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lady-morrigen · 1 year

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As Natural as Breathing

PAIRING: Peter Parker x fem!Reader

RATING: E

WORDS: 2600

WARNINGS: unprotected p in v, fingering, minimal plot, one bed trope

A/N: how delighted was I to get to write for @mortwig for the Flowers for Peter server fic exchange?! every bit of your favs list spoke to me in a very real way and I'm so excited to share this gift! HAPPY DICKED DOWN DECEMBER, Y'ALL!

(thanks to @acrossthesestars for her beta skills, as always!)

The door to the motel room swung open, banging against a small set of drawers in the corner. As your eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, your heart leapt into your throat. The duffel bag you carried on your shoulder fell to the floor with a dull thud.

“Umm…” You turned to face Peter, who was rubbing a hand along the back of his neck in a sheepish gesture, pink tinting his cheeks.

“I think the clerk must have misheard me,” he grimaced, picking up your bag and heading toward the door. “I’ll go get it straightened out.”

You swallowed, steadying your breathing before you spoke. You had to admit the idea of sharing a bed with Peter was enticing.

“Peter, wait.” You turned to him. “Didn’t you hear him? He said this was the last room available tonight.”

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “And I’m pretty sure there was a sign on the counter that specifically stated ‘No Refunds.’”

“Right.” You grabbed your bag from him, tossing it on the bed, the single bed, in the center of the room. “And besides, it’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before.”

“We haven’t had a sleepover since we were like twelve.” His voice pitched up an octave as he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat.

“Okay, but I’m just saying.” You crossed your arms over your chest, avoiding eye contact. “It’s not like we have any other choice anyway. This is the only room available and we’ve been driving for hours. We need to rest.”

Peter looked at you for a moment and you could almost see the wheels spinning behind his eyes as he processed the thoughts swimming in his head. “Yeah… yeah okay. You’re right.”

Peter had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. He had come to live with his aunt and uncle the year you turned six, his bedroom, a mirror image of yours, directly across the street. You had marched right over, pet rock in hand, and introduced yourself. The following day, he sat next to you on the bus to school and you had been inseparable ever since.

Through vacations, rooftop sleepovers, and late night creature-features, you couldn’t count how many times you’d fallen asleep with your head on his shoulder. Being his best friend was easy, as natural as breathing. Falling in love with him had been inevitable.

So much so that you hadn’t even realized when it happened. One day he’d been Peter Parker, the lanky neighbor boy with bony knees and elbows, the boy you cried to when Tony Piazza had broken your heart, and the next he was Peter, the boy you didn’t dare look in the eyes for too long lest a swarm of butterflies erupt in your gut.

Suddenly, you were keenly aware of the way his scent lingered in your car when you’d give him a ride to campus, the way he ran a nervous hand through his hair when he’d catch you staring, and how something ugly twisted in your gut when he’d waved a friendly hello to his pretty chem lab partner. Mostly, you were shocked to discover how meeting Peter in your designated spot at the end of every day felt a little too much like coming home.

Somewhere outside of Oklahoma City, you still had another eight hours before you made it to your next stop in Albuquerque, and another twelve after that before you reached Oceanside, your final destination. You weren’t sure what had prompted you to agree to a cross-country road trip to celebrate Peter’s graduation, but you couldn’t say no to a whole week relaxing on the coast with your best friend.

He had let you shower first, giving you a phony excuse about not having to wait for the water to heat up, but you knew he was just being polite. Washing the sweat and grime from your body felt like heaven, the warm water relaxing your muscles, weary from the drive. You begrudgingly stepped out, deciding to pay Peter back in kind by not taking too long and saving some hot water for him.

The room was small, leaving you to maneuver carefully around the bed where Peter lounged, his eyes sealed shut at your request as you held tight to your towel to keep it from falling loose. You were kicking yourself for not remembering to bring your clean clothes into the bathroom with you as you struggled to dig one-handed through your bag to grab a clean pair of socks. You threw a glance over your shoulder, smiling fondly at the sight of Peter with a hand covering his eyes and a dopey grin on his face.

Pulling on the socks, underwear, and tee shirt you grabbed from your bag, you realized you had worn your last pair of clean sweatpants on the drive from Indianapolis and didn’t have anything else to sleep in. You rummaged for a moment more before letting out a huff and turning to face Peter.

“You can open your eyes now, Pete,” you said. “I’m mostly covered.”

He sat up, eyes blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the light and he took you in. As his gaze landed on the hem of your oversized shirt, just covering the tops of your bare legs, he gulped hard. When you crossed your arms over your chest instinctively, he looked away quickly.

“Did you happen to pack another pair of sweatpants? I wore my last pair today and they’re all grimy.”

Peter got up to rummage through his bag, pulling out a gray pair and holding them in your direction.

“This is my last pair, I think. I can re-wear the pair from yesterday tomorrow,” he said. You felt bad leaving him with nothing to wear, and you weren’t about to give up an opportunity to see him parade around in a pair of gray sweats, so you declined.

“Oh no, I couldn’t let you do that! Besides, those are so grimy that they could practically walk by themselves. You should wear the clean ones.” You wrinkled up your nose, hoping it would be enough to convince him not to push it further. “I have one last pair of biker shorts to last us until we reach a laundromat, but I’d rather not sleep in something that tight. I don’t mind sleeping in just a tee shirt if it doesn’t bother you.”

“I will be the perfect gentleman, I swear,” he said, grinning and holding up three fingers in an honor salute.

“Go take a shower, nerd,” you said, rolling your eyes and pushing him toward the bathroom.

As the tap turned on, you wiggled under the stiff sheets, reveling in the stretch of your muscles. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, though you weren’t sure if it was only in contrast to the hard foam of the car seat. As you burrowed deeper, your senses were assaulted by the foreign yet familiar scent of hotel sheets - a bit musty, like stale carpet with a hint of bleach. Your eyelids began to droop as the day’s exhaustion began to weigh on you and pull you into deep sleep.

When you woke, it was pitch black. As you slowly became aware of your surroundings, you felt the weight of an arm draped over your waist and the warm press of a body at your back. Rolling over, your legs intertwined and you nuzzled softly into the hollow of his neck, breathing deeply when you remembered… Peter. You were in a motel bed with Peter. Momentary panic threatened to take over until Peter’s arm, still draped over your hips, pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that let you know he was very much awake.

He sighed softly, and you melted into him, placing a tentative, delicate kiss to the dip in his collarbone. He shivered, his hold on you tightening, and you felt emboldened as you kissed him again, tracing a path over the warm skin of his neck, to his jawline, and across his cheek, stopping just short of the corner of his mouth. You threaded your fingers into his hair, deciding to throw caution to the wind and captured his lips with yours. Gripping his hair, you pulled him impossibly closer, canting your hips forward with yet unspoken desire.

His hand found your hip, fingers gently tracing the curve and pulling the fabric of your tee shirt with them as he grabbed at the bare skin of your waist. His lips parted for you, an invitation, and you obliged, lazily licking into his mouth, nipping gently at his bottom lip. Rolling onto his back, he pulled you to straddle him, digging his fingers into the meat of your ass as he moved you against him. You could feel him growing hard through the fabric of his sweats, urging you to grind down harder, desperate for any sort of friction to satisfy the growing ache at your center.

His mouth left yours as he sat upright, finding your neck and sucking a mark into the skin that you knew would take ages to fade. The thought spurred you on, your hips moving of their own accord, the quiet room now filled with the rustling of overly starched sheets and Peter’s whispered name on your lips. His hands were pushing your tee shirt up your waist, higher, higher, until your bare breasts were exposed to him.

Looking down, he was illuminated by the hazy, orange glow of the parking lot, the light trickling in around the edges of the flimsy curtains. He was even more beautiful like this, you thought - his eyes glued to your body in wonder and palpable desire, something you had fantasized about for what felt like a lifetime.

His hands ghosted over the skin of your breasts, giving one firm squeeze before capturing a nipple in his mouth, his tongue laving over the sensitive bud as his other hand pressed tenderly against the dip of your lower back, holding you firmly in place. You dropped your head back with pleasure, tangling your fingers into his hair once again to ground yourself, to make sure you wouldn’t float away. A small moan escaped from his lips as he pulled away with a pop, his eyes meeting you for the first time, nearly black with desire. You smiled at him, brushing the hair back from his forehead in an intimate gesture. You cupped the side of his face, your thumb rubbing tenderly against the soft skin of his cheek.

Peter closed his eyes and pressed his face into the space between your breasts, holding you there for a minute, his hands tracing invisible shapes over the skin of your back. When he looked back up at you, he spoke softly.

“You sure?” A hint of insecurity marked the wrinkle between his brows and you reached up, smoothing it away with your thumb.

You didn’t say anything, only nodded, before pulling your tee shirt over your head and throwing it across the room to land on top of your luggage. There was nothing else you could say as you pulled at the hem of his shirt, prompting him to follow suit, wrapping his arms around your waist so that your chest was flush with his. He kissed you again, slow and sweet and pillowy soft as he guided you back against the pillows, kneeling between your legs.

He tugged your panties over your hips, down your legs, to your ankles, and grinned as you kicked out of them impatiently. His breath hitched as he took in the sight of you, open and wanting, luring him in. Peter pressed a kiss to the inside of your bent knee, his lips trailing torturously slow along the length of your inner thigh. He ran a finger through your slick folds, bringing it to his lips and savoring the taste with a groan. He pressed one finger to your entrance, swirling it around, teasing it in and out, before adding another and pushing inside.

Your hips bucked at the sensation as he pumped his fingers lazily inside of you, curling every so often to brush against something that sent shockwaves dancing up your spine. Your fingers were aching from gripping the sheets when his lips found your clit, suckling lightly, the soft swirl of his tongue catapulting you over the edge as you fell apart. His free hand came up to rest on your lower belly, warm and grounding, pulling you back into reality.

As he moved up the length of your body, you found yourself aching at the emptiness, desperate to feel him inside of you once more. He kissed you, clumsy and coated with the taste of your pleasure, sloppy and divine. You pushed helplessly at the hem of his sweats, eager to get them off of him. He chuckled against your mouth, the sound going straight to your core as he pushed them down, taking himself in hand and sliding through your folds, slick with the mess he made of you.

He lined up at your entrance, barely pushing the blunt tip inside, leaning forward to rest his forehead on yours, noses bumping as he searched your eyes.

“Positive?” He teased you with a roll of his hips, his eyes squeezing shut as you pulled him infinitesimally deeper.

“Peter, ple-” He cut you off, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, burying himself to the hilt with a groan.

For a moment, neither of you moved, too caught up in the feeling of being completely lost in each other. He began to move slowly, memorizing the feeling as he nearly pulled out completely, rolling his hips as he pushed back into you. You brought a hand over your head, bracing against the wall behind the bed, meeting him thrust for thrust, pleasure building higher and higher until it threatened to consume you once more.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, your free hand clutching his bicep, nails leaving half-moon shadows in their wake. Peter was all consuming - his mouth hot on the skin of your neck, fingers tightly gripping your hip, one hand snaked between you, rubbing tight circles on your clit. It felt as if you didn’t know where you ended and he began, your bodies moving as one, as natural as breathing.

His moans grew louder, more desperate, as his pace began to falter. His fingers began to work faster against you, the circles growing sloppy, nearly begging you to come with him. Heat bloomed in your belly, melting into something delicious and you toppled over once more, relishing in the sensation of him filling you as he too met his end, your name slipping tenderly from his tongue.

Slowly, he pulled out, groaning at the loss as he came to rest beside you. The two of you lay there for a moment, his head on your chest, unsure of what was supposed to happen next, or who was supposed to speak first. You began to run your fingers through his hair, your nails scratching gently against his scalp and he hummed in delight.

“We really should have done that sooner.” His voice was honey, smooth and sweet, as it rumbled against your chest.

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, tilting him up to face you, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “But we have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

(dividers by @silkholland)

#tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker smut #the amazing spiderman #dicked down december #we chose fucknasty #one bed trope #friends to lovers #magnificent mortwig #mare writes #my writing #my fic

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happinessismusic · 1 year

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Sharing also the text of the WSJ article below.

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Gwen Stefani and her husband, country singer Blake Shelton, have been partners in life and work for several years, after meeting as coaches on The Voice in 2014. Now that he’s gearing up for his final season on the NBC singing-competition show, Stefani, 53, is also thinking about what’s next.

Right now, the Grammy Award-winning singer is preparing for her New Year’s Eve performances in Las Vegas; working on her makeup line, GXVE Beauty; and gardening with Mr. Shelton. “We can come together on that, because I love flowers so much and he has so much land out there,” she said of the couple’s home in Oklahoma, where they live with her children Kingston, 16; Zuma, 14; and Apollo, 8, when they aren’t in Los Angeles. “We’ll do fields of things. We’re just sitting there waiting for it to rain.”

Here, Stefani speaks to WSJ. about her favorite holiday tradition, why she’s been skipping her morning coffee and whether fans can expect a No Doubt reunion.

What time do you get up on Mondays, and what’s the first thing you do after waking up?

I usually wake up at 7 a.m., because I have the kids. They go to school, so it’s the whole, “Come on, let’s go! Let’s brush your teeth!” Nobody likes Monday morning.

Do you have a go-to breakfast?

I’ve been doing a cleanse, so I just wake up and have water and lemon, which has been horrifying. I don’t get to have my coffee until the middle of the day.

How are your routines different on days when you’re filming The Voice?

We get up, we have our [hair and makeup], which is always my favorite. When you shoot, you’re shooting like five days, and then you’re just dead at the end. It’s very emotional too, each phase of it.

Did you read the story about your fan who was pushed onto the subway tracks and survived? She said she owed her life to climbing onstage at your concerts.

It’s Maddie [Cole]. I know her and I follow her. In fact, I just saw her, right when we left The Drew Barrymore Show. She’s come to a million of my shows, she dresses like me. I don’t follow a ton of fans, but a few years ago when I was doing the Vegas show, I started following people randomly. Then you think you know them because you see them every day. She happens to be one of them.

The fact that that happened to her, I was like, “You need to move out of the city.”

What’s been the most surprising thing about launching your makeup line?

The community. Blake and I will lay in bed and watch the tutorials of people that would take a palette and see what they would create with it.

I’ve gotten to dabble in so many different things, whether it be songwriting or designing fashion with L.A.M.B. and then Harajuku. This is different because it’s starting a business—those were licenses. I’m just not a business person. I grew up barely making it through high school. Everything I’ve done has been so much luck. With this, I feel almost like I’m smart enough to be able to do this now.

Do you sing in the shower?

Not really. I try to take shorter showers these days. I’m more of a bath person.

Do you have Blake’s Sexiest Man Alive People cover framed at home?

We don’t. That’s a good idea. You know what we do have? When we built our house last year in Oklahoma, [in] one of the bathrooms going out to the pool is every single tabloid cover, made into wallpaper. You go in there and you’re like, “Oh, my God.” It’s pretty funny.

What are the odds of a No Doubt reunion?

What are the odds of anything? I was just on The Drew Barrymore Show. She was one of my favorite celebrities when I was a little girl, and now I was just on the show with her. Anything can happen. I have no idea what’s going to happen with No Doubt. We haven’t really talked about doing anything, but it feels like everyone is, right? All the ’90s people—Blink-182 did an eight-month tour that sold out in like five minutes.

Do you and your family have any favorite holiday traditions?

Blake likes to make new traditions every year. We do this thing called a timpano dome, which is an Italian dome, it’s kind of like a lasagna within a pizza. We’ve been doing that ever since I met him. It was in a famous movie [Big Night]. You can put anything in it.

#gwen stefani #blake shelton #shefani

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xtruss · 12 days

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How Old Are Taxes? Older Than You Think

For Thousands of Years, Human Civilizations Have Been Collecting Taxes, in One Form or Another. From Grain to Beards to Rubber Balls, Governments Always Found New Ways to Collect Their Due.

— By Editors of National Geographic | April 11, 2024

Thanks to the detailed records in the Matricula de Tributos, historians know exactly how the Aztec paid their taxes in the early 16th century. Photograph By History and Art Collection, Alamy Stock Photo

Every April in the United States, predictable signs of spring appear: budding flowers, chirping birds, and … taxes. They may be as certain as death, but taxes aren’t a recent phenomenon; they date back thousands of years.

Over the centuries, different governments all over the world have levied taxes on everything from urine to facial hair—and officials accepted payments of beers, beds, and even broomsticks. These payments went to fund government projects and services—from the pyramids of Giza to the legions of Rome.

First Taxes

Taxation has existed for so long, it even predates coin money. Taxes could be applied to almost everything and might be paid with almost anything. In ancient Mesopotamia, this flexibility led to some rather bizarre ways to pay. For instance, the tax on burying a body in a grave was “seven kegs of beer, 420 loaves, two bushels of barley, a wool cloak, a goat, and a bed, presumably for the corpse,” according to Oklahoma State historian Tonia Sharlach. “Circa 2000-1800 B.C., there is a record of a guy who paid with 18,880 brooms and six logs,” Sharlach adds.

“Circa 2000-1800 B.C., There Is A Record of A Guy Who Paid [His Taxes] with 18,880 Brooms And Six Logs.”

Creative accounting of in-kind payments helped some cheat the tax man as well. “In another case, a man claimed he had no possessions whatsoever except extremely heavy millstones. So he made the tax man carry them off as his tax payment.”

Pharaohs' Tax Preparation

Ancient Egypt was one of the first civilizations to have an organized tax system. It was developed around 3000 B.C., soon after Lower Egypt and Upper Egypt were unified by Narmer, Egypt’s first pharaoh.

Egypt’s early rulers took a very personal interest in taxes. They would travel around the country with an entourage to assess their subjects’ possessions—oil, beer, ceramics, cattle, and crops—and then collect the taxes on them. The annual event became known as the Shemsu Hor, or Following of Horus. During the Old Kingdom, taxes raised enough revenue to build grand civic projects, like the pyramids at Giza.

Ancient Egypt’s taxation system evolved over its 3,000-year history, becoming more sophisticated with time. In the New Kingdom (1539-1075 B.C.), government officials figured out a way to tax people on what they had earned before they’d even earned it, thanks to an invention called the nilometer. This device was used to calculate the water level of the Nile during its annual flood. Taxes would be less if the water level was too low, foretelling a drought and dying crops. Healthy water levels meant a healthy harvest, which meant higher taxes.

Tax Amnesty In Ancient India

In India's Mauryan Empire (ca 321-185 B.C.) an annual competition of ideas was held—with the winner receiving tax amnesty. “The government solicited ideas from citizens on how to solve government problems,” Sharlach explains. “If your solution was chosen and implemented, you received a tax exemption for the rest of your life.” The Greek traveler and writer Megasthenes (ca 350-290 B.C.) gave an astonished account of the practice in his book Indica.

Like most tax reform efforts, the system was far from perfect, Sharlach notes. “The problem is that nobody would have any incentive to ever solve more than one problem.”

A statue of Emperor Vespasian, who notoriously taxed Rome's urine trade, oversees the Roman Baths complex in Bath, England. Photograph By Travelbild, Alamy

Render Urine Unto Caesar

The Roman emperor Vespasian (r. A.D. 69-79) may not be a household name like Augustus or Marcus Aurelius, but he brought stability to the empire during a turbulent time—partly through an innovative tax on people’s pee.

Ammonia was a valuable commodity in ancient Rome. It could clean dirt and grease from clothing. Tanners used it to make leather. Farmers used it as fertilizer. And people even used it to whiten their teeth. All this ammonia was derived from human urine, much of it gathered from Rome’s public restrooms. And like all valuable products, the government figured out how to tax it.

Some wealthy Romans, including Vespasian’s own son Titus, objected to the urine tax. According to historian Suetonius (writing around A.D. 120), Titus told his father he found the tax revolting, to which Vespasian replied, “Pecunia non olet,” or “Money does not stink.”

Itemizations For Aztecs

At its height in the 15th and 16th centuries, the Aztec Empire was wealthy and powerful, thanks to taxation. Historian Michael E. Smith has studied its tax collection system and found it to be remarkably complex, with different kinds of items collected at different levels of government.

All taxes made their way to the Aztec central governing body, the Triple Alliance. There they kept meticulous records of who had sent what. Many of these records survive today. The most famous are found in the Matrícula de Tributos, a colorful illustrated registry filled with pictographs showing exactly how many jaguar skins, precious stones, corn, cocoa, rubber balls, gold bars, honey, salt, and textiles the government collected each tax season.

Tsar Peter I tried to make Russia more "modern" by making men shave their beards or pay a tax. If they didn't pay, the police could forcibly shave them, as shown in this 18th-century Russian cartoon. Photograph By Ann Ronan Pictures, Print Collector, Getty Images

Russia’s Fashion Tax

Widespread use of coins and currency had a leveling effect on taxation systems, but rulers were not above applying some taxation muscle to achieve their ends. In 1698, Russian reformer Peter the Great sought to make Russia resemble “modern” nations in western Europe whose clean, close shaves Peter equated with modernization. After he returned to Russia, the tsar instituted a beard tax on his citizens, who favored beards.

Any Russian man who wished to grow a beard had to pay a tax—peasants paid a small fee while nobles and merchants could pay as much as a hundred rubles. Men who had paid the tax were also required to carry beard tokens wherever they went to prove that they'd paid their taxes for the privilege. Peter the Great’s beard tax did not last. Catherine the Great repealed it in 1772.

#Taxes #Government #Money 💵 💴💰#Ancient Rome #Mesopotamia #Ancient Egypt 🇪🇬#Editors ✍️ ✍️ ✍️#National Geographic

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thedualexperince · 2 months

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SINGLE ON VALENTINES DAY?! I GOT YA...

Ah... Valentines Day... The day when love is in the air. Everyone is out and about, holding hands and exchanging heart-shaped anything and everything. But what about us single ladies? Here are some ideas and things that I would enjoy.

#1 AVOID MAKING ANY PLANS AT ALL! Wake up in the morning and simply do whatever you want, but take it up a notch. Order the largest coffee or espresso from your favorite coffee shop using a delivery service, and just go with the flow. Turn on Netflix and watch The Walking Dead while cooking some steak and your favorite veggies for breakfast. You might decide you want some flowers, go out and buy some! You don't have to visit a fancy floral shop—head to a nearby store or supermarket. After dodging fights over roses, you might return home feeling a bit tired. Find an interesting conspiracy video on YouTube and take the best nap of your life. Wake up and embark on the next adventure of the day. The possibilities are endless!

#2 SOLO DATE NIGHT! Take yourself out to a place you wouldn't normally visit. Indulge in a giant steak, lobster tail, or whatever else you desire. Personally, I would bring a book I'm currently reading to enjoy while dining. You might attract some stares and odd looks, but that's simply because people are envious that you are truly living your best life. Cast aside any feelings of guilt, worry, or shame; you don't need to concern yourself with the cost the other person will have to pay for or splitting a bill. Also, buy yourself to an extra dessert to savor while binge-watching Grey's Anatomy with a drink at the end of the night.

#3 SUPER QUICK GETAWAY! If money and time are not an issue, or if you have specific connections and have done a bit of planning, wake up super early, catch a plane, and head to NYC for the day, or any other destination your heart desires. Then, at the end of the day, catch a plane back and be able to crash in your own bed. Some might wonder who the hell would do this and why. Well, I once woke up at 2am, boarded a plane with my sister, traveled from Oklahoma to NYC, spent the day in Times Square, flew back home, and was in my own bed by 10pm. (I'll definitely need do a storytime!) By the way, this was planned just 2 days prior. And let me tell you, I will never be able to fully explain how enjoyable that day was! It was FULL with adventure! If you seek an exhilarating and unforgettable Valentine's Day, that's the way to do it.

#valentinesday #single #valentinesday?#singleawarenessday #loveisintheairbutimjustchillin #singleandthriving #solodatenight #cupidwho #ideas

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eazy-group · 11 months

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New Post has been published on https://eazybeauty.net/1184-2/

Jim and Eileen Cude

In 1948, a young, recently married couple purchased a small retail flower shop in the small town of Sedan, Kansas. Jim and Eileen Cudé immediately loved the town, but with only $900 of retail sales the first year, something different was needed. Jim had some bold ideas of selling flowers in the warm climate of the Deep South. Jim and Eileen never imagined their little business would grow to be one of the largest greenhouses in the Midwest devoted to the production of bedding plants. By 1960, Sedan Floral was shipping 200,000 plants daily during the spring season. To keep up with the growing demand, Jim was steadily expanding and growing new varieties. Jim believed in growing top quality plants and providing prompt service to customers. This simple formula was key to his success. In 1969, Jim passed away, but Eileen made sure to continue his philosophy of growing top quality plants and providing prompt service to customers.

In 1975, Jim and Eileen’s second son, Gary, joined the family business as general manager. Gary was 19 at the time and worked his way up, learning the business and implementing new ideas of improving efficiency. Gary continued expanding the growing area about 20,000 square feet every year. This increase was necessary to keep up with strong customer demand. In 1989, Gary purchased the business, and built a second growing range in Independence, Kansas. With both facilities in operation during the Spring, Sedan Floral is able to provide its customers with plants they can depend on.

In 2007, Gary’s son, Jonathan, returned home after graduating from OSU to become the third generation to join the family business. Jonathan has brought new life to the greenhouse. Sedan Floral is reaching out to all of its customers, asking questions, and working hard to improve all aspects of our business. As many greenhouses across the country are cutting back or closing their doors, Sedan Floral is adding new product lines and increasing production in numbers not seen since the 1980s.

With a bold new focus and product development, Sedan Floral has increased its variety and selection two fold. From customer requests, Annuals, Perennials, Grasses, Herbs, and Vegetables have been added to its catalog. The change has been a lot of fun and hard work. During this time of transformation, Sedan Floral has not forgotten Jim Cudé’s philosophy that has sustained the company since 1948: “Grow top quality plants and provide prompt service to customers.” Sedan Floral is a member of OGGA & ONLA, WNLA, and KGGA. We also grow many of the Oklahoma Proven, and Prairie Star plants. To find out more about them check out their website. A little bit about Sedan, KS… Sedan was founded in 1876 and is the county seat of Chautauqua (CQ) County. Sedan is located in the beautiful wooded Flint Hills of southeast Kansas, near the intersection of US-166 and K-99. As you enter Sedan from the south, you will see Sedan Floral. It is quite a sight, with our eight acres of greenhouses laid out over the landscape. What you do not see from the road is the beauty within the walls of the greenhouses, where everything is blooming!

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expectingtofly · 3 years

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finally free, they drive

day 1 of @thiscastielhasflown and i's follower celebration

prompt: diners/roadtrip

Twenty-four years ago in Mankato, Minnesota, Dean killed a wendigo with a bottle of Jack and a lighter. He told Cas this, how the flames lit the inside of the cave and his dad had to drag him out because he suddenly couldn’t move, how he stayed silent for a week even though his dad begged him to speak.

Seventeen years ago, in Monte Vista, Colorado, Dean burned the bones of a malevolent spirit that sliced a gash through his chest before he could swing an iron crowbar through her foggy figure. As he and Cas passed by the cemetery where he and his dad had dug up her remains, he could almost picture himself standing between the tombstones, his dad tossing him the lighter. Do the honors.

In Evanston, Wyoming, he and Cas stopped to eat at a diner that looked vaguely familiar. As they sat down at a booth in the back, waitress handing them their menus, it hit him.

“Pretty sure Sam and I went through here before.” He couldn’t remember what they'd been hunting. “Years ago. After dad. You know. Passed.”

And Cas was silent a moment before replying, "I wish I’d known you then."

Then he declared he wanted the French onion soup from the specials of the day, like he hadn’t just spoken Dean's thoughts aloud in his uncanny way of knowing exactly what Dean wished for before Dean knew it himself.

Sometimes, while passing semi-trailer trucks on the freeway, when the setting sun glinted off the metal partition between west and east-headed traffic, he wondered what life would’ve been like if he knew Cas when he was twenty-six. When he was so lonely, his chest felt like a vise at night, and he slipped out of mildewed motel rooms to gasp in chilly night air. When he sought out crowded bars because accidental nudges and jostles were substitutes for caresses.

What might’ve changed if he'd known Cas when he was twenty-two, when Sam left for college and Dad left with a cutting, Don't look for me. If, confronted with an angel then, he would’ve been able to believe in good things, if he would've kissed him to not feel so alone.

The radio played Dolly Parton at a diner in Des Moines, a young couple sat at the counter, Cas stacked small containers of strawberry jelly and orange marmalade into a tower, and Dean imagined sitting across from him when he was nineteen. But then Cas looked up at him triumphantly over perfectly balanced preserves, and the what-if's dissolved in a growing warmth in his chest. Cas had been right after all. Good things did happen.

They drove without a destination now that they didn’t need one, changing course frequently, turning off exits to follow signs for roadside attractions, homestyle meals, and scenic overlooks.

Prairie and forest, coast and desert. He'd traveled these roads before, but he was paying attention now. Everything looked different with Cas sitting by his side, when every glance to his right revealed Cas already looking at him.

Re-heated diner leftovers and slices of pie for breakfast, crumbs on the bed, brown bags in the backseat, lunch breaks at rest stops, sitting on the hood to unwrap grease-stained burger wrappers, kept warm from the sun coming through the car’s windows.

Baby had been his home for years. He'd learned her nooks, her curves, how best to settle on the benchseat and tuck his jacket against the door to wake without a crick in his neck.

Moving into the bunker, he'd claimed a room, made a space for every item he owned: a hook for every weapon, a box for every photo, a hanger for every jacket. The concrete walls and sterile bathrooms meant order, control.

He used to be afraid that if he let one item fall out of place, he'd lose his grip on the delicate thread which held him together.

Crackling radio in Omaha, searching for a station. Cassette-tapes pulled out of a box that he hadn’t rifled through since a time when angels were still a myth, god didn’t exist, and death was always close, but not someone they knew by name. Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica. Then, out of Cas' pocket, his own “Top 13 Zepp Traxxs,” which he was surprised to learn Cas still kept, the words on the label faded.

“It was a gift,” Cas said, tucking the cassette into the deck and turning up the volume.

Busy diners where their food took ages to come to their table and Dean doodled on napkins to pass the time. Stuffed them into his pocket and forgot until he pulled them out while looking for change to pay for gas. A tiny Impala, a sun with dashes for rays, sigils, tiny flowers which Cas had added to the corners.

An argument on I-70 and sixty-two miles of tense silence. "If you don't speak to me, I can't understand," Cas said, voice quiet under the whir of tires on the road.

Dean changed lanes, watched a tarp flap over the bed of a pick-up truck. "I don't know how," he admitted.

Cas let out a breath that sounded like relief. "We'll learn."

He learned Cas liked brightly colored shirts labeled with the names of locations they visited, oversized because tight sleeves made him itch. He learned that the strangely named items on diner menus had backstories that owners behind counters were all too eager to share when Cas prompted them. He learned Cas hovered in doorways as if he was waiting to be invited inside, learned Cas knew every upbeat song playing over the radio in gas stations, had nightmares too, could stay silent for seventy miles then speak a thought aloud that left Dean stunned for seventy more.

He taught Cas how to pass the time on roads that stretched to the horizon. Name a movie for every letter of the alphabet. Name three items you'd take to a deserted island. Name everyone we've lost along the way—he didn't mean to begin talking about them, but they seemed closer than ever before on the open road, under a vast, cloudless sky. The wind whisked their names from their mouths, and Dean liked the idea of them still existing, here, around them.

A map open on his lap, Cas circled every town they stopped at, traced their route with a red pen. Folded and unfolded the page until the creases made the snaking lines nearly illegible. "I want to remember," he told Dean, and Dean traced the creases to feel their route under his finger. The steering wheel was warm under his palms, the diner floors sticky under his boots, the motel sheets stiff when he pulled them back from the headboard, and he told Cas, "Pinch me," in the dark of an eighty-dollar-a-night room. Cas touched his face and kissed him instead.

The rocky coast off of Oregon delighted Cas. He rolled up his pant legs, clutched Dean's hand as they walked unsteadily over the slippery rocks to step into the Pacific Ocean. The wind whipped his hair over his face and he pushed back the strands, grinning back at Dean. Sometimes at night, when Cas slept curled into him, Dean looked at the photo he'd taken of him and wished he had a place of their own to frame it.

Long phone calls to family and friends who told them to take their time, do not disturb signs hung on motel doorknobs, winding backroads and detours. He grew out his hair and told Cas he needed a cut. Cas twisted his fingers through the strands, and mused, "I like it." Dean kept it and noticed the strands curled at the ends.

A sign on the highway in Ohio read, "Hell is Real." He still had nightmares. As cornfields passed, Cas recounted seeing his soul for the first time, and sometimes Dean imagined he remembered the safety of Cas' wings as he pulled him out of the depths of Hades.

Cas got sick in Idaho, complained, voice echoing in the toilet bowl, "I told you that diner was not sanitary." Dean rubbed his back and told him he'd write a scathing review. In West Virginia, over a pile of spilled salt and stale fries that were probably nuked behind the counter, Cas told him he loved him. It wasn't for the first time, but his breath still caught in his throat.

They ate fried okra in Oklahoma City, beignets in New Orleans, and Dean requested Earth Angel on a jukebox in a vinyl and chrome diner in Wisconsin. Slid into the booth to press against Cas' side and watch him fill out postcards. Did you know dinosaurs once roamed where the Rockies now stand? Don't know when we'll be back. We bought new cassettes to add to the collection and I convinced Dean to let me choose the music. Still so much we haven't seen.

The magic fingers bed at the King's Court Motel cost four quarters for fifteen minutes—three more than when he was younger, he griped to Cas. The vibrating massage didn't seem quite as relaxing as he remembered, but maybe he was just used to more magical fingers—this he accompanied with an exaggerated wink which made Cas roll his eyes.

The Impala broke down on Route 66, and the asphalt radiated heat as he ducked under the hood. Cas hovered at his side and he realized he didn't have the tools to fix her.

They ate lunch at a mom-and-pop’s restaurant as they waited for the mechanic to finish, and Cas gave him the pickle from his sandwich. "I'm sorry I never asked you to stay," Dean told him and wished he'd said it earlier. "I never wanted you to leave."

Cas gave him a sad smile. "It's in the past." He tapped his foot against Dean's under the table, and Dean hooked his ankle with his foot.

Cas parted the curtains in every motel they slept in, tilted his face to the sun beaming through the windshield, urged Dean to stop for a cardboard sign reading Fresh Strawberries $2. Reruns of The Three Stooges made Dean laugh until he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, had to catch his breath. This happiness didn't seem so fragile, this time. When they turned on the TV tomorrow night three hundred miles away, The Three Stooges would play into the morning, and when he told Cas he loved him, Cas would say it back.

Crossing over rippling water or curving through wooded land, he and Cas spoke a cabin in the woods, a house on the coast, a home. Dean's head filled with the future instead of the past. Every mile that passed under their tires brought them closer to this dream—or so he thought, until he stopped at a red light, and Cas took his hand, and he realized home sat beside him now.

In a diner in Arkansas, Cas read from a menu, plastic corners curling, and commented, "No matter where we go, every place serves an iceberg wedge salad."

Dean replied, "I think I'm ready to stop driving."

He didn't know where they'd park the Impala for good, but he pictured somewhere with windows, patches of sunlight on the floor. The details didn't matter so much, though, not so long as he had Cas.

"For you to me are the only one," he sang over Robert Plant, glancing at Cas as he turned up the radio, wind whistling through the open windows, road humming under their feet. Happiness, no more be sad, happiness, I'm glad.

#j&kcreatorfest #rambleoncas #shelikestv #user-brooke #userdori #userstarry #tearsofgrace #destiel fic #just some fluff #bc i love the idea of dean and cas taking a long roadtrip after s15 #to bond and work thru stuff #<3 #established dean/cas #expectingtofly writes

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teddy06writes · 3 years

Text

Of Stolen Bread And Broken Glass

Requested by Outsiders Anon: "HmMmMmm what about uhhh the well known Jean Valjean from Les Miserables of whom I am a very big fan of his character arc of "stealing bread then becoming a businessman". Get this, what if Jean stole Y/N's bread?! 🥺🥺 - les mis anon 😩. (If I accidentally said something offensive or I'm supporting a dodgy character I'm going to cry I swear 👀💔)

{please note that I will still be calling your outsiders anon cause thats how my brain works, but thank you very much for going to look at my other interests thats honsetly just so <3333333 you really didn't have to}

{okay so, the only slightly dodgy thing about this is that in the Brick Jvj is like 40 be the time we meet him, cause he spends twenty years in jail and was jailed at 20, but I firmly believe in Young Hugh Jackman in Oklahoma as young jvj, so we're going with that}

prejail!Jean ValJean x reader (sort of? its not like overly out there)

trigger warnings: some swearing, mentions of violence, me silently schreeching acab, angst

premise: you, the village baker, have done your best to keep the prices of your goods low, so low in fact, that you are even finding it hard to put food on the table, and yet someone still finds himself so desperate as to steal from your display case. Much to your suprise how ever, it just so happens to be the one person you'd never expected

{is this high concept? am I reaching here? I really don't even know anymore, this week feels like a bad acid trip}

{Also, anon if you want more ideas/ideas for ideas, if your going to keep with this, which i would again like to say ITS OKAY TO STICK TO THE OUTSIDERS, check the les mis tags on tumblr, or les amis}

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You'd been asleep, as most of the people of the village would have, at such a late time, and with such a storm threatening to spill over the mountains.

But the crashing of glass, had been so loud, you bolted straight out of bed.

It took you a long moment to fumble for a match to light a candle, but as soon as it was lit you hurried from your room, and down the stairs, already hearing the shouts of neighbors.

Downstairs, you found the front room of the bakery a mess of shattered glass, torn paper, and varying pieces of bread or pastries.

"(y/n)? (y/n) dear are you alright?" Someone called from outside.

You looked around at the mess frantically shouting, "A thief! Toulouse send for the police!"

It didn't take long for the officers to swarm the bakery, asking you questions before filing out, promising to find who had done it, and leaving you to clean the mess you'd been left with.

Daylight was shining, and people were about on the streets by the time you'd finished sweeping up shards of glass and trying to figure out how much you'd lost.

There were still a few loaves in the back, plus the dough you'd left out to proof, but it couldn't possibly be enough for the demanding hands that always appeared on Sundays, not to mention enough to keep for yourself.

"Oh lord, how am I meant to get back from this?" You mumbled staring up at the ceiling.

A knock at the side door pulled you out of your thoughts, and you hurried to open it, finding the police chief standing there, "How may I help you monsieur?"

"We have caught the thief. He's currently being held whilst the council decides his fate." The man reported, "A man by the name of Jean Valjean."

Your eyes widened, no, that couldn't be, he was your best friend- hell you were only a step and half away from courting for gods sake! He wouldn't do that. He couldn't. Just a few days ago you'd gone for a walk together around the village- he'd brought you flowers-

"I need to see him." You decided quickly.

"Are you sure about that? He did in fact steal from you-"

You shook your head, cutting him off, "I wish to see him."

Reluctantly, the man had taken you along to the courthouse, and down through a maze of rooms until you got to where Jean was being held.

He was sat up against a wall, hunched over, looking defeated, and as soon as you stepped through the door, his head whipped up, "(y/n)!"

You took in a shaky breath, "Jean..."

He stood up quickly, "(y/n) you've got to understand- I had- Jeanne's children- my niece- the little one- god (y/n) they were all going to starve!"

"You didn't have to steal it!" You yelled, "There could've been other ways that didn't involve jailing!"

"Like how? Lord knows neither she nor I had the money! There was no other choice!"

"You could had asked! You know I would have given you all you needed and more Jean! I wouldn't have charged you! You knew this!" You snapped.

Valjean's shoulders drooped as he realized the gravity of your words, "(y/n)- I-"

You shook your head, "I'd've done everything I could to help. You could've said something. I thought- I thought we were close enough for that."

He remained quiet, staring down at the dirty floor.

"Apparently not. I- Your going to go to jail, and its- it might not end up well- it could be just the same as a death sentence. Good luck," You sighed, blinking back tears, as you turned to the door, "Oh and, if you would've asked me- for courtship I mean- I would've said yes."

"(y/n)-"

But you were walking through the door, away from him.

"If you get out okay-" You called back brokenly, "Try to find me. I might be long gone, but I'd like it if you tried."

#les miserables x reader #les mis x reader #jean valjean x reader #jvj x reader #valjean x reader #teddy 06 #teddy 06 writes #teddy06 #teddy06 writes

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soclonely · 2 years

Note

azure, water lily, pumpkin seeds, goat’s milk, morning dove, coffee bean, wild strawberry, holly 💙

azure: what are you favorite flowers?

Chocolate Cosmos and Celestial Lotus!

water lily: do you prefer warm or cold weather?

Darling I am from Oklahoma.. Where it is DRY, and HOT.. and dusty. Give this girl cold weather and snow anytime over that gross sun stuff

pumpkin seeds: do you like to cook?

YES. Last nights dish.

goat’s milk: do you sleep with stuffed animals?

I have one stuffed husky that smells like lavender that I sleep with! Between myself and the two dogs, theres no room for more on my bed>:C

morning dove: if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Tbh, nothing. I love myself, even my "faults" that others might not like as much.

coffee bean: are you a morning person?

Yes! But hate afternoons! Too much business in the afternoon

wild strawberry: do you have any tattoos? if not, do you want any?

I have a large thighpiece of a drawing I did of my idea of Calypso. Currently not looking for anymore!

holly: what is your favorite holiday?

Uhhhhhh probably Christmastime/ Surrounding holidays. So much food and happiness

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tabloidtoc · 3 years

Text

Star, January 11

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover Story: Hollywood’s Best and Worst Bosses

Page 1: Shia LaBeouf currently accused of relentless abuse and sexual battery by his ex FKA Twigs was snapped making out with Margaret Qualley after she arrived at LAX for a solid 10 minutes and holding up traffic -- the PDA session was the first time Shia and Margaret who is the daughter of Andie MacDowell were spotted out in public together but the two got well-acquainted a few months ago rolling around naked for a NSFW music video for a song by the actress’ sister Rainey Qualley a.k.a. Rainsford -- Shia went out of his way to charm Margaret as soon as they met and he wooed her with compliments and gifts and flowers and texts and spur-of-the-moment dates where he’d just show up at her house but her friends are concerned because Twigs’ lawsuit against Shia alleges multiple incidents of abuse including choking her in her sleep and knowingly giving her a sexually transmitted disease -- Shia said many of those allegations are not true and he is in a 12-step program and therapy for PTSD and alcoholism

Page 2: Contents, Prince William and Duchess Kate with kids Prince George and Princess Charlotte and Prince Louis for a Christmas card

Page 3: Candice Swanepoel in a bathing suit in Miami, Jennifer Garner stepped out to run errands in a mask and an expressive sweater in L.A., Ryan Reynolds cuddled up with a puppy to encourage his Instagram followers to donate to the SickKids Foundation

Page 4: Friends of Johnny Depp are keeping their distance as he gears up for another ugly defamation trial against ex-wife Amber Heard -- after losing the case against a U.K. newspaper that called him a wife beater and a scathing feature in The Hollywood Reporter that dubbed the star radioactive and his career all but dead, former pals want nothing to do with him -- the likes of Jude Law, Leonardo DiCaprio and Channing Tatum have been backpeddling on Johnny and it’s making him furious but to be fair Johnny had already alienated Leo and Channing by calling them Pumpkin Head and Potato Head and accusing them of having affairs with Amber -- Jude’s indifference cuts the deepest because for a time he and Johnny were brothers-in-arms as they filmed the second Fantastic Beasts movie and from Johnny’s perspective Jude hasn’t lifted a finger to defend him

Page 5: Mossimo Giannulli’s son is speaking out claiming the fashion designer is being treated harshly at California’s Federal Correctional Institution in Lompoc and Gianni Giannulli took to social media to complain that because of the pandemic his dad has been locked in solitary confinement for one full month and is only let out every three days for a few moments to shower and Gianni, Mossimo’s son from an earlier relationship, is irate that his father is being mistreated and he feels sorry for his dad and doesn’t want to see him languishing in prison however his half sisters Bela and Olivia Jade don’t seem too bothered by it

* At age 74 Susan Sarandon has had it with men -- she said she hasn’t really had a large dating career and in fact hasn’t had a guy in five years and it’s not that she can’t get a man, it’s just that the men she attracts are losers or sub-par in some way -- she is happy hanging out in her NYC apartment but still friends can’t help trying to fix her up because she’s attractive and in phenomenal shape but the problem is she scares guys away; she’s a force they can’t handle

* Two years after sharing her shock diagnosis with multiple sclerosis Selma Blair is struggling with pain and fear -- she was recently spotted getting emotional outside a West Hollywood cannabis shop and she has turned to medical marijuana to soothe symptoms of the chronic immune-system disorder which can include fatigue, spasticity, walking issues, numbness, weakness, vision issues and pain -- on some days she can’t even get out of bed but she’s trying to stay strong for her son Arthur and smile more for him but it’s been hard

Page 6: Julianne Hough appears to be sweetness and light but she’s a heartbreaker according to her ex Chuck Wicks who split from Julianne in 2009 -- in a revealing podcast Chuck blasted Julianne saying they were both loving life then out of nowhere you find out that they are not the person you thought they were and you break up -- Chuck admitted that he and Julianne agreed to say their split was amicable but it wasn’t fine and it wasn’t his fault

* After holing up at his Oklahoma spread Blake Shelton and Gwen Stefani are having a blast decorating their 13,000-square-foot $13.2 million new home in the Encino area of California’s San Fernando Valley -- the home sits on 1.6 ultra-private acres behind double gates and extensive walls and features a pool and fabulous views -- inside the engaged pair give each other space: Gwen wants a dance studio and Blake gets his own man-cave with a big screen and high-tech surround sound

* Star Spots the Stars -- Nicky Hilton, Katharine McPhee Foster, Katherine Schwarzenegger Pratt making dairy-free and plant-based holiday appetizers, Jenna Dewan, Natalia Dyer

Page 8: Big Losers -- these stars shed pounds and got healthy in 2020 -- Jessica Simpson, Rebel Wilson, Kelly Osbourne

Page 10: Star Shots -- Gwen Stefani on the way to the recording studio in Santa Monica, Jerry O’Connell started his morning off with a fresh mimosa and a kiss from one of his dogs, Jodie Turner-Smith is the first Black actress to play Henry VIII’s ill-fated queen Anne Boleyn in a major U.K. TV series in Emley, UK

Page 11: Nick Cannon pitched in to help distribute 2000 free meal boxes to the Hollywood Food Coalition

Page 12: Demi Moore in a yellow bow for a selfie thanking readers for checking out her memoir, Paris Hilton kicked back for a Coach campaign reintroducing the early-2000s ubiquitous Swinger bag

Page 13: Derek Hough and his dogs Romie and Luna, Irina Shayk striking a pose

Page 14: Sofia Vergara during a photoshoot, Real Housewives of New York City alum Kristen Taekman is taking advantage of the California winter weather in a bikini in Malibu, Wells Adams takes out the trash in L.A.

Page 16: Carrie Underwood showed off her comfy at-home style, Vanessa Hudgens and her favorite condiment, Katherine Schwarzenegger celebrates her dog’s birthday

Page 17: Vanderpump Rules star Tom Sandoval picked up a holiday-themed centerpiece ahead of Christmas in L.A., Katie Holmes slung a guitar over her shoulder in NYC, Dame Joan Collins dropped by The Jonathan Ross Show in London

Page 18: Normal or Not? Hailey Baldwin shares a glimpse into her beauty routine -- normal, Tiger Woods’ son Charlie showed off his skills ahead of the PNC Championship -- normal

Page 19: Pete Wentz playing tennis in L.A. -- normal, Pete Davidson hurt himself a few times while making a scarf -- not normal

Page 20: Fashion -- stars charm in romantic ruffles -- Keke Palmer, Gwyneth Paltrow, Lupita Nyong’o

Page 21: Kirsten Dunst, Halsey

Page 24: Ariana Grande announced her engagement to realtor Dalton Gomez with some celebratory shots and she’s telling everyone how she never thought it was possible to be this happy -- the couple began dating in early 2020 when Dalton helped Ariana find a home in L.A. and things hit the fast track amid the health pandemic which saw the two enjoying quality time together in lockdown and realizing they were a perfect fit because they never fight and are totally in sync about how they look at life -- Ariana went straight into wedding mode already deciding on an intimate outdoor setting in mid-2021

Page 25: Jon Hamm stepped out in L.A. recently with girlfriend Anna Osceola and she was showing off a noticeably rounder midsection and there’s a good chance the two are pregnant because they’ve been actively trying to get into the family way -- though Jon admitted in 2016 that having children isn’t necessarily an imperative Jon may have changed his tune after his year-long relationship with Anna and hitting the big 5-0 in March has him reassessing his life and now having a child has become important to him

* Mila Kunis and Ashton Kutcher will be camping in style now that they’ve purchased a $140K Mercedes Benz Sprinter and they’re preparing to embark on an adventure -- with sleeping accommodations for four and a kitchen the spacious luxury vehicle is perfect for the couple and their two kids -- other stars can spend their vacations in five-star resorts but Mila and Ashton prefer to keep things alfresco and it’s a tradition they’ve kept all these years; this is their idea of a perfectly fun vacation

Page 26: Cover Story -- Hollywood’s Best and Worst Bosses -- who’s great to work for and who makes employees’ lives a misery -- Jennifer Hudson -- best

Page 27: Jennifer Lopez -- worst, Rihanna -- best, Kenny Chesney -- best, Mariah Carey -- worst, Gwyneth Paltrow -- worst

Page 28: Keanu Reeves -- best, Sandra Bullock -- best, Emma Watson -- worst

Page 29: George Clooney -- best, Ellen DeGeneres -- worst, Guess the Bad Boss

Page 30: Tom Cruise and Hayley Atwell: Man on a Mission -- amid all the tension on the set of Mission: Impossible 7 Tom has been pursuing his costar Hayley to be his next girlfriend and it seems to be working -- Tom has become very active with the U.K. Scientology Branch and is very taken with English women like Hayley and he’d like to make the U.K. his home base -- handcuffed to each other for several scenes in M:I7 Hayley and Tom were also spotted holding hands when the cameras weren’t rolling

Page 32: Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s very L.A. Christmas -- the prince spends the holidays 5000 miles away from the royal family but Meghan’s mom Doria Ragland was on hand for the festivities -- the couple were intending to call Queen Elizabeth on Christmas morning otherwise they were happy to celebrate a low-key holiday

Page 38: Entertainment

Page 48: Parting Shot -- Sophie Turner and Joe Jonas suited up to hit the slopes stopping by a local store to pick up goodies before changing into warmer gear in Mammoth Lakes in California -- the couple are familiar faces in the ski town and looking forward they will be able to plan even more snowy getaways now that they’ve listed their NYC apartment for $5.9 million and moved full-time to Encino

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wienerbarnes · 4 years

Text

Breathe Deeper

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,324

Prompt: “Why is it always murder and mayhem with you? Don’t you ever just do normal person things? Eat a sandwich? Brush your teeth? Do you even brush your teeth?” (from a random prompt generator)

Warnings: murder, violence, staging a suicide, ~feelings~

A/N: cafe bustelo does wonders for you at 1 am anyway ive been trying to finish this for like two months. have a couple more ideas for these two but feel free to send me any ideas or requests and ill do em if the inspo strikes! also title is purely the song im listening to as i type this out and has no correlation to the story LOL but hey if yall like tame impala enjoy

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

A single pop is heard as a bullet flies out of your gun into the head of the old man who opened the door.

“Christ! No build up?! No tension?! No confirmation that it’s even him?!” Bucky yells as he wiggles his ear to rid the ringing from it.

You brush past Bucky and slide the gun back into the holster strapped to your thigh. You step over behind whatever his name was, Bucky’s having trouble remembering after that blow to his eardrum, and hook your hands under his arms in order to drag him back into the empty house.

“Why is it always murder and mayhem with you? Don’t you ever just do normal person things? Eat a sandwich? Brush your teeth? Do you even brush your teeth?” Bucky questions you as he closes the door behind him, stepping in between splatters of blood.

“Nope, gotta leave leftovers for the bugs that live in my mouth.”

“That’s gross.”

“Shut up, help me lug this guy to the bedroom.”

The two of you are in a small town in Northern Oklahoma on the property of one of your ex-Hydra handlers. After a few days of researching, the two of you were able to figure out where he moved to and what he changed his name to after retiring from his prior lifestyle.

“I knew it was him from the second I saw him. You never forget.” You explain to him, both of you positioning his body in the corner of the room.

“You go clean up the entryway, I’ll finish staging over here.” Bucky offers it to you. He takes out his own gun from his own waistband and fires a single shot through the same hole you put in between the guy’s eyes. The splatter that explodes on the walls behind him are perfect, artistic almost. Bucky then starts looking around the room; in the closet, under the bed, until he reaches the night stand where a pretty little pistol lays. Not the same gun as his, but he has a feeling the police system in such a small and unpopulated town won’t bother to investigate this death as a murder as opposed to the obvious suicide that took place.

Bucky notices the small skull and octopus stamped into the side of the gun as he places it in his hands. He rolls his eyes before making his way back over to the entryway where you’re sat on the ground, scrubbing away with a rag in your hands and a bottle of bleach next to you.

Bucky walks over and takes a seat on the loveseat positioned a few feet away from where you are.

“So, where we heading after this?” Bucky asks you, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the arm of the seat.

“Back to New York? You probably gonna be busy working on that murder case.” You glance at him confused before going back to scrubbing.

Bucky pauses before speaking again, “How do you know about that?”

“I… keep up with my fair share of news.”

“You don’t pay for newspapers nor do you have a TV or a phone; you don’t have news. Besides, we haven’t released any information to the public about anything before we get more leads. So, how do you know about that?” Bucky stares at you, eyebrows pinched a bit in the middle as he awaits your answer.

“Do you wanna stop and get some pie on the way back?”

“No. Did you see something about the murders?” Bucky ignores your attempt at changing the subject.

“You just said you haven’t released anything-”

“I don’t mean on the news, I mean in that empty head of yours.” He teases.

You sigh, “I hate when you ask me about my… head.”

“Well, you could be helping here! You can try and be good!”

“I’m sitting on the floor scrubbing an old guy’s blood out of the wood of his own house after I’ve just blown his brains out.”

“Yeah, a bad old guy!”

You get off the last of the specks of blood before standing up and screwing the cap back onto the bottle of bleach. “I didn’t even see anything about the killer, anyway.”

“So, what did you see?”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Fetch me a bone here, doll.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d like that, dog.”

He grabs the bleach and rag from your fingers to free up your hands from carrying anything. Tingles travel up the tips of your fingers and flow up through your wrist into your chest. You glance up and make eye contact with Bucky and the dramatic puppy eyes and pouty lips he’s throwing your way.

You stare for a few more seconds before looking away, “Check that huge pond in Central Park tomorrow. His next victim will be floating there.” You satisfy him before turning and making your way back outside and to the car the two of you took on your little road trip.

While walking back to the parked car, Bucky quickly rushes in front of you and grasps the handle before you can reach it, allowing you to get in the car while he holds it open for you. He throws you an innocent looking smile, a smile coming from a person who surely didn’t just stage a suicide. You bite back your own smile before taking a seat and letting Bucky close the door behind you.

…

When you open your eyes after your nap, it's dark outside the moving car. You slowly lift your head up off the car window and glance over at Bucky, who you now realize is on the phone with someone.

“I told you, it was a weird anonymous number, Sam. I don’t know where it came from.” Bucky speaks softly on the phone before turning his head to look at you in your sleepy state.

“All they said was to check the pond in Central Park tomorrow. I know it’s sketchy, but we don’t have any other leads anyway, we might as well try it.”

“We sounds like a lot of people, ain’t you say that to me one time? Not all of us are on vacation, you know.” You hear another deep voice through the tiny speaker of the phone against Bucky’s ear.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow, man.”

Bucky wraps up his conversation as you process what you’ve heard. Bucky has lied, again, to the government, to Captain America, in order to protect you and your existence.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks before your thoughts can get too far from you.

“Fine. We’re already heading back to New York?”

“We’re stopping at a motel for the night, but after tomorrow’s drive, we’ll get there by sundown.”

You sit up proper and stretch your legs as far out in front of you as you can, the bones crunching and popping in relief at the new position. Bucky cringes next to you. He glances at you and watches you pick at the crust gathered at the corners of your eyes, a yawn escaping you along with the last of your grogginess.

Bucky doesn’t know how he’d fully express it to you, but he’s so happy to see the person you’re growing into. Everyday a little bit more of your personality, your mannerisms, your weirdness, your humor, your ideas; everything about the real you, shows more and more. He sees this beautiful woman who, maybe a year and some ago, was walking the line of death and now sits beside him with neon green nail polish and mismatched socks and cute flower earrings adorning the curve of your ear. He stares at the tattoo on your neck, that angry red face with large eyebrows and wonders whether or not that was your idea or not. He wonders if you have any other tattoos hidden among the space of your skin, he doesn’t remember seeing any along your sides or stomach that nightmare of a night in his apartment-

“You’re swervin’.”

Bucky clears his throat and snaps his head forward, fixing the car to drive straight on the road. Soon, he sees the promising sign, “Motel in 10 Miles,” and the two of you park in the small lot of the light orange building.

The inside smells of old people, an aged scent that isn’t necessarily bad, but makes you scrunch your nose nonetheless. No bugs in clear sight and the roof is still intact, so it should be suitable for a night of rest.

“We only have rooms available on the first floor for tonight, I’m assuming you’ll want one bed?”

Bucky's throat goes dry for a second, “Yes, that’s fine.” He doesn’t want to consult you as you look far off out the front window of the lobby, back turned to the young woman at the front desk. No matter how small a town in whatever state there is at this point in their journey, there is no risking anyone recognizing you, even if your search mission has been deemed unsolved.

A plastic card is slid into Bucky’s right hand and he begins making his way back outside and down the walkway towards their room for the night. You follow him silently.

“I call showering first, I think there’s small clumps of blood still stuck in my hair.” You tell him, flinging your backpack onto the bed, and pulling out a large sweatshirt and panties and taking them into the bathroom with you.

While the water begins to run, Bucky undoes the blankets, looks thoroughly through the pillows and in between the sheets in search of bed bugs. Next, inspecting the lamps, outlets, and anything else that could possibly hide a camera, microphone, or any other device. He even contemplates tearing apart the carpet under his feet, but decides against the extra work. He places your bag along with his own backpack on the small table in the corner of the room and fixes the bed to not look like he tore it apart recklessly. I wonder what side she prefers-

The bathroom door opens and a cloud of steam flows out, you soon emerge with a towel wrapped around your head, large sweatshirt hanging off your frame and bare feet digging into the soft carpet beneath you. You fling the towel off of your head using momentum from throwing your head and neck forward, the towel landing on the floor in front of you and your wet hair sending a light spray Bucky feels on his warm face.

By the time Bucky finishes with his shower, the room resembles a sauna and his metal arm has gone hot. A long sleeved shirt and cotton shorts are slipped onto his body along with a pair of thick socks to keep him warm at all times. He steps out of the bathroom, using his towel to rub through his hair, and he spots you using the small mirror on the wall.

Your legs are on display and your underwear is in sight. Bright pink with WEDNESDAY printed on the behind in bubble letters, it’s Friday, the bottoms of your butt cheeks hanging out the bottom of the fabric. The cotton hugs your body and Bucky can’t help but blush at the sight. His mother would smack him over the head if she were here right now.

Your shirt is lifted, one of your hands holding it high on your chest where Bucky can see a slip of under your breast peeking, the curve intriguing him. Your other hand is occupied rubbing a colorless liquid along your side, Bucky focuses his attention and realizes your rubbing along the scar he left you from your stitches. The bottle on the table has a label that read Vitamin E Natural Oil.

Your fingers seem unbelievably soft and gentle as he watches them glide along your side, massaging the shiny oil into your smooth skin. You drop your sweatshirt and gather a bit more oil on your hands before rubbing it into your hips where Bucky can see the faintest stretch marks.

“Sorry ‘bout the scar. O-on your side, I mean.” Bucky stutters out, convincing himself that his body is warm from the shower he took.

“It probably saved my life, so I can’t say I’m sorry about it.” You respond without turning around, as though you knew he was there watching you lather yourself in oil like the beginning of a softcore porn but didn’t mind him enjoying the show.

“What’s that stuff for, anyways?” Bucky asks as he gathers his old clothes back into his bag, folding each piece before placing the packed bag next to yours on the table. Your bag that clearly does not have folded clothes, only crinkled ones. Bucky empties your bag and folds your clothes for you before neatly packing it and closing the zippers.

“Helps fade scars.”

“Yeah, but why? Scars are cool.”

“I suppose. I’d still like to lighten them a bit. So they look better, prettier.”

“You’re probably the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in the last few decades.”

“You don’t even remember most of the last few decades,” You try to joke.

“I mean it. It’s a compliment. It’s okay to accept and enjoy compliments, doll.” Bucky looks at you, forcing you to meet his eyes. You see in your peripheries as he puts the cap on the bottle of oil and places it next to your bag. A small smile adorns his face as he looks at you, and you can’t help but feel a knot form in your throat.

It’s been a long while since you’ve received any kind of love, whether that be physical, emotional, mental, or self. It’s an overwhelming feeling when someone who you aren’t actually the closest with gives you such a deep and personal compliment.

Aren’t the closest with- this is your only friend he the only person you even know. The point is, being the most beautiful woman of the century is much different than having pretty hair or a good sense of humor.

You look away from him before the small bit of wetness can gather in your waterline.

“Which side of the bed do you prefer?” Bucky whispers softly to you, as to not break the safe atmosphere created by his sweet comment.

You clear your throat that now feels thick with tar, “The right.”

“Good. I prefer the left.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #~gasp~ and there was only one bed #series #oneshot

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leisure-lawn · 5 months

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Embrace Blooming Beauty: Unveil the Best Flower Bed Design in Oklahoma

In the heartland of America, where the winds whisper through vast plains and the sun paints the sky with hues of warmth, the quest for the perfect flower bed design takes on a unique significance. Oklahoma, with its diverse landscapes and rich soil, provides an ideal canvas for creating breathtaking flower beds that not only thrive but also reflect the spirit of the region.

Harnessing the Essence of Oklahoma's Climate

The first step in achieving the best flower bed design in Oklahoma understands the climate. With hot summers and mild winters, the state demands a thoughtful selection of plants that can withstand the fluctuations. Native species such as Indian Blanket flower (Gaillardia pulchella) and Black-Eyed Susan (Rudbeckia hirta) not only add a touch of local authenticity but also thrive in the sometimes challenging Oklahoma weather.

Color Palette Inspired by the Sunsets

Oklahoma is renowned for its stunning sunsets that ignite the horizon with a brilliant burst of colors. When designing a flower bed, take inspiration from these breathtaking displays. Incorporate a palette of warm oranges, deep reds, and golden yellows to emulate the magic of an Oklahoma sunset. Marigolds, Zinnias, and Coreopsis are excellent choices to bring this vibrant vision to life.

Embracing the Native Flora

The best flower bed design in Oklahoma celebrates the state's native flora, creating a harmonious blend between the cultivated and the wild. Including indigenous plants not only enhances the ecological balance but also adds a touch of natural beauty. Consider incorporating Oklahoma's state flower, the Oklahoma Rose (Rosa odorata), into your design for a touch of local pride.

Strategic Placement for Maximum Impact

In the world of flower bed design, placement is key. In Oklahoma, where the weather can be unpredictable, strategic placement can make all the difference. Consider the orientation of your flower beds to make the most of the sunlight, ensuring your plants receive the optimal amount of warmth and energy. This thoughtful approach will result in flourishing blooms that are resilient against the ever-changing Oklahoma climate.

Low-Maintenance Elegance

Given the busy lifestyles many Oklahomans lead, opting for a low-maintenance flower bed design is a wise choice. Choose hardy, drought-resistant plants that require minimal upkeep while still offering a burst of color and charm. Coneflowers, Lantanas, and Russian Sage are excellent choices that not only survive but thrive with minimal intervention.

Incorporating Hardscaping Elements

To truly elevate your flower bed design in Oklahoma, consider incorporating hardscaping elements. Stone pathways, decorative borders, and well-placed boulders can add structure and visual interest to your garden. These elements not only enhance the aesthetic appeal but also serve practical purposes, such as preventing erosion and providing a defined edge to your flower beds.

Cultivating Beauty in the Heartland

Creating the best flower bed design in Oklahoma is a testament to the art of cultivating beauty in the heartland. By understanding the unique climate, embracing native flora, and incorporating thoughtful design elements, you can transform your outdoor space into a blooming masterpiece that captures the essence of Oklahoma's natural splendor. So, roll up your sleeves, grab your gardening tools, and let the beauty of the heartland blossom in your backyard.

#Best flower bed design in Oklahoma #flower bed ideas Oklahoma #flower bed design and Installation Tulsa #flower bed design and Installation Oklahoma

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justalarryblog · 3 years

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💮Thank You, Daddy by @recklessandbrave (10k) | Explicit

Harry’s hot, wet mouth is around him before Louis even has the chance to blink, and it feels so good, the icy sting of the frozen dessert disappearing as Harry’s soft tongue laps it up. After Harry swallows, he pulls off the head of Louis’ cock and then dips down to trail his tongue up the shaft, collecting the bits that dribbled down. “Yummy. Thank you, daddy.” He hums pleasantly.

Or the one where Louis gets an idea, and Harry wears panties

Part 2 of Pastel

💮Teacher Kinks by @Ecila (3k) | Explicit

AU in which Louis is Harry’s teacher, but he really doesn’t care. He fucks Harry and Harry enjoys it.

It’s graphic. Mainly just about their sex.

Part 6 of One-Shots

💮When I hear your cries, praying for life. (I will be there) by @brokenbeauty (5k) | Explicit

Well, I figured we needed Larry birthday sex, soooo….. ;))))

hop hop hop by orphan_account (3k) | Explicit

Suddenly, Harry’s slipping down his jeans, and Louis gasps as he’s met with a very unexpected but delicious sight. A mass of fur nestles between Harry’s cheeks, matching with the pink of the inner part of his bunny ears.

Or, the one in which Harry wears bunny ears and a bunny butt plug and Louis proceeds to fuck him.

💮St. Austin’s School for Boys by @domtommo, @winsomefreak (100k) | Explicit

St. Austin’s School for Boys is a correction school for young men that uses corporal punishment as their means of discipline. After one too many infractions, Harry Styles is sent there till graduation. Upon arriving Harry meets his dorm advisor who also happens to be the first year sex-education teacher and footie coach, Louis Tomlinson. Harry falls in absolute adoration for the teacher and is all too ready to drop down onto his knees for him. During his stay he learns some very interesting things about himself… Welcome to St. Austin’s School for Boys, where the hallways are filled with love, drama, and sex.

Part 1 of St. Austin’s School for Boys

💮Change My Mind by @larry_love13 (155k) | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis was a devout Christian family man with a wife and ten kids who lived a seemingly happy and idyllic life in Oklahoma. He always felt something was missing but he could never figure out what until he met Harry Styles, who made him question every single value he’d ever held dear, including his relationship to God AND his marriage. Harry, a devoutly religious young college student struggling with his own family and personal issues turned to Louis for guidance. They both end up learning a lot about themselves, each other, and their religion as they change a few minds-including their own-during their journey.

💮it’s kinda hot in here by @ballsdeepinjesus (3k) | Explicit

“Is that a moth on your stomach?”

or nerdy harry is hiding some stuff under his dorky clothes and louis fucks him in a locker room

💮jump in the deep end by @istajmaal (4k) | Explicit

Louis’s stomach lurches as he closes the last bit of distance, Harry’s nose settling between his arse cheeks and pushing them apart. Harry’s lips brush against the puckered skin around Louis’s hole in a kiss and Louis lets out a whine so high-pitched he barely recognizes it as coming from himself—what if I’m not clean enough, what if Harry hates it, what if Harry pushes me away—but then Harry’s long, wet tongue swoops in a circle around Louis’s rim and Louis feels like all the breath is knocked out of him. He grabs for Harry’s hand, still digging into his thigh, and squeezes over it, until Harry releases his vice grip on Louis’s thigh and laces his fingers through Louis’s.

or, Louis’s arse is a sensitive subject, so Harry approaches it gently. With his tongue.

💮I’ll Crash Until You Notice Me by @stylinsoncity (61k) | Mature

Louis sets off to Barbados to oversee the massive resort his family owns known as Sandy Hill. For years, he’s been looking for a change in the monotony of his life, seeking adventure and perhaps love too. What he doesn’t expect is the bright eyed boy who spills a milkshake on his shoes.

Cue the summer loving.

💮Bloodline by @banana_louis (177k) | Explicit

Louis doesn’t know how to feel when his best friend, Liam, finds out about a brother that he never knew, who was placed for adoption before he was born and is bursting into his life at twenty-four years old.

Louis is very wary of the man who might replace him. He has always thought of Liam as his own brother.

What if Liam doesn’t need him anymore? What if there’s no room for Louis? After all, blood runs thicker than water.

Louis doesn’t like Liam’s new brother and he doesn’t even know him. That’s irrelevant, though.

He doesn’t like him. He doesn’t trust him. He doesn’t want him hanging around. He doesn’t want anything to do with him.

That is, until he meets him.

💮The Arrangement by @daddyy_harryy, @HyFrLarry1224 (218k) | Mature

Louis knew it was his time. Once anyone turned 13, they were watched. And when they were 16 it could be any time. Anytime they could be taken. It was just weeks after his 16th birthday and there he was, sitting in the back of the van.

Louis is forced to marry Harry and bear his children. He is to listen to Harry and do as he says, no matter what. Speaking is a given, and freedom doesn’t exist. Will the sixteen year old boy find himself falling in love with the Leader of the British Mafia? Or will he find himself stuck in a place he doesn’t want to be, with an abusive asshole for a husband?

💮Birds in Gilded Cages by @graveyardwitch (157k) | Mature

There is a hotel in London where beautiful young men and women are kept like birds in a gilded cage, prisoners bound to satisfy your deepest darkest desires….

After being kidnapped as a teenager, Harry Styles was forced into high-class prostitution by the evil Mr Cowell. Louis Tomlinson is heir to his father’s corporation, set to inherit millions…But engaged to a woman he doesn’t love and deeply unhappy. When they meet at a party sparks fly and they embark on a passionate and dangerous relationship…But can it ever be true love when one of you is being paid? And can Louis ever rescue Harry from The Bird Cage Hotel?

Warning-This story is about prostitution so there will be a LOT of sex. I do not own One Direction etc etc. I do ship Larry but I don’t care if it’s real or not, I just like reading and writing the fanfic.

💮TFP by @capriciouslouis (134k) | Not Rated

Harry has known for a while that he wants to have sex with Louis, and nothing says “tonight’s the night” like a nice cup of tea and copious amounts of flowers.

💮12 Hours by @1975sam (2k) | Explicit

If two people who hated/couldn’t stand each other got stuck together in an elevator for 12 hours, what would happen?

💮a cage for every ugly spirit by @sarcasticfluentry (15k) | Explicit

First-year uni student Harry gives up orgasms for Lent, featuring a cock cage and weekly prostate milkings on Sundays. Warning for religion kink. Written for the 1D Novena Ficathon.

💮A Million Years by @sunflowerstyles (3k) | Explicit

Louis always ends up feeling guilty that he’s not ready to give Harry what he wants. Harry shows him how much fun they can have while they wait together.

💮Can’t help but touch myself by @Tita (7k) | Explicit

“I asked what these were, love.” Harry gulps. “Panties,” he explains with heated cheeks, needing more than the light touches from Louis and getting nothing. “What did you get them for? Were they to impress someone else?” He asks, and Harry shakes his head fervently, stumbling over his words as he tries to get his tongue to cooperate. “No, no,” he emphasizes, arching his back to plaster himself to Louis. “For you, always for you, Daddy.”

💮Mark Me Up (My Skin’s Yours to Touch) by @eyesofshinigami (2k) | Explicit

They stumble into their bedroom and Louis’ is immediately pushed onto the bed, Harry scrambling after him. Shaky hands pull down his joggers right under his arse and Harry’s tongue circles around the still tender skin, never touching it directly. Despite the heat and desperation between them, Harry’s almost reverential in his touches. “‘s for me, Lou?” he slurs between passes of his tongue. “A place that only I can see?”

Or the one where Harry gets to appreciate Louis’ new tattoo.

💮Champagne by @fanshae (2k) | Explicit

“Look at how pretty you are,” Louis murmurs, Harry’s stockinged toes curling against the floor at the praise, “Give Daddy a twirl, baby.”

💮Give It Up To Me by @krisstylinson (8k) | Explicit

“You’re going to end up making me come with all the boys in our lounge,” he finished, his tone softening the longer he spoke.

“And?” Harry murmured, placing his palm over the crevice of Louis’ arse, keeping the plug nice and tight inside of him. “What if I wanted you to?”

Or the cliché where Louis isn’t supposed to come but he does, and that can’t go unpunished in Harry’s eyes.

💮Gnossienne by @pukeandcry (11k) | Explicit

Louis sets a challenge for himself; it gets a bit out of hand.

💮Hold On To The Words You Spoke (Anchored Down In The Throat) by @justletmegohome (13k) | Explicit

“No, no. Louis, just stop. It’s not stupid, it’s never stupid. Believe it or not, I care. I care so much. Do you honestly think I’d still have my dick in your ass if I didn’t?”

Louis chuckles at that, but it’s sad, Harry notes it’s not right. “That will change when I tell you.”

“Never.” Harry kisses every bit of his face he can reach, he has no idea how that can help but he’s going to do it anyways.

“I don’t like the way I sound. ’S all,” Louis says in one breath, going coy as soon as he’s done speaking, his eyes casting downwards.

For a moment, Harry can’t believe his ears. Or the words Louis just said even if he can see them hanging in the air between them. Harry is not even sure if he listened He doesn’t want to believe them, maybe that’s why he’s having a hard time coming up with his own words.

*** Basically, Louis is loud. And then he isn’t. Harry ties him up to find out why. ***

💮I’m Tired Of Using Technology, I Need You Right In Front Of Me by @Phillipa19 (6k) | Explicit

Louis goes away on yet another business trip, but when he stops calling Harry to check in, Harry decides to take matters into his own hands.

OR- Louis is Harry’s sugardaddy who has gone away on business and Harry feels neglected. Louis is possessive and gets a camera installed in their bedroom so he can check up on Harry, so Harry decides to use the camera to his advantage.

💮Just One Night by @LovelyAnon (7k) | Explicit

Louis is upset and goes to a bar to drown his worries. Harry shows up. Sex ensues. What more is there to say?

💮just one step at a time by @hickeylou, @sowearegay (10k) | Explicit

Louis is insecure and Harry has trouble sometimes.

💮leave you drowning until you reach for my hand by orphan_account (16k) | Explicit

If Louis told him to do something that he really didn’t want to do, it would be different, but Louis’s never done that, never asked anything of Harry that he couldn’t handle. Except—except maybe this; to obey him without praise, reward, approval, or even mere acknowledgement.

💮let’s talk about making love by @istajmaal (25k) | Explicit

“That’s my name, baby, I’m Louis.” The voice on the phone inhales sharply, then says, “Gonna take my cock now, princess?”

Harry lets out a high-pitched mhmm and shudders as he pulls his fingers out of his hole, groping for the vibrator. “Nice to meet you,” he says, feeling a bit dizzy with how hard his untouched cock is.

Louis is just a simple phone sex line operator, but to Harry, he’s Daddy.

💮Push You Over The Edge (So I Can Pull You Back)by orphan_account (16k) | Explicit

It’s after a long two weeks of interviews and non-stop appearances that have got Harry stressed to the limit of yanking his hair out and throwing a fit and crying that Louis shows it to him, walks in the door with a sleek black bag in his left hand and inconspicuous brown one in his right.

💮Skipping Heartbeats by @1dfetusfics (3k) | Mature

Louis doesn’t talk much and for some reason he has a queasy feeling in his belly whenever he’s around boys now, especially around Harry.

💮Sweet Dreams by @dormant_bender (5k) | Explicit

When fantasies become reality.

💮Talk To Me, Baby by orphan_account (3k) | Explicit

Harry loves to talk and whisper little things to Louis during sex. Louis is pretty quiet, loves it, but just listens. But one day Harry really wants to hear Louis say some of the dirty things he loves Harry to do to him, so Harry really encourages Louis to talk to him during sex. Louis is self-conscious at first but then they really get into it and amazingness happens.

💮Thank the Hotel by orphan_account (4k) | Explicit

The hotel messed up the boys’ reservations for after their Red Nose Day performance, causing Louis and Harry to share a single bed hotel room. When Harry wakes up to Louis having a wet dream, he just can’t help himself. He’d have to remember to thank the hotel later.

💮To Be Loved To Be In Love by @Angel_Dust (129k) | Mature

At 18, every Sub must take a Match Test to find their Dom.

Poor, Farm kid Louis Tomlinson is matched with Rich, Businessman Harry Styles.

Or, where Harry thinks giving Money, expensive presents and luxuries proves how much you love someone, but Louis is about to turn his world upside down.

💮turn you on, make you radiate by @ballsdeepinjesus (15k)| Explicit

When he presses inside for the first time in weeks, he’s pretty sure he sees stars behind his eyes at the staggering sensation of Harry’s body squeezing every inch of him. When he bottoms out, he stays buried inside for a minute just to catch his bearings, listening as Harry takes sharp breaths beneath him. When he finally feels like he’s under control, he presses his lips against Harry’s ear and whispers, “Are you ready husband?“

Harry throws his head back and groans. “Call me your spouse.”

[…or, a self-indulgent snapshot of hl’s sex lives over the course of 10+ years]

💮Untitled sugardaddy fic by orphan_account (2k) | Explicit

Harry comes home from a long day at work and has his way with his baby. (That’s Louis.)

The one with all the daddy kink sex and spanking. It’s pure pwp.

✨You can also check My Fic Tags for more fics! ✨

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jessi-lou · 3 years

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The project for this past weekend was expanding the garden! We originally weren’t going to do it since we have a baby on the way (due August/September) but I’m so glad we did. This is going to enable me to try a few different things this year.

- Flower bed! Perhaps the thing I’m most excited about. I saw hummingbirds for the first time last summer and since then I’ve been obsessed with making my garden more attractive to pollinators. I plan on planting mostly el dorado zinnias and lemon apricot cosmos, but I’ve also purchased a Pinata climbing rose for my new arbor and will possibly plant some morning glories or 4 o’clocks somewhere safe within the garden so that the dogs won’t get to them. I’m also excited about the idea of Penny and I picking fresh flowers whenever we want to as she gets older.

- Corn! This was my husbands idea but I’ve gotten more excited about it the past month. A sweet online friend sent me a pack of glass gem corn seeds so we will be tilling and direct sowing a row along the back of the garden. This will be my first time trying to grow anything without a pot or garden bed so I still need to figure out what I need to do to prepare my soil. Fingers crossed that by the end of the summer we’ll have some popping corn.

- Sweet Potatoes! We purchased 10 gallon grow bags from Amazon last year and my husband decided we might as well put them to use growing something new. The trend I’m seeing is stuff we KNOW we love gets a spot in the beds...stuff we’re experimenting with gets thrown in pots. I’m hoping we’re able to get some slips from our local feed and seed when they come in. I’m happy with regular ole sweet potatoes but I would honestly love to get my hands on some Okinawan Purple sweet potato slips as well. Next year I’m just going to learn how to start my own slips so I don’t have to worry about what everyone else has in inventory.

- Choctaw Isito Squash! I was lucky enough to get ahold of these heirloom seeds from my tribe back in Oklahoma. So far it looks like I have 3 sprouts so i will be dedicating an entire small bed to them. This plant will be my baby, because the seeds have so much history with the Choctaw and seed saving is something I really, really want to get the hang of. I plan on storing the majority of what I grow to save it for when the baby is old enough to eat it. Idk why that’s become so important to me that she has it but it just feels like good medicine for both her and I.

I’m sure there will be other things but these are the ones that I’m most excited for. :)

#garden diary #vegetable garden #tw pregnancy #north alabama gardener #food sovereignty #personal #garden ramblings

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freebooter4ever · 4 years

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Rubber Ducky Road Trip

Fun Fact: the rubber duck actually surged to popularity after WWII when a sculptor started manufacturing a cute yellow version of it as toys for kids instead of just dogs! Anyway, Joe’s photo with the weird creepy roadside giant duck statue? 100% inspiration for this. Thank you @badgerms for editing this for me!

Post War AU, Snafu still left Sledge on the train. One day Snafu gets it in his head to go see the newly constructed World’s Largest Rubber Duck on the side of the road somewhere in Oklahoma, and he decides to stop at Sledge’s first because Eugene’s letters say Eugene is taking up bird watching now, cause ducks totally count. Also they adopt a dog.

Snafu doesn't understand civilian life. The things most of his neighbors consider commonplace - well balanced meals, regular showers, polite conversation, underwear - Snafu no longer has the patience for. He was never a good civilian before the war, and he's an even worse one after. Not like Eugene with his perfect manners, and stalwart ideals, and easy conversation. If Snafu imagined a model upstanding citizen, Eugene Sledge's face was the first to pop into mind. A deep indefatigable ache came with it.

Eugene's face also brings to mind guilt. In two forms - one: guilt for having cut off all contact with him, and two: guilt for having had any contact with him in the first place.

Snafu doesn't kid himself - Sledgehammer probably would never have gotten through the war on his own. But Eugene Sledge always deserved better. Snafu knows Eugene got off that train to meet a welcoming party, exactly like Burgie. He'd been watching Eugene's face when Burgie hugged his little brother tight. Eugene was looking at them with understanding, empathy. He wasn't baffled by the scene, like Snafu was.

Snafu got off the train to nothing but crowds of strangers. He disappeared. And hoped Eugene would imagine a lie when he thought of Snafu. Maybe a father who stayed up all night just to be there at the station at three am, a mother who had food waiting just for him, a house warm and clean for his little sister to actually have a childhood in. Anything Eugene could invent is probably better than the reality Snafu never told him about.

When Snafu imagines Eugene's civilian life, he imagines white picket fences, and a hoard of smiling extended family wearing bright clothes in the sun, and lots of unnecessary hugs. That's where Eugene would fit in. That's what Snafu wants for Gene.

All the things a good civilian is supposed to have in their life. None of which make any damn sense to him. He's still young, which keeps off most of the pressure to become respectable. But he sees the odd looks thrown his way, he knows the talk. Every bit of gossip compounded now that he's a veteran, and suddenly that means his vices can be overlooked - that means he's eligible. But only if he keeps up appearances. Only if his nightmares stick to night.

What a joke.

He expounds upon this topic loudly and at length to anyone who will listen. Very often this means to his coworkers during after work drinks, sometimes over a game of cards. It doesn't make him many friends.

On one such night, a few years after V-J day, one of the coworkers tosses a strange yellow toy into the betting pool.

"What the fuck?" Snafu asks, snatching the thing up, "You trying to cheat us? Ain't no way this is worth anything."

Apparently, though, it is. The little yellow toy is called a "rubber duck" and it's the latest craze to hit the United States. The things are selling out everywhere, and they're on every child's wish list this winter. Not that Snafu would ever know what the latest trends are. He doesn't follow fads or styles. He understands them even less than he understands civilians complaining about things like slow service or cold weather. And this new yellow toy is the worst trend yet. Personally, Snafu thinks it's the ugliest thing he's ever seen - plus it looks nothing like any duck he's ever seen.

His coworkers laugh at him and chide him for being a confirmed bachelor with no kids at home throwing tantrums over toys. As if that's something Snafu could even begin to understand. This generation of children - demanding toys instead of being grateful for what they got.

He wins the card game and collects his money, but promptly tosses the duck to the first child he passes in the street.

Somehow word gets around that Snafu Shelton is giving away rubber ducks, because the next time he steps foot outside of his apartment, the grubby neighborhood kids swarm him like he's Santa Claus or some shit. He barely escapes with his life.

Luckily Snafu knows a friend in the rubber manufacturing business, and a week later a sack full of duck toys just happens to fall off the back of his friend's truck. Snafu distributes them amongst the neighborhood. It's not a free for all, he carries one or two around in his pocket and hands the ducks off to the weird kids. The small runty ones wearing castoff clothes too big for them, who come home from school with bruises and empty stomachs. Snafu remembers what it's like being small and watching fads pass by instead of taking part.

So Snafu is less like Santa Claus and more like a kingpin throwing wrenches into the carefully balanced schoolyard popularity hierarchy.

This being a poorer neighborhood on the outskirts of New Orleans, no one really has the means to designate social status. It's all just silly things like who can afford something as small and inessential as a rubber duck and who can't. Snafu himself rents a shitty top floor apartment with a private entrance that doubles as a fire escape. It isn't so much an apartment as it is a room with a twin bed. But there's trees all around, and a big window at the foot of his bed, and a narrow decorative balcony (the useless kind not meant to hold humans - another part of life Snafu doesn't understand) attached to the window.

The first thing Snafu bought after the war, even before he bought a bed frame, was a beautiful stone birdbath. The kind like the one in the park his mom used to take him to. They'd sit on the park bench, and spend hours watching the birds splash around, and it bored Snafu to tears but it was the only time of the week his mom didn't cry so he learned to sit as still as he could.

Snafu put his brand new birdbath on his useless balcony and for two years every spring morning he woke with the sun, crawled down his bed, and watched the birds sing their thanks through the open window.

This year, as winter approaches, Snafu looks at his now empty birdbath and gets an idea. He didn't keep any of the rubber duckies for himself, but luckily his friend in the business has connections and manages to get him one extra. And Snafu's lonely winter mornings are assuaged when he wakes to see a friendly yellow face bobbing happily in the cold bath outside his window.

Snafu thinks he's simply cleverly besting migratory bird patterns until more yellow ducks start showing up in his birdbath. This time wearing hand sewn floral bonnets, or flower crowns, or top hats, or in one particularly painful case - a tiny toy army helmet.

The little neighborhood shits are climbing his trellis to his balcony and putting the damn things in there at night. Every couple of days the rubber ducks will disappear only to be returned wearing new themed outfits. When Christmas comes and Snafu wakes to discover he has a completely full bird bath containing not only a duck wearing a santa hat but also all twelve reindeer ducks - one of which has a painted red nose - Snafu finally admits this fad is here to stay.

And that is how Snafu becomes known around town as the weird bachelor who collects rubber ducks.

It gets so bad even the secretary at the lumberyard where he works saves him a newspaper clipping about a town two states over. The girl sneaks it to him during lunch and Snafu reads the article over his shitty thermos of soup.

The world's largest rubber duck is being erected somewhere in Oklahoma by some hodunk town hoping to put themselves on the map by throwing excess rubber, no longer needed by the war effort, into a useless vanity project.

Idiots.

A few days later Snafu is playing cards, and winning as always, when he finds himself rethinking his stance. He stops mid-sentence when he realizes he is having a conversation with his coworkers about ducks. And it's normal. And he doesn't want to roll his eyes right out of his head.

Maybe he is adapting to civilian life after all.

He collects his winnings and goes home. He ignores the New Years themed duck floating outside his window and goes straight to the crooked chest of drawers wedged in between his bed and the wall. He opens the top drawer, pries off the false bottom, and lets the stack of letters and all his life savings fall to the floor. He gathers up the letters carefully, leaves the money, and sits on his bed to read.

There are a bunch of letters - each addressed to Snafu in the same beautifully written cursive. The handwriting inside is neat, and elegant, and never strays from tight measured lines, as if the author places the blank sheet of paper over a lined page to use as a guide. If each letter wasn't signed with a no nonsense, perfectly legible "Eugene", Snafu would never guess they came from the same man he watched scribble away in a bible - writing that looked more like chicken scratch than actual words.

Snafu shuffles through the letters until he finds the one he's thinking of. Eugene's letters are full of normal things Snafu no longer relates to. They're artificially pleasant in the way of small talk, and say the kinds of things people who have nothing in common say to each other. Snafu doesn't like to think about him and Eugene no longer having anything in common. Whenever Snafu receives a letter, he reads it, feels his heart shrink two sizes smaller, and then slides the letter into his secret drawer to forget about it. If he hides it and doesn't reply he can pretend civilian Eugene would still care about him, no matter how all fucked up Snafu feels.

He never forgets what he reads though, and this letter in particular from a month ago details Eugene's new found hobby - bird watching.

Finally, they have something in common.

He scoops all his savings off the floor, adds his week's paycheck and tonight's winnings to the pile, and calculates how much gas he'll need. Then he fills up his truck, borrows a tent from his friend, and starts off down the road.

A day later he shows up on Eugene's porch.

He knows he made a mistake when a butler answers the door. It's shock that keeps him rooted to the spot for the few minutes it takes for Eugene to be called in from whatever activity Snafu interrupted. He knew Eugene was one of them rich kids, but a butler was beyond even his imaginings.

Shock keeps him there initially, but it's amusement that keeps Snafu on the porch when Eugene appears in the frame, takes one look at him, listens to Snafu's brief "I hear you like birdwatching" quip, and slams the door in his face without another word spoken.

Snafu can hear Eugene's mother's scandalized outrage through the walls of the house.

The door opens and an older woman with an aristocratic but comfortable air takes Eugene's place.

"I'm so sorry," she says, slightly out of breath, "Please, come in. Sit. I'll get you a glass of iced tea. I don't know what's gotten into that boy sometimes."

He and Mrs. Sledge exchange introductions, and she immediately recognizes his name.

"Oh, you're the one Eugene's been sending all those letters to," she says. She doesn't mention the tiny detail that Snafu never sends any letters back.

Snafu smiles and perches on a stiff chair in the parlor. He accepts the glass of tea, and drinks it to avoid awkward conversation.

Mrs. Sledge bustles around rearranging things to make more room, and also to avoid awkward conversation. "Eugene Bondurant Sledge!" she calls, "Get out here!"

Eugene obediently appears in the doorway, a petulant look on his face that Snafu knows well. Eugene's stubborn presence does nothing but force Mrs. Sledge and Snafu to carry the conversation.

"Your friend's come all the way from New Orleans to see you," Mrs. Sledge prompts.

Eugene remains silent. And standing.

"A stop along my way, actually," Snafu says. His charm is turned up as high as it will go. Partially out of respect for the mother of his best friend, and partially to see Eugene's blood pressure rise with every obsequious word out of Snafu's mouth.

"Oh, where are you headed?" Mrs. Sledge asks.

"Out aways, into the middle of nowhere. Woke up one morning and got it into my head I wanted to see the world's largest duck," Snafu may be talking to Mrs. Sledge but his eyes remain unwavering on Eugene.

"I dare say," Mrs. Sledge says, "And what species of bird is this exactly?"

"Can't be sure, ma'am," Snafu says, "That'd be more Eugene's area of expertise."

"Well, how big is the world's largest duck?" Mrs. Sledge asks.

"Don't know, haven't seen it yet," Snafu drawls with a grin.

Eugene looks fit to burst.

"How far do you have to go to find this bird?" Mrs. Sledge asks.

"Just a couple of days drive, maybe a week round trip," Snafu says, "Was gonna ask Eugene if he wanted to come along."

"What a splendid idea," Mrs. Sledge is delighted, "Eugene doesn't have any plans scheduled for the next few weeks. It'd do him good to get out for a while."

Eugene's petulance slowly transitions to horror as the conversation goes on and he realizes there is no polite way to extricate himself from this situation without disappointing his mother terribly.

Which is how Snafu ends up with a silent and surly Eugene sitting next to him on the bench seat in his truck's cab and a basket full of gifted provisions neatly tucked into his truck bed next to his borrowed tent.

Snafu fiddles with the radio, switching stations whenever he gets bored with whatever murder mystery radio play or big band music is being broadcast until they drive too far out into the sticks to get any kind of signal.

The minute he switches the radio off, Eugene finally speaks up.

"Since when are you interested in birdwatching?" Eugene's tone is accusatory.

"It was kinda forced on me," Snafu shrugs, "Or I forced it on myself. On accident."

"And we're going to see the world's largest duck?"

"Ahuh," Snafu agrees.

"And where would that be, exactly?"

"Oklahoma."

Eugene screws up his face. He pulls the atlas out from underneath the bench seat, and flops through it till he hits the southeastern United States.

"Alabama is not in between New Orleans and Oklahoma," Eugene points to the map. As if Snafu doesn't know his geography and Eugene needs to prove to him the position of Oklahoma and Mississippi.

"Never said it was," Snafu says calmly.

"You said picking me up was a 'stop along the way'," Eugene argues.

"I said it's a stop along my way. Never said my way was the most direct."

Snafu keeps his focus on the road, but he can feel Eugene's eyes on him.

"Yeah? Missed you too, Snaf," Eugene says as if that answers an unasked question and settles more comfortably in his seat. He props the map up on his lap and traces the spider web of roads with his finger.

Everything goes smoothly the first day. They eat lunch on the side of the road. It's warm, and the heat of the truck's engine makes it warmer, but they prop the doors open to let a breeze flow through and make sandwiches from the food Eugene's mom packed. Snafu provides the desert. He brought a slender bar of chocolate, provisions in case Eugene turned him down.

Now he breaks it in half and shares it with Eugene and watches him suck melted chocolate from his fingers.

Eight hours of driving later when it's almost too dark to see they stake out the tent on a dirt field to sleep. Snafu tosses and turns until he rolls to face Eugene and finds wide unblinking eyes staring back at him. They decide sleeping on the ground isn't for them, and set the tent up in the bed of Snafu's truck instead. The wooden slats are hard and a little uncomfortable but it's different enough from memories that they're finally able to fall asleep pressed back to back.

The next morning is quiet, and still. They snack on fresh snap peas for breakfast and strike the tent in silence. They don't need to talk about it. Snafu senses Eugene's understanding. For once it's nice to not need to explain his particular brand of insanity.

Later on the road again, in between casual conversation, Eugene brings it up.

"Best sleep I've had in months," he says.

"Me too, Sledgehammer," Snafu admits.

On the second day it rains. At night they park at the edge of a small town in the lot of a gas station run by a friendly old lady who lets them use the outhouse on her property and the outdoor shower behind it. Snafu laughs at Eugene becoming so spoiled he needs daily baths now. And Eugene retorts that not everyone can have as nice of a natural musk as Snafu, and it's enough like a compliment to shut Snafu up quick.

Snafu leaves Eugene toweling his wet hair dry in the truck cab, and runs across the few feet of muddy gravel to use the outhouse. When he comes back he starts to hastily climb into the truck, but stops when he notices a strange shadow under the carriage hiding from the rain.

He reaches over the bench and pokes Eugene awake.

"Flashlight," Snafu whispers, gesturing to the floor.

Eugene hands him the flashlight. And then pulls the blanket over his head to go back to sleep.

Snafu crouches on the runnerboard of the truck to keep his feet off the ground for an easy escape, bends down, and shines the light underneath.

A head lifts up and a pair of reflective eyes look back at him.

Snafu flicks the light off, lifts himself back into the cab and digs through the picnic basket for the leftovers from dinner.

"Snafu, what are you doing?" Eugene complains from under the blanket.

"Just give me a minute," Snafu says.

He jumps to the ground and waves a bite of chicken to the darkness under the truck.

"C'mon, boy," he says.

It doesn't take much to get the big shaggy dog out from underneath the carriage and into the cab. Eugene gets a rude awakening, however, when the dog decides to make a bed out of his lap.

Snafu can see Eugene jolt awake, but instead of kicking the weight off his lap, he just shifts to accommodate it.

"Snafu, next time warn me if you're going to sleep on me," Eugene grumbles.

"S'not me, boo," Snafu says with a grin.

Eugene peeks from behind his blanket, sees the dog, and promptly sits straight up in his seat. He grabs his towel and starts drying off some of the water and dirt matting the dog's fur.

The dog chooses that moment to fart.

Snafu starts laughing at Eugene's scandalized face that looks so much like his mother's, until Snafu starts choking from the smell, and then he leans over Eugene to roll the window down. Just a crack, enough for fresh air but not enough to let rain in.

It's rather cramped in the truck cab, with the tent (more useful keeping out mosquitoes than rain), and the picnic basket, and the two boys, and the dog, but they manage.

Snafu wakes up to whines. At first he thinks it's the dog. It's the middle of the night, there are no street lamps all the way out here, and he can barely see. Until there's a jerk of movement on the other side of the cramped bench seat and the dog climbs over Snafu to shelter under his feet.

"Eugene!" Snafu exclaims. He takes Sledge's arm and then remembers what happened the last time he watched someone being held down mid-nightmare. He keeps a safe distance and says loudly, "Sledgehammer!"

Eugene snaps awake. He lurches forward, and stops when he sees Snafu sitting up and watching him.

Snafu takes his hand then. Eugene twines their fingers together. He's still breathing hard with his mind half out of this world. Snafu can see it in his eyes. The dog wanders over and places his head back on Eugene's lap. Eugene looks down, sees the dog for the first time since he woke. He turns to Snafu.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" Eugene asks.

"No," Snafu says firmly.

Neither of them fall back asleep for a long while after that.

The next morning the dog plods slowly along when they walk to buy groceries. He patiently waits outside the door for them to finish and plods along after them when they go back to the car. When they open the car door to wedge the grocery bag into the picnic basket, the dog jumps up and sits on the bench seat between them.

"I think you accidentally adopted a dog," Eugene tells Snafu.

Except it's Eugene who feeds the dog, and Eugene's lap that the dog chooses to sleep on most of the time, and Eugene who names the dog 'Fred'.

"What the fuck kind of dog name is that?" Snafu asks.

"Like you're one to talk Merriell," Eugene retorts. Eugene uses a fond tone for Snafu's given name like it's a good thing, and that throws him for a bit of a loop.

"Sure thing, Bondurant," Snafu croons.

Eugene throws a slice of turkey at Snafu's smiling face in response, which is a dreadful waste of food, but Freddie happily eats the discarded turkey and licks Snafu's face clean.

At one point the car breaks down. Fortunately it happens on a flat stretch of road so not only can they see the gas station in the distance, but it's also fairly easy to push the truck along. Snafu jerry-rigs a contraption to keep the steering wheel pointed straight, and off they go. The dog lumbers into the truck bed, watches them push for a bit, and then falls asleep in the sun.

When they reach the station, Snafu pays for use of the tools, but does all the repairs himself. The mechanic who runs the station is jovial and sharp tongued. He and Snafu trade stories and exchange barbs while Snafu works.

Eugene sits and waits in a camp chair off to the side, the dog in his lap and his fingers stroking the dog's fur. He watches Snafu with keen eyes, but doesn't say a word.

Snafu winks at Eugene when he peels his sweaty button down off and bends over the engine wearing nothing but his undershirt.

"Come on, Freddie, let's go for a walk," Eugene stands and leads the dog out of the garage.

They're not gone long. Fred isn't the 'go for a walk' type of dog. Eugene shows up again twenty minutes later carrying a large panting dog bundled in his arms.

"He got tired," Eugene explains.

Snafu hastily grabs a clean tin from the mechanic and fills it with water for the dog. When Eugene takes it from Snafu's hand, their fingers brush.

Snafu thinks about that brief second of contact for the rest of the day.

With the car up and running again, they finally reach their destination. It's around four pm, and the sun is beginning to set, but the baked dry land around them is still warm. The large rubber duck is not actually in town, though they have to drive through town to find it. The buildings still show the ravages of the dust bowl - peeling paint bleached by the sun, splintered wood, missing planks, weeds everywhere. Feels like home.

They take a turn onto a single lane of freshly paved road at the edge of town and drive to the end till there is nothing but fields around them.

"Snafu…" Eugene starts. Neither of them have gotten out of the truck yet. Fred is fast asleep between them, farting as usual.

Snafu grins wide, his hand tight on the steering wheel as he pulls the truck into park.

"Snafu, that is the ugliest sight I have ever seen in my life," Eugene states.

"Surely not the ugliest, don't you remember Leyden?" Snafu asks.

"I thought we were going to find the largest duck in the world?" Eugene asks.

"And here we are," Snafu gushes, gesturing to the view outside their windshield.

"You failed to mention the duck is rubber," Eugene says.

"Never asked," Snafu responds. He kicks the truck door open and jumps down excitedly.

In Snafu's mind, the world's largest duck does not disappoint. It's a good few feet taller than him and the duck's bill comes right up to his head. And if he leans his face forward enough he can make it look like the duck is either eating or kissing him.

"Snap a photo," he calls to Eugene with his head still in the duck's mouth.

Eugene clambers out of the truck to comply. Once done, Eugene sits on the curb and watches Snafu examine the duck.

Snafu circles the statue. He pokes at it and tries to gauge if it's actually made entirely of rubber.

"Think this thing's hollow?" Snafu asks.

"Like your head," Eugene drawls.

Snafu leans around the duck to grin at him.

"He's got your eyes," Eugene comments.

"You've been paying attention to my eyes?" Snafu goes round to the front of the duck and notices the eyes are painted an unnaturally vibrant shade of robin's egg blue.

"Hard not to Snaf, when you ask me if they're yellow every time I turn around," Eugene says.

"One time," Snafu says.

"Once was enough," Eugene says.

Snafu remembers that time. And if he remembers that time, the first time he touched Eugene's skin for reasons other than necessity, he also then remembers the more recent time, with the dog bowl. And his fingers start to itch.

He places his palms flat against the hot rubber of the duck. It smells like car tires, and wood chips, and fresh air and summer. There's no gasoline or any other rotting stench to remind him of other days involving the strong smell of rubber. This smell is childhood, and innocence.

Snafu looks over at Eugene.

Eugene meets his eyes. "I can't believe we drove all this way for a rubber duck," he says.

Snafu smirks and picks his way over to sit next to him. Their shoulders brush, and that is also a familiar touch.

"Not just any rubber duck, the world's largest," Snafu counters.

"They all look the same," Eugene says.

"Not true," Snafu says, thinking about his ever changing birdbath.

Eugene stands, marches to the truck, grabs the rubber duck off Snafu's dash, and sits back down. He places the duck in Snafu's hands.

"This one's got a hat," Snafu points out, flicking the little green helmet on the duck's head.

Eugene rolls his eyes, "This and the big one in front of us could be cast from the same mold except for size."

"What, you think I oughta curb my enthusiasm?" Snafu taunts.

Eugene looks at him deadpan.

"Get it?" Snafu nudges him with his shoulder, "Cause we're sitting on a curb?"

"Oh good lord," Eugene puts his head in his hands.

Snafu laughs.

He doesn't laugh for long because Eugene removes his head from his hands, cups them around Snafu's face, and pulls him into a soft kiss.

And if Snafu failed to mentally prepare himself for the excitement of seeing the world's largest rubber duck, he certainly didn't prepare himself for this.

It's wonderful. And suddenly it makes sense. All that affection, rattling around in Snafu's empty tin heart like glass marbles. It didn't have anywhere to go. But now it does.

He still doesn't know what to do with his hands.

So he clasps them on his knees, leans in as close as he can get while staying seated on the curb, and lets Gene kiss him.

They sit there necking so long they miss the sunset. It's twilight by the time Eugene pulls away. He doesn't go far, keeps his hands on Snafu's face, and caresses Snafu's cheek as if unwilling to actually part from him.

"Gene," Snafu breathes.

Eugene smiles.

The dog wakes up from where he was sleeping behind them and sits straight so he can rest his head on Eugene's shoulder. Gene laughs, takes the Marine Corps rubber duck from Snafu's hands, and tosses it a few feet away.

The dog immediately becomes alert. Freddie watches the rubber duck fly, watches it bounce to the ground, watches it stop moving, then slowly trots over, picks up the duck in his mouth, and slowly trots back. Freddie sets the rubber duck in Eugene's lap, lies down across both of their feet, farts, and then goes to sleep.

"I think we've accidentally adopted an old dog," Snafu observes.

Eugene grins and leans in closer to Snafu's side. Eugene's arm wraps around Snafu's waist and he kisses his neck before settling his head comfortably against Snafu's shoulder.

"I think we can teach him new tricks," Eugene says, patting the dog on the back.

"In Mobile or New Orleans?" Snafu asks.

"New Orleans," Eugene replies, "But not before Sid's wedding in a few months. You'll have to come to mobile for that."

"Good thing it's on the way," Snafu drawls.

"Yeah," Eugene laughs, "Good thing."

"I ain't gonna be the most agreeable person to have in the wedding party, Sledgehammer," Snafu warns. He lights a cigarette and turns so the smoke doesn't blow in Eugene's face.

"Me either," Eugene says.

Snafu snorts, "Naw, you're always a delight."

"Not always," Eugene says, a little more seriously, "Not always."

Snafu pulls away. He doesn't stand because he doesn't want to disturb the dog, but he moves enough that Eugene takes his hands off him. Because it's not the same. It's not the same and he needs to convince Eugene somehow.

"Why don't you find a nice girl, Gene?" Snafu asks, "Someone who could be a bridesmaid. Or a bride."

"You sound like my mother," Eugene complains, "I don't want some girl. Never have." He stays quiet for a minute and then voices his own insecurities, "Have you? I mean, I know you used to flirt with all the girls on the journey home…"

"Never have," Snafu says.

"Then why…?"

"T'make you glare at me," Snafu smirks, "Make you jealous. Always figured it was me getting the girls you were jealous of though."

"Nope," Eugene sighs, "Afraid it was the other way around. Didn't like that the girls got you"

Snafu laughs. They sit quietly while he finishes his cigarette and the last bit of light fades from the sky. Somewhere behind them a street lamp turns on and illuminates the giant rubber duck in an eerie orange glow.

"Shit, it got uglier," Snafu drawls.

Eugene's shoulders shake with laughter. Snafu likes how the movement transfers into his own body. He likes how close they've drifted together again. Like they can't keep apart, even when not deliberately touching.

"Always knew I wanted you, Snaf," Eugene says.

That's a sobering thought - Eugene wanting him.

"Situation Normal All Fucked," Snafu says. He leans as close to Eugene's face as he can get and smiles at him, "I guess if you leave out the 'up' my nickname could be fun."

He can't imagine how he could be of any use to Gene. Aside from the obvious. It'd be a lie to say he never recognized the heat in Eugene's eyes when he looked at Snafu.

He tells Eugene as much, while also trying not to say anything.

"Oh for goodness sake," Eugene says, "I don't love you because you're useful. That's not how it works."

Eugene kisses him quiet. And this time Snafu holds his chin and kisses him back.

_____

Here is snafu's truck: ^_^ 1946 chevy currently in the process of being rebuilt but you get the idea

#sledgefu #bad germs

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ruensroad · 4 years

Text

sweetheart, they’re suspecting things

Just a little idea I had at work, enabled by @this-solaris-life. Heavily inspired by the song/lyrics “People Will Say We’re In Love” from the musical Oklahoma! by Rogers and Hammerstein.

Part one of two, which will be Jin Ling’s POV.

---

“...giving Jin Ling his ribbon! Doesn’t A-Yi know better?”

The words had been stuck in his mind since he’d first heard them, cutting like a hundred knives in his ribs, all the sharper in the knowledge it had been a friend to say such a thing. To doubt him so greatly. And just when he’d thought Zizhen of all his friends would be the most open to his romance with the Jin Sect Leader, sentimental type as he was. Not so, apparently.

But the worst part was not Zizhen’s disbelief. Oh no. It’d been that he’d been talking to Shizui, and that Shizui had agreed.

Did they really doubt Jingyi so much? Doubt Jin Ling?

It was unfathomable, unbelievable, but the evidence was plain. And just like that, all his plans for this Conference to finally come out to his family and friends as Jin Ling’s partner, to announce their intentions to one another publically… such golden dreams shattered so easily.

He’d waited so long for this day, only to find that he was the only one who wanted it, besides Jin Ling himself.

Oh gods. Jin Ling. What was he going to think? All his hard work, all the time they’d spent loving in secret so he could fix his sect, raise it back up into something to be proud of? What would it do to his confidence that their friends still found him wanting?

How could they, anyway? Jingyi knew, in some part of him, that it didn’t make enough sense to be true. But panic had overtaken such logic not long after he’d heard Shizui agree in his soft voice, nod along with a sad, pitying look. And that was that.

He could not stand in front of them now, not when they were blind to Jin Ling’s accomplishments. Did they see him as the temperamental mistress still? How could they not see how he’d grown into himself?

They’d seen his love, despite his efforts, but they couldn’t see the why?

It was baffling and frightening. But most of all, disheartening. How could he fix this?

“If you pace a hole in my rug, I’m going to make you replace it,” Jin Ling’s voice reached him, amused and low, as the man leaned in the doorway of his rooms. Their rooms. “I know you Lan can afford it.”

The usual jab did not bring a smile, as it would have before this terrible evening had begun, and Jin Ling’s own smile vanished quickly, seeing his face fall. “What is it?”

It was a crime, absolutely illegal to have to bear such bad news with Jin Ling looking so open and handsome, ready for bed in his soft robe and hair down. Jingyi was weak for it and Jin Ling knew it.

“We need to talk,” Jingyi started, wanting to pull his hairpin out in frustration. He settled for carefully inching it out and very much not stabbing it into the table. Jin Ling raised an impressed eyebrow before crossing over to him, steps light.

“That never bodes anything good,” Jin Ling told him, voice deceptively calm. Jingyi knew him well enough to know when he was screaming in panic on the inside. Even his carefree crossing of his arms was to hide a tremble in his hands, Jingyi knew. He hated his choice of words immediately.

“Zizhen and Shizui know,” Jingyi started with, since that was an easier in than and they hate us. “I don’t know how, but I heard them talking in the garden.”

Jin Ling’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, then he caught himself, brow furrowed adorably seeing Jingyi’s own coiled tight straightness. “And… that’s bad? We are going to tell them in two days anyway…”

“They…” Jingyi’s jaw worked around a sudden spike of anger. He never thought he’d want to knock Zizhen’s head to Shizui’s before, but here he was, shaking with the need to do just that. “They don’t approve.”

Jin Ling went stiff, eyes wide with disbelief and hurt and Jingyi immediately stepped into him to bury his face into his chest, breathe in his smell and feel his warmth. Slowly, Jin Ling held him the way he wanted, focus drawn in.

“But I’m going to fix it,” Jingyi swore before Jin Ling could react. “They’re wrong about you. We just have to show them.”

“Jingyi,” Jin Ling sighed and braced him with hands on his arms.

“Don’t even say it,” Jingyi warned before any talk of backing out of what they had could happen. He glared up at Jin Ling until the sect leader wilted. “I’m not giving you up that easily, I warned you. Push me away all you want, I will just stick to you harder.”

To his relief, Jin Ling relaxed to hear that, though his brow remained furrowed. Jingyi leaned up on his tiptoes to smooth away the crease with a kiss. “I’ll fix it,” he swore again.

“How?” Jin Ling asked, eyes dark with resignation, but still willing to go along with Jingyi’s plan. Whatever that plan was.

“How indeed.” Jingyi stepped back a little to pace and think, though he didn’t miss the amused flash of smile it got him. “We need a good way to showcase your skills as a sect leader. And as my sworn brother.”

Jin Ling moved up behind him and caught him by the arms again, halting his abuse of the poor rug. “But how,” he asked again. “I’m already doing what I can.”

“I know, which is why none of this makes sense!” Jingyi huffed, frustrated, and heard the echo of his friends’ callous words in his mind again. “Maybe… it’s just our relationship that’s the problem?”

“Because I’m not worthy of you?” Jin Ling wondered and Jingyi hated that he sounded like he believed that. “Or because we didn’t announce our intentions from the start?”

“Maybe…” Jingyi gave him that, though it didn’t feel correct. Then again, none of this did. “Maybe… maybe we need to stop this.”

Jin Ling flinched and he wanted to kick himself at the pain that flashed through those eyes he loved so much. “You just said -”

“Not for real!” Jingyi spun in his arms and covered Jin Ling’s mouth, pleading. “Just, hear me out. We pretend they are wrong, that we aren’t together. You are my sworn brother and the sect leader of the Jin. Let that be what they see and not what we didn’t tell them. We can figure out the rest as it comes, but if we can show them how good we work together without our courtship in the mix, then maybe they’ll be more open to us being together in the future?”

Jin Ling sighed and kissed his palm, a sign to remove it. Jingyi did, already hating the plan, but really, what other choice did they have?

“And how exactly are we supposed to pretend that?” Jin Ling asked, deadpan. “That we haven’t already done?”

He was clearly not happy with the plan, which could be a problem. There were few men in the world as bull headed as Jin Ling.

“Don’t worry, I have some rules to guide you along,” Jingyi said and tiptoed to kiss him again, this time softly on the lips. Gods, would this be the start of the last of their kisses for the rest of the Conference?

“Rules,” Jin Ling echoed, amused, and Jingyi smacked his stomach lightly.

“Yes,” he huffed, nose in the air, and stepped back all the further, voice dipping into the register he used when he taught the juniors back at home. “Rule number one: stop with the flowers.”

Jin Ling laughed. “I only give you those in secret.”

“And I’m too happy afterwards!” Jingyi put his hands on his hips, fighting his own smile to hear Jin Ling laugh so freely. Honestly, how could anyone not fall in love with such a man? Gods’ sake. “It’s suspicious.”

“Fine, no more flower giving,” Jin Ling rolled his eyes and Jingyi nodded, satisfied.

“Rule two: don’t flatter Zewu-jun and Old Master Lan more than you do everyone else. That could be seen as currying Lan favor, which we don’t want.” When Jin Ling nodded, more serious that time, Jingyi knew he was on to something. “Rule three: try not to laugh at my jokes. I know I’m amazing at them, but if you laugh too hard then people will know you’re biased.”

Another amused eyebrow. This time, when Jin Ling crossed his arms, it was all teasing. “And just who laughs at your jokes?”

“Rule four!” Jingyi raised his voice a little as he hurriedly ran over that nonsense, getting a fond chuckle from the man. He told himself he wasn’t puddling on the spot. “No gazing at me for too long. Rule five: no sighing, either, lest you sound like your love-struck Uncle Wei.”

Jin Ling snorted at that. “I’ll try to refrain,” he said, dry, but his eyes had grown soft, very much already breaking rule four. Jingyi sighed, then wanted to smack himself for breaking rule five. Damn it.

“Rule Six,” Jingyi continued, determined, but as Jin Ling drew in close again he felt too soft, too wanting, because Jin Ling was already breaking rule six and that was not good for his heart. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Jingyi licked his lips and forced himself to look away. “Like you love me.”

Jin Ling pressed a kiss to his shoulder, softening him further, and Jingyi had to push him away before he was derailed entirely. “Stop it, I said,” he huffed, tapping Jin Ling’s nose like he was a bothersome child. “Rule Seven: stop collecting weird things that remind you of me.”

A laugh. “Like what?” Jin Ling said, like he didn’t totally horde the random paper animals Jingyi folded, or his calligraphy brushes or his extra jade pendants. Ridiculous man!

He told him as such and held out a hand, gesturing to where one of those very pendants swung off his belt. “Give it back.”

Jin Ling looked pained and he immediately felt bad for it, but refused to take the words back. It was for the greater good, after all. “A-Ling. I’m sorry, but if they suspect -”

“Here then,” Jing Ling pressed the pendant into his hand, an old good luck charm he’d given to him at the start of their courtship, during an archery tournament. He’d never seen it off Jin Ling’s belt since.

Guilty, Jingyi held it to his chest and wondered why this suddenly felt even more wrong. Why did he have to force the man he loved to give more of their relationship up to secrecy, just because of the opinions of others? If Jin Ling’s reputation wasn’t at risk, he’d never -

“I have some rules too, since you seem so firm on this,” Jin Ling broke through his thoughts, and that smile on his face was nothing but trouble. Jingyi narrowed his eyes at him immediately.

“Oh?”

“So suspicious,” Jin Ling said, voice a near purr, and stepped into him, closer and closer until Jingyi had to move backwards to not be crowded. In no time, his back was to the wall and he felt his stomach swoop. It was all too clear by that pleased gleam in his eye, Jin Ling was more than aware of what he was doing. “If you get to regulate my actions, it’s only fair I get to do the same to yours.”

It was fair, damn it, but that didn’t mean Jingyi had to trust it. He crossed his arms, preparing. “Let’s hear them then.”

“Rule one: don’t praise me overmuch,” Jin Ling said and yes, he was definitely enjoying this. Asshole. “I know I’m charming, but what will people think if you started to show favoritism?”

Jingyi smacked him in the stomach again, getting another laugh, then Jin Ling’s hand was beside his head on the wall and he was leaning in, body bracketing his own and effectively stuttering out his brain a moment.

“Rule two: don’t think you can get away with looking so damn beautiful and not having me break your stupid rule five and six,” he huffed and Jingyi was pretty sure he was blushing from head to toe at his words. Jin Ling smirked in victory, then moved in closer, forehead pressing to Jingyi’s ribbon. “Rule three: no dragging me out at some ungodly hour because it’s raining and you want to dance in it.”

Jingyi sputtered. “That was one time! The music in the rain woke me up!”

Jin Ling laughed, full and sweet, and took Jingyi’s hands. He knew, right then, that all his rules were about to be ignored, at least tonight, and felt his body sizzle in response.

“Rule four: be careful how often you touch me, even if it’s just my arm. It’ll give me ideas,” Jin Ling warned, sincere about it, and lifted Jingyi’s hand to his lips. “What if I start holding your hand because of those ideas?”

“You’re impossible,” Jingyi huffed, stepping on his foot in retaliation. Jin Ling winced, but kept on grinning, and in the next moment he had Jingyi pulled in and balanced on his feet.

He was swept around in a dance and it took everything in him not to bark out an embarrassed, adoring laugh. Jin Ling had no such issue.

“And we definitely can’t dance like this,” Jin Ling goaded, breath hot against his ear, and Jingyi maybe wanted to punch him for how perfectly romantic he was being, even if he was insufferable about it too. Damn it, damn it. “What will people think then, seeing me breaking all your rules in one fell swoop?”

“That we’re in love,” Jingyi sighed, wilting, before he was kissed, slow and soft, and nothing else seemed to matter.

“I can only promise I’ll try,” Jin Ling said, sighing too, and Rule Five was doomed to be forever broken, wasn’t it? “For you, I’ll try.”

“It’ll work. It has to.” Jingyi just wished he could care about it much more, but then he was being kissed again, and again, and in feeling like they were the last for a long time to come, he fell into them, greedily stealing them all.

This was going to be the longest Conference of his life.

#ruenwrites #people will say we're in love au #jinyi #jin ling #lan jingyi #they are in their twenties here #the untamed

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