Requested distraction
Hey Peggy Sue! Have you heard what happened to Earl? It’s the darndest thing, his darling wife Wanda said he didn’t come home last night. Everyone knows he’s steppin out on that poor sweet girl but he’s always back in the morning- that man can’t even be trusted to make grits for himself. Even Jimmy from the bar said he didn’t come in last night!
If you ask me, I think he’s running. I heard a rumor from Donna down at the police station that he was finally gonna get arrested for putting Wanda in the icu. Sure took ‘em long enough.
Anyway, Mary Ann’s back in town, can you believe! That girl’s goin’ places but she came back without any warning- d’ya think something happened with her big city job? I’m having brunch on Sunday with her mama and I’m gonna make sure she tells me everything.
Oh my word, Betty!
I did not hear that he had taken off! It would serve him right if the police finally dragged him behind bars after all he's put dear Wanda through. Even before she ended up in the hospital, she wasn't fooling nobody with those sunglasses and makeup. You didn't hear this from me, but it would be better if Earl never came back. He was a good-for-nothing man even before they got married. If Jimmy hasn't seen him, he ain't coming home.
I did know Mary-Ann was back! I stopped by Wanda's to drop off a casserole, you know so she doesn't have to worry about cooking while she's healing, and my goodness, you can't imagine my surprise when Mary-Ann opened the door! I was not expecting it at all, but it's good to know someone is looking after the poor dear.
Do you think she came back for Wanda? Lord knows those two were always attached at the hip in school. There wasn't one without the other until they graduated. The real question is what will Mary-Ann do if Earl comes back? She's always been a bit temperamental... maybe she'll take Wanda back to the city with her. Might be good for them both.
You'll have to let me know what her mama says! I got nothing out of Mary-Ann when I asked her how everything was, except that Wanda was on the mend and they were taking care of everything. I certainly hope they're right.
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This might seem like an "old man yells at cloud" situation, but it's just wild growing up and being told how dangerous distracted driving is - how, at highway speeds, you can traverse the length of a football field (100 yards, 91 meters) in a matter of seconds - how one split second sending a text while driving could result in a potential fatal crash, and then getting on the road as a driver and being surrounded by billboards. Their entire purpose is to catch one's attention, so they're lining major roads, which tend to be highways. How is it that you're told how important it is to never be distracted while driving, but still being advertised to?
At best, this type of advertising is an eyesore to pedestrians and motorists and a general waste of electricity to light it, and at worst, it is an active danger considering they are there to advertise and therefore, must catch people's attention.
I'm not even against advertising in theory, but this particular mode bothers me so much and I hate how pervasive it is - especially in large cities or highways.
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Thinking about how, at the end of the day, at the fatal moment, the sunset of the Republic, it wasn’t Yoda, or Obi-Wan, or even the Chosen One himself standing in the way of Palpatine. It was Mace Windu.
Mace Windu, the inventor of Vaapad and Master of Form VII, the Jedi's strongest duelist, the only person to ever defeat Palpatine in combat. Mace Windu, Master of the Jedi Council and the youngest Master ever appointed to it, the revered leader of the Order. Mace Windu, who forgave even those who tried to kill him, who risked his life over and over again for his troops, who, after 3 years of desperate war, tried to negotiate with battle droids. Mace Windu, who knew the clones were created by the Sith and chose to trust them, who saw every Shatterpoint in the Republic, and loved it still, and fought for it until his last breath, until he was betrayed by Anakin, who he believed in and trusted despite everything.
Mace Windu, High General and hero of the Republic, the embodiment of the Light, the last and greatest champion of the Order, the best Jedi to ever live.
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I’m literally drooling over the thought of sensitive Bucky whimpering and whining while fucking your tits and thighs he’s so pathetic and needy all he wants is to make you feel good and to fill you with his cum even if it overstimulates him
Okay, tit fucking is great and all but thigh fucking is SO underrated in my humble opinion. Could just be the fact I've got a small chest though lmao
It's so fun when you're already really into it and the insides of your thighs are all slick. I feel like Bucky would lose it, getting to see your face and look in your eyes and enjoy your body.
It's a nice one to do while laid on your side, facing each other. Although the angle isn't quite right for him to slip inside you, it's fun to explore the other ways your bodies can steal pleasure from one another.
"This isn't going to work, sweetheart." You can't help but laugh, having already tried everything you can think of to make the height difference work. There's no way to keep this romantic and intimate in that position because there's just no chance of aligning your bodies properly to allow him to press inside you.
"Maybe not. But it feels nice anyway." His eyes flutter shut, gliding his dick over the smooth, soft, warm insides of your thighs, encouraged by how slick and easy your arousal makes the movement.
You adjust yourself to bring your other thigh on top of his length, closing him in on both sides.
You're wet enough that friction doesn't impede his movement too much and there's something oddly romantic about it. Maybe it's his hand smoothing the back of your head or his other hand up your back, pulling your body closer to his.
It's so intimate, watching his face as he whines your name, rutting senselessly against your thighs. The little flush to his cheeks is beautiful and you can't resist kissing the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. The thick duvet on top of you both, coupled with your combined body heat means the room is far hotter than you'd planned.
You take a second to reach between your bodies, spreading your wet folds and readjusting his length, letting him drag his cock against your neglected clit with each stroke and oh, that's pretty mind-blowing.
"O-oh my God." He whines, desperately fucking himself against your wet cunt, rather than into it. It's a different kind of pleasure to being inside you and while they're not comparable sensations, it doesn't stop this from feeling fantastic.
"Fuck, that's good." You groan, rolling your hips to meet his. Your fingers dip between you once more, gathering some of your slick arousal, using it to glide your fingertips over the underside of his shaft and over his balls.
"Holy shit, that's - fuck." Bucky's hardly got a coherent thought left in his head. He's closed in on both sides by your wet, soft thighs and now your fingers are giving him a different sensation underneath while pressing him against your soaked sex.
"I know, baby. Feels good, doesn't it?" Your fingertips trail lightly back and forth over the underside of his shaft, focusing on the inch or so beneath the tip.
"I can't... I need to cum." He groans, thrusting frantically, clinging to your body to keep you close. Within a few seconds, you feel his dick pulse under your fingertips, his cum coating the inside of your thighs in hot, thick, messy spurts.
He doesn't waste a second, kissing your forehead before kissing your neck and whispering "Good girl. Now let me watch you get yourself off with my cum on your fingertips."
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The door bell rings. It's the new gardener, Steve's mom informed him a week ago and fucked off to New York. Like she'd be around to watch the roses bloom this year.
This has to be a joke, Steve thinks numbly, when he opens the door.
"Hey, Harrington." Billy Hargrove grins at him, a toothpick between his lips. He's wearing a black overall - and nothing underneath.
Steve stares at the tanned skin and wonders if saving the town from monsters and a whole ass apocalypse isn't enough and he's being punished instead.
"Hey!" Billy snaps his fingers. "I'm talkin' to you, pretty boy."
"Oh." Steve blinks. He knows his attention span is fucked, but Jesus. To be honest, Billy is in good shape. Steve can almost see him lifting weights and wiping the sweat off his face -
"For the third time. Where are your mother's fucking roses, Steve?"
Steve absently points behind himself. "In the garden."
"No shit." Billy laughs. "Show me, then."
Steve does show him. Billy makes a face.
He mutters something that vaguely sounds like "what a dump", but Steve is too busy to stare at his ass when he's kneeling in front of the first flower bed.
Billy actually works. His golden hair up in a bun, chewing on the toothpick. His chest is shining from sweat and Steve watches his biceps curl. His left nipple is peeking out of the overall. Fuck.
Billy also yells. At the plants. Calls his mother's favourite hibiscus a stupid motherfucker and flips off the oak tree.
Steve is watching him, torn between annoyance and the tightness of his jeans. Billy's hands are dirty from the earth and he's panting when he digs through a flower bed no one has cared for in an eternity.
"Does your bush need trimming, too?" Billy asks, raising a brow and waving the clipper at him. There's a leaf stuck in his tousled bun.
Steve's face glows and it's not because of the heat.
"Uh..Do you want... some water?" Steve asks mechanically. That's something he should have asked two hours ago. Instead he was busy... staring.
"Yeah, thanks, pretty boy." Billy grins, teeth shining bright. He's got dimples and his face is sprinkled with freckles. Shit, shit, shit.
Steve watches Billy down a glass of water, Adam's apple bobbing. He's so fucked. He hides in the kitchen until Billy comes in to wash his hands.
"Done for the day. Can be 'round tomorrow. This shit show of a garden will take some time to get finished."
Steve imagines his mother hearing her garden called a shit show and literally clutching her pearls.
"Alright." He doesn't try to sound too eager.
When Billy is gone, he inspects the garden. He can't believe that Billy fucking Hargrove is his gardener. That he's actually doing his job.
The roses look okay. So does the rest of the garden. From what Steve can tell. The bush next to the pool... is shaped like a dick. Great.
Steve gets himself a beer. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He's half hard in his jeans. He hates himself, because he's about to jerk off to Billy Hargrove.
There's a note on the table. It's a phone number.
"You're so fucking obvious," Steve reads. "Luckily you're hot."
Well. It's a win, Steve guesses.
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