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[edwardshundredyearoldspunk]

taking my kitty to the vet tomorrow for a checkup on her eye (she has a corneal ulcer that doesn't seem to be healing) and I'm so worried it's gonna be bad news. the vet said eye loss was a possibility and although she said she's seen worse cases recover I'm terrified the outcome is going to be sight loss/eye loss. I've been a wreck all week and I know part of it is my ocd's inability to deal with uncertainty. and my brain knows that but my nervous system does NOT, so I'm just trying really hard to keep my compulsions to a minimum. I keep picturing her little eye closed forever and it makes me wanna cry.

[wall-e-gorl]

my graph will finally be back to normal tomorrow

[hsmagazine254]

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[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

Based on this post

Arthur when Merlin gets home from work: *runs up and hugs him without saying anything about it*

Merlin: *immediately drops everything in his hands and hugs back, not letting go and giving one of the best hugs of his life because it’s Arthur and he’s spent 1500 years loving him*

Arthur, after five or more minutes of bear hugging the man he’s in love with: (mutters) no homo.

Merlin, the immortal: *dies*

Merlin: *pulls away and pats Arthur’s shoulder in the most awkward “buddy” kind of way before walking into their flat and locking himself in his room to have an existential crisis/gay panic*

Things are awkward as hell, until Arthur asks Merlin if he can finally show him movies. Merlin goes to get his laptop and opens Google to find Netflix, seeing recent searches.

Merlin: Arthur?

Arthur: huh?

Merlin, dealing with what he can: why did you want to buy an archive?

Arthur: …is this magic? How-

Merlin: no, just technology again. You had search history on. I can um… see everything you’ve researched.

Arthur: everything..?

Merlin: everything…

Arthur: what did you say about um… oh right. Fuck.

Merlin: *smiles and pulls Arthur into a hug*

Arthur: Merlin? I- I thought…

Merlin: you are the most important thing in every universe, world, and realm to me, Arthur. 1500 years didn’t change that, and whatever comes next for us certainly won’t change it either. If there’s ever anything that you want to tell me, then I’ll be right here.

Arthur: *hugs back and hides his face, teary eyed, in Merlin’s neck*

Arthur, murmuring against Merlin’s neck: I’m bisexual.

Merlin: Thank you for telling me,

Arthur: And I’m in love with you.

Merlin, teary eyed and beaming: I love you too, Arthur. More than anything.

Arthur: Not in a no homo kind of way. In a, I’d marry you if I could kind of way…

Merlin: *laughs a little* I think you’ve got something else to research,

Arthur: what?

Merlin: *pulls the laptop to himself and types something before turning it around to Arthur*

Can I marry my best friend? (After I take him out on a date)

(He did that thing where you search one thing then type something else into the search bar without pressing go)

Arthur reads how its legal for men to get married then looks up at Merlin, he jumps on him and tackles him into a hug, laughing and crying happily. They watch heart stopper and Arthur starts playing rugby, they get a dog, date for three months before Arthur asks Merlin to marry him randomly one evening.

Merlin says yes, of course, so two days later when he gets in from work, Arthur hugs him, covers his eyes and leads him into their living room where he set up a full romance novel style proposal. He gets down on one knee with a really nice ring and gives a whole speech. (my aro ass can’t imagine what, but you know what I mean. It’s super cute and romantic)

Merlin says yes again and they get married soon after and live on a farm before both dying of old age after a long and happy life together.

Merlin spends the rest of their lives teasing Arthur about the “no homo” after their first hug thing.

Merlin also teaches Arthur about clearing search history and incognito, Arthur uses it exclusively for surprising Merlin because they’ve got no need for any secrets between them in this lifetime.

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part three

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 3.4k

You woke again nearing midday and, as expected, Ale was nowhere to be found. If it weren’t for the still sensitive marks that she left on your neck and the soreness between your thighs, you would’ve thought it was all a pleasant dream. Something on your nightstand caught your eye as you stretched and when you picked it up, all the remaining doubt shattered. 

On the piece of paper was a phone number with a little note that said ‘text me?’ and you couldn’t help the grin that made its way to your lips at the drawn smiley face at the end of it. You picked your phone up, added her to your contacts and sent her a hello-it’s-me text, noted the notification of an email from Derek, and then you got out of bed to get ready for the day.

When you returned to the bedroom from your shower, a message from Ale was waiting for you. 

‘Hey, good morning! Listen, as much as I’d love to… have fun with you again, I can’t see you the next few days.’

You laughed at the varying degrees of sad emojis that superseded her text. Then you messaged her back. 

‘That’s fine. Just text me when you’re free. And you already know where I am so…’

You abandoned your phone after that in favor of your laptop as you remembered Derek’s email. Upon opening your mail, you found it immediately.

‘Good news. Robert sealed a deal with a client and they want you to follow FC Barcelona in their Liga F campaign this season. We got 5 match passes so far–Robert believes that the client might be inclined to commission for more photos depending on how the club progresses throughout the season.

Find the passes in the attachment as well as the in-depth commission details but in short, apart from the customary team photos, they want photos of the following players prioritised in order: Alexia Putellas, Maria ‘Mapi’ Leon, and Caroline Graham Hansen. I’ll leave the research to you.

On an informal note, the window to decline is still open. As previously discussed, you don’t have to do this. Let me know what you decide as soon as possible.’

You checked the attached files and sure enough, you found the passes for Barcelona’s matches against the following clubs: Real Madrid, Roma, Alhama, Atletico Madrid, and Sporting Huelva. You noted the date for the one against Real Madrid–it was in a couple of days, the same one Ale suggested and a thrill of excitement went down your spine at the thought of possibly seeing her again. Maybe you should message her to let her know that you were going. 

You sent a confirmation to Derek before you created a new tab to begin your research. ‘Alexia Putellas’, you typed and hit enter. When the results came back, you stilled. 

You blinked. 

Then you blinked again.

Of all the places you’d expect to find Ale’s face, a search result about a professional football player was the last thing you could think of. But memories flashed unbidden through your mind: the exclusive night club, Ale’s vague answer about her job, the way her eyes shone whenever you mentioned sports or football, her reflexes, her physique, Ale… Alexia–it all made sense now. 

Groaning, you put your face in your hands as your cheeks and ears burnt from the embarrassment that flooded your veins. Oh, how dense could you get! She must’d thought you ignorant for not knowing who she was. Foolish! 

But then again… if she didn’t get a kick out of you not knowing, why did she allow the second time to happen? And why promise a third? The thought calmed you down enough to decide not to text Ale–no, Alexia–about this like you’d originally planned especially since you were most likely going to see her at the game anyway.

After another moment to regain your composure for the time being, you proceeded with your research. You clicked on an article, and an article lead to another, which carried you over to a video, and so on. By the end of it, evening had settled and you only managed to discover little. But from what you found out, there was no question to Alexia Putellas’ nascent legacy, both on and off the pitch–an undisputed, modern trailblazer for current and new generations of female athletes. You were gutted to know about her ACL injury though–a quick deviated search made it known to you how serious of an injury it was, especially for an athletic career–and you wondered when she would be able to play again or if she would be playing in the match against Real Madrid. After all, she did say she was going to be there.

You wrapped up your research about Alexia then and you finally moved on to Mapi Leon, then Caroline Graham Hansen. Afterwards, you briefed yourself on the rest of Barcelona Femeni’s 1st Division players as well as the rules of football to come up with a strategy to tackle this task.

A mixture of anxiety and excitement rushed through you as you settled in for the night at the thought of seeing Alexia again now that you know about her identity. You didn’t know what you had gotten yourself into the moment you let her take you to the dance floor but the pull was there from the very beginning. And you decided you were going to see this through to the end.

No. This wasn’t going to change anything at all.

–––

There it was: Estadi Johan Cruyff, home to Barcelona Femeni, stood proud in its blue and red glory.

There was still about an hour and a half left before kickoff but already, people had gathered and started to enter the stadium, you being one of them. Security scanned your press pass as you entered and you were told to head through a different corridor which lead you out to the pitch. Once inside, it was no surprise that the stadium’s interior was no less grand than the outside, the well-tended grass was just a taste to the quality that this place had to offer. 

Greeting the other photographers who’d settled in earlier as you walked, you searched for a spot and found it by the space adjacent to the corner flag farthest from the tunnel entrance. There, you placed your duffel bag and your portable stool as you worked to set up your equipment: you double-checked the batteries, attached the right lens to your camera, unwounded your monopod and connected it to your camera. 

By the time you looked up, there was already a significant crowd awaiting the players for their warm-ups. You took this chance to take a few shots of the still half-filled stadium, tweaking your settings as you did so and you waited for the players to come out.

About an hour before kickoff, you spied movements inside the tunnel and immediately, your eye was to your viewfinder.

Players from both teams emerged from the tunnel and names popped in your head as you scanned the faces from Barcelona, taking shots of them as they stepped foot on the grass and took off in a jog. There was no sign of Alexia though but you spotted two of your marks on the pitch so you wasted no time to frame them in your camera.

A moment later though, you heard a sudden cheer from the crowd followed by a collective flutter of camera shutters. You lifted your eye from the viewfinder, turned your head to the side and saw that your fellow photographers had their cameras focused to the direction of the tunnel entrance. Your heart quickened. Could it be? And sure enough as you looked to the sidelines, you could make out Alexia’s blonde hair and her unmistakable silhouette. Through your camera’s lens you were able to see her better. 

Alexia had on a black leather jacket paired with a top that revealed a strip of skin before the cut of her jeans, finishing her look off with a pair sneakers on and loose blonde hair. She was conversing with her coach, bumping fists and patting the backs of players from both teams who went over to greet her. Then she turned to the stands, waved at their supporters, and she moved close enough for pictures and autographs. She gave one last wave to the fans, shouted an encouraging word to her teammates with a fist in the air, before she headed back into the tunnel. While all of this was happening, you’d framed her through your lens yourself, taking the photos you needed, cheeks warm despite the cooling afternoon air. 

Then all the Barcelona players jogged over to the sidelines and huddled, side to side, arm in arm. You took a shot. Not long after that, all of them left the pitch. 

The game was about to start. 

Alexia wasn’t lying when she said the stadium would get crowded: the stands were filled with blues and reds, flags were flown and waved about, chanted anthems resounded loud and proud in the air–the atmosphere was nothing short of electric. 

You’d moved by the sideline close to the tunnel entrance for the beginning of the match along with your fellow photographers so you could capture Barcelona’s starting eleven. When the players came out, they were welcomed by singing and cheers from the crowd. And as they stood there, you took photos of the entire team first before you moved on to focus on Mapi and Caroline. 

When the whistle blew and the match began, you were back to your original spot, looking to the stands above the tunnel entrance as you tried to pick Alexia out from the sea of faces through your camera. You managed to a few minutes later, and you found her looking rather pensive: one arm crossed over her chest, the other resting on it as she rubbed her chin with her thumb, eyes focused down at the pitch with her brows slightly creased. It looked like longing to you, a burning desire to return home–to start playing football again. The sight evoked such a feeling in you that you couldn’t help but capture the moment. This shot, however, you were going to keep for yourself.

 Now that you knew where Alexia was, following the client’s requisites just got a lot easier. Up until the final whistle, you immersed yourself in your work and the game, focusing more on Mapi and Caroline as they were playing. There were times that allowed you to shift your camera to the stands to where Alexia was and took shots of her, too. By the time you knew it, the game ended and Barcelona won 1-0.

You expected a celebration from Barcelona because they were in their turf after all so you loaded up your camera with a freshly charged battery. The next thing you knew, Alexia was there with the team, hugging and patting them congratulations and her teammates beamed at her, happy to see her there. 

Click You took a shot. 

The players then began their procession around the stadium, waving at and signing things for their supporters. Through your camera, you saw Mapi signing the shirt of a young girl. Click. Next to her was Caroline, reaching over the barrier to sign a ball, smiling as she talked to the boy holding it. Click. 

The procession was near enough that you could hear their banters, growing louder as they approached where you were and the beating of your heart thumped as loud as the chants from the crowd. You congratulated the players as they passed and kept your camera away out of respect. You looked at the end of the line and you met Alexia’s gaze. She was smiling at you while she talked to Irene Paredes beside her and she never took her eyes off you. There was a gleam in them, something akin to mischief and… a challenge? If so, why? 

At that you raised an unimpressed brow at her, both a question and a statement. Your reaction seemed to amuse her because her smile turned into a full smirk.

The procession passed but Alexia lagged behind, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Irene who threw Alexia a questioning look. You watched as Alexia waved her off before she began walking your way and you didn’t miss the fluttering of shutters from your fellow photographers’ cameras. Some called Alexia’s name to get her attention but she ignored them, her attention only at you. You barely had enough time to school your features and hide any signs of familiarity before she was standing in front of you.

“Hey, you. You made it here after all.” Alexia said cooly, lips slanted in a half-smile, one hand in a jean pocket.

“Yeah, I did. Sorry, but do I know you?” You asked in an excessively dry tone paired with an raised eyebrow, but you made sure your voice was just loud enough for her to hear. Catching your drift, Alexia laughed, rubbing the bridge of her nose to try and cover it up. 

“I suppose not,” she extended a hand towards you, “I’m Alexia, and I’m sorry about… you know.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Alexia. Congratulations on the win, by the way.” You shook her hand, ignored the way her warmth seeped into your skin, and hummed. “You know, you remind me of someone I know. Your resemblance to her is uncanny.”

Alexia nodded as she took her hand back, lips quirked. “I think I know who you’re talking about. I think she also wants to know if she could stop by later tonight?” 

Your cheeks warmed and you didn’t fight the smile that made its way to your face. “I did tell her she could whenever she’s free.”

“So, yes?”

“Yes.”

———

You braced your weight against the headboard, forehead over your folded arms, eyes barely open and the erotic sight in front of you did nothing to help the building flood in you. With your thighs bracing her head and from this angle, you could only see Alexia’s closed eyes but you felt her hands roaming and supporting your lower back as her mouth and tongue worked on you. 

She was taking her sweet time though, brushing her tongue over your clit lightly, sucking just enough to build up the pleasure but nothing too much to bring you over the edge. You whined because she did it again only with more pressure this time, circling your clit a few times before she moved away again. You were starting to learn that she liked to play; she liked to take her time and get as many reactions from you until she was satisfied, until she’d completely unravelled you.

A particularly cruel swipe of her tongue, accompanied by the obscenely wet sound it made, nearly incited a sob from your lips but the plea you made was nothing short of similar.

“Ale… please…” You panted.

“–my name.”

“Huh?” You whined out, not hearing what Alexia said after a flick from her tongue sent shivers down your spine.

“Say my name.”

Then she circled your clit with more urgency after she said that–demanding. You keened and ignored her, canting your hips forward to chase that delicious friction you were desperately searching for. 

“Ale… Ale… please!”

Then she stilled completely and you cried out in protest, eyes flying open to meet lidded hazel ones.

“What–”

“Say my name.” She licked your inner thigh deliberately close to where you wanted it the most.

“Alexia, pl–” You didn’t even need to beg because right after her name left your mouth, overwhelming heat was all you could feel as she ate you out earnestly. Her hands gripped your thighs so tight that you wouldn’t be able to pull away–not that you could ever do such a thing.

“Oh, fuck!” 

Euphoria tore through your body in concurrent waves with brutal intensity that it ripped the strength from your bones while your muscles shook helplessly. Even the gentle touches from Alexia tongue as she cleaned you up were enough to make you hiss from overstimulation. 

God… she really did a number on you this time.

After you finally calmed down, you shifted so that you could lay by Alexia’s side, kissing your way up from the column of her neck to her lips where you found your taste heavy on her tongue. You dragged your fingers from the crest of her hip to her breast, feeling the ridges of her hard-earned muscles as you did so and revelled in the way they tensed beneath your touch, the softness of her breast a beautiful contrast to the firmness of her stomach.

Alexia gasped when you rolled her nipple between your fingers and you gladly swallowed it as you deepened the kiss. You slotted your leg to apply pressure between her thighs, ample wetness coated your skin and you couldn’t help but moan at her arousal.

You nipped a path down between the valley of her breasts but not before you had given both of her nipples the attention they deserved. You continued your journey, licking and nipping at her skin as you moved down her toned stomach.

As soon as you reached her navel, she parted her legs to make space for you. You kissed her inner thighs, loving the way they tensed beneath your lips and as you trailed closer to her core, you flashed your gaze upwards to meet hers. When you finally got the first taste of her tonight, you watched intently through lidded eyes as she closed hers, dropping her head on the pillow and sighed out a long, low moan. 

You gave her a few slow and broad strokes, closing your eyes as you savoured her taste. When she began to urge her hips quicker, you picked up your pace all the while mapping her thighs and stomach with your palms.

You found you liked how responsive she was to your touches, liked the way she demanded for more which you gladly gave to her as she asked for them. And when she cradled the back of your head and buried her fingers in your hair so she could meet your tongue the way she wanted it, you moaned loudly, taking from the way she took hers from you.

“Yes, right there, just–” Her back arched and you clung to her hips like a lifeline. You rolled your tongue against her and sucked, not wanting to disrupt the pace of her fall. 

And fall, she did.

She came on your tongue and you accepted it with a grateful moan, slowing down your pace as she came back down from her high. It was sticky and heady, a reward that you lapped up eagerly, and from the pleased way Alexia threaded her fingers through your hair, she was satisfied. Like her, you took your time cleaning her up because after all it was only polite to do so and you enjoyed the way her leg muscle tensed when you kissed her clit one last time. 

Content with your work, you kissed the top of her left thigh as a form of gratitude but instead of making your way up, you traced the line of muscle that lead down to her knee where scars from her injury had carved themselves permanently into her skin.

You’d kissed those same scars the last time you were together without knowing the story behind them and now that you know, you dragged your lips over them ever more softly, looking Alexia in the eye as you did so. She watched you intently with lips slightly parted, eyes dark and lidded.

Alexia bent forward so she could reach out to you, lifting your chin with a gentle hand. Then she brushed her thumb over your upper lip to wipe the wetness there but before she could pull it away, you parted your lips and took her thumb into you mouth, sucking and licking off the taste there, never taking your eyes off hers.

“My god,” came her breathless murmur before she moaned out, “come here.”

Then she guided you to her mouth with her gentle grip on your chin and before you knew it, you were under her again, sighing in grateful surrender to the mercy of her and her hands. She kissed and ravaged you many times over–and you, her–that by the end of the night, you’d completely forgotten the weight of her name.

[dingochef]

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Protected P in V, oral (female and male receiving), age gap, CougarOFC!, mentions only of mommy and daddy kink, mentions of cheating

Summary: A chance encounter at a bar with a man on the young side leads to a delightful night.

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.5k

On the Prowl

You saddle up to the bar, sighing as you try to expel the frustrations from stupid negotiations you've had to deal with today. You were trying to make a deal between your aerospace company and another to be the exclusive suppliers of the next versions of the F-whatever fighter for the Navy. You order a Manhattan hoping the sweet burn of the vermouth and whiskey will sooth away your frustration.

The bartender has barely slid your drink across on its coaster to you when a man approaches, about your age. You snort internally to yourself, there is nothing about your overall air and appearance that makes you approachable. Your hair is frazzled, your giant laptop bag is slung on the stool next to you, and you're pretty sure your residual resting bitch face is dialed up to an 11. Still, the prospect for a possible quick romp in the sheets and the slim possibility of an orgasm, makes you turn ever so slightly as he sits down next to you.

“Tough day?” he offers to you, after ordering a drink.

“You could say that,” you humm, noncommittally and take a sip of your drink.

“Well, I'm all ears if you want to talk about it,” the man replies, offering his hand,

“I'm Mike, and you are?”

You take his hand and tell him your name.

“Pretty name for a pretty lady,” Mike responds. You stifle your eye roll at the cheesy line. The drinks arrive and you fall into a light if stilted conversation of small talk. The usual topics are covered the weather, why you're both in town, and a few sports references. You're pondering if you want another drink when Mike leans closer to you,

“So this bad day. You want to talk about it,” he says as his hand sliding out to catch your wrist, “Or do something about it?”

He rubs his thumb over yours and you catch the glint of a wedding ring that you had missed earlier. Any thoughts you had of maybe seeing where this could go are immediately stopped.

“You're married,” you state, flatly.

“It's complicated,” he counters.

You let out a long exhale,

“Not complicated enough that you didn't even go through the smallest bit of effort to hide the fact. I'm not interested in being the other woman. A little too recent experience from the other end of “it's complicated.”

Mike nods, properly chastised and walks away with his drink.

You sigh and lean down on the bar with both elbows, letting your head hang down as you feel more frustrated, the possibility of some distractioning sex long gone now. A disappointing thought forms in your brain as you remember that you did indeed forget to pack your vibrator. But somehow you remembered condoms and lube, ever the optimist. Not a hopeless situation, but would have been better with some “assistance.”

You're brought out of your pity party by a slight southern twang delivering this line,

“A woman so beautiful deserves to have a smile on your face and I'm just the man to do it.”

The line is accompanied by the dazzling smile of a very handsome blonde man, definitely younger than you and with memorable green eyes.

“Has that line ever worked?” you ask, your patience strained by your interaction with Mike the Adulterer, as you survey the man in front of you.

“You tell me,” he replies smoothly, the corner of his mouth tugging up into an endearing smirk. He's gorgeous but young enough it's a little beyond your usual range in men. Tired by the evening so far, you take a harsher tack back.

“You're out past your bedtime, baby boy,” you volley back, drinking the last bit of your drink and chewing on the cherry.

“Baby boy? I assure you I'm all man, I could be the man of your dreams if you let me,” he counters, smirk still firmly in place. You contemplate your next move as you chew on the cherry from your drink.

“What do you want with me? I'm sure Addison or Kayla and her other twenty something friends would be more than willing to be wooed by a cheesy line and nice smile,” you say, flicking your head towards the gaggle of giggling coeds at a high top table near the windows. He looks over and shrugs,

“There's a difference between women of quantity,” he tips his head towards the giggling girls, “And a woman of quality,” he waves his hand at you.

You laugh,

“Okay, that's smooth. What's your name baby boy?”

“Jake, Lieutenant Jake Seresin,” he extends his hand, “And you are?”

“Y/n,” you reply, setting your hand in his.

“Nice to meet you, y/n, can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure, why not,” you shrug.

The bartender comes over and you order,

“Manhattan with rye, please.”

Jake nods and says,

“The same.”

The bartender walks away to make the drinks and you consider Jake.

“So, what's your game here, Jake? I'm a little old for you if you haven't noticed,” you state.

“You're beautiful and you're not that old. What 35, 38 tops?” he replies.

You laugh,

“Try 45, I use sunscreen. What are you, like 28 maybe? Can you even rent a car?”

Jake laughs in response,

“32, I use sunscreen.”

His parroting response makes you laugh. He slides his hand into yours, running a soothing circle with his big thumb on the pulse point of your wrist in an understated gesture.

“And my game is that, you are gorgeous and everything about you screams that you're in control. The tailored business suit, the designer bag, expensive shoes, and a watch probably worth more than my first car,” he pauses for a second,

“Let me guess, you're an upper level executive in a high stress industry in town for a conference, because I for sure would have remembered you if you've been here before. So, here's my bet, you're either a woman who knows exactly what she wants in bed and leads the way or….,” he leans in closer, “Needs someone to boss you around and take control, so you can let go.”

He leans back and gives you a brilliant smile.

“Either way I know I'll have a hell of a night.”

Before you can answer, the bartender reappears with your drinks. You take a sip and consider your response, Jake doing the same with a quirked eyebrow in question.

“You're a confident little shit, I'll give you that.”

He smiles, wide and bright.

“And yes, I'm in San Diego for business. Yes, I'm a COO for an aerospace firm. As for the other question, that's something you'll have to figure out.”

“I'm up to the challenge,” he replies.

You take a moment to consider the man before you. He's tall, broad shoulders, dark blonde hair, and a delicious amount of stubble that you can already conjure up the feeling of on your inner thigh. He's wearing a dark brown leather jacket over a navy blue button, dark jeans, and charmingly, cowboy boots. All in all he is gorgeous.

“Allright, Jake, I'm game,” you say, leaning into him, close enough you can smell his aftershave, a cedar wood smelling aroma. He grins and takes another sip of his drink.

“A few deal breakers to get out of the way. Married?”

“No. You?

“Recently paroled.”

“Congrats on your newfound freedom.”

“Girlfriend, or other romantic entanglement, such as it's complicated?”

He laughs,

“Nope, I don't have anyone or anything tying me down. I don't even own a houseplant.”

“Good, protection is required. I have some in my room.”

“Agreed.”

“I give what I get, if you want me to suck your dick, you'll need to eat me out first, and be good at it.”

“Don't think that's going to be a problem, sweetheart. I'm a man of many talents.”

“And finally, you will not call me mommy or any other similar derivative. If that's an itch you need scratched, then maybe Addison and her friends would be happy to call you daddy.”

He laughs,

“Not my cup of tea, darling. So where's this hotel of yours?”

“Right across the street,”

“Then by all means lead the way,” he says, as he pulls a fifty out of his wallet and leaves it in the bar.

Jake offers his hand to you as you step down from the stool. He grabs your laptop bag and easily slings it over his shoulder as his other hand finds the small of your back. The walk to your hotel is quick, Jake has pulled you close to him.

The lobby is relatively empty and the echo of your heels clicking across the marble floor fills the space. Once you're In the elevator, Jake sets your bag down and pulls you close for a kiss. It starts out soft, he is almost tentative, a surprising contrast to his unmatched confidence earlier. But now you crave a different energy tonight; after a day of frustration you're going to get what you want.

You run your hands through his perfect hair and lick at the seam of his lips, begging for entrance as you press your whole body against his. You back him up to the wall of the elevator. A heavy roll of your hips against his makes him moan and your tongue slides in next to his, finally.

His hand slides from the chaste placement at your waist and grabs a firm handful of your ass as he shoves his tongue down your throat. The heat between you escalates but before you start fucking in the elevator the bell dings announcing your floor.

You step back and appreciate your work.

Hair askew, your dark cherry lipstick smeared across his mouth, Jake looks ready to fuck.

“You look good like that. It's a great color for you,” you tease stepping out of the elevator with a quick glance over your shoulder

Jake snaps out of his lust induced trance grabbing your bag and trotting quickly to catch up with you. He places a trail of kisses down your neck as you press the key card to the handle, a warm hand kneading at your waist.

The door opens and you almost tumble in,

Jake is quick to drop your bag as you lock the deadbolt.

When you turn he closes in on you and backs you up against the door. He initiates another kiss that you eagerly return. The same heat from the elevator returns and burns brighter as you start to pluck at each other's clothes.

You push Jake's jacket off and start to work at the buttons of his shirt. Lips never leaving each other finally he is shirtless in front of you and it is a glorious sight. All hard planes of pure muscle with a delicious amount of chest hair.

“Aren't you just the prettiest?” you coo, obviously checking him out, manicured hand running down his sternum and teasing at his belt buckle

He simultaneously preens and blushes at the praise.

“On your knees,” you order and he quickly complies, one eyebrow raised in question, just enough attitude to make it interesting. He looks up at you while you unbutton your blouse and drop it to the floor, revealing your black lace La Perla bra. He kisses the hem of your skirt, green eyes blown with lust watching your every move. You raise your left foot and put your Louboutin on his denim clad thigh and ask him,

“Help me out of these heels, sweetheart.”

The last word is said with a little bit of mocking, a bit of manufactured twang. Jake smirks at your teasing and unbuckles your shoe, setting it aside. You switch sides and he repeats the motions.

He thumbs tentatively at your skirt awaiting your permission

“Go on. Let's see those skills, pretty boy,” you taunt. He slides your skirt up and groans when he sees the matching garter belt and stockings to your bra and no underwear,

“Fancy lingerie, too,” he says, his mouth close enough to your bare mound you can feel the gentle puffs of air against your skin.

“Enough talking, get to it,” you order, the earlier frustration of your day seeping back into your mood.

He nods and places a firm hand on your stomach to anchor you to the door. His other hand slides along the seam of your stocking clad leg starting at your ankle gently lifting your leg up to rest your thigh on his shoulder, granting him even more access to your glistening cunt.

“You smell so good, I bet you taste even better, sweets,” he coos.

Before you can implore him to hurry the fuck up he dives in, parting your folds with his tongue to begin his attack on your clit. The intensity knocking your breath out of you. There is no warm up, just all the way to 100 right away. Your heartbeat speeds up to match the fast strumming of his tongue against your clit. You card your fingers through his hair to ground yourself just as he teases your slit with his finger.

Jake circles around your opening with his thick finger, a mischievous look in his eyes as he looks up at you, tongue never ceasing on your clit. You roll your eyes and push your hips down desperate to get his finger inside you just as he relents and slides his finger in quickly followed by another. The stretch is more than you've had in awhile, no thanks to your ex and busy schedule that makes dating difficult, but it is exactly what you need right now. And then Jake curls his fingers just right and sparks blur the sides of your vision. He earns the privilege of having you pull harder on his hair and moan a breathy,

“Fuck, that's good.”

He raises his eyebrows down below you, smugness apparent even when his mouth is full of your pussy.

“Don't let it go to your head,” you say back, lacking the bite you had hoped for.

He laughs into your cunt, but continues his mission. Fingers pumping away at you. The band inside of you starts to pull taut, that exquisite build up to release starting to form deep in your belly.

“You better not fucking stop! Fuck, right there,” you shout. Looking down you catch Jake's eyes and his gaze is as unwavering as his rhythm is steady. He continues his assault on your clit and cunt, the sounds of your arousal and his tongue obscene in the quiet darkness of your hotel room. You've always been loud when you come and tonight is no exception, the words rolling off your tongue,

“Fuck, so good. I'm close, Jake. Make me come, pretty boy.”

He responds by thrusting his hand harder and faster and lapping at your clit at even higher speed. He just grazes his teeth on your clit and you're gone.

“Fucking God, I'm coming, don't stop. More,” you shout as the bliss breaks over you, grabbing Jake's hair and holding him to you. The pleasure is so much that you go up on the balls of your feet before you come back down and continue to grind your pussy on Jake's face. Jake complies and keeps up the intensity and soon another climax is barrelling down on you. This one is so intense that when it crests, you practically collapse over Jake, your knees having gone weak as the pleasure ebbs through you. He catches your hips and guides you down to his lap. He holds you as you catch your breath, sweetly kissing your temple as your chest heaves.

Breaking the silence he asks,

“Did I earn that blow job?”

He earns a dry chuckle from you as you turn to straddle his thighs.

“I think that was at least adequate,” you mumble as you lean down to kiss Jake, licking the taste of yourself from his chin. He deftly unclasps your bra from behind and drops it to the floor.

“Been wanting to see these beauties since I saw you at the bar,” he murmurs as he slips your nipple into his mouth, his rough hands cupping your breasts. Your hands again find themselves in his hair, pushing him harder into your chest, your tits heavy and full with desire. As much as you enjoy Jake's efforts, the marble floor of your hotel suite is cold against your overheated skin.

“Get on the bed and get naked,” you command Jake after harshly pulling him away from your chest by his hair. You notice the wave of pleasure wash across his face from the pain. Confidently, you get up and walk over to your bag, making sure to sway your hips in an enticing way. A quick search of the bag and you find the condoms you're seeking.

When you turn back Jake is on the bed, on his back completely naked. He is gently stroking his hard cock as he watches you stalk towards him. Throwing the condoms on the nightstand you lower yourself to the bed near his feet. Like a lioness on the prowl, you crawl up the bed towards him.

“I knew you'd have a big dick. No one is that confident without one,” you say as you get even with him. He grins in response, his hand slowly stroking his cock as he watches you approach. You settle yourself so your wet cunt is on his abs, achingly close to his dick but so far away at the same time.

“I know my assets,” he says, reaching up to pull you down for a kiss. You slide your lips along his jaw, trailing a path of kisses down his neck and across his chest. You lap at the hard buds of his nipples as you grind yourself on his rock hard abs. Jake lets out a whine as you continue your efforts. You stop all your movement and look up to Jake where he is clenching his jaw.

“You want something, pretty boy?” You taunt, sliding your pussy just a bit lower. The movement occupies the last two brain cells he has available and his words come out in choppy mess,

“Want–need your mouth. On me, suck me please. Fuck, please.”

You laugh condescendingly as you pretend to ponder his request,

“I did say I give as good as I get and you did get me off. I suppose I could be nice and return the favor.”

He visibly relaxes, the worry flowing out of his face. He pushes himself up on the bed so he is in a sitting position, primed to watch your every move.

You position yourself so you are kneeling between his legs, his delicious cock standing proudly at attention.

With the faintest of touches you let your fingers trail up and down his dick. Surprisingly he stays stock still, waiting for you to move at your pace, his dick twitching at your feather light touches.

“Look at you, pretty boy. So ready for it, hmm?” you ask as you grip him a little bit harder. His eyes roll back as you start to stroke him, the throbbing veins in his cock gliding along your palm.

When you lean over and start to kitten lick the ruddy tip and Jake snaps open his eyes, not wanting to miss the splendid sight in front of him. The groan you pull from him when you spit to aid the glide of your hand is one of the best things you've ever heard. Your grip gets firmer as you slide your hand up and down, increasing your pace. On the next downstroke you follow your hand with your mouth, lips matched with your fingers.

It doesn't take much for Jake to hit the back of your throat and you relax to take him down your throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Jake pants as you work to diligently suck his cock. Your eyes locked with Jake's as the pleasure rolls over him.

“So good, you look so good sucking my cock,” he drawls, his accent getting a bit thicker with arousal. You're about to change up your technique when Jake cups your chin and pulls you up to him for a kiss.

“As much as I would like to come in your mouth. That pretty pussy needs to be fucked,” he says, flipping you on your back as he reaches for a condom. He quickly rips the wrapper and rolls the condom down on his hard cock.

“You ready for this?” he asks, gliding his tip along your clit.

“Yes, just fuck me aleady,” you answer, a little exasperated.

When he finally slides home, you're glad that you had the little warm up with his fingers against the door. He's huge, probably the biggest you've ever had and it is amazing. He goes slow, dragging out the experience, a low moan escaping his mouth when he bottoms out. A gentle rhythm forms between the two of you as he starts to thrust and you roll your pelvis to meet him each time.

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he grunts.

You laugh,

“Thank my pencil dicked cheating ex-husband. Didn't give it to me for over a year.”

“What a fucking tragedy, this beautiful pussy needs to worshipped,” he agrees, thrusting particularly hard into you causing you to cry out.

“Give it to me good, pretty boy,” you scream, wrapping your legs around his waist as he sinks deeper into. Every thrust hitting deeper and deeper.

“Harder! Jake, harder,” you cry out.

“If you want harder, you'll get it, sweets,” he pants.

He pins your hips to the bed as he pulls out earning a discontented squeal from you. Before you can express the thought, Jake flips you over with ease and you land on your stomach. He is quick to grab your hips and pulls you flush to him as he kneels on the bed.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he grunts as he slides back into your warmth. His strong grip on your hips the right side of too much, you clench around him at the thought of bruises tomorrow, aching slightly as you sit through hours of meetings and negotiations. He slams into you and bottoms out quickly. His pace is relentless as he pounds into you. The exquisite way your pussy flutters around his cock is pushing you closer to the edge. Each slap of skin from his strong thighs against your bare ass ratcheting up the growing tightness in your belly.

“Can feel you getting close, darling. Just when I thought this pussy couldn't get any tighter, you're strangling my cock,” he grunts out between harder and harder thrusts.

“Less talking, more fucking,” you volley back, meeting each of his thrusts with your own. Jake lets out a low chuckle,

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

On his next thrust he extends his hand to wrap around your shoulder pulling you against him abruptly, your back to his chest.

“Fuck,” you pant, this new angle hitting all the right spots deep inside you. A strong arm wraps around your waist as Jake's free hand snakes over your garter belt and parts your folds. When his rough finger contacts your clit you cry out, arms and hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Jake guides your arms up and arounds his neck, your hands tangling themselves in hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he grunts in your ear, “So fucking tight, can't wait to feel you come on my cock.”

All you can do is moan in agreement as he circles your clit with practiced and precise motions.

“What a beautiful pussy,” Jake pants, his ability to speak now impressive,

“And fuck I'm glad you gave the me the sweet, sweet privilege of fucking you tonight.”

He pinches your clit and the building wave inside you crests as you come apart clenching hard on his cock.

“Oh fuck, fuck, I'm coming,” you scream, definitely loud enough to be heard by your neighbors.

“That's it, give it to me. Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts.

He maintains his rhythm as he fucks you through your orgasm intensfying each aftershock. Jake is holding you up as writhe in pleasure seeking his own, hips pistoning away. You tug hard on his hair as you command him,

“Come for me, Jake. Come for me.”

All of it comes together and Jake holds you hard against him as he spills inside the condom, a long low groan rattling up from his chest. Your mutual rhythm slows like a swing coming to rest and you fall to bed, Jake following, flopping on his back next to you.

The silence after is filled with yours and Jake's heavy breaths, willing your heartbeat to slow down. Jake is lying with his forearm over his eyes, a light sheen of sweat on his chest.

You roll over and pull his arm down, and ask,

“Did you figure out your answer?”

His brow furrows as he contemplates your question,

“That I lead or let go in bed?”

He laughs,

“You're definitely in charge and I'd let you lead me anywhere,” he replies, laughter in his voice. He gives you a quick peck and slides out of bed to take care of the condom. You stretch and sit up and start taking off your stockings. Jake is picking up his clothes and watches you shimmy out of your garter belt. He puts his clothes back on as you get ready for bed, starting with removing your makeup.

He comes to stand behind you as you swipe the cloth over your face, his full clothing a nice contrast to your naked skin. He kisses your shoulder gently,

“As much as I'd like to stay for another round, I'm due at base early tomorrow.”

“No hard feelings, pretty boy. Thanks for a good night,” you reply, turning around for one last kiss.

He sighs when your lips part and gives you a kiss on the cheek as he breaks away. Turning back to your nighttime preparations, the sound of the door opening and closing filtering from the main room, you smile to yourself. As you slide into bed, you see the note on the hotel pad,

“Call me if you want some more company.

–Jake.”

A phone number is written under the note.

The next morning finds you holding a latte and being shown around hangar after hangar at North Island. What this is supposed to do for your negotiations, you don't know but it beats sitting in a stuffy conference room. Admiral Simpson is droning on about the fighter weapons school when he catches the eye of someone behind you.

“Ahh, here is one of the test pilots for the new F-series,” he says as you turn around and meet some now familiar green eyes,

“Y/n, meet Lieutenant Jake Seresin, call sign Hangman.”

That goddamn smirk is firmly in place as he shakes your hand.

@kmc1989

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mamachasesmayhem

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

@djs8891

@atarmychick007

@memoriesat30

@midnightmagpiemama

@mygyn

[suguru-getos]

| unwind with me | itachi x reader |

a/n: i’m a sucker for domestic itachiiii <333 fluff and just, slice of life thingy goin’ on

living together with itachi had its perks. you didn’t have to worry about taking the trash out. you didn’t have to worry about a lot of little things which otherwise irritated you. take today for example: you have had a truly hectic week. meetings, appraisals, work politics, a certain bitch you hate and want to kill. everything was coming together hauntingly. so? saturday you didn’t do anything. being the epitome of a couch potato suits you sometimes. especially when those sometimes include your period.

today your eyes opened to an annoying nuisance. your period cramps again. itachi came to you, a huge mug of iced latte in his painted hands, nudging you tenderly and kissing your forehead. “good morning, you are up early today. yesterday you woke up at 11:45. look, it’s just 10:30” he winked, watching you roll your eyes at him. itachi had a subtle way of teasing you & you fairly understood that.

the coffee tasted immaculate. you had no words to express how tasty it was honestly. just the right amount of coldness, the kind that wakes you up soothingly. the perfect amount of chocolate & caramel. the perfect amount of crushed ice. you looked around the house & decided while sipping your morning drink, today you needed to be productive.

“m’ gonna open my laptop & then play games. after that m’ taking a shower and we’ll go out.” oh— itachi was ‘also’ your boyfriend. makes sense doesn’t it? why else would he treat you like a princess when he could’ve been labelled as king ‘aloof’.

“you will take a shower, work out a bit because it’s been 4 days you haven’t moved your body. i suggest pilates since you are still on your period. then, i will help you cook something for lunch. and further on; we will go out.” you always loved when itachi had his little planner instinct come out for you. there are times when you could really use that.

with that, the day was starting to go by with a slight haze. you had tasks lined up where you’d rather not think. give your mind a little rest by being in the backseat & let your boyfriend handle the itty bitty bits about that all. “speaking of, i need to get my nails done,” you sat on the kitchen counter, watching… or rather, gawking at your man chopping vegetables with such ease. “uh huh?” he looked rather indulged, the bun accentuated his features which would make van gogh bow.

he leaned in, gently placing himself between your legs and kissing your lips softly, hands freshly washed and scared to touch your supple skin. “i love you, angel,” itachi cooed, leaning his forehead against you. “i am so, so glad you depend on me you know that? because you don’t depend on anyone else & that’s what makes me strive so hard to be worthy of it,”

there he was, with his unadulterated words, piercing them deep inside your heart. your pupils shaked in sheer adoration, eyes glossing up. “m’ on my period dya wan’ me to fuckin’ cry?” you whined, leaning your head against his shoulder and hugging him.

he felt so warm, tenderly warm and caregiving that you often forgot that the world doesn’t know, or see this side of him. he’s ruthless to others, often labelled as cold. a twisted part of you likes it. you are exclusive to his love. you’d always be.

“alright now, i want you to eat, then how about,” itachi bit his lower lip, “we do some self care and i prepare us the cosiest haven for watching movies together,” you were introverted & your boyfriend reciprocates the same energy.

“deal!” you grinned, helping him prepare the rest of the ingredients.

little did you know that today was going to be even more special, it’s about time you were just his girlfriend. itachi has something rather too special to share with you tonight. 💍

[pspkisser]

⚙️ This laptop was saved from obsolescence! [10 mins of read]

Hello!! i am making this post here to raise awareness for PC and laptop upgrades, and how it should motivate you to do that same thing to preserve yours for longer or to give it the power you need! this will feature my history with mine, as well as the steps i took to be able to make him breathe life better! this is the story of his journey, and how it went to this current day.

his name is samuel, he is an asus fx570u and i bought him back in september of 2018 after i turned 13! he was brand new during that time and priced at 800 euros, offering only 6 gb of memory and an HDD as his specs. however he does have an 8th gen core i5 as his cpu and a geforce 1050 ti for his gpu. for something marketed as a gaming pc, it's pretty low and it wouldn't allow him to run fast enough, especially for highly demanding software and causing some compatibility issues. it wasn't severe, but as i was stuck with an hdd, that meant operating systems would run pretty slow on it, also leading to long software loading times. this is made worse by the fact that its bundled system, windows 10, isn't designed to work efficiently on hdd in the first place, but at least that means i have my hands on a windows key to be able to use some windows exclusive programs..

i mainly used him to be able to use advanced video editing software and customize the games i have on it for my own taste, because back then i loved making youtube videos and it was a passion i've had for years until i've partially retired from it. i rarely bought games on it and instead opted for free-to-plays, and overall had a good time with him.

unfortunately within only 3 months, his HDD broke down and i sent him to technicians for them to replace it with another one. it was a minor accident i've had but it formatted all my data, even though it didn't matter much since i uploaded most of it to the internet. i just had to be gentle with him by trying to not moving him around too much to stop that issue from persisting... but it was still low-end in terms of system performance. i finally used him for 1 year straight before moving on to a tower pc, feeling tired about his slowness and believing i couldn't do much about it.

i used that other (unnamed) pc for almost a year, starting from 2020! they seemed to work better since it had windows 7, but embarrassingly enough that version itself stopped receiving official security updates months before i started using it, even though i was careful while accessing the internet with it. its performances were also low, but didn't really matter much since i didn't take so much advantage from the power of samuel. suddenly, i had the foolish idea of installing windows 8.1 on the latter to try to deal with the performance issues on 10, but it led to even more compatibility issues since the drivers i used were meant to be for 10 only. only by early 2021, i got win10 back on him and started using him again to get more power again.

so the low-end performance persisted for very long. back then i never knew how to upgrade pcs, so i was only used to replacing devices with others which wasn't cost-efficient. after realizing i used windows for well over 10 years, i had the idea of switching to a mac and as a result, for xmas 2021 i got myself a cute yellow silicon imac, who goes by the name of sarah! but switching to macos posed new serious challenges, such as getting used to the lack of windows compatibility and the missing features that i was used to for a long time. most of the creativity i did with her was drawings with firealpaca and krita, and cgi with blender, which wasn't really much. still, she is pretty glossy and also powerful for many of the tasks i'm performing with her. originally i also intended to sell samuel, but that never happened (i low regret that decision so much i swear).

in late 2022, samuel's performance apparently had had a big hit... he now takes approximately 20 seconds to open any program and it seemed to me like something was wrong with him. at that time i also gained interest in linux since it's a libre OS capable of much more flexibility, essentially allowing it to revive old PCs. i finally decided to get linux mint to work on him via a dual boot with win11 (what was i thinking when i "upgraded" him from 10?). the performance seemed a little better from then, but programs still took very long to open. for that reason, he had often been collecting dust as he finally became unusable.

finally we've reached 2023. this is the year i decided to take on tearing down devices to learn how to examine problems inside of them. after checking samuel's performance again, i noticed that his HDD was having extremely low writing and reading speeds compared to my tower, which made me feel disappointed. but that's when i finally decided i could be able to replace his hard disk with an ssd, a new generation which is more durable, faster, quieter and energy-efficient...

but i still had a good wait until it was possible. suddenly with my money, i found an ssd which only costed €30, and it made me happy that this would be a quick way of healing up samuel! so i rushed to get it, and finally opened him to prepare everything... unfortunately, his keyboard has to be lifted up in the process, and there are flex cables connected between it and the motherboard. but taking out the hard disk thankfully only requires a few steps; removing some screws, then inserting the SSD inside of it. after that i quickly put linux mint back into him. SO SPLENDID...

for only the price of a high budget indie game, now he can open programs very fast, close to how fast sarah can do, and just about any task works perfectly well on him with way less bugs! thanks to that fast upgrade he's become viable for daily drives again, even though i don't have other desks suitable for pcs which makes me less motivated to use him. really wish id be able to since the architecture he has (x64) means he has a lot more software he's able to handle natively...

but then, i hadn't upgraded his ram. i said before that he only had 6 gb of it, and that meant he could only work with a few programs before becoming bloated. and as i like doing power tasks on him, that obviously causes problems. so one day, i went to a pc part store out of curiosity, and became shocked when i found small ram carts that could be compatible with my laptop. after some talk with the seller, i bought 2 ddr4 carts each containing 8 gb and clocked at 2666 mhz, more than double of what i used to have. after that it was time to take on a challenge to be able to insert them myself.

when the seller asked me if i needed assistance to have the carts inserted into my laptop, i giggled internally because of my past stories with learning how to open devices and trying to troubleshoot or modify them internally. i obviously declined it which saved me money, but also meant i had to do it all myself. after an hour of painful manipulations which required me to take out the entire motherboard from samuel, while that next step was also difficult i was finally able to insert the carts into it, before placing all his components back into place. and after such a long time of waiting...

i've finally done it!

Samuel is feeling very well right now!! despite his cpu and gpu dating from over 5 years, now he can do even more tasks at a time, while also being able to read them faster, a massive improvement compared to when it was stuck with an hdd and only 6 gb of ram. i'm guessing those low specs were for the purpose of saving manufacturing costs, but until you'd find use for the components that you'd remove, they'd end up becoming waste. and with a free os like linux mint, it adds up to an even more optimized experience than windows 10, which comes with so many unwanted stuff and can't be customized very well.

have you had a similar story to mine? did that pose you challenges? i took over 40 minutes to write this entire piece of text, but it should at least be very well detailed! on the best case scenario i hope it would inspire others to do some research on upgrading PCs to preserve their lives and especially save costs. Thank you for reading the entirety of it, don't hesitate reblogging it if you think it would interest your own audience! peace for all of you 💙

[curiositydooropened]

Late Checkout • Teaser

The cursor blinked.

A writing retreat at an exclusive 5-star ski resort. A New Years Eve party in the moody lodge bar. A handsome heir. A bratty bad boy. A snowstorm blocking every guest from the outside world.

Pairing: Rich!Steve Harrington x Writer!Reader, Eddie Munson x Writer!Reader

Wordcount: 1328

Warnings and Tags: Modern AU, femme!reader, strangers to lovers, angst, smut, voyeurism, fantasizing, longing, isolation, snowstorm, skiing, writer's block, murder, blood, gore, recreational drug and alcohol use. This is an 18+ blog, minor DNI please and thank you. Please check chapters for further warnings.

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Your thoughts drifted back out to the veranda. Sun poured over the mountain side and bounced off stark white snow. Golden rays cast down and carded through his chestnut hair. Your fingers ached. 

He tilted his face into it, eyes closed, lashes fluttering freckled cheeks, ecstasy evident as his features softened.

You licked your bottom lip. 

The woman with him reached for his cheek and procured an eyelash, holding her finger skyward. 

His eyes opened, amber and honey. A smile pulled at the corners of his pink lips before he pursed them to blow. His cheeks puffed up and hollowed, dotted with freckles, bone structure immaculate. Wish sufficiently made, his face lit in amusement, brows raised.

What did man like him wish for? He had the money, the looks. You hadn’t seen his car in the lot, but you were sure it was as luxuriously as the parka stretched over broad shoulders. The woman by his side was stunning, a Scandinavian supermodel with legs and curves for days.

So what was it then?

He swirled his glass in an ungloved hand, tips of his fingers reddening as he brought the amber liquid to his pink lips for a drink. What did a man with mid-afternoon Scotch wish for? Maybe he wished to bag a new account at the firm. Maybe he wished for his offer to go through for that rental on the Cape. Maybe he wished for his secretary to wear that YSL skirt again, with those pantyhose he could tear off with his perfect teeth.

You sputtered a cough, accidentally inhaling some of the saliva filling your mouth. Face warm, you mopped at the corners of your lips with a sweater cuff.

At your bistro table, your laptop screen had gone to stand-by. With a sigh, you clicked the track pad until the screen revived. On the blank page, the cursor blinked.

“You done with your coffee?” A busgirl approached, cheeks pinched pink and a smile across freckled features.

“Oh,” you handed her your mug and saucer. “Thank you.” 

“Sure,” she nodded, and you were surprised when she leaned in. She smelled of espresso and vanilla. “Hey, this guy in the corner? The cute one with the man bun and the leather jacket? He paid me a really big tip to give you this,” she slipped a drink napkin in front of you. 

Beneath the lodge’s bright orange logo were chicken scratched letters in black ink. 

I hope the novel you’re working on has a better ending. 

“He also offered to buy you another drink,” the barista informed, taking in your reaction with wide eyes. “But if you’re totally disgusted, I will be more than happy to call security and get his ass escorted right out of here.”

You snorted and glanced over your laptop at the far corner of the room. Your Critic from the previous day sat in his same corner, long limbs draped over the sides of the furniture like he he lived there. Slender hands folded the spine of a new novel, decorated in silver rings. His curls were pulled up into a loose bun, exposing a prominent widow’s peak, and a playful smile pulled at the corners of plump lips. 

“You don’t need to kick him out,” you smiled, crumpling the napkin into your discarded mug in her hand. The last drops of coffee soaked into the paper. “But tell you what. Why don’t you and your coworker buy yourself lunch on his dime? I’ll double his tip.” 

“You got yourself a deal,” she flashed a grin and made her way back behind the counter. 

You went about closing your laptop and packing your things into your bag, avoiding the gaze on you from across the room. Zipper zipped, you schlepped the bag over one shoulder, adjusting your sweater beneath the strap. Your table was cleared, save the pen you capped. When you finally looked up to leave the little cafe, you found yourself leveled under a honeyed stare.

Mr. Harrington, the handsome stranger on the veranda, had noticed you through the window. Well that, or the windows were tinted enough to capture his attention, and judging by the darkening of his eyes and the soft smile etching itself onto the corners of his perfect lips, he enjoyed his own reflection. He waved, almost imperceptibly, and mouthed a hello. 

You smiled and nodded. 

Then, the women he brought with him came into view, all freckles and blue eyes, stunning, full lips. 

You turned on your heel and left before you had a chance to wither under her scrutiny, staring at the orange and cream hexagonal tile as you walked through the threshold and back into the lobby. 

“Hey,” another voice startled you, impossibly close, the sting of cigarette smoke mixing with espresso in the air. 

“So the last book inspired you after all.” You sighed, halting before a head-on collision with a family of seven. 

“What?” Your critic crashed into you, capturing your shoulders in large hands to stop you both from barreling into the last set of twins. 

You huffed him off with a shrug. “The Vanishing was about a stalker.” 

“Oh,” he flashed that charming grin of his, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “How do I know you aren’t stalking me?”

You snorted and swept past the convenient store, the pro shop, narrowly avoided a sled dog near the exit to the veranda. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Your stalker barked a laugh and managed to trail you past the bar and ballrooms and into the back hallway. “Alright, sweetheart, you caught me. I’ve been following you for weeks.”

You stopped in front of the resort gym. Two middle aged women chatted on ellipticals in matching leggings. “What?”

He didn’t seem like the usual incel fan of yours. They were less clean, less put-together. The ones who managed to weasel your real name and location through hours of research on the dark web usually showed up to a local coffee shop and sent a text message to your laptop from a restricted number. 

This guy had a charcoal sweater made of cashmere and designer cologne. His jacket smelled of real leather. You spotted the glint of a silver watch beneath one sleeve. 

The Cheshire Cat grin fell from his face when your reaction sunk in, and he shook his head, eyes going wide. “I’m totally kidding. That’s probably creepy and terrifying, I’m sorry. I promise I’m not stalking you. I don’t even know your name.” 

Instead of offering it, you turned and headed back down the hall. 

“Hey, okay. My name’s Eddie,” he scrambled to catch up, all the bells and whistles jangling on his leather jacket, “and if you want me to leave you alone, I swear I will. But if you’d be at all interested in letting me buy you a drink tonight, can you let me know? Because I’m scaring the spa receptionists.”

You glanced at the two girls behind the nearest desk. They giggled behind their hands. 

“I’m sorry I insulted your favorite book.” Eddie’s voice softened.

With a sigh, you tucked yourself into a nearby alcove. “It’s not my favorite.” You’d published a handful of others you liked better, all of them less popular.

“Well what is your favorite?” The smile slid itself back onto his features. He remained a few paces away, giving you a respectable amount of space.

You weighed your options. You’d planned evening room service and sweatpants and drafting, endless drafting. Or, you could let someone else pay for your martini, and maybe his refreshing (albeit rude) perspective on your library of work could spark some much needed inspiration.

“I’ll tell you over drinks tonight.” 

“8 o’clock?”

Your stomach flipped at the proud look on his face, and you nodded. 

“See you then, princess.” He bowed so low his bun flopped, and he backed out of the alcove, wagging fingers at the giggling spa receptionists. He whistled as he left.

[machinesonix]

Dune 2 is out, and as a huge fan of the franchise I am in a semiferal state of hyperfixated fervor. I’ve been reading the book again as a coping mechanism, but it has been sort of difficult finding a social outlet for it. See, there is a lot of fascinating worldbuilding that isn’t in the movies and a lot of messianic philosophy that isn’t quite summed up by ‘well actually it turns out Duncan is the real Space Jesus.’ My wonderful girlfriend suggested this metablogging thing might be a better way to get my fix than stopping strangers on the street with a passion for science fiction easily mistakable for radical Islamic fundamentalism so HERE WE GO

One thing that kinda blows my mind reading through Dune is how both movies have given us radically different portrayals of Baron Harkonnen and how both of them are totally believable in the context of the original text. If you’re not familiar, the new sexy Dune gives us this raspy Kingpin type Baron that wades around in a bunch of unsettling fluids with this villainous gravitas like a fascist hippopotamus. In David Lynch’s 1984 Dune we are still dealing with a caricature of obese evil, but he’s just so goddamn jolly about it. He’s giggling and spitting and cavorting around in antigravity while Games Workshop writers take note about how everyone loves his boils. These depictions are so opposite to each other that seeing them both in the text is giving me this weird double vision.

I think the reason is this beautiful context we don’t really see in either version of the film, and that is the psychopath mentat Pieter DeVries serving absolute cunt with his exposition. It’s a worldbuilding thing. The Baron has a 15 year old Feyd-Rautha watching his uncle to learn a thing or two about statecraft. Pieter is a twisted mentat, which is like a human computer with an OS optimized for human rights violations and he is just having none of the Baron’s shit. He flaunts his expensive drug addiction, offers to dance, and repeatedly reminds the Baron that he was too stupid to have come up with this Snidely Whiplash shit by himself. Pieter correctly reasons that the Baron will have him dead as soon as he has outlived his usefulness and that his attitude isn’t going to be much of a determining factor. For now he is very confident that he remains useful.

So eventually Feyd is like ‘Uncle, I’m just watching you argue, I could be playing GameBoy right now’ because GameBoy is what Feyd-Rautha calls the guy with needles for teeth that he hunts through the steam tunnels. And the Baron goes ‘Ah, but you are learning something. See, one of the great things we lost during the robot jihad were Excel spreadsheets that weren’t little bitches.’ And that’s where it gets me. I can’t tell if this is an impatient mastermind flexing his general obesity or a plague-clown who invited his sassy laptop in to make everyone watch his sick burn. Maybe those aren't mutually exclusive. Maybe it’s not that weird and it’s just David Lynch brain poison leaving its indeliable mark. 

Mostly I think it’s a profound tragedy that we don’t have an on screen adaptation of Pieter DeVries going full fucking Starscream. Like yeah, we see some animosity but we as an audience have been robbed of seeing a dude who can do orbital physics calculations in his head acting like he just figured out nothing actually happens when mom finishes counting down from ten. As a millenial STEM graduate, I feel a deep sense of empathy for this human calculator vocalizing to his employer that he hopes his home burns down. 

[meirimerens]

*runs up to you* thoughts on burakhovsky marriage? 🎤🎤🎤

Honey if you knew!!!! I'll try to make it quick because I'm making sims so typing over my laptop put on front of my keyboard (complicated). Actually let me do Wedding. Marriage is them exactly the same but post-that. And sleeping in the same bed under boddhos hospices but hopefully not her watchful eye.

Tldr yes. dankovsky has been 🙄🙄 about marriage his whole life out of the feeling of religious alienation for being gay + generally a contrarian + able to recognize the misogyny inherent to marriage as a religious institution which made him go [before he knew he was gay] well if I met a woman I wouldn't want to marry her that's cruel [literally doesn't matter he's gay]  + generally a liker of freedom inclined to dislike institutions. But also he never had an actual relationship before so his ass didn't care before. And also by virtue of being a marriage between two men, the religious (and tbf secular societal) misogyny of the woman being "passed down" from the father's to the husband's "property" to go from domestic labor in her parents house to domestic sexual and reproductive labor in her husbands Literally doesn't apply to them because gay wedding.

I think his mom is overjoyed at marrige she always wanted him to have a nice wedding so she's very happy. she's a bit nervous because he's marrying in a culture she doesn't know much about (and vice-versa for burakh tbf) and she's ankchus at how ceremony will go.

Dankovskys side of fhe family brings to the ceremony Armenian [mothers side] & Georgian [dads] traditions [not listing bc making it short so I can.go back to my sims] also dankovsky in chokha please. ooooh please. for his weddig day.

they need A Bunch of meetings with wardens and the brides (all that participate in the ceremony) to adjust the usual wedding traditions to like. two guys. esp. for the Kin traditions as motherhood - birth - rebirth are very important within that culture and like Not Happening Here Sorry. so a bunch of bits and pieces are rearranged, I'd imagine like blessings for the bride for beautiful children and safe childbirth are scraped and everyone is scratching their heads at what to replace them with [they end up finding its fine]. while it's not the first time the Kin has an out gay couple among them [duh] it's the first time its a Warden son of Menkhu and they have to make a big deal out of it. Methinks ceremony includes painting sigils on each others wrists and the herb brides bricker with Oyun like "oh my god you can keep that one it doubles as a potency charm" and burakh and dankovsky sitting there are just boiling inside [I drew an image of it once I did I did]

also dankovskys mom insists burakh and those who can stand in as family come drink the tea with them and share his intention to ask for her sons hand in marriage [even after having asked dankovsky + neither of them care about parents permission, it's exclusively to please dankovskys family esp his mam who's taking that from lhosk-arnel tradition]

Ceremony also includes stepping out to the steppe for private vows while the assembly turns around and coming back. then usually groom carries brides on a beautiful bull he'd have tame to the bridal house (typically honeymoon destination). dankovsky has to explain to his father who already struggled with him being gay earlier on in his life that "I'm not sitting on the bull because I'm the woman of the relationship, I'm sitting on the bull because I'm scared of it and it could crush my foot under its hoof" and his dad kind of looks at him a little fearful.

mom brings honeycakes. rubin burakhs best man/whatever they're called, peter is dankovsky, and he keeps making big wet eyes at rubin the whole ceremony (watch out)

[morningberriesao3]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tysm to @runninriot for the tag. tbh i often don’t do these things ‘cause I never have anyone else to tag to keep the chain going, but this one is too fun not to 💕

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

currently—13. 10 are completed, 2 are old wips, 1 is my current wip. baker’s dozen.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

431, 629 and counting 😳

3. What fandoms do you write for?

stranger things, exclusively. no other fandom inspires me the same way.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Many Ways, Many Days, to Say ‘I Love You’

Dirty Words

Done Deal

Sneaky Link

Sweet Surrender

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

YES. omg i will always respond to a comment because they make me wildly happy. although sometimes (currently), i feel too overwhelmed to reply right away and i end up with an overflowing inbox. right now i have 200 unanswered comments that i WILL reply to 😂

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

as far as finished fics, Hate the Way It Feels So Good has, i guess, the most unsatisfying ending. generally i always write HEA. although i have a wip that was never supposed to end happily: Wicked, to Let Me Dream of You.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i’d say Sweet Surrender is the happiest considering all the angst you have to read to get there 😂 but like i said, most have a happy ending

8. Do you get hate on fics?

generally, no. but i have gotten more hate than anyone i’ve talked to about it! (certain word choices ‘ruining’ an entire fic for someone, grammar corrections, people telling me i’m a liar when i didn’t upload fast enough… all mostly surface stuff that hasn’t been too bad yet 😩)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

the real question is: have i ever not written smut? and the answer to that is no. what kind? every kind. tame, not-so-tame, porn with plot, porn with feelings, gross stuff, cute stuff, you name it 😉

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

not really. the closest i’ve been to writing a crossover is How I’d Kill, in which the first few chaps are pretty inspired by ACOTAR.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not copy and pasted, as far as i know. there have been a few instances where i’ve noticed bigger accounts posting eerily similar plot lines to some of the stuff i’ve written, but i’m 100% sure it’s just coincidence. we have to remember nothing is outright original when it comes to plot. as long as you’re not intentionally plagiarizing someone’s work, similarities are bound to happen.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no!! i’ve never had a translation, a pod fic, or artwork done for any of my fics! i’m just out here in my own little bubble lmao

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i haven’t! although i’ve definitely talked about it with @the-unforgivenn!! i get nervous because i’m such a procrastinator when it comes to getting my own fics done—i don’t want to drag someone else down 😂

14. What’s you’re all time favourite ship?

take a wild guess.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i honestly hope/plan to finish ALL of my posted wips, even though a couple are on pause. there’s a few saved on my laptop that I’m sure will never see the light of day hahaha

16. What are your writing strengths?

i’m blind to my own writing so it’s hard to say. i’d like to think just general improvement as i’ve written more/read more. a lot of repeat readers have complimented me on how i write angst so maybe that?!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i could write an essay on this. first—no matter how many times i read through my fics—there’s some autocorrect that i missed or a spelling error or just SOMETHING 😂 not to mention the procrastinating. always getting major writer’s block. and generally being very hard on myself.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i MIGHT be able to get away with a few french phrases here and there, being half french, but in general i only know english well enough to write. reading? LOVE it. make all the characters multilingual—i’ll have google translate ready.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

stranger things 🥹 and most likely will be the only fandom i ever write for. (unless you count the RPF i wrote and will NEVER publish about joseph quinn 💀)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

i personally think my best written fic is How I’d Kill, but Sweet Surrender will always be my favourite just by default—there was no better feeling as a first time writer reading the lovely comments that i got on that fic. i’ll never forget it 🥹

no pressure tags:

@numinosmoon @cuips-not-cute @bettyfrommars @the-unforgivenn @rip-quizilla @etherealmontilyet @wroteclassicaly @wynnyfryd

sorry if you’ve already been tagged or just plain old don’t want to do it 💕

[fcrafcrtnight]

"FOR THE LAST TIME, WASN'T I CLEAR WHEN I SAID THAT I WASN'T TAKING ANY VISITORS? NO? WELL, DO YOU NEED ME TO REPHRASE THAT FOR YOU?" gale didn't even have to look up from her laptop as she heard the knock on the door and.. well, what was it? she could have told anyone that coming from a mile away. it was more trouble for her and .. she had a feeling that she wasn't going to be free of it anytime soon. goddamn it. it was bad enough that she kept on dodging you know who's calls - now she had to deal with THIS? "unless you have an exclusive for me that no one else has heard of? I'M VERY MUCH NOT INTERESTED IN ANY VISITORS RIGHT NOW." @xtinyslip

[3hobbitsinatrenchcoat]

Today is a perfect day to post this nonsensical email my dad got a couple years ago:

I do not know what is better: thou could have dollars or Are you inflamed by the post

Regardless, the mix of thine and thou alongside U and biz is BIZZARE and I can't stop laughing.

Photo ID under cut

Photo ID: three images screenshot from an email that reads What a great day, A novel appointment of Boxing Supervisor of our logistic community has been established. Our business offers a very respectable payment and training case to set thou as a partner of our growing and heavily effective partnership.

We unearthed thine contacts via the CareerBuilder online database and ponder that your craftsmanship can be highly profitable for the business. If only ye are called by our concern's offer, would you please give an e-mail to our biz so our comradeship's human Resource leaders are informed about you to report you more precise post's description.

Pay cheque: $4,000 a 1 month.

The suggestion for workers which would like to act from apartment. If U can naturally do the job at thine house starting from 9 AM ending with 5 PM, thou could have dollars. The essence of our partnership's location is to operate with bales. What shall be thine direct capacities: accommodate bundles from single sender, make another pack for them based on our company's guidelines, and to forward them to further organization. Thou will be a perfect suitor for said appointment if you all are a just started to be a mother, a learner of Internet method of studying, retired, unable to work a full day outdoors persona, or the persona who objects against the need to exit place of residence to do function.

You all shall not be obliged to deal with too heavy clots. Mainly, you will see frocks or amusements inside the boxes. Instructions is established without payment. Everything ye should need to be employed by us is a laptop, access to the Internet, & printer to be capable of printing papers. How much you will obtain depends exclusively on ya'll - the more time ye function, the more money you obtain. On average, folks which simply start off functioning for our comradeship obtain approx. 1000 bucks per week.

Are you inflamed by the post? Feel free to give a letter to our business via electronic mail. Also, bear in mind about being at house from nine-hundred hours to 17 o'clock PM is a needed condition to be able to be employed to the mentioned function (or, the mentioned stance isn't for ye, unluckily).

j

[marcelwrites]

Last night I lashed out against my own laziness and smashed out 300 pushups, broken up into sets of 50. I think it was a new personal record too. Today I woke up satisfied but sore, my muscles, especially around my core, lats, and upper back, were hot with work. Before opening up my laptop to write this I just finished another workout, this time I focused on deadlifts and compound lifts. My core was still sore from last night but it still felt good to work myself into a sweat and to feel the world fade from my peripheral.

I'm accountable for own behaviour and I'd rather discomfort in the present for a better quality of life in the future. I'd rather deal with the weight in the now so that later, when I lift a little less and my hair and beard are run through with grey, I can be proud of what I was able to lift in my prime. I can be proud of the choices I made instead of feeling overwhelmed with the regret and the even greater spiritual weight of what I could've been or what I could've done. Men, we owe ourselves the kind of self-love that is exclusively brought about with self-accountability and self-discipline, it's brought about with time beneath the bench, time inside your head, painstakingly climbing over the trenches we've spent lifetimes digging. Fuck the trenches and fuck the weakness that keep us there avoiding the gunfire and firefights, and more importantly, fuck waging the wars of other men.

[seat-safety-switch]

Folks who are new to motorcycling, they imagine motorcycles as being broken into these discrete groups. It's all poppycock, engineered by the Man to make you buy a bigger bike than you think you need.

The way you likely think: you've got your mopeds, on the bottom end, which have wheezy little two-strokes and are exclusively for French people to transport baguettes with, a noble cause if ever I've heard one. Then you've got your scooters, which are halfway between mopeds and motorcycles. You might use a Honda Spree to get to the next town in a pinch, or a Vespa to hold a trip to Home Depot. Things start to get serious as you go into small motorcycles, then sportbikes, cruisers, all those other bigger categories.

What you actually need is any kind of two-wheeled motorized transportation. It's guaranteed to be better than walking, which leading scientists have identified as "pretty slow." All across this great country, the authorities are forgetting to legislate "e-bikes," which are effectively mopeds with a laptop battery strapped to them. It's only a matter of time before they forget that anything smaller than a Hummer H2 exists, at which point it will make a lot of sense to buy a high-mileage Lambretta and drive it in the bike lane, just like they do in Europe.

I'd say run out right now and buy a scooter or two, but just to be on the safe side, let me know about it first. After all, you've just now been awoken to the true potential of shitbox small-displacement transportation and can't be trusted to navigate an untrustworthy Craigslist seller who thinks "hosing off the blood" is the same thing as a full soup-to-nuts restoration. In fact, just let me buy it instead, and there's no reason for you to worry at all. You can walk for a few more weeks until the right deal comes along, right?