#but often a single share is less expensive than we think

[9ofspades]

Buy one of their shares!!!

The reason the business press is so fucked up is because virtually no one has any information about a business except the business itself. If you’re reporting on a city government, you can look at their public records, attend council meetings, file requests for information, schedule meetings with city employees. Businesses aren’t obligated to give you any of that, because they aren’t intended to be accountable to the public, they’re only accountable to their owners and shareholders.

If you want information on a business any more detailed than what’s in their annual reports (and many smaller companies don’t even issue those publicly), you have to just ask them. And they aren’t obligated to tell you the truth or even to give you anything, so all statements they do make are carefully manicured by public relations staffers to include all of the good and exclude all of the bad. As a business reporter, your options are

Report exactly what the business is saying, without any skepticism (easy, widely-accepted, guarantees that they’ll talk to you again in the future)

Develop a robust network of sources within the business who can leak to you (very hard, often unrewarding, dangerous for staffers acting as sources)

Cover what the business is saying skeptically and point out when they’re being dishonest (risks pushback, loses you access to talking to the business again in the future)

When you’re a business journalist on deadline to write 2-3 stories a day, which are you going to do

[itskindamagical]

Criminal Minds: the moment they realized they are in love with you

AN: this will be multiple posts, each part with a different character and different plot line. I plan on writing the reader as gender neutral. I’ve seen this fanfic trope from multiple different fandoms, so I thought I might give it a try. Please remember I’ve only seen the first few seasons of Criminal Minds.

AN edit: sorry this took so long and that the story is so long. I got carried away writing this one <3

Part 1: Spencer Reid

You and Spencer were at a quaint, small, family owned restaurant. It was nice and semi-formal. Spencer felt bad for cancelling your last two dinners together, so he took you here, a place from his childhood. He claimed to have a handful of good memories from this place, which made you happy. There’s nothing you liked more than to see Reid happy. When you walked in, you took in your surroundings: small tables, all cleaned and organized to a “T”, some booths with what you believed to be genuine leather, and the small glow of lights and candles. You could tell why Spencer liked it here.

“This place is really beautiful, Spencer,” you looked up at him and caught the small smile he threw at you, satisfied you liked his childhood favorite restaurant.

You both sat down at a small table in the back next to the windows. Outside, the sun had set, the sky turning dark purple. You started to scan over the menu, noticing that Spencer hadn’t even glanced in the direction of his. You smiled softly. He already knew what he was going to eat.

“Did you want to-um- get an appetizer?” He asked, his voice less confident than usual. You noticed his usual stims were more animated. He seemed like he didn’t know what to do with his hands-cracking his knuckles and flexing his fingers-or how to look at you-his eyes would gaze at you and quickly retreat away.

“No, I’m alright.” You didn’t want to tack on additional prices to the bill, which Reid basically demanded he payed fully. It made sense to you why Reid said he didn’t come here too often, given the expensive entrees and fancy drink selection.

“Are you sure? Like I said, I’m covering the bill, so feel free to.. indulge,” the way his cheeks flushed made you wonder what meaning he was hiding behind that statement. Spencer wasn’t the insinuating type, so maybe he didn’t mean anything by it. He did seem a little off tonight, and it made you a little flustered.

“Uh- actually, could you help me pick between these two entrees?” You pointed to your possible selections on the menu. You were going to comment on how silly his insisting on paying the bill was, but you wanted to calm him down and not add to the awkwardness. It was bizarre. You and Spencer were close and had been for a while. When you two would share a meal or go out, you both felt comfortable. Reid talked your ear off, something he tried not to do with most people. It was sweet, and you were honored that he was so at ease around you. All of this tension made this experience- which was supposed to be enjoyable- a little less pleasant.

Reid pointed to the second option you showed him, “I really think you’d like this. It’s what I’m getting.” You both smiled at the serendipitous way you happened to have similar taste.

“I’ll take your word for it. It sounds great.” That seemed to settle things a little. The waiter came over, asking about what they could get you both to drink, boasting about the extensive list of wine and cocktails. Spencer requested just water. He was the DD, and even though a single glass of wine wouldn’t get him drunk, he wanted to keep you at ease knowing you would both get home safe. You hmmed a little, showing your appreciation. Spencer was always extra courteous, one of the many things you loved about him. The waiter took your drink order and asked about appetizers, which you declined.

“We are ready to order,” Spencer remarked. He told the waiter what he wanted and you echoed this, telling the waiter you would have the same.

“Great choice. That will be out of a little bit for you both. Enjoy the rest of your night together.” The waiters comment made you pause for a moment. “Your night together?”

Oh. Oh. The waiter thought you and Spencer were on a date. You and Spencer dressed in formal attire. faces flushed. Awkwardly talking. Ordering the same meal. You and Spencer were on a date. You and Spencer were on a date. Now Spencers demeanor made a lot more sense. You could feel your face turning hot. Oh my god. He was trying to be romantic with you? God. Your heart started to flutter. You secretly wanted badly for the waiter to be right. Was Reid nervous because it looked like you were on a date, or because you were on a date?

“Y/N?” Spencer rose his brows in confusion. You immediately snapped out of your little trance- face hot, mind nervous. It almost relieved you to see he didn’t notice your flustered realization. Now your head was swimming with thoughts, arguing over and over on whether this whole romantic dinner really was romantic or just a friendly bonding experience.

“S-sorry,” you paused, grasping to change the subject. “H-how was your last case? Serial arsonist in Miami right?” You watched as Spencers demeanor completely shifted. His face wiped clean of any other emotion but focus. He spoke with clarity. His pupils dilated a little bit, which you always found funny, as it indicated that he was happy. A serial arson case, making Spencer happy. You know it wasn’t the case itself. Spencer loved sharing knowledge and info dumping about his job and interests. You always prompted him to do so. It frustrated you when he’d get shot down- something people did far too often. You loved listening just as much as Spencer loved sharing. Everything he said was interesting and insightful. You found you always had a lot to learn from Spencer. You nodded your head to his explanations, responding and prompting him with questions.

You and Spencer had found a nice rhythm when making and avoiding eye contact. When you first met, making and breaking eye contact was very awkward, but Spencers anxiety and trouble with social norms lessened after you both grew as friends. It delighted you that Spencers walls melted away with you. That was a two way street as you found yourself sharing parts of yourself you hadn’t with other people, even those you considered close. Spencer had started reciting the profile, most likely word for word what had been said at the real briefing, then he began relating it to an old arson case- one you had heard about multiple times before. Spencer did a good job at putting things in perspective for you, and you didn’t mind him recalling old information, he always found a way to make it relevant and interesting again. He was always so easy to listen to.

You were listening, but the sound of the door opening and a pair of particularly loud heels clacking pulled your attention away for a moment, and maybe you were looking for an excuse to not stare into Spencers completely captivating eyes for they made you extra anxious. You watched oddly as a fancy couple was lead to a table near by where you were dining. Almost immediately your server sped over to them, asking about drinks and throwing recommendations out. Was that group of people on a date as well? Was this place a popular romantic spot? The idea of this being a date absolutely flooded your mind. It was anxiety inducing but also filled you with energy and joy. You had be harboring your real feelings for Spencer for a while.

You turned your head back to Spencer, hearing him clear his throat to get your attention. He was trying to hide his frown. A pit opened in your stomach. Guilt. He went through all this to impress you, be with you.

“Oh, Spencer, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stop listening, I was-,”

“No. It’s alright..” he paused. “I shouldn’t have bored you with that old case. You’ve probably heard it a million times by now anyways.” He avoided eye contact with you.

“Bored?” You were heavily suprised, then realized you probably did seem disinterested. “Spencer, I’m not bored, you could never bore me,” he looked up at you and you made a point to gaze directly to his eyes which you had been dodging. “I love hearing you talk, I love listening to you. I love watching you recite facts, and share about your work.” You paused, and felt like you should keep your next comment to yourself, but said it anyways. “It’s cute.” This made Spencers eyes widen. Cute? He couldn’t really understand how his rambling could be cute, so you elaborated. “The way your pupils widen and you start to talk with your hands- sort of motioning and emoting with them,” you were in deep now, so you kept describing him, this time in way that would suggest you were looking at him with a sort of fondness not just a friend would use, “you start to grin and you don’t even notice. You tuck your hair back behind your ears. Your eyes practically glimmer.” He’s blushing and you can tell by his wandering eyes that he’s now hyper aware of his reactions and expressions. He was shocked. He was the profiler, but you could read him like a book. He never noticed how much you payed attention, how much you really cared.

“And it’s not even just they way you are when you talk, it’s how you talk and what you talk about. I think sometimes you forget that you are a genius. You speak in a way that encapsulates your knowledge and foresight. I always feel like I have something to learn, some room to grow when I’m with you. It doesn’t matter if it’s an old or new case, you bring forth new knowledge or a new perspective. The way you view the world is so fascinating to me, so of course I love it when you talk. I look forward to it. Its silly the way it excites me. I think about it a lot, how much I’ve learned from you. I practically count down the days until we get to see each other again,” at this point you were the one rambling a bit. “So please never think you are boring me, because you are probably the most exciting part of my life, and I truly enjoy listening to you talk. Even if I didn’t like the particular subject you were talking about- which doesn’t happen but if it did- I would still listen. What you say is important and you deserve to be heard. I’m sorry if anyone has made you feel otherwise and if I made you feel like your words were insignificant. Spencer, I’m your friend, and I’m here to listen.” You smiled up at him, not noticing your face being all hot and the way your heart was beating.

On the contrary, Spencer was all too focused on the way his pulse paced and how his face was as red as a cherry. Holy fuck. The awe he was in was simply indescribable. You basically confessed your love to him, just without the literal words themselves. At least, he saw it that way. He came all this way hoping he would have the guts to confess his romantic feelings for you. It took Spencer so so long to come to terms with his “crush” on you, and every time you spoke, his emotions grew in intensity. The way his heart was pounding. His soul practically shaking in his body. The adrenaline and the absolute adoration he felt when he looked at you, talked to you, thought about you. Spencer was often confused by his feelings, but now it made sense. He loved you, and wanted you more than anything. Fueled by his feelings and not really thinking, he abruptly stood up from his chair, leaned over the table, and kissed you. Your eyes widened and you stiffened in surprise, but soon understood what was happening. You stood up from your chair and reached out to cup his face with your hands, but Spencer pulled away, shocked.

“Sorry,” he looked broken with a frown of heartache. “I didn’t mean to-,” you reached out and grabbed his hands. Pulling him closer, you kissed him again, firmly but lovingly. You let go of his hands and cupped his face. Spencer quickly realized and kissed you back, placing his hands on your hips and slightly deepening your kiss. Your lips were soft and so were his. He tasted like mint chapstick, which made you smile into the kiss as you knew he would, almost obsessively, use chapstick to deal with his dry lips. You both pulled away after a tender moment.

“Don’t be sorry,” you gazed at him sweetly. You could see the glisten in his eyes, filled with deep emotion. He stared back at you, absorbed by his feelings for you. You moved your head in, going for another kiss, but saw a food runner walking towards your table with your meals. You tapped Spencers hand and motioned with your head to the seat, hoping he would understand to sit back down. No. He frowned in confusion.

“Spencer, the food,” oh. He sat down right as the runner came to the table. The runner placed your dinner in front of you both and told you to enjoy your meals. Wow. It really did look and smell delicious. You smiled sheepishly at Spencer, and felt just a little bit awkward, having just passionately kissed him in a restaurant. He softly grinned back and, after a moment, glanced at your plate. He motioned for you to try your food. You grabbed your fork and tried to craft the perfect first bite. You looked at Spencer again and finally decided to eat. The food was full of flavor and had a nice texture to it. You absentmindedly licked your lips, which Spencer found adorable.

“It’s really good!” This made Spencer smile wide and he shook his head at your cuteness.

“I knew you’d like it.”

[deepdrearn]

Day Seventeen on the Camino, 19km, total distance on the Camino: 215 km

The sky is rife with bird chatter. Countless fresh deer tracks. Puddles of spilled grains and rapeseeds on the path. The wheat yet to be harvested clicks in the wind.

I meet Michelle and Andre, an elder couple that walks the Camino together. He is not able to walk so he drives parts. I think of the conversation with my mom and how couples are so much less approachable than singles, because often they shut themselves off. They are kind, make conversation and share food with me, but right after I decide to ask if they are interested in walking together for a bit, they're going. I decide to give them a headstart and I promise myself never to become this couple again.

Birds flocking in the distance. Houses so abandoned and ruined, only the walls stand, part of the roof sagging with an empty frame dangling. Trees grow in the ruins.

The elderly couple are having lunch on the side of the and wave. When I'm done with my lunch, later on in the field, the woman catches up to me and I ask if she wants to walk with me. She seems happily surprised "Am I not too slow for you?" We speak and she tells me she is a retired teacher still teaching Greek at the "interageuniversité". I shiver and know that I have a massive déjà vu. I have had this conversation, while walking with an older woman, in a dream. I am so so so sure and interpret this as a sign I've been supposed to be here.

At the campsite I follow my new routine and take a nap. I buy extremely expensive tomatoes and find that I am improving the one pot campsite cuisine, just as I have honed my bag packing skills over the last weeks. Almost a shame to go home on Friday :)

[twopoppies]

adding to the latin conversation 🫶 it is completely true. i think latin americans do have a culture of being passionate about the things we love, such as music and sports. but what this person said is so so true about every concert here being potentially the last. harry has done so many shows across the us and europe, i have no idea when he will tour here again, and i totally understand because it must be so tiring. but, you know, by the end he will have toured both the us and europe twice in the last two or so years. we don’t really have that. and aside from the fact that international artists only come to brazil, argentina and mexico, when they do, it’s not like they tour the country. here in brazil, for example, 98% of the time they only come to são paulo and rio, which is so incredibly frustrating, because brazil is huge. i know europeans would say “but they usually only come to one or two cities here as well”, but the fact of the matter is that traveling to different cities/countries is a lot easier for them. they can literally do it by train, whereas in brazil people like me, who aren’t from the southeast (são paulo and rio) have to pay expensive plane tickets. i don’t know if anyone here knows this, but if you don’t count the state of alaska, brazil is bigger than the USA. and we don’t get half of the amount of shows they have over there. also, every single country in europe fits in the territory of brazil – like, every single one of them, together. of course, not counting russia. and harry usually plays more shows in new york alone than he does in the entirety of our continent. plus, it is expensive to bring those concerts here, so we don’t get stuff like the kitchen, the different stage. that would make it even more expensive. we pay more to receive “less” and a lot less often.

so yeah, i don’t think people from europe/the us get how different it is for us. i’m still quite shocked harry added so many extra dates in são paulo and this time he is even coming to a different city, curitiba. but it is still frustrating, you know? and not his fault at all. it has everything to do with capitalism and the industry, and nothing to do with harry or any other artist, but it’s still not nice, you know.

I'm so glad you all are sharing this information because, while I know artists don't come to your countries as often as they do Europe and the US, I hadn't known all the details of what makes it such a big deal when they come to LatAm. And all of that is so helpful when it comes to recognizing what a huge amount of privilege we have here (and in Europe). I'm so glad to hear Harry added more shows in more places. And I know Louis went to a ton of places artists don't always travel to. I hope you get to see them both!

[mantisgodsdomain]

Saw this and thought of Marigold.

https://www.tumblr.com/apuff/724225345127071744/that-poor-insurance-salesman-had-no-idea-what-was?source=share

Anyway, here’s a related question, how does Marigold choose her victims?

We've kinda outlined this before, we think, but it's a mix of convenience, cover, and what she needs to test. Marigold's test subjects tend to be more or less grabbed off the street, or recruited via job posting, if she has the spare change and someone to route it through. Standard, experimental transmutation tends to be quick and messy - the idea of most of these transmutations is to work with properties of new formulas and iron out any kinks before actually putting them up on the market, and ironing out the issues that lead to transmutation failure is part of the point, here.

Initial trials will spread a wide net, and then further trials will narrow down the issue - going for individuals within a specific range of species, for example, until all the quirks are worked out. The alchemical properties of an individual tend to vary, even within a species, so it can be very valuable to figure out if something failed because of the ingredients, or simply because of the nature of who you're trying to transform.

Complicating all this, of course, is cover - you can't just grab people off the street without drawing attention, and trying not to draw attention is something that Marigold's had to practice quite a bit. Visible people with access to resources and people who care about them spur man hunts - but bugs who are already likely to disappear are easy to simply grab.

Bugs with high-risk jobs or bugs who have already been "disappeared" for her are easy demographics to go after, though the latter is usually only something she runs into on jobs. If an adventurer goes off to Snakemouth Den and never returns, and a few days later a monster turns up gnawing on the handle of their weapon, it's pretty obvious what happened.

Besides that, a handful of antiquated laws in the Termite Kingdom make it fairly easy to pick up discarded arena fodder with a go-between. The downside of this, of course, is that it's expensive, and hirebugs aren't always entirely trustworthy - and bugs bred for the arena are generally divorced enough from your average awakened bug that the data isn't too useful for field use. Lab moths are still useful for rough drafts of formulas, before they've gotten far enough along to use on actual bugs.

For jobs, it's both easier and harder - when you're being hired to turn one thing into another, you really only need to test one species, and matching a reliable transformation with whatever properties the client wants means that you can tailor-make the formula, minimizing the chance of failure to near-nonexistence.

That said, it isn't always perfect - though clothes are a rare enough luxury in Bugaria that it doesn't turn up often, having something in the way of a transmutation can easily lead to undesirable results - if your chest's swelling to twice the size, you do not want any armor restricting it.

Prosthetics, surgically imbedded aids, and other such things can easily cause failure, especially if there's enough charmcraft in them to interact with the transforming enchantment. Tinkering with the base enchantment can negate most of the negative side effects, but the big trouble comes when a client doesn't consider it enough of a point to mention - full physical description is a necessity, especially on jobs where she won't be physically present to watch the transmutation.

With some spells, any garments or implanted aids can be twisted with the spell, but this tends to be both a bit difficult and unreliable - if something absolutely must be used in a transmutation, it's far easier to simply turn the object integrated into a charm, allowing for the fusion and the transmutation into a single step rather than adding the fiddly work of grabbing an object external to the charm's actual subject.

We might be getting a bit off-topic by now but - yeah, it's either whoever she's hired to transmute, whoever's convenient, or whoever's convenient within a certain demographic.

[liskantope]

To be honest, while I find the intentions behind this post beautiful, I have some mixed feelings about what it's driving at.

First of all, I can't help feeling a bit annoyed that it's entirely aimed at the category of aro-ace people and ignores the existence of people who aren't aro-ace but are perpetually single, who will be even more prone to feeling like they're missing out whenever they see someone close to them getting into a relationship (mid-30's non-aro-ace here and have only been in any kind of romantic/sexual relationship for 1 year out of the past 14 while watching the majority of my friends settle down).

Secondly, the OP contains one of those messages which is very, very valid from the point of view of considering what is fair to the person it's looking out for, and what they deserve in principle, but which I'm not sure is quite fair in assessing what individual others are obligated to provide for them (especially in the phrasing of the last line "shitty that so many people do that"... okay, I would say shitty for the person left out, not necessarily shitty on the part of the new couple).

People get wrapped up in new romantic relationships at the expense of their friendships (particularly long-distance friendships) for a reason. New romantic relationships tend to come with very intense feelings that, I suspect (and maybe I'm wrong about this) will often get muddled if not acted upon quickly. Moreover, new romantic relationships tend to be between people open to something serious, like marriage or some equivalent, for which it's important to spend tons of time exclusively together to assess whether it's going in that direction; slightly older couples will often want to be in more of a hurry to assess this. Maybe I'm not using enough imagination or thinking in a sufficiently progressive fashion, but it seems to me that this is essentially the natural way of things, in much the same way that people disappearing off the social map when they have children is the natural way of things.

(Qualification: it is possible for new friendships to be like this too, and even to be very intense and quick despite being platonic. Aro-ace people can have this kind of experience too! But I think it's less commonly the way new friendships start.)

(Qualification: if on the other hand we're instead just talking about people getting into a casual sexual relationship, every word of what the OP says is quite right as far as I'm concerned.)

This has generally been the behavior I've seen when friends of mine get into relationships. It does help a lot when everyone lives in the same geographic area and already shares social circles. For instance, during grad school when my at-the-time best friend, whom I had never seen date anyone, abruptly got into a relationship, I was extremely grateful (and told him so, many times) that our friendship and frequency of hanging out wasn't affected even in the slightest. But a lot of the reason why not was that we all lived within the same few blocks, and in fact the two of them were immediately living together (well, spending every night together) upon the start of the relationship so that they had plenty of one-on-one time; it also helped also that they were both fairly extroverted, social people, that the new girlfriend and I were fast friends, etc. I recognize this as the exception rather than the norm and just don't feel particularly entitled to anything more, especially if the two friends in a relationship were to live near each other but an hour away from me.

All that said, really close friendships certainly deserve high priority and not to be shunted to the side because someone gets into a relationship, and I think it's a really wonderful thing that the writer of the OP prioritized their friendship in that way and I have to encourage everyone to find close friendships like that, to value them highly, and to treat them as highly valuable, whenever they can.

One of my closest friends I aroace, and he's talked to me about the experience of being made to feel like he's missing out on something or getting left behind in a way when his loved ones enter romantic relationships. But it really hit home for me how much he deals with and expects this recently when I started dating someone new after being single for a few months and I wanted to share.

During the months I was single, we got a lot closer and we both relied on each other more to have our needs for love fulfilled. For example, we both have physical touch as a primary love language, so we did a lot of platonic physical affection and cuddling. We became main supports in each other's lives even more than before. But the day I told my friend about my new partner and my friend met him, he seemed to kind of instantly back off a bit. He and my partner get along really, really well too. He mentioned that he didnt expect my partner and I to make the hour drive to visit him as often because "it's not like the nature of y'alls relationship". I'm having difficulty explaining, but it was apparent that my friend expected to be taking a back seat to this new relationship in my life despite the fact that I know my friend way better and that broke my heart a bit. I immediately thought, how many times has he had to deal with that? How many beloved friends has he lost to this situation? That must be so horrible to go through! I still very much consider him one of my closest supports and while I know it would never be a necessary choice I would absolutely choose him over a partner I haven't had nearly as much time with. I really want to find a way to tell him that he isn't any less of a priority to me just because I'm not single anymore and I think it's important for us alloromantics to remind our aro and aroace friends of things like that. It's even more important to stick to that statement and show them we mean it.

My aroace friends, you deserve people in your life that prioritize you and engage in the kinds of intimacy you need. You deserve just as much closeness and love as anyone else and you will find it if thats what you want. You don't deserve being put on the back burner when your loved ones get into new romantic relationships and it's really shitty that so many people do that.

[vinesinmydreads]

Dear diary,

I don't know what to do. Sometimes, keeping something inside is what lets the passion burn. The more it's contained, the more the pressure builds, the less anything risks waste. People online share their names and I think, why not share mine? Then I remember, who will care to use it if I hardly speak? Does anything like affinity draw me to choicelessly surrender my name, or draw me to speak? Why does it matter if a username is fine? My name and anything I keep in my heart is too beautiful to unwisely give away. The self-loving person is expensive.

But that's not the point.

I just cannot tell him.

I've already revealed to him that there were a few months during which I liked him. He, genuinely puzzled, or perhaps solemnly struck (as I fear I would hope), asked "Why?" And I couldn't give an answer — or I don't remember the answer I gave: same thing.

Over time, I processed and processed. Eventually, I'd stumbled upon convincing answers (multi-insufficiently-talented, minimal discipline, apparently fickle with social closeness, easily bored, grave mismatches in music taste, ace, insufficiently soothing, quiet, and warm [although has been precisely that, once]). It must have been at least 12 to 18 months since I've told him of the attraction I once felt. Solid reasoning to abort.

I still think about him.

Perhaps not longingly, not love. Love.

But something still makes me sad. A conclusion sustained throughout all of my thinking after all of this time. This is a tragedy. I deeply obsess over something like him. He may not draw as well as I do; he may not sing or dance at all, let alone as well as I do. But we mostly share our humour. And his mind is enriched with an array of interests that could show me the world. My heart and I skip in those moments in which we are the only two who understand something. Maybe there are more often times when you're the only one who understands something.

Finally...! — my heart has skipped at moments — someone whose vocabulary and grammatical acuity dwarfs or matches mine. The moments when you show me I know so little. Planets quite like Earth and life of insects, giraffes, birds, and wildebeests. When you nearly embarrassingly show me how little of an archaic story I know.

Your and my shared obsession and utter difficulty with love — not one week going by when you don't mention it. Your mind. In all my subsequent romantic interests, I've haven't found any like it.

You are the only romantic interest with whom I've felt a clear love at first interaction, though only on my part I'm sure. How you remember words I've said to you at that point more than I do is beyond me.

People compliment your pretty eyes, but it's not just your eyes. It's your eyes, your hair, your skin, teeth, nose, lips, and body. Your voice. I couldn't care less that your ass is flat. And sometimes, I couldn't care that you're ace. We've agreed once that if we're both single by 30, we'd marry. But I just don't know if I should tell you.

That if you wanted someone to kiss you, I would do it. If you needed your dick sucked, or if you wanted to try sucking one once, I would be there. That if you were okay with it, I would be at least 50% in support of cosigning a cruel simulation of a relationship with you, knowing that it will likely end in godless destruction because of our same temperamental differences. "Differences." Is that exaggerative and still afraid?

"What is your favourite trope?" "Romance" I asked him in two bubbles. After he answers, we have the exchange below.

{

"STOP ASKING ME STRANGE QUESTIONS" he texts

"No 🥰" "I ask you questions because you're weird" "Like accept that" I text back in three separate bubbles

"grrrr" "RAHHH" his response

}

Horrible representation of his character, I'm sure, but that's the longest string of capitalised words he's given me. It makes me fear now if I've made him uncomfortable in any way. Now, I don't even know if it stems from me not exactly knowing what I want.

Oh, what I could want from you now. I almost find myself not being afraid of longing for a world in which you're finally sad. And with me.

It dawned on me before having written this. I am so nearly willing to wring my heart through the painful experience of back-and-forth riots and insecurities and love and warmth and resentment and codependency and need, because I just know that somewhere, outside of our everything, you are everything I could ever want. That we are perfect for each other. And whatever mess we would make here would be the desperate closest we get to experiencing it.

Why should I tell you this, knowing the pain to come, knowing all of this energy could be wasted? Why had I told you I liked you at one (quite long) point? Did you need or appreciate that information? Would you the same with this? That false confession you made to me out of boredom 2+ years back.. It meant nothing, yes.. Is it not best that we are now?

We texted each other, calling each other pretty just 3 weeks ago. We haven't said so to each other before, and we have interests and differing tastes in faces. And we complimented each other as though we thought so of each other all the while. But you, so picky with faces, think I'm pretty. And you've thought so all the while.

Why had your opinion mattered to me for so long — to the point that I starred the message? I just know I needed all these words to exit so that my heart could breathe.

You are indeed weird. But I asked you those strange questions because,

from the moment you made our online class laugh during the pandemic — hearing your voice — and from the moment at school where you stepped and pointed towards me to confirm my face and name... over all the time I've ever known you..

Even now,

you've deeply fascinated me

[abbyindenhaag]

A quick note from Lisbon

Revisiting Lisbon for a work trip and wanted to share some impressions!

1. My taxi driver from the airport said that typically companies spend 1,500 euros per month on a worker’s wages but the worker only sees 800 euros because of taxes. I was shocked to find from Wikipedia that this is mostly true, and much lower than in the US: Portugal’s average gross salary is 1450/month and net salary is 1200/month, while in the US average gross salary is $5,400/month and net is $4,000/month. (We are ignoring exchange rates bc atm a dollar is about a euro.) I knew things were cheaper in Portugal but I didn’t realize average wages were 3x less! I do wonder about medians though. I also didn’t point out that Portugal had a national health system and, presumably, a lot of other social safety net benefits that would increase consumption if not income.

(Other notable things about the conversation were that the taxi driver advocated helping others as a personal belief system but also said there were too many immigrants taking jobs and housing in Portugal — I refrained from citing the economics literature finding that actually immigrants raise native earnings — and that the taxi driver complained both about the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer, but didn’t really agree with me that having a bigger difference between taxes on the rich and poor would fix it. I am not a development economist or a macroeconomist so I don’t necessarily think he is wrong on that point — but just noting.)

(Other notable taxi driver conversation was that my taxi driver *to* the airport -- Logan -- said he was from Tajikistan and won a diversity lottery to get a green card. I had forgotten that this program exists - it apparently awards up to 50k visas per year, which is like nothing, and has a 1/200 acceptance rate. The funny thing is that he won this lottery and then went straight to Springfield, MA, of all places, and was stuck there for the duration of Covid. Real out of the frying pan into the fire situation. His main complaint about Springfield was it was a bad place to be single, lol.)

2. When I walked out of my hotel after dropping off my bags, despite it being in a nice ish area my first 2 thoughts were: graffiti on walls. Smells like piss. Did I remember wrong?? But then once I got over the graffiti and moved to a less fragrant patch of sidewalk the “faded grandeur” of the city became more apparent. All the travel guides (well, Rick Steves and the NYT) had this same narrative of Lisbon being “where the crumbling remnants of a grand civilization sit side by side with the energy of the new growth” which felt rather stereotypical, and I actually peaced out of the Rick Steves audio tour because I wanted to see the city for myself rather than be told how to see it. But unfortunately,…. They were kind of right. Crumbly facades, broken-up sidewalks, new buildings, American-bougie brunch places… this place has it all, often right next to each other. I walked down a street (NYT-recommended, sigh) and it was like half antique stores full of probably junk and half expensive boutiques.

3. Speaking of which, I think for every hairdresser in Bergen there is an antique store in Lisbon. Who is buying this stuff?? The tourists certainly can’t take all of it home. <a moment of self-awareness descends from above. angels sing> oh. People who live here. Who don’t make a lot of money. As in point 1. Not everything is about you, Abigail!! Anyway it is nice to see things being reused instead of thrown out.

4. I saw at least 3 shops with a sign in the window saying they were on lunch break and would be back later. The American brain cannot comprehend this. What do you mean you haven’t hired someone to sell something at a time when people are around to buy it?!? (This is supporting evidence for my taxi driver’s statement that in Portugal people have different priorities than in the US, and they are just more relaxed. I have no stance on the matter, just reporting.)

5. Shops where I wanted to buy things but didn’t included a wool store with lots of beautiful merino blankets, and a ceramic store with lots of nice little bowls. Shops where I wanted to buy things and did were a pastry shop where I got a pasteis de nata (actually 2), and a strawberry cart in the real-people part of the city that was selling strawberries that smelled amazing for 4euros/kg. Unfortunately the two I ate ended up being overripe so I might not even eat any more but the joy of the purchase may still have been worth it.

This falls into the category of “shops I didn’t want to buy anything at but am glad they exist.”

Long snoots standing guard in antique shop #562.

The window of the wool shop. Would that the window wool were wmine!

The jacaranda are out and incredibly scenic!

The facade of a museum of a beloved fado singer, which I did not visit. I might go on Saturday night to hear a performance, not sure. But the scooter in the foreground was too Lisbon-y to resist the shot.

[divorcelawyergunnisonutah]

Essential Downsizing Tips

Essential Downsizing Tips

There are plenty of reasons to downsize to a smaller home. Perhaps the kids are grown, and you’ve suddenly found yourself an empty-nester. Or maybe you’re sick of maintaining a yard and paying expensive utility bills.

Whatever the reason for downsizing, we know that moving to a less spacious home comes with a myriad of benefits. Your time, money and energy much of which was once directed at a large home can now be spent on other more important things, such as your family, work and hobbies. In addition, downsizing may help you meet your financial goals. Whether it’s retiring early or saving for the future, moving to a more affordable home will only expedite the process.

Here are things to consider when downsizing to a smaller home.

Available Amenities

When downsizing, it’s important think about what amenities (if any) are important to you. For instance, if you’re moving from a house to an apartment, will you miss a private outdoor space? What about a pool or other recreational activities? Downsizing shouldn’t mean compromising your quality of life. So be sure that your new home whether it’s a new apartment or a new neighborhood has the amenities you want. In addition, having less space inside your home may make you want to get outside more. Make sure there’s plenty to do near your new home. Having recreational amenities, such as a club house or tennis courts, will give you a sense of community as well.

Close Proximity To Neighbors

Speaking of the need for community, how close do you want to be to new neighbors? In many areas, downsizing to a smaller home may mean opting for an apartment or condo. These buildings tend to have people living in close proximity to one another. For instance, an apartment building may have anywhere from two to 100 or more apartments under one roof. Before committing to a smaller home, be sure to ask yourself whether you’re willing to live close to others. If the answer is no, then you’ll need to opt for a single-family home over an apartment or condo.

Home Office Needs

Not everyone needs a home office, but if you plan to work, you’ll likely need some sort of desk set-up in the new home. Configuring a home office in a small home can be tricky. So, if you need a private room for an office, make sure the new home has enough space to meet your work needs. If not, you should consider either: looking at other homes or renting a shared co working space.

The Number Of People In Your Household

How many people are living with you? The answer to this will determine how small you can really go. After all, squeezing a family of four into a one-bedroom home won’t be easy. If you plan to downsize with your partner and kids, make sure you’ve worked out the bedroom situation. For instance, will the kids share bedrooms and bathrooms? Is there a play space for young children? If you’re moving by yourself, then there will be less considerations to make regarding space.

Your Need For Personal Space

How much personal space do you need? Are you comfortable living in a remote location or do you prefer to be near other people? While one person may need a private bedroom, bathroom and TV area, another may not need any personal space at all. In addition, while some people may be fine living in an apartment building with other people, others may prefer to live in a rural environment far away from others. Make sure to determine your personal space needs before downsizing. Those moving with other people, such as a partner or kids, may need more personal space than someone moving by themselves.

Future Visitors

How many guests do you expect to have? When downsizing to a smaller home, it’s important to think about the number of guests you expect to have and how often you expect to host them. Is it possible for guests to find a hotel room or nearby rental home? Do you want guests to come stay with you? If you’re moving to a resort town or vacation area, be aware that you may end up having more guests than you think. If you do need a guest room, be sure to factor this into your downsizing decision.

Your Storage Needs

When downsizing to a smaller home, it’s important to think about your storage needs. Will you need a self-storage unit? Do you plan to donate, sell or toss your belongings? Does the new home come with a garage, attic or other space for storage? Will it cost money to store your things? Asking all of these questions should help you determine your individual storage needs.

Your Financial Goals

Does downsizing help you meet your financial goals? For many homeowners, saving money is one of the most important incentives for downsizing to a smaller home. Retirees looking to make their dollars go further, families saving money for college funds and individuals looking for ways to save for retirement will all benefit from downsizing to a less expensive home. After all, paying for a large home can wreak havoc on a bank account. From expensive utility bills and maintenance costs to high monthly mortgage payments and insurance costs, taking care of more space often costs more money.

The Size Of Your Furniture

How large is your furniture? Will it fit in the new, smaller home? Be sure to consider whether or not you will need to buy all new furnishings to accommodate the size of your new home. Many small apartments and tiny houses require smaller furniture. For instance, there may not be a designated dining room in the new home.

Instead, you may just have a small breakfast area. If this is the case, then you will likely need to replace your old furniture with smaller pieces that fit the space.

Your Future Plans

Finally, consider your future. Do you plan to retire and grow old in this smaller home? If so, make sure it’s set up to accommodate the needs of someone who is older. For instance, a two or three-story home with steep stairs is not ideal for an older person with mobility issues. Opting for an apartment building with an elevator or a one-story home is a smarter investment. If you don’t plan on downsizing for very long, then features, such as stairs, aren’t as important.

Pros: You Can Make Money Selling Your Stuff

During the course of a month, the Munsons underwent a massive purge. Munson’s wife set up an auction page online and sold both their TVs, as well as all the paintings and wall decor that filled their entire home. To get rid of stuff quicker, they offered many items in bulk. For instance, they sold two large bags of men’s clothes and a pair of shoes for $150. They raked in a grand total of $19,000 from sales. Whatever went unsold, they donated to the Salvation Army and got a tax write-off.

Con: Purging Can Be Exhausting

While you can make money from selling unwanted items during your move, the process of getting rid of your stuff can also be time-consuming and exhausting. When I downsized from a 500-square-foot apartment to a 300-square-foot one, I spent two weeks frantically getting rid of stuff I didn’t need or couldn’t fit into my new place. Taking inventory of my stuff and deliberating over whether I should keep or donate was a major brain drain.

Pro: Live in a More Desirable Neighborhood

As smaller homes usually cost less, moving into a smaller place could provide homeowners with an opportunity to live in a neighborhood or area that might otherwise not be affordable if they stayed in a larger home.

Pro: Fewer Costs and Less Upkeep

If you’re selling a larger home and buying a smaller one that costs less, you could pocket the profits. Plus, you can expect to spend less on utilities. The Munsons used to spend an average of $850 a month for utilities, and now only spend about $350 a month. Plus, they have water well, which cuts down on the water bill. They also dropped their cable and Netflix subscriptions and got rid of their TVs.

Con: The Costs of Moving

Then there are the actual costs of moving. While you could offset the costs by selling unwanted belongings and saving in housing, you’ll need to factor in hiring movers, and spending time purging and packing. If you’re selling your home and buying a smaller one, there’s the process of putting your home on the market, real estate commission and other fees.

Con: Less Space

While this is an obvious downside, you’ll have less space to work with. You need to be extra careful with what you decide to purchase. Living in small quarters means constantly making a series of trade-offs. While I’ve managed to barely fit a small drum set and an electric keyboard, I’ve had to say no to purchasing a guitar and had to get rid of piles of clothes. And depending on your needs and how much you’ll be downsizing, this could be logistically challenging or impactful in ways that extend beyond simply where to put all your stuff, points out Lerner. For instance, you might have less privacy. “There is a little less of it, especially when the kids have their friends over to spend the night. We can hear a lot more around the house when we’re sleeping than before since we’re not separated with hallways.

Re-Evaluate What’s Important to You

Downsizing to a smaller house can also provide an opportunity for one to better assess and hone in on what is important to them. Whether that means determining which features in the house itself are must-haves in expense of others. Or it could also mean divesting themselves, in a Marie Kondo-like purge, of a lot of their accumulated possessions which may be weighing them down in ways that may not register until after the fact.

Case in point: While Munson really misses having a specific place to store just-in-case tools and other items he only needs once or twice a year, he’s sure that if he and his family had moved into another large home, they would’ve filled it right back up with stuff. “But since we moved into a smaller space, it has forced us to think through what we really need.” “Now when we consider getting something, we need to get rid of something else to have room.”

Know Your Why

As it goes with most major decisions, get to the bottom of why you want to downsize in the first place. Do you want to pay less in housing, or live in a better neighborhood? Or maybe you just want less upkeep, or to live a minimalist lifestyle. For the Munsons, they’ve found that spending less time on cleaning and the upkeep of their home has fostered more quality time and brought them closer as a family. We spend more time together as a family, and find that we go outside a whole lot more. I only get one chance at raising my kids and so I am going to err on the side of relationship and spend more time with them than less.

Do a Test Run

If you’re not sure how you’ll do in a smaller space, finding an Airbnb rental that’s similarly sized to the houses you’re looking at. Then book a stay for about a week to get a better sense of what it actually feels like to live in that kind of space. While it might sound good in theory, it might not be practical, says Lerner. If that’s the case, you’ll need to revise your search and try to find a house that’s slightly larger.

If you’re mulling over the possibility of downsizing to a smaller home, you’ll want to look at both the advantages as well as the downsides. In turn, it’ll help you gauge whether this major move is the right one for you and your family.

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[more-than-a-princess]

"Thank you for coming out with me to this teahouse, Sonia-senpai... ! I just know you'll love it." He smiles. After classes had ended for the day, Shuichi had sought out Sonia to ask her if she wanted to spend time together. Delighted that she did, he brought her to this nice little sit-in teahouse shop that had a various selection of different teas, some having rarer and/or more expensive kinds; That, and since it is White Day, wanted to return the gesture since she had given him chocolates back on Valentine's Day. "That, and I thought it would go very well with the chocolates I want to give you. Right... " From his bag, he takes out a black chocolate box with a gothic victorian design on them. He then holds them out to her with a smile. "... Here! For you, Sonia-senpai. Happy White Day... I hope you'll love them!"

Inside were chocolates with a mix of gothic and horror designs to them, such as tombstones, bats, knives, skulls, etc.. "While I was trying to find some nice chocolates for you in this chocolatier shop, I came across these gothic style ones. So naturally, I just had to get these for you. They are a mix of different kinds of flavors, but I made sure to get the kind that had your notable favorites... !" (Happy White Day!!! I hope you like~! 🦇🍫💀)

White Day 2023 asks/tagged threads - Accepting through Friday, March 17! I'm not actively doing calls for these but I'll answer whatever is sent my way before end of day Friday

It was a far cry from the usual cafes she was often asked to: often in hotel dining rooms or in elegant establishments in Tokyo's more well-moneyed areas, the teahouse Shuichi had taken her to was far less focused on appearances and far more cozy. There was no tally to be taken of the who's who of the patrons sipping their tea, all to simply boast about how one saw so-and-so enjoying their time.

And Sonia relished in it: cast iron and ceramic teapots alike littered tables and the wall behind the counter, and her own had been presented with a small hourglass, already turned over to signal the designated brewing time. When the blue-colored sand ran out, her Darjeeling was ready for the leaves to be removed. Which she'd been in the process of doing when he'd presented her with the black box, topped with a coordinating ribbon and an intricate lace design, cut out of a single piece of deep burgundy paper.

"Oh! Saihara-san, this looks wonderful. Thank you for thinking of me," She smiled, setting the strainer with wet leaves aside on the designated plate before wiping her fingers, accepting the box with both hands before carefully undoing the various wrappings. The presentation was beautiful in and of itself, but her eyes widened upon seeing the gothic designs inside. Chocolates that were likely more fitting for Halloween than White Day: precisely the sort of thing she loved.

"These are very cute indeed!" She grinned, gesturing to the tiny bat-shaped chocolate. "This little one even has blood on his fangs, a proper vampire bat!" Granted, it was simply red food coloring on white chocolate 'fangs,' but she was entertained nevertheless. "I like them very much. We should share these with our tea! I wonder if they have equally spooky fillings, maybe pumpkin? Or a deep raspberry? For blood, of course."

[ot3]

Is there any reason why a lot of zines don't accept fanfic/any writing at all? I've been wanting to join one for a while but I have no artistic ability to speak of.

there are a ton of reasons for this! in fact there are so many reasons for this that it got long, so i'll stick it under a cut.

the most prominent reason: most of the people running these things are artists, and not writers! they just want to put together artbooks and are just less interested in the fanfiction side of things overall. it's a completely different skillset and an overlapping but not identical audience.

there's nothing from stopping any more fanfiction-oriented people from putting together their own zines that are just fic (theres actually an ace attorney writers zine happening right now i think? havent looked into it much) but i'd suspect the reason there isn't more of that is because the knowledge of production and distribution that's necessary to make these projects work is less common in fic writers. writers also tend to, in my purely anecdotal observation, have schedules and careers that make it less feasible for them to run these kinds of projects, whereas the people who run zines are very often freelance artists already and so they just sort of. slot this kind of thing in around their usual work cycles.

second big reason: logstics of formatting and printing. a single fic of any meaningful length takes up 4x the amount of space of a single drawing, minimum. some projects are pretty anal about keeping within specific page counts. upping the page count often adds very little to the manufacturing costs, but once your zine surpasses a certain weight it's much more expensive to ship. we ran into this problem with the AA4 zine, which was pretty beefy. it was very easy for the packages to hit over a pound in weight which made shipping more expensive than a lot of zines.

it is also INCREDIBLY difficult to format text nicely. It's a massive undertaking, I can't stress how annoying this is to do. It is also not a skill a lot of people have. Even if you're just doing it pretty bare-bones the amount of time it takes to drop a few pages of images into a pdf vs the amount of time it takes to format that many pages of text is not comparable.

a third stumbling block: vetting contributor portfolios is so much more involved and consuming than vetting art portfolios. i can easily go through dozens of art portfolios in one sitting. let's pick a random number and call it 30 before getting burned out and needing to take a break. it really doesn't take more than a couple of minutes to decide on most portfolios; at first glance, you can get a strong idea of a person's overall body of work. it's only the edge cases that take very long to look over. Going through 30 art portfolios would realistically take me under 2 hours, easy.

On the flipside, it is impossible to tell the quality of writing from an initial glance most of the time. You have to actually go in and read a certain amount before you can decide. I'm going to be very very conservative and say that you'll read, lets say 1000 words from a contributor's writing portfolio before you make a decision. Going through 30 portfolios now means reading at minimum 30,000 words of writing. Could I do that in two hours? Maybe. But it'd be a lot harder.

Now most zines get HUNDREDS of applicants, but bigger fandoms can easily hit over 1000. This means hundreds of thousands of words of reading before you even begin the actual work of the project. It's just an insane time commitment. Then, once the project begins, you run into similar problems for critique. It takes a way longer time to beta read 50 fics than it does to give notes for 50 drawings. It's just a super different kind of work that not many people are interested in doing on the kind of scale required for zines.

and a final reason: enjoyment of fanfiction is, I feel, a LOT more heavily dependent on how much you share the creator's opinions on the source material than fanart is. Gauging stuff like how 'in character' writing is is highly subjective but also super important, which makes it a much more difficult call to make. since it takes much less time and effort to engage with a drawing, that drawing not lining up perfectly with your interpretation of the characters is less likely to be a dealbreaker if there is enough technical competency in the execution to make up for it. At least for me, that is, because there's often a lot less context to impose these character assumptions on in a drawing. You as the audience to a piece of art have more freedom with interpreting it than you do with writing. Meanwhile, with fanfiction, you're either on board with what the writer is selling you or you aren't. There are plenty of perfectly technically competent writers out there whose stuff I will never be interested in reading because it is very easy for me to be knocked out of my enjoyment of a fic due to just one or two bits of throwaway characterization I don't agree with. And I am absolutely far pickier than most, but I don't think i'm wrong in saying that overall people are pickier about how characters are portrayed in fic than they are in fanart.

essentially, everything about the process of large-scale fanzines is much more suited towards the visual arts process than the writing process.

[canmom]

last year I submitted the same story to Clarkesworld and got rejected in less than a week. The data bear this out...

If you submit to Clarkesworld, your chances of getting in are slim, but you'll know one way or the other pretty rapidly!

That said, Clarkesworld are kind of the freaks of the scifi short story publishing world (they also pay more than anyone). I think most magazines are more like Strange Horizons. Not that they'll tell you upfront - the only way to know is crowdsourced data!

In the unlikely case my story did get in, Strange Horizons pay 10 cents per word, so this 7838 word story would get $783.80. That's not enough to pay rent on a the single room in a house share where I live in London - admittedly a very expensive city. But it does kind of demonstrate that 'make a living selling short stories to magazines' is really just not something anyone can do. Even if you're an extraordinarily efficient and prolific writer, and you take a shotgun approach and send it in to every magazine who might possibly take it, you're working on spec and it takes easily 3-7 months to even find out if your story sells anywhere. Which it probably won't, because most stories are rejected.

No surprises there - but it might underline that every SFF story even in the 'big' magazines is essentially written as a hobby by someone with a day job, even if they're aspiring to become a pro fiction writer one day.

Which I guess is a way that like, writing works kinda differently to most creative jobs. For visual artists, the words 'spec work' tend to make people see red. But in the world of prose fiction writing, it's pretty much the norm outside of a few niches (e.g. writing for videogames, or erotica commissions). The publishing industry doesn't have to go out looking for writers, it can let the hopefuls come in, skim off what it thinks it can sell, and send the rest of the 'slush pile' back with rejection letters.

Likely this is because the barrier for entry for writing is generally quite low. Also because of norms around how we view different art forms. Fiction is seen as something that flows from the inspired auteur with a unique vision. Visual art can be viewed the same way if you're succesful enough and with a distinct enough style, but it's more often approached on a basis of 'make a picture that fulfils these specific requirements' - whether on the tiny scale of fanart commissions or like, concept art or illustration jobs in The Industry. (Comics kinda straddle the line here.) There's a tradeoff I guess between creative freedom and steady work, but different industries sit at different ends of the tradeoff.

Of course that's not to touch on like, 'fine art' that gets presented in galleries and stuff. I don't know so much about that, but I imagine it's more like the publisher model. Or maybe the gallery comes to you? I honestly have no idea.

Not sure what to make of these observations.

last year I submitted a short story to Strange Horizons magazine. still no word, but my friend who submitted a story in the same round got rejected a few weeks back. I was wondering if hearing nothing is a good sign, if it's unusually long, or...

well the answer, based on the Submission Grinder's data, seems to be that it isn't an anything sign and it could easily be another half a year before I know anything lol

[shorkbrian]

I swear I ain’t in it for the money, but I can’t stop thinking about sugar daddy shoto. Maybe he sweeps a cute little college kid or barista of their feet, just something fun and casual. But this man starts falling harder, needing a way to lock them down to him. Money isn’t quite cutting it anymore, so he decides fucking a baby into her would do the trick. Shoto would push her down into the mattress, large frame twisting her into a sweet mating press. This way they could stay together forever and Shoto would have absolutely no problem providing for his sweet family <3

but fr tho I feel like Shouto is NOT the type for kids.

Mans will tolerate them when they babble or wave at him, but he very actively Does Not Want them.

Always uses condoms, and even though he’ll threaten not to, it’s never a legit thought in his mind to cum inside. Shouto doesn’t want to be a dad.

-----

You’ll be sittin on a park bench, fading sunset dark and pretty in front of you yet all you can do is cry. There’s not really any people around so it’s not like you’re bothering anyone - you hadn’t wanted to cry in your shabby apartment (half the cause of your worries) just in case you received a noise complaint.

“Are you alright?”

A somber, smooth voice is heard. You’re swiping at your tears quickly as you look up, trying to laugh off your state of distress. “Oh, haha, yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” It’s hard to smile with your puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

The man in front of you frowns, hands in his coat pockets, scarf draped around his neck. “You don’t look fine. Mind if I sit?”

He’s already claiming the spot next to you on the bench before you can say a word, turning to you with a passive expression. “Why are you crying?”

And that’s all it takes to have you breaking down all over again, tears streaming down your face. Just one person offering to listen to the heavy burden you have to bear.

‘’M sor-sorry...” You sob, wiping at your eyes with frigid fingers, successful in doing nothing more but smearing tears around your face.

“Here.” The man’s taking off his scarf, gloved hands offering it you.

“I ca-can’t use your sc-scarf sir.” But he’s insistent, pressing it into your hands up by your face.

“I’ll just get another one. Keep it, you’re in need of it more than I am.”

The kindness makes another fresh bout of tears roll down your cheeks, but this time you're able to dab them away with soft fabric as you sniffle.

It takes a moment for you to calm yourself. When you do, you can finally engage in conversation with the man.

You tell him about your job hours getting cut, how you’ve been turned down or ignored by every single place you’ve applied at for a second job. How you’re barely affording to wash your clothes - you have to hang them or drape them across things in your apartment because you don’t have the money to pay for a dryer cycle.

And to top it all off, you’re still short on rent, despite how you scrimped and saved and even forced yourself not to buy groceries this week - you’ve gone hungry for the past three days.

“You haven’t eaten?”

You glance up at the man and his incredulous expression, shaking your head. “I’ve been trying to save money, I thought I could afford my rent if-”

“What kind of food do you like?” The man is pulling out his phone, swiping and tapping immediately. 

“Thank you, but I’m not-” looking for charity is what you want to say. Plus, you shouldn’t accept favors from strange men.

But the handsome man is waving you silent. “I’m cold, plus I’d like to grab a bite to eat before I head home. I don’t like eating alone though, you’d honestly be doing me a favor.”

You take a moment to process. Is he telling the truth? He sounds like an honest guy.

“Seems like the only place open around here is “Joe’s 24 hour Diner”.... You mind burgers?”

So that's how you end up in a booth opposite the man (”Shouto” he had told you as you both headed to the diner), munching away at warm food. It tastes so good, you hardly have time to worry about the man watching you as he eats.

You’d been shocked at his looks the moment you’d seen him in the light of the diner. Pretty two-toned hair, different colored eyes, perfect skin, expensive clothes. Why was he even talking to you? It’s obvious the two of you led very different lives.

“How does everything taste?”

“Delicious.” Is your response, and Shouto seems pleased, nodding before taking another bite of his meal.

Maybe it’s stupid... but you feel weirdly safe with this man. He doesn’t seem to bear any ill-intent towards you, nor has he made any comments about your body or let his hands or eyes stray. He seems like a gentleman.

Conversation flows easily between the two of you, even sharing a few chuckles at times. He’s some fancy rich businessman, you learn, and you share about your own life, laughing at the comparisons. Shouto can’t fathom growing up in a house with less than five bedrooms and a personal servant.

He asks for your number, and you’re hesitant in giving it - he surely can’t be interested in you? But he seems so sincere, it’s hard to say no.

When the two of you part ways, Shouto gives you a wave, “Hope to see you again soon, and under better circumstances.”

“You too! And sorry for being such a mess and stopping your walk-”

Shouto shrugs, cheeks beginning to pink from the cold air as you two stand outside the diner. “You needed help. I like to assist.”

-----

The next morning you wake to find an atrociously large sum deposited in your Venmo account by none other than a Shouto Todoroki.

Immediately, you’re calling him. “It’s too much, we just met. How can you give away that much money to some low-life?”

You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re obviously struggling. I was wondering what your hours are this week, perhaps we could talk about this over dinner? Or lunch, if that fits better with your schedule. I’m flexible.”

It’s a few days later, days spent questioning yourself, questioning his intentions, before you see him again, both of you deciding to meet for lunch to further discuss... whatever had just happened.

“Was what I gave you adequate to cover your rent?” Are the first words out of Shouto’s mouth after you greet each other.

“Yeah, more than enough-” You squirm. “But I need to ask.... why?”

“Why?”

“Why me.” 

“Oh.” Shouto’s expression clears. “That’s easy. I told you a few days ago - I like to assist. I’m quite lonely, and it feels nice to use my money on someone other than myself. I think providing for someone brings me... I wouldn’t quite say joy, but... contentment.”

You contemplate his answer for a moment. 

“Well... you saved me with my rent, I don’t really know how to thank you.”

The man leans forward. “Well.... I know it might be a bit sudden, but how would you feel accepting me as a.... benefactor of sorts?”

“You mean like a sugar daddy?” Is your immediate, blurted response. You want to slap yourself for speaking before you have the chance to think about your words, but luckily Shouto just lets out a light laugh.

“If you’d like to call it that. I’m willing to provide financial assistance for you, in exchange for companionship, if you’re willing to give it.”

Your face heats up as you drop your eyes, fidgeting nervously in your seat. “I don’t feel comfortable with a... a sexual relationshi-”

“That’s perfectly acceptable.” Shouto cuts you off before you can continue. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate a contract of that nature. I’m thinking more along the lines of accompanying me at meals, sharing experiences with me, providing company and friendship to a lonely man. If it seems that we’d like to progress further than that after we get to know each other, well, that will be addressed then. For now-” Shouto meets your eye, dipping his head a smidgeon so he can look at you directly. “All I ask for is a simple, non-intimate bond between two people.”

This is crazy.

And yet you accept.

The situation may be wild, and completely absurd, but you’d be a fool not to say yes.

Shouto is charming and handsome, respectful, courteous - you could go on and on about his positive qualities. He just seems like a sad, lonesome man swallowed by work and responsibilities, too stressed and busy to put the effort into making friends the conventional way. 

-----

Months pass by.

You’re eating at every meal, sated and never going hungry. You’re able to move into a new place, one that doesn’t smell like cigarettes and sits right next to a railroad.

Clothes aren’t a worry anymore, you have your own washer and dryer in your new apartment (Shouto offered to buy you a house, or a penthouse at the least, but you couldn’t justify it to yourself). You’re able to afford new things, and pretty dresses, shoes that are comfortable and fashionable and that fit.

You no longer have to wear clothes down until they have holes in them. You’re able to go to the doctor’s when you feel sick, able to pay for health insurance.

Life is good.

Shouto is a personable man, serious, but he can be rather funny and even crude at times.

The doubt and thoughts of “Why is he doing this for me?” and “I’m not good enough for this.” plague you, but Shouto always seems to catch on, reassuring you that you’re exactly what he needs - a friend.

And you’re more than happy to be that.

You think sometimes, that even if he wasn’t paying you, you’d still like to be friends with Shouto Todoroki.

Until he starts acting weird.

“You should just stay at my place. I have more than enough room,, it’d be easier for both our schedules. We’d get to see each other more often.”

“Uhm...” You don’t really know what to say. You like your freedom, and having your own place where you can walk around in your (expensive) underwear without being bothered.

“I think it’d be nice, don’t you? We could have breakfast every morning, you wouldn’t have to worry about traveling to and fro, we could spend more time together. We don’t see each other nearly enough.”

He’s pushing, insistent. How are you supposed to tell him no? He’s paying for your entire life. Plus, it wouldn’t be that bad to actually live with him. Shouto’s an amicable man.

So you move in.

“I bought you a few things, they’re on your bed.” 

Shouto’s striding into the kitchen where you’re making coffee, buttoning up his shirt as he comes closer. You’ve found that the man likes to sleep in nothing but boxers, shrieking and flushing an embarrassing shade the first time he’d come to wake you up with a sweet “welcome” breakfast in bed.

It’s taken a while to adjust, but you finally feel that you’re fully settled in.

“Oh, you really don’t ha-”

“I wanted to. I went through your closet - your clothes are nice, but your underwear seemed to be lacking.” He’s so matter-of-fact.

All you can do is stare at the back of his head.

“Could you pass me a spoon please?”

-----

Shouto had splurged on expensive, fancy lingerie. 

At least eight different sets were laid out on your bed. It was overwhelming. It also felt.... a bit intrusive? They were all in your size, in a complementary color for your skin tone. 

Weird.

Not as weird as the onset of Shouto’s casual touches.

You’d be reading, or drinking tea and watching cars race by on the street so far below, and Shouto would come up behind you, caress your sides before intertwining his fingers with yours on one hand. He did it as if it was a normal thing, but it felt anything but normal.

Or you’d be on the couch together, and Shouto would shuffle closer until his large body was pressed to yours, almost curled around you. The faux-cuddling was a bit more off putting. How do you tell him no?

The touches became more and more intimate, Shouto’s gifts more and more frequent until you weren’t even spending a penny, the man taking care of everything.

The arrangement was beginning to make you uncomfortable.

Shouto’s bi-colored eyes seemed to always be on you, tracing the shape of your body, watching you move, or breath, or sit. It was distracting, and you felt bad for feeling this way towards the man who’d pulled you out of poverty, but it was so unnerving.

He seemed to notice.

“You’ve been so stressed these past few days. Is something wrong?” Shouto’s rubbing a hand into your shoulder, hovering over you at the dinner table.

“No?” Is all you can manage, wiping your hands on your napkin as you finish your food.

Shouto frowns. With a sigh, his hand drops from your shoulder and the man leaves your side, heads toward the kitchen.

You clear your plate from the table, following after him so you can wash it and put it in the dishwasher before you head off to get ready for bed. 

But Shouto is rummaging in a cupboard, pulling down two wine glasses to accompany the bottle of wine that’s standing proud on the island.  It’s your favorite, a sweet wine that Shouto knows you like, always brings it out when he decides to drink whisky or bourbon after dinner.

He pops the cork and pours you a glass while you finish with your dishes, handing you the glass when you turn away from the sink, pressing it into your hands. “Let’s relax a little bit, it’ll be good for both of us.”

You’re fine with that, knowing that a little wine won’t hurt you, especially when it’s of such fine quality. You’d never dreamed that you’d be able to taste such richness in your lifetime, spend frivolous amounts of money on wine and fine eateries. Yet here you are.

Shouto pours himself a glass, barely a sip filling the bottom. The man raises it to his lips and takes a swig, grimacing a bit in his flat, unexpressive way. You giggle a little.

“Too sweet?’

The man nods, setting the glass back down. “I’m not entirely sure how you can stand to stomach it. But if it makes you happy-” He shrugs, before pulling on of the bar-stools out from under the island so he can sit facing you, long legs stretching out before him.

You look at him, and he looks at you, and then you take another sip of wine to avoid the awkwardness.

“You’re distancing yourself from me.”

The accusation is quiet, Shouto’s eyes focused on your fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

He’s always been straightforward with his words. “Is there a reason you keep drawing away?”

The wine disappears from your glass, sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You fill your glass again before speaking, struggling to find the right words without upsetting your... benefactor.

“Well, Shouto... I don’t really know how to...” You trail off, hoping Shouto will say something, change the subject, say it’s alright and move on to something else.

But the man stays silent, eyes appraising you.

Taking a deep breath, and another gulp of sweetness, you try again.

“Sometimes the closeness... like, physical closeness? Makes me, well, uncomfortable.”

Hopefully, that would satisfy his curiosity for now. That wasn’t the only reason you’d been avoiding Shouto seeming distant, but you didn’t think sharing the others would result in anything good.

Said man accepted your response, dropping his eyes to his lap as he mulled it over. More wine was consumed, glass re-filled. You felt nervous.

“You’re saying that my touch isn’t something you’d prefer.”

Biting your lip, you soften at his confused expression, at the hint of sadness swimming behind his eyes. “Kind of. I don’t mind you Shouto, you’re really kind, and you’re good company, and a wonderful friend. I just don’t think the.... the intimacy is for me.”

Shouto raises his head, stares at you with those pretty eyes, lips parted as he comes to terms with your words. 

“It sounds like you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, you know this.”

You scramble to assure him. “I do! I do trust you, and I know you wouldn’t.” (at least you hoped) “But I guess I just... Coming into this agreement I wasn’t ready for that type of... thing. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

The man rises, shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “Don’t worry, I remember our first conversation about that aspect. I see that for you, that type of relationship would only begin after you really cared for the other person, trusted and wanted to see them happy, am I correct?”

“Oh, Shouto-” You rush. “No, I care for you, and I trust you, and of course I want to see you happy. I think it’s just, y’know, my last relationship like that went really bad, and it sucked. I don’t want to go through that again.”

Shouto nods, understanding. “I see. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me then.”

A smile crosses your face, and you feel relived that he accepted your rejection with grace and understanding instead of violence or anger. “Thank you, it means a lot to me.”

The mood of the room shifted, from tense and uncomfortable, to easy and light, and you poured another glass of wine, laughing a little at how worried you were about the conversation with Shouto, only for it all to turn out fine.

“I’m going to go drink some of the liquor that’s kept in my room. I could mix a few drinks for you to try, you might like how sweet they are. I know hard alcohol isn’t quite your thing.”

You beam a smile, nodding your head eagerly. Before, you’d feel apprehensive about going into his room with him to drink alcohol. But with the conversation the two of you just had, you knew - things would be fine.

-----

The room was spinning and you felt giddy and light. You were definitely tipsy.

“You can lay down on my bed, you’re getting wobbly on your feet.” Shouto had offered, and you’d gladly accepted, flopping down onto his comfy bedspread with a laugh at how the motion made butterflies rise in your tummy.

Shouto leaned against his dresser, swirling whiskey in his glass as he watched you, a half-smile across his face. You smiled back, before closing your eyes, a little bit tired as you realized that you might be a bit more than just tipsy.

Shouto had mixed quite a few drinks for you, and you’d drank each one eagerly, impressed with how little alcohol you could taste in each one. You don’t remember how many you had, but it didn’t really matter.

The next thing you know, hands are on your waist, scooting you further up the bed so your legs no longer hang off the edge. Cracking open an eye, you’re met with the visage of red-and-white, eyes soft and warm as they regard you, Shouto’s face tinged a bit pink from the few drinks he had consumed. The man had never been too good at holding his alcohol.

When those hands started to slip beneath your shirt, you wiggled like a little worm, not really comprehending the situation. Maybe it was a dream.

Your shirt was discarded, then your pants. It felt much more comfortable now, and you mumbled a “thanks” to the man helping you settle for bed. He was so nice, Shouto took such good care of you. You still kind of couldn’t believe the turn your life had taken with him, the good luck pushed into your path.

Someone was kissing you.

With a grunt of surprise, you kissed them back, meeting their feverish pace and trying to keep up, soft lips puckering and pushing against your own with intent. Kissing felt good. You liked kissing.

Then a hand was cupping your face, stroking tenderly over your cheek before it began sliding down, down your neck, into the valley between your breasts, trailing over your bra. It felt funny.

Pushing back for air, you gasped when the hand on your chest started squeezing at you, eyes flying open with the startling, sudden sensation.

Shouto was hovering over you, lips puffy, panting as he stared at you with lusty eyes, an uncharacteristic look on his face. This... this wasn’t supposed to be like this. You knew. Hadn’t the two of you just talked about something... important? Was it important?

You didn’t feel panic until a hand cupped your sex, feeling your skin through your panties.

This wasn’t right.

Alarm bells were ringing, dull and far away, but you didn’t think that Shouto should be touching you in such a way. you should be going to bed.

“Mm, Sho, can you stop?” But your words felt funny on your tongue, and Shouto didn’t stop. Maybe he didn’t hear you.

His hair tickled your chin as the man bent to mouth at your tits, pulling the cups of your bra underneath them so he could feel your hot skin, let his saliva drag slick and wet against your chest. 

Your hands instinctively rooted themselves in his hair as you gasped again, not expecting such a move, tugging lightly at his head to pull him up. Shouto just groaned, teething gently at your breasts and not moving an inch. His hips were grinding against the bed though, as he stood between your spread legs.

Before you knew it, your panties were gone, bra clumsily unclasped and discarded, and you were completely bare. Shouto was undressing before you, struggling with the buttons on his shirt before giving up, easily ripping the fabric of his body with one tug, grumbling.

You didn’t feel so tipsy anymore.

“Shouto, what’re we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this, we need to stop-”

“Stay down.” Was his firm command, a hand splayed across your naked chest and pushing you back into the mattress as you tried to sit up. It made you breathless, the growl in his voice, the dominance emanating from the man. You stayed still.

“This’s gonna make us a stronger couple.” The man slurred, eyes dark and hands wandering, effortlessly keeping you pinned against the bed as he ground his hips forward against the edge. You were getting scared.

“Wait-”

You fell silent as one hand pushed down his pants, his underwear going with them, pink cock bobbing free. He was so pretty down there, and it made sense, all of him was pretty, but you suddenly realized the weight of the situation, what was happening.

“Shouto, no, oh my god. We gotta stop right now, we’re drunk, we’re-we’re-”

“Don’t care. Not gonna let you hide away from me this time.” Shouto shook his head, taking his cock in one hand and giving it a long, slow pump, flushed tip weeping precum and wetting his hand.

“No, no, this is wrong. I don’t want this, I could get pregnant!” You cried, beginning to panic for real, pushing against the one strong hand anchoring you to the bed.

Shouto just chuckled, letting go of his cock to crowd against you, getting up in your face to press a wet finger to your lips, the salty taste of his precum threatening to slip into your mouth unless you kept it shut. “Shhh, shh. If you stay nice and still, if you do what I say, I’ll use a condom.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“You’re gonna listen to me, you always do.” The man nodded to himself, once again dragging his cock against the bed between your legs, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “Or else I’ll fuck you raw.” The finger was pulled from your lips, only to be wagged teasingly in your face. 

You couldn’t believe how he was acting.

“Be nice.”

Shouto tapped your nose with a neatly manicured finger, before groaning as he heaved himself upright, red cock bobbing against his stomach, desperate for attention. The man gave you a look, as if to say “don’t move” before he took his hands off you, heading for his dresser.

Once you saw him pulling out a strip of condoms, you were on your feet, stumbling toward the door.

Although panic had sobered you somewhat, you were still struggling with the effects of the alcohol, so your reaction time was maddeningly slow. Slow enough that you weren’t able to truly fight against Shouto when he grabbed you from behind toned arms wrapping around your middle and heaving you into the air, only to throw you back on his bed.

You were almost sick on the bedspread, world spinning and stomach protesting, but you were able to calm yourself.

But then Shouto was on you, flipping you onto your back, a soft hand pressing against your throat threateningly. 

“You want to have a baby? Want me to cum in you so you’ll get all fat with kids? Hm?” He was so intense, almost choking you, straddling your waist and keeping you pinned. It was too much

You were able to manage a tearful, desperate “No!” despite the hand around your throat, and Shouto backed off, releasing the pressure to instead stroke his hand against the sides of your neck.

“Stop acting like this, it’s the next logical step for us. You said you cared for me, wanna make me happy. This’ll make me happy. I won’t be like the last guy.”

His cock was pressed against your stomach, and you could feel it twitching. Shouto clambered off of you, letting go of your neck so he could grab the condoms he’d tossed on the bed before snatching you up.

“Do what I say and I use these.” He waved them in your face before tearing one off, beginning to open it. 

You stayed still, gazing at him blearily, limbs feeling fuzzy, mind feeling the same.

The condom was rolled onto Shouto’s cock, the man spitting into his palm and giving the latex a few rubs to make it slick before reaching for you.

He dragged you to the edge of the bed - the perfect height for him to fuck you - and you didn’t fight, terrified of his threat. You couldn’t stand the thought of a baby.

(You didn’t know, but neither could he)

“Wanted to do this since I met you.” Shouto mumbled, pushing your panties to the side with a few fingers so he could guide his tip to your hole. “Want you so bad.”

You didn’t know what to think of this side of Shouto. This unreserved, uncareful, slurring mess of a man that loomed before you, gaze dark and wild, limbs everywhere as he groped and squeezed and appreciate the shape of your body.

But he must’ve gotten impatient, because then he was pushing inside.

It hurt, stinging pain rippling up your back and you keened, causing Shouto to pause. One of his hands darted down to wrap around your calf, hauling it up on the bed so he could lean forward and press it to you chest, sinking his cock a few inches deeper.

“You’re gonna take it.” He hissed before messily kissing you, pressed so close together that it was hard to breathe. “I’ll make it feel good after you do.”

[theramseyloft]

Diet

Woooo, is this subject ever a pain in my ass for something so simple...

There is just... SO much misinformation out there, from sources that should otherwise be credible.

So let me set the record straight as a specialist in the care of pigeons:

Pigeons are strict granivores. 

They can’t digest any part of a plant but seeds.

No leafy greens. No stems. No roots, no tubers, no bulbs, no flowers... 

ESPECIALLY not the fruit!!!

They can neither taste nor process the sugar!

Nothing but seeds.

Not even as a treat.

Vets often suggest greens and fruit and florets for literally every companion bird, going off the parrot template.

If a small animal (non-farm) vet gets to see a companion bird, you can reliably wager that it’s either a psittacine or finch, and win that bet most of the time.

Hardly any one ever brings pigeons to a vet.

Breeders consider it cheaper to kill the sick ones than try to find out what’s wrong with them, and pigeons as companion birds are still extremely niche.

The only way to change this is for people with pet pigeons to bring them to their vet like they would a cat, dog, rabbit, or other pet for regular check ups so that a base line can be established before that animal gets ill.

The more vets provided with base lines of healthy pigeons, the more accurately they will be able to treat pet pigeons.

Parrots in captivity that are fed the fruit and nut heavy diet that most species eat in the wild will develop fatty liver disease and die very young.

Wild parrots fly for MILES every day to forage that sugar and fat rich diet, which fuels their long foraging flights.

Their diet is adapted to their lifestyle, and their lifestyle is adapted to their diet, as is the case with most species.

Parrots have only been captive bred for the last 70 or so years. The larger species take up to 5 to sexually mature, and can live into their 70′s or 80′s

We have been breeding them in captivity for less than the lifetime of a single healthy individual.

Parrots simply have not had the time to physiologically adapt to the utterly sedentary life they live as human house pets.

We take these birds built for a high stamina nomadic lifestyle supported by a diet high in fat and sugar, and have them live most of their lives in a single room.

To keep them alive, we have had to make up for their lack of opportunity to adapt their physiology by adapting their captive diet to this drastic change in their life style.

Even finches (primarily seed and insect eaters, mostly) are usually kept in such extreme confinement that their captive diet has needed to be modified to avoid being dragged to an early grave by a fatty liver.

Pigeons were the first birds humanity domesticated. 

Even before chickens.

About the time camels were domesticated; in the dawn of agriculture and stationary settlements.

What made them easy to domesticate was that, being desert/scrubland birds, seed was the diet they were already adapted to.

It was easy enough to share enough grain with them to make living in a dovecote worth while.

In exchange, humans got some of the most nutritious fertilizer known to man to this day.

Being picky about what kind of seed you eat isn’t beneficial of a desert bird, and wild rock doves already adjusted the volume of their feed intake with the natural fluctuation of seed availability through out the year; eating more when they had to fly further afield to find it, and needing to eat less per foraging trip when there was enough nearby that they didn’t have to range as far.

Because adjusting their food intake according to how close and plentiful food was already came naturally to rock doves, the only transition in the development of domestic pigeons was that food would always be close and plentiful.

Pigeons have had THOUSANDS of years to adapt to not having to fly nearly so far to find enough to eat in human care as their rock dove ancestors did in the wild.

Here is the basic break down of nutritional requirements for racing homers (the breed that serves as the base line for domestic pigeons), according to Avian Medicine: Principles and Applications. Ritchie, Harrison and Harrison;

Pet shops are starting to sell dove and pigeon diets now, lots of which would make decent bases, but still need extra protein or fat added.

There are also lots of wild bird blends that make good bases.

I used to love royal wing Classic Mix from TSC, as it was easily accessible, but it needs a lot added to it, and that can get pretty expensive.

Chewy sells an excellent diet designed for pigeons breeding and performing: https://www.chewy.com/versele-laga-classic-pigeon-food/dp/259128 , which is what we order for the flock now.

But for a house pet or two, it’s often easier and less expensive to mix your own blend.

Pigeons can eat pretty much any whole (in the hull) seed that they can comfortably swallow.

Birds that are performing, raising peeps, or under weight need all the fat and protein they can get, so lots of dried legumes for protein (Mung beans, lentils, and split green peas are favorites), millet (fatty and high protein, especially easy to digest), safflower seeds, and black oil sunflower seeds (rich in oil and extremely fatty).

Non-breeding House pets tend not to need as much fat, so their feed should be higher grain like wheat, barley, and oats with lower fatty or high protein seeds.

The more confined the bird (unless the bird is sick or healing from an injury), the less fat it needs in its diet.

So the owners of a pet or two are free and encouraged to experiment with their blends.

Most pigeon’s can’t comfortably swallow striped sunflower seeds, so keep your selection below that in size.

Chopped up tree nuts or peanuts are an EXTREMELY high fat treat (think pigeon cheese cake) and should be given *very* sparingly.

Chia seeds have a very high caffeine content and need to be avoided.

Other than that, you can experiment with any grain, legume, or other seed small enough for them to swallow, provided nutritional parameters are maintained.

Do not used hulled seeds!

The hull is important, not because they can digest cellulose, but because they can’t. (which is why they can’t process any part of a plant except the seed)

The hulls of seeds they eat make up the vast bulk of solid fecal matter and act as vital dietary fiber.

That pigeons need grit to grind down food in their gizzard is a myth.

They need it to obtain dietary minerals, and that distinction is a matter of life and death.

Avoid the starter chick grit for chickens, and the charcoal grit for song birds, as these are both made with a base of Granite, which is made by leeching the calcium out of lime stone. 

Galliformes need granite grit because it won’t break down in their gizzard, where they use it as a mechanical aid to grind food.

That’s exactly what makes granite based grit a serious intestinal impaction risk for a columbiform like our domestic pigeons.

Because what they need grit for is dietary minerals, it’s important that their grit dissolve in the gizzard to be absorbed by the small intestine.

Hens will lay eggs with or with out a cock, and the cock also has a skeleton to maintain, so calcium supplements are a necessity.

Hens and breeding cocks can also get salt deficient from both producing eggs and feeding peeps.

My breeding flock has Oyster Shell grit offered free choice and free access to a salt and mineral brick for horses.

It is generally safest to assume that a new pigeon has not been adequately supplemented, because birds who have not will gorge on grit and salt to their detriment.

Pigeons deficient enough t crave it can poison themselves overdosing on salt. Salt poisoning is nearly always fatal!!! so do not ever offer pigeons any kind of salt based grit in a loose, granular form.

I use the salt and mineral brick because their beaks are not hard enough and they do not have sufficient bite strength to get large enough quantities off of the brick to sicken themselves before the craving for that mineral is satisfied.

A single indoor pet can be given one of the little salt/mineral wheels for hamsters.

Calcium deficient pigeons craving grit can impact their crops gorging on it.

As stated earlier, my loft birds have free choice access to oyster shell grit next to their feed.

To prevent new birds form gorging dangerously on it, a tiny pinch is sprinkled over their meals every morning during their 4 week quarantine.

By the time quarantine ends, they are not deficient, and will not be craving grit ravenously enough to hurt themselves on it.

Bon appetite to your sweet cooey friends and house mates. ^v^

[mjolnir-steve]

Foolish

Frank Adler x fem!Reader

Word count: 5027 (oop)

Warnings: light drinking, very brief mention of suicide, some cursing, smut (18+ ONLY!!!), unprotected sex (m/f) ... Please let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Hi, y’all! Here’s my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817’s Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge!!!! I haven’t written smut in a LONG time, so please be gentle with me LOL. Here’s what I got:

Frank Adler

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Breeding / mutual pining 🥴

I’d like to dedicate this to @rodrikstark for always sharing the Frank Adler feels and @sparkledfirecracker for bullying me (with love) into finishing this. ❤️

If you like this fic, please comment and reblog!!! I hope you enjoy. :)

Fridays never seemed to come soon enough. You looked forward to the beginning of the weekend as much as the next person, but over the last few months, Friday nights took on new meaning for you. You moved to the trailer park a little less than a year ago, wanting to buy a small place of your own and start making a home for yourself. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t expensive, and it was only a ten-minute drive from your office where you’d just secured a promotion. Roberta, the manager, helped you make it feel like home right away, insisting on going with you to pick out paint samples and providing copies of menus for the best take-out in the area.

Before long, Roberta introduced you to the trailer park’s resident certified genius, Mary Adler. Mary and Roberta spent Saturday mornings with you when you were free, which unfortunately, was pretty much all the time. You played games, sang karaoke, and even let Mary’s one-eyed cat Fred come over. He took a liking to your swinging chair in the living room, and if Mary couldn’t find him at home, odds were he somehow squeezed through your window and ended up in that chair. 

Another two months had passed, though, before you met Mary’s uncle and guardian, Frank. You came to learn that Mary stayed with Roberta every Friday night because “Frank needs time to be an adult” and she was not allowed to come back to the house until noon on Saturdays. This information made you feel like Frank must be some kind of sad, perpetual fuckboy. You were right about the sad part, not so much about the latter. One morning while Mary played with your watercolors, Roberta let slip - ironically over a cup of tea - that Frank did have the occasional hookup, but usually, he drank himself sleepy on Friday nights and just needed the time to himself. He worked himself to the bone as a boat mechanic, often late into the night because it was too hot to do some jobs during the day. Frank took Mary in when she was just a baby after his sister, her mother, tragically committed suicide. He spent the majority of his scarce free time with Mary, so when Mary was still a toddler, Roberta offered the Friday night deal. Frank countered that he would do any repairs in the trailer park for free, but she refused to let him do that work without pay, saying he deserved to have a life, too. 

She also informed you that Frank was a former philosophy professor, single, and very attractive, especially if you were into the rugged thing. You rolled your eyes with an amused exhale and took another sip of your tea. You’d be lying if you said your interest wasn’t piqued. Mary then shouted over her shoulder, confirming that she’d been listening to your entire conversation, “Frank is great, but he’s a grump. Good luck cracking that egg.” You snorted, nearly spitting out your tea, and she went back to reading your color theory book to Fred.

With that, you heard a sharp rap at the door. You set your tea down on the kitchen table, curious who your visitor might be. You didn’t know anyone else in the trailer park, or in town, really. You opened the door, taking in the sight of possibly - no, definitely - the most handsome man you’d ever seen. You quickly guessed it was Frank, judging by the grease smeared on his quite large hands. His eyes, though tired, had the same bright look as Mary’s, and he had the most perfectly imperfect fluffy hair and overgrown stubble.

“Good morning,” he said with a sweet, closed-mouthed smile. “Is Mary here?”

You had to remind yourself to breathe. Stammering, you opened the door wider, gesturing inside. “Hi, y-yes. She is!” Why am I like this? “She’s just painting with Fred. Please, come in.” You moved aside so he could fit his broad shoulders through the doorframe and then held out your hand. “You must be Frank. I’m Y/N. Mary is just wonderful.” You smiled at him, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

He took your hand in both of his, gentler than you’d expected. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m Frank. It’s great to meet you, finally.” He smiled wide for the first time and you were certain you’d pass out. Who LOOKS like this? “And thank you, she really is wonderful. I couldn’t do it without Roberta. She’s family.” He smiled and waved at Roberta, who was looking at you over the lip of her mug.

Mary didn’t even bother to turn around and face Frank. “What are you doing here, Frank? It’s only 11. I have a whole ‘nother hour with my friends.” You tried to keep your laugh quiet, covering your mouth with your hand and shaking your head.

“Well, excuse me for thinking you might like to go out on the boat with me this morning. I guess I’ll go by myself.”

Mary jumped up from the floor, scrambling to clean up your paints and books. “Can Y/N and Roberta come?”

Frank crouched down to meet Mary’s eyes. “Of course they can, if they’d like.” He looked back at you over his shoulder, trying to gauge your interest, then turning back to his niece. “But do you remember what I told you?”

You could see that Mary was making a conscious effort not to roll her eyes. “You told me that my adult friends have adult lives that include adult responsibilities, and they might not always be available to spend time with me.”

“And?” he looked at her expectantly.

“And I need to invite them to do things without assuming they will do them.” She couldn’t hold back her eye roll any longer, but she made sure not to let Frank see. “Roberta, Y/N, would you both like to join us on the boat today?”

You were amazed by the exchange taking place in front of you, able to see where some of Mary’s brains and tenacity came from. The conversation between the two flowed so easily, playful yet intelligent. It was clear that Frank treated Mary not as a child, but as a person, and you chided yourself internally for thinking that was kinda hot. 

Shaking yourself out of your mildly inappropriate thoughts, you responded. “I’d love to come, Mary.” You smiled at her, bending over to help her pick up the last of the paints from the floor. “Roberta?”

Roberta gave you a look and you just knew she planned this somehow. “I actually do have some of those adult responsibilities to handle today, but thank you for inviting me.” You sent a glare in her direction, quick but no less scathing. “Maybe next time.” She winked at you before washing out her mug and saying her goodbyes.

You spent the whole rest of the day and night with Frank and Mary, doing everything from building sandcastles to cooking dinner together. Mary eventually fell asleep in your lap as you were watching Oliver & Company, Frank’s favorite Disney film that had become Mary’s, too. “An underrated classic,” they told you in unison.

You helped Frank put Mary to bed, a task made easier after such a tiring day. “I guess I should get going.” You stood awkwardly in the small kitchen, unsure of yourself and painfully aware of how close your hand was to Frank’s resting on the counter.

“Yeah, I have a job early in the morning.” He looked down at his shoes, unable to look you in the eye, and you wondered if he hadn’t found your company as enjoyable as you’d found his.

“Listen, I don’t know if you’ve been to Ferg’s? The little bar down the road? I go every Friday night just to relax and have a few beers. Maybe you’d like to come with me next weekend?”

Is he asking me on a date? You could feel your heartbeat racing. The look on your face must not have matched the excitement you felt at the prospect of spending time alone with the dreamy, kind, sarcastic man in front of you. 

He felt like an idiot when you hesitated to answer. He clearly read everything wrong. He had to fix this. “It’s a good place to meet people, you know? I know you’re fairly new to the area, so if you’re looking for more local friends, it’s a good place to start.” He winced, hoping you couldn’t sense his embarrassment at thinking that you would want to go on a date with him.

You swallowed, trying not to let your disappointment show outwardly. Of course he’s not interested in me. Stupid. “Oh, yeah! That would be great, Frank. What time?”

Frank let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, relieved that you didn’t seem offended by his offer. “How’s 7? I’ll pick you up? We can walk over together.”

And that’s how Fridays came to mean so much to you. Almost every Friday for the last six months, Frank met you at your door and you walked to Ferg’s together. Frank told you it would be a good place to make new friends, but you paid no mind to the other patrons. You only had eyes for each other, yet neither of you could see it, even though Roberta pointed out (repeatedly) that neither of you had taken anyone else home in all that time.

The more time you spent with Frank, the more certain you were that God was real and your life was His favorite trainwreck reality TV series. Even if you could have customized a dream man Build-A-Bear style, Frank still would blow your creation out of the water. He was smart and funny, not to mention an adoring parent to Mary, to whom you grew more attached each day. He was kind and thoughtful, talented and hard-working. Although he was a grouch, as Mary would say, he always was sweet to you. He took a genuine interest in anything you had to say, whether you were venting about work or filling him on the latest episode of whatever show you were binging. He was ridiculously sexy without even trying. All those hours he spent doing manual labor in the sun did wonders for his physique. You’d only seen him completely shirtless on one occasion, and the image of him with sweat dripping down his chest was burned into your memory, fueling your late-night thots and causing you to break out your vibrator on what was now a regular basis.

Six months had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and you’d begun to accept that Frank didn’t want to be anything more than friends with you. You decided tonight was as good a night as any to talk to someone new, to start letting go of your unrequited feelings. 

You swapped out your usual jeans for a sundress, t-shirt bra for a push-up, and lip balm for lipstick. Putting your phone and some cash in a wristlet, you considered wearing your new strappy sandals. The walk to Ferg’s was about five minutes each way down a sandy road, though, and memories of the sticky floor inside aided your preferred pair of Converse in their victory for the night. 

Just as you finished tying your shoes, you heard a knock at the door. You adjusted your cleavage and fluffed your hair a final time with one last look in the mirror. Here goes.

Frank felt like he had the wind knocked out of him in the best possible way. He suddenly felt entirely underdressed in his aloha shirt, even though it was his go-to for nights out of the house. He’d never seen you dressed so nicely when you weren’t going to work. 

You were the kind of beautiful that didn’t require makeup. Your natural hair always framed your face perfectly, even if you didn’t think so. He thought you were adorable when you were concentrating on something, blowing your hair out of your face with a huff. Visions of your soft curves made their way into Frank’s dreams on more than one occasion. He had seen you in your swimsuit several times, sunbathing with Roberta and swimming with Mary at the beach. It wasn’t even all that revealing, but it accentuated your figure in ways that forced Frank into needing a cold shower or two. Above all, though, he admired your heart. You’d allowed Mary into your life without hesitation, spending time with her because you wanted to and allowing her to ask all those questions that Frank just wouldn’t be able to answer. It killed him that you didn’t see him the way he saw you, a perfect partner for him and a worthy maternal figure for Mary.

“Frank? You okay?” Your concerned voice shook him out of his thoughts, prompting him to close his mouth which apparently had opened wide in astonishment when you stood in the doorway.

“Yeah, um... You look…” He looked a little confused, his brow furrowed and lips pursed. “Why are you all dolled up? It’s only Ferg’s.” He wished he could’ve kicked himself in the teeth when your face fell at his question. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit. Let me try that again,” he nearly begged, running up to you to stop you from going back inside. “You look really nice, honey.” He ran his calloused hand up your forearm, but quickly returned it to his side when he realized what he’d done. “Is it a special occasion, though? Should I change?”

You gave him a watery smile, given that you were three seconds from slamming the door in his face and crying. “That’s better. Thank you.” You lightly pushed at his shoulder, trying and failing to ignore the electricity you felt at the contact. “No occasion, though. Just thought maybe it was about time I actually introduced myself to someone new.” 

You couldn’t quite read his reaction. Little did you know he was certain he just felt his heart physically crack in his chest. “What do you mean?”

The two of you started walking, the tension between you thickening the very air you breathed. “Well, when you first invited me to Ferg’s, you said maybe I’d get to know some other people in the area, right? But we’re always with each other. I’m sure you’re itching to talk to someone other than me. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Frank abruptly reverted to the quiet, distant state he usually occupied before he met you. He sped up a bit, walking ahead of you and desperately attempting to school his features before you caught up with him.

Frank practically ran to the restroom, not slowing down even to hold the door open for you. You took a deep breath and rolled your shoulders, relaxing before entering the bar. Normally, whoever made it first would order drinks for you both, but Frank made it painfully clear that he had no desire to be in your company tonight. You ordered your usual, an Angry Orchard with a shot of Fireball in a tall glass. The combination tasted like apple cider, but the burn in your throat was caused by liquor rather than heat. It was strong enough to get you buzzed, but not so strong that you’d be stumbling home. You swallowed half the glass in one gulp, wanting to feel the warmth in your veins boosting your confidence as quickly as possible.

“Y/N? How are you?” You turned around, eyes meeting those of Jamie, your coworker. He leaned in for a hug and you accepted somewhat reluctantly, having interacted with him only in passing.

“Hey! I’m all right. What’s up?” You smiled at him, taking another sip of your drink. Jamie was not very subtly staring at your chest. You weren’t crazy about him, but the attention felt nice, so you allowed it.

“Not much. Just happy it’s Friday, ya know?” He looked around for a moment before returning his attention to you. “You’re usually here with that mechanic dude, right?”

You stifled a laugh thinking about how Frank would react if he heard himself referred to as “dude” by this prick. “Yeah, he’s around somewhere. We’re just-“

“-Just friends?” he finished for you with a hopeful look.

You nodded in response, looking him up and down. He was no Frank, but you couldn’t deny he was handsome. It had been so long since you’d even been kissed, and though you hated to admit it, you were touch-starved. One night couldn’t hurt, could it?

Meanwhile, Frank was splashing his face with cool water. He couldn’t believe he’d fucked up so royally. He was sure you didn’t want him how he wanted you, and now he was sure it was too late to tell you how he really felt.

He knew from the moment he saw you that he’d never get you out of his head. Roberta had been talking you up to Frank for weeks, but he wanted no part of it, mumbling something about there being “a reason why no one used matchmakers anymore.” He had no choice but to make your acquaintance when he was looking for Mary, and he’d never been so happy that Roberta could say she told him so.

Later that day at the beach, Mary approached him while you were dozing on a towel in the sand. She sat on his lap and reached for his face, using her pointer fingers to turn the straight line of his mouth up into a smile. “Roberta says you have a ‘charming’ smile, Frank. We think you should use it more.” He chuckled quietly, careful not to disturb you, and pulled Mary in close, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. She grimaced at the feeling, dramatically wiping at her face until he let her go back to reading with Fred.

The sound of the jukebox starting up cut short his reverie. He had to get out there and explain himself. Frank dried his face and hands with a paper towel before smacking his cheeks and stretching his neck back and forth to each shoulder. 

Frank exited the restroom only to find some douchebag staring at your ass as you leaned over toward the bar. He saw red when the piece of shit held out his hand behind his back while his friend slipped a twenty-dollar bill into it, seemingly winning some sort of bet.

Jamie didn’t stand a chance when Frank stormed in between the two of you. “That’s IT,” he yelled, so intense he borderline bellowed. He threw whatever cash he had in his pocket on the bar to pay for your drinks before he pulled you outside, almost getting to your door while you fought against his grip. He only stopped when you spun your body around like something out of Dancing with the Stars and jumped in front of him, forcing him to catch you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, what are y-”

“-What are YOU doing, Frank? What the fuck was that?” You put your feet back down on the ground but remained facing him, arms crossed over your chest.

He groaned in frustration, suddenly realizing he actually had no clue how to respond. “Fuck.”

You looked at him, tapping your foot in anticipation.

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” He rubbed at his temples in the way he did when he felt a headache coming on.

“And how was he looking at me, Frank? What does it matter to you?”

“He was looking at you like you were a piece of meat and I… FUCK!”

You both turned when your neighbor opened his window. “Can you kids keep it down out here?”

You waved bashfully at the old man. “Sorry, Mr. Parker,” you said in unison.

“Come inside, Frankie.” The nickname that typically made him roll his eyes at you never had sounded sweeter, now that its use confirmed you didn’t hate him for the scene he made. You both toed off your shoes at the door before you made your way into the living room, motioning for him to sit next to you on the couch when he tried to sit in the armchair across the room.

You leaned forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. “Now what’s going on in that sun-damaged brain of yours?”

He let out a laugh so soft you almost missed it, but you were glad you didn’t. Sitting back against the arm of the couch, you pulled a pillow into your lap and hugged it, giving Frank your full attention.

Frank cleared his throat, doing his best to accept that it was now or never. “That guy was leering at you, and it pissed me off. You deserve better, Y/N.” He pried your fingers from where they were locked around the pillow to hold your hands in his.

“If you want to meet new people, that’s great. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s a little less great, but I’d understand. He didn’t even pay for your drinks. And I th-”

You covered his mouth with one of your hands, and he knitted his brows in confusion. “You’re making it sound like it’s an option to be with you.” You were in disbelief, side-eyeing him, waiting for Ashton Kutcher to announce that you were, in fact, being Punk’d. 

The corners of his mouth lifted into the soft smile he reserved for you. It was the same one he gave you whether you were on a tangent about how “Obsessed” by Mariah Carey is “the single greatest diss track of all time” or you were helping Mary put a harness and leash on Fred “just to see how he’d do” on a walk.

“For a distinguished professor, you’re kind of a dummy, Frank.” You took his face in your hands, thrilled to be feeling his stubble against your palms. Before he could talk back to you, you kissed him, unsure how you denied yourselves such a simple yet extraordinary pleasure for so long. It only took a moment for him to relax into it, his hands removing the pillow between you before finding your waist and pulling you almost into his lap.

You deepened the kiss, threading your fingers through his hair. He pulled away first, pressing his forehead to yours. “Seems like we’re both dummies, huh?” 

You were going to ask why pulled away until you looked down to see a considerable tent forming in the front of his jeans. You laughed as he pulled you into a tight hug, one arm wrapped around you while the other hand held your face against his neck.

You kissed the side of his neck softly before leaning back to look at him. “All this time? I thought you didn’t see me this way.” You held his face, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “You asked me to go to Ferg’s and then said I could meet other people, so I thought that was it, you know?”

He covered your hands with his and pecked your lips softly. “Honey, I thought it was the other way around. I was trying to ask you out and you looked like you’d seen a ghost.” You giggled, spluttering a bit because tears had started falling at some point. He wiped your tears away before swiping his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down a bit. “We’re fools, aren’t we?”

You nodded slowly and Frank saw something wicked flash in your eyes before you took his thumb in your mouth, sucking lightly. “Jesus, honey.” His length hardened underneath you and you could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your panties, prompting you to grind down into his lap.

You released his thumb from your mouth, pressing your chest into his before kissing him again. “I think we’re only fools if we don’t take advantage of the rest of your adult time.” You removed your dress easily, returning your hands to Frank’s shoulders to push off his shirt.

He surged forward to kiss you again, working magic with his tongue against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he picked you up, walking you into the bedroom. Placing you on the bed carefully, he removed your bra and panties before pulling off his boxers and jeans in one go. You thought you wanted him before, but now that you could see everything he’d been hiding under his baggy clothes, you didn’t see how you could ever let him leave your bedroom.

The next few minutes were spent exploring each other’s mouths while Frank stretched you with his fingers. You didn’t think you’d ever been so wet in your life and thought you might pass out if you didn’t feel him inside you immediately. You gave his cock a few strokes before sliding his head through your folds, coating him in your slick.

“Waitwaitwait, honey. Do you have a condom?”

“You don’t need one if you don’t want one. It’s okay.”

He looked like you just gave him tomorrow’s winning lotto numbers, taking a deep breath to steady himself before he looked at you again. “Oh, God. Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I wanna feel you. Make me yours?”

“Anything you want, honey, but if you change your mind, just tell me, okay?” He lined himself up, seconds shy of entering you for the first time.

“I figured if you were gonna be possessive of me tonight, you might as well take it the whole nine, Frankie.” You laughed as he let out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, though, I’m clean, I’m on the pill, and I’ve wanted you for a long time.” You reached up to scratch lightly through his chest hair.

“The only thing I wanna hear right now is you moaning for me.” He drove into you harshly, but waited a moment for you to adjust once he was seated to the hilt. “So damn wet and tight for me, honey. You’re so perfect, so beautiful.” He kissed you again before he began to move, slowly but surely making you lose your mind.

He dipped his head down to take one nipple in his mouth, then the other, effectively shutting you up and emptying all thoughts from your head. He nipped at the swell of your breast, soothing the bite with his tongue. “Fuck, Frank, please!”

“Please what, honey?” He picked up his pace, fucking into you so vigorously you moved up the bed. “Tell me what you need.”

“Make me cum, Frank. Please, baby, I need it. Need you,” you cried, leaning up to bite into his shoulder, stifling your moans.

“I wanna hear you, Y/N. I wanna hear those pretty moans while I’m making this perfect pussy cum for me.” The combination of his filthy words and the sight of him sucking on his own fingers before rubbing at your clit sent you over the edge, making you scream his name over and over again for what felt like forever and not long enough.

You could tell he was close, his hips stuttering and losing their rhythm. He began to pull out, unsure if you were willing to let him finish inside you, but knowing he was too close to wait for an answer.

You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him close, pushing him back into you. “Fill me up, Frank. I wanna feel all of you. Please give it to me,” you whimpered. His release triggered another for you, chanting each other’s names surely loud enough for the neighbors to hear. 

He stayed inside you as you both came down from your shared high, gingerly flipping you over so he laid on his back with you on his chest. He kissed the top of your head, fingers fluttering up and down your sides. 

“What’s on your mind now, Frankie?” You looked up at him through your lashes, mildly terrified of the answer.

He looked down at you with the most adoration you’d ever seen, lifting your chin so your eyes met his in the moonlight. “That wasn’t too soon, was it? You mean so much to me and to Mary. I don’t wanna mess this up. I don’t ever wanna hurt you. You’re the best thing in my life besides Mary, you know that?”

You kissed his chest before looking back up at him, smiling. “First of all, I would argue that wasn’t soon enough.” He hissed as you clenched around his still softening cock inside you.

“You’re evil.”

Winking at him, you continued tracing patterns on his chest with your fingers. “Second, that all kinda sounds like you might be in love with me, Frank Adler.”

His hands stopped moving for a second before he responded. “Would you run away if I said I am?”

“Well, I wouldn’t run away. This is my house.” You thought your heart might explode in your chest.

“I didn’t even say it, but I take it back,” he huffed, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“What if I told you I felt the same way?”

He grinned, sitting up to kiss you feverishly on your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. You could feel him starting to harden again inside you, leading to round two of… well, you lost count.

You ate breakfast and showered together in time for Frank to return home before Mary did, agreeing to talk more later and to hold out on Roberta for a while.

Frank stood on your doorstep, leaning in to kiss you once more. All of a sudden, you heard a familiar meow and thanked God you were dressed and not in your robe.

“Frank, what are you doing here? I thought I’d come see Y/N since I’m not supposed to come home until noon.”

You bit your tongue to keep from cackling. Frank ran a hand over his face, his blissful bubble burst. He was getting you a hotel room next weekend.

[sukirichi]

earned it [02]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. mentions of murder, suggestive content, unedited fic

notes. err, i’m only doing this on impulse. i would like to continue it, but i think part one stands enough for itself :> i might delete this if i don’t like it a few days later lollll

series masterlist

Your infamous customer hadn’t arrived even as the restaurant closed. You watched close enough, fidgety in your movements and often bumping into other servers, all because your gaze kept darting back to the front door, awaiting his presence.

There’s no actual reason why you want to see him. Maybe it’s because he left an impression? The guy didn’t even budge after finding out someone had snuck into the kitchen to poison him, leaving you to wonder why anyone wanted to kill him. Not that it was any of your business, but you figured it was only common between powerful people who are equally greedy. Still, you’re unfocussed in your work, apologizing every now and then when your boss shook their head at you.

Thankfully, you managed to get back to your old pace. Thoughts of the white-haired tall man left the room at the same time everyone did, leaving only you and your boss in the locker room. You ended up working two shifts again on this weekend, your co-worker asking you to cover for them due to sudden family issues.

It’s tiring, that much is for sure, but you won’t complain when it’s more money down in your pocket. You’re dazzled, however, as you leave the locker room and see that your main chefs are still there.

Upon seeing you, they immediately usher you into a lone table, table 98 that remained untouched the whole night, a two lit candles illuminating the otherwise darkness of the isolated restaurant. Only this time, it’s occupied by him no less, his azure eyes flittering up to yours at the sound of your hesitant footsteps.

You’ve been looking for him the whole night, yet now that he’s in front of you, you don’t have any words to say. Instead, you bow down deep, the hands clasped in your lap shaking.

“S-Sir.”

“No need to be so nervous. I only wish to discuss something with you,” his laugh is so carefree, lighthearted as he gestures to the empty spot across him. “Take a seat,” Wordlessly, you foolow his orders and dash down to the seat, spine straight and head held high. There’s a hint of amusement in his small smile, but he doesn’t tease you, save for the lilting tone he held. “So you’re in sophomore year of university?”

“Yes, Sir. How’d you know?” You furrowed your brows, unsure of whether you’re supposed to expensive meal served in two.

Gosh, and this was on page three too, a single meal cost at least six months’ worth of rent.

“I pulled a string or two,” he lifts one shoulder lazily, waving his knife in the air. “And please, call me Satoru. Assuming we come to an understanding, things will go well for the both of us. You are in need of financial aid, yes?” You nod, utterly clueless in where this is leading, but Satoru’s already made up his mind long before he came here that he found no need in beating around the bush.

“Good. Then what do you say about being my sugar baby?”

“S-sugar baby?” you repeat the word first in confusion, then with distaste. He simply hums around the meat he’s eating, as if it’s a normal occurrence for him to inquire such things, and you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest.

You don’t care that this guy is your precious customer – he was just the same as everyone else.

“Is that the reason why you asked me to stay behind? Do you think you can just pay people to sleep with you? It may have worked on others, but not to me. I would rather keep my dignity than be with you,” you breathe hard after your rant, slapping your palms down on the table. The impact of it makes the table shake, his hand reflexively reaching to steady his wine glass. “As for what happened yesterday, you don’t have to thank me about it. I did what any right-minded person would.”

“And if I said I never wanted to be saved?” he asks, his tone still so calm that it further infuriates you. You stare at him, stunned and mouth gaping. “Sit down. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Thank you for graciousness, Sir, but I really don’t—”

“Angel,” You freeze at the nickname. He chuckles with his forehead pressed to his clasped hands, “Do you really think I need to pay people to sleep with me? I could have anyone I want,” his voice falls an octave or two, the sonorous warning rumbling something…alien inside your body. You stand there, unable to move, and he easily sees through this as he hides a smirk behind his drink. “Sit down. I’m not done talking to you.”

You don’t know what snapped in you to actually follow, but his words weren’t just that. They were always laced with eased dominance, the words leaving his lips coming out as a command. No, it was more like a hypnotizing order, and you’re nothing but a puppet enslaved by it.

His smile only grows bigger, and you hate that he looks ridiculously handsome under the dim lights of the room. Life would’ve been much easier if this man had been ugly.

“As I was saying, this relationship should be casual, no strings attached. I’d prefer if you’re exclusive to me, and in return, I’ll cover all your school fees and everything else. As for the sex,” he cuts his eyes straight to yours, an intense burning heat in them. You squirm in your seat, a little intimidated, albeit excited, by this proposition too, though you’d rather die than let him know that, “I don’t need that from you. I just want someone to talk to.”

“You’re paying me to talk to you?”

“No,” he chuckles, “I’m saying you form a relationship with me in exchange of financial aid. You’d be similar to a lover, nothing less of a friend,” he stares at his drink so hard like he was having a debate with it. A few seconds later, he found his answer, the gleam in his eyes surreptitious as he says, “Someone I can trust.”

You huff. Surely it wasn’t easy as that. “Why me?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, “I just find you endearing, that is all,” You lean back on your seat, trying to process all this. The hesitance must be written all over your face because he adjusts his tie, sliding a white business card your way before sliding his chair back in. At least he’s well-mannered enough to do that. “You can take your time to think about it. There’s no need to rush.”

Somehow, seeing his figure retreat triggers something within you. You watch as silhouettes emerge from the darkness trail after him; must be his security team, serving as an additional note that what you so struggled to achieve was likely nothing for him.

Was it fear? Desperation? Shame?

You don’t know, you won’t ever really know, but you run up to him anyway, brave enough to tug at his sleeve. The guards surrounding him tense up at the contact, stepping away only when he raises a finger that spoke a thousand words.

“You-you’ll pay for everything?”

With his back turned to you, you failed to see that victorious grin he wore. “And everything more,” he reassured. He turns around to confirm your submission, but you’re quivering under his towering frame, poor hands clutched around the card so tightly he won’t be surprised if you break it. He chuckles, coaxing the worries out of you as he caresses your cheek, his breath evident of expensive liquor hitting your cheeks. “Relax, angel. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to the devil.”

Your pupils blow wide at the close proximity. If he was attractive before, it’s nothing compared to the clarity of his sharp, angular features that are softened by his playful smile. Oddly enough, his thumb caressing your cheeks is tender yet calloused.

There’s no telling when who put who under a spell, because you’re clutching helplessly at his suit jacket, whispering, “Am I not?”

You are, he wants to say, but you’re so innocent, so vulnerable – such an angel, he can’t help but hum in his head – that he doesn’t have the heart to let you know. He already knew things were bound to fall out of place one another, but until that hasn’t happened yet, he’ll have to keep you close. He’ll make you his.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he declares so confidently that you couldn’t even question his capability to do so you, and for a moment, just a moment, your knees weaken under his stare. “Now that, I can promise.”

Should you have pulled away then? When he leaned down to seal the contract with a kiss, should you have pulled away then? Or better yet, could you even pull away then?

You’ve been so alone your whole life that each moment with him is awakening, soul-crushing, mind-shattering and so damn weakening that you should’ve pulled away then. If anyone were to tell you you’d share your first kiss after work hours with a man whose name you don’t even know of, you’d tell them they were crazy, crazier if they claimed you would enjoy it.

But you did. Oh, you did, you were addicted to him – his taste, his scent, his touch, everything about him – that when he pulled away, taking away every last breath in your lung that formerly remained taint-free by him, you’re left wanting. Craving.

And he knows this. How could he not? Your eyes are hazy with lust, chest pressed against his firm ones that would soon be the same body you found home over and over again.  You’re not the only left intoxicated from this sudden agreement. Whatever you feel, he feels it twice as much after years of watching you from the sidelines, asking himself a million times over what it is about you that pulled him in so much in the first place.

The innocence? The dedication? The youthful naivety?

Gojo wants to laugh at himself. It was never any of those – he simply wanted to fool himself that maybe he’s worthy of this, of your love, of your purity. He’s selfish, manipulative, heartless, and he wants nothing more than someone like you to make him feel like he’s everything he’s not.

He steps forward to brush his nose against yours; breathing in the tiny gasps you reward him with. And he’s barely even touched you.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he rasps, butterfly touches all the way down your back to hold you flush against him, letting you feel that he’s all muscle and hardness, while you’re the complete opposite, composed of softness and little ghosting kisses. Perhaps when he gives you by a name, he was right to call you –  “My Angel.”

The loud blaring of your alarm cuts through the silence of the room, its shrill sound piercing your ears. You groan, blindly patting the bedside table to swipe snooze. The spot next to you has been cold for a while now, but it’s normal for Satoru to leave early for work that you burrow yourself deeper in the covers. Five more minutes of sleep shouldn’t be so bad; it’s the weekend, anyway. You’ve got nothing else to do.

Waking up after that, on the other hand, now that is an impending task on itself.

You’re beyond sore, your inner thighs littered with handprints and your shoulder covered in love bites. “Jeez,” you mutter to yourself, stepping out of the bathroom. Tying your robe around you, you go out your shared bedroom, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep out.

It’s past noon already – Satoru really wore you out. And fuck, you could barely walk. You had to grip the counters just to sit on the stools, and even then, you’re wincing from the pain.

He should be doing paperwork in his office right now or something; he never really told you what to do. You don’t feel like asking either since he’s made it clear he prefers to keep his personal life, well…personal. But nevertheless, you swing your legs back and forth on the stool, texting him a quick I love you baby :)

Satoru doesn’t reply.

Usually, he’d respond in a few minutes, always supplied with a wink and an eggplant emoji. It was so him to act this way, that when those few minutes turned into a few hours and you’re met with radio silence, you can’t help but worry.

You try to brush it off, ignoring the deafening silence that rings all over his penthouse. He’s busy, he’s working, he’s got things to do – that’s all it is.

You convince yourself hard enough that you’ve cleaned the place until it’s sparkling, your reflection bouncing off the black marble floors. Every minute, though, your mind would race back to him. Not thinking about him proved to be a really daunting task because you think of him when you’re eating, reminiscing the way he’d always surprise you with a back hug, muttering morning angel all over your skin just to distract you from your meal. You think of him as you’re killing time with boring dramas; if he was here, he’d nudge your leg with his foot, pushing your shorts until it exposes your panties. He’d make sure you don’t get to focus at all, riling you up and kissing you hard that the show playing becomes nothing but background noise. You think of him, you dream of him, you remember him – and yet, you can’t feel him.

Nails bitten down to the skin, you scramble for your phone, swiping call over his contact. It doesn’t go through. Now that’s another odd thing; Satoru never fails to pick up your calls.

“He’s just busy,” you lie to yourself, telling the same thing over and over again even as night falls and you’re staring at the empty left side of the bed, hands smoothing over where the curve of his body would’ve been. “He’s just busy,” you say once more, giving into the exhaustion brought on by your worries. “He’ll come home soon. He always will.”

Except he didn’t.

And that was two weeks ago.

“Angel, I got you—” Satoru immediately clamps his shut, his footsteps muted as he walks closer to you. You’ve been dating for a few months now, and you’re still very wary of the nature of your relationship so you refuse to move in with him. He doesn’t mind, he respects your space and decisions, but now he’s starting to regret letting you have your way. You’re hunched over your swiveling chair, cheek pressed against the opened textbook and glasses perched on your hair. The lamp desk illuminates the dark circles lining your eyes, his heart breaking at the sight.

Thanks to his help, you’ve been able to spend more time focusing on your studies. It should be comforting, but Satoru’s heart aches as he thinks of what you’ve been like prior to meeting him.

How long have you stayed up all night just to pass your exams? How long have you cried yourself to sleep, unable to handle the burden placed by the world on your shoulders at such a young age? How long have you had to turn down friends’ invites to parties with a forced smile because you had to go to work? How many times have you stared at a failing mark, teeth clenched because you studied well for it; your exhaustion just got the best of you and muddled your brain?

Satoru places the beer and dinner he’s got you on his way back home on top of your one-man dining table, pressing a kiss at the top of your head. You look so beautiful this way – unaware, unknowing, and focused in nothing but the future ahead of you that you don’t bother yourself with his past.

Perhaps…it was comforting, after all.

He’d rather have you worry over your own studies than worry about him. Satoru can’t stomach the idea of you – his precious angel – being involved in his own shit, possibly get caught between the crossfire. It pains him to say it, but he doesn’t want you getting too close for comfort.

So he stays there by your side, simply because it would expel all ideas of you wanting to be beside him. He’ll be right where you’re safe, and the sigh that leaves your lips when he moves you to your bed, fitting in his long, lanky bed on your cramped mattress an immense struggle. As if feeling that you’re finally home, you snuggle closer to his chest, murmuring sweet nothings that tug at his heartstrings.

Satoru rubs circles at your back, staring so hard at the chipped paint on your wall that he’s sure he’s got it burned in his memory.

Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve been satisfied with that. He should’ve held back in his desire to have more of you. He should’ve just tucked you in and left, but he was never really in control of himself. Before he knew it, he’s pulled in by you too much, encouraging him to move in with you under the lie it’s easier to keep an eye on you.

Had he just left you earlier…would things have been different then?

He’s asked himself this question too many times. Satoru always came to one conclusion. He loved you way too much that it consumed him, and soon the love he held for you slowly burned you inch by inch. The only way to save you was to pull away – but he wasn’t ready for that yet, not now – but he’s too scared, too deep in love that he ignores the warning signals and holds you close instead, finding comfort in the warmth of your arms.

Fuck. Satoru downs his second drink, glaring at everyone beneath his shades. Geto snickers beside him, sending side eyes to his boss every now and then just to check. Of course, Satoru’s not actually going to pass out, he was no lightweight, but he’d been uneasy every since that pretentious gold envelope landed on his desk.

One of the downsides of being a mafia leader meant you had to mingle with other clan shit, including him of all people. There were always new leaders popping out of nowhere, Satoru quote unquoting, criminals be spawning like maniacs.

For fourteen years – fourteen fucking years – his clan had been in bad blood with the Zen’ins. They were pretty new in the illegal side of business, starting off as a powerful name in the trade industry before they got interested in oil. One thing led to another, the family began to realize they could have so much more if they turned a blind eye to a law or to, soon shifting into illegal weaponry trade, human trafficking, then drug manufacturing.

These bastards had the audacity to insult the Gojo Clan when Satoru’s family dropped by to strike a contract out of curiosity to their goods, only to be turned down because they’re ‘barbaric’ and ‘informal.’

Satoru still remembers that humiliating moment of being escorted out by bodyguards, but he held his head high, vowing to show that bastard Zen’in guy that the Gojo’s were one of the powerhouses for a reason. He doesn’t even know where the elderly guy got his confidence from. Mafia business was not the same as their former expertise, yet they acted all high and mighty with their rules and standard of being sophisticated even in a life or death situation.

Gojo doesn’t know whether he should be happy or sad that the old man died, his son taking over just as soon as his father perished. He would’ve celebrated with a whiskey or two, except the new clan leader was quite adamant in cleaning up their name to prove he would not create the same mistake his father did.

The new leader threw a large cruise party, inviting pretty much everyone they were chummy with, and Satoru has never felt more out of place. He recognized a face or two, but he couldn’t really give a fuck. He hated events like this – it was all about establishing power and face.

Satoru groaned under his breath, swiping at another flute as a waiter passed by. He felt the bubbles fizzle down his throat, the slight burning sensation somewhat easing his nerves.

He leans back at the wall and checks his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. It’s been two fucking hours since they arrived, and the host still hadn’t arrived. If they planned on being ‘fashionably late’ Satoru won’t hesitate to slice someone’s neck tonight. He hates his time being wasted the most, and his eyes slid over to his friend’s still posture, looking like he just saw a ghost.

“Suguru,” he sighs through his mouth, “Don’t be so tense. This is a formal event – no blood will be shed tonight.” Suguru had a weird skill of being able to read Satoru’s thoughts that he raised his hands in surrender, silently promising that he’s not going to kill anyone.

“You’re not sure of that.”

“I won’t lose my composure, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he rolls his eyes, not looking back as he effortlessly places the empty glass back to another waiter. Satoru stands next to his friend, sucking his teeth out of boredom. Suguru, on the other hand, is tenser than ever, his eyes locked onto something in the middle of the crowd that began to cheer.

Faintly, somewhere at the back of his mind, Satoru hears someone whistle in signal. A few seconds later, the fireworks are lit and decorate the night sky, bursts of gold and beauty accompanying the entrance of the woman who’s so effortlessly caught everyone’s eye tonight.

Satoru is rooted to his spot, taking off his glasses the same time the crowd parts. Then, his breath is knocked away from his body, his heart pumping so hard he actually struggled to breathe.

Because you’re there, smiling and waving at the crowd as if it’s second nature to you. Seven years of being apart from one another and Satoru is still bewitched each time he lays his eyes on you. You’re the same…from your face down to the angelic feeling you always carried, but at the same time, you’re different. Gone was his precious angel who shied away from too much attention, his precious angel who would’ve never worn such a bodacious ring embedded on her left ring finger. Your smile is more charismatic, confident, and even fierce compared to the small, private ones you always shared with him – he almost couldn’t recognize you.

As if feeling someone’s eyes on you, you spot him leaning languidly against the walls, those lips you used to kiss turned downwards.

Seven years ago, you would’ve kissed him until he smiles again, singing to your pouty and clingy boyfriend who never voiced out the reason of his troubles. Seven years ago, he would’ve carried you and swung you around, showering you with affection as he reminds you how lucky he is to have you.

But this was no longer the past – that much is clear from when he left you without another word.

Still, you smile at him, an empty one that showed nothing but concealed anger. He was sure though, so fucking sure, that for a split second, he saw you light up. That may have been seven years ago, but you loved each other to the point of insanity – surely you still held some sort of fondness of him.

Satoru takes long, self-assured stride towards you, his gaze never leaving yours with his hands tucked into his pockets. There’s no telling what he’ll do, but in his mind, it’s clear.

You still love him, he still loves you. He’ll do something about it. It doesn’t matter what, he just will. That was until a young man closer to your age with blond hair and pierced earrings, narrow feline eyes lined with eyeliner hobbles beside you, his weight supported by a cane that Satoru stops in his movements.

He’d recognize that face anywhere.

The youngest and perhaps most mischievous leader of them all, Naoya Zen’in. Albeit not as hard-headed as his father in comparison with his rather laid-back and welcoming nature, Satoru knows a monster when he sees it. It takes one to know one, after all, and despite the heir being crippled from a former accident, his intelligence and power was not to be overlooked through his appearance and coy smiles.

In fact, he might even be more dangerous than his old man, this theory only proven when his arms snake around your waist. The matching rings gleam from under the light, and you press yourself closer to him to whisper in his ear, your attention very much still on Satoru.

Satoru’s entire body burns.

“Still there, Sir?” Suguru asks, gripping his boss’ bicep to hold him back. Smart of him, Satoru exhales through his nose, unable to stop his glare from darting to your husband’s.

He’s heard of you, of him, of how his most annoying rival had a phenomenal trophy wife who looked harmless at first look, but was actually the brains of most of his operations. Satoru forgets how to breathe normally because he’s heard of you, and the rumors he’s gotten wind of about Naoya’s trophy wife are nothing less of how dedicated and perfect the two of you are.

Slapping Suguru’s arm away from him, Satoru grits his teeth. “Get me a drink.”

His precious angel was gone. No, this woman that stood before him…you were an entirely different entity, something darker, something along the lines that were more like him.

What exactly happened the day he left you?

taglist: @ladywaifuuwrites​ @savantsoulfinder​ @my-reality-is-in-my-head​ tagging the ones who asked for part 2, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!