#spring does not = computer time

[d1rtguy]

Heartbreaking news: Local high school senior has exactly one (1) more essay to write before he can slack off until September. However he has been doom scrolling on tumblr the whole weekend.

[alittleemo]

.

[hedgehog-moss]

I'm happy to announce that Dru is no longer alone! Spring is here, baby chicks have hatched, and so I was able to get two new hens.

The first one (who, as per tradition, will receive a name on the day she lays her first egg) is your average red hen, already old enough to defend herself against hazing; and she seems very congenial to boot. It took some time for Dru to warm up to her former coopmate when I first brought her home, whereas she seemed to like this one immediately. She inspected her from every angle and deemed her very satisfactory.

From day one they were glued to each other all day long! It's sweet how the new, young hen seems to observe everything Drusilla does, which plants she decides to eat, etc, then earnestly imitates her. I bet Dru enjoys having such a studious disciple.

Dru and Louise used to sleep in the laying boxes rather than on the perches; each of them had laid claim to a different box so that they spent the night in separate cubicles with a wall between them; in contrast, when I went to check on them the first night, I found Dru and the new hen huddled up together on the same perch.

Moreover, when it came to seeking shelter from the elements, Dru and Louise used to sit on opposite sides of the outdoor table—whereas, when it snowed a little on Day 1 after the new hen arrived, I found her and Dru hiding under the table on the same side, quietly and companionably clucking to each other.

At which point one of my friends bravely said out loud what everyone was thinking:

And, I mean, the new hen just came out of her egg this year so the age gap with 5yo Dru is probably problematic in chicken years, but also this reminded me of the most wholesome image that lives in my computer (which balances it out):

But I did mention that I got two new hens. I wanted both of them to be 10-12 weeks-old, but unfortunately the neighbour I bought them from only had one hen left in this age range. He said I could take a younger chick, and I was reluctant at first because I didn't want her to be attacked by the older hens—I could keep them separated until she grew up a bit but wouldn't she get lonely?

(This is a complete digression, but while making small talk with this neighbour I mentioned that I've had a lot going on since the beginning of the year and I was a bit exhausted, and he said "Oh, you need some birch water" and took me to the nearest birch and offered me a drink from the tree. I loved this—every time I mention any kind of ailment to a neighbour, they all have their Elixir of Choice that will solve all my problems, be it special honey as a cough remedy or whatever homemade concoction they personally swear by.

So I went home with two bottles of birch water, and promised I would have a glass every morning.)

But let's go back to chickens. Like I said I didn't want to have a smaller chick along with two older ones, because chickens can be quite mean to more vulnerable members of their coop, but then I went to look at his young chicks and quickly developed a soul connection with one of them. She seemed solitary and had a glint of existential anguish in her eyes that I identified with. So I took her home.

I also liked the fact that her feet are currently longer than her body.

As expected, the older hens are pretty rough with her, so the chick currently spends the nights in the greenhouse where it's warm, and in the morning I transfer her to the coop.

Every morning I have to slalom between a dog and a cat during the Transfer of the Chick.

She gets a supervised visit with the other hens so they get to know each other, then I let the older hens out and the baby spends the day in the coop, where she can walk around and forage safely by herself.

I initially let her have access to the indoor part of the coop, but then realised that her tormented temperament resulted in her hiding from the world in the dark all day long, so I now close the little trap so she'll spend the day downstairs.

It was obvious that she longed to look at the world but was too anxious to do so on her own, so I gently placed her on the roof of her coop so she could have a better view of the pasture, with the llamas and donkeys grazing in the distance, and it blew her little mind.

I also worried she might fail to learn important chicken social codes if she didn't spend enough time with other chickens as a child (and she didn't seem very good at socialising with her age peers to begin with) so after letting her adapt to her new home for a bit I decided to take her out of the coop, on a leash (so she wouldn't run away into the woods), for some more supervised socialising.

The other hens were fairly nice to her, they seemed less interested in hazing her when everyone was outside of the coop, but her anxiety got the better of her and she just curled up into a tiny ball and tried to disappear.

If I were a hen in a coop, even an adult one, I would be intimidated by the other hens, especially the ones who are very close friends like Dru and the new girl seem to be, so I sympathised, and deposited the little chick on the outdoor table where I was about to have my afternoon tea. I gave her some grains to eat in my saucer and, like any self-respecting chicken would, she immediately stepped in it and made a mess.

She looked a lot more confident and adventurous on top of the table! I figured, since the other hens were foraging around the table while clucking to each other, this still counted as socialising, from a safe distance, for the little one. She was a bit wary of Pandolf at first, who was going round and round the table like a fluffy shark, hoping to get a glimpse of this new animal, but once she realised he just wanted to rest his long nose on the table and look at her adoringly, she stopped paying attention to him.

And after thoroughly exploring the table, trying to taste my mandarin and then my tea, having a look at the book I was reading and then at the other hens below her—and chirping her opinions continuously the whole time—she slowly ventured onto my lap and fell asleep :')

[ilium-ilia]

kiss the skin that crawls

john price x fem!reader | the surrogate au | masterlist

part one: help wanted

It starts with the shattering of iron. 

Manmade structures can only withstand the test of time for so long before nature swallows what was once hers. Arms growing, invading, reclaiming what was stolen. You’re very much aware that you are the problem as you stand in your bathroom, eyes glaring at your clogged shower drain, yet you only pity yourself. 

Tree roots, the plumber says. Common with these old houses, an old cottage just on the fringes of nowhere and somewhere, something that was bequeathed to you when your granny passed. Its charm is quaint, though far from opulent, you took it in a heartbeat, excited to start your life as a true adult. Yet, after all these years, you’ve yet to find a partner to settle down with, or a job that pays you well enough to travel the world, and now you’re footed with a bill that reminds you just what it means to be an adult. 

You pick up more hours at work—as many as you can from a remote position, anyway. Tapping away on your computer, trying not to shiver too much from your drafty windows, you chip away at the cost bit by bit. Eating away decay. Willing it away in an attempt to have your dream home. You tear down the floral wallpaper in your office and coat it with a shade of green that reminds you of old copper—a patina that lingers on your fingertips—all while pretending that the bathroom sink isn’t leaking half your wells worth of water. You pretend that your drops in the ocean make a difference; a ripple large enough to feel. 

Of course, something else shatters. 

Ancient windows crack. The gap between the front door and its frame is too big. Electricity and gas blows through your bank account worse than groceries. You’ve cut your hands on the logs you tried to chop for the fireplace. When winter bleeds into spring and summer, the heat is unbearable—stuck in a furnace that cooks you, tender flesh and all, you are dying in this home. Alone, working to fix every chip that cracks from the stones that build your house; you need something more. A breakthrough, a promotion, a favor. 

Salvation presents itself to you on your third hour of browsing online forums and social media for odd jobs. Mind rotten from pyramid schemes and near slave labor, you almost miss the post entirely. Her name is Kate Laswell, and she has—perhaps—the oddest job of them all; a need for a surrogate for her and her wife. 

Initially, your eyes gloss over the post. Pregnancy is exhausting, and with the state your home is in, the last thing you need to do is get pregnant—lumbering around, swollen like a balloon, attempting to make renovations on your dilapidating cottage. If you were at any other time in your life—more settled, steadier—maybe you’d seriously consider it. 

All your qualms dissipate the moment you read the foot of the post. 

Compensation starts at £100,000.

The zeros are almost more than you can count—more than you can comprehend. It burns into your eyes, urging your fingers to twitch. How anyone could afford to pay this much is beyond you, but you suppose children are expensive either way; certainly it’s nothing to this woman and her wife. 

With that type of money, you wouldn’t even have to do the renovations yourself. 

After an evening of deliberating, you blindly decide to shoot off a private message to Kate Laswell. Her profile is odd—void, and blank. No pictures, hardly any posts. You tell yourself it’s likely a scam, and you’ll receive some sketchy link back from her during some odd hour in the night, if you even get anything in response at all. Yet when you wake in the morning, that pictureless account has sent you a message in response: 

We would like to speak with you in person. When can you meet? 

Stupidly, you meet with Kate and Lottie Laswell the following weekend deep in the heart of London in the cozy embrace of a coffee shop that does nothing to settle your nerves. Caffeine is thick in the air, nestling in the weaving of your clothes, sticking to your hair and skin. Though you’ve never seen Kate before, you recognize her instantly. Her stern, straightforward gaze beams at you from beneath her mousy brown fringe the moment you walk through the door, prompting you to awkwardly wave in greeting before she motions you over to the table. 

If Kate Laswell is the moon, then her wife, Lottie, is the sun. Her bright blonde hair scintillates, and it only grows in intensity in the sunlight that seeps through the perforated curtains drawn over the window on her right. Pale blue eyes framed by florid cheeks crease as you take your seat across from them, and you note the way she buzzes in her seat, hands politely folded on the table, manicured nails tapping against the wood grain at her fingertips. She tilts her head to the side, soaking you in, and her smile only widens. 

“It’s so nice to meet you.” Her voice is pitchy—draws long and soft. She’s American, you realize. Southern, you think. Blinking in surprise, you return the gesture. 

Though Kate is kind and cordial, she is much more business oriented than her wife. Once curt introductions are out of the way, she gets on with her questions. Her low, even tone and keen eyes have you sweating—this feels more like an interrogation than an interview. She asks everything about you, prodding the deepest part of you, poking your skin just to see how far she can push before you wince. Her questions about your health history and sex life come blunt, and it pairs oddly with Lottie’s airy giggles, but as the questioning drones on and you see more nods of approval from Kate, you find your nerves slowly mending themselves back together again. 

Eventually the questions fade into something softer—easier to spit out. Tastier to swallow. They ask you about your life; the hobbies you partake in and the work you do. How your family is, and if you’ve been well. You tell them about the garden you attempt to keep in the flowerbeds lining the cottage, and the administrative tasks you do and the office you just painted. You try to avoid the topic of your home—the isolation, the exhaustion, the yearning—so you slap your life with buttercream frosting and pray it doesn’t melt under the heat of the conversation.

They indulge you when you ask questions about themselves, too. Lottie stays at home—has been dreaming of a child to dote after for ages—but she bakes for shelters and spends time volunteering at their local retirement home. It fits her, you think. Her bubbly attitude, the bright sheen in her pale eyes; a literal princess among mongrels. The patience of a saint, but with a wit sharper than most tongues you’ve seen.

“I work for an intelligence agency,” is all Kate says when the conversation points towards her. It’s stiff—firm enough for you to not question any further. 

“So, what made you interested in being our surrogate?” Lottie cuts in, saving you the grief of backpedaling. 

“Oh,” you chirp. Your explanation gets caught in your throat as a rosy heat settles at the base of your neck. Embarrassment. Evil, vile—you hate begging. Crawling, groveling. “If I’m being honest, really, it was… well, the payment…”

Kate nods in agreement, hands curling around her coffee mug, though the liquid has long since gone cold. “There’s no shame in that. It’s a big favor that we’re asking for, and we have the means to compensate accordingly.” 

She reads you like a book, and despite all your flaws, welcomes you. It comforts you knowing how strictly professional this is—you have no skin in the game. Nothing to hold on to. You’re simply being a good person. Doing a good deed. Helping their dreams come to fruition. In turn, they help you with yours—an equal exchange. 

“So, what made the two of you come to England?” you prompt, leaning back in your seat. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve noticed the accents. Did you two move here recently?” 

“What, oh no,” Lottie giggles, hand floating in the air, waving as if pushing away the very notion. “Oh no, I don’t think I could ever leave Georgia.” 

“The donor lives here,” Kate explains simply. “Figured it would be easier to coordinate with a surrogate who lived nearby.” 

You nod, but it’s not enough to knock the confusion free from your brain. It’s visible on your face—your question. How you place two and two together; why would you need to be close to the donor? 

Before your mind can wander too far into that hole, Kate interjects. “We like meeting everyone in person. To ensure that it’s done right.” Then, her hands release her mug. “But he’s an individual I’ve worked with several times before. He’s a good man. Someone I trust.” 

“I imagine trust doesn’t come easy for someone in your line of work,” you quip. 

Kate cracks the first real smile you think you’ve seen from her this entire interview. “You’d be right.” 

“Oh, John’s such a great man. He’s been nothin’ short of sweet to us,” Lottie chimes in. As if suddenly remembering something, she begins to rustle through her purse until she successfully fishes out her phone. “We’ve been staying in a rental while we’re here—a beautiful thing—but we had some issues with the sink and cupboards and look! Fixed them right up for us, good as new!” 

She turns the phone towards you, revealing the kitchen and attached dining room that lies in their rental. Scrolling through a few pictures, you spot the before and after of their mini house project, and you try not to turn green with envy. Unhinged cupboards quickly screwed back into place, water damage mopped clean and patched up, good as new—almost every issue that’s been plaguing you in your cottage has come and gone within a blink of an eye for them, all while you’ve struggled to gather the means and the skills to bestow such a fortune like that upon yourself. 

Then, you see it—

—him. 

There, in the back, leaning against the granite countertops, blue jeans sitting on his hips, this donor—this John—wipes his hands off on a tea towel with a tight lipped smile. Thick patches of dark, coarse hair line his arms in hatch marks, thickening towards the swell of his forearms as he dries his thick fingers off with cotton. His head is lowered as if in prayer, crows feet on display, obscuring the color of his eyes, but you see the way his trimmed beard lines his jaw and upper lip, how it blends into the inky locks of his hair. 

He’s a large man—you note the way his iliac crest rests on top of the counter rather than beside or below it, a towering creature with a soft smile that stands out against his broad frame. Swelling biceps, flexing fingers—

“Such a beautiful rental,” you comment before your mind can wander any further. 

The sharp corners of Lottie’s cupid’s bow flattens as she clicks her phone off, lips curling into a near-smirk. “We’re having dinner tomorrow night at our place with John. Just a little get together is all, but we’d love it if you joined. Might be easier to flesh out all the details with everyone together. I promise I’ll cook you up the best chicken pot pie you’ve ever tasted.” 

Something tickles the back of your mind. It unsettles, wiggles, writhes where it shouldn’t. You feel how it crawls around on the inside of your cranium, slices through your brain and prods at the back of your tongue—it’s incessant. It urges you to speak before you can even think of the words. Meeting with donors—having the donors meet together... 

Then your mind thinks of that number. The zeros make your head spin, jumbles it up enough that you don’t even bother to question the circumstance or terms and conditions before you’re nodding. 

“Dinner sounds perfect.”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here

[rackartyg]

the further i get into my degree the less i feel i understand

[moongreenlight]

Ex Husband!Price who still comes over and shovels your driveway every time it snows. But then you feel bad because he comes into the mud room every fifteen minutes to warm up so when he’s done you insist he stays for a hot meal.

But then he helps clean up. Does the dishes and shoos you away when you tell him he really doesn’t need to do all that.

Even worse if you have kids!! They’re thrilled that dad is around so they beg you to let him stay to watch a movie or play a few rounds of their video game. Of course you say yes. Who are you to take him away from the kids?

But then it’s late and he’s wound up carrying the kids up to their beds and tucking them in because they’d already fallen asleep on the couch. You say your goodbyes and honestly it’s a little bittersweet because it’s been such a surprisingly good evening.

But when he tries to leave the driveway’s already gotten all snowy again and you’d hate to be worrying about him driving home in these conditions so you offer him a spot on the couch swearing it’s only for tonight.

But then you get to talking about schedules and the kids sports they’re signing up to play and he winds up walking you to your room so you can just finish your thought about how the two of you should split the costs for the sports your kids are doing in the spring.

But once you’re in your bedroom you remember that you’ve been meaning to ask him about something on your computer so you leave him with your laptop while you get changed.

But then oh noooo he comes into the closet to ask you for a password and catches you pulling on the top of your pajamas. You’re mortified. He says it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

Somewhere in between deciding if you’ll drive to or pick up from practice on Thursdays, his hands start to wander. Resting over your sex from over a pair of flannel pajama pants. Usually, you’d tell him off. Monologue about how this isn’t how things work because it complicated things and you both need to set boundaries. But tonight you don’t.

Maybe it’s because you had two heavy-handed pours of your favorite wine with dinner. Maybe it was seeing him with your kids again. Maybe it had just been too long since you’d felt anything other than a cheap bullet vibrator.

So you let him slip his hand down your pants.

But it’s a bit jarring to feel his wedding band still on his finger.

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 4.5

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter warnings: porn with some plot kinda, this yoongi is very horny and is a very methodical masturbator (?) in the way he set the mood for himself (could be canon, amirite), let’s fix that boner you left him with, and let’s soothe your weary minds from that Dispatch article, POV switch after the article headline, idk if you know that one video of yoongi in d-day during the piano break in life goes on he does this thing with his tongue… it’s written in here somewhere

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 1.5k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: December 15, 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ A/N: Surprise! I kid you not, this was written within a span of like 8 hours? So if it sucks, that’s probably why, lol. Lucky for y’all I am too impatient to wait for notes milestones before I upload the next part, so here you go. 🎁 Also, @glossdebut, you know what you did. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |  Masterlist

“Fuck me…” Yoongi sighs, leaning further back into the computer chair. He runs both hands through his hair as the preliminary pinpricks of pleasure makes his cock spring to life under his sweatpants.

His phone is now propped on his half-empty coffee mug, of which the screen—maxed out in its brightness settings—is projecting the photo you sent through its 2x dynamic galaxy amoled display—of which his dick would personally like to thank his Samsung sponsors.

He is so horny he might just die if he doesn’t get off in the next five minutes. 

It’s your fault. Of course, it is.

God you’re so fucking sexy, do you even know that? Do you even realize what you do to him? He is literally about to masturbate in his multi-million won worth studio to the pitiful pixels you have afforded him with.

He stands up, curses you under his breath as he pulls his pants down to pool around his ankles. He drops to his chair, about to slip a clammy hand inside his boxers when he decides to adjust the view juuuust a little, zooming the photo closer…closer…  and that’s it.

Just the view he needs. (Sue him for having astigmatism.)

He grabs the aircon remote and adjusts the temp to a balmy 24 ‘cause it’d be hella annoying if he can’t get hard because his studio is an igloo.

Some velvety track with soft percussions filter out from his speakers.

A pump of lube from his hidden drawer, wet wipes at the ready for the inevitable clean up, and he’s off to the fuckin’ races. 

His fist wraps the base of his cock, coating his entire shaft with the gel. It's cold, but it immediately warms up to his body temperature as his palm slides up and down his semi. 

Greedy eyes rake your body on his phone screen. Your tits. They’re a vision. He can see just the ghost of your nipples, peaking in the slightest way against your silky top and suddenly his mouth is dry. What would they look like if they’re not hiding from him? For sure they’re puffy. Pretty jet-puffed marshmallows that he’s gonna be putting in his mouth and sucking until you’re falling apart and creaming with just that. He smirks. Yeah, he could do that.

He tugs at his cock faster, licking his bottom lip as he imagines the texture of your pebbled nipples against his tongue. He shivers, increasing the pace of his ministrations, cock now fully hard.

Back to the photo.

Huh. You knew what you were doing—squeezing your breast with your hand. The way the mound of flesh is about to spill over, and your areola is just kissing the edge of the fabric is actually killing him. It’s diabolical. Pure torture.

Had you been here, he’s scooping out that breast, the one you’re holding out to him, so it’s hanging generously from your top, wobbling as he bounces you on his fat dick. 

He feels his eyes crossing, caught in the spell of the hypnotic movements playing out in his mind. He moves his hand faster, cock throbbing and aching for release.

But he’s not there yet.

Closing his eyes, Yoongi lets himself sink back into the memory, rewinding the moments from just hours ago. The sensation of your weight against him is the first thing he recalls—the way your ass fits so perfectly in his lap, warm and soft, like you were made to be there. The way your body had melted into his touch, so pliant, so eager, grinding slightly like you were inviting him to ruin you, and he was more than willing to oblige.

Your lips—he can still taste them if he focuses hard enough—sweet, intoxicating, like the lingering memory of his favorite whisky. And your neck, the way it arched so perfectly for him, leaving him no choice but to press his mouth against it, the faint hint of your skin still ghosting on his lips even now.

If he concentrates, he can almost smell you again, that sweet, delicate perfume that drove him insane. It’s like you’ve imprinted yourself on him. Or maybe it’s the faint traces of your scent that linger on his hoodie, the one you pressed yourself into while straddling him and he could feel the perfect ass against his crotch. 

The thought is enough to send his pulse ticking faster, his head leaning back against the chair as a low, frustrated groan escapes him. He needs you. Fervently. Urgently. Needs you like he has never needed another person ever. 

Jaw slack, tongue dangling from the corner of his mouth, he imagines licking your nipples from side to side and his mouth stretches into a smile. He can almost hear you moan oh yoongi and wow what an ego boost to have you unraveling for him when in reality it’s he who is actually unraveling in his own damn hands. His cock is getting heavier, balls tighter at his impending demise. He tugs and tugs, collecting some of the lube that gathered on the base and pushing it back towards his angry tip, concentrating his movements there.

You’re not in the room but you might as well be with the way your name keeps tumbling from his lips. He is whining like a little bitch in heat, but he doesn’t give a shit. He hasn’t had a satisfying jerk-off like this in a while. He can’t even remember sex being this good. Nothing remotely like the way this fog of lust has him ascending to another plane of existence right now, because you’re so fucking sexy and so good to him and he likes you so damn much and suddenly he’s coming, warm spurts of cum oozes from his throbbing cock decorating his fingers like the rings he used to wear to the knuckle, and fuck he’s still going, there’s so much and god dammit his boxers are soaked but it feels phenomenal.

Chest heaving as if he ran a marathon, he stares at his ceiling, waiting for his heart rate to slow down.

Not long after, he laughs at his stupidity, pulling a wipe from the packet and proceeds to clean up. He sobers up from his horny thoughts, but not by a whole lot. Not when the photo that started it all is still bright and beautiful from his phone. Shit. He cannot wait to fuck you for real. 

Little did he know, something was gonna fuck him up come morning.

AllKpop Scoop:

Confirmed: SUGA of BTS Dating Actress Lee Sung Kyung

Eagle-eyed fans are convinced the duo has been hiding their relationship in plain sight, pointing to their undeniable chemistry during a past Suchwita episode, where sparks were reportedly flying between the two.

The story was everywhere. News sites, entertainment shows, gossip columns, social media—each one milking it for all it was worth. 

Darling of the press, K-drama royalty, multi-awarded thespian Lee Sung Kyung, had resurfaced from her mysterious hiatus, and of course, the headlines couldn’t resist pairing her name with “infamous idol Min Yoongi.” You roll your eyes so far back your head they almost didn’t come back.

The South Korean media was having an absolute field day.

And as much as it hurt to see it, your first instinct wasn’t to dwell on the sting of the rumors. It was to scan every word, every post, every thread, checking if Haneul had been dragged into the mess.

Thankfully, he hadn’t been. You’d be devastated if your little sarang had been implicated in any of these stories. You don’t know the first thing about how to protect the poor baby from these trolls, but you will be damned if you don’t try.

The photo that sparked the frenzy was everywhere—a shot of Sung Kyung leaving Yoongi’s Hannam apartment. That was it. No Yoongi, no Haneul, not even a hint of context. Never mind that the building housed countless tenants or that there was zero proof they were together. It was enough to send the internet spiraling into speculation.

You were scrolling through the comments under one of the reposts, your stomach churning at the sheer creativity of the assumptions being thrown around, when your screen suddenly switched to an incoming call.

Yoongi.

You didn’t hesitate, swiping to pick up almost immediately.

“Sarang,” he starts, his voice soft and familiar, like he already knows he needs to tread lightly. Bro’s really starting with the buttering up.

“Where’s Han?” Was your first question.

“My parents drove him up to Daegu this morning. It’s better if he’s there for now.”

You let out a heavy sigh, rubbing your temple as you sit back. “Just answer one question, Yoongi: is it true or not?”

“It’s a big fuckin’ lie,” he says without missing a beat, his voice steady and firm. “None of it is true.”

“So it’s all bullshit?”

“YES.” he replies emphatically.

The tension in your shoulders eases slightly, and you exhale, nodding to yourself. This is fine for now. “Okay.”

“Okay?” There’s a note of uncertainty in his voice, like he wasn’t expecting you to let it go so easily.

“Yes. Just get your ass here by 7 and not a minute later.” You say, firm.

A pause. Then, with the faintest hint of a chuckle, he replies, “Yes, ma’am.”

Part Five >

A/N: So???? I don't know what that first part was. It just took a life of its own. Anyway, as per ush, please let me know what you thought about the chapter. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you so much for reading this, you lovely, beautiful human xo

See you in the next half! :)

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[1d1195]

Traditional - Extra IX

Read Traditional here | ~3.1k words

From Me: Just been a while since we've seen them. I have to tell you there's only two planned extras left for this one 🥲 Also, the taglist for this post is insane 💕 Bear with me!

Warnings: SEXTRA SMUT 18+ only - breeding kink, oral (for her), unprotected shower sex

Summary: It's that time of year again and Harry is grumpy and tired. But he's also been neglecting the poor woman that means everything to him. He has no choice but to make it up to her.

The same fiscal quarter was brutal each year. It had been since Harry started the company, but even more so since he thought he was going to have to lay people off. It was like a reminder or anniversary of the shitty year and time he yelled at her, fired Niall, broke her arm, all that awful stuff.

This year wasn’t as bad; but still made for long nights at the office. Long work calls. All that. Everyone was still on edge because Harry was still grumpy the way he seemed to be at this time of year.

There was a knock on his door, and it was very possible that he had been in the office for twenty-four hours. He didn’t remember going home and falling into bed beside her. “Hey kitten,” he mumbled without looking up from his screen. His gaze briefly flicked to the time in the corner of his current window which read quarter after one. So, it had to be her.

“Baby,” there was a frown in her voice and Harry wished he could tear his gaze from the computer for a second to confirm it, but he was too invested in his task. There wasn’t time to look up at her. “Harry, please,” she whispered much closer to him. “Did you sleep?” Her hand felt cool and nice on his face. He still hadn’t looked up at her. She sounded so pretty, so nice. It was hard not to look at her. But he was also exhausted. “Harry, baby,” her voice was so soft. His hands left his keyboard. He felt exhausted. His eyes fluttered a bit. “Harry,” that frown in her voice was back and finally he could make her out. She was a little fuzzy. But Harry didn’t need glasses, so he wasn’t too sure why. “Drink this,” she ordered, and a straw was at his lips. He sipped. It was perhaps the best water he ever drank. It tasted fresh from a spring, and he knew it simply came from the water cooler in the break room.

“Is he alright?” Niall asked.

“I don’t know,” she ran her hand across his face. “Harry?” She asked.

“Hi,” he murmured. “Y’look pretty. And fuzzy.”

“Alright, Harry,” Niall grunted helping Harry to his feet. “Time to get some sleep.”

“I have to—” He started to protest as he wobbled unsteadily toward the couch. Niall dropped him to the cushions.

“You are going to work yourself to death and you’re not married so she can’t even be a rich widow, so no. You don’t have to do anything but sleep. Darling, tuck him in or whatever it is you do to make him sleep. Unless it’s naughty, then wait till I leave.”

“Niall Horan,” her tone was sharper.

“I don’t fall asleep when she does naughty things t’me,” he mumbled, exhaustion dripping on every word.

“Go to sleep, Harry,” her tone was less sharp than she just spoke to Niall, but it was clear she wasn’t discussing it anymore.

“Quite tame,” Niall mumbled.

“Get out!”

“Ow!” He grumbled. “Your girlfriend is mean.”

“Good,” he yawned and before he could hear more of their banter any longer, he was asleep. No kiss or tucking in of any kind necessary.

*

Harry woke up in almost pure darkness if it weren’t for the subtle desk lamp across the room. It was from her office, situated on the small side table. His head felt huge. Like a hangover. “Ah,” he groaned rubbing his temples. Slowly he got up. Now he felt drunk as he walked across the room. Medicine, a glass of water, and a note was beside the lamp.

Do NOT drive yourself home. Take the meds. Sleep more if you need to. Do NOT open your computer. I’ve set it to self-destruct before a certain time.

I love you. (I know; say it again) I love you.

He grinned to himself and followed her directions. He felt significantly better. His vision wasn’t fuzzy any longer and he felt confident he could verbally spar with Niall about the naughty comment a little more forcefully. He texted the driving company for a car and headed toward the bottom floor to get his ride home.

He opened the door quietly in case she was sleeping. The lights were off in the main room, and he headed down the hall toward the bedroom where a strip of light came from the bathroom. It was a bit late for a shower, but sounded like a good idea nonetheless.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered.

Harry did not like the sound of that coming out of her without him inside her. Before he could even fully let the anger simmer, before he could work out every worst-case scenario in his head, he slapped the door open.

“Jesus!” She shouted and dropped the handheld shower head from her grip.

He glanced around confirming she was alone. “Oh my God, did you think someone was in here with me?!”

“No, ‘course not,” he shook his head. Because he didn’t. Truly. He was just a mess and exhausted. “M’jus not... no, m’not thinking clearly... what were y’doing?” Harry thought that maybe she was blushing harder than she would have had she been caught with someone else.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, uselessly. She bent to get the shower head and placed it back in the cradle.

But Harry knew every sound she made. He knew when she was close to coming and when she wasn’t. He knew every kind of whimpering and moaning noise that left her lips and which one was a precursor for each kind of orgasm he could give her. “Did I interrupt?” He asked quietly.

“No,” she answered again very quickly.

Harry was scanning her from head to toe. Her pretty body was wet and steamy from the shower. He stepped closer to the shower. “What were y’doing, kitten?” He asked quietly. His voice low as she turned away from him grabbing her body wash. His eyes landed on her pretty bum. He wanted to join her very badly, but he wanted his answer too. “M’pretty sure I already know, so y’may as well tell me,” he reminded her. “You’re only jus lathering up so m’thinking y’didn’t need t’use the shower head. Unless it was for something that wasn’t for washing,” he was standing in front of the glass, but she didn’t turn to look at him. He watched her hands slide the loofa across her making her sudsy and something he’d think about on the business trips she couldn’t go with him while he couldn’t sleep.

“Then I don’t think I need to give you an answer...if you already know,” she mumbled still facing the wall.

Harry felt his dick hardening at the idea of her getting herself off in the shower. “Why’s that, kitten?”

“I thought you were sleeping at your office.”

“Mm, I did, thank you for making me, beautiful. I needed t’sleep,” he mumbled. “So why does that make a difference for what you’re doing to your pretty body?” Harry kicked his shoes off, undid his belt, letting his pants drop to the floor in a heap. He watched as she remained unmoved from facing the wall. “How come y’won’t look at me, kitten?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“That y’were getting yourself off? S’pretty hot if y’ask me,” he tugged his shirt over his head. “Do y’do that often?” He asked.

“No...” she mumbled but it sounded like she was lying.

“No,” he repeated. “Y’sure?”

“When you’re not around...like on a business trip, sometimes I do,” she admitted quietly.

“Good,” he stepped into the shower placing his hands on the outside of her hips. “Why are y’doing it now, then?” He asked. He pushed her wet hair to one side and dipped his head to kiss the curve of her neck and shoulder. “Mm,” he sighed.

“It’s... um... been busy,” she whispered.

“What’s been busy? Work? D’you have too much on your plate?”

“No... you do. We...” she swallowed nervously. “We haven’t really had time to ourselves... in a while.”

Harry blinked thinking about the last time he saw her coming on his dick, his mouth, his fingers. It had been a while, and he didn’t even notice.

“Oh,” he murmured against her skin. “Have I been neglecting you, kitten?” He tutted, his hand sliding down the front of her hip and toward the apex of her thighs. “Y’miss me?”

“Mmm,” she hummed relaxing into his chest.

“M’so sorry, kitten. S’been crazy, yeah? Should always have time for you. Poor thing, y’had t’take care of you all by yourself, hmm?” his fingers dipped lower finding where the showerhead had been massaging her just moments before.

“Oh,” she whimpered. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know you—”

“No, but you’re m’priority. I should have noticed. Bet you’ve been aching huh, kitten?” His lips grazed her earlobe as he circled her clit. “Your pretty pussy been aching for me, hmm?” He asked rhetorically. “Your clit been swollen jus’ begging for some relief?”

She melted a little further into him as the noises she made amplified with Harry moving his fingers lower, sliding easily with the soap, the water, and her arousal until he glided them inside her. She gasped softly. “S’good, beautiful,” he whispered. “M’sorry. I shouldn’t have neglected you so badly,” he pumped his fingers in and out while nipping at the skin of her neck gently—never hard enough to leave a mark. “S’been so crazy. I’ve been so tired. But s’not an excuse. Your pretty body needs it, hmm, kitten? Y’need t’come don’t you?” He hummed.

“Yes,” she whispered. He pulled his hand away from her warm, wet walls and she moaned. “No please don’t st—”

“M’not stopping,” he promised and knelt to the base of the shower. Carefully, he nudged one of her legs until she lifted it a bit. Harry made sure he had a good grip on her because he’d rather die than let her get hurt regardless of how good he intended to make her feel. The spray of the shower hit his back as he leaned forward and licked into her.

The moan that came from her was the stuff of dreams. Harry sighed nearly with relief. It had been a while and it was criminal to let it go this long. She tasted so good. He gripped her hips hard, holding her steady but pressing her closer to his mouth as well. He groaned quietly as he tasted her, licking her like she was the last bit of food on earth, and he was starving.

Her hand dropped to his hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging his face closer to her somehow while she grinded against his lips. “S’good,” he mumbled, but the sound was lost in the stream of water and her breathy moans.

He pulled back a little. “Better than the shower head?” He asked peering up at her with a mischievous smile.

“Shhh!” She hushed. “Please,” she begged her hips angling to get close to his mouth again.

“Mm,” he hummed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Whatever! Please, Harry,” she whimpered.

Harry loved itwhen she begged. Not because she needed to for him to pleasure her. He just loved the sound of her completely blissed out. Completely uninhibited and unembarrassed. He loved the way she sounded. She didn’t need to beg. Making her come was one of his favorite things to do. “Y’got it, beautiful,” he promised and pressed his lips back to her aching, swollen clit. He traced it with random patterns and slowly moved his hand from her hip to just below where his mouth had taken residence. He pressed his digits back inside her making her leg shake beside his cheek.

“Y’gotta promise t’stay standing, kitten, or m’not going t’do both. Don’t want y’falling.”

“I can’t promise that,” she managed. “Please,” she begged again.

“No begging, beautiful. Y’can have whatever y’want,” he promised pumping his fingers inside her in time with the licking and sucking he was doing to her clit.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered. Just like she had when Harry interrupted her earlier.

“Good,” he mumbled and continued his pace until she was shaking around him. He continued the licking and pumping while she clenched around him. Her body arching to grind further into his mouth. He sighed with relief, feeling good about making her come.

Carefully, he settled her leg back to standing. He could feel her thigh shaking as he placed it back down. He kissed her hip as he stood again and cupped her face, warm and flushed despite the chill in the water. “When did y’turn that cold?” He asked.

“When you made me hot.”

He smirked and rubbed his thumb on her lower lip before following up with his mouth. He groaned softly tasting his other favorite pair of her lips. He pressed her against the wall of the shower, his feet straddling beside hers. “Y’feel good, kitten?” He asked.

She nodded, grinding her hips toward him still. “Your turn,” she sighed.

“Y’sure? S’late.” She turned in his arms, her pretty backside arching as she all but presented herself to him. Her hands pressed to the wall of the shower. He moaned dropping his hands to her hips. “Kitten,” he mumbled. “Y’sure?”

“You sure you don’t want me to beg?”

Harry huffed out a breath of laughter as he lined his dick up with her pretty pussy. He slid the head of his cock along her arousal. His eyes practically fluttered with admiration for the feeling of it. “No need,” he assured her. “Jus’ want t’make sure you’re good.”

“I think I could fly if you asked,” she laughed quietly. He smirked, sinking into her in one push. “Ah,” she gasped. “Oh God, I missed you.”

“Fuck,” he hissed. It had been too long. He did miss her. Every part of her that he hadn’t attended to in at least a month. The poor thing. His cock was stretching her. She felt so warm and wet around him. He was still quite exhausted, otherwise he would have already finished inside her. “God, I missed you,” he groaned and tucked his face into her neck. “Such a pretty pussy,” he grunted pumping into her. He held her hips thrusting hard. “Not gonna go that long again. Gotta fill y’up full of m’cum, kitten. Practice for when we have babies. Full of me. Doesn’t that sound good. Getting y’full of me? Having our babies. Doesn’t it sound so good,” he croaked pumping hard into her.

“Harry,” she whispered.

“So good, kitten,” he moaned again. “Feel so good around me. Can’t believe I went this long. Never again. Your pretty pussy needs it, hmm,” he was rambling to himself practically. Unable to fully understand how good she felt around him. It seemed unfair. She was so good and he let a whole month pass without fucking her. Without making her come on him. “M’sorry for neglecting y’baby,” he whispered and pressed his mouth along her skin again.

“You didn’t—”

“Shh, jus’ come again, kitten. Please. Gotta make it up t’you. Gotta make y’come again all over me, please,” his mouth at her ear. “Gonna make me come when y’do,” he promised.

“Fuck,” she whispered and pressed herself hard against him, her walls clenching and fluttering while he continued thrusting into her slowly while she worked through her second orgasm of the night.

“You’re gonna look so pretty when you’re pregnant kitten.”

“Harry,” she whispered softly, her voice mostly air as she came down from her high.

“God, you feel good,” he moaned. “Jus’ want t’fill you so good,” he grunted again. “Can I baby, please?” He begged. “God, kitten,” he was almost whimpering himself. His heart was thudding hard against his ribs, and he was almost certain the water got inexplicably hotter, despite the fact she hadn’t touched it.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

“Yeah?” He moaned.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Please.”

“God,” he mumbled into her skin and pumped harder and harder till it felt like he might break her. She would have welcomed being broken this way, but Harry coming inside her was more than sufficient to get him to stop. He was panting against her, his mouth brushing against her skin wherever he could reach. He sighed and pulled slowly from her, turning her gently. “Did y’finish showering?” He asked a bit breathlessly. He scanned her for signs of distress or that he was too rough with her.

“I only came in here to finish,” she mumbled while she dropped her head to his chest, her arms wrapping limply around his waist. “I couldn’t sleep,” she explained.

He kissed the top of her head and rubbed up and down her back while he blindly took her sudsy loofa and brought his fingers to her center once more. She moaned softly as he gently cleaned her up. “So y’need t’come t’sleep? Noted,” he murmured.

“Just you,” she responded.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t need to come. I just need you.”

He kissed her temple. “Let’s go t’bed then,” he whispered, shutting the cold water off. He grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her. Her eyes fluttered.

“I missed you,” she said softly.

“I missed you,” he agreed and rubbed the towel over her arms for warmth. “Y’should have said something. I haven’t been thinking clearly—” He explained while grabbing his own towel and quickly drying himself off. Not that it would make his neglect better, but it would help explain that he never meant to ignore her.

“It wasn’t as import—”

“S’the most important, kitten. Anything ‘bout you is important,” he said reassuringly. She smiled and dropped her head to his chest again and she sighed. He scooped her up behind the legs and carried her to the bed, towel and all. “Good night, angel,” he mumbled and kissed her softly on the lips. “I love you.”

“Say it again,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he chuckled.

A beautiful gentle smile toyed on her mouth and Harry pulled her towel away from her. “I love you too,” she said after a minute, her voice quiet, and almost far away. Like she was already dreaming.

“Say it again in the morning, kitten,” he chuckled. Climbing into bed, he tucked her to his body and fell asleep and slept well for the first time in the whole quarter. He should have known that he was neglecting her because his life was simply better when she was around. Even in his sleep.

--

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[jordiemeow]

UR UPTOWN GIRL RIFF BOT IS SO GOOD WTF??!!

anyway thinking about riff seeing reader’s room for the first time and making fun of her for being so girly:( i need him so bad

Ugh he’d be such a dick about it :((

Inspecting all your stuff even after you warned him to be careful because ‘my daddy can’t know you’ve been in here, Riff.’ (You bet your ass he was taking advantage of your old man’s business trip to see where you come from.) “It’s like a damn unicorn blew up in here, girly.”

He’s exaggerating. There’s just a little bit of pink. Cotton-candy walls, pink sheets, pink rug, bunny stuffies on your bed… okay, yeah, maybe there’s more than a little. But cut him some slack! He’s never been near a room that looks like yours before, not even when he’d snuck into the ladies bathroom on nights out at the bar. (How does a bathroom smell like flowers? Makes no damn sense.) Everything smells of you; expensive perfumes, fancy skincare products, your lil’ lotions and creams that littered your dresser. He’s pretty damn certain even your underwear drawer is a pastel pink… although he’s a little more interested in what’s inside it than the exterior.

He’s in frilly, uptown girl heaven right now. Eyeing up framed photos of you when you were a little girl wearing sparkly tiaras and princess dresses, making jokes about you being his pretty lil’ princess now. Taking pleasure in the fact your cheeks are just as pink as the rest of the room as he ridicules you for your choice in decor.

You’ve never been to his apartment, but you imagine it’s an absolute tip. So really, he has no room to judge. Except…

“I mean, c’mon. Ain’t you ever grow out of this stuff? S’like you wanna prove to the whole world you’re a girl. We all know you’ve got a—”

“Riff,” you cut him off, shielding your face in embarrassment. 

“What? I’m just sayin'! I've seen under your skirt,” he says, raising his hands in mock innocence as he sinks down onto your bed. He has no qualms about making himself at home, arms spread out and getting comfortable between your embroidered pillows. He looks so fucking out of place next to the little teddy bear with the white bowtie you sleep with every night.

A mischievous grin, and he’s reaching for it to turn it around, fluffy little face directed away from your four-poster bed. God, he could get used to this. It's like he's laying on a fluffy cloud. Can't feel a single spring digging into his spine for once in his life.

“Leave him alone,” you protest, reaching for the bear, only for him to catch your wrist. It’s cute, how you use damn pronouns for a stuffed toy. Like you aren't grown and done awful, terrible things with him before. And speaking of…

“I’m just lookin' out for him, girly girl,” he insists, pulling you closer with the grip on your wrist until you’re hovering above him. A hairsbreadth away from his face, crooked grin in place. “Don’t want him to see what we’re about to get up to, do we? Poor, innocent bear…"

It takes your brain a moment to compute that, and then—

Oh. Oh. Okay. Yeah... good thinking.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Slight note about the system of food.

'cause adding it to the large doc might crash my computer?:

I've realized that though historical fiction minds this more when set in pre-industrial times, that often fantasy set in agricultural societies doesn't seem to do this, though it should.

So I'll give you an example...

Almost everything in Korean food is centered and bred for two things: Kimchi and soy sauce.

But what you don't realize in your industrialized state how freaking long it takes to make these things and how much planning is involved and how much you have to mind the seasons in order to make it correctly.

Kimchi:

Baekchu (or other vegetables) that's often harvested in fall.

The salt, which was traditionally sea salt was harvested in the spring and summer months.

Garlic is a spring to mid summer crop.

The sweet rice that goes into winter kimchi takes a ton of work to make and can take from Spring to fall.

The fish sauce that goes into Kimchi that helps preserve it for over a year, takes and ENTIRE YEAR to make. Yes, a year. You really, really have to plan on that. And what do you do if the fishing is poor for that year?

Spring onions are faster to grow, but you still have to time it for the fall kimchi making.

The fish are seasonal. For example, Yellow Corvina is taken in Korea in the spring. Shrimp in the summer (June), and anchovies in early spring to fall.

Your timing has to be impeccable and you need an entire year to plan this one dish.

Meanwhile, you, industrialized person, take for granted that you can get fish sauce any time you like and can pour it over kimchi.

In fantasy this could add flavor to your fantasy make up, if your character can only get this dish once a year. It can add political unrest (What do you mean the salt harvest was poor and we're left with the shitty metallic salt), because your characters in an agricultural society will be subject to weather changes, which you get when reading historical fiction and so on. Three seasons of poor harvest, daaaamnn... the people might overthrow their government. There might be new religions that pop up, there might be uprisings because the King and Queen are eating feasts every day while the peasants are eating things that are empty calories.

What I'm saying is that you can't be too entrenched into industrial mindset if you're not writing an industrial setting.

That orange is seasonal and only comes about in a connected system that has winter and a warmer climate.

Maybe there are key foods for your climate that are highly treasured or sought after. Mandarins once were. Cacao. Think a bit about those things and how it might interact with the larger world. When does your plant mature and when can it be harvested? is it different from different climates? There's wars that have been fought over food. (Tea, famously, at least a few times).

A staple crop failing is going to have devastating consequences.

And yet, often in fantasy, I often see people going, ya know what I can eat in the dead of winter, strawberries. Do we have greenhouses? No. Did we have freezers? No. But you know what my character is eating? A strawberry. Yeah, think about that. Strawberries don't preserve well. So plan out the timing of your dishes a bit (to the climate and subsistence system) and it can give a bit of background worldbuilding to your dishes and food.

I do have to say that the small mentions from Rings of Power on what's in season or not and why kinda made me feel like the world and the traveling was more "real" with the Harfoot. There's small references to fall v. spring crops.

[apoemaday]

I AM 17. I HAVE A LOT TO SAY.

by Jackson Holbert

My mother was around all the time back then, always walking in and out of rooms carrying stacks of  laptop computers. She spent most of  her daylight hours blowing dust out of circuits, fans, motherboards, daughterboards. Sometimes her little canister would die and she’d have to use her mouth. My father was gone all day every day getting repetitive stress injuries at the newspaper. He was a journalist and everyone hated him, even his friends. Nothing really happened during my entire childhood so he ended up spending most days shooting paper footballs through a miniature goal post he kept in the locked drawer of  his desk. He was rarely kind. And in the few, short instances he was, it still didn’t seem like it. Something about his mouth made everything he did seem either sinister or inept. He was completely inscrutable except for a period in the spring of 2004, when he was just sad. I was young that year and my sister was older. She came home from college for the whole summer of 2005. I was 14. She told me not to worry about other people, not to worry about war, not to worry about a thing. That was the greatest summer of my short life. I had no friends. Oh I had people I talked to at school but once summer hit it was like every school bus had crashed headfirst into a wall except the one that was carrying me and my silver trumpet. I had that tall kind of  joy that you can only feel when your bones still have another few inches left in them. My sister and I would watch three movies a day and never go to the lake. Everybody says it seems like summer never ends until it does. But that’s a lie. I knew so little back then but the one thing I did know was that all my friends were coming back and I would once more join them in the hallways, in the classrooms, once more join them for hours after school in the far part of  the parking lot and would continue to do so until I turned 16 and got a job cutting my fingers on the cheese grater at the Pizza Factory. After that everything was all work work work go home Jeremy get your feet off the sofa  Jeremy work work math homework band-aids and on a good day a little trumpet and on the best days all trumpet. I wanted my life to be about music but in the end it was about getting B’s in subjects such as Spanish. I don’t know, sometimes it feels like those summers really did never end, they went on forever and just got progressively worse. We like to pretend that one day we just walk into our adulthood like a congressman walking into the ocean, but we all know that’s not true. What really happens is we walk into the same building day after day, but every night some crew comes in and replaces something little — a lamp housing, the chair of a conference table — until nothing is the same, until the building is not as we remembered it at all, until the building is stronger, up to code but a lot less fun, and the lighting, the lighting is fluorescent and obscene.

[jscrawls]

Grave mistakes

Gotham City is full of a lot of characters, criminals, creepy clowns, man eating plants, eccentric billionaires. But all that rolled into one household?

Warning: contains mentions of blood, witchcraft, general spooky stuff, it's an Addams reader they're gonna be freaky,

Part 5: picking up a good read

🔹🔹🔹

Barbara was having a good day, she really was. the sun was out for once and the people in the library were all behaving themselves beautifully, as if infected by the warmth shining through the large windows. her coworker even brought her a caramel iced macchiato unprompted, Then you walked up to her.

She didn't mean to gawk at you, really. She's a professional after all. But she's heard a lot about you the last two weeks from multiple sources, from Cass expressing concern to dick ranting like you made an attempt on his life with your cooking.

She smiles thinly at you when you clear your throat, right, gaping at bystanders is rude.

“Ahem, how can I help you?” what could you possibly want at the library? Please don't start asking about something demonic or inappropriate-

“Hi, I'd like to check these out please.” They smile as they drop a few books on the counter and slide them within grabbing range, Barbara is averse to taking her eyes off you even as you stand there with an innocent, unfaltering grin, yet she forces herself to act normal as she grabs at the books and takes the brakes off her wheelchair…. Botany encyclopedias? Please don't be something nefarious-

“oh are you starting a garden? I tried that last spring, didn't go well.” it's a weak attempt at probing and she knows it, she just hopes it's not that obvious.

You pace the other side of the counter to keep even with her as she rolls over to the computer, still wearing that unnerving smile on your lips. “Something like that, my roommate is quite upset in my plant rearing abilities so I thought I'd do a little reading.”

Barbara knew you didn't have a ‘roommate’ as of two days ago, dick or Bruce would've noticed. How'd that change so fast?

“oh, that's nice of you…. You got plans for a bit of horticulture around your place then? I'm jealous at anyone with a green thumb honestly.”

She sets the books on the counter next to the computer, taking her sweet time to scan them just so she can try to squeeze anything out of you. You've been nothing but polite besides the creepy staring- yet she's more than suspicious of you, you're not just some rich goth with antisocial traits, God knows she's seen plenty of that around this city. you're….. Off. Maybe she's been around zatanna too much.

“maybe a few house plants.” Barbara almost sighs in relief at that.

“though my new roommate does seem fond of the carnivorous ones, she's already covered the front gate in some lovely meat eating fly traps.”

Barbara knew it was too soon to relax.

“Oh….. Sounds fascinating.” She's floundering a bit, her smile getting tighter as she grips the wheel bar tighter with one hand.

You smile wider, either happy with how the conversation is going or you're reveling in her discomfort. For whatever reason Barbara thinks you're somehow not picking up on it.

You reach into your pocket and Barbara tenses, eyes widening behind her glasses as she waits for you to pull something horrible. Instead you pull out a…coin? “Thank you very kindly my friend! Do you accept gold here?” Who the hell carries gold coins around-

“I…. I've never asked?” this isn't how she expected her afternoon to go, she doesn't want to call her supervisor to ask what the libraries stance on paying check outs with gold of all things. She just wanted to sort the last of her stacks and then go home and binge watch bridgerton until it was time for night activities.

“If it's a bother I'll go fetch my wallet my dear.” you lean against the edge of the counter with that same big stupid weirdly friendly smile on your face as you stare down at her.

that’s…..weirdly accomodating? barbara doesn’t see that much with the general public, she just hopes you’re not the type to pay with pennies next thing.

“….that would be appreciated, i don’t think we can process your……currency. sorry.” she tries not to wince as she speaks, watching you put the coins back in your pocket while she neatly stacks the books just so she has something to do with her hands, please stop staring at her.

“that’s perfectly alright! can i leave my books here or is there somewhere out of the way for them?” god barbara doesn’t want to be charmed by your politeness.

“here is fine, there isn’t exactly a line waiting on you…” you both glance around the library at that, this place doesn’t see much traffic on weekdays.

she watches you nod enthusiastically and turn to stroll out without another word, she only cringes a little when she watches you physically recoil when you walk out into the sunlight before continuing your little quest, god you’re like an awkward vampire. she waits until she’s sure you’re out of sight before pulling her phone out and sending a quick text to the groupchat, she doesn’t think you’ll try anything but she still wants to keep tabs on you. she quickly mutes her phone when she sees you coming back around the corner.

“so sorry for the inconvenience my friend!” you say a little too loudly, an old lady with a thick pair of bifocals and tight white curls loudly shushes you, barbara tries not to laugh as you whip around to stare at the woman and just as loudly apologize to her, the elder obviously flinches back from your appearance, she does a hail mary while turning around and shuffling away on clicking knees without another word to you.

barb almost pities you.

“anywho, about those books?” you turn back towards her and drop a hundred dollar bill on the counter between the both of you, that weird stare once again locked on her. barbara deadpans at the large bill.

“…..you know it’s a five dollar check out fee, right?”

“i’m well aware my good friend! i was under the impression tipping was still acceptable in new jersey.” barbara can’t tell if you’re snarking her under that painfully wide grin, once again she finds you almost endearing, maybe it’s just the money buttering her up.

“okay, funny. alright i’ll finish this up hang on…” she takes the brakes off and rolls over to the old register, a small smile on her face despite her initial dislike of you. being nice to public workers is a quick way to endear yourself to barb after all.

with the tip tucked in her pocket she bags the books up and watches you stroll towards the door, calling over your shoulder as you go. “bye have a terrible day my friend!” to the chagrin of many, multiple people shushing you as you duck back out the door.

“by lucifer this weather is absolutely horrid!”

this time barbara giggles as she watches you dramatically try to cover yourself from the sun, there’s something kinda entertaining about how….comfortable you are with yourself.

🔹🔹🔹

“repeat it.” Pamela stands over you with crossed arms and a sour expression on her face as she taps her shoe on the floor impatiently, Harleys doing something in the play room but all your focus is on the green-skinned woman in front of your sitting form.

“Don't feed saltwater to the plants.” You meet her eyes as you lean back against the couch and her expression hardens. “And?”

“Don't cut them down, and if I'm going to feed them blood and bones, ask you first so I don't give them too much nitrogen.”

You parrot her earlier yelled words dutifully, for a moment she looks as if she's going to scold you like a child but then she just sighs and nods her head. At least you were making an effort to listen to her, unlike some people in this house.

“good, as long as I see you actually following through with obeying then we'll have less problems.”

“ooh is someone getting the red special? I wanna watch!” Harley darts in the room and sits on the edge of the coffin-table, resting her elbows on her knees with a large grin on her face.

Pamela rolls her eyes as she glances back at her and points an accusing finger at her. “You're lucky you're not alongside them, I know you helped them feed my babies blood earlier. You two nearly made the ferns sick!”

although her words are just as harsh as she was with you earlier, her tone is much gentler with her girlfriend. You just sigh wistfully as you watch them while getting comfy.

“Ah, you two remind me of when I watched my dear Gomez and Morticia court each other. You'll be making sacred oaths in blood under the moonlight before you know it. I just hope I get to bring the ceremonial athame.” You wipe at your teary eyes while they both deadpan at you with varying degrees of annoyance.

🔹🔹🔹

M.list | prev | next

A/n: apologies for how late this update is! Been a bit busy dealing with the bad weather in my area

Taglist: @lunarapple @ladykamos @itsberrydreemurstuff

[zilodak]

Nothing feels the same does it? You feel it too. The wind blows the wrong way, flowers smell slightly less, the birds scream. A constant hum fills the sky.

Nour Osman disappeared on the 16th of April 1983 at the blink of the eye, and her cousin, Lucky Newman never managed to let go. Johnny Newman was 46 years old by the time of the accident. Lucky ran for help, but by the time the paramedics arrived, his father's body was nowhere to be found. Lucky never let go of this either.

Now living with his uncle, Lucky tries to recover from losing both his father and his cousin, but something inside him tells him they're not really gone. At least not forever. A hum guides him constantly, a familiar owl speaks in riddles and a computer screams for help.

Things aren't as they seem, what's lost can be eventually found. And the rest is empty.

Sim Spring Neocities

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x DC AU: Danny didn't want to rely on his rogues, but Tucker's computer skills only got them so far and if the media black out continues... Danny knows it's not going to be pretty for them. Nightmares begin to plague the Justice League.

---

Danny gets back from a shitty conversation with Clockwork and in his frustration, accidentally sets off one of the new GIW sensors that his parents allowed to be installed in the lab. Their collaboration seemed to be going no where but when Danny had new holes blasted through him... it must be going somewhere. Damn it.

The commotion is loud enough that Jazz hears it from her room above the lab (he knows she listens to more than just the lab... it's cause she cares, even if it is a bit invasive.) and rushes in to play the distraction while Danny gets away. This time it works- the Drs. Fenton might have the worst aim in the city but they demand all shots cease if a civilian is nearby- Next time his mom might be aiming her gun at him and not the ground. Danny decides he'll buy Jazz a coffee on his way home.

But first, new holes. Yikes. That like, needs medical attention- He heads to Tucker's place and he's pretty sure Sam is already there.

"Danny! What the fuck, did Clockwork-" She starts, her meticulous cat eyeliner making her glare all the deeper.

"Nah, it's the stupid GIW sensor, the stupid one I told you guys about that has a spring lose in the back?"

"I thought we decided those weren't a concern?" Tucker looks him over, face covered in undisguised and very blatant concern.

"Yeah well, Clocky pissed me off so I forgot about them when I came back in through the lab portal-"

"you were supposed to be practicing making your own." Sam interrupts.

"-And when I did, the thing got knocked and I was swatted like immediately. Jazz launched herself into the lab so Mom made them stop shooting and it gave me enough time to get out." Danny continued to explain, ignoring his friend's 'i told you so' faces.

"Dude. We're pushing it close this week. Sam already had a confrontation with the lab guys and I already got blacklisted on my new persona accounts. We're like seriously threading the needle for getting caught." Tucker, pulls his glasses down to pinch the bridge of his nose and Danny and Sam both get what he's really saying. They need to lie low.

"What did CW say to piss you off?" Sam asks after a silent moment.

"He said nothing really, just like he always does, but insinuated I should try getting a rogue to help." Danny sighs.

"What, Like getting Ember to announce the GIW invasion on her tour? We already agreed that-" Sam is getting angry as she speaks so Tuck cuts her off- "It's a bad Idea. She is- They are all just as likely to get captured and hurt as you are if you go out of town." He comes to the same conclusion they've agreed on for weeks. No rogue involvement.

"Maybe we just need to sleep on it... Hey... wait." Danny sighs, but then his gears start to turn.

"Nocturn. We need Nocturn to help us. He can get the message out through dreams." Danny comes to the new conclusion and his friends look hesitant but at least like they're considering it.

"Isn't he an ancient? He's not going to help us for free." Tucker, ever the Egyptian god in these moments.

"Most people don't take their dreams literally." Sam, ever the skeptic in these moments.

"Yeah but, if they dream it enough times, and they're the right people to do something... they can look it up and then at least see that there is a problem?" Danny sounds hopeful and its the first time he's sounded that way in months.

"What, you're gunna give Batman nightmares?" Tucker snickers but Sam looks inspired.

"That's exactly what he's going to do. We need to haunt the Justice League. They'll see past the fake facade the GIW put up online and they'll be able to get the right legislation passed." Sam is practically buzzing.

"Okay, so lets get scheming- What do you get the primordial beast of the unconscious? Should I google 'what to get someone who has everything'? " Danny laughs.

_____

Bruce and his children rarely do feelings when they have breakfast in the morning after a night of separate patrols, but it seems as though the room is plagued with unease. Tim looks about as tired as ever, so his unease is probably attributable to WE board meetings, but its unlike the rest of his children to be so... disturbed. For some reason, after Alfred has excused them all from eating more than a few nibbles, they make it to the cave. Bruce is glad for the noise his children bring.

The nightmare's he's been having are following a dark plot. A town, a boy who looks like he was kin, and so, so much death. Bruce has had vivid dreams before in life, but this nightmare is... unreal. He tries to remind himself that it's just a nightmare.

When his JL emergency communicator goes off at the computer desk, he's not expecting it to be Dinah Lance. She and her Birds are typically wary of him in Gotham, even if they work well together in the League. He answers it like he would any Batman call, with silence.

"Bats, we have a problem. Any chance you've been having weird dreams about a kid getting experimented on or a town being burned down? Ghosts? Lazarus portals?" Dinah sounds exhausted, but Bruce snaps to her voice with rapt attention. As do all of his children.

"I-" Bruce takes a look around the room, everyone's heads except for Tim's nodding up and down with distress," We all have."

"Something tells me that they whole JL is. Everyone I've talked to this week has had a variation of the same dream. We either have a telepath trying to tell us something, or something even worse than that."

"I'll call emergency meeting, we need to collect details and try to determine the complete message."

"I'll send you what I've noted down so far, sans personal details of course, it's definitely in a town called Amity Park though. My client this morning saw the sign."

Batman grunts and the call ends. It's time to get to work.

----

When the Justice League finally arrives, the town is glowing, and everything feels like... sleep. smothering. snoring. smoking. smoldering.

And then, despite the exhaustion that echos within them, the trudge onwards. The noise of laser guns certainly wakes them up a bit.

[seat-safety-switch]

Once upon a time, everything came with an instruction manual. You'd open the box and immediately chuck that manual into the trash, because recycling wasn't popular back then, and you could still make a living cutting down trees to print more manuals with. Nowadays, the humble instruction manual is gone altogether, replaced with – at best – an interactive electronic instruction manual. I still don't read them, but now it's because I can't.

You see, "having a working computer" is a lifestyle that is simply incompatible with my existence. Despite the fact that our civilization has produced approximately 171.3 computers per person, I somehow have no ability to make them work. So I'm at the public library, where they get really mad if you take a transmission apart over their keyboard. Look, people, the keyboard catches the spring clips when they go flying out. Would you rather have this or me crawling around on the carpet?

When I'm on the side of the road because my futuristic garbage exploded, I can't always use my dumpster-dove flip phone to look up the manual, either. That would require me to buy cellular service, instead of just calling 911 and asking the firefighters to transfer my call every time (don't ask the cops to do it.) The only way forward is to assume there was no manual at all. Doing so also prevents me from receiving additional frustration, when I jump through all these hoops to find out that the fancy online manual does not have a chapter for "this product is now 37 years old and has corroded its entire wiring harness, here's your diagram on where 'purple' goes." Why even bother writing one, assholes?

Sometimes I call up the Haynes service manual people, and yell at them, telling them to make a print manual again. Then I tell them what I had to go through because of the eternal obsolescence cycle of all things electronic. Then they make me a job offer, which I refuse because it would mess with my unemployment payments. I'm holding out for an offer from Chilton. If it was good enough for Frank Herbert, it's good enough for me.

[kr-starz]

Modern Highschool Arcane AU headcanons !!

(Vi & Jinx)

Jinx and Vi are still teenagers, their age gap would be like 3 years in this AU, so when it's Jinx's freshman year Vi's already a Senior.

People were genuinely surprised finding out the little chaotic science geek and the sports-minded athlete were SISTERS since they were so different friend group and personality wise.

(Cait & Vi)

Vi is a jock! She does winter wrestling and she's the best in her weight group. She's also involved in fall and spring sports. Baseball and football are her other seasonal sports.

People know Vi to be just a sports junkie, she has pretty good grades but nothing exceptional.

She's not so great at science , which forces her to be tutored.

Vi and Cait met in their sophomore year, she needed some help improving her grade in order to be eligible for the spring season sports since she was failing history at the time, so Caits assigned to help her out.

Caitlyn’s a goody two shoes icl, like she’s apart of the student council and her mom’s the superintendent. She’s in ROTC and she’s so very loud about it, she’s basically the FACE of the program.

Cait and Vi get close because Vi keeps seeing Caitlyn around and she’s become sort of a hallway crush, but with her fuckboy attitude Vi tries to flirt the second she realizes that she’s somehow managed to get Caitlyn as her tutor!

Cait is used to people flirting with her, she usually brushes it off since she’s a man magnet. Vi on the other hand, is weirdly making her flustered? It’s strange, really.

Cait and Vi start getting closer and eventually start dating the year after.

(Ekko & Jinx)

Ekko and Jinx are the same age but Ekko's older by a few months so he brags about it.

Ekko D&D nerd. He dragged Jinx into it, she only complied since Ekko asked so nicely (he threatened her kindly)

Jinx isn’t into extracurriculars, did track in middle school so she’s exceptionally fast and she’s in the track and field team in high school but she skips practice A LOT but the coach lowkey needs her so she doesn’t get punished.

Jinx has straight A’s but she skips classes and has days where she just can’t attend class so she does some of her work online (it’s like 70/30) in person-online; she has accommodations in her 504 plan that lets her listen to music all the time and lets her leave class whenever.

Jinx is just a nickname that was given to her while she was a kid since every sports team she cheered for ended up losing (she only ever went since she wanted to see what Vi was up to) and she was Jinxing every game which DID hurt her feelings when she was like 6 but now it’s kind of funny since she doesn’t care for sports.

She’s slightly uncomfortable letting random people call her Powder now since she introduces herself as Jinx, only her closer friends call her Powder.

She no longer Jinxes games now though but it was funny while it lasted.

Ekko and Jinx have this weird rivalry-friendship-situationship where they ARE childhood best friends who back each other up but they refuse to pair up together when working on projects since they wanna see who can get better grades or impress more people.

Ekko and Jinx is like “the boy/girl next door” trope since they’ve been casually hanging just whenever since they were little itty bitty kids. So people kind of know Jinx as “that girl friend he’s always around” and Ekko as “that boy friend Jinx is always around” to their respective classmates and acquaintances.

Ekko and Jinx used to get the “wait you guys aren’t dating” comment at least once a month. (They’re not dating just yet)

Ekko is in the art club and has never considered doing a sport (Ice hockey has intrigued him more and more every year though) and he’s in a bunch of clubs to compensate. He established the D&D club, being in a little “green thumb” club for plant parents, afterschool computer-science club which is run by Viktor and Jayce. He’s got a pretty decent variety of friends because of it and larger social circle. He’s known to be this friendly little nerdy guy and people either love him or think he’s weird.

When Ekko doesn’t have extracurriculars to focus on he’s out practicing new skate tricks,

Ekko is the plant dad of the CENTURY, he has like 20 plants in his room, he’s nurturing a garden in his backyard and he has the prettiest bushels of flowers in the house. He’s got the greenest of thumbs.

Jinx has a black thumb and kills every plant in a 20 mile radius. No but seriously, when Ekko tried giving Jinx a plant to take care of as an attempt to bond, it DIED within a week. (She drowned it) and when he gave her an easier plant to take care of, she fed the thing rubbing alcohol and didn’t notice until it was DEAD.

Ekko asks Jinx to Hoco, that’s when they started dating. Everyone calls it like “oh my god finally” “you weren’t dating before?” Etc. it’s really cute but there’s minimal changes!! They just start like, kissing or something.