#Classic Property Management

[classic-property-management]

1711 E. Tucker Blvd

Arlington, Texas 76010

RENT:$1,750

Available 12/18/2024

3 beds•2 baths•1,320 sqft.

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Good Size 3 Bedroom!

Spacious 3 Bedroom 1.5 Bathrooms! The large Living Room Space is great for entertaining & the property has vinyl flooring throughout & new painting. The Kitchen is good size & open to the Dining Room area & has new light fixtures, also there is plenty of pantry space. All 3 Bedrooms are a good size with sufficient closet space. The Utility Room is a great size & could be used to store additional items. The Fenced in back yard offer great space for entertainment.

Contact us: 817-640-2064

"Discover The Classic Difference"

[whatever-you-can-give-me]

my biggest challenge with regards to addressing the things i'm frustrated about in popular trigun fanon is that i don't necessarily think any of them are bad on an individual level, i respect everyone's right to create fanwork even if it's not so much fanwork as using existing characters as a template for their own personal proclivities. that's. fine. everyone does it.

i really don't want to imply that everyone who's decided they like wolfwood better if he's bulky and betitted and sexually capable is doing it because they need to check their internalized biases in regards to the expectations of masculinity for men of color and the general perception of latino men. that's allowed to be a thing you like. and 98 and trimax wolfwood do have some traits that vaguely resemble fanon wolfwood. it's not like it came out of nowhere.

but. if that's what everyone is doing, regardless of the canon being depicted. that's just a little bit weird!! that is a totally different guy from any of the versions of the existing character. and the specific traits that have been invented wholecloth for this fanon version have some. baggage!!! given the simultaneous redesigning that across the board darkens his skintone significantly.

and similarly i don't have anything against trans vash headcanons or even the tendency to have the trans character bottom, there is zero problem with that. i have literally, intentionally, written wolfwood the same way people write vash because i genuinely agree that the dynamic is hot.

but when "has a cunt" has replaced vash's entire personality in fanon because of course being a trans man means being a squeaky tearful uwu bottom and probably a virgin. i start looking around for who spiked the punch with terf koolaid. this is more than just falling for vash's bit this is just. wringing him of any individuality or canon personality.

complicating things even more is that a lot of this shit predates stampede, and it predates stampede because the original versions of characters did have some of the quirks that their new & fanon soup versions are assigned. but they had those as part and parcel of their characters, and that's just been repurposed into extremely tired and racist & bioessentialist tropes.

i know this is a bigger problem than this one fandom or just these two characters, but vashwood is my ship, so it's the place i've felt the most disappointment.

[swappermanent]

Life In Retrospect

It started, like most things in my life, with a bit of harmless indulgence. I’d been out on the beach, metal detector in hand, just doing my thing. Call it a classic old guy hobby if you want—I know it sounds like one—but there’s something oddly satisfying about it. You spend your whole life accumulating things, working toward something, and yet, in your later years, you find yourself searching for what’s been left behind.

That’s when I found it. The detector beeped, low and insistent, over something solid buried in the sand. Brushing it off, I uncovered a necklace—a little tarnished but still striking. The pendant was shaped like a bird, wings spread wide, with an intricate design that caught the light just so. It looked old. And valuable, maybe. Not the kind of thing you’d expect to find washed up on a beach in a sleepy town like mine.

Being the curious sort, I took it home and started looking into it. I’m no stranger to the internet, mind you. For an old guy, I know my way around a reverse image search. After a bit of digging, I finally found a match, buried in an obscure corner of the web. Turns out, this wasn’t just any necklace. According to the article, it had magical properties—something about granting the deepest, most hidden wishes. But there was a catch: the wishes had to be subconscious. Wear it, the story claimed, and the wish would find you.

remember chuckling at the idea. It sounded like something out of a fairy tale. But then I paused, looking at the necklace in my hand, and wondered what exactly my subconscious would want, if it had the chance. Money? I wasn’t exactly rich, but I got by just fine. Love? I’d missed that boat, never found someone to share my life with. Fame? Ha, the idea made me laugh—what would an old man like me even do with fame?

I didn’t expect much from it, but it was an interesting enough piece, and it looked good against a sweater or tucked under a jacket, so I wore it. Weeks went by, and honestly, I forgot about it.

---

One day, I found myself at the gym. It was a bit of a routine for me—not the way it used to be when I was younger, of course, but I kept at it, lifting lighter weights and trying to stay active. This wasn’t just any gym, either; it had a reputation around town. People called it the “gay gym”—not officially, of course, but you could tell. The men here were fit, stylish, and, well, meticulous about their bodies in a way I could only admire from a distance. They looked like they belonged in magazines, and I’ll admit, I liked to let my eyes wander now and then.

Still, I kept to myself. At my age, I wasn’t exactly in the social scene here, and I’d long since learned to stay on the sidelines. I came, did my exercises, enjoyed the view, and went home.

But that day, for the first time, someone came up to me. His name was Mikey, and I’d noticed him before, of course. Hard not to, really. He was exactly the kind of man I might've dreamed of being, if I ever let myself dream about that sort of thing. He was young, muscular, with a powerful, chiseled build that made his plain T-shirts look sculpted onto him. His dark hair was perfectly styled, a casual yet intentional wave falling over his forehead. And that mustache—thick, neatly trimmed, lending him a rugged, almost classic appeal, like he could’ve stepped out of a 1970s action movie. He even wore glasses, tortoiseshell frames that gave him an unexpected touch of charm and sophistication. I'd managed to snap a few photos of him before at the gym when he wasn't looking.

I’d seen him around for months, usually catching glimpses of him bench-pressing absurd weights or chatting with friends, his laughter deep and easy. He looked like the kind of guy who owned his confidence, who walked through life knowing that people admired him. And, hell, I was no exception. I'd spent enough stolen moments sneaking glances at those bulging arms, that thick neck, the way his shoulders seemed to strain the fabric of whatever he wore. Every time, I felt a little flutter inside—a mix of envy and something more primal, something I barely let myself think about.

So imagine my surprise when he came up to me. Even he seemed a little surprised, his brow creasing just slightly like he didn’t quite know what had prompted him to approach. And then, he asked me about my necklace.

“Hey, where’d you get that necklace?” he said, eyes flicking from my face to the pendant hanging over my chest. “It’s… different. Kind of cool.”

I felt a little jolt of something—excitement, nerves, maybe both—at the attention. He wanted to know about my necklace? Of all things? I opened my mouth to respond, and then something strange happened. The words just… flowed. I started telling him all about it—how it had been crafted in some long-ago time by hands that shaped it with care, about the artisan who’d worked on it and how they were renowned for imbuing special powers into their pieces. I talked about the mystical properties, the magic of wishes hidden deep in one’s subconscious, waiting to be drawn out by the wearer.

Thing is, I didn’t know any of that. Not consciously. But as I spoke, it felt like I was reading from some invisible script, like the knowledge was being given to me as I said it out loud.

Mikey listened, his gaze locked onto the pendant, almost entranced. Then, he looked back up at me, that curiosity still burning in his eyes.

“Would you mind if I tried it on?” he asked, his voice a little softer, like he was almost embarrassed by the question.

Without a second thought, I nodded, slipping the necklace off and handing it over to him. He took it carefully, his fingers brushing mine—warm, rough skin, the kind that spoke of hard work and hours in the gym. He put it on, and I swear, the thing looked like it was made for him. It hung perfectly against his chest, the bird pendant resting right in the middle of that strong, solid frame.

As I watched him, something stirred in me. I felt a warmth spreading through my body, a tingling that started low and radiated outward, like a current of energy. I caught myself glancing down, noticing with a bit of embarrassment that I was half-hard. But I couldn’t help it—the sight of him, my necklace gleaming against his chest, his broad shoulders framed by that perfectly fitted T-shirt, was… well, let’s just say it was doing things to me.

“Actually,” I said, clearing my throat and giving him an appreciative once-over, “it suits you. Why don’t you keep it?”

Mikey’s eyebrows lifted, surprised but clearly pleased. “Really? You sure?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice a little unsteady, trying to hide the flush of heat that was working its way up my neck. “Consider it a gift.”

---

That night, I felt warmer than I had in years—almost feverish, but not quite. I thought maybe I was coming down with something; I’d spent enough winters nursing colds to recognize that slight ache, the subtle throbbing behind my eyes. I drank water, tried to stay hydrated, but there was something strange about the feeling. It wasn’t just heat; it was a tingling sensation that seemed to move through my limbs, settling into every muscle and joint.

I told myself it was just exhaustion. Maybe I’d pushed myself too hard at the gym, or maybe the excitement of talking to Mikey had rattled my old bones more than I wanted to admit. Either way, I decided to call it a night, pulling the covers up and letting myself drift off to sleep.

But somewhere in the dead of night, I woke up drenched in sweat, sheets tangled around my legs. My skin felt hot, almost burning, and my heart pounded like I’d just sprinted a mile. I lay there in the dark, trying to orient myself, but nothing felt right. My arms, stretched out beside me, felt heavier, thicker somehow. I pushed up to sit, but even that felt… different.

For a moment, I thought I might be having a stroke or some other senior moment, and the thought made my stomach twist. Taking a few deep breaths, I tried to shake off the dizziness, to piece together where I was and what was happening.

But as I sat up and tried to get my bearings, the space around me looked foreign. Strange shadows fell across walls I didn’t recognize. There was a faint streetlight glow filtering through blinds that weren’t mine, casting an odd light over an unfamiliar dresser, scattered clothes, and a large mirror across the room.

Where am I?

I swung my legs out of bed, almost stumbling under my own weight. The muscles in my legs tensed and shifted in a way that felt… powerful, but wrong. Instinctively, I reached for the light switch, my fingers brushing over the unfamiliar nightstand before finding it. The room flooded with light, revealing more alien surroundings. Posters on the wall. Dumbbells in the corner. This wasn’t my bedroom. I didn’t own posters. Or dumbbells.

Disoriented, I took a few steps, bare feet touching cool, unfamiliar carpet, as I wandered toward the bathroom. I had to steady myself on the doorframe—the sheer strength I felt in my grip, in the size of my hand, jolted through me. I flipped on the bathroom light and looked up, squinting against the sudden brightness.

And then I saw him. Mikey.

In the mirror was his face, his body—muscular and tanned, dark hair tousled and falling forward slightly. I could feel my heart hammering in his broad chest, watched his—my—eyes go wide as I touched my face, tracing over a jawline sharper than I’d ever had, rough stubble under my fingers.

“Oh… my god,” I whispered, hearing Mikey’s voice, deep and smooth, coming from my own mouth. The face in the mirror looked just as shocked as I felt, my hands gripping the edges of the sink to steady myself as I took in the sight of every inch of him—of me.

A thrill shot through me, warmth bubbling up from my stomach as I ran my hand over the expanse of his—my—shoulders, over the swell of the chest, down to the ridged abs, and finally feeling up his impressive package. I couldn’t stop the smirk creeping onto his—my—face, couldn’t stop the pulse of excitement thrumming through me. Holy hell. This was real. I was Mikey.

And then, with a jolt, I realized something was missing. My hand went up to my neck instinctively, searching for the familiar weight of the necklace, but my fingers brushed only bare skin. No chain. No pendant.

A part of me, somewhere deep down, was concerned—confused and alarmed, really—but right now, looking at the smirking, shirtless, muscular guy in the mirror, the overwhelming feeling was… arousal. I’d never looked like this. I’d never felt like this.

Stay Tuned For Part 2.  

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Halloween is Around the Corner

This is why I hate Halloween with the common people. They cannot appreciate how I'm not only dressing up as a firefighter, I'm WEARING a firefighter, a studly one at that.

Yeah he is a firefighter in real life so taking out this costume is real easy because this is literally his uniform, but c'mon now, the folks simply don't understand how difficult it was for me to acquire this costume. It was real brutal and I almost failed to jab the syringe to that thick neck of his, but I managed to did it by the end of the day, hence here I am standing here ready for an early Halloween celebration by testing out my costume.

Now, what do you think if rather than mixing with the common crowd, we have a Halloween party with all the TF enthusiast out there instead? I know some of yall have stash of interesting person to wear, possess, puppet around or whatever, but let's do something fresh for this year. Consider this an early Christmas unboxing, an early New Year resolution, go for that new body and let's appreciate each other's story on how we managed to really up the bar for Halloween this year.

Already heard some plan about some of you dressing as the classics; police officers, sporting team coaches or even leather daddy, which sounds solid.

Some of yall also informed me that yall planned to dress up as stereotype like failed-star-turned-OF-influencer, douchebag frat bros or deadbeat blue-collar worker, which might be a bit touche and God forbid yall got affected by their mindset and found yourself struggling to get out of such personas after the party, but hey, I trust that you know what you're doing so that's should be okay.

But my ears perked up when I heard that one of you slid inside a loving, health-conscious, family man with 3 kids and planned to make him do some lewd act a responsible member of society like him will never do.

That's as bad as sleeping with a girl you have a crush on by possessing her boyfriend, that's not nice bro, that's manipulation, but hey, who am I to judge?

I mean I'm literally turning a respectable, hard-working firefighter just to fulfill my hedonistic desire for a one night party, so please, you do you. Just inform me how do you want to come to the party and how many people will you bring so I can properly prepare to welcome any of you. Just don't be a giant or some kind of gory type of cosplay, okay? Let's not complicate a night filled with bunch of people not really looking like themselves with possible crime or property destruction. Oh yeah, almost forgot. If you found this invite at the very last minute and have no costume yet, I have some suits of my crew from the firehouse if you want to borrow them. I figured that why not just spiked the entire firehouse since I'm inside their captain anyway, my associates are using them now for cover but on the 31st, they'll be in another bodies and these are available for you to borrow. First come, first serve though, you cannot ask me to keep it for ya.

So, see you later folks, better dress up well

[makingspiritualityreal]

Planets in Houses Areas of Interest in Astrology

In my studies, I have encountered an extremely detailed and accurate list coming from classic Vedic text, representing what will concern each planet in a given house.

Note, that certain planets perform fundamentally better in certain houses, but the general state of the house affairs will depend on the condition and aspects of the planet. I will give an example of how to interpret a planet below the list.

Note, that Rahu and Ketu are missing, because their results are calculated according to their dispositor.

Sun

1st House Sun Body, Personality, Health

2nd House Sun Intelligence about Maintaining Wealth

3rd House Sun Intelligent Use and Consistency of Skills

4th House Sun Palaces, One's Kingdom

5th House Sun Leadership, Nobility, Esteem

6th House Sun Government Services

7th House Sun Egotism of Spouse or Partner, Partner's Consistency

8th House Sun Vitality, Energy Levels

9th House Sun Father

10th House Sun Government, Activity, Status, Power, Father's Influence

11th House Sun Titles, Certificates

12th House Sun Temples, Places of Worship

Moon

1st House Moon Body, Ego

2nd House Moon Face, Sense Organs, Contentment

3rd House Moon Music, Rhythmic Ability

4th House Moon Mother, Foundation of Feelings

5th House Moon Imagination, Ability to Improve One's Consciousness

6th House Moon Development of Body, Physical Maturation

7th House Moon Popularity, Public Relations

8th House Moon Change, Adaptability

9th House Moon Father's Popularity and Character

10th House Moon Popularity

11th House Moon Popularity in Groups or Organizations

12th House Moon Dreams, Inner Worlds

Mars

1st House Mars Character, Sense of Right and Wrong

2nd House Mars Mineral Wealth

3rd House Mars Siblings, Peers, Bravery, Training

4th House Mars Land, Houses, Property, Mother

5th House Mars Convictions, Strength of Opinions

6th House Mars Accidents, Overcoming Enemies, Weapons

7th House Mars Challenges in Relationships

8th House Mars Surgery, Battles, War

9th House Mars Brother and Sister in Law, Moral Code

10th House Mars Command, Overseers

11th House Mars Character and Motivation of Group Dynamics

12th House Mars Results of Enemies Actions, Secret Enemies

Mercury

1st House Mercury Senses, Ability to Cognize Experiences

2nd House Mercury Speech, Friends

3rd House Mercury Travel, Discernment, Crafts, Communications, Games

4th House Mercury Relatives

5th House Mercury Speculative Investments, Mantra Practice

6th House Mercury Maternal Aunts and Uncles, Legal Matters

7th House Mercury Business Partners, Commerce and Trade

8th House Mercury Corporations, Occult Knowledge, Past Life Fortune

9th House Mercury Past Life Fortune, Judges, Codes of Conduct

10th House Mercury Employer, Apprenticeship, Capacity to Manage

11th House Mercury Playing the Game of Success

12th House Mercury Long Term Investments, Contemplative Knowledge, Purchasing Expenses, Gain of Lost Items

Jupiter

1st House Jupiter Optimism, Opportunities

2nd House Jupiter Wealth

3rd House Jupiter Spiritual Art, Written Wisdom

4th House Jupiter Happiness, Banks, Fruit Bearing Groves

5th House Jupiter Children, Father's Grandfather, Knowledge and Learning

6th House Jupiter Forgiveness

7th House Jupiter Husband, Wealth Partner Brings

8th House Jupiter Inheritance

9th House Jupiter Guru, Teacher, Ease of Fortune, Grand Children

10th House Jupiter Capacity to Manage

11th House Jupiter Income

12th House Jupiter Mother's Mother, Charity

Venus

1st House Venus Strength, Recuperative Ability

2nd House Venus Food, Jewelry Wealth

3rd House Venus Father in Law

4th House Venus Pools, Lakes, Vehicles

5th House Venus Romance, Affairs, Students

6th House Venus Nursing, Physical Succor

7th House Venus Wife, Mother's Mother

8th House Venus Conjugal Bond, Sex

9th House Venus Father

10th House Venus Mother in Law

11th House Venus Fair Distribution of Wealth

12th House Venus Nursing Homes, Mistress, Mother's Father, Vacations

Saturn

1st House Saturn Ability to Endure Hardship

2nd House Saturn Thriftiness, Wealth from Hard Work, Rock Quarries

3rd House Saturn Servants

4th House Saturn Pets

5th House Saturn Fall from Position

6th House Saturn Overcoming Debts and Diseases

7th House Saturn Appreciation of Relationships, Lack of Empathy

8th House Saturn Chronic Disease, Death, Flaws, Weaknesses, Liabilities

9th House Saturn Delays to Fortune, Delays to Creativity

10th House Saturn Duty

11th House Saturn Elder Siblings, Livestock

12th House Saturn Personal Expense, Loss, Capital Expense, Prisons, Imprisonment

Source for the List - Art and Science of Vedic Astrology Vol 2 Ryan Kurczak & Richard Fish. They themselves used original Vedic Resources for the list, I sourced their material for the sake of Vedic translation.

Interpretation example - I have Saturn in the 4th house and I've always had a good bond with pets since I was a child, they would just appear in my life. It seems natural to me, but in reality many people have allergies, don't own pets, their pets don't survive long, they don't share such a special bond with them or their family situation doesn't allow them one, parents forbid them. Not only did I always have a pet, they were also extremely long lived. As a child, I used to have a hamster that survived 5 years, when the average age of a syrian is up to 3, I had a cat that my mom got but the cat ended up loving me and lived 21 years, and when my cat died, my husband's pup yorkie decided that I'm the love of his life. The pets survive so long, because my Saturn is excellently placed in Aquarius with no bad aspects, so I get to have them and care for them to the point of them reaching the age of physical incontinence. Someone with a difficult, badly aspected Saturn in the 4th would have their own story, but nevertheless the placement would manifest as still having that intimate pet experience in their life.

Another example - I have Venus in the 3rd house and I live with my father in law. I never even met my mother in law, as she has no contact with my husband. Yet people with Venus in the 10th will have her as a prominent figure in their life in some capacity. So this list can show which area of your life will yield a physical manifestation in the first place.

This is how you should superimpose this list onto your chart, checking the individual condition of each planet. Note, that these interpretations are NOT applicable in the Navamsa chart, according to Vedic source.

You can also see from the list, that certain placements produce a particular struggle in one's chart, while other planets produce less problems. I will now make a short list of those troubled placements. Note, that I am not including statements about conditions of given planets, which can turn the mentioned events difficult even for a theoretically good scenario. I am only talking about the houses that give an unquestionable struggle. Interestingly enough, this list differs from the traditional Marana Karaka, and it seems to indicate that even out of most difficult placements, one can build something worthwhile. So I will focus only on placements that bring objective difficulty.

Sun

The Sun has its negative impact in the 7th house, where no matter what it produces egotism from one's spouse or partner. With this position, one basically gets partnerships in life with people that boss them around. But if in a good condition, the partner will be consistent, which I'm interpreting as faithful and committed to the relationship, not looking for outside adventure. So even the worst Sun position has some upside to it. The Sun is hard to mess up.

Moon

Even though traditionally the Moon is feared in the 8th house, here it indicates simply a life full of change and forcing one's ego to adapt, which can actually turn out smooth if the Moon is well placed. The most challenging placement for the Moon is actually the 1st house, where the Moon becomes extremely egoic. From my experience with these natives, it is very true, they struggle to mature and force being the center of attention and their ego blinds them. They are very devoted to their loved ones, but extremely self focused, more than any other 1st house planet on the list. So with Moon in the 1st house you are simply an unquestionable egoist.

Mars

Mars has several gray areas that we will touch on, mostly in Dusthanas. Mars produces results of accidents, weapons and surgeries in the 6th and 8th house, and these are the two most common placements I've seen in charts of doctors. These placements are however not the worst ones, because Mars here has the capacity to do battle where the fight takes it, by joining the army or working with the sick.

The most difficult Mars is in the 12th and 7th house. Mars in the 12th house people grow to always suffer long term from some ailment and that is a result of someone else hurting them. I've seen this in a chart of a person that got injured in their workplace in their mid-life and is still getting surgery for the consequences of it in their old age. More notably, we can see it in the chart of Britney Spears, who has various health issues as a result of accidents through difficult physical work she was forced into by others. This is a placement of physical victimhood from people, who stab the native in the back. My guess is, a strong Mars would endure more, but the event will still happen.

Mars in the 7th house is difficult, because these people always bicker in intimate relationships. They have a karma of constant fights with their partner, as they really try to subliminally achieve domination in a partnership, which is impossible because partnership is about equality and compromise. This placement makes it nigh impossible to achieve marital harmony, unless someone enjoys the fighting, and leads to frequent breakups or one's partner cheating. My mother had this placement, and my only memory of her and my father together is them fighting, and she died single.

Mercury

Mercury is a lucky planet, because it has no obvious pitfalls unless badly placed. Interestingly enough, even Mercury in the 12th house has the power to "purchase expenses", and if well placed, make gains from it. As I know a few Mercuries in the 12th house personally, let me decode this for you. People with this placement have a unique knack to purchase items or property of depreciating value and turn it around. My friend with this placement aspecting her Moon invested long term in buying my falling apart post-communist family inherited apartment and is making her home there, and she also has a fantastic knack of receiving thrifted clothes and tailoring them, a hobby we share. These natives have a talent of turning trash to treasure.

Jupiter

Unsurprisingly, there are no bad houses for Jupiter, as even in difficult houses it leads to forgiving one's enemies, being charitable, or receiving an inheritance.

Venus

Similarly to Jupiter, Venus soothes all houses unless afflicted. Venus is able to soothe physical suffering even in the difficult 6th house, or in a nursing home in the 12th. Interestingly enough, Venus in the 12th in a good sign points to the ability of being fulfilled in love even in the seemingly degrading position of being "the other woman" or as the list says, the mistress.

Saturn

Despite it being marana karaka, a well placed Saturn in the 1st gives endurance and is not the worst placement for it, and other houses such as 6th give it endurance to overcome obstacles too. The difficult position for Saturn is actually the 5th, where it shows decline of status or as the list states "fall from one's position". Saturn has a difficult time in most houses compared to other planets, as in the 7th it makes one lack empathy, which will lead to bad karma in the next life, even in the native blocks out the consciousness in this life, and in the 8th and 12th leads to various calamities. So even the strongest Saturn in these houses can simply endure these difficulties, and hope they pass.

[merakiui]

please forgive the absurd amount of rolloposting,,, but please hear me out on this one!!!

another magical girl au, but this time it's magical girl x rollo who is constantly trying to capture her and put an end to her "villainous schemes" (saving the day and so flagrantly making a show out of her magic). darling who constantly gets on rollo's nerves whenever he manages to capture her, purposely acting provocative just to fluster and distract him long enough to escape his clutches:

"you're so mean to me, mr. rollo." (cue cute pout, fake tears, very sad sigh, all of which is highly ineffective). "how can i show you my tits the goodness of my heart if you've tied me up? are you secretly into bdsm?"

rollo, who has had it with you: "let's stop talking now." (he tightens the rope hoping to get you to shut up, but instead it prompts you to exaggerate a moan just to watch him flounder. >:D the sexual tension between the two of you is off the charts. anymore and he's having his hellfire moment every single night,,, the grip you have on him and his dick......)

rollo who unintentionally becomes your nemesis solely because he's a hater of magic and is always attempting to thwart your attempts at saving the day. can't you see what a nuisance you are to this city (the city adores you)!!! you make a mess, destroy property, get into dangerous magic fights... all under the guise of justice. it's disgusting. he won't tolerate it.

antihero rollo "i will save the city and purge it from that dastardly magical girl" versus magical girl "do you think he'll fall in love with me if i keep showing him how great of a magical girl i am?"

and in classic fashion, from hate comes lust love hate-love more hate. it's complicated with rollo. ^^;;;

[starclancy]

if you have the time would you consider writing a Sanji x Sick!Reader sometime, classic fluff prompt

No pressure :3

Tysm for this ask!!

~ A Recipe for Recovery ~

PAIRING: Reader/Sanji

CONTENTS: 🩷 - fluff

WORDCOUNT: 800

Request status: Open (PLS)

The cozy ambiance of the Thousand Sunny’s kitchen was disrupted by Sanji’s rapid chopping, the rhythmic sound echoing in harmony with the bubbling of a nearby pot. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but not over some complex recipe. His thoughts were entirely preoccupied with you.

You had caught a cold after the crew’s latest adventure. That rainstorm had been unrelenting, and despite everyone warning you to take shelter, your determination to help the others had left you drenched to the bone. By the time they got you back aboard the Sunny, you were already sneezing, and the next morning, you woke up completely bedridden.

Though Chopper had assured everyone it was nothing serious—just a common cold—Sanji had taken your condition as a personal challenge.

“This won’t do,” he muttered under his breath as he rummaged through the kitchen pantry, pulling out ingredients with purpose. “My darling deserves only the best care.”

He spent the better part of the morning preparing a restorative soup with the precision of a master chef. Every ingredient was selected not just for flavor but for its immune-boosting properties. Garlic for fighting off germs, ginger to soothe your throat, and fresh vegetables packed with nutrients. He even baked a small batch of honey-glazed biscuits to go with it, convinced they would make you smile despite feeling under the weather.

By the time he entered your room, tray in hand, the scent of rich broth and fresh herbs filled the air, mingling with the soft sound of the sea outside. You were buried under a mountain of blankets, your nose red, your cheeks flushed with fever. Even in your groggy state, you managed a weak but genuine smile when you saw him.

“Sanji, you didn’t have to—”

“Shh,” he interrupted gently, setting the tray down on your bedside table with the care of someone handling a precious treasure. “A sick lady deserves only the best care. And that’s exactly what you’re getting.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could utter another word, Sanji was already fluffing the pillows behind your back, coaxing you into sitting up. His touch was warm and lingering, his hands firm yet gentle as they adjusted the blanket draped over your shoulders.

“This soup,” he began, picking up the bowl and holding it close to your face so the steam could waft over you, “is my special recipe for colds. Loaded with all the good stuff to help you feel better.” He smiled, his voice softening. “And I made tea, just the right temperature for your throat. Go on, try it.”

You took a tentative sip of the soup, the warmth spreading through you like a soft blanket on a chilly night. It tasted amazing—rich, flavorful, and soothing—but the real comfort came from the way Sanji watched you. His blue eyes were filled with concern and something else, something softer, like the beginnings of a sunrise.

“It’s perfect,” you croaked, your voice hoarse but sincere.

“Of course it is,” he replied, a boyish grin lighting up his face. “I made it for you.”

As you ate, he stayed by your side, his usual flirty remarks tempered by genuine care. He chatted softly, telling you about the chaos in the kitchen that morning when Luffy tried to sneak a bite of the soup, and how Chopper had scolded him for it. His voice was a comforting hum, filling the quiet room with a warmth that made you feel less miserable.

Every so often, his hand would hover near your face, like he wanted to brush your hair back or check your temperature but wasn’t sure if he should. Finally, he gave in, his knuckles brushing lightly against your forehead.

“Still warm,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “I’ll bring some cold compresses later.”

“You’re fussing too much,” you teased weakly, though the small smile on your lips betrayed your gratitude.

“I’ll fuss as much as I want,” he shot back, his tone playful but his eyes unwaveringly sincere. “It’s what I’m here for.”

When you had eaten as much as you could, Sanji carefully cleaned up, setting the tray aside and pulling the blanket higher around you. “Get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

“Thank you, Sanji,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as sleep began to pull you under.

“Anything for you,” he replied, his voice soft as a caress.

He stayed for a moment longer, watching the way your breathing evened out and the lines of discomfort on your face softened in sleep. He hesitated, then reached into his pocket, pulling out a small notepad and pen. Quickly, he scribbled a note and placed it on the tray before gathering the dishes and quietly slipping out of the room.

When you woke later, groggy but feeling a little better, your eyes landed on the note. His elegant handwriting was unmistakable:

“Rest up, love. I’ll be here if you need me. – Sanji.”

You smiled, holding the note to your chest as warmth bloomed inside you—not from the soup or the tea, but from the thoughtfulness of the man who had made them for you.

[redcoralpot]

Stu!! I love seeing ppl love him. Would I be able to request some roleswap ish au, where reader is a slasher, and stu is the "final girl". He gets caught ofc, and reader unmasks, smut ensues (maybe stu had a crush or smth, maybe dubcon if u accept it).

Unrelated: Loved seeing Matthew lillard as william Afton, he did so good.

Ruined Man - Stu Macher X M!Reader

Summary: Stu Macher was a classic rich boy; arrogant, eccentric, and an asshole. He was known for playing cruel pranks on others, and earlier in the weak, he pranked Sidney by scaring her as the infamous Ghostface Killer. Maybe, just maybe, he deserved a taste of his own medicine. Trick or treat, right?

Warnings: NSFW, non-fatal violence, weapons.

Word Count: 2K

A/N: I don't write anything with SA, CNC, or dub-con; Stu plainly consents to the activities described. He has implied feelings for the Reader, and other implied activities as well... but I'll let you discover that part.

-

-

Crickets chirped in the grass, the crescent moon high in the sky. Finally, the noise from the Macher’s Halloween party had died down, and most people had left already, causing a blanket of peace to float down on the street. Any stragglers were drunkenly slumped against the curb, blacked out or calling for a sober ride. Your mask stuck out from the shadows, exaggerated and white, as you watched the property slowly become empty. Well, empty except for the host, of course. Stu Macher.

You could see him through one of the many windows, lounging on the first floor’s living room couch, still moving. Your fingers fumbled against the phone’s dial– god, how do killers run in this shit– pulling the black fabric further up your arm to position the voice changer closer to your mouth. Now, you patiently waited for the other man to pick up, seeing him jolt out of his position. Stu rubbed his eyes, and stumbled to the kitchen.

“Yo?”

Your lips curled into a nasty sneer, “Do you like scary movies, Stu?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Don’t make me choose, you know I’ve watched too many good ones!”

…

Huh? There was no way he knew your identity already. You’ll give him credit, he’s smart, but most definitely not that smart. Stu always visits the rental store Randy works at, and he always rented horror movies with Sidney’s boyfriend, Billy Loomis; that much you knew. He could not have seen you through the window before he ran into the kitchen, and even if he managed to, your mask was still securely strapped on.

“You still there? I haven’t dropped off Hellraiser yet, you could've just asked if you wanna watch it again.”

You hung up, breath quickening. Stu wasn’t scared, even though you were using the same voice changer as the loose, prank-calling murderer running around the streets of Woodsboro. You dumped the phone on the ground, hidden behind a bush. If he wasn’t scared by a little sound-a-like, that was fine, you came prepared. Stu’s garage door had been left open, and you jogged over. Frankly, it didn’t matter how much the rich boy had it coming, you were never doing this again. The costume’s long fringes caught on your feet, almost causing you to trip as you avoided the windows; less silent than you had hoped. Your shoes shuffled against the concrete, and you jiggled the handle of the only door, praying it would open. It creaked as you slipped inside, your shoes surely creasing when you tiptoed into the living room. From behind the couch, you could see that Stu was still in his kitchen, but he was looking around.

He grinned, cupping his hands around his mouth, “Nobody else’s here, Billy. You don’t gotta sneak into my house, you know that!”

 Sighing, you watch him leave the room to wander about the hallways, stopping by the door you had snuck through– and forgot to close. He squinted, looking at the mistake, and back at the living room. Your cheeks burned, adrenaline starting to pump in your veins as he took a few steps closer. 

“C’mon, you wanna have a movie marathon? It’s kinda late for that, but whatever. I have plenty of snacks left from the party, and a whole lot more puke!”

Stu turned away at the last second, choosing instead to sprint down into the bathroom. You could hear a muffled, “Gotcha… nope,” over rustling cloth as you crawled on your hands and knees into the kitchen. The freezing tile shocked any distraction from your system, and you stood up, settling into the darkest part of the kitchen. One of your hands held a dull knife, while the other held the little voice changer machine. However, your position left you without visuals on your victim. You were tempted to pull down your hood, but that would be too reckless, especially since he seemed to think you were his dearest friend. Oh, man, he didn’t know what was coming. 

“Y’know I love pranks, man, but time’s up,” He probed, leaning on the marbled island, just out of reach.

Stu visibly flinched as he turned around and found you staring at him, the mask’s empty eyes giving nothing away. It took him but a second to recover, yet, and a smile accompanied his wild eyes, “Billy!”

You tilted your head, slowly raising your left hand, “Incorrect.”

He didn’t have time to respond; you lunged. You gripped his collar in a fist and slammed him into the countertop– he winced. Stu tried pushing you back, but it was in vain, your knife already threatening to pierce his throat.

Your full weight was on the man, and he raised his hands in defeat. Stu’s chest rose and fell in hefty patterns; you snickered at his obedience. His head slumped back as you released his shirt, in favor of wrenching your mask off to face him.

“Surprise, Macher.”

Stu chuckled, chewing on his bottom lip, “Didn’t know you were in on it too.”

“In on what– aren’t you scared?” You growled, pressing the knife into the flesh of his neck, but not enough to draw blood.

“Dunno,” his back arched, causing a drop of blood to drip down his shirt, “I think you could’ve done better!”

You flipped him over, slicing a fringe off of your costume to tie his hands with. Your hips were in between his thighs, leaving him trapped, and the robe itself fell on the floor beside its mask. Stu giggled, hoisting up his torso with his elbows.

“It’s payback; you could use some.”

He winced as you pulled his hair, “Hngh, it was Billy’s idea.”

“Don’t act innocent.”

“And what’re you gonna do about it, tough guy?”

You rasped, moving to step back, “Nothing you don’t want; I think the prank’s done enough.”

Stu seemed to freeze, albeit briefly, but he wrapped his ankles around your hips– preventing you from running. Your hands brushed against them, tense, as his shoulders shook.

“I wanna.” A smile laced his tone.

“You sure?”

“I’m pose-itive,” he joked, “get it?”

You wrenched his mouth open, pressing down on his tongue with your thumb, “Shut it.”

He nodded, trying his best to close his lips around your finger. Your other hand trailed down his side, taking its sweet time, before landing on his waist. Saliva still connected your fingers to his mouth as you removed them, all in favor of lifting his hips. Underneath, you unzipped his jeans, taking extra care to avoid giving any friction. When you stepped back to slide them off of Stu, he whined, his hips still chasing your touch. His jeans were thrown aside, and you slid back in your place. You knew he could feel your breath on his neck.

Your crotch ground against his ass, a shiver spreading across his spine. Stu was audibly panting; his head was hanging low and he pushed his hips to meet your thrusts. You hummed, choosing to drag the knife in soft strokes down his back, the cool metal only just piercing his skin. Red oozed in thick droplets out of the wounds, some getting big enough to trickle down his back. The pain seemed to follow it down, as Stu made quite the pathetic noise. 

“We’ve barely even gotten started, Macher, and you’re this desperate already?” You teased.

“Mm, show me what ‘cha got!”

You chuckle and suck a bruise onto the back of his neck. From that position, you could hear a groan rumble in his throat, but it wasn’t strong enough to escape. Hm, you could change that. You sunk the edge of your teeth into a different spot, holding on for a second before soothing the bite with your tongue. If the bruise didn’t make what happened obvious, well, this would. Stu would just have to deal with it. Though, you doubt he’d mind.

The knife clattered onto the marble counter after you dropped it, Stu’s thighs twitching, “Where’s the lube?”

Stu didn’t answer, but only whined.

“Use your words, pretty boy.”

His voice shook, trying to form words past used lips, “Bathroom.”

“Louder, I didn’t hear you the first time.”

Stu wiggled against your weight, “C’mon, man– f-fuck, it’s in the bathroom, please!”

You tutted, a cruel grin on your face, “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You didn’t need directions, and as soon as you were out of his view, you practically ran there. Hell, you weren’t gonna miss out on this chance, were you? Stu, the eccentric boy that played downright evil pranks on anybody that breathed around him, reduced to a perverted degenerate. Perhaps he was already like that, and you wouldn’t be surprised. 

The lube was in a small, portable bottle that was half empty when you found it. Back in the kitchen, you poured the majority of what was left in your palm and fingers. Using just two, for the moment, you spread it over his hole; a finger may have dipped in every once and a while, in the process. 

“I wanna, I wanna do it already,” Stu shuddered, his fidgeting acting up again.

A finger eased its way inside, a little too easily, much to your surprise, “Not yet.”

“I really wanna.” Another, just as simply.

“That’s too bad;” you mused, “have you been fingering yourself?”

He bit down on his bottom lip, the taste of iron filling his mouth, “Uhuh, uhuh.”

“To what?”

“Y-you, and me.” 

You spread the final bit over your dick, before pressing your hand into the sides of his neck, “You little pervert. Bet you loved getting a glimpse of me in the locker room, yeah?”

“Yeah, yes, yes– oh, shit.” Stu’s little tangent was interrupted by you slamming inside; the sting melted in with pleasure as you brushed his prostate.

Only for a moment did you stop to let him adjust, before pulling out and thrusting again. You found a rhythm, and the counter rubbed against his cock as you continued, smearing precum over the wood. His hands, still bound, scrabbled for anything to hold onto, but in vain. His nails just slid off of the smooth stone, his drool making it even slippier. Stu squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a knot grow in his gut. 

He clenched around you, causing you to grunt, “‘M gonna cum, please let me cum, please, please… ah!”

“We’re not done yet,” you hissed, firmly slapping his thigh.

“I can’t hold it, man, I really can’t,” he sobbed out, eyelashes wet from unreleased tears.

A sharp pain on his shoulder burned through any restraint the guy had, the knot unraveling as quickly as it had formed. Stu thrashed, the fringe snapping, and his vision whited out. His brain was all fuzzy; the only thing he could focus on was gripping the edge of the counter. Stu’s face was smushed against the counter, crimson mixing with the white surface. He shivered, eyes heavy, feeling a little floaty when a thick liquid dripped down his thighs. You pulled out of him, rubbing his waist as you did so.

“Good job, Macher. That was one hell of a show you put on, ” you sighed.

“Hhn.”

His body was limp as you turned him over, using the oven towel to start to clean him up, “How’re you feeling?”

Stu finally opened his eyes, using all of his strength to grin up at you, “Dude… that was like, awesome.”

“Pfft, you sound out of it.”

“Eh, what makes you say that? I want a big glass of water!”

You cackled, leaving his side to shuffle through a cabinet full of fancy cups, finally choosing a sturdy looking mug. He grabbed it as soon as it was in arms reach, taking huge gulps from it, like he had been starved. Or, more so dying of thirst. 

When he finished, you softly said, “Do you need help getting into bed?”

Stu shrugged, so you took that as a yes. You heaved him over your shoulder, supporting him up the stairs as he giggled the whole way. As you tucked him in, you swore you could hear something from down in the kitchen.

A phone’s ring.

-

Taglist: @jaspeywasy89 , @cannabrisano , @fandomz-brainrot

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Dollhouse 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems. 

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker 

This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Ann and Lulu. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV.

Note: It's thirstday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3 

Love you all until you can’t stand it. Take care. 💖 

You’ve been waiting all summer to come back. Campus is like paradise to you. Sure, it’s fun to party but there’s also all the clubs and the general sense of community. You always manage to find your way right into the heart of it all. 

You’re a bit disappointed to not be living on campus itself but you found an alternative not too far away, and in a nice neighbourhood too. Not to mention, your best friend ever, Polly, will be living with you! 

The uber pulls up to the front of the idyllic building and your cheeks bloom with excitement. You spent the extra money to haul all your bags from the station, and it was worth it. You couldn’t have dragged it all that way, even on the bus. 

The driver helps you get everything onto the curb. You thank him and tip him on the app. He looks at you with that fogginess that a lot of guys get. He asks if you need anything else and you assure him you’re just fine. He seems almost reluctant to go. His spindly fingers twiddle at his side as he slinks around the hood. 

You stand with your bags and take out your phone. Polly said she was on her way. You don’t want to go in without her. You send her a message asking how close she is.

“Hey, what’re ya standing in the middle of the sidewalk for, bitch?”  

You wince as you spin to face the grizzly snarl. You harrumph and scowl at Polly as she cackles. It’s funny to think she could do such a scary voice considering she always looks so dainty and perfect. Even then, she wears a blouse and skirt, with a scarf that reminds you of an Audrey classic. Never a stitch out of place with her. 

“You sure are dressed for moving day,” you remark dryly. 

“Mm, don’t talk to me Barbie Doll,” she tosses the derisive nickname at you, “I see you have on the classic Mattel shade today.” 

You pout your pinkened lips at her and roll your eyes, “whatever! Pol! We’re gonna be roommates!” 

You squeal together and she lifts her bag over the lip of the pavement, “hell yeah.” 

You giggle and look up at the house. You went there once before for the walkthrough and it’s even more perfect than you remember. You bend to take your smallest bag and Polly shakes her head. 

“Really? You brought all that? I hope you don’t think I’m gonna be your personal camel and carry it.” 

“Don’t be such a downer,” you stick your tongue out. 

“Excuse me,” a deep timbre rolls over as the front gate squeaks. You and Polly share a startled look then turn to the large blond man as he steps through. That isn’t Jonathan... “Are you girls here for moving day?” 

“Uhhhhh,” you drone out and once more glance at your BFF, “we are.” 

“Oh, let me explain, Jonathan can’t make it. He has an emergency at another property. He left your keys with me to deliver,” he stirs around in the pocket of his blazers as he stands across the pavement. 

He's taller than the building manager you met in July, broader too. He’s bigger in every way and just as blond. He wears a pair of square glasses and only a plain tee under his suit jacket. He fishes out two key rings and shakes them. 

“Here we are,” he grins. He steps forward and offers you one of the fobs. “Front door is a censor. All new system.” He gives Polly the other dongle. “By the way, I’m Steve. I help Jonathan with security. I’ll be popping in for routine measures but I shouldn’t bother you too much.” 

“Oh thanks. I’m Barbie, this is Polly,” you squeeze the fob and smile at the grand facade of the building. “Awesome.” 

Polly toys with her keyring and stays quiet. She’s usually a riot but around men, you’ve noticed she gets a bit shy. You don’t blame her. Steve is a big guy and his gaze doesn’t falter for a single second. 

“Well, that’s great,” you continue, “good to be safe.” 

“Yeah, especially with a house full of girls. You never know,” he says. 

You blink at the subtlety of his suggestion. Obviously, there’s always those who will have the worst intentions but you try not to think of that. Besides, you’ve been around the block and it all looks very ordinary to you. 

“Anyway, let me show you inside. You’ve already got a roommate waiting on your girls,” he announces and claps his hands. “Can I help you with some of this?” 

He nods to your bags and you shimmy as you laugh at yourself, “oh, yeah, aha. I wanted to make sure I had everything.” 

“No problem, think I can handle it,” he bends and picks up your two largest bags. He doesn’t struggle at all. You gather up the three smaller ones and Polly rolls her suitcase with her. 

He stands inside the gate as he waits for you to enter. You lead the way up the walk as Polly clicks behind you. You climb the steps and strut across the porch. 

“Go on in,” Steve calls from behind. 

You do as he says and set your bags to the side of the entryway. You pause to take off your shoes as you see another pair on the mat. A pair of round-toed flats with bows. 

“You two are upstairs,” Steve says, “at the top, rooms at the end of the hall. Do you want me to bring your bags up?” 

“Oh, no, you can leave them at the door,” you face him again. “This is so lovely. Will you let Jonathan know we got here or should I call him?” 

“I can take care of it,” he says. “I’ll be headed to him once the rest of you show up. My partner’s out of town so we’re short right now.” 

“Your partner?” 

“Like I said, security.” 

“Ah, right, ha,” you rock your shoulders and he puts your bags down lightly. 

“Sure you don’t want some help,” he peers upstairs. 

“Really, we’re all good, right Polly?” 

“Mhmm,” she nods and looks past him. 

“Right, I’ll be outside. There's three more coming.” He nods and turns to go. 

You wait until he’s out the door to proceed upstairs. As you do, Polly sighs. 

“He was nice,” you say. 

“I guess,” she agrees dully. 

“He’s just doing his job.” 

“I know, it’s just, boys, guys, or whatever, standing next to you with them is like being invisible sometimes,” she mutters. “Not your fault but... yeah.” 

“Whatever. He’s a bit old for me,” you scoff as you get to the second-floor hall. You forgot how wide it was. Probably a good thing knowing it will be a full house. 

As you come to the end of the hall, a door opens and you see a single eye peer out. You stop short and Polly hits your back. The girl shifts the door and sticks her head out. 

“Uh, hi,” she squeaks, “I’m Lulu.” 

“Hey, uh, we’re... Barbie,” you point to yourself, “and Polly.” 

Polly leans around to wave with her free hands, “hi, Lulu.” 

Lulu lets the door go and steps out, “it’s been so quiet around here. I got here last week. It’s so nice to have people around.” 

“Oh, really?” You wonder. 

“I’m on exchange so... yeah, had to fly in,” she smiles sheepishly. “Anyway, sorry to bug you. Just wanted to say hi.” 

“You’re not bugging us at all! We were just chatting with Steve--” 

“Steve?” She frowns, “oh, the big bald guy? That’s Sy.” 

You frown and look at Polly, “no, Steve. Blond hair. Big.” You make yourself wide as you say the last word. 

“Ohhhh, sorry, I haven’t been out of my room. I’ve been so nervous,” she giggles and it sounds like a tinkling bell. 

“He’s the security guy or something,” Polly says. 

“Right,” Lulu’s lips tremble, “cool. Um, anyway, if you need me to show you around...” 

“Um, sure. We’ll drop out things off then I want to have a look at the kitchen. I was thinking of having some drinks once the rest got here. Maybe we can do a housewarming,” you chirp. 

“Oh, that sounds fun,” Lulu laughs again and it seems to clog her throat. She clears it and blinks, “sorry. Nervous.” 

You smile. You like meeting new people and the most exciting part for you, is all the different personalities coming together. And there’s still three more girls on the way. 

New things are always scary. For you, even the familiar is frightening. Sometimes what you know is the most dangerous. Like the bullies you went to school with for years.

Transferring to a new college is enough stress on its own but moving to a whole new city, that’s another beast on its own. Just like a dragon on its hoard. You clutch your worn novel to your chest as you walk down the street, your bag bouncing on the cracks in the sidewalk. 

You should’ve written this down. You think you’re going in the right direction. After the greyhound, you counter the city transit into the core and from there, you’ve been walking in circles. Finally, you recognise a street name and stop to turn on your data and spend a few MBs on confirming your destination. Just at the end. Phew. 

That gate was in the photos, those hedges too. Wow, it looks so much better IRL. You slow down in disbelief as you stare up at the siding. This can’t be. For the price you’re paying, you have to have taken a wrong turn. 

“Moving in?” A chipper voice asks as a shadow skews over the pavement next to yours. 

You blanch and look over at a boy about your age with reddish brown hair and warm amber eyes. He grins as you lower your chin then turn back to the house, “uh, yeah?” 

“Me too,” he says. “Peter. It’s a pretty cool building, huh? My aunt knows the owner.” 

“Mr. Pine,” you murmur. 

“I call him Jonathan but, yeah,” he chuckles. “You’re a Thrones fan?” 

You furrow your brow and glance over again. Then you check the book in your hand. 

“I’ve only read the books,” you say. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” 

“Molly,” you answer and sniff. You stare up at the house as it sinks in. You’ll be sharing a space with him. Not only him, but four others. 

“Should we go in together?” He offers. 

“Sure, why not,” you clutch your phone against the book and drag your bag forward. “Um, Mr. Pine said we should call--” 

“Yeah, that’s whatever. Like I said, I know him,” he insists as he goes ahead of you and unlatches the gate. “Come on.” 

You come forward as he hitches up his duffle bag. Your suitcase rattles over the threshold as another figure appears from the porch, “Pete, didn’t say you were bringing your girlfriend.” 

A large blond man, built like a warrior in a fantasy novel, descends the steps, “don’t think the roommates will be very happy about that.” “Whatever, Steve. She’s one of them. We just met.” 

“Ah, another one,” the man says, “great, just one more then.” The man digs in his pocket, “Jonathan left the keys.” He takes out two fobs and doles them out between you and Peter, “I’m Steve. Security.” He explains. 

“Oh, uh, nice to meet you,” you eke out. 

“This is Molly,” Peter intones and you give a bashful look. Oops, you forgot that. 

“Right, you two are on the first floor,” Steve says, “you wanna show her around, Pete?” 

Peter clucks, “Peter,” he corrects, “Steven.” 

The large man chortles and nods at you, “let me know if he gives you any trouble. It is my job to deal with the rabble.” 

You smile tightly and Peter waves off the other man, “come on. I’m sure you don’t wanna stand out in the sun with this lump head.” 

You show your teeth apologetically before you follow Peter. He strides down the walk and up the steps. You’re a few feet behind him. 

As you enter the house, you hear voices. They hush and you listen for them as they seem to do the same. Peter stands on the mat as you unlace your sneakers. 

“Hello?” He calls out, “anybody here?” 

There’s some noise before footsteps come from somewhere deep in the house. You look up to the top of the stairs as a figure appears above. The girl bounds down as two others loom behind her. 

“Helloooooo!” She trills, “I’m Barbie!” 

“Barbie,” Peter says, “hey. I love your lipstick.” 

“It’s gloss, actually, honey,” she winks, “you two are moving in? You’re friends too?” 

“Oh, uh no,” you shake your head, “we just...” 

“Good timing,” Peter says, “Peter, Molly.” He points in tandem with his introductions. 

“So cute, Molly, well up there is Polly. That rhymes! Polly and Molly, and that’s Lulu,” she gestures up behind her as the girls wave, “think there’s only one room left.” 

“What are we thinking?” Peter asks. “Party tonight? Ice breakers?” 

“Something like that. Drinks?” Barbie suggests. 

“You’re my kinda girl, Barbs.” 

“Barbie, hon,” she chides with a wag of her finger, “anywho, I’ll let you two get cozy while we wait on the last one.” 

“I hope it’s a dude,” Peter mutters as he turns away.  

You smile at Barbie then follow him. You’re not sure where your room is but he seems to know exactly where he’s going. You wouldn’t mind a door to hide behind. 

[vintagelasvegas]

Sands Hotel & Casino '52-'96

Sands, December 1952

Kit Carson Club ('46-'50) Kit Carson Motel ('46-'63) La Lue nightclub ('50-'51)

'46: Kit Carson Club opened by H. Bynum, D. Anderson, G. Frisbee on US Hwy 91 outside of Las Vegas, adjacent to Kit Carson Motel. The club will later become LaRue nightclub, then the Garden Room of the Sands Hotel.

'50: Kit Carson Club reopened as LaRue nightclub opened by Billy Wilkerson, Nola Hahn, 12/23/50.

'51: LaRue closed by summer. Mack Kufferman buys LaRue, and hires architect Wayne McAllister to build around the existing club. Kuffman and partners apply for gaming license. The project is called Sands by 12/51.

Sands ('52-'96)

'52: Kufferman gaming license denied in Apr., sells to Jake Freedman (RG 4/9/52, RG 6/13/52). Partners running the Sands are B. Barron, E. Levinson (casino manager), S. Wyman, J. Entratter (showroom & restaurants). Hidden partners are believed to include J. Stacher, M. Lansky. Sands road sign designed by McAllister, built by YESCO. Sands opens 12/15/52 with 200 rooms in five buildings arranged in Y-shaped layout. The guest wings are named after race tracks: Arlington Park, Belmont Park, Haileah, Rockingham Park, Santa Anita. Three other wings of equal size were added circa ’53-54 (two were named Churchill Downs, Hollywood Park), another by ’58, and larger wing by ’60. The total room count in ’60 was 465.

'53: Frank Sinatra plays his first engagement at the Sands and becomes two percent owner in Oct; Carl Cohen joins the Sands as shareholder and casino manager in Oct.

'54: Sign modification: Second reader board added below the main board, Feb or earlier. Antonio Morelli joins the Sands as musical director for the Copa in Jul.

'55: Sands partners assume control of the Dunes in Sep. They sell the Dunes in four months later.

'58: Jake Freedman dies 1/19/58; Jack Entratter becomes Sands president.

'59: Sign modification: Attraction board attached to the sign, Feb or earlier. Baccarat begins at the Sands. Sands acquires the former Orinda Motel, property to the south, used for expansion of the Sands parking lot.

'60: Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr, Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop (the "Rat Pack") are first billed together in the Copa in Jan-Feb. during the filming of Ocean's 11. Senator John F. Kennedy visits during the Democratic primary campaign.

'63: Opening of Aqueduct hotel wing (83 rm) in Apr. Julius Gabrielle, architect (RJ 4/28/63). Sinatra surrenders ownership 10/7/63.

'64: Sands acquires the former Kit Carson Motel; Belmont and Arlington buildings (base of the Y) moved southward to accommodate construction of a hotel tower.

'65: Second sign in Aug; tower completed late in the year and officially opened Jan. ’66. Martin Stern Jr, architect.

'67: Howard Hughes buys the Sands, 7/23/67. Sinatra leaves his Sands residency after confrontation with Cohen, 9/11/67.

'69: Dean Martin leaves Sands to join Riviera.

'71: Entratter dies, 3/8/71.

'73: Cohen leaves the Sands, Jan. '73.

'80: Inns of America buys the Sands from Hughes heirs Summa Corp in Oct.

'82: Third sign, new porte-cochère, marking the completion of remodeling effort including new Copa room, 1/15/82.

'83: Summa Corp reassumes control of the Sands, 4/5/83.

'88: Kirk Kerkorian buys the Sands in Jan. Kerkorian sells to Interface Group led by Sheldon Addison in Apr.

'90: Sands Expo and Convention Center opens.

'94: Remodeling of the casino.

'96: Sands closes 6/30/96. Tower demolished 11/26/96.

Photos of the Sands

Sources include David G. Schwartz. At the Sands: The Casino That Shaped Classic Las Vegas, Brought the Rat Pack Together, and Went Out With a Bang. December 1952 photo courtesy of Slidetreasurehunt.

Construction of the sign, 1952. The pylon sign pedestal was 56’ high, 21’ wide, with the S at 34’ tall. Design by Wayne McAllister, fabricated and installed by Young Electric Sign Co. Photo: YESCO Corporate Records (MS-00403), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

Opens Dec 15. Danny Thomas, Connie Rusell, Lou Wills Jr, Ray Sinatra Orchestra. Nevada State Museum, Las Vegas, 0007-0345.

Aerial view of Kit Carson Motel and the Sands, '62

[toxicanonymity]

steady as she goes.

3.5k, Clement Mansell x f!reader | spotify playlist CHARACTER BACKGROUND: He does a lot of crimes but car theft is the only thing referenced. He loves Jack White 🎶. He's sexy and has swagger. Hot clips with audio 🥵 🥵 SUMMARY: He takes you out on his idea of a date. WARNINGS: I8+, unsafe p in v (car), creampie. Praise. Mild hybristophilia (craving that criminal cock). Canon-typical destruction of property. Reader can straddle him. Jack (White) gets cucked (by Clem's vocals). ONE SHOT. A/N: Dedicated to @milla-frenchy: happy 500 followers! 🎉 well-deserved (masterlist). I'm so glad we share an interest in this man. And THANK YOU, gifmakers!! Always inspired by gifs from @boydholbrook-fan, @ilovewhiteroses, and more. Co-written with my partner, "Jordi" 🖤.

A car cruises down your street blasting music, but you don't think it's Clement. It's too early. The sun is just starting to set, and you're fresh out of the shower. It's still an hour before he’s supposed to pick you up. But sure enough, the loud rock music gets close enough to make out the White Stripes. You look out the window, and his classic car is rolling into your driveway with the top down. Shoot. You're not ready. But goddamn, he looks good. Too good to worry much about the time. 

You grab the closest item of clothing - a black slip dress – and throw a silk robe on over it. As you rush down the stairs, the car door opens outside. You wait a minute for him to ring the doorbell, but he doesn't. You stick your head outside and he's reclining with his butt against the passenger door and his arms crossed. You slip on a pair of shoes and go out to the driveway. 

********************************

This man is wild. You can tell already, and you met him just last night.

He came into your bar. You took his order and he said, “Whatever you’re drinkin’.”  You were only drinking coke with grenadine, but to your surprise, he nodded without hesitation. You made the drink and watched him take his first sip. “Man, this shit ain't bad,” he said. He had big energy, and his presence really commanded the room despite how casual and carefree he acted. He put the Raconteurs on the jukebox.

Throughout the night, you felt his eyes on you and had a few tense moments. His hand grazed your hip as you passed each other. When you came to give him a refill, he introduced himself before going to play pool. At one point, when he was leaning forward to line up his shot, you noticed a gun sticking out of the back of his pants. You discreetly warned him that the manager would kick him out if she saw it. 

“Keepin’ me outta trouble. That sure is nice of ya, sugar.”

You smile shyly. “Just hide it,” you tell him 

“Why don’tcha come on out and watch me put it away?.” 

His charm was irresistible. 

You quickly found yourself out in the parking lot, pressed up against his car with his nose dragging up your neck.  “Mmm,” he hummed into your skin. “Not every day a lady sees my gun.” You felt something against your hip, looked down, and were startled to see him holding the gun. “It's okay baby,” he reassured you, then opened the passenger door to the car. “Wanna touch it?” 

“That's okay,” you shook your head, still flustered. “It looks nice though.”

“Yeah? How ‘bout I let ya shoot it tomorrow?” he asked as he leaned over to open the glovebox.

“Really?” You asked, heart fluttering. 

He acted like he was mentally debating it, then laid his weight into you against the car again. He rested his hands loosely on your sides. “Really,” he murmured, then leaned in for a slow kiss -- no tongue, but it felt pornographic nonetheless. “Pick you up at eight.” 

Instead of going back inside, he got in his car and peeled off, blasting the White Stripes.

********************************

You take in the view of Clement leaning against his car in your driveway. He's wearing a dark, button-up shirt and a chain. His shapely arms stretch the material. 

“You're really early,” you smile, almost breaking into a laugh. “Wanna come in while I finish getting ready?” 

“I dunno about that,” he drops his hands to his sides, then stands upright and slowly steps forward. He looks you up and down and his voice becomes sultry as he gets closer. “Look ready to me.” 

You assure him it'll only take fifteen minutes. 

“I dunno if I can wait that long,” he murmurs as he comes within arm’s reach. He runs his hands down your sides, his expansive palms gliding over the silky robe. 

You suppress a giggle. “You can wait fifteen minutes.”  

“Course I can,” he murmurs, getting right up against you. He brings his mouth to your ear and lowers his pitch.  “But I ain't gonna.” He grabs your ass. “Mmm.” 

Your cheeks heat up. Has he noticed you're not wearing panties? “Look perfect,” he insists. He goes to open the passenger door. All the thoughts are gone from your brain.

You get in the car, no bra, no panties, no jacket. And somehow you feel completely comfortable. 

-

Clement rests a broad, veiny hand on your thigh as he drives. His touch is light, and he occasionally takes his hand away to make a turn. When he passes the shooting range and keeps going, you ask, “I thought we were gonna shoot.” 

“Oh we are, darlin'. You're gonna be my gorgeous gunslinger.” He smiles and turns up the music.

He drives to the outskirts of the city, pulls into an industrial area, and parks behind a big abandoned building. There's one flood light and it’s buzzing, casting a flickering white light on the gravel. 

Clement parks and turns off the car, then gets out. He pulls a six pack out of the back seat. You get out and join him at the back fender.

He opens a bottle of PBR beer and takes a swig, then offers you your own bottle from the six pack. 

“I'm good,” you decline.

“You sure?” He asks, holding the new bottle up. It's a Mexican Coke.

“Oh, wow,” your face lights up.

He opens the bottle with a wink and mentions, “didn't have cherry.” 

Your heart flutters and your ears get hot as you accept the drink.   

You sit on the back of his car talking and enjoying your drinks for a while. You shiver and he asks, “you alright?”

“Well, I'm not really dressed,” you laugh. 

“Lucky for you, this car came with a jacket.” He hops off the trunk of the car and reaches behind the driver’s seat. When he returns a few moments later, he’s wearing a vintage brown leather jacket and holding a jacket for you. 

“Looks about right, whatcha think?”  

“Yeah.” You carefully step down off the car. 

"Hold on,” he says and drapes the jacket over one arm. Then he steps in closer and nudges his fingers under your robe, hitting your bare shoulders and giving you goosebumps. He nudges the robe off, and it falls down to your elbows. You take it off. His eyes glue to your chest. You rub your arms. He holds out the jacket for you and you let him put it on. 

He looks you up and down and gives a low whistle. “Perfect,” he nods. Then he steps closer and slips his hands inside your jacket, sliding them along your silk dress, then resting warmly on your lower back. He pulls you into him for a hug. Your erect nipples are poking him through the fabric. He lets out a low growl and pulls you in tighter. A warm, mostly soft bulge presses into you and makes you throb. He noses your hair and inhales as he grabs a handful of ass. 

“Ready?” He asks in a low growl, and you've forgotten what he's referring to. 

“Hm?” You respond. 

“Ready to shoot?”

“Uh, yeah.” It doesn't seem like the safest environment, but there's something sexy about it, too. Your gut tells you he's dangerous, but you like it because he makes you feel safe at the same time. Like you’re not the one in danger. 

“One second.” He grabs something from under the driver’s seat and puts it in his pocket. It looks vaguely flask shaped but taller. It barely fits. Lastly, he gets his gun out of the glovebox and puts it in the back of his pants. 

—

Clement lights a cigarette, then you walk with him toward the floodlight. He puts his arm around you and offers you the cigarette, but you decline.

“Mmm good girl,” he murmurs with the cigarette still in his mouth. “I can tell ya ain't *too* good though.” 

“Hey. I turned down beer and cigarettes. How do you know I'm not good?”

“Just got that vibe, baby.” He squeezes your arm. “And I sure am glad.” 

There are multiple wide garage doors along the side of the building. You arrive at a door that's lifted up two or three feet.  He holds it at the bottom and slides it up another foot or so. You still have to crouch down, and you hold your dress and the jacket against your bare thighs as you do it. It's spooky inside. Way too dark, and the space is derelict. 

Once Clement's inside the building with you, he pulls a string hanging from the above. Then he drops his cigarette and the sparks bounce over a dirty concrete floor before he stops it out. Several bulbs buzz awake along the high ceiling, evenly spaced but far apart. The furthest one is against a half painted brick wall. There are crates stacked up along some of the walls and a few in the middle of the space. As you get closer, the light clearly illuminates a host of bullet holes in the back wall. There are also casings on the floor. On the wall to your right, some of the windows are busted out. 

He takes his jacket off and lays it on a crate against the wall. He removes his gun from his pants and puts his leg arm around you as he shows it to you. It’s a silver gun with two swallows engraved on the handle. The birds have their wings spread and are facing each other. 

“It was my daddy’s,” he says. “Only thing Mama saved for me.”

His face hardens and he turns and aims toward the back wall, triceps bulging under his shirt. He pulls the trigger. The gunshot is loud, but not as terrible as it could be. Debris bounces off the wall.

He hands you the gun, and. you accept it apprehensively.

“Are you sure this is okay? Here?” You have to wonder about people hearing the gunshots, and plus how you're destroying the wall.

“Don't you worry, darlin’. Place won't be around much longer anyway.” 

“Okay.”

“Ever shot a gun?”

“Yeah but I'm rusty.” 

“You'll be fine, darlin’. Go ahead.” You aim it hesitantly, half expecting the entire wall to crumble. Clement gets behind you and braces his hands on your arms. “Steady now,” he murmurs. His body is so close to yours, you get butterflies. Then he puts his arms around you. He doesn’t help you aim right away. He noses your temple and inhales your scent. “Mmm,” he hums. You relax your arms, holding the gun with your elbows bent. Then he plans a wet kiss on your neck. “Can’t help myself, sugar.” He kisses and sucks at your neck and you moan. He lightly bites you and you take your right hand off the gun to reach back for his head. You're gushing, and wonder if it's going to run down your legs at this rate.

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head. “Wanna see ya shoot first.”

You let out a disappointed sigh, and he rests his hands on your hips. He presses his pelvis forward, and a hard shape in his pants gives you a rush of need. He murmurs, “You feel that? Oooh.” His hands on your hips pull you back on his bulge. “You can have it when you're done.” 

You compose yourself and aim the gun again. He slightly adjusts your arms and directs you toward an unblemished patch of paint straight ahead, just above the exposed brick. “Hit that, and we’re done.”

It only takes you one shot.

“Well hot damn!” He celebrates. “Look at you.” You hand the gun back to him. He slinks around you, hugs you from behind again, and murmurs “don't even need my help, do ya,” then kisses your neck again. “Let's go,” he says into your skin, then retrieves his jacket from the crate. As you're walking back toward the garage door, he turns around and starts walking backwards and whistling. You glance back and he's pulled a bottle of lighter fluid out of his pocket. He's trailing the liquid as he walks. 

Your heart jumps to your throat. “What are you doing?”

“Ohh, don't worry, darlin’. It'll burn slow at first. Plenty’a time to get outta here.” He holds the garage door up for you to duck under. He flips the lid of the lighter fluid closed and crams it back in his pocket. 

You back away as he takes out a matchbook. He lights a match and drops it into the lighter fluid. The fire races under the garage door and Clement’s eyes are beaming darkly in the glow of it. After a moment, he says, “Woo! Lets go, baby.” You're speechless, and very turned on. He takes your hand in his and charges toward the car. His stride is so long, you're nearly jogging to keep up.

“Hahaaa,” he laughs to himself as he gets in the car. He revs the engine and turns on the music. He pops a breath mint. He sings along with Blue Orchid, and his voice really isn't half bad. 

“Where are we going?” You ask.

He looks at you fondly for a moment. “Love a woman who's up for adventure.” He puts his hand behind you to reverse.

As he drives by the building, you crane your neck to see. The fire is only a flickering glow through the busted out windows so far.

He turns down the music only slightly. “Stars are out tonight,” he observes. “Know a spot with a great view,” he offers as you exit the property. 

“Ok,” you try to suppress a smile. 

“Yeah!” He yells and peels off on the main road. You look up at the stars with the wind in your hair. Soon, he turns onto another dark road, somewhat winding, uphill.

-

He parks in a dark corner of an abandoned office park. It's littered with empty bottles and faded cans. The chainlink fence has half fallen down, and there are a couple of steel drums. Clement gets out of the car.   With most of this part of town abandoned, the light pollution isn't very close. You're up on a hill now, too. 

He takes the lighter fluid out of his pocket, squirts it in the barrel, and drops the plastic container in with it. Then he lights the matchbook on fire, drops it. And a blaze quickly grows in the barrel.

Then he gets back in the car and moves the seat back. He leans over and pulls you in for a heated kiss. Then he pulls back and murmurs, “Now get over here” as he takes off his jacket. 

—-

Thankfully, the car is roomy and so are the seats. You take off your jacket and put the robe back on. The air is cool and crisp and feels fine. As you climb over to straddle Clement, he greets you with his hands on your thighs. He slides his palms all the way up the backs of your thighs and reaches your bare ass. Then he lifts your little slip dress and says “God *damn*,” at the sight of your bare cunt.  “If I knew this. . .”

“You didn't let me get ready,” you lightly punch his chest with a hint of laughter, cheeks burning. He chuckles.

“Well good. Guess I'm *never* gonna let ya get ready.” Your heart flutters at the implied future. He sticks his left hand between your legs and cups your bare cunt. “Oh, baby.” You hover above his thighs while he leans back and unbuttons his pants, then unzips and pulls them down to expose a massive bulge in his white briefs. Your breath hitches at the sight. 

He grabs your ass and pulls you forward so your crotch meets his cotton-clad bulge, and a shock of desire spreads through your body like fire. He thrusts upward and you moan at the contact of his warm, hard, package. He kisses you and uses his hands on your hips to rub you against him with your mouths connected. He breaks the kiss with a sigh and says, “Fuck, let's go.” He shoves his hand down his briefs and you allow him the space to take out his commanding cock and balls. Your mouth falls open. 

“Not as huge as it looks,” he reassures you. “Gonna love every inch of it.” You nod. It's the girth that has you wide-eyed.

“Oh you're drippin’ on me, sugar.” He lets his thick manhood rest against his lower belly and pulls you in so your clit presses against his warm, smooth shaft and you’re aching to have him inside you. “Let’s feed this hungry pussy already.” 

He holds his cock as you hover over it then begin to slowly lower yourself, getting closer to entry. You pause, and he runs his tip through your dripping folds and helps spread the slick down his shaft. Then he nestles his tip at your entrance and you twitch. 

You begin to sink down on him, with his tip spreading you wide open. “Mmm,” you whine. 

“Yeah, good girl. . . you can take it, baby.” It's every bit as big as it looks. You sink down, feeling taken apart in the best way, and he pulls you down flush. 

Speared on his engorged cock, pleasure races through your chest and thighs, out to every inch of your body. 

“You good?” He asks, chest heaving. 

You rise up then sink back down.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs. “want ya to hear somethin’.” He reaches for the tape deck and changes the cassette. He presses play and it's Ball and Biscuit by the White Stripes. 

“I know this one,” you smile. It's a sexy, languid alt blues song. 

“Just wait for the next one,” he murmurs, looking at you with a raging lust in his eyes. His cock twitches inside you. He pulls your face into his again and lifts his hips, pushing farther into you. You've never felt so full. “Oh baby,” he breaks the kiss. “You feel so good.” His face is so handsome in the flickering fire light. His blue eyes look almost black. The slice of bare flesh in his eyebrow is too sexy. You run your hands through his hair and he groans at the light rake of your fingers against his scalp.

He lifts into you to the beat of the song. You begin to roll your hips in sync with him. 

“Ohhh, yeah,” he breathes. Part of you wants him to lose control and ravish you, but this slow fuck is perfect for the intense stretch of your cunt around his cock.

You kiss and moan as your bodies move together, and the pleasure swells deep inside you, all around his cock. He nudges the silk robe off your shoulders and pulls down the straps of your dress. He groans at the sight of your breasts. He covers one with a hand and one with his mouth and his whole body is moving in time with the music. Your chest feels light. For the rest of the song, your body is wrapped around his, and his hips are slightly lifting you with each thrust.  

The same song starts over, but it's not the same singer. The voice is smoother, deeper than Jack White’s. You pull your head back to listen. Clement studies your face, and it takes you a few seconds to recognize the vocals. It’s him, Clement. 

“Holy shit,” you mutter, and his face comes to life. “Your voice is–God.” It's hard piecing sentences together impaled on him.

“You really like it,” he marvels. 

“Of course I do, it's . . . perfect.” 

His eyes soften with affection and he kisses you deeper, smoothly thrusting. He seems to take up all the space in your body. 

The passion between you intensifies until it might burst. You need all of his body. You break away from a messy kiss to undo one of his shirt buttons, then another, and he unbuttons the rest in a hurry, and leans back against the chair as you spread his shirt. His chain sparkles in the firelight. It's hanging slightly above a chest tattoo that has the same birds as the gun. His tan skin glistens in the flickering glow.

You plant your hands on his hard pecs to ride him. The movement of his hips becomes more pronounced, and soon he's taken over. He thrusts upward sharply but smoothly and starts fucking you from the bottom, grunting and sighing. He pulls you down on him each time he thrusts. You moan, feeling like you're on the brink. 

He pulls you close again and kisses you sloppily while your bodies move as one. “Clem, I'm gonna–”

“Mmm,” he cuts you off. He grunts and moans against your mouth. He's close too. 

“I'm gonna fill ya up, baby. . .You want that?” he pants. 

You nod.

“You want big Clement dribbling’ down your thighs?” 

You nod urgently.  

“That's my girl.” His massive hands move you on his cock, and you whimper as you begin to unravel. You clench around him, and he fucks you through it. Then he grunts as he thrusts upward “nngg—ohhhh, uugggh.” He pulses into you, warmth spreading in your core as you finish choking his cock. 

You collapse into his arms and twitch with aftershocks as he cradles your head. After a minute, you're still impaled on him and he says your name. You pull your head back. 

He looks back and forth between your eyes. A firetruck siren interrupts you. There are more sirens in the distance. Clement shifts his head to look past you, through the windshield, through the broken chain-link fence. His eyes illuminate warmly and he breaks into a small smile. You look behind yourself to see a building on fire in the distance. It's now half engulfed in flames. 

What a view. This man is wild, and you can't get enough of him. 

-------- -------- Thank you so much for reading!! If you want, you can subscribe to notifications on @toxicfics for all my fics. If you want to be on a Boyd Holbrook character tag list lmk but fyi I sometimes write dark. I have a dark fic rn called The Raid with Steve and Javi. Javi captures reader to make her get clean (off drugs) and she's very horny for them. Steve shows up in part 2, then he has his own PWP one shot, Javi isn't home. Series ongoing.

[classic-property-management]

Updated 3 Bed, 1.5 Bath Duplex & fenced in backyard

Welcome to this beautifully updated 3-bedroom, 1.5-bathroom duplex in Fort Worth, TX. This home features new luxury flooring and fresh paint throughout, giving it a modern and inviting feel. The spacious fenced-in backyard provides a private outdoor space for relaxation and entertaining. With 3 bedrooms, there is plenty of room for a growing household or a home office. Located in a convenient area of Fort Worth, this duplex offers easy access to shopping, dining, and entertainment options. Don't miss out on the opportunity to make this updated and charming home yours!

Classic Property management 817-640-2074

[babyyhoneyyyyy]

「✦ 🚨 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘿𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙨 🍷 ✦」 - One Shot [h.s]

Storyline: "Everybody knows that I'm a good girl, officer". Where Lizzie, a devoted homemaker, meets Harry, a police officer in charge of interrogating her after a mysterious fire at her mansion that resulted in the death of her husband. Word count: 4k+ Smut: 🔞 *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

A call to 911 is usually more than enough in emergency situations. 

Within minutes, the sound of sirens envelops you, with bright lights in red and blue hues cutting through the space as if they belong to it, receiving professional help from specialized teams while they try to talk to you and understand the situation. But after that, a sense of shock takes over, making you question whether what you're experiencing is part of a third-dimensional movie, distorting your own reality and transporting you to an alternate dimension for the most part.

That's exactly how Lizzie felt after flames consumed a large part of her property. She had sensed the smoke penetrating her nostrils, but what truly disturbed her was the buzz of screams. Cries from a man calling her name that quickly faded into whispers.

Lizzie found herself unable to react in any way other than trying to escape, seeking to reach him and see what was happening. However, the house seemed to be crumbling around her, and eventually, she fainted before reaching the door. That was the only clear memory she retained from that day; everything else started with a distant voice calling her, waking her up to find herself under a white ceiling and the scent of disinfectant.

Her stay in the hospital lasted just a day, more as a precautionary measure than for any injuries, of which, fortunately, she was free. She was in almost perfect condition, something that surprised even the doctors themselves.

But for that reason, when they confirmed her health, they chose to deliver the news to her without any euphemisms.

Contrary to her, her husband wasn't as fortunate. Apparently, the fire originated in his own studio, giving him no chance to escape and consuming him with the flames.

She had become a widow.

Her lawyer presented himself as her main support, assisting her in the necessary procedures to change her documents, update them, and allowing her to handle the move, the funeral, and subsequently, the burial.

Finally, when all that concluded, Lizzie was met with a sigh from her lawyer, who handed her a small envelope. She accepted it, while he observed her for a few more minutes before leaving his office.

A lump tightened Lizzie's throat; anxiety ran through her veins saturating all her senses as her hands trembled slightly when opening the envelope. And suddenly, everything around her seemed to freeze when she saw her name written alongside her original last name, followed by the phrase 'widow of Montecarlo,' and the text culminated with 'an entirety in inheritance'.

Lizzie closed her eyes for a moment. She knew the implications of that, beyond any property, money, jewelry, or cars, beyond any tangible thing she could conceive in her mind. This represented a new beginning, one she hadn't even imagined when she got married at the young age of eighteen.

She swallowed hard as she placed the envelope in the safe and let out a final sigh as she left the office, returning to her room. She walked through various rooms overflowing with classical décor.

Her heels echoed on the wooden floors, allowing their sound to reverberate through the rooms. The house was deserted; her lawyer had already left, and there was no trace of any household staff, as per her own request. She had decided to give them all a break, especially those who had also managed to escape unscathed from the fire in her previous property, which was already under renovation. She had determined that once it was ready, she would put it up for sale immediately. She couldn't bear the idea of walking through that house again.

The last door at the end of the hallway on the second floor housed her bedroom. It was a master bedroom that, at that moment, only contained her belongings still packed in suitcases, lacking any visible decoration.

However, as she approached, the sound of the doorbell echoed throughout the house.

Lizzie halted her steps and instinctively checked the delicate diamond watch on her wrist. It was six in the evening, and she hadn't scheduled any visits.

She hesitated for a moment, considering whether to go back to the first floor just to attend to an unexpected visitor, but the doorbell rang again, possibly indicating the urgency of the person. With a sigh, she turned her body and descended the wide stairs leading to the entrance and, finally, to her door.

The doorbell rang once more just as her hand reached for the handle, and she couldn't help but display a slightly annoyed expression when she opened the door, finding a tall man standing in front of her, causing her to pause for a moment.

The individual in question had a distinctive presence, with a young face and well-defined features, and although his hair seemed short, it revealed some curls. However, what unquestionably caught Lizzie's attention the most was his uniform.

It was an official attire consisting of a white shirt, a bulletproof vest with letters marked on the chest, and to add even more, a prominent badge was situated above it.

Lizzie felt her heart start to beat faster and chose not to say anything until the man interpreted it as a signal to introduce himself.

Unlike her furrowed brow, the young man immediately responded with a small smile, revealing dimples on his face. He glanced down for a moment, and Lizzie noticed he held a small notebook in his hands. Then, a husky voice spoke, "Miss Elizabeth?" Lizzie simply nodded. "I'm Harry Styles, the police officer in charge of your case".

The moment these words were spoken, Lizzie felt time speed up. She quickly blinked as she nodded and stepped aside at the door, allowing the man, whom she now identified as Harry, to step onto her property.

When they entered the main room together, she led the way and settled into one of the armchairs, gesturing for the young man to do the same before the door closed behind them. Lizzie avoided looking down to ensure her ring remained on her ring finger. Instead, she kept her gaze forward, watching Harry's subtle movements closely as he settled into the luxurious sofa and casually glanced around.

"Would you like some water?" she suddenly asked, catching him completely off guard. Although she didn't even know where that question came from, realizing that there wouldn't be another offer due to the absence of staff in the house, she thought it would be a kind gesture before they began.

"No, thank you". He finally responded after a moment's thought, grateful but with a half-smile, declining the offer. He had received strict instructions from his boss not to get distracted from his task. This was his first field mission, so he preferred not to mess it up.

"Cookies?"

Once again, his answer was negative, feeling increasingly embarrassed as he saw the woman's expression, who nodded gently and pouted slightly as she resigned herself back to the sofa.

Harry couldn't help but smile, clearing his throat before returning his gaze to the small notebook in his hands.

"Okay, I think we can start now".

The inquiries about that night varied in their formulation, from questions like "What were you doing when you heard the noise?" to "Were you nearby when you noticed the house was on fire?". Each one required an answer that related to and understood the situation.

Lizzie sensed that this was an interrogation aimed at connecting the loose ends, in case they found any evidence against her, so she made an effort to recall the events of that night accurately, inevitably reliving them.

At least an additional hour passed, she noted once again the clock on her wrist, confirming that more time had elapsed and that now only the dim artificial light of the living room illuminated the space. This incident was due to a malfunction, as she hadn't visited this house in many years and it was evident that there were still pending repairs. Despite this, she decided not to mention it to the policeman, preferring him to bring it up or simply ignore it. However, as the conversation became more casual, he didn't mention it.

The questions about the incident of that night gradually faded away, giving way to lighter questions, and it was only then that Lizzie decided to join him.

"Do you have a girl?" The question hung in the air as Harry observed her intently. Lizzie noticed how he ran his tongue over his lips, trying to alleviate the dryness of the conversation, ending with a soft bite on his lower lip before responding.

"No- Uh-" he paused, clearing his throat before continuing. "I've always been very focused on my work, thanks to my parents, so no, I really wouldn't have the time", he expressed, although a slight gesture of frustration crossed his lips before he continued speaking. "I mean, if I were truly interested in someone, I would find the time, but for now, there's no one". He concluded his explanation with a light sigh.

Harry awaited with some tension, anticipating a sarcastic response from Lizzie, considering the twists and turns he had taken to reach his explanation, however, instead of that, he saw her nod with a understanding expression on her face. A comforting relief washed over Harry in that moment, as if Lizzie's silent confirmation somehow validated his words and nerves.

Why did he suddenly feel so nervous?

"May I know the reason for the question?" he inquired after a few moments, waiting for a brief explanation of the young woman's interest, although in reality he showed more curiosity about her response. Harry watched as Lizzie's dark eyes settled on his face once again, subtly descending to his hands, still intertwined in his lap as he leaned slightly towards her. His heart began to beat quickly again as he followed her gaze.

"I don't see a ring on your finger". Lizzie responded with a slight shrug, initially downplaying the question, something that Harry found indecipherable whether he liked it or not.

"Aren't you too young to have been married?" he suddenly asked, on impulse as he tried to delve into the topic, although he almost immediately regretted the inopportune nature of his question.

Although the intention was good, the question came off as bold, especially given the situation he knew the woman was in. Harry lowered his gaze, feeling a lump in his throat as silence lingered, trying to find a quick way to change the subject.

Lizzy, on the contrary, continued to watch him, aware that the real question was implicit: «Aren't you too young to be a widow?» Still, she decided to answer: "Yes, I am".

"Excuse my boldness". Were the words she received barely after her response. Lizzie hesitated for a moment whether those apologies were genuine, for if they were, he wouldn't have waited for her response. However, this didn't bother her; rather, she found it entertaining..

"Don't worry", she replied with a nod of her head, maintaining a hidden smile as she looked down for a moment. "It's not the first time I've heard that".

Harry fell silent as he watched the woman rise from her seat, feeling his heart beat hard, fearing being expelled from the house for his audacity. However, he began to relax as he saw the young woman head towards a corner of the room, a little away from him, where a wide collection of bottles rested on a shelf. Her hand rested on one of them, dissipating the tension in the air.

"Would you like some?" Lizzie asked Harry, gently lifting a glass of whiskey. Harry was forced to swallow before answering: "I can't". He admitted sincerely.

Lizzie simply nodded and returned to her glass, taking another sip before sitting in front of him on the sofa. All while Harry watched her attentively.

"I understand", she replied after another sip. "I just wanted you to know that you're passing up the best whiskey in the country". Harry's smile was the response Lizzie was hoping for to continue. "But if that's not an option for you and that's why you're not having it, the offer of cookies still stands".

Harry's eyes repeatedly slid over Lizzie's face. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that drove him to keep looking at her. Perhaps it was her apparent youth, her glow despite her recent husband's death, or the feeling of prohibition by remaining in her house after the interrogation had concluded.

However, the time that had passed was enough for him to regret his decision.

"In fact, I'll accept the offer this time". He announced.

And for the first time that night, he noticed a similarity between her and himself: a dimple that appeared on her cheek when she smiled.

"Perfect".

For at least a quarter of an hour, time passed. Harry found distraction in admiring the architecture and luxury while Lizzie busied herself in the kitchen. In the distance, Harry caught the sweet aroma of the cookies, awakening his appetite as he waited eagerly. Finally, he saw Lizzie approach with a tray, possibly silver, and place it on the central table of the living room. It was then that he realized there was not only food, but also liquids.

In his eagerness to discover, Harry neglected the cookies as his hand quickly reached for the glass of white liquid next to the main plate. He contemplated the liquid for a moment, feeling its warmth on his fingers before perceiving a soft voice rising beside him, at the same time that the sofa slightly gave way under his weight.

"I refrained from adding alcohol. There's only milk", he heard her laugh as he held the glass between his hands, not daring to look to the side. "You can try it to confirm".

Harry closed his eyes briefly, letting the voice fill his senses.

From the moment she entered the house, he had ignored the sweet scent of her perfume. He avoided looking at her bare legs when she crossed them during the conversation. He even refrained from looking at her for too long while she spoke.

However, he ended up doing exactly the opposite. At this point, he had engraved in his memory the smell of her perfume and constantly wondered how significant it would be. He had memorized her posture, and instead of using his notebook, he kept himself busy by observing her intently.

"Everyone knows that I'm a good girl, officer".

His eyes suddenly opened.

His attention was inevitably drawn to her once more, finding her finally by his side, watching him intently. Time seemed to stand still around them. Harry couldn't discern with certainty what was driving him to act, whether it was simply Lizzie's close presence or the use of the expression "good girl", yet something inside him was beginning to flood him with a comforting sensation, making him feel warm and filled with a desperate longing to get closer to her.

Harry quickly turned, averting his gaze from Lizzie, and refocused his attention on the glass of milk and the cookies still on the tray. Suddenly his craving for food vanished, and he preferred to take a sip of the milk, savoring its sweetness, although it didn't quench his thirst. It wasn't until he had almost finished his drink that he mustered up the courage to face the somber gaze of the woman beside him again.

Harry had faced the feeling of intimidation on various occasions, especially in front of authority figures older than him, with serious countenances. However, this time was different. Sitting next to her, with her large eyes fixed on him, he experienced a strange sense of intimidation, although he couldn't understand why, but instead of rejecting it, he felt a growing curiosity that propelled his body forward.

Unconsciously, he found himself moving closer to her with a subtle motion, with his lips parted and close enough to brush against her face, and at the moment he thought he was about to break the tension, he found himself enveloped in a void.

His confusion was reflected in the widening of his eyes, which blinked a couple of times before returning to the front, where he found Lizzie standing in front of him. His gaze immediately fell, and he moistened his lips, preparing to speak, perhaps to apologize for feeling her distance as discomfort, but before he could say anything, he felt nails digging into his cheeks, lifting his face.

Harry tried to move forward, stretching his arms for more, although he was immediately stopped. His cheeks were released, while his hands were held back.

Quickly, Lizzie had taken the handcuffs that were still on his belt while he became aware of his now more extended position in space, with his legs spread apart, leaving room for her to position herself. Before Harry could understand what was happening, his wrists were trapped in the handcuffs, leaving him restrained in the armchair.

He tried to glance back, but the hands grabbed his cheeks once again, although with more force, ensuring visible marks were left. Forced to keep his focus on her, he could clearly distinguish her: her brown eyes, once bright from the room's light, now seemed darker, fixed on him as she sat on his lap, generating a warmth that consumed him.

He needed to be released. And not just from the handcuffs.

Then time began to pass quickly, just like the palpitations of his heart. His lips parted, seeking to catch his breath, but found only agitation, while small moans escaped from his throat at the wet kisses that left marks on his neck.

He wanted more.

He felt his shirt slipping off his body, feeling a slight coolness on his chest, soon replaced by the warmth of the kisses he received. A hand joined the game, caressing him as he tried to lower the fabric as much as possible, frustrated by the handcuffs that prevented his complete release.

He wanted more.

The hand descended, quickly unbuttoning his pants as he rose on the armchair, holding his weight and that of the woman on him. Both rose enough to pull down his pants to his calves, until he could push himself to remove his shoes and pants with the help of his feet.

But still, he wanted more.

He was beginning to experience a growing desperation as time passed. The palpitations in his chest kept him on edge, rising and falling just enough to provoke sighs, but just when they seemed to be heading where he needed them most, they rose again.

The moans filled the room as Harry began to move more forcefully, trying to seek something more than just a simple rubbing between his underwear and Lizzie's skirt. At first, he thought maybe she would feel sorry for seeing him like that, but seeing her eyes turn back to him without compassion, he realized he was wrong.

His breath caught when he saw Lizzie slowly unbuttoning her blouse, with agonizing slowness. Even when he prepared for his work as a policeman, he had not experienced such painful exercises as seeing her with her naked tits brushing his face, and not being able to feel them. 

"I saw you very thirsty", she whispered, her voice resonating in a softer tone than usual, awakening in Harry a sensitivity he could barely recognize at that moment. "Do you still want milk?"

His eyes brightened at the question, his head nodding before he could articulate a response; that was all Lizzie needed to pick up the half-finished glass of milk and pour it unhesitatingly over her breasts.

Harry paused for a moment, watching the white liquid carelessly spilling over the woman's nipples, seeing how the drops gradually disappeared over the edge of her skirt. He let out a barely audible sigh, unable to contain it, and then shifted his gaze to Lizzie, who looked at him with a mischievous smile, as if she had made a small oversight, although Harry received it with gratitude. He felt so grateful that, if necessary, he would have fallen to his knees to express his gratitude right at that moment.

"Oh, shit".

Lizzie let out a sigh of relief as she held Harry's hair, who finally decided to approach and take one of her breasts in his mouth. She could feel his tongue gently swirling around her nipple, alternating between delicate movements and firmer suctions.

Instinctively, her hands slid over his body, caressing his skin until they reached the edge of her skirt, which was already starting to feel too warm. She sensed Harry's lips slightly parting from her, which prompted her to immediately open her eyes to look at him.

She was met with his angelic face, with green eyes expanding towards her from below, his curly and disheveled hair, his moist face, and his lips with traces of white liquid at the corners. It was an image that was etched in her memory and urged her to act with greater urgency.

She took a deep breath before separating slightly from him, hearing a complaint starting to form on his lips before he fell silent upon realizing that Lizzie's skirt, along with her underwear, was disappearing. Despite feeling close, she had to take a few steps forward to return to Harry's lap, all while he watched her with his dark eyes, showing submission but pretending to hide something more. Lizzie wondered what it could be, but she didn't give it much importance as she returned to her position, feeling his cock more comfortably beneath her, although still covered by his underwear, brushing against her now naked cunt.

No more than a second passed before she refocused on her own pleasure, starting to move in circles around him again, while moans filled the room once more, both hers and Harry's, who, through his sounds, begged for mercy.

The rhythm intensified, leading Lizzie to abandon the circular movements and start with pelvic movements back and forth. Her excitement fluids facilitated the sliding over the cotton fabric of his underwear, allowing her to perceive more than she had imagined.

Contrary to his own satisfaction, Harry couldn't bear it anymore. A mix of excitement, desperation, discomfort, and anger invaded him as he couldn't feel completely satisfied. Although he had obeyed Lizzie's words, seeing her rubbing herself on him without really feeling her touch deeply frustrated him. He found no other way out than to start pushing forcefully, making the woman's body move sharply on top of him, causing her to open her eyes once more.

"Please", he managed to articulate, while his hips moved slightly.

Lizzie watched him for a few additional seconds before a mocking smile appeared on her face.

"Are you that needy for my pussy?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, he felt three fingers invading his mouth, silencing him immediately as he sucked and moistened them. Then, as if his prayers had been heard, he felt Lizzie moving slightly away from his lap. He saw her kneel in front of him, taking off his underwear and exposing his erect member.

A sigh escaped his lips as the fingers, soaked with his own saliva and pre-cum, caressed his glans and began to masturbate him with the palm of her hand.

"Fuck me".

His voice emerged without hesitation, rough from the dryness in his tongue and throat, yet irresistibly enticing for Lizzie; eager for Harry.

"Is that an order?" she asked, teasingly. "What do you plan to do if I don't? After all, those handcuffs are in your hands, not mine". The massage on his cock became more vigorous, causing jolts from the fires he felt under her hand.

"Let's try again, officer", she suddenly mentioned, making his eyes close for a moment. His profession hadn't even crossed his mind until that moment, but the prohibition of the moment wasn't what affected him the most, but a fire that resurged within him, rising from his lower part to his chest, filling him with excitement as he heard her.

"Shit- Please, please fuck me".

A fleeting smile appeared on Lizzie's face and quickly disappeared as she sat in the place she had desired so much but from which she had refrained, not suppressing the moan that escaped once she achieved it.

She was about to start more energetic circular movements, finding something to hold on to this time, but her actions were overshadowed by those of the man beneath her, who had taken the lead, pounding forcefully and swiftly, making her sigh softly as she allowed herself to be enveloped by the pleasurable sensation.

Then she realized that Harry's urgency was expressing itself in that way, and she let herself go, allowing him to take the lead even when his hands remained restrained.

Lizzie was forced to hold onto the couch when she found that simply leaning on Harry's shoulders was not enough to withstand the onslaught she felt inside her. Her eyes involuntarily closed, unable to keep her gaze on him for long, while her lips parted in search of air. She only found relief when Harry's tongue joined hers on her neck, leaving the same careless kisses she had given him at the beginning, but this time he decided to intensify the sensations with suctions. Lizzie had no doubt that the marks would remain there for at least a week due to the force with which he made them.

"God- You fuck me so good", she exclaimed, accompanying her groan with a whisper that made Harry open his eyes, becoming hypnotized by the sight of Lizzie's tits bouncing to the rhythm of his thrusts. He bit his lower lip to contain his own impending moan.

"I'm so close- Oh fuck! Fuck-". Lizzie's own moans intertwined, becoming more intense, filling the room with their sound, resonating even throughout the house.

Harry sharply inhaled air between his teeth, tilting his head back as he closed his eyes tightly, feeling the electric current running through his body, although he had been avoiding that moment, wanting first to observe Lizzie's reaction, wanting to absorb it completely.

"Look at me", Lizzie's voice pulled him out of his reverie, as she took his chin and forced their gazes to meet once more. "Come on, be good and let me feel you pulsating as you fill me with cum".

Harry struggled to keep his eyes open as he did his best to maintain his gaze on hers, intensifying his rhythm as much as he could, seeing her mouth open as she brought her face closer to his, brushing their lips.

"Harry!- Fuck".

Then climax came for both simultaneously, with their foreheads united and sweat sliding down them. Harry felt Lizzie's cunt walls squeezing his cock, which throbbed inside her, while she experienced a sensation of fullness and warmth, an excitement that ran through her whole body and left her trembling as she moaned softly.

As the minutes passed, their breaths calmed down. Although the atmosphere was still imbued with heat and disorder, Harry finally felt liberated, despite still having his hands handcuffed.

The large clock struck three in the morning when they woke up without realizing how long they had remained in that position. Lizzie noticed the weight on her eyelids, indicating the need for rest, but she was forced to separate from Harry when she felt the burning sensation in her thighs, and the first thing she saw when she got up was the slight smile on Harry's face.

"I don't know if you've had experience as a criminal before, but you look very comfortable with those handcuffs".

The comment only made Harry's smile widen before he opened his eyes and replied: "I can't feel my wrists".

Immediately after, Harry watched as the dimple on Lizzie's face reappeared, but this time accompanied by a genuine laugh.

After he revealed the location of the key that would unlock the handcuffs and she finally managed to free him, she walked to one of the utility rooms in search of a blanket, still naked and feeling the cold air brushing against her skin.

Lizzie focused on her destination, avoiding looking elsewhere, entered the room, took the blanket, and walked out without looking back, ignoring the shadow she had perceived slipping down the hallway.

Once they settled on the sofa in the living room, she watched as Harry's hand reached for the silver tray that had remained on the central table, and he took one of the cookies she had prepared. At that moment, Lizzie suspected that perhaps that action had caused her perplexity upon learning of Richard's death.

Because it hadn't fit with her plans.

The chocolate cookies had awaited on her bedside table in the previous room, expecting her husband's first bite upon returning from the office after a long day of work.

That would have been the culmination, the beginning of something new.

So she understood that this episode marked the real beginning, perhaps the prelude to a dangerous game she was willing to embark on once again. From scratch.

[bobbinbugs]

Entrapment: marriage, sacrifices, and gilded cages in Silksong

This is a massive, fully-sourced essay encompassing all the marriage symbolism we have for Silksong and the full breadth of its connotations. This thing is a beast in five parts: mind that readmore!

Part 1: a presentation of evidence

Rather than diving right into analysis, we need to set the stage with information gathered and analyzed by the talented people of the HK tumblr community, to whom this would not be possible without.

Hornet starts the game captured in a gilded cage, carried off by small, faceless creatures in white. as pointed out by ganymeadesclock, these characters are most likely religious figures, and Lace, while not one of the cultists, is most likely associated with them... somehow.

Furthermore, marriage symbolism. I won't reiterate myself overmuch, so look here, here, and here for various pieces I've managed to collect. No matter how you slice it, Lace is absolutely drowning in marriage symbolism, right down to her name. It does feel quite notable, then, that Hornet and Lace have similar cages, don't they? Lace's quite strongly resembles a decorative birdcage, actually, and Hornet's a fishbowl; (Aside: though the latter is a bit of a stretch.) enclosures too small to support an animal's wellbeing, but perfect for displaying them. Almost like, perhaps, a trophy bride?

Part 2: marriage as a gilded cage

This was going to have a excerpt from my essay on the unicorn tapestries, but it's already long enough as is. This segment and the following cannot analyze Silksong directly due to lack of information, but we can draw throughlines from the classic and epic literature Team Cherry draws inspiration from, and the history surrounding them.

Marriage has traditionally been a transfer of property throughout much of our world, not an act of love between two consenting parties. While a married woman would have the freedom to manage her husband's property in his absence, when he was around, she belonged to him; in marrying, she transfers from her father's ownership to her husband's. Marriage has been a total sacrifice of freedom for a woman in exchange for her "safety," which, considering how difficult it is to leave domestic abuse (Aside: Even more so in the times where woman could not own property or money, and divorce was not legal), is a perfect example of gilded cage.

This is a summary, and I recommend checking out these pieces on marriage abolition and medieval marriage culture for further context. Primarily, I'm trying to convey a certain degree of dread to emphasize why Hornet may be running herself ragged in Pharloom: her freedom may be deeply at stake.

Aside: There's also a throughline of queerness and the imprisonment of heterosexual marriage, and how it may relate to Lace attempting to free her and why Lacenet could be both canon and fascinating, but I won't delve into it here.

Part 3: A foray into ancient greece: marriage as a sacrifice

If you're a Greek mythology nerd like me, you may have noticed an odd connecting thread between Persephone, Psyche, and Antigone. All three are connected by their status as young virgin brides, but also by perversion of marriage rites in their stories. Persephone is abducted to the underworld (the land of the dead) and bound forever to a man via eating pomegranate seeds: a symbolic "seeding" (read: impregnation) if you will. Psyche, when taken away to be married, has instead funeral rites conducted for her, and she spends her honeymoon afraid of the invisible monster she married. And last, Antigone, the death-bride marching towards her funeral-wedding, thigh to thigh with her brother in the grave.

Present along the same thread is imagery of distraught mothers and sisters: Persephone's mother grieves and wails and sets a blight on the earth searching for her daughter; Psyche's sisters weep to leave her on the rock; Ismene tries to share the blame of Antigone's crime, punishable by death, so she would not be without her sister, or vice-versa.

A few feminist interpretations have been offered, but the most common is that to a Grecian mother, her daughter has been taken away from her home, never to be seen again. A marriage, to a sister or mother, is a sacrifice: A young girl is taken away from the comfort of her household into a scary, unfamiliar world, where she must learn quickly about herself and her body without the guidance of people - particularly women - she knows and loves.

Don't forget, either, that rape did not initially refer strictly to sexual assault, but the act of kidnapping a girl as a marriage rite. (Aside: The bride's consent does not matter; only her father's. Why do you think the term evolved to mean sexual violence?)

Sound familiar?

And the perversion of the marriage rite doesn't end there. Churches, a notable location in Pharloom, don't just marry people; they are also where funerals are conducted. And, if you listen to the Silksong trailer, you will hear the Dies Irae - the Funeral Mass - note for note.

But the perversion of the rite does not end there. Even more disturbing is the presence of consumption as a theme. As I said here:

Oh I am THINKING about Silksong tonight... How Lace says “Poor little morsel” and “delicious,” implying not only Pharloom would consume her, Lace is on the side of what’s doing the consuming. How spiders frequently feed on their own kind, especially in massive community web systems... whatever’s up with Pharloom, it’s going to eat Hornet alive.

A sacrifice, in its most traditional sense, is to give a deity sustenance, at an expense, in exchange for the prosperity of the many.

Part 4: Lace as Κανηφόρος and her religious duties: wild speculation!

Let's revisit Lace as a religious figure - and a potentially important often. If Hornet is the sacrifice, what does that make Lace?

From wikipedia:

The Kanephoros ... was an honorific office given to unmarried young women in ancient Greece, which involved the privilege of leading the procession to sacrifice at festivals ... The role was given to a virgin selected from amongst the aristocratic or Eupatrid families of Athens whose purity and youth was thought essential to ensure a successful sacrifice. Her task was to carry a basket or kanoun (κανοῦν), which contained the offering of barley or first fruits, the sacrificial knife and fillets to decorate the bull in procession through the city up to the altar on the acropolis. ... A girl who acted as kanephoros would have advertised the central place of her family in Athenian society, and her own availability for a dynastic marriage.

Wait, up through the city? That sounds...

Hornet, princess-protector of Hallownest, finds herself alone in a vast, unfamiliar world. She must battle foes, seek out allies, and solve mysteries as she ascends on a deadly pilgrimage to the kingdom’s peak.

...Awfully familiar.

And, interestingly, whatever ritual centering around Hornet we're spiraling towards, Hornet seems to be willfully - if unknowingly - marching towards it, and Lace seems intent on stopping it in its tracks.

I suspect she will not only be the rival won over role, but the betrayer. Lace is not to be wedded, but Hornet. Lace's role is to sacrifice Hornet at the proper time and place, and her goal before then is to stop Hornet from doing so, by any means necessary.

The final battle will almost certainly involve Lace, and in the worst ending, she will most likely be the one to deal the final blow and complete the rite. We're in pure speculative territory, but we already have the visual symbolism that Lace is just as trapped as Hornet. What is a betrayal if not duty, or a desire to save her own skin, winning over compassion?

Part 5: Disclaimers, Clarifications, and Conclusions

This is not to say I think this will be a recreation of Grecian ritual. Far from it: I don't even claim that marriage and misogyny will be a theme in anything other than visual symbolism, and I strongly doubt hornet's skill and status will ever be disputed due to her womanhood. Simply not Team Cherry's style! Until Silksong comes out, this is mere extrapolation.

But through Team Cherry's strong visual storytelling, I feel confident drawing allusions. The crushing prison of gilded cages, the marriage imagery, the subtle perversion of rite in the trailer, all spells out one thing:

Hornet is to be married or sacrificed.

But then again, what's the difference?

A special thank you to the minds of @ganymedesclock, my mutual @rukafais, and @ruthlesslistener, whose analysis was crucial to piecing this massive theory/analysis together. And for my mutuals who might be interested: @voidsiblings, @halloween-cats, @imminent-danger-came, @croissantk, @electricabsolution, and @toapenguin

[problematic-faves-appreciation]

You: People should be allowed to make whatever they want!

Also you: Somebody is making an adaptation of a classic literature that has a different interpretation of the story that no one if forcing me to see? Ew gross!

So... Which is it? You either support creative freedom or you don't. You can't have it both ways.

I mainly reblogged this meme post because I agree with the sentiment that it's been a bad year to be a gothic literature fan when it comes to movie adaptations. Because seriously, a YA Phantom of the Opera movie with franchise potential (uh-oh...)? Maybe a 2D animated show version of these properties would be a better idea? And why couldn't they cast a dark-skinned actor as Heathcliff? The 2011 movie managed that.

Look, I'm not against bad (in my opinion) adaptations existing. I'll get over how these particular movies were mishandled instead of joining a hatedom. But I think I'm allowed to complain about them just a tad bit, especially in the case of Netflix's The Picture of Dorian Gray. Really, they made them brothers in this day and age?

[sarahsmi13s]

Baking Playlists

for @roosterforme 's rocktober event!!

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x pilot!reader (callsign: cookie)

characters: jake seresin, reader, jake's parents and sister

warnings: language, slightly suggestive, domestic hangman, hangman acting like a man child

word count: ~1.9k

a/n: the song that inspired this is def leppard's pour some sugar on me, i took it in the very literal sense 😅

summary: it's jake's parents anniversary and you want to do something sweet for them, however jake is awful in the kitchen and is a huge distraction

Jake didn’t know what to expect when he invited you to come with him to his parents place while on his leave after the uranium mission. Maybe just you and his sisters hitting it off right away, and going shopping with his mom. Or rolling around in the grass with the herding dogs and the barn cats. Hell, maybe you would have made a friend with the deers that randomly showed up on the property.

But he didn’t expect this.

You and Jake had managed to take over his mother’s kitchen one afternoon while she was gone for a few hours with multiple errands and then come home really quick to change and to go out for her and his dad’s anniversary.

“Okay, what are your parent’s favorite cookies?” You asked Jake, looking around his mother’s kitchen. 

He blinked at you, “Oh um… I think Ma likes blueberry lemon cookies and Dad likes sugar cookies.” You nodded at him with a grin before moving around the kitchen and grabbing ingredients and finding the recipe for both cookies.

“Why-why do you ask?” Jake asked, leaning against the island as he watched you move. “We’re making cookies for your parents for their anniversary, Honey,” you said as you moved to go to the fridge.

Jake snatched your arm, “Sugar, you just met them. You don’t-” “I’m doing it and so are you,” you said,with an authority in your voice that made Jake want to stand at attention. 

“Sugar, you know I’m terrible at baking. I’m a wiz on the grill but you ask me to bake a cake and I’m lost.”

You arched a brow at him, “The directions are on the box Jake…” He fixed you with a look, “And you know how I feel about directions, Sugar.” 

Scoffing with a laugh, you shook your head, “Either way, doesn’t matter. My callsign is Cookie for a reason. I just need your help, you don’t have to touch the oven. Please baby?” 

Jake clenched his jaw and looked away from your puppy dog eyes, knowing he’d give in the moment he looked in them. “Pleeeaaaseee Jakey?” You tried again, gripping his shirt and pouting. But Jake wasn’t gonna give in, not without something in return.

“Okay, I’ll help-” “Yes!” “But-” Your face dropped, “No, no not the ‘but’.” He chuckled before pulling out his phone, “I get to pick the music.”

You huffed but nodded, “Fine.” He grinned triumphantly and pressed his lips to yours, “But you can’t get distracted, got it?” He chuckled, “Yes ma’am.”

For the two batches of blueberry lemon cookies, Jake had behaved and was actually helpful. He only pulled you into a few serenades and air guitar concerts when the song was a mutual favorite.

But as you started mixing the sugar cookies, one of Jake’s favorite songs came on.

As Shenendoah’s Two Dozen Roses faded out, Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar On Me’s classic intro filled the kitchen.

Jake practically gasped and his eyes cut to you.

“No, Jake, I’m trying to make your dad's cookies. Don’t even think about it,” you scolded, not even having to turn to him to know he had a devious grin on his face.

Jake just rolled his eyes and leaned on the island, dramatically lip syncing to Joe Elliott. He was doing his best to get your attention and get you to abandon the dry ingredients in front of you.

You managed to ignore him as you scooped out the first two cups of flour.

But as it turns out, Jake is hellbent on getting your attention. 

So as you scooped out the last half cup of flour, he grabbed your hips to spin you around. “You gotta squeeze a little, squeeze a little / Tease a little more / Easy operator come a knockin' on my door~,” Jake sang as he spun you.

“Jake!” 

He stopped and looked at you, “What? What happened?” You huffed and dropped the now empty cup onto the granite countertop. With your arms bowed at your sides you looked down to survey the damage.

Your once black shirt was now covered in stark white flour. Your socks were no better and your legs were covered in flour as well. 

“Oh, shit,” Jake said, a huff of a laugh behind his words. But he swallowed it and covered it up with a cough as he looked at the mess he knew he made. “Sugar-” You held up a finger, “Not now Jacob Dallas. You had one job.” 

“I honestly didn’t think that would happen Darlin’, I swear.” 

You shook your head and took a breath, “Get the broom and the dust pan, clean it up. Please.” Jake sighed, “Yes ma’am.”

He sulked over to the pantry to retrieve the items and you turned back to the bowl.

Def Leppard was still singing as you looked in the bowl and Jake started sweeping.

“Pour some sugar on me! In the name of love!”

You smirked a little and looked from your bowl to your boyfriend, who was still mumbling along as he cleaned up the mess. 

With a perfect idea, you dipped your fingers into the bowl and grabbed a good amount of flour in them. 

Jake stood up straight after having bent over to pick up the dust pan, “Okay I got it.” You hummed and shook your head, “Missed a spot.” Jake’s brow furrowed and he looked down, “What, where?” You lazily pointed to the floor, “Right there.” “Where?” He looked up at you, confused, “Sugar I don’t-” “Right there,” you giggled as you looked at Jake’s face, which was now covered in flour. 

“Cookie, did you just?” You laughed harder as you nodded, “Sure did! That’s what you get, JD.”

Jake growled a little and wiped his face, “Was that necessary?” You shrugged innocently, turning back to your ingredients, “Maybe, maybe not.” 

He shook his head but laughed, “Okay truce?” You giggled lightly and nodded, “Yeah, truce.”

“Kiss on it?” 

“Not until you get the flour of your lips. Raw flour tastes disgusting.” 

Jake groaned but complied, tossing the contents of the dust pan away before going to the sink. 

He grabbed the sprayer hose and turned the faucet on, spraying any remaining flour off of his face. With a tea towel, he patted his face dry before looking at you. He looked back at the nozzle out of the corner of his eye, a devilish smirk on his face.

“Hey Sugar, look at me, I think you have something on your face.” You hummed and did as he said, “Oh do I? Whe- Jacob Dallas Seresin!” 

You let out a high pitched groan and glared at Jake, only to get more upset to find him gripping his sides as he laughed. 

Oh, if he wants to play that game you will gladly play that game.

Grabbing an egg you walked over and broke it on his chest.

Jake grunted a little at the impact before looking down and watching the shell fall to the floor. 

With his head still down, he looked up at you through his brow. Your stomach dropped and you knew you had unleashed the beast that is the ‘Hangman’. This was a competition now, and he was gonna do whatever it took to win. 

“Jake, Honey, Baby, Sweetheart, let’s talk about this. There’s no need to do anything rash,” you attempted feebly. But it was no use.

Jake was quick to grab the bowl of mixed wet ingredients and pour the contents on your head before you had the chance to run.

“At least it’s good for your hair,” he quipped off as he sat the bowl on your head. 

The cold mixture of egg mixed with vanilla extract dripped down your face as you took the bowl off your head. Sniffing a little, you sat it down before wiping away the liquid from your face and wiping your hand on Jake’s shirt.

“I will beat you like an egg, Hangman.”

Not too long after the food fight broke out, Deana and Levi, Jake’s mom and dad, came home.

Needless to say, Deana wasn’t prepared to see the disarray her kitchen was in.

Flour, eggs, and sugar coated the counters and the floor; it also happened to be covering her son and his girlfriend as they continued to throw handfuls of the powdery substance everywhere.

She wasn’t angry… okay maybe she was a little upset. But she could see the look on both of your faces as you laughed and made strong memories together in her kitchen and it filled her with joy… even if the kitchen looked like a warzone.

“Um, Jake, my darling son, what.. um.. what happened to my kitchen?” She asked, trying not to laugh at the mortified looks on your faces seeing her and Levi standing in the doorway.

“Oh, um.. Well you see… Y/N and I were-” Jake stopped seeing that both of his parents were nearly ready to explode with laughter and he relaxed. “We– Y/N was trying to make you cookies for your anniversary and I was helping. A song came on and I made her spill some flour and then one thing led to another and we ended up here.”

“Awe, Y/N honey, that's so thoughtful. Thank you.”

You nodded, smiling, “Of course. But um we unfortunately only got the blueberry lemon ones done… Sorry Mr Seresin, we can definitely still make you some in the morning, after we restock your ingredients.”

“Wait seriously? You’d do that?” 

“Levi Micheal,” Deana scolded, slapping him on the arm. “You can eat the blueberry lemon ones, do not make her wake up early to make you cookies.” 

“It’s really no problem, I don’t mind doing that.” 

Before Levi can speak, Deana covers his mouth, “Only if you want to do that. But don’t feel obligated.”

“We’re definitely restocking your ingredients though Ma, most of your flour is on the floor…” 

She smiled and carefully walked over to kiss his cheek, “Thank you, baby.” She kissed your cheek too, “Thank you too. Now at least I know why Jake calls you ‘Sugar’, cause you’re sweet.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s why he calls her that Mama,” Jake’s youngest sister, Lyla, commented as she walked through the cleaner side of the kitchen to grab a snack before going back to her room.

“Lyla Blake-” Jake muttered in a threatening tone. “Oh don’t get your flight suit in a knot, I’m only half-joking,” she smarted off, dodging Jake’s egg cover hand making a grab at her as she left.

Deana opened her mouth and looked between them, pointing back and forth. “You know what, I’m not gonna ask.” 

“Probably for the best DJ,” Levi chuckled, kissing her cheek before retreating upstairs.

She shook her head with a playful eye roll, “Okay, I know it’s late, but I need you both to clean this up and when you’re done, go hose off in the backyard. Got it?” 

You and Jake nodded dutifully, “Yes ma’am.” “Alright goodnight.” “Goodnight Ma.” “Goodnight Mrs Seresin.” 

She went upstairs and you and Jake looked at each other before surveying the catastrophe around you.

“You do know the song is about s-”

“Jacob Dallas-”

“Shutting up.”

hi, hello, thank you all for reading and making it to the end! i hope you enjoyed! and for this particular event i've got one more to do so be on the look out for that 😉

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