#Beautiful Alexandria virginia

[olddustorange]

I mstly do my own thang anddont really look at other people but a friend of mine is going to SEMINARY SCHOOL and i feelvery influenced and dazzled and its like SHOULD IDO THATTOO

[aloysiavirgata]

Your own take to the old "ust but they got married for convenience" prompt please. Thank you☺️.

Virginia Is For Lovers, the slogan claimed, but she knew it was for straight married people of the same race. Ideally white. Ideally Protestant.

Ideally fertile.

***

“It doesn’t have to change anything,” she murmurs. “It’s just a Potemkin Village for the court.” Her eyes are big and hot and searching and desperate. Her eyes are the color of Lake Tashmoo in high summer. He lost a little girl once, Scully lost a sister. There mustn’t be any more.

“Okay,” he says, and does not touch her. “Whatever you need,” he says and does not say, “Love is as strong as death. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away.”

***

Her eyes as hot as the burning skin of her daughter in Mulder’s arms.

His daughter, he knows in his secret heart. He loves Scully, loves Emily, like carbon loves hydrogen. Like oxygen loves silicon. Like the ocean loves the moon.

“Mulder,” she says, with her raw honesty. With her raw beauty. With her raw love. Her daughter, pale and aflame and doomed. The only thing she wants and so, vicariously, does he. He would burn himself to keep them warm, their blue eyes like binary stars.

“Marry me,” he says, his lips tremulous and tender. His Jewish lips lips in Good Christian Alexandria, Virginia. He wants to suck at her mouth like a bruised June peach. He wants his head between her pale, firm thighs.

But he dips his well-bred head, hands her his mother’s 3.25 carat brilliant-cut diamond. It’s flawless and beautiful and absolutely obnoxious.

Scully looks at him, broken and vulnerable. Scully looks at him like she wants to die for him, wants to fuck him, wants him to sneak Emily’s tooth from under a pillow into his hot, lonely, gingerbread palm.

Time stretches like it does in the cold void of space. At the top of Everest, at the edge of a black hole.

“Yes,” she says, into the sweet, infinite dark.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

I’ve been on a bit of a walking dead kick recently and fell in love with your writing. I was wondering if you would do a fluffy Daryl x reader. Where reader has been part of the group from the start and is super outgoing but is almost always with Daryl. They do everything together and he’s trying to work up the nerve to confess (maybe around Alexandria). Then one day she goes “how come you never kiss me?” And he’s so confused and she’s all like I mean we’re dating aren’t we? Could be a cute idea?

A Long Time Coming

Daryl Dixon x plus size reader

Daryl has loved you since the beginning; with all your softness and beauty, you always felt unobtainable to the hunter but as it turns out, he had nothing to worry about, because you were already his all along

Warnings: A big old load of fluff, Daryl’s usual angst and he’s a little dumb (is that news to anyone), implied smut

WC: 1.3k

Minors DNI

Spring hit Alexandria hard. Flowers popped up everywhere and it seemed that the forest around the township was coming back to life. But for Daryl, that meant he had to get back to work.

The sun was just barely over the horizon as the hunter quietly slipped from his home, crossbow slung over his shoulder. By his count, the scant deer population should be returning to Virginia about now and their meat stores have run dangerously low by the winter months.

He did like the silence of the early morning though. Everything was still and if Daryl closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could pretend that the world was back to normal and he had just woken up from a fucked up nightmare. 

The houses around him were still dark as he walked the main road towards the gate. Well, all except one. He knew that he shouldn’t bother you, you were probably asleep on your couch again. But he really just wanted to walk in and take you into his arms and fall back to sleep with you.

It was a habit he had developed long before they found safety behind Alexandria’s walls. He was the natural protector of the group even if it was a reluctant roll at first, but he had always had this urge to constantly make sure that you were safe. If he couldn’t see you, his stomach would drop and his veins fill with dread as he imagined the terrible things that might have happened to you. Yet as soon as you would trot back into his line of sight, all of that fear was washed away in an instant. 

Daryl knew what he felt was love during one night at the prison. He had been on night watch in one of the guard towers when you sleepily stumbled into the room, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a pillow tucked under your arm and only one of your feet had a sock on it. Without any words, you plopped down next to him and cuddled into his broad shoulder before falling asleep.

You were his sunshine and he would do everything in his power to keep it that way, even if that meant hiding his feelings for you. In Daryl’s mind, there was absolutely no way that you would want him, he was far too broken, far too old. But still he yearned.

With dragging feet, he continued to walk past your home. He kept his head down, his greasy hair which was long overdue for a haircut falling over his eyes as if the dark strands could shield him from the ache in his chest that he always seemed to get when he thought of you. 

Abraham opened the gate for him without a word and Daryl slipped quietly into the wilderness, determined to run from his feelings, at least for a while.

——————

“Daryl Dixon you are a god!” Your squeal broke said man from his daze. The cigarette he had been smoking was now mostly ash and hung precariously between his thick fingers. You stood below him on the street, looking up at him as he sat on his porch.

“What’d I do now?” He answered sharply, eyes darting away from you since you had decided that today was the day you would wear the most distracting outfit in the world (one of his flannels and tight jeans). 

Your smile somehow got even brighter and you took that as your cue to skip your way up the steps to his home and plop down beside him on the small bench. Heat exploded all over Daryl’s body as your thick thigh pressed against the side of his leg. Your arms wound around his bicep so you could prop your chin up on the hard muscle. 

“You brought home the biggest buck I’ve ever seen! And now we all get to be well fed for a good while. You’re my hero.” You cooed. Daryl felt his brain short-circuit and, he hated to admit it, his pants tighten at the sight of your gorgeous eyes fixated on his face as you called him your hero.

Clearing his throat, he spoke with a slightly shaken voice. “It was nothin. Jus doin ma job.” You tutted and gave him a stern look while squeezing his upper arm.

“Stop it. You did good today, just like everyday. You deserve some celebration for all the amazing things you do for us, for me.” And his heart stopped. The way you held onto him, the way you looked at him, the way you spoke to him, it was all too much. The urge to confess to you how he truly felt was becoming an overwhelming need. It grew like a wave, slowly getting larger and larger until it was like a tsunami.

Your gaze softened as you looked up at the hunter. The wave was beginning to crest. A hand unwrapped itself from his bicep and was placed firmly on his chest, right above his heart. “Daryl?”

His words were caught in his throat, he couldn’t answer you so he nodded instead. You took a deep breath before speaking again. “Why don’t you ever kiss me?”

The wave broke, shattering against the shoreline of his heart. “What?” It came out as more of an exhale than words but obviously you understood him because your fingers curled into his shirt and you looked away as if ashamed.

“Well, we’ve been together for such a long time and you’ve never even tried to kiss me or initiate physical contact. And I know you don’t really like touching people but you always let me hug you and hold your hand. So I was wondering why you have never kissed me.” You spoke quickly in an almost panicked manner, the words falling from your lips in a torrent.

Daryl was frozen. “We-we’re together?” Your head tilted cutely as you regarded him.

“Yes? Daryl, we’ve been together since the farm. Remember, I told you that I loved you after you got shot and then I held you all night.” The memory slapped him in the face. You were right, that did happen but evidently, he forgot because of the copious amount of pain medication he had been on at the time.

“Fuck.” He growled. There was only a moment of hesitation as the air between you went still. His eyes dropped to your lips, then traveled back up to meet your gaze and then he kissed you. 

Your lips were softer than he had ever imagined. They tasted faintly of your homegrown tea and honey you farmed yourself. With his free hand, he cupped your soft jaw, his thumb brushing against your full cheek. His body was alight with electricity and a little bit of self-deprecation. How could he have forgotten you proclaiming your love for him?

He could kiss you forever but soon enough, you pulled back slightly so you could catch your breath. But Daryl needed to keep touching you. His own lips travelled down the length of your throat to the base of your neck. “D-Daryl.” You clutched at him.

He didn’t stop, he couldn’t stop, not now, not when he finally has you in his arms. 

“Jesus! Get a room!” You shot apart, startled by the sudden voice. Carl had his arms crossed as he glared at you both, a stern look on his face. “Nobody wants to see that.” He spat.

You rolled your eyes while you stood, pulling Daryl to his feet beside you. “Maybe we will.” You stuck your tongue out at the teen and he responded likewise as you walked away and into Daryl’s home. 

“We will?” The hunter asked quietly. You looked back at him from over your shoulder with a smoldering look.

“It’s been a long time coming, Dixon.” Daryl tripped over his own feet as you led him back to his room.

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[slippinmickeys]

Five paragraph prompt:

As they’re unwinding after a case, Mulder becomes preoccupied with watching how a man across a diner / restaurant / bar is eyeing Scully. Earlier seasons (or before FTF, anyway) so that there’s a more buttoned-up MSR vibe, maybe.

It’s odd, he thinks, how he’s never really noticed the sway of her hips.

Okay, he’s noticed, but he hasn’t looked. Not like the guy at their 10 o’clock is looking. Watching as Scully sashays back to their table, her clompy heels scuffing along the floor with a gritty, salacious rasp.

It’s summer in the District. Her foundation has long since been sweated off, revealing a beauty mark above her lip, maybe freckles, and in the heat of the field, she’d shucked off her suit coat and was now wearing only a sleeveless silk blouse, one so sheer that Mulder (and the guy at the bar, no doubt) could make out the shape of her bra, the soft globes of her breasts pillowing out slightly above the cups.

Scully against the backdrop of over-varnished, sticky tables. Scully moving through the chessboard cones of bad light. Mulder can’t look away either.

The guy turns his body in a complete 180 so that he can follow her progress, and something ignites inside Mulder’s chest. But he can’t move. He can’t so much as intimate any kind of possessive impression or Scully would pin him with a glare so intense his ball hair would try to climb back into his scrotum. It’s not like that with them.

“Evenin’ y’all,” says a voice as Scully slides back into their booth, and they both look up to see Bar Guy himself, hovering at the edge of their of their table. That was quick, Mulder thinks. “I have a bet with my buddy over there that y’all aren’t together.”

The man’s hair is very shiny and his teeth are very straight. Mulder bets he’s the kind of guy who puts his seat back the second the flight attendant sits down for takeoff. In any event, he sounds like Foghorn Leghorn, which Mulder assumes is performative. Do people from Virginia even have southern accents? Not in his experience, though Alexandria’s not exactly deep in the state.

“Kind of a circuitous way of asking if I’m her boyfriend,” Mulder says, though Scully is wearing a small, beatific smile. Mulder smiles at the guy, too. But it’s more of a that’s nice, off you fuck kind of smile.

“Are you?” Foghorn asks hopefully.

Mulder looks to his partner, seeing where she’d like to go with the question. He’d posed as her beau before; sometimes it was just easier to fend off suitors that way, especially if she was tired.

“No,” Scully says, kindly. “But I’m not in the market.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Foghorn smiles before walking away, inclining his head politely at Scully. Even Mulder is a little charmed by the guy’s bravado.

“You have to admire the lack of subtlety,” Mulder says, his eyes following the man as he collects both his sport coat and his buddy, disembarking to search for a more target-rich port.

“Do you?” Scully asks dubiously. She’s looking at the table, occupying herself by running her finger along the rim of her wine glass. The tone her wet finger brings forth is as rich as a ripe plum.

“In and out in under ninety seconds,” Mulder points out. “Better than standing there stammering for five minutes like the last six guys.”

“You make it sound like this happens all the time.”

“It does.”

Scully makes a dismissive gesture.

Mulder thinks just then that every single man they meet either wants to kiss her or kill her, but he’s not dumb enough to say it. Instead he downs the last of his beer.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks.

“Not yet,” she says, gesturing about six inches beyond his left shoulder. “There’s a queue of GS-12’s waiting to ask for my hand.”

Mulder can’t help but turn to genuinely look, which earns him Scully’s charming squawk of laughter, the one she rarely trots out. When he turns back to her, she’s already sliding out of the booth and grabbing her coat.

She looks up at him as he stands up beside her and pokes him in the chest.

“Not every man in this bar wants to jump me,” she says, a teeny, tiny bit drunk.

“Nah, you’re right,” Mulder answers, his own cheeks warm with drink. “Only one or two of them do.”

He realizes, only as the words cross his tongue, that the call is coming from inside the house.

[itsmeatballworld]

| to the night sky |

pairing | daryl dixon x f!reader

summary | It’s autumn in Virginia so Daryl invites Reader to spend a night cuddling under the stars.

wc | 857

warnings | kisses, autumn time in Virginia, and soft boyfriend!daryl... so nah, no warnings <3

a/n | note this has some spoilers for season 9 but nothing crazy. Also posted on my ao3!!

His eyes were so bright. Bluer than the sky. Bluer than the sea.

You’ll remember that ‘til the day you die.

You tore your gaze away for a second, just to glance up at the tiny twinkling lights above.

His callous hand latched onto yours as the hearth outside flickered in and out. “Should get some rest,” Daryl whispered.

“We should.” Your fingers twirled across his rough palm. “But look… damn, look at those stars. They’re beautiful. You gotta look. The clouds are gonna block them.”

Daryl smiled, his eyes never leaving your face as you watched the sky. “Yeah. Beautiful.”

“You didn’t even peek,” you murmured as his hands snuck around to caress your round hips.

“I did too.” His tone was playful as a smirk etched across his lips.

Tonight, the sky was black and painted in tiny twinkling lights. Dark and looming from the east, thick grey clouds slowly began to shadow the moonlight cascading through the trees.

You were somewhere in Virginia between a dried up creek and spacious woods. Location never mattered anymore. You were living—surviving—and enjoying the brief moments of peace left for the breathing.

Colors of cinnamon, brick red, and yellow as bright as corn litter the ground in piles. It was the fleeting beauty of Autumn, until the heavy rains and mud blur the colors in a dark, murky haze.

Atop the little hill was your makeshift campsite. Daryl tugged and tied each layer down as tight as possible. The lopsided tent with a worn clear-plastic sheet roof showed the sky. An old pail near the zipped-up entrance used as Dog’s water bowl. Wool and cotton blankets dragged from Alexandria covered the thin tent floor. The dying light of a small fire pit was nearly out after hours of ignoring its plea for more firewood. Daryl wanted to keep you safe when visiting. Less light, less problems, he’d murmur.

Tonight, you were snuggled up to Daryl. His arm around your waist, pressing your chest to his in a tight embrace. He loved holding your warm body close, trailing his hands up and down your hips and thighs, as if you were his lifeline.

Tonight was perfect. A peaceful autumn night alone with your lover.

“Aye.” He drops his voice. “You should head back in the mornin’. Safer in the sunlight.”

Back. Back to the group. Back to your home in Alexandria. Back to safety and walls.

“Sure,” you mumbled.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you liked being outside the walls of safety. You liked the wondrous and dangerous world surrounding you. Life was precious but you never wanted to waste time living in a bubble. “Come with me?”

Daryl paused, his fingers drawing light circles into your skin. It might not have been words, but you knew his answer. No. He had a job to do. Look for Rick.

You sighed, resting your head into the crook of his neck. “Alright… but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Breathing in deeply you tried to bury the smell of him in your memory. He smelled like homemade soap and tobacco.

“Carol stopped by, huh?”

The stoic man let out a soft chuckle. “You can tell?”

“Soap… a new haircut… blankets without holes? I’d say she prepped you with the good stuff for this weekend.” Those blue eyes were glued on you. His fingers trailed your side until he dug in a bit deeper. He hugged your curves into his body like he never wanted this to end.

“Mmhm.” Daryl smiled. “Good stuff.”

Your hands slipped up his chest, digging your fingers into the cotton tee. “Hole-less blankets,” you giggled. “Gosh, Mr. Dixon, you know just how to please a girl.”

He grumbled as he tugged the waist of your pants down an inch. “Anythin’ for my girl.”

That deep, raspy voice scratched an itch deep in your soul. “Your girl, huh?” Your lips pressed into his as those rough hands wound underneath your clothes.

He grumbled a response as he continued to kiss you deeply. Every morsel of your being tingled and buzzed with excitement to be near him. To be so close to him.

Maybe it was the forced time spent together, but Daryl Dixon is someone you never thought you’d get after the world stopped moving forward. You never thought you’d have a man who loves you so deeply. Who pines for you. Who finds you funny—and genuinely laughs at your jokes. Some days he doesn’t talk much but hugs you from behind and kisses the crook of your neck. It was love. Pure, endless love.

He pulled back from your lips. The hazy look of exhaustion mixed with lust washed over him. “C’mon, I mean it. Get some sleep.”

“How can I when you kiss me like that?” You smiled as those blue eyes lingered on your swollen kiss-stained lips.

Daryl grunted. He pecked the edge of your smile before pulling you into a tight cuddle. “Sleep.”

You closed your eyes.

The night sky was beautiful but all you could think about were those bright blue eyes.

><<>><

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a/n 2.0 | ily *mwah* and ily daryl dixon

[carylerxsecretsanta]

Not Just a Trim

Written for: @madwomanlexie

Title: Not Just a Trim Author: @breb23 Rating: M  Summary: Part two of this series! Takes place a few years after season 11 (let's pretend everything is resolved in France and we are back home lol). There's some Christmas-y smut in this so proceed with caution hahaha. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas ❤️💚

She wakes to clanging downstairs, followed by a curse. Bright white light is seeping through the curtain and she can hear the muffled splat of wet snow against the window.

She slips into the wool socks Lydia had made for her last week as an early Christmas present. The previous year, Lydia had snuck a knitted hat under her door on Christmas Eve, too nervous to announce the present she had spent days making.

Carol ambles to the bathroom to get ready for the holiday, a small smile on her lips. 

She pads downstairs, still pajama clad, and sighs with contentment as warmth seeps into her bones.  She hears him in the kitchen and her heart swells as her family comes into view- Lydia stirring something sweet on the stove while Daryl rinses something in the sink with one arm, their little bundle in the other. 

❄️❄️❄️

Daryl and Aaron had found Cecilia on a stifling August day, between the border of Virginia and North Carolina. It was supposed to be a long supply run, at least a month. So when Carol saw their car pull back into Alexandria after just two weeks, her stomach filled with dread. Assuming the worst as she ran towards their car, her eyes raked over Daryl in the passenger seat, looking for signs of injury.

Instead she found him smiling back at her with pride and trepidation and love, so beautiful and unexpected that her breath was stolen away. He opened the car door and took her under his arm, her face tucked in his neck. It was a closeness he rarely displayed publicly, but at that moment  he didn't seem to care. 

"Missed you," he exhaled, his nose burrowed in her hair.  He kissed her then with a vigor she matched instantly, her hands moving to his shoulders. Her eyes flew open when she felt her, soft and warm. 

There, snuggled into Daryl's arm, was a sleeping baby whose lips squished into a purse and tongue sucked against the cool evening air, as if dreaming about milk. Carol hadn't had words yet, didn't know how to react or what this meant but she'd quickly brought them inside, pulling a soft blanket from the couch to wrap around the baby. Her hands had wrapped the bundle with muscle memory she didn't realize she still possessed. 

Daryl explained that her biological mother must have known she wasn't going to live and barricaded herself outside of the small mountainside cottage. Aaron took down her walker form while Daryl tore at the wooden planks, barging into her nursery moments later. Hands shaking, he had scooped up the screaming infant, her eyes tearless from dehydration.  Cecilia was painted above her crib in a pale yellow cursive. 

"Shhh, I gotcha, I gotcha," he had whispered, his eyes scanning the room for formula. In the end, Aaron had found a stockpile of what she would need in the closet of the nursery. They left a few hours after, heading straight back to Alexandria.

It'd been Carol's idea, after all, the same day they’d come back from the run. She knew it was an impossible idea- she and Daryl raising an infant after all they had lost. Yet, seeing Daryl whisper softly to her while peering up at Carol had taken away any question that this was his baby- no, this was their baby. 

❄️❄️❄️

"Morning!" Lydia smiles, her eyes sparkling with childlike glee. Carol blinks away the memory and takes Lydia into a warm hug, squeezing her with all of the love she could muster. 

"Good morning, sweetie," she says warmly, sniffing the pot of cinnamon sticks and cider. "Wassail?"

"I, uh, showed Lydia how to make it. Thought you might like to wake up to it like when you were younger. Dunno if we did the right-"

"You remembered," Carol whispers with a smile, blinking quickly to keep her tears at bay. "You always remember." 

She walks over to him now, nuzzling into his arms that wrap so naturally around her shoulders. She smooches Cecilia's warm cheek, and is rewarded with a gummy smile. 

"'Slept real good. Only had to feed her once during the night," Daryl smiled down at Carol, his eyes hidden behind the fringe of hair. Carol had briefly woken to the steady gulp and suck of Cecilia and fallen back asleep upon Daryl's gentle fingers on her back, stroking sleepily back and forth as he fed their baby. 

Carol brushes Daryl's hair away from his face, tutting her tongue. "You, sir, need a haircut. Lydia, can you watch Cece for a bit?" 

"Yeah, but don't be too long," Lydia grimaces with slight disgust in a way only a teenager can exude.

Carol chuckles and Daryl rolls his eyes, ducking his head while they make their way upstairs and into the bathroom. Carol grabbed the pair of scissors in the cabinet but was quickly spun around against the door, scissors clattering to the floor near Daryl's toes.

"Watch it, you could've lost a foot!" Carol cried out, but was quickly silenced by Daryl's lips against hers.

"Don't care," he mutters in her mouth, his tongue grazing her lip. He pushes her against the bathroom door, the taste of cinnamon and cider and Daryl intoxicating her. Her hips lift against his as he grazes his palms across her sides, over the flare of her hips and settling on her ass. He squeezes, his hot breath ticking the hollow space beneath her ear. She is putty against him as one hand trails down her thigh, closing around the back of her knee. He hitches her leg around his hip, and they both moan at the friction. Her hands slip under his shirt, blunt nails raising goosebumps in their wake. She runs her fingers through his chest hair and tugs. 

"Fuck, Carol," he growls, pushing away long enough to pull her plaid pajama pants to her ankles. Kicking off his own, they come together again, their kisses fighting for control. 

Daryl lifts her off the ground, setting her on the counter as her thighs bracket his hips. He grinds himself against her center, slippery with need.

"Daryl," she whispers as he positions himself against her. Her arms loop under his, hands grasping the angle of his shoulder blades. He's hard and taut where she's pliable as he enters her in one slow motion. 

"Mmmm?" He mumbles into her ear, nibbling light enough to earn a gasp from her. His thrusts are slow and deep, and he ignores her desperate attempts to move faster. His hands trail under her, lifting her against him and she moans at the subtle change in position.

She can feel a knot building deep in her as he takes control. He licks and sucks the web where her neck and shoulder meet, his tongue memorizing her with every stroke. She's heavy with need, clinging to him and he bites down on her neck and she feels herself begin to flutter around him, her body melting in his arms. He lifts his mouth from her shoulder just to muffle her cries with his lips, her mouth open and breathy against his. 

She feels him throb inside of her, her walls pulling him deeper and deeper until there's nowhere else to go. He makes no attempt to muffle his own moans, spilling himself deep inside her walls as he mutters her name like a prayer. 

Their heartbeats are racing against each other as he slumps over her, still cradling her body with one hand and his other underneath her. She is sated and sleepy, enjoying the quiet stillness of his company, no words needed to express their love. It's always been like that. 

He pulls away when she begins to tremble from the draft coming in through the bathroom window. He grabs a towel and lightly drags it across her skin, cleaning and then kissing her as he trails from her knees to her thighs, before lifting her pants back.

Pulling up his own, he reaches over and taps her lightly on the butt. "C'mon, lunch time," he smirks, a light blush on his cheeks.

"When did you become an ass man, Daryl?" she questions quietly, her eyebrow raised and lips pursed in a flirt as they walk down the stairs. 

His blush deepens, trailing down his neck. "Stop," he mutters, and she giggles in response. 

As they reach the kitchen, Carol lifts Cecilia into her arms, blowing raspberries into her daughter's onesie-clad tummy. Her belly laugh is contagious, and they all join her. The roast Daryl had caught the night before was almost ready, the aroma wafting in the kitchen as Daryl checks the meat. 

"Wait," Lydia gasps suddenly, peering down at Daryl. "She didn't even cut your hair!" She yells out in horror, and Carol laughs harder, her cheeks hurting from smiling so much. Lydia starts laughing despite herself. 

Daryl mumbles something about not having a scissors, ears pink with embarrassment, which just makes them laugh harder. Cecilia joins in, and Daryl can't help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all. Shaking his head, he stalks back over to Carol, grabbing her face dramatically as he kisses her, not caring anymore about the complaints from Lydia. 

"Merry Christmas, baby," he murmurs to Carol, his eyes shining with emotion. Her eyes mirror his, so thankful for the man in front of her.

"Merry Christmas, Pookie." 

[lostloveletters]

do you have any headcanons for married life bucky and holly? i love what you’ve written for them so far it sounds like they have a lot of fun together😍

YES! I am constantly thinking about post-war Bucky and Holly, they’re so fun! HCs are below the cut.

Bucky is definitely the “standing in the living room while watching sports” type of dad. You know what I’m talking about. Anyway, the Egans have season tickets to Nationals games. Bucky shows the fuck up when they play the Yankees. Holly gets kind of annoyed when he switches out Henry’s Nationals hat for a Yankees one in the parking lot before they get into the stadium.

Incredibly enthusiastic Little League parents (which you can read more about here!)

Bucky and Holly rent a townhouse in Georgetown that serves its purpose while it’s just them and Henry. When Holly’s pregnant with Cindy, they move to a suburb outside of DC, probably Arlington or Alexandria, and buy a bigger house. It’s beautiful, pretty much everything Holly ever dreamed of.

They throw the best parties. This is the Jell-O mold era. The questionable recipes in women’s magazines era. The themed party era. Everything’s colorful and tacky and probably in poor taste, in retrospect. Bucky can still out drink anyone but he tries to rein it in for the kids. The singing almost always gets out of hand, though. Don't even get him started on 'Happy Birthday'. Holly takes photos of everything (Are they always in focus? No. Do they still go in the photo albums? Yes.)

For the most part, Holly’s a stay-at-home mom. She’s super involved in the kids’ extracurriculars and enjoys dedicating the time to her family. Once both kids are in school full-time, she probably starts volunteering at the National Air Museum to keep herself busy. Bucky loves that for her🖤

They start a lot of traditions together! Going to the Cherry Blossom Festival in the spring. Definitely vacation in Ocean City or Virginia Beach during the summer. Maybe they take a train up to Manhattan around Christmastime for a long weekend, especially when they have kids (and Bucky actually gets to see New York lol).

Between Holly calling Woody, and Bucky calling Buck, and Holly and Bucky calling each other when Bucky’s away, their long-distance phone call budget is high, to say the least. That’s including the phone sex🤭

Toeing the line of obnoxious when it comes to PDA. God forbid a married couple actually like each other...

[masterwords]

every day is a start of something beautiful

Summary: It's time for the leaves to be cleaned up. When kids are involved, you have to be ready for anything.

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: a few casual mentions of Hotch's childhood not being idyllic, a reference to Foyet, and references to Hotch having chronic pain/ailments.

Words: 2.3k

Notes: Comfortember Day 3 - Leaves. I couldn't resist Hank here. As with everything else this month, this is part of the Chicago Times universe. I hope you enjoy!

**

Hotch couldn’t actually remember the last time he raked up autumn leaves.

Maybe because the last time he raked up leaves was when he was a teenager. That was an awfully long time ago, judging by the faded edges of his memories.

He could vaguely remember waking up in the morning to the sound of his father hollering about the damn leaves. “Why in God’s name do we have so many damn trees?” It never failed, he’d be shouting about Hotch cleaning them up before he’d even wiped the sleep from his eyes. It would be a quick breakfast and then out the door with a thermos of hot cocoa for a long day of hard work. The icy breeze would bite at his fingertips through his wool gloves and his hands would be bleeding and blistered and bright red by the end of the day. During the course of his time outside, he would have picked up three or four more jobs – neighbors who were older and couldn’t do the work or simply wanted to outsource. He preferred those, they got him away from his house for days at a time. His weekends would be occupied with what he considered easy money during that lull between the glory of football season and the horrors of basketball – a sport he was truly terrible at. He was hardly more than a bench warmer or someone whose shoes squeaked on the court only when their team was so far up in points that they could put their third string kids in, but it was better than the nightmare of wrestling and it kept him busy and away from the house. He would rake for free, but everyone paid him. It kept his gas tank full and he was able to buy Haley flowers and snacks and maybe even one nice date without touching the money his parents gave him.

After University, they lived in apartments, never quite settled. A nice condo in DC when he was appointed as a Federal Prosecutor, and a grungy little dump in Seattle when he took a steep paycut to pursue his dreams as an FBI Agent. While the trees planted to line the streets had falling leaves, he never had to touch them. He only watched them flutter to the ground and be scooped up by city trucks, that was the same no matter which side of the country you inhabited. The type of trees might have changed, but the behaviors never did. When they moved back to D.C, they hired a lawn care service, and again when they moved out to Alexandria. Haley didn’t want to do it on her own and he didn’t have the time. They installed sprinkler systems, did all the mowing and all of the cleanup while Hotch worked his long hours and never saw any of it. Then came two apartments back to back, and lawn care services that would come and go in an hour, sucking up all of the beautiful decaying leaves in their big riding mowers and move on. It was impersonal and loud, and when it was all cleaned up he missed the joy of the colors the leaves brought. There were children who lived in his building who would play in the leaves until they were cleaned up, and the sound of their laughter and the rustling got him through a lot of long lonely days after Foyet’s attack.

Now, he and Derek had a house. Well, Derek had a house and was kind enough to open his doors to Hotch and Jack, inviting them to move in rather than see them go back to Virginia when they were released from protective custody. They were still taking things a little slow, poking along, living together but not saying words like love too often. (Even if it was always heavily implied.) Derek’s divorce was still fresh enough to be a wound and the year of witness protection, the loneliness and fear and physical decline, were still wearing on Hotch in ways he couldn’t cope with some days.

But then the leaves fell, and he felt grounded and connected and useful just thinking about doing something mundane and simple. Something people just did at a certain time of year. Something that meant he belonged.

The front lawn was not just scattered with leaves, it was covered. At least a foot existed between the crisp upper layer and the damp, darkness of the bottom layer that was killing the small patch of grass they called a front lawn. Maple leaves and Oak leaves married in a sea of velvet orange and yellow and brown. The acorns pelted the sidewalk and made walking a hazard. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the backyard yet, those trees were still dropping leaves. They had another week or so before he could look at it as a project.

“I’ve got the riding mower,” Derek said, kicking his feet up with a beer in front of the TV. He was ready to watch some football and relax, and Hotch was about to join him. At least for the relaxing bit, he couldn’t tell you who was playing in the game. It was more about settling in beneath a blanket with Derek, resting his cheek against the mound of his shoulder, and maybe even falling asleep. “I’ll just take it out.”

“Too many leaves and acorns, it’ll clog it all up. I don’t want to lose a window to an acorn. I’ll do it, I have tomorrow off.”

Derek eyed him and scrunched his nose, shaking his head no. Like he’d considered the offer and instead of making a counter was outright refusing it. “I’ve used that mower the last two years. It’ll be okay.”

“I’d like to do it,” Hotch said, recanting his previous offer and rewording it. He was a lawyer in another life, he could do this all day until he found a loophole to exploit. Derek wasn’t an idiot, he knew what Hotch was doing and he kind of liked it. This sort of back and forth almost always led to sex, and it had been a few days since they’d had any...he was ready for that outcome. He’d even give up watching football for it.

“How about we wait until the weekend? We’ll get the kids out there playing and it’ll go quick if we work together. Then we can walk down to Lem’s and grab a bite to eat.”

“You don’t have to help, it’s a small yard. This football season has been exhausting, you deserve a break.”

“I got all winter, bud. I’m not coaching wrestling or basketball, just overseeing. Don’t worry about me.”

“But you’re worrying about me.” Hotch could feel his upper hand slipping away as his feelings crept in, knowing now that Derek was only concerned about whether he could do it at all. They went out running most mornings together, went to the gym, played all sorts of sports with the kids and Derek was worried his body suddenly couldn’t handle raking leaves? It hurt a little and he didn’t bother to hide it.

“Of course I am. I know we’re pretty active as a family, but that’s exactly it. As a family. You’ve had ticker problems since Foyet, don’t you dare pretend you haven’t. I know we don’t talk about what’s up with your body after Foyet much, it’s your business, but I think about it all the time. Plus your back’s all jacked up, you’ve been walking like an old man all week. I’m not letting you do it by yourself.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m an invalid.”

“No, I’m preventing a reasonably healthy middle-aged man from putting himself in the hospital because he’s stubborn. There’s a difference.”

Hotch scoffed at that, but when the weekend came and they were all bundled up under the bright morning Chicago sun he was glad for the help. And the company. The yard looked larger than he thought as he stood on the porch scanning the job with the last of his coffee warming his hands, and the sound of Jack and Hank playing catch with a football nearby made him feel instantly warmer. Derek was right, loathe as he was to admit it. This was a task better suited to the whole family.

He and Derek began at opposite ends of the yard, raking big piles of leaves, smelling the sweet decay, that smell of fall that’s so intrinsic and almost cathartic it was hard to put into words. It signaled to Hotch that it was time to hibernate, to hunker down in a way nothing else could. He imagined another night on the couch, probably with his heating pad nestled against the ache in the small of his back (because Derek was right about that too), a mug of tea or a nice dark beer and a movie – sharing a blanket and a laugh with Derek. This was the good stuff.

It would be the reward for a job well done.

They managed four giant piles in the front yard. “Not bad for a days’ work,” Derek announced, grabbing Hotch triumphantly by the hand and walking him back toward the garage for the carpenter bags to stuff the leaves into. They spent a little extra time in the garage, kissing in the shadows beside the shelves of fertilizer and tools. Warm lips and cold hands, safe from the biting wind for just a few minutes. “Aren’t you glad we did it together?”

“Yes,” Hotch smiled into another kiss before insisting they get back to the yard and finish up because he was starving. When they returned to the front yard, they found Jack throwing Hank wildly into the piles. Screaming and squealing, arms in the air, hair flying wildly where a knit cap had been moments before. That knit cap was now in the mess of leaves, what remained of their nice neat piles. Hotch couldn’t find it in him to be angry, even if they had undone much of the work he’d effectively destroyed his body for. He’d be in pain for the next few days, and it was worth it, but it would have been nice not to have to do it all over again.

“Again! AGAIN!” Hank was squealing with delight, throwing his arms wide, giggling madly when he hit the pile on his belly and sent a spray of leaves around him up into the air.

Hotch stopped and folded his arms, just watching with the ghost of a tired smile. Derek, on the other hand, dropped his bags and rushed forward, diving right into a pile himself. He didn’t need an invitation to the fun, and he certainly wasn’t going to be upset at work wasted. Jack tossed Hank down on top of him and soon they were both laughing and throwing the little guy, taking turns. Hank’s appetite for flight was insatiable.

“Come on Aaron!” Derek yelled and Hank rushed, covered in scraps of leaves and dirt and grass, toward Hotch. The leaves in his hair caught the sunlight and gave the impression of a golden crown, Hotch thought as he watched the kid run toward him.

“AGAIN!” Hank shouted, raising his arms like Hotch knew exactly what he meant. And, in spite of how badly he wanted to preserve the piles because of all of their hard work, he couldn’t resist playing. He looked at Jack standing there, a brand new teenager, and realized he’d never done this with his own son. He’d never thrown Jack into a leaf pile. Had Jack ever played in one? He didn’t know, but he thought maybe not. And when had he last done it himself? Those memories were faded sepia and silent and slow. His grandfather had tossed him into one, he thought. Yes, his grandfather played with him in the leaves, long before Sean was born. Never his father (or his mother). His father hated the trees, hated the leaves, hated it all. And he’d always been too busy with teenager things to play with Sean. What a waste, he thought.

Resigning himself to the fate of doing the work all over again, he lifted Hank into the air, gave him a kiss on the nose that made the kid giggle and launched him toward the pile. Derek raised his arms and caught his son, burying them both in the leaves quickly while Hotch walked up behind Jack and shoved him in. Just toppled him right over into the last fresh pile, watching him sink in with a look of surprise that eventually melted from teenage too-cool-horror into a smile.

So, they would have to rake again. Maybe Hotch would let Derek get the riding mower out for the second time, make short work of it. Hotch did like watching Derek out on that thing, he had to admit. There was something about it that felt so domestic and sweet he couldn’t help it. He always managed to sit on the porch and watch Derek looking so pleased with something so silly. But when he and Derek began throwing leaves at one another, he didn’t think about all the work they’d put in or all the work they’d have to do again. It wasn’t easy to take his mind away from it, he had a way of getting on a loop of work done before fun, but Derek wasn’t having any of that. “You never have the fun,” Derek would remind him when he got so caught up in the work that he couldn’t see his way out. “Sometimes fun before work is fine.” That attitude was infectious. His smile managed to pull Hotch in and get him playing too.

He’d be itchy, would definitely have to suck down some benadryl when all was said and done, but even he wasn’t immune to ending up in a pile of sticky wet leaves and enjoying himself.

“AGAIN!”

[lesbianmarrow]

In the same vein as your airport post as someone who lives 5 mins from dc but doesn’t want to doxx myself I am ITCHING to see Mulder and Scully in Northern Virginia. Watching this show is like crack. They talk about Beltway traffic and other Northern Virginia-isms. I have a deep need to see them suffer the dc swamp heat and summer thunderstorms, the mild but icy winter weather. Hearing that Mulder lived in Alexandria made me go “yup he would”. Mulder would take Scully to the air and scape museum and tease her with highly-debatable facts the whole time. I want to see them skate at the sculpture garden, I want to see them suffer traffic and bad coffee through the suburban landscape at three am. I want the mundanity of it! What is the point of them running around my hometown if I can’t picture them there!!!

wow this is so beautiful and i agree. i wanna see them getting lunch at the food trucks by the museums. i wanna see them browsing the art museum gift shop as scully looks for a gift for her sister. and of course ice skating is theeee cute couples activity. i think they would both probably be pretty good at ice skating but maybe they pretend they’re not that good so they have an excuse to hold onto each other

[livvyofthelake]

thing i forgot to get into when i watched remember the titans. well our friend will patton was there! who i knew was an actor but have never seen a single movie of his. so i know him from raven cycle audiobook fame which is beautiful in a sense <3 anyway it was soooo crazy whenever his character was talking i’d be like omg this is just like adam :) adam specifically because remember the titans is meant to be set in virginia where people have accents. now i can’t speak to 1971 but i’m pretty sure no one in alexandria talks like that nowadays let’s be fucking real. i digress. it’s crazy how he was able to do distinct yet not overly complex or different voices for each character like that man needs awards for audiobook narration i’m actually so serious… there was one scene where he broke out a little bit of the ronan lynch voice and i cheered… i won’t be tuning into any of his other films because they all looked bad to me i’m sorry. yeah i watched remember the titans because of him how else did you think i could have gotten there be serious it was the only movie in his filmography that looked good to me… again i apologize. but his audiobook work is insaneee give him a nobel prize or something!!

[charlesandmartine]

Saturday 13th April 2024

Another beautiful day so on good advice we made our way to the old harbour in time to see the fishing fleet return at 10.00am. Apparently when the boats arrive, 6 resident stingrays also appear. Huge they are: as tall as a man. Sadly there was no sign of either, so we followed the second bit of advice from our landlady and walked along firstly the boardwalk and then the beach for as far as our Start-Rite shoes would take us. The sun shone and the pastel colours of the beach and the sea were stunning. What a fantastic part of the world this is! An angling club was having a bit of a competition; rods and lines were everywhere. It seemed that most members were policemen so hopefully there was no crime in these parts today. Occasionally a cry went up and officials had to verify a catch. We witnessed a sand shark being landed. Wasn't huge, but apparently it counted. After a flap or two on the sand it was ceremoniously returned to its watery home. Also in abundance on the beach were an invasion of Portuguese Men of War left high and dry, marooned for all time by the receding tide. I might mention also the snake, but identification was difficult.

We checked again on return to the harbour for the presence of stingrays but once again we felt let down by their absence. I'm told the fishing fleet may not have gone out due to the turbulence at sea, therefore stingrays remained buried in the sand, as they do.

After luncheon, following yet further instructions from the landlady, we again put the VW through its paces with specific attention this time to suspension on unmade-up roads, and then in full Virginia Woolf fashion, 'To the Lighthouse'. We clambered up all 71 steps within it to view the light and walk the balcony, perhaps despite the concern of the girl in the ticket office who seemed to have doubts we might make it up and down safely. We could see she was much relieved when after 20 minutes or so her charges returned none the worse for wear despite the inclination of all the steps and ladders required to negotiate. Installed 1st March 1849, 31m high, at a cost of £15,871 with a 400W bulb that flashes every 5 secs, the lighthouse has a range of 31 nautical miles. It was esigned by Col.C Mitchell, Surveyor General of the Cape Colony in a style of the Pharos of Alexandria in Egypt. Well with a design of that provenance it should have fixed the problem for good, however on 16th November 1982 in a terrible storm, a 45m Japanese trawler, Meisho Maru No 38 hit rocks close to the lighthouse so hard it broke up and is still there. Well, I guess there's always one isn't there? All of this is bang on the Southern most point in Africa, named Ponts de Sao Brandao by Bartholomew Dias the well known Portuguese Mariner when he happened to pass by on 16th May 1488, and marks the official position where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic. Both sides look the same to me but I'm sure the fish know the difference. That name didn't stick too long because it was renamed in 1502, Capo Das Agulhas meaning 'Needles' after the sharp looking rocks nearby. Now since 1972 just called Cape Agulhas for short. The exact location has been a bit of a discussion issue since 1836, so recently the International Hydrographical Organisation waded in and said that's it, not discussing this any more it's slap bang on the longitudinal line 20°E. End of.... Oh ok then....

Talking of fish, we then went to the Trattoria for a superb lemon sole fish supper. Well, I had that but Martine thought some form of pasta would be preferable. Very nice it was too. We had a bottle of SB on ice back at the motor pool to wash it down with. Great day. Tomorrow we move further along the Garden Route coast.

[mermaideryblog]

What Is Mermaidcore? A Style Guide to the Siren-Inspired Trend

Mermaidcore is a fashion trend that goes beyond just dressing up; it’s about embracing the mystique and allure of mythical mermaids. This style captures their enchanting and ethereal essence, bringing a touch of the ocean’s magic to everyday life. At the heart of this siren-inspired trend is Mermaidery, defined as enchanting decor, whimsical curiosities, and ethereal attire inspired by mermaids. In this article, we’ll dive deep into the mermaidcore fashion world, exploring its origins, influences, and key elements. Let’s embark on this magical journey together and discover how you can incorporate this captivating trend into your wardrobe with confidence.

Introduction to Mermaidcore

A Fashionable Dive into Fantasy

Mermaidcore transcends traditional fashion by drawing inspiration from the mythical allure of mermaids. It encapsulates a world where the ocean’s mystique is woven into every garment and accessory, embodying the freedom and grace of these legendary creatures. This trend appeals to those who wish to express their love for the sea and its folklore through their style, offering an escape into a dreamy, underwater realm.

Unleashing the Siren Within

Diving Deeper into the Mermaid Realm

Mermaidcore Aesthetic

Mermaidcore is characterized by its use of iridescent fabrics, aquatic motifs, and a palette that mirrors the sea’s many hues. The style also embraces fluidity and movement, reminiscent of water, with layers and textures that mimic the ocean’s depth and complexity. These elements combine to create a distinctive look that captivates and enchants.

The Trend’s Journey

Key Elements of the Mermaidcore Aesthetic

Curating a Mermaidcore Wardrobe

Achieving the mermaidcore look requires a mix of specific elements, from clothing that flutters and flows to accessories that add a touch of maritime magic. This segment delves into the essential items for a stunning mermaidcore ensemble, guiding readers through the selection of pieces that embody the spirit of the sea.

Tips for a Mermaid Life

Mermaidcore: Influencing Culture and Beyond

Mermaids in the Mainstream: A Cultural Resurgence

The resurgence of mermaid fascination can be seen in movies, television, and even music, influencing fashion and beauty trends worldwide. The cultural impact of mermaid mythology is focused on how contemporary media has rekindled our collective fascination with these mythical beings.

Red Carpet Waves: Mermaidcore’s Glam Moments

The allure of the mermaid has not been lost on the world of celebrity fashion, with numerous stars adopting this trend for their appearances on the red carpet. The trend has made its mark in the glittering world of celebrity fashion.

Celebrity Mermaidcore

Halle Bailey: The Real-Life Ariel

Halle Bailey’s portrayal of Ariel in the live-action adaptation of “The Little Mermaid” has cemented her status as a mermaidcore icon. Some of her most notable mermaid-inspired looks, both on and off the screen, illustrate how she embodies the trend’s magical essence.

Kate Hudson and Amanda Seyfried: Sirens of the Silver Screen

The Top Mermaidcore Shop 

About Mermaidery.com: A Haven for Mermaid Lovers

Established in September 2023, Mermaidery can be found nestled in the charming city of Alexandria, Virginia. The woman-owned brand offers a treasure trove of stylish pieces that embody the mermaidcore aesthetic. Mermaidery is more than just a retail platform; it’s a community for those enchanted by mermaid lore. 

The Mermaidery Experience: Quality and Sustainability

Mermaidery.com prides itself on offering high-quality, sustainable fashion options for the environmentally conscious consumer. Their products are not only beautiful but also kind to the planet.

Embrace Your Inner Mermaid with Mermaidery

Accessorizing with Siren Elegance

Accessories play a crucial role in achieving the mermaidcore look, and Mermaidery offers an exquisite selection of jewelry and hair accessories inspired by the sea. Elevate any outfit with delicate mermaid shell earrings or pearl-encrusted hairpins.

The Mermaid Box: A Monthly Treasure Trove of Mermaid Wonders

Unleash Your Inner Mermaid with Confidence and Style

The Call of the Siren: A Fashion Journey

Embracing mermaidcore is an invitation to explore the depths of personal style and creativity. Mermaidcore is not just a fashion statement but a celebration of individuality and the enchanting mystery of the sea.

Dive into a Sea of Mermaid Inspiration at Mermaidery.com

As we close this exploration of the mermaidcore aesthetic, we invite you to visit Mermaidery.com to discover the latest styles and accessories that will help you embrace your inner mermaid. With an endless array of options, Mermaidery is your partner in crafting a look that’s uniquely yours, allowing you to shine with the confidence and grace of a mermaid.

This detailed exploration into mermaidcore and Mermaidery provides a comprehensive guide for anyone looking to dive into this enchanting trend, offering insights into how to incorporate it into your wardrobe and lifestyle. Whether you’re a long-time fan or new to the world of Mermaidcore, there’s never been a better time to explore the depths of this mermaid fashion trend.

[lovegal]

Meet Lovegal 💞💓💖💓💋

Lovegal is the account of ✨Gabby✨ (me)

Lovegal is a non binary and has a accent called "Heart ish"

lovegal say words like "meet" to "meat" "you" to "u" "too" to "2" "sweet" to "swet" "what do you mean" to "wdym" etc

lovegals real name is "Lilith" but always pronounce they/them/their real name wrong

lovegal childhood show was ROTMNT Bratz Barbie life in the dream house MLP:Equestria girls teenage mutant ninja turtles and World of Winx

Lovegal childhood fictional character crush was Leo but choose Donnie but starting to have a crush on Donnie Raph and Mikey (except Leo)

Lovegal is a teen (14 - 15) but kinda looks like a adult

Lilith doesn't have a additional crush on Donnie Raph and Mikey

People think Lovegal is "ugly" "trashy" and "ridiculous" but that is not true Lovegal is a bit sensitive, but smart, confident, lively, sweet, Funny, scared, relatable, smellible, nice, kind, caring, excitable, lonely, feminine, and, big - hearted

lovegal favorite color is: 🩷 (pink) ❤️ (red)

Childhood:

Lovegal was full of confidence and was such a optimistic child in the past 🌺🥀🌹💐🌸💮🪷🌷

they/them/their is so flowery and happy go lucky Lilith is a intelligent agree funny kid people would have called they/them/their a ugly piece of trash because how lovegal speaks

in public places lovegal would get bullied all day by children and adults except elderlys and grandchildren those old people would find lovegal really gentle and patient grandchildren would become friends with lovegal Lilith would accept it but the other kids wouldn't as for the teens they would like lovegal better then the children because of they/them/their personality lovegal really loved to greeted everybody but lovegals parents are to overprotective/protective lovegal was always calling people "lovelys" in childhood

🎂🎀🎁🎇🎆🧨🎊🎉 Lovegal was such a pure hearted elementary - aged kid

when lovegal was at the 1st day of school lovegal never wanted to talk to everybody lovegal think they/them/their was so hated so lovegal decided to make a community called "My Lovelys Deserve Better 💖💓💞💞🌺🎂" lovegal would just think everyone else was just a lovely

on the 2nd day of school lovegal was so lonely that the fact lovegal was sitting next with coral and Andrea the "mean girls" would always bullied lovegal a bit by them lovegal is always controlling they/them/their emotions lovegal was a relatable child whenever lovegal meet people with different languages like "Japanese" "Spanish" "Filipino" etc lovegal would be a nice person and the people would enjoy lovegal heart - ish accent lovegal really loves people with different languages better then English people lovegal would never care about how people say lovegal was a "bad kid" but Lovegal isn't Lovegal is really helpful towards elders and grandchildren

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜🤎🖤🩶🤍🩷

lovegal favorite celebrity was Selena Gomez, Lady Gaga, Black pink, Melanie Martinez, Taylor swift, Britany Spears, Lovegal really wanted to be them so bad

when Lovegal was watching TMNT they/them/their saw Leo lovegal had a love beat inside of lovegals heart but saw Donnie Raph and Mikey lovegal would have a fluffy love Heart beat lovegal realize that Loving or simping someone is a good idea

🌧️🌩️⛈️🌨️☁️🌦️🌥️⛅🌤️

and Lovegal is a middle - age student now lovegal still has they/them/their personality but always having a beautiful life with a new city at Alexandria, Virginia ever since Lovegals father got a new job.

End of Childhood.

[studioahead]

Artist Spotlight: John Gnorski

When we asked John Gnorski what on earth are EARTH BABIES, he took us on a subterranean journey to meet them. Or at least that's how it felt. Hearing John speak about his creative process certainly takes you all over, even into your subconsciousness, about which he has a lot to say. His art is full of strange landscapes, strange portraits, strange figures. Our current fave is one from his Clouds Roll By Like A Train In The Sky series not because of its great title, or because the clouds might actually be birds or blossoms, but because peeking through the print's ink is the grain of the woodblock, reminding us of the materiality that grounds all our work, no matter how wildly dreamt.

Studio AHEAD: John, your bio is mysteriously pithy: “Born in Alexandria, Virginia, living/ working in Point Reyes Station, CA.” What brought you to the other side of the country? 

John Gnorski: I moved from the East Coast more or less on a whim in 2007, picking up and leaving the Hudson Valley, which had been my home for 6 years at that point, and ending up in Portland, OR. Luckily it was still a pretty affordable town at the time so I was able to piece together a nice existence doing carpentry for a day job (which would indelibly inform my art practice) and making art and music every other waking hour. I found a great community, fell in love with the truly epic landscape of the West, and at some point the West Coast just became home. 

After many happy years up in Oregon, my partner Katie, who is a filmmaker, decided to get a master’s degree and that instigated our (truly auspicious) move to the Bay. One thing led to another, and we were lucky enough to find a house to rent in Pt. Reyes Station. Before long we found a great community out here and we hope to stay for as long as we can. 

I do miss the East sometimes, especially the sort of archetypal procession of seasons there with crisp autumn days, deep winters, and summer thunderstorms and lighting bugs. That said, I can’t imagine a more beautiful place to live than here on the Northern California coast. I’m grateful every day to be here and I often think to myself how did I even end up here in this incredible place? 

Studio AHEAD: Has Northern California come to influence the materiality of your work? 

John Gnorski: Absolutely. In a very literal sense I tend to use native wood in my work whenever I can, but the influence goes beyond the physical material to a particular sensibility that seems to be shared by a lot of Northern California artists across generations and styles. I find that, at least in my experience, there’s less concern out here about the whole (false) binary of art vs. craft than I experienced as a young artist on the East Coast (particularly in the vicinity of New York). 

I think that this attitude has, thankfully, changed quite a bit pretty much everywhere in the years since I moved west, but nevertheless California has a long history of breaking down established conventions and categories. Ceramics and wood sculpture, for instance, have been taken seriously out here for generations in a way that hasn’t historically been the case out east. 

This anti-hierarchical spirit famously permeates a lot of the culture out here. A nice example is the great DIY building tradition of the “hippies” and other folks who took to the rural areas of the coast, starting in the middle of the last century, and made truly beautiful, strange, and inspired homes out here that flout both architectural convention and often the laws of physics. I’ve had the pleasure of helping to restore some buildings like this up in Mendocino and, to bring this full circle, some of the little scraps and bits I’ve taken with me from those projects have become pieces of my own work, along with the lessons of those often anonymous artist/builders who made, intentionally or not, amazing sculpture-houses. 

There’s also a very strong Japanese influence on the aesthetics of so much California art/craft/design that’s found its way into my work. Would I be making these very Japanese/Noguchi-inspired lanterns if I hadn’t ended up here? I don’t know for sure but I’m guessing this place has informed them quite a bit. 

Studio AHEAD: Don't get Homan started on Noguchi. He's obsessed. What is your relation to abstraction? Many of your sculptures and drawings almost seem to form recognizable figures, but not quite. 

John Gnorski: With very few exceptions everything I make is representational even if it’s hard to decipher the image in the finished piece. I’m looking at a little watercolor painting right now that would almost certainly appear totally abstract to anyone but me, but I know that I made it in the Mojave desert and I can see the particular landscape that I was trying to depict—the horizon, the heat ripples, little constellations of scrubby desert plants—though it’s basically reduced to visual symbols. 

It’s not necessarily a formal decision I’ve made to avoid pure abstraction, it’s more of a narrative one. Having concrete subject matter is an important starting point for me, one method of avoiding the potentially paralyzing experience of confronting the blank page. So even if the finished picture or object ends up miles away from where it began, I still start by saying to myself, for instance: I’m going to draw a lizard sunning itself on a stump or, as in one of the pictures I’m working on now, I’m going to draw a bather in Tomales Bay stooping down to look at a bat ray. One might end up a pretty faithful manifestation of the concept while another might go through the ringer of some process and turn out as a loopy line drawing that barely hints at its source material. 

I sometimes do the same thing when I write songs, coming up with a title first and then writing into that. The two even intersect as in my continuing series of cloud pictures all of which are titled “Clouds Roll By Like A Train In The Sky” which is also the name of a song I wrote. Without the title those pictures read as geometric abstraction, but with the title they become clouds. Context is so important! 

Studio AHEAD: Those cloud pictures, and also your Rorschach-like quarantine notebooks/bird and butterfly prints, give room to the subconscious. How do you get into that mental space when creating that allows for the subconscious to take over? 

John Gnorski: Allowing room for the subconscious is really important to me because at the end of the day it’s very often the accidental/unintentional things that really resonate with me. To clarify, when I say subconscious in this context what I’m really talking about is allowing forces outside of my control to work in the picture/object. I try to maintain a decent level of competence when it comes to the basics of art-making, but I also try to use whatever “technique” I’ve developed to allow chance and accident to do their wonderful work. I know that nothing I could map out perfectly from start to finish will be nearly as interesting as something that transforms in ways I never could have anticipated through the process of the making. 

This sensibility is very visibly present in the Rorschach-style pieces and a lot of my sketchbooks and works on paper, but it’s there in less obvious ways in all of my work. The lanterns, for instance, might appear as though each little bit of joinery was carefully plotted out, but in reality they are built based on pretty simple line drawings and constructed in an organic manner. I’ll have a basic shape I want to achieve, but the way everything is put together is done on the fly. Sometimes a connection might become redundant structurally as a piece grows, but I’ll keep it in there as a remnant of the process. All the little false steps and unintentional gestures become a part of the piece and give it a complexity I wouldn’t have achieved if I’d set out with a dialed-in plan and done things in the most elegant and minimal way possible. 

The same is true of the ink on paper pieces which begin life as charcoal drawings and allow chance to seep in throughout the process. I rub the drawings onto plywood “plates” which transfers them in an imperfect but legible manner. I’m also using multiple plates and pieces of paper to allow for misalignments, and the plates themselves are of a type of plywood that tends to have an active grain that sometimes splinters or “runs”—interrupting the carved line in often surprising ways. I hand print the plates, which produces unexpected textures, and then go back into the image with more ink or sometimes collage or pastel. So in the end what began as a pretty clear and maybe even graceful line drawing becomes, through the welcoming-in of chance, something a bit more nuanced and awkward, full of special little moments on its physical surface that come out of that totally not conscious place of process. 

Studio AHEAD: Tell us about EARTH BABIES, your collaboration with Kate Bernstein. We are particularly interested in how collaboration impacts the creative process—we have many ideas about this at Studio AHEAD and those ideas are constantly evolving. Do you find it easier to work alone or with a partner? 

John Gnorski: EARTH BABIES is the conceptual tent that shelters all the collaborative work that Katie and I do together. It started as a music/installation performance at an amazing event called Spaceness that friends of ours organized for 5 years on the coast of Washington at a place called the Sou’wester. 

Spaceness was a very free-form community art-making event that revolved around the concept of the unknown, and often featured work relating to outer space or unexplored worlds. It was held annually in early spring—the very darkest and dreariest time of the year in the Pacific Northwest—and it featured music, dance, video, radio, you name it. Folks would work for months on their contributions, and it was so beautiful: community coming together to make their own entertainment and help each other through dark days. For me, this is the best case scenario for art-making. I like to think of it as subsistence art—art for fun and joy and also for survival. It honestly makes me tear up thinking about it, and I often cried during the performances there. It just moves me so much to see what people can make with little to no budget out of the simplest materials like cardboard, scrap wood, clip lights, fabric, words: whole worlds that can really put you under a spell, transport you, communicate a message, and make time and space for our imaginations to nourish one another. 

Anyway (and forgive me, this is going to get maybe a little esoteric) Katie and I, inspired by a trip to Ghost Ranch in New Mexico, came up with this idea of a whole culture of beings living deep under the surface of our Earth called “Earth Babies.” We first wrote and recorded songs based on this imaginary world, and over the years we made various installations: the “Healing Machine” which was a sound bath in a hand-built A-frame in the woods and the “Hopler Archive,” a fictional natural history museum. 

At this point, EARTH BABIES is the name we use whenever we want to make something creative without the burden of our “actual” identities getting in the way. It’s our shared alter ego that allows for maximum creative expression. 

As for collaboration generally, as much as I love spending time alone in my studio, my ideal art making ratio would be 25% solitary practice, and 75% collaboration. I love the energy of working with other artists, performers, thinkers, etc., and I think that collaboration leads to amazing things no one ever could have come up with on their own. I also think that community events like DIY music shows, theater, potlucks and ephemeral art exhibits in informal spaces are the most heartfelt and wonderful forms of art —purely collaborative and collectively authored. Again, it’s that idea of “subsistence art”. If none of us had to worry about selling our work I think there would naturally be a lot less emphasis on individual style and a lot less concern about authorship. Maybe collaboration would be the new norm and we could all contribute a verse to the big song we sing to sustain ourselves. 

Studio AHEAD: What's your favorite music to listen to while making art? You are also a DJ and musician.

John Gnorski: Katie and I host a radio show on West Marin’s community radio station KWMR every other Sunday morning, which has really made us feel connected to the community out here. 

I listen to a huge variety of music in my studio from atmospheric/ambient music like Brian Eno and Hiroshi Yoshimura to soul to Neil Young to Terry Riley to Alice Coltrane to Lucinda Williams. I’ll often just rely on my cassette library to take a break from the digital realm, which features a lot of mixtapes from Mississippi Records, my favorite record store/label. But if I had to choose only one thing to listen to while making art it would be Ornette Coleman. I’ve listened to a collection of his recordings called Beauty Is A Rare Thing many thousands of times over the years in every studio, basement, garage, and shed I’ve worked in. His music has every color and emotion and gesture in it, and it radiates compassion and energy and love. It’s also difficult at times and can go from soothing to jarring pretty quickly, much like life. When I listen to a song like “I Heard It Over The Radio” I hear everything from voices harmonizing singing a folk song to animals making raucous calls to wind in the trees and rattling subway cars. 

Studio AHEAD: What can you do in music that you can’t do in the plastic arts? And vice versa? 

John Gnorski: For me the boundaries are pretty porous. As I alluded to earlier with the titling of my work, there’s a lot of crossover and dialogue between disciplines in my practice. It’s easier for me to come up with analogies. A skittering, hesitant line in a drawing conveys something similar to a thin, airy flute or a tentative phrase on a piano. Take a lyric like this one by Leonard Cohen: 

Nancy was alone

looking at the late, late show

through a semi-precious stone. 

It conjures all kinds of atmospheres and emotional states like a Rothko or an Alice Neel portrait. Whenever I hear Alice Coltrane play the harp I think of someone painting with absolutely every color on their palette. 

Music, however—live music—does have the wonderful quality of being ephemeral that most plastic arts don’t possess. It allows you to really inhabit the moment if you choose to. As a performer you’re also able to collaborate with an audience in a way that’s much harder to do with visual art. If you can engage an audience, or are part of an engaged audience, it can really make the experience special, with everyone kind of rooting for the performers and contributing their attention and energy to make the whole experience really lovely. 

Then I suppose there are some stories that can be more eloquently told in pictures or gestures than in sound. Light can be captured really evocatively in a drawing or a painting and used to make form in the realm of sculpture. There are some feelings you can only get, some ideas that can only be conveyed, when you’re in the presence of a physical thing. 

Studio AHEAD: I want to end on the very first photo posted on your Instagram. It’s a poster that says: “Now is the time to do your life’s work.” How do you or how do you try to live this mantra? 

John Gnorski: I made this picture as a kind of personal affirmation to hang on my studio wall many years ago. A lot of people who came through commented on it and it seemed like most everyone appreciated the reminder. 

My idea of my “life’s work” changes all the time, but the constant is a commitment to making things that I hope will tell a story or convey a feeling clearly and with heart. At times it can seem like art is some kind of luxury or commodity, but then I remember how it has truly illuminated and influenced and given hope and shape to my life and the lives of a lot of other people over the entire course of human existence. I think that being an artist is as noble a vocation as any, and more helpful to humanity than a lot of things I could be doing with my time. 

I’m in the fortunate position of being able to primarily make a living by making art and other art-adjacent objects these days, but in the recent past when I would be laboring away at a carpentry gig, I would think of that image and that mantra and remember that I had some kind of calling beyond the job that paid the bills—a “life’s work” that couldn’t be defined by an hourly rate—and that the artist work deserved and demanded my commitment. I still believe that if I show up for the muse or universe or whatever you want to call it everyday, ready and willing to work, that I’ll be able to somehow keep doing this as my life’s work and hopefully make things that help other people see life or hear it or survive and take joy in it. 

Studio AHEAD: We love that. We always start with asking our clients how they live. It's so important. Can you give us three creative people/places/cultural forces based in Northern California that we should take note of?

John Gnorski: Cole Pulice is a musician/composer living in the East Bay whose music often keeps me company in the studio. We also listen to a piece of theirs almost every day on the short drive from our house to the trail that we walk to check on the animal neighbors and greet the day. 

Bolinas/Pt.Reyes/Inverness DIY art/music scene This is an acknowledgement of the type of creative community vitality that to me is the heart of sustaining art-making—artists, musicians, writers—we can also get specific and talk about it in terms of two spaces where most of this stuff takes place: the Gospel Flat Farm Stand and the hardware store in Bolinas. Both are DIY spaces of the highest caliber that provide the setting and the energy for art to happen. 

Ido Yoshimoto. I know that everyone reading this probably already knows Ido’s work [if not, we interviewed him here —SA] but I feel compelled to shout him out because he so generously invited me into the community here when we landed a few years back. He’s also shared knowledge and food and time. The people who make their lives here and share their talents and have profound respect for the land are the soul of this place, and Ido is one of those people.

Photos by Ekaterina Izmestieva

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

hi! I’m not sure if you do matchups, but would you be able to match me with someone from twd? I’m tall, kind of chubby, I have brown eyes and long brown hair, I’m pansexual, I have attachment issues and I love the “she fell first but he fell harder” trope. thank you and I totally understand if you don’t do this !

Love this request idea, it sounds so cute and I too am a sucker for the "she fell first but he fell harder" trope. I'm thinking from the vibe you gave me, you'd be perfect with Tara!

here you go 🖤

masterlist

Pairing: Tara x requested reader

Attached

When the world went to shit, you didn't expect to be so good at it. Sure, you'd grown up in the Virginia woods and lived with an outdoorsy family, but it was never you. You preferred the indoors with A.C. and your television. But alas, life wasn't what you expected, and you didn't turn out that way either.

You became lethal with a gun. You could take down walker after walker, enemy after enemy. It was as if you'd taken every off-handed conversation you heard from your father and brothers and ingrained it into your very core.

It didn't make sense, not to you at least, that you were the only survivor of your family and countless other groups. You couldn't fathom the idea of being the lone survivor. But you never questioned it. Every day was a fight, and you went into it willingly.

Aaron took you in willingly when you found Alexandria after months on the run by yourself. He believed you would help the community survivors and offer expertise on runs and safety. Which you gladly did for a warm bed to sleep in and food on hand.

You were there for a long time before Aaron brought in another group--this one large, with people that looked a lot like you did a few months ago. Deanna assigned them all jobs, and they slowly merged into the community, albeit with some trouble.

Your run group added a few more people, one of whom was a woman named Tara. She wasn't like you at all. She loved to talk and fist-bumped you when you first met her. She had a pretty smile and hair the same color as yours. You liked her immediately, you felt drawn in by how she joked around with Glenn and Noah, and it made you want to be a part of their inside jokes.

But that wasn't you; this world taught you not to get attached. So you watched from afar, trying to keep feelings toward her at bay. Even when she was hurt during runs, you forced yourself to avoid the infirmary to save yourself the trouble.

Even after the saviors destroyed Alexandria and altered everyone's world, and after they were defeated and Alexandria was rebuilt.

Though in that time frame, the two of you did grow closer. It was hard not to when you were all fighting for your lives. And though you liked it when she sought you out for anything and nothing several times a day, you ignored how it made your stomach flutter. You knew that you flirted with her, and she flirted with you. There were parts of you that wanted to just drop the act and kiss her; to tell her how you feel and what you wanted from her. But you never did.

It was better for you not to be attached.

***

"Come on," Tara said to you as you continued on your walk. It had been a long day of helping Aaron in the gardens. "We used to go on runs all the time, you think you're too good for me?"

You snorted and shook your head as you paused. "I'm tired, and tomorrow is the first morning I'll have off in weeks. Why don't you see if Daryl or Rosita want to go with you?" You asked, looking down at her due to the couple inches you had on her.

"Because I like it better when you come," Tara said. You raised an eyebrow, and she laughed, "Not how I meant it." She said.

You sighed at look at her, admiring the way the wind pushed back her hair. You didn't understand how she could've gotten more beautiful since the day you met her.

"Ugh," You groaned, "Okay, okay. I'll go. But I don't wanna leave until at least eight."

She smiled and squeezed your arm, "Whatever you say, toots."

***

"Where are we even going?" You asked as you looked out the window. You'd only been driving a few minutes, but it wasn't in the direction of the usual run stops. Unless they had changed, which you wouldn't know.

"It's a surprise," Tara told you.

You glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "A surprise? With walkers around every corner. You're joking."

She simply shook her head and turned the volume of the CD player up. You sighed and looked back out the window.

Twenty minutes later, she pulled into an old mall strip, and you straightened your back up. There weren't many stores, and most of them had their front windows broken. A lone walker started heading your way, which you didn't worry about.

"What are we doing here?" You asked as you stepped out of the car.

"For this," She nodded.

You looked at the strip and realized she was nodding to an old mom-and-pop bookstore. You raised an eyebrow and watched her take down the lone walker. Then with a smile, she looked at you. "Come on."

The shop was small and dimly lit, but it was relatively clean. Too clean, in fact, and you knew that someone must've straightened it up. There were even two cushioned chairs centered between columns of books, with a small table.

Tara walked up to it and dumped the contents of her bag out: water and a container of food. From the looks, it was some sort of pasta with a red sauce, no doubt tomatoes from the gardens.

"Tara, what are you doing?"

"Well, I knew you would never make the first move, so I figured I would."

Your stomach erupted in butterflies, and you felt your hands sweat. "W-what?"

She turned to look at you and nodded her head toward the seat. "I'm not blind. I see the way you look at me. Sit."

In your shock and confusion, you did as she said and was given a bowl of food. "Tara, I don't..."

"I know you have your issues or whatever, but I'm getting tired of waiting around." She said with a smile as she sat down. "So, this is a date."

You stared down at the food and started shaking your head. "I can't... I don't..."

She said your name lightly and leaned over to grab your hand. "You can take as much time to process this as you want. But I like you, a lot, and have for a really long time.''

Her eyes met yours and she leaned further, waiting. You knew what she was waiting for and you hesitated, because you didn't want to get attached. You didn't want to have your heartbroken. But seeing her there, waiting for you to kiss her, you couldn't stop yourself.

So you leaned in and kissed her, finally letting yourself get attached.

[byjaredwolfe]

Discover the talented photographers in Arlington capturing the beauty of our city through their unique lenses.

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