#also lots of unicorn mugs

[alienoresimagines]

Bucky: Oh just so you know, it's very muggy outside

Buck:

Buck: Bucky, I swear, if I step outside and all of our mugs are on the front lawn...

Bucky: *Sips coffee from a unicorn bowl*

[vile-wizard]

Did family Christmas today! My mom got me bottle of olive oil and pepper spray and my dad got me a sweater with the star trek insignia (epic) and a pair of socks.

I also got an $8 pitcher shaped like a strawberry for myself bc I couldn't resist.

[webbluvrsugar]

hii! i love your work <3

i was wondering if i could request a fic w post-prison spencer meeting a new recruit!reader? like they've heard so many good things abt how he's the team's genius + reader's like a burst of sunshine for spence who just got out of prison and is feeling kinda jaded but the reader fully hypes him up and compliments him like crazy.

feel free to ignore if you don't want to write it! tyty! 🤍

a/n: that is literally sooo cute! Of course! Here you go luv, made it a little bit angsty but I hope you still like it!

PART TWO.

You’re anxious to meet him, you’ve been working on the team for just a few weeks and now, they finally told you that the BAU genius is coming back — they didn’t specify why he’s gone but all you know is that he’s the smartest person you’ll ever know and that you must make a good impression.

“Relax, he’ll like you.” JJ reassures you, one hand smoothing down your shoulder as she stands next to you, the rest of the team is standing in a line to greet him and surprisingly, they trusted you with the task to give him a small gift basket, assorted things like books you’ve never seen before, multiple brands of coffee, a new mug and other stuff they told you he’d like.

“Who wouldn’t? She’s a walking unicorn.” Morgan jokes, the smirk on his face cracks a smile on yours, and when you all hear the ring of the elevator, you stand in silence.

Spencer walks in, slightly surprised with the whole ‘ceremony’ the team put on, the office lights blasting at his eyes before they go down to the pretty thing in the center holding a basket, he says a little “Hi.” and you’re immediately reaching forward, presenting yourself to him.

“I’ve heard a lot of things about you, great things, I mean, I’m just so impressed by your work and I think your way of thinking is just brilliant, I mean, that case in Seattle was so hard to crack and you — you did it in a breeze!” You smile, he slightly smiles back awkwardly, Morgan’s smile widens, after all that time, he’s still the weird nerd people remember. “The team put up this basket for you, I picked things you might like, I didn’t know what brand of coffee you’d like so here’s a bunch of them and there’s also… mugs. Multiple. Ceramic.”

Spencer stands silently, nodding towards you and taking the basket before he nods at the team, walking away to his office. You’re dumbfounded, staring up at the others with a sad frown on your face.

“What—“ you sigh. “What happened? Did I do anything wrong?” You ask, a sad smile peering through your lips.

“Listen, kid, he’s just going through a tough time right now.” Rossi responds, it does nothing to soothe the slight ache in your heart, excitement fading away as fast as it came. “I’m sure he’ll like you.” He adds, doing his best to comfort you. “Was just a tad bit much.”

You stare at Spencer through the window at his office before looking back at the team. “I’m sure he will.” You try to stay optimistic, it’s the best thing you know how to do.

When you look back at Spencer, he’s fumbling around the basket, investigating the books with his long fingers, opening one in his hands and gliding through the pages.

Maybe he will like you after all.

[claypigeonpottery]

How do you price your work?

there are a few methods that I use

1. by size. larger pieces means more clay, longer decorating times, more underglaze and glaze, and taking up more space in the kiln. it adds up. plus, it’s easier to be consistent if I’m pricing by size. the heron and snake are a lot larger than the tailorbird, so there’s automatically a price difference.

2. by amount of detail. if it’s a complex design, it takes more time and effort to create. the unicorn and fox trivets are the same size as the skull and bird trivets, but they’re much more complicated. that effects the time spent carving and sketching

3. by amount of time. this is often hard to estimate, and I sometimes lose track of this one tbh. though these four trays are all the same size, the time it took to paint the cat and the unicorn trays was substantial. the gator has a lot of detail and complex carving, but time-wise, it went faster.

unfortunately this one is tricky when it comes to skill level. if I’ve made 50 mugs, it takes me longer to make a mug than a ceramicist who has made 500 mugs. and they’re likely also making a more balanced and beautiful mug, having had more practice. so time also has to consider the months and years you spent perfecting your craft

4. by comparison. what are other ceramic artists charging for a similar size/design? etsy is a good tool for this. if possible, look for other artists with a style similar to yours. you don’t want to be overpriced, but you also don’t want to undercut other artists or devalue your work

5. this is a more personal pricing rule: if it’s a copy, how much of a pain in the ass was it to make originally? lol

[swee7dream]

how would the dreamies react to their s/o regressing for the first time in front of them after being super stressed and not being able to be a little ? ^^

it’s been a long time caregiver!nct dream x gender-neutral!regressor!reader

genres sfw age regression content, established relationship, hurt / comfort, angst in some, bits of fluff in all warnings involuntary / vent regression, regression block, negative self-talk, haechan's is long sry dni if you sexualize age regression. not only blocking but also reporting.

author’s note i'm SO sorry this took so long for me to get out. i promise i didn't forget about you, nonnie! i might've geared a little bit ( a lot ) off the prompt at times but i still hope you like it ! thx 4 requesting !

mark lee (ᓀ‸ᓂ) wc 642

With all your responsibilities lately, Mark finds it logical that you don’t regress as often as you used to. The last time he remembers was over three months ago. He misses taking care of you, hearing your sweet voice call out for your 'Mack!'. But he doesn’t want to burden you even more with any expectations to do anything you weren’t feeling up to do. He wasn’t planning to bring it up. Honest.

That was until you started coming home to avoid his kisses and go straight to bed. That moment left a pang in his heart.

In the silence and tension of your apartment, Mark finds himself in your little corner of tiny things, picking up your toys and dusting off your coloring books with longing. He misses his baby, so he’s going to get his baby back, he decides, no matter what it takes.

“Oh look, that new Disney movie came out you said you wanted to go see it, right?”

“I’m tired, Mark.”

“…okay.” He bites the inside of his cheek.

Just keep trying, Mark. You got this.

“Babe, I’m doing laundry. You want me to wash Cheese Doodle?” He knocks at your office door.

“Huh?” You raise your head as if you were a fish out of water. “Uh, yeah. That’s fine. Thank you.”

Hmph.

“What is that?” You give the box in Mark’s hand a look.

“It’s a game. Picked it up at the store. It’s like… Twister? But there’s something different about it. I dunno, I didn’t pay attention to the label and just bought it. Chenle asked that we bring some kind of board game for his party on Saturday.”

“Oh. Well, I have a thing on Saturday so tell him I can’t go but I hope everyone has fun.”

As the saying goes, the fourth time’s a charm.

“You’re not going to bed?” You rub your eyes, already in your night clothes and under the sheets.

“Not really tired,” he replies with a shrug as he makes his way out into the kitchen. “I think I’m gonna make myself some angel milk to get the sleeping juices going. That always worked for you. You want some?”

You’re already pretty tired, the events of the day had sucked every last drop of potential energy from you. Still, some angel milk in all its sweet, vanilla-tasting glory makes you lick your lips.

“…yeah. Please,” you answer.

When he comes back from the kitchen, he has your warm drink in one hand and Cheese Doodle—your orange puppy stuffie—in the other.

“Sit up for me, baby,” he says softly as he sits down on the edge of the bed, not wanting to spill anything from your favorite mug.

“Unicorn…!” You notice, taking the pink and rainbow cup in your two sleeve-clad hands. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.” Mark smiles. “and I just took cheese doodle out of the laundry too. Used the fabric softener that you like. Wanna feel?”

“Oh.” In a second, you’re like a cat rubbing your cheek against Cheese Doodle’s fur. “Smells good, Markie. Thank you.”

”Of course, baby. Feeling tiny?” He asks only now that he’s 95% sure you are.

”Little bit,” you admit into your mug, slurping quietly to not burn yourself.

”Aw.” He pouts. “That’s good. You know, Markie missed you, baby. I haven’t held my baby in such a long time.”

”Missed Markie too.” You blink at him with sleepy eyes and a milk mustache. “Lot.”

”Wanna cuddle for a little then?”

”Just for a lil' bit.” You nod, placing your angel milk on the bedside table.

Mark knows the mug will be forgotten by the morning but he'd rather make and waste a million angel milks than for you to forget him and Cheese Doodle again.

huang renjun ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა wc 594

“Oh that’s a nice painting, Jun,” you praise, resting your chin on his shoulder as he sits on a stool. “Very pretty.”

“I feel like it’s missing something, though,” he says with a frown. “Here. You paint something.”

“On your canvas?” You look at him. “No way, love. I’ll ruin it.”

“You won’t. Now take the brush.”

“I won’t.” You step back and cross your arms. “I’m not gonna mess up this painting you’ve been working so hard on with my clumsiness.”

“What are you talking about? You always add something to my paintings.” Renjun gives you a look. The look that makes you want to roll your eyes.

“And they’re always so much better before me.”

“You don’t think that.”

“I do.”

“Why are you talking about yourself in this way all of a sudden?”

“Because it’s true!” You explode. There’s a burning in the backs of your eyes as you keep talking. “All I’ve been doing lately is messing up stuff for other people. I’m no good, Renjun.”

“…”

“My boss thinks it, my team members think it. I know you think it too!” You sob.

“Darling-”

“Stop it, Jun.”

“Darling,” he repeats, taking your hand in his. “come here.”

He pulls you in with one hand and wipes your tears with another, so careful he almost makes you think you are glass.

“What’s in that green binder in the bookshelf over there?” he asks.

“What?” You furrow your brows. “I don’t know.”

“Go check.”

You give him a look but make your way to the oak bookshelf; filled with sketchbooks, novels, and a singular green binder. You look at Renjun when your fingers touch the spine and take it out only after he nods. Your knees wobble as you flip through the pages so you let your bottom hit the floor.

In the binder are the handwritten notes from back before the two of you even started dating; flirtatious exchanges recorded on coffee shop napkins, gum wrappers, and ripped-up bits of college notes. The next stage of your relationship is at the flip of a page; rushed post-it notes of domestic living with 'I love you!'s and 'Don't forget to eat!'s kept safe in the plastic sheets.

You look up at him with surprise but he only nods his head for you to keep flipping pages. You flip through empty slips until you almost reach the back cover and find all the drawings you’ve made for Renjun over the years while in regression. Each and every one. Even the ones where you're mad at him and have him eaten by monsters.

“You kept them…” You pass a finger over a drawing you made of the two of you, your stickmen-selves holding hands and smiling in a rocket ship.

“Of course I did, baby. How could I throw away something so perfect?” You hear his voice next to you, having gotten up from his seat to crouch next to you on the floor. He gently pulls your head into his chest and his lips drop to kiss the top of your head. “I don’t think you mess up things, my love. Ever. You simply change their direction. My Lovebug is the most creative, innovative person in the whole wide world, didn’t you know?”

“Junnie…” You sob, the dam of pent-up emotions finally seeking release.

“Hi there, babybug.” He whispers. “I’m right here, lovey. Right here. Let it all out.”

lee jeno ૮ .◜◡◝ა wc 655

“Babe, the ice is melting and your coke is turning into gross, brown, sweet-tasting water,” Jeno warns.

“One second, baby. I just need to finish this assignment real quick,” you mutter with your bottom lip bit in place.

It seems you’re still in the same clothes from three days ago, the same amount of time Jeno’s seen you stay in bed studying. He’s beginning to think your butt might be attached permanently to the mattress at this point. When it comes to your bedside table, your 5-hour energy from lunchtime being the latest addition to the food trash and empty water bottle pile doesn’t fill him with any more positive thoughts.

“When’s it for?” He sighs. “Your assignment.”

“…what?” You turn your head to him but your eyes stay on the screen. “Oh, um, Friday.”

“It’s Monday. Come on.” Jeno pulls at your arm like a spoiled child. “I’m not even making you shower or anything. I just wanna hang out with my hermit, stinky, computer nerd. Will you grant me my wish please?”

You look up with a half-offended, half-amused expression and your jaw dropped.

“I’m not stinky!” You fail to shake off your arm from his hold. “I told you I’m coming! I just really need to finish this.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Ye- ah!” You squeal as Jeno pulls at your arm, throwing you over his shoulder. “Jeno! I’m serious!”

“I’m serious too. Monday to Friday is five days-”

“Four days!”

“-and that’s more than enough time to finish your assignment.” He refuses to acknowledge your interruption. “You are going to eat a proper dinner with me on the couch as we watch TV and you’re gonna like it, you got that?”

“Augh…!” You groan, going limp on him.

“Oh, I know.” Jeno pouts as he sets you on the couch, covering you in your train-print fleece blanket. “I’m so mean, aren’t I? Asking you to take a break when all you wanna do is work, work, work.”

You just stare at him, squinting your eyes as you fail to hide a smile.

“Well unfortunately for you, gumdrop, babies don’t work! So I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. The police will come after me if I do. Child labor laws or something like that.”

He leaves a quick kiss on your forehead right before speeding to the kitchen. Jeno’s eyebrows wiggle in a wave when he returns with your food; apple slices, chicken nuggets, and fries all in their respective spots in your divided plate.

The original pasta and movie date night plan being scrapped for a Nono-Gumdrop night doesn’t phase Jeno. In fact, it excites him. Your projects and exams and assignments and professors... he tries so hard not to hold resentment against them all as they pull his baby away from him. But tonight? Tonight is different, and for once in his life, caregiver Jeno is triumphant.

“Thank you…” Your fingers wrap around the blue silicone and Jeno engulfs you in a bear hug when he sits down. Tight but not so tight it obstructs your arms when eating. “What are we watching, Nono?”

“Max and Ruby.” He smiles when you gasp.

“Love Max and Ruby!” You gush with a mouthful of apples.

“Do you?” Jeno drops his head to the side. “You do? You do? Nuh-uh. I do. It’s my favorite show in the whole wide world.”

“Well, ’s my favorite show in the whole galaxy!”

“Yeah? Well-”

You squeal, feeling ticklish when he nuzzles his stubble on your face.

“Nono, stop!” You giggle.

“Eat up, gumdrop.” He sighs, the feeling of his baby in his arms and eating a proper meal for the first time in days is an incomparable joy. “Two episodes and then it’s bathtime.”

“Ah, boo, Nono!” you whine but it turns back to giggles when he compresses you in his arms.

lee donghyuck ʕ˙Ⱉ˙‧:ʔ wc 994

“You there, Angel?”

You shake your head.

It feels strange, like your body isn’t yours, as you hold on tight to your dolls in your hands and see none of the lively sparkle in their eyes you usually do when you’re small.

“I’m broken, Hyuck,” you say with such a lack of emotions that you can’t tell if it’s actually you who is speaking. “I did everything right. I got dressed, I put on the music box, I’m trying to play for God’s sake. And nothing is working still. I feel ridiculous. A grown adult trying to act like a child.” You scoff.

“Hey, stop.” Donghyuck’s firm tone sends a shiver down your spine and you pull away. His shoulders drop when he notices; you’re scared and he’s only making it worse.

“That’s my baby you’re talking about, you know?” He tries again, with a softer tone this time. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You are not broken.” He holds your cheek.

“I’m just so tired, Hyuck.” Tears come up and blur your vision. “Everything has been going on for so long at the exact same time and I just- I can’t anymore. I need to just step away from reality for a little bit but I can’t even do that. My brain is just locking me in here in this state of suffering for who knows how long and I have no way of getting out. Not even for an hour.” You sob.

“I know, lovely.” He wraps his arms around you, letting you in turn wrap your arms around his legs from your seat on the floor. “It’s been so much for so long. You deserve a little break. Take a deep breath. Let’s try to let go of all these grownup worries, okay? We can pick them back up later. Come on, Angel, breathe.”

Angel.

Channie called you Angel and you still don’t feel small. The realization makes for more tears to come up but you refuse to let another defeated cry leave you. The denim of his jeans is rough on your face but not rough enough to make you stop using it as a tissue for your tears.

“…okay,” you creak out. “Breathe in. Breathing in…”

“There we go.” Haechan passes a hand over your head, the sensation soothing you somewhat. “And out. one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Good job, Angel. Nice long deep breaths.”

You repeat the action several times, following his counts and pushing yourself to feel his jeans under your fingertips and smell the woodsy notes of his cologne to ground yourself.

“Everything sucks,” you say after some moments of silence. “Everything sucks. I didn’t even ask for any of this. I just want to be small,” your voice breaks.

“And you will be.” Donghyuck’s touch is gentle, encouraging you without words to look up at him. The pad of his thumb is warm when it wipes the tears from your face, brushing against your damp lashes. “You will be. I promise.”

“I don’t know what to do, Hyuck. I’m all out of ideas at this point,” you admit.

“How about just trying to feel not sucky?” He scrunches his nose, the most tender of smiles painted on his face. “How about… just drawing a picture? Just one. Doesn’t have to be with crayon or marker like when you’re feeling tiny. It can be whatever you want it to be. Don’t think about being small, just about drawing.”

“…draw what?”

“Hm… what about your dolls?”

When you unwrap yourself from his legs to look at said dolls, it gives Donghyuck the chance to go grab your art supplies. Your dolls don’t have that lively aura you see them with when you’re small but you can almost feel a sort of pity and empathy from them. It reminds you of the type of support your friends give you in their messages despite the country lines separating you.

“And I’ll draw… a car. Jeno’s been getting me into Formula One.” Donghyuck pulls you out of your thoughts when his voice is so close it makes you turn to see he’s taken a seat next to you on the floor. He opens a pencil case right in front of you two and takes a black pencil for himself to begin sketching on some paper.

“Really?” You opt a red pencil.

“Yeah. It’s pretty interesting.” He shrugs.

“But ’s so boring.” You sniffle up some snot from your lightning-fast crying session. You didn’t even cry for that long, how come you can feel your eyes swelling? So annoying. “They just go around in circles.”

“It’s not just that though. There’s—pass me the red? Oh, you have it. No, it’s okay. I can wait—there’s like a ton of beef between them. I like watching the interviews and stuff. It’s like watching basketball or football.” Haechan lets out a groan as he lays on his stomach, resting a cheek on his fist. “That’s really pretty, baby.”

“Y’like it?” You move to mirror him, turning your drawing for him to see better. “Think I’m gonna add some other stuff too.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet,” you admit. “Probably you. I always like drawing you. And then… your red car. You can take me and the dollies on a road trip. I like it when we have fun together.”

Affection floods out of Donghyuck, letting out an adoring ‘aw’ as he hugs you, leaving kisses on all the spots he knows won’t lead to a tickle fight.

“So cute! I always have fun with you. My Angel...” he hums into your temple.

“My Channie…” you mutter under your breath, sketching his head four times bigger than the rest.

na jaemin ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ wc 664

“I’m okay.” You rub your nose. “Just a couple sneezes, Jaem. It’s not a big deal. I can keep studying for a little while longer.”

“You sneezed four times in a row.” Jaemin stands next to your desk chair with his arms crossed. “Do you know what that means?”

“What?” You sigh, knowing he won’t leave until you entertain him.

“You have the plague.”

“The what?”

“The plague.”

“Baby, I don’t have the-” Achoo! “the-” Achoo! “the plague…”

You move your mouse around your screen and click away at it but it doesn’t hide the reflection of Jaemin’s intense stare into your skull. He’s not amused. You spin your chair around.

“I don’t have the plague,” you repeat with a clogged nose, not even convincing yourself this time. “…I just have a little cold.”

“I wonder where you could have gotten that from, hm?” He turns you toward him by the chair’s arms and traps you by holding onto both of them and leaning in until your foreheads almost touch. “Maybe from studying a little too much? From stretching yourself too thin? Pushing yourself past your limits? Hm? Hm? hm?” He turns his head at an angle with each question, being obnoxious about his accurate statements.

“Five minutes.”

“No.”

“I just need to email this professor.”

“No.”

“I have a group project.”

“Good thing you have groupmates, huh? Come on, get off your pretty little butt.” He grabs you from under the armpits, placing your feet on the ground as if you were merely a bag of rice. “We’re playing hospital.”

“No…” you whine with dragging feet the whole time Jaemin guides you to the kitchen, his gentlemanly hand giving you no chance to run as it rests on the small of your back.

“Yes…” He pouts at you as he fills up the syringe with orange medicinal syrup. “Babies need be good and take their medicine when they are sick, okay?”

“Jaemin-” You pull your head the other way, holding his wrist away from you.

“Baby…” he sings, dodging your attempts. “Say ‘ah’, pumpkin.”

Pressing your lips tight doesn’t do anything, the plastic tip of the syringe still slipping in and filling your mouth with bitter medicine that makes a lame attempt at orange flavoring. You shake your head, still rejecting the cold syrup as it goes down, but it does regardless, chilling your throat when it does.

“Bleh!”

“Drink some water, baby.” Jaemin holds up a cup (when did he fill that up?) and you take it as if it were the key to eternal life.

“Taste so icky,” you say with your face scrunched up like a raisin. “Hate it!”

You’re sick and suffering from forced consumption of medicine. Jaemin knows this. Jaemin shouldn’t smile. But he just can’t help it! His baby is finally back after such a long, long time. he thought he was gonna die from BWS (Baby Withdrawal Symptoms).

“Aw…” His hands reach out to hold your face and squish your cheeks together. “Baby doesn’t like medicine? Babies don’t like yucky bitter things. Babies like… sweet yummy things! How about some hot chocolate, lovey-dovey?”

“Chocwate?” you ask with raised eyebrows.

“Hot chocwate.” His nose scrunches as he pinches your cheeks. “Does that sound good?”

“Yeah!” You hop free of his crab claws. “Hot chocolate! Wanna, wanna, wanna!”

“Be careful, sugarplum!” Jaemin laughs, twirling you with such ease it feels as if you were in a dance. “Why don’t you go put something on the TV while I make us the chocolate? Whatever you want, baby,” he says, but you’re already out of the kitchen and looking under blankets and cushions for the remote.

“Spongebob!” You hold it up to the ceiling like it were the sword in the stone.

“Except Spongebob. You know that shrinks your brain.”

“Aw!” You slump but quickly straighten up like a ruler. “Ah- Ah- Achoo!”

zhong chenle (ᯟ︿ᯏ) wc 622

“I’m so proud of you.” Chenle pecks your head as you hold his waist from behind. The smells coming from the stove you two stand in front of are nothing if not heavenly. “Pretty, funny, kind, graduated. How’d I bag you?”

“Mmm, I dunno.” You shrug smugly, as you look out the window. A content sigh leaves you as your eyes follow the raindrops that slide down your window. “Must’ve done something good in your past life.”

“Must have,” he hums. “Set the table for me? I’m basically almost done.”

“You got it.” You peck his cheek. “Smells delicious. Jaemin give you cooking lessons while I was gone?”

“I’ll have you know I’m a great cook. I don’t need any cooking lessons. Never have.”

“Ah…” You roll out the placemats with a sarcastic nod.

“But if I did, I would go to Donghyuck.”

“If you did, I would approve. His soups are good.”

“Mine are better.”

“…”

“Right?”

“Sure.”

The music playing from the speakers and lights in the apartment all shut off at once, not even the hum of the refrigerator sounding in the silence, the darkness. The thunder is so close it feels like footsteps. Heavy, angry footsteps coming close. Closer and closer to you.

The power comes back as soon as it left but you can’t seem to recover as fast. You don’t even remember dropping down to hold your knees, and in the dark you didn’t see how many tears came up to overflow from your eyes. Chenle calls out your name but it sounds so distant it doesn’t even register. It feels like you’re running out of oxygen like a deep sea diver falling hopelessly down to the ocean floor.

“Hey,” you take a sharp inhale at Chenle’s warm hands holding your cheeks ground you back to reality. “Hey, the power went out. Everything’s fine. You’re okay. You’re home, you’re with me. Nothing is gonna hurt you here, you hear me? You are safe.”

You almost knock Chenle over from his crouching position when you throw yourself on him, but he reads your body language just in time to catch you. His lips press into your hair, your temples, your shoulders, the softest of touches as you wail into his shirt. His heart breaks at how fragile you seem in the moment, like a porcelain doll with a chip. You sob and babble to the point that Chenle can’t understand what you’re saying. All he can catch is one word.

“Daddy…”

There’s nothing for you to do but cry, Chenle’s learned with time, so he lets you do just that. He lets you cry in his arms there on the floor and when you’re finally willing he attaches you to his hip as he walks around. He wipes your tears with a paper towel and makes sure you get a bottle of water to drink from to rehydrate.

His eyebrows furrow when you turn your head to dodge his spoon, rejecting the meal you were so looking forward to less than twenty minutes ago. This meal which was meant to be a celebration of not just the end of your education but of all your life up to this point. Of your growth, your endurance; of all the stress you put yourself through to come out victorious in the end.

You’re still victorious, he thinks. Even now as you fill up the apartment with tears, he’s so proud of you. His partner, his baby, the strongest person he’s ever met.

“Come on, dollface. Just one spoonful, yeah? Need you to eat,” he tries again.

park jisung (∩˃o˂∩) wc 668

“What’s that giant box?”

“What giant box?” He looks at you on the couch. “...I thought you were napping.”

“I woke up. What’s with that giant box you’re pushing into our house?”

“Oh, this?” Jisung looks down. “It's… a box.”

You blink, irritation in your tight-lipped smile at your boyfriend’s lack of cooperation.

“I know it’s a box, Ji. I'm asking what’s inside the box?”

“Box… stuff…”

“Jisung!”

“That’s not my name!” He whines as he shuts the front door. “My name to you is Ji! Or Baby! Not Jisung! It’s so scary when you call me that...” He sighs. “It was supposed to come before you started your vacation time, while you were at work.”

“Why?” Your eyebrows come together into a questioning frown.

“Because- just- you’ll see soon. Pass me the scissors? Thanks.” He pecks your lips, taking the scissors from your hands and pushing your back away with little force. “Now go. Get! Your surprise will be ready in a minute. Go… brush your dolls’ hair or something. It’ll be super quick.”

“Doll hairs? is it a Little gift?”

“Shoot.” Jisung bites his fist. “...can you just go in the bedroom already? It’s not a Little gift. It’s not.”

The instructions that came in the box of the not-Little gift said construction would only take thirty minutes. Not to fear, with super handyman Park Jisung to the rescue it only took three hours and two people.

“We’re done!” You clap, looking in awe at your brand new play kitchen, pink and wooden and creaky and yours. “Jiji, finish!”

“Yeah.” He sits back on the floor, wiping the sweat from his brow. “We’re finished. D’you like it?”

“It’s so pretty, jiji!” You beam, hugging his head and squeezing the brains out of him.

“I’m glad you like it, bub.” He nods at his work in approval. “You deserve it. Worked so hard recently.”

“Thankie!” You get up quickly, running barefoot into the bedroom to come back with a box of play food in all colors and sizes.

“Make you a lenonade, bubby!” You begin adding ice to a cup and add a lemon to it. “Ice cold lenonade.”

“Oh, I love your lenonade. Thanks, baby.” He takes the cup, making gulping noises and finishing it off with a loud and satisfied ‘ah!’. “Actually, are we playing restaurant right now?”

“Um… yeah!” you decide. “Welcome to my rest’rant! What would you like to order?”

“I would kill for a good burger.” Jisung pats his stomach like a starved man. “I hear you guys have some good ones, is that true?”

“The truest!” You smile. “One burger, comin’ up!”

You turn back to your kitchen and hum to yourself as you place a burger patty on the stove.

“No pans for that?”

“No pans!” You shake your head. “Special burger.”

“Ah, must be.” He mutters behind you.

When it comes to building time, Jisung acts like a to-be-blacklisted customer.

“Could I have no onions in my burger? I’m allergic.”

“No, you’re not.”

“It’s just play pretend, honey.”

“Oh. Then, yes you can, sir! No onions.”

“And no tomatoes please. I don’t like how the seeds get stuck between my teeth.”

“No tomatoes!”

“And could you cut the cheese? It kind of sends me to the bathroom.”

“Ew… okay, no cheese, either!” You toss the slice of play cheese to the side.

“…could you also remove the meat? I’m vegetarian.”

That’s the final straw. No meat? You look down at his ‘burger’: bread, lettuce, bread.

“This is what you want?” You turn to show him his order.

“Oh yes.” He smiles, clasping his hands together in anticipation. “That’s my burger! So tasty. Thank you, shop owner.”

“You’re welcome…” You give him a look. “Ketchup?”

“No thanks.”

“Mayo?”

“Bleh! Pass.”

“…barbeque sauce?”

“Oh, that’s my favorite! Lettuce and barbeque sauce burger, my favorite.” He licks his lips.

“Jiji, ew!” you whine.

tag list ( ask / comment to join ! ) @mystarsohee @cupofwyn @iwontlettheselittlethingsslip @aeriaeri

[felixcloud6288]

I've kept this analysis bottled up for over 10 years and no one here can stop me from sharing it.

When the My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic episode "The Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000" first aired, there were a lot of comparisons between it and the episode of Spongebob Squarepants where Spongebob competed with King Neptune in a cook-off competition.

And while there are some shallow similarities - The mass-produced method won but produced a product of such inferior quality that no one wanted - this comparison does a great disservice to the episode and ignores the true lesson to be had from it.

For anyone who's never seen it before, here's the synopsis of "The Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000": The Apple Family is hosting their annual Apple Cider sale. Due to their production method, they are never able to keep up with demand. Then a pair of Unicorns named the Flim-Flam Brothers show up and offer to provide their Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 to help resolve the Apple Family's supply issue, but they demand a service fee that is so high that the Apple Family will ultimately lose money on the deal.

When they're refused, the Flim-Flam brothers demand a competition to see who can make the most cider and the losers would have to leave Ponyville. In the end, the Flim-Flam Brothers win, but they only won because they turned off the quality control of their machine to increase production and the residents made them leave because they all hated their cider.

Now this might sound like a "quality vs quantity" story or a "buy and support local suppliers" kind of story, but here's the thing: The Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 actually makes good cider. At one point in the episode, Granny Smith is given a mug of their cider and you can tell by her face that it's good. So this is not a quality vs quantity conflict. It's "quality vs quality AND quantity". The Flim-Flam Brothers were offering an equally good product in a way that could also meet demand.

The actual lesson about the episode revolves around keeping the integrity of your product. When the competition started, both sides were producing quality cider through their own means and the Flim-Flams were winning by a large margin. But then Twilight Sparkle and the rest of the cast joined in to help the Apple family. And with the extra support, the Apple Family started winning the competition.

The Flim-Flam brothers then began trying to increase their own production and soon hit a giant bottleneck in the form of the quality control mechanism of their machine. And they did not hesitate to turn it off to increase production. And because of that, they were winning again.

Meanwhile, Rainbow Dash realized the exact same bottleneck in their production line and said they also needed to skip quality control in order to win, but Granny Smith vetoed it because she would not sacrifice the quality of their cider no matter what.

So this is a story about keeping integrity in the face of potential loss. The Apple Family refused to yield on the quality of their cider and lost the competition because of it. Meanwhile, their opponents had no such qualms and were fine with making a poor quality product if it meant greater profit.

So I guess if you want to tie the episode to anything, it's trying to say that you should support organizations that will not sacrifice quality for profit, and you should take pride in doing things the right way even if it doesn't yield the most profit.

But Applejack didn't learn anything cause she was right all along. She already knew that to begin.

[beanieable]

I thought adding Bishop to Rise would be fun!

Meet the grumpy adopted uncle of the Hamato Family. Agent John Bishop.

The second he realized that their just a bunch of kids, he develops some parental instincts and they adopt him as their uncle.

Read about him here:

Uncle Bishop

A few things about him under the cut

He doesn’t like authorities so he became the authority.

Very much Aizawa from BNHA vibes.

Likes to piss off his bosses. They would love to fire Bishop but can’t because he’s their best agent.

As soon as he got attached to the kids he began reading up on turtles. Specifically the species the boys are.

He takes them all out for pizza regularly.

Became good friends with Hueso after a while.

Gets all his nieces and nephews gifts. A good portion of his paycheck is spent on them. He also has a savings account for all of them, just in case one of them wants to go to college. He’s very well off because his job pays very well and he didn’t spent a lot of his money before this.

Some of the gifts he's gotten already include matching unicorn onesies for all of them and a pizza oven for Mikey. He's currently working on getting Donnie some uranium. Turns out that is incredibly hard.

He once got a best uncle mug from Mikey and he loves that thing so much. He will only drink out of that mug.

He didn’t know he had it in himself to be a parental figure of sorts. Now he knows he can but only with these kids.

He loves them, even if he doesn’t say it often. Or at all.

The kids love him too.

He’s very proud of all 7 of them.

This man likes his comfy clothes, so anytime he doesn't have to do official work, he walks around in sweatpants and a random shirt. Even when he's at work. He only wears the suit for meetings and press meetings.

He grew up in the forster system. He never got adopted because of his attitude. He never even had friends. His first and only family are the kids.

He would do anything to keep them save, and I mean anything.

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter Nine: I Want You

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael takes care of you after a long day at work.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, but other than that fluff, fluff, FLUFF!

Word Count: 5.7k

A/n: This is so sweet y'all. I wrote some real domestic shit here and I am so excited to share this with you. I re-read it a million times and added even more fluff until I decided it was okay to post. Also, I said on AO3 that we have about 2-3 chapters with fluff before the Angst Train takes off again. The next one is a little angstier, but there is also a lot of fluff in there, and you're only going to start hating me after Chapter 12 :) If you want to be tagged or I forgot to tag you, let me know! (AND LOOK AT MY smiley little baby AHHH)

You find yourself at work when it finally happens.

Your phone pings and you look down to find two messages on your screen. One is from Michael, and when you open it, you have to stop yourself from laughing because why is he sending you a picture of your unicorn mug with a double espresso in it?

You store it away to answer later. The message that matters most to you is the one underneath. Maya’s name stands written over your lock screen and you have never opened your texts faster. 

‘Dad gave me my phone back. Going on the field trip on Saturday. Got my friend to vouch for the money. They agreed. Thank you again, so much <3 Love you.’

You almost cry out of pure relief. You do cry, in fact, but just a little. A stray tear slides down your cheek from the corner of your eye. 

Hearing Sarah’s footsteps, you quickly wipe your cheek and stuff your phone away, knowing that you’re not allowed to use it during work hours, let alone behind the counter. 

“Girl, there’s this lad in the ‘no work’ section,” she says, clearly not noticing the tears in your eyes. “He’s like, so hot. I’d fuck him.”

You’re not even surprised anymore when it comes to your friend’s ability to have the most random conversations. 

“Oh yeah?” you say, “Is that why you chose to personally bring him his coffee this time?”

“If ya looked at him, ya’d understand.”

You brush the wrinkles out of your apron and refocus on the dishes that still require to be washed after the first crowd of tourists came in and managed to ruin the three-hours worth of cleaning from the night before. 

Truth be told, you couldn’t be any less interested in the customer she mentioned, and you don’t plan on checking him out. A few weeks ago, you might have. It used to be your favorite thing to do, battling about who gets to treat the good-looking customers that came into the café. But for you, that is over now. You don't need it anymore. 

You found your good-looking customer a few days ago, and you would prefer to stay with him. 

“What, not even an interested glance?” Sarah asks. 

You shrug. “Why should I?”

“Because he’s hot–“ she breaks off into a gasp. “Oh, girl! You are down bad.”

You look away to hide the blush on your cheeks. “Shut up,” you retort, using the red towel next to the sink to dry the first few mugs from the rack. 

She eyes you before stepping closer and pulling your shirt aside. You frown at her bold move, but after spending so much time together, you no longer have boundaries. 

Sarah roams her eyes over your neck and the little bit of cleavage you’re showing. The hickeys are bright purple now, the edges slightly red where the blood is just starting to pool and she gasps again. She makes it sound as if she found out the most scandalous piece of information and you’re the main attraction in this case. 

“You’re walkin’ ‘round with hickeys now?” she asks, her voice hushed yet loud at the same time.

It sounds like she’s squealing, almost, but you’re not sure if it’s positive. 

“What are ya, fifteen?”

You pull away from her, pulling your shirt further up to cover at least the imprint of Michael’s lips on your breast. The one on your neck is for everyone to see; you didn’t bother covering it up, you’re embracing it, and you considered taking a picture to drive him crazy at home. If only he knew the glances you’ve received throughout the day, he would be at the door in a second, caging you against the wall and–

Sarah calls your name, her fingers snapping in front of your face. You blink out of your haze, your cheeks even redder now as the arousal floods through your body and meets with the yearning between your legs. 

She was right; you are down bad.

“These look brutal,” she comments, but now she doesn’t seem as angry anymore.

Maybe Michael is growing on her.

Instead of berating you, she leans her hip against the counter and smirks. “Did ya have sex last night?” 

You bite your lip. It feels weird to be talking about it because your love life has been non-existent for a very long time and you forgot what it’s like to tell your friend about good sex, but Michael is exceptional in bed and he never leaves you dissatisfied. It’s something you should brag about and yet it’s so intimate, something special between the two of you because every time you do it, it’s different. There’s not just unbridled desire between you, the emotions are just as raw and they make the experience so much more intense. 

You sigh softly when you think about the feeling of his lips against yours, your neck, and the rest of your body. His hands burn their marks into your skin. The way he sounds, smells, and feels. You can’t tear your mind away from the man he is, and he is all yours.

Sarah’s smirk widens into a grin. “Oh, yer gettin’ dicked down every night now, huh?” she says. “And you’re enjoyin’ every last minute of it. I bet yer thinkin’ ‘bout it right now.”

“You know,” you say, trying to somehow save yourself, but it’s futile because she’s right; you are thinking about him right now. Snapping out of it, you continue, “You are very invested in my sex life for someone who claims she doesn’t like the guy I’m sleeping with.”

“Yes, I am a hypocrite, but I’ve noticed that you look a lot… happier, and if he’s good in bed, I mean, why shouldn’t I profit from these stories? I’m chronically single. Doesn’t mean I like Mister I’m-A-Mobster, but if his cock is good–“

“I don’t like the thought of you thinking about his cock.”

“Alright, alright, just let me have a little somethin’. I just want to know some details. Bread crumbs. Just a taste. Please? I don’t want his cock, but I want to know more about it, if ya know wha’ I mean.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as you lean in, wanting to keep this as private as possible. “Well,” you say, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes and reflecting in the mug you’re polishing right now, “My dining table suffered a little last night, and I’m not talking about spilling food.”

Sarah gasps again, burying her head in her hands. “Oh, my God!” she as much as shrieks, and you have to squeeze her shoulder to stop her from causing a scene. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, and it sounds almost proud.

What have you turned into?

She claps her hands excitedly. “Did it break?” she asks. And she almost looks disappointed when you tell her that no, it didn’t break. It only squeaked a little and left scratches on the floorboards after you were done fucking on it like wild animals. But that’s all that happened to your precious dining table.

“It should have broken ‘cause that’s the best kind of sex. If it doesn’t, yer not doin’ it hard enough.”

You snort. “Let’s just say he knows how to make me come,” you say. 

She smirks. “Like hard, or–“

“Mhm.”

“Does he cuddle after sex? Be honest.”

“The cuddliest.”

“Aw, man!” She fans herself. “What else?”

“Well, the way he does it… oh, Sarah, if only you knew.” You sigh. “So good.” 

Her eyes widen, hoping you will spill a little more than a few mysterious bits and pieces, but then your lips curl up and she knows she has been defeated.

“That’s all you need to know,” you say. 

“Ugh,” she says, “You’re boring!”

She pouts when you turn away from her to treat the next customer who just came in. 

Passing by her as you prepare the order, you halt to whisper something into her ear, “If you give that hottie your number, you might get good sex, too. Maybe even some morning cuddles like me. This café turns out to be a great match-maker.”

Seeing her face, it’s clear that Sarah considers taking your advice the second it leaves your mouth and reaches her ear.

You have an excellent day. After Maya’s text, there is seemingly nothing that can ruin your mood. The customers are all nice to you and you give them your best smile, which results in a lot of tips. You can already see a brighter future for your bank account, considering Ava allowed you to close up shop at the end of the day and do some overtime to add some more hours, and you have never been more grateful. 

You promised her you wouldn’t get overworked so easily, but when you’re finally done cleaning the café, your feet and back hurt and you’re almost too exhausted to even make your way home. But you still do because your thoughts flick to Michael and you know you won’t be alone when you get home. That’s all that matters to you when you make your way to your car and drive home.

Slowing down at the gas station, everything seems normal again after the shooting except for the police taping locking the place down for business, but you don’t feel as much threat coming from it now that the worst is cleaned up. 

Hearing that Michael’s family was involved in the shooting shocked you to your core, but death doesn’t scare you, it hasn’t for a long time, and neither does violence. What scares you is the fact that it is so damn messy, and you don’t fully understand the magnitude of the life he grew up in and his family continues to lead.

You don’t appreciate violence, so you don’t appreciate them making a living with the suffering of others – with bloodshed and drugs. It must eventually grow sad and lonely, right? It must be traumatizing. Michael is traumatized. He lost so much to his name and now he’s broken. You can’t imagine the others not feeling that way unless they’re psychopaths in which case you never want to meet them.

They’re dangerous and you should stay away, but Michael does not fit on that roster. And somehow, when you think about it, you’re more curious now than ever about what the Kinsellas have got to hide.

With every step up the stairs to your apartment, your feet grow more tired. You just want to get out of these clothes and these shoes, maybe take a hot bath to get rid of the ache in your muscles, and sleep. You have been so wound up and in your head thanks to Maya and your incompetent family, you didn’t notice how awful you have been feeling. 

You open the door, almost crying from how exhausted you are. Only after closing the door and locking the deadbolt, do you notice that the apartment is rather warm. Your heater doesn’t always work perfectly, so it’s often too cold. Tonight though, you can feel the comfortable heat of candles and a working heater hug you as soon as you step inside. 

Then you smell it. The softest whiff of pasta and garlic lies in the air. You sniff, trying to make out if it’s your neighbor’s cooking or coming from your kitchen. When you hear the clanging of utensils ahead of you, you realize that it’s not just anyone making dinner in the complex, it’s Michael. In your home. For you.

He somehow got the heater to work and still turned on a few candles to make it more comfortable for you before you got home. Now you want to cry even more because it is just so considerate, no one has ever done something of this magnitude for you before – and it’s somehow only the bare minimum.

You leave your coat and bag by the door, slowly walking down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Don’t get startled, I’m not a serial killer,” you say.

Michael’s head whips around when he senses your presence, his frown quickly turning into a smile. “Hey,” he says. “Yer home.”

Home. It’s a normal thing to say, but he’s referring to your apartment, the one he is staying in, and now he even cooked for you. It feels like he belongs here now, with you. 

He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a cozy, green sweater. You remember it from the first day you met. The color reminded you of the cloudy Dublin weather, but also the grass whenever it rains.

He smells good, you can tell it from where you’re standing, once again reminding you of ground coffee beans, rain, and Michael. It’s his unique scent that draws you in the most. It’s woody, almost, but also holds a certain whiff of leaves in autumn and the feeling of the soft summer air during a clear London night. You can’t explain it; there are too many sensations when it comes to him, and none of them can be put into words. 

“You okay?” his gentle voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes are a little wider than usual, cheeks already flushed from the warmth as you look around. “What’s all this?” you ask, your voice carrying a soft, quiet tone.

Michael frowns. “Dinner?” He smiles shyly. “I thought I’d, uh, make you somethin’ ‘cause ya said ya had to work late again today, so… Sorry, I–“

You raise your hand. “I’m not mad.” 

“What?”

“I’m… you did this?” Your eyes soften even more. “For me?”

“Well, yeah, who else would I be doin’ this for? Wouldn’t cook dinner all fer myself, that’s kind of… tha’ would be a lot.”

“Michael, I…”

“Are you sure yer okay?”

With silent steps, you approach him. He follows you with his curious gaze, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to read you. You wrap your arms around his neck in answer, pulling him down into a kiss. 

He smiles when he pulls away. “Hi,” he murmurs. “What was tha’ for?”

“Being you,” you say.

It warms your heart that he went out of his way to make you dinner. He made sure the apartment would be warm enough for you because you hate the cold and he notices how much you freeze at night, and how much you rely on his body to provide heat. But you were always too proud to get someone to look at your heater, so he took a look at it for you and found an easy fix. He did all of that without batting an eye, using his time alone for good, and you’re not sure how to react to that.

“Your heater had a few loose screws,” he answers your unspoken questions. “Fixed ‘em, now it’s warmer. And your tomatoes were ‘bout to go bad, so I decided I’d make some spaghetti ‘cause that’s the only thing I remember how ta make.”

You place your hands on his face, stroking the faint blush on his cheeks. “Thank you so much…” 

“Ya don’t have to thank me, love.”

“Yes, I do. That’s not something I can expect, especially not after such a short amount of time together. I mean, I haven’t always been completely open with you and that would be turn-off for a lot of people, and it would prompt them not to cook dinner or- or fix my heater. I’d totally get it if you didn’t trust me and tell me now that this won’t work out, but I–“

Michael shuts you up with a sweet kiss pressed to your lips. You’re quick to stop rambling, the softness of his lips moving against yours eliciting a warmth that comes from deep within and not from outside, and it reminds you that you’re home. It’s not the apartment that makes it feel that way, it’s home.

Ever since you moved to Dublin, you had been searching for a place to call home, but your four walls have almost just been an apartment, and you struggled. Now that Michael is here with you, you feel less stranded and alone and more like you’ve finally found somewhere you belong – and that is his arms and his lips, offering you a sanctuary and a home.

Your eyes are still closed when he pulls away. “I want ya t’be comfortable ‘round me,” he says.

You can feel his hot breath fanning across your face, his fingers painting delicate patterns on the back of your neck where he is holding your forehead close to his. 

“Michael, I–” you begin, but the words elude you. 

“Shh,” he shushes you with his index finger against your lips. “It’s okay. Let’s just… have dinner, and then I’ll run ya a bath, and then we’ll watch a movie. I wanna be with ya. I don’t care if it takes a day, a month, or a year fer ya to open up ta me ‘cause I have so much left to tell ya, too; as long as I get to be with ya and get to know who you are, that’s all I care about.”

You nod in response, unable to find the right words. You have always been just a caretaker and telling people the truth has never become important before because no one cared before, but he does. With Michael, it seems that you have found someone who sees you for who you truly are, flaws and all. You have found a home. In his eyes, you're not just someone who exists solely to take care of others. You're worth more than that, and he's taking care of you for a change to prove that to you. 

With a quivering smile, you brush your thumb against his cheek, cherishing the warmth beneath your touch. "I... I want that too," you finally manage to say. 

He leans in and kisses the pad of your thumb. “I know you do,” he says. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but–”

“Shh, let me take care of ya. You’d say the same thing ta me right now. And don’t say no ‘cause we both know ya would.”

Your shoulders slack as you sigh. He’s right; you can be quite the hypocrite sometimes. He smiles when your protests die down and takes your hand to lead you to the table. 

Watching him, you are amazed by how natural he looks moving around your kitchen. He’s in his element, and you mentally add another talent to his list – he seems to be an excellent cook, or he can at least stand his own in a kitchen, which is something not many can say about themselves. 

With a shy smile, he places the pasta in front of you. Michael put in the extra effort to plate the food well enough to make it look as delicious as it smells. You decorate coffee cups for a living, you know the eye of the beholder plays a big role in how food and drinks are consumed, so you appreciate it even more that he used herbs to garnish the spaghetti. 

“I’m not the best cook,” he begins. 

You glare at him from across the table, grabbing your fork. “It smells good,” you tell him. “And I’m sure it tastes just as amazing.”

“If it doesn’t, we could still order pizza.”

“Michael, darling, please stop expecting the worst from yourself whenever you create something.”

“I can’t help it, I–”

You shush him, digging into the pasta and taking a huge bite as if to prove to him you would still eat it even if it tasted like trash. You love cooking and you often do so for others because it is therapeutic, in a way. You used to cook for your sister all the time, and you would help your mother when she couldn’t. You used to make dinner for the whole family to prevent confrontation or any unnecessary violence because the fear was greater than hunger, and so food became a means for survival in more ways than once. 

You don’t like to dwell on the past, but there is a reason why you often cook for yourself rather than order takeout; you don’t know any better, and that’s also why in every relationship you have been in, you were the sole provider when it came to breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

Having Michael cook for you is something you never thought you would experience, let alone enjoy, but the second the delicious taste of tomato sauce, garlic, and spaghetti meets your tongue, you are in heaven. 

“It’s made with love,” Michale murmurs, “I hope that’s enough.”

You reach out and gently touch his hand. “This is…” you lick your lips. He is an amazing cook, he even exceeded your expectations. “It's delicious,” you say. “And I don't just say it because I like you. This is really good.”

His eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yes, really. This is probably the best fucking pasta I’ve ever had.”

“It’s an Italian recipe,” he says, slowly beginning to curl his own spaghetti around his fork. “Birdy brought it home with her after one of her trips and she taught me ‘cause Anna, when she was still little, I mean, loved pasta more than anythin’...” He chuckles. “So I thought I should learn how to make spaghetti, but I always thought… well, never mind.”

“You thought everyone was just pretending to like it for your sake?” you ask. 

He shrugs. You must have hit a sore spot. Nodding, you return to eating your pasta, enjoying every last bite with a soft smile playing on your face. When you meet Michael’s eyes, he’s watching you intently, his hazel eyes carrying a look you haven’t seen before, and it makes you frown. 

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he quickly looks away, flustered.

“Tell me.”

“It’s nothin’, I just… I can’t believe yer here.”

“Well, I am very real,” you say as you finish your last bite. “And you just cooked me probably the best dinner I have ever had in my life, so… not getting rid of me that easily, Mister Kinsella.”

His chuckle resembles a giggle and the sound swells your heart. You look over your shoulder, standing at the stove now and filling your plate with some more pasta. “What?” you ask.

“Hungry?” he teases. 

You poke your tongue out at him. “Fuck off! I didn’t have the time to eat today.”

“I’m not judging.”

“You better not.”

“Lucky for ya, there's plenty more where tha’ came from.” He gestures to the pot on the stove. “Help yourself.”

You add another spoonful of sauce. “Oh, I intend to,” you say. 

“And I encourage ya to do so.”

You sit back down across from him, your legs now crossed, and you dig into your second serving with enthusiasm. Michael watches you throughout. 

“Was it stressful?” he asks eventually. “Work, I mean.”

Swallowing the bite in your mouth, you shrug. “It was pretty tame today, actually, compared to yesterday’s mess, but I was in pretty early and then I had to close up, so it’s been a long day.”

“You shouldn’t be overworkin’ yerself.”

“I’m okay.”

“Maybe you should ask fer fewer hours, hm? If I do happen to get the job, ya won’t be as understaffed and—”

“I asked for the overtime,” you cut him off. 

Your words hang heavily in the air as he processes your words, then immediately frowns when they start making sense in his head. “Why?” he asks. 

You finish your plate and set it aside, shrugging. “Needed the money,” you say. 

His frown deepens. “How much?” His hands pat his pockets as if he’s searching for something, maybe even his wallet. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Michael, you don't have to…” The last thing you want is to take money for him without him knowing why you're short this month. 

He interrupts you, still.  “Please, just tell me,” he says. “How much?”

You sigh. “Fine,” you relent. “It's not that much, just a couple hundred quid. But that's why I asked for more hours. It's just to make rent due this month. Please, don't–”

You’re not sure why the most human struggle embarrasses you so much, maybe because he doesn’t know the full story, and maybe because he thought you had somewhat control over your life and now he realizes that you don’t. It makes you feel utterly pathetic. 

He looks at you so softly, you want to cry. He pulls out a roll of money and places it between you on the table. You don’t even want to know where he got it from, a feeling of unease spreading through your body. 

“I don’t have rent to pay,” he says. “I got that from… well, doesn’t matter. Point is, I got that after I got out and was still searchin’ for a job, and then I started with Amanda and I… I don’t need it. I have some stashed away for emergencies, and if yer strugglin’ to make rent due, then you need it more than me.”

If someone from his family gave him the money, it surely is connected to drugs or any other kind of crime they use as their main source of income. He notices your hesitation and the bewildered look in your eyes, and he sighs, sliding the money back to his side. 

“I get it,” Michael looks down at his hands, “Ya don’t want it because of– Sorry.”

You reach out and gently place your hand over his, stopping him from retracting the money. “No, wait,” you say. “I'm sorry. I appreciate your kindness more than you know, but…”

“I don’t want ya to question where it came from. I get it, trust me.”

Your lips curl into a sad smile. That’s what you’re doing; you are questioning where it came from and if it could get you into trouble if you were to pay this money into your bank account. You’re questioning if Michael had something to do with getting this money in the past, or what his family did to get that batch in the first place. It looks like a lot of money, and part of you wants to take it because it would help your situation, but your common sense speaks louder than words. Besides, you don't know how to accept help even if it’s served to you on a silver platter. 

“This isn't because I don't trust you,” you feel the desperate urge to add, “This is just me… and the fact that I’m just as confused as you are, and this…. I can’t take your money, no matter if it’s from your family or not. I have to find a way to get back on my feet on my own. Somehow… I can make rent due. I have to.”

Michael gently takes your hand and places it over the money. “Yer gonna work yourself to death,” he whispers. “I just… I just want t’ help ya. If it makes you feel better, I will pay all of yer bills and your rent, you don’t even have to touch it, but I can’t watch ya do this to yerself longer than ya have to.”

You meet Michael's eyes. It's both overwhelming and comforting at the same time how concerned he is. His offer is tempting, and a part of you wants to let go of your pride and accept his help. But another part of you is fiercely determined to stand on your own feet. You don't want to be dependent on anyone ever again. But it's money, and it isn't as easy to come by as you originally thought when you first moved across the sea. 

You bury your face in your hands. “I don’t want to be a burden to you,” you admit quietly. 

“Yer not,” he says, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “Please? Can I help ya just a little?”

Taking in a deep breath, you nod. 

“Is tha’ a yes?”

“Yeah,” you answer huskily. The unshed tears in your eyes are burning, your body exhausted and overly sensitive. 

He smiles, getting up and walking over to your side of the table. “C’mere,” Michael urges, his arms already outstretched for you. “Let me hold ya. Yer exhausted.”

The comforting scent of his cologne envelops you as you place your head against his chest. He embraces you tightly, his strong arms holding you as close as he humanly can, you let out a soft whimper. His hands work their making over the sore skin of your back, and you find yourself falling further into his arms until all you can feel is him. You can smell him, hear his heartbeat and feel his breath tickle the crown of your head as he leans down to kiss your scalp.   You lose yourself in the feeling and for a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, shaking off the weight of the day and the days far before that. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, your nails clawing at his shirt. “For everything. Just… thank you.” He caught you when you were falling, and you are still not quite sure what you did to deserve this kind of devotion. 

Just as you took care of him, he is taking care of you now; isn’t that what a relationship should look like? You heard about it, but you have never experienced it before he came along, but you know you don’t want to live without it anymore. 

He keeps his promise of running you a bath. The hour you spend in the tub of warm water and bubbles soothes the ache from your muscles and offers your feet some sweet relief. Your favorite candles adorn the side of the tub and you sink further into the bath, wanting to be consumed by this cozy feeling forever. 

The door opens eventually after a gentle knock, and Michael comes in to check if you’re still awake – it’s sweet that he wants to prevent you from drowning, which you appreciate because knowing you, you would fall asleep in the bathtub and fight for your survival later. 

He settles down at the edge of the tub, gazing over you. You reach out to take his hand. 

“Wanna come in?” you ask. 

“If ya want me to,” he says. 

“Always.”

“Okay.”

Michael sheds his clothes and you watch curiously as he undresses. You move a little to make space for him behind you, and he slides into the tub with you. 

You lean back against his broad chest, his arms encapsulating you instantly. You sigh. His warmth matches the one of the bath water and you find yourself hulled into a serene state of mind that doesn’t happen very often to you. 

He strokes your arms and your hair, getting some of the strands wet that you tried to tie out of your face, but with him so close to you, you don’t mind. You relish in the gentle intimacy of your moment together, and even he seems to relax visibly behind you, his muscles slacking as he pulls you fully into him.

His heartbeat thuds against your ear as you turn a little, listening to your favorite lullaby. His chest moves your head up and down with every rise and fall. 

You’re content. 

You spend some more time in silence together before the water runs cold and you are forced to get out. You get up first, wrapping yourself in a towel. Michael watches your every curve with a gentle smile on his lips, and maybe he’s a little flustered seeing you so effortlessly naked moving around him as if you have been together for years. 

As you brush your hair and tie it back up into a bun, he gets out, too, and dries himself off. You don’t talk throughout, you simply share stolen glances and soft smiles, his arms wrapping around your waist and hugging you once again. You speak through the language of touch and you both know how to translate. 

Later that night, he makes some of the Popcorn he found in your cabinet, and prepares some drinks while you settle in on the couch with a giant blanket that covers you whole. 

When it comes to picking a movie, you find yourselves at a crossroads because you share very not-so-similar interests.

“Just put on what you want,” you say.

“No,” he retorts, “That defeats the purpose of a movie night.”

“But I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“As long as I have ya in my arms, I can never be unhappy.”

He makes you blush with his comment and you cave, putting on a movie from your watchlist. It’s a new one, something Netflix just put out. A rom-com. Michael is not a fan, but he settles in next to you anyway, pulling you into his chest.

The blanket lies over you both as the intro of the movie starts, and fatigue instantly settles over you. His hand cradles your head close to his heart, his other arms draped around you. He’s your rock, quite literally. 

You cling to him, your body succumbing to the exhaustion of the day and the mental turmoil you have been in the days before. It all falls off your shoulders in his arms and you find yourself gradually sinking deeper into the pits of sleep before you can even taste the buttery popcorn he prepared.

His fingers move along your scalp, massaging the skin, and that’s the moment when you begin to clock out completely. Your eyes roll back. You lose yourself in his touch and his gentle whispers in your ear, the stupid comments he makes about the movie you can barely pay attention to, and your eyes flutter closed.

Looking down, Michael notices that you have drifted off to sleep. A small smile forms on his lips. As he’s turning off the tv and adjusting you so he can carry you to bed, the sudden movement startles you.

“I’m awake,” you slur, your eyes open, but your mind still asleep.

“Shh,” he cradles your head and places you back on his chest, “I’m just movin’ ya to bed,” he says. “Go back to sleep, love. There ya go. Good girl.”

You close your eyes again, your consciousness slipping once more. 

Michael lifts you up and gently takes you to bed. Tucking you in with the same loving touch he's always had, he makes sure you're comfortable first before even thinking about himself. You nestle into the softness of the blankets, his warmth still lingering on your skin. As he pulls away, you instinctively reach out, afraid he might slip away if you don't keep him close to you.

He climbs into bed next to you, and as soon as he's next to you, your body curls into his. “Don’t go,” you murmur. “Stay.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in closer as your bodies mold together, fitting perfectly like two puzzle pieces. “Always,” he whispers. His lips find your forehead. “I'm right here.” 

And he won’t be going anywhere, that much he promises. 

Tagging for this Series: @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms

[junypr-camus]

part-time father

I've had a lot of time recently, so I've ended up reflecting on how I was raised and realizing that what I originally thought was a pretty unusual family arrangement is more common than I first imagined. So I wrote a narrative in two voices about it, a sort of collage of all the stories and experiences I've heard. My hope is that someone who's also experienced growing up with a mostly-absent father will read this and feel, like I now feel, that they aren't alone.

I was five when you left for the first time. Not the two-week business-trip and visiting-family kind of leaving. Not leaving for good, either. You were there one bleak morning, then waving goodbye to me through the security lines, steel-gray suitcase and backpack in hand, then gone. House empty. Peaceful.

At first, you and mother call every night. Then every week. Then almost never. The whispers become more like empty screams and I think I hear the phone ring, my mother not picking up, your voice calling for me, me not picking up. I don’t like hearing the screams. I can’t make out the words, but I know what screaming means.

We visited your Shanghai apartment that summer, and I remember the drip of chocolate-dipped ice cream cones, the fan thinly fighting the heat, the plastic covering of the bed that wasn’t my own. I dreamed that blood was pouring from every pore in my skin that night, into the fabric of a foreign-not-foreign country that I can and can’t call my home.

#####

I was seven when you made the business arrangement. Half your year here, with us, half your year there, in the country I knew in my blood but had never seen. Part-time father, my brother called it. I didn’t know what part-time meant. Or maybe he didn’t. 

I draw sketches of you from faded yellow photos, to give when you return. Mother says I’m quite good. A natural-born artist. 

#####

When you come back you bring a suitcase full of gifts. Snacks. I like the thin not-mint hawthorne candies and the rolls of fruit leather in little plastic packages with words I cannot read. You give me a pencil sharpener. It could sharpen a finger. I don’t know why it says “a little girl and boy” on it.

You take me to the department store, and I fidget through hours of escalator rides and check-out lines. You buy a cardboard “A” for me. For the race I am and the grades I am supposed to get — except you forget that I am in kindergarten and do not have those kinds of grades yet. 

#####

When you are home, you wake me up with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, and drive me to school before returning home to work. When you’re not home, my alarm forgets to wake me up on time. I arrive at math late and groggy. 

#####

While you’re gone, we find out that my passport needs renewing. You go to the consulate in Shanghai to get an affidavit notarized, except you’ve gotten my name wrong. It’s Emily, not Emma. 

My mom calls for the first time in weeks, and you make a second trip. I hope you’re properly embarrassed. 

#####

I learn to play the violin. You don’t like my drawings. 

#####

I am in middle school and have a poster of a NASA facility on my door, torn out from a magazine issue. I line my shelves with lego helicopters and 3D prints of robots I clumsily designed. You give me pink unicorn tape and an electric trash can whose lid opens so slowly like the jaws of a steel hippo at the push of a button. I can’t figure out how to turn it off and I don’t know why you couldn’t have gotten one with a pedal. 

You ask me what I want to do, and I say, “physics.” You tell me about your childhood, exaggerating your class ranking. I’ve stopped listening after the third time. 

You say the haircut I gave myself is ugly and my face needs washing. You ask me when I am going to get a boyfriend. Then you ask when I’m going to get married. I think you forget I’m in middle school. 

#####

I’m happy when you’re home, but I can’t pretend everything’s alright. You ask my brother how he enjoys tennis and forget that he is still recovering from a broken wrist that happened a few weeks after you left. He doesn’t say anything, but I can sense his retreat. He digs trenches and throws barbed wire around himself. 

#####

In the mornings, when you’re here, you make yourself a mug of overly-sweetened coffee, until the smell permeates every scrap of wood and I think I’ll never get rid of it. I try to avoid having breakfast with you, but I’m too tired to wake up early and too tired to deal with my mother being mad at me getting up so late. 

I don’t like dinner.

#####

My brother goes to college, and suddenly you’re awakened to his academic mediocrity. I guess you never realized that, with your absences, until he’s packing for a mid-level public school and you’ve become the joke of your ex-pat parties. 

The pressure’s on me, the only child in the house. Mother tries to shield me, but she can’t stop the barrage. Art is a waste, computer science is the only option. I'm dropped out of the painting class I love. Now it’s not good enough to play the violin. Now I have to be the best in the state. I play until my fingers callus, then bleed, then callus again. I didn’t even know that was possible. 

You tell me that I’m not going to waste my life partying and studying statistics like my brother. 

#####

There’s rats in the attic and leaking pipes in the walls but you’ve never bothered to ask how we’re fixing it. The house is your hotel. You walk on carpets with muddy shoes, leave the door open until the hallways are full of dust and flies, and leave us to clean up once you’re gone. 

Dinner conversations are empty. You lecture me on your successes in drugs to fight cancer but never remember the projects I’m working on. You think I should be a doctor. I know better. Look at what you did to my brother and sister.

You insist on salmon or steak every night, as if you’ve been starved in China. I grow tired of the dry flesh and lock myself in my room. I find solace in music.

#####

My brother’s pierced his ears, grown his hair long, and is taking a liking to sky-blue bomber jackets over hoodies and dyed hair. He looks different every time he comes back. I like it. You don’t. Mother blames you for it. Lack of a strong male presence and all. I think she wants a divorce.

Except I’m in the house still, and I’m too busy to waste time worrying. 

#####

We meet at a summer camp. You have no idea what we’re doing. You pretend you’re proud but we know you’re not. We track vanishingly faint asteroids in the sky and realize that we are not alone. Not in the universe, not in our predicament. We’re free. 

It’s a nice feeling. 

#####

It seems like as soon as I'm back from summer camp we move. I slam doors in this old-new house and when my mother asks me why, all I can say is that you keep me up at night, listening to videos without headphones in your study next door, stomping around. 

It’s true. It’s been true for a long time. I can’t really articulate why I hate you.

#####

When I return home and that beautiful, blessed freedom is taken away from me, I shut myself in my room and cry for a long time. I’m alone. I’m one single speck of dust dropped into the velvety black infinite. 

I keep in touch with my friends from camp. They know how I’m feeling. One contacts my mother, who tries to talk to me. But she can’t stop you. I hear raised voices. You think I can’t understand Chinese, but I do. And you say “divorce” in English anyway.

#####

You don’t know that it’s college application season for me, but you act like you’ve been waiting for it your whole life. Except the only question you ask is if I’m applying to an Ivy League. And the only response I can give is yes. 

You don’t know what my dream school is, and you don’t know that I got in. And I’m glad to be going a long, long ways away from home. 

He tells me that his mother’s made it final. She’s keeping the house. He’s been accepted. And he, too, is glad to be going a long, long ways away from home. 

[sadnessisavegetable]

My Takes on Depicting Humanformers(art included!!) part 1:

You might not agree with me, this is just a collection of how I like doing things with characters, starting from where I'm most confident with the TFP lineup of Autobots.

The format goes 1) what is worn 2) what could be on their person at any given moment and 3) how they sleep, which would help determine how much they would be seen in the common areas at home base.

Optimus:

Trucker look (wears a lot of comfy layers, work boots, and trucker caps—this is a man who has been behind the wheel for days at a time to get places)

Has a collection of thermoses and coffee tumblers (my favorite of which to throw in being one that's shaped like a red crayon) and guns. It's anyone's guess which combo it is that day.

Can sleep on command, but needs to get comfortable first (it's something he learned with how often he started sleeping at truck stops or in Wal-Mart parking lots in his cab) but he doesn't overuse this ability of his. He also snores, avoid sleeping near him.

(two looks because of my AU where Orion is given his body back after basically being a ghost that wants to bitch-slap Optimus out of his body, and we will address Orion in a separate part.)

Ratchet:

Wears scrubs with flannels and lab coats layered over them and like...crocs or slides of some sort over patterned or fun socks. (PNW doctor, I guess?)

Has A Mug. Must be this One Particular Mug.(he's stubborn about his favorite mug) Because it can fit half the pot of coffee in it with a Redbull and is not overflowed. (My version is a gift from Wheeljack as an apology for smashing something and says "Doctors Have Got It Going On" in Barbie font. Miko helped pick it out.) He also has a baseball bat that he takes with him out of base.

Does not sleep unless his body decides to shut down or he's cuffed to the bed somehow. He's pretty much Pavlov'd himself for the cuff thing though, which is funny in a different way. Sleeps probably the quietest.

Bulkhead:

This big guy has basically a lot of t-shirts, battered jeans, work boots, and jean jackets(without the sleeves). Bandanas go with each outfit. He looks like a construction worker who finally retired and decided to go clubbing.

Is the most likely to have a random tool of destruction on him—but never outright weapons. Crowbars, hammers, etc. and it seems like he pulls them out of only Primus knows where. Other than that, he is often seen holding drumsticks(he can lay down a beat so well) or maybe art supplies.

Likes napping. A lot. But will also stay up randomly to do something or go somewhere. He snores, but nowhere near as loud as Optimus does.

Arcee:

Function over fashion. Men's jeans, combat-issue boots with steel toes, thicker shirts, and jackets. (However, this does not mean that she hasn't bedazzled her clothes to some capacity. She has painted, ironed-on, stitched, and accessorized enough that she is still feminine.)

She has knives on her. You tell her to put all her weapons on a table and you'll be standing there for about fifteen minutes as she pulls them out of places that are increasingly less obvious and more disturbing to know about. She also carries a book checked out from the library or bought with her for when she waits for Jack to get off work.

The only one with a completely normal sleeping schedule. She sleeps the best and is always the first up to make coffee. Comes from still obeying the schedule she adhered to prior to the war in my AU when she was a gladiator.

Bumblebee:

This one is a tossup with me. He'll wear anything comfortable that makes no noise when he walks. Anything. He's shown up to battle in a unicorn onesie and kicked mad Decepticon butt. However, he does gravitate to band shirts and shorts.

He has fidgets. Endless fidgets. Some are also weapons, but...this boy is a little hyperactive and would like it to not put him in jeopardy. He shares with Miko and Smokescreen sometimes.

He is an insomniac. He stays up late, enjoying the quiet working or gaming time staying up grants him. But he's an insomniac for a more depressing reason in my AU.

Wheeljack:

Comfy combat wear. Often wears crop tops too, when casual. This man has not an ounce of shame in his body. He looks like a slut a lot, but a functional one who can deliver an ass-whooping quickly.

We've already seen him and his bombs and swords. But also, he keeps little things to tinker with on him too.

He sleeps when he's certain he's safe. He'll lounge and pretend all day to convince people, but he doesn't quite sleep.

Cliffjumper:

It's giving rodeo, or at least someone who goes to watch. He wears jeans, he wears t-shirts, maybe flannel shirts, chaps are a maybe, and cowboy boots. He might also have a septum piercing shaped like bull horns.

He keeps a case of beers in his car, but doesn't usually drink. On his person, he keeps a long, sturdy rope for wrangling things(sticking with cowboy aesthetic) and a small sketchbook.

He sleeps whenever, honestly. He's carefree, and that leads to him sleeping easily. It's like playing roulette when you're trying to talk to him and he's randomly asleep.

Smokescreen:

This boy prefers to wear things as close to Cybertronian traditional clothing as he can find. Poor guy was thrown for a loop when Ratchet took him to get clothes at the store. Ends up wearing a lot of loose sweatpants and tank tops with flipflops.

He keeps a notepad on him for comfort sake and you can usually ask him for a pen and he will offer you seven different types. He prefers tasers as weapons.

Can't sleep without ambience that feels like the archives during the night. Optimus ends up fixing the problem by setting up a dinged-up fan in Smokescreen's area(the dings in the blades are what make it sound like the archives).

Ultra Magnus:

Insistent on using a uniform of some kind. The army ended up dyeing one so it wasn't one they could mistake for their own. Ultra Magnus had to make his own patches, they were hesitant on issuing any.

The one most likely to have anything needed on him. He is like your token mom friend, except more like he has a stick up his aft that makes him insistent on controlling things.

He sleeps like he is laying in a coffin. I hate him for it.

Tailgate (he's only mentioned briefly, but I know how he looks):

Little man wears cargo shorts with a big hoodie and sneakers. He's like...maybe Miko's height, he is so small as a "humanformer". He tends to wear visors and masks too, with a beanie of some sort and fingerless gloves. He also wears knee pads and elbow pads(he has a skateboard sort of thing)

He has a gameboy in his pocket with a pocket knife and fidgets and just a bit of everything. Knickknacks are his favorite, little ones, and hot wheel cars.

He sleeps in the weirdest places and positions. It's like a magical ability to fall asleep anywhere.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #211

I had work today from 9am until 1pm. All things considered, I was fairly well-slept.

One thing I forgot to mention yesterday is that after my adulting and errands, I decided to get myself some prizes. One of the prizes was a neck pillow, to try to make sleep a little less painful. The other one was a sleep mask so that I might be able to nap a little better during the day if I gotta. And I got a unicorn hat for Br. I also got a very pretty bow; I'll show it to you:

...I like it!!! It matches my sweater!!! So I wore it to work today, even though my work outfit is all black. Even the apron is black. But the bow allowed for a visible splash of color. My socks give me a splash of color underneath all the black, but no one can see it because they are in my shoes, and that's kinda sad.

...Wait!!! I forgot!!! I have a camera!!! I can fix that!!! One sec!!!

These are my socks today. No, I don't wear matching socks; I find mismatched ones to be a bit more interesting because then I can have more colors!!!

Hey, Sephiroth? Do you wear colorful socks under all that black? I wonder.

I remembered to drink water and eat food before my work shift (yay!). Today, I made a hotdog for breakfast! I put the sauteed onions, peppers, and mushrooms that I made the other day on it, and then I put on the leftover Frito cheese from that picnic we had with R. And it was an AMAZING hotdog!!! But I got a little too excited after it came out of the microwave, and I bit into it a little too soon, and I ended up burning my tongue. 😭 So that's gonna be very annoying for the next couple of days, at least. Oh well.

Hey, Sephiroth? Have you ever gotten so excited to eat some tasty thing that you bit into it a little too soon? In my world, it's a fairly common thing to burn your tongue on hot pizza and the like, but anything will do it if it's too hot. What sorts of foods do you get so excited over that it's difficult to wait until it's cool enough to eat?

When I came back home, I worked more on the music box. I tried putting together an un-transposed version of the song onto the digital music box paper, and actually, I like this one a little better than the transposed version, so tomorrow, when my brain is less fried, this will be the version of it that I stick back into LMMS.

It rained a lot today. It is a warm, heavy, and very lovely sort of rain. The air smells wonderful for it, and I wish that I could sit with you in an enclosed porch, listening to it and breathing in the smell while holding mugs of hot tea. I can't do that though, so instead I got a couple of short videos for you:

Sephiroth, do you like the sound and the smell of the rain? If it's a warm rain, do you like the way it feels on your hair and skin? I like the rain, as long as I don't have to be in it when it's cold. Today I wanted to go dance in it, but instead I had to buckle down and focus because I really wanna get this music box done...

At some point, J and I went over to Br's house. As you might expect, I worked more on the music box. Br made burgers and shared them with us! She also made a fruit cobbler out of oatmeal:

It was absolutely delectable! But since I burned my tongue this morning, the acids in the fruit irritated it a lot. That's okay though; I ate it anyway, and it was so good!

The flowers that Br planted are in bloom. I took a couple of pictures of them while it was raining; I thought the sparkly water drops on the leaves were very pretty:

...I am back home now. And golly, I'm very tired. Still, I wanted to write to you about this very ordinary day I've had. I know you said you wanted a normal life, and... after a long struggle, I finally have one, so I wanted to show you what it's like.

Sephiroth, you can have a normal, ordinary life if you make choices that are consistent with a normal, ordinary life. I'm trying to show you how to make those choices. I come from abuse and suffering, but still, I can love the rain, and I can love the flowers, and I can love the people around me, and I can love you enough to create another music box. I can eat tasty things and get overexcited, fail to delay gratification, deal with an annoying problem as a result. It's an ordinary life full of ordinary things and spectacularly beautiful things, and everything in between.

You can have it. All you have to do is walk towards it. I'll be waiting for you when you do.

Hey, Sephiroth? I'm gonna stop writing and go to bed now. My body is very tired from being on my feet for a long time, and my mind is tired from putting black dots on a white background with crisscrossing lines and note labels.

I hope... someday... maybe... you can tell me what things are like for you, over there where you are. I know it's impossible, but... still, I'll hope for it. Why not.

I love you. Please stay safe out there in the world. I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

[furrbbyx]

OMFG! Thank you for tagging me @sio-writes I had a hecking great time with this. I really got to explore Sable more, and of course I put my own spin on it.

I tag: @oracleact @atlas-nsfw @the-wizard-writes @bucketsofmonsters and @gaytrashfoodprocessor or whoever wants to join! I can't wait to read yours :D

Interview with a Character!

[Intro: Excited VJ about to play clips of the interview] Today we have an exclusive interview with Miss Sable, the unicorn model who is so hot right now! We caught up with Sable while she prepared for a spring themed photo-shoot. She was gracious enough to entertain our questions while enduring the makeup chair. Though Sable was working she had such an upbeat vibe that our reporter became a fan on the spot! Sable's work is available on Tumblr dot com where she also takes time to interact with her fan base in between shows and campaigns.

1. Are you named after anyone? No. My parents just wanted to celebrate my beautiful coloring. I grew to like it since it's kind of unique. I wont lie, sounds so good when someone is moaning it 🤭

2. When was the last time you cried? Omg today! I cry a little every day on purpose after I read about a talented Korean actress who cries for hours a day. I think crying is a form of self care. We don't do it enough in this world. I want to make sure I stay connected to my emotions. It makes me more empathetic too!

3. Do you have any kids? Oh, gosh. No 🤗 I'm not even sure I'm ready to have a little pony. I guess I'd have to have a steady polycule before I even think about it.

4. Do you use sarcasm? I'm more likely to use a pun. When I'm playing I do like to be a little sarcastic and a tease. But my playmates love it, I promise.

5. Whats the first thing you notice about people? Hmm. Probably their body language and if they smile a lot. People who smile put me at ease. I also notice height. Especially if I'm working with others for the photo shoot, of course I have to asses my angles. It's important to study people's body language and how they take up space to be successful in modeling. I'm able to be versatile and I'm never caught without a good option for a pose.

6. Eye color? Blue and sparkles!

7. Scary movies or happy to endings? Always happy endings! Unless you want me to ruin it for you 😘. If it's not HEA I don't want it. That may be a little naive, or boring to some but I think that we deserve more happy endings in this life. We are so quick to accept suffering instead of demanding joy.

8. Any special talents? Being a unicorn? Haha. I don't have any real talents except being cute I think. But that's ok! I get to enjoy everyone else who is talented. Like my buddy Eagleator? He's like, the strongest fighter I know. [Reporter: You're a model and that takes some skill right?] Haha, you're so right! I forget about that because modeling is really about looks and that's out of my control, but yeah modeling is a talent.

9. Where were you born?

I was born at home. A perfect little baby if I say so myself. My mom was kind of a granola-making hippie and she made a big deal about a natural birth. Specifically I was born in a little pink kiddie pool filled with warm water, patchouli oil, and wildflowers.

10. What're your hobbies? My hobbies are collecting soft pastel sweaters, drinking hot drinks in cute giant mugs, reading fanfiction, flirting, and bingeing hallmark movies. I also like carnivals and fairs, hyperpop and EDM, supernatural romance novels. Though those probably aren't hobbies, lol. I would say daydreaming is a hobby of mine. Sometimes I get so distracted in my own head, I kind of forget what's really happening. If you could use your magical horn to zap up the perfect fantasy would you care about politics? Exactly.

11. Have any pets? Hehe, only the ones that asked to be my pets. But none right now.

12. What sports do you play/have played? Is shopping a sport? Or getting the perfect manicure? Snagging the last pair of Wolfy Choos on release day? Haha. I'm just not really competitive. If I'm going to be running around it's gonna be for pleasure or maybe to chase down a cutie to give them my number.

13. How tall are you? I'm 5'10! Not the tallest pony but I get by hehe.

14. Favorite subject in school? Ick! School is a no. I hated it. Well except for getting to meet my besties. I had a hard time in school. I'm not really smart. Oh don't take that seriously. I don't mind being empty headed. There's so many smart people and creatures in the world why should I worry about that? Honestly I learned the most at the mall when I was skipping class. The real world has a lot to teach someone if they just embrace it. I'm just not the kind of pony to care what happened last century, or how many apples johnny has. I care more about how many apples I can eat and what's going on with the next season of the bachelor!

15. Dream job? Well I actually already have my dream job, though I wouldn't say it was my dream job before I started. [Reporter: Modeling?] Oh, no. This is kind of my side thing. Right now I'm working at this innovative lab that's developing cosmetic drugs. The company is really focused on providing therapies that help others reach their desired form. I feel like, as a model, I'm selling a dream, but as a lab tech I'm actually helping to make them come true.

[Fade back to the VJ] Wow! She's so sweet. To see the full interview follow and subscribe to the network. You wont want to miss this one. Our reporter and Sable get real cozy and reveal some surprising secrets about the modeling scene. And join us at 8 for our exclusive with Eagleator to talk about his crushing defeat at the Action Forest Finals!

[echoesofmymindsposts]

    The ARTS OF UNICORNS🦄

Hello everyone, we all know the different types of handmade and artificial unicorn products. The unicorn is an imaginary horse. Also it represents the angel in the heaven. My kid had so many different kinds of unicorn products like toys, mug,shoe,watch,hair accessories, keychains dresses,cap,bottle, pouch, and lot of pencils. I also like  unicorns very much. When we looking up the online selling…

[creations-by-chaosfay]

My to-do list is getting fuller, but I don't mind. Staying busy is vital to avoiding madness. Especially when that to-do list involves commissions.

Star Story - commission, begin handquilting

Mug rug - commission, bird theme, fabric and pattern pulled

Mini quilt - commission, fpp 18x18 inch crow, forest and wood theme, quilt top only

Four piece coaster set - commission, hobbitcore meets slavic grandma, old fashioned, whimsy, floral

Placemat sets - shop item, two sets of two placemats, purple celestial theme

Five piece dining set - giveaway prize, dessert and treats theme, four placemats and a table runner

Three piece dining set - gift, two placemats and insulated table runner, OSU Ducks theme

Single placemat - gift, unicorn theme

Lap quilt - gift, begin handquilting

I'll be going to the fabric store to pick up extra wide backing for Star Story, the mini quilt, and possibly the four piece coaster set. I have no idea what slavic grandma fashion is, so that will need a little research. Hobbitcore, to me, is lots of green, brown, and plants.

If anyone wishes to commission me, there are still slots available. Please snatch those up.

I'll have the placemats and mug rug done by the end of this week, and have all the pieces cut and prepped for the placemats. Those will likely be finished by the end of today, and mug rug tomorrow. Handquilting will begin tomorrow, and the morning will involve washing the dining room floor and basting the quilt. I tend to work up a sweat doing those things because it's a lot of hard work, and will likey leave me wiped out for a few hours. Basting takes me about one to three hours, depending on the size of the quilt.

The mini quilt and four piece coaster set will definitely be finished next week. The mini quilt is just the quilt top, nothing else, which definitely speeds things up. It's all foundation paper pieced as well. I will also begin the giveaway prize next week if I don't have any other commissions.

Then the week after that, complete the giveaway prize and work on the housewarming gift for a friend. He and his father are buying a house and moving in together, both are HUGE fans of the OSU Ducks (local team), and a two person dining set will be a fantastic gift. Especially since they plan on decorating the dining room with all things OSU Ducks.

If I have no other commissions after this, I'll just focus on my niece's birthday gift of a unicorn themed placemat. My sister and mom describe her as the girliest girl to ever girl, and she loves all things unicorns. I have unicorn fabric and a unicorn fpp piece. I will also work on finishing the handquilting for Star Story and build up inventory in my shop.

Star Story will likely be finished in mid-July. When I have the handquilting complete, and have no large commission to work on over the summer, I'll be handquilting a lap quilt gift for a friend. I made the top a couple years ago, but he made it abundantly clear he's fine waiting because paid projects come first. Handquilting will be done in the afternoon, seeing as mornings are so nice in my sewing room but it's too hot to be in there after about 10AM.

Ah, yes, my summer routine is sewing in the morning (I'm up at 5AM), handquilting in the afternoon, no working after 6PM (dinner), and in bed by 9PM.

Commissions will be closing June 1st, so you had best grab one of my slots now. Prices will increase when I open them again in September. I now have a very good idea of how long it takes to finish things, and have given myself a 10% pay raise from $25/hour to $27/hour. Now that I know handquilting twin size quilts is around 80-100 hours, and queen size 100-150 hours, the prices will reflect this. Queen size quilts will start at $4300 USD, twin size quilts at $3000 USD, etc. King size quilts will take between 300-500 hours, done over the course of 18 months to two years (to prevent burnout I'll take breaks to work on smaller things, as advised by other quilters), which is why prices for those will start at $11,300. I well and truly do not want to make a king size quilt, but that much money is extremely good incentive. As with all projects, if you cannot pay 100% immediately, I'll accept 50% upfront. For a king size, that's nearly $6k. Do I think anyone will commission me for something that large? Absolutely not, which is why I'm not concerned. I will, however, add it as an option when I reopen commissions later this year. If someone does commission me for it, I'm getting our plumbing replaced; the guy who owned the house prior to us buying it was a landlord, and he installed illegal plumbing that's causing problems. We were quoted nearly $12k last year, and have no means of paying for it. A king size quilt will take care of that.

Now I need to eat, convince my husband to get out of bed, go to the fabric store, and then get home and do some sewing.

[adventure-showdown]

#vote Unnatural History#for Unnatural Histories#Fitz gets mugged by a mutant two horned unicorn#Sam’s backstory gets extra tragic and dies but also does not multiple times#eight looses their ability to see violet#the Doctor’s dad and step mother is here#you like the funky time paradoxes in Chimes of Midnight well Unnatural History has all that and a lot more#it is wild. (@familyparadox)

What is your favourite Doctor Who story?

TOURNAMENT MASTERPOST

synopses and propaganda under the cut

The Chimes of Midnight

Synopsis

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house not a creature was stirring...

But something must be stirring. Something hidden in the shadows. Something which kills the servants of an old Edwardian mansion in the most brutal and macabre manner possible. Exactly on the chiming of the hour, every hour, as the grandfather clock ticks on towards midnight.

Trapped and afraid, the Doctor and Charley are forced to play detective to murders with no motive, where the victims don't stay dead. Time is running out.

And time itself might well be the killer...

Propaganda

"Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without one of Mrs. Baddeley's plum puddings." And Christmastime wouldn't be Christmastime if I don't re-listen to this audio story at least once each year. (@youremyonlyhope )

It just wouldn't be Christmas without it (anonymous)

Unnatural History

Synopsis

""They called it the Millennium Effect"", said the Doctor. ""But the millennium was only beginning.""

San Francisco has changed since the start of 2000. The laws of physics keep having acid flashbacks. There are sightings of creatures from outside our dimensions, stranded aliens and surrealist street performers. The city has become a mecca for those who revel in impossible creatures — and those who want to see them pinned down and put away.

Sam's past is catching up with her — a past she didn't know she had. The Doctor is in danger of becoming the pièce de résistance in a twisted collection of creatures. And beneath the waters of the Bay, something huge is waiting.

With time running out, the Doctor must choose which to sacrifice — a city of wonders, or the life of an old and dear friend.

Propaganda

You too want to read a full novel explanation of why Dr Who canon is Like That (hint: it's little assholes who opt to look like 10 year olds wearing skull masks). Also unicorns in San Francisco. Unsurprisingly does feature Fitz being astoundingly gay for 8. (@eighthdoctor )

The villain of the week wants the Doctor to have a consistent backstory. This is bad because it’s not Doctor Who without plotholes and inconsistencies. Plus, it was published in 1999 (?) and there’s a line about how Gallifrey is always destroyed and un-destroyed. They didn’t even know… (anonymous)

[anonymous-astronaut]

How about a seasonal ask: The Mercs all put their names into a bucket (Spy checks carefully this time), and every one of them draws a name, only putting it back if it's their own name. The reason? The Administrator has ordered them to participate in a mandatory Secret Santa Exchange. Who winds up getting gifts for who, and what do they give each other?

Omg i love this idea! I’m gonna assign them to each other at random, let’s see how it goes!

Scout: He got Medic! This is a little frightening to him, Scout is low key scared of the doc and is a little worried the he might get his organs stolen if he doesn’t get the right gift. But on the bright side, at least he didn’t get Spy! Another plus is that Scout thinks Medic is super easy to think of gifts for, I mean the guy just likes doctor stuff a birds right?? Scout gives him a mug that says “#1 Boss” with the “Boss” scratched out in sharpie and replaced with “Doc”, and a caricature of Medic and his birds that Scout drew by hand. Medic finds these gifts hilarious, he pins the drawing up in his lab and uses the mug regularly.

Soldier: His Secret Santa is Scout! Soldier does not think for a single second about what Scout might actually want, he only thinks about what (in his own unique opinion) Scout needs. He thinks Scout is far too scrawny, so Soldier gets him a huge tub of protein powder or straight up leaves a whole ham shank in front Scout’s bedroom door. He also hade makes an America-themed baseball hat, which is the most thoughtful he can manage to be since Scout actually does wear that kind of hat. Scout tries his best to pretend he likes the gifts, but he’s a little unimpressed. You couldn’t catch him dead wearing the hat, except maybe on the 4th of July, but he will eat the ham shank (or hit something with it.)

Pyro: They got Engie! They are very excited about this, but also a little worried because they aren’t sure if their gift will be good enough. It’s not like they can get him engineering tools or something like that, because Engie either already has it or needs something so specific no one would know to get it for him. Instead, Pyro decides to hand-decorate some cookies for him. The cookies range from snowflakes to unicorns to flames, even a little mini sentry. Engie loves it, he thoroughly enjoys savoring the cookies when he winds down each afternoon, and he thinks the decorations are right cute.

Demo: Demo drew Spy’s name, and he thinks of it as a sort of fun holiday challenge for himself. He knows he could just get a bottle of wine for the guy and call it a day, but he wants Spy to be surprised and impressed with his gift and knows that cheap wine won’t cut it. Demo does his research, he figures out which brands Spy prefers and gets him a new pair of gloves, a fancy lighter, and imported French Cognac. It’s pricey, but it’s worth it to see Spy genuinely shocked that the gifts are up to his standards.

Heavy: Heavy got Pyro and honestly, he is stumped on what to do. The only thing he really knows about Pyro is that they love fire, but he can’t think of a reasonable or responsible way to turn that into a gift. He’s pretty sure they like unicorns and stuff like that, and he does know how to sew, so he decides to make them a stuffed animal out of fire resistant fabric. It’s hard to sew and is very stiff for a plushy, but Pyro absolutely loves it so Heavy considers it a success.

Engie: Engie drew Soldiers name. At first he thinks it’ll be a piece of cake, Soldier isn’t exactly quiet about his likes and dislikes. But the more Engie thinks about it, the more he realizes how hard it is to think of a good gift. Ends up getting him something super practical, like a new razor or supplies for cleaning out his rocket launcher. Despite the fact that it’s wrapped, Soldier doesn’t realize it’s a gift and thinks it’s just a weird supply drop.

Medic: The doc got Sniper. He honestly doesn’t put a lot of thought into it, in Medic’s mind he has better things to do than worry about what present to get. Plus, he knows Sniper is pretty reasonable and won’t have a fit about it if he doesn’t love the gift. Sniper gets a six pack of hard cider and some store-bought Stollen with a bow slapped on it left outside he’s camper door. Sniper thinks that’s a pretty sweet deal, you won’t catch him complaining.

Sniper: He got Heavy. He wishes he knew more about the guy, but figures he can come up with something good anyway. He gets him some quality chocolate and a warm hat cause he figures Heavy’s bald-ass head gets cold in the snow. If he finds the time, he whittles a little ornament of Sasha out of wood. Heavy appreciates it, he especially enjoys the chocolate and is very impressed with the ornament.

Spy: He got Demo (it was completely a coincidence that they got each other lol.) Spy has absolutely no idea what to get him. Giving him alcohol seems like the obvious answer, but he has no idea what Demo drinks and doubts he could stomach purchasing such low quality liquor anyway. After a little consideration he ends up getting him a fancy and stylish Sporran. Demo definitely wasn’t expecting that, but he thinks it’s great fun and immediately gets out his kilt to try it on.