#lame mondays and tuesdays

[woahajimes]

guys how do you do this fucking lab assignment

[lonesomedotmp3]

I think I'm gonna have to start assigning the TV shows I want to watch to a certain day of the week and then I can finally force myself to get properly into them. because I have barely enjoyed a single episode of chucky season two but the weekly release schedule has me sitting down every thursday almost without fail somehow

[loverboybitch]

think i am finally going to quit the job that i hate.//.

[wanda-widow]

Dirty Little Secret

Bucky x Pole Dancer!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Bucky's a sweetheart, but like everyone else, he's also got something to hide. And no one would expect the famed White Wolf to spend his evening as a strip club with a pretty thing he calls his. 

18+ MDNI

Warnings: smut, jealous Bucky, oral (f receiving), light threat, choking kink, swearing, pussy slapping (once), light/no aftercare, light fluff near the end, no use of (Y/N)

Like and reblog if you want, thank you sm for the love on my last post <3

Everyone's taken Bucky as a gentleman, especially after the takedown of the Flag Smashers. His reputation's free of red, amends made, the biggest sweetheart. The biggest sweetheart with the dirtiest secret. 

Over 70 years with no sex has got him pent up, needing release. Sure, his fist can get him off but it doesn't compare to the feeling of a warm body under his. It doesn't matter if he's giving or receiving the pleasure, he just needs sex in any form. 

There's a small but well known strip club located in the heart of Brooklyn, Bucky's favorite place on Monday, Tuesday, and Friday nights, along with weekends. His pocket is always well loaded with cash, especially with the money the government is funding him as an apology for what HYDRA put him through. 

But that's in the past and you, you are the present and future. You, who works Monday, Tuesday, and Friday nights, along with weekends. His favorite dancer and his favorite hookup. 

This Friday night is no different as he steps foot in the pounding club, eyes scanning the sweaty crowd until they land on you, just finishing your routine on stage. You're dressed in a skimpy red piece that barely leaves anything to the imagination, knee high heels adding to the appeal. His eyes rake over your body, darkening at the various bills stuffed wherever the hands could reach. Bills that should be his. Hands that should be his. 

You can practically feel his glare, eyes flitting up to meet his, calculating his expression. With a barely perceptible jerk of his head, you already know to follow him to one of the private rooms. Quickly blowing your kisses, you hurry off stage just in time to see Bucky slap a couple bills into someone's hand before they let him into the dim room, leaving the door open for you. 

The moment you step foot in the room, the door slams shut behind you and you can feel him behind you, radiating anger and something else. Jealousy. 

"I thought I told you to wait for me" he growled into your ear, vibranium fist clenching against the wall. His other hand comes to rest on your waist, a mockery of affection before whatever comes next. 

"I did but you didn't come on time" you shrugged, the excuse sounding lame to even you. "I needed the money, you know that" 

"I said I would pay you extra for your time" he retorted, plucking the bills out from your bra one by one before tossing them somewhere in the room. You barely get the chance to open your mouth to respond when you feel a cold metal hand spin you around and wrap around your throat, just barely applying pressure. 

"Since you didn't wait, I don't see a point in paying you extra" he breathed out, thumb sliding up to tilt your chin up, his lips ghosting over yours. His arousal is evident against your thigh, your body shifting instinctively so he's nestled right against your core. 

"I'll give you better service for more money" you offered, already sinking to your knees for him. Truth is, if you didn't need the money so desperately, you'd do anything for free for this man. 

Bucky almost caved but shook his head, tugging you back up. "I don't have time" he muttered, frustrated as he checked his watch before spotting the loveseat in the corner of the room. Leading you there, he tugged you into his lap, lips meeting your eagerly as you melted into his hold. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip before you parted your lips, tongues sliding deliciously. 

You were already grinding against him on instinct when he gripped your hips to stop you. 

"Get on your back" he muttered, already doing the act for you as he flipped your positions and then settled on the floor to be face to face with your soaked panties. 

"Already so wet for me... or is this from all those other men giving you money, hm? You don't need anything from me anymore, might as well make this our last session" he taunted,  his metal hand sliding up your thigh teasingly, goosebumps following in his trail.  

"No, no... no, no just you. Only you get me soaked" you whined, missing the way he smirked at your desperate words. 

He let out a hum before carefully sliding your panties down your legs, tucking them in his back pocket as he spread your thighs wider. You clenched around nothing in anticipation, letting out a quiet gasp when he ran a finger up your slit, gathering your slick. 

"So pretty..." he murmured, glancing at you as he kissed up your inner thighs. "So perfect" 

You squirmed, almost about to beg for him to touch you when he ran his tongue through your folds, a moan tumbling past your lips as your hips canted up. 

"Such a pretty pussy for a pretty girl" he smirked, tongue doing circles on your clit before he took it between his lips and sucked lightly. 

"B-Bucky- ah... need more..." you moaned, fingers fisting in his hair, lips set into a pout. 

"I don't think you deserve it" he chided, his flesh hand sliding under your back to pull you closer to him. "You're lucky I'm fond of you"

He slipped two metal fingers into you, curling them so they hit your sweet spot that he knew so well. His tongue worked quickly over your clit, flicking back and forth, his fingers pumping with the obscene shlick shlick shlick, already building you towards your orgasm. 

"Are you gonna wait for me tomorrow instead of throwing yourself on stage for the world to see?" he asked, purposely slowing his fingers as you whined from the fading pleasure. His thumb pressed down on your clit, your hips bucking up into the pressure.

"Yes, yes I'll wait for you" you cried out when his flesh hand came down on your clit. 

"Good girl" he growled before his mouth attached back onto your sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers slipped back into your pussy, curling and pumping eagerly, your walls starting to flutter around him from the building pleasure. 

One last swipe of his tongue on your clit had you unraveling, his eyes watching as your back arched off the couch, legs shaking and clamping around his head as his fingers worked you through your high. The cries of his name falling from your lips mixed in with curses and moans were heavenly. He tucked the sounds away to memory, his cock throbbing against his jeans but he could take care of that problem later. 

He drew gentle circles on your clit, huffing softly when your body jerked in response to the overstimulation. You felt a couple bills flutter down onto your flushed skin, not bothering to count them when you felt him lean down next to your ear. 

"If you're really worried about money, just tell me. I can cover it, doll" he said softly, brushing some hair out of your face before leaving a quick kiss on your lips. 

You nodded, shifting so that you were sitting up on the couch, noticing that the bills littering your skin were hundreds. 

"If you forget our agreement tomorrow, consider your orgasms also forgotten" he said casually before the door slammed shut behind him, leaving you dazed and always, always wanting more. 

Part 2

[ning2lilac]

SUPER SHY; PARK JISUNG

MASTERLIST

PAIRINGS: park jisung x fem!reader

TAGS: slow burn, fluff, humour, college au, smau, a lot of chenle’s pov too, both characters are shy 😔

SYNOPSIS: Chenle is tired of his friend being the shyest (he actually says “lamest”) person on earth, so he takes matters into his own hands and starts the mission to get him a girlfriend. However, there is one problem: the girl he considers to be the perfect choice is just as shy as him, so he will have to find a way.

WARNINGS: maybe suggestive humour

UPDATES: Mondays and Tuesdays

comment if you want to be added to the taglist (not sure I will make one)

CHAPTERS

0. characters

CHAPTER 01: I am not that lame

CHAPTER 02: girls I’m tired of this

CHAPTER 💫 park jisung’s woman mission by zhong chenle

CHAPTER 03: what’s his zodiac sign?

CHAPTER 04: introvert wants introvert

CHAPTER 05: the livie

CHAPTER 06: jisung?

CHAPTER 07: the answer is no…or maybe

CHAPTER 08: who is this???

CHAPTER 09: your mother

CHAPTER 10: 20 questions

CHAPTER 11:

CHAPTER 12:

[arafilez]

੭୧ ⼂ LIES YOU BUILT ﹗

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ kwh x reader ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤangst, no comfort, bsf to strangers ㅤ warnings crying, woonhak is a little toxic ㅤ﹢ㅤ1k wc

Kim Woonhak,

It’s stupid how you still have a mark in my life, the smallest importance with the biggest meaning. Your footprints over my soul never washed away, instead, they stay, stubborn and scratched, like rock carvings. To put it simply I hate you. That is pretty straightforward, isn’t it? I am like that, I have always been like that. Oh, wait you know that already. You used to find me simple, you loved that. Said we completed each other. Now, I cry in my bed thinking about all the lies you fed me about being best friends forever.

Oh, the lies you mastered so well!

I regret every one of those days I had called you up just so I could update you on my life. Every single secret, every laugh, and every tear I had told you of and every bit of our shared stories. I used to be interesting to you, so when did I become so boring that you had to find newer, more popular and cooler friends? What happened to our late-night chats, the ones till three where we both had to hide from our parents with excuses? Where are the stories now? Did you forget them as easily as you threw away our friendship? Did you tell your new friends my stories just so you could get a good laugh out of them? A good laugh out of the class’s lame bitch’s stories- yeah I believe you can do that. If anyone told me a year ago that Kim Woonhak is doing this I would have laughed at their faces. Now, I am the one who scoffs and tells those to the few classmates who feel sympathy for me.

Pathetic! I am pathetic!

There is still no note, no explanation, not a single sentence you said about this while I hold on to the thread loosely binding the last pieces of our friendship. Every time I asked you what was wrong you had one word, “Nothing.” Where was I wrong? I think I was wrong to put my trust in you. Tell me why you left our friendship as if it was not even worth the dirt under your shoe? Tell me why am I still hung up on our last conversation even if it was just you taking advantage of me and wanting my notes? Tell me, did I become lame after you found friends who are more popular than me? Tell me, was I lame the way I behaved? Or was it the way I became loud when I got excited or the way I laughed? Did that make you leave and go to your new friends who have the “cool” aura? How could you take everything I love and crush it so easily? Are your fingers that strong Woonhak?

What happened to our years of friendship Woonhak? Why does this hurt more than any break-up ever did? Why does every time now a simple, sub-important friendship breaks or an argument happens with my friends do I hurriedly apologise multiple times even if I was not in the wrong? Why does it always me feel maybe I am the rotten apple among my friends? Why does your face drop in my mind every time I think I am not enough? Why I am still hung up on you when I have so many newer friends who actually appreciate me? Why do I still picture myself in the mirror arguing with you and putting you in your place with my words and my confidence? Confidence I have only when I am alone? Why do I fantasize about a time you even feel a little fucking sorry for doing all this?

I have so many questions for you, questions I never got to ask and questions that formed later. What did I do for you to break this friendship? Where was I wrong? Why did you start ignoring me that Tuesday when we talked on Monday? Why did you make sure your whole new friend circle hate me? Why did you make fun of me with them? How could you do that? Did our friendship mean nothing to you? Was it that worthless? Was I wasting that much of your time?

Do you think I am being dramatic? Then explain this!

I have so many friends, but every time a minor crack appears, my insecurities build up. Insecurities that weren’t there till you crafted them. Insecurities that weren’t there till you made fun of me in front of me only. Insecurities that weren’t there before you decided to blatantly ignore me one day after our years of friendship. Insecurities that weren’t there until you decided the term best friend is not for me anymore. I would say we both drew blood, and we both got hurt, but were those cuts ever equal?

This is all very straightforward, isn’t it? That’s the second time I am asking you that. Because damn hell, it is. It is my rawest and truest emotions and I don’t want to twist my words to let you know this, which you never will. The worst part of the whole thing is that you will never read this, I will never send this and this will not get you a scratch but it is jabbing my heart multiple times. Twisting the knife you crafted especially for me and pushing it in repeatedly. Why would you do this all to me? Can we talk? Is there something there you never told me and let it build inside you? Or am I just simply horrible? I wish I could let it go, I have tried so many times but I can’t. I wish I could forgive you but what should I forgive you and your cocky, small-minded friends for? Nothing! It is terrible how you come into my mind whenever the smallest incident occurs and I think of telling you, and then it hits me again.

You are still everything to me while I am nothing to you!

From Y/n

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤ is this self-indulgent? yes, a lot! i will be back with bonedo fluff tho TT ㅤ𓏧ㅤ library ㅤ bnd shelfㅤ navi

੭ 𝅄ㅤ ꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ ㅤ⏤ㅤ @haneagerr @slytherinshua ㅤ𓏧ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added.

ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤ© arafilez on tumblrㅤㅤ)

[nansheonearth]

Azealia Banks Calls Matty Healy a ‘Lame Poser’ Following Ice Spice Comments

The rapper also called The 1975 frontman "not on the level" of his rumored girlfriend Taylor Swift.

While The 1975‘s Matty Healy thinks the controversy surrounding him and Ice Spice “doesn’t actually matter,” rapper Azealia Banks clearly disagrees.

In a scathing post to her Instagram Stories on Tuesday (May 30), Banks tore into Healy after the “Somebody Else” singer lashed out at his critics. “Does Matt Healy know that no one thinks The 1975 makes good music and that he’s a lame poser with a trash cliche band name that actually means nothing,” she wrote on her story. “He’s clearly so pressed that a black girl who knows nothing about him or his music is making more moves and more money than him.”

Banks continued, calling Healy an “outrageous small white opinionated male musician” and questioning his knowledge about the industry itself. “Does he know that black women are more coveted in the industry because there’s BIG BUSINESS in female rap,” she wrote. “You’re not a star, nor are you good at whatever this crappy a– mid-2000’s indie pitchfork darling fantasy you’re trying to sell. Ice Spice has MILES more originality than you will ever.”

The controversy first started back in February when Healy was a guest on a since-removed episode of The Adam Friedland Show and laughed at racist and fatphobic jokes about the rapper — including comparing her to an “Inuit Spice Girl” and a “chubby Chinese lady.” While Healy later semi-apologized to Ice Spice during a concert, he called out those who criticized him online for his laughter in a New Yorker profile on Monday (May 29). “You’re either deluded or you are, sorry, a liar,” he said. “You’re either lying that you are hurt, or you’re a bit mental for being hurt.”

In a different post on her Stories, Banks moved on to addressing Healy’s rumored girlfriend Taylor Swift directly, claiming she could do better. “He’s not on the level of powerful p— u worked HELLA Hard to build,” she wrote. “Ugh this dude is a full incel. You cannot be letting him climb the rich white c—-ie mountain, sis.”

Representatives for Healy declined to comment on the record for this story; Billboard has also reached out to representatives for Swift.

[wandurrlust]

hating you

pairing : akaashi keiji x reader

genre : academic rivals to lovers (?)

words : 1.2k

a/n : if you've read this before, it's cuz i'd posted it before but then took it down...my bestfriend forced me to made me repost it :)

Akaashi Keiji loves hating you.

He loves the subtle frown that takes over your otherwise smooth skin as the teacher dismisses your answer and permits him to speak over you.

He loves the way your eyes narrow down to slits as they rake over the unbelievably large crowd that has somehow gathered around the school's volleyball team - effectively causing you to push past numerous people just because you want to use the washroom that is on the other side of the hallway.

He loves being the first and probably the only one to notice the scowl that sits on your lips as the entire gymnasium howls with joy because Fukurodani has scored against the opponent team thanks to an excellent setter dump.

He loves being the cause of your sour mood because you'd come second in class - only next to him.

He loves the exasperated sigh that finds its way past your lips as you're told that this assignment has to be done in groups of two and the person sitting next to you just happens to be Akaashi himself.

He loves the way you roll your eyes as he slams some bills on the top of the wooden table of your favorite snack bar because the library was exceptionally crowded today and you simply needed to get this project done before Tuesday.

He loves the defeated groan you emit as you throw your head between your palms because you practically got nothing done in the past four hours but he had somehow managed to complete the entirety of his share of the damned assignment.

He loves how you discreetly flip him off with your middle finger because he chose to occupy the seat next to yours. On a fucking Monday when he knows you're bound to be late. You loathe Mondays.

He loves the shade of crimson that paints your face and makes it glow abnormally under the cafeteria lights as you almost spit out your lunch when you finally process what Bokuto has asked you: Are you and Akaashi a thing now? I barely ever see him anymore unless we're at practice.

He loves how you're forced to thank him for dropping you off at your front door because you chose to ignore the weather forecast and didn't carry an umbrella with you today and much to your luck, its pouring like hell.

He loves how you both suddenly have a group of mutual friends and you're all paying a visit to the ice cream parlor that stands a few meters away from the school campus 'cause you all deserve some time to unwind after that hell of a week of midterms all of you had to go through.

He loves the unintended giggle you let out as he cracks a super lame and admittedly cheesy joke that even has a few of your classmates booing.

He loves the sceptical look on your face as he finds himself holding the glass door ajar - for you to pass by before whispering, "This isn't very comfortable for my arms, hurry up."

He loves how the both of you are vaguely growing close.

He loves the faint whispers that surround the two of you as you bump your shoulder accidentally against his while the both of are walking beside eachother and are heading to class - together.

He loves the soft smile you shoot his way while you drop all your stuff on the glistening surface of the library table that has him seated on the opposite side.

He loves the faint tint of pink that suits itself upon your skin as you bid eachother goodbye.

He loves the butterflies that flutter around his ribcage as he tells himself that he'll be seeing you again tomorrow.

He loves how you randomly show up at practice one day and congratulate the team on their recent victory over Nekoma whilst urging them to call it a day as you had promised to treat him to onigiris if they managed to win.

He loves the unamused groan that rings through the class upon hearing your decision to team up with him for the upcoming debate competition because 'it simply isn't fair if two of the smartest people of the class team up together'.

He loves how you try to mask up the tiny gleam of disappointment that settles itself upon your eyes with a broad smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes upon realising that he introduced you to his parents as just a friend from school who was there to get some stuff done.

He loves how you let his arm wrap around your shoulder and pull you into a little side hug the second his bedroom door shuts itself with an ungodly creak - a gesture that quite literally translates to 'I don't know where we stand but you're definitely more than just a friend from school'.

He loves how you don't hesitate to counterattack his point with your own despite the fact that you're both a part of the same team when you finally start studying after bickering for what seems like eternities.

He loves how you rake your fingers through his soft hair and hum in response when he asks if he needs to get it trimmed as his head rests on top of his desk - worn out from the sheer hard work the both of you had indulged yourselves in since the past couple hours.

He loves it when your eyes snap up to meet his cerulean ones when your geography teacher calls out for him in class - for it isn't exactly his strongest subject.

He loves seeing you throw your head back with laughter as a response to something Konoha has said - unaware that the lad was doing a fair job of entertaining you as he let some of Keiji's embarrassing stories accidentally slip past his mouth - glad that you're getting along with the rest of the team.

He loves the cheery thumbs up you shoot his way as he scores a point against his teammates in a three on three match, shrieking at him to do it again.

He loves it when you assure and reassure Bokuto that you'll be there for the sleepover that Bokuto's hosting at his place this Saturday, cringing upon encountering the loud cheer that Bokuto lets out upon hearing your answer.

He loves the dainty shade of pink that dusts your cheeks as he steals a glance at Bokuto's messy kitchen just to see what exactly Kaori, Yukie and you are upto - his own skin mimicking the flimsy shade of crimson upon realising that the girls were wiggling their eyebrows as you loudly pondered over what would be an okay thing to gift him as a present for his birthday.

He loves how you scoot a little closer to him on the couch as a jump-scare in the horror movie causes you to flinch by the slightest.

He loves tight embrace of your arms around his torso when you're informed by your teacher that the one who came first in the class this time wasn't Keiji but you. But you quickly retract yourself because you realise the awkwardness and irony of the situation - you had afterall studied relentlessly for this test with Akaashi.

Akaashi Keiji simply loves hating you.

[justagalwhowrites]

Finish Your Fics Monday/Tuesday?

Thank you for the tag, @wannab-urs!!

rules: send an ask with a WIP title, and i'll add five sentences and ramble vaguely about it

Here's what I have cooking at the moment:

Yearling

Halcyon

Yes, I'm lame and only have two things going at once. Send an ask if you want!

NP tags: @toxicanonymity @netherfeildren @tightjeansjavi @romanarose

[yearningagain]

don't let me drown

[PART ONE], PART TWO

so i had this thought and decided to elaborate on it, but i ended up having 1.5k words and i'm not even a third of the way done :,) so pls let me know if this would be something you guys would like more of!! this is my first time posting writing here except for a few snippets, so pls be nice but constructive criticism is welcome!

ft. modern au, Single(Seahorse)Dad!Eddie, SwimInstructor!Steve

Eddie Munson didn't know how to swim. Growing up in landlocked states while despising every swimsuit he was ever presented with, it just made sense. He didn't need to know how to swim, there was no reason for it, and he was perfectly fine with it.

Until Max.

Specifically, until Max decided, after watching the 2020 Olympic swimming, that she was going to be an olympic swimmer. She kept bugging Eddie, begging him to sign her up for swim lessons with all the umph a six year old could muster.

And Eddie was a weak willed man, especially when it comes to his daughter. So he said yes.

Eddie spent the next week and a half researching the best swim instructors around, googling and calling and looking at reviews. Eventually, he settled for the Hawkins Aquatic Center. With it being relatively close, a 20 minute drive at most, and having the best reviews out of any and all other pools in the area, it was a clear winner.

So that Tuesday, while Max was at day camp, Eddie made the call.

“Hawkins Aquatic Center, this is Robin! How can I help you today?” One of the bubbliest voices Eddie had ever heard answered the phone, immediately putting him a little more at ease.

“Hi, I was looking to set my daughter up for some swim lessons?” He asked, hoping Robin didn't pick up on his slight nervousness.

“Of course! I just need a little information. Her name, age and birthday, and skill level is what I need now, and I’ll ask for some more information about you once we schedule.”

“Yeah, for sure. Her name is Maxine Munson, but everyone calls her Max. She’s six, her birthday is June 14th, 2014. She doesn't really… know how to swim?” As he gave her the information, his nerves almost doubled. He couldn't swim, he wouldn't be able to practice with her! What if she drowns? What if something happens? What if-

“Alright, Mr. Munson, I’m assuming?” Robin asked sweetly, interrupting his spiral.

“Uh- yeah that's- that’s me. You can just call me Eddie. Eddie Munson, at your service! Ha! Sorry, that was, like, super lame.” He cringed at his antics, but a bubbly laugh filled the phone.

“Got it, Eddie! So from the information you’ve given to me, it seems like it’ll be best to put her in our beginners class for kids under 7. We typically have two instructors that rotate throughout the week, but one of them is on paternity leave, so she’ll only be with Coach Harrington. There's two options for this class. Twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 4 to 5:30 in the afternoon, or three times a week, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays 5 to 6:30 in the afternoon. Do either of those work for you?”

Eddie hesitated. He knew how much enthusiasm Max had about swimming, but he was nervous about taking her so often. But the more time she can get in the water, the more she’ll practice. Plus first grade homework isn't terrible, so she’ll be able to continue when school starts up again.

“Eddie? You still with me?” Robin asked. He must have taken too long to answer.

“Yeah, sorry! Just, uh, just thinking.” He replied lamely.

Robin seemed to catch on to his anxiety. “A lot of parents are nervous about teaching their kids how to swim, I get it! But Steve, or Coach Harrington I should say, is the best in the area. He’s been an instructor here for a few years and loves it. There’s always lifeguards on duty and all of our staff are trained in basic first aid and CPR. Parents are always welcome to sit in on lessons as well, there's seating in the instructional pool area. Max will be in great hands!”

Eddie took a breath. Robin's ramblings helped put him at ease, knowing all of the precautions the center takes to keep everyone safe.

“Thank you so much, Robin. I think three times a week will work best, Max has been bugging me for weeks! I know she’ll be ecstatic when I tell her I signed her up.” Eddie can already picture her reaction, grinning and hopping around in excitement.

“Sounds great, Eddie! I can guarantee she’ll love it. So now I just need to ask you a few questions! I just need your email, the best phone number to reach you at, an emergency contact other than you, and we can get her all set!” Eddie breathed a sigh of relief, giving her the information she asked for.

“Alright, we’ve got her in the system! You guys can come in any time this week for a tour of the place and meet Coach Harrington, but her first lesson will be next Monday, August 10th. We do ask that she brings goggles, but we have extras in case she forgets them. Do you have any other questions for me?”

Taking a second to think, Eddie replied. “I think we’ve got everything covered. Thank you, Robin. I really appreciate your help!”

“It’s really no problem! If you do think of any questions you may have, you can always ask when you tour, or call us! We look forward to seeing you!”

All that was left to do was to invest in a good swimsuit, some goggles, and tell Max.

—-------------------------

“Hey, stinker! How was camp today?” Eddie asked as Max climbed in the car and got herself situated in her seat.

“It was great! We did finger paintings ‘n played on the playground! There was a worm on the slide and Lucas was too afraid to touch it, so I got it ‘n brought it to the grass!” Max beamed at her father, showing her gap toothed smile. “I’m gonna bring home the art tomorrow, but Miss Joyce said we have to let it dry tonight. I did a picture of us!”

Eddie laughed lightly at his daughter's antics, smiling right back at her. “Sounds like today was fun, bug! I do have a little surprise for you when we get home though, okay?”

That got Max’s attention quickly, asking all sorts of questions about it. Eddie simply smiled at her and turned up the music, an old The Cure CD playing on the radio system. As the volume rose, all Eddie could hear was an exasperated “Daaaaaad!” from the back seat.

The ride home was short and sweet, the ending of Friday I’m in Love fading out as they pulled into the driveway. As soon as the car stopped, Max unbuckled and sprinted towards the door, abandoning her backpack and lunchbox.

“I know you're excited, Max, but you have to come get your stuff!” Eddie called out as he exited the driver's seat. The sound of her Skechers on the concrete and her small giggles approaching before receding back to the front door where she bounced on her feet in a poor attempt of patience.

Eddie sighed and shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he unlocked the front door. Immediately, Max ran inside, throwing her stuff on the couch and turning to her father expectantly.

“Where is it? What is it? Can I know now?” She asked, her little body practically vibrating in excitement and anticipation.

Eddie laughed warmly, dramatically rolling his eyes. “I guess you can know now, since you’ve been so patient.” Max snorted at his sarcasm, eyes going crinkly at the corners. “Go look in your room, love.”

And with that, she was off. Running as fast as her little legs could take her, not minding her dad’s warnings to not run in the house. Practically tearing her bedroom door off its hinges, she rushed into her room. Sat in a neat pile on her bed was a small black and red one piece swimsuit, a pair of black goggles, and a print out of the confirmation email from the Hawkins Aquatic Center.

Finally catching up and leaning on her door frame, Eddie quietly asked, “What do you think?”

It’s a miracle the neighbours didn't call the cops that day.

All of Max’s excitement and happiness seemed to explode out of her, letting out one of the loudest screams he had ever heard. Before he could blink, the small child tackled Eddie into a crushing hug, jumping onto him like a koala.

“Really? You’re for real?” She asked, pulling her head back from the embrace to look at her dad, unshed tears threatening to escape from her eyes.

“I’m for real, baby. I promise.”

[ishotmydickoff]

Had a dream that Megatron kidnapped Bee and held him for ransom but instantly regretted it because he will not stop fucking talking and roasting everyone because he knows that if Megan kills him then the deal is off. In one scene Megan was on the phone with Swindle and Bee was in the back calling Swindle's name over and over and over and over until his patience finally broke and he asked what the fuck he wanted, to which Bee asked "Do you sell any ligma?" and Swindle said "What the fuck is a ligma" while Megan sighed because this is literally the 50th dick joke this week and it's only Monday. Bee also keeps asking about Megatron's love life because he might as well if he's stuck here.

"Dude when are you gonna fuck my boss, or are you still fuckin Screamer? I bet you ain't had good valve in megacycles, thas prolly why you such an asshole. Pent up bitch. No bitches havin ass bitch. Ugly ass bitch. Stupid ass bitch. How you gonna get assassinated, fuckin lame ass bitch. Whore. Gay. Gay. Homosexual. Gay. No balls. Gay. Hoe. Slut. Blue balls havin ass. Dickless. Dicknips. Big tiddy havin ass. No ass havin ass. Gets betrayed every Tuesday lookin ass. Wealthy lookin ass. Lonely lookin ass. Cringe. I bet you cry yourself to sleep at night. 'No one to tuck me in at night' lookin ass. 'Nice guys finish last' lookin ass. 'Rawr x3 Im so quirky and weird' lookin ass. Edgy lookin ass. 12 layers of makeup lookin ass. 'I went to college for this' lookin ass. 50 shades of purple lookin ass." - Bumblebee to Megatron, 2023

"I know you aint laughin', 8 legged ass bitch. Itsy bitsy lookin ass bitch. How you gonna suck me then ghost me tf. [talking about the power snatchin shit] Fuckin whore. What even is the deal with you and Optimus? Are you his ex? Honestly he could've done better tbh. Slut. Hoe. 'I listen to Drake' lookin ass bitch. XXXtentacion listenin ass bitch. I bet you use tinder, stupid ass bitch. I bet you catfish mfs on twitter. You look like you use reddit just to play into your goofy ass 'not like the other girls' persona. Newsflash: Drinking starbucks is not a personality trait." - Bumblebee to Black Arachnia, 2023

[thewardenofwinter]

Current Wip Monday Tuesday

Is it really a Morana post if I actually get it done on the correct day? The lovely Nopal over at @writernopal tagged me in this one! Thank you very much. You can find their post here.

Rules: Post something you wrote for your current wip, from the last week. if you haven’t updated it in some time, here’s your chance!!

Chapter 1 of What We Undertake

“Yes?” Dolores called over her shoulder, turning back around at a woman who was no longer there. In her place stood a horrid figure, skeletal and withered. Black flesh dripped from exposed bones, mouth pried open into a permanent scream to reveal black and rotted teeth. It carried the found smell of sulfur and rotten flesh. It's one pale eye settled on Dolores, like a predator settling in on meek prey. Dolores fell onto her back and let out a yell, crawling backwards until she hit the metal door with a loud thud. Her lame leg ached in pain from the impact, but the keen that slipped from Dolores's pale lips was not one of pain, but fear. The figure stalked forward, its footsteps seemingly singing the floor beneath it. It let out as strangled, pained moan one would only utter in utter agony. The sound shook Dolores to her core, sending her into a cold sweat. With every step that the creature took closer, she could feel her heart pick up pace. Unable to take any more sight of the creature, Dolores closed her eyes. “I am alive, I am alive, I am alive,” Dolores repeated frantically, her voice quiet and shaking. It was a phrase she had embedded in her skull from the age of eight, the only phrase that seemed to rid of these creatures. Cold, bony fingers drag along her cheeks. She went rigid in place, turning her face away from the touch. Her bottom lip began to tremble, her teeth clattering in my mouth and eyes prickling with tears.   "Dol...ores..." it croaked out in a voice so hoarse that she barely recognized her own name. Slowly the creature removed it's fingers, the cold touch dissipating. The only sound let was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the far corner: no footsteps, no groaning. Dolores pried her eyes open, and she was once again alone in the mortuary, spare for the body of Miss Brown to her right. The flames on the candles slowly returned, and her pupil adjusted to the changing of lighting. Heaving in a breath, Dolores leaned the back of her head against the wall, sweat dripping down her temple. If it wasn’t for the doors that swung open behind her and sent her sliding across the cold tile beneath her, she might have just lost consciousness.

It is no longer Monday but I am very gently poking @indigowriting @zestymimblo @sam-glade @captain-kraken and @elshells. If any of you already did this please link it in the comments I love reading all your WIPs!

—M. Warrin

[ning2lilac]

SUPER SHY; PARK JISUNG

CHAPTER 01: I AM NOT THAT LAME

masterlist

PAIRINGS: park jisung x fem!reader

TAGS: slow burn, fluff, humour, college au, smau, a lot of chenle's pov too, both characters are shy

UPDATES PLAN: Mondays and Tuesdays

next

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Silver Linings, Chapter Five

Word Count:  2789

TW:  Implications of domestic violence, but nothing explicit.

AN:  Part of a series.  The series masterlist here.

Rafael was busy with his usual slate of cases and his usual navigation of the political machine he worked in.  On top of that, Liv had been kidnapped by William Lewis and was spiraling in the aftermath of that nightmare.  He stepped in where he could, meeting her for drinks and dinners to offer support, paltry though it may be.  The rest of the world fell away as his life became centered around work and his friend’s recovery.

Until one Monday when he came into the office, and you were sitting in Carmen’s seat, listening to voicemails and taking down messages.  He did a double-take, but it was you.

You looked up as he walked in and gave him a smile, then hung up the phone.  “Good morning,” you said.  He must have looked confused, because you tilted your head at him and added, “I’m covering for Carmen.”  A beat passed as you gazed at his incomprehension.  “She’s on vacation….”

“Right, of course.”  He remembered Carmen mentioning it a few weeks prior, but the fact had obviously washed right over him.  

“Anyway, here’s your messages,” you said.  You held out the slips of paper, and he took them and started for his office.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” you called out behind him, and his mind reeled at the week before him.

*****

You obviously had a terrible read on men.

To be fair, you’d only ever been with one man – your ex, Mark.  You started dating when you were fourteen and had been together for twelve years before you got the courage to leave him.

In those twelve years, though, Mark had obviously warped your perception of yourself.  Intellectually, it made sense.  Mark would swing between accusing you of flirting with every man that crossed your path or assuring you that you were trash, no one would love you, and that you were lucky he even bothered to keep you around.

You could have sworn that Mr. Barba liked you.  You felt it in your gut, and you were learning to trust that.  But you were clearly wrong when it came to him.

On Monday, you gave him your phone number and told him to call you if there was an emergency, or anytime, really.  He had just taken it from you with a nod.

On Tuesday, you told him that you liked his suit.  He said, “thanks.”  Then you wished him luck at arraignment, and he said “thanks” again.

On Wednesday, you stood over him as he sat at his desk and pointed out all the places he had to sign on the pile of documents you had.  He didn’t even look up at you once, even when you made a lame joke about lawyers not reading what they signed.  

On Thursday, you asked about the coming weekend and if he had plans, and he just responded with “not really.”  You had hoped it would spark a conversation, like the ones you had when he came to Rose’s office for your infrequent coffee breaks, but he remained rigidly formal and refused to engage in small talk.

Finally, on Friday, you took matters into your own hands.

It was mid-afternoon – that period of the day when lunch was in the bloodstream and making people drowsy.  You knocked on the doorjamb of Mr. Barba’s office, and when he looked up from his paperwork, you took a few steps in.

“I was wondering,” you started, and you paused.  Your mouth felt dry suddenly, and your hands were clammy with nervous sweat.  “I was wondering if you’d like to go get a coffee sometime?”

“Sure,” he said, and he dropped his pen and stood up.  You smiled, felt a wave of relief and a sharper sort of flutter in your stomach.  

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his money clip.  He peeled off a twenty and held it out for you. Confused, but on autopilot, you walked over and took it from him.

“I’ll take a red-eye, large.  Cream, no sugar.”  He tucked his clip away and sat back down.  “Get yourself something too.”

Disappointment shot through with faint horror washed over you, but the handsome ADA was already bent back over his work.  You left his office, grabbed your purse, and made your way outside.  You got his coffee, paid, received your change.  

You felt like a complete idiot.

Back in the office, you knocked on the doorjamb again and walked over to his desk to hand him his coffee.  You reached into your pocket and handed him the paper change, then dug out the few coins and just tossed those in front of him on his desk.

He looked down at the change and seemed to mentally tally it.  “You get yourself something?” he asked.

You turned on your heel.  “No,” you said, and you knew you sounded short and you didn’t even care.

*****

Rafael realized way too late that he’d messed up.

He thought he was being professional, and while having you cover for Carmen seemed great in the abstract, he was uncomfortably aware that he was your boss for the week.  After all he had seen with SVU, he felt uneasy about the possible power dynamics.

Professionally, you seemed grossly overqualified.  You were quick, efficient, and you seemed to know more about the law than an assistant should.  He thought, a bit meanly, that you were wasted on a junior ADA.

Personally, you were like a ray of sunshine sitting outside his office.  He heard you joke around and laugh with the people who crossed his threshold, including the SVU squad, and he tried to ignore the bolt of envy that hit him when he saw you talking and smiling with Amaro.  

And it gave him something to look forward to, knowing that he’d see you every day, all day, instead of rarely and sporadically – even if it made him faintly uncomfortable at the same time.

The week limped along, and Rafael kept you at arm’s length, and it wasn’t until you tossed his coinage at him that he realized he had messed up.  He had been so concerned about not acting or appearing to act a certain way that he completely missed how you were acting.

He replayed that Friday over and over in his head, realizing way too late that you had asked him out….and that he had responded by handing you money like you were an errand girl.

He had realized it that Friday, had pieced it together as he sipped his coffee and as you sat at Carmen’s desk, running out the last few hours with him in silence.  At five o’clock exactly, he heard you turn off the computer and lock up Carmen’s desk, and he waited for you to knock and ask if he needed anything else before you left.

That day, though, you didn’t.  All he heard was you walking out of the office suite, the door shutting behind you.

-----  

When Rafael didn’t try to run into you at work, his twenty percent success rate sank all the way down to nearly zero.  

The few times he saw you coming or going, you only nodded at him with a slight smile and then ducked your head, pretending to be engrossed in your phone until the elevator deposited you on your floor or the lobby.  If you were both leaving, you found a reason to hang back until he was gone.  

He knew this because he hung back a few times, ducking outside behind the newsstand until you emerged from the building and made your way towards the subway.

He realized that you were probably embarrassed, but he felt doubly so.  You had asked him out.  You had lobbed a nice, slow pitch over the plate at him, and just like his abortive Little League career, he had completely whiffed on it.

-----

Rafael was standing near his office door, chatting with Rollins and Liv when Carmen’s phone rang.  She answered it, her voice crisply professional, but then she said “oh hey.”  She said your name, and she dropped the proficient tone.  Rafael’s ears tuned in to the phone conversation, and he nodded distractedly as Liv and Rollins kept talking.

“Sure,” he heard Carmen say.  “I’m about to head over to the notary, but help yourself.”  Then she hung up and stood up.  She scooped up a pile of papers and made her way toward the elevator.  Liv and Rollins, armed with permission to keep pursuing a new case, left too.

He was back at this desk when he heard Carmen return.  He took a piece of mail that needed sent out, but when he exited his own office, it wasn’t Carmen at her desk – it was you.  You were bent over, rifling through her top drawer until you found what you were looking for.  When you straightened up and saw him, you startled a bit and looked guilty.

“Carmen said it was fine,” you said, and you sounded a little defensive.  You held up a bottle of ibuprofen.

Rafael held his hands up as if to say he was it was fine with him too.  He looked at you as you fiddled with the child-proof lid.  You were in a crisp white blouse with cap-sleeves and a blue skirt with sharp knife pleats.  Your hair was braided and pinned away from your neck, probably due to the stifling heat and humidity that was enveloping the city.  It was raining today though, a thunderous storm that had rolled in fast from the northwest, the clouds so dark that it looked like it was evening outside.  A few errant strands of hair coiled against the nape of your neck, curled from the extreme humidity.

You looked peaked, a bit wan under your minimal makeup.  He watched you struggle with the medicine bottle, and he noticed a tension around your eyes and mouth.  He came over to you and held his hand out, and you handed him the bottle with a small, grateful smile.  He got the lid off and handed it back to you.

“Thanks,” you said, and your voice sounded tight too.  You shook out two capsules, paused, and then shook out a third.  Rafael winced at the overdose, then winced again when you threw them back and swallowed them dry and with a grimace.  You had to be hurting.

“Rough day?” he asked.

You nodded.  

“Out late partying?”

You shook your head, and hesitated for answering.  “I’ve broken some bones,” you said.  “They ache during storms like this.”  Your right hand drifted to your left forearm, almost unconsciously, and you cradled it against you.  Rafael had noticed a scar there, a silvery line, when you’d covered for Carmen that week.

“Did you have a previous life as a stunt woman?” he asked, his tone lightly teasing.

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.  “Something like that.”  You put the ibuprofen back in the desk drawer, then stepped out from around the desk.  “Have a good afternoon,” you told him without looking at him, and it didn’t have its usual cheerful edge.  And you walked away stiffly, like parts of you other than your arm hurt too.

He passed the rest of the afternoon in thoughtful silence as he caught up on paperwork, but he shocked Carmen by heading out early.    

Instead of leaving, though, he went down a floor and down the familiar hallway.  He caught you just as you were shutting down your computer.  He knocked on the door and watched as you looked up and gave him a smile that seemed tired.

“Hey Mr. Barba,” you said.  “Rose is already gone.  She has an early day tomorrow in Albany.”

He ignored that.  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

You shrugged.  “Better, I guess.”

He watched you slide out of your low heels and into your rain boots.  He watched you gather up your bag and umbrella.  Then you looked at him.  

“Do you need something else?” you asked.

“Let me drive you home,” he replied.  When you started to shake your head, he went into lawyer-mode, pointing out the obvious reasons why you should accept:  it was still pouring out, you were in pain.  “I live two streets over from you.  It’s on my way,” he added.  “And I owe you for letting me use your Netflix account.”

This made you smile, and it almost reached your eyes this time.  “You’ve never used it,” you retorted.  “I’ve never gotten the dual log-in email notification.”

“Only because I don’t know how to set up my own profile, and you were pretty clear about that point,” he said.  He reached out and took your bag and umbrella from you, then swept his hand out towards the exit to show you the way.  “After you.”

When you grinned at him then, it did reach your eyes, and you agreed to a ride with your thanks.

In the parking garage, he opened your door for you, and he didn’t miss your little hiss of pain as you settled in.

Traffic, with the rain, was at a standstill.  There was a self-conscious silence at first, and then some awkward questions back and forth about work and your respective schedules.  Then, a few blocks away from the courthouse, you fell into a more comfortable conversation.

He asked how you were settling into New York, and you told him that you volunteered with a shelter on the weekend, and that helped you get out of the house and exploring.  

“I still haven’t done any of the touristy stuff,” you said, and Rafael thought back to Callier’s comment about it being an easy date night.  “But I’ve been to a few Broadway plays, so maybe that counts.”

He perked up at that – Rafael loved the theater – and you told him about the last show you’d been to.

“I saw that a few months ago,” he said.

“I know,” you replied.  He turned and saw you smiling at him.  “I saw you with Detective Benson afterwards.”

“Why didn’t you say hello?”

“Eh, I didn’t want to interrupt your date,” you said.  “And I was in the cheap seats and stuck in the mob coming down the stairs.”

Rafael snorted at your word choice.  “It wasn’t a date, and if it was, it’d be the saddest date ever.  We went out for a nightcap afterwards and talked about a gang-rape case we were working on.”

You chuckled at that and then gazed out the window as traffic crawled forward.  You each interspersed the silence with polite questions – he asked you about your favorite plays and musicals, you asked him about places he recommended in the city.  Rafael glanced over at you from time to time and saw you absentmindedly rubbing your arm that you’d broken.  It was obviously still hurting you.

Eventually, he got to your street, and you pointed out your building.  It was a narrow brownstone, nice looking.  He pulled into a spot with a fire hydrant and shifted his car into park.  

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Barba,” you said, and when you reached for the door handle, he cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said.  He tapped you on your hand gently to stop you for a moment.  “Do you want to get a coffee sometime?”

You froze, and he heard you take a deep breath.  “That’s okay,” you said.  “You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he cut in.  You turned and looked at him, and your eyebrows were drawn together in confusion.  “I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while now,” is what he wanted to say.  Instead, he added, “I owe you for putting up with me for a whole week.”

“Oh,” you replied slowly, stretching out the “oh” sound.  “Okay then.”  

“Okay,” he repeated, relieved.  “Should I call you or…?”  He let the question trail off, and you laughed at that.

“I gave you my email and my number,” you chided him with a smile, and he returned it with his own embarrassed grin.  “And now you know where I live.  Do you need my work phone number or are you good now?”

“I’ll surprise you then.”  

“That sounds nice,” you replied.  You reached for the door handle again.  “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.  Until then.”

You gave him a broad smile, the one that made his chest tight, then exited the car, ducking against the rain.  He sat there long enough to watch you enter your building, and he caught you when you turned on your stoop to give him a wave.

Then he drove the last two streets home, his own smile so wide that it almost made his face hurt.

[mishkakagehishka]

don't know why senior skip day is being mentioned, wanted to mention that my high school had ours on Friday and I'm so mad I didn't skip. (We do our on Friday because then it's a Friday through Monday instead of Saturday through Tuesday). Unfortunately I can't afford to miss even a second of class time if I want to graduate lol. but yeah if the opportunity is there i've heard its great. i absolutely encourage anyone skip class the day of, even if just this once.

(I was one of 4 people who went to my Economics class. and there was only 1 other person in my math class. He was only there because his dad caught him trying to skip and he got forced to come to school.)

Owh that's so :( i feel like smth like that should def be counted as an allowed absence tho, it's so lame to not allow everyone to participate in a tradition

But same re: encouragement. The only reason why my parents allowed me to skip if "everyone else" also skipped was because the whole "be part of the community and make friends (and group skips always included going to a cafe or fast food joint together)" was just as important as the education part of school.

[draftmare]

Some of you may have noticed the sudden lack of pony on the blog lately, and it’s because unfortunately we have been working through some soundness issues that cropped up while I was off for my surgery. Vet has been out twice now. First time around we did a full lameness eval and imaging on her left stifle. Imaging showed not a huge difference between the left and right, but vet recommended we go ahead with injecting the stifle to see if we could get the lameness under control. At that point the lameness eval was showing a bit of a “chicken and egg” relationship between her being sore in her loin and lame in her stifle.

After 10-ish days she was looking just as lame as she had looked at the eval, so I reached out to the vet again. 10 days was when I was told I would start to know if the injection was going to be the “magic cure” we were hoping for. Vet recommended we x-ray the hock and go from there, so we set that up. On Saturday (three-weeks post injection) I noticed a significant improvement in soundness on the lunge line, but still not 100%. Monday the vet came out. Hock x-rays showed fairly normal hocks for a 14 year old. There were some minor changes, but no smoking gun, and nothing worth injecting. We also ruled out soft tissue injury based on other clinical presentations/signs. Vet noted that she felt Sydney was significantly more sore in her loin area than she has been at the initial lameness eval and suggested chiropractic adjustment and acupuncture treatment. She then gave me her blessing to ride the following day to see if things had progressed at all.

The ride on Tuesday (yesterday) Sydney felt great walk/trot (she had looked and felt great this entire time at the walk and trot), but canter still felt like garbage, so obviously still not sound. Not that I was expecting one chiro adjustment to fix all of our problems. Vet wants me to get a massage therapist involved and to also have my saddle triple checked by my saddle fitter. We think my swap to the Bates dressage saddle (it has now been side lined and I am back in the County for any test riding/light riding) may be our smoking gun, maybe, or maybe we are both just grasping at straws because the imaging for the entire leg is coming back squeaky clean. Our only other option, really, is to start blocking that leg and Sydney HATES needles near that leg. Like, has to be stoned out of her mind before a needle can get near that leg, and horses have to be fully awake during blocking procedures (she partially degloved that leg several years ago, and then re-injured it in THE EXACT SAME SPOT because WTF HOW two more times that required stitches and is now a pill about needles near her hind legs).