night on Christmas Eve.

“We urge all Juneau residents to remain vigilant. This is the time of year for celebrations and get-togethers, and we don’t want to discourage that in any way, but no one—and I repeat, no one—should be outside alone, especially not after dark. Ms. Nolan left her place of employment to take a ten-minute smoke break, and that was all the opportunity the killer needed. He is still out there, he is still dangerous, and no one is immune from becoming a target. If you have any information relevant to this case, anything at all, please call our anonymous 24/7 hotline at…”

There are camera flashes, uneasy clamoring, flailing hands of reporters begging to be called on. Your dad crosses his arms over his broad chest, his face grim. A reporter asks Chief Baker: “I understand that the Juneau PD has brought in FBI profilers to help them identify possible suspects. Can you share any new theories with the public at this time?”

“Well, there are a couple likely possibilities. The Ice Fisher might be someone who is new to the area, someone who arrived this past summer or early autumn. Residents should therefore be extremely wary of newcomers. However, it might be the case that the killer isn’t new to the area at all, but rather suffered some sort of destabilizing event—loss of employment, for example, or the death of a loved one—that triggered their otherwise dormant violent impulses. The last theory I’m prepared to share today is that the criminal now known as the Ice Fisher might have been active long before this recent string of murders. Some serial killers have been known to…to test the waters, so to speak…with murders that can be camouflaged as accidental or natural deaths. That’s a possibility in this case, and we are combing back through the department archives to see if there are any answers there…”

“I should go pick up Aegon,” you say.

“Ladybug…” Your dad stalls, not wanting you to take it the wrong way. “I’m not saying that I think Aegon is the killer, because I don’t think he is. I know he’s not, actually. He doesn’t have much rage in him. He has a lot of other things, I believe, but not that. I’m just saying…you have to be careful. And he can’t keep an eye out for you if he’s passed out drunk somewhere. Do you get what I mean?”

“I understand, Dad. I’m careful. Really, I am. And I’m never running around town alone. If I’m not with Aegon, I’m with Heather or Kimmie or Joyce.”

“Or Trent,” he adds. He likes this idea; Trent might not be able to snap a murderer in two like a KitKat bar, but he could definitely crack a few ribs. Trent would be a great Mortal Kombat character. He could skewer foes with a cue stick, right through the eye socket. An icy shudder rocks down your spine.

“Or Trent.”

“Okay. Good.” He turns back to the tv, his eyes vacant, his voice low. “Just making sure.”

Aegon is dressed in his Christmas best: dark jeans, black Converses, his hair loose and wavy, a festive red sweater with Gizmo from Gremlins on it. You’ve opted for a more traditional Rudolph turtleneck. Sunfyre has a large red bow tied to his collar. The three of you ride together back to your parents’ house, the radio playing Celine Dion’s O Holy Night, one of the back windows rolled halfway down for Sunfyre.

Dinner is a reindeer roast, rosemary apple stuffing, potato gratin, homemade macaroni and cheese, and creamed spinach; dessert is Christmas cookies eaten under the tree. You open presents as a parade of classics play on the tv: Frosty The Snowman, How The Grinch Stole Christmas, The Year Without A Santa Claus. Your parents give Aegon cold-weather clothing like hats and mittens, which he accepts with great appreciation. He gives them a bouquet of blue roses and three bottles of red wine, only one of which he drinks himself. You give Aegon a refrigerator magnet from Caribou Crossings, a grizzly bear with a salmon caught between its teeth, something to join the rest of his collection, something to help him remember Juneau once he’s gone. He gives you a handful of seashells from San Diego that he’s been carting around in his luggage for a year. Everyone gives Sunfyre Milk-Bones.

When Aegon takes the golden retriever out to the backyard, your dad goes with them. You can see them talking out there as snow falls and the sun sets and the horizon is inked with violet and gold, the wind whipping fiercely: Aegon’s hands moving in wild, dramatic gestures, your dad nodding along. They’re gone for so long you start to worry, your fingers trembling as you and your mom play chess with the new set you received for Christmas, not black and white but pet-themed: one side dogs, the other cats.

Your dad comes back inside first. He shuts the door and says to you, not accusatory but merely intrigued: “I didn’t know you were serious about wanting to travel, ladybug.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so. One day. When I’m retired, I guess. Doesn’t everyone want to travel?”

“Huh. Aegon made it sound a bit more urgent than that.”

He watches you defeat your mom in chess, makes her some mollifying Earl Grey tea, and then offers to play Scrabble with her, a proposition she can never resist. When Aegon brings Sunfyre back inside—the sky fully dark now, the stars rising behind the veil of clouds—you lead him upstairs to your room. You sit on your bed together and flip through your travel magazines, scenes of Paris, Cairo, New York City, Rome, Tokyo, Cape Town, Buenos Aires, Beijing, Saint Petersburg, Sydney, Las Vegas, Cusco, Athens, Mexico City, Nairobi, California.

“It’s strange,” Aegon says. “Your parents like me, but they also kind of don’t like me. It’s as if they’re afraid of me. I can’t figure them out.”

You think of the cardboard box under your bed, the one full of Jesse’s journals. “My mom was married before. Vince is her second husband.”

Aegon looks over at you, attentive but not understanding. “Okay.”

“I was five years old when they got together. So Vince is my dad, but he’s not…like…he’s not biologically…well, you get what I’m saying.”

Aegon closes the magazine he’d been skimming, still looking at you.

“My mom’s first husband was named Jesse. And he was…from what I understand…he was a lot like you.” You tap your index finger against the crook of your own elbow so Aegon will understand. He was brilliant, but he was an addict. He was a blessing, he was a curse.

Aegon nods slowly. “I guess that explains a lot.”

“I probably should have told you sooner. But I’ve never really told anyone.”

“What happened to him?”

“He drowned in the channel. Maybe it was an accident, maybe suicide. Maybe it doesn’t matter which one. Maybe there isn’t much of a difference.”

“I’m so sorry,” Aegon says, his voice quiet and gentle.

“I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

“It won’t. I told you. I’m not that easy to kill.”

You wonder if Aegon has become a ghost to his family, if he haunts the Targaryens like Jesse haunts you, half-comforting, half-heartbreaking, if after six long silent years his shadow still lurks in corners and doorways. You wonder if a ghost is really so far from what you are. “I want to stop feeling like a potential person, to stop waiting for the life I’ve always dreamed of to drop out of the sky. I want to feel real.”

“You’re real to me.” He dusts his thumbprint across the curve of your cheekbone, flesh and blood that sing to each other. “Listen, we’ll go to San Diego together.”

“Don’t, Aegon.”

“No, I mean it,” he says. “Give me a month to save up, and we’ll go. We’ll take a long weekend and fly down there. It won’t be hot enough to swim, but it’ll be warmer than here. Sixties, sunny, sandy, waves and tacos. We’ll stay somewhere with a waterbed. Those can be a lot of fun.”

“Careful. I might not want to leave the hotel room. What a waste of a trip that would be.”

“I’ll just have to make sure you’re bored of me by then,” he purrs, grinning and mischievous, dragging you into his lap. He smooths your hair back from your face, gazing up at you as you straddle him. He kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck; his teeth skate across your skin without biting down, without leaving indigo bruises of ownership. Slowly, he turns solemn and hushed. Slowly, you begin to worry about him.

“What, Aegon?”

“You’re the best present I ever got. I hope you know that.”

You whisper through his windswept white-blond hair: “Then open me.”

He lays you down on the bed, unearths your needful bare skin and stifles his moans against your throat, unravels you like a blood-red ribbon from a box heavy with secrets.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader

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jeffhirsch · 1 month ago

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Election-Year Octoberphobia Hangs Over Market

From one October day to the next, the market seems unable to decide which direction to go. Election-year Octobers going back to 1950 have been the worst month of the year, but in the last 21-years October has been fair ranking #4 for DJIA, S&P 500 and NASDAQ, #5 for Russell 1000 and # 6 for Russell 2000. And then there is October’s history of major market drops occurring during the month, hence Octoberphobia.

At today’s solid close, DJIA, S&P 500, NASDAQ, and Russell 2000 are all still in the red for October and appear to be tracking the typical election-year seasonal pattern. Russell 2000 is struggling the most, down 1.57% as of today. NASDAQ is least negative, down a small 0.03%. S&P 500 and DJIA are respectively off 0.20% and 0.59%. Should the market continue to track past election years, more sideways chop is likely heading into mid-month. A more decisive move lower in the second half of the month, ahead of Election Day, cannot be ruled out.

Geopolitical tensions are at or near the top of the list of market concerns as Israel’s response to Iran’s latest missile attack is still awaited. Last Friday’s much better than expected jobs report has sent the 10-year Treasury yield back above 4% rather effectively quashing expectations of another large Fed interest rate cut. Inflation readings later this week, CPI on Thursday and PPI on Friday, remain important, but barring a wild miss could fail to move the market considering how solid employment data has been.

#$^DJI #$^GSPC #$^IXIC #$^RUT #$DIA #$SPY #$QQQ #$IWM #octoberphobia

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aniketsanimationblog · 1 year ago

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The SUMMARY Of This Whole Current Debacles Of Animation Industry

Netflix Canceled Majority of their Original Animated Kids Content after the Realignment of their Animation Department and their Stocks Plummeted at NASDAQ e.g. City Of Ghosts!!

HBO Max (Now called Max, By Warner Bros. Discovery) Canceled and erased majority of Cartoon Network Content and their Kids Animated Original Content, e.g. Over The Garden Wall, Infinity Train, Final Space etc. To Cut Costs!!

The Walt Disney Company is just replacing Human Jobs with AI, for Art Creating and Script Writing Purposes, however there's no Animated Content in this year's massive Purged Content list of Disney+ had been announced, but who knows what will happen next!!

Nickelodeon and Paramount Pictures are going to rely on Popular IP based Movies (SpongeBob, PAW Patrol, Avatar, Transformers) to be released in Theatres over the Original Ideas based Movies!!

Speaking of Nickelodeon and Paramount, their Streaming Service, Paramount+ removed several Animated Content from their Platform, after the Cancelation and Removal of Star Trek: Prodigy, e.g. Pig Goat Banana Cricket, Becca's Bunch, Digby Dragon, Monsters vs. Aliens and Most Notably, My Favourite Nick Jr. Show after Oswald ended, Peter Rabbit!! Also, Star Trek: Prodigy has been removed everywhere on Nickelodeon, including, Nickelodeon's Website, nick.com!!

As of August 2023, Cartoon Network Studios at Burbank, California, got officially Shut Down, as the Studio Operations merged with Warner Bros. Television Animation, just like Hanna-Barbera Studios!!

And Finally, when WGA and SAG-AFTRA Strikes are ongoing, The Unemployment Rate in The Animation Industry has gone at an Insane High!!

The Animation Fandom have gone way more Toxic than ever before!!

Disney Channel, Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network are not interested to Greenlit any project for the better or worse!!

Ain't this Depressing, as an Ardent Animation Fan?? When Last Year, The Owl House got canceled, the fans protested on Twitter/X by using #SaveTheOwlHouse, and when this year, Star Trek: Prodigy got canceled and removed from existence, we are protesting by using #SaveStarTrekProdigy, I will ask you this question!!

"Will you Accept these Debacles in Animation World as The Future of Animation??"

Because, right now, it is true fact, that the Animation Fandom is not quiet ready to see the destruction of Animation in their bare eyes!!

But what shall we do?? The Fandom of This Miraculous Ladybug/PAW Patrol Duopoly and the Bootlickers of Egoistic Showrunners like Thomas Astruc, will still support the Duopoly, no matter how much we make them the noises that respect and give other shows a chance, don't sleep on them!! We will listen, we will see, we won't take any action, and we still be in Silence after all the Debacles, and the Freedom of Speech will be taken away from us!!

And in Next Year, when The Animation Guild (TAG) goes on Strike, we see more and more animated series gets the Cancelation and Purge from Streaming Services, like suppose at this rate of condition, if Next Year, Disney Channel's Series, Marvel's Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur, cancels at Disney TVA, and the fans will again protest on Social media by Using #SaveMGADD, I will come back and ask the Question again!! And this cycle will go on and on and on!! Unless, we have to take action against the unfairness, this Corporate Studios and Money-hungry Showrunners have created!!

So, let me ask you this question one last time, Animation Fans all over the world!!

"Will You Accept these Debacles of this Animation World as The Future of Animation??"

We have to Take Action Right Now, Before it's too Late!!

But,

Is this one Tumblr Post enough, to Reach Out to Others, and Talk about this Issue???

#animation #animation fandom #animation fans #animated kids show #television #nickelodeon #cartoon network #disney channel #netflix #wga strike #sag aftra #save the animation industry #save animation #you cannot stop us from spilling the truth #animation industry #animation industry rant #animation is for everyone

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 2 months ago

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* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

September 19, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Sep 20, 2024

Yesterday morning, NPR reported that U.S. public health data are showing a dramatic drop in deaths from drug overdoses for the first time in decades. Between April 2023 and April 2024, deaths from street drugs are down 10.6%, with some researchers saying that when federal surveys are updated, the decline will be even more pronounced. Such a decline would translate to 20,000 deaths averted.

With more than 70,000 Americans dying of opioid overdoses in 2020 and numbers rising, the Biden-Harris administration prioritized disrupting the supply of illicit fentanyl and other synthetic drugs. They worked to seize the drugs at ports of entry, sanctioned more than 300 foreign people and agencies engaged in the global trade in illicit drugs, and arrested and prosecuted dozens of high-level Mexican drug traffickers and money launderers.

In March 2023 the Biden-Harris administration made naloxone, a medicine that can prevent fatal opioid overdoses, available over the counter. The administration invested more than $82 billion in treatment, and the Department of Health and Human Services worked to get the treatment into the hands of first responders and family members.

Addressing the crisis of opioid deaths meant careful, coordinated policies.

Also today, markets all over the world climbed after the Fed yesterday cut interest rates for the first time in four years. In the U.S., the S&P 500, which tracks the stock performance of 500 of the biggest companies on U.S. stock exchanges, the Nasdaq Composite, which is weighted toward the information technology sector, and the Dow Jones Industrial Average, an older index that tracks 30 prominent companies listed on U.S. stock exchanges, all hit new records. The rate cut indicated to traders that the U.S. has, in fact, managed to pull off the soft landing President Joe Biden and Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen worked to achieve. They have kept job growth steady, normalized economic growth and inflation, and avoided a recession.

As they have done so, the major U.S. stock indices have had what The Guardian's Callum Jones calls “an extraordinary year.” Jones notes that the S&P 500 is up more than 20% since the beginning of 2024, the Nasdaq Composite has risen 22%, and the Dow Jones Industrial Average has gone up 11%.

Bringing the U.S. economy out of the pandemic more successfully than any other major economically developed country meant clear goals and principles, and careful, informed adjustments.

And yet the big story today is that Republican North Carolina lieutenant governor Mark Robinson frequented porn sites, where between 2008 and 2012 he wrote that he enjoyed watching transgender pornography; referred to himself as a “black NAZI!”; called for reinstating human enslavement and wrote, “I would certainly buy a few”; called the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. a “f*cking commie bastard”; wrote that he preferred Adolf Hitler to former president Barack Obama; referred to Black, Jewish, Muslim, and gay people with slurs; said he doesn’t care about abortions (“I don’t care. I just wanna see the sex tape!” he wrote); and recounted that he had secretly watched women in the showers in a public gym as a 14-year-old. Andrew Kaczynski and Em Steck of CNN, who broke the story, noted that “CNN is reporting only a small portion of Robinson’s comments on the website given their graphic nature.”

After the first story broke, Natalie Allison of Politico broke another: that Robinson was registered on the Ashley Madison website, which caters to married people seeking affairs.

Robinson is running for governor of North Carolina. He has attacked transgender rights, called for a six-week abortion ban without exceptions for rape or incest, mocked survivors of school shootings, and—after identifying a wide range of those he saw as enemies to America and to “conservatives”—told a church audience that “some folks need killing.”

That this scandal dropped on the last possible day Robinson could drop out of the race suggests it was pushed by Republicans themselves because they recognize that Robinson is dragging Trump and other Republican candidates down in North Carolina. But here’s the thing: Republican voters knew who Robinson was, and they chose him anyway.

Indeed, his behavior is not all that different from that of a number of the Republican candidates in this cycle, including former president Trump, the Republican nominee for president. Representative Virginia Foxx (R-NC) embraced Robinson’s candidacy, and House speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) welcomed “NC’s outstanding Lt. Governor” to a Republican-led House Judiciary Committee meeting “on the importance of election integrity.” “He brought the truth with clarity and conviction—and everyone should hear what he had to say!” Johnson posted to social media. Robinson spoke at the Republican National Convention.

The difference between the Democrats and the Republicans in this election is stark, and it reflects a systemic problem that has been growing in the U.S. since the 1980s.

Democracy depends on at least two healthy political parties that can compete for voters on a level playing field. Although the men who wrote the Constitution hated the idea of political parties, they quickly figured out that parties tie voters to the mechanics of Congress and the presidency.

And they do far more than that. Before political thinkers legitimized the idea of political opposition to the king, disagreeing with the person in charge usually led to execution or banishment for treason. Parties allowed for the idea of loyal and legitimate opposition, which in turn allowed for the peaceful transition of power. That peaceful exchange enabled the people to choose their leaders and leaders to relinquish power safely. Parties also create a system for criticizing people in power, which helps to weed out corrupt or unfit leaders.

But those benefits of a party system depend on a level political playing field for everyone, so that a party must constantly compete for voters by testing which policies are most popular and getting rid of the corrupt or unstable leaders voters would reject.

In the 1980s, radical Republican leaders set out to dismantle the government that regulated business, provided a basic social safety net, promoted infrastructure, and protected civil rights. But that system was popular, and to overcome the majority who favored it, they began to tip the political playing field in their direction. They began to suppress voting by Democrats by insisting that Democrats were engaging in “voter fraud.” At the same time, they worked to delegitimize their opponents by calling them “socialists” or “communists” and claiming that they were trying to destroy the United States. By the 1990s, extremists in the party were taking power by purging traditional Republicans from it.

And yet, voters still elected Democrats, and after they put President Barack Obama into the White House in 2008, the Republican State Leadership Committee in 2010 launched Operation REDMAP, or Redistricting Majority Project. The plan was to take over state legislatures so Republicans would control the new district maps drawn after the 2010 census, especially in swing states like Florida, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin. It worked, and Republican legislatures in those states and elsewhere carved up state maps into dramatically gerrymandered districts.

In those districts, the Republican candidates were virtually guaranteed election, so they focused not on attracting voters with popular policies but on amplifying increasingly extreme talking points to excite the party’s base. That drove the party farther and farther to the right. By 2012, political scientists Thomas Mann and Norm Ornstein warned that the Republican Party had “become an insurgent outlier in American politics. It is ideologically extreme; scornful of compromise; unmoved by conventional understanding of facts, evidence and science; and dismissive of the legitimacy of its political opposition.”

At the same time, the skewed playing field meant that candidates who were corrupt or bonkers did not get removed from the political mix after opponents pounced on their misdeeds and misstatements, as they would have been in a healthy system. Social media poster scary lawyerguy noted that the story about Robinson will divert attention from the lies about Haitian immigrants eating pets, which diverted attention from Trump’s abysmal debate performance, which diverted attention from Trump’s filming a campaign ad at Arlington National Cemetery.

When a political party has so thoroughly walled itself off from the majority, there are two options. One is to become full-on authoritarian and suppress the majority, often with violence. Such a plan is in Project 2025, which calls for a strong executive to take control of the military and the judicial system and to use that power to impose his will.

The other option is that enough people in the majority reject the extremists to create a backlash that not only replaces them, but also establishes a level playing field.

The Republican Party is facing the reality that it has become so extreme it is hemorrhaging former supporters and mobilizing a range of critics. Today the Catholic Conference of Ohio rebuked those who spread lies about Haitian immigrants—Republican presidential candidate Trump and vice presidential candidate J.D. Vance were the leading culprits—and Teamsters councils have rejected the decision of the union’s board not to make an endorsement this year and have endorsed Democratic presidential candidate Vice President Kamala Harris. Some white evangelicals are also distancing themselves from Trump.

And then, tonight, Trump told a Jewish group that if he loses, it will be the fault of Jewish Americans. "I will put it to you very simply and gently: I really haven't been treated right, but you haven't been treated right because you're putting yourself in great danger."

Mark Robinson has said he will not step aside.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #Trump lies #Biden Administration accomplishments #support for Harris/Walz #political parties #gerrymandering #REDMAP #Teamsters #Mark Robinson #opiod overdoses #American History #Radical Republicans

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