#probably not going to get it until i get my tax return

[the-kipsabian]

i dont wanna be awake but at least the alan wake 2 collectors edition looks so fucking good

[ms-demeanor]

Due to some stuff brought up in recent posts I believe it is time to once again extol the virtues of Ms-Demeanor's Patented Where Did I Put That Fucking Paper Organizational Binder.

Hello! I am a disorganized adult! This is the system by which I manage my important shit like pink slips for my car and medical records and tax information.

You're going to need:

A 3-Ring Binder

Transparent Sheet Protectors

Notebook dividers (optional but VERY useful)

A backpack (optional)

So the way this system works is you put the sheet protectors into the binder. You can either use the dividers to divide the binder into sections or you can label some of the sheet protectors to make different sections but what you are generally going to do is make sections of the binder labeled things like "taxes" or "vet" or "doctor" and put a few sheet protectors in each section.

Then all of your papers with important information get crammed in that folder. You don't organize them, you don't sort them by date, you don't alphabetize. You put things vaguely relating to taxes into the sheet protectors in the taxes section. You put things relating to cars in the cars section. You don't even attempt to make this readable - you're not using sheet protectors so that you can read each page and keep it legible, you're using sheet protectors because it's a cheap plastic bag that will sit nicely in a binder.

You CAN put stuff into the individual sheet protectors when you get it, but let's be realistic you probably WON'T do that, so just tuck individual papers into the front of the binder until you get to a critical mass of paperwork then take an hour to sit down and sort into categories and put it in the binder once every six months to three years (depending on how frequently you get paperwork). Sometimes these sections will outgrow their original allotted space - since my spouse had a transplant surgery the medical section has had to become its own folder - and that's okay. If you end up with multiple folders just keep them together (this is why the backpack is an option, and one I strongly recommend).

Because yeah, if my organization system relies on opening up a drawer and putting something where it belongs as soon as I get the paper, I will simply not be organized. It's not going to happen. But I can handle a messy stack of paper that sits in one place and grows until it is time to shove it into a binder. I can't organize things for thirty seconds a day every day but I can organize things for an hour once every year or so (maybe two hours every five years when I sort out stuff I don't need like copies of warranties for parts on a car I don't own anymore).

When my mom died she had about fifty pounds of paper files in her office that were neatly organized in a system that didn't make any sense to my dad, my sister, and I. I ended up sorting through those files for twenty hours, tossing out copies of paid invoices from ten years ago and student handbooks from my junior high school. I reduced one filing cabinet, two desk file drawers, and a foot-high stack to a six inch binder that I gave to my dad. My mom died five years ago; two months ago my dad asked me about a medical document and I was able to tell him to go look for it in the medical section of the binder. It was there, because ALL IMPORTANT SHIT GOES IN THE BINDER.

Where is my birth certificate? In the binder. Where is my tax return from 2017? In the binder. Where is the record of my dog's last rabies shot? In the binder. Where are the records for my life insurance? In the binder.

A lot of what people consider "being organized" breaks down to whether or not you can find the specific things that you're looking for. Does my binder look nice? Is it aesthetic? Does it have color-coded tabs and papers all laid out neatly? Absolutely fucking not. But if you ask me where to find a paper I know that I can do so within about five minutes of shuffling through the pile of letter-folded sheets that I pulled out of the appropriate section of the binder.

I've discussed the Where Did I Put that Fucking Paper Binder before, but now it is time to expand that concept to the Backpack of Important Shit.

You likely have Important Shit that does not fit in a binder. Some of my Important Shit that does not fit in a binder is stuff like jewelry and the spare key for my car. Other stuff - the reason I decided to bring this up at all - includes my backup hard drive and packaging (including product key codes) for pretty much all of the software that I own. This is also where I store printed out copies of the recovery codes for most of the online accounts that I have.

There's a lot of weird fiddly shit that we have to have that we might not access all that often. This is the kind of stuff that might end up in junk drawers or under sinks or in disused laptop bags or kicking around under a bunch of papers in a desk drawer.

It doesn't matter so much when that weird fiddly shit is a set of hex keys or a utility knife or a protractor or a copy of a student handbook but it DOES matter when it's something that you might need to put your hands on in a hurry. If your computer crashes, you're not going to want to track down the software in the back of a filing cabinet and the backup drive from somewhere in the bowels of your desk. If you lock your keys in your car you are not going to want to figure out if your spare is in a junk drawer or the old purse where you keep semi-important stuff or the tin on your desk that has buttons and pins and headphone covers. Just put it in the Backpack of Important Shit and when you need it you know where to look.

So anyway, if you are a person who is a minor disaster who has trouble finding important things when you need them please don't think that you have to get your life together and have a nice organized filing cabinet or clear plastic bins full of documents or a neatly divided storage closet where everything from board games to backup drives has its own neatly labeled place. Just assign ONE LOCATION for important shit and start putting the important shit there. It doesn't matter if you have a filing cabinet where you keep old copies of homework and printouts of online orders and family history records - you do not need to keep everything that is file-able in one place and depending on what level of catastrophe you are it might be detrimental to you if you try to do that. It doesn't matter if you have a jewelry box where you keep your collection of gauges and wrist cuffs; if you are going to stress out about where grandma's ring is when you're digging through your collection of cheap earrings and silver pendants then *do not keep grandma's ring or any other Important, Vital, Cannot Be Lost jewelry in with your day-to-day wear*.

I live someplace that has fires. My binder got upgraded to my Backpack of Important Shit when the fires were getting uncomfortably close to the house I was living in and I wanted to have one bag to grab if we had to get out fast. Once I did that, I never took the binder out of the backpack and the backpack has now made three moves with me and has meant that I've had my birth certificate handy when I needed it in the middle of a move between two states, I was able to provide a history of my cholesterol panel going back six years to a visiting nurse, and I was able to give the exact names and contact info of my spouse's previous surgeon to the hospital when I had unexpectedly moved to a new state with three bags and my work computer at the beginning of the pandemic.

Get yourself a backpack of important shit and a folder of where the fuck did i put that paper. It is so much easier to search a backpack for important shit than to go through an entire house and it is so much easier to flip through a binder than it is to dig through a filing cabinet.

Anyway good luck and happy adulting.

[zomb-core]

hello there.....

can you do a fic where carl has been out on a run for around 2 days (with his dad or something) and when he comes back the reader is literally in his bed sleeping soundly with their face in a pillow so he like sneaks up and lays with them until they finally wake up and just like cuddle yk

anyways yes ty i love you mwah mwah

in my arms | oneshot

pairing: carl grimes x fem!reader

synopsis: carl returns from a run to find you sleeping peacefully in his bed and decides to lay with you.

notes: fluff, fluff, and even more fluff!! timeline may be off.

Ever since the Saviors started ‘taxing’ Alexandria, the length of runs extended greatly going from maybe a few hours to a few days and sometimes even weeks. And with the deadline growing closer, Rick, Rosita, Carl, and a few others had gone out; they didn’t specify how long they would be gone, though. You had offered to tag along, partially because you were eager to help but also because it worried you not knowing how long Carl would be gone, but they declined claiming they had enough people and Rick needed someone to stay and look after Judith.

Instead, you had spent yesterday and today helping reinforce part of the wall and taking care of Judith. You were exhausted but you still managed to shower and snag one of Carl’s flannels (What can you say, you missed him). Since you were looking after Judith, you decided it would be easier if you just stayed there with her. It wasn’t like it was an unusual thing, it was your boyfriend’s house after all.

Judith was always fussy when Rick and Carl were away on runs, you typically didn’t mind, making sure to soothe her and reassure her they’d be home soon. It only became inconvenient when it was time to put her to bed. “Judith please, it is nearly midnight.” You had her perched on your hip, bouncing her softly. You could tell she was near surrendering because her crying became quieter and she had her face buried in your shoulder, and finally, she dozed off. 

You silently mouthed ‘thank you’ and placed her in her bed as gently as you could to not wake her up and tiptoed up to Carl’s room.

His bed looked so inviting and you were worn, to say the least, so you wasted no time crawling under the comforter and nuzzling your face into a pillow. You would admit, it would be a lot nicer if he was there to lay with you, but this was okay for now.

༻✧༺

The run had been cut short after Rosita had gotten a gnarly cut while escaping some walkers, she was fine overall but she did need a few stitches so they decided to head back. They reached the gates of Alexandria at about two in the morning, they hadn’t found much - a few cans of food and some bandages. They would have to go out again later in the week, but for now, they all were ready to rest.

Carl stumbled into his room, one hand working on taking off his boots and the other on opening the door. He discarded them by the door before taking notice of you. You were tangled in the blanket and had your face buried in a pillow, snoring softly. The sight of you brought a grin to his face, he hadn’t expected to see you until tomorrow so consider it a pleasant surprise.

After changing into more comfortable clothes and preparing himself for bed, he sneakily crawled into bed next to you. His hand found its way around your waist, pulling you closer so he could rest his face against your back. He was careful not to wake you, already astonished you were still asleep.

“Carl?” Well, never mind. “Is that you?”

You flipped over in his hold, coming face-to-face with him. “When did you get back?” You used your hand to cover a yawn; It was obvious you were still half asleep, probably exhausted he presumed.

“Just now, it got cut short,” He continued before you could ask any further questions, Everyone’s fine, don’t worry.” A kiss was placed between your brows. “Sorry I woke you.”

Instead of saying anything, you curled up into his chest and draped your arm over his torso allowing him to bury his face in your hair. He breathed in the scent of the shampoo you used - his shampoo, laughing to himself, he enjoyed it when you used or wore his things. Not in a weird possessive way, but rather that he liked the way it made him feel, all mushy and domestic.

You traced patterns on his waist through the fabric of his shirt, humming softly to yourself. His skin was warm, making you want to curl up into a ball and doze off, but you wanted to fight it for a few minutes more so you could enjoy his presence. He wrapped a strand of his fingers around his finger, mindlessly playing with it as he focused on the sound of you breathing. 

Carl’s lips grazed your scalp, his breath tickling your skin. It was nice to be close like this, especially after being apart even if it wasn’t for long. “Carl?”

“Hm?”

“I love you,” you spoke in an audible whisper, knowing it would be the last thing you said before falling back asleep.

“I love you, too.”

a/n: I know the saviors stole their mattresses but just ignore that. I also wrote this at like 2am so ignore if it's bad or rushed plus I haven't watched the walking dead in a hot minute :cry:

I hope this is up to your standards sof, I love you, and thank you for requesting!!

@hopingforgoodblogs @shadowybasementmiracle

if anyone wants to be added to my taglist let me know!! I write arcane and the walking dead :))

divider credit to @cafekitsune

[corydora-writes]

My Everything

Summary: You're Bruce Wayne's wife and a plus-size model. Tonight, you are attending a Wayne Charity Gala that you tenaciously put together! Bruce can't seem to take his eyes off you, and it's apparent that other affluent guests are equally captivated by you.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Plus Size Female Reader.

Warnings: Minors DNI! Fluff, and smut towards the end.

Word Count: 3,627

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing smut, and it's probably going to be my last. I much prefer writing fluff. Nonetheless, enjoy! x

Life as a plus-size model and being Bruce Wayne's wife often presented unique challenges. This year, you dedicated yourself to your modeling commitments for the Winter Season while actively participating in the meticulous planning and arrangements for the prestigious end-of-the-year Wayne Charity Gala. Balancing these roles was undeniably taxing, but the anticipation of quality time with your husband, free from his responsibilities as Batman, made it all worthwhile. 

After flawlessly applying your makeup, your stylist carefully guided you in putting on the stunning dress while you were blindfolded. You eagerly anticipated the first glimpse of the dress, specifically chosen and tailored just for you.

"Okay, love," Salah exclaimed excitedly, "you can open your eyes now." 

You gazed at your reflection in the mirror, and your mouth fell open in astonishment. The stunning silk dress draped in a luxurious emerald green hue was sleeveless, allowing the delicate stretch marks on your shoulders to peek through, a part of your beauty that you cherished and never concealed with makeup. The dress elegantly cinched at your waist, enhancing your figure and accentuating your bosom. With a playful and confident air, you kicked your leg forward through the intricate slit of the dress. 

"Salah, you have outdone yourself once again," you said with genuine admiration. "Your talent is truly unparalleled." 

You turned around to inspect the dress from behind.

"I don't recall seeing this exquisite piece on the runway this season. Am I the lucky one to be adorned in your remarkable prototype?"

"That's because it wasn't on the runway," Salah added. "And not a prototype." 

You turned to look at him with an eyebrow raised in confusion. 

"Who designed it, then?" You inquired. 

"Your husband did." 

"What?"

"A few months ago, he requested a custom-designed dress exclusively for you. I brought his vision to life."

A warm and tender sensation filled your heart.

"And," Salah began, " that's not the only thing he chose." His tone was mischievous.

"What do you mean?" you asked. 

"He chose that sexy lace set you're wearing underneath." he grinned. "He's so going to unwrap you after the gala."

You coughed softly and forced a smile, hoping to conceal the hint of a blush creeping up your cheeks.

—

Bruce had just finished getting ready at his office after several lengthy meetings at Wayne Enterprises and made his way to the manor to pick you up. He couldn't help but think about the elegant dress he had carefully selected for you. Knowing it was from your favorite designer and good friend made him hope you would love it as much as he did.

He dispatched final instructions to Dick, Jason, and Damian. They had been tasked with patrolling the city until his return from the charity event.

Just take the entire night off, old man, Dick replied. 

As he was getting ready to reply, he heard the door upstairs close. He instinctively slid his phone into his pocket and made his way to the base of the staircase, where the ornate wooden railing wound up to the upper floor.

Bruce found himself in rapt fascination as he watched you come down. Your gown was a work of art, embracing every curve of your figure with an effortless grace that demanded attention. A surge of longing coursed through him as he took in the sight of you.

Extending his hand, he met you at the final step, his touch both supportive and filled with quiet intensity as he assisted you.

Bruce's breath caught in his throat as he beheld you. 

"Wow, you are breathtaking," he stammered, his voice betraying his unsteady awe at the sight of you.

You smiled mysteriously as you gracefully walked away from him, and then, with a slow and deliberate twirl, you revealed every inch of yourself, captivating his attention.

"I hope this dress meets your approval, Mr. Wayne." Your voice was sultry and seductive, causing a surge of arousal in Bruce. 

"It more than meets my approval. You look positively stunning," he said earnestly, unable to take his eyes off you. 

He gently drew you close, pulling you towards him with a soft yet firm touch. His hands found their place on your waist as you responded by tenderly wrapping your arms around his shoulders, feeling the reassuring strength in his embrace.

As he leaned in closer, his warm and tender lips made contact with your bare, delicately exposed shoulder, leaving a trail of gentle, affectionate kisses.

He whispered in your ear, "What you're wearing underneath is for my eyes only," his breath ghosting across your skin, "a treasure that belongs solely to me."

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you experienced a momentary pause. Bruce's possessive nature emanated from a profound depth of affection, conveying a wholesome desire to protect and adore you.

He stepped back, gazing into your eyes with a tender intensity. 

"But I'm not entirely selfish," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I want the entire world to be captivated by the extraordinary beauty you possess," he confessed, his words lingering in the air. "But always remember, you belong to me, now and for all eternity." With a gentle yet firm grip on your waist, he drew you closer, his touch conveying both possession and adoration. Leaning in, he pressed his lips against yours. It was a kiss filled with passion and longing that conveyed all the emotions that Bruce had felt since he first laid eyes on you at the Art Gallery. And as you both pulled away, your eyes sparkled with adoration, your love for him evident in every gesture.

But your love for each other was not without its challenges. Your marriage was unconventional, but it didn't matter to either of you. Bruce had to balance his responsibilities as Batman and as your husband constantly. He tried to keep you at arm's length, afraid of putting you in danger, but you refused to back down. You were determined to stand by his side, no matter what, even if it meant sharing him with life as the Caped Crusader. 

But you couldn't deny that the dual life made things complicated. Whenever Gotham was threatened and needed Batman's attention, he had to leave abruptly, leaving you worried and alone. You also spent countless nights alone, only seeing him in the mornings. But you never complained. You understood the importance of Bruce's mission and always remained supportive.

Each time Bruce laid eyes on you, the world seemed to fade away, leaving behind a singular focus on you. In those rare, cherished moments, he had the opportunity to give you his undivided attention, and it was as if he was experiencing the exhilaration of falling in love with you all over again.

"Something on your mind?" You asked him because you noticed that he was lost in thought. 

Bruce shook away from his reveries. 

"You," Bruce replied. "And how badly I want to explore every inch of your body and show you how much you mean to me," he said in a low and husky voice. 

You blushed and smiled shyly at him. 

"I'll be patient, Mrs. Wayne." He looked at you and smirked as if reveling in your obvious flushed face. 

Bruce couldn't help but wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you closer as you both made your way to the car. 

—

When you arrived, a relentless barrage of camera flashes greeted you. Bruce appeared at the door, extending a supportive hand to help you up and guiding you towards him. His touch was gentle yet protective as his hand settled on your waist. He made it his mission to shield you from any potential dangers, including the relentless intrusion of the paparazzi.

"Can we get photos of you both individually?" One of the photographers yelled. 

Bruce got out of the way to let your photo get taken. 

You struck a pose, your hand on your hip and your head held high, exuding elegance and grace. The photographer snapped away, capturing every angle. Your smile was radiant, and it was evident that you were genuinely enjoying yourself. As you gazed out into the crowd, you could see the positive reactions from those around you. People were clapping and cheering, admiring your beauty and confidence.

The photographer asked for a few more poses, and you happily obliged. 

You shifted your gaze to Bruce and found him looking at you with an affectionate expression, a loving gleam in his eyes, and a gentle smile gracing his face. He had a tad look of mischief, likely undressing you in his mind. You returned the smile. 

"Now you, Bruce!" One photographer yelled, interrupting the moment you were both sharing.

"Not tonight," Bruce answered and walked away with you. 

Bruce kissed your forehead and wished you luck before leaving you to do your own thing while he mingled with the partners of Wayne Enterprises. 

The night progressed with a series of speeches by prominent artists. When it was time for you to speak, your words echoed through the hushed hall, reminding everyone present why they were there: to give foster children a chance at a better life. The funds would go to build an independent living facility for children, particularly teenagers who could not find placements. You shared your experience as a former foster child who aged out of the system, and you vowed to change that reality for other foster kids.

The crowd responded with a chorus of applause. Bruce cheered you on and felt immense pride for all the hard work you had done. 

The sophisticated guests wandered through the carefully curated art gallery, sipping fine champagne and other exquisite, high-priced liquors. As you contemplated a potential art addition to your office, your attention was drawn to a group of impeccably dressed women whispering and giggling, their envious eyes fixed on you. Feeling a pang of annoyance, you rolled your eyes and massaged your temples as their conversation reached your ears. It seemed like these events always managed to attract the same types of people: the typical wealthy individuals who generously spent money for a good cause to make themselves feel good, the ones who came with the mission to find any gossip, and those who murmured opinions on how you were an unlikely match for Bruce.

"Excuse me," you said in a warm tone and gave them a friendly smile, trying not to disrupt the moment. I couldn't help but notice that all of you have been staring at me." You uttered these words cautiously, in case someone discreetly captured the moment with their camera.

The women looked at each other, caught off guard by your courage to confront them.

"Oh, we couldn't help but notice your gorgeous dress. May I ask where you found it?" one of the women inquired, attempting to divert from their earlier discussion.

You let out a light chuckle, a knowing smile spreading across your face as you realize they are being untruthful. "Thank you for your kind words," you respond, unable to resist mentioning, "but I overheard your conversation."

The women's eyes darted anxiously, repeatedly adjusting their position to avoid meeting your gaze and showing unease.

"I couldn't help but overhear you discussing my husband, Bruce Wayne, and speculating about why he chose to be with someone like me," you said in a composed and collected tone, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you.

The women were visibly shocked by your unexpected confrontation. Their eyes widened, and their expressions turned to disbelief. They stood there, motionless, struggling to find the right words.

"I'm flattered…" you began.

The women gazed at each other, their brows furrowed in confusion as they exchanged perplexed looks, trying to make sense of the situation.

"You purchased a $15,000 ticket to this charity event, but instead of supporting the cause, you made my appearance the topic of conversation," you said calmly.

One of the women cleared her throat. As they sipped their drinks, a flush of crimson spread across their faces, betraying their unease.

Bruce's strong, comforting arm encircled your waist, and as he leaned down, you felt the warmth of his lips as he placed a tender and affectionate kiss on your cheek.

"Ladies," he remarked with a warm smile. "You all look lovely."

"Thank you", the women said shyly. 

"What were you all talking about, if I may?" Bruce asked.

"Love," you began. "The ladies were curious to know why you married me." 

Bruce's eyes met yours with a deep, enamored gaze.

"Yes, she is undeniably beautiful, and she's currently the most sought-after model," he said, pausing to gather his thoughts. "But my wife, she's not just outwardly stunning. Her compassionate nature, selflessness, and genuine care for others demonstrate that she possesses a heart that is truly pure and kind. She's an extraordinary mother to our children. I feel truly understood and seen for who I am in her presence."

You gazed at Bruce for a long moment, your expression tender. 

"I'm the luckiest man in the world." He leaned to press his lips against yours. 

"Mr. Wayne," someone from afar called him. 

"Excuse me, ladies." He turned to look at them. "Please enjoy the rest of your night."

Once Bruce reached a far distance, they turned to look at you. 

One of the women cleared her throat nervously before speaking with a shaky voice to apologize to you.

"Me too." The second woman said.

"So am I," the other one said. 

"If your apology is sincere, I will accept it as cash, credit, or check." You smiled and kept your tone neutral. 

Ordinarily, you wouldn't have directly addressed the situation. With age and experience, you worked diligently to develop self-love and gratitude for your body, so the pressures of society and critical gazes lost their significance eons ago. But you felt playful tonight, so you decided to leverage fatphobia to benefit the charity. 

—

The elegant gala was winding down, with most guests having departed. Bruce found himself at the bustling bar, conversing with a group of enthusiastic investors who had pledged generous donations to the charity.

Bruce excused himself from the gathering and found a quiet, secluded area. He reached for his phone and found a message from Dick: 

We're all fine. Goons being goons. Take the damn night, old man. Seriously.

Just as he was about to send a message, the murmur of the investors nearby caught his attention. Their conversation revealed their admiring remarks about your enchanting allure, casting a shadow of unease over Bruce's thoughts.

"How long do you give it until they split?" One said. 

"Trust fund kid turned CEO with a model?" one man quipped. "I give it two years at most."

"I can already imagine the tabloid headlines."

They laughed. 

"I call dibs."

Bruce's ears twitched. A flicker of anger crossed his face before he schooled his expression into one of haughty indifference. 

"Hey darling," you uttered sweetly and sat next to him. 

Bruce maintained his silence, offering no words in response.

"Bruce," you asked, your voice tinged with worry. "Are our sons okay? Did something happen to them?"

Bruce's unease dissipated as he gazed into your widened eyes, which had been filled with concern. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of guilt for causing you distress.

"No, the boys are fine."

He carefully observed the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, exhaling a sigh of relief.

"Then what's wrong?" You asked again. 

"I'm..." he hesitated. "I'm jealous." 

"What of?" you asked. 

"You see those men over there at the bar?" 

You nodded. 

"Your presence tonight set their tongues wagging." 

You chuckled. Your laughter was a sweet melody to Bruce's ears. 

"I belong to you, my love." You said. "And I always will."

He gently took your hand and led you away from the crowd and into a private space, away from prying eyes and ears. 

"You're intoxicating," his eyes smoldering with desire and a hint of possessiveness. "I can't bear the thought of you belonging to anyone but me." 

You smiled, your gaze locking with his. You caressed his face, savoring the fiery moment. 

"I'm terrified of losing you," he confessed, his voice trembling with raw emotion. "I constantly feel guilt and fear that I'm holding you back from a life of normalcy, perhaps with another man."

You were fully attentive while Bruce shared his thoughts, never interrupting him. It had taken him a long time to be vulnerable with you. Your unwavering resolve since the beginning gradually chipped away at his defenses. The once stoic, reserved man of few words, shrouded in an aura of melancholy and enigma, let his facade crumble until you saw the man behind the mask. You had become a balm to his wounds. 

"Bruce," the soft hum of his name escaped your lips as you gently reached out to hold his hand. "We are anything but ordinary, and that's what I adore about us. I don't crave a conventional relationship. I want you."

Enveloping him in your embrace, your love acted as a guiding light, casting out the lingering shadows that plagued his soul.

He leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

"Let's go home," he said. 

_______                           

You and Bruce retreated to the privacy of the opulent Wayne Manor. As you gracefully slipped out of the designer gown, revealing your ample body, Bruce's gaze lingered on you with unabashed desire.

You made your way to him, sat on his lap, and helped remove his tie. 

"you're stunning," Bruce breathed.

His hands explored every dip and curve with a reverence that made you feel worshiped.

He marveled at the feeling of your softness against his firm touch, the contrast between you igniting a fire within him.

"As much as I love this lingerie on you, I think it would look even better on the floor," Bruce whispered in your ear. 

With a flick of his fingers, he undid the clasp of your bra, letting it fall open and reveal your breasts. He ran his hands over them, feeling the softness of your flesh, and then leaned down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You let out a soft moan as he teased your nipple with his tongue. 

You reached down and started to undo his pants, freeing his hard, throbbing cock. You stroked it gently, feeling it twitch in your hand as he moaned with pleasure.

You kissed Bruce, his lips soft and gentle against yours. He could feel your body responding to his touch as your breath became increasingly ragged. He felt the heat between you two building, and he broke the kiss to look into your eyes.

"You're so beautiful," he reminds you again.

Then he lays you back gently, and you look up at him with desire. You help him unbutton his shirt and take it off, revealing his toned chest, and you can't help but run your hands over it, sending shivers down his spine. 

He moved down your body, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He reached to your belly, leaving trails of kisses.

'I love your body,' he murmured. 

He continued down, teasing you through the fabric of your panties. You gasped, your hips bucking as he finally slipped a finger under the fabric and into your wet heat.

He slowly fingered you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit as you moaned and writhed beneath him. You were so wet, so ready for him. He couldn't wait any longer. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and pulled them down, throwing them aside.

He climbed back up your body, his hardness pressing against your wetness. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, urging him on. With one swift thrust, he was inside you. You cried out, your nails digging into his back as he began to fuck you with long, hard strokes.

Your bodies moved together in a rhythm, your moans and gasps of pleasure filling the room. Bruce could feel an orgasm building inside him, tightening as he slammed into you again and again.

You pushed him off of you before he climaxed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and grinding your pelvis against his hard cock. Bruce could feel the heat radiating from your wet pussy, and he ached to be inside you.

'I love how you feel on top of me,' he murmured, his breath hot. "I love your softness, your curves, your warmth."

You reached down and guided Bruce's cock inside your wet slit. He groaned with pleasure as you sank down onto him, taking him all the way in. You began to ride him, your hips moving in slow, deliberate circles. Your hands braced on Bruce's chest. You began to ride him harder, your hips slamming down onto his cock with force. Bruce could feel himself getting close to the edge, feeling himself tighten with pleasure.

With a final, powerful thrust, Bruce came hard inside you, his cock twitching as he filled you. You collapsed onto him, your own orgasm washing over you in waves.

"I love you,' he gasped, his breath hot against your neck. 'You are my everything."

In that intimate embrace, he held you with a fervent tenderness, a sensation he never wanted to fade from memory. His heart overflowed with a desire to immortalize this profound moment: the gentle weight of your presence in his arms, the vulnerability shining in your eyes as you yielded to the depth of his affection, and the unspoken declaration of love reflected on your radiant face.

"I love you," you whispered back, your voice choked with emotion. "I love you so much."

[on-a-lucky-tide]

"You need your ACL reconstructed."

Price stared at the doctor as she leafed through the scans of his stupid bloody knee, blinking rapidly as he tried to process just exactly how fucked he was. He was running the calculations and the answer was coming up: significantly.

After it had given out on a recent yomp with Bravo Company, he has given in and skulked into medical like a whipped hound. There was only so much ibuprofen a man could neck with his coffee before it became farcical. His stomach was beginning a small revolt. Eventually, his mind unable to accept what it had just heard, he cleared his throat. "Come again?"

She sighed, running a hand through her neat crop of grey hair. After dealing with his bullshit for nearly twelve years, she had no patience left for it. "You're having surgery John, and I'm signing you off for four weeks after. From there, it'll be six months before you return to the field."

"Not happening." Price pushed off the gurney and did a rather shite job of hiding the wince as his knee gave another unwelcome spasm when his foot hit the floor. He remembered the landing that had finally done it; a routine jaunt through Belgrade. Nothing too taxing. Uneven ground, some loose gravel and a distraction because of static through Comms, and he'd gone arse over tit. Gaz had been amused until he realised Price had been struggling to get back up again.

Fucking embarrassing.

"You can huff and puff as much as you want, captain. My decision's final," she said, emphasising his rank to put his impending tantrum in perspective, and then, for good measure, "also, your cortisol levels are high, which is probably why you're getting a bit soft in the midsection. The time off is needed."

"Olright, Janie, bloody hell, no need to go for the throat." He placed a hand on his belly, prodding the layer of give with a sad sigh. "What the fuck am I meant to do for four weeks?"

"Read, go fishing, binge Netflix, catch up with family. You know, what normal people do for R&R..." She glanced up at him and rolled her eyes at the deep frown on his face. "Stop thinking of ways to bribe and blackmail me. I'm booking the surgery for a week's time."

"A week isn't long enough."

"Tough shit. Lost your appetite recently? Belching like a retired general at a Number 10 dinner?"

Price squinted. "Yeah."

"Congratulations, you gave yourself a stomach ulcer by slamming the ibuprofen like Polos," Janie murmured, turning over her notes to annotate her recommendations. "Four weeks--

"--fockin' hell, come in with a limp and leave in a fockin' body bag--"

"--so that's five weeks enforced leave."

Price opened his mouth to argue the toss but it clicked shut when she raised an eyebrow at him. He knew better than to push his luck. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me marm, John. It makes me feel old." She tapped her biro against the clipboard and then gripped it against her stomach, her head tilted, as she considered his miserable sulk. "You need to consider that promotion in the next few years."

"It'll take me outta the field," Price grumbled.

"If you snap something else at the wrong moment, then a bullet's going to take you out of the field. Think it over."

Nikprice Hurt/Comfort?

Yeah, it's Nikprice Hurt/Comfort.

[daddysfangirls-marvel]

Polyamorous: Baby Tax

Steve rogers x female! reader x Bucky Barnes/ Stucky x female!Reader

Warning: fluff, baby talk

Ian West Rogers- Barnes, formally known as Ian West, was 15 months old and had been in the Roger-Barnes home for seven months since being released from the hospital. After being told his younger mother's story, they also received her ashes as well. They now sat in the living room along with a picture of her. She would not be forgotten or replaced. 

The Rogers-Barnes family had come together to welcome Ian into the home. Ash took three months off of work to get to know her new little brother and take care of her parents, yes, parents. As she had read somewhere that new parents often struggled the first few months and didn't take care of themselves. And they weren't letting a lot of people around or help due to Ian's health issues. So she stuck around to make sure they had help, took care of themselves, and that they adjusted well to the new arrangement. Going for that Daughter of the Year award.

Steve and Rogers also took three whole months off and then returned to part-time routines. Part-time routines, as in they returned to work as part-timers, but they route which of them would go to work and who would stay home and work and switch every two weeks. Unless something important or urgent happened, one of them would always be home. And this arrangement would last for the next six months. 

(Y/n) however, was and would always be home as she was a licensed and veteran nurse, and Ian had health issues. She took the first four months off completely to focus on baby Ian and only returned to work from home. She also allows herself to be put on call, but only for emergencies. She would not return to the compound until Ian's health issues were resolved or were no longer a serious threat. Everyone understood and did their best to never need her. 

Seven months into this arrangement, everyone they should be was back to work, to some extent. And the parents had rightfully given up.

NOT give up on Baby Ian but given up on all the parenting books and mommy and daddy blogs, realizing that they weren't helping any and, if anything, were causing more frustration and creating unattainable standards. They simply did the best they could and as they pleased as long as baby came out healthy and happy. 

This is probably why Pepper was looking at (Y/n) so bewildered. 

Pepper was seven months pregnant and came over to ask for some parenting advice to help prepare. Now she was currently sitting at the kitchen counter and watching (Y/n) with Ian on her hip make a drink and watching Ian stick his little fingers in every ingredient she pulled out. 

"Um... is that sanitary?"Pepper asked as she held her glass of water closer. 

" His hands are clean, and it's only a little milk and whipped cream. The consequences will be in his diaper, and I'll pass that on to Steve." (Y/n) joked. 

"Does he always do this?" 

"If I'm holding him and making something, yes. He likes to taste mommy's food. I don't hold him while I use the stove and such."  (Y/n) gave him a pacifier so she could have her frappuccino in peace. 

"You said you wanted advice? Don't be afraid of germs or messes. This baby is very messy and touchy. I can assure you your baby's fingers will be in everything. Their mouth, your mouth, your hair, your food, everything." 

(Y/n) moved to the living room, and Pepper followed. She put Ian on the floor mat with some toys before joining her on the couch.

" I don't think I have a lot of advice, and the advice I do have, I don't want to"

Pepper looked at her, confused. 

"My baby has sleep apnea and underdeveloped lungs. I'm not going to give you advice on that, Pepper, because I pray your baby won't end up like that." It was then Pepper truly looked at her and realized how exhausted (Y/n) looked, not in the way of not sleeping but in the way of someone who worried and pulled out their hair. Someone who had experienced and felt so much that they just couldn't anymore. She could still feel, but she could no longer find it in herself to react to her feelings. 

" If you ever want-"

"Absolutely not."

"I didn't -"

"You were going to say, 'If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here'. No, Pepper, you worry about your own baby, but I'm not going to dump any of mine on you. I won't do that. Not right now, at least. Maybe once he's healthier and started biting my ankles. But not when he is like this... I'm sorry." 

"You're sorry?"

"You came for advice. I don't have much to give." 

 " But you have." Pepper pat her on the back " You have shown me little of what I am to prepare for. Tiredness, fingers in all my food."

"Bucky calls it the Baby Tax—payment for always having baby close. Don't be discouraged by the sanitary implication or the mess, Pepper. It's a very good price." 

"She's right," Steve said as he came around the corner. It was his time to be home. He kissed (Y/n) forehead and squeezed Pepper's shoulder before joining Ian on the floor. "I, too, thought it disgusting and unhealthy at first, but over time...it's just adorable now. In the realm of Baby taxing, keep your baby clean and watch what you eat or make. Everything should be fine."

"The way you talk, you'd think this was your 3rd baby," Pepper chuckled. 

"I think we just got into too many parent blogs and books. Dove head first into those too many expectations and high standards. I think those Blogs forget each situation, and each baby is different." Steve said as he pulled Ian onto his chest. " Hey, that's some good advice. Your baby is different from all the other babies in the world. Remember that, and You'll figure out the rest on your own."  

"While we can't give you advice on birthing or raising your pretty baby, I can advise you on cleaning messes and where to buy certain products such as toys, clothes, and food."

-

"How is prep going?" Bucky asked Tony. 

Tony was aware Pepper was at his house and caught a ride with him after work so he could bring his wife back without taking another car. 

"Prep?"

"Prep for the baby. You got less than 10 weeks left."

"Yeah, the nursery is done. Diapers, wipes, and toys—we got all the goods." Despite talking it out over the years and getting past the obvious, Tony found it awkward having this conversation with Bucky. The two weren't friends, more like a friend of my friend type of situation. Besides the initial short talk about his parents, the two had never had a conversation with just each other, nor were they ever left alone ( unless for work/a mission).

"That's good. If you need anything, Steve and I are here for dad stuff." That was definitely not what he was expecting. He didn't really know how to react to that.  They sat in silence for a few minutes with just that. 

"How is the dad stuff?"

"It's ah going pretty good. A few hick-ups, but that's to be expected.....It's actually ... I'm not having the problems I thought I would."

"Like what?" Tony asked cautiously.

"My arm," Bucky whispered, looking down at the medal appendage. Bucky had two different prosthetics. One for work - heavy vibranium metal, bulletproof, explosive proof, with super strength ( a quarter stronger than his actual strength), with a heating and cooling system. And one for home- lightweight, light Vibranium metal, bulletproof, with an attached nerve system, so he could feel everything like a normal hand. "Thank you, by the way."

"She knew you'd worry about it," Tony said. (Y/n) had approached him about Bucky's arm before they adopted the boy. She knew his fear and asked Tony to make something infant-friendly. Truly, all he did was make it more lightweight, take away the strength, and make sure he could feel his child with both hands. " I was happy to help."

"My dreams,"  while his trip to Wakanda cleared his mind, he still had nightmares from time to time and woke up violently. Fortunately, Steve and (Y/n) were always there to bring him back. "Work, enemies. We've got a lot."

"yeah, we do," Tony said. " Good thing we got Stark and super soldier security. No one is getting through our front door unless we want them to." 

"And if they do, we'll kill them."

"So violent." Tony walked back to his workbench.

" Don't dive into parenting books and blogs. That is my dadvice to you."

"Dadvice"

"Oh, diaper duty is your duty, at least for the first month." Tony made a stink face and shivered. Bucky Chuckled " Should have worn a condom then."

Inspired by Tiktok

[sirfrogsworth]

Froggie's (Almost) Very Productive Day 2: Electric Boogaloo

So, the plan was to have my one productive day and then rest for however long the consequences of post exertional malaise decide they want to take.

But I needed to bring the working key fob back to the tire place so they could calibrate the tire pressure sensors. So, the day after my day, I napped until about 4pm and summoned the last bit of energy I had to finish this task.

After they fixed the sensors, I looked out over a beautiful sunset in the Discount Tire parking lot.

It's weird the places you find beauty sometimes.

I was about a mile away from my family's favorite pizza place. We've been going there since I was a tadpole. So I decided to grab a pizza as my Thanksgiving meal.

I didn't realize that the day before Thanksgiving would be just about the busiest night of the year. And they have the world's worst parking lot, half of which is a steep hill, and they didn't have enough spaces.

Google Maps has flattened the appearance of the hill. That thing is nearly a 40 degree angle. If anyone with a sports car wants a pizza, they are going to scrape their paint trying to get it.

So, I tried to park around back. Unfortunately someone was exiting the back parking lot and there is only one lane.

So... I backed up... into a pole.

I was going extremely slow and I barely tapped it. But I still felt pretty stupid. Thankfully no scratches or dents.

I finally find parking and head inside.

The Italian kitsch is always a "welcome" sight.

Every time I look it takes me like 10 seconds to figure out the configuration of his face. I find it is best to look at the mustache first, and then orient yourself from there.

I head to the counter and she asks for my name, assuming I am picking up a phone order. I explained I was just "dropping in" and then she gave me an "oof" face. The wait was nearly two hours. I told her I could get a few things from the grocery store and return for my pizza. She charges my card and I hop back in my car. Just as I was about to exit the parking lot of doom, a customer from Angelo's starts yelling at me.

"You forgot your card!"

Clearly my brain fog is starting to get to me. I left my damn bank card on the counter. So I have to exit the parking lot, drive into another parking lot, turn around, and then park again. I retrieved my card and headed to Nice Schnucks.

The GPS took me on a wild journey to the NS. I've lived in this area for 40 years and I had no idea some of these roads existed. I'm sure it was 3 minutes faster or whatever, but I think I would have preferred a route with streetlights. Unlit streets give me a bit of anxiety. Especially if I don't know them.

I get to NS and realize I was about to have the same problem I did at the pizza place. It was the night before Thanksgiving and the entire neighborhood was scrambling to get food for the next day.

I filled up on soups, frozen pizzas, and I got a few more bottles of my beloved soda. There is a Shirley Temple flavor I have yet to try. (Update: A rare Fitz's fail. Tasted like cough medicine.) And then I headed to the madness of the self-checkout.

I managed to kill about an hour, but my legs were getting wobbly. I really shouldn't have gone back out this soon. And I probably should have just headed home after the car was fixed. But I feared if I didn't do *something* special for Thanksgiving I would probably have a difficult time being all alone.

I head back to Angelo's. This time I was able to park in front and avoid hitting any poles.

The pizza was cooking and needed another 15 minutes. So I sat at a table and worked on finishing writing my to-do list for my trip to Florida. I was trying to tell Amazon that, yes, I do want a tiny bottle of shampoo to comply with the TSA security theater. But, no, I do not want 8 tiny shampoos.

Oh, did you know they charge you a "9/11 tax" when you buy a plane ticket?

Spirit Airlines has a pretty funny alternative name for it...

"After 9/11, the U.S. implemented the “9/11 Security Tax”, which was a fee of $2.50 each way of a trip on top of the price of a plane ticket. In 2014, the 9/11 Security Tax was increased to $5.60 each way. So, for a round trip this fee would cost $11.20"

We are literally still paying for 9/11. And there is no evidence the enhanced security does much of anything.

So we pay this tax so they can force us to buy tiny shampoo and go through scanners that have to detect and blur our genitals so the TSA agent can't see.

Anyway... I finally get my pizza and head home. When I pulled into my driveway I noticed a bright moon in the sky. It looked so massive compared to other nights, so I tried to capture a moon selfie.

As a photographer, I should have realized that a wide angle lens is not going to capture how big the moon looked in the sky that night. Wide lenses exaggerate distance. So things close to the lens look huge and things far away look tiny. That's why we look like aliens if we hold our smartphones too close to our face. To the lens on your camera, the distance from the tip of your nose to your ears is quite vast. Which meens a celestial body that is 240,000 miles away looks like a tiny dot in the picture.

I still kept trying.

That could be a moon I guess.

Umm, Froggie... you got some moon in your hair.

Later I did try to capture the moon with my DSLR and an 80mm lens, but I guess the moon is just really far away or something.

ENHANCE!

A.I. upscaling reveals it is, in fact, the moon.

I ate my pizza and did a quick tire test and photoshoot.

And then I spent way too long Photoshopping this X-wing flying into my deep-as-heck tire tread.

And that was my day after the day.

Today, which is currently Thanksgiving, I slept.

I slept all night.

I slept most of the day.

I still want to sleep.

Weirdly, I am too tired to feel lonely. Though now that I wrote that, I am thinking about my parents being gone, so I just screwed that up.

But hey... at least my pizza was tasty.

[numberonetacostan]

Taco…but she wins s1.

Taco gets the million, makes her own little apartment complex for everyone. And she thinks that finally, she can drop the dumb mask…but people start doing work for her because they think she’s too dumb to figure them out (taxes). They’re nice to her. Help her run the apartment, let her be as silly as she wants to be.

They’ve known her for years as this persona. So she has to keep up her disguise; it’s gotten her so far. To abandon it all and do a personality shift would probably kill everyone’s trust in her (and also then she’d have to do her own taxes). So for years she continues to keep playing the character she thought she’d be able to abandon once the game has ended.

And then one day she breaks and comes out as British LOL

Hi!!!! Thank you for sending in a headcanon!!!!^^ I LOVE THE IDEA OF TACO WINNING SO MUCH. SHE WAS BUILT TO WIIIIIIIIIIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love her staying silly because they're all nice to her!!!!!! Taco suddenly has to grapple with the feeling of guilt that she was NOT supposed to feel. Her plan was to take the money and go, not to get ATTACHED. But she did!!! Oopsies. Them doing stuff for her would also be quite the bonus!!!!! Taco would commit tax fraud if they weren't doing it for her.

I like to think that Taco would build herself a mansion!!!! A big one!!!!!! And she'd even have a room specifically for Pickle to live in after all he did to help her win. And then. Everyone else would move in too. She did not want that. But she can't break character to tell them to leave. So she has a bunch of freeloaders in her mansion.

But she keeps up the act for so very long!!!! Until she comes down one morning and it's a complete disaster. The furniture is broken, there's food everywhere, windows are shattered, and most of the contestants are asleep on the floor. She'd snap and break character to start yelling at them!!! "Get up, you filthy freeloaders! I feed you, let you use my amenities, let you into my home, and this is how you treat it!?! It is a complete disaster in here!! How did you even manage to turn the sofa inside-out?! Why!? *sigh* You know what. You know what? I don't want to know. Listen up, all of you. I will come back down in one hour exactly. We will pretend that I did not see this mess. So, when I return, everything better be just as I left it last night. Or else every single one of you will be banned from my manor, permanently. Except you, of course, Pickle. Are we clear?" "..." "Are. We. Clear?" *murmurs of agreement.* "Thank you."

Anyways uh yeah after this they all think that if Taco gets angry or stressed enough she turns British. They don't really get it but hey it's Taco anything can happen.

[em-harlsnow]

Something I’ve had in my mind for a while, so I did a little speed-write:

When he gets back from his therapist, Mickey’s on the couch with his laptop open in front of him.

He doesn’t make a big deal of anything, just looks up, smiles and asks how it went. Today it wasn’t too taxing, just one of the fortnightly appointments that they can afford now. Ian smiles back.

“It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Mickey looks up from the laptop, paying full attention.

He blows out a breath. “Yeah. It was fine, really. Nothing huge.” He says, because nothing huge was revealed, nothing huge was said. Therapy just takes a lot out of him energy-wise.

“Okay.” Mickey replies, placing a hand on his knee, squeezing, and then returns to the screen.

“What are you looking at?” Ian asks, trying to peak.

“That stupid shit you like. Pin Interest or whatever the fuck.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “You like it, Mick. And I know you know it’s called Pinterest.”

Mickey shrugs.

“So, what are you looking at on Pin Interest?” He smirks and Mickey snorts.

“Tattoo ideas. I was thinkin’ of getting another one.” Mickey’s gaze is laser focused as he scans through images, saving some and scowling at others as if they personally offend him.

Ian’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Where do you want it?” He tries to picture his husband with more tattoos and very much likes the image. He likes his current ones too much to not want him to get more.

“I dunno, man. Some sleeves are cool. But they take ages to build up. Maybe just one on my shoulder to start.”

“That sounds good.” Ian tries to get closer, but he still can’t really see what Mickey’s looking at. “Can I see?” He asks, pointing at the device.

Mickey sighs like he’s the most annoying fucker on the planet, but he tilts the screen towards him anyway.

He can see now that Mickey’s searched up ‘black tattoo shoulder men’ and there are just piles on piles of buff men with shoulder tats.

“I like the snake one.” Mickey tells him, pointing at the picture he means. It’s a serpent winding around the top of the guy’s arm, tangling together and going down to the bottom of his bicep.

“Yeah, that one’s cool.” Ian agrees. “What about that one?” He points at one with a fine lined dragon reaching onto the guy’s peck.

“I guess, but I don’t want it too thin, you know? When they do it too intricate, the lines all blur together.” Ian hums in assent.

“Show me what you already have saved.”

Mickey clicks through the website, and Ian catches a glimpse of his pre-existing boards before he goes to the tattoo one. There’s one called ‘wedding’ and one called ‘apartment’ and one called ‘dope shit’. The cover photo of ‘dope shit’ is an aesthetic image of two beers and two cigarettes clasped in two hands. Ian’s not really surprised that this is what Mickey considers to be ‘dope shit’.

In the folder is a lot of similar things. Snakes, dragons, one cat with bat wings. One looks like a weird cross between a gun and a dagger. They’re all pretty hot, and Ian tells him about his favourites.

“I was thinkin’ of drawing it myself. I don’t wanna just copy what someone else has.”

“What did you do for this one?” Ian asks, grasping Mickey’s forearm.

“Drew it.” He explains simply, eyes not leaving the screen.

“Yeah? It’s good. You should draw the next one, too then.”

Mickey hums in agreement but continues to browse the website, probably looking for ideas.

Ian clicks on the TV, starting up an episode of New Girl while Mickey’s distracted.

They sit in peaceful silence for a while, until Mickey speaks again.

“There’s a tattoo place up the street. The reviews seem good. Don’t wanna go somewhere if they’ll just fuck it up.”

“That’s true.” Ian pauses. “If you’re getting one, I might get one too.”

Mickey raises his eyes brows in that expressive way of his. “You want a new tat? Fuckin’ copy cat.” He grumbles, but with the way he looks Ian up and down he can tell he’s not opposed.

“Yeah, been thinkin about it for a bit.”

“Oh yeah? What you thinkin, tough guy, I’ll look up some ideas.” Mickey suggests, already looking back at ‘Pin Interest’.

“Don’t worry, I already know what I want.”

When he doesn’t say more, Mickey huffs impatiently. “Gonna keep me waiting all night or what?”

Ian smirks and leans forward. “I was thinkin’ of an ‘MM’ tattoo, right here.” He tells him, pointing at a spot on the inside of his wrist.

Mickey looks surprised, and fond, and happy all at once. Even so, he tuts at him. “Tshc, you don’t have to do that just because I got your name.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “I fuckin’ know that, dork. I like the idea of having a more permanent thing than the rings.”

“Yeah, coz you keep fuckin’ losing your rings.”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t want it to fall down a drain or something, Mick.” He laughs, exasperated. “But a tattoo won’t fall down the drain.”

Mickey looks at him, and he’s so happy that Ian can’t help but wind their fingers together.

“You don’t want it to look like Mandy Milkovich, though. Gotta get my middle initial, too.”

“Wouldn’t her initials be ‘AM’? For Amanda?” Ian raises his eyebrows. Mickey scrunches his.

“Oh yeah.”

“You hate your middle name, anyway. And ‘MAM’ looks like I got something for my mum, I want this for you.”

“Yeah, you already got those titties for Monica.” Mickey jokes lightly and Ian pushes his side.

<3333

i might write a next part, where they actually go get them!

[ahedderick]

Snow flurries

Roll out of bed, dogs out for potty break, cats (starving! unloved!) fed, woodstove stoked. I got the idea to make hot mash for the hens out of their regular feed, so I tried chucking chicken pellets and water and some cooking oil and some leftover squash in a pot to heat up. I miscalculated and ended up scorching the bottom of the pot a bit, but they seemed pretty darned enthusiastic about getting a warm meal.

I got myself tidied up for an early doctor's appointment. Just a checkup, but I thought I'd ask {again} if there's anything that can be done for my wonky shoulder. Off I went into the icy morning. That's when things started going off the rails.

First, my 'check oil' light came on in the car. The oil was changed less than 1000 miles ago . . so it shouldn't be running low yet. When I got to the Dr's office and tried to check in, the receptionist told me that my appointment . . is actually next Tuesday. I goofed when putting it on my calendar last year. I trudged back out to my car to drive home. That's when my warning light for gas came on. I had forgotten to check it when my son and I came back from our little trip Tuesday. I wasn't too far from a station, and filled up. But I was starting to feel a little on edge!

I had other errands I was supposed to run in the afternoon, but that will have to wait until I can take it to get the oil issue checked. I decided to sit down with my tax paperwork and last year's taxes, to see if I could figure out a question I had about last year's retirement contribution. It was a nice round number, so I figured I could skim the [lengthy] 2023 IRS return and find it easily.

Mmmm. Nope. So I started skimming to try to find line item for IRA contributions. Found that - but it didn't have a value. I'm more than reasonably sure I made a contribution. I wanted to avoid calling the accountant with questions, but I ended up having to do that. Talked to his assistant, who was nice, but didn't know that answer to my question. This could have been . . such a simple chore. Alas.

In despair, I started undecorating the Christmas tree. I managed that with only one ornament broken (sheesh) and dragged the 9-foot-tall tree outside and down the steps. Way-to-go, me! Then I got to send half an hour setting the living room to rights, including extra vacuuming and many, many little cedar prickles.

The beasts will probably miss it, but it is nice to have more room in the living room again.

I walked the dogs (and cats) up in the woods while snowflakes fell softly all around us. It was pretty, and Rosalie enjoyed many dramatic zoomies. I need to cheer myself up a bit. Hmm.

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Honeysuckle - Roy Kent x Reader

Honeysuckle (Lonicera) - Meaning: Devotion, affection

Summary: Reader is sick, Roy takes care of them.

Pairing: Roy Kent x Reader

Word Count: 646

Warnings: Language, Reader has a nasty cold, workaholicism, Roy tough loves the reader, Roy being adorably attentive and protective.

Here's a quicky for Day 13! I may have written this cuz I've been fighting a sinus infection and want this hairy foul-mouthed bastard to take care of me cuz I know he'd be amazing at it.

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are always appreciated! ❤️

“No fuckin’ way, love,” Roy declared, snatching your work phone from your hand despite your protest. You’d managed to sneak it up to your bedroom without him noticing. Or, at least, you thought you had. 

“Roy, come on, I need to—” you said before another wave of hacking coughs overtook your airway, making it impossible to continue. 

“No, you’re not fuckin’ workin’ when you’re fuckin’ sick. Taxes your immune system too much, so no I won’t be giving your fuckin’ phone back,” he explained, tucking your work phone in his back pocket and well out of your reach. “But I will give you your iPad, which I disconnected from your work shit.” 

“You do know my work shit directly affects you, right?” you asked through a smile. You ran the Richmond AFC account for KBPR, which was a pretty hands-on assignment. 

“And Keely told you they would handle it while you’re out,” Roy reminded. You were loath to take a sick day, let alone two in a row, but Keely had insisted over FaceTime that everything would be handled while you got better. She and Roy had practically bullied you back into bed this morning. 

You groaned, leaning back into your pillows. “Fine. I won’t work today. I’ll just sit around and watch daytime telly like a lazy, boring lump and have no purpose.” 

“Oi!” Roy’s sharp tone almost made you startle. Bewildered, you looked at him and saw his brows were drawn down, the firm line of his mouth and tightness in his jaw all suggested his frustration. “That’s enough outta you. You are not only the hardest working person I know, you’re also fine as all hell and fuckin’ deserve to have a few days off, especially when you’ve basically become a mucus factory and can’t even breathe through your fuckin’ nose, alright?” 

This was the tone he used when players were being too hard on themselves. The tone he used whenever he was trying to boost someone’s confidence. His tough love tone. Yeah, it was tough, but it was fueled by his love for you so you took his words to heart. 

“Okay, okay,” you cajoled and he nodded sharply, disappearing from the room only to return moments later with a tray — where did he get a tray? You were sure you didn’t own one — full of things. He put it on the empty spot on your bed where he usually slept. 

“Alright, ya got your iPad, tv zapper, tissues, meds, that cinnamon tea you like, a little pot of honey, some cough drops, some chocolates, that trashy romance novel you’ve been reading, and I put your mug warmer on your nightstand in case the tea gets cold. I gotta go run training, but I’ll be back in a few hours to check on ya. If you need anything in the meantime, text me, yeah?” 

“Yeah, Roy, I will,” you promised. 

“I mean anything, more tea, whatever. Don’t lift a fuckin’ finger, I’ll send Will over to — ya know what, I’ll just have him come over now in case—” He looked down at his phone, starting to text, but you put your hand on his forearm to stop him. Your heart swelled with love for this man, and you couldn’t help but beam at him. 

“Roy, you don’t need to send Will to babysit. I’ll be okay until you get back.” 

“You sure, love?” he asked, looking at you like he wanted to secure you in bubble wrap. 

You coughed, then stretched a little. “Yeah, I’ll probably just go back to sleep.” 

Roy nodded, “Good. Get your rest.” His phone chimed. “I gotta go, Beard wants to meet early about Man City’s defensive line.”

“Right, you go, I’ll stay here and nap.” 

Roy bent over and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. “Love you.” 

You beamed up at him, “Love you more.” 

[maxisanangrywell]

Simon has scars, Simon has trauma-- Okay so imagine this.

Trauma often causes your body to break down not just mentally, but physically. Often, in the most extreme cases of trauma, your brain gets rewired to think/act/and distribute electro signals a certain way. Childhood trauma has been studied so intensively, that doctors have determined it can also suppress vital bodily functions, like digestion or even your immune system, possibly causing autoimmune disorders.

Me, I'm 21, with a couple of different disabilities from my trauma, so I'm drawing from experience.

What if, and hear me out, Simon starts, gradually over the next couple of years, getting some weird joint pains. Just, like it feels achey, and not quite right. Like he was down with a cold. It comes and goes, and he's not entirely sure when it started. He's always sort of had joint pains, I mean, look at his job? It's not only incredibly intense, and taxing physically AND emotionally, but he constantly is over working his joints. So, he thinks nothing of it.

Except, over the next few months it doesn't go away like he thinks. Oh well, right? He goes to the med bay, they check his symptoms, they check everything, and just simply find nothing. They have no reason to do blood work, or x-rays. He's not injured, and it doesn't sound like he's pulled anything or snapped any tendon. They tell him if it persists, to come back in. They give him Ibuprofen, Acetaminophen, and a N-SAID to trade off between the three, and help with any swelling or discomfort. All Simon's symptom points to, is the over work of the joints. I mean, hell, he's been in the SAS for years now, with about a decade or two of more service on top of that. He's considered old by the SAS, almost at the stage where they'd pull him off the field if he even sprains an ankle. So, he doesn't think anything of it, and refuses to go to med bay.

Without failure, the symptoms just sort of pile up gradually over the next four years. The joint pain is accompanied by stiffness and swelling. The joints, primarily in all his finger joints, wrists, and knees hurt, are red, and hot to the touch. His left hip is starting to get painful enough that he has to stretch and stay in his room for the first hour-and a half when he wakes. Otherwise, he'd be seen hobbling down the hall and that isn't good. He'd surely be sent to med bay.

So, Simon deals with it. Until one night, he's on a mission, and his joint stiffness catches up to him. Johnny has to help move him when they get under fire, and his hands and fingers hurt so bad he can't properly grab the gun and fire it. It takes him a few minutes, but he eventually returns fire. Johnny having seen the struggle, reports it to Price, who almost immediately sends him to med bay to get almost every fucking test done under the book.

"Obviously it's not just joint pain and stiffness of age anymore, Simon. I need you to be 100% out on the field. If not for you, then for Johnny. For the team."

Simon thinks it was pretty shitty of Price to use Johnny and the team against him, but it does the trick. He gets there, and spills almost everything to the doctor he saw last time. The doctor is shocked and appalled Simon never told him anything, and Simon tells him the medicine worked at first, as did the braces that he recommended for the joint support, but it just kept getting worse.

They do X-Rays, and blood work, and they find out Simon has a fairly common autoimmune disorder. Although, it's not the kind he wants to hear because it will result in a medical discharge.

"Rheumatoid Arthritis? You're bloody joking. My hand isn't all fucked up and weird looking doc. I can move my hand just fine."

"You can right now, but if you don't get the proper treatment, along with a transfusion for your knee... it will progress. Probably to the point you're bed bound."

The doctor calls in the team on behalf of Simon's request, and well, they try to find a way around it. At least, Gaz and Soap do. But before they exhaust all their options, Price offers to talk to the higher ups to see what the stance would be on moving Simon from an operator, to more of a coordinator like Kate. Where he would be able to do missions every one in a while, but not over exert himself to the point a flare-up is triggered and he is left in a dangerous position once again. The higher-ups agree, not wanting to lose the infamous Ghost.

So, there we go. :) That's my little tid-bit, take it as you want. And like always, if you enjoy the idea, please like/reblog, and if you want to build off the idea for your own AU or things, just tag me if you use specifics!! ((If you have any questions about RA, please drop them in my box and I will try to answer when I have the time!!))

[notfinancialadvice]

How I Built an Emergency Fund, inspiration I deeply hope is helpful

As the blog URL says, this is not financial advice. This is how I did this thing, and I am posting it here, publicly, in hopes that it helps you should you need this information.

In short: Remix this advice to what fits your life + do not sue me if this goes poorly for you. This is for Americans, if you do not live in America and/or your money is not in America, I hope this is a useful base.

None of these links are affiliate links.

I write these things as a mental shift. I like to ramble and I wish I had someone tell me this stuff 20+ years ago. I'm hoping this helps you.

This is an incredibly long post so I'm putting it under a KEEP READING.

This post goes over two stages: "short term + not life-or-death" and "long term + actual life or death"

Part 01: SHORT TERM + NOT LIFE-OR-DEATH FUND

You need to find a high yield savings account that is FDIC insured. Ally is a popular bank for this.

Functionally, the only difference between a "high yield savings account" and "savings account" from the giant conglomerate bank down the street is the interest rate.

I do not know why non-high-yield savings accounts exist. I'm guessing because legally they can, and I hate it.

Moving away from my personal socioeconomic views to return to advice.

"FDIC insured" is not something you pay for. It is nearly universal on savings accounts. If a savings account, or a checking account, does NOT have it, then you should not put your money there. Something is wrong with that bank.

FDIC means if your bank goes out of business, your account is insured up to $250,000, per account, by the government. So if your bank goes out of business, the government makes sure you still have your cash (up to $250k).

A high-yield savings account means your cash is available whenever you need it.

Other products, like CDs, exist, but this ramble is designed to be as simple and starter as possible. Begin with a high yield savings account, build up from there as you do your own research + compare this to your needs.

Do not accept an account that has minimum balances. Do not open an account with monthly fees.

Touch this account as little as possible.

For every $1 you put in, every month, a few pennies will materialize. It's not much, but the main point is at every level, your money works for you.

Rich people do this. You can too.

Touch this account as little as possible.

You can have multiple savings accounts.

I personally have a savings account in the above structure designed for "oh hell I am kinda screwed, but will be okay, just need a buffer."

"How much should I have in there?" you might ask. Common advice says "3-6 months expenses" which is a lot. I say "start with literally $1 and continue as you can until comfortable with what is possible, for you, at this time."

Will $1 make you rich? No.

Will it save your life in a bad situation? Probably not.

Does this $1 essentially become a tiny robot that is making you money for as long as it is docked into its cargo bay? ...weird metaphor but we'll go with it, sure.

Ultimately is it a start? Yes.

You can have multiple savings accounts. You can have a savings account "this is for short term emergencies" and "this is for... slightly less short term" etc.

It costs you nothing to have multiple. They all operate in the same way. It's handy to have them all at the same bank because it can make transferring cash easier.

Part 02: LONG TERM + ACTUAL LIFE-OR-DEATH FUND WITH RISK SO BE CAREFUL

Once you have your savings account set up, and it's being funded on a regular basis (every week, every paycheck, every month, every quarter -- whatever works for you), look into creating a second, bigger, more dangerous-term cash reserve.

I like my Roth IRA. This is a link to a proper finance blog that has a lot of details. I am trying to make this handy/simple to get started.

401ks and (non-Roth) IRAs are funded with pre-tax dollars, frequently in conjunction with your job.

Normally, cash goes from job -> government takes a slice -> you.

Pre-tax retirement accounts, cash goes from job -> retirement takes the percentage you decide -> government takes a slice of what is left -> you

Roth IRAs, job -> government takes a slice -> you -> Roth IRA

The benefit to pre-tax retirement accounts being, because the cash going in is pre-tax, there is more of it.

It can grow faster in the stock market or other places your particular fund allows you to put cash into.

The taxes come out when you withdraw -- usually retirement -- because if you withdraw before you retire, you are heavily penalized with extra fees.

That's why Part 02 is a ROTH IRA. Your money has already been taxed -- job -> government's slice -> you -> Roth IRA.

This means the money is yours, already taxed. If you withdraw the gains, those get taxed, but the base, that's yours.

If you invest $100 and it grows to $105, you can withdraw $100 without paying fees or taxes. If you withdraw that extra $5, that is when taxes start to come into play. If you withdraw $100, and leave the $5, the $5 continues to grow, and that extra growth is taxed if withdrawn. So try not to touch it (ideally you leave all of it until retirement).

This is why this is an emergency, life-or-death only, account. You tap it only when you need to when all other choices are wretched and ruinous.

There is an annual limit as to how much money you can put into a Roth IRA (several thousand bucks).

You can start them very small. Like $20 or maybe less.

Look for a bank or institution that does not charge fees to open and maintain one.

AT EVERY STEP YOU SHOULD BE AVOIDING FEES

Here are smart people talking about ideas on how to get started.

Okay, so, what do we do now with this fancy roth thing.

Here is where things get... uncomfortable.

A Roth IRA is an account type.

You need to do something with your money.

The reason you have this in addition to, and secondary to, your high-yield savings account is because this is an investment vehicle, the balance is going to go up and down, and may reach $0.00.

For my Roth IRA, I like "exchange traded funds" -- ETFs.

There are a lot of options -- you can invest in most anything

Because my Roth IRA is built for "help me I'm dying" emergencies, I invest in a mix of S&P 500 index funds and small-cap funds.

SO MANY WORDS.

Let's break this down what this means.

S&P 500 index funds: This is an index fund of giant, giant, giant companies.

An index fund is like a stock. But instead of a single company, it tracks (owns shares of) an index -- like the DOW or Nasdaq. Or countries. Or... the entire market for oil. Etc.

The metaphor isn't completely accurate, but I like to think of it as "an index fund is a company that owns tiny bits of other companies."

Like, okay, say you have SlimeIndexFund and a share price is $40.

In this example, SlimeIndexFund owns $10 worth of "BardCo" and $10 of "ThiefCo" and $10 of "MermaidCo" and $10 of "EvilCo".

Let's say EvilCo does a lot of evil and is now worth $15, and MermaidCo does a lot of mermaid stuff and is now worth $15, and BardCo sings out of tune so is now worth $5. ThiefCo is oddly at the same $10 but we're scared so we're leaving ThiefCo to stay at $10.

A share in SlimeIndexFund is now worth $45. ($5 BardCo + $10 ThiefCo + $15 EvilCo + $15 MermaidCo)

This is diversification

Because I bought an index fund, instead of just buying BardCo, my risk is less.

Had I bought all MermaidCo, my return would be higher -- but this is a much bigger risk.

The entire purpose of this set up of a Roth IRA is TO MINIMIZE RISK.

Your Roth IRA should allow you to buy "fractional shares" and if it doesn't fuck that bank, go somewhere that does.

In the above example, SlimeIndexFund is $40/share and at that price you are getting the full benefit of 1 share.

Let's say you have $10.

You buy a fractional share of SlimeIndexFund for $10, which is 25% of 1 share.

So when SlimeIndexFund shares raise from $40 -> $45, your fractional share goes from $10 -> $12.50.

Not all funds and stock shares (etc) have fractional shares, most do.

It's a great way to start and build.

Small-cap funds: These operate in literally the same way. The difference is the companies are (in comparison) much smaller. They tend to be more nimble.

So I am diversifying between "here is a fund, it has a lot of large companies" and "here is a fund, it has a lot of small companies."

Let's say Big Office Building real estate goes down, but the sale of Small Company Making waffles goes up. This mixes together and I'm less in danger of losing money, or losing much money.

You can pick individual stocks.

The reason it is not recommended, by nearly everyone, is because the market has incredible tools and power over individual stocks.

By using any kind of fund that bundles things together, you are thereby automatically using these tools by proxy

It is critical to understand this is the stock market. Your account will go up and down. It may go down A LOT, like 25%, and take years to recover. Maybe it goes down 100% to literally $0.00.

That's why this is the LAST RESORT EMERGENCY FUND.

So why are we doing this.

This feels... wrong?

The potential for growth is significantly higher than a savings account. Adjusted for inflation, somewhere in between 6-7%.

At this rate, if you can leave your initial deposit alone for somewhere between 10 - 13 years, it has doubled.

This equation recalculates every time you make a deposit. So if you can deposit $20 every pay check, it has the potential to grow very quickly.

As above, this is the stock market, so it can also get wiped out.

But given the stock market has historically always recovered, though it may take several years, the risk is worth it to me + a lot of other people.

The reason this is built as a last-resort cash bucket is because of this risk. Before moving into this arena, you should have other cash buckets as a buffer.

Your RISK is it goes down. Which it will frequently.

Your REWARD is if it goes up. Which historically it has far more than it went down.

The PURPOSE of using funds as described above is so you don't have try to guess who the next Amazon is and wind up picking the next Pets.com (which went out of business, like, a long... long time ago).

The people making the funds figure out who is Amazon and who is Pets.com and work, day and night, to make your money grow and/or protect it when outside influences are hurting the market.

They are incredibly equipped to do this and their literal livelihood is on the line when they do it poorly.

Which is a polite way of saying, they are continuously incentivized above all else to work for the fund you're investing in.

The reason you're doing this in a Roth IRA specifically is you're hoping to keep as much of it intact, as possible, until you retire, at which point -- if you've followed fairly simple rules -- you withdraw the base and gains tax-free.

Whereas money in a normal stock account? Those gains are taxable every year.

"I have literally $20 I can save per pay check! Can I put in $15 into a high-yield savings account and $5 into a Roth IRA to get started?!"

Yes!

Also, congrats! You're diversifying already!

Your Roth IRA broker should allow you to invest a minimum of $1 at a time, and buy fractional shares. If they don't, don't sign up with them!

Lean heavily into your high-yield savings account until that is very comfortable and thick, then push money into the Roth IRA.

Your goal is to build a system that works for you -- both literally (money working for you) and emotionally ("this is comfortable")

"Should I pay off debt before proceeding? A lot of people say to pay off excess debt first."

This is up to you.

Most financial blogs etc. do say "focus on paying off debt first" -- it's good advice, your returns are risk-free and permanent, since the lower your debt is, the less you have to pay over time.

Interest -- working for you or against you -- is continuous and eternal.

Personally, I like to diversify everything, so I not-financial-advice ramble "do all three -- pay down debt, throw a little cash into a high-yield savings, throw a little cash into a Roth IRA"

The problem with "pay off debt first" is that it misses out any occasional giant gains the stock market makes (Roth IRA) and introduces the risk of "I have paid this credit card on time for 5 years, I'm short on change for 3 months due to a situation that gets resolved quickly, and now I have a late payment fee, and a higher interest rate."

Look at your life, finances, and potential future and make decisions!

And also:

Always be on the look out for deals with banks. Sign up bonuses, referral links from friends, etc. Think of it as a money sale.

If you are not comfortable with the idea of a Roth IRA hitting $0.00 potentially, do not do step 02. These are ideas, not directives.

All financial tools can be used for different purposes. All of them. Thus -- these are ideas, not directives.

I am listing a few examples of banks, funds, etc. These are not recommendations nor are they affiliate links. They are listed because I want to maximize your start on this path, but caution, in strongest possible terms, you must do your own research and figure out what makes sense for you.

There are a lot of nuances I am paving over for the sake of simplicity, which is why I am continually saying...

...c'mon say it with me...

...you must do your own research before continuing

Smart, free sites that cover this + a lot of other stuff:

NerdWallet

Bank Rate

One final note about Roth IRAs:

Robinhood currently is offering a 1% match on an IRA. Considering the strict limits of how much an IRA can intake per year, it's not much, but it doesn't cost you anything. Money on sale!

As a final note -- always feel comfortable asking people handling your money for help. They are working for you. Your money works FOR YOU.

If you are uncomfortable, leave, immediately, without concern.

At the retail level, there are hundreds of banks and financial institutions clamoring for your business. If someone makes you uncomfortable for not knowing something, or getting a term wrong, or asking "too many" questions -- go somewhere else.

It doesn't matter if your account is literally worth $20.

They are working for you.

This is a business transaction, and if they make you feel like your time isn't worth their business, I promise you there is someone else who will gladly take care of you.

I end with -- whenever someone is giving you financial advice, always ask why. It helps ensure they aren't scamming you, it's just a good business practice.

I like to ramble, it helps me mentally

I like to be useful, I want the world to be significantly more balanced in terms of who is doing okay

I like to write, this is all good practice for me in doing Various Other Things I do

I fucking hate predatory financial practices. I was gatekept out of financial literacy for decades and so every time I help someone else figure out how to set up their own life and protect themselves it is a giant "fuck you" to the systems and directly to the people who stood in my way.

[officialsollux]

What do you think of erifef :-)

ahhh erifef..... it's about the misunderstanding. it's about being the opposite of who you seem to be when you're looking at one another. it's about the being kids too young dealing with stakes too high and using violence and using each other until finally that violence goes ON one another.

Feferi is VERY misunderstood in canon in part because she sounds very sure of herself and the things people around her are doing when in fact that narrative is NOT the true reality of the situation. she is. so so so. and i truly do mean so. witch of life core. she needs Eridan and she is in some ways using him and then switching her desire to be rid of him when she doesn't need him. she views the things he does always as sincere or manipulative in the opposite direction Eridan is acting, which is ironic since they've known each other for so long, but also, half the time Eridan gets absorbed. Feferi finds Eridan too much! he is too much for her! and she is someone who like. has to put herself first or she will twist the situation to suit those needs. but for Eridan she resents him in part because she did try to fit herself into a position with him for a long time because of this relationship with orphaning he had with her that she felt free of in the game. Feferi is in no place when she is a preteen/young teenager to be around very hyper-sensitive and traumatised individuals who she feels any responsibility towards. Eridan is like all of this plus she feels trapped. Which just sort of captures them in this cycles of him feelings overbearing so forth.

Eridan on the other hand is like. Not seeing Feferi as manipulative, but rather fated -- which is part of troll romance and also part of being thirteen -- but it does give some distance between who she is and how he's romanticising her. He loses himself in her perspective. And he is also devaluing a dynamic Feferi is putting effort into maintaining even though it is taxing on her because he wants her in another quadrant. And to be honest, had Feferi returned his feelings, I DO think they'd have been much better flush rather than pale -- hence Feferi being able to like Sollux who has quite a few of the traits that make her irate with Eridan. Though to be honest, I think that relationship probably would wear on her too. Eridan also has all these opinions he's loud about that he doesn't really mean that are the opposite of what Feferi's trying to do. I cannot even truly get a grasp if she believes it because I kind of do think she should be able to see through it, but I do think Feferi is very very bad at empathy. I don't say that negatively -- how you grow with low empathy can be completely neutral. But Feferi is also this counter to Eridan's perspective and they are wrapped up in each other more than anything so if we're being real, I think their perspectives match up more than people would think -- they just cope differently with coming to grips with the position they hold and how to self identify. they miss giant chunks of themselves in opposing ways. they are each other's foils.

now if we're talking about shipping erifef. my opinion is. when they are thirteen. it is not going to work. they are toxic bad bad bad for one another. Eridan is obnoxious to some extent but a lot of this is just on how Feferi kind of is -- which is why I feel like there's not enough great Feferi meta out there. She has sooooo many great traits, and she is so young, but she also is manipulative and violent and sure of how things should be even when she could be wrong. How she treats Eridan is not great on many occasions, not that she doesn't have every right to get space from him, and not that Eridan's isn't someone who shoots himself in the foot constantly trying to interact or portray himself ever.

I used to be really intense about them for a while and then I went the opposite way and I just like this week started thinking of them romantically again. But it's like very much in the context of this fic I'm writing.

I think if they both grew up enough to umask a lot (which I think for Eridan will end with a complete collapse of self and will happen fast and will end up with him falling into guilt & self hatred, still self obsessed, but with a loss of his armour and ideology) (likewise, for Feferi, I think it'd need to be drawn to her attention, repeatedly, shoved in her face what she is and what's she's like, and I think the way she'd come to grips is in fear of the weight on her shoulders and what if she, after time passes by and by and by, could become like her ancestor?) they could potentially be a romantic match.

The thing is. Eridan does genuinely love Feferi a LOT. And I do think Feferi loves Eridan too, she just isn't equipped to meet his needs. Feferi wants to help people so badly. She wants the world to be better. She has a world in her head that's counter to the violence pushed upon them, but it's still wrapped up in the huge privilege they both share. She can't really handle not wanting to fulfill a position, especially one someone else could. Like, the situation with Eridan does need to Be Flipped on Eridan, whether or not that's an accurate representation of the situation or not. Because the way Feferi needs to meet her needs also needs to met by her sense of security in perception. She resents Eridan mostly because of what she doesn't want to be for him.

now. if we are talking pale -- I don't think there's ever a time when it would be necessarily smart for the two of them to be moirails. that's like, the worst matched quadrant for them by FAR. flushed i'm like, well Feferi doesn't like Eridan and that's her right, so it's one of those things where, I wouldn't want her to change her mind to suit him unless they'd both moved on from his childhood crush you know. I CAN see her liking him as they mature. If they unmask. I think she might kind of start to like the balance Eridan has and the sweetness he holds for her. She also has feelings for Sollux who has more in common with Eridan than either of them would like to admit. I can see it being very sweet, especially if Eridan has a good moirail too. But I still think it could go VERY badly. their personalities are kind of bad for one another in many ways. So it depends on how they grow up and how stable they are.

they should not be kismeses. it would uh. destroy Eridan. even if they weren't childhood friends and he liked her red. like i cannot tell you enough how bad that would be. still perhaps not as poorly matched as moirails for both of them, but for Eridan. yeah not good.

so yeah flushed erifef could go hard in very specific circumstances, childhood friends make me SOFT. it's about the love it's about the history it's about the growing up together. i think erifef is compelling and toxic. they are foils. but in more complicated ways than people always think.

[zerobaseone-zhanghao]

the coffee shop encounter

This is Part 2. Part 1 will be linked below.

t/w: sugar mommy!reader & sugar baby!Bada, adult!reader & minor!Bada, accusations, little bit of angst

a/n: hi guys! I hope you enjoyed part 1, and if you haven’t read it yet then please read that before you read this but for the best understanding (linked above)!!

=====================================

You hadn’t heard from Bada or her parents in a few days, so you just assumed that they said no and Bada forgot about it, that was until one day you received a phone call from Bada.

“Hi unnie, can you come over to my house today? My address is ***” “sure! I can come, do you need me to bring anything?” “Umm.. I don’t think so” “okay I’ll see you later” “okay bye unnie!”. She sounds cheery, maybe her parents decided in favour of you.

You’re currently in your company building so you decide that it’s probably best to grab some documents before you go just in case Bada’s parents aren’t sure about you.

After grabbing everything that you may need, you get into your car and drive to the address that Bada told you on the phone. It’s a beautiful little house and you gather your belongings before walking up to the door, you quickly fix your clothes before ringing the doorbell, you looked professional as you always do for a day at the company.

Bada opens the door, flashing her gorgeous smile to you and welcoming you in, she points to a pair of slippers she has at the door for you so you slip your heels off and replace them with the comfy slippers before following Bada into the main room where both of her parents are sat.

“Hello Mr and Mrs..” “Lee” the man replies, “ah Mr and Mrs Lee and.. random person it’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/N L/N” “it’s nice to meet you Y/N, this is our lawyer” “so we want to know the basic arrangement first off” “I understand, I would like to support your daughter financially to help her to gain as much experience as possible to help her gain her dream job, all I want in return is to spend time with her” “and about global opportunities?” “I want her to have a look for opportunities that she’d like to do and I’ll pay for the trip and I will go with her, if she’s not comfortable I will get 2 hotel rooms but it’s completely up to Bada”.

“I’ll completely support Bada financially, I’ll pay for her trips, opportunities, dance classes and living expenses, she’ll also have disposable income from me”. “How often would you want to see her?” “At least 1 hour, once a week but it’s completely up to Bada, I am flexible so if there is a week where maybe she’s ill as long as she contacts me to let me know beforehand”.

“Do you have limitations?” “Obviously nothing sexual as she’s a minor and anything that Bada is uncomfortable with is a limit as far as I’m concerned. I would want this to be as comfortable for her as possible”.

“Hmm something seems fishy” “eomma” “you’re a 20 year old millionaire and you’re not a chaebol (nepo baby), how can we be sure you wouldn’t be dragging our daughter into some illegal activity?” “Eomma stop!!” Bada complains before running off to her room. “I understand your concern and I have documents with me which prove I am who I say I am and my profits are correct if you want to see them? I haven’t taken part in identity fraud, embezzlement or tax evasion”.

You hand the documents over to Bada’s parents as they have a look at them. They then hand the documents to their lawyer who confirms that the documents are correct. Bada’s mom holds your hands “Bada has been so excited about this opportunity, now that I’ve made sure that this is safe for her, who would I be if I took this away from her?” “That’s great, thank you!”.

“Could you go fetch Bada from her room?” Bada’s mom asks you “sure I’ll fetch her”. You walk towards Bada’s room, the door labelled with her name and a cute drawing of a wave to match. You knock on the door, “Bada, you okay?” The door is unlocked so you walk in to see Bada lying on her bed facing towards the wall so you can’t see her face.

“Bada” you lay a hand on her shoulder and she flips round to face you. She has obvious tear stains on her cheeks and red eyes. “Aw honey, it’s okay” you give her a hug, “I just can’t believe that my parents would accuse you of something like that”. “It’s okay baby, I completely understand your parents, you’re their little girl, they just want to protect you”.

She hugs you tightly, “I’m glad I’m not going to lose you”, “me? Or this opportunity?” “No you unnie, I noticed you as well in the cafe and I thought you were pretty and when you spoke to me I thought you were really nice and soft spoken”. “That’s so cute Bada, you’re so sweet” “do you think my parents would mind if I kissed you?” You chuckle, “I think so, I’m an adult and you’re a minor, I don’t think they’d be very impressed”. Bada leans closer, “well unnie, to be honest, I don’t care what they think” she turns her head and moves even closer, kissing your lips.

“Bada” “please be quiet unnie” she kisses your lips again. You can’t take it anymore and you pull her closer by her waist and kiss her passionately. Good thing her parents didn’t see.

[huoyd]

Give it a Try - A Wakko's Wish Yax Fic

Summary: It had been a year since the Wishing Star incident and Yakko is about to be presented as the future king of Warnerstock to all the surrounding kingdoms. It's a little anxiety inducing to say the least. At least a kind stranger is around to give a bit of a pep talk, right? Ao3 Link: [ link ] Pairings: Max Goof / Yakko Warner Words: 3010 A/N: My gift for @fablivious1 for the 2024 @animaniacssecretsanta ! Hope you all enjoy this little Wakko's Wish yax piece with some mild angst uwu [ commissions ]

It had been a year since the Wishing Star incident. A year since King Salazar had been taken down. A year since Dot had begun her road to recovery. A year since the Warner's had found out that they were the lost princes and princess of Warnerstock.

A kindly servant had gotten them out of the castle by request of their parents just before Salazar had done away with them. The servant took them into a small town and left the three young royals on the doors of an orphanage.

But now they were home, returning both the castle and Warnerstock itself to its former glory. Or, at least, they want to. There were a few things standing in their way, but one of those would be done away with today. One of them would officially be presented as the crown Prince.

Much to Wakko and Dot's annoyance, it would be Yakko.

"Why do you get to have a fancy party and a big celebration? You're not even king yet!"

Yakko smiles and rolls his eyes playfully. "No, Dot, but I will be king, and this is a way to show the people that. Or at least that's what I've been told. Honestly, I don't think the author entirely knows how royal families function, but eh, this is a made up kingdom anyway so who cares, right? It's a party! And you and Wakko will get just as much attention as I will."

Hopefully, or else he'd probably have to hear about it.

It's not like they all hadn't been introduced to the kingdom when they were found; they had been shown off to all of the townspeople and more, but now they were getting other kingdoms involved. Lots of other kingdoms, apparently.

Salazar, in his reign, had cut off trading to all other kingdoms and they were eager to set up relations with Warnerstock like they had once had. Which means that Yakko actually has to put some effort into this. 

He looks to his siblings, his smile just the slightest bit strained now, though they couldn’t tell. “Now, why don’t you two go get ready, and I’ll come get you when I’m done, okay?” He tells them. “You don’t want to be late.” 

Wakko blows a raspberry, and Dot lets out a huff, crossing her arms. 

“Fine. I guess my fur could be a little shinier. But only a little! C’mon, Wakko.” She says, leading him from the room. 

Wakko only takes a moment to look back at his older brother, before the door is shutting behind them and Yakko’s smile is dropping. 

He turns to the mirror and lets out a long breath as he looks in the reflection. 

A crowning ceremony. That’s what the presentation is. A ceremony to introduce him to all the other kingdoms who cared to show up, to tell them that Yakko would be charged with fixing up the mess left to him by his predecessor. 

He won’t lie. The past year or so has been a bit of a dream. They were off the streets, in a warm, cozy castle that they have mostly to themselves and a few other people. They were well fed, even without taxing the shirt and shoes off of their subjects, and most importantly, they were together. 

But now, as Brain has told him, this is where it’ll start getting… harder. 

He won’t be fully in charge; no the council had ruled against it after finding out that he’d only been fourteen and untrained. 

Now at fifteen he will officially be ruled the crown prince of Warnerstock, and his formal training would begin. 

And this is what he has to give them. A scrawny, lanky, teenaged ruler. Not officially until he’s eighteen, but still. He’d be acting king under advisement. He’d essentially be in charge. Making decisions. Making people’s lives worse or better. Hopefully better, but who really knows. Maybe he’ll be a worse ruler than Salazar. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he reopens them, it’s still the same face staring back at him. So close to his fathers, but not quite. 

“Not much of a king, are you?” He asks the reflection, his words quiet and just slightly dejected. 

There’s a knock at his door, and he watches as his reflection jumps in front of him. “We’re here to help you get ready, your highness.” He hears a voice call out.

After another breath, preparing himself for what comes next, he turns. A fake smile graces his face as he calls back, “Why, I thought you’d never come.” 

The faux bravado he had with his dressing maids is long gone by the time Yakko gets to the ceremony. 

So far gone, in fact, that he had left. He’d taken a look at all the people standing in the ballroom, all of them there to watch him, and had bolted out the side door. He’d heard Dot and Wakko shout after him, even heard Brain and his presenter call out, but he hadn’t stopped, and he has yet to go back. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been gone, but it’s at least 15 minutes of panicked breathing and attempts to calm himself before someone comes across him. 

“Hey, um, are you okay?” 

Yakko jumps as he hears the voice, his head shooting up, his eyes wide, only to come across a boy his age, maybe a few years older. 

He’s a handsome dog, dressed nicely, in reds and golds and with a pair of adorably dorky buck teeth. But that’s not the important part. He’s clearly one of the guests for the ceremony, and he’s caught Yakko in the middle of his panic attack. 

He takes in another breath, reaching up to brush the tears away from his face. 

“I um- Y-yeah, I’m fine-” He tells him. “What um- what are you doing back here?” His tone turns just the slightest bit accusatory. He hadn’t thought anyone else would come this way. 

The boy shrugs, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “Probably about the same thing you’re doing.” He tells him. “There’s a lot of people out there. It can get a bit overwhelming. I just needed a minute of silence, you know?” 

Yakko turns his face away, shrugging. Clearly the dog doesn't know who he is. Which makes sense. No one should really know what the Warner’s look like yet save for their own people. And who knows how far away this boy is from.

“Um, yeah, same, pretty much.” Yakko nods, and before he can stop it, his mouth keeps going. “Like, I get it, this is important, but did there have to be so many people?” All of them expect him to do something great, or fail miraculously, he’s sure. 

“Yeah, I feel you there. And they’re all so old and boring. I thought I’d never find another kid my age.” The boy walks over, sitting next to Yakko. “My dad made me go, said it would be good to get out there and meet people from other kingdoms, but I’d be a lot happier at home practicing sword fighting or something.” He shrugs, and then leans back a bit so he could look down at Yakko better. “I’m Max, by the way.” 

Yakko looks up at Max, pausing for a moment, then looking down at the hand Max had outstretched. It takes him another moment to reach out and shake it. 

“Yakko.” 

“Yakko, that’s a funny name. No offence. Mine is Maximillian, so clearly I have no room to judge.” There’s no recognition on Max’s face as Yakko gives his name, and Yakko supposes that’s a good thing. There’s no need for this relative stranger from god knows what kingdom to know that he’d just found the future king of this kingdom crying and snivelling in a back hallway like a baby. 

He shakes the thought from his head as Max starts speaking again. 

“But also, please forget that I told you my name is Maximillian so that I can pretend to be cool for like, 10 more minutes.” 

Despite the tension in Yakko’s body, and the continued anxiety that clings to his insides, he manages to laugh at that. A hand lifts up to his mouth to hide the sound behind it, almost surprised at it himself. 

It only seems to make Max smile more. 

“Alright, you’re laughing instead of calling me a loser, I’ll take that as a win.” He comments, which only has Yakko’s laughter continuing for another moment. 

“If that’s a win for you I’d hate to see a loss.” Yakko comments, his dry humour coming out just a bit as he speaks to the other teen.

Max laughs back, matching Yakko’s dry tone. “Hah, you don’t know who you’re talking to. If you thought the name Maximilian was bad, pair it with the last name Goof. I’m kind of known for goofing things up. Not as bad as my dad, but the point stands.”

Yakko laughs a little more at the name, a little more lively than the last time. 

“That’s pretty unfortunate. Are you sure your dad actually loves you?” He hopes that doesn’t come across as too low-bar for Max, but Yakko is pretty sure he gets his humor already, and he’s right when Max lets out a laugh. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he loves me. More than pretty sure, actually. He just has some pretty weird naming conventions.” Max lets out another little laugh before leaning back, his eyes moving towards the hall leading back to the party. “Pretty sure he loves me more than anything in the world, actually. Which means it sucks all the more every time I mess up.” 

Yakko’s smile slips off his face as he raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?” He asks, and Max waves him off. 

“Nah, I don’t need to get into it, it’s kind of a bummer.” He tells him, and Yakko shrugs, offering a smaller smile. 

“Try me, I’m a good listener.” 

Max raises an eyebrow at him, offering his own lopsided grin. “Are you, Yak-ko?” He asks, and when Yakko only shrugs his shoulders the other boy lets out a sigh. “Alright, you asked for it. So, you see, despite being, well, a goof, my dad is this crazy respected knight, right? He went from being a castle cleaner, to a knight, and then to the King’s right hand man because he helped save the princess and also was the King’s best friend before he married the princess, so it’s like a big deal. And now I’m training to be a knight, and it’s like, this whole thing of being able to live up to my dad and everything he’s done. And it’s just… a lot of pressure some days.” Max is leaning heavily against the wall, staring ahead as he speaks. Clearly this weighs a lot on him, and Yakko can definitely relate. 

He’d run away from all of his pressure tonight. 

“That sounds like you have a lot weighing on your shoulders.” Yakko replies, looking back over to Max who lets out another sigh. 

“Yeah, it is, but what else can I do besides try? My dad wants me to do it, I want to do it, so I figure I’ll either do it, or I won’t, but I’ll never know if I can if I don’t at least try, you know?” 

Yakko looks towards the hall he’d come from, a small lump forming in his throat at Max’s words. 

“Yeah… You’ll never know if you don’t try…” 

“Exactly. And I have people to help me, people who won’t let me fail on my own, so what am I really worried about?” He tries to make it sound like a joke, but there’s still some underlying worry.

He stands after that, and turns back to offer a hand back to Yakko, the younger boy blushing just the slightest at the offer. “We should probably get back in there, right? I know my dad is gonna start wondering where I got off to.” 

Yakko looks at the hand, then slowly reaches up to grab it, letting Max pull him to his feet. 

“Yeah, I should probably get back too.” He nods, looking in the opposite direction of the party. “I have to go this way, but I’ll see you in there?” 

Max raises another eyebrow, looking down the hallway Yakko gestures to before looking back and nodding. “Yeah, okay, see you in there.” Max offers one more smile before he makes his way back to the ballroom. 

Yakko waits until he’s rounded a corner before turning and heading back to where his family are still waiting for him. 

As he enters the room both Wakko and Dot perk up, worried smiles on his faces. 

“Yakko!” Dot calls while Wakko nervously steps forward. 

“Are y’feelin’ any better?” He asks, and Yakko smiles at them. 

“Yeah, sibs. I’m feeling better.” Then his eyes turn towards Brain. “I’m ready now.” 

The presentation goes down without a hitch. Yakko is brought out to the front of the ballroom, all eyes on him, and he manages to not pass out, or throw up, or anything. In fact, he smiles. 

And that smile only grows a little sheepish as he sees the confused look on Max’s face as the crown is placed on Yakko’s head. 

“We present to you, oh people of this region, his highness, William Warner the Second, crowned prince and future king of Warnerstock.”

The people in the ballroom clap, and before long Yakko is whisked away to be personally introduced to everyone who had come. 

It’s well over a half hour later that Max is once again in front of him. 

“Your highness, this is Sir Maximillian of the Mouse kingdom.” His presenter introduces, not realizing that they’ve already met. 

Max plays his part despite the continued confusion on his face, bowing towards Yakko much to the other’s embarrassment. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your highness.” He speaks the words formally, and once he’s standing upright again, Yakko waves off his presenter. 

As soon as they’re alone, Yakko smiles. 

“Sorry about that, probably a bit of a surprise, huh?” He asks, and Max thankfully drops the formalities and smiles. 

“Yeah, no kidding. I had no clue I was speaking to the future king. A little warning next time?” There’s humour in his words as he says them and Yakko can’t help but to laugh. 

“What was I supposed to say, Yeah, I’m the future king sitting all alone in a dark hallway, tell me about your dad.” 

That has Max’s smile dropping, his hand running down his head. “Oh my dad. God, I must have sounded like such an idiot going on about all that pressure back there. You’re probably like, the king of pressure. Literally.” 

Yakko laughs a bit more at that, drawing some attention from the other attendees, but he tries not to think about it. “No, it’s fine. Really. It actually helped a lot. I was feeling pretty nervous about the whole thing. Or a lot nervous, actually. So I wanted to thank you.” 

Max looks surprised at that, but nods his head after a moment. “Oh um, yeah, totally. Glad I could help with my teenage angst.” He jokes towards the end, and Yakko laughs again. 

Yakko is about to speak, when his presenter returns, his smile strained. “Your highness, I don’t mean to rush you, but we do have a good lot more people to get through tonight. We wouldn’t want to insult anyone by not getting to them, right?” 

Yakko’s ears drop a bit at the reminder, before he looks back at Max, a small smile on his face. 

“Well, that’s my cue. I’ll see you around though, right?” He asks and Max nods, if not a bit eagerly. 

“Yeah, absolutely, I’ll be here all night.” He tells him, and Yakko’s smile widens. 

“Alright, I’ll see you around then.” 

Yakko is brought away soon after, introduced to person after person throughout the entire night. It was more or less fine, some people more stuffy than others, but over all nothing egregious happened until Wakko knocked Dot into the chocolate fountain. Then all hell had broken loose, but Yakko, at the very least, had managed to catch sight of Max laughing at his sibling’s antics. 

Later that night, after the party got back on track and then slowly came to an end, Yakko finds himself laying with his two siblings in bed. Dot, now freshly clean and given up on her vow of revenge to Wakko, lays down on one side, Wakko on the other. 

“So, you’re officially one day goin’ to be king, huh Yakko? Feel any different?” He asks as he gets comfortable, and Yakko shrugs. 

“Nah, not really. Honestly, I was hoping I’d get taller, or maybe bulk up when the crown was placed on my head. Guess not, though.” 

“Definitely not.” Dot comments, poking Yakko in the arm and causing her older brothers both to laugh. 

“Alright, alright, I get it. Besides, I won’t be king for another two years, I have time to bulk up.” Yakko tells her, pushing her arm away before wrapping his own around her shoulders and pulling her in close. 

She settles quickly enough, Wakko snuggling in on his other side. 

Dot hums for a moment, before speaking again. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do? Once you’re king, I mean.” She asks, and Yakko thinks about it for a moment. 

What is he going to do? His first decree as king… 

“Well, besides, of course making it illegal for anyone to be taller than me...” Dot rolls her eyes while Wakko only snorts, and then Yakko’s smile becomes a bit more genuine as he looks up at the ceiling. 

“I think I might try to get closer to the Mouse kingdom.” 

“The Mouse kingdom?” Dot asks with surprise, and Yakko nods. 

“Yeah, I have… a good feeling about them.”