#Looking for Full stack Developers

[dreamswillbeyourwintermeat]

People at my new job keep trying to talk to me about databases and I wish they would stop. I am a frontend girlie first and foremost and as far as I'm concerned data comes from a magical black box called Database Land and the details are simply not my concern.

[religh]

This blog discusses the benefits and drawbacks of employing a freelance web developer vs a web development firm, as well as hiring challenges.

Website:- https://www.relightechnologies.com/blogs/tug-of-war-freelance-web-developer-v-s-web-development-company/

[webgangesseo]

[bookshelf-dust]

promise to take care of my heart

carmy berzatto x fem!reader

gif by @emziess

word count: 1,830

warnings: nothing? a little swearing, but this is pure fluff and that’s all

synopsis: carmy wants to cuddle with you for the first time.

a/n: hi! new character, i know. but i’ve become rather attached to carm in the past few months and i had a cute idea for him and here we are. he’s bringing me so much comfort right now and now i’m gonna share that with you <333

————

“Why don’t you pick out a movie or somethin,’ bub?” 

“If I could find your damn remote, Carm, I would.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes on his hands where they sit deep in the dishwater below. Good luck, he thinks. 

You scan the coffee table, the rug below the shabby couch. It’s not like there’s any use checking the tv stand because it’s still a fucking table tray. You know he doesn’t even own the full set of four table trays? He’s just got the one? That knowledge keeps you up at night. Just like how he doesn’t have a ceiling fan pull and has to get tweezers to change the speed.

You find the remote nestled in a stack of freshly organized books. You helped Carmen assemble a very simple bookshelf so that his stash of cookbooks wouldn’t have to live on the floor anymore. 

Just getting to help him turn his apartment into something other than a place to sleep brought you a contagious giddiness. Carmen’s chest aches with how much he’s laughed since he met you. 

Look at all my muscles, Carm. I’m practically ready for my dick now, don’t you think? 

Where’d you even get these? He’d looked down at the little allen wrench in your hand and said I don’t know, they were just here one day. 

Now you have a bookshelf, Bear. What a grown up. 

Carmen wouldn’t let you help him with the dishes after he cooked you dinner. He’d just kissed your shoulder and said, “Let me take care of it, alright?” with that little raise of his brows and quirk of his lips telling you not to argue because you’d never win. 

And when Carmen tells you to let him take care of something, well…you listen. 

You haven’t been dating very long, but it’s been enough that you’ve both developed this rhythm, this way of moving around and with each other and you just…work. 

He doesn’t understand how you can dial his shyness, his hesitance, so quickly, how you can make him feel like a human again so easily. But you do. 

You settle against the back of the couch, flipping through the tv guide (because Carm has never subscribed to any streaming services) until you find something worth listening to. It’s already a few minutes in, but you’ve seen the movie enough times that it doesn’t really matter. 

The overhead light in the kitchen switches off and Carmen pads out to the living room, socked feet dragging on the hardwoods. Your biggest pet peeve is people who don’t pick up their feet, but somehow it’s more tolerable when it’s him. 

He sits down on the edge of the couch. Just sits. On the edge. That means he wants to say something. You give him the time to psych himself up. 

Carmy chews on his thumb nail and rubs his nose before he turns to you, placing his hand on the couch. His blue eyes burn into yours, and the intensity of his gaze, trained on you, makes you feel like the most important person in the world. 

“H-hey, um…can we—could we snuggle, maybe?” He flushes at the fact that he just used the world snuggle. Richie would have his ass so quick if he’d heard him say that. 

Your grin is brilliant. You’ve never cuddled properly with Carmen before. Maybe a head on a shoulder or a leg tossed across another, but never a real cuddle session. “Fuck yeah, we can, Carm.” You giggle and the sound softens that bubble of fear in his chest. 

He bites the inside of his cheek, letting out the barest laugh. 

“How did you want t-to lay, Bear?” You blink at him. “Were you just gonna—” 

He starts to nod. “I was just gonna lay on your chest, honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that works.”

“Y-yeah.”

You snort. “Lemme’ stretch out for you and then you can be a teddy bear.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Carmen shakes his head at you. He lets you pull that shit because he likes it. Secretly.

When you have a pillow under your neck and are laid out on your back, Carm slips beside you against the back of the couch and clumsily settles on top of you. He doesn’t want to crush you or anything, so he settles between your legs, only allowing the weight of his torso to envelop you. 

One arm wraps around your back, the other cradling your hip, his curls brushing your chin. He turns his head to face the tv and lets out a satisfied sigh. 

On instinct your hand threads through his tangled hair, scratching at his scalp gently and sorting through any piece that feels knotted. 

“What is this?” Carmy asks, nodding in the direction of the screen. 

“The Wedding Planner. It has Jlo and Matthew McConaughey in it.” 

“Chick flick?”

You hum in agreeance. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t hate it. Jlo’s character is like you but if the restaurant was a wedding planning business and you were, you know, a chick.”

He laughs lightly against your stomach and you can feel the puff of air over your shirt. 

The weight of Carmen’s body on top of yours is easily the most calming feeling you’ve ever experienced. You can’t get enough of him. 

“This okay?” you ask, scratching his scalp a little more for emphasis. This is a new way of showing affection. Uncharted territory. 

“Hm?” He looks up at you briefly, blue eyes fluttering closed. “Oh yeah, feels nice. I like it.”

You grin and continue to play with his hair. He’s right. It does feel nice. It is. 

The next few minutes go by without any conversation, just silence. But it’s so comfortable. Carmen’s tired gaze is on the tv. You can feel him breathing, feel the way he scratches over your back absently. You don’t know if he’s aware he does it, but he nuzzles his nose against the soft of your stomach every now and then like it’s keeping him safe. 

“You know I thought about being a wedding planner?”

Carmy pushes up onto his elbows, looking at you with the smallest smirk playing on his lips. “Really?”

You playfully bat at his shoulder and he moves to lay back down, but not before pressing a kiss to your sternum over your shirt. “Mhm. Still think about it sometimes.” You pause, but Carm doesn’t say anything yet because he knows you aren’t finished with that thought. 

“I guess I just thought it’d be nice to help put things like that together? The organization would make me feel…complete, I guess. And you know I don’t like to help people in such an extroverted way? I like to be behind the scenes.” You laugh, a little self-deprecatingly. “Does that make sense?”

Carmen squeezes your side. “‘Course it does. And then you could come home and tell me stories about all the family drama you eavesdrop on.”

You giggle, and Carmy loves that he can feel it where he lays on your chest. He can feel your joy, and that’s fucking cool. “That I could.”

He rubs your back in small, gentle circles. “And you know, I happen to have some friends who make pretty good food and would be happy to help if you ever needed.”

“Oh, do you? Well, that’s very helpful, Mr. Berzatto. You’ll have to give me their number.”

Carmy laughs into your chest. A pure, genuine laugh. It’s such a beautiful sound, and you truly think you’d have it tattooed all over your body if that was even remotely possible. His glee makes you laugh, and then you’re both snickering like you’re teenagers doing something that’ll get you in big trouble. 

You reach for his hand, the one that’s resting on your hip now, and he lets you lift it towards your face. He bites his cheek, fighting the smile that rises when you press your warm and chapstick covered lips to his knuckles. 

“You have such pretty hands, Carmy.”

He pinches your back. “I still don’t get why you’re so fascinated by them.”

“Because they’re pretty. And, look—” You hold yours up to his. “—they’re so much bigger than mine. And I like your tattoos, obviously. I like that I know how talented you are with your hands and how capable. I’m very lucky to hold such capable hands, Bear.”

“Capable, huh?” He gives you a look, one that makes you want to both tackle him and smack him on the arm. Instead you roll your eyes and he raises up to kiss you. 

“Capable of being the world’s biggest pain in the ass.”

Carmy laughs. It’s that little chuckle, light and airy and like he can’t believe what he’s hearing but he wants to hear more anyway. He flops back down on your chest, making you let out a rather loud oomph. 

You take Carmen’s hand in yours again, rubbing over the dry patches on his knuckles, the scabs on the insides of his fingers, the scar on his palm. His whole life is written in these hands. 

You start massaging the pads of his fingers without even thinking about it. No one’s ever been that gentle with him—definitely not with his hands—and a little part of him melts at the feeling. 

You kiss the tattoo on the back of his hand and just look at his skin. You’re determined to memorize each line and freckle and fucked up cuticle he’s got. 

“At least your nails don’t look like Richie’s, Carm.”

His chest moves with the giggle that travels throughout his body. 

“Trust me, they didn’t look like that when he was still with Tiff.”

You grin, your eyes falling back on the television. Maybe Carm would be open to setting it on the bookshelf? That table tray has put in a lot of work. It deserves a break. 

Carmen can see why you’re so fond of this movie. It’s one of those that doesn’t require much thought, that has humor and feels more human than most. He knows he shouldn’t think it, but you having said what you said before makes him wonder if you’ll plan your own wedding…with him. 

Shut the fuck up, he tells himself. But maybe we’ll get there. 

You catch him smiling when they fuck up the statue in the garden and pretend not to notice. You both keep quiet now, but Carm reaches up and puts your hand back on his head.

Your fingers thread through his curls again, scratching at his scalp gently. Your other hand does the same thing to his back. You know it’s going to lull him to sleep. 

When you say it, he’s already dozed off. But you are so happy that you get to make him feel safe. That he’s comfortable enough to sleep on you like this. Lucky is an understatement. 

“Thank you for letting me in, Bear. I don’t think my life has ever been this beautiful.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[amourquinn]

( short fic ) everything

pairing : boyfriend!quinn x fem!reader wc. 1.2k

genre : extreme fluff no warnings

summary : you and quinn spend christmas eve together and it ends with a beautiful surprise

the apartment smelled like sugar and cinnamon, warm and inviting. the faint hum of a christmas playlist played in the background, filling the air with soft jingles and cheerful tunes. it was december 24, and your favorite tradition with quinn hughes was in full swing: decorating cookies.

you sat cross-legged at the kitchen island, armed with piping bags filled with brightly colored icing, sprinkles scattered across the counter. quinn stood across from you, wearing an apron he’d claimed he didn’t need—though his flour-dusted hands and icing-streaked cheek suggested otherwise.

“alright, quinn-casso,” you teased, pointing at the lopsided tree he’d just decorated. the green icing was uneven, and the star looked more like a blob.

he held it up, feigning offense. “what? this is art. you just don’t get it.”

you laughed, snapping a picture with your polaroid camera. the flash caught him mid-eye-roll, flour still smudged on his cheek.

“add it to the collection,” you said, shaking the photo and setting it on the counter to develop.

the collection was an assortment of candid photos you’d been taking all month—quinn tangled in christmas lights, the two of you picking out a tree, him wearing the santa hat you’d forced on him. the pictures were scattered on the fridge, a chaotic but charming timeline of your holiday season together.

“fine,” quinn said, grabbing another cookie. “but if you’re going to document this, i’m going to make the best-looking snowman you’ve ever seen.”

you leaned on your elbow, watching him carefully pipe white icing onto the cookie. his tongue poked out slightly in concentration, a detail that made your heart swell.

“not bad,” you admitted as he added tiny sprinkle buttons.

“‘not bad’? that’s perfection,” he said, placing it on the tray with a satisfied grin.

you shook your head, laughing softly. “i guess i’ll give you that one.”

the two of you worked through the tray of cookies, decorating everything from candy canes to reindeer. you captured moments on your polaroid as you went: quinn sticking sprinkles on his nose to make you laugh, you holding up a cookie shaped like a heart, and the tray of finished cookies, a chaotic mix of skill and whimsy.

when the cookies were done, you both collapsed onto the couch with mugs of hot chocolate. the christmas tree twinkled softly in the corner, the ornaments catching the glow of the lights.

“i think we outdid ourselves this year,” quinn said, holding up a cookie shaped like a stocking.

“speak for yourself,” you teased, holding up one of your own. “mine are way better.”

he rolled his eyes, nudging your shoulder with his. “you’re lucky i love you.”

you smiled, leaning into him. “i know.”

⋆˙⟡

as the night wore on, the stack of polaroids grew. quinn had taken over the camera at some point, snapping pictures of you mid-laugh or caught off guard. one photo in particular made you laugh—a close-up of your face, icing smeared on your cheek.

“quinn! i wasn’t ready for that one!”

“that’s the point,” he said, smirking.

eventually, it was time for the part of the evening you both looked forward to the most: exchanging gifts.

“okay,” you said, hopping off the couch and grabbing a small, neatly wrapped box from under the tree. “you first.”

quinn set his mug down, his eyes lighting up as he took the box. “you know you didn’t have to get me anything, right?”

“yeah, yeah,” you said, waving him off. “just open it.”

he carefully unwrapped the box, lifting the lid to reveal a vintage hockey puck encased in glass. his jaw dropped.

“is this…”

you nodded, grinning. “it’s from your first-ever college game. i found it online, and the guy who had it was willing to sell. i thought you’d want to have it.”

he stared at it for a moment, his fingers brushing the glass. “this is amazing. thank you.”

his voice was soft, and when he looked up at you, his expression was full of gratitude. he set the puck down and leaned over to kiss you, his lips warm and lingering against yours.

“alright,” he said, pulling back. “your turn.”

he stood and grabbed a box from behind the tree. it was big, wrapped in shiny gold paper with a perfectly tied bow.

“wow,” you said, taking it from him. “someone went all out.”

“just open it,” he said, his grin mischievous.

you tore into the paper, lifting the lid to reveal… a polaroid camera. not just any camera, though—it was a custom design, your initials etched into the side, and the strap was embroidered with tiny snowflakes.

“quinn,” you breathed, running your fingers over the details.

“i know how much you love taking pictures,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “so i thought you’d like something a little more special.”

you set the box aside and threw your arms around him, holding him tightly. “it’s perfect. thank you.”

for a moment, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other. the night felt perfect, like something out of a storybook.

“actually…” quinn pulled back slightly, a nervous edge to his voice.

“what?” you asked, your brow furrowing.

he reached into his pocket, and he took out a neatly wrapped box. it wasn’t the biggest gift, but there was something about the way he held it, his expression a mix of nerves and excitement, that made your heart race.

“quinn…” you started, but he cut you off with a small smile.

“here.”

you unwrapped the box carefully, lifting the lid to reveal a delicate silver ring. It wasn’t flashy, but it was beautiful, a small diamond set into the band, understated and perfect. your breath caught in your throat.

“it’s not what you think,” quinn said quickly, rubbing his left arm. it’s not… you know, that ring. not yet, anyway.”

you looked up at him, your heart pounding. “so it’s—”

“it’s a promise ring,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “i know we’re not there yet, but i wanted you to know how serious i am about us. that i want this—you—for the long haul. this is my way of saying i’m all in, even if we’re not at the finish line yet.”

tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you stared at him, at the boyish grin on his face and the sincerity in his eyes.

“quinny…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“i love you,” he said, reaching for your hand. “and i just wanted you to know that.”

you nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you let him slide the ring onto your finger. “i love you too. so much.”

he let out a breath, relief washing over his face as he pulled you into his arms. for a moment, the world outside disappeared, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other.

when you finally pulled back, you held up your hand, admiring the ring. “this is perfect. you’re perfect.”

quinn smiled, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “i wouldn’t say perfect. my cookies were… mediocre.”

you laughed, swatting his arm. “hey, don’t ruin the moment.”

the night went on, filled with more moments that you knew you’d treasure forever. and as you sat there, leaning against quinn with the soft glow of the tree around you, you couldn’t help but think that this christmas was everything you’d ever wanted—and more.

© amourquinn

[p0orbaby]

We No Speak Italiano

summary: you’ll never miss a day of Duolingo again

warnings: are language barriers and miscommunication warnings?

a/n: based on this request ! also thank you to @onsomenewsht for inflating my ego and helping navigate italian !

word count: 2.1k

-

Alexia looks at you like you’ve just dropped the biggest bombshell in the history of bombshells. Her eyes are wide, mouth slightly agape, and she’s got that look, like she’s trying to figure out how to assemble a piece of IKEA furniture with no instructions and half the screws missing.

“Estoy embarazada,” you say again, because you’re pretty sure that’s the right way to tell her you’re mortified after spilling your entire glass of wine on her brand-new sofa.

Your high school Spanish teacher would be so proud.

But instead of the expected response, maybe a nervous laugh or string of expletives, Alexia gasps, and her hands fly to her mouth like she’s just heard the Virgin Mary is back for round two. Her eyes flick down to your stomach and back up to your face. The calculation going on behind her eyes is something like 2 + 2 = 5, but you have no idea why.

“I… Oh my God,” she says, her voice all wobbly, like she’s about to cry. “I didn’t… I mean, this is… Are you okay?” She’s speaking in slow, deliberate Spanish now, like you’re suddenly a toddler and not a grown-ass woman who just spilled wine.

You blink at her. “Sí?”

“Madre mía”

-

It starts with a breakfast that makes no sense.

You wake up to the smell of something cooking in the kitchen, which is odd because Alexia barely knows how to operate a toaster without supervision. You stumble out of bed, groggy, and follow the scent of food.

What you find in the kitchen is nothing short of alarming: Alexia, apron-clad and concentrating so hard that she’s actually sticking her tongue out a little, is stirring something in a pot while a blender whirs ominously next to her.

“Buenos días,” she sings out when she notices you standing in the doorway. She’s all smiles, too bright for this early in the morning, and you immediately get suspicious.

“What’s going on?” you ask, eyes narrowing as you take in the sight of an overfull fruit bowl, a plate stacked with multigrain toast, and what appears to be an entire carton of eggs scrambled and ready to be eaten.

“Sit, sit,” she insists, pulling out a chair for you like you’ve suddenly developed a bad back and need assistance. “I made breakfast”

“You… made breakfast,” you repeat, eyeing the smoothie she pours into a glass and slides over to you. It’s an unsettling green color, like pond scum, and you’re not sure it’s fit for human consumption.

“Sí. You need to start your day with lots of nutrients.” She’s practically bouncing on her toes, like a Labrador eager to please.

You blink at the smoothie, then back at her. “Since when did you learn how to use the Nutribullet?”

She doesn’t answer directly, just gives you an encouraging smile that feels a little too close to a grimace. “Drink up. It’s good for you”

You take a tentative sip, and it’s like drinking liquid grass mixed with what you can only hope is kale. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No!” She’s almost offended, but there’s a hint of nervousness in her voice that you can’t quite place. “It’s full of vitamins. Good for… energy”

You stare at her, but she just stares back, eyes wide and almost… expectant.

“Okay,” you say slowly, deciding to let this weirdness slide, for now. Maybe she’s on a trendy new health kick. Or maybe it’s an early birthday surprise gone wrong. Either way, you down the smoothie in a few brave gulps, trying not to think about the fact that it tastes like lawn clippings.

Alexia beams at you when you finish, like you’ve just accomplished something monumental. “Bien, bien. Now, sit tight. I’ll get the rest”

She practically skips back to the stove, where she starts piling eggs and toast onto a plate. You don’t even bother asking why she’s suddenly turned into Martha Stewart; you’re too busy wondering if you’ve somehow walked into a parallel universe.

It’s only later, after you’ve forced down an absurd amount of scrambled eggs, that she starts talking about how “important it is to stay healthy” and how she’s “going to take care of everything from now on,” which sounds sweet but also vaguely threatening.

You brush it off, chalking it up to some kind of weird phase. After all, everyone gets weird sometimes, right?

-

By day two, you’re starting to suspect that something is seriously wrong.

It begins with a confrontation over laundry, specifically, the fact that you’re not allowed to do any. At all.

“I’ve got it,” Alexia says, practically wrestling the basket out of your hands when you attempt to head for the washing machine.

You try to grab it back, but she holds it over her head like some ridiculous game of keep-away. “What is with you?”

“You shouldn’t be lifting heavy things,” she says, so earnestly it makes your brain short-circuit for a second.

“It’s a basket of clothes,” you argue, “not a sack of bricks. And I lift heavier things at the gym every day”

She shakes her head, not budging. “No. Let me do it. Just relax”

You gape at her, watching as she carries the laundry to the washing machine like it’s a ticking time bomb. She’s being weirdly gentle, placing the clothes in like they might shatter if she drops them too hard.

Then there’s the vitamin situation. You’re sitting on the freshly cleaned sofa, flipping through channels, when Alexia plops down beside you with a clatter of bottles and packages.

“Take these,” she says, handing you an array of supplements that looks like it belongs on the shelf of a pharmacy. There are multivitamins, folic acid, omega-3s, and some other pill you can’t even pronounce.

“What is this?” You hold up the folic acid like it’s a foreign object. “I’m not trying to hatch an egg here”

“Just take them,” she insists, pushing the bottles toward you. “They’re good for you”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing these are good for is draining my will to live,” you mutter, but she gives you that look, the one that’s all big hazel eyes and soft smiles, and you end up taking them just to get her to stop hovering.

When you try to go for a run that afternoon, she practically tackles you at the door.

“Maybe you should rest,” she suggests, like she’s trying to steer a toddler away from a busy street. “You know, take it easy for a bit”

“Take it easy?” You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not 80. And since when do you care about rest days? You’re usually the one dragging me to the gym at 6 AM”

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again like a fish gasping for air. “It’s important to be careful”

“Careful of what, exactly?”

She hesitates, and you catch a flicker of something in her expression, nervousness, maybe? Fear? Whatever it is, it’s weirding you out. “Just… you know, careful”

You’re about to argue, but she gives you a kiss on the forehead, all soft and sweet, and you end up staying in just to avoid making things even more bizarre.

-

By day three, you’re done. Absolutely, 100% done.

It starts with the breakfast smoothies, again. This time, it’s a vibrant pink concoction that tastes like liquid chalk mixed with berries, and you’re pretty sure it’s the same smoothie you saw in a TV ad for pregnancy supplements once.

When Alexia starts lecturing you on the importance of hydration, while handing you a liter of water with electrolytes, you decide it’s time to get to the bottom of this.

“Alexia,” you say, setting the water down with a definitive thud, “we need to talk”

She glances at you, clearly nervous, and you know you’ve hit the jackpot. “About what?”

“About why you’re acting like I’m a fragile little baby bird that needs to be protected from all the big, scary things in life,” you reply, crossing your arms.

Her face flushes, and she avoids your gaze, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I just-, I want to take care of you”

“I appreciate that,” you say, softening just a little, “but you’ve gone full-on helicopter mode. And it’s freaking me out”

She looks at you for a long moment, then sighs like she’s been carrying the weight of the world.

“You didn’t tell me,” she says, voice soft like she’s whispering state secrets. “How long? I mean… when did you find out?”

You stare at her, a mental Rolodex flipping through every interaction you’ve had over the last few days, searching for the moment when you apparently lost your mind. “Find out what?”

“That you’re…” She trails off, wide-eyed, and then whispers, like she’s on a soap opera, “Pregnant”

There’s a beat of silence. And then another one. You feel like someone just turned off the power in your brain. You’re pregnant? No, no, no. Last you checked, you were just really bad at pouring wine.

“Wait,” you finally say, holding up a hand to stop her from offering you yet another pillow or maybe a foot rub. “Pregnant?”

Alexia’s eyebrows are practically in her hairline. “You said you’re embarazada”

Oh. Oh. Oh no.

“Alexia,” you say slowly, enunciating like you’re the one explaining the IKEA instructions now. “I said I’m embarrassed. Not pregnant. Embarrassed. Mortified. Humiliated because I thought I ruined your sofa with a ten-euro bottle of red”

She looks like she’s buffering, trying to load what you just said. “Embarazada… means pregnant, in Spanish”

Ah, the joys of faux amis, false friends, words that sound like they should mean the same thing but are actually waiting to sabotage you like linguistic landmines. Your high school Spanish teacher can take a hike.

You wipe away a tear, trying to catch your breath. “Alexia… I told you I was embarrassed. Imbarazzato doesn’t mean pregnant in Italian, it means mortified. Humiliated. Just how I felt when I spilled that wine and thought I ruined your furniture”

“Wait,” Alexia says, her brow furrowing in that cute, confused way you’d normally find adorable if she weren’t in the middle of thinking you’re harbouring a tiny human in your uterus. “So you’re not…?”

“No!” You laugh, a little hysterically because, seriously, how did you get here? “I’m not pregnant. We’re both women. How would that even work? I mean, unless there’s something about human biology I missed in school, I’m pretty sure that’s not in the cards for us”

Her eyes widen as the realisation hits, and then she groans, burying her face in her hands. “Dios mío, I’m such an idiot”

You’re still laughing, but you manage to pat her knee reassuringly. “An adorable idiot, but yeah, kind of”

“Well, you did say ‘embarazada,’” she points out. “How was I supposed to know you just meant you were embarrassed?”

You shrug. “Maybe when I didn’t start eating pickles and ice cream? Or asking for your jersey for when the baby arrives?”

“Touché.” She’s still grinning, that big, beautiful smile that makes you forgive her for thinking you were about to drop a baby bomb on her. “So, you’re just embarrassed”

“Yes. Very. And I’m also very much not pregnant. I’m sorry for confusing you”

She sighs, exaggerated like she’s relieved, and you both start laughing again, the awkward tension from the past few days melting away. But there’s still a mischievous glint in her eye, one that makes you a little wary.

“What?” you ask, knowing full well you’re about to regret it.

“Well, since you’re not pregnant,” she says slowly, leaning closer with that flirty smirk you love and hate in equal measure, “how about we do something about that embarrassment?”

She wiggles her eyebrows, and you roll your eyes. “Oh, so now that I’m not a fragile incubator, you’re all over me?”

“Exactamente,” she says, pulling you into her lap with surprising ease, even for someone who regularly benches more than your body weight. “Besides, I have to make sure you’re really not pregnant”

“Alexia,” you say, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when she starts nuzzling your neck, “that’s not how this works, remember?”

She grins against your skin, pressing a teasing kiss to your collarbone. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You push her back just enough to meet her eyes, raising an eyebrow. “But if you want to keep treating me like a queen, I’m not going to complain”

“Deal,” she says, her voice softening, her hand resting on your cheek. “But next time you’re embarrassed, can you please just say it in Italian, or English?”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Sure, but only if you promise not to freak out the next time I spill something”

“No promises,” she murmurs, pulling you closer, “but I’ll try”

[acmeangel]

♡ Levi hires you to work at his tea shop, and the two of you become close.

♡ SFW fluff! ♡ Postwar!Levi x Fem!Reader ♡ One shot, soft Levi, friends to lovers vibes ♡ Word count: 2416 ♡ Summary: Levi hired you years ago to work at his tea shop, back when it was brand new. Over the years, you became close friends, and recently developed into more. You're both a bit rough around the edges, but get each other in a way no one else can. You're like two black cats in love.

It was years ago that you'd walked by Levi's tea shop in Marley and noticed the piece of paper pinned to the door that simply said "Hiring." in bold, slightly messy, handwriting.

Your eyebrows raised despite yourself, slightly amused by the straightforwardness of the sign -- no frills, no details, no niceties.

Marley had only just started to get on its feet again after a full year of scraping by while rebuilding, trying to shake off the lingering fears and treat the deepest wounds. Everyone was on the precipice of healing, and you figured it was as good a time as any to bring back some normalcy into your life. Working at a tea shop seemed like a decent enough way to do that; quiet, peaceful, easy enough. You were never much of a people person, but you could handle basic customer interactions.

When you'd entered the tea shop, you were met with Levi, who was behind the counter, a focused -- but not harsh -- look on his face as he neatly stacked boxes of tea into an orderly pyramid, a small display of the tea flavors. The bell above the door jingled as you entered, and he looked up at you, his gaze narrowing slightly, his hands pausing their precise movements. You got a clear look at his face -- the cloudy white eye, the healing scars tracing patterns into his skin.

"Hiring?" You asked, simply, nodding toward the sign on the window.

His eyes darted toward the sign, as if he'd forgotten that he put it there, and then fell back onto you.

"Guess so," he answered, his voice lacking any sort of feeling about the matter. "You want to work here?"

Before answering, your gaze scanned along the interior of the tea shop -- it was small and sparsely decorated, but not in a cold way. It was simple, comforting. Small wooden tables dotted the perimeter, intricately painted ceramic tea cups were stacked behind the counter, a few plants sat in the windowsills, drinking in the hazy sunlight.

"Yeah." Your gaze found his again, and you nodded. "I do."

"'Kay." His focus returned to the pyramid of tea boxes, his hands continuing to organize the stack. "What makes you qualified?"

"It's making tea," you retorted, dryly, without thinking. "Not mechanical engineering." You regretted it the instant you said it, realizing you'd likely butchered your chances of getting hired and that you should've made something up about having a passion for serving the community.

Without moving his head, his eyes drifted toward you, and you could see the faintest look of amusement tugging on his lips.

"Fine." This was all he had said, and you waited for him to ask more questions to evaluate you further, but they never came.

You stood there, somewhat awkwardly, watching as he continued working on his little display of boxes. Once he was finished, he tossed an apron over the counter toward you, which you caught, the fabric balled up into your hands. You were hired.

Surprisingly, it didn't take long for you to get accustomed to working alongside Levi. Neither of you were particularly talkative, preferring to keep to yourselves as you did your individual tasks; but, even separately, you worked in perfect harmony together, a seamless fit.

Over the years, it became less that you worked for Levi, and more that you worked with him, the tea shop turning into something that belonged to the both of you. It was never something that was discussed, it was just understood.

You'd started adding your touches to the shop -- art hung on the walls, pillows on the chairs, little knickknacks here and there. The shop was undeniably warmer and more inviting, and even though Levi would narrow his gaze each time you added something new, he never stopped you.

One day, he'd even shown up and placed a small ceramic cat on the counter, adjusting its position just so, though he wouldn't tell you where he got it. You'd teased him, somewhat relentlessly, about it, to which he blushed despite himself and muttered that it was never going to happen again, that you were a horrible nuisance in his life; you called him "such a baby", but made him a cup of black tea and all was forgiven. He brought a new plant into the shop the following week.

You'd share knowing glances with each other whenever a customer was particularly talkative or bothersome, and after they'd leave, you'd gripe to each other about it.

During breaks or lulls in the day, you'd both hover over the same book on the counter, reading simultaneously, your shoulders brushed together just barely. You wouldn't say anything, or even share your thoughts or opinions -- you'd just read, together, settled into the quiet of the tea shop.

As the time passed on, you'd begun to care for Levi, in a way you hadn't expected, hadn't experienced before. When he'd occasionally burn his hand on the stove, you'd hold the ice to his hand. When he had a cold (which he'd never admit to), you'd bring him soup from the cafe down the street. When you could tell he hadn't been sleeping well, you'd tell him to go home early and you'd handle cleaning up and closing the shop.

He'd always frown slightly and say something about how you shouldn't go through the trouble, that he can take care of himself, but you could tell that he appreciated it, that he might have even begun to count on it. You'd usually just tell him to shut up. He'd laugh, barely.

You knew, somehow, that you were the only person he let treat him this way -- gentle, caring.

You two had developed a quiet sort of friendship. You didn't talk all that much, you never saw each other outside of the shop, and you were both a bit rough around the edges. But, you fit together. Understood each other. It was as simple as that.

That was how it had been for years, which is why it took you by surprise when, on one particularly cold winter night, Levi insisted on walking you home after closing. You'd hesitated for a moment to answer, recalling all of the rainy, snowy, cold late nights that you'd walked home alone before, but the expression on his face told you that any protesting would be pointless. So, you let him.

Once you'd arrived at your front door, the two of you lingered silently on your porch, the only sound the soft creaking of the wood below and the brisk wind shuffling through the trees.

"Thanks for walking me home, Levi," you'd said, pulling your key out of your coat pocket and beginning to reach for the door. "Goodni-"

His hand clasped around your wrist, halting your movement. Your eyes snapped up to his face, his gaze secured onto his grip on your wrist. A stretched moment of quiet passed between you two, as you waited for him to say something, but he didn't.

"Okay," you said, drawing the word out, raising an eyebrow slightly as you look at him. "Are you holding me hostage because you think it'd be funny to see me freeze to death out here, or...?"

The tension in his expression dissipated slightly, your dry, teasing tone eased his frayed nerves with a comforting familiarity. He'd gotten used to you, to the way you spoke; it became one of the few, small things he'd ever allowed himself to rely on.

"Y/N," he said, his tone taking on a softness, a somewhat pleading vulnerability that you'd never heard before, as his eyes finally drifted up to meet your gaze. The cloudy grayness in his eye faded into a pale, ethereal blue under the moonlight, the features of his face illuminated, exposed.

He didn't have to say another word. You knew exactly what he meant. That was just the way you two worked.

"Yeah," you'd whispered, knowingly, the word pillowing into the cold air.

His hand slid down your wrist to your hand, his rough, calloused fingers gripping around yours with a sense of uncertainty and newness, like he was learning a new language. He tugged gently, drawing you in, close enough that when both of you breathed, the visible clouds mixed together.

His free hand rose to your face, slowly grasping around your jaw. His teeth clenched slightly, a hint of self-consciousness in his gaze as he looked at the gap his missing fingers left on your cheek; feeling unable to hold you completely.

"Don't," you whispered, somewhat sternly, urging the self-doubt out of his gaze. Your hand flew up to cover his, holding it against your face, the missing fingers not even a thought in your mind.

"You always do that." The words came out as a rough, tumbling statement.

Your lips curled into a faint smile, your head tilted into his palm. "Do what?"

"Protect me," he whispered, his eyes searching yours, "from myself, mostly."

"Can't help it," you whispered back, the words softening his gaze even further.

Before he could think about it more, before he could stop himself, he pulled you in closer, only a sliver of cold air between your lips. He paused for a beat, drawing in a shallow breath, before closing the space. His lips trembled against yours for a fleeting second, before melting against yours. A perfect fit.

His grip on your cheek tightened slightly, his lips moved against yours with a quiet desperation, as if communicating all the words he'd been wanting to say.

He broke the kiss just as suddenly as it started, his lips remaining parted, soft and glistening.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispered, before leaning in to press a kiss on your cheek by your ear, his thumb brushing against your jaw one last time. He took one last look at you, his expression somewhat unreadable, before turning and walking away, leaving you at your doorstep.

That night was not too long ago, only a few weeks had passed since. Your relationship was like a delicate melody -- starting slow and gentle, then blooming into a perfectly synchronized symphony.

He'd started walking you home every night, and he'd come inside for a while, sitting on your couch with you, talking more than he ever had (which still wasn't much, by most people's standards). You'd make dinner for the two of you, drape a blanket on his lap on the couch, gently tend to the scars on his face when they'd occasionally get irritated.

You'd lean your head on his shoulder, intertwine your fingers with his. Sometimes, he'd lean into your touch, slinging an arm around you and letting his head settle into the curve of your neck. Your fingers would stroke his hair softly or trace patterns up and down his back.

He'd always thank you at the end of the night and kiss you as if you were about to disappear into thin air. While he never specified what he was thanking you for, you knew he was thanking you for taking care of him.

That's all you really wanted to do -- care for him. You knew that his scars ran deeper than the visible ones, and the more he shared bits of his past with you, you could tell that he never had it easy. His life, until now, was one of fighting, survival, and loss. All you wanted was to alleviate some of the pain, some of the weight that had built up within him for so long.

So, you did these little things to dote on him, to show him what true affection felt like, in hopes that someday, he'd realize how deserving he is of it. That over time, the little things would grow into bigger things, that affection wouldn't be so foreign and unsettling to him. You were willing to wait.

He was standing by your front door now, slinging his jacket onto his shoulders, preparing to head home after another night spent together. You'd sat on the couch, his head on your shoulder, and he'd just finished telling you a simple story about Furlan and Isabel, who you'd learned about recently.

"Levi," you begin, your eyes shifting toward the window, at the powdery snow flurrying through the air. "It's freezing outside, you need more than a jacket."

His gaze follows yours out the window, his expression remaining unfazed. "It's just snow, Y/N."

You ignore him, and grab a knit, brightly colored scarf from the coat rack and hand it to him, your expression stern, but gentle. "Wear this."

"What? You can't be serious. I'll look ridiculous," he looks at you and the scarf dubiously, his brows pressed together with distaste. "I'll be fine."

"Would you just shut up and take it?" You roll your eyes, but you smile, affectionately. Before he can object further, you wrap the scarf around him, earning a groan from the back of his throat.

His nose scrunches slightly in disapproval, and the corners of his lips curve downward, but he lets you finish placing the scarf around his neck.

"Thanks, Y/N," he mumbles, leaning in to kiss your cheek, the touch soft and fleeting.

Mhm, you hum softly, satisfied with your little victory. You think he's about to turn and leave, but he doesn't -- he stands there, still, looking at you for a long moment.

"What, hoping to get a matching beanie?" You tease, warmly, a laugh escaping your lips.

He shakes his head.

"I told you a while ago that I never felt like I had a home before. Not a real one, anyway. But..." he says, his voice taking on a softened introspection, a gentleness to his face that you've discovered he reserves only for you. "I think this is it."

"Marley? Yeah, it's not so bad. Told you you'd get used to it," you say, a gentle, affectionate teasing in your voice, your fingers adjusting the scarf around his neck.

"No, Y/N. Not Marley," he corrects, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze remaining intently fixated on yours. "You. You're my home."

Your expression melts, a faint pink blush rising to your cheeks. Your hand drifts up from the scarf to cradle his cheek, your thumb tracing his cheekbone.

He turns his head, his eyes remaining on you, and he presses a soft kiss into your palm. The kiss feels like he's making a promise to always be yours, and for you to always be his.

Masterlist

Requests are OPEN!

Requested by @beautiful-is-boring

[mide404]

My sister says: Let me tell the world about the heat of the tent… 💔

The heat that melted everything: the color of our skin, our emotions, our dreams, the colors of our clothes, the stacks of deodorant cans, the lipstick and eyeliner pencils I’ve kept for nine months without using—just to remind myself that I am still a woman.

We toss and turn in the tent from one corner to another, like schnitzel pieces frying in hot oil. Sweat covers our features until we taste its salt, burning our eyes, destroying our hair that once enjoyed oil baths and healthy routines, exhausting the pores of our skin that were once used to care and pampering.

In the tent, everything is unbearably hot: the mattress, the pillow, the blanket, the water container, the cups, the plates, the sand, the towel, the only chair. Even the drinking water, which is supposed to cool us down, is so hot you can see bubbles rising from the lone stainless steel cup standing on the tent floor.

In the heat of the tent, your body becomes a fingerprint scanner for ants, mosquitoes, lice, fleas, flies, heat rash, and other things.In the heat of the tent, you share space with lizards, rats, scorpions, and insects you’ve never seen before.In the heat of the tent, no one can keep their true nature intact: the calm are no longer calm, the dreamers stop dreaming, the obedient grow defiant, and it’s rare to find someone who maintains their understanding of others as before.

In the heat of the tent, headaches are constant, blood pressure fluctuates, skin rashes appear, kidney problems develop, bones ache, bodies wither, and a general fatigue overwhelms you. There’s a suppressed cry every time you feel suffocated by your own sweat.

I am Mahmoud Saleh. I plead with you to look upon my torn and displaced family with mercy and give them the chance to continue their lives in peace. I stand here before these compassionate hearts, full of hope that you will help what remains of my family and provide them with a better life, one where they can live safely and peacefully.

@officialspec @naggingatlas

@pcktknife @lana-baumgartner @xxlunawarriorxx

@solarpunkwitchcraft @zivazivc

@dearmouse @sotogalmo @85-rend @the-meme-monarch @peachdeluxe

@classychassiss @northern-passage

@sillysymbol

@dailyquests @tiredguyswag

@transguyhawkeye @ender-slime @miss-galaxy-turtle @see-arcane @spitblaze

@ballwizard @prisonhannibal @beserkerjewel @cultofthorns @davepeta

@cuntylouis @wander-bunnies @sagescider @jinsouled @gotinterest

@longseasons @boffix @vaugarde @moonscape @bamsara

@busket @fox-guardian @cherryflavoredbutch @stardustfanfare @infernal-heart

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddie-spooktober day 4: corn maze | G | wc: 1,147

uhhh i know i'm the one who came up with the corn maze prompt.. but hay bales suited this story better 🧍‍♀️

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Where the hell is that kid?”

“Probably back there where I said we should’ve gone left.”

“You go find him then if—” Steve cuts himself off when he comes face to face with another dead end. The stack of hay bales mock him. “Alright. You know what, fine. I give up.”

“You give up.”

“I give up.” Steve plops down onto a pile of stray straw at the base of the five-bale-tall wall.

“That’s not the Harrington I know.” Eddie says, a smirk in his voice.

“Yeah, well, if this was a corn maze like they normally have every year, I’d just walk through the walls to the center. But no. They just had to have a crazy amount of hay this year, didn’t they?”

Eddie laughs at him, the bastard. Steve takes a second to glare furiously at him. It’s almost enough to kill off the unforeseen crush he’d developed on their newest party member, but even now, Eddie’s frustrating and frustratingly good looking.

The cold has brought some prickles of pink to his cheeks, the wind that would flood down on them whenever they’d turned down a parallel leg of the maze having done wonders to his hair, the exasperated smile he’s currently sporting.. Damn him and damn his pretty.. everything.

“Who would’ve thought that Captain of every team he’s on Harrington would only ever be a bad sport when it comes to harmless, family fun mazes.”

“...I’m not directionally gifted. Shut up.”

“Do you want me to take the lead, or do you actually want me to leave you here in the dirt?” Eddie holds out a hand for him to take.

Steve has no choice but to take it.

“Damn, your hands are cold!” Eddie says, pulling him up, “Alright sweetheart, you hang onto that, and I’ll get us out of here.”

Some of the heat that Steve could have routed down to his hand floods into his face instead.

Eddie stands still, almost frozen, for a few seconds, then says, “Right.” and starts pulling Steve along the way they came.

One right, two lefts, and one more right after that, and they break into the large, sunny center of the maze.

“Surprise!!” The entire rest of the party is there already, waiting for them with grins on their faces. “Happy Birthday Steve!"

He has to fight the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose as the group surge forward toward them.

“We got you a birthday doughnut!” Robin says, holding up a small paper plate with a sugar-crusted doughnut on it; a single candle is wedged into a glazed doughnut hole that’s been smushed into the center of the other. The flame gets gusted out by the wind as she passes it to him. “Whoops..”

“I brought a canteen full of hot cider!”

“There are presents too, ours was Mike’s idea.” El’s comment surprises him, and Mike is already looking away from him pointedly when he glances over at him.

“The maze thing was Eddie’s idea!”

“Hey, the whole thing was Eddie’s idea, Henderson. Give him some credit.” Eddie says, pointing accusingly at Dustin.

Steve turns to raise an eyebrow at Eddie.

“How was I supposed to know that mazes are the one thing you’re bad at?” he says in a mock affronted tone.

Everyone laughs, and are soon piping up to tell their own stories of trying to get through from the other side.

“Dustin got all claustrophobic like, two minutes in, and it actually made him get through it faster.” Mike teases, poking Dustin in the side.

“I wish it was corn like last year, I would’ve gotten through in half the time.” Lucas grouses. (“That’s what I said!” Steve says, gesturing heartily at Lucas.)

“Me, Max, and Erica were the first ones through, it was so easy.” Robin says, “I thought we’d have to eat all the doughnuts to survive.”

They hang out in the center for a while, and it isn’t until he goes to reach for another pumpkin spice doughnut, pulling his hand from Eddie’s to do so, that he realizes Eddie was still holding his hand, thumb running idly back and forth across his knuckles the whole time.

Maybe Steve’s not the only one with a crush after all…

“Alright, ready Eddie?” Steve says once all the baked goods are gone and the presents (a sweater from the boys, a mini leather bound journal from Robin, a hefty handful of new pins for his work vest from the girls, and a new walkman from Hopper and Joyce) are packed away back into Will’s backpack. He stands up and starts doing some useless stretches, his arms, his calves, jogging in place.

“For what?! Are we running a marathon next? ‘Cause I gotta tell you Stevie, I may do a lot of running, but that doesn’t mean I’m good at it.”

“Nope, for my redemption arc. I’m leading us back out. And I won’t get lost this time.”

“Sure you won’t, Dingus.” Robin says, standing too and grabbing their trash. “See you boys on the other side.”

The party all tear out at the same time, splitting in half and timing their exits to go back through opposite sides, something about the winning half getting some sort of prize. Hopper and Joyce similarly split, a dinner date on the line for the winner.

“Alright Munson. Eyes closed, hand out.” Steve says once they reach the break in the wall too.

“Ooh, bossy. I like that.” he says, smirking at the eye roll Steve gives him as he squashes his eyelids shut.

Steve’s cold-ass fingers lace through his, not at all the platonic grip he’d had on Steve’s the last time.

They turn and weave and wind through the walls, and soon, as the drone of the crowds filter out, Eddie can tell Steve’s gotten them lost once again.

“There. Think this is good enough.” Steve murmurs, and before Eddie can ask what he means by that, Steve has pulled him sharply around, spinning him and pressing him back into the prickly wall of hay.

Eddie’s eyes fly open in surprise when his back hits the bales, but closes them again in the next second when Steve’s lips connect with his.

Funnily enough, they’re warmer than Eddie’s, and the press of them makes his stomach swoop almost violently.

Too soon, way too soon, Steve is pulling back. “You planned a surprise for me.” he breathes.

“Robin helped.” Eddie breathes dumbly in return.

Steve snorts, pushing closer to him, “I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Uh huh.”

He leans closer, gaze hooded. “That okay?”

“More than.”

Steve tastes like cinnamon sugar, and suddenly it’s the best flavor in the world.

(“Okay, you can lead us back out now.” Steve says, after ten minutes spent warming his hands on the skin of Eddie’s torso.)

divider from @saradika-graphics!

[connectinfo1999]

Here's a breakdown of the key responsibilities and areas of expertise that Full Stack Developers typically cover

[fishfooddude]

Mr. Berzatto

Just a brainworm I had at my internship the other day.

The Bear MasterList

Directory

You were reviewing a social media post by the register when you heard the bell above the door ding. Signaling a customer had come into the little vintage store you owned with your best friend, Sammy. “Hey, let me know if you need help with anything!” you called as you quickly finished what you were doing on your laptop. 

As you closed your computer and looked up, you were surprised to see a man who’d been coming in consistently over the past month or so. “Oh, hey you,” you smiled, “How’s it going?”

The man nodded and offered you a grin as he approached the jewelry case you and Sammy had effectively made into a checkout counter. He was the classic stereotypical Italian American man. You could tell his thinning hair used to be sandy brown, but he tried to style it to disguise the fact that he was balding. Like the last time he’d come in, he was well dressed. He wore a pair of well-fitting slacks and a short-sleeved button-down shirt. You noticed the glint of a gold Figaro chain peaking out of his collar. He placed his hands against the jewelry case and looked down to see what you had in stock. He hadn’t formally introduced himself, but you were developing a rapport. 

You closed your laptop and slipped it under the counter before side-stepping to give the man your full attention. “We got some new chains in,” you commented as he examined the top-row case. He nodded, and you gestured toward the intricately stacked boxes Sammy had set up to display some of the chains and a few men’s rings.  The man’s eyes widened when you moved your left hand toward the display.

“That’s new,” he commented, pointing out the gold art deco engagement ring on your finger. You laughed at his comment and moved your hand to show him the ring in a better light. “Who’s the lucky man?”

You smiled, “You shouldn’t assume it’s a man,” you playfully teased, making him shake his head. But yeah, my boyfriend proposed to me over the weekend. It was our three-year anniversary.” The man nodded and shifted his eyes back to the display.

“What’s he like?”

The man’s question took you by surprise, but you answered. “His name is Carmy- that guy, actually.” you gestured toward the picture of you, Carmy, and Sammy by the register when you and Sammy opened the shop. The man nodded, silently requesting more information. “He’s a chef. Owns The Bear over in Lakewood.”

“The Bear?” 

“Yeah- he inherited and redid that sandwich shop, The Beef,” you answered, and the man nodded again.

“Is he a good man?”

“He is.” you smiled as you thought about Carmy, “You’re bein’ real chatty, aren’t ya?” the man hummed in response, and you could tell he was holding something back as you were about to ask him if he wanted a closer look at anything the entrance bell dung again. You glanced toward the entrance and saw Richie walking in carrying a box with a large tote bag on his shoulder.

“Yo, Y/N, Bobby Flay wanted me to-” Richie stopped in his tracks when he saw the customer standing before you. The man went pale and quickly bustled out of the shop without another word. Richie closed the distance between the two of you and put the box down on the counter, “Did you talk to that fucker?” he scowled as his eyebrows knit together in frustration.

You shrugged, “Yeah, he’s sorta a regular- why?”

“That fucker is Carmy’s deadbeat Dad.”

[libbyisleaving]

let me talk about SpaceX and rockets for a second

because while I don't give a flying fuck about musk

yesterday's (20/04/2023) launch was a succes. The point was to get it in the air, anything more was extra. It was a test flight. Every rocket goes through this process.

SpaceX is not bad at making rockets, there are a lot of very skilled scientists involved and rockets are constantly being reused etc. technology has been rapidly improving this field.

This is new technology and it is being tested. As I have said before, this happens and has happened for every rocket. With NASA, with Rocketlab with SpaceX, any company you can think of.

The scientists now have a lot of data they can use to improve the rocket where things went wrong.

This was a test flight, nothing was on board, this is a testing phase and this is new development. This was the first time that the full stack was tested in flight. I am speaking for the scientists here because they are the actual key to this. They've (scientists in this field in general) made some incredible forward steps in the last years.

It's probable that the explosion was planned to some extent and likely that it was absolutely expected to happen.

Yes you can laugh at the explosion, yes it looks hilarious I can appreciate the memes a lot please continue.

But do realise that this did not go wrong and this is a positive for the scientists that work on it.

[religh]

These are a few of the necessary skill sets for a full-stack web developer, however, they are by no means all required. A developer should also possess outstanding soft skills including communication abilities, a tech-driven attitude, creativity, excellent time management skills, and a persistent willingness to learn, apply, grow, and update.

Website:- https://www.relightechnologies.com/blogs/6-skills-to-look-for-in-a-full-stack-web-developer/

[babushkatty]

Tranquil SAGAU - Part 1

-> Part 2

Your isekai trip (or descension, as others called it) into Teyvat was as abrupt as it was underwhelming.

There were no midnight showers of gold and purple, reminescent of the wishing screen you would religiously open every hour or so, hoping to miraculously have 160 primogems to make another pull. No sudden change in weather as Teyvat welcomed you with the eagerness of a golden lab puppy. No sudden meetings of significant and powerful people (vision holders, archons, adepti or otherwise) that would either scorn you or worship you with the zeal of a fanatic either.

No, it was a very quiet and peaceful affair.

You went to sleep in your bed after another mundane day that was more a blur than a memory, only to wake up in the ruins of Old Mondstadt, on the back of a peacefully sleeping Dvalin -- feeling well rested for what seemed like the first time in years, free of the pain poor sleeping positions and even worse body posture developed into.

Old Mondstadt is so much more beautiful than you remember it being in the game, but it was understandable -- it wasn't a game anymore.

The wind sings the haunting melody of Stormterror's Lair as you simply sit on Dvalin's back for hours, at peace with the world and yourself. You forget entirely about the stress of assignments, of deadlines, of examinations stacked unto one another like a house of cards, of trying to fit expectations of your friends and family that you were never made to fit and simply let yourself be.

You breathe.

It was nice.

"All-Mother." Dvalin rumbles from underneath you and it breaks the blissfull trance. He turns his head to look at you, seemingly not minding you being completely sprawled out on his back like roadkill.

"I'm sorry, Dvalin, I think you mistook me for someone." You smile sheppishly.

He huffs, but instead of sounding annoyed he just seemed... Indulgent. It was a good sign to you, who were pretty much at his mercy -- if he wanted to, he could use you as his personal toothpick and you wouldn't be able to do anything against it at all, so it's for the best that the situation doesn't escalate like that.

Then again, Venti did say Dvalin was a gentle child. You didn't see any blood clot crystals on his neck or back, so you were probably in the clear. Worst case scenario, he'd dump you on the ground and you'd have a bruised tailbone.

He made a damn good bed though, you wouldn't mind lounging on him some more if he allowed it.

"You are the All-Mother, there is no mistake. But it is only natural to deny, you do not remember."

He brings his head back and nuzzles you. You quietly melt into a puddle of happiness as he purrs and rubs against you like an overgrown cat.

He was so soft it was criminal. It was like the 'if evil why hot' trend all over again, except this time it was 'if scary why soft' instead.

"Teyvat will remember for you, even when you do not. Your kindness, your warmth, your care - all shall be paid back in full and more, for you are the All-Mother and like any mother, mortal or otherwise, you deserve to be taken care of by your children."

You don't argue, if only because dragons are known for being stubborn. The atmosphere was too nice to waste on a petty argument.

"Do you know how I got here?" you ask instead.

You don't ask about the way back quite yet. You're not sure you ever would, if you were being honest. It just... Felt right to be here, in Teyvat, instead of back home.

In the back of your mind, you quietly wonder if you should feel guilty about not being attached to your old world, to your friends and family, all that much, but you dismiss the notion quickly. Feeling different than what you were taught was normal wasn't wrong, people were different from one another and trying to hold yourself to an impossible standard just because it was the average would only make you miserable.

Your world was slowly growing more accepting towards differences, perhaps in a few decades your emotional stance would be validated as well.

"Teyvat brough you here, that is all I know."

Dvalin huffs against you and you chuckle, a little ticklish.

You both fall silent after that and simple enjoy each other's presence and the ambience of Old Mondstadt.

Dvalin's willingness to simply be, without chatter or interaction, only made your resolve to stay stronger. No one back home understood your need to simply be in a room with another presence, both people doing their own things, everyone called you odd for it.

It was really nice.

"Call me (Name)."

☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* ✨ Author Note✨

I'm bad at naming things and I'm bad at tumblr - perfect combination!

It's a gender-neutral post/series (if I write more), I promise! (Or at least I'm trying my best to write it as gender-neutral, you have full permission to yell at me if I slip up so that I can fix it!)

The term "All-Morher" is not meant to assign a gender, it's meant to compare the Creator of Teyvat to a mother (as I tried to clarify with Dvalin), because mothers bring life into the world and the Creator brought life to Teyvat.

You know, like a mother.

Besides, gods are above something as silly as gender or race *gesturing wildly to Loki giving birth to an 8-legged horse*

I am aiming for a very soft and gentle AU, the terms Creator or Your Grace didn't fit into it at all! Teyvat knows its' All-Mother is an utter softie that doesn't care for religious worship and would rather chill, so its' adjusting to fulfill those preferences -- hence, no grand entrance, no throwing its' All-Mother into the deep end by parking their ass in front of Mondstadt gates and no scrambling to survive.

Just a nice, quiet day chilling with Dvalin.

Fun fact, I have never done the Sumeru Quest and I don't have the space for Fontaine, so that's gonna remain a thing for a long, long while yet.

I don't read the manga either.

We D'ballin, ✨who needs lore accuracy anyways✨

That being said, I am slowly going insane because of the windows in-between subjects at Uni. Who made that a thing? I just want to talk, I promise.

Yell at my bad english, I'm an english major so all yelling is appreciated.

[hbyrde36]

STWG Daily Prompt 04/28/24

as chosen by our own @penny00dreadful

Fairytale✨

WC: 837 | AO3

He was never going to find her.

Steve sighed heavily, letting his lunch tray drop to the table as he plopped down into his seat next to Nancy and Jonathan, the spot he’d been occupying ever since he’d had some sense knocked into him and dumped Tommy and Carol as friends for good. 

He’d gotten a lot of funny looks for that move, not only because he’d nuked his popularity along with his friendships, but because Nancy had dumped him for Jonathan, or so the rumor mill said, and yet here he was beside them. The truth was that their uncoupling had been a mutual decision, they just didn’t care enough to correct the narrative. 

But, back to Steve’s lament. 

It’d been almost a week since he saw her, the mystery girl that he’d spent almost the entire Halloween Ball with. They hadn’t spoken at all, the music had been too loud for that, but they’d stuck close to each other all night, danced, shared a few laughs as they pointed out their classmates' costumes–both good and bad– and shared a brief, but earth shattering kiss in a dark corner of the gym.

Now normally, Steve wouldn’t have been caught dead at one of the school’s dances, but his high school career was rapidly coming to a close, and honestly he was just trying to get himself out there, make some better memories before he was forced to grow up and enter the adult world.

Also… Nancy and Jonathan had made him.

Then they’d ditched him to go make out in the darkroom, but that was fine, It’d all been worth it to meet—her.

Steve only stepped away for a moment to get them a couple drinks, but when he returned to their spot by the bleachers, she was gone, the only evidence that she’d ever been there at all was a ring left behind on the floor. He picked it up, remembering how she’d fiddled with them a lot, her many rings, and must have dropped this one without realizing. 

He pocketed it, knowing it would be the key to finding her again.

Because, and this was his dilemma, on top of not knowing his mystery girl’s name, he also had no idea what she really looked like. While his Indiana Jones costume had left no question as to his own identity, she’d been dressed as a mummy, wrapped up in layers of gauzy fabric, only showing off her long dark curly hair, the biggest most gorgeous brown eyes he’d ever seen, and perfect pink pouty lips.

After spending the last several days combing the school, asking every brunette he came across if the ring was hers—to no avail—Steve had all but given up, assuming the girl had been someone’s friend or cousin visiting from out of town.

“What’s all this?” Steve asked, finally noticing the stack of photos Jonathan had spread out on the table around them. 

Jonathan took a bite of his sandwich, answering with his mouth still half full. “group shots of all the clubs for the yearbook, I just got them developed.”

Steve pushed his own lunch away, not hungry, and pulled a few of the pictures closer to him. He wasn’t really looking, looking, there wouldn’t be anyone in those pictures he hadn’t already seem roaming the halls, or so he thought. Then he spotted a familiar piece of jewelry on the finger of someone entirely unexpected. 

Eddie Munson, head of the Hellfire Club. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled the ring out, keeping it hidden under the table as he looked between it and the one in the photo. Same band, same stone, same black nail polish on the hand’s fingers too.

Dark curly hair, check. 

Big beautiful brown eyes, check. 

Soft pouty pink lips, double check.

Okay, so, the mystery girl wasn’t a girl at all. It explained why he’d had so much trouble finding her at least.

Steve sat with that fact throughout the rest of the lunch period, and by the time the bell rang had decided that it didn’t change a thing. He wasn’t freaked out that he’d kissed a boy, he didn’t even care that it was Munson, certified freak and D&D nerd. He was a little embarrassed that he’d assumed his special someone was a girl just because he had long hair and pretty eyes, but moving past that—

Now Steve just had to woo his man.

“Hey, Munson?” Steve called out as he jogged down the hallway, approaching the other boy from behind just as he was closing his locker. 

Eddie startled, his eyes going wide as he turned to see who had snuck up on him, but recovered quickly.

“Steeeeeeeve Harrington, what can I do for his former-royal-highness?”

Steve stepped in close, glancing around to make sure no one was watching them before he took Eddie’s hand, gently turning it over, and placed the ring in the center of his palm.  

“I think you dropped this.”

Permanent taglist (open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers

[m4rv3l-girl]

Need Dad!Bucky like this with your first baby girl! He refuses to believe she's growing up🥹

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGdr67JWk/

Growing Up

Warnings: None, just fluff.

Y/N sat on the couch, a mug of tea cradled in her hands as she watched her husband with a fond smile.

Bucky Barnes was currently kneeling on the floor, a set of tiny, colorful blocks scattered around him. Across from him sat their daughter, Rosie, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her cherubic face. She was three years old now, with her father’s piercing blue eyes and her mother’s bright smile—a perfect blend of the two of them.

“Alright, Rosie,” Bucky said, his metal hand carefully holding a small blue block while his other hand steadied the growing tower. “This one goes on top, okay? Nice and steady.”

Rosie giggled, her tiny fingers reaching out to grab the block. “Like this, Daddy?”

“That’s it, doll,” Bucky replied, his voice soft and full of admiration. He used that same tone when he spoke to Y/N, but hearing it directed at their daughter made her heart swell. Rosie placed the block precariously on top of the stack, then clapped her hands in delight as it didn’t immediately topple over.

“You’re a natural,” Bucky praised, ruffling her hair gently. Rosie beamed up at him, the adoration she had for her father written all over her tiny face.

Y/N’s tea had grown lukewarm, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene. Bucky had taken to fatherhood with a dedication that surpassed even her highest expectations. He’d once worried he’d never be good at it, that the shadows of his past would make him unfit to raise a child. But from the moment Rosie had been placed in his arms, he’d proven himself wrong in every possible way.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” Y/N said, her voice warm with amusement. Bucky turned to look at her, his smile softening in that way that always made her feel like the most important person in the world.

“Just building architectural masterpieces over here, no big deal,” he said with a wink. Rosie turned toward her mother with a big grin.

“Mommy, look!” she exclaimed, pointing at the leaning tower of blocks. “I made it really high!”

“You did so good, sweetie,” Y/N replied, setting her mug on the coffee table. She leaned forward to ruffle her daughter’s hair, eliciting a burst of giggles. “Are you going to be an architect like Daddy said?”

Rosie frowned thoughtfully for a moment before shaking her head. “No, I’m gonna be a princess.”

Bucky let out a laugh, scooping her up and settling her on his lap. “You’ll be the best princess there ever was, kitten. No one’s gonna argue with me on that.”

Rosie wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you too, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

The years passed quicker than either of them could have anticipated. Rosie grew from a giggling toddler to a curious little girl with a knack for asking a thousand questions a minute. She started school, made friends, and developed a fierce independence that both charmed and terrified her parents. Bucky, in particular, struggled with how fast she was growing up.

One evening, Y/N found him in Rosie’s room, sitting on the edge of her bed while she sorted through a box of old toys. She was seven now, her dark hair braided neatly down her back. She’d asked her parents if she could give away the toys she didn’t play with anymore, a gesture that had made Y/N’s heart swell with pride. But as she watched from the doorway, she noticed the way Bucky’s shoulders slumped slightly, his expression tinged with sadness.

“You sure you don’t want to keep this one?” Bucky asked, holding up a well-loved stuffed bear. “He’s been with you since you were a baby, Rosie.”

Rosie shook her head, her tone matter-of-fact. “I’m too big for it now, Daddy. Maybe another baby can have it.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he nodded, setting the bear aside. Y/N stepped into the room, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. “She’s got your heart, you know,” she whispered.

He looked up at her, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “She’s growing up too fast, doll. Feels like I blinked, and she’s not my baby anymore.”

Y/N crouched down beside him, sliding her hand into his. “She’ll always be your baby, Buck. No matter how old she gets.”

Rosie looked up from her box, tilting her head curiously. “Daddy, why are you sad?”

Bucky smiled softly, pulling her into his lap. “I’m not sad, sweetheart. Just thinking about how lucky I am to be your dad.”

Rosie hugged him tightly, her small arms barely reaching all the way around his shoulders. “I’ll always be your baby, Daddy,” she said seriously. “Even when I’m big like Mommy.”

Bucky chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You better be, kitten. I’m holding you to that.”

Years later, Y/N found Bucky sitting on the porch swing, his metal hand idly turning the pages of a photo album. She stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against her skin.

“Taking a trip down memory lane?” she asked, settling beside him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

“Just reminding myself how small she used to be,” he murmured. He turned the album toward her, revealing a picture of Rosie as a toddler, her face covered in chocolate cake at her first birthday party.

Y/N smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. “She’s going to kindergarten, not Mars, Buck. She’ll still be your little girl.”

He sighed, closing the album and setting it aside. “I know. Just doesn’t feel like enough time, you know?”

Y/N reached up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing over the rough line of skin that time had etched into his face. “You’re giving her the best childhood she could ever ask for. She’ll carry that with her wherever she goes.”

Bucky leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “Guess I’m just gonna have to get used to sharing her with the world.”

Y/N smiled against his lips. “By the way, she’s sleeping all alone…”

“What?!”

——————————————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed it, Hun! 🫶

Requests Open!