#may not be a number 1 hit

[mjj-nostalgia]

"IT'S SLANDAH!!! YOU SAY IT'S NOT A SWARD, BUT WITH YOUR PEHN YOU TORTURE MEHN, YOU CRUCIFY THA LAWD"

Go listen to Tabloid Junkie right now if you haven't in a long time like myself

[goatsandgangsters]

georges seurat found dead in park, as merrily we roll along forcibly claims its new spot on my top 3 sondheim musicals

[helianskies]

ugly maths.

i hate maths, right. i don't usually like numbers, and if i do like numbers it's gotta be an 8 or a 48 and nothing else.

thing is, i've recently caught myself doing maths again. ugly maths. the kind of maths that, really, i've been trying to avoid as much as possible because, well, it's ugly!

you... wanna see?

okay, fine... but don't say i didn't warn you!

ugly, see? look at all those numbers! not a 48 in sight!

huh? what's that? you don't see what i'm on about? oh... oh! hang on, lemme just—

better? yes? no? no? okay, what if i—

mmh, yes. ugly numbers. see it now? can you see why they're ugly?

here, i can make it worse.

these numbers are ugly. the maths they make me do is ugly.

now i'll level with you: the worst ones by far are the yellow numbers. the maths they make me do it the ugliest.

why ugly?

because it makes me ugly.

those numbers turn me into not only a suddenly number-obsessed fool, but a fool who also cannot understand these numbers and what they mean and why i feel like they reflect on me and my ability.

87, 75.

the thoughts are as follows:

• the orange numbers are big, so why are you being ugly about the yellow ones? you should be happy with what you have. so many nice big numbers! not everyone receives that.

• is it that there are two different audiences for these two different fics? perhaps. they are quite different works, with different appeals, and different themes. maybe you are reading too much into it.

• why are you obsessing over numbers anyway? you don't like maths! you left maths behind when you were 16, put it down!

okay, okay, fine! i'll put the maths down. right here, in fact!:

that 87 was an 83 at the start of the year. the 6161 it is attached to was a 5453.

4, 708.

ugly maths.

the 75 is a nice number. in fact, compared to 87, it is beautiful, radiant, enchanting. at the start of the year, 75 was 48. wow. now that is one sexy number!

27.

mmmm.

6161, 1061.

5100.

87, 75.

12.

mmmm.

you know, my most favourite comment left recently on a fic of mine was 2 characters long: :(

it made me :)

well, actually, it made me >:) because it was left in response, presumably, to one of the key scenes in a new chapter which left the exact impression on someone that i hoped it would.

they must be the only one who reacted like that, though.

1.

have i mentioned that that 87 and 75 include author responses?

i won't try to do more maths, there. it might not end well for me. the maths is making me tired enough as it is, and i have an early start tomorrow.

oh! but, that being said, i have another set of ugly numbers to show you, so keep 87 and 75 in mind.

ready?

838, 245.

(want a hint? the green numbers!)

838, 87. 245, 75.

9.6, 3.3.

ugly maths. it's ugly again, see? i don't like it. i'm seeing numbers within numbers within numbers, and i can't seem to stop!

the numbers make me ask new questions:

• why is it not good enough?

• people seem to engage more with one fic over the other, so shouldn't you prioritise?

• is all this maths this really good for you?

no, it isn't.

i want to avoid ugly maths. ugly maths makes me want to tear my hair out. it makes me want to start from scratch. it makes me want to grab someone and scream. it makes me want to cry and press a button that has tempted me many times before when the numbers become too ugly to bear.

ugly maths turn me into an ugly person.

ugly maths make me obsessive, paranoid, anxious, regretful, vindictive, spiteful, alone.

i hate maths. i hate numbers, just like, it feels, the numbers hate me.

[ao3scrapesearch]

This tool is optional. No one is required to use it, but it's here if you want to know which of your AO3 fics were scraped. Locked works were not 100% protected from this scrape. Currently, I don't know of any next steps you should be taking, so this is all informational.

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(Made some edits to the post on 27-May-2025 to update information!)

[kitsunabi]

This 0.5% taunts me....

[argumate]

So, reports of an unprecedented egg “shortage” are exaggerated. Nonetheless, egg prices — and egg company profits — have gone through the roof. Cal-Maine Foods — the largest egg producer and the only one that publishes its financial data as a publicly traded company — has been making more money than ever. It’s annual gross profits in the past three years have floated between 3 and 6 times what it used to earn before the avian flu epidemic started — breaking $1 billion for the first time in the company’s history. All of this extra profit is coming from higher selling prices, which have been earning Cal-Maine unprecedented 50-170 percent margins over farm production costs per dozen. Taking Cal-Maine as the “bellwether” for the industry’s largest firms — as people in the egg business do — we can be pretty confident that the other large egg producers are also raking in profits off the relatively small dip in egg production.

High persistent profits are an anomaly for the industry. Historically, egg producers have responded to avian flu epidemics—and the temporary rise in egg prices that often accompanies them—by quickly rebuilding and expanding their flocks of egg-laying hens. “Fowl plagues”—as these epidemics used to be called—have been with us since at least the 19th century. Most recently, large-scale avian flu epidemics hit egg farms in 2015 and 1983-1984. The egg industry responded to both of these destructive events by sprinting to rebuild and expand the egg-laying hen flock — something which checked price increases and ultimately made sure prices went back to pre-epidemic levels within a reasonable time.

As Cal-Maine Foods explained in its 2007 Annual Report: “In the past, during periods of high profitability, shell egg producers have tended to increase the number of layers in production with a resulting increase in the supply of shell eggs, which generally has caused a drop in shell egg prices until supply and demand return to balance.”

This time around, however, that’s not happening. Despite high profits, the egg industry has somehow maintained a stubborn deficit in egg production capacity. Hatcheries — the firms that supply hens to egg producers — have throttled the pipeline of hens instead of expanding it. According to the Egg Industry Center, the size of the flock of “parent” hens — the hens used by hatcheries to produce layer chicks for egg producers — plummeted from 3.1 million hens in 2021, to 2.9 million in 2022, to 2.5 million hens in 2023 and 2024.

Meanwhile, hatcheries have been hatching significantly fewer parent chicks to replace aging ones — nearly 380,000 (or 12 percent) fewer in 2022 compared to the year before, and even fewer parent chicks in 2023 and 2024 — leaving the parent flock older and more likely to produce eggs that fail to hatch. That could explain why, although hatcheries reported producing 125-200 million more fertilized eggs to the USDA in each of the last three years compared to 2021, the number of eggs they’ve placed in incubators and the number of chicks they’ve hatched from those eggs has either declined or stayed basically steady with 2021 levels in every year since.

As for egg producers themselves, you may be surprised to learn that they have added between 5 and 20 million fewer pullets to their farms in every one of the last three years than they did in 2021. As the USDA observed with some astonishment at the end of 2022, “producers—despite the record-high wholesale price [of eggs]—are taking a cautious approach to expanding production[.]” The following month, it pared down its table-egg production forecast for the entirety of 2023 on account of “the industry’s [persisting] cautious approach to expanding production.”

In other words, the only thing that the egg industry seems to have expanded in response to the avian flu epidemic is windfall profits — which have likely amounted to more than $15 billion since the epidemic began (judging by the increase in the value of annual egg production since 2022), and appear to have been spent primarily on stock buybacks, dividends, and acquisitions of rivals instead of rebuilding and expanding flocks. When an industry starts profiting more from *not* producing than from producing, it’s a sign that something isn’t right. It could be an innocent bottleneck. But when it lasts for three years on end with no relief in sight, it's usually a sign of something else that’s pervasive in America — monopolization.

As the coming installments in this series will detail, the fundamental problem in the egg supply chain today is the simple fact that every industry involved in turning an egg into a chicken and turning a chicken into an egg—from the breeders and hatcheries that create the hens to the producers who use the hens to make eggs—has been hijacked by one or two financier-backed corporations, with the incentives flipped from competing entities seeking to produce more eggs to an oligopoly trying to restrain the production of eggs.

On one end of the egg supply chain, you have two companies who control chicken genetics, the billionaire-owned Erich Wesjohann Group and the private-equity-backed Hendrix Genetics. Headquartered a short car trip apart in Cuxhaven, Germany, and Boxmeer, Netherlands, these private firms have systematically gained control over the supply of egg-laying hens to American producers over the past two decades by buying out or suppressing rivals and challengers. Today, no egg producer in this country can expand the number of hens in its flock — or even replace the hens it already has when they age out or die — without the cooperation of this duopoly. And, since the value of hens rises with the price of the eggs, when the price of eggs is high these two barons have a clear interest in keeping the supply of pullets to producers on a tight leash — so the high prices stick.

On the other end of the egg supply chain, you have the largest egg producer in the country and the world, Cal-Maine Foods.

Matt Stoller from his monopolisation/cartel report; something that has clicked recently is the way that business seeks to maximise profit margin over volume, which often leads to reducing production, brittle supply chains, high prices, and ultimately shortages.

in principle this isn't supposed to happen under capitalism, because someone earning high profit margins should be outcompeted by new entrants willing to earn slightly lower profit margins, until (in the perfect frictionless market) the rate of profit should be whittled down to the rate of risk free return (government interest rates?) plus epsilon (a little bit).

obviously this does happen in reality for a number of reasons, and the Problem of Profits is a fun question to dig into, but the problem of persistently high profits is a more concerning issue and appears to be growing across multiple industries.

antitrust law is supposed to prevent market concentration that leads to this outcome but has been toothless since the '90s, allowing dramatic consolidation across dozens of old industries (groceries, agriculture, pharmacies, television, newspapers) and of course new industries (tech giants).

government regulation often ends up favouring incumbents, but it seems that contractual arrangements between suppliers and industry bodies and buying agents to form tight cartels are a bigger problem: if egg prices are high you might think to start an egg farm, but you need to find someone who will sell you chickens and someone who will buy your eggs, when the industry is using every means at their disposal to cut off market access to new entrants.

and of course if you have access to the gargantuan amount of capital required to attempt a serious challenge to an established cartel, why exactly would you want to start a price war with them when you can instead find some other unprotected industry to buy up and establish a cartel of your own?

capitalism seems to have entered a phase of its development equivalent to WWI, where defensive operations by incumbents are more successful than offense by new ventures, keeping the battle lines frozen in place (presumably the soldiers dying in their millions would be workers and consumers in this analogy).

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Bad Lip Reading - Seagulls! (Stop It Now) 2016

Bad Lip Reading is a YouTube channel created and run by an anonymous producer from Texas who intentionally lip-reads video clips poorly for comedic effect. Some of the channel's original songs are available on Spotify and Apple Music.

In December 2015, Bad Lip Reading simultaneously released three new videos, one for each of the three films in the original Star Wars trilogy. These videos used guest voices for the first time, featuring Jack Black as Darth Vader, Maya Rudolph as Princess Leia, and Bill Hader in multiple roles. The Empire Strikes Back BLR video featured a scene of Yoda singing to Luke Skywalker about the dangers posed by vicious seagulls if one dares to go to the beach. BLR later expanded this scene into a full-length stand-alone song called "Seagulls! (Stop It Now)", which was released in November 2016, and eventually hitting #1 on the Billboard Comedy Digital Tracks chart.

Mark Hamill, who played Luke Skywalker in the Star Wars films, publicly praised "Seagulls!" (and Bad Lip Reading in general) while speaking at Star Wars Celebration in 2017: "I love them, and I showed Carrie [Fisher] the Yoda one… we were dying. She loved it. I retweeted it… and [BLR] contacted me and said ‘Do you want to do Bad Lip Reading?’ And I said, ‘I'd love to…’”. Hamill and Bad Lip Reading collaborated on Bad Lip Reading's version of The Force Awakens, with Hamill providing the voice of Han Solo. The Star Wars Trilogy Bad Lip Reading videos led to a second musical number, "Bushes of Love", which hit #2 on the Billboard Comedy Digital Tracks chart.

May the 4th be with 71,6% of you!

[reiderwriter]

I'm Your Fluffer!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader (best friends to lovers)

For @imagining-in-the-margins FWB Challenge!

Prompt: "I'm your boyfriend without the benefits." "Do you want the benefits?" "Yes- No... I'm your fluffer!" (Inspired by New Girl) (yes, I suggested this prompt, bo idc if that's cheating)

Warnings: Mentions of BDSM, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, choking, mentions of spanking, and butt worship, slight Dom Spencer, bratty reader, creampie. The classics, yk.

A/N: I'm back!!!! I took a break because I couldn't bring myself to even look at a word document for about a month, but there's nothing like a Pom challenge to get me writing again! I did have a lot planned for my 1 year anniversary, but because I was sick, and then busy, and then work got hectic, I had to put it off. I still am going to try to finish my kink bingo Carr, though, even though its a month late, but I had two fics left iirc, and I have both of them plotted, so I may as well! I will, however, be abandoning the final epilogue of I Can't Help Myself, because I wrote myself into a depressed corner with that one, and honestly, some people were getting very pushy about it, and it wasn't fun anymore. Anyway! This one was fun to write, so I'm going to stick to one shots for the foreseeable future, or incredibly limited series.

Masterlist

Spencer was your friend. A good friend. Your best friend, perhaps. A really good, very best friend.

Obviously, you were good friends because he always knew when you were feeling down. He bought you flowers regularly when he passed by flower shops. He came over to your place and helped you build every piece of flatpack furniture you had, which, as a single woman in your mid-twenties, was every piece of furniture that you owned.

You really looked forward to the movie nights the two of you had weekly. The popcorn, the blankets, the cuddling, his lips by your ear, in-time translating the foreign movies word for word as you watched it, the shivers down your spine as you pressed further into the heat of him.

Spencer was the best best friend you could ask for.

He was also the most frustrated.

“Kid, what are you doing this weekend? I'm thinking of hitting some clubs, you know, getting my groove on, maybe meeting A few ladies,” Morgan smirked, rubbing his hands together as he gently moved side to side, already dancing to himself as he anticipated his big weekend out. “You in, or are you in?”

“I can't. I promised Y/N I'd help her with some document digitalisation. We're going to order pizza and watch Star Trek while backing up her entire paper trail.”

The smile on Spencer's face was so stupid that Morgan had to stop himself from wiping it off of him immediately.

“Man, you are so down bad for that girl,” he mused, shaking his head.

“What? Down bad?”

“You like her. It's okay to admit it.”

“We're friends. I'm happy being friends,” Spencer said, picking up his bag and walking to the elevator desperate to escape a repeat of a conversation he'd already had three times that week.

“You know everyone thinks you're dating.”

“Well aware. Despite the number of times we've both stated to the contrary, people don't seem to accept ‘we're just friends’ when they hear it.”

“That may be because you're doing things that just friends don't do.”

“Everything we do is totally platonic.”

“You buy her flowers-

“I buy my mother flowers,” Spencer said, turning on the man and raising his hands in exasperation.

“You know that's different. Do you buy Emily flowers?”

Silence.

“What about JJ?”

“I bought JJ flowers!” He grinned triumphantly until the other man spoke again.

“When she was in the hospital. Giving birth. Okay, what about the movie nights?”

Rolling his eyes, the younger man walked on, pressing the bell for the elevator and allowing his friend to keep bothering him.

“Friends watch movies together, Morgan. We've watched movies together, are we dating?”

“One, you are not my type, pretty boy, and two, you didn't exactly have your dick pressed against my ass the entire time we watched a film now, did you?”

“Be q- be quiet. I don't have my dick against her ass ever.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, was it pressed against her stomach instead? I know she likes to lie on top of-”

“Derek!”

The elevator arrived, and the two quickly jumped in, to Spencer's relief.

“All I'm saying, kid, is-”

“Hold the elevator!” You shouted, running to it quickly with Penelope Garcia on your heels.

“Thanks, Spence!” You said, smiling at him as you entered the small space.

And continued your not too unsimilar conversation with Penelope.

“So, as I was saying Penelope,” you shot her a look that told her you were finished with the conversation. You were not dating Spencer Reid, and you were unlikely to in the future because of his total and complete lack of interest in you.

“You can set me up this weekend, right? It's been an age since I've been on a date, and I would really like to-” you glanced around the elevator and whispered the end of your sentence, suddenly mindful of your company. “You know.”

“If you're absolutely sure, I have a few men in mind that could throw you about, but-”

You squealed and squeezed the woman as the elevator landed on your floor and jumped out of the elevator quickly, cheeks burning.

“Thanks, Pen, you're the best!”

“Y/N, wait,” Spencer called out behind you, desperately holding the elevator open for a few more seconds.

“I thought we were doing your papers this weekend? Star trek, pizza, remember?”

You stared guiltily at the floor as you forced your voice to sound as casual as possible, not sure you could make any excuse that didn't sound pathetic.

“Oh, sorry, Spencer. I totally forgot. We can rain check, right? I… I really need this.”

Spencer was aware of what disappointment felt like, but it never hollowed out his chest like your lack of eye contact in that moment did.

“Yeah. Sure, of course. We can do that whenever.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Spencer. You're the best… friend.”

He smiled and let the door finally shut, aware of the two sets of eyes now watching him.

It took a surprisingly long time for the ‘I told you so’ to come, but come it did, as if Morgan were unable to help himself.

“You're telling me that you're not into her at all?”

“I'm…not into her like that at all.”

“And you're fine with me setting her up on a date with a man that'll do somewhat empowering, somewhat disgusting things with her?” Penelope piled on.

“What? That's…that's not my business,” he ground out.

“No. Of course it’s not. Because you're not her boyfriend.”

“Exactly, I'm not her boyfriend-”

“You're her fluffer.”

With a pat on the shoulder, the elevator hit its last stop, and Morgan exited, leaving Spencer scrambling after him as Penelope waved the two of them off.

“What? No, what's a fluffer?”

Morgan chuckled and waved him off, walking to his car.

“Come on, what's a fluffer, and why am I hers?”

“You've seen porn before, right?” The older man asked, pausing as he opened his driver side door. “Actually don't answer that. The fluffer is the person who keeps the actors and actresses… ready between takes. Prepares them for the good stuff.”

With a bright flush across his cheeks, Spencer tried his best for an indignant look, landing somewhat closer to a petulant child.

“I am not her fluffer. We have never-”

“I know you've never. If you had, we wouldn't be standing here right now having this conversation. What I'm saying is you should.”

“We're friends!”

Climbing into the car and closing the door, Morgan dismissed the younger man quickly, but he wasn't finished.

Knocking on the door, Spencer waiting a beat, then two for it to open again.

“I'm not her fluffer.”

“You build her furniture and cuddle with her. You're doing everything a boyfriend would do, without any of the boyfriend rewards.”

“What rewards?” he gasped, exasperated.

A single look was all the reply he got before Morgan out his keys into the ignition and started driving.

Spencer never made the decision to turn up at your house later that night. He just found himself all of a sudden at your front door on a Friday night, pulling out the key from the plant pot by the front door and letting himself in. Unlocking his shoes, he called out through the apartment, letting you know he was there as he slipped into the house shoes you'd bought him after the first of many movie nights.

“Spencer? We cancelled earlier, remember?” you said emerging from your bedroom, fitted in the tightest dress he'd ever seen you in. He already had no answer for your question, but seeing you like that, getting ready, he had no answer to any question at all. If you'd have asked him his name, he wouldn't have known it.

Well, he would've, but only because you'd said it only three seconds ago and had reminded him that he was, in fact, standing in your apartment when he should've been literally anywhere else.

“Um. I'm…I'm just-” he scratched the back of his neck, waiting for something to come to him.

“Spencer, I'm leaving in like an hour, so there's no time to watch a movie, and I have to get ready, so-”

“I'm… I'm angry?”

You raised an eyebrow at his questioning tone, unsure where this conversation was going.

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah..yes. I'm sure. I'm angry. We, we had plans, and you gave me like an hours notice and cancelled them to go do something stupid-”

“Spencer! I'm going on a date. That's not stupid.”

“It is when you have me!”

He half shouted, half murmured the words, as if he himself were unsure of how confident he was in making that statement.

“That came out wrong-”

“Yeah, I think it did.”

“What I mean is- I mean…Morgan said that-”

You crossed your arms and sat yourself on the arm of your sofa, looking forward at him and waiting for him to get through whatever this was. You hoped the entire time that he was saying what you'd wanted him to say for the last year and a half.

“Have you ever watched porn?”

Not what you were hoping for, but a start, at least.

“Spencer!”

“That came out wrong, I- don't throw the couch cushions at me. I have a point, I swear!”

You lowered your next projectile and gestured for him to go on, not fully relinquishing it just yet.

“I'm your fluffer! I get you…in the mood for dates, and- and- I do all the boyfriend stuff without any of the boyfriend benefits!”

He stood in front of you, red-faced, and you stared him down a second or two as you collected your thoughts.

“Do you…want the boyfriend benefits?”

“Yes! No, wait - wait a second. I- I- What are the boyfriend benefits exactly?”

You threw the pillow down and turned your back on him, not entirely sure what you were expecting from the most oblivious genius on the planet.

“Y/N, wait. Wait-”

With a hand wrapped around your wrist, Spencer spun you around, and, tripping over your feet, you landed hard on your sofa. Your fall should've been relatively pain-free, but for the 6-foot man that landed directly on top of you.

“Get up.”

“What are the boyfriend benefits?”

“You should know if you're saying you want them! Now, get up!”

“Not until you tell me.”

“Spencer!”

“Y/N!”

You groaned and writhed under him, but he just dropped his weight onto you, unmoving, hands pinning your wrists lazily, leg poking between your two, hips pinning yours.

It certainly wasn't the closest you'd ever been, but in those circumstances, during that conversation, you felt more flustered than you had before.

“What are the benefits.”

“You really want me to say? You're not afraid it's going to throw off our friendship, ruin whatever good thing we have going?”

“I think that if you go out tonight, and enjoy your date, and get a boyfriend, that he's going to feel weird about this good thing we have going and it's going to be over anyway. Tell me.”

You desperately searched for a way out of this situation, but a stronger part of you wanted to simply wrap your legs around him and let him take as much advantage as he could.

You settled for disturbing him.

“Fine. A boyfriend would be able to spank me.”

“Y/N, be serious.”

“I am. I like it. A boyfriend would pull my hair back and make me count as he hit my cute round ass until it turned all red, and I couldn't sit down comfortably anymore. A boyfriend would then kiss it better.”

You'd never spoken about sex with Spencer, and you hoped the vulgarity would force him back to his senses. Instead, he didn't stir, and you had no choice but to continue.

“Another boyfriend benefit would be choking me. I like that, too. Are your hands big enough to wrap around my throat, Spencer?”

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly and do confidently, you weren't sure you actually heard it outlook until he spoke again.

“What other benefits, Y/N?”

“A… boyfriend would get to cum inside me,” you whispered, suddenly aware of hips rocking into yours slowly as his cock poked up, listening intently to the promises spilling from your lips that you likely should've regretted.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I want the benefits.”

Your body was hot everywhere he touched you, but he didn't move, didn't follow through on anything just yet. But you were aware of his head moving closer and closer to yours and panicked.

“And what have you done? As my fluffer? To deserve those benefits?”

“What have I done?” He asked, pulling back an inch. Even as his chest rested, flush against yours, your breasts pushed up against him as his hands held yours over your head.

“I-I bought you flowers-”

“Emily buys me flowers, too. So does Penelope. Should I let them be my boyfriend?”

With your hands in use, you took advantage of his distraction and wrapped your legs up and around his waist, rolling your hips up into him.

“I suppose I do like flowers, though. What else?”

“I… We're always t-together?”

“We work together.”

Using the leverage of his weight against yours, you rolled up harder into his hips, grinding into him slowly as you watched his resolve melt away.

“The m-movie nights are-”

“The movie nights where you rut your cock into me while we watch a movie? Friends do that all the time. You're just translating the movie for me after all.”

“Y/N, please don't-”

“Don't say that? Okay. I'll just let someone else hump against my thighs to get off because you're too proud to admit you want to sink your dick into me and pound me?”

“Y/N-”

“Maybe that's why you don't have the boyfriend privileges, Spencer. Because I'm waiting for something, you're too much of a prude to try-”

His lips meet yours before you can finish the thought, and you're not sure whether it's a triumph or a defeat.

After precisely five seconds of his lips on yours, though, you no longer cared.

Releasing your hands gently, he lifted his hips an inch, distracting you enough to force his tongue into your mouth as his hand found its way between your legs.

“Did you really mean it?” He asked between kisses as you rake your hands through his hair, getting lost in him. “About the benefits?”

You allowed yourself to imagine it for a second, Spencer's hands on your throat. His hands on your ass. His mouth buried between your legs.

You moaned into his kiss, and he laughed - actually laughed - as he pulled away.

“Spencer!”

“No, no, please, don't let me keep you from your thoughts, I'll just be down here.”

His fingers reached your clit and he wasn't surprised to find you already wet, legs spread. Snaking another hand to your neck though, he wasn't exactly as opposed to the ideas you'd flung at him as he'd acted.

You gasped as his hand closed around your neck, the prettiest necklace you'd ever worn. You grabbed a hold of his hands as he pulled your underwear off, pushing them down your legs as he gently pushed your legs open wider and replaced his fingers with his tongue.

You curled up on yourself, craving your body to watch him devour your pussy as you tried your best to keep your breaths shallow, to keep breathing entirely as he squeezed your throat.

His tongue licked and flattened, his head bobbing up and down and then stilling as your hips began moving by themselves, letting you ride his face as you moaned and whined and desperately ran towards your climax.

You wrapped a leg around his shoulder, pressing down on his back to keep him in position, grabbing a handful of hair as you jerked against his face, fucking it as he looked up at you through hooded eyes, drinking down every drop of you.

His hold on your neck tightened, and you felt your body shudder as you squeaked out his name, not wanting this to end so soon, needing to feel more of this. He let you ride it out until you were whining in frustration again, hips twitching from the friction of his tongue against your cunt.

Then he pushed away.

He wasn't gone long, but you followed him up. You thought about pushing him down to the couch again, thought about sitting on his pretty boy face and doing it all over again. You thought of turning over and presenting your ass to him, letting him punish you like you'd promised. Your thoughts ceased as quickly as they came when he pulled his cock free of his pants, not even bothering to pull them off fully before pulling you into his lap, lining himself up, and pushing you down onto his hot, hard, lengthy cock.

You swear you would've screamed if his to guess hadn't already claimed your mouth. A good scream. A “holy shit holy shit holy shit” scream. Definitely a “I didn't know it was that big, and honestly I'm a little scared” scream. But overall, a “god that feels so good” scream.

From the lack of movement, you were sure that Spencer was giving you a moment to adjust to his intrusion, and you were thankful as you clung to his neck, hands balling in the material of his shirt on his back.

Although he was bigger than expected, he wasn't uncomfortably large, and you calmed quickly, giving him a quick nod as you buried yourself in his neck, hiding your face to stop yourself from drooling, mouth wide as he tipped you back against the couch pillows, lifting your legs slightly and slipping his hands underneath yous thighs, and began his steady pace of thrusts.

You were sure your world was imploding on itself, that all your senses had ceased except that of touch, and his touch was fire. But you heard the wet, slutty sounds of your pussy welcoming him, you smelt the sweat against his skin, and, opening your eyes, you saw the absolute pleasure blasted against his features as he groaned in your ear.

And before you could form another coherent thought, he'd claimed another boyfriend benefit, as, rocking his hips against yours, he slowed to a stutter as he emptied himself inside you.

“Spencer!!” you moaned, but he wasn't done, spitting on his fingers and finding your clit again as you squealed, twitching and turning and milling his cock with your movements as you found your second release.

You moaned his name again, though it sounded less like his name this time, and more like a definite noise complaint from your neighbours in the morning.

“Spencer?” you asked, still trying to regain your breath as he, once again, collapsed on top of you.

“Mhmm,” he said, slowly pulling out of you, watching the mess you'd made together drip out too, and resisting the urge to push right back into you and go again.

“Was that a friendly fuck, or a boyfriend fuck?”

His eyes snapped to yours again as you continued.

“I just want to give Penelope the correct reason for cancelling on her friend when I text her-”

“I came inside you.”

“So you did.”

“Y/N!”

“.... So that wasn't a fluffer thing, but a boyfriend thing, got i-”

With a kiss, he shut you up again, and you realized quickly that you probably wouldn't have the time to send that text anyway.

[colossrat]

marvel likes storms :) Batman grimaced when he received an informational pin on his communicator that a magic user had entered his city at high speed, but only sighed when he noticed that it was a member of the league. one that, despite being friendly, shouldn't be there. He threw himself back and forth between the rooftops until he reached the superhero's location. He was sitting on the edge of a considerably tall building that gave a good view of the city, but the Big Red Cheese was looking up intently to the sky, his legs swinging excitedly.

Batman: Marvel, what are you doing here in Gotham?!

Marvel: Ah, Mr. Batman! Sorry, I know you don't like visitors, but I promise I'm not here to bother you. I'm not even here on business. I'm here because of the storm that's coming!

Batman: Explain.

Marvel: Well? I just like storms. You know, flying through the heavy clouds, feeling the rain, the smell of ozone and the static. It's natural that I love this environment, you know? How when humans feel comfortable in the fetal position? Because they remember their mother's womb, or something like that. Batman saved this information to analyze later, especially the "when humans..." part which may be indicating that the captain was born from a storm.

Batman: Hmn. Don't cause trouble, and if trouble comes to you, call me first.

Marvel: ok mister! will do. And the captain salutes with a big smile. Not even Batman can deny his friendly charm, especially when he comes up with strangely interesting facts like this Now, every time Gotham is hit by a nasty storm, everyone will be ready and waiting for Marvel to be there, chasing thunder, laughing as he flies through the sky, diving head first into the drops of water and static only to fly back up again later. Every now and then he accidentally gets in the way of some evil plan (he absorbed all the rays that the villains wanted to channel to energize a weapon or bring someone back to life, perhaps) and batman just kinda dont want to comment about it Or theres Cap absorbing the most dangerous thunder, the number of accidents throughout the city greatly decreased. like trees catching fire, poles falling, generators breaking down and so on. There are several posts on the internet, even a reddit just with people saying that they saw the big red cheese playing in the storm out there, being hit by thunder on purpose and stuff Eventually he starts to feel comfortable enough in the bats city to help the citizens a little. just a little so as not to irritate his boss. He cuts holes in the clouds to create a gap of light to help a lady look for the keys she dropped on the ground. he shares some electricity for the hospital generators in case they have a problem during the storm. A large branch fell on the street and is blocking traffic? in a red blur, the branch will have been dumped in a safe environment.

Batman actually begins to enjoy the small gestures around the city, even more so because Marvel doesn't try to change her his way, just lend a hand, appreciating what she has to offer, even if that is dark and foggy skies with aggressive rays of buzzing electricity. Bruce is very happy to have someone else who likes Gotham's dark skies.

part 1 of strange facts about the captain that fill the league with "he's silly, I like him" maybe

[restless-soulz]

i can't believe i'm posting this

ATTENTION FNAF DAYCARE ATTENDENT FIC AUTHORS IMPORTANT TIPS FOR WRITING A DAYCARE

here's a couple tips for actually working in a daycare:

-there is...so much paperwork. kid gets hurt and has visible injury? incident report. kid starts acting out? incident report. kid needs new supplies like diapers, clothes, wipes, or sheets? send a paper home. there's also check in sheets both online and physical copy, a record of food/meals eaten, and transfer sheet for when kids move out of your area.

^and that's not even counting the amount of paperwork it takes to get hired. i swear i filled out about five of the same application stuff, and needed copies of drivers license, fingerprint clearance card, college transcripts/ged, cpr certificate, and then you have to take the training/onboarding packets. and also the t-dap test for tuberculosis.

-there are state legislations about how many kids are allowed to be in the care of one teacher at a certain age. it can even change county to county. we call it "in ratio". two teachers in one class means you can have twice the ratio or even one or two above. example: infants (4wks - 1yr) ratio is 1:5. Ones are 1:6. Twos are 1:8, Threes are 1:13. PreK is 1:15, School age is 1:20.

-It's popular nowadays to have open door policies to parents and have frequent photos of the kids taken throughout the day as you do activities.

-Activities! There is usually a quick curriculum to follow in a preschool, but not really in a daycare but i find that boring. We do themed events every month and get to redecorate our classrooms and do special activities with the kids and I think Sun and Moon would appreciate it.

-When kids aren't playing together, they usually are playing with toys. There are so many toys and you have to be careful with younger ages that keep PUTTING THINGS IN THEIR MOUTHS AND CAUSING INFECTIOUS DISEASES TO HAPPEN. You MUST keep a close eye on what they put in/by their mouths because kids are gross and they WILL give each other chickenpox and pinkeye and the flu if given the chance. You take the toy away immediately and put it in a wash bin up high on a shelf they can't reach

^you also typically need toys and activities that build skills with science, math, art, music, language development, and social learning.

-Food! Kids need a lot of food, so typically breakfast is open to be served from open to about mid morning or about two hours before lunch will be served. Lunch is served at 11, so that 12-2 is nap time. 3 is when snack is served, 5 is when late snack is served. There is a cook there for breakfast and lunch. They leave after that tho. AND you have to serve food that everyone can eat, and be aware of allergies or dietary restrictions kids may have.

-NAPTIME holy shit guys naptime is hard. a lot of kids just can't put themselves to sleep. after lunch, usually around 11:30/11:45 you pull out mats and grab each persons individual sheets and blankets. which means memorizing who has what mat number for hygienic reasons. and then you have to learn who will cry when you gently pat or rub their pack to sleep, who will scream, and who will fall asleep fast or not at all. it varies by age, but all ones will fall asleep, almost all of twos go to sleep, most threes sleep, about have fours sleep and school age kids don't really. you put on music to make them sleepy and turn off the lights as best you can. and kids WILL fight you about going to sleep. idk why. they just don't like to or they came in late so their schedule is thrown off or their parents insist they don't need naps/don't do it at home (whhhhhhyyyyy).

^along with this, nap time is the best part of my day because it's quiet and i can sit and clean all those dirty toys they put in their mouths, or i can set out a project, or i clean up the room, or something else.

-speaking of screamers, you will absolutely have defiant kids who will throw tantrums. they will hit, throw, scream, and cry. it's not really normal, but you learn to discern and redirect if possible. if not, you get another teacher if you feel like you can't handle them. which is fine. the worst part is the parents who insist that they aren't doing anything wrong. or that we are being mean to them and singling them out. (we aren't, don't take it personally, corporate surprisingly will have your back on this)

^there are lots of different tantrums too. i have one kid that cries immediately and then goes to me for a hug. i have one that just groans like a zombie and sheds big tears. i have multiple screamers. i have one that sounds like ancient and almost rolled himself off the changing table.

-Bathrooms!!! Kids need to go to the bathroom and also to be changed. Literally every hour, we have to mark on a sheet for those in diapers if they are wet, dry, or had a bowel movement. we also assist with potty training, and that means accidents happen literally all the time and we have to call for a mop and clean the child up. if it happens in the older years, it can be really embarrassing, but the younger years are very much used to letting us check real quick and change them as needed. there's also specific way to change diapers: with disposable gloves on to actually change and wipe, take them off to throw them away with the diaper, use bare hands to get a clean diaper on the clean bottom. also! you must keep one hand on the child at all times for safety. there might also be creams for the child you'll have to put on.

-you also have a responsibility as a daycare worker to check the conditions of your charges. take notice of their hair, their clothes, their skin. i have a kid with what looks like a burn on their ankle, a kid who's hair was so matted her parents had to cut her ponytail out because they didn't take it out for a week and a half. Same girl also has really dry hair and red scalp that doesn't look like it's been washed in a while and comes to school often in stained dresses only. i had to give her bath in our sink because they hadn't taken out her hair. we write down everything we see so CPS can have strong cases. neglect is harder to prove than abuse, and always work with the safety of the child in mind. if it looks really bad, it might be really bad. use your own judgment but also don't be afraid to tell your boss.

-Parents can def be a blessing or a curse. depends on how much they like you. sometimes, the daycare is a home more to these kids than their actual homes, which makes it frustrating for us when parents don't listen to the daily simple routine we set, which makes it difficult every monday to get back onto schedule for kids. it's important to have consistency with kids. some parents are just looking to guilt your or to feel powerful, or they don't tell you things about their kid that should really be important (like how they still use a pacifier at home when they are almost three).

-Staff! We have to have enough staff for people to give breaks to or take over classes when someone calls out. That means that there is somebody available to be in a classroom for up to an hour and knows how fill in. that's my job, but i mostly hang out with the younger years.

-There are also surveyors constantly, if it's not parents, it's camera audits, if it's not that it's board of education people and the like going around.

[navybrat817]

Deep in the Woods: Part 1

Pairing: Soft!Dark Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: A relaxing getaway in the woods may become your permanent home when you catch the eye of a lumberjack.

Series Masterlist | Part 2

Chapter Summary: You encounter your grumpy temporary neighbor while attempting to chop some firewood.

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.3k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, bits of MCU canon, cheating mentioned (reader's ex), grumpy x sunshine trope, invasive behavior, reader is too trusting, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit rude at first, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: A new dark AU inspired by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor 's ask. ❤️‍🔥 Thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer for cheering me on! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The sun shining in the sky was deceiving as you hauled a large piece of wood to the tree trunk. It was chillier than expected, and the cold would only get worse once the sun went down. Your cabin had heat, but you'd be stuck if it went out and you didn’t manage to chop some firewood. Making a fire you could handle. Chopping wood?

That was another story.

“Okay,” you smiled, setting the log upright and adjusting your gloves before you grabbed the axe. You gripped the handle tight, raising it above your head. “I got this.”

The blade hit the log almost dead center. Unsurprisingly though, it barely pierced the wood. You hunched over, tugging at the axe, nearly losing your balance in the process. “I still got this,” you huffed, shaking out your arms and swinging again.

The next swing went deeper, but only by an inch. The swing after that, you nearly missed completely. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your body warming despite the chill in the air. After a moment, you dropped the axe and stared at the log with your hands on your hips. It was nowhere near split.

“I don’t got this,” you sighed.

“Who the hell are you?” a gruff voice asked from behind you.

Your heart leapt to your throat as you spun around, and it raced even faster when you spotted a figure just a few feet away. He was a large man, and one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. He would likely tower over you if he stepped closer. His dark hair hung messily past his shoulders, while his perfectly trimmed beard gave him a rugged edge. The flannel he wore strained against the biceps of his muscular arms, one of the shades of blue matching his thunderous eyes.

Was he glaring at you?

“Hi,” you smiled, trying to sound friendly as you gestured toward the unchopped log. “I was just trying, and failing, to chop some firewood. I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

He kicked a small twig away with his boot. “I didn't ask what you were doing. I asked, ‘Who the hell are you?’”

Your smile slipped. Maybe he was local and didn't like outsiders, though something about him seemed familiar. “Oh, yeah. Right,” you said, giving him your name and nodding to the cabin nearby. “Mr. Hunter rented the place out to me. I’m staying for a couple of weeks. Just got here this morning.” You hoped the place wasn't double booked.

He relaxed a fraction, but his glare didn't disappear completely as he took out his phone and dialed a number. You heard a ring as he put it on speaker. While he tapped a foot impatiently, you weren't sure what to say or do.

“Howdy, neighbor,” a raspy voice answered on the other end.

“Did you rent out your place?” he asked, keeping his eyes on you when your face got hot. You wanted to yell that you wouldn't lie about something like that, but that didn't seem like a good idea.

“Yeah. Pretty lady. Paid in full upfront. Clean background, too.” You looked at your feet. It was weird to listen in even though it was on speaker. And did he say “clean background”? What did that mean? “Why? Is she-”

The man hung up the phone. “Didn't think he rented his cabin out anymore,” he said more to himself than you.

An awkward silence filled the air. “Yeah, well, apparently he does. I booked it a couple of months ago and he left a code to get in and some instructions for the place,” you explained, trying to smile again as you looked around and breathed in the fresh air. “It’s a really nice place and the view up here is gorgeous, like something out of a photograph. Do you live nearby?”

He grunted and jutted his chin out. “My cabin is the next one over to the left.”

“That’s nice,” you smiled more, grabbing the axe again. “And it was very interesting meeting you, temporary neighbor, but I should try to finish this up.”

Before you could blink, the man was directly in front of you with one hand on the handle. He was even bigger up close. “If you’re thinking of taking another swing at that log, don't,” he barked at you, snatching the axe from your hands. You weren’t sure if it was his tone or him grabbing it from you that made you flinch. “This isn't a toy, it’s dangerous. And from the looks of that log you have no business trying to do that to begin with.”

Your cheeks burned again. It was bad enough that this guy didn't take your word for staying at the cabin, but the last thing you needed was for some stranger to lecture or humiliate you, and a grumpy one at that. “Yeah, well, if my cheating asshole of a boyfriend hadn't been balls deep in his colleague, we wouldn't be having this conversation. He'd be out here chopping firewood and I’d be inside cooking, which is something I'm actually good at, thank you very much,” you snapped.

Your tone surprised him enough to let you take the axe back. “I didn't…” he trailed off when you held up a hand.

“You don't know me and that’s fine, but I’m trying to be friendly and that's more than you can say,” you continued, his nostrils flaring. He didn't have to be nice to you, but he didn't need to be rude either. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I'm stuck here by myself, I’m trying my best to make it work, and I don't need some random stranger out here giving me a hard time for no reason.”

Your eyes burned as he stared at you, but you squared your shoulders and held your head high. You spent enough time crying over a prick who wasn’t worth it and you refused to shed another tear because you deserved better than an unfaithful asshole. And you sure as hell wouldn't cry in front of some hot grump with a chip on his shoulder.

The man’s pensive look dissipated more of your sudden anger and his tone softened considerably when he asked, “You’re really out here by yourself?”

You tensed up. It wasn't smart of you to broadcast that you were all by your lonesome. “Yeah, for now,” you said, your voice softer, too. Maybe you could convince a friend to stop by for a day or so. “I know I’m not good with an axe, but I tried. I just wanted some firewood in case the heat went out for any reason,” you said, your shoulders sagging. “So if you don't mind, can I please finish up?”

He nodded, taking the axe more gently this time. “Let me,” he offered, your eyes wide at his change in demeanor. “And step back. I don't want you to get hurt.”

Once you moved out of the way, he lifted the axe and split the log down the middle with expert precision. With his view on the task at hand, you swept an appreciative gaze over him. The guy was a bit of a grump, but he filled his jeans out well. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, mister,” you told him, getting a grunt in response. “My problems aren't your problems and I didn't mean to get so defensive about my lack of wood chopping skills.”

“You can call me Bucky,” he said, grabbing another log. “And nothing to be sorry for. I didn't exactly lay out the welcome mat for you.”

“It’s… Wait, Bucky.” Your eyes widened in realization. “Bucky Barnes?”

He froze before he brought the axe down again. “Heard of me?”

“Of course I have. You helped save the world,” you smiled. Years back, an alien warlord had wiped out half of the population. Not only did a group of heroes called the Avengers help reverse the wipeout, but they stopped the monster with the help of many others across the galaxy. Bucky was one of those people. No wonder he seemed so familiar. “You’re a hero.”

A tortured one at that. You remembered seeing a few articles about him. A former prisoner of war turned brainwashed assassin turned hero. He was pardoned for the crimes committed while was brainwashed, and rightfully so in your opinion, and he went on to use his skills and expertise to help others.

What was he doing out here in the woods?

“Not really a hero anymore,” he said, brushing his hair back with his forearm. “Now I’m just a lumberjack who values his privacy.”

“Oh.” That answered your question. “I guess valuing your privacy explains why you didn't roll out the welcome mat,” you teased, wringing your fingers together. You felt kind of bad again for snapping at him. Given his past that you were aware of, it made sense why he would've been suspicious of someone new popping up near his home.

He stopped to glance at you. “Guess it’s my turn to apologize,” he said.

You blinked, not wanting to lose yourself in his deep gaze. “No need. I figured you were just a local who didn't like new people around.” You smiled at the pile of wood he made. “I think you chopping firewood for me is the perfect apology. You saved me a lot of time and trouble.”

He hummed, putting the blade in the tree trunk once he finished. “You said you cook?” he asked, wiping his gloves on his jeans as he faced you.

“Yeah. I actually have a stew keeping warm right now,” you replied, shifting on your feet when he stared you down. “Are you hungry? I made plenty.”

“Sure,” he shrugged.

“Okay.” Your smile faltered when you walked toward the cabin with Bucky close behind. Was it a good idea to invite him in when you didn't exactly know him? The guy was a hero though. No reason to be suspicious.

The aroma of seasonings, beef, and vegetables greeted you as you opened the door and set your gloves on the entry table. “If you don’t mind taking your boots off, that was one of the instructions,” you told him, removing yours and hanging your coat on the hook.

While the cabin wasn’t large, it was in great condition. It was also extremely clean and tidy. The guy who owned it likely didn’t want dirt on his floors.

“Yeah, God’s kind of picky about that stuff,” Bucky said, putting his gloves on top of yours. You caught a glimpse of his metal hand, but you quickly looked away. It wasn’t polite to stare.

“Wait. The G in G.B. Hunter stands for God?” Your brows pinched as you walked toward the kitchen. “What the hell does the B stand for?” you muttered to yourself.

“That’s really what it stands for. He’s a bit of a strange guy, but a good neighbor when he’s here,” Bucky said, following close again. He was practically on top of you. “So, your boyfriend. He-”

“Ex-boyfriend,” you corrected him, inhaling deeply as you lifted the lid from the warm pot. The scent brought a smile to your face and pushed a bit of the bitterness away. “What about him?”

Bucky grabbed a couple of bowls from the cupboard. He knew where the spoons were, too, so he was at least somewhat familiar with the place. You weren’t sure how that made you feel. “How long were you two together?”

“Almost a year,” you replied. A waste of about twelve months and it wouldn't be fun to start over again.

He set the bowls on the counter before he grabbed a couple of drinks, sweeping a look over you. “Did you catch him cheating?” he asked curiously.

You froze, the image of your ex scrambling to cover himself and his colleague up as you walked in taking over your mind. You had to blink multiple times to make the image go away, but it didn’t stop your stomach from turning. “Yep,” you answered, your throat tight. Why did he want to know? “Tried to give me some lame excuse that it wasn't what it looked like, but I slapped him and said we were done. I can forgive a lot of things, but cheating isn’t one of them.”

“Loyalty is a good trait to want in a partner,” he mused.

“It is, but it’s a trait he didn't have apparently. At least we didn’t live together,” you continued, taking a breath. It hurt and felt good to talk about it. “We were supposed to come up here for a getaway and I debated cancelling the reservation, but I figured it would be a good way to clear my head.”

The kitchen felt warmer and you figured it was because you were close to the stove until you realized Bucky was right at your back. You went rigid when he inhaled. Maybe he was just smelling the food. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You gripped the ladle until your hand ached. “Not your fault,” you whispered, keeping perfectly still. If you moved forward, the stove would burn you. If you moved back, you’d be right against him. It was a small kitchen, but there was no reason for him to stand so close.

You didn’t exhale until he moved to set the drinks on the table. “You got a job?” he asked.

Clearing your throat, you nodded, thankful for the change in topic. “Yeah, data entry. Not too exciting, but it’s decent pay and I don’t have to go into an office or deal with traffic.” You scooped a generous portion of stew into a bowl for him, just in case he was really hungry. “As long as I have my laptop and an internet connection, I can get the job done.”

“Must be nice,” he commented, but it sounded more admirable than sarcastic. “You said you and your ex didn’t live together. Do you have a roommate? Pets?”

You side-eyed him. The tone was casual, but what was with the multiple questions? “I live alone because my apartment is about the size of a shoebox,” you said. It was cozy though and yours. “Nice thing is the rent is cheap. Sad thing is the building is pet free.”

He took out his phone as you got your bowl ready. “I have a cat,” he said, shoving the phone close to your face. It was a photo of a beautiful white cat sitting by a window. It was endearing picturing a burly man holding such a delicate creature. “Her name’s Alpine.”

You smiled at the image. “She’s really beautiful. I’ve always loved cats.”

He smiled a little, too, but it went away as fast as it appeared. “She’s very particular with people, but you’re welcome to meet her.” He took the bowl from your hand to carry them to the small table nearby. “She might like you since you’re sweet.”

Heat rolled up your neck. “That’s nice of you to offer, but I wouldn’t want to impose,” you said. It wasn’t like you had any plans during your time there, but he had done enough by chopping the firewood for you.

His jaw ticked. “If it was an imposition I wouldn't have asked.”

“Oh, I wasn't trying to imply anything,” you promised, your stomach twisting in knots. It wasn't your intention to upset him.

“Are you allergic to cats?”

“No, I’m not,” you answered.

He set the bowls on the table and leveled you with a hard stare. “Then I think you should meet her,” he said, pulling out a chair for you. It sounded more like an order than a suggestion. “Sit.”

You hesitated before you sat down. “Okay then,” you said. Maybe he was trying to make up for being rude earlier by welcoming you in some capacity. “Does tomorrow work?”

His lip curled up in a smile, giving you a nod, too. “Tomorrow. Early afternoon,” he replied, taking a seat. How did he still look so big sitting down? You watched him blow on a spoonful of stew before he took a bite, his eyes shutting with a groan. It was a deep, primal sound and you shouldn't have liked hearing it. “This is… really good.”

You beamed, unable to help yourself. You took pride in your cooking. “I’m glad you like it,” you said, digging in, too. “So, you said you’re a lumberjack now. How long have you been doing that?”

He hunched over a bit as he took a few more bites, like he hadn't eaten all day. “About nine months. Tough mission happened and I had to walk away from it.” He shrugged dismissively. Did the mission have a bad outcome or was it just the straw that broke the camel’s back? It wasn’t any of your business. “Came out to the woods with Alpine, started chopping down trees to work out some of my frustration, and it somehow became my new job. The woods suit me better than the city anyway.”

“Yeah? How so?”

He shrugged again. “It’s quiet, peaceful. No judging or prying eyes,” he answered, pushing the now empty bowl away. It almost sounded like he was hiding from the world. “And I don’t mind working with my hands. Can chop trees down pretty fast and it doesn’t take long to get the logs to the sawmill. Even built some of my own furniture in my place.”

“You build your own furniture? That’s so cool,” you smiled. It took a moment, but he smiled back a little. “Being a lumberjack sounds like hard but satisfying work,” you added. You admired him for being a hero, but also for his new, humble lifestyle.

“Yeah, it is.” He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. “This might be rude to ask, but you wouldn’t mind making us lunch tomorrow, would you? I can cook, but it’s nothing like yours.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Part of you took it as a compliment that he liked your cooking, but something in his stare made you want to squirm. Could it be the assumption that you were going to have lunch with him when all he said was that he wanted you to meet his cat? “I don’t mind,” you smiled. Maybe the guy was a bit lonely and just wanted someone to share a meal with. You could sympathize with that. “Anything in particular you like? If I don’t have it, I can go to town and-”

“Surprise me, doll.” The chair scraped along the floor as he pushed himself up, towering over the table and you. “And don’t bother going to town. Whatever you have here to cook, I’ll eat it.”

“I’ll surprise you then.” Your brows pinched as he went back to the kitchen. He walked around like he owned the place. “Oh, help yourself,” you said when he stopped at the stove for another bowl.

He paused to look back at you. His blue eyes looked a shade darker and you couldn’t help but shiver. “I plan to,” he stated.

You gave him a smile, discreetly patting your pants pocket to make sure you still had your phone on you. It wasn’t like you needed to call anyone for help, but you were all alone and had to be careful. You were still going to have a nice time though. It would be a relaxing trip and you could catch up on reading, relaxing, whatever you wanted.

Besides, Bucky was nearby just in case. The guy didn’t seem to have a complete sense of boundaries, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He was a hero. You didn’t have anything to fear.

Right?

Oh, our reader did herself no favors by answering truthfully that she's all alone. I wonder how Bucky will play this... Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[thebubblesareevil]

Getting to know You

Dc x dp prompt soulmate body swap au

So you can use your character of choice but I’m gonna do Danny x Duke for this au for the sun and stars parallel.

So at any point in your life you will swap bodies with your soulmate for one hour.

When Danny turned 17 his entire world shifted and he was no longer listening to Mr Lancer drone on about the Scottish play, but instead he was sitting at an entirely different desk with a science test in front of him.

“Is everything all right Mr. Thomas?” Asked the annoyed teacher from the front of the class, several students snickering at him.

Danny glanced down at the name on the test and read the name Duke Thomas with a smile.

“Yes ma’am, just remembered something.” Danny answered, deciding to help his soulmate out a bit. He realized a few of his questions were wrong and quickly corrected them (this totally didn’t count as cheating, shut up Clockwork).

Danny did his best to make sure his swap wasn’t noticed for the next hour as he picked up little bits and pieces about his soulmate, certain his core would be purring if he was in his own body.

As he fought back a headache as he slowly figured out how to adjust the amount of light he was seeing, he couldn’t help but be in awe of his soulmate’s abilities, lamenting that he wouldn’t get to see what the stars looked like through Duke’s eyes as he watched the time tick by.

Luckily science seemed to be Duke’s last class of the day, and he apparently had friends? Family? That picked him up each day, though Danny hadn’t been expecting the limo.

He wouldn’t have even known the limo was for him if the Butler hadn’t approached him to ask if he was alright.

“Oh, sorry!” Danny said in a low whisper as he looked around “I’m actually not Duke right now,” Danny said with a sheepish grin. “I’m Danny, his soulmate. Don’t worry though, if my watch is right, you should have Duke back in about 5 minutes.”

The Butler gave him a fatherly smile, “Lovely to meet you Master Daniel, I hope I need not warn you of the consequences should any harm come to Master Duke.”

Danny gave the butler a huge grin, “not at all, do you mind hi in me his number though? I wanna call him after we swap back.”

Danny swiftly memorized the number right as the watch hit 1 hour and Danny braced himself for the reality shift that came with the swap…

A shift that never came…

Danny blinked down at the watch on Duke’s wrist, tapping it a bit before he looked at the butler with concern.

“I think…we may have a problem.”

—-

The first thing Danny did after he arrived at Wayne manor was take a nap. He had done his best to ignore the bone deep exhaustion he was feeling but after a the car ride with Alfred’s soothing choice of music…

Well, he learned it was best to heed Nocturne’s call a long time ago.

Besides, his soulmate clearly needed the sleep.

Meanwhile the Batfam are absolutely panicking over the fact that Danny and Duke didn’t swap back.

—-

Meanwhile…

“So…you are not Phantom?” Asked the… ‘Box ghost’ for the third time.

Duke groaned in annoyance before he felt something in his ribs start to vibrate…almost like a purr?

“No, I’m his soulmate.” Duke grumbled as he rubbed at his chest. The feeling was oddly comforting.

The floating blue man finally seemed to understand as he gasped before flying away in panic.

Duke sighed in relief as a hand fell on his shoulder.

He looked back to see a smirking goth girl and a boy with a red beret. “Nice going, half the realms will know by dinner.” She said as the boy snickered.

“Don’t worry dude, you’ll be fine.” Said the boy when he saw Duke’s worried face. “Besides, that’s a Danny problem, you should be swapping back soon, right?”

Duke nodded, “Any minute now.” He said as he checked the time on Danny’s phone. He had already put his phone number in the notes app as well as a message for Danny to reach out if he felt comfortable.

“I gotta ask, what’s it feel like being Danny? He’s terrible at describing it and I’m curious.” Asked the girl.

Duke smiled as he rubbed his chest right over that comforting feeling. “Cold, but also warm? Kinda like someone’s wrapped their arms around me and I just feel safe.”

The duo looked at each other in confusion. “That…isn’t at all how Danny described being…well…” the boy cleared his throat as the girl elbowed him.

“I think THAT is a conversation for Danny to have with him, don’t you think?” She asked with an arched brow.

“Uh, right..” the boy said, rubbing at his hurt arm. Duke wanted to question them, but his time was up. The minute changed and…. Nothing….

He still felt wrapped up in that safe embrace looking at Danny’s bickering friends.

“I think…something went wrong.” Duke said, trying to hide his Panic.

——

The Fenton household was chaos unleashed and Duke loved it. As soon as Danny’s parents found out who he was they wrapped him up in a big hug and welcomed him to the family.

They all seemed pretty shifty about something though…Duke couldn’t quite put his finger on it though-

Suddenly the basement door burst open as a massive black knight with flaming purple hair yell

“MY KING! CONGRATULATIONS ON FINDING YOUR QUEEN!!”

Yeah…it probably had something to do with that…

Basically a body swap au where a part of their souls swap places for 1 hour, but Danny’s core doesn’t want to let go because it recognizes its soulmate so they get stuck, so they spend the time getting to know each other and end up falling more and more in love with each other.

Bonus: all the ghosts treat Duke like actual royalty because they know Danny will destroy them if Duke gets even a scratch on him.

The Gotham rouges…are not having a good time.

Some goons kidnapped Danny thinking they were getting a payday, but Duke’s body is sturdy and Danny had dealt with more than a few of his rouges with his powers sealed, the rumors that followed would haunt the Gotham underground for years.

[simplyhale]

club classics j.a.

jack abbot x fem! reader

summary; after what was supposed to be your night off in weeks you are brought right back to the pitt. the only man that is able to help you afterwards is the one you've been hooking up with.

notes; divider is from @uzmacchiato they have stunning ones! do i think i'll probably do a part 2 to this? maybe? have i only been able to think about the pitt and the rookie for the past two months? yes. i couldn't stop listening to brat and thinking about jack abbot so here we are. i hope yall enjoy and let me know if yall would want to see the part 2 because it may or may not include smut.

words; 2394

gif cred;

— ｡⋆ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Tonight was your first night off in what felt like forever. Truly it had only been a week. But working nightshifts your internal clock was all messed up. You had finally been able to join your friends on a night full of club-hopping. Sweat marks all over your clothes . All the stress left your body, and your brain shut off. Instead, you just listened to loud pounding music that was filling every inch of your body. Allowing your body to move in ways that loosened your muscles like nothing else could.

Well not nothing else.

A part of you was sad that you wouldn’t be able to see him. But the voice saying you needed a break was much louder. Plus it was backed up with the reminder that you had his number, meaning if you really did want to see him, he was only a text away.

When I go to the club I wanna hear those club classics

Just as that thought was pushed to the back of your mind, the alcohol took over, sending you onto the dance floor with not a single care in the world. Correction: The only care was that the next song had to live up to the current one. 

But the Pitt had other plans.

It wanted you back one way or another.

You weren’t exactly sure how it started. Adrenaline had made the beginning all a blur. But when you came to, you were already on the other side of the bar top. grabbing a hold of one of the white bar rags. The screams and gasps went in one ear and out the other. You reached down to the bartender who had slid down the back wall holding his neck with a large glass shard poking out of it. “Don’t touch it!” His hand quickly moved from it, as blood had already started to pool. 

You held enough pressure against the space to try to slow the bleeding but not enough to move the shard. “Someone better be calling 9-1-1!” You shouted mostly meaning it towards your group.

“What the hell do you think we are, idiots!”

Your smile was cut short by the panicked man in front of you. bringing you right back into reality and sobering you up fully. “I’m an E.R. doctor. On the other side is a whole handful of other nurses and doctors. All I need to do is shout and they’ll be here.”

“The station is on the other block, and they said they’d be here in three minutes!”

“All you need to do from here to the hospital is focus on breathing, staying awake, and not moving a single muscle. You can do that for me, right?” He started to shake his head but quickly stopped when he remembered what you said. “Right bad word choice.”

The whole ride was a nightmare. Not only was his vitals dropping, but the paramedics decided to take the bumpiest route. When the two paramedics were wheeling him in you were straddling him, holding the shard steady while also trying to do one-handed compressions. Besides doing CPR to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” the only sound that actually registered in your head was Ellis' voice. “What the hell is she doing up there?”

“Y’all gunna keep on watching or actually help?” You remarked not taking your eyes off the glass. Knowing that if you moved it anymore then it would definitely hit something. You didn’t need to actually know if you were close or not. All the movement to get here was enough for you to know that it was too close for your liking.

“You heard her, trauma one!” Jack’s voice ordered, sending a new wave of energy through your body. 

Hearing an array of different voices around you call out different things. Hearing Jack saying who to call: ENT, Trauma, anesthesiologist. Ellis and Shen listed off all the different things they would need. It was seconds, or maybe minutes, before Walsh was coming through the double doors taking a look at him and you. Nothing was fully making its way to you. You were too busy with trying to get his heart to start beating again. 

That was until you heard his voice, cutting through thick muffled silence in your ears. “Give us the rundown.”

“I didn’t see how it happened but saw the remains of a shattered handle of vodka around him. Went through four different rags. As soon as we pulled in, I barely felt his pulse. It’s like the fucker knew or something.” you remarked, shaking your head, hearing him let out a small, airy laugh under his breath.

But you heard it.

Turning your attention back to the man's chest and see the grey wires and black wires coming out. Some were for an EKG and others were for his vitals. “Hold compressions.” His voice said as you did, holding the shard into place but at that moment, you let your fist unravel. The joints in your hand screamed for release. When one of the nurses announced he had a pulse, your body relaxed, not fully as the shard needed to stay put. “Thank god, you know how hard one-handed compressions are? Now how am I getting off without nicking anything?”

Eyes were now all on Abbot who nodded his head a few times, clearly trying to think through every solution he could as fast as he could. “Alright, Shen intubates after the sedatives kick in. If it's too hard to see, then we’ll go through the neck. Ellis will control the bleeding. You say what’s in your way, or what you need out of it. Hopefully Trauma finds their heads out of their asses and finds their way down here.” You didn’t need to look to know that Walsh was rolling her eyes at the comment, hearing her press buttons on her phone. 

“Great plan, except what about the person still on top of him?” 

Your attention was drawn over to your side where Jack was now leaning on the railing, dropping the metal down and out of the way. “I’m going to get you off, but you need to try and not move the shard.” 

Looking at him directly in his eyes, “I’m drunk not wasted, Doc.” He let out an airy laugh as he slowly wrapped his arms around your upper waist. The feeling of his cold skin against your hot skin started making your mind spiral. All the times tangled in between each other’s sheets. The mess of limbs on the couch for when the need for the other in that moment was stronger than the need to make it to the bed. You knew for a fact that Jack could hold you up. From the times he carried you into the bedroom with your legs around his waist. To the few times he had you against the wall, head buried in between your thighs and your fingers digging into his hair. 

“On three?” You nodded, his voice swiftly bringing you back. Loosening your grip of the glass, making sure it would stay in place as he counted. On three, he pulled you up, flesh against his chest, twisting the two of you to the side so everyone could at least get their hands into work. Moving his hands down to your waist, trying to keep you steady after your small wobble from side to side. It was like the rush of moving you had moved the remaining alcohol in your system and you were back to your nice buzz. 

“Come on, I’ll clean your hand.” He guided you to a private room with a hand steady on your lower back. 

Settling down at the foot of the white bed, watching as Jack went to the cabinets with a sink in the corner, gathering all the supplies he would need. Pulling the rolling stool over, he positioned the two of you so your leg was in between his. He placed everything onto the spot next to you. Taking your hands into his own and looking over it. His hand was cold, probably from all the times he had washed or used hand sanitizer on them. Compared to your warmth, thanks to the alcohol that was still in your system, your whole body felt warm. His hand was gently yet steady. Moving it back and forth in the light, seeing just how bad the damage was. “You got lucky,” He announced, rolling back and getting a bed pad. 

“Did I?” You held up your arm slightly upwards, trying to slow the blood flow. He raised his brows at you, not just the sight of you but your flirtatious tone. Pacing the pad onto his thigh, followed by your hand, causing heat to quickly flush your face. “Careful Doc, last time my hand was here, one thing lead to another. And then to another.” He smirked and you had to ground yourself to not jump onto him and kiss that smile.

At least not until he fixes your hand. A bit of silence passed as he brought the peri bottle up to view, “Want a count–”

“Just do it.” You cut him off, preparing yourself for the sting to come. His eyes watched you for a moment before looking down to your hand propped on his thigh.

When the clear liquid hit the tiny cuts your nails are gripped a hold of his shoulder. “Son of–” Your face scrunched up in pain, letting out a quiet hiss, trying not to yell a string of curse words that everyone could hear. “Aaanndd..” He strung out his words after double checking the wounds and giving it one or two more sprays. “And I’m done. You okay?” Your head was hung low, eyes shut as the sting pain started to dull out. Slowly opening your eyes to see you were eye level with him. He was waiting for you to answer, and wasn’t going to continue until you did. “Yeah, just forget how bad that stings.”

“Well, you already know what comes next so the worst part is over, right?” 

Slowly patting the few cuts you had on your fingers dry, applying some Neosporin onto them before slowly and carefully wrapping your fingers. All the while, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Not because you were watching him to make sure he did a good job. You were a four-year resident and knew by now that Jack Abbot  knew what he was doing.

It was the touchiness. 

Each touch was filling your veins with a buzz that had you squirming in your seat. Hopefully, he blamed it on you being just cold. Which you were. It was always set to below freezing in the ER.

The silence was loud. The buzzing of the overhead light mixed with your heart beating in your eardrums almost killed you. His silence did. Nothing on his face told you that he wasn’t into you. Nothing showed that you had read into the wrong signs. Everything the two of you had done was nothing but mutual hookups. 

Nothing more. 

He wasn’t even saying anything. He was just looking at you, still touching your skin. That’s when he gave you a sign. His hand that was holding your wrist slowly moved to hold your hand, feeling his thumb tracing your knuckles.

Licking your suddenly very dried lips, pressing them together before smiling at him. “Hopefully you still liked my outfit, even if my top is covered in blood.” His eyes slowly took you in, the fabric clung onto your body like it was just one size too small. But his eyes then settled on the large blood stain that covered half your stomach, a few streaks on your chest from where the drenched ends of your hair met the white fabric. “Yeah, I think we’re going to have to cut your shirt off. Wait here I’ll get you another.”

“Why? I have a spare shirt in my locker. Just cut this one off and I’ll get it and let you go back to the chaos.” You spoke, stopping him half way to the door.

Turning to face you, it was clear he wasn’t down with your plan. Tossing the trash he had balled up followed by his gloves. “You wanna walk out there, in front of all your colleagues, in a bra and micro shorts?”

You stood up slowly; the easiest way to not make everything in the room spin faster. Taking a few steps closer to him as you spoke. “Aw, you do listen to me after all!”

He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath. “You act as if I’m walking out there naked. I’ve worn worse to the club.”

“To dance all night?”

Nodding your head with a toothy smile, “That’s right! Never gonna stop ‘til the morning light.”

Letting out yet another heavy sigh. Finally looking back at you after what felt like years. You didn’t realize until this moment how much you actually loved and craved that stare of his. “You make me fucking crazy, ya know that?”

Raising two hands up in defense, “Don’t blame me for your psychosis.”

“You are my psychosis.” He quickly bit back; taking another step forward, leaving only a single inch between the two of you. 

A beat passed; the two of you just looked at the other. Staring at the other. Waiting for the other to make the first move. Thanking the small amount of alcohol in your system you took the chance. “Say the word, Jack and this stops.” He looked at you almost making you deflate inside yourself. A tilt of his head with that stare of his had you shifting your weight onto the other leg. Leaning into you, his lips brushing against your ear. “No. This stops only when you say so,” His voice rasped against your skin. “This doesn’t even start until you say so.” Swallowing the sudden dry spot in the back of your throat. Looking over to where his face was, trailing your eyes from either one of his before looking down at his lips. Each look being followed by a hot and heated memory of the two of you together. Eyes suddenly back on him with a blink before opening your mouth. “So.”

[spitefulsatanfics]

✦ 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓸𝔂 ✦

❝You know, I’ve been thinking… I’d die for her. I’d kill for her. And not just because I love her — because she’s my family.❞

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Hunter!Y/N (She/Her Reader) From: Supernatural (TV Series) Tones: soulmate-level sweetness, soft domesticity, lovesick Dean, injury angst, hunter x hunter banter, established relationship, fluffy romance, protectiveness, emotional vulnerability, one-bed trope vibes

Rating: 18+ (mild injury, swearing, heavy emotional intensity, physical intimacy — minors do not interact)

✎ 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 ♡ written and published May 29, 2025™ Based on: Supernatural, Seasons 1–2 (no specific episode — canon-adjacent storyline) (Note: Show is rated 17+)

Synopsis: Y/N gets the honor of driving Dean’s most sacred possession: the Impala. But one drunk driver, one wrecked car, and one shaky phone call later, she realizes she was never just his passenger. She is the thing he treasures most.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The call came at 9:27 PM.

Dean’s phone rang from inside his jacket pocket where it hung on the back of a rickety motel chair. He was halfway through cleaning his favorite sawed-off when the shrill buzz set his pulse on edge. There weren’t many people who had that number. Sam was in the next room, grabbing takeout. Bobby always called the landline. That left one person.

You.

And sure enough— Y/N was glowing across the screen in stark white letters.

He answered it in less than a second.

“Sweetheart?” he said immediately, already on alert. There was a siren wailing faintly in the background—far too close for his liking.

“Hey, I—uh…” your voice came through ragged, breathless, like you’d just been running or crying or both. “I need you to not freak out.”

Dean’s heart plummeted straight to the motel carpet. He was already out of his seat, boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

“Where are you?”

“I’m okay,” you rushed out, panicked and shaking. “I mean—I think I’m okay. Just scraped up. But Baby—Dean, I’m so sorry. The car—”

The line went blurry with static for a second, but he’d already heard everything he needed to.

A crash. An apology. The word “Baby.”

Dean didn’t even need directions. He’d find you—if he had to rip up every road sign in Kansas to do it.

He was gone before Sam even made it back with dinner.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The car was barely recognizable.

She lay crooked at the shoulder of the road, one headlight blinking like a dying firefly. The passenger door was warped in on itself, hood twisted open like a jawbone snapped mid-scream. And then there was you—sitting on the bumper of the ambulance, legs swinging like a schoolgirl trying to pretend she wasn’t bleeding through her jeans.

Dean didn’t speak. He just jogged across the gravel, dropped to his knees in front of you, and cupped your face in his calloused hands like you were spun from smoke and starlight.

You tried to joke. “Didn’t even dent the paint, right?”

His hands trembled. His jaw clenched. His lips parted like he wanted to say something that wasn’t a prayer.

But all he managed was, “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “No. I mean, not really. Just bruised, maybe a cracked rib. EMTs checked me out. Said I was lucky.”

Lucky.

God. He’d never hated a word more. Because you weren’t lucky. You were a damn miracle. Breathing, warm, alive in front of him. That car could be rebuilt. But you?

You weren’t replaceable.

“I thought you’d be mad,” you admitted softly. The sentence cracked at the end, a jagged edge slicing through all your bravery. “About the Impala. I know how much she means to you.”

Dean’s thumb brushed over your cheek, sweeping away a streak of blood you hadn’t noticed. His eyes—green like a stormy coast, wild and wide—locked on yours with so much force it almost hurt to look back.

“Y/N,” he said, voice raw, “I love that car. You know I do. But if it was you or her…”

His throat caught. He looked down, like the truth was too big to stare in the face.

“She’s just steel,” he whispered. “You’re everything else.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was quiet in the motel room that night. You sat on the edge of the bed in one of Dean’s old t-shirts, the smell of leather and motor oil cocooning you like armor. Your ribs ached, your body throbbed in patches of dull heat and yellowed bruises. But you’d never felt safer.

Dean returned from the bathroom with a warm cloth, kneeling beside the bed like he couldn’t stand being even an inch higher than you right now. His fingers moved with reverence—cleaning your scrapes, pressing bandages, whispering apologies into the dips of your skin like your body was holy.

“Y’know,” he said, half-smiling, “I only let you drive her ‘cause I trust you more than anyone else.”

You gave a wobbly smirk. “Guess I broke that trust, huh?”

His hand froze on your thigh. His eyes darkened—not angry, but gutted.

“No,” he said. “Never.”

You blinked. “Dean…”

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. His voice was gravel and gravity all at once.

“I could’ve lost you,” he murmured. “And you’re sitting here worried about my car.”

You swallowed. The truth hit you like a tidal wave.

“You really mean that?”

He pulled back, just enough to look at you clearly. His hand slipped to the back of your neck.

“Y/N,” he said, slow and certain, “you’re not just some girl I date. You’re not a partner in the field. You’re…” He laughed under his breath, almost bitter. “You’re the thing I pray to when I’m bleeding out. You’re what I see when I close my eyes. You are my home.”

You didn’t say anything. You just kissed him—long, slow, desperate.

It tasted like grief and gasoline and relief all tangled into one. It tasted like everything he thought he lost, now found again.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Later, with the light off and the storm moving in through the windows, Dean wrapped himself around you like a shield. His hand was splayed over your ribs, gently, as if he could take the pain into himself. His breath was warm against your hair.

“I’ll fix her,” he murmured. “She’ll run again.”

You nodded sleepily. “And me?”

He chuckled softly, kissed the nape of your neck.

“You don’t need fixing,” he said. “You’re my pride and joy.”

You turned over to face him, voice low and teasing. “Isn’t that your car’s title?”

His smile was so soft, it felt like a sunrise.

“Used to be.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[agenderfrenchfry]

I’m not going to do one of those “REBLOG OR YOU’RE A HORRIBLE PERSON!!!!!!1!” posts, but please, if you have the time, read about Robert Roberson.

Neurodivergent people, we especially need to pay attention to this. This is a man who was sent to death row because he appeared too “stoic”. He was formally diagnosed with autism after. I’m sure you already know that this is only one part of a larger pattern of flaws. Fellow victims of the US’ crap legal system, we need to say something. I don’t care if you think it won’t work, we still have to give them hell. They may have power, but they need to know damn well we won’t sit by and let people die.

Greg Abbott’s number (yes, of course it’s Texas) is 361-264-9653. Give him a call if you have the time. If calls freak you out, text. If you don’t want to do that, sign the petition. You have the chance to change history right now.

Most importantly, take care of yourself. All this tragedy drains the soul, especially when it hits close to home. After you’re done with this post, drink some water and watch something nice or, better yet, step away from the screen for a bit. You deserve it and more.

[idolomantises]

Wasn't sure when it would be the best time to discuss this, but since the ending is drawing near... yes, Bugtopia is ending.

It was a decision I really wrestled with myself for months over it, before finally concluding that letting it end after 40 episodes was the better option. Just to be clear, webtoons did not force me to end the series. They even offered to give me a pay raise to continue the series. It was my decision due to a multitude of personal factors. I'll just repeat what I said on my patreon:

I just want to say, first of all, thank you all so much for patiently waiting for my series to release and for supporting my work as I began developing the series. Bugtopia was a series I genuinely loved and adored and it made me feel so incredibly happy that people were turning their heads towards a series about weird bugs and their natural lives.

However, as you can probably guess, it pains me to say that I am concluding the series after season 1. I had 4 seasons planned with new characters to introduce, but unfortunately, I cannot see myself continuing to work with Webtoons and I want to pursue other projects.

This decision was due to a compiling number of issues with the company, the final straw was when they had a mass layoff, fired my editor that I've been working with for two years, and did not inform me for a week, leaving me in the dark until they randomly assigned me with someone else. My new editor is great and I'm glad I'm working with someone so patient and understanding, but this decision to fire my previous editor, the one who got me the job to begin with, without prior warning made me feel disrespected and disregarded, and it killed all motivation I had for properly completing the series.

I also felt incredibly overworked, I was spending vacation days working on comics and avoiding time with family just so I could get something done for webtoons once I come home. I feel like so much time was being wasted away for a company that paid me so little that I had to work twice as hard building up funds on my patreon. Bugtopia just ate up so much of my time. The pay also didn't make up for it. It's commonly assumed that webtoons authors make about $800 for the episodes they do, but that's not true. In fact, you can make far less depending on the amount of panels expected for your contract. It doesn't help that the artwork i did for banners and promotions were all things I had to draw and didn't get paid for, and the work I gave was either tampered with or scrapped, making me feel like I spent more hours of my day wasting time. There were also comics I had to censor and scrap, likely due to another series being in hot water for its racially insensitive content. But it was just extra work I wasn't being paid for. It also frustrated me because I was seeing other series with far more explicit content getting away with a slap on the wrist (turns out you can't say "fuck" anymore without it being hit with a mature rating, disappointing!)

In all honesty, it just felt like webtoons needed me more than I needed them. I was making more money from patreon in a week than I was making from webtoons in a month.

Personally, while I don't really regret my time with Webtoons and met some great people along the way, I honestly don't think any artist should work with them. You will be severely overworked and underpaid, and will barely be featured in ads unless your series becomes an instant hit immediately. It doesn't really matter how successful you are, you're just a product to Webtoons, put yourself above the corporation.

I have tried my best to provide you all with a satisfying conclusion to Bugtopia, even if some episodes may feel rushed or incomplete, but I completely understand if the conclusion isn't to your liking and I do apologize, but I could not continue working on this series if this was the mistreatment I was going to continuously get. I owe a massive thank you to my editor and assistants for helping me complete the series, I truly don't think I could have ever finished it without them.

Though I am done with Bugtopia, that does not mean I want to stop projects entirely, so please don't feel bad for me. I have a lot of upcoming projects and ideas in the works, and I'm still continuing the Monsters and Girls series.

Will Bugtopia ever return... possibly. I retain complete ownership of the series after a few years, and I wouldn't mind continuing the canvas series (or possibly starting over). Unfortunately I don't think I can continue the Webtoon Original as it belongs to webtoons now, but never say never I suppose!