#Apple How-tos

[lichqueenlibrarian]

If that’s what you’re into, I guess?

[wickedhawtwexler]

ok i’m like 90% recovered from a bad cold but i hurt my throat with 1.5 weeks of coughing and still can’t sing super great. what am i singing at karaoke tonight

[incensuous]

incredibly random but PSA for anyone who uses apple devices and likes to move around photos/images

image capture is infinitely easier and better than the photos app

[tprings-hair]

this is a list (as complete as I can make it) of what we know about kirk's backstory in tos and the tos movies, with episode sources:

- he has a brother named samuel george kirk who he calls sam. sam has a wife named aurelan, three kids (one of whom is named peter), and a terrible mustache. (what are little girls made of? and operation: annihilate!)

- he was on tarsus iv and survived the massacre. we don't know his age or what he was doing there. we only know that he saw kodos, heard his voice, wrote down what he said about the massacre, and could tentatively identify him years later. (the conscience of the king)

- when security officer mallory dies, kirk says that mallory's father helped him get into starfleet academy. (the apple)

- he was a nerd in the academy. gary mitchell called him a stack of books with legs, and he admits to bones that he was a very serious cadet. he was picked on by a fellow cadet named finnegan, who he dearly wanted to beat up but never did. (where no man has ever gone before and shore leave)

- on a similarly nerdy note, he had a big history crush on abraham lincoln and could recite the constitution from memory. maybe this is a learned skill in american schools in this future, or maybe he's just a history nerd. (the savage curtain)

- he had john gill as a history professor, who he encounters in the series as the crazy old guy who made space nazis. (patterns of force)

- kirk did not meet but looked up to captain garth of izar, a starfleet captain and explorer who was eventually decided to commit genocide and was sent to an asylum. we don't know whether this happened before, during, or after kirk's study of him or how he might have taken the news. (whom gods destroy)

- he has a deep fear of being alone and unable to act or control his situation. (many episodes, but most obviously in and the children shall lead us.)

- at some point (we have no idea how old he was or if it was before or after the academy) he nearly died from vegan choriomeningitis, a made-up disease deadly enough to be used as population control when extracted from his blood. (the mark of gideon)

- he had some kind of relationship with areel shaw, a lawyer who later ends up questioning kirk in a court martial. (court martial)

- he had some kind of relationship with ruth. when he sees her again in season 1, or a representation of her, he says it's been fifteen years. (shore leave)

- when he took the kobayashi maru, he reprogrammed the test so it would be possible to pass and passed on his third try. (the wrath of khan)

- once he became a midshipman (a cadet training to be a commissioned officer, apparently never mention as a rank outside of this series), he became close with his instructor benjamin finney. at some point, finney named his daughter jame (pronounced jamie) after him. jame is a teenager when we see her in season 1. (court martial)

- he served aboard the uss republic, where finney made a mistake that could have been disastrous and kirk logged it, ruining finney's chances for promotion. (court martial)

- he served aboard the uss farragut under captain garrovick as part of a phaser gun crew, meaning he fired the ship's phasers from engineering, not on the bridge like chekov. he hesitated before firing on a creature which killed garrovick, and blamed himself for it years later. (obsession)

- at some point, he worked with janice lester and they had a relationship. she resented kirk for being a man and having his career goals easier to achieve (we are not given strong evidence whether this is true or false), and kirk says they would have killed each other if he'd stayed. (turnabout intruder)

- at some point, he and endocrinologist dr. janet wallace got into a relationship, though it ended because they were both dedicated to their careers. (the deadly years)

- at some point, he and dr. carol marcus had a relationship and conceived david. kirk knew david existed, but carol prioritised her career as a scientist and decided to raise david away from kirk's world. it's implied that david met kirk and knew that he and carol had a relationship at one point, and he calls kirk "that overgrown boy scout (she) used to hang around with". he didn't know that kirk was his father until the movie, though. (the wrath of khan)

- shortly before serving on the enterprise, kirk taught a class at the academy, which gary mitchell was in. we don't know what he taught, only that he had a reputation for making students think critically. mitchell admits to setting kirk up with a blonde lab technician, to which kirk looks aghast and says, "I nearly married her." we don't know whether this was janet wallace, carol marcus, ruth, areel shaw, janice lester, or some other unknown woman. (where no man has gone before)

- at some point, he and gary mitchell encountered "rodent things" on dimorus which threw poisoned darts at them. mitchell took one for kirk and nearly died. (where no man has gone before)

that's it! that's all we get. everything else -- including him being born in iowa -- was from other sources added later. I just realised there wasn't one good source that was specific to the original series (star trek wikis that don't differentiate between tos, other series afterwards, and aos drive me insane), and it might be relevant to someone else too.

[fayelero]

— FUCKING TATTOO ! rintarou suna

➥ pr : timeskip!suna x fem!reader

➥ syn : getting a underboobs tattoo without turning him on? uhhhh…

➥ wc : 2.6k

➥ tw : SMUT! mdni. creampie, riding position, hard sex, dirty language.

➥ a/n : I got a new tattoo !! guess what kind…. the tattoo on the pic is not obligated to be the one of the fic! (is this english ?)

It was late evening when Suna Rintarou stepped through the door of your shared apartment, the soft sound of his footsteps muffled by the welcome mat. Practice had been brutal—exhausting drills, intense scrimmages, and a coach who seemed to have endless energy for critiques. But none of that mattered anymore, because now he was home. With you.

“Babe?” he called out, his deep voice slightly hoarse from yelling across the court all afternoon.

“I’m in the bedroom!” you called back, your tone lilting with a hint of excitement. He picked up on it instantly, his brow quirking in curiosity.

He walked down the hall, shoulders slumping slightly as he loosened his hoodie and toed off his sneakers. The moment he opened the door, though, all his fatigue seemed to melt away.

You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing nothing but a lacy black bra and matching shorts. Your hair was loose, framing your face in a way that made his throat tighten. He noticed the glint in your eye—a playful mischief that always did something to him.

“Damn,” he murmured, shutting the door behind him and leaning on it for a moment. His eyes roved over you lazily, though the hunger in his gaze was unmistakable. “Is this how you’re greeting me now? Not that I’m complaining.”

You smirked, patting the spot beside you on the bed. “I figured you’d like the surprise.”

“‘Like’ doesn’t even cover it,” he muttered, shrugging off his hoodie to reveal his lean frame clad in a plain T-shirt. His sweatpants hung low on his hips as he stalked toward you, the predator-like intensity in his steps making you shiver.

He sat beside you, a hand already reaching to trace your exposed thigh. “I missed you today,” he said softly, his voice dropping an octave. His thumb moved in slow circles on your skin, his touch warm and deliberate. “All I could think about during practice was getting back to you.”

You reached up, cupping his jaw and brushing your thumb along the sharp line of his cheekbone. “Missed you too,” you murmured. “But before you get too comfortable…”

Suna paused, his fingers stilling. He tilted his head, looking at you with furrowed brows. “What’s with that tone? What’s going on?”

You bit your lip, holding back a grin as you slid off the bed and stood in front of him. Slowly, your fingers moved to unclasp your bra. His eyes widened, his gaze darkening instantly.

“Wait, are you—”

You cut him off by letting the fabric fall, revealing bare skin and something new—something inked and breathtakingly intricate.

Underneath the curve of your breasts, spanning across your ribcage, was a set of delicately shaded wings. The tattoo was beautifully done, the feathers soft and detailed, curving naturally with the lines of your body.

Suna froze. His jaw went slack, and his eyes locked on the ink like it had physically tethered him to the spot.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands instinctively reached out, but he stopped himself just before touching you, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. “When… How did you…?”

You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I went to the tattoo shop after work today. I wanted to surprise you, so I didn’t shared this project with you.”

His gaze dropped back to the tattoo, and this time, he didn’t stop himself. His fingers ghosted over the wings, careful and reverent, like he was afraid he’d ruin the artwork if he pressed too hard.

“God, this is…” He trailed off, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His hands shifted, sliding to your waist and pulling you between his legs so he could look up at you properly. His eyes burned with something primal now, something that made your breath hitch.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that?” he muttered, his lips twitching into a smirk as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your stomach. “In the best fucking way.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. “You like it?” you teased, though his reaction was answer enough.

“Like it?” he scoffed, leaning back slightly to look at you again. His hands gripped your hips firmly, his thumbs stroking the skin just above your shorts. “I’m obsessed. It’s so…fuck, it’s so fucking sexy, babe.”

His lips found your skin then, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the edges of the tattoo. His breath was warm, and the scruff of his jaw scratched deliciously against your sensitive skin. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of the new addition to your body.

“Rin,” you whispered, your voice barely steady as his mouth moved lower, trailing down to the valley between your breasts.

“Hmm?” he hummed against your skin, his hands sliding up to cup your waist.

“You just got back from practice, baby,” you said, though your words lacked conviction as he nipped lightly at your ribs.

He pulled back slightly, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “So? You think I’m too tired for this?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, he was flipping you onto the bed, his body hovering over yours. His eyes bore into yours, molten and electric, as he leaned down to whisper against your lips.

“Let me make you feel good, baby.”

His lips captured yours before you could protest, the kiss deep and demanding, stealing every coherent thought from your mind. His hands explored your body with renewed purpose, his fingers tracing the lines of your tattoo like he was worshipping every inch of it—and you.

Suna’s lips moved hungrily against yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth to taste you fully. His hands roamed your sides, his thumbs brushing the edges of your tattoo again as if he couldn’t get enough of the new artwork on your body. Every touch of his fingers was careful but firm, like he wanted to appreciate it but was also aching for more.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to gaze down at you. His pupils were blown wide, his dark eyes glimmering with unrestrained lust. “I can’t stop looking at it,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and tinged with a low growl. His hand trailed up, cupping your breast lightly while his thumb brushed just below it, tracing the wings. “It’s so goddamn sexy on you.”

Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling as he leaned down to kiss the space just beneath your tattoo. His lips were soft, but the way his tongue darted out to flick against your skin made you shiver. You felt his teeth graze you lightly as he sucked at the sensitive spot, leaving faint marks that disappeared into the shading of the tattoo.

“Rin,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your hands tangled in his hair. He glanced up at you, his smirk lazy but feral.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin as his lips moved lower. He shifted, dragging his tongue along the underside of your breast, his free hand trailing down to your waist. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down just slightly.

“You—ah—you’re so into this,” you managed to get out, though your body betrayed you by arching into his touch.

He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Of course I’m into this. Look at you. Look at this,” he said, running his tongue lightly along the edge of the ink again. “You’re perfect. And this tattoo? Fuck, it’s driving me crazy.”

You moaned softly as he kissed his way lower, pulling your shorts down fully. His hands slid over the curves of your thighs, gripping just firmly enough to leave you breathless.

“You should’ve told me you were doing this,” he muttered, his lips brushing over the skin of your lower stomach. His voice was deeper now, tinged with something darker. “I would’ve come with you. Watched them work on you. Would’ve made it impossible for me to focus on practice knowing you were under the needle, looking like this.”

The heat in his words sent a jolt of desire straight through you, and he smirked at the way your body reacted, squirming slightly beneath him. His lips curved into a mischievous grin as he kissed along the edge of your hip, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“Rin, please,” you breathed, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He glanced up at you, his smirk widening. “Please what, baby?” he teased, his voice dripping with mock innocence as his hands slid up your thighs, parting them. “Tell me what you want.”

Your cheeks burned, but the ache in your core left no room for hesitation. “You,” you whispered. “I want you.”

That was all he needed to hear. In one swift movement, he had you completely bare before him, his body shifting to press against yours. The heat of his skin against yours was intoxicating, and you gasped softly as he leaned down to kiss you again, his lips firm and possessive.

“You’re fucking hot,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. His hands slid down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider as he ground his hips against yours. The hardness of his arousal pressed against you, and you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your throat.

“Fuck,” he growled, his lips moving to your neck as he kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin there.

“Rin,” you whimpered, your voice shaky but sure.

The growl that rumbled in his chest was pure satisfaction. He wasted no time, slipping a hand between your thighs to tease you, his fingers sliding through your wetness as he groaned softly. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me already,” he muttered, his voice strained with need.

You arched into his touch, a moan slipping from your lips as his fingers worked you with precision. He watched your face intently, his eyes dark and hungry as he drank in every gasp and whimper you gave him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you.

You shifted positions, turning around so that Suna was now completely naked, lying back against the bed. His toned body stretched out beneath you, and you straddled his lap, hovering just above him. The way his cock stood tall, flushed and hard, against his lower abdomen made heat pool between your legs. From his position, he had the perfect view of everything—your body, the curves of your hips, and of course, the intricate tattoo under your breasts that drove him wild.

“Fuck, that was so hot,” he groaned, his voice thick with need as his hooded eyes roamed over you.

You grinned, leaning forward slightly so the heat of your body brushed teasingly against his cock without fully taking him in. He hissed at the sensation, his hands gripping the flesh of your thighs hard. Both of you whimpered at the tension, the torturous tease of almost but not quite.

“Baby,” he growled, his deep voice rough with desperation. His large hands slid up to cup your ass, squeezing it firmly as his fingers dug into your soft flesh. “Come on, don’t play with me… fucking pull me in already.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t hold back any longer. With his hands gripping your hips, he guided you down slowly, his tip pressing against your entrance before beginning to stretch you open.

You gasped, your nails digging lightly into his chest as the overwhelming sensation coursed through you. “Rin…” you moaned softly, your voice trembling as you took him inch by inch.

He groaned loudly beneath you, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck… you’re so tight,” he murmured, his voice laced with pleasure. “So fucking good, baby.”

His lips found yours, capturing them in a deep kiss as his hands helped ease you down further, soothing the ache as he filled you completely. You whimpered against his lips, and he swallowed the sound, his fingers stroking your sides and thighs.

When you finally settled, fully seated on his cock, you gasped for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you adjusted to his size. Your hands pressed against his torso for balance, the heat between your bodies leaving you dizzy.

Suna gave your ass another firm squeeze, a teasing smirk curling on his lips. “Come on, ride me, baby. I know you can.”

Your body moved almost instinctively, rolling your hips slowly at first, testing the waters. The drag of his cock inside you made you shiver, and a soft moan escaped your lips. Suna groaned low in his throat, his hands guiding your movements as he watched you intently.

“God,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes locked on the bounce of your breasts and the curve of your tattoo. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

As you found a rhythm, your confidence grew, and you began moving faster. Your hips rocked and rolled, each movement sending waves of pleasure through both of you.

“Ah—Rin!” you moaned his name, your voice breaking as the angle shifted just enough to hit a spot deep inside that made stars dance in your vision.

He growled low in his throat, his hands gripping your ass harder, guiding you as you moved. “Yeah, just like that, right here…right here,” he muttered, his breath ragged. “Fuck, you’re so good at this… at taking me.”

You whimpered as the sensation built higher, your thighs burning slightly from the effort, but you didn’t stop. The sight of him beneath you, his head thrown back, his lips parted as he groaned your name, was too intoxicating to resist.

Reaching down, you grabbed one of his hands from your ass and brought it to your breast, pressing his palm against the soft flesh. He groaned louder, his fingers instinctively squeezing as he rolled your nipple between them. His eyes flickered between your bouncing breasts, the tattoo decorating your skin, and your face contorted in pleasure.

“Ah… ah, keep going,” he rasped, his voice shaky as his cock twitched inside you. “You feel so fucking good, baby. Say my name. Say it.”

“Rin!” you cried, your movements becoming more frantic as you rode him harder, chasing the fire building in your core. The angle shifted again, and the overwhelming sensation left you trembling. “I’m gonna—oh god, Rin, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growled, his hands tightening their grip on your hips as he began thrusting up into you, matching your pace and driving you further into bliss. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

The coil inside you snapped, and you arched your back, crying out his name as your orgasm tore through you. Your walls clamped down on him, pulsing around his cock as your body shook with pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groaned, his own release barreling toward him as he thrust into you harder, his grip bruising against your skin. “I’m—fuck—I’m gonna cum too.”

You barely registered his words through the haze of your climax, but when his cock pulsed inside you and warmth flooded your core, you collapsed against his chest, both of you gasping for air. His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as you both came down from the high.

“God, that was…” he trailed off, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You smiled weakly, your body still trembling slightly. “Amazing,” you finished for him, your voice soft and breathless.

He chuckled, his hands running gently up and down your back. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

As you lay there tangled together, your bodies still buzzing from the intensity of it all, Suna couldn’t resist trailing his fingers over your tattoo again. “You really are perfect, you know that?” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.

You hummed contentedly, nuzzling into his chest. “Let’s take a bath, baby.”

“Damn…yeah,” he replied, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

Ⓒkiesbrainjuice all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

tag : @haechansbbg

[makeitworse]

GIRLFRIEND

♪ 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 (𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧) TRACK #11

his girlfriend, that’s what everyone knows you as— even though jiyong still has yet to officially ask.

𝓬ontains: f!reader x jiyong. resolved tension. teasing. down bad jiyong. fluff. switch dynamic. smut! (fingering, blowjob). 18+

𝓷otes: i did not intend for the closing fic to be so smut focused but .. here we are lol. this event has been so much fun, thank u for all the love and support i adore u ♡♡

you’d hear it more than your own name.

“hyung, your girlfriend’s here!”

“listen when your girlfriend speaks, bro.”

from the bigbang boys to the 2ne1 girls, their managers and their assistants, even producer teddy— hell, you wouldn’t doubt it reached YG himself.

“haven’t you heard? they say you’re his girlfriend.”

the tension between you and jiyong had been a tug of war for months. for a while it was “will they or won’t they”, until people caught on that there’s no leaving jiyong’s sights once they’re set on you. so it become a matter of “when will they”— and you’ve been in limbo ever since.

it’s a known fact that you belong to him. unofficially, of course. you’re not his girlfriend. not actually. not yet.

because he hadn’t even asked.

jiyong let others do the talking for him. after all the push-and-pull, you’d think he’d have the confidence to say the magic words with his whole chest. but he always got cold feet around you. you were practically his, and your lips hadn’t even been introduced.

it gets to the point that one day, you wake up and decide to fuck with him until he grows some balls. dangle the idea in front his face. make him squirm until he has no choice but to actually ask you out.

once, you’d been curled up on the couch with him: his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. you nuzzled back until you pressed flush against his body. you literally felt his breath stop— his warmth pressing into your back. you stifled a wicked grin.

“why can’t we do this all the time?” you cooed to him oh so innocently.

his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed at your ear, fingers twitching on your stomach. you’ve served the opening for him on a silver platter: all he needs to do is speak it into existence.

“you tell me.” he murmured.

you should’ve just punched him.

encounters where you tip-toed over the line became the norm— but only as friends, of course. what else would you be?

brushing your lips over the shell of his ear just to whisper something unimportant. pulling him in with your hands on his neck and cupping his face with a smile.

but you don’t kiss him. no, never. what does he take you for? no pre-dating kisses around here.

he needs to ask first. you both know it. and it’s killing jiyong.

it starts how it always does: jiyong hovering near you like a second shadow.

you’ve joined them as company in the studio while the boys record, laughing with bom and sandara on the couch while you sip from an iced coffee. he’s pretending not to stare— nodding along to whatever youngbae’s saying that wasn’t reaching his ears— but you know better. you feel it. how could you not?

he’s sure you’re trying to drive him crazy. the way your lips part for the straw, tongue flicking out before you wrap them around the plastic, eyes darting up to meet his gaze. you’re checking if he’s watching your little show. and you’re grinning.

jiyong’s jaw hardens, turning his attention back to youngbae— who he hadn’t even noticed wasn’t talking anymore. just staring at him, brows raised.

“will your girlfriend be a distraction?”

“she’s not—” jiyong cuts himself off with an exhale, mouth pressing into a firm line. “no, she won’t.”

youngbae turns to the computer, running over some tweaks to the lyrics. it’s an effort for jiyong to keep his eyes trained on the screen; his ears are damn near ringing with the sound of you giggling behind him.

you sounded so cute. it’s not anything he hadn’t heard before, or got out of you himself— it’s just, each passing day, he got more butterflies than the first time you met. he thought they’d calm down once he realised the interest was mutual. but they’ve only grown more restless. and so have you.

he’s worried, you know. every day that he doesn’t ask, all the fleeting moments where it would’ve been perfect to— he’s worried about losing you.

he thinks something’s wrong with him.

every woman on the street has your face. whatever anyone says sounds like your voice. since meeting you, he’s a fool who can’t stop smiling. how can you be so pretty?

there’s footsteps passing by him. he glances over at sandara, pointing her head towards you as she walks out. jiyong glares at her. she just smirks, door shutting behind her.

everyone knows.

youngbae’s focused on typing on the keyboard, so he steals a glance at you, and you’re already looking. his knees could buckle under the weight of your gaze. your smiles says it all— like you own him, like you’re fully aware of how far under his skin you are. it’s infuriating. because it’s true.

he faces youngbae again, but overhears you telling bom you’ll be back. jiyong swallows thickly as you set your coffee on the table and get up off the couch, presence ghosting by him as you disappear down the hall.

the words leave his mouth before he can even process the thought— and suddenly jiyong’s excusing himself too.

he follows your footsteps to a lone storage room hoarding spare equipment. and you’re waiting for him when he opens the door. picking your nails as you leaned against the wall, like you’re in no rush. like you expected him.

“you always follow me.” you giggle, voice soft, eyes daring.

“you always run.” he counters, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

you shrug. “still waiting for someone to catch me.”

jiyong sighs, frustration audible. you just smile.

“i don’t want to play at this anymore.” his voice is low, rough at the edges. his jaw tightens like he’s straining to hold something back.

you hum in thought, shifting your weight as your arms cross over your chest; jiyong’s eyes following every little movement.

you close in on him with small, drawn-out steps. “you should’ve just asked.”

“you should’ve said yes,”

“i would’ve.”

you’re so close, enough for your breath to fan jiyong’s cheek. his lips part, maybe thoughtlessly— eyes darting over your face. tentative.

“then say it,” his voice barely above a whisper. “say yes now.”

you pout at him: defiant. teasing. “to what? you haven’t asked.”

he cusses under his breath, low and guttural, and then his hands are on you. firm grip on your waist, jiyong pulls you against him, the warmth of your bodies pressing together. his eyes are dark: hunger eclipsing his impatience.

“you drive me fucking crazy.”

you smirk. “glad to hear.”

“no, you don’t get it,” he asserts. “all i hear is that you’re my girl. from everyone. daesung even told my mother— and you still act like it’s not real.”

“it’s very real, ji.” your knuckles come to brush his cheek. his jaw tenses under your featherlight touch. “you just need to say it.”

“i’m getting there.” he murmurs.

your arms come to wrap around his neck, leaning in till your lips are a breath away from his. “better hurry, jiyong. might lose me.”

he stills. his fingers twitch on your side. then: “not happening.”

jiyong’s mouth comes crashing onto yours. it’s all fire, like he’s making up for lost time, every moment you hadn’t kissed. the force has your head tilting back, and you push him off just as you get the urge to kiss him back. not yet.

he blinks at you, breathless. you can feel his heart thudding under the palm on his chest. you give him a soft smile, tilting your head. you’re waiting, he realises.

jiyong clears his throat. he runs a hand through his hair, a little self-conscious for being so forward. but can you blame a man?

his hands come to hold your one resting on his chest. and then finally, softly: “be my girlfriend?”

you grin, confident as ever. “i’ll think about it.”

jiyong clicks his tongue, but you swallow the noise as you lean in, lips smothering his. he’s slower this time as he returns the kiss. patient. his mouth opens for you, and you catch a small noise escape his throat as your tongue teases his. you’re sure he feels it when your lips curl into a smile.

in retaliation, jiyong slips his hand beneath your shirt. you gasp at the sensation— his palm flat and hot on your bare skin.

your hand snakes around his neck, lacing your fingers in his hair as the kisses heat up. jiyong grows more daring, pinching your chin to tip your head back, allowing his tongue to delve deeper; taste more of you.

your fingers curl around a tuft of hair, and jiyong sighs as your nails graze his scalp. but then you pull— his mouth coming off of yours with a wet pop as you tug his head back.

jiyong’s groan blends into a snicker. foreboding is the only way to describe the sound.

you softly bite your lip as jiyong looks back at you through half-lidded eyes. you hope it might disarm him.

you stifle the urge to shudder as he leans in again, agonisingly slow, and kisses the corner of your mouth. his lips barely graze yours— a stark contrast to how he was basically eating your face a minute ago.

he trails down to your jaw and leaves another there. then down your neck, trailing kisses all the way to your clavicle. they’re all charged with something you couldn’t quite place— possessiveness, maybe. like he’s finally staking his claim.

goosebumps erupt across your flesh as he takes the skin into his mouth, sucking lightly. just enough to leave proof that he was there.

the hand on your stomach creeps downward, slipping under your waistband, and you can’t help how your hips roll at his touch. his laugh rumbles on your collarbone. you want to slap him for being so cocky. you want to beg him to keep going.

his fingertips glide over the fabric of your panties, stopping where your bikini line ends. he presses a kiss to your lips, and you breathe out his name. he cocks his head.

“hm?” he’s not even trying to hide his smug grin. “still thinking?”

you swallow down the cusses sizzling on your tongue. you don’t want him to have a change of heart, pull away when his fingertips are ghosting over right where you want them.

you snatch jiyong’s throat into your hand, fingers curling around his neck— not tight, just present. a reminder. he’s quick to suppress a groan.

“i need convincing.”

and that’s all jiyong has to hear.

confident now, his hand slips under the fabric of your panties, and you gasp as his fingertips tap your folds. his breath fans heavy on your mouth, eyes never leaving you— watching every twitch of your face as he moves his fingers.

jiyong cusses when he feels just how wet you’ve gotten for him. his mouth’s on yours again, and you whimper onto his tongue when his fingers glide over your clit.

he repeats the action, rubbing little stripes with his fingers that has your mind going foggy. you’re eager, desperate for more, your hips buck in rhythm with his hand on your clit. he stills you with a firm hand on your waist, then his palm shifts to cradle you by the small of your back. your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt.

each of your moans into the kisses only drives jiyong crazier— he trades his fingers for his thumb, rubbing quick circles on your clit as his digits come to tease your entrance.

dignity be damned, you break the kiss to whine: “ji, please,”

you choke out when two fingers stretch you open. his brows raise, watching you unravel for him with a smile on his face. he sets an unforgiving pace: ramming his fingers into you with his thumb focused on swirling your clit. you’re mumbling an incoherent string of words, the coil in your stomach tightening with his fingers working at you so perfectly.

“i’ve got you.” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against your jaw to suck little kisses on your neck. your cries fall right into his ear.

when his fingers curl to hit that spot to make you see stars, the balloon inside you pops.

you cum like that: jiyong’s hand rocking into your g-spot, his thumb attentive on your clit, his palm on your back holding you flush against him, his lips nipping at the skin of your neck. it’s all too much. you’re not sure what leaves your mouth— his name blending with broken pleas and cusses. he’s surprised his shirt doesn’t rip from how tight you gripped it.

he doesn’t stop until you’re coherent; asking him to stop, sensitive to the touch. he (reluctantly) drags his hand off of you, holding your gaze as he pops his fingers into his mouth. you’re still hazy from your orgasm, but the sight of him cleaning up your taste with his tongue has your flame reigniting.

your hand grabs his hard-on through his pants, and jiyong nearly keels over.

he forgets himself, head falling on your shoulder as you rub your palm over his length. he’s hot, and you chuckle when you feel a damp spot on the fabric.

“your turn.” you coo.

he laughs breathlessly. “it won’t take much—”

you hear how his breath stops as he watches you lower yourself to your knees.

your palm rubs at him steadily, pulling little gasps from jiyong’s mouth. you maintain eye contact as your knuckles hook over his waistband, pulling both layers down in one tug.

he buried his hand in your hair like he’s petting you, his pupils swallowed by black in adoration.

your pretty fingers wrap around his length. it’s an effort to not buck into your hand— he doesn’t want to be impolite, but god, did he need more.

your thumb swipes over his head to catch a bud of pre-cum, and jiyong has to stop his eyes from rolling. he thinks he can’t get any harder— but then your lips press a kiss to his tip. he could cum right then from the sight.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes.

you smile in kind. it’s all that prepares him for you taking his length into your mouth.

a choke escapes jiyong’s throat— he has to still his hips, resist the urge to buck further into the damp warmth of your mouth.

he clenches his jaw, sucking in a breath through his teeth as you drag your mouth over him, wrapping a tight fist around the base of his dick.

your wrist turns on his length, and he’s moaning, holding onto your hair like a lifeline.

after you came, jiyong had planned to lift you up, fuck you against the wall. maybe he got too ahead of himself. he wasn’t going to last for much longer like this.

“shit, can— can i,” he blabbers, dick already pulsing on your tongue as your head bobs at a relentless rhythm. “let me fuck you, please,”

your mouth comes off him with a wet smack. he shudders at the sudden absence of your warmth— but that thought dissolves as your hand rides up, stroking just the tip, palm riding over his frenulum over and over. he’s shameless as he asks again. you just pout up at him.

“so soon? ji,” you coo, not even hiding your smile. “what happened to taking a girl out first?”

you don’t spare him a second to reply— jiyong cries out when your mouth latches back onto him, cheeks hollowing while your fist rides over the rest of his dick.

and once you glance up at him, batting your lashes with glossy lips, a smile curling around his length: he’s gone.

it’s all a whiney string of please’s and thank you’s falling from jiyong’s mouth as he cums. your wrist glides up and down in between sharp twists, tongue unrelenting as you suck on his tip. his pelvis stammers, his vision blinding white, and warm ropes of cum shoot down your throat.

you give him a second to catch his breath, dragging yourself off of him. he hisses when you give his sensitive tip a light squeeze as you pull your hand off.

jiyong coughs— throat raw from moaning. heat creeps up his neck, acutely aware of how loud he must’ve been. flustered, he gazes down at you, smirking up at him with a hand coated in cum.

you maintain eye contact as your tongue drags over your palm, lapping up the residue. his dick twitches at the sight of you returning the favour. fuck, give him a moment to recover, and he’ll be just about ready for round two.

you kiss the tip of his dick as it softens, before tucking it back into his boxers and straightening up his waistband. you rise from your feet. jiyong’s in utter awe.

“nothing in the world compares to you,” he reveres, eyes full of stars. “my girlfriend.”

he says it like he’s testing the word on his tongue. he repeats it under his breath as he cups your cheeks, leaving quick pecks all over your face.

you chuckle, giving his shoulder a light shove.

“took you long enough.”

Liked by chaelincl, ttt and others

peaceminusone my one and only

daraxxi OMG finally! newharoobompark was this taken in the storage room? ⠀⠀⠀teddypark__ 🤨 d_lable_official mother and father of YG family 💛

tags: @namsgyu @mashtatosworld @gds-daisy @gdinthehouseee @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @eru-vande @emmiesoverthemoon @petersasteria @breakmeoff @seungttttop @keiraryan @moontabi @mintandmuse @steponupbabe @heartubeatusalon @burningheartdetective @thanosspills @aizshallnotbefound @ttturnitup @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @riddlerloveb0t @loveesiren @pinkpunkdynamite @madebybec @hydeonysus @szonyix6277 + this anon

ty to everyone who tuned in <3

[goshikisbaee]

Unwind

Taking care of Kuroo after a long day at work

[ Timeskip Kuroo x Reader ]

Content: Fluff and a bit of smut

———

The sound of the front door clicking shut was followed by a heavy sigh. Kuroo dropped his bag by the entrance, rolling his shoulders as he toed off his shoes. You didn’t even have to look up from the couch to know how exhausted he was—his usual cocky energy had dimmed, replaced by sluggish movements and a tension in his posture that made your heart ache.

“Tough day?” you asked, setting your phone aside as he shuffled toward you.

Kuroo huffed, running a hand through his already messy hair before flopping onto the couch beside you. “You have no idea.”

You smiled softly, reaching up to push his bangs back from his forehead. “Wanna talk about it?”

He groaned, leaning into your touch like a cat seeking warmth. “Not really. Just wanna sit here. With you.”

Your fingers traced soothing patterns against his scalp, and he sighed again—this time, less frustrated, more relaxed. Slowly, he sank further into you, until his head was resting in your lap.

“You’re really letting me baby you today, huh?” you teased, scratching gently at his scalp.

His eyes flickered open just enough to give you a lazy smirk. “You like it.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. Moments like this, where he let down his guard and let himself need you, made your heart swell.

“Stay here,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead before gently lifting his head off your lap.

He groaned at the loss of contact but didn’t protest. “Where you goin’?”

“To run you a bath,” you called over your shoulder. “You’ll feel better after.”

By the time you finished setting up the warm water, adding in a bit of soap that smelled like cedarwood and citrus (his scent), Kuroo had already shuffled into the bathroom, leaning lazily against the doorframe.

“You’re spoiling me,” he murmured, voice low as his tired eyes drank you in.

You stepped closer, reaching up to tug at his tie, loosening it before slipping it from his collar. “You deserve it.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, watching you with something softer, deeper than his usual teasing. He let you work in silence, unbuttoning his dress shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, running your fingertips along the tense muscles of his back.

The shift in atmosphere was slow but unmistakable.

His hands found your hips, sliding beneath the fabric of your shirt, warm palms against your skin.

“You take such good care of me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just below your ear.

You shivered, fingers pausing against his belt buckle. “Someone has to,” you teased, though your voice was already breathier than before.

Kuroo chuckled, low and rough. “That so?” His lips trailed lower, grazing over your jaw before capturing your mouth in a slow, lingering kiss. It wasn’t rushed—no, he was savoring it, tasting you, melting into you after a long, exhausting day.

Kuroo kissed you like he was making up for lost time. Slow, deep, and a little desperate. His hands slid beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your back as he pulled you closer, pressing his body flush against yours. The heat from his skin seeped into you, a stark contrast to the cool air of the bathroom.

“You always know how to take care of me,” he murmured against your lips, voice thick with exhaustion and something darker, heavier.

Your fingers fumbled with his belt, undoing the buckle as he let out a low chuckle. “Impatient?”

You shot him a look, tugging it free in one swift motion. “Says the one who couldn’t even wait until after his bath.”

Kuroo smirked, hands gripping your waist as he backed you up against the bathroom counter. “Can you blame me?” he murmured, dipping his head to press open-mouthed kisses along your neck. “Long day… missed you…”

His voice sent a shiver down your spine, and your hands instinctively found their way to his hair, threading through the dark strands as he sucked gently at your pulse.

“You should let me take care of you,” you whispered, letting your hands wander lower, trailing over his toned stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of his pants.

Kuroo’s breath hitched, and for a second, he hesitated—like he wasn’t used to letting someone else be in control. But then he exhaled, leaning against the counter, letting his head fall back as he gave you everything.

“Yeah?” he rasped, eyes hooded, lips slightly parted. “Then take care of me, baby.”

And who were you to say no to that?

———

💋 💋 💋

[yescking]

Oh god i wonder if the equivalent of beasts being imprisoned in the tree is getting cancelled or banned from twitсh i am actually crying like get y'all channels banned for violation of TOS or smth (yk huge streamers sometimes get all that power and popularity hit in a head)

Elder Faerie is probably some twitch staff member lol

Also yk how this is a human au so they probably have normal people names but the idea of their cookie names just being their usernames is sick cuz damn Burning Spice is a perfect name for a streamer who plays Valorant or smth (i have a theory that Spice just LOVES games where he can destroy other players but he goes so into it it might actually harm his own team). Just and idea as i wrote this what if humans version of Smilk is named Mike... yk cuz Milk....... this is so silly or you could use their VA's names hm (probably not a good idea tho cuz not a lot of people know VA's names so they would be confused...)

Also Capple deffo has a stan account on twitter and she's like "WHAT you can't shep SHADOWMILK with that Vanilla guy it's against his boundaries!!!!!" and then go on Ao3 to write Shadowmilk/reader..

i was thinking about your au for a whole day ahh

HAHHAHA i love ur ideas theyre so silly!! firstly Yes their cookie names are their usernames and noone really uses their real names. Milk being called Mike is so ridiculously funny kkkkkk and yes apple definitely has that stan account.... and posts bs hate Lol

[im-a-she-geek]

(Updated)

We all know what she's trying to talk about...

Bow chicka bow wow 😳😳

From the ST: TOS episode The Apple

I love how Kirk and McCoy deliberately put Spock on the spot to explain sex

@thevulcantrekkie @spock-in-awe @starship21zedna9

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

Someone posted this in a Trek group:

Counter theory:

"My theory was always that Spock was the unhinged and wild one -- a rebel by Vulcan standards -- and he radicalized "stack of book with legs" Jim Kirk.😂

Spock was the one out there mind melding with every Horta, Nomad and V'Ger while Jim and Bones absolutely panicked in the background.

Then Jim usually ended up being the one to get Spock out of it, too. The Apple, Operation Annihilate, A Private Little War, The Infinite Vulcan, TMP . . . How many times did we see Kirk have to carry Spock body and limb and slightly on fire back to the ship after he got into it?

The amount of shit Jim has to do for Spock in Star Trek III alone.

Spock is like the Enterprise housecat who stubbornly insists on being an outdoor cat and keeps escaping, later having to be carried back indoors. He keeps causing mischief but everybody loves his ass anyway.

Kirk and Spock were chaotic messes who loved their frontier first contact work in TOS and onward -- they deserved each other.😂👌

Shit, cat got out again.

[chaoscule]

Nublar 6 Drunk Headcanons

Darius:

Drinks whatever is given to him, but has grown a taste for hard ciders.

Quiet drunk.

Becomes literally almost comatose, laughing and chatting from wherever he’s planted for the night, never getting up until Brooklynn picks him up to carry him home to bed.

He left the party without telling anyone once and tried to walk home, Sammy attaches an apple airtag to his belt every time after that.

Very insistent that they stop for food on the way home.

Kenji:

SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS EVERYBODY

Likes to tell people he’s 6’ tall (he’s 6’2) and watch all the other guys in the vicinity try to defend their heights.

Someone gets really close to proving they’re both 6’2 and he calls Ben (6’4) over for support.

“Dude idk what to tell you, i’m 6’ and I’m way taller than u. check out my buddy who’s ACTUALLY 6’2”

It is a wonder he doesn’t get punched in the face. (it isn’t, Ben is standing right there)

Ben:

Drinks mainly rum and coke until Yaz lets him have a sip of her Paloma, then he is Super Into Tequila.

Takes forever for him to get drunk because of his massive body mass lmfao

Face flushes and his ears turn red when he’s finally feeling it

Very giggly and smiley

Cries about Bumpy if he thinks about her for too long

That scene in Abbott Elementary where they go to a karaoke bar and Jacob starts singing Last Resort and everyone is concerned. yeah that.

Sammy:

Drinks Coors because it’s available, but will go for the Lone Star if they have it.

She does Not participate in that Craft Beer IPA nonsense.

Very handsy

Bedroom Eyes appear around drink 4 and she becomes a menace to society

Pulls Yaz into her lap to make out with her, mid conversation with Ben, who rolls his eyes and walks away. (“useless lesbians.” “mind your business, gay boy”)

Karaoke Queen

Yaz:

Drinks mainly bitter cocktails, Gin and Tonic is her safe drink if she’s feeling indecisive.

Feels actually confident when she’s drinking

Doesn’t like the idea of house parties, but she pre’s with Ben and Kenji to loosen up and get excited

Is as loud as Kenji when they’re both drinking (ALEXA, PLAY BISEXUAL ANTHEM)

Will often hop on Kenji’s back and make him cart her around from house to house.

Brooklynn

Always has a different mixed drink in her hand. Her go-tos are pornstars and sex on the beach. Ben doesn’t know how she can drink that much sugar without inducing a hangover.

Social butterfly, takes selfies with everyone at the party, and befriends the bouncers at the club once she turns 21.

STAYS requesting songs from the DJ (they always say yes to her)

Eventually gets up on stage and takes over the music entirely.

“Unboxing blackout drinking” before taking a tequila shot.

Tell me your headcanons!!

[tokkiwrites]

𝐂𝐇.𝟐 → 𝐀𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬.

꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. The days slip by in golden blinks, time is faster here. Feedbags, hoofbeats, heat heavy on your forehead. But when you're with Joel, time forgets to move at all, like even it is trying to look at him a moment longer.

˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ cowboy!Joel x fem!reader, slowburn, mutual pining, age gap

𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: HEY YALL!!!! part 2 is here! it took some time cuz i wanted the first part to get at least 100 notes, see if u all really like it. ANYWAYS here's joels part!! hope u enjoy p.s hope u enjoy my short poem at the beginning 🐇🎀🤠 (short taglist: @thoughts-of-bear @chewingbunny @mukeovernetflix )

𝐂𝐇.𝟏 | ...

❝The sun dips low, but I am still away

Fingers brushing against the edge of night

Do you hear the wind?

Saying things I don’t yet know how to say?❞

ㅤ ♰

It's been three weeks.

The days unfurl like parchment creased by dust, smoothed by sun. Mornings begin before the world stirs, with dew on the grass and coffee already steaming in the kitchen. The wind blows softly, the animals still asleep in their stalls. It starts to feel normal.

Joel’s already outside, like always. You see him through the kitchen window, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that same weathered flannel unbuttoned just enough to show the curve of his throat, his skin sun-warmed and golden. He’s fixing something near the paddock, hammer in one hand, a cigarette dangling loosely between his lips.

You don’t mean to watch, but you do.

Later, when you’re washing dishes, he comes in. You feel it before you hear it, his presence always lands first. "That casserole last night," he says, setting down his gloves on the counter. "Think I died a little."

You glance over your shoulder, smile twitching at the corners. "Didn’t know you cowboys were so easy to please." He shrugs, eyes flicking to yours. "We’re not. You just got a touch." And maybe it shouldn’t feel like that. Like that praise is wrapped in flint, but your heart catches fire anyway.

That evening, you're sweeping near the porch, dust swirling at your feet, when Joel walks past you. No words. Just a low, amused hum in his chest. You speak before you think.

"Do you ever smile?" He stops. Turns just slightly. The brim of his hat hides most of him, but his voice is all gravel and molasses when it comes. "Only when I mean it." Your stomach flips.

He doesn’t linger, but he doesn’t go far either. Just sits on the edge of the porch as the sky burns pink and gold behind him. You finish sweeping slower than you need to.

Later, you join him, bare knees brushing the wood, the air between you hotter, a little awkward. You offer him half an apple, and he takes it, fingers brushing yours. It’s nothing he thinks.

It’s everything for you.

“You ever miss the city?” he asks. You shake your head. “No. It started to feel like rot. Like everything I touched would turn to mold.” He nods like he understands. Like he feels it too. The slow erosion of something once bright. "You don’t talk much," you murmur. He chuckles low. “Don’t need to, usually.”

You turn to look at him then. Really look. “I like that about you."

He meets your eyes, and it hits you like a nail through soft wood. A glance that stays long after it ends. There’s silence after that, but your heart is singing and dancing.

And maybe that’s the danger of him, you think. Not the calloused hands or the scars on his forearms, not the steel-toed boots or the pistol always clipped to his belt. It’s the quiet. The steadiness. The possibility. Like a fire that hasn’t yet caught. But God, how it wants to.

ㅤ ♰

Another day comes and passes by just like that.

Joel was already outside when you wandered past the barn. The sun had dipped low, all melted honey and tangerine spilling across the sky, and there he sat, on a worn stool beside the horse sheds, one boot pressed into the dirt, the other knee drawn up. A guitar rested on his lap.

You didn’t speak, not at first. Just stayed by the fence post, your once bright yellow sweater sleeves half pulled over your hands. He didn’t look up, but you could tell he knew you were there. His fingers moved across the strings like a prayer, coaxing out something low and slow. “You play beautifully,” you said at last, voice soft as the dusk around you.

Joel glanced up, shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Ain’t nothin’. Just somethin’ I picked up years back.” He replies, almost shy. “Helps the horses settle. Helps me settle, too.” You stepped a little closer, your shoes crunching quietly on the gravel. “Mind if I stay?”

His eyes flicked toward you. “S’pose not.”

So you sat on the low fence rail, watching his hands more than his face. Big, calloused fingers that could fix broken hinges, wrangle cattle, and still pull music from a six-string like it was made of breath and bone. You didn’t realize how close you were until the last chord faded into the evening air. He looked over at you and you felt your face burn up again.

“Y’got quiet all of a sudden,” he murmured, voice rough but not unkind. You swallowed. “Just…Umㅡ thinking.”

“‘Bout what?” You didn’t answer right away. What were you supposed to say? There was a breeze, and it tugged a strand of hair across your cheek. Joel reached out and tucked it back behind your ear. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Your eyes met and his thumb hovered near your jaw. Close. And for a moment the world stopped. So close.

But the moment passed.

Joel leaned back, dragging in a breath like it hurt. And in a way it did. “Should head in. Gets cold out here once the sun drops.” You nodded, heart a thudding mess beneath your cardigan. “Right. Y-yeah.”

He stood, brushing dust from his jeans, and offered a hand to help you down from the fence. When you took it, you swore you felt something pulse between your palms.

“Night, darlin’,” he said. You smiled, cheeks warm all over “Goodnight, Joel." And when you walked back toward the house, his song still hummed, wrapped around your neck like a locket.

ㅤ ♰

That night, you can’t sleep. You twist in the sheets until they feel like ropes and chains. You are restless. You slip outside barefoot, cardigan tugged over your nightdress, and the door creaks behind.

The moon is high. Everything glows in that strange pale way, like the world’s been half-remembered. The grass is wet under your feet. You walk without thinking, past the porch, around the old woodpile.

You don’t mean to go far. Just to the old swing hanging from the crooked oak out back, weathered rope, wood worn smooth by years of use. You find it in the dark by memory, settle onto it softly, fingers curling around the fraying edges.

The stars are out tonight. Scattershot and trembling. You breathe deep and slow. Peaceful.

The swing creaks again under your weight, the night folding heavier around you. Then a sharp crack from the treeline. You jolt upright, heart lurching. The swing groans as it rocks back without you, and in your panic, you stumble straight into the solid warmth of Joel’s chest.

Strong hands catch your arms before you can tumble backwards. His palms are rough, steadying you like it’s nothing. “Hey, hey,” Joel says low. “Easy, darlin’. Just a branch. Wind picks up, things snap.”

You realize, belatedly, how close you are, pressed so near you can feel the heat coming off him in waves. His flannel is open over a thin, worn t-shirt, and you can smell soap and pine and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, mortified, trying to pull back.

But he doesn’t let you go right away. His grip softens but stays firm. He’s grounding you. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, girl.” he murmurs. His thumb brushes, barely, against the inside of your elbow.

You stare at the open collar of his shirt, too shy to meet his eyes. Your pulse stammers at the base of your throat. “I guess…” you start, voice too small, too breathless. “I guess I’m still not used to it being so quiet. City was always loud. Noise kinda...filled up all the spaces.” Joel huffs a quiet breath. Not quite a laugh, but close. “Out here, you hear yourself think more. Sometimes that’s worse.”

You manage a tiny smile. “You don’t seem scared of the quiet.”

“I ain’t.” His voice drops even lower. “Learned a long time ago it’s better to listen to what the quiet’s tryin’ to tell you.”

You finally dare to glance up at him. His hat’s pushed back a little, shadows painting the sharp lines of his face, the cut of his jaw. His eyes are unreadable. You wish you could drink the moonlight off of his face.

The swing creaks again behind you, swaying lonely on its ropes. Joel’s hand slips from your arm slowly, like he's giving you the choice to stay close or step back. You should probably move away. Put some space between you.

But you don’t. Neither does he. The wind picks up a bit. The night deepens, crickets singing somewhere out in the dark. You think he might say something else. You think maybe you should.

Your hands twitch at your sides, desperate to fidget. He notices, of course, and without thinking, Joel reaches out brushing his thumb against the edge of your sleeve where some srings are unraveled.

It’s a tiny thing, but it undoes you anyway.

“Y’cold?” he asks gruffly.

You shake your head. “No. Just...nervousㅡ I guess.”

Joel’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. Like he knows exactly what you mean. He leans just a fraction closer, enough that you catch the shift of his shoulders, the way his breath catches. And for one reckless second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

Joel’s gaze drops to your mouth. You don't breathe.

But he stops.

You see the moment he reins himself back, muscles pulling taut, a low sigh escaping through his nose like it costs him something to let it go. He steps back, hands sinking into the pockets of his jeans.

“You oughta get inside,” he starts, “Gonna get colder once the moon’s up.” You nod, heart knocking against your ribs. “Yㅡeah. Okay.”

Neither of you move right away.

Joel tilts his head toward the house, a silent nudge, and you finally force your legs to work, stepping backward toward the porch light. Your skin still tingles where he touched you.

When you reach the door, you glance back once. He’s still there, standing in the dark, his hat low over his eyes, the swing swaying slow behind him.

Watching. Waiting.

You step inside, closing the door with a soft click. Press your back to it and try to catch your breath. Outside, the wind picks up again.

In the dark of your room, you peel off your sweater with shaky hands. Crawl under the covers and stare at the ceiling, wide awake, the swing still creaking in your mind, the ghost of Joel's hands still warming your arms.

You tell yourself it’s fine. It was nothing. Still, you wish he hadn’t pulled away.

Downstairs, Joel lingers in the kitchen longer than he needs to. He taps his fingers on a half filled whiskey glass, and stares out the window into the blackness beyond. He can see the swing from here. You were trying so hard to be brave. Like you’d have let him if he just leaned in.

He brings the glass to his lips but doesn’t drink. Instead, he presses the rim against his bottom lip, eyes narrowing.

Christ.

He should’ve kissed you.

It sits heavy in his chest. It coils hot in his gut. That faint sadness he caught in your eyes when he stepped back. He sets the glass down harder than necessary, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face.

He’s too old for this. He knows better. Knows what it would mean if he crosses that line. You’re young. New to this place. You look at him like he hung the damn moon some days, and he feels like a goddamn fool for wanting to reach out and take what you don’t even know you're offering.

Still, he can’t forget about you not even for a second. Since you got here it had been torture. Joel sighs, and pushes off the counter.

In his room, he doesn’t bother with the light. Just sits heavy on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floorboards like they might give him answers.

He can still smell you. Soap and summer and something soft. He tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. He’ll put more distance between you. Stop hanging around so much. Stop looking so damn hard. But even as he thinks it, he knows he’s lying.

He knows. He’s already too far gone.

[adafruit]

🖥️ 🧸 a new (old) approach for 21st-century kids using computers… chronological order

as our kiddo gets older we are going on a journey with her, focusing on the evolution of computing from where it started, and using each one, in order.

our adventure begins with retrofitting a 1998 littletikes/ibm playset to house the early computers, providing her with a tangible way to interact with these machines. might need to do emulators for some of these, but trying to see if we can get many of these, build/re-build, or borrow -

some of the plans will be to explore the hardware - on how it all worked before computing moved to sealed black rectangles that's mostly used to buy things or pay subscriptions services.

here's the "playlist" so far - have any suggestions?

altair 8800 (1975) apple i (1976) commodore pet (1977) apple ii (1977) atari 400/800 (1979)

commodore vic-20 (1980) ibm pc (1981) commodore 64 (1982) apple macintosh (1984) amiga 500 (1987)

next computer (1990) sun sparcstation 10 (1992) compaq presario 425 (1993) sony vaio pcv (1996) apple imac g3 (1998) dell dimension xps t500 (1999)

this approach also seems like it could be a kid's book - a book for parents to follow along with their kids on the history of computers with how-tos on building, or emulating them. maybe even a "build-a-bear" - style workshops / classes for kids and parents, but for making their first computers together…

more later!

🕹️ this was inspired by andy baio's approach of guiding his son through the chronological history of video games (2014)

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Bad Boy and His BabyCakes | Yandere Loki

Yandere Pantheon College AU (2/7) | Master List

The average student—(Y/n) was a crowd favorite. Known for their pure-hearted nature and kind gestures to the faculty and students. Always walking by in the modest version of the uniform they still turned heads. Grades practically perfect and a smile that brought so many to their knees, (Y/n) is a crowd favorite. 

An all-around goody-goody student with not a shred of dislike.

There was one thing others didn’t like about (Y/n); ironically enough it still wasn’t them. It was their boyfriend Loki Laufyson. 

“Oi Oi Oi Oi Would you like for me to split your skull open on this disgusting floor or in the broken toilet?”

Loki Laufyson is the adopted son of one of the educational administrators; part of the elite that had openly made it their mission to take this school and its average students down. Whether it’s out of boredom, hate for the poor, or plans of his own—Loki openly agrees with chasing the Pantheon’s students away. His escapades varied from minor pranks to life-threatening attacks. A shark in the school with no reasonable pattern except for his favorite snack. 

“Honeyboo!”

The cornered student frantically scanned his position, wondering if it was so obvious he’d been attacked. Taking a glance at his fallen companion, they hadn’t gotten up after hearing a sickening crack against the pristine tiles of the boy’s bathroom. The sink was overflowing leading to a growing puddle diluting the blood teeming from his friend’s head and the blood dripping off his attacker’s fist. 

Said attacker’s face twisted as though he’d eaten something sour and the taste had never left. The glare directed at him was like the final etches on a tombstone being engraved. As though it was his fault that he and his friend were so visibly miserable. The pressure from a steel-toed boot on his hand told him it’d be worse if he so much as breathed too loud.

Loki turned to open his arms, “Babycakes!”

Hugging each other while twirling around, the couple looked incredibly cute—even if this reunion was happening in a bloodied and flooded bathroom. 

“I thought you were going to wait for me in the pavilion, Sweetums?”

“I was but I realized how badly I wanted to walk with you near the tulips! They really just remind me of your eyes.”

“Aw, Pookie!”

Hearing their torturer’s voice raise an octave higher was always alarming. In the same way, the pierced elite with a keyhole muscle shirt, with the school uniform hanging off his shoulders was so needily rubbing his face into the chest of the school’s sweetheart. Just as alarming was the way Loki let anyone survive after being interrupted but that was the effect that only his beloved partner could have.

Already the apple of everyone’s eyes for two different reasons the staff and student body bowed to their whims. On the account that (Y/n)’s tears were a reason worthy enough to cut classes and that Loki’s wrath would leave dorm buildings going up in flames.

“Come on Loki-baby,” (Y/n) spoke in a whiny pleading tone that would’ve had the opposite effect on others. But the intense blush on Loki’s face said that was not the case; practically purring at the fingers threading through his green locks. 

“How about we leave for the garden,” a flash of (Y/n)’s sympathetic gaze relieved the cowering student for a second. “I think these two have suffered enough.”

Loki doesn’t turn toward them only holding his partner above the flooded floor. He lets out an annoyed growl, as though he wished to continue his massacre. He relents smiling widely as he tosses (Y/n) up high before catching them again to skip out of the bathroom.

“Okay, baby let’s go then!”

“Yay!”

The couple is already out the door and the remaining students are a little bit closer to survival. But Loki wouldn’t allow their peace to come easy, flashing a malevolent smile over his shoulder.

Granted his attention was quickly turned back to his partner to receive a multitude of loving pecks.

Melting in seconds the students are thankful that the Pantheon’s Bad Boy happens to have his favorite drug. And until he can properly control it he can’t have the college shutting down at least not yet. 

Noy while his babycakes is so eager to attend.

But if he’s not destroying the school he’ll have to settle for the average students.  

[radiosteve]

Call Me At Midnight

Summary: Your friend Steve invites you over for a late night movie. But you don't really like each other that much, right?

Note: Here's a shorter fic based on the song Apple Cider by beabadoobee. Hope you like it!

Warnings: No use of y/n, friends to lovers, a curse word or two?

Pairings: Steve Harrington x reader

Word count: 3.1k

The wind rattled brutally against your bedroom window, although you were none the wiser. Instead, you were lying face down in your bed, arms cradling your head as soft snores exuded from your lips. It's not like you meant to fall asleep when you got home from work, but the hours of standing on your feet and making coffees really did you in. So, when you toed off your shoes and laid back in your bed at 6 p.m., you couldn’t help but lose your ongoing battle with consciousness and let your eyes flutter shut. It was nice to get some shut-eye after a long day, even if it was short-lived. 

The telephone on your nightstand rang out, reverberating off the walls and waking you from your slumber. Your hand shot out on instinct, grabbing the receiver to quell the incessant ringing. It finally stopped as you peeled your eyes open and brought the phone up to your ear. 

“Hello?” you asked, voice strained and groggy with sleep. You were met with a chuckle on the other end of the line as you ran your hand over your face, attempting to rub the drowsiness from your eyes. It was a warm sound, like a blazing roar in the fireplace that encased the entire room in heat.

“Sorry grandma, didn’t realize you went to bed so early,” the smooth voice of Steve Harrington echoed through the phone. You and Steve had been friends for a while, meeting through Robin and the insanity that was working at Scoops Ahoy. Your eyes drifted to the alarm clock on your nightstand, its face reading 12:01 a.m. 

“Don’t grandma me. It's after midnight, which is a perfectly reasonable hour to be asleep,” you defended yourself, throat still hoarse as you slowly withdrew from your sleep-induced haze. “Why’d you call anyways?” you asked bluntly, wanting to cut to the chase and wondering why you were awoken.

“Wanted to know if you’d come over and watch The Princess Bride. I know you’ve been dying to see it and I finally snagged a copy from work,” Steve said, brushing his sweaty palms against his jeans. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about asking you to come over. It's not like this would be a date, and he didn’t even like you that much, right? You considered his offer, going back and forth between how late it was and how much you wanted to watch The Princess Bride. The latter won. 

“Alright, I’ll be there in ten. But just know, I’m coming over for the movie, not you,” you shrugged on a sweater, struggling to keep the phone to your ear as you did. It was your favorite sweater, a forest green cable knit that was soft to the touch. Steve had complimented it once, said that it looked good on you, and from then on you found yourself wearing it more and more, though you didn’t like to read into why.

“Noted. See you soon, grandma,” Steve spoke through the phone, a smirk that you couldn’t see dancing on his lips. He hung up just in time to hear your groan from the other end, which only encouraged his smile to stretch further. 

The drive to Steve’s house never took very long, usually the duration of a song and a half from whatever pop station your radio was tuned to at the time. Steve’s house was dark when you arrived, no light seeping through the cold, empty window panes. It almost made you question if he was actually home, though you knew he was. The driveway remained empty too, save for Steve’s car, indicating that his parents were off on another business trip without him. Your car pulled up behind Steve’s in the driveway, the sound of some Tears For Fears song cutting off as you came to a stop and turned off the engine. You took a moment before getting out, trying to control the butterflies that suddenly bubbled up in your stomach. It’s just Steve. A loud thump startled you from your thoughts. Turning towards the window you found Steve knocking on it with a blanket wrapped around his head and shoulders.

“The hell are you doing?” you asked, getting out of the car and closing the door behind you. He looked like a baby swaddled in a blanket, the soft material obscuring his voluminous hair.

“E.T. phone home,” he outstretched his hand with his index finger jutting out towards you. It was his typical goofy Steve antics and you couldn’t let him know how much you enjoyed it. It’d go straight to his fluffy-haired head.

“Fuck off,” you smacked his hand away with a smile, walking towards the steps that led to the front door. Steve trailed behind you snickering to himself while his eyes drifted down your figure. He’d moved the blanket down from his head, letting it hang over his broad shoulders instead. His hair was disheveled, brown locks wildly out of place. It made you want to run your hands through his hair, tug on its strands, and bring him closer, hovering your lips close to his. But you didn’t.

With the turn of the knob, you opened the door, snapping your thoughts back to their regularly scheduled programming. You migrated to the couch across from the TV, taking a seat on its soft cushions while Steve disappeared to the kitchen.

“Want some apple cider? I just got it from the farmers market this morning,” Steve called out to you, catching the nod of your head that just barely peeked over the couch. The two of you bonded over your shared love of apple cider, ignoring Robin’s protests of how it was too appley, whatever the hell that means. You stood up, inserting the tape into the VCR and prepping the movie while Steve grabbed the snacks. He returned as the previews began to play, setting two glasses of apple cider and a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. 

You’d expected him to sit down then and join you on the couch. But he didn’t, wandering off back into the kitchen. You refocused your attention on the TV, watching a preview for a movie that you’d already seen so you seemed less interested in what Steve was doing. It was then that his head popped up next to you. Steve’s face was close to yours, only inches apart, as he leaned over the back of the couch to face you. You could smell his shampoo, its distinct scent reminding you of fruit punch.

“Left or right?” he asked and your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” you questioned, unwilling to comply with whatever he was doing until you knew more.

“Just choose,” Steve insisted and you rolled your eyes. You studied him, searching for a sign of which one to choose. After a moment, you gave up and turned your head back towards the screen.

“Right,” you spoke confidently and a pack of Skittles dropped in your lap no more than a second later. Steve hopped over the back of the couch, landing in the spot next to you with a thump. He had a pack of Reese’s Pieces in his hand, tearing the wrapper open and shoving a handful in his mouth. You raised a brow and Steve chuckled, the sound made you want to laugh too.

“You chose the right side. That’s what was on the right,” Steve shrugged, looking away from you, unable to maintain eye contact while he lied. The Skittles were originally in his left hand, but Steve knew they were your favorite, so he switched them at the last second.

“Thanks, Stevie,” you nudged him with your shoulder, a small smile encasing your lips as you opened the candy. It was as if the world had stopped when you smiled, or at least it did for Steve. He’d do anything for you if it meant he got to see the wide stretch of your mouth pointed in his direction. Steve let his gaze linger on you for a moment, only redirecting his eyes away when the movie started.

The movie played, invoking giggles and gasps from both of you. As you swooned over Westley and Buttercup’s romance, Steve couldn’t help but swoon over you. His hazel eyes never strayed from you for too long as he pushed down the overwhelming urge to brush your hair from your face and kiss you. To live out a fantasy romance of his own where he could spend his days trying to save you. Steve could deny it all he wanted, but it was getting harder to hide that he did like you, that he always liked you.

The credits rolled and you immediately knew that The Princess Bride was your new favorite movie. It was perfect and everything you could have hoped for. The fact that Steve had been the one to watch it with you in no way affected that decision, right? Steve stood up, distracting you from the pull of your thoughts. He ejected the VHS tape and put it back into the case. It was then that you noticed how late it was, catching sight of the clock on the wall behind Steve and the television.

“Shit, it’s late. I should probably go,” you rose to your feet, shuffling to grab your empty glass of apple cider and discarded candy wrappers. 

“Wait,” Steve stopped you, his voice almost panicked. He didn’t want you to leave, didn’t want the night to end. “You could stay over. I don’t think you should be driving so late,” he suggested, hoping it would convince you to stay. Truthfully, you didn’t want to leave, so when Steve made his offer you easily accepted. Steve led you upstairs where you dug through his dresser drawer to find a shirt and a pair of sweatpants you had left the last time you stayed over.

You shut the door to Steve’s bathroom, ignoring the jitters that ran through you. It’s just Steve, why were you so flustered? Granted, Robin was usually there too when you stayed over at Steve’s house. So the idea of staying alone at Steve’s felt new and exciting. It was like finally being allowed to do whatever you wanted, no watchful eyes lurking over your shoulder. 

Steve was sitting on his bed when you emerged from the bathroom in your makeshift pajamas. Even in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, you still stole the air from Steve’s lungs, momentarily ceasing his breathing. Steve had changed too, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips and bare chest exposed to the cool night air.

“Where am I sleeping?” you asked, setting your clothes down on top of Steve’s dresser and hoping you wouldn’t forget them in the morning. You restrained yourself from letting your eyes drift to Steve’s shirtless figure, his chest hair taunting you with its curling tendrils from across the room.

“There’s a guest room down the hall,” Steve couldn’t help but notice the twinge of sadness that encompassed your expression when he spoke, one that he shared internally. “Or you could sleep in here. The house is kind of creepy at night,” Steve added, giving you a way in, an excuse to share a bed with the brown-haired boy. 

“I’ll uh, I’ll just sleep in here then if you’re okay with that,” you spoke approaching Steve’s bed to join him where he sat. He nodded, ensuring you that he was indeed okay with sharing his room with you for the night. Honestly, he’d be more than okay to share his room with you every night.

The two of you laid back in Steve’s bed, making no argument about one of you sleeping on the floor. It was no use, and you both knew you’d just end up sharing the bed anyway. Steve flicked off his lamp as you pulled the bed sheets up to cover your shoulders.

It was late and you were tired, but the warmth that radiated off of Steve kept your mind alive, incapable of drifting off. He was like a fire that burned just for you, flames flickering in the cool night to make your skin slick with sweat. It didn’t help that the fruit punch smell from Steve’s shampoo was laced into the fabric of the pillowcase underneath your head, filling each inhale with the overwhelming scent of the boy that you tried to deny liking.

You turned to Steve, unable to feign sleep any longer, eyes searching his side profile. It was unclear what you were looking for, even to yourself, but you still felt drawn to him. Steve, who couldn’t sleep either, felt your eyes on him, invoking a smirk to uplift the corners of his mouth as his eyes opened. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Steve teased, turning to meet your gaze, his hand laid under his cheek, flat against his pillow. You let out a sarcastic laugh at his joke, eyes narrowing in faux anger.

“It’s kind of weird being here without Robin,” you spoke softly, still letting your gaze drift over Steve. His brow furrowed at your words, worry washing over him. Did you not want to be here with just him?

“What do you mean?” Steve shifted in his spot, tucking an arm under his pillow, smoothing its edge to better see you.

“She fills in the gaps with her little rambles,” you answered, unable to hide the fond smile that stretched your lips at the thought of your talkative friend. Steve hummed in agreement, reminiscing over Robin’s inability to stop talking when she should.

A silence settled over the two of you, only accentuating your point. But it was comfortable and pleasant, leaving you to swallow the air that passed between the short distance from each of your lips. Steve glanced at your hair then, admiring the way it spread across the pillow, his pillow.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you shot back, repeating Steve’s own words from earlier after noticing his prolonged stare. You expected Steve to shift his eyes then, settle his gaze on some object across the room. The last thing you expected was for him to reach out, to run his thick fingers through the tangled strands of your hair. You sunk into his touch, feeling the gentle scratch of his nails against your scalp. A sigh fell from your lips, soft and shallow as if you were barely breathing at all.

“Have I ever told you how much I like your hair?” he asked, voice calm and quiet, hardly audible despite the silence in the air. You shook your head, suddenly incapable of forming words. “Well, I do,” his hand rested there for another moment before dropping down, finding your hand that rested on the mattress. Steve laced his fingers with yours and you could’ve sworn that your skin tingled at the feeling. The brush of his hand against yours, ridged fingerprints pressed to the back of your palm.

“Steve,” his name escaped your lips in a whisper, the silence emphasizing the crack of your voice. You said his name like it was your favorite word, like you’d never speak any other name again. He simply kept his gaze on you, unwavering and surprisingly calm given how fast his heart was beating in his chest. “What are you…” you began, letting your question hang in the air. You didn’t want to break the moment, but you were desperately curious about Steve’s sudden shift in behavior.

“I just-” Steve breathed out, his voice shaking with nerves. “I just really like talking to you,” he finished, and your heart swelled within your chest as a feeling of anticipation filled you. You read between the lines, taking Steve’s words for what they truly meant, not just what he said. It was like seeing the sun peek through the clouds, making your first friend in kindergarten, hearing the final ring of the bell on the last day of school. It was the hope, the realization, that maybe Steve liked you too.

“I like talking to you too, Stevie,” you inched closer, Steve’s hand still wrapped around yours. You looked up at him, doe-eyed and hopeful. If there was ever a chance, then this was it. Steve observed you, admiring the flutter of your lashes as you blinked, the plush of your lips, the curve of your cheeks. 

He wanted to kiss you, and he was starting to get the feeling that you wanted to kiss him too. So he put on a brave face, leaning in ever so slowly, giving you a chance to pull away if this wasn’t what you wanted. God, Steve hoped you didn’t pull away. You didn’t, meeting Steve halfway as his breath fanned your face, his lips ghosting over yours.

A gasp expelled from within your chest as Steve finally closed the gap, brushing his lips fiercely against yours. He swallowed your gasp, relishing in the feeling he craved since he first met you. His lips were soft, the lingering taste of apple cider invading your taste buds as he slipped his tongue against yours. You melted into Steve, your body now flush with his. One of his hands cradled your face while the other untangled from yours, snaking around to pull your hips closer to his. It was a bruising kiss, one you never wanted to pull away from.

But then you started laughing, your teeth bared in between kisses with the uptick of your lips. Steve couldn’t help but reciprocate your giggles until the two of you broke apart, foreheads pressed together as your chuckles broke through heavy breaths.

“What’s so funny?” Steve finally managed to get out, his hands still caressing your skin. His soft gaze held you comfortably in place, keeping you right where you wanted to be. 

“Didn’t think I liked you that much,” you spoke with an air of levity in your tone. The repressed feelings you had for the boy beside you, your friend Steve, finally coming to light. Steve’s smile only grew, his fingers dancing across your cheeks in a gentle stroke of your skin.

“I didn’t think I liked you that much either,” he shrugged, and you wanted to laugh. You were two fools, hopelessly and desperately pushing aside your feelings for no good reason. Steve liked you and you liked him, it was as simple as that. It made you think about all the time you both wasted, all the kisses you could’ve shared. So you dove back in, sinking into the plush of Steve’s lips once more. And he welcomed you warmly, swallowing your shallow moans as he thought about how lucky he was that you accepted his midnight invitation.

[gaykarstaagforever]

I watched TOS "The Apple," one of the weirder episodes, where Kirk decides to help a race of virgin Donald Trumps do sex by blowing up the computer that looks like a bad minigolf hazard that won't let them.

Every redshirt gets spectacularly killed, Kirk has an emotional breakdown, and Spock is extra sassy the whole time. It's weird.

I looked up who wrote it, and it was Max Ehrlich, a scifi writer who was first published in the late 1940s.

He died in 1983. At 74. This guy was born in 1909.

Dracula had only existed for 12 years by then. Cars and electricity were only 20-some years old. Airplanes were spelled aeroplanes, and the entire idea was only 6 years old.

And this guy died 4 months after I was born, and I'm 42 now, calling his 60s TV screenplay goofy by the standards of 2025. On the Internet.

I just don't think we appreciate how goddamn NEW everything is. I overlap with a man who came into a world where women couldn't vote and there were still living 70yo Civil War veterans. Who were fighting to END SLAVERY.

It's just kind of mind-blowing, you know?

Also our evil dictator President looks like Space people who fed exploding rocks to a giant papier-mâché snake.