#and i get the vibe we'd be in a room together just the two of us and we'd immediately click and just chill and chat easily

[jesamjdbutfurry]

It just hit me that i have friends. And like, good ones. I had a handful of people in high school and college that i hung around with, but i care a lot about my friends i have now. I don't have thoughts about "when we lose touch." I talk to them semi-frequently at least, and even the ones who i don't talk to much, we interact, i see them tag posts from me and know they're thinking of me

People think of me when i'm not around now????? Actually that one did just hit me for the first time. I genuinely don't think anyone i talked to outside of my family did back in high school and college.but like, i think about my friends when i'm not around them, and i get the feeling they do too sometimes. What the fuck. I love my friends

#the first half #the ''oh i have real friends now'' #that hits me every few weeks #but thw second half only just hit me bc i was typing it out #there's a couple of mutuals where we've only said like #a single sentence to each other ever #but i see them liking all my personal posts and comms and like #we're friends #i know you we're friends #or like you're in a relationship with someone i've talked to a bunch and someone i've talked to a little #and i get the vibe we'd be in a room together just the two of us and we'd immediately click and just chill and chat easily #i have friends wtf

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Blurbs: With A Little Help From My Friends

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Summary: You and a few other WAGs do a prank on your boys by buying them all matching shirts for a get-together without them knowing.

Warnings: Fluff, unserious/funny, pranks

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine Universe: Into The Mystic

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January 20, 2024 - *36 weeks pregnant*

“Joe, I have your outfit laid out on the island in the closet.” - you

Joe’s head snapped away from the TV and over in my direction. I'd just walked into the kitchen from getting ready upstairs. Joe sat on the couch watching The Office reruns, all cuddled up with Tyson and Miles - looking adorable.

“What? I can pick my outfit out.” - Joe

“I know, but I ordered you a new shirt that I'd like you to wear.” - you

“Oh, okay. What is it?” - Joe

“A flannel.” - you

“Mmm, okay.” - Joe

A few moments later, I sat down on the couch with my boys, but Joe left just a minute later to get ready himself.

Robin and Jimmy were coming in a bit to watch the twins while Joe and I went over to Sam’s for a get-together with some of his teammates.

The guys had no idea, though, that the WAG’s group chat had been super active the past week leading up to tonight.

A prank was to ensue, and it was that we'd all secretly ordered the same shirt for our men. We'd all show up one by one, and the guy’s reactions to matching would be hilarious.

Plus, Joe would look hot as hell in a flannel.

Half an Office episode later, Joe came bounding down the stairs. The greyish flannel looked amazing on him, giving off major dad vibes, paired with regular-fitting blue jeans that had been sitting untouched in the closet since I'd ordered them.

I let out a teasing whistle, Joe blushing at the cat-call.

“You like?” - Joe

“Yes. You look amazing, Joey. Do a little spin for me?” - you

Joe happily obliged before searching for approval in my facial expression.

“Love it. I need to start sneaking more of this style into your side of the closet.” - you

“Is that style ‘I have two kids and another on the way’?” - Joe

“Bingo. I told you, you're a DILF.” - you

“You love to remind me of that.” - Joe

“Because it's true.” - you grinned

——

There was a ring of the doorbell, and I went to stand up from the couch, but Joe ushered me to sit back down.

“Hey Mom, hey Dad. Thanks for watching the boys.” - Joe

“Oh, of course!” - Robin

Robin and Jimmy had barely made it into the house before they were ambushed by Tyson and Miles.

They happily hugged their grandbabies, and Jimmy picked up Miles in his arms.

“Where's your wife, Joseph Lee?” - Robin

“On the couch, she went to open the door, but I waved her off.” - Joe

Robin gave her son a proud nod, grateful that he was treating his pregnant wife as he should.

The five of them eventually walked back into the living room, and Joe plopped back onto the couch next to me, putting his arm around me on the back of the couch.

“You look great, y/n!” - Robin

“Aww, thank you. I'm feeling great as well. Baby girl is treating my bladder a lot better than the twins did.” - you laughed

“That's good! I love your dress, makes your bump pop.” - Robin grinned

“Joe actually picked it out.” - you

I put a hand on Joe’s chest and smiled up at him, a glint in his eye when he returned the soft grin.

“Wow, I would’ve never expected that.” - Robin

Laughing, I understood where she was coming from. My dress was a solid black, nothing like anything in Joe’s side of the closet.

“I picked his outfit out, though.” - you smiled

“That was my next question! That style looks good on you, Joey. You look very adult.” - Robin

“Thank you? I think.” - Joe

“It was meant to be a compliment. I think so, at least…” - Jimmy

A few seconds of laughter went by before Joe patted my thigh and spoke up.

“Ready to go, babe?” - Joe

“Sure!” - you

Joe stood up before turning around to me and putting a hand out to help me up.

Once I was on my feet, Joe let go of one of my hands but still held the other.

“We’ll be back later!” - Joe

He led me over to the garage door of the house and grabbed his keys to the Porsche off of the hook.

Sweetly, Joe walked me over to the passenger side of the car and opened my door for me, along with helping me sit down before shutting the door back.

“Whatcha wanna listen to?” - Joe

Joe always joked about my passenger princess ways, but here he was, offering me to pick the music before I even asked.

In the end, I pulled up my Spotify playlist “’60s-’70s Love Songs” and shuffled it.

Looking over at Joe as he backed out of the driveway, I giggled as he playfully rolled his eyes with a smile on his face at my music selection.

For dramatic effect, I grabbed onto Joe’s shoulder and sang Be My Baby by The Ronettes into my hand like I was holding a microphone.

“You're crazy.” - Joe laughed

“But you love me.” - you

“That I do, my baby.” - Joe

——

I had my arm looped with Joe’s as we stood on Sam’s front porch. Joe had just rung the doorbell and now we're waiting for an answer.

Squeezing his bicep lightly, Joe’s eyes darted to me.

“You okay, Mama?” - Joe

“Mhm. Just love you in this shirt.” - you grinned

Just a few seconds later, the front door swung open, revealing Sam.

“Hey, Burrow’s! Woah- what the hell? Joe, are we matching?” - Sam

I giggled to myself as Joe and Sam looked down at their flannels and then at each other.

“That's weird man, but I def wore it better.” - Joe

Sam rolled his eyes before stepping to the side to let Joe and me inside the house.

I immediately greeted Jess, who complimented my pregnancy glow, and while we were deep into conversation, the doorbell rang again.

When Sam opened the door, Jess and I exchanged knowing looks at each other.

On the front porch, Cody Ford and Evan McPherson were laughing about the fact they had matching shirts on while Tianna and Gracie stood to the side laughing.

“What the hell!” - Sam

“You guys have it too?!” - Evan

Joe was full-on cackling, and I couldn't help but mirror my husband.

The girls walked over and sat next to me and Jess, our boys all pointing at each other’s shirts while laughing.

Thirty minutes later, over ten more guys had shown up, all in the same flannel, and Joe and his guys found it hilarious each time.

The girls and I all sat in a corner of the living room, recording and laughing at the reactions coming out of the guys.

They really were adult toddlers, but that's what makes being married to one fun.

After dinner, Joe found me by myself in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around me from behind. At first, I couldn't tell who it was because all the guys here had the same long-sleeved shirt on, and all I could see were the person's arms.

The thought didn't last too long when I saw the wedding ring on the person’s finger that was too unique to be anyone other than Joe.

“Hi, Mama.” - Joe

“Hi, Joey.” - you

“Can I ask you a question?” - Joe

“Of course.” - you

With Joe’s hands on my bump, I covered them with my own and let my head fall back onto his chest/shoulder.

“Who wore the shirt best?” - Joe

“I'm kinda biased, but you, for sure.” - you

“Yeah?” - Joe

“Mhm, I'm gonna start sneaking more flannels into your closet.” - you

“I'll wear ‘em if they get a good reaction out of you.” - Joe

“Oh, you know they will.” - you giggled

I turned around in Joe’s arms and looked into his gorgeous blue eyes, my hands on his chest.

Slowly, Joe leaned in and pressed his lips onto mine.

A minute later, we were still kissing. The craving for each other was never satisfied, but we were interrupted by a loud, fake, gagging sound.

“For the love of god, she's already pregnant! You guys are disgusting!” - Ja’Marr

I leaned my head onto Joe’s chest with a giggle as he glared at one of his best friends.

“Ja’Marr, get the fuck away!” - Joe

Ja’Marr threw his arms up in surrender before walking out of the kitchen. Joe turned back to me with a sly grin on his face.

“Sorry, Mrs. Burrow. Where were we?” - Joe

I’d never get tired of him calling me that.

“Mmm, I think we might've been kissing.” - you

“Let's test that theory.” - Joe

Just as Joe was leaning in, our lips brushed together, but something made him pull back.

“Y'all nasty!” - Ja’Marry whisper yelled

“Ja’Marr!!” - Joe yelled

Sure, they got annoying sometimes, but deep down, Joe knew he wouldn't get by without a little help from his friends. Even if said help was unwanted.

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Authors note: y'all, I ground out a fic for you guys. 💀

Request for this fic;

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joey b #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic

[twirlingsmilingwriting]

Tolerate it || Young!Coriolanus Snow X Reader

"I sit and watch you reading with your... head low"

Truly feeling like the luckiest person alive when your former classmate and short term boyfriend asked you to marry him. Not even a year into the marriage and also a year into his presidency does the original love and admiration you felt from him start to dissipate. You can't help but feel trapped and tricked into a marriage in which he may have never loved you to begin with. Warnings: Angst, Love-Bombing, marriage, gender ambiguous reader, typical snow tags (manipulation), social isolation, alluding to sexual acts but not described, kissing Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I was listening to Evermore after watching tbosas and Tolerate It was just SCREAMING Snow vibes. I was fidgeting with the gold charm of my pearl necklace while anxiously looking over at my husband whose nose was too deep into a book to seem to care about me. I dropped my gaze from him to scan across the table and room. Our large dining room was red with gold accent pieces I had spent the morning dusting decorating the walls. We both sat at opposite ends of the long table, ever too long to just seat two people but it seemed the man couldn't do anything at home if he was within five feet of me. A bouquet of roses I placed in a ceramic vase sat between us on the table. He loved roses, he always did, so I placed them there to brighten his day and maybe even spark up conversation between us. I polished the plates we ate on delicately and even spent the afternoon painting designs onto the back of them. I had done all this in hopes I'd receive some sort of compliment from him but alas, there was none. I sat back and reminisced on the days of our love before it was like this. Truly, when I had first married Coriolanus I had felt like my life had started a new chapter. We dated in the spring and summer time of the year after we graduated from the academy. He was top of the class and while I never matched him in intelligence he had seemingly randomly taken a liking to me. We were acquaintances at most before that and then he started talking to me any chance he could get. I would gush to my friends about his charming smile and posture and they would warn me of the rumors that went around about him. They would tell me to never get to close to him as all those who got did would end up disgraced, missing, or dead. In some masochistic way, I truly felt enthralled by his magnetic aura, danger, and the mystery that surrounded him. His bright red coat was as red as the flags that man was but the danger of it all excited me. He wasn't the nicest man out there but when he was nice to me, I felt unique. I was the exception to his coldness.

We'd go out on dates and he would shower me with sweet nothings. He would tell me how I was the light that lit up the darkness of his life. He said my beauty could turn a man to stone. I will never forget the way he kissed me on the busiest street in the capital under the dancing streetlights and how I felt like time had stopped in that moment. The way he stroked the side of my face so delicately and told me I was the only one who had ever made him feel so alive. I was holding onto every breath that man had exhaled hoping he'd inhale me further into his life. We'd spend days together and call at night. I didn't notice it at the time but in retrospect it was tactical. I spent every moment of my waking days with him and soon my life started to be built around him. Every phone call from a friend I received that spoke about him in any negative way made me push them away and out of my life even further. He was the only one I talked to. He is my world. We were two seeds that had gotten dropped into the same pot and were growing into each other.

In the fall, I fell for him harder than I ever had before. It came to a height when we were walking through a park and watched as the changing leaves fell from the trees. He held my hand in his and he held me so tight as if he was afraid I'd float away and leave him. I would never of course, my life would bend to his will. My head rested against his arm like the red coat he always wore. He'd recount to me stories of his life that would make me laugh and smile. His strikingly blonde hair blew in the wind softly and I noticed every detail of how his icy blue eyes would crinkle when he'd smile at me. He was like a beautiful painting whose artist was unknown. I remember thinking that all I would ever want to be in this life is as significant to him as he is to me. I remember the earth shattering halt my heart felt when he turned to me and dropped down to one knee and proposed. A smirk plastered his face when I said yes. He stood back up and pulled me in by the waist. One hand on my chin and the other on my lower back. The feeling of his warm, soft lips on mine and the feeling of his hair tangled between my fingers. I remember the ecstasy of the moment and the feeling that my friends were wrong, the world was wrong, no one knew Coriolanus like I knew him. He wasn't a cold, calculated, and constantly plotting man, he was just misunderstood. When he pulled away from the kiss, he whispered in my ear that he would live a thousand life times if it meant he got to love me in the next. I remembered everything.

That was the first night we spent together. He snuck me into his house and we giggled in his bedroom when he shut the door. We told each other secrets and moved the furniture so we could dance. My head was placed onto his chest and we swayed to the sound of the music playing from his grandmothers record player. We shared moments of passion in his bed, fell asleep in each others arms, and woke up tangled in bed sheets. I remember thinking he was truly mine.

We married shortly after in the beginning of December. The ceremony was lavish and beautiful. I remember the way his fingers tucked my hair behind my ear. A single tear fell from his eyes and he leaned in and kissed me. He must've been so taken aback from my beauty as I was with his. Only one of my friends attended the wedding but I was too happy that I was marrying the man of my dreams to care. The first weeks of our married life were wondrous. He had risen to power and we had moved into the absolute gargantuan mansion we live in today. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off me and I was the diamond of his eyes. He loved to show me off for the cameras and crowds. Then one day, winter came and roses don't survive.

It started off small. He didn't want to talk or cuddle in bed at night anymore. I assumed he was just tired from working so hard. Then he stopped complimenting my outfits or hair, trading them with passive aggressive comments and ways I could improve myself for him. He no longer wanted to talk at dinner. We stopped speaking at some point. He wouldn't want to hear my voice unless it was to service him. In public, he still was my adoring husband but in private, I felt like I was living with a stranger. At night, I can hear him whispering sweet nothings to the air and humming melodies and I can only hope he's dreaming about me.

These days, I haven't been sleeping, I've been trying to listen in and see if I can make out the words he is saying in his sleep but I haven't been able to make out any other words than lines about trees. While he is having his meetings all day, I am constantly doing new diets, trying new makeup, new hair, decorating the house differently, leaving loving notes on his desk, anything to try and earn a compliment from him. Even if a compliment is too much, I am begging for a word from that man. I love him. I still love him. I don't believe it is possible for me to stop loving him. I can't dare to think of loving any one else. He is so much wiser, and smarter, and more beautiful than I am and I find myself becoming the moon to his earth. I spin around him, pulled in by his orbit except, I'm not his moon. I'm just a star in his sky that is begging to be his sun. I just want a footnote in the story of his life. Even an annotation on a page of his story will be enough for me.

The sound of him placing his heavy book onto the table pulled me out of my trance and my eyes met his blue ones once more. Instantly, I am struck frozen. His eyes had such a way of pulling you in. I looked down at his lips as they pressed a small smirk and his eyes squinted a little while he picked up his fork from the table and looked at me. He examined my appearance and I sat up straighter. The thick tension in the air put me on edge. Finally, his lips parted and he spoke.

"Is that a new hair color?" he asked, keeping his eyes laser focused on me.

"It is... d- do you like it?" He looked me over again and leaned back in his chair contemplating what to say next. Then, shortly, sweetly, and sharply, he muttered the word,

"Tolerable"

~

PART TWO PART THREE

#coriolanus snow #fanfic #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #tbosas #angst #fanfiction #tom blyth #the hunger games #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth imagine #president snow #young president snow #tom blyth x you #tbosas imagine

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for getting my childhood best friend a new friendship bracelet even though he has a girlfriend?

Basically my mom and her best friend got pregnant within a year of each other. As a result me and Dylan were raised as siblings. Our families are super close, spend holidays together, we've gone on vacations together, and Dylan and I have always called each other brother and sister.

Dylan's been dating Maya for the better part of a year. Maya is nice, but clearly has some feelings on me and Dylan being as close as we are. We've both explicitly stated there have never been romantic or sexual vibes between us, and I have made the hard choice to pull away from Dylan quite a bit to give Maya more room.

(For example I stopped our weekly hang outs, only really hang out with Dylan in a group setting, we don't hang out on FT anymore, ect.)

Maya is generally polite, but there's been tension and a few pointed remarks over the months. I know the girl best friend is pretty much a pariah in boy/girl friendships, so I've tried to just be as unobtrusive and respectful as I can.

Onto the current problem: Dylan and I have always had friendship bracelets and a few matching items. For example we have matching photos and photo frames from the holiday to Greece when we were little, we both have matching hoodies from a concert we went to, and one or two other bits. Its not a lot, but I guess it would all fill a small box if you put it together.

Dylan's friendship bracelet broke last month and couldn't be fixed. He put it away in a keepsake box but was pretty bummed about no longer being able to wear it. It took the whole month of scouring secondhand sites and ebay but last week I actually found one and was able to get it for him as a replacement. I gave it to him when our families met for dinner on Tuesday and he was super happy. He put it on immediately and hasn't taken it off.

We all met as a group to hang out today and Maya seemed a little...Vaguely annoyed toward me? When you can just tell someone's got an issue with you, even if they're not outwardly acting any different.

But she came with me when I went to the bathroom (as girls do) and as we were washing our hands she told me she was really 'surprised' I got Dylan another bracelet. I wasn't really sure if she meant in general or that I was able to find the exact same one, so I asked what she meant and she said she didn't want to be 'that girlfriend' but when the bracelet broke she was internally relieved, because she thinks its kind of inappropriate that we wear matching bracelets and have a 'claim' over each other like that.

She said she's been thinking about the future a lot more recently and she doesn't want anything 'held back' or 'obstructed' by my obsession with Dylan and the 'premade family' we have.

I'll admit I got annoyed by that, and immediately asked if she'd have an issue with me if I was a guy. She said I know that's different, and then one of the other girls from the group came in to look for us because we'd been gone so long and we kind of had to put it on a shelf for the rest of the day.

She text me a bit ago saying 'think about what I said.' Internally, I want to tell her to get a grip on herself, but I also know that I'm the girl best friend, and pretty much anything I do from here on out is critical and could make me the asshole. I also didn't want to hurt her or cause problems for Dylan, I was just trying to replace part of our friendship that's always been there.

AITA for replacing it? I can't exactly stop wearing mine (he'll ask why) or tell him to stop wearing his (again, he'll ask why) but honestly I'm also unsure of what to do now. Maya's the only one who thinks us being best friends is a problem, even our families know we've always had a sibling relationship and not one that might change to romantic.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[captainsophiestark]

Happy Ending

Luke Castellan x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Day 22 Prompt: "Who takes care of you?"

Summary: What if Luke had come by to see Y/N, his pre-betrayal best friend and SO, instead of Annabeth between books 3 and 4?

Word Count: 4,189

Category: Angst, Fluff

A/N: I really loved the vibes of this post by @m4gp13 so this is very loosely inspired by it, even though the main body of the story doesn't have much to do with it lol

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I sighed, staring at the piles of boxes on the floor of my dorm room. The spring semester of my second year of college was just coming to a close, and I still had a lot to do to be ready for everything after it finished. I was moving into my own apartment for the summer, and needed to move from the dorm room to my new apartment. As soon as that was over, I'd planned a visit to Camp Half-Blood, the training camp for heroes I kept going back to, even though I was technically an adult.

I needed to pack everything in my dorm, move it to my apartment, and then be able to unpack everything I'd need for a few weeks visiting camp. This packing job would need to be strategically worthy of Athena.

I'd just barely managed to psych myself up to get started when a knock came at my door. I huffed a sigh, but I really didn't mind the distraction all that much.

"Coming!" I called. I glanced out the peep hole, then froze solid when I saw Luke Castellan staring back at me.

My heart stopped dead in my chest. I looked again and saw he had no monsters with him, at least not visibly, but I couldn't understand why he would come here without them.

Luke had been one of my closest friends in the world since we met as kids, on the run together from our mutually shitty families. We'd met first, then found Thalia and Annabeth after. Luke and I were the same age, and we'd been thick as thieves since day one, Hermes pun intended. As we'd gotten older, a small crush I'd had on Luke had grown massive, and luckily for me he'd returned my feelings. We'd been happily dating and in love ever since, until two summers ago, when he'd betrayed me and every single one of our friends and joined Kronos.

I'd barely talked to him since. We only had contact once and a while, and every time, it went the same way. I was hurt, he was apologetic but not willing to change any of his decisions. Me and the rest of Camp fought him and his monsters, and I tried not to fall apart at the loss of the love of my life.

The distraction provided by college had been a serious, serious relief.

But now, Luke was here. In the middle of space where I very intentionally avoided thinking about him, on my doorstep for whatever reason. And I had no idea what to do.

"Y/N? I know you're in there. I'm here under a flag of truce. I just want to talk."

Just like that, any desire to duck and hide crumbled. The rational part of my brain screamed at me that he could be lying, that this might just be a trap, but I ignored it. After everything we'd been through, if Luke said he wanted to talk, I wanted to hear him out.

I opened the door, and Luke's shoulders sagged with relief when he saw me. I wanted to dart forward and wrap him in a hug, something I hadn't been able to do in two years, but I held myself back. Luke shifted a little from foot to foot, looking incredibly awkward, so after a second's hesitation I stepped to the side.

"Would you like to come in?"

He gave me a suspicious look, like he thought it was a trap or a trick or something. My heart shattered in my chest. How had things gone this wrong, that we stood on opposite sides of the door as basically strangers?

"My house is a mess, because I'm in the middle of packing up to move, but... if you want to talk, Luke, I feel like the hallway isn't gonna be the best place to do it."

He gave me a curt nod, not quite meeting my eyes as he walked past me into my apartment. I glanced down the hallway, taking one last look to make sure we didn't have any lingering monsters, but things were deserted. I sighed and went back into my apartment, closing the door behind me.

I found Luke hovering in the space between the kitchen and the living room, surveying things with a strange look on his face. I moved toward him carefully, not getting too close in case I spooked him.

"Do you want some tea or something? I haven't packed my electric kettle yet-"

"I think tea might take longer than the five minutes I promised."

I turned to look at Luke, raising one eyebrow in challenge, a little bit of our old rapport back. He shifted his weight around and glanced towards the door, then met my eyes again.

"Luke... is some giant monster going to burst through my door in five minutes? Or an army of small monsters, or anything under that general monster-army umbrella?"

"What? No, no, there's... no. I'm here under a flag of truce. There's nothing coming to hurt you, and when I leave... I'll leave."

"Okay then," I said, deciding not to comment on just how shaken and pale Luke looked, at least not right now. "Then I'm giving you a pass on the five minutes. And electric kettles take like two seconds anyway, seriously. They're magical."

Luke huffed, shaking his head as an incredulous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. My heart squeezed, but I made myself move towards the kitchen and act like things were normal.

"Take a seat, Luke. Or come pick your tea."

Luke took the second option, and my heart doubled its speed when I felt him hovering behind me, closer than we'd been in a long time if you didn't count combat. He leaned over my shoulder to point to the bag of black tea on my counter, and I nodded as I poured the hot water into our cups. I dropped two teabags in each of our drinks, then turned to Luke with a smile.

He stood a little more than a foot from me, and he took the cup from my hands carefully, like he didn't want this bubble of peace and normalcy to burst either. I stared into his beautiful, bright blue eyes, a smile growing on my face again despite myself. I'd missed this. A lot.

The moment lasted another few seconds, and then Luke cleared his throat and looked away. He took a tentative sip of his tea, then looked at me again, his face deadly serious.

"I don't know how to say this. I... I learned some things recently, about some plans I wasn't aware of before."

He paused and took another sip of his tea, and his hand shook a little as he brought the mug away from his lips. Shock coursed through my body as I realized Luke was scared.

"Kronos, he- he's going to use me. He's going to use me to take over the world. This summer... he's going to use me like a stepping stone, until he gets so much power he's unstoppable."

"Luke... what are you saying?"

His eyes had wandered to stare holes in the wall of my kitchen while he'd talked, but now they snapped back to me, wide and full of urgency.

"I'm saying I want to run away. I want us to run away, like the old days. Before... before he gets the chance to carry out his plan."

I stared at Luke for a few minutes, then shook my head, scoffing and pushing past him into the living room of my house. I paced a little, trying to make sense of what he'd just told me. What he'd just asked of me.

"Luke... I don't know what to say!" I finally admitted, completely honest as I turned back to him. He watched me, his expression guarded. "I don't... I don't think I can just run away. Not from the life I've managed to build, not from our friends still here and risking their lives!"

"So that's it, then?" he asked, taking a few steps forward, his tone angry. "Your answer's no?"

I huffed a laugh, staring at anything in the room except for Luke and trying to think. My brain was working a million miles an hour, but I still needed a little bit of time to think things through. But I wasn't sure I had time.

"Okay, Luke, can we sit down for a minute? Actually talk about this?" I said, taking slow steps towards him. I set my mug down on the nearest table, then reached out to gently rest my hands on his. A storm of emotions raged behind his eyes, but he didn't stop me or pull away. "This is a lot to take in all at once. Can we work through this together?"

His jaw worked like he was holding back some retort, but he let me pull him along towards the couch. Slowly, together, we sank down onto the cushions. I only pulled one hand back, and made sure our knees rested against each other, hoping it would do something to help keep Luke grounded.

"I don't want to run," I said simply, meeting his eyes. He opened his mouth, looking ready with an outburst again, but I continued before he could. "But Luke, think about it. Where are we gonna go that he doesn't find you, especially if he wants to? Monsters can sniff us out. We'd never, ever be able to live another day without looking over our shoulders."

Luke's shoulders sagged, and he shook his head miserably as he stared at the half-full mug in his hand.

"Then there's no hope."

"That's not what I said. And it's also not true." Luke scoffed, shooting me a look out of the corner of his eye. I looked right back. "If you don't want to follow through on what Kronos is asking of you, why not just come back with me? To Camp, to my somewhat normal life. I have an apartment with space for two. You could even enroll with me next semester, if you wanted to."

Luke shook his head. He pursed his lips as he raised his head to meet my eyes again.

"And let the Olympians continue exploiting us? Let them keep destroying people and lives because we don't matter to them?"

I huffed a sigh. "Look, I'm not their biggest fan either, but right now it seems like it's 'let Kronos kill you' or 'stop fighting the Olympians'."

Luke shook his head again, more energized this time, more angry. He stared at the wall ahead of us, the same hurt and bitterness I'd seen from him over the years burning in his eyes.

"It's just not right. There should be something we can do. Something that isn't Kronos, but isn't letting the Olympians win."

And just like that, a lightbulb went off in my head.

"Luke... what if there was a way we could do that?"

****************

That night, Luke and I stayed up until almost two in the morning brainstorming and working out the details of my plan. When we finally decided to get some sleep, he stayed with me, and curling up in the same tiny twin bed, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, had me more at peace and ease than I had been in a long, long time.

The next morning, we finalized a few things over breakfast. Then, there was nothing left to do but put our plan into action.

Luke stayed in the apartment, tasked with keeping his head down and finishing packing for me, since I had other places I had to be. Namely, Camp Half-Blood. A little earlier than I'd talked about with Chiron, and hopefully, before the place was crawling with campers for the summer.

Thankfully, it didn't take me too long to get to Camp. I arrived a little after lunch and found the place expectedly deserted. From the top of the hill, I could see some of the year-rounders moving around the lake. I tried to keep them from noticing me as I headed straight for the Big House.

I paused just outside the front door to steel my nerves one last time, then marched inside. I found Chiron and Mr. D sitting together, apparently deep in conference. They both looked up when they noticed me, matching looks of surprise on their faces (although Chiron's had a noticeably happier edge to it).

"Y/N! We weren't expecting you for another few weeks-"

"I'm not staying for long. Something just came up that I needed to talk to you about right away. To both of you, actually, especially Mr. D."

He raised a bored eyebrow in my direction but otherwise didn't move. Chiron motioned to a chair at the table.

"By all means, please."

"That's alright, I think I'll stand," I said. I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders and straightening my spine. I would not back down, wouldn't leave until I'd succeeded. Luke and I's future depended on it.

I took a moment to make very intentional, determined eye contact with Mr. D. His other eyebrow raised.

"I'm here to bargain for a pardon for Luke Castellan."

Silence. Both Chiron and Mr. D just stared at me for a few long moments, then turned to look at each other. Chiron looked concerned, but Mr. D burst out laughing.

"He's a traitor and an enemy of Olympus! This has all been very boring and ridiculous, and a waste of our time. Get out."

Mr. D's last word had a firey threat behind it, but I didn't flinch.

"You and the rest of the Olympians are perfectly aware what a threat Kronos presents. Everybody's getting scared, and they should be. He's got a plan for returning to his Titan form, the one he had before he was defeated the first time, before Zeus cut him apart and cast him into Tartarus. And it's a plan that he can definitely make succeed.

"Luke knows all about this plan. Obviously. And he's willing to defect and tell you all about it, so we can stop it before it happens. But you have to give him a complete pardon, sworn on the River Styx by Zeus."

Mr. D snorted again, this time raising from his chair and taking a few threatening steps towards me. I still didn't back down.

"Y/N, listen," Chiron interrupted, shuffling forward a little bit to stand partially in between me and Mr. D. "If you have information that could save Olympus and the camp-"

"Oh, I have some. Just like Chris Rodriguez had some. But Luke has all of it. And you're not getting any of it without giving him a pardon first."

"Or we could force it out of you before finding your little boyfriend and doing the same to him," said Mr. D, his tone light but his eyes blazing. Chiron started to step in again, but I spoke up before he got the chance.

"You haven't been able to find him this long, you won't be able to find him now. And anybody who knows anything about interrogations knows that torture just plain and simple doesn't work for getting information." Mr. D grunted, but we both knew I had him there. "Besides, if Luke gets his pardon, that means more than just getting all the information from Kronos' former right hand man. It also means that Kronos loses said right hand man, who's been organizing and leading a lot of the work so far."

Chiron and Mr. D shared a look, and I tried not to let it show just how much my heart was racing. For the first time since I'd walked in here, I actually felt a glimmer of hope that my plan might succeed. Chiron turned back to me, the worried look still on his face.

"Y/N... what makes you so confident that Luke wants to defect?"

"He sought me out," I answered simply, trying to dance around his location at least a bit. "He's realizing quickly just how bad Kronos would and could be, and he's scared. Terrified. He wants a way out, so when he found me, he asked me to run away with him. I suggested trying this plan first, mostly so I don't have to leave behind everyone else I love. But also because, this way, you might stand a chance against Kronos that you wouldn't have if we'd left without offering information."

The conversation continued for almost another hour, centered mostly around Mr. D making threats and, when I didn't back down, reminding me that I was trying to demand something of Zeus. He made plenty of good points, but I'd thought through all the ways this plan could go terribly, painfully wrong with Luke before I'd come here. I wasn't going to give in, for anything.

Finally, after restating my points and my argument a few times, Mr. D agreed to bring my request to Mount Olympus. I waited anxiously in the Big House with Chiron, whose brow remained deeply creased the entire time. I didn't engage, intentionally avoiding the conversation he looked like he wanted to have, but I saw him watching me out of the corner of my eye.

I started to get worried as the evening came, but finally, Mr. D reappeared. The first time he'd delivered his news, I honestly hadn't believed him. I asked him to repeat himself, which he rolled his eyes over, but the words were the same. Somehow, by some miracle, I'd managed to succeed.

Zeus was willing to give Luke his pardon in exchange for information and defecting.

I wasn't a complete idiot, so made sure the terms were clear when Mr. D brought me to Olympus to witness the oath. The words covered any retaliation, punishment, or harm that might come to Luke, and completely prevented it. Zeus spoke the words and the sky rumbled with lightning. I tried not to shake in relief or from the adrenaline dump as I bowed and promised he wouldn't regret his decision. Hermes shot me a grateful look on my way out, and I returned his nod. He'd been awful to Luke, but we were aligned in not wanting to see him dead, and I got the feeling Hermes had been helpful in pleading my case.

When we returned to the Big House, I headed for the door as quickly as possible, promising to bring Luke back with me in a week when I'd been planning to return anyway. I still had to move out and then move in to a new place again, and Luke had assured me that week of time wouldn't cost the war.

I raced back home, breaking almost every traffic law in the process, but I didn't care at all. I called out to Luke from the hallway, so he wouldn't be scared when I flung the door open, then rushed to wrap him in a giant hug. We sank to the floor together, crying in relief, and stayed like that for a long, long time.

The next week felt like a dream. Luke and I finished packing up my old apartment, then moved together into the new one, which we'd started calling 'ours'. We had to duck monsters a few times, and Luke was still in significant danger, but this time we were on the same side. As we settled into our new place on the last night before we were supposed to head back to camp, I quite literally couldn't have been happier.

It was a little strange returning to camp with Luke, but I quickly got over my own concerns when I saw how tense he was. I held his hand the whole way in, and thankfully, we'd still managed to get here before most of the summer campers. Luke and I sat shoulder to shoulder in the Big House while he told Mr. D and Chiron everything about Kronos and his operation. It took hours, and I could tell Luke struggled to get a lot of it out. But he did.

It had taken long enough that we decided to stay the night, even though I could see Luke clearly didn't want to. We stayed in the Big House, and the next morning, we finished the last of the intel-sharing before heading back home.

Chiron stopped Luke on the way out the door with a hand on his shoulder and said he was so happy to have Luke back. Luke just nodded, but I squeezed his hands as I noticed a single tear making its way down his cheek as we left.

"You know..." I said as we climbed in the car. I was driving, and Luke stared determinedly out the window. "Chiron's probably not the only one who'd be happy to have you back. There might be some apology tour type-stuff, but for the most part... I think you'd get a warm welcome home."

Luke just gave a noncommittal grunt, and I let it go. That was a bridge we could cross later.

For now, we still had one final part of our plan to put into action.

The reason Luke had joined Kronos in the first place was because he'd been neglected by his Olympic parent, especially since his mortal parent had been in such a bad place. He'd discovered the hard way that Kronos was no better alternative, but the fact remained that the gods used their mortal children at best, and at worst completely ignored them for their entire lives.

We needed to find a third option, some middle ground way to make things better. So, we decided to be the change we wanted to see.

As legal adults with a newly moved-in apartment that had a decent amount of space, we had the power to make our home a space for demigods who had nowhere else to go. If their immortal parents were neglecting them and things weren't good with their mortal parent either, they could come to us. For a little while, or to stay for good. We made our own little sanctuary, then shared it with all the kids like us who'd needed it.

Over time, the operation expanded, and we moved into a bigger apartment with more space. Thanks in part to Luke and I, Camp Half-Blood won the war, and we were able to do even more once Kronos stopped being a threat. What had started as not much more than a dream of doing good had turned into a loud, busy, happy house with people constantly coming and going.

Which is how we'd ended up in an alleyway talking to a scared teenager, after helping defeat a monster who'd been bearing down on him.

"Who takes care of you?" asked Luke, a sympathetic and understanding frown on his face as we stood a little ways from the kid. We didn't want to make him uncomfortable, but we'd gotten good at spotting the signs of a young Half-Blood in distress and helping them.

"I take care of myself," the kid spit. I tried not to glance at Luke.

"We used to do that, too," I said, moving a little closer to Luke. "We both ran away from home, survived on the streets, although I guess we really took care of each other."

"Now, we take care of people like you," Luke continued, right where I'd left off. "Do you know what you are?"

The kid hesitated, then half shook his head. He at least had some idea, then.

"You're a Half-Blood," I said. "Half mortal, half immortal Olympian god."

"...What?"

"Look, I know it's a lot to process," said Luke. "But the longer the three of us sit in this alley, the more likely it is another monster's gonna come and pick a fight."

We managed to get the kid up and moving, heading back for our apartment. On the way, we explained more about the Olympians, and told him about Camp Half-Blood.

"It's a good place to get training, and to meet other Half-Bloods like you," I said. "A place for heroes."

"It's only one option, though," Luke added. The kid nodded, looking a little overwhelmed but excited as we stopped outside our apartment door.

"And... what's the other option?"

Luke and I shared a smile, then he pushed open the door to our apartment.

Inside, we were immediately greeted with a wave of noise and excitement. We'd left Ethan Nakamura, one of the Half-Bloods Luke had met away from camp, in charge, and he'd been leading the rest of our group in basic combat lessons.

"What... what is this place?"

"A place for normal kids who need somebody to take care of them," Luke answered. "You'll still get training, since monsters will always be trying to kill you."

"But we won't ever ask anything of you, other than to do your own damn dishes," I said. "No dangerous quests, no tribute to the gods. Just our own little makeshift family going through life together."

Luke put his arm around me, pulling me into his side and kissing my temple as Ethan noticed our newcomer and waved him over to join in the fun. Luke and I stayed where we were, watching the bubble of happiness we'd made together with smiles on our faces. We'd gone through hell and back to get here, but as far as I was concerned, every moment of pain had been worth it for Luke and I's happy ending.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

Percy Jackson Taglist: @valkyriepirate

#fictober23 #percy jackson #luke castellan #percy jackson fanfiction #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson oneshot #luke castellan fanfiction #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan oneshot #percy jackson and the olympians #kronos #camp half blood #chiron #dionysus #mr. d #pjo fanfiction #pjo #ethan nakamura #hermes

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Fernando/Lance

you might enjoy: Canadian Fest, eh - for more Lance content.

If your fic is on this list and you don’t want it to be, please let me know and I will remove it immediately, no questions asked. I have contacted most of the authors on this list, but sometimes people fall through the gaps - just pop me a message🤍

have a pairing you want me to do next? please read the faqs and then head to my inbox.

don’t forget to give the authors featured on this list some love in the form of kudos, bookmarks, and comments!

i won't lie to you, anon... I thought we'd agreed on Strollonso as the pairing name. 🤭 my vote still goes to Lando.

i hope you enjoy these ❗️🤍

nsfw: El Dick Plan by @waddlingpenguin | E | 800 Lawrence and Fernando have a misunderstanding at the dinner table. This fic is hilarious - unashamedly unhinged, just as Strollonso should be, and so unbelievably funny. This was one of the first Lance/Fernando fics I read. I think it rearranged my brain a little bit.

'In fact, Lance literally has his foot so far up Fernando’s pant leg that Stoffel is surprised he’s not choking on Canadian toes each time he opens his mouth to talk to the engineers.'

shatter my life apart (see me for somebody else) by @vicsy | M | 1.4k An exploration of Lance and Fernando's relationship. This is a stunning fic. This author has just the most beautiful writing style - it's like poetry, and flows in the most stunning way. This is as much a love letter to Lance as it is to Strollonso - I really, really loved this one.

'Fernando Alonso is a perpetual wildcard and Lance builds his attitude around this little image, prepared for some sort of psychological warfare but it never happens.'

nsfw: victor's spoil by venerat | E | 1.9k Following Fernando's first pole for Aston Martin, Lance is invited to his room - a Winner's Room AU. The vibes here are suitably unhinged/rancid/possessive. If I were to recommend a fic to help someone get Strollonso, to understand the essence of who they are together, I would recommend this one. I love everything this author writes.

'Imagining Fernando with them makes Lance want to chew through wire. Again: fucked up, truly and extensively. He’s just really fucked up about Fernando.'

nsfw: I make two grand an hour by @kritischetheologie | E | 3.1k Lance meets Fernando for the first time at a sponsor event. I adored this fic. It is so funny and well-characterised and hot. One thing that I really love about this author is their ability to weave in detail - you could read their fics over and over again, and still pick up something new each and every time. It just makes for the richest, most delicious stories that draw you in every last time.

'(Lance had almost just said fuck it and gone into banking when he graduated two years ago, like he’d always known he probably would eventually, ever since the day he showed up at St. Andrews and realized that the entire world economy ran on fake numbers on a half-dozen computer screens, but the whole point of trust funds was supposed to be not having to be boring. Who the fuck else was going to make art? Humanity needed him to be living dramatically, falling in love with a thousand beautiful men whose lips he could immortalize in poetry.)'

nsfw: green light, red wine (and i don't feel fine) by @vicsy | E | 9k (wip) Fernando is a crime boss caught in a long-standing feud with Lawrence Stroll - things get complicated when he meets Lance. This fic is fantastic. The vibes are unmatched. This author has such a beautiful, almost melodic writing style, which I love. Also. This is fucking hot. 10/10.

'There aren’t many opportunities Fernando deliberately missed in his life. He wouldn’t be on top if he did. Right next to him, clad in a tight white t-shirt, sits an opportunity for a power move, the one Fernando would take all the way.'

nsfw: silver platter by @wewentcarracing | E | 9.7k Lance and Fernando grow closer, much to Esteban's dismay. This is delicious. Full of unhinged and intense moments. Every word of this is perfection; something I particularly appreciate about this author is their ability to build tension - you won't be able to put this story down once you've started it. Perfection.

'Lance laughs, off-guard and delighted. Fernando has this way of deciding what's true in his own mind and then forcing it into reality with brute strength alone. He's decided that Lance will make it to the podium this year, and so he will. It feels so, so good to hear coming from another driver—any driver, really, but the fact that it’s Fernando. Two-time WDC. Veteran. It doesn't feel like he's being toyed with; it feels real.'

nsfw: Not Even Jail by @baldrmoon | E | 9.9k (wip) Lance is a rookie detective with a new partner - they've met before. This is such a fantastic start to what I know is going to be an incredible story. The world-building here is fantastic. A world away from F1, but with so many of the dynamics and relationships mirrored in a totally new setting that feels very organic and true-to-life. It's just very well done, and I am excited to see what the author does next!

'Lance was charmed almost despite himself. The guy – Fernando, Lance made a mental correction, – smiled, a bit sideways, narrowing his eyes. Lance immediately felt flustered under his intense stare.'

#strollonso #alonstroll #1814 #fals #f1 rpf #pairing:fernando/lance #driver:fernando #driver:lance

[roamingtigress]

Desire

Hosea and Dutch, who have been inseparable for over thirty years, are now old men. Though their love has remained the same, their bodies have changed over the years, changes that have left them feeling a bit self-conscious and vulnerable.

One Valentine's Day though changes their perspective, and they both learn to embrace the beauty of aging. (It's safe for work just a bit lengthy! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Even if you just want to call me a nerd.)

It's Valentine's Day, a day we forego going on trade runs and bounty hunts, to make it a day just for ourselves and, well, what one often does on Valentine's Day.

Our Valentine's Days are also never without the theme of trying to outdo each other. If Dutch gets me orchids and chocolates that are just the right size to hand-feed to me, I'll set up a bathtub littered with rose petals with classic music being played in the background. You can call us sappy if you'd like; we've been called worse.

"This will be the year I will outdo you, Hosea!"

I roll my eyes inwardly, scoffing. Truth be told, there is, of course, no real winner in this competition; we both benefit when we try to out-spoil each other. Eventually, we both end up being naked at some point in the day, sometimes throughout the whole day. If you can guess it was Dutch who started it all, you'd be right. He wanted to make our Valentine's Day more romantic than anyone else's and wanted to see how far we'd take it. It's one of the plans he has put together that hasn't turned into a disaster, for the most part. There was that one disastrous breakfast in bed which he burned, but he meant well.

I roll aside and sit up in bed, playfully tapping him on his nose. "Game on, Dutch, game on."

Dutch just giggles, the winter sun reflecting beautifully on his features. They also expose the scars he's gained over the years from misadventures, some of which he exaggerates; the one on his chin was from when he dared to shave himself in the dark. Mistake. I've seen his hair in better shape; the messiness of it adds to his decidedly playful demeanor this morning. He pokes my nose back.

"It'll be hard to beat last year."

Yes, last year. We stowed away on a classy passenger ship, that lovely Grand Korrigan. I had intentions to buy tickets but they were sold out, so we did what we did, with the added thrill of the idea of being caught being a stowaway. We managed to stay off the radar, up until . . .

"We emptied everyone's wallets in poker, and we ran out on the deck . . ."

As Dutch chuckles, there is as much laughter in his eyes as there is in his voice. "We had that mob of stuffed shirts chase us back inside, down the hall towards our room --"

"And I was so turned on by the way you handled the table, that you had to relieve me. I couldn't make it to the room and well, it was getting awkward trying to run with an erection." I let my finger drag along the side of his cheek as I lay back down beside him.

"Stroking me off in the hallway, while we kissed . . ."

Dutch's eyes take on a mischievous glint. "And we got caught."

"We did!"

The fellows we played with weren't so disgusted at us for doing what we were doing (I suspected a few were queer; one just gets a vibe from another) but rather that we parted with their money and they finally caught the miscreants who robbed them. There was that one comment about 'I knew you two were's queer before you two even sat at the table together.' I threw them an empty wallet that I had often carried around with me to throw off someone's game (fancy wording for scamming) and dragged Dutch down the hallway and into our room.

I lean over, kiss him softly on his lips, and slowly pull away just to make soft eye contact. Perhaps it wasn't a traditionally, conventionally romantic moment; there was the thrill of being caught and sure enough, it happened. For us, it was thrillingly romantic; our hearts pounded when we heard those footsteps rushing towards us and before we could pull away (not that we wanted to), they caught it.

"Oh, it was so much fun."

Dutch's hand softly cups the side of my face, as he looks into my eyes. "Unbelievably so."

Dutch later got a fancy bath prepared for us, complete with champagne and rose petals. Securing that arrangement was interesting. I stole a man's identity when we were playing poker, and the fellow who was smooth-talked into arranging the bath assumed the fancy lady who accompanied the stolen man's identity was going to join Dutch; ironically some raven-haired dutchess from Europe. It would come as no surprise if I told you we made love in that tub; not merely sex, but making love. When Dutch puts his weird little mind to it, he is something. We both deserved a little reward for that collaboration.

"Got any plans, Dutch?" I had to ask.

Dutch looks like he's in thought as if he hadn't planned for weeks. I know better and he knows that I know better. "I might have a few . . ." He muses. "But they're for me to know and for you to find out!"

"You little shit!"

My husband, finding amusement at my expense once more, I have a way of bringing it out in him. He pulls me up on top of him as if I were a blanket, in such a position that I would be facing him; I can't complain. His body is so warm that it felt like I was pulled up over a hot water bottle.

"I thought I'd surprise you, 'sea."

I couldn't help but notice that when he pulled me up on top of him, his pyjamas (surprisingly with mangos and books and cigars printed on them) had shifted in such a way that revealed a nipple; it stared up at me. What a tease.

"With a nipple reveal, Dutch? What a slut."

I lean in and kiss it, I just had to. He squeaks.

"T-they might make an appearance."

I smile a mischievous smile. "Well, I would hope so. It's Valentine's Day! So what if Hosea Fucks Friday was the other day. If we don't take our clothes off at some point of the day, then it's just another day."

I close my eyes as I feel a big hand slip underneath my pyjama shirt, finding its way to my back. He rubs in a smooth massage, his fingers gracefully working their magic. "Patience, Mr. Matthews. I have a plan!"

Of course he does.

If that plan involves him massaging me all day, I'll take it. I arch my back, encouraging him. Sure enough, he gets the hint and works in a firmer caress and I let out a long sigh; the combination of the warm body against mine, his touch, his heart and my heart beating against each other.

"You're off to a good start . . . " I murmur, my eyes closing.

Dutch of course, almost; in that childish sort of way he does over every little thing he does that goes without a hitch. "Had to start somewhere." There's a spark to his eyes. "You know how it goes with us, once one touches another . . ."

"Of course . . . " I murmur, framing his jaw in my hands. "Both of us are just so . . . Easy."

I study his face for a long time, taking in the contours of his cheekbones and how the light played on them. There are scars scattered across his cheek and chin; the one you might see most noticeably is from a shaving challenge if you will. He thought he could shave just as well in the dark as in the daytime, I dared him to do it, and well, he did, and removed a little piece of chin. He tells everyone it was from a grazed bullet. I then feel his face studying mine. He had a sort of dreamy look to his face, almost . . . Almost like when we first met. We 'looked into each other's eyes and saw something', and it would seem he's seeing something. He's eyeing me like a beautiful painting, a statue, a prize-winning stallion.

We've been together for over thirty years. Things have changed over those decades. We both have wrinkles and curves in places that didn't have them before. Certain things are sagging a bit. We both have a bit of a paunch, one of us more than the other and by 'other' I'm not referring to myself.

"My days of looking good are long over, Dutch."

"Nonsense!" Dutch scoffed, giving my nose a gentle tweak. "And as part of my plan, I'll show you!"

Now I've heard him say 'I have a plan many a time and for the most part, nothing of note comes of it (minus those plans that go awry and end up in absolute chaos) . . . But, I was curious, given what day it is.

Dutch carefully rolls me off of him and heads to our bookcase which is a glorified small library. I watch curiously as he meanders over to the bookcase. His once rolling strut now takes on a bit of a shuffle, the limp that he's had since his forties has gotten more obvious. The life that we led had caught up to us both. I shake my head as I note his pyjama pants have hiked down a bit, I see the crack of his ass; that ass isn't as supple as you can say these days but still something to grab. I have to reassure him that he looks as handsome as ever, as he doesn't think so. Words aren't always enough; I have to show him, touch him in those special spots he feels vulnerable about, and make him feel beautiful. Likewise, Dutch still thinks I'm as handsome as ever. I'm a weathered old man of seventy-five, but . .. He has his way of bringing me around. He's a man who can master words, and know how to say the right things even if if I'm not feeling the words he's describing. Some say that's mere manipulation, but speaking of someone who has such an intimately deep connection, I can tell you it's the intimacy of the soulmate.

I watch curiously as he picks up a long green-covered book, of medium thickness and then a stick of graphite from a box on the bookshelf and slides on his thick black-framed glasses; I raise an eyebrow. It then occurs to me . . .

Did this man creep into my head, and rob me of my plan? Now I taught him a few things but I don't think I've taught him *that* well. I want to tell him that I have the same idea where I'd be drawing, but . . . No. I'll surprise him.

"Oh, I'm sure there are prettier things that you can draw. Like what's outside the window, that Heartlands landscape—"

Dutch lets out a deep belly laugh as he sits down, clapping my knee as he perches on the edge of the bed, facing me. "Am I married to the landscape?"

I retort; he opened the door for it. "Sometimes I think life would be easier If I was married to the Heartland Overflow! With all the frogs and the muskrats . . . "

"Destined to live with pests then, huh?"

That idiot just laughs again knowing it was my turn to walk into it, hugging that book to him as I give him a halfhearted kick. He then studies me for a long moment, his eyes twinkling as he just looks over at me. I can't deny he's being adorable; I can't get seriously annoyed. Yes, he's still frustratingly charming and uses it at every opportunity to get his way. Very frustrating.

"How do you want me posed?" I ask, remembering the last time we've drawn each other . . . Oh, it's been years.

We were both young and took up (illegal) residence in a shoreside house on Iron Lake. It belonged to an artist who was at the time, away in Paris and as something to do to pass the time when it was raining, we took time drawing one another. We were fitter then, with fewer wrinkles in some places, fresher faced. The drawings are still framed over our bed. That house went from being owned by an artist to a fisherman and now it's abandoned when he packed up his fishing gear and took up residence that was owned by some fellow named Hamish. Maybe one day, we'll get our boys to fix it up for a little family retreat.

I watch Dutch's face take on a pondering expression, his eyes softly scanning my form, mentally taking note of every detail. I find myself doing the same with him; there's love in those eyes, a certain twinkle to go with it that tells me this is a fun little activity borne out of love. I could tell him that there are more attractive, younger models out there he could use. I'm sure some art school out Saint Denis could provide them, but he'd argue that there'd be no one else that he'd want to draw.

"Natural, with that faraway look I often catch you in. Y'know, the look I catch you when you're reading and tryin' to ignore me."

I laugh but sit up in bed, keeping one knee up and bracing myself with my left arm, while the other casually drapes down.

"A little overdressed there, Mr. Matthews?" Dutch warmly teases; that twinkle in his eyes, that playful but loving tone in his voice... I suppose he loves me. "I... I want to show how handsome you are still."

I sigh. There's no fighting with him over this; he'll think I'm gorgeous if I'm wearing a paper bag. With some feigned reluctance, I shed off my pyjamas, putting on a little show for him because I do like that stupid smile and making him a little thirsty somehow, before placing them on the bedside dresser.

As Dutch makes himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, I reposition and take on that look he so desires. He's got that mustache twisted up into a smile as he starts. He's posing rather artistically himself; he's got his ass sinking into the corner of the mattress, one ankle and foot tucked up behind his knee which belongs to a leg he lets lazily dangle off the mattress. His head is tilted in that way when he's about to cause a stir with me, complete with that damn spark in his eye. He's got that damn pyjama top unbuttoned to his navel and has a nipple staring out at me. I'm not sure if this 'wardrobe malfunction' (as you kids call it) is intentional or accidental, but knowing him so intimately I'm going with the latter. It drives me nuts when he dresses like that, I can't keep my eyes off him, I can't keep my hands off of him, and he knows it; what an old tart.

As Dutch makes himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, I reposition and adopt the look he desires. He's got that mustache twisted up into a smile as he starts posing rather artistically; his ass sinking into the corner of the mattress, one ankle and foot tucked up behind his knee, lazily dangling off the mattress. His head is tilted in that way when he's about to cause a stir with me, complete with that damn spark in his eye. He's got that damn pyjama top unbuttoned to his navel, and a nipple is staring out at me. I'm not sure if this 'wardrobe malfunction' (as you kids call it) is intentional or accidental, but knowing him so intimately, I'm going with the latter. It drives me nuts when he dresses like that; I can't keep my eyes off him, I can't keep my hands off of him, and he knows it; what an old tart.

I decide to poke him in his belly with a toe, making him squeak; he's still stupidly ticklish. "Dutch, you're distracting me."

Dutch's silly smile turns into a grin. He felt my eyes on him; I was egging him on. "Pretend I'm being an annoying shit when you're reading, and you're trying to engross yourself in your fictional fantasy."

I scoff, somehow managing to retain my expression and pose. I scoldingly point and shake my finger at him, and that grin just widens, with a chuckle. "When aren't you being an annoying shit? And when I do engross myself in my fictional fantasies, you decide it's time to get needy and crawl into my lap for your hair to be played with and your belly to be rubbed." Admittedly, I inadvertently encourage that because I can't resist; once he brings out the puppy eyes act, I can't resist.

"Point taken!" Dutch's voice is boisterous at my rebuttal; he rolls with my punches and brings out another zinger at me as he points the graphite stick at me.

"Now who's distracting who? With you thinkin' about touching me and all."

I roll my eyes and shake my head at that sass, which he accentuates with a squirm of his ass. "Dutch . . ." I could go on with this back-and-forth banter all day; I enjoy it more than I let on. A big part of me wants to keep poking the bear, to see what he comes up with next, and to surprise him with what I'm capable of. But . . . I am curious to see this masterpiece he's working on, and I'd like to see it before I head off to the afterlife.

Dutch starts at his work slowly, his hand moving at a slow, fluid pace for the most part, intermittently peppered with rapid flicks of his wrist.

"This isn't one of those caricature pieces, is it?" I ask curiously, maybe with some caution; we have such a piece above our dresser; some silly Frenchman did it for us when we made a trip to, ugh, Saint Denis when I visited family and Dutch insisted on tagging along. It's a cute style, a cute piece, but I'd rather some of my features not be exaggerated if he's drawing me in the nude.

"Real-life study, Old Girl!" Dutch beamed, creases forming in the corners of his eyes; he's frustratingly adorable when he's enthusiastic about something to the point where the crow's feet arrive to roost.

I feel like disappearing into the bedsheets as I sense a wave of vulnerability washing over me. It's not often I feel vulnerable. He means well; the love is evident in his eyes, though; I can't bring myself to say no to this thing.

"You . . . You don't have to draw every detail."

Dutch frowns, tipping his head in that way when he's puzzled by something, not dissimilar to a dog puzzled by some strange sound that it doesn't know what it is. Occasionally, he'll do that in an argument, as if not understanding why I'm upset with him.

"I find every detail of you to be beautiful, 'sea."

"Every bit?" I ask, tilting my head as well.

As a spouse with over twenty years of experience, it's natural to find at least one part of your partner's body to be, well, not beautiful. For Dutch, it's that damn ugly right toe of his, crooked and bigger than the other, and yet it's the one that he likes to poke me with.

Dutch gently insisted, his face taking on a sort of dreamy expression. "Every bit. And I love to kiss every bit of your body --"

I gently but firmly interrupt; if I don't, there goes his plan, and it'd be another on the pile of failed plans. How do I know this? Because that silly man has a hard time keeping his hands off of me (and I admit the feeling is mutual for as much of a pain in the ass he is and how much it just encourages him), or his lips off my body, and this drawing will never get done! Maybe if he doesn't interrupt me again, he can get what he wants. It is lovely having him kiss over my body, and they can be the softest, sweetest little kisses. He's a bit slower at them these days, as if memorizing every inch of my body.

"Dutch, you're distracting me."

Dutch snickers, outright snickers, and returns to work once I roll my eyes and regain my composure, repositioning myself.

"Cheekbones . . . " Dutch whispers, half to himself; it was one of those cases where he thinks his thoughts are still inside his head but he lets them spill out. "Still beautiful, defined cheekbones . . . "

I have a tiny smile threatening to grow. My cheekbones are one feature of me that I'm still rather fond of. My face has sunken with age, as Dutch's has; his cheekbones are more prominent than when I first met him. I often catch him running a thumb over mine as he looks into my eyes. Sometimes before a kiss, sometimes as he's telling me how much he loves me or something equally sappy. He likes to kiss them in the morning, trying to butter me up after he stirs me awake because, with certainty, I can say that he's the thing that stirs me awake, and I'm not a morning person.

"Eyes that look into my soul . . . "

Now he's getting a bit sappy. I've heard him describe my eyes as having a lot of soul and, at times, a certain weariness to them (I can't imagine why). I manage that faraway look, though my focus isn't entirely so far away, but at the man drawing me and beyond.

"I'm so attractive you can't keep your eyes on me." Dutch teases, snickering again when I scoff. He is indeed a lovely specimen to look at but at this moment, he's more silly than sexy, but I'll let an old manchild dream that he's still a Roman sculpture of a man.

"I'm looking behind you." I'm trying to focus on the painting of our dearly departed Labrador, Matilda -- who was buried between Silver Charm and The Count -- emphasis on trying, as he's 'caught' me.

My dear husband is onto me, scoffing away. "Sure, sure . . . "

Dutch studies me for a long time, just smiling, looking at me the way a schoolboy looks at his crush, and I let out an exasperated sigh when he itches at his chest. It looked a little planned, to tease me, to show a little skin, which isn't as taut as it used to be; I might have caught a bit of a jiggle on that tit. But he's still gorgeous to me, jiggly bits and all. "Hey, when you got an itch, you scratch it!" Dutch tsk tsks as he catches me glancing at him for half a second.

"Slut!" I retort.

The idiot just grins like the Cheshire Cat; he knows that I know that was an attempt to flirt. Love. He's in love. I've had fleeting moments where I think life without him would be easier but they're fleeting when I think how much life would be. . . Well, duller, without him. He does provide unexpected moments of amusement like this, he's a warm body to snuggle up to at night and a damn good kisser. In my prime, I could have found someone better in bed (he's a bottom through and through and a bratty sub at that), but, well, I suppose I'm in love, too. I take on that faraway look, just 'thinking.'

"You know, I've always loved your nose. Perfectly kissable!" Dutch will be narrating this whole thing, just wait; he doesn't have to give progress reports but he feels it's his duty.

"You think every part of my body is kissable."

I'm convinced that the smile on Dutch's face will freeze on his face permanently. "Oh, I do . . . " He plans on kissing every inch of my body when we're done with this thing, I just know it. And I plan on doing the same for him.

All banter aside, as I put on my 'faraway stare', I feel exposed, but at the same time . . . Desired. Now and then we put each other in such a position where we will feel vulnerable; some may say it's 'toxic' but it's one of our ways of showing the trust we have in each other, a sort of gentle surrender in our dynamics; normally I'm the head of the household here but once in a while I'll let him take the reins and see what he does with them before taking hold of them, where I'll remind him. I would never shed my clothes in the name of art for anyone other than this man. In his younger years, Dutch would have jumped at the chance to be drawn in the nude, but with the contours he's gained over the years and knowing how self-conscious he can be of them, it's likely he too would only do this for me.

I can't help but be drawn by the elegance of his hand movements, even the movements he's making for what I'm assuming is shading; those are more deliberate. "Right after your hands, my favourite part of you is your chest. It's a safe for your heart and there's no force on earth or beyond that can bust it open."

The damn fool thinks I'm invincible. I know it's a lie he tells himself that he believes and tells me and tells others, as I know losing me is one of his greatest fears. It's a lie he uses to comfort himself and I won't take it away from him. Deep down, with my decade age gap, I fear I may go first, and one of my fears is leaving him behind. Dutch is much more fragile than he lets on. He won't do well without me. Not one bit.

But enough of the depressing talk.

Going from the circular motions of his hand, I can tell he's drawing my nipples, a part of my body that I don't think much of. That is until my mustached companion here decides to play with them and then I'm convinced they're hooked up with electricity with all its nerves. We both alike used to be firmer on that region on the map, like everything else but, we'll live with what we have.

"Do you know why men have nipples for, 'sea?"

Ahah! I knew it.

I think for a moment, though. I could think of some smartass response, but then I decided to show I know as much as he does. "They're leftover from when us fellows are developing in the womb if my memory serves me." I vaguely remember those details; it's been a bit since I've looked up the medical books. The last time I read one was when Dutch got a boil on the inside of one of his ass cheeks a few years ago and I wanted to get it properly drained; pardon me, that was too much information. I'm sure nobody wanted to know about an old man's bottom.

Dutch decides to be the smartass.

"Well, that's the boring answer."

"I was going for the scientific explanation."

"You can call it what you want," Dutch insisted with a smirk. "Medical professionals say they serve no purpose as we develop, but I disagree. These medical 'professionals' as they call themselves, must have less of a sex life than us old wrinklies."

I scoff. No doubt some of those experts are 'old wrinklies themselves, not much younger than us, but . . . "You can call yourself an old wrinkly. I prefer to use the term 'senior citizen.'"

Dutch can't help himself. "With citizenship, comes governance!"

Yes, he's still a rebel. He has trouble now and then getting up on his horse, an Irish Cob gelding named Blagdon, but he still thinks he's a revolutionary. I'll let him dream on.

Dutch is putting details into the collarbone; I can just tell from the expression alone; a soft, reflective expression as his eyes fall on my chest. Though the connection was there right at the beginning -- we looked into each other's eyes and saw something -- Dutch was, possibly to your surprise, socially charming at the start of our dating -- he could charm the socks off of you -- but awkward when it came to the art of seduction; maybe he was shy. I was his first experience with another man and I thought at the time he was a bit intimidated; my age gap didn't help, I thought. I was gentle, I was patient, and we took that part slowly. He loved to linger on my chest; he still does. He peppers a series of kisses along my collarbone before working his way downwards. It feels wonderful, and I can even remember the first time he did it; I ran my hands through his hair, giving the softest of kisses, and the lightest of nibbles as if he was eating corn on the cob.

"Such an underrated part of the body . . . " I think out loud, amazed at myself for remembering those little memories. "And yet you give it so much love . . ."

There's a warm twinkle in Dutch's eyes. "First place I kissed south of your lips. Every part of the body needs a bit of attention; everything is connected."

He works on my arms and shoulders next; those admittedly are still decently toned, as are his. We often don't think about how often we use them in our day-to-day lives. Even at my age of seventy-five and him at sixty-five, we still dance with our arms around each other, we enwrap each other around with them at nighttime. We often get nightmares; I suppose with the lifestyle we led before retiring, it comes naturally, so those embraces at night can get tight. Often, we wake up with crescent marks on our skin from our nails, and our ribs feeling bruised, and we don't even realize that we've been clinging to each other so hard. We use them to embrace each other during our lovemaking; we don't leave dents in the wall much anymore, but us 'old wrinklies' as Dutch refers to us as, do have sex. It's a little slower now, but still so good, even better as we've become so at one with each other's bodies.

Pardon me.

Attached to arms, of course, are hands, which his focus floats on next. I've mentioned before in another story that they're Dutch's favourite part of me, tied with my heart. Well, as an update, Dutch still loves the way I touch him. I love how they glide over the contours of his body, how they'll move about like a spider when I scritch and tickle, which he acts like he hates but I know he loves it, and eventually surrenders to. I love the way our fingers interlace; despite the difference in size and shape of our fingers. I love how they fit in with each other.

"I should do a study on your hands, Old Girl," Dutch purred, taking his time; I know he won't skimp on their details; every line on my knuckles will be drawn. "I still remember the first time you touched me, just a quick touch on the top of my hand when you brought that pan of bacon and eggs over to me, but I felt 'something' even there. And did I ever do things where you could 'accidentally' touch me."

I laugh, having a memory of him 'accidentally' brushing his hand against mine as we walked through some town. I don't know where it was, but I damn well knew he was flirting with me and I had to take him back behind somewhere to give him my first kiss. I wish I could remember where it was; I'd be happy to recreate it with him.

After a moment, he puts the graphite stick down for a moment and swallows hard. There's something he was trying to forget; I know the look he gets when he does that.

"Dutch . . . ?" I asked softly, concerned; I want to hold him and will.

"I'm just scared . . . " A word he doesn't use often; now it was his turn to feel vulnerable. "Of losing our memories."

I want to reach out and hold him, and I will. Sometimes I find myself forgetting about mundane things, locking the door and such, and it scares me. Dutch will forget things and will put on a stoic act; except today. Today was the first day where I caught him afraid of losing his most precious memories. The fear of getting dementia for people of our age is very real; we've built a life together, raised a family, lived out some dreams and let others slip through our fingers. To help us preserve those memories, we've created journals, and photographs taken of us, and now . . . Drawing each other again, this time as old men.

"I'll help you with that, my love," I speak softly. "It's why I agreed to do this."

I get a smile out of him again, and I'm glad of it. I don't like letting him stray into dark thoughts for long; it can be hard to bring him out of it. "I thought it was because you knew I was going to bring out the puppy eyes." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he still uses them to try and get his way and yes, it's still very effective; damn manipulative old fart.

"That was part of it," I scoff. "I've never been good at resisting those."

Dutch gave me that look as he continued to draw, presumably my torso next. I know he won't spare any details. "There were maybe a handful of times when they didn't work. You put up one of those big personal space bubbles. I didn't care to cross those. You'd chase me off, and I knew how good you were with the gun." He laughed, still that husky laugh from all those years ago.

I smirk. I admit I got a bit of a power trip out of that. The others . . . Oh, they couldn't help but stop and watch. Maybe I earned more respect from them, and I might have carried a little swagger with them as well. Everyone needs a little ego boost.

"But . . . You'd always charmed and wormed your way back into my heart," I laugh, fondly remembering; putting up those invisible barriers was for the best when I felt my blood boiling after he said or did something particularly stupid, but it was so hard on both of us. "You did your damned 'I'll lie in your lap while you read so you pay complete attention to me' thing, to buying expensive things for me from chocolate to wine and silly imported cologne and gold watches and other expensive trinkets." Truthfully, one could think he was trying to buy off my anger, and maybe it was an attempt to do that, but . . . I found it amusing to see how far he'd go with it.

"You still have that gold watch from when that happened the first time," Dutch said, a certain twinkle in his eye; it still works after all these years. "Bought it with the money I got from that bank job."

There were so many opportunities that he had where he could just steal something for me but just didn't. "You never did like stealing my gifts directly."

"I find it more rewarding," Dutch murmured, a wide smile appearing across his face; from the motions of his hand, he's working on some shading. "Besides, we got the money, might as well put it to some use."

I find that charming. And one of his best assets is that he's charming, and he can be an absolute menace with it. It's why, of course, I've gone softer on him than I should have over the years. I could have rejected those little gifts when I dropped my invisible barrier, could have shoved him off my lap when he crawled into it, but . . . Sigh. He's impossible.

Then, Dutch charms me yet again.

He turns the sketchbook around to show me the progress of his work.

I'm speechless.

"You like it, Hosea?"

I swallow hard. I feel vulnerable once again, but . . . Something else.

Desired.

Laid out in front of me in that drawing is a portrait of an aged man. He has skin that has sagged in places, wrinkles, and contours that weren't there before. He has a slight paunch, very slight, that was once flat. Details of the legs haven't been completed, but there's already the start of some muscle definition there. And yet he carries himself with an air of dignity and wisdom. The shoulders and arms that he's bracing himself on are still nicely toned; maybe not as toned as they were in his youth, but no judgment. He's looking off to some faraway destination, that if I didn't know better, was miles away versus the other handsome elder man a few feet away.

"Yes . . . Yes, I do."

I seem transfixed for a long moment; we just give each other soft eye contact, saying so much with that alone. How we love each other, how we trust each other. He slowly moves back to drawing but peeks out at me from the top of the book as he does.

"What would you say about getting this framed?"

I break my expression to smile. "I'll steal the damn frame for you."

I get another hearty laugh out of him. He works on my legs next, and then my. . . assets. He's a study in concentration, not letting one bit of detail escape him. He knows his way around my body better than I do. Even at our age, we still explore each other as if it is the first time again; truthfully, with that familiarity he has of my body, he probably could have done this drawing blindfolded.

When he's completed, Dutch slips up next to me with the sketchbook clutched to his chest. He has a smile that wouldn't have just lit up our house with electricity, but also the next residence a few miles away that belongs to Lenny. He wraps an arm around my shoulder as he shows me the completed drawing, and I feel a hint of that strength that he still has as he gives me even a gentle squeeze.

I swallow hard, snuggling into his embrace. He senses that I'm getting emotional and kisses me on the top of my head, then my shoulder, and that spot between my head and shoulder. I feel myself nearly speechless, and the words that tumble out of my mouth don't seem enough to convey how I feel. Every detail was etched in; he even drew in scars I've collected over the years. I still feel an edge of vulnerability, but . . .

"It's wonderful, Dutch, thank you . . . " I turn in his hold and hug him tight, lightly rubbing his back as I do; although it still feels strong, the skin shifts there more easily these days and ripples underneath my fingers.

"You make me feel . . . Handsome."

Dutch gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Because you are, Old Girl."

"It's been a while since I've done some drawing, mostly landscapes and rabbits and things as you know, but I promise that I'll try to do you justice."

He nuzzles a kiss on my cheek. I still love the feeling of his bristly stubble on my cheek.

"Don't worry, Old Girl, I'll love it."

There is both unpredictability and predictability to Dutch, even now; he's frustrating in that regard. At the same time, he's a boy who's insecure and needy, craving every scrap of attention and affection that can come his way. He gets plenty of both, but Dutch is Dutch, and I don't see that changing anytime soon.

I take the graphite stick and sketchbook from him as he hands them over, kissing him on the cheek reluctantly as I break away from the hug and shift over to sit at the corner of the bed. "Now, pyjamas off. If I had to, you have to too." I sneak a playful wink.

Dutch chuckles and strips off the pyjamas, deciding to make a little show of it just as I did for him because Dutch is Dutch. He's already front and centre of attention as he's about to restart his modelling career, who thought he'd get back into it at sixty-five? I scoff and roll my eyes; this man amuses me as much as he can frustrate me.

I think for a moment about what pose he should get himself into. He does look rather sexy when he's brooding and smoking a cigar, is still rather delicious when he takes on a pinup girl pose, a silly thing he sometimes does to help get me in the mood. I could have him pose on his hands and knees, but I fear that would be too distracting for me. Then I had another idea, one pose of his that I find so underratedly sexy and beautiful.

"Now something... Vulnerable," I warmly suggest, my eyes gently meeting Dutch's eager gaze as he waits for further instruction. "Maybe that pose you often take after we've had sex, after the aftercare, where you look so... Delectably submissive." As much as the sex is still good and as much as we enjoy, I relish that period afterwards; I often lie in the crook of his arm as we lazily trace patterns on each other's skin, sometimes blowing raspberries on each other if we're feeling silly, and if this isn't unfolding at night, it causes us to happily put off whatever else needs to be done in the day.

Dutch smiles shyly at me and slowly lies on his back. He tucks one hand behind his head, as if playing with his hair (something he does when caught in a lie or playing coy with me for one reason or another), while the other is tucked up on his chest, not unlike a dog who wants his belly rubbed. His legs sprawl out, openly exposing his genitals. His expression is soft, trusting, and loving, his body language submissive and vulnerable, echoing the trust in his expression. At once, he looks incredibly sexy and slutty, yet adorable; a wonderful contradiction before my eyes that I could just about gobble up. Cute aggression, as they call it, is very real.

"You look comfortable," I murmur, letting my eyes roam over him before I start; my voice is soft and soothing, as if calming a restless horse instead of the man who looks anything but restless. "And absolutely... Precious."

Dutch almost whispers; many of you know him as someone who can be, well, loud. "The only way I could be more comfortable would be if you'd be snuggled up against me."

"That'll come when I'm done, Dutch," I smile, deciding to start with his face; I know how hard it is to maintain expression, so I thought it'd be humane to start with that first. "You still have such a gorgeous face."

Truthfully, I feel his face looks wiser than he is, but I love framing it in my hands as I look into those eyes. That big nose is a feature that some (wrongly, in my eyes) view as 'ugly,' but I find it to be wonderful, so unique, and I kiss it at every opportunity. Likewise, I find something special about that cleft chin, which he loves getting scratched. I love tracing a finger along his jawline, along those cheekbones, and of course, kissing those lips. I admit, I enjoy scratching that stupid soul patch, and I can't resist tracing a finger along that mustache as those early morning rays peek through the curtains. I draw each of these features in order of my narration in this paragraph and pour my heart into putting as much detail into them as possible.

Just as he had done with me, I want Dutch to feel as handsome as I see him.

"We should do this more often," Dutch spoke with a slight catch in his voice in his suggestion. "I think... I think it'd be a good way to remind us of the beauty of growing old."

I was touched by that and swallowed hard. He's right; there should be no shame in growing old. Old age shouldn't be something to be ashamed of; it's an accomplishment. I waste no time in making my decision.

"Absolutely," I answer softly, thinking of how beautiful the flowers are in spring in our surrounding area; we reside at what was once called Hanging Dog Ranch. Dutch decided to call it Casa Van der Linde. Are you surprised?

"During nice weather, we could even do it outside. I think that'd be lovely out by the flowers, by the creek."

There was no argument from Dutch. It's one of his favorite spots to read, go for a ride. I've once worried he had gone missing, but I've found him napping against a boulder among the lupins with that damn Evelyn Miller in his lap.

One of his novels, you perverts.

Once I was done with his other facial features, after I etched in my last detail for his ears, I shift my focus to his hair. It's still beautiful, and even more so now that it's silvered, and long! It hangs down his shoulders like a lion; magnificent. And it shines so nicely in those warm sunsets and sunrises and in the candlelight. His hairline has been receding, but he still has those lovely ringlets which I love to twirl between my fingers, and Dutch gets just as much enjoyment out of it. He still pushes his head back against my fingers, his eyes closed in contentment; it's not unheard of that my scalp massages, my playing with his hair goes on for hours. At times, I use his hair as something to grip onto for more risqué purposes. I know what you're thinking, but no, that's not the reason behind his receding hairline.

When I reluctantly pulled my attention away from his hair as I drew one more curl in, I worked on his neck next. The skin there had lost some elasticity, as mine had done as well, but still strong enough to carry that big head of his; it's weighed down with mangoes and plans. Then, his shoulders are my next target. They still have some nice muscle tone to them, and attached, long, lean strong arms (whose skin is thinner these days) that still hold me close and strong at night, as if protecting me from the boogeyman at night.

"I always liked your arms, you know," I muse, taking my time and shading them. "Lean and long and strong, and how I just... fit so well in them."

Dutch looks lost in thought for a moment, though I knew he was listening. There's a warm look in his eyes as if he was reliving a memory. "I remember holding you for the first time. It was that cold night . . . Someplace in West Elizabeth, before there was more development out in Strawberry. The fire wasn't doing a good enough job at keeping you warm and I thought, you'd be warmer up against me."

I chuckle, remembering. We tried to get back there for our latest anniversary; alas, the location was turned into a hunter's lodge for the rich, some big gaudy thing. It made our hearts sink. "It was when we were getting to know each other a little more. Truthfully, I thought you were coming onto me, holding me that close, and so tight. Not that I minded if you were, of course. I kept warm."

There's a spark in Dutch's eyes as he remembered. When you're married to someone as I have been, you notice little things that they tell you with their eyes. "I opened up my coat and pulled you into it, couldn't get all the way closed but I think the combination of our body temperatures compensated."

I can almost feel that warmth again. He had a massive Grizzly Bearskin coat that was an import from Canada, before getting that Black Bear one you might have seen him in; he unfortunately lost it during a train robbery.

Once I finished the shading on his shoulders and his arms, I start sketching out those big hands. I love them. His long, lean fingers are a bit stiffer these days, particularly in the colder months, but still do what they need to do; Special Tonic helps our old man hands tremendously. I massage his hands when they get particularly ouchy, as he does with me; Dutch always gets a bit grumpy when I start, but eventually, he gives in and enjoys it. If you guessed it, yes, he's still a bit of a baby at times over things. He still touches me in the right way, in the right places; they work well for that.

Just to tease me, Dutch plays with that hair a titch, giving me the puppy eyes look for no reason other than he can. I shake my head, scoffing. "You are really trying to prolong this, aren't you, Dutch?" I tease.

"Just got some locks caught up in my fingers, is all," Dutch teases, knowing that I know better. "I want my hair to look presentable for the drawing."

I scoff again, turning the book around to show the progress. "I've already drawn it."

"Oh, he's handsome!" Dutch grinned, giving his hips a bit of a squirm. "If you're not careful, I might flirt with him."

Flirting at an illustration of himself! It's just so... him. I just had to laugh, even if I encouraged him.

"You are impossible, Dutch."

Dutch just chuckles, giving that waist a bit of a squirm because he can. I pause the drawing for a moment because he is simply being too distracting.

"And now you're flirting with me!"

"When don't I?"

That old imp got me then. He always flirts with me; I could be reading the paper while sipping my coffee when he decides to pull my attention away by kissing me on the neck. It comes off as a bit silly these days rather than sexy. I haven't been able to fully read a newspaper in the morning in over thirty years, I'm secretly amused, and I think he knows it.

I eventually do get back to the drawing, moving my attention onto his chest. As mentioned earlier, the skin is, well, less taut there these days. He's never been the most barrel-chested fellow but looks even less so these days; all the same, I still love laying my head on it, feeling, and loving the warmth from it. I still love blowing kisses right over that heart, as he does with me. I etch in the details as I see them presented before me, details that took him a long time to come around to accepting, with some convincing from me. He's been gaining positive associations, learning to like parts of his body better through my kissing them more. Over time, Dutch has been feeling more handsome these days, something I regret from time to time!

"You ain't drawing me with saggy tits, are you?" Dutch teased; he's growing more comfortable with his aging body, so much so that he'll crack a joke about it.

"You drew me with a potbelly," I playfully retort, though I won't live in denial; I do have a tiny bit of one these days that has been resistant towards me working it off, but alas, it remains. "It's only fair."

The graphite stick does its job as I gradually work my way down towards his lower torso, along that ribcage that carries a bit more flesh on it these days. Like the rest of his torso, he's still very ticklish there; I just have to dig in a little deeper when I poke him there, still often in public when I need to keep him in line. Most recently, Dutch got a good jab when he flirted with the new bartender in Valentine; a rather handsome, big Irish fellow of around our age who took a liking to us. I got a little jealous!

It was during that flirty moment that I cut short that we get older it's not uncommon for us seniors to... Get a little daring, and explore different things with each other. Maybe next time we're in town, we'll ask that Irish gentleman if he has any plans for the afternoon outside of pouring beer and cleaning glasses.

But! There's a drawing that needs to be done.

I etch in some more details on that mid-torso; one being a bit of a roll of his waist; a lovely love handle. I love them. They're something extra for me to grab that wasn't there all those years ago, and it's a secret kissing spot. That spot on his right hip is as sensitive as it ever was, though like his ribs I have to dig in just a little more to get a reaction out of him. Just because those hips, that waist, are a little thicker these days, doesn't mean they're any less slutty. Oh, they are. I'd be lying if I said he didn't use them to get his way from time to time. Imagine being manipulated by a sixty-five-year-old man's waist, complete with love handles! It's not something I'll openly brag about.

Dutch's ass is largely absent in this drawing; it's buried itself comfortably into the bedspread but a teasing hint of it is seen.

The next stop on the drawing Dutch tour, his belly. It was once so flat you could drive a train on it, and well, now, that train would fall off the rails. To put it bluntly, Dutch has developed a paunch (which I love), that I could just bury my face in — and I do. It sits like a well-used cushion as he lays in the manner in which he is posing, the lower roll slightly curtaining his groin. The married life has been suiting him well; there are some consequences to hand-feeding each other expensive imported chocolate from Europe every evening, but we've earned it for living as long as we have with the lifestyle we've led. If I want to hear his laugh, I'll blow a kiss on that irresistible belly button that doesn't know it wants in or out.

It makes me sad to think that he had once been so self-conscious about the changes to his body. To me, with more flesh on him, more of him to love, he looks even more handsome as he's aged.

Dutch's genitals, which he openly has exposed in a show of voluntary vulnerability and submission, weren't spared of aging, but they still do their job. They're dipped down between his legs that lay sprawled before him, his pubic hair as grey as the hair on his head and chest. A lot of men of our age have trouble getting it up; we are not foolproof in this regard. As mentioned earlier, sex is still good, but when we can't get it up, we've found other ways to deliver pleasure to each other, and in many ways, sex is even more enjoyable as a result.

His legs are part of the final journey in this session. Dutch's are long and lean, and thanks to daily horseback riding, their musculature is still damn fine. Their appearance hides the stiffness that's in them these days; for us both, our walks take us a little more time. Now, before you take, would you be shocked to learn though that I suspect he milks it now and then through so that he gets leg massages?

Dutch's feet are my last target. Those too get massaged, sigh. I again leave no detail undrawn; yes, I even drew that gross big toe of his. He says it happened many years ago during a heist when he accidentally dropped a safe on his foot, but I know damn well it's because The Count stomped one night at camp. He had a few drinks and forgot his boots and well, bare feet around horse hooves aren't among the best combinations out there. Dutchi is a little dramatic; he likes to exaggerate from time to time.

I finish the drawing with some extra shading around those soft curves of his body and etch in a few details here and there that I have accidentally left out. I finish the drawing off with those rings of his, and I set the graphite stick on the bedside table. Just as he had done with me, I slip up into bed next to him, kiss him on the forehead, and open up the book to him with my arms around him as he cuddles up close into my lap.

Dutch gets emotional. We all know he's emotional, that's nothing to be alarmed at, but there are times when I think he's just going to crumble. I thought one of those moments was unfolding before my eyes as he rapidly blinks back tears. He's come so far in regaining self-esteem over the changes to his body; had I undone all of that?

Dutch shifts half of his torso into my lap to get a better look at my work, his eyes taking in the details. There's a noticeable waver to his voice as he speaks, but there's a smile on his face, and it can be heard in his voice.

"I don't think the finest artists out of Europe could draw a better likeness of me."

I was touched, honestly touched, but I laugh. Someone who hadn't drawn much lately aside from the odd rabbit and deer, and maybe the odd folks in town (clothed in case you get any ideas), better than those highly fluent artists who have their artwork displayed in major art galleries around the world? Dutch is still a charmer.

"Oh, you flatter me," I laugh, hugging as much of Dutch as I can. "But I think we both know you'd be thrown out of their studios. You talk and fidget too damn much for a model! You'd be a pain in the ass and go off on some philosophical rant about art and man."

Dutch belts out a laugh, turning over onto his back with a big, silly smile. We know each other a bit too well. "Oh, I thought I was being a bit on the quiet side."

I grab a lock of that hair, twirl a long silver strand between my fingers, and give it a playful tug. "Only because I didn't actively engage in conversation!"

"And you flirt! You'd be kicked out for that. Something about needing to maintain professional conduct between artist and model." As if to emphasize, I poke him on his chest and then his belly, because I had to make him squeak. He deserves it.

There's a playful twinkle in Dutch's eyes as he positions himself to be poked again; he secretly loves it. I can also almost see the wheels, rusted as they might be, turning in his head. He's planning something and plays it coy.

Oh, but I think we don't have to maintain any of that pompous professional conduct here. We're small gallery-type artists. Flirting just grows familiarity with the model and artist. We have the perfect formulation."

I sigh, shaking my head, but decide to play along and see how far he goes. I smirk a knowing smirk, knowing it'll just egg him on. "What if the artist and model have already grown very familiar with each other?"

"Then, flirting becomes flirting with creativity," Dutch speaks a bit lower, dragging a finger along my jawline, to my neck, to the base of my ear. My breath hitches sharply; he knows damn well how that touch affects me.

"It can change perspective, explore new art concepts."

The moment I saw that glint in his eyes, that smirk, I knew Dutch was going to make good on my promise to 'kiss every inch of my body.'

"It's important for artists to study their subject before they even pick up their medium of choice," Dutch perfects the voice of an artist giving a speech at one of those big art galleries as he sets the book on the bedside table.

"You want to take in what you see in front of you and decide, what style should I use? Should this be realism, or should it be abstract? What medium should I use? And what will the meaning be behind the result?"

Dutch gently, smoothly, lays me down and starts to kiss my neck. I close my eyes, taking in the warmth from his lips, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs on my neck. He slowly trails more kisses down towards my collarbone, spending some time there before making his way down further on my chest. My back involuntarily arches up off the mattress as I feel his tongue just lightly tease a nipple, urging more out of him.

In between those kisses though, and the further he shifts his way down my body, Dutch starts to offer a string of names and dates of some famous paintings throughout history. He's trying to impress me with his artisan knowledge. Sometimes, I think there's a library in that thick skull of his, but a library where the books have all fallen off the shelves following a tornado. It all becomes a mess of dates and names that I cannot possibly save for later reference.

I roll my eyes, trying to tune out Dutch's voice as I focus on the sensation of his lips and tongue exploring me as if it were the first time. I encourage him when he's quiet, my hands roaming through those long locks of hair, savoring how nice it feels after all these years and just how thick it still is. While my hair hasn't turned to shit, I might be envying his.

And then, Dutch brings up the subject of man and art and how it will change humanity.

Oh God. He's going philosophical.

I'll have to stop this or he'll be talking at all hours of the night.

I know that to interrupt his ramble, I'll have to put the kisses—wonderful as they are—on pause. I firmly guide him up so that we're facing each other and roll my eyes as he gives a look that resembles a love-struck teenager, wanting to kiss again after stopping to catch a breath after a lengthy makeout session. Only this is a sixty-five-year-old man who thinks he could kiss every inch of my body while rambling about the history of art and its philosophy without me falling asleep.

I smirk and, after wrapping my legs around him, I turn him over so that I'm on top of him; there's very little resistance from him. Before he can get another word in about 18th-century philosophy in paintings, I entangle my fingers through that gorgeous silver hair and ease him in for a long, lingering kiss on his lips, which he returns in earnest. It does a damn good job of shutting him up, and well, I rarely turn down an opportunity to kiss that man. His lips are still so soft, and that mustache creates a ticklish sort of feeling on my skin that might turn others off, but I rather enjoy it.

Despite our age, something primal sometimes stirs within us when our lips are locked and tongues slip into each other's mouths, and I love it. This was one of those times.

There's a subtle battle of dominance taking shape. Dutch rolls me back over as he pushes his tongue against mine, a low, animalistic growl erupting from his chest. Being that I'm still very much top dog in this relationship (something that certain someone needs to be reminded about), I simply can't allow that. I push him right back with all my might, which isn't much these days, but he doesn't fight back too strongly, knowing. As evident from how easily it was to turn him over, I would say some of that strength reserve of his isn't quite at full tilt either. He tries once more to gain control of the situation -- complete with a playful grab of my ass. Naughty boy! I give his hand a light smack as I turn him back over, and finally hold him down with my legs possessively wrapped around him.

When we break from the kiss, Dutch looks at me that way again, as if I were some magnificent sculpture in Italy instead of this old man lying on top of him. I smack him on his ass with a snort; there's a satisfying sound that sounds not unlike what you'd get from smacking the rear of a pig, if you're into that sort of thing. I'm not one of those people, so you'll have to use your imagination. He loves it, evident from his boyish giggle.

"Happy Valentine's Day, you old rogue."

Dutch just looks at me with that lovestruck puppy expression. I can't resist, and I kiss him again.

#hosea fucks friday #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfiction #red read redemption 2 fanfic #vandermatthews #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde #hosea x dutch #dutch x hosea #van der linde gang #rdr2 dutch #rdr2 photography #red dead redemption 2 photography #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 community #red dead #red dead redemption two

[ystk-archive]

[Translation] capsule in girls '60s magazine (Feb. 2004)

When I first saw their music videos, the striking visuals immediately caught my eye. Simplistic designs, vivid color schemes on the outfits and sets… I can't describe the style as anything other than '60s-inspired. For the first edition of our "Pick Up Artist" feature, it's one whose existence fascinates me — let's take a look at the charm of capsule.

capsule is a music unit consisting of Nakata Yasutaka, whom manages the sound, art direction, design, concept work and so on, and vocalist Koshijima Toshiko. Nakata directs the image, visual aspects, and songs while Koshijima performs it all, resulting in their unique style. - original interview by Aikawa Chisato, translation by ystk-archive -

The reason behind their '60s-inspired visual style

Nakata: To be honest, I don't have any particular attachment to the '60s. I just like unique and minimalistic things, stuff with interesting shapes and clean designs and whatnot. It started when I got into interior design, and at first I especially liked Space Age furniture.¹ That's changed a little recently — I like pieces made out of wood but still with that outerspace kind of vibe. Even when it's made from wood, it doesn't feel natural, it still has this sort of odd look. When it comes to the '60s, I like the plywood that they often used. But I'm intrigued by Karimoku furniture too (laughs).²

— So would you say you're more interested in space and not the '60s?

Nakata: Yeah, and I guess sci-fi movies played a part in that. In movies like Men in Black you often see Tulip chairs, though I don't think they were used to evoke a retro or '60s feel on purpose.³ With films like that I tend to focus more on the furniture and not the overall atmosphere; if anything, I see furniture along with fashion as objects that look nice when put into a scene you're taking in as a whole. I like to come up with unconventional settings. Women are usually depicted in sci-fi films as secretaries, all wearing identical wigs and uniforms, and I like that kind of weird atmosphere. So instead of me consciously liking '60s aesthetics, I wound up thinking they were cool without making the connection that they were from that decade. I also love clothes that incorporate simplistic, striking designs, since they're like spacesuits (laughs).

— How do you feel about wearing clothes like that?

Koshijima: I'm also not obsessed with the '60s or anything, but I like to play around with that era's clothing and makeup styles. It's more fun than just wearing normal clothes.

— Have you two had similar tastes all along?

Nakata: Our tastes used to be completely different. I feel like she's adjusted to match me.

— So Koshijima-san is committed to being a model?

Koshijima: Yep. I haven't changed my approach, ever since the beginning.

— Are there times where you feel like your tastes really are different?

Koshijima: I don't think so. If we actually were fundamentally different, I don't think we'd be working together. Strangely enough, when I look at the materials I'm given, I start to think they're cute. Nakata: When I get an idea, I suggest it first. Koshijima: But he doesn't show me clothes or anything directly, instead he shows me photos and videos… Like I'm being brainwashed (laughs). The more he introduces me to all kinds of cool things, the more similar we become. After I watched the materials he gave me, poses and dance moves just started coming naturally to me without even realizing it.

— Maybe you ran across something from the '60s that left an impression and that ended up coming through in your image.

Nakata: Yeah, there are a lot of easy explanations for it. I wonder if we're more like a new product with a retro design that would fit nicely in someone's living room, rather than something that could be found in an authentic '60s vintage shop. I think even if we intentionally collected oldschool aesthetics from that era and tried to copy those, it'd still turn out differently, because peoples' concept of the '60s and the real '60s are two different things. But if you take parts of that concept people have of that decade and use them, you wind up with something that has the right feel to it. For me right now, the concept I have in mind is the "style" of the '60s. Instead of making clothes or objects to match up with the '60s aesthetic, the styles are already floating around in my head, and then I make content that reflects that. There were a lot of useless shapes — like aren't record players from back then weird-looking? The technology of them and the half-dome shape are of that time, but the way they look on the outside is as if someone was imagining the future while designing them. It's interesting how these days it's the opposite: now the exterior designs of things are retro while the tech inside is highly advanced. And I like both (laughs). I even like things that seem out of place. I'm drawn to a sense of disharmony.

— Would you say the essence of the '60s is woven into your music?

Nakata: Not intentionally. I think the things I like tend to show through my music on accident. Basically I want to make any music, as long as it's cute.

— So do you feel like music is essentially an object?

Nakata: Music is something I started doing because I thought I could create it. It was right when I was in junior high school, they'd made a lot of progress with technology so making cassette tapes became fun. Part of that was because I liked the feeling of winding a tape up. I liked playing around with machines more than the music aspect itself and, when it comes to decorating, I even like the look of a tape deck sitting in a room. So that's why I want our CDs to be sold in regular stores along with other kinds of merchandise. I don't think music should be classified as something special and separate; it's good if it's just one part of the total amount of belongings in a space. Rather than wanting people to listen to our music seriously, I'd be happy if they enjoy the atmosphere it gives when they play it out in the open.

¹ Space Age design was characterized by "sleek, aerodynamic lines and geometric forms," "dominated by bright, bold hues" and was often constructed of manmade materials such as plastic. You can read more about it here. ² Karimoku is a Japanese brand of all-wood furniture boasting superior craftsmanship. You can read more about it and look at examples here. ³ This is the famous Tulip chair.

#nakata yasutaka #koshijima toshiko #capsule #girls '60s #phony phonic #S.F. sound furniture #Retro Memory #2004 #magazines #interviews #translations

[hidingoutbackstage]

Okay I’m STILL procrastinating watching s15 bc I’m SCARED so here’s my extremely biased ratings/opinions on the episodes of s14 to help me procrastinate (episodes which are multiple parts of a single story will be condensed into one slot)

Room Zero: SO cute and good, I LOVED the animation style, it was simple and short but really well done with great colors, fun alien designs, and fluid animation, and I just like seeing the guys go on missions like that. It's a shame that the animated show never got picked up bc I would've adored seeing more of it. 10/10

From Stumbled Beginnings: Very cute and funny origin story for Simmons and Grif, and I love that they were p much always together since they enlisted lmao makes their dynamic rlly good and the humor actually got a couple laughs out of me. 8/10

Fifty Shades of Red: Sarge's humor never quite landed with me like is has for some people (my boyfriend lmao I literally have to pause episodes sometimes so he can stop laughing. Anyway) but it was a very humorous and in character origin for him as well. 5/10

Why They’re Here: Less interesting than the previous two, obviously just meant to fill in plot "holes" and to also show us the origins of the other characters. Also I am completely ignoring that one line from Tucker in the interview, just gonna chalk it up to the "edgy" humor it does not exist to me. 4/10

The Brick Gulch Chronicles: WONDERFUL stop motion, very fun and cute and entertaining, very wholesome and still in the vibe with what the show itself is. I appreciate the willingness to do stop motion for most of it. 10/10

Red Army Unit FH57’s Adventure: It was kinda interesting and kinda funny but I found myself kinda tuning it out cuz it just felt kinda whatever. The combo of the different animation styles was cool though and I thought the ship misunderstanding them was funny. 5/10

Locus and Felix: Okay I'm gonna be a black sheep for a second and say that I rlly don't care that much about Locus and Felix. I don't think Felix is a secretly deep sadboi whom I'm gonna spend an unnecessary amount of time thinking about, I don't think Locus as secretly good all along, and I don't care that much about their partnership and what they were like before Chorus. That being said, the animation here is absolutely gorgeous, this is probably my favorite animated story in the whole season, it looks awesome. The plot is nothing special but who cares like I said it's beautiful, 6/10

Fight the Good Fight!: VERY funny and well-executed propaganda video, short and sweet and nothing more to it. It does its job. 5/10

Meta vs. Carolina: Dawn of Awesome: Another one I really don't care for because literally everything leading UP to the fight between Meta and Carolina is a waste of time. Maybe some people really care about their weapons and stats, but I don't. And even then, you kinda know Carolina is gonna win the fight, the question is just how. 4/10

Grey vs. Gray: I don't know or care about the Game Grumps and the entire thing felt like a short gag that went on for way too long with a predictable ending. 2/10

Caboose's Guide to Making Friends: Again, ADORABLE art style and very cute having a story be told from Caboose's perspective. 7/10

Head Cannon: Kinda funny I guess. I wish we'd gotten it spread out more equally among the heads Omega jumped into. Ik he didn't spend equal time in there but who cares. Whatever, still funny. 5/10

Get Bent: I LAUGHED PROBABLY THE HARDEST AT THIS ONE AND THAT'S MOSTLY BC OF LESBIAN DONUT IT CAUGHT ME OFF GUARD AND IT WAS HILARIOUS (also hello, bisexual church?) 9/10

Red vs. Blue: The Musical: it was fine. it was creative. The dancing was well animated. Enjoyable. 5/10

Mr. Red vs. Mr. Blue: I haven't seen Reservoir Dogs but Kaikaina was in this which automatically boosts it to a 8/10 (I also like that they have movie nights it's cute)

RvB Throwdown: Fine but mostly forgettable. 3/10

The Triplets Story: REALLY interesting concept (y'all know I love the freelancers) that felt like it dragged on too long and only gave Ohio something to do. 4/10

Immersion: The Warthog Flip: I loved the costumes and the actual Warthog and it got a couple laughs out of me. 5/10

Red vs. Blue vs. Rooster Teeth: This was made for the fans/themselves. As someone who is neither, none of it was funny and I just kinda waited for it to be over. At least the animation of the armor irl looked rlly good

#sid rants #sid watches #rvb

[ghostismybbygorl]

Okay heres how id vibe with cod characters

First off i think my call sign would be 'mouse'

Bc im small i can scurry around places pretty quick and i can escape out of a situation fast as well that or cause i sneeze like a mouse

Id be a sniper and demolition expert ngl

Price

Legit i would call him dad 24/7 not like in a daddy kind of way but like legit a father figure

he'd just roll his eyes and accept the fact that he has another kid he has to take care of

100% would smoke a cigar with him though id smoke those tiny cigarillos (my brother smokes cigars and ill smoke a little with him)

Gift giving is my love language so whenever id visit a new country id buy him a cigar from there

I have a hat like his and i WILL wear it around and mimick him

Id do the grunts and everything

I feel like id be on more missions with him than anyone else

Definitely would hang out in his office to keep him company and annoy the shit out if him

Soap

Dont let anyone near us

Like

AT ALL

wed be doing diabolical shit especially since im an arsonist and free will plus military grade explosives plus mouse and soap. have the fire department on speed dial

We'd be the reason price is greying faster

100% stealing his shirts and hoodies they'd be so big on me

Im gonna be up front with this one

We'd be fucking. I'm down bad for this man

We'd annoy the absolute piss out of ghost. He can handle one soap but TWO hes gonna need the backpack leashes for us

Quoting vines and tiktoks ON THE DAILY

Jam seshes in the car would be 100% perfect

We'd have a snap streak and its only stupid photos we take

Im recording everything he does i know damn well hes always in a silly goofy mood

Definitely in the blunt rotation

He's definitely the type to find my snack rations and eat them in front of me

Lots of hugs and kisses for this man

Except when he eats my snacks

Wed play fight all the time. When i'm really close with someone ill start "beating them up" (just be faking to fight you)

Ghost

Oh this poor poor man

Have sympathy on him because he's going to try to avoid every ounce of my being

And i wont stop that

Im giving him hugs left and right this man needs some love

I feel like once i start cracking dark humor jokes he'd open up to me

100% would be making the most absurd worst dad jokes and laughing about it

We'd text on the daily mostly just me sending him memes and him sending a 👍🏻or a 👎🏻

Im stealing his hoodies and his masks

Id probably piss him the fuck off to be honest

Id give him so many gifts to make him happy i know he crinkle's his eyes when he smiles

In the blunt rotation too but i think he'd just join for the company and not smoke that much

Id be over in his room if im overstimulated and i don't want to deal with people

Id have him proof read my fanfiction and he'd be my personal dictionary cause i cant spell for shit

Gaz

Did i say big brother vibes cause HE WILL BE MY BIG BROTHER

Id steal his hat so many times but like not in the ride a cowboy kind of way

Id buy him the most ridiculous hats and he will 100% wear them

I feel like he was a spondgebob kid so i know damn well we'll be quoting some of the lines

Part of the blunt rotation as well

When I'm upset he's the one id rant to

Definitely would vibe in a room without talking to him in general

He's most definitely the one to keep me from being unhinged

Totally would listen to murder podcasts together

So at my previous job we had to wear full body harnesses and we played this game called the carabiniere game where you take a carabiniere and hook it on to someone without them knowing and you see who can put the most on them

Soap, gaz, and i would be playing it 100% all the time with each other.

Id also grab them by the harness and pull them around or clip myself to them

Let me get a video from my old job and just put em here and id just explain

Okay back to writing

Laswell

Once again id call her mom and she's just gonna have to deal with it

Id definitely spend time with her outside of work (especially since she lives in maryland my family lives up there) which gives me more of a reason to visit her lol

Shopping sprees i feel like she's a frequent shopper at tj maxx and target

I also feel like she gives the best life advice so id come calling if im in a predicament

Okay so i am partially fluent in spanish, my god mother and best friend are Mexican so I've been around Mexican culture the majority of my life

Alejandro

definitely calls me niña or cariño

I feel like he'd roast my spanish and doesn't correct me if i say something wrong

100% my drinking buddy

I feel like he'd be very protective over me

Id be his date (platonically) and hed be mine to all the family gatherings

Fucking Mexican families are so much fun too. party my tia throws one and im there two shots of tequila in my hand listening and damcing to music

We'd text on the daily i feel like he'd frequently visit me and my family in the south as well he'd be the life of the party at my tia's parties

Rudy

He's the one that corrects my spanish and WILL only speak spanish to me until I understand whst he's saying

Insert him pointing to a random object and says it in spanish

I feel like we wouldnt bond much but we would you know?

I also feel like he gives great life advice

Graves

Id kick him in the balls

He's the type of guy i avoid or ruin his reputation

Absolutely despise him

Completely roast that motherfucker

Drop kick him

He pisses me off so much

Gives off leo and cancer energy

OHOHOHOHHH AND AT THE BETRAYAL SCENE DONT GET ME STARTED

Id 100% try to fight him even before Alejandro would

Tbh id probably get killed by one of his shadows bc of it

König

Sweet babe i would help him through an axiety attack

PIGGY BACK RIDES FOR SURE

id hug him every-time i see him

Definitely would say uppies and have him put me on his shoulders

He definitely wont see me at all ( im 5'4) so he would definitely have to crouch down to see me

His nickname would be bear cause of how big he is

I feel like when he'’s comfortable around you he’s very out going

I have no clue how to speak german but i will act like i do

He's in the blunt rotation as well

Thats all i got for now 😊

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon riley #soap mactavish #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #cod #ghost #john soap mactavish #captain john price #john price #captain price #kyle gaz #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kate laswell #laswell #alejandro mw2 #alejandro vargas #rodolfo rudy parra #rudy parra #phillip graves #tf 141 #könig #call of duty mwii #call of dooty #cod x reader #cod ghost #johnny soap mactavish

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

No Children (The Mountain Goats)

I hope that our few remaining friends/Give up on trying to save us/I hope we come up with a fail-safe plot/To piss off the dumb few that forgave us/I hope the fences we mended/Fall down beneath their own weight/And I hope we hang on past the last exit/I hope it’s already too late

I hope it stays dark forever/I hope the worst isn't over....And I'd hope that if I found the strength to walk out/You'd stay the hell out of my way

I am drowning/There is no sign of land/You are coming down with me/Hand in unlovable hand

And I hope you die/I hope we both die

"The song of all time. It's the soundtrack for countless bad vibes ships (affectionate). The phrase 'hand in unlovable hand' has immutably altered the brain chemistry of thousands with its underlying sentiment and launched a hundred accompanying memes. 'I hope you die, I hope we both die' crams such incredible rawness and depth of feeling into all of nine words. It also makes for a great singalong."

"I need to leave. I need to LEAVE. I need to get out of this situation and I'd hope that if i found the strength to walk out, you'd stay the hell out of my way. I need to leave. Please. Let me out. HAND IN UN FUCKING LOVABLE HAND"

"Just. Man. These two are so broken. They want to be in love. They aren't. They hate each other so much. They are the only ones who understand each other. They wish that they weren't so close but all they can taste is ash when they think of leaving each other. Just, mutually assured destruction tastes so sweet when you can taste the blood on their tongue."

"It's No Children."

"goddd man this song is about being an irredeemable freak with another irredeemable freak and i think that's beautiful. there's something so fuck you up ish about the person you hate and despise the most in the world also being the only other person who is like you, who gets you. im going down, but youre going down too. we can be terrible people together... even if i hate you... even if you're the fucking worst. because we don't have anyone else. there's always a sort of comfort in knowing that there's someone out there who's as terrible as you are, and maybe you only hate them because you see yourself in them a little, too. anyway clay and bloberta from moral orel"

"The sheer emotion packed into the way it’s sung, the lyrics themselves, all of it just screams ‘clinging desperately to someone you hate because you don’t have anyone else and you burned those bridges yourself’ and I find that painfully relatable"

"It's a song about both virulent self-hatred and virulent hatred of someone else and yet you see yourself intertwined with that hated person forever."

Poll runner: Do I even have to add anything? This was the tournament's most submitted song.

Agree to Stay (Liquido)

You held my hand, I slipped away/We'd sleep beneath the stars/How I hate being scared/The more I think the more I do. Still anything reminds me of yo/I smell your hair/I hear your voice/I feel you.

"Okay look for this one I have to give a little more context but... so worth it. There's this fic. Absolutely HEARTBREAKING angsty fic featuring Major Character Death that has been living rent free in my brain since I first read it. And it's UNCANNY how well the lyrics of this song fit that fic and they just make each other's effect SO MUCH WORSE (affectionate). OKAY SO. The fic. The main characters (two brothers) have been kidnapped and one has been poisoned in order to extort information from the other (which he doesn't have). The fic follows them as one gets increasingly sicker and the other increasingly worried and scared ("How I hate being scared, the more I think the more I do"). They are kept in a windowless room and they talk about how they miss the sun and how they'd sit outside in the rain and have huge windows if they ever get out ("A brick of light reveals the day", "We'd sleep beneath the stars"). They reminisce about their childhood, how they would hide from monsters in their pillow forts and now the monsters have become real ("I wish we knew a place to play, where no one could find us"). The sick one keeps trying really hard to reassure the other, even as they lose hope ("you lied to me the other day, don't keep it all inside"), the other is really scared they won't get out in time, BUT THEN when they realise the sick one hasn't got long left, his brother starts telling HIM all the reassuring lies he's been told the days before, and the LAST WORDS the sick one says as he dies, his brother holding his hand ("You held my hand, I slipped away"), are "I'm really scared, brother" ( AGAIN "How I hate being scared", but this time UNO REVERSE). Second half of the fic deals with the surviving brother trying to cope with the loss as he's eventually rescued, just a bit too late. ("How I wish I was free, the more I think the more I do. Still anything reminds me of you. I smell your hair, I hear your voice, I feel you.") JUST. WHY DO YOU HURT ME IN THIS WAY. (I made a podfic of that fic and used this song as Intro/Outro music because FUCK if I have to suffer like this so does everyone else)"

No Children submitted by @leovaldezdefender + @diogenescynic2288 + many others

#fuck you up bracket #tournament #polls #the mountain goats #liquido

[mersi-kokhavasheva]

Hello!

This is Mersi Kokhavasheva, she/her. She is an Ilsabardian Raen Au Ra diviner-turned-knight based out of Gridania. I hope this will be a repository for the fan content I write about her story, from thoughtful snippets to five-part fanfiction.

FAQ&A

It's pronounced "mare-see" — not "mercy", though she understands the confusion — "koh-hha-vuh-shay-vuh".

Her preferred jobs were originally Bard, Dragoon, and Paladin, but she has of late swapped her arms for those of the Samurai, Dancer, and Gunbreaker. Blue magic is something of a special interest. She was raised on astrology, but has sworn off the cards since leaving home. Above all else, Mersi is a talented Weaver and seamstress, and is learning goldsmithing from her love.

She is engaged! Her love, A'rhya Velore, is a Gyr Abanian Seeker of the Sun Miqo'te with gorgeous ruby hair, and eyes like sapphire and amethyst, and a lovely soft voice that's not always able to be heard, and she's more than Mersi could ever have dreamed. However, recent events leave Mersi feeling less worthy than ever, and it shows in her haunted eyes whenever she's asked about a date for their wedding.

There is a timeline under construction for Mersi, A'rhya, and some friends along the way, to see how their spin on the Warrior of Light saga might look in a world in which, logistically, not every one of forty-eight million heroes could be veterans of the same battles.

I'm on Behemoth, in the midst of post-Heavensward. Feel free to say hi if you spot me, but I'm just as happy to chat here on Tumblr, or to share what I've written of her on AO3!

I'll likely be bouncing in and out of character here on Tumblr because, while this is not an RP blog, it's just fun to write in her headspace. If anyone wants to ask her a question, I think we'd be happy to answer. Perhaps we'll crack open the ask box and find out!

Frequent Tags

the Road to Sharlayan: This is for the stories written about Mersi and friends, or for progress made toward the next. I am new to AO3, so I would appreciate honesty when it comes to tagging etiquette! I hear it's "the more tags, the better" but, stars above, there are so many tags.

the Ruby and Larimar: Any Q's-and-A's Mersi gets through the ask box will be tagged as such, as will any fanart I mock up along the way. Casual coffee shop vibes! We love it.

Lore Have Mersi: For when Mersi have lore! These will be posts that explore who Mersi is as a person, or how she came to be as such. I will likely also use it for theorycrafting, such as my thoughts on the Deck of Sixty.

an Average Day in Eorzea: Memes. Nonsense. Shenanigans. Nothing you wouldn't see in Limsa, I'm sure!

Stories So Far

the Spineless Serenade (Romance) War in the north has found peace; those who fought alone to the east have found allies. From the patrol squadrons of Ishgard comes Mersi Kokhavasheva of the Knights Dragoon; from the war rooms of Rhalgr's Reach comes A'rhya Valore. This is not a story of their struggles, but of a rare moment in between. This is the story of a chance to grasp, and of their refusal to let go.

Coerthan Call (Drama/Tragedy) A sudden decision on the battlefield brings dangers unforeseen, and well foreseen. High above the Coerthas Western Highlands, two Knights Dragoon weigh the risks and put it all on the line to slay the dragon Graoully, but Mersi Kokhavasheva's past flies close behind.

The Lovers' Plainsong (Drama) In the fallout of her abduction by the heretics of Coerthas, Mersi Kokhavasheva rests with her fiancée in the shadow of war. Trauma shapes her future, worsened by the knowledge of how and why, of agency and fate. With the help of the one she loves, a woman broken must once again be made whole. All the while, the Dragon roars.

In Progress:

the Forgotten Berceuse (Romance) Two outsiders, strangers to the land of Eorzea, have found themselves sudden heroes of the realm. One misses the sands; the other, the waters. Together they find harmony, self-confidence, and room to breathe.

Ballet de Cour: A'rhya's Card (Romance) Despite two decades of training in the ways of astrology, Mersi has long been afraid to ask the cards for further guidance. With help from a dear friend, that bond may be renewed—or, by overcoming insecurity and learning unshakable trust, two diviners may strengthen their own bond instead.

A Tençon for Ishgard (Drama) The Dragonsong War has raged long enough. Both sides seek harmony, yet forces of darkness and light yet seek destruction. Caught between both worlds and asking for neither, Mersi Kokhavasheva has put down her lance; she rejoins the fray on her own terms.

#mersi kokhavasheva #ffxiv #warrior of light #ffxiv fanfiction #ask blog #wol posting

[cerealmonster15]

🫵

HOW would your twst ocs respond to someone insulting them and trying to bully them + HOW would they respond to someone challenging them to a duel + WHAT would their fighting style be like + WHAT would a guest room trouble line be for them 👁👁

clasps my hands together. i assumed this was about char and dañarte when i first read this, but then i remembered i have a bonus twst oc fidel now so im throwing him into the ring also lksdjfdskl

ok im gonna go in a readmore bc i will probably talk a lot AS I TEND TO DO

Responding to insults/being bullied

well dañarte is a certified Little Bitch, however part of his Thing is that hes pretending to Not be a Little Bitch, so i think it's all based on the circumstance of who is around and all that. if it's in public, he will probably go the route of pretending that he's above a Petty, childish dispute 😌 but inside he IS planning revenge and also trying to blow them up with his mind. and then if he's not trying to mask his bitch boy powers he's def being snarky and passive aggressive and maybe also just straight up rude right back. he will NOT be the bigger person!!! and he does not care what people think about him.

char on the other hand is a certified Good Boy klfjdsjkfl I think he would try to be more civil with whoever's coming at him. like Oh Surely This Is A Misunderstanding Let's Talk This Out kind of deal lol. he's more of a people pleaser I think, so he might be more willing to agree to disagree and move on. i do think he'd take insults to heart tho and probably spend too much time sitting alone and Thinking About It. FESTERING.

Fidel! awoowoo boy. i think at first he might be like, sad puppy dog eyes mode, but if they keep pushing or cut too deep he might get more riled up and ready to throw down about it. and then go sulk after.

Responding to being challenged to a duel / fighting style

hmmm i think both char and dañarte are trained in fencing so if it's something like that, they might accept - oh and i guess also the magic thing. they do magic in this game. magic duels. yeah sure theyll do that too LOL. i'm thinking about those pomefiore PICK UP THE GLOVE npc guys fkdlsjfkdsl i think they would accept whatever the hell's going on there too LOL. char might attempt to reason or de-escalate first, but would ultimately accept if the person insisted, and dañarte might just go right into it lol. because he is a SHOW OFF!!!!! i am unsure how good they are but i think they'd both be at least decently skilled. they probs both have a bit of elegance to their fighting and are likely similar to each other since they grew up together as cousins, and probably learned a lot of their initial magic schooling and fencing and shit together. that and they were both rsa boys before dañarte goes to nrc.

fidel i think could get easily worked up and baited into it but since he's a first year i think he's less refined with his skills and maybe wouldnt do so well, but if it gets physical he's a Big Boy and could accidentally knock over the other person via sheer force of mass lol.

guest room trouble lines

god i still love that twst added a feature where characters just randomly get so pissed they beat the shit out of each other JKLFDJSLFKHSD

so I like that the characters get two lines, and a lot of the time they give the vibe of like one line where they more apologize and maybe admit fault, and another where theyre more defensive, depending on the person lol. so im going to give them each TWO!!!! if i accidentally subconsciously copy one of the lines just. leave me alone jkljfdsklfjds sometimes a bitch is generic!!

dañarte:

Come, now. We'd only just gotten started! I was hoping for more of a challenge.

Ugh, that little... Ahem, my apologies for getting so carried away.

char:

I don't understand what made them so upset... Did I say something wrong?

Sorry, sorry- Here, let me help you clean up!

fidel:

Augh... Can't go back to my dorm with my fur all matted like this...

Huh? A fight? I thought we were just roughousing...

okay YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY ty for indulging me. starts running towards your ask box.

#asks #ocs #twst oc #felix-the-lemon-king #oc: char #oc: dañarte #oc: fidel

[royalrudberg]

My thoughts on RWRB, in no particular order because my brain doesn't work like that:

SPOILERS AHEAD

These are my opinions/thoughts after the first watch through (of course I'm gonna re-watch several times) but don't be mad at me please I'm sensitive

Things I loved

I spent the first full hour smiling and laughing. It put the Com in Romcom. And then the lake scene plunged me into a pit of despair, but in a good way.

Alex was Alex and Henry and was Henry. Like Nick and Taylor really got their characters and did them so much justice and the chemistry was chemistry-ing

Miguel! He was fun and flirty. I wasn't expecting him at all but I think his addition really worked for two reasons: it saved Alex time in figuring out his sexuality so we get ahead into him + Henry, and it gave an explanation for the leaking of the emails without being as politically charged as in the book, because some people, especially if they're not American, don't care about that part as much

Amy is so fucking funny

Zahra is even more funny

Casting! Pez was perfect! Philip was amazing! Papa Diaz delivered the dad vibes for sure. I wish Bea had more screen time. Shaan was good (and very handsome) And don't get me started on UMA FUCKING THERMAN!!

I know we'd have preferred to have both June and Nora but I think that for the purpose she served to the plot just Nora was fine. Movie!Nora was a combination of book!Nora and June. It worked.

GET LOW GET LOW GET LOW

Henry pretending to look for a book when Amy comes into the red room absolutely killeddddd me

Ellen talking about getting Alex on Truvada. Real AF.

Henry doing karaoke!

"I thought Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz was a mouthful." "He is."

"Shut up stop talking" and "You're late", followed by him trying to close the door

The texting/messaging and emails. They included enough for you to get the idea and to show the passage of time and they did in a cool way that didn't take too much of the screen time. Also Henry being "in the room" when they're on the phone was so cute!

Alex being nervous and awkward about having sex with Henry was perfect! It felt very real

Criticisms:

Henry going to fidget with his ring,realizing Alex is wearing it, and that little smile at each other. Fucking beautiful

Alex reading OLS

I wanted Henry singing God save the King

We didn't get to see Catherine? But at least she didn't get Juned.

No powerpoint??? Even though Ellen giving him the talk was plenty funny.

Fucking eyelashes! Miguel mentioned them, but I don't think Herny did? Why notttt??

Random but I would have rather had the conversation in the tack room than the whole polo mantage. We get it, he's hot.

Leo?!? I knew June wasn't there but his parents still being together was so random to me? Not necessarily bad just random.

I really wanted to see Alex standing in the rain...also the dialog there kinda threw me off? Like I know it was heartfelt and emotional or whatever but the "and I'll bother you no longer" part didn't feel like that version of Alex. Kinda took me out of the moment.

Maybe I just wanted more Stephen Fry, but that resolution was a little too easy/cheesy

Idk if it was my ADHD or Taylor's pronunciation but I had to turn on the subtitles because I kept not understanding him?

Questions:

Did they have to change Henry's name? Like bc of the actual royal family?

Can the presidents spouse still have a seat in Congress? Is that allowed?

#rwrb #rwrb spoilers #red white & royal blue #red white and royal blue #spoilers #firstprince

[bulbabutt]

My point was that the later stuff came from a less restrained writers room while the writers in the 80s were held at gunpoint by business men saying "you need to sell this, this, this, and this, make up lore in 15 minutes for a whole cartoon"

I thought you were in favor of artistic decisions being made freely instead of the suits deciding things? for the record the bay movies didn't make that stuff, either, so that criticism's baseless

ironically, you couldn't get away with Christian stuff in the 80s because implying Robot Jesus stuff would have gotten people mad at you, despite it being more conservative back then

You’re literally missing what bothers me about this era entirely. It’s not that the lore is different, it’s not the lore specifically, I genuinely don’t care about that, animated has different lore, beast wars lore also has a biblical nature, a character literally dies for humanity like Jesus himself. That all works there because it comes from a sense of love of life. What I don’t like is the sense of tone to this lore of the biblical nature. It's steeped in 'how else do you write lore but base it on christian themes'. It comes from a very patriarchal world view. That we are in a biblical war because these two warring factions must be at war, their chosen gods were at war. It's frustrating, to see that everything else needs to use that as the lore now. Think about how Superman is a Jesus allegory in the DCEU. Why is that? Because often these men only have one source of lore they think about.

I'm bringing up the bayverse movies because they brought a sense of cynicism, hyper masculinity, and edgy bullshit to the franchise, and specifically all franchises as a whole. The first movie came out in 2007, before the mcu's iron man. The resulting pro military, pro alpha male power fantasy, pro “throw a guy in there from the comic, the nerds will pay to see him no matter how accurate he is” cameos shit that every blockbuster movie has become starts right here. Those movies are bad for a myriad of reasons, but worse for what they do to media as a whole, we're only just recovering from it recently. That first movie (written by the prime creators) opens with this line:

"Before time began, there was the Cube. We know not where it comes from, only that it holds the power to create worlds and fill them… with life. That is how our race was born. For a time, we lived in harmony. But like all great power, some wanted it for good, others for evil."

This is why I am saying the entire problem starts here. It is lazy and narrow world building to base this infinite war on a creationist religion, of strict good and evil. It's extremely post 9/11, extremely mid 2000s. The vibes are bad. I would rather the media have started to say something else, to imply that evil doesn't come from factions. It did in animated, where the lore implies that the autobots are war criminals, and perhaps the decepticons as a whole arent actually the in lore bad guys. There's a sense that if we continued the story, we'd start finding the real cause of the problem (without needing to pull out unicron for once) What went wrong other than trying to make things in line with movie lore/tone/vibes? Most fucking franchises suffer the same problem, so obviously Transformers does too.

I'm not ever saying the 80s cartoon is perfect. The show has dud episodes. The show has racial caricatures, a lack of women, a lack of cohesion. I literally watched it. In one episode Megatron creates new transformers on earth. In another, you need Vector Sigma to create all life. It's very obvious they're introducing characters to sell them, why else would they throw 40 at you in episode one?

But characters in the 80s cartoons laughed together, had a sense of emotional intimacy that disappeared in the mid 2000s (I noticed this watching TMNT as well) I'm saying it’s softer. The characters are gentler, and laugh and hug, share their feelings and hopes. Optimus Prime chuckles often. He no longer does that. Even though it's still Peter Cullen (because nostalgia) he isn't the same Prime. Now he's 'the 13th Prime' or whatever the hell. Now he's on a mission from god.

To share a scene in particular that shocked me for its genuine soft character interaction between friends, something that would never have existed in the late 2000s for obvious 'no-homo' reasons:

I'm watching this media chronologically. I'm reliving 40 years of how we portray characters and relationships and the hardship of war. I grew up in the mid 2000s. I know what happened. I'm seeing it reflected back at me here, and I'm telling you right now I don't like it. I'm exhausted by it. I'm frustrated that this narrow world view is all I get to see now. I wish the lore would have done something more interesting than this. I'm struggling to word that often, but don't come in my ask box saying I don't actually know what I'm talking about just because YOU don't know what I'm talking about. If you don't like how I'M experiencing the media, go form your own fucking thoughts about it.

#the tf binge thoughts #you dont understand how mad ive been about all of this since starting prime

[heididthat]

Introducing for the first time ever: Mr and Mrs Zechariah Church!

(With photos and an exclusive interview with the stylist!)

Written and Edited by: Anna-Marie Kingston-Layne

You heard right folks, a new power couple has made their official debut! On a beautifully warm and sunny afternoon at Newcrest Wedding Chapel, A-List stylist to the stars, Amaya Kingston-Brown, married the San-Myshuno Times Bestselling Author after just over two years of dating. The wedding, hosted three Sundays ago, was witnessed by the pair's extremely close friends and family members, including World famous rapper, August Lovett and his entrepreneur/influencer wife, Alanna Lovett.

Fresh from their honeymoon, I sat down with Kingston-Brown to hear her thoughts on that special day and how her relationship came to be.

First and foremost, congratulations on your nuptials! How did you manage to pull off such a small, intimate wedding as someone who is well known?

“Thank you, Ms. Layne. Ever since I was a little girl, I knew I wanted to have a family centered wedding,” Kingston-Brown stated. “From the maid of honour and best man to the officiant, I wanted everything to be our family members. I'm fortunate enough to be loved by a man with similar values. We were very meticulous about choosing where we wanted to hold our ceremony. Newcrest is often seen as a dead zone and we both live there, it just fell into place.”

Above: Pictures of Zechariah Church and Amaya Kingston-Brown, with the wedding officiant, B-Tier street Artist, Jeremy Layne.

What was the inspiration behind your wedding theme?

“Funnily enough, we had no theme. My whole life is about creating trends and themes but for my own wedding? We just did everything based on feeling and some how, it came together seamlessly.”

Seriously, no theme?

Nope. Just love and vibes.

So you bought your dress without having any direction?

“Actually, my friend and fellow stylist, Darovan made my dress. She insisted. So I was the first person to wear a dress from her now released bridal collection! When I put the dress on, I knew that no matter how our wedding looked, it would be perfect. She made sure Riah's accents on his tux also matched my dress. We were surrounded by people who knew us so well, we didn't have to do much so we could just enjoy being engaged. It was such a blessing.”

I'm seriously impressed. Tell me then, how did this relationship even come to be? In our interview a few years ago, you said that you were indifferent to romance.

“Hahaha, I can't believe you remember that! Honestly, I have my youngest sister Crystal to thank for that. Zechariah and I were neighbours and I never looked his way because I didn't think there'd be anything there. I was definitely interested, but I'm so dang introverted, there was no way I was asking him out.”

Photos from the reception

Who made the first move, then?

“He did! It came completely out of the blue for me. We spent a few months growing from neighbours to friends and then one random day in the spring, he asked me out. He didn't even get the question out before I said yes,” she laughs. “I was so tense during our first date that I thought I'd ruined my chances. We'd went to the park near by and spent the afternoon there for a picnic. I was avoiding eye contact, speaking very few sentences but he was so patient with me. At one point, he slid his finger under my chin to get me to look at him. I don't know where the confidence came from but I ended up planting one right on him!”

So you kissed him first?

“Yes! And then swiftly ran away. I was so embarrassed, I had a tiny crying fit in my room, over analyzing every where I went wrong, thinking he probably thought I was weird. At this time, I knew I had it BAD for Riah, so if he found me weird, I was 100% prepared to disappear into the abyss.”

Well clearly that didn't happen! So, what did?

She smiled faintly before starting again. “A few hours later, he stopped by the house with a bouquet of tulips and asked for us to be exclusive. Apparently, my nervous rambling was— and still is a major turn on for him, haha!”

More photos from the reception.

How did you know Zechariah was the one for you?

She smiles faintly. “When I stopped questioning myself when I was with him. When I realized I could be 100% myself with him without feeling self-conscious. Not only does Riah make me feel safe, he makes me feel so loved. Despite how difficult I was, he chose to love me everyday in spite of it. Also, he's not afraid to tell me where I messed up and how I can improve. He's always putting my needs before his own. He's so selfless, it's ridiculous.”

He actually said something very similar about you! You two are very in sync.

“Really? Wow. You know, personality wise we're so different but we're soulmates in every sense of the word.”

What are some of your fondest date memories with you and your now husband?

“Ahh, you said husband!” She glowed brightly, continuing. "Gosh, we've had so many great ones. My favourites are definitely the ones where we talked all night under the stars or when he'd pick me up just before dawn to watch the sunrise.”

Are you planning on sticking with your current branding or are you rebranding with your new name?

“As much as I like my last name, I'm very excited to be Mrs. Church. When we'd just got engaged, I practiced writing out my name to see how I could potentially incorporate it into my brand. Then I decided, I wanted to keep my professional and personal lives separate. The best way to do that was to keep both of my names. So on paper, I'm Amaya Church. When I'm working, however, I'm Amaya Kingston-Brown. Who knows, I may feel different in the future but this is currently what's happening.”

The Churches, pictured above, in front of their new home.

Last questions, Mrs. Church: how was your honeymoon and what's next for this relationship?

“It was absolutely wonderful, a well needed vacation. Tartosa is beautiful at this time of year and the locals were lovely. We stayed right on the beach.”

Pictured above: Amaya Kingston-Brown (front) and myself, Anna-Marie Kingston-Layne (back).

“As for what's next, we recently bought a house in our hometown and since we're both financially stable and we've done our own self reflection, like working on our mental and emotional health, we're thinking about maybe adding a few additions to our little family in a few months or years, maybe a dog or maybe a baby. I have a feeling it'll be soon, if the way Riah looks at me is any indication 😏.”

Interviewing Kingston-Brown is always a treat. She proceeded to disclose some plans for her brand being made public very soon so be sure to stay on the lookout! She also told us that Church's new romance book duet will also be releasing at the end of the month.

As for me, I couldn't be happier for my older sister and my new brother in-love. Congratulations to you both again!

#mama the rolling stone #black simmer community #black simblr #my sims 4 #heididthat #Amaya Kingston-Brown #Zechariah Church #Annie Kingston-Layne