#Woodworking Plans Patterns

[woodworkplans4u]

https://bit.ly/tedswoodwork16k

Here an honest review of how teds woodwork helped Jon with learning woodwork and how he has been able to make wood projects of his own with the guide book and ready done for you plans. See the link for more details.

#beginner woodworking #beginners woodworking plans #beginning woodworking plans #woodworking tips #woodworking tools #woodworking machines #woodworking equipment #woodworking supplies #woodworking store #woodworking materials #woodworking hardware #woodworking projects #woodworking project #woodworking project plans #woodworking plans #furniture woodworking plans #woodworking designs #woodworking patterns #woodworking crafts #woodworking kits #woodworking rack #woodworking stand #woodworking storage #woodworking benches #woodworking chair #woodworking cabinets #woodworking furniture #woodworking class #woodworking magazine #woodworking magazines

[sabersandsnipers]

Halsin Building a Crib

@inmyloveworld continues to feed our shared Halsin obsession

The thought wakes you from a deep sleep. You sit straight up in bed, a small panic gripping you. Halsin stirs beside you at the sudden motion.

"Halsin," you gasp, grabbing his massive bicep. He sleeps on his stomach, face buried in his pillow.

"Hm?" he mumbles.

"Where is the baby gonna sleep? We don't have a crib or anything!" Your voice is both a whisper and a scream.

His eyes crack open a bit at the concern in your voice. His large hand slides over your swollen belly, rubbing slow circles along your taut skin. "Don't worry about that right now, love. We'll figure it out."

His words do little to satisfy your worries. But you listen to your husband and lay back down. He keeps his hand on your belly. The act is almost protective.

Little to your knowledge, Halsin immediately begins plans in his head to build a crib. His woodworking skills give him the expertise to build a safe space for your baby to sleep.

He gets to work first thing in the morning, after making you your favorite breakfast. He leaves your shared cabin and sets out to the thick forest surrounding your home.

His first task, and perhaps the most important one, is to find the perfect tree. He takes his time in choosing, taking in the height, width, and ensuring he'll have enough material to work with. Once he finds what's he's looking for, he sets to work.

He grabs his axe and begins swinging. He’s quick to work up a sweat, so he peels his shirt off and tosses it into the wheelbarrow next to him. The strain in his muscles is a welcome one. Even as more years wear on his bones, he always finds solace in a hard day’s work.

In the midst of the continuous swinging motion of his axe, his mind wanders. And, of course, it always wanders to you. He thinks back to the moment you shared with him your belief you were pregnant, and the joy that rang through him at your words. He thinks of the first time he felt the baby kick, and how he felt the overwhelming need to protect you two.

Throughout his long life he's always known he wanted to be a father. But the world is cruel, and after all the events he had been through, he never thought he would get the chance to share this kind of life with someone. Until he met you. Singlehandedly being the most exceptional creature he ever laid eyes on, he was eager to start a family with you. And you were happy to give him that gift.

Once the tree has been felled and cut into workable pieces, his hands are quick to work. He shapes the pieces into their desired sizes. He carves patterns into the wood.

The sun is nearly setting by the time he’s finished. His back aches but he can’t stop the smile on his face as he admires his work. He knows you’ll be expecting him about now. He told you he was going out to hunt for the day.

You’re curled up in front of the fireplace when Halsin returns, a warm mug of tea in your hands. You hear his heavy footsteps outside the door and excitement sings within you. Your heart already aches to see him even after spending the morning together.

He swings the door open, shirtless and sweaty and covered in wood shavings. Butterflies race through you at the sight.

“What on earth have you been doing?” You ask him, a little breathless due to the sight before you.

He grins. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Your heart flutters at his words. He disappears outside for another second, before carrying in a beautiful crib. Your jaw drops as you stand and make your way over to the gorgeous work set in front of you.

You slide your fingers along the smooth finish, appreciating its sturdy structure. Images of ducks and bears are carved into its siding, and the sight of it nearly brings tears to your eyes.

“I don’t know what to say, Halsin,” you tell him. You meet his gaze, and there’s a slight tinge of red to his cheeks. A shy Halsin is a rare sight, and you’re overwhelmed with the need to hold him.

You step forward and place a long kiss to his cheek. His hands instinctively find their way to your belly. Once you’re able to see pull yourself from the warmth of his skin, you pluck a wood shaving from his dark hair. A small laugh leaves his lips.

“Thank you,” you say, gratitude surging through you.

He grasps one of your hands and brings it to his lips. “You and the baby are my world now. I would do anything for you.”

A sweet feeling stirs within you. After the horrors of your past, you never thought you could find a life of peace. Yet here you are, living a life with Halsin, and growing the promise of a future inside you.

#bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #halsin #halsin imagine #halsin x reader

[amygdalae]

"The franchise and the virus work on the same principle: what thrives in one place will thrive in another. You just have to find a sufficiently virulent business plan, condense it into a three-ring binder--its DNA--xerox it, and embed it in the fertile lining of a well-traveled highway, preferably one with a left-turn lane. Then the growth will expand until it runs up against its property lines.

In olden times, you'd wander down to Mom's Cafe for a bite to eat and a cup of joe, and you would feel right at home. It worked just fine if you never left your hometown. But if you went to the next town over, everyone would look up and stare at you when you came in the door, and the Blue Plate special would be something you didn't recognize. If you did enough traveling, you'd never be at home anywhere.

But when a businessman from New Jersey goes to Dubuque, he knows he can walk into a McDonald's and no one will stare at him. He can order without having to look at the menu, and the food will always taste the same. McDonald's is Home, condensed into a three-ring binder and xeroxed. "No surprises" is the motto of the franchise ghetto, its Good Housekeeping seal, subliminally blazoned on every sign and logo that make up the curves and grids of light that outline the Basin.

The people of America, who live in the world's most surprising and terrible country, take comfort in that motto. Follow the loglo outward, to where the growth is enfolded into the valleys and the canyons, and you find the land of the refugees. They have fled from the true America, the America of atomic bombs, scalpings, hip-hop, chaos theory, cement overshoes, snake handlers, spree killers, space walks, buffalo jumps, drive-bys, cruise missiles, Sherman's March, gridlock, motorcycle gangs, and bungee jumping. They have parallel-parked their bimbo boxes in identical computer-designed Burbclave street patterns and secreted themselves in symmetrical sheetrock shitholes with vinyl floors and ill-fitting woodwork and no sidewalks, vast house farms out in the loglo wilderness, a culture medium for a medium culture."

--Neal Stephenson, Snow Crash

#Snow Crash #interesting... (Snow Crash is a cyberpunk novel written in the 90s if you arent familiar) #long post

[tudtuds]

Hi! While I was developing Casa Caipira, the barbecue area, I thought that would be awesome to see more historical Brazilian architecture representation at the game. My 14yo Simmer tried it at the time but didn't have the skills that my today yo Simmer has.

So, here is the facade set.

The Items

There are 31 items in this set;

All Items are BG Compatible;

All items are color tagged;

Polycounts compatible with the game standards;

Stone, Plaster, and Wood textures were made by me (and I'm really proud of them);

There are a bunch of swatches with unique color combinations. Windows and Doors has 56+swatches;

Windows and Doors will work better on Medium and Tall walls;

The friezes are decor items that need to be placed one by one, but I made a 1x1 and a 3x1 module to help cover bigger areas; They were configured to work as roof finish;

Best Search Terms

"Tuds Caipi" , "Caipi Build" , "Brazil"

Download

patreon.com/TudTuds (Eary Access until December 23rd)

Follow Me

instagram.com/tud.tuds twitter.com/TudTuds

Thank you so much! Tuds More about inspirations and Items list down below.

Planning and Inspiration

I started focusing on the rural historical houses but as the set planning evolved I added more and more elements that mostly will be found in urban houses, like the Muxarabi.

I talked about this woodwork at the cross set and now I was able to reproduce the original pattern. This element was used in the doors and windows of the colonial buildings to allow privacy.

There was a time when a big number of houses has it on the facade but the Portuguese King came to Brazil and ordered to remove all of it. Some still can be found mainly on the two biggest final inspirations for the facade set, Paraty and Ouro Preto.

The other thing from the urban area is the arched doors and windows. In rural areas, most of the windows and doors of the remaining house have a flat top while in urban houses it is arched.

I couldn't create both styles in one month so this is part one of the Casa Caipira build set. The second part will not be released next month. I need to take a break of build items.

Items List

Doors

Arched Door 2x3 - Muxarabi | 56 Swatches - 521$

Arched Door 2x3 Open - Muxarabi | 56 Swatches - 522$

Arched Door - Panel | 56 Swatches - 523$

Arched Door Open - Panel | 56 Swatches - 524$

Arched Door - Glass | 56 Swatches - 525$

Arched Door Open - Glass | 56 Swatches - 526$

Arched Door 1x3 - Panel | 56 Swatches - 221$

Arched Door 1x3 - Muxarabi | 56 Swatches - 222$

Arched Door 1x3 - Window | 56 Swatches - 223$

Arch 1x3 | 14 Swatches - 45$

Arch 2x3 | 14 Swatches - 45$

Windows

Arched Windows 1x3 | 62 Swatches - 221$

Arched Windows 1x3 - Glass | 62 Swatches - 222$

Arched Windows 1x3 - Glass Open | 56 Swatches - 223$

Arched Windows 1x3 - Muxarabi | 56 Swatches - 223$

Decorations

Arched Door Trim 1x3 | 7 Swatches - 70$

Arched Window Trim 1x3 | 7 Swatches - 70$

Arched Door Trim 2x3 | 7 Swatches - 70$

Arched Window Trim 2x3 | 7 Swatches - 70$

Stone Lintel 1 | 7 Swatches - 70$

Stone Lintel 2 | 7 Swatches - 70$

Roof Finish - Corner | 25 Swatches - 15$

Roof Finish - Inner | 25 Swatches - 15$

Roof Finish - Middle 1x1 | 25 Swatches - 15$

Roof Finish - Middle 3x1 | 25 Swatches - 15$

Balcony Muxarabi 2x1 | 20 Swatches - 225$

Balcony Muxarabi 3x1 | 20 Swatches - 235$

Wallpapers

Whitewashed Plaster and Wood - With Trim | 13 Swatches - 4$

Whitewashed Plaster and Wood | 13 Swatches - 4$

Whitewashed Plaster and Stone With Base | 7 Swatches - 8$

Whitewashed Plaster and Stone | 7 Swatches - 8$

#ts4mm #ts4 maxis match #ts4cc #ts4 build #ts4 simblr

[vodika-vibes]

Nimble Fingers

Summary: You've never been a crafty person...but Jesse makes you want to try.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Jesse x F!Reader

Word Count: 2019

Warnings: Fluff

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I had Jesse ping-ponging around my brain, so I had to write him before I can write anyone else. Sorry.

You stare at the lumpy, misshapen thing in your hands, and you sigh, “Nana, I don’t think I’m going to be able to do this.” You finally admit.

The older woman hurries over to you, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla following her into your space. She takes the thing (it’s supposed to be a sweater) out of your hands and looks at it through critical eyes, “It’s not…terrible, sweetie.”

“Nana.”

“You’re new at this, baby. You can’t expect it to be perfect on your first try.”

“I…” You sigh, “I know, Nana. I do. But-”

“-but you want it to be perfect for your boy?” Your Nana asks with a sly smile.

Your face heats and you drop your gaze, “Maybe I’m just not made for crafts-?”

“Nonsense. Everyone can create.” She says briskly, before she tosses the misshapen sweater into the pile of half finished projects, “But, perhaps we should have started with something easier.”

You cross your legs on the chair and wait for her to finish her thought.

“Let’s try quilting!”

“...isn’t that harder?” You ask dryly, “On account of the fact that I don’t know how to sew?”

“Nonsense, that’s what sewing machines are for! On your feet, my little Orange Blossom!” For such a tiny woman, she’s remarkably strong as she’s able to leverage you out of your seat and drag you from the living room and into her quilting room.

The Quilting Room is filled with just about every type of fabric that you can imagine, and several that you’ve never once considered. And there are dozens of quilts in bags to be delivered to the people who ordered them. And there’s one sitting on a drying rack.

“This is new, nana.” You note as you eye the pale yellow and green blanket.

“Oh, yes. Your brother asked me to make a blanket for the baby.” She moves some crates out of the way, “Here you go, darling. Have a seat.”

Obediently, you slide into the chair, and look at the sewing machine, suddenly feeling a lot younger than your almost 25 years, “Nana-”

“Hush, I’m going to teach you how to use it. First we have to plan what we’re sewing.” She pauses and glances at your slightly overwhelmed face, and she laughs, “Okay, how about we take a step back, and just pick on colors and a pattern for a blanket, hm?”

“Well…blue and white for the colors,” You say, thinking about Jesse’s armor colors, “And I don’t know about patterns-?”

“We’ll do something very basic then-” She mumbles as she scurries around the room. Your nana returns with an armful of cloth and a box of supplies, “Alright. So, quilting-” And she starts to lecture you on how to quilt.

10 minutes in, your eyes are wide and slightly panicked, and you turn your frantic gaze to your grandfather, who’s been listening for about five minutes.

“You’re overwhelming the girl, Jyll.” Your grandfather scolds.

“Honestly, this is really basic-” She huffs.

“Basic for you, perhaps. But she’s not done this before.” Your grandfather lightly claps your shoulder, “Come with me, girlie.” 

You scramble to your feet after him, and he leads you through the house to his own workroom, which smells like different types of woods. Your grandfather is a woodworker, though now he doesn’t make as much furniture as he used to, preferring to make vanity pieces now.

“Now, you want to make a present for that nice young man you introduced to us at dinner last week, right?” He asks as he settles in his chair with a groan, “Jesse, is his name, right?”

“Yeah.” You turn your gaze away from a carved tooka that looks like it’s going to spring to life and jump at you, “He doesn’t have things, and I just want to give him something-” You sigh, “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

He kicks a stool over to you, and you sink onto it.

“Not at all.” He smiles at you, “Your nana made me a blanket when we first started dating all those years ago, and I still have it. It was my most cherished possession…right up until she gave me your mother and uncle.”

You smile at him, “That’s sweet.”

“It is.” He agrees, “And, unless I’m greatly overestimating your boy, I think he’ll be happy with anything you give him, especially if you make it.”

“But, that’s the thing.” You say, “I can’t make things!”

“You think he’ll treasure it any less because it’s a little lumpy or misshapen?” Your grandfather asks with an arched brow, and your argument dies on your tongue.

Because he’s right, of course. He generally is.

“How about we carve something for your boy. Something he can wear around his neck maybe.” He strokes his beard for a moment, “Come over here, lass. Let’s find a good wood for this.”

It’s been two weeks since the day you finished the simple wooden ring with your grandfather. You carved the whole thing yourself, under his supervision, and then left it with him so he can treat it and find a cord for it to hang from.

But it’s finally done.

You used a pale colored wood, and carefully (but clumsily) carved your name and Jesse’s inside the band, while the outside is covered in vines. And the ring itself is hanging from a leather cord.

It’s not perfect. There are some obvious mistakes to the carvings, but your grandfather swore up and down that Jesse will love it, mistakes and all.

So here you are, waiting for Jesse in your apartment, with the small box holding his present on the table next to you, and dinner finishing up on the stove.

The box is something your grandfather made, claiming that all men need a good box to store their valuables in, and no amount of talking would convince him that Jesse doesn’t have any valuables. There’s also another smaller box inside the box, though your grandparents refused to tell you what was in it, claiming that it’s a present for Jesse and that you’re not allowed to look.

You learned a long time ago that your grandparents will do whatever they want, so you didn’t push too hard.

The familiar sound of your door code being entered reaches your ears, and you step into the hallway just as the door slides open. Jesse looks exhausted, but all of the exhaustion drains away when he sees you standing there.

“Cyare!”

You grin at him, “Welcome back,”

Jesse sets his helmet down on the shelf next to the door, and then he holds his arms out so you can throw yourself into them. “I missed you,” He says warmly as he folds you into a tight hug.

“You saw me this morning,”

“I know, a whole 12 hours without being able to see you, it’s practically torture.” Jesse says dramatically, before he pulls away and kisses the tip of your nose, “How was your day?”

“It wasn’t bad. I saw Nana and Grandpa today. They missed you at lunch.”

“I’m sorry I had to dip out on them,” Jesse says, releasing you so he’s able to remove his armor, “I talked to Rex, and barring a surprise deployment, I might be able to make it next week.”

“They’ll be thrilled.” You reply, “Mona is close to popping, and they want you there to meet the baby. I think my sister-in-law likes you more than me.” You add with a laugh.

“Now, I know that isn’t true.” Jesse says easily as he finishes pulling his armor off and rolls his shoulders, “Dinner smells amazing, what are you making?”

“Oh, I’m just warming up some of the stew Nana made for lunch. It’ll be a little bit before it’s done if you want to change?”

“Hm. Might not be a bad idea,” He rolls his head, “I’m going to grab a shower too,” Jesse glances at you and flashes a mischievous smile, “Wanna join?”

“Only if you want dinner to burn,” You counter, before you step closer to him and stand on your toes to kiss him, “I have a surprise for you when you’re done.”

“Oh?”

“Go shower, it’ll hold.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jesse kisses you three times in quick succession, before he steps around you and heads to the bedroom. You wait until you hear the water turn on, before you step back into the kitchen.

You glance at the stew, and try to smother your nerves, but finally it gets the better of you, and you open the box to pull out the ring you carved him. It’d be better if you gave it to him personally anyway.

You curl your hand around the ring, and move back to the stove to make sure that the dinner won’t burn.

Jesse emerges from the bedroom less than ten minutes later, and he immediately slides his arms around your waist and kisses the side of your neck. 

“Feel better?”

“Much.” Jesse presses another kiss to your neck, and then he turns your head to kiss you properly, “Your shower does wonders in working out my muscle soreness.”

You laugh, “That is why I bought it.” You glance at him with a broad grin on your face, “If you’re nice, maybe I’ll give you a massage tonight.”

“I can be nice.” Jesse says immediately.

You just grin at his predictable answer, and then you nod towards the table, “Everything in the box is for you. Including the box.”

Jesse glances at the table and releases you, allowing you to turn and join him at that table. He curiously runs his fingers over the fine wooden box, “He carved a star map into the box.” Jesse says, sounding surprised, “Leading back to…huh…”

You tilt your head curiously and Jesse flashes an amused smile, “It’s more than a star map. It’s a road map back to here. This apartment. In case I can’t find my way home, I guess.”

You laugh softly, “That sounds like him.”

He opens the box, and pulls out the other box with an amused quirk of his lips. Slowly he opens the box, and his jaw drops, “Babe, I can’t accept this-” He blurts.

“What is it?”

“Uh…well…” He turns the box towards you, revealing a very nice watch. Actually, it looks almost identical to the watch your brother got when he reached the age of majority. “This is too much-”

“Check the back of the watch,” You offer with a small smile.

Jesse eyes you suspiciously, but flips the watch and stares at the back of it silently for a moment. And when he speaks there’s something fragile in his voice, “Welcome to the family, Jesse. Love Nana and Pa.” He reads out, his voice slightly shaky. “Babe-”

“I didn’t know that they were going to do that,” You say quietly, “But I’m not surprised. My family loves you.” A smile lifts your lips, “Almost as much as I do.”

Jesse slides the watch around his wrist, and it fits perfectly, “I love it.” He admits quietly, “I don’t know how I’m going to thank them for this.”

“A simple thank you will be enough, Jesse. You’re family now, after all.” You pause and bite your lower lip, your gift really doesn’t compare to a watch, but you want to give it anyway. “I have a present for you too.”

He turns his gaze away from the watch and focuses his attention on you, “You do?”

“I…It’s not a watch,” You offer sheepishly, “And it’s not very well made, I’m not really crafty-” You trail off as you pull the ring from your pocket and hold it out to him. 

Jesse takes it from you, and slowly runs his fingers over it, “You made this?” He asks, his voice hushed.

“Yeah, I mean. Grandpa helped a lot. And it’s not perfect, and it you don’t like it-”

“I love it.” He interrupts a broad grin on his face, “Did you do the carvings too?”

“Um…yeah.” You admit, “they’re a little wonky-”

Jesse drapes the ring around his neck and slides his chair so he’s sitting right next to you, “I love it. I love you.”

Your face heats, “I just wanted to show you how much I love you-,” You admit.

You’re unable to finish your sentence as Jesse crashes his lips against yours, “I love it.” he repeats against your lips, “So much. Almost as much as I love you.”

You kiss him gently, “I love you too.”

#star wars #tcw #arc trooper jesse x reader #jesse x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic

[m0zzzzz]

GET SAM AND MAX HEADCANONED (because I have no art to post due to sudden art block 💔💔)

Sam:

- mid-late 20s in Hit The Road, 34 in everything else (sticking with the time travelling Sam and Max theory I made, it's canon in my head)

- trans, aroace spectrum and bi. why? because I said so (also I think Sam considering the name Tyrone before Max suggested Sam is funny)

- has autism, at one point he was EXTREMELY hyperfixated on animals and wanted to work in a pet store, then he discovered 40s detective movies and he was like "OK NEW CAREER PLAN"

- on the topic of autism he mainly verbal stims like his long ass speech patterns he does when he's surprised

- surprisingly really good at drawing, even Sam doesn't know where he learnt it (I think this one was proven to be canon in tdp)

- basically just steals really vital evidence from crime scenes with the excuse of "we might need this later" (they will never need that later)

- Geek made him and Max watch spiderverse, he's now a spider noir and spiderham stan

Max

- late 20s in Hit The Road, 35 in everything else

- gay and aroace spectrum (SAM AND MAX ARE IN A QPR AND NOBODY CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE)

- took woodwork classes in high school

- REALLY likes cowboys. idk why I just feel like he'd like cowboys

- (this is more like my interpretation of alt tdp but whatever) Max basically went through a depressive/psychotic episode during 303, pretending Sam was still alive when he damn well knew he wasn't

- he's also autistic because I'm autistic and I kin him (corn dogs are a comfort food)

- when he has to wear clothes he'll either go all out or dress like Adam Sandler, no in between

- die hard Santa believer, freaked out when he found out Santa was real in 201

- Geek introduced Max to Tomodachi Life, he instantly fell in love with it (he's pissed about the gay couples not being allowed in the game tho, so he got Miitopia so him and Sam could be in a relationship in the game)

thank you for coming to my Ted talk

#sam and max #sam and max freelance police #freelance husbands #sam and max freelance husbands #samandmax #headcanon #headcanons #go go gadget random bullshit!!!! #most of these i made up on the spot

[saintmurd0ck]

moth to a flame

masterlist

pairing: charlie "lucky" luciano x f!reader

summary: time, space and even circumstance aren't enough to separate the two of you. and when you do eventually reunite, the plans are set into motion in the best way.

warnings: yearning, charlie luciano's pretty mouth, alcohol, cigarettes, kissing, m!receiving oral, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good things

a/n: based off of that one scene in s1 ep6 (iykyk) that i cannot get out of my mind. dedicated to @murdock-and-the-sea for getting me caught up in this bullshit 💗

glossary: dolcezza = sweetheart

There was always something wondrous about Charlie’s girl.

The exclusivity, the lack of labels for whatever that relationship became never mattered. Because even on days where things took a turn at every second, when sleep — or life — was never guaranteed, she was the kind of solid permanence that’d ease his mind. And, in almost all cases, make him hard, but that’s a story for a little later.

Lucky Luciano, they called him. He earned that goddamn nickname, but it was ironic, because it only really stuck when you were around. It wasn’t clear as to how you made this happen, or if it was some kind of recurring fluke, but you just had that effect on him: the kind where all of a sudden his operations would go down without a hitch, where law enforcement happened to look the other way rather than come knocking at his door. His pockets would become heavier, his enemies would come crawling out of the woodwork, and things just worked out. Even Lansky agreed — you were good for business, and Charlie’s spirits. 

As much as you were a tether in his life, the fractal patterns began to fall into place. Simply put: you’d go through the motions, things would get rocky, and then you’d pull away. It wasn’t that being with him was bad for you, per se, but rather a constant whirlwind of emotion, with so much left to the unknown. You never knew if he’d come home that night, because he was probably out doing Rothstein’s bidding three cities away, or, and this scared you most of all, if he’d realise the true power he possessed deep within. He had the makings of a great leader; an orchestrator, a divine influence, rather than a foot soldier. Charlie wasn’t made to be muscle, or a gunman in some boss’ grand scheme. You knew that when push came to shove, he’d one day call the shots. You were terrified of being left in the dust — stranded, abandoned — with nothing but a broken heart and feelings for a man who would have the world at his fingertips.

And, to your consternation, you couldn’t actually figure out what kept you coming back for more. 

You weren’t sure if what you had was love; at least, it wasn’t the kind you’d read about in books, or heard discussed in hushed tones amongst your innocent friends. You weren’t even in it for the money, the status, or the protection he could provide. That had always seemed so trivial to you.

Maybe it was the sex. It definitely wasn’t solely sex, because Charlie did make you laugh, and make you feel all the things you thought were supposed to happen when it came to courting. It was consistently the best sex you’d ever had, and he made sure you knew it. Your pleasure became his native language, and even so, he grew impossibly more fluent as time passed on.

It’s like he could read you; not the superficial mask you put on every single day, but through to the molten core underneath. It was the same the other way around. Charlie had Meyer, the perfect partner-in-crime, but only you understood his motivations. His intentions. His desires. Charlie could be safe around you; perhaps the only person with which he could let his guard down.

You could forget about sleeping with anyone else; you wished they were Charlie anyway. Sure, it made you feel like you were a bad person, but no-one compared. Nobody made you feel as good as Charlie Luciano. Whatever it was, you could never get him out of your mind. That was an impossible task, one that with the mightiest of efforts was still rendered futile. 

Hell, he didn’t even have to tell you where he was, because somehow, you’ve always found your way back to each other. 

And tonight was no exception.

Somewhere along the grapevine, you’d heard that he was back in Atlantic City, and all it took was one well-placed telephone call to confirm what you’d already known.

So when you find yourself traversing the halls of the Traymore Hotel, the door to the Executive Suite looming larger with every step, your decision is made in a split-second. There isn’t more to contemplate or to consider. You’re sure of it, the same way you’re sure that if you hold a flame to the end of a cigarette, it’ll catch alight. 

It’s clear now that neither of you are going anywhere anytime soon; at least, not from each other. Life with Charlie would be wildly unpredictable, and involve more running for cover than you wanted to admit, but saying he’s irresistible is an understatement in itself. That, and the fact that you’ve proven your worths to each other more times than you can count. There’s no need for deliberation. Not when you’ve got him, right in your grasp.

Your palms turn clammy at the first instance of the door swinging open, and you feel your eyes tear away from the opulence of the hotel — diving from the ornate wall trims and plush red carpets to settle on him instead.

The corner of his mouth quirks to the side as he looks you up and down, his gaze pinned to the woollen coat belted tightly across your waist, as if he knows exactly what you’re trying to conceal. You’ve missed that stare. His stoic, almost-arrogant posture. The genteel expressions masking the white-hot fury beneath. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart.” 

You breathe, willing your muscles to relax, doing your best to find your footing despite the fact that there is no way to calm your racing heart. Charlie has always made you weak at the knees, and it shows. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” he nods slowly, taking a sip of amber liquid from the glass he’s been holding in his hand. “Ongoing business with that Darmody fella. You know the one.”

You swallow dryly, running your tongue along your teeth. “Are you here to stay a while?”

“I dunno. That depends, don’t it?” He arches a thick eyebrow.

“Hm?” 

He downs the last of the whiskey, setting the glass down on the hallway entrance table, before taking a step towards you. Soon he’s so close that you can see the crease in his brow, the hint of stubble along his jaw. He cocks his head to the side as he approaches, letting his tongue flick out to wet his lips. “I’ll be here s’long as I need to. And when I go back to New York, I want you to come with.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t know exactly what you were expecting, but this is playing out far better than you could’ve envisioned. “You mean it?”

Charlie lets out a soft chuckle, thoroughly amused at the genuine surprise lining your features. “‘Course I do. And don’t you start talkin’ about it bein’ a bad idea.”

You smile furtively, feeling a warmth spread outwards from the centre of your chest. Out of all the things you’ve experienced in this life, one facet — one person — has always made sense, in its own way. “Wherever you go, I’ll go.”

Time seems to stand still for a moment. At your admission, your agreement, a glint appears in his hazel eyes — the kind that doesn’t need words to explain, but is communicated far better through actions. Biting down on his grin, and caring not to break eye contact, Charlie Luciano does as he has always done, and throws caution to the wind. 

His lips crash onto yours before you can think twice, his hands moving to cup your jaw, to tangle themselves in your hair. He steers you into the entryway table, impervious to the sound of it thumping against the wall, or the ornaments that get bumped out of the way. Gentleness is not an option right now, because you can’t get enough of him either. Not the faint scent of cigarettes and gunpowder, not the feeling of his solid body melding to yours. He closes whatever gap remains between the two of you as you slip your tongue into his mouth, relishing in the alcohol still coating his tastebuds. 

It feels good to kiss him. To be right here, where he is. 

Charlie nudges your chin upwards, trailing his kisses along the curve of your jaw to nip at your pulse. He moves with purpose, intending to touch every inch of bare skin that he can see, but he stops at your collarbone, stepping back with a smouldering look that promises nothing but trouble. 

“Say uh… you got somethin’ for me?” he smirks, hooking a finger into the knot you’ve tied at your waist.  

It’s the heat searing your face that tells all. 

He leans in to kiss you as he undoes the knot, deftly working to pull it apart. When the fabric goes slack, he doesn’t stop himself from yanking your coat open and pushing it off your shoulders. You wiggle out of it, letting the material fall into a crumpled heap on the floor. 

Charlie blows his breath out, surveying you like his life depends on it. “Dolcezza,” he grits, blinking at your naked body, save for a pair of lacy thigh high stockings. You sit back on your hands — as far as the shallow width of the table will let you — and spread your legs, moving your hips slowly until his eyes go glassy.

He sputters and shakes his head, moving right back to press his lips on yours. “You know,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb against the base of your neck, “I ain’t never met a broad as naughty as you.”

“Aw,” you croon, grabbing a hold of his vest and tugging him closer, “but you like it, don’t you?”

He groans into your mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist, allowing his hands to slide under your ass so he can hoist you up. It only takes him a few strides before he sets you down on the bed, climbing on top of you, bracketing your head with his forearms. His mouth doesn’t leave yours, and although he knows your body begs for release, to be touched anywhere else but this, he savours the sensation of your lips, of your body squirming underneath. Charlie isn’t a stranger to pleasure, but to savour it, to take his time, is a scarce luxury. 

You see the opportunity when Charlie relaxes his shoulders and releases the duvet crumpled in his fist. Using your hips for leverage, you roll on top of him, hissing as his erection makes contact with your pussy. Bracing your knees on either side of him, you lean forwards, leaving open-mouthed kisses along his neck as you unbutton his vest, and then the shirt underneath. He sits up, reaching to grip your thighs, taking a moment to flash you a playful grin while you get to work slipping his tie off, his vest, shirt and suspenders joining the pile of clothing on the ground shortly after. 

He grunts when your lips brush the hollow at the base of his neck, and the sound alone coils the tightness in your stomach to breaking point. You need him to fuck you, bad, but there’s no way you’re letting it happen before you take him in your mouth first. 

As you leap off of him and point to his slacks, it becomes a wordless exchange. It’s the careful tracking of your lust-blown pupils towards the outline of his cock, straining against the fabric, the pursing of his lips as you lean over him, naked and insistent. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, at the thought of how he’s going to feel inside you, and Charlie must be thinking the same, because it spurs you both into action. His slacks are gone before you can count to five, and along with them go your stockings, which he helps to remove while his teeth scrape your inner thighs. 

It feels like a dance; not something rehearsed, but a rhythm that falls into place in the most organic way. He leans against the bedpost with a hand wrapped around his cock, ever-aware of the precum gathering at the tip and the fact that you seem to be salivating already. You press yourself to him, leaving lingering kisses down from his neck to his torso, fingers trailing themselves in the dark curls that lead towards what you want the most. 

His hand reaches to squeeze your breasts, to swipe his thumb over your nipples, grunting in tandem with the moan you leave on his skin. You kneel before him, tracing patterns on his thighs with your tongue, working your way up until your mouth seals over his cock. He bites down on his lip as you start to move, his gold signet ring cool on your scalp when he cards his fingers in your hair. His eyes widen, almost uncomprehending at just how good you look with his length disappearing past your lips. 

Flattening a palm on his hip, you begin to increase the depth of your strokes, feeling the tip of him hit the back of your throat with a delicious ease. The grip in your hair tightens as you alternate the pressure, swapping between pressing your tongue against the sensitive underside and featherlight swirls on the head. His cock is heavy on your tongue in the best way, and with what your mouth can’t fit, your hand makes up for in synchronicity. Though your focus remains on his pleasure, you feel the heat of Charlie’s gaze burning down to your core. Despite his fluttering eyelids and the groans that grow in volume and frequency, he can’t tear away.

He’s always loved watching his girl work.

He feels a smug sense of satisfaction seeing you unable to fully wrap your fingers around his shaft, and at the fact that you’re so willing to spend this time making him feel good. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do the same for you — in fact, he’s dying to taste you, to lap you up with his tongue until you’re flooding his face with your arousal. It’s just that you were always the one to walk away first, so by having you here, choosing him and pleasing him without forethought… it feels as if it’s properly cemented the positions you now hold in each other’s lives, and what you’ve agreed to tonight.

“C’mere,” he rasps, breaking the string of saliva connecting himself to you, hauling you up to your feet. He plants his hand on your waist, driving you backwards into the bed, letting out a single taunting chuckle before knocking your knees apart with his leg. He stares at you, a wild and untapped look in his eyes, free from restraint. 

A mix of awe and undulating want runs through you, chilling you from your head to the base of your spine. “Are you gonna do something, Charlie? Or are you gonna make me wait all night?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, straightening at your comment. “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

A grin splits your face. “Prove me wrong.”

Charlie drags his hand up your folds, as if he’s marking his territory, an unruly smirk dancing across his lips at the wetness he finds there. He’s purposely stringing you along now, delaying his own gratification just enough to see your guard drop.

He sees you, wanting to retort, your mouth parting to form the words, but before you can say anything, think anything, he leans down and buries himself inside you with one sharp thrust. Cradling your head with his arm, he shudders into your body, growling at the sensation of you stretching out around him. He moves at a steady pace, his hands finding their place in your hair as if they’ve never left. 

“Charlie,” you whimper, squeezing around him, eyes rolling back in delirium because his cock feels so goddamn good. 

“Yeah,” he groans. “Wasn’t such a bad idea, huh,” he adds, whispering it down by your ear. “Showin’ up, like this.”

Your fingernails latch onto his back, and you wrap your legs around his waist in response. The sound of your moans echo throughout the spacious room, his far more audible than yours as he turns you to putty. Each stroke drives into that spot inside of you, punctuating your thoughts until you’re all-consumed, with him and only him on your mind. You’re not drifting off; you’re present in this moment, aware of not just how he feels for you, but of how good your pussy is for him. 

Tipping your head backwards, you press your lips to his, running your tongue along his bottom lip before slipping it inside his mouth. He runs a hand along your collarbone, palm resting at the base of your neck, deepening the kiss with every subsequent snap of his hips. It doesn’t take you long to raise your hips to match every thrust, or for your fingers to fumble in his curls — needing to grip his hair tightly, if only to bring him closer to you. 

Charlie’s eyes squeeze shut, his body tensing at how tight you are, how you feel like you were made for him. It’s obscene; the sound of him sliding in and out of your cunt, knowing that each movement is designated to bring you both closer to the edge. 

You yank his head back as you cum around his cock, surging upwards to bury your face in the crook of his neck. His groan reverberates through your chest, abs tightening against your stomach, and you lay panting despite the fact that he keeps going; a man on a mission to get you to unravel as many times as possible before he gives into himself. 

You find your release a few more times, with his mouth roving along the contours of your face down to the sensitive spot by your shoulder, before he pulls out and flips you onto your stomach. 

“On your hands and knees,” he commands, his voice gruff yet as smooth as molten honey. 

You catch yourself flashing him an insolent smile, but your body does as he says, your hands finding the brass metal railing at the foot of the bed. Like the good girl you are, you stick your ass up in the air, shuffling backwards until you find stability. The mattress dips as he climbs on, and you sneak a peek behind you, swallowing a moan at his ruffled hair, the brows furrowed in concentration, the sweat beginning to shine on his chest. Your pussy throbs at the absence of him, from that fullness you’ve grown deviously accustomed to.

He meets your eyes, the corners of his lips tugging upwards, and guides himself into you. His hips jerk uncontrollably as he’s enveloped by your heat, unable to contain the dulcet moans spilling from his lips. He fucks you with languid strokes, hinging forwards to plant kisses down your spine, all blissed out yet with so much more to give. 

“Fuck,” you grit, your knuckles going white from squeezing the railing. With the way your back is arched, and the sharp angle of his thrusts that grow more forceful by the second, it’s a wonder you’re able to function at all. He fucks you like he means it, as if to make up for all the lost time, for all the incidences when he thought it was going to be the last time he was inside you. 

A growl escapes from somewhere deep in Charlie’s chest as he picks up the pace, unrelentless in the way he’s driving into you. He grips your waist with both hands, fingers digging into your soft skin, frenetically crazed because all he wants to do is lose himself in you over and over and over again. 

You clench around him, utterly incoherent at the snug fit of his cock, and the way he has you balancing on a tightrope; ready to fall over at any given point in time. In combination with the haphazardly strewn sheets, the bed begins to rattle, smacking loudly against the back wall. Frankly, you couldn’t care any less, because Charlie’s hitting so deep it takes all of your effort not to scream, not to wake the entire hotel. 

Your moans turn breathier, higher in pitch, as your muscles begin to tighten again, your next orgasm building in exponential waves. The string of noise turns to a repetition of his name, and pleas for him to go with you when you cum. With every grunt, his cock drags along your walls faster, harder. Charlie hisses through his teeth, his movements becoming erratic, surrendering control of his rhythm to the sheer desire of filling you up. 

He wraps a thick forearm around your stomach, driving both down onto the bed. He manages a few more strokes, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, before exploding into you with a cry half-muffled by your skin. He takes you with him, of course, and your pussy is a vice that milks him for every last drop he has to give. He bottoms out, panting as he fucks his cum into you, the new position dangerously euphoric.  

You both remain there for a moment, content and satisfied with each other’s presence, shivering despite Charlie’s hot forehead pressed to your back. He slides out of you with a final grunt, reaching backwards for the silver cigarette case perched on the nightstand. It doesn’t take him long to light it, or to lay next to you with the cigarette clamped delicately between his teeth.

He takes a drag as he props himself up on his elbow, and you lean in to kiss him — first on the temple, then on the mouth, being careful to let him exhale first. “So, New York City, huh? Where are we going to live?”

Charlie’s eyes sweep over your body, and he breaks out into a roguish grin. “Eh, we’ll find somewhere. Close to business, to A.R.” He pauses to kiss you. “What about you?”

You scoff. “What about me? You know I’ll support you, wherever you need to be.”

“You’re too nice f’your own good sometimes.”

“Oh?” You narrow your eyes, tilting your head to the side. “S’that so? ‘Cause I could give you hell, if I wanted to.”

The challenge in his tone pools between your legs. “Yeah?” 

He puts out the cigarette in an instant so he can focus on dragging a hand up your side, stopping only when he gets to your breasts. Charlie moves closer, planting another chaste kiss to your lips. 

“‘Sides,” you continue, “I don’t think it matters what I do.” You don’t try to bite down on the mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Not when I’ve got all the luck I need.”

#charlie luciano x reader #charlie luciano #lucky luciano x reader #boardwalk empire #lucky luciano #charlie luciano smut #lucky luciano smut #rhi writes 💻 #x reader

[sharpen-your-hatchet]

Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 22

Description: Now aged 22, Wednesday Addams is an up-and-coming author. Her time at Nevermore is well behind her, and she is alone, and that suits her just fine...But when a 'new' neighbour shows up in her apartment building, she'll truly be tested on whether her "bad habit" of caring truly has been broken. (Hint: It hasn't.)  

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

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As someone who generally is hard to shame and rarely sees the purpose in justifying their actions to other people, Wednesday is not the kind of person to be embarrassed. To be embarrassed is not only a waste of time, it is a tool that has been historically used to keep women like Wednesday from acting differently – Purely from the fear of ridicule. Frankly, she cares not for it; never has.

If Wednesday wants to do something, she’ll do it, and commit to it fully. If other people do not approve? Well, It’s simply water off a ducks back. Completing her tasks and fulfilling her wishes are what Wednesday strives for above all else. She considers it a skill; one that makes her vicious and focused.

However, there are people who are an exception to this behaviour... People who Wednesday holds highly enough to recognise that her actions may need explanation. Not only this, she cares about how her actions may affect these people, and how their actions and feelings will affect her in return. For these fortunate few, Wednesday finds a deep seated humility… which consequently, does occasionally open the door to humiliation.

Much to her dismay.

So she finds herself now in the living room of her family home, burning a hole into the floor with her glare. Enid sits beside her on the couch, whilst Morticia is across the room, draped on a luxurious arm chair. Her mother is exactly the same as she remembers – All dark elegance, with a commanding presence that demands your attention. Despite it, Wednesday has barely said a word since she set foot into the house all but fifteen minutes ago; she cannot even bring herself to look her mother too closely in the eye. She simply keeps a tight grip on the cup of espresso that she nurses in her hand. And she glares.

Oh how she glares.

Despite what the situation would appear, Morticia has seemingly already moved past initially greeting them in such a -ahem- compromising position. As such, she happily drones away to Enid about how glad she is that they could visit on such short notice, taking extra care to note that she has some ‘truly delightful’ activities planned. Which frankly, could mean anything. Not that Wednesday has given it much extra thought since sitting down.

As for Enid… she is taking this in her stride as best she can – but it takes little to see when she is shaken up. In between the mild concern for her safety (as Morticia explains she’s tried to ensure all immediately lethal poisons are clearly labelled and/or locked away) alongside the painstaking awkwardness, Enid wears a slight flush on her cheeks that refuses to budge… but she perseveres with the conversation regardless. She offers earnest – if perhaps somewhat overcompensating - replies; asks questions of her own about the family, the home, etc. It is an admirable effort in all sense of the word.

Unfortunately, Wednesday herself tends to find her embarrassment expresses itself differently. She cannot twist it into a palpable nervous energy: she simply stews in it, much like anger….and so she seethes with a quiet abundance.

Wednesday sips at her coffee.

She continues to glare.

Although, after a moment she is stirred by Enid’s shoulder gently bumping into her own. Wednesday startles slightly and her eyes flash upwards from the swirling patterns of the woodwork floor. She looks to Enid with a questioning look. It dawns on Wednesday she has not been paying attention to any social cues indicating she should offer her input, and frankly has little idea what is going on. Considering her company, she realises she should probably care a little more.

Enid indicates to Morticia, who smiles at Wednesday fondly.

“My little Raven, Enid was just saying how hard you’ve been working on your novel.”

Wednesday’s eyes flit to her Mother, then back to Enid. She blinks. Wednesday then fixes her posture, pulling herself away from the whatever dissociation had swallowed her, and she nods.

“I have been working on it a lot,” Wednesday answers stiffly. “Though, it is not yet ready for anyone’s perusal except my own.”

Enid offers Wednesday weak smile, reaching out to gently give her hand a comforting squeeze. The familiar sparks that dance across her skin pull Wednesday further from her shell, and as she focuses a little more, her gaze coming to meet Enid’s, she notices a glint of uncertainty glistening in those eyes that usually seem so assured. Though Enid’s smile remains warm, soft; enticing like the dark moon on a cloudless night, there is a quiet plea in the way she stares – A silent request that Wednesday would otherwise miss on any other face…. But not Enid’s. Enid’s face is readable to her, like a familiar map of home.

Wednesday realises now that Enid is asking for her presence; her input, because even as a social butterfly, Enid is not infallible...and fuck, they’re both embarrassed right now, so they should probably face it together.

Wednesday turns her head back to her mother. As much as she would love to keep simmering in her own negativity, it is statistically beneficial to stir conversation further… and she knows exactly how.

“Not even Enid has seen it yet.”

There it is. The perfect little hook.

Morticia’s expression turns to one of intrigue. She leans forward slightly in her seat.

“Mmm,” She hums whimsically. “Does Enid know your pseudonym, then?”

“Not yet,” Wednesday replies coolly. “But she will, in due time.”

Enid glances at Wednesday again, smiling once more; wider this time – A silent ‘thank you’. Wednesday, naturally, does not smile back, but there’s a softening to her eyes that speaks for itself.

“I trust Wends to tell me things when she feels ready, y’know?” Enid adds.

Morticia looks between them. There is a measure of pride settling in her expression. She sips at her coffee, her dark analytical eyes accompanying a devilish expression – Whatever her thoughts, it is clear she is taking note of the change in Wednesday’s behaviour with an invested delight.

“Of course,” Comes her silken reply. “It is a testament of strength when such boundaries can be respected.”

And though Wednesday had thought her concern from earlier pushed aside due to more pressing matters, she finds a hint of relief at hearing her mother’s approving words. Of course, it shouldn’t be a surprise that Enid has curated such a reaction as she does nothing but pull the best out of a situation, but when your initial greeting is essentially getting caught in the act in the back of your parent’s extremely expensive car...Frankly, even for someone who enjoys the prospect of hope, it would be hard to inspire it. Let alone when it is Wednesday.

Then as Wednesday watches her mother, her own thoughts now ticking away, she feels a suspicion twinge at her gut. Morticia is thoughtful – yes – but in a way that seems expectant. Like how a person mulls over the results of an experiment. Wednesday begins to feel that perhaps her mother happening upon she and Enid in the car was not much of an accident after all.

Considering the convenient timing of it all, the way Lurch has quickly made himself scarce, alongside there not being a single sighting of Thing yet...Well, there’s certainly a few theories bouncing around Wednesday’s head now.

Regretfully, Wednesday might be a little bit impressed. Don’t be mistaken, Wednesday still finds it mortifying and invasive, but she will concede it’s incredibly smart of her mother to see how Enid and herself handle such an awkward situation – Enid in particular, being the recently appointed girlfriend and all.

If this is indeed what her mother has been up to, then it’s cruel...but certainly effective, and no doubt an incredibly Addams’ move to make.

As motivations go, Wednesday wishes she could be more upset about it. Although, the day is still young.

Morticia finishes her coffee. She gives a contented hum as she puts the empty cup onto the table beside her. Her gaze falls onto Enid.

“I must say Enid, you and Wednesday together is just as delightful as I remember. There are few in this world who understand us Addams’ and our… unique personalities, so it is a darling thing when we find someone who wants to remain in our company.”

“We can be testing to some people.” Wednesday agrees, though her tone is dry, as she offers her mother a deadpan glare. “In fact, sometimes we can be testing people’s limits without them even knowing.”

Wednesday continues to stare pointedly at her mother. Morticia keeps smiling but there’s a sharpness to her expression as she meets Wednesday’s eyes that says everything Wednesday needs to know. Of course. She should’ve figured it immediately...

Naturally, Enid seems a little confused. She lets out a small, unsure chuckle.

“Well there’s a lot more to Wednesday than meets the eye, I think most people just don’t see it.”

“I agree,” Morticia hums in reply, softening as she bares witness to Enid’s sincerity. She places a hand over her heart, sighing happily. “I truly am delighted for the both of you.”

Morticia then glances to the clock that sits on the wall. She stands, smoothing the lines that have formed in her dress before clasping her hands together in front of her. She gives a curt but knowing smile, before adding “Now, I will give you girls some time to settle in. I will be in the kitchen if you need me.”

She waltzes away, throwing a mischievous expression at Wednesday over her shoulder as she leaves the room.

And then, silence.

After a moment, Enid releases an audible sigh of relief and she slumps back into the couch. She flops her arms out dramatically, with one of her hands searching for Wednesday’s so she can interlink their fingers.

“I love your mom, Wends, but I totally forgot that she’s terrifying.”

Though Wednesday continues to glare at the spot where Morticia had sat, there’s a conflicting glint of amusement in her expression. She’s somewhere between impressed and pissed off with little idea of how to manage it, and little chance of explaining it either.

“She was testing us,” She admits.

“Oh my god,” Enid groans, a breathy nervous laugh escaping her. “She absolutely was. That makes so much sense.”

Wednesday turns her head to Enid. She then pulls their joined hands up, pressing a gentle kiss to Enid’s skin. There is still a grumble of something undignified that fizzles in Wednesday’s bones, but the gentle thrum of static that sparks against Wednesday’s lips does some work in displacing it. She will let herself be frustrated later, when she can catch her mother in a private moment.

“I believe we passed...With flying hues of grey.”

Enid smiles at that. She sits back up, leaning closer to Wednesday now, her expression shifting to something a little more confident; emboldened, even – The kind of look that had been missing from Enid’s face since they stepped foot into the house. It breathes a comfort into the room that Wednesday didn’t even know she had been searching for.

“So what you’re saying…” Enid muses, a hint of a smirk playing her lips. “Is that I win? Again.”

Wednesday pauses. She stares at Enid, holding her expression flat. Internally however, her chest tightens at the callback, an undeniable warmth settling in her lower stomach. She would say she could not believe Enid’s boldness, especially after what they just went through...but frankly, it would be a lie.

“You cannot be serious.” Wednesday deadpans.

But she knows better. She knows Enid is quite intentional this time around.

Enid then steals a quick kiss from Wednesday’s lips. She stands, making a quick dash towards the staircase that leads upstairs. In the momentary daze from the kiss, Wednesday forgets that Enid knows this house – it’s winding hallways, and supernatural quirks. More importantly, she knows where Wednesday’s room is, and as such, there should be little guessing for where she is headed.

Wednesday certainly warms to the idea of having some privacy after all that’s unfolded.

“C’mon Wends, let’s go settle in.” Enid says, her voice intentional and enticing. She hangs on the lowest steps of the staircase, holding her hands out as she waits for Wednesday to join her.

Wednesday needs little convincing, frankly. In between the whirlwind welcome home and their… unfinished business… A different kind of private moment seems rather enticing. She makes her way over to Enid, stopping just short of her, looking up at her due to the additional height the stairs offer. It reminds Wednesday of the time they visited the sushi restaurant; the way Enid lingered on the step, staring at her with those bright, dazzling eyes. This time – of course – Enid’s desire is less hidden; the subtle glances to each other’s lips beyond obvious. Wednesday mentions it, and Enid lights up.

“Well,” She whispers to Wednesday. “At least this time I can take you up to a bedroom, and give you that kiss I wanna give you so bad.”

Wednesday’s insides melt at the thought. Yeah, she’s absolutely not going to deny herself this on account of some lingering angst. She can be miserable some other time.

Wednesday takes Enid’s hand.

They head upstairs, with little plan to return soon.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Wednesday Netflix #fanfic #Ao3 #There's an authors note on AO3 but TL;DR I am heckin busy for the next two weeks so there may not be an update for a hot minute #sorry xoxo

[armory-rasa]

Hello! Is there any chance you would have the pattern for the Khorasan pouch available, paid or otherwise? I love the design and would like to make something similar. No worries if not, but either wsy, thanks for sharing your art (and your processes) with all of us! Also, thanks for the link to the museum, I hadn't seen their collection before. I got some good ideas for my next woodworking project too! Have a good day! :)

Yep! It's all digitized, and I was planning to make it available (...since the pouch itself is going to be out of most people's price range >_<), but I'm easily distractible so there's no telling when I would have gotten around that.

In the mean time, you can hit me up at [email protected] and we'll figure something out.

[imaginedreamwrite]

MUSHY SATURDAYYY

For Wearbear!Ari, maybe the reader knits him a jumper to wear whenever he has to go outside- she thinks "it's freezing in here, imagine out there" so she get to work trying to make him a jumper. It's a little miss matched , but Ari wears it with pride and tells everyone reader made it!!

The harsh touch of winter was felt deep in your bones despite the heat that radiated from the fireplace in the living room, the wail of the storm hitting the cabin had stirred a thought weeks ago, and as the same kind of storm had hit again, you completed the final row on the knitted sweater you had made for Ari. It had taken weeks of hiding the pattern and the knitting needles, weeks of hiding your project from his wandering eyes but now you were finally done.

And with its completion, you tossed the knitting needles aside and rose from the living room. Your bare feet padded along the floor as you moved toward the study he was in, drawing plans for another round of woodwork and carpentry projects he was going to comlete. When you had come to a stop in front of the office, you knocked on the door and listened to the squeak of the chair as he had rose to his feet, and opened the door with a twist of the handle.

“You okay, honeybee?” Ari leaned against the door frame and looked you over, settling on the folded sweater in your arms.

“I…made you something.” You wer nervous now, doubting your skills as the pattern was a little wonky and off, the rows not as tight as you neede them to be.

“You made me something?” Ari’s hand was already stretched out to grab the sweater, his blue eyes entranced by the material.

“I thought…it’s cold inside and when you go out, I don’t want you to get cold…so i made you a sweater.” You bit the inside of your cheek, thoughts betraying you as Ari unfolded the sweater and held it up to look at it as a whole. “if you don’t like it-“

“I love it.” He lowered the sweater, a bright and proud smile on his face that had matched the lightness of his eyes. “It’s perfect, honey.”

“You’re not just saying that?” Even as you asked him, Ari was already pulling the sweater over his head and pushing his arms through.

“This is my favourite sweater.” He had complimented again through his honey coated words and the gentility of his voice. “This is perfect, thank you honeybee.”

“Really?” You squeaked, bracing yourself against Ari when he slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you to his chest.

“Absolutely, “ Ari leaned in and kissed you softly, his lips moving against yours as he spun you toward the desk, trapping you between the wood and his body, “and I’m going to show you how grateful I am.”

[cosplayinamerica]

Winchester Mystery House Cosplayer @sayyadina42 Photographer: @wireheadarts @kylie.clark_makes.things Con: Silicon 2022 (San Jose, CA) Sarah Winchester was heiress to the Winchester rifle fortune. Her husband died of tuberculosis and afterwards she moved to San Jose, California. She bought a small farmhouse in 1886, and began adding onto it. She was basically a hobbyist architect, and in a time before building codes she could do anything she wanted!

Each room was a new creative project, and she added onto the house with no overall plan. She had the budget to pay for amazing woodwork, beautiful stained glass, and many innovative and modern features for the time such as a shower and an in-house “telecom” system. The house reached seven stories before the 1906 earthquake destroyed a large portion of it.

I was inspired to make the costume when I visited the house in 2021. There were so many details that I felt I could incorporate into a really interesting garment. I also realized that the 100th anniversary of Sarah’s death with nearly coincide with SiliCon in 2022, so it seemed like the perfect time and place to present the costume!

The bottom half of the costume breaks down into four flat panels. The bodice is based on a standard Victorian style pattern. The difficulty came in connecting with the top and bottom smoothly, and in supporting what became a very heavy “skirt.” Originally I was going to have it hang from a frame that just attached to my waist, like a bustle. 

Ultimately though I had to build a wheel base to get the weight onto the ground. The structure is made of PVC pipe. To get the costume on and off I have to hammer it together or apart with a mallet which is a pretty funny looking process!

Figuring out how to do the lights was difficult as well. I had hoped to use a ready-made product of some kind so I wouldn’t have to deal with wiring, but I couldn’t find anything that would work. So I learned to solder for this costume, in order to use lights that would work for the effect I wanted!

Wearing the costume at the Winchester house was really neat, because of course the people on staff there know the house so well. They were able to appreciate better than anyone the details that I incorporated. And I incorporated a lot of details as accurately as I could! It was also really interesting seeing the house in person again after having studied the pictures so closely while working on the costume. The house felt smaller than before, in a friendly and familiar way, because I had put so many parts of it into my head in the process of putting it onto my costume. I would like to recognize Janan Boehme of the @winchestermysteryhouse for providing pictures of the tower windows, and Estella Inda of the San Jose Library California Room for providing the picture of Sarah Winchester. Thank you so much!!!

#winchester mystery house #cosplay #cosplay interview #silicon #silicon 2022

[kinnspocketporsche]

thank you;

analysis for me is a double edged sword. frankly, it usually does me more harm than good.

so yeah - i can hardly believe i made this blog. i could analyze and overanalyze just about any show; as a lit major and a psychology major, i'm built for digging up meaning out of anything humans created. but i haven't bothered with that for years. it hasn't been worth my time or, more importantly, my very limited energy.

the thing about art is that there are always going to be patterns that those consuming it could pick up on, and the thing about analysis is that it's largely about finding patterns and putting some sense into them. it drives me up the wall when i notice patterns only to realize they were unintentional and that seeing them does nothing more than highlight inconsistencies and plot holes.

if a creator isn't at least somewhat intentional about the patterns they build, any significance given to those patterns means nothing.

i thought KinnPorsche would be the same as all the other unfulfilling shows i've watched. it's why i didn't make this blog until episode 9. i didn't expect it to pull me back into fandom discussions. i didn't expect it to drag analysis from my head to my fingers and into words on a screen. i didn't expect to end up feeling like a slightly different person than who i was when i started watching.

the thing about art is that it can change you when it's done well, when it's done right, when it's done with care. i can't say i've never felt it before - i've read enough literature for some of it to have touched me - but never to this degree.

i've talked to a couple of people about this, but one of the many things KinnPorsche gets so right is the way it expresses the experience of being an outsider. a lot of literature focuses on that, too, but sometimes you have to dig so deep just to get a glimpse - with KinnPorsche, it's everywhere. it's right at the surface. it's in your face. it's deep in the woodwork, too, and if you want to dig deeper, you can - you can see theme of characters in unfamiliar environments, you can see how abuse isolates a person, you can see how socioeconomic status can make certain relationships a luxury - but you can feel it even without analyzing any of that. it's a key part of what makes the show feel so inherently and honestly queer.

that sense of being an outsider is so intentional in this show i can taste it. i'd bet my life savings on it. that intention is so important to me. it's such a comfort. i can't articulate as well as i want, but it's why i've rewatched each episode more times than i could track and it's why i've spent hours writing out analysis posts and it's why my brain has latched on to these characters so firmly that it's physically hurting me to think about letting them go.

i love the creators of KinnPorsche for this, i really do. producers, directors, actors - literally anyone else who's been involved. i want to thank them for consistently demonstrating that the patterns i (and other fans) have picked up on have meaning. i want to thank them for seeing and showing how painful it is to live on the outside. i want to thank them for saying all that and going even a step further, to say very firmly that outsiders can be happy.

and i'm not a sappy person i swear it but i really do need to thank the other fans. i am sorry to anyone who messaged me or reached out and got an awkward response, i probably should've warned y'all that i am bone tired of overthinking my words into being something perceived as normal. i didn't come here planning to find community but i got it anyway and i am so grateful. no matter how many times we messaged, if you sent me one DM or 10, if we interacted through tags or anonymous asks or reblog responses or likes or anything else - being here has made me happy because of you. thank you to every follower and every fanfic writer and to all of my fellow meta writers who have set the bar higher than i thought was possible. i have truly enjoyed being here.

i've enjoyed it so much that i am genuinely going to be devastated when it ends. i hope to stick around after and i hope that others will as well, for more KPTS talks, for fanfiction maybe, for discussions about other shows and art, but there's a chance i'll be silent for a period of time after this episode - the last episode - airs. i'm feeling things more strongly than i should, i know i am, but somehow i don't think i'm alone in this emotion that is almost like grief.

so i'll end on this note: please, everyone take care of yourselves today and this week and so on. drink water - i mean it! - eat at regular times and try to get some sleep. don't isolate and if you absolutely can't avoid it, don't do it for too long. my inbox and DMs will, as always, be open. send me questions, hug requests, all-caps screaming if you want.

see y'all on the flip-side ✌️

— winnie

#winnie's words #kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #kpts #kpts ep 14 #kinnporsche episode 14 #kp ep 14 #this show just means something to me 🤷‍♂️ #kp cast #kinnporsche cast #kpts cast

[strawbaleramblynn]

book notes: How Buildings Learn

by Stewart Brand

This book was recommended in Serious Strawbale and the concept was very intriguing to me, so I finally requested it via interlibrary loan. And now I am here to save you the trouble!

How Buildings Learn is mainly an investigation of commercial and institutional buildings & how architects fail to deliver on buildings that work for their inhabitants*. There's very little on residential structures in here and I can probably summarize most of it for you right now:

Don't follow trends because they go out of date.

Make the services of your building (wiring, HVAC, etc.) as accessible as possible.

If you do not plan a space for "low road" space storage and services, one will be planned for you. Attics, basements, sheds, garages...something is going to be taken over so plan for it.

Flat roofs suck.

When designing a house, contemplate various scenarios and how the building would work in those scenarios. (Two people living alone: What if there were children? What if your parents moved in? What if you started working from home? What if you took up woodworking? etc)

Go Read Chris Alexander's A Pattern Language (which comes up at least once a chapter, Mr. Brand is in love with this book)

*On the subject of architects, if you're curious, his claim is basically that fragmentation of the building industry such that most of the important elements of a building's interior/services/engineering are handled by outside parties gives the architect only one realm to win awards and be recognized: doing things that look cool in magazines. This is, obviously, mainly a critique of commercial/institutional architects.

#reference: books #house plan #not recommended

[best-woodworking]

Watch the full video from here:

The World's Largest Collection of 16,000 Woodworking Plans!

You get detailed projects with step by step, A to Z instructions that makes building projects super-fast, super easy and super fun.

With the simple "hold-you-by-the hand" instructions, you can complete woodworking projects in the small fraction of the time it currently takes you.

It's like having a MASTER woodworker, by your side, guiding you through the entire project!

Watch the full video from here:

#homedecor #furniture #wooddesign #carpentry #woodcraft #woodshop #woodcarving #carpenter #handcrafted #woodturning #maker #furnituredesign #interior #custom #woodworkersofinstagram #decor #home #tools #woodworkingcommunity #woodworkers #woodworking #woodwork

[croptopsandflipflops]

Art Deco Designs For Your Lounge

In the art world, styles go all through design constantly. A similar applies for art deco which read more here has been popular since the 20's and is as yet areas of strength for going.

At the point when you think of art deco you think smooth lines and comfortable, modern materials. Popular materials to browse incorporate aluminum, treated steel and lacquered wood with trim. Your varieties must be strong, particularly for the frill. Earth tones and neutrals would be perfect on the walls. Or on the other hand utilize metallic paints to give a smooth glossy completion. You might emphasize the wall corners close to the roof with a stencil or through cloth rolling, the technique generally utilized in the past times. Plans for stenciling include: surreys, ziggurats, lotus or scarab or on the other hand use backdrop with these plans as well as herbal patterns. Incorporate a ton of crisscross and mathematical subjects.

The tones related with this period were dark, silver, pink, green and red. Base tones might be beige or cream to permit the dynamic shades of your furnishings that might come in orange, mauve dark red and yellow. Use themes of nudes, foliage and stylized creatures.

Art deco style integrates retro furnishings and adornments with modern components. Your furniture will incorporate light-hued apparent woodwork and particular adjusted corners. Utilize an ornamental dark lacquered board for your room screen. Stack up highlight cushions on your red barrel-formed leather sofa with dark painted metal legs. Your chairs will be made of exceptionally lacquered wood frames, upholstered in glossy leather, which alongside velvet are exemplary craftsmanship deco fabrics. Exemplary craftsmanship deco style incorporates tub chairs and oriental curios like a Buddha.

Your floor might be exceptionally cleaned and lacquered. Or on the other hand select the exemplary tile plans in high contrast checkerboard patterns. Add a region carpet with striking mathematical shapes, differentiating borders and brilliant tones on your floor. You could likewise put one huge region floor covering in the room then, at that point, complement it with smaller region carpets around the room. A roundabout floor covering with target stripping or a panther skin mat would do too. Your region floor covering is important in light of the fact that its mix of varieties can give you the ideal variety conspire range until the end of the room.

#youtube

[studioahead]

Artist Spotlight : Nobuto Suga

It will surprise no one that Studio AHEAD loves walking through the deep forests of Marin. So it was a delight to speak this month with Nobuto Suga, a Japanese-born woodworker who shares with us not only an appreciation for Northern California's forests, but a willingness to allow the natural world to influence and guide his creative work. To look at a Suga piece is to read, behind each block of wood, the tree that gave the piece its form and the landscape that gave home to the tree: "We are not separate from our natural world. Nor are we separate from each other." We were happy to speak of creative partnerships with those we cherish: in our case, Elena and Homan; with Suga and his partner Amy.

Studio AHEAD: Share with us some of your journey in arriving to California. Did you grow up here? What was your introduction to woodworking?

Nobuto Suga: I grew up in the countryside of Hiroshima, surrounded by forest and farmland. I started playing around with wood when I was sixteen. I remember one day my father brought some pieces of milled lumber home. The pieces came from trees that had been cut down on one of his landscaping sites. I was fascinated by the grain patterns in the wood and I wondered what form I could shape from the wood. I made a towel rack and some shelves, those were my first woodworking projects. They are still in my family home, and whenever I visit there, I see the living element of memory in those early pieces. 

In 2000, I went to upstate New York to study ecology and gain a wider understanding of ecosystems. On a visit to the West Coast my eyes were opened by the majestic landscape of an old-growth forest. When I settled in San Francisco in 2014, I reconnected with the forests and woodworking. I have been deepening my appreciation ever since.

SA: Does the region where the tree grows affect how you work with it? Does a tree in Japan necessitate a different way of keeping its integrity than does a tree in California?

NS: Yes, absolutely. It does affect how I work. I had an opportunity to work on the edge of the coast recently under an old cypress canopy. I felt a direct connection with the surrounding elements—the wind and the rocky landscape. Connectivity to place is a very important part of my process when forming and laying out a vision and a direction. Without that connection, I can not make work. Relationship to place is extremely meaningful for me.

The most majestic tree I have ever encountered is at a Shinto shrine in Hiroshima. It’s wildly branching. The tree is covered with moss and lichen. It hosts so much life. It is a living historical artifact. Typically the trees around shrines are given the most respect in Japan. But a tree is a tree and deserves deep respect no matter where it grows.

SA: Tell us more about this respect. How does a designer go about respecting the material? Does this play into or get in the way of innovation, of using materials new ways?

NS: I’m keen on using urban salvaged and reclaimed wood to extend the life of the source elements. Understanding resources and bringing out the best characteristics of the material are very important to me. Working with resources from this perspective can help lessen our consumption flow which is excessive and problematic. It is important to build awareness and have respect for our natural environment that we depend on for life. We are not separate from our natural world. I’m fortunate to have access to urban salvaged wood and reclaimed materials in the Bay Area. I’m just one of many here who works respectfully and consciously with wood. I’m glad to be part of this community of woodworkers.

SA: You helped repair Sol LeWitt sculptures in New York. What ways do repair and creation intersect or diverge?

NS: My plan at that time was to attend a landscape architecture program, to explore physical interaction with space as a way of connecting with nature. But instead, I was fortunate to meet with a few Japanese artists who worked with Sol LeWitt for many decades. I participated in two executions of his Open Cube Structure, learning directly from a lead fabricator/artist, Kazuko Miyamoto. It was a very repetitive process, and it was pleasing to see the progress of structure and various visual effects that appeared in each step. 

LeWitt’s sculptures are based on numbers, laying out a grid and a score, and the structural form emerges like a sound. The visual effects appear within the open cube from many different angles. I appreciate his vision, playfulness, endless curiosity, and openness to discoveries. LeWitt’s system of composition and application has a heavy impact on my practice. 

Over time, I have developed an interest in kiwari, a traditional Japanese method of proportion or a co-relationship with each structural component. There is an underlying interconnectedness that I experience in nature, and when I make something, as I put pieces together I am always trying to respond to this feeling.

SA: Can you elaborate on this? Is this harmony of proportion what you are trying to achieve, or are you purposefully distorting these ideas of proportion to evoke certain emotions?

NS: Woodworking gives me new challenges all the time. The harmony of proportion is a starting point and a structuring principle of a concept and a process. I’m not distorting these ideas, I’m searching for the best way to accommodate the material and honor what it is offering.

SA: Your partner, Amy, is your collaborator and you've built a home, studio and practice together. Tell us about how you work together.  We [Elena and Homan] are creative partners and are grateful we have each other to move through creative life together. If one of us feels unbalanced, the other brings us back or carries the baton for a while.

NS: Amy and I have been interacting and influencing each other with our creativity and sharing our appreciation for the last 15 years. She and I first met each other when we were both involved in the retrospective installation for Sol LeWitt at MASS MoCA in 2008. We had a spark and a similar appreciation of nature and have been together ever since. Our cultural backgrounds are different, but our attention to detail is the same. We’re both interested in the qualities of line and the negative space between things. And we both have a lot of respect for the untouched elements of a place or a material. We have been cultivating a shared language for the last fifteen years. 

We tend to take turns supporting each other’s passions and projects. When I was pursuing ecological restoration, I assisted Amy’s art practice by helping with installation and gathering materials. Five years ago, Amy set up our family woodworking business, Suga Studio.

I enjoy and appreciate her vision, playfulness with elements, and I admire her ability to transform an indescribable emotion to visualized formations. Our practices blend with regular and creative existence in a way that gives us energy and flexibility. Pursuing the passion and our listening hearts is filling me with gratitude and compassion. Our next direction is making an even deeper connection with nature. It inspires us both to the core of our being.

Photos by Ekaterina Izmestieva

#studioahead #northern california #bayarea #studio ahead #artistspotlight #san francisco #california #interiordesign #art #nobuto suga #nobutosuga