#and then i looked at the goddamned invoice

[bisummers]

i spent all year avoiding the inevitable (buying a pair of shoes that actually goes wt most of my wardrobe) because i didn’t want to spend the money for something that wasn’t perfect. then i found what i hoped was the perfect shoes worth the money, only to have them delivered to a wrong address (by my own fault!!) so now i don’t have shoes and i’m out the money because the company doesn’t take responsibility for the fact that i entered the address wrong (fair but hurtful)

[vampyroteuthid]

yesterday right before we were going to leave i asked my boss if he wanted me to pull the charts for thursday and he said "no that will be my day off project" in the kind of tone that indicated he was subclinically annoyed at me for not getting literally everything (single coworker was out sick) done sooner and what i said was "ok" but what i was thinking was cool maybe your other day off project can be thinking about actually helping with things like the stupid complicated bills you made me do or writing clinic notes that i'm not confident doing. or generally doing things besides surgeries and sitting there scrolling facebook and craigslist.

[sigridstumb]

Sometimes I love our interconnected world.

A few weeks ago, I saw a picture on the BBC website of an adorable manatee mother and child. I loved it, and I wondered if I could get a print. I looked up the credited photographer, and found him at his university. I emailed a query.

He emailed back from a different address saying that he keeps his photography and his employment income separate. (Excellent work, good job, sir!) He said he DOES sell prints. He has them custom printed by a museum-quality print shop, and that I could have basically any size I wanted.

So I said yes, absolutely! How can I pay you?

He replied that he usually sends the print out first and if the customer is satisfied he sends an invoice. He also noted that communication might be spotty because he is on a photoshoot of endangered animals IN THE FUCKING AMAZON.

I said absolutely no problem are you fucking kidding me. The print arrived today, it is gorgeous, stunning, absolutely museum quality. He is going to email me the invoice tomorrow if his internet holds out because UPRIVER IN THE AMAZON.

So I, in Minnesota, ordered a print from a researcher in Florida that I saw on the BBC that was printed for me in Washington D.C. and the invoice is being emailed to me from the Amazon.

Whenever I feel down about the dystopian nature of the planet, I think about shit like this.

Humans can be pretty goddamn great, and so can technology.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Itcha gurl, back at it again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The doctor checks the chart then glances at the machine with your father’s vitals. Today, you’re father’s awake. He has been for a few days but today he’s alert. You know because he told you the jello was disgusting. Those are the first and only words he’s said to you in more than two weeks.

“You’re very lucky to have a daughter who knows what she’s doing,” Dr. Shearer remarks.

Your father grumbles, scowling as he doesn’t offer much else to the doctor.

“You must be happy to have her around,” Shearer continues, “it is time to start considering your discharge. You’re stable, breathing on your own again, your heartbeat is within a normal range.” You watch your father as he stares past the doctor. It’s as if he refuses to acknowledge that this is real. “You’ll have a few new meds to add to your day but with normal check-ups I think we can be optimistic.”

A grunt. You fold your hands and stand up, “thank you, doctor. Erm, could someone explain the new medicines to me?”

“Yes, of course. That’ll be in the discharge paperwork but I’ll have a Nurse Practitioner come to discuss with both of you,” he assures, “and some resources on quitting. The cigarettes can’t continue.”

“I’ll smoke if I goddamn want,” your dad snarls, breaking his shield of indifference.

The doctor gives him a sharp look but doesn’t argue, “I’m only here to diagnose and give me treatment suggestions. But you keep smoking, sir, and next time, you won’t make it to the hospital.”

“Good,” your dad sneers defiantly.

The doctor nods and his mouth seals grimly. He turns back to you, “let us know if you need anything else. We have some support groups and resources, I’ll make sure that info is also sent off with you.”

“Thanks so much, Doctor,” you squeeze your hands tighter. You want to apologise for your father but you know he’ll only get worse if you do.

“It’s alright,” Shearer says as if reading your mind, “these things are stressful. For everyone. Couple more days and he’ll be free to go.”

You try to smile but your cheeks can only tremble. The doctor leaves you with your father and you peek over at him. He grimaces at the ceiling.

“That’s good news, dad,” you say as you near the foot of his bed.

“Is it? You shoulda left me to die,” he barks.

You flinch, not once, twice. A chirp in your pocket further jars you as it shrilly erupts in the buzzing silence. You reach into the pocket of your hoodie and clutch your flip phone as it bings even louder. The little digital display shows the agency’s number.

“Sorry,” you apologise and flip it open, turning away to scurry out and answer, “hello?”

You hold your breath. Why are they calling? You didn’t have a job today and you only really get emails regarding clients. It must be very serious.

“It’s Clara,” your boss begins in her terse way. “Have you seen my email?”

She sighs, “you should be checking daily. Got a job today. You want it?”

You blink. This is the first time you’ve been asked to come in for an extra shift. You could use the money desperately. When your dad is discharged, he’ll be sent off with another invoice.

“Yes,” you accept without hesitation, “I’ll take it.”

“Great. Check your email. Details are there,” she sniffs.

“Alright, tha-nks,” your voice cracks as she hangs up in the middle of your last word. She must be busy, surely more busy than you, the lowest rung on the ladder she has to keep from falling over.

You close the phone and put it back in your pocket. You shuffle back into the room and find your father with his eyes closed. The machine continues to beep in time with his pulse.

“I gotta work,” you say, “that was my boss–”

“Then leave me alone,” he snaps without opening his eyes, “can’t you see I’m tryna sleep?”

“Sorry, I–”

“Go and don’t come back,” he growls, “I don’t need you crowding this shit hole.”

“Um, dad, I–”

He coughs and hacks and waves you off, swallowing thickly, “I said go.”

You dip your head down. You can’t imagine being in his position. Stuck in a hospital bed on the other side of near-death. You might not be very nice yourself.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I don’t care,” he turns his head and wiggles his shoulders as he tries to get comfortable.

You swallow down the hurt. You didn’t expect him to thank you for what you did. Not for anything. That’s just what you do for someone you love. Yet, you hoped he might have woken up a little bit nicer than before.

“Love you, Dad,” you murmur.

He grumbles. That’s all you get. You suck in a breath and hold it in, trying to keep from crumbling long enough to get out of that room.

🧹

At first, you’re not certain the information in the email is correct. You’re to return to Mr. Laufeyson’s house for the second time that week, but it’s a Friday night. In your days at the hospital, the calendar lines skewed between the alarms you kept in your phone for sanity. The return to reality is just as disjointing as the descent away from it.

You go home and change into your typical cleaning attire. All black. Plain. Clothes meant for getting dirty. Not that any of your wardrobe is particularly spectacular.

You grab your kit and your water bottle and rush out to catch the bus. You’re not used to being on transit near-dark. The prospect of getting home comes to mind as you cling to a pole amidst the crowded vehicle. It makes you nervous but you’re certain it will be okay. Mr. Laufeyson lives in a nice neighbourhood.

You get off the bus and bring your phone out. As you approach the house, it is lively with bodies milling in and out. You let yourself through the gate and peer over at the two cube vans near the front entrance. A white jacket, pristine uniforms, you can only assume they are some sort of catering company. The type you’ve seen on TV in those reality shows with women drinking wine.

You watch them for a moment. They are orderly and determined. What’s more, they work together in perfect harmony, words passing quietly and easily, trays moving smoothly between hands and set onto carts. It’s a shining contrast to your dim and lonely work.

You make yourself turn away and continue around the back of the house. You stop short of the rear corner and a gasp bubbles up. You watch a hummingbird buzzing over the bed of flowers. It’s so small and green and cute. You wince as it flits up towards the window, your cheeks bulbing to the smile as your gaze follows it. 

In a moment, it wings away, shyly retreating from your admiration. Your eyes fall to the window as you sense a shift on the other side. Just between the edges of the half-drawn drapes you meet a pair of green eyes over a long and cynical nose. Your smile dissolves as you recognise Mr. Laufeyson and his stony observation. You touch your fingertips to your mouth in self-reproach and tuck your chin down, turning back onto the path.

You go to the back door but it’s already unlocked. You let the handle go and linger outside. You noticed the email is shorter than usual. This isn’t your typical rote with Mr. Laufeyson.

‘Cleaner to be at standby for guests and cook…’

You glance down the paragraph. You’re to stay until after the ‘event’ so that you may tidy up. Your curiosity sparks but quickly fizzles. It’s best not to be too concerned. Just focus on what you need to do.

You let yourself in but forego the shoe covers and gloves as specified in the email. You hang your hoodie in the closet along with your kit. As you hook the strap of your water bottle over your head, a glimmer passes down the end of the hall and the lighting shifts. You look up as Mr. Laufeyson approaches.

He always dresses finely but he looks particularly put together. His hair is tidy and neat and he wears a velvet jacket in a deep shade of violet over a black collared shirt and matching trousers. His tie is narrow and blends into the fabric of his shirt. He keeps his hands behind him as he holds his chin up.

“I trust you understand your assignment,” he prompts as he stops a foot away, cornering you in the back hallway.

You nod. He tilts his head but his veneer does not break.

“Not that,” he points to the water bottle, “you may ask one of the cook’s assistants for a glass should you require it, but be rid of that ugly thing.”

“Oh–” you gulp back your voice and bow your head again. 

You untangle the trap from your torso and open the closet, tucking it away with your sweater and bag. You shut the door and find him closer than before, his hand on the door frame as he looms over you. His other wanders down the trim of his jacket.

“You are to keep yourself unseen. You tend to messes and that’s it. The rules remain. Are we understood?” He asks.

You look at him and nod. He sighs and stands straight, a deep breath rising in his chest. 

“You may answer aloud so I know we are clear,” he says.

“I understand, Mr. Laufeyson,” you eke out.

“Mmm,” his gaze lingers on you in unreadable consideration. Dressed in plain cotton, you feel wholly insignificant before him. “Go on, you will keep your vigil in the kitchen. They would require most of your assistance.” He backs away and buttons the front of his jacket, “you will not disturb my guests. Not a look, not a word.”

You know your turn to talk is over. You merely nod and he seems pleased by your deference. Not openly, he shows a hint of a smile nor does he praise you. But he is not unhappy and you know that is a feat.

🧹

The cook’s name is Corissa. She has spiraled red hair and pretty gold-green eyes. As you enter, she introduces herself and asks your name.

“I’m just here to clean,” you explain. “So if you need me–”

“Oh, hon, no need ta be shy,” she says in her wolfish voice, “we’re all in this togetha.”

You smile and stand against the wall, waiting to be told what to do next. She gives you a lingering glance but doesn’t comment. You see a question woven in her brow. She begins her work, directing her assistants at saucepan and cutting board alike, all while falling into a raucous rapport.

“Theo say ‘ma, did ya have ta tell that story?’” She cackles midway through a tale you lost track of, her hands moving expertly at her work, “and I say, ‘the gal deserves ta know, ‘specially if ya mean to burden her’.”

You bite into your lower lip. It’s like there’s an invisible wall in front of you. It’s been there your whole life. That one that separates you from others. You’re always on the outside watching. Just like in the schoolyard when the girls wouldn’t let you play with them. Or when your dad has his buddies over and told you to ‘piss off to your room’.

The first course is served on sleek black trays. As you watch the servers carry them out, Corissa calls your name. She makes you lurch in surprise as you’d be convinced you blend right into the plaster.

“Come have a taste,” she insists, “this one’s a bit mussed up.”

“Um, er, it’s okay, I’m not hungry–”

“Bah, come on, have some. I hate ta toss it in the bin.”

You don’t want to argue. That would be rude. So you come forward and accept the crumbly pastry with an ugly tear in the top, the filling bulging out.

“Lobster croquette,” she explains, “you’re not allergic, are ya?”

You shake your head and thank her as you back up to the wall again. You cup your hand under the misshapen ball as you bite into it. You could hum at the taste. It’s delicious and rich and savoury. You’ve never had anything like it. You’ve never even tasted lobster before.

“You like it?” She asks as you swallow your mouthful. You nod. “Quiet one, you.” She points at you.

You don’t answer. What can you say? You are quiet. You finish the croquette and go to dust the crumbs off your hand over the bin. You slide your foot off the pedal and let the lid drop. You take the cloth from your waistband and near the counter, going to work at tidying up the remnants of her work.

“Eh, look at you, busy little bee,” she chuckles, “I was gettin’ ta tha.”

“My job,” you insist.

“Maid,” a snap of the fingers draws your head up as Corissa sprinkles seasoning into a new pan.

Mr. Laufeyson offers only a curled finger. Your eyes round and cross to him, tucking the cloth into your pants again. He’s already striding away as you get to the door. You trail him, uncertain at what he needs. 

He leads you to the dining room, the garble of voices and clinking of glasses preceding your arrival. He enters ahead of you and claims the seat at the head of the table. The serves pass you with empty trays and you gape around in confusion.

“Oh my, look at me,” a woman giggles as she uses a cloth napkin to pat along her collarbone. Thin straps cling to her delicate shoulders as her skin glistens beneath the golden chain strung around her throat, “making a scene already.”

You see the wine glass on its side and hear the contents dripping onto the floor. You put your head down and hurry over. The dinner guests laugh and are quickly onto their next topic, about some coast they plan to vacation at once the summer comes. You try not to eavesdrop as you sop up the puddle of wine on the table and get down to wipe clean the floor.

As you do, you feel a tickle on the back of your neck. You don’t let it stop you. It must be an accident. You’re so cramped between the woman’s seat and the next that you must be in the way. The fingertips remain and brush more firmly as you hear a low, gritty exhale. 

You ball up the damped cloth and stand, daring a glance at the man as he draws his hand back into his lap. His broad shoulders make the back of the tall chair seem small and his blonde hair is twisted into a low tight bun. He guffaws loudly at the table, seemingly unfazed by his own wandering touch. It must’ve been an accident.

You back up and peer towards the head of the table. Laufeyson’s eyes are slits as he stares in your direction. Surely, he’s not watching you. You’re supposed to be unseen. Get out of there.

You retreat quickly, the din thundering louder and louder at your back, rumbling behind you into the hall. You wring the cloth, now stained and stinking of wine. You hope you didn’t upset Mr. Laufeyson, you only did as you were told.

[wistfulcynic]

the inn is a metaphor

They are terrible at running an inn. 

In the beginning. 

They don’t know the first goddamn thing about the hospitality industry. Or carpentry, plumbing, invoicing, logistics. Anything, really. They know nothing. 

They learn. 

There’s a lot of trial, even more error. But by the first time the Revenge returns for a visit they have something. A roof that doesn’t leak. Un-rotted floorboards. Nooks and crannies free from feral beasts of any kind. Zero spiders. Twin armchairs in front of the fire and a bed just big enough for the two of them. It’s a start. 

The Revenge comes bearing gifts. Wee John has knitted them some afghans and Frenchie sewed an enormous quilt, which takes pride of place on the bed. They’ve towed in another ship as well, a wreck whose timber they all pitch in to rebuild into an extension and some outbuildings. Roach helps them plant a kitchen garden and a medicinal one. 

Jackie gives them business advice and contacts for her old suppliers. Lucius has a guestbook for them, with marginalia he drew himself. Some of it at least is appropriate for guests to see. The rest…

“Are you planning to have guests who’ll faint at the sight of a cock?” Lucius inquires innocently. “Because I’ll be honest with you, that seems unlikely.” 

The idea of guests of any kind is still a long way off, but they’re getting there. They can envision it now, and not just as a wild fantasy they spin each other at night as they lie entwined with sweat cooling on their skin. They have actual plans, concrete ones, and a decent understanding of how to realise them. 

They get to work. 

Jackie’s contacts prove invaluable. Soon they have a liquor supplier, deals with local butchers, bakers, candlestick-makers, and even a reliable fisherman to give them first dibs on his haul. 

(It’s not Pop-Pop.) 

A few survivors of Zheng’s old crew hire on as housekeeping and kitchen staff. The soup is phenomenal. Ed learns how to make it and how to cook a fish without burning it. They have fresh-smelling towels, expertly folded. They have guest rooms, and soon they have guests. 

It’s an adjustment, having new people in their space. Some of the guests are gawkers, eager for a piece of Blackbeard and the Gentleman Pirate. They reserve the right to refuse service to anyone, namely those particular assholes. But other guests are much more pleasant. Locals looking for a bit of a mini-break, people from nearby islands wanting a getaway, even the occasional European who doesn’t know who they are. 

The guests are mostly happy with their stay. There’s excellent soup and decent fish, fresh linens and great views. The walls could be a bit thicker, perhaps, for everyone’s comfort, but the hosts are always most apologetic in the morning and offer copious marmalade in exchange for good reviews. 

The Revenge returns frequently, each time with some new trinkets and finery for their former co-captains. In exchange, they host bonfires on the beach with music and dancing and wine, until they all fall asleep together in a pile, so like the old days on the ship that Stede watches them in the soft light of the embers with tears in his eyes. 

“All right, love?” Ed asks him. He slips an arm around Stede’s waist. Stede tugs him in until Ed’s head is nestled against his shoulder. He strokes Ed’s hair. Ed sighs and snuggles closer. 

“I’m all right,” Stede says. “A bit nostalgic is all.” 

“You miss it.” 

“I miss the crew. I wish they could visit more often. I suppose I miss the sea, though of course it’s right there in front of us. But I’m happy, Ed. I have no regrets.” 

“Really?” The whisper of doubt in Ed’s voice has Stede pulling back to look down at his dear face. 

“Yes really! Do you doubt it?” 

“Kind of.” Ed shrugs. “It’s easier for me, I think. I was ready to be done with it, Stede. Desperate to do anything else but be Blackbeard. But you—you had just got started. You could be out there now with the crew, pirating away. You could be famous. You could—” 

“Ed Teach, you listen to me.” Stede’s got his Captain Voice on now and the sound of it has Ed’s stomach turning cartwheels, his dick leaping to attention. “I don’t care about any of that. I only wanted to be a pirate for the freedom. To escape my old life. But I have a life now that I would never want to escape. Do you know why?” 

Ed shakes his head. 

“Because I chose it. I chose you. I love you and I would be happy anywhere you were.” He cups Ed’s cheek in his palm and kisses his forehead, his nose, his lips. Ed moans and presses closer but Stede pulls back, just far enough to whisper, “You make Stede happy.” 

They spend that night alone in the inn, no guests, far enough from the beach that when they serve breakfast to the crew the next morning not a single smirk or smart remark is sent their way. 

They wave goodbye to their friends that evening and stand together on their porch to watch the ship sail off into the sunset. Stede turns to Ed with a smile. “New guests checking in tomorrow,” he says. “We should probably fix the creak in the door hinge of Room 1.” 

“I’ll do it,” says Ed, “if you polish the candlesticks. Fuckin’ polish makes my nose itch.” 

“Deal,” says Stede. He turns to head inside. “What’ll we have for dinner?” 

“Got a nice turbot we could roast.” 

“Ooh, fab.” 

The inn’s front door closes behind them. 

It’s still a bit rickety, their inn. It’s old, it creaks, it springs leaks from time to time. It’s hard work, keeping it going. But they are devoted to the task. Whatever it takes, they will see their inn thrive. 

It’s what makes them happy. 

[bengiyo]

She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat 2 Eps 9-12 Stray Thoughts

Last time, Nomoto and her new online friend had a watch party and discussed the nature of asexuality and homosexuality coexisting, and Nomoto shared about being in love with Kasuga; I'm a big fan of Yako. The ladies managed to connect more with Nagumo, and we learned she has an eating disorder where she can't eat in front of strangers. However, she did make donuts with them and took some home. Kasuga also managed to sever ties with her father after thinking about it and talking with other women. She asked if Nomoto would support her, and of course she did. I will never stop thinking about the Chosen Family scene.

Episode 9

Yes, Yako, coach her. We cannot let them exit this season without talking through their feelings for each other.

I have never identified with a character more than Yako. I would also enjoy my food and wine while watching my friend sweat over the crush.

Yako backstory! It really is hard in your teens when you are deeply out of alignment with other queers about sex.

The power went out and Kasuga immediately went to check on Nomoto. You love to see it.

NOMOTO IS WEARING ONE OF KASUGA'S SWEATERS, AND KASUGA JUST PULLED LINT FROM HER HAIR. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

Thank you, Nagumo! It would be awkward as hell to sit in this zone of lesbian love and not know what stage we were on!

We have verbal confirmation that Kasuga likes Nomoto! Nagumo, you are our champion! You have to get these two to the next level!!

Currently dwelling on Kasuga not lying when asked directly about her feelings. There's a difference between being out and letting people in, and I like that Kasuga told her truth to Nagumo.

Episode 10

Their project manager is at least being upfront with them that they're being asked to rebuild the entire app.

Sorry, Kasuga, but it's not often we escape compulsory heterosexuality and still have a positive interaction in a sales environment like this.

Nagumo, I love you. You have finally given us a reason to have Kasuga voice her thoughts aloud.

This show really said plainly that the presumption of heteronormativity hurts and upsets people who don't fit that mold.

I really love this show detailing how harrowing pining is when you don't know if the other person is queer and the relationship you've built means so much to you.

Episode 11

Episode 21, you aired on Valentine's Day. Please don't let me down.

This former Valentine's Day and White Day gifting tradition sounds tedious as hell.

I didn't expect Kasuga's family troubles to end with that one phone call, and here goes the aunt downplaying Kasuga's feelings and bulldozing over her expressed boundaries.

Okay, Mikami! Way to come through for my girls!!

I wanna have hotpot so bad right now.

I'm so nervous about these chocolates!!

Damn, this cake looks good. I like putting the whipped cream on the side.

Kasuga picked out different chocolates! I'm so proud of her!

Now, Kasuga, why would you go and crush me like that on Valentine's Day? I know why you need to move, but goddamn.

Episode 12

Invoices for raising her? Vile.

Queers apologizing for being selfish when they confess will never not make me cry.

I'm sorry I got a bit testy at the dramatic cliffhanger, Kasuga. You came through for me exactly the way I hoped. Y'all should definitely find a bigger place together and stay in touch with Nagumo.

"I am very delighted and also taken aback." She's like me and I love her.

Aww that was so beautiful, and she's still crying.

I'm so glad she told Sayama immediately. We stay winning.

Man, I just watched I Only Want to See You, and I'm feeling the same difficulty in the transition from friendship to romance in the relationship.

Yes, ladies, thank you for talking through telling others and reaffirming that this is definitely a romance. Let's make sure no one, especially the audience, misunderstands.

I love how Nomoto bursts into tears when she swoons.

Oh snap the whole squad is going to meet Yako next week!!!

We did it, y'all! We got to see them confess their feelings and start dating. I'm so looking forward to seeing their relationship grow and mature, and I'm actually looking forward to the move and the attendant drama that brings. I hope Nagumo doesn't end up thinking that asking about their relationship somehow cost her the relationship she's been building with them. This was an excellent week of episodes.

Big thanks to @furritsubs for making this possible.

[magnuscomedybracket]

Round 3 Match 1

087 Uncanny Valley vs. 021 Freefall

Propaganda under the cut!

087 Uncanny Valley

Guy cleans out flesh from a drain without a blink and nikola has to invite him back again with Jude because he wasn’t scared enough the first time because of obliviousness

Besides the obvious bit of Guy who Doesn’t Realize He’s In A Horror Story, imagine this from Nikolas perspective. Like “oh shit lol this guys name is “skinner” I’m gonna mess with him for shits and giggles… Ok he didn’t notice any of my spooky bullshit, wild! I threatened to butcher him and he was Not Paying Attention! Jude! Hey! Come check out this idiot man!”. Also implication that Jude and nikola hang out being shitty together. I support women’s wrongs.

"Megan" tries to expose this guy to The Horrors and he's so focused on his job that he just doesn't notice. She's so shocked by this that she calls him back and still has to literally force him to notice

The world's most oblivious plumber somehow doesn't notice all the creepy stuff going on and just does his job like normal. It only gets funnier when you consider it from the Stranger avatar's point of view.

Nikola Orsinov trying so hard to scare the least observant man you've ever seen. Whispering in his ear about flencing while he hums noncommittally and pulls a wad of meat from the drain of her spooky factory in the middle of fuck-all nowhere and then he just gives her the invoice and walks out??? Like it's a normal job? And when she calls him to come back the next day she has to dress up in a clown costume to get his attention and grab his head to make him look at The Atrocities that he just entirely missed the day before. I love Sebastian Skinner so much and I wish only the best for him

#I really just want to point out that they're trying to scare a plumber. #A plumber!! #do you think this is the first time this man has had to clean skin and hair out of a drain? #do you think he's never seen blood before? #like yeah it's objectively funny from the Horror's point of views but for him? It's a tuesday #Like that isn't even the weirdest thing he's seen that week #'oh they threatened to butcher him' yeah? what makes them special? #this guy probably deals with 20 different avatars a week by necessity #no amount of 'his name is skinner let's fuck with him' is going to be worse than service work in people's homes (via @/childoferebus)

#the only reason we know what's happening for half the episode is taht we know this is an horror story #and how things usually go. #dude spends half the episode going 'just a normal job. #house in the middle of nwohere. weird smells and textures #*shrugs* just anotehr day on the job* (via @/monstersqueen)

021 Freefall

I feel a little mean for finding this statement funny but… Simon really said, ‘enjoy sky blue’ than had this man falling for ages. “Before I address the central point of this statement, namely the question of… whether the sky can eat people” fantastic line. Also the indignant way he responds to Martin coming in with the Goddamn worms-

The Looney Tunes ass mental image of a lone parachute falling from the sky into a field.

[androdragynous]

what are invoices when it comes to commissions? also, how do receipts for commissions work? im a minor so idk anything about either

An invoice is a type of payment method that, simplified, involves sending someone a form that tells them how much they owe you and they pay you through that form. PayPal has invoicing built in, which is how most artists I know use them, but you might have also seen a similar system in situations like... shipping import charges, where you can pay online using the information on a printed form included with your package.

Basically, using an invoice means you as the artist have full control over the amounts you're sent, and you can also attach files, include your terms, show or hide your personal information (if you don't want to show random people your legal name on PayPal, you can hide it when sending an invoice but you can't when having someone transfer you money directly), set payment plans / partial payment amounts, and so on. An invoice on PayPal also automatically generated a receipt when used - so you've basically got proof of exactly what was paid for and when. (And there's no risk of your PayPal account being flagged if someone sends you money they shouldn't through Friends and Family transfers, or puts keywords in the note that automatically trigger the moderation of the platform, both of which can freeze your account and make any money in it completely inaccessible.

(Side note: Do not use PayPal as its own bank account. Do not store money there. Set a relatively low amount to keep in there and always transfer anything more than that into an actual bank account as soon as you can.)

Receipts are important for taxes (everyone's favorite). If you're making money, you have to prove where that money comes from, and it's way easier to be able to pull up your invoice history rather than to go through Every PayPal Transaction for the year and try to remember which ones were business and which ones weren't. I have done this! It sucked. In short, it's just good to have a paper trail of who has paid you, what they paid for, and confirmation that you did the work that was paid for. If you're ever called on to provide that evidence and don't have it, it's just really goddamn annoying.

I'm no banking expert so my word isn't law or anything, and I've glossed over a lot of the details, but essentially invoices + receipts are pretty key tools for Just Making Shit Easier on yourself, and they're relatively straightforward to use once you understand what they are.

(Even if you're under 18, depending on your area, if you sell art you should look up the guidelines for when you have to start filing taxes about it - looking at you, closed species adopt artists - because money is money, even if you're using a parent's PayPal (do not get a PayPal under 18. It is a Real Legal Reasons thing and if you are found out your account will be frozen. Don't do it.))

[artsy-hobbitses]

Nightly music share while I work on commission drafts (Folks with slots will get invoices as soon as I have sketches at the ready!), and while I consider FMA: Brotherhood and Tiger & Bunny to be my all-time favorite series (Honourable mentions: Blackjack 21 and Young Blackjack, Samurai 7, Sakura Wars, Ranma 1/2, Ouran High School Host Club), Gensomaden Saiyuki was actually what got me wanting to write more/dig into more serious topics as a teenager.

Don't get me wrong/see this as a TOTAL endorsement of everything it was, because this anime was UNHINGED, and ABSOLUTELY NSFW in a MYRIAD OF WAYS which was, perhaps, not suitable for 15-year old me (Sure it FEELS AND LOOKS like a funny roadtrip with four bickering dumbasses until the COPIOUS CHILD ABUSE being handed out to nearly every character like tic tacs and at least two situations of incest come up) and not always in the best way, with an animation style that is serviceable at best and completely off model in some situations (Which is A SHAME because I had the artist's art books and her marker illustration work is painstakingly gorgeous/detailed), but one of the scenes which kind of burned itself in memory for me is the one attached to this song, which takes place when Cho Hakkai (The fellow being used in the thumbnail) has confirmation that his wife is dead after searching for her, and he's requested Sanzo (a very recaltricant monk tasked with getting his mass-murdering ass back in line) to pray for her over the ruins where she died.

And Sanzo, who religion-adversed at this point except when he's weaponising it for demon-killing agrees, but says something along the lines of "Fine. But this mantra isn't for the dead--it's for the living", at which point, over this music, you're treated to an absolute gut-punch of all four characters's cliff notes backstories that led them here, and how EACH AND EVERY SINGLE ONE is marred by tragedy my 15-year old brain was not equipped to deal with.

But it really cements that the anime's central theme is focused on living. Living through pain, through trauma, living for yourself as you are, living even when the world tries to tell you you're better off dead, living for tomorrow and the hope that things will be better, and if they aren't, then you fight tooth and claw to make it better for everyone who comes after you.

Saiyuki is... unique given that it's very selfish thematically that way when compared with standard anime. There is no fight for country, no trying to fix a corrupt system, no lofty ideals---they're messy, dysfunctional mercs on a mission, the good deeds are just Along The Way. These people, these heroes are fun and lively, generally altruistic even if they come in like wreckingballs and are very clearly attached to each other through the bickering (they've been A Team even in a past life, and they've found each other in this life against all odds), but are also jaded, very hedonistic, petty, flawed as hell, perverts, bastards and killers (mainly of demons, but still!).

And they make ZERO excuse or apologies for it---they'll get kicked out of monastries for being heathens, out of heaven for defending their 'blasphemous' choices and their friends and by god they'll do it again, and they'll fight god (this show has peak Fight God energy and they do it at LEAST TWICE), fate and everyone else telling them they don't deserve to or cannot love as fiercely or live as themselves they way they are.

Because theirs is song is for the living, not the dead; You, flaws and tragedy and sins and despair and all---fight and love and live in a way that's true to you, because you deserve to and because it's the biggest goddamn Fuck You to the uncaring Powers That Be.

(Also on a semi-related note to seal this deal, please enjoy their absolute banger opening themes)

[infiniteseriesofhalfways]

I am about to cry this fuckin thing is so goddamn funny to me

So I ordered a, we'll call it 'personal item' from Amazon, which i also happened to order with a set of outdoor lights for my father for christmas

Anyway almost two weeks ago I ordered band merch from the band's website and they have me using an app to track my order, an app that happily links all of my other orders from various sites.

You think you know where this is going but you're wrong

I have no idea how, or why, or whose fault this is, but according to the tracking app my order of 'personal items' and gift for my father is not that at all. In fact, the order that's coming Wednesday?

18 electric kettles.

18 electric kettles that I cannot remember even LOOKING at, i certainly didn't BUY them. They're 23 dollars i would have noticed spending over 400 dollars on 18 teal electric kettles.

The invoice on Amazon reads correctly but boy my tracking app is CONVINCED i am supplying a small army with the brightest electric kettles in the country. And i KNOW I'll just get what i ordered, which is obviously want i want, but my god the story if i somehow ended up with 18 electric kettles for the low low price of 68 dollars.

[iwhumpyou]

NaNo 2023 Day 2

Masterlist.

Word Count: 3886

Favorite Snippet:

“That’s ridiculous,” she seethed, glaring at him and the invoice both.  “It was just some minor hull damage—” The repairman snorted.  “The prices for kattar plating have gone up since the Devarian civil war—” “Devar is a goddamn thousand parsecs away, you price-gouging weasel—” “Whoa there,” Canp inserted himself into the conversation, grabbing the hand she had clenched around her stun baton and giving the skeevy repairman a Look.  “How about we all take a deep breath?” “How about I jab this baton up his ass?” Taz muttered, not quite under her breath.

Musings:

Well, the story went completely off the rails, as it's wont to do early on in NaNo, and we took a side detour into a completely different plot before returning to Taz after realizing that making up galactic politics or a galactic magic system as I go along was not going to work out. Shelving both those ideas, I am now planning a straightforward sci-fi story plot about finding a mythical power source that everyone is hunting for. We'll give it a couple of days before I switch the summary over.

[voidthewanderer]

Life update stuff under cut.

Given everything that happened a few days ago, I am trying my hardest to bunker down and work on art to get more stuff up on Threadless. I’m going to start divvying up percentages of what I make on there towards Palestinian GFMs and Humanitarian Aid funds. I’ll make a separate post about this, however; once I get all of the things I have up there updated with the capability of being on all product lines they carry. Some stuff will probably look clunky or awkward (example: the photography on t-shirts), but they still kinda give a vibe. Threadless just doesn’t work very well on my tablet for some reason.

Fandom related art can be purchased directly through me, I just need to be contacted via DMs and we can discuss further all the options I have currently available and what I can make. From there I can create an invoice. This option is currently only available to things I have finished.

From what it sounds like, my grandmother is making zero attempts to actually help herself. It’s not exactly surprising by any means, but she is still calling my father and uncle, lying to them saying that they’re letting her go home. The facility she’s at won’t even let her walk outside of the physical therapy because she doesn’t have a ton of strength in her left leg; there’s no way in hell she’s gonna be able to go home if she can’t walk. It sounds like she may have some hemiplegia or hemiparesis, but I’m not completely sure. The neurologist was supposed to go see her to confirm whether or not she had a stroke, but never actually did what was asked. We need to know if she had another one because if she did, then we need to document it. My dad has another meeting with the facility on Wednesday to discuss the next steps.

The more shocking thing about all of this is that my uncle is actually (currently) on board with selling the house to me and my brother. Obviously, we have to wait to see what’s said and done, but I’m tempted to ask about it being a possible short sell and then we pay off the remaining as some form of rent or something. I dunno how exactly we’d do it, but it’s something to discuss. I’d rather the home be outright owned by myself and my brother and then we essentially pay off the rest as a sort of rent and then it would be between me and him what happens when one of us wants to break off to our own place. This way it’s not a seizable asset if the insurance company wants her assets as part of collateral to have her in a home. It’s a later discussion, though.

I’m trying to keep optimistic about everything going on. It’s hard when your father showed his true colors about how violent he can be (I already knew but 🤷🏼🤷🏼), but all I can do is just try to keep my head up in the face of it all. I think once my nerves do actually calm down from everything, I’ll be back to normal, but it’s just still that shock of like… yeah, I’m not safe at home. Y’know? I actually haven’t stopped shaking since that day.

Just, fingers crossed that everything eventually gets sorted out. I love having my own place, but goddamn do I really want my own bed.

[honeybee-taskforce]

1x02 Rewatch Thoughts and Feelings

same disclaimer i’m on my phone typos and grammar errors can be invoiced to my publicist for review (its me)

-I WHIP MY HAIR BACK AND FORTH I WHIP MY HAIR BACK AND FORTH what a fuckin fever dream hearing that song again

-oh wow they are grilling the hell out of him for this routine lmfao i forgot how much they tease him about all of this

-this was one of those scenes i mentioned where the emergency escalated so quick and was not what i expected it to be at all lmfao

-the aging with the bird box netflix comment zzzzzz i hate when media does this but i can overlook it here

-paul doing a thing we need another of these on season five. TWO if i may be so brave to request

-where the hell did this delivery driver even get the mercury for this now that i really think about it

-there’s some weird liberty mutual ad playing right now that has a baby talking about insurance im kind of in awe at the absurdity

-owen struggling to let go of his hair treatment goofy ass

-judd in therapy hits so hard ugh grace being there with him and he is truly trying and even has his comfort pillow for hugging because he needs something but it just isnt enough yet my heart hurts for him so much

-i forgot that grace is near sobbing when he leaves jesus christ that hurts too she loves this man so much and his pain is hers (and vice versa of course) i’m so glad that never goes away as the show goes on. Even if i could use more of it.

-michelle helping this little boy is a great foil to her introduction and i love it a lot, BUT overall i can’t find a way to care about this whole plot with Iris missing. Probably because i know it doesn’t go anywhere after this season except for the start of season 4…. I really wonder how different everything would have been had liv stayed and plot lines not adjusted accordingly. -“what the pissed off look on my fave aint enough proof” judd you teddy bear you know its not lmfao

-“he doesn’t know i’m sick” YOU NEED TO TELL HIMMMMMM

-my extended family cooks a pig just like this in a pit and everything and it tastes soooooo good

-“but just so you know i am a homosexual 😉” this whole bit is so silly and i like that they added it after a few intense back to back bits with the first emergency, michelle’s stuff, and owen’s chat with judd

-shakes ass to last night in my stillettos while these two hook up for the first and definitely not the last time

-tk give him back his damn belt you know that is not yours you rude city boy!

-carlos is all doe eye and soulmate smitten ahhhhh you cutie pie

-michelle goes to a psychic what the hell i dont remember this. BUT NOW IM REALIZING ITS THE SAME LADY WITH THE WORMS LATER ON IN THE SHOW HUHHHHH (right? Or am i losing my mind)

-spongebob movie voice: BALD BALD BALD BALD BALD

-the lady leaving herself to die in a fire because hes bald????? I know its a nightmare but wtf i forgot about all of that too 😭

-owen embracing this guy’s fantasy about the overlords but not being able to wrap his own head around his health’s reality is heartbreaking… at least he’s forced to address it once TK finds the meds

-owen and judd riding horses already getting that brotherly bond started ooooo i love them so much

-oh god first date time oh wow olay here we go CARLOS YOU'RE SO SMITTEN BUT NOWS NOT THE TIIIIME

-the boys miscommunicating for the first and certainly not the last time but its okay because it’s all a part of their story <3

-carlos calling this a hookup boy you know damn well that is not how you feel about this

-tk is so sad when he apologizes for the misunderstanding because the last thing he wants is to hurt anyone else but he can’t stop himself and it all just gets worse and worse in his eyes…. At least we know it gets better eventually. -grace helping judd count to 5 and she is so proud of him oh i love these two so goddamn much they are perfect and i need even more of them in season five

-does every episode of season 1 end with a song playing over a montage of stuff happening like did i just block that from my memory

-owen taking the first step to being more comfortable with his reality outside of the obvious therapy and treatments ugh so good.

god season one feels like a completely different show from the rest of it? Obviously the changes with casting and covid messed somethings up but i wonder how different everything would have been had the pandemic not happened and they were able to collow through on plot lines they wanted to from the beginning

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 3089

i'm gonna have so much to catch up i when i finally watch for the future.

in the meantime, i went to work today! it was nice to be out and doing something. plus i got to see my work friends and socialize a little.

but first, i stopped at starbucks to pick up sustenance. then i went to work and waited and just was chillin for a while. kendall showed up a little late but we got to work on prob and stats for a while, and immediately after that i was whisked away by two friends to go to lunch. we went to blake's because they're closing on saturday, which is really sad, but it's been a long time coming. a local establishment and icon, blake's restaurant in manchester looks like the 70s refurbished the 50s, right down to the restroom sign. thankfully, they'll continue to make and sell their ice cream, but the restaurant location, the last brick-and-mortar store, will close for good on saturday. it's sad, but it's expected. the location in milford closed years ago, which was where i had a lot of memories from my childhood which can never be recreated or relived. (i feel like i kind of went essay mode for a little bit there. but that's how i usually write papers and stuff, that's the tone i use.)

i'm sad about it. oh boy. grief coming out of the recesses of my mind to give me grief. great.

anyway, after lunch we went back to work with enough time for me to pack my things up and leave to go work with the kiddos. i ended up waiting for a little while, so i pulled out my sweatshirt and closed my eyes as i leaned on it against the window. i must've been asleep for ten minutes but i woke up at the exact moment nancy and the kids pulled in the driveway.

i ended up mostly working on things with nancy and creating invoices that look official and shit, but i'm definitely gonna need to change the spacing of some of it. but they're official looking. enough for my tastes, anyway.

i also helped one of the kids with clocks because she's learning analog clocks and those are hard. they took me a long time to get. like, until high school. i could never see them right. now that i think about it, it might've been my eyesight or the untreated adhd that prevented me from reading it clearly. it could've been a lot of things. but i understand where she's coming from. she just needs practice. gotta pay attention to the details and practice. on a related note, i'm fairly certain she's got adhd and her sister is dyslexic. they're doing great, but that's because i know how to help them. i'd do anything for those kids.

after that i came back to joel's and took a goddamn nap. i deserved it. i texted joel saying i was gonna nap for an hour and that i'd set an alarm, and after that text i spent maybe two minutes awake and then i was out like a light, despite talking and light. i needed it badly. earlier in the day before checking how much i slept i could've sworn i'd gotten six or seven hours of sleep and that i only woke up once or twice.

nope.

3 hours 48 minutes. i counted 18 times i woke up.

no wonder i was so fucking exhausted.

anyway, we had our twilight: 2000 game tonight, which is always really fun. i was half paying attention, but my character, named callum cross (after callum from the dragon prince and cross because it was an alliteration) was digging a well. that's what he did. he dug a hole for a couple days. i checked the weather in poland for august of 2000, which is when we are in the game, and the weather was rather temperate but humid as fuck. i don't know if you've ever dug a hole in heat and humidity, but that shit is prime for heatstroke and heat exhaustion. been there, done that. it was a bad time.

anyway, i also bought a few cones of chenille yarn so i have materials for a project i wanna do. i'd like to make a blanket that's miraculous ladybug themed but pastel. i got the colors for it, so that's good, and i got them on sale. that'll be fun.

i also got word today that my diploma will be coming in relatively soon! i'm very excited.

and i decided "why not" to opening my hours for the semester a day early, and within the hour someone had booked an appointment with me for tomorrow around 1pm. i have a doctors appointment for my hand first thing, so i figured i might as well have my day open tomorrow to work, which is why i opened it up early.

anyway, all that being said, i couldn't stop making puns during game tonight and joel was having none of it. it's hilarious how much he hates puns, but then he'll go and make some himself. but only when i'm around. i'm grateful my influence has been this. if getting people to make puns is the only thing i'll ever do, it's been a life-well lived.

so far, so good. it's time for bed now because that appointment is early as fuck.

[touyasdoll]

I Hate Me Too

This is my piece for Anilysium’s nsfw server collab! The theme this month was Hatefucking & Revenge. You can & should check out all the other pieces at the link below 🧡

Anilysium’s Hatefucking & Revenge Collab Masterlist

Minors DNI

Pairing: Pro Hero!Bakugou x Pro Hero!Reader

Genre: smut, hurt/comfort

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: some very raw emotions in this one, biting, impact play, unprotected sex, mentions of blood, set in a hospital

“I can’t fuckin’ believe the shit that you pull sometimes. Who in the hell even gave you a hero license?” A battle-worn Bakugou spits as he takes a seat in the hospital bed nearest the door, covered in grime and dried blood, some his own, most of it not. “You got a death wish or something, dumbass?”

“Me?! I’m not the idiot who went and got himself zapped by who even knows what the hell that quirk was.” You retort, settling into a bed of your own across the room from his, minding the sorest parts of your equally battered body.

“No, you’re just the fuckin’ moron who ran ahead without backup and nearly got herself fuckin’ killed!” He snarls, curling his fists in his lap. “You know how much extra paperwork that would’ve been for me? Typical L/n, makin’ shit harder for everyone, even in death.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bakugou,” you roll your eyes dismissively, laying back in the propped up bed. “How many times were you dropped as a kid? I’m curious to know what it takes to create your specific brand of ‘the entire world must revolve around me’. Honestly, there’s not much that you do well, but being entirely self-absorbed is something you’ve clearly mastered.”

He scoffs and the noise is dripping with disdain, “You’re one to fuckin’ talk, princess. I—,” the exasperated redhead standing by the door cuts him off.

“Okay!” Kirishima smiles, resting his hands on his hips. “Now that all that’s outta your system, how about you guys actually rest like you’re supposed to? Doc said that the hospital is swarmed, so you’re probably going to be in here a while before you’re even looked at, since your injuries aren’t that serious. I can’t stick around and play referee though, so can you two just promise me that you won’t kill each other?”

He glances between the two of you glaring at one another from opposite beds and you sigh, smiling politely in his direction, “Fine, but only because it’s you asking.”

“Whatever,” the blonde huffs, kicking his boots off to swing his legs into the bed.

“All right, I’m gonna take off then. I’ll let you guys know what’s going on with the case once I know more,” Kirishima nods, stepping back to grasp the handle on the door. “And if you two have finally settled your shit by then, somebody will let you guys outta here.”

He grins and flashes you both the key in his palm before slipping out the door and quickly pulling it shut, a lock clicking as Bakugou lunges from his bed to hammer his hand on top of the handle.

“Oi!” He pounds his fist against the door, “The fuck do you think you’re doing? Open this goddamn door!”

“Kiri, what the fuck?!” You shoot forward in the bed, scrambling to hop out of it, but his voice calling through the door stops you.

“I’m sorry! But you two are getting unbearable,” he sighs, tapping his palm to the door once. “You gotta be here for awhile anyway. If one of you for some reason actually starts dying, then call a doctor in and they’ll open the door. Otherwise, I would appreciate it if you could at least try to find a way to get along while you’re waiting. If not for yourselves, then for me, please? I’ll call to check in later. Sorry again!”

The sound of his boots thudding away are drowned out by Bakugou’s palm igniting against the door, “Dumbass! Get back here!”

“Oh my God, give it a rest,” You flop back into the bed, closing your eyes as you rest your forearm over them. “He’s gone. Just shut the hell up and relax, there’s no need to add property damage to your invoice. We won’t be in here forever.”

You didn’t need to look at him to see how he was seething, you could hear it in the way the air hissed between his gritted teeth as he stomped back to his bedside.

“At least there’s a fucking shower in here,” he grumbles, shoving his feet into the pair of slippers on the floor before crossing to the attached bathroom.

“At least I’ll have five minutes of peace and quiet,” you can’t help but murmur. Always wanting to prod and poke at your explosive colleague.

“Tch,” is all he has to reply with as he swings the door open and then slams it shut entirely too aggressively behind him.

You weren’t quite sure when you and Bakugou became this openly hostile to one another; it had seemed like such a natural progression. What would have been a healthy sense of competition for most individuals quickly morphed into a never-ending trading of blows between two overly competitive hotheads. Aizawa had his hands full with the two of you alone back in your school days and since then, Kirishima had stepped up to play the role of mediator, ensuring that neither one of you actually ever went for the jugular of the other, but you just couldn’t help but to push at his buttons. They were just so easy to press.

Katsuki Bakugou is one infuriating son of a bitch. That’s just a fact to most. He’s explosive, arrogant, rude, combative, aggressive; the list could go on and on. All terrible traits, all ones that you hated to admit that you shared with him. The pair of you were like two similar poles of magnets. Whenever you were brought too near one another, an unseen force repelled you.

Which is precisely why neither of you had been too keen on even teaming up with one another for this mission and still less thrilled to learn that you’d been partnered up. It wasn’t like you couldn’t work together, you’d managed and the job was nearly done now that the raid was over, thankfully. The past few weeks had been full of petty arguments over how to best do this or accomplish that. Meaningless squabbles that usually arose over nothing more than one of your fragile ego’s feeling wounded or your mutually incessant need to take charge of the situation.

Yet despite how inhumanly angry he could make you, how easily he could burrow himself so deep under your skin; you couldn’t deny that you hadn’t thought about ripping his clothes off at least once, especially after all the time you’d been forced to spend together recently, just the two of you. It’d become a favorite daydream of yours on those afternoons when the two of you had nothing to do but hole up in a cramped room to stake out the enemy.

You’d spent far too much time imagining peeling that tank top up over his head to reveal his perfectly sculpted torso, running your fingers over the muscles in his abdomen until they hooked into his pants while your lips pressed offerings along his neck. His broad arms caging you in against his body, trapping you there so you could feel the twitch of his cock against you while he groaned so needily in your ear.

“Oi,” you jump slightly, whipping your head to the bathroom door to see him standing in the frame, the ragged shirt of his uniform in his hand and the waist of his pants setting almost too low on his hips without the assistance the belt normally provided. “Shower’s free if you want it.”

“Thanks,” you nod, always striving for indifference when not for antagonism. “You bother to leave any hot water, at least?” You hooked your legs over the edge of the bed, sliding on your slippers.

“Wouldn’t want you to have to wash that body in the cold, though I have always wondered how perky your nipples might get.”

“Uh—excuse me?” You let out a punctuated breath, cocking your brow as you spun on your heel to face him only to find his face paleing.

“I..t-that’s not what I was trying to say, I—” he stuttered, furiously shaking his head as he turned his back to you. “I didn’t want you to hear that.”

“But..you thought it? And said it out loud so..?” You narrow your gaze, shuffling closer to him. “Are you fucking with me? Because this is grotesque, even for you.”

“No, I’m not fucking with you!” He barks, spinning back around, his eyes the perfect mix of panic and pique. “I genuinely wasn’t trying to say those words. It—,” he sighs in frustration, “It’s like my fuckin’ mouth had a mind of it’s own for a second!”

You cock your head to the side, looking away and then back to him slowly. He wasn’t usually one for pranks, rather just outright insults to get at someone, but you still couldn’t write off that this might be a ploy to make you look like an ass.

“Okay then, why don’t you just try saying whatever it was you were actually trying to say again?”

He heaves a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I was trying to say that while I was showering, I was picturing you naked in there with me and then I figured I oughta leave you some hot water, so you don’t think I’m an even bigger dick than you already do.” He drags his hand along his cheek, wiping his face before covering it with both hands as he paces away from you. “That’s—,” he shakes his head, looking as equally stunned as you. “That’s not what I wanted to say.”

“Are you—,” you pause, still reeling from whatever in the hell that was. “Are you okay? Like, seriously, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” his voice is muffled against the palms of his hands, his eyes closing as he takes a deep breath. “I’m so fucking embarrassed.”

“Okay, now I know you’re not fucking around. You’d never admit to that anyone, let alone me.” You snort, circling around your bed to step in front of him, gasping when a realization strikes you. “The quirk.”

“Dammit it,” he groans, balling his hands into fists to slap them against his thighs. “What kind of fuckin’ quirk makes you say embarassing shit?”

You shrug, “The kind that appeals to karma, I guess.”

He throws down daggers with his eyes, side-stepping around you to sit on his bed. He parts his lips to speak, but closes them tight to chew on his cheek instead.

“What?” You prod, sitting down on the edge on the bed.

“Don’t wanna risk the wrong shit comin’ out again,” he explains, his cheeks flushing the lightest shade of rose.

“C’mon,” you tap his knee with your knuckles and it jerks as if you were testing his reflexes. “I’ll stop being a dick, let’s see if we can figure this out.”

“What’s your bright idea? We gonna play 21 questions?” The edge in his voice levels out the tension in the room.

“Wait, yeah, that’s actually a great idea,” you admit, folding your hands in your lap. “Maybe it’s like that confession quirk or some sort of truth quirk.”

“So you believe that I was thinking about you in the shower?” He sets his jaw, his cheeks deepening a shade.

“Listen, we can unpack that later,” you laugh, a smirk turning up the corner of your mouth as he rolls his eyes. “C’mon, I’m serious. Lemme ask you a couple questions that I know the real answer to and then we’ll know.”

“Fine,” he reluctantly agrees with a deadpan expression. “Shoot.”

“Is your name Bakugou?”

“Yes.”

“Did you attend UA?”

“Yes.”

“Is your mother’s name Mitsuki?”

“Yes,” he says, more annoyance in this one than the previous. “What is this accomplishing?”

“It’s setting a baseline, jackass,” annoyance plenty evident in your reply. “Now, try to lie to me. Is your name Bakugou?”

“N—” he clenches his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “N—yes.”

Your jaw drops open in shock, “Uh—okay. Let’s try again. Did you attend UA?”

“N—,” he growls, flexing the fingers in both of his hands in frustration that only grows as he continues. “Nnnn—ugh! Yes!”

“Okay,” you flash him your palms, “It’s all right. Let’s try something that’s not yes or no. What color are your eyes?”

“B-b,” he swallows, exhaling a deep breath. “Blu—red. Oh my fucking God,” he presses his hands to his temples in a fit of irritation. “It was a mother-fucking truth quirk. This is such bullshit.”

“I mean,” you half shrug, laughing quietly. “It’s kinda funny? At least it’s nothing harmful.”

“You ever go an entire day without lying?” He blinks at you, wholly unamused.

“That’s fair. Just don’t talk to anyone.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Because you’re so easy to ignore.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You scowl. “I’m trying to help you here.”

“What for, princess?” He leans forward, glowering right back at you. “All you ever wanna do is piss me off, so pardon me if I have a hard time believing that you’re really trying to help. Only one of us was hit by that damn thing, which you’re welcome for, by the way. Should be you sitting here living through the plot of a mediocre Jim Carrey movie. Not me.”

“All right, I get you’re upset with me, but there’s no reason to take this out on Jim Carrey,” you put your hands up in jesting defense, trying to ease off on the aggression. “And look, I appreciate it, but I never asked you to—”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare say it,” his eyes close while a frustrated chuckle leaves his lungs. “Don’t you dare say you didn’t ask me to take that hit for you.”

“I didn’t though! You just dove in there like a fucking madman like you always do!” You level your eyes with his, your nostrils flaring. “You’re always running around trying to do the absolute most all the time for your own fucking pride, don’t act like you did it out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he sneers, indignation dripping from his tongue.

You want to lean closer, to get up in his face and scream until his ears bleed. He’s done it again, nestled himself so far beneath your skin that you want to scratch and tear and fight until the urge is gone.

But then you have a more sinister idea.

You stop, leaning back to collect yourself, closing your eyes briefly. When you open them, you tilt your head to the side and ask calmly, “Do you want to?”

“What?” He’s still angry, but that emotion falls right off his face as your play dawns on him.

“I said,” you smile sickeningly sweet, “Do you want to fuck me, Bakugou?”

“Of course I fuckin’ do,” he bemoans, his face twisted up as if it hurt him to admit such a thing to you.

You blink, your brain not quite processing his words. Had you heard him right? If he can’t—if he can’t lie then he meant that?

“You do?” You lean forward and like a seesaw, he leans back, his spine touching the mattress that was fixed at a 120 degree angle.

“You fuckin’ heard me, didn’t you?” He bites back, obviously mortified if the color of his face is any indication.

You bite the inside of your lip, shamelessly raking your eyes over his half-dressed form as if you’re assessing him. A delicious warmth floods your belly as you watch the way he seems to squirm beneath your gaze, but you didn’t want to torture him. Not before you got clean anyway.

You rose from the bed, sauntering over to the open door of the bathroom, “I’ll leave you be.” You grasp the handle, taking another assessing glance at him while he looks anywhere but at you, “But since I’m assuming you meant what you said, I think I’ll just leave this open, if you don’t mind.”

From your peripheral vision, you can see his head turn to watch as you lift your top up over your head, stepping into the bathroom with a newfound sense of power. Your heart thumps a little harder in your chest as you shimmy out of your bottoms, setting them aside while you wonder if he’ll bite.

You turn the shower on and it doesn’t take long for it to warm up, allowing you to slip under the comforting stream of water and wash away the mess from your skin. You’ve never felt such adrenaline while simply washing your body, scrubbing away the dried blood and dirt while your mind ran wild with the possibility of Bakugou keeping you company.

Just when your pulse began to slow back down, as you were rinsing the last of the lightly scented soap off of your skin, you felt his presence behind you. His breath was audible, as hot and heavy as the thick steam clouding the small room when his large hands captured your hips. You instantly fell into his touch, leaning back against his broad chest. Soft lips close around your neck and your breath hitches, your hand clasping over the one on your hip while the other reaches back to push into his hair.

“I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t join me,” you sigh, lolling your head to the side while he kisses your warm, wet skin.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he nips gently, giving your hips a firm squeeze to pull a soft groan from your lips. “You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

“I couldn’t tell,” you scoff playfully, grinding yourself against his erection, inspiring him to rut it against you, letting it slip and slide against your ass while he groans softly.

“I mean it,” he snarls in your ear through gritted teeth, digging the tips of his fingers into your hips as he spins you around, pinning your back to the slick wall. “You’re a fucking menace. Always pissing me off to no end. What’s it for, princess? Got a little schoolgirl crush on me, do ya?” He cages you in with his arms, hovering his lips above yours while his hardened cock pushes up against your folds, throwing your mind into a tailspin.

Your jaw falls open, your hips seeking friction and finding it on the head of his cock as your clit catches against it, “Fuck,” you chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him while your hands roam his pecs. “You might never know, baby. Would it make you feel better if I said yes? I don’t feed your ego often enough, do I?”

He chuckles, his vermilion eyes glinting as they narrow to inspect your figure, “Have you ever looked in a mirror, baby? You know why I can’t fuckin’ stand you sometimes?” Two fingers slip inside your entrance, sinking right in while he stares into your eyes, a smug grin answering the way your brows pull together at the contact. “You’re real good at deflection, I’ll give you that.”

You throw your arms over his shoulders, clutching to him as he circles your clit with his thumb. His fingers are thick, sliding in and out of you with ease thanks to your arousal. The pleasure is enough to have your knees wobbling already.

“Because your ego,” he suddenly pulls his hand away, but you barely have the time to open your eyes to see why before he’s hoisting you up, taking a step closer to the wall as he holds you in his arms, lowering you onto his throbbing cock. “Is fucking insufferable sometimes.”

You snap your eyes shut, whimpering at the sudden stretch until you’re moaning, adjusting to his massive size and eagerly awaiting his next movement.

“You’re reckless,” he presses your back firmly against the wall, supporting your weight while he cocks his hips back and thrusts into you. “Always throwing yourself in the way of danger, even for people who don’t deserve it.”

“You’ve always got some smart ass comment waiting for me,” he repeats the motion of his hips, groaning as he sinks all of himself inside you this time, his breathing becoming more haggard. “Can’t ever just keep that pretty mouth of yours shut.”

“Bakugou,” you mewl, panting as your head falls back against the shower wall.

“Shut up,” he growls, thrusting into you again with more force than before. “You,” he shakes his head, expelling a breath as he flashes you a crooked smile. “Sometimes I just can’t fuckin’ stand you. Sometimes I think I actually do hate you.”

His admission disturbs something in your chest. It feels like a cumbersome needle has punctured your lungs and stolen the air from them. You want to shrink away, but you can’t, you’re trapped here, staring into impassioned red eyes that you are making you feel so, so small.

“Bakugou,” you repeat, your voice as insignificant as you feel and then you’re ripped away from the wall. You’re being carried to the bed, set down into the sheets that are dry no longer with him still sheathed inside of you.

“Don’t start,” he mumbles against your jaw, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses along it as he works towards your ear to whisper, “I’m not done.”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting steadily into you while letting you hear all the needy, wanton noises he’s making for you.

“You wanna know what I hate the most about you?” He presses his palms to the thin mattress, slowing his thrusts, making them more deliberate while his orbs bore into yours. “It’s that I don’t fuckin’ hate you at all.”

Thrust.

“I’ve tried to and I can’t.”

Thrust.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Thrust.

“I hate that I can’t get you out of my head.”

Thrust.

“I hate that you’re so ready to risk your life,”

Thrust.

“Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Thrust.

He lowers himself down, resting on his forearm, while his other hand finds your waist and his forehead falls against yours, his eyes closing.

“I hate that I’ve pushed you so far away,” his voice cracks and he swallows, “because I hate knowing that I can’t have you.”

“Katsuki,” you say his name like a prayer, resting your hands on either side of his neck. “You can,” you say shakily, tears pricking your waterline as you open your eyes to see a single tear sliding over his cheek. You swipe it away with your thumb, squeezing the back of his neck gently as a means of reassurance.

“I can’t,” he breaks, like a used match. All that combustive energy disappears just before he snaps in two. “I can’t,” he repeats, with less fervor than his first insistence.

“Why not?” You implore, pleading with damp eyes while you gently stroke the hair at his nape.

His eyes open as he lifts his head away from yours, smiling sadly as the hand on your waist moves to cup your face, “Because I’ve fucked this up too bad already, princess. I can’t blame you for hating me,” he laughs once, a bitter sound as his eyes fall between you. “I hate me too.”

“Don’t say that,” your voice is barely above a whisper, a sob following your words as you realize that he actually means that. “Katsuki,” you rest your hand on the side of his face, lifting his eyes to yours. “I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.”

“You don’t?” His eyes are desperately searching your face, actively seeking any deception while a small spark lights behind his eyes.

“No,” you smile, laughing quietly, soft and sad as a tear rolls down your face. “You piss me off, that’s true. But I don’t hate you. I just—,” you sigh, trying to find the words while he waits with bated breath. “It’s like looking into a mirror. We’re so similar and I can see all the ways that we’re the same, but also different. I see my recklessness, but I see your bravery. I see my impatience, but I see your unwillingness to put up with any shit. I see my ego, but on you I see the confidence that you deserve to carry. I see all my faults, but then I can’t help but see how much everything that I hate about me is exactly what I love about you.” You swallow hard, willing yourself to hold his gaze, “I don’t hate you at all, Katsuki. I love you.”

His hand pushes into your hair, his lips finally colliding with yours as his hips pick up and move again with renewed vigor. He’s thrusting into you like he’s finally found a place to call home between your thighs while his mouth moves in tandem with yours, exchanging a conversation that can’t be spoken with words. You watch everything in a haze, too lost in the moment, too far gone to know who ends where. Not an ounce of clarity hits you until you feel the tightly wound coil, burning white hot in your belly about to snap, but you don’t dare try to rob him of your lips.

You arch into your release, his mouth hungrily swallowing the cries that spill from you as he fucks you through it. He pulls back, running a soothing hand through your hair while he watches your face contort beneath him, his hips stuttering as his own end finds him in watching your bliss unfold. He slips out just in time for his cock to spray his warm, thick seed along the inside of your thigh, his hand working to ensure every last drop leaks out while you watch in your fucked out state, half-lidded eyes admiring the mess you’ve made of the number two pro hero.

He leans down, eyes still full with fiery intention as he kisses you once more, slow and deep while he settles between your legs, his torso pressed flush to yours. The pad of his thumb drags carefully against your jaw as his hand rests on your neck.

“I love you too,” he smiles softly, appreciating the way your smile reaches your eyes as the words leave his tongue.

A knock at the door calls the attention of both of you, bursting your dreamlike bubble.

“You guys alive in there?” Kirishima calls before the handle on the door jiggles and you cling to Bakugou, who’s quick to respond.

“You better keep that damn door shut, dumbass! We’re havin’ a heart-to-heart in here,” he smirks back at you, leaning down to kiss along your collarbone as the red head’s voice carries through the door again.

“Wait, seriously?”

Bakugou groans quietly, before barking back, “Oi, what did I say? Get lost before I come out there and blast you down the hallway!”

You slap lightly at his chest, shushing him with a quiet giggle, to which he responds with a wolfish grin, delivering a decisive slap to your ass while his lips reattach to your collarbone, working towards your neck.

The sound of boots receding can be heard outside the door as Bakugou whispers huskily, “Wanna join me in the shower?”

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog, or leave a comment if you enjoyed 🧡

& please be sure to check out the other entries for this collab! There are many other talented humans who participated 🧡

[mlmxreader]

Afternoon | Alfie Solomons x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: "Oi! Watch your fucking mouth!" With Alfie please

summary: the afternoons are always slow and quiet for you and Alfie, which is always something that you can actually enjoy.

tws: swearing

You put your feet up on the desk as you sat opposite Alfie, your hat tipped slightly forward to keep the afternoon sun from your eyes, reading through a local newspaper as you occasionally gave Alfie your opinion; usually, afternoons in the office were slow, and you had always liked it that way - as Alfie's partner in more than just business, slow and quiet afternoons were a goddamn delight.

"What'd you say we go on holiday, Alf?" You asked without looking up from your paper. "Fancy going to Devon for a bit?"

Alfie shook his head, signing another invoice as he rubbed his brow. "Why?"

"I dunno," you shrugged. "Don't you think we could use a break after all this shit?"

Alfie shrugged, he had never really considered going on holiday - disappearing from Camden and leaving everything behind, sure, but he had never thought of doing something like that for only a week or two; holidays weren't really something that gangsters were allowed, a luxury that they could not afford. He bit at his lip as he closed his eyes for a moment and slowly let out a breath.

"We can't do that. Be too risky with everythin' else goin' on at the moment. You know that, (y/n)."

"It's a nice idea, though," you admitted. "Me and you, a hotel room, we could-"

"Oi! Watch your fucking mouth!" He playfully barked, glaring at you as he did his best not to smile. "Do not fuckin' put shit like that in my head when we got fuckin' hours til we go home."

You smiled, biting back a laugh as you put the paper down, letting it drape over your thighs as you clasped your hands together and laid them on your stomach. "Or what?"

"Or I ain't gonna be happy," Alfie grumbled. "We got shit to do today, and it won't be long til we get fuckin' idiots in here tryin' to do business when they can't find a cat's ass."

You couldn't bite back the grin that spread across your lips. You knew that you had him where you wanted him. "My bad, Mister Solomons."

He glared at you, shaking his head as he pursed his lips. "You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me."

"You love me."

"Yeah, I s'pose I do."

Quiet afternoons were always yours and Alfie's favourites, able to simply be without having to worry about someone walking in; it was one of the few times of day that you actually had with one another, as during the nights, you were too tired to talk, and in the mornings, it was always a rush to get everything done. Feed the dogs, walk the dogs, have breakfast, head down to the office for business, make sure that none of the barrels were leaking or were broken, make sure that the alcohol was being made properly. Mornings and evenings were a pain, but you and Alfie would always cherish those afternoons that you had.