#sand cat sunday :)

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

​GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dream manipulation. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Plot related cigarette use. Dubious consent.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: So I know I initially billed this as a two shot but the story has run away with me in the most lovely way. Part 3 will be coming soon. Thank you for all your kind responses to part 1, it honestly means so much to me. Hope you enjoy this one too. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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The veil of sleep comes down upon your weary body with a feather-light touch, trying to coax your mind back into the world of dreams.

Dreamscapes have been a whole new experience for you in the past month of your life. Before, you would wake with no recollection of what had played out. Not even the slightest inkling. Now, you remember everything.

They are staggering; bursting with details and ideas beyond your most outlandish daytime imaginings. The emotions that are conjured by them, both when asleep and also awake are just as bold.

And even though it's been 23 nights since it started you are still finding them predominantly jarring and disorientating. You are baffled by how other people cope with the sheer vividness. The unpredictability. Maybe they have become desensitised. You can only hope that the same will happen for you in time.

One thing you tell yourself with each sunrise:

Thank goodness they weren't nightmares.

At least, you don't think they are. There's no resemblance between yours and what you have heard others describe over the years, nor to those outlined in a dream decoding book you had checked out of the library last week. There's no obvious threat or fear. No re-living of traumatic events. Just weird subtext.

The first dream found you standing barefoot on a beach. A mirage distorted the particulars of the scene making it impossible to see further than half a meter in front of you. The temperature of the sand under your soles was verging on painful and as such, it forced you to walk into the unknown before you.

A groaning wind started to brew and lifted the sand into sparkling flurries. You shielded your eyes from the abrasive particles.

The sun was at its apex when you heard the ear splitting bangs. Unmistakably gun shots; you didn't last much longer in the dream and woke with a start.

For the next week, your dreams had been like a series of video clips edited into a supercut.

Raven wings. Black cats. Hellfire. Ruby red glow. Sprawling library shelves. Landscapes hewn by earthquake fissures. Hotel corridors. A handsome, blond haired man wearing sunglasses, holding a blood covered knife.

If you didn't know any better, you would begin to suspect that your new box of tea bags had been laced with a psychedelic. Alas, no. Your hypothesis was unequivocally disproved when you friends had been completely unaffected after stopping by for a Sunday afternoon catch up.

This quick fire of snapshots eventually stopped, transforming into lucid long form dreams. You often think back to the first one where it happened.

Standing in the the empty room, and the appearance of the figure dressed in black. The colour that had flashed in their midnight eyes had the quality of liquid silver. Sometimes you wonder if you see the same image in other dreams, standing in amongst a crowd.

From that point on, regardless of what dream you are in, you cannot shake the intuitive prickle down your spine that tells you someone is watching you.

You reason that it is nothing to be concerned about. Humans dream, and you cannot deny that some of them - swimming in a sea of clouds, re-visiting childhood haunts, trying out superpowers - have been quite fun.

You roll over on to your left side and close your eyes.

You dream.

The room you see is expansive in breadth and depth. Impressive windows bring brilliant light into the space which bounces off the ivory stone of the floors and walls. There are statues positioned at equidistant intervals, implying that the chamber is a gallery of sorts.

One effigy, fashioned from bronze, and rich in colour draws your attention. The lines and curves of its form intrigue you, despite not knowing the creature it was portraying.

You are about to move on when the feeling of being watched sparks through your skeleton.

Everything changes.

Clarity gives way to haze. Sun is swapped for moon.

You see a man across the room. He stands with a perfect posture. Graceful, powerful. His elbows are bent, fingers interlaced, palms facing upwards. Sheer black fabric floats around his frame. It moves languidly, giving glimpses of his bare body beneath.

The man's face is imperceptible. The distance between you too great but somehow you know you are the focus of his attention.

His robes fall to the floor with a gossamer sigh. The pale, unmarked skin of his slight form glows beautifully in the moonlight. You look down in embarrassment as arousal flushes through you, and you see that you are suddenly as naked as he is.

You gasp, and snap your gaze back up.

The sight you see is rather unexpected. The man is intimately touching himself.

You feel compelled to mirror him. You immediately reach between your legs. The man groans as you make contact.

All it takes is a little bit of attention on your clit before you are ready to slide two fingers into your core. The noise you make at the feeling of the stretch is salacious. The man echoes you with a sound that is just as dirty.

It spurs you on and you burrow deeper.

You curl your fingers until your legs are weak and quivering. You long to sink to your knees so you can finish in a more comfortable position yet you can't. An invisible force is preventing you.

It keeps you on display.

Just like the statues to your left.

You wonder if it is for the man's benefit.

You try to focus on him but it is impossible to do so through the trembling glaze over your eyes. All you are able to sense from him now is the sound of the rhythmic pump of his palm around his cock and his panting breaths.

Desperate whines escape your lips. You are teetering on the edge of an orgasm but you can't seem to lose your balance and fall into the abyss. The unsteadiness in your legs is too much of a distraction. You rub at your clit again in the hope that it will bring the satisfaction you need.

It does nothing.

You are so frustrated by your body's disobedience that it is almost painful.

"Please. Please. Please," you mutter under your breath.

A voice suddenly speaks next to you ear. A velvet voice with the timbre of a thunder rumble. It pours like a soothing syrup into your brain and commands you to do exactly as it bids.

"Let go."

You climax intensely, crying out in relief, squirting all over your fingers and onto your hand as you legs finally give way.

The fall jolts you back into consciousness and you wake with a barely contained scream of pleasure in your throat and adrenaline lighting up your nervous system.

Daylight is peeking through a little gap in the curtains. You take a deep, grounding breath.

That was obscene.

The context, the actions, the sounds. That sultry voice at the end. From the throbbing in your vulva and the twitching of your legs it seems like you didn't just finish in the dream.

There is really no point in looking it up in the dream decoding book.

You were clearly horny on a subconscious level. Or craving attention, hence the exhibitionist behaviour. The latter is not usually in your nature to seek out but if it is the reason, you might not have to wait long before the desire is fulfilled. There is a work event happening this evening that may require you to accept an award and address the crowd.

You love this time of year where community projects get recognition; a nomination alone is a sure-fire way of garnering publicity which in turn helps the charity's outreach.

But first, a normal day at the office. You throw back the covers and go straight to the bathroom to rinse off the evidence of your wet dream.

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

Your right hand connects with the metal push plate of the function space's front door. The heels of your boots click and clack as you cross the threshold, moving from floor board to paving slab.

It's fortuitous that you brought a long, thick coat with you this evening for the wind is wintery and unforgiving. You stay close to the wall of the building to try and shelter from it as much as possible.

The pavements are slick with recent precipitation, streetlamps bouncing off of the water with caustic white light.

Then you see him; a figure cut from shadow.

He's breathing in such a laboured way that you wonder if he is sick.

Your phone is still inside the venue, currently being guarded by a colleague along with your bag but it wouldn't take long to retrieve it and call for medical assistance.

"You okay?" Concern colours the simple question.

His reply comes quickly and assertively, "I am well, thank you."

You nod, not entirely convinced for the stranger's response was as stiff as his posture, and reach inside the pocket of your coat for the box of cigarettes and lighter stashed within.

You settle one of the sticks between your lips and use your thumb to bring forth a flame. The crackle of smouldering paper and tobacco perforates the damp air and you take a needy drag. The nicotine taints and tantalises in equal measure, filling you with guilt and relief. You've been trying to give up but the little voice inside your head had won this evening. You close your eyes and focus on the pleasure it brings before flicking some ash into the tray mounted to the wall.

Your attention now back on your surroundings, the stranger steps into the scope of the streetlight. The angles of his cheekbones, jaw and nose are accentuated to an incredible extent in the gleam. His dark hair is being buffeted about the wind, locks of it very close to falling in the blue eyes that are unwaveringly trained on you. He begins to talk again, showcasing his deep baritone.

"I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you just now. It is not how I envisaged our first interaction transpiring. I hope that you can forgive me for my deception."

You laugh nervously and take another quick drag. "It makes no difference if you're honest with me or not. I don't know you."

"You are correct. You don't know me. Not yet -"

"Oh," you cut in quickly. "I'm not looking for a hook up."

While you cannot deny that he is arrestingly beautiful, you are technically working and have never been one for one-night stands.

"You mistake my meaning. I have been searching for you for so long. I oftentimes doubted your existence however I was wrong and I find myself humbled to be in your presence at last."

The grandiose declaration is one of the stranger things you have heard in your life and you used to deal with drunken patrons when you worked at a university bar. Maybe he was intoxicated; it would explain a lot.

"Look, this might work on other people but I just came out here to have a cigarette -"

It is his turn to interrupt you now. "You will have no need of those going forward. Your addiction to them will be replaced by me."

"Excuse me?"

You are trying to sound incredulous, however, inside you are rather frightened by the turn the conversation has taken. His gaze is not helping either.

The crystalline eyes are embodying every part of the descriptor; a hard, chill inducing blue. Ash drops from the smouldering cigarette as a tremble of fear rattles through you. The man sees this and the ice suddenly melts to a warmer hue.

His tone turns soft and gentle. "We are supposed to be together. Our union is fated."

He's staring at you expectantly even after your two attempts at rejection. You swiftly stub out the part-finished cigarette and take ownership in ending the interaction.

"I've had enough of this. I'm going back inside now. If you try and follow me, I will speak to the venue's management. If you are still here when I leave later, I will call the police."

You turn towards the door.

He calls your name. Your full name. Middle name too.

Despite your brain chanting at you to go inside, you can't stop yourself from looking back at him. "H-how do you know my full name?"

The profound rumble of his voice resonates deep in your ears. "I know everything about you, Y/N."

He's right in front of you now. His posture is bordering between desperate and predatory. Like he can't quite decide if he is seeking comfort from you, or if he wants to consume you.

You are fumbling behind you to find the door handle. "Please get away from me," you say hoarsely.

He reaches for your hand.

You jump back and struggle to get out of his grip but his strength is inhumanly strong. His skin of his palm is glacial against yours and yet somehow, the touch makes heat snake up your arm and settle in your chest.

You become aware of an internal feeling that you've always had, like that of chapped lips. Low level but something that constantly nags. Something that existed every minute of your life until the moment he touched you.

You grip his hand and look up at his face in astonishment.

"Good. That's it. Look into my eyes. See what you know is there."

You do as he says, totally stunned by the depths that seem to reside within them. It's as if there are universes suspended inside. Maybe there are. Perhaps you could float among the celestial bodies if you asked him to show you how.

You feel so alive and overstimulated that you welcome the delirious thoughts taking over your mind.

You welcome him.

It's like there is a cord connected between your heart and his that is shortening in length. The intensity scares you.

You obey, feet moving of their own accord and then you are standing before him, just centimetres apart.

"Give into the pull," he urges darkly, sensing your anxiety.

He smiles triumphantly and presses you flush against his body.

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. More heat sears through you from the additional skin-on-skin contact.

Your peripheral vision closes tighter and tighter with every passing moment. The outside world is gone.

He leans in further and you wonder hazily if he is going to kiss you or break your neck. Both options are equally viable given the behaviour he has exhibited. You keep staring at him regardless.

His irises flash silver as he intones his next sentence. "Y/N, I claim you as my soulmate."

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Taglist: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt

"Am I your dream girl? You think of me in bed. But you could never hold me. You like me better in your head."

#the sandman #sandman #the sandman netflix #the sandman 2022 #the sandman fic #the sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #morpheus #lord morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus/dream #morpheus/dream x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #dream #dream x reader #dream smut #dream of the endless smut #the endless #the dreaming #dark!morpheus #tom sturridge #fanfic #soulmates #angst #saskia writes sandman #Spotify

[ddagent]

Next Fic

So, my previous fic poll ended in a draw, so let's have another go! A few different options, this time, with some supporting evidence for each to help you make your decision!

May I present the poll:

And the supporting evidence!

Option 1:

"Uh, boss, your friend is here."

Detective Anthony Crowley looked up from his notebook and turned his golden gaze back to the crime scene tape a few feet away. Behind the white and blue tape, highlighted by the flashing lights of the police cars, was Reverend Aziraphale Fell. Clerical collar, sunny disposition, and two takeaway cups in his hand. One of those was six espresso; one was hot cocoa. Ridiculous man. Snarling, Crowley shoved his notebook into the back pocket of his trousers and stomped through sand to shoo Aziraphale back to his church.

"You can't be here."

"But—" Aziraphale began, a pout forming on those perfect lips. "—I can help. I was ever so good before—"

"—we were nine, Aziraphale. We're not making up mysteries and legging it in and out of caravans and arcades anymore." Which was a pity. The mysteries Aziraphale always dreamt up for them as children were less brutal than the one that currently laid before him. Huffing out a sigh, Crowley took the proffered coffee and gestured for a uniformed officer, Constable Honey, to escort the vicar out. "I'm sorry, Aziraphale. I'll see you on Sunday, yeah?"

"We'll see each other before then, no doubt." Sure, sure. "When you realise you do need my help."

Option 2:

Swiveling his hips, Crowley slid through the open bathroom window of AZ Fell and Co. Even though the bookshop had been broken into three times now, the proprietor, one Aziraphale Fell, still had no sense of security. No locks on the window, no alarms, no cute dogs that Crowley would have to pet and stroke in order to disarm. No, Crowley was free to move around the shop as he pleased. Maybe it was because Crowley had never actually stolen anything that Aziraphale felt safe.

Bah. Crowley didn't want him to feel safe. He wanted him to feel scared. Crowley could do anything here. Anything.

Slipping into the living room, Crowley noted that Aziraphale had fallen asleep on the sofa again. A threadbare blanket was pooled at his feet; a copy of some eighteenth century novel had fallen to the floor. Moving deftly, Crowley adjusted the blanket, placed the book upon the table, and tipped out Aziraphale's hot chocolate. There. Mental insecurity. Aziraphale would know that someone had been in there. Someone who could do anything.

As it was, Crowley committed the most heinous act of all: he left a rare book upon Aziraphale's coffee table, a product of his earlier activities. Gabriel Archer, that twat, wouldn't miss it. And it would certainly give the bookshop's profits a major boost.

Option 3:

"Excuse me, I was wondering whether you had a VHS copy of The Eastern Gate?"

From behind the counter, Crowley didn't even bother turning around to address his customer, so ridiculous was his request. Yes, Crowley had a copy of The Eastern Gate: it was one of Aziraphale Fell's early works, a black and white film focusing on an angel overseeing Eden. It had been very well-received at the time but public interest quickly waned. For years it spent time on BBC 2 on Sunday afternoons - that was where Crowley's copy came from, recorded with great care and attention onto VHS.

He had one copy. And it was not for sale.

The customer cleared his throat. "Dear boy, I do wonder if you could—"

"—in a minute. This is the best part." The Bastille had come out in the 90s, part of the interest in musketeers and the French revolution. Aziraphale looked delectable in the heavy iron chains and all those pretty frills. Just gorgeous. But, with great reluctance, Crowley pressed pause and turned to 'attend' to the customer who wanted the impossible, even in Crowley's memorabilia shop. "Listen—"

But Crowley didn't say another word. Because his customer wasn't just interested in Aziraphale Fell. He was Aziraphale Fell.

Option 4:

"Crowley, can I ask you a question about Twitter?"

Crowley immediately zoned back into the room. He had been fixated on the slight tinge of silver and white at the temples of Aziraphale's blond hair; the curve of his mouth as he indulged in dessert at The Ritz. For some time, Aziraphale had been discussing his latest project: a gripping drama for ITV featuring a gay romance between two childhood friends. It was the sort of project that Aziraphale did often - but this time he had been paired opposite BAFTA winning actor Raphael Archer.

Not that Crowley was jealous or anything. He hadn't campaigned for the role. Hadn't sent an audition tape and told he wouldn't be believable starring opposite Aziraphale in a romantic role. As if he hadn't spent thirty years yearning for this man. Oh, they had played detectives together, odd-couple roles, best friends. But never romantic leads.

And the first time a project came up that was perfect, Crowley lost to Raphael Archer. That Scottish twat. Breathe, Crowley. "What about Twitter, Angel?"

"I don't use it." No kidding. "But Raph does." Oh, Raph is it? "And a lot of his followers have started using a hashtag. Something #raphaphale?"

Crowley's glass immediately shattered. Thirty years as Aziraphale's shadow and this Scottish wanker gets a ship tag?

Option 5:

He was here again. Sitting in the front row with his delicately pressed tan trousers, neat little waistcoat with the gold buttons, and the delicate puff of blond curls. In his lap (which Crowley noted, not for the first time, was rather spacious) was his paddle, with the number 666 printed in red lettering. Since the man had started attending the auctions at Eden's Auction House, Crowley'd had fantasies about that paddle.

How the hell was he going to make it through today's auction?

Still, Crowley was a professional (allegedly). So, he took to the podium, gavel in hand, and addressed the crowd. "Lot number one is a collection of Austen, incredibly preserved from the period, featuring four books - including Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion." He swallowed a number of sarcastic remarks, bit back his need to share the crackpot biography he'd read about diamond heists and whisky smuggling. Not the crowd. Never the crowd. "Shall we start the bidding at fifteen hundred?"

The man was the first to take the bid. As it was accepted, he wiggled happily in his chair. Oh, Crowley was gone.

#aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens #fic poll #in my head raphael is played by alan cumming

[smurphyse]

Lead Paint & Salt Air | Spencer Reid

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 of Routine Maintenance

Warnings: mentions of Diana's death (not explicit), mini-PTSD flashback for Spencer, Spencer's horny and lonely, also cranky.

Summary: After two years on the road, Spencer breaks down in Thunderbird, California. In only a few hours he meets some of the most eclectic townspeople of his life when all he wants is some peace and quiet.

(Note: Because of the nature of this fic, being inspired by one of my favorite bands, the chapters will be a bit longer than usual to fit with the vibe of the song they're named after <3)

After he was released from Milburn, Spencer’s mother passed in her sleep. It was blessedly quick and painless for her, and though it tore him apart he was grateful at least for that. Finally, Spencer had nothing pressing tying him to D.C., and he followed Gideon’s lead so many years later. Buying a Jeep and taking to the road, Spencer lived out of a suitcase as he’d done for years.

Instead of searching for serial killers, he began a long search for himself.

For two years now, he’d asked miles of pavement and yellow dashed paint who he was. He questioned the night sky and the morning sun over countless towns and cities. He’d even asked the mountaintops and hillsides, and yet he had found no answer.

Spencer started drinking again. It seemed the thing to do in shitty motel rooms and dive bars, putting on a few pounds with each greasy dish that accompanied his bourbon. The bags under his eyes were no longer from a lack of sleep - though he still didn’t get much because of the nightmares - but instead they stained his skin from the exhaustion of that ever-present question in his mind.

Is this who I am now?

Am I broken? Am I beyond salvation? Am I as worthless and lonely as I feel every single fucking day? 

It all started when he tried to strangle a pregnant Cat Adams in an interrogation room. He slid down the cold concrete wall in a prison too much like the one he’d been released from when it first erupted through his brain like a bullet. One question led to another… and another and another, but they always started with that one.

Is this who I am now?

At this point, he was sure he’d never find the answer. Instead, he’d contented himself with wandering, exploring all that America currently had to offer. One day he’d move internationally, maybe go back to Paris where he’d spent time with his mother.

He’d happened upon Thunderbird, California early that morning. Worried he was lost forever in the Cali wilderness, Spencer followed the rising sun through winding forest roads as it streamed through the trees. After a few hours cautiously eyeing the offshutes of paths and trails, he finally burst into civilization. 

It was a tiny beach town. A handful of buildings littered the main street, string lights connecting them along with the wind-blown piles of sand scattering along the road. Houses haphazardly were plopped along the varying hills that hid it from the outside world, but it was beautiful.

The shops on the main strip were brightly painted, handmade signs reading Billy’s Bait and Go!, Sue Says Sew, and Gil’s Grocery proudly proclaiming strangely named stores that gave little question for what they did to service the town. Spencer had yet to spot a normal chair on the porches outside- they were all either beach chairs or porch swings swaying in the light breeze. 

Sunday was the Fourth of July, and the town was in full patriotic mode. Red, white, and blue windmills and flags sprung up from nearly every lawn. A fireworks stand was smack dab in the middle of a roundabout in the center of town, with a few people hurrying across the curved road to it. A man in an oversized Uncle Sam hat handed out sparklers to the kids, smiling wider than the sun.

Spencer spent the morning in the town diner, Bean There, looking out the large window as the small town came to life. It was apparently known for its local coffee. Spencer had to admit it was good, on the top ten list he’d tried in his travels. Though the best coffee had been found in a China Town shop in lower Indiana, which he was loath to admit. 

He sat in a booth in the corner, people watching as the crowds picked up and petered out. All sorts of people filtered through the door as they used the diner as a waystation before heading out to the rest of their days. In a town of less than five hundred, any outsider was noticed immediately, and Spencer was no different. Nearly every person who came in eyeballed his Jeep on the way through the door and squinted at Spencer before ordering. He didn’t mind, he was used to being the outsider, had been his whole life. 

He picked at a plate of waffles and bacon, holding a book loosely in one hand as he enjoyed the morning sunlight through the window. His waitress, Michelle, had given him a side-eye after his first hour, unsure what to make of him. He simply tipped her early, going with a twenty-five percent tip of what he’d already ordered. She was much more amenable after that, mostly leaving him alone but checking in periodically with a smile and a refill. 

His hair was still long. He had refused to cut it, even after JJ's insistence over video chats. He liked it, especially liked these new trends of men finally getting to put their hair in a bun. He liked the look, and had been enamored with the Nordic styles he read of in his youth, braiding and intricate knots decorated with silver and beads. He missed those days in Earth’s history.

He wore a pair of jeans and a purple flannel shirt with his boots. Though he often preferred suits, this style had appealed to him greatly in his early days on the road. He’d been called a “hipster” more times than he cared to admit, but he felt strong in his fashion choices. He knew he looked good, and Spencer had long since gotten used to the beard. Shaving on the road was hard and without the dress code constrictions of the BAU, he was happy to grow it out.

“Hey, Honey!” Michelle chuckled from behind the counter as the front door swung open. It chimed in greeting as two people stepped through and into the cool air-conditioned building. Spencer tried not to stare at the woman, but he’d spent a good long time on the road and it had been a while… and she was gorgeous.

Her hair poofed around her shoulders, eyes alight with an animated excitement. Copper toned muscles peeked out of a tank top and tight jeans, a red flannel tied around her hips as she sauntered into the diner. She had her arm looped around an older man’s waist, who hugged her tightly back before letting go as they approached the counter.

He had a clearly visible Ranger tattoo on his bicep, both of which were bigger than Spencer’s head. With his slicked back salt and pepper curls and giant frame, Spencer knew he wanted nothing to do with being on that man’s bad side.

“Mornin’, Chelle,” she smiled, easing into the stool across from the waitress. The man stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders, looking curiously around the diner as many patrons had that morning. His gaze landed on Spencer, who quickly glanced out the window to avoid his hard stare. "How's it going?"

“Oh, you know how it goes- a flirt here, a proposal there,” Michelle jokingly lamented as she pulled two mugs out from under the bar. She snagged the carafe from the coffee maker and filled them before sliding them across the counter.

“Oof,” the man chuckled heartily, finally tearing his dark eyes from Spencer and to her. “Sounds exhausting.”

“You joke all you want, Rose Delgado,” Michelle scolded, her playful smirk turning to a hard glare. She pointed at him, “I am a catch and everyone here knows it.”

Rose held up his hands in defeat, “My bad, Chelle. You’re absolutely right. If I were a few years younger I’d try for your hand too.”

“Who says you can’t?” she quipped with a wink, and Rose went bright red.

He dragged an awkward hand across the back of his neck and laughed, "Huh, well, I think Mattie May might have a problem with that."

The women laughed along with him, and Michelle tapped the counter lightly with her fingers, "I'll put your usual in. Extra powdered sugar, right, Honey?"

The girl referred to now forever in Spencer's brain as Honey nodded, licking her lips. "It's gonna be a long day, Chelle. Give me as much coke as you got."

Rose smacked the top of her head in jest, and Honey looked up to stick her tongue out at him. She glanced over at Spencer as he slid out of the booth, and even as he made his way over to the counter to pay she never averted her gaze. A gold ring was tied to a string necklace around her neck, and it was all Spencer had not to follow it to where the pendant rested between her boobs.

"You drive that Jeep outside?" Rose grumbled as he approached. Michelle came back up to the counter as Spencer tugged his wallet out of his pocket. 

He handed her more than enough for his meal and another tip, then nodded, "Yeah, that's mine."

"Your axle is about to crack. You should get it looked at."

"I'll do that," Spencer replied politely. He was used to strangers telling him things he didn't really need to do by now. They often took one look at him and deemed him an academic, which wasn't wrong, but to them it usually meant he couldn't take care of things himself. 

"Here's your change, baby," Michelle interrupted, reaching across the counter with a ten in one hand and a to-go cup of joe in the other. Rose stared at him, as did Honey, but Spencer just shook his head at the waitress. 

"Keep it. Thanks for letting me keep your booth for a few hours."

He swept up the cup, gave her a nod and turned on his heel out the door. She laughed to herself and shouted after him, "Come back soon!

"Boy tips real good," he heard her just before the door closed behind him. "He can live in that booth if he wants."

Spencer smiled to himself as he hopped in the jeep. This was a nice town, but he'd been through a lot of nice towns. He had to keep moving, searching, coming up with a reason for leaving his friends behind to worry about him. 

He decided to see the beach before going back through the trees. He wanted to see Oregon, but his phone didn't work so well in these isolated parts of the state so he'd have to buy a map somewhere. He made note of the lone gas station in town, then followed the signs to the sand.

It was early, but there were people in the water. Spencer wasn't much for swimming, so he parked his jeep in the small lot and pulled a blanket out of the back. He found a secluded spot on a hill, unfurled the blanket and sat down. He took off his flannel and shoes, leaning back to enjoy the view. 

The sounds of shrieking laughter and the waves lulled him into complacency as he sipped his coffee. The sun was hot, but not too bad for this early in the morning. Unlike DC, this area wasn't humid, and the soft winds off the water cooled his skin.

Is this who I am now? Popped into his mind, always at the worst times. Once upon a time, he was a strong and capable man, an elite FBI agent always willing to go the extra mile. Now, even sitting here exhausted him. Speaking to the townsfolk at the counter exhausted him, and all he wanted to do was have a drink and go to sleep.

Is this who I am now? He wondered. Am I the guy who has nowhere to go and nowhere to be except the road, running far away from my past and the pain that follows?

He supposed so. Being out here hurt less than sitting in his empty apartment, looking into the void of his missing heart and wondering just when exactly his life passed him by. He always thought he’d have a family, kids and a wife by now. He thought he’d have a house and people to depend on him, that he’d love and they’d never wonder if it was out of obligation or a bond from trauma like it had been with the BAU.

Sure, they called him every week or so, just to see if he was okay. Their voices were always laced with concern, but a dripping tiredness of having to worry about the kid. Spencer hadn’t been a kid in a long time, and with each new trauma their babying of him became just another weight added to his shoulders. Another reason to prove himself.

It never worked.

Deciding it was time to go, time to run away again, Spencer dragged himself away from the beach and its false allure of peacefulness. He rolled up the blanket and put it back in its usual spot in the back of the jeep, put his coffee in the cupholder and he was off again.

Coming up the bend from the beach, he spotted a pothole one second too late. The back wheel slammed into it with a loud crunch, and before he knew it the back of the jeep collapsed into the sand-dusted street. 

“Oh, goddamnit,” he grunted, punching the passenger seat in irritation. 

Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket, and sure enough he had zero reception. He groaned and let his head fall back on the headrest, his eyes shutting. Sucking in a deep breath, Spencer counted to five before letting it go. 

“Yer axle’s cracked!” a voice came from the side, and when Spencer opened his eyes he spotted a beat up truck next to him on the road. It had cans dangling from the sides on old fishing line and other random trash piled up in the back, a boat hitched to the back of it.

An old grizzled man leaned heavily out the window, pointing at the back of the jeep and nodding, “Yep, y’ain’t goin’ nowhere, son.”

“Yeah,” Spencer snapped, furrowing his brows at him. “I noticed.” 

“Ain’t no need to take a tone with me, boy,” the man grumbled. He pointed a gnarled finger at Spencer that shook in the air. “I’mma help you.”

Spencer didn’t have a lot of faith that his twisted tree limb of a man was going to be much help to him, so he waved his cell phone at him. “I’m sorry. Can I borrow your phone so I can call a tow truck?”

The man frowned with an exaggerated bottom lip and shook his head animatedly, “I ain’t got one of them things! Ya think I want brain cancer or somethin’?”

“Uhm… no?” Spencer began, but he cut him off with a beckoning hand.

“No. I don’t,” the man nodded firmly. “C’mon, I’ll take ya up to Rose’s place.”

Spencer groaned internally at the name he’d heard this morning. It was the same squinting old man who told him the axle was about to crack in the first place. Then he brightened up at the thought of getting to see Honey and her tight tank top again.

“I ain’t got all day, son. I’m busy, y’see,” the man called, breaking through his thoughts. Spencer nodded to himself and turned off the jeep before getting out and snagging his suitcase from the back seat. 

He rounded the truck only to open the creaky door and find almost an entire carton of cigarette packs littering the floorboards, along with a variety of loose tools and nails. Spencer climbed into the cab and closed the door behind him, setting the suitcase on his lap. It was a travel size, just big enough for a week’s worth of clothes and shoes. He kept his toiletries in another bag in the back of his car.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said softly. “Sorry for snapping. It’s been a bit of a day for me.”

The man chuckled, a little choked huffing sound from deep in his throat. “It’s been a bit of a day for everyone, son. It’s only nine in the mornin’!”

Deciding it was better to scoff in his mind and not at this weird stranger driving him through town, Spencer nodded. The brightly colored shops passed them by as the man drove at a snail’s pace, stopping for the allotted three seconds at each stop sign and never using his blinker.

“Name’s Nell, by the by,” the old man declared suddenly, jerking Spencer out of his reverie of the town. “Not that you asked. What’s yer story, son?”

“Uh, I’m Spencer,” he said slowly. Awkwardly. “I’m just traveling.”

“That’s a sheht story. No pizzazz, no flare. Ain’t you got stories where yer from?”

How do you like dead mutilated bodies? He wondered. Spencer laughed quietly and made sure to stare straight ahead. Nell’s eyes flicked quickly to his each time he looked over, and the truck veered with them. 

“I’m not much of a storyteller, Nell.”

“Shame,” Nell muttered, his top lip twitching as he seemed to think very hard about that. “Puppy dog eyes like that, you could get a peach and a half to follow you home if you could string a good yarn.”

Spencer struggled to follow that metaphor, so he just gave a noncommittal hum. The thought of a man who looked like Nell referring to a woman as a ‘peach’ left a bad taste in his mouth. 

"You ever been this way up before?"

"Nope. Just passing through on my way to Oregon."

"Ah, sheht," Nell grumbled. He slapped the steering wheel and pointed at nothing. "Oregon ain't got nothin' on Thundabird! I came here after 'Nam and never looked back!"

Spencer thanked God that Rossi didn't talk like this, not that fighting in Vietnam caused mushmouth, but he was getting irritated. 

"Lotsa people round here just showed up. Never left. It's a town of strays, y’know? Might find somethin' purty and never wanna leave like I did."

"Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, not really paying much attention. He gazed longingly out the window and decided he could have walked faster than Nell drove. 

"Met my Bernie and never could leave. She’s purtier than a seagull at sunset, I swear it.”

“You have any kids?”

“Nah, she’s small. Not much more’n me can fit in there most of the time.”

Spencer made a face and turned to him, disgusted, “What?”

Nell leaned forward and rubbed a hand across the dash of his nasty truck, “She’s small, but she’s a beaut! All I ever needed.”

Thankfully, they finally made their way up to the diner. Delgado’s lay catty corner to it, right next to a small inn called The Thunderbird Inn. Spencer got the hell out of Bernie as fast as he could and waved a hand to Nell. “Thanks for the ride, Nell. It’s been a trip.”

“Anytime, son!” Nell chuckled manically, and it was all Spencer had not to grimace. He pulled out of the small driveway slower than molasses, almost hit a stop sign, then rumbled down the street. 

Spencer took a steadying breath and shook his head before going into the mechanic's shop. A small reception area stood in the front, the smell of grease and exhaust puffing in from the door leading through the garage. There was a window in front of a desk where a small woman sat in a headscarf. She wore a brightly colored floral shirt, her braids piled high above her head as she gave him a small wave. 

"How ya doing, baby?" she asked with an easy grin. The tension in Spencer's shoulders from talking to Nell eased in just one look at that smile. There was also something about an older black lady calling him ‘baby’ in a soft voice that made him feel better for some reason.

"Uhm, my car broke down," Spencer said, pointing behind him. 

She nodded, "I'm Mattie May. Rose told me you might be making your way here."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Spencer snarked, rolling his eyes. 

"Don't take it personal," Mattie May hushed. She stood and rounded the corner, then waved for him to follow. "Man's got a sixth sense about cars. In fact, I first met him when I broke down on the side of the road outside of town."

Spencer followed Mattie May behind the counter and into a small kitchen area. He eyeballed the fridge as she puttered around. Pictures of Rose, Mattie May, and Honey littered the front. Some had group photos with a few of the eclectic townsfolk he'd run into already, others with people he didn't know. 

"He asked me to dinner before fixing my car. I fell head over heels and never looked back. Moved here a few months later." She pulled out a fresh pot of coffee and poured him some in a brightly colored mug with flowers on it, then one for herself. "You take sugar, baby?"

"Lots of it," he muttered, leaning down to look at more of the photographs. "This town's like the Bermuda triangle, huh?"

"For lost souls… yeah, I guess it is," she said softly. Her skin glimmered under the fluorescent lighting, dark and beautiful against the bright purples and pinks of her shirt and beaming smile. "You lost?"

Spencer stood up sharply, suddenly rocked with defensiveness. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "How long do you think the repairs will take?"

Mattie May clicked her teeth and sighed, then handed him the mug. "Rose will have to tell you that. If he doesn't have the parts you can stay at the inn. I'll have Honey make you up a room."

Spencer took a sip. It was fantastic, obviously from the same beans the diner used. "Is she your daughter? I saw her with Rose at the diner."

"We've definitely taken to her like she is. Another stray that showed up a while back and never wanted to leave."

"Do people who come here ever leave?" he snarked, flashing her a look. 

"People land where they need to. Sometimes that's here."

"I'd like to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. No offense."

Mattie May smirked at him and leaned against the counter, "None taken."

"Axle cracked, huh?" a familiar deep voice came from behind them. Spencer looked to find Rose leaning over the front counter and watching him expectantly. 

"Right in half."

"Hmmm," he grunted, nodding to himself. "I'll send out Rico."

"The man's got somewhere to be, Rose," Mattie May said, waving her cup at her husband. "How long will it take to repair?"

Rose pushed himself off the counter with a sigh. He ran a hand over his face as he ambled slowly into the small kitchen, then shrugged. "I don't have that model in stock as nobody in town drives it. Could take a month for the parts to come in."

"A month?" Spencer asked sharply. He set the cup down harder on the counter than he meant to, and it hit with a clatter. "I can't sit around here for a month."

“Or more.” Rose shrugged, "UPS only comes through here once a month by boat. It's too hard to get through the mountains."

"Where you off to in such a hurry?" Mattie May asked softly. She set a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft squeeze. "If you gotta be somewhere soon, I'm sure we can find you a ride."

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck roughly in irritation. "Nowhere. I just don't like sitting in one place too long."

"You some sorta drifter?" Rose asked, eyeing him with a hard glare. Spencer was sure he looked the part with his old flannel, messy hair, beard and battered boots, but he didn’t like the thought after his previous line of work. 

Spencer glared right back, his jaw set tightly. Mattie May blew out a breath and gave him another squeeze before letting her hand fall from his shoulder. “It might do you good to sit still for a while, then. C’mon, baby, I’ll take you over to Honey and we’ll get you a room.”

Mattie May steered him around Rose and out the front door. A loud boom! Made him jerk away from her and flinch from the sound. A few errant pop pop pops followed, and when he heard her soft laughter he looked up to see kids lighting fireworks in the street.

His vision dragged, his blood pounded in his ears as he tried to convince himself he was fine. He wasn’t being blown up, and he wasn’t at Everett Lynch’s home. Mattie May’s voice ripped him sharply to the present as she called to them.

“Y’all go somewhere else and do that! People are tryin’ to work!”

Their shoulders deflated and they nodded, “Yes, Mrs. Delgado!”

She shook her head and chuckled, turning back to Spencer. He stared at the charred spot on the pavement where the firecrackers had erupted, chest heaving as the acrid scent of burnt embers flooded his nose.

“You okay, baby?”

Spencer found himself turning toward her kind voice, his eyes wet and suddenly more tired than he’d been in months. “Yeah. I’m… I’m not a big fan of the fourth of July.”

“The firecrackers?” she asked. He nodded. “Did you serve?”

“Uh, no ma’am.” He didn’t want to tell her anything about the FBI. Since leaving, Spencer hadn’t told anyone that he used to be an agent. What he’d become was too shameful.

“Holly Henson isn’t much for it either since he came back from Iraq, neither is Rose. I bought them some noise canceling headphones for this time of year. I have an extra pair.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

She led him into the front of The Thunderbird Inn, where Honey sat behind the reception desk with a young man Spencer hadn't met yet. He was tall and about her age, near thirty, leaning over the counter and smirking at her. His easy going grin and good looks reminded him of Luke, as did his dark closely cropped hair.

"I'm serious, Honey. It'll be fun."

Honey lounged in a roller chair and crossed her hands behind her head, "I'm not going to the bar on the fourth. I'll end up having Lionel and Ritchie pawing all over me and looking down my shirt."

The man peeked a little further over and grinned, "I'd tell you to wear a different shirt, but I can't exactly blame them for trying to sneak a peek."

Honey sat up sharply and slapped at him, and he jumped back with a mad laugh. She looked over his shoulder and her eyes brightened as she saw Spencer. "Axle cracked, huh, big tipper?"

Spencer squinted at her and nodded. Mattie May laughed and put a hand on his shoulder, "He needs a room for the night, Honey. Rico, Rose is lookin' for you. You gotta go tow this young man's car."

She turned to him, "I never caught your name."

"Spencer. Spencer Reid."

Rico eyed him the way Rose and every other person in this town seemed to, "Your axle cracked?"

Spencer sighed in pure exasperation. “Yes.”

Rico glanced back at Honey, who shrugged and made a face. He made his way toward the door, watching Spencer. His shoulder bumped Spencer's as he passed and then he was gone, Mattie May following closely behind. 

"I got Room 4 open, Mr. Reid," Honey said playfully as Spencer glared out the door where Rico went. He looked up to see her dangling an ancient key attached to a little green tag with the inn name on it. "Follow me."

Spencer followed her and her tight jeans down a hallway to the left. The inn was a big square, two levels, with only a handful of rooms on the first floor. Honey took him to the center where the rooms met in the middle of the curved hallway. A door across from his had a sign on it that read Management on the front in faded gilded lettering and a doorbell on the side. 

"Dinner’s at six. I'll bring you a plate," she said absentmindedly as she fiddled with the door. She clasped the handle and tugged up as she turned the lock. "Door sticks, and there's a patio out back where we usually have a bonfire this time of year. If it's too loud, let me know."

The door opened with a crack, and she pushed it open for him to step inside. The room was small and airy, wide broad windows that had a view of the far off ocean and palm trees. Spencer spotted boats and people in the water as he stepped up to them to look out. The tulle cottony curtains swayed with the breeze through the cracked door, and without much thought Spencer shut and locked it.

The bedspread was a bright sky blue with matching pillows. The walls were painted off-white, with pictures of the beach and the town plastered all over, much like Mattie May’s fridge and the reception areas of both businesses. Spencer dug into his pocket as he looked around with hardly disguised disdain and pulled out his wallet. He handed his credit card to Honey, but she just stared at him.

“Don’t you need this?” 

“First night’s on Lionel. He was supposed to fix that pothole weeks ago.”

Spencer squinted at her, “How do you know I hit a pothole?”

She smiled, wide and bright. “Saw you drive toward the beach. Townspeople know to avoid it.”

“Good to know,” he grumbled, stuffing his card back into his wallet. “Is there a phone I can use?”

“Mmm, most people here don’t have cell phones. Providers don’t get great service around here, but there’s a landline on the nightstand.”

Spencer nodded, looking to where she pointed. “Internet?”

Honey laughed, but when she saw him watching her sternly she stopped. “Oh, you’re serious. There’s Collie’s Cafe down the street. It’s dial-up but it’ll get you what you need for a dime every ten minutes.”

“God this place really is the Bermuda Triangle,” he groaned, rubbing his face roughly with his hands. “Does everyone have a weird name here?”

Honey put her hands on her hips and made a face, “Who’s got a weird name?”

Spencer just glared.

Honey broke out into a creeping slow smile and nodded to herself. “You’re not a lot of fun, are you, Mr. Reid?”

“You can call me Spencer.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. She tapped her jaw and watched him, “This is a nickname kinda town. You stay here long enough and you’ll get one too.”

“I hope to God that doesn’t happen,” he said irritably. “If Honey’s not your real name, do you mind if I ask what it is?” “Y/N,” she replied with a grin. “Call me that and we’ll have a problem.”

“I don’t want any problems, Honey,” Spencer snarked back. “I just want to leave Margaritaville and go to Oregon.”

Honey bit her lip and smiled before turning on her heel and walking toward the door. She lingered for a moment with her hand on the knob, obviously chewing on something in her mind. Sucking in a breath, she glanced his way once more and said in a soft voice, “Maybe your problem is that you can’t enjoy where you’re at, Spencer. Maybe you should take a breather.”

Before he could angrily reply, she closed the door behind her. It didn’t fit in the frame well, and he heard her little grunt as she pulled up on the knob to latch it shut. Shaking his head and letting out a pained breath, Spencer hoisted his suitcase up and tossed it on the bed, grateful to be alone again. He plopped down next to it, elbows on his knees as he looked around, and that question popped into his head again.

Is this who I am now?

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Notes: PLEASE tell me what you think... this series is so close to my heart. What do you think of the townspeople we've met so far? Reader/Honey? Sad!Spencer??

CM Forever Tag:

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks  @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore 

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty @f-me-reid

#routine maintenance #inn keeper reader #spencer reid #smurphyse #smurph writes #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #cm fandom #mgg #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/y/n #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #fic: routine maintenance #Spotify

[mosviqu]

things/aesthetic you associate with your moots please!

this was in my inbox for over a month i am so sorry anon... anyways. here goes nothing. not doing aesthetics bc thats a lot of effort but here is how i 'see' my friends ig :p

@satoruly - champagne, voice memos, the ocean, the beach, the metamorphosis by franz kafka, tokyo revengers, movie reviews, manga, shopping, indoor plants, sunsets, partying, singing, the bass, i dont do drugs by ariana grande and doja cat, anime, mini skirts, cherries, digital cameras, the color red, shinichiro sano, sand, headphones, random spanish thrown in convo, hearts, gojo satoru, croptops, manga, late night walks in a busy town, izana, gossiping with your best friend, ambition, the feeling of home, endless mutual understanding, passion, freedom, soulmates.

@csenke - monchichi dolls, sylvanian families, minecraft, streamers, the streets of budapest, instagram dumps, sunwoo, afternoon walks, playgrounds, random vlogs u record with your best friends, the colors yellow green and tan, enhypen, mona lisa by dominic fike, random german words, hanging posters in your room, late night conversations, pretty architecture, silly selfies, the excitement of unboxing your packages, changmin, spiderman, chimney cake, Á, lovejoy, candy, loverboy hats, platonic neighbors (yes that exists).

@from-izzy - woodz, bunnies, psychology textbooks, coffee shops, matcha, late night conversations, talking in all caps, excitement, running to catch the bus, making spotify playlists in the middle of the night, protectiveness, the color tan, bicycles, gratefulness, sharing your worries with someone, cloudy skies, the sound of birds chirping outside of your window in the morning, laying in the grass.

@heemingyu - meme reactions, milkshakes, playful banter, inside jokes, playful annoyance at your friends, learning how to drive in an empty parking lot, keyboard smashes, iced tea, sibling-like energy, comfortable hoodies, silent support, instagram reels in your dms as a form of love language, comfort tv shows in your bed.

@sungbeam - admiration, being proud of your friends, watching someone from afar, brainstorming with someone on the same wavelength, literature, baby blue by luke hemmings, dc comics, fic banners, star girl energy, the weird familiarity of a college dorm room, demon changmin, the summer break, doing ordinary things with your music playing lowly in the background, post-it notes on your wall, pancakes for breakfast.

@juyeonszn - cats, supportive comments under instagram posts, lying for fun, feeling yourself when you go clubbing with your best friends, lipgloss, tattoos, roadtrips, concerts, taking polaroids on a night out, flirting with your friends, screaming a song on the top of your lungs.

@zzoguri - valorant, childhood friends vibes, meeting someone and feeling like you've known them for ages, jacob bae, gaming, discord calls, italy, journalism, the friends you meet in university, found family, warm soup on sundays, laufey, day6.

@kimsohn - delusional conversations, talking shit with your honest friends, juyeon, typing really fast on your keyboard, understanding each others typos, editing, yunjin, being in love with women, confidence, yeehaw, iconic energy.

#if youre my moot you dont judge yall know i speak vibes only #only did the ones i talk to the most lately im sorry for leaving anyone out 😗

[thewickedlywenchy]

Hey ! Hey! Happy Sunday!!! How's your weekend?? I'm gonna be sad when it's over!

Spent yesterday hanging out with my youngest. He has been bitten by the "thrifting bug" so we spent the day hitting lots of thrift shops around Knoxville. Most in areas I rarely have reason to be in and it was so dope. Almost like a little staycation, and we found lots of shops I didn't even know existed. He's been looking for vintage T's that he can wear and flip for a profit. He found 2 I think. I didn't find anything until the last shop stop where I found a beautiful English Tin and a ton of books. Books were 25 cents and the tin was quite a splurge for me at 8 bucks. However......I got it home and decided to look it up and it's vintage.....from the 70s and originally contained very expensive English tea Biscuits. Going price for it.....$25 and up. Ok not bad for an $8 impulse buy! I just loved it and actually bought it to store jewelry in. I'll live with it a while and then flip it when I find something I love more! Oh! Also bought a little set of square box type shelves for a buck. I'm going to sand them down and give them new life and put on my bathroom wall with little vsses of flowers.

For those that don't know, my ideal job is somewhere between being an American Picker (you know the show!!) and a porn star....lol. I'm complicated like that!!

Stopped afterwards for some amazing pizza at a little local place and then watched basketball the rest of the day. Congrats to my Cats and Vols!!

Today is all about cleaning and maybe more basketball.

What did you guys do this weekend??

[lovingmny]

CROSSED FEELINGS

🤎 summary : what happens, when your bestfriend of 7 years finally confesses his love to you?

🐻 pairing : seungmin x fem reader

🧉 warnings : cursing, pet names (like baby, darling etc), lmk if i missed any!

🍂 word count : 1K+ words

🧸 a/n : more seungmin fluff to the world!! if you like this a reblog or commets would be appriciated <3 enjoyy !

m.list

it was a normal sunday morning, the birds were chirping outside and the rays of the sun warmed the room.

you checked the time. it was already 9.56am, so you decided to get out of bed and walk to the bathroom.

you quickly got ready and heard your phone buzz on your table. ’don’t forget we’re going to the beach today’ it read on your phone. it was from your bestfriend, seungmin.

earlier yesterday you two had made plans to go to the beach close to the mall, and after swimming you guys would go on a shopping spree.

you nearly sprinted to your wardrobe, remembering that you had to be in infront of the mall in an hour. you picked out some beige cargos and a brown hoodie and took your headphones. next you put on your platform converse and walked out.

the air was cool. the sun had settled down and wasn’t nearly burning you down anymore, and fall was right around the corner.

you arrived infront of the mall 7mins late, and after hearing seungmin ramble about how you were late, you headed to the beach.

the sand brushed against your shoes, the waves crashing made everything peaceful, until you heard a man yell.

you looked where the yell was coming from and saw 7 other men sitting infront of the sea. it was more of seungmins friends.

you had met them a couple of times, and actually got quite close to leeknow, since seungmin and leeknow are both small little menaces, but inside, they are as soft as dough.

you sat beside seungmin and put your headphones on and started reading a book.

’is she always this boring?’ one of the men asked, you would assume it was hyunjin or han, just by the tone.

’excuse me?’ you fought back in a high pitched voice waiting for an answer.

’ah sorry, nothing. my name’s han btw!’ he said with apologetic eyes, so you let it slide this time.

you rolled your eyes in response, clearly showing that you were uninterested, and didn’t really care. you continued reading for as long as you could, until you were basically dragged to the mall.

the mall wasn’t really crowded, it was 12.45am after all. you followed the others like a lost puppy, not having time to look for things for yourself.

after following them for sometime they finally asked if you wanted anything. you made a beeline towards the library.

you really loved reading, as you learned to read when you were only 4 years old. reading was an escape for you, you felt safe trapped into your fantasies while reading. it make you relax.

whenever you’d have a panic or be stressed, you would start reading. it made you forget the outside world. you loved fantasy books, books that were unrealistic. one if your favourite series was ‘warrior cats’. you loved fantasy, animals and books, so it was perfect.

you walked around the isle for a bit, till you picked out a book and ran to the self-checkout. ‘is that all?’ seungmin asked, as you’d typically get more.

‘yep, i have wanted to read this for very long so i’m gonna get it’ you hummed in response nodding your head up and down.

after you made it out of the library, you guys headed home. you planned that half of the guys would get snacks, and the other would set up a tent in their dorm for a movie night.

you were always down for movie nights, or any type of fun with friends in general.

you opened the tent and started to set in up in the living room with seungmin. you guys had some trouble in the start, but after looking at the directions, you managed to set it up.

now that the tent was done, you went and grabbed all of the blankets in their house. it took three people to carry all the blankets, but after all, 8 men lived in the dorm so there of course had to be many blankets.

the door opened slowly and people started to come in at a fast pace. the entrance was filled with empty shoes and jackets. it felt like home.

everyone sat down on the sofa with the coffee table filled with all types of chips, candy, soda, etc. you were tucked into the blanket and seungmin crawled beside you.

one of your deepest secrets was that you had huge feelings for you bestfriend, seungmin. you guys had known eachother for 7 years, and you didn’t want to ruin your relationship, so you kept it secret for your own good.

seungmins hand snaked around your waist and his other hand got lost in your hand. you wished that he wouldn’t notice how sweaty your palm was, your heart was basically racing. it could pop out any time.

you couldn’t take in anymore. the feelings were too strong. you excused yourself to the restroom, and having a mental breakdown about how much you love him but he doesn’t love you back.

seungmin must have heard your rant because he came knocking to your door after you took quite long.

‘are you alive? the movie started already.’ he asked. he was always so caring, but acted like he was cold. his voice melted your brain and felt like you were on cloud9.

‘uh yes- uhm- i’ll come back in a bit’ you felt embarrassed by how much he was making you stutter, but atleast you could even speak.

you retuned to the living room and dipped next to seungmin.

you couldn’t concentrate on the movie when he was sitting next to you. it felt like a test. but you just couldn’t resist it and accidentally said outloud that ‘you’re so pretty’ while starting him in the eyes.

he turned to you, with a shocked expression. you quickly turned into a tomato and started to explain that it was an accident. he tried reassuring you that was okay, and it worked.

‘babe, don’t worry, i like you too.’ he said. thoughts filled your mind as you were thinking for a response. how tf do you even respond to a confession..?? you thought to yourself.

🍪 a/n : haha this was fun to write!! i‘ll do a part two if you guys ask for it <3 hope you enjoyed!!

#skz fluff #seungmin fluff #seungmin #stray kids #straykids fluff #skz #kpop #kpop imagines #skz imagines #kpop fluff #lovingmny #part two if you ask

[lovemetopieces]

Bella Vita | Open @bhqextras

It was in the 60s and sunny on this lovely Sunday afternoon. Liz spent the morning walking on the beach, digging her toes into the sand. She'd stopped by her house to check on her cat, Charlie, before making her way to the Italian restaurant where she had made reservations for lunch with her friend. Liz got there before her friend did and was taken to her table. While she waited on her friend to arrive, she ordered a red wine to sip on. She was in the middle of a text to her brother when she felt someone walking up to her table. She looked up with a smile on her face, greeting her friend. "Hey," she said as they took the seat across from her. She put her phone away and said, "How's your day going?"

#boroughs.starter #elizabeth russo #erconvo

[moral-terpitude]

Catwalk

Yay, I finally finished what I started for Mar’s @look-at-the-soul celebration part one!

***

“Why is he on a leash?” Tommy, despite the resistance he wanted to give, decided on a Sunday, with a nice breeze and fair temperature that would be wasted staying held up with paperwork all day, would indulge Quinn’s request to go for a walk.

Quinn’s eyes glimmered, a smile playing on the corner of her lips as the fur ball paced the concrete between them. She had already walked to the building, just on the edge of Union Square, before calling him to say she was there and that it was too nice to spend a minute inside.

“How else am I supposed to take him for a walk?”

“Quinn.”

“What?”

“Quinn.”

“What, Tommy? What?! I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

The thrum of people bubbled around them as they kept out of the way, in the alcove of the entry, the somewhat tainted smell of city air brushing by, mingling with the scents of spring.

“You’ve the largest black cat I’ve ever seen on a leash, ready to take him around the block like he’s—“

“Are you calling him fat?” The fake offense in her tone was something he still found himself getting used to, thrown his way at the oddest of times, however, it was better than the real fighting had been with Lizzie.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tommy sighed, running a hand through his hair, and in the same moment loosening the sweatshirt hood from his head, resisting the urge to give in and laugh at her offense.

“Okay, a couple of months ago, I took him to the dog park. He made a friend. Now, I can tell he gets depressed a little bit if I don’t take him.”

“We’re taking your cat to the dog park?”

“He loves it,” she shrugged, crouching to pick up Beelzebub and, much to Tommy’s surprise, flipping the cat, leash and harness still on, on his back to hold him like a baby.

“Love, he may enjoy going to the park, but he looks like he’ll claw your eyes out the way you’re holding him.”

All she did was smile, relaxing into his side as he wrapped an arm around her, giving her hip a squeeze.

Their walk to the park had been mostly filled with hushed conversation, until Quinn remembered what day it was.

“Who’s flying with Charlie and Ruby?”

The concern on her face was actually quite endearing, Tommy realized. The fact that she cared for his children, despite the terse circumstances, knowing that she was on his side was refreshing. Not that he doubted it.

“Ada and Karl. Ben is still out of the country for work and she decided she wanted to go to Burlington while they’re here, with all the antique shops.”

Quinn smiled, masking the fleeting flash of guilt, although now long passed, of when Ruby got separated from her in the middle of LaGuardia after dropping her stuffed bunny. How the four of them had got separated in the first place still baffled her, but the thought of how it could have gone wrong still haunted her.

As the grass of the park turned to sand, the fluffy black mass wriggled in her arms, and once inside the fence, bolted over to the tan and black Yorkshire Terrier, nuzzling his face against the dog, before brushing against his whole body the same way he would Quinn’s legs whenever he wanted attention, usually the same was done as a request for food.

Quinn waved to the dogs owner as she and Tommy sat on the bench, watching the animals play as she closed the gap between the two of them, her head resting on his shoulder until she heard the chuckle that he had been holding in escape.

“They’ve messed up, love.”

The remark made her pull away, eyes wide, searching her memory bank for what they were talking about before they entered the park.

“Who? Why?”

“Clearly,” Tommy nodded to the scene before them, “you’ve got a dog in a cats body, eh?”

Quinn beamed, nestling against his side once more. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right, Tommy.”

#modern tommy shelby x oc #quinn meyer #the titles blue cause it’s for mar #modern tommy shelby

[kingdumkum]

for my dearest friend @stormoflamentation - Soft Solomon’s been rotting our mind, and I wanted to share this in case anyone else needs a lil pick me up. super short bc i’m not used to typing on my phone. do not expect succinct from me ever again

cw: sfw, fluff only - MINORS DNI. rules for interaction.

Soft Solomon, whose favorite days are the lazy Sunday’s he gets to spend with you; getting together to study, practice magic, or simply just walk through the gardens. Away from prying eyes or nosy ears. Away from the possessive demons. Just the two of you, like any normal humans duo might do topside. You talk about everything and nothing. Your past, his magic. Your future, his studies. It all comes back to you, though; he avoids talking about himself as much as possible, which only makes you press. Gently, of course, and slowly, he warms up to it.

You find out his mother’s name was Abigail and she used to sing him to sleep, and suddenly it makes sense why when he casts, his tone takes a rhythmic lilt. He had a little sister, but she died at the age of four after being bit by a snake, and now you understand why the only animals he feels comfortable with are cats and birds. He tells you he despises sand, but the ocean unsettles him almost as much. He never learned to swim and doesn’t feel the need, but he’ll consider it if you teach him. His favorite season is winter, and his favorite color is gray, and in all his years of life, he’s only been in love twice.

One lazy afternoon, you settle under a tree together, his head in your lap as he has you read a book on the history of magic aloud, fingers trailing in his hair. When you put the book down and start humming, Solomon’s heart soars.

‘Three,’ he tells you. You pause and ask him what he means. He smiles with his eyes closed, rolling his head to press a kiss to your palm.

‘I’ve been in love three times.’

#storm i know Evil Solomon has been rotting us from the inside out but #Soft Solomon seemed appropriate today #i adore you more than Solomon and Lucifer combined <3 #kasey’s collection: obey me! #kasey’s sweet tooth #solomon #kasey’s adventure book! #no spoilers bc i made this all up idk if it’s canon #canon to me :)

[sapphosgh0st]

i want a love so effortless it feels like breathing; something you don’t have to think about, something you do because you have to in order to stay alive. i want someone to kiss me while they’re half asleep without thinking about it and pull me closer, hold me tighter. i want dreamy mornings where the light streams in through the windows, and it looks like you can cut the sun rays with a knife, and everything is golden and the room is filled with a love so strong you can smell it, hear it, taste it— and it smells like homemade chocolate chip cookies, and it sounds like a hot summer night, and it tastes like strawberries and champagne. i don’t want to be someone’s favorite person, i want to be half of someone. i want someone to think of me when they think of themselves— to be so intertwined with their self image in their own mind that the idea of being without me would be inconceivable. i want a love that is gentle and kind and not painful and not hard. a love that feels like a forehead kiss, like gentle back scratches. i want someone to love my cat because i love her, even if they hate cats. i want to make pillow forts and light candles and dance in the kitchen to frank sinatra. i want to be someone’s home. i want a love that makes everyday feel like sunday morning, like nothing bad has happened in the world and no one exists besides us, and the biggest problem we have to face is should we make dinner or order in. a love where the worst pain we have to deal with is laughing so hard our stomachs ache and our cheeks hurt. a love that feels like mid-july, laying out at the beach and swirling hot sand with your fingers and running into the ocean holding hands. when i get out of bed i want to see tangled linen bed sheets and the imprint of two tangled bodies, and i want to be able to look at it and say love slept here, love lives here.

#dark academia #dark aesthetic #classic academia #poetry #classics #greek mythology #song of achilles #lovecore #love #romantic academia #sadgirl #dead poets society #romantic #dreamy

[prosopagn0sis-a]

@cheshire-shuntaro, my beloved. missed you dearly. in this life and in every other.

we’ve met years ago, without the scorching sun kissing our skin and the ocean breeze caressing our faces as we walk with our feet in the sand around the nearest beach.

i wasn’t rich then — well, i still am not, relying on white rabbit’s money — the nickname not suiting him at all — but his money is mine, even if i don’t feel like it.

we’re married. whatever we have is shared between us two, split in half, his small fortune included.

shuntarō has his report today, as each sunday, but… something’s off. weird. as i wake up, i know the day’s gonna be different — maybe it’s the gut feeling i follow combined with the logic, or maybe i finally got the full access to morphogenetic fields and the knowledge stored there is telling me something i cannot decode yet.

i make my best effort not to wake my husband — oh, how weird it sounds, husband; i never planned to get married, but when he proposed, i just agreed without a second thought. i was seated on his lap in a strip club as he requested a private dance. he recognized me from college, i did not until he spoke to me.

“marry me.”

i didn’t think twice.

“under one condition. you will never get me this awful tea again.”

it’s not like we knew each other well before that encounter — we didn’t. i approached him once at the university while he was studying before an exam, correcting one of his chemical formulas. demanded tea for that. got it the next morning, a cheap and disgusting piss-colored liquid in the smallest size possible from a local chain coffee shop.

for some, my decision could seem impulsive. it was. anything to escape the life i was living after i had to drop out on my second year. everything else was better than that, easier to figure the solution for any problem i could encounter later on.

i didn’t have to worry; waking by shuntarō's side each day, staying by his side at all times. he never cheated, never lied, never left. also, he was honest about his profession from day one.

“this is my boss. he’s a gang leader. we make cocaine.”

it wasn’t a mistake to share that; i never left him and appreciated forwardness. this, later on, made me acquire the lovely title of cheshire cat — always doing whatever i wanted, however i wanted, choosing my own ways and paths instead of the ones demanded, never siding with anyone. i wasn’t officially a part of the gang, so what would they do, anyway? enrage their lead chemist by hurting me? as if.

i make my best effort to not wake my husband as i slip from under his arm and leave our shared bed. something’s off, i can feel it. time for me to change the routine, even by a little bit. besides, shuntaro’s been working hard these past few weeks. he deserves a little treat.

i like it here, i really do. despite the city being run by drug lords and cartels, i have this privilege of being safe. i stroll around the place just a little bit, visiting the bakery for the still warm loaf of bread and some coffee i know white rabbit would love. then, i make breakfast.

i do not wait for him, no; he’ll get up soon enough, his alarm never failed to get him out of the bed. nothing to worry for me. there was, in fact, a thing that did.

whoever followed me on my little walk around the neighborhood was about to meet his fate. i wouldn’t kill them right away, obviously; first i will get to know why would they do it in the first place and for whom do they work.

it’s nothing to inform my dear sleeping love about. he doesn’t need extra stress today.

and so, armed with the knowledge of thousands interrogation and torture techniques, the cheshire cat is off to the city, about to catch these filthy rats.

#cheshire-shuntaro #aib drug cartel au #fate verse: alice in drugcarteland

[handsomeamedee]

"oh…" a sigh accompanies a gentle feeling of something warm on your wrist. it almost feels like a mother’s kiss, but a few seconds later you find out that it’s just a warm ray of sun. you slightly touch your wrist with your fingertips and try to remember it as clear, as possible. you haven’t seen the sun for days. you try to reach it through the smoky air of the coffee shop. ironically enough, it’s Sunday. you’re standing at the counter, listening to the soft murmuring of customers. “Sun-day…” the word rolls off your tongue, as if it’s foreign. some strange feeling awakens deep inside of you. you look at an empty coffee cup with someone's name written on it. it starts with an “A”. the feeling of nostalgia grows and you go with the flow, forgetting where you are. the coffee shop is almost empty anyway. it helps your mind draw a completely different picture. there are no customers, only seagulls screaming high in the sky. the bittersweet smell of burnt coffee beans turns into the salty taste of ocean. the sand is tickling your back, as you lie on the beach and stare at the rising waves. the endless summer. your gaze wonders from person to person. it’s like you’re looking for something among freckled faces and sunburnt shoulders of strangers. then your eyes meet my pale ankles. they aren't touched by the sun and stand out from the rest. I can feel your glance running through my body with the shivers. you smile to me. I smile back with your favourite kind of smile. the one that will one day turn to something you hate the most. you try to make something out, but all you see is my porcelain ankles. the sun is at its peak, the birds are getting louder, and I feel something being born inside of me. it’s the feeling of a quiet peace, that usually takes place before a massive storm. you must have noticed the cracks in my smile back then, on the sandy beach. you must’ve known how it all will end.

“was it worth it?” – it’s the first thought I hear, humming in my head. the words are not mine, however. these thoughts belong to you. here I am, at the dusty attic of your subconscious. I’m sitting on the old bed, staring into the void. it’s kind of empty here and a bit of a mess. that's your least favourite room. the walls are grinning at me with faded pictures of our hands, bodies and… faces. it’s all a blur. I get up to come closer, taking a better look. the sun is smiling to me through the holes in the roof. the dust is waltzing around in the light and it's harder and harder to see anything at all, even our sparkly and young eyes. mine are brown, yours? the sun shines so bright that I cover my eyes with my hand. the stream of light dims a little. my gaze, like a stain of paint, is clinging on my wrist that is drowning in the stale air of this forbidden attic. “I can’t remember…” I watch my arm melt like sugar in hot water, along with memories of me in your head. it’s gone in seconds. I only feel a phantom lack of it and nothing else. suddenly I feel panic flowing over me. I try to hold on to something, anything at all: names of your cats; your soft moans, spilled all over the walls with pink paint; your quiet whisper in the morning, hanging in the corner like a thin spiderweb, or this shirt I got you as a gift, lying like a wounded bird on the floor, all crumpled up... “what was his name again? I think it began with an A” – the first letter of the alphabet becomes the last one, - “he used to have a spot on his left eye” my eyes are now just beams of April sunlight. they disappeared right after my crooked smile and my left hand. the door creaks and a sudden “oh” comes from what’s left of me. my final breath. the particles are swirling in the air, it’s no one here. must've been just a breeze… disappearing is always scary. but when it happens you don't regret a thing. my goodbye to you is your last thought of me: "that guy with a silly name..." finally, you find yourself standing at the same counter, caressing your wrist. the sun left this place. the forgotten name is shamefully burning on your tongue. so tell me. my name. what was it?

#my writing #spilled ink #fiction #short story #original story #writeblr #writing #prose

[i--antimony]

tuez

yayyy

listening: release radar: i get it now (sammy rae) (wauuughhhh. emo. i miss my partner) come over (cat's pajamas) stuck (scene queen) nerima (raspberry pie) never me (penelope) beirut (rob blivion) rule #34 (fish in a birdcage) bourgeoisieses (conan grey) milk town/mr carter (nep) doppelganger - lullaby (ethan bortnick) my baby loves to dance (kenya grace) horror night (starcourt) (@delta-orionis, you will like this one)

some from last week that i forgor to note down: tiny human (elohim), some type of skin (aurora), chukotka (otyken), training season (dua lipa, chloe caillet mix), georgian spirit (equbeats), online (twrp), someone else (kenya grace)

aaaand formentera/formentera ii again.

podcasts: wtyp on the francis scott key bridge collapse, and jim gordon must die podcast of all time

reading: i started reading 'bunny' by mona awad because it came up as a recommendation in libby when i was returning mdzs. i am going to be valiant and give it one more chapter but i do not like it. it feels like its trying very hard to emulate a certain type of vibe that i already don't find super appealing in fiction so the trying-vibe of it makes it even more uninteresting to me. the premise is a girl at a mfa program in nebulous New England Private Liberal Arts School(tm) which like, fine, dark academia or whatever; there are four (five?? i literally cannot remember which, lol) other girls in her cohort who are a weird clique and call each other 'bunny' and are rich and sheltered but harboring a Dark Secret Club. sure. the first few chapters ooze 'not like other girls'-ism, the 'bunny' characters themselves feel flat and like caricatures in an unappealing way, main character's other friend ava also is a caricature in a boring way, just very uninspiring. like i said i will give it another chapter or two but if it continues to bore me i will return it.

i finished the scum villain extras! very charming.

watching: keeping up to date with dunmeshi, yay, and also been continuing to watch endeavor with a friend. it's good! i love a mystery show! it is impossible to watch without subtitles though because they are So British. relatedly i am going to terf island for two weeks in june (london and then edinburgh) so if you know any recs for food, places, etc i am all ears!

playing: this weekend was going to be 3 dnd games in a row ... then monday was postponed to next monday ... but my sunday group, which is normally every other week, has decided to play next sunday as well bc we skipped a few weeks ... so Next weekend is the 3 day dnd combo lmfao. i don't mind too bad.

making: pottery!!! some bisque came out and i am soooo chuffed (<- endeaver tv show britishism rubbing off on me) this will be its own post with more images because i want to @ the inspiring artist, jbbartram-illu on tumblr (shop); i am obsessed with the cave painting mugs from a few months ago that immediately sold out so i was like fuck it i wanna make my own. and i am obsessed with my lil fat horses. i put amaco ancient jasper on the inside and just a matte clear on the outside. hopefully it is matte enough. i also put little hands on the handles and now i want to make some more cave painting mugs that are just the hands, i could cut out some templates to sponge underglaze around maybe...

my beautiful cracked-the-code bowls and two maybe teacups, post-trimming:

and also trying a new glaze technique: bisqued underglaze and then liquid latex over top! that way you can slather a background on and just peel it off after without painting around the details. im ngl peeling off the latex was soooo satisfying. background is laguna celadon froth.

i've also glazed my citrus juicer, just a plain warm yellow color, looking forward to that :3

glaze: mother's day gift (planter, it's. fine. idk. she'll like it i hope), and also some fixed stuff! didn't bother taking pics, the black eye bowl from feb 6 tuesdaypost is now food safe on the inside because i sanded down the kiln medium bit that got stuck in there and re-glazed it. i also tried to fix the bowl from march 12 tuesdaypost by just lightly sanding the inside and slapping some laguna celadon froth over it...it looks exactly the same now, just with some sort of float-like blue splotches lol. no pictures of it but eh. might give it away, we'll see.

eating: Spicy Clam Pasta With Bacon, Peas and Basil Recipe (NYT): tasty. idk about 'spicy' but definitely yummy.

misc: definitely in a weird spot brain-wise...the anxiety and tummyache link/feedback loop is very real for me now, so i am going back on an extremely low dose of ssri about it, and even though i have been on this med before in much larger amount i am still experiencing aaa about it. i keep going between "going back on this is a good idea" and "or i could just keep taking ~10mg of cbd every other day bc that felt like it was doing something, even if it was just placebo i had a noticeable difference in mood" so like. bluh. idk. i wish i could just Know what the best course of action is instead of having to fuck around and find out. such is life. i am literally taking the world's babiest dose rn (breaking the starter pill in half) so it will be fine. as long as i dont get bad side effects im willing to do a few weeks on it and see what happens.

#tuesdayposting

[astroboots]

I’m trying to think of a good ask but while I’m here and say I LOVE YOU and I think you’re magnificent even when you’re laid up in bed with a yucky flu.

Oh - um, we know Santi can be a bit of bratty house cat, distracting Boa and Frankie alike, but does Frankie ever get like that? Intentionally taking his time mowing the lawn or fixing one of Boa’s tables, knowing they’re both watching him???

(Also autocorrect tried to correct Boa to spitroasting twice and truly this says so much about you and me and our whorish ways).

HNNNNNNGH! ;alksjd;alkjsd;alksjd a

;asmd;alksdka owieuaowie !!! asdka;sdka;sk!! BEEEP BEEEP

Ok but the way I held onto this ask, thinking Oh I'm going to write a long ass drabble for Cat in dedication to how much I love her, only for my brain to go dick dick dick dick helicopter dick helicopter dick!

But in all seriousness, I think Frankie can't help but bask in the attention especially because neither of his loves are particularly subtle about it.

From the way that Boa will just stare and stop talking midsentence as she sees Frankie push up the sleeves of his flannel midway up his forearms whenever he is sanding an old antique table she had dragged home with her from the latest farm market.

To the way that Santiago all of a sudden is constantly finding excuses to come down to the garage whenever Frankie is fixing the car and has grease smudging his cheek and forehead and the man's sharp brown eyes are now staring down at Frankie's black-streaked white t-shirt. The way Santiago is itching for Frankie to come over and press him up against the table with how the man is constantly running his mouth about his "shitty" cars to antagonize Frankie.

Yeah Frankie knows what he does his gorgeous wife and adorable little husband. But it's not like he is slowly and lazily pushing up the sleeves for Boa's benefit. It's not like he puts on that white t-shirt that's shrunk just a tad bit too tight around his chest when he knows he needs to fix the car, and Santiago is doing fuck all around the house on a Sunday morning. Of course not!

Don't be ridiculous Cat.

ASK ME ANYTHING

#homecoming asks #cici loves cat #💌 asks

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Showdown 2023 Unused Prompts

Mystery

Misty town

Unexpected hero

Snowstorm

Jeweler

Butler

Thunderstorm

Piano, sand, green

Signet

Heart condition

Letter

Inheritance

Hey, honeybee

Forest spirit

Sacrifice, True Love, healing

Blood ran cold

Insanity

Pottery wheel

Goose

Candy shop

Coffee shop

Surfing

Skateboarding

Argument, fever

Terrible weather

Torn wedding

Theft 

Treasure

Hunt

FBI 

Hide-and-seek

Out of the blue

Skinny-dipping

Gardener

Warrior, monsters

Magical flower

Howl, claws, scream

Siren’s song

Lonely night

Magic ritual

Waves on the seashore

Mermaid

Crazy

Dancing on the street

Magical library

Witches

Double identity

Night walking

Suffocating night

Gloom

Swindlers

Haunted house

Dress made of gold

Golden hour

Salem the cat

Fairy circle

Secret affair

Kissing in the rain

Waltzing on the snow

Secret garden

Dove, blood

Drunken beauty

Cracked ice, anger

Night, street lamp, snow

Fairy murder, dark, mist

Liminal space(s) 

A single red rose

Lost, beautiful, frightened, found

“Lover don’t go.”

Awkward

Video

Zoo

Truth or consequences

Live wire

Black and white

Teaching how to spin

She was late

Baby won’t stop crying

Magic gone wrong

Love after the apocalypse

Lazy Sundays, puzzles, smiles

Horror movie(s) 

Firefighter AU

Fake dating, pizza, sports

Different fairytale AU

New experiences

Music box

Feathers

Slow dancing

Reflection

Forgotten anniversary

Gentle touches

Delicate

Wake up

Blood on the carpet

Trapped, light, voice, comfort

He wasn’t there

You are my hero

Please don’t go

His heart broke, literally

“I wish you were…”

“Don’t take him away!” 

“Don’t take her away!” 

“How could you?” 

“Pick your poison.” 

Blood in the water

Siren, almost, real, scream

Trapped in the dark

The Light One

(S)he will come back

Kiss the tears away

Smile bright as sun

Freezing water, rescue, please

I will protect you

I feel safe

There’s so much blood

Red as blood 

Flickering in and out

Now it’s too late

It’s just a nightmare

Don’t leave me alone

Please, wake up

Sacrifice, pain, light, laugh

Please help my Papa

Your father’s a hero

Thought I lost you

I was worried sick

Fever, confession, tears, light

Dark eyes, pure heart

Homemade soup

Sick, shame, silly, always

-

#rumbelle showdown #rumbelle prompts #fic prompts #2023 unused prompts

[georgi-girl]

Disney What-Ifs

A lot of people love thinking up what-if situations for Disney movies. Someone even wrote a book series about them called Twisted Tales. Frankly, I don’t think people are digging deep enough. So, here are some what-if that I came up with. 

Beauty     and the Beast: what if Belle had her own curse? What if Gaston or some     jilted lover of her mother cursed her to become intangible like a ghost     whenever she got mad? Or turn into a plant monster every Sunday? Those are     just two examples. It doesn’t even have to be a literal curse; it can just     be a big problem she has. I read a fanfic called Kissed by a Rose     where Belle was pregnant from being r&$ed by Gaston and Beast has to deal     with potentially raising a child that wasn’t his. So original! And speaking     of the Beast, what if he was more feral and wild; dragging around fresh     prey, and speaking in grunts and growls? What if he attacked Maurice     because he thought he was threatening his pack? (the servants) What if he     was already feral before being cursed? The deaths of his mother and/or     father could’ve triggered something that sent him into a slow spiral of     brooding isolation until he completely lost touch with his own humanity.     Belle could help him Regain his humanity. That’s romantic! And while I’m     here, can I point out that female versions of Beast are super uninspired?     They’re just smaller, thinner versions of canon. Why not make her a dragon     or a harpy or a humanoid leopard?  

 Aladdin:     what if the Genie could grant unlimited wishes? That was the case in the     original story. I don’t know why they whittled it down. It’d be an     interesting test of character for Al; see if it doesn’t go to his head.     Or, they could simply add stuff from the tv series. Lots of freaky stuff happening there; evil mermaid turns Aladdin into a shark, evil cat woman     turns Jasmine into a snake monster; there’s a wizard with a skeleton arm     and a cyclops oracle. Jafar was just the tip of the sand dune. Or if you want a more serious story, you could expand on the religious aspect;     mention the Five Pillars, of Islam, use the carpet as a prayer rug, Al and     Jazz could meet while attending the local mosque! And you could include     Aladdins’ mother as a character like they were originally planning. I’d     love a protagonist raised by a cool single mom (wicked step-mothers don’t count). Not to mention adding elements from other Arabian Knights.     In the third movie, they have the Forty Thieves. Why not include Morgana;     the super-smart slave girl who defeats the Forty Thieves? Kids would love     her!

 The Little Mermaid: what if Arials’ sisters were more involved in the     plot? In the book, they each had their own coming-of-age surface adventure     before she does. Why not mention that? And what do they think about humans?     And what if Tritan turned them human so they could look for her on land?     (I had a dream about that once) Or they could have a sub-plot montage of     searching the ocean and having their own adventure. And what of Eric knew     Arial was a mermaid? He could have seen her tail as she swam away and been     like “Merpeople are REAL!” and sailed of to find her. Or you could rewrite     the sequel. Instead of Melody running away, Arial could get kidnapped, and     Melody could go on an epic journey to find her! (had a dream about that     too)

 Hercules:     just like with Aladdin, add elements from the tv series. Friendly     gorgon, angry Mother Earth, nightmare quilt, fun stuff! And I don't remember     if Herc's cousin Iolas was ever on the show, but I’d include him in the     movie. He’d be a great badass normal (and something of a mischievous enabler)     I know the show kinda retcons the movie, but I still like it. Also, since     Hades is out of the picture, what if Meg became the new goddess of the     underworld? She already proved her self as a hero, that should count for     something.  

 Snow     White and the Seven Dwarfs: what if Snow White was raised by the dwarfs?     What if the Queen abandoned her as a child in the woods, and the dwarfs     found her and became her honorary family? Or, what if the dwarfs knew her     parents? In The Magic Riddle, the dwarfs are really wooden statues built     by the heroines’ grandfather and she brings them to life with a kiss. Or     what if the dwarfs were cursed like in Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarfs?     And the Prince! What if he and Snow White were childhood friends? What if     the Queen kidnapped him? What if the dwarfs were the Prince split     up in seven different aspects of himself? There’s an actual fairytale where     that happens. Not to mention expanding on the apple symbolism. What if apples are Snow White’s favorite food? What if the apples colors had some kind of meaning? What if during her big sleep, Snow had a mystic vision dream     quest? What if at the end of the movie, the mirror shows the couple riding     away and smiles in approval?

 Sleeping     Beauty: lots of ideas for this one. The Good Fairies could be a three-way     couple. Philip’s mother could be POC. Aurora and Philip could have     literally met in their dreams (sign that they’re soulmates). Malifecent     could kidnap Aurora after cursing her, then Philip and they fairies could     dungeon-run the castle like a video game. There could be SA undertones in Mal’s treatment of Philip and Aurora (because just because a villainess is sexy, doesn’t mean she’s redeemable). Those magic weapons could be     fairy family heirlooms. Merryweather’s mother could be the original Briar     Rose who slept a hundred years. Can you tell I’m writing a fanfic?

 Cinderella:     What if she ran away from home after the ball? I get that she’s abused and     conditioned and there’s some gaslighting going on, but abused kids run     away from home all the time. Especially after a freaky pseudo sexual     assault by her sisters. (lots of kids get assaulted by their stepparents, I’m surprised that never went into a retelling) Maybe after having a taste of the good life, Cindy decides “I am not going back there” and takes off to the woods     with her animal buddies. Or her animal buddies could hold an intervention     saying “Those meanies tore up the lovely dress we worked so hard on! Let’s     ditch them!” And then it could be like Donkey Skin or Thousand     Fur. And then the Prince could accompany the Duke on the big search     and see Cindy in the wilds dancing with the other slipper (saw that in a movie. Slipper and the Rose. Look it up.) And speaking of the     Prince, he could be looking for her because she let slip some of her awful,     awful, home life and he wanted to help. That’s a great way to characterize     someone!

 Alice     in Wonderland: what if instead of merging the two books together into     one movie, they made two separate movies based on each book? Tim Burtan     kinda did this with his Alice movies; but he stills merged stuff from both     books into both movies. I can’t think of any movie that sticks to just one book. Plus: since the events of the books are somewhat episodic, the events of the movies can be split up like in Winnie the Pooh. Package     feature!

 The Rescuers:     what if the movie was closer to the books it was based on? It’s a     beautiful movie, but the writers must have gone through several script     changes before the final product, and I would love to see them all. At one     point they had a singing bear character who gets his own spin-off. He     sounds like fun.

 The     Jungle Book: same as above, what if they went with the original script.     They had an entire screenplay, complete with songs, that was closer to the     actual books that Old Walter rejected because he thought it was too dark.     0_0 I am intrigued! And, just like Alice, the original Jungle     Books were pretty episodic, so their adaptions could easily be made     into a package feature.

 Tangled:     Another easy one. What if the movie included more elements from the story?     What if Gothel never learned Rapunzel ran away? What if Rapunzel never had     her big revelation? Eugene could become her secret boyfriend, they could     be married by the pub thugs, and then just like the original, Punzie could     become pregnant. Then Gothel would find out. She could blind Eugene and     whisk Rapunzel away somewhere. Then Eugene would wander the woods trying     to find them. He could meet Varian and Cassie. The Stabbintons could get     involved. Punzie could have her princess revelation wherever she is and     escape. The King and Queen could be grandparents! How is this not a thing     by now?

 Frozen:     honestly, anything would be better than canon IMO. Elsa could be raised by     the trolls. Anna could not have her memory erased. Kristoff could be the     princesses’ childhood friend. The king and queen could handle things a     little less stupidly.  All that spirit     stuff could’ve been revealed early on. Hans could NOT be a bad guy. Or his     badness could be hinted at early on so it isn’t so random. Younger sister     Anna could be the one with ice powers. Or she could develop her own powers     throughout the movie (I’ve read that the writers considered giving her     control over the northern lights). They could have scrapped all that Ice     Queen foolishness and used the characters to retell Snow White and Rose     Red. Or The Snow Maiden. Or they could’ve scrapped the whole     thing and actually retell The Snow Queen story.

 Finally, any of the lead characters can be made trans, disabled, and/or POC.

 That’s all I got for now! Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment! I could do this for any movie studio! AND, feel free to use any of these ideas to write your own fanfiction! 

#list #disney movies #what if #aus #beauty and the beast #aladdin #the little mermaid #hercules #snow white and the seven dwarfs #sleeping beauty #cinderella #alice in wonderland #the rescuers #the jungle book #tangled #frozen #fanfiction #kissed by a rose #Arabian knights #the little mermaid 2 #the magic riddle #red shoes and the seven dwarfs #slipper and the rose #tim burtan #fairytales