#The Jolly Boys' Outing

[all-action-all-picture]

August Bank Holiday in the UK.

[the-time-lord-oracle]

The Jolly Boy's Explosive Coach Outing | Only Fools and Horses

The Jolly Boys’ Outing was definitely one of Only Fools & Horses’ best episodes. This scene alone is comedy gold. 

[emofrotting]

is this anything

[tigergendermoved2tigergender]

Remembering the toxic hellscape that was 2015-2019ish SU fandom and just how much hate the show got is really insane when you rewatch the show after it's been a while. Like the show is good what the hell were any of these people talking about

[deepdeanvsweston]

YES Daisy Wells actually comes out in death in the spotlight and YES her first kiss with Amina was in death sets sail but the gayest book to me will ALWAYS be jolly foul play

[shewhoeatssand]

This is what perfect looks like

[herbalsingularitea]

Jolly Boy is by far the least popular out of the Jolly fics and by FAR the hardest to edit because so much needs to be changed to better fit a M/M romance. But there is one single person who comments on it and they are having a TIME rn and that makes it all soooo worth it lmaoo

[theblehthatbloos]

Some times when you're making sure to make self admirations to bring yourself back up to the surface like one of them eels that hibernate like Uruk-hai, you gotta say somthing to make yourself smile.

Like

Damn, all this cake and no bakery in sight

[whuynh]

heads up y'all, only the second link and the second one from nero-neptune is working. The 3rd from from them is restricted and requires access, everything else is unfortunately dead.

This is definitely not a google drive full of the sleep stuff from the Headspace app, including sleepcasts, music, and wind down meditation, that normally costs 17.99 a month, no siree and you definitely shouldnt share this with people

[all-action-all-picture]

"It's a snapshot of a world that has disappeared". Referring to the "Everybody's Talking" sequence in Margate from the Only Fools and Horses episode The Jolly Boys' Outing.

First shown on UK television on Christmas Day 1989 but set over an August Bank Holiday weekend.

[the-time-lord-oracle]

"Don't worry, Harry, I won't tell ya guv'nor about it."

[callipraxia]

I want to hug these ancient dead guys now, and tell them I understand, and also ask for details on how to get famous enough that I can ensure my dear ones will be remembered in a thousand years.

I can’t stop getting emotional about how tenderly a shepherd caresses his dog’s face on this marble sarcophagus from the third century

The dog’s face is just so lovingly crafted and it’s much more finely detailed than some of the other animals in the piece. The expression is pure contentment and devotion. This scene is a tiny portion of a huge elaborate sculpture but I really feel like the artist was trying to capture a specific emotion with these two. The way that you feel when you look at your dog is thousands of years old.

[reveluving]

Ok, so Soap and shy wife. We all know he's the definition of sunshine/happy puppy and has the energy of an entire class of kindengarden. Imagine when they first meet the couple and he's all loud and jolly, and wife quietly shakes their hand and says "Nice to meet you" and he INSTANTLY quiets, because he's proud of his Darling to meet his friends/family, also because they're all wondering how she puts up with him🤣❤

LOSING MY MIND AT "they're all wondering how she puts up with him" BECAUSE THAT IS BASICALLY THEIR DYNAMIC 🤧💗💗

Includes: tooth-rotting fluff!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

You just know this man does not shut up about you every time he meets up with his team for work. 

And then, one day, he surprises them with a “she’d love y’all to come over one day.”

“Didn’t you say she’s a lil’ shy?” Kyle voiced out everyone’s thoughts, so to be offered not by the man himself but the meek lady in question was a little surprising, to say the least.

“She is, yeah, but she’s open t’meeting a few pals o’mine.” Johnny meant it to sound casual, but with his mates knowing him for a long time, it wasn’t hard to catch the hint of care in his voice.

And, well, it would be rude to decline a lady’s generous offer, now, would it?

Johnny’s hyped, no doubt, his friends—no, brothers, and his other half finally meeting in person. They didn’t even have to ask, just by the way he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel or the way he hummed to the radio, likely a playlist the two of you shared.

And with the boys holding some sort of gift for you, just as a thank you for the invite, you greet them by the door as soon as your husband announces his and his friends’ arrival. 

With Simon physically being the closest to you, you wiped your hands on your apron before holding your hand out. Simon nearly struggled with his strength, not expecting your lack of hesitation to greet him, out of all of them.

You introduced yourself, “It’s nice to finally meet you guys.”

Ah, such a sweet voice. So sweet that had Johnny not gone on and on about your shyness, they would’ve thought you were scared of them. But, you weren’t and the proud smile on Johnny’s face says it all. 

Why wouldn’t he? With your warm smile and even willingness to shake Kyle and John’s hands as well. Albeit, you had a habit of looking down every once in a while, especially if they tried to show their respect, i.e. complimenting your cooking, the decor or you in general, it was hard not to find you endearing.

But God knows how you, of all people, manage to put up with his nonsense. 

In the words of Johnny; “Opposites attract, after all.”

And seeing it now, to say Johnny was whipped…. Was putting it lightly.

It’s funny to see Johnny trying his best when it comes to lowering his gruff voice for you, even if you loved it just the way it is.

Though he has a lot of things to tell you, so much love to give you, you have his full attention the moment your lips part.

Each time you open your mouth, he closes his. As if fearing that one word from him would mean talking over you entirely, and he couldn’t bear the thought of that. The hearts in his eyes were tough to miss. He’s expressive, too, hanging on your every word like you were giving him a task when it was just you talking about how you learnt to make the lasagna you served for dinner.

‘SHUT UP, MY BABY HAS SOMETHING TO SAY’ type of beat, but it’s the man who’s saying it that has the loudest voice (and the gentlest heart).

But they’d be lying if they said they didn’t enjoy listening to the stories of how you met and how emo Johnny gets when the dates or outings don’t go his way, even though it all went well in the end.

Why wouldn’t they enjoy seeing his soul leave his body when you mentioned his baby pictures that his mother not only showed you but gave some to you as well?

“Johnny, c’mon, now, she’s a part of the family! She’ll need some photos o’you for when you move in together soon.” Says his mother, gifting you probably a stack of them, as if unfazed by the sight of you and Johnny covering your faces, the temperature of your body heat rising that even you feared you might pass out right then and there. He couldn’t even find the energy to stop his sisters from teasing him.

But besides allowing you to embarrass him a little, even if it wasn’t your intention, your home is another.

A small unit, located on the second floor. The candlelight colour, the cute indoor plants in each room, and the seats. 

Oh, the seats.

John nearly passed out just moments after he sat on it. 

Just by the way you maximized the apartment space, it’s no wonder Johnny always looked forward to returning home. Not necessarily the apartment, but to you. 

Dare they say, the visit felt like a ‘cultural reset’ (is that what the kids are saying these days?). Largely because one; they were able to finally confirm that Mrs MacTavish is a real person and two; one cannot simply ignore the dynamic you and Johnny have. It may be eye-roll-worthy to some, but Johnny learns it isn’t something worth fighting about. So long he has you, those people can yap and nag about it all they want. 

Bonus: John’s definitely the type of person to tell Laswell about it like it was some kind of a mission—like it was almost unbelievable to see you, well, you!

“M’tellin’ ya, Laswell. As soon as his wife had something t’say, he shuts up faster than when I tell him to.” He chuckled before taking a sip of his drink.

“Sounds like a keeper to me.”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[hearts4hughes]

holiday shopping - rafe cameron x fem!reader

A/N: all i want is to be spoiled by rafe cameron ☹️

holly jolly november

the two of you are barely through the entrance of the mall when you grab rafe’s hand, steering him towards a row of holiday-lit stores.

“can we go in there, please?” you ask, staring up at rafe with those doe innocent eyes.

he chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “we can do whatever you want, but you’re not lifting a finger. got it?” if he was spoiling you today, he was going to do it right.

you give him a look, raising your eyebrows. “honey, i can pay for things myself. you don’t have to-” his finger covers your lips as he shushes you.

“don’t want to hear it. i don’t just do this for anyone, baby.” he’s teasing, but there’s something serious in his gaze, too, something that makes your heart skip. for the rest of the day he doesn’t let you lift a single bag, nor a credit card that isn’t his.

by the time you’re on your way out of the store, he’s juggling an armful of your new things with a satisfied smile on his face.

you can’t help but giggle as he struggles with the weight of the bags. “need some help there?” you offer, reaching out.

he smirks, shifting the bags to one side before you can grab them. “nice try.” he pulls you closer as you walk. “but i’ve got it.”

you stare at rafe, the boy who’s usually masked by a stressful and tough facade, as he carries girlie, holiday decorated bags for you.

[tojisun]

the lights are on

!! simon riley x afab reader; chubby reader; confidence and body issues; past bullying (not by simon and briefly mentioned); smut - minors dni // divider by @/plutism!

i projected too much of myself onto the reader so do forgive me for that. this is a milestone celebration for me, mostly, but also for you all so i hope you all would like it too <3

this is inspired by rachel wiley’s “10 honest thoughts on being loved by a skinny boy” - a slam poetry

you are told that love comes easily — that it is the budding of spring, shimmering and vibrant, and blooming oh-so tenderly. unfurling oh-so carefully, like you are melting into padded sheets and cashmere sweaters.

you are told that love comes easily — that it stands out amongst a vast ocean. that it is distinguishable; a beacon so familiar you run towards it, unafraid and unashamed. like fate or destiny; like fairytales being remade.

you are told that love comes easily, but you know they mean to people who don’t look like you; only for the girls with slim arms and robust legs, with dips in their waists and hour-glass figures, with bones pressing against their skins like carved mountains.

love comes easily to thin girls. to the girls whose loud laughter are heard as wind chimes, whose jolly isn’t sneered at or embarrassing to see, whose confidence is just is — that it isn’t an act of empowerment or a statement or a message.

so you slink back into your shadows with little laughs and curled shoulders, like maybe if you diminished your presence enough, you would be seen physically small too. petite is a word no one has used for you but how else can anyone explain the way you trim yourself into bite-sized pieces?

you aren’t the first to be chosen; not the one people fight over. when you walk into a room, the best that could happen was that no one would notice you. that you would blend into the shadows or the walls, quiet and peaceful. painfully lonely, yes, but peaceful, nevertheless.

(you still have nightmares of high school.

of boys using you for their dares, like the only thing good about you was to be the butt of the joke; like asking you out was a comedic show.

of girls and—

sometimes, they’re meaner than the boys with all their lilac and softness; you thought that at least they were a kindred soul, but so many times, during lunch, you were cornered into tears until you became full from nothing but your anguish.)

when simon first walked into your life, you knew it — whatever ‘it’ could be — was impossible.

you had already ended the tragedy before something could even begin. you saw his beauty — in a way that you cannot explain; in a way that is rugged and scarred and terrifying, almost, but beautiful, still — and knew there was no way he would fall for you, anyway.

but simon was… persistent. charming you in a way that was painfully absent of all suave but he was still so charismatic, he always left your stomach in knots. hope bloomed in your chest and you realized that maybe it needn’t be a tragedy; that it mustn’t be a joke nor a dare; that you must be—

loved.

that you are loved — just that. just as is.

.

.

simon watches as you lay down on the bed, your cheeks tingling with heat as embarrassment rises from the base of your neck, dancing past your shoulders and devouring up until even the tip of your nose thrums with feverish touch. you look away from him, feeling so shy at the intensity in his eyes. he looks at you like he is ravenous for you; like you are the only nourishment he needs, and that you have made him hungry, his gums aching with the need to sink his teeth into the soft parts of your body.

you have never been looked at like this before, and it is intoxicating. it makes you heady, breathless, lips parted open as you gasp for air—

rustling fills your ears and you perk up, getting ready to snap your bra off, only to find simon naked, bare, his cock chubbing up from underneath his bush, and you have never loved a body until his. lust coils in the tendrils of your heart, stretching into the yawning that burrows in the pit of your stomach to capture you whole.

you want him.

god, do you want him.

he falls to his knees, stalking close to where you are splayed on the bed like the offering you are that he says he will never deserve, but you stop him with a hand up and a quiet breath, and, “the lights.”

your voice trembles. shame slowly snuffs out the greed.

“can you turn them off, please?” you ask because it is a courtesy you were taught to—

‘can you bathe me in darkness so that the two of us can pretend that i am not undesirable and that your love is not a fluke?’

‘can you hide me from your eyes so your mind does not give you reason to pull away?’

‘can you reduce me into a body to fuck into, so that our pretend-love story does not end?’

your question makes simon still, his heady eyes lightening up again. recognition slips into his consciousness and he rouses up — you tell yourself that the caving in your chest isn’t a heartbreak — to reach forward.

to reach for—

you.

simon’s scarred palm falls to your stomach, planting atop the sea of stretch marks. his thumb traces their ridges, so soft and slow and intimate, and your eyes burn because why is he so cruel?

why must he touch you like you are something to revere? like you are something priceless and that he is undeserving of you? like you are, all parts, beautiful?

“won’t you let me love you like this?” is what he says instead, and he moves, desperate to meet your eyes. “can we do it with the lights on, from now on?”

all the air in your lungs is knocked out of you.

his words were quiet but they resonated so loudly, almost booming and deafening. the world doesn’t freeze nor does time slow, but there is something in that moment that makes you feel like you are at the throes of something divine. like you are finally sewn together.

you do not sob but you are so close to doing so. instead, you pull him close, trembling, and give him a kiss. he melts into it, his hands mapping the softness of your body, digging into the fat and never letting go.

he devours you like this — hot lips against your own. spit is shared, moans fall in between the tiny cracks whenever you pull away to breathe only for simon to push close again, never letting you stray alone any longer, and clingy as he fits you into him.

the first drag of his fingers into your cunt makes you gasp, your head falling back to the pillows as a mewl drips from your mouth. he pulls away, huffing, and positions himself so he can watch you. you keep your head tipped up, still so embarrassed by being exposed this way, but simon curls his fingers just right, and he strokes against something that punches a gasp out of you.

“shit—”

“like this, sweetheart?” simon croons, nuzzling his face on your rib, his cheek bumping against your boob. he pulls his fingers out, dragging with him muffled squelching noises that tickle your ears, before fucking his fingers in you again.

you whine, a drawn hiccupped sound, and claw at the sheets at the pace he adopts. it is fast, overwhelming, but still not enough. it seems like he’s spoiled you rotten, and left you needy for nothing but his cock.

“fuck me,” you whimper, arms looped around his wrists. you feel so weak from the pleasure, wrung out of orgasms with his fingers in your cunt and his palm against your clit. you flick your eyes up, meeting his gaze. “si, please?”

he lets out a snarl, his softness and need peaking into something dangerous. you find that you are not scared, instead, you are besotted — inviting him in by spreading your legs wider, showing him how wet your pussy is and that it is ready for his taking.

your face crumples at the slow slide, his cock fucking you raw like this is the first time again. like you two have more to explore, more to uncover, and you keen at the intensity of it all.

missionary has never felt this good before; simon thrusts his hips, humping the remaining inches in, and you scream — your hips snapping up, and your throat burning with the ache. simon holds you by your waist, his fingers dimpling your flesh, and fucks you with gusto.

he chases his orgasm as he melts into you. he is louder today, and more guttural with his desires. he snarls his praises, the words curling from the backs of his teeth until they drip on you like hot wax — scalding, overwhelming, and leaving you to feel all tender and raw.

“si!” you cry out, reaching forward to play with your clit. “m’close, baby. m’close!”

“yeah?” he rasps out, his balls slapping against your ass. you go dizzy, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as goosebumps rise across the expanse of your body. “do i make my baby feel good? tell me, sweetheart, go on. tell me, huh?”

he is rambling, untethered, himself, as he loses in his own swelling euphoria.

you sob, toes digging into the mattress because you are unable to properly vocalize the pleasure, your mind all razed by the way he fucks you, but your baby is asking you to do so, so you tell him, “s’good. baby, s’good! i feel so full an’ only you can fuck me good an’— an’ si, i’m gonna— i’m gonna—”

your orgasm hits you like a fever breaking; like you are feeling a sense of release that has never been felt before. you feel like you are suspended, floating, your skin buzzing with lightning. you don’t even know you are screaming, deaf to anything but the explosion of ecstatic pleasure.

your teeth rattle at the first spurt of simon’s cum, and he presses uncoordinated kisses on your lips. it makes you giggle, all sluggish now that exhaustion is weaving in, and it is then that you meet simon’s eyes.

they are so clear and vibrant, the way they only ever are under light. they crinkle in his smile, and you puff, snuggling close, feeling like you can drop to sleep with his cock still in you.

“love you si,” you murmur, your words sticking together in your drowsiness.

he presses a kiss on your temple and breathes you in. then, “i love you too, sweetheart.”

and the lights are still on.

thank you once again for the 15k, and i hope you have loved this the way i loved writing it <33

i was struck with the poetry, and the way wiley described the way she is loved. she started her performance with the lines: “i say, ‘i am fat.’ he says, ‘no, you are beautiful.’ i wonder why i cannot be both.” and i have never related to anything more. wiley then talks about how their relationship unfurls, and in ‘6’ (it is a list poetry), she says, “he tells me he loves me with the lights on,” and i sobbed.

so i wrote a fic of me, and i hope thats alright.

[thesundowncrew]

“You didn’t hurt me one bit.” Maude said the words so confidently, Samhain had no reason to doubt her; but he also had no reason to fully believe her either. He just couldn't shake this nagging feeling that he ought to be more careful the next time he handled the creature- just to be safe. He chuckled when Maude carried on. Despite how fatigued she looked, she could always spare a bad word for the 'horrid little beast'.

The ghoul gave her a puzzled look when she mentioned her magick in the inn. When she handed him the moonstone, he quickly put two and two together. "Ah, I see," he said with a smile. Nodding, he placed it securely into his pocket. "Thank you, ah appreciate it."

"Oh..! Then, does that mean.. I can stay?" A look of sudden realization swept the young man's face, and then a twinkle in his bright, green eyes as he laughed. "Would it be too much to ask if ah can still 'ave this room? After all, ah dun think ah actually checked myself out."

"Still, ah think it best ah make myself scarce at least for today.. Might be a bit much if Nettie sees me all of a sudden.." He said, in all seriousness. Then — looking back at Maude with his usual, warm smile, "Thank you. For trusting me, Ms. Haven. Ah know it's not the easiest thing in the world but.." The words trailed off as he shook his head. After everything they'd just been through, he was sure by now Maude understood what he implied all the same.

Still, as an additional sign of peace, Samhain held out his hand for a shake. "Likewise, I'll be upstairs if you need me."

He asked if she’d been hurt. Maude forced her expression to stay attentive and neutral, to betray nothing, even as her heart skipped a beat and her hands tightened slightly around the mug of tea. She had nearly forgotten about the sore spots on her arms. Now, she was acutely aware of them. Her long sleeves hid the bruises well, thank goodness.

Samhain and Nightshade had a similar connection. Curiosity sparked in Maude, and her gaze softened at the moment of vulnerability. Part of her understood she owed Samhain honesty in return. But, in the end, seeing the worry in the boy’s eyes and his downcast expression convinced her to choose a different reply.

“You didn’t hurt me one bit,” Maude told him, gentle but firm, with the smoothness that came from years of concealing jagged truths beneath softer lies. “And I wouldn’t have blamed you even if you did, even if you’d known how it bound our lives together.” Her brow creased, irritation with the creature bristling in her words. “It’s like a game to it. Pushing people too far, using everything it knows about them against them. It deserves to be twisted into knots.”

Faltering, she took a breath and looked at Samhain with genuine warmth, any trace of sharpness gone from her tone. “I don’t know what it said to you, but I’m certain it was cruel. It won’t apologize, because it’s a horrid little beast, so I’m sorry on its behalf.”

She shot one last glare at the blanket-covered bubble, even though Feld couldn’t see or hear any part of their conversation, then nodded to Samhain. “I’ll be downstairs. Fetch me if you need me.”

Halfway out the door, the innkeeper paused with a soft hum of realization. She turned to face Samhain once more, mug held in one hand as she rummaged in her dress pocket with the other. “Sorry, I— I forgot my magic’s a bit… everywhere. In the inn, that is. I can’t vanish it altogether, so—” Ah, her words were getting jumbled again. With a click of her tongue and a shake of her head, she drew a small stone from her pocket and offered it to Samhain. It fit into the center of her palm, smooth and pearlescent. “Moonstone,” she tried to explain more clearly. “It’ll keep my magic from making you drowsy, if it’s in your pocket.”