#friable

[dangerdust2]

Why asbestos mulch crisis is just the tip of a lethal iceberg

Don’t be fooled by the expert reassurances that only friable, or dusty, asbestos is dangerous. It’s true that dust is the danger: inhaling the microscopic particles of asbestos dust can decades later result in the deadly cancers caused by asbestos, and no safe level of exposure has yet to be identified.

Non-friable or bonded asbestos, we are told, is safe. That’s true, assuming the glue still bonds the fibres and it remains undisturbed. But asbestos cement manufacturing in Australia ceased in the mid-1980s. That means the asbestos fibre cement in our buildings is now between 40 and 100 years old, and its bonding agent no longer glues the fibres together effectively. Tests around the world have demonstrated that such old asbestos cement is now past its used-by date. The bonding is no longer effective, and when the fibro is exposed to the wind and rain, it sheds fibres that scatter through the surrounding environment.

So the next time you walk past a decaying corrugated roof or fence, hold your breath! 

[feliichu]

[briarpatch-kids]

I genuinely think some people assume you can just dig a hole in any soil and plant any seed and have a harvest from it. People really don't understand what goes into building a decent soil to grow vegetables in.

[votsalot]

my fake blood experiments were a success! (kept pigment vibrant while diluting the syrup enough that it doesn't dry sticky)

i did a lot more sewing yesterday than i anticipated because i decided to let out my palamedes cosply pants (very amateurly, but he's supposed to look super roughed up so it lends itself to the look) so i didn't get to apply blood to the suit, but i did most of my artful tearing / burning

[moneypuzzleexchanger]

Funniest sentence to me... What is UP john?!

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Heart-Stopping

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Surgeon!Female!Reader

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: fluff

Summary: After a ten-hour surgery, all you want to do is go home and be with your husband. When he comes into the ER needing surgery, your entire world is turned upside down.

Square Filled: "Oh, don't worry, this blood isn't mine." (2022) for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You trudge out of the OR into the scrub room to clean your hands and arms. The surgery you were just in lasted an atrocious ten hours. You’ve gone for more, but this was so tough since the patient’s heart kept arresting and her blood vessels were so friable that it was hard to do any kind of stitches. Still, you managed to get her fixed and stable enough to be transferred to the ICU.

All you want to do is go home to your husband and cuddle until you fall asleep in his arms. He understands your job and how you can’t always be home with him. He’s in the FBI so he has the same demand even if he’s doing work that’s completely different. The reason your marriage works is that you two make it a point to call each other every day, plan an at-home date every week, a date anywhere that’s not your house every month, and have a small vacation every six months.

He’s your rock and you don’t know what you’d do without him in your life. He’s your biggest supporter and the love of your life.

You’re scrubbing away the sweat and grime from your hands when your pager goes off. You grab a microfiber towel and dry your hands before checking the pager. 911 ER. You toss the towel away and run out of the room hoping you can get to the ER in time. There is a patient who needs your attention and might die if you’re not there. It amazes you that you have so much energy after a surgery like that and maybe it’s because of the silent promise of saving as many people as you can.

You push the double doors open that lead into the ER and look around to see if you can spot the patient that needs you.

“Dr. Y/N! I need you to know that everything is okay…”

You can’t hear anything your resident says because all you’re focused on is your husband lying on a stretcher covered in blood. Your entire world comes crashing to a stop. You’re a very skilled heart doctor but it feels like your own heart is going to stop at the thought of your life without Spencer in it. His coworkers, Derek and Emily, are by his side without blood on their clothes.

“Y/N!” Derek grabs your shoulders and snaps you out of the silent panic you’re in. “He’s okay, I promise he’ll be fine.”

“What happened? Spencer!”

You rush over to him, and he grabs your hand gently.

“Oh, don’t worry, this blood isn’t mine,” he mumbles.

“What happened?” you ask Derek and Emily.

“There was an accident. He tried to save our victim and got caught in the crossfire. She’s right behind him.”

“Y/N, we’ll take care of him.”

You turn to see your chief of surgery and your best friend who has a determined yet empathetic look on his face. You can’t take care of your husband because he’s your husband so the only person you trust to take care of him is the chief.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Don’t let him die, please.”

“We go it. Go to Trauma One!”

Spencer is wheeled to the first trauma room just as the victim comes in right behind him. She, you can help. Spencer is wheeled into surgery to fix an injury on his leg while the general surgeon and neurosurgeon take the victim to surgery. If there is anything to be done on her heart, they’ll call you in. You’re stuck thinking about Spencer instead of being in surgery to take your mind off it. You leave Trauma Two and walk over to Emily and Derek who are talking to each other.

“What happened to him?”

“There was a car accident, the car the victim was in. They skidded on a patch of ice and the car slammed into a tree, ejecting the victim out of the windshield. Spencer was the first to her which is how he got all of her blood on him. Another car came around the corner and didn’t see the crashed vehicle, and they collided with it, sending shrapnel into Spencer’s leg. He lost a lot of blood on the way over here.”

“Shit,” you whisper with tears in your eyes.

“He’s going to be okay. You have a talented team of doctors here.”

“I know,” you nod.

There is no choice but to wait for Spencer to get out of surgery. When he is, they take him to a private room where you can sit with him. It takes twenty minutes for him to come out of the anesthesia, but he’s still pretty loopy from it.

“Hey, baby, how are you doing?”

You take out your stethoscope and check his heart and lungs, relief clouding your head when you don’t hear anything bad about it.

“Doctor�� I need… I need some… some flowers.”

“Flowers? For what?”

“My wife. Her birthday is this weekend, and I want to get her flowers.”

Your heart swells happily at his little confession. He knows how much you love getting flowers. They brighten up even the darkest of places.

“It’s very important, please.” He rolls his head to the side and looks at you through hooded eyes. He doesn’t seem to recognize it’s his wife right in front of him. “I need you… Can you write her a card for me?”

“What do you want it to say?”

“I love her. Her eyes are pretty. She makes me so happy. Just say that.”

“Okay,” you grin with tears in your eyes.

Spencer’s eyes close and you sit next to his bed. You grab his hand and kiss the back of it, content with staying just like this until he wakes up.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[389]

Nepalese Lingzhi Fungus Mask, probably 19th century

This extraordinary mask has been formed from a large, single Lingzhi fungus (Ganoderma Lucidum). The natural structure of the fungus has been coaxed into forming a nose, ears, a mouth and eyes. Two holes on either side allow for a natural twine to have been threaded through so that the mask can be either worn or hung for (perhaps) ritual display. The surface is hard, glossy and dramatically wrinkled. It is believed that such masks were worn ritually to frighten off malevolent spirits. Most extant fungus masks are of black (or blackened) Lingzhi fungus. Pannier (2009, p. 68) illustrates a mask translated as a ‘mushroom’ mask which appears to be made from a single fungus – possibly a Lingzhi – but coloured with red pigment. Nepalese fungus masks are rare. Dating them is difficult. There are few in private or museum collections. The surface is glossy and encrusted with a varying patina suggesting some significant age. Possibly it was darkened with soot although there is no residual smokiness present. The example here is in an excellent, stable condition with just the odd small loss to the extremities as might be expected. The texture is hard and robust rather than crumbly and friable. It has a wood-like consistency.

[imsilay]

FRIABLE

“easily broken into pieces”

cw: toxic ex!König (not so ex lmao), smut :>, noncon. (idk lmk if i missed something)

summary: König doesn’t believe in breaking up.

(cr on pic)

You were relaxed, totally carefree in your home. Couch full of blankets and pillows, so warm and cozy. Just how you liked it. A sitcom playing in the TV as a background noise when you heard a noise, a loud, very loud thud from your kitchen. The thud made you feel like a hand's nails digging into your heart, squeezing it in its palm. Heavy footsteps followed the thud. You quickly grabbed your phone and pulled the covers up to your head, so the intruder wouldn't notice you immediately. Hopefully, not until you managed to call the police. The trembling of your hands made it harder to type your password correctly. Your fingers stumbling to find the correct numbers to click, and the constant noise of footsteps was making it harder. When you couldn’t manage to type the password - swearing yourself under your breath for setting such a ridiculous code- the footsteps inched closer and closer. You tried to calm your breathing, squeezing the blankets in your fist in an attempt to calm down, hoping the intruder wouldn’t notice you and leave after getting whatever they want.

“What are you doing there, Maus?” you heard him chuckle lightly and bend his knees to be at the same level as your lying form. And you froze, hoping you heard him wrong. It could be him, right? Yeah, you broke up with him long ago and he hadn’t reacted to you ever since. You must have heard wrong. “Did you think you became invisible by covering yourself like that, hm?” he cooed, his voice dripping with honey. Making you wish it was just a robber with a voice similar to him. But once a hand grabbed the covers and pulled them off, you had to face the truth. König was here. Still looking down at you with that icy blue eyes and endless love in them. His eyes moved down from your eyes to your lips, then down to your cleavage. And then down to your thighs, exposed from your shorts. As if he was deciding his path to follow. Then he tilted his head to the side and looked back into your eyes. They were wide open and staring at him, trying to understand his intentions. “I liked the choice in clothes but I would love it if you weren’t wearing anything.” he joked and chuckled again as his hand came to cup your face and pull you up to sit straight before him.

“What are you doing here?” a scowl started to form on your face. You were sure that you made it obvious that you didn’t want him anymore when you broke up with him three whole months ago. And you were certain he understood it because he never called you since. So why’d he break into your house now? “And did you broke my fucking door?” now, you were scowling and your hand had raised to grab his and yank it away from your face. However, he was quick to move before you, managing to place himself away from your reach, before standing up fully before you. His hands left your face for a moment before sitting next to you and wrapping his arms around your smaller form. “It was the only way in, you didn’t think I would fit into the window, ja?” his voice full of amusement as it showed that he couldn’t care less about being your ex. You placed your hands on his forearms in a pathetic attempt to push him off, but it only made him tighten his grip and pull your body onto his lap. “Don’t be like that.” he huffed like a kid who couldn’t get candy, “I missed Meine Königin so much. Didn’t you miss me?” he mumbled, his head nuzzled into your neck. You stopped squirming to get out of his grasp as he pressed his nose into your neck through his mask.

You were speechless about how casual he was about the whole thing. “We broke up.” you felt that you needed to remind him since he acted like you never did. “Hmm?” he mumbled softly, his thumbs caressing the skin of your upper back and waist. and his arms cradling your body so tightly that there was barely a centimetre between your bodies. “I said, we broke up!” you proclaimed, trying to push him, “So stop hugging me!” you yelled as your hands were squeezed between the both your bodies, preventing you from moving even an inch. “Let go of me!” you yelled at him, irritated with his strength. “I missed your scent.” he mumbled completely ignoring you cries to be free, “You always smell so good.” One of his hands let go of you only to take off his mask and reveal his face to you. Then it found its place on your back. You wanted to scream at him, to curse and spit on his face. And you did. But he only smiled, pressing his lips on yours to shut you up. He thought the way you yelled at him was cute. His tongue explored your mouth like a King came back to celebrate his victory in his land after a successful battle. His lips sucked yours as if he was drinking water first time after three month.

He groaned into your mouth when you bit his bottom lip to stop him from kissing you so hungrily but it made the blood in his system rush southwards. He buckled his hips upwards to meet yours and when his crotch pressed against yours he let out another groan. Being away from you made him more sensitive than he is, that was why you felt him grow harder under your hips as he kissed you breathless and grabbed a fistful of your hair desperately. When he was out of breath he let go of your lips just to press his lips onto your neck and breath in your scent. “You son of a…” you started to curse at him but your voice cut off with a gasp when he bit the soft skin on your neck. He immediately licked and pressed a soft kiss on ther irritated skin but you knew it would leave a bruise. “Let me have you, Meine Königin.” he purred, his voice was sweet like honey, like a child asking for a hug. But he was not a child and you weren’t the one to oblige his wishes. Well not anymore. “No.” you said firmly. His hands squeezed your sides like he couldn’t bear the thought of not having you. Being inside your tight cunt, having your sweaty body agains his, kissing you as he felt you got close and clench around him was like breathing for him.

He needed you for living. “Meine Königin.” he breathed as he looked into your eyes with with tears welling eyes. “Don’t you love me? You know i’m the best for you. No one can love you the way i do. Can’t you feel how i need you, hm?” he moved his hips up to press his huge bulge on your crotch, earning a little whimper from you when he brushed against your most sensitive spot. His eyes lit up at the sound of your cute whimper but he hide it immediately after noticing the scowl on your face. “I didn’t forgive you for what you did.” you spat at him and got angrier when you remembered what he did. “Are you still talking about that guy?” he growled and pressed you against him firmly like anyone can steal you from his arms in any moment. “He was hitting on you. I did what i should do.” his tone giving away how ‘regretful’ he was by his actions. “You shoot his legs, both of them, before my eyes!” you shouted at him completely speechless by the way he acted. “We’re over it now. It’s nothing you should think about anymore. And where were we?” he mumbled then a smile tugged on his lips before adding, “Oh, i was about to take these off.” he threw your shirt and bra off before you could register what was happening and buried his head between your soft mounds. You put your hands on his shoulders to push him away but he captured one of your nipples into his mouth and sucked gently, knowing how sensitive they were. You moaned softly before squeezing the shoulders of his tight black shirt as he rolled his tongue around your nipple.

Your mind got foggy for a second when he gently nibbled and hungrily sucked one of them whilst pinching and rolling the other. “K-König stop-“ you moaned and grabbed his hair desperately, but not to pull him away. Instead you pulled him closer as your body rose up from the way it had you feel like. You didn’t knew why but any intimate touch felt way more intense with him. By the time you wanted to slap him across the face, you also wanted to grab his hair and pressed his face into your pussy. You could feel the slickness on your panties when he switched up to the other nipple and sweetly tortured it the same. “Every inch of you is so delicious.” he mumbled with a dizzy tone as he let go of your breasts and licked a line from your neck to your ear. “It makes me want to eat you whole.” he whispered, his tone was thick with lust and desperation. “If i could be inside your sweet cunt all the time,” he trailed off to press his massive bulge into your clad pussy. “i would never want to leave this pretty pussy.” he purred and eventually his thick fingers brushed over your waist to stop on your waistband. “Now i will ask you for the last time, Meine Königin. Can i take you?” then he added with a sensual kiss on the back of your ear, like the sweet boy he is, “Bitte?” the situation got you dizzy with the want, you could feel the wetness ruining your panties, the need for him to fuck you into the makeshift nest on your couch. You still haven’t forgiven him but you decided to delay it when he pressed you right onto his crotch by your hips.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc <3 your comments also makes my day :* and i love to reply all of them :>

i need him so bad _(´ཀ`」 ∠)_

[rememberwren]

Ghoap x civilian!reader who comes home from work in a teary panic attack. Simon and Johnny obviously rush to her and try to calm her down. When asked what happened she explained how she was SA’d or harassed by a man on her way home. Simon and or Johnny are SEETHING with anger that someone would dare lay a hand on their girl, but they do their best to stay calm in front of her, silently agreeing to each other that they’ll find that son of a bitch later. Their main priority is to take care of her. One or two of them gets her in a bath, washes her hair and just overall being an amazing fluffy boyfriend/s while soothing her and kissing away her tears. If only one of the boys is doing that the other one could be pacing around the house seething with anger, trying to find out who that man was and where they can find him. Idk up to you, just a random thought :)

(This goes without saying but you obviously don’t have to write this if you are uncomfortable with the situation. I just love fics where the boys are lovingly (and reasonably) protective of reader. Love your fics btw thank you for being such an awesome writer💖💖)

CW: recent non-con.

“Tell me again how you’ll do it,” you mutter, half asleep with your arms on the ledge of the bathtub, chin resting on your folded hands. Goosebumps have bloomed along your shaking limbs. Johnny reaches out and lays the back of three fingers against your shoulder, feeling the chill of your skin. He reaches out and turns the faucet back on, letting the hot water run and run until you stop shivering. 

“Slow,” says Ghost from where he’s perched on the edge of the vanity. His arms are crossed, fists tucked out of your sight. “That’s what it comes down to. It’ll be slow. He’ll be alive for most of it, alive well past the moment when he wishes he weren’t.” 

You give a sleepy smile. It wavers, suspended for an endless moment on your pretty face, and then it falls, tears filling your eyes. You shift away from the ledge and dip beneath the water, hair floating up toward the surface as you stay under until your lungs burn. They wait. When you come back up, gasping for breath, you can pretend that the water on your face is from the tub. 

Johnny turns the hot water off. He hands you the washcloth again though you have scrubbed yourself raw already; a well worn routine. He goes to add a dollop of your favorite soap—the kind that smells like almonds—but you stop him and ask for the soap that they use. 

“I want to smell like you,” you say, eyelids drooping with exhaustion. Johnny reaches for the proper soap and squirts a health dose onto the washcloth. He winces when you shove the washcloth below the water and between your legs. 

“Don’t, love,” he says. “Yer going to hurt yourself.” 

“I’m already hurt,” you snap, the tenor of your voice fragile, friable. You take a deep, trembling breath and let it out. Then you say: “Tell me again.” 

“SlowIy,” Ghost says, patient. He has answered this question in various gory forms for the last two hours. “I want him aware, for as long as possible before I kill him.” 

“We,” says Johnny firmly. 

“We,” Ghost amends, nodding. 

“What’s stopping you?” you ask morosely. 

“Just a dog waiting to be let off the leash,” says Ghost. 

The washcloth between your thighs slows, then stops. You let it float to the surface of the tub and reach out a pruning hand towards Ghost who slips off the vanity and onto his knees on the wet tiles, slipping his hand into yours. He helps you stand, your legs shaking, unused to the cramped position the tub demanded of you. 

Johnny is there with a towel. He presses the water from your hair and wraps you up, gentle against your chafed skin. They help you into bed, pulling back the sheets and tucking you in like you haven’t been since you were a child. The tears come back, and this time you have nothing to blame them on. Nothing. They drip down the sides of your face towards your temples, but Johnny catches every single one.

“Ghost?” 

He turns, head cocked, ear towards you while he waits for your word. 

You say, sleepily: “Go get him.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Geology Vocabulary

for your next poem/story (pt. 1)

Abyssal plain - A flat region of the deep ocean floor.

Aeolian - Describes materials formed, eroded, or deposited by or related to the action of wind.

Braided stream - A sediment-clogged stream that forms multiple channels that divide and rejoin.

Colluvium - A general term applied to loose and incoherent deposits, usually at the foot of a slope or cliff and brought there chiefly by gravity.

Conchoidal - Resembling the curve of a conch shell and used to describe a smoothly curved surface on a rock or mineral; characteristic of quartz and obsidian.

Devitrification - Conversion of glass to crystalline material.

Dune - A low mound or ridge of sediment, usually sand, deposited by the wind.

Ephemeral lake - A short-lived lake.

Estuary - The seaward end or tidal mouth of a river where freshwater and seawater mix.

Euhedral - A grain bounded by perfect crystal faces; well-formed.

Fenestral - Having openings or transparent areas in a rock.

Fluvial - Of or pertaining to a river or rivers.

Friable - Describes a rock or mineral that is easily crumbled.

Granoblastic - Describes the texture of a metamorphic rock in which recrystallization formed crystals of nearly the same size in all directions.

Hermatypic - Describes a type of reef-building coral that is incapable of adjusting to conditions lacking sunlight.

Hot spring - A thermal spring whose temperature is above that of the human body.

Isthmus - A narrow strip or neck of land, bordered on both sides by water, connecting two larger land areas.

Lacustrine - Describes a process, feature, or organism pertaining to, produced by, or inhabiting a lake.

Lithify - To change to stone, or to petrify; especially to consolidate from a loose sediment to solid rock.

Lunar tide - The part of the tide caused solely by the tide-producing force of the Moon.

Source ⚜ More: Word Lists

[fille--de--joies]

Squared

I know you're afraid. I am afraid too; so I

tread cautiously on the friable cloud that's

become our shared writing desk, our

single size mattress, our celestial home, far

above the mundane attrition and its

daily prosaic decease.

Simmer down, love—

You don't have to

perfectly square your answers so that they

don't get sucked into my circular aspirations;

I have long since decided to

no longer swallow angles.

✒️ F. J.

[eiraeths]

Injuries in the field aren’t uncommon out in the field. Harsh, unforgiving terrains with adversaries lurking around every corner and spilt blood becomes commonplace. Different positions have different mortality rates. None of them ever talk about it, their job serves as enough of a reminder it takes one misstep, one stray bullet or a single line of misinformed intel, and they’ll be shipped back in a box if they have any family to return home to.

When signing up for covert ops, they’ve already made their piece with how things will go. More dangerous conditions and off the books operations and they’re likely to die with no one around.

Sometimes, they forget. Sometimes they can ride the high of doing something no one else could do but them. They’ll get reminded how fragile the human body can be in the worst possible way.

It’s a cosmic joke, and like all cosmic jokes, they’re never funny. Finagles law is a cruel, devastating thing. For something so resilient in the face of inconceivable hardships, it’s stupidly brittle. So fucking vitreous and so fucking friable.

Ghost doesn’t think Johnny can get any paler. He’s never seen the scot without sun-kissed skin paired with a healthy sheen of vitality, not even in Las Almas. It’s off-putting, so fucking wrong.

Even with a body count longer than Ghost’s willing to count, he doesn’t think he’s seen this much blood in his life. It doesn’t seem plausible for so much blood to be in one person’s body. He doesn’t know how Johnny is still conscious.

[wachinyeya]

Washington State Bans Single-Use Foam That Breaks up and Pollutes Waterways for Orcas and Salmon https://www.goodnewsnetwork.org/washington-state-bans-single-use-foam-that-breaks-up-and-pollutes-waterways-for-orcas-and-salmon/

[natalievoncatte]

Lena was in the dark in more ways than one.

The lights in her penthouse were all dark save one, a night light in her en suite to ensure that she didn’t take a fall if she got up. Swirling the edge of a migraine, she’s grown tired of an again-delayed product launch and the hoary halls of power and their patriarchs. Few things frustrated her more than the spiteful condescension of old men clinging to a world with all the success of a man trying to gather all the sand in a desert through chapped fingers.

Few things annoyed her more.

One of those things, she could give no name. Since Lena had realized Kara’s identity, things had been tense between them. Mostly in a pleasant way; they had been feeling out this new normal, Kara tentatively broaching this or that topic to add to brunch chats and lunchtime gossip.

“Oh,” she’d say, “that last alien hit pretty hard,” as if being knocked clean through a fertilizer plant by a blow to the head were part of her commute.

To Lena it was all new, but there was something else with it. Something neither of them dared to name, some friable, delicate new shape that they could only feel by its edges. It began with Kara bombarding Lena with friendship. Fresh breakfasts hand-delivered at hypersonic speeds. Daily lunches. For the last month, Kara had spent every weekend at Lena’s, or vice versa.

Lena’s penthouse had a guest bedroom. Kara’s place had a bed and a sofa. Comfy, but it was no bed. That was how the dance began. The first steps were hesitant, the dancers circling each other without breaking the barrier. A token argument about who gets the bed, only for them both to share it. And once they’d shared it at Kara’s place, it made no sense for Lena to confine a living space heater to the guest room.

They didn’t discuss, or analyze, or talk it out. No boundaries were ever set, and so the dance continued. What started as two people curled up in a big king bed on opposite sides became the pair of them entangling during the night, then skipping the pretext and curling up with each other before the lights went out.

It was driving Lena insane. Kara never pushed, not really, and yet it just seemed to happen. It was as if her best friend was daring her to take the initiative. The morning when Lena awoke to find Kara’s arm protectively curled about her waist, her thumb hooked on the waistband of Lena’s lounge pants, she’d almost turned over and said something.

The excuse she made was that Kara needed her sleep after the pummeling she’d taken that afternoon. That Lena enjoyed how Kara grazed the pad of her thumb over Lena’s hip bone was incidental.

Lying in the dark, Lena knew that Kara had arrived by the sound of the balcony door opening and didn’t bother to call out to her. Still dressed in her suit, Kara peeked into the bedroom, her movements tentative, somehow almost birdlike.

She came back a moment later with a cool, damp cloth for Lena’s forehead and a few murmured questions, before excusing herself.

“Darling, you can stay,” Lena sighed. “I want you to.”

“Okay,” Kara whispered back, lightly seeping stray curls from Lena’s eyes. “I need to change. No peeking.”

And why would you be worried I’ll peek? Lena thought. A platonic Best Friend isn’t going to peek. Best friends don’t do that, just like they don’t nuzzle into each other on the couch. If Lena were Kara’s best friend, then Lena wouldn’t be looking so much, so openly. Admiring Kara’s smile and her biceps and the way her abdominal muscles strained those button-downs.

She wouldn’t be thinking so much about the touches, the way she’d sat in Kara’s lap for hours at a time or how Kara had carried her to bed or how Supergirl had lingered to cradle her post-rescue, well past the point of safety.

Lena wasn’t aware she was peeking until she’s already started. Kara’s suit had taken care of itself; it was her work clothes she needed to discard. When Lena turned over, there was the broad expanse of Kara’s beautifully muscled back, flexing deliciously as she pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms.

Because Kara kept multiple sets of PJs at Lena’s place.

In Lena’s bedroom.

Because this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Lena turned back, knowing with certainty that Kara knew. She must have heard the creaking of the mattress and the soft whisper of skin on silk sheets and the rapidity if Lena’s traitorous heart.

When Kara climbed in with Lena, the world shrank around the pair of them. Kara swept immediately to the boundary tonight, gathering Lena in her arms, hands finding spots just on this side of chaste, and their bodies molded together.

Lena was finally able to get some sleep.

When she awoke, later, Kara stirred with her.

“Zhao,” Kara muttered.

Lena froze, blinking in the dark. That wasn’t a nonsense word; it was Kryptonian.

“Come back. Zhao,” Kara muttered, as Lena stirred. She didn’t seem to be properly waking.

A nickname?

Lena couldn’t remember when she’d started calling Kara Darling, though she increasingly wished she had.

Dear diary, it was on this day at this date that I admitted my feelings to myself before wrapping them in cardboard and then in concrete and then in steel before shoving them somewhere deep down.

Kara, for her part, had tried a few pet names but most were one offs, never quite fitting. She’d even called Lena “buddy” once before Lena had cut that shit off with an arched brow.

Lena stilled. She could deny Kara nothing, and so drifted off to sleep.

By some quirk of fate, they woke almost at the same time. Lena was still groggy and bleary-eyed when Kara’s sky-blues flitted open, bringing more light than the sun itself. She shifted in the bed without letting Lena go and began to murmur something in Kryptonian, cutting herself off as that last sharp, buzzing word tumbled from her lips.

The only world froze. Kara stared at Lena with wide eyes, and the sudden tension between them made both women go rigid, neither willing to move, to break it.

“You called me that in your sleep,” Lena finally whispered. “Zhao. What does it mean?”

Kara was unusually pale.

“Oh, it’s sort of a term of endearment in Kryptonian. It means, um, ah…”

Lena sighed, cracking a soft smile. “Kara, I’m not fluent by any measure, but I know enough Kryptonian to know what Zhao means.”

“Oh,” Kara whispered, barely more than a short and sharp exhale.

“Even if I didn’t,” Lena whispered, locking eyes with her. “Your hand is literally on my ass right now.”

“Oh. Um. Golly. I’m sorry, I…”

Kara started to pull back. Lena gently took hold of Kara’s wrist and held her hand there. Her heart fluttered not only at the strength in Kara’s forearm but how those steel cable muscles went slack beneath her touch.

Lena swiveled her hips.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Kara whispered.

“Oh, trust me, I’ve got that covered,” said Lena.

Kara shivered. “No, I mean… I don’t know what to…” She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing.

Lena pressed in closer, until the space between them was more a theoretical concept than an actuality.

“Just say what you want to say.”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

Lena snorted a laugh, briefly ashamed at her inner dork, and afraid that Kara would take offense.

“Kara, you’ve been sleeping over every weekend with your hand in my pants for months. Yes, I will be your girlfriend.”

Kara grinned, starting to sit up.

“Come on, zhao,” said Kara.

Giving their partner a nickname/having their partner give them a nickname.

[coovieilledentelle]

A table .... et comme dessert..Muffins chocolat et poires pochées au café

 Un dessert chocolaté facile dans sa réalisation, sans prise de tête, avec des ingrédients de base et tellement régressif ne peut que vous plaire, n'est ce pas ? Surtout si comme moi vous êtes atteints de  gourmandise !!!! 

INGRÉDIENT :

Pour 6 moules de 8 cm de diamètre

Pour la pâte à muffins : 300 gr chocolat 180 gr de beurre 2 œufs 200 gr de farine à levure incorporée 75 gr de sucre glace 30 gr de cacao Pour le sirop : 700 ml d'eau 150 gr de sucre 1 cuillère à soupe de café soluble 2 cuillères à soupe de cacao 6 petites poiresPRÉPARATION:

Épluchez et citronnez les poires en gardant leurs queues. Dans une casserole, mélangez l'eau, le sucre, le café et le cacao et portez à ébullition. Réduisez le feu et déposez les poires. Faites cuire 10 minutes environ. Retirez les poires et les réservez.Faites fondre le beurre et le chocolat haché au micro-onde. Ajoutez le sucre glace, la farine, le cacao et le œufs préalablement battus.Mélangez rapidement au fouet, et répartissez la pâte dans les alvéoles des moules. Déposez les poires et faites cuire à 180° dans un four préchauffé 15 à 20 minutes selon la texture souhaitée ( plus on prolonge la cuisson plus on obtient une texture friable comme pour un sablé. Une cuisson plus courte, donnera des muffins moelleux).

[lgwifey]

masterlist 🤍

navigation

blur

damon albarn

★ jealousy / part two

★ distractions

★ friable

★ the little sister

★ parties and pyjamas

★ fourty eight

★ run

graham coxon

★ the extra

★ pinky promise

alex james

★ council estate

★ lifestyle

oasis

noel gallagher

★ capture / part two

★ the unwanted visitor

★ parties and pyjamas

★ traumatised

★ metanoia

★ the green room

★ bestfriend's brother

★ quick kisses

liam gallagher

★ playing happy families

★ happiness

★ council estate

★ metanoia

★ bestfriend's brother

★ toxic one / part two / part three / part four

★ toxic (seperate oneshot)

nepotism babies

lennon gallagher

★ getting older part one / part two / part three / part four / part five

gene gallagher

★ getting older part one / part two / part three / part four / part five

★ home time

★ photoshoot

★ sunlight

inhaler

robert keating

★ delusions / part two

elijah hewson

★ perks of the job

twilight

edward cullen

★ homesick / part two / part three

caius volturi

★ constant complications

derry girls

david donnelley

★ teenage kicks (wattpad link)