#cushioned mouse pad

[taintedco]

Stream Comfortably

Streaming for 12-24+ hours can be difficult on the body. The chair may become uncomfy and so much more including hand cramping and the desk hurting your wrist but there is a solution for that. 

Upper Echelon Products has all kinds of cushions to make you comfy no matter what it is. 

They have foot rest, seat cushions  back pillows that goes into chairs, mouse pad with cushion, desk mat that is RGB which is cool. 

This company is all about being comfy because they have so much more than that like pillows, blankets, and other household items. 

[goopyguy]

just watched etho's latest hermitcraft and i can't believe i haven't seen posts about this yet we got a new etho photo.. we get to see his fucked desk set up from etho ethoslab himself..

[disgracefulthings]

Shang Qinghua: If I am to die again, I want to go out the same way as before: my face smooshed against Mobei-Jun's boobs

Shen Qingqiu: I thought you died at your computer desk?

Shang Qinghua: I had a Mobei-Jun cushioned mouse-pad that I fell on when I died

[sxplict]

⠀⠀𓋜 warnings : fem! reader. ōral [m receiving]. choking. spit. praising. tongue piercing. hair pulling. dacryphila. [.5k]

⠀⠀ " baby you’re the baddest , nobody else matters girl. "

streetracer getō . . . that loves when your precious plump lips are wrapped firmly around the girth of his dick. the elevating tingle of your stainless steel tongue piercing raking alongside his veined base , his tip prodding your delicate uvula with each stroke you glided against him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀oh how he adored watching your teary-eyed expression contort with every buck he shoved down your throat. the black-induced liquid that tainted your beloved face , an impression he loved dearly. your acrylic covered fingers wrapped the end of his dick that couldn’t fit into your mouth , gripping and twisting his skin which earned you a few grunted moans from your boyfriend.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" you’re such a damn tease , love. " rasp and hoarse , his tone lingered your senses like an intoxicating pheromone.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀thick , sleek , and calloused fingers made their way to the top of your head , a stern grasp tangling within your thick curls whilst he shushed your pathetic cries. deepening his length into your mouth was music to his ears as gags vibrated the sides of his dick. the girth far too wide to fit any deeper. all you could cough up was saliva that coaxed his base , your fingers kneading it into your strokes along his end.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀hazed eyes tried so desperately to keep contact with Suguru , though with how drunk you were from the sheer amount of booze you both shared prior to jumping into the back seat of his 2003 Nissan Fairlady 350z , that was almost impossible. His whispers of raw accolade did absolutely nothing to soothe the burning fuel that boiled within your abdomen , hums and whimpers dripping from your tongue while your lower half squirmed like a mouse.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" f— fuck , y/n , just like that , baby~ " his words only worsened your state , head maneuvering at a more frequent pace with squelches and slurps filling all silence within his vehicle.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀one arm rested atop the head cushions in the backseat of his car , the other containing a solid hold against your head. his own tossed back as he allowed the alcohol to likewise consume his system , the euphoric feeling of your warm mouth practically swallowing his dick whole all the more enthralling.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the only thing keeping him from truly getting lost in the burning pleasure was your piercing dragging his walls , his urges to fuck your face settling as he struggled to contain himself from doing so. the thought was just too overwhelming , hips thrusting his entire length into your throat every other minute.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the popping sound that erupted from your lips each time you pulled his dick from your mouth was deafening , saliva dripping from your corners and lubricating his delicate tip. thumb pads found their way to his slit , rubbing your mixed liquids through it and earning a stomach churning moan from the man himself. teeth pulled the fat of your lip into your mouth as you continued to tease his climax , one hand fondling his tip whilst the other worked twists against his base.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" keep .. f— fuckin' .. doin' that … 'nd i'll make ya .. regret it. " his broken threats were merely muffled out by the sounds of his own groans , a devious grin forging your expression.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀silence was your response as you lowered your head once more , oh so slowly dragging your tongue up the bottom of his base and through the slit of his tip. spinal chills spiraled Suguru’s back , a knuckled fist brought to his teeth all the while you continued to prologue his eager release.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀if not for his itching climax , he’d have you bent over the middle console with himself buried ball deep inside you. the more you taunted him , the closer his release inched up. not a damn thing helped , especially not when you puckered your lips around his tip and sucked his pre-cum from it , your tongue dancing across his slit yet again. eyes rolled and heads tossed at the ecstatic endurance he faced , hips subconsciously bucking his dick into your mouth yet again. though , this time he quickly took advantage of your vulnerability and placed his hand against the back of your head.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the moment you felt his rough palm against your scalp , you knew you’d fucked up. and he made sure you stared right into his piercing gaze as he vigorously abused every inch and crevice of your mouth. hands pathetically clawed at his inner thighs , eyes continuously rolling white with saliva dripping onto the leather fabric of his seats.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" look at me , damn it. " his grip only tightened at his harsh words , your eyes barely able to make contact with his own with how rough his movements were.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀every time he collided his abdomen with your nose , his fat girth widened the stretch of your mouth whilst his tip kissed the back of your throat.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" where’s that snarky grin at now .. hm? " he likewise taunted , bottom lip pulled between his bared teeth as he could feel himself becoming sloppy with his thrusts.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀alas , one final plow and his white seed painted your gums like a fresh bedroom , overbearing your throat as you struggled to swallow it all. however , all he did was slowly thrust himself further , forcing his juices down your insides. limbs dropped to your side , exasperated eyes far too lazy to open wide.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Suguru knew he’d have to get his car detailed after this , though it’d have to wait because he also had an obligation to make you feel good now , after all he’s put you through.

⠀⠀⠀ " hope nobody catch us , kinda hope they catch us. "

SINCERELY , YOURS TRULY Ξ ©SXPLICT, 2024

[toskarin]

I'd spend money on one of those mousepads where the cushion is some buff guy's ass or tits. do you know where sexy mouse pads are generally sold

well the one I bought fucking burst into malignant curses so perhaps you should ask someone else

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

If You Can't Dance 6

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: this is what you get when you encourage me. Please leave any and all feedback! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Part of The Club AU

Orientation ends but your day is far from over. Your small group, Jensen, G, Marc, Dharshi, and yourself are shown around the building. It’s nice. The office spans the single floor with ample space for all the staff and then some.

Jensen is shown to his office first. He smiles at the rest of you, telling you to send any questions his way. Jonathan confirms this but assures you he will be just as available. Next G silently and somberly enters the doorway with his name on it and shuts the door without thanks. Marc is next, then Dharshi.

You’re the last one left. A spike of paranoia needles behind your ears. What if you don’t get an office? What if you didn’t make the cut? This is why you hate offices. You don’t understand the politics.

“And this is you,” Jonathan taps on the last door. A corner office. Your name is on the door. You frown as you read the title underneath.

“I’m not a senior developer,” you face Jonathan and stare at his top button.

“Oh, dear,” he steps closer and you shuffle back, you can smell his cologne, “I’ll be certain to have that corrected. I hope you don’t think this oversight to be any sort of slight.”

You shake your head. You don’t think much of it. Mistakes happen.

“Let me know if you require anything else. I’m just a few doors down,” he points down the next hall, “I do prefer to stay close… to all my employees.”

“Mhmm,” you nod and turn to the door. You stop yourself. You don’t want to be G, so gruff and silent. Things are different here, people expect you to be normal. You turn your head, “thanks,” you say over your shoulder.

“Anything,” he replies. “I’ll let you get settled.”

You turn the handle and let yourself in. The door clicks gently behind you as you let it go. Before you can even get to the desk, you’re struck by a horrid smell. Pollen. You put your bag down and search for the culprit. A crystal vase of tall gardenia and baby breath stands on the corner of the desk.

You touch your temple and scan the office. There’s tall windows along the walls, giving a nice view of the outdoors. You prefer your walls and your under desk heater. You go over and twist the small crank to open the pain and let in the brisk air.

You already feel the nail pounding into your skull. You don’t think you packed any allergy meds, you didn’t think you’d need them this time of year. You can’t keep the flowers in here. It’s a nice gesture but it’s hard to focus on code when your eyes are bleary from a raging migraine.

You take the vase and carry it to the door. You peek out, checking to make sure you’re not seen. You hate to come off as rude.

You quickly flit down the hall and find your way back to the break room. You have the basic layout stamped in your mind; bathrooms, break room, and meeting rooms. You put the vase on one of the tables and skirt out.

You get back to your office and stand in the strange space. You’re never going to be used to this. You’ve wasted enough time. You have to get set up. 

You unpack your laptop and your special ergonomic mouse and keyboard. You connect to the monitors already set up and adjust the height and angle. You plug everything in and finally sit down. You drop your head forward, clutching it with a groan. Shoot, your head is pounding.

It’s a helpless bid but you dig out the Tylenol from your bag and toss back two tablets. You sip from your large water bottle and swivel in your chair, trying to find comfort in the thin cushion. You’ll have to bring your pad from home.

You grow more and more frustrated as everything around you is wrong. The desk isn’t the right height, the chair squeaks, and the monitors won’t tilt how you want them. No, it’s not the office, it’s you.

The headache doesn’t relent. You only get halfway through the instructions of connecting to the company server before you have to tear your eyes away. You drop your head down onto your crossed arms, bending over the desk as you breathe through the wave of nausea. It’s a full-blown migraine.

Your eyes are watery as you fight to keep yourself together. You should call it a day and go home. At this point, the only way to deal with it is to sleep it off. No, you won’t leave on your first day. That would be a bad look.

You raise your head shakily and prop your head up in one hand. You whimper and make yourself finish your first task. Connected, that’s great. Now, the slack chat. Oof, that’s a lot of font. A lot of messages. 

You scroll through, catching up, then a new message pops up from a senior developer. You recognise his name from the meeting; Timothy. He says hello and you type hi back, the two clacks of a key echoing in your ears.

Three dots pop up almost immediately. He’s typing. He sends through a large block of text and you nearly whine. It’s an exhaustive rundown of procedures and expectations. You don’t understand why this wouldn’t be in a PDF. It ends with, ‘Please review and confirm that you understand’.

You sigh and start reading. The words don’t sink into your mind. You can’t string them together as the effort is enough to make a tear teeter on the brim of your eyelid. You wipe your eyes and sit back. 

A knock makes you jump. You want to scream but that will only make matters worse. So you bend over and take a shaky breath. You push yourself up to your feet, walking with light steps across the office. You stop before the door and brace yourself, forcing your posture straight.

You open the door, unsurprised to find Jonathan on the other side. You got the feeling earlier that he wouldn’t be shy. It is his job to supervise his employees, you suppose you’re just not used to more than a Teams message or quick email.

“I… I saw the flowers in the break room,” he says, “you don’t like them?”

You flutter your lashes. What does that matter?

“Oh, uh, I just thought… they’re so nice I’d put them out for everyone to… enjoy,” you eke out the last word as your eyes gleam and you put your palm to your head as it feels ready to split.

His expression shades to concern, “are you unwell?”

“It’s just… a migraine,” you say, “I’m okay.”

You back up and go to close the door. He stops you as he puts his hand on the wood, “a migraine? Was… Was it the flowers?”

“I…” you swallow, “it’s not a big deal.”

“I am so sorry. I wish I’d know. Darling, you’re more than welcome to take the half-day. You will not be docked the hours,” he plays with a button on his shirt. “I feel so awful.”

“You couldn’t know, uh, but I can get through–”

“No, no, I insist, take care of yourself here. We are all about employee first. You must be healthy to be efficient, please,” he spreads his hand over his chest, a heartfelt gesture, “you must go home and rest. That’s an order.”

You don’t have the strength to argue. Just like the first night you met. That fact embarrasses you. He can’t help but catch you at your very worst.

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

Woke up feeling like my right thigh or hip was dislocated all night. It hurts LIKE HELL. Walking hurts, as does sitting, and the act of getting up from sitting hurts, and going from standing to sitting hurts.

Why? How?

I think it's due to spending so much time at my computer desk yesterday. The chair needs to be replaced, or at least re-upholstered with new padding and fabric. Putting cushions on it has actually made it more uncomfortable because I can barely touch the floor as it is. Cushions result in my feet having nowhere to rest on, and thus less support.

How so? I'm short. Barely over 5' tall. Computer desks are made for average range height, so 5'5" to maybe 6' tall. Same goes for chairs with adjustable height.

My sewing desk has the means of adjusting the height. It's one of the reasons I purchased it.

Hmmm...I'll see about replacing the chair with a near identical of my sewing desk chair. There's a model with arms on it, and I need something to rest my right arm on when using my computer.

Oh, and my lack of height is also why my PC desk has one of those roll out shelves for my keyboard and mouse. Without, I wouldn't be able to use the desk as anything more than a shelf.

Anyway, I'm in pain. Fuck you, hEDS. This isn't the first time I've dealt with my hips/thighs doing this. It usually happens when I spend too much time at my PC, but sometimes from too much time on the couch, or handquilting (I did handquilting when using my recliner, and sometimes woke up with my hip/thigh fucked up like this).

Bleh.

[fcble]

PIANO CONCERTO IN A♭ MINOR, PART III: ALLEGRO

In which Andrew thinks, and therefore is. FEATURING: Andrew Han, Lim Byeonghwi WORD COUNT: 2.3k SETTING: August 2024 NOTES: The final third of Andrew's Great Existential Crisis of 2024. You can read part one HERE and part two HERE and accidental part 2.5 HERE. Warnings for smoking (weed).

Andrew repossesses his studio near the end of August. He arrives prepared: a canister of Clorox wipes, a roll of paper towels, no less than three microfiber cloths. To say he doesn't trust Jaesun's producer would be an understatement. He's almost afraid of what he'll see, bracing himself as he inserts his slightly tarnished silver key into the slightly tarnished silver lock and turns.

The door swings open—ominously, he thinks—and the hallway casts a slice of light into the otherwise dark room. He holds his breath and flips the light switch on.

What it illuminates is entirely normal. There's his desk, the monitor perched on top looking untouched, as does the empty laptop stand next to it. The microphone is tucked away on the corner of the desk, right next to his keyboard. The loveseat next to the entrance is nearly pristine. Andrew drops his cleaning supplies on it, letting them bounce and roll until they settle against the back cushions. He places his bag on the floor next to it with a little more caution. Then he shuts and locks the door behind him.

He opens the room's one window, and then examines his side of the small recording booth that connects his studio to Intak's. The music stand is folded neatly inside. None of the foam paneling has fallen or been torn off the walls. Satisfactory, he supposes.

Andrew returns to his desk, dragging his bag along with him, and begins the slow process of setting up his computer again. He crouches on the ground to unlock the only desk drawer that locks, retrieving his keyboard and his mouse pad and his headphone stand and the wires that bring it all together.

Ten minutes later, he wipes the dust off his hands and takes a seat, only to find his desk chair six inches lower than where it usually is. Fucking... Andrew doesn't even know the name of Jaesun's producer. He'd appreciate it if he could put a name to the person he'd like to curse out. He raises the chair, and then takes a Clorox wipe and cleans the surface of the desk. Then he folds it into a neat square, pushing it to the side with only the vaguest mental note to toss it later.

He rolls his chair back a few feet until he hits the loveseat, blindly reaching behind him for the roll of the paper towels. He tears two sheets off before tossing the remainder of the roll back into its place. Back at his desk, Andrew uses them as a tablecloth, laying them flat across the surface of his desk.

With quick, practiced movements, he rolls a joint. His materials lay strewn over the rest of the table, evidence of his crime laid bare for anyone to see: rolling paper, scissors, his extremely stereotypical bag of weed, grinder, lighter. He can only do this when absolutely no one else is around, and lately, he's been lacking in privacy.

He lights the end, watching as the flame of the lighter flickers and jumps, and the smallest wisp of smoke stretches toward the ceiling. He stretches forward and turns on the fan that sits in the corner of his desk, letting it oscillate its artificial breeze around the room.

Then he inhales, filling his lungs with the heady smoke he's come to associate with solitude and isolation, a far cry from the camaraderie and companionship that getting high used to come with.

He wasn't going to work, though he has work to do. He always has work to do. His plan was to sit in silence and think. Which is what he does now, leaning back and spinning in a circle while the fan lazily pushes the air around the room.

He's eight months into his amended contract, and almost nothing has changed. The biggest difference is that he now has another almost three years in Fable, not a year and a half. It's like he's moved backwards and he's halfway through his career again instead of reaching for the end. When he first joined the company, a seven-year contract felt like a lifetime. For fresh out of college, twenty-one-year-old Andrew, seven years was more than enough. To current, not quite thirty-year-old Andrew, seven years can pass in the blink of an eye.

He doesn't get much further in his thoughts before he's interrupted.

“It smells like weed in here.”

Andrew twists around in his seat just in time to see Byeonghwi shut the studio door behind him. "The door was locked."

"I asked Yumi-noona to pick it," is Byeonghwi's only response.

Andrew makes a disgruntled noise. He didn't realize lock picking was part of her clearly extensive list of talents. He also didn't realize Byeonghwi knew her well enough to ask this of her.

Byeonghwi crosses the room in a few strides. There's no question to what Andrew was doing. He knows when he's been caught red-handed. He watches, dispassionately and disconnected, as Byeonghwi picks up and carefully seals the Ziploc bag.

"You could get caught," he says softly, soft enough that Andrew almost doesn't hear him.

"I won't." He has the right to say that. He hasn't been caught yet.

Byeonghwi changes the subject. "Is the album going well?"

The album is not going anywhere at all. The problem, Andrew thinks, might be that he already wrote an album this year, and maybe he's burning out. Fuck the kpop industry, and fuck King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, just for good measure.

"It's fine."

From Byeonghwi's expression, it's obvious he knows Andrew isn't quite telling the truth.

It will be fine. It has to be fine. He has the majority of a title track, and soon he'll have all of the title track, and then they'll have choreography and schedules and the physical album and in order for that to happen, he has to get over this bump in the road.

"You should take a break," Byeonghwi says, and Andrew has to wonder if he came in here with a plan. The sharp, analytical part of his mind he can never turn off, never relinquish control of, wonders if Jaeseop put Byeonghwi up to that before he left, if he asked Byeonghwi to keep Andrew from destroying himself, because he's the only one who can do that. Jaeseop knows full well that if Byeonghwi is the one doing the asking, then Andrew is at his beck and call.

"I can't. Jaeseop never took any breaks."

"Jaeseop-hyung didn't insist on doing everything himself."

He has a point, no matter how much Andrew would like to pretend otherwise.

"Also, you shouldn't smoke," Byeonghwi continues, and that's when Andrew knows this isn't Byeonghwi talking to him, but rather Jaeseop speaking through him.

"You smoke," Andrew argues. If anything, Byeonghwi is worse, because he begs real cigarettes from Intak from time to time. Andrew is a product of the 2000s American public school system, and he believes nicotine is the Devil incarnate, even if he doesn't necessarily believe in the Devil.

Byeonghwi sighs and tucks his one hand into his pocket. The other dangles uselessly at his side, still clutching Andrew's weed. "I want to help you. Should I ask Intak-hyung?"

"No." Andrew's response is reflexive. This is his album, like the one before it was also his, and Fable's first album and the majority of their early music was Intak's. It's always been that way. One of them, or the other, will write their music, but rarely both. Andrew can count the number of songs they've co-produced on one hand. He is begrudgingly aware of the fact that it might be his fault. Intak is perfectly open and amiable to cooperation. Andrew is the one who shuts it down. Which is all to say the last thing he wants is Byeonghwi running to Intak to ask for help.

"I want that back." He nods at the bag in Byeonghwi's hand. "It's expensive." More than he'd like to pay, anyway.

"Later," Byeonghwi says in an extremely non-committal way. His expression twists into a grimace. "I don't like that you do this."

That's his opinion. Normally, Andrew would value it, or at the very least, entertain it. In this specific situation, he knows better. He isn't even that high to begin with. He knows his limits. He might not pass a drug test, and that would end his career and the rest of Fable's, but he still feels nearly sober. He's capable of holding a coherent conversation.

He shrugs. "I know what I'm doing."

"I never thought you'd be one to risk our careers like this."

That's a low blow. Andrew isn't doing anything of the scale of Mingeun's scandal or Haksu's not-quite-girlfriend. He has privacy here. This is between him and himself, and unfortunately, Byeonghwi.

"So I'm a shitty idol. Everyone knows that already," Andrew says.

"Not everyone. I never thought that." Byeonghwi's response is quiet and hesitant.

More than anything, Andrew feels guilty now, like he's somehow deceived Byeonghwi. That was never his goal. His goal was always to survive, to prove he belonged. It's obvious he was successful. Too successful, given the pressures and expectations that piled upon one another, stacking higher and higher without end. Write Fable's music, carry the choruses of their songs, lead the group in Jaeseop's stead, represent himself and all those who came before him in a culture he still barely understands, represent the culture he grew up in, be book-smart and emotionally intelligent, be better, be perfect, be more. But Andrew has never been enough, and now the cracks are starting to show.

It's an uncomfortable thought, and one that he no longer wants to entertain. He changes the topic to one equally uncomfortable. "I'm thinking about leaving," he admits. "I received an offer I'm not sure I can decline."

Byeonghwi doesn't react immediately. Instead, he gingerly sits in the middle of the loveseat across from Andrew. "When Eunsu-hyung left, I was the first person he told. Sometimes I think about how I might have been able to stop him if I said something different." He stares Andrew in the eye, gaze surprisingly intense. "If you pick yourself over the group, you're just like Mingeun-hyung."

Andrew seethes silently, and his thoughts wander back to the joint wasting away on the table behind him. If he was high, if he gave in fully, it would the conversation that much more palatable. He can't do that in front of Byeonghwi.

He doesn't like being compared to Mingeun, and Byeonghwi knows that. It's the type of under-handed, below-the-belt remark designed to get a rise out of him. He refuses to take the bait.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he says calmly.

Byeonghwi pierces him with another look. Andrew doesn't know when he perfected that art. "Are you serious, hyung? We both know you hate being compared to him. I don't want you to do something because I'm the one who suggested it to you. I want you to take me seriously."

In the moment, something about his demeanor makes him seem older. He's grown up, Andrew knows. He isn't barely sixteen anymore, like he was when they met. That doesn't stop him from treating Byeonghwi like a kid. To Andrew, he'll be sixteen forever, the young, sheltered teenager Andrew took under his wing and snuck into his work-subsidized apartment so many years ago. He still remembers what it was like to be young and reckless with too much confidence, thrown somewhere completely out of his depth. He couldn’t stop Byeonghwi from signing that Zenith Entertainment contract, but he could protect him to the best of his ability.

He doesn't have anyone to stop him from signing a C Entertainment contract. Perhaps that's what he's missing. Jaeseop would tell him he shouldn't do it, but Jaeseop isn't here.

"This is serious," Andrew says. He doesn't miss the way Byeonghwi's grip on his weed intensifies.

"I'm going to keep this for a while," Byeonghwi says. "You shouldn't make decisions when you're high."

"You'll all tell me I shouldn't leave. I don't need to be sober to know that."

If looks could kill, Andrew would be dead multiple times over in the last fifteen minutes. "The offer can't be that much better. We've always been treated well."

Andrew laughs—actually laughs, tosses his head back and reclines in his seat—at that. That might be true for the majority of the group. For himself, and for Mingeun, because he can finally acknowledge that things were worse for him, it's far from accurate. Andrew moved to a foreign country, learned a new language, surrounded himself with an unfamiliar culture, broke himself into pieces and reforged them into someone Taein could accept, all because he wanted to make music and he couldn't cut it in America. Jinguk offered him an American career, so that must count as something better.

"No," he says again, simple and firm. He refuses to elaborate. "I appreciate your opinion. This is a decision I need to make myself."

Byeonghwi's bottom lip juts out in a pout, and then it wobbles and and trembles like he wants to speak, but doesn't know what to say.

After a moment that feels like an eternity, but can't be more than a few seconds, he says, "Okay."

Andrew relaxes, having bought himself a little more time.

"I'm getting you help for this album. It doesn't have to be Intak-hyung, but I want you to accept it," he continues.

Andrew doesn't care. Byeonghwi can do whatever he wants, because he won't need the help. He'll get it done on his own, like he always does. "Fine," he says reluctantly.

Byeonghwi seems to brighten up at that. "I'm really looking forward to it, hyung."

He leaves not long after that, taking Andrew's weed with him and closing the door carefully.

Andrew locks it right behind him, before sinking back into his seat and dropping his forehead onto his desk, the pressures and the expectations and the work no less than they were before Byeonghwi's arrival.

[artzychic27]

For the Actor AU, how did they feel abt the canon heroes' outfits? If they could, how would they have modified them?

Marinette: Basic as fuck! It looks like I’m wearing footie pajamas! If I were in charge of my costume, I’d give myself a full-on punk look because Ladybug’s are some badass motherfuckers. Oh, and boots that have soles equipped with a shock-absorbing cushion, and a heel that contains a reinforced spring to soften the shock whenever I land. And… Maybe a backpack shaped like ladybug wings to hold my Lucky Charms and anything I need to collect for my plan.

Adrien: Less leather! That stuff shrinks, and a full leather bodysuit is not comfortable. Also, because of the cat holders’ powers, it would be cool if heroes had some sort of medical supplies on them just in case, like stored in a utility belt. And I’m with Mari, those boots sound badass. What else?… Oh, definitely add some more color instead of just basic black.

Alya: Well, the Fox doesn’t seem like a combative hero due to the powers. I see Rena Rouge as a distraction, really, so her outfit wouldn’t be one of those “ready for battle” types. Here’s what I’m thinking, one of those noir-film type outfits. The hat covers my face a bit to give me an air of mystery, and the outfit would look almost casual that no villain would suspect me.

Nino: I mean… Carapace’s look is cool. It’s alright. I’m liking the goggles, but… I’d prefer if he had armor. He’s the fucking turtle hero! He should be ready to take any blow that a villain sends his way!

Rose: Where to begin? Look, you all know me; I love pink more than the next guy, but… Sometimes too much is too much. The Pig Miraculous strikes me as… More farmhand than ballerina. Yee, I know, the heroes come with a tambourine, but come on! While I do love the skirt, I’d trade it in for overalls, either shorts or a skirt. Oh, and add some black in there, too. Daizzi has a black circle around his eye, let him be represented!

Juleka: Studded jacket. That is all.

Luka: Oh, honey, either give me a hood so I can look like a cobra or get the fuck away from me with that outfit.

Myléne: The mouse strikes me as more of the elegant type, I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the pastel pink mixed with the grey, but I see Polymouse wearing skirts over Pigella. But, that’s just my opinion.

Ivan: Honestly, I’m fine with the canon design for Minotaurox. Yeah, he’s got pockets and padding, I-I like it. And if you show me a better design, I’ll happily take a look at it.

Marc: … I think all of the effort went into making Rooster Bold’s costume. He’s got rooster hair, the little tallons on the back of his boots, and a fucking tailcoat! He and Mayura are the only ones to have tailcoats! I’m not complaining, though. I… I actually like it, but it is a nightmare putting on and taking off that wig.

Nathaniel: Well, I can say I sort of know how some of the girls feel, because that suit was tight as hell! You could see my hip dip! Also, I would’ve liked to have a different hairstyle and maybe some color, because I am the only male redhead around for miles. Oh, and climbing boots becuase, I’m a goat, duh.

Alix: … Do I need to say it? Okay, give me some active wear! I’m traveling through a shit ton of different timelines! I need someone sporty and active when I’m on the go. Also, I’ll need a backpack like Marinette.

Kim: Not hearing any complaints from me! I liked Roi Singe, but being Scarlet Beetle is way cooler!

Max: The glasses can easily come off. What I need is a high collar or a bandana that can cover the lower half of my face in case my glasses become askew or someone is able to place my identity because all I have on my face are some stupid glasses! God, I’m so glad I’m doing this new show now.

Chloé: Oh, I just want wings.

Zoé: Same.

Sabrina: Can mine just not look like my clothes, please?! I’ll take whatever, just not that!

Kagami: I would prefer if I had some form of armor and not a spandex bodysuit. It would need to be lightweight but also durable to allow me to travel faster, of course.

[ahlore]

⟢ — | 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

In the sun-soaked Outer Banks, Magnolia Whiteside is a Kook living a life of privilege, but her world is far from perfect. Having moved from Palm Beach after her parents’ messy divorce, she often gets lost in her thoughts and struggles to connect with the people around her. Meeting the Pogues helps her come out of her shell, and she finds herself drawn to Rafe Cameron, who plays a game of cat and mouse as their relationship grows more complicated.

Onto the 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑?

Back to 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓?

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐀 looked up at the high, vaulted ceilings, her gaze tracing the elegant moldings that framed the walls. The room was so big and well-decorated that it felt more like a showroom than a living space. Large, arched windows with heavy, custom drapes let in soft, filtered light that cast a gentle glow over the room. The walls were a soft cream, perfectly smooth, and the hardwood floor gleamed with a polished sheen. Had it not been so over the top, she might have been able to notice the small imperfections.

Sighing under her breath, she knew that her challenges weren’t just the difficulties of adjusting to her new life in the Outer Banks, but also the quiet task of unpacking. In her hands was a variety of books centered around the theme of romance. She carefully knelt on the hardwood floor and arranged her bookshelves so that each book was in alphabetical order. Although nothing particularly special, she preferred things to be orderly and simple.

Her ears were filled with the gentle rustle of tree branches tapping against the window. As she directed her hazel gaze out the window, she observed how the leaves gently hung from stray branches, falling down with a delicate grace. Pulling her focus back inside, she moved to make her bed. She raised her arms, bringing the duvet high, a swift yet snappy sound reverberating through the air. Her fingers curled as she experienced the comfort radiating through the thin sheet, contrasting with the plush, heavy blankets. She then arranged the cushions against the headboard, finally stepping back to admire her neatly made bed.

She huffed and flicked the hair that was getting in her way of seeing. She looked over her almost finished room, seeing one box in particular sitting in the corner of her bedroom. She approached the box, noticing the label on the side: “FRAGILE—GLASS INSIDE.” With gentle hands, she lifted the lid and peered inside. Her fingers brushed over a collection of photographs, mostly of friends and family she had left behind in Palm Beach. Among them, one photo stood out: a framed picture of her family. Her mom, dad, and herself—taken before the divorce. She sighed deeply, her heart heavy as she held the photo close. The dark wooden frame felt cold against the pads of her fingers, and as she traced its edges, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of the memories it carried.

You never really cared about keeping us together, did you? She whispered to no one in particular, chewing the corners of her cracked lips as she felt the sting of blood. When was the last time she had spoken to her mother? It must have been months ago. Even during the finalization of the divorce, she hadn’t spoken to her. The silence had been a small relief, a temporary escape from the sting of her absence and the harsh reality of her leaving.

As Magnolia looked at her mother in the picture, it was hard to accept that she had been unhappy with the life she had created. She had blamed Magnolia’s father, Liam, saying the expectations placed on her were too much to bear. Yet, despite that, Magnolia couldn’t ignore the way her mother looked at her in this photo—with love. It was a sharp contrast to how her mother’s actions made her feel: neglected and unloved.

“Magnolia?” Her father called her name gently, but she didn’t respond right away. He watched her, knowing she was deep in thought—caught in the current of her mother’s absence. Each time he saw her drifting off, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, it felt like a knife to his heart. He wished he could take her pain away, swallow it whole if it meant she wouldn’t have to feel it anymore. But for now, all he could do was try to bring her back to the present.

“Oh, Bunny… it will be okay,” he murmured, using the nickname he’d given her when she was just a little girl. It had always suited her—his little bunny, so full of life. He moved closer, noticing how she stood frozen, her eyes locked on the photograph in her hand. Gently, he took it from her, his gaze settling on the image that had pulled her away from reality.

He sighed inwardly when he saw it: a picture of the family, together and smiling. No wonder she’d been so quiet. The memory of her mother’s absence and the divorce still stung for him, too. But he had to be strong for her, even if it meant burying his own pain.

He gently wiped away the tears that escaped and offered her an encouraging smile, his expression filled with love and support—exactly what Magnolia needed most. As she gazed at him, she noticed he was already dressed in his scrubs, ready to head off to work.

Magnolia sometimes hated that her father was a surgeon. She wanted him there with her, but he was always busy, saving lives and helping those in need. Maybe it was selfish to wish he’d stay home when she needed him most. She knew he was trying—she could see it in the way he looked at her—but it didn’t change the fact that she spent most days here, in this new place, feeling so alone.

“I heard there’s a restaurant hiring—The Wreck, I think it’s called,” her father suggested as he let go of her, his eyes flicking to his watch. He knew he was running short on time. “I spoke to the owners, Anna and Mike Carrera. They’re willing to have a walk-in interview with you, if you’re interested.”

Magnolia looked up, her eyes still damp but showing a flicker of curiosity. “The Wreck?” She repeated, her voice soft but not without a flicker of interest. “I’ve heard of it… I didn’t realize they were hiring.”

She paused, considering the opportunity. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. It might be nice to get out of the house for a bit.”

Her father smiled, relieved to see her engaging with the idea. “It’s a start,” he said gently. “And who knows? You might make a few friends along the way.”

Magnolia nodded, a small but genuine smile appearing on her face. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll go by and see what it’s like.”

✦ author’s note: i wanted to introduce kiara in the prologue but the word count was around 1.1k words and i know a lot of readers don’t have that long of an attention span, so i tried to cover most of magnolia’s feelings and how she’s adjusting in the first chapter. also i kind of got burnt out after writing this chapter so i had to call it quits and decided i’d introduce kiara next chapter, lol.

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

I want to get a new mouse pad with a wrist cushion and I’m tempted to get a booby one…

[greedlr]

What sort of tests happens at Thneed Tech anyhow?

The Thneed (c) is an item with many uses, with the latest count of over 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9KZZT...

It is the goal of Thneed Tech to catalog all of the various ways you are able to use your Thneed.

Did you know: You can use your Thneed as a scarf, skirt, pants, sweater, shirt, cape, suit, socks, umbrella, swimsuit, towel, pillow, curtain, bicycle seat cover, hammock, canary nest, Thneedle Thoup, hairbrush, carburetor de-ruster, windshield wiper, blindfold, tightrope, butterfly net, exercise equipment, wig, boxing glove (singular), parachute, runny nose wiper, slingshot, muzzle, jump rope, food, mustache brush, mop, gloves, earplugs, laptop case, wallet, tissue, fashionable face mask, phone stand, selfie stick (when thrown), travel pillow, sleep mask, very small blanket, neck pillow, tourniquet for emergency amputations, stain remover, dental floss for very large teeth, hair tie, 5G blocker, hand warmer, lunch tote, napkin, laptop stand, mouse pad, cable organizer, screen wiper, measuring tape for one Thneed’s length, pin cushion, fashionable backpack, baking apron, karate belt, watch strap, wallet, laptop sleeve, pillow cover, fancy placemat, reusable grocery bag, reusable duffel bag, reusable messenger bag, reusable diaper, non-reusable grocery bag, journal cover, athletic headband, friend replacement, running shoes, vintage bucket hat, wine tote, dog collar, leash, infant playpen, KZZZT_

[thelostsim]

Link to video

Walls | Floor | Curtains | Rug | Shelf 1 2 3 4 | Posters 1 2 | Tapestry 1 2 | Calendar | Radio | Books | Tissue box 1 2 | Mushroom stall

Desk | Computer Monitor | Chair | Pc | Mouse pad | Extension cord | Mic | Vertical Screen | Headphones Frog cup | Frog brush | Frog floor cushions | Froggy bag >> HERE

Mushroom cup | Mushroom note holder | Mushroom plant pot >> HERE

Ankha doll & Animal crossing poster >> HERE

Hanging Plant 1 2 | Frog Plant pot | Wall plants | Plant pot | Butterfly jar

Salt lamp | Woodland candles 1 2 | Jarred fairy lights | Fairy Lights

Frog & Mushroom Plush | Pochaacco & Pompompurin Plush | Substitute plush | Frog pillow plush |

Cat tree | Cat Litter

[magpiesprings]

Wine making, cellar door and vineyard Images for sale online. Perfect wine lover gifts. Have accommodation in a wine region decorate with wine designs. Looking for wine bar décor? Looking for a wine tasting day outfit? Gift basket ideas for wine lover? Want to get the conversation about wine started EVEN BEFORE saying hello??? Wear or carry something which talks about wine in the design! People WILL KNOW immediately this person IS ALL ABOUT WINE TODAY! Cut to the chase! – Wear it – carry it – decorate with it you will notice the difference it makes! Look the part! Pick a design you like then see it on ALL the products. Redbubble a global print on demand company prints and sends products on purchase. These curated winemaking images are now available globally via Redbubble in the Magpie Springs online shop on

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[incendiorum-arch]

azzy waits until he hears prolonged silence behind the door, and then elects to shove his way in. col doesn’t even look up from behind his desk, unbothered or distracted or both. the man in one of the other chairs, however, jolts in surprise. “ sir - ”

“ you’re done, ” azzy tells him, picking up the back of the chair and dumping him out of it. “I need the room.”

“ sir, ” the man tries again, flustered.

“ my associate told you to leave, ” col says, toneless, as he flips a pen between ink-smudged fingers. distracted, it is.

brows furrowed and mouth thin, the man leaves. azzy doesn’t bother watching him go. instead, he slams himself down into the empty chair (still warm. gross) and drapes his arms over his bouncing knees.

“ stop that, ” col tells him, finally looking up. he blinks, as if realizing who it is, and then promptly hands over a yellow legal pad with a list of names. “ they’re building a new ship. some of your handlers would like to retire permanently from the field. ”

azzy takes the pad, leans forward to grab the pen out of col’s other hand, and immediately crosses out three names. “ none of them have experience in venator, ” he explains. col just hums.

“ why are you here? ” he asks, turning his attention instead to a pair of computer monitors. azzy sits back, knee starting to bounce again. he’s gathering his thoughts, and he knows that col knows this. the sound of a mouse clicking fills the room.

“ six of my hunters are dead. ”

the clicking stops. “ six. ”

“ six, ” azzy snaps back. a cool blue gaze slides towards him, and azzy doesn’t shy away from it, even if he really, really wants to. col has a stare that could stop a bear in its tracks. “ what the fuck is with your parent lately? ”

“ io, ” col corrects. “ we aren’t related. ”

azzy rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. “ uh-huh. ”

col leans back in his chair. “ what happened? ”

leaning forward, azzy sets the notepad down, abandoning his current side-project of trying to remember everything that samwell morris currently does for the hounds (everything…? and a frowny face is scribbled in sloppy handwriting in the margin). “ I wasn’t even there. I couldn’t help them or save them or anything. ”

“ azzy, ” col says, softer.

azzy takes a deep breath and looks away, staring around the room, instead. it’s a cluttered old office, which always surprised him. col always seemed like the kind of guy to have a clean, white office with nothing in it. instead, there’s bookshelves laden with books stacked right-side up and sideways both. the cherry-wood desk is banged up and scratched and the leather cushions of the seats are so old and well-used that they seem to have permanent dips in them. there’s a ship-in-a-bottle on the desk, too. supposedly, it’s a replica of the first ship col ever bought for venator. the full-sized version still exists, somewhere, but azzy has never seen it. he stares at it now, following the curves of the gold name painted on the side with his eyes.

“ rose called me, ” azzy starts. “ she said she had iovita practically in their hands. that they were really going to do it this time. I made her go over the plan with me five times. she said it the same way every damn time. ” she had laughed the third time he had said run me through it again. and sighed heavily on the fifth. “ it sounded solid to me. I told her to go ahead. ” he looks up at col for this, and sees no change in expression. “ I tried to call her later and she answered, but I didn’t hear anything on the other side except for… noises. ”

“ what kind of noises? ”

“ I don’t know! noises! shuffling and groaning, I think. a word or two, but I couldn’t make them out. ”

col nods. “ and then? ”

azzy takes a breath. “ she called me again ten minutes later, and said she’d lost damian and nathan. throats burned out. both of them. so, iovita picked them off at some point. ”

“ evidently, ” col agrees.

azzy squints at him. col doesn’t look surprised. instead, he looks resigned, as if he already knows where this story is going. pulling the legal pad back to his side of the desk, col rips off the top page and sets it aside. in careful print, he writes the fulls names of both damian and nathan. “ was it an ‘i’ or a ‘y’ for damian’s last name? ”

“ ‘y,’ ” azzy replies. his voice sounds far away.

“ his mother is catarina. ”

“ yeah. ”

“ I’ll be in colorado next week. I’ll visit her, personally. ”

“ thank you. ”

col sets his pen down. “ alright. continue, please. ”

“ I didn’t get a call back until the next day, ” azzy says, lacing his fingers together and squeezing them so hard it hurts. “ rosa was in the hospital and barely coherent. I told her I’d fly out immediately - and I did. but by the time I got there she had already died. burn wounds, of course. ” his voice feels stuck in his throat. he swallows, but it doesn’t help. “ fuck - you should’ve seen how bad they were. I don’t know how she made it away. ”

col’s gaze is carefully blank. “ and the rest? ”

azzy gestures, vaguely, his own gaze sliding away to fix onto the corner of the desk. “ scattered across the city. found in alleyways here and there. best I can tell is that iovita led them on a chase. or… chased them, I guess. ”

he hears col lean forward, pen to paper again. “ rose, damian, nathan…? ”

azzy finishes the list for him, “ lewis, sam, and TJ. ”

col sucks air through his teeth. “ I was hoping to promote TJ. ”

“ he would have made a good handler, ” azzy agrees, voice heavy. silence falls for a moment, but he’s quick to break it. “ what the fuck was their problem this time? usually they don’t tussle with six hunters at once. my hunters, at that. ”

col gives him a look. “ and what would you do, if six witches were coming after you? ”

azzy sits back. “ I’d do my goddamn job. this isn’t iovita’s fucking job. ”

the withering glance col gives him is enough to make azzy blood boil. his voice rises.“ six of my hunters are dead, col! six! and you know who gets to tell their friends and families? do you know who gets to bury them? do you know who gets to be at every single one of their funerals? ”

col puts a hand out. “ do you really think they would have taken out io? ”

io. col always calls them io. it’s annoying. azzy grits his teeth. “ this time? yeah. yeah, they would have. ”

“ stop that, ” col’s voice carries an edge this time, “ and tell me the truth. ”

“ I’m not delusional! I really think they would have. ”

col lifts an eyebrow. when azzy doesn’t back down, he nods. “ alright. I believe you. ” he taps his fingers against the desk. call it a gut feeling, but azzy knows he doesn’t actually believe him.

and why should he? all six of azzy subordinates are dead. he knows that when he closes his eyes tonight, the police reports are going to flash behind his eyelids. every burned corpse and every unseeing pair of eyes.

azzy takes a long, slow breath. it doesn’t help. “ you’re… busy with that superpack in the states, right? ”

“ mmhm. ” col’s gaze slides towards his monitors. “ two-thirds should be gone by december, if everything moves smoothly. will you make an amendment to io’s file? make the entire thing on hold. I don’t want to lose more hunters right now. ”

“ you know some will still try, ” azzy points out.

“ I don’t want to lose more of our good hunters. ”

“ oh. ”

col doesn’t say anything else. azzy shifts in his seat, but he knows col’s dismissal when he sees it. standing up, he goes to leave.

“ azzy? ”

turning around, he sees that col has leaned sideways to fix him with a hard look. “ that means you, too. I need you. ”

“ I won’t do anything stupid, ” azzy promises. col raises an eyebrow, but says nothing else.

as he closes the door behind him, azzy pulls out his phone, scrolls through his contacts list, and taps on a name.

[ sms sent , 16:15 ] newest location for iov s?

[ sms received , 16:18 ] pending.

[ sms received , 17:21 ] one lead. will know tomorrow if good or not.

[friskyo7puns]

When you about to rage quit.. anyway gamer girl friend and boyfriend just playing together. She's using his arm a back rest and the mouse pad as a cushion. He's just wheezing lol

Computer screen lol