#1970s shoulder bag

[boldlyvoid]

3am

[REQUEST] could you maybe do something like Spencer x famous!reader (I would say maybe actress) where just as Spencer was getting off of work she was away shooting and comes home at like 3 in the morning all stressed and things and spencer calms her down and it's just really cute and fluffy. @thenerdthatwrites

A/N: i added some fluffy smut cause why not?

warnings: they're madly in love and very handsy, needy smut, no condoms (creampies) lots of fluff

word count: 1970

When Spencer finally rounds the corner to his street, he can see someone parked out front of his apartment. When he gets a little closer, he sees his girlfriend unloading a few bags from the trunk and he sprints. He drops his own bag once he’s near her and calls out her name, “What are you doing home?” 

“Spence,” she rushes to embrace him. She wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent that she’s missed so much these last few weeks. “They sent me home, the writer's strike is still going strong and we don’t have anything to film without new pages.” 

He was so happy to get to hold her again, it's been a few months since he last saw her in person and his heart ached for her. This was the best surprise after a hard case, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you,” she coos. “Why are you only getting home now? It’s like 3 in the morning?” 

“Our case finished and we don’t really have a good budget this year so if we don’t need to stay in hotels we won’t,” he explains as he pulls back, but his hands stay on her hips, he has to touch her to make up for all the time they spent apart. He’s such a lover of physical touch, he won’t let her go for the rest of the night if he doesn’t have to. 

“Ma’am,” the drive cuts into their reunion. “Everything is unpacked, are you okay if I leave?” 

“Oh, yeah, thank you so much again for the ride home,” she says while digging into her pocket for a tip. She hands the man twenty dollars and he takes it with a smile. 

“Have a good night,” he offers. 

“You too!” 

And then it’s just them, all their bags and the cool night breeze to keep them company. “Do you want help bringing this all up?” 

She nods, “Please, I thought I was going to have to do it alone.” 

The two of them carry all her bags up 2 flights of stairs to their second-floor apartment, they place them by the door before they lock it right back up. Spencer reaches for her hand and she takes it gladly, he leads her down the hall to their bedroom that’s felt way too much like just his these last few months. They keep the lights off, she pushes his suit jacket off his shoulders and he lets it drop to the floor. She unbuttons each and every button of his dress shirt and frees his chest so she can run her fingers over his warm skin and then he takes her hands in his again. He twirls her around and presses a kiss to her shoulder as he unzips her dress. 

His kisses moved along her shoulder and up to her neck, and then right under her ear, “Why’d you fly back looking so pretty?”

“The paparazzi knew I was coming back,” she can’t help but laugh. She turns around in his grip to look at him again, “Come on pretty boy, get out of your clothes, I wanna cuddle until the sun comes up.” 

“Just cuddle?” He teases, pushing her dress straps off her shoulders and watching it drop to her hips. 

She smirks, “Maybe more…” 

“Okay,” he doesn’t mind either way. Just getting to hold her is going to be everything to him after 3 months of being away from each other. 

Once all their clothes are gone, she searches his drawer for a big t-shirt and slips it on and the two of them crash into their big bed together. He just holds her, she snuggles into his chest and lets out the deepest sigh in the world. She’s missed this so much. Being close to him, knowing he’s safe, the way he rubs her skin and kisses her head… but she also misses the sound of his voice in person. 

“What was the case about?” 

“Another freak with mommy issues killing women who look like her,” he says as if it’s nothing new. He’s so over it. “I don’t really want to talk about it… what episode did you get to before they sent you home?” 

“Episode 9,” she doesn’t sound happy about it. “They have to find a way to add a time jump now because Sandy’s pregnant and whenever we come back she’s going to be either heavily pregnant or away with the baby so they’ll have to write that in or write her out. And like, I love the writers, I really support them with all this, I just don’t know if the show will survive it after this season.” 

“That’s okay, you can audition for more stuff, you’re amazing, someone will hire you,” Spencer encourages, his hand gently caressing her arm in a soothing motion. He kisses the top of her head, “I know it’ll all work out.” 

“I love you, you know that?” 

He nods, “I love you, too.” He cups her face gently and draws his fingers down her cheek so he can take her chin in his hands and redirect her to look at him. 

She takes it one step further and sits in his lap, she holds his face right back. The streetlights shining through the window are enough to ignite the room in a soft amber glow, he looks so pretty like this. And he’s thinking the same about her. He brushes his thumb over her bottom lip, adoring that pout that made her famous in the first place, “you’ve been home how long and you still haven’t kissed me yet?” 

She giggles again, “you wanna kiss me until the sun comes up?” 

He nods while leaning in, and their lips collide, finally. He’s really home now. He’s so tender and soft with her, she runs her fingers through his hair and heats up the kiss with the tug of his luscious locks. His free hand wraps around her waist and slips under her t-shirt so he can feel even more of her. 

She pulls back just enough to break the kiss and reach for the hem of said shirt, she tosses it back off, “I don’t know why I even put this on,” she admits with a smile. “You still up for more?” 

He nods, “Always.” 

He carefully rolls them over so she’s laying against the pillows, her legs part so he has a place to rest between them and she cups his face once again, “god, I missed you…” 

“Maybe I’ll come out to California with you next time?” He offers, lightly tracing his finger down her arm, he stares at her like she’s the only woman in the whole world. “I hate being away from you that long.” 

He finally leans in again, kissing her cheek and down her neck, he presses himself against her, and their hot skin finally meets. 

“My apartment isn’t big enough for your book-buying habit,” she teases him, arching her neck so he has more space to kiss. She closes her eyes because it feels so good, her hands travel over his shoulders and to his back, her legs wrap around his hips, trapping him there. 

He laughs against her skin, “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll have much time to read if we’re together all the time again.” 

“Maybe I can convince them to hire you as my love interest, then we can do this literally all the time,” she can’t stop making little jokes when in reality, she’s not kidding. She wants to do this all the time. 

Truth be told, he wouldn’t mind that either, “too bad I can’t act…” his kisses go even further south and a hand comes up to palm her breast, “plus,” he looks up at her through his lashes, “I rather not show the world how much I love you, that’s just for you.” 

“Show me,” she whispers, enticing him to stop teasing and take this all the way. 

He sits up, kneeling between her legs which she now has bent, feet firmly planted on the mattress. She lifts her hips so he can peel her out of her underwear, he gets them off and tosses them to the floor quickly. His hand cups right under her left knee, he rubs his cheek against her thigh and then replaces the friction with kisses that lead all the way down to where her underwear once lay. She reaches out for his hair again, she pulls him forward and away from what he really wants to do, “We have all day tomorrow to fool around, I need you inside me like yesterday, babe.” 

“Okay,” he laughs, making sure to kiss her lower belly just once before he gets back onto his knees and pushes his boxers down.

He’s quick to hover over her again, she reaches down between them and helps him angle himself at her entrance. Their lips collide again as he starts to slip inside, whatever he thought about really being home when they first kissed is a lie. This is home. This is where he should always be. And she’d have to agree. She holds him close, gripping his back as the kiss deepens and his hips start to thrust. 

It's exhilarating to be back in his arms, to have him inside of her, for the pleasure she’s feeling in the middle of the night to come from him and not something she plugs into the wall… she savours every kiss, every time their skin touches, each thrust and pulse and moan and feeling she feels when they’re together. She loves him more than anything on this earth and he loves her just the same, if not more. She’s his everything. 

When things start to get more intense, the kiss breaks so he can rest his forehead against hers and reach between them to thumb at her clit, bringing her just as close as he is. “This what you wanted?” He teases, seeing just how flustered she is with each heavy breath. 

“Yeah,” is all she can muster. “Missed this.” 

“Mmm, me too,” he mumbles, he kisses her cheek over to her ear and then buries his face in her neck so he can fuck her harder. His free hand slips underneath her, gripping the small of her back, making her arch just a bit so he can hit that wonderful spot that makes her scream. 

“Spence, Spence, please, oh my god, Spence,” she whines, right there on the edge, just waiting for him to fill her up. 

“Cum with me, sweetheart,” he gives in to her please and with that permission, she lets go.

He physically feels her body tense and then release, her cunt flutters around him, sucking him in deeper as her body falls deeper into the mattress. With just a few more thrusts, Spencer is rutting into her with his face buried into her neck. He finishes with a whine, breathing heavily he pumps her full of cum and stills, dropping his whole body weight onto her. 

She wraps herself around him again, running her fingers through his hair and down his back in a soothing, calming motion. “My god, I love you.” 

He just laughs, fucked out and feeling high on her. “I love you more.” 

“Mmm, nope, I love you most,” she teases, kissing his temple she hugs him tighter as if they could possibly get any closer. 

“Okay,” he lets her win. 

He’s tired now, his eyes are heavy and she’s so comfortable like this. He just snuggles in and she lets him, they can deal with everything later. For now, they’re content like this. Happily together again, madly in love, with all the time in the world to just be. 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @babybisexual @marsmunson86

#Spencer reid #Spencer reid smut #Spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer reid fanfic #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid x y/n #Spencer reid x you #Spencer reid self insert #Spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Betty Garrett (On The Town, Take Me Out to the Ballgame)— She’s so unhinged in On the Town and Take Me Out to the Ball Game, chasing little twink Frank Sinatra around and just casually throwing him over her shoulder. Just an icon.

Teresa Wright (The Little Foxes, Mrs. Miniver, Shadow of a Doubt)— She wrote this into her contract herself: "Miss Wright shall not be required to pose for photographs in a bathing suit unless she is in water. Neither may she be photographed running on the beach with her hair flying in the wind. Nor may she pose in any of the following situations: in shorts; playing with a cocker spaniel; digging in a garden; whipping up a meal; attired in firecrackers and holding skyrockets for the fourth of July; looking insinuatingly at the turkey for Thanksgiving; wearing a bunny cap with long ears for Easter; twinkling on prop snow in a skiing outfit while a fan blows her scarf.”

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Teresa Wright:

One of the best Hitchcock leading lady performances!!

Warm, lovely, vivacious, intelligent!! imo Teresa Wright is way too underrated and deserves much more credit! I truly can’t think of another actress with the same vibe as her and she deserves more appreciation!!

Betty Garrett:

Betty Garrett "picks-up" Sinatra in Take Me Out to the Ball Game (1949)

Garrett's comments on that scene (TCM - Word of Mouth):

[editor's note: the above commentary is so delightful OP is making a rare exception to the no-post-1970-propaganda rule to enjoy discussion of Frank Sinatra being flung around like a bag of beans)

#betty garrett #teresa wright #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 1 #Youtube

[oliverreedmasterass]

My GVF Predictions for 2024

Sam will attempt to grow a beard similar to George Harrison circa 1970. He'll nearly get there, but when he starts braiding it, his friends and family tell him to shave it off

A new music video will come out for either Sacred the Thread or Farewell for Now out of the literal blue

videos of Danny singing Bon Jovi in a Nashville karaoke bar will unearth

Josh will get another piercing

GVF will issue an apology, revealing that they accidentally deleted the files for the Broken Bells music video

Jake will commit to speaking in nothing but latin for an entire interview

Some cryptic sign will be dropped that Oliver Reed isn't dead

Something's gonna come out of that mystery song that they've been playing during their jam sessions on stage, I swear

Josh is gonna try to bring back shoulder pads and he may or may not pull it off

At least a few members of GVF will accidentally make their way into the background of a Mastercard commercial like Michael Clifford did in 2014

Danny will get another tattoo of something goofy, like a frog playing a banjo or a dorito bag

Sam will want to get a tattoo too, but talk himself out of it while it's happening so he's left with a dot tattooed on him, which he calls a freckle tattoo

GVF will release a new curated spotify playlist, but it's just Nicki Minaj's Pink Friday album

Josh will tease a new short film about space pirates with Jake cast as the evil, latin-speaking three headed villain

New outfit debuts all around for the next leg of the Starcatcher tour, including more capes, more sparkles, and more chains

Josh has spent their entire break trying to figure out how to apply pyro to his microphone so he can shoot shit out of it, which he will test during their next performance

GVF holiday single drop, but they're all giving their worst Frank Sinatra impression and it's a clusterfuck

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet predictions #2024 predictions #jake gvf #danny gvf #sam gvf #josh gvf

[marzipanandminutiae]

Rating the Femme en Noir Crimson Peak collection when I should be going to bed (it's not ALL critical, actually!)

no judgment at all to people who like the collection. nothing can achieve higher than a 7/10 because it's all synthetic. let's get into it

Edith Victorian Gown in Ivory

...yeah! that's basically Edith's nightgown copied exactly, so it's a 7/10 from me

2. Lady Lucille Victorian Dress With Capelet In Teal

What. um. What does this have to do with anything Lucille wears? It's blue velvet and it's a dress; there the similarities end. Why is there a ruffly capelet? That's something Edith wears, not Lucille. Why are there leg-o-mutton sleeves? Why is there no trim whatsoever? (that last is to become a running theme.) 3/10.

3. Allerdale Moth Wallpaper Babydoll Dress in Olive

There's a longer version, and were it a natural fabric, I'd be tempted to buy it and alter it into a blouse and over-skirt or something. This one is honestly pretty cute, though I forget what part of the house this wallpaper appears in. 7/10.

4. Edith Victorian Knit Cardigan in Olive

I get that they want to modernize these things for their target audience, but the original being SO much more fitted and sumptuous-looking just makes this one look sad. It's like Wish.com Edith. 5/10 for at least keeping the little velvet pumpkins.

5. Ghost Shoulder Bag

If this were leather, I would buy it. Not a huge fan of Margaret being the ghost on the front, though- I feel like Enola or Eleanor would be more photogenic. Poor Margaret. 6/10 though they're lucky I don't take points off for calling it "vegan leather" in the description. Be honest- it's plastic.

6. Belladonna Maxi Dress in Crimson Red

This is just an existing product of theirs But In Red. Pretty, but 4/10 for lack of effort.

7. Lady Mourning Victorian Gown in Black

It's the nightgown in black with a sash. Try harder. 3/10 and I'm skipping any color repeats labeled as different dresses from here on out.

8. Mourning Victorian Bonnet in Black

You know what? Yeah. Sure! That's a cute bonnet. Good job. 7/10.

9. Lace Mourning Scarf Veil in Black.

You can get a yard of nylon chantilly lace for less than $28, pretty as this looks. 5/10.

10. Victorian Cycling Pullover Sweater in Black

I mean. I guess. What does this have to do with Crimson Peak, exactly? Why is "Lucille" wearing puffed sleeves when, again, her clothing being tight has so much character logic behind it? It's a mystery. 5/10.

11. Victorian Velvet Bustle Skirt in Black

This didn't photograph well, but it appears to have some cool pleat details. I don't like 19th-century skirts getting shortened, but that's more a matter of personal preference than reaction to movie inspiration or lack thereof. 6/10.

12. Taffeta Edwardian Blouse in Marigold

This comes in multiple colors, but I picked the marigold because it illustrates that Wish.com effect once again.

The OG bodice from the movie that they're clearly trying to evoke. It has DETAIL! it has TRIM! It has LUSH FABRIC! And obviously you can't do that with a mass-produced piece, but ye gods, why would you set yourself up for failure by trying? If they hadn't gone for the look of a specific movie costume, their blouse wouldn't look disappointing by comparison. 5/10

13. Wicker Tilt Hat With Black Veil

Once again I feel they shot themselves in the foot here. It's cute! But it suffers by trying to be something that was better in the movie.

Not great by comparison; it's TOO close without going all the way. 6/10 because it is cute, though.

[skipped a bunch more veils and some lace mitts, which were cute but have nothing to do with How Well Or Poorly The CPeak Inspiration Was Executed In My Opinion]

14. Victorian Hands Belt in Silver

THIS IS NOT THE CRIMSON PEAK HAND BELT. THIS IS NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE THE CRIMSON PEAK HAND BELT. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS?

IT IS THIS 1970S BELT- WHICH, LIKE THE ONE IN THE MOVIE, IS NOT BASED ON ANY VICTORIAN ORIGINAL THAT I'M AWARE OF -THAT HAS BEEN COPIED 50000 TIMES. DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND WAIT FOR CUTTLE AND BONE TO HAVE ANOTHER PREORDER OF ACTUAL CPEAK HAND BELTS. 0/10.

Conclusion: Not all bad, but I feel like I actually would have gone in a more modern direction with the resources and limitations of this collection. You're never going to be as good as the movie costumes at their own game, not with mass-manufactured pieces. So why set yourself up for failure? Bringing the characters, themes, and motifs to a yet-unexplored time and place (with some Victwardian touches, of course!) seems like it would have been a better way to go about this, IMO.

Also stop being allergic to trim when you're taking inspiration from a movie with oodles of passementerie and beadwork and lace all over everything.

5/10 overall.

#long post #fashion #crimson peak #also for the love of everything can we get some natural-fiber clothes that AREN'T beige linen? #Gothic Natural Fiber Attire When!!!

[vixenpen]

Hobie Brown loves black women (duh) but also (head canons)

because daddy is my latest obsession 🤭

Damn, I leave these tumblr streets for a year and yall out here wildin. It’s come to my attention that yall have the unmitigated gall, the glittering nerve to argue with black women about whether or not Hobie Brown likes black girls. Excuse me???? Does the black punk radical revolutionary from the SEVENTIES!!!! (Cuz yall keep forgetting he lives in 1970s London) like black women?!?!?!

Honey not only does he LOOOVE black women. He loves BLACK women. What do I mean when I say that?

Hobie loves soul sistas with sky high Afros, TWAs, shaved heads, close cut fades

The girls that can quote Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, bell hooks, and WEB Du Bois with equal conviction and knowledge

I’m talking fist to the sky, power to the people, say it loud I’m black and I’m proud, type tease

I’m talking they wearing all black, leather jackets with their black panther pins stuck to the lapel (and if you think I’m talking about the hero you ain’t black enough for this conversation)

I’m talking the black ladies with the barets that call all black men “my brotha” and all black women “my sistah”

The black women that keep that thang on em and ain’t ever gotta get ready

Hobie loves the loc’ed black girls and the turban wearing sisters

The girls who keep Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, or Langston Hughes on deck usually tucked into their woven knapsacks/leather messenger bags

The sage and incense burning girlies who cleanse their space and say a little prayer of protection on your journey

The orisha worshipping black girlies with alters in their windows and tarot cards on their bookshelf

The girlies that can guess your star sign based on your jaw line.

The girls that smell like cocoa butter with paint on their skirts

Hobie likes his fellow black fem punks with their spiked jewelry and shaved heads

The girlies pushing, shoving, and rioting during the mosh pits

The black girlies with the braid/Mohawk combos.

The girls stomping through the club in demonias with their piercings and black leather accessories

The girls with the drawn on angry eyebrows yet the kindest, gentlest smiles

The girls who prowl the record stores and flip off the shop owner that keeps following them.

The black girlies in the band who are front row and center wailing like Betty Davis and dancing like Tina Turner, a mic in hand or a guitar over her shoulder

Hobie loves the disco divas

The girlies in their sparkly bell bottoms killing it in the discos on Saturday nights

The girlies who think disco will never die

The funky divas and dance floor queens

The girls that audition for soul train every season and win.

The girls with the best record collection especially when it comes to party hits and speaking of parties

He loves the girls who are the first on the dance floor and the last to leave. The lives of the party and the queens of the kick backs

Hobie loves his pothead black girls that always have the good gas

His Mary Jane muses who are always a chill vibe and a good time

The black girls who always have snacks and gum on em cuz they’re always hungry and high.

With their red eyes and quick smiles.

He loves the black girls with a little dime bag and something “a little bit stronger if you need it”

And he loves his black girls black mixed with nothing but black. Two black parents, four black grandparents, the darker the berry the sweeter the juice. Yes he loves dark chocolate girls BUT he loves his black girls of all hues

Albino

Butter scotch

Mahogany

Blue-black

Hobie loves BLACK women

Yall please stop forgetting this man lived during the 70s and there is a very particular type of black woman that was around during the 70s

#hobie brown #atsv hobie #hobie x black!reader #hobart brown #Hobie brown #across the spiderverse #atsv #headcanons

[quinnlarrabee]

Palo santo 101

Before you click play on the audio recording and blithely ignore the written guide, be sure to review the important science-based charts and insight-rich visuals sprinkled throughout it.

If you’ve ever walked into a party hosted by someone under 40 in Brooklyn, Lisbon, California, Condesa or Roma Norte, or Venice Beach and not smelled palo santo, then you probably had covid. Over the past decade palo santo has become the official scent of good vibes. It is an olfactory assurance for anyone who recognizes the scent that conversation will be limited to polyamory, regional burns, and adaptogen supplements. Despite the fact that no one ever doesn’t want to smell palo santo, it’s important to know when to use it and when to relegate your surroundings to their default odor. This guide will ensure that you know exactly how to make the most of the palo santo you carry in the shoulder bag you purchased at the Sant Jordi flea market in Ibiza during the off-season.

Like most cultural appropriations, no one who burns palo santo knows what it is, where it came from, why they use it, or why it’s even called palo santo. Let’s uncover the facts. 

Bursera Graveolens is a tree native to the dry tropical forests of South America. Its discovery by white people dates back to 1972 at a now defunct swingers resort in Quito, Ecuador, where a guest from New Jersey named Paulo Santonicola noticed a stick with a burning ember on the end of giving off a fetid, wispy trail of smoke. He pointed at the burning stick and asked the guy holding the cocaine tray, who would now be called a consent educator, “por que?”

“Plaga,” he replied, and gnashed his teeth and made a flapping-wing motion with the hand not holding the cocaine tray. Paulo brought the wood back to his central New Jersey home as a last-ditch effort to ward off the deer that were eating the tomatoes in his garden. He started burning the wood around the clock in the steamy summer of 1972, during which he and his girlfriend hosted dozens of play parties. 

“I didn’t care if people at my parties had a problem with the smell,” recounted Paulo. “Those frickin’ deer were jumping my fence and chewing through wire to eat my tomatoes. When I caught a whiff of that wood down in Quito, I thought, ‘they won’t come near my garden if I burn this shit.’” 

Mr. Santonicola had achieved some level of notoriety in the adult film industry in the early 1970s, and his parties were well attended by neo-hippies, the disco elite and the first generation of yoga professionals. Over the course of the summer, a pavlovian association formed between the scent of the wood and casual sex, and his friends started asking him for sticks so that they could take the vibe home with them. At the sunset of his porn career, he saw an opportunity not only to rebrand his legacy, distancing himself from grainy adult films with problematic titles, but also to make oceans of cash: import the wood and sell it through his readymade network of yoga instructors under his stage name, Palo Santo. 

Palo santo’s ubiquity today grew from its two foundational use cases: repelling pests and masking the odor of too many naked bodies in poorly ventilated New Jersey basements. Palo santo is still used today as a repellent of sorts to ward off bad vibes and people who do not use the word vibe in place of most nouns at the end of a question, such as scene, weather, temperature, culture, menu, rules, culture, law, opinion, suggested attire, relationship status, sexual proclivity, net worth and so on. It is also still used during group sex, but only when the group sex is intentional and/or ceremonial. There are many other ways, however, that you can improve the vibes of the world through the smoke of this wood, which was recently added to IUCN’s Red List of “near threatened” species, making it even more important to burn palo santo as a way of calling attention to its growing scarcity. 

Airplanes 

For a brief, blissful period during the pandemic, the only people who traveled were intrepid hipsters who had already contracted the virus and been instrumental in scaling it to global significance through music festivals, long-distance polycules and global nomadism. Commercial airlines from the spring of 2020 through the summer of 2021 were basically private air travel for people who know to always ask if party buffet chocolate is psycho-active. Air travel today is a much lower vibration experience, and it’s important that assertive restorative steps be taken by conscious travelers to make flying chill again. Hanging a dreamcatcher from the back of the seat in front of you and burning palo santo on the tray table is a great way of making a public flight experience feel more private. Be sure to light your palo santo only after the aircraft reaches cruising altitude, because tray tables must be stowed until then. 

Other people’s parties

Not everyone with whom you may socialize is aware of how critical palo santo is to creating and maintaining a vibe. Some less experienced hosts try to make do with incense from India, Japan or other countries that have been annexed by Brooklyn or with candles from La Labo, and it may be up to you to rescue the vibe. Back when people consumed alcohol, bringing a nice bottle of wine was a way of showing a host your appreciation, but these days bringing palo santo, immediately lighting it and waving the stick around like Harry Potter on quaaludes is the optimal way of saying thank-you to someone who has invited you into their home.  

Hospitals

While palo santo has not been proven by any form of science to deliver the healing benefits touted by people who sell or use palo santo, be assured that it does all of the things people say it does. Burning palo santo creates smoke, and smoke is pretty to watch and - like cardiovascular exercise - creates a healthy challenge for your lungs. Medical facilities are places where people go to heal, and bringing palo santo to visit a recovering friend is a beautiful contribution to not only their journey back to health but also the recovery of every patient within a twenty to fifty foot radius. 

Conscious uncoupling ceremonies

Modifying your relationship trajectory in a direction that disappoints the person you are with might seem like a low vibe experience, but you can make it a high vibe experience by burning palo santo. While explaining that the rules that you set last week for your ENM pairing have become too confining, burning palo santo will deflect negative reactions and in some cases even seduce your partner into being amenable to a situationship that has absolutely no structure, rules or expectations. This can add to your sexual abundance and also serve as a pillar in your temple of confidence that helps you acquire new lovers at floor parties. If, rather than just undefining the relationship, you are certain there is no future with the person to whom you have exposed particles of burning wood, palo santo will prevent your ex-partner from making an opposing case or lingering too long after you have had uncoupling sex. 

During sex with someone you don’t want to fall in love with you

In a rare moment of cultural relevance, Science has proven that pheromones strengthen the bonds of attraction between two or many more people during sexual activity. Sometimes, though, it is undesirable to strengthen bonds with a sex partner. Sometimes, it is optimal to maintain a totally impartial, unattached, stoic distance between the person who you are inside / is inside of you, given that attraction can lead to unintended expectations. Burning palo santo is an excellent way of muting the potency of pheromones, leveling the olfactory playing field and creating a piney through-line for all the people participating in a sexual experience. 

Any kind of intentional wellness space

Because the smell of palo santo is so potent and distracting, burning it during intentional experiences (e.g. yoga, journaling, meditation, tantra classes, tantric sex, facials or any kind of PRP therapy) compels participants to step up their intention-setting efforts. It forces deep focus and concentration, kind of like how the deafening emo whines of RY X at a RY X concert force you to lean in, cock your head and make that weird squinty-eyed, mouth-agape listening face to be able to hear the unsolicited story of how literally anyone you happen to be standing next to was in an intentional polyamorous relationship with RY X.

Ancient actually sacred genuinely authentic real cultural events that were not invented by white people to extract money from other white people

Many people who attend Burning Man have begun to explore other intentional gatherings outside of Nevada that don’t involve metallic gold body paint. Some of these gatherings are thousands of years old and are led by people who have trained their entire lives to uphold traditions that have been passed down for generations within their culture. Particularly if a gathering takes place in its country of origin (rather than being exported, diluted and branded, like an ethnic fast food franchise), you may encounter native smells that don’t smell like palo santo. In these cases, it is not only permissible but even advisable to add palo santo to everyone’s experience, which you have probably been very reluctantly allowed to attend. Burning palo santo will communicate to the religious or cultural leaders of the gathering that you are on their level and (despite having never read anything about the gathering other than first few words of the top Google result you saw while standing on the Premier Access line into your Delta flight at JFK / LAX / SFO) have a deep respect for whatever they are chanting in a language that you cannot understand while you record the most intensely sacred moments for the Instagram story that you will post at the appropriate time in your home time zone so that everyone will know that you are an internationally intentionally spiritual person who gets access to authentic cultural events. 

Despite its countless unproven benefits and its universal appeal within a very small circle, there are certain times when palo santo should not be burned. Palo santo can trigger flashbacks for people who first encountered the scent of it during acid trips. If someone walks into your container, smells the palo santo you’re burning and begins behaving erratically, just ask them to immediately return to their own container, lest they harsh the vibe you’re cultivating. The only other times that do not call for burning palo santo are when you’re alone, and no one else will see you lighting the stick and waving it around the room, bringing it within inches of everyone’s face whether they’ve invited it or not, while making awkwardly long eye contact with them, nothing but the winding trail of smoke in front of your your vulnerable gaze, thus communicating to them that you are a spiritually endowed person and care deeply about them knowing that you are a spiritually endowed person. So, a helpful rule of thumb is this: as with masturbation, you should always and only be burning palo santo when someone is watching, otherwise what’s the point.

#comedy #satire #dark humor #culture #burning man #essays #hipster #palo santo #woo woo

[starstruckwillows]

♡ three clues - r.b ♡

requested by 🐍 anon <3 (i hate how i've written this it is not my best work sorry😭)

robin buckley x hopper!reader, dad!hopper x daughter!reader, fluff, humour, coming out

your dad, a seasoned detective, is the last to discover your sexuality

hopper's mind raced as he backed silently out of the kitchen he'd just seen you and your best friend, robin, making out in. you on the counter and her standing in front of you. and your faces together. he was blinking rapidly, fearfully.

what had he missed?

clue one - robin had ten times more sleepovers than your childhood best friend.

his original solve - you'd just got closer this year. nothing weird about that.

"you see? it wasn't... obvious." your dad protested to joyce, who was filing away products on shelves and laughing.

"that one's a subtle clue. but there were other signs, hop."

hopper grunted, "yeah? like what?"

clue two - the matching jewelry, pyjamas, shoes, mixtapes

his original solve - friends do that... right?

clue three - all the cuddling and movie nights and sleep overs in the matching, skimpy pyjamas that made hopper remember you were too old to be told what to wear

his original solve - friends. friends. friends. that's just what girls do! right...?

joyce sighed, patting his shoulder, and he sagged, "i... i just thought they were friends?"

the shorter woman surveyed him for a moment, "it doesn't bother you, does it?"

he thought.

it certainly wasn't something he'd been exposed to much.

but neither was the upside down, and he'd adjusted to that just fine.

more than anything, he wanted you comfortable, loved, and happy. he'd lost a daughter before, and that wasn't in his control. he wouldn't lose one that he didn't have to.

ultimately he shook his head, "no. she's my daughter. and she could do worse than robin buckley, i guess."

joyce smiled, with an undertone of pride. the one thing she forgot to mention was that hopper should go on as if he didn't know, until they felt comfortable enough to tell him.

instead, hopper greeted you at the front door with a tiny rainbow flag decorating the mug on his home desk.

"where'd this come from, dad?" you questioned airily as you walked past, flicking it on the way, to place your bag down.

he shrugged, "my friend gave it to me, my gay friend, we're very close. she put it on my desk this morning."

there was a slight stress on his last two words, and an involuntary glance to the kitchen that made you wonder what he was thinking of, and how he held up in interrogatins with this, albeit uncharacteristic, flighty quality.

"o... kay? cool..."

hopper narrowed his eyes, "i'm not gay. but i'm really... erm, cool with the whole thing."

there was a grunt in his words that easily conveyed his discomfort, but you couldn't figure out why for the life of you. maybe you hadn't inherited his detective skills, because it was obvious to him what he was hinting at.

"do you have any... gay friends?"

you shrugged, "maybe."

he gave you a thumbs up.

jim hopper, your dad, gave you a thumbs up. you blinked in genuine shock.

mission failed. he'd try again tomorrow.

that night, you stayed on the phone to robin well past midnight, trying to silence your laughter with your pillow as you told her about your dad's strange behavior.

"a thumbs up? she giggled, "that's not like him. you'd think he suddenly realised you were gay or something."

you smiled, "imagine."

the smile dropped. robin went silent on the other end of the phone.

"you don't think-"

"d'ya reckon-"

"he can't."

"he could..."

clues number two and three that he'd definitely figured it out was the newspaper he left open on the counter the next morning, with an article circled aggressively in biro pen.

PRIDE PARADES - SINCE 1970

the third clue? the tiny heart drawn next to it.

maybe it was el. but it wasn't a coincidence, and you sighed.

how did he possibly figure it out? we were so subtle...

it was joyce you ran to first, also. and she laughed the laugh of someone who knows everything and can't believe others are so unfathomably clueless.

you told your dad anyway. with the real words, no skirting around it. he gave you a slightly stiff nod and a clap on the back. you knew what that meant.

i'm proud of you, kid.

---

taglist:

@anordinarymuse @kingshitonly

#starstruckwillows #stranger things #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley #robin buckley x hopper!reader #hopper!reader #dad!hopper #hopper x daughter!reader

[firewalkzwit]

briefly a runway model // hobie brown x reader (one-shot)

i wrote another one bc i felt like i went scarce on the elaboration on the last one, plus i had this idea on my head for days and i wanted to write it down

"It's 1970's in London, the rise in the punk scene motivated YN to make an artistic statement in the shape of clothes. Once set up a scandalous boutique, who would model the even more scandalous attire?"

inspired by vivienne westwood <33

word count: 2.6k

AO3

Heinous industry it was indeed. Trying to open a boutique that catered to making a statement and shaking the UK awake was not easy when it was plagued with thieves and ordinary people who treated her work as simple fetish garments to use in the privacy of their homes. Her designs were an expression, a statement, and meant to be paraded flagrantly. To some her work was simply shock material, but that was part of the point. The only way a society opressed into taboos and public condemn to the embrace of humanity could possibly open its mind was through provoquing them in their streets, TVs and radios. And that was what she aimed for the very moment her boutique opened it's small doors. 

Located in an important avenue, and paying a considerable fortune for the rent of what used to be a dump, YN turned a ratty and neglected old shop into her boutique. Planning to make it big and waking the UK up from it's coma, she counted with the support of local friends in the alternative and punk scene who would model her clothes in the streets. Accompanied by a wave of lowlives with no future who knew only destruction, who were welcome too. The immense groups of new generation youth who were segregated from forming part of anything had found a home in the punk movement. 

Many borrowed her clothes in and out of the shop, but she knew who everyone was, and who was returning what and when was a hard thing to keep up with. This didn't mean that there weren't those who tried to borrow permanently, looking around while they'd sneak items into their bags or coats. It's a tiring situation, and eventually one has to deal with things the easy way. No help of the authorities of course, as not only would they not have a care in the world about helping those who were trying to bring them down, but they wanted no help of fascists either. She'd deal with theives with a wooden baseball bat that sat behind the counter at the wait of serving justice. 

It was one of those days, and she'd been having her eye on him for a while. She was no saint, a 'borrower' herself, but responding to her morals she'd never take from artists or small businesses, only from those who had built their wealth and fortune slaving others away. This had taught her to identify certain ways of moving and gestures, even the way their eyes shifted around in an alert demeanor. The way they took strangely long on a specific rack and then they'd move on to the next taking way less time. Their arms fidgetting in their place or their hands contorting in their pockets almost frantically. Once again she'd witness it, bonding what was humorous to the excruciating nuisance of having to deal with another naughty customer. 

"Put that back." Her hand was already hugging the base of the bat and leaned on the counter, her gaze was pierced on the jumpy individual, who's eyes shifted towards her in an abrupt turn of his head, immediately given away by his own guilt when he felt addressed by a phrase that didn't carry his name. 

"Put what?" He retorted as he lifted his hands, his arms pressed tightly against his torso. She got up and lifted her weapon, resting it on her shoulder as she approached to block the door. The other few people in the shop stood quietly as they watched them, yet not quite alarmed as it was a standard procedure. The other end of her bat rested on his chest, sliding towards his armpits as her eyebrows arched. "Lift your arms." His hands dropped down as his head followed in a soft nervous laugh. "Alright, my bad. But YN said I could borrow these." From his flanks and under his leather jacket dropped two white tees from the same section, just as she'd guessed. "I don't recall letting you borrow anything." Her head tilted in disbelief as she stared in a twisted frown, she'd seen him around, she knew who he hung around with.

"Ay' I'm just fucking around with you, I was gonna return these." She crouched to pick the attire from the floor as she kept her piercing gaze on him. "You were gonna' wear and return two of the same?" He kept shaking his head and laughing, playing off the threat before him. "Me mates and I were gonna try those, but I was gonna give them back I mean it. You're YN then?" He extended his arm to offer a handshake, wiggling his long fingers as he offered a grin. "Give me a good reason to not beat you up right here." She once again adopted a threatning stance, stepping forward to point at him with her bat again. They both exchanged a long few seconds of staring as he thought of something to come up with. 

"I could wear your clothes to me show, I'm playing in the pub a few blocks down from here tonight, we sing what you put in those shirts." He extended his arm further, to which she scoffed before walking back to the counter, putting down her bat and shirts. She raised her gaze to look at the thief; tall and long, really long arms, with a thin and also elongated torso. Everything in his body was long and slender, even his hair which he wore in wicks that complimented his looks. He had a face hard to forget, prominent cheekbones and plump lips, with short thin eyebrows and a bunch of piercings. The longer she looked at him, the more she came to realize he was quite a handsome bloke. "Alright, I suppose you could, pet. You making any money off of those?" He scoffed at her question as he shook his head once again. "Fuck no, I will soon though." His hands made their way to his pockets as he walked towards the counter where she was rested on. "Look I can't afford this stuff right now, I'll just give it back after the show, promise I'll get you some new people around." He rested his body on the opposite side of the counter, making her back up as he offered her a charming grin.

And so he did, and from a distance inside the pub she witnessed the scandal he was putting on as a show, with her designs on. To be fair, his presence on stage was impressive and quite striking, accompanied by loud music and polemical lyrics. If he and his band did make it big, he'd be an ambassador of a new wave of fashion designed to provoke the minds of the morally imprisoned. So she conceded him use of her attire in exchange for exposure and scandal, the gig was her show and he was on the catwalk.

The state the clothes returned in was often dreadful, but that was part of her brand. Those who had not a cent to their names often would spend the little they had on decent clothes just for the sake of keeping a job or maintaining a sense of humanity. In a world were individual value had been derived to the things people own, stripping them from their humanity and further turning into assets, ragged clothes with strong messages were often a factory of funny looks and criticism; noise. 

Eventually, he stopped returning her clothes, and as he started to gain popularity, she began to manufacture for him. "Call it a gift to the cause." She'd say, as he'd reluctantly model different leather jackets and obscene tees. He'd sit and slide off the counter like a slime, spinning around the racks and kicking boxes out of boredom. "You like our music right?" He'd ask suddenly, being given little to no attention as all her focus was in manually printing her designs on a ripped white tee. "Yeah sure, it's loud, it's noisy. It's what we need to shake the UK awake from it's deep sleep." She stated as she shook the pink tint off her hands. 

"I know, I mean if you actually like it." Hobie sat across the rudimentary table that was hidden from the accesible part of the boutique through a velvet tartan curtain. "Oh well if you're asking about the sound of it, it's not particularly something I musically enjoy. I suppose you don't either, that's not the point of it." As she spoke she never stopped to look at him, he on the other hand leaned on the table, trying to decipher the meaning behind the borderline offensive prints on the shirts. 

"Well what do you like?" She looked up to him, who was already staring at her inquisitively. She'd respond the usual greats; Bowie, New York Dolls, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd... To some he'd laugh at, others he'd agree, picking some inspiration figures from the bunch. "You can sing I suppose." She assumed as she got up, walking up to his guitar rested on the counter. He followed behind her, puzzled. "No, I can't sing, why?" She sat herself on the counter with his guitar on hand, pushing it against his chest as she leaned slightly backwards. 

"Improv' me Moonage Daydream, supposing you can do that. I need some music." She offered him a provoking grin, to which he responded with a nasal laugh, possitioning his guitar to play acoustic and by nothing but his memory to guide him. As she acclimated to the resembling melody of her favorite song with her eyes closed, she jumped down from her counter and returned to her table behind the curtain, beginning to sing the lyrics as he tried to follow her voice from the distance. What went on for a prolongued minute was interrupted by her abrupt reappearance from behind the curtain, holding on to the fabric as she slightly swung from side to side. "Come on Hobes, don't leave me hanging." She approximated to him, wet paint brush in hand. Shyly he eventually followed her tune, and they sang along poorly yet amused as she held out the wooden microphone to both of them, cheeks practically grazing eachother as they exchanged looks from the corner of their eyes, herself gifting him an ocasional grin. 

The song ended, and they were left in awkward silence and enough physical proximity to feel the warmth that oozed from their bodies. Their heads, parallel to one another would turn enough for their faces to properly see each other, maintaining a quiet stare as they waited for a move, or a word to come out of the other. "If we're gonna' shag, it's not gonna' be right here is it?" He asked to break the silence, to which she rolled her eyes and sighed, breaking the barely perceptible contact of their arms against eachother. "Don't worry sugar, we won't be shagging anywhere." 

Since then, Hobie had adopted the habit of making insinuations of the sort to pester her while she worked, or when she bothered him dressing him for hours like a customized doll. She'd brush them off swiftly, used to the predictable resorts of men. While he was doing it to get a kick out of it, his offers stood serious if she'd ever care to see them that way. He'd always put his generosity on display in the shape of asking everyday, but rejection wouldn't stop his persistence, as either reactions served him pleasurable. "I could play you Moonage Daydream again, sing together and all..." Hobie shrugged as her hands traced up his torso, studying the fit of a tee cut short enough to reveal part of his lower abdomen and tightly draw the silhouette of his shoulders. "Someday Hobes, we could." 

She lived in a compact apartment in a building cramped against other structures, cursed with thin walls through which trespassed the audible lives of neighbors below, on top and beside her. She eventually learnt to tolerate it, but it implied some limitations to the peace of silence to play some good music and enjoy nothing but the sound of it, or even sing to hear nothing but your own voice without the supporting vocals of neighbors. Hobie on the other hand, lived on the damp peace of an isolated little canal boat. Unique and as quiet as it gets. She'd been to his place before, and taking the liberty of leaving her print in the shape of designs of her own. He didn't mind, on the contrary he'd always say his palace needed decoration. 

It was one particular night where she visited where his usual demeanor was enhanced by the use of whatever substance he'd acquire in and out of the pubs where he played. Nothing she hadn't seen before or to be worried about, but never had she been left alone with him under the influence. He was rambling about his gigs and his thoughts on the press, as she was seated on the cold mattress where he slept. The hardness of the foam against the wooden floor sent a frigid wave up her body, not paying attention to his directionless monologue. "Before I forget, I learnt to proper play Moonage Daydream if you wanna' listen." She looked up at him after his sentence, giving him a smile of invitation that signaled him to sit beside her and play. And so he did. Before he began, he jammed in what could only be translated as a guitar ramble. His fingers clumsily pressing on the strings as he thought it through. It was before he even began to play that she let a giggle escape from between her lips forming a smile, she'd think he even looked somewhat cute in his attempts at playing a song for her. His head immediately broke the focus to look up at her, staring for a long second before speaking with a grin.

"Why'd I always think you had nasty teeth? You have really nice teeth." He spoke in what she could only describe as a sad attempt in flirting. "Teeth? You could talk about my eyes, or my face, my tits even, and you choose my teeth?" Hobie laughed as she maintained her smile, softly laughing together. "You're real witty I'll give you that compliment." She'd expect him to look back down at his guitar like he usually would after shooting her a flirty comment, but this time he did not look away, his tilted head remained unfazed and so did his gaze. She tried to briefly look away, to break the tension of the prolongued staring, yet she'd immediatly look back at him to see if he was still looking, which he was. "Suppose a shag is out of the question." He stated in what was indeed, a question rather than an affirmation. She'd usually say nothing, or find in her the humor to retort something to brush him off, but this time she didn't. As hard as she tried to mouth something, or as much as she tried to contain the urge of saying something, she couldn't come up with anything better to say.

"Fuck it." 

Hobie briefly expressed his shock in the shape of arched eyebrows and a grin, but he spared no time or left no room for mind-changing, putting his guitar aside before jumping on her. His kisses were as clumsy and uncoordinated as he played guitar, but she loved that of him. This time it was him who got to strip her and slide his hands all over her body, opposed to the usual role where she'd have him stand in nothing but his underwear as she groped and stretched whatever clothes she'd put on him. His hands couldn't decide whether they wanted to grab her breasts or her ass, and his lewd kisses became more intense by the second, as she'd lay down and he'd top her anxious to finally nail down on what he'd been joking about for months. 

#across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderman: atsv #atsv #spiderverse #hobie brown #hobie brown atsv #hobie brown spiderverse #hobie spiderverse #hobie atsv #spiderpunk #spiderpunk spiderverse #spiderpunk atsv #spiderpunk fic #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x y/n #spiderpunk x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown fanfiction #Spotify

[hlficlibrary]

HL Fic Library 💜 Genderfluid Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

💜 love is a word, you gave it a name by  CuckooTrooke / @larrydoinglaundry [E, 158k]

After two decades in brutal show business, Louis Tomlinson is trying to restore his tranquility of mind in the peace of Northern Europe where the sun barely sets, Maria's bar is always open, and young Harry has an irresistible spark in his eyes.

💜 Demon and Immortal (series) by delsicle / @eeveelou [E, 90k]

Harry is a demon and Louis is his eternal mate.

💜 an everlasting eclipse by you_explode /@nobodymove [M, 63k]

The sky is a deep blue and a soft breeze blows through the willow trees. From his position outside the railway station, Harry can see the centre of the village in one direction and rows of trees in the other. He feels his nerves could choke him, but so too could his excitement.

He is to have a family.

Anne of Green Gables/Anne With An E AU. In 1891, orphan Harry is adopted by the Teasdales and goes to live on their small farm in Holmes Chapel. In his new life he finds supportive relationships, he finds himself, and eventually, he finds a home.

💜 Angel of Little Deaths by superglass [M, 54k]

It’s morning light when he looks back at Louis, bright and unfiltered, like a halo. He will never forget this image; he will chase to find it again, in this same way. So perfect in time; if he had a camera he’d capture it. How the thin knit of the sweater falls over the dip of Harry’s collarbone, his lovely neck bared for Louis’ lips when they come close again. His lips stretched wide and pink in a closed smile, until they break free to reveal his bunny teeth. How his legs cross almost childishly, bare ankles crossed, the creamy expanse of his thighs pale. His hair, messy and disheveled, before an array of light. His new love: Harry. His new muse; his new everything. or

Louis is a lonely artist in Florence, Harry is a runaway Parisian student. 1970s au.

💜 Amor Victorious by HappyPrince / @happy-prince [E, 38k]

Louis finds himself following Harry on a journey through Italy, complete with long train rides, greasy food, naked Christs, and too many lingering touches. They're definitely not like other tourists and he definitely doesn't have a crush on his best friend who happens to be an alpha, too.

💜 starin' back from the lookin' glass (there stood a woman where a half-grown boy had stood) by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou [E, 23k]

Harry squeezed his feet into the black heels his mother handed him from their little satin bag and stood up, slightly wobbly for a few seconds before he caught himself.

“They’re small on you, I know,” Mama said quietly as she went and grabbed the mirror. “You’ll have to use your first money to get a place to stay, but after that you need to buy shoes that fit you…”

She was still speaking, but Harry couldn’t hear her anymore over the blood rushing in his ears as she turned the mirror and made him look at himself.

He looked… He was… He felt like a woman. Where just under an hour ago, he’d seen a boy, barely a young man, shaving off the bits of his beard that had started to grow in so late, he now saw a woman. She was as real as he had ever seen. His posture, unsure and shy, morphed into hers, shoulders straight and hip cocked as she tried her best to balance herself on the high heels she’d inherited.

💜 Little Black Dress (I wanna see the way you move for me, Baby) by HachimansKitsune [M, 19k]

Harry's has an obsession he feels guilty about. When an impulsive moment leads him to make the purchase, he expects to never actually follow through with his desires. Then Louis finds the dress -- the slinky, silky black dress -- and Daddy takes the decision out of Harry's hands.

💜 fallin' and laughin' at the drinks we spilled by enbyharry / @non-binharry [E, 14k]

Louis is living his best #vanlife and travelling around the US, visiting big cities and small towns. In an effort to see as many places as he can, he never stays for more than a day. He stops in some bar in the middle of nowhere Kentucky where he meets a beautiful boy named Harry. He stands out from the rest of the patrons in the bar with his black midi slip dress and fur coat draping off his shoulders, despite it being a hot summer night.

They drink and dance and maybe even get into a bit of a brawl with a couple of locals who have something to say about Harry’s expression (big mistake, she’s a queen who can hold her own) so Harry takes Louis back to his place where he bandages them up and they continue their party into the sunrise.

When Louis heads back to his van in the morning, boxer briefs missing and a draft coming through the large hole in the shoulder of his t-shirt, he thinks maybe Harry might be worth sticking around in this town for a little bit longer.

💜 I Hope We Never Change by @hellolovers13 [E, 12k]

“I just wanted to try how it feels.”

“The clothes?” Niall asked.

Harry nodded. “Is that, that's too weird right, I shouldn't-”

“Hey, stop it. I told you already, it's not weird. It's just how you feel. That's okay. You can try whatever you want, okay. And you can always, always talk to me. Remember that.”

or Harry is confused about everything, so is Louis.

At least they have Niall.

💜 People just gotta have fun by korichiro [E, 11k]

Louis is insecure about his gender indentity. A coming-out story of sorts.

💜 It's Thursday. Let's Get (un)Dressed. by @bananaheathen [E, 9k]

When Louis is peer-pressured into downloading TikTok over the holidays, he fully expects to hate it. And he does hate it. All of it. Well... except for aspiring OOTD influencer, @harrystyles.

💜 but if you really hold me tight by loulicate / @loulicate-recs [NR, 8k]

In which Harry just needs warm cookies, couple sweaters and a certain pretty boy to save this year's Christmas.

💜 little black dress (it's all right) by istajmaal [E, 8k]

harry is a girl sometimes. louis loves her all the time.

💜 and she sleeps in his bed by yourdelicatepov / @harrysmaison [M, 7k]

Never in his life had Louis ever thought about his gender. He’d never really given a thought of who he was and what he wanted to be, as an individual. Being gay was different, to him it felt different than this. The flamboyance was expected, and accepted. He owned it, owned the fact that he was flamboyant. Exuberant. A bit too stylish. Different. Of course, there was no denying that. But when it came to his own gender, he’d always thought he was just one of the lads. Or well, he definitely used to think that until Harry painted his nails and then called him ‘pretty’.

💜 Here's to Elysium by sitandadmire / @louistomlionson [T, 5k]

It's 2045. Dedicated Gunters and IOI Sixers are desperate to find Halliday's Easter egg inside the extraordinary virtual game called the OASIS. Through their attempts to win the Copper Key, the first of three keys, two avatars become closer than they ever expected.

Or: A 1D x Ready Player One Fusion feat. Lara Croft!Harry.

💜 She Feels So Good by zedi [E, 4k]

Louis knows that voice. Harry’s used that voice in his ear more times than Louis can count, said such sweet, naughty things while popping a hip out and pressing up against Louis. All while wrapping the words in that voice. That’s the voice that comes out when Harry’s in a skirt, nails done and gestures soft and flirty. That’s the voice Louis is a sucker for every time, even now when it’s coming from a prerecorded segment playing off a monitor.

That’s Louis’ good girl.

💜 Your Gift Is Wasted On Me by 5secsoflarry [G, 4k]

"We will have a baby soon darling. Remember, we plan on finding a surrogate after Christmas..."

Louis knows the words are of little comfort but he does not know what else to say.

OR Harry wants a baby really bad so they use a surrogate and well, after a few years one baby turns into six...

💜 Exhilarator by 28sunflowers / @vintageumbroshirt [G, 3k]

Lou had always felt a little bit different from his peers. It had been a confusing and frustrating affair, to grow up without feeling like he belonged to one role or another. He had had to fight small wars almost everyday, both within himself and against the world.

But then, on the first day of college, a green eyed boy gives him an encouraging smile from across the room and it’s all Louis needs to stand taller and prouder amidst a class full of strangers.

💜 kiss me with adventure 'til i forget my name by orphan_account [NR, 3k]

“Wow,” Louis says softly, stunned. “You look…”

Vibrant, luminescent, glowing, unreal, magnificent, exuberant, fucking fuckable.

or where Louis both loves and hates her job.

💜 And Everything In Between by fanshae [T, 2k]

The first day Harry wears a skirt to school Louis gets in two fist fights and has to borrow Harry's concealer for his busted knuckles. It was more than worth the dention but Louis lets Harry brush his lips over the scraped skin anyway.

💜 Ready For Anything by wannabebestseller [G, 1k]

Harry is genderfluid and Louis is the most supportive husband anyone could ever ask for. 

💜 Cherry Blossom (You are Mine) by braveromantic [NR, 1k]

Happiness can be found in the most surprising of places. For H, happiness is a queer bar in the middle of her college town, with a blue-eyed beauty and an energy drink she should have ordered more of.

#hlcreators #hltracks #hljournal #trackinghappily #trackinghome #tracksintheam #yourlarrysource #hlsource #1dsource #braveromantic #wannabebestseller #fanshae #zedi #sitandadmire #5secsoflarry #28sunflowers #yourdelicatepov #hellolovers13 #istajmaal #loulicate #bananaheathen #korichiro #enbyharry #HachimansKitsune #happyprince #4ureyesonly28 #cuckootrooke #superglass #delsicle #youexplode

[2anxious2betrue]

Happy Marriage: part 2

part 1:https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/2anxious2betrue/687555004390866944?source=share

Summary: Soldier boy is looking for his wife, has anyone seen her? Its been many years, and he has come back ready to have a happy marriage. Too bad she doesn't see it that way.

Warnings: non-con, mean solider boy, DV, the 1970s

I have no idea how to tag people that have asked me to tag them. I am sorry, but I do hope you find this part 2 and enjoy. The new episode was a big shocker for me, specifically the ending. There are no spoilers here, so no worries. Also there might be some grammar mistakes, I did not have anyone look it over. Anyways enjoy :)

Part 2:

Time was running out. You were not certain where Ben was, but you knew that you couldn’t stay put in one place for too long. After seeing the news, you collected yourself and got to work. You gathered all necessary items (clothes, medicine, weapons) into a duffel bag and swung it over your shoulder. It was time to start a new life, again.

You heard a ping from your phone and quickly grabbed it to read the message. 

‘523 Mable Ave’

You dropped your phone onto the floor and slammed your foot down on it, successfully cracking and breaking the phone into small pieces. 

One final glance at your apartment, and you were out the door. You weren’t attached to the place, but you would miss the scattered memories of not having to look behind your shoulder all the time. It was still bright out when you left, people bustling and walking amongst each other on the streets. Everyone held a certain aura around themselves ever since Soldier Boy appeared again. Even though you continuously saw the repeated videos of Homelander trying to ease the public on the lack of danger, you knew it was a lie. And it seemed that the public wasn’t too convinced with Homelander’s reassurance either. 

Taking a turn into an abandoned alleyway, you began your search looking for a specific symbol. Your eyes caught the discreet symbol of a bull on the gray stone wall, and you leaped towards it. Caressing the symbol, this was your way out. Tapping the stone, you could hear that the area was hollowed out. You gave it a slightly harder tap, and the area crumbled apart leaving a small whole. You tossed the rubble away and took out the contents inside. You flipped through it, an ID and passport with a new name but your picture looking right back at you. There was also a one way ticket to Toronto, Canada leaving in a couple of hours. 

You looked past your shoulder, making sure no one saw your actions. You stashed everything into your jacket pocket and high tailed out of the location. Back in the crowded streets, you signaled for a taxi driver. After two drove by you, the third finally stopped pulling down his window and asking you where you were going. 

You opened the back door and placed your belongings beside you, but before you could shut the door a hand grabbed the door frame. He pulled open the door for his wide body to stand next to yours. 

“There you are honey, I’ve been looking all over for you”. Your mind did not register what was happening, but his deep timber voice brought memories to your body. With ease he pushed your body to the side allowing his body to sit in the car. He closed the door behind him. 

The taxi driver said something, but you were numb. You did not understand what was going on, this felt unreal. You were certain that you had more time. 

You glanced towards him from the corner of your eye, he was dressed casually not in his usual Supe outfit. He told the taxi driver a new location to drive to, and the driver didn’t even question it. You scooted further away from him and slowly moved your hand to open the door. 

“Don’t even think about it”. You fully looked at him then, his eyes were staring daggers into yours. His facial features hadn’t changed since the last time you saw him. He looked exactly the same but his aura gave a darker twist than even before. 

You gave one small nod of your head to give the allusion of appeasing him. He still thought you were his obedient submissive wife, but times have changed. 

You reached for the door handle again and showed it open, flinging the car door towards oncoming traffic. The driver exclaimed loudly, but you didn’t hear the rest of it as you jumped out of the moving car. Your body rolled onto the street, you could feel scratches and bruises already healing as you forced your body to get up and make a run for it. 

Cars honked at you, as you ran across the road looking for an escape route. There was no time for you to glance over to see if he was following you but you knew he was. It seemed like anarchy was occurring around you as cars drove into one another and screams filled your ears. Thudding, thumping, and screaming all around you. Everything was too much, and you couldn’t process it all, no ideas were coming to mind other than run faster. 

You heard your name being yelled out at you but you didn’t stop. 

You wouldn’t stop no matter what, because the alternative would be a much worse faith. The world saw Soldier Boy as a superhero, you saw him for who he truly was. A sociopath. 

1971

The room was silent except for the repeated ticking of the clock. Any moment now your husband will come home. This used to bring joy to you but as the years went by, the fame increased, you began to see new and dark sides of him. 

First it was Vought’s idea that your marriage should be kept a secret from the public, Ben explained it was for your safety. You agreed, because you didn’t know any better. He truly cared for you, and many people wanted to hurt him, therefore you. 

But it didn’t stop there, he would repeatedly come home with blood all over his suits. Your first initial reaction was to be worried for him but he would always smile and say it wasn’t his. 

More and more Ben would change but you would find excuses for his actions, after all he saved the world from Nazi’s. Then one day he decided that the outside world was too dangerous for you. He did not want you to leave the house without him. Eventually you weren’t allowed to leave the house at all. 

You remembered the day he forcibly injected compound V into your system. He held you the whole night while you were in pain. He rocked you back and forth, whispering reassurance into your ear. He promised things would get better and a bright future would be ahead for the both of you. He exclaimed his love for you. 

Now you sit still watching the time tick by waiting for your husband to come home. His words from the past empty promises that were not fulfilled, instead grief overtook you. You knew what lay within your husband and it was not what the public saw, it was not who you married. This person did not care about no one but his own selfish desires, which included you playing the role of a domestic house wife that always obeyed. 

The door creaked open but you sat still, not moving an inch.

“Honey, I’m home”

You glanced towards the direction of his voice but refused to get up and greet him. You were tired of it all. 

“Honey?”

Silence. 

He waited for you to appear, for you to answer, and once he realized he wasn’t going to get it you heard his frustrated sigh. 

His sock clad feet made thudding sounds on the wood floor as he approached you. You could feel his eyes on you as he made his way, he stopped behind you. 

“When will you learn” 

He grabbed a fist full of your hair and yanked it back. Your head jerked with his harsh movement, and you were forced to look up at him. He sneered down at you. 

“I give and I give, and this is the thanks I get?” He gestured with his other arm. “All that I ask is for you to be a good wife, don’t I deserve that?” He questioned. 

Tears began to blur your eyesight, the pain from his grip intensifying as the seconds went by. You didn’t answer him, closing your eyes allowing the tears to trickle down your cheeks. 

“Stop being such a crybaby”. 

His grip on your hair tightened more and he finally swung you over from the couch, you landed harshly on your back. 

“Aw baby, that’s ok. I’m here”. His deep voice was mocking you, as he straddled your waist. His heavy weight prevented you from sitting up. You groaned from the impact, the throbbing in your head slowly disappearing. 

His hand reached towards your cheek, tracing the soft flesh down to your throat. Goosebumps littered your skin, his touch used to bring joy and pleasure, now you weren’t sure what feelings you held towards him. 

You lifted your right hand towards him, and with your full force pushed him away from you. He stumbled off of you allowing a small opportunity of escape from his assault. You turned your body and crawled your way away from him. Your freedom was short lived, he grabbed your foot and pulled you back towards him. 

He clicked his tongue. “Honey, where do you think you’re going?” 

He wrestled you back into the previous position, with him straddling your body down to the floor. This time he also had your hands pinned to the side. His face was hovering above yours, his eyes looking deep into you. 

Shutting your eyes, you no longer wanted to look at him. You wanted to escape from this horrible reality but he wouldn’t allow you. You felt his breath on your face as he leaned closer to you and locked your lips together. His lips were rough against yours, a punishing move. 

You didn’t respond to his actions, so he bit your bottom lip drawing blood. He suckled at the wound and caressed your lip with the tip of his tongue. A reluctant moan escaped you, as he moved his right hand away from your wrist to your breasts. 

His movements were both gentle and demanding. None of his actions were to bring you pleasure, he was doing this to punish you. To punish for your actions and remind you where your place was. 

He groaned into your mouth as you felt his length harden against you, he began to move his hips against you causing friction. He pulled his lips away from yours, and looked at his work. You were laying breathless beneath him, hair tousled, lips swollen, and reluctantly extremely aroused. 

He smirked down at you. 

“My little slut”. 

You turned your head away from him, but he grabbed your chin back to look at him. 

“Are you going to be a good or naughty girl today?” 

You refused to answer him. 

“I like it when you're naughty”.

He let go of your chin, but abruptly leaned towards your ear and whispered. “My naughty slut is going to be punished today”. His breath tickled your skin as his tongue darted out and licked the bottom of your earlobe before biting it harshly. 

You tried to shove him away from you but this time he didn’t budge. More tears built at the corner of your eyes as he wouldn’t let you go. 

“Ben please”

He put more pressure on your body as he leaned his own body on yours, even with your enhanced strength you were no match to him. 

“Please stop”

His tongue made a trail down your jaw, to your neck, and trailed kisses around your collarbone. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. 

“I love you baby.”

His baritone voice whispered into you. 

“I-I love you too”. Your voice was a small whimper compared to his. Even through all his actions, your response wasn’t a lie. You truly did love him, and you despised yourself for that. 

“I love you so much that I would do anything for you. I would kill everyone on this earth, just so I could be alone with you”. 

“I know”. 

He pushed his body up and stood on both his feet looking down at you. His movement finally allowed you freedom to move, you too got up from your position. Standing straight, you waited for his next move, never knowing what was truly going on in his head. 

He moved away from you and back to the couch, sitting down and spreading his legs. 

“Come here”

“Why”

“Don’t be fucking stupid” He rolled his eyes and gestured for you to come to him. “It's time for your punishment”.

#dark soldier boy x reader #Dark Fic #dark soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #dead dove do not eat #rape/noncon #DV #mean soldier boy

[wrestlersownmyheart]

MJF Drabble #23

You shot forward, connecting your forehead toward Jay’s face. You intended to hit his nose, but your aim was off a bit. You felt it as one of his teeth connected with your forehead. There was a sharp pain at your hairline, followed by a wet warmth trickling down the side of your face. Dizziness set in next.

You groaned in your pain. That didn’t completely go according to plan. But you glanced up and saw Jay holding his mouth. You gained some satisfaction from that.

“Listen, love,” Jay growled finally, grasping a hank of your hair at the back of your head, anchoring your head in place. “There’s no need to make this get ugly.” 

You glared at him. 

Jay pulled a pair of ear plugs from his jacket pocket along with a sackcloth bag. “Juice, check the hall. Make sure it’s nice and quiet so no one sees where we take her.” Then he was shoving the ear plugs in your ears and tugging the sackcloth over your head.

Always an extremely claustrophobic person, you did not take this well, and began struggling again.

Apparently the all clear was given from the hallway and you were hoisted onto a broad shoulder and carried away…

If you want on my tag list, just ask! 😃

Tagging:

@oreillystolemyheart @lookalivesunshine-x @shortyiceheart @vebner37 @claymorexpunisher @kalliravenne @swamptrashwithasideofsass @beardedbarba @emisrose @sweetpea-1970 @sassymox @pikapuff-316 @heavymetalgirl420 @bigpsychicbagelauthor @darktammy @waywardwrestlewritingwaif @sultryfandoms @blondekel77 @demonqueen29 @amariemoore @letsgivethisonemoreshot @thelastemzy @springgirlwaiting4fall @vampirepixi @wwenhlimagines @louisianalady @swthrt890 @librathepheonix13 @justanerdwholikestoread @kiwiedge @ironshamelessyouth @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @moonwolfdemonprincess21 @moxkindagirl @jstarr86 @oliviasinematic @southerngirl41 @claymoresofinfamy23

#mjf #maxwell jacob friedman #mjf x reader #mjf imagine #mjf fanfiction

[girlsdressingrooms]

Francisco Rabaneda Cuervo (18 February 1934 – 3 February 2023),

More commonly known under the pseudonym of Paco Rabanne, the Spanish-born designer who was renowned for his iconic metallic dresses, has passed away today at the age of 88 in Portsall, Brittany.

The designer revolutionised fashion by twisting unconventional materials into new and previously unexplored forms. His brand – synonymous with the optimism of the 60s – was built on sculptural microminis, crafted from bolshy paillettes of aluminium, which mined medieval armour for its space-age potential. 

His origins are equally as fateful and as intriguing as his designs, born in the Basque town of Pasajes, Gipuzkoa. His father was a Republican Colonel and was executed by Francoist troops during the Spanish Civil War.

Though Paco’s avant-garde sensibilities were perhaps a matter of inheritance, his Mother was the chief seamstress at Cristóbal Balenciaga's first couture house in Donostia, Basque Country, and subsequently Balenciaga moved Rabanne's entire family when he opened Balenciaga in Paris in 1937.

In the mid-1950s Paris, while he was studying architecture at l'École Nationale des Beaux-Arts, Rabanne earned money on the side by making fashion sketches for the likes of Dior and Givenchy, as well as shoe sketches for Charles Jourdan. Despite his early foray into the fashion industry, he stuck to his original plan getting a job at the company of esteemed French architect Auguste Perret. After 10 years at the company, he reinvented himself as a jewellery designer creating pieces for Givenchy, Dior, and Balenciaga. He then went on to found his own eponymous fashion house in 1966.

Dogged in his desire to break with convention, Paco was one of the first designers to cast models of colour and soundtrack his fashion shows to music. He debuted his first collection (Twelve Experimental Dresses) in 1964, followed by his breakout collection (Twelve Unwearable Dresses) in 1966 – both of which made full use of the postwar, industrial materials at his disposal, with pieces crafted from wire and glue. 

He’d say that “sewing is a bondage” and sell DIY kits to his clients – among them Peggy Guggenheim, Brigitte Bardot, and Françoise Hardy – so they could fashion their own chainmail from discs, rings, and pliers. Those designs, worn by Jane Fonda in Barbarella, have proven a well of inspiration for Julien Dossena, who took over the Paco Rabanne label in 2013.

Though Paco treated fashion as a reaction against the polemics of his day – dressing women in armour needs no explanation – he was a futurist, untethered to the everyday. He retired from fashion in 1999 and while his fragrance imprint continued to be a commercial success, it wasn’t until 2011 that Paco Rabanne (the brand) staged a comeback. Since then, the house has cycled through creative directors Manish Arora, Lydia Maurer, and Dossena, who is compounding Paco’s experimental outlook and chain-link innovations – albeit with a less outré bent.

“Paco” was a daring, revolutionary and provocative vision, conveyed through a unique aesthetic. He will remain an important source of inspiration...

Rest in Power!

Jean Clemmer / Hélène Clemmer-Heidsieck, courtesy of Paco Rabanne, 

“unwearable” show pieces from early Paco Rabanne collections, Photo: Courtesy of Paco Rabanne, 

Paco Rabanne by Lucille Khornak

Jane Fonda in the 1968 cult-classic science-fiction film Barbarella, 

Li Sellgren by Jean-Daniel Lorieux, fashion by Paco Rabanne, L'Officiel, 1970, 

Asap Rocky wearing Paco Rabanne in GQ, May 20, 2021,

French singer Francoise Hardy wears Paco Rabanne in 1968,

Brigitte Bardot wearing Paco Rabanne dress, 1968,

Iconic 1969 Chain Shoulder Bag

#art #design #fashion #haute couture #space age #rip #paco rabanne #rip paco rabanne #jane fonda #brigitte bardot #jean clemmer #unwearable #lucille khornak #barbarella #li sellgren #jean-daniel lorieux #asap rocky #francoise hardy #chain #metal #spain #cuervo #legend #iconic #rabaneda

[starboybutler]

🌸 Is it possible to do a blurb on 50s Elvis somehow meeting himself from the 1970s? I can only imagine it'd be quite a shock.

Immortal He

this gets sad, sorry. cw for mention / talk of e's death- doesn't go into details though

It was dark, wherever he was. He couldn't see a thing-- it was almost pitch black, and he couldn't see any walls.

It was cold, a strange breeze blowing through the room. A faint light was in the distance, and on instinct he went out towards it.

"you lost?"

elvis whipped around and came face-to-face with a familiar looking man. he was slightly taller, with shaggy black hair and bags under his eyes. he had that same scar on his eyebrow.

"are..." elvis started, unsure. "are you me?"

the older man scratched the back of his head. "afraid so." he laughed lightly, giving the boy in front of him a once over. "man, i miss being young."

"you...how old are you?"

"42."

"but...you look so..." the younger man started, reaching out towards the man in front of him. "tired,"

his older self gave a wary smile. "yeah. i am tired."

"is this...what i'm going to look like? wh-what happens to me?" the younger asked frantically, panic building in his chest.

"you can change this. i'm not for certain if...if you can change it entirely, but this doesn't have to be you." he says. "you can live longer."

"longer..? so i--"

a solemn nod. his blood went cold.

"you have no clue what's going to happen. you're so innocent and young. i miss being like that. like you." he lamented, tiredness running through his voice. "it's not all bad, i promise, just..."

his younger self stood with tears in his eyes as the man before him placed a hand on his shoulder.

"just be careful, okay?"

with that, he woke with a start. his hair was stuck to his sweaty forehead as he did his best to catch his breath. scotty sat up from the other bed in the small hotel room.

"you okay, e?"

elvis sat there, staring at his shaky hands.

"i...i'll be fine, scotty."

#asks #azzy's 200 celebration #this got real angsty. sorry

[geminigengar]

Eddie with a reader who was labeled a “loser” but slowly works her way in with the popular vicious girl group, and sees shes slowly changing her looks but also her dialogue. Kinda like Cady from Mean Girls?

Mean Girl

eddie munson x popular!reader

you and eddie fell out of touch a long time ago. it's not until you're grouped together for a history assignment he realises he may hate what you've become but that doesn't mean you ever stopped looking out for him.

warnings: misunderstandings, mild angst, fluff, happy ending, & stupid long bit about a history assignment

A/N: anon, ur galaxy brain fr i LOVE this concept. the mean girls are my shit. & sorry it took so long this is my first request ever (ty!✨) so i wanted it to be perfect🙏🏽. it's a bit short but this is actually the middle of a much longer plot i wrote out but knew it'd take forever and wanted to get this posted sooner. i still have it in the drafts if you like this story just lmk! • and as always reader is bipoc-coded

you starred at him dumbfounded and a little offended. "nuh-huh."

you starred at him dumbfounded and a little offended. "nuh-huh."

you starred at him dumbfounded and a little offended. "nuh-huh."

"yeah-huh."

you snatched them once again, taking a brief glance before shoving them in your backpack. "nope! looks fun but i don't know shit about d&d." you stood, linking your arm with his as you picked up a second bag from the floor. "and we're up first, sunshine."

eddie was seething, frown seemingly stuck gracing his features as you settled at the front of the classroom. this was one of the few times he put any effore into an assignment; probably more than was necessary. he knew you had great grades and as much as he claimed to hate you he couldn't be the reason you got a failing grade, researching one of the few things he knew enough to write about. but apparently all that was for nothing.

it had been years since you'd spoken to eachother. sure, it was his fault you'd drifted apart. he'd blamed your newfound popularity in middle school for the wedge between you, at least that's what he'd told himself. no, he'd never admit he had been and still was jealous. of you and your ability to make meshing in with the it kids at school look so easy or others your attenion was now split with he wasn't sure.

eddie went to speak but you shushed him as you swat his chest with your hand still around his bicep. he played off the lingering chill left behind in his skin as you detached from him with a scoff. you slapped the hefty pink bag into his arms as you out your essay from it, "hold this."

before he could cuss you out your teacher called the class to attention. you grinned as he asked you both what your project was on.

you couldn't keep the smirk off your face as you answered. "our project is on the history and influence of metal music."

eddie's head whipped down to stare at you, a flip of hair over your shoulder being the only acknowledgment of the questions you could feel in his stare.

you heard a sigh from your teacher, "Y/N did you participate in this project at all?"

"duh," you scoffed "obviously i wrote it down. his handwriting is shit," you added, waving the stapled papers for emphasis.

he rolled his eyes, taking the assignment from you, but waved you to continue on nontheless.

clearing your throat you began clearly, having perfected your public speaking to keep all eyes on you years prior. your body language, well placed smiles, and velvet voice were captivating.

even after all these years eddie still knew you inside and out. he wondered how often you had to pretend not to be yourself around others to make your performance of ease so convincing.

"nowadays," you began. "the creation of metal music is debatable. some historians say it can solely be credited to black sabbath," on your tiptoes, you dug in the bag eddie held. you pulled out a vinyl record. "with the creation of their self titled album released in february of 1970."

eddie starred at it wide eyed as you held the record up for the class. the same he had given you for your birthday one year when you were kids. it still had the wear and tear from you both as you had played the album over and over, day after day until the record sleeve was torn and frayed. neither of you had a care in the world back then- only each other. for him there had only been you.

"others however, say it can be credited to what's been dubbed the 'unholy trinity.'" you said, taking out two more records. "the unholy trinity consisted of, along with black sabbath, led zepplin and deep purple. whatever the case may be, clearly black sabbath had a heavy influence in the creation of heavy metal."

eddie snorted as you continued. posture perfect and voice even even when cracking lame jokes. you went over the beginnings of rock music, how it laid the foundation for metal. explained the metal's rise in popularity and record sales. he was surprised you even mentioned the rise in false accusations of occultism in those associated with the genre; causing half the class to stare at him.

you'd pulled out albums, tapes, and posters; all of them worn. eddie remembered most of them from when you were kids. he registered some were newer, meaning you were still keeping up with them. he assumed you'd given up metal entirely. he figured you and the other cheerleaders listened to whatever top 40 bullshit was put out that week. the realisation that you clearly still loved the genre made him feel warm inside for reasons he couldn't figure out and din't think he wanted to know

he listened intently as you went over the importance of every album, interjecting his thoughts every now and then that you were grateful for. his favourite album of yours being the agents of fortune album tape by blue öyster cult that you proudly admitted to the class was the first item you ever shoplifted, to your teachers chargrin.

you finished up your speech by dumping all the albums into the bag eddie still held, earning an 'oof' from the metalhead.

as the next presenters took your places, you both returned to your seats.

to be completely honest you were nervous. you were nervous. you, one of the most carefree people to ever walk the halls of hawkins high; never caring what anyone thought, never embarrassed by anyone or anything. but this was different. you could care less about some brain dead jock and whatever few thoughts he was capable of concerning you but this wasn't just anyone, this was eddie. sure he was still your eddie, at least to you, but you knew you had both changed. what if he thought you were a loser, desperate to impress him? or worse- a poseur.

you had mastered your poker face a long time ago. you worked at your nails with a nail file you had pulled from your backpack; face neutral as if you hadn't a care in the world. you could only keep it up so long as you felt eddie's stare on you. he never was very good at subtly.

the second the bell rang you were out of your seat on the way to your car despite it only being the middle of the school day.

eddie didn't follow you or come after you which had you both relieved and disappointed. you dropped both bags onto the passenger seat. releasing a shaky breath, you felt your façade crumble. popping one of the tapes in and blasting the speakers. you peeled out of the parking lot.

•

later that night there estood eddie, in the middle of your room having climbed in your window. why you had opened it you didn't know. you should've kept it locked, told him to take his sorry ass home but you didn't. even after all these years of the cold shoulder and jabs and insults from him and hell raisers club you knew you'd always open the door if he knocked.

you were visibly upset, mostly confused, hoping he wasn't here to yell at you about his d&d essay. "why are you here, munson?"

eddie winced. he'd been called by his last name tons in his life. various tones and emotions behind it every time, but never from you. not like this. you couldn't help it, you were'nt mad just scared. he'd never explicitly said you weren't friends anymore or that he hated you but you didn't want to here him say now exactly that.

he struggled to find the words, cradling his backpack as his mouth opened and closed.

you rolled your eyes, already tired from having been woken up abruptly to the rocks hitting your window. reaching in to pull out your popular facade, the one never affected by anynes words spoke for you, "i dunno what you want eddie but just go-."

he stopped you in your tracks, begging him to wait. he took your raised eyebrow as momentary acceptance. he sat on the edge in your bed as he opened his backpack taking out a book and a d&d game box.

you didn't speak, waiting for him to wade through whatever storm was raging in him brain. he finally bit his lip, letting out a quiet "lemme show you?"

you stilled, entirely confused as to why eddie munson had crawled into your bedroom in the middle of the night just to ask you to play dungeond and dragons with him. your confusion must've shown on your face - that or eddie still knew how to read you better than you could yourself, as he answered your unasked question. "in class earlier you said it looked fun. i can show you, if you want?"

this was far cry from the conversation you knew you should, but the blush on his cheeks and with his eyes boring into yours, desperate and longing, you caved.

you rolled your eyes again as you made your way to the head of the bed leaning against the pile of pillows placed there as youtook off your bonnet bonnet to set on your nightstand. you pat the spot next to you, beckoning him closer. "start with the basics."

he grinned, relaxing now that he was forgiven for the tim ebeing, and scrambled to take his place by your side. a place he'd missed and wanted to be again, as long as you'll have him.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x poc!reader #eddie munson x popular!reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagines #stranger things imagines #anon post #gengar request tag #request tag

[welldonebeca]

Uncertain Grounds (11)

WC: 1.3k words Warnings: 1970s, angst. Tension. Violence.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and I promise you won’t regret it.

Masterlist

When Abby woke up, she was in a much different place.

She was being moved, and everything looked too bright and too noisy.

"What?" she groaned.

She rubbed her eye, finally focusing, seeing a man above her. 

"There you are," a doctor cheered.

They put her bed in a room, and the doctor quickly moved to her. She was pretty, blonde and maybe in her 30s, or early 40s. Friendly. Too friendly. 

"Hey," she sat up.

She tried to place a hand on her, and Abby pushed it away.

"Where am I?"

The doctor smiled at her, looking all too familiar with her behaviour.

"This is a supe specialised hospital," she told her.

Oh.

A Vought hospital, then.

Abby rubbed her eyes, moving her shoulders a little, trying to work out where her pain was coming from.

"You got hit on the head," the doctor continued. "How are you feeling?"

She moved a hand to her head palming around the dry blood and finding the vanishing scar.

"Removing the piece could have been a terrible idea," she told her. "It's a miracle you are alright and even talking to me."

Oh. It was, wasn't it?

"We need to check you for any brain damage or if there is any metal piece still loose in your head."

Abby felt around a bit.

"Oh, trust me," she looked at the doctor. "We would know if there was."

Once, she had a broken needle in her skin.

It was ejected right out of it the moment her skin closed over it.

It hurt like hell.

The doctor didn't look too happy with her quip, though.

"It would be good to check,"  she decided. "Please."

Abby sighed.

This was Vought.

Why would she trust them?

"No, thank you," she decided.

The doctor pinched her nose bridge.

"Ma'am, this is standard procedure," she insisted. "It's just an x-ray to make sure you don't have an injury."

She just sat up on the bed and groaned when another nurse rushed to stop her.

"I have the right to refuse to be examined," Abby pushed her out of the way. "I would have known if I had something in my brain."

She felt it the moment the room changed moods, the doctor shifted her posture.

"Is Vought the one asking for it?" Abby decided.

The woman looked away, not answering the question.

So the answer was yes.

"We just want to help you, Abigail," she said instead. "But for us to help you, you need to help us."

Abby looked at the nurse and then the doctor, and the people outside.

All waiting to grab her if she stepped out of line.

"What does Vought want, then?" she asked. "Because I'm sure it is not to see if there are metal bits in my brain."

"There is no need to stress out, miss," the nurse assured her.

"I'm not stressed," she hissed. "I want to get done with this. So tell me what Vought wants, and I will do it."

The doctor took in a deep breath.

"We need you to calm down," she requested.

Abby stared at her, hardening her face, but breathed in and out, making sure she didn't sound as harsh as she thought they were hearing.

"And?"

The two exchanged looks as she waited.

"A pregnancy test," the doctor said, at last. "More than one, if possible."

Abby swallowed down, trying not to glare at them.

"I'm not pregnant," she told them.

"Well, we would like to check," the doctor smiled.

She sighed.

"Sure, go get them," Abby decided. "I'll do it."

Why the fuck would Vougth want a pregnancy test? She had spent a whole year away from Ben, and now they had barely spend over a month together.

The nurse didn't even move. 

"Here you go," she gave her a bag and a plastic cup. "You pee on the cup and drip the sticks."

"Sticks?" she raised her eyebrows.

More than one.

The nurse just smiled in the same old detached way.

"We want to be sure."

She walked into the bathroom, locking herself inside.

It was only when she was peeing into the damn cup, that it really dawned on her.

She should have started her period at least three days ago.

With everything with Ben and the dump situation, her mind was just everywhere.

There were at least ten tests inside.

They really, really, wanted to know.

Abby dipped only one of them in the cup before throwing the liquid away, and filled the cup with water, dipping all of the other ones and hoping very hard that the trick would work, her blood pumping quickly inside her veins as she did.

She didn't even know what Vought would do to her if she really was pregnant.

They had told her to her face to stay away from Ben.

Threatened her, even.

So when she looked at the one little test that she had used right and saw two lines...

Well, she was fucked, wasn't she?

But she had no time to think about it.

Abby dipped the used test into the water just as well, hoping to soak it too much and make the ink disappear, and she was lucky that was what happened.

All the tests came out negative, just a single line on each of them.

"Miss?" the nurse knocked on the door. "Miss? Are you done?"

Abby swallowed down hard.

"Washing my hands."

There was a moment of waiting just as she tipped the water onto the toilet, and she jumped in a startle, dropping it into the bowl when the door opened.

So much for a fucking lock.

The nurse moved to the tests, not even caring about her as Abby fished the cup from the toilet bowl, flushing quickly and throwing it away.

"Is your curiosity solved now?" she glared at her. "Can I go home?"

The nurse picked up the right test, and Abby held back a nervous inhale.

"We got a faulty one," the nurse noticed, turning to her.

"Dipped it for too long," she said simply, trying to unclench her teeth.

It wasn't a lie.

Pregnant. She was pregnant.

Fucking pregnant.

The nurse smiled at her, half condescending and half maniacal.

"Of course," she agreed, at last. "If you are feeling well."

Abby stood straighter.

"Perfectly fine," she hissed.

She hurried out as soon as they gave her all the clear, taking a cab home, and the driver was nice enough that he just let her take a free ride after recognising her.

Just then, behind her closed doors, panic set in her.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Abby covered her face with her hands. "Fucking FUCK!"

Abby covered her mouth with the same hands, looking around.

What did they know?

How much had Vought seen, how much had they...

They could be listening to her right now, for all she knew.

She needed to find Ben. They needed to talk, he needed to know.

Her fingers were trembling when she pressed the numbers to his phone, calling him up.

"Hello, if you know this number, then you know who this is," his grumpy voicemail answered. "Leave a message."

Abby hung up before the beep, and redialled.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

But he didn't answer, it just kept going to voicemail again.

She couldn't leave a voicemail.

Anyone could hear that.

It was to wait. Maybe a couple of days.

She could stay in a hotel and keep calling him.

Ben would pick it up as soon as he could, and she knew it.

But eventually, she had to go home.

There was only so much time she could spend in that room, and if she wanted to leave her house then she would need to find somewhere else to go.

So Abby went back home and tried to stay safe there.

Nothing looked out of place, but there was a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The feeling that something was very wrong.

She turned on the TV, never one to feel comfortable in deep silence, and tried to distract herself by cleaning the dust that had settled during the time she had spent away.

Abby was in the kitchen, cleaning the counters, when she heard the sound of the TV change.

"Breaking News!" a reporter announced. "National hero, Soldier Boy is dead."

She dropped the broom the moment she heard his name.

Abby rushed to the living room, her brain barely processing the words the woman had said.

"We have reports back from Vought Internation of the tragic death of America's hero," the anchor continued.

She fell seated on the couch, completely disconnected from her body.

Abby wasn't watching the screen anymore, she was watching herself. Frozen.

"Soldier Boy sacrificed himself in a melting power plant to save our country. According to Vought, the other members of his team survived the explosion thanks to their leader's action. Recently, two weeks ago, he was deeply involved with the clean-up of..."

The rest of the words didn't matter, as the video of Ben waving to the crowd while Abby gave her speech not even 12h ago. 

That couldn't be the last time she would see him.

That kiss he had left on her cheek, the way he had held her in his arms.

The flowers he'd given her were still on the dining table, wilting.

And Ben was dead.

…

“Uncertain Grounds” was fully posted on my Patreon on 2022. If you like Soldier Boy and other Jensen Ackles characters, and like the idea of having early access to my work, consider checking it out. It’s just $2 a month and I promise you won’t regret it. (link takes you to the public masterlist)

…

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth @amythyststorm33​​​ @shaelyn102 @yknott81​ ​​ @letsdisneythings​​​ @maximofftrash​​​ @kgbrenner @thefridgeismybestie​​​ @magpiegirl80​​​ @mogaruke​​​ @musicalcoffeebean​​​ @megasimpleplan4ever​​​ @deemoriarty @05spn18​​​ @malindacath​​​ @kdcollinsauthor​​​ @random-fandom-fangirl2112 @widowsfics​​​ @frozenhuntress67​​​ @averyrogers83 @notyourtypicalrose​​​ @nerdypinupcrystal @giruvega

#Welldonebeca's Uncertain Grounds series #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy angst

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

Summary: A hot tip turns into a hot night. 

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Characters: William Butcher x unnamed female x Soldier Boy

Tags/warnings: explicit, mfm threesome, Dom/sub, rough sex, slapping, name calling, sex with murderous misogynists

Words: 1700

Author's notes: for @glassjacket and @brrose-apothecary​ Thanks for the read-through and green light, Bri. <3

Gonzo journalism is an energetic first-person participatory writing style of journalism that is written without claims of objectivity, often including the reporter as part of the story using the first-person narrative, and it draws its power from a combination of social critique and self-satire. The word gonzo is believed to have been first used in 1970 to describe an article about the Kentucky Derby by Hunter S. Thompson, who popularized the style.

Three days ago, I received a tip that former British special forces member, CIA agent, and now, vigilante, William Butcher, traveled to Russia to obtain a secret weapon to take down the megalomaniac superhero Homelander. Within an hour, I was on a plane to JFK. Just as the A320 touched the ground, an explosion rocked Midtown, killing 19 people. My source wasted no time looping me in with video footage of the cause of the explosion.

...and I didn’t believe my eyes.

“Holy-” I breathed, weaving through the other passengers to quicken my steps toward ground transportation. I ordered an Uber then watched the footage on a loop until it arrived. As my driver pulled up, I received a text message from my source.

“Weapon’s not so much a what but a who, love.”

“So I see.”

“You here?”

“On my way to ground zero, got anything else for me?”

“Will have after tonight.”

“What’s tonight?”

“I’ll let you know when I do.”

He kept his word — called me mere moments after America’s first hero incinerated the woman he claimed to have once loved in a flash of radioactivity.

Now, these two hypermasculine assholes are half in the bag and toe-to-toe in the middle of a cheap ass motel room, arguing about who can make me come faster/harder/longer. How I got into this particular situation is simple; waiting for intel in a non-air-conditioned room, got bored, hair up, whiskey, poker, sweat, partial nudity.

What’re you gonna do?

“Show me, then, you limey cock. She’s right fucking there.” Soldier Boy motions to me before pausing his challenge to an x-rated duel long enough to drag his hot gaze across my damp, salty skin and down over my semi-clothed form. “Or do you need me to show you what a real man can do.”

Each of their gazes are dark in their own way. Butcher’s is nothing but devilish chaos backed by a dramatic, velvet curtain hiding the truth, and Soldier Boy’s is full of secrets, barely repressed rage, and hunger.

“She already knows I’m good fer it. Don’tcha, love?” Butcher smirks.

I draw a deep breath then casually shrug my shoulders. I happen to know from experience that Butcher is very good for it and judging by the non-V-generated power rolling off the superhero, I could be making this much harder on myself than I need to.

That said, I have an unfortunate weakness for big, shit-talking, beautiful men. It’s even better when they’re absolute pricks and no danger of taking them home to mama.  

Butcher looks slightly crestfallen until I toss him a mock-pout and a wink. This is always what we do, anyway. We stay on the outside and keep our distance. Come to think of it, I probably have an equally dramatic curtain behind my own eyes. I suppose I should examine that sometime. After the mind-blowing fuck session I’m about to have.

The supe chuckles as he turns to saunter toward me. “We can take turns, give her a little score card,” he says, coming to a stop in front of me.

I’m sitting on the foot of the bed, leaning back on my elbows, legs crossed like I’m fucking demure. He smirks down at me with hard, dark eyes as he slides a hand between his legs to cup himself over the stiff material of his suit pants.

“You look a little mean,” I tell him, and his smirk spreads to a grin that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You like that.” He licks his teeth before pulling his bottom lip between them. “Wet as a whore on payday sittin’ in this filthy motel room with me and him, huh.”

Butcher appears behind him, looming, his thin, damp beater clings to his skin in a pleasing way.

I suppose I should be concerned for my well-being, but mostly, I’m wet just like Soldier Boy said. So I let myself go until I’m on my back, uncross my legs and drop my bare feet to either side of his boots.

When Butcher moves from beyond him, Soldier Boy extends an arm to halt him. “Rules,” he grunts. “I’m in charge. Anything goes unless someone safewords. Crimson is the word.”

Butcher chuckles at that. “We’re not looking to be deep-fried in here if that name sets you off.”

“Fuck you. Get her panties off.” The supe crosses the room, removing his undershirt and boots.

Butcher kneels at my feet and lifts them to the mattress, so I follow his lead and cant my hips to give him access to my underwear. He looks up at me. “Y’sure ‘bout this?” he asks warily, as he drags the ruined cotton over my hips and knees, and I nod.

Butcher can actually be thoughtful on occasion. But we had an agreement.

“Safeword. Did you not hear that part?” Soldier Boy struts back to the bed, stroking his already hard cock.

“Jesus,” I breathe, and the fucker smirks again.

America’s first hero, for all his terribly deep and disturbing flaws, is easily the most gorgeous man I have ever seen naked. My mouth waters at the sight of his thick, heavy-looking cock, slipping through his meaty hand.

“USDA prime, sugar, and you got the best seat in the house.” He nudges Butcher out of the way much more gently than I would have expected. “So sit up and open your fucking mouth.”

Butcher peels his shirt off and shucks his pants to the floor before moving onto the bed as I obey the soldier’s uncompromising order. “She does like suckin’ cock, mouth like a fucken whirlpool.” Butcher settles behind me and brushes his lips across my exposed neck.

I swallow the drool in my mouth and reach for the beautiful bounty in front of me, and Soldier Boy shakes his head.

“Get her arms,” he tells Butcher, holding my eyes with his.

Butcher obliges, looping one forearm through my elbows behind my back and pressing me forward as his free hand works its way between my legs. “So wet already, love.”

“You know how long it’s been since I’ve had access to a warm, wet mouth?” The recently escaped man’s brow is furrowed, and his eyes lose their sharp focus as he slides his fingers into the twisted mess of a bun at the back of my head, angling my face the way he wants it. “And this mouth.”

He grips my chin with his other hand, and I let my jaw drop open. “This fucking mouth,” he mutters.

I close my eyes as his hot, salty cock slides over my tongue. He slides his hand from my chin to the other side of my head to mirror his other, holding me in place as he sets a rhythm.

“Good?” Butcher whispers, and I hum an affirmation. He’s sliding one long, thick finger around my clit so gently and thoroughly that I’m right at the edge of falling.

“Relax,” Soldier Boy grunts, swiping his thumbs over my hollowed cheeks. “I don’t need you choking out so soon.”

It’s hard to relax when I’ve got the fat cock of a superhero bumping against my uvula, and the thick knuckles of a thug slipping around my cunt. I’m hot and overstimulated and I’m about to come undone.

“‘Member that night in Chelsea? At your sister’s flat?” Butcher murmurs in my ear, sliding his slippery hand up under my tank top as he looks up at the other man. “Let’s get ‘er on ‘er back, mate.”

“Making it easy on her,” Soldier Boy scoffs as he pulls out of my mouth to spin and drag me to the side of the bed. He dips in for a punishing kiss with teeth and tongue before pushing me down to hang my head over the side of the bed. “She doesn’t get to come ‘til I do, and neither do you.”

Butcher nods with that edged grin as he slowly works his way between my thighs. “Well, ain’t that shite, sweetheart?” He settles his bare chest to the bed and shoves my legs open wide. “We got us a multiple-orgasmer ‘ere, wif little to no self-control.”

Soldier Boy chuckles as he straddles my face and reaches to tear my top in half.

“Fucker,” I swear at Butcher.

“Well, you better get some control quick because I don’t like to be disappointed.” He grips one of my breasts tight and mouths at the other, mumbling orders around my flesh. “Put me back in your mouth.”

I relax my throat and take a deep breath as I wrap one hand around his hard cock. My heart pounds in my chest and I moan, tasting him again. He’s so heavy and smooth. Did he get waxed between international imprisonment and mass murder?

Whatever.

He doesn’t waste a second working his way down my open throat. Butcher’s doing that thing he does with his tongue that makes me come every time within seconds. It takes me three deep inhales through my nose and concentrating on the feel of the gorgeous dick snaking my esophagus to realize that Butcher, a classic switch, wants to see how a man like Soldier Boy handles being defied.

Butcher also knows that I love being punished.

So I let go. I throw my arms wide and arch into Soldier Boy’s teeth and rough fingers on my nipples. I grind into Butcher’s face and feel his chuckle rumbling in my core.

Butcher grips my hips and bears down.

“You son of a bitch...” the supe breathes a lush sneer, his breath over my wet flesh making me shiver as his fucking into my throat makes me gag. “You want her to come, don’t you? Want the slut to get what she deserves?”

I cup his balls and push my face up into his groin, making him rasp and pin both my wrists to the bed. He takes one nipple between his plump lips again and tongues the tip as he slows his drive into my mouth and swirls his tongue around that nipple then the other.

“Hmm, changed my mind,” he says thoughtfully as he stands and pulls out of my mouth. “Let’s make her come. Over and over. Make her come ‘til she’s fucking unconscious.”

His grin is dark and cruel as he strokes himself with one hand and reaches for my already sensitive breasts with the other.

Butcher lifts his face from between my legs, his beard shiny with my slick, and grins wide as he hooks two fingers up inside me and drops a heavy hand over my mound. “Sounds like a deal, mate.”

Part II

More Soldier Boy and/or Butcher

IF YOU LIKE WHAT YOU'VE READ, PLEASE REBLOG AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!

#butcher x reader x soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #butcher x reader #soldier boy smut #ButcherBoy smut