#Can and Bin Liners

[offpagebloggers]

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[tombsforteeth]

I know my younger sister has issues and has since a child, but fuck why should we have to pussy-foot around her on Christmas under her threat of “fine, I’ll just fucking go then” if she’s going to spend her time in a dark room on her phone?? If it wasn’t Christmas and for mums sake and it being the only day of the year that the whole family is together, I would pull have said fine fuck off. I’ll have to ask her when she wakes up. Like, go to a psychologist and heal whatever trauma it is you got. You’re not the only one with issues here, and should you really be moving in with your younger suicidal sister if you’re going to flip and be nasty like that? “I don’t actually care about any of yous” well you do otherwise you would have blocked all our numbers, not talked to us at all and not bought us actually really thoughtful gifts.

And to cap the night off was a strong disagreement with dad over whether or not shooting and killing your otherwise perfectly healthy dog because they kill chickens or wander off on a scent trail is okay. I think you shouldn’t kill animals for being animals that need additional training but “this is a farm, nature is cruel, and you live and you die”.

[kedreeva]

Hi Ked! Having chickens when I finally get my own place has been something I've wanted for a while (am currently putting it on hold despite in the near future acquiring said own place due to H5N1). However, I have become a little enamored of quail recently in comparison. My goal would be to have eggs and fluffy yard buddies, do you recommend either one over the other?

If you want birds that can free roam your yard, it can't be quail. They are game birds, like pheasants, and will just leave (or get immediately eaten by.... everything, but especially hawks and domestic cats.

If you don't mind having them contained, then 100% quail are a better option right now.

Quail don't take up nearly the same space; an average sized quail tower takes up approximately a 2x3 foot space, and depending on how many levels you have and how densely you populate them can hold anywhere from 15-40 quail. That amount of space cannot even house 1 chicken long term.

Quail are not NEARLY the same initial investment; on average people end up investing around $200-500 in quail equipment/caging/birds depending on how into it you want to get, and $2k+ in appropriate chicken equipment/caging/birds. These costs can vary greatly depending on how handy you are and what connections you have to acquire scrap materials, or how fancy you want to get.

Since quail are not kept on raw ground, they have MUCH fewer health problems on average- they rarely get parasites, they rarely pick up bacterial infections, they rarely pick up anything viral (and if their caging is kept in a more enclosed/covered space there is almost no chance of them picking up HPAI). Since they're contained, there's not very much chance for them to injure themselves (although like any bird, if there's a way they have the will to find it).

Their eggs are more nutritionally dense than chickens. You can compare nutrition per gram anywhere online.

They're (in my experience) more consistent layers than chickens; give them light and feed, and they will lay daily year round, only taking a break to molt in the fall.

Quail's full lifespan is shorter than chickens. This may seem like a downside, but the productive years for a chicken are generally 2-5 years, with a lifespan that should be 7-12 years. Quail have the same 2 years of production, but on average only live 3-5 years, so even if you don't want to butcher the spent hens (which most people do), you aren't caring for nonproductive birds for many years.

Quail are easy to butcher at home with almost no equipment- all you need is a hefty, sharp pair of kitchen shears, a 5g bucket (with or without a liner), and some ice water in a big bowl. No plucking, no scalding, no killing cones, nothing special for cleaning. They can be packed for freezing whole in vacuum sealed sleeves.

If you get or build rollout cages, the eggs gently roll to the front of the cage and "out" into the tray, where they can be picked up clean!

If you get or build wire-bottom cages, you don't technically have to buy bedding. Cost efficient! You can provide resting boards or have solid-bottom portions of the cage, and giving them a sand bath bin will be REALLY exciting for them.

Coturnix quail come in such a huge variety of color and patterns that you can surely find some type you like.

Both species can come with aggression issues- it takes FAR less time to breed it out of quail because they hit breeding age in a matter of weeks, not months.

The downside to quail is that most coturnix quail are not terribly cuddly. you might be able to imprint one (I did once, because my pigeons hatched him and then didn't like that, so I took Robert in), but the majority will just be cute look-don't-touch birds. They are FASCINATING to watch though, so it works out imo.

the downside to both species is. the roosters crow. terrible noises in both cases. I couldn't handle chicken roosters.

Anyway, I think that in all honesty, when MOST people are considering getting into chickens, what they ACTUALLY want is the experience of having quail. Small, cute, easy to handle/raise, genetic manipulation through generations of selective breeding easy to hatch, cute eggies. There's a LOT of people getting into chickens right now because they think it will be a solution to the expensive eggs in the supermarket, but it won't be. They'll end up spending more on the chickens than they ever would have on just getting eggs, and throw a stone in a chicken group on fb and you'll hit 17 people who have had horrific health issues related to parasites, illness, injury, predation, etc.

Meanwhile.... quail groups are largely chill and questions are usually about colors and feed/housing (since most of the problems are bad feeding habits or caging, or genetic issues).

[mia-can-yap-too]

part two here

What? :- 'Gojo's step wise guide to wooing your dream girl!'

Warnings :- fluff, crack, sfw, kind of yandere!gojo (very minimal though), mentions of stalking (it’s not as dark as it seems i swear), Shoko falling off a tree (she’s okay)

“This is going to work!” Gojo insists.

Suguru rolls his eyes as Shoko looks at the PowerPoint presentation Gojo prepared with boredom. “This is not going to work.”

“You just don’t have faith in me! Just see, all these steps are completely foolproof! She’ll fall for me before even she knows it!”

Gojo shrinks under your hard glare and avoids your eyes like the plague.

He had bumped into you just as planned. The only problem was that he was trying so hard to be nonchalant that he didn’t notice the steaming cup of coffee in your hands.

“What, are you blind?! My new shirt is completely ruined!”

Gojo hesitates. This was not planned, but nonetheless the show must go on.

Onto the second part of Step 1; drop a cool one liner.

He puts on his usual smug smirk and makes sure to thread his fingers through his hair in a way he knows makes girls swoon.

“Guess I just found the hottest thing in the room, and it wasn’t that coffee you just spilled all over yourself.”

Your eyes widen as his audacity renders you speechless. Did he really just blame it all on you?!

“T-that I spilled over?! God, you really are as insufferable as Utahime said!”

You passive aggressively throw the empty cup into a bin, flip your hair hard enough that it slaps his face and storm away from him.

Reaction gauged. Fit of rage and anger.

At least you looked hot screaming at him and he got to smell your shampoo, so he’ll take it as a successful mission.

Smiling giddily, he walks away with a skip in his step to have a talk with Utahime.

After some casual looking around forcing Ichiji to find out Gojo found a bookstore that you just so happen to frequent. Wow, what a coincidence!

With his signature sunglasses stylishly propped on his nose, he fakes surprise when he sees you in an aisle.

“Oh my God, is that you, Y/n? I didn’t know you were such a nerd. I also come here often, you can never have too much knowledge you know? Next Aristotle type shit, heh.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Ah, so it seems you still haven’t gotten over the coffee incident. Good thing the next part of the plan is perfect for this!

“Let me buy you a book. Or five. As a peace offering for the coffee incident. And also because I’m rich and generous and charming.”

“Charming? You ruined my shirt!”

“Exactly! That’s why I’m buying back your forgiveness in paperback form!”

And so, Gojo follows you like a lost puppy as you try to find a book.

He grabs a book that catches his eye. “This one has a dragon on it, wait, no there’s a shirtless guy too, don’t buy this one.” He puts it away and grabs another one. “How about this instead? There’s three aliens fighting in space. Romance, too. You’re into romance, right?”

You scoff. “What makes you think I’m into reading a ‘why-choose trashy alien romance’ book?”

He continues to trail close behind you when you move into another isle. Eyes a bit bright, you pick up a Kafka book.

Gojo raises his brows from underneath his sunglasses skeptically. “Kafka? Wasn’t that guy clinically insane?”

“Gojo, shut the fuck up.”

He sighs dramatically. “Why are you so into serious books? Why don’t you read something like ‘How to Fall in Love with the Guy that Spilled Coffee on You’”?

“That’s not a book.”

“Yet.”

His eyes wander to a display of bookmarks stacked in a way that would attract customers.

He snorts. “Ha, look at the way they stacked the— Ow! My finger! Papercut!”

People look as he starts to cause a scene, loudly exclaiming how he would never be able to use his hand again.

In order to save yourself from the embarrassment, you quickly grab your book and end up paying for it yourself.

Gojo catches up to you and insists to walk you home, mouth never shutting and his finger wrapped in a paper towel like some badge of glory.

You and Gojo just completed a low stakes mission in an abandoned amusement park. Or, rather, he did.

He was obviously showing off with the way he was dancing around the curse, dodging attacks like second nature. He obliterated the curse in one flashy move and dusted his jacket off like it was a chore.

His white hair is still perfectly styled and his glasses are pristine. You, however, are left picking popcorn out of your hair.

Gojo turns to you, somehow glowing. “That was just a warm up, can you believe they sent their strongest and their hottest after a low grade like this? Anyways, mission’s over, do you want me to carry you bridal style for dramatic effect?”

You are very much not impressed. “Warm up? Gojo, you blew up the popcorn machine and almost hit a pigeon.”

He just winks at you. “Collateral damage in the name of looking cool is always worth it.”

A few days later, he is ready to commence the next part of Step 3.

After three days of continuous begging for help, he managed to convince Suguru and Shoko (with the promise of cigarettes) to aid him.

You are currently sitting on a bench at the park, with Gojo sitting next to you, bothering you like always.

Out of nowhere, you hear a suspiciously tall elderly woman with an obnoxiously high-pitched voice scream, “Oh no! My puppy! It’s stuck in a tree!”

Since when do dogs climb tree?

Quickly, you both approach the 'elderly woman' like the good Samaritans you are, with Gojo being the much more eager one.

"Worry not, you old hag! I'll get your dog in no time!" With that he rushes to climb the tree.

With Gojo out of the way, you finally get to have a good look at the 'elderly woman'.

The 'elderly woman' who's mop of grey hair was revealing straight black hair underneath. And who also has gauges. And who's eyes are concealed by thin oval glasses. And who is more or less 6 feet tall...

Flabbergasted, your eyes widen. "Suguru, is that you?!"

The 'elderly woman' shakes her head frantically. "Suguru? Who's that? Oh, look over there! Your boyfriend has already climbed the tree! What a brave gentleman, you must be very lucky to have him!"

Sure, enough, Gojo is at the top of the tree with the dog secured safely in his arms, waving like a madman at you.

From the corner of your eye, you see another figure up in a nearby tree, trying to get down without falling. A figure with a bob cut. A figure who looks like she uses RCT.

"S-Shoko?!"

She falls down.

Gojo lands gracefully next to you, and shoves the dog in Suguru's arms.

"Being so strong and wonderful and amazing gets so tiring sometimes." He says as he casually flexes his muscles.

It takes him a moment to realize that his friends' cover has been blown. "Y/n! There's this mochi shop I've been dying to try! Let's go! Right now!"

He takes your hand and starts to pull you away. "B-But weren't those Suguru and Shoko?!"

"Uh, no? Probably just a huge coincidence, don't worry about it!"

You do not believe him.

(if it isn’t obivious Shoko put the dog in the tree, that’s why she was on the tree)

Gojo and you are sitting in a booth at a 24-hour ramen shop.

The both of you have just finished a mission, your clothes still damp with sweat and hair disheveled.

Gojo slurps his ramen loudly, an obvious contrast to the soft pitter patter of the rain outside. He pretends to be deep in thought and sighs dramatically every two minutes.

“You okay? You’ve been quiet ever since we walked in,” you ask

Gojo answers gravely, still looking off into the distance. “Sometimes… I look at the rain and wonder if it’s the sky crying… or just me, perhaps.”

You sigh internally. “…You’re inside. Eating noodles, Satoru.”

“That’s what makes it metaphorical.”

Silence ensues.

“Back when I was a kid… the clan members, they…”He trails off, eyes getting misty.

You listen intently now. Sure, he made you annoyed, but you weren’t heartless. It wasn’t like you hated him. “What did they do?”

“They…” he sniffs, “they would never let me eat mochi for breakfast… it was so cruel.”

You take it back. You do hate him. “Are you serious, right now?”

“How could they deny a one-of-a-kind child like me his means to live? But it’s okay now, I can buy all the mochi I want.”

Silence ensues once more.

Suddenly, he digs through his pocket and retrieves a tiny notebook labeled “Thoughts of a Lonely Sorcerer”. He flips open a page and reads aloud, “Entry #69, am I the strongest…or just the most alone?”

You glare at him. “Satoru, I will throw that book into the broth.”

He is unfazed. “You wouldn’t destroy art.”

You deadpan. He eats a whole egg like a sad little seal.

“Sometimes, I think I joke too much… because if I stopped, I’d cry.”

“Sometimes, I think I’m going to cry. Because you never stop.”

At the end of the night, he tries to make you listen to his playlist titled “Sad Boy Infinite Void” which you end up renaming to “Cry me a Satoru.”

He stand across from you, mouth pulled into his signature smug smirk.

Cracking his knuckles, he says, “Alright, let’s spar! I’ll go easy on you since you’re so pretty.”

You roll your eyes, something you seem to do a lot when you’re around him. “Go easy on yourself. I won’t.”

With that you charge at him. But just as you’re an inch away from hitting him, he disappears, which makes you trip and fall.

You turn around to look at him behind you, hanging upside down from a tree like a bat. “Did it hurt?” he asks smugly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t you dare.”

“When you fell for me during this fight just now?”

You throw your staff at his face. He dodges.

After some pleading, you get him to seriously train with you. Halfway through, he insists you stop for a water break.

Instead of giving you the water, he holds it hostage. “Say I’m handsome and you can hydrate,” he smirks.

You forcefully rip it from his hands. “Say you’re annoying and I’ll shove this down your throat.”

He gasps. “Kinky. But fair.”

He sits down next to you as you drink.

“You know… I usually flirt with everyone… but with you, I actually mean it,” he says softly.

You are stunned for a moment. A blush climbs up you face too.

But of course since it’s Gojo Satoru, he ruins the moment almost immediately.

“Also you have something on your face. It’s my future.”

You get up and leave that instant.

He calls after you, nonetheless. “WAS THAT TOO MUCH? BE HONEST!”

a/n:- this was a lot of work. Hope you enjoyed tho! the next five steps will be in part 2, which will come out soon too!

taglist:- @jeonwiixard @pickledsoda @satorus-princess @rohfulike @stxrysnow @nonamebbsblog @sukunaslilsocks

Oh, you’re curious about my past works? Well, luckily for you, all the deliveries are neatly archived! Just head over to the Archive of Deliveries and browse through what I’ve sent out in the past. Enjoy the trip down memory lane!

[libraford]

Park Cleanup Pet Peeves

I'll be starting my seasonal gig at Parks and Rec in a couple months and I've got a couple things I wanna say. I know that this will probably not reach the people who need to hear it, but if ONE LESS person leaves the parks a mess, I will be That Much Happier.

-You're not supposed to smoke, drink, or have sex in public parks but I know that people will anyway. But if you are going to do those things, please dispose of the evidence in the trash cans. A human has to pick these things up.

-Dog poop goes in a bag. Bag goes in the trash can.

-The little wax paper liners in the women's room? See you're supposed to put your pad/tampon in that wax paper bag, take the bag out of the bin, and then dispose of it in the actual trash can. Don't feel bad, no one told me either. Also no one told the dudes I work with. But this reduces direct exposure to bodily fluids, especially as the summer gets on and it gets hot in those bathrooms.

-On that subject! The little bins that they go in next to the toilet? Don't stick trash in there. Don't put diapers in there. Also don't put beer cans crushed in such a specific way that I slice my hand on them as I try to jimmy it out of there. Literally, that bin is too small for most things. They are meant specifically for those brown bags. Please for the love of god, throw things in the trash can.

-As for the urinals, please no solids. Most commonly gum and chewed tobacco, but you can use your imagination.

-If you're doing a photo shoot or an event with confetti, please use a paper confetti instead of a plastic one- its easier to get rid of.

-If you're doing a pizza party, we'd rather you stack the pizza boxes in a pile next to the trash can instead of trying to fit them in the trash. Because then we can just throw the trash bag over the top and tie it instead of trying to fish it out. This kind of goes for any big trash- if it won't fit in the trash can easily, don't try.

-Please don't call cops on people sleeping in the parks if they're not bothering anyone. Even if they've been sleeping there all day. Dude's just trying to chill.

-Destruction of the toilets will result in the indefinite locking of the restrooms. You ruined them and now everyone at the softball tournament can blame you for it.

-Parks people are not the police. We are maintenance workers who are not trained to handle most emergencies and the most we can do in any situation is report to the proper department. Please don't look to us for answers if someone is starting a fight.

-Also please don't spit on us for driving on the path. We're permitted to. Its essential for us to drive on the path to do our job.

-please don't abandon animals at the park. Rehome them properly. I spent a whole week trying to catch a rooster last summer.

-look, I get it- 'oh no, your pretty building has writing on it!' Grafitti is so edgy. We get it. But it means Jacob has to sand it off now so that the kids at the birthday party don't see a giant drawing of a weiner. Acts of rebellion that create more work for the working class are not revolutionary.

-please do not set fire to the Tiny Free Library. Why did you do that? That's mean.

-please do not feed bread to ducks and geese. Corn, birdseed, lettuce- those are better for them. If you want to reduce tge amount of goose poop in the parks, shop feeding them bread.

-also do not anger tge geese. They remember what its like to be dinosaurs.

I'll have more later, probably, once the season wears on.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Squeak Clean 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you’re not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU – plus!reader)

Note: yeah…

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’re about done. You just need to take the trash out to the bin and pack up the last of your things. As you wind the cord around your vacuum, a throat clears and draws your head around. You crane to see Steve watching you from the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Oh, just finishing up,” you say as you hook the cord to secure it and stand. 

“No problem. I was actually gonna ask if you wanted a snack,” he says, lifting his arm to lean his elbow on the doorway. You stop yourself from frame your hips, letting that knot in your lower back linger. 

A snack? You hesitate. You’re not bothered by your size or the assumptions people make about it. Still, you can’t help but be reminded of the extra cushion. You’re sure he didn’t mean it that way but it’s not really necessary for him to feed you. You bring your hands forward to fold them against your stomach. 

His eyes follow the movement and he blanches. His cheeks tinge pink and he blinks furiously, “wait, I only—I'm just being... nice. Sarah Rogers raised me right, you know? Not right to have someone in the house and not offer.” 

“It’s fine. I’m not a guest. I’m a cleaner,” you assure him and turn to grab the vacuum, dragging the wheels lightly off the carpet. 

“Sorry, if--” 

“No need. I’m not offended. Not hungry either.” You roll the vacuum to the front doorway and cross the room again. You approach him and slow, waiting for him to get out of the way, signalling with your eyes that you need to get past. “Excuse me.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he drops his arm but brings it back up to comb his golden hair. “How about water?” 

“I keep a bottle in my kit.” You assure him as you search out the bucket.  

He stands awkwardly by the door as you heave it up and carry it through to the front room. You put it with the vacuum and return one last time to the kitchen. You open the bin with the pedal but before you can uncurl the edges of the liner, Steve is right there. 

“Here, it’s pretty full. I’ll take care of it.” 

You back up if only to get space. You don’t like how easily he crowds you. You can’t tell if he underestimates his own size or yours. 

“That’s what you hire me to do,” you say. 

“Sure, but it’s one thing,” he lifts the bag out and ties it. 

“Right,” you agree. “I suppose then, I’m done for the day.” 

He lowers the bag to hang from his hand. He smiles at you. “You did a great job.” 

You arch a brow, “thanks.” You’re not sure if it’s normal. Zuli said you wouldn’t have to deal with small talk, well, she was wrong. Figures she’d lie. She never really stops talking. Maybe she should take this one. “I’m going to go.” 

He nods, almost as if he’s disappointed. “I’ll walk you out.” 

“Sure,” you shrug. 

You spin and stride away. You haul up the bucket and latch onto the vacuum. He comes closer again and before you can dodge him, he has a hold of your kit. You want so badly to rip it away. Didn’t he pay for a cleaner? Why is he trying to do everything himself? 

You don’t react. You push it all down and head for the door. You put your shoes on and grab your sweater. You head outside and he follows you. You have to keep from running to your car. The weight of the vacuum helps slow you. 

You open the trunk and lift in the vacuum. Not quick enough. He puts the trash bag on the curb and comes up to place the kit in the trunk first. He then lifts the vacuum and angles it into the car. You suck in a sigh. 

It must be something programmed into him. He is a hero, after all. He can’t just sit back and let others do the dirty work. Even to a lowly cleaner, he needs to be a saviour. 

“Thanks,” you mutter again. 

“No, thank you,” he takes a step back and searches around, “uh, drive safe.” 

“Mhm,” you nod again. “I’ll try.” 

You turn and walk up the driver’s side. You feel him watching you. You’re not the most socially graceful creature on earth. Graceful in fact is not a trait you possess in any manner. Blunt would be a better descriptor. 

You get in the car and shut the door. It doesn’t help cool the heat on the nape of your neck. You buckle your seat belt and glance in the rearview mirror. He’s still there behind you. Watching.  

You want to assume there’s some logic behind his strange behaviour. He must not be used to having people in his space. If it was you, you’d rather just clean your own place than let someone else poke around. You’re sure you have a lot less to hide than Captain America. 

You turn the engine. The rumble seems to jolt him into action. He moves away and grabs the trash bag. You flip your signal on and check your blind spot. You try to see around the cars behind you. 

You peek over again as Steve nears the bins against the brick of the townhouse. He pauses as he drops it inside and waves at you with another grin. You wonder if he rehearses that suburban hero act. It can’t be real. 

You pull out and shake your head. A job isn’t supposed to be enjoyable and rarely is it easy. You can tell already that while the work itself isn’t complicated, dealing with your client will be anything but simple. 

[13atoms]

The Morning After the Night Before (Declan O'Hara x Reader)

My first Rivals fic! Big shoutout to @stellamarielu and @rivalsispunk, who’s work I wholeheartedly recommend and was, inevitably, inspired by when I decided to join in writing about Declan! <3

Summary:

Bff’s dad!Declan x Younger!Reader

As a friend of Taggie’s from college, you’re invited up to the Priory for the Venturer party. By the next day Taggie and Maud have both vanished, you don’t want to leave Declan alone in that big empty house. [5k words]

Contains: Exposition, feelings, then a bit of smut. Exhibitionist!Declan, big age gap, post!Maud rebound sex, lots of foreplay, Declan is a fiend, 90% exposition, priory!sex

The Priory was quiet the day after Maud left. It was the first day of a new era, of Venturer, rung in with hangovers and that bittersweet feeling of a moment to celebrate passing by unacknowledged.

You weren’t sure why you couldn’t go anywhere else. Taggie had invited you up from London for the party, and then promptly been distracted by an MP with a sharp jawline and foul jokes, only to disappear with Seb at the end of the night. With her departure Taggie left you with the sense you were living in a haunted house, filled with Maud’s books and earrings on sidetables and the leftovers from the party to snack on whenever you could bring yourself to eat. Patrick and Caitlin had found friends to crash with. You knew why they couldn’t come back. You weren’t sure why you couldn’t leave.

Sometime in the early afternoon you had heard movement upstairs, and made yourself scarce, hiding in the lounge, tidying what you could and drifting along the spines of the novels which lined the O’Hara’s huge bookshelves. You’d picked up something that could’ve been Maud’s or Declan’s – you weren’t sure. It didn’t look well-worn. You’d been meaning to read The Shining for years, now seemed as good a time as any to sit at the end of the O’Hara’s sofa, and try not to think about what you had seen the night before.

“I didn’t realise you’d be staying.”

A hundred pages had passed before you heard that thick Irish lilt, rich with that kind of blunt hospitality which had to be imported from Dublin. You knew it sometimes rubbed people the wrong way, particularly in this passive-aggressive pocket of privately-educated England. You liked it.

He looked startling similar to the Declan O’Hara you were used to watching on TV. Not much like the Declan O’Hara who would pick Taggie up from club nights and sleepovers, waving with a sly, knowing smile from the car and asking if you’d be able to get home safely.

“Taggie invited me for the long weekend, but…”

You gestured around with the book at his empty living room. His empty house. There were streamers stuck in the rafters, too high up for you to grab and shove into a bin liner.

“Apologies for my daughter’s lack of hospitality,” he sighed, and sat down heavily in the armchair adjacent to your sofa, face in his hands for a moment.

He rubbed the skin of his forehead aggressively, and when he looked away his face was marked red, his hair thrown into chaos.

“That’s okay, I’m sure she’ll be back. The quiet is nice, after last night.”

Declan hummed, and spread his arms along the back of the chair, reclining. For once, spreading out didn’t make him look any bigger. He was wearing jeans and a smart white shirt, but it obviously hadn’t been ironed.

“You’re reading Stephen King?”

“Oh,” you closed the book around your fingers, showing him the cover, though he already knew, “yeah. A borrowed copy, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all! Please, borrow or eat or steal whatever takes your fancy. It’s the least I can do to make up for this shitshow. And my daughter’s forgetfulness…”

You chuckled, and looked anywhere but Declan. He had such an intense gaze, you wondered how anyone stood their own against him across an interview stage.

“It’s really fine. I’m glad she seems happy, or at least excited…”

Declan huffed, stared at the ceiling, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. His hands came together and met his lips like a prayer.

“Have you read The Shining?” You asked quickly.

He was a master of awkwardness, and of silence and question evasion, but you didn’t want to pressure Declan in his own home. If he were one of your friends, you’d already be crushing him in your arms, letting him break down against you in the fiercest hug you could imagine. Instead, he was Taggie’s dad, who you’d never been able to bear to look at too closely, and watched obsessively whenever he appeared on television. You’d even watched him judge a pagent, for God’s sake, crammed around a kitchen table with your housemates complaining and a VHS Taggie had sent whirring away in the player.

You felt a swoop of pride when he perked up at your question, a glint of white teeth visible as he leaned forwards to take the book from your hands, your page number lost. You’d find it again later, in exchange for that dry brush of his fingers against yours. Declan flicked through the pages, eyes moving quickly.

“I have. That’s my copy, in fact. I don’t think the girls ever ended up reading it.”

Something on the page caught his attention, and he hummed as he skimmed the prose.

“Oh, room 217, gives me the shivers even now,” he raised his eyebrows expectantly, and you frowned, tilting your head.

“I don’t think I’ve read that far…”

“Ah, shit. Pretend I didn’t say anything. He has a lovely time in room 217.”

He was joking, and you laughed to be polite. Declan looked drained. Exhausted, hungover, sad.

“Can’t wait,” you replied dryly, as Declan dropped the book onto the coffee table between you.

“I had to stop reading it in bed,” he admitted, glancing from side to side, as though his secrets might be revealed to some unwanted intruder, “I started waking Maud up, talking in my sleep about a ghost in the room.”

You laughed, again it was because Declan wanted you to – wanted to keep the mood light – but you never quite found the right pitch and volume. Maud. He seemed to remember then, talking about her, what had happened.

“I’m sorry you had to see that fiasco yesterday,” he had shifted his voice, and become formal again, like he was introducing his show.

You remembered his falling face, Maud telling him to beg, bag in hand. You remembered Taggie, putting on a mask after the tears had fallen, and the hollow way she imitated the cheeky eyebrow raise you’d exchange over schoolgirl crushes and flirting in clubs, before she sought out a man old enough to be her father. She’d been crushed.

“No, it’s… don’t apologise for that. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t need to say what for. He shrugged, and stared up at the ceiling. The house was so, so quiet. Declan’s breathing was quiet, but you could see how laboured it was in the rise and fall of his chest.

“Do you think she’ll come back, after rehearsals?” you dared to ask.

“I don’t think she’ll come back after the run’s done, to be honest.”

There wasn’t anything to say. You looked up at the fireplace, ancient and beautiful. In the long centuries the house had stood, you wondered if it had seen any sadder sight than this.

“She’s a fucking star!” he announced, voice too loud and his hands flying up, up, before crashing back to his thighs.

You froze, watching him cautiously. He cleared his throat, and made fleeting eye contact as he glanced at you, suddenly appearing sheepish.

“Sorry, that was… sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.”

You murmured that it was fine, but in truth you had no idea if you actually said anything. Declan was panting. Tears or rage seemed equally likely, and he looked at you beseechingly. You wished there was anything you could do to answer him. To help him. The silence went on for longer than you wanted, but there was nothing to say. What could you offer?

Not that ‘there would be others.’

Not that ‘she never deserved him’, handsome and sharp and so, so damn principled it made you ashamed.

He was clenching and unclenching his jaw. You could see it, the muscles flaring and thinning. Your heart pounded in sympathy, something hot and nauseating darting around your stomach, and when his eyes met your sympathetic gaze, you couldn’t bear it. You watched the floor by his feet.

“I knew she was cheating on me. This time, I mean.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not fair.”

Declan sighed, and rolled his head, stretching out his neck. You wondered if he’d been drinking, if he was still drunk. You could smell him, aftershave and sweat, but no whiskey. His eyes were clear and sharp, there was something so controlled about him. He was always in control of the frantic chaos around him. Action and madness had always circled around Declan.

“I’m just sorry for the girls. They deserve better than a father who can’t keep their mother. Or a job. Or a house,” he laughed hollowly, and fell back into his sofa again, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Mr O’Hara…”

He smirked at you from where he was collapsed, a twitch of his upper lip hidden by his moustache. You could really see his amusement in his eyes, sparkling. You thought of evenings spent at their London house, Declan making the family roar with laughter over a takeaway while Maud was elsewhere. He was always doing something, when he was with his kids. Inventing clever games and telling stories and beating you all at cards. He was a man in control of every room he entered.

“Please don’t sound like you work for me.”

“Sorry,” you teased back, “but don’t half those people last night work for you now?”

He groaned, head in hands, but it was teasing this time. You knew he was joking. Declan kept his eyes uncovered, checking your reaction.

“Christ knows. I’ve no idea who does and doesn’t. Maybe I work for them? It’s all on my head if it goes tits up, though. That’s the main thing.”

“That doesn’t sound stressful at all,” you collapsed a bit in sympathy, pressing your face to your forearm, laying against the arm of the sofa.

“No,” he groaned, “selfish as it is to say, a runaway wife is the last thing I need right now.”

“At least she’ll be happy,” you ventured, and froze as his stare fixed on you, heart catching in your mouth.

“Sorry,” you rambled, “as in, she’s doing what she loves. Not… not that you made her…”

He stayed quiet, and watched you. It was a poor thing to say and a misstep and suddenly you froze. You’d overstepped, lying on his sofa and reading his books and joking with him like he wasn’t Taggie’s bad.

“I just meant, it might be easier, not worrying so much. That she’s making her own choices, and you’re not to blame for whether she’s happy.”

“Maybe I did make her unhappy.”

“Declan…”

He ignored your plea, his gaze fixed firmly on you, warm and intense and melted-chocolate brown. It was far too much, though you could tell his mind was elsewhere.

“I thought we were doing well. Not, well, per se, but well enough. Well enough that she wouldn’t leave me for London the first chance she got.”

You had no idea what to say. You let him speak.

“Everyone else in this fucking town seems to cheat at their heart’s content – God knows Corinium has herpes in the sofa cushions – and yet… I thought she wouldn’t. They all seem to pretend to be happily married, but my crime? Working too much? With the rate Maud burns through money, there’s no other choice. Venturer was all so I could finally stop being at someone else’s beck and call. She’d have supported that, back then. When we first met.”

When Declan stopped speaking, and let the room fall into uncomfortable silence, you realised you could hear your own heartbeat. It was pounding in your ears. Your pulse was thumping in your throat, and it hurt where your chin dug into your arm. The Priory was old and thick-walled and it absorbed all sound, so the quiet between you was absolute.

It wasn’t right, or any O’Hara home to be quiet. They were the loudest family you’d ever heard.

Finally, when it seemed like Declan was never going to speak again, you could bear to look at him again. He was still staring, but you weren’t sure he’d realised you were in the room. He looked so morose; you couldn’t bear it.

“I think Maud might never have been happy here. No matter what you did. If all she wanted was to be on-stage, what else can replace that?”

“She wants attention,” Declan sighed, “that’s what Maud’s always wanted. To be adored. Maybe she didn’t feel adored enough.”

“I think a lot of women would feel lucky, I mean, watching you with Maud… it was obvious how you felt for her.”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, and rest his head against the arm of the oversized armchair, mirroring you.

“I’ve often wondered if she needs too much for any one man to give,” he speculated, the gentle rhythm of light-hearted teasing was back in his voice.

You were surprised to realise how much you’d missed it. Still, you weren’t sure what to say.

“She needs hundreds,” he continued, “fawning over her every night, cheering and throwing flowers. And maybe someone to watch her in the odd play as well.”

You laughed, sincerely this time, and it made Declan laugh too.

“God, that’s terrible,” you played at scolding, but had no heart for it.

Declan was smiling, indulgently, watching you sideways with half of his face pressed into his armrest and forearm. He was flexing his hand out absentmindedly.

“True, though,” he scoffed, “I always wondered what you must have thought, when you girls got all dressed up to go out and Maud showed up, all miniskirts and cleavage. You must’ve thought she was a nutter, trying to outdress her own daughters.”

“I actually asked her if she wanted to come out with us once,” you remembered fondly, “I was sure Taggie was about to murder me with a curling iron.”

Declan chuckled. Lethargic and curled up on an armchair, the fierceness of two decades in entertainment melted off him. You could see his frownlines when he raised his eyebrows to listen to you, but they soon smoothed again. Was this how he had looked when Maud first met him, gentle, relaxed?

“I was always glad she had you,” Declan admitted, “I was glad to see you, on the nights you’d all go out together. Knew that meant there’d be someone to look out for her.”

Something had changed, and he was talking to you as a peer. Dissecting a time when you’d been younger, known less. Maybe seeing his wife walk out on him qualified you to speak on equal terms.

“I think Taggie’s the most sensible person I know, I’m not sure she ever needed me.”

Declan sighed, and gestured into thin air, and you remembered how the two of you had ended up alone in the house. The hours of tears over Rupert Campbell Black, a small fortune in phone bills that Declan had paid silently, as penance for bringing his family to the Cotswolds.

“She’s got a good heart. Not sure I’d say sensible.”

You wanted to argue, but you knew Declan adored his kids above all else.

“With their genetics, I’m afraid all of them were going to end up brash. Emotional.”

“Clever, though. And kind. Isn’t that what matters?” you weren’t talking about Maud, and Declan knew it.

“They’re already better people than we ever were,” was all he offered.

You had been completely enraptured by their new house when you visited, and privately fascinated by the ‘countryside’ version of Declan. You had hoped he’d be less stressed, but from what you’d gleaned about his business ventures, nothing could be further from the truth. Nonetheless, there was something different about him.

About how he watched you.

Something self-assured, despite Maud and his kids abandoning the house. Perhaps it was your imagination, but it looked as though Declan was trying to work something out.

“What are you going to do now?” you asked.

“Hang out with you, I suppose. If you don’t mind.”

You remained silent. Declan read people for a living, and he knew that wasn’t what you’d meant.

“I suppose I’m meant to wait for her to come back,” he sighed, “and beg again, perhaps. Try not to catch crabs off whatever actor she’s under.”

You couldn’t help it – you winced.

“Sorry – I shouldn’t say shit like that. Tag would tell me off. I just… I’m not sure how many more times I can take it. It’s humiliating. Pathetic.”

“You’re taking the high road, I suppose…”

“Ah, fuck the high road!” he interrupted you, and threw his head back against the back of the sofa, “I’m tired of the sodding high road. There’s no one there, at the end of it, saying ‘congratulations on keeping your wedding vows while your wife fucked another man’. I know Maud. She’ll fuck around in London, and if it goes badly she’ll crawl back, and mope until she finds another ‘casting agent’ to fuck. If it goes well, I’ll never see her again, and if Venturer ever makes a profit she’ll divorce me to get it.”

You weren’t sure what to say, and when Declan’s brown eyes met yours past the forearm he’d thrown over his face, you realised his eyes were glassy.

“Sorry, you didn’t ask to hear all that. Christ.”

“No, I… I’m glad you’ve got someone to talk to. Declan… I can’t imagine.”

“Do you know what isn’t fair? What really isn’t fair? For all that talk about being abandoned and lonely and bored, I’d come back after work, or sneak back on my lunch break, and it was always ‘not now, Declan’. Every single time. ‘Neglected’ my arse.”

When you froze, it felt like a prey instinct. Declan was talking about his sex life. To you. His lack of a sex life. Christ. The way Taggie complained about her parents, you’d imagined something very different from Declan. You’d imagined Declan a lot, in fact.

“What a fucking hypocrite.”

You weren’t sure if it was your swearing, or your sentiment, but Declan’s face cracked into a grin.

“You’re telling me!”

“God, if I had a man in my gorgeous house, sneaking back on his lunch breaks…” you broke off with a laugh, and looked anywhere but Declan.

“You’d what?”

Was he closer? Declan’s voice was serious, and you had to glance towards him to realise he’d leant forwards, elbows on his knees.

“I’d take every chance I could get,” you finished quietly, and the words seemed to linger in the room forever.

“Atta girl,” Declan murmured.

Fuck. You could hear the shifting of his clothes as he fidgeted in his seat.

For a long time, you remained in silence, wondering if the heat you felt would suddenly dissipate. The air had become molasses thick, and you couldn’t look at Declan. He wasn’t far away, a few feet, when he leant forwards. Finally he slumped back into his armchair, legs spread obscenely far apart.

“Do you have a boyfriend, back home?”

You wanted to laugh. In disbelief. In embarrassment. Your clothes felt too tight against your heated skin. Instead, you murmured a no.

“Good. Not a damn man in London good enough for ya.”

The silence played out a little longer. You wondered whether Declan cared about fidelity at all. If he was going to move at all. For a while you just watched him. Forced yourself not to look down, top see if he was as turned on as you felt. It was obscene, how exhaustion and stress and misery still couldn’t hamper his good looks.

There was something more than look about Declan, though. Something in his mannerism. The intensity he watched you with. The way he catalogued every little time you’d interacted. The way he was letting his eyes sweep across you, his gaze hot and searching.

“I don’t want you to regret this, I’m not…” he began.

“I know what a rebound is.”

Your voice was so hollow, it turned bitter, and surprised you. His lust-drunk eyes widened suddenly, and the tension returned to his face. You could feel your own body respond, growing tenser, startled.

“I don’t know what you take me for, sweetheart, but I’m a damn sight older than the boys you’re used to. I wouldn’t know how to ‘play games’ if I tried. I swear. This is the first chance I’ve had to fuck you, and if you’ll let me take it, you’ll have a good time. I promise, the greatest thing about you is that you’re not my wife.”

He paused for breath, and seemed to struggle for a moment. You noticed his hand gripping his thigh, stopping it from shaking.

“You’re kind, and patient, and you listen to me, and you’ve read bloody Stephen King from my bookshelf without me begging you to care about what I care about.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gorgeous. As soon as Taggie brought you here, I knew you’d ruin my fucking life. You used to ask me how every show went, do you remember? Back at the BBC? Not even my damn wife did that.”

He held a hand out for you, but you weren’t sure what to do with it once you took it. Fingers entwined, you climbed onto his armchair, straddling his lap. Declan groaned, and latched onto the exposed column of your neck, his free hand enormous as it found your waist.

“Oh, your ego likes me? Is that it?”

“Him too,” Declan murmured, and shifted, so that you suddenly realised you could feel him, hard against the crotch of your jeans.

“You’re too young for me,” he murmured against your skin.

“Who cares?”

He laughed, and you knew it was what he’d wanted to hear. Declan pulled more of your weight onto him until you were practically crushing him, thighs on thighs and chest to chest, and then he kept squeezing until his closeness began to hurt.

You rolled your hips and ground down against his lap, hoping to distract him, and Declan groaned, bassy and gorgeous.

“Tag can never know,” you breathed, and felt Declan’s hand move further up your torso in response, clutching the underside of your breast.

“Never,” he agreed, “never.”

When you wrapped both hands around his face and detached him from the underside of your jaw, Declan only released with a grotesque, went smack. You missed the feel of his tongue, skin chilled where his mouth had been, but it was far more important to pull him to your lips. He went willingly, head heavy in your control, looking up at you with glazed hazelnut eyes.

Declan groaned when he kissed you, matching his hands to your face as he took control.

“Do you know how fucking glad I was to see you yesterday?” he groaned against your lips, migrating across your face until he could return to the sensitive join of your jawline and neck, “and I couldn’t even admit to myself why. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Honourable,” you mumbled, “I think it’s honourable.”

His hands were back on your body, groping until he could shove your bra up, pinching at your nipples through your clothes.

“You’re not gonna think I’m very honourable after tonight, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?”

You were grinding on Declan, desperate for the flashes of friction you could find against the seam of your jeans. He kept getting distracted, groaning when you found an angle he could feel.

“Think I might make you cry, I wanna see if I can make you tell me to stop. You ever been eaten out?”

When you didn’t respond, he squeezed your breast hard, making you yelp. You could feel the jolt from the pain between your legs. He cooed as he rubbed the pain away.

“Sorry baby, didn’t realise you were so sensitive,” he was mocking you, and it was making your entire body thrum.

A laugh shuddered from you, and Declan finally slid a huge, warm palm beneath your shirt and across your stomach.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you come upstairs, and we can get these clothes off, hm? Unless you want people to see.”

He slid a hand to the back of your neck, just firm enough to keep you facing down towards him. With his other hand, he began pulling your shirt up, until it was peaking above the mess he’d made of your bra, flesh spilling out obscenely.

“You’re right opposite the window, you know love, that big driveway. Anyone could be coming up to the house… and see you like this. All mine.”

Even lust-addled, you gasped, and tried to look up, but Declan���s grip on your neck stopped you, forcing you to stare down at him.

“You want me to make you cum here, right in from of anyone? In front of Tony? Or Rupert? The postman? My wife might walk back in right now…”

“No!” you gasped, trying to ignore the feeling of him kneading at your exposed breasts, your bra cutting a tight line across them, “please, Declan…”

“You’re sure? I don’t care,” he told you, glib, as he toyed with whether he could reach his mouth to your nipples, a wet tongue snaking across your skin.

“Declan!”

Finally, you wriggled away, and he gave up the moment you resisted him. You glanced up at the gravel driveway, exhaling shakily at finding it empty. Declan was chuckling to himself, pulling your torso closer again so he could mouth at your flesh.

“I did ask if you wanted to go upstairs, I think you were distracted.”

Finally, you could bring yourself to laugh breathily, pulling your shirt down despite Declan’s wandering hands fighting you.

“Upstairs!” you demanded, and pulled Declan to his feet.

He was walking differently, from how hard he was, and you palmed over his crotch, desperate to feel him. Declan groaned, and reluctantly tugged your hand away, adjusting himself.

“Before you get too mad at me,” he returned to your neck, and spun you in front of him, forearms bracing across your chest and stomach, forcing him against you.

You realised then he was framing you against a mirror, forcing you to look at how ravaged the pair of you looked. And the clear view Declan had of the driveway behind you.

“You’re a bastard, Mr O’Hara.”

Declan laughed, but you could see the colour rising in his cheeks, the gulp which moved his Adam’s apple.

“I told you you’d say that.”

“I’d assumed for better reasons than that,” you teased.

You wrapped your fingers around his belt, and began moving the leather to undo the buckle. Declan groaned and it caught in the back of his throat, rising to a whimper.

“C’mon, old man. You’ve made me some big promises.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep them,” he admitted, “if you keep touching me like that.”

“That’s okay,” you ran your hands along the inside of his waistband, feeling his stomach muscles twitch at the contact. “I know it’s been a while. How about you put that silver tongue to use first, yeah?”

“Christ,” Declan groaned, as you finally undid his fly. You stroked across the fabric of his underwear, and Declan threw his head back. His eyes were clenched shut, and his wandering hands had finally fallen to his sides.

“Do you think you’ll make it up the stairs?” you teased, “or should I just go up and finish this off on my own?”

Finally, he opened his eyes, and encircled your wrist with his fingers, pulling you away from him.

“Don’t say shit like that, love,” he went for your ear again, teeth grazing the skin and his lips salving where he’d been, “I’ve imagined that enough for a lifetime.”

“Oh yeah?”

You drifted your hand across his shaft one more time, and Declan let you, loosening his grip on your wrist.

“Come on then,” you teased, and took off.

He was slow, slower in his current state, but you let him chase you, up the stairs and across the landing, his breathless, deep laugh following you as he gave pursuit.

“I’m not that old,” he insisted, as he finally caught you on the upstairs landing, wrapping his arms around you from behind and briefly pulling you from the ground.

“Never said you were.”

“You’re really making me work for this,” Declan growled, sliding a hand down the front of your jeans. You laughed, safe in his grasp.

“I was just worried we’d never get up those fucking stairs.”

He chuckled, and pulled you against the bannisters, fighting with the button of your jeans. You laughed, and let him struggle, until the moment he succeeded, and his fingers met your clit, slippery and swollen.

“Please, just pick a room,” you begged.

“C’mon, love. Give me one here.”

You realised his gaze was out, across the fields, on the path where any one of the bastards in this village might see the pair of you. They wouldn’t, of course, but that was far from the point.

“Declan!”

“C’mon, just one.”

“Make it quick,” you conceded, and gasped as he let his finger slip fast over your clit. You could see the bliss on his face in the reflection of the window.

“That’s up to you, love. Think you can be good for me?”

“You’re the one,” you gasped, as he changed pressure again, experimenting, “you’re the one fingering me, Declan.”

He kissed you, suddenly, sweetly, on the cheek, fingers still working quickly over your clit. Despite the pressure building in between your hips, you laughed.

“What?” you asked him, catching him grinning to himself in the glass.

“I can’t believe I just heard you say that.”

[starlightshadowsworld]

Concept: While often exaggerated many of Fukuchi’s exploits were made into films.

Over the years he would often send a copy to Fukuzawa so that the two could make fun of them together.

It’s movie night at the Agency and no one can agree on what to watch.

So they grab a random DVD from the pile, one they haven’t seen yet and put it in the TV.

It’s a cheesy action movie and they all get a kick out of the ridiculous one liners from Fukuchi’s actor.

But Atsushi can’t find it in himself to relax. There’s something about this movie that puts him on edge, not that he’s sure of why.

He brushes it aside and keeps watching as Fukuchi’s actor heads into a lab.

A large beast, several of them in fact give chase and Fukuchi valiantly fends them off. The others cheer at his victory but Atsushi goes still.

Because as Fukuchi leaves each and every one of those beasts glow and turn into humans.

And suddenly Atsushi’s not watching the movie. There’s alarms going off overhead. People in lab coats running off to who knows where.

He curls up into a ball inside a nearby bin terrified as the sound of battle gets closer to him.

“Turn it off!”

It’s very rare for Ranpo to get serious so maybe that’s why Dazai instantly turned the TV off without question.

The older detective frowned as he gently took Atsushi’s hands in his.

“You’re safe Atsushi” his voice soft get firm. The light of his glasses catching the younger’s eyes. “I…I’m sorry…I ruined the movie.” Ranpo shook his head “you could never ruin anything.”

But someone had.

Any illusion this was just some work of fiction went away the moment Atsushi recognised it.

And he didn’t even need to look at the others to know that they were all swearing to get to the bottom of this.

Because they were the Armed Detective Agency and no one gets away with hurting their own.

[cozygirlsimmer]

more makeovers, yayyy! 💛 download and details below

The video for her makeover can be found here & you can see my previous makeover playlist here! 🤍

"Little Miss Sunshine." ☀️

Gwen Glover is a bin sim from The Sims 3, he is "roommates" with Holden Wonzy. She is just a little Miss Sunshine to me. She is a very positive sim with a free-spirited personality. I am not sure if I am 100% on her makeover.

But enough of me going on, time for the requirements and download link!

⭐REQUIREMENTS⭐

*I only did her everyday wear, I did not touch any other outfits of hers!*

CC USED/NEEDED:

SKIN | EYES | BROWS | FACEMASK | FACE SHINE 1 & 2 | CONTOUR | NOSE CONTOUR | EYEBAGS | MOUTH CORNERS | PORES | LIP LINER | LIP SHINE | EYELINER 1 & 2 | LASHES 1 & 2 | EYESHADOW (Base Game) | DRESS | SHOES (part of major shoe dump; file called 'RolloRolls_Jius_afShoes_PlatformPumps01' | NAILS | EARRINGS |

SLIDERS ARE IMPORTANT FOR HER TO LOOK RIGHT!!! LOOK HERE FOR THEM! MY SLIDERS ARE ON 3x!!!

⭐HOW TO INSTALL⭐

DOCUMENTS/ELECTRONIC ARTS/THE SIMS 3/SAVED SIMS

Just place her there!

⭐DOWNLOAD⭐

☕ Gwen Glover | SFS | MF

@pis3update

🔽BEFORE AND AFTER🔽

[patchodraws]

Camp fam going to the cinema? Type of film, popcorn, where they’d sit etc ^^

well no matter what film, Yaz and Sammy are sitting together, so jot that down

Darius is, of course, a documentary nut, but they rarely show those in theatres. when they do, of course, Sammy and Ben are usually there with him if he wants company. Yaz has been a few times, but they're not really her cup of tea so it has to be a really good one. he's the type of freak to get a huge bin of popcorn, slather it in butter, pour M&M's and Twibblers into it, and get confused why Sammy looks at him with that judging scowl of hers

Ben isn't much of a movie person actually, or at least not much of a cinema guy. he goes with Darius to some documentaries, but that's mostly because the expectation of a documentary film is very different than with a fictional flick. he watches a lot of old (like. 50's-70's) adventure movies his dad was into back at home, but rarely has snacks during since he doesn't want to dirty his remote with butter fingers or cheeto dust

Sammy's a sucker for a good romance! if it's a queer rom-com, she's especially sold, though it took her some time to feel brave enough to go see one in town on her own. she thinks popcorn is the snack you're supposed to have at the movies, so she'll usually get one with a flavour packet of white cheddar or dill pickle and treat herself to a fanta, but rarely bigger than a medium since she doesn't wanna miss the movie by going to the bathroom a bunch.

Yaz used to go watch movies on her own a lot growing up, which some people at school would find weird. in truth, watching a movie to her isn't a social engagement, but a chance to interact with a new piece of art and reckon with her own feelings about it. the dark cinema was also always nice, though if there were ever more than ten people seeing the same movie as her she'd put her headphones on to muffle them. Yaz loves a good horror, or a bad horror, or a campy dumb fun horror. she just loves being spooked and seeing gore; it's probably one of the easiest ways to make her smile. she also loves chocolate, even if she knows she shouldn't, so she only ever gets a regular size bar or something at the cinema.

Kenji doesn't go to the theatre because he's got a home theatre that's better than any other. he loves explosions and special effects and cool one-liners from even cooler action heroes - especially when he can say the lines along with the movie. after losing the mansion, he didn't really go to the movies often, though they did do a midnight screening for the Esther Stone movie (which was actually not canon to the series and came out a decade earlier). Brooklynn got him tickets for his 18th birthday, so that was a fun night (especially because it was at a smaller theatre that sold the most amazing chili dogs)

Brooklynn's also not a huge movie buff, though not due to lack of interest. she's been so on the road her whole life that she never really got many chances to go see a movie. there are a lot of "classics" she hadn't seen as a kid, so the camp fam made a list and she and Kenji would often have movie nights to complete the list (except for the ones the rest of the fam wanted to be around for). one early summer night, Kenji mounted a giant screen on the back of his camper so they could have a "drive-in theatre" night and watch My Fair Lady, which was her bio dad's favourite growing up. she was late and they broke up two weeks later.

[robotslenderman]

Man enshittification has sent me down a tech rabbit hole and I really appreciate the skills I'm developing and the way they've enriched my life.

Don't like Spotify so I got SpotDL. Fuck paying god knows how much for streaming programs I'm barely using, I'm learning to torrent that shit. I set up a killswitch and a split tunnel and everything. I know people keep saying that you shouldn't pirate books but I got fed up with Amazon letting me buy stuff only to take it back and not let me read it any more without a refund, so if I can't get something from the library or the second hand book fair I absolutely pirate that shit now because FUCK the "you won't own anything and you will be happy" economy, I don't care if you're a struggling independent or a juggernaut I am NEVER letting that happen again. As soon as I can figure out Calibre I'm stripping the DRM from my legal ebook collection so I can hold on to it. Fuck Amazon.

I bought a new ereader because fuck Kindle and I didn't have to get a subscription and FUCK SUBSCRIPTIONS, I have two three subscriptions and one is two bucks a month for iCloud and the other is for YNAB because it saves me more money than it costs (and the last one is my local gym). I bought a handheld PC and installed Apollo and Moonlight and Playnite so I can stream games directly from my desktop PC so I can play them at higher settings, and I want to install Tailscale so I can do it even when I'm not at home, should the internet connection cooperate. But also I still have to learn how to get it to cooperate with PureVPN because I have port forwarding set up there with a killswitch for my torrents, and I don't know if I CAN make them play nice but I'll give it a go. I'm going to learn about wake on LAN so I can try and turn on my computer remotely so I can still access it when I'm away and the inevitable circuit breaker events happen without having to nag my brother into turning on my computer. I want to learn how to dual boot Linux for my next build but no idea if I'll be able to get it to cooperate with Moonlight lmao

Anyway even though my budget app saves me more money than it costs, the Mormons who run it are absolutely squeezing its users so I went. fuck it. new app time. and I found some open source software online that basically runs the same and still requires a subscription but this time instead of fifteen bucks a month it's two bucks a month, and it requires setting up a server on some website I've never heard of but it was easy and I did it, and there's no app I have to use a web browser but it's mostly set up now, I just have to do battle to export my YNAB budget and import it into Actual Budget and then I'm spending less than five bucks a month on subscriptions that aren't the gym.

I feel like I've slowly turned into an anti consumption kind of person without even meaning to. I still buy a lot of things brand new, but I very rarely buy things that I don't actually need in some way. I've started thrifting clothes, I get tech second hand or refurbished. I don't like to waste the bin liners at work so I won't use the bin in the store room at work because if I do the cleaners will empty it even though it'll only have whatever I threw out in there so I always bring my rubbish to the front desk and use that bin instead. I'm learning to cook so I can finally make food nice enough I stop buying fucking lunch. I want to one day buy an apartment on a tram line in Melbourne so that I don't have to use a car, but before I get there I'm using my mother's car until she either wants it back or it dies. One thing that'll bug me about being on my own is that I'd be producing a lot of food waste as groceries are sold in portions meant for households, not single people, so I want to get a chest freezer so I can reduce that as much as I can, but that's years down the line.

I never really set out to become this person I've become but I feel good about it. I'll never be able to opt out of capitalism but I can still reduce how much I participate in it by buying refurbished and second hand, and reducing how much I toss. I found a store yesterday at work that has books out, encouraging people to donate some and take others, and I might go back this week and take some of the books I bought from the second hand book fair that I've read to make some more space. After I read them I pirated my favourites so I'll always have them on my device now anyway, but I don't want to throw them out, I'd rather let someone else have them and then pass them on in their turn.

[illubean]

Dress Up Doll

@deardollieeee requested: sorry to bother you but can you do like a dress up day for gon and killua? (not forcing!) have a good day/night! Characters: Gon Freecs, Killua Zoldyck, Alluka Zoldyck Type: Fluff, Short Oneshot, Gn!reader

hehe decided to add Alluka in here cus she fits the prompt :D also lets pretend she's younger than she is for the sake of the plot

Warnings: none

"This is humiliating," Killua huffed as he stood in the middle of the room, clad in plastic heels, a frilly pink princess dress and a large hair bow to match. Alluka was currently applying bright pink blush to her brother's face while you laughed, doing Gon's mascara.

"Oh come on don't be such a sour puss! See, Gon's having fun! Right Gon?"

You sit back to look at your work, the dark haired boy scratched the back of his head while he laughed awkwardly in false agreement

Gon's makeup turned out pretty tame whereas Killua's...

Lets just say Alluka had her fun.

"Big brother you're so pretty!"

Alluka finished her work and brought a mirror up for the white hair boy to see, and he was not amused. He had messy purple eyeshadow smeared across his eyelids, uneven liner, bright pink cheeks and shimmery lipgloss that seemed to be around his lips more than on them.

"Alright Alluka, I think it's time to find a dress for Gon!" you said with a mischevious smirk, grabbing the boy and dragging him towards Alluka's dress up bin. She picked out a puffy yellow dress and a matching tiara, forcing the older boy to put it on.

"Hey, how come he gets the tiara!"

'Becaussseeee he's good with animals!" Alluka explained. "All good princesses are good with animals!"

You laughed at the two boys who looked absolutely ridiculous. Playing with Alluka was the best, as she always seemed to favor you more and asking you to help her with her schemes. Your laughter stopped as they all turned to you, a sly smirk making it's way on Killua's face.

"Hey Alluka, do you know who hasn't been princess-ified yet?" He asked.

"Huh?"

"It's Y/n's turn for a makeover!" Gon added.

"Ohh you're right!" Alluka said, looking at you with a sparkle in her eyes. Gon and Killua both echanged a look, grabbing some of the makeup products before slowly inching towards you.

"Wha- I don't need a makeover! I'm ok just like thi- hey- ACK!"

[raiseupyourbat]

Truly the most beautiful thing in the world when you can tell a tma fic was written by a british person (or done INCREDIBLY thoroughly if not) like holy shit it reads so smoothly. This fic mentioned yorkshire tea, bin liners, m&s, biscuits (then specifically custard creams), fruit pastilles and woolworths having shut down here years ago I need to shake the writer's hand enthusiastically and sob w joy is2g

[aeolianblues]

“The masterplan was, there was no masterplan. Except to write good songs. Oh yeah, and to be the biggest band in the world. A modest ambition, but it put Oasis on the road to greatness.”

OASIS - THE MASTERPLAN (1998)

Plus some more pics of Oasis albums we have at our stations, sent to us promotionally by Sony Canada on behalf of Creation Records.

Liner notes below the cut:

The masterplan was, there was no masterplan. Except to write good songs. Oh yeah, and to be the biggest band in the world. A modest ambition, but it put Oasis on the road to greatness. "Me mam always used to say, God loves a tryer," Noel Gallagher says. "And I went, 'Why? Has he got a car?' She went, 'No, a tryer-Not a tyre." So the Gallagher boys did try, and if you want proof of how hard they tried then hear these tracks - B-sides, all of them, made by a band who believe a B-side is no excuse not to care. Outside of Britain it hasn't always been easy to hear Oasis B-sides. But in Britain or anywhere else, they sound majestic played back-to-back.

We open heroically with ACQUIESCE which is one of those all-time "shoulda been an A-side" numbers. (Creation Records certainly thought so, and who could blame them?) The song is about friendship in the widest sense and not, as often speculated, about the Gallagher brothers themselves. Noel sings the chorus because, he claims, Liam couldn't reach the high notes. Or he was in the pub. Whatever, it was written on a slow train to Wales and made possible because Noel likes to travel with his guitar. It's no surprise that Acquiesce is present: via the Internet, Oasis fans were asked to vote on this album's choice of tracks.

But the inclusion of UNDERNEATH THE SKY might have been "influenced" by Noel, who cites this as a favourite song. Its happy-wanderer feel was inspired by a pocket-book of travellers' quotes he came across, and the jollity's enhanced by a four-handed piano part courtesy of him and Bonehead (who tackles the tinkly bits, apparently).

TALK TONIGHT is another self-selecting choice, from Noel's acoustic repertoire. Beautifully tender, its thoughtful air derives from a Texas studio session: Noel was back after his brief flounce from the band on a US tour: "Me and Liam had a disagreement, probably about what shoes he was wearing, so I'd fucked off to Las Vegas." It was an Oasis fan in San Francisco who talked him down off the ledge. The same reflective interlude gave us another song, in HALF THE WORLD AWAY (which is Paul Weller's favourite Oasis track). The pressure was already building, though, when Noel began writing (IT'S GOOD TO BE FREE, at the start of those troubled American dates. He finished it in Las Vegas: "Cocaine psychosis," reckoned producer Owen Morris, detecting a Fear And Loathing vibe in that sinister guitar feedback. Accordion expert Bonehead donates the breezy coda, which lends a misleadingly cheerful touch to what was a deeply fraught Oasis session: "Believe me, it was horribe. it wasn't funny at all." The Morse Code segment, by the way, is meaningless so far as anyone knows.

The oldest song here is GOING NOWHERE, written around 1990 before the band was signed ("It's about what we were going to do when we got a shitload of money off Creation"); it was not recorded until after the Be Here Now album, when there was a hankering for something less massive. Noel and drummer Alan White are the only Oasis members involved, with piano, brass and horn players to bring a vaguely Burt Bacharach atmosphere. Noel only wishes he knew another rhyme for "car" and

"Jaguar." Nearly as vintage in its origins, however, was HEADSHRINKER: recorded for Some Might Say in '95, it was written about three years earlier, during the band's punkier phase. It's also one of Liam's greatest vocals, partly because of the freedom from pressure that doing B-sides can offer. Although a load of drug references were binned from the lyric, a manic edge remains to this tale of an early girlfriend Liam could not shake off. It may start out like The Faces' Stay With Me, but Noel says he was thinking of The Rolling Stones at the time. And ROCKIN' CHAIR dates from Noel's days in Manchester, planning to leave his own girlfriend and dreaming of the good life down in London.

FADE AWAY first surfaced on Cigarettes & Alcohol, and was probably elbowed off Definitely Maybe in favour of Slide Away. Since then the chorus alone has guaranteed its popularity with Oasis fans: "The dreams we have as children fade away...

It's about growing up but not growing old," says Noel, echoing a John Lennon belief that you won't get anything unless you've got the vision to imagine it. It's a classic Buzzcocks trick, this, placing a wistful lyric inside the most glorious rush of punk rock energy. That said, it was a relief for Noel to do a track like THE SWAMP SONG, which required no words at all. Alongside Roll With It, The Swamp Song was a warm-up exercise for the Morning Glory sessions; it was also used to set the sound levels at Glastonbury, which is where Alan White's thunderous drumming was taped. Later on, when Paul Weller turned up for Champagne Supernova, he added The Swamp Song's harmonica and duelling guitars: "Very rock'n'roll," chortles Noel, "but we didn't manage to stand back to back once, which I was very upset about!" Its working title "The Jam" was scrapped, tragically.

Contrary to previous credits, I AM THE WALRUS was not recorded at the Glasgow Cathouse, but at a conference of Sony executives, gathered to hear Creation's new signings. Oasis used to play it at gigs in Liverpool, as an act of bravado aimed at the local bands, even The Beatles never did this one live. Technical note: any "looseness" in Noel's guitar playing here is attributed to half a bottle of Sony-financed gin. Speaking of guitars, the soaring LISTEN UP used to boast a solo much longer than the one you hear in this version; Liam had wanted it shorter, so Noel had disagreed on principle ("If you don't argue with Liam he gets upset"). Four years later, Liam has got his way. The poppy STAY YOUNG, meanwhile, was first ear-marked to be "the Digsy's Dinner" of Be Here Now, until Noel wrote Magic Pie and dumped it. Stay Young wound up on D'You Know What I Mean?, and could have been another A-side if its composer had actually liked the song. But he doesn't. (Audiences, who have more sense than songwriters, all love it.)

But we end with a track that Noel Gallagher is definitely proud of. In fact he regards THE MASTERPLAN as his finest piece of work. Even Liam now wishes he'd sung it himself. The writing came easily, inspired in equal measure by a Japanese hotel corridor and a good, relaxing smoke. "I'm the best lyricist in Oasis, is how I like to say it," Noel shrugs. "But to me this sums up your journey through life. All we know is that we don't know." Is it, we might wonder, sung to Liam? ("Please brother let it be") Again the answer is No.

"We're all brothers and sisters," says Noel. And so we are, and so are Oasis whether named

Gallagher, McGuigan, White or indeed Bonehead. They're brothers and they're tryers, all five. They try for themselves and they try for the rest of us. No wonder God loves them.

[billdecker]

i live in social housing and it's great until one person moves in to a new place and just changes the whole atmosphere of the place. a new couple have moved in the block next door with a monster of a dog that they let run around the grounds without a lead, shitting and pissing everywhere. last week my partner scooped up a pedal bin liner full of dog shit that was from our little bit of lawn alone. we were allowed a cat on the condition it was a house cat and didn't mess on the grounds. plus i'm terrified of dogs not on leads and this one is fucking massive. this summer was gonna be the one where i plant loads of seeds in the garden, grow veg in planters. now my agoraphobia is spiking. they're not the sort of people you can have a polite chat to either, if you get me.

i'm worried about the dog too. it's a massive lad and it's cooped up in a tiny bedsit with the new residents when there's a park literally across the road. it'll only take one car to come up the drive, turn the corner and not see it and it's hit. we've complained. D has sent all the photographic evidence. the housing officer won't do anything. she says residents are allowed pets now, which is great, but every other person with a dog here keeps it on a lead and takes it across the road to the park. she has no care about dealing with any of it. she just said report it to the council, who will probably say it's something the housing association need to deal with.

i wish we could afford to buy our own place so i could have my own private garden and not have to deal with this.

[cooldogpics]

Posting this resource for someone considering rats

Cage calculator to determine how many can live in a space you have. The site even has some cage tips its nicer than i remember

Link below is a cage under 100 bucks that can fot 2-3 rats

Fleece scrapes that can be used for hammocks or cage lining

Costco/samsclub boxes are free just grab some on the way out they make good liners and toys. The dollar store is your bestie too i get cheap bins for litter boxes and the rats love it