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gallusrostromegalus · 1 year ago

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The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

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I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

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If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

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As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

youtube

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

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So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

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If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

#Family Lore #Dogs #It's Halloween babey #friday the 13th #blood mention #I hope that kid had a good night and at least one of his friends believed him #Long post #Video

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celestialtarot11 · 2 months ago

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Your sexual appeal 18+

Hey friends! Welcome to another PAC. I was feeling generous to do another on top of my busy week :) enjoy! Don’t be afraid to like comment and reblog to share the love! Lol ya’ll are being fed.

Pile 1: Hey pile 1! Kicking off strong, Wild thoughts by Rihanna is playing in my head. So you guys already have such a powerful energy—I feel it does permeate the room that you enter. Instead of everyone else’s energy affecting you, you are the one influencing the energy and it is felt strong! That’s part of your sexual appeal. Your legs can be very sexually appealing, like I’m seeing people would imagine you wearing garters, knee length boots, stockings, ripped tights. Or skirts that show off your legs! Maybe it’s toned and your skin is really smooth, and I heard it gives off an airbrushed appearance so people find that very alluring. I would imagine you guys walk with a powerful stride too, you’re always looking to where you’re going and not necessarily at people which makes them feel intimidated. Definitely not your fault you’re confident! Some of you may also walk delicately and quietly and you may scare people lol. But it’s also part of your allure because you scare people when they least expect it ;) you have them standing on their toes! I feel also you may be surrounded by a lot of people. Everywhere you go, people notice you’re remembered. So that’s hot, seeing other people look up to you and walk up to you shows your confidence! People trust you, right? And I also feel you may be foreign. Your eyes may be different from the rest, your hair color can stand out in a friend group, and your voice as well. Maybe you can speak multiple languages which is sexy to others, they love your cadence and tone. And people may think your cultural background is appealing. I feel as though you guys stand out a lot which is sexually attractive to others—even if you don’t necessarily mean to. Because I’m getting two piles here where one is confident, assertive. And the other appears soft and angelic yes, but also carries an undertone of seduction. Or maybe you play both. Maybe you pull both personas out when it serves you :) super intelligent! I heard their beauty and brains—so your intelligence and when you show off what you know is considered sexy. Thank you for being here pile 1 <3 please like comment and reblog!

Pile 2: Hello there pile 2! Immediately I saw someone countering someones idea, opinion or argument. I feel you know how to argue, and not through yelling or cursing necessarily. But by fact checking people and it puts them in their place. People feel intimidated by your knowledge, and are especially drawn in by the banter you provide. I feel like you’re a diva, and you know this! You know beauty also comes from intelligence as well and maybe you’re an air sign! Libra aquarius and gemini. Or have an air venus. You can earth too, taurus virgo and Capricorn. Ya’ll are sarcastic, and have a dry humor other people find themselves reeling towards. I think people also give off strong reactions around you, whether it be from love bombing to rejecting you, and it’s not because you did anything wrong or you’re “different.” Your ability to alchemize is felt very strong, so maybe you have pluto strong in your chart—but your energy is felt leaking into peoples subconscious. Especially those who haven’t healed from past wounds its enlightened even more when they’re with you, which makes people feel the need to deflect, hide and project onto you. Because your knowledge scares them. And it also turns people on around you, with what you know. I also feel you may prefer to dress modest, simple and it leaves more to the imagination. People may wonder what you look like under neath. When you go to the gym, people may wonder what your progress looks like under that hoodie or sweatpants. They’re enamored by what they can’t see and they love it. Someone here could be muslim, I’m also getting that message. If you wear a hijab, people love your eyes and your features that pop out beautifully. They find your eyes to be striking and this goes for those who wear a hijab or not! Your eyes are deep and piercing. I heard Elena Gilbert from the TVD, so maybe ya’ll like her, or dress like her at times. You guys come across as detached, yet grounded and rooted in. It reminds me of earth & air energy which I already mentioned. You guys keep up with the trends and I think you try to not follow it necessarily, but you adjust it to your advantage. So if you see clothes that are trending you’ll adjust it so it isnt a direct copy, but a mixture of what you like and its sexy. Sexy because it works for you. I feel as though people want to peek into your mind to know what you’re thinking and feeling. How does your mind work? It’s mysterious and hidden which leaves people guessing which adds to your appeal. People also may fantasize about being “chosen” by you. Having your time, energy, attention, smile, jokes, etc. they can feel jealous when you’re giving that to someone else. Thank you pile 2 for being here, I sincerely appreciate it <3 please reblog like and comment for more!

Pile 3: Hey pile 3, I don’t know why but I saw Mariah Carey singing “its time,” for Christmas 😭 so maybe y’all like that meme a lot, or you love winter and you’re excited to celebrate. Or your energy is super fun! My ear is ringing so—someone has a strong presence of spirit guides and angels here! Or a loved one that passed away is what I heard which I know isn’t a focus of the reading, just needed to say it. Moving on, I feel as though people fantasize about being in your arms. Like, your gaze might be very soft and loving and people fantasize about being held that way when they look at you. You may have a doe eye gaze, so they fantasize about you being below whilst giving them that look. Or holding them and cuddling </3 but also, I feel your sexual appeal is driven by this soft nature. This soft feminine energy which we all have regardless of our gender. So maybe you’ve been working on pampering yourself, going with the flow emotionally, allowing not forcing, etc. all this is very sexually appealing to those around you, and people feel “at home” with you. They feel like it’s a lovely night and it’s sensual with you. I keep getting Christmas memes and concepts 😭 someone here is super excited lol. Its cute. I also feel that people may view you as a present like they need you. They feel like a hopeless romantic around you, because your energy is incredibly nurturing and touches their heart. I also feel that you guys can be witty, sharp with your words which also makes people sexually attracted. It goes straight to their core, so maybe you speak softly, or have an accent that people love. You might prefer to wear light loose fabrics, lots of bright colors, ribbons, or material that is slinky or silky. People feel as though it’s sexy, because it’s soft and feminine like, which adds to your allure. They may imagine you being tied up in ribbons like a present literally. People feel they can escape in your arms—you’re like a drug. People can’t get enough. I feel you already know this, and you come across as sweet as those cute heart candies. Sweethearts. I think thats what you call it! Lol. I think people like when you ask for help even when you know you’ve got it—and when you do the arm brushing thingy, you hold it, people swoon. Your touch is so gentle and yet grounding and they find themselves falling heard over heels <3 People may also think you’re intelligent or skilled in an area of your life which—adds contrast to your softness. And they love it. They’re surprised and turned on by what you know. You may go on rants about your interests and they love to listen! So the more you share your passions it’s such a turn on! Because you’re so deeply involved with your emotions and what makes you feel good internally, that others feel this. They feel your authenticity! I also heard babydoll aesthetic so I have no idea if that is someones theme, blog, way of dressing, etc. thats cool. Thanks pile 3 for being here <3 dont forget to like comment and reblog!

Extra

Paid readings 🤍

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elodieunderglass · 3 months ago

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for the horse asks: appaloosa?

Appaloosa - What's your favorite horse color(s)?

I don’t really have one but I LOVE when horses and ponies are what they’re supposed to be!

I’m also a huge fan of the primitive markings, and general Lascaux cave horse appearance.

So like I wouldn’t say flaxen chestnut is my favorite AT ALL, but the Haflinger!! . yes you are a cobby little horse with a big butt that needs to be a flaxen chestnut!! and everyone understands this. Perfect animal. No need to track changes. Also I do love when a horse has a bit of texture in their mane and tail, so respect to Haflingers for being the rare wavy-haired horsie. I don’t even like blondes so you see what I mean here about it just being the pure synergy of intention and form and style, the Haflinger just is perfectly complete.

And then a brunblakk fjord horse. The mealy muzzle. The dorsal stripe. Black ear tips. Someone from 20,000 years ago is grasping my hand across space and time and we are crying together about how perfect a thick little horsie can get. Granted the fjords always have the weirdest haircuts in the world, but you can see exactly why. This horse is so perfectly what it’s supposed to be that you can’t resist scrungling it a little bit. Also another animal that IS its name like: all Norwegian Fjords LOOK like the breed name is Norwegian Fjord, and they ARE all named things like Freya. As they should be. This is an animal that is exactly what it should be.

You know how horse people compliment each other’s horses by saying they have a kind eye? It’s hard not to have a Kind Eye if you are a brunblakk Norwegian Fjord.

And of course, my baby, my darling, my moorland mousie, the feral shaggy brown/bay with mealy markings that is the Exmoor Pony. You look at this tubby beastie and you say YES. YES YOU ARE BORN TO BE A LITTLE BEASTIE ENCOUNTERED SUDDENLY ON A MISTY MOOR . The sculpting of the contour colours! Some sculpture artist would spend hours with an airbrush trying to do that! and they just wake up in the morning , eyeliner: on, eyeshadow: on, lipstick: on, cheeks: contoured, muzzle: mealy, dapples subtle, ready to go. Can’t even see their eyes half the time, but underneath 25 pounds of luscious pelted mane they’re wearing natural mascara. And for what? Living full time on rocks in the rain, baby!! This is a cave painting horse and it always will be!

The reverse of that of course is horses who Shouldn’t Be That Color. For example I am a little bit upset by this chestnut Shire, who isn’t a flaxen chestnut and probably should be. What are you doing baby? You need some leg markings sweetheart. Can we just dye your mane and tail black maybe, you have bay energy. Ughhhhh I’m trying not to be prescriptive. Ughhhh all horses are beautiful and beauty standards are fake but ———— - sweet child we HAVE to style you somehow!!!! You are a Shire!!!!! WHAT IS THIS??

And I love - LOVE! - a grulla/grullo. Obvious reasons: I like primitive markings, and I have the aesthetic taste of a small child. Who doesn’t secretly love a deviantart sparklehorse?

but I will be the first to admit that it is a razor’s edge between a really lovely grulla horse who reaches back to touch our shared history and knowledge of ourselves, an unbroken thread of beauty that should be painted in a cave under an ancient mountain, like a jewel of the earth: and a necromantic vessel that was bred to encourage possession by evil ghosts, to be harvested regularly and sold at retail prices by some midwestern white woman as part of some tortuous work-from-home scheme. And I do understand this. I know this about myself and about grullas. Like, this one is a horse that probably shouldn’t - we probably shouldn’t have done this. You know?

Do not ask about cremellos.

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1800titz · 3 months ago

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I’M IN MY PRIME | Best friend's dad

age gap. 4.8K on patreon

Third and final part to LIQUID SMOOTH & COME TOUCH ME TOO

Fucking an older man feels like every ugly, broken part of you shuddering to the surface. Buoying, dredged up from his broad hand on your shoulder, lugging you down to meet his pelvis in a wet slap. It feels… Heavy. Overwhelming. Raw— your rim smarts on the sheer stretch, and every bludgeon into you (you, being yanked back to envelop the root of his cock, again, and again, and again) feels like it’s cudgeling something sharp and deep. Bruising something awful. And you like it. Chase it, the same way you’ve been chasing him. Because when he resorts to softer grinds, just as deep, and palms at the sides of your skull, thumbs prying into the soft flesh under your cheekbones, with his fingers interlocking in the gentle arch of your nape— And he holds you like that, by the back of your neck, by your face, all withered adoration, lust in worn fatigue, it feels like he’s piecing you back together. Like he can cup his hands around you and make you whole. Your lower lip quakes. “There you go,” Harry tells you, hardly over a whisper (a rasp in ironclad passion), like he’s breaking with every rut, like this moment— fragile, flimsy— will break apart in his hands if he speaks any louder, “There you fucking go. Take it, baby. Just like that.”

preview

You don’t ask him about nice boys. What he meant about nice boys, and what it means for him now. Now, that you’re naked, and bare, and sweaty, stretched across his chest, tracing ink and freckles with your fingertip like coasting the shape of a foreboding asterism.

Those constellations, spelled out in the horoscopes, on a webpage that was laid out like it was scraped straight off the wayback machine from the windows 2000 era, made your brain rot for years. Cheap, flimsy justification in the shade of cobalt blue and the distant sister of comic sans. You always reverted to the same page because it told you the pretty things you needed to hear, or rather, gave you enough space to pick out what you wanted to see; digging diamonds out of kimberlites. Because the brecciated rock was the bigger picture, maybe— mundane, aversive, your eyes listed, gnawing into the core— but if you picked in enough—

It doesn’t matter anymore. Not with his heartbeat humming in your ear like a perfect iambic pentameter. An unspoken love sonnet.

(Your naked leg slotted over his bare thigh tells you as much.)

He laughs when you roll your hip forward and grind your wet cunt into the smattering of hair there. Your slick coagulates against his thigh. He feels it, and gives you this low, airbrushed sound in the hummingbird angel choir rippling across the little, vibrating bones in your ear. You hear it under his soft chest before you hear it from his mouth. Then, he tells you something about his knees not being what they used to be.

Don’t start. Don’t start again—

You feel like you’ve got your fingers on a winding key. You’re playing with cinders. Rolling live coal in your palms, but you’re waiting for the firework of the blaze reigniting. Waiting for the gear to click. That’s what love is, isn’t it? Push and pull.

(You wonder if he’ll break. If the flame will swallow you whole, if you’ll hump his leg like a pitiful dog long enough, and he’ll lug you over his lap to bounce you dumb all over on his fat cock again. You wonder if he’ll give in when your knees start to ache.)

Undying devotion doesn’t get crushed under a maelstrom, never mind under a coasting cumulonimbus. You rock your hips a little, more into him, against him, so he knows you don’t care about his knees, or what they used to be, so he doesn’t think that you regret the disconnect in timelines; that yours didn’t overlap with his, enough, to indulge in what his knees used to be.

(You think you’re getting somewhere when he shifts his thigh against you, rigid musculature, granting you access to a better ride. And you wonder if, instead, he’ll mistake your placation for misbehavior. The thought knocks something ugly and wanting up from the settled sediment of your hunger.)

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #dom harry styles #harry styles dirty one shot #older!harry #best friend's dad #age gap!harry #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #patreon teaser

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transrevolutions · 2 years ago

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I hate you makeup I hate you shaving I hate you botox fillers I hate you coverup I hate you nosejobs I hate you digital airbrushing I hate you tooth whitening I hate you braces for aesthetic reasons only I hate you everything that tells you your body is not enough in order to sell you a product

I love you scars I love you uneven skin I love you stretch marks I love you leg hair I love you crotch hair I love you armpit hair I love you natural skin color I love you facial features that don't conform to western standards I love you accepting your body and making informed choices about what you want to do with it

#any terf that tries to use this as an anti gender affirming care platform #is getting curbstomped #we don't do that shit here (op is trans)#that's why the banner is there #so no terf fucking touches it #feminism #(tagging because it's usually women or people percieved as women who are targeted by this)#body positivity #bodily autonomy #anti makeup #pigeon.txt

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blackfemdoll · 2 months ago

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𝒰 𝒮𝒪. . . 𝒫𝑅𝐸𝒯𝒯𝒴, ellie williams

black!fem!reader does bsf!ellie’s make up for fun. friends to lovers. yearning. i typed ‘doll’ instead of y/n, replace with ur name. wc 1.5k this is a reupload from my old account!

ellie had no idea why she even agreed to this. she tended to be much more easy-going when she was high, but still. she hated make-up. she absolutely loathed the way it felt on her skin. it felt like a mask — thick, heavy. felt like her pores were suffocating on whatever chemicals made up the composition of the products. and god… don’t get her started on cleaning it off. so much of it was meant to be waterproof or long wear, getting rid of make-up was almost as deliberate of an effort as putting it on.

but then her olive eyes flickered up to catch her face. doll. and the meaning found ellie. suddenly, it all made sense why ellie agreed to letting her make-up-loving best friend play around on her canvas.

doll only wore an absent-minded smile, holding ellie’s soft face in her fingertips as she used a weird egg-shaped sponge to press the concealer into her under eye. pleasantly oblivious. it’s like the pretty woman had blinders on. her gaze was fixed on the little space beneath ellie’s eyes and she was so deeply absorbed into the process of achieving an “airbrushed finish,” she didn’t notice ellie melting to her touch like putty. she didn’t notice those very green-colored marbled eyes drinking her in.

from doll’s beautiful sun-kissed brown complexion… to her thick, dark coils put up in a pineapple bun… to the acrylic nails ellie could feel slightly pressing into the flesh of her cheek… to that playfully delicate smile on her plump, glossy lips… to the silage of spicy sweetness enveloping the both of them. even the dreamy, watery sound of kelela playing from ellie’s bedroom bluetooth as the two of them shared the space of her bathroom — ellie sitting on the sink, doll’s waist wedged between her thighs.

it made sense now.

“i didn’t put a lot of concealer ‘cuz,” doll began, her voice as soft as her fingertips, “i wanted to show your freckles.” she continued pressing the sponge into ellie’s under eyes. “i really like them.”

ellie felt herself melting even more. she was sure doll would be able to feel and see the heat pooling in her pale cheeks — a recipe composed of three ingredients: shock, fondness, and embarrassment.

“really?” ellie cautioned. “i used to get made fun of for my freckles… i kinda didn’t like them.”

doll’s face contorted into an expression of disapproval as she pulled her hands away from ellie’s face and set the beauty blender back into her make-up box.

“they’re cute,” she affirmed and shifted through her box in search of a lip product.

ellie for sure was blushing. “thank you.”

the girl only beamed. her chestnut face radiated such a glow and warmth, it was infectious. she was like the sun. “you’re welcome, el’.” then she grabbed the product she was looking for — her nyx liner and a nyx butter gloss.

setting the gloss down, doll picked the liner up and returned her decorated fingers to ellie’s warm chin (the blushing heated her entire face). then doll brought herself closer to ellie… squeezing between her legs as she lowered the pencil onto her lip. gently, she swiped the colored tip along her skin.

“we’re almost done…” she muttered softly. “just the lips now…”

the paler girl’s entire body grew hot. doll was sooo close, ellie could see the beauty marks speckled around her eyes. her lashes were thick, long, and curly… framing those sweet irises of hers. and those irises were trained on her lips… attentively lining them with a pencil. having such a pretty girl focusing so much attention on her mouth made her a bit nervous. ellie wasn’t undisciplined around attractive women. but this was different. she was different.

“open your mouth a little…” doll instructed. and ellie found herself thoughtlessly obeying, parting her lips slightly so that doll could more easily access the corners of her lips. “good…”

oh god. ellie felt her eyebrows furrow at the hushed praise. she never really was the type of person to just obey someone else. she’s always been headstrong and a bit stubborn. but doll had powers over her that were unheard of. doll could tell ellie to move the ocean with a fork and ellie would do just that.

the coily-headed girl slightly blurred the lining of the pencil with the pad of her thumb. ellie only froze at the contact. and began imagining that the digit was instead doll’s lips — they were so plush, full, and juicy. she wondered how it felt to kiss her.

then doll set the pencil down and exchanged it for the gloss. it was peachy with a touch of red. she loosened the top and then raised her hand up to ellie’s lips. slowly, she painted them with the creamy substance.

“pretty,” doll praised with a smile beginning to spread across her face as the look finally came together. she pulled the applicator away and fastened it closed, wearing a proud expression as she marveled at her work.

it was a soft make-up look, since doll knew ellie hated make-up. “clean girl,” as they say on tiktok. no foundation, just a skin tint. some light concealer. a bit of mascara. some rosy blush and that to die for lip combo. it was worn well on ellie’s face — a nice little complement to her features without overpowering them and overwhelming her.

ellie felt like a deer in headlights. like an alien. she had never been someone’s muse before, so the praises were foreign. she only slouched as she sat on her sink, interlocked her hands together in her lap as she nervously wriggled her toes. her shoulders were high. poor baby was nervous.

“you look so cute,” doll gushed. she noticed that ellie seemed to feel a bit unnerved by the spotlight. but doll couldn’t help but profess how she felt. ellie only awkwardly half-smiled in response, to which doll rolled her eyes and wrapped her hand around ellie’s wrist, tugging it as if to pull her beside her.

“come down, ellie. turn around.”

once again, ellie mindlessly obliged and pushed herself off of the sink counter, easily towering over doll. but the shorter girl’s big spirit made ellie feel a bit… small. not in a bad way… but more like the whole world was doll, and ellie was her satellite.

doll wrapped her arms around ellie’s arm comfortingly with a beaming expression. “look at yourself. you are so cute.”

ellie hesitantly looked up into the mirror, standing awkward as ever. she held the hem of her hoodie’s sleeves in the palm of her hands and raised her gaze to her face. and the reflected image staring back at her was someone she could barely register as herself. she was so used to her bare face that such slight changes in her appearance could almost disorient her, but it wasn’t a negative experience. being so close to doll… ellie could even smell the strawberry conditioning deep mask in doll’s curly tendrils. feeling those soft hands on her face as she stood between ellie’s thighs. it was a core memory.

her rosy-painted cheeks merely imitated her actual flush. at her reflection, she could only offer an awkward little smile. like she was reluctant to admit she actually did look pretty cute. unlike herself, but cute. in a way, her head seemed like it was borrowed from another body in comparison to her hoodie, band tee shirt, and ripped jeans. but it was her.

doll’s own painted face smiled up at her. a soft glam. glitzy and doll-like. beautiful as ever. maxi dress-adorned body molded into ellie’s side. in many ways, they opposed each other. but ellie couldn’t help but love to see them side by side.

“yeah, it does look good,” ellie had to agree. then she pulled her eyes away from the mirror and looked down at her friend. “thank you.”

doll’s eyebrows cautiously furrowed. her happy smile became a bit insecure as she removed herself from ellie’s side. “do… do you like it? you don’t sound very happy.” oh god her voice sounded so small, it physically hurt.

ellie’s eyes widened. “no no no! i love it! you did amazing,” she reassured. then her expression became bashful. “i’m just not used to seeing myself like this.”

doll looked at her curiously as she walked over to the bathroom sink and began assorting her make-up products back into the little container. “like what?” she was turned away from ellie, but they could still see each other in the bathroom mirror.

ellie flushed. “you know… all pretty and stuff.”

doll halted as if she were being insulted. her eyes flicked up into the reflective surface, meeting ellie’s gaze. doll’s face was doused in a somber sincerity and her lips formed a slight pout.

then she turned around to look ellie in her face. ellie’s eyes widened in response to those big, doe-like eyes fluttering up at her like butterfly wings. but doll didn’t react to that. she only shook her head to ellie’s statement and what it implied. then candidly, she corrected her friend.

“you are pretty, ellie. really pretty.”

ellie felt like her insides turned to mush. her breath got caught in her throat as it hitched, and she felt her palms grow a bit moist as her whole body heated in response to her words.

“really?” ellie questioned, feeling her cheeks blush beneath the rare beauty applied to them.

doll nodded. “mhm.” she licked her lips. “you are.”

#blackfemwrites #˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ ms. ellie williams ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊#black!writer #black!y/n #black!fem!reader #black!reader #black reader #the last of us #tlou #ellie williams #x

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