#and there are a million different cereals

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

actually, that just makes me think maybe the reason why Paz was so annoyed about the whole “only go above ground one at a time” thing is because he kept drawing the short straw to go grocery shopping and he is hopelessTM

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA ATSUMU x FEM READER

Being hot at the grocery store should be illegal.

wc — 800

tags — grocery store meet cute, set in the same universe as the way to the heart is through the stomach

“There is an attractive man on the other side of the grocery aisle,” you hiss at Kiyoko. Your roommate had dragged you out for a grocery run, but as the person who forced you out of the comfort of your home, she could stand to be a little nicer to you. 

Instead, she raises an eyebrow; her face conveying utter disdain, confusion, and slight pity at all once. It’s a little impressive, honestly. 

She peeks between the cracks in the shelves. Looks at you. Looks at the man. Looks at you again. She makes a motion that could be what are you waiting for or let the grandma pass so she can get her multivitamins. 

Sometimes it’s complicated when it comes to Kiyoko. She’s not great at talking without words. It’s because she’s spoiled. Must be nice to have a boyfriend who loves you so fully you don’t have to try to be understood, you think with a hint of jealousy. 

Then, she pushes you towards the other aisle in a gesture that’s unmistakable. 

“Kiyoko!” You’re appalled. “You’re not making me go over there. I’m wearing my pajamas!” 

Your pajamas are grey sweats with multiple suspicious stains from ketchup or blood or some other substance. You’re not sure. That’s why it’s suspicious. 

“Okay? He looks worse,” she says. Notably, she doesn’t tell you that you look fine. 

She probably thinks that’s reassuring. It’s not. 

The fact that he’s also in his pajamas and still looks hot is infuriating. 

And very sexy. 

Terribly so. 

“Just go talk to him,” she says. “You know if you don’t you’ll be thinking about him for days, anyway.” 

“I will not!” 

“Excuse me,” says the hot stranger, who in the time that you spent arguing with Kiyoko, has suddenly moved behind you. “Do ya mind?” 

He’s gesturing at the package of cereal behind you. 

You freeze. How did he move so quietly? And had he heard the conversation between you two? 

“Hello?” He waves his hand in your face - a little rudely. That deducts one point from his overall hotness score. You scramble away, giving him access to the shelf. 

“This is my favorite brand,” he says conversationally, “but my brother got a girlfriend lately, and every time she comes to our apartment she eats all of mine. I’ve told her not to like six million times! And he’s a chef! Why are ya even eatin’ processed junk if ya can get yer professional chef of a boyfriend to make ya whatever ya want? He’s so whipped, I swear.” 

“Aren’t- aren’t you also eating processed junk, then?” You say with trepidation.

He brushes you off with a “No, that’s different.” 

He’s…a little weird. Who just talks to a stranger like that? You have to admit that confidence is attractive - even if you’re not sure if it’s confidence or narcissism as he continues. 

“So, like. Are ya going to ask me out or what?” 

You choke on your own spit. He had overheard. There would be no better time for one of these shelves to fall on you and crush you instantly.

“Woah!” Says the hot stranger, who still hasn’t told you his name before commanding you to ask him out. “Ya okay?” 

He slaps your back as you wheeze for breath - hard. Is he an athlete in his spare time? How does anyone have that kind of arm strength? 

“I-“ You shut your mouth because actually, you don’t know what to say. How do you respond to that? 

“Come on,” says Mr. Bad Bleach Job. “I heard ya and yer little friend talking about me all the way down the aisle. I know you want in on this sexy ass.” 

He’s ridiculous. Are you - are you into that? You’re seriously reevaluating your mental health even as you say, almost to your own surprise, “Can I take you on a date?” 

He wrinkles his nose. “I dunno. Can ya make it a little more romantic?” 

“Why don’t you ask me out if you’re going to be so demanding?” You challenge. 

“Sure,” he says easily. “Wanna go out? We can get fancy sushi for fun and eat McDonald’s after cause that’s real food.” 

Even you can’t tell if the noise that escapes you is a laugh or a sigh. What have you gotten yourself into? 

“Whatever,” you say, handing him your phone. “I think mine was better.” 

“They both kind of sucked. 5/10 for execution, -2 for sheer cringe, -3 for awkwardness.” 

“Kiyoko, read the room.”

[soulrph]

chaotic unhinged lines from 2022-2023 (prompt edition).

basically in 2021 i made a list of prompts inspired by lines in tiktok videos and instagram reels that made me laugh so hard i cried! and now i have returned with another list! these may provide an alarmingly clear image of what my sense of humor is (aka broken) but i figure a little levity is always a good thing! more prompts are forthcoming, but in the mean time: bon appetit!

knowledge has always chased you, but you've always been faster.

no... no, that was mango apathy juice. from the farmer's market.

of all these people, you are the one i understand the least. i want to get to know you better, but like, not that much better.

i-i will CHEW YOUR MEAT!! WHAT are you doing?!

ooooh god, no, you wouldn't be long getting frostbit!

you are evil. like a hobbit.

WHY MUST YOU FAIL ME SO OFTEN?!?!!?

i have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.

AHEM!! fill my cup.

may god ignore you like you ignored my greetings.

i will avenge you mister van gogh.

call off work bestie, we need you to solve a murder. here's fifteen dollars.

you're not in love. you may think you are, you dumb fuck, but you're not.

go ahead and put the ranch away.

sadly, "hopefully" doth butter no parsnips.

forget school, i want to be an italian sandwich.

you shouldn't skip work, you are a lawyer and he is a hamster.

you can stop roleplaying now. you're free.

her coupon game was so fucking raw.

i'm sorry guys... he's making a salad.

you could get a straight guy here if you learned to make a good pasta. i'll teach you how to make a risotto that'll get you married and out of my basement.

hey, do you want me to get together a plate of roast beef and hide it in our room so we can have night meats?

it's not the most ethical thing in the world, but in a pinch you can hand off a cursed object to basically any baby.

no, children, you're wrong. once upon a time, there was a piece of wood.

and i'm not saying she deserved it, but i am saying that god's timing is always riiiiight.

hydrate or die-drate, ya DICK!

why did the monkey fall out of the tree? because it was DEAD.

new york city is a fictional place written up by someone with a sinister mind and a knack for comedy.

this is grindr my guy.

wait, i didn't finish teaching you the difference between human and wolf anatomy.

it's time to tell your grandmother that she was wrong. do not be afraid.

vanilla vodka... you fucking child.

without ash to rise from, a phoenix would just be a bird getting up.

you are fucking alive. do what you want.

why are you cradling me like a baby, friend? this isn't how guys of my generation hang out.

i hope a hedgehog shits in your cereal, you difficult person.

you know, i am not as mean as i would like to be. and i think people should appreciate that more.

see, i am not a kangaroo.

well, i'd like to help, but... you see... not as much as i'd like not to.

rest in peace you fucking onion fairy.

when god sings with all his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

i fight for a seat in heaven, every. single. day.

map maker? can you find me somewhere on the map where this big man thinks he's the king?

you bald-headed demon...

so... there are 24 million pigs in australia... and 24 million people... so if you ever feel lonely, there's like, a pig out there that's sort of your cosmic twin.

remember, alcohol is god's apology for making us self-aware.

i'm straight!! stop CONFUSING me!!!!!

you guys want something to eat? because... i know we'll die if we don't eat.

he is a BIBLICALLY gorgeous man. i wanna feed him grapes. i wanna fan him with the frond of a date palm from the forests of Lebanon. i wanna find the alabaster vial of perfume oil that one woman broke for jesus and comb it through his hair. like... he's stressing me OUT.

i'm not sad! i'm freaking HUNGRY!

maybe, if we wait a little bit longer, a fuck will fall into my hand, and i can give it to you.

it's not my fault you thought you lived in this IKEA.

let's leave my mother out of this.

jason may kill people but he's not bad enough to kick a dog.

i run for LUMP!

oh no, i'm all out of caring, baby!

you don't think it mcbe that way... but it mcdo.

what is this enticing bowl of white?

serious question, do his nipples sparkle?

what in the reese's peanut butter fuck is going on here?

if your parents don't buy it, stop loving them!

i just hope you know just how much you've decreased productivity today.

that was poetry at its FINEST.

and if you let that motherfucker shenan ONCE, you best believe they're gonna shenanIGAN!

may god bless the dinosaur that died to make the fossil fuel that was treated to become petrol in the car that took her mom to the hospital to give birth to her.

that's modern milk for ya. what a time to be alive.

you have attachment issues. please fix it.

remember when people had secrets? we should bring that back.

the moon landing was an elaborate marriage proposal.

i don't like the cobra chicken.

i didn't know eggs were this expensive? it's time to lay my own, i fear.

so you're saying the reason i don't have a girlfriend is because i'm not a big enough threat yet.

god gave him a top lip, that's why he's so powerful.

it's a common mistake, but frankenstein was actually the author.

i finally got a pocket-sized diary!!! also i don't get the concept of life.

if a beautiful woman disagrees with me, i will immediately change my view. i've no principles.

how did you all end up married to such boiled potatoes?

if so much as one tear drops from their eye... i will slap you back into your mum.

you are ringing a phone that does not like to be rung.

look how Dr. doofenschmirtz had a fucked up childhood but didn't project his trauma onto his teenage daughter. he projected it onto a platypus.

it is mathematically impossible for you to get a wedgie.

i'm breaking up with you. i love you, it's just... i don't think you could protect me from a mummy.

if you can't do fractions....... you will fucking die.

that's right; in the year 1791, all of our bottoms were killed in a Big Bottom Massacre.

people always assume i'm mean. like CAN you BELIEVE THAT CRAP?! like WHAT would make you think i'm MEAN?! I'M THE NICEST PERSON ON THE PLANET!

the chocolate milk is strikingly overpriced and at the same time very easy to steal; another of god's little tests.

someone's gotta tell the waiter that i ordered mashed 'taters and it sure as shit ain't gonna be me.

if i had a week i couldn't list all the reasons that wouldn't work.

[transmutationisms]

any thoughts on the obsession with "hyperprocessed foods"? is there even such a thing and if so how much of the stuff around it is fake?

such a flawed useless categorisation lmao; this phrase comes from the nova scale, according to which an "ultra-processed food" is identified by a lack of sufficient "intact" food and the presence of "sources of energy and nutrients not normally used in culinary preparations" and additives specifically "used to initate or enhance the sensory qualities of food or to disguise unplatable aspects of the final product" (other additives, such as preservatives, antioxidants, and stabilisers, only qualify a food as group 3, "processed"). ultra-processing is defined as "a multitude of sequences of processing [...] includ[ing] several with no domestic equivalents," and ultra-processed foods are "usually packaged attractively and marketed intensely."

......so ok, first of all, this is very obviously reliant on a lot of assumptions about what 'normal' cooking and cooking equipment means, lmao. i do all kinds of shit in the kitchen that would have been inaccessible to someone in the mid nineteenth century; has the food become 'less processed' because i can make it at home now? if i obtained the equipment to hydrogenate oils myself would they magically not be ultra-processed simply because they came from my kitchen and not from an industrial setting?

this is just quasi-scientific language to express a fundamental distrust of food produced in ways that currently can't be replicated in [researchers' definitions of] a [normal] home kitchen. it's barely more sophisticated than platitudes like michael pollan's command to "eat only foods your grandmother would recognise". using the nova classifications to make assumptions about the healthfulness or danger of a food is just silly; the presumption is that the dietary and medical effects are not due to the food itself but to how it's produced, an idea that has led researchers to conclude that "the NOVA system suffers from a lack of biological plausibility so the assertion that ultra-processed foods are intrinsically unhealthful is largely unproven."

fundamentally the only evidence that nutritional scientists have been able to produce is observational studies showing a correlation between certain ill health outcomes and consumption of 'ultra-processed food'.

But the observational studies also have limitations, said Lauren O’Connor, a nutrition scientist and epidemiologist who formerly worked at the Department of Agriculture and the National Institutes of Health. It’s true that there is a correlation between these foods and chronic diseases, she said, but that doesn’t mean that UPFs directly cause poor health.

Dr. O’Connor questioned whether it’s helpful to group such “starkly different” foods — like Twinkies and breakfast cereals — into one category.

[...]

Clinical trials are needed to test if UPFs directly cause health problems, Dr. O’Connor said. Only one such study, which was small and had some limitations, has been done, she said.

ie, when evaluating the healthfulness of foods you have to actually look at what they are and what the human body does with them, and not just make a bunch of wild assumptions based on fears about their lack of proximity to 'naturalness' or propensity to be advertised (unlike, i guess, other more intact foods, which are not commodities. who knew!)

and there are like a million trillion other reasons why this correlation might hold: off the top of my head, for instance, people who rely more on the convenience of ready-made foods likely to be categorised as 'ultra-processed' are likely to be people who can't cook because they don't have time because they're working. so as usual nutrition and health science does a dogshit job distinguishing between the health effects of socioeconomic status and those of whatever some dickwad wants to publish a splashy study about.

there are certainly 'ultra-processed' foods that we can be extremely confident are harmful to human health---for example, trans fats. but the categorisation as a whole is so conceptually flawed as to be useless for any purpose besides as a term that 'scientises' culturally held beliefs about the wholesomeness and healthfulness of home food preparation, and the corresponding danger and artificiality of industrial production and methods.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 7

You just have to trust him one last time.

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Brat Tamer!Jungkook, kinda himbo!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, Angst, minor injury, emotional kook, some lore [Tags will be different for every part!]

Length: 1k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

Collab with @euphoricfilter ! 💜

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Back home, he’s pacing.

He’s broken a plate in the sink while doing the dishes, cut his hand a little because of it, and he doesn’t know where you’ve put the first aid kit. And he also doesn’t want to text you and ask you because if he’s annoying you then he’s only gonna make it worse for himself to get on your good side again, and you’ll also scold him for being clumsy again.

So he just puts a random bandaid on his hand, and moves to vacuum the floors.

His plan is to have all the chores done by the time you get home, so that your mood will be good and he can work on falling into your favor again. He hopes that you’ll just stay over at your friend's for one night, that you’ll text him soon to ask him to pick you up- so that he can show you that the time of torture is over now, all of his work sent out and work email and phone now on vacation mode. He’s all yours again-

And he’s just waiting for you to be his again as well.

You’ve not really talked to him besides a morning game of battleships while he was eating bland cereal (because the milk tasted weird and he didn’t know if it was bad or not- and you weren’t there to ask), and that’s fine. Well it’s not really fine, but he accepts it as maybe your way to get back at him. And it’s a relatively small price to pay, considering the shit he’s pulled you through- just as long as you return to him.

He’s tripping over the cable of the old vacuum and almost falls face first onto the floor, just to catch himself on the edge of a table, causing the cable to tighten and pull the plug out of the socket. And in an odd way, the sudden silence makes him feel like he’s drowning. Usually, especially on a day like this, you’d both be running around the house to see who can get their shoes on first just to not be the one who’s gonna pay for the food you’re about to get. Or you’d both be still tangled in the sheets in bed, still drowsy from sleep and the exhaustion from your usual indulgence in love prior to falling asleep. Or you’d have some music on while folding laundry, jumping around in nothing but panties and another stolen shirt of his.

But you’re not here. What if that’s how it’s going to be from now on? Forever?

He’s biting his lip to prevent himself from becoming emotional again as he sits down in his office, opening the drawer underneath. Your present is still in there, safely tucked away in a fancy little box, and he just hopes that you can understand why he went through this with you the way he did. Growing up, he’s always been fed with this obsession of success, that if he’s not the one doing the sole work himself, then he’s not allowed to call his success his own. With a father in a law firm, a brother running a multi-million worth business, and a mother that owns several restaurants, he’s basically always been the black sheep.

Tattooed, pierced, designing his stupid games all day, and with no very impressive wealth to show for himself, he doesn’t have the best relationship with his family, if any at all. So he just became a husk, and accepted any form of love he could get- fucking around until he met you-

Someone who didn’t care. Someone who liked him just the way he was, with all his flaws and odd habits and frustrating traits. You challenge him, you’re not treating him like a stupid failure, you make sure he knows his worth despite the big gap between him and his brother for example. And maybe that’s what made him so attached to you over the course of time- he just can’t imagine a life without you anymore, because especially now, he notices how much he needs you.

And it’s not about the chores, or about the fact that you constantly save him from food poisoning- it’s your presence.

“Urgh!” He yells out, hands on his face as he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“What’re you yelling for?” Your voice rings out, and he immediately slams the drawer shut, movement of his body stiffening up so quit that he crashes his knee into the underside of the desk, shaking everything on it, as he hisses but gets up anyways, limping towards you to pull you close. “Kook-“ you mumble muffled against his shoulder, but he just sways you around from left to right, head buried in the crook of your neck.

“Welcome home-“ he rambles, moving to kiss your cheeks before he freezes, wide eyed. “-fuck I should’ve asked if I could kiss you right? Shit babe I’m sorry-“ he rants, and you roll your eyes, running your hand through his slightly greasy hair.

“Its fine. Why’s the vacuum thrown around like a murder victim though?” You ask, detaching yourself from him as you move to pick it up and roll up the cord of it.

“I..wanted to do the chores before you came home. Which by the way-“ he says, following you around like a lost puppy. “-why didn’t you ask me to pick you up? It’s cold outside..” he whines, and you shrug.

“Gave me some time to think.” You say, and at that, he tenses up. “Jungkook.. I..” you sigh, before you turn around to face him. “I still don’t know why you’ve been like this and it really hurt me-“

“I can tell you now!” He rushes out. “Like, not all of it but most of it- enough of it, I promise!” He presses.

“I don’t want you to make up shit. If you don’t like me like that anymore-“ you begin, but he shakes his head, frantically pulls you closer to hug you.

“Don’t ever think like that. I love you, I really do..” he mumbles against the top of your head. “And I’ll prove it to you, promise.” He urges.

“How?” You meekly ask, unable to resist snaking your arms around his torso as well.

“Just trust me one last time.” He whispers, and it sends a chill down your spine just how serious he sounds.

“I promise it’ll be worth it.”

[mikavlcs]

Static Patterns

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: Wednesday’s struggling to say those three special words, so she decides to instead show you how she feels.

Warnings: soft/ooc!wednesday(!!!), reader’s kinda unserious, sorry

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: this was requested by @beauty-in-the-brkdwn​, hope you enjoy<3

Masterlist

Never in her life had Wednesday felt more stupid than she did now.

Mere months ago, she had faced and overcome unthinkable odds, defeating an undead pilgrim and saving the entirety of Nevermore from destruction. A feat she pulled off with moderate ease.

And now here she was being bested by something as trivial as words.

It was humiliating to think about, even conceptually. That she—an aspiring writer—was struggling with words. A communicative tool she had mastered using before the age of five. This was even worse when paired with the fact that what she was struggling to say was so torturously simple.

Three words. Eight letters.

A phrase that millions were able to say in passing and yet the thought of actually saying those words to you was somehow more daunting than the Hyde and Crackstone combined.

It shouldn’t have been, she knew that. Her candor was one of her defining features, a thing of pride even. But when combined with everything they symbolize, those three syllables suddenly weighed a thousand pounds on her tongue.

She tried and failed multiple times and as bitter as defeat tasted, she had no choice but to swallow it down and rethink her strategy.

Thus, a new, different approach was taken. After all, they did say that actions spoke louder than words. One of the most fundamental rules when writing was show don’t tell. So she settled for showing you how she felt rather than vocalizing it.

It started small with something as small and insignificant as breakfast. One morning she decided to procure a bowl of your favorite cereal and another, smaller bowl of assorted fruits.

You would always whine about how they were gone by the time you got there—which was entirely your fault, seeing as you arrived nearly ten minutes after everyone else did—so she figured this was a good place to start.

The excitement on your face as you took your place next to her told her she was correct.

From there it branched out slowly, like roots growing within soil.

She would take your books from you and carry them while she escorted you to your classes—even the ones she didn’t attend with you. It made your commutes much easier since nobody dared step into Wednesday’s way while she marched through the halls.

Stealing snacks for you from the kitchen became a daily occurrence. And with a few well-executed threats, she was able to take them free of charge. They were left in your locker, Wednesday feigning surprise when you found them, but you both knew the truth.

When you mournfully showed her the C+ you got on your Botany test she demanded politely offered to tutor you.

It even got to the point where she was willing to indulge in what she would consider blasphemy—physical touch.

This specific form of affection was something she vehemently avoided, its alleged pleasures something that eluded her. But you abstained for the sake of her comfort, so she would be willing to put forth an effort for the sake of yours.

It wasn’t much, but sometimes at lunch when she was absolutely sure no one was paying attention, she would tentatively cross her pinky with yours. And when you sat across from her at the Weathervane, she lightly rested her hand over yours.

She would admit—never aloud—that it wasn’t terrible.

You noticed the abrupt shift in her behavior, of course. The first few times you let it be, curious glances in her direction your only acknowledgment of the situation.

But eventually, the questions started, and Wednesday being always prepared, had her answers ready on her tongue.

“Your complaints about these being gone every morning are tiresome, so I got them for you since you can’t be bothered to show up on time.”

“Your feeble arms looked like they were struggling more than usual. The pitiful display has gotten rather boring.”

“These grades are not reflective of your limited intellectual abilities, it’s disappointing. I’ll fix that.”

Her snark never had much effect on you, so the excuses always earned an honest, if a bit bewildered chuckle from you (though she swore she could see fear in your eyes after that last one). But you didn’t question her further.

If she were to hazard a guess, she would say that you refused to inquire about her actions because you were afraid she would stop upon confrontation. And she knew you didn’t want that.

It was clear to her that you were enjoying her efforts. You were always a more inherently joyful person than her, but she had never seen as many smiles and blushes from you as she did these past few weeks. It was a pleasant thing to witness, she supposed.

And perhaps, somewhere deep down in the dark recesses of her mind, she was enjoying it as well.

-

You were late, like usual.

The Saturday study sessions she set up were scheduled to start at 12:30, meaning that you would arrive at 12:40. Your chronic tardiness was something that was so deeply ingrained that even she couldn’t correct it. She had long since given up trying.

She instead used the extra time to her advantage.

Opposite of you, she arrived every Saturday at 12:20 on the dot, preferring to be early so she could secure her favorite booth in the back of the café. The time before you arrived was used to plan out the lessons she would cover with you and color-coordinate her notes to make sure they were easy for you to understand.

The usual medium hot chocolate you ordered was placed on your side of the table, steam rising steadily from the top, but a new addition was the croissant she decided to order alongside it on a whim. You would appreciate it, she knew, you were always hungry.

At exactly 12:40, she heard the bell on the door chime and the familiar sound of your footsteps followed. She fought against the urge to straighten up and look back at you, gluing her eyes to the notes she was organizing.

There was movement in her peripherals as you slid into her sightline, the crooked grin on your face immediately identifiable, even out of focus. “Hey.”

“Hello,” she greeted evenly, sparing you only a glance as she pushed the pastry further over in your direction. Naturally, your eyes followed the movement and lit up comically once you spotted the food.

“For me?” you asked rather redundantly, the beginnings of a smile pulling at your lips.

Wednesday gave you a blank stare. “You’re the only other person at this table.”

That stupid, stunning smile only widened. You picked the croissant up and took a bite, never breaking eye contact with her. “Thanks, Wen.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, running her eyes over the expanse of your face. Then, “Now, open your textbook to page 274.”

Your face dropped but you obeyed.

Thirty minutes were spent taking notes and going over terms. A great use of the early afternoon in Wednesday’s opinion, though she knew your feelings would differ vastly.

You were focused on working for all of ten minutes before you started sending her long, blatantly obvious glances from across the table.

At the fifth consecutive look in a row, she decided to confront you. “If you have something to say then say it.”

You didn’t seem surprised to be called out, but you still took a minute to delve into your concerns. “What…is all of this?”

She paused her writing, glanced up briefly. “I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“Yeah, sorry that was vague,” you apologized, lightly shaking your head. “I mean all of these things you’ve been doing for these past few weeks—carrying my books, getting me my favorite foods at school, helping me study, and now buying me things…I love it, really but I don’t want you to do this because you think you need to-“

“I don’t,” she interrupted. “I do nothing out of an abstract sense of obligation, you know this.”

She didn’t have to see you to know that you were smiling. “Yes, I do. I just want to make sure that you know you don’t have to do all of this if you don’t want to.”

You were giving her an out. An unnecessary one, but the thought managed to be both touching and offensive. That you would sacrifice something that you are clearly enjoying for her was…courteous.

But the fact that you could possibly that she—Wednesday Addams—was doing anything for someone else because she “felt as if she had to” was nauseating and it needed to be fixed immediately.

“I do. Want to,” she said, her normally seamless cadence stunted as she tried to phrase her thoughts in a way that wasn’t painfully embarrassing. “I’m attempting to express the depth of my…feelings toward you.”

“Feelings? And what exactly do you feel for me?” Your tone was sincere, but there was a hint of smugness in it. Like you already knew the answer to your question.

“Disdain, at the moment,” she deadpanned as her mind receded elsewhere.

If she were to stop talking now, she knew you would drop it and take the win for what it was, but, strangely, she didn’t want to stop. The repulsive desire to open up pulled at her and she couldn’t help but lament the devastating effects that these cursed feelings continued to have on her.

Wednesday accepted her fate, took a deep breath, and swallowed her pride.

“In all seriousness, I…don’t hate you,” she ground out. “At all. Quite the opposite actually. And I felt it was important to let you know that, even if it was only through small, inane gestures.”

There was a moment of silence. Then another, and another. Unable to resist, Wednesday lifted her eyes to you and found that you looked positively awestruck. Eyes wide, brows raised, and lips parted. Utterly speechless.

She drank in the admittedly rare sight.

Slowly, the astonishment abated, and a wide, unruly grin crept onto your face. She knew right then that you were about to make her regret her confession.

“Awww,” you cooed, and, to her horror, you moved forward to press a warm kiss to her cheek.

Wednesday grimaced and glanced around to make sure that there were no witnesses to your display of affection. 

Thankfully, it seemed that no one had seen or if they had, they made the smart decision to look away before she gauged their eyes out.

She turned back and glared at you with as much murderous intent as she could muster, trying to seem utterly disgusted with your behavior. But she knew the undeniable burning in her cheeks told you everything you needed to know.

Giggling, you sat back, reaching over to thread your fingers together with hers. Your smile tempered, softening around the edges until only tenderness and an emotion that she was becoming all too familiar with remained.

You leaned forward again, and this time, she was too enraptured to bother looking around.

“I love you too, Wednesday.”

[thatsdemko]

the ways in which pato shows you he loves you - p. o’ward

pairing: pato o’ward x reader

warnings: fluff

- making friends with your family

when you pull into your parents driveway you don’t expect to see pato’s car already there. you didn’t know they had invited him over for dinner, but you’re not surprised they did. they love him.

“hey, welcome home from work!” pato cheers from where he’s standing in the kitchen. he’s helping your mother cut vegetables, and your siblings are seated around the kitchen island. they loved when pato visited.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here?”

your mother gives you a pointed look, “he was always invited. it was you we weren’t sure if we had room for at the table.”

- running his fingers through your hair

you’re curled up beside him on the couch, head rested against his chest your eyes are beginning to fall heavy. his arm wrapped around you, he pulls you closer to him before moving his hand up into your hair. his fingers gently rake through your locks while gently pressing kisses to your head.

OR

- asking for permission to touch your hair

he knows how long it took for the hairdresser to do your braids. you spent over three hours in the chair last week, and he knows how disrespectful it is if he just started playing with the little curls at the end of the braids, or the baby hairs that were fraying from the hair gel.

“do you mind if I play with the ends of your hair?”

you look up into his eyes and give him a slight nod, heart swelling with his consideration to ask, “of course, pato.”

- remembering your favorite food/drink

you had a busy week at work, one that left you busy from morning until late evenings. you didn’t make it home until around almost nine o’clock every night and you barely were eating full meals. small bowls of cereal and whatever snacks you could find were becoming your meals and pato was not letting that slide.

“hermosa,” he says clearing his throat, but you’re too busy you don’t even pick your head up from your computer to notice he’s there. it’s not until the smell of tacos and enchiladas enter your nostrils do you decide to look up.

“you could use some food.” he sets the arrow mclaren lunchbox down on your desk along with a cup full of your favorite Starbucks drink, “do you want to have lunch with me?” he asks.

“Pato,” you swoon over his thoughtfulness looking up at him, “I’m starving. I would love to have lunch with you.”

- getting you flowers

whether it’s an anniversary, a birthday, or just because pato o’ward has flowers for you. they range from roses to a variety of different arrangements. your kitchen island is always decorated with flowers no matter what.

- cooking for you

his family taught him everything he needed to know to keep his partner happy; cooking was one of them.

you loved the smell of spices coming from your kitchen, your mouth would water and the sight of pato(sometimes shirtless) cooking was always a beautiful sight to see.

“taste this,” he’d shove the hot spoon into your mouth and watch your eyes roll to the back of your head, “good or bad?” he asks worriedly taking another bite himself.

“delicioso.”

- watching your favorite movies with you/listening to the music you like

he didn’t like it at first. oh no, he hated having to sit through a shitty rom-com or listen to the saddest song of the entire car ride, but he did it for you. because you enjoyed it.

“this is the saddest part.” you choke out, a million tissues surrounding your body while you watch that scene in the titanic. the one that has everyone question if there truly was room for jack.

“I know,” he bites his lip trying not to show that he had tears welling. he’s seen this movie about a million times with you, but it still gets him. the dramatics were just that good.

“are you going to cry with me this time?”

“no,” he rolls his eyes playful before a single tear slips down his cheek, “okay maybe I am.”

he takes a tissue from the box and dabs his watery eyes, “I’d rather listen to dear John than watch this scene.”

“imagine dear John during this scene.”

“now you’re just trying to kill me, y/n.”

[b-yeonder]

Bringing Them Breakfast In Bed (Brothers + Undateables)

↬  Genre/Content Warnings: Fluff. Someone gets a boner.

LUCIFER:

When you walk in balancing the breakfast tray Lucifer is already sat up in bed checking his D.D.D for any important news from RAD, but his attention is quickly diverted to you. The spread you offer him? Buttered toast, two different types of jam in cute little decorative jars, a full wine glass, and a cup of tea.

"Wine in the morning? What do you take me for," he chuckles putting his phone down. Grinning you tell him that it's just grape juice to which he laughs and accepts the tray from you with a sincere thank you. Finds it incredibly endearing and can't stop smiling - calls you his good girl/boy with a wink. Will definitely put him in a good mood for the rest of the day.

MAMMON:

"For me? All of it? Really?"

Yup! He's flabbergasted, blinking stupidly with his mouth hanging open as his cheeks redden before eventually catching himself and clearing his throat, putting on his usual bravado.

"Well damn, I definitely deserve this huh, being the Great Mammon after all!" Cheeks are still red despite his demeanor change. Takes the tray and starts tucking in with gusto.

"Ya gonna help me with this right? Here, I'll feed ya a pancake look--"

He does, insisting on feeding it to you by hand and is a happy bubbly fella all morning. Why? Because his human pampered him and he feels s p e c i a l. (Because he is, of course.)

LEVIATHAN:

Shakes off his tiredness in an instant when he realises what you're handing him.

"Is this that Limited Edition Ruri-chan cereal!? WHOOOAAH!"

A million thank yous before he takes a million pictures to post on his social media (probably with cute captions like "I have the best gf/bf lololololol") and is loathe to eat it but it looks so good and ohhh man he's caved already and it IS good. You can't help but laugh at him as he eats it with his eyes closed, humming happily.

"I can't believe you got these. Just for me? Really? Like, the whole box, you don't want any at all?" Blushes reaaal hard once it dawns on him how difficult it must have been for you to get and that you made all the effort for him and him only.

"What if I feed you a spoonful? They're really good." Blushy blush, hide behind that fringe cutie pie.

SATAN:

"Ohh well well well, what have we here?" A smirk as you hand him his tray. Freezes when he sees what's on his plate and his cheeks redden quickly. You can't help but grin as he just stares. Cat pancakes. Cat-head shaped pancakes with syrupy faces.

"You okay there?"

"I....they're..." He clears his throat and blinks up at you.

"Cute right?" Your grin widens as he nods.

"I don't know if I can eat them..." At his mumbled confession you laugh and plop next to him on the bed, offering to feed them to him which has him blushing more. What can I say, sleepy morning bedhead Satan is easily flustered.

ASMODEUS:

"Oh darling this is amazing! But really all you had to do was show up nude and that would have been all the breakfast I need--"

"ASMO!"

He giggles and licks his lips at the delicious looking spread laid before him. "G A S P, is this GLITTERY JAM!?"

"Yes! Isn't it cool?"

Squeals and tucks in, rolling his eyes in his head. "Oh my gosh it tastes as good as it looks. This would make a good lipstick colour, we should go looking for one later." Uses it as an opportunity to gossip and get a few little flirtatious moves in before the day has even started. Dabbing jam on your nose just to lick it off making you snort with laughter and shove him away. 

BEELZEBUB:

Presented with a full English breakfast, a giant stack of pancakes, and orange juice - his eyes are the size of saucers as his pupils flick from the food to you.

"What's wrong, handsome?"

"I'm trying to decide what I want to eat more right now - the food or you." Because yes the poor sausage is overwhelmed and gets hard with excitement over all the deliciousness before him. Ends up shoving some egg in his gob followed by a pancake and half of the orange juice before pouncing on you. "Lemme love you!"

"BEEEL-!" He's grinning and smothering you with breakfasty smooches leaving you a giggling mess.

(Would want to finish his breakfast with you wrapped in his arms after because hugs and food are the best.)

BELPHEGOR:

"I've never seen you eat breakfast so I didn't know what to make you therefore I am serving myself," you say, gesturing to yourself with a flourish.

"Perfect." Instantly grabs you and starts biting and gnawing at you making you erupt in a fit of giggles and try to push him off. "Mmmm human, so delicious!" Keeps going, pinning you down and climbing on top.

"BELPHIE STOP THAT TICKLES." Evil grin plastered on his face, eventually ends the antics with a kiss on your nose. Then bites it.

"Just for future reference though, I love a good omelette. Make me one of those and I'm yours forever."

"You're not already mine forever?"

"No, you suck, make me an omelette." Collapses on top of you so you can't go and make one even if he wasn't just winding you up. 

DIAVOLO:

Has a massive grin on his face the moment you set foot in his room, getting even bigger when he sees you've brought food. You serve it professionally, pretending to be Barbatos and making him laugh. 

"Your breakfast, young Master."

"Ooo, my birthday must have come early? OH! Is that...a foam Cerberus in my coffee!?"

Devours everything eagerly, insisting on sharing with you no matter how much you protest. 

"Come now, you deserve to taste the fruit of your labours. It's wonderful!" Like a big kid, smothers you with kisses when he's done. "I'll have to think of a proper way to repay you..."

BARBATOS:

Completely taken by surprise - it was usually him that was serving meals after all and here you were up at an even earlier hour than him handing him a breakfast tray? Doesn't know what to say at first, eyes roaming over the food you'd prepared for him until he spots the little flower-shaped strawberries you'd cut for him - something he'd done for you once to cheer you up when you were sick. 

"Seeee," you say with a playful nudge as you settle next to him. "I've been learning."

"You have...this looks wonderful, thank you." He leans over to press a delicate kiss to your lips and you mumble a quiet you're welcome against them. The two of you share a rare moment of solitude chatting idly and enjoying each others' company before another busy day at the Palace begins.

SOLOMON:

Eyes you and the food warily. "You trying to poison me again?"

"Dude it was just gone-off milk it wouldn't have killed you. Also that was a whole year ago why are you still holding that against me?"

"Yeah well..." Sniffs it just to be sure then flashes you a playful smile. "I'm just messing. This looks really good - thanks."

Halfway through tucking in: "Y'know I'd offer to return the favour but you'd probably die so I won't bother."

"Yeah please don't," you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. 

"Although....what if you were my breakfast next time? Worth a thought," he mused, tapping his spoon against his bottom lip as you rolled your eyes.

SIMEON:

Oh...this is awkward...

You both are bearing breakfast trays intended for the other, and you both burst into laughter before making your way to his room where you swap trays and tuck in. 

"I can't believe this..."

"We're too in tune with each other," Simeon smiles, sipping at his tea. 

"Yeah, I guess we are." The food was delicious - heavenly even and you found yourself closing your eyes from pleasure while eating it. "This is amazing, Sims."

"Glad you like it," he replied with a grin. "You've made these eggs perfectly."

"I'll have to make them for you more often."

"I'd like that a lot."

Simeon definitely tries feeding you at one point, laughing sweetly at your eagerness to take it from him.

~ Obey Me! Masterlist ~

~ The Grand Masterlist ~

[jellyjays]

come away, oh ghostly child... (pt 4)

(PT 3 <-) (-> AO3)

Tim strolled down the street towards Dick's apartment. The coffee in his hand was already almost gone, and he was feeling like a sack of shit. He felt like Tom in the one episode of Tom and Jerry where the cat tried and failed at several methods of keeping his eyes open.

He needed Dick to look over his reports for WE, he wasn't entirely confident that he hadn't missed anything.

Pulling out his phone with the hand not clutching coffee like a lifeline, he dialed Dick's home phone for the apartment Babs had said he was staying in while he visited Gotham. After a few rings, Dick picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Dick, it's Tim. I'm headed over to your place, I need to run some WE stuff by you."

"Ooh- this might not be the best time, Tim. I've got a kid with me right now, and he's got a lot of energy."

"I can pick up some stuff for the kid to entertain him for a bit if that helps? I really need your help, nobody else is free right now."

Dick sighs on the other end of the line.

"Alright, that works. Could you pick up some groceries while you're at it? I used up the last of my non-cereal food feeding him this morning. Just the basics- eggs, milk, bread, fruit, etcetera. I'll pay you back."

"Yeah, I can do that. I'll call when I'm done and on my way to yours."

"Thanks a million, Tim. I'll see you later."

With that, there's a click as the line is cut. Tim sighs.

-

Tim stares at the milk cooler in the grocery store. Which kind of milk is best again?

A text conversation with Alfred tells him whole milk is the correct option, so he grabs a gallon.

They're set in the cart next to the other groceries- honey wheat bread, a carton of eggs, and containers of basic fruit. A collection of toys sit in the cart as well- an inflated ball, two dolls- a barbie and a Batman toy- with their accessories, three different stuffed animals, and a book (he has no idea what the kid would like, so he's playing it safe).

He moves out of the milk aisle and towards the checkout. Along the way, he grabs some snacks- fruit snacks, animal crackers, and crackers.

When he reaches the checkout, he pays with Bruce's card- no need to infringe on Dick's savings by making him pay Tim back.

(Tim doesn't need to mention that Bruce had been an asshole recently and Tim doesn't really feel that amenable to being kind to the man.)

He struggles to carry all the bags on his own but manages eventually- most of the bags hang from Tim's elbows.

As he walks back towards Dick's apartment, he pulls his phone out to call Dick again. It takes longer for Dick to answer this time, but he does.

"Tim?"

"Yup, I'm on my way. Just letting you know."

"Sweet. Thanks. Bye!"

And then the line cuts again.

That was hasty.

-

Tim knocks on Dick's apartment door with one grocery-laden arm.

"Come in," comes Dick's muffled answer, accompanied by mad giggling. Tim opens the door to find Dick lying face down on the ground. A black-haired, blue-eyed child giggles as he sits on Dick's back triumphantly.

"Apologies, I would greet you properly, but alas, I've been defeated."

"I see that," Tim says, closing the door behind him and moving across the apartment to set the groceries on the kitchen table. The child giggles madly.

"I gotchu! I gotchu!"

"Yes," Dick says, moving his face off from the ground to lay on his cheek, "But can I have up now? I admitted my defeat, I am an honorable loser."

"Okays, you can have up. Since you're nice about it."

The child slips off Dick's back, and Dick rolls over to his back before sitting up.

"Thank you, Danny. I see you're an honorable warrior."

Danny giggles some more. He seems to be a very happy child.

"Hey, Danny, I'm Tim," Tim greets. "I brought some gifts for you."

Danny runs away from Dick and towards Tim, throwing his little arms around Tim's legs.

"What!? Gifts!?"

Tim laughs and reaches down to ruffle Danny's hair.

"Yeah, buddy. Do you wanna see?"

"Yes!!" Danny practically shrieks, jumping up and down, still clinging to Tim's pants with his little hands. Tim reaches into the bag that the cashier had put the toys in and pulls out the two dolls. Danny does shriek when he sees them, grabbing them out of Tim's hands and moving back so he can spin and jump up and down, shrieking all the way, grin wide on his face.

"I always wanteted one of these!! A doll, a doll!" Danny yells, tearing up. Tim hopes they're happy tears.

"You like 'em?"

"Yesyesyesyesyesyes!!"

Tim laughs and reaches down to ruffle Danny's hair again.

"Do you think I could have a little grown-up talk with Dick while you play with your new dolls? Does that sound fair?"

Danny nods frantically and scrambles away to the living room with his new toys. He gets behind Dick and pushes him towards the kitchen where Tim is.

"Go, go, go!"

Dick laughs and acts like Danny can push him, shuffling where Danny pushes him. When Dick is near Tim, Danny runs away to the living room, Barbie and Batman figure in hand.

Tim turns to Dick.

"So, WE figures- Ready to talk finance?"

-

tags: @basilf1res @ollietheotaku @angelheartgamer @justgray15777 @terzatheunderscorerima @phantom120 @undead-essence @crazydoughnutlady @big-flrda-kys @pheonixdemonqueen @confused-moose-child @the-fandom-hopping-mage @rangerhorsetug @shamelessstudenthideout @nonbinary-disaster @keegan-parker @terrasolstice @eonic @mayoota-blog1 @theonewiththegays @glitchedchaos @nikki-pondtheauthor @allee52hrz @blacksea21090 @crazylittlemunchkin

(been thinking about continuing this on ao3. i have a whole doc for this. can't decide if i want to continue here or on ao3- if i did on ao3, i'd share the link and tag everyone, ofc. i think i'd explore more of danny's time exploring gotham if i made it an ao3 fic as well. thoughts?)

[cagesofgold]

connie springer headcanons <3

🎵 ivy-frank ocean 🎧

- Connie once a month takes his little sister, Sunny, out on pretend dates to ensure that she knows she should be treated to a good meal and flowers at the door. Connie won’t be letting any little punk date his bundle of joy.

- is actually a decent cook, surprising i know, but he spent a lot of his childhood watching his mother’s careful hands as she crafted various meals, and managed to pick up a lot of things.

- he loves to drive, blasting music, a hand on your thigh and his fav sunnies on, what is there not to like?

- let’s you dye his hair all types of fun colors or some design you saw off of Pinterest. He has good style but he doesn’t take himself serious and doesn’t mind if he has to walk around for two months with smiley faces all over his head. In fact, he loves it. He even let Sunny and Martin draw all over his head like a canvas with hair dye pens, he had unicorns and ninjas embedded in his hair for weeeeeeks.

- his number one priority within dating you, apart from you of course, was to ensure your family liked him. He is extremely family orientated and is most happy when he is surrounded by loved ones. Your family absolutely adored his hilarious self and from there forth he was best friends with your parents.

- wants kids when he’s older, and would be the best girl dad.

- loves movies. He isn’t a guy who would sit and explain the plot of the godfather to you for hours on end but he does insist on decorating your shared apartment with various movie posters. His favorite is “Stand by me”

- would be absolutely heartbroken if you ever watched an episode of a show you were watching together without him. Like genuinely wouldn’t speak to you for a good hour.

-this mf is clingyyyyy, he needs you at all times and has never had the urge to utter the words “i need a little space”, you’re an extension of his personal space, let him stuff his face into your neck in peace.

-loves showering with you, not even in an inherently sexual way, he just adores how intimate it is and the feeling of you gracing his scalp with your nails.

-definitely has tats. In high school he and Jean purchased a tattoo gun and would tattoo people behind the bleachers, but for practice they’d use Connie’s body. Like i said, this mf does NOT take himself seriously and doesn’t care if he has a cartoon dick n balls on his thigh when he’s 80 and sagging.

-is slightly frightened of balloons but pretends he isn’t.

-has two piercings on his ears, his lobes and cartilage.

-absolutely LOVED the barbie movie and was kitted out in full pink. Took you and Sunny to the cinema the night it came out and also paid for dinner after.

- he also took Sunny to a store to pick out a barbie doll.

-english smart, failed every math test he ever took. He still can’t add a fraction…(neither can i)

-loves to press kisses to the side of your face, arms wrapped around your waist and his chest at your shoulder blades.

-will eat cereal at any point, whether it’s morning or not. Would eat it for all three meals.

-despite the fact he can cook and seems to be well adjusted he is unable to survive on his own from the sheer lack of common sense…

-cartwheels when he’s drunk. (and when he’s sober to be honest)

-LOVESSSSS THE CLUB

-doesn’t really get jealous over you, he trusts you and thinks you’re absolutely beautiful, why wouldn’t someone hit on you?

he will however get pouty if he’s literally RIGHT there and the person still hits on you.

-would kill every plant you brought in the house, listen, it’s not his fault he’s got 80 million different thoughts bouncing around his head at all times.

-is more of a dog guy but he wouldn’t argue if you were to get a cat, he loves them too.

-sings everywhere he goes, under his breath waiting in line, in the car, as he cleans, cooks, showers, he never stops, it’s like a continuous string of songs escaping his lips at all times.

-but overall, he’s the best boy friend you could ever have, and he’s already decided he’s spending the rest of his life with you. <3

[ssahotchnerr]

request for aaron? 🥺

maybe reader is on her period and is miserable and aaron notices, but she’s super shy about it despite her big age, and aaron encourages her to be more open to talk about things like this.

cw; period talk, aaron being a dear <33

"what's the matter?"

"oh, nothing." you breathed out, wincing slightly as you attempted to get comfortable on the couch. the two of you were watching a movie, well, at least aaron was. you had lost interest about twenty minutes ago, your mind preoccupied by the cramp that had been growing throughout your abdomen. it started small, tolerable, but now the pain had become all-consuming.

"nice try, but i'm not buying that. i can tell your mind is a million miles away. " aaron paused the movie this time, his large hand grabbing ahold of yours. his thumb brushed along your palm soothingly, indicating it was a safe place for you to open up. "so again, what's wrong?"

"it's... that time of the month." you mumbled hesitantly, pulling your gaze away from him the instant you felt your cheeks begin to blush.

"oh, your period?" aaron said so incredibly nonchalantly, no different than if you had just told him what cereal you wanted for breakfast.

you immediately whipped your head in his direction, your eyes widening in horror, shock- maybe both. "aaron!"

"what?" he laughed softly, a teasing but loving tone in his voice. "honey, i did take health class."

"i know but," you sighed, tangling your feet with his which were spread out on the coffeetable in front of you. "it's embarrassing."

"not to me." he insisted, warmth flooding in his brown eyes. "it's completely natural sweetheart, you don't need to hide that from me."

"i know, but..." you repeated but your voice trailed off. your head fell against his shoulder, a sigh escaping you instead.

"i mean it. no matter the context, no matter how embarrassing you think something may be, you can tell me. please tell me. i love you, and nothing about you has the capacity to freak me out, if that's what you're worried about."

maybe it was your current hormones being all over the place, but you found tears wanting to spill out of your eyes. his understanding, in all regards, has always been overwhelming. likewise, so has his love.

"the pain is bad, isn't it?" he asked softly, his hand now falling to your abdomen. just as he did with your hand, his thumb began to lightly graze it.

despite the placement of his hand immediately lessening your cramp, the contact, or more specifically- his contact helping, you still nodded your head.

"alright," aaron was quick to give your cheek a peck, getting up from where he was seated. "i'll get the heating pad. anything else you need, love?"

[netherworldpost]

Hi! I followed you for a long time with alot of "jeez someday I hope that can be me some day" fervor and now I am starting my own small goth shop. Do you have any tips on reaching the alternative audience? or tips on general about running a shop I'm nervous.

1a. Protect your cash flow

This is to say constantly question "does this shiny envelope packaging pack in make people love my shop more or is it a money drain?" This is not a simple answer.

It is an answer you'll ask yourself all the time.

The answer is going to shift. Fun unboxing videos? Great for social media posts. Great to get attention. Great fun. Expensive to produce. Worth it? Constantly check.

I really want to stress this: I am not saying "do not do it" -- I am saying "do what makes sense."

In the business-to-business world (you're a business, other businesses are going to sell to you), one of the most effective/common sales tactics is "take this thing you do and make it fun."

Your product is fun.

Your product is quality.

Your packaging etc.'s primary task is to get your product to your customer efficiently (easy to read address labels) and safely (stuff does not break).

1b. Protect your cash flow part two

Evil Supply Co. was the original shop. It experimented with everything -- color changing cereal spoons (launched), temporary tattoos (launched), umbrellas (did not launch), plates and bowls and towels and toothbrushes and shower curtains (did not launch). So much more.

It was primarily a stationery company.

The experimenting was incredibly fun, I regret nothing, and it cost me giant truck loads of cash. That's why Netherworld Post is focusing far more tightly.

2. Can't meet budget? Reduce scope.

When you're talking to designers or web hosts or whatever, and they say "We want $$$" and you say "I have $," reduce your scope down. This fits into the above, you're noticing a theme maybe.

This is a business. It has to make money to continue, it has to make profit to pay you to continue, it has to compensate you for your time to continue.

OR

It is a hobby.

And it doesn't have to do any of those things, it just has to scratch that itch that made you pursue it. It can still sell stuff, it can be a shop, it can be open when you want and closed when you want.

There is no moral, ethical, social value difference between a business and a hobby.

Do what fits into your goals, and if your goals shift, change your shop to accommodate.

3. Have fun

Your biggest competitor by a factor of 1:100 is other shops:folks posting your work without attribution or links.

You've seen the videos where someone is saying "Oh you're so pretty, you're so cute? No, YOU are so pretty, YOU are so cute." That's small business life.

There is enough for us all. Just have fun.

4a. Reaching people

Post stuff. Works in progress, memes, rambles, whatever makes you "you". Pepper in shop links and email sign up links occasionally.

Just be you.

If you don't know who you are, well, that's what you should post.

There is this idea that there is a "brand" that you have to build, and you're going to get (if you aren't getting them already) a million targeted ads to help you build this brand.

"I sell stuff. It has a price range of $X. It is high quality! Or it is cheap quality and priced accordingly! It can be found at xyz dot com. It will get to you in Z days/weeks." = 99% of branding.

The other 1% is "when you think of me, you think of X." Such as, when you think of Netherworld Post, you think of atty's antics and Fang's amused exasperation and Halloween and spooky things and mail and ghosts and mermaids, etc.

4b. Decide your social media bandwith and stick to it

There are ten billion social networks.

It's common to feel like you have to be on them all 24/7. Attempting to reach this is going to burn you out and use up limited resources, it is far more effective to have an email list (this is independent of all networks) + the networks you, as a person, enjoy using and focusing there.

See #3 above. Fits here too.

5. Keep going when things are hard or convert this into a hobby You're making this shop for a reason.

That reason is more important than money, otherwise you wouldn't be doing it.

Building a shop is infinitely harder than playing video games and reading books and watching movies and dancing -- every hour you are working on your shop is an hour you're not playing video games about dancing books.

If you say "this sucks," convert it to a hobby. See #2.

The reason I'm building Netherworld Post instead of doing other business things that would make much more money is because I love it. It feeds a part of me. It makes me more "me" to run this shop than to not run this shop.

The minute that changes, I'm converting it to a hobby. Keep the door open when I want to play, close the door it when I'm tired, re-open after I rest.

If you want more money in your life, get a second job.

If you want money doing THIS -- take every problem as it lunges at your heart, take that tender in your black painted talons, look at the problem carefully, then tear it apart until you have the answers.

You are going to be doing this constantly.

It should be part of the fun.

If it's not, make this a hobby.

There is no inherent value in having it as a business.

The value is this project is it should make you more you.

Every single problem you are going to face -- every single question you are going to ask -- every single opportunity, every issue -- listen to me, everything -- has at LEAST one industry built on solving it.

Not company. Industry.

Keep going until you find someone or something that fixes it for your budget and scope.

6. You do not work for other people

You mention you've been around for awhile following me, so maybe you've seen my...

...occasional ...lack... of delicacy...

...when dealing with people who have a confusion about who is running this blog (them vs. me)

People are going to say "you should lower your prices, you should post more X, you should post less Y, you shouldn't post about Z person/ business/ entity/ thing because of Reasons."

Critiques and criticism can be valid.

They are not directives that need be followed.

There are consequences for not following them (people may leave).

There are consequences for following them when you disagree with them (your shop may feel less like your shop and more like someone else's).

This is not license to be a jerk.

It means that this is your shop and it has to make you more "you" and if it doesn't then it isn't your shop it is a pain in the ass job that pays you far less than you should be paid.

It's like dating as the most confident person in the world.

"This is who I am. Am I compatible with you? IF SO we will drink root beer and dance badly to old cartoons and dress up in silly costumes and be absurd. IF NOT then I wish you well, and the instant you are gone, I will never think of you again."

I ask no one to change who they are when they follow my blog or read my rambles or shop in my stores.

I do not change who I am for the people who follow my blog or read my rambles or shop in my stores.

You must adopt this attitude too.

Or it's not your shop.

It belongs to people you don't know who make you uncomfortable.

Which is the exact description of the world's worst paying job or second job. Which is the exact opposite of why you are building your shop.

[sable-dream]

Domestic pet therian food hack I learned from when I still considered myself a dog therian:

We all know cereal is a great kibble replacement, right? Well I see your cereal and raise you:

Grains that don't stick together!

Parboiled rice and some types of small pastas are excellent at getting a similar texture to kibble. Of course this removes some of the crunch but if you're willing to sacrifice that then it's really good :)

(Also they can be served in like a MILLION different ways so you'll never get bored!)

Crispy roasted chickpeas are a great substitute too :3

(I always used to see food hacks that were mainly sweet focused and while I DO have a sweet tooth I was always disappointed there weren't more savory ones too so I'm sharing one of mine :])

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic august 23 — stomachache — 1.5 k words — nsfw! a/b/o universe

Regulus is dying.

At least that’s what he keeps prophesying to James.

They’ve woken up this morning and all’s been well. Regulus had shuffled sleep drunkenly into the kitchen around noon where James had sat at the kitchen table drinking the last of his tea, fresh out of the shower and had watched Regulus prepare a cereal with chocolate milk and handle the espresso machine with such carelessness Sirius would have whacked him over the head if he was there. Which he is not since he and Remus are gone on an anniversary trip through Europe for a week leaving the flat to James and Regulus. Together. Alone. Just the two of them…left to their own devices. They’d managed.

But that was before Regulus had dropped his spoon with a clatter and clutched his stomach with a whine ripping through his teeth.

And James had barely spun around and taken a step out of his chair when he’d- when he had smelled him.

Licking the cold metal of the barrel of a gun, the iron of a blade settling heavy on his tongue and cutting in sickly sweet, the taste of it slipping down James’ palate like thick maple syrup, like the most devastatingly, million dollar, centuries ripened red wine.

It’s okay, normally. Endurable. Easy enough with Sirius in the house, smelling similar to Regulus and mated. Easy enough to wave the confused, perpetually subliminal hint of arousal off as the little crush he’d had on Sirius when they were fifteen. (Nevermind that whenever James found himself nosing around Sirius head he’d always ended up missing that particular edge he’d gotten more of whenever he’d turned his head rather into Regulus’ direction.)

It is not okay anymore, now. James is salivating, spit pooling under his tongue and teeth aching at the way Regulus’ skin takes on a light sheen of sweat.

It is also not okay anymore when Regulus is collapsing onto his knees on the floor, mumbling about stomach ache and dying before James can rip himself out of his frozen state, whimpering in pain and relying on James to pull him back to his feet and into his own room.

He puts him down gently on the mattress, breathing through his mouth and not even sure that’s making it better, and is about to extract himself to get some water and painkillers when Regulus yanks him down into the bed by the wrist.

“Don’t leave,” Regulus whines, clenching his teeth at the sting of pain. “Oh- nngh, I am going to die.”

James swallows, “I just wanted to get you— What can I do to help?”

Regulus blinks at him through glassy eyes, curled on his side, panting heavily, “Can you put s’me pressure on it?”

“Sure,” and James does just that, hand trembling as he steers for Regulus’ belly.

Regulus reaches for him and promptly curls his own hand into his, digging his knuckles against the criminally soft skin under Regulus’ t-shirt, making his loosely curled fist almost grind into the cramping muscle.

Regulus shudders through a groan and James feels his mouth go dry as something wet nudges the side of his wrist, Regulus absently rolling his hips in tiny thrusts.

“Reg,” voice raspy.

This one only sobs in response, “Hurts.”

And something settles over James then, heart slowing and vision narrowing down.

“Ssh, you’re okay,” keeps going with the administration of his fist, firm against Regulus’ skin and slips the other hand up over Regulus head, his fingers carding through damp curls. Lets his wrist settle against the gland at Regulus’ neck there, scenting him.

The deep knit of Regulus eyebrows disappears thankfully, his noises less pained and more breathless now.

That’s when a different type of torture begins for James.

“Jamie,” and fuck, has he always sounded like that? Looks up and finds pupils dilated and his rosy mouth slack and then James rather smells than sees Regulus opening his legs.

Another broken sound from Regulus, before, “C’n you? Please—” tapering off as he squeezes his eyes shut against the ache, head sinking back on the pillow.

James is helpless to do anything but tug Regulus out of his loose dark joggers which are soaked and heavy from the fluid. Disturbingly, James has the urge to rub his whole face into it.

But, well, then Regulus’ pants are gone, underwear slipped off with them in one go, and now James has to repress the urge to rub his whole face into Regulus’ ass.

Knows that if he gives into the urge to dive down and let the first drop of slick settle on his tongue he won’t be able to stop, not for a while at least, and Regulus needs him. Now.

So James dutifully bites his tongue and smears two fingers through the wet mess then sinks them into Regulus with barely any resistance. He’s scorchingly hot inside, heat somehow shooting up and frying all of James’ remaining brain cells on the spot, and fluttering and clenching around him like a broken, wildly firing sex toy.

James groans at the thought, head hung over Regulus’ heaving chest as this one squirms, little sounds escaping him before he blurts, “More?”

And James complies easily, scooting himself down to bite at Regulus hip bone, needing to sink his teeth in somewhere, while inserting a third finger and continuing to drag and prod and fill.

Regulus keeps babbling nonsense, barely coherent words, and withering against the sheets, mewling whenever James fingers sink in all the way and stay there for a moment. 

And for a few minutes there, James thinks—or doesn’t rather—believes naively that this is going to be it. That they’re going to weather it like this. That is until-

“A-ah, James,” eyes flying wide open as his hips stutter off the mattress, moaning frustratedly, “Jamesjamesjames.” 

He sits back up immediately, putting a soothing hand on the crown of Regulus’ head, “I’m here, I’m here, love.”

“Jamie,” a breathless swallow, his voice cracking around, “Inside. Need you inside of me.”

James stares back dumb-struck, “Reg, I-”

“Please,” he sobs, and then there are actual tears rolling down the creases of his beautiful silver eyes and into his hairline. Voice barely a breath, “Need your cock, please, it hurts. Feel so empty.”

There’s one more beat in which James’ brain screeches violently, unable to move and then Regulus sniffles pitifully beneath him and then James is surging forward and capturing his mouth while working himself out of his pants.

Regulus’ mouth welcomes him eagerly, lips swollen and open pliantly for James to lick into and take. Tongue swirling up against sharp canines, his own teeth dragging over Regulus’ bottom lip and then sucking it into his mouth for good measure too. 

It tastes like polished metal with an underlying sweetness that has shivers whacking though James’ frame and thinking it’s unfair. Takes Regulus’ chin between his fingers and keeps his mouth open to spit the taste of him back into his own mouth. To let him have a shot of his own venom.

Regulus’ responding whine quickly turns into a soundless shout as James starts sinking into him. 

The grip he has on James as soon as the tip has breached him is something otherworldly. Like there’s a negative space inside him, a vacuum sucking at James cock until he’s in to the hilt.

He gets dizzy there for a second, mouthing distractedly at Regulus’ shoulder until this one is convulsing underneath him in another surge of cramps that prompts James back into motion.

Pulling back slightly and angling Regulus’ face to catch his gaze, “G’na fuck the stomach ache right out of you, yeah, baby?” only for his eyes to roll into the back of his head with a moan.

James keeps his thrusts deep and shallow, barely pulling out before he grinds his hips back forward and in, always aiming to hit the tense muscles from the inside or the bundle of nerves that makes Regulus’ go lax against the mattress.

It doesn’t take long like this before Regulus breath is hitching again, positively this time and James only licks a few more stripes over the scent gland at Regulus’ neck and then he’s coming beneath him, slim cock spurting milky cum all the way up to his nipples between them and scratching red lines into the expanse of James’ back as he quakes and clenches around him from inside.

What Regulus does then is drag his nails back up and into the short hair at James’ nape, moaning contently into the crook of his neck as he keeps thrusting his hips up onto James’ hard cock. 

James takes that as his cue to keep going, pumping himself slowly in and out of Regulus until he feels his knot grow and catch on his abused rim. Is about to pull out but then Regulus is deviously distracting him with a kiss, licking deliciously against his tongue and locking his ankles above James’ tailbone.

They’re stuck for the better half of an hour and after that and some manhandling Regulus demands to keep laying there in James lap, cock in his hole, which makes James grin in delight, watching a movie on his phone over James’ shoulder he doesn’t catch fuck all from.

[jedifighterpilot2727]

Yo, can you please do something with this prompt? Established supercorp, Kara being overwhelmed by all the bodies of national city and Lena helping her through it.

This is a completely self indulgent Autistic!Kara fic, featuring Lena throwing money at problems because she's a bazillionaire and she wants to spoil her wife. (And yes, I'm still working on the smut fic and Myx part 2, but I'm trying to crank out some volume and clear out some prompts!)

Overwhelmed

"So, I was thinking we could invite Winn and James over for lunch next weekend, that would be the perfect time to ask them how their trip to Alaska went, because you know Winn is going to have . . ." Lena lets her voice trail off as she studies her wife, realizing by the distant look on Kara's face that nothing she's saying is registering anyway.

Instead, Kara is stopped halfway down the grocery aisle, eyes glazed over as her fingers twirl the pendant charm on her necklace. She's definitely seen Kara take her time on the cereal aisle before, but this is different.

Lena carefully maneuvers  the shopping cart to the side of the busy aisle, watching as the crowd jostles around them.

Kara startles when Lena's fingers make contact with her arm and Lena can't help but wince at the flash of fear that sparks in those blue eyes.

"Are you ok? I think I lost you there for a minute."

Kara's gaze flits around the store before finally settling on Lena, one hand still toying with her necklace.

"Yeah, it's just uh, you know, a lot of people here today. My skin feels twitchy." Kara's shoulders tense upwards in a cringing shrug, and a shiver shakes her body.

"Do you want to go home?" Lena offers. "I can always have groceries delivered -"

"No! No, I mean, I'm fine. I can get through a grocery trip without freaking out, I'm not a weirdo."

Lena  sees Kara's eyes focusing on the cereal in front of them, but she can tell her mind is a million miles away by the blankness behind her gaze.

"You're not a weirdo." Lena insists, reaching for Kara's hand. "The store is busy today, it's hard enough for someone without-" she drops her voice to a whisper - "super senses."

Kara flashes her a grateful smile.

"I'm fine, I can tough it out for a few more minutes."

As if on cue, the overhead speaker blares with static.

"Attention shoppers: register four is now open with no wait."

Kara twitches violently at the noise and Lena makes an executive decision; grabbing Kara with one hand and the shopping cart in the other.

"I'm fine, I swear -" Kara starts but Lena ignores her protests; instead weaving a commanding path through the crowd to the front of the store.

The register lines are backed up, but Lena bypasses them, instead heading for the costumer service desk.

"Can I help you?" The gentleman behind the counter asks with a smile, and Lena answers with one of her own.

"Yes, sorry, I've just had something come up and I need to leave immediately." She slides a hundred dollar bill across to the man. "I trust this is enough to cover your restocking fee?"

The man glances at the money and then back at Lena.

"Oh, ma'am we don't actually have a restocking fee -" but Lena doesn't let him finish.

"For the trouble." she insists, pressing the bill into his palm before turning to the door and pulling Kara with her.

"But Lee, the ice cream . . ." Kara protests, and Lena spins on her red bottom heel, already pulling out another hundred dollar bill.

"For the ice cream." She explains to the customer service rep as she tosses the bill on the counter and reaches in the cart for the frozen container.

Speechless, the man waves, and Lena turns once again to leave,  passing the carton of mint chocolate chip to her wife.

"Better?" She asks with a sly grin, and Kara's thankful smile is the only answer she needs, but Kara punctuates it with a squeezing side hug.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?"

[pokemoncaretips]

Is it ethical to resurrect fossil pokemon?

The answer to that is a solid: It depends.

For the most part, I would argue that yes, it's fine to take a fossil to a lab. The biggest worry most people have is that "if it gets out, what about the eco-system?" but in truth, the fossil pokemon is the one most in trouble for the simple fact that.

Well.

The eco system has moved on and the old niche is filled by pokemon with millions of years of natural selection against the resurrected one. For an example, lets look at lileep. Back in its time period, where the diversity of the eco-systems was still a new thing, lileep colonies stretched for miles. They were the dominant life form. You can't stub your toe in Hoenn without turning over a lileep fossil. Because they were the first really successful grass type, the ocean beds were theirs. Nowadays, though, the sea floors they used to rule are crowded with corsola, sea weed, kelp, shellder beds, etc. There's no room for the fairly basic lileep to get a foot hold.

Sometimes even the basic environment itself is an issue. Anorith struggle in modern oceans due to changes to the ocean such as pH and salinity.

One of the few exceptions to this is omanyte, which is becoming quite prevalent. However, a number of fairly smart water type pokemon are working out how to get into that tough shell to get the meat inside, and so its likely the eco-system may eventually resettle once its position on the food chain is established. Until then, omanyte meat is very slowly picking up as a delicacy. (Though frankly, you'd have a better time eating an old boot.)

Another reason they pose little threat to the eco system: most of their food no longer exists naturally. Aurorus, for instance, can just barely hold its own against rivals like tropius, but their natural diet of large cycads and ferns are hard to find or just plain extinct. Combined with the warmer temperatures of today, and a large pokemon that could have been destructive of the eco-system is rendered incapable of doing so.

However, these pokemon often thrive in human care, as we can use science to make supplements that fill in the nutritional gaps and provide care and enrichment to help them enjoy their new life. A well loved and looked after fossil pokemon is a fascinating window into a past so different it may as well be another world.

However, there is one more thing I must address.

"Professor" Cara Liss is a hack who got her PhD from the back of a cereal box.

Those poor pokemon she resurrects are travesties of science. Though it is our responsibility to provide the current specimens living today with the medical care they deserve, it is DEEPLY morally wrong to create more of them. A dracovish might have a good reputation as a battler but it can barely function without a diet that is almost half medication by volume (I exaggerate, but only slightly).

Fossil pokemon do need some thought, as there are extra elements to their care, but if you want to bring your lucky fossil feather back from the dead as an arceops, go forth and do so if you think you're ready.

Just don't give it to that fraud in Galar.