#Standard bookshelf

[tejuskumar13]

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[stillbornedprincess]

preparing to go to the library (tomorrow) and say sorry I hoarded its books.. will you forgive me… will you take my card away…

[fallencelsetial]

Cleaning really should be a joy instead of a mental breakdown every time.

Cleaning = you’ve been messy = you’ve been a bad person = bad people don’t deserve happiness

So then you put off cleaning until you’re in the right state to think rationally.

It will get done. Just slowly.

But at the same time if you forget one cup on your desk because you’re tired, then officially you’ve been an awful deplorable human being and honestly should you even be considered a human being for fucking up so heinously?

[thebusylilbee]

I spent last night at another friend's place and I slept so well ?? the bed and temperatures are perfect and it's not even too small despite him living directly outside of Paris 😳 omg I selfishly hope he won't get a girlfriend for a while so i can keep sleeping here on the regular !!! Also his bookshelf is literally FULL of books on decolonialism, post capitalist societies and feminism 😍 damn im almost mad at myself for not being interested in him Like That actually bc he would be an excellent deal 😩

[literary-dolly]

communication is key

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k warnings: sexual humour, implied sexual content (non-explicit), mention of insecurities

Jason accidentally leaves a comm behind in your apartment - it would be rude not to have a listen, right?

Part II

It’s safe to say your evening is currently painfully boring.

Make no mistake, scrolling through Netflix is a treasured pastime most days. Somehow, it just wasn’t scratching the itch alone on a Friday night, disappointed and aching for the presence your boyfriend.

Jason had left for patrol roughly an hour ago. It was supposed to be your night together – both of you had made sure to make time in the calendar to go on a long overdue date. Between your work and Jason’s late-night patrols (which often left him fast asleep until at least midday), it was difficult to orchestrate time specifically for the two of you. Yes, you ate dinner together most evenings, often casually basked in each other’s company as you tinkered around your shared apartment, but it wasn’t the same as date night.

Jason had been more than a little pissed when he’d gotten a phone call from Dick asking him to help with the patrol this evening, face falling as soon as the caller ID lit up his phone. Bruce had to rush out of town, he’d claimed, and they needed the extra manpower after a recent Arkham outbreak. You’d known the moment Jason’s shoulders sagged that he would go. It was in his nature as a vigilante. Presenting him with the opportunity to save some poor, unfortunate Gothamites was like dangling a bone in front of a dog and not expecting it to bite.

You tried not to let it sting. When Jason had confessed to you about his alter-ego, you’d known that there would be certain sacrifices in your relationship most would not have to contend with. You doubted there were many people who were jealous of the amount of time their boyfriend spent with the Penguin. It was an unconventional set-up by most standards, but the two of you made it work. It was only on the odd occasion that you truly felt the impact of Jason’s ‘career path’.

The silence in the kitchen had been deafening when he’d hung up the phone. It’s not that you were angry with Jason, or Dick, or anyone for that matter. You were just disappointed. You’d kept your mouth clamped shut as best you could out of fear that if it opened, words would trickle out in the heat of the moment you’d come to regret later on. Clearly, your silence was statement enough, because Jason had only pressed a kiss into your hair with a quiet promise to make it up to you before retreating into the bedroom to get ready for the long night ahead of him. He knew better than to press the issue.

As a result, you were perched on the couch exactly where Jason had left you. The absence of any plans you’d had for the evening left you restless, unable to settle into any particular task. And fucking hell you were bored.

It's just as you go to retreat into the bedroom to try and sleep off your lingering frustrations that you hear the crackling from the bookshelf tucked away in the corner, a short static sound that cuts through the silence of the apartment. It takes a few seconds for you to spot it, the tiny earpiece shoved behind an old, tattered paperback. Jason had been working on his suit earlier in the week, and you’d overheard his curt conversation with Bruce on the phone about needing a new set after breaking his old ones.

Not so broken, clearly.

Your curiosity is piqued enough to venture over to the shelf, plucking the tiny object up carefully to avoid breaking it any further. You’d seen Jason tinker with them before, most likely to scramble the tracking features that came with most of the tech Bruce had given him in recent years. You can hear the muted mumble of conversation, not clear enough to make out any distinct words but enough to know that there was a lengthy talk being had on the line.

It’s not your proudest moment as you slot it into your ear, and definitely, most likely, a severe invasion of privacy. Guilt twangs in the pit of your stomach, but hey – if Jason’s allowed to follow you home from the bodega to make sure you don’t get mugged in the precious fifteen seconds it takes, you can listen to a few minutes of radio chatter, right? You’re just looking out for him. Want to be close to him.

Yeah, right.

It’s uncomfortable, designed to be completely moulded to Jason, and there’s a persistent hum that won’t seem to fade (definitely a little broken) but the voices come to life almost instantly.

“I’m just saying, Empire Strikes Back is by far the superior film, and I won’t hear otherwise.”

“Must you fill our ears with such incessant chatter, Drake.”

“Codenames. And I don’t know, Robin, he’s kind of cooking.”

You recognise the final voice as Dick – the only member of Jason’s family you’d had the pleasure of meeting despite your nearing year-long relationship. It hadn’t been on purpose, naturally, Dick had spotted the pair of you in the window of a coffee shop and rushed over to corner Jason before he could formulate an escape plan that didn’t involve blowing up your favourite date spot. Jason had honest-to-god hissed when he saw his brother approach, and for a split second you were certain he was going to throw his tea over him.

In spite of Jason’s grumbling, you’d taken an instant liking to the elder. He was charismatic, exuberant and kind, and quite frankly it was hard not to bask in the warmth of his presence. As soon as he’d left, however, Jason had sworn that you were never going to meet the rest of his family if he could help it – and thus far he’d kept his promise.

Still, you were aware of the players on the board from the pieces you’d gathered in time spent with your boyfriend. The second voice, you had correctly identified, was Damian – or the Demon Brat as Jason often took to calling him when he came up. You have to stifle a laugh at his bravado. Much like the picture your mind had painted, the kid definitely had an aura about him.

That just left Tim, the first voice. Jason mentioned him the least of all of his siblings, and you found that when his name came up Jason seemed to shrink into himself somewhat, sometimes fading away, seemingly lost in memories he couldn’t quite escape. You knew that Jason had a troubled relationship with most of his family members at one point or another, having been spared the specifics, but your gut told you that there was something about his relationship with Tim that cut a tad deeper than the rest.

It was strange, to finally put voices to names. You can’t help the small smile that curves on your lips.

“Right, fess up, who taught Nightwing about ‘let him cook’,” A female voice rings out.

You filter through your previous conversations with Jason as you try to figure out who it could belong to, rapidly considering the vague descriptions he’d given you of Steph, Cass and Babs. It doesn’t take you long to decide it’s most likely Stephanie.

“Hey – could I not have just, I don’t know, learned about it myself?”

“Not likely, they probably didn’t have the internet until you were, what? Forty?”

“Tough talk coming from a girl who gave The Last Jedi five stars on Letterboxd.”

“You did what?”

“I must admit, Spoiler, that is disappointing.”

“Do any of you ever shut the fuck up?”

Your body thrums at the last one, and a breath tears its way out of your throat. Jason. It throws you off balance to hear him so brusk, a fire in his words that he rarely brought to the conversations you had - in your experience, it was typically reserved for when he stubbed a toe or let the pasta boil over on the stove. His voice sounds somewhat thick, and your stomach churns at the idea that your demeanour from earlier had rattled him so deeply.

You were well acquainted with Jason’s compulsion to work; he was completely and utterly addicted to it. So much so, that you’d failed to consider just how disappointed he might feel about missing your date too.

As if on cue, Tim’s voice rings out, “Aww, Hood’s upset because he was going to wine and dine his girlfriend tonight.”

“Red Robin…”

“I was being polite the first time, now I’m telling you. Shut the fuck up.”

The statement throws you a little, hearing Jason’s family discuss your relationship as though it were a common topic. The scraps of information Jason had given you about them were so few and far in between that you could only assume he had been the same on the other side of it. Quickly, you realise, that he probably had been – you could hazard a guess coming from a family of famed detectives didn’t exactly make it easy to keep secrets.

“I refuse to believe that Red Hood has a partner,” Damian’s words are impossibly snide, “Who could possibly want to spend any more time with him than is absolutely necessary?”

You make out a few giggles after that, namely Tim and Steph, who seem to be basking in the concept of making Jason as miserable as possible. It’s Dick that steps in to shh them, chiding Damian with a measured tone that you’re sure could only have developed from years of dealing with this exact situation. The babble continues back and forth for a few minutes, and you can almost feel yourself beginning to sink into sleep as you listen to them bicker, someone occasionally slipping in some useful intel about a warehouse or rogue sighting. 

The line goes quiet when Jason lets out a harsh, “Oh, fuck!”

A pulse of lightning seems to shoot its way down your spine, and it takes more than you thought yourself capable of to not scream down the comm line.

“Hood?”

“Red Hood?”

“Hood, you okay?”

“Hood, status report, now.”

“I’m fine,” Jason bites out, a little bemused if nothing else, “My hip and knee are just stiff. Getting colder outside, ya’ know.”

The silence is deafening for a few seconds, and you can’t claim to know where everyone’s thoughts sink to, but you could guess it was to do with Jason’s sordid history.

That is, until Tim pipes up dryly, “So, what is that, like, rigor mortis?”

“Oh my god.”

“That’s so not okay, dude.”

“Holy shit.”

You wait eagerly in anticipation to hear Jason’s response. You couldn’t claim to know every detail of Jason’s past – it was something the two of you were slowly working on together. He was understandably cagey at the idea of talking about his experiences, so you never pressed, instead allowing him to offer up bits and pieces of information in his more vulnerable moments. In spite of that, you knew that Jason had died. There wasn’t another plausible explanation for the giant Y-scar that stretched its way across his chest. You’d worked for a long time on getting him to feel comfortable enough to be around you without a shirt on, comfortable enough to know you weren’t going to turn tail and run just at the sight. He hadn’t told you how or why – but the look in his eyes when he stared in the mirror for a second too long was enough to let you know it was certainly no fairytale.

Which is why it’s such a surprise when a deep, rumbling laugh filters through the earpiece, and you’re struck with the image of Jason perched on a rooftop somewhere chuckling to himself as he watches over the city. Within seconds there’s an orchestra of maniacal cackles pouring through the comms, and you’re fairly certain that the only one who isn’t laughing is Damian.

“Hood, does your partner know of your death and resurrection?”

Jeez, Damian, way to soften the blow.

Dick quickly jumps in to chastise his brother, sounding increasingly more exasperated with every word, “Robin, you can’t –”

“Yeah, she does,” Jason’s voice is surprisingly earnest, “Don’t think it bothers her, not really.”

Tim and Steph jump in almost immediately to make outrageous kissing noises, crooning Oh, Hood and I love you, Hood and other slightly more inappropriate comments. You’re certain if you looked in the mirror the colour of your cheeks wouldn’t be far off Jason’s helmet.

“Honestly, you two need to stop behaving like I don’t have your exact coordinates,” Jason huffs out, but you can hear the twinge of humour in his words. He’s not angry, not at all, if anything you’d say he was finding it funny.

“Seriously though, Hood,” Steph’s voice is somewhat strained from laughing, “When are you going to introduce us?”

“Never.”

“Come on, man.”

“Dick got to meet her!”

“I would be interested in assessing the capabilities of this civilian.”

“Yeah, well, she’s more than capable.”

Now that has a little more bite to it, and your chest swells with pride at Jason’s defensiveness. You’d always felt a tad insecure about how you compared to the rest of the people in Jason’s life – surrounded by superheroes, metahumans, and some of the most proficient individuals in the world. You were just a civilian, and in your opinion, nothing all that special. But Jason had always made sure that you felt equal, that the differences in what you did outside the walls of your apartment had no bearing on the fact his world started and ended with you.

 “So… does the mask stay on when you get freaky or –”

“Steph, don’t make me come over there, you know I will.”

“Codenames.” Honestly, you can’t help but respect Dick for his seemingly unwavering patience, although you could guess it might be due to the noticeable absence of Batman himself to rein in his children in his place. “Spoiler, we have a child with us.”

“I don’t understand Spoiler. What is getting freaky–”

“Please,” Dick’s begging now.

“Oh, B is gonna have fun with that when he gets home.”

“Pfft, you think B is going to know what getting freaky means?”

“You know that means he’s going to ask us, right?”

“Shit.”

Your brain starts to feel fried just listening to them. And the most obscene part of it all is that you can hear them fighting, subduing local criminals while simultaneously having one of the weirdest conversations you’ve ever been a party to (well, secretly a party to). You have to place the earpiece on the other side of the room and retreat into the bathroom to let out what could be a laugh or a scream – you can’t be sure.

Unsurprisingly, when you slot the earpiece back in again, the conversation has shifted.

You only catch the end of Tim’s words, but it’s enough to send your entire body into a state of shock, “– when the wedding happens.”

“When the wedding happens,” Jason bites out breathlessly, clearly in the middle of some kind of confrontation, “Your sorry ass isn’t going to be fuckin’ invited.”

And the comm line erupts.

“When the wedding happens?”

“WHAT?”

“Guys, fuckin’ hell, I didn’t mean it like –”

“I’m presuming this means you have a ring, yes, Todd?”

If you weren’t already sat, you’re certain your legs would have given way underneath you. The room is spinning, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of the world shifting on its axis and you can feel your heart vibrating in your throat.

You and Jason had never made any point of talking about marriage. It had come up casually, as it did in the conversations of most couples – but you had never had any particularly serious discussions about the subject. You, for one, had avoided it out of fear of spooking Jason, whom you’d already spent enough time coaxing out of his shell without potentially scaring him back in again. You had no idea that it was something that he was thinking about.

Of course, you wanted to marry him. From the moment he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, you’d known that he was the only option.

“One last time,” Dick’s voice tears you from your thoughts, grating like nails on a chalkboard. It sends a chill through your entire body and for a brief second you can envision what it would be like to be confronted by Nightwing on a bad day. “Codenames. I don’t care if you don’t think anyone is listening –”

“Funny you say that. Someone is listening.”

It’s a woman’s voice. That must be Babs.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Abort. Abort. Abort. Immediately.

If you thought the comm line had exploded before, this was an atomic bomb. It’s a cacophony, instantly. Not the casual chattering over each other of minutes prior, instead it’s angered shouts, concerned whispers and vehement speculations about who it could possibly be.

The last thing you hear when you drop the earpiece into the garbage disposal with a sickening clang is Jason’s concerningly enlightened ‘Oh shit’.

You’ve been lying in bed practicing pretending to be asleep for an hour when Jason finally peels through the bedroom window. It takes everything you can muster to regulate your breathing, steady your heartbeat and lay still enough to feign unconsciousness.

The telltale rustling of Jason pulling off his costume as quietly as possible is enough to make you let out a barely-there sigh of relief. There’s a fleeting sadistic pride that burns in your chest at the thought that you’ve fooled the mighty Red Hood.

“So, where is it?”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Maybe if you don’t answer, he’ll just lay off –

“I know you’re awake.” You nearly jump up to the ceiling because he says it directly into your ear and you didn’t even hear him move from beside the window. Fucking vigilantes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you borderline whimper, and abruptly realise if you were going to double-down you probably should have done it with a bit more authority.

“Really, sweetheart? That’s what we’re going with.”

You roll over ever so slightly, just enough to pull your face from the pillow. Jason’s eyes are practically glowing in the dark of your bedroom and his face is not even an inch from yours. He’s close enough that you can make out the ever so slight sweaty dampness of his hair, that you could trace the freckles and scars alike that are dotted across his face – you can also make out the unmistakable curve of his lips, upwards ever so slightly at the corner.

“Garbage disposal.” The words come out quicker than you thought was physically possible and could potentially be mistaken for the creaking of a door in a different context given the pitch of them. You’re not sure if you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest or tied to your foot and subsequently flung into a river.

The silence is painful. Agonising. It’s too dark to completely make out Jason’s expression, his body completely still. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing.

And then he starts to shake, shoulders first, before the rest of his body follows. He collapses onto his side of the bed, jolting the mattress, and the vibrations are enough to confirm your suspicions. He’s laughing his fucking head off.

“You put it in the garbage disposal?” There’s disbelief lacing his words, and his own question only sets him off again. You throw a weak punch at his arm out of fear of him waking the neighbours.

“You’re not mad?” Your disbelief matches his own as you finally flip over to face him, now draped in the moonlight pouring through your bedroom window.

His laughter subdues, and he pauses contemplatively before sighing, “I probably should be. But, no, I’m not. I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t do the same fuckin’ thing.”

That’s the only signal you need to traverse the bed at break-neck speed, throwing yourself into Jason’s arms and burying your face into the crook of his neck. Without missing a beat, his arms come around to draw soft patterns up and down your back, and he lets out a relaxed hum of approval.

“I’m sorry about tonight, baby,” he won’t quite look you in the eye as he says it, and you can practically feel the guilt emanating off of him, “I know how much you were looking forward to it. We were looking forward to it.”

“Jay,” you sigh, raking a hand through his hair, “I love you. What you do makes you who you are, if I couldn’t accept that your aggressive vigilantism was going to have to come first sometimes, we wouldn’t be together.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your neck with a soft mumble, “I love you too. Too good f’me.”

“Shut up and go shower,” you giggle, shoving him away, “You stink, pretty boy.”

Jason feigns offense comically, drawing back with a scandalised grin and a shake of his head. You instantly feel the loss as he clambers out of bed, keeping your hands against him for as far as you can reach. There’s a quaint smile on his face as he begins to saunter over to the bathroom. God, you love this man.

“Jay?” You call, just before the bathroom door clicks shut.

“Yeah, princess?”

“I like your family. They seem nice.” You get little more than a grumble in response, and you’re not sure there were any discernible words in there to begin with as he pulls the door to again.

“Oh, and Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“You know that thing Steph said – uh, you know – about the mask?”

You can hear the echo of Jason’s forehead smacking against the doorframe through the wall.

microsoft word giving me italics is like Prometheus stealing fire and giving it to humanity - best believe its a power i'm going to abuse

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don't like it, leave me alone.

[niennanir]

Listen to your elders

So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.

So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.

But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?

In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.

Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download

Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title: 

No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.

Now you’re going to need some materials:  8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife

You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.

Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:

use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.

Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.

Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.

You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.

Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour

In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock

Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)

Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.

Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine

Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.

Voila:

I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.

The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.

If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders. 

[tejuskumar13]

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[carl1ghts]

I love him so fucking much. AND YOU!!

Ross period fluff for the masses I luv Ur fluff and these cramps are ENDING MY LYFE

I luv u sm take Ur time my love -Carl1ghts

finally, sorry it took so long. i love you sm<333

rain drizzles steadily against the balcony railing, streaking down the windows in slow, winding paths. the sky is a dull grey, clouds thick and heavy, and the world outside feels quiet, subdued.

inside, though, the flat is warm, the low hum of ross’s voice from the other room grounding you as you curl up on the couch.

you've been tucked beneath a blanket for the past hour, waiting for him to finish his video call, your body heavy with exhaustion. your cramps have dulled slightly, but there’s still an ache low in your stomach, a tired sort of discomfort that makes you want to burrow deeper into the cushions.

finally, you hear ross let out a long exhale from the other room, followed by the sound of his chair creaking as he stretches.

“finally done, love.” his voice is warm as he walks into the living room, rolling his shoulders. “how are you feeling. still rough?”

you nod, shifting slightly to look at him. “yeah.”

he frowns, padding over to stand beside the couch, fingers brushing gently over the blanket draped around you.

“think you can take another advil now,” he says, thoughtful.

you nod again.

“right then.” he leans down to kiss the top of your head, murmuring, “back in a sec,” before waddling off toward the kitchen.

“how was your call?” you ask, watching him move around the space.

“it was really good, actually. had a nice conversation about football and s’always nice to talk about macclesfield,” he smiles, filling a glass of water.

you giggle, “good to hear.”

ross opens the cabinet to grab the bottle of pills. his hair is a little messy, falling from the bun he had tied earlier, and the sleeves of his jumper are pushed up to his elbows.

“worried about you though. you’re rightfully exhausted after last night.”

last night when ross found you crouched down in the kitchen at 2am waiting for the advil to kick in because your cramps woke you up.

“i am.”

when he comes back, he kneels beside the couch, pressing the glass gently into your hand.

“i’m sorry. there you go.”

you take it gratefully, swallowing the pill before setting the glass down on the coffee table.

he stays like that for a second, hand resting on the side of your face, his thumb sweeping gently over your cheekbone. his eyes flicker over you, something soft settling there.

“should probably eat something too.”

your groan this time is louder, dramatic. “oh god, no.”

ross huffs a laugh. “sorry, love.”

“if i even think about food, i’ll throw up,” you grumble, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes.

“i know,” he soothes, rubbing a slow hand over your arm. “but you’ve gotta eat eventually. would you rather have me order something or make something?”

you peek at him, considering. his head tilts slightly, watching you.

“thought about making something for dinner anyway,” he adds, “improve my cooking skills.”

you can’t help but giggle, eyes flickering toward the window. the rain hasn’t let up, the sky a washed-out gray. it’s the kind of weather that makes you want to stay curled up forever.

“cuddles first?” you ask, glancing back at him.

ross grins, dimples pressing deep into his cheeks. “yeah, love. course.”

he pushes himself up. “but first-hot water bottle, d’you think that’ll help?”

you shrug. “don’t know.”

“let’s try, yeah?”

you watch as he moves into the kitchen, hear the rush of the tap.

“are there any more calls today?” you ask after a moment.

ross leans against the counter while the water heats, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “nah, i’m all yours for the rest of the day.”

you hum, shifting slightly to look at him better. you can’t help but grin at him.

ross returns a smile.

he also takes a cup out of the cupboard and after he pours the water in the hot water bottle, he pours some into the cup and puts a tea bag in it.

“i’ve read that chamomile tea helps sometimes, with cramps and all that,” he says as he walks toward you again, “let’s hope that’s true.”

your gaze softens at the thought of him doing research because you feel like shit.

“thank you,” you say, “genuinely, ross.”

“it’s my pleasure love- well, i wouldn’t want you to feel shit in the first place but if you do, of course i’ll help.”

he kneels down again, tucking the bottle carefully against your stomach. the warmth seeps through instantly, dulling the worst of the ache. you exhale, relaxing into the cushions.

ross watches you, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

“good?”

“mmm.” your eyes flutter shut. “yeah.”

he shifts, climbing onto the couch behind you, tugging you back against his chest. his arms wrap around your waist, one hand covering the hot water bottle, keeping it in place.

he presses a kiss against your shoulder, voice low and sweet.

“thank you,” you whisper again.

“of course, sweet girl.”

his lips linger there, his breath warm against your skin.

outside, the rain keeps falling, steady and slow.

ross tightens his hold slightly, pulling you closer, and you sink into him, letting the warmth of him settle into your bones.

“here, love,” he murmurs as he leans over you to hand you your tea, “don’t forget to drink it.”

your fingers curl instinctively around the mug, heat seeping into your palms. you blink, shifting slightly against him. the smell of chamomile rises with the steam.

you hum, lifting the mug to your lips and taking a small sip. immediately, you wrinkle your nose.

his chest vibrates with a quiet laugh, his chin dropping to rest on your shoulder. “that bad?”

you huff. “just… earthy. don’t like that.”

ross chuckles again, lips pressing against the curve of your jaw. “it’s not that bad.”

you groan dramatically. “it is.”

ross hums, amused, as one of his hands moves to your hair. he runs his fingers through it slowly, untangling it gently, brushing it back behind your ear like he can’t help himself.

the touch lulls you, warm and steady, and you relax back into him, fingers tightening slightly around the mug.

for a while, you just exist like that—sipping at the tea (even though you keep making a face), ross playing with your hair absentmindedly, the rain still whispering against the windows.

he presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek, the warmth of them lingering against your skin.

“i love you,” you mumble.

he hums, “i love you, darling.”

your eyes flutter shut for a second. “so nice to me.”

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just squeezes your waist gently. “always, love.”

a few more minutes pass, the tea growing cooler in your hands, the weight of ross behind you anchoring you.

then he shifts, sitting up slightly. you whine in protest, but he just chuckles, reaching for your hand.

“come here,” he says, lifting your fingers to his lips. he presses a kiss against your knuckles, then another, slower. “think i’ll start with dinner now.”

you frown eyes flicking open and your bottom lip jutting out dramatically.

before you can react, he leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. then another, right against your lips, slow and warm, until the pout melts away completely.

when he pulls back, he smiles. “there we go. i’ll be quick.”

you huff, but your cheeks are warm.

“you can sleep until i’m done,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, “i’ll wake you when i’m done.”

you shake your head. “i’d rather watch you.”

ross quirks a brow, smirking slightly.

“what? you in an apron- i wouldn’t want to miss that.”

he winks at you, standing up fully, “alright,” he laughs, “then i’ll put on a show if it means you’ll feel better.”

your stomach flips, “i think that’ll help.”

ross just grins, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before heading toward the kitchen.

you watch him go, your fingers still tingling where he kissed them.

[ablobwhowrites]

Hear me out on this yandere cookie run ramble guys

(plus sorry for disappearing for so long. I'm trying to cook with new stuff coming soon, hopefully this week to next week.)

Imagining a self aware cookie run au and yes the cookies come out of y/n's phone but are the small sizes because they are cookies and y/n who has a office job now has to deal with yandere cookies from both ovenbreak and kingdom. Shadow milk cookie nearly got y/n fired are he decided to use his powers on some of the office stuff y/n has and ended breaking several things instead. (They do how their powers they can get very out of control or just be very weak) y/n just being this normal person who now has to deal with these cookies and now has taken up a whole hobby of making small buildings for the cookies to live in. Now the livingroom coffee table and bookshelf has become bascially a small kingdom for the cookies or just small parts of the living room just different kinds of kingdoms depending on it. Even almond cookie helps y/n get ready in the morning by pointing out what to fix on y/n's work suit and stuff.

Then y/n having to keep the Beasts and Ancients separate so they don't fight. Also the cookies made mandatory for y/n to bring at least one or two cookies with them to keep them safe as they don't know the dangers of this world and rather keep y/n safe. But mainly y/n sits in a office and I love to think some cookies like to sit in quiet with y/n enjoying to silence with them but other cookies absorb get bored of hate it but that is the sacrifice they will make for their dear baker. And also imagining if y/n has any unhealthy habits like staying awake at night for to long then they will be forced to sleep and Moonlight cookie as well as dream Weaver cookie to make sure y/n gets the recommendation dose of sleep. Or if unhealthy eating habits then they'll try to help with that as well to make sure y/n gets healthy amounts of greens (carrot cookie, potato cookie and spinach cookie make sure of that)

plus hey at least the farmer cookies help y/n make a small garden even if it's small it's a good way to have fresh vegetables and fruits, plus they take care of them for y/n when they are gone at work. Also agent olive cookie loves to go with y/n to their office, as they have a job to protect y/n and try to do it well. Coffee cookie also love to talk with y/n in the mornings and even gets excited seeing the giant cups y/n but when y/n takes her on a grocery store trip, she always reminds y/n to get the best kind of coffee bean as she knows her coffee and wants the best for y/n also she may or may not take a bit of coffee for herself as of course she needs to taste the flavor to see if it's up to standard for y/n to drink.

But secretly the cookies are trying to find a way to get y/n back to their world, to earthbread as this life is to taxing on y/n from what they've seen but sadly traveling over to their bakers world really destroyed their phone but after y/n got a new one, the cookies wonder if they can use another device and of course cream puff and expresso cookie are on it but it just worries the ancients that the beast cookies will try to take y/n away when getting back to earth bread.

(that's it for my yap session but if you like this idea and want more please don't be shy and request any ideas if you want more or just have ideas for stories or y/n's. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[stillnotyourmusebitch]

Young at Heart - Alternate!Silco x GN!Reader

This all came about from a 'Late Night Thought' I had last week and i didn't think it would have any traction and it seemed to take off. So, I wrote the fic. (The poll wanted it the Alternate timeline Silco. This is my first time writing this version of him)

((Fluff, humour and established relationship) with a suggestive ending)

When Silco asked me to drop everything and meet him in the upstairs office ASAP. You know I threw my bar rag a little too hard in the direction of my co-worker, hitting him square in the face, declaring I was taking my break early. I couldn’t even hear their disgruntled profanity ridden response. As I was already hopping up the staircase, taking some of the steps two at a time. When I burst through the door, my excitement instantly vanished.  

“When did a bomb go off in here?” I chuckle dryly as I try to edge my way into the office to get a better look. Papers were strewn about all over the floor, boxes overflowing with files and receipts that surround a rather dishevelled looking SIlco who was sat in the center of the explosion.  

“Ah, you’re finally here. You can start over that side of the room.” Not even looking up from his mismatched pile of papers, he waved off in the general direction he wanted me to be. 

“Ya knooooow. When you told me to drop everything, this was not what I had in mind.” I sighed as I slowly manoeuvre my way, without slipping, through piles of documents and files to the far corner where he wanted me to begin. “Why are you needing my help exactly?” I ask flicking the lid off a box stuffed with all sorts of crap I couldn’t care less about. 

“I’m trying to find certain set of files that I need to update the agreement we have on the bar but as you can see from the mess around you that the filing system I had perfectly in place was not up to standard and I'm needing to go through everything again because ‘some’ people did not see fit to follow my system.” 

I can hear the exasperation laced in his voice.  

“Where is Vander and why isn’t he helping you with this?” I turn to face Silco, he meets my eye. 

“He is out trying to buy me the time to find said files. It’s the least he can do after this.” He gestured to the mess around the room. “He thought he knew exactly where the files were and . . .” He imitates an explosion sound throwing some of the papers he held to get his point across. I wince at the realisation of it all. 

“How long have you been going at this? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages” I lean gently against the bookshelf as to not upset any boxes nearby. 

“Hours have become days and I'll be damned if it becomes weeks.” He throws the last of the papers in his hand down onto a makeshift pile that collapses under its own weight. “Urgh, fuck me!” he rubs at the bridge of his nose.  

“If I'm honest I thought that’s why you called for me.” I smirk at his gently reddening cheeks. Choosing to change the subject matter I ask. “What do these files actually look like? I might be able to help you better knowing what I'm trying to find.” 

Silco realising his basic error, begins to explain what I needed to assist him in recovering before we settle back into the search again. 

----- 

The task carries on for a few more hours in a comfortable silence. I had to ask if someone could talk to my coworker about my elongated break. When SIlco requires my presence most of the time he calls me away from work it's for a brief yet hot and handsy make out session that leaves me flustered when I go back to my post. Our relationship was known only to a few close friends and family. But I’m pretty sure everyone knows now because he and I aren’t quiet by any means. Yet nobody says anything about it to protect his professional image. 

“AHA!” Silco exclaims aloud as he stands up from the desk chair, a few precious papers clutched in hand. 

“Found them I see.” I glance over my shoulder briefly at his gleeful face. 

“Yes, finally.” He lets out a sigh in relief, looking over to where I was preoccupied with a box that he didn’t realise was accessible to me. “Please stay out of that one. It's labelled private for a reason.” His voice catches when he saw what I held. 

“Daaaaamn, so it is true.” I turn waltzing over to him, being careful of the still very messy floor, I flip the photo over in my fingers so he can see better. 

“Give me that.” When I get close enough, he reaches out for worn item in my hand. I lift it just out of reach above my head, playing a little game of keep away with his beloved memory. He steps nearer to me, so our chests are touching. 

“Oooo, so close.” I change hands quickly keeping the photograph away from his long fingers. “Come on you can do better than that sweetheart.” I smirk booping his nose quickly with the corner of the photograph before pulling my hand away again. His left arm snakes around my waist turning us around enough so he can push me backwards onto the desk with him almost straddling my right thigh. 

“Well now” I wiggle my brows suggestively, making sure the photograph is still too far away to grab in our new position. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter.” He rolls his eyes at me as he leans closer for the photograph. 

“Funny you say that as it’s normally you dragging me down with you.” I lift my knee grazing his inner thigh causing him pause. 

He says my name in a warning way. 

“Okay Mr Serious pants.” I reply in a mocking tone. 

He manages to finally grab the photo from me, checking it for rips or tears before pulling away and walking back to place it safely back into the box of memories. I follow behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, resting my chin on his shoulder. 

“Next time you see a something marked private. I expect you to respect my privacy.” He places a one hand on top of the box of memories and the other rests atop my crossed arms. He sighs again.  

“Maybe you can grow it out again.” I let my inner thoughts be known. 

“What are you talking about?” He turns his head to the side to look at me. I pull one arm away so I can thread my fingers through his much shorter hair, scratching lazily at his scalp. Pulling a low moan from his throat. 

“Your hair darling, that picture proved you can rock the style, plus we know how much of a whore you can be when I do this.” I pull lightly on his hair making him gasp. 

“Don’t you think I’m too old for that style.” His breathing was ragged as he tries to remain calm. I chuckle darkly at my flustered partner, with practiced ease I spin him so I loom above him, lifting his chin with a single finger. 

“Of course, darling.” I lean down our lips graze with my words. “You’re just proof that men get finer with age.” He smiles at my words as I steal his response away with a soft kiss.  

-----

I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you enjoy reading it

[hrizantemy]

I said to Tamlin, my back ramrod straight, “You don’t get to speak to me like that. You promised you wouldn’t act this way.”

“You have no idea what’s at risk—”

“Don’t you talk down to me. Not after what I went through to get back here, to you. To our people. You think any of us are happy to be working with Hybern? You think I don’t see it in their faces? The question of whether I am worth the dishonor of it?” His breathing turned ragged again. Good, I wanted to urge him. Good. “You sold us out to get me back,” I said, low and cold. “You whored us out to Hybern. Forgive me if I am now trying to regain some of what we lost.” Claws slid free. A feral growl rippled out of him. “They hunted down and butchered those humans for sport,” I went on. “You might be willing to get on your knees for Hybern, but I certainly am not.” He exploded. Furniture splintered and went flying, windows cracked and shattered. And this time, I did not shield myself.

The worktable slammed into me, throwing me against the bookshelf, and every place where flesh and bone met wood barked and ached. My knees slammed into the carpeted floor, and Tamlin was instantly in front of me, hands shaking— The doors burst open.

This scene is one of the most twisted examples of how the fandom—and Feyre herself—manipulates the narrative when it comes to Tamlin.

Let’s break this down:

1. Feyre’s Intentional Provocation

Feyre wanted this reaction. That’s undeniable. Look at her internal monologue:

“Good, I wanted to urge him. Good.”

She is deliberately pushing Tamlin to the edge, goading him into losing control. This isn’t an innocent conversation where emotions spiral out of hand—this is Feyre calculatedly provoking someone she knows is volatile, emotionally compromised, and deeply unstable after everything that’s happened.

She came back to Spring Court with the explicit goal of destroying it from within. She wanted Tamlin broken, isolated, and enraged. And when he reacts violently—not even directly attacking her, but lashing out at his surroundings in a loss of control—she welcomes it. She doesn’t shield herself on purpose so that there’s a physical consequence.

This is not to excuse Tamlin’s outburst—because yes, losing control like that is dangerous. But this wasn’t some random act of cruelty. Feyre engineered this moment. She weaponized his trauma, his guilt, and his desperation.

2. Context Matters

Tamlin is a male who has:

• Been manipulated by Ianthe.

• Seemingly sold out to Hybern out of a desperate, grief-stricken attempt to save Feyre.

• Watched his entire court slip into chaos.

• Been lied to, abandoned, and humiliated.

Feyre knows exactly what mental state he’s in. And rather than handle it with any sense of maturity or strategic distance, she taunts him about being a traitor, a whore, and someone who kneels for Hybern—when she knows damn well he thought he was saving her life.

3. The Double Standard

The fandom excuses Rhysand constantly for far worse behavior—mind control, threats, manipulation, and even outright abuse of power—because he’s “traumatized” or “had no choice.”

But when Tamlin, a character who clearly struggles with emotional regulation and grief, explodes after being intentionally provoked, suddenly he’s irredeemable?

Where is that same energy for Rhysand threatening to make the Autumn Court bleed because Lucien drew a sword? Or Cassian snapping because Nesta irritated him?

Feyre walked into this scene knowing exactly what she wanted to happen. She didn’t protect herself because she wanted a bruise—something to hold against him, to further justify her sabotage and to make herself the victim.

4. Feyre’s Hypocrisy

Feyre has repeatedly used her trauma as justification for her behavior—but gives Tamlin none of that grace. She acts as if he should be perfectly composed while she’s actively tearing his court apart.

She’s not confronting Tamlin out of a desire for closure, justice, or even protection of others—she’s doing it to provoke a reaction.

Conclusion: Why I’ll Never Blame Tamlin Fully For This Scene

Because this wasn’t a one-sided act of violence. This was a calculated emotional attack from Feyre, designed to push Tamlin into snapping so she could justify her actions and further vilify him.

Did Tamlin lose control? Yes.

Is that dangerous? Yes.

But was this entirely his fault? Absolutely not.

Feyre wanted this. She orchestrated it. And the fact that people ignore her role in this moment just proves how skewed the narrative has become.