#all solid commercials

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[larabar]

everyone watch the boom episode "where have all the sonics gone?" right now the connections to sonic prime are insane. sonic is transported to another dimension where he doesnt exist. meets alternate versions of his friends who dont know him. eggman has full control over the town. theres a small rebellion led by 2 of sonics friends. tails fights sonic at first but helps him by the end. im losing my mind

[linktoo]

I just watched a whole Hyundai commercial for more spider-verse animation but I'm so obsessed with the fact that they got Gwen and Miles' voice actors to stiffly promote an electric car

[saintlioncourt]

just watched Tomorrowland (2015 dir. Brad Bird) and while it wasn't without its flaws the message is still pretty relevant now

[anthropwashere]

Logically I know it's that this is the first decent stretch of warm weather in a long while so we've all got our windows open 'round the clock paired with the usual March madness that hits so many people every year but the last couple days I've been halfway out of my MIND by how loud my neighbors have been, oh my god

[foxpunk]

would like to make a note for mac users: if you can help it do not use avira. it's owned by the same parent company as avast (and avg. both are notorious for shit business ethics, shit customer privacy protection, and shit bloatware). gen digital is good at taking your money and bad at protecting you and it is on purpose lmao. please use malwarebytes it works on mac just fine. if you're broke like me and are fairly tech savvy (or willing to experience a learning curve) use clamAV

Things that will make your computer meaningfully faster:

Replacing a HDD with an SSD

Adding RAM

Graphics cards if you're nasty

Uninstalling resource hogs like Norton or McAfee (if you're using Windows then the built-in Windows Security is perfectly fine; if you're using a mac consider bitdefender as a free antivirus or eset as a less resource intensive paid option)

Customizing what runs on startup for your computer

Things that are likely to make internet browsing specifically meaningfully faster:

Installing firefox and setting it up with ublock origin

adding the Auto Tab Discard extension to firefox to sleep unused tabs so that they aren't constantly reloading

Closing some fucking tabs bud I'm sorry I know it hurts I'm guilty of this too

Things that will make your computer faster if you are actually having a problem:

Running malwarebytes and shutting down any malicious programs it finds.

Correcting disk utilization errors

Things that will make your computer superficially faster and may slightly improve your user experience temporarily:

Clearing cache and cookies on your browser

Restarting the computer

Changing your screen resolution

Uninstalling unused browser extensions

Things that do not actually make your computer faster:

Deleting files

Registry cleaners

Defragging your drive

Passively wishing that your computer was faster instead of actually just adding more fucking RAM.

This post is brought to you by the lady with the 7-year-old laptop that she refuses to leave overnight for us to run scans on or take apart so that we can put RAM in it and who insists on coming by for 30-minute visits hoping we can make her computer faster.

[novelistparty]

"AI" hype is largely a fad. Much like "GPUs for general computing" in say 2010 when you couldn't go to a conference without hearing about how a GPU had changed the way people did their computer analyses. But here we are 13 years later and very very few people make use direct use of their GPU for general computational work. But for a while there, it was brought up in every meeting and every proposal process and every call for papers. I hated it then and I hate it now. I watched my colleague's postdocs waste months trying to speed up their work with a GPU instead of spending 5 minutes ordering one or two additional computers. We are in the most infuriating part of the fad cycle where the hype is the strongest as the fadders (sorry stealing this word from the godparents for the moment) are excited because they're just starting to release their creations into the world (steam allowing AI stuff, microsoft adding a copilot key to keyboards, news outlets using AI to paraphrase press releases). But there hasn't been enough time for meaningful feedback on any of it. Thus: all hype, no consequences. And let's not forget the tech world context for all this: interest rates went up, money became expensive again, and now tech has to produce real things in the short term and what better way to give yourself a longer investor-money-runway than to promise that your very expensive tech company will most definitely return that hard profit as soon as they spend a lot more money on New Fancy AI Tools that will Change The World

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.

[reasonsforhope]

"A 1-megawatt sand battery that can store up to 100 megawatt hours of thermal energy will be 10 times larger than a prototype already in use.

The new sand battery will eliminate the need for oil-based energy consumption for the entire town of town of Pornainen, Finland.

Sand gets charged with clean electricity and stored for use within a local grid.

Finland is doing sand batteries big. Polar Night Energy already showed off an early commercialized version of a sand battery in Kankaanpää in 2022, but a new sand battery 10 times that size is about to fully rid the town of Pornainen, Finland of its need for oil-based energy.

In cooperation with the local Finnish district heating company Loviisan Lämpö, Polar Night Energy will develop a 1-megawatt sand battery capable of storing up to 100 megawatt hours of thermal energy.

“With the sand battery,” Mikko Paajanen, CEO of Loviisan Lämpö, said in a statement, “we can significantly reduce energy produced by combustion and completely eliminate the use of oil.”

Polar Night Energy introduced the first commercial sand battery in 2022, with local energy utility Vatajankoski. “Its main purpose is to work as a high-power and high-capacity reservoir for excess wind and solar energy,” Markku Ylönen, Polar Nigh Energy’s co-founder and CTO, said in a statement at the time. “The energy is stored as heat, which can be used to heat homes, or to provide hot steam and high temperature process heat to industries that are often fossil-fuel dependent.” ...

Sand—a high-density, low-cost material that the construction industry discards [Note: 6/13/24: Turns out that's not true! See note at the bottom for more info.] —is a solid material that can heat to well above the boiling point of water and can store several times the amount of energy of a water tank. While sand doesn’t store electricity, it stores energy in the form of heat. To mine the heat, cool air blows through pipes, heating up as it passes through the unit. It can then be used to convert water into steam or heat water in an air-to-water heat exchanger. The heat can also be converted back to electricity, albeit with electricity losses, through the use of a turbine.

In Pornainen, Paajanen believes that—just by switching to a sand battery—the town can achieve a nearly 70 percent reduction in emissions from the district heating network and keep about 160 tons of carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere annually. In addition to eliminating the usage of oil, they expect to decrease woodchip combustion by about 60 percent.

The sand battery will arrive ready for use, about 42 feet tall and 49 feet wide. The new project’s thermal storage medium is largely comprised of soapstone, a byproduct of Tulikivi’s production of heat-retaining fireplaces. It should take about 13 months to get the new project online, but once it’s up and running, the Pornainen battery will provide thermal energy storage capacity capable of meeting almost one month of summer heat demand and one week of winter heat demand without recharging.

“We want to enable the growth of renewable energy,” Paajanen said. “The sand battery is designed to participate in all Fingrid’s reserve and balancing power markets. It helps to keep the electricity grid balanced as the share of wind and solar energy in the grid increases.”"

-via Popular Mechanics, March 13, 2024

--

Note: I've been keeping an eye on sand batteries for a while, and this is really exciting to see. We need alternatives to lithium batteries ASAP, due to the grave human rights abuses and environmental damage caused by lithium mining, and sand batteries look like a really good solution for grid-scale energy storage.

--

Note 6/13/24: Unfortunately, turns out there are substantial issues with sand batteries as well, due to sand scarcity. More details from a lovely asker here, sources on sand scarcity being a thing at the links: x, x, x, x, x

[sunderwight]

Shen Yuan with a Luo Binghe dakimakura is great but sometimes I stop and think about how a role reversal would have looked (i.e. Binghe as the reader who transmigrates in, Shen Yuan as the fictional character he was obsessing over) and oh my god. Fan Binghe who grew up with chronically online geek culture would have been next level in the absence of an actual, physical Shen Yuan/SQQ. Fan Binghe would have owned everything. He probably would have had to commission it all himself, either because the novel wasn't popular enough for the level of desired merch or because the mainstream commercially produced products were too cheap or flimsy or inaccurate for his specifications or probably both. Perfect hand fan recreations. Replica Xiu Ya (it's an actual sword) hanging on his wall. Fanart both done in a classical style (as in, 'what Shen Qingqiu might actually have hanging on his walls') as well as a variety of character portraits and erotic art zines. Printed and hand-bound copies of his favorite fanfics. Somewhere in China there's an amateur bookbinder who is making BANK off of this obsession, producing the most high level gorgeously bound copies of the filthiest smut and fluffiest hurt-comfort teacher/student fics.

Luo Binghe would be controversial in fandom because he is just as nitpicky and wank-y as Shen Yuan, with an extra dose of turning up in the comments sometimes to act like a jealous/possessive boyfriend accusing writers of being a little TOO lustful towards his unlikely waifu, but on the other hand he is rich and he will pay through goddamn nose for anything and everything that caters to his preferences. So a solid chunk of the fan creators just do things they think he'd like because they want in on the cash cow, while much of the rest of the fandom hates his guts because they feel like he hijacked everything with his own fanon and headcanons and obsessions. Shen Yuan isn't even that popular! Most of the rest of the fandom is kind of down on him as a cliche clueless danmei protagonist, they're all there for the score of blueballed love interests. Beautiful Liu Qingge and darkhorse Shang Qinghua and mysterious, tortured Yue Qingyuan and whatever the hell is going on with his evil doppelganger, Shen Jiu. Luo Binghe doesn't ever commission Shen Yuan with any of them, though! He's always solo, or maybe with a faceless tentacle monster or something!

It gets weird. There are probably Woman Buying Wonder Bread-esque memes about Binghe's highly specific kink commissions. On the other hand, Luo Binghe comes down harder than the actual artists on unsanctioned reposts because he commissioned Shen Yuan in that sexy lingerie fondling a really huge sword and it's not just for anyone to go around putting that up on whatever website they please!

He would own several dakimakura and they would arguably be more normal than a lot of the rest of his collection, is what I'm saying. He'd have them in different poses and seasonal outfits and versions that were acceptable for company and ones that had to get tucked into a drawer under the bed every morning because they were for Binghe's eyes only. And it wouldn't even just be the sexy ones, but also the ones where Shizun looks soft and fond and gentle and affectionate. The man was definitely working his way up to commissioning a lifelike Shen Yuan sex doll when the universe did absolutely everyone a favor and yeeted him into a transmigration scenario.

[munariplans]

routine | wanda maximoff

synopsis: a routine to follow; to secretly navigate the delicate balance of your double lives, you and wanda risk it all for just a clandestine affair teetering on the edge of discovery.

wanda maximoff x reader

word count: 2.1k words

warnings: infidelity, angst

a/n: it's only time, and fair, to write for wanda too :)

it all falls into routine pretty quickly; the late-night creaks of her front door, your feet tapping against the solid hardwood of her living room, her arms wrapping themselves around your body, lips finding your own. 

to build a unique relationship that defied categorisation, and to then allow the relationship to morph until it just about justified itself – you weren’t sure who started it first. perhaps it could have been wanda’s lingering glances, could have been your own sharp tongue. either way, you were seeing a colleague that shouldn’t have been your solace, and she hadn’t stopped it either.

it had been a long day at the office. or two days, you weren’t too sure. with a new product launch in the next week, everyone had been working overtime, you didn’t remember the last time you had seen your own wife, and you certainly didn’t remember her reminder to pick up the dry cleaning if you were on your way home. maybe she had even said it last week instead of this one. 

but you did remember the familiar steps to wanda’s house, the ding of her doorbell, the smell of vanilla and wood behind the door. it was already all beckoning to you, the comfort of a place that wasn’t even your own. 

as usual, she opened the door, already dressed in her satin nightgown, hair half-dry from her shower. and you collapsed right into her. wanda stumbled holding you up for a moment, but hearing your satisfied sighs and whimpers from her fingers threading themselves into your hair, followed with your arms melding your two bodies together, she too, couldn’t control the relief she exhaled. 

“you’re late.”

“i know, tom held me back today.”

wanda clicked her tongue. “i saw you asleep in your office last night. wanted to bring you home, but your assistant was working late too.”

she felt you nuzzle your face into her neck, breathing in the lavender and honey from her bath. “mmh. i did.”

“don’t overwork yourself.” her words, and replies, had always been curt. straight to the point, but never malicious. she cared about you, but she couldn’t show so much that she would give you the wrong idea. she knew what this was, after all. a relationship of convenience; a companionship made from two lonely, desperate people. 

she brings you to bed after allowing you to use her shower, your eyes drooping as you lay yourself over her, while she switches on the sitcoms on her television. fingers glide over the splay of your back, absentmindedly tracing the taut muscles there while you relish in her touch. the weight on her own body wasn’t uncomfortable, but more of a reassurance, a reminder, that she was grounded, and so were you, in the present moment. wanda pulls you in even further when the show cuts to a commercial.

there was a notification from your phone, in the bedside table next to wanda. glancing over at it, she feels a certain sting in her chest. she’s not sure why. it wasn’t like it was anything new; she had always known about it, she had full access to your phone anytime she wanted to check on it. 

still, the i love you that you had gotten from someone other than her, while not unfamiliar, irked her. she didn’t know what was up with herself, to only be irritated by something she knew from the start was her reality only now. must be the hormones, it was that time of the month after all. she had already rejected your advances to join you in her shower, and you understood. thankfully. 

you missed the quick swipe of her fingers across your phone, clicking on the message and deleting it. it wasn’t something she wanted you to see tonight. she inspected a few earlier messages, saw that they were causing even more pain to simmer in her chest, and hurriedly shoves it back to where it came from. 

you whined for her fingers to return to where they were, and thankfully, she came back. you mumbled sleepily, “how was your day?”

“we work in the same office, don’t we?” wanda replied, amused. 

“well, different departments.”

“fine,” she quickly said, but at your woeful gaze, she softened, “it was fine. kate invited me for yoga after work. then i got home, tried out a new recipe from the cookbook he got me, and waited for you.”

your fingers interlaced with hers, looking up at her like she put the stars in the sky. wanda found it difficult to swallow the lump in her throat. “you made dinner?”

she nodded. “it’s in the microwave, i can heat it up for you if you want.”

“no, no, it’s okay,” you reassured her, pushing her back down when she tried getting up, “i’m too tired to eat it now. and besides, it’s for him. i shouldn’t…be eating his food.”

“you know–”

“–i know. but i have my boundaries.”

wanda pinches the skin at the nape of your neck for cutting her off. you wince, and she leans down to kiss it, tongue lapping at it quickly after as a way of saying sorry. “it’s that paprikash you like. the one you keep going on and on about. i made it for you.”

a smile crept to your cheeks. “the one jane from legal made for me once.”

the pinch came again, and wanda felt almost guilty at the angry red welt it formed in the wake of her anger. “right. you still fucking her, or…?”

wanda didn’t find the chuckle from your lips even the slightest bit funny. you propped yourself on your elbows, kissing wanda’s neck slowly. “wands…it’s not like that. come on.”

“she wants you. i just know it. everybody knows it.”

“she did invite me out for drinks today,” you quipped, to which wanda sighed irritatedly, but you were quick to recover with, “but i said no. was too tired.”

“because you’re coming home to me.”

“because i’m coming  home to you,” you affirmed. it was only then that wanda let go of the frown on her face, allowing you to come close enough to kiss her, chest rising and falling beneath yours. you held her face as you let her take control, and she brought you down even further to her, as if never letting you go. it was comfortable, and safe, and leaving you lightheaded and giddy, when it really shouldn’t be. 

you really shouldn’t be doing this. but wanda was enjoying this so much, and it would be futile to deny that you weren’t. her skin so soft, her hair silky smooth, there was something just so irresistible about the woman underneath you. she’s got you right in the palm of her hand.

your phone rang this time, and while wanda instinctively shot out her hand to silence it, you were quicker, and took it from her right as her fingers clasped around the device. she groaned in annoyance when you sat up and checked who had been calling you.

“it’s my sister,” you announced, to alleviate some of the jealousy and tension evident in her face. 

wanda listened as you spoke, forcing you to put her on loudspeaker, while her hands ran up and down your thighs, impatient for you to end the call and carry on with what you had been doing to her. she sighed irritatedly each time her name was said, each time your lips even formed the shape of pronouncing it.

“yeah, of course, i know,” you assured your nagging sister, “flight’s at six-thirty. we can’t be late. you’ve booked us business class seats. i got it. natasha and i will be there, sis. we wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world.” 

you felt wanda’s hands lift up your t-shirt, to which you tried pulling her away, but she swatted your hands off first. you reluctantly obliged, as she found your breasts, and began her ministrations on them as you stayed on the phone. she heard her name again, and sat up, lips latching on to your skin, and biting hard. you sucked in a harsh breath, feeling the skin tear before wanda was licking it up again, marking you and then apologising for it. 

“i know,” you continued, wanda kissing up your neck now, purposely as loud as she could. she wanted you to get caught, “look, it’s supposed to be nerve-wrecking. it’s your wedding, for heaven’s sake. i remember when i was getting married to natasha, i couldn’t sleep for weeks! i was just so excited, and–fuck!”

“what was that?” came the voice from the other end. wanda smiled. success.

“n-nothing,” you regained your composure, glaring daggers at her this time, “look, i have to go, but we’ll be there. first thing tomorrow. no, natasha’s not with me right now, i’m sleeping in my office because i have to tie up the loose ends at work before we spend the next two weeks with you for your wedding. i’ll see you soon, alright?’

two weeks. two weeks is far too long. wanda doesn’t want to wait two weeks to see you again. it was her turn to have her glare turn murderous when you ended the call, snatching your phone away from you and shoving it under the drawer. you sighed, indulging her. “six-thirty?”

“i have to go by four, alright? i have to pick up natasha,” a bite to your shoulder, “and get a ride to the airport,” another angry teeth mark. 

it was nearly midnight already. wanda couldn’t believe you failed to tell her you barely had four hours together. “fuck you.”

“wands…”

“seriously, fuck you,” she emphasised, tears already beginning to form at the ends of her eyes. the bitter, choking feeling in her throat too raw to voice out her anger and jealousy. 

“come on, don’t be like this,” you begged, holding her thrashing hands as she tried to buck you off the bed. she refused to let you see her cry angry tears, but you had done so anyway. you held her hands against your chest, kissing them all over until she gave up fighting altogether, until she could only shut her eyes, and face away from you in shame. “you’re always like this.”

“is–it–so–wrong–” she was hiccuping, voice broken, “–to want you around? to have you with me?”

she knows it is. you know it is as well. but neither of you tell the truth around it. you both were too attached to each other to face the reality. “i’ll be back soon, alright? just two weeks. then you’ll have me, for as long as you want. as long as he’s not around.”

wanda let out a cry, heartbreaking and raw; and you bite your own lip in guilt. you hated to see her like this. she never had a problem letting her guard down with you, and you didn’t want her to think it would be a mistake doing so. she cried then, frustrated and angry, “i want to break up! i hate you, i never want to see you again!”

“come on wands…”

“i hate y–” your lips were on hers then, soothing her, placating her, like one would an insolent child. you had released her hands, and they had clawed at your arms, scratching down red, angry lines down your skin. she was doing to you what she couldn’t say out loud. how betrayed she felt, how wrong it was that you were taking her to your sister’s wedding, and not wanda. never wanda.

“just two weeks. i promise. i’ll text you everyday.”

“i want to break up.”

sighing, you challenged her. “...do you really?” 

but then wanda’s lips trembled, her eyes fully glossy now. there were tears streaming down her face, and her nose was turning red. her nails dug into your skin, feeling almost like claws. and after a minute, she shook her head, slowly, sadly. 

you knew it. she could never end it; and neither could you. you always come back. or she does. neither of you want to acknowledge the dirty situation you were in, the games you were playing with each other, and your spouses. how attached wanda was to you, how soft you were for her. it had gained traction, spiralled, and crashed and burned long ago. there was no going back now.

she would threaten ending things with you, you asking her if she really would, and her pulling back just seconds later. the two of you would make up after, never acknowledging how much you actually meant to each other, never saying a word about the other’s feelings. then you would go back home to your wife, and she would wait for her husband to return, and pretend like you were never anything more than colleagues. not even friends, barely acquaintances.

“she’s just someone from work,” you both would say to your spouses, a lie cooked up and chewed and spat out like a routine. and it works, everytime.

[attapullman]

Silver Screen, Make Me Scream | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: The world is used to seeing Robert Floyd as a Navy admiral on a screen thirty feet tall. You're used to seeing him as the man who spoils you rotten, in and out of the bedroom.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: f!reader, 18+ ONLY, older boyfriend AU, movie star AU, daddy k!nk, unprotected pinv, older bf Bob eats it from behind, cowgirl position, age gap, no y/n

A Note from Mo: Uh...this is porn without plot disguised as a filthy, flirty AU and I am waving from the bars of horny jail. Fellow old man fuckers, this one is for you.

It’s his cold pillow that wakes you. 

No deep breaths or soft snores echoing around the vaulted ceiling. The absurdly expensive bedding all yours to take. Your late night should keep you asleep until noon, but it feels wrong to be in bed when you don’t have your lover’s solid warmth against your skin.

You pad down the terracotta-tiled hall and take in the views of the Pacific, the only artwork needed on this side of the house. Stormy blue and glass-riddled sandy white, the picturesque view sells itself. The waves crash on the beach below, their mellow sound seeping into the Mediterranean revival from the open patio doors. 

He’s sitting outside in just his sweatpants, coffee in hand, as he watches the water while flicking through a thick stack of pages. The grey at his temples is bright under the early San Diego sun. You know he’s reading something important because he has those horn-rimmed glasses on, the ones he repeatedly complains are too tight around his ears. Won’t even waste a minute to go grab his preferred wire frames. 

Robert Floyd may be retired from show business, but he’s hotter than the first day he graced screens.

Eyes lifting from the pages, he catches you staring from your spot by the French doors, negligee skimming your body in the soft ocean breeze. The lids of your eyes are still a little heavy with sleep.

“You need something, baby?” He pats his broad thigh and you assume your perch, snuggling against his sun-warmed skin as you shake your head. How is he always the perfect temperature? The chill from the ocean wafts over you as he wraps his arm around your waist.

Your lips part in a contented smile. “Just checking in on you, Daddy. Missed you in bed.”

“Sorry, baby,” he coos, brushing his lips against your temple. His thick pointer taps against the stack of pages that arrived by messenger at sunrise. “Agent asked me to give this a look over, see if I’d be interested.”

You tilt your head to see the title. “Is that-”

“Yes, baby girl. They’re asking me to come back. Just a few scenes with the new regime, but get to wear that admirals uniform one more time.” Despite him saying it so matter of factly, you can detect his giddiness at wearing those pins once again. “Not sure if it’s the right move though.”

You trail your finger along his pectoral, imagining the ironed uniform underneath your touch. 

Robert Floyd had made a career of Naval action films, starting out as a fresh faced Weapons Systems Officer in his debut, to gracing the screen one last time as an Admiral in the franchise’s original conclusion. He’d won over hearts with his steely blue gaze and soft smile, never one for breaking the rules. Yet always the one who celebrated the hardest when his squadron completed a mission.

For military propaganda, he made a compelling poster boy.

Your entire childhood he had been on posters in the mall, trailers on the television during commercial breaks. Those bright sapphire eyes and gleaming pins burnt into your vision, uncontrollably charmed by the strong, silent type. 

And now here he was, putty under your palms as you asked if he wanted more coffee.

Without a doubt he’d take the appearance, spend a day or two on set with the next generation of Naval action stars. The next year he’d appear on every talk show and repeat his modesty over his fifteen minutes on camera. Your Bobby would balk at the attention, but glow with pride as the host played his cameo for the audience. 

Watching him flip through a few pages, you could already see the shy smile he would win the crowd over as he insisted the revival’s cast members were the real stars.

“What’cha thinking about, sweet girl?” You were so lost in your daydream that you missed his attention turning to you, warm palm running over your hip under your thin robe. 

You stroke his jaw, fingers curling into the regulation-cut greying hair. The cut he’s kept since he was first cast in his early twenties. “You should take the role. You look handsome as an admiral.” You peck a light kiss to his lips. “Dashing, really.”

His blush is striking against the ocean sky. As you get up to go make you both breakfast, you can feel his eyes on you; an extra sway in your hips for his enjoyment. Bob lounges back on the outdoor set and looks between the breaking waves and the now slightly rumpled script. 

He’s coming back.

The view of the ocean as you zip up I-5 is breathtaking, a gorgeous Southern California day. The early call time was less than ideal, but the energy in the car is electric. Bob’s hand wanders into the passenger seat to wrap around your bare knee, thumb tapping out an unknown rhythm as he navigates traffic. 

He looks the vision of wealth and importance sitting in the front seat of his pewter grey Porsche 911 - a sleek upgrade for his 40th from the battered truck he’d been driving since he arrived in Hollywood. The car is understated in its elegance, like its owner. You admire his graceful lines of a life well lived, the pokes of silver woven through his hair. And yet his eyes carry that intelligent, sassy energy that keeps you on your toes, ready for the next challenge he brings you. 

“You’re looking at me.” His eyes don’t leave the road, but the smile on the corner of his thin lips is playful.

You fiddle with his fingers, admiring the large dexterous digits. “Just so handsome, how can I not?”

Bob lifts your hand with his, allowing the platinum and diamonds of your bracelet to catch the morning sun - nearly blinding with their sparkle. He brings your interlocked fingers to his lips, pressing a loving kiss to the skin as he finally looks at you. His eyes are the same striking blue as the ocean behind him. 

“Perfect girl, what did I do to deserve you?”

You’re wondering the same when he enters the studio lot, passing through security and finding your way to the set. There’s a bustle of commotion as the two of you join the crowd, everyone immediately hushing their voices as the talent arrives. Bob’s chest swells with power as everyone immediately caters to him before noticing you.

“That must be his assistant?” Rumors spread through the crew like wildfire, watching you prance behind film legend Robert Floyd like an excitable puppy. Eyebrows shooting up when he turns back and rests a hand on the back of your bare thigh, leaning close to ask if you want anything from craft. 

You slide your diamond-covered wrist around his neck and peck his cheek. Definitely not an assistant.

Since the day he’d made his name on marquees, Bob had been surrounded by women. A tall man in Navy blues with the golden touch of Hollywood? His fellow cast joked more than once that tag chasers didn’t care whether you served the country or just did it on screen. Eventually he’d done the responsible thing and tried marriage, settling down with a woman who cared more about his flashy lifestyle than the quiet man behind the lights. Divorce was swift and the introvert reverted inside his shell, his film career quiet as the next generation of aviators took the screen. 

And then you entered his life, with your open face and bright smile. A coffee shop in Coronado he frequented that you happened to pass. A bump of elbows over the creamer, his amused grin when you accidentally grabbed his drink in your fluster. You were so excited to meet a real movie star, a dream come true. And he looked so much bigger than his character - those shoulders brawnier, that jaw sharper. Yet the smile he gave you was heart-melting as you handed him your own coffee cup to sign, nothing else available.

It wasn’t until that afternoon you noticed he’d written his number in neat penmanship. You had to wait until that next night to know you were falling inexplicably in love with a man who the rest of the world already adored. He was bigger than life, your everything.

And for all of your affection, he spoiled you. Dates to restaurants you couldn’t pronounce in Liberty Station, private events with tickets you couldn’t afford. Every week a new trinket left at your bedside, sparkling in the low light while he hummed in the bathroom excited for you to notice. Few things brought him joy at this stage in life, but you traipsing in with nothing on but the latest diamanté left him positively enraptured.

People could stare and point and judge all they wanted. It was love, and it was all yours.

You’ve raided the mini bar and read through the call sheet when Bob finally comes back to his trailer. He strikes a bold figure in his Navy blacks - pins gleaming, white cap under his arm. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” he greets you, swooping to kiss your cheek. But your breath is already stolen. You’d seen pictures, caught his movies at the old matinee in Balboa Park. But standing in front of you is the sexiest man you’ve ever seen. He looks so…official.

Bob was already feeling good in the wardrobe trailer, the crew he’d worked with for years stroking his ego as they put the final touches to his starched uniform. He’d be on screen for a total of eight minutes and he was going to look important every single second. 

But with your eyes trained on him, pupils wide and mesmerized, it’s the only compliment he needs. 

“They look good on you again,” you coo, tracing your fingertips over the sterling silver insignia pins. It’s hard to quell the rising heat as you look at him, standing tall in this uniform - his uniform - just like the posters and movie trailers of your youth. 

He rubs his temples and grabs his wire frames from the counter, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he straightens up. “Feels good to wear them, baby. Not sure who I am if not in the ‘Navy’.” He chuckles around air quotes, morphing into a moan as you run your nails down his torso. 

Even though he’s not in character, the suit transforms him. 

He’s not your Bob, the man who walks around his big ol’ house in band shirts he got in the 80s and his worn shearling slippers. Squinting through his glasses while trying to read fine print for instruction manuals for more Lego sets than he needs, peppering your head with kisses as you sit between his knees. Your Bobby is always goofy and smiling when you come through the door, eager to wrap his arms around you as he patiently listens to all the friend updates from brunch. He’s warmth and safety, that side of middle age where you have to explain internet fads with a playful eye roll.

But this man…this man in front of you is stern and mighty, seizing the room with his intensity. He’s commanding in his own silent way, back straight and shoulders taught. No nonsense, just like the admiral he plays for screens around the world. His presence is intoxicating. You can’t decide if you want to dominate him or be putty in his hands. 

You twist in his arms, pressing your chest to his as you smooth the lapels of his suit. It’s only natural that those big, practiced hands of his immediately slip to your legs. Two magnets drawn by the promise of touch. But once he’s inches from your pretty face, ready to ask you to help him read over lines, that gleam in your eyes has other plans.

His girl wants him.

“Babygirl, I’m in wardrobe.” His words say no, but the fervent way he’s stroking the skin under your hem says differently. He’s not immune to a tiny dress and puppy eyes. You watch his hand reach up to drag through greying roots before he remembers it’s styled, redirecting his frustration by slipping rough fingers around the nape of your neck. Holding your head still while he fights his sense of responsibility.

It doesn’t matter that you’re in a tin can trailer with no sound proofing. You lick your glossy lips and give him the most innocent smile. “Please? We can be super careful.”

He eyes you warily. The two of you together is messy.

“Please, Daddy?” You rub yourself against him, feeling the way he shivers underneath his stiff uniform. “I wanna know what it’s like to fuck an admiral. Please?”

He’s powerless against you when you’re like this. Needy and heavy-lidded, unsatisfied until you’ve had your fair share of him and then some. It’s only when you’re a panting mess full of his spend that he can regain any control against you.  The age gap is exhilarating and exhausting.

His face dips to rest against your temple, the floral scent of your perfume clouding his senses. So sweet, so soft. You feel his groan against your cheek before he straightens up to his full height, towering over you with a stern expression on his face. Those elegant, practiced fingers tuck under your chin.

“Attention.” Your spine straightens, your breath deepens. “Let’s see if you’re up to regulation, lieutenant.”

A warm gush of excitement floods your body, soaking in your flimsy excuse for underwear. You watch your big, broad, authoritative boyfriend sink down into the plush trailer sofa, knees spread. Patting his thigh with an unamused brow quirk. 

Exhilaration races through your veins as you eagerly straddle his lap, sundress sliding up your thighs as you perch prettily on his thighs. The vision of youthful glow, hoping to impress.

Bob traces your heated skin with callused fingers, lips pursed, before sliding a hand firmly up your back. The world spins as he flips you over his lap, your rounded ass exposed to his eyes, modesty barely covered by a scrap of lace.

“Uniform panty inspection,” Bob huffs out, fingers ghosting over the fabric. His voice is restrained, clipped. You stay as still as possible as you hold your breath. You want to pass this inspection so bad.

The firm touch of his ring finger to your clothed sex forces a moan to slip through your clamped lips. So close to giving you what you want. But he remains diligent, stroking your pussy through the fabric until he’s satisfied with the wet patch he created. “Perfectly up to code.”

His finger wraps around the strap of the thong and yanks it down, forcing you to further immodestly part your knees as he discards the sexy - yet unnecessary - piece of fabric.

Your mind is heavy with lust as you turn your head, trying to understand. Normally he’s between your thighs teasing the fabric for longer than you can handle. Your lips are still dry. But before your eyes and brain connect with the visual, film legend Robert Floyd has a rounded cheek in each hand and his tongue plunged deep in your pretty pink pussy.

Blunt nails dig into the soft skin of your ass as he re-acquaints himself with your taste. Sliding his thick muscle along the velveteen walls of your cunt, lapping up the addicting taste of your lust. Your head is empty as he forces you to take it, to enjoy the way he worships the very core of your being. 

Saliva and arousal mix on his clean shaven face as he presses deeper, moaning as he feels you clench around him. His own pride growing as you wail with only his tongue fucking you. It’s wet and dirty, the heat along your skin eating you alive as you succumb to your pleasure. 

These are the benefits of dating a man with experience.

His tongue retreats, laving over your folds with practiced precision. You bury your head in the rough sofa fabric, muffling the depraved sounds crossing your lips. Your fingers reach up and wrap around his thick wrist, needing a tether to reality. His free hand travels to his belt, loosening the leather and freeing his erection to the humid trailer.

He knows you and your tells. Dragging that wicked tongue back, he corners your little neglected clit. Sucks it into his mouth like an after dinner mint, savoring the tangy sweetness of you. Your hips thrust back at him, desperate for more as you begin your hedonistic descent. 

Time and space lose all meaning as Bob goes in for the kill, switching between the heavy pulls on your clit and the slippery licks along your core. Blowing cool air where you’re most sensitive before sweeping in with his burning tongue. The combination of his stiff muscle fucked into your depths and his thumb bumping your swollen clit finally send you over the edge, a white light overtaking your body as you scream into the plush cushion below.

Film legend Robert Floyd cleans your juices from your shaking thighs thoroughly.

Begrudgingly, your limbs are jelly as you bring yourself to his level. Bob’s hands continue their ministrations to the globes of your ass, squeezing and groping the soft skin. When you finally find yourself sitting upright, his thick cock nestled between the soft lips of your cunt, he gives into his desires and draws his hand up, only to bring it down with a slap! The sound rings through the room and his cheeks tinge pink with arousal and embarrassment.

“Admiral!” you giggle as he repeats the harsh slap on the other cheek. 

While you have the devastatingly sexy view of a sweaty admiral beneath you, his eyes are glued to the mirror across the trailer that captures the dark red handprint he wishes he could tattoo on your perfect ass. 

Lips descend upon his and the trailer is filled with the slick sounds of tongues and moans, four hands grasping with the need to touch. But where to touch? His burning skin? The cool pins of his jacket? It’s almost too easy a choice to wrap your fingers around the bulbous head of his cock while he swallows your desperate little tongue.

“That’s it, feel how hard Daddy is for you.”

He finally pulls himself from your kiss-bitten lips as his hands tug down the neckline of your filmy dress, exposing your heaving breasts to the room. Lips dipping down to wrap around your hardened nipple, leaving teeth marks and wet kisses on tender flesh. Your moans egging him on to bite deeper, suck harder.

The world knows the reserved man who waits to speak, level-headed in the most dire situations. And yet here he is, the remnants of your orgasm staining his chin as he closes his eyes to better enjoy the peaked bud he’s devouring. 

He’s delicious and all yours.

Your fingers tangle at the nape of his neck, grasping the short strands with all your might as you pull him off your chest with an audible pop. Those impossibly blue eyes look at you reverently, letting you call the shots so he can continue to enjoy your body as it deserves. You drag your shared gaze to where your bodies meet and a grunt involuntarily leaves him. Finally.

The first touch is a puzzle piece falling into place. The thick head of him asking for entrance, slick with your desire. 

Those unbelievably large hands hold themselves delicately at your waist, assisting your descent. His eyes flicker between yours and the welcoming entrance of your cunt. Your commanding admiral - your sweet Bobby - grasps you securely as you try to sink further on his swollen cock.

“Daddy, it’s too big.” Your voice is pained, teary eyes struggling to hold his gaze just as he likes. His size splitting you open like his own personal cock sleeve.

“You can take it, baby, just breathe.” His heart threatens to beat out of his chest as your impossibly tight cunt squeezes around him. “There’s my good girl, gonna fit all of Daddy, aren’t you?”

Hesitantly lifting your hips, muscle memory takes over as you adjust. The ease of taking his thick cock coming back to you as your breasts bounce with your fervent movement. The lapel of his jacket wrinkles as you hold it, lip between your teeth as he grazes that spongy spot only he can reach.

He guides you in your pursuit of pleasure, admiring the way you thrust you chest out as you clench around him. One hand on his lapel, the other grasping his knee. Truly using his body to get yourself off. So unbelievably sexy.

Your admiral’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing persistent slow circles over the sensitive, swollen bud. Times a hard press with when you are completely full of him, your senses overwhelmed. Bob. Bob. Bob. His balls ache with the need to claim you as his.

Impatient, knowing call time is mere moments away, Bob lifts his hips to yours. Pumping his erection deep, all the way to the hilt as his balls brush your ass. He’s so deep, so perfectly deep. A guttural moan leaves your spit-slicked lips, begging for your orgasm. 

“Are you going to cum for your admiral?” His deep voice rings through your ears as you chase your high, the world clouding as only his cock becomes your reality. Your fingers card through his hair, silver and golden brown weaving together to keep you grounded in your pleasure. “I said, are you going to cum for your admiral?”

“Yes!” The next lot over could probably hear you shout to the heavens, plunging yourself down on Bob’s thick cock as your orgasm plunges you over the cliff. Sweet relief flooding your senses as your pussy pulses around him as a thank you.

Your lips find his neck as you nuzzle in, hips still sunk low on his throbbing erection. You need to be filled with Daddy’s cum.

The stiff fabric of his uniform jacket rubs your bare skin as he holds you close, pressing your nipples to his insignia pins as he strongly thrusts those last few times. Grunting into your cooing mouth as he finally lets go, cock pulsing as thick white jets of his cum coat your walls. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper in his ear when you carefully pull off, barely enough energy to keep your thighs closed for the sake of his uniform. He gently guides you onto your back, ever the gentleman. 

You stretch your sore limbs and relax into the plushness of his trailer sofa, hands wrapping behind your head as you smile, satiated, while Bob’s creamy cum runs past your thighs to pool on the fabric. Your graying lover gives you a wry smile as he regains his breath against the back the couch, uniform crumpled and bearing a stain a little too close to his zipper. 

Always so messy. But so worth it.

There’s a rap at the door, three quick knocks that shake you both from your orgasmic haze. Bob rushes to cover your modesty, fiddling with the hems of your dress with clumsy fingers. Wishing you were home so he could wrap you in his robe and run a bath before watching the ocean from the terrace instead of praying there’s wipes in this shoddy trailer. 

“Mr. Floyd? We’re ready for you,” comes through the door. The PA who whispered you were an assistant, now only steps away from your bare breasts and dirty thighs.

You wiggle your eyebrows at Bob as you fix your own appearance, amused as the bigger than life Robert Floyd shuffles around the room, tucking in his button up and wiping sweat from his collar. Blush in full force as he hands you the thong resting on the kitchenette. He shakes his head at you, mirth softening the edges of his hard gaze. There’s another knock at the door.

Uniform fully back in place, Bob takes a moment to admire you before an afternoon in front of cameras. Enjoying this last moment before he gets into character. Hands on your soft hips, sated cerulean eyes appreciating the curves of your mischievous lips. “Be a good girl for me today and Daddy will give you a reward later. Deal?”

You bite your lip and nod with a smirk, opening the door of the trailer so he’s not later than he already is. Today you get to watch him do the thing he loves, that in itself is already a reward. The crowd outside the trailer watches you turn back and leave one last kiss to his lips.

“Yes…Admiral.”

Bob can’t wait to surprise you with the South Sea pearl and diamond earrings he’s saved for this day. It’s his baby girl’s first day on set, only the best to commemorate the occasion.

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[copperbadge]

This is not to sniff at packaged food in any way, because cheap, uniform, nutritious, premade food is important and necessary. And despite what your local tiktok orthorexic may tell you, packaged food is still capable of providing solid nutrition.

That said, I've been making my own bread for about twenty years, and for the last ten or so it has often been easier to make bread than buy it, solely because I don't need to leave the house to do so, and I live alone so a decent loaf can last me a good ten days. Being able to make ones own bread in this modern era is a product of privilege -- the resources to buy the ingredients (especially high quality flour, not cheap), the time and space to bake, the stamina to knead or equipment to make kneading easier -- my breads improved a lot when I got a good stand mixer, and those aren't cheap. But also, to make a decent edible boule you can get by with flour, water, yeast, salt, and time. Throw in a little oil and you can make pizza crust; add in kneading and a bit of sugar and you have bagels.

It did somewhat change how I eat, because homemade bread is often a little difficult to make a sandwich with, but I was never a huge fan of sandos anyway. These days I often don't even make loaves -- I make rolls or bagels, or flatbreads.

But all of this is to say that because I'm now accustomed to eating my own bread, which is necessarily small-batch and produced without stabilizers that make commercial bread so soft and uniform, I am starting to struggle when I do buy bread because the flavor and texture often feel off. It's not that it's objectively bad food, but it's very different from what I'm used to, which is unpleasant. I've been aware of the issue for a while but previously even if the bread wasn't as good to me as my own, it was edible and convenient, so it was fine. Making your own hot dog buns is a pain in the ass.

I just bought a loaf of Italian bread, reasonably fresh, a brand I used to eat regularly, because I wasn't feeling up to baking anything. I've been making toast with it mostly. But yesterday morning -- admittedly while dealing with some nausea -- I bit into a sandwich I'd made with it (cashew butter and strawberry jam) and thought, "this feels like eating upholstery fabric."

I haven't been able to eat any more of it since. The soft, dense texture, the specific preservative flavor, the mouthfeel. I tried to eat some toast just now and had to spit it out because it felt like buttered brocade and I started to gag. I'm kind of mad about it, honestly.

The bread won't go to waste -- if I can't eat the rest of the bag I'll dry it out and crush it for breadcrumbs for fried chicken or a panade -- but it's both sad and funny that I have functionally baked myself into a corner where packaged bread is no longer even an option.

It feels like I'm becoming one of the middle-aged eccentrics I used to know when I was a kid -- older people or couples in my church, sometimes parents of my school friends, who were just kind of oddballs, hippie leftovers, what I still think of as Berkeley Weirdos (affectionate) even though Berkeley has long since gentrified. The lady who didn't have a functional oven or stove because she ate raw vegan or the family that converted their old station wagon to biofuel but kept the rear-facing back seats with no seatbelts and would give us death-defying rides to the community pool in them. I'm already growing my own basil because I eat an unlikely amount of pesto for one person. My signature potluck dishes are kiwi dip or egg-free meringues.

I don't mind, exactly. I loved the Berkeley Weirdos and the community they built for us kids. But it's definitely not a place I imagined ending up.

[shocymer]

For Never to Forever

"What if the illustrator of your newest novel covers is actually your highschool enemy in the past?"

Pairing : Yunho × afab!reader

Word counts : 3.2k

Contents & warning : highly suggestive mdni! , fluff (maybe), college art students! Yunho, novelist! reader, short tempered Yunho (not in bad way), Hongjoong as reader manager, cursed words here and there, sloppy kisses, slightly dry humping, enemies to lovers.

× Happy Yunho Day! ×

Time is ticking like its always supposed to do, but Yunho couldn’t stop looking at it. The hour hand has only moved maybe a quarter of millimeter from its original position, made him annoyed even more. How could it not be, he just let his impulsive thoughts win over his professionalism few hours ago.

Well, It all happened this morning. He went to the nearest café where the appointment was made via email last night.

Sipping a cup of warm expresso that fulfilled his taste bud while waiting for his client. The café ambiance was so cozy, it plays as complementary role to his mood lifting. And the main reason of his happy self was, he got a commission for a commercial purpose the first time ever in his entire life. Plus, it’s not just an ordinary client, the request came from a well known novelist.

From : Eternal Sunshine

To : Me (Tyudongi99)

Subject : Commission Request For Novels Covers

Hello Tyudongi-nim.

I’m Eternal Sunshine, one of the novelist from Break The Wall Book Company Publisher. I really interested with your art. Would you like to work on my next novels cover? If you are interested, we can set up an appointment to discuss the further details.

I would be very grateful if you willing to accept my request.

Sincerely,

Eternal Sunshine

That’s the content of an email that Yunho received the night before. Kicking on his feet, he couldn’t believe his own eyes. He’s just a 3rd year college students that majoring in art. Never expected that opening commission on a whim would bring him to this. And then, he sent a quick replied as soon as possible that leading to today’s meeting.

“Oh hello, Tyudongi-nim.” A lady pulled her hand over to Yunho. She’s accompanied by a not so tall, with blonde lock man who’s standing next to her.

He shook your offering hand politely, “Hello, uhm perhaps Eternal Sunshine-nim?”

You nodded, throwing a simple smile before sitting right across to him. He’s staring at you closely while immersed in conversation. The way your hazel orb getting lighter when the sun beam hits them or the way your dainty lips curled when you smile occasionally. Somehow, all of it reminded him with the past. Wait wait, his past?!

He blinked his eyes rapidly, couldn’t believe what he just thought earlier. Your voice became a mere chant that drowning with the café hustle and bustle sounds at this very moment. He knew exactly who you are after the pile of his memories collided like it’s clicking on the switch inside of him.

“…so that’s the concept. I really-” a loud scrape noise coming from his chair was heard, interrupted your words. “-want you to..”

You turned your gaze out of the concept papers and found him staring intently towards you. Did I say something wrong? Am I offended him or something? Those questions played over and over on your mind nicely for solid three seconds, before his sarcastic laugh startled you.

“Well well, after all those great time. Now you’re asking this ‘going to be no where artist’ to work on your covers.” He crossed his arms while still looking down at you.

Your manager had the same reaction as you, dropping the jaw for a mere seconds. Then started to talk, craving for more contexts. “Ahem.. Tyudongi-nim, I’m sorry but what do you mean exactly?”

He snorted in annoyance, “She never appreciate my works on the first place to begin with.”

Oh great, It’s been a long time for your manager, Kim Hongjoong was facing a person like this. He took a deep breath, rolled the sleeve of his shirt to the elbow, before intended to give a long nice talk. “I deeply understand if her previous words probably hurt you, I’ll apologize on her be-”

“Ah right! Now I remember!” You spurted out, interrupting your manager just like adding gasoline to the fire in this situation. Both male gazes fixed on you. “Jeong Yunho right?” You got up from your seat, trying to match his height, and of course you can’t. He’s much taller than you, but at least you got those spirit to match him.

You snapped your fingers, before pointing at him. “Surprisingly, your attitude didn’t change at all.” Then, you poked on his chest with the same finger, “if you smart enough, you can figure it out by yourself why I said that to you.”

Furrowed the eyebrows while his face turning red as a boiled lobster, he slapped your hand away. How could he figured it out, if you’re the one who’s started to pick a fight with him in the high school. He thought to himself while his eyes still pierced into yours alternately left and right. The rationality went out of his head completely, and only anger was left behind. Hurting on his own ego, he grabbed the concept papers unwittingly then shoving it in his own bag before barging out of the café furiously.

Hongjoong and you exchanged glances after all of the ruckus. He ruffled his hair as if he still digested about what the actual fuck just happen, “you need to find another illustrator, like- how’d you find a weird artist with bad temper? Plus, he just left right away?!” You shrugged, giving him an expression like “I didn’t expect that either.” While tidying up less than a half of the papers left.

“But I think, you don’t need to worry about that.” You assured him that still yapping nonstop in the background. However, you knew Yunho so well despite his unreasonable hatred towards you.

Back to the square one in the young male artist’s flat who’s regretted it all. He just sent an apology email to your manager, after reading the concept papers thoroughly. Stopping the urge to bang his head on the wall surface, right after thinking carefully. He need some pocket money for the next months surviving here, how could he nearly miss this good opportunity due to his stupid action.

An hour has passed, all of the wait just paid off. A notification popped up from the email icon on his computer taskbar. His heart almost jumped out of the rib cage that your email address written on the screen instead of your manager. He clicked it with anticipation, perhaps all of the swearing and cursed words spilled in the email body because he deserved it. But it turns out a short sentence showed up instead, “Give me your contact information.”

He was silenced, typing the replied with a blank stare just like that. To be honest, he hated to admit about what you said in the café earlier. Only to realize that he didn’t change at all.

After he shared the chat ID to you, not too long your message coming through his chat lists.

(You) It’s much easier to discuss everything here rather than in email. And I think we need to meet again. Like you know, you just left half of the written concepts behind.

Even from the text, your unbothered manner radiating through it. He felt embarrassed due to how childish he was this morning.

(Yunho) Okay cool, when?

(You) Tomorrow afternoon?

(Yunho) Okay

On the next day, he pulled up to the same café after his morning class ended. First thing first to do was sketching the given concepts on a blank paper. He’s still remembered some details from yesterday and then he let you revised it when you arrived later.

Around 3 p.m. you almost there, to catch up the appointment with Yunho. Setting your feet on the sidewalk, you only need approximately ten steps to reach the café entrance. You saw your reflection on the glass window, before your focus shift to him. His prominent side profile and his soft cheek is a perfect combination. He’s still busy scribbling something with a serious expression drawn on his face, that made him hotter than his usual self. You can’t deny how attractive he is, even in the high school back then.

You came back to your sense, after Yunho knocking on the glass for few times, and read through the way his lips mouthing “are you okay?” from the opposite. You rushed in to the café in embarrassment that he caught up you’re gawking over him for quite some time.

“Ehm, y-you.” Still struggled to collecting yourself, your eyes darting to the table. His cup of coffee is nearly empty and some of his drawing tools scattered next to it. “How long you’ve been here?” You asked.

“11 or something. I don’t have anything else to do after class.” He explained it to you while busy on sorting some of his sketches. Then he handed it over, “I made several version of it, you can choose which one that suit on your taste.”

You took all of it, scanning thoroughly one by one. After thinking for quite some time, you drew out two papers of your choice to him. “I can’t decided between these two...” And yeah, the discussion continued until the evening of that day.

A week later, Yunho stomping on his way to your flat. Proceed to press your doorbell multiple times furiously. The reason behind it? He could counts on how many times you wanted revision. Not to mention he work fast and he wanted to report on every progress he made due to his own pretention, becoming a reliable artist for his clients. But for this one, he forgot to spell out his terms and condition especially about the revision limit.

Your sleepy face slowly appeared. You just opened your door after being annoyed with the doorbell rang over and over bombarding your eardrums. “What?” Out of all of the words that exist, why those one left from your mouth instead.

Yunho folded his lips into thin line for a split second and rolled his eyes after seeing you who’s completely clueless. He’ll fume at any seconds right after doing all of those ‘Jeong Yunho pre-angry habits’. You immediately stuffed your palm on his mouth as prevention, then pulled him into your flat.

He literally would protest but it didn’t happen, because you started to talk first. “Uhm, I know there must be something on your mind. But, we can sort it out together, right?” To be truth you don’t even know what’s wrong while you sat him down on the soft fur rug which placed in your TV room.

He removed your hand out of his face, “Is it fun for you?”

Ah, shit. He’s mad mad. You shushed him down, then you ran to the kitchen pantry on the pretext of making a cup of tea for him. Strangely, he complied. He just sat there quietly, while scrolling on his phone.

After you returned with two cups of the tea in your hands, you positioned yourself sitting to his opposite. “There’s like maybe.. you feel unsatisfied about something?” You asked him carefully.

Putting his phone to the side, he cleared his throat before answered you. “Listen, how many times did you asked for revisions?”

“A.. lot?” You’re not sure about the numbers and better not to mention it.

“Yeah right!” His veiny hand brushing through the strands of his hair, trying to pull back all of his sense. “You know what, it’s over than 25 times, it’s still only a week though!”

You’re confused as he did it all of it already, you meant to give it for a month task to do. “I didn’t expect that you do that so fast. I’ll pay you handsomely, okay?” You said that in your defense.

“Are you testing me? I bet there comes a lot more after I give you the last one.” Remembering all the sleepless nights he went through, plus he still kept up with the class schedule on the day time.

“Trust me, you’ll know why I did this. Or do you want to back off instead?”

He chuckled in anger, “Or do you mean to pick a fight on the first place?”

Your patience runs out as you literally fed up by those three words ‘pick a fight’ that feels like his only vocabulary since high school days, whenever he saw you. You pulled his collar, bringing his face closer to yours. “Now it’s my turn, listen to me. First, never in any slightest on my mind to mess with you.” You hardened the grip, “and second, please be matured Jeong Yunho, we are not a kid anymore!”

He pushed you down till you’re laying flat against the rug, he automatically join to fall as you still holding onto his collar for your dear life. Luckily, his steady hands kept himself from weighting on you. “If you’re not messing with me, why did you said all of that?”

“Said what?! Speak clearly! you always yapping that I picked a fight first, I said this, I said that. Just tell me what did I say before.” Your eyes getting redder as you worked up shouting at this stubborn young male, ruining your peaceful morning.

“You told me that I’m going to be nowhere with that kind of skills.” He took a deep breath, “You never know just a mere sentence, makes me think about it all the time.” The truth was he almost gave up on his dream when the insult coming especially from you, which he once had a feelings for.

“Because your art sucks back then.” You snapped. Before he’s going feral, you circled his waist with both of your legs, then turning him over to the side. Now you’re on top of him, while holding his shoulder to keep him stay still. You told the side of your story how you heard him talking with the group of his friends, meanwhile he’s your crush at that time.

You remembered how they’re talked on your back when you’re going insane preparing for the first debut novel.

“You saw her this morning? She’s such a book freak. Like every single days, I can see the pile of books on her desk, or in the library. To the point I’m sick looking at my own books.” One of Yunho’s friends talking.

First of all, it doesn’t matter if somebody else bad mouthing on you but it also came from him that making it worse.

Those friend slightly tapped Yunho’s upper arm, “She’s weird, right?”

Without hesitation he said, “Yeah she is-”

Enough is enough, you got up from the chair. You sure it was his voice, right on the opposite of the class wall to the corridor. You storming out of the class, hating to see your crush face. Then, you came back at noon only to mock his wobbly drawing on his sketchbook. Honestly you just want to take a revenge, but after you saw his badly drawn art, you can’t hold back your laugh. So that seems like you genuinely mocking after him.

Those newly information made Yunho speechless, which he’s still pinned down right now, under you. He averted his eyes from you that looking straight at him. “I never hate you okay, I even liked you.” You remarked.

He's still processing his thought, “I- I still can’t believed it”

Running your finger tips to his soft bear like cheeks, you cupped it and turned his head over so he looked back at you who’s alternately staring on both of his eyes to his reddish thin lips. “I’ll prove it, until you believed me.”

You pressed your lips to his all of sudden, made him flinched in surprise. Slowly but surely he kissed you back. The innocent kiss turn into a chaotic one as he hold the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. His tongue forced its way in, clashing on each other with yours. To the point you could hear the sound of both his and your front teeth bumped sometimes.

He sat up while continuing the kiss. His other hand busy tracing on your back, touched it by following your spine from the top to bottom. You slightly moved your chest forward in response, as his fingers tickling you, till the distance between both of you completely disappear.

You could feel his hard member poking through beneath his black jeans, while you grinding on his lap. He groaned between the kiss as you moving your hips back and forth faster than before. His digits slipped underneath the thin clothes you’re wearing, caressing your bare skin gently. A string of saliva formed after he decided to pull out from the kiss slowly, trying to stop before both of you coming undone anytime while fully clothed.

He lean on your slender shoulder, catching on his breath. On the other hand, you played with the tip from his nape hair while doing the same. Yunho and you stayed still for a while like that, till you realized there’s another pair of eyes watching you. When you turned your head to the front door, you saw your manager hanging speechless and slowly back away.

That lead you to slap your own forehead. Just forgot that you sent him text before, begging to be companied cause you didn’t want to deal with angry Yunho by yourself.

“No, it’s not like that manager-nim.” You wanted to stop him but Yunho still hugging you tight. “Please stay! Manager-nim, Kim Hongjoong!” Your plead is useless as his figure already disappear behind those door.

⁠✧

Today is Sunday morning, both of you went to a picnic date. Spreading out the mat with beautiful pattern on the grass field, you breathing in the fresh air. It’s located on the side of the lake. This was Yunho’s idea to bring you here, he said that giving it as a reward after spending full month of hell ride.

His design immediately approved by the editorial team without any problems by the end of last month. All thanks to your crazy revisions, he managed to survive walking out of the editorial room alive while people around including you said that they’re super annoying to begin with.

Now, Yunho busy painting on his sketchbook as his back lean to yours. Both of you sit back to back, enjoying the morning atmosphere. Chatting about a lot of topics here and there, while you’re flipping the page of your favorite book.

“I’m curious, how did you find me?” His skilled hand stained the colors from the tip of brush onto the paper surface.

“Hmm.. I don’t really know if it’s you behind the tyudongi artist tho.” You said that without taking your eyes off those collection of printed words.

He mixed another colors on the palette and back to questioned you, “I mean, why choose me out of another artists? I don’t have any experience on the big project like this.”

You stopped your activity then change the sitting position to face him. “Huh? I saw your works hanging in the local art exhibition few months back. Isn’t it also a big project?”

“Ah that thing, the artists doing it voluntarily without being paid. So there’s no pressure behind.” He explained to you clearly.

You nodded, “I see.. Uhm yeah, basically I was interested in your painting which the title is Forever, as I remember it.”

Yunho’s gaze shift to you as he realized something, “with the n or without the n?”

“Do you mean for never or forever?” You were dumbfounded by him. But he remained silent looking straight at you even though you are waiting for his answer. You sighed, “there’s no n between it, I’m pretty sure.”

He chuckled softly that you took his bait. “Then..” Putting his drawing tools aside, he grab your waist, pulling you into his arms. “There’s also no end between us.” He kissed your blushing cheek.

“Be my forever okay?”

a/n I had so much fun writing on this. and annoyed yunho looking hella hot, proof 1, proof 2, proof 3 (© tiktok edits)

[thekombuchagirl]

CODE ZERO

Summary: It was an ordinary humid sunday of June until it wasn't. Of all things you expected to happen in the summer of '25, preventing the spread of another epidemic wasn't one. Locked in the pantry of a cafe with a masked stranger, all you could hear outside were animalistic groans and the occasional crackle of breaking bones. Just when you thought that the last moments of your life would be sitting across an intimidatingly hot man, a table flips, literally.

Pairing: discharged soldier!yoongi x fem journalist!reader

what to expect? gore, zombies, banter in the face of death, explicit language, yoongi walks around in a tank with a manbun for a whole day, reader develops a liking for smashing skulls halfway through the story, sexual tension that can be cut with a knife and eventual smut

Age rating: 18+ mdni!

a/n: hi

P R O L O G U E

In all the twenty six years of your life, you have had seen thousands of doors. But never in all those years, had you paid such close attention to any of it. As your eyes remained fixed on the door of the pantry, you could faintly feel the heat of the body that was pressing to your back and the rough hand that was covering your mouth. All you could hear was the erratic beating of your heart and the growls from the other side of the door. The sounds playing in your ear kept getting louder and louder as if you were still outside and about to be caught in the clutches of whatever those things were. You could not even hear your heartbeat anymore. It was just animalistic growling and the sound of bones cracking. Just when you thought that the door was about to burst open, a murmur of assurance warmed your ear.

"It's alright. You're safe now."

Your eyes shot open. The dark ceiling felt like a familiar void. You closed your eyes again. You've had nightmares since you were a child but it never felt as real. Your heart was still beating so fast that it felt like it would come out of your throat any moment. Your throat was dry and you could barely swallow. Reaching out for the glass of water that you always keep on your end table, your hands came empty. That's when you realised that your back was against a solid plain, a floor. You sat up in a blink only for your eyes to meet a familiar pair of dark brown ones and a door behind him; the door from your nightmare.

Only, it wasn't a nightmare. No matter how many times you would close your eyes, it would always open to meet the same pair and the door. Those eyes watched you with nothing but boredom and the door felt like a layer of paper separating you from the things out there. It was real. The end of the world had begun and it just had to be when you were on your first solo trip. It just had to be when you were about to quit your job over a call. It just had to be when you were finally beginning a life that you wanted.

The stranger sitting in front of you was staring at you like you were a diaper commercial and he hated kids. His mask was hanging low on the bridge of his nose. He looked... unfazed, especially when he lowered his mask, yawned nonchalantly before looking at you again and deadpanned,

"Good sleep?"

"This is a notice to all residents that the outbreak of an unidentified disease that is wrecking havoc in the town has been now recognised as a violent outbreak. We recommend all residents to stay indoors and prevent any interaction with any infected person. If you come in contact with any infected person, immediately quarantine yourself in a closed space. We will be sharing further updates through radio channel 204. All entries and exits to the town are being temporarily restricted. Please wait for further instructions-"

"We can't get in touch with Yoongi, should I go out and-"

"No, Jimin. If he doesn't come back in two days, we will go out to look for him together."

"Whatever you say, RM," Jimin nodded at him, smiling at his freshly sharpened knife.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Soooo I just got a new bed and it's too soft for me. And a friend recommended getting an extra firm mattress topper to try to make it firmer. I'm a bit skeptical (would firm on top of soft work?) and thought I'd ask the resident Internet mattress guru! :P

I was folding laundry when I saw this and literally stepped away and I sat down to answer. This is serious business.

Because there’s a lot of clarifying questions for this situation I’m gonna info dump. If this doesn’t answer please feel free to follow up.

So first: there’s a big misconception about “soft” beds. Beds are composed of two major categories: comfort and support. Soft comfort is great! So nice for joints. Soft support is terrible. So bad for backs.

A lot of people think soft beds in general are bad for your back and this harkens back to the very first commercial spring mattresses. The coils were all one solid interconnected layer, and if they weren’t stiff you’d end up slumped into the bed with no back support. (Not unlike soft sleep number beds- no bueno for spines)

After a lot of research people realized that individual coils standing up inside the mattress was way comfier and less bouncy for partners and bonus- could even feel softer while keeping back support!

There was a big campaign to help people realize their beds didn’t need to be stiff as a board because soft comfort layer beds could still give good back support! The soft was the cushioning on top, but the springs were still down there keeping spines aligned.

Then all foam beds hit the market but they still used the same premise. Soft on top, supportive underneath. But the dense underfoam was just as good as springs for back alignment.

But then dun dun DUNN arrived beds in a box. Now I have very negative views of any bed in a box. They use cheap fire retardants fiber glass, don’t last very long, but most damningly they don’t have good support because a foam light enough to roll up doesn’t have the density to support a spine long term.

On the subject of toppers: a topper is only ever a band aid, and one unlikely to fix your particular issue. People suggest toppers when a bed has caved in over time and a topper can only ever offer “comfort” not “support”.

The only situation a topper can fix is if a bed is too hard on joints. That’s it.

Now to your problem: when you say soft, does you back hurt from the softness? If yes, a topper will not fix it.

Some people don’t like how soft beds feel, like how they can make it difficult to turn or move around but! In this case I usually recommend they try it at least a month to see if they can acclimate because softer comfort helps reduce tossing and turning. A lot of people just aren’t used to it but like it with some acclimating.

If your soft bed came from a box: give up, it’ll only get worse, they don’t have back support and the soft support is a huge red flag.

If you’re unsure of how the bed is making your back feel low down flat on your back, even if that’s not how you sleep. A good bed should sink at your shoulders and hips, but push up at your lower back. This is the hallmark of good back support.

If instead of pushing back on you the bed let’s you slump into a curve, call it.

I hope this was helpful. I know it was a lot but there’s a ton of factors and beds are legitimately so important to people’s overall health. Good sleep is a scarcity and it’s worth finding the best bed you can.