#old picture that is worth sharing here I guess

[outforflowers]

The Poolbeg Towers seen from Sandymount, Dublin.

#photography #dublin #poolbeg towers #water mirror #strand #beach #ireland #old picture that is worth sharing here I guess #moon #sky #clouds

[hardly-an-escape]

what's in a name? | Dream/Hob | 9300 words | rated E

this is my submission for @designtheendless's 3K commission giveaway: a Dreamling fic based on their fanart above!

tags: alternate universe - human, photographer Hob Gadling, artist Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, model Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, strangers to lovers, snowed in, only one bed, light dom/sub, oral sex, face fucking, anal fingering, anal sex, anonymous sex, Dream of the Endless is a horny little weasel, and Hob is no less of a horny little weasel, brief Princess Bride references, alcohol consumption, impulsive decision making, callous disregard for the geography of northern California, they go from 0-60 because they’re both nuts, neither of them are in a great place but they do make each other better rather than worse

Hob is on an ill-fated road trip through California. He’s making his way slowly down the coast toward Los Angeles when, trapped by a snowstorm in a small town near Mount Shasta, he meets a mysterious stranger in a diner. They share a night of anonymous passion – but when the sun rises, Hob finds that he can’t just leave the stranger behind…

this story developed partially from Picture Perfect, one of my Fluffbruary 2024 fills. I also incorporated some of designtheendless's other suggested image prompts, so do make sure you check their original post! and thank you so much for extending the deadline, it meant I had time to get my CHBB fic submitted before pivoting to finish this... and even so I'm still barely getting it done in time just because of who I am as a person :D

Hob leans forward over the steering wheel, brows furrowed as he peers through the driving snow at the street ahead. The windshield wipers are going like mad; he’s seen a plow or two out, but they seem to barely be making a dent, so traffic has slowed to a crawl. Which is, frankly, for the best, since the weather is bad enough that only a true nutter would be out in it at all.

Well… nobody’s ever accused Hob of being sane.

His GPS instructs him to take the next right and informs him that his destination will then be on his right. He can just make out the neon sign through the thick flakes: Townhouse Motel. “Vacancy,” it says below the old-timey script, blinking on and off. In the distance, the sun is just beginning to settle behind some mountains that he’s sure would be beautiful if they weren’t hidden behind such inclement weather.

He pulls in the driveway. The lot is nearly empty, so he parks right next to the office door and jams his winter cap on his head before hurrying through the flurries.

The bored teenager behind the front desk barely looks up from the reality show playing on her tablet as she runs Hob’s credit card and gives him his door key – an actual, physical key. Room 1389. He decides it’s not worth it to ask why the room number has four digits when the motel has maybe a dozen rooms total.

He does ask if there’s somewhere nearby to get a bite to eat and a drink.

“There’s a diner across the street and down a block,” the teenager says, “but they don’t serve booze.” Then, finally looking up, perhaps seeing the bags under his eyes and his generally downtrodden demeanor, she relents. “There’s a liquor store about two blocks past that. You can bring stuff back to your room, I guess. It’s not like anybody is going to ask questions around here.”

That, Hob thinks as he heads back outside and moves his rental car a little closer to his door, is obvious. There’s a general air of neglect clinging to the motel, and indeed to the whole street, from what he can see: the buildings are a little more weatherbeaten than can be plausibly explained by a cute vintage aesthetic, and at least one storefront seems to be permanently boarded up. The recession has clearly hit Northern California just as hard as it has the rest of the United States.

What a time to be playing tourist. What a time to be – well, he won’t think about that right now.

His room is clean, at least. Someone, at some point in time, has made a half-hearted attempt to decorate it with a seaside theme. The bedlinens are various shades of blue, rather than your typical beigey-white. There’s an unfortunate painting of a mermaid hanging over the outdated television, and a slightly less unfortunate painting of a lighthouse above the bed. The bathroom wallpaper has little seashells on it.

Hob leaves his camera bag on the desk and his duffel on the end of the bed, grabs his wallet, turns his collar up against the cold, and heads back out into the snowy evening.

The diner is, as promised, only a short walk down the street, but Hob is shivering by the time he gets there. The wind cuts right through him – silly British man that he is, he thought California would be warm, even in winter. He hadn’t really reckoned with unpredictable mountain weather, or with the cold front that was chasing him down through the southern end of the Cascades. The weatherman on the radio had been calling it “freakish.”

A little bell tinkles merrily when he pushes open the door. A waitress calls out a greeting, tells him to sit wherever he likes and she’ll be right with him. There’s only one other person in the diner, a slender man dressed all in black who is hunched over a cup of coffee at the counter. He glances up and immediately back down as Hob stomps the snow off his boots and takes an empty booth far enough away from the front door that he won’t feel the rush of cold air if anyone else comes in.

The waitress bustles over, bringing him a cup of coffee without even asking. Hob wraps his fingers around it gratefully. He doesn’t normally drink coffee this late, but it’s been the kind of day that calls for it: so cold, so uncomfortable and distressing, that the sturdy ceramic mug is exactly what he wants. The bitter note of slightly burnt coffee is tempered by the cheap, artificially flavored vanilla creamer he only ever uses at this kind of greasy spoon diner. He breathes deep and feels something inside him start to thaw.

When the waitress comes back with a menu, he warms up even more. She is middle-aged and comfortable, nice and no-nonsense, the sort of person with an indeterminate American accent who could have come from anywhere: Illinois, or Florida, or five minutes down the road. She recommends the olive burger with fries, and a side of fried pickles, because they’re the best in the county, and then her excitement simply bubbles over.

“I’m just so darn tickled to have two Brits here in the same night!” she enthuses. “Oh gosh, is that okay? Can I call you Brits or is that rude?”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Hob laughs. “Two of us, eh? That is a coincidence.”

“I know, right? Okay hon, lemme just get your order in and I’ll be back to warm up your coffee in a sec.”

She bustles away again, and Hob looks curiously at the man at the counter. He must have heard her comment, but he hasn’t turned around, or indeed acknowledged Hob in any way since he came in. He shrugs mentally and turns away to look out the window at the thickly swirling snow. It’s dark enough now that streetlights have come on, casting cones of light in which the flakes dance like a very slow sodium-tinted tornado.

He wishes he had a book. Or a crossword puzzle, or one of those packets of crayons they give to kids at restaurants. Something to keep his hands occupied and his mind off of everything that was threatening to consume it, off of the last few days, off of her –

Then the man from the counter slides into the booth across from him.

“Hello,” Hob says.

“Hello,” the stranger says. His voice is surprisingly deep and resonant, coming from his slim frame, and he looks to be in his late twenties, perhaps a few years younger than Hob. He is very pale. His dark hair is sticking up rather wildly and his eyes are a cold, clear blue that reminds Hob of the way the sky had looked this morning, before the clouds had descended.

“Who are you, then? Aside from a fellow Brit?” asks Hob.

“No one of consequence.” He’s lugging around a small backpack, which now rests on the bench beside him.

“I must know,” Hob says in a very bad Inigo Montoya accent.

“Get used to disappointment,” the stranger says with a smirk, and Hob laughs.

“Oh, we’re going to get along just fine,” he says, holding his hand out across the table. “My name’s Hob, yes that’s my real name, and yes, it is a long story.”

The stranger shakes his hand briefly. His palm is warm from cupping his coffee cup, but the tips of his fingers are cold. “Pleased to meet you, Hob.”

“And do you have a name, stranger?”

“I do. Several, in fact.”

“Any of them for public consumption?”

The stranger shrugs. “Will you forgive me if I maintain a certain level of mystery?”

Hob shrugs too. “That’s your lookout, mate. No skin off my nose.”

They chat. About the weather, and how odd it is, and how different to England. About books – the stranger appears to be a voracious reader, and Hob had loaded up an old iPod with audiobooks in preparation for a lot of driving, which sparks a lively debate on the merits of printed books vs reading aloud. In the midst of this, Hob’s food arrives, and he is derailed momentarily from the conversation by an overwhelming need to unhinge his jaw and stuff as many chips into his gob as humanly possible. The stranger watches in amusement.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hob says, muffled by his burger. “Been driving pretty much all day and I didn’t really want to stop, so…”

He’s suddenly self-conscious, very aware that the man sitting across from him is slender and willowy and dressed all in black, and that he himself is very much… not that. Dressed for comfort and warmth in slightly baggy jeans and a flannel shirt and his puffy jacket balled up on the bench beside him. But the stranger seems unbothered, simply smiling slightly and snagging a fried pickle off the plate between them, which Hob had invited him to share moments after it had arrived.

They are good; crispy and salty and uniquely American. Hob is certainly prepared to believe they’re the best in the county.

“So are you staying here in town, or is that shrouded in mystery as well?” he asks, once he’s slowed down a bit.

“I’ve been staying in a cabin up the mountain, a little way out of town. With my family.” He said the word family as though it is faintly dirty. “One of my siblings thought it would be good for us to get away together. But I have found it… trying.”

“Up the mountain, eh? Are you going to be able to get back in this?”

Hob tips his head toward the window. It is very dark now, and the snow is falling more thickly and wildly than ever. A crease appears between the stranger’s eyebrows.

“To be honest, I had not thought that far ahead.”

“Do you have much experience driving in the snow?”

To Hob’s surprise, the stranger actually blushes, just a gentle stain of pink across his cheekbones. “I… walked.”

“You walked?”

The waitress, stopping by the table to warm up their coffees, echos Hob’s surprise.

“Oh, honey,” she says. “In this? How are you fixing to get home?”

“I was planning to walk back,” the stranger says with some asperity. “But I admit I was not anticipating this kind of weather.”

“Let me check on the roads for you,” the waitress says kindly. “Which cabin did you say you’re at? My brother-in-law lives up that way, I’ll give him a call. I’m sure we can find you a ride.”

She goes back behind the counter and picks up the phone.

“I’m happy to give you a ride,” Hob says quietly. “If she thinks it’s safe.”

“You do not have to do that.”

“‘S okay. I want to.”

“Bill? It’s Jan. I have a question for you,” says the waitress.

Hob realizes, suddenly and with some surprise, that it is quite true, that he is not just being polite: he does want to help this mysterious stranger, who talks like a 19th-century Byronic hero and dresses like a college goth. His stomach is doing the tiniest little swoop every time they make eye contact, and he doesn’t want it to stop.

The waitress calls over to him.

“You got four wheel drive, hon?”

Hob thinks about the little Honda Civic in the motel parking lot. Thinks about mountain roads and snow. Shakes his head no.

Scraps of the waitress’s conversation float across the diner and Hob takes another bite of his burger.

“– well they’re foreign, Bill, they don’t –”

He snickers just a little; can’t help himself, really, because the waitress is just so kind and helpful and also clearly more than a little bit befuddled by their presence in her diner. These two Brits, total strangers, so unalike one another – and yet here they are, sharing a booth and a plate of fried pickles, five thousand miles and change away from home. He exchanges a look of camaraderie with the stranger and eats some more chips. They’re good too.

“– and tomorrow? What’s the overnight –”

After another minute or two the waitress thanks her brother-in-law and hangs up the phone. Her face is serious when she comes back to their table.

“Well, boys,” she says, “I don’t think anyone is going anywhere tonight. Bill says it’s pretty bad up there, and only getting worse. The plows aren’t even going out yet on account of the snow’s still coming down so hard, it doesn’t make sense to try and clear anything. You going to be able to find a place to stay?” she asks the stranger.

He looks at Hob. “Did you mention a motel?”

“Yeah, the Townhouse?” Hob says, and the waitress nods along. “I don’t know for sure if there are rooms available, but it didn’t look like the parking was full.”

“Probably not, this time of year,” interjects the waitress. “It’s a fine place, and Paulie can certainly use the business. I’ll bring your checks by in a minute, guys.”

She leaves them again. Her sensible sneakers squeak against the floor tiles as she walks.

“Thank you again for your offer of a ride,” the stranger says quietly. “That was very kind of you.”

“Course. I’m just sorry you won’t be able to get home tonight,” Hob says.

“It is my own fault. I should not have behaved so impulsively. But my siblings…” The man frowns. “As I said, they can be difficult. I would have done something regrettable, had I remained in the house.”

Hob waves a hand. “Ah, it happens to the best of us. Especially around family. You should hear some of the fights I’ve had with my sister, we can scream the paint off the walls when we get going.”

“Indeed,” the man says darkly.

“I’m glad you did come to town, though. It’s been kind of nice,” Hob says tentatively. “Having someone to talk to tonight.”

“Indeed,” his stranger repeats. But this time one corner of his mouth lifts in a tiny smile. “It seems to have worked out in my favor.”

Hob smiles back. “So, are you really not going to tell me your name?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun, eh?” Hob glances down at his own hands, folded on the table, back at the stranger. “Is that what this is?”

The stranger smirks. He leans forward and plucks another fried pickle from the plate. He opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue just a little bit farther than necessary to pop the slice into his mouth. He chews, and smirks some more, and gives Hob an unmistakable up-and-down appraising glance, and underneath the table he presses one ankle against Hob’s instep.

Oh. Hob feels a surprising but not unfamiliar spike of arousal in his gut. So that’s where this is heading – has been heading, since he pushed open the door and the stranger had glanced up at him. Had he blushed, when his eyes met Hob’s? Or is he applying more detail to that brief interaction after the fact, now that he thinks he knows what his stranger is thinking?

And when had the man become his stranger?

“I see,” he says, and presses back against the bony ankle under the table.

Ten minutes later, they’ve settled their bills – his stranger had apparently eaten a club sandwich before Hob had arrived, and he’s weirdly relieved that the man has consumed something more substantial than coffee this evening – and are gearing up to head back into the cold. Hob is zipping up his coat when he realizes the other man appears to have only a thick black hoodie and a knit beanie (also black, of course). He glances out the window, where it’s still snowing pretty hard, and raises an eyebrow.

“You going to be okay in just that?”

“You said it is only a couple of blocks? I will be fine. I tend not to feel the cold. And,” he adds defensively, “when I originally walked down the weather was not quite so… inclement.”

“If you say so,” Hob says as he opens the door. The waitress calls out a good night and he waves to her over his stranger’s shoulder. Wonders, just for a moment, what she thinks of the fact that they’re leaving together, or if she will ever think of them again at all. They step out into the snowy evening. “The girl at the motel said there’s a liquor store down the street. Mind detouring there? I was thinking of picking up some whiskey, or something. Something to keep a man warm.”

The man chuckles and they head down the street. It’s not until they’re away from the diner windows that he takes Hob by the elbow and gently draws him just outside the circle of a street lamp.

“Surely,” he says, voice low, stepping into Hob’s space, “there are many ways for a man to… keep warm.”

And he kisses him.

His lips are warm and dry, a little chapped. It’s a simple kiss, a chaste one, just their lips touching and the barest pressure of the stranger’s belly and chest pressed against Hob’s, swathed in layers of winter gear. It lasts for a heartbeat, two, and then the man steps back with a hum of satisfaction.

“Oh?” says Hob, giddily. “It’s like that, is it?”

“Obviously,” responds his stranger.

“Well, I don’t know, mate,” says Hob as they make their way down the street. He resists the urge to link their arms together. “Maybe you play footsie with every guy you meet in random diners in Northern California.”

“Perhaps.”

The liquor store is a brief respite from the wind and the snow. Hob selects a mid-range bottle of whiskey and they trudge back to his motel room. The snowflakes and the streetlights and the swirling wind make everything feel more than a little bit surreal, like something out of a dream or a fairy tale. The two of them could be adventurers, explorers, wading through an arctic wasteland in search of shelter. The mountain looms behind them, dark and mysterious, like a great castle or some monstrous beast.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” asks his stranger, kicking off his boots dropping his backpack by the desk. “I’m afraid I did get rather sweaty, hiking down earlier. I wouldn’t mind cleaning up.” His gaze, beneath his long eyelashes, feels heavy and significant.

“Go right ahead.” Hob gestures toward the bathroom. “I’m just going to nip down to the lobby and get a bit of ice.” He retrieves the ice bucket from the desk, brushing close to his stranger as he does. The brief contact jolts him back to the real world. They’re not in the arctic waste; this handsome, ethereal man is here, in his motel room. He is pulling off his somewhat sodden hoodie and draping it over the back of the chair, and sniffing dubiously at the sweater he wears underneath it. He is real.

Hob waits until he hears the shower turn on to slip out the door.

Although he has his moments of cluelessness, Hob is not a stupid man. He knows where this is going. He recognizes the signs, the coy little dance they’ve been doing around each other for the past two hours, and no, he’s not a stupid man, but if he were a better one he might be able to resist the temptation of falling into bed with a beautiful stranger who won’t even share his name.

But there’s something about this man. Hob wants him. Already can’t resist him. Wants to wrap him up and keep him warm and kiss his collarbones and, yes, wants to fuck him, wants to feel him shudder and moan and wants to watch his cheeks flush and his head fall back in ecstasy. He hasn’t felt like this for a long, long time, and now it’s come out of nowhere to slam into him and hook into his gut, this wanting.

He throws a few scoops of ice from the machine in the motel lobby into the bucket and goes back to the room.

He’s kicked off his boots, unwrapped one of the shitty plastic cups, and poured himself a couple fingers of whiskey by the time he hears the shower shut off. There’s the usual shuffling noise of towels, a brief blast of the cheap hair dryer mounted to the wall. Then the door opens and the stranger emerges, and Hob is slammed from the real world right back into a surreal dream.

The man is even more beautiful without his clothes on: Hob would compare him to an elf or a fairy prince, but he’s too busy choking slightly on the spit that’s suddenly flooding his mouth at the sight of long, slim limbs, a narrow waist, and a temptingly well-defined Adonis belt that disappears under the cheap motel towel wound around his hips.

There’s a long moment of silent eye contact. Hob’s leaning up against the desk, cup cradled in one hand. His face heats as he watches his stranger’s eyes travel slowly down the length of his body and back up, pursing his lips slightly. His mouth is very pink, with the kind of full bottom lip that’s made for nibbling on, and the rest of his skin is as pale and smooth as… well, as snow, with just a touch of redness from the heat of the shower spreading across his chest.

Hob downs half of his whiskey without even thinking about it. He can’t look away. He can’t think, can’t even blink. He’s afraid that if he does, this vision will disappear and it’ll just be him, alone, a saddish man alone in a motel room with a bottle of booze and a bag of expensive camera equipment, and then who knows what will happen?

His stranger gives him one of those tiny half-smiles, suggestive, not quite a leer, and stalks across the room toward him.

He widens his legs and his stranger steps in to stand between his feet. He takes Hob’s drink out of his hand and tosses back the last swallow of whiskey before setting the plastic cup aside. Then he hooks one finger into the collar of Hob’s flannel shirt and pulls him into a kiss. His mouth is a study in contrasts: warm from the whiskey and cool from the ice, soft tongue and sharp teeth. They sink briefly, gently, into Hob’s bottom lip, and Hob pulls the man close against his chest and returns the favor.

The kiss is turning wet and messy when the man pulls back far enough to start fumbling with Hob’s shirt buttons. He’s pulled the tails of the shirt out of Hob’s jeans and has it about halfway unbuttoned when a phone starts ringing.

It’s not the room phone – it’s coming from a pocket of the man’s backpack.

“Ignore it,” he mumbles into Hob’s neck. “We are busy.”

The phone rings three times; four times. The stranger has finished with Hob’s shirt and is pulling the tee beneath it out of the waistband of his jeans by the time it finally stops.

His fingers are toying with Hob’s belt buckle and ghosting over the seam of his fly when it rings again.

The stranger groans audibly.

“Do you think,” Hob says with the carefully deliberate cadence of the very turned on, “that your family might be worried about you?”

“I do not care,” his stranger grumbles, and sinks gracefully to his knees.

Eventually the phone stops ringing again.

He’s worked Hob’s belt and fly open and is nuzzling into the opening of his jeans, nosing at the base of Hob’s cock through his underwear and Hob is panting, his stranger’s hot breath so close to where Hob wants him most – when the phone rings a third time.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” snarls the stranger, and stands.

He fishes a slightly battered-looking BlackBerry out of an outside pocket of his backpack and stabs at the call answer button.

“What.”

He turns away, so all Hob can see is the furious, stiff line of his stranger’s back. He can’t hear the other half of the conversation, and he doesn’t think he wants to; every fibre of the man’s body radiates anger and discomfort and perhaps a little bit of shame. Hob adjusts himself discreetly, rezips his jeans, and tiptoes over to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Obviously I am alive. I am fine.” A pause. “I took a walk.” Another pause. “Yes. Yes, I know what time it is. No, I am assured that the roads were too bad to make it back to the cabin. I am in a motel room in…” He looks over to Hob. “What is the name of this place?”

Hob supplies the name of the motel, and that of the town as well, just for good measure. The man relays the information into the phone. There is another long pause.

“That is none of your business. Shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about. And if you speak to me like that again I will hang up the phone.”

There is another, longer pause, during which the stranger’s face grows progressively redder. He is very deliberately not looking at Hob.

“No. I said no. I will arrange for my own transportation in the morning. I –”

The person on the other end of the phone must say something truly outrageous, because his strangers eyes bug out in a way that looks almost uncomfortable.

“Do the entirety of the known universe a favor and crawl back into whatever slime hole you emerged from and leave me alone,” he hisses. “Goodbye.”

Hob can’t quite muffle a snort at this crowning line. Siblings.

His stranger hangs up the phone with a vicious jab of a button and slams it down on the desk; then seems to reconsider, retrieves it, and shuts it off entirely before throwing it into his backpack. He sighs, a surprisingly tired sound.

“I will have another drink, if you don’t mind,” he says. “And then I would like it very much if you would fuck me. Please.”

Hob’s cock, which had been feeling distinctly neglected, gives a twitch.

“I think that can be arranged,” he says. “Are you –”

The stranger waves a dismissive hand. “I am quite sober enough to have sex with you. And I could easily afford my own room, if that’s a concern. I am here because I want to be.”

“Glad to hear it, but that actually isn’t what I was going to ask,” Hob says mildly.

“Oh,” the man says. A faint blush rises on his cheekbones. He scoops up the whiskey bottle and uncorks it, taking an unceremonious swig. The towel hangs dangerously low around his hips. “What were you going to ask?”

His stranger pauses with the whiskey bottle against his lips. Hob watches the long line of his neck work once, twice, as he swallows, and figures he may as well put his cards on the table.

“I was going to ask if latex condoms are okay. For when I fuck you into the mattress in a minute here.”

The man clears his throat. “Oh,” he says again. “Yes. Latex is fine.”

“Good. Anything you don’t like? Hard boundaries?”

He pauses. “I do not enjoy being choked. Or having my hands restrained in any way. But I like… I like it a little bit rough. It feels good. To be used.”

Hob leans back on one elbow. “Is that what you want me to do? Use you?”

“Yes.”

The word drops into the quiet room like a handful of snow might drop off a tree branch – soft and muffled and sending the same delicious shiver down Hob’s spine.

“I can do that.” Oh, yes. Hob can use this beautiful man, if he is offering himself up to be used. “C’mere, then.”

His stranger walks slowly across the room to where Hob is half-reclining on the bed, feet still planted on the floor. He kneels between Hob’s legs and runs his hands slowly up and down his thighs from knee to hip. “And you?” he asks. “Your boundaries?”

Hob considers. “I’m with you on choking, not a fan,” he says. “I’m not big on pain, generally, but I can give it to other people, if they need it.”

“Alright.” His hands are still rubbing up and down Hob’s thighs, a slow, hypnotizing rhythm. When he speaks again his voice is thick. “Would you consider the preliminary negotiations to be concluded now?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your mouth than spout off like a horny nineteenth century robber baron?” Hob counters.

His stranger smiles, a proper smile that crinkles the corners of his blue eyes, and unzips the fly of Hob’s jeans.

In short order he’s pulled them open and pushed Hob’s boxers down just enough that he can get his cock out. He’s not quite hard, not yet, but he gets there quickly between his stranger’s gentle, surprisingly soft hands and the way he immediately buries his nose in Hob’s pubic hair and breathes deeply as he looks up through his eyelashes.

Then he opens his mouth, and wraps his tongue around the head of Hob’s cock, and Hob’s brain makes a noise like radio static.

Oh, he is good at this. Unfairly good. Supernaturally good. He teases Hob for long, long minutes, working up and down his shaft with light touches of just his lips and tongue, ducking down now and then to mouth gently at his balls, until Hob is twitching and swearing and straining, perched on the edge of the bed. When he finally has mercy and takes Hob’s cock fully into his mouth, it is barely a relief. He is so wet, so hot, and he sinks down on Hob with no resistance, no trace of a gag reflex. Before he can stop himself, Hob’s hips jerk forward that final fraction, and suddenly his stranger’s nose is brushing his pubic bone and his throat is contracting around the head of Hob’s cock.

He’s expecting the man to pull back, to splutter in indignation, but instead he makes an encouraging noise and squeezes Hob’s thigh before folding his hands almost primly in his lap.

“Fuck,” Hob mutters. He makes an experimental shallow thrust into the tight, wet heat of his stranger’s mouth. “Really?”

His stranger can’t nod, not with Hob’s prick in his mouth, but he moans. Hob feels it vibrate all along the length of his shaft and has to stifle a whimper of his own. He sinks one hand into the soft riot of the man’s hair, still a little damp from the shower, and cradles the back of his skull. The bone feels sweet and finely formed in his hand.

“You want me to fuck your pretty face?” he asks, soft and just a tiny bit mean. “Yeah? That’s what your mouth is good for, isn’t it?”

He thrusts again, in and out, and the stranger’s eyes roll back a little in his head, so he does it again, and again. Soon he really is fucking his face, not too hard but deep, fingers tightening in his stranger’s hair as his eyes fall nearly shut, narrowing to crystalline blue crescents.

Hob pulls back briefly to let his stranger breathe. Runs his thumb along his bottom lip, dripping with spit, before he pushes back in. He doesn’t stop until he can feel the first tendrils of orgasm beckoning to him; but as tempting as it is to keep going, to empty himself into this perfect mouth, he’s made a promise. And Hob is a man of his word, so he pulls the man off his cock by the scruff of his neck. He makes an obscene noise as he goes, and another thing string of saliva dribbles from his puffy mouth. His eyes are slightly glassy as he looks up at Hob.

“Get up on the bed, baby,” Hob orders gently.

When the man stands up the towel is just barely clinging to his narrow hips, and his erection is stiff and straining against the terrycloth. He’s so hard, Hob thinks wonderingly, just from having Hob’s cock in his mouth for a few minutes, and his own prick throbs in sympathy.

“Hands and knees,” Hob says, and the man crawls up on the bed. The towel falls away as he goes, languid but obedient, so that he’s entirely naked when Hob positions himself behind him. The contrast between Hob’s clothes and the other man’s nudity is delicious – Hob’s rough denim against the man’s soft thighs, Hob’s hairy wrists poking out from worn flannel as he runs his fingernails along sharply elegant shoulder blades.

He allows himself one long, gentle caress, from the nape of his stranger’s neck down to the shallow dimples in the small of his back, before he grabs at the man’s buttocks and unceremoniously spreads him open.

His hole looks surprisingly loose and relaxed already. Hob runs the pad of one thumb over it.

“Were you prepping yourself in the shower?” he asks, delighted. He presses gently and the furl of muscle gives, just a little, pink and fluttering.

“Hng,” says his stranger, shuddering. “Yes. I thought – I thought about your hands. Oh. I liked the thought that you were just outside the door. While I had my fingers inside myself.”

“Impatient little minx,” Hob says fondly. He kisses one of the lovely knobs of his stranger’s spine and pinches his backside for good measure before pulling away. “Stay here.”

He has to dig down to the bottom of his duffel bag in order to find the box of condoms and the little travel sized bottle of lube. He’d felt a little self-conscious when he’d packed them back in his flat in London – like he was presuming something – but then again he had been preparing for a supposedly romantic road trip with his girlfriend.

He’s glad, now, that he has them.

His stranger has remained on his knees, pitched forward to rest on his elbows, face pressed into a pillow and cock hanging heavy between his legs.

“Good boy,” Hob praises, and runs his hand along the man’s flank. “Beautiful. Oh, darling, I’m going to make you feel so good. And then you’re going to make me feel so good, aren’t you? You already have,” Hob coos, drizzling lube directly onto his arsehole. “And I know you’re going to keep being a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

Before the man can answer, Hob slips a finger inside him, right up to the first knuckle. He’s rewarded with a whimper and the feeling of his stranger pushing back against him, silently begging for more.

And then not so silently. “More,” moans the stranger. “Fuck. More, please.”

Hob strokes his finger in and out, petting the velvet inside his stranger.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll get more.”

He tries to spend as much time torturing his stranger with his fingers as his stranger had spent torturing him with his mouth, but by the second finger he finds his resolve dissolving like so many snowflakes on warm skin. The man is making such wanton sounds, and his knees skid wider and wider on the slippery motel bedspread, opening him inexorably to Hob’s hungry eyes and questing hands.

“Oh. Oh,” he says. “Oh, yes, fuck,” he moans. No more well-crafted phrases or erudite words; the only thing dropping from that perfect mouth are noises, guttural and breathy by turns, only half-muffled by the pillow his face is smashed into.

“Please,” he begs, “please, in me, I – please, I need –”

Hob obliges.

He’s pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life as he shoves his jeans down around his thighs and rolls the condom on. He has to do it one-handed, clumsily, because some frantic corner of his brain is convinced that if he lets go of the stranger’s hip then the man will disappear, between one blink and the next, and this whole night will turn out to have been some snowblind fever dream.

But his stranger stays where Hob has put him, desperate and writhing, begging for Hob’s cock, and when he finally pins the man down to the mattress and pushes into him, that first hard thrust is enough to silence both of them.

The room is utterly still for a heartbeat, and then another, and then one more, until Hob pulls out in order to thrust in again and his stranger wails and then Hob is fucking into him in earnest, fucking him hard, until the sound of their skin slapping together almost drowns out the sounds his stranger is making beneath him.

Almost.

His stranger moans and pants, and Hob answers him, thrust for thrust and moan for moan, Yes and Ah and Christ and Fuck, fuck me, use me, yes. He grips his stranger by the hips, so hard that his fingers leave little white divots behind when he shifts his grip, so hard that he worries he might leave bruises, and still the man pushes back against him and begs for more.

He comes, when he finally comes, untouched, rutting gracelessly against the mattress. Hob stills, grits his teeth, not wanting to overwhelm the other man as he seizes in pleasure, but his stranger continues to move against him, if anything even more desperate, even in the throes of orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, “don’t, oh God, fuck me through it, don’t stop –”

So Hob hauls him up and pushes him down, one hand on his waist and one shoving his chest down into the mattress as the man’s hands scrabble at the sheets and he sobs and Hob pistons into him until he empties himself, until his prick is oversensitive and his stranger is twitching around and beneath him, and the room is finally quiet.

Then Hob takes the condom off, knots it and tosses it towards the wastebasket. He rolls them both away from the wet spot with only middling success, but he’s too tired to care. He shucks the rest of his clothes off. He is boneless and spent, and his stranger is inserting himself relentlessly into Hob’s personal space. They lie there for a long, long moment, sweaty and panting, until their breathing starts to even out and the desperate closeness has receded into normal cuddling. Hob presses a kiss to his stranger’s sweaty temple and marvels at his luck.

“I realize I neglected to ask you why you find yourself in Northern California,” his stranger says, tucked against Hob’s side, voice drowsy and hoarse. “Do you care to share?”

“It’s a long story,” Hob says. “I was – well, I am – on a road trip. With my, ah. With my girlfriend. Well. Ex-girlfriend, now. Actually.”

His stranger tenses slightly, and Hob doesn’t blame him; he knows how it must sound. “It sounds like there is a story there?” the man says, almost tentative.

“Yeah, we… we came over together, about two weeks ago. We flew into Seattle, were planning this whole big trip, right down the coast and all the way to Los Angeles. See the redwoods, do some wine tastings, the whole bit. I’m a photographer, I was thinking I could turn the whole trip into a photo essay, maybe even a book.” He sighs. “Then she heard about this yoga retreat, ashram sort of place. Bit culty, I don’t really go in for all that, but she absolutely had to check it out, so we did. Two days later, out of the blue, she tells me our chakras are misaligned and gives me the boot. Turns out Guru Todd Thingummy, who ran the retreat center, was very aligned with her chakras. As well as other, less… metaphysical things.”

There’s a sound from the vicinity of Hob’s armpit that he realizes with delight is a snort. The snort blossoms into a chuckle, and then his stranger is laughing, a frankly horrible honking sort of laugh, shaking in Hob’s arms with it, and Hob laughs along.

“I’m sorry,” his stranger gasps. “I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t laugh at you. It’s just… Guru Todd.”

“I know!” Hob snickers. “You can picture him, right? White boy dreadlocks and a fucking… shell necklace. Utter tosser.”

“I feel like I’ve probably met someone almost exactly like him, truly.” Eventually his stranger’s horrible laugh subsides. He shifts against Hob, playing idly with his chest hair, curling it around one finger. “In a way, I am also escaping a recent ex. She was the first person I dated after some… difficult experiences I had about a year ago. But in the end I was far more invested in the relationship than she, and she became. Uncomfortable. With my ardor.”

“She’s a bloody idiot then,” Hob says automatically, and his stranger looks up, startled.

“Do you think so?”

Hob briefly considers backpedaling. Don’t come off like a madman, he thinks to himself. Not when he’s finally talking to you. But there’s no hope for him. “Well, yeah. I mean, I’d say your ardor is my favorite thing about you so far.” He lets one hand drift down and gives his stranger’s arse a cheeky squeeze, and is rewarded with a squeak and another snort.

“You are kind to say so,” the man says, and interrupts himself with a yawn.

“It’s true. I… I’m really glad I met you,” Hob says honestly. Too honestly. He can’t help himself; the man is just so beautiful, mouth kissed red and limbs loose, fucked out and soft everywhere he’d been hard and prickly before.

Hob still doesn’t know his name.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” the man says softly.

Hob snuggles them both down into the lumpy motel pillows and pulls the blanket up firmly around their shoulders. The wind blows outside, he reaches up to switch off the lamp, and they fall asleep.

He wakes in the night and stumbles to the bathroom to take a piss. When he comes back, his stranger has starfished out and is taking up a full two-thirds of the bed, sleeping like a stone. Hob manages to reinsert himself into the remaining third and then simply lies there for a long few minutes, looking at the other man.

The skies must have cleared, at least a little, because there’s a few strips of moonlight filtering through the blinds. The pale light turns his stranger into marble, a work of art; he practically glows against the blue sheets. Hob’s fingers itch for his camera.

“You’re going to fuck me up,” he whispers. “I’m going to wake up next to you and never want to leave, and it’s going to fuck me up so bad.”

The sleeping man does not respond, of course; doesn’t even stir. Hob lies there, and gazes at him, until he slips back into sleep himself.

When he wakes again it’s fully morning. The sun is that peculiar thin shade of blue that you get on very cold mornings, but when Hob peeks out the window, the sky is clear and the snowplows have clearly been out making the rounds. He tries to tamp down a sudden feeling of disappointment.

He gets a drink of water, and when he returns to bed his stranger is stirring. First one blue eye opens, then the other.

“Morning,” Hob says.

The man hums and stretches luxuriously, rolling from his belly to his back. The sheets fall down around his hips, revealing one elegant hipbone and a tempting glimpse of dark curls. His pale skin practically glows against the blue sheets in the morning light.

“Enjoying the view?” his stranger asks, and his voice is rough with sleep and slightly hoarse.

“You could say that,” Hob says. He puts one knee on the bed, reaches out to run a hand lightly down the long, lean line of the man’s thigh. “God, you’re… you are so beautiful.”

“Come here to me,” the man says, beckoning to Hob.

Hob ducks his head and kisses up the ladder of the man’s ribs, takes one pert nipple gently between his teeth.

“Can I take your picture?” he says suddenly. “Not in a creepy way. I can even keep your face out of it if you like, I just… there’s something about you, in this light.”

“I don’t mind,” the man says.

Hob’s heart leaps.

A few minutes later, he’s gotten his camera out and adjusted. The room is so quiet, so still, that each click of the shutter sounds almost sacrilegious. He shoots in black and white. He thinks the sheets will show dark, almost black, and the man’s skin will show light and luminous against them. His stranger poses like a dream, languid and biddable, moving here and there on the bed, wherever Hob arranges him.

“You’ve done this before,” Hob accuses. He’s kneeling above the other man, shooting straight down, and his stranger has one arm thrown over his face so only one eye is visible. “Posed, I mean. You know how to move for a camera.”

“I have,” the stranger admits. “Mostly for life drawing classes, though I imagine the principle is more or less the same.”

“Incredible. Are you an artist, then?”

“I suppose.”

Hob tugs the sheet a little lower, so that it’s just barely covering the stranger’s prick, which has plumped up a little – whether from the attention of Hob himself or of the camera, he’s not sure, but it’s one of the sexiest things Hob’s ever seen. The neat patch of dark hair blending into the dark sheet. The gentle swell beneath it. His mouth waters.

“You suppose?”

“I find it difficult to call myself an artist. To claim that title. But I make art. If that is the same thing.”

“Hmm. I reckon so.”

Hob pulls the sheet another fraction of an inch lower. He can feel himself getting distracted. The itch he’d felt to photograph the beautiful stranger, now mostly satisfied, has transformed into an altogether different kind of impulse. He takes one more shot, barely paying attention to the framing. Catches himself licking his lips.

“Hob.”

“Yeah?”

“Put the camera down.”

He hastens to obey.

He’d pulled his boxers back on at some point last night, but they do little to hide his arousal as he slides under the sheets and slots himself in behind his stranger, rubbing his nose in the riotous bedhead and kissing his neck as the man tilts his head to one side to give him better access.

“I like how you say my name,” Hob murmurs. He grinds against his stranger’s narrow arse and reaches around to make a loose fist around his hardening cock. “You’re really not going to tell me yours, are you?”

“Mine?”

“Your name.”

“I –” The man’s breath hitches as Hob tightens his grip, stroking slowly up and down. “I haven’t – decided yet.”

“Well,” Hob says against the smooth skin between his ear and his shoulder. “Let me know what you decide.”

They writhe together under the sheets for a few minutes, until they’re both fully hard, until Hob’s chest is slightly tacky with sweat where it’s rubbing against the stranger’s sharp shoulder blades. He’s grunting, underwear pulled down, making quick little thrusts in the crease of the other man’s thigh, sticky and warm and so good.

“Fuck me again,” his stranger says. “Please.”

“Don’t be a madman,” Hob chides. “You’ll be so sore.”

But he doesn’t say no. And he slides a finger between the man’s arse cheeks and pets over his hole, still a little loose from the night before.

The stranger twists his neck around to look Hob in the eye. “I don’t care. I want you,” he says. “I want to feel it.”

And Hob tries his best to be a good person, he really does, but when confronted with this bald-faced desire he is only, after all, a man. So he mumbles Fuck, okay, yeah, okay against his stranger’s shoulder, and tears himself away to retrieve the lube and a condom. He fingers him open, as slowly and as carefully as he can bring himself to do it, and rolls the condom on, and he fucks him again. Face to face, this time; one knee hooked over his elbow, and long arms clinging to him like a drowning man, and panting, open-mouthed kisses that are as much simply breathing the other’s breath as they are real kisses.

The stranger comes first, his beautiful face screwed up in ecstasy, and Hob follows him over the edge mere seconds later.

The other man falls back into a doze almost immediately, drifting off as soon as Hob has disposed of the condom and wiped them down with a handful of tissues, but Hob is buzzing with too much energy to lie back down. He cleans himself up, splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth quickly, before dressing quietly and creeping down to the motel lobby to look for breakfast.

There’s a coffee machine, a few muffins – prepackaged, not fresh – and a rather sad fruit bowl with some mealy-looking apples. He assembles what he can and shoves some creamers and sugar packets in his jacket pocket. He asks the bored teenager at the front desk (a different one than the night before, although bearing a distinct family resemblance) about the weather report, and learns that although it’s supposed to stay cold, no more precipitation is in the forecast. Then he goes back to the room.

His stranger stirs again at the rush of cold air when Hob lets himself back into the room.

“I come bearing provisions,” he says, setting the coffees on the bedside table and dropping the rest of his meager bounty in the man’s lap.

“Foraging for our survival?” he asks dryly.

“Something like that. It’s slim pickings out there, I’m afraid. But hey –” he picks up a muffin and wiggles it “– chocolate chip!”

His stranger snorts and mutters something about being spoiled.

Hob is very careful not to say anything about how he’d like to spoil this man very much, actually, for the foreseeable future and possibly beyond that, because Hob has so longed for someone to care for, and because this man so obviously needs it. Hob eats his muffin, and very carefully does not say anything reckless or emotional.

They finish their motel snacks, and drink their coffees (Hob’s with a little creamer and one sugar; the stranger’s with no cream and an absurd amount of sugar). And eventually Hob broaches the subject that’s obviously hovering between them.

“So,” he says. “What do you want to do now? I’m still up to give you a ride to your cabin, if that’s what you want. The roads are supposed to be cleared by now.”

“I suppose I should,” the stranger says, fiddling with his styrofoam cup, not meeting Hob’s eyes. “I did tell my sibling that I would return in the morning.”

“Okay.” Hob clears his throat. “Alright then. Whenever you’re ready.”

It takes them another hour to leave the room. Hob showers, and then his stranger decides he needs to rinse off as well, and then there’s a frustrating search for car keys that turn out to have been kicked or dropped halfway under a bedside table at some point the night before.

Then the stranger stops Hob in the doorway with a hand on his elbow and kisses him, long and slow and wordless, before they step out into the brilliant snowy sparkle of the late morning.

The drive is very quiet. The stranger directs Hob out of town and along a rather steep road that winds up the thickly forested mountainside. It’s certainly not a road that Hob would have wanted to drive in last night’s weather, and even with clear skies and plowed roads he takes it slow, acutely aware of the grip of the rental car’s tires on the snowy highway.

Only one time does the stranger wince and shift uncomfortably when Hob cannot avoid a bump in the road. Hob smiles, and swallows his smile, and deliberately wrenches his mind away from the vivid memories of just why his stranger might be wincing and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

His stranger is silent, except for when he briefly tells Hob when and where to turn. The farther they drive up the mountain, the stiffer he becomes, until he’s gripping the seat with white knuckles and his mouth is one firm line.

Hob doesn’t think it’s the wintry roads that are making him so tense.

They pull over, eventually, at the base of a long driveway. Through the trees Hob can see a large house – not really a cabin by any stretch of the imagination, but built of logs, and with a wisp of woodsmoke floating up from a picturesque brick chimney. They both gaze up at it through the trees. Hob puts the car in park but doesn’t turn it off.

“Well, here we are,” he says.

“Indeed,” his stranger says, and his voice sounds tense and slightly strangled. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Hob waits for him to open the door and walk away.

The man does not move.

A minute stretches by, and another, and another, and still his stranger has not opened the car door.

Hob dares to hope.

“Come with me,” he says suddenly.

His stranger looks up, startled.

“I mean it. Come with me. Go get your stuff and we’ll just. Drive away. Go down the coast, find somewhere it’s actually warm. Or don’t even get your stuff,” he adds hurriedly, aware that his voice is sounding increasingly unhinged. “Say the word and I’ll just turn the car around. We’ll go. Anywhere you want, just… come with me.”

The man looks at Hob with an unreadable expression for a long moment. “You know nothing about me,” he says finally.

“I know I like you. A lot,” Hob says. “I know last night was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time, maybe one of the best nights of my whole life. I know I’d regret it if I didn’t at least ask. So, I’m asking. Come with me.”

“I haven’t even told you my name,” says his stranger. “I could be a serial killer.”

“You could be, yeah. But I don’t think you are. I think… I think you just want someone to want you.” Hob reaches across the gear shift and briefly touches his stranger on the cheek. The man’s eyes flutter closed and Hob doesn’t think he’s imagining the way he leans ever-so-slightly into the gentle touch before he looks down. “I want you.”

There’s another long silence, punctuated only by an occasional call from the chickadees flitting through the trees.

“My name is Morpheus,” he says to his hands, clenched in his lap. “But some people call me Dream. People – people close to me. Call me Dream.”

Hob smiles. “Can I call you Dream, then?”

Dream nods. “Let’s go,” he says. Hob’s smile widens.

“Want to get anything from inside?” he asks.

“No. I think not,” Dream says. All of a sudden it’s like the tight strings of his body are loosened: he leans back in his seat, crosses his ankles, looking relaxed for the first time since they’d gotten out of bed. He lolls his head to one side and peeks at Hob and his face looks fey and happy in the afternoon light. “I believe I have everything I need for now.”

Happiness wells up in Hob’s chest, a rushing feeling like a mountain spring swollen by melting snow. He puts the car in gear and reaches over to take Dream’s hand.

“Right then,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Read on AO3 >>>

#dreamling #the sandman #my writing #designtheendless

[laylajeffany]

targeted ad - microfic

Wednesday stepped into her shared bedroom after the sun had set one evening, finding Enid holding out a little blue bag with orange drawstrings. She wore a beam of a smile so big, it practically hurt Wednesday’s eyes as much as the offensive color scheme of the package clashing with her overly printed sweater.

“Finally, you’re back! I saw this on Insta, and I know you’ll think this is totally lame and not your thing, but it’s also - fully you.”

Wednesday tried not to wrinkle her nose. “I believe we’ve spoken about you giving in to targeted advertisements on my behalf. You have to stop allowing corporations to get the best of you, Enid. The American dollar is worth less every day, partially due to the over consumption of cheap goods manufactured overseas.”

Rolling her eyes, Enid pulled open the strings of the bag, still wearing a smirk. “These aren’t cheap, okay? And yes, it was targeted at me, for you, and I’m aware I’m playing capitalist games, or whatever,” She said in Wednesday’s classic deadpan voice. “But this one got me right through the heart and I couldn’t help myself. You only accept dead-accurate shots. So, reach in!”

Giving her own eyes a spin, Wednesday placed her backpack on Enid’s colorful quilt on her bed and closed her eyes, reaching into the bag. Her fingers gripped around something surprisingly soft and squishy. Pulling it out, she stared harshly at a six-inch wide plush raincloud, with a severe frown stitched onto it with a face and…feet.

“Isn’t it so cute!? And what totally sold it – guess what the name of it is?”

“Sunny,” Wednesday quipped flatly.

“Amuseable Storm Cloud! That’s what your dad calls you sometimes!”

“I can’t say I find it amusing,” She grumbled, placing it flat on her palm, taking in how the legs sort of dangled over the edge while it pouted.  

“Well, I think it’s very fitting. Thing likes it!”

The hand gave a thumb up from where he appeared over Enid’s shoulder. Enid picked it up the plush with a little squeak of a sound, squishing the sides of it together before holding it up next to Wednesday’s face, giving a delighted nod. “Yup – as I expected. You’re twins.”

“The doctor said I ate mine in the womb,” Wednesday argued.

Enid continued to glow, skipping across the floor and putting it on a shelf next to one of Wednesday’s taxidermized squirrels. “Not your usual sort of stuffed creature, but for sure – less likely to decompose.”

“I’m very good at my craft. You don’t know what chemicals they put in the polyester stuffing. No doubt some sort of acidic compound that could burn through your skin and lead to necrosis. I’d argue that’s worse than decomposition of the dead.”

“Sounds like a Wednesday Addams personal challenge,” Enid teased, bringing the stuffed storm cloud back and waving it in front of Wednesday’s face. “Give it a hug – see if it causes you to burn from inside to outside!”

When she didn’t move a muscle, Enid carried on, “Unless, of course – you’re scared to hug a plushie. I get it. Very intimidating to show such vulnerability in the privacy of your own room.”

Without betraying a single movement of her face, Wednesday reached out, squished the plush creature to her chest, then threw it across the room when Thing snapped a picture of the moment on one of Wednesday’s old timey cameras and the flash went off.

Enid chastised him and picked it up as Wednesday sat herself at her desk, pretending not to be any further fazed. Enid sat the plush beside her typewriter and slid a hug over Wednesday’s shoulders, holding on for about ten seconds. Just when Wednesday felt her about to pull up, she lifted a hand, clutching her arms together over them before turning her face upside down to look at Enid – where her frown would be a smile.

“Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Always, Storm Cloud.”

X

Black Menagerie Update coming tomorrow  | buy your own Amuseable Jellycat Storm Cloud here

#this user supports the overconsumption of jellycats #this was my own targeted ad today and i do find it amuseable #wenclair #wednesday 2022 #fanfic #layla's >5k challenge

[m4g0rtz]

🎉🥳🎉🥳🎉🥳🎉🥳🎉

OMG It's been a YEAR!!!!!!!

🎉🥳🎉🥳🎉🥳🎉🥳🎉

A year of daily nail polish posts. How is that even possible??? 😱 I set out a year ago to photograph and post my daily manicures cause chronic illness sucks and finding joy where you can is important. And now here we are a year later. Btw here is what a years worth of nail polishes look like in case you were curious:

359 manicure posts. Endless bottles of top coat, base coat, and peely base coat. (I wish I'd kept better track of it, but my best guess is at least 18 bottles of each cause I went through about 1.5 bottles of top coat, base coat, and peely base per month. Plus at least 5 bottles of matte topcoat for an estimated total of 59 bottles of everything. 🤯) Hours and hours taking and editing pictures and videos. And a whole bunch of new Tumblr friends that I've made along the way. 🥰

I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all. If you interacted with my posts regularly you're why I made it all the way to a year. Thank you so much @l0vegl0wsinthedark @phdmama @comaraudery @muddyclump @getawayfox @lesmotsdemoi @vmcgmidlifecrisis @caroll-in @xx-thedarklord-xx @lqtraintracks @unfiltered-alice-liddle @taigasrandomshit @fayerye @shealwaysreads. I tried to tag more, but Tumblr wouldn't let me. 😭 Honestly though, every person who liked my posts on an even semi regular basis: I recognized your icons and smiled every time I saw you in my notes. I do have to give a special shout-out to @julcheninred for not only cheering me along the whole way but also for convincing me to start doing this in the first place. Sending you every barnyard noise on Old McDonald's farm! ♥️🦖♥️🐄♥️🐖♥️🐑♥️🦆♥️🐎♥️

Moving forward I think I am going to change things up JUST a bit. I still plan on making a post every time I paint my nails, which will be most days (cause I still have a TON of untried polishes 😅👀), but I'm going to be less strict about trying to post EVERY day. I'm hoping that this will give me more chances to do nail art, which is something that is hard to do and then take off a day later. I'd also enjoy keeping a polish on for more than a day if it's one I really love. 😂 This will also help with those days where my chronic illness is kicking my butt and I need a day to rest.

Thank you all again. You don't know how much doing this has helped me get through this past year. Looking forward to sharing even more manicures with you in the year to come! 💖💖💖

#m4g0rtz manicures #one year anniversary #i still cant believe i made it to a year #this has been SO much fun #a million thank yous to you all! #💖💖💖💖💖

[spopsalt]

I also found this on the wiki under Catra trivia.

Okay, so… To me, this seems like an issue where both options aren’t great ideas. Because either…

A. They have Catra wear Adora’s shirt. Not getting into the whole ‘girlfriend wears her partner’s clothes after sex trope’, since it’s not a given trope. Some partners just share or steal clothes anyway, no intimacy required. Just saying the association could be there. Not saying it is, but it could be. But ignoring that since it’s not a given, I do have questions. 1. How and when is Catra stealing Adora’s clothes? Adora only changed I to her space suit once and probably didn’t pack anything to bring, so Catra wouldn’t have the opportunity to change when she did. She would’ve had to just yoink it from Adora when she was probably still wearing it. 2. What would Adora wear? Forget not packing for space, the girl didn’t pack when she moved to Brightmoon. It’s probably her ONLY SHIRT PERIOD. Was the plan to have Adora wear her undershirt and jacket? And 3. It’s a shirt. Just a shirt. What was the plan for… Oh I don’t know, pants? Or her weird little sock things? I get they’re not shoes, but maybe they provide Catra with some protection on her feet, like where they’re not padded? So even with a shirt, she’d still be SOL for pants and sock things? Unless the plan was to just work with her boxer shorts and nothing else, or parts of the Horde Prime outfit? Idk. Not thought out, and I’m glad they didn’t do it. And that’s not even getting into the whole joke Nate did with a piece of art where Catra DID steal and tear up Adora’s shirt, just so she couldn’t wear it anymore. There’s taking your partner’s clothes, and then there’s blatant property damage.

On the other hand…

B. They do the outfit they gave Catra. Sure, you could say it’s just here S4 outfit with the sleeve ripped off. But there some details I noticed that lead me to believe it’s an entirely new outfit.

For one, the belt is missing. And maybe I simply am misunderstanding, but to me the belt in the first picture doesn’t look like a belt. It acts more like it’s more or less part of the outfit and sewn in. It lines up into the outfit. The new one has it loose, and is not lining into the outfit, making it a separate accessory in a more obvious way.

The colors are different. I’m probably being nitpicky here, but S4 outfit seems to be leaning more into a red territory, even with the black parts being on a redder spectrum. S5 leans more into orange and brown parts of the spectrum. They still have red, but less so.

And, the most important bit of evidence. CATRA WASN’T WEARING HER S4 OUTFIT WHEN THEY GOT ON THE SHIP. Meaning they didn’t have an old outfit they could have modified anyway. Unless they modded the outfit Prime put her in, which would have been next to impossible since they’re not remotely similar.

So maybe they found some clothes lying around that fit Catra perfectly and matched her aesthetic??? Probably found it with all the First Ones food that wasn’t expired despite being ancient. No idea how it wouldn’t have been eaten away by space-moths or something. Nevermind the fact I’m pretty sure they said the ship was already raided for all it’s worth when they first found it in the Crimson Waste. Not like food or clothing is useful in the desert, but I digress. So I’m left guessing Entrapta made it??? With what materials, idk. I don’t even know where she found the supplies or the time to make the space suits. She was busy with the ship most of the time. But again, that’s just another set of problems that are beside the point.

Hi! Yeah that's a good question. They never describe how they get the clothes, they just put them on out of nowhere, like Catra has the most clothes changes, but how? It doubt the horde gives them clothes soooooo???? Just one plot hole in a show full of plot holes.

#spop critical #spop salt #anti spop #spop criticism #spop crit #spop discourse

[thranduilsperkybutt]

GIRLS ON FILM

Photo sources:  1  |  2 

Pairings:  Steve Harrington/Reader

Warnings:  NSFW; smut; fluff; amateur corn production; literally no proof-reading; plot? what plot?

Word Count:  6,001 words

Reader Gender:  Female

Author:  Meg

Summary:  You need a subject for your photography class assignment. Luckily, your boyfriend is more than willing to help you out. Some pictures, however, might be better off left between just the two of you...

A/N:  Caught you in 4k 📸 Had to bang this out before volume 2 crushed my soul, so, here you go 🤡🤡 I’m in full clown-mode denial that anything is going to happen to my faves at all rn---

Hoisting your bag onto your arm, you make your way out of the lecture hall, still dwelling on the newest assignment your professor had given out. You were supposed to photograph someone important to you in your own unique portraiture method, which had set off a few groans in class when the professor had first announced it. There were clearly several people who had no idea who they were going to make the subject of their assignment, meanwhile your mind had immediately gone to one specific person.

Steve Harrington was perhaps the most important person in your life right now, which makes sense, considering your relationship with the man has been serious since last March. It was perhaps the only thing he was serious about at this current time in his life, with how he was still undecided on his major after nearly a year and a half’s worth of college courses.

His father wanted him to go into tech, but Steve had been so uncertain that any chance at getting into somewhere other than the community college a county over from Hawkins had flown out the window. It was still a touchy subject, and the fact that his wealthy parents still had him working part-time at the Family Video store, despite pursuing an education, was evidence enough that his father hadn’t forgiven him for not applying himself harder. He has a little over a semester’s worth of classes left until you both are set to transfer to state, and he has to decide on something to do with his life by then in order to appease his parents.

Well, something other than dating you, because you’re the only thing in his life right now that Steve’s absolutely certain he wants.

And you’re absolutely certain that Steve is the man for this assignment.

He’s already helped you set up a few of your other projects for this class, between studying for the few classes you share together, so you’re pretty sure he’ll help you out again, if you ask him nicely.

Pushing past the double doors leading out to the parking lot, it’s not difficult to find his beamer parked right where it always is. Steve’s sitting in the driver’s seat with the window rolled down, undoubtedly enjoying the temperate weather after having got out of his own class that ends thirty minutes before yours. The closer you get, the more you can hear the music on his radio, and it becomes clear that he’s either taking a nap or has his eyes closed behind the sunglasses perched on his nose, because he makes no move to acknowledge your approach.

Leaning on the windowsill, you bend into the car swiftly to place a peck on his cheek, “Guess who?”

“That better be my girlfriend, or I’m in trouble,” he grins, raising his head from where it had been leant back on the seat to look at you through his shades. “How was class?”

“Same old, same old,” you roll your eyes, pushing off the door to go around to the passenger side. Dumping your bag into the back seat, you slide in beside him, continuing, “Dr. Tanner gave us another assignment.”

“Oh?” Steve hums, shifting gears to drive out of the parking lot. “She likes to give you guys a lot of things to do, huh?”

“Yeah, she always is saying that the more we practice, the better our photos will be. I guess she’s right,” you sigh, sinking into the seat and deciding to test the waters. “How about your day? How’s it been?”

Steve groans, jaw clenching as he turns his blinker on, “You don’t want to know. My dad’s gonna’ kill me when I make a C in biology.”

“You got your test back?”

“Unfortunately. At least yesterday I still could live with the hope of getting a B—”

“I’m sure there’s some way to improve your grade. There’s still one more test before the final, right?” You lean towards him, reaching out to give his shoulder a comforting rub, “I’ll help you. I’m doing alright in biology since Dr. O’Malley explains things pretty well.”

“Yeah, but O’Malley at least teaches you what’s gonna’ be on the tests! I feel like every time my guy gives us a lecture, he’s telling us what not to study, because it’s never on his exams!” Steve huffs your name with frustration, “I made a fifty-eight. A fifty-eight! That’s like if a nuke hit my B-average.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. I know you studied hard for it,” you murmur, knowing there’s nothing you can do about it now, and instead focus on perhaps cheering him up, “Want to get drive-thru before we hit the interstate? Like KFC or something? I know you must be starving.” It’s about an hour’s drive back to Hawkins, and food is the only thing that you can think of that might make the situation at least a little better for now.

“Yeah, I guess I could eat,” he doesn’t sound convincing.

You give his shoulder a squeeze, feeling him relax slightly at the touch, “You’ll feel better after.”

The side-eyed glance he gives you lets you see a glimpse of his dark eyes beyond the sunglasses, and you offer him an encouraging smile that he returns, “You’re probably right. Man, I’m moping, aren’t I? Sorry to be such a downer.”

“No, it’s okay. You know you don’t have to be on all the time with me,” when he stops at a red light, he reaches from the gear shift to rest his hand on your thigh, leaning into your touch when you move to caress his cheek. “We’ll work through it together, yeah?”

Steve nods, smile spreading into something more genuine, something that reaches his eyes, when he sighs softly, “What did I do to deserve you, honey?”

“Probably something amazing, I’m sure,” you giggle, before retreating back into your seat and turning up the radio just enough to hear a familiar song you liked.

The wind flowing through his open window ruffles his hair as he continues driving on the turning of the light, “That assignment you were talking about— what’s it going to be this time?”

“Well, I have to take a series of photos involving someone I care about, and make them unique to my personal style.”

“Ah,” he begins, “so who’re you gonna’ ask—?”

Rolling your eyes, you snort, “You, obviously! Who else?”

“I don’t know! I thought, maybe, like, Robin, or your parents, or something—” he quickly runs through his options.

“Of course I was gonna’ ask you, Steve. You’re pretty much the most special person in my life—”

“Aw,” he grins, teasing, “I’m special to you? That’s so sweet.”

“Shut up,” you fight against the warmth rising to your cheeks. Even after all this time, he still can make you flustered, and you know he knows it, “Well, will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Be my subject!”

“Uh, sure,” he hums, “I just gotta’ work this weekend. I’m off Sunday, though, so we could do it then, unless you’re busy.”

“Sunday works,” agreement on your tongue, you’re glad you’ll have a few days to figure out what kind of set up you want for the photos. “You could bring your bio books, too, and we could study together.” Steve groans his reluctance until you point at him, “Hey, I’m gonna’ make sure you get the grade you need, mister!”

“Sunday’s supposed to be a day of rest or something, isn’t it?” he whines, taking the turn towards the restaurant.

“There ain’t no rest for the wicked, Steve,” you tease, grinning, as he shoots you a look beneath a raised brow.

“The wicked, and college students, huh?” Steve shakes his head, a smile lingering on his lips as he pulls up behind the cars waiting in line at the drive-thru, “Come on, tell me what you want.”

Reaching around the seat, you grab your bag to rummage through it in search of some cash, “I’m treating you today, okay? Because you had a bad day— no arguing!” You can tell he wants to, by the time you plop back into your seat with your wallet in hand, but you silence whatever protest he’s about to start into when you lean into his personal space, his eyes darting to your lips when you repeat, “No arguing,” before kissing him.

Trying to keep it proper, considering you were still in semi-public, you don’t give Steve much attention before you’re pulling away, and he’s pouting, but concedes all the same, “Fine, but I’m getting it next time.”

“Mhm,” you hum, biting into your smile as you flip open your wallet.

“I am,” Steve leans towards you, catching your attention with a playful look of determination, shooting your own words back at you. “See this face? No arguing!”

“I’m not arguing!” Gesturing to the car in front of you which had driven forward in the time it had taken for him to get distracted, you refocus him, “Pull up, Steve!”

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.”

A wide grin cuts along his teeth, like he knows he’ll get his way, which he will. He almost always does, when it comes to treating you to little things like this. Steve was the kind of guy who liked to feel like he was taking care of someone, but the truth was, he needed you just as much as you needed him. Maybe neither of you were truly reliant on each other financially, but when it comes down to the little moments of every day you spent together? Without that, you’re certain you’d simply wither up and die.

Steve had been your safe place, whenever something was going wrong in your life. You knew you could confide in him about anything, and he’d try to support you through it. Maybe that’s why you can allow yourself to give him the same, because Steve Harrington made loving you look easy, even when you knew it wasn’t always the case.

Comfortable is a forbidden word to some couples. They’re so used to the high of a honeymoon phase, or the anxiety of a struggling relationship, that when the lull of everyday comfortability sets in, it’s mistaken for boredom. For something being terribly wrong. You’d been that way once, before him, and judging by what he’d told you of his past relationships, he’d been victim to that same uncertainty in the past.

The truth is, you wouldn’t rather have him any other way. Slipping into this sneaky vulnerability that comes with the soft comfort which spreads through your soul every time he touches you, or calls you his, is a state you’d gladly live in for the rest of your days.

You’ve been head over heels for him for far longer than you ever realized.

That’s why the next couple of days were hard. Whenever you were separated by work, only able to see him between classes and shifts, as silly as it sounds, you’re missing him by Sunday. Sure, he called you the night before— he always makes sure to call you on the days you can’t see each other in person, but you’re still a bundle of nervous excitement as you set up the finishing touches for the photos of him you had planned.

It was a photography studio on a student budget, also known as a sheet pinned against your shoebox of an apartment’s wall, with strategic lighting positioned around it. You’ve decided on seeing what you can accomplish with polaroids, rather than the film processing you’d have to do otherwise.

You wanted to focus on minimalism, on just him, hoping that maybe the lack of focus on anything else would show how little everything else matters in comparison. Or, at least, that it’ll get you a good grade on the project.

Sighing, you plop down onto your bed to get as much a distant look at the set-up as you can in the cramped space, before deciding that it was as close as you had imagined in your head as you were going to get for now. The sound of the key in your lock lets you know it’s just in the nick of time, too, because within moments Steve is pushing open your door.

“Your model has arrived,” he calls out, before catching sight of you on the bed. He does a dramatic little spin to show off his outfit, which consists of a blue sweater and gray slacks, before shutting your front door behind him with a grin, “I’m ready for Vogue.”

Chuckling, “Perfect timing! I just got done setting everything up.” He’s tucking his keys into his pocket when you look around him, “Did you forget your biology book?”

“Ugh,” he groans before collapsing beside you on the bed, pushing himself up on his elbow to affix you with a reluctant, “it’s rotting in the trunk of my car. I was hoping you’d forget about bio…” blinking up at you, he bats his eyes as if to persuade you, “since I’m being such a great guy and helping you out with your project, and all…”

“Steve!” you huff when he pokes you in the side, swatting at his hands, “It’s for your own good!”

“I’ve just accepted my fate at this point—”

“No, come on,” you shift to turn towards him more fully, dangling one leg off the bed with the other crossed beneath your hands. “There’s more fight in you than that! Look, how about we do the shoot, then we can study a little, and spend the rest of the day doing something fun together? At the very least, we should go over your test together…”

A smile slowly parts his lips, as Steve jokes, “Alright, professor, we’ll do it your way,” before sitting up properly to sneak a kiss at your cheek. “So, tell me all about where you want me for this shoot.”

Escaping the way his hands have started to snake around your waist, you move towards the camera you’ve set up on the small space of a kitchen counter that you have, “I’m thinking, polaroids this time. I did regular film for the last project, but the professor is giving us more creative leeway with this one. Besides, I’ve been wanting to do something serious with this thing for class ever since you got me it for my birthday…”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve nods, as if he’s said anything different when you told him the last few project ideas you’ve come up with, “I think that’s a good idea.”

“I’m not finished telling you everything about my idea,” you begin, picking at the camera in your hands as you confess the one point you weren’t entirely sure if he’d be okay with. “I wanted to do a minimalist kind of thing, and you can totally say no if you want to. I’m sure I could make it work otherwise—”

Steve raises a brow at your rambling tone, “What?”

“I was thinking… about maybe taking a few pictures… without your shirt? Like I was going to pose you so it’s like, this artistically minimal kind of thing, and it would only be shots from the waist up, but I totally get if you’re not comfortable with doing that—” your voice dies in your throat when Steve stands up and simply tugs his sweater over his head, laying it over the rails of your bed’s iron footboard.

Moving closer, he smirks at having successfully silenced you, “You want me to sit on the stool?”

“Yeah, um,” you tear your eyes away from him, towards your setup, and the stool sat in the middle of it. “Kind of with your back to me— I’ll show you.”

When you have him successfully positioned, in the stool, pushing his hair the way you want it to look, he grins at your look of concentration, “Can’t get enough of this pretty face, huh?”

“Quit smiling,” you snicker, before pulling back to look at him through the camera lens, “I want a neutral look on your face in these shots.”

“Neutral, huh?” he proceeds to frown.

“Neutral, not frowning! Think of, like, clean laundry, or something that makes you feel calm—”

“Clean laundry?” he was heavily judging your choice, “That’s what makes you calm?”

“Steve,” you whine, lowering the camera from your face, “just think of something calming.”

“Okay, okay, just gimme’ a second,” he relents, as you bring the camera back up to line up the shot. Finally, he breathes, “Got it,” before his face settles into a calm neutral expression, dark brown eyes looking at the camera just the way you want.

“Perfect,” you snap the shot, before hearing the whirr of the film as it gets ejected. Fanning the picture until it starts to appear, you feel your smile spreading when you begin to make out the photo. It turned out great. Setting the picture on the counter, you turn back to Steve, “Alright, just keep doing that. I’m gonna’ get some different angles.”

“Okay. Just make sure you make me look cool,” of course that would be his one concern.

Before you can reposition him again, you try out some different angles. You want to have multiple shots to choose from, so you don’t wind up having to take more pictures of him later. You’d learned your lesson before about not getting enough shots, and it was more of a hassle in the long run than just taking your time while you had everything set up. You spend almost half an hour taking the shots between soft banter with Steve, which is honestly less time than you’d expected it to take, but Steve was more focused today than he usually is.

Flipping through the stack of polaroids you’ve taken, you hold out some for Steve to see, “Wanna’ take a look?”

“We done?”

“I think so. They turned out really nice. I’ll have to narrow down my favorite ones to submit for class…” Steve’s fingers brush yours as he takes the pictures from your hands, looking through them. You hope he thinks they look as good as you do, “What do you think?”

“I think,” his eyes flick up from the pictures to catch your waiting stare, “I’ve never looked better.” You let out a breath of relief, taking the pictures back from him to sort out on the counter, while Steve plucks the camera into his hands, “This is a nifty little thing, huh? I didn’t expect it to be able to make pictures that good.”

“That’s the technology of the ‘80s for you,” you joke, only for a flash and the sound of the camera going off to catch your attention. Whipping your head from the pictures on the counter to Steve, you find him grinning mischievously at you as he fans out a picture of his own, “Steve!”

“What? The photographer never gets to be photographed?” holding out the picture, you watch as the candid image of you sorting through the pictures comes into view, “Look at how beautiful you look.”

“Stop,” you can’t stop your giggles when he slides up into your personal space, positioning the camera like he’s going to take another picture, “you’ll waste the film.”

“It’s not a waste. I could use a few more pictures of you.”

Looking towards him skeptically, “You have pictures of me—”

“Yeah,” he sighs, brushing your hair out of his way to kiss  you against your temple, “I could always use more, though.”

“What you should use is that biology book that’s in the trunk of your car,” you turn to face him, leaning against the counter as he rolls his eyes at your cheeky changing of the subject. Backing up, he appears to be thinking, before he turns to go and sit on the edge of your bed, still picking at the camera in his hands.

“You said we wouldn’t study until after the shoot,” Steve mumbles, placing the camera to his side.

“Yeah, and I’m done. I got all the shots I think I need.”

“No, you haven’t,” he begins, and you know better than to play this game with him, when he gets that look in his eyes. You know whatever he’s got in his head can only be a bad idea, but you step forward anyway.

Arms crossed over your chest, it’s too fun to give into him to resist, “Oh? What makes you say that?”

“I was just… thinking…”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Shut up,” Steve chuckles, reaching out when you’re within arm’s reach to tug you closer by the loops in your jeans. “I was just thinking about, maybe… you letting me take some pictures of you. Just for me.”

“Just for you, huh?” you lean your hand on his shoulder, steading yourself from where you stand between his knees. “What kind of pictures?”

“Nothing too bad, just… the last picture I have of you is the one in my wallet, and it’s practically falling apart,” he sighs when you card your fingers into his hair, scraping your nails along his scalp. “How am I supposed to brag about my girl with a picture that looks like it’s been through a world war?”

“And who’s fault is that? I gave it to you brand new—”

“I know, I know, but,” and there are those wide eyes of his again, staring up at you with that pleading look that made you melt to his every whim just about, “I want to remember how you are now, when we’re alone together. Not just some professional photo— though, you look nice in those, too.”

Now, how were you supposed to say no to that?

“Okay, fine,” you sigh, knowing full well you’d let him take as many as he wanted to, “just one picture.” He could use the rest of your film up, if it meant seeing him grin at you like he was. Reloading the camera again is a small price to pay.

“Really?” when you nod, he urges you down into his lap with a firm tug at your hips, until you’re left straddling him. His hand finds the side of your neck, dragging your lips against his in a kiss that’s soft, slow, but laced with his hint of grateful excitement before he pulls away with, “Thank you.”

“Jeez, if that’s the thanks I get for letting you take a picture, I’ll let you take them more often,” you laugh, as he picks the camera off the comforter. “How do you want me to sit for the picture, Steve?”

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully, bringing the camera to his face to look at you through it, “that’s a good question. I think… I want you to take your sweater off for it.”

“It’s a cardigan,” you correct, reaching down to unbutton the garment.

“Whatever,” Steve lowers the camera, watching you toss the cardigan onto the footboard of your bed, where his sweater still hangs. It leaves you in the casual tank-top you’d been wearing beneath.

“Do you want to use the set?”

“No, no,” he brings the camera back up, still seemingly deciding on how he wants the picture, “I think I want you to sit on the bed.” Before you can move from his lap, he adds, “It would be more normal. I want it to be kind of natural.”

“Alrighty, then,” you shift, crawling off him and to the side in order to lay back on the bed, until he gets up. When you sit upright, Steve’s standing off the end of the bed with the camera, seemingly mimicking the way you had been lining up your shot earlier.

Noticing the strap of your tank top has slipped down your arm when you shifted positions, you go to push it back up, only for Steve’s voice to stop you, “Uh, can you leave it?”

“What?”

“It just makes you look comfortable,” is his only explanation, but you lower your hand all the same, leaving the strap hanging slightly off your shoulder.

“Is this good?” you ask, but there’s a tension in the air, and judging by the strain in his voice, he can feel it, too.

“Yeah, uh,” you watch as Steve swallows, “can you just, lay back a bit?” Doing as he says, you relax against the comforter a little, and he comes closer. His knees brush the edge of the bed between where your calves dangle off the edge of it. He takes another second, before the shutter goes off along with the flash, and then another picture is ejecting from the camera.

Steve fans it a little, while you raise your foot to press into his abdomen, “Did it turn out how you wanted?”

His eyes are a little glazed over, when he looks from the picture to you, as if he were lost in thought for just a moment, “Um, yeah, take a look.” You take the photo when he offers it to you, only to see yourself spread atop the bed, hair spread around your head like a halo, the strap of your tank top falling off your shoulder. The slight smile on your face only adds to how comfortable you look, and you have to admit, you don’t hate this picture of you.

Steve’s hand comes to your ankle, pushing your foot from his path as he kneels into the bed, settling over your body while you stare at the picture, “I did good, huh?”

“You’re quite the photographer, Mister Harrington,” you tease, casting your eyes upon him again to find that he’s so close. It takes only a shift of his body weight to lower himself enough to capture your lips with his, but while this kiss might be slow, it was far from soft. There’s an edge there, a need in the insistence of his lips against yours. The taste of his tongue scrambling your thoughts until you completely abandon the picture in your grip, leaving it somewhere beside you on the bed, in favor of the feeling of his skin.

Your hands snake up his sides, dragging him closer just as much as your legs do, while Steve kisses you senseless. His fingers splay beneath the end of your shirt, pushing until he can feel the soft press of your stomach, and inching upwards with each passing second. The last thing on either of your minds is studying for biology, and any chance you have at returning to the plan for the day is quickly slipping through your fingertips the more his body presses down into yours.

It crumbles away entirely when he pulls back just enough to utter a breathless, “I need you so bad right now,” before delving down your jaw, dragging his lips along the column of your throat.

“Steve—” you’re just as breathless, and you don’t know if it’s the few days you’ve spent apart, or the fact that you have both been so wound-up over school, but you need him just as badly.

“Please,” he groans against your throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses there that were undoubtedly going to leave a mark thanks to the fervor with which he’d descended upon you. You hardly mind. You’ve missed his marks on you, ever since the last ones had faded.

Your tank top is pushed over your chest, a fist in the fabric keeping it up while his other hand presses against your hardening nipples through the bralette you’d chosen to wear today. You hadn’t planned on going anywhere, and wanted to just remain comfortable, but that was backfiring on you now, because you can feel almost everything through the thin fabric.

As if arching into his touch wasn’t enough, Steve questions, “You want it, too, right?”

“Yeah, Steve,” catching him by the jaw to drag his head back up, you mewl against his lips, “I want you.”

His breath shudders from his lips before he draws you into another kiss. Taking his time to strip you down is nothing new, but the words he utters as he pushes his own pants from his hips are.

“I can’t stop thinking about how good you look on camera,” Steve groans, taking himself into his hand, stroking languidly as you shift beneath where he’s knelt himself over you on the bed. Fingers slipping down your thigh, he drags you a little closer, kissing the inside of your knee. You suck in a breath as he pushes himself along your core, spreading your wetness along his length, all the while with a heated look swirling in his dark eyes. When he finally positions himself against your entrance, your mouth falls open, sucking in a soft breath at the feeling of his familiar stretch, but it’s his words that set you on fire, “Now that’s a sight I’d like a picture of.”

It’s an off-handed comment, but now you can’t stop thinking about it. Drowning in the feeling of the slow, steady pace he sets, the idea has time to marinate in the back of your scrambled mind.

You’re reaching for him, brushing your fingertips against his abdomen as you moan his name, but Steve huffs, “Touch yourself,” as he drives his hips into yours once again.

Blinking up at him, you’re struck by the idea of how he would look if you took a picture of him at this very moment, and that thought is perhaps what sets the most foolish words on your tongue, “The camera— Get the camera.”

His hips stutter, and a choked sound comes from him, before he manages to form a sentence, “Are you serious?”

“Just for you,” you nod, and he abandons his grip on your thigh to reach for the polaroid that had wound up against the pillows.

His pace almost stills until he can get the camera in a good enough grip to lift it to his face, and that’s when his thrusts return in long, languid strokes that have you writhing beneath him with the assistance of your fingers pressing circles at your clit, “God, look at you.” His voice is heavy, wrapped around a moan of his own as he presses a hand down against your stomach, pushing your hips down onto his cock in a way that almost makes you cry out, “These are gonna’ turn out great.”

There’s a certain vulnerability to being in front of a camera, and stripped as bare as you were already, you’re practically raw, rubbed against him when the flash bursts upon your skin, camera shutter mixing with your moans as he fucks you slow into the mattress, “Steve, ah—!”

He abandons your stomach to take the photo that slips from the camera, fanning it until it develops enough for him to see the still image resulting from his touch, “Oh, look at how pretty you are.” He holds it out for you to see, but you barely manage a glimpse at yourself before he’s tossing the picture to the side, bringing the camera back up to his eyes.

“You’re— taking another?” you gasp, arching up into your own touch as he hits you deeper with the next roll of his hips.

“Yeah, that’s right. Just a few more—” Steve groans reaching to slip his hand down your thigh, pushing you open even more, “Can you spread your legs a little more— yeah, just like that—” and the shutter’s going off again, the image of you burned into the film as much as it will be in his memory.

You clench around him when the photograph falls onto your chest before he can reach for it, and you hope you’ll never forget the whimper that escapes him when he lowers the camera just slightly. A glimpse of teeth digging into his bottom lip to keep the sounds threatening to spill from him at bay, when he opens his eyes from the feeling, he sees you watching him in a way that seems to spell out your desire in every way words seem incapable of accomplishing right now.

All you can manage are your own sighs of pleasure, when his fingertips overlap yours to press into your clit. Lowering the camera to the bed, he refocuses on turning you into molten lava with every steady, sure stroke, building up the pleasure until it reached a boiling point. Lost somewhere between overstimulation and the peak of your desire, you’re both chasing this feeling and trying to draw it out for as long as it will last.

Your mouth is dry, so you lick your lips, thankful you’re able to think just barely enough to say, “I-It’s not fair. I won’t have any pictures of you.”

“You want some of me?” Steve repeats, as if he didn’t quite hear you right. For all he knows, he hallucinated it at this point, because he’s nearly out of his mind with how good you feel wrapped around him.

“I do,” you shift, using all the energy you have left to push him over, until you’re sitting on top of him. “It’s only fair.” Grinding your hips down into his, his hands catch against your thighs, aiding in your attempt at riding him with just a torturous pace as he had set. 

“Oh— Okay,” his head falls back against the bed as he moans, “Yeah— We gotta’ be fair.”

The camera’s in your hands as soon as you can reach for it, but you’re slower than he was. So lost in the feeling that it takes you more time to drag your mind back to the task at hand, until his lips part when you drop your hips down onto him a little quicker than before.

That’s the one.

The snap of the camera seems to only make him rock himself further into your thrusts, and you wind up quite pleased with the way your picture turned out, “Steve, look—” He squeezes your thighs before one of his hands releases you in favor of taking the picture by his index and middle finger, bringing it up to his face.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines at the sight, and you place your hand on his chest in order to get enough leverage to drag yourself almost completely off his cock, just to drop your hips again, and he nearly shouts at the feeling. You’re both shaking, and it shows in the next picture you take of him, but the blurriness is hardly obstructing the view of him, still looking at the photo you’d snapped moments before it.

He falls apart just seconds before you do, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh as the photograph falls from his grip. Fingers carding through his own hair as you ride him through the brunt of it, desperately chasing your own pleasure at this point, until it detonates with the fullness that comes from his shuddering release.

Steve’s weak call of your name falls on deaf ears as you nearly collapse atop him. Shivering white-hot pleasure down your spine until it settles in the involuntary fluttering of your core around him. He supplies a few overstimulated, shallow thrusts as his arms wrap around you, holding you to him for dear life, until you both manage to float down from the devastation you’ve reaped upon each other.

You’re just glad you didn’t drop the camera, because you would hate to have broken it.

Instead, it lays against the mattress much like the rest of you, though you don’t think you’ll ever be able to use it again without thinking back to this moment. Steve’s fingers trace up your spine, as you feel him slowly beginning to even out his breathing beneath your chest.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs into your ear, and you giggle against him.

“Yeah…” moving off of him, you collapse into the bed, careful to avoid any stray polaroid pictures evidencing your love-making that were strewn along the bed.

Steve tilts his head to look at you, chuckling, “I think I should get a video camera for your next birthday—”

“Shut up.”

#steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things female reader insert #female reader insert #newstuff female reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic by me #author meg #smut #nsft

[taschamonnii]

More Than A Woman - Part 2 (You Slipped Me A Potion) 

Read Part 1

You x Shirley Carter (70s-80s Southern Housewife Original Character  - Elizabeth Olsen) 

*Disclaimer/Summary: This completely Fictional Character is based on the way Lizzie plays old-fashioned Housewives. (Some inspo is taken from WandaVision, I Saw The Light, and Love & Death) This character is in no way a portrayal of any real-life people. Audrey Williams and Candy Montgomery were real people that Lizzie has portrayed for entertainment purposes in tv & film. This story is not about them. I just want to see Lizzie play a 70s-80s housewife that is secretly Gay and stuck in a religious small-town in the South. Since she has never done that but has played the part of perfect housewife I decided to make my own character.* I will be using edited pictures from the characters she has played and unaltered gifs since it's way too hard to edit those.*

Character Description since this is a made up character: mid length-wavy-dark brown hair (think more the length in I saw the Light like it falls to her collar bones but the deep dark brown from goth Wanda era, Emerald Green eyes, Wears form fitting dresses and high waisted pants and skirts.  

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Angst/Smut/Fluff

TW: SMUT, 18+, Cheating on husbands to be GAY together, 

I am so obsessed with Lizzie playing housewife that I made a playlist! More Than A Woman

AN: This is part Two to this Original Series

Word Count: 3,945

Imagine This:

Every single time you close your eyes you find that intense emerald gaze staring back at you. You don’t even have to close your eyes, your mind is trapped in the moment, trapped in your truck…Your truck, that now has a different smell to it and god it’s devine. Her perfume lingered and the smell of her skin is still so fresh in your mind that it has you distracted and daydreaming every moment of the day. She is consuming your every thought. Her lips, eyes, skin, hair, and god her freckles. You can’t escape her and never want to. You are in this way too deep already but you don’t care. She wants to be smart about things. It is sexy to see her mind work on the logistics and come up with the best possible ways to do things. She is so fucking smart and creative. A few calls and one lunch in the next town over and you have worked out some things to play it on the cautious side.

She loves her family and you are smart enough to know you don’t want to ruin that for her but you are also smart enough to know that maybe her husband isn’t as straight as he seems and you are hopeful for a fun shared future with the Carter’s. Your Theo really likes her John so you are hopeful that maybe in the future there could be a more permanent agreement.

It took some convincing but she agrees to meet at your house after you convince her that two women hanging out around lunch time is not suspicious. You are nervous to let her into your world because you have done this in the past and married women always break your heart but something about Shirley is different. You spent the weekend cleaning your house and organizing everything. 

On Sunday while Theo cooks dinner as per usual he voices his concerns. “Do you think it’s wise to start this so soon? I just mean we are stuck here for a while. I have to not only stabilize the company but get them to a place where they are making progress.”

You sit on the island counter and sip your drink. “I know that, Theo. I appreciate your concerns but she’s different. You said it yourself that her and her husband set off your radar. Maybe this will be our chance to find a couple we could have a real arrangement with. Don’t you think it’s worth the risk?”

He smiles and acts like he is thinking hard “I mean, I guess. Just be careful, Honey.”

“Aren’t I always.”

Theo made extra food so you can warm it up tomorrow for your lunch date. 

You have everything all prepared and set up at your little kitchen nook table when you hear her knock in the pattern she chose to be your little secret knock. You rush to the door and check the mirror there. You are wearing a white button up that is tucked into your jeans. You fluff your hair and take a deep breath before opening the door. 

The smile you had prepared to meet her drops as your gaze devours the beauty in front of you. Your jaw drops and you can’t stop the stupid “Wow!” that leaves your lips. 

She smiles and puckers her lips, a light blush tinting her neck and cheeks. Her brown hair is down in loose curls and she is wearing a stunning maroon dress that falls just past her knees. You are at a loss for words and stand there in shock.

She giggles “Hi.”

You rub the back of your neck “Hi.” 

“Are you going to invite me in or are you just going to keep staring?”

“Shit! Sorry, come in.”

You move aside and gesture for her to come in and watch unashamed as her hips sway to carry her into your house. The dress hugs her curves and it is a sight to see. She looks around soaking in all the details of your house. Your decorations are more funky and fresh than most the houses in this town since you brought your things from Cali. You shut your door and lock it. 

“This is the front room obviously.”

“Obviously. What is that delicious smell?”

“Oh um, lunch, here.”

You head to the kitchen and she follows, still looking around trying to absorb every detail. She sets her bag down on your kitchen island and tosses her sunglasses next to it. She smiles as she observes you filling both glasses with sun tea. 

You pull out a chair and gesture for her to take it. “Why thank you.”

You take the seat across from her with a smile. You take a sip of your tea trying to calm your nerves. Something about having her here is overwhelming. 

She takes a nervous sip of her tea as well. You set your glass down and run your fingers over the edge. “I have a confession, I’m a bit nervous.”

“I am too. It’s thrillin’ you know. A simple lunch is so much more now. The world on the way over seemed brighter, more full of color than it has in a long time.”

“You really put it great and it’s even more than that for me. I thought moving here was going to be awful. Back in Cali everything is so bright and colorful and people are just different and more open to the endless possibilities of life. I was scared my life would turn into a boring black and white movie. It doesn’t feel like 1976 here, sometimes it feels like the 60s. But there you were in bright colors smiling at me like you are right now.”

She lets out an adorable giggle and averts her gaze to the food. “Well, I think you have a way with words, y/n.”

“It’s actually my secret talent.” You give her a cheeky smile and wink. 

“What do you mean Secret talent?”

“Well, I work as an author. I Write under different names.”

“Oh that’s fascinating. You must show me sometime.”

“I’d love to, as long as I get to read some of your writing sometime in exchange. I know you said you’ve written a few songs.”

“Really? Well, that would make one of you, ‘cause John has no interest, and I read all his boring stuff-”

“Mmm, do you want to talk about him?”

She shakes her head with a bit of a grimacing face.

“No, sorry. We’re definitely,” She sets down her glass with a smile aimed at the table as she gestures with her hands, “Not.”

She sighs and looks up at you as she licks her lips. 

You smile softly.

“I think we are both a little overwhelmed. This feels more real and significant, let's just go slow, let's just start with lunch.”

She nodded. “Yeah this feels like my life will never be the same. Slow is good. The food does look good”

You nod and pick up your fork and dig into the food. She does the same and dramatically moans at her first bite “Mmm, wow a woman of many talents, this is very good, y/n.”

“Oh well you can thank Theo sometime he made it. I don’t cook worth shit.”

She laughs and it fills your body with joy. “You don’t cook?”

“No I don’t do any cooking, actually I’m a bit of a fire hazard according to my Theo. I’m not allowed in the kitchen unsupervised except to re-heat things and make beverages.”

“I bet I could teach you. It’s really rather easy.”

“Well, any excuse to see you I will happily take.”

The blush that creeps up her neck makes you giddy. Small talk continues and the meal is quickly finished. But there is still an air of hesitation so you both slowly start to clean up. She insists on cleaning up. It’s oddly soothing to do the dishes with her like you are domestic together. It makes your heart ache because you are doubtful you will ever get that full-time. 

You give her a house tour. You show her your shared home office and even give her a glance at Theo’s room when she asks about it. You end it at the door of your room. You open the door and pull her into the room. She wonders the space of your room and decides to lean against your dresser as you shut and lock your door. You turn to her and the air grows heavy. Her gaze travels your body and you can see her eyes darken. 

You move to stand before her and place your hands on her hips. You feel her shiver at your touch and you know that she feels the intensity. Her hands go to your shoulders and run up your neck and into your hair. You glance at her lips and then her eyes and back to her lips then capture her lips softly. She sighs out in relief and digs her fingers into your hair to pull you closer. She licks at your bottom lip quickly moving to deepen and intensify the kiss. You grunt trying to keep up. Teeth scrape and tongues meet and the fire is set free between the two of you. You quickly unzip her dress and pull it down. You both step out of shoes and the spaghetti strap slip she has on is a silky and sheer little red thing. Her cleavage looks incredible.

You grab her waist and lift her up off the ground just slightly, making her gasp and part from your lips. You spin around and take a step so that the back of her legs hit the mattress as you set her back on the ground. She makes quick work of your button up shirt. You move your hands down to your waist and undo your jeans and pull them and your panties down which stops her from being able to fully remove your shirt. It's fully unbuttoned and reveals your body to her enough to satisfy her gaze. She puts one of her legs on the mattress behind her and works to scoot and lay down at the same time keeping her slip on. You smirk and follow her on your knees. 

You place a hand next to her to hold you up and run your hand from her calf up under her slip. You take your time feeling her smooth skin and bite your bottom lip as you look down at her. Her emerald gaze is intense and it is hypnotizing. She has angel eyes that say so much. Your hand is inches away from where you know she wants you but you remove it in a flash you pull at the fabric covering her and bunch it up. You adjust so your legs intertwine and she gasps when she feels your thigh against her and you sigh as you press your own wet core against her thigh. She pulls you closer forcing your body weight to be more on her. She captures your lips roughly. 

She moans against you as you both begin to grind your hips. Her jaw has dropped open leaving her mouth wide open as she pants and moans. "Ah ah ah!" 

Her moans are so breathy and hot against your skin they make you shudder. One of her hands is in your hair and the other has a death grip on your shoulder. Her legs are so fucking soft against yours. You feel overwhelmed by the tangled mess you are in. She smells so sweet and feels so good and her long legs are strong you can feel her muscles flex against you and it's sending you barrelling towards the edge. 

"Mmm oh Shirley! Fuck!" 

You both begin to get more erratic in your movements and you can tell she is just as close. You both stare into each other's eyes as you cum. 

"Oh Y/n! Ah! AH!"

"Yes! Oh!"

Both your hips buck hard and falter as muscles contract and squeeze and legs tremble. You can't hold yourself up any longer and collapse fully on top of her. Making her gasp and grip your shoulder harder. You breathe against her and she breathes against you.

You kiss her shoulder as you come back to reality and roll off her. She turns and lays half on top of you. You look at her and brush her hair back "Are you okay?"

"More than. That was wow! Are you okay?"

“Mmm, wow indeed.”

She bites her bottom lip. "Thank you, y/n."

"No Shirley, thank you!"

She giggles and leans up to kiss you once again. Softer this time, less urgent. You match her kiss and tangle your hands in her hair. She pulls away slowly. She licks her lips and puckers them to the side, something you have come to learn means she's thinking about something. 

"What is it?"

"Hmm?" 

"You are doing that thing with your lips, like you are thinking about something and want to say something. What is it?"

"I, well, I read this book."

She bites her bottom lip again and you nod patiently. You run your hand over her back enjoying the moist silky soft fabric on your fingertips.

"In this book these two women, they, well, do something and I am not sure if it is realistic or even feels as good as the book made it sound I'm just thinking about it." 

"Mmm, I see. Some lesbian literature has piqued your interest in trying some things?"

"Precisely."

"What exactly are you curious about?"

She licks her lips then sucks them in together and shakes her head as she purses them tighter. You pull her chin and make her look at you. "What is it? You can tell me." 

"I don't know what it's called or how to say it really."

"Hmm is it what I said I wanted to do in the truck?"

"No, I mean I want that too, at some point."

A smirk grows on your lips "At some point indeed, I will definitely have my tongue buried inside you. But if it's not that, I need more information."

"Can I just try to show you?" 

You raise an eyebrow at her "oh honey you can do whatever you like."

A nervous sort of giddy smile takes over her face and you are hyper aware of the effect it has on you. She moves all the way on top of you and fits herself between your legs. The fabric of her slip bunched up under her breasts as she adjusted and the spaghetti straps fell down giving you the breathtaking view of her breasts hanging as she lifted herself up slightly. She moves and in an instant your attention is on the sensation of her wet center pressed against yours. Your gaze shoots from her breasts to her dark green eyes. “Oh damn, Shirley. Okay I know what you are after.”

“You do so this is a real thing? I don’t really know how to do it.”

You hold her hips and nod “it’s real, just difficult.” 

You move your legs and angle your hips as you hold her hips until you get just the right angle. 

"Ah"

"Yeah? Is that good?" 

You move against her again and watch her reaction carefully. "Mmm yeah, so good."

"Mmm good. Move your hips like this."

You move your hands to her ass and move her hips against yours. "Do whatever feels best to you." 

"Mmm"

You hold her hips loosely and let her take control. She begins to move a sigh falling from her lips. You watch her as she holds herself up more to get more leverage. The spaghetti straps of her slip fall further down her shoulders. Her cleavage is so sexy and the way she moves her hips is memorizing. She changes the angle and moves harder against you and you throw your head back at the perfect wet friction. In unison you both moan.

"Oh fuck!" - "Ah AH!"

She looks down at you and manages to do it again "there?"

You lock your gaze on hers and nod "there!"

She repeats the motion and you are honestly overwhelmed. For being more of a novelty that you don’t usually prefer, this feels so good. A voice in your head tells you that it’s because of her and you can’t deny that. Everything with her is beyond anything you’ve ever experienced before. You are falling way too hard for her but how could you not?

Her  breathy moans are so hot and her grip on your shoulders and upper chest is definitely going to leave a mark. Her hips are magical.

“Ah ah AAAHHH!”

“Fuck Shirley! YES AHH!”

You watch in awe as her eyebrows furrow and her mouth opens even wider as her eyes shoot to the ceiling. “Oh Y/N-OH-GOD OH!”

You feel her release and it sends you spiraling off the edge into your own release. You two are soaked. She leans forward and moans into a sloppy kiss. “Mmm”

“Mmm-hmm.”

You hold her in your arms both of you sweaty disasters. Once you both catch your breath you let out a soft laugh. “You know most people don’t call me god, but I kind of liked it coming from you.”

She props herself up slightly and smacks your shoulder playfully “SHUT UP!” 

You smirk playfully. “Make me!”

She puckers her lips to the side and attempts to tickle your sides but you are unphased by her rapid assault. “Oh come on you are not ticklish?”

You grab her hips in a flash, flip her over and pin her to the bed as you tickle her and a burst of laughter escapes her sweet lips. “Sorry a tickle attack won’t work on me but I see it works on you.”

She is gasping for breaths between laughter “Not fair! Okay! Okay!”

You shake your head “Huh-uh, I want to hear you call me God again.”

“Fuck you, GOD!” 

You stop your tickling assault and burst out in laughter. “Oh you just did that, did you want to go again?”

“You are ridiculous!”

“But you like it. Don’t you, Shirley?”

She rolls her eyes “maybe.”

You smile and lean in to rapidly kiss her lips and cheeks and chin. She grabs the back of your neck and captures your lips in a rough kiss that she slowly releases. You are left stunned and she smiles evilly “you know I like you.”

You give her a crooked sort of smile, “even when I’m being ridiculous?” 

She grins. “Especially.”

You kiss her lips quickly then flip over to the side tired from your delightful afternoon activities. 

“Shit, I’m a mess!”

You laugh. “A hot mess.”

She gets up quickly “No, I mean I need to shower.”

You sit up. “Let's shower then.”

You get up and throw your sweaty button up into the hamper by your dresser and walk toward the master bath. You can feel her gaze on your ass as you pass her and it's so satisfying. That is until she enters the bathroom behind you and removes the straps of her slip and lets the thin fabric fall to the ground. Your jaw drops and you shake your head as you observe her bare form. She was crafted by a woman who LOVES the female form. She has soft curves and firm muscles and the longest fucking legs and the cutest tummy and perky breasts and your mind can’t keep up! 

“You’re drooling darlin’.”

You snap back to reality, closing your mouth and running your hands over your face. “I can’t really help it, have you seen yourself!?!”

She tilts her head with a silly crooked grin. “Please, look at you.”

“Forget me! You are a piece of art! How the fuck are you even real and HOW the FUCK did John manage to get your attention he looks so orinary and you are an actual goddess.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a step closer to you. “Anyone ever tell you that you are the most dramatic person they’ve ever met?”

You see right through her though the deep blush that appears on her skin is beautiful. You shake your head with a sly smile. “No never, I’m known for being brutally honest actually.”

She shakes her head as she tries to contain her smile. You lean in and capture her lips with a smile on your own lips. She wraps her arms around your shoulders and presses herself against you and you hold her hips softly. You could stay like this with her forever. She pulls back first slowly and you both sigh. “Alright smooth talker I really need to shower. I have to pick up Madison and Marissa at three.”

You can’t help the pout that takes over your face as reality hits you. “Don’t give me that face. It’s not fair.”

“I know they come first and I think your girls are wonderful. I just wish I was John. He’s so lucky.”

Her gaze softened and she leaned in and kissed you softly and you could feel she understood you. You gave her a soft smile as she pulled back. You took her hand and pulled her into the shower. A comforting silence envelopes your bathroom. The only sound is the water as you wait for it to heat up a bit. When it feels like a good temp you get your hair wet and sigh as the water soothes your sore muscles. You move after you have had a decent rinse and switch places with Shirley. 

You watch as she closes her eyes and lets the water run through her hair and down her face and body. She sighs and wipes the water away from her eyes with both hands. She opens her eyes and finds your stare. Her gaze locks onto yours and the softest smile takes over her delicate and bare features. The few freckles on her face make her look delicate. Her gaze makes your knees weak. Her emerald eyes are so intense and full of something that terrifies you. The look she gives you has your heart aching. You are falling for her. She is so soft that you can't stop your own heart eyes from forming. Your gaze softens and your smile reaches your eyes. You are both locked in this silent stare of being in awe of each other. Her sweet southern accent and voice are soft as she says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

You tilt your head at her and quirk an eyebrow and wait for more. “Thank you for seeing me.” 

You sigh happily “I couldn’t really help that. The second you caught my eye you were, are, all I see.”

She sucks her bottom lip as a blush cascades from her cheeks to her ears and down her neck to her chest. Seeing her blush bare like this is something you want more of. “Besides the second you saw me you slipped me a potion. Just like Leo Sayer says in that song.” 

You sing the lyrics that remind you of her imitating the singer as best as you can. “You got a cute way of talking, you got the better of me, just snap your fingers and I’m walking, like a dog hanging on your lead.” 

Her blush deepens and she laughs and you feel like you have won the game of life just being able to experience her joy let alone be the cause of it.

She imitates the singer and sings the next part as she shakes and shimmies her shoulders “You make me feel like dancing, wanna dance the night away!”

You join in singing the popular song and laugh and shimmy.

A/N: If this didn’t make you smile like an idiot then seek help because I was smiling like an idiot as I wrote it! 

#Elizabeth Olsen #Female Reader X Shirley Carter #70s-80s Southern HouseWife #cheating on husbands to be gay but the husbands are also Gay lol #original series #made up original character based on the way Elizabeth Olsen plays old fashioned Housewives #smut #angst #wlw #lesbian #playlist for elizabeth olsen living her best disco life and that are vibes for the show and for dancing #inspo taken from WandaVision and I Saw The Light and Love & Death

[tkblythofficial]

Tarot anon 1.0 here!

So, I decided to go on a hunt for another tarot card reader just for the sake of discussion and I'll gloss over things that they said that match things other readers said which is a lot, mind you.

She did say something happened between them that scared T (I'll go more in depth later). She said it was most likely an almost kiss.

She also said T is comfortable with BB and she will stay with him for a while but it might not last because their priorities will diverge in the future. Also, she said that they probably been together for a least 2 years, she doesn't think it was more than that I think it matches the time-line because apparently no one knows for long they've actually been dating.

About J: the same old story. He doesn't love her anymore, but he's basing the failing artist who clings to her because he hopes being her bf will help his career. She said his next project might bomb but she can't know for sure, but that there are things in the relationship he doesn't want people to know (take a wild guess as to what it is). He definitely feels threatened by T because it was the first time he's seen R be attracted by another man and J can't stand the thought of it. She said he's definitely bitter over their connection and hopes they stop talking to each other because ir has been bothering him.

R is in deep, deep denial. My friend said that T messes a lot with her head and her heart, but she decided to drown out those thoughts because she loves J and doesn't want to hurt him.

About and R. As I said, she also said they nearly kissed after they shared about their lives. Bare in mind that the Moon card was there which represents a secret. She believes R also told him about the hate train and how sad it made her, he tried to comfort her (she said that she could see it - I show her a picture so it could help her focus) him brushing her cheek and that's when the almost kiss happened. She said that T felt something that scared him a lot and it made him pull away because again he doesn't want to catch feelings.

I asked her why that is and answer was: he's focused on his career and in growing more before he thinks about it because when he does all his focus will be on that one thing and that one person and into making it work. He's the kind: I need to find someone worth all that type of guy. And she said it scared him because R is a friend with a bf, he's dating but mostly importantly, it was almost like a part of him knew that it'd be a point of no return not just because it would be cheating, but because deep down he knew he could fall for her hard.

Spilling the tea here

Omg spill the tea! Did she mention anything about their future? Or projects? 👀

Not us both hunting for tarot card readers lol! We’re so invested in Zeglyth!

YES! Another vote towards “almost kiss”! 3 people have now said that’s most likely what happened.

T has been dating BB for 2 years? That makes more sense tbh. I think their relationship is newer than we think but they have known each other longer. So maybe they’ve known each other for 6 years but only began dating 2-3 years ago?

J’s next project might bomb? Not surprisingly at all lol. My friend said he needs to go to Broadway or producing, he’s not cut out for being an actor. Ouch. Ofc he’s jealous of T. It was so obvious and he looked so annoyed during their interviews. J can’t expect to be a shitty bf and think R won’t find someone else lol. He’s going to be bothered then because Zeglyth won’t stop talking.

Poor R, I honestly feel bad for her. She’s such a sweet and loving gf, confused by her growing feels for T and loving J. I wish she knew how J truly felt about her so she could dump him :(

Not T being scared in all tarot readings lol. That’s insane they everyone is saying T was scared of R and shut down quickly.

I can totally see T being the type of guy who puts his all into a relationship (one he truly wants) and forgetting about everything else. My friend said the same thing! Once T has an established career then he can get the girl.

KEEP IT COMING EVERYONE!

These are amazing and I’m addicted to reading them :)

#my answers #zeglyth #written in the stars

[tumbleweed-writes]

Lilies and Thistles: Chibs Telford X OC Fic

This fic is at least a decade old, but I am starting up updating it again. I figured it can't hurt to share the first chapter here.

--------

Lily Unser managed to stumble out from the rain while keeping a tight grip on her leather camera cases. She knew that if she allowed the slick rain to trip her up and pull one of the cases from her grasp then she'd be screwed.

Cameras and photography equipment weren't cheap and she only had as much as she had thanks to the wonders of hunting for deals through online shopping and Black Friday sales.

She'd long ago developed the ability to maneuver through the rain without slipping. By now she had it all down to a fine art. It was a necessary skill when it came to living in a constantly rainy place like Seattle.

When she'd first moved from Charming California to Seattle Washington she had been looking forward to the rain and cold weather, but now she was missing the warmth of California and the small town atmosphere of Charming.

She guessed that old saying there's no place like home rang true.

Lily was spent just as she always seemed to be after a long afternoon and night of working weddings. Wedding Photography was a pain in the ass, but it paid generously.

It was a good job for her to have over her summer break from school. Doing wedding photography allowed her to fine tune her talents while keeping her rent paid and food in her fridge.

The pay almost wasn't worth the trouble though. Lily had reached her limit for the day of dealing with a highstrung bitchy bridezilla, a snooty mother in law and mother of the bride, drunken groomsmen, and a father in law who'd thought it was a great idea to pinch Lily's bottom.

It had been enough to make Lily wish that she could partake in the flowing open bar. A nice tropical Blue Hawaii or a fruity Mai Tai would have been the perfect drink to take the edge of the day and night right off.

She knew enough though to realize that most brides and grooms weren't too thrilled when their wedding photographer took a break to get tipsy off free booze.

Lily wanted nothing more than to get out of her black strappy high heels, slip out of her black cocktail dress, undo her long dark hair from it's twist, and collapse in her modest twin bed. She was too exhausted to even entertain the idea of grabbing a quick shower and washing the dark makeup from her face.

She knew that she would have to wake up bright and early tomorrow and make it to the darkroom at the art and photography academy she was attending, so she could develop all these photos she'd taken.

The bride and groom she'd worked for had insisted on going with the old fashioned traditional film route over the digital camera route.

It was a pain in the ass to develop the film, but at least it gave Lily some much needed quiet time.

The darkroom had always been Lily's sanctuary. She could go sit in it and put her mind to rest for a moment as she developed film.

She had always loved the process of seeing pictures develop from practically nothing. To Lily the entire process was the closest thing to magic she would ever witness.

She'd spent the past three years of her life attending the Art Institute in Seattle. She was studying Media Arts focusing primarily on Photography, and was loving every second of it.

She'd spent the first year and a half after high school attending a community college in Seattle studying Accounting. It had been her father's idea.

Sheriff Wayne Unser had wanted his daughter to have a good education in a secure field. Accounting had been the perfect career for Lily, or at least according to her father it had been perfect. She'd hated the program and had left a year into it. She'd switched her major a couple of times before leaving school for a little while as she attempted to figure out just what she wanted. She'd worked odd jobs around Seattle ignoring pleas to come home and give a local community college a shot.

Lily's true love laid in art and photography and she'd used this love to guide her future. Yes she was good with numbers, but her heart laid in taking pictures.

So she'd worked hard to get back into school, finish up her core courses, and had gone for her true love in an art program. Her dad hadn't had much room to argue over this decision. As a grown woman nearing her later twenties, her father had long ago had to accept that Lilian Unser was an adult

Lily had always been strong willed and the sheriff knew by now not to get in her way.

The only reason Lily had been able to get into the art institute was because she'd worked her ass off getting every scholarship and every bit of financial aid she could get her paws on. She'd worked hard and she knew that it was all worth it at the end of the day.

Lily knew for a fact that she didn't want to photograph weddings for the rest of her life. She'd only been doing it for a few months; freelancing, and she'd hated every second of it.

The money was what kept her coming back though. She was a struggling photography student with no family nearby, money was something she couldn't refuse.

What Lily wanted more than anything was to be an independent photographer. She wanted to work on her own terms. She wanted her own studio. She wanted to hang her works up in galleries where people would come near and far to view.

She wanted success. To her success meant no more bitch brides, no more drunken jerks pinching her bottom or asking her to dance, and no more being up on her feet in all too high heels while carting around a heavy camera.

Lily entered her dark studio apartment somehow managing to make it to the ringing phone sitting by her sofa, without tripping over any dirty laundry or shoes.

She did her best to hide her exhaustion as she spoke up. "Hello."

Lily widened her eyes stunned to hear her father's voice on the other end of the line. "Hey kid."

Wayne Unser and his daughter weren't the type to have long conversations over the phone. It didn't mean that they didn't care for one another. It was just that talking on the phone had never been their thing.

Long talks over the phone had always been Lily's godmother Gemma's thing. Gemma Teller Morrow spent just about every Wednesday calling Lily to check in on her.

Lily cleared her throat doing her best to hide her shock as she spoke. "How are you? Is everything okay with Della and the girls?"

She cringed a bit at her question. To be honest she couldn't care less about her step mother and her half sisters. Della had never taken to her step daughter and Lily had never taken to her.

Kate and Jade Unser were both a bit spoiled by their mother Della. Lily had always felt animosity for her 24 year old and sixteen year old half sisters.

When Lily was younger she'd tried hard to please Della, but it had become clear fast to Lily that Della and she were never going to get along. She'd tried hard to bond with her sisters but Della had always made a point of spoiling the girls while Lily was lucky if she got something other than hand-me-downs at the start of a new school year.

Lily knew it was cliché but she had always felt a bit like a fairy tale brought to life; a girl whose mother had run off leaving her with her father, an evil step mother and evil step sisters. It was all a bit too much like Cinderella when Lily really let herself think about it.

She shook her head a bit at the Cinderella thought. Life wasn't a fairy tale and she sure as hell wasn't Cinderella.

Lily knew that her step mom was just a bitch who held a grudge against Lily's mother. Lily knew that her step sisters were just rotten. And that this was all just life; life could sometimes be shitty.

There was no dashing prince charming coming to rescue her, and the closest thing she had to a fairy godmother was Gemma Teller Morrow.

She was pretty sure that the Grimm Brothers weren't picturing Gemma when they wrote about Cinderella's magical godmother.

She twisted her mouth a bit trying not to burst out laughing at the thought of badass biker queen Gemma being anyone's fairy godmother. She found herself easily picturing Gemma turning a pumpkin into a motorcycle.

Lily shook her head at the ridiculous thought leaving it all to it just being a long night stacked on top of sleep deprivation.

She turned her attention back to her father as he spoke. "They're okay...Kate's engaged and Jade is getting ready for her junior year of high school. Jadey made first chair with the cello. Della wants you to do Kate's engagement photos. The wedding is taking place this fall...and it's costing me an arm and a leg. I keep telling Katie that she has to leave some money in my savings account for when Jade ties the knot. At least I know I can count on you to stay on budget when you get married."

Lily let out a soft sigh not thrilled at the prospect of dealing with Kate getting married. She had a feeling that her half sister would put most of the bridezillas Lily had to deal with for work to shame.

She hated to think of how bad Della would be about this whole wedding thing.

"I tried to call you on your cell, but it went straight to voice mail." Unser pointed out lightly scolding his eldest daughter.

He worried about Lily being so far from home. If it had been up to him she would have gone to school in Oakland, but Lily had gotten scholarships to Seattle and he'd known that they'd be fools to turn down that opportunity.

Lily sat down on the arm of her old beaten up brown sofa as she reached down finally freeing her feet from those awful heels. "I turn it off when I'm working weddings...Most brides aren't too happy when Ace of Spades starts blaring out during their vows."

Unser laughed at this comment stopping to cough mid laugh. Lily frowned at the cough her intuition sparking at how horrible it sounded. Something was wrong with her dad; she could just sense it.

She spoke up almost not recognizing her voice. Lily found herself feeling more like a child than a twenty four year old woman. "Are you okay daddy?"

Unser took a deep breath his voice sounding so heavy as though he had the world sitting on his shoulders at that moment. "I have bad news sweetheart...It's my colon...fucking cancer. The doctors say it doesn't look good...I'm sick Lil. I need you."

And with that little statement Lily quickly realized that the life she'd known in Seattle was over.

Her dad needed her and she had to be there for him.

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

Sheriff Wayne Unser glanced across the arm rest onto the passengers seat of his old Ford Pickup truck, where his young daughter sat her arms crossed over her waist as she peered out the window.

Unser was surprised to find that his daughter had changed in her time away. Though she still looked younger than she really was it was clear that she'd grown into her features loosing a tiny bit of the baby-fat she'd held as a teenager.

Her long dark brown hair was pulled up into a high pony tail revealing a youthful pale face. Her big dark eyes were locked on the scenery as it passed them by.

The only things Lily had seemed to inherit from her dad were brown eyes and brown hair. The rest of her was all her mother, or at least Unser was sure it was her mother though some might argue her larger eyes had come from Unser. 

Lily's mom had been a pretty young thing whom Unser had met at a bar. It had been a bad time in his life; his dad had just died and his relationship with Della had hit a rocky patch.

Vera had been her name, or at least that was what she'd told Wayne Unser. She'd been an attractive woman much like Lily, average height, a pear-shaped body, a sweet petite smile, an upturned little nose, and big doe eyes.

Unser shook his head still a little stunned at how much Lily had taken after the woman. His daughter had grown into a gorgeous young lady. In her time away it seemed she'd matured losing some of the baby fat she'd held at eighteen. 

In a way Unser could admit he found it dismaying to realize she'd grown in her time away. It wasn't as though she'd taken many visits back home or at least her visits with him had seemed so short. She may have come home for the occasional Christmas, but her visits to Gemma Teller Morrow had always seemed to a little less brief than her visits with her father and his family.

Realizing that his oldest child truly was now an adult left Unser feeling a bittersweet sense of discomfort. In a way he had thought of her, in her absence, as the fresh faced eighteen year old who'd left California for Washington years before. She may be nearing 25 but he'd always see her as a child. 

He cleared his throat trying his best to make small talk with Lily. "I have a futon in the office set up for you. Kate is staying in her old room while her fiance and her plan the wedding, and Jade is in hers...Della turned your old room into a craft room and she'd skin me alive if I touched anything in there...so the office is just going to have to cut it till I can get you set up with an apartment."

Lily turned to face her father giving him a sheepish smile trying to hide her irritation that Della had taken over her room the second she'd moved out. "That's okay dad...I talked to Gemma last night while I was packing up some final things, and she wants me to stay with Clay and her. They have the room for me so it's no trouble. I can stay in one of their guest rooms till we get me a place of my own. It'll work out...You won't have to sacrifice your office for me."

Unser nodded his head trying to hide the annoyance he felt over Gemma sticking her nose in to this, but he knew better than to be shocked. This was Gemma after all.

He should have known that Gemma would stick her nose into things the second he'd made her Lily's godmother.

He let out a sigh turning his eyes back to the road. He could admit that at times he felt as though he didn't understand a thing about his daughter.

It was his own fault. He knew this.

He'd been so tied up with work that he often hadn't taken the time to really connect with Lily. Della just made everything all the more complicated.

Della Unser resented Lily. She saw the young woman as a constant reminder that Wayne hadn't remained faithful during their rocky patch.

Della couldn't help but to feel bitter when she looked at her husband and his daughter. Della hated the fact that Lily had taken the place in Unser's heart as his first born child; his baby girl.

Unser frowned remembering the day Lily had been brought to his front stoop by her mother. The way Vera had shoved a crying Lily into his arms while a pregnant Della stared on.

Wayne shifted the crying infant in his arms feeling lost as how he could get her to calm down. He sighed when he stared down at her realizing that her little face was as pink as the onesie she was wearing.

The yelling hadn't helped the already fussy baby's temperament. The little girl had already been screeching when she'd been shoved into his arms but Della's screams had only made it worse.

Wayne still remembered the exact words Della had screamed at him as she'd stormed out of their tiny house ''I'm going to stay with my mother. You handle this you prick.''

Wayne sighed guilt flooding him as he remembered the way Della had glared at little Lily. She looked at the infant as though Lily was a cyst on the face of humanity.

It wasn't the child's fault. It was all him, Wayne knew that.

Della and he'd had a fight the night Lily had been conceived. He'd gone off to a bar to drink away his heartache. He'd met Vera that night at the bar. She had been so gorgeous. Her long dark hair had been so long that it had almost almost reached down to her hips. She'd had a mischievous little smile on her face as she'd sipped her beer. The bell-bottoms she'd been wearing had hugged her backside perfectly.

Wayne could remember that Vera had reminded him of Cher; tall and gorgeous.

That night Vera and he'd shared a few beers and talked about the music playing over the loudspeaker. They'd both loved the Allman Brothers and Janis Joplin. They'd gotten tipsy and after a bit of flirting they'd wound up back at a motel where they'd slept together.

He'd spent a passion filled night with Vera unaware that this little life had been created.

The girl's name was Lilian; Lilian Winter Unser.

Wayne was little Lilian's father Vera had insisted as she shoved the screaming infant into his arms.

Wayne had barely had time to squeeze a word out as Vera spoke. ''I'm leaving her here with you. You have a good set up here Wayne. You can give our daughter everything I can't. I don't have anything to give her. I just can't be a mom...I'm not ready to take care of a kid. Please be good to her and tell her I loved her.''

And with that Vera had walked away jumping into the taxi she'd taken leaving Wayne in the dust with a crying baby and a pissed off pregnant fiancee.

Wayne knew that Vera might have a point about him being the more stable option for Lily. He had a nice little home and a good job with the police station. He was normal compared to Vera.

Vera didn't have much from what he knew; though it was the early eighties Vera was still locked in the hippie free love lifestyle. She never stayed in one place too long. She drove from town to town doing whatever it took to survive. She was always on the move like a modern day nomad. Vera was a free-spirit too careless and unstable to be a proper mom to a little girl.

Wayne had done the only thing he could think of at a time like this. He'd reached for the telephone calling the only person in the world he could think to call; his childhood best friend Gemma Teller.

Lily was still screeching as Gemma entered the room her high heeled boots clicking against the wood floor.

She shook her head staring down at the upset infant. "Shit Wayne. What have you done?"

"I fucked up Gem. Her mom is god knows where. She just dropped her on me...I don't know what to do? I mean I could leave the kid with my mom but what about Della?" Wayne spat out shifting Lily in his arms.

Gemma narrowed her eyes at Wayne stepping closer to him. Her voice took on a stern dangerous tone as she replied to this. "You aren't dumping this little girl on your mom. Fuck what Della thinks. This is your daughter. Family is forever Wayne. You can't tell me that you don't feel something for this baby girl?"

He sighed knowing that Gemma was right. The second Vera had placed the little girl in his arms he'd felt something in his heart pull. Despite all the dramatics and chaos Wayne knew he loved his baby girl.

He wasn't going to send her away to his mother's like she was something he should be ashamed of. No her conception hadn't been under the best circumstances, but she was still his child.

He was going to do the right thing; be a dad.

Wayne shook his head his mind going a mile a second. "What am I going to do Gemma. I don't have anything for her...no crib, no toys. There's barely any clothing but what's in that backpack. Anything I have is for the other baby...that's if Della comes back after this mess."

Gemma tossed her purse down on the sofa taking the baby from Wayne's arms as she spoke. "I'll get into my storage locker. I should have some shit left over from Jax and Thomas."

Wayne cringed at this statement; Thomas. Little Thomas Teller had died just the year before of a heart condition. He hadn't been much older than Lily was now.

Gemma didn't let Wayne's look of pity deter her as she shifted the sobbing infant in her arms. "What's her name?"

"Lilian Winter Unser." He remarked still a little stunned that Vera had given the girl his last name.

Vera had left the child's social security card and her birth certificate in the small backpack of things she'd left.

All that was in the bag not counting these two documents were a few purple and white dresses, a white onsie with little yellow ducks on it, a small package of diapers, formula, and a little white teddy bear.

Wayne knew he'd need more than that to raise a child. He needed a crib, a carseat, a changing table, more clothing, more diapers, toys, a stroller, and at least a dozen other things.

His brain ached as he realized just how much it took to raise a baby. His brain only ached more when he realized he'd be raising two babies once Della gave birth that is.

She shook her head at this name. "Well that's no good. Lily...we'll call her Lily."

"Why does she keep crying? I can't get her to settle down...you don't think there's something wrong with her do you?" Wayne blurted out his dark eyes growing wide as he stared at Lily.

Gemma rolled her eyes at just how clueless Unser was; a typical male. She spoke as she patted the infants damp bottom. "She needs to be changed."

She didn't give Wayne the chance to say anything as she snatched up the backpack heading to the back bedroom.

She spread a blanket out on the bed making quick work of unfastening Lily's little onsie. As soon as the baby had a fresh diaper on she calmed.

Gemma smirked a bit as the little girl smiled up at her one of her tiny hands reaching up to play with one of Gemma's necklaces.

She spoke to the girl her voice soft and soothing "You've got a long road ahead of you Lily...that father of yours is a disaster and don't even get me started on his fiancee. Don't you worry bout shit though. No one's going to hurt you as long as I'm around. You have Momma Gemma to look out for you."

Unser let out a huff knowing that he probably wouldn't have made it through Lily's first few years without Gemma.

Gemma had long played a mother role in Lily's life.

It bothered Unser to admit this. After all Della was her step mother and should be a mother to Lily.

Lily and Della had done nothing but fight all their lives though. Wayne hoped that with all the pain of his illness the two would come to tolerate one another and might even learn to lean on one another.

He spoke up knowing the perfect way to maybe start that bonding between his wife and daughter. "Della wants you to come over for dinner next Friday."

"Della want's me to come for dinner?" Lily replied raising an eyebrow at this. She could see straight through that comment enough to see the bullshit.

Lily shook her head feeling a little guilty that her step mother and she couldn't find a common ground. She silently reminded herself that she'd given Della all the opportunities on the planet to be a good mom and Della had failed time and time again.

It was no shock that Lily had moved out of the Unser household and had moved in with Gemma and Clay when she was fifteen.

Gemma had welcomed Lily with open arms and had made sure that Lily was taken care of, just the way a mom should.

"I'll think about it." Lily blurted out knowing that this was the easiest way to tell her father no.

She had a feeling she couldn't avoid her step mother forever though.

Lily felt her stomach roll at the thought of facing Della Unser. No one could drive Lily up the wall faster than her step mother.

Yep No place like home.

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

Lily practically jumped out of the truck as it pulled into TM Auto.

She ran to Gemma her arms encircling the woman a soft laugh escaping her lips as she spoke. "Momma Gemma."

"Hey baby. Look at you. You've grown up so much." Gemma replied smiling at the young woman who she'd always seen as a daughter.

Wayne sighed as he exited the truck watching his daughter and his friend together. He could admit he was a bit envious over the way Lily looked up at Gemma.

Lily adored the woman. She always had.

Though Unser was thankful that Gemma had been there for his daughter he couldn't help but to be irritated at the way Gemma was always jumping into things when it came to Lily.

Gemma had given Lily everything her little heart desired; a car when it was time to start driving, new clothing, jewelry, a place to live and hideout when Lily had gotten into a big fight with Della or Wayne.

After a while it had seemed as though Gemma was Lily's parent not Unser.

Gemma only saw this as her being there for Lily. She saw how Della treated Lily. Gemma knew that Wayne was too damn blind to see the truth. Della had always had a hold over Unser, even when it came to Lily.

Unser gritted his jaw as Gemma spoke up. "Come on baby lets get you settled in. I've already looked at some apartments for you and I may have sweet talked Clay into getting you some furniture."

Lily grabbed her suitcase from the back of Unser's truck giving her father a hug as she spoke. "I'll see you later dad. Call me after your appointment."

Unser let out a sigh watching his little girl walk away and disappear into TM Auto's tiny office.

Sometimes he wished he could turn back the clock. Maybe if he could do that he could fix all the mistakes he'd made with his baby girl.

Chibs Telford frowned looking up from the Harley he'd been reconstructing as he saw Sheriff Unser's old pickup truck pull into the parking lot.

It wasn't police business at least Chibs realized. Still though the sight of the sheriff always made his stomach churn, never mind the fact that Unser had been on the Sons payroll long before Chibs had even come to Charming.

He was perfectly ready to stare back at the Harley until the passengers' door on the truck opened up revealing a petite young woman.

Chibs let his eyes scan the young woman's body not helping but to like what he saw. The black jeans she wore showed her hips and bottom off perfectly and the low cut plum tank top she wore under her jean jacket showed off a small but perky set of breasts. He could see three necklaces dangling in between her cleavage; a long uncut rough clear crystal that was wrapped around wire hanging from a chain and two thinner silver chains with tiny heart trinkets hanging from them.

What Chibs liked the most though was her long dark hair. It was pulled up high into a ponytail. Chibs was sure that if she took her hair down it would reach down to the small of her back. He had to admire her smooth pale skin as well. Her skin seemed all the more milky when paired with those big dark eyes of hers.

She was pretty, he'd be a liar if he tried to deny it.

His interests were only peaked as Gemma left the office to be ambushed with a hug from the young woman.

He raised an eyebrow at the words that left the young woman's mouth Momma Gemma.

Chibs was puzzled as he saw Gemma smile down at the girl the same way he'd seen the Queen of SAMCRO smile at Jax Teller.

This was an interesting development Chibs realized.

In the five years he'd lived in Charming he'd never once seen a woman make Gemma smile like that.

Whoever this girl was she was obviously close to Gemma's heart, which Chibs knew wasn't an easy task.

Her closeness to Gemma only sparked Chibs' interest.

He continued to work as he tried to casually eavesdrop on this woman's conversations with Gemma and Unser.

Chibs found himself dying to at least know this woman's name.

He was sure he'd never seen her around town before. He was pretty sure he'd remember a pretty face like that not to mention a body like that.

He widened his eyes as the young woman gave Unser a tight hug. He only caught one word from her mouth dad.

Chibs sighed realizing that he had no place looking at this woman, not when she was a cop's daughter.

Chibs reluctantly decided that he better keep his distance if he knew what was best for him. Flirting with the sheriff's daughter wasn't a bright plan. Following his instincts with this girl was just asking for trouble.

He wasn't sure why he was so damn fascinated anyhow. After all it wasn't like he didn't see pretty girl's every damn day of the week.

The clubhouse was full of sexy women who'd gladly spread their legs for him without him even having to say a word.

A small voice in the back of his head pointed out the obvious though The girls in the clubhouse had been passed around from guy to guy at least a dozen times or more. The croweaters didn't make Gemma smile like that.

Chibs sighed knowing the truth; the truth was he was sick of the croweaters. It wasn't really any fun when you could get a woman without having to put the work into it.

As much as he hated to admit it he missed having more than sex with a woman. Yes sex was nice and all; it felt good and it was satisfying. But the satisfaction never lasted and at the end of the day Chibs was always left sleeping alone.

He was tired of always sleeping alone.

Chibs hadn't been able to move on from Fiona and all that had happened back in Ireland; all that had drove him to the MC and to Charming California.

He had almost gotten accustomed to being alone. It was just that when he saw a pretty girl like that, a girl that made the Queen of SAMCRO smile, his mind allowed itself to dream of maybe having something more than sex with her.

Chibs shook his head at these thoughts.

He knew these were just the thoughts of a foolish man, a man who wasn't getting any younger and didn't have a life that any woman would want to be a part of.

Despite the fact that Chibs knew it was best to just ignore his curiosity and stay back he found himself peeking back at Gemma and the woman as they disappeared into the office.

He let out a huff realizing that staying away would be harder than he thought.

#chibs telford #sons of anarchy #chibs sons of anarchy #chibs telford x oc #sons of anarchy fanfiction #chibs telford fanfiction

[sybilius]

Old Internet Fridays #10: aminfatolli.neocities

aminfatolli.neocities

What’s this?

What’s this website?

A single-page neocities with a single poorly translated (likely machine translated) recipe for Gooshfil/elephant ears, a Persian delicacy. The source recipe seems to be from this Persian website, down to the image. I could make a stab and guess it might belong to an "Amin Fatolli" but I honestly could not say.

Okay, how did you find it?

Long story, and a particular whim. Okay, so if you'll allow me to preface this: I cook. I cook like it's breathing, it's just always been a thing with me. And if there's one thing the internet has, it's recipes. But also, god help you if you're accessing a recipe website without an ad blocker these days.

What I was really looking for was a real old school HTML website of recipes. Just a poorly formatted but functional "Kim Family Recipes" or some shit, and then a link to like 5 sparse but good recipes with maybe a few amateurish pictures.

I started my search on DuckDuckGo with "recipe blog" and then "family recipes". The thing is, there are a lot of recipe things on the internet -- humans sharing food, you know, we love to do that! So I switched to Google with the vague idea that I might try to go all the way back on the pagination, only to learn that the pagination either doesn't exist or is hard to find these days. Then I booted up Neocities and just searched for "recipe" which is where I came across this odd little duck.

How's it doing on internet archive?

ooohhhh ahhh the fact that it's first save is late 2020 makes me feel tender in some kind of way.

What delighted you the most?

I'm presenting this not because it's a good recipe website-- it'd be a challenge to even make this one thing from the translation. But this is truly an internet artifact in a way that feels very old internet, you know? The story is worth more than the actual product. There's an element of celebrating the amateurish, the human, the everyday, that I sometimes like to entertain.

This website might exist because someone, in the pandemic, wanted an English-speaking friend of theirs to try this really good dessert. And that's so sweet.

There's also something charming about the badness of the machine translation that feels old-internet in a way I remember from the early 2000s. "The elephant's eau de toilette" ough that Persian > English google translate does not have its context very well filled out. But that adds something to it.

I entertain the thought of putting recipes I make on the internet all the time. Perhaps I will someday, and it'll be someplace like here. A weird little neocities site, visited only by friends and family, looked over by search engines for ad-coated blogs with SEO garbage, and found only by the archive crawler and very occasionally, by little strangers like me.

#old internet fridays #food

[makeste]

update part two: THE SPOILERING

~*~THIS POST IS ENTIRELY ABOUT BNHA MANGA SPOILERS.~*~ IF YOU ARE NOT CAUGHT UP WITH THE CURRENT EVENTS OF THE BNHA MANGA, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS POST. I do have a separate "hey guys I'm back" update post here which is spoiler-free!

THIS POST, THOUGH, IS NOT SPOILER-FREE. IT IS THE OPPOSITE OF SPOILER-FREE. IT EXISTS SOLELY FOR THE PURPOSE OF DISCUSSING THE BIGGEST, MOST SPOILERLY SPOILERS EVER. IF THAT IS NOT YOUR DESIRE, PLEASE PROCEED AWAY FROM THIS POST WITH ALL HASTE.

I am, however, assuming that something like 90% of this blog's readership does, in fact, know exactly what this post is about, which is why we are going to TALK ABOUT IT right here and right now underneath this tidy read-more.

okay, so! gonna stick with the random imaginary Q&A format from my other post just to make things easier.

1. "wow makeste, way to randomly go on spoiler lockdown hiatus for NINE WHOLE MONTHS only to MAGNIFICENTLY DROP THE BALL by running smack dab into THE BIGGEST BNHA SPOILER OF ALL TIME."

I know right??

2. "so what do you have to say for yourself."

short version: I made the critical tactical error of existing as a human being in the general vicinity of the internet in early August 2022. very poor move on my part. rookie mistake.

long version: so there I was, minding my own business, watching the trailer for BnHA season 6, as one does. when out of nowhere, YouTube's algorithm decided to be all "OH? THIS PERSON LIKES MY HERO ACADEMIA? BOY DO I HAVE A RECOMMENDATION FOR THEM." next thing I know, I'm scrolling through my YT home page and ALL OF A SUDDEN THERE'S A DETAILED PICTURE OF MY SON'S MANGLED BLOODY CORPSE, RIGHT NEXT TO AN ALL-CAPS DESCRIPTION READING -- I SHIT YOU NOT -- "BAKUGOU REALLY JUST DIED!!! THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING!"

seriously though. that is word-for-word verbatim what it said. the internet literally got right up in my face and said "OHOHO!! LOOKS LIKE SOMEBODY FORGOT TO DELETE LITERALLY ONE SINGLE MHA-RELATED VIDEO FROM THEIR WATCH HISTORY! TIME TO DESTROY HALF A YEAR'S WORTH OF PAINSTAKINGLY DILIGENT SPOILER AVOIDANCE IN ONE EARTH-SHATTERING BLOW!" and just like that, my miraculous fate-tempting seven month spoiler-free streak came to an end. the sequel to blah blah SIXQUIRKS. something something BAKUGOU DIED. JUST THOUGHT WE'D SHARE THAT LITTLE UPDATE WITH YOU. HAVE A GOOD ONE, AND DRIVE SAFE!

so naturally my first reaction was basically just. looooooool :) :) :) what the fuck.

here I am. a working mom. who left her seventeen-year-old fictional son in the care of a 36-year-old Japanese man for the better part of a year because HE SAID he would take good care of him. Jump Festa 2022!! quote unquote!! "I’ve said this to Okamoto [Nobuhiko]-kun in LINE, but Katsuki will be having his greatest scene in the manga in future developments. I hope people who like Katsuki and hate Katsuki will look forward to it." bruh. we have the receipts right here! "greatest scene," he said! oh, goody, I said! something to look forward to when I finally have the time to catch up! "yes," Horikoshi smiles evilly. "something to look forward to, indeed." this fucking guy. can you even believe.

and just to be clear, when I say that I was otherwise 100% not-spoiled up until this point, I mean it. one hundred percent. I had absolutely ZERO knowledge of anything past chapter 339. the last I saw of Bakugou, he was hanging out with the rest his class showing off his cool new moves to Deku and being blindsided by Aoyama's betrayal and stuff. then bam. seven months later, fate mails me a postcard of him lying on the ground with a bloody hole in his chest. like WOW, OKAY. ZERO CHILL. OF COURSE THIS WOULD HAPPEN THE ONE TIME I DECIDE TO GO ON HIATUS FOR TWO HUNDRED DAYS, SMDH.

anyway so that's my story.

3. "so exactly how spoiled are you?"

lol I'm not even sure. I guess my best answer would be, "SOMEWHAT?"

or, if you don't mind reading more words, I can tell you exactly how spoiled I am by summarizing the Things That I Do Know in a bullet list.

THINGS THAT I KNOW

all of this apparently takes place between chapters 359 and 362, with 362 being the big "oh he DEAD dead" chapter. I think. based on all the fics that have since cropped up on AO3 with ominous chapter 362 spoiler tags.

I am pretty sure Bakugou was fighting either Tomura or AFO when it happened.

I have this vague idea that somehow his heart exploded or something?? like I don't really know the details, but that's what I've been able to glean.

apparently Jeanist and Edgeshot were involved in some sort of effort to save him?? but apparently that didn't work out too well I guess. OR DID IT? I actually do not know.

I have the vague impression Edgeshot may have also died, somehow, as a result of those heroic efforts. OR DID HE? again, I actually do not know at all. this is basically the knowledge equivalent of me overhearing half of a phone conversation between two people who were trying to recollect half of a phone conversation that they in turn overheard, several months earlier.

lastly, I know that Bakugou was apparently carrying around his All Might trading card from waaaay back in his chapter 118 flashbacks, in his pocket or something. because he's a giant fanboy nerd. who wanted All Might to sign it. but was too shy to ask I guess. "WHO COULD HAVE SEEN THIS SENSITIVE SIDE OF HIM COMING?? BAKUGOU CARES ABOUT THINGS??? HE REALLY DID LOOK UP TO ALL MIGHT JUST AS MUCH AS DEKU THE ENTIRE TIME??? WHAT A DEVASTATING REVEAL?!?" is how we were supposed to react to this, I'm guessing, lol. but I'll have you know that SOME of us have already written approximately 1200 essays on how much of a secretly sensitive All Might weeb Bakugou is, and so WERE ACTUALLY NOT SURPRISED AT ALL! yeah that's right! TAKE THAT HORIKOSHI. TRYING TO CATCH ME OFF GUARD AND MAKE ME CRY. WELL YOU WASTED YOUR GODDAMN TIME, because I would have cried anyway! and I did cry! and I will cry again!

anyway so yeah. and I think the card got blown up and/or otherwise destroyed somehow, just to add insult to injury. which, don't tell anyone, but between you and me, I'm not sure what he expected. "let me just take my precious limited edition All Might trading card, my most prized possession, along with me into the intense final battle with the final villain. for good luck or whatever. there's no way this could possibly end badly." did he even bother to put it in a zipper pocket. wtf were you thinking Katsuki. again I do not actually have the slightest idea since I have not actually read this chapter lol.

anyway! so that's everything I know! and let me just add to that a quick summary of things which I in turn do NOT know, the short version of which is: Literally Everything Other Than What I Just Typed Above. including but not limited to:

whether Bakugou actually was fighting Tomura, or AFO, or both. ??

who was fighting with him (except that for some reason or another Deku wasn't there, because I guess he fucked off to go do something else?? you and I fell into the exact same trap there, Deku. "surely Kacchan will be fine and dandy for the next five minutes or hours or days or however long while I go take care of this Other Important Business." yeah, you would think so, wouldn't you? BUT WE LEARNED OUR LESSON, DIDN'T WE.)

what Deku’s reaction was (but I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say: PISSED)

literally anything else about the context of this fight, including where, when, and why it took place.

literally everything else that has happened in the manga since chapter 339. for real you guys. I just have to stress again how utterly out of the blue this was for me. to read this spoiler completely without context. WHAT HAVE THESE CHILDREN BEEN DOING FOR THE PAST NINE MONTHS. I'm terrified to learn the answers lol.

anyways but moving on now to the most important section of this post, starting with the one question which I think is by far the most pressing and important, and which I can thankfully answer with a single sentence.

4. "so... do you think he actually is dead?"

no lol.

but since you insist, here is my list of Reasons Why I Don't Think Bakugou Is Actually Dead, based on my nonexistent knowledge of the events of the past 40 chapters, and the actual context and details of his death. and I guarantee there is not a single point here which has not already been discussed to death on thousands of other blogs, but dammit I've been stuck without an outlet for all these thoughts since August, so the hell with it:

so for starters, in my experience, characters whose older selves narrate the story From The Future ("in that moment, there were no thoughts in my head... my body just moved on its own") tend to be pretty immune from dying, overall. just throwing that out there.

from day one, the series has made it very clear that this is the story of how Izuku becomes "the greatest hero" (more recently retconned/updated to become a pluralized "this is the story of how we ALL became the greatest heroes").

also from day one, Katsuki's narrative arc has been set up as a (first contrasting, and then later evolving to be more complementary) parallel to Izuku's, down to them having the same goal.

as the series has progressed, that concept of "becoming the greatest hero" has been further defined as "becoming a hero who always wins no matter what, and always saves everyone no matter what."

Katsuki in particular has expanded on this idea to emphasize that the greatest heroes are the ones who save EVERYONE, no matter what. "I made a pledge! I will achieve absolute victory, every time! we're taking this 4-0, no casualties! the strong don't settle for anything less!" and more recently, "because to live up to those ideals and surpass All Might... we gotta save you, the civilians at U.A., and the people on the streets. because saving people is how we win."

therefore, any victory in which either Katsuki or Izuku dies in order to defeat AFO is not a perfect victory, and will not result in them becoming the greatest heroes.

this is also a flagship Shounen Jump manga and the spiritual successor to the Big Three, meaning this would basically be the equivalent of killing off Sasuke or Zoro or Rukia. a.k.a. not gonna happen ever lol.

on top of that, it's also Horikoshi's tribute to Western comics, particularly those produced by Marvel, a.k.a. the guys who practically invented the No One Ever Stays Dead trope.

and last (actually not last but this really is getting too long) but not least, the number one reason why Katsuki cannot and will not actually die: because AFO does not get to win. seriously. he just doesn't. he got to kill All Might's important person and be all smug and cruel about it. he killed Nana's family and was all smug and cruel about it. he's tormented generations of heroes by deliberately targeting the people they love most. and so even without me knowing the actual context or circumstances of Katsuki's supposed "death", I have no doubt that's why it happened, because that's what AFO does. and that's who Deku loves. and so of course AFO would try it, yet again. that's his fucking modus operandi

but, because he is the final villain, we know he is going to lose in the end. and so this, imo, is the biggest and simplest reason why Katsuki isn't dead: because if he is actually dead, then AFO wins. even if he himself dies in the end. he gets to go down knowing that he took a part of the hero with him. he gets to hold on to that one last triumph. even though he loses, he keeps the hero from winning and saving, and he gets to savor that.

so, since we know that he's NOT going to win, because this is a "good guys win" type of story and not an "evil prevails, sorry, it's called REAL LIFE, bitches, enjoy your tears" type of story, that means that Katsuki is not actually dead. or will not stay dead. either way. period.

anyway so yeah! that's basically the gist, though by no means are these all of my comprehensive thoughts, and I can safely promise you many more rants to come, especially as I prepare to take on the challenge of reading through 39 new BnHA chapters with the foreknowledge of my son's untimely not-death looming in the back of my mind the whole time! looking forward to that! both ironically and unironically! should be interesting to say the least lol.

so on that note, one final q&a before we conclude:

5. "is it cool to discuss other manga spoilers with you?"

I would prefer not to, mainly in the hopes of trying to preserve as much of the "pure" unspoiled liveblog experience as possible, both for myself and for anyone else who cares to actually read said liveblogs. I do already feel bad for depriving people of the experience of watching me naively frolic my way through the upcoming arc(s) all BLISSFULLY UNAWARES lol. instead you'll have to settle for watching me timidly cry my way through while yelling at every single character who blindly tempts fate with their stupid foreshadowing comments. and don't even try to tell me there won't be foreshadowing comments. I know what type of story I'm reading. and more importantly, I know exactly the type of person who's writing it. ~*~gReAtEsT sCeNe~*~. you son of a bitch. THIS ISN'T OVER, HORIKOSHI.

anyway, so basically I would prefer to be as spoiler-free as possible, same as always. but I also no longer have the time or frankly the will to police every potential spoiler out there, so at the end of the day I'm pretty much just going to leave it up to you guys! also because I figure that at this point, WHAT'S THE WORST THAT CAN HAPPEN lol. (but for real there's probably a ton of important stuff that could easily be ruined still, so yeah if you don't mind let's just try to steer clear of all that lol.)

#makeste reads bnha #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #not gonna include any more specific tags for now #maybe just a random one-time-use tag in case I need to find this post later #bnha hiatus spoilers rant #bnha the thing discussion #iykyk

[thevividgreenmoss]

I had a couple of friends (my only two friends really lol which two is far far above my historical average for friends, one is above the historical average if we're being Real) over last night to see the movie I made with my cats/co-directors and I made little tickets/keepsakes for both of them lol

Since the first short I randomly slapped together back in January which eventually ended up being incorporated into what this ended up being I liked the idea of keeping this as something I primarily just directly share with people in my own living room, like the only reason I initially put this shit online anywhere is to have an easy way to share it on here with you all in case it's of interest to anyone lol but idk like there's no way to make even five dollars off of this since I don't have the rights to any of the music playing in the background and huge chunks of certain songs/albums are in the shit lmao like almost half an hour of D'Angelo - Voodoo lmfao but like. it cost me literally nothing to make this, I shot the entire thing on my phone and cut it together on my laptop using open source software so there isn't even any cost to recoup so why not include the music I was already listening to ig and past that just share it with directly with anyone that's willing to sit through it

Back in May I was talking to one of my neighbors who is also one of the neighborhood plugs who also raps a little bit just for the fuck of it "I dont make money off music, I'm a trapper for real" (slightly paraphrased it was almost a year ago at this point), but I actually fuck with his music and listened to it of my own volition after he initially directly played a track for me and our other neighbor and the other day I was over to reup and was like 1) I made a movie off your product so truly thank you cause this doesnt happen otherwise and 2) if you check it out and anything jumps out at you we can work on a music video along those lines if you're down which who knows if we'll do that but personally I'd love to. Then he asked me why I haven't been fasting lmao, remembering that I also didn't fast last year. And that led to talking about god and history and america and the whites. He was telling me a bit about another Pakistani guy that buys from him, showed me a picture of the dude, standing with (presumably although I can't say for sure) his father and grandfather.

The picture he showed me, everything he said has been stuck in my head since. The three smiling desi faces, if I had to guess either fellow Kashmiris if not that maybe Pathaan, but especially the old man's face recalling of course my nana's. I wish I could've made a movie in Lahore with him. I do want to make one with my mom, I was thinking of incorporating clips of a walk around the creek at my parent's neighborhood with her into this video but I ended up going a different direction but I do think it could be worth it's own standalone piece. But I do want to do more of these and the process by which it came together is definitely something accessible to everyone like everyone can do this I feel, if anyone wants. But I personally do want to make one with my mom if she's down.

A few days before that aforementioned day in late May I read Prince's unfinished autobiography and among a million things in there that I have not been able to stop seeing or thinking of was what? The way he opened the first chapter with the image of his mother's eyes - the first thing 👁 saw.

[novarhetta]

I had a dream last night that involved Welcome Home, and for some reason, I really would like to share it somewhere, so I figured here is as good a place as any! Without further ado:

Welcome Back Home, Neighbor

I was walking through a forest with someone, I think it was a friend of mine, though they never said their name. We emerged to what looked like a small village area, and I immediately recognized it as the Welcome Home neighborhood, though there were other people walking around it, collecting information and setting things up. It was almost as if it had become a school of some sort, or a festival sort of place.

I walked towards Home first and was given a tablet just before I could get to the patio. On it were instructions: “Which three houses are closest to Wally's Home? Color in the characters so you can see Wally!”

I looked around. “I thought the houses were in a circle? I guess… I'll have to fill this out.”

My friend wasn't as interested in doing that; they just really wanted to go around and see everything. So while I went up and asked each neighbor some questions, they'd find a souvenir here or there, or do one of the activities the other neighbors had.

I got to meet some of the cast: Eddie, then Julie, then Howdy Pillar. The rest seemed too busy to see me, or simply unable to for some reason.

Eddie's Lumber: It was interesting, next to Eddies Post Office there was a stump, lumber, and an ax, as if someone else lived and worked there too. Completing his quest seemed to involve cutting one of the pieces of wood that was in a pile. Eddie handed me the ax and waited for me to do so. However, after doing only one, he took the ax back and handed me a sticker to signify completing the task. I would have asked him more, but he waved me off and walked away, ignoring any question I might have asked.

Julie on her Own: Julie was the only neighbor that was freely wandering around the neighborhood aside from Frank. And unlike Frank, who would pop up from bushes to tale pictures of bugs every now and then, Julie was happily greeting people and chatting with them. I thought that I'd finally have one of them to stop and talk to, but when I approached her, she cheerfully placed a sticker in my hand and greeted me, but was distracted by a small child tugging on her dress seconds later. I didn't want to be rude, so I continued on.

Howdy's Game: When I went to Howdy's bugdega, which for some reason was now behind Home rather than down a path or off to the side, I noticed that there was a wall of shelves that was full of books and paperwork. Some of the papers were tacked up on the shelves, and others were actually all over the floor or spread out, along with quite a few books that weren't in their proper place. It seemed that the activity here was fixing and reshelving the books, as well as completing some of the papers that were incomplete. I started to study some of the papers, but Howdy interrupted me, handing me the sticker that signified that I was done and did well. I tried to ask why, and I could see that he was sweating and nervous. He told me that I was done, and I could go. He tried to sound happy, but he was clearly panicked about something, and kept glancing at Home, even though it was facing away from his bugdega. I acquiesced and said bye to him before leaving.

So, I finished with a new building, which seemed to be a classroom to learn Spanish for some reason. The teacher had long black hair and a simple, old-fashioned light blue dress. I don't know who she was, but her building was slanted and difficult to walk on.

It also seemed to be a little closer to Home, so I colored Eddie, her, and then Howdy Pillar. I do feel like it is worth noting that if I colored an “incorrect” puppet, the screen would appear to shake and erase all of my progress. So I COULD have cheesed it instead of walking around the neighborhood, but I didn't want to.

Once it was completed, it seemed to automatically be sent to Wally, a sort of printout. There was something odd about the neighbors when I was filling it out, too. Every now and then they might look nervous, or the world might seem just a little darker. Once it was submitted, the day seemed to end into night right on cue. Almost everyone else went home; all of the humans pretty much went home except for like, one per building, maybe. I'm not sure where my friend went.

I suddenly found myself in front of Home. The door slowly creaked open, and I saw Wally's hand slip around the door first, and then one of his eyes. The way it looked at me, I felt like he could see and know any and every thought I might have. Home stood still, but its looming presence was not lost on me.

“I choose this one,” Wally speaks in his monotonous tone. The door opens a bit more, and he holds his hand out to me. “Come inside, please.”

As if drawn in, I can feel that something is very off, but I walk up the path to him. The closer I get, the darker everything seems behind me until the only light seems to be coming from Wally and Home. My stomach is doing flips, screaming about this being off, but I ignore it because my mind whispers, “I want this, I should follow him.” And that is enough. I take Wally's hand, and he leads me inside, the door closing behind us.

-----End Dream-----

I've always debated on sharing my dreams because I have SO MANY all the time. If you liked this dream and actually got this far, please do let me know if I should continue to share them in the future! I do enjoy writing them lol

Also, I'm not sure if this is important, but I hadn't checked the update or even looked at the site for months before this dream suddenly cropped up. Today, however, I did look into it, and holy WOW I'm loving all of the new content! Excited to be back and see what more is to come.

#welcome home #wally darling #dream #writing #writers on tumblr #dream diary #why am I sharing this #spooky #unsettling #Wally what are you doing

[masterjedilenawrites]

Hello, m'lady!

If you don't mind, here are some incoherent thoughts about some of the Bois that came to my mind after reading around in your brilliant writing. You said you wouldn't mind my incoherent thoughts, so I thought I'd share them! (I'm still working on my incoherent Bad Batch thoughts, btw)

I want to hug Jesse. Like, he's hot as hell no questions asked, but I also just want to hug him. Like, a long hug. And tell him that he's loved and that he's enough and wonderful exactly as he is.

Also, I want to cook for all the clones, but these vibes are the strongest with Wrecker, and, for some reason, Hardcase and Fives.

Also, my ideal date is going to one of those public strawberry picking fields where you can just... walk around and fill your basket with strawberries, and afterwards go home and bake strawberry cake, and I'm going to drop that in this context.

Also I find it so interesting how non-commitical Rex actually is; like, who would've guessed that a guy with such a spit-death-in-the-face attitude on the battlefield would be so scared to let someone into his heart.

Also, I low-key wanna call Cody Marshall Commander, Sir and see what happens >:3

I haven't even consumed any Delta Squad material, but solely the writing on this blog made me love them all and (idk, maybe they've met in canon XD) I think Boss and Cody would get along.

And someone should tell Fixer to go tf to sleep, I'm sensing that he doesn't do that *nearly* enough.

Someone should also tell Kix that always putting others first and neglecting his own needs is not what being a good, compassionate person is about, and that he's worth it.

I could go on and on, damn, but lemme just say that your depiction of the Bois really helped shape a more 3-dimensional and rich picture of them in my head and that is awesome :)

Also thank you sm for my date set-up again, I'd 100% ask the dear commander for a second date.

I've been thinking about these gems nonstop since you dropped them in my inbox! 💙 I love getting thoughts like this so keep them coming! I don't get to talk about these wonderful clone men IRL so this is my only outlet 😅

And just so you know, I did intend to respond like a normal person and just... piggyback on your thoughts, share a few of my own, call it a day... but then my hand slipped and now I have 8 whole one-shots to share instead 😳😳

So, in honor of May the Fourth, I've got my 8 stories queued up to post throughout today (5/4), all based on what you shared here! We've got hurt/comfort, we've got silliness, we've got slice-of-life, we've even got some spice.... I had so much fun writing these and I hope you all enjoy them! 

Thanks for the inspo, friend! Wishing everyone a fantastic Star Wars day! 🌟

JESSE

Jesse definitely needs a good, solid hug every once in a while. Be prepared for his reaction, though, it'll be quite an emotional moment for him...

WRECKER (+Fives and Hardcase)

They do say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach...

BLACKOUT

Why not go on this ideal date with your new beau, Blackout? 😃

REX

His fear of commitment is interesting, huh? But he does have many loved ones who will help him work through that fear...

CODY

Oh boy, you'd best be ready for a long night after a line like that...

BOSS & CODY

They're leaders with different styles, different responsibilities, different crews... and yet they're bonded together like two old men who just met in the power tools aisle...

FIXER TECH

Actually, I headcanon that Fixer is an early bird. It's more likely that someone would tell him to go back to sleep.

Tech on the other hand...

KIX

There aren't a lot of people Kix would listen to if they told him that. Thankfully you're one of them...

#star wars #may the fourth be with you #rosa my dear friend #i really went crazy didn't i? #the clone wars #the bad batch #delta squad #angst o'clock #clone comfort hour #spice time #sunday funday #clones #clones x reader

[nekole-doodles]

Hello and welcome to my blog :D (This will get updated every once in a while)

She/her and Omnisexual :]

Minor

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I mainly share and ramble about my AUs and headcanons for my current hyperfixations and occasionally post my art :)

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Main Fandoms(Hyperfixations): DSMP, QSMP, FNaF

Minor Fandoms: Jujutsu Kaisen, Detroit: Become Human, Good Omens, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, The Owl House, Gravity Falls, The Amazing Digital Circus, The Magnus Archives (only on Ep 16 ToT), Yuri!!! On Ice, Violet Evergarden, Haikyuu (more of an old hyperfixation), Murder Drones

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Personal Tags for my blog and new ones will be added (individual AU tags are in the next section):

#nekole's rambles

#nekole's talks <- This is for my text posts that aren't exactly me rambling but just sharing my thoughts and things like that

#nekole's art

#nekole's doodles <- My art in my silly style

#nekole's aus <- All things about my AUs

#nekole's au lore <- All my posts specifically with information about my AUs, especially lore dumps

#nekole's headcanons <- My headcanons for my hyperfixations

#nekole's analyses <- Whenever I analyze anything, mostly fanfics or characters

#nekole's music things <- These could be posts with music recommendations or songs that match characters or really anything music related

#nekole's ocs <- For the rare occasions I actually talk about my OCs

#nekole's scripts <- These posts have scene ideas in script format

#nekole's silly dono chat collection <- This is just a collection of my posts about funny donos or chat messages I see (mostly from Phil's chat)

#nekole's scenery pics <- If I decide to post scenery pictures here again(since some of them could leak my location)

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Tags for my AUs(more will be added as I talk about more of my AUs):

#fullmetal alchemist dsmp au

#fma dsmp au

#we'll meet again

#we'll meet again au

#we'll meet again dsmp au

#wma dsmp au

#wma au

#toh dsmp au

#the owl house dsmp au

#owl house dsmp au

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Ask Box: Currently open

You can ask me about my AUs, headcanons, and stuff like that :> Just don't be weird and have common sense when sending an ask

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Basic Boundaries(I guess you could call them boundaries?):

Have a basic sense of human decency and commen sense in comments, asks, or reblogs.

Reblogs and comments are definitely welcome, just no reposting or claiming my art(even though I doubt my art is worth claiming)

My DSMP/QSMP posts are ONLY TALKING ABOUT THE CHARACTER, not the creator, please don't harass me in the ask box, comments, and etc about that kind of stuff

#blog intro #blog info #tag guide #blog introduction #blog information #blog tag guide

[petalruesim]

I'm really unhappy with MTS right now. I understand the need for moderating content on their site and I don't even mind waiting in the queue for my content to be posted. What bothers me is the inconsistency in moderation and the blatant disregard for my inquiries.

The first time I used their 'Bypass Queue' feature, my post was removed for missing comparison pictures. According to their rules, minor issues should prompt a comment from a moderator requesting fixes within three days, while major issues should be returned to the queue marked as 'Changes Required' with a seven-day deadline.

They didn't do any of that. The post was pulled out, marked as 'Rejected' and this all happened a day after it was posted. Although an admin restored the post, they didn't address what happened or respond to my questions and was like 'here I restored it, it's back in the queue so fix it before the moderation'.

I admit it was an oversight on my part not to include comparison pictures for a renovation lot, but why was my first upload—a renovation of Sunset Valley's Library without comparison pictures—approved? That's where the inconsistency of their moderation comes in. This is strike one.

The second time, I received a 'Changes Required' warning for my campground lot because I didn't include a link for custom content in their designated section. However, before I could even read the email, I received another email saying it was already approved.

I asked a clarification on what happened due to their CC Credit section was supposed to be for cc included in the download file. But I never include those items in my downloads and offer a link instead to download it separately which I placed in the description of the lot.

I wanted to make sure that it never happened again so I asked nicely on the correct process for such things but I still never received a reply. Okay, it's fine, it was approved already so I thought they didn't want to respond to something that was already 'resolved' on their end. Strike two.

This time, I received a 'Changes Required' warning for my beach lot. And guess what the reason was? Yes, the same issue as before, no link of the store content and a moderator left a "feedback" to put the link in their Custom Content Credit section of their upload wizard.

I had clearly provided all necessary information in my description even providing a direct link in bold and underlined to make it even clearer for everyone and a disclaimer that it is not required nor included in the download file. Like how blind can you be to not see that?

I informed them of this, pointing out that it was the second time this had happened. An administrator intervened, instead of the moderator who moderated that post, and basically admitted it was a mistake. Strike three.

It's frustrating that despite having clear rules, some moderators don't follow them or take accountability for their oversights. I was initially willing to give them the benefit of the doubt but this ongoing inconsistency and ignoring my valid questions is infuriating.

MTS may have a large audience for TS3 content, and it's nice to see comments and download counts increase, but it's no longer worth it for me. I no longer care about download counts or followers these days and I have no interest in moving to Patreon or monetizing my downloads with ads so I don't need any other exposure.

I just want to share my old builds because it took time to build them and they were wasting away in my folders. I wish there was a better site suited for TS3 creators and I guess I'll focus more on Tumblr from now on.

XOXO, petalrue🌺

#i just want to vent