#handwashing for a better world.

[gaypornvideoswebsite]

care is deliberate and enduring

[Image ID: a series of six cartoon illustrations depicting how to hand wash a kufiya, titled “How to wash your kufiya & deliberate care for delicate things. Each step reads as follows: Add cold water and half a teaspoon of detergent to a large wash basin. Completely soak your kufiya for 10-20 minutes. Gently wring out the water without squeezing too hard. Lay your kufiya on a dry towel and roll it up, pressing gently. let it dry for 20-30 minutes. Unroll and air dry out of direct sun to maintain colour vibrancy. End ID]

[spitblaze]

I can't find any reliable sources on if 17th-century inns and hotels had individual bathrooms per room or if it was a shared privy/outhouse/chamberpot kinda situation. I kinda assume its the latter but if anyone has any better grasp on it I'd love to know

[crsssie]

pov ur therapy is doom shopping - tim drake x reader (pretty bird countdown #1)

The world stops for no one.

You drum your fingers against the marble of your kitchen island, browsing through online shops while you're supposed to be working on your paper, humming to yourself as the rain outside your window drums erratically against the glass. It's far too late for you to be awake, but you're also waiting for someone to get home. You wonder why he had picked such an early patrol time for once. It wasn't common for him to be back before two.

"The rain is terrible." Tim sighs, window opening as he slides in, unclasping his boots and cape, locking the window as he turns on the tint. "You alright?"

You hum at him, continuing with your shopping. 

"Whatcha looking at?" He peels off his suit, dropping it down the chute as it lands with a thud, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he stares at your screen.

"Doom shopping?"

"The day's been slow."

"I figured." He hums. "It's why I took an early shift."

"You seem to know me a little too well." You mumble, no real malice behind your words, clicking add to cart. 

"Isn't it nice?"

"I suppose." You scroll through your cart, blinking twice before closing your laptop. "How was patrol?"

"You don't need to fill in the silence, you know?" He squeezes you, carrying you in his arms as he tells you about patrol anyway. You need time off from your mind, and he's more than willing to help you out. You'd have a higher chance of being better in the morning than anything else. "So? What did you do while I was out?"

"I put the dishes in the dishwasher." You hum. "Not to dry. To wash. I think we officially have enough dishes to use the dishwasher instead of handwashing."

"Mhm?"

"And I also made some steamed egg." You shift slightly in his arms as he reaches to open the bedroom door. 

"Did you save me some?"

"Yeah." You yawn. "Middle section of the upper fridge. If you want anything else, there's quite a couple of things in the freezer. I think we need to eat the costco mac n cheese soon."

Tim laughs. "Yeah?"

"Mhm. Also, I was looking through my photos that I got before my gramps passed..."

"Were you thinking about him?"

"I was." You close your eyes as he sets you down on the bed. "I think that's why I'm so down right now."

"Yeah. I feel that." He mumbles. "I'll shower and then we can get to bed, alright? Feel free to keep browsing. The tablet is charged."

"Alright." 

Tim finds that taking care of you is no big deal no matter how tired he is. It's as easy to take care of you as it is to breathe, and even with the ring on your ear and the band on your finger, he finds that it has only gotten easier to be your other half. He's sure you would say the same, your ring never leaving your finger even while resting — never gone even when he's bloody from the worse days of patrol. The dirt and grime slide down his body as he washes, bathroom door opening as you move to sit in the tub to be by him.

"You alright?"

The lack of response and comfortable silence tells Tim all he needs to know.

"Did you see the new video from Bernard?"

"The one detailing Nightwing as a vampire?"

"Yeah."

"I did." You hum.

"Thoughts?"

"Found it funny. He used one of my photosets from April Fools years back as evidence and I thought I was going to lose my mind." You hum. "Do you think the study could fit a couple more blind boxes?"

"I'm sure it can... somehow. We can always layer the figures." Tim reaches for face wash. "Oh, right. I saw your serum was low. Do you need more?"

"I went over my spending limit for the month, so next month." You mumble. "What do you think about a custom figure?"

"You'd have to be filthy rich for that, no?" He pauses. "Wait. Pretty bird. Why do you have a limit if my credit card never maxes out—"

"Well, aren't you filthy rich?" You raise a brow. "What if you divorce me one day?"

"I am." Tim agrees, closing his mouth to wash his face. "That's not happening. Shoo. You'll put me in my grave before I let you get away from me."

"Then, we can afford it." You hum. "Well, might as well spend the money. Considering that we don't want kids and all." You choose to ignore his words.

"I can't believe your mom is still pestering me to change your mind." Tim sighs. "What gene do they want to continue down the bloodline? Your brain?"

"Your brain, birdie." You chuckle. "You're rich, smart, and other than..."

"Hey, don't bring my height into this!" Tim gasps. "Rude." 

"Hey, I didn't say shit." You grumble. "You know damn well your family has a tall gene."

"I might kill you." 

"That'd align perfectly with my interests." You blow a raspberry at him through the glass.

"Regardless, I told her she's getting no grandchildren. Told her I'm sterile."

You cough, laugh stuck in your chest as you gasp for air, wheezing in the process.

"You alright, pretty bird?"

"I just lost it, sorry." You cough, trying to get the words out. "You are NOT sterile."

"That vasectomy says otherwise."

"That makes you infertile!"

"Yeah, but if I tell her I'm infertile, she might tell me that we could always do IVF."

"Evil..." You mumble.

"I know." Tim grumbles. "Well, regardless," he turns the water off, "might as well spend money on the things that matter?"

"Which is?"

"My wife's retail therapy." Tim grins, robe wrapped around his body as he opens his arms for you. "Hm?"

"I don't know, birdie." You pretend to think. "Sounds like a lot of money you're spending there."

"Well, it's all worth it. Happy wife, happy life. happy spouse, happy house." He hums. "As long as you're smiling, then it made all of that nonsensical pining I went through when I first met you in person worth it."

"Yeah?"

"Positive." He grins.

"You've become real sappy, you know?"

"And you don't like it?"

"Mm..." You pinch his cheek as he reaches over you to shut the lights. "No. I do."

"I know you do." He pinches your cheek back. "It's why you married me."

"Maybe I married you for your bank account."

Tim pretends to gasp in offense, jaw dropped. "You couldn't have."

You go quiet, Tim reaching over to pinch your cheek again as you bite his fingers.

"Hey!"

You stick your tongue out at him with a 'blegh' and he huffs. 

"Nighty night, pretty bird."

"Love you too, birdie."

[circeyoru]

Gone Too Young _ Part 3 = Collab

[Human & Demon!Alastor x Male BFF!Reader] - Platonic

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 (here) — Part 4

My collaborator: @blubugg13

To Alastor, a friend was something like a dream. A companion that everyone will have but him. But he was content with it, he only needs his mother since his father was anything less than what was expected of the role

Even in school, he didn’t seek out others to have company, he thinks he didn’t need them. He’ll study hard and be quiet with an expressionless face that hidden his unconscious longing for support other than what his mother provides

That’s why he didn’t tell anyone when there were bullies that said and done mean things to him. He didn’t want to bother the teachers, he didn’t want a repeat of what his father would do to him. If even his own father would beat and scold him, what would teachers, whom are strangers to him, do? His world was so dull when his mother was absent from his side, everything was dull that he didn’t care

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing to him!?”

It was that shout that started it all, bring colour into his dull life. His eyes peeked through his bangs with curiosity, he wondered who it was. There you were, sticking your neck into things that didn’t concern you. He knew you, the popular boy that caught everyone’s attention with your charm, something he’d never be

With just a sceond of eye contact, at least he thinks he made eye contact, you turned away. His eyes downcasted as he prepared for another insult or hit when your figure left. But they never stayed long when you returned. He was pulled up gently and pushed behind you while you told everything to the teacher you brought

Then you dragged him to the familiar nurse’s office, he could only stare as you fixed him up. He flinched from your touches and your gentleness. It was something he wasn’t used it, yet now he’s craving more. When you spoke to him, he only listened to your voice, such care in them, like his mother’s. It was only when you said his name did he nod to show you got it right

His heart raced when your group of friends came in, pulling your attention away from him. But he couldn’t reach out for you, you were like the sun and he the moon, he can only observe from afar. Still, when he got a taste of colour, he really didn’t want to let go

“This is Alastor, let’s hang out together!” You words were his light and life. Merely those words did his life changed for the better

It felt like he emerged from his shell, his mother pointing it out after a few weeks. That’s when he told his mother of you, he remembered his mother smiling fondly and patted his head. “That’s a wonderful friend you’ve made, you should treasure it, it’s a rare connection.”

And treasure it he did. Even after he was popular, he didn’t leave your side and maintained a close bond with you. To him, you were the only friend he needed but it wasn’t the case with you, so he managed. You were someone that seek affection from others, like you needed to return something that was given to you. You don’t take things for granted

As time passed, so too did he and you grew. While he found himself unable to share your likes and hobbies, he was relieved to see that this friendship and bond he shared with you did not weaken or break

“Aww, man, now we’re all drenched…” You lamented as you two got out of the river. It was a simple handwashing by the base, but you did a playful push and got Alastor into the waters. As revenge, he dragged you down into the water as well. Then it ended up as a splashing battling. “I’m gonna get yelled at for wasting water…”

“Why not come to my place? We can clean up there and get you some spare clothes.” Alastor offered. Normally, he wouldn’t let you anywhere near his home due to his father, but this time was different because his father was out of town and his mother has been wanting to meet you for sometime

“Really?! Great! Let’s go.” You brightened up like the sun with that smile of yours. Alastor returned with a smile of his own, even when you didn’t have a family of your own and you were always working, you could smile like that. “But I’m blaming you for this mess.”

“No way, you started this!”

“Who pushed who into the river?”

“Come on! I didn’t mean to, you lost balance!”

Without anything to fear, the meeting went by smoothly. His mother even commenting on how charming you were and that you should visit more often. He said he’ll only bring you over when father wasn’t home, to which his mother nodded in understanding

It’s funny. His family background was no secret in town, nor was the abuse. Yet you never pry into his life or asked anything. You waited for him and gave him support whenever needed. He truly didn’t deserve you or your friendship with him

He snapped when his father mentioned seeing you around the house. When his father knew you were an orphan, he forbid Alastor from being friends with you. Threatening to chase you away with whatever he needed to do to separate the two of you. Alastor backed out from rage, but he was positive he finally put an end to this torment, because when he came to, his father was dead and in his hand was a shotgun

As quickly as it happened, he staged everything. Pull the body into the forest, leave it for the animals to feast upon it and phone the police of his missing father that was gone too long. His mother didn’t know, not that he would tell anyone of what happened. It was all perfect

But he can’t face you after what he has done. So he locked himself in his room, he saw from his room window that you came to visit and ask for him, his mother would turn you away everytime, saying that he was sick with grief. It’s sick, but not of grief. He really wanted to continue playing with you like the old days, however, he didn’t think himself worthy after that act

When he came back, he was expecting so many questions from you. Yet none came, you merely welcomed him back and he was grateful. With your birthday near, he and his mother prepared gifts for you, he even learned from his mother how to make it. The results were more than perfect, though it was silly to see you wearing them no matter the day

“You know, we could just make you more! You don’t have to wear the same thing over and over again.” Alastor gave you a look.

You hugged yourself, turning your back to him. “Hey! I treasure these! What’s good with more?! I’ll die before I let you replace these!”

Alastor laughed, “Let’s make a promise.”

You blinked, turning back to him, “What promise? And why so sudden?”

“Just cause!” Alastor smiled, he raised his hands and undid his bowtie, offering it to you, “We’ll both get to be what we want. Me the famous and charming radio host, and you and you whatever choice of career that you still haven’t picked yet.”

You jerked, faking offense, “Hey now! That anyway to treat your best friend in the entire world?! Plus I just think I’m good with a lot of stuff, I can’t just pick one!”

Alastor shrugged, “So that a promise?”

Your eyes narrowed, glaring at the bowtie Alastor took off, “You just want me to wear something else, right?”

Alastor blinked and his smile widened, “Maybe.”

With a sigh, you gently took off your bowtie and took Alastor’s before placing yours in his hand. “You better take good care of it. I’ll definitely kill you if you dirty it.”

“So it’s a promise then!”

“Yeah yeah…”

Note: Ta da~ This is the first part to Alastor's perspective, there's another one coming!! Let me know if you like this!

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

@mistpurpl3

@boredwithlifeatthispoint

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (3)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Jade and Reader are finally properly interacting! For the whole chapter, too. This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

The night breeze sweeps over your skin when you step outside Azul’s mansion. The moon illuminates the world tonight, and you can easily see Jade’s car pull up to the driveway. He parks it perfectly, just like everything else he does, and comes to the front door with a smile.

“Looks like everything went well.”

He walks up the steps leading to the door, stopping just one step below you. Even then, his tall figure ensures he’s slightly above eye level. He zeroes in on something on your cheek.

“Indeed,” he says, raising a hand. His bare thumb swipes gently over your cheekbone. “Excuse me. You had something on your face.”

His thumb leaves your face with a hint of something red. Barry Moore’s blood. You must’ve stood too close while Floyd was having his fun.

“Thanks,” you say dismissively.

“No need to thank me. Were you the one who personally took care of the interrogation?”

He’s talking about the physical coercion. The violence. You shake your head.

“Floyd’s doing it right now.”

He lowers his eyes, rubbing the smidge of blood between his thumb and forefinger. The thoughtful pace of the action makes you wonder if he is satisfied with something.

“That’s good to hear.”

“Floyd said the opposite. He said he wanted me to draw blood.”

“Rest assured that he is more than happy to do it instead.” He reaches out for your hand. His bare fingers handle yours like they are made of porcelain. He studies them for the few seconds you allow before pulling your hand back. “You should never have to lift a finger. Just keep making others do your dirty work. There is no need for you to dirty your hands with the blood of filth.”

That implies there are things which are worthy for you to personally dirty your hands with. You choose not to think about it. Jade’s ambiguous wording is purposeful, a habit partially caused by his enjoyment of your tendency to overthink.

You look for a way to change the topic. “I see you’ve made sure to leave your gloves at her place.”

An important plot point that ensures they meet again. A trivial accessory that can easily be replaced, which (Y/N) washes and returns to him when she runs into him again. She will take great care in handwashing the white fabric, and she will keep it with her until she finds their owner. It’s an item created for the story. Because she is sweet, because she is kind, because she is the perfect person.

“Are you upset?” Jade’s eyes curve slightly in amusement. His fingers linger by your jaw. Not quite touching you, yet refusing to pull away. “You are stating an observation which does not need to be said. It feels as though you are searching for something to say.”

“No.” You push his hand away, your bare skin touching briefly. The body temperature of merfolk is naturally lower than humans, and on this warm summer night, he stays as cool as ever against your warm palm. “Maybe you’re just not that good at talking.”

He chuckles, a low timbre that slides through the air like silk. “I will work to meet your expectations, then.”

“The conversation better not be this stilted when you’re talking to (Y/N).”

“I assure you it is not.”

“Of course.” You turn to the door, its frosted windows casting a warm glow over your face from the lights inside. “She’s basically destined to be your partner, so there’s no way you wouldn’t get along.”

“We get along.”

“I know, that’s what I just said.”

“That is not what I meant.” His hand settles on the doorknob before yours. With his chest to your back and one arm reaching around your left side, you are suddenly reminded of how large he is. Towering over you, his body surrounds you on all sides except the front, an enveloping embrace where no parts of you touch. “I was referring to you and I. Ah, unless—” his voice suddenly drips with self-pity and his arm falls away “—I was the only one who felt that way about my dear friend?”

You stare at him. A few seconds pass, and you dissolve into quiet laughter. “Right, right. Feel more sorry for yourself, maybe you’ll start crying.”

“Would you like to see it?” Jade leans into your peripheral vision, a veiled grin tugging at his lips. “I can certainly try. It would come at a price.”

“I’m not that interested, then.” You push open the door. “Let’s go. Azul’s waiting for you to use your Signature Spell on the captive.”

“Ah, the captive.” He follows you into the house. In the sudden flood of light, he seems less intense, more interested in fading into obscurity to any onlookers. Azul’s home has a few trusted employees to keep it spotless. But no matter how trusted they are, Jade dislikes being perceived unless it amuses him. He manages to do it even while being six feet tall. “Where is he being held?”

“In a dingy room in the basement, tied to a chair with a single light overhead.”

Jade chuckles into his hand. “Azul has always had a flair for dramatics.”

“I think even the kidnapping was a bit clichéd. We should’ve just had you use your Signature Spell on him after you beat him up in the alley.”

“It wasn’t mentioned in the story. And I know how much you love to follow the story to the letter.” You don’t need to turn around to know that he has a smarmy smile on his face. “After all, you asked me to lead on your good friend just to stay true to it.”

He is prodding you to observe your reaction. To see if you will get angry, or pensive, or hesitant. You look straight ahead and start descending into the basement.

“My friendship with her or your parents’ life. It’s a pretty clear choice.”

“I am sure they will be happy to hear that once they awaken.”

A pause. The words hang on the tip of your tongue. They are hard to swallow, but also hard to spit out. The latter becomes easier when you don’t think about it.

“Who’s to say? You might end up falling for her eventually.” Every step you take down the stairs feels heavy. “So far, everything in the story has come true. So maybe you really will become madly in love with her.”

Jade’s silence seems to weigh down your steps more than whatever feelings are on your mind. You wonder what expression he has on his face, but you don’t want to turn around—whether it’s for your pride or for dread of seeing something you don’t want to see, you aren’t sure.

“Do you really believe that manuscript is a reflection of things that will certainly come to pass?”

He’s dodging the topic. You hate when he’s like this. He doesn’t want to give a straight answer, so he gives a tangentially related statement or question that can be interpreted to be one. Something that gives a vague answer, but can shield him with deniability when confronted. Even so, his question is not one that can easily be ignored, so it’s hard to stick to your original train of thought.

“I don’t know. It could be a prophecy of sorts. It could be someone from the future writing down what they know happened in the past. It could even be something like a magic pen that will turn anything written with it into reality. But powers like those are, well, powerful, and not easy to find. I don’t understand why it would be used on a silly, badly written love story like that.”

“Could it be that you’re jealous?”

You furrow your brows and spin around to give him a withering glare. His smile is the same as always, but you think it reminds you of when a cat toys with a mouse.

“Don’t smile like that. It’s unpleasant.”

“I’ll do my best to meet your expectations.” He won’t. You’ve already resigned yourself to that.

“Whatever. Besides, what part of anything I just said makes you think I’m jealous?”

“It isn’t what you just said.” Your shoes clack against the floor of the basement, followed by the quiet taps of his footsteps. “You have seemed rather . . . Restless since the story started.”

“There’s a lot to think about.”

“Am I one of those things?”

“You’re the male lead. You’re one of the major things I think about.”

“I see.”

You take a glance behind you again. His smile seems less predatory now, more pleased. Is he looking for attention? Right after you internally commented on his tendency of fading into the background, too.

The truth is not something like jealousy. Or maybe it is, but in a different way than what Jade is insinuating. Something feels missing now that you know you will not talk to (Y/N) again, at least until the story ends. The story takes place from her perspective, and since it never mentions Friend A after the inciting incident, you cannot appear before her for the duration of the plot. You cannot talk to her about the sweets you ate or the cafés you’ve found. You cannot sit in her apartment and talk about nothing in particular. It’s true that you will be very busy for the next while, but you still need to get used to the sudden absence of a good friend even while she is within reach.

You can deal with it, though. Over the years of working with the mafia, you have lost your fair share of friends. At least you know you can still talk to (Y/N) when she gets her happily ever after.

[mintmentos]

And we’re finally blocking the socks I finished in *checks watch* April!! This has been on my to do list for so long (along with handwashing my other knitted socks but let’s not talk about that …) and it’s finally happening! Hopefully they should fit a bit better after this, but if they don’t it’s not the end of the world, they’re still the first pair of socks I made and I’m so proud of them!

[jjunbug]

͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏𝗝𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗕𝗨𝗚’𝗦 𝗔𝗥𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗗 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗞𝗦! ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ✴︎ ͏ ͏͏ 𝒶𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝓌𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀, 𝒿𝒿𝗎𝗇𝗂𝖾𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽!

𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 （𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽）! 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗎𝗇𝖾𝖽! ♡♡ 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍. ✦ = 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙧𝙚𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙚𝙙

͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏

𓍼 ˋ✮ TOMORROW X TOGETHER

𝘁𝘅𝘁 𝗮𝘀 𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘀𝗸𝗶 𝗹𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗰𝘀

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗲𝘀 you would think that by now you would know the rules, right? apparently not, since yeonjun always has to keep reminding you—whores don't get to cum. — 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.

✦ 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 ❨ 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ❩ the night that your boyfriend came home from his underground boxing gig with bloody knuckles, a split lip, and a black eye was when you knew things had to change for the good.

✦ 𝗰𝗲𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ✦ 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗯𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀 — 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙤 ❨ 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ❩ you’re both from two seperate worlds, but in the four corners of your bedroom the two of you can be together. even if your latest confession means it could be for the last time.

𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮 𝗯𝗲𝘁 choi soobin has always been the popular kid surrounded by his popular friends. you... not so much. one night, soobin and his friends make bet that soobin can't get you to date him in a month. unfortunately for you, you're a hopeless romantic.

𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 to help raise money for charity you and your friends make your way over to the rich neighborhood to handwash cars in your best skimpy bathing suits and clothing. — 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.

✦ 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗲𝘀 ❨ 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ❩ two years ago, you admitted to yourself that you were in love with your bestfriend beomgyu. two years ago, you and your bestfriend beomgyu stopped being bestfriends. now he’s an up and coming musician and you see his face and hear his music almost everywhere in your local town; not knowing that the songs he writes are about you.

𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗲 it’s confession day and you want nothing more than to receive a confession from your longtime friend, beomgyu.

✦ 𝗳𝗲𝗯𝗿𝘂𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝟭𝟰𝘁𝗵 ❨ 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ❩ this has to be the worst day of your life. and just your luck, the day keeps repeating. over and over again. and you don’t know why. you get to relive the same day where you finally garner the courage to ask your crush, kang taehyun, out and get to relive the part where he rejects you each time.

✦ 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗽𝗶𝗱 𝗰𝘂𝗽𝗶𝗱! ❨ 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ❩ hueningkai, better known as cupid, is known for his art in helping people fall in love. shooting his arrows here and there, getting those who are meant to be together. what happens when after he shoots one of his love arrows at you, the other one somehow ends up hitting him?

𝗮 𝗯𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀 — 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙤 for as long as you could remember, you’ve been in love with your bestfriend kai. the only problem is, he never loved you back. yet, you can’t stop imagining your life with him.

✦ 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗸𝗹𝘆𝗻, 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆! ❨ 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ❩ your boyfriend’s in a band—the biggest rock band in the world, in fact, as the lead singer and lead guitarist. except, he isn’t your boyfriend and you’re just a fan who somehow had the stars align for you.

𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄 you just looked so pretty in your sheer lacy nightgown and tiny lacy panties, how could you not expect kai to want to have you all for himself? even if it means waking you to get what he wants.

𓏲 𖧷ˊ ENHYPEN

𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝘁 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗹𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗮 — 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙤 with the news of your grandma’s depleting health, life has you moving to your mother’s seaside hometown for the summer to your aunt’s. while there, you meet the illustrious player—jake sim—that everyone can’t seem to stop talking about. what you never expected was to gain his attention and spend the three months you’re there falling for him.

✦ 𝘀𝗲𝘅 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗱𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗶𝗲𝘀! ❨ 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ❩ your life seemed to be going perfectly as student body president and smartest person in your university… until your grades started to slip. it got worse when you have to be tutored by the student body vice president, park sunghoon, your rival and the person you hate the most. it then somehow got even worse when he ends up being your partner for your debate team’s competition.

✦ 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲 ❨ 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ❩ the land has always been something you desperately wished you could walk on. be like the humans and walk among them. one dark and stormy night, you are granted your wish—but, it comes with a deadly price. and you only have one month to decide if you’re willing to pay it.

𝗳𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗼𝗿 while around the world your boyfriend is known as the mysterious jack frost, you just know him as sunghoon—and it’s not everyday the jack frost says he knows just the way he can warm you up.

𓍢 𖣔 ﾞATEEZ

𝗵𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗼𝗳𝘁! yunho thought being a hired farm hand would be relatively easy—that was, until he met the farmer’s daughter. now he knows that it’s a lot harder than it seems, especially when you’re making it more difficult for him. but, you’re willing to lend a helping hand.

͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏

[ kipo’s note . . . ] this wasn’t all of the works i had on my previous account, but tbh i hated the ones that aren’t on here so… be glad these ones are even here lmaoo (￣～￣;) i won’t really be talking about the works listed here with the exceptions of the ones that i will be reworking!! hehe feel free to ask me about those! ^^

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿

© jjunieworld / jjunbug - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[ivystoryweaver]

(Everybody's Waiting for) The Man With the Bag

This is your 2nd place poll winner, losing to Moon Dads/Hanukkah by only 9 votes!

Summary: Miguel wants to bring a little Christmas cheer to some kids who need it most. And one girl named Gabriella.

Word Count: 1050

Content: holiday/family angst with a bit of comfort, fluff-adjacent, longing, mentions of loss/death, (nothing you didn't see in the film), not beta'd.

The spider society was quiet.

As quiet as it ever got, anyway.

There were always lives to save - timelines to correct or salvage.

But it was Christmas.

Practically every timeline had some version of the holiday, and even now - after so much loss...after Miguel felt the weight of the universe pulling him apart like a thousand spiderwebs - he still remembered Christmas with is little girl.

Gabriella loved Christmas.

What child wouldn't love a pile of presents, too much sugar and staying up late? The troll of Christmas carols, hot cocoa, magical movies and twinkling lights...

But what Gab loved most was Santa Claus. Miguel assumed it was because he gave her presents, but she surprised him one Christmas Eve. She climbed up in his lap, ready to read The Night Before Christmas before being tucked into bed to wait for ol' St. Nick and said, "Daddy, I think Santa Claus is the best person in the whole world."

Miguel chuckled warmly, admiring how her chubby fingers traced the beautifully illustrated picture of the classic figure. "Why, because he brings you a bunch of stuff?"

"No," she softly replied, pointing to the huge bag he had flung over his back. "Because he gives so much away. Don't you think we should all be like that?"

Miguel's heart melted as he squeezed his daughter close. "Yeah, Gabs. We should."

Then he proved to be the complete opposite of Gabriella's hero, destroying her entire timeline.

Since then, Miguel made it his life's mission to not...overstep.

But it was Christmas.

This timeline's Gabriella lived in one of the poorest neighborhoods he'd ever seen. Miguel told himself not to get involved - he certainly knew better than to interfere directly with her life. He'd never learned a harder lesson.

But surely, it couldn't hurt to leave a Christmas present behind - a treasure that could simply be credited to Santa Claus.

Miguel got to work, collecting toys and locating a Santa suit to fit his impossibly large fame, since making himself an unstable molecule Santa suit seemed a tad excessive. At any rate, He was going to bring Christmas to this neighborhood.

This was, of course, after dozens of calculations between himself and Lyla, to make sure delivering a toy fire truck wouldn't obliterate a universe.

Miguel walked through a portal, discreetly, into Gabriella's low income neighborhood, late Christmas Eve, donned in head-to-toe red and white, with a pack of toys flung over his back.

He didn't quite have Santa's tummy, but hopefully a little padding would do the trick, should he be spotted.

His spider abilities made it pretty simple to dart in and out of houses undetected. He even sampled a cookie or two.

The he came to Gabriella's house. He saved her house for last, trying to work up the courage to be in her presence but not interact with her in any way.

The house was tiny and old, but clean. The cold, hard floors had been swept and the tables wiped recently. Dishes were handwashed and piled on the counter to dry. A plate of homemade cookies peeked out from their plastic wrap. There was love here.

The Christmas tree was more of an old, ragged bush, with glass ornaments with chipped paint and a few handmade offerings of popsicle sticks and pipe cleaners. A string of popcorn served as garland. No twinkling lights illuminated the darkness.

And the whole place was freezing.

Miguel pressed his lips together, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself not to interfere any more than he was about to. Reaching into his bag, he produced a copy of The Night Before Christmas, a warm winter blanket, a matching hat, scarf and gloves, and a soccer ball.

He set each item under the Charlie-Brown-worthy tree - the only gifts present, making sure they would be plainly visible to whoever woke first.

His eyes landed on a snapshot of Gabriella with her mother, and just when he thought he tempted fate enough for one evening, he heard a sharp intake of breath behind him.

"Ohhh, wow, Santa," the voice of Gabriella O'Hara made his heart completely stop.

Miguel squeezed his white gloved hands into fists, willing himself to not turn around and lay eyes on her, just one more time.

It wasn't her. She wasn't his - she never had been.

He could hear her sock covered feet shuffle closer. "I-is that you, Santa? Is it really you?"

Miguel cleared his throat, deepening his voice purposely. "Merry Christmas. You caught Santa just finishing up."

He heard her gasp, her giggle like a tinkling bell. "Oh, Santa, thank you so much. Thank you, thank you!"

"You're welcome," he choked out. "Now, be a good girl and get back to sleep. Santa has a lot of presents to deliver."

"Okay," she breathlessly answered. "My friends told me you weren't real, but I just knew you were. I knew it."

The sound of her voice drifted closer. She stood directly behind him now. He had to get out of here.

"You're absolutely right. Back to bed now. Merry Christmas, Gabs."

She sucked in a breath, but didn't speak or move for several agonizing moments.

"Merry Christmas, Santa," she finally decided. And he heard the old, hard floor creak as she retreated.

But she paused one more time. "I think I know now," she declared from across the room. "You must be an angel. You sound just like my dad."

One tear slid down Miguel's cheek, soaked up by the cotton of his fake beard.

"Your dad is very proud of you," He choked out, gathering his bag, making sure he kept his back turned so she wouldn't see his face.

"Thank you, Santa. Or...whoever you are," she whispered, finally retreating to her room.

Miguel raggedly exhaled, tears burning his eyes as he left the house and made his way back through a multi-dimensional portal.

His Christmas Day would be spent not watching Gabriella wake up her mother, unwrap her presents, or maybe, talk about the Santa Claus who'd left them for her.

No, he was done intervening. A few simple gifts to help keep her warm - to bring a little cheer - it was enough for her.

And hearing her voice one more time was the best present he could have ever hoped for.

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dividers by saradika

[covid-safer-hotties]

No Amount of Hand-Washing Can Make COVID-19 a Seasonal Virus - Published Aug 14, 2024

Needless to say, words have meaning. The selection of words modulates the message understood by the receiver. With regard to COVID, terms such as “seasonal”, “like a cold”, and “like the flu” can be selected by writers to paint a portrait that lulls the reader into a false sense of security, drawing comparisons between a virus that has been around for less than five years to other viruses or conditions with respect to which the audience has grown familiar with. Moreover, even stock photos selected for certain news articles can subtly influence your response to the content expressed in that piece. A selected photo of a person gently cradling a tissue paper over their nose, instead of a person waiting for treatment in the ER, may give off the impression that they are harmlessly recovering from a tear-jerking soap opera instead of from a viral illness. In fact, we want to believe that COVID-19 is as gentle as a cold, as this outcome is far more pleasing, so this skewed presentation of the risk is far more palatable than what is expressed in the scientific literature.

However, COVID-19 is not a cold or the flu. Understanding that this virus is not a seasonal nuisance like the common cold is crucial in the fight against it, as explained herein.

We emphasize that the purpose of this piece is to correct some of the language circulating in the media and to arm you with accurate information so that you can make reasoned decisions that are aligned with your health goals. As much as an athlete who is training for a triathlon may want to avoid regularly smoking or taking recreational drugs, COVID-19 should be factored into your day-to-day health decisions, especially if you are conscious about achieving a greater healthy lifespan.

But before delving into a comparison between COVID-19 and the flu, here is a primer on COVID-19.

A COVID-19 Primer Long Term Risk COVID-19 continues to present an important risk to your long-term health. This means that after you test negative, you can still develop medical conditions or disorders that can impact your quality of life as a result of that COVID infection. In other words, the cost of COVID on your life is not just the loss that you experience as you wait for your negative test. While individuals can remain infectious for an average of 10 days [1], the disease often takes a toll that can manifest months to even years after your acute-stage infection. COVID can take away the opportunity of a professional athlete to join a national team, or from competing in an Olympic event for which the athlete has been training for years [2]. COVID can rob a doctor, a nurse, a teacher, or a lawyer, of a successful career. COVID can disrupt the health of a family. And this can happen after every infection, not just after your first infection. The odds of developing long-term conditions add up after each infection. Despite reducing the risk to varying degrees ranging from 15% to 50%, vaccinations do not eliminate the problem. For these reasons, it is important for you to appreciate how, and when, COVID circulates and can infect you.

How Do You Catch COVID? COVID spreads principally through the air. This means that handwashing is not the key solution for keeping you safe from COVID. Now, handwashing is a good practice, but you need to become mindful of the air that you breathe in order to protect your health and future, as well as those of your loved ones, from this disease. Just like you would not drink stagnant water from a pond in the city, do not inhale unfiltered dirty air. You can filter your air by wearing N95 masks (respirators) or better. Favor outdoor air over indoor air. Clean the indoor air by using HEPA filters to remove the virus. Dilute contaminated indoor air by bringing in clean outdoor air through ventilation. The World Health Network has released numerous resources on this topic [3-5].

When Does COVID Spread? The Myth Regarding Seasonality News outlets have been circulating the premise that COVID is a seasonal virus, with little-to-no transmission during the warmer days of the year. However, at the time of writing this piece, in Summer 2024, the U.S., the UK, and many countries around the world are currently experiencing a major COVID wave.

We have learned over the last few years that COVID-19 does not follow seasonal patterns. COVID waves are not merely a fall or winter phenomenon, nor do they follow any other predictable seasonal pattern.

This distinction from seasonal pathogens, such as influenza, is crucial for several reasons and highlights the unique challenges and dangers posed by this novel coronavirus. As seasonal viruses infect people predominantly in the cold winter months, this makes those colder months more dangerous and other months less dangerous for those viruses. Examples of such diseases include the flu, rhinovirus, RSV, parainfluenza viruses, adenoviruses, enteroviruses, and human metapneumovirus.

Read the rest of the article and access the sources at either link!

[pinbones]

"They never taught us x in school" is sometimes a criticism of your school's biases or specific teachers being trash, but I think a lot of it comes down to the fact that kids have each subject once or twice a week, and learn at a high school level. You didn't get to learn a comprehensive history of your country's politics and culture because there wasn't enough time in between learning every other subject and doing all your extracurricular projects and learning how to write essays better than a toddler. And christknows kids barely do homework let alone read their textbooks cover to cover to see what they missed in class.

The point of school wasn't to teach you specifics about every topic on earth, that was never possible. It was making kids literate and setting them up for their future.

Back when kids were just taught to memorise flags and country names, schools caught flak for not teaching them about the culture and politics of those places ('facts instead of knowledge'). Now, when they DO teach you about a couple of countries' cultures and histories in more depth, people complain that it's too specific, or that those aren't the right country or time in history to learn about. You see the problem? The VASTNESS of planet earth and all of relevant human history? The generalised skills are the most useful ones, and I promise you they taught you those at school, even if they didn't give you a checklist of everything you would need to know to become ~informed about the world~. And now people are pointing out that students can't name every place on the globe, when that was never a skill anybody has ever used in their lives. (Psst -- globes and maps exist.)

Look through your old schoolbooks. They taught you how to analyse souces in history, and learning about WW2 or whatever was just a way to do that. In English, you learned how to recognise persuasive writing and how to do it yourself, probably by analysing everything from newspapers to poems. You were taught about other cultures and peoples in their respective language classes, you studied at least one. You might have learned about the impacts of tourism and climate change in geography and all the things we're doing to balance them. In chemistry and physics you learned about practical experiments and how they relate to real life phenomena that affect us daily. Food tech/woodworking/graphic design/resistant materials taught you about the design and production of new market products. You probably even learned the rules of the road as a bicyclist and pedestrian at school. School taught you about diseases and vaccines and handwashing, they taught you how to LOOK UP INFORMATION in libraries and how to format sources, and if you're on the younger end, they taught you how to use Google and probably made you get an email address when you didn't see the point of them.

If you were never taught skills, then I'm sorry. But half the point of school is teaching kids how to CONTINUE learning their whole lives. It's not to catch them up on everything that happened in the world by age 18. If you had to know everything important by the time you graduated, you'd never have left

[jencsi]

I've put up a good fight with this over the past 2 years, but my brain simply cannot get over the trauma of being so sick on Christmas Eve/Day 2022. It has consumed every aspect of my life since then. Every single odd feeling in my gut, every food that "tastes weird" every recall I read about, every time someone says they feel sick or confirm that they or their child is actually sick, sends me spiraling into a contamination OCD nightmare.

I was smart and careful with handwashing, food choices, avoiding restaurants, take out etc. I don't gather in groups much anyways even prior to the pandemic, the very limited family gatherings I do have during the year, are the ones I am trying to stay healthy for.

I requested Christmas Eve off last year and everything went smoothly but my anxiety was high. It triggered an IBS flare up and some issues during the party (I was starting my period early and didn't know it so I panicked and thought I had norovirus again) I barely survived that night.

For 2024, I requested December 20th-25th off so I could hole myself up at my home and avoid people and places so I could be illness free for the big family Christmas Eve gathering. Everything was going smoothly with this until my boss's kid contracted a stomach bug and was sick on Monday 12-16 through Wednesday 12-18. Despite having 0 contact with her prior to this, I have been spiraling ever since. I feared she would get sick next (she didn't) but it's only been 5 days. I worked with her for two and a half hours on Thursday 12-19 and I avoided her like the plague. I got to leave early and start my PTO. (I would not be spiraling so hard these last few days if it wasn’t for this event) Every day since then I have sat here stewing in my own anxiety, eating only "safe foods", making my last trip to a store on the 20th, refusing to eat any of the food my parents made out of fear of illness.

All of this has been incredibly draining and difficult to maintain. This is the worst PTO I have ever used. I can't even enjoy it. Trying to avoid the most contagious, most violent, distressing sickness has been a battle. And I'm still not 100% safe in my crazy OCD brain. Thinking back to 12-24-22 and how things were so good and how quickly they spiraled into madness, the acute timing of it, hour by hour, how fresh and vivid the memory of that night is, and how my health has not been the same since is adding to the stress and anxiety. You do not simply "get over" a stomach bug these days. You are never "out of the woods" no matter how many days have passed since you think you've been exposed. I would trade so much to have the life back that I had prior to this.

It is frustrating to watch everyone around me eat restaurant food, eat more food choices than I can without a care in the world in regards to their health.

I should love the holiday. My regular depression was getting better before health anxiety consumed me. I should not be living like this. As a society we need to do better at curbing the risk factor and spread factor for gastrointestinal illnesses, especially around the holidays. I would even go so far as to say this is worse than COVID I had twice. I would rather have that!

All of this, all of this to deal with, to be exhausted by daily. I feel like I have been running a marathon at the start of every year and the finish line (if I am lucky) is a sickness free holiday. In parallel, I feel as if my entire life has been leading up to Christmas Eve and Day and I could be doomed or I come out unscathed.

The unknown is the bitch of it.

[fleet-off]

A snippet from Off the Handle

(CW: minor accidental self-harm, allusions to suicide.)

His madness begins in the aftermath, when anger loosens its stranglehold and wraps him in its familiar seething caress. Vegas swipes his damp finger along the tips of the knives on the drying rack, traces their honed edges and well-oiled wooden handles.

Who the fuck puts wood in the dishwasher? Even Vegas knows better than that, and he’s more accustomed to the banalities of cleaning crusted blood from a set of pliers than he is to cleaning chili oil from a vegetable knife.

At least the focus required to handwash them has dampened the petty urge to stab them into the kitchen walls.

The bedroom door is shut, but Pete hasn’t left the apartment. As long as Pete is still here, this is fixable. Surely he’ll come out for dinner.

…If Pete skips dinner, Vegas will fucking--

Vegas flings his dish towel to the floor. It lands with an impotent flop.

He’ll fucking what? There’s no forcing Pete to eat when he doesn’t want to.

Pete’s fury shouldn’t be silent. Pete’s fury as Vegas knows it is world-ending, concussive. It batters Vegas’s brain against the inside of his skull and threatens self-immolation.

Vegas runs his thumb down the edge of his butcher’s knife.

There should be blood on the floor, he thinks. He’d feel better for it--Vegas has tidied up the consequences of arguments countless times, knows how to put his pieces back in presentable order almost by rote.

This listless limbo can’t last. Something is coming. Something has to break, to punctuate all that anger. Shattered dishes, ringing ears, bruised skin.

Life was miserably simpler, when Ba was around.

Pete’s anger these days is more like Vegas’s mother’s. Ba used to call her hysterical--but that was Ba’s way, wasn’t it? Pete--(Vegas’s grip on the knife tightens)--Pete has realer, more accurate words.

Ma took what she was given until the very moment she couldn’t. Life broke her, and so death--

A thin twist of pain teases up Vegas’s fingertip. He reacts several seconds late, with a flinch he doesn’t feel but supposes he should--because the blood is welling up from a cut in his finger and the lack of a flinch reflex isn’t adaptive anymore, it just makes Vegas a clumsy fuck-up with cooking burns on his palms.

Vegas frowns at the gash. It barely bleeds until he squeezes it open. Who needs a knife this sharp in their kitchen?

Vegas--more fool him--had thought he did, cheerfully whetting his new knives. “Sharp enough to fillet a man,” he’d told Macau, because Macau would treat it like the joke it was and feel included without having to live the truth of it.

At his corner of the counter, Pete had remained silent, his eyes glittery and dark like a spider’s. That look is habit now, emerges in Pete every time Vegas turns his sharp purpose towards feeding him. The new familiarity spins nostalgia-like in Vegas’s chest.

It isn’t his old life. It’s better.

Vegas’s stomach twists to recall that spark of ownership and joy over his space in their kitchen at the center of the world. What a short-sighted ass he’s been.

Pete wears anger like Ma did. If there is to be blood on the floor, what better means than the knives at the core of the argument?

Impotent. Worse--maker of his loved ones’ annihilation.

…He might get away with one, but Pete would notice if he wrecked all the blades.

Vegas swallows and scoops them up, a steel bouquet in his destructive hands. Self-sabotage waiting to happen. He opens the knife drawer.

It’s better-balanced without the knives in it. Neater, closer to the toothless thing Vegas never was.

His blood has smudged on one of his nice new knife handles. It feels like an omen.

Vegas closes the drawer. He’ll find a temporary home for the knives. They can order takeout, just for the next few days. As long as Pete and Macau are willing to eat, Vegas won’t let his family go hungry.

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: History, Bit by Bit

Here’s a word you probably haven’t heard before, unless you’re into certain modern medical devices of the history of pre-antibiotic medicine. Bacteriostatic.

Short definition: A compound that keeps bacteria from growing and dividing.

Note, this is not an antibiotic. (Though some bacteriostatic compounds are also bactericidal in large enough quantities. See sulfa drugs.) A bacteriostat just, hopefully, keeps bacterial spores from growing or an ongoing infection from getting any worse. It isn’t a cure. Take it away and the nasty bugs start right back in on munching you.

What a bacteriostat does is buy you time. With luck, long enough for your immune system to jump into the fray, punch the nasty in the throat, and wrestling-hurricanerana it to death. As you do.

Surgery is dramatic. Surgery is important. But a surprising amount of medicine is buying time for the body to heal on its own, and the little bits of the history of medicine you typically get in grade school skip over that. Instead it’s Grand Ideas, appearing as if by deus ex machina. Handwashing! Antibiotics! X-rays! Organ transplants! Ignoring that the history of medicine - of human life in general - has been trying to improve things a bit at a time.

Which only makes sense. Nobody sane wants their life to change catastrophically. That way lies death, danger, and those ugly chapters in the history book where all the maps get arrowy.

No one wants to be in the part of history where the maps get arrowy.

But even when you try to keep changes slow and incremental they still put strain on the system. Think of the fault lines around the Ring of Fire; plates of the Earth’s crust moving past, over, and under each other. Or... not moving. Because they get stuck. But outside forces keep adding pressure, a fraction of an inch at a time. Sooner or later, something’s got to give. And the resulting catastrophe looks like it came out of nowhere.

(See the American Civil War or the Meiji Revolution/Bakumatsu in Japan for two bloody examples.)

History books, for better or worse, tell a story of what happened. They compress events, leave out background characters, and generally skip over “unimportant” details. Which, fair, when you’re covering a lot of decades in a hurry you kind of have to-

But sometimes those details are critical. Even life or death.

For example, when you’re infected with a bug like MRSA, that almost no modern antibiotic will stop, a bacteriostatic compound might still work. At least, it might buy you time.

But you can’t use it if you don’t know it exists.

Your characters should know bits of history. Or know someone who does. It’ll give your world solidity and flavor. And who knows. It might just save your plot!

[kimberlyressles]

Tips If You Want to Sell Used Pantyhose Online

Welcome, fellow entrepreneurs, to the world of used pantyhose sales! If you have ever wondered how to turn your discarded hosiery into a lucrative business, you've come to the right place. Selling used pantyhose online is a unique market with a devoted customer base, and I'm here to share my top five tips to help you maximize your success in this tantalizing industry.

Tip 1: Choosing the Right Pantyhose website

The foundation of a successful used pantyhose business starts with selecting the perfect pair. Opt for high-quality pantyhose that are durable and comfortable. Different customers have different preferences, so offer a variety of materials and styles to cater to a wide range of desires. From sheer and silky to fishnet and patterned, the possibilities are endless. Remember, the better the pantyhose, the higher the demand!

Tip 2: Proper Wearing and Care

Now that you have your pantyhose ready for sale, it's crucial to wear and care for them properly to ensure maximum appeal. Take the time to wear them and infuse them with your unique scent. Allow the pantyhose to become an extension of your sensuality. When it comes to care, handle them with care. Handwashing and air-drying are essential to maintain their delicate charm. Your customers will appreciate the attention to detail.

Tip 3: Presentation and Photography

A picture is worth a thousand words, and in the world of used tights sales, it can make all the difference. Capture your tights in the most appealing light by paying attention to presentation and photography. Experiment with different lighting techniques, angles and poses to showcase their beauty. Remember, your goal is to entice potential buyers and make them covet a piece of your intimate collection.

Tip 4: Establishing Trust and Discretion

In any business, trust is paramount, and selling used pantyhose is no exception. Build a reputation as a reliable and discreet seller by providing excellent customer service. Respond promptly and professionally to inquiries, and always handle transactions with the utmost discretion. Your customers should feel confident in their anonymity and trust that their desires will be met with respect and confidentiality.

Tip 5: Marketing and Promotion

Now that you have your pantyhose ready for sale and a reputation for excellence, it's time to spread the word. Utilize the power of social media to showcase your unique offerings. Engage with potential customers through online forums and communities dedicated to fetish interests. Network with like-minded individuals and explore collaborations that can amplify your reach. The key is to be strategic and persistent in your marketing efforts.

Conclusion About How To Sell Used Pantyhose Online

Congratulations! You are now equipped with the essential knowledge to embark on your journey of selling used pantyhose online. Remember, success in this business requires dedication, attention to detail, and a deep understanding of your customers' desires. Embrace your sensuality, embrace the market, and watch your business thrive. Happy selling or buy used pantyhose!

[squidpro-quo]

Dakaretai Otoko No. 1

AN: Forgot I could post on tumblr too for a bit, whoops! Couldn't sleep because of this fic, enjoy

Ryuu had never thought to ask, but then it would never have occurred to him that it could be a possibility. Even knowing his experience with the President over the years, and with apologizing to Sougo-kun about his thoughtless comments on family before, he’d never expected to miss something else so glaringly close to him. If they hadn’t all moved in together, how long would it have taken him to notice? To realize and put the pieces together, to see the pattern that had been repeating beside him all this time? 

They’d settled into something of a routine once they moved into his place, with regards to navigating each other’s things and laundry, all the mundanity of everyday life lived together. There had been a few surprises, Tenn’s collection of houseplants being one, and a few arguments about the air conditioning and the heater and methods for loading the dishwasher, but he knew those squabbles between the other two were simply the equivalent of play-fighting amongst lion cubs. He’d heard the same gripes from his brothers a dozen times if ever and they were all growing so much closer in the process that the noise was worth it all. 

The washing machine was yet another point of contention, the fact that they could not combine their loads quickly became apparent. Ryuu’s own sweaty sports club clothes required a certain setting, Tenn followed a rigid regimen towards keeping his colors vibrant, and Gaku…That Gaku had so many clothes that required handwashing perhaps shouldn’t have surprised Ryuu by this point, but the world of designer brands and their upkeep was still newer to him than to the other two. He was no stranger to the chore of it, had helped his mother out back home with their festival wear, and he knew their costumes usually necessitated the same class of care, but for his own leisure and personal choice, the option wasn’t one he would’ve picked. And considering the stray garment that had wound up in his basket, he didn’t know if Gaku had picked it either.

It was sheer silk, smooth and so diaphanous that Ryuu felt as if he were holding a wisp of mist, billowing even in the stagnant air of the bathroom. Turning it over, he finally understood that it was a top, the sleeves slitted and the neckline so wide that he’d almost mistaken it for a skirt. Unbidden, the image of Gaku wearing it rose in his mind’s eye, the silk brushing his fingers just like now, but already warm from its wearer. His imagination provided plenty of detail, despite the fact that he’d never seen Gaku wear it before—

He’d never seen Gaku wear it, though it was clearly expensive and well-made… Ryuu blushed, realizing the truth, folding it on the counter as carefully as a gift deserved. With all that had happened, the last he’d heard was that Tsumugi accepted and understood the strictures on them both now and they’d kept their distance, but this might be a reunion present of some sort. Going indie had its perks, certainly. 

Turning back to his own laundry, Ryuu ignored the tightness in his chest and buried the image under a list of what else they needed to fit into their meager budget and just how they were going to make ends meet. 

~*~

Amidst chasing missed chances and fading opportunities across the city, Ryuu forgot about tidying up at home for a few days. With the crushing weight of every closed door and refusal they’d faced, he fell back on doing something that he could control and would leave him in a better place by the end, regardless of the rest of their predicament. Cleaning was a way to wipe his mind free of worry for a while, to find the joy in a spotless surface and the ache after a thorough scrubbing, creating a small corner of order in an otherwise uncaring city. 

Vacuuming was the last order of business, the satisfying sound of all the grit and little irritants being removed lulling him into a trance, until a glitter in the carpet behind the entry table caught his eye. He’d moved the vacuum over it before the sight of it had fully sunk in: the gem-bright shine of jewelry. Fumbling to turn the vacuum off before it was sucked in, he heard the rattle and winced. He crouched, hoping to salvage whatever might be left, and found it still lodged in the carpet, an earring. 

Despite the attack by the vacuum, it looked undamaged, sparkling as he twisted it free of the rug. It was a waterfall of pearls, cascading delicately over his palm, their various sizes creating an illusion of foam amidst the silver wires. It belonged at a gala, paired with a dress and necklace to match. He recognized the present for what it was this time, no distractions or delusions getting in the way. 

Knowing that Gaku had headed in to shower as soon as he’d returned, Ryuu tried the door to his room, earring in hand ready to slip onto the dresser discreetly. Ryuu was aware of Gaku’s predilection towards big gestures, ever the dramatic romantic at heart, and how openly he wore that heart on his sleeve; if he had decided to keep this courtship a secret then Ryuu wouldn’t pry. He knew what it was to yearn, to feel the spark and yet be kept from fanning it into a flame, to hope for something that might be within reach and still be scared to grasp. It was a vulnerability he didn’t know how Gaku could bear so often, as freely falling into love as if it were a soft bed and not the terrifying uncertainty of sky-diving, but that courage was just another reason why he—

Gaku looked up from his bed, out of the shower and already dressed, brows rising at Ryuu’s sudden entrance. Laid out across the covers were several outfits, some revealing while others left a little more to the imagination but all as provoking as the next. A jumble of jewels was spread beside him, necklaces dripping with diamonds, crystal aigrettes, and rings of all styles, a treasure trove in the making. 

Ryuu’s mind ground to a halt, taking in the array of finery on display, and the pieces on Gaku himself. He’d been in the middle of pinning back a strand of hair, evidently almost ready to leave. 

“Where’d you find it? I thought I’d looked everywhere,” Gaku said, spying the earring in his open hand and crossing the room with a wide grin. “Trust you to be the savior of the hour, Ryuu!” 

Taking it, Gaku quickly scooped up its pair and put them in, already turning back to the bed when Ryuu found his voice. 

“They’re yours?” 

“Yeah?” Gaku didn’t look up from where he was sorting through the rest of the jewelry. “It’s certainly not Tenn’s.”

“But…not Tsumugi’s?” He’d thought he knew the full picture, but the pieces he’d assumed immovable were falling apart. 

“Why would it be hers?” 

“It’s so nice, an expensive gift like that is…”

“Ryuu, these are all fake,” Gaku said, finally finding what he’d been searching for and straightening up again. The confusion on Ryuu’s face seemed to reach him through the rush of getting ready and he stopped in place, looking Ryuu steadily in the eye. “Sure, they glitter and shine, but none of them is worth what they would have you believe. But the clients like them, so I wear them.” 

“At the soba shop?” Ryuu feels leagues behind, trying to connect this to what he knows of Gaku. 

“No, not at the soba shop!” The laugh that breaks through Gaku pulls Ryuu from his thoughts, roots him in the moment. He admires the way the shirt is cinched tight at Gaku’s waist, a desire to feel with his hands surfacing before Gaku’s next words slam him back into reality. “My escort clients.” 

Ryuu’s been in the city long enough to know what that means, what that entails. The only word that leaves him is, “Why?”

“We need the money. Other people may turn their noses up at us, but that kind of snobbery doesn’t bother the ones who pay me. It’s mostly the same ones from before Trigger anyway, so they’re actually happy that I have the time again.” He scowls at the last, irritated at the schadenfreude.

“Before Trigger?” Ryuu knows he’s just repeating, but Gaku doesn’t seem to notice the echo, words spilling out of him as easily as ever. 

“Longer than we’ve been Trigger actually, now that I count back.” 

“When did it start?” He can do the comparative math, but he naively hopes Gaku will have an answer that doesn’t make his heart squeeze with grief. 

“When my father got custody. There was a whole court battle over it, my mom went down fighting, and the legal fees were hefty on both sides. I didn’t have anyone to debut with and a solo career would’ve been too big of a gamble for the company, so being an escort was how my father got back his ‘investment’. Technically, I was paying off both sides since I just gave my mom my cut, but they didn’t need to know that.” Gaku shrugs, the story old news of an era past, tracing the last piece he’d picked up from the bed. It’s a thick band, studded so densely with gems—like their capes from Treasure!, comes the unbidden comparison—that he can barely see the black velvet of the backing, and when Gaku raises it to his neck, Ryuu breaks his restraint and reaches out, catching hold of Gaku’s hand. 

“You’re not alone anymore,”—his voice breaks—”you don’t answer to him anymore. You don’t have to…” He’s never been the best with words, when the silence falls all he can do is run a thumb along the back of Gaku’s fingers in a slow circle, avoiding the jeweled collar’s edge. He’s been witness to the President’s disregard for years, has had the words ‘it doesn’t matter if you’re my son’ resonate in his head until he saw red and snapped, and known how Gaku, who could never stand silent in the face of others’ injustice, had silently endured his own. In someone who encouraged self-confidence, in Ryuu and Mitsuki and others, to still be chained to the search for any hint of approval, the smallest crumb of blatant pride, or acknowledgement of his efforts from his father had broken Ryuu’s heart more thoroughly than any rejection could. Gaku deserved all the praise that could ever be spoken, but Ryuu knew all his words would pale in comparison to just one from President Yaotome. 

“I’m not doing it for him.” Gaku’s voice is soft, as if concerned he’ll spook Ryuu with anything louder. The velvet is crushed against Ryuu’s skin as he takes Ryuu’s hand in both of his own, the softness at odds with the sharp edges of the jewels. “I’m doing it for us. I want us to rise back up to the top, and if this is a way I can help jumpstart that, then I’ll do it gladly. I’m not the Dakaretai Otoko No. 1 for nothing, am I?” 

Gaku’s smile has always been one that Ryuu can’t resist mirroring, even if his is fainter and smaller this time. 

“But I’m No. 2, then I should—”

“Ryuu, leave it to me. It’ll just be a little longer, just until we get our foot in the door again. We’re close, that’s the direction you should focus on.” Gaku lets go, fiddling with the clasps of the collar. “Help me with this, will you?”

Ryuu hesitates, staring at the gems and knowing that the question is twofold. He might wish he could barge back into the President’s office and give him a big enough piece of his mind that the man will choke on it, but right here, right now, he knows what will do the most good is being a support where needed, when asked. 

He steps behind Gaku, pulling the collar flush with pale skin, and clips it into place. It truly is the last piece, the crown jewels of the whole look, and as Gaku hurries to slip on his coat while hissing at the time, Ryuu bites his lip and lets it slip out, “You look stunning.” 

Gaku pauses on the threshold, looking back from the cusp of the night, a dangerous glint in his eye. He smiles, sharp, and instead of saying goodbye, he says, “When I get back, help me take it all off, will you?” 

Ryuu swallows and nods, a shiver climbing up his spine. He’ll find his voice and speak the words until Gaku forgets he ever wanted to hear them from someone else.

[bookmuseum]

[REVIEW] Yellowface by R.F. Kuang

4/5 stars (★★★★)

"I don't feel better. I feel like a meme of a clueless white person."

I'm convinced R.F. Kuang was possessed by a white woman when she wrote this book, and I mean that in a half impressed, half discomforted way. I'm seeing that some people are having difficulty separating the voice of "Junie" from Kuang's, but as I read the novel it was never difficult for me to pick out which was which. I think Kuang makes a lot of sharp, witty, and bold statements -- some of them were even metatextual, which I enjoyed -- that, at the very least, proves her intelligence as a person, scholar, and a writer. This is the first book I've read of Kuang's, and from what I can see from her oeuvre it's a bit on the unserious side, but even in Yellowface I could tell I'm listening to a woman who knows her craft well and has dedicated a lot of thought on even the most simple turns of phrase or throwaway comments present in the text. Not every novel is a masterpiece, and this certainly wasn't, but I believe it showed off her talents all the same.

I had fun with Junie as the unreliable narrator of narrators. I hated her, but I hated pretty much everybody in the book. I never once liked Athena, anyone on Junie's publishing team, or even the people like Candice who were rallying for Junie's downfall. Everybody was grotesquely unlikeable, condescending, pretentious, and just overall bad vibes, which made the commentary on narrative and "what story people will believe" all the better and more hard-hitting for me. It doesn't matter who's right or what's true, it matters who has the balls to survive in such a cutthroat world that always has its eyes and claws on you and everything you say. (C'est la publishing and promoting yourself in this hellscape of influencers, marketing, and late-stage neo-capitalism, I suppose). Yellowface, especially near the end, becomes dystopic, thriller, and horror in its implications and ruminations on a litany of things like race and gender politics, "maybe-rape," online surveillance, cyber bullying, etc. It's a very timely novel. The discourse felt satirical -- almost darkly absurdist in many ways, but I've been online -- specifically in online bookish communities -- to know Kuang was drawing from real life when she wrote this book. It really is a shitshow out there. The "Twitterati" comments, exchanges, and developments all turned out exactly like I'd expected it to based on years of disillusioned experience. The (melo)drama was a large reason why I enjoyed this book: it's criticism and even satire of the bookish online community, the "Twitterati," the modern-day publishing industry and its problem with tokenism (amongst other things), and the horror and loneliness of trying to "make it" in the digital age … All of it was masterfully done. Granted, I think Kuang's portrayal of Junie's world is overexaggerated and even contorted to somewhat extreme proportions, but the spectacle of it kept me reading.

I liked how the book started out as Junie's shitty self defending manifesto, and then suddenly it was deep, multilayered introspection on the themes of guilt, authorship, sociopolitics, etc. I also loved the Lady Macbeth motif (The parts when Junie keeps fruitlessly refreshing all her social media feeds knowing nothing is going to happen except plunge her deeper into her downward spiral was a great reworking of the infamous handwashing scene). I think some of the best parts in the book where when Junie was at her worst and when you realize she's truly lost her marbles nearer the end; it's really when Kuang is at her most ruthless and observant. (I snorted out loud every time she "concluded" she was" the victim). Overall, Junie's characterization was brilliant, though I will say it was a bit on the flat side. I wished Kuang expanded more on her relationship with her family, her childhood, and why she loved writing so much, but I think she meant to deliberately keep that side of Junie hidden to maintain her unlikeable nature. (And I'm honestly not overeager to learn about the autobiographical facts of an upper middle class Ivy League graduate white woman who's simultaneously so self-aware yet so incredibly out of touch. I don't think Kuang wanted to either). Her unnecessary, microaggressive comments on how much she hated Chinese food and the smell of it, her insistence that what she was doing and the things she thought/believed "weren't racist" in spite of her never actually having a single moment in the book where she truly reflects on her whiteness, her "not wanting" to associate with the newfound MAGA and right-wing supporters that she accidentally gained through her own controversy but celebrating the up in sales anyway … I thought Kuang executed it really well. Junie is a realistic caricature. (I rolled my eyes when she pulled out the "reverse racism" card). Her fragile vindictiveness, along with Athena's insufferable personality and fatal success, were strikingly real. I've met both these women, and I'm sure you have too. That being said, at no point do I believe Kuang wants us to take Junie's "side" or overly sympathize with her beyond what's humanely obligatory. The same treatment was kind of given to Athena. As an Asian person (albeit a Southeast Asian one), I feel for her words, ideas, and concepts being "stolen" by a white "colleague," and I can understand the pressure she must've felt in that glitz and glamour world she surreptitiously maintained until her literal final moments. But I hated her all the same.

I have a lot more thoughts on the racial commentary in this book, as well as how Kuang is both astute yet also limited in her observations about the publishing industry, literacy, and popular media + cultural climate as it is inside and outside of social media. I don't want to get into them on here, however. I do think that Yellowface panders more to a "liberal," white feminist audience rather than a minority one, in spite of all my praise for it on here. As someone involved in the literary realm and its age-old discourses, I found this book entertaining and interrogative; definitely worth its bestseller status. As a brown Southeast Asian woman who both Junie and Athena wouldn't have ever given a second glance, I'm quite tired of having these same basic conversations over and over.