#air conditioner running but not cooling house

[asinglesock]

send help. it's supposed to be 91 degrees tomorrow. on my day off :(

[ak-vintage]

Sweet As

Pairing: Francisco Morales/f! babysitter reader

Summary: Frankie comes home after a long day at work and learns how you have been keeping cool in the midst of a heat wave.

Prompt: Frankie Morales x Grapes

Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI, 6 years post-Triple Frontier, single dad Frankie, flight instructor Frankie, babysitter reader, dual POV, age gap (not specified, but reader is a grad student), minimal descriptors of reader character, no use of y/n, domestic, sweet, mutual pining, food as foreplay, frottage, pussy pronouns, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), trying to keep quiet, trying not to get caught, undefined but hopeful ending

Word Count: 7.5K

Written for the @happypedrohours Charcuterie Board Challenge.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3

You had always been a summer girl, but even you had your limits.

It was week three of the most severe heatwave the south had seen in a decade, and even with the Morales’s air conditioner running at full capacity, you still couldn’t help but park yourself directly under the ceiling fan with a sweating glass of iced tea. Mila, thankfully, hadn’t fought you during bedtime tonight, the six-year-old nearly dead on her feet after a full day of summer activities – a bike ride around the block before the heat of the day had set in, a dance party after lunch, hours in her swimsuit weaving in and out of the sprinkler in the back yard. You had done your best to keep up with her sunscreen, but she still sported a little flush on her round, tan cheeks as she crawled into bed, making little snuffling snores before you had even finished telling her goodnight.

There was a part of you that envied it, the way she could just collapse into sleep, not a care in the world, while you were stuck at the kitchen table late into the night, your laptop and textbooks strewn across its surface. The perils of holding down a full-time babysitting gig while also taking summer classes, you supposed.

It was worth it, though. Mila was a sweet girl, a total social butterfly, full of giggles and sweetness, easily the most fun kid you had ever cared for. And Frankie, her father…

Mr. Morales, you reminded yourself with a quick shake of your head.

Mr. Morales was a dream to work for. Respectful, pleasant, communicative, fair. A great parent to his daughter – a single dad, the only one in your regular client rotation. He paid you well for your time, and he was generous with his recreation budget, always making sure to leave cash in the top kitchen drawer for ice cream treats, trips to the pool, matinee movies. You really couldn’t have asked for a better job for the summer.

It didn’t hurt that he was absurdly handsome, in a rugged, lived-in sort of way. Not that it mattered, of course; he was your boss, more than a decade your senior, and you were, above all else, a professional. Hitting on the kids’ dads? The biggest babysitting faux pas. You liked to think you had more class than that.

However, class or not, you were still just a woman, and Francisco Morales? He was all man.

A blue-collar, ex-military guy in his mid-forties, he was tall and impossibly broad in the shoulders with long, muscular arms, a soft tummy that peaked out over the waistband of his jeans, and a head full of dark brown curls that were constantly just a little squished by a dark, well-worn ballcap bearing the Standard Oil logo. He started out a bit reserved in the beginning, not at all unfriendly but certainly someone who took some time to open up to new people, but in the months since you had started working for him, the two of you had developed a comfortable rapport.

So, if you dragged yourself out of bed an hour early just so you could get to his house in time enough to share a cup of coffee with him before he left for work, well…that was just relationship building with a client, wasn’t it? If you found yourself lingering in the driveway every time he walked you out to your car at the end of the day, extending the conversation more and more, delaying your departure as long as you could manage, that was just…friendship, right? Comradery.

And if, on nights like tonight, you received a series of clunky, unpunctuated texts asking you to stay late on short notice and you agreed without question, that was just going above and beyond. That was you being a good employee.

It definitely wasn’t you genuinely wanting to help out the struggling single father, not because you were being paid to do so, but because he deserved it. And you definitely didn’t take a deep, personal satisfaction in knowing that he trusted you, knowing that he relied on you.

It was all above board. All friendly. All completely and totally normal.

These were the things you told yourself, anyway. It helped you to keep your traitorous heart in check.

It was nearing 10:00 PM by the time Frankie finally pulled into his driveway, his eyelids heavy, his limbs leaden and slicked with sweat. One of the ‘copters at the flight school where he worked had required some major repairs after a clumsy takeoff by one of the students earlier that afternoon had resulted in damage to the rotor blades, and he had volunteered to stay behind after hours and help with the effort so the thing wouldn’t have to spend the entire next day grounded. He was an instructor these days, but his assistance had still been welcomed. In the years he had spent attempting to earn back his pilot’s license after his…indiscretions, he had spent a fair amount of time working as an aviation mechanic to make ends meet.

Even then, at the lowest point of his life, he hadn’t been able to keep himself away from a hangar.

It had been back-breaking work, and Frankie hated having to ask you to stay late when he knew you had your own life, your own friends, your own dreams outside of babysitting his kid, but the repairs were complete now, which meant that none of the instructors would need to cancel any of their lessons for the following day. And when the flight school’s students were, more often than not, rich old men and their trust fund sons who didn’t take well to being told “no,” the extra effort would not go unnoticed.

Now, however, as he shifted his pickup truck into park next to your beat-up old Ford Focus, all he could think about was getting into the air conditioning, taking off his boots, and sitting down at the kitchen table under the ceiling fan with you.

It was the only advantage, really, of these late nights. Infrequent though they were, Frankie couldn’t deny that there was something special about coming home to find his daughter tucked up in bed, happy and tired and well-fed, and you at the table with your schoolwork strewn out in front of you. There was something peaceful and almost painfully domestic about it, something that had his chest swelling with a feeling that he couldn’t quite identify but that he knew for certain was not something one was meant to feel for one’s babysitter.

It was the same feeling he got when you started accepting his offers of coffee in the mornings before he left for work, or when you noticed that he had started purchasing the sugary-sweet creamer you preferred when he had only ever drunk his coffee black. It was the same feeling he got when he came home on one of the first nights of this fucking wretched heatwave to find you chasing his daughter around the back yard with an armful of water balloons, the both of you soaked to the skin and giggling as you pelted each other relentlessly.

It was the same feeling he got when he walked you out to your car and he watched you grip the driver’s door handle so tight your knuckles turned pale, watched you glance down at his lips one too many times to be proper. Soft mouth parted, long lashes casting shadows across your sun-kissed cheeks, perfect breasts rising and falling with your quickened breath –

Frankie brought the heels of his hands up to his eyes, pressing hard, scrubbing across his face to banish the thought. He had no business thinking of you like that, noticing you like that, and he needed to get it together before he walked through the front door and found you precisely where he had imagined you. This might have been his home, but it was your place of work, and he refused to be one of those skeevy dads who made the babysitter uncomfortable.

Gathering himself, Frankie hopped down out of the truck and jogged up the front porch steps. Slipping his keyring from his front pocket, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and kicked his well-worn boots off onto the mat inside the entryway.

Before he could announce his arrival, however, your voice called out to him, hushed and warm.

“Welcome home, Mr. Morales,” you said sweetly, glancing up at him from your favorite chair at his table. He could see you there through the kitchen doorway, hair piled haphazardly on top of your head, eyes tired but soft, happy. You had gotten even more sun today, your cheeks, nose, and forehead tinged with pink, and you wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of almost sinfully short shorts, the kind with the elastic waist that looked soft to the touch. Frankie tried and failed not to trace the length of your legs with his eyes, not to imagine the plush softness of your thighs, the suppleness of your calves.

Dragging his gaze back up to your face, praying that you hadn’t caught the trajectory of his traitor eyes, he was somewhat surprised to find you studying him, as well. Rather intently, as a matter of fact. He squinted down at himself, puzzled, and noticed for the first time what you must be staring at: he was a mess.

He was smudged with grease from head to toe, dark streaks of the oily substance arcing across his jeans, his uniform polo, his bare forearms, the backs of his hands. His skin, where it was visible, shone with sweat in the dim entryway light, and his shirt clung to his upper body like a second skin from the heat (moisture-wicking fabric, his ass). The weather would have been enough to have him in a state, but the late night combined with the manual labor had clearly taken its toll.

He watched the long column of your throat bob as you swallowed thickly.

“Rough day?” you asked after a beat of tense silence, keeping your voice low so as not to wake Mila.

Frankie felt his lips lift at the corner, offering you a fatigued half-smile. “A bit, yeah. But better now.”

You pressed your mouth into a thin line as though smothering a grin. “Glad to hear it.” Gesturing at the chair opposite you, you added, “Why don’t you come have a seat, and I’ll heat up some leftovers for you? You have to be starving.”

Fuck, now that you mentioned it, he was starving. He and the small crew of mechanics had taken a brief snack break while they worked, partaking of whatever hodgepodge of junk they had been able to liberate from the vending machine in the office, but that bag of chips and stale granola bar had left his system hours ago now. Still, even as his stomach growled with hunger, he couldn’t help but protest, “You don’t need to do that, cariño. It’s not your job to cook for me on top of everything else you do around here.”

You waved his words away with a flippant flick of your wrist, already on your feet and heading for the refrigerator. “I’ve told you, it’s not a problem. I cook anyway for me and Mila. Why wouldn’t I make a little extra for you while I’m at it?” You glanced over your shoulder at him. “Now sit down. I’ve got this.”

As the container of leftover pasta rotated in the pale yellow light of the microwave, you took a moment to gather yourself, to reign in the surge of want that had pulsed through you at the sight of your employer hovering in the entryway.

Miles of golden tan skin shining with sweat, pooling in the little hollow at the base of his neck. His uniform polo unbuttoned as far down as it would go, showing a sliver of gray ribbed undershirt. Grease smudged across one high cheekbone, streaked across his hands. You needed those hands on you, needed him to transfer those dark marks onto your skin, your clothes, to leave a trail across your body so you could remember everywhere he had touched you, so you could see it when you looked in the mirror.

“How was Mila today? She behave herself all right?”

You startled at the sound of his voice, quickly schooling your face into what you hoped was a pleasantly neutral expression before turning back around to face him. “Oh, yeah, she was great. We had a good day today.”

Frankie – Mr. Morales – smiled fondly at that. “Good, that’s good. No more, uh, meltdowns in the afternoon?”

“No, things have been pretty smooth since we started digging through that article I found. ‘30 Activities to Keep Kids Cool in the Summer’ or whatever. It’s been a huge help.” You chuckled wryly. “Once I figured out a way to let her be outside in the afternoons without running the risk of heatstroke, she’s been great.”

“Right, right.” He settled himself in the chair across from yours, running the side of his fingers across his patchy stubble in thought. “That’s what gave you the idea for the water balloons that one day, right?”

The microwave beeped twice, the golden light inside flickering off, and you grabbed the steaming leftover container as you spoke. “Yeah, exactly. And the sprinkler, and turning paint into ice cubes and using it like chalk.” Snagging a fork from the silverware drawer, you handed both to the exhausted man and slid back into your seat.

He tossed you a grateful smile and dug into the meal with gusto, loosing a quiet groan at the first bite. “Shit, that’s good,” he sighed, dark eyes fluttering closed in a way that had your heartrate spiking. “Thank you for this, cariño. You’re a lifesaver.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, and you fought the urge to reach out and squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. “Of course, it’s my pleasure.”

Shoving a few more bites into his mouth, he asked, “Didn’t you freeze her Barbies one day, too?”

“Yeah, I did!” It had been one of Mila’s favorites so far of the heatwave-proof activities you had planned for her, and the memory of it had you chuckling. “I took a couple of her dolls and a bunch of their accessories, put them in a few of those sand buckets you guys have in the garage, filled those with water, and then froze them overnight. It took her hours to dig them all out, but hey. It kept her busy, and she didn’t overheat in the process, so I’ll take it.”

Mr. Morales grinned at that, plucking a napkin from the holder in the center of the table, scrubbing it across his sauce-stained moustache. “Incredible. You know, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all the extra effort you’ve been going to with her lately. I know it’s a lot, just looking after her eight hours a day, every day. But with this heat, I know she’s going stir-crazy.” He glanced down at his meal, something almost bashful creeping into his expression. “Pretty sure she gets that from me. Never been real good at sitting still, being stuck indoors.”

“It’s really nothing, Mr. Morales,” you insisted, brushing away the praise with a swipe of your hand.

“No. S’not nothing.” His low voice had gone serious now, and when he glanced back up at you, his eyes were wide, dark, and earnest. “The way you take care of her? The way you always seem to just…know what she needs? That’s everything.” You swore you saw his cheeks darken, swore you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “And I told you. S’okay if you call me Frankie. That Mr. Morales stuff makes me feel old.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, gaze flicking down to your hands as the intensity of the eye contact became too much to handle. “If you’re sure,” you agreed after a moment. “I don’t want to…presume.”

“Not presuming,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “We’re…friends, right, cariño? Friends can call each other by their first names.”

Something in your stomach ached at his words, but he sounded so genuine, so hopeful that you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. “Suppose that’s true… Frankie.”

Fucking Christ.

Maybe that hadn’t been the right call, Frankie thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested you call him that, not when your voice sounded so sweet wrapped around his name, not when the hour was so late, the house so silent, like you were the only two people awake in the world. That kind of intimacy, it was going to give him…ideas.

Eager to distract himself from the moment, he plowed onward. “Well, what was the activity today?” he asked, stabbing another selection of pasta and vegetables with his fork.

You appeared to consider the question for a moment before replying, “Actually, it’s more of ‘show’ thing than a ‘tell’ thing, so if you don’t mind holding that thought for a minute, I’ll show you after you’re finished eating.”

Frankie arched an eyebrow at you, intrigued. “Okay, sure. I can wait. Why don’t you tell me what you’re working on then instead? Something for school, I assume?” He gestured at the impressive spread of textbooks, printed articles, and your open laptop taking up most of the surface of the kitchen table.

Immediately, you launched into a detailed explanation of your current project, a research proposal for your graduate program that would serve as the capstone of this session of summer classes. He would freely admit that he only understood bits and pieces of it, his formal education having ended with his high school graduation, but he always enjoyed asking you about your schoolwork. The way you lit up when you talked about the subjects you were passionate about, your animated gestures, your wide, sparkling eyes, all of it was deeply endearing to him. He loved how passionate you were, the way you chased after your goals with fire and focus. It was one of his favorite things about you, and he felt as though that list might be growing longer by the day.

Your monologue about your research proposal gave him the perfect opportunity to finish his meal, so that by the time you had come to the end of your explanation, Frankie was dropping his fork into the now-empty container and leaning back in his chair, pleasantly full and satisfied.

“Oh,” you gasped, seeming to come back to yourself as you took in his relaxed posture, the little smile on his face. “Wow, I really just went on and on there, huh? Sorry about that, I guess I get a little overexcited about my research.”

“Don’t apologize. I like how fired up about it you get, it’s cute.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, a little too honest, a little too real, and Frankie braced himself for the shift in your demeanor that was sure to follow. The awkwardness, the clear discomfort at the too-personal words from your employer. But it never came. Instead, your cheeks darkened under his gaze, a flush spreading down your neck and disappearing into the neckline of your oversized T-shirt.

“You…you think I’m cute?” you stammered, voice a bit breathless in a way that had him shifting in his seat, and he felt a fresh flush of sweat bead up on his forehead, just under the brim of his ballcap, at the sound.

He needed to blow you off, he knew. He needed to make an excuse for the comment, turn it into something mindless, something shallow and impersonal, if he wanted to point this conversation back in the right direction.

“‘Course, cariño,” he said instead. “Who wouldn’t? Might be an old man these days, but I’m not dead yet.”

What was wrong with him?

You blinked back at him for a moment, eyes wide and glossy, lips parted in surprise at the confession, but then you were smiling, something almost…flirtatious in the curve of your lip as you said, “You’re not an old man, Frankie. You’re…experienced.”

Oh, fuck him.

This was a dangerous path the two of you were walking, and in that moment, Frankie wasn’t sure what frightened him more: the eventual destination or the fact that you seemed more than willing to travel it with him.

If he was ever going to make it back to safety, he needed to switch gears. Now.

“How about that activity?” he said quickly. “You gonna show me what you and Mila got up to all day?”

Drawing back from where you had started to lean toward him across the table, you shook your head a bit, as though the question had brought you back to yourself. He watched as the softness and the want in your eyes dissipated, and though he mourned it, he knew it was for the best. The two of you had come too close to crossing that line tonight. You both needed to regain your footing a bit.

“Sure. Actually, it should make for a good dessert.” Getting to your feet once more, you crossed to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door, pulling three medium-sized plastic containers from its depths. The clear plastic fogged up the moment it hit the outside air, obscuring their contents, but Frankie didn’t have to wait for long to see what was inside. A moment later, you spread the three containers out on the kitchen table in front of him and began removing their lids.

Inside the containers was a selection of perfectly chopped, completely frozen fruit. The two of you had clearly used some creatively-shaped cutters to prepare the fruit, as some of the chunks were shaped like little hearts, others looked like tiny stars, and still others looked as though a cutter in the shape of a bunny head had been used. One container held little hunks of bright red watermelon in a full assortment of unique shapes, another boasted chunks of pineapple, also uniquely prepared, and in the last container, a medley of green and red grapes had been halved down the center for easy eating.

“What tastes better on a hot day than fresh fruit?” you asked cheerily. “We cut it up together out on the patio first thing this morning so it would have time to freeze. Mila wanted me to tell you that she did the watermelon because it’s pink and that’s her favorite.”

Frankie glanced up at you, meeting your eyes over the frosty containers. “That sounds about right,” he chuckled.

“I ended up having to hose down the concrete by the time we were done, but it made a great snack when it got miserable out. She was going back and forth between the sprinkler and her bowl on the patio all afternoon.”

He grinned at the image you painted, thinking of his little girl in her pink bathing suit, wild brown ringlets wet and clinging to her scalp, grass sticking to her feet as she danced through the spray of the sprinkler, darting back to grab a hunk of watermelon or a frozen grape, the juice dripping from her little fingers.

“Help yourself,” you encouraged, sitting back down across from him. “I’ll have some with you.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Shouldn’t I…grab us some forks?”

You shrugged, that fucking grin making its way back onto your face. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

And with that, you fluttered your fingertips over the container of frozen grapes, plucked one from the pile, and slipped it into your mouth with a satisfied sigh. You might have started chatting then, might have begun asking him if he had any fun plans for the upcoming weekend and offered a summary of yours in return, but Frankie hardly heard a word of it. He was too preoccupied with your…snacking.

The plushness of your lips, the little peek of your slick, pink tongue each time you opened them, the way you seemed to allow the fruit to linger in your mouth as it defrosted. Heart-shaped watermelon had pale pink juice spilling out of the corner of your mouth, making it halfway down your chin before you delicately swiped it away with the tip of your middle finger. A pineapple star had you smiling softly as you enjoyed the burst of tartness over your tastebuds.

And those grapes.

Those goddamn fucking grapes, with their slick, frosty skin and their subtle, gentle sweetness – those you softly, almost absently traced over the seam of your lips before slipping them inside. Like you were savoring the sensation unconsciously, like the cool wetness of them quenched something in you that you weren’t even aware required attention. They made your mouth glisten in the low light, the shine of it so tempting he was certain that he hadn’t looked away from it in several minutes now.

In the back of his mind, he knew he needed to get ahold of himself. There was no way you hadn’t noticed; he had to be making you uncomfortable by now. But he just…couldn’t. God, you looked good enough to eat, with your messy hair and your sun-pinked cheeks and your bright eyes and your soft, bare legs.

A droplet of sweat traveled down the side of his face, streaking down his temple, his jaw, his neck.

Your mouth looked cool, and it looked sweet.

“…Frankie?”

Frankie startled at the sound of his name on your tongue, and his gaze snapped back up to your eyes instantly, a wicked flush blazing up the back of his neck and over his skull in mortification. Shit, you had noticed him staring, this was such a major fuck-up –

“Hm? What’s that, cariño?” His voice came out weak and raspy, like his throat had gone dry, and he cleared it loudly.

“I was saying, you don’t want any of the fruit?” You looked him over with wide, innocent eyes, and for the first time, Frankie realized that he hadn’t taken a single bite.

“Uh. A-Actually, I think I might be too full at the moment,” he stammered, bringing a hand up to pat himself across the belly in excuse.

The little confused quirk of your head told him immediately that you didn’t believe him. Scooting your chair across the hardwood floor, you came to sit directly next to him and gently scolded, “Frankie, you’ve been out working in this heat all night. You need to rehydrate. Here, you have room for a few pieces. Open up, okay?”

One of those slick, dewy grape halves appeared between your thumb and forefinger then, and the next thing he knew, you were holding it out to him. Not to take with his own hand, but to eat. It was a mere hairsbreadth away from his mouth.

Unable to formulate a suitable protest, his brain suddenly feeling rather detached from his body, all Frankie could do was drop his jaw and allow you to slip the fruit inside.

The pads of your fingers touched the soft, sensitive skin of his lower lip, and that was when he was certain that not only had his brain seemingly walked away on its own, it had turned fully off. That was the only explanation he could come up with for why the moment he registered the delicate touch, he immediately seized your wrist in one of his fists, dragging your fingers fully into his mouth.

A loud, feminine gasp met his ears as he swiped his tongue between your fingertips, stealing the frozen fruit from your grasp, pressing it firmly against the roof of his mouth to squash it, and quickly swallowing it down. His tongue returned to your skin, lapping at the frost and the condensation and the delicate, sweet juices coating your fingertips, and he watched as your eyes glazed over at the sensation. Your wrist went limp in his grasp, your fingers pliant, never once attempting to withdraw, and the ball of heat that had been brewing in his gut all night suddenly reached a fever pitch as he realized that you liked this.

Cock twitching in his jeans, he drew your fingers from his mouth. Both his eyes and yours followed the fine trail of saliva that stretched from his lip to the tip of your index finger, and he heard your swallow heavily at the sight.

“Frankie,” you whispered weakly.

And then his restraint abandoned him just as his mind had, and before he could think better of it, his hands were cupping your face and dragging you bodily to meet him in a hard, messy kiss.

Francisco Morales kissed like he did everything else – with intention, with competence, and with a raw, simmering fire that lingered just below the surface just waiting to be unveiled. To be stoked. To be nurtured.

The presence of that fire had your squirming in your seat, had your neck bending back on your shoulders in submission to the intensity of his assault. His thumbs, long and thick, pressed into your jaw from either side, wrenching you open, and his tongue slipped inside, immediately seeking your own with a desperation that drew a soft, muffled moan from your throat. Your own hands flew to the sweat-damp collar of his polo, and you dug your fingers into the fabric, holding him, keeping him just as fiercely as he kept you. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, pulsed between your thighs, growing sensitive and tender there when wetness bloomed.

With a low, rasping groan, Frankie broke the kiss and began tracing his prominent nose across your cheek, along the edge of your jaw, down your bare neck.

“You taste so fucking sweet, querida. Cold and…delicious and…perfect.”

Punctuating his words with hot, open-mouthed kisses across your skin, his voice rough and raw and sounding like the confession had been dragged from his chest against his will, it was enough to have sweat breaking out on the back of your neck, behind your knees, at the base of your spine.

“Frankie,” you breathed, threading your grip into his hair, curling his dark brown locks around your fingers, scraping along his scalp. “Please – ”

His hands dropped from your jaw then, sweeping around the width of your hips and hauling you into his lap. Instinctually, your thighs spread to bracket his waist, the weight of you coming to rest on his spread-legged lap, and you couldn’t help but moan at the thick, hard press of him against the softness of your cunt.

“This okay, baby?” he murmured against your skin, nuzzling against the neckline of your shirt, broad palms dragging down over your ass to hold you down, press you to him.

You whimpered and felt your body going soft, warm, and pliant beneath his touch. “Mm hm!” Hips hitching, grinding against him of their own accord, you pulled his face back up to meet yours, smothering your own gasps and whines in his mouth.

It didn’t last long, however. After a few quick licks against your tongue, Frankie pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours and knocking his Standard Oil cap to the floor.

“Uh uh, need to hear the words, cariño. Won’t do anything you don’t want me doing.” Wrapping his fingers around your messy bun, he angled your face down so that your heavy-lidded eyes met his. “I’ll ask you again. You want me touching you? You want me to make you feel good?”

Your eyes drifted shut, your mind gone warm and hazy. God, the things this man did to you. Did he know how long you had wanted this? How hard you had fought against it? He couldn’t know. If he did, he would never ask such a question.

“Yes, please, Frankie,” you gasped, nodding against his hold, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

“Yes, please, what, bebita?” You could hear a smirk in his voice now, and the sound had you flushing down to the tips of your toes, a fresh rush of wetness soaking your panties as you squirmed against him.

Tucking your face against his sweaty neck, you whispered, “Please…please make me feel good.”

Frankie was on his feet in an instant, boosting you into his arms in a move that had your stomach dropping down through your abdomen both in shock and in arousal. He backed you into the table, your hips bumping into the wooden edge, and the snap of pain had a brief flash of clarity flying through your lust-filled brain fog.

“Frankie, my books – ”

The older man swore under his breath – “fuck, right” – before changing course, bringing you instead over to the arm of the peninsula that extended out into the room from the edge of the kitchen. Kicking one of the two barstools out of the way, he dropped you unceremoniously onto the countertop before dragging you down for another kiss.

He ate at your mouth like a man starved, sucking on your lips, dragging his teeth across your skin, licking against the roof of your mouth. It was wet, sloppy, and so hot, his desperation contagious, encouraging you to match him caress for caress. No one had ever kissed you like this, like the kissing was the main event rather than a means to an end. Frankie kissed like that was the entire point, and it had you melting against the counter. You were dripping through your shorts now, you were sure of it.

“Can taste all that fruit on your tongue. Sweetest thing I ever tasted,” he growled, keeping his voice low. “But I can think of at least one other thing that might be even sweeter.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Your boss was going to eat you out on his kitchen counter.

“Lean back, bebita.” The words were spoken against your cheeks, brushed into your skin by the suddenly tender touch of his lips, the rasp of his whiskers, the press of his chin. “Let me take care of you.”

You did as he asked, releasing your hold on his broad shoulders and sinking back onto your elbows. The granite was cool to the touch, sending goosebumps along your arms and down your spine, but the sensation was a welcome one after the oppressive heat of the day, the heat of his body on yours.

His palms snaked beneath the hem of your T-shirt, bunching it up onto your belly to reveal the waistband of your shorts. Hooking his thumbs into the elastic without preamble, he murmured, “Lift your hips a bit for me, baby.” Again, you obeyed without question, and with a few short tugs, Frankie pulled both your shorts and your slick-stained panties down your legs to drop to the hardwood floor.

You felt a fierce blush flare in your cheeks, spreading down your neck and chest with a speed that had you gasping for air. The ceiling fan over the kitchen table – you could feel its breeze from here, the cool rush of air instantly pulling a shiver from you as it hit your wet, swollen pussy. You kept yourself bare in the summer, finding it easier and less stressful whenever you wanted to wear a swimsuit, and laid out like this on display, thighs spread around Frankie’s broad body, the cold fan hitting your most vulnerable skin, you couldn’t help but feel a bit…overexposed. The reality of your situation hit you like a freight train, and you found yourself fighting the urge to snap your legs closed against the eyes of your boss.

It was as though Frankie could read your mind. Not a moment after the thought occurred to you, you felt his big hands clamp onto your thighs and pull them apart even wider.

“Don’t you dare try to hide from me. She’s so fucking beautiful,” he tutted, and you risked a glance at his face only to find him staring intently down at your cunt. “You been walking around my house with a naked pussy like this all summer, baby? Dirty girl.” His dark brown eyes had gone almost black with lust, his irises only a faint ring around his wide pupils, and in a gesture that seemed entirely unconscious, he darted the tip of his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. He looked utterly fascinated. Entranced. Hungry. The sight had your walls clenching around nothing, and you watched him watch that happen with an eagerness that had you moaning aloud.

When he spoke again, he was a man in thrall. “‘M gonna eat this pretty pussy now, querida. Gotta be quiet for me, okay? Don’t wanna wake Mila.”

You nodded, bringing one of your hands up to cover your mouth preemptively. This man was going to have you screaming, you just knew it. Flicking his gaze up to yours for just a moment, he grinned wickedly at the sight.

“That’s a good girl, baby,” he whispered, and then his face was in your cunt, and you felt your every coherent thought fly out the window.

If Frankie had thought that your mouth tasted sweet, your tongue like candy, then your pussy was fruit on the vine, straight from the vineyard, drenched in sunshine. It was hot, deep, and rich, earthy and tangy and drugging, like a late summer afternoon, like a hazy day in August. This had always been one of his favorite things to do with women, one of his favorite ways to please them, and never – not once – had it ever been like this. From the moment his tongue touched your delicate, dripping folds, he knew – there would be no going back from this. Not for him. He couldn’t experience something like this and not crave it every day for the rest of his life.

He started with soft, light strokes with tip of his tongue, tracing just the very edges of your lips from down near your entrance all the way to the top of your mound. Then again, slowly pressing deeper but never with any more than the faintest pressure. Even so, you responded instantly, a panting, high-pitched whine sounding behind the press of your palm over your mouth. Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to increase the pressure, to draw him further into you, but he had one of his arms bracketing the span of your hips before you could make much progress.

Driving you firmly into the countertop, he held your knees open with the breadth of his shoulders and boldly dragged the flat of his tongue through your folds. “Keep quiet, now, bebita. I’m gonna take care of you.”

With that, Frankie felt himself begin to disappear, to melt into you from his position between your legs. Your soft thighs bracketing his shoulders, your heels digging into his back, your pussy, so soft, so hot, so sweet as you dissolved beneath his tongue. You were drooling for him, your clenching, grasping hole fluttering against his tongue every time he passed over it, your clit swollen and throbbing under the suction of his lips. You had collapsed back against the countertop now, one hand still pressed firmly over your mouth, the other burying itself in his hair, anchoring him to your body with a strength he found both surprising and wildly attractive. And with every lick, every suck, every vibration of a moan that spilled from his mouth into your flesh, he could feel you drawing higher, tighter, deeper.

He knew what you needed. He knew what would get you there.

Tucking his free hand beneath his chin, Frankie slipped one, then two thick fingers into the tight, velvety clutch of your cunt.

You shot up off the counter, your torso curling around his head, your hand in his hair fisting the strands roughly in your overwhelm. Sharp bolts of pain erupted across his scalp, but it was a welcome sensation, somehow grounding in its intensity. He smirked against your folds, sealing his lips around your puffy clit and rolling the little nub around with his tongue. At the same time, he pressed gently, insistently against the front wall of your cunt, applying steady friction and pressure with both fingertips.

A faint whimper slipped from you at that, muffled by your palm but not silent, and Frankie felt himself preen. God, he loved this. It wouldn’t be long now.

“You gonna come for me? Gonna let me feel her gush around my fingers? On my tongue? Hm?”

The hand on your mouth fell away, joining the one in his hair as you began to tremble beneath him. “Frankie,” you whined. “‘M gonna – you’re gonna make me – ”

“I know, baby, I know.” He kept his fingers right where they were, shallow thrusts, firm pressure right where you needed it most. “Just let it happen. I’ve got you.” Ducking his head back down to your clit, he resumed the combination of gentle suction and firm, long strokes that had driven you wild.

And just like clockwork, your thighs began to shake against his shoulders. Your abdomen clenched beneath his forearm. Your slick, soft walls clamped down around his fingers. A weak, breathless sound – “ah” – burst from your throat, and then you were coming. A rush of your wetness dripped down his fingers, coating his hand, pooling in the cup of his palm as you pulsed and fluttered around him, and Frankie could feel your poor, abused little clit twitching against his tongue. He worked you through it, slowing down a bit but not stopping, prolonging the torment just a bit longer. Only when your two hands buried in his hair started to shove against him, pushing him away, did he relent, and even then, it took him an extra few seconds to be willing to slip his fingers from your body.

Looking up into your face, Frankie felt a wash of joy and contentment pass over him. You were positively glowing – your skin flushed and ever-so-slightly sweaty, your hair wild and mussed, your T-shirt bunched up above your belly button, so much of your perfect softness on display. And you were grinning like a fool, your eyes showing your fatigue but your smile brighter than he had ever seen. You looked at him with a gentleness, an affection that had his heart clenching in his chest, and he was certain that his expression was much the same.

It had been years since he had felt this way about anyone, and even then, he wasn’t certain it could compare.

When you sat up and slipped from the counter, it was a slow and lazy affair, assisted by his firm grip and his steady arms to help keep you upright. The moment your feet hit the floor, you reached for his belt with a question in your eyes, to which Frankie responded, “Not tonight, querida. Tonight was about you.” You seemed somewhat disappointed by that response, but you didn’t push it. Instead, you simply pulled his head down for a kiss, which he gladly obliged. You sighed into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue, and it took every ounce of strength he had in him not to take back what he had just said, to drag your hands back down to his belt buckle and allow you to proceed as you wished.

But no.

It was late. You needed to get home and get to sleep, and he needed to wash off the heat of the day before passing out in his own bed. There would be a little girl busting down his door at 7:00 AM tomorrow whether he was ready for her or not, and you would be back in this very kitchen by 8:00 eager to share a cup of coffee with too-sweet creamer before he left for work.

So, like the gentleman that he wasn’t certain that he was, Frankie helped you slip back into your little shorts, pack your overflowing bookbag, and carry your things out to your car.

You turned to him one last time before you slipped into the driver’s seat, a soft if uncertain smile playing at the corners of your lips. “Mr. Morales – Frankie, I…” You drew your lower lip between your teeth. “Thank you. For tonight.”

His heart melted at your words, the quiet, hesitating way you said them. It was a vulnerability he wasn’t accustomed to from you, you who always seemed to have it all together, you who matched his advances beat for beat, never wavering. “Don’t need to thank me, baby. I wanted to. You take such good care of me, of Mila. You deserved it.” Releasing a deep, trembling breath, he added, “And…I’d like to do it again sometime. If you’ll let me.”

“That depends,” you replied.

“Yeah? On what?”

Your soft, sweet smile morphed into something sharper then, something with more intent. “On if you’ll let me return the favor. It’s like you said…I want to.”

Frankie couldn’t have reigned in the grin that split his face then if he tried. Dropping a kiss to your forehead, he said, “‘Course, cariño. I’m not done with your sweetness just yet.”

[mutant-distraction]

Some facts about bamboo:

1.Fast Growth: Bamboo is the fastest-growing plant in the world. It has been recorded at growing 47.6 inches in 24 hours. Some species can even grow over a meter per day under optimal conditions. A new bamboo shoot reaches its full height in less than a year.

2. Oxygen Release: A grove of bamboo releases 35% more oxygen than any other tree out there.

3. Carbon Dioxide Absorption: Bamboo absorbs carbon dioxide at a rate of 17 tons per hectare every year. It can act as a valuable carbon sink given how fast the plant grows.

4. No Fertilizer Required: Bamboo doesn’t need fertilizer to grow. It can self-mulch by dropping its leaves and use the nutrients to grow.

5. Drought Resistance: Bamboos are drought-tolerant plants. They can grow in the desert.

6. Wood Replacement: Bamboos can be harvested in 3-5 years compared to the 20-30 years of most softwood trees.

7. Building Material: Bamboo is incredibly strong and sturdy. It has been used as support for concrete as well as scaffolding, bridges, and houses.

8. Soil Stability: Bamboo has a wide network of underground roots and rhizomes that prevent soil erosion.

9. Natural Air Conditioner: Bamboo cools the air surrounding it by up to 8 degrees in the summer.

10. Invasiveness: Some species of bamboo, especially ‘running’ bamboos, can be invasive due to their extensive root systems, which allow them to spread rapidly. However, not all species are invasive, and with proper management, the environmental impact can be minimized.

source: Anomalous club

📸 Organizer Bamboo Nursery

[abbysdruidess]

•._.••¯´´•.¸¸.•headcanons about married life with abby [w nsfw]•._.••¯´´•.¸¸.•

wc: 1.1k

tags: tooth rotting fluff, smut, dom!Abby, dom/sub dynamics mentioned

a/n: lmk what you guys think abt this one:)

this is kinda in the same universe along with the abby proposes to you and wedding hcs, so if you haven't you could check them out-though this one could also be read as a standalone<3

ꜱꜰᴡ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

❦ you guys put a lot of work into your little dreamhouse™️ and are extremely proud of it. As an out and about lesbian, Abby took up a woodworking project and built a library that fits right into the wall of your living room. Which you were extremely supporting of, because it gave you the lovely opportunity to ogle your wife in a tank top and work pants, huffing, red faced and wiping sweat from her forehead in your backyard. You set an alarm and every couple of hours you bring her some cool water or lemonade with fruit and brush some locks of hair out of her dewy face<3

❦ she's also one of these people that don't believe in bringing in a handyman to fix any faulty appliance in your household. She has a huge, neon yellow tool box stashed away somewhere(you still aren't sure exactly where) that magically reappears everytime your car won't start or the air-conditioner starts making a noise. And 90% of the time Abby gets the job done, running on pure willpower and spite alone. When she doesn't and you guys have to bring someone else to do it, she just goes "Pfft, I could have totally done that. I just didn't cause I thought I might break it.". "Of course honey", you reassure her with a kiss on the cheek. You don't have her saved in your phone with an image of Bob the Builder for nothing.

❦ you guys are over at her dad's place a lot. When you were looking for a house, you made sure to get a place near his so you could visit whenever. He has a photo of you two from the wedding in his mantlepiece making the goofiest faces imaginable and every single time you visit Abby pesters him to take it down while you shit yourself laughing in the background.

❦ also, when your step-siblings Yara and Lev join, it's absolute chaos. You guys probably end up having an impromptu food fight and flick celery sticks at each other.

❦ if you have any hobbies such as knitting/playing instruments/writing etc she's fullly behind them and will always ask you to show her your progress. She's pretty proud of it as well, and smiles a little excitedly like :D

❦ please sing to her. It doesn't matter if you haven't sang a day in your life and it sounds like tires screeching on asphalt, it calms her when her baby sings to her. Will think you have the voice of a choir of angels no matter what and it is the only thing that can effectively put her to sleep. Bonus points if you play the guitar as well.

❦ Abby is really into reading(probably why she got that library built in the first place) and has one permanently etched in her night stand. She strikes me as one of these people that is a fan of the classics and doesn't read anyone that came after Hemingway. Until for her 26th birthday someone gifts her books from like Stephen King or Alison Bechdel and initially she's hesitant but eventually they grow into her and are stationed into her Hall of Fame shelf.

❦ whenever either of you is sick, you insist to pamper and care for one another. During the winter months Abs has a cold or the flu every month or so, and you have to actually fight her to take the day off and rest.

-Baby, you burning up. If you go to work you'll just get worse.

-I'm *cough* fine. I honestly feels 10 years younger. I don't get what the big deal is.

❦ you two definitely exercise together. Either you always go to the gym together-although you're not there as often as she is. Abby exercises religiously 5 times a week and that exercise will take place with or without you, but she would be damned if she didn't love when you tagged along with her. Either you guys have set up a little home gym with some basic equipment like mats, a treadmill, these bouncy balls and a weight lifting bench. Of course, you spot her, because you will take up any offer to ogle at her putting those big, powerful guns she calls arms to work. She reciprocates by insisting to hold your thighs while you do sit ups. And she inevitably ends up squeezing them like balls of dough.

ɴꜱꜰᴡ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

❦ when you first met Abby in your early 20s, you though it was natural for a woman her age to have such a heightened libido. After all, she did get around a lot for someone that looked like her. And that instict to fuck you senseless never abandons her-Abby is in a constant state of Wanting to Fuck, and is game whenever you are.

❦ Your sexcapades have included(but are not limited to): empty libraries, locker room showers, back alleys of clubs and just about any sturdy furniture in your house.

❦ she is a total beast when it comes to lovemaking, and can go anywhere from 2 hours to all night long, although most sessions end when you tap out bc you know you'll be sore tomorrow.

❦ even though everyone knows you're Mrs and Mrs from the ring on your finger, Abby wants to reassure that, by marking you as hers. Hickies, bites, anything is game. And she loves the slight sting of the scratch marks you leave her when she hops in the shower the morning after. She calls them claw marks affectionately.

❦ Loooves strapping you to positions she can utilise her muscle strength, like flatiron or missionary with her arms propped up. When you're scissoring, she wants to be the one with her legs on top, grinding her pussy into yours like it's nothing.

❦ I think Abby has this very hard dom image, and while she wants to take over during sex and feel like the one in control, she also needs to be taken care of. She works hard from day to night, and her past partners haven't been exactly accommodating to her needs. So whenever she's particularly exhausted, crawl under the covers to give her some head. Or in the shower. Or in the couch. Or under the dining table. She definitely cums fast when you suck her clit, it gets extremely sensitive and swollen while you're in between her legs.

❦ Is an occasional squirter, and also loves to make you squirt. It happened once as you were riding her face, and she just. slurped it all up. You lowkey passed out on the spot as your knees almost gave up.

❦ cuddling with her afterwards. There's still some resounding bliss in the air, as you both treasure the moment, your limbs all tangled up. You leave small kisses all over her sternum as she tightens her grip around you. If you're too exhausted, you fall asleep immediately, if not you just glance at each other through heavy lids with lovestruck eyes. You sleep like a baby and wake up feeling as refreshed as ever.

send me an ask if you guys would like me to elaborate any of these<3

[eggluverz]

danheng college roommate au 🥹

— HOT AND COLD

In which Dan Heng runs hot and blasts the air conditioner to keep cool, and you feel like you’re living in the arctic.

PAIRING. dan heng x gn!reader

GENRE. modern au, roommate au

WORD COUNT. 1238

NOTE. and they were roommates :> ty for the idea anon!! it was vague enough so i kinda just ran with it LOL dan heng running the ac in this asian household? wild xD anyway pls enjoy!!

You had gone through this school year in relative peace with your roommate.

When the school year started, you were unable to secure on-campus housing in time and thankfully your friends found a social media thread of other college students living off-campus who needed someone to share an apartment with. Dan Heng immediately stood out of the crowd, solely for how handsome he looked in profile picture alone. Who needed other sources of credibility when they were pretty?

For most of the year, the two of you lived pretty separate lives. When you were home, you were usually in your room unless you wanted to cook. When Dan Heng was home, it was the same. And add the fact that he only exited his room during ungodly hours of the night, it was a recipe for never really bumping into each other.

It made you a little sad, naturally. You wanted to be close with your roommate and have movie nights and game nights, but he set the tone for wanting to live together, yet separate, and you found it simpler to adhere to his wishes.

But as the weather warmed up, as did your serendipitous contact with Dan Heng. For starters, right as winter came to an end and spring only remotely gave its warm greeting, you would see Dan Heng head to the living room and turn on the air conditioner while you were eating on the kitchen island.

As it grew hotter out, Dan Heng only lowered the thermostat more and more. Causing you to freeze more and more.

Now, you enjoyed living in a nice and temperate room like most people, but with how your roommate set the thermostat, your apartment was well below room temperature! Below freezing if you wanted to be dramatic. It was a little ridiculous how cold it was, in your humble opinion. Did he want to live in the snow?

One particular cold night, you came out to boil yourself some hot water for your hot chocolate and marshmallows. It may have been burning hot out, but inside was a winter wonderland, so you figured you may as well get in the mood. You had fuzzy pajama pants on, along with a longsleeve shirt and a scarf wrapped around your neck and a beanie on your head.

Just as you were about to go back to your room and wrap yourself under a million fluffy blankets, Dan Heng emerged from his room to head to the thermostat.

He paused as you walked by him, eyes widening at the sight. Dan Heng himself wore nothing but a pair of gray sweats and a black shirt. He stared at you for a few moments.

“Are you feeling ill?” he asked, one of the first words you’ve heard him say this whole month.

You shook yourself. “No! I’m feeling perfectly fine,” you said, voice muffled from the scarf that half-covered your mouth.

He blinked. “But… your outfit.”

“I’m just a little chilly, is all.”

He walked over to you with his arm outstretched. He brought his hand close to you and asked, “May I?”

You nodded.

Dan Heng lifted your beanie slightly and placed the back of his palm on your forehead. It was instantly warm to the touch and you wanted to place it right on your cold cheek to heat it up. He stayed in that position for a while, a look of deep thought on his face. “Hmm… Your temperature doesn’t seem to be of concern. It does seem safe to assume you’re not sick.”

“Yeah! I’m feeling fine. Just a bit cold, like I said.”

Dan Heng looked between his bare arms and your fully covered ones. He ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You looked at him, confused.

He elaborated, “I didn’t realize I was making the apartment unliveable for you.”

“No, no! I wouldn’t say unliveable. I’m cold, yes, but it’s nothing some layers can’t fix.” Besides, the two of you were lucky enough to live in an apartment that covered utilities for you. He could run the AC and heater on all day and all night if he truly wished.

Dan Heng shook his head. “I should’ve been more attentive to the needs of the other occupants. I’ll keep the temperature higher for you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you teased, noting the look of intense worry on his face. You took a sip of your hot chocolate and smiled at him. “But thank you.”

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

Dan Heng was nothing but determined, it seemed.

You could tell the next day because instead of the igloo your apartment once was, it now became a sauna.

As you walked into the building after a nice walk outside in the hot sun, you were looking forward to the cool air greeting you. However, what you got was a blast of heated air blowing on your face.

You instantly fanned yourself with your hand as you called, “Dan Heng?”

You didn’t have to look very far because as you walked into the living room, you noticed him shirtless and slightly glistening, a book in one hand an a popsicle in another.

He straightened up as he heard you approach. “Welcome home,” he greeted.

“Hi,” you said with a sheepish wave, trying to keep your eyes off his well-defined chest muscles.

“Is the temperature more to your liking?”

You stared at him, your body and face growing warmer as the hot air continued to blow around you. For a moment, you considered agreeing with him, if only to commend his efforts. You noticed he was putting up with being comfortable if it would have made you more comfortable. However, you felt pretty miserable and you figured you would rather freeze than have the both of you melt inside your apartment.

“Not exactly,” you said, feeling a bead of sweat forming on your temple. “It’s hotter in here and outside, Dan Heng!”

His cheeks that were flushed pink from the heat turned even redder. “Perhaps I overestimated how warm you liked your living area.”

“I think you did!” You couldn’t stop the amused laughter from coming out of your mouth. “I appreciate the thought, but I don’t think living in a sauna is fun for either of us.”

He nodded in agreement. A drop of his popsicle melted and slowly made its way towards his hand. He briefly licked it before it could make a mess.

“I’m going to turn the air conditioner back on,” you said in amusement. “Maybe set it to a nice, room temperature.”

“I agree that would be for the best.”

You walked over to the thermostat and adjusted the temperature accordingly. You felt your body warming with each step. There was no way you wanted to stay in your apartment while it was still this hot.

“It’s going to take a while for our apartment to cool down,” you laughed. “Do you want to go out and get some ice cream while we wait? Maybe go to the beach?”

Dan Heng considered it for a moment, finishing up the small remainder of his popsicle. “I’d like that. We haven’t had much time to bond as roommates. Maybe this would be a good time.”

You nodded. “Something is telling me I’d really enjoy getting to know you more.”

He smiled. “I feel the same.”

“Let’s go have a beach day, roomie!”

[adastra-sf]

Climate change-driven heatwaves threaten millions

Extreme record-breaking heat leads to severe crises across the world.

Already in 2024, from Israel, Palestine, Lebanon, and Syria in the West; to Myanmar, Thailand, Vietnam, China, and the Philippines in the East; large regions of Asia are experiencing temperatures well above 40°C (104°F) for days on end.

The heatwave has been particularly difficult for people living in refugee camps and informal housing, as well as for unhoused people and outdoor workers.

Using the Heat Index Calculator, at that temperature and a relative humidity of 50%, residents see a heat index of 55°C (131°F) - a temperature level humans cannot long survive:

In February, the southern coastal zone of West Africa also experienced abnormal early-season heat. A combination of high temperatures and humid air resulted in average heat index values of about 50°C (122°F) - the danger level, associated with a high risk of heat cramps and heat exhaustion.

Locally, temperatures entered the extreme danger level associated with high risk of heat stroke, with values up to 60°C (140°F):

Even here at Ad Astra's HQ in Kansas, last summer we saw several days with high temperatures of 102°F (39°C) at 57% humidity, resulting in a heat index of 133°F (56°C):

Of course, the major difference in survivability in Kansas versus some of the places suffering extreme heat right now is that air-conditioning abounds here. Those who live somewhere that faces extreme heat but can escape it indoors are a lot more likely to survive, but a person who lives somewhere without such life-saving gear faces not just discomfort, but heat stroke and even death.

This includes unhoused and poor people here in the wealthier parts of the world, who often do not have access to indoor refuge from the heat.

About 15% of US residents live below the poverty line. Many low-wage earners work outside in construction or landscaping, exposed to the ravages of heat. Many do not own an air conditioner, and those who do might need to budget their body's recovery from heat against cost to purchase and run cooling equipment. Because heat stress is cumulative, when they go to work the next day, they’re more likely to suffer from heat illness.

Bad as that is, for those living on the street, heatwaves are merciless killers. Around the country, heat contributes to some 1,500 deaths annually, and advocates estimate about half of those people are homeless. In general, unhoused people are 200 times more likely to die from heat-related causes than sheltered individuals.

For example, in 2022, a record 425 people died from heat in the greater Phoenix metro area. Of the 320 deaths for which the victim’s living situation is known, more than half (178) were homeless. In 2023, Texans experienced the hottest summer since 2011, with an average temperature of 85.3°F (30°C) degrees between June and the end of August. Some cities in Texas experienced more than 40 days of 100°F (38°C) or higher weather. This extreme heat led to 334 heat-related deaths, the highest number in Texas history and twice as many as in 2011.

The Pacific Northwest of Canada and the USA suffered an extreme heat event in June, 2021, during which 619 people died. Many locations broke all-time temperature records by more than 5°C, with a new record-high temperature of 49.6°C (121°F). This is a region ill-suited to such weather, and despite having relatively high wealth compared to much of the world, many homes and businesses there do not have air-conditioning due to a history of much lower temperatures.

Heatwaves are arguably the deadliest type of extreme weather event because of their wide impact. While heatwave death tolls are often underreported, hundreds of deaths from the February heatwave were reported in the affected countries, including Bangladesh, India, Thailand, Myanmar, Cambodia, and the Philippines.

Extreme heat also has a powerful impact on agriculture, causing crop damage and reduced yields. It also impacts education, with holidays having to be extended and schools closing, affecting millions of students - in Delhi, India, schools shut early this week for summer when temperatures soared to 47°C (117°F) at dangerous humidity levels:

At 70°C (157°F !), humans simply cannot function and face imminent death, especially when humidity is high. This is the notion of "heat index," a derivative of "wet-bulb temperature."

Though now mostly calculated using heat and humidity readings, wet-bulb temperature was originally measured by putting a wet cloth over a thermometer and exposing it to the air.

This allowed it to measure how quickly the water evaporated off the cloth, representing sweat evaporating off skin.

The theorized human survival limit has long been 35°C (95°F) wet-bulb temperature, based on 35°C dry heat at 100% humidity - or 46°C (115°F) at 50% humidity. To test this limit, researchers at Pennsylvania State University measured the core temperatures of young, healthy people inside a heat chamber.

They found that participants reached their "critical environmental limit" - when their body could not stop the core temperature from continuing to rise – at 30.6°C wet bulb temperature, well below what was previously theorized. That web-bulb temperature parallels a 47°C (117°F) heat index.

​The team estimates that it takes between 5-7 hours before such conditions reach "really, really dangerous core temperatures."

On March 5, 2024, Hong Kong saw temperatures of 27°C (80°F) with 100% humidity, which results in a heat index of 32.2°C (90°F) - seemingly not so bad until considering it's higher than the critical wet-bulb temperature. Also, if you watch the video, imagine the long-term effects of water accumulating in residences, such as dangerous mold.

We are witnessing the effects of climate change right now, all around the world, and rising temperatures are just the most-obvious (what we used to call "global warming"). Many, many other side-effects of climate change are beginning to plague us or headed our way soon, and will affect us all.

Unfortunately, those most affected - and those being hit the hardest right now - are people most vulnerable to heatwaves. With climate crises increasing in both intensity and frequency, and poverty at dangerous levels, we face a rapidly rising, worldwide crisis.

We must recognize the climate crisis as an international emergency and treat it as such. So much time, creative energy, resources, and life is wasted in war and the pursuit of profit or power - consider how much good could come from re-allocating those resources to ensuring a future for Earthlings, instead.

(Expect to see a "Science into Fiction" workshop on climate change coming soon - SF writers have a particular responsibility to address such important topics of change and global consequence.)

[hughiecampbelle]

Gore (Will Graham Oneshot)

Character/s: Will, Jack, Hannibal mention

Word Count: 1,428

A/N: Truthfully, this one was a little harder to write, but I don't hate it! I just love this show. I'm re-watching some of the episodes bc I keep falling asleep/getting distracted lol. Thank you for letting me share my loves!!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! ❤❤❤❤

WRITING EVENT ❤️🔪🩸

The water has cooled around you. The color bled bright red, now pink, gummy. It circles around the clogged drain. Bubbles pop around you where the water meets the air. You shiver. He apologizes, his voice careful and quiet, pouring a steaming cup from the sink. Down your spine, it runs its fingers, playing a tune, a melody, down the spokes. They are eager to break free from your flesh. You can’t unhear it. You can only hum along. He doesn’t notice. Or, at least, he pretends not to. The act he plays is impenetrable. The cloth, stained, rubs circles around your shoulder blades. You smell like him. The soap he uses drips from your limbs. The shampoo, conditioner, lathered into your hair. There was so much of it. Not just a single bodys worth. Gallons. He scrubbed you clean, your skin irritated, but thankful. Beneath your fingernails there are remnants. The taste in your mouth. You choked on it. Metallic, cold, congealing. Gasping for air. Your clothes drenched. Soaked to the bone. Your hands slippery, previously tied together, you dial 911. Jack is there. Everyone is. All you can see is red. It’s beautiful, really. Sleek, shiny, thick. You can wipe away as much as you want, it still lingers. Sticky, too. If you closed your eyes, if you stopped gagging, vomiting, it could have been mistaken for honey. Hysterical. In your teeth. Hannibal handing you a bottle of water. Sloshing it around your mouth, your gums and teeth, spitting it into the white snow. Gory, you think. All of it. Paramedics rush towards you. He raises his hand, warning them to come peacefully. You refuse their care. You haven’t been injured. The restraints around your wrists, previously cut, left no bruises, no lacerations. They touch you, offer comfort with their sterile actions. You push them away. It isn’t mine, you say, and confusion settles into their features. Everyone is listening. A crowd has formed outside of the house. Civilians, reporters, officers. Each of them eager for information, starving, ready to nip and bite at one another for sustenance. The blood, none of it is mine. 

A house of horrors, that’s what they called it. But they have no idea. Days you spent there, it felt like, though you’re not sure how much time had passed. The killer, the offender, ordinary looking. They promised not to hurt you. And they didn’t. Not physically. You were only conscious for so long. Waking and sleeping on and off. They’d be in the middle of a speech, a monologue, when you’d come to. Truthfully, they were lonely, admitting it to you in the early morning. Tired of talking to the dead. Thank you for listening to me, they’d say, brushing your hair from your face. Climbing in beside you. Your body, your lips and tongue, too heavy to move. Made of stone. Marble, you think, or granite, like the counters in the kitchen. You only caught a glimpse of it: the kitchen. Painted white, perhaps off-white, with updated fixtures. The rest of it drastically behind in design. It wasn’t their house. That, you knew, had already been searched. So where were you? A relatives maybe, someone long gone, their reconstruction cut short. By what though? A friend? Though, from the way they spoke, the way they held you, you doubted they had many friends left. Abandoned, left for sale. You could imagine a sign with a woman's face on it. Her hair is big, her grin even bigger. Wearing magenta or sky blue. Something funny about that, it makes you smile. Loopy, dazed, lopsided. They smile back at you. See, I knew you’d like it here. A far away feeling of dread filling the cavity of your chest. Pooling, foreign to your nervous system. No longer smiling. The bed was too far from the window. No use in imagining anyways. 

Will stands, his arms out holding a towel. Fluffy, you think, though that’s as far as you’ll go, as much as you’ll let yourself express. You stand, hearing the water fall from you into the bath. There is no shame. Not here. Not now. Your gaze down. The clothes you wore, piled into a wet mound, no longer there. The mess they made cleaned up. When did he do that? You could have sworn he’d been by your side the whole time. He wraps it around you, looking you over. They didn’t, but just as you begin to speak, you stop. Hurt me, you finish in your mind, they didn’t hurt me. He was looking for wounds. Bruises, cuts, anything to indicate harm. Untouched, they left you. They promised. Says he’ll be back in a minute. Okay. You avoid your reflection. You know what will look back will seem fine. Normal. You can’t help but see the red. Your hair matted with it. Your skin is drenched. Your body looks like an open sore. Will wash it away, you know this, and yet. . . When he returns he shows up with clothes you don’t recognize. A t-shirt. Pajama pants. You dress with hesitation. If you stare too long and it all looks bloody. Better not to. Leads you to the hall. Think for a moment before taking you down the stairs. The dogs wait happily at the bottom. Your hand in his. You breathe a sigh of relief: there is no bed down here. You smooth down soft ears, feel wet noses. He leaves you with them in the living room, promising something to eat. You’re not hungry, though. You have brushed your teeth, your tongue, scraped the inside of your mouth raw, but the taste never goes away. Iron. Tired, you curl into yourself.

You hear him in the kitchen. His footsteps. His quiet breath. They weren’t so cautious. Panting, they’d drag something – someone – up the stairs, past your room to the attic. A few struggled, their voices muffled, you thought, by a gag in their mouth. Others, the ones already gone, were harder to move. Heavier. You could tell the difference. The grunting, cursing, that’s what told you they were dead. They spoke softly to the living, hushing them, assuring them they would take care of them. You were so out of it, though. Sometimes you couldn’t tell if it was a dream or not. The next time you woke up, the room, the house, was painted red. The blood dribbled from the ceiling. Not splattered, you think, but coated. The walls, the bed, you. In your nose, your mouth, your eyes. Pulling at your restraints until you get one hand free, desperate to wipe it away. You tried to run, to scream, but you fell. Slipped. On your hands and knees, shaking. Inches of it on the floor, puddle-like. Pulling at the door handle. You want to escape, to run, but everything is greasy. Wet. it’s everywhere. The blood. The bodies drained in the attic. Were they still there? You can’t look, can’t let your thoughts wander. It takes several tries to press the right number. Your fingers are clumsy. You beg for Jack, Jack your boss, Jack who had reported you missing. Pleading, crying. They missed a spot. The kitchen, sleek and new, doused in red, but the pantry, slim, forgotten. You crawl inside until you hear Jack's voice. Only then would you come out. 

When you wake you tug at your wrists, sitting up, expecting to be back there. No, no. The warmth beside you is not them, their body, but one of the dogs. Across the room sleeps Will. He placed a blanket over you while you slept. You breathe in and out, taking in your surroundings. Wills house. The sun setting, the dark blue of the sky bright. Lights scattered through the house remain on, as if expecting you. He took you home. He washed off the blood. He took care of you. You hadn’t thanked him. You barely said anything. You would. They are still out there. Jack, Will, Hannibal, they all promised you would be safe. They would not find you again. They would not do what they did, they would not love you, care for you, make you listen while they killed innocent people. No more blood will be poured, spilled, drenched. Will moves in his sleep, burrowing his head into the pillow. Something about it, the act so innocent, makes you believe them. This place was not the house you were in, scared, crying. It was not stained. You’re safe now. He would take care of you, they all would.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Don't Be A Tease - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: It's a hot summer day in San Diego, and you and Bradley are struggling to stay cool. Things only heat up further when Bradley sees your solution to beating the heat.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: masturbating (m), swearing, unprotected p in v, praise kink,

word count: 1.1k

You sat out on the back porch of your house, the sun beating down on you as you licked your popsicle. It was ridiculously hot out in San Diego today, and you and your boyfriend were trying your best to beat the summer heat. Bradley  was out, getting a few groceries and some floor fans to help keep the house cool where the air conditioner couldn’t reach.

You pushed your sunglasses up higher on your nose, leaning back in your lawn chair as you continued to eat your popsicle. You were dressed as coolly as possible - a pale blue halter top and skirt, your hair in braids to keep it off of your neck.

You dragged your tongue along your popsicle, the cherry flavoured, pink juice refreshing as you tried to keep cool.

“Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?” 

You turned your head to see Bradley’s tall, tanned frame standing to your left, his arms full of of groceries, his tight fitting sleeveless top, Hawaiian shirt and cargo short combo fitting his muscular body just right. 

“I don’t know, baby,” you grinned at him, “you tell me.”

Bradley  raised an eyebrow, laughing softly, “I’ll be out in a minute, babe. I’m just going to put this stuff away first.” 

He walked back into the house and you continued to finish eating your popsicle before tossing the stick in the garbage can outside. You headed back inside to wash your hands, seeing that Bradley  had finished putting everything away already. You called his name, trying to see where he’d gone to, but there was no response.

You wandered around the house, checking the bathroom and the living room before heading upstairs. You figured he was probably setting the fans up in your bedroom, because it was almost always so hot up there.

You reached for the handle, about to open the door, when you heard a soft grunting sound coming from the other side. You raised an eyebrow, opening it. 

“Bradley? What are you..,oh,” you laughed softly, seeing Bradley with his hand down his boxers, his curls sticking to his forehead, dampened with sweat as he jumped, his hand remaining in place. 

“Sorry, just, uh, just a sec, ok?” he started, his cheeks reddening as he spoke.

“Do you want some help?” you smirked, watching as he continued to stroke his cock, biting his lip hard as he stared at you standing in front of him.

You strolled over to the bed, sitting beside him as you watched him touch himself. You were getting way too much enjoyment out of this, and he knew it too. You were completely driving him wild, and you loved it.

“You know, you need to stop touching yourself if you want my help, baby.” you teased.

“If i have to stop what i’m doing, you won't be able to walk for the next week.” Bradley hissed.

You shrugged your shoulders, your grin matching his as you watched him, “I’ll take that.”

He grinned at you, his hazel eyes burning with lust as he pulled his hand out from underneath his boxer shorts, getting up onto his knees as he watched you. He gestured for you to get up onto your knees, your back facing him. You knew exactly what he wanted to do.

His hand rested on your lower back as you got on all fours in front of him, the other hand giving your ass a hard, firm smack as he watched you react. He slid your skirt up, revealing your lace thong. He slid them off down your legs, tilting his head down between them. He gently pushed your thighs open, his tongue dragging over your wet slit. You let out a loud moan as he flicked his tongue out at your clit.

You felt Bradley run the hardened tip of his cock along your slit, a soft groan escaping your lips. 

Suddenly, Bradley pushed his tip inside of you, causing your body to jerk forward slightly. You took in a sharp breath as you adjusted to his size - he wasn’t small by any means, in more ways than one.

“You like that, pretty girl? Gonna be good for me now, honey?” he hissed, grinning as you gripped the sheets tightly.

You were about to answer him, but he began to thrust sharply into you, his body moving rhythmically with you, his tip hitting your spot with each and every thrust. He pounded into you, giving it to you as hard as you had ever gotten it before, and you were being driven completely wild by it.

“Fuck, Bradley!” you screamed as he continued to thrust into you.

You threw your head back, and you felt his hand grab a hold of your hair. He gave your hair a tug, pulling your head back to face his as he thrusted harder into you. He wanted to see your face, he loved seeing every look, every reaction, he loved seeing you when you were having sex. He’d watch so intently, and today was no exception.

“You feel so fucking good, honey, and you look like a fucking dream from here.” he grunted.

“Y-you’re gonna make me -” you started, your voice cut off by screams.

Bradley  continued to thrust hard and fast, his movements becoming sloppier as he got closer to his own climax. You knew you were almost as your breaking point, and you could feel your whole body shake with ecstasy as he pounded into your spot. 

“Let go for me, pretty girl”,  he hissed into your ear, his hand pulling your hair tightly again.

Practically on cue, you felt your body tense up, unable to control yourself any longer. Bradley  grunted loudly as your juices covered his cock, his own orgasm following not far behind yours.

Your bodies moved simultaneously together as you rode it out, a flurry of moans and swear words escaping both of your mouths as you finished together. You whined softly as Bradley pulled out of you, his lips gently kissing your shoulder as he stroked your hair.

He leaned forward to your ear, whispering softly into it, you could practically hear his signature cheeky grin in his words.

“Next time, beautiful, don’t tease me like that.”

[xzerosparrowx]

For week six of @astrangersummer

Prompt: Ice cream/sweat | wc: 741 | rating: E | cw: mild language, strong sexual themes | tags: gratuitous use of a popsicle, Jawbreaker-esque, horny.

popsicle

✨️🍦✨️🍦✨️

The sun is bearing down on them, the oppressive sweltering summer heat forcing the residents of Hawkins to use their air conditioners, fans, and fridges in an attempt to cool down.

When Steve invited Robin and Eddie to his house to cool down he never thought about what Eddie would wear. He just sort of assumed the resident metal head would just be wearing his usual clothes; jeans, leather jacket and a band shirt. What Steve never imagined, or at least never imagined in broad daylight was Eddie wearing black cut-off jean shorts and a threadbare Elvis shirt that had been cropped haphazardly.

Steve wondered if he was hallucinating, or had died suddenly and his brain was showing him random, horny images of Eddie Munson as a last fuck you from life. It felt like he was in that scene in the Breakfast Club where Emelio Estevez had finally realised how pretty Ally Sheedy was before her awful makeover, or that fucking volleyball scene with Tom Cruise.

The outfit simultaneously exposed too much and not enough. Too much thigh, and frustratingly not enough waist. He felt out of sorts when Eddie walked through his door, his eyes catching on tattoos he had never seen before, the black ink swirling down his right thigh and up his waist. He caught himself staring way too often when the three of them laid on the kitchen tiles, the open fridge cooling the air slightly around them as they shared whatever was left of the vanilla ice cream.

Apparently, the meager offering was not enough for Robin, who sprang to her feet when the familiar tune of an ice cream truck rounded the corner onto the street. It didn't take much convincing to get Steve to pay for all of them; Robin bought an ice cream sandwich, Steve bought soft serve with hardened chocolate topping and Eddie bought…

Well he fucking bought a popsicle, the asshole.

So here Steve was, sitting out by the pool with his friends, their legs dangling in the cool water and watching the, frankly disgusting, scene of Eddie Munson practically blowing his popsicle. He looks to Robin to see if she is also witnessing the borderline porno happening right in front of them but she's too busy reading Slyvia Plath and eating her ice cream to notice.

Steve wonders if this will be a formative experience, if he will look back on today in twenty years and say “yeah, this is the day I associated eating popsicles with head.” He tears his eyes away from Eddie's now bright red lips, only to be met with large chocolate brown eyes staring straight at him.

He shoots up, mumbling an apology to Robin for splashing her and practically running inside the house. He can feel bullets of sweat line his forehead as he scrapes what's left of his ice cream in the kitchen sink and throws the cone in the trash. He readjusts himself when he opens the fridge, taking a bottle of water and swallowing down large gulpfuls of it in an attempt to calm the fuck down.

He startles when the backdoor clangs shut, spinning on his heels to face Eddie walking into the kitchen. Steve watches him throw Robin's wrapper in the trash, Eddie's own, mostly uneaten and melting, popsicle still in his hand. There is a cocky grin plastered on Eddie's face, a knowing mischievous glint in his eyes as he saunters towards Steve.

“Hey big boy, you ok?” Eddie's voice is low and Steve's brain is working at max capacity to take everything in. Taking in the way Eddie's hair is tied up, the way a bead of sweat drips down the length of Eddie's long neck and how warm Eddie is as the guy crowds him against the fridge.

“Yeah, I'm uh- I'm cool-” he stumbles through, swallowing when he watches Eddie bring the red popsicle back to his lips.

His eyes are glued to Eddie, breath hitching watching this fucking guy in front him swallow around the iced treat, his head bobbing up and down its length and those large brown eyes staring straight into Steve's as his tongue slurps around the popsicle. It's obscene, it's disgusting, and it's one of the hottest fucking things Steve has ever seen.

Eddie finishes the show with a kitten lick at the head- top, the fucking top of the popsicle before turning it towards Steve.

“You wanna taste?”

[babiriye]

Awesome climate news!

Have y'all heard of geothermal energy? There's the superheated geothermal energy that first comes to mind in places like Iceland over geological hot spots that are able to use the heat of near surface magma to power traditional turbines to make energy. Those are cool, but not what I'm talking about.

Anywhere you are on earth, the ambient temperatures fluctuate greatly. But go just 5 feet below ground, and you have a nearly constant temperature of 55 degrees farenheight. This massive source of a stable temperature environment can act as a heat sink or heat source!

There's this cool technology called heat pumps. It functions similar to an air conditioner, which pumps heat out of a building, leaving cooler temperatures behind. Heat pumps literally move heat around. I have an ambient heat pump for heating and cooling my house which is pretty sweet. However, it struggles to heat my house in the winter. To heat my house, the heat pump needs to take heat from outside and move it inside. This is obviously difficult to do in winter when i need it most.

Enter geothermal heat pumps! Geothermal heat pumps move heat to or from the stable temperature zones available literally everywhere. It's much easier to pull heat from the constant 55 degree farenheight ground than it is from the fluctuating and freezing ambient air! Geothermal heating is very energy efficient!

Now that's cool and all, but it's expensive. Very few people can afford their own geothermal heat pump system. You need to have a drill rig making deep boreholes, and that is not cheap.

Enter NETWORKED geothermal heat pumps! Imagine a neighborhood that is all connected to a centralized geothermal heating borehole network. A centralized utility can provide this super efficient heating and cooling system for an entire neighborhood!

Now this sounds a bit like pie in the sky wishful thinking. BUT ITS REAL.

In Framingham Massachusetts, the world's first networked geothermal system has been constructed and is online! It serves over 30 buildings, including a school and fire department, and apartment complex. This is incredible!!

We already have large centralized utilities distributing resources through large piped networks. Natural gas is one of the main sources of heat for many people. This is distributed through pipes in roadways to homes. Natural gas is not as terrible for the environment as oil heating, but it still is a fossil fuel that's terrible for the environment (fracking), and has explosive consequences when things go wrong (ex. Merrimack Valley Gas Explosions).

Imagine a world where we replace (or maybe reuse??) our networked natural gas distribution with networked geothermal! This is better for climate, more cost efficient for customers, and doesn't run the risk of having deadly explosions.

There is so much progress happening in the fight against climate change. I'll keep working on spreading these good news stories, as they deserve to be told.

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - September 1-7

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my new(ly repurposed) Patreon!

1. Rescue Dog Who Helped Raise Dozens of Foster Puppies Finds Forever Home

“Three and a half years ago, Noel arrived at Lucky Dog as a pregnant pooch pulled from [an] animal control shelter. […] Once the puppies were old enough to start life on their own, Lucky Dog found homes for all of them. […] Noel was an "amazing mom" to over two dozen foster puppies while staying at [a foster] house.”

2. Radiant cooling device uses significantly less energy than traditional air conditioning

“Testing of the device […] showed the cooling device capable of cooling the skin by approximately 7.3°C. It also showed that it consumed 50.4% less energy than an average air-conditioner of comparable ability. The research team notes that the device can also be run in reverse, to serve as a radiant heater.”

3. How a Native elections official is breaking down voting barriers in Arizona

“Gabriella Cázares-Kelly, Pima County Recorder, [… ran for office in 2020] to represent people who were being ignored by the democratic system and denied the right to vote. […] “People started getting the voter registration cards back, getting their voter IDs in the mail, and they were so excited to show me or thank me for helping them register,” she said.”

4. Scientists are growing [coral] babies in a lab to save animals from extinction

“Each August, corals in Florida release their eggs and sperm into the water[, … but “they] can’t reproduce on their own anymore.” [So, researchers are] collecting and freezing the spawn and growing them into genetically diverse baby corals that can be replanted into the wild[….] These resilient corals could pass important adaptations to their babies[….]”

5. New Legislation Will Accelerate Offshore Wind Energy in Delaware

““The responsible development of offshore wind and the transition to renewable energy is essential for the protection of wildlife, habitats, and communities from the havoc of climate change[….]” “This legislation is the product of careful consideration and input from multiple state agencies, industry experts, energy researchers and environmental advocates[….]””

6. Removal of Apache Trout from Endangered Species List Due to Collaborative Conservation Efforts

“[A]fter more than five decades of recovery efforts by federal, state and Tribal partners, […] the restoration of Arizona’s state fish marks the first […] trout delisted due to recovery, a significant conservation success[….] The Apache trout is found exclusively in streams of the White Mountains in the eastern part of Arizona […] and is sacred to the White Mountain Apache Tribe.”

7. [Texas] State court rules Austin must release files on police complaint

“Under the act, records of any complaint – even if no disciplinary action was taken – must be handed over to the civilian-led Office of Police Oversight. [… T]he ruling ushers in a new level of oversight of the complaint process and the department writ-large.”

8. Super-rare hairy-nosed wombat caught waddling through a woodland in Australia

“Ecologists at Australian Wildlife Conservancy (AWC) say the video footage provides exciting evidence wombats are breeding in the refuge again. […] There are only 400 of them in the world, making them rarer than the giant panda and the Sumatran tiger. […] “Although this isn’t the first joey born at the refuge, it is the first juvenile spotted for a few years.””

9. The country’s biggest electric school-bus fleet will also feed the grid

“[The] country’s first all-electric school-bus fleet[,…] which serve the district’s special-needs students, […] can charge with low-cost power and discharge spare capacity at times of grid stress[…. V]ehicle-to-grid charging is something for which electric school buses are particularly well suited.”

10. The Push to Save Horseshoe Crabs Is Gaining Momentum

“Conservationists hope new restrictions on harvesting and synthetic alternatives to a crab-blood compound used in biomedical testing can turn the tide for the ancient arthropods, whose eggs are a vital food source for Red Knots [threatened migratory birds]. […] Now conservationists are in the thick of a multi-pronged push to save both species.”

August 22-28 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[redroomreflections]

Stuck Outside - The Loud House Drabble

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

The Loud House - full and almost completed on a03

Note: I can’t update a full chapter but I thought this would be fun to write 

You juggled the last of the grocery bags as you went to the front door. You weren’t a fan of multiple trips, but the amount of needed things surpassed your unsaid boundary. The summer sun bore down on you, making the trip back and forth from the car to the house feel even more exhausting. You were home alone with the kids, Natasha having taken Cara, Charlie, and Willow to Cara’s practice. You could hear Paige and James giggling inside, their voices seemingly far off as you began to walk up the driveway. 

With a sigh of relief, you reached the front door and nudged it open with your hip. The kids had run in before you and didn't bother grabbing a thing. Balancing the bags, you called into the house, “Paige, James, can you help me with these?”

You heard a faint response but couldn’t make out any words. Shrugging, you stepped inside, dropping the bags just past the threshold. The cool air from the air conditioner was a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside.

“Mama, is there ice cream?” James asked as he stepped into the room, Nintendo Switch in hand. He was barely paying attention to your instructions.

“Yes, go put that away and start putting the groceries away,” You replied, your patience wearing thin.

James gave a half-hearted nod and strolled over to the kitchen, still fixated on his game. You turned back to Luke, who was now contentedly driving his toy truck along the edge of the porch.

With the last bag of groceries in mind, you walked back to the car. As you reached it, you heard a loud click behind you. Your heart skipped a beat. You spun around only to see Luke standing on the other side of the threshold with you. You’d dropped your keys with the grocery bags you just placed inside. 

“Did you close the door, Papa?” You asked, opting for the nickname you gave him.

Luke looked up at you with innocent eyes, his toy truck still clutched in his hands. “Yes!” he said proudly.

“That’s fine, it’s not like the door locks automatically,” You said, shrugging as you tried the door handle. 

It didn’t budge.

Your heart skipped a beat. You tried the handle again, jiggling it a bit more forcefully. It was still locked. Panic began to creep in as you knocked on the door.

“Paige! James! Open the door!” You called out, trying to keep your voice calm. From inside, you could hear the kids laughing and the TV blaring, completely oblivious to your situation.

“Paige! James!” You shouted louder, banging on the door. There was no response.

You looked down at Luke, who was now contentedly playing with his truck on the front step, completely unfazed by the unfolding drama.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm your nerves. “Alright, let’s think,” you muttered to yourself. “The spare key...” You mentally ran through your options, trying to remember where you last put it. “Oh, right, there is no spare key because my wife is a spy.” You sighed. You tried banging on the door forcefully again. Again, to no avail. “I swear when I get ahold of those kids.” You shook your head. There was no sense in blaming them for your mistake. 

“Is everything okay?” You heard Natasha’s sweet, velvety voice with the slightest hint of a Russian accent coming from your security doorbell.

“Shit!” You groaned lowly. How would you explain this to her?

“Oh!” Luke crowed as he acknowledged the curse you’d just said. "Shit!" He repeated with a laugh.

“Y/n?” Natasha asked again, concern evident in her voice. "What he did just say?"

“No, Luke, don’t you repeat that,” You shook your head, trying to keep the situation from spiraling further. "He said nothing."

You were still locked out, and the kids hadn’t managed to open the door yet. As you tried to think of a way to explain this to Natasha, you heard another voice.

“Hi there, dear!” Mrs. Crow called from her driveway, her cheerful tone adding another layer of awkwardness and annoyance to the situation.

You turned to see your neighbor waving enthusiastically, her curious gaze shifting between you and the door.

“Hi, Mrs. Crow,” You called back, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. “Just a little... house mishap.”

“Oh my, do you need help?” She asked, starting to walk towards you.

“No, no, it’s okay,” you replied quickly, not wanting to involve her in this moment. “Just locked myself out for a bit.”

Paige and James were still inside, and despite your earlier instructions, they seemed to have gotten distracted again. 

“Y/n, what’s going on?” Natasha’s voice came through the doorbell again, a bit more insistent this time.

“Natasha, I’m locked out, and the kids won’t open the door,” You admitted, feeling a bit sheepish.

“Interesting,” Natasha replied with a hint of amusement.

“Hi, Mama!” Luke waved to the camera. “I have a red truck.” He lifted it to where he’d last heard her voice. 

“Hi, Luke,” Natasha responded. “I like your truck. 

“It’s not interesting - can’t we unlock it through your phone or something?” You asked, interrupting their little moment. 

“No, you were too cheap to pay for that feature,” Natasha teased.

“Me? Too cheap,” You shook your head. You don’t remember this at all. 

“That’s what I said when you declined,” Natasha pointed out, her tone playful. “Try the backdoor. I doubt Cara locks it when she takes the dogs out.”

“Good idea,” You said, feeling a bit sheepish for not thinking of it yourself. “Thanks, Nat. I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Natasha called after you.

As you made your way to the back of the house, you picked up to make things go a little faster. Maybe next time, you’d be a bit less stubborn about investing in modern conveniences.

You reached the backdoor and turned the handle, relieved to find it unlocked. With a sigh of relief, you stepped inside, grateful to finally be back in the safety and comfort of your own home.

“Mommy, why did you use the backdoor?” Paige stepped over to investigate.

“Why do you have the TV volume on 100?” You retorted,

Paige wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Because I couldn’t hear it,” she replied innocently.

You chuckled, shaking your head at her logic. “Well, next time, try turning it down instead of blasting our eardrums.”

Paige nodded, understanding dawning on her face. “Okay, Mommy.”

You ruffled her hair in affection before heading for your keys and the forgotten groceries. You won’t be making the same mistake twice. 

[kyra45]

Interrupting your scrolling with a fun poll!

[woozten-x]

#. 𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 || 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧

[ ; M.List including other Neos! ]

─ Synopsis: Two dogs have brought you having an encounter with a familiar stranger.

Shockingly enough, Jeong Jaehyun has been a fool for you for quite awhile.

─ Pairing: Jeong Jaehyun x Gender Neutral!Reader

─ Genre: fluffy/wholesome<3<3

─ Concepts: a lil flustered/embarrassed jaehyun cuz i like softies, jaehyun has two girl dogs<3, reader and jaehyun meeting after years, implication of jaehyun being in love with reader since then, icecream with jaehyun, yoga instructor jaehyun because yes, straightforward jaehyun cuz we love confident men in this house!!, jungwoo appearing for like a BRIEF moment cuz im kinda in dojaejung headrot lowk

─ Count of Words: 2.6k

─ Inspiration of the work: Love is a Beauty by NCT 127 + Fool For You by Snoh Aalegra

・❥ a/n: i thought of making this a bit longer... but, i kinda liked the straightforwardness of it and just the ending left to interpret whatever you want HAHA. i might make this a series with NCT 127, basing it off of love is a beauty because that song is SOSO cute and my lovesick mind is going haywire!!

jaehyun was mainly based off of NCT Golden Age concept photos where he radiates so much domestic au vibes and THE TWO DOGS<3<3 i possibly made this to have an excuse to write about yoga instructor jaehyun with two dogs

Summer sunlight kisses upon your skin, the golden glow giving a shine that one could call ethereal. You sit on the bench of the park, the chirps of the birds singing a serene tune with distant children playing on the other side where the playground was; at times, people would walk by with feet scraping across the concrete with murmurs of conversation reaching your ears.

However, you paid no attention. Instead, you are focused on the page of your book, occasionally flipping a page or fidgeting with the corner of the page with a pout of your lips. You are invested in the plot, completely lost in your own world of fiction. The words of the plot take you elsewhere, a world where it's more tolerable than reality itself.

It was one of those rare times, where you are leaving your home for a fresh breath of air. Usually, the summer heat would have you returning back to your apartment with the air conditioner blasting cool air; but, one of those rare days of summer being just perfect has you welcoming outside, appreciating what nature is presenting and how time is flowing past without a worry.

You did not expect this day to be any different. In fact, you are seated on the bench with your hydroflask of cold water sitting next to you, time flowing by without your attention wavering from the book on your lap. Sounds of distant barking reach your ears, but it did not distract you from the book you are currently invested in; it was simply one of those sounds you did not flinch at.

After all, you are at the park. What could be out of the ordinary?

The barking grows closer, you feel your eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion. Deep pitch barks of a canine disrupting your reading, you blink a few times to regain your focus; maybe there is a large dog playing near you - you thought. But, with more seconds passing with the barking and a rushing of pawsteps, you are finally torn away from your book with irritation expressing from your features for a brief moment.

What could possibly be wrong? Is some dog wreaking havoc?

Possibly so, considering there is a large dog with a leash attached to its collar; the gray and white pelt similar to a poodle’s, the long legs fast as a cheetah’s. If you look closely, his fur is combed back by the rush of the wind because of how fast it ran. You look around, noticing how no person is supervising the canine; you thought maybe the dog was fetching something or had run off to start a chase with a squirrel.

But, the more you watched, the dog’s attention suddenly landed on you. The dog barks, the long, fluffy tail wagging behind it; you are confused for a moment, similar to a deer in the headlights. You aren’t sure what will happen, but your body is freezing despite the warm weather, at that very moment.

The dog runs up to you, tongue sticking out between its panting mouth, the dog hopping up onto your lap and you yelp in surprise by the heaviness of its paws. Fluffy paws settle on your lap, your book unfortunately crushed underneath by its weight. You panic, unsure what to do; surely, you had plenty of encounters with dogs…But, this is quite random and one that completely caught you off-guard.

The large poodle mix happily greets you, pawing at your hands and seeming to imply you to pet him…Or her. You aren’t exactly sure, but it has you smiling; the dog’s friendliness only replacing the irritation from before with amusement. You lift up a hand, patting the dog’s head - “Have you run off from your owner?” You coo, scratching behind the dog’s floppy ears and it’s tongue meets your skin with wet streaks.

Giggling, you are cooing at the dog and squishing the cheeks together, adoring how fluffy and adorable the dog is! It was like a large stuffed animal begging for your attention. Suddenly, a male’s voice reaches your ears from a distance - “Bonnie!” The name makes the dog’s head turn away from you, ears perked up by the familiarity of its calling. Bonnie the dog did not leave your side, only bathing in the attention you gave.

“Bonnie!” He calls again, his voice sounding more relieved than panicked once approaching you and the dog. The man walks up to you, the fluffy brown hair on top of his head parted and a white tank-top complimenting his lean, toned physique; you would be flustered to see such a handsome man, but your eyes wandered to the small white toy poodle by his feet. You coo, “Aww~ How adorable!” You exclaim, calling for the smaller canine.

The white toy poodle excitedly runs up to you, the leash accidentally tangling with the legs of the man’s; he stumbles towards the bench you sat, gripping onto the back of the wood with his arms flexing near you. Your eyes widened, getting up to hopefully help him but the dogs were in the way, causing you to stumble towards him like some foolish dance.

Suddenly, an arm is wrapped around your waist and you are not meeting the floor with a possibly bruised face. The proximity between you and the stranger caused your heart to race in embarrassment, a heat rising in your body temperature and the summer’s warmth did not help; however, he stood in front of you with wide eyes. His pink lips parting slightly with a flustered smile, “Are you okay?”

You nod with eyes avoiding the dimples imprinting the corners of his lips, his strong grasp weakening once you find some composure to move away from him and the dogs. Thankfully, with some distance made, the dogs follow you and the man leans down to pick up the stray leash the larger dog had - “I am so sorry about that,” He said sheepishly, looking at you once he straightened his back and gained some control over his excited dogs.

“No, you are fine! Are your dogs always this friendly?” You laugh, thankful that this awkward encounter wasn’t cursed as some embarrassing memory; you could easily melt the ice with the handsome man before you, about his dogs. He looks at you before answering, his eyes widening slightly but the smile never wavering - “Y-Yeah…Uh, well not really.” He said awkwardly.

You chuckle at his words, kneeling down in front of the dogs to let them come closer to you with kisses of their own. You laugh, “They are cute! This is Bonnie and…” You trail off, looking towards the white dog next to Bonnie. The man remains to be awkward, his stiff posture only making him scratch the back of his neck - “Bunny.” He answers back, trying to relieve the tension plaguing his body with a forced laugh.

The attempt was fruitless though, considering he feels extreme embarrassment around you. You smile widely, “Bunny!” You call out, the small dog going on her hind legs, seeming to show a trick upon your call. You extend out your hands, petting both dogs and cooing at them like they are newborns.

“They are both girls.” He tells you, watching you interact with his girls. He smiles, a faint blush from the heat or possibly the embarrassment coloring his pale cheeks; a glow in his eyes, one that seems to be adoring you from afar. “How cute!” You say with a hum, standing up and finally facing him. He seems to stiffen when your attention settles on him, your warm gaze only making his heart ache just a little.

You stare at him, furrowing your brows - “Do I know you from somewhere?” You ask, his face familiar from somewhere in your past. He blinks back at you, “I do yoga here at the park.” He said, his hands tugging the dogs away from you. It seems like his own dogs are in love with you, just as his heart is.

“Really? I swore, I’ve seen you before…” You mutter out, thinking maybe he is some celebrity…Considering his outstanding looks, he has to be! But, you couldn’t recall.

There is a visible twitch to his lips, a small smirk growing on his face - “Maybe…From your dreams?” He said with a small laugh of his own, the joke gradually brewing in his mind before he said it. It was cute though, the way his eyes light up when thinking about a smooth reply to your words.

Smiling, you roll your eyes - “I’ll see you around then. The stranger from my dreams~” You tease while picking up your book and hydroflask. He continues to smile at you, seeming proud to see you smile like that.

“I’ll see you around,” He said, a small promise to his words as you gave him one last nod before walking off. Although you wish to stay much longer to possibly know more about the familiar stranger, you wanted to return back home and take a cold shower after the eventful encounter. You try to think, wondering who he could be…

How could a stranger be so familiar? You simply cannot figure it out.

. . .

Sitting at your usual spot at the park, a new book in your hands. Eyes wandering along the page with each line describing the scene, bringing you a sense of experience with the words printed on the page. Away from reality once again, but you hear more voices this time; among all of them, there is one you recognize. You didn’t think much of it at first, wanting to finish this chapter first before taking in your surroundings.

Once you do finish the chapter, you are looking up to see the same man you met a few days ago. He wore a pair of gym shorts, the fabric reaching his knees and wearing a white tee that seems a little too tight on him; his body flexing underneath, as he moves and instructs yoga to his class on his mat.

You feel a small smile tugging at your lips, watching how he slowly takes the lead; encouraging anyone who might not be as flexible as him. The more you watch, you smile to yourself, admiring the way the sun glows on his skin like a golden spotlight. He straightens himself, his eyes wandering to you and his dimpled smile is overcoming his pink lips.

Oh, it was so familiar…One that makes your heart feel like mush.

He waves a hand at you, a boyish smile on his face with eyes twinkling at the sight of you. You wave back, chuckling when noticing one of the members of his yoga group had followed his movement.

“Jungwoo, you did not have to do that.”

“What do you mean? You told us to follow what you do!”

You laugh a bit at them, your attention returning back to the book in your hands. You did not spare another glance, not wanting to distract him any further…Even if he is distracting.

Collectively, the yoga group finishes their last stretches before picking up their belongings. You didn’t look up, attentive to the plot you are currently reading; this chapter holds important information, you simply can’t tear your eyes away even for a second. Unknowingly, you held your breath when reading, the details unfolding in your head like a movie; one that has you on the edge of your seat.

Suddenly, a voice rings out - “Hey.”

You barely registered the voice, reaching the end of the chapter - thankfully - but, it was left with a cliffhanger. You huff, feeling a little annoyed by the rising tension and to only remain due to the author’s sadistic tendencies with the reader! You look up, meeting eyes with the man, two icecreams holding in his hands. You blink back at him, surprised to see the icy treats in his hand...Obviously, those treats weren’t just for him.

“Here.” He said, handing you the flavor you love; how would he know? You smile in return, “Thank you…But, you didn’t have to.” You say, accepting his offer nevertheless. You pick up the little spoon, picking up a spoonful with him sitting next to you. “Did I appear in your dreams again?” He asks, a chuckle leaving him by the inside joke the two of you have created when first meeting.

You grin, “Nope. Only once…And never got to learn your name.” You reply back, playing along with the joke shared between the two of you.

He looks at you, “I am Jaehyun.” He said and you felt your own mind melt…Not from the heat, as you thought - but, from the realization. “Jaehyun…The one…” You start, obviously astonished to see the familiar Jeong Jaehyun from your past.

He nods, “So, you do remember me.” He chuckled and you shook your head.

“It was the last year of middle school that you’ve left…” You said with a blush rising to your cheeks. It was unfortunate for Jaehyun to move schools, but meeting him again…As adults and after so many years, it felt odd. Yet the familiarity of it made your heart skip a beat, maybe fate had the two of you intertwined from the very start.

He casually picks a spoonful of icecream to his lips, “A long time, huh?” He hums and you nod slowly at his words. You look away, feeling embarrassed for not exactly recognizing him. Jaehyun glances at you, “We weren’t that close back then…But, I am happy to see you.” He admits, a faint blush on his cheeks by his own honesty.

“I am happy to see you also!” You exclaim, nodding in agreement to convey how important this meeting was. You grin at him, “You’ve been here all along!” You say with a hint of disbelief. It truly was a small world.

Jaehyun nods, “Better late than never.” He replies smoothly, his eyes tracing along your features; seeming to adore the details, the very same details that made him recognize you instantly. To this day, he still hasn’t forgotten; no matter how long, he has not found anyone else…Sometimes, he thinks he is a fool.

“Are you seeing anyone?” He asks suddenly, the silence of admiring you bringing out a bold question from him.

You shook your head, “Nope. Unless, characters from the novels i’ve read count.” You remark, a chuckle leaving you. Jaehyun smirks a bit to himself, his gaze falling to the ice cream melting away in the cup he was holding.

“Go out with me.”

You nearly spat out the icecream in your mouth, eyes wide - “What?” you sputter out, completely caught off-guard.

“I never got to tell you before…So, go out with me.” He repeats, his gaze returning to yours; a hint of warmth in his eyes, a vulnerability radiating him and you swore you could see his heart through his own gaze. The way he looks at you…How long has he had these feelings, especially towards you?

“I am not saying ‘no’ but…How long…”

“For a very long time.” He admits, a hand reaching out; his fingers brushing away the strands of hair covering your face. You felt your own heart melt at his gentleness, only letting him smile back at you with a tenderness that you never knew existed; especially for you.

He leans in, his warm breath reaching your ear - “A very long time where I became such a fool for you.”

Shocked, you watch him lean away with a grin on his lips, but there’s a tinge of pink on his cheeks. The secret told from honest lips, the very same lips holding a beauty of what love is - maybe you have become a fool for him also.

[boymosher-420]

Some facts about bamboo:

1.Fast Growth: Bamboo is the fastest-growing plant in the world. It has been recorded at growing 47.6 inches in 24 hours. Some species can even grow over a meter per day under optimal conditions. A new bamboo shoot reaches its full height in less than a year.

2. Oxygen Release: A grove of bamboo releases 35% more oxygen than any other tree out there.

3. Carbon Dioxide Absorption: Bamboo absorbs carbon dioxide at a rate of 17 tons per hectare every year. It can act as a valuable carbon sink given how fast the plant grows.

4. No Fertilizer Required: Bamboo doesn’t need fertilizer to grow. It can self-mulch by dropping its leaves and use the nutrients to grow.

5. Drought Resistance: Bamboos are drought-tolerant plants. They can grow in the desert.

6. Wood Replacement: Bamboos can be harvested in 3-5 years compared to the 20-30 years of most softwood trees.

7. Building Material: Bamboo is incredibly strong and sturdy. It has been used as support for concrete as well as scaffolding, bridges, and houses.

8. Soil Stability: Bamboo has a wide network of underground roots and rhizomes that prevent soil erosion.

9. Natural Air Conditioner: Bamboo cools the air surrounding it by up to 8 degrees in the summer.

10. Invasiveness: Some species of bamboo, especially ‘running’ bamboos, can be invasive due to their extensive root systems, which allow them to spread rapidly. However, not all species are invasive, and with proper management, the environmental impact can be minimized.

Image credit: Organizer Bamboo Nursery

[cold-heart-warm-writings]

It’s getting hot in here… and for once, it’s not because the Host Club just walked in the room. Excessive heat warning! How are the members handling it?

Tamaki: He would claim that he is the definition of Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected, but he has never been any of those things. He does though manage to seem not phased by the heat… at least in the company of any ladies. As soon as the ladies leave, he’s melting into a puddle on the ground and complains loud enough for everyone to hear it. 

Haruhi: Goes to the pool, humors the neighborhood children and sets up a sprinkler, makes homemade fruit popsicles, eats chilled watermelon, sits under a large umbrella. She’s not the biggest fan of the extreme heat, but Haruhi is resourceful. She’ll find a way to stay cool.

Kyoya: You will not catch this man breaking a singular bead of sweat. As soon as his phone dings with that excessive heat warning notification, he has a plane booked to literally anywhere that is not this goddamn hot, and is gone. Even his entire family thinks he’s rotting in his room, but no, he’s fucked off to an entire different continent. He’ll catch you in a week once the weather has decided to be reasonable again.

Hikaru: A menace in the best way. Hikaru comes prepared with water squirters, water balloons, those clown flowers that shoot out water, sponges to fill with water to chuck at people, you name it. He takes the heat as an excuse to absolutely LAUNCH a water filled anything at someone, and while initially annoyed, the victim ends up thanking Hikaru for the cool surprise. 

Mori: Swims laps in the pool. Can you think of a better way to cool off? The sun might be working hard, but Mori works harder. He is staying fit and fun out in the sun. Completely unbothered.

Kaoru: Kaoru uses the time to binge play video games and whatever manga he’s behind on inside. Why would he run around outside when his house has the latest state of the art air conditioner? You think his mom, uber fashion model, would allow for sweat stains? Absolutely not, his house is chilled to perfection, part of the problem of global warming, but when it’s this hot? Kaoru does not care. Let the world burn, he’d rather freeze.

Honey: Run. When it is this sticky, humid, and overall disgustingly hot outside, you think our loli boy can sleep? You think he can take his little cozy nappy time with his blanket? There is no wrath like that of a no nap time Honey. Run. Maybe get some ice cake to offer up as a sacrifice. Good luck to all who dare cross his path.