#TRASHED PICKED APPLE COMPUTER

[robryebeach]

APPLE COMPUTER FOUND TRASH PILE. #applecomputers #tech #pc

[odemonkillo]

April and the Ninja Turtles

Chapter 1

It was six in the morning, and her alarm clock on the nightstand had just gone off. With an exhausted sigh, a young red-haired woman pulled the covers over her head, trying to steal a few more minutes of sleep. However, she quickly remembered that the alarm wasn’t ringing for nothing—it was her last chance not to be late for her internship. In one swift motion, she jumped out of bed and threw off her pajamas, replacing them with the outfit she had prepared in advance: a gray t-shirt, dark blue jeans, and her lucky pair of purple socks.

Now standing in front of her mirror, she grabbed her hairbrush and engaged in a battle with her wavy, untamable red hair, before tying it back into a modest ponytail. She gave her pale face a quick glance and tapped her cheeks to wake herself up, then nodded to herself with determination. She headed toward her kitchen, which also served as her living room and bedroom, considering she lived in a two-room apartment. She opened her nearly empty fridge, grabbed an apple, slammed the door shut, and turned to pick up her keys from the table.

Her hands were trembling from nerves as she locked the door behind her—only to realize she had forgotten to put on her shoes. She rolled her eyes, cursing herself for being so absent-minded on such an important day. She went back in, put on her pair of combat boots, and finally left for her internship. On her way to the bus stop, she took a few bites of her apple, hoping her stomach wouldn’t growl all morning. Suddenly, a man bumped into her, making her drop the apple, which bounced on the pavement.

“Sorry, sir!” she apologized, turning around, but the man—twice her width—didn’t even look back. Something unusual caught her eye: a scar ran across his face. She picked up the apple, brushed it off, grimaced at the embedded gravel, and tossed it into the nearest trash can. No breakfast for her today.

She then heard brakes screeching nearby—it was her bus! She couldn’t miss it, or punctuality would be out the window. She had no choice. Taking a deep breath, she ran across the street after a quick glance both ways, just as the bus signaled it was about to leave. Focused solely on catching it, she ran without noticing the car that stopped abruptly, honking at her.

“S-Sorry!” she called out, still running. She reached the closed bus doors and knocked urgently.

“Really sorry,” she told the driver with a nervous laugh, handing over her ticket.

The bus didn’t wait for her to get seated and jerked forward, almost sending her flying, under the disapproving stares of the other passengers. With a relieved sigh, she sat by the window, watching the buildings slide by behind the dirty glass. She took a deep breath and began to rehearse in a low voice.

“Hi, I’m April O’Neil, your new intern!” she said, practicing a smile before shaking her head at how silly she sounded.

“Hello, April O’Neil. It’s an honor, sir.” She tried again, frowning, unaware of the older woman across from her staring.

“Hi, I’m intern April O’Neil, I’m your biggest fan! No, no, that’s way too casual,” she muttered to herself, sighing in an attempt to release her stress—without success. She decided to take her phone out of her pocket to watch a boxing match video to relax, a dopey smile stuck on her dreamy face as she admired the piles of muscle fighting — her secret fantasy.

The bus stopped, and the young intern stepped out, finding herself in front of one of New York’s tallest buildings, proudly displaying four letters: T.C.R.I. Her green eyes locked onto the antenna stabbing the sky, and she tightened her grip on her yellow faux leather jacket before walking toward the glass automatic doors and into the lobby. The receptionist looked up from her computer, ready to greet her in the pristine, luxurious office space.

“You must be April, the intern?” she asked with a smile, getting up to show her the way when April nodded.

“Y-Yes! Nice to meet you, Intern O’Neil. It’s an honor!” April blurted out, immediately flushing with embarrassment at her stammer.

“Haha! You’ll want to say all that to Mr. Stockman, dear,” the receptionist chuckled with a falsely sweet smile, her insincerity radiating from a mile away.

They walked down a hallway toward the elevator in silence. Only once the doors had closed and the receptionist had swiped her access card did she speak again, lowering her voice.

“Mr. Stockman has never taken on interns before. You must be someone really special,” she said, leaning slightly to the side, lips painted red in a forced smile. April didn’t know how to respond, but thankfully, the elevator dinged at the right floor, and the doors opened.

The receptionist stood there, hands clasped, still smiling.

“Down the hallway,” she said, then pressed the button to head back down, leaving April alone in a corridor lined with closed doors. The automatic lights took a second to flicker on as she slowly advanced, eyeing the reinforced security panels on each door. What could be hiding behind them?

Finally, she reached the last door, labeled: “Office of the Director of the T.C.R.I. Department of Biotechnological Research and Development.” Taking a deep breath, April knocked three times. A camera activated to the side, scanning her face. Startled by the robotic sound, she waited a moment until a green light flashed and the door opened to reveal a large office with a panoramic window showcasing the New York skyline.

Sitting at a desk, reading various reports, was a dark-skinned man in black glasses and a white lab coat. He looked up at the red-haired young woman who stepped into his office. His analytical and serious gaze caught her off guard, but she quickly recovered, coughed into her hand, and gave her best smile.

“Hello! Intern April O’Neil. It’s a real honor, Mr. Stockman. I’ve been a fan of your work since I was a kid.” She extended her hand in hopes of easing the tension, but he simply raised an eyebrow at her trembling hand.

“Yes, O’Neil,” he finally replied after a sigh, closing his files and placing them precisely on the corner of the desk. Everything was meticulously aligned, she noticed.

“Do you know why I accepted your internship request?” he asked, folding his hands and peering over his glasses.

“Well, um… I’m sure it wasn’t an easy choice, considering all the talented applicants you must have had,” April replied, nervously twisting her fingers behind her back.

“Because your father was one of our best scientists, and your results at Brooklyn University met my expectations for joining my team. However, I don’t know who you are, nor how trustworthy and loyal you’ll be,” he explained, leaning back in his chair and glancing at a notification on his sleek phone.

“I’ve heard my father had an important role here. I’d be honored to prove myself,” she answered, gaining confidence.

“Mr. O’Neil exceeded all expectations. I hope the same can be said for his daughter. A shame he perished in that fire…” Baxter sighed, tapping his fingers on the desk with annoyance.

“Well, come with me. We’ve got work to do,” he said, standing and slipping his phone into his coat pocket.

“Take this. Be useful,” he added sharply, surprising her. She grabbed the stack of documents he vaguely pointed at and followed him to a door on the left that led to another hallway.

Clumsily, a few papers slipped from her arms, and she quickly gathered them before he could notice. They passed through another door requiring a special access code, and April was amazed to find an enormous lab bustling with scientists. She paused in front of a cage holding a lab rat, then glanced at a computer screen displaying troubling data:

Mutagen Test #341.

Below, several equations described the breakdown of DNA in living beings to alter their characteristics. It was fascinating—so much so that April forgot about Dr. Stockman and rushed to catch up, careful not to disturb the focused scientists who hadn’t even noticed her presence.

Baxter finally stopped in front of a door resembling a janitor’s closet. He crossed his arms and looked at her.

“Your first task is to show me what you’re capable of. The documents contain everything you need, and all the necessary materials are inside. You have until the end of the week,” he said quickly before heading back to the elevator. He paused just long enough to add:

“Oh, and of course, this all stays confidential.” Then he disappeared, leaving April stunned.

Wide-eyed, she opened the door to find a makeshift lab. There was an old computer and just the essentials for conducting experiments or building something. She set the stack of folders on the desk, blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, and sat down to review the work she’d been given. This wasn’t at all what she expected on her first day at the city’s most prestigious scientific company. Her idol wasn’t what she had imagined either—but the biggest surprise?

She hadn’t expected to be asked to build a fragmentation bomb on her very first day.

…

To be continued…

[electronicconnoisseurperfection]

How to Recycle Old iPhone

In today’s fast-paced digital world, upgrading to the latest iPhone is common but what happens to the old one? Tossing your iPhone in the trash is not just wasteful; it’s harmful to the environment. Electronic waste, or e-waste, contains toxic components that can damage ecosystems if not properly disposed of. That's where Techazar comes in with eco-friendly e-waste solutions.

Whether you live in Chennai, Bengaluru, Kerala, or anywhere in India, this guide will help you understand how to recycle your old iPhone responsibly.

Why Recycle Your Old iPhone?

iPhones contain valuable materials like gold, silver, and copper, which can be recovered and reused. Recycling also prevents hazardous substances like lead and lithium from polluting the environment.

Benefits of iPhone Recycling:

Reduces electronic waste

Conserves natural resources

Promotes sustainable e-waste management

Protects data through safe IT disposal

Steps to Recycle Old iPhone Responsibly

1. Backup and Erase Your Data

Before recycling your iPhone, back up your data to iCloud or a computer. Then perform a factory reset to wipe personal information.

2. Check for Trade-In Programs

Apple offers a trade-in program that lets you exchange your old iPhone for store credit or recycle it for free. However, if your iPhone is no longer functional or too old, you’ll need alternative options.

3. Contact a Certified E-Waste Company

Get in touch with an e-waste recycling company like Techazar, which specializes in IT asset disposition and mobile phone recycling.

We offer:

Electronic pickup near you

Business e-waste pickup

Safe electronic equipment disposal

Digital e-waste certificate for your records

Whether it’s for E-waste collection or office equipment recycling near me, we ensure that every device is handled with environmental responsibility.

Why Choose Techazar?

At Techazar, we understand the importance of sustainability in e-waste. We not only recycle old iPhones but also manage a wide range of electronic disposal services, including computer waste, laptop recycling, and IT recycling solutions.

Our Services Include:

E-waste pickup

Recycling near me

Scrap collectors near me

Secure data destruction

E-waste sustainability programs for businesses and homes

Final Thoughts

Recycling your old iPhone is a small step that can make a big impact on the planet. With Techazar’s e-waste recycling services, you're not only disposing of your device safely but also contributing to a greener future.

Looking to recycle? Schedule your electronic pick-up today.

[carlosguatame]

Unique words from tourism videos

{'bar', 'neon', 'different', 'kinds', 'drinking', 'bag', 'apron', 'bed', 'traffic', 'plates', 'flight', 'row', 'reading', 'lettuce', 'surfboard', 'writing', 'accessories', 'museum', 'glass', 'swimming', 'sides', 'towel', 'hat', 'pile', 'arrive', 'doorway', 'palm', 'bikes', 'case', 'waiting', 'fruit', 'awning', 'map', 'cane', 'something', 'hallway', 'flowers', 'union,', 'plate', 'passenger', 'blowing', 'high', 'cart', 'girl', 'restaurant', 'piece', 'raising', 'clothing', 'kitchen', 'bottles', 'apples', 'guide', 'wine', 'honey', 'mitt', 'hugging', 'box', 'tables', 'characters', 'include', 'pomegranates', 'store', 'belong', 'cloth', 'fruits', 'dusk', 'vegetables', 'umbrellas', 'station', 'orange', 'brochure', 'horses', 'market', 'rear', 'cheese', 'book', 'popcorn', 'farmer', 'laptop', 'acropolis', 'passing', 'drinks', 'logos', 'baseball', 'sculpture', 'garden', 'pages', 'hot', 'farmers', 'video', 'wind', 'seat', 'mirror', 'four', 'donuts', 'busy', 'room', 'paper', 'driver', 'computer', 'wooded', 'sunflower', 'suitcase', 'blue', 'apple', 'shines', 'evening', 'phones', 'set', 'movie', 'sold', 'taking', 'rise', 'books', 'basket', 'shelf', 'display', 'boats', 'wedding', 'magazine', 'little', 'broccoli', 'monocle', 'light', 'structure', 'open', 'wet', 'roman', 'yard', 'types', 'dress', 'party', 'picking', 'european', 'sheet', 'produce', 'kissing', 'onions', 'pulling', 'suit', 'subway', 'oranges', 'posing', 'radishes', 'jet', 'stand', 'umbrella', 'water', 'vehicles', 'outdoor', 'series', 'bottle', 'eggs', 'selfie', 'runway', 'filled', 'women', 'arms', 'cucumbers', 'smiling', 'sunflowers', 'boxes', 'temple', 'red', 'sun', 'beach', 'ancient', 'shopping', 'selling', 'bikini', 'lined', 'tomatoes', 'sale', 'animals', 'inflatable', 'shaking', 'reflection', 'spread', 'living', 'dancing', 'putting', 'travel', 'projector', 'glasses', 'toasting', 'eating', 'shirtless', 'shirt', 'poster', 'fish', 'another', 'cutting', 'game'}

Unique words from local resistance videos

{'plaza', 'sky', 'post', 'skull', 'marching', 'uncorrnit', 'exracchel', 'chairs', 'ledge', 'chair', 'backpack', 'house', 'beard', 'oxi', 'tricks', 'bulldozer', 'helmets', 'face', 'moment', 'concert', 'bird', 'trendy', 'written', 'time', 'barbed', 'barcelona', 'balconies', 'coaster', 'greece', 'tower', 'musical', 'racket', '202', 'nacela', 'watching', 'graffiti', 'wire', 'behind', 'may', 'entrance', 'small', 'giraffe', 'creative', 'bear', 'quote', 'catch', 'razors', 'backpacks', 'ninja', 'backs', 'jumping', 'officers', 'xi', 'ground', 'instruments', 'statue', 'wall', 'purple', 'riot', 'monkey', 'trash', 'skateboards', 'bridge', 'words', 'tax', 'racquet', 'construction', 'court', 'roller', 'protesting', 'unicorn', 'safety', 'fenced', 'exarcheia', 'painting', 'stop', 'battle', '-', 'rock', 'horse', 'vests', 'fence', 'photograph', 'word', 'commonss', 'story', 'metro', 'hydrant', 'stuck', 'officer', 'lamp', 'accordion', 'sill', 'balcon', 'workers', 'motorcycles', 'meso', 'cat', 'feet', 'signs', 'trick', 'site', 'hotel', 'fire', 'en', 'line', 'expaxi', 'police', 'skateboarder', 'wearing', 'ramp', 'since', 'fist', 'path', 'hoodie', 'laptops', 'blurry', 'tennis', 'left'}

Common words between the two types of realities

{'people', 'hill', 'woods', 'stairs', 'lot', 'dark', 'truck', 'hand', 'city', 'driving', 'bunch', 'around', 'banner', 'playing', 'yellow', 'table', 'man', 'logo', 'pictures', 'flying', 'balcony', 'parked', 'plants', 'skateboard', 'laying', 'picture', 'going', 'working', 'phone', 'park', 'outside', 'full', 'fountain', 'walking', 'cell', 'image', 'tracks', 'side', 'sitting', 'text', 'area', 'together', 'clock', 'reaching', 'woman', 'bus', 'street', 'top', 'background', 'photo', 'building', 'buildings', 'luggage', 'looking', 'sidewalk', 'close', 'window', 'bench', 'road', 'airport', 'guitar', 'rain', 'square', 'air', 'aerial', 'long', 'stage', 'hair', 'sign', 'two', 'leash', 'many', 'plane', 'talking', 'person', 'dog', 'front', 'cars', 'black', 'tree', 'says', 'surrounded', 'white', 'riding', 'day', 'screen', 'three', 'group', 'standing', 'tall', 'car', 'food', 'sunny', 'next', 'large', 'hands', 'trees', 'kite', 'men', 'night', 'middle', 'near', 'several', 'motorcycle', 'train', 'back', 'someone', 'grass', 'view', 'bike', "'", 'holding', 'crowd', 'athens', 'frisbee'}

[paigenoelchas-blog]

Feels like home, part 15

Jakes POV:

I have been watching her with Betty and Phil. The conversation is easy for her. Her laughter fills my ears. I watch as the wind rushes through the loose strands of hair, how the same crisp air brings her scent to me. The sky is a bright blue and the day is as close to perfect as any that I have had.

Betty and Mahri act as if they've known each other for years and I love that the two most important women in my life care about each other. Right now, they are trying to do crafts and Phil is terrible. The best way that I can describe his wreath is that it looks like a kindergartener made it and a car ran over it in the parking lot. I smirk at the fact that he did such a poor job. They are teasing him. I like that part of the day too.

He takes it well, I must admit. He also participated in a craft that he knew he would fail at. I didn't take the risk . Phil has also been acting like a gentleman toward the ladies. Mahri must have set some ground rules. He hasn't flirted with her once. Maybe we can be friends after all.

She looks over at me and signals for my return. I had gone to get us all coffee, but it was really just an excuse to miss craft time. As I walk toward the booth, I see a bright smile from Mahri. I wrap my arms around her from behind and place my chin on her shoulder, lightly kissing her cheek in the process.

"Smooth, man," Phil mocks me.

"He is smoother than you are." Betty states in a flirtatious challenge.

Phil quietly smirks and winks at her. "Trust me, you will see smooth when the time is right." Betty looks flustered. With a cheesy line like that?

I roll my eyes and Betty sends me a death glare. I refocus my attention to the beautiful woman in my arms.

"We have done coffee, made a craft, had coffee again, we have picked out our pumpkins and set a date to carve them. Mahri made apple cider and had coffee to wash it down, Betty and Phil have played a fine game of darts, you have gone shopping. What's next?" I ask looking directly into her eyes even though I am speaking to all of them.

No one says a word as Mahri and I continue to stare at each other. Then Mahri breaks eye contact and enthusiastically declares, "Ok, this is a crazy idea, but I what about a three-legged race?"

"What exactly is a three-legged race?" I respond.

"Trust me, We will kick their asses." She knows that a plan that includes beating Phil at something is right up my alley. I raise my eyebrows and nod my head.

"Oooh, Is that a challenge?" Betty asks. "I can't say no to trash talk." She grabs Phil's arm and they follow Mahri and I.

We all head to the course. I quickly find out what the rules are for this competition, one strap, two legs tied together, run fast but don't fall. Mahri has a strategy and it is clear she has done this event once or twice. As we tie our legs together, I feel the electricity between the two of us. I am determined to use this energy to our benefit.

Mahri and I are ready both fueled by friendly competition and the reward of bragging rights.

"Winner buys tickets to the haunted house" I say confidently as we move to the starting line.

"Deal," Betty nods at the bet and scowls at me as if she could intimidate me any more. I know what a softie she is in the inside. Phil looks confident as well, but I know he doesn't stand a chance. Mahri and I know how each other thinks and in a cooperative game, that is all the edge that you need to win.

"On your mark, get set, GO!" The announcer yells. The race begins, and for a while, Betty and Phil were right next to us, Phil was goading me, "Come on, computer man.", "Let's go, nose job." And my favorite, "Hey, Sucker Punch, you are better at this than I thought."

Betty would have normally told him to "Shut the hell up", but she was trying so hard to win. She was trying to concentrate for the both of them. I couldn't help but admire her determination.

I tightly hold my arm around Mahri's waist, pulling her closer when we threaten to trip. She keeps repeating inside, outside, inside outside so we will remember what foot to move and the speed at which we should be moving. I look to my side, and I notice that Phil and Betty have fallen behind. In fact, they are laying on the ground.

Mahri and I rush to the end. We are victorious. I am proud, more proud than I should be that we won such a silly race, but we did it together and I rarely beat Betty at anything. As we wait at the end of the line for our ribbons, I notice that Betty and Phil have gone. I whisper in Mahri's ear, "Did you see where those two went? I wanted to gloat."

"They fell and landed on top of each other. That is when the kissing started. I'm sure they went somewhere a little more private."

"I am going to kill him..."

She quickly grabs my cheeks and kisses me full on the lips. "I have the feeling that Betty can take care of herself, at least with Phil. He is cute, but such a little puppy around her. He really likes her Jake."

Still reeling from the kiss that was way too short, I feel more than a little excited that we have some time alone together.

"I am sorry that Betty and Phil met us here. I am missing out on time with you."

"The day isn't over yet," she responds as I move her hair out of her face.

"I quickly wrap my arms around her waist. And pull her in close. I have missed you and I have missed holding you this close." I lean in toward her "Is this too much?" I Ask, suddenly nervous.

"No, I have been waiting all day for this."

I graze her cheek with the back of my hand. I know there are people around, but all I can see is her face and her sweet smile. I move in fast and kiss her with all of the longing that I have been holding on to. She returns the kiss. We stay like that for what I am sure is longer than we should at a family event, but I don't care, her arms move around my neck as mine pull her in tighter. Her fingers twirl my hair and my lips move to her ear. I open my eyes, suddenly aware that we must be creating a spectacle. Over her shoulder, I see something peculiar.

Quickly I pull away. "What is that?" I say.

She turns around in my arms and giggles. "That is Mr. Pumpkin". She speaks as if this is the most logical answer.

"Of course it is," I respond. What she is calling Mr. Pumpkin is a man dressed up in an orange sack with a top hat on. The mouth was partially falling off the front of the costume and it looked as though it had been around since the town itself was founded in 1863.

"That.... thing.... is horrific. " I say. She is giggling. Her head is leaning against my chest.

"Jake, he is a tradition. He is just always here." She's laughing at me. "It is comforting."

"How is that thing comforting? I ask, not really expecting an answer. "Not all traditions should be kept."

"I like the tradition we were just enjoying, the victory kiss," she says sweetly.

She is still smiling at me. The sun is setting, it places gold flecks in her hair that is spinning wild and free in the wind and the brings out the light in her gorgeous jade eyes. She is the most beautiful creature inside and out. I can not imagine what I would do without her. I want all of her, but this is a family event. It is also too soon.

"You must be suffering from caffeine withdrawal. You haven't had coffee in at least an hour. Come on. I'll buy you a cup," I say and tip my head to the side showing her the way to the coffee cart. . I wrap my arm around her shoulder and she places hers around my waist. She rests her head on my shoulder. We begin to walk and I realize how simply walking by her side, with my arm around her, walking toward the sunset on a crisp night is a little bit of heaven. I want more of this because this is perfect.

We get our coffees and a couple of sandwiches and find a nice spot to sit. We look out over the lake as we eat. She I leaning into my side. I hope we never lose this physical need to be close to eat other.

Today has been a dream.

It's not over yet.

"I can't imagine how today can get better. It has been wonderful." She says as she scoots even closer to me.

I lean my head down to her and lower my voice. "Baby, I can think of all kinds of ways to make the night better." I tease her. She shivers.

"Are you cold?" I ask, nervous that I have neglected her once again.

"No. Jake when you say some things, it makes me shiver because it is..."

"... too soon?" I interrupt.

My eyes meet hers.

"It does things to me. It makes me feel things." She answers, blushing. "When you call me Baby, in that particular tone of voice, I feel a lot of things."

I smile, this moment makes me proud.

I continue to tease her, I lean closer to her, my lips brushing her ear as I speak. "So, you like it when I call you baby?"

"When you say it like that, but I don't think I could handle it if you called me that all of the time." I kiss her on the forehead as we begin to move from our spot in the bench. and we return to our walk across town.

The children and their families were slowly leaving and the outside lights were turning on. I watched the parents trying to get their children though the gates and into the vans and SUV's. I watch as the exhausted children cry and yell because they have no other way to express their feelings. I watch as the couples give each other a knowing look and prepare for the next battle. I can't wait for that life. Someday.

The air was changing. The leaves were whipping through the sky and the air was getting cooler.

I slow my pace and move behind Mahri, wrapping my arms around her. "Are you cold?" I whisper in her ear. She spins around and meets my eyes.

"Not when we are like this." She smiles a soft alluring smile and kisses me. I return the kiss. It is gentle, soft, even playful. Again, I know it is too long for being in public. Though I didn't really mind, I had to pull away before things got serious. I stopped the kiss, but still held her tight in my arms. Her eyes were full of love and passion.

"I am so immensely pleased that we are here and that I can hold you like this." I sigh.

"Me too, but why the formality in your language. Are you scared?"

"I am apprehensive, albeit very very happy," I respond.

"Why are you nervous?" She asks. This is an important question that I cannot deflect.

I drop my hands from her waist and look down. She instantly grabs for my hands and intertwines our fingers. Her intense stare forces me to look at her. When our eyes meet, she smiles, encouraging me to speak.

"I abhor the notion that I may complicate things between the two of us. I feel so much for you and I want so much. I don't want to push you into something you don't want to do. I can't lose you."

"I want you and I need you and I love you." She says. "I am so sorry for walking away last time. I won't walk away again," she speaks earnestly. "I am glad that you told me. These are the things we need to talk about. Mutual wants and needs." She winks.

"So, we should discuss our mutual wants?" I tease.

"Sure," she pulls me over to a bench and turns to face me crossing her legs. I pull her closer to me so her legs are on my lap and rest my hand there. As usual, she believes in sincere talks requiring eye contact and full attention. She is wonderful. I don't speak for a minute as I am enjoying the feeling of her this close to me. I have missed it. With her here, the warmth returns to my heart and my being is lighter. I take in a deep breath as I watch the ducks on the lake across from the bench. The scent of her, a mixture of flowers and spice from all of the events of the day, grounds me. The sun is almost gone, the color cutting through the sky, leaving ribbons of color dancing in the evening glow. She pulls out her sweater and I wrap it around her, breaking from the trance I was in.

"So, Jake, what is it you want, what is it that you need?" she asks, while intertwining our fingers.

I begin rubbing her back lightly. Making circles and designs as I do. "I want you not to leave. I want to be free to love you."

"You don't feel that way? Free to love me?" She seems shocked.

"Well, I am afraid to cross a line with you physically or verbally. I don't want to hold you or surprise you or to kiss you if it is too much. I don't want to speak the things in my heart because I would rather be with you in this capacity than to not have you."

"Is what we have not enough? Are you unhappy?" She looks down. The clouds are shifting and the night is falling in us.

"I am very happy." I lift her face with a finger under her chin. "I am very happy with you and in whatever way that we are together," I encourage her.

"Then what?" She asks impatiently.

"I want to be able to surprise you, to cover you in kisses when I feel like it, to tell you that I love you."

"And you can't do that?" She still isn't getting it.

"I can, but those actions come with fear. I have to weigh my options. I don't want to push you."

"I have been unfair," she speaks and lowers her head.

"No, you haven't. This is why we are talking. This is how we work things out." I don't want her to feel bad. "I would like to ask if I can be free tonight. Can I call you my love? Can my heart behave as it would like, for tonight?"

"Yes. I hope you will. I hope you will call me love. That is my favorite thing. I hope that you will be free for all nights and we can work on that. I will prove it to you that I am not going to leave." She moves on quickly to the next thought, "Tonight, let's have fun and have more cuddling and more kissing. I have missed this."

"Me too. Ok." I take a deep breath. I hear her words and kiss her trying to show her all of the things I have been keeping hidden. I hope she feels all of my love. Her arms wrap around my neck and I pull her into my side. This kiss was passionate, but there was a sweetness about it. I could stay here all night.

I break away and a kiss her palms. "I love you, Mahri with everything in my being."

"And I love you with the same devotion." She whispers as she meets my eyes and lingers there.

"We have a haunted house to get to. I'm looking forward to seeing my brave girl freak out" I wink at her.

"And I am looking forward to seeing you scared like a little girl."

"I won't be scared by people in costumes." I state firmly.

"You were creeped out by Mr. Pumpkin less than two hours ago." She challenges.

"He looks like he has been trapped in an attic and survived a fire and the place was tight fit. I mean, they could at least dry clean that costume."

She laughs. It melts my heart. "I think they are afraid it will fall apart if it is washed. It is rather worn out."

"See? It is creepy," I smirk, proud that I had won an argument.

"I guess. A little. You are too cute to argue with,"

I love that response. Most people don't think of me as cute.

"Should we head to the haunted house? It is dark enough now."

"Yes," she nods.

"Are you warm enough? Do you need a sweatshirt? I packed an extra." I say encouraging her.

She nods and we walk to the car and get it. As she puts it on, I see her take a deep breath.

She catches me staring and says, "In an effort to fully communicate, I wasn't cold, but I wanted to wear your sweatshirt. It smells like you and it makes me feel happy to be surrounded by you.""

"Baby, there are many other ways for you to be surrounded by me." I wink and pause.

She sees my wink, "You aren't getting this back. It is my new favorite thing...Besides actually being with you."

"I put my hand around her waist and she leans into my side. We walk back toward the festival this way, ignoring the rest of the world and simply enjoying our time together.

"For the record," I begin,"My sweatshirt looks much better on you than it ever did on me."

"Are you saying I'm cute?" She flirts.

"I am saying that you are beautiful, in a sweatshirt, in a dress, in a paper bag. You take my breath away."

She leans in further. Across town I see the lights turn on and the night settle in. The moon is a small crescent and the stars are just coming out to play. I bring her hand up to my lips and kiss her on the inside of her palm. I love everything about this woman and this night and my life.

"Ready to face your demons?" I question"

"With you by my side, I am ready for anything!" She picks up her pace as we head toward my last first for the day.

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Welcome to our weekly round-up! We do these every week to provide plot drops, highlight starters posted that week, and share other information about the setting. Anyone is welcome to use these bullet points in starters, plots, anons etc. Also let us know if you want us to include one of your setting-related plots in here for next week by sending us a bullet point!

What’s new in town?: 

After a mining accident, the town is left with cracks oozing strange black sludge that is suspected to be related to Serpent’s Flat. Check out our ongoing plot of the week for ways to interact!

In an effort to keep Wicked's Rest litter-free, Shannon McMahon has set up a trash clean-up crew for the Pile. Volunteers can sign up at the little table set up in the Common, but volunteer at your own risk. Notably, the Pile only seems to grow in size with every piece of trash picked up.

A family of gremlins have made themselves right at home at the UMWR campus. Students and professors alike at UMWR are experiencing a variety of technological troubles. Most notably, most of the computers in the libraries and computer labs aren't working at all.

A new restaurant silently appeared in town last week, though the reviews suggest A Quiet Place has been in town for quite some time. This new French spot is all the rage, but don't expect to have a lengthy chat with your server or bartender.

Starters:

Chris started a crab band... but lost track of them.

Zane needs some convincing that getting a tattoo is a bad idea.

Leila is rightfully pissed at town menace Kurt for letting his dog poop in her shop.

Marie thinks everyone should just stomp the pesky crabs to death. Problem solved!

No one threw Iyla a surprise birthday party? How dare! Maybe wish her a happy belated, at least.

Continuing the trend of April birthdays, Vida is offering a happy hour at her restaurant!

Why are there so many April babies in Wicked's Rest? Anyway, go make fun of Kaden for forgetting his own.

Andy thinks bobbing for crabs is a bad idea. Crabs are not apples, despite the apples named 'crab apples'. It's not the same. Don't do it.

Emilio is looking for a 'big, ugly dog' that's lost. Maybe he'll find it if he isn't so mean to it.

Jonas needs a nighttime guard for his home, things have been getting spicy over there! Are you up for it?

Luis thinks maybe the goop is just liquified obsidian. Thoughts? Prayers?

[maaneskin]

the five (5) love languages

pairing akaashi keiji x reader, hinata shoyo x reader, kozume kenma x reader, sakusa kiyoomi x reader, oikawa tooru x reader - all readers gn <3

note i know it seems like kenma has covid DFGSJS HE DOESNT ITS JUST A COLD

akaashi keiji. cutting up slices of fruit for them

keiji’s heart swelled when you came into his home office with a plate of sliced fruits and a cup of hot tea. he pointed at his headphones and the computer in front of him, signaling he was on a call, to which you nodded. keiji fumbled with some papers to make room for the goods you brought him, finding a coaster among the mess. placing the plate and tea down, you leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek and whispered, “remember to take a break,” bending back up you stole an apple slice with a small grin and kissed the side of his head, running your hand through his hair once, before walking out of the room and closing the door behind you with one last smile. keiji smiled subtly after you, the feeling of your lips lingering. he eyed the fruits, heart warming at the sight of his favorite fruits cut up into bite size pieces. he picked up the fork you had put on the plate and picked up a piece of honey melon, eating it with a full heart.

hinata shoyo. peeling a tangerine and sharing the slices

shoyo dropped down on the sidewalk unceremoniously, regretting it right after when he felt a sharp pain. he moaned and rubbed the spot, complaining when you snickered. he took out his phone to cheek the time, “twenty more minutes,” he informed you with a groan. you hummed and took out the tangerine you had just bought, beginning to peel it, while shoyo remained on his phone trying to make time go by faster. he was deeply concentrated on a video kenma had sent him when he felt something poking his bottom lip. he was confused for a second before he realized it was a tangerine piece. with raised eyebrows, he looked at you, only to have you ignore his unspoken question by pushing the fruit past his lips. shoyo chewed on the fruit and smiled when you smiled at him, looking back down at your tangerine right after, eating one yourself. you gave him the first one, he realized, smiling shyly and pocketing his phone so he could sit with you in silence, sharing a tangerine.

kozume kenma. making a warm meal and serving it in bed when they’re sick

kenma sat up with a groan and reached for a piece of tissue to blow his nose, throwing it in the trash bin you had put beside his side of the bed after, a coughing fit beginning right after he was done sneezing. finishing his coughing fit, kenma groaned again and dumped himself against the bed, just as you pushed the door open and walked in with a tray, wearing a mask., “i’m going to die,” he muttered to you, making you giggle. standing beside the bed, you commanded him to sit up and giving him the tray, “eat,” you said lovingly, “and then take a nap,” you pulled the mask down so you could kiss his forehead, ruffling his hair gently, “you’ll feel better,” with that you left the bedroom and kenma’s focus went to the hot meal you made him, heart skipping a beat when he realized you made one of his favorites. with shaky hands he reached for the spoon and took a bite, remembering to blow before eating, he hummed to himself in satisfaction. he noted you probably used more spice than usual so he could taste it better, heart warming at the thought you put into taking care of him and his health.

sakusa kiyoomi. making a cup of tea just how they like it

kiyoomi smiled when you entered the living room and handed him his tea, sacrificing his fingers burning for a few seconds so you didn’t have to when handing him his usual cup. he lifted an arm, wrapping it around you when you sat down, leaning into his side again. the movie entertained both of you as you sipped your tea and snacked on some candy. kiyoomi blew on his tea with small puffs, taking small sips after. the taste of chamomile with a hint of honey overtook his taste buds - it tasted just like he liked with tea, down to perfection, “how much honey did you use?” he asked. “just a bit,” you answered, with a smile. the answer was vague, but kiyoomi knew exactly how much; when you first started dating he had told you how he liked his tea and had said he used “just a bit” of honey before showing you how much that was. he smiled again, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head, lips resting there for a moment, taking you in. he took another sip of his tea, enjoying every moment of it.

oikawa tooru. buying their favorite snack or drink when you see it randomly while shopping

tooru began unpacking your grocery bags after he sent you to your room so you could change out of your work clothes. he hummed to himself as he put the different products in their rightful spot. he wasn’t with you when you went grocery shopping, seeing as you did it on your way home from work, only running into him in front of your house, where he was quick to take the bags from you and tell you to shower and chance. tooru came to a stop when he picked up the next item, almost tearing up when he realized it was his favorite milk bread from his favorite bakery. hearing you enter the kitchen, he turned to you, holding up the see through bag, “i walked past the bakery,” you hummed, taking the milk from the counter, “i saw it in the window and thought i would buy it for you,” his heart melted and he couldn’t resist pulling you in for a kiss, hugging you afterwards. he opened the bag and pulled out the bread and pulled off a piece, before breaking that piece into two, giving you the bigger piece with a bright smile.

nooo ahaha don’t reblog you’re so sexy - pls reblog

[robin-27]

<The Watchtower>

Batman - Where are the kids? I told you to watch them

Batwoman - I know but watching them AND do my work is stressful, so I told them they had to find a league member and help then. I don’t know I jsut wanted them gone!

Batman - Well where are they?!

Batwing - Actually B, no need to worry, they’re all fine

Batman - Well where’s Nightwing?

Batwing, accessing computer - He’s with John Constantine in the cafeteria, and I’m pretty sure he’s threatening him

[Nightwing] ~ You so much as make Z sad AT ALL. I will be your reckoning!

Batman - Where’s Red Hood?

Batwing, smiling - Oh he’s been helping Diana all day

[Red Hood, holding 2 dresses] ~ Okay Ms. Prince, I think Steve might like this one BUT blue is a great color on you

Batman - Okkaaaayyyy. Where’s Red Robin?

Batwing, laughing - Tormenting Guy

[Red Robin] - You see, you may be a Green Lantern, but there’s already several who were picked before you AND Jessica is liked by Batman so you’re kinda useless. Walking away on proves my point!

Batman, under breadth - That’s my boy

Batman - Anyways, where’s Black Bat?

Batwing - Sparring with Katana

[Black Bat, swords clashing, Katana falling] ~ I win, 2-2, next round takes all

Batman - And what about Blue Bird

Batwing - Lecturing Beetle

[Blue Bird] ~ You all this tech, I call this trash! Aren’t you supposed to be the genius behind Kord Industries?!

Batman - And Spoiler?

Batwing - Gossiping with Dinah

[Spoiler] ~ And like Tim’s great but it’s Kon this and Kon that. Like, you don’t think he’s *Gestures*

Batman - Okay they all seem to be behaving. What about Robin and Signal?

Batwing & Batwoman - About them

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robin - Signal are you sure you’re capable of this?!

Signal, applying blindfold - Trust me, now don’t move so the apple stays where it is *bow string pull*

[brittanystudios13offical]

Ok I’m bored so here’s some camp camp HC

     Max scerctly likes wearing dresses and makeup. When Nikki and Neil find out they actually go take him shopping for more.

They act like a big family. And since they went to the same schools and never acknowledged each other ever. They become even closer

Ered: the cool older sister who destroy anyone social status if they pick on her younger siblings, especially the younger ones.

Nurf: the bodyguard big brother who will beat you in pulp if he finds out you hurt his siblings, he's the only one who can do that

Preston: the fashionista brother who helps with outfits and makeup

Harrison: the funny and caring brother to keep you happy, hell hes max crack a smile from time to time

Nerris: the fun mom kinda person , they lets the younger ones stay up as long as they want and give them candy even though their nots supposed to have any

Neil: the smart bro who you can always cheat off of and help with homework, he's the reason half of them are passing

Max: won't ever ever amited but he loves each and everyone of his siblings and will turn your life in a living hell if you dare even to accidentally sneeze on them or borrow a pencil and never give it back, he will make sure your miserable for the rest of the year

Nikki: sporty bitch who gets into trouble way too much and will time and time again start rumors about people who hurt her family

Now for the two best baby bois

Sk: one of the younger ones, rules don't apply to him, gets bullied a bunch, ered always takes him and dolp too school

Dolp: the other younger one, rules don't apply to him either, gets taken advantage of because of his friendly personality, he's has drawn his older siblings to show his gratitude and it's the cutest damn thing

    Max and Gwen  have spa days, they treat themselves to comfort food, manicures, Gwen teaches him how to do his hair, and max does her make up, they also have wine and apple juice and watch trash tv. All day. They also make fun of David, then talk about how awesome he is.

Max has insomnia

So does David

You can't tell me this isn't true.

Ok so I think max is way nicer to Neil and Nikki behind closed doors. He listens to them, and cracks a smile from time to time. He's still a bit of an asshole tho

In the middle of freshman year neil starts working out, he tamed his hair a bit, and started wearing contacts all so he can impress max, max was already impressed with his intelligence And personality , but god damn, he not only saw  a toned young man but also sweet intelligent Dork.

David spoils max rotten, max really doesn't care about the stuff, he just loves that he cares that much that he does. He also spoils Gwen with Expensive dates, chocolate, and with diamonds

Neil doesn't know how to dance and max and Nikki secretly teaches him at night while watching Disney movie on gwens computer.

I have head canon that Sasha is trans.

Ok so I have a head canon that when Neil or Nikki is having a bad day, max will cancel all chaotic plans for the day and take them into the forest and chill out lay on the grass look up at the clouds or takes them into the counselor cabin and steals gwens computer and watch movies all day and will on RARE occasions he will stay in the tent with them and cuddle up with them and talk about random stuff

max is secretly a disney fanatic, like he knows every Disney song, has watch almost ever Disney movie and his favorite Disney princess is Mulan, jasmine pochoantas and Merida

the campers go to max to sing them asleep and he’ll only do it for money/ personal gain, but he likes to sing to them and sometimes curl up to them and take a nap with them

[leam1983]

Microsoft and Project Pluto

I've been doing some digging around Microsoft's future plans, seeing how more or less astroturfing several manufacturers into releasing TPM 2.0-compliant potatoes that can barely run Windows 11 seems to have gone over well.

Welp, their long-term goal is to lock down AMD and Intel-based compliant systems to be forced to execute and sign on Microsoft code alone. As in, no bootloader, no Linux, no picking the most lightweight option for your server stack if you're in IT professionally - Windows or bust. Installing Linux on machines like this would force hardware devs to issue the proper certs on their own, instead of working like they have for the past twenty or so years and just close their eyes, agree to a standard - usually Microsoft's - and hit Go. There's also talks to tie Windows Update with your system kernel, which means that in practice, the House that Gates Built could steal a page from Ubuntu and find a way to issue kernel revisions while the OS is still running. It's also possible that they could use that to push non-mandatory, but recommended updates onto you, potentially undoing previously-used features or maybe bricking your rig, depending on your hardware setup.

Seeing how Satya Nadella's response to entry-tier hardware barely managing to run Windows 11 as their stock OS was to basically shrug and go "Welp, just go buy a nicer PC! Here's a list of affiliates!", I think we can fear the worst.

If it really falls down to motherboard or chip manufacturers not taking whatever payola M$ might hit them with, we're effectively screwed. We've known for years, now, that Microsoft wants to lock down the PC ecosystem to something closer to Apple's own walled garden. Their stated pretense is usually added security at the corporate level, but I'm really dreading the future of what's both my job and my hobby if it all boils down to me choosing a locked-down box with an apple-shaped logo or a locked-down box with four squares on it.

Windows worming its way into my firmware's microcode.

The very thought makes me queasy. Oh, and all the normies are going to settle with an eye-roll and a sigh, of course. I've heard it all before. "They're making computers easier to use, isn't that a good thing?! Whatever man, you'll whine and bitch and then load up Steam to benchmark things as usual, so why the Hell do you care that much?"

This isn't about ease of use. This is about control. I own every screw, every chip, every via and fan blade in my two rigs. I own them. The data that's on them is also mine, within reason.

If Microsoft has its way, we'll all be subletting our ability to do our damn jobs, as fucking dystopian as it seems. How the fuck do you think sysadmins at the corporate level are going to take to someone at Microsoft pushing a revision on Windows 12 or whatever, and settling with a pithy apology for all the late-in-cycle computer parks and IT budgets they've just ruined? Fuck, my boss practically has a panic attack whenever one of the kids in the call centre fucks up a headset or a mouse pad; I can't imagine how she'll take to repeated wholesale overhauls of our workstations because someone at Redmond decided to shorten the shelf life of a perfectly good product!

One of the top dogs came up to me a few days back and started joshing around. "But seriously man, why are you making us use Linux, bro? Like, everyone knows Windows!"

I smiled. "You're running off of a reskinned Ubuntu MATE, Steve, because if I asked you to buy me ten thou's worth of Windows 11 licenses and then told you we'll need to add new hardware to make 'em run, you'd rip my badge from my jacket, piss in my trash can and send me home without so much as a please and a thank you. Using my method, all you had to deal with was one afternoon's worth of file migrations and budget enough for eight PowerPoint slides, a twenty-minute break and some extra coffee, to train everyone."

Sometimes, small-to-medium business heads can be absolute idiots.

[harrypotterhogwartshitpost]

As many of you know I am currently an 18 hour student in college. You may also know that recently my psychiatrist diagnosed me with Bipolar disorder, ADHD and autism (a perfect example of why you don't smoke when you're pregnant.)

Here are some things I do when I'm not in a depressive episode, to make depressive episodes more manageable.

-Clean my room

Every time I'm feeling like I have any energy and can get up and do something, the first thing I do is clean my room. I do this because having a clean room makes it easier to function and feel productive. It also helps my room from getting so messy that I can't find the strength to clean it. Even just picking up trash and throwing things in my closet helps.

-Organize my desk

I'm an 18 hour student. I'm in six classes right now. I have to do homework and study everyday. Organizing my desk gives me a clean and aesthetically pleasing place to work. Because let's be honest, 90% of the time I'm studying for the aesthetic. Keeping my desk clear (subjectively of course, because it's always covered in shelfs, storage baskets, ect) makes it 100 times easier to get up and do work, because I won't have to use all my energy to clean it before I even open my computer.

-Update my planners

I love planners. Both to keep all my assignments, appointments, and activities in one place, and to use all the stationary I collect. For me being able to update mine is relaxing and productive.

I have one classic student planner my mother got me at the beginning of the semester because she knows I love them. I also have a digital planner on my iPad. I don't use both of these at the same time. I used the digital one last spring semester and for the summer semester, and I've been using the physical one since I got it this semester.

I also put all of my classes and assignments into my calendar. Since I have a macbook, iPhone, iPad and apple watch, it syncs across all my devices so I NEVER miss a notification for an assignment or an appointment. If you don't own just about every apple product, you can use google calendar, which will also sync across your devices.

I also have two whiteboards. One average sized one that's hung up on my wall, and a small one sits on my desk. On the big one I've divided it up. The top half is divided into seven columns, which I use to write what assignments are due each day that week (everything is color coded so I always know which class everything is for), as well as any appointments I have (I'm in the process of getting a lot of dental work done, so I have a dentist appointment every two or three weeks.) On the bottom half I have my long term goals (like making presidents list this semester, getting my Ph.D, joining the FBI) I also have some aesthetic magnets and stickers just to make it look pretty.

On my smaller one I just write out my goals for the next couple days (ex. Sunday 10- Study for exam 2, watch ch 7 lectures, start unit 3 lectures.)

I also keep a to-do list of all the assignments I have due each month of the monthly overview page of my planner, because I enjoy crossing them off as I go.

-Buy something

One of the easiest ways to motivate myself to work is by buying something. Whether it be something as big as a new computer or as small as a new pen. That way I get excited to use whatever I bought and then end up doing my work to use it.

-Decorate

like I've said, 90% of what I do is for the aesthetic. So making sure everything on my desk fits my colorscheme, making sure all the furniture in my room matches, making sure my walls are decorated in a way I like, is very important to me. So I try to take some time to see if there is anything I can improve about my room to make it look better. That can be as simple as moving a few paintings I have hung up, going to the dollar store and buying a cheap photo background to hang behind my desk, or as big as buying a whole new shelf to put my combat boot collection on.

-Watch some of my favorite TV shows.

I know, this is already something you do during a depressive episode. But taking a break to watch a TV show you like is so much better than scrolling on TikTok. After you do a few assignments and clean up your desk a little, you can say "Oh, I'll just watch an episode of ______ and take 43 minute break, then finish my work after." No one ever said "Let me watch just five TikToks then get back to work." You probably end up losing track of time and sitting in bed for three hours scrolling.

Depending on what your favorite show is, it can also motivate you to get your work done. I love Criminal Minds. I wanna be in the FBI. While I know Criminal Minds is nothing like actually being in the FBI, watching Spencer (really just exist honestly) do geographic profiles and dig up information for the team from books, articles, ect makes me want to go get my work done, because I want to be an I.A. (Intelligence Analyst) and do essentially what he does, and I know in order to achieve that, I have to start getting serious about it now.

-Get ahead

This may seem kinda obvious, but getting ahead in assignments and material when you have the energy to do work, helps you not fall as behind when you don't have that energy and can barely pull yourself out of bed to eat.

This also helps me from getting bored when I actually want to get stuff done, and ending up back in bed on TikTok.

----

I know these things aren't going to work for everyone, but they're what works for me, so I figured I'd share them. Doing these things don't completely get rid of my depressive episodes, but they do help me deal with them better.

[hexalene]

how to truly annihilate data from your flash/external drives for both windows and mac from someone who also glazes over and zones out of those jargon-laden tech bro tutorials trying to maximize your desperation for ad revenue by breaking every single step into a separate article with more jargon and more links and more jargon and more li-

So there you are, hand CLENCHED around your brand new 32GB flash drive from the discount bin left over from the back to school blitz at Walmart. 32GB of POSSIBILITY.

Unfortunately, after a few months or years of packing the damn thing with weird shit, like, idk, furry porn and weird candid shots of Gritty, idk I’m not here to judge your life, you clear out the damn thing, empty....but not.

Those 32GB of possibility now struggle to accommodate a PITIFUL 800MB of deep investigative research into the origins of the Florida Skunk Ape. What has happened? How could your memory have been eaten away like this?

So it turns out your flash drive will hold on to as much of the data you put onto it even AFTER you’ve dragged the files to the recycle bin or the trash. 

This sort of news can be a blessing or a curse. For the blessed, yes! If you’ve deleted something by accident, YOU HAVE A CHANCE TO GET IT BACK. But that’s not this tutorial. 

If You Gargle Cock For The Google PC Master Race:

>Plug in the flashdrive >Go to “Start” >Go to “This PC” >Go to “Devices and Drives” >Right click your flash drive >Click “Format” >Careful now boys, it can get scary here: >Okay, so now you’ve got some spicy options. >In “Capacity” This should show approximately whatever the drive’s original capacity was, maybe a little less. Leave this alone. >We’ll come back to “File System“ ignore for now >Skip to “Allocation Unit Size” and make sure it’s on the default setting, whatever that is. >For “Volume Label” this is just the name of your drive. Call it whatever you want. It’s the thing you can rename whenever, so it literally doesn’t matter. >Now all that’s left is “File System” and “Quick Format”

File System For Basic Bitches:

>All memes aside, you can end up with a few or a lot of options. I’m sure there’s a proper answer for this, but the options you MOST LIKELY need to worry about are “NTFS” and “ExFAT”. If you’re needing more than that, that’s way out of my paygrade. > “NTFS” is your default, 100% safe for windows option. Can’t go wrong, especially if this drive has only ever been used with Windows. >HOWEVER: >If you need to switch between Windows and Mac for whatever reason, you’ll want to pick “ExFAT” >”ExFAT” is the option for compatibility across both systems.

Format Options Making Your Files Unrecoverable Even With The Patriot Act:

>I’m being funny, but this IS actually, kinda, for real, what you’re dealing with, so READ CAREFULLY. >The default is for “Quick Format” to be UNchecked >UNchecked will unleash holy nuclear hellfire upon your drive, burning away your sins and leaving only a pure, newborn flash drive behind. >THIS CAN TAKE LONGER THAN YOU THINK IT SHOULD. If you need this drive quickly, DO NOT CHOOSE THIS OPTION. >This will annihilate all the data on the drive. The data will be UNRECOVERABLE. >Now, memes about the CIA and weird furry shit aside, you may want to be cautious about using this. If this flash drive has ever stored anything important, like family photos or important paperwork, or anything you’d be turbo fucked to lose, MAKE SURE YOU HAVE BACKUPS.

>If you’re uncertain about going full nuclear hellfire, CHECK the “Quick Format” option. >This is faster, and leaves the data somewhat recoverable on your drive. How much or how little? No idea. That Basic Bitch comment up in file systems also applies to me.

>WITH THAT NONSENSE DECIDED: >Click “Start” and then “Yes” >Now you’re cookin’ with peanut oil. Fresh, beautiful, full of data and ready to ride.

If You’re a Slut For Steve Jobs’ Forbidden Fruit:

>Plug that drive in >Go to “Applications“ >Go to “Utilities” >Go to “Disk Utility” >In the column on the left, you should see your main drive, and under “External” should be whatever you call your flashdrive. >Click it to enter the SpiceZone >Now here we have a few interesting things to note >The main section breaks down all of the info about your drive, and actually lets you see the Invisible Memory Eater haunting your device. You’ll see what data is under “Used“ versus the drive’s actual capacity. That used shit is what we’ll be clearing out. >On the top of the window, you’ll see five options: >First Aid (worth talking about, so we will) >Partition (abandon all hope ye who click thee) >Erase (THE GOOD SHIT WE CARE ABOUT) >Restore (out of my paygrade) >Unmount (fancy eject key this is fine we just don’t need it now)

File Systems For Basic Bitches: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

>Click “Erase” >”Name” is whatever your drive is called. Call it whatever you want, it can change any time, no harm no foul. >”Format” is where it gets spicy > “Mac OS Extended (Journaled)” is your default, 100% safe option. Can’t go wrong, especially if this drive has only ever been used with Apple computers. >HOWEVER: >If you need to switch between Windows and Mac for whatever reason, you’ll want to pick “ExFAT” >”ExFAT” is the option for compatibility across both systems

Format Options So Tight It Meets The US Department Of Defense (DOD) 5220-22 M Standard For Fucking Over The CIA

>It sounds funny, but the title is literally an option you can pick, I’m not kidding >First off is “First Aid” >TECHNICALLY, this is not an erasure function. This is a basic system diagnostic tool that can be used on your main hard drive to find any errors or corrupted files. It can do the same for a flash drive, which in my experience often results in freeing up some of that precious precious data without the commitment of a full wipe. If you’re nervous about nuking the drive, this is a safe place to start. >If all you want is a quick and easy wipe of the drive, ignore “Security Options” and hit “Erase” >Now for the good shit: “Security Options” >Click this bad boy. The window that drops down will be a slider with four options. “Fastest -> Most Secure” The middle two don’t have names. >”Fastest” is the default option. This is the equivalent to Window’s “Quick Format” which clears your drive, but like, leaves a potential breadcrumb trail back to your embarrassing One-Direction-During-The-Purge fanfic, so be warned. The second and third options are escalations of erasure, each taking a little longer, since it’s re-writing the data more and more each time. >”Most Secure” is your CLEANSING NUCLEAR HELLFIRE option with the hilarious note about the DOD. >THIS CAN TAKE LONGER THAN YOU THINK IT SHOULD. If you need this drive quickly, DO NOT CHOOSE THIS OPTION. >This will annihilate all the data on the drive. The data will be UNRECOVERABLE. >Now, memes aside, you may want to be cautious about using this. If this flash drive has ever stored anything important, like family photos or important paperwork, or anything you’d be turbo fucked to lose, MAKE SURE YOU HAVE BACKUPS. >HAVE YOU CHOSEN? >Hit “OK” >Hit “Erase”

AND WE’RE DONE.

This last bit down here isn’t necessary for the tutorial, but I wanted to include it as a fun side trivia thing:

All this shit is the secret behind those cop shows recovering “““““deleted””””””” computer data. Remember how my joke example went from 32GB to 1GB despite the flash drive being “empty”? The Invisible Memory Eater is actually the drive’s previously held data, despite what efforts you may have put into deleting it. It’s still there, like a ghost. 

This is my best understanding of what exactly is happening, and why some data is recoverable, and why some is not: Using a painting as a metaphor, let’s say this:

You have a blank white panel and you paint a picture of a cat.

Next, you take white paint and cover the cat up. The cat is still there, but now there’s no way to see it. 

You paint a sunflower. And then you cover it in white paint. The cat and the sunflower are still there, and now your panel is pretty thick with paint. 

You paint a house. And then you cover the panel in white paint. All three paintings are still there, and the panel is really bloated and heavy. You had two options.  

1. It’s not as capable of being worked as it was previously, so you give the panel away. The next person gets the canvas and notices how thick the paint is. With an x-ray, they can see multiple paintings under the plain white layer. Now, with a special tool, they can carefully scrape off each layer of paint to see each image. The house shows up well enough, maybe a bit of a mess. The sunflower is more degraded, and the cat is unrecognizable. But now they have an idea of what the old paintings were. And that wasn’t your intention at all, that was private. But you can’t do anything about it now.

OR

2. You decide to freshen up the panel. Maybe it won’t be as good as new, but you can work with that. You take the panel around back, and blast the damn thing with the power washer until all traces of the paint are gone. Maybe the board is a little worse for wear, not quite brand new, but the evidence of the old work is absolutely gone, forever.  There’s no image left to access. 

Now when you give the panel away, well, maybe someone could notice the wear and tear, maybe a hint of old paint in the nooks and crannies, but there will never be enough to bring the old paintings back to life. Or even know that there were more than one painting at all. 

That’s simplifying, obviously, and doesn’t perfectly line up with the technical things that are happening, but I think it’s a decent metaphor. To line it back up to the cop show bits, they’ve basically got the x-ray and the special tools to get at the old data, and the tutorial above would be the power washer annihilating everything. 

[kpopchangedme]

Sun-drenched [M] - Youngjae

Every time you opened your mouth something outrageous came out but unfortunately, your new dorky step-brother seemed to be immune. You couldn’t tell if Youngjae was actually that clueless or if your reputation preceded you. 

Protagonists: Choi Youngjae & You

Word Count: 4.6k

Genre: NSFW - Cringe Fest - Smut - slight exhibitionism - f*ckgirl - Stepbrother!au || [One Shot]

[The Pleasure Chest: A Cringe Fest]

GOT7 | M.list

Your mother was doing that thing with her hair again, slightly shaking her head every time her new beau spoke. Every single bob invariably made her blonde curls spring. How disgusting. You had asked to be bleached once, a few years ago, and she had the audacity to claim it would look cheap on you. So unfair. 

She hadn't met her fourth husband for more than 6 months before she did just that. She thought it made her look younger, but Miami-midlife-crisis was more like it. It wasn't pretty wheat blonde, it was white yellow-ish banana buttercream. On-sale daffodil... Much like the sad ones Youngnam had gotten her from the convenience store yesterday.  They were now awaiting certain death in a crystal vase husband-number-two had gotten her for God knows what occasion.

You rolled your eyes when your latest stepfather started going over safety rules again. At your dad's there was never a need for them and if you correctly remembered the last time you had lived with your mom... You smiled, imagining how Dr. Top Surgeon would react if he found out his perfect church-going wife used to pop pills like candy and store a very impressive bong in the third drawer of her kitchen.

That would make for a fun scene. 

The goodbyes seemed to stretch half an eternity in the living room, after which you got dragged to the hall where the speech began all over again. Your mom gave you a short hug, more of a shoulder squeeze, then she pulled back and frowned with intent as much as her botox allowed. You shrugged off her silent don't-screw-this-up warning, already waving goodbye to her husband. Shoo shoo, you thought, sending the adults off to a far far away location. 

As soon as the door shut behind, you squealed in excitement. 

Summer had officially begun! 

Moving half across the country to fake “house sit” their new place while they honeymooned in Boca wasn't exactly what you had scheduled for your vacations. But when Youngnam accidentally let the words infinity pool and cars – as in with an S – slip out during the weekly video call, not even the dread on your mother’s face could’ve deterred you from flying over. 

As it turns out, Dr. Choi was loaded. 

Something you probably would’ve figured out earlier if you’d bothered showing up for the ceremony at all. Unfortunately, the wedding hadn't matched your Spring Break’ schedule and you decided having been present to the many previous ceremonies should be considered enough daughterly care for a lifetime. 

As you bent to the freezer for a celebratory parent-free popsicle, you felt the eyes of that gift-that-came-with-the-house glued to your ass. He briefly glanced down at the flash of your stomach’s skin when you jumped to sit on the counter. 

Surprisingly enough, your mother’s many rings had never once come with a step-brother before...

Usually, she went for the bachelor or womanizer types and those had the decency to never have baggage. Dr. Choi was a break of pattern and the news came with complete horror on your part.

For as long as you could, you had made a duty of never meeting his son, pretended he didn't even exist. So when the bubbly blended trio came to pick you up at the airport yesterday, you had been shocked.

They had said soloist of the local Choir and you’d heard; loser. Piano lessons? Dork. All-boys school graduate? Stuck-up. Computer Science Major? Nerd alert.

No one had talked about… That.

As a matter of fact, Choi Youngjae himself had not spoken much either, but he was certainly looking... 

And there were few things you enjoyed more than having a man's undivided attention.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen in all his glory, your new step-brother was staring, as usual, watching intently as you sucked your popsicle. You made sure to make a show of it.

“So… What about lunch?” He finally asked even though it was barely 9. Just to rattle him you hummed on the sugary treat as a reply. Mission accomplished. “S-Should I order pizza?”

“Don't worry, I’m easy...” Youngjae’s gaze fluttered down to your belly ring again. Boy, if he liked that one he had a few things coming. “I’ll eat anything if it's on you.”

Gaze widening, he pretended to look at something over in the living room and walked away.

Wait no, the poor guy literally bolted out of the kitchen to escape to safety. So fast one could wonder if this whole first exchange was the fruit of your devious imagination.

Oh no, you had just traumatized your babyish step-bro.

It made sense, you were one scary bitch.

All-boys school graduate? Virgin, you mentally took note. 

Or perhaps your mom had said something about you devouring the souls of poor innocent men. They said the apple never fell far from the tree. Grinning like a shark, you discarded the melting popsicle in the trash.

This promised to be one Hell of a summer break. 

______________________

“It’s been more than 10 minutes...” Chimlin flipped the phone over to yell unintelligibly at her demonic baby twin sisters. Despite the protection, you winced. “No DMs.”

“Then he hasn’t seen it yet.” Artlessly reporting for BFF’ duty was a lot more fun face to face, but for a few months, video calls would have to do. “Trust me.”

“I don't know,” she whined, going on all over again about how her boyfriend hadn’t picked up the phone since their nightly routine fight of yesterday. 

Sometimes you wondered if you’d even follow her back on Insta if you met this current sad version of herself. Kinda hard to tell, but she used to be the coolest baddest chick on campus. Then she was partnered with that Italian exchange student for a Statistic class, disgustingly dripping pheromones, cash and European pizzazz. Yes, Statistics. The most boring course ever, let's be real. But Chimlin was a genius, the deadly hot kind. No matter how shit-faced she was, that girl could track the B-52s and Gin Tonics’ calorie count of each respective member of your girl squad, not that she'd ever had to care herself.

Then Massimo came. At first, he was just a casual hook-up, but he managed to worm his way into her brain and grew there like a tumour. By the end of last semester, they were full-on steady-going together like in cringy 90s rom-coms. He was always stuck to her like a parasite.

Gone was your favourite 4 feet 11 party animal.

“Do you have any idea how many bitches Mas could meet this summer?”

You snorted, “Not even close to the number of dicks you could have in Pattaya if you wanted to.”

“Phatthaya,” she corrected automatically with a dramatic eye-roll. “That’s the thing, I don't want to. I only want one dick and he's miles away.” She waved her hand to brush it off right as your mouth opened in protest.

Her Italian barnacle did want to remain with her on campus for summer, but Chimlin thought she had better plans that involved a lot more beaches and fruity drinks. She simply couldn't live with her own poor life choices now and you were just about to tell her so when a flash of skin on the screen distracted you.  

“What else have you been hiding?” You sing-sang, impressed by the view. 

She glanced over her shoulder, “That's my uncle. Like... He’s literally my mom’s lil’ brother. Gross.”

“I know what an uncle is and that's a very hot one if I’ve ever seen one. You can look.”

“We’re not all depraved sluts like you.” She only half-teased with a sharp laugh. “How's the cute new brother doing, by the way?”

“No idea.” You flipped the camera and zoomed on Youngjae's bedroom window like to prove a point. The curtains were drawn, concealing anything worth mentioning from view. You were lounging by the pool on one of those fancy long chairs, much as you had been for the past week. Margarita, sunscreen, repeat. If this boring routine went on, you’d be so tanned by the end of summer no one on campus would recognize you. Sometimes you did think Youngjae's curtains were wobbling, maybe he was spying on you but it could all be your imagination. “Typical. He's been in hiding from me since day one.”

“I don't blame him.”

“Don't blame me for wanting him either. He's a good boy in a bad boy’s body.”

“I don't even know what that means...”

“No one does. But he's not cute, he's hot. I need him all over me and I've been telling him so, but he's strangely elusive. I think he hits the gym above the grocery store on the corner, I should join.”

“Stalker.”

“I don’t stalk, I live in his house.”

“No wonder the poor guy doesn't go out of that room, I bet he picked up on all your slutty energy.” In the rectangle screen, Chimlin switched to tan the other side and you did the same, laying on your back.

“Ha ha. He'd have to be moronic not to,” you were holding the phone above, casting a partial shadow on your face.

“Your legend precedes you. He's scared you're gonna trap and fuck him.”

“What else am I supposed to do when you've abandoned me and flew to the other side of the world? You know I need a summer project.”

“And of course, it had to be a guy.”

You were so glad she stopped whining about Mas for a minute that you let that one slide. “Well, I am not a needlepoint kind-of-girl.”

“Right, hey maybe it isn’t the incest that’s creeping your brother out. Maybe he's gay.”

Someone snorted out loud at that – not you – and you sat up in alarm.

Two guys were standing by the edge of the pool.

“No, he's not,” said the one on the left, a smile in his voice. They were directly in your sun, so you had trouble making out their features. One silhouette was slightly slumped, the other tall and all limbs. You suddenly felt very exposed, dropping Chimlin to fasten your bikini top in a hurry. This show wasn't for strangers to enjoy.

“Who are you?” The second man asked, clearly lost.

“She's it,” the other echoed.

“Who are you? I live here.”

“We're your brother's social life,” the frisky one smiled largely, kind of in a dangerous way that you immediately recognized for your own. Friends, they were Youngjae's friends and they very clearly overheard your embarrassing banter with Chimlin.

Flushing – a rare occurrence – you brought a hand to shield your eyes from the sun while you corrected; “Step-br–”

A sharp voice cut in, “She's not my sister.”

Behind, Youngjae was standing awkwardly by the patio door, a stern look on his face. He didn't seem surprised his people were there. He didn't even glance in your direction before disappearing back as you blankly stared after him. 

“Well, thank fuck,” the you-guy turned to wink, following him inside. “Good luck with your summer project! I’ll root for you!”

In a daze, you picked your phone back up. Chimlin was still there, waiting dilligently to be briefed on what just transpired. You puffed your cheeks, mentally preparing for what was to come.

______________________

Swear to God, Youngjae had not come out of that room for two days.

Two.

Fricking.

Days.

Maybe he had a fridge in there.

Maybe he only came to life after midnight like a vampire to avoid the whore squatting his dad’s house. 

Whatever his annoying friends told him had certainly made a lasting impression. You just hoped he wasn't the type to go cry to parents whenever something happened. You had no intention of going back to your tiny dorm all alone and sad for the summer just because you hurt his feelings by finding him bangable. Or worse, at your father's.

What was he even thinking?

You had not done anything wrong. Pushed a bad joke a little bit too far perhaps, nothing to get all worked up about. No reason to get shunned out of your mother's life again. 

Youngjae's reaction, or lack thereof, was way out of line.

It's not like you had actually done anything to him. He was such a prude. A prude that eye-fucked you all the time!

Church baby boys were the worst.

What an ass.

.

.

.

Three days?!

Three days of an overly empty house. The atmosphere had gotten so heavy, the air so tense you couldn't even think about anything else. There was nothing left to do. Just sit on the couch inside or by that dumb infinity pool, starring at the drawn curtains of your step-brother's bedroom. They weren't wobbling anymore.

Which was what you were actively doing this afternoon, ruminating your dark thoughts for hours. You didn't even notice you were getting dangerously warmer. When your timer went off, announcing it was sunscreen time again you nearly fell from your chair. 

Doing the legs was the easiest part, your favourite to be honest. They were one hell of an asset of yours. You were massaging the thick lotion on your right calf when something at the corner of your eye caught your attention. 

For a heartbeat or two, you thought you were hallucinating. 

Youngjae had finally reappeared. 

He was standing at the end of the pool, a knapsack thrown over his shoulders. His thumbs were hooked in the straps, hands dangling to his sides like dead weights. If he looked like a young boy at first glance, the heated look on his face was one of a man.

Frozen still, you gulped. True to form, he kept staring for a long moment before turning to the house and you thought he was about to go into hiding again – but oh no, fuck – he was actually pacing towards you. 

“I’m back.” Youngjae blurted out awkwardly, mouth twisted. 

Yours was opened in a mix of disbelief and shock. He was actually addressing you. “Back?” From where the corner store?

“Yes,” his eyes ghosted over your poor excuse of a bikini before anchoring themself back to safety in yours. Again, horny eyes. If you were warm earlier, now you were burning up. “I thought it'd be better if I stayed away at Bam's for a few days…”

Right? No one could actually stay between four walls so dilligently. It made sense. You were so dumb.

Apparently, your confusion was evident. “Didn’t you notice I was gone?” No, you had not. So your step-brother was so freaked out being around you that he actually moved out for a few days. Had you gotten that bad? Jesus. “Anyway, I’m back home with you now.” 

Youngjae took a step closer, kindly getting in your light so you'd stop squinting at him. He looked even hotter in the bright light of day, sweat pearled between your breasts. He frowned and bit his lower lip waiting for a reaction. The things you'd do to that perfectly proper mouth. 

Of course, what came out of yours at the moment was less than appropriate. He was right to be scared, you weren't safe at all.

“Wanna do me?”

Yes, you were that bad. Terrible indeed.

“Do I-I,” he gasped for air – oops, “w-what?”

“My back,” you clarified smiling like a prisoner that hadn't been fed a good meal in days, “sunscreen.” The poor man should've stayed far far away from you. 

You weren’t crazy or desperate, but you couldn't resist. You had been patient and unusually upright so far. You deserved a treat. You were hungry and you knew your step-brother wanted you too, he wouldn't have felt the need to hide away otherwise. Youngjae had an interesting duality, shamelessly thirsting over you one minute and getting flustered and embarrassed the next. He must have been deeply unsettled by your open invitation because before you could flip over, he had claimed possession of the bottle. 

Or maybe he just didn't need to be asked twice this time. He knew. He wanted to give in to temptation. Why would he even come back here otherwise? 

Laying down, you reached to undo the bikini strings, pressing your loosely covered chest against the rough towel on the chair. You waited.

“You must really hate tan lines,” Youngjae said in your back, sounding tormented, “it seems you're never properly wearing clothes.” He sat down in slow motion like an obedient little boy as you grinned. 

“Are you ever gonna put your hands on me?” You teased once more, it was like a string was tugging up your insides through that dirty mouth of yours. You wanted to keep pushing him, wanted to find out what it'd take to make him break. And just fuck you really. It was fighting the inevitable by now. 

Every guy you met wanted to have you.

Usually, you didn't have to beg.

“I'm trying not to,” he admitted the obvious. “I promised I would never touch you,” Youngjae grumbled and you jerked in surprise when lotion spurted on your lower back. “Promised my father I’d treat you well.”

It made sense, a good boy would never disobey and do his dirty step-sister. If your legend preceded you, his golden son’s reputation certainly did too. Honestly, this promise made the taunting easier and even more tempting. It made for a funnier challenge and the spark in Youngjae's eyes when he looked at you hinted you could break him if you really tried.

You were about to defy his ethics again when words went back down your throat, letting way to a sharp sigh. He had suddenly fully committed to applying your sunscreen, fingers exploring your skin. You asked to be touched and he had risen to the occasion, firmly rubbing the lotion on your naked back. 

Earlier you had every intention of teasing him further by enjoying this a little too much, but you weren’t sure it was entirely voluntary when the first moan escaped. If he wanted to keep it PG, he probably should’ve stopped right there, but it didn't seem to deter your step-brother. He kept going, massaging you along the way. His thumbs traced circles up your spine until one of his palms cupped your nape. 

Perhaps this is what an erotic massage was supposed to feel like, heaven. Every stroke was totally appropriate, very perfect boy-ish, but still, your toes were curling. After a few minutes, Youngjae's breathing was heavy, he was enjoying this impromptu contact just as much.

You both had made yourselves obvious these past weeks; him with the eye-fucking, you with the open-truths. Clearly, the forbidden nature of your desires would make for an even more intense experience. You couldn't even imagine how it'd feel to take it further now. 

“I've never had a step-brother before,” you mewled, mentally following the downwards path of his hands.

“I bet you love messing with me,” he replied, barely audible. 

His pianist’s fingers were now haltingly sliding up your ribcage. He wasn't rubbing in anything anymore, just caressing all he could reach. 

He was right, but you wanted more. That was the sexiest thing that happened to you in forever. Having a guy want you bad enough he had to hide away to resit, and now having his hands on you. You wanted him everywhere, all over. You didn’t care; step-brother promises or not.

Giving in to temptation, you turned around, resting on your elbow. Your untied bikini had not followed so you watched as his face fell in realization. Youngjae's mouth opened in awe, eyes glued to your bare perky breasts. At the moment, there was absolutely nothing going on in that male brain of his. He didn’t move; you helped.

As soon as you put one of his hands on your chest, he came back to life. 

“Jesusfuck,” he breathed out, completely winded.

Wow.

Church baby boys were the best.

Entertained, you reached for the sunscreen, pouring lotion on yourself again. “You aren't done.”

“I…” Youngjae swallowed back his protests, cupping your boobs with both hands. He couldn't even look up anymore, enthralled by your nakedness.

No matter what their intentions were, it seemed good guys were still guys after all. If you had known he was this easy to overwhelm, you would’ve walked around topless sooner.

“The neighbours will see us...”

He didn't seem to mind that much, seeing as his thumbs were stroking your pierced nipples relentlessly. If those middle-aged housewives you only caught glimpses off looked over the edge now, they’d have a pretty impressive show. 

“Let them,” sitting, you snaked a hand to his dramatic bulge. Your mouths got so close you felt his breath ghost over. Beaten by your expertise, his shorts’ button came undone first, his fly was even more compliant. 

The moment of truth.

Youngjae's whole body shook when you took his cock in your palm. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Fuck, he was so hard and flushed for you. He pinched your erected nipples in response and you felt a familiar vivid jolt of pleasure and pain down to your toes. Not a virgin, after all, no doubt he would handle you just fine. 

You pressed your mouth to his neck and sucked, right where his Adam's apple bobbed.

That's it, all for you. You were so going to eat up that good boy.

“Mmmm, I’ll tell daddy you’re treating me so fucking well...”

Of all the filthy things you had said so far, this was the one that got the strongest reaction. The wrong one. Youngjae jerked up to his feet, tugging at his shorts in panic. He swore a dozen of times, out of his mind as you stood there, frozen still.

“Sorry,” he offered at last, pitiful before running for his life to the house. 

Fuck.

No.

Surely you were feverish. 

Having a heatstroke.

You had imagined the whole thing.

You had not just being left out cold by a man.

This type of shit never happened to girls like you. 

It took a few minutes to gather back your thoughts and when you did, you decided this wasn't even close to completion.

Without wasting a second more you stormed inside the house, almost flying upstairs to that mythical off-limits bedroom of his. You didn't bother banging, he was in such a hurry he forgot to lock behind, so the door flew open. 

Like a scene straight up from a bad porno, Youngjae spun on his computer chair, a hand still wrapped around his fully erected dick. You couldn't believe your eyes.

“Are you jerking off?” He was already pulling up his shorts again to cover himself, caught red-handed, blushing as though you hadn't been doing it yourself a moment ago.

“I’m sorry, I don't think you–”

“Please don't stop on my behalf,” you waltzed in, confident, and sat on his well-made good boy's bed.

“W-What?” Youngjae blinked, even more, rattled by the sight. 

He didn't leave because he didn't want you, he clearly did. He probably only left because of his father and that dumb promise he mentioned.

“Is this how you've been dealing all along?” You laid back on the comforter, smirking and remembering all those afternoons by the pool you’d thought you’d seen his curtains fall. He certainly enjoyed spying so it gave you an idea. He could try to resist you all he wanted, you'd still made him cave. “You don't want to touch me, right?” Your step-brother nodded, spellbound. “Because you're the perfect son.”

He swallowed hard, “But you keep… Saying those things, sunbathing… And to my friends...”

“Yes, you’re right... So let's start over.” You sighed in fake contrition, “I'm sorry, I've made this so hard for you. I’ll be good too from now on.”

Youngjae scoffed in disbelief, “You are sitting topless on my bed.”

“Oh,” looking down at yourself, you cupped your breasts. “I thought you liked the looking.” His cock was standing up, glorious testimony to this mess. “Don't worry, I get it. I promise I won’t let you touch me...” Throwing your head back without breaking eye contact, you moaned and lightly twisted one of your pierced nipples. “But I’ll make you watch...” Out of his mind, Youngjae did just that as you caressed your own chest for him. Somehow his eyes on you now burned even better than his hands earlier. 

You were so turned on, so worked up by all the days of teasing and loneliness. Your hips started swaying on his bed, craving some fiction and release. 

“You're crazy,” his voice was laboured but he had yet to escape again. This time you wouldn't have followed.

“I-I'm so wet, Youngjae...” Giving in, your right hand fell to your sex, rubbing your last piece of clothing. He was captivated. 

“Fuck it,” he immediately breathed out in surrender, hand wrapping around his dick. That was it, you finally had him. He was all in, playing along with your new favourite family game.

No touching, just innovative teamwork.

You had to establish ground rules, but pushing them was what fun was all about.

“I want you so bad...” You mewled, slipping your middle finger inside your bikini bottom.

Stroking himself, Youngjae groaned, “So you’ve been saying baby, but now you have to show me.”

Oh shit. You were going to come so fast if the golden son had other surprises like that. In a hurry, you wormed out of your panties before he could change his mind once more. In front of his fully clothed self, you laid back, touching your damp slit while he observed intently. The whole experience was surreal, your mind was buzzing, overwhelmed by the wrongness of it all.

It felt so amazing though.

Touching yourself for your step-brother was the sexiest thing you’d ever experienced, and you were very accomplished. You would’ve done anything he'd asked of you, and Youngjae knew that but he abided by his dumb rules. Standing up he came closer, boxer messily shoved down from his earlier haste, one hand was in his hair, the other working hard. You kept rubbing your clit repeatedly letting him see, hastening the pace until you were numb all over, panting. 

“Youngj-jae, I-I–”

Moaning, you broke faster than you had ever with someone, then again no one knew how to make you reach your own high better than yourself. Paroxysm made your thighs jerked as the pleasure waved through you, annihilating all sense of your surroundings.

When you came back, your step-brother was giving up too, bursting in thick spurts of hot cum all over your body and chest. His eyes were wide opened in black elation, intense, not missing a second of the show as he came on you. His whitish-gray seed painted your bareness in ribbons until he was completely emptied.

In silence, Youngjae dropped next to you on the bed, hands covering his face as you both caught your breaths. His now softening dick was still protruding out of his shorts and underwear for the world to see. It probably made for quite a view; your naked body covered in semen right by your respectable step-brother’s way more humble cock.

If your parents came home early, they would both have a stroke.

Youngjae sort of kept his word though... For today at least. 

Because now that you had him all over, you knew you were going to crave him under you.

And no man had ever resisted your charms before.

Step-brother or not.

[The Pleasure Chest: A Cringe Fest]

GOT7 | M.list

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 84

A mysterious substitute shows up to teach the class.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

The Substitute

           As the morning announcements are read over the intercom, students wait apathetically for them to end. They tap their fingers on their phones and yawn, already tired of a day that’s barely even began.

           After Miss Sweeties takes attendance, everyone starts to leave for their first class, when the intercom chimes with another announcement.

           “Pepito Diablo, report to the Principal’s office please.”            “Huh?” Pepito questions.

           “Oh, what’d you do?” Dib asks accusingly.

           “Dunno,” he shrugs, “maybe they found out about the gambling ring I started in the boiler room.”            He splits off from the rest of the class and goes to the Principal’s office. The receptionist isn’t sitting out front, so he lets himself in. It’s dimly lit, as usual, but no one is around.

           “Um, hello?” Pepito calls out as he walks deeper in.

           Suddenly, a weighted net made of silver drops down on him from the ceiling. It burns his exposed skin, making him scream in agony as he collapses to the floor.          

           “Grab him, quickly,” a voice orders from somewhere in the shadows of the room.

           “Who the-?” Pepito croaks as a pair of strong, gloved hands pick him up by the shoulders with ease. He tries to look back to see who’s carrying him, but movement beneath the silver is painful. But he can smell them. They smell like Hell.

           He’s carried across the office and shoved into a locker. After they close the door, he hears the click of a lock.

           “Hey!” he barks.

           “Relax,” a voice replies, “you only have to stay in there until we’ve done what we need to do.”

           Pepito hears footsteps fade away and he knows he’s all alone.

           Meanwhile, Zim, Dib, and Squee sit in their desks with the rest of their class. They’re surprised to see Mr. Stutters is not at his desk, so everyone waits patiently, playing on their phones or talking to their friends.

           Finally, after a few minutes, an unfamiliar man wearing a simple suit and black gloves walks in with the Skool television. “My apologies for my tardiness, children,” he says, “I’m Mr. Brim, your substitute.”

           “Where’s Mr. Stutters?” Zim demands.

           “I’m afraid he’s under the weather,” Mr. Brim replies, “but don’t worry. Today will be an easy day for you because we’ll just be watching a video.”

           After turning off the light, he turns on the TV and the video player. “So just sit back and relax.”

           What comes on screen is some kind of odd swirling mosaic that’s constantly flowing like a whirlpool. The noise is a gentle static.

           “What kind of video is this?” one of the students asks.

           “It’s a relaxation video,” Mr. Brim replies.

           “It’s…kinda nice,” another comments.

           “Exactly,” he nods as he sits behind the teacher’s desk and opens a book. “So just relax and enjoy.”

           The kids stare at the screen in a sort of trance, getting lost in the gentle swirl as the static fills their ears. Squee is no exception. He can almost feel all of his stress washing out of his body.

           Almost.

           It’s like the static starts to flow into his mind and then hits a sudden barrier. He blinks with realization and sits up, looking around. All of the kids are staring at the TV, their eyes glazed over; some are even drooling.

           Squee looks at the teacher. He’s completely focused on his book. Watching him carefully, Squee slides down his chair and onto the floor.

           Dib’s chin rests in his hand as he stares at the TV, his cognitive function near unresponsive. He doesn’t even react when Squee grabs him by his hair and tugs him to the floor.

           Squee waves his hand in front of Dib’s eyes, but he remains motionless; just an empty doll. He quickly digs around in his bag before pulling out a pair of headphones which he plants over Dib’s ears. He connects them to his phone and cranks the volume.

           Music from Hellz Rebels blasts into Dib’s ears, knocking him out of his trance. He jumps and gasps but Squee quickly covers his mouth before he can make any noise.

           He motions for Dib to be quiet and shows him a message he typed on his phone.

           ‘Keep the headphones on. The teacher is brainwashing everyone with that video.’

           Dib looks at him with surprise and peeks over the desk. Mr. Brim is still busy reading his book and hasn’t noticed Squee and Dib have disappeared from their seats.

           Dib looks back at Squee as he types another message. ‘What should we do?’

           He considers the question before taking the phone and typing his own message. ‘We have to destroy that video but be careful of the teacher. He could be dangerous. Let’s get out of here first so I can think clearly.’

           ‘What about Zim?’ Squee asks. ‘I only have the one set of headphones.’

           ‘Leave him,’ Dib replies, ‘we can handle this ourselves.’

           So the two of them crawl along the floor towards the windows. They peek over the desks at Mr. Brim, who is still lost in his book, before carefully opening one and climbing through.

           Once outside, Dib lowers the headphones, sighing with relief. “Good thinking using Pepito’s music, Squee,” he comments, “who would’ve thought it’d be so effective at disrupting brainwashing.”

           “Well, I figured something loud would be best,” Squee replies, “so what’s the plan?”            Dib thinks about it for a second. “If I can hack into the intercom system, maybe we can call Mr. Brim out of the classroom. Then we just gotta sneak into the class and destroy the video.”

           “Okay,” Squee nods, “how do you do that?”

           “I’m gonna need one of the speakers.”

           They quickly hurry over to the closest window that leads into the hallway and let themselves in. They look up at the speaker hanging just overhead.

           “Okay, give me a boost,” Dib orders.

           “Give you a boost?” Squee scoffs, “you’re like a whole foot taller than me. Plus there’s no way I’d be able to hold you.”

           “Fine, I’ll use this garbage bin,” Dib says as he climbs onto the lid of the trash bin. “Just hold it steady.”

           Squee holds the bin steady as it wobbles under Dib’s weight. He reaches for the intercom speaker and begins to remove it from the wall when the door behind them suddenly slams open.

           “Well, got a couple of troublemakers, do we?” Mr. Brim says.

           Squee’s arms quickly shoot to his sides. Dib loses his balance on the wobbling bin lid and cries out as he falls to the floor.

           “Sorry,” Squee squeaks as Dib sits up, rubbing his back.

           “Do you know what we do to troublemakers?” Mr. Brim asks.

           “You’re the troublemaker!” Dib declares, jumping to his feet and pointing accusingly at Mr. Brim. “We know you’re brainwashing the other students. What’s your game?”

           “I’ll tell you what we do to troublemakers,” he continues, ignoring Dib.

           “Don’t ignore me while I’m trying to question you,” he snaps.

           “We lynch them.”

           “Lynch?” Squee questions.

           “We?” Dib questions.

         Mr. Brim grins darkly as he steps out of the doorway. “Children, capture the troublemakers.”

           The other students shamble out of the classroom, their eyes glazed over and their mouths hanging open. Dib and Squee watch them with uncertainty.

           Then, as a unit, the whole group charges them. They scream and try to get away but there’s just too many hands grabbing at them.

           They struggle to wrestle themselves free and shove the other kids off of them. Dib slips out of his coat and Squee loses his bag when they finally manage to free themselves. Then they race down the hallway as the other kids give chase.

           “In here!” Dib exclaims and they dive into an empty classroom, locking the door behind them.

           Squee looks down at himself, suddenly realizing his bag is gone. “They got my stuff!” he barks and races for the door.

           “Whoa, Squee!” Dib shouts, holding him back. “You can’t fight them! There’s too many and they’re not in their right minds.”

           Squee steps back, running his hand over his hair and taking a deep breath. “Alright. Now what?”

           Before Dib can answer, they hear the sound of static. They turn around to see a television has suddenly turned on and is playing that same video.

           “No! Dib, don’t look!” Squee yells and jumps out in front of him, but it’s too late. He’s already gotten lost in the swirl and the static.

           “Dib! Dib!” Squee cries, shaking Dib by his shirt but there’s no response.

           The announcement chime plays over the intercom speaker and Squee looks up at it. “This is a message for Dib Membrane.”

           “Kill Squee C.”        

           “What?” Squee exclaims.

           In their respective classes, Gaz and Tak both hear the message. “What?”

           Still locked up in the Principal’s office, Pepito hears someone deliver the message. “What?”

           “Okay,” he snarls, “enough of this.”

           Black energy sparks around him before exploding, completely destroying the locker and the net. Pepito collapses to his knees amidst the rubble, panting with exhaustion before looking up.

           Sitting at the Principal’s computer is a man who appears mostly human. But he has a pair of short, white horns and long claws on his fingers. He stares at Pepito with a mix of surprise, fear, and respect.

           “I don’t know why a pair of demons from Hell is here,” Pepito says as he stands up. “And frankly, I don’t care. I’m done being your prisoner. And whatever you’ve done to Dib- I’m gonna go fix it. But first…”

           He trails off as energy sparks around his hands. The demon man whimpers fearfully.

           Back in the classroom, Dib lashes out and grabs Squee’s throat. He gags and grips Dib’s arm as he presses down on his Adam’s apple, looking past Squee with empty eyes.

           Squee reaches into his pants’ pocket and pulls out a switchblade. He flips open the knife and whips it. It flies past Dib’s head and crashes into the TV screen.

           The static stops and Dib’s arm flops to his side. Squee falls to his knees, coughing for breath as he rubs his neck.

           “D-Dib?” he croaks, looking up. Dib is still unresponsive and motionless. He just stares straight ahead with glazed over eyes.

           Squee cries out with surprise as something starts banging against the classroom door. Through the window he can see his classmates trying to break in.

           “Dib!” he exclaims, grabbing Dib’s shirt and shaking him. “Dib, you gotta snap out of it! Wake up!”

           Dib still doesn’t respond, his head wobbling like a bobble head. Squee winces as the other students continue banging on the door.

           “Dib, please,” he begs, “I don’t know what to do. I-I can’t do this by myself.”

           Squee hangs his head as tears slip down his face. His quiet sobs flow into Dib’s ears and he blinks a couple times before looking down at him.

           “Squee?” he questions, “what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

           Squee looks up at him with surprise before breaking into a big smile. “You’re back!” he cheers and leaps up to hug his neck.

           “Ah, yeah,” Dib replies with surprise. “Wh-what happened? Did I do something?”

           “Nah,” Squee smiles as he steps back. “Nothing much.”

           Dib looks at him questionably. Then they both jump as the door cracks from the force of the banging.

           “We need to get out of here,” Squee says.

           “Right. Come on,” Dib nods and they hurry over to the window. They quickly slip outside before the other students break in.      

           “What now?” Squee asks.

           “First, let’s destroy that video,” Dib replies.

           Squee nods and they race back to their classroom. It’s empty now with the video still playing in the darkness.

           “I’ll get it,” Squee says, “you stay here.”

           Squee climbs through the open window. Once inside, he jumps with surprise when he sees Zim still sitting in his desk.

           “Zim?” Squee questions. He doesn’t reply; just stares motionless at the TV.

           Squee rubs his head curiously as he turns off the TV and removes the tape from the video player. He drops it on the floor and tries to stomp on it, but it doesn’t even crack.

           “I can’t break it,” he says as Dib climbs into the room. He stares questionably at Zim- who still hasn’t moved- before approaching Squee and grabbing the tape. He tries whacking it against the edge of a desk but to no avail.

           “This is one resilient tape,” Dib comments.

           “That’s cause it’s not of the living world.”

           Dib and Squee turn with surprise to see Pepito standing in the doorway. He’s panting heavily and much of his arms, neck, and face are covered in burn marks.

           “Pepito!” they exclaim.                

           “What happened? Where have you been?” Squee asks.

           “Locked up in the Principal’s office,” Pepito replies as he walks in. “It was hijacked by a couple of Hell demons.”

           “Demons?” Dib questions.

           “Give it,” Pepito demands, motioning for the tape. Dib hands it over and Pepito holds it between his hands. His energy swirls around it, quickly smashing it to pieces.

           “Okay, that takes care of that,” Dib says and looks at the still unresponsive Zim. “What about everyone who’s been brainwashed?”

           “How were you two not effected?” Pepito asks.

           “Brainwashing never has any effect on me,” Squee shrugs.

           “And I was,” Dib replies, “but Squee snapped me out of it using headphones and music.”

           “So loud noises work then?” Pepito questions, “what kind of loud noise can we use on everyone?”

           They all look up as the Skool bell sounds.

          “Huh-wh-what?” Zim exclaims, jumping out of his desk and looking around in bewilderment.

           “Looks like that did it,” Dib remarks.

           They look out the door and down the hall at their fellow classmates. They’re all looking around in surprise, questioning why they’re suddenly out in the hall and standing by a broken door.

           “Where’s Mr. Brim?” Squee questions.

           “I can guess,” Pepito growls.

           “Guys?” Zim asks as he walks up to them. “What’s going on?”

           “No time to explain,” Pepito replies as he grabs his arm and tugs him into the hall. “Let’s go.”

           They quickly run through the Skool to the Principal’s office. Pepito kicks open the door to find it empty.

           “Dammit, he was right here,” he snaps.

           “Who?” Dib asks.

           “One of the assholes who captured me,” Pepito replies, “after I beat him up a little, I left him here to interrogate later. His partner must’ve come and got him.”

           “Mr. Brim,” Dib and Squee say with realization.

           “Hey, my stuff!” Squee gasps as he sees his bag and Dib’s coat sitting on the table. All of Squee’s stuff has been dumped out. “Ugh, it looks like they were rifling through it. They better not have taken anything.”

           “Did they?” Pepito asks.

           “No, all my knives, bombs, and notebooks are still here,” Squee replies, “what were they looking for?”

           “Do you think that’s why they were here?” Dib questions, “were they looking for something?”

           “Are they working for your dad?” Squee asks Pepito.

           “I doubt it,” he replies, scratching his head. “Dad hasn’t been on my case about being the Antichrist for a long time. I don’t see why he’d suddenly send demons on us.”

           “Should we be worried?” Dib asks.

           “Well….” Pepito groans with uncertainty. “There’s nothing we can really do about it right now. I guess we’ll just have to watch out for anything suspicious.”

           “That’s literally my whole life,” Squee remarks.

           “Uh, excuse me,” Zim says impatiently, “could somebody please tell me what the Irk is going on!”

           “How about we talk about it while we hide out in the boiler room?” Pepito suggests as they leave the office.

           “Yeah, I would very much like to skip the next class,” Squee adds.

           “That sounds like a great idea,” Dib agrees.

           Meanwhile, down in Hell, Mr. Brim and his accomplice kneel before their leader: a figure cloaked in shadows.

           “Pepito really did a number on you,” they remark, eyeing the many injuries covering the demon man.

           “He is…quite powerful, my lord,” he comments.

           “Not as powerful as he should be,” they grunt, “which is why I’m better. So, you never found it?”

           “No, my lord,” Mr. Brim replies, “it was not in their lockers, their bags, or on their persons.”

           “I see,” the leader nods, “you’ve done well. Go rest up.”            They nod gratefully and begin to leave when an angered shout from the other side of the room interrupts them.            “Done well?” Carcas barks, cracking the floor beneath his fist. “This was a complete waste of time!”

           “Not true,” the leader argues, “we are narrowing down our search. If neither Squee nor Dib has it, then it must be in their homes.”

           “What is so special about this artifact anyway?” Carcas snorts.

           “It will bring us one step closer to creating the perfect army for destroying the Battalion,” they reply, “patience, Carcas. We just need to keep arranging our pieces, then everything will fall into place.”

[mr007pennyworth]

Feeding Barry Headcanon

“Is this a bad time to bring up my blood sugars?”

If there was one thing Bruce had to make sure he calculated for when he built the Justice League was making sure his speedster didn't go hungry. 

Money, was never the issue, the real issue came about making sure Barry had someone TO MAKE SURE he was eating enough to cope. 

On an average day, just from watching Barry consume a full 18 inch pizza by himself and a guess from looking at the details of some of the foods he’d listed online, that he and Alfred would have there hands full.

Well, more Alfred. 

Cue, Alfred. 

When Bruce explained Barry’s apatite to Alfred at first, he didn't quite see the issue, Bruce downed 3,500 calories a day most of it just proteins so, another mouth to feed wasn’t all that hard, Dick had been on the same by the time he’d hit 16. 

But when Bruce ran the simulation of Barry’s metabolism on the computer, they both began to panic. 

How was a boy his age managing to feed himself the MINIMUM of DOUBLE Bruce’s calories a day on his budget?!

Alfred came to the conclusion that unless Barry ate roughly 7,000 calories a day at minimum, he’d start losing weight. 

Bruce was in the trash in ten minutes, digging up the MacDonald's takeaway containers he’d bought Barry just that afternoon. 

He’d given the kid his card and said go. Now he sat here with the boxes of 3 Bigs Mac’s, 6 double cheeseburgers, 3 packets of large fries, 20 chicken nuggets, a black coffee, a large irn bru and 5 apple pies. That was roughly 9,087 calories from what they could add up from the nutritional info. 

That was LUNCH. That was...Barry’s minimum daily needs and only $50 out Bruce’s pocket. 

$50, was pretty much Barry’s budget for THREE days of meals not just one. 

Bruce went to argue with Barry that he needed to move in, Alfred managed to stop him. 

Barry was all grown up and had been independent for too long to allow Bruce to walk into his life and smother him. 

But something had to be done. 

It took awhile but Barry did move in with some carefully plying by Alfred and the Butler managed to start tracking his food intake.

By making sure Barry got 6 meals a day for his 7,000 calories out of Bruce’s pocket, letting Barry add the rest became routine. 

Breakfast, Brunch, Lunch, Afternoon Tea, Diner and Supper, Alfred was finally back to using his cook books that had been gathering dust. 

Each meal had to have 1,160 calories and 30g or more of proteins to be any use to Barry’s development. Now, Alfred could have just given the boy a lump of cash and let him go bonkers on fast food, but the fat’s and sugars were the bigger hurdles, as much as it met his calories and his proteins in meat from burgers...it didn’t meet everything else. 

Barry’s malnutrition he found didn’t just come from the lack of food, it was the lack of the RIGHT foods. Even though Alfred balanced all six of Barry’s meals a day to cater for vitamins and such it wouldn’t be enough in places, that was where medication would have to come in, now he finds one afternoon after offering the boy some ibuprofen, that they didn’t work, his metabolism swallowed the effects in just a few minutes. Even tripling the dose, it was out of his system in just 12 minutes. That ment that to account for the speed at which his body used it’s building blocks everything had to be at least TWENTY times the rate of a normal human every day just for Barry to get a close enough dose of his nutrition. 

To put into perspective, an average male needs 500ug of Vitamin D a day, thats...30 minutes of sun. Barry, on the other hand needed over 10,000 a day just to function. Something that was easily helped with him being able to travel, a couples of hours in Australia and he’d get a solid top up, but running back ment using his powers, ment burning his body’s reserves, it was one hell of a game. Tablets, were Alfred’s go to. Ten dissolvable multi vitamin tablets in a 2 liter bottle of OJ a day and Barry was good to go, with his meals included, Alfred was glad to see Barry starting to look better after the first few months. 

Until, he wasn’t.

Going to work without breakfast, had Alfred concerned, but he had his packed brunch and lunch, he had his extra cash for snacks. To find that the lunch had only been half eaten when he came home was massive question mark.

Dinner Time...he said he wasn’t hungry and Alfred had him dragged towards the cave in just a moment. 

Just the ONE day of not eating his minimum calories and all the work that they had progressed on was fading. Barry still as much as he’d gotten off his chest about the anniversary of his mothers death, refused to eat. 

IV’s it came too then. 

Dragging the boy back upstairs, he handed him off to Bruce who situated him in his room while Alfred set about getting Barry on some IV drips.

Barry muttered on about the fuss but didn't fight Bruce keeping him in the bed as Alfred put IV catheters in both arms. 6 bags of 20% dextrose fluids wouldn’t do the job his meals should have but it would prevent him from going hypoglycemic for the rest of the day. In the mean time, Bruce set about finding his weak spot, his food weak spot. Now Barry liked a lot of food, he liked many different foods and Bruce was pretty willing to pay anything for him to eat something. 

He returned a few hours later with takeaway Chinese food , Indian Food , Italian food as well as three large pizzas, Mexican food meals, nearly every MacDonald's burger, Fried Chicken bucket meals, Kebabs, 48 Krispy Kreme Dounuts, nine different 12 inch sub sandwiches, Frozen meals from several different supermarkets and even a huge three tier chocolate cake. Bruce had been about to run back out of the door when he recalled a Brazilian takeaway just outside of town as well as another chicken shop when Barry came out of his room pulling the IV stand with him woken up at all the kerfuffle Alfred was making. 

“Master Bruce it’s midnight I doubt the boy is going to eat”

Barry, pulling out the IV’s then sat down at the table quietly as they argued, looking over everything Bruce had bought him slightly shy of the money he could imagine he’d spent. A smile broke out on his face at the sight of the brown bag. 

“He’s just started gaining weight, Alf if he doesn't-” “I’m fully aware, Bruce look, one day won't kill him, the IV’s will hold on off the worst of the hypo-”

*crunch* 

They turned to see the boy happily munching prawn crackers. 

Alfred pretty much dropped to the sofa in relief. Bruce just started laughing before pulling out a chair to sit opposite the speedster who was now eyeing up the cake as he packed prawn crackers into one of kebabs. 

Nobody said a word until Barry had consumed at least five of the items on the table and paused for a can of lemonade. 

“Barry?”

The pup looks up to Alfred on the sofa who was sat with a cup of tea, paper work spread out across his lap as Bruce sat beside him with a his laptop. It was just past one one in the morning. 

“Promise me something?”

Barry paused in reaching for the rice pot next to the Korma to indicate he was listening. “When this happens again, you’ll tell me when you’ll eat again before giving us a heart attack won’t you?”

The younger nodded and fought the laugh he almost made at Bruce getting whacked with the folder in Alfred’s hand at his old man response. 

Suddenly, Curry wasn't what he wanted. He’d had a kebab, a pizza, three burgers, a subs sandwich and a whole bucket of chicken...he needed something sweet, picking up one of the boxes of dounuts he pads over to the sofa dropping himself between Alfred and Bruce who shared an intrigued look, Barry picks a dounut before pushing the box into Alfred’s lap with a cheeky smirk. 

Alfred sighs, the boys puppy brown eyes were too hard to resist and picks one out putting it in his mouth before passing the box back over to Bruce, the vigilante grimaced and went to give them back but caught Barry’s look of confusion. 

“Okay, okay, just one, I guess it won’t ruin my diet” 

Grabbing the remote, Alfred passes it to Barry as he puts away the paperwork, Bruce does the same tucking away the laptop and watches as Barry flicks for a movie. 

“Coffee, Dounuts and bad horror movies at one in the morning...I guess it beats being out in the rain eh” Bruce laughs licking chocolate off his fingers as Barry snuggles into Alfred’s side. 

“It’s perfect” Barry smiles around a mouthful of dounut, pulling a face as Alfred goes to wipe the caramel dripping off his chin. 

Feeding Barry was always going to be a challenge, but for our vigilante and Butler Dad, it was worth it just to see him happy. 

[let-it-raines]

Something As Stupid As Jealousy and Queso (1/1)

Emma Swan is in love with her best friend. 

It’s the most cliché thing in the world, and she kind of hates herself for it. But she doesn’t hate Killian, not at all. And maybe, just maybe, if she focuses on her coursework and her finals she won’t have time to think about his stupid blue eyes or the way he makes her smile. 

Maybe, just maybe, she’s the biggest liar in the world. 

Rating: Mature (but just barely)

a/n: It’s the 15th, so it’s time for me to wish @carpedzem​ the happiest of birthdays! Nat is such a sweetheart, and she’s so talented! Like, if you haven’t seen her artwork, I encourage you to go check it out now. She’s been the most fun to get to know, and I hope this story is everything she wanted! I think I tried to get it all in there ❤️

Found on AO3 | Here |

-/-

“Hey, are you that – ”

“Yep,” Emma murmurs, picking up her pace and flicking her hand toward the guy who’s calling out to her. She doesn’t have time for this today. She’s got to fix a paragraph in her paper, which will inevitably lead to her changing the entire thing around, and she doesn’t want to be up until a minute before midnight turning it in at the actual last moment.

One and a half more semesters of this, and then she’s free.

Well, for a little while. She’s not exactly sure what her plans are yet for after she graduates. That’s the end goal here, but it’s also not something she can focus on right now.

Paper. She’s got to focus on her paper. One track mind and all that.

“Loved the episode last night,” someone else yells. She recognizes him. He’s in her Cross-cultural Prospective class, and now she’s going to have to hide away whenever they’re in lecture.

“Thanks,” Emma mumbles, flashing him a tight smile.

There are a few more comments thrown her way as she walks across campus, and after being told by some guy she’s never met that he would gladly have sex with her, she turns from main campus and walks an extra mile out of her way to get home without having to see anyone else.

She needs coffee.

And grilled cheese.

She also probably needs some water, but that’s a problem for another time.

Oh, Mexican food might be good tonight.

The moment Emma gets home, she kicks off her sneakers, leaving them strewn across the entryway, and drops her backpack to the ground before stalking into the kitchen, turning on the coffee machine and grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter. Mary Margaret must have gone grocery shopping this morning if they have fresh fruit.

As the coffee percolates and Emma bites into her apple, she pulls her phone out of the hidden pocket in her running pants and scrolls through her Instagram. She’s got her notifications turned off so she never sees anything unless she actually opens up her app. Things get too crazy otherwise.

@KillianJones33 mentioned you in his story.

Emma huffs, and clicks on the link until she’s opening up Killian’s story. It’s a video, and she immediately knows what it is.

The asshole.

“So,” Killian begins, “as you can see here is a perfectly clean house. However, if you look down at the floor, there’s a trail of shoes, specifically Emma Swan’s shoes that she has left in every room of this damn house….except for her bedroom.”

The camera flips around so she can see his face and the shit-eating grin he’s sporting. Why is he this way? He’s so damn dramatic about everything.

“Do you think publicly shaming her will make her pick her shoes up, or am I cursed to live like this forever?”

The coffee machine beeps behind her, and Emma tosses her half-eaten apple into the trash before grabbing a travel mug out of the cabinet and pouring it three fourths of the way to the top so she still has room for her creamer.  As soon as she’s got the creamer in and has the top firmly on, she starts walking out of the kitchen and through the living room until she’s turning the corner and walking up the stairs, kicking away a pair of her heels that she wore on a date last week. Killian’s door is closed, but she knows it’s not locked.

“You are an asshole,” Emma grumbles the moment she’s got the door open.

Killian’s sitting in his bed with his back resting against the headboard. His room is obnoxiously clean. It drives her crazy. All of his clothes are in his closet, his bed is made, and there’s absolutely nothing out of place. He claims it’s from being raised by a brother in the military, but she thinks he’d be this way no matter what.

This is probably why her shoe thing bothers him so much.

“Can you clarify why I’m an asshole, love? There are simply so many options.”

“Your video about my shoes.”

Killian clicks his tongue and raises his brow before returning to looking at his laptop, fingers tapping against the keyboard. “Your shoes are a menace. You have to pick them up.”

“Why would I do that when I have you?”

“Because I’m not your maid.”

“But you hate when things aren’t clean, so it drives you crazy enough that you clean it up.”

“Is that your entire goal? To drive me crazy.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Killian chuckles and keeps typing, and Emma takes the opportunity to walk over toward his bed and climb up on the mattress, settling down beside him and taking a sip of her coffee. Why is his bed so much more comfortable than hers? “Did you go to campus today?”

“Aye.” “Were you accosted by people?”

“I had seven different women ask me out on dates.” “Really?” Emma asks as her stomach flips.

He hums. “I haven’t even seen the episode, so I’m not sure what we did in it. Have you?”

“Nope, and I haven’t checked any other notifications besides yours.”

Killian clicks around on his computer, and Emma recognizes the program he uses to make the designs for the ship he’s working on. She has no idea how any of the engineering works on this program, but the artistic design looks nice. She can leave all of the engineering stuff up to Killian.

“Well, Swan, I say we watch it and see what our dear friends did to make us famous today.”

“If we have to. But if I hear something else about my brother’s sex life, I’m going to die.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Just play the damn video.”

“Today,” David begins in his best on-camera voice, “we’re going to talk about arguments while in a relationship and how to deal with them. Now, Mary Margaret and I are no strangers to arguments.”

“I mean, I would say we don’t fight too much,” Mary Margaret adds in.

“Well, that’s not true, is it, honey?”

“It is true!”

“Last night we got into a fight over what to have for dinner.” “David, that was a disagreement over food. That was not a fight.”

“Yes, but we’re talking about disagreements as small as not being able to decide what to eat for dinner and as big as what would happen if you and your partner realize you have differing opinions on whether or not to have kids.”

“I still say disagreeing over food doesn’t count in our segment.” “That’s because we ended up having lasagna when you wanted lasagna.” David leans over to press his lips to Mary Margaret’s. “We can have chicken tacos tonight.”

The video has a quick transition before shifting over to Emma and Killian standing the kitchen as Emma stuffs half of a croissant in her mouth all at once while Killian presses a beer bottle to his lips.

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles, “they’re literally arguing over whether or not they argue and then telling people they don’t argue.”

“I’m sure their audience is eating it up, love.”

“Oh, I know they are. It’s ridiculous. They’re all ridiculous.”

Killian snickers into his bottle and his eyes fall to the camera.

“People like watching them sweetly bicker, Swan. I mean, obviously. It’s how they get to live in this house. It’s how we get to live in this house.”

“Yeah, but you pay rent while I don’t.” “Which I believe is nepotism.” Emma rolls her eyes. “Technically, I’m not biologically related to either of them, so can it really be considered nepotism?”

“Aye, it can.”

“Emma? Killian? Can you settle this for us?”

They both groan, and Emma buries her face in Killian’s shoulder while Killian playfully tugs on her ponytail.

“You argue,” Killian answers, “but you rarely have a heated fight. It’s always calm and collected and very rarely does it last more than a few hours.”

“Except for the fight over the handles in the kitchen,” Emma mumbles.

“Swan, don’t bring that up!”

Emma pulls her forehead off Killian’s t-shirt and looks up at him. His brows quickly move across his forehead. “It’s true, though. I thought I was going to start having two Christmases.”

“You have two Christmases now.”

“Okay, well, three if we keep talking about tha handles. Mary Margaret’s, David’s, and yours.”

“It’ll be a damn fine time.”

“Emma,” David interrupts, “stop flirting with Killian and answer our question.”

“If that’s what you consider flirting, it’s amazing you ever got married.”

“Aw, but he’s so charming,” Mary Margaret sighs.

“Here we go,” Killian grumbles. “You got them started, and it’s never going to stop. What time is your first lecture today? Ten?”

“Yep. You want to give me a ride?”

He waggles his brows. “Why, Swan, I thought you’d never ask.”

Emma slaps his shoulder and reaches around him to grab his mug and take a sip of his coffee. “You’re an asshole.”

“I like to think I’m a scoundrel and a devilishly handsome one at that.”

“Shut up, KJ.”

“As you wish, milady.”

“All I wish is for us to get out of here.”

Killian pauses the video there before looking back over to her. “Are you interested in watching the rest or are we just going to assume they’ve imparted wisdom on their loyal YouTube followers on how to have a healthy argument?”

“Nah, I’ve heard enough of that for most of my life. I don’t need to hear it now. Plus there’s the risk of the whole sex life thing.”

“Really? Because I feel like maybe you could learn a lesson or two about having a healthy argument. I’ve been the recipient of one too many lashings from you.”

“Maybe if you weren’t an asshole and showed the world me being messy then we wouldn’t have this issue.”

Sighing, Killian leans over and presses his lips to her temple. “Just pick up your shoes, darling.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Emma gets up from his bed, knocking over a pillow before standing and tugging her leggings up. “I’ve got to work on my paper. You want to get dinner tonight? I’m thinking Mexican. I’ve been craving queso for about an hour now, and I have to have it.”

“Uh, yeah,” Killian starts, scratching his ear, “maybe another night. I’ve got a date tonight.”

Emma’s fingers loosen on her mug, and she has to quickly grab it before she drops it. “Wait, what?”

“I have a date. I told you I was asked out.”

“I had a guy tell me he would have sex with me, but I didn’t take him up on it. I thought you were joking about all the dates.”

“Twas not.” He flashes her a smile, all of his perfectly white teeth on display. “Good luck on your paper, Swan. You’ll be grand.”

“Thanks, KJ. Good luck on your date.”

“Darling, you know I don’t need luck when it comes to that.”

“Well, if your head keeps getting bigger, you might. Wouldn’t want you to not be able to fit in the restaurant.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Emma nods and turns on her heels until she’s walking out of Killian’s bedroom and heading back down the stairs. She needs to get her backpack and her laptop and start working, but the determination she felt on campus has melted away. She doesn’t honestly care about school right now, is definitely in the burnout stage of the semester when it’s only halfway through, and she desperately needs fall break. That’s just…three weeks away. She can do three weeks.

She can do this paper.

And prep for her internship interviews.

And pick up all her damn shoes.

-/-

“Emma, are you going to want some of this chicken?”

“No, Marg, I’m good.”

“Have you eaten today?”

“Mhm.”

“Have you eaten since noon?”

“Um.”

Mary Margaret sighs, and Emma knows that she’s eating dinner with Mary Margaret and David whether she likes it or not. She probably should. She had some cereal this morning and then maybe that apple and…shit, she really hasn’t eaten, has she?

“I had an apple?”

“Why are you saying that like it’s a question?”

“Because I very much feel like you’re my mom right now.”

“I am four years older than you. I am not your mom. We go out for drinks!”

“You’re also married to my brother, who likes to act like my wannabe dad, so it kind of factors in or whatever.”

“David,” Mary Margaret says, placing her hands on her hips, “can you believe that Emma thinks we act like parents?”

David turns from where he’s manning the stove. “Considering Emma only lived with my mom for three years and has lived with us for four years, I feel like maybe we do have that kind of parental thing going on. Just by having her longer and all.”

“That’s horrible logic. Also, I think she knows too much about our sex life for us to be parental figures.” “Oh my God, kill me now.”

“I still think Emma should be banned from watching those particular videos.”

“Well, it comes up pretty often. It’s not like we can tell her don’t watch from minute four to minute nine because we’re talking about sex.”

David hums. “Maybe we should do that. Less scarring that way.”

“I am famous online,” Emma sighs, falling back onto the couch and closing her laptop. She’s only got one more paragraph to edit on this damn paper, but she needs a break. She ended up changing the whole thing, and it was too much. “That’s all because of you guys. I could continue on in my anonymity if you guys didn’t have cameras all over this damn place and like to include me. I have been scarred enough. I don’t need more.”

“You said you were okay with that!” “I mean, I am, but – ”

The stairs creak, and before Emma knows it, Killian’s walking into the living room. He’s got on a pair of dark jeans and a gray button-down, his favored leather jacket tossed over it. It’s what he wears all the time and is not exactly something special, but his shirt is unbuttoned more than usual so that she can dark tufts of his chest hair and the silver of the chain he wears, his mom’s wedding band at the bottom.

Shit.

Emma sits up from where she’s stretched out on the couch and desperately tries to fix her hair while her stomach tightens and her throat is doing that stupid thing where it doesn’t let air pass through.

“Oh, you look nice, Killian,” Mary Margaret says. “Where are you off to?”

“I have a date.”

David drops the pan. “Date? You didn’t tell me about a date.”

“It was a last-minute thing, and last time I checked, you weren’t my keeper, Dave.”

“I don’t care about you dating. I care about the fact that I made food for four and now we’re going to have to put half of it in the fridge.”

Killian chuckles and shakes his head. His hair doesn’t move out of place. “I think you’ll survive. See you guys in the morning, aye?”

“You assuming you’re going to get lucky?”

Air. Emma needs air.

“I’m assuming you’re all going to be in bed before ten tonight, but if you want me to wake you up – ”

“I will murder you,” Mary Margaret growls.

“Noted.” Killian salutes them before nodding his head and walking toward the front door. “See you later. Swan, don’t let Mary Margaret murder me later.”

“I’ll try,” Emma hums before waving her hand, ushering Killian out the door.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Who is his date with?” Mary Margaret wonders.

“I’m not sure. Emma, do you know?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” she croaks, “some girl who asked him out after seeing him on the show.”

David’s brow raises. “Really? Women ask him out after the show? Because we include the two of you because our viewers think you have so much chemistry and should be dating. I’m surprised by that.”

If Emma could disappear into nothingness, she definitely would. She hates talking about the damn show already and definitely doesn’t want to talk about it when it comes to this. Killian gets asked out by all of campus while she has every guy she speaks to assume she’s dating him but still offer to fuck her.

It’s a curse.

It’s also not like it matters because Emma’s an idiot who is definitely in love with her best friend like some kind of giant cliché that David and Mary Margaret would include on their show.

“But good for Killian,” David continues as he turns the stove off. “I hope it works out for him. He’s had a rough go of it since Milah.”

Mary Margaret glances over toward Emma, pity in her eyes, and Emma has never loved and hated Mary Margaret as much as she does right now. Emma’s never said a word about Killian in the whole having feelings for him regard, but Mary Margaret knows.

She always does. Some kind of magic intuition with that one.

“David, sweetie, why don’t you set the table? Include a seat for Emma because she’s eating. I’ll finish preparing everything.”

David nods and kisses his wife’s cheek, effervescent smiles on both of their faces.

That’s them. It’s not perfect. That’s what they tell their viewers, and they mean it. But it’s pretty damn good, like some kind of realistic fairytale where you have to wake up the next day after riding off into the sunset.

At least you’re waking up with the person you love, though.

Dinner is fine. Well, it’s good. It really is. The food is delicious, and she genuinely enjoys spending time with David and Mary Margaret when there’s no talk of the show or school or anything else that she’s tired of hearing about. David starts laying out Christmas plans despite it only being October, and they try to figure out her dates to go spend time with Ruth as well as Killian’s family. She almost makes a quip about Killian having someone else to bring to his brother’s Christmas this year, but that would be beyond stupid and petty.

He’s going on a date. He goes on dates all the time. Hell, she does too. She went on one last week. They never amount to anything.

Besides, who is she to keep Killian from living a life that makes him happy?

David and Mary Margaret go to their room a little before nine after helping Emma finish up her paper, and Emma grabs a blanket out of the basket before stretching out on the living room couch and turning on the television to watch a movie. She doesn’t really care what’s on. She’s mostly looking at her phone anyways because she’s absolutely and totally pathetic.

This isn’t her. She’s not some girl who gets caught up in feelings and emotions and jealousy. She’s tougher than that. Hell, she lived most of her life in foster care, and none of that was pleasant. It was whoever was biggest and strongest winning, and she’s not about to go back to being someone who is weak. She’s not going back to being the girl who Neal took advantage of.

If anyone else were inside her head, they’d tell her she was being stupid with that thought process, but they’re not inside her head.

And they’re definitely not keeping her from scrolling through Killian’s Instagram feed.

He doesn’t post that much. He’s just not very into it, but last week they went to the beach, and he’s a sucker for posting a picture of the ocean. There are a few of those, several with Robin and Will, even more with Liam or David, and then there are the ones with her. Those are the ones she takes the most time to look at.

There’s a picture of her sitting under her favorite tree on campus. It’s shady and comfortable for her back and she likes to sit there to study so no one but Killian will bother her.

@KillianJones33: If she stays in this spot long enough, I believe she’ll become one with the tree.

Not his best caption, but they can’t all be winners.

There’s another of the two of them at the beach. Her cheeks are red and her skin tan while her hair is curling into its natural state. They look happy, cheek pressed against cheek, and if she does say so herself, her breasts look fantastic there. That bikini top is a miracle worker.

@KillianJones33: Jones and Swan are at it again, and by that, I mean there’s sand in some rather intimate places. I wonder if Emma will help me out with that later.

She keeps scrolling to picture after picture, the others mixing in with the ones of the two of them, but her eyes only focus on the certain ones. Her favorite, she thinks, is one that Liam took at Christmas last year. Her hair had looked fantastic that day, mostly thanks to the ribbon Elsa had tied in it and the magic of her curling wand, and that’s the first thing Emma notices before she looks at the fact that she’s kissing Killian’s cheek while he smirks down at her, the slightest bit of blush on his cheek.

This picture is framed in her room, but it’s nice to see it this way too.

@KillianJones33: Not pictured: the mistletoe.

PS: there was no mistletoe.

Have his captions always been this ridiculous? She guesses he can’t exactly write the dirty quips he usually says. Or, at least, write them to the full extent. He might get kicked off Instagram.

Her stomach churns, the chicken obviously coming back to haunt her, and Emma quickly exits out of the app. She almost goes back to look in his tagged photos to see if there’s anything new there, but she’s not going to be that desperate. Instead, she turns back to the TV and tries to pay attention to the movie and not her phone or the clock ticking away in the kitchen.

If she chugs an entire bottle of Nyquil, she should be able to fall asleep, right?

That totally isn’t a healthy idea.

Neither are most of the decisions she’s made tonight.

But hey, she’s finished with her paper, and she probably deserves to sleep through the night.

She obviously doesn’t fall asleep easily.

Emma’s on her second movie of the night when the front door clicks before it opens, Killian walking through soon after. She doesn’t want to see if he’s brought the girl home or hear about his night if he didn’t, so she pulls the blanket up over her face and turns toward the couch, trying as hard as she can to even out her breathing. Killian is far too observant for her to half-ass being asleep.

There’s only the sound of one pair of footsteps, though, and there’s no voices talking, so she breathes a little easier than she was. He walks around and steps into the kitchen, the fridge dinging when it’s opened, and then there’s a drawer pulled. She doesn’t really know what’s happening after that, and for a moment, she thinks about letting him know she’s awake. That idea quickly dies when she hears him come closer to her and then lean down until his scruff is brushing against her temple, quickly followed by the softness of his lips.

“Goodnight, love.”

And as quickly as he was there, he’s gone, walking up the stairs and disappearing to his room.

Her heart is beating unnaturally fast. This cannot be healthy. This should send her to the hospital or something.

Slowly, she turns on the couch until she sees a neon pink post-it note right in front of her.

Swan, the queso you wanted is in the fridge. I got a large, so I fully expect you to share it with me tomorrow. Saturday lunch date as a rain check for tonight?

Her cheeks flush, all of the blood in her body rushing there, and that can’t be good when her heart is still doing unnatural things.

He brought her queso.

She’ll forget that he only brought it to her because he was on a date with another woman. That’s not important.

Nope. Not at all.

-/-

She and Killian eat queso for breakfast, and neither of them bring up his date.

-/-

Midterms come and go all while Emma’s twenty-second birthday does the same. If she were to look back, it’d all be some kind of blur where her nose was constantly stuck in a book and the only time she got to breathe was when she was running at the gym with Ruby. But she knows that it wasn’t all that bad, that she mostly has a major case of being done with this whole school thing, and that there were good moments.

That there were also bad ones too.

But it’s fine. It’s good. She’s fine, and if she minds her own business, everything will be okay.

If only everyone else would do the same.

Mary Margaret and David keep putting out new episodes, which means Emma keeps getting stopped on campus and tagged in a million things online. It wouldn’t be a day in her life if she didn’t have some girl “literally screaming” over how cute she and Killian are.

The fact that comments like that solidify the stupid, stupid thoughts in Emma’s head really don’t help her.

But she ignores them, mostly, and keeps moving on with her life.

Killian keeps moving on with his life as well.

His schedule is mostly the same. He gets up and goes to the gym, usually dragging her along with him to meet Ruby before Emma even gets a chance to brush her teeth, and then they both head home to shower and get ready to go to class. Sometimes they see each other on campus to grab lunch, sometimes not, but all in all, things go on as normal.

Except for the fact that Killian misses dinner at least twice a week, if not more. She chalks it up to studying or working on a group project he has, which seems to be never ending. There are also the days where he’s gone doing the yard work he freelances from different neighborhoods around town. Yet, he’s mostly gone at night more than usual, and while he’s never been one to be shy about his dating life in the past, Emma can’t help but think that maybe something different is happening now with Belle.

Maybe, just maybe, this is the time that’s going to be different.

She could vomit.

He’s home tonight, though, and she really, desperately wishes that he wasn’t for once.

“So,” Mary Margaret starts, clapping her hands together, “we’re going to answer your questions tonight, and we’ve roped Emma and Killian into actually sitting down with us instead of standing in the kitchen talking behind our backs.”

“Can it really be behind your backs when you have cameras set up to record us?” Emma snarks.

“Those are behind the scenes secrets, Emma. Hush.”

Emma rolls her eyes, and makes the mistake of looking across from her to see that Killian is staring at her.

He doesn’t look away either, blue eyes peering into hers, and the moment his lips curl up into a smirk, she has to look away, focusing on David and Mary Margaret.

“Anyway,” David coughs, “you all submitted questions last week, so we’ll be going through them. First, from Cara G, we have ‘what would you do if you had feelings for someone you’re friends with but were unsure of how they felt?’”

Cara G has got to be kidding her.

This is the question they start with? And this is the episode where she has to give actual input? She would rather have to retake Organic Chemistry, and that was like legal torture she paid for.

“Tell them how you feel!” Mary Margaret gushes, bouncing up and down in her seat. “Love is such a wonderful thing, and you don’t want to regret what could have been.”

“Eh,” Killian coughs, scratching his ear. “It’s more complicated than that. Sometimes, I believe, you’d rather have the friendship and be content with that than risk mentioning you want to start a relationship and lose it all.”

“Do you really think you could lose it all though?”

“I think it depends,” Killian continues, grabbing onto his chain and absentmindedly toying with the ring. “Some people can move past that if their mate doesn’t feel the same way. Others would feel uncomfortable and run from that friendship. It’s not all black and white. It’s a million shades of gray, and if Cara’s friend is someone who is close, it might be traumatic to have to risk that friendship. Honesty is often the best policy, as Mary Margaret said, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. It can take time to build the courage.”

“I don’t think fifty shades of gray is our type of content, Jones,” David jokes.

“For all that I have to hear of your sex life, I think it might as well be. I said a million, not fifty. I know you’re rubbish at math, but there’s a bit of a difference.”

David and Killian keep bantering back and forth. It’s constant and a little petty, but eventually they do move onto other questions. Emma doesn’t hear most of them, though. Her heart is beating like a drum, and she can’t seem to focus. Killian had stared at her throughout his entire answer to the question, had barely blinked, and she couldn’t look away this time.

She can’t stop thinking about it.

Why would he do that? Why would he stare at her like that? Why the hell would that be the first question they answer? Couldn’t they have started off with something easy like good first date ideas?

This blog is the worst.

And she’s done with it.

-/-

Emma hasn’t slept more than four hours in two days.

That’s probably an exaggeration (it’s definitely an exaggeration), but that’s how she feels. She’s always thought people made too big of a deal about finals week, that it wasn’t actually as much torture as people make it out to be, and for the past three years, it hasn’t been. Hell, it wasn’t even that bad when she was working as a waitress at Granny’s and barely had time to breathe between classes.

This past week, however, has been awful.

Winter break can’t come soon enough.

(Is she always waiting for some kind of school break? Is that what her life is now?)

She hasn’t been able to focus. She looks at her notes, starts outlining and going into more detail, and then one page in she’s looking at her phone or getting up to go downstairs to get something to eat. She’s only got one final left, though, and she’s just got to power through it.

It would help if she couldn’t hear talking from Killian’s bedroom.

Belle is here, which shouldn’t be shocking, but it’s been so long since he brought someone home that Emma forgot he was capable of doing that. She has been unnaturally obsessing over his dating life for the past few months, but she forgot about this part.

It was always the worst.

And the girl he’s with is an absolute sweetheart too. She’s gorgeous and kind, and Emma is sure she’s smart. She doesn’t hate her, but she could do without this distraction when she’s waist-deep in notes for her final.

It goes on like that for the next few hours, Emma trying to study while the noise from the other room stays steady, but eventually, she hears his bedroom door open followed by footsteps leading down the stairs. It takes nearly everything in her not to get up and look out the window to see if Killian is leaving with Belle. She doesn’t though. She has the tiniest bit of self-respect left, and she really has to study. Passing is all she’s focused on right now.

(Or, at least, two percent of what she’s focusing on.)

(She’s such a liar.)

“Hey, Swan,” Killian says as he opens her bedroom door and walks in, “I am absolutely starving, and I was wondering if you want to get some Mexican. I can get it delivered if you want. I think queso is calling my name, and I know it’s always calling yours. It can power you through your last final.”

“No thanks.”

His brow arches. “No thanks? Who are you and what have you done with Emma? You always want queso.”

“Nothing,” she mumbles, looking away from him to her notes. “I’ve done nothing. I’m just not particularly interested in getting dinner with you.”

“Are you okay?”

That’s the question, isn’t it?

“Just peachy.”

“I know you’re not because you just said peachy, and I’ve never heard you use that phrase before.”

Emma rolls back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you always do this?”

“Do I always do what?”

“Spend time with a girl, finish with her, and then decided ‘hey, maybe I’ll remember that Emma exists and ask her if she wants to get food?’”

His brows furrow as his arms cross over his chest. She definitely doesn’t pay attention to the way his sweatshirt clings to his arms. “Bloody hell. What are you talking about?”

“The queso! You brought me home queso because I said I’d wanted some, but you brought it home as takeout from your first date with Belle! Didn’t that piss Belle off? Doesn’t it piss her off that I live down the hall from you? Because I can’t seem to talk to a guy about you without him getting pissed off.”

She’s not making any sense. She knows she’s not. She just can’t seem to stop rambling and talking out of her ass. Seriously. This might be the dumbest, most confusing argument she’s ever picked.

She’s picked a hell of a lot of arguments, too.

“Ah, well.” He reaches up to scratch his scruff. “Belle and I went to Petite Violette, the French place downtown. I stopped and got you the queso on the way home. She didn’t know anything about it.” “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because you said you wanted it!”

“I don’t want pity queso! I don’t want to be an afterthought to the rest of your life!”

Killian groans as Emma stands from her chair and runs her hands through her hair, tugging at the strands. She’s crazy. She’s legitimately crazy. How the hell is she going to get out of this?

“It’s not pity queso, lass. Why do you insist on being so damn frustrating?”

Emma laughs before pointing to her chest. “Me? I’m the frustrating one? How the hell am I the frustrating one?”

Because she’s not making any sense.

“You’re making absolutely no sense right now! And because you can’t bloody see that I would rather eat queso on the couch with you than sit in nice restaurants with anyone else. I don’t want to keep going on dates when the woman I fancy lives five feet down the hallway and picks fights with me over cheese dip.”

Wait.

What?

What the hell?

“You absolutely asshole!” Emma reaches forward and pushes at his chest as her heart pounds. “You have a girlfriend. You can’t say shit like that when you have a girlfriend. Belle doesn’t deserve that.”

“Belle? You think Belle is my girlfriend?”

“Isn’t she?”

Killian’s chuckle is dark, and he turns around to thread his fingers into his hair before turning back around to look at her. “Belle is in the literature elective I’m in, and we decided we were better as friends. God, I can’t believe this is how we’re having this conversation. I just told you I fancied you, which is definitely understating it, and you thought I had a girlfriend. I’ve thought about telling you this for years, and we’re having it out over fucking queso dip.”

Emma has never felt so stupid.

And petty.

And like an absolute asshole.

It’s not Killian who is one. It’s her.

Yep. Definitely her.

She should really pick up her damn shoes.

In the back of her mind, Emma knows that she has several options here. She can either tell Killian she’s sorry and to forget about it, be an adult and actually hash whatever this is out, or she can take two steps forward and finally know how Killian’s lips feel on something other than her skin.

I don’t want to keep going on dates when the woman I fancy lives five feet down the hallway.

They can talk later.

Taking two steps forward, Emma wraps her arms around Killian’s neck, presses up on her toes, and then she kisses him.

She freaking kisses Killian Jones.

He’s mumbling something when their lips first touch, but she doesn’t hear it over the thundering of her heart. She doesn’t hear anything but Killian’s subtle gasp and the way that their bodies come together. He’s so solid. She knew that, but it’s different this way. Killian doesn’t move at first. His body and his lips are still, but then she’s being pulled even closer to him until she doesn’t know where she ends and he begins. She does, however, have acute awareness of the way that Killian’s left hand is on her lower back while his right is tangling into her hair until her entire body is shivering.

In the darkness of the night, usually after she and Killian have had a day spent together, she’s let herself imagine this as if it wasn’t something forbidden by her own heart.

She’s let herself imagine being as bold as the people who write into David and Mary Margaret’s blog, telling them of how they took that leap from friends to whatever this is.

Whatever this could be.

Killian pulls back from the kiss, and for half a second, Emma’s heart drops to her stomach. But then she’s blinking and looking up at Killian as he looks down at her, his fingers still toying with her hair.

“You’re absolutely impossible.”

“I think you kind of like that about me.”

“You’ve got no bloody idea how much I love you for that.”

And then his mouth is on hers again, slowly devouring her with the tenderness of the friend she’s known for three years and the fire of someone who is acting on feelings that he, too, was obviously harboring. Her mind briefly flashes back to two weeks ago, to the two of them answering questions for the show, and Killian saying something about not wanting to risk the friendship.

Sometimes it takes time to build the courage.

Or sometimes it takes Emma picking a fight over something as stupid as jealousy and queso.

She’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to eat Mexican food again.

She’s not entirely sure that she’ll ever be able to look Killian in the eyes again after this. Such a pity. She’s always loved his eyes.

“Emma,” he growls as her hands fall from his hair and move down his body, slipping underneath his sweatshirt until her fingers touch a thick patch of hair that she knows goes lower thanks to Killian’s penchant for not wearing a shirt. “I’m afraid that if your hands go any lower, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

“That was kind of the plan.”

He shakes his head, wonder in his smile. She imagines she’s got the same smile sketched across her lips.

“We’re talking after this, aye? Don’t think I’m going to let you brush past everything.”

“Don’t be like David and Mary Margaret.”

“Darling, you’ve practically got your hand down my pants. I’d rather you didn’t talk about your brother.”

Emma brings her bottom lip between her teeth and tugs on his jeans again. “Deal.”

He kisses her then, a building pressure mounting between her thighs and over her skin, and for all of the thoughts and reservations that should be building, there’s nothing in her mind but Killian and how good this feels.

How good it feels that this is with him.

How right.

Clothes are shed faster than she’s willing to admit, Killian’s mouth and fingers working wonders on her body before she can do the same to him. It’s wonderful and so damn satisfying while also being awkward and absolutely hysterical when it probably shouldn’t be. Emma has known she’s wanted this for longer than she’s willing to admit, but having your best friend be inside of you for the first time isn’t something that’s going to come without a little awkwardness.

It’s an awkwardness she’s grateful for.

Killian seems to be too because even with the sounds of skin moving against skin and moans that are a little too loud, his smile is so wide that he’s got crinkles around his eyes.

There’s something to be said about sleeping with your best friend, especially when he can easily slip between making a joke about a patch of unshaven hair on her thigh she hasn’t shaved before waxing poetic about how she feels wrapped around him. It’s foreign and familiar all at once, and Emma could get lost in the dichotomy of it all.

“If I fail my final tomorrow, I’m blaming you,” Emma pants out as Killian hits a particularly deep spot inside of her that is causing her breathing to be a little shallow.

“I’ll help you study when this is over.”

“That is true romance right there.”

Killian laughs as he dips his head down to run his lips over her jaw, inching over and over on her face until she’s swallowing both of their laughs with her kiss.

“I love you,” Emma whispers as her thighs tremble. “I wasn’t sure if that was clear or not.” Killian grunts and his thrusts falter before steadying as he stares down at her with those blue, blue eyes. She’s doing that thing where she can’t breathe again, but it’s in a good way this time.

“I love you, Emma. I feel like I always have even when you took my seat in Organic Chemistry.”

“It was totally worth it.”

“Aye, it was.”

This is weird and wonderful, and she wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else.

-/-

Killian does help her study for her final after all. He’s always been good at that, and tonight is no different. Except for the fact that his hand stays on the inside of her thigh, fingers trailing across her skin and teasing her, and they definitely get carried away once or twice and fall back into bed in between going over her notes and hashing out feelings. It’s pretty much her two least favorite things, but like everything else with Killian, it’s different.

Different is good. It’s what she needs.

-/-

She totally aces her final.

-/-

They get queso the next night to celebrate the ending of a semester and the beginning of some new, great things.

(Mary Margaret and David are totally going to have an entire episode about this, aren’t they?)

-/-

-/-

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