#also still not sure what this little trellis is made of

[plantshaped]

Hard to get true to life colors in pictures here. But this is supposed to be a true hoya burtoniae. It definitely looks different from my burtoniae sp aff, but looks a lot like my DS70s. I suppose I'll have to wait for them all to bloom to compare flowers

[offonaherosjourney]

The immense rewatch value of Knives Out and Glass Onion

One thing I really love about Knives Out and Glass Onion (spoilers for both movies, btw) is their rewatch value. I love murder mysteries, but I don't think I've seen any more than twice or three times, and yet I've watched Glass Onion 4 times so far and Knives Out so many times I'm embarassed to even type the number. And lately I'd been thinking about what might be the reason why I keep coming back to these movies and about how I'm still enjoying them wholeheartedly despite knowing the dialogue of Knives Out almost to heart, and I think I've figured out why.

Watching a murder mystery for the first time is enjoyable because you're wrapped up in the mystery and in trying to guess the murderer. And then on your second watch you might know who the murderer is, but you still enjoy it because you get to pay attention to all the things you didn't notice or didn't know were clues the first time.

Rewatching Knives Out and Glass Onion is extremely enjoyable not only because you get to spot all the clues now, but also because of the seamless way Rian Johnson weaves humor into these films. After a couple viewings you might get tired of watching Wanetta Thrombey calling Marta "Ransom", or watching Miles place his glass on Dukes hand... but do you know what you don't get tired of? Marta's clumsy attempts to sabotage Blanc's investigation. Ransom telling his family to eat shit. Marta yeeting that piece of trellis only for the dog to bring it back. Or Blanc solving Miles' silly murder mystery in thirty seconds. The hot sauce scene. Blanc calling Miles a vainglorious buffoon.

And since the scripts are so brilliant and packed with little details, further rewatches of the films keep rewarding you with other little things you might not have picked up the first or second time. How, when the Thrombeys recount Harlan's birthday they all put themselves next to him, or when you realize that they don't know where Marta is from, or how they casually hand her their plates as if she's their maid. How telling are the masks each character wears and how they behave in the pier scene, the red solo cup Miles gives Peg, the painting that is hanged upside down, Helen in the end sitting with the exact same pose as the Mona Lisa.

Now, add to that all that the social critique in the films and their clear "fuck the rich" message, made manifest by a cast of unlikeable assholes that holy shit you lowkey wish all were responsible for the murder because you hate them and want to see all of them behind bars. Also, let's not forget about the world's greatest detective in this film universe, who happens to be unabashedly human. Benoit Blanc is an extremely likable character that captivates the audience's heart not because of his superior intellect and deduction skills, but because of his empathy. Because he makes sure that Marta understands she is a good nurse. Because he tells Helen to get the justice she deserves.

The result of all that stuff is that a movie whose greatest appeal might have been its whodunnit aspect on a first watch, on future ones presents a sort of good vs evil stakes. Because Marta is a good person and you like her and want her to learn she didn't murder Harlan and get the house and money she earned by being a good friend. Because Helen deserves justice and you like her and you can't wait to see her cathartic and righteous anger be the spark that lights the fire that burns down Miles Bron's empire built out of lies, theft and murder.

That's why I keep watching these movies over and over and why I'll never grow tired of watching them.

[gabessquishytum]

Okay so the 🤜 anons addition to the young Dream au is making me go berserk. Hob living three doors down from Dream's parents and sneaking around with their barely legal son is just chef's kiss. 10/10, been thinking about this all day.

But your addition made me think: a/o/b

So, Hob's not rich as in get-away-with-murder rich (aka. Dream's family), but he's doing very well. He made some very smart investments and now his job and the investment's interest earn him enough so he can live in the Endless' posh neighbourhood. He's moved there just a few years ago, and rumours have been going wild between the fine mum's and old money fathers as to why Hob's single and won't show any interest in a relationship.

After all, he's a very handsome alpha in his prime, he's rich, educated, kind. There are no scandals connected to his name, no children out of wedlock - what the fuck is wrong with him?

There are some rumours going around - mainly that he lost his first wife and won't consider marriage again (he'd never been married, so he doesn't know where that's coming from) and/or that he can't get it up (he's not sure about that either) - which eventually at least stop the stream of mamas trying to marry off their omega children to him and/or proposition him themselves.

Hob being Hob did intend to fuck over these upper-class wankers by basically reverse gentrifying the area. He still wants to do that, but a week after he moved into his swanky house the real trouble falls into his lap: Dream Endless.

He's a bratty little attention whore, displacing Hob from his own sun lounger in the backyard, because "he can't sit in the sun for too long or his teint will suffer". Hob's speechless because this is his fucking backyard, but he also moves because he's never seen anything as breathtakingly beautiful as Dream. And the way he smells-

Hob can't decide whether he wants to fuck him or lick him all over first. (spoiler: he get's to do both eventually)

Dream shows up the next day and the next and the day after that, not five minutes after Hob's made it home from uni. His demands are becoming increasingly outrageous considering he does not live with Hob and they actually don't know each other that well. And yet Hob complies, because he wants to give Dream all of his attention and spoil him rotten.

Mama and papa Endless are so fascinated. Dream is usually such a complicated child, always getting himself in trouble, but since he regularly visits the nice professor, debating about whatever, he's so much better behaved. Maybe they should grant him his wish of studying art if that's how well-mannered he becomes then. Hob's future spouse will be so lucky, he's so good with kids, they will all be perfect little angels.

Meanwhile, white they are still praising the positive influence Hob has on their son, Dream finally pushed Hob past his breaking point, causing him to corner Dream in the kitchen. And then eat him out on the kitchen counter. And the fuck him against the door. and then in the shower-

Scene flips to mama Endless: "Dream hasn't thrown a tantrum all week! He actually agreed to a suggestion we made!"

While three houses down, Dream's bouncing up and down on Hob's cock, begging for his knot and his babies and-

This goes on for ages. Dream turns into a model of well behaved high society child in front of his parents and slutty brat for Hob, who will resort to stripping whenever he feels Hob's paying more attention to his research than to Dream. Dream has mastered the art of climbing down the trellis beneath his window to visit Hob at any time of the night. He's sleeping there way more nights than he does in his own bed. His parents have no idea.

Obviously, the whole thing blows when Dream's parents find them fucking in the living room and kick their son out. Only now they spent a year or more praising their new neighbour for how good he is with kids and their son for how much he matured.

They are so livid when the neighbourhood learns that 1) Dream, even though he might be a bit you, managed to console Hob's broken heart and 2) apparently his broken cock too because the entire street can hear, and sometimes see, them fucking like animals and Dream's pregnant within half a year of moving in with Hob (after he finally wore him down and begged for him to fill him up with pups often enough)

respectfully, might I request the 💄 emoji if that's still available?

Oh no I'm deeply obsessed with this!

The best thing is... Hob doesn't want a sweet, obedient, housekeeping omega! He likes his bratty firecracker Dream and he equally loves that Dream is a proper little slut! He wants Dream to have a proper life of his own and do his own thing, and he's not opposed to Dream having a bit of fun (as long as it doesn't go too far).

And the funny thing about all of the above? Dream suddenly wants to be a well behaved omega. He wants to settle down and be married and mated and he very much wants as many pups as Hob in willing to put in him.

Hob is like "are you sure you don't want to go out with your friends?? make silly youthful decisions??" Because he kind of thought (in a sad way) that Dream was using him to rebel against his parents. Well, Dream was. But now he's fallen in love.

Imagine how annoying it is for Mr and Mrs Endless to see their renegade son walking down the street, demure in a pretty white sundress and holding on to Hob’s arm. There's already a little visible bump at the front of his dress where his pregnancy is making itself known. Hob smirks knowingly but Dream ignores his parents - acts like they aren't even there at all. He's got better things to think about. Like the babymoon that Hob has promised to take him on.

Hob is so head over heels in love with his omega its almost sickening for everyone else. Sometimes he thinks he's dreaming, and then he wakes up to find Dream sitting on his dick at 3am cause he was horny... and he's like "ah yes same ole slutty Dream. oh how I love him."

[titoist]

TV Program 'Peščanik' [Hourglass], November 21st 2001.

Svetlana Lukić: And now you'll be hearing Mr. Bogdan Bogdanović. He's arrived in Belgrade fairly recently, taking part in the promotion of his books "Glib i Krv" [Mud and Blood] and "Ukleti Neimar" [Damned Neimar]. Mr. Bogdanović has been living in Vienna since 1993, and Belgrade welcomed him with open arms - Albeit with the exception of the somewhat faded graffiti on his apartment block, graffiti reading "here lives the Ustaša Bogdan Bogdanović" with an arrow pointing at the front entrance. What did he see while walking through Belgrade, this reader of cities, Bogdan Bogdanović?

Bogdan Bogdanović: You know the proverb, "Everything's fine when it's in Vienna." I always thought that was just some odd Serbianism, but it isn't.

We'll be living double lives, & here's what that means practically - One or two times yearly, for a month or month & a half, I spend here at the Library, & then lug it all back over there.... That would all be rather delightful & charming were I not 80 years old, but fine, we're living doubly. We ultimately stay on the Danube, I say that both in Vienna & here, and that was... especially true during those first years when I was also known to be depressed, so I wouldn't forget all that had happened, but regardless, when something just particularly rubbed me the wrong way - As those Southerners [Southern Serbians] say - some distress, not even to mention misery, I went to the Danube. And then I sat down & I said - Alright, here, look, it's the same street, we just moved a few blocks upstream, but we're still ultimately in one great European unit.

Belgrade was in those times a Yugoslavian centre, and, hell, a Cosmopolitan centre, now there's that miserable unavoidable mass, tragic people, depressed people, nervous people... A man leaned into me so he could ask me where he could find Vojislav Ilić street, and I said - You know, I stayed there for a time as a young child, and now I'm searching for it too... He reddens, curses me out - Mother of God, how could you not know, and marched bleakly on.

Ah, the first night I had arrived at the Belgrade Station last time, this summer, I was a hair's away from shellshock, because the whole station square was totally foreign, I thought I had found myself in Constantinople or some farther away place, in İzmir or wherever-the-hell, but at the end of the 19th century, not in this one. Barracks, kafanas, each one distinct from the last, then crowds, then automobiles without roads or order, zig-zagging in different ways, and tones of vintage automobiles, and a few quite luxurious...

And these Belgrader friends of mine - Well, what can I say, for god's sake, it's horrible and so on. And it is horrible, that's understood. But when we first took off uphill via Nemanjina Street, followed by collapsed buildings, what then followed then was *a* darkness, followed by *the* darkness... By the time we had reached Čubura [Neighborhood, 1km from the beginning of Nemanjina], it had already been clear that the picture was much darker than what I had wanted to envision it as at first blush.

For two days, or three, I didn't come out at all, I was in a kind of shock. Then I said to myself, hey, let's try finding our old elementary school in Đerma [Distrct of Belgrade], so I twisted & turned & meandered through countless streets to get there, I start going down that Boulevard through that trellis, which was downright unbelievable. For me it was indecipherable what it all was, all those trinkets & debris, and then immediately right across the street there was a well-stocked jewelry store, gems.

I felt quite lucky, since I had, wouldn't you know, some Native American jacket I had gotten from Ksenija's [His wife] sister, so that I was dressed pretty much like a Native, so I very likely looked to them like a foreigner & they always made sure to leave me a little bit of space I could squeeze through.

Then I decided to descend into the Metro, & that was an experience verging on the fantastical, the totally surreal. First it started with the marbled halls, the onyx, everything was clean & couldn't be cleaner, everything was absolutely empty, bizarrely lit. What was there now was just one self-checkout, some luxurious store, just like what you would find on Vienna's Ring Road, and another was a similarly visibly luxurious restaurant, but no one within sight.

It was all empty such that it couldn't be emptier. Then one more floor, & then began those escalators, those moving staircases that were spinning the entire time, absolutely zero souls going neither up nor down. It all ran so counter to anything I could imagine, to such an extent that I had to firmly grip onto that moving handrail, I was scared that I would suddenly get dizzy.

The final layer wasn't marble anymore, it was concrete, baskets, chickens & ruralites, women... Some suburban folk going from Borča to Ovča, from Ovča to Rakovica [all municipalities of Belgrade], on one or two, five, ten local trains. And their presences are palpably uncomfortable, and I ask myself how they could go through that entire pompous upper section so they could get to it all. Then, I see that they don't even get off, but that people run along the tracks, they get here by following them and then... That truly stands as a magnificent monument to Milošević's epoch and one insane period.

Later I thought something to myself, how it could be if something was built, if one day it was turned into one grandiose theatre and there they played Dante's Inferno, first circle, second circle, third circle... that would be divine.

It's interesting that I believed to the final moment - Yugoslavia's already been damned to hell and back, now - That I still believed it would manage somehow to pull itself together. Something terrible groaned out of people, but now, what's horrifying, it's horrifying that those people who've begun to satirize & satirize themselves, they were - to the day before all of this - acquaintances, friends and neighbors. And what's even more horrifying, now that what's been done has been done, now that they're here... I don't know what the number of victims is, 100 thousand, 200 thousands, maybe more dead, I hear that they in the Hague over there lounge, sing, dance like they haven't done anything.

That's very hard to explain to anyone in the West, I can't even explain it to myself. The only possible explanation is that of double depths, double people, doubleness - the archaic man and the modern man in the same man and then it explodes all at once, something archaic, something epic, the banging of some bloody decasyllable, the beginning of the slaughter, & then once again everyone returns to civilian status.

The feeling I get, I hope, is that until now I haven't been very wrong in my forecasts, except for my belief that Yugoslavia would remain, I hope that evil has worn itself out, you know, so I don't believe that anything of that time could repeat itself. What comes now... apart from the evils of war, there exist many others, other worries & crises, right down to poverty & confusion & so on, but fine. It will all nonetheless, nonetheless change.

[paintedscales]

WoLstinien Week 2024 :: Day 5 :: Time Apart

Thankfully, when it comes to Nomin and Estinien, time apart never really is as bad as it could be. Not when there are methods and ways to get letters or other things that help to let each other know that they are both thriving in their own, respective ways.

Word Count: 1,596

Lonely days and nights were not uncommon on the island sanctuary. Nomin often busied herself with getting more furniture built that could improve the cabin, or tending the gardens and creatures that she curated for herself since she had been left to her own devices. The experience was all quite relaxing as opposed to venturing elsewhere to combat any threats.

Quiet relaxation…

Nomin breathed out a sigh of relief as she buried the last seed in her personal garden. The soil beds were all filled with seeds not of the island itself. Each little plot was instead seeded with those that were gifted to her from Estinien. He had often brought back seeds  that he found in the markets for Nomin to take care of.

Getting up, Nomin traveled to a different side of her garden, looking down at the soil bed that had been seeded at least a couple moons ago at this point. A row of trellis had been erected alongside the seeds, and vines were now snaking their way up along them. Seeing how healthy and green it was all looking, a smile spread across Nomin’s lips.

Crouching, Nomin was just glad to see how everything was coming together. She was glad that she had mixed cinnamon and clove together to mix with the soil, because the grape vines were looking great aside from small chewed up leaves from vilekin that could fly and avoid the ground.

Bringing out a small phial, Nomin took her watering can and tapped a couple drops of the solution into the water. She then made sure to water the smile thoroughly before finally feeling finished with her garden chores.

When the telltale clamor of a mammet walking up the pathway reached her horns, Nomin walked over to the fence and peeked around. The mammet that acted as courier was approaching, its wig bouncing with each ambling step it took. A sealed letter was clutched in its hand, and Nomin opened the gate so that she could meet the mammet before it reached the cabin proper.

“A lEtTeR hAs CoMe iN fOr YoU.” The courier mammet paused, lifting the letter abruptly.

“Where from?” Nomin asked as she approached and took the letter.

“RaDz-At-HaN.”

“Ah… Thank you.” Nomin then waved off the mammoth, turning the envelope over and breaking the wax seal. Taking out the letter revealed handwriting she did not immediately recognize, but the signature at the bottom tipped her off. The letter had been written by Vrtra -- or rather, his simulacrum, Varshahn.

Skimming the contents that she could read, Nomin had some difficulty parsing the handwriting. It was far more fanciful writing than she was used to. However, the gist of it was clear: Vrtra wanted to let her know the state of Radz-at-Han and the efforts going toward rebuilding. There was also an apology for making extra use of Estinien’s time in Thavnair, keeping him away for an extended period than what may have been discussed between him and Nomin in the past.

Shaking her head with a small sigh, Nomin folded the letter and tucked it away. Nothing to have been done about that. Even she herself had been getting the mammets on the island to help with relief efforts by making things that could be transported toward those in need. It was better than trying to turn a profit for the time being at any rate. That would have felt like turning a blind eye toward everyone and everything that still needed aid.

There was much and more to have been done, certainly, but at least Nomin could have solace knowing that everything at this time was rooted in aiding one another and setting aside differences. Much as the notion made her feel like a hypocrite at times. After all, there was still much and more to be said about her feelings regarding the Jhungid and her past with them.

No matter…

Nomin headed into the cabin, taking her boots off before entering, and went to look for some ink and parchment. At the very least, she could send back a response. Maybe she could have even sent a small care package along with it. While she mulled over that, she did wonder how exactly Estinien was doing during his time back under Vrtra's employ.

A small smile found its way onto Nomin’s lips once she procured her writing supplies and took a seat at the dining table. All things considered, this era that was spreading itself across Etheirys was a welcome one.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Apply your body into the actions of wielding your lance. ‘Tis not just upper body strength alone that you need, but the ability to remain steady on foot.” Estinien stood close to a younger member of Vrtra’s Radiant Host, arms folded over his chest as he gave instruction. He recalled that in Coerthas, the art of the lance evolved from being something that was primarily done on chocoboback to needing to be practiced steadily for being on foot after the Calamity struck. Chocobos were less of an accessible beast of war since that had happened.

Hraesvelgr’s imparted information of dragoons fighting alongside dragons also hung in the back of Estinien’s mind. Surely, lancers at the sides of dragons must have been something. Alas, the only dragon that Thavnair had was the satrap himself.

Returning his mind to the lessons he had undergone, Estinien thought about how the Knights Dragoon mastered aspecting their aether to the winds so that they could assist in guiding their movements. It even allowed the miraculous jumps that would leave many people looking on in awe. It sure did when Estinien performed such techniques for the recruits of either the Temple Knights or the Radiant Host to watch and take note from.

A familiar presence pulled Estinien from his thoughts, and he looked over his shoulder. Walking his way was one of few simulacrums Vrtra used for himself that held the name ‘Varshahn.’ A bag was slung over his shoulder, and Estinien figured that it must have been supplies or goods for the Radiant Host.

“‘Tis unusual to see you out here,” Estinien said, foregoing a greeting.

“More unusual that we receive letters and goods for a particular dragoon who happens to find himself in Thavnair,” Varshahn replied in kind. There was a slight smirk upon the simulacrum’s face as he came to a halt not too far away from one of the nearby tents that served as a place of rest for any of the recruits who were done with training.

Estinien’s eyes narrowed momentarily.

“... If these letters and goods come from Aymeric, I request they be sent to my lodgings instead. I am not want for letters nor the potential bribery of returning to Ishgard,” Estinien said, looking back toward the Radiant Host he was overseeing that day.

“Ah, but they are from someone else,” Varshan replied. He walked further to meet with Estinien, shrugging the bag from his shoulder and handing it off. “I would not think you would wish to be kept from Nomin’s words and gifts. So I endeavored to get them to your hands as soon as they were received at the Meghaduta.”

Estinien’s attention went right back to Varshahn after learning who the sender was, and he dropped his arms to his sides. Taking up the bag, he glanced down at it and then replied, “I suppose she’s enjoying her time at the island Tataru got for her… No matter. My thanks for taking the time to make such a delivery.”

“Of course,” Varshahn said. His attention soon went to the Radiant Host. “I trust that everything has gone well otherwise?”

“I’ve no complaints.” Estinien walked over toward the shade of the tent, unclasping his gauntlets as he did so. “Your Radiant Host are ever eager to improve upon their technique. You may very well have your own set of Radiant Dragoon ere long.”

A chuckle escaped Varshahn. “Would that we would have need of dragoons in Thavnair. Were my sister, Ratatoskr still among us, perhaps she would wish to see dragon and man fight side by side once more and help aid those efforts. Here in Thavnair, however…it is just me and Azdaja. Spearmen who are capable are more than enough.”

“... Aye… With luck, Thavnair won’t have need of them.”

“Indeed…” Varshahn glanced over at Estinien. “It gladdens me that you have been looking out for my Radiant Host. I shall not keep you any longer. You are surely eager to read of Nomin’s writing.”

“A strong sentiment, but aye…” Estinien grimaced at the idea of sitting down to skim over the written word. But, having something of a physical item from Nomin was appreciated nevertheless.

“Then I shall leave you to it.”

Estinien watched as the small version of Varshahn began his journey back toward Radz-at-Han before opening the bag that had been given to him. New clothes had been provided, as had snack items of varying kinds. Eventually, Estinien reached in and pulled out the sealed envelope. Breaking the seal, he set to reading the letter that caught him up on what Nomin had been up to and the little drawings she included of some of the seeds she had planted thanks to him bringing them to her.

A small smirk found its way onto Estinien’s lips as he glanced over Nomin’s words. She kept things to the point, and had more sketches than paragraphs to share, thankfully.

All-in-all, Estinien was simply glad that Nomin was getting all this time for the rest and enjoyment she deserved.

[wickedapollo]

Insufferable, Love 2/?

I have also written this when I should have been wrapping Christmas Presents, oops. Enjoy it, please.

Mentions of blood Obi-Wan was convinced this would be a boring, uneventful mission. How little he could have prepared for someone who desperately tries his patience.

Obi-Wan jerks awake in the night to noise, a dull thud. His head swivels in the dark room, taking in the still form of his master. The night has grown silent, the only sound the crickets in the garden. He frowns.

“Master,” he tries, voice low. Qui Gon doesn’t move, sleeping as though dead. His brow furrows more as he stands. The stone floor is cold against his bare feet as he moves to pull his boots and tunic shirt on.

The sound of the balcony door makes his head whip, eyes focusing in the dark on the very closed, very locked door. He stumbles over the coffee table, wincing as it echoes throughout the room. He eyes his master to find the man still asleep.

He gingerly feels around the table, stepping over it and pressing himself to the balcony door.  The night is still, at first. His eyes watch your balcony door swing closed slowly. The light is off, and his eyes squint to make out anything in the dark. 

His fingers flip the lock and unlatch the door with ease. The breeze brings Hosnian summer air into the room, sending goosebumps cascading up his arms as he pokes his head out of the door.

Petrichor hits his nose instantly as he slowly walks out onto the balcony, looking around for suspicious movement. The breeze makes it difficult to hear any footsteps and he looks over the railing to find exactly what he is looking for.

You, making your way across the stone path in a night robe, hair a wild mess as you clutch the chiffon fabric closed. He inhales sharply, looking back at the open door where his master sleeps. He can handle you, if he could handle Satine surely, he can handle you.

His eyes fit into the lattice-like vines by the balcony and he makes quick, silent work of sliding down them. When he turns back, you’ve disappeared into the dark.

“Blast,” He looks from side to side, boots making noise as he jogs to where you had been. If you had made no noise, you had to be barefoot on the path or in the grass. He spins, mind going crazy. How do you lose a princess?

He continues walking in the direction you were. After being away from the lantern light, he finally spots your robe disappearing between the bushes at the edge of the courtyard. “For the love of-”

Obi-Wan is running after you, pushing through the bushes with vigor as he tries to keep an eye on you. Surely, there’s something he’s missing. No one runs around in their nightgown and robe for fun.

There is one thing he’s thankful for, and that’s that he catches up to you easily, grabbing your arm without much trouble. The only trouble he finds comes in the form of your elbow meeting his nose.

“Force!”

“Maker!”

He lets go to grip his nose, groaning as he feels warmth in his hands. You’re shaken, without a doubt. He’s stumbling, the world rocking before his very eyes.

Your hands climb his arms, holding his biceps as he steadied himself. You hadn’t thought anyone had heard you climb the trellis, or seen you sneak off for that matter. Least of all the Jedi sleeping unaware in the room next to yours, especially not the younger one.

He let out a noise, something sounding similar to a muffled “wha ygh doigh”, which you had a sneaking suspicion was supposed to resemble “What are you doing”. Your brows furrow as you watch him slowly peel his hand from his nose, crimson dripping down his lip.

“I heard a noise-”

“And you went to look into it why?” His voice was annoyed, brushing blood from his lip with the back of his hand. Your gut twists, your jaw set. He got hurt, which was unfortunate, but he should know not to sneak up on people trying to be quiet. 

“I don’t know,” Was the answer flying from your lips, sounding just as annoyed and more frantic than you wished. His eyes narrow at you. “Why are you looking into it?”

“Because it’s my job?” His voice raised an octave and the already warm summer night felt even worse than before. Your ears felt hot as you raised to glare at him.

“Oh, high and mighty Jedi, let me just cry in helplessness,” You grit, poking his shoulder with every syllable of helplessness. His brows furrowed at you as you swiveled your head, your jaw in the direction of the forest.

“Oh, I’m sorry, let me just go back up the trellis and let you get yourself killed, would you prefer that?”

“Gods, you’re insufferable,”

“I’m insufferable, me?”

“Yes, you!” You were breathless, more heated by this conversation in less than a minute than you had been by any Separatist propaganda in weeks. Fire sang in your blood as you stared at him, just as equally breathless as you were.

Contently, you could have stayed in silence forever. Letting this emotion bubble and simmer within you, but his sigh drew your eyes back to his face. All traces of previous frustration were gone.

“I apologize,” he said, voice strained against the crickets and frogs. “For scaring you, but you really shouldn’t be out so late by yourself.”

“I apologize,” The words left your lips unbidden, a ticking feeling in your brain that you should probably hold your tongue and let the feeling fester more. “For your nose.”

His mouth opened, eyebrows raised. No sound came from him until a chuckle forced itself out. He shook his head, eyes scanning the darkness around you.

“Go back to sleep, your highness.”

This will not be the last you have to say on the matter, you’re sure.

[jamieroxxartist]

It seems that there's always work and chores to get done when you Live at a Ranch.... even if it is a Mid Century Ranch in the suburbs lol So I knocked out a couple of morning chores this morning: #1 We have an unsightly back wooden fence on the back of our yard. My wife Dani, the Loofah Queen, thought it might be cool to grow some Loofah vines up it and cover it. They grow like crazy, have super pretty big yellow flowers and it's pretty close to the Beehive so those ladies will be pleased.

And in that area I will also be putting in Tiny the Turtle's pond so that motivates me (besides her growth) to get at the chore sooner, rather than later.

So I planted some loofha back there and they are growing and reached the fence. I had a roll of about 16 feet of galvanized metal Hardware Cloth I had picked up that was left-over scrap from a project that someone was doing and had thrown out. When I picked it up I had no idea what it would be used for, but I was fairly sure it would get used for something. And it did. Made some spacers and it is a great trellis on the back fence. Strong enough for the loofahs etc.

#2 We have a woodpile. Now we don't heat with wood or anything like that, all we use logs for are our bonfires we have a few times a year. But it sure is nice to have a nice supply of logs for the firepit that we don't have to buy. When one of our neighbors cuts down a tree or trims one and the branches are pretty big, I will take my wheelbarrow and fill it with the wood. It comes back here and goes in the woodpile. And it gets seasoned etc and ready for the bonfires. I just can't bring myself to go to the local hardware store or grocery store and pay 10 bucks for a little bundle that will be all burned up in an hour. There's no point in that when with a little bit of work you can have all the wood you need.

My mother-in-law gave us a nice metal curved stand for this and it works, but the wood is out open to the elements. I have tarped over it and that works, but I would rather have something better and solid that air can circulate through and rain won't get into.

And I love me some pallets. Yesterday Dani and I were on our way to the reptile store to get Ursula her weekly rat and up the road someone was throwing out a nice long thinner pallet. So we grabbed it and dropped it back at home and ran our errands. I had been thinking about this pallet all evening and last night. So I got at it this morning. And made us a woodshed. I had cut the pallet in half and those worked great for the sides and I had some other materials for the waterproof roof and back. Really I just boxed in the existing metal wood stand my mother-in-law had given us. Wood is up off the ground still, but safe and secure and Dry inside now. It's easy to get in and out of to reload etc.

So that was nice to get those two chores done by 8:30am. Now I have the rest of the day for Website Work and Painting.

*Note this is not a pic of our woodshed, but rather one I found online when I was searching for Pallet woodsheds to get a bead on direction I wanted to go with this. But yeah, Pallets are great!

[sinisterbug]

I live in the United States bread basket - the Central Plains, if you will. It's been an unusually cool and wet season so far. This is helpful because my DEPRESH can plague me and the result will be my garden almost dying from lack of care or watering. Which activates MORE DEPRESH.

I am slightly concerned about my vegetables producing with so much lack of sunlight.

Anyway, it's another rainy day and I decided to take some pictures.

It's a nightmare keeping up with all the grass-pulling so its quite obvious I'm behind on that. It's hard to pull grass in the rain, lol. I've also been planting long enough, and been letting enough produce decompose where it falls that things have started just... sprouting up. I decided to let it grow where it may.

First up is this year's nod to Tolkien. I planted none other than... Lobelia! It's quite vibrant and lovely, and pops against all the surround green. The rain has made it look a little droll.

I am a sucker for calibrachoa:

My dad's geriatric cat, Oddball, was having none of my shit. Two days ago he came up to where I was squatting and pulling grass, and he rubbed himself along my back and sprayed me. Joy. Some sage and thyme in my pots.

Sage in a pot in a plastic swimming pool, because.

Randomly growing mystery squash (probs pumpkin) that grew up in an unexpected location.

I had allocated all my planter space when Pops brought home a cherry tomato. It almost died before I found a spot. There are tiny nasturtiums from previous years growing up around it.

Hot peppers (Thai dragon and Armageddon variety) I'm growing for my nephew.

Behbeh Black-Eyed Susans I'm growing near my grandmother's antique trellises.

My strawberries, which I need to mow down immediately. They finally produced this year. If I want a good yield next year, I gotta cut this nonsense down.

My beloved okra plants. SO DELICIOUS. I got the red okra variety this year.

Some type of sweet pepper, lol.

My tiny circle wildflower meadow. I have yarrow, echinacea (white and purple), Russian sage (I'm so proud of that little mother fucker), guara, hot lips sage, hollyhock, purple balloon flower, flying cardinal, black-eyed-susans, lamb's ear, milkweed, and amaranth, that I can yet identify. There are a couple mystery plants.

Rain-bedraggled wave-petunias.

Tons of seeds dropped from our bird feeders. Probably sunflowers? Just letting them grow to see what happens.

Ever since Animal Crossing had a whole hydrangea themed thing on the mobile camp game a few years ago, I've been dying to get some. The ones I planted last year - my dear Papa mowed over them TWICE, successfully murdering them. These ones are SO gorgeous and I'm so happy and proud to have them.

Some clematis next to a trellis. I may never win yard of the month because it's about COMPLIANCE and not beauty, but I sure do have the most gorgeous fucking yard in the neighborhood.

My cat-toilet/shade garden. The fact that any of this is still alive is miraculous. Yes, my ex is buried under there.

If I were a herbivorous dinosaur, I would eat the FUCK out of hostas. More of my shade garden.

Some lysanthus.

I have two other tomato plants, chives, and carnations as well. I have an orchid inside that is currently DYING because outdoor plants? Sure! I'm golden! Once those poor bastards go inside...

I hope you enjoyed this tour of my garden. Thank you, and good morning.

[fizzingwizard]

Big sims update with infants is out, and early access for the new pack. I didn't watch early access vids except to see the build/buy. I don't like the tables/chairs in the pack, but I love most everything else (and that matters more to me because we have plenty tables and chairs :P).

These new items are my favs as shown in MsGryphi's vid, plus a couple things from lilsimsie's update vid.

WE HAVE A STANDING PIANO!!! I'm sooo happy. No more stacking endtables and merging them with the keyboard lol. Now we finally have an option between formal grand piano and that electronic keyboard. And look at the swatches soooo cool!

I'm also really loving the detail in the sink and bathtub. The quality has advanced a lot in recent packs. (to the point that it's actually made it difficult to even use base game/early pack items because they just look so bad by comparison.)

Also these tree wall decalls <3 I don't know how I'm gonna use them but I really want to. And the mushroom planter, the owl statue... so cute. Love this wall art because it looks like legit art! The black cat makes me think of the Le Chat Noir poster, and the one next to it makes me think of Alphonse Mucha. In another swatch there's a painting which reminds me of Hokusai's wave.

MsGryphi seemed confused by the "children's statues" (the rocketship and pirate bear). To me they definitely look like the way kids put everyday items together and use their imagination to turn them into something else. I really like these items, except for their being nonfuctioning, they really add reality to kid sims.

Again with the detail... look at this kitchen set!! I'm so in love with the stove in particular, I've been wanting a stove like that. The couch with the throw blanket is my favorite, the other one is not my style, but I do love the colors and the swatches, and I wanted to add it because you can see again just how much more detailed sims games are now. Instead of looking washed out and old, these couches look to me like someone really decorated them.

The smaller items I adore: so happy to have a toy box which fits in a more rustic home, and a new lantern!! It looks nicer than the other lanterns so I'm sure I'll use it everywhere. Love the owl backpack too.

The final four detail items I will definitely use all the time. Love the shadows from the trellis and the gazebo. The rock-line planter will be a great shortcut instead of painstakingly lining things with rocks myself lol. And I love the little sapling growing out of the stump! What a nice touch!

These crafts... as a pre-k teacher, I have made every single one x'D hahaha. And I want this fox lamp for my own life. No really, I NEED it.

Last but not least: look at the infants!!! I love this strawberry sweater (there's also a red-pink one that I might actually like better, even though I don't usually go for red-on-red!) And the middle haircut is THE baby haircut for me. I love the soft wispy baby hair soooo much. And the final pic is what newborns look like now. I still wish they were cuter... and smaller.... but eh. They're only newborns for a very short time so it's more important for the infants to be cute. I'm still not sure what I'll think of them, and how obviously they'll differ from toddlers. But they do look cute.

It is nice to have a more interesting childhood. In particular I'm excited that child skills now roll over into teen years. That for me was a major detractor from childhood before: why be a child if what you do as a kid has no impact later on? It does have an impact, though, at least if you have Parenthood (I'm not sure whether this is pack specific or not): you gain extra traits based on your parenting as a child. But those are extra traits - nice to have, but they're not useful like skills. If my child plays piano, they should be able to have at least one or two piano skill points as an adult, otherwise it just doesn't feel worth it. So glad that's a thing now!

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Hey 👋

I swear I'm addicted to your writing😁 Thank you for the amazing post❤

Can I request a usually calm reader coming home to Hanni and Wil with n bruise on their cheek and/or blue knuckles from n fight. And when they question reader they find out reader defended their relationship.

Or

Them reacting to reader with cigarette burn scars from childhood or self harm scars.

Sorry if it's specific I had a dream about the first one and I'm insecure about my scars😅 Also if it makes you uncomfy ignore me🤣

Have a wonderful day/night/afternoon💕

Hey anon, sorry it took me a hot minute to get to this. Hope you enjoy!

Gender neutral y/n comes home covered in bruises. Their lovers Hannibal and Will need to know why.

trigger warnings: blood, threats of violence, mention of firearms, stalking

You spit a mouthful of blood into the snow before you even thought about turning the doorknob. Any random passerby would look at you and think you were attempting to rob the place. You couldn't say you disagreed, though: your hood was pulled over your head and you held a tire iron in your singular non-bleeding hand.

You knew it wasn't wise to let the old-money Baltimore socialites catch you in such a compromising position, but you had to double-check your mental map of the house one more time. Hannibal would undoubtedly be cooking; hopefully so in his element that he wouldn't notice you slipping by. Will was the one you had to worry about. When it came to you, he'd become as alert as a German shepherd with protective instincts to match. Where he was in the house was anyone's guess, so you needed to be on guard.

You removed your heavy boots and opted to leave them outside. You then tossed the tire iron behind a nearby planter and slowly, quietly turned the knob. The door creaked as it opened, making you cringe. The sight of neither of your partners immediately running up on you was a bit of a relief; you hadn't been discovered quite yet.

You just needed to make it upstairs so you could barricade yourself in the master bathroom and use that oh-so-rare sliver of privacy to cover up your bruises. Then you could climb down the trellis, grab your shoes and make a proper entrance with hello kisses and whatnot.

"[F/N]?" Hannibal called out before you could even breach the threshold.

With no thought on your mind other than "fuck", you turned your head away from the direction you heard him. "Yeah, I'm home."

"I'd rush to give you a kiss, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He said, undoubtedly grinning to himself as he trussed a chicken with sturdy cooking wire. "So you'll have to come to me."

"Oh, yeah." You called back. "Let me just get cleaned up first."

"If you insist." He said with a dramatic dip in his voice. "But hurry right back. Dinner is almost ready."

Hurdle one was cleared. Now all you had to do was clear the second, much higher hurdle.

You ascended the stairs, but forgot to skip that one consistently creaky step that always alerted the dogs. A small army of dogs came pouring into the upstairs hallway, blocked only by the baby gate Hannibal had installed as a compromise. Enthusiastic barks filled the foyer as you desperately tried to calm them down from the top step.

"Winston! Max! Harley!" You rattled off as many names as you could remember. "Hush, please!"

"[F/N]?" Will said, turning the corner.

You momentarily considered throwing yourself down the stairs. It would be easier to explain the bruises and you could still soak up that sweet, sweet throuple affection without having to tell a story that even you didn't entirely believe. Common sense, however, kept your feet firmly on the ground.

Will appeared in your line of sight. You pulled the brim of your hat down and stuffed your hands into your pockets. "I, uh- forgot how to open the gate again."

The dogs parted in Will's path and he looked at you with suspicion as he effortlessly opened the gate. "Is everything okay?"

You turned your head to the side. "I'm fine. It's just really cold outside."

"I'm sure those wet clothes aren't helping." Will cocked his head. "We can start by throwing that hoodie in the dryer-"

Before you could pull away, he pushed your hood and your hat off in one fluid motion. He knew what was going on.

"I'm no doctor, but I don’t think busted noses and black eyes are side effects of low body temperature." He said, folding his arms.

You put your hand up, unintentionally revealing the bruises on your knuckles. "You learn something new every day."

You tried to scoot past him, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back.

"[F/N]--" Will said, a blistering fury beginning to percolate in his chest. "Who did this to you?"

"I ran into a bus stop." You lied, not even trying to make it sound believable.

"That bus wouldn't have happened to be headed to Dacula, would it?"

Your silence spoke louder than any excuse you could think of.

Will sighed. "Right. I think I know what happened."

"Will, I-" you protested.

"Save it for dinner." He scolded. "I'm sure Hannibal would love to hear this."

You'd been found out it was much worse than anticipated. You felt like you were on trial, which, given the circumstances, you could have actually been on trial in a real court of law on the charge of aggravated assault. However, that didn’t make you feel any better.

Hannibal demanded an explanation and couldn't wait until dinner. He was willing to let one of his culinary masterpieces burn in the oven, knowing of course that a much rarer delicacy was in the cards once you gave him a name.

He brushed his finger over an open cut under your eye. A light click of his tongue reached your ears as he examined your face.

"Give us a name, love." Hannibal probed, holding your jaw between his fingers and following the trail of bruises down your neck. "Who did this to you?"

"It's not a big deal, really." You assured him, squirming against his grip. "I started it."

"Now that, I find hard to believe." Hannibal contested. "You're not a preemptive strikes kind of person."

"Nor would you go all the way to Dacula to throw a few punches." Will added, approaching you with an ice pack.

"Okay, so maybe I finished it." You corrected.

Hannibal smiled proudly to himself. "That's more like it."

"What exactly did you finish?" Will asked, gently placing the ice against your bruised knuckles.

You sighed. You mentioned Dacula once and they already knew the answer. They were just waiting to hear you say it.

"My ex-boyfriend, Sidney." You leaned back on your one good wrist. "He was a being a completely irredeemable shit, as usual-"

"Details, darling." Hannibal said in too singsongy of a voice than was really appropriate while wrapping your hand in gauze.

"Acting entitled, talking like I belonged to him-"

"You have no idea how little that narrows it down." Will shook his head.

You were compelled to agree, but couldn't bring yourself to admit that and the fact that you ever dated Sidney in the first place. "Right."

"That isn't out of character for him." Hannibal said.

"And certainly not enough to make you willingly drive back out to cousinfuck nowhere to beat him up." Will finished.

"I didn't go out there with the intent to beat him up!" You contested. "He said that if I could meet him for coffee he'd never speak to me again. I know it's a lot of gas money, but I really was gonna hold him to the whole 'never speaking to me again' bit."

"So what happened?" Will asked, growing impatient.

You looked at the ground, embarrassment stopping the words at the tip of your tongue.

"Somehow, he caught a whiff of our... arrangement." You tightened your hands into frustrated fists. "And he made some really shitty comments about... you."

Hannibal and Will exchanged looks. They let the silence linger, urging you to fill it.

"He went into obscene detail about how mmf threesomes are his favorite category of porn," you tried not to gag as you recalled the disgusting details. "And then said if I 'let him watch', he wouldn't tell the local baptist church that I was a whore-"

"The man is a pig." Hannibal said, matter-of-factually.

"I got up to leave." You continued. "Obviously. Then he said he knew where you lived. Announced it to the whole diner. Started to go through his list of semiautomatic weapons. So to make sure he knew I meant business-"

"You threw the first punch." Hannibal finished the thought for you.

You nodded. "Naturally."

Will smiled to the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I would have loved to see that."

"As much as it pains me to say," Hannibal began, resignedly agreeing. "It's only fair that you stand up for us the way we stand up for you. From time to time."

Will brought your bruised knuckles to his lips. "Though we desperately need to teach you how to dodge. Because the next time you come home covered in scratches, someone will pay."

You took both of their hands. "I should get beat up more often."

[angryschnauzer]

Bubbles

Summary: After a long hot day at work and a nightmare journey home, you find your husband has a very welcome and refreshing surprise for you in the form of a full size jacuzzi in your back garden.

Pairing: Captain Syverston x Female Reader Wife (no race or size mentioned)

Fandoms: Sand Castle (Movie), Henry Cavill.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Established Relationship, Semi Public Sex, Fingering, Oral (Female Receiving), Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Alcohol consumption.

I do not run a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications for future stories. All past works can be found on there or on my AO3.

Bubbles

It had been a long day. Work had been hot and sweaty, customers were grouchy and some even tried to pull the 'speak to the manager' bullshit, even though you were the manager. Traffic had been a nightmare, your car deciding that the middle of a heatwave would be the perfect time for the air conditioning to stop working, simultaneously with a truck of maple syrup hitting the central concrete barrier and spilling its sticky load. 

Snerk. You snorted a laugh through the sweat. Sticky load… your husband would have made a whole bunch of dirty comments and jokes about being covered in sticky loads. You couldn't wait to get home to see him, it was the fact that he had now retired from the Army and would be happily waiting for you at home every night that made each day worthwhile. 

When Sy had finally retired you'd wept tears of joy, every day was a blessing. You'd discussed what you were both going to do with jobs, your contract was up in 3 months time, Sy was drawing a military pension and had saved a considerable nest egg. He'd also taken to industrial upcycling; making lamps and coffee tables out of engines and car parts, which had been massively popular. You had to admit when you saw him in his workshop with his acetylene torch and welding mask on, cutting enormous chunks of metal in half and creating brutal beauty from the elements you were immediately turned on by the raw virility of the sight.

When you eventually pulled onto the driveway, a quick glance towards his workshop told you he'd finished for the day, and as you let yourself into your house you called out to him;

"Sy?"

"Out here" came his slightly muffled reply, and you realised he was probably sitting on the patio out back, nursing a beer.

"I'm gonna run upstairs and take a shower, the aircon in my car has stopped working"

"Darlin, come out here first… i got something that'll refresh you"

Rolling your eyes you started to unbutton your blouse;

"Really Sy, i'm all sweaty and stinky…"

"Woman…" he growled;  "I said get out here…"

If any other man had called you 'woman' you'd knocked them out, but you knew Sy and for him it was a term of endearment. Quietly walking through the kitchen you reached the back door and patio;

"Sy…" you started to speak, but was cut short when you saw what he'd been referring to.

Sat on the corner of your patio, shielded from view by the trellis covered in Clematis blooms was an inflatable hot tub, bubbling away with your mountain of a man sat in it, arms spread out on each side as he held a beer and grinned at you;

"Told ya' i had something that'd cool you down"

Pressing your hand to the side of it you tested the water, smiling when you found it the perfect temperature;

"You bought a hot tub?"

"Rented. Wanted to see if we liked it before we made the investment. Why don't you get in and give it a go?"

"Sure, i'll just go get changed into my bathing costume"

Sy's glinted with mischief;

"Why? I ain't wearing one…"

You weren't sure;

"Its rented? Is it clean?"

"Spent all afternoon flushing the system and giving it a full wipe down, even though the rental company says they do it after each use… i know how you are with hygiene" he moved in the massive tub, moving to the side where you stood;

 "Now are ya gonna get naked or am i gonna have to rip those clothes off of ya?"

A minute later you were climbing in, work clothes hastily discarded in a pile on the patio, Sy holding your hand as he guided you into the bubbly water and you immediately let out a long low moan as the jets of water soothed and massaged your weary body;

"Oh Sy… this feels amazing…"

"C'mere…"

His massive hands cradled your torso, pulling you through the water until you were able to straddle his lap, his mouth meeting yours for a fierce kiss. As your tongues danced together he smoothed his hands over your back, massaging the day's stresses away to the point where let your head tilt back. Resting in his strong arms you let your back touch the water, smiling as the warm summer breeze danced over your breasts, before that skilled mouth was on your breasts, sucking on one nipple then the other, before he shifted and you were floating on the water, his mouth on your pussy. 

You weren’t the tiniest of girls, but you had utter trust in Sy that he could hold you up whilst eating you out. The man would easily heave around 10 foot iron beam railroad tracks to make into coffee tables, he’d pushed his truck home when the engine had died and that is no mean feat when it comes to a Ford F350. So with that knowledge safe in your mind you could thoroughly relax and let his tongue work magic on your clit as his beard tickled your folds. You came with a cry and he swallowed down your essence, before lowering you into the water and onto his lap.

As he lowered you you felt his hardness seek you out, sliding through your folds before you reached down and positioned him at your entrance, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you let yourself be slowly impaled on his shaft. With the worries and stresses of the day easing away with each blissful bubble that popped on your skin you sought out his lips for another kiss as you started to ride him, the friction palatable as the noise of the motor covered the sighs and moans the two of you were making. Sy’s hands firmly gripped your ass, pulling you up and down on his gnarled shaft;

“Fuck… You look so fucking good riding me Darlin’. Definitely gonna get a permanent one of these installed… might get you a coupla’ white bikini’s as i’d love to see these titties through the soaked fabric, would be such a treat…” he grinned at you; “A titty treat…”

Grinning at him you squeezed your pelvic muscles, finally shutting him up so you could concentrate as you chased your orgasm;

“Sure Sy, i’ll get a white bikini… you want me to do the gardening in it too? Watching me on my hands and knees as i plant the petunia’s?”

“Woman, i’ll fucking take you from behind right on the lawn if you do that” he growled, thrusting his hips up sharply and finding your g-spot. One of his hands crept around your hip and between your bodies, seeking out your clit as he ran his calloused thumb over the sensitive nub. From the way he was bouncing you on his lap you could tell he was getting close, his teeth gritted as he tried to hold off from cumming, but with no luck. His hands gripped your hips to stop you from moving in the hope it’d delay his orgasm. You watched as his eyes rolled back in his head and his head fell back against the side of the spa, thrusting his hips up as he swore out a litany of curses as his body reached its peak before he’d have wanted to;

“Fuck fuck fuck… ah god… i’m sorry… fuck…”

Cradling the back of his head in your fingers you stroked at the short hair as you dipped your head down and pressed open mouthed kisses to his neck and shoulders. With his eyes still shut he pulled a hand out of the water and raked it down his face before looking up at you, his blue eyes sparkling;

“Ah fuck i’m sorry Darlin’... lemme see about getting you sorted…don’t get off just yet…”

He slid his hand back between your bodies, his thumb back on your clit. His other hand moved to your breasts, using his mouth on one nipple as he pinched the other between his thumb and forefinger. Writhing on his lap you could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, Sy knowing exactly how to play your body like a guitar as you sang out your siren song that was a blessing to his ears. 

As your orgasm washed over you Sy held you in his arms, letting you ride out your pleasure as he relished the feel of your body surrounding him. Slumped in his arms you nuzzled at his neck, happily riding the waves of pleasure that echoed around your body. 

“You ok there Darlin’?” Sy purred, smoothing his massive palm over your back like a giant bear paw.

“Hmmn” you hummed, stopping mid response when you felt him shift and realised he was hard again; “Sy?”

He looked at you, a smirk on his face as he cocked an eyebrow;

“Darlin… you know when i blow my load real fast i’m ready for another round… your sweet little pussy massaged me back to full health” he pressed a kiss to your nose; “Now turn around and bend over, hand on the side… i’m gonna rail that juicy pussy from behind, see how many times i can make you cum before i shoot load number two”

Manhandling you in the water you let out a shriek as he thrust into you from behind, your walls still tight from your previous orgasm and he did exactly as promised, splitting you open from behind as his powerful thighs railed you harder than the transcontinental express. With his heavy ballsack slapping against your clit you were soon cumming again, Sy fucking you straight through it before he brought you to another orgasm soon after as he filled you with another sticky load.

As you both tried to recover from the energetic synchronised aquatics he pulled you flush with his chest as he sank down into the water, letting you lay back against his chest as your bodies were still joined. His hands skimmed over your torso beneath your breasts, cupping them tenderly;

“We’re getting one of these, right Darlin’?”

“Hmmm, absolutely”

You sat there for a good half hour, cradled in Sy’s arms as you told each other about your day, before your skin wrinkled and it was time to get out.

-

Later that evening Sy had driven the pair of you to the main hardware store in town that he’d rented the Spa from, and you’d ordered the parts and equipment for your very own one. As Sy had started getting deep into conversation with the sales guy who turned out had also recently retired from the Army you tugged on Sy’s sleeve;

“Honey, i’m gonna pop to Walmart next door”

“Sure thing Darlin, i’ll catch up with you in fifteen minutes”

Just as promised Sy found you fifteen minutes later as you browsed through the clothing section, and you spotted that he was swinging a small clothes hangar from his finger;

“What you got there?” you asked

Sy held it up and your eyes practically bulged out of your head; He had found the tiniest white bikini, that although was your size, was little more than three small triangles of fabric connected with the thinnest of strings;

“Exactly what we discussed… now i see ya got a bottle of tequila and some snacks, how about we head home and we can test this out?”

Grinned you nodded;

“Just one thing…”

“Yeah Darlin?”

“We need to grab a few more of those… there’s no way that is gonna survive one wear with you around”

Nodding in agreement Sy grinned, taking the basket from your hand as he wrapped his free arm around your shoulders;

“See, that’s why i married ya’, thinking ahead…”

He pressed a kiss to your hair as he led you back to the display of swimwear, grinning as you pulled out numerous other cheap pieces of swimwear, knowing full well Sy would destroy them as thoroughly as he destroys your pussy.

[vaspider]

I guess I should give a little update on our local crow family (and tag@neil-gaiman as well because why not).

When we moved to Oregon a couple of years ago, I realized that, oh, shit, there are a million crows in our neighborhood, so I started trying to make friends with them, because one should at least not be enemies with one's local murder.

So I started leaving out food & the like, going out at around the same time every day to put out healthy crow snacks like peanuts. The same mated pair started showing up a lot, and one of them -- the male, I'm assuming, bc he's bigger and the smaller one sits the nest -- started yelling outside our front window if I was 'late' on bringing out breakfast. My spouse started calling him Your Boss, and we decided to call them Crowley & Azirafowl, since this was 2019 and Good Omens had been released not too long before, and this pair fussed over each other constantly.

Anyway, their 2020 shenanigans were a main source of enjoyment for us during quarantine, and we did plenty research on the things we were permitted to feed them and so on. They started bringing that year's fledglings by (they had 3!) and we called them Pepper, Brian, and Adam. They all had very outsized personalities but Pepper was also the spiciest, with a very distinctive croak, and as it turns out, she's the girl, and has stuck around this year, as female crows often do until they pair up themselves. Brian and Adam fucked off, so I'm guessing they were indeed boys. Or possibly they died, but since I have no proof of that, I'm choosing to believe they're out their living their best crow lives.

This year we seem to have one surviving fledgling from a nest that initially had (from what we could hear) 2+, which is pretty normal. Last year was very outsized in terms of how many chicks made it to fledgling stage. Crowley and Azirafowl have started bringing the baby by, but we don't know them well enough to name them yet. They live in the pine tree south of our house, which we can see from the front porch.

There's an oak tree north of our house, which is where Odin and his mini-murder (Freyja, Baldr, and Tyr, who has a broken beak) live. This has led to quite a lot of squabbling when we put out food in the mornings, or when we refresh the cold water in the dish in the backyard, but it's just fussing, and everyone ends up getting fed.

The last few weeks have been pretty exciting in the corvid world, actually, with the following events:

1) Crowley and Pepper chasing a hawk away from the pine tree in an extremely dramatic fashion while Azirafowl hunkered down in the nest and covered the fledglings with her wings. Luckily I had just stepped outside onto the porch and got to see the whole thing. It was a true battle, with the crows divebombing the hawk aggressively and repeatedly until after its third attempt to get in to the nest, it gave up. Seriously, don't piss off crows, especially if you're a hawk. They will kick your ass.

2) When I go outside to put out Approved Crow Snacks in the feeder in the backyard & clean out the water bowl, I always whistle in a way that doesn't resemble any native bird & always in the same way, so they know it's me & have time to get the fledgling up off the ground if I didn't see him before coming outside.

Yesterday, I whistled even though I was 99% sure they weren't in the backyard. They weren't, when I came out, so I set about refreshing the crow snacks & washing out the water bowl so I could put in the ice water. (We're in PDX, so ice water was a definite must.)

While I was in the process of rinsing out the bowl with the hose, I heard a flutterflutter overhead, and casually glanced up a moment later. Crowley was sitting right overhead, staring down at me, perched in the ash tree in our backyard. "Hey, buddy," I greeted, which, again, is the same way I always greet them. Consistent behavior = crow friends. Then I went back to working, and just sort of casually talked to him, and he -- for the first time -- started 'conversing' with me, making little 'crrk!' noises when I finished a sentence, or paused in talking during my tasks.

I chatted with him until I was done, put out the ice water, and went most of the way back inside, pausing where I was as far away as I could be and still be outside. He moved as if he was about to take off, then realized I was still outside, and cawed once and loudly at me, so I took the hint, and went inside. He waited until he could see me in the kitchen window, so I was well and properly inside, and then came down for his snacks and sips.

So I guess now the crows know that when I'm whistling, that means there's about to be clean water and fresh food.

Also, Crowley had to come supervise and make sure I was doing things properly.

To close, here's a picture of Crowley giving me a Sassy Look while perched on the water bowl. The weird wire in the picture is the grape vine trellis the original owner put up, which is across the whole back of the house.

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N: THIS IS THE MOMENT YOU ALL HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR. PURE FLUFF AHEAD!!!

Masterlist

Chapter 24

The doorbell rang Friday night as you were popping popcorn in the microwave for family movie night.

“I’ll get it,” you called out, walking to the front door.

You opened it to see Penelope standing there. She immediately grabbed your hand and started tugging.

“You’re coming with me, soon-to-be Mrs. Reid,” she tried to drag you out of the house.

“Spencer! Code pink! Code pink!” you yelled.

You heard Spencer dashing towards the front door.

“You’re not taking her anywhere,” Spencer wrapped his arm around your waist.

“It’s bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other the day of the wedding,” Penelope stomped her high heel in protest.

“Yes, we knew you would say that so we bought these,” you and Spencer held up sleep masks, “Me and Spence will put these on before we go to bed. I’ll set my alarm 15 minutes before his so I will be up and out of the room, headed to Rossi’s before he even sees me. No bad luck and I still get to sleep with my fiancé, everyone’s happy!”

“I should have known you guys would find a loophole. You even had a whole code name,” Penelope huffed.

“I’m sorry, Pen,” you laughed, “I will see you in the morning.”

You gave her a big hug before she returned to her car.

“A brilliant idea if I do say so myself, Dr. Reid,” you grinned.

He leaned down to kiss you as Jo shouted “you’re missing Nemo.”

-

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You fumbled to swipe your phone alarm off without actually being able to see it.

Once you got it off, you felt Spencer’s arms tighten around you.

“Keep that blindfold on, mister,” you demanded.

“Don’t go,” he mumbled.

“Do you not want us to get married today?” you teased.

You felt Spencer’s arms slowly retract from around you after giving you one final squeeze.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you giggled.

“Bye, love you,” he tried to kiss you but ended up kissing your nose.

You put your hand flat on his face to find his lips and then guided yourself to them.

“I can not wait to marry you,” you whispered after pulling away.

“10 hours,” he whispered back and you could feel his smile as you went in for another kiss.

You slowly got out of bed and crawled towards the door to avoid hitting anything. However, you slammed your head right into the door.

“Ouch!” you rubbed the top of your head.

Spencer sat up in bed, still with his blindfold on, “Love, are you okay?”

“Yep, I found the door,” you laughed, “I will see you at the aisle.”

“I can not wait to be reduced to a blubbering, crying mess in front of my closest friends and family,” Spencer smiled.

You felt around for the door knob and opened it, taking off your blindfold once you were out of the room. You picked up your bag that you had set outside your door with all of your skincare and makeup before heading out the door to Rossi’s.

By the time you had gotten there, the driveway was full of trucks and vans dropping off decorations and setting up the canopy and tables.

The second you rang the doorbell, you were pulled inside by JJ and Emily who were already in their dresses.

“You both look gorgeous!” you exclaimed as they dragged you up the stairs.

“Here’s a muffin,” JJ said as she sat you down.

Emily was already assessing your hair and combing it out.

“Penelope told us what you did last night,” Emily smiled, “I think it was extremely adorable.”

JJ nodded in agreement as she pulled the makeup products out of your bag.

“I would just feel weird if I was away from him for a night now since we are so used to being right next to each other. Speaking of Pen, where is she?” you asked.

“She needed to make sure they put the lattice trellis in the right place so the sun would set directly behind it,” JJ informed you.

You and Spencer would be getting married in front of a lattice trellis covered in vines and an assortment of flowers right at sunset.

“What would I do without her and you guys?” you laughed.

-

Spencer groggily answered the door to see Derek standing there, holding both of their tuxes.

“Ready to get married, Pretty Boy?” he grinned.

“Yes,” Spencer rubbed his eyes to wipe away the tiredness, “Let me wake Jo up.”

Spencer walked back up the stairs and opened Jo’s door, sitting at the edge of her bed.

“Time to get up, Princess,” he whispered, “You get to wear your new dress today.”

Jo’s eyes shot open and she got out from underneath the covers, revealing she was already in fact in her dress.

“You got up already?” Spencer laughed, picking her up.

“I tricked you, Daddy,” she giggled.

“Yes, you did,” Spencer smiled, “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Uncle Derek!” Jo exclaimed.

“Jo!” Derek shouted, accepting the little girl into his arms, “Well, don’t you look nice. Auntie Penelope was telling me how excited she is to do your hair later.”

Jo nodded enthusiastically.

“You get ready,” Derek pushed the tux into Spencer’s arms, “I’ll get Jo breakfast.”

-

You stood at the back of the line in front of the glass double doors leading out to Rossi’s backyard.

As the violins and piano began to softly play, you heard Penelope say, “Jo, go see your Dad.”

The doors opened to let Jo out, holding her basket of white rose petals.

You sneakily watched from a nearby window as Jo took her job very seriously, throwing a handful of petals every other step and then taking a seat in the front row next to Henry and Will.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope all proceeded down the aisle one by one, standing on the opposite side of Derek and Rossi who were standing next to Spencer.

You ran back from the window to in front of the doors, grabbing your bouquet from the table. You had decided to walk down the aisle alone. Your parents were in the audience here to support you but you were your own woman, you didn’t need to be “given away” to Spencer.

The doors opened for the final time and you stepped out. Spencer turned to face you and you could see the tears already glistening in his eyes.

You smiled and mouthed ‘I love you’ as you walked down the aisle and he mouthed ‘I love you too’ as the tears quickly began to form in your eyes as well.

You took your spot in front of Spencer and Jo waved to you both which elicited a small chuckle from the crowd.

“Hi, baby,” you waved back.

You don’t even think Spencer noticed because his eyes were laser-focused on you.

“Shall we begin?” Hotch asked and you both nodded.

“I would like to thank everyone for being here to help Y/N and Spencer celebrate this special day in which they attest to their love for one another. Spencer, would you like to read your vows first?”

Spencer nodded, “I have never admitted this to her until now but the first time I spoke to Y/N is because I offered her a sweatshirt. I actually brought that sweatshirt to the library with me that day, hoping the pretty girl who was always shivering would finally have a reason to acknowledge me. That was the single best decision of my life. Unfortunately, a little over a year later, I made the single worst decision of my life by letting you go,” Spencer started to get choked up, “I honestly think my ‘genius’ title should be taken away for that alone. Somehow, I was graced with the opportunity to come back into your life even though I didn’t deserve it. And your life now revolved around one particular little girl that I grew to love more than I thought was ever possible. So, I just wanted to say scientists learn from their mistakes so while I can’t promise I won’t make any more in the future, I can tell you for sure that I will never let go again.”

“Oh wow,” you sniffled, taking a kleenex and your little journal from Penelope, “How am I supposed to top that?”

“I really don’t care what you have to say, you marrying me is more than enough,” he whispered.

“Oh my god, you’re still coming up with better vows than me on the spot,” you whispered back.

“Much like Spencer, I also wrote about our first encounters in college. Spencer and I quickly formed an unspoken agreement that we would always meet at the same table in the library. One night, when he was taking the time to repeatedly explain to me a calculus concept I just wasn’t getting even though I knew he had a paper due tonight, I thought to myself ‘this one is too good to let get away’. So at our next meeting, I ordered takeout from his favorite restaurant and set up a little dinner for us. It was all worth it when I saw him walk in with his textbooks only to be soon lost for words when I asked him if he would go on a date with me. I never really dated anyone in the time we were apart, I just had this feeling that our story was far from over and I’m so so glad that feeling was right. I promise I will never stop loving you, no matter what, because I don’t think I could even if I tried” you stated.

“Spencer, with this ring, do you take Y/N to love and to hold, to cherish and respect her in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, from this day forward?” Hotch asked.

“I do,” Spencer smiled as you slipped the band on to his ring finger.

“Y/N, with this ring, do you take Spencer to love and to hold, to cherish and respect him in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, from this day forward?” Hotch repeated.

“Absolutely I do.”

Spencer slipped the ring on your finger.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride,” Hotch smiled.

Spencer cupped your cheeks, pulling you as close as he could and kissing you deeply. Everyone cheered as you both interlocked your hands and headed down the aisle.

As soon as you were inside, Spencer pulled you in for a more passionate, sloppy kiss.

“I didn’t want an audience for that,” he grinned, pulling you back in.

“Bleh,” you heard Derek say, who had Penelope on his arm, “Do you guys need to go home already?”

“No, we can wait a few more hours,” you giggled but Spencer whined.

JJ and Will had offered to take Jo for the night so you and Spencer had the house to yourself. You had opted for just spending one night away from Jo rather than a long honeymoon. You were going to take a family vacation all together instead.

A few minutes later, you heard Penelope and Derek announce on the microphone, “Now introducing for the first time ever, Dr. and Mrs. Reid!”

You exited the glass doors once again, holding you and Spencer's interlocked hands up in the air as everyone cheered under the big white canopy with fairy lights.

“Please clear the dance floor for their first dance together as husband and wife,” Penelope smiled.

Bloom by The Paper Kites faded in as Spencer’s arms wrapped around your waist. You rested your head against his chest and wrapped your hands around the back of his neck.

You felt him rubbing small circles on your side with his thumb as he planted a kiss on the top of your head.

“I love you so much, my husband,” you whispered.

“I love you more, my wife,” he smiled.

You swayed gently back and forth until the music faded out. Spencer leaned down and kissed you as you stopped swaying. You completely forgot you were in front of an audience until you pulled away from Spencer and the crowd erupted into a cheer.

You looked into the audience to see Diana twirling Jo around in a circle. Luckily, an aid was able to bring her on such short notice.

After everyone had enjoyed the banquet, Hotch and Emily took the microphone this time.

“Time for the cutting of the cake!” they cheered.

You and Spencer both stood from the main table to go get the first pieces. You both held the knife together, cutting out two pieces.

You grabbed the plate that your slice was on and gently shoved it into Spencer’s nose, laughing as he pulled the plate away, his face covered in white frosting.

“You think that’s funny?” he grinned, grabbing his piece and pressing it into your face.

You continued your giggling fit as he cut another piece.

“Princess, come here!” he called out.

Jo ran up, eager to get a first taste of the cake and you and Spencer pressed another piece right into her face.

Jo stuck her tongue out and licked some off her face, “It tastes good,” she smiled as you and Spencer continued to laugh.

[mybillyhardgrove]

He loves you, he loves you lots b.h.

A/n: if you haven’t read Mango Kisses, check it out :) this piece may be my favorite thing ive written so far and im excited for you to read it!

Disclaimer: i don’t own any Stranger Things material

Word count: 2467

Warnings: some cheeky remarks from billy and a couple curses

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader (female)

Summary: after being with Billy for a few months, it has become clear how he shows his love for you

Physical Touch

The touches had been deliberate at the start, meant to convey the interest you two had in each other. Flirty touches of his shoulder or arm as he talked to you in the school hallways or at random parties on the weekends. Gentle touches of your lower back as he walked past you, his chest rubbing a bit on your shoulder blades, though there was room enough for him not to need to be so close.

As your relationship developed, the touches became more frequent and less subtle. His arm draped around your shoulder or his hand in your back pocket, your legs crossed on his lap or your fingers intertwined with his. No matter what, it seemed that you were connected in some way almost all the time.

Finally, when you accepted Billy’s invitation to a date and you were officially his girl, the touching didn’t stop. Not that you minded. You found it so endearing that Billy seemed to reach for you, sitting with his knee touching yours, his hand on your back, his shoulder rubbing against yours, his hand on your thigh while he drove. It also seemed he didn’t realize he was doing it most of the time. It was an unconscious pull he had to you whenever you were near. One of your favorites was when you and Billy laid together and he played with the ends of your hair, rubbing his fingers together and smoothing the bumps away. It tended to relax you so much that you had to fight to keep your eyes open, lulled by his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his body wrapped up in yours. “That feels nice, Billy.” You felt his chest vibrate as he laughed, pulling you closer and lightly scratching your scalp as you let sleep fall over you.

It meant even more to you that Billy was so comfortable being physically affectionate with you after you learned about his childhood and the physical and verbal abuse of his father. This point was driven home when you were sitting at a diner one evening, Billy’s sneakered feet rubbing yours as you sipped your milkshake. You grabbed his hand resting on the table, softly rubbing your thumb over his knuckles and giving him a soft smile. He squeezed your hand in response, wiping his mouth and making sure he had your attention.

“I’m glad you’re my girl.” Your smile immediately widened, teeth popping out.

“I am, too, Billy.” After a beat, “What made you say that?” He grabbed your other hand across the table.

“I’m just happy to have you. It feels nice that I can reach out and I know you’ll be there. Your hugs, the way you touch me, I’ve never felt that before. Usually it’s rough and my dad or a girl wants something from me. I like that you touch me and let me touch you so much because you’re happy.” You could see he was losing his nerve, pulling his hands away and preparing to put on the devil-may-care attitude that was common when with friends.

“I love you, Billy. And I love that you feel comfortable enough to share that with me. I hope I can always make you feel that way.” He looked up, smiling a little, the tension leaving his shoulders. You didn’t want to make him feel awkward by focusing on the confession too long, so you continued. “Now eat those fries before I steal some.” He chuckled and grabbed your hand again, reaching across with a fry for you.

Once he had dropped it in your mouth, he cleared his throat. “I love you, too.” You smiled widely again, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

Words of Affirmation

You were rushing to get ready, imagining the look on Billy’s face as he sat on the couch all ready to head to the party. Your hands were shaking a bit as you dusted the rose blush on your cheekbones and nose. As Billy’s girl, you could expect as always to be the center of attention for most of the night as girls looked at you in jealousy and boys looked at you while they talked with Billy. It wasn’t that you wished you weren’t with Billy, it just got tiring to have all eyes on you both.

“Are you almost ready to head ou-” as you turned towards the sound of Billy’s voice, you watched him lower the sunglasses from his eyes, dragging his baby blues down your body and back up. You could feel your cheeks get hot as he let out a low whistle. “God damn, baby, you look like that and we may never make it to that party.” He came closer and wrapped his arm around your side, his hand fanning across your lower back and with a small pull, your body was flush to his. He leaned down to press his lips to your jaw, murmuring compliments as he spread the kisses down your neck and behind your ear. “You’re so beautiful.” Kiss. “I can’t believe you’re mine.” Kiss. “So smart and kind.” Kiss. “I am the luckiest man in Hawkins.” Kiss. “I love you so much.” After this last profession, Billy pressed a soft and meaningful kiss to your lips, lingering there as his hands came to rest on your hips, giving them a squeeze.

You tilted your head to the side into the kiss, slipping your fingers in his hair and scratching a bit at his scalp before pulling away and grabbing your purse. “I’m ready to go. Let’s get this over with.” You grabbed his hand and led him out of your room.

He followed with a lovesick look on his face. “Yes, ma’am.”

Gifts

“Bill, shift your legs a little, mine are falling asleep.” You and your boyfriend were currently watching Red Dawn, your head resting on one side of the couch as Billy’s was resting on the other, legs intertwined and a thin blanket over the both of you. Sadly for you, it wasn’t quite enough to keep goosebumps from rising on your skin. Although the day had been fairly warm and you felt good in a sundress as Billy showered you in compliments all day, you were now verging on cold. Alone in the Hargrove’s house for the evening, the cool air coming in the open window was making you shiver.

Finally too distracted by the chill, you rose from the couch and shut the window, returning to curl up against Billy. You lifted the blanket, wiggled between his legs, and rested your back against his chest with the blanket up to your chin. He shifted a little and wrapped his arms around you, putting your hands in his. “Jeez, babe, your hands are freezing.” He pulled them up to his mouth, blowing warm air into your curled fingers, rubbing his palms together in an effort to bring them back to normal. You moved your feet a bit and accidentally pressed your cold toes to his bare leg. “Your feet are like ice cubes! Why didn’t you tell me you were so cold? Scoot forward, I’ll be right back.” You did as you were told and he swung his leg over your head, retreating to his room for a minute before coming back, a mess of fabric in his hands. “Here, put these on.”

You took the lump to the bathroom and laid it out, finally determining what he had given you. A cozy pair of his sweatpants, a long-sleeved henley shirt, and a pair of thick socks. Humming, you slipped your clothes off and changed into his, surrounded by the smell of cologne and a hint of smoke. You grabbed your things, dumped them next to your purse in the living room, and crawled back under the blanket with Billy.

“Feeling better?” He rubbed his hands down your arms.

“Much. Thank you.” You turned your head, pressing a kiss to his lips before settling to watch the rest of the movie.

A while later when the movie was finished and it was time for Billy to drive you home, you explained you would return his clothes the following day. “Keep them. They look better on you anyway. My gift to you, so you don’t freeze your ass off anymore.” You giggled and grabbed your things, admiring how loving Billy was to you.

Acts of Service

It was a bit of a tradition that had developed where Billy would climb up the trellis to the roof outside your bedroom window, tapping lightly so you would let him in. You loved when he did this and never asked why. He loved that about you - you didn’t need a reason or an explanation, you were there with a smile and a kiss, ready to snuggle and whisper until the morning.

This particular night was a bit different than usual. When he began the climb to your room, he could see the window was already open, likely because it was a cool night and the breeze felt nice on your skin. Smiling as he thought about seeing you, he peeked in the window and saw something that warmed his heart. The light next to your bed was on and illuminated the pile of books and clothes around your room as you slept in the middle of your bed, a notebook still open on your lap.

Billy let out a breathy chuckle as he quietly climbed in, careful not to wake you. He shrugged off his jacket and slipped off his shoes, placing them by the window. Who knew a girl who so lovingly helped Billy clean his room when Neil rode his ass about it would be able to make such a mess herself. He knew from your recent conversations that school was kicking your ass at the moment and it seemed cleaning was taking a backseat for the time being. He looked at the soft rise and fall of your chest, your tangled hair, and the pout of your mouth for a minute before getting to work. He gathered empty water bottles and crumpled up pieces of paper, throwing them in the small garbage can under your nightstand. He collected the school books that lay in a halo around you, gently lifting your hand to grab the notebook and pen you had been writing with before nodding off. Placing those on the top of your dresser in a neat pile, he went into the hall to grab a laundry basket.

After Billy had picked up the discarded clothes on your bed and floor, as well as those in your hamper, he tiptoed to the basement to throw the load in for you. Carefully avoiding the creaky spots on the staircase, he returned to your room, pleased with himself that it once again resembled the way you liked it. He pulled the socks from your feet, knowing you hated sleeping in them. As he did so, it dawned on him that they were his socks. In fact, you were also wearing the pair of sweatpants and the henley shirt he had given you the night you were cold while you watched a movie together. That memory brought a smile to his lips. Finally, he grabbed the rolled edges of your sheets and comforter from the foot of the bed, lifting them over your legs and up to your chest. This caused you to shift, taking a deep breath before rolling over, giving him enough room to slide in next to you. He did just that, humming a bit as he wrapped you in his arms, drifting quickly to sleep to the sound of your soft breaths and the warmth of your bed.

Quality Time

“Really, Billy, I don’t mind. I’ll just stay home and see you later.” You were currently on the phone with your boyfriend, trying to convince him to go to the party alone that you were going to go to together. It had been your plan all week to go to this party together and you even had an outfit laid out for the occasion. Unfortunately, you had woken up with a sore throat and a completely stuffed nose. After a few hours of blowing your nose, taking Vitamin C, and praying this would go away, you were resigned to call Billy and tell him he’d have to go without you.

“I am not going unless you’re there and I can tell from your voice that you’re really sick. Lay down and get cozy, I’ll be over in a little.” You sighed, disappointed that you were altering the plans for the evening.

“I’ll be fine. I feel bad that-” Before finishing that you felt bad for throwing a wrench in the evening, you were interrupted.

“I am not going to that stupid party, baby. I couldn’t care less. Trust me. Now get under the covers. I’m coming over. Is the door unlocked?” You answered in the affirmative and with one more order to get under covers, he hung up. You shuffled your feet across the carpet, burrowing under the large throw blanket, tissue box close by.

For a while, there was silence (apart from the sneezing and the pounding in your head from an annoying little headache that had formed since your call with Billy). You were somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, praying that this would end and missing the time you could breathe out of your nose. As you lay staring at the ceiling, you heard a familiar rumble in the distance get closer until it finally stopped in front of your house.

A few steps up to the front door and the creak as it opened and shut brought your boyfriend into view. “Shit, baby,” and with that, he kneeled next to the couch, running his fingers through your hair, wincing a bit as they ran over your forehead. He put his cheek there to confirm before saying, “I think you have a bit of a fever, too. You got it rough. But don’t worry, I brought all the things to make you feel better and I won’t leave your side until you’re good again.” He reached behind him, dragging a plastic bag full of medicine, chocolate, more tissues, and even a couple movies. You knew you were in for a troubling evening as you fought against the fever, headache, and sore throat. But with Billy by your side, it would all be okay.

By the next morning, after a night of movies, talking, snuggling, and even Billy spoon-feeding you soup, you felt almost your old self again. You were so grateful for your wonderful and caring boyfriend who showed his love all different ways. You made sure to tell him a million times, though he already knew.

masterlist

[doorsclosingslowly]

There’s someone waiting out there with a mouthful of surprises

The Jedi recovered the bisected Sith apprentice from Naboo and imprisoned him underneath the Jedi Temple. A young Anakin finds the way down to his cell.

Anakin is twelve when he declines one of Chancellor Palpatine’s invitations for the first time. The resulting devastation looks wrong on his kindly old face, and Anakin wants to take it back—besides, it’s just an opera and a glass of bubbly, where could be the harm?—but he remembers golden eyes pleading up at him and then a skull-patterned face scrunched up into a splotch with how hard it’s trying to hide utter desperation, and he repeats his invented excuse.

It doesn’t matter that this one-sided rivalry for Anakin’s attention that has developed between the mutilated imprisoned murderer Sith (slave) he has befriended and the Chancellor of the Republic is honestly deeply stupid, from Anakin’s point of view. It’s not like he couldn’t spent time with them both: his missions with Master Obi-Wan have increased in number recently, but still, he’s been talking to Palpatine once a month and he’s also managed to fit in the regular trips down below to the high security carcer. It’s ridiculous.

But Anakin understands loneliness—and fear and attachment and jealousy and all the other disturbances of the peace he shouldn’t feel—he didn’t have friends for years in the Temple, after all, and it makes sense, at least a little, that Maul is scared he’ll be forgotten down there when Anakin has any other option. Not a lot of sense, because really what he’s saying is that he thinks Anakin so disloyal he’ll just ditch the only real friend he made on Coruscant, and Anakin would get back at him for the insult if it wasn’t for an energy gate perpetually between them and the fact that it’s a just a little bit unfair to tussle with a guy crawling on the floor because he doesn’t have legs… The jealousy is still kriffing stupid, but if anyone knows stupid fears it’s Anakin.

So he declines, and he keeps declining, and two years later the invitations stop.

.

Anakin is eleven when he starts smuggling droid parts down into the top security oubliette underneath the oldest parts of the Jedi Temple. The first time is, in retrospect, a terrifying accident. He’s built a tiny moving starfighter that Master Obi-Wan just glanced at and said, “Well done,” nothing more, like Anakin didn’t need to use pincers to weld the tiniest engine parts together, like he didn’t cast the alloy all by himself. He sulks in his room, the ship buzzing at his head, and then remembers that there’s at least two more people who might like to see. Palpatine is probably busy, and that leaves…

The Sith prisoner is a far more appreciative audience than Anakin’s Master. His eyes glint and widen when he sees the presence next to Anakin’s head, and he even pulls himself off his berth: pulls himself off the edge and tumbles down head-first, and then panting and with his nails dug into the duracrete he drags his torso over to the energy trellis that separates him from Anakin.

He looks up at the droid in childlike wonder.

There’s a tenderness to his questions that he hasn’t shown Anakin up until now, and it’s not just the hoarse panting of exertion that takes away the last dregs of his usual intimidating mien. He wants to know everything, from the full-size model of the ship it was based on to the assembly process to details of every single one of Anakin’s new projects.

“I can—I could feel the movement of the droids I built, in the force,” the prisoner whispers reverently. “They were a constant presence when I was young.”

“Right? Right?” Anakin is excited. The Jedi have been trying to tell him that droids don’t have force presences, and he’s almost believed them by now, but if he’s not alone in feeling it then he was right. Master Obi-Wan was wrong. He knew it.

He brings down the next droid he builds—yes, two days after the first trip he did realize he brought something easily used as a weapon to the dangerous Sith prisoner, but all he did was talk mechanics with Anakin so clearly it’s harmless—and the next and next. He watches the prisoner drag himself across the floor. He sees the abrasions covering the prisoner head to abdomen—covering him on every inch of the body he still possesses—the injuries that he must be sustaining from his only mode of movement. He feels the shame radiate out from the prisoner down on the floor, painful, cloying. He watches him try to play it all down.

One day, Anakin brings down a ship that he designed himself to meet the exact dimensions and functionality of a short humanoid’s prosthetic thigh. He pushes it against the barrier. It moves through.

.

Anakin is almost ten years old, and he knows that down in the bowels of the Jedi Temple there lives a monster. The Sith is caged so deep below that no-one can hear his growls and mutters, his whimpers, his pleas, or so Master Obi-Wan promised Anakin yesterday when he’d worked up the courage to ask about the sounds he keeps hearing whenever he closes his eyes. He’s locked down so deep that the shivering of his despair and the gall of his hatred must be a hallucination. He’s been caged for months, first interrogated daily, then found useless and forgotten. But not by Anakin.

(He saw the monstrous enemy of the Jedi for the first time when he’d just turned nine. It pulled its black hood off its bright head and panicked Master Qui-Gon and Master Obi-Wan, and Anakin was sent away for safety that quickly turned into cosmic warfare. Before that moment, he knows, on Tatooine it tried to run Anakin over with its bike. After that moment, he’d seen the monster—or what remained of it—being carried out of the Naboo palace on Master Obi-Wan’s back, moaning and delirious with pain, but dangerous nonetheless. It had bitten Obi-Wan so hard he’d flung it reflexively to the ground.

Down there, it had begged. “Honor,” it had rasped. “Give me honor. Give me death.”

Master Obi-Wan had picked it up by its arm, and it had whimpered in protest, “I fought with honor!”

Obi-Wan had ignored it. Anakin would have, too; this thing had killed Master Qui-Gon, and whether it had done so with honor or not didn’t matter when Master Qui-Gon was dead. It had killed the Jedi who’d won him, who chose to train Anakin, who was the only guarantor of his future safety, and he didn’t know what would happen now, and he hated it.

It had grown more frantic then, terrified. “Kill me, Jedi, please, when my Master—”

And Anakin had swallowed a cry of shocked recognition.)

Anakin will be ten in two months, and today he’s gonna see the monster again. It’s not the force that calls him down staircase after staircase to the oubliette below the oldest parts of the Jedi Temple. He’d be able to explain if it was the force, if he got caught, he thinks, but that’s not what’s going on. It’s just homesickness, and loneliness, and it is that word.

The way he said it.

Anakin has met more Masters in the last year of his life than ever before, has uttered the word more often than on Tatooine, and he’s doing pretty well, he thinks. He doesn’t flinch with his body when he says it and not with his face either, and even the highest Masters—there it is again—they can’t feel the acid in his force presence anymore.

He greets Master Obi-Wan in the morning and he bows to Grandmaster Yoda whenever they meet.

He doesn’t talk about his childhood. He doesn’t talk much, nowadays, to anyone but Master Obi-Wan or his teachers. He knows he’s weird. He wasn’t on Tatooine, but here… He doesn’t know the things the other padawans do, and his reflexive associations, his interests, his memories shock them. There’s no point, Anakin has learned, in expecting people who can say Master without galling—who don’t need to pretend enjoy it—to listen to him. They’ll never wake up in cold sweat and feel for the bomb that was cut out of their neck, that was injected into it while they were awake and their mother cried, that had so often almost gone off. They don’t cry for their Mom. They’ll only shush him when he talks of his past.

When he talks of his fears.

Of himself.

They’ll never understand him. No-one will. No-one will let him be the Anakin he really is, without fussing over him and muttering and looking like he should know better by now. No-one wants anything beyond the parts of himself he can salvage that are untainted by his past. The parts that don’t remember his mother.

The only person who listens to all of him is Palpatine, and even he often doesn’t know what to say.

No-one will understand, possibly, but…

The monster that lives down below the Jedi Temple had forced out Master like the word tastes of fire and dread.

Like it heralds pain.

The monster is a fellow slave, Anakin is sure. He’s the only being on Coruscant who might understand; the only person who will let him be whole. He’s killed Master Qui-Gon, yes, but he didn’t have a choice, just like Anakin wasn’t allowed to disobey his Master and neither was Mom or Kitster or Beru or anybody else back home.

It was so obvious, the moment he said it.

The monster’s a slave.

Point: Anakin is so tired of having to pretend he never was a slave.

Point also: He just found a map of all the layers of the temple in a garbage chute, wedged in a decommissioned droid’s dataslit. A map that shows the oubliette for ancient evils.

Point also also: Master Obi-Wan’s fast asleep, and Anakin can’t get his thoughts to stop racing.

The monster’s a fellow slave.

Ergo: it’s time to sneak down and make a friend.

What must be hundreds of meters below the current Jedi Temple, at the bottom of the bottom-most staircase, smells faintly of sweat and boredom and despair. The only illumination Anakin can make out is a set of force trellises, and if the schematics he found were right then that’s exactly the spot that he’s looking for.

Pulling his hood down deeper just because it’s chilly and definitely not because he’s nervous and needs something to fidget, he sneaks closer.

Victory!

The Sith’s inside the cell. He looks just like the attacker Anakin remembers, with a red-and-black face and some horns and a scowl. He looks completely different, too: he’s naked, or at least his torso is. The lower half of his body is just missing. Did the Jedi—but no, Anakin can dimly remember Master Obi-Wan mention the way he beat him. That he’s still without prosthetics, even though his scars are well-healed… Anakin knew a woman who’d survived a bomb blowing off her leg, on Tatooine. She lived off of fellow slaves’ charity, for a few months. Her head wasn’t all there anymore from the pain, Mom told Anakin, and her Master had just let her leave. Why invest in a prosthetic when you’re not getting any use from its recipient?

The Sith is doing better than her, at least, even if he’s missing way more flesh. He’s doing pull-ups off the head piece of his callow berth. His yellow eyes gleam in the soft light of the force trellis when he looks over. When he notices Anakin. For a long moment, he looks stunned, and only then he remembers to snarl.

“Hi,” Anakin says.

The prisoner puffs up his defined arm muscles, as well as he can when he’s still hanging off the frame of his bed. He must have decided that dropping down onto his torso—and probably his face—would be even less dignified, though, because he stays put, sweaty and glowering out at Anakin from under his armpit, like he’s desperately trying to look threatening and tough in an unfamiliar situation where the other person has all the power.

It’s a scene Anakin has known intimately for most of his life.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Anakin says.

A beat.

Right.

“The Jedi didn’t send me,” because in his situation that’s what Anakin would most like to know. The Jedi are not this guy’s slave masters, but they do have all the power over him right now.

“I was a slave too, before they took me here. You can trust me,” and at least that gets a reaction: the prisoner looks absolutely apoplectic and even opens his mouth. Finally! He’s angry, which isn’t ideal—Anakin should have remembered that some slaves don’t want to admit they are—but they’re talking!

But the Sith just closes his mouth again.

He keeps his sullen silence for what feels like hours while Anakin tries one conversational gambit after the other. He just can’t have blown his one chance at talking to someone whose mouth makes the right shape for Master. Anakin refuses to accept that.

But it grows later and later, and Master Obi-Wan will wake up at some point, and he doesn’t have to concede defeat for forever, after all, but maybe for today…

“Fine.” Anakin puffs out his chest. He should say something soothing that’ll buy him a foot in the door next time, but he’s been pleading and pleading, and it hurts. “I don’t even care if you don’t want to talk. I’ve got plenty of friends. Chancellor Palpatine asked me to come over for tea just yesterday!”

The voice is so threadbare that he almost misses it, but it’s there. The Sith clears his throat. He sounds more sure and velvety when he repeats his plea to Anakin. His golden eyes are so wide it looks painful.

“Wait! Repeat what you just said!”

.

Anakin is nineteen when he climbs down into the bowels of the Temple for the last time. He hasn’t slept for two days, barely even closed his eyes, because on the insides of his lids is his mother, writhing, pleading.

No-one up in the Temple can give him any help. All they have to offer is platitudes about Uncertain the future is and Let go of attachment you must, but it’s his Mom, and she’s being tortured! She’s dying! She can’t be dying! She’s Anakin’s Mom!

He’s pleaded to be sent to Tatooine on a mission, but Senator Amidala’s protection detail is more important Master Obi-Wan said, and he can’t just go against the will of his… He can’t go. His Mom’s dying every moment he closes his eyes and he can’t go.

Maul is his last hope.

No-one will even notice that Maul’s gone. He’s been locked up for a decade now, and only the meal droids and Anakin still climb down to his level. Anakin’s friends with the meal droids, too, and he can definitely talk them into keeping silent about the Sith prisoner’s disappearance.

Maul’s a fighter, and he was able to find them on Tatooine and follow them to Naboo so he must be able to find Anakin’s Mom, too, wherever she’s been dragged off to. He’ll be able to save her.

He’ll—

Anakin has already sliced the force trellis control panel and turned it off when the fear grabs him. He’s spilled all his nightmares of his mother’s death, has shared the only plan for her survival. He’s received the assent he was sure to get. Now, he’s helping Maul put on the smuggled prosthetics that have been hidden in the stuffing of Maul’s prison berth, kneeling down before him.

And suddenly, all he tastes in the air is raw hatred.

He flinches. The trellis must have functioned as a shield from Maul’s presence before, keeping Anakin from realizing the true depth of Maul’s anger, the extent of his strength.

He could kill Anakin right now. He could attack the temple, and it would all be Anakin’s fault.

The frailty and humiliations of the prisoner’s mutilated body have lulled Anakin into reacting with kindness. He’s seen a man who is weak, helpless, and of course he offered help.

The cadence of Maul’s voice has made him sound like a friend.

But he’s the Sith who slaughtered Master Qui-Gon.

He’s filled to the brim with hatred and jealousy and pain, the force around them screams, will never release them to meditation like Anakin has tried and tried to do; he’s everything the Jedi Council saw in Anakin that day a decade ago and that he’s tried so hard to bury. He’s a Sith.

He’s warm.

It’s not just the hand he rests on Anakin’s shoulder but the very air he expels. Anakin expected the dark side of the force to be frigid, the way his own loathing and terror have kept him shivering and cold, but this is a hearth: protection, purification, an almost magnetic pull. It wraps around them. He shudders again.

“Do not be afraid,” Maul says, and from the soft look in his eyes he has misunderstood completely. “I shall find your mother, apprentice. You will do admirably while I’m gone. Just remember everything I taught you.”

And then, the darkness curls around Anakin again, hot and possessive. “While I’m gone, don’t talk to Palpatine.”

.

Anakin is twenty-three when he decides to brutally murder the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. His wife is laying in the delivery room, holding the boy twin—holding their baby boy!—while he strokes her hair reverently, and there is his Mom beside him, holding the girl twin—holding their baby girl!—and next to the door, scowling, stands Maul.

“Do you want to hold her?” Mom asks Maul gently. She knows him best now, and if she decides Maul’s standoffishness towards the twins—his twins!—is shyness rather than dislike, then Anakin will forgive him for not cooing over the babies—his kids! His and Padmé’s kids!—like any rational person would.

“Even His patience runs out one day,” Maul whispers.

Anakin’s hairs curl in shocked recognition, and he doesn’t even need to hear the word, but—

“I told you, Shmi, he started talking to Anakin as soon as he arrived. Somehow I managed to keep them apart, to interfere with the attempts at molding him, but the very fact He showed interest must warn us… As soon as he learns of this birth, and His spies are everywhere…” Maul turns back towards the door, palms laid across it as if he could keep the gate shut. The force burns with shielding hatred. “My Master will come for your children. Soon. Palpatine likes them young.”

[thessalian]

Thess vs Activity

One of the things about disability that I am learning to do is be exquisitely grateful when I am able to do things. Yes, this is occasionally scuppered by the reminder that I need to be careful about the things because if I do too many, or too much, or too hard, or whatever, I will overdo it and won’t be able to do any more things for awhile and there will be pain. Yes, this is occasionally further scuppered by the ‘too many’ or ‘too much’ or ‘too hard’ is more ‘whatever’ than anything else, too variable to really be able to make an accurate risk assessment, so overdoing it is unfeasibly easy.

Still ... exquisite gratitude for being able to do things.

I mean, last weekend I could do basically nothing. I managed to run a D&D session sort of (though between two absences, two latenesses, and my own horrific state, it really probably wasn’t advisable, but it did work out okay insofar as it went), and that was pretty much it. This weekend, however, I am feeling better and can do more things. This is good. I will enjoy it while I can.

For instance, I really needed to put up some refrigerator pickles because I didn’t want to waste the fresh dill. So I boiled up the brine last night, let it cool overnight, and today I cut up some cucumbers and set that all up. I have two jars of spears and two jars of slices, and I picked thinner cucumbers this time so maybe they won’t be quite so watery-tasting in and of themselves as the last ones I tried with regular cucumbers instead of baby cucumbers. But I still had fresh dill so that means running the dehydrator to dry said dill for later use. And I have some apples that I need to turn into dried apple chips so I made a start on that. I decided to try sprinkling them with brown sugar before they went into the dehydrator so hopefully that works out well.

The other things on the agenda involve the pickled beets and dealing with my somewhat overgrowing parsley situation. My stepfather was in the other day because apparently something’s up with the window hinges (I haven’t noticed, but I have no idea about that kind of thing), and apparently he has a concern about how my parsley is kind of spreading to the point where you have to scoop it out of the way to shut the window. He’s probably right that it needs a haircut, but since I lack the freezer space to freeze it for later use, drying it will have to do. It’s kind of taking over the pot, anyway, and I’m sure my basil and chives will be happy not to have to compete for sunlight.

As for the beets ... well. I like the beets, and my stepfather likes the beets, so I’m making both of us beets.

There also had to be further garden maintenance, particularly when it came to my tomatoes. It’s mostly the cherry tomatoes that are providing any fruit, actually, but it’s good fruit so there you go. Anyway, point is that it got cold and windy all of a sudden and one of my cherry tomato plants kind of bent under the combined efforts of wind force and tomato weight. But nothing broke so I just wired the stem to the trellis just under where the tomatoes are growing so that should be fine. My cherry tomato plants are resilient little buggers. I should also do a bit more trimming, but I’m calling it good if no more of them grow higher than my shoulder. There are a couple that are still at a height somewhere above my head but I couldn’t cut them down any further because there are tomatoes on those upper branches and I’m not losing them. I’ll just trim the plant after those tomatoes ripen appropriately.

Still ... now I need a sit-down sort of break between all of that and putting up the beets. I want to do a thing involving video games but can’t figure out what I actually want to do yet. It’ll probably be finishing my current Solasta: Crown of the Magister playthrough, just because leaving things unfinished is not a thing I like. Alternatively, I could just take a nap. Pain isn’t so much an issue today but apparently slicing and pouring and all that was enough of a drain on my energy levels that it kicked off the ‘fatigue’ part of this fibromyalgia nightmare. Still, probably better that than agony.