#tortoise shell nails

[bombnails]

@dovenailsbysharon

#@dovenailsbysharon #uploads #coffin shape #tortoise shell #brown #french tips #nails

[streetkittyclaws]

🐢almond tortoise shell manicure🐢

((used Born Pretty gel polishes + saviland top coat + makartt solid nail glue gel to attach star and bow charms))

#self taught #manicure #gel nail art #nail art #nail inspo #almond nails #short nails #nail shapes #tortoise shell #tortoise #nail charms #earth tones #glitter #bow #rhinestones #deco nails #gel manicure #soft gel tips #soft gel manicure #gelx #self taught nail artist #cute nails #nails #nail art inspo

[grlpartdoll]

Azriel is quiet, yes, but not for the reasons people might think. It's not something he does to be mysterious — or to frighten others. Sure. It works well for that, too. But.. Truth is, he has been quiet all his life ; perhaps a symptom of always being belittled when he tried to speak up for himself, be that by his step brothers, his stepdad, or by Rhysand himself.

Azriel has never really had the luxury of having his own opinion. His life has been — for better or for worse — a binary code, 0, 1, a black and white painting, and an immense quantity of yes' and no's.

Since living with the shadows, he's had his step brothers to fear, and then when he goes into the camps, he has Cassian and Rhysand to fear — to watch his mouth around.

But of course, as the story is told, things change, and then before he knows it, he's following his new brothers into battle because even beneath it all, ignoring the fact that he has suspicions that he does not exactly belong within their troops, they're brothers, damnit, and he will walk through fire for them.

And then they grow up, and the war ends. He becomes Rhysand's father's spy, and he goes into that job without any beliefs of his own, his life built around trying to survive his abuse and then the Illyrian camps.

And when he and Cassian and Rhysand finally become old enough, and Rhysand takes the throne, well, at that point he's got an unbreakable devotion to the night court and the citizens within it, and to his brothers, too — beaten into him, caking under his nails like blood, running through his veins like some type of venom to which no one has the cure to.

But even then, when things begin to settle, and everyone finds their place in the Inner circle, he doesn't really know himself, doesn't know where his place truly is. Sure, he's devoted to something, and likes these people enough to forget himself, but. Who is he, really? What does he want? Where does he belong?

Which is why — when he meets you, something wild and free and immovable in your own beliefs and person, he can't help but find refuge there ; in your wild, unkempt person, in your loudness, your clinginess, your unashamedly huge heart.

You're a freshly born… something. The girl born from the Mother, they call you. You're created from the necessity of there being balance again in Prythian during Amarantha ; sent by the Mother to hunt the falsely crowned High Queen of Prythian, and then kill her.

For your service, after you've killed Amarantha and redistributed the power around to their respective High Lords, everyone takes an oath to protect and shelter you whenever you need it.

You spend years between Courts, refining your skills, your powers, enlisting the help of all the helpful High Lords and their Ladies. Rhysand and Feyre, after a few years and the war finally passing, both deem it safe enough and decide to introduce you to their inner circle. You're introduced to them as the person who saved Prythian, as the girl who freed Feyre and Rhysand from under the mountain.

You fall in love with Velaris, and you take a liking to the members of the inner circle. But you become closer friends with Azriel than anyone else you had ever met before.

You, from some kind of instinct or because of the unspoken link you share with Azriel, know he is lost. You are, perhaps, the first to see it.

It's easy to follow and do the same, you suppose. To copy you, devote himself to something new, something other.

But you don't want him to take you as just another thing to protect. To lose himself in. You don't want him to follow in your footsteps just because he has a personal debt unpaid to you for saving his family members, you don't want him to be to you what he is to Rhysand.

So at first, you reject him. And he takes it as well as a man like him takes any sort of rejection. He withdraws easily like a tortoise into its shell, and for a great many days, is unavailable emotionally as well as physically. You don't see him, don't hear from him.

Eventually, Feyre falls pregnant, and you're the one, with your powers, to save her and the two males along with it. Rhysand gifts you lands of your own for it. Drapes you with the honours of being their Saviour one more time.

So you go to that place — to your new home in the wild, unowned lands beside the prison — your paradisiacal islands, and begin building a life for yourself. You make your own home, on the highest cliff you can find. Rhysand provides you with workers and builders, and eventually, a tiny town begins to bloom in the islands. It's slow living, like water lapping at the shore, every member of your tiny budding city lives happily, feasting on their hunts, and on the plentiful fruits of their plantations.

Azriel comes around often by means of checking on you for Rhysand. And you accept it, even though it is a lie. Eventually, your friendship rebuilds again, though. And you know that there is no shifting point, no sudden change — but it sure feels like it, when one day you are standing miles apart, and the other, you're in his arms, letting him sway you to the sound of the waves.

The progression is slow, but as you coax him out, with a bit of rough love and a handful of gentle praise, you begin to see the little things.

His armour loosens by the day. Sometimes, when he comes to see you, meeting on the beach down the mountain where your home resides atop of, he wears only warm weather clothes. His truth teller is left behind, and he lets himself be free of what it means to be the ShadowSinger, while enhancing what it means to be HIM.

And one day you catch him drawing. He'd told you once that a lot of the things in his head often begged to get out, to find a way to be put down and kept down and out of him. You suggested drawing. And he'd huffed at first, shaking his head and murmuring about how his hands would never being able to draw up those things. Good or bad.

You'd smiled gently and shrugged ; telling him that practice made perfect — that you hadn't become good at what you do in a day, either.

The first drawing he finishes is a portrait of Velaris. As though it is something he is trying to purge from his soul — the hold this city has on him. He tries to give it to you, but you refuse. You tell him that this is a part of him and no one else should be allowed to own these drawings. That this is him, on paper, all these little sketches, and that he was the only, sole owner of them.

So he begins to put them up in the room you keep for him in your humble home atop the mountain peak. You take your time keeping them in extra good condition, and as you lay down on the sofa while he sketches you, he asks you why you spent so much of your days in his room, cleaning and removing dust, making sure everything was kept safe and remained beautiful.

And you reply that if they were precious to him, then that meant they deserved to be cherished. And it takes a moment for him to register that — sure, the inner circle loved — loves — him, in their own way, but he'd never been loved the way he needed it. Had never been so seen by someone. Rhysand saw him as his most trusted weapon, but never as the lover he could become. Rhysand did not see Azriel ever being a good lover to any of the women in his inner circle. He never saw him being good — whole — enough for it.

Cassian saw him as his brother in arms, he saw him as a man he could trust with his life when it came down to violence. But when it came to gentleness, Cassian did not. He did not blame him for it.

And Feyre, the woman he considered a sister, only saw him as the protector of her family. She had always been closer to Cassian, from them starving so young, and then finding a family of their own, they could relate. Azriel could not relate to her that way, and she knew it, too, which kept him an arm’s length from the true her.

And Mor — Mor saw him only when she felt it convenient for her.

But you. You cleaned those pieces of paper where horrors he’d seen with his own two eyes were depicted and did not flinch. You saw those happy moments, and did not ignore them, either. You did not pick and choose which sides of him you wanted. You appreciated him wholly like no one ever had.

Progress after that day only doubles.

He begins to stand up for himself. Says no to the missions he knows will only break him inside a little more when he is just starting to stitch up all his broken pieces.

He draws. And sings. At first, he sings only alone, in the vulnerability of his own room, for himself. It's a way to get his feelings out — again. But then one day you take him to the bar in Velaris during one of your stays there, and he decides to sing for you. He'd done it for himself first — because it made him happy, but now, he wanted to show you, too, that to the bottom of his soul, he was starting to find himself.

And when you cry as the song ends, he gathers you in his arms and rocks you until you can breathe steady again.

After that night, many things change.

He's away from you more, but when he is around, he's the happiest you've ever seen him be — as though a weight has finally been lifted off of his shoulders. He stays no longer than a day at a time, and each time he comes back, he brings you a new story to tell — a new discovery he's made about himself.

A year later, you're in your garden, knees in the dirt, knuckles deep in the roots of an orange tree when you hear the familiar flap of his wings in the distance. He lands outside the tiny fence you keep around the garden to limit wild bunnies munching on your fruits. He has a bag on his shoulder, no heavier than a few shirts and pants. No armour in sight. He smiles, tired and worn out, but no less free, and no less in love, and you don't question it. You only raise yourself to your naked feet and step towards him. He cups your face, and you smile, nuzzling in it, that warm, scarred hand.

“Welcome home.” You say, soft and gentle but as firm as you can make it.

He presses his forehead to yours, dips down, and kisses you.

The next morning, you wake up with sunshine lapping at your bare skin like waves, your opened french doors letting in salty sea air into the room, shifting the curtains forward and back. Your body is draped over Azriel’s, who holds you loosely at the waist, his face serene with his eyes closed and eyebrows softly curved upwards.

You trace the small smile on his lips with your longest finger. His lashes flutter, and his hazel eyes find yours. He massages your naked waist as he comes to, blinking a few times, bringing you in closer.

He touches you with reverence, with so much love it's dizzying. “I resigned from my place as Shadow Singer of the night court. I trained Nuala and Cerridwen to take my place.” He announces after a few kisses that steal the air from you.

You don't say anything because you know that at this point in time, he doesn't need your approval, or your point of view on it. He'd done this for himself, and you were beyond proud of him for choosing himself above his prior court for once.

After that day, Azriel finds himself a place in your own little world. In that community you're growing in the mountains. He doesn't leave for Velaris anymore, and when you're called in, he will join you only rarely. Not in an attempt to forget — but because he does not feel the need to. He sees Rhysand and Cassian every month, and Feyre comes up with Nesta and Gwyn and Emerie and Elain sometimes to see you, maybe once every two months, to have a girls night of sorts.

And eventually, years down the line, your little community continues to flourish. You work hard to build a safe heaven for the people that trust you — that up and left their own courts to find you. Some people from the night court, others from spring, and a grand majority from other islands faraway.

Your home builds itself so beautifully over time, that the other courts agree to count your Island as the last court of Prythian — as a sign of respect, and some kind of political grant you don't truly understand.

You don't delude yourself into thinking you're any sort of High Lady, but as you see Azriel helping your citizens with their farms, deep brown skin tanned and slick with sweat instead of blood, playing with the kids with that beautiful, beaming smile on his face, shadows dispersing to trick and make toddlers and youngsters alike giggle, helping fix homes up after rather rough storms hit your village, you think that he'd make a perfect High Lord.

#azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar

[yorshie]

APPY SLICES

Bayverse turtles x fem reader

Turtle fluff, kinda petty jealousy, nothing sexual

Second Person, no Y/N.

Inspired by a pinterest post I saw about having an office turtle and the punch line was "does the big man want his appy slices?" and it just snowballed from there

Aged up turtles

APPY SLICES

Second View Person, Nicknames no Y/N

Your first vacation in a year, and you were stuck with a house guest for part of it.

Well, sort of a house guest.

You stared at the blue, plastic kiddie pool taking up half of the living room, shoved between your TV and the L shaped desk you used as a work space. A sandy colored shell was moving slowly around as Romeo explored his temporary digs, the large tortoise taking everything in with long, slow blinks.

“Boy, does your mother owe me one,” You informed him lowly, shaking out tired arms that still ached from carrying the large cat carrier up the stairwell. “Though, I guess she should be worried you won’t wanna go home on Monday. After all,” you leaned down, watched as Romeo turned those large, multicolored eyes in your direction, “I seem to have a growing collection of turtles.”

He let out a loud huff, the air whistling through his nostrils, and you snorted. “Sorry, tortoise, though I’m pretty sure the rest are turtles.”

He turned back to ignoring you, making slow movement towards the heat lamp you had attached to the back of a stool and swung over a part of his pad.

You hummed, watching him, then glanced over at your phone when it dinged from the couch.

Orange Crush: Hey babycakes, we still good to come get you after patrol? Donnie got ahold of that movie you wanted to see.

Uh oh. You bit at your nail absently, thinking, then typed back:

You guys are welcome to stop by, but I might have put a snag in movie night. I’ve got a house guest I have no idea what to do with.

You hit send, waited a beat, then hit accept before it even rang, expecting Leo’s name.

“Everything good?”

You decided not to comment on the speed dial. “Yea, everything’s fine. I’ve just… got a house guest.”

A beat of silence, “are you in danger?”

You frowned, stared across the room at Romeo, then had a light bulb moment as you replayed what was said. “Oh, god, Leo, no I’m fine. This isn’t a ‘help, there’s someone in my apartment’ type of thing.”

“Well that’s good,” he breathed, and you could hear his dry humor creeping in, “Though you almost gave Raph a heart attack just now.”

“Spiders almost give Raph a heart attack,” you deadpanned back. “But seriously, I’m just babysitting a pet for a friend. Um… actually.” You squinted at the tortoise sunning himself. “Don’t- don’t be weird when you guys get here.”

A longer beat of silence. “O-kay.” The word was drawn out. “We’ll be over in ten.” He hung up before you could squawk about cutting their patrol short, and you was left holding the phone comically to your ear.

Romeo chose that moment to let out a questioning chirp, his beak opening and clicking shut, and you turned your attention back to him. “Hm? You hungry, big boy? Let me go get your food.”

You got Romeo his salad, watching with slight amusement as he once again slowly moved toward the plate of offerings next to his sunken water bowl, high pitched chirps coming from him as he started to eat.

A light tap at your window pulled your attention, and you crawled over the couch to unlock the window, letting Leo do the heavy lifting to actually get it open.

“Heeeyyy,” You said, smiling brightly, trying to block the view behind you while leaning against the frame.

Leo rolled his eyes, “hey yourself. You gonna let us in?”

You pursed your lips, looking over the four of them crammed onto the fire escape, Donnie half hanging off the railing as he avoided Raph’s shell. You held up a finger threateningly. “Don’t be weird.”

You heard Raph scoff as you moved to press against the couch cushions, letting them step in over the furniture. “‘Don’t be weird’ she says to the mutant turtles.”

“Uh.” Leo pulled up short, one foot still on the couch, letting Mikey bounce off his shell as he noticed the kiddie pool.

Romeo looked up from the salad, took in the towering turtles staring back, and let out a low grumble that somehow managed to thrum through the room.

“Wow. That’s impressive.” You popped up on the couch, leaned over the arm, watched as the four turtles spread out a little, all still watching the kiddie pool.

“Sheesh, that’s nothing, babycakes,” Mikey said over his shoulder as he backed to the side to perch on the couch next to you, baby blues fastened on the tortoise like he’d disappear if he blinked. “That little rumble ain’t got nothing on Raph in the morning.”

“Huh. Really?” You glanced at the red turtle, but he shrugged, moving towards the kitchen counter and the cans of soda you’d set out while waiting for them.

“It ain't nothin special, sweetheart. How long you watchin mr. grumpy pants?”

Leo still hadn’t moved from his spot half on the couch, and with a huff Donnie pushed past him, the only one to take a step closer to the kiddie pool and crouch down to get a closer look.

“I have Romeo until Monday morning.” You tried not to sound too intrigued with what was happening, or not happening, but you probably failed judging by the quick look Raph threw your way, slight smirk curling his mouth as he watched you peer between Romeo and Donnie.

The tortoise had one eye on Donnie and the other on Leo, his head swiveled to the side to keep them both in sight as the ominous grumble sounded once more.

“Oh, goodness.” Donnie chuckled, perched as close to the plastic lip as he could get without touching the tortoise’s turf.

Raph whistled, long and low, as the noise lowered deeper until it was a threatening burr. Romeo snapped his beak at the sudden noise from Raph.

“Ok. What’s happening?” You asked, looking from Mikey to Raph for answers.

Mikey winced, fingers drumming out a fast staccato on his bent knees, so you turned your question to Raph, who simply shrugged.

“Donnie,” you whined, and heard him hum in answer. “What’s with the weirdness?”

“Oh, well, I suppose we’re making him a little uncomfortable.” He supplied, twisting around to address you from over Leo’s hip. Romeo let out an angry hiss, and Donnie swayed back out of sight. “Oops.”

“Now you done it,” Raph joked. “Touched the big man’s pool.”

“So I should have coached him instead of you guys?” You smirked, the notion that the bigger turtles were all being trash talked by Romeo amusing.

“Eh, probably wouldn’t have changed much,” Donnie chirped back at you, pulling another threatening beak snap from Romeo.

Raph chuckled. “Careful, Don. He might think you’re after his girl.”

“Oh so now I’m part of the problem?” You put as much sarcasm into the query as you could, moving to sit up on the couch, swaying into Leo’s space.

“Sure.” Leo answered, finally moving his foot off the couch as you brushed against him. “Bunch of big ugly rivals come into his place, touch his home, chirp at his girl. I’d be pissed too.”

“Would you?” You tried not to sound too amused, hand coming up to press against your mouth at the uptick in Leo’s cheek even as his gaze was kept on the tortoise. “So is he gonna get even more cranky if I leave with his ‘rivals’?”

“I’m sure he’ll live,” Raph pushed away from the counter, snapped his fingers under Donnie’s glasses. “Genius, quit harassing the poor dude. He’s stuck in a pool, we get to go watch a movie with his girl. Don’t rub it in.”

“Pretty sure I’ve known you guys longer than him,” You kicked out at Raph playfully as he passed close, connecting with his thigh and making him sway to avoid the pressure. “Think that makes him the interloper.”

“Ah, ok, I see how it is, you’re our girl. You want us to avenge your honor, teach this creep a lesson?” He jerked his head toward Romeo, grabbing your foot with ease as you went to kick at him again. You let out a quick giggle, jerked your foot away from his grip, leaning towards Mikey for protection as Raph made a grab for your retreating foot again.

“Hey, it’s all good babycakes, I’ll hide you from your loverboy’s rival.” Mikey lifted his arm, flashing the charm as he let you wedge yourself between his shell and the couch, feet tucked in the cushions where the larger brother couldn’t reach.

“We better get going before we rile your house guest up even more,” Leo commented, ignoring the playful banter as he stepped sideways out of Raph’s way. “You have everything you need?”

You hummed, twitching further behind Mikey as you felt the youngest brother’s fingers reach back and ghost your far side. “My bag’s in my room. Obviously, I’m gonna have to come check on Romeo tomorrow, but I think he’ll be ok for the night.”

“Especially if he doesn’t have to deal with us,” Donnie added, straightening and stepping around the pool to head down the short hallway leading to your room.

“Oh, shoot, hold on. Can’t forget.” You popped out from behind Mikey, wildly grabbing onto Leo’s arm to steady yourself as you overcorrected on the couch cushion. His forearm tensed under your hand, giving you something steady to push off of as you headed for the counter.

As you turned around with an apple and a knife, Mikey gasped. “He gets appy slices?”

“Yup, every Friday.” You responded, not looking up as you carefully started cubing the fruit.

“He’s get a treat after being an ass?” Raph sounded incredulous, and you blinked, looking up finally to find all three staring at the apple in your hand.

You took in the various looks of envy and mild offense, and reached behind you for the bag with the rest of the apples. “Do… do you guys want some?”

Donnie rounded the corner at that moment, stopped so hard his shoe squeaked on the floor. “He gets appy slices?”

“O-kay.” You pulled the word out long and slow, conscious as they tracked you and the dish of apple cubes across the room to the kiddie pool. It had to be your imagination, but Romeo almost looked smug as he hurried over for the treat you set down.

Behind you, Raph made a noise of disgust deep in his throat, and you fought to keep the smile from your face as Mikey echoed the sentiment.

“I promise,” You rose and turned to face them, “I will bring the whole bag and make you guys as many appy slices as you want tonight.”

Raph took the few steps to the kitchen, grabbed the bag of apples, and crossed back over to the couch and window. His brow raised as though daring you to laugh as Mikey opened the glass and hopped out onto the fire escape.

You fought it successfully until Leo purposely bumped into you, a gentle reminder to get moving, and you followed Donnie out into the chilly air, careful as you pulled yourself over the edge of the window.

Donnie offered you a hand, grip cool and firm as he tugged you up the flight of stairs and passed you off to Raph, whose arms you curled into as he picked you up effortlessly.

“Where’s Fearless?” He asked, stepping up to glance back over the edge, and you gripped tighter as the buildings swelled down to meet the street.

Leo stuck his head out of your window as though summoned, taking a moment to close the latch before he scaled up to where the others were waiting. At Raph’s questioning look, he huffed, the lights catching briefly on his teeth.

“Just reminding Romeo down there that he’s only a house guest.”

You blinked, your face going loose with shock, “Leonardo, did you growl at that poor tortoise?”

The only answer you got was a smug smirk, and Mikey’s bright belt of laughter.

Much later, in the lair, you sat slumped in the middle of the couch, fingers sticky as you peeled yet another apple. You didn’t even bother to lean forward as you offered a slice over the edge. You weren’t sure how they knew it was there, the only light coming from the soft jewel tones of the older movie on the big screen, but the slice was always accepted, much larger fingers grazing your palm the only indication. 

You smiled, and cut off another slice.

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo #bayverse leo #bayverse leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph #bayverse raphael #bayverse raph #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #bayverse donatello #bayverse donnie #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt mikey #bayverse michelangelo #bayverse mikey #bayverse tmnt x reader #bayverse turtles x reader #tmnt reader insert #yorshie fanfic

[anime-greek]

Slash in ClanAU concept art/ doodles

Can finally post these and make more now that I properly introduced him in that recent comic.

My guy gets the 2nd most character development among the adults despite being in the background (though I did plan like 3 “episodes” focused on him in earlier days of AU)

Bonus info for him!

-Based off red footed tortoise

-Originally wielded metal claws but scrapped it. He very much prefers fighting with his bare hands as his skin/shell is super durable and it’s easier to manage. Nails can extend/retreat if he wants it to.

-Beat up Leo after their first encounter. Later on Raph beat the shit out of him when he realized who he is (post-movie) (also got a few hits on him, but left the tortoise in way worst shape). Leo didn’t tell Raph who or what happened, Raph just connected the dots.

-He has four other siblings. Three older (Bidi, Calavo, and ‘Leatherhead’) and one younger (‘Mondo’). He does not get along well with any of them. Closest is Mondo but that’s because the lil guy puts up with them all due to fear. They are mutated by the same scientist and not by the oozequitos, thus does not have ‘magical’ abilities.

-Had anger/trust issues but it’s resolved later on. Mended relationship with Mondo afterwards.

-Later on gets along with Turbo and her cousins really well. And new hamato siblings

-Dated Leo (23) for a couple months before they broke up mutually. Then dated Raph for like a week (to help Raph’s bi-curiosity). He’s currently (present day) dating someone else in an unserious relationship.

-Slash is 3 years older than Leo.

-Slash is an alias he made up on the spot. But he very soon preferred it over the name his family gave him.

-Slash and Raph really didn’t like each other at first but are currently best friends.

#clan au #my art #fanart #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt leo #rottmnt leo #TMNT slash #ROTTMNT slash #ROTTMNT OC #ROTTMNT AU #ROTTMNT Raph #TMNT Raph #tmnt mondo gecko #rottmnt mondo gecko #TMNT Mikey #ROTTMNT Mikey #tmnt leatherhead #rottmnt leatherhead

[redlegumes]

Dec 2nd: Came Back Wrong

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles

prompt: Came Back Wrong | AO3: link | wc: 750 | rating: T | cw: none | tags: Steve Harrington has bad parents, found family, Christmas cards, holiday cards, return to sender

Summary: A holiday card marked 'return to sender' and Eddie remind Steve who his family is.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

“Looks like one of the cards came back to us babe,” Eddie said, flipping through bills. He handed Steve the battered blue envelope that Steve instantly recognized from their Christmas cards that year.

Steve looked at the neat block lettering the recipient had used to print the words ‘return to sender' above the address, and quickly noticed that the envelope was… altered. It was obvious to Steve that it'd gone through more wear than regular transport could have created.

“Stevie?” Eddie stopped looking through their other mail and set it on the kitchen counter before walking up to Steve. He ran his hands up and down Steve's arms, and began to stare daggers at the offending piece of mail in Steve's hand. “You're a little frozen there. What's wrong?”

Steve cleared his throat to speak, but his own voice still felt a little far away. “It's ‘return to sender,’ but it came back wrong.” 

cont. after the cut

“Uh, looks like a letter sweetheart,” Eddie said. His brow furrowed and Steve caught sight of one eyebrow raising slowly. “Which address was it?”

“Yeah, it- it's just a card,” Steve mumbled, his hands clenched the envelope a little tighter. “It was addressed to my parents.”

Eddie softly asked, “can I see?” Steve didn't respond, or fight when Eddie gently tugged it free from his grip. Instead Steve pictured exactly what was in the envelope. A secular, ‘happy holidays’ card with a blanket sort of sentiment on the front. He and Eddie weren't particularly religious, but they enjoyed the holiday season all the same. The cards they’d chosen that year were blank inside and Steve had spent a long time, not just building a list of recipients but on the letters he wrote out in each one.

The best part of the cards that year were the mall portraits Steve and Eddie ordered. They were in matching red long johns with a Christmas themed background. They even managed to get Lucifer (their three year old tortoise shell cat) and Bird (their mystery mutt) posed with them. Wearing bows. Wrangling the pets into the J.C. Penny photo studio alone had been a feat. Steve normally still chuckled even thinking about it, and Eddie's embellished tale of the event had already come up at multiple holiday parties.

He wondered if the photo would still be inside.

“Ah, I see what you mean now.” Eddie had a grimace on his face as his dexterous fingers turned the envelope over and ran along the top edge. 

Someone had opened the card, and not in an unintentional way. There was no evidence that someone ripped it open, assuming it was a card for them before realizing the mistake and sending it back through the post. No, the envelope had been carefully slit across the top, something one might be able to do with a very sharp letter opener. Steve pictured such a letter opener in detail: being lifted from a wooden, velvet lined box on a desk, the blade sharp, handle heavy, real silver throughout kept free of tarnish.

Eddie practically growled as his nail picked at the single piece of scotch tape that had re-sealed the top edge. “Assholes.” He pulled it off and took out the card, glancing briefly at the careful script Steve had written inside before plucking out their photo. Eddie marched to the fridge where he moved a large souvenir magnet from their California trip to secure it to the front door, centered over the other holiday cards already collaged over the appliance. He hooked Steve’s fingers when he walked back, heading directly to their small home’s fireplace. “We can always use more kindling,” he said, kneeling to nestle the card and envelope between the logs already placed there to light later that day.

Steve nodded, and Eddie took his face in his hands. His calloused grasp was steady, and Steve let himself become absorbed in the hot chocolate brown gaze holding his own. “You made lovely cards this year and our family photo is in the hands of everyone we care about this year. Everyone who loves us sent us cards too.” He kissed Steve’s nose, and sighed. "Are you going to be okay, knowing there was one that came back wrong?”

“I will be,” Steve replied, kissing Eddie on the lips. The kiss was sweet, but Steve also basked in the knowledge he’d built a loving family. One that chose him in return. One that proved, time and time again, what right looked like.

2023 RedLegumes Steddiemas 1 2 3 4 5 6 10 SteddieHolidayDrabbles 1 2 3 4 6 8 9 10

#Steve Harrington has bad parents #found family #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #i write things #holiday drabbles #drabble #ficlet #steddie ficlet #came back wrong #christmas cards #holiday cards #return to sender

[maniculum]

This is the last Der Naturen Bloeme scorpion sent me by @joeyportfolioey, which comes from Leiden University Library, BPL 14 A. Joeyportfolioey describes it as "a bit like a two-legged mouse with lips?" and I can't really argue with that. Maybe slightly more ferret-y, since it's so elongated, but yeah, nailed it. I genuinely have nothing to add to that.

Points:

Small Scuttling Beaſtie? ½, insufficient legs for proper scuttling

Pincers? ✘

Exoskeleton or Shell? ✘

Visible Stinger? ✘

Limbs? 2

Vibes are good, though. It's drawn so it kind of looks like it's gazing wistfully over a nighttime cityscape, which is charming. I also just think it's adorable. 5/5.

Total:

5.7 / 10

Genuinely expect a musical number to start from that shot.

Joeyportfolioey also notes:

I didn't notice before, but the description of the tortoise on the next page ("an ugly animal and an unsightly one") says that it has the head of a toad, the tail of a scorpion and lays eggs like a hen -- a case where it's not just the illustrator who is confused about scorpion tails.

This is the tortoise in question, I believe:

#medieval scorpions

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 6 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - this fic deals with some very dark themes such as drug use, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution and Minors DNI. There is a reader insert but it is very Spencer-centric.

Chapter Summary - Spencer embarks on his first therapy session. More people from his past haunt his dreams.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - therapy, withdrawals, pain, pain medication, talk of suicidal thoughts and attempted suicide, drug use, swearing, vomiting, paranoid behaviour, scars and stitches, track marks, featuring Alex Blake.

WC - 4K

Chapter 6 - If You Could See Me Now

It was early evening when Delaney knocked on Spencer’s door to bring him dinner. 

They didn’t usually condone eating in rooms as it strayed from routine and the socialisation with other patients was highly encouraged. 

But Spencer’s routine hadn’t really started yet so for today he let Spencer eat in the peace of his room.

Delaney sat at the desk and watched the man wolf down his food with the ferocity of a wild animal. 

Spencer had no idea when the last time he ate was and he hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the food was presented to him. 

He ate every last scrap and washed it down with nearly every drop of a litre bottle of water. 

Even after his rest his legs still showed the remains of the tremors but it was to be expected. 

After he’d eaten as promised earlier, Delaney trimmed Spencer’s nails so they were completely blunt and could cause no more injury to himself. 

Then he helped him into his wheelchair and wheeled him to his first therapist appointment which Spencer dreaded with every fibre of his being. 

He wished he had the energy to fight it, but even after a decent meal and hydration he was exhausted. 

“What day is it today?” Spencer mused as he was wheeled down corridors. 

“It’s Wednesday.” Delaney replied.

“So tomorrow is visitation day?” Spencer rubbed his eyes with his palms.

“Indeed.” 

“I don’t want to see anyone.” Spencer told him as they came to a stop outside of one of the doors in the corridor. 

“I really do think that-“ 

“Not yet. I’m not saying never, but not yet. Please.” Spencer clenched his teeth. 

“Ok.” Delaney agreed, knowing if he pushed him he might never let anyone visit. “I’ll call Ms Prentiss in the morning.” 

“Thank you.” Spencer’s hands retreated up his sleeves like tortoises retiring to their shells when threatened as Delaney opened the door and wheeled him inside. 

“Spencer, this is Maggie. She’s one of our specialists in dual diagnosis. She might not be your permanent therapist but she’s going to assess you and we’ll go from there, ok?” Delaney parked his chair next to the plush leather couch before helping Spencer onto it. 

Spencer just nodded. 

He wanted to pull his legs up to his chest to protect himself but he knew his injury wouldn’t allow it. Since waking up this evening he’d been noticing the pain properly for the first time. And not just in his leg. 

Both of his arms seemed as though they were on fire, searing in pain. Maybe he’d have to ask about getting some pain medication because it was almost unbearable. Delaney left the room and Spencer kept his hands hidden inside of his sweater for some kind of security. 

Maggie smiled at him softly. She was probably around his age, pretty in an understated way. She reminded him a little of Tara and it put him slightly at ease. 

“Hi Spencer,” she was soft spoken and had kind eyes. 

His eyes grazed down to the file in her hand and he could only imagine what it said about him there.

“Hi.” He offered her a tight lipped smile. 

“I know this must be hard for you, so I want to start by telling you a little about myself to try and help relax you if that’s ok?” 

Spencer simply nodded again, trying to dig his fingernails into his palm but now they’d been clipped so short his fingertips just pressed into his flesh. 

It didn’t ground him the way he needed it to. 

“My name is Doctor Maggie Sherman. I have a PhD in Behavioural Psychology. I’ve been a licensed therapist for fifteen years and I’ve worked here at PIW for six years. I specialise in treating patients with drug addictions and underlying mental health disorders. But this is just an assessment as Doctor Delaney said, so if we don’t gel or you don’t like me as your therapist that’s ok. Also to give you a little personal insight into me, I am married with two children, a boy and a girl. My wife and I have been together since we were in high school. Would you care to tell me a little about yourself?” 

Spencer’s eyes widened when she stopped talking, realising he was going to have to speak now. He tugged on the sleeves of his sweater awkwardly. 

“Uh…I also have a PhD. Well, three of them. Engineering, chemistry and mathematics. I worked for the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI from when I was twenty two up until seven months…” he trailed off with a small sigh. “Two years ago. I’m a drug addict, dilaudid and cocaine. I have PTSD, major depressive disorder and panic disorder.” 

“Ok that’s good.” She nodded encouragingly. “But why don’t you try and tell me something I couldn’t read in your file.” 

“Like what?” 

“Anything you like.” 

Spencer chewed on his bottom lip while he thought about this. He wanted to talk about you, you were the only thing he ever wanted to talk about. But now was not the time. 

“I like to read. I can actually read twenty thousand words a minute which is really useful for work when we need to get through hundreds of case files in a short amount of time but when it comes to reading for pleasure it can get a little frustrating.” He rambled. “I like playing chess. An old friend of mine taught me how and we used to play all the time. I never could beat him though. I can beat anyone else, just not Gideon.” 

It was a nervous babble. Once he started he couldn’t stop himself. Spencer always prattled when he was uncomfortable. 

“What about your personal life? Are you married, do you have kids? What about your family?” 

“Uh no, not married and no kids.” He sighed sadly. “Family is just me and my mom. But she’s a paranoid schizophrenic with early onset dementia and she lives in Las Vegas so I guess it’s just me.” 

“Doctor Delaney told me about your old team. Would you consider them family?” She tilted her head to the side a little. 

“Uh, I guess so.” He tugged at his sleeves again. “I’ve worked with some of them for over ten years and I guess they are the closest thing to a family that I have.” 

“It’s good to have a support system.” She smiled, threading her fingers together. “I do need to ask you some tough questions now ok, Spencer?”

“Y-yes.” His leg was still trembling much like it had been all day. The pain coursing through his whole body was causing him to sweat. The withdrawals were making him sweat too. 

“Are you ok?” Maggie narrowed her eyes on him a little. 

“I’m uh…in a bit of a pain.” A bit of pain was a huge understatement. His whole body swelled in agony. 

“You’ve not been given anything for your pain?” 

“N-no.” He shook his head. “But that’s probably because I didn’t tell Doctor Delaney I was in pain.” 

Maggie glanced down at her notes on him before pushing herself up from the chair and heading to a locked cabinet behind her desk. Once opened, Spencer saw an array of medication bottles which she quickly sifted through before pulling one of them out and locking the cupboard. 

“Have you heard of methadone?”

“Yes.” Spencer felt himself perk up a little. 

Methadone was an opioid like dilaudid, but ironically was used for treating opioid addictions. It was used for extreme pain relief which Spencer so sorely needed. Methadone changed the way the brain and nervous system respond to pain to give some relief. He knew it offered similar feelings to other opioid drugs like dilaudid, and would aid his cravings. And if he couldn’t get his hands on dilaudid or cocaine it would have to do. He knew he wouldn’t be given enough to get him high, but anything was better than nothing. 

“This will help with your pain and aid in relieving your withdrawal symptoms.” Maggie uncapped the bottle and Spencer unsheathed his hand to accept the pill. 

She poured him a cup of water from a machine in the corner of the room and handed that to him also. Spencer quickly tossed the pill and water back with shaky hands. He knew it took a little while to kick in, he hoped he could cope with this encompassing pain until then. 

“See how you get on with that tonight and we’ll discuss dosages tomorrow ok?” 

Spencer nodded, hands quickly snaking back inside his sweater. 

“Now I’m going to need to ask you some hard questions. If at any time you want to stop, just say so and we’ll stop. But I do need complete honesty from you ok, Spencer?” 

“Ok.” He was already grinding his teeth against the pain but now he started doing it more furiously. 

“How did you get involved in drugs?” She poised her own above her notebook. 

“About ten years ago. I was abducted during the course of a case and the unsub…uh, unknown subject…bad guy, he would inject me with dilaudid. I got addicted and kept using for almost a year after. But then I got clean and I didn’t start using again until seven…two years ago.” He watched Maggie take some notes before nodding. 

“What happened two years ago for you to start using again after such a long period of sobriety?” 

“I was arrested for a crime I didn’t commit. I spent three months in prison. I tried not to turn to drugs but it all got too much. And after a while the dilaudid wasn’t enough so I started using cocaine too.” He was impressed by how easily he was talking about this, least of all to a stranger. 

Maybe that was why it was easier to talk about. But he wouldn’t be so quick to answer all of her questions. 

“Was it after prison you self-harmed for the first time?” She tapped the nib of her pen on the notebook. 

Spencer winced a little, snaking his arms around his waist and hugging himself, despite how much his arms hurt. 

“I uh…” he swallowed, eyes darting around the room so he didn’t have to look at her. “I was prescribed Prozac by my therapist. It made me feel worse than I did before. It made me s-suicidal. I think I hurt myself trying to stop from killing myself.” 

“That makes sense.” Maggie nodded in understanding. “Everybody has coping mechanisms, Spencer. Unfortunately yours are not very healthy. My job is to help you find healthier ways of dealing with your emotions.”

“Logically I understand that. Rationally I know that drugs and hurting myself isn’t sensible. And honestly they didn’t even work. I don’t even know how I’m still alive if truth be told.” He grinded his teeth harder, wishing he could pick at his skin to relieve some tension.

“You’ve attempted suicide before? I mean before the other day.” 

“Yes.” He tightened his hold on himself, hoping if he squeezed tight enough he might just disappear all together. 

“Can you elaborate?” Maggie put the pen down and gave him her full attention. Honestly that made him feel more uncomfortable.

“I sometimes play Russian Roulette with my gun. Leave it up to fate to decide if it’s my time to die.” His eyes glossed over with tears. “I’ve tried overdosing before. I’m incredibly smart and I should have known exactly how much I needed to end it. But the drugs must have scrambled my brain and I kept fucking it up.”

“Was this overdose a deliberate one?” 

“I’m still trying to piece that together but I’m pretty certain it was, yes.” A few tears crept from his eyes but he was quick to wipe them away on the sleeves of his sweater. 

“What do you think would happen if any of your attempts had been successful?” Her question threw Spencer through a loop and he frowned at her. 

“I don’t understand.” He toyed with the hems of the sweater. “I’d be dead. I don’t believe in heaven or hell or reincarnation or anything like that so I’d just be dead?”

“No, I don’t mean it like that.” Maggie smiled. “Let me rephrase the question. What do you think would happen to your mom, your friends, if your attempts had been successful?” 

Spencer’s frown deepened. He’d never thought about that. Not once. He’d never even thought about you. All he’d ever thought about was how much he needed to end it all. 

“I uh…I don’t know.” 

“It’s ok not to know. The sad fact is Spencer, depression is a very selfish illness. It doesn’t allow our brains to think of the consequences of our actions. It’s ok not to have thought about the effect it would have on those who love you.” Maggie picked her pen back up and jotted something down. 

“My mom probably wouldn’t even realise. She doesn’t even know who I am most of the time.” He heard the self-pity in his tone and he hated it. Once again he tried to dig his nails into his palms but failed. 

���I’m sure a lot of people would miss you if you were gone, Spencer. Your mom included.” 

“Hmm.” That was Spencer’s sign he was done talking. 

He’d opened up a lot more than he’d expected to and now he was done. Maggie clearly sensed this and she closed her notebook. 

“Do you think you’d like to come back and talk to me more tomorrow?” She asked softly. 

“I don’t know if like is the right word.” He gnawed on his lip. “But sure.” 

He was still fidgeting with his hands under his sleeves and he saw Maggie’s eyes flick to where his hands lay in his lap. She pushed herself up from the chair and rounded her desk. He watched as she pulled something out of the top drawer. 

“I want you to wear this.” She came over to him and handed him a simple rubber band. 

“Uh, why?” He frowned but took it from her all the same. 

“Wear it around your wrist and when you feel the urge to hurt yourself, give it a firm snap. It will help alleviate the need to harm yourself.” 

Spencer nodded stiffly, rolling the band over the bandages on his left wrist as it was the arm that hurt less. 

“I’ll call Doctor Delaney to take you back to your room. Tomorrow you’re going to let me know how you got on with the medication ok?” 

“Ok.”

While Maggie made a phone call he snapped the band around his wrist once, twice and three times. And then three more times for good measure. It would be a miracle if the band was still intact come morning. 

***

The pain continued to flood his body to the point he thought he may actually pass out. Although admittedly that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world because he was supposed to be asleep. The methadone should have done something. It had been hours since Maggie gave him the medication and Spencer was sure if anything, his pain was worse. 

He was simultaneously on fire and freezing. He was dripping with sweat and he’d already vomited in the trash can in his room three times. Despite his lack of nails he’d already picked off the bandages on his knuckles and was working on picking at the one on his right arm. Why was the methadone not kicking in? This didn’t make any sense. And that left him with one of two theories. 

One: she’d given him a placebo. She’d given him a pill that was simply meant to placate him. It was nothing more than a sugary tablet to make him think his pain and cravings would lessen.  

Or two: it was all in his fucking head. He’d created the pain in his own mind and it didn’t really exist in the first place. 

What if the bandages were only there to make him think he was hurt? Of course his cut up knuckles should have told him that wasn’t true. But suddenly Spencer didn’t know what to believe. 

He picked and picked at the dressing on his right arm until he was able to remove it entirely. He expected to see untarnished skin beneath it but of course, that wasn’t what happened. Underneath the dressing was a wound running the length of his forearm with the seventeen stitches Delaney had told him about. Without meaning to, Spencer pressed his fingers against the wound, applying pressure and feeling the pain heighten. 

He did it again, harder this time and yelped at the feeling. But he still did it two more times. Not one to be easily perturbed, he ripped off the bandage on his other arm revealing hideous, pulsating track marks and a series of slowly healing gouges and burns. Once again he pressed his fingers to the open wounds, feeling the pain swell aggressively as he did so. 

Soon he was on top of his sheets, wriggling out of his pyjama pants and unravelling the dressing around his thigh. The bullet wound looked better than he’d imagined, already seeming to heal very nicely. It was the array of cuts above it that made Spencer’s stomach turn a little. Some scars were old, probably made at least a year ago. Others were fresher, still healing. Spencer pressed his fingertips against every single one of them. 

He was dizzy with the pain but he continued prodding and poking his wounds, hypnotising himself with the repetitiveness of going from limb to limb over and and over again. 

Left arm. Right arm. Leg. Left arm. Right arm. Leg. Left arm. Right arm. Leg. Left arm. Right arm. Leg.

He repeated this cycle for hours, groaning at the pain it caused but for some reason it became oddly comforting. He was utterly restless. He couldn’t get his brain to shut off long enough to give over to sleep. At some point, completely forgetting about the fact he couldn’t walk, he swung his legs out of bed. As he placed his feet on the floor, pain shot up his leg but he ignored it. He pushed himself up, wobbling a little as he did so. He stepped forward on his good leg first. Then slowly his bad leg.

The pain alone almost caused him to collapse but he was determined not to be bedridden. He would push himself to his limits if it meant he wasn’t stuck in that damn bed. By the time he reached the door he couldn’t see straight anymore for the intense agony swirling through his body. He clutched the handle, tugged on it. The door didn’t budge. 

No, no, no! He screamed internally. No, I can’t be locked in! Not again! Not again! 

He tried to thud on the door but he was too weak and just slapped his hand pathetically against it. 

No, please. I can’t be locked in. I can’t go back to prison. 

His leg suddenly gave out, his mind giving in to the pain and he collapsed onto the carpeted floor. With the last of the energy he had in his body he tried to crawl back to his bed but he didn’t make it all the way and somewhere between the door and the bed, he blacked out. 

***

“Spencer?” A soft voice roused him. “Spencer, what are you doing on the floor?” 

He lifted his head from the carpet pillow and squinted upwards at the figure standing over him. 

“Spencer? You need to get up.” Your voice was stern and held a hint of frustration. 

“What happened?” He croaked, rolling himself onto his back and rubbing his eyes with his palms. 

“I don’t know, you tell me.” You crouched over him and held your hands out for him to take which he did. Your skin was like ice. 

You helped him into a sitting position and he blinked rapidly, trying to dislodge you from the haze you were in. 

“Why can’t I see you properly?” He mused out loud. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. I don’t have the answers for you.” You pulled him to his feet and when he stood there was no pain in his leg. There was no pain anywhere. 

Blinking a few more times he looked around and found himself in his bedroom of his apartment. He let you lead him to the bed where you both sat down on the mattress. He tried to concentrate on your features but everything was just slightly out of focus. 

“I’m forgetting you.” He grinded his teeth. 

“It’s been a long time.” You shrugged. 

“I don’t want to forget you. I never want to forget you!” He wailed pathetically. 

“At some point you have to let me go, Spencer.”

“No, no I don’t want to. I miss you Y/N, I miss you so fucking much. I don’t want to let you go, I don’t want to forget.” 

“It’s already happening, Spencer. It’s out of your control.” 

“No, please.” He whined, sniffing loudly. “Please, I can’t forget you. Please tell me what I need to do to remember.”

“Your brain is becoming clearer.” You sighed a little as you spoke. “The drugs are washing out of your system and making you see clearer.” 

“If that were the case, surely I’d remember you more clearly?” 

“Your mind is trying to tell you something, Spencer. At some point you’re going to have to listen to it.” You briefly touched his cheek before standing up from the bed. 

“What is it trying to tell me? I don’t understand.” 

“You’ll see soon enough. Everything will become clear. Just try not to blame yourself when it does.” You started backing away, slipping away from him. 

“Blame myself for what?” 

“Any of it.” You replied simply and then your image vanished completely. 

“Y/N!” He jumped up from the bed. “Y/N, come back!” 

“She’s gone.” A voice behind him startled him. 

He quickly spun back around to see someone sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“A-Alex?” He frowned at her, scratching the back of his neck. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t ask me.” She laughed. “It’s your subconscious.” 

“I’m losing it.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I am fucking losing it.”

“Oh Spencer, you lost it a long time ago.” Alex smiled wistfully at him. 

“That’s not true.” He shook his head. 

“Isn’t it?” Her smile turned into a frown. “You’ve never been well Spencer. You were cursed with that giant brain. That giant, sick brain. Everyone thinks it a gift but they have no idea what a hindrance it really is.” 

“Well given that you’re just a dream, excuse me for not believing anything you say.” He rolled his eyes. 

“I’m an extension of your subconscious Spencer. I’m only saying what you’re thinking.”

“That’s not true.” 

“We both know that it is.” 

Spencer heaved a sigh and fell back to the bed next to her. 

“Am I ever going to recover from this? Am I ever going to be ok again?” 

“That’s up to you. You’ve gotta want it Spencer.” 

“And if I don’t? What if all I want is to spend the rest of my life high out of my mind?” 

“Then you’ll never recover.” Alex shrugged. 

“How do I keep my memories of Y/N? Why would they fade when my mind is clearer? It just doesn’t make sense.” He huffed. 

“Somewhere in that big old brain, you know the answer to that. You’ll find it eventually, but I can’t help you.” 

“Alex, I’m scared.” He confessed, tears springing to his eyes. 

“I know you are. But I know you and I know you’ll be ok.” She pushed herself up from the bed and turned to look down at him. “Or alternatively you won’t be ok and you’ll end up dead.”

“Wow, great pep talk.” He scoffed. 

“Again, I’m only saying what you want me to say.” 

“Can I wake up now? This is getting kind of annoying.” 

“A nurse is going to walk through your door in approximately thirty seconds to wake you up.” She pointed to the door over her shoulder but it wasn’t the door to Spencer’s bedroom in his apartment anymore. He was back in his room at PIW. “Good luck explaining why you’re on the floor by the way.” Alex chuckled and then, like you, she was fading away. 

Taglist

@andiebeaword @measure-in-pain@takeyourleap-of-faith @dirtytissuebox @smurphyse @ssa-uglywhore27 @reidselle @reidsbookclub

@tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds #criminal minds smut

[thelittleredwildflower]

Note: 18+, adult content

Calamine

Boone, Mississippi. 1976.

September

Ginny woke in the middle of the night to the restless song of crickets outside. She shifted lazily on Coralee’s springy old mattress and rolled onto her back, wiggling her toes beneath the soft, threadbare sheets. Her small feet throbbed with a fierce, burning itch, and she rose up in a daze, rubbing at her big eyes in the hot darkness.

The air was thick with humidity, stifling, and she sat for a moment, her body still damp and heavy with sleep. After she had roused herself a bit, Ginny swung her coltish legs out from under the striped sheets and pulled her knees up tight to her chest. In a stream of pale moonlight, she looked down, shocked to find both ankles littered with sore, red welts. The sight turned her stomach. It worsened the dull, steady ache that already lingered in her belly, and she swallowed hard, pressing a palm against her damp forehead.

Earlier that night, Coralee Cooper and Annabelle Lane had gotten Ginny drunk for the first time. The three of them had trekked out back into a thick of old trees and wild brush near the Indigo River, their worn backpacks plump with stolen beer. They had plopped down Indian-style in a patch of cool, blonde grass beside the rushing water, waiting on Cora to fish out her daddy’s old bottle opener. ‘Budweiser’ had been written in faded blue letters across the red handle, and they had pried open the smooth, cold longnecks with eager hands, giggling all the while.

The three of them had sat near the river’s edge for hours, watching the swift, dark current sweep over bedrock as they’d downed swig after swig of liquid gold. When all the beer had finally been drunk, they had flopped back on the grassy bank and smoked cigarettes, watching the late summer stars tilt and spin. It had been loads of fun, but from the looks of her swollen feet, Ginny had left the woods with more than just a good beer buzz.

She poked gingerly at one tender red bump and sucked in her breath. It stung and ached with the beat of her heart, and she knew straight off it was poison oak. She’d had it before as a little girl, and it’d been downright terrible. The stubborn, scarlet colored rash had gone on and on, no matter how many times her mama had rubbed it with salve and wrapped it in clean cloth bandages. For weeks, it had throbbed with her every step, and Ginny still remembered her mama’s warm, soothing voice, how her skin had smelled of honeysuckle as she’d dabbed thick patches of cool pink lotion over her feet and ankles. “It’s all right, sweet girl. That calamine’ll work it’s magic soon on ya soon enough.”

“Coralee?” Ginny sent out a quiet whisper to her friend, but Cora was deep in dreams, her eyelids fluttering like moth wings in the silver moonlight.

Ginny waited a minute or two, then pulled herself off Cora’s bed with a long, lazy sigh. Outside, in the hot damp of midnight, the steady, musical lull of insects droned on through the open screened windows. In the hazy shadows, Ginny finally found her glasses in a sea of glitter nail polish bottles and Seventeen magazines on Cora’s cluttered white dresser. She wiped the lenses clean with the bottom hem of her nightdress, then slipped the round, tortoise shell frames up onto her freckled little nose.

In the quiet heat of Coralee’s small, dormered bedroom, Ginny suddenly grew homesick. The Coopers had no air conditioning, and all she heard then was the eerie, drifting whir of steel blade fans running in every room of their dark house. Down the hall, restless with sweat and bad dreams, Cora’s little brother, Travis, tossed and turned in his small twin bed.

It was hot for late September, oppressively hot, and Ginny longed for autumn. She loved when the nights grew windy and brisk after the purple fall of dusk. She would often linger out in the backyard until late, her small body strewn across an old tire swing. Up and down the streets, people burned piles of leaves, and she would close her eyes and breathe in the pungent scent of their fires. Each year, she savored the sweet, somber hush of rolling foliage, the slow turn of trees in their neighborhood from deep green to crimson and gold. She hadn’t seen a wisp of color so far though, and it made her wonder if summer would ever give up the fight.

Ginny looked on at her two friends as they slumbered in the darkness. She listened to the soft sound of Annabelle’s breath moving in and out. It was tranquil and even, like the rise and fall of waves. In the far corner, Coralee sighed and shifted onto her belly. Ginny didn’t have the heart to wake them, so she stepped over Belle’s long, sleeping body and tried her best to be silent. A rush of searing pain swept through her feet and ankles then, and she stopped where she stood, wincing.

Cora’s bedroom door stood half ajar, and Ginny craned her neck, looking out into the dark, narrow hallway. It felt like trespassing, her roaming around in someone else’s house at night. The creak of a wooden floorboard, the groan of a warped stair, the shadowed corners and locked closets were all parts of a foreign land, one where natives slept, unknowing. She thought of the jumbled pile of shoes near the front door, the dirty dishes in the sink, the wooden coat tree beside the big picture window where jackets and sweaters and hooded sweatshirts hung at random. All the unfamiliar scents on blankets and sheets and pillowcases, they were the Coopers’ blood, sweat and tears.

Ginny stood for a bit, hesitant, smoothing her thin white frock over her slim, pretty legs. She tucked her wavy dark hair back behind both ears and thought of morning, how it was just a few hours off. She could wait. The last thing she wanted was to disturb the peace, but as she took another step, that deep, aching heat sprang to life again. She glanced back at Cora with hopeful eyes, but her friend still lay sleeping in a harbor of clean cotton sheets. Ginny turned toward the beckoning hall again, sighing reluctantly. She stayed put for a moment longer, then finally lifted anchor and drifted out into the hot, silent house.

~

“Mr. Cooper?” Ginny’s voice was soft and unsure as she looked down at him, at a good daddy sleeping peacefully on his brown plaid couch.

She had never known her own daddy. He had left her mama high and dry when Ginny was just three years old. At home, she never walked into their yellow tiled bathroom to find a straight razor sitting on the sink. There were no bottles of stiff, woodsy smelling aftershave tucked into the medicine cabinet, no dirty brown work boots lying idle near the front door.

Emmett Cooper had the same color hair as his daughter, Cora. It was the rich shade of burning embers, not red and not brown, but a beautiful, unique mix of both. His big, weathered hand lay across his lean belly, and it rose and fell gently as he took in a long breath, letting it out with a quiet, lazy sigh. His sleeping face was turned away from her, and the warm, dancing light from a muted TV screen cast rippling shadows all over the room.

Ginny stood a few feet from him, keeping still and silent. She had always been painfully shy, and more often than not, filled to the brim with a quiet uncertainty. Even as a small child, she had been soft-spoken and sweetly awkward. She couldn’t help but feel like pest then, saying his name again, so she waited, hoping he might stir.

She looked on at the frayed bottom hem of his gray t-shirt. It had come up an inch or two on his belly, and her cheeks burned at this small, unexpected glimpse of bare skin. A straight line of copper hair trailed down from his navel, disappearing into the waist of his blue work trousers. They were stained with grease and motor oil, and she saw how the dark cotton had worn thin at the knees.

Ginny only knew a handful of things about Coralee’s daddy. He fixed up cars down at Lipman’s Garage, he smoked a pack of Luckies a day, and he had a soft spot for horses. Cora had once said that her daddy loved to ride his old motorcycle, and on Friday nights, he would put his feet up, listen to blues, and drink Wild Turkey out of a tiny red shot glass. She had also said that her mama, Lucy, downright hated his motorcycle and the whisky drinking too. For months, Cora’s mama and daddy had been fighting like cats and dogs. Lucy had been staying out nights, spending more and more time working late shifts down at Ruby’s Diner. She was there that night, in fact, waiting tables and slinging hash to all the night owls and drunkards.

Cora had said that her mama had been acting like a selfish bitch, and that her daddy deserved his bit of fun, especially after he’d worked his hands to the bone all week. She had told Ginny that she missed her daddy’s goofy laugh and his stupid jokes. All of his silliness and playful teasing has gone absent since he and Cora’s mama had begun living separate lives. It all seemed so complicated and sad to Ginny.

“Mr. Cooper?” Ginny drew closer, intent on asking if they had any calamine lotion to soothe the itch on her tender bare feet. She jumped in her skin when he sat up quick, startled from a deep sleep.

“What? What’s wrong? Shit, I fell asleep. What time is it?”

Still bleary-eyed, he reached up and rustled his red-brown hair with both big hands. It stood up every which way, until he smoothed it back down again with a heavy sigh. He seemed disoriented and plain exhausted, and Ginny felt remorse for waking him up so suddenly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper. It’s ‘bout two o’clock, I think.”

He moved to the edge of their brown plaid couch, and almost at once, his big hands reached for a pack of Lucky Strikes that lay out on the coffee table. They had been tossed there beside an empty bottle of Budweiser, an old Zippo lighter, and a green plastic ashtray that cradled two spent butts. He smacked the half pack of smokes up against his big palm and pulled one out, taking it between his teeth.

“You one of Coralee’s friends? Lucy warned me ‘bout you girls stayin’ over tonight. Said I might not get much sleep on count of all the gigglin’ and carryin’ on.”

Emmett Cooper gave Ginny a tired, weary smile, showing just a glimpse of his straight, white teeth. He looked at her bare, freckled shoulders and tiny frame. She was a good bit smaller than his daughter, and she looked as young as a chickadee. The only thing that gave away her true age was the shadow of two tender points hidden beneath her thin cotton frock. She stood at just the right angle, where the smooth, white moonlight drifted in through the big picture window. Its soft glow made her little gown go completely sheer, and he looked away. She might as well have been standing there naked in front of him. She didn’t have a clue though, and he wasn’t about to let on. He had learned quickly, just by living with Coralee, that teenage girls were often over-sensitive, erratic creatures. He kept quiet and took a long drag off his cigarette. All the while, his eyes fought the urge to look at her taut little nipples through her pretty cotton sheath, and he cleared his throat as he exhaled.

“I’m Ginny Goodman. I work with Coralee over at the Dairy Queen…makin’ ice cream cones and such. We just met this summer. This is my first time stayin’ over.”

She had a honey-drip little voice that he could barely make out, and like a bloodhound, Emmett caught scent of her shy, hesitant nature. She had a quiet innocence about her; none of the giddy drama that was common in most girls her age. She was different, more sweet and trusting. It was in the downward tilt of her big doe eyes behind her glasses. It was in the high color of her baby soft cheeks, and he felt the tug of an erection come on him then. It took him completely off guard. It disturbed him, even, because she still looked like a little fawn.

He had never been one to desire knock-kneed, skinny young girls. He favored curves, and his wife, Lucy, had plenty of those. Since the night they’d first met, Emmett had been crazy for Lucy’s firm, rounded breasts. The way she filled out a snug white t-shirt had always driven him wild. She was near forty, but her ass still looked delicious in a tight pair of old Levi’s, and her legs had remained shapely and strong. After twenty years of marriage, he still had trouble keeping his hands off her. He even loved the little paunch of her belly because she had carried his three children there.

Emmett had always fancied solid women, women he could grab onto and drive himself deep inside of. He had never once, as a grown man, felt himself stiffen up so quick and eager for a girl so young. It just hadn’t been in his nature. In fact, he had always found it unsettling when the guys down at Lipman’s would catcall at passing teenagers.

In the summertime, a slow stream of wayward girls often trickled into the shop. Dressed in snug cut-off jeans and thin halter tops tied above the navel, they would prance around and put their flat, tanned-up bellies and firm, sun-kissed legs on display. They’d snap their bubble gum and flip their hair and give the middle-aged men like Emmett a knowing smile as they dropped their keys onto the grubby front counter. It was always a smashed-in bumper or a busted-up taillight that needed repair, the ruins of loud music, homegrown weed, and a lead foot. On the hottest days, they would wiggle their firm little asses out the front door and leave the sweet scent of coconut oil in their wakes. While most of his buddies would whistle through their teeth as the girls shimmied across the parking lot into their boyfriends’ trucks, he would only shake his head and let out a quiet belly laugh.

Emmett thought on Lucy then. It had been nearly three months since she’d let him touch her, and the last time had been rushed. It had been a quick, silent fuck in the still darkness of their messy bedroom, before the house had woken up or the sun had sneaked its way through the drawn curtains. After they had finished, she had slipped her warm body out from under his and whispered, “I need to make coffee…and I gotta pack a lunch for Travis.” It had seemed to Emmett that she hadn’t been able to get away from their bed fast enough.

By instinct, his body had grown hungry in Lucy’s absence. He knew it was possible that his wife no longer loved him. They had been growing apart for some time, years it seemed, but Emmett still had hopes that the two of them could put aside their problems and salvage the family they’d made together. As of late, Lucy didn’t seem too keen on that notion, and the whole thing broke his heart in two.

“Well, Ginny Goodman…” He took another long drag off his cigarette and slowly exhaled into the close, sultry air. “…it’s good to meet you. I’m Coralee’s daddy.”

~

“What in hell you girls doin’ out in them woods, anyhow? Drinking’ down my beer and smokin’ up my cigarettes, I reckon.” Emmett looked on at Ginny’s big chocolate eyes, waiting for her to deny it, but she just pressed her bee-stung lips together and let out a soft giggle.

“Yep. You can tell Coralee I noticed them smokes missin’ from my pack. You can tell her to cut it out too, or there’ll be hell to pay. I keep sayin’…if she’s stupid enough to take up smokin’, she best buy her own pack. I told her to stay out of them woods too. It’s ripe with poison oak.”

Ginny kept quiet and listened as he talked to her all daddy-like. She savored his playful, gentle scolding. It felt nice. She imagined what it would be like to have a daddy that loved you deep, one that teased you and made you laugh.

She was bashful as he took down a bottle of calamine lotion from the kitchen cupboard and walked over to her on quiet bare feet. He sat down beside her on the soft plaid couch and shook the pink bottle in his big hand, mixing it up lightly. He told her to shimmy her little behind around and sit with her back against the couch’s big pillowed arm, and she obliged him with dark, watchful eyes.

“Put your feet up here so I can get a look. I know that’s what you got though, and it ain’t no fun from what I remember.” He motioned for her to swing her feet up.

“It itches somethin’ terrible.” Ginny pulled her glasses off and wiggled her toes like a child.

“I bet. You’re covered in it.”

She set her small bare feet in his lap and watched his scruffy red beard, his thick fingers and creased knuckles. He had a black crescent of motor oil under each nail and a tender red cut on his left thumb. Her eyes lingered on his big hands as he took soft white cotton balls slathered in cool pink balm and gently dabbed them on her sore welts, just like she was his own baby girl.

“That hurt?”

He looked over at her eyes, and Ginny shook her head no. Though she was young, and green as a sprig of mint, a warmth suddenly blossomed up between her legs. The feelings brought on a whole mess of confusion because Mr. Cooper was a grown man over twice her age. He had sturdy arms and tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. He was no spindly teenage boy.

As the fan slowly teased across their hot skin and drew away, Ginny felt a ripple of uncertainty run through her. She wasn’t sure if Coralee’s daddy had looked at her bare legs in a way he shouldn’t have, or if he’d been wrong to let his deep hazel eyes wander to the thin strap of her nightdress when it had slipped down her freckled shoulder. She wasn’t sure of anything, only that his hands were like feathers on her sore bare feet, his touch soft and tender as he healed her ache with his smooth pink salve; the one that smelled like childhood.

~

“Wake up, pretty girl.”

Ginny came slowly from dreams with lazy, half-open eyes. She was still sleepy as he pressed his mouth against her damp forehead and kissed gently.

“You awake, sweetheart?”

His mouth was warm and searching, and he smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. The piney scent of sweat lingered on his skin, as if he needed a long, hot shower to wash away the day’s work. He smelled like those men had, the ones who’d come to fix her mama’s leaky kitchen pipes. They had been dressed in dirty old work trousers and worn leather tool belts, and they had carried the same scent of musk and tobacco. It was the way a daddy might smell, and a daddy was someone who had no business nestling his rough, scratchy face into the soft hollow of her neck.

Ginny’s first instinct was to pull away. She wanted to slip off the couch and sneak back to the quiet haven of Cora’s small, hodgepodge bedroom, with its crooked posters and pine floors and patchwork sleeping bags.

Instead, she lay there like a rag doll as Emmett Cooper placed a gentle kiss on her smooth, freckled shoulder. A moment later, he cupped a big hand around her cheek and traced his thumb lightly over her jaw, kissing up along her warm, salty neck. His mouth was hot and teasing, and Ginny closed her eyes tight at the prickle of his short beard on her soft skin.

“Don’t.” She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He had been so nice to her as he’d tended her wounds and made her giggle in the quiet darkness. Still, she knew it couldn’t be right, him kissing on her like that.

“You don’t gotta be afraid. I ain’t gonna hurt you, baby. Not never.” He drew one finger along her hairline, watching her thick, feathered lashes, her large, silent eyes swimming in question.

Ginny remembered falling asleep on the big plaid couch, and for a spell, he had too. He had dozed off sitting up, still holding her damaged feet in his lap. She had felt nothing but safe and sound with him, but right then, she was taken aback at his closeness, almost bewildered by it.

She thought on Coralee and Annabelle, sleeping sound just upstairs. She knew that any girl in her place might be afraid, or at least unsure, but more than fear, Ginny was only shy and timid as his big hands worked down the front of her thin nightdress. One by one, he pulled loose her long row of buttons, and she closed her eyes, feeling his warm mouth against her ear.

He parted her gown gently, tracing his fingers across her smooth belly until she lay there, bare and bashful, looking up at him with wide, dark eyes. For a moment, she felt a whisper soft touch on her navel, then it was gone.

She looked down as his rough hands made their way along her slim, girlish legs. Before she knew, he had taken two thick fingers and laced them under the hips of her thin white underpants.

“Lift up.”

Ginny watched his eyes, listening to the smooth lull of his deep voice above her as she slowly lifted her small bottom off the couch.

“Yeah. That’s it, pretty girl.”

A moment later, he pulled her flimsy cotton panties clean off, and Ginny felt her cheeks go hot. It was unthinkable, that Coralee’s daddy, or any daddy for that matter, would touch her in such a forbidden way. She watched as he tossed her little white underpants on the coffee table next to his cigarettes and beer.

Ginny shifted away, uneasy as he slipped in beside her on the big plaid couch. He traced one finger down between her small breasts, then circled the warm, dark hallow of her navel again. The light, whispery feel of his touch tickled her hot skin and made her belly tense up. It made her suck in a little breath and bite down on her full bottom lip.

“That tickle?”

He walked two teasing fingers back up between her breasts, smiling down at her as he leaned in close. His mouth was hungry and eager, and it searched for hers until Ginny pulled away. She was all racing heart and vulnerable eyes then, and a deep, aching warmth had settled down between her legs. It throbbed with the beat of her heart as he traced a tender finger around each of her dainty pink nipples, first one, then the other.

‘I can’t believe this is happenin’.’ It was a silent thought inside of her as he touched the small, sparse patch of dark hair where her slim legs met. Since that sweet, curly tuft had sprouted up the summer before her thirteenth year, Ginny had been intensely shy about it.

Emmett slid his big hand down, rubbing gently at her slippery little cleft, testing the waters. She couldn’t help but look there. In the warm, milky light that spilled in through the big picture window, Ginny watched his rough fingers stroke against her most private place. It felt like too much at first, almost too good, and she nudged him away, feeling tingly and feverish. She rose up on her elbows then, looking at him with wide, over-bright eyes.

“That hurt you, pretty girl? I just… I forgot…”

Ginny didn’t know what he’d meant by that. Forgot what? That she had never been touched before? That she was a late bloomer? That at eighteen, she was still brand new, though most girls her age had already lost it to their boyfriends, or some drunken, shaggy-haired guy they’d met at a party?

“Let me kiss you, now. Don’t be shy. I just…I wanna make you feel nice.” It was a shameless confession, and he pressed his damp forehead to hers, closing his soulful eyes.

“You do?” She asked it in a way that nearly broke his heart.

Emmett knew he was doing the worst kind of wrong to his daughter’s new little friend, but in that moment, he had become someone else entirely. If he had looked in the mirror right then, he would have found a stranger’s face peering back at him, a man broken up and beaten down. He knew it was a shameful thing, to take his grief and frustration out on a sweet little bird like Ginny, but still, he leaned in close and ventured further.

“I do. Let me kiss you, sweetheart.” Emmett gave her freckled cheek one tender kiss, tucking a sliver of stray hair behind her ear.

“It’s scratchy.” She smiled but couldn’t look at him then, the flecks of evergreen in his eyes, the angry, ragged scar along his left forearm.

“My face?” He reached up and rubbed at his stubbly red beard. It made a sound like sandpaper moving across wood.

“I love these freckles.” He touched her nose with a sugary sweetness that made her trust him all over again.

“I hate ‘em.” Ginny felt herself blush. She had always cursed the mess of dusty brown flecks on her cheeks and nose. They made her look years younger.

“You’re such a beautiful little thing.” Emmett kissed her cheek again, smiling against her hot skin, and Ginny looked over at him, right into his deep hazel eyes.

She bit back a budding smile then, turning her gaze down like a shy doe, and it was all the invitation he needed. He took her chin in his big hand and pulled her smooth baby face close against his own. He kissed at her warm mouth, and she followed his lead, stroking her cotton candy tongue against his, kissing deeper when he did, her breath growing quicker all the while.

“You’re so sweet, baby girl. I love this pretty mouth.” Emmett traced a gentle thumb over her wet bottom lip, and Ginny lay there with a shy smile, taking in all of his sweet talk like a cool glass of water on a hot day.

She felt his big hand slip down and graze across her small triangle of dark curls. A moment later, he nestled his fingers against her slippery warmth again and started a slow, gentle rub there, circling around her most tender place. It sent a warm flutter of pleasure through her, and as he added more pressure, a soft, urgent ache took root deep in her belly. It made Ginny close her eyes and sigh like a baby in the dim quiet.

“That feel nice?”

Her small body went lazy against his, just like Lucy’s always did when he used a slow, gentle touch. With Ginny though, it only took a moment before she was swollen up wet and beautiful. She was young and eager, and her body told him so.

“Yeah. It feels nice.”

She smiled up at him bashfully, and he kept on, still going slow. He watched her pretty face, the way she closed her eyes tight, then opened them again, daring to watch his steady hand as it touched her in a way no one had before.

“Can I get me another kiss?”

Emmett leaned in and whispered near the hollow of her ear then, his voice honey sweet and soothing. She nodded her head yes, and this time, as he kissed deep at her full pink mouth, he felt the soft tilt of her hips, the way her pretty legs opened just a bit further in welcome.

He’d always had a way with women. He had never been the most handsome or shown the most bravado, and he had certainly never professed to be the smartest, but somehow, he had always known just what to say, and at just the right time. Like magic, the soft, deep rasp of his easy voice had made more then a few sets of legs fall wide open for him, and even at forty-two years old, it seemed that was still the case.

“Is that all right? The way I’m touchin’ you?”

“I guess so. Yeah.”

Ginny swallowed hard, and they both looked down, watching as he drew one finger up the slick line of her rosy cleft. A moment later, she felt the scratch of his beard on the firm swell of her breast. He used a slippery tongue to trace a slow, warm circle around her little pink nipple. It felt better than she imagined it would, and it looked like something you might see in a dirty movie, the kind all the boys talked about at school. She looked on with curious eyes, feeling the hot pull of his mouth as he sucked at both breasts softly. He licked at her pretty pink points, his warm tongue leaving a shiny wetness on her taut nipples. She saw it in the hazy light of the porch lamp through the big picture window, and it was a beautiful sight. The distant song of a neighbor’s wind chimes danced through the open screens as Emmett suddenly pulled his body away from hers. In the next breath, she found him gazing down at her, kneeling between her lazy open legs.

“It’s all right, sweetheart.” His voice was a quiet whisper above her, and his face was half-shadowed. He pulled his t-shirt up over his mess of thick, red-brown hair, and Ginny looked on, her big eyes full of wonder. He was lean-chested and strong-armed, his body a work of taut, natural muscle. She caught a glimpse of two reddish patches of hair under his arms, and suddenly, she felt very young.

Emmett had a strange, faded black tattoo inked onto his right upper arm. It looked like a rooster, but she didn’t dare ask to see it. She just watched him quietly, listening to the gentle, familiar hum of their refrigerator in the next room, her eyes on all the parts of him that were different from her own.

“Don’t be shy now, all right?”

Emmett slipped his body over hers then, and Ginny took in a sharp breath at the feel of his bare belly pressed tight against her most private place. It felt more than good, and she wanted to touch him, but didn’t know where to put her hands first.

“I won’t.”

Her eyes were like two dark moons below him. They roamed over his warm mouth and begged silently for another sweet kiss. He obliged her, and at the same time, they both let out a little sigh of pleasure. Emmett knew he was in the worst kind of trouble. The way he wanted inside of her then was something primal. He had never felt a desire quite like it.

“You got me all in a lather here, girl.”

He kissed at the damp hollow of her neck, and Ginny couldn’t help but worry on what came next. She didn’t want to think of his man part, but she couldn’t not think of it either. She knew enough about sex to guess what he might be easing her into, and she was more than nervous.

“Really?” Ginny was tongue-tied and self-conscious. She didn’t have a clue on how to respond to all the longing he had for her. With her glassses and her freckles and her slight, girlish frame, she just wasn’t used to being so irresistible.

“There’s just somethin’ ‘bout you, pretty girl. You’re sugar sweet.”

In the soothing darkness, Emmett traced a slick, sultry tongue around the sweet dip of her navel, and without hesitation, he gave her bare little cleft one long, slow lick. She tasted clean and salty and undeniably feminine. He hadn’t tasted another woman in twenty years. It was illicit and sinful and downright intoxicating. Ginny was different there, smaller and nothing but tender, the color of pale pink roses. Lucy, despite being an ashy blonde, was tawny skinned. She had always hated the color of her sex, though Emmett loved it, a warm brown like Tupelo honey.

“Just like I thought…sugar sweet. You taste so good.”

Emmett drew his tongue up slow, pressing it inside of her so he could get another taste, and she made a quiet sound above him. He slipped his sturdy arms under her slim legs, cradling the slight curve of her waist in his big hands, holding her small body gently until she relaxed against him.

“I do?” A note of disbelief came up in her quiet voice, and she looked down at him intently.

“You do. Sweet like sugarcane.” Emmett gave her a teasing smile, and Ginny saw all of his straight, white teeth shining up at her in the darkness.

He kissed at her belly, then slipped his hands down under her firm little behind. Emmett looked on at her sex. A hint of pink, swollen flesh peeked out at him, and Ginny’s whole body went tense as he nestled his thumbs up against her small, dainty cleft. He opened her with gentle fingers, then lapped his tongue from the bottom of her tender cut, right up to her tiny wet nub. Emmett went right to that most tender spot and took it in, sucking at it long and deep, and Ginny felt a warm, aching pleasure like nothing she had ever known. It made her legs tremble and her eyelids flutter, and she couldn’t help but let out a sound so soft and sweet, it made Emmett weak in the knees.

“That feel good, pretty girl?” He licked at her baby soft flesh, then fluttered his warm tongue up against her tender spot all light and quick.

“Oh, my goodness. Yes. It feels really good.”

Ginny answered him with the raw honesty of a green teenage girl. He heard the eager hitch in her small voice, and he had never been so completely and so desperately turned on by anything in his life.

Emmett had her for supper then. He pulled her slim, coltish legs up onto his shoulders, and she let out a surprised little gasp, rising up onto her elbows. He licked her clean, then sucked at her tender little nub, swollen up firm like the pit of a cherry. His natural instinct was to bury his fingers up inside all that sweet, slippery warmth, like he’d done to his wife a thousand times, but he held back, remembering that she was still brand new.

Ginny sighed like a baby bird. She couldn’t help it. The longer he sucked at her, the more it felt like she was chasing a butterfly just out of reach. It would hover close, then slip away, leaving her body hot with an aching frustration. It wasn’t until he began to draw a steady circle with his tongue that she dared to reach down and touch his damp, messy hair. She pulled at it softly, thinking of nothing else but the warm, deep rhythm of his hungry mouth buried up against her there.

It started with a tiny flutter of pleasure inside, then blossomed, bright and beautiful. Her first orgasm came on in swift waves, each one deep and stronger than the one before. She felt a warm shudder down where his mouth still worked against her, where his tongue still lapped greedily at all her hot, salty nectar, and Ginny let out a helpless little sigh, losing herself in the sudden rush of newfound heaven. It felt so good she almost couldn’t breathe.

Emmett had recognized the surrender in her soft sigh, had felt the tremble in her smooth legs against his lean shoulders. He had made her come for the first time, and it had taken all of five little minutes. He couldn’t help but be smitten with that notion.

“Oh, my goodness.” Ginny bit back a growing smile, covering her freckled face with both small hands.

“Oh, my goodness.” Emmett teased her in a whisper, his words playful and naughty, and he smiled back, planting a quick kiss on her smooth, flat belly.

“You like that?”

“Uh-huh. A lot.” Her breath went in and out in quick, quiet strides, and her dark hair lay damp and disheveled around her soft face.

“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t gonna hurt you?”

He smoothed her hair back with both big hands, cupping her face, and Ginny nodded ‘yes’ like an over-eager child. Emmett looked at her cheeks. They were flushed up pink and pretty, and he knew it wasn’t right. She wasn’t ready yet.

He thought on Coralee, his own baby girl, and the shame she would feel if it ever came out, that her own daddy had made a midnight snack of her new little friend. And Lucy, if she ever came to know the truth? That he had messed with a girl so young and naive? Well, Emmett supposed she’d want to cut his stiff pecker clean off. It wouldn’t be out of jealousy, either. It would be out of disgust. The mama bear in her just wouldn’t stand for any of that business. It was a horrific thought.

Still, Emmett reached southward and loosened his thick leather belt.

“I don’t know, Mr. Cooper.” Ginny rose up again, watching his hands work the front of his worn trousers, hearing the faint sweep of his zipper part.

It struck Emmett then that she didn’t even know his first name, or if she did, she was too awkward to call him by it.

“It’s all right, pretty girl.”

“It ain’t!” For the first time that night, Ginny spoke without hesitation as Emmett’s dirty blue trousers slipped down his narrow hips. His erection spilled out in one swift, easy motion, and suddenly, the whole silky smooth length of his cock bobbed softly above her in the moonlight. It was beautiful and frightening all at the same time, and she marveled at him there. She couldn’t take her eyes away.

Emmett watched a gentle, love-struck gaze come over her pretty young face. It didn’t surprise him a bit. He had been no Don Juan before he’d met Lucy, but he’d had a fair share of lovers, and most had worn the same, almost comic expression when they’d seen his cock for the first time. It had always made him feel a little like a stallion, and Lucy had told him as much the first time they’d made love.

He remembered her as a young, careless girl, her eyes a bright azure blue in the darkness. The night had been blistering hot, and they had tucked themselves into an old motel off the highway. It had charged by the hour and asked no questions. Half the letters on its neon sign had guttered out months before, and the curtains had been ancient, wild and outdated. They’d drank cheap tequila out of plastic cups, and by the end of their tryst, the marred-up nightstand had been littered with lime rinds. Above the deep rumble of a mammoth semi that had lumbered past, Emmett had fallen in love with Lucy’s warm, lilting drawl. She had teased him coyly as her smooth, curved body laid naked and content across the faded floral bedspread. “You’re right proud of that big ol’ thing, ain’t you, Emmett Cooper?”

He had knelt above her, between her shapely legs, and she had prodded at his belly with the tips of her painted toes, tickling him until he’d grabbed her foot and kissed it gently. Lucy’s warm, teasing eyes had lingered on him there in appreciation, and she had giggled sweetly when he had answered with a wide, toothy smile. “Yes indeed, pretty lady. And now I’m gonna show you again just how proud I am.”

Emmett looked down into Ginny’s soft brown eyes then, and Lucy, with her now cold shoulder and distant gaze, seemed to drift off into the ether. He was swollen up heavy and hard as a redwood. He stood up long and thick and more eager than he had in ten years. He wanted inside of Ginny’s ripe little body. He wanted it in the worst way, but the daddy in him hesitated. ‘Don’t you dare, you old bastard. She’s still brand new, and that’s sacred territory.’

“My mama’ll go to her grave if you put a baby in me, Mr. Cooper.” Ginny looked up at him with wide, searching eyes. “I just…I don’t know ‘bout you goin’ inside. I ain’t never done that before.”

Emmett held his tongue and bit back a smile, grabbing onto his warm, throbbing cock. He kept it at bay, trying to make clear that he had no intention of impaling her.

“Just lay back. I ain’t goin’ inside. I promise.”

Ginny let out a long breath through pursed lips. Her freckled cheeks puffed out for a moment before she looked up at him with sweetly skeptical eyes.

“You promise?”

“I promise. I do. Now lay back.” He cupped her open face in his big palms again and nodded yes, reassuring her.

Ginny kept still, until finally, she obliged him.

Emmett slid in beside her again and traced a gentle thumb over her pretty red mouth. It was all swollen up from kissing, and he gave her full bottom lip a soft bite. He waited for her touch, and when he finally felt her warm, inquisitive fingers brush against his bare belly, it sent a shudder of pleasure through him. He rubbed his cock against her baby smooth thigh, savoring the skin-on-skin feel as he watched her eyes wander lower. She hesitated, then reached down where he was stiff and warm against her.

Her touch was gentle and curious. He felt her hot little palm slip all the way down his swollen shaft, and just like that, she pulled back again. It was a sweet kind of torture for him, but undeniably, the best foreplay he’d known in some time.

“Go on, now. Touch it all you want. It ain’t gonna bite.”

Ginny bit at her bottom lip, and slowly, when she was ready, her fingertips slipped down his hard belly again. Emmett watched her little palm start a soft, careful tug on his thick shaft. It was the stuff of dirty dreams, and like any red-blooded man, he couldn’t look away. His eyes were fixed on her warm, giving touch.

“Is that right?” Ginny didn’t have a clue. She did her best, until finally, she found his rhythm.

“You can handle me a little rougher if you want. You ain’t gonna hurt me. I promise you that.” Emmett leaned into her touch then.

“All right.”

Ginny bit back a quiet giggle, and Emmett sighed just hearing it. Her wide-eyed innocence was suddenly better than stiletto heels and black lingerie.

She stroked harder and faster, catching on quick, and soon, Emmett was getting a good old-fashioned hand job. For a minute or two, he felt like a young teenage buck again.

“I can’t believe I’m doin’ this.” She sounded giddy, her small voice full of wonder and mischief.

“Keep goin’. Don’t you dare stop now, pretty girl.”

Emmett kissed at her mouth, and the way she kissed back, all hot tongue and panting breath, made him want to slip inside her little body and fuck her sore. He had to reign in his desire before he hurt her in more ways than one.

“I want you to say somethin’ for me.” Emmett eased her hand away and grabbed hold of himself.

“What?” Ginny looked down at his swollen cock. He held it lightly in his big hand, tugging at it once or twice before he slipped his palm up and over its smooth, rounded tip. He lingered near the inside of her thigh as he stroked himself, and suddenly, as his bare knuckles brushed against her tender opening, she worried that he might break his promise.

“Say… ‘come on my belly.’ It’s all right, don’t be shy.” His mouth burned hot against hers, and his palm quickened, moving up and down his shaft at a firm, steady rhythm.

Ginny hesitated, but when his tongue nestled up against hers and began lapping softly, she grew more than eager. As he pulled back, she lay there with a dull, throbbing ache between her legs.

“Say it, pretty girl.”

Ginny knew what it meant, but she couldn’t picture it actually happpening. Her face went red with shame, and she felt feverish as she whispered to him in the darkness.

“Come on my belly.”

“Gimme them sweet lips.”

Emmett leaned in and kissed her deep, and Ginny let out a little hum of pleasure. When he finally pulled away, she almost couldn’t find her breath.

She lay there quiet on the big plaid couch, listening to the quick, whispery draw of Emmett’s breath as he worked his cock above her. She breathed in time with him, like they were two wild horses running side by side. He dropped his hips a bit, and that part of him nudged closer to the warm opening between her legs. Ginny felt the hot brush of his bare skin there, and a sudden longing filled her belly. She couldn’t help but wonder how he might feel inside, all of his stiff, silky heat. Her slim legs had a mind of their own then, and they grew lazy in welcome. The invitation was not lost on Emmett for a second. It was the most wicked temptation he had ever known.

“You ain’t ready for all that…are you?”

She lay flushed and open beneath him as his eyes wandered down to her soft, virgin warmth. He dared to nestle against her, rubbing the smooth head of his cock against her sweet little nub. Emmett sighed, and Ginny tensed right up, pressing her fingers into his belly then.

“Are you really gonna? I…I ain’t…” Her eyes looked frightened and excited all at the same time, and he pulled back, kissing her forehead as he fought himself.

“I ain’t takin’ the pill like some girls.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

She was torn, he could tell, both aroused and vulnerable.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. We don’t gotta do that. Just do what you done before.”

“Like before?” Ginny’s young face softened, and she slipped her warm fingers down his belly again, grazing the line of coarse copper hair she’d glimpsed earlier. She followed it down to the reddish tuft above his stiff cock.

“Yeah. You done good. Go on.”

Ginny did then. She grabbed hold and worked her restless little palm up and down his long shaft until he panted above her.

“That’s it, pretty girl.”

Her sweet, eager touch sent Emmett right to the edge, and as she rose up to kiss him, a soft, desperate look swam in his eyes. All at once, a quick rush of heat painted her belly like warm honey, and a quiet sound caught in his throat.

Ginny looked down as his swollen cock shuddered gently in the cradle of her small palm. Little spurts of hot, milky wetness fell onto her bare skin, glistening in the moonlight, and Emmett kissed her then, stroking his tongue against hers until the well ran dry.

He smiled down at her a moment later, feeling spent and satisfied. His heart went like a piston inside his chest, and he kissed her forehead gently. Her little palm still held fast to the sore head of his cock, and he eased it away with a tender hand.

“Did I do it right?” Ginny looked down at the warm, beautiful mess he had made on her soft belly. She dared to touch it with the tip of one finger, almost as if she might get burned.

“Yeah. You did, sweetheart.”

Emmett cupped a big, daddy-like hand around her cheek and bit back a quiet belly laugh. She was so young, and everything was so new to her, and in that moment, he had never felt more ashamed of himself. What in hell had he just done?

He shimmied his pants back up his narrow hips and buckled his old leather belt. Emmett leaned back against the big plaid couch and used his palm to wipe the sweat clean from his damp forehead. He needed a shower something fierce. The smell of sex seeped out of his pores, and he had to be sure every trace of it was gone before Lucy’s red Ford pulled down their narrow dirt drive.

He sat there, naked to the waist, his breath slowing, wondering what Ginny thought of him. He knew what he thought of himself in that moment. Dirty old man.

After a minute or two, she began to button up her little frock. She hadn’t thought to wipe his dried seed from her belly, and as his face went hot as he watched her.

Emmett looked down at the pink spots of dried calamine all over her small bare feet. He reached and touched one tender, throbbing welt, all swollen up with bitter poison. If not for her trek through the summer woods just hours before, Ginny would still have her innocence. He knew nothing would ever be the same for either of them again.

“You best soak these feet when you get home today.”

Emmett couldn’t bring himself to look at her big, searching eyes, so he just pinched at her little toes, feeling red-faced and awkward.

“I ain’t gonna say nothin’, Mr. Cooper. I promise.”

Ginny pulled her sore, ticklish feet away from him then, her eyes filled to the brim with a new kind of knowing, the flicker of her smile like a struck match in the dark.

~

End Note: The next story is coming soon. Same characters, but spicier. The title is ‘Cherry Tart’. I hope you all enjoyed this one!

My goal is to complete one story every month. (Not just these characters 😉). I’ll see how it goes though, sometimes my schedule is wacky and I can’t write as much.

P.S. Sometimes, Sam Rockwell is my naughty story muse. He’s been my favorite actor since forever.

P.S.S. My poetry is also on Tumblr @crowdsofclouds “Here On Earth” is the title of the blog.

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#adult story #adult photography #adult writing #naughty #naughty story #sexy content #hot story #sam rockwell #ellen page #18+ content #18+ writing #smut #smutty smut smut #my writing #my fiction #short story #fiction #writers on tumblr #1970s #sexy stories #my characters #creative writing

[bombnails]

@smoooooothbrain

#@smoooooothbrain #uploads #almond shape #tortoise shell #brown #black #nails

[streetkittyclaws]

💎tortoise shell french tip + polygel sculpted ring💎

((tortoise shell design using blooming gel w gel polish + ring is *entirely* sculpted using polygel + matte top coat))

all gels used were from the Born Pretty dusty rose collection

#self taught #cute nails #manicure #nail art #deco nails #pretty nails #nail charms #nails #polygel #hybrid gel #3D #3D nails #nail inspo #tortoise shell #tortoise #matte nails #matte top coat #born pretty matte #gel polish #gel nails #gel nail art #blooming gel #nail design #nail decoration #jewelry #ring #pretty manicure

[bluepeachstudios]

Hello again!!

My question this time is who is your favorite character to write for in your fanfics? You have all the characters nailed down perfectly!!

Have a nice day!! 😁

Oh gosh I think it depends on which fanfic it is? I love writing '03 Leo a lot, or honestly any Leo. Leo's my fav. hehe.

Otherwise, for Ghost in the Shell it's obviously Ghost. I'm still not quite used to writing Rise yet, I'm not NEARLY funny enough for that, but hopefully I do them justice anyway?! I'm much more used to Ghost's personality, even if he is aged up and like. Way more depressed.

For The Great Skittles Heist I really enjoy writing the skittles the most! They're very fun to write.

For Fusions I enjoy writing Daphy a LOT. I love all the Fusions very much but Daphy's just fun. '12 Raph is also very fun to write. He's just so. Clenches fist. He's got so many issues.

For Mystic Forest, The Tortoise and the Hare, and Please Just Let Them Hug it's all Leo. I'm just. A Leo fan. Love he. Usagi is also very fun to write, though, he comes in a close second in TTATH.

#asks #ame talks

[somediyprojects]

DIY Tree Branch Buttons & Vinegar Wood Stains

Project by Matthew Robinson:

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of showing my friend Matthew Robinson’s art as part of our Sketchbook Sneak Peek series. In addition to being a wildly talented painter and art teacher, though, Matt is also enviably adept at all manner of hands-on skills, from carpentry to crafting. Last winter, while he and his girlfriend Romina were visiting our apartment, I happened to notice his unusual shirt buttons. They were crafted, not from plastic or faux tortoise shell, but from wood. Cross-sections of tree branch wood, to be more exact. Ever since then, I’ve been dying to have him show me how to create such adorable, practical notions. Last week, he finally obliged and it turns out that the project is as easy as it is beautiful. Check out Matt’s full tutorial (and tips for making your own natural wood stains) after the jump! —Max

Materials

1 tree branch, the diameter of which should be about the size you’d like to make your buttons

A coping saw

1 clamp

A power drill

Some scrap wood

Sandpaper

A paint brush

Vinegar

Rusty nails or pennies

Shellac (Matt used Zinsser’s Bullseye Shellac)

A shirt and some thread!

Directions

1) Place your tree branch on a work surface and clamp it so that part of it comes out over your surface’s edge.

2) Using your coping saw, cut a thin slice from your branch.

3) With a power drill with a small drill attachment, drill two holes into your branch slice. Be sure to place some scrap wood underneath while you drill, to avoid putting holes into your work surface!

4) Rub your button against some sand paper to smooth out its surface.

5) If you desire, brush on a coat of wood stain, followed by a coat of shellac. The shellac will seal the wood, allowing it to survive multiple machine washes.

Above: Matt created natural wood stains by soaking pieces of scrap metal (from pennies to rusty nails) in jars filled with vinegar. The vinegar and metal chemically react to create a beautiful, natural wood stain that can be brushed on. As you can see, different metals create different colored stains. While pennies create a warmer tone, rusty nails create a more somber, gray look. Experiment with different metals to see what you like best!

6) Allow your buttons to fully dry and then sew them onto your clothes! Presto! Beautiful, handmade buttons for fall!

#diy #crafts #x

[cyberthot666]

I need to start a new journal, I need a new book, I need doc martins, a PSL, vintage jewelry, some tortoise shell sunglasses, a black pleated mini skirt, chunky oversized knit sweaters, fitted slacks in every color, ear muffs, head phones, a new cart, my nails done, some new dick, a lymphatic drainage massage, my hair done, jawline filler, & to hold someone’s hand

[sleepknoot]

Tried to make some bloody/gory patterned nails. . .botched it but learned how to make tortoise shell pattern by accident soooo.

#Jelly peach base with a dark red jelly dragged around with a dry brush btw #zombert.txt