#Ceramic Speed

[emikomay]

new video about my pottery painting process, how i use underglaze and vintage illustration references!

[marywoodartdept]

Embracing Imperfection

Jenna, our new #Ceramics blogger, opens up about her struggle with #perfectionism in art and how working with clay has helped her embrace failure as part of the creative process. Speed throwing and learning to let go have transformed her approach. #MarywoodArt #Art #Ceramics #EmbraceImperfection #speedthrowing

I’ve always struggled with perfectionism in my art, mainly when I don’t know how to approach a concept or can’t decide when to stop working on a piece. In some ways, I appreciate this trait because it pushes me to create a work I’m proud of. But other times, it becomes overwhelming, and I avoid the piece altogether. There are so many projects I’ve never finished simply because I feel like I’ll…

[thriftsifter]

Heaviest and cutest baby bowl in the world.

[angered-box]

symurvived.

[ltwilliammowett]

For the first time in millennia, a Magan Boat sails off the coast of Abu Dhabi. It’s a reconstruction that has taught the world much about the skill and achievements of Bronze Age sailors

Archaeology on Marawah Island, west of Abu Dhabi, has revealed that 8,000 years ago the Arabian coast was home to a sophisticated seafaring people. They built stone structures, herded livestock, fished and dived for pearls, crafted jewelry, and developed a talent for sailing that started a remarkable cultural exchange.

By the Bronze Age, around 4,500 years ago, the region was prominent enough to have a name in ancient writings: Magan. From the island of Umm an-Nar, in modern Abu Dhabi which was part of ancient Magan, merchants sailed an international trade route that connected Mesopotamia, in what is now Iraq, to the Indus Valley in today’s India and Pakistan. Magan traded locally sourced pearls, stone and copper, one of the most sought-after commodities of the time, for ceramics, fabrics, jewelry, and other precious objects. Its ships were renowned through the Arabian Gulf.

The ship was built using 15 tons of locally sourced reeds that were painstakingly prepared by being soaked, stripped of leaves, crushed, and then tied into bundles using rope made from date palm fibers. These formed the hull, to which was attached a wooden frame. The boat’s dimensions were calculated based on what is known about similar vessels as well as hydrostatic analysis of what was needed to make it float. The reed hull was then waterproofed with a coating of bitumen, which was traded from Iraq. The heavy sail, raised purely by muscle without the benefit of pulleys, was crafted of goat’s hair in a patchwork of shades.

The result was the world’s largest ever reconstructed Bronze Age vessel: 60 feet long, capable of carrying 36 tons of cargo, and achieving surprisingly high speeds of 5.6 knots.

[croc-odette]

Raccoon holding onion..

[qualitydentalservices]

High Speed Dental Ceramic Bearings A Comprehensive Guide

You could create a bookmarking article that covers all of these subtopics, or you could focus on a specific subtopic, such as the benefits of using high speed dental ceramic bearings. You could also include links to other resources, such as product pages, blog posts, and research studies.

[kitkatscabinet]

Early Morning Meetings

Summary: your brothers have no boundaries, guess it’s time to teach them a lesson.

Pairing(s): Platonic Batfamily x fem! reader, Kyle Rayner x fem! reader.

A/N: 18+ nsfw themes, minors evaporate! Published on my phone so unedited.

You've always been a light sleeper, even before you'd been inducted into the bat brand of paranoid lifestyle that had you jumping at shadows, living in Gotham would do that for a person.

The second you hear the slightest clatter of movement, you're up, eyes flickering open as you're already mid-roll off your bed. Beside you, Kyle sleeps on, blissfully unaware of the potential intruders in your apartment. A slight pout on his face as he unconsciously reaches for the body no longer sleeping beside him.

There's a creak, the whine of the broken cabinet door you'd yet to fix alerting you to the definite presence of an intruder. Cursing, you ran a hand down your face, reaching for the bat you conveniently kept at the side of your bed.

Phone in one hand with Oracle on speed dial and bat in the other, you swing your bedroom door open. You step out into the kitchen, winding the bat back over your shoulder ready to rain down hell, only to groan at the sight of two of your brothers.

Not wanting to wake Kyle, you close the bedroom door quietly before slumping into the seat beside Tim. Damn that man and his ability to sleep like the dead.

"Hello people who don't live here." You groaned, "And by that, I mean what the fuck are you doing in my apartment at..." You blearily blink the sleep from your eyes, swearing when your phone light blinds you, "2:18 in the fucking morning!"

"Having breakfast." Dick hummed through a mouth full of dry cereal, his silhouette illuminated by the still-open fridge door. "You're out of milk, by the way."

"I know, you finished it yesterday. And close the fridge you animal, you'll ruin my groceries."

"A baseball bat? Really?" Tim squinted in judgement.

"Oh, I'm sorry, the next time suspicious individuals break into my home at fuck ass o'clock, I'll get the Glock I keep under my pillow."

Tim eyes you warily, slightly hesitant. "You don't actually have one of those, do you?"

"Of course not", You scoff, interrupting Tim's premature sigh of relief, "I've got a colt - Dick seriously, close the fridge door!”

“I can’t see though.” He whines and you stare at him in sheer disbelief.

“Turn on the fucking lights?” One of the world’s greatest detectives your ass.

The sound of a door swinging open catches your attention and you nearly apologise for waking Kyle when you notice it’s not your bedroom door opening.

"What the fuck guys, it’s 2 in the morning." Jason’s voice is husky with sleep as he yawns, trudging into your kitchen and planking down beside you like nothing was wrong.

"Jason! What the fuck are you doing here?" You can practically feel the oncoming aneurysm. Why had you wanted brothers again? Maybe you could go back in time and convince Bruce the Wayne’s were a single child household. That could be nice.

"I was sleeping in my room." He groused.

"It's not your room, it's a guest room, and guests are supposed to let their hosts know they're here!" You hissed. Fingers twitching as you fought the urge to reach across and strangle the little shithead.

"Am I not a guest? Ergo, my room."

"Ergo." Tim mocked, barely dodging the spoon Jason had taken from Dick's hand mid-bite and thrown at Tim.

"Jason!" Three voices sing out in varying levels of despair.

Dick looks at the leftover contents of his bowl appraisingly, shrugging before tipping the ceramic back like a drink. Predictably, bits of cereal fall over his face and the floor you’d just fucking mopped yesterday.

“Murder is illegal and you love your brothers very much.” You whisper to yourself under your breath. Tim surreptitiously scoots his chair away from you.

"Baby?" A groggy voice called out, and you would have smiled at how cute your sleepy boyfriend was as he stumbled toward you, burying his face in your neck, if it weren’t for the laser focused stares of your younger brothers.

“Kyle?!” Dick choked.

“A Lantern?!” Tim moaned in despair.

“Don’t start this game with me Timothy. You won’t win.”

“People?” Kyle mumbled, finally looking up with sleepy eyes. “Baby, why are there people in our apartment.”

“Our?” Dick’s falsetto voice was honestly a little impressive.

“Because my brothers are animals that don’t understand boundaries.” You told Kyle, ignoring Dick’s ongoing stroke.

“Isn’t he unemployed?” Jason muttered with narrowed eyes, to which you flip him the bird.

“So are you fuckface! Also, I’m literally a millionaire.”

“So what he’s your sugar baby?”

“Please don’t call me that.” Kyle weakly moaned.

“He’s unemployed? How’s he going to help support you?” Dick was tugging at the roots of his hair now.

“Um wow? The 1950s called, they want their brand back.” You scoffed. "Besides, unlike you and Jason, I have no interest in cosplaying being poor. Kyle and I are both living on daddy’s money.”

Tim holds his hand up for a high five, which you grant, as Jason groans. “Please don’t ever call Bruce daddy again.”

“Oh I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable, Jason?” Kyle snorted against your neck, still draped over the back of your chair and hugging you as he left you to deal with your family’s bullshit.

“Stop touching my sister Rayner!” Dick was practically vibrating now.

In response Kyle reached up and squeezed your tits, causing all three of your brothers to start screaming once again as you smack his hands away. He’d definitely regret that when he woke up fully later, but for now your brother’s horrified reactions had given you an idea.

It’s a terrible one, but your head’s starting to pound a little and you’re beyond cranky and tired and you just want them gone.

Fuck it. You pull your shirt off, leaving you in just a pair of Green Lantern underwear.

Predictably, they scatter like rats, with Dick slamming into the still open fridge door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Jason screams as he stumbles blindly toward the window, Tim screeching about his eyes as he falls backward off the chair.

“You’ve all got about three seconds to get the fuck out of my apartment or risk witnessing me fuck my boyfriend right on this table.” You warned, already pulling a startled Kyle into a bruising kiss.

You moan loudly and obnoxiously, smirking in victory when your apartment is vacated in less than 10 seconds.

You may have just signed Kyle’s death warrant, but you’d make it up to him now, and later.

Kyle wakes before you. He’s never up before you. In the first few months of seeing each other he’d been convinced you didn’t sleep.

Frankly it’s only your love of garlic that has you beating the vampire allegations.

He’s awake before you and that means something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Turning his head to the side, his soul nearly vacates his body at the sudden sight of blank white eyes and a terrifyingly familiar black cowl.

He blinks and the bat spectre is gone. Kyle doesn’t fall asleep again. He doesn’t want to even blink for fear of suddenly seeing a bat shaped apparition.

You sleep on blissfully unaware. Even while Kyle becomes increasingly convinced he’s being menaced. You don’t even stir, because the presence of your dad isn’t a threat but a comfort.

Kyle wants to cry. You’re so lucky he loves you enough to put up with your psycho family.

He blinks and he swears he sees the afterimage of a looming Batman standing at the foot of the couch.

Ok so maybe, he loves you enough.

[urhoneycombwitch]

common tongue of you lovin' me

Eddie Munson x Reader loverboy smut of the touchstarved variety.

foreword: based on THIS anon everyone say THANKS anon. R and Eddie are in their early 20’s, R is on a gap year from college (so me), they’re in a new relationship with each other, I’m writing this while blasted on edibles idk what else to say 0_o

cw: nervous Eddie, touchstarved R, smut, dry humping (is it actually dry if they’re both wet…?), cumming in pants, one (1) use of the word “daddy”, light use of the miscommunication trope

wc: 2.5k 

____

By nature, Eddie Munson is not a shy person.

Even though his dark reputation in Hawkins hasn’t been completely erased, he still manages to make friends wherever he goes through sheer force of personality. It’s like a magic trick, one that you never get tired of- he’ll pause in the middle of grocery stores to make faces at a baby in a stroller, getting belly laughs out of a stranger’s kid in less than ten seconds while still holding your hand down the aisle. One second he’s right behind you in the record store, looking over your shoulder as you browsed, and the next he’ll be on one knee charming a elementary school-aged kid into getting the latest Dio album.

You’ve seen him flirt his way out of speeding tickets with Hopper, for christ’s sake. 

Eddie isn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, so after three months of nothing but chaste kisses and quiet hand-holding, you’re left to assume he actually wants to take things slow with you.

He’s been nothing but a gentleman, in these early days of dating- the most action you’ve gotten from him was unintentional. On your third date, a dollop of his ice cream landed on your lap when he used the cone to gesture, which led him to manically grabbing napkins out of his dashboard to wipe at your skirt while you laughed it off. The second he’d brushed against your bare thigh he snapped his hands back like he’d touched a live wire, hastily heaping on apologies, leaving you to allay his nerves while wiping at the stain yourself.  

Which, whatever. It’s fine. It’s not like you’re complaining about him being respectful, per se, it’s just that it’s getting harder and harder (hah) to pretend like you don’t wanna fuck him. The feeling between your thighs only seems to increase in intensity when he gives you one of those precious little hand kisses at the end of a date, or a closed-mouth peck before he drives off into the night. 

Unfortunately for you and your wet dreams, Eddie Munson has the most edible body you’ve ever seen. Biceps bulging through those form-fitting tees he likes to wear, rounded nose and strong jaw outlined by that cloud of soft black hair, those lithe hips…

Hips that you’re openly staring at from across the room as you sit quietly on Eddie’s couch. He’s reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet, his Metallica tee pulling up out of his dark denim at the motion, flashing a stripe of his pale lower back.  

You feel like a Victorian maid seeing ankle for the first time. You subtly press your thighs together under your short tartan skirt as Eddie moves around the kitchen, talking animatedly about the start of his upcoming campaign.

“I haven’t decided yet if I’m gonna go easy on the little shits or not,” he says, metal spoon clinking against ceramic as he mixes hot chocolate powder. “It’s Max’s first session as an official player, and I don’t wanna scare her off but I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah,” you agree, giving him a knowing smile as he crosses the room to pass you your mug- “You’re a DM most fearsome. Can’t let them off the hook too easily.”

Eddie blooms under your praise, wiggling his eyebrows with familiar cockiness as he settles on the cushion beside you. “Gotta keep Hawkins' finest in line. It’s a tough gig but I did swear an oath, after all.”

You smile around a sip of hot cocoa, then reach over to set your mug on the coffee table. Eddie has been sat in his usual manner (knees far enough apart to be taking up his whole seat, arm draped casually on the back of the couch) but the second your knee knocks against his, he adjusts himself stiffly, drawing his arm back with a nervous throat-clearing and a murmured “sorry”.

Normally you’d let it go, not wanting to push the issue past the point of his comfortability. But it’s been Three. Months. Of this. And you wanna test the waters, just a little.

“Sorry for what?” You ask, rotating to face him, your shoulders almost-but-not-quite touching.

He’d doing an uncanny impression of a deer caught in headlights, blinking at you with those doey brown eyes, stuttering his way through a weak explanation- “Uh… uh. Sorry for being- f-for touching you?”

There’s a lift at the end of his sentence, one that you mirror with a tilt of your own brow, a playful challenge. “You don’t have to apologize for touching me, Eddie. I’m your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, a nervous edge bleeding around the sound. The curls around his face dance with the head shake he gives. “No, of course, yeah, I know that.”

“Do you?” You scoot closer, a kick of assertiveness giving you the courage to press your leg against his. 

“Uh huh.” He’s gazing openly now at the bare skin of your thigh, like he’s waiting to see if it'll burn a hole into his denim. 

When you gently lift his hand and place it on the skin that he’s looking at, you hear him gulp, audibly. 

So he does want to touch you. Interesting.  

You know for a fact Eddie’s not a virgin. Back in high school, you’d both dated around your respective circles, gossip surrounding escapades in the Munson Van circulating back to you through mutual friends. When he’d asked you out a few months previous, you’d happily accepted, wanting to take full advantage of your interim gap year from college. For the first few weeks, you’d chalked his near-celibate behavior up to nerves.

But now, you’ve got him squirming with just a thigh touch. So maybe… he’s waiting for you to make the first move?

Fuck testing the waters- you’re gonna dive in head-first. 

You swing your leg over his lap, kneeling on the outside of his hips. His hands automatically go to your waist, and he lets out a little “Oh” as you rest your arms around his shoulders.

“You gonna kiss your girlfriend?” you whisper, forehead crushing into his bangs as you wrap a hand around the back of his neck.

Eddie looks up at you like he’s seeing a full moon for the first time, eyes sparkling with want. “Yeah,” he rasps, angling his face up to kiss you.

It’s soft, at first, like it always has been. His plush lips softly move against yours, breaking for air once, twice; when he kisses you with that same softness for a third time you press your tongue to the seam between his lips.

He lets you in with a little noise, low in the back of his throat as you lick into his mouth. His hands twitch on your hips as your tongues twine, slight movements in his own hips creating a ripple effect.

When the hard seam of his jeans bumps against the warmth of your cunt, you both gasp, your hand at the back of his neck tightening. 

“We should probably, um-” he’s panting against your mouth, grip flexing between hard and soft- “I mean, if you wanna stop…”

“I don’t wanna stop. Do you wanna stop?” you ask, equally out of breath.

“Fuck no,” he rasps again, in that smoke-salt voice, and this time when he kisses you it’s with one hand at the back of your head and the other pulling your hips to meet his.

The noises from the wet slide of your mouths are turning you on more than you care to admit, and you’re sure he can feel the damp patch that’s soaking through your panties as the crotch of his jeans make contact again. Which normally would make you feel really self-conscious, if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie’s hard as a rock underneath you, the bulge in his pants thickening with each roll of your hips.

You drop your kisses down, exploring where you haven’t been able to before: against his cheek, his jaw, stopping just behind his ear. Unable to help yourself, you graze your teeth against the velvet skin there, and he jolts beneath you with a small yelp.

“Sorry,” you whisper, still a touch mirthful but soothing your tongue over the mark.

Eddie brushes his thumb across the back of your neck as you continue your path down the column of his throat. “Now who’s sayin’ sorry for no reason. Baby, I’m begging you to do that again.”

So you do, this time at the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, grinning against his skin when he groans and bucks his hips up. 

Around your hickey-making, he’s choking out words that you just manage to string together. “I wanna… make you feel- christ, sweetheart- good too, wanna make it good for you-”

When you sit up to see his face, he looks absolutely wrecked- rosy flush in his cheeks, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, pupils blown so big his eyes are nearly black with lust.

“You are making me feel good,” you assure him, pulling the hand he’s got on your neck down to where the end of your skirt sits, pausing before your next move. “You want me to prove it?”

He nods, and you guide him into the warmth of your thighs, letting his fingers graze the stickiness that’s been steadily soaking through the fabric.

Eddie inhales sharply, moans out, “Fuck, honey”, and when his thumb finds your clit you sink down into his touch, stomach tightening with the shock of arousal coursing through you.

He’s watching your face intently as he slowly circles your clit, gauging your reactions, pressing in a bit harder and faster when the pace change makes you cry out.

Feeling doubly exposed with his eye contact and hand against your core, you try making a joke to diffuse some of the tension as the pad of his finger moves against you in steady rhythm. “Still thinkin’ about stopping?”

“A train could crash through that wall and it wouldn’t stop me for a second,” Eddie says, resolute and getting a little braver, kissing his own path across your throat, nibbling at a spot that makes your clit pulse beneath his fingertip and your cunt clench around nothing. 

Goddamn, he’s a quick learner. In less than two minutes he’s got you so close to the edge, squirming around his touch, that you have to grab his wrist and still his fingers between your thighs.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. You can feel his breath punching up down up, your breasts pushed up against his chest from the way your body was trying to coil in on itself.

“Nothing,” you assure him, and now it’s your turn to falter around your words. “I just- maybe can I… I wanna get o-off at the same time. If you want. And I’m really, really close.”

Eddie’s head falls back against the couch with a thunk, eyes scrunching shut as if in concentration, a strung-out whine leaving his throat. “Hang on. Give me a second.”

He’s still got his hand on your clothed pussy, and you can’t help but giggle once he blinks back to the present, dazed- “Christ. You can’t say shit like that, baby, I almost came in my jeans.”

You give him a condescending little pout, accented with another twist of your hips. “Well maybe that’s what I want.”

“Give you anything,” Eddie replies, unabashedly babbling now as you adjust yourself in his lap. “Anything you want, sweetheart. It’s yours. All yours.”

He helps you maneuver into a new angle: now, your drenched core can rub freely against his thigh, while your knee in the socket of his hip means he can rut his cock along the flat of your leg.

When you move experimentally in shallow circles on his thigh, the newly-gained friction lights up your throbbing clit. Soon, all pretenses melt away as you both find your rhythm again, little grunts and pants filling the air.

“Feel good, angel? That’s it,” Eddie encourages, slipping his hand under your skirt to grope at the meat of your ass, helping your movements along as he chases his own pleasure with a rocking grind against your leg. “Take what you need. Lemme get you there. Please, please…”

His whines spur you on, one of your hands shooting out to clutch at the back of the couch beside his head while the other anchors itself on his opposing bicep. “Fuck, Eddie, keep talking like that, ‘m so close…”

“Talk to you all day,” he heaves out, “you make me so fucking hard, princess. You feel how hard I am for you? God, you’re so wet, that’s so fucking hot…”

You should have expected that bravado and charm you’ve seen these last few years to naturally be carried over into his sex life, but god, not in your wettest of dreams could you have imagined the mouth on him. 

The combination of his dirty talk and thigh between your legs is bringing you right up to that edge again, toes curling in anticipation, cunt starting to flutter erratically with every thrust.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come…” your head rolls back on its hinge, eyes flickering shut as Eddie fumbles to catch at your clit again, movements becoming sloppy. 

“C’mon, pretty baby, let go.” He’s sucking another mark into your neck between his praises, teeth catching- “Let me see you come, honey, be a good girl for daddy…”

“Jesus FUCKING christ” is all you manage to grit out before you’re tipping over the edge into orgasm, all your muscles bearing down into the bright point of pleasure, high sob winding its way from your throat. 

Eddie keeps kneading at your spasming clit as you ride it out on his thigh, even as he lets out a series of short, keening whimpers, even as his cock jerks against your leg into his own release. 

You sag into his waiting arms, tittering lightly against his neck as you both work on catching your collective breaths. 

“Holy shit, and I was really starting to think you actually didn’t want to fuck me.” You laugh in relief.

His hand pauses mid-stroke up the slope of your back, sounding genuinely aghast when he asks “Why the fuck would you think that?”

You straighten in his arms with an incredulous stare. “Uh, maybe because you acted like a monk that I was corrupting every time I even breathed near you?”

Eddie covers his eyes with his hands, heels to sockets, groaning- “Fuck, honey, I was tryn’a be respectful. You’re telling me we could’ve been doing this sooner?”

You reach to soothe your palms over the length of his forearms, equally fond and serious when you say “I’m telling you I absolutely would have slept with you on the first date.”

He makes a strangled, pained noise before you continue- “You described to me in detail the entire mating cycle of a bat, and then walked directly into a trash can by accident. How did you expect me to wait on jumping your bones?”

He lets you take his hands, enveloping them in your own and bringing them to your chest, pressing your lips affectionately to each ring.

He whispers, “Can I ask you something?” 

When you look up at him again, he says, with sincerity, “Can I see your tits next time?”

You hide your laughter into the crook of his neck. 

________

guys i cannot stress how high I am is this even any good plz perceive me 

[thoughtssvt]

adventures of sugar daddy nanami kento and his frugal sugar baby [ pt. 2 ]

nanami kento x reader ; fluff & humor ; nsfw joke | [ pt. 1 ]

MDNI — 18+ interactions only

A/N : it's implied that reader is still attending school, whether that be college undergrad or grad is up to you; tldr: reader is over the age of 18

"darling, are you busy right now?" kento's voice dripped from the speaker of your phone like thick honey.

"nope, go ahead," you confirm that you have time to talk as you wipe the sweat off your brow, the summer sun and scalding water making your body temperature rise.

you could practically hear kento's brows furrow, "are you sure? you sound a distance away and I can hear the water running," he said suspiciously.

you cringed, holding your breath as you slowly slid the plate onto the rack only to cringe at the sharp hiss of ceramic skidding against metal.

"I thought you started using the dish washer," kento sighed, the creak of his office chair putting the image of a disappointed kento leaning back in his chair in your head.

"I don't trust it, kento!" you cried dramatically. you would've clutched at your heart if your hands weren't soaking, sparkling glasses weeping on the rack at the mere thought of being thrown in satan's machine.

a staccato sigh and your muffled chuckles filled the kitchen. "anyway," kento continued, "I was wondering if you had the energy for something public." he asked, always considerate of your social battery.

you blotted your hands against the hand towel that hung from the oven door's handle, humming happily as you reached for the nice hand lotion kento had gotten for you, worried about the state of your hands considering the temperature of the water you habitually used. "why? is this some secret exhibition sex club thing that you rich people have?" you teased.

"I want to treat you to an outing since you refuse to do it yourself," kento poked back, speeding passed your joke, already used to your antics.

"oh, not denying it? does it actually exist?" your eyes widened in feigned suspicion, a weak attempt at changing the subject.

"do you know why I started looking for a sugar baby?" kento continued. you sucked in a breath only to be cut off, "nevermind... don't answer that." kento sighed, making you chuckle. "I wanted someone to enjoy spending my money. I lost that kind of excitement a long time ago, so you don't have to hold back. you can ask me for anything that will make you happy, okay?" he explained, sincerity oozing from his voice.

you nodded as you listened, ears perking up towards the end. "anything?" you parroted drawn out and timid.

౨ৎ

kento scrubbed his hands against his scalp, blond locks effectively spiking in every direction. you were both sat next to each other at the dining table, crowding around your laptop-- the one you'd refused to replace, deadset on it lasting you at least another four years despite the volume the fans worked being loud enough to wake kento from his sleep. kento sat defeated, chin digging into his palm as he stared into the abyss while you wore a gleaming smile on your face, excitedly knocking against the table as you waited for your prehistoric machine to load.

once the confirmation screen popped up you wrapped your arm around kento's, pulling him in close. "you were right, kento! spending all this money is fun!" you chimed, wiggling like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

kento stared at you with glassy eyes. "I don't know what to do to make you understand," he croaked. "was this really fun for you?" he softened as he took in your features and how much more energized you seemed after just a few clicks.

when he got home from work you'd dragged him to the table, pulling up the tragic student loan debt page, eagerly asking him if it was really okay to spend this much all at once. he'd paid off your loans and the remaining balance of your current semester. you felt like you were floating, to say the least.

kento was more than happy to pay these debts off, but he'd assumed that if you had any they would've been your first priority, not a scrubdaddy and a dish rack. he deflated once again at the mere memory.

you chuckled fondly at the display, reaching to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. "fine, fine. let's go."

his brows knit tightly as you input the address into his phone, sticking it to the dash before securing your seatbelt. you had him park a bit away from a 7-eleven. he followed you hesitantly, watching as you hummed quietly to yourself, a bounce in our step as the two of you took a short walk down to akihabara station. you stopped with your arms spread in a grandiose gesture, the wall behind you stacked floor to ceiling with gashapon machines.

"i've always wanted to try one of these, but the probability that I would get what I wanted on my first try was always slim." you explained as your eyes scanned the wall for a specific capsule series. you held your palm open asking for coins which kento handed to you with a gentle smile.

he watched you for who knows how long. the capsules kept coming, countless duplicates filling his arms. and it was worth it to see your smile, bright and unashamed, every time you popped a capsule open.

"ah, finally!" you cheered as you turned to kento, a small plastic sandwich in the palm of your hand, the same sandwich he got everyday for lunch.

his heart overflowed, spreading heat across his chest. you'd gone through all that work just to get his sandwich. even given the opportunity to do something for yourself you still thought of others, but you were happy and that was enough for him.

"come, come! I think I saw one that had a desk like the one in your office." you beamed, eyes busy searching for the machine with every intention to set these figures up in the corner of your own desk. somewhere along the way kento left you for a moment just to stop by a store for a bag, dumping all your gachas in it until you got exactly what you were looking for. a smile plastered on his face as you continuously loaded coins into the machine.

he rests a hand on your thigh on the drive home, pinching it just enough to grab your attention. "thank you," he whispers, bringing your hand to his face to kiss at your knuckles. thank you for showing him all the small happiness the world had. he had a lot to learn from you.

part 1 | sugar daddy kento masterlist | jjk men x reader masterlist

divider by @tyuniwa

tag list : @that-goth-bisexual @yannauauau

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 2, Part 2

Masterpost (Thank you jaythefae for reading over this so that I could post it! This migraine has me writing a lot of swapped words.)

Okay, okay fuck. That wasn’t what Wally was going for at all!

It was a tower! Like Titan’s tower and the lightning bolt was supposed to be him. He was trying to tell them who he was, not spell doom. Who made a tower doom?

Wally put his fingers to his lips and paced. Or paced as much as he could. If he went too far from Danny (and boy had it taken a long time to even learn Danny’s name) he would… disintegrate, for lack of a better word. And wow did Wally want a better word because he did not like disintegrating. People shouldn’t disintegrate!

“Okay, okay, I can work with this! I did go through a major—” Wally leaned in to try and hear the conversation. Danny was clear enough, but anything Mina (or not Danny) said was like listening to the words through wind storm.

“…upheaval and destruction. Change, basically,” Mina said.

He wished she’d shout.

“And… change is doom?” Danny said. He sounded as dubious as Wally felt about that.

Mina shrugged. “People don’t — change. Like — so they get grum— and then— and tada! Change bad.”

“Well, I mean. Of course they went through a change, they’re dead,” Danny said.

Wally winced so hard he bumped into and through Danny’s shoulder. Danny shuddered at the touch.

“Or if not dead, trapped somewhere,” Danny added with a glance towards where Wally was standing.

It was a good sign that Danny was starting consider that Wally wasn’t a ghost. Wally really, really didn’t think that he was dead, after all. But how to get across that he was trapped in the Speed Force? He didn’t think there would be a card for that.

Wally zipped over to Mina’s side, took the cards, and shuffled through them. He really wished that he knew what these damn things meant. A small part of his brain said that messing with the cards like this was messing up the meaning, but fortune telling wasn’t real. (At least not normal human fortune telling.) Once he had finished stacking the spread set with cards he hoped would be useful, he put the cards back and returned to Danny’s side.

The world blurred and crackled around him.

This was using too much energy that he didn’t have. Something had to come from it.

Please.

This had to help.

-

“Well, that wasn’t any help.”

“Don’t say that Danny,” Mina said, but even she was frowning slightly down at her cards as if they were a puppy that had piddled on the floor.

“Do you want to go grab some food? I’m craving one of those avocado, tofu, and facon sandwiches from that place you love.”

“Oh, yes, that sounds excellent,” Mina said, perking up. She stood from the table and started back towards the kitchen. “But before you go, I want to give you some of a special tea. It will help you settle into a sort of zone so that maybe you can have a better chance of connecting with your spirit without you being hurt.”

“Mina Aleshire, are you giving me drugs?” Danny gasped dramatically as he wandered after her, Hubris held limply in his arms.

She paused in opening the cabinet, as if really having to consider the question. “Well, nothing illegal?”

“Mina!”

“It’s an herbal blend!” she argued. “Just, maybe don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do for a few hours after taking it. You know, just in case.”

Danny sighed. “The worst part is that I’m really considering taking this mystery herb blend.”

“It’s better than having seizures,” she pointed out as she handed him a little satchel.

“It’s better than having seizures,” he agreed and took it.

-

The tea smelled like rain and honeysuckle. Danny cradled the mug he was using more carefully than the thick, chipped ceramic warranted. The warmth seeped into his palms and bones. He breathed the pungent smell in and then let out the breath slowly.

He didn’t know if this would work.

It was almost certainly a bad idea, what with him being not entirely human, but it was at least an idea. Danny had never seen one of Mina’s readings go so badly. It went so badly that Danny felt certain that the ‘ghost’ had been interfering. The problem was, is that Danny didn’t know if the sabotage was on purpose or from ignorance.

He wanted to believe that it was ignorance. That the ghost had been trying to tell them something, but in doing so had messed up the reading. But Danny always wanted to believe the best in people.

It had gotten him burned too often.

It might get him burned again if the ghost was really out to hurt him. Mina couldn’t give him the clearest answer on what the tea was going to do, but Danny was pretty sure that it was going to make his spirit less attached to his body for a bit so that he could commune with the things not of this realm. A less attached spirit meant one that was easier to sever.

But he was already half dead, so what did it matter?

Or so he told himself.

Before he could run around the logic again, Danny tipped the mug back and took a long, slow sip. It was spicier than he expected, but in a good way. He drained half the cup steadily as he slowly settled into the mound of pillows that made up his bed. It really wasn’t half bad, for magical drug tea.

“I think I can smell that from here. Which, dude, is saying a lot because I’m stuck in the Speed Force.”

Danny hummed. “What’s the Speed Force?”

“What’s the—can… can you hear me? Can you actually hear me? Did the weird tea do something?!?” the words came in such a rush that they were hard to follow. It didn’t help that they sounded like they were coming from a badly tuned ham radio.

“Slower. You have to be slower. I can barely understand you. You’re static. You’re always static to me,” Danny said.

“Sorry. I’m sorry! I’m sorry I am and that I hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t mean to. But you’re the only one that I can hear and see! I need your help!” The words sped up and up again until they were a blur—a roar—a scream—

The mug hit the mattress and bounced onto the floor with a crack as Danny clutched at his head to try to block the sound out.

The talking stopped.

His head continued to ring.

Danny curled up into the pillows with a whimper.

It was a minute or days later when Danny felt fingers running through his hair. They were wonderfully warm.

“—always hurting you. You keep trying for me though, don’t you?”

“Wanta help,” Danny mumbled.

The fingers stilled then picked back up their path. “I need the help too, which is… I’m supposed to be the hereo here, you know?”

“You’re dead,” Danny said.

“Ugh, no! Come on, you were finally moving away from that idea, Danny! I’m not dead! I’m trapped in the Speed Force.”

Danny finally found the strength to roll himself over. Bright blue eyes set among fiery hair and a beautiful scattering of freckles blinked down at him. Danny reached up an unsteady hand to brush over one of the freckled cheeks.

“Speed Force?”

“What gives me my powers. Something went wrong and I’m trapped. You seem to be the only one that can hear or see me and it’s hurting you.”

“Yeah, seizures suck,” Danny said. The world around them was just a swirl of color. Like when a ride at a carnival was spinning so fast that nothing was real anymore. “I don’t think I’m going to be okay when I wake up.”

They laughed, but it was a bitter, choked off sound. “No, Danny, I don’t think you’re going to be okay either.”

“Oh. How can I help you?”

They shook their head, red hair flew about. “You should focus on yourself.”

“Already hurt,” Danny pointed out. “Make it worth it. How can I help you?”

Their blue eyes searched his and then closed as they gave an almost keening whine. Man, they really were worried about him, weren’t they?

“If you can remember, go to Titan’s Tower,” they said finally. “Ask for Nightwing and… and tell him that I said that he's a real dick, okay?”

Danny blinked.

The world spun and spun and spun.

“What?”

“He’ll know what I mean,” they insisted. “He’ll know it’s from me. Tell the Titans that I’m with you and I’m trapped in the Speed Force and I need them to get me out.”

There was an alarm screaming now. Was it time to get up?

“And take care of yourself a little, okay?”

People were shouting.

“Okay.”

The world went dark.

[beloveds-embrace]

(a series in which you are a witch living in the woods, and a group of knights have decided to keep you safe and sound in exchange for kisses and charms.)

Johnny’s arrival was always a joyous affair, heralded by the lilting whistle that preceded him through the trees, hung up bells tinkling through the breeze. You recognized the tune before you even saw him, a signal of his approach as familiar as the rustling leaves and the delighted the hum of your wards.

“Hello, bonnie lass!” he called, stepping into view with his usual bright grin. He strode up to your door with an armful of wildflowers, their petals slightly crushed but still vibrant. “Brought these for you. Dinnae ask what they are- I just grabbed the prettiest ones I could find.”

You laughed, reaching out to accept the bouquet. The mix of blooms, some medicinal, some purely ornamental, spoke of his eager hands plucking whatever caught his eye. But you didn’t mind- the thought was appreciated regardless. “They’re beautiful, Johnny. Thank you.”

“Ah, well. Pretty flowers for a pretty lass.”

You shook your head fondly and stepped aside to let him in. Johnny’s presence was like a burst of sunlight through the dense canopy, and the magic in your cottage reacted to him like ivy reaching for warmth. The air inside seemed lighter when he was near, the flickering candle flames burning just a little steadier, the herbs hanging from the rafters swaying as if drawn to his energy. Even the floorboards, which creaked under every step but yours, barely made a sound when he moved- perhaps the house itself leaned into his presence, unwilling to startle the warmth he carried

As you arranged the flowers in a ceramic vase, he leaned against your wooden table, arms crossed, grin never fading. “You’ll never believe what happened today!” He began, and without any prompting began retellinh you of his day.

You listened with rapt attention as he spoke of training exercises gone awry, not unusual, of weapons misfiring, and- his personal favorite- Gaz slipping face-first into the mud.

“And then wham! Right into the muck, poor bastard! I swear, he was swimming in it!” Johnny cackled, slapping a hand against the table. He kept in mind not too slap too hard, and away from your little bottles.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Poor Gaz. You’re terrible for finding it so funny.”

“He’ll live,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. His face softened as he watched you place the flowers in the vase, the firelight catching in your hair. “Got anything for me today, lass?”

You reached for a small leather cord, from which dangled a small, hand-carved wooden charm, smoothed by your touch and etched with runes only you could read.

“For speed and sure footing,” you tied it around his wrist, your touch sure and gentle. “You’re quick enough already, but this should help in a chase- or when dodging.”

Johnny turned his hand, studying the charm with quiet admiration. His fingers brushed against the carvings, tempered by something more serious and came. “Aye, that’ll come in handy.”

He flexed his fingers, feeling the weight of the charm- or perhaps the weight of the thought behind it. When he looked back at you, his smile was different. Softer.

“Cheers, lass. You are a delight.” He murmured, and it was almost reverent.

As he turned to leave after stealing some cookies, you tugged him down for a quick, fleeting kiss on the cheek.

He winked at you, and his grin returned. “Careful, hen. I might get used to this.”

“As if you already aren’t… but anyways. Thank you for dropping by!”

You loved his visits, truly. They were always so… carefree. But little did you know, his visits weren’t always as untroubled as they seemed.

Earlier that day, before his cheerful whistle cut through the trees, Johnny had dealt with a different kind of visitor- one he would never tell you about.

No need to worry your pretty head, after all.

A small group of the crown’s men had wandered too close to your woods, their voices carrying through the underbrush. Johnny had been returning from a patrol, then on hisbway to you, when he spotted them, their armor glinting brightly in the midday light. They spoke in hushed tones, movements cautious as they studied the ancient trees around them for any traces that could lead them to you.

“Reckon she’s real?” one of them muttered.

“Don’t be daft. ‘Course she is. Locals swear by it.” Another replied. “A witch, hidden out here, practicing magic. If the king knew- ”

“Shut it,” the third man snapped. “We get caught sniffing around lile this with no evidence, we’ll have bigger problems than a witch’s curse.”

Johnny had heard enough.

With the ease of a man who moved like he belonged in the wild, he circled behind them, steps silent. By the time they realized they weren’t alone, he was already there.

The first man barely had time to turn before Soap grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back, slamming him against a tree. The others froze, their hands inching toward their weapons. In the face of a knight like him, they couldn’t even pretend to hold a little respect. Nothing more than fear.

“Now, now,” Johnny crooned, deceptively light. “What are you fine gentlemen doin’ in these woods?”

The man in his grasp stammered. “We- we were just-“

“Just stickin’ your noses where they don’t belong?” Johnny interrupted, his grip tightening. “Bad idea, lads. Very bad idea.”

One of the soldiers shifted on his feet. “We- we meant no harm. Just heard stories-“

“Aye, you heard stories,” Soap repeated darkly. “And I suggest you keep ’em as stories. ‘Cause if you so much as breathe a word about these woods to the wrong folk, I’ll make sure you don’t leave ’em.”

The threat hung heavy in the air. None of them doubted he meant it.

“You understand me?” Soap asked, bright blue eyes- you often likened them to the ocean- now cold and sharp.

They nodded, their confidence crumbling under the weight of his presence.

“Good lads.” Johnny laughed, finally releasing the man in his grasp. He clapped a hand against the soldier’s shoulder, grin returning- but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Now, off you go. And remember: some places aren’t meant to be found.”

The men didn’t need to be told twice. They turned and fled, disappearing into the underbrush without a second glance.

Soap waited until their footsteps faded before letting out a slow breath. He rolled his shoulders, casting a glance toward the distant outline of your cottage, hidden safely within the forest’s embrace.

You’d never know.

He wouldn’t let you.

By the time he reached you, his usual mirth had returned, and the only thing he carried with him was a bouquet of wildflowers and the promise of laughter.

The flower field did so nicely to mask and wash away the scent of blood clinging to him, after all.

Witch of the Wood Masterlist || Simon “Ghost” Riley

[ferrarifudds]

hiiii!! could u please write one where Charles has a crush on a girl who owns a small coffee shop in Monaco and he's never really had the courage to ask her out yet but Leo kinda acts as his wingman when Charles just got him? lmao, thank u sm! also, i adore ur writing <33

Coffee. ✷ Charles Leclerc

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x CafeOwner!reader

Summary: When Leo Leclerc decides to be a chaotic little wing man for his dad.

Word Count: 1.1k

Disclaimer/s: fluffff! ^_^ leo feature slay

Vera’s Voice! loved this request to death so had to get to it immediately. but!!! will be getting to my other requests soon!!! promise ^_^ thank u for requesting!!!! mwah! hope u enjoy!

The mornings in Monaco always held a quiet charm, a soft blend of sunlight bouncing off the pristine waters and the gentle hum of life waiting to stir.

For you, mornings meant the comforting clink of ceramic little tea cups, or the bittersweet aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. And the hum of your small cafe shop nestled along a cobblestone street just off the harbor was perfect.

It wasn’t grand or luxurious, but it was yours—as place as perfect as you, called La Petite Matin.

The regulars made the place feel like home. Businessmen grabbing espressos, elderly couples sharing croissants, and the occasional curious tourist wandering in off the beaten path.

But none of them made your heart skip quite like Charles Leclerc.

The first time he walked in, you didn’t even register it was him. Your brain was too preoccupied with the morning rush, juggling orders and making sure the almond croissants didn’t burn.

It wasn’t until he was standing in front of you, all tall and handsome with that devastatingly soft smile, that it clicked.

“Bonjour,” He greeted, glancing at the handwritten menu above the counter. “Ehhmm..” He studied the contents before finally making a choic. “Could I get a cappuccino?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Then stared, trying not to make it obvious that the guy from the posters on your cousin’s bedroom wall was standing in your shop, asking for coffee like he wasn’t Charles Leclerc.

“O—Of course,” You stammered, nearly letting out a nervous giggle as you fumbled to grab a cup.

That had been three months ago.

Since then, he had become a regular. On any morning he wasn’t traveling for races, he’d show up at precisely 8:30 AM, lean against the counter like he had all the time in the world, and flash you a smile that made your pulse stutter.

At first, it was overwhelming—serving coffee to one of Monaco’s most famous faces. But you quickly learned that Charles wasn’t anything like you’d expected.

He was easygoing, funny, and oddly humble for someone whose face was plastered across billboards. He’d ask about your day, tell you stories about his week, and even joke about how he probably should be ordering green smoothies instead of croissants.

What you didn’t know was that Charles wasn’t just coming for the coffee.

He was coming just to see you.

It was a warm and golden Tuesday morning when he walked in, but this time, he wasn’t alone.

He waved at you as he pushed the door open with one hand and holding a leash in the other. Trailing behind him was a small dachshund, its tiny legs moving at lightning speed as it padded into the shop.

You looked over the counter. “Bonjour!” You smiled. “And who’s this little guy?”

“Leo,” Charles said, crouching to unclip the leash and picking the animal up. “He’s… well, he’s quite the handful.”

Leo wagged his tail furiously, barking once in what could only be described as a hello. You leaned over to greet him, your heart melting as he pressed his nose against your hand that pet him.

“He’s adorable,” You said, scratching behind his ears. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

Charles shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. “I don’t usually bring him out, but I figured he’d like to finally meet you.”

You froze for a second, glancing up at him. His expression was casual, but there was something in his tone that made your stomach flip.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you too, Leo,” You said, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

As Charles ordered his usual cappuccino, you gave him the okay to let Leo trot around the shop. The mini dachshund sniffed the furniture and charmed the few customers sitting by the windows.

You couldn’t help but laugh as he stopped in front of the display case, staring longingly at the pastries inside.

“Hmm,” You teased, handing Charles his beverage. “Think he’s saying you should get a treat with your cappuccino today.”

“Oh, he’s already convinced me,” Charles replied with a grin.

Before you could respond, Leo made his move. The little dog bolted toward the counter. He leapt up on his hind legs, paws resting on the wood as he barked.

“Leo!” Charles scolded, but there was no real heat in his voice.

“It’s okay,” You said, laughing as you leaned again to pet him. But just as you reached out, Leo darted to the side—right into the shelf of to-go cups.

With a crash, the cups tumbled to the floor, scattering across the tiles.

“Oh my,” You gasped with a laugh, hurrying around the counter.

Charles was already crouched down, gathering the cups as Leo sat innocently beside him, tail wagging like he hadn’t just caused chaos.

“I swear he’s not usually like this,” Charles said, shooting you an apologetic look.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” You assured him, though you were fighting back laughter. “Honestly, it’s kind of impressive. He’s got a lot of energy for such little legs.”

Charles chuckled, stacking the cups in his arms. But as he stood up, something slipped out of his pocket—a small scrap of paper.

You bent down to grab it before he could, your eyes catching the familiar curve of your own handwriting.

It was one of the notes you wrote with his coffee cups.

You’d started the habit a few weeks ago, jotting down little messages like Good luck today! or Hope this makes your morning better. You’d never expected him to keep them.

“I—” Charles began, his ears turning pink. “I meant to throw that away. I’m not a stalker, I swear.”

You bit back a smile, holding the note out to him. “You kept this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Y—Yes… It was a nice message. And, uh… I’ve actually kept a few others.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as you stared at him, suddenly noticing the nervous energy radiating off him. For a guy who drove at 300 kilometers per hour for a living, Charles seemed unusually flustered.

“I like the notes,” He admitted, his voice softer now. “And I like coming here.” A pause.

“And sometimes, not just for the coffee.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Then, as if sensing the tension, Leo barked again—loud and insistent.

Charles groaned. “Leo, not helping.”

But you were already smiling, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Well,” You said, tucking the note back into his hand, “I’m glad you like the coffee. And the notes.”

Charles met your eyes, his nervousness melting into something softer, more genuine.

“Would you like to get dinner sometime? With us—or I mean, just me. Not Leo. Unless you want him to come too.”

You laughed, feeling a giddy kind of lightness. “I’d love to. But maybe just us for the first date?”

He grinned, his relief palpable. “Yeah, just us. That sounds perfect.”

As you scribbled your number on a napkin and handed it to him, Leo barked one last time, wagging his tail like he’d just sealed the deal.

“Guess I owe him a treat then,” Charles said, tucking the napkin into his pocket.

“Definitely,” you replied, your smile widening.

“Best wingman I’ve ever met.”

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!!! ^_^ & please LMK if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list!!! mwah!!!!

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[hellenhighwater]

What's your work schedule like? How do you manage to complete so many art projects? (I can barely even start /cries)

Most of the time my job stays pretty firmly in the 8-5 window, and most of the time I make it home for lunch. (I do work in-person 99% of the time.) The studio co-op is reserved for student use on two weeknights and mornings on the weekend, so on the other three weeknights I usually get home, get out of my suit and heels and into work clothers and head to the studio by 6 or so, pausing to grab a quick snack and pester my pets. I'm usually at the studio until 9p-1am and then go home, so those nights are not super useful for non-pottery activity. On the other weeknights, I get house chores done, or do photography for finished work, or make non-pottery art, or do my grocery runs, or whatever. It's a bit over an hour of drive time to and from the studio so I usually have a fic or audiobook on triple speed to pass the time.

Weekends are the wildcard--I have a couple DnD campaigns and a surprisingly active social life, and often shove more pottery time in on top of that, so it's not unusual for me to be at the studio until well after midnight on the weekends too. Because I have keys to the studio and can basically be there whenever I want outside of student hours, I adjust my ceramics schedule around other things a lot.

Now that it's getting light out in the evenings, I tend to get to and stay at the studio later into the night!

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1968 AMC AMX

408-Powered 1968 AMC AMX 4-Speed

1968 AMC AMX

This 1968 AMC AMX was modified under previous ownership during a refurbishment that is said to have been conducted over the course of 10 years and was completed in 2013. Refinished in black over red vinyl upholstery, the car is powered by a 408ci V8 paired with a four-speed manual transmission. Refurbishment work reportedly involved resurfacing the cylinder heads as well as installing an Edelbrock intake manifold, a performance camshaft, Hooker long-tube exhaust headers, billet pulleys, an aluminum radiator, cross-drilled front brake rotors, and lowering springs. Additional equipment includes 15″ Vision wheels, aftermarket headlights, chrome bumpers, a Hurst shifter, tilt steering, and a push-button AM radio. The seller acquired the vehicle in 2015. This modified AMX is now offered with a service manual, books, a model kit, unused Go Package–style stripe decals, spare and removed parts, and a Nevada title in the seller’s name.

1968 AMC AMX

The car was refinished in black as part of the aforementioned refurbishment. Additional work is said to have included repainting the wheel wells and the floors along with replacing the bumpers, door handles, grille, mirrors, headlights, weatherstripping, and bright trim on the window and headlight surrounds. The “AMX” badging on the exterior features red letter Xs.

1968 AMC AMX

Aftermarket 15″ Vision wheels are mounted with 215/60 front and 265/50 rear Cooper Cobra Radial G/T tires. A space-saver spare is located in the trunk. The car is equipped with lowering springs, and braking is provided by cross-drilled front discs and rear drums.

1968 AMC AMX

The split front bench seat is trimmed in red vinyl upholstery complemented by a color-coordinated dashboard, door panels, and carpeting. Other features include crank windows, a fold-down armrest, a Hurst shifter, tilt steering, and an American Motors–branded push-button AM radio. The headliner, carpets, and sill plates were replaced under previous ownership.

1968 AMC AMX

The three-spoke steering wheel fronts a 120-mph speedometer, a tachometer, and a combination gauge for fuel level and coolant temperature. An AutoMeter tachometer is mounted to the steering column, and a trio of smaller AutoMeter gauges affixed beneath the dashboard monitors oil temperature, coolant temperature, and oil pressure. The five-digit odometer shows 13k miles, less than 500 of which have been added by the seller; true mileage is unknown. The seller notes that the clock and the factory tachometer do not work.

1968 AMC AMX

The engine is said to be an AMC 390ci V8 that was bored and stroked to displace 408ci. Additional work during the refurbishment included resurfacing the cylinder heads as well as installing forged engine internals, an Edelbrock intake manifold, a performance camshaft, ceramic-coated Hooker long-tube exhaust headers, billet pulleys, an aluminum radiator with electric fans, and an aftermarket exhaust system. An oil change and coolant flush were performed in preparation for the sale. The car’s chassis number indicates that it was originally equipped with a 360ci V8 topped by a two-barrel carburetor.

1968 AMC AMX

Power is sent to the rear wheels through a four-speed manual transmission and a Twin-Grip rear axle with 3.55:1 gearing. An Ace Racing Powerforce clutch was fitted during the refurbishment.

1968 AMC AMX

A 1968 AMC service manual, books and magazines, an AMT model kit, unused Go Package–style red stripe decals, and spare and removed parts will accompany the vehicle.

The Nevada title notes the odometer brand “Exempt.”

[6slux]

.ᐟ+18, pregnancy, lactation kink, nsfw-ish??, husband! onyankopon

clingy men with oral fixations >>>

thinking thoughts about onyankopon who can’t keep his hands or lips off of you.

for the most part it starts innocent—a harmless obsession with his addicting wife and her comforting pecks. but then his love develops as does your marriage and pregnancy.

say he comes in from a lonely day out. maybe he was chilling with his homeboys, maybe he’s coming in from running a bunch of errands. regardless, it was too many hours without you on his tongue. too many hours of not being able to check in with you. he’s not the most expressive when it comes to voicing his feelings, so he would rarely outright declare, “i miss you”. as if the plastic bag filled with your favorite snacks on his arm doesn’t speak volumes.

instead, he creeps into your dark bedroom to find you snuggled up in your padded duvet. at this hour of the night it’s often illuminated by a ceramic side-lamp. you’re either tuned in to your favorite series or your neck is in a New York Times bestseller. he comes in without a word and strips himself of his outside attire. his chiseled body soon bare with the exception of its never-ending ink and boxer briefs. you both don’t officially acknowledge each other until a dip weighs down the empty side of the bed.

onyankopon is a gentle giant— upper body leaning over until he catches your puckered lips. a sweet kiss or two is placed against the plump skin before he settles in. that means dominating the remote control and shifting the channel to something more…his speed. like ‘BMF’ or ESPN highlights. somehow, each low chuckle he belts out brings him closer and closer to your side. before you know it, he’s bridging that drift in the center of your mattress with his wide body.

it’s nothing you’re not used to—captivated by a fantasy the story in your lap tells, yet tilting your neck to give your husband access. a heavy palm rests on your breastbone while onyankopon nips at your neck. his plump lips swirl and suckle softly; only applying enough pressure to elicit soft moans from you. it’s not enough to break neither of you two’s concentration; his darkened pupils still side-eyeing the mounted flatscreen. this type of need can go on for hours and hours if you allow it to.

eventually, his tastebuds grow insatiable. he notices the way your nurturing palm nestles your raised belly every flip of a page. he knows this whole first-time pregnancy thing has been everything but easy on you. he acknowledges how your hormones run wild one half of the time, and your growing body aches the other. you find your little time-passers and hobbies on your own, though. and when onyankopon finally gets back home from providing, you’re always willing to let him consume you.

he mumbles against your skin, “hope my son ain’t give you no issues today”. his head then picks up to find your glassy gaze. your features read tired, yet a small grin weakly tugs at your plump lips. you never fully confirm or deny, unless you felt overtly ill. onyankopon will then pick up the hand that lays on the raised skin, and bring it to his face. he places ghastly pecks into the back of it—along your knuckles and over that big, shiny rock on your ring finger.

he’s so proud to call you his wife, and he’s even prouder that you’re bearing his child. in return, you’ve got this new, radiant glow to you and a confidence to match. this lengthy journey only strengthening your patience and domesticity. it was the next step in building the big, happy family you both desired and deserved.

onyankopon makes it to your wrist—and then he stops. a pregnant pause meaning mischief is brewing in that mind of his. he gently drops your palm and his digits trail to the collar of your shirt. bypassing the small stammer of his name, he tugs until your breasts spill out.

“these givin’ you any pain? they done got a little bigger on me,” your chest is swollen, breasts sitting a little bit lower than the last time. his calloused palms take ahold of both of them to massage you beneath his fingertips. the heaviness from your upper half is relieved as he kneads into the doughy surface. his bottom lip sucked in by his pearly whites as he works out those knots. until—a sudden dampness pauses onyankopon‘s touch. he swears this was meant to be a simple gesture. a way to check on his lady and then head to the shower. onyankopon hesitantly retracts to watch as the eggshell liquid rolls down your mound. he can’t just let it go to waste, so the tip of his tongue laps the drop upwards. right back to your sore nipple that is immediately enveloped by his lips. vibrations buzz around the sensitive skin as he sucks and drinks—your body miraculously seeping out milk the more he encourages the supply.

“you taste like heaven”, he groans out an incoherent phrase, a soft sigh falling from your lips as you lay your head back onto the headboard. your hand abandons the downturned book in your lap, and you drag your nails over onyankopon‘s waves. it’s an intense combination of pain and pleasure as he sloshes your nipple around his wet mouth. he’s careful not to neglect your other nipple—ping ponging back and forth between the two. the man’s got a large appetite and just when you think it’s enough, his palm slides further down past your hump. “what ‘bout right here? i need to taste all of you…,” he stops at your covered center, unlatching from your nipple.