#animal transportation rack

[rmspeltzfarm]

Goats in the Horse Trailer?

[tswhiisftteedr]

Wings ☆ Drabble/Really Short One Shot

☆ Adam x Wingless Angel!Fem!Reader :

They were just so pretty, you couldn’t help but touch your boyfriend’s beautiful golden wings. And hey, what was the worst that could happen’ probably nothing too bad, right?

Warnings: Mature Content, Explicit/Graphic Language, Praise & Degradation, Adam is a bit condescending and forceful, but hey, it���s Adam we’re talking about. Oral Sex(Female Receiving), Penetrative Sex, First Time As A Couple. NOT PROOFREAD.

Words: 2330

Ask: Hi! ^^ Omg I saw that your requests are open!! I have one for Adam from Hazbin Hotel. I have a headcanon that his wings are very very sensitive and when you touch them it drives him crazy. Could you please do a Nsfw/ smut headcanon, or scenario with him and his female S/O just hanging out, him eating and she gets curious and touches softly them (not knowing what the affect it)? I hope you have a beautiful day!

Note: Of course!! And thank you, hope you also have a beautiful day/night!! Thanks for the request, right now I’m going to work on my others lol. Hope you like what I wrote!!

☆ more under the cut. ☆

Ever since your ascent to Heaven post-mortem, a sense of exclusion lingered in your heart. Unlike most heavenly beings with wings, you were one of the few soul that lack that part of the brand new heavenly anatomy. While everyone in Heaven remained kind and courteous, the infrastructure, were obvious designed for winged inhabitants. That posed you quite the challenges, especially when you where in need of transportation— the lack of automobiles was your greatest nemesis in the afterlife, as everyone effortlessly soared using their wings they didn’t need them.

Despite a subtle feeling of inferiority, your fascination with wings endured. Their majestic allure captivated you, and the desire to experience the softness of the beautiful contraptions persisted. ‘You just had to feel them!’

And you were determined to do so today, as you had received an invitation from Adam to come over.

Currently, you find yourself enjoying takeout on the expansive balcony of his penthouse. It was nice scenery, a comfy outdoor couch with a coffee table full of food.

As he rambled about his day, you nodded along, your attention solely fixed on the captivating golden wings adorning his sides and back. Sneakily inching closer to him, captivated by their beauty. “—Anyways that chick had a huge rack,” He pauses to take a bite of his burger, “So I guessed even Karen ass bitches can be hot.” he finishes with gulp.

Then you finally had a hold of them, ‘his marvellous wings!’ You were engrossed at their exquisite softness, surpassing any feathers from animals you had ever touched. Lost in the delicate material for about a solid five minutes, it had than dawned on you that Adam had stopped talking. Looking back up at him, you notice he had dropped his burger on the table. Then when you glanced at his face, you noted that he looked ‘different’, if you had to describe it, his face almost looked feverish.

In a blink, you were flipped onto your back and hit the couch cushions, then one of Adam's hands pinned both of your hands above your head.

“Fuuuck, babe! You don't need to get so handsy just because your jealous, you could've just fucking said so instead of acting a little tease, feelin’ me up and all.” He informs you while staring down at your perplexed expression, because, while Adam talked dirty in general, you had  no idea  what  you had done to be a tease in this particular  situation.

While that question spun in your head, Adam moved closer to your ear, his words jolting you out of your thoughts.

“if you were feeling needy, you just had to speak up. You know I would never leave my girl hanging, especially if getting her little brains fuck out is what she wants.” His voice low, full of desire and malice. He then playfully nip at your ear, ‘now who was the tease again?’

“Wait what— Um, Adam, where is all this coming from?!” You speak up, clearly nervous as a result of your boyfriend's statements and how close your bodies were together.

“The fuck you mean? You started this shit.” He begins, slowly sliding his free hand up your thigh. “Getting in my personal space, touching my wings to get me riled up, are you really gonna play the clueless card now you slutty little thing.” His hand now reaching under you shirt. “Think you can mess with me and just act like nothing happened, huh?” He says as he fondles with one of your breast.

“What do mean get you riled up, I barely touch you!?” You speak out anxiously; this was going far beyond anything you had done before. You two would kiss passionately at most, never doing anything remotely close to, 'well this!' It was strange; he almost acted like he did when he was mad, but this was somewhat different.

"Bold lie for an angel, like you wouldn't know— Oh, riiiight, you don't have wings." It had now dawned on him that you were utterly clueless of the affects the soft petting you gave to his wings had on him, and how depraved it made him feel.

"Yeah. I am not sure what I did to you when I touched your wings, but let me make one thing clear: it was unintentional. Seriously, they seemed soft, and I wanted to know how nice they were to the touch. So I'm sorry for making you mad; I should have asked before touching them.” You explain.

"Aww babes, don't worry, you didn't make me mad, and I'll tot's forgive you,"

You briefly relax as he speaks, well that is, until he opens his mouth again.

"Yeah I'll definitely forgive you if take care of my raging hard on for me'." He emphasised his words by grinding himself against you, making you feel his erection, and oh boy! Was he big; his self-appointed title of 'dickmaster' didn't seem so baseless anymore.

Your heart races faster as you feel a wave of panic wash over you. Despite his words, you couldn’t help but feel anxious about the situation. It was a big milestone to you, ‘the first time the two of you would have intercourse’.

You squirmed slightly, attempting to break free from his hold due to nerves but soon realize it was futile with him pinning your hands above your head. "I... I'm not sure that—," you started to say, but before you could finish, he cut you off.

"Shut up and enjoy the ride, babes." He growled softly, taking advantage of your momentary hesitation to quickly roughly kiss your lips. His tongue thrusts aggressively into your mouth, demanding entry while his other hand continues cupping your breast, squeezing and groping roughly. His erection presses harder against your thigh, digging into your sensitive flesh.

Despite your initial protests and confusion, you can't deny the familiar thrill coursing through your veins. You knew better, yet you still arch into his touch, moaning softly against his rough treatment.

As a warning to quit your shifting around, Adam's grip tightens around your wrists, almost painfully so, causing you to whimper in discomfort mixed with arousal.

And when he finally breaks the kiss, his breathing is heavy and labored.

"You like it, don't you?" He asked, his voice low with desire. His hips rock back and forth, grinding against you harder, making sure you felt every inch of his member. "Admit it, Y/N."

"A-adam, please... I—," you pleaded while being out of breath, but your words were cut off by another deep kiss. His tongue forced its way past your lips, exploring your mouth hungrily yet his hand didn't stop its manhandling of your chest. Meanwhile, his cock throbbed painfully against your thigh, leaving a trail of precum on your clothes.

The sensation was too much for you to handle; despite your original nervousness, the thoughts of messing up or not being enough had dissipated, and you couldn't bring yourself to refuse him anymore. You wanted him and he was totally into you.

Plus your body responded to his touch in ways you didn’t expect it to, it was incredibly in tune with his wants. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as he continued his assault on both your body and mind.

Suddenly, Adam pulled away, his breathing heavy and short. "Good girl," he praised, his tone laced with satisfaction. "Now, spread those legs for me."

While being aroused, you still reluctantly spread your legs wide apart, letting him take off your shorts and exposing your wet panties. "Please, Adam," you whimpered, unable to resist his advances any longer.

With a growl of lust, he ripped off your remaining clothes, revealing your naked body to him. His eyes devoured every inch of you—your stomach, to your hips and obviously your beautiful pussy. Without further ado, he leaned forward, his mouth descending upon your navel, tracing slow, hot lines with his tongue before moving lower still. "Mmmm, you smell so fucking good toots," he murmured against your sensitive flesh.

His hands trailed downwards too, cupping your thighs in his palms, squeezing and kneading them. Soon switching to one free hand and one holding down your legs, inching his face to your then and lapping at your heat.

“Adam, what in the heavens are you doing!?"

“Uh, trying to eating you out, pretty obvious babes”

"Yeah, I get that, but like, why?? You always complain about 'bitches being annoying for demanding you go down on them.' when you mentioned passed relationships"

"Oh yeah, I did say that lmao. Honestly, I just feel like it. You look so pathetically adorable; I couldn’t help myself."

“Did— did you just lmao out loud?”

“Do you want me to stop eating you out with all your interruptions.” He threatens.

"No! I mean, I'm alright. Please continue."

"That’s what I thought too, babes," he grinned around your wet folds, sucking and licking at your sensitive spots. His tongue traced along your cunt, flicking against your clit before returning to tease your entrance again.

You moaned softly, your hands grasping tightly onto Adam's horns as he continued to pleasure you. You arched into him, letting out a soft whimper when his long tongue brushed against your G-spot. "Mmmhmmm... More please..." you managed to mutter between heavy breaths.

He chuckled lightly against your sensitive flesh before pulling away slightly. "Alright, alright." With renewed vigor, he returned to his task with even more enthusiasm, sucking harder and faster on your clit while his fingers teased her opening. He could feel your wetness increasing rapidly, seeping down onto his hand.

Your body trembled and shook in response to the intense sensations assaulting every inch of your being; you were close now—very close. Your breathing became increasingly shallow as she fought the impending orgasm building up inside of her. Then finally you reached sweet climax.

Adam momentarily let go of you to undress himself, now cock in hand."Tell me you want it," he demanded between kisses to neck, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

"I... I do," you managed to choke out, your voice barely audible above your heavy breathing.

"That's my girl," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. Without warning, he thrust his cock deep inside you, filling you completely. A sharp cry escaped your lips as the unfamiliar yet familiar feeling washed over you. His thrusts were fast and hard, pounding into you relentlessly. Each powerful stroke brought forth a moan from your throat, mixing with his growls of pleasure.

Your body adjusted quickly to his size, accommodating him easily despite initial discomfort. You arched your back against him, meeting his rhythmic thrusts. The sensation was unlike anything you've ever experienced before—it hurt, but in the best possible way. Your chest bounced with each powerful thrust.

As Adam continued to ravish you, his fingers found their way between your legs, rubbing and massaging your sensitive folds. He teased and tormented your clit mercilessly, causing waves of intense pleasure to ripple through your core. After staring at your lower half for a minute, “I should totally get my name tatted on you, like a crotch tattoo or some shit.” he tells you in his usual goofy tone, yet the look behind his eyes seem to say that he wasn’t completely joking. You on the other could only cry out his name between ragged breaths, begging for more.

“That's it, you filthy little whore," he murmured between labored breaths. "Tell me how much you love this, slut." His pace picked up even more, slamming into you harder and faster than before. Your moans echoed around the room as he relentlessly claimed your body.

In response to his demand, you managed to choke out, "I... I love it!" Your voice cracking with desire, filled with honesty despite yourself.

"Good girl." He growled, picking up speed. His hips slammed against yours in a brutal rhythm that left you gasping for air. His fingers continued their relentless assault on your sensitive spots, driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. As a reflex you grabbed at his back, well in this case, his wings.

And that action fucked with him so bad. So Adam bit down hard on your neck, leaving a mark that would later turn into a pretty obvious hickey. Blood trickled down your skin, but it only served to heighten your arousal. "Cum for me, babe," he groaned, his voice hoarse with lust. "Let go, don’t think too hard about it"

You were close, so close to the brink of orgasm. The constant barrage of stimulation was too much for your body to handle, and you couldn't hold back anymore. "A-Adam... I'm..."

"That's it, baby," he encouraged you, his words thick with desire. He increased the pace even more, pounding into you relentlessly.

With a loud cry, you release around him, your pussy contracting tightly around his cock as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over you. Your entire body shook with the force of your climax, and sweat trickled down your body, mixing with his saliva and cum.

Adam groaned in satisfaction, following suit moments later, filling you up with his hot seed. Panting heavily, he lifted his head to stare into your eyes, his gaze filled with lust and satisfaction. "That was fucking amazing, shit, that’s why your my fav."

After momentarily going inside to get cleaned up, you had returned to the balcony.

“Shit my burger is cold!” Adam bitches.

“Well what did you expect it was left on a table while being outdoors— Oh, shit, did someone-?” You begin, than the realization of the what just happened hits Locke a truck.

“-Hear us? Yeah most likely, but doesn’t really matter, they won’t do shit about it, well probably.” He says followed by a laugh.

Sometimes you wondered why you were dating someone so irresponsible, but after today, you did have another bullet point to add to your pros list. ‘The dick was good’

Thanks @starlightfire97 for requesting!

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Reblogs help!!! (Request Are On Pause)

[dinodorks]

[ Visitors pass by some of the iconic sculptures of prehistoric life within Crystal Palace Park. Photo by Richard Baker. ]

"When the Crystal Palace and Park opened in south London in 1854, it was an instant sensation. Visitors came from far and wide to see the giant glass structure that had been rebuilt there, bigger and better, after the Great Exhibition of 1851 in Hyde Park. Wide-eyed spectators wandered freely through Egyptian and Medieval Courts, delighted in high-wire circus acts, and were transported by a 4,000-piece orchestra. Tucked away in a corner of the vast gardens that fanned out from the palace, past sweeping terraces and more fountains than even at Versailles, was a smaller but no less ambitious attraction. Scattered across several islands in the middle of a lake stood three dozen life-size sculptures of prehistoric animals, including several dinosaurs up to 30 feet long—the world’s first attempt to model them at full scale. The Crystal Palace Dinosaurs were the work of Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins, a natural history artist who, aided by some of the leading scientists of the day, had dreamt up a grand experiment in visual education, bringing to life the “dry bones or oddly shaped stones” found in the British Museum and introducing the masses to the burgeoning science of paleontology. By reconstructing Britain’s long-extinct animals, he hoped to “render the appearance and names of the ancient inhabitants of our globe as familiar as household words.” The palace burned down in the 1930s, but, almost 170 years after they were crafted, most of Hawkins’ original sculptures still stand sentry in the park. Today, they’re mostly famous for being wildly inaccurate. With few complete fossils to work off, Hawkins had to use his imagination and the advice of comparative anatomists to breathe life into his models, which, in addition to four true dinosaurs, also depict prehistoric mammals, reptiles and amphibians. As a result, the sculptures look suspiciously like many modern-day creatures. “People kind of scoff and giggle, because they look so wrong today, but at the time they were really cutting-edge,” says Bob Nicholls, a paleoartist who, through careful study of archival images, recently reconstructed a lost sculpture that had disappeared from the park sometime in the 1960s. His tapir-like model of Palaeotherium magnum, an animal we now know looked a lot more like a horse, was unveiled in July and now stands among Hawkins’ own surviving creations."

Read more: "How a Victorian Dinosaur Park Became a Time Capsule of Early Paleontology" by Yannic Rack.

[warmblanketwhump]

By any chance can you do prompts on a neglected sickie?

@sicktember 2023 day 1 - hopelessly bad at self care

A's hand fumbles with the amber bottle as they try to read the medicine's handwritten instructions—does that say to take every 3 hours? or every 8?

Their vision swims, and they feel themselves sway and tilt against the pantry wall. They've been standing for too long again, the weightless feeling in their body signaling that they need to lay down immediately. But they also can't bear another minute without some measure of relief, even if they know the home remedy will only make a slight dent in their symptoms.

A coughs and pulls the blanket tighter around their shoulders with a shiver. They're not sure what hit them. Last night, they were feeling a bit off, unable to get warm by the fire and battling a scratchy throat that wouldn't go away no matter how much tea they drank. This morning, they'd awoken burning with fever, body wracked with aches and chills, and an agonizingly sore throat.

It's awful timing, since B was away on their annual trip and wouldn't be home for three weeks. Meaning that A was now solely responsible for both keeping their homestead afloat and themselves alive.

A usually relishes in the fact that they live several miles from the nearest village or neighbor—no extra noise, no nosy neighbors or intruders, sweeping vistas and tall pine trees to hide amongst. But now, the lonely days stretch out ahead of them, with no help in sight, and A can't help but whimper a little at the thought.

Come on, A thinks to themselves. You can do this. Just take things slow.

Glacial would be a better word to describe their movements. After slipping two capsules under their tongue, they move along the wall, stumbling forward until they fall back onto their bed and scramble to pull the blankets close around their body. They just needed a few minutes to try and warm up while they made a mental list of what they needed to do.

Feed the animals.

Change their straw.

Repair the barn door.

Bring in extra wood.

Sweep the floors.

Make some sort of excuse for dinner.

The thought of doing all that made A's body ache. But they had no choice. It was what they had to do.

They just needed a minute to rest...

The minutes in bed flash by, and suddenly A realizes that they've been in bed for far longer than they anticipated. A glance at their pocket watch reveals that it's mid-afternoon, and they silently curse themselves for letting the day get away from them. It would already take them ages to get everything done, and they'd lost so much precious daylight during their accidental nap.

Ignoring the pounding in their head, they stumble towards the coat rack and wrap themselves in their winter jacket and a thick scarf. It's only a mild fall day outside, the breeze crisp under a cloudy sky, but the cool air sinks through all the layers prickles goosebumps on their feverish skin and makes their teeth rattle.

A blinks and realizes they're somehow in the barn, with no memory of walking there. Before them lie the bags of feed, too heavy to lift like usual, so A's reduced to transporting feed in half-full buckets to the waiting animals, over, and over, and over, because that's all they can carry. In their feverish delirium, they swear that even the pigs are looking at them sideways, wondering what they're doing out in the barn in their state.

The outdoor chores are done in a haze, edges of A's vision blurred by their pain and fever, body shaking from head to toe. By the time they get to the last animal, the only thing A wants to do is go back inside, sit by the fire, and sleep—forget changing the hay or making repairs There's more to do, of course, always more to do, but they just can't. It's not even a matter of desire—A's calculating how much energy they've spent out here and how much they need to get back inside, and the numbers just won't add up to one that keeps them upright for longer than 10 minutes.

The last animal to feed is their beloved horse. A's feet drag as they pull the bucket toward the trough, leaning on the side of the stall as they haphazardly dump the contents in. As they attempt to stand back up, another wave of dizziness hits them, and they stumble and fall against their horse's shoulder.

The horse, to their credit, doesn't startle. In fact, they turn toward A, nuzzling their soft nose into A's shoulder. A lets their feverish forehead rest against their horse's shiny coat, trying to steady their breathing and hold themselves together, willing themselves not to cry. And the horse lets them, breath ruffling their hair, as if to say I know. I'm here. Take your time. After a few moments, A's reoriented enough to stand up. The barn door would have to wait, and so would the fresh hay—they just don't have it in them today. So they stumble out of the barn and back out into the yard.

The sky is already darkening as A makes their way back to their cabin, through the door. After shedding their coat and wrapping themselves in a flannel blanket, they collapse in the chair, the soft colors of the firelit room blurring in their vision. The chores had been too much, far too much, and now they're trembling with cold, thoroughly chilled and somehow achier than they were this morning. They hug their arms close to their body and rub at them weakly, praying that the warmth of the fire will even slightly revive them.

A craves soup, or even just a hot broth to ease their throat pain and warm them up, but the entire idea of standing up to get ingredients is an impossible task. There's half a loaf of bread left in the breadbox on the table, and A settles for tearing off a corner. The cold, coarse bread is painful against their throat, and they swallow and wince. They know they need food, they know, but it just hurts. Everything hurts.

What would B do, if they were here to care for A? A pushes away the ache at the thought of how much they miss B, trying to sort through to find the essentials. Medicine, A had managed. Rest? Well, who could rest when there was work to be done? Tea? Ah, there was something they could manage. Boiling water was as passive a task as you could get. They just needed to build up the dying fire—

The fire. A's eyes flit to the empty wood box, and their heart sinks as they recall one of their chores for the day. Fill the wood box.

For the first time that day, a tear slips down A's cheek. It wasn't enough that they were aching, exhausted, wrung out. Now, unless they gathered wood, any notion of heat to help them fight through a night of feverish chills evaporated before their eyes.

No. I can't be cold all night. I can't. The thought of a sleepless night shivering in bed awakes something in A, and they stand back up almost reflexively, swaying like a great tree in a storm, stumbling towards the door, not even grabbing their coat as the fever addles their mind.

Just a few logs. Even a few will help you be warmer tonight.

But as they step out into the dark, cold night, the woodpile stretches and warps in their vision—first it's 10 paces away, then 100, then right in front of them, then 10 paces back. A blinks once, twice, and before they can even cry out, they collapse to the ground in a boneless heap, swept away into unconsciousness.

______________________________________

When A wakes, they don't realize where they are at first. They're aware of a strange heat across their midsection, and an unfamiliar ceiling above their head. As the room comes into focus, there's a stranger tending an enormous fire in a great stone fireplace, their back turned to A.

Where....where am I? Blinking twice, they stare down at the pile of quilts they're buried under. The top one is the patchwork one from their old bed, but everything else is so strange—none of this makes sense—

"Ah, good. You're awake." The shadowed figure rises from their place by the fire, a soft smile on their face as they sit on the edge of A's bed, placing a cool hand against A's forehead. Despite the cold that still clung to their bones, A relished the feeling against their burning skin. "Had me worried for a spell." The puzzle pieces click into place—this is C, their neighbor from down the road. But how...how did C know?

"Wh-what....how'd I...." A can't get the words out.

"Your horse ran up my road, nearly scared me half to death. I figured he must've jumped a pen or slipped past the gate."

The gate. In A's feverish delirium, they must've forgotten to close the gate, and the horse had gotten out.

C rises from A's bedside, walking over to a stove where a small pot bubbled. "When I came to bring him back, there wasn't any smoke coming out of your chimney. Came around back, and there you were, sprawled out in your yard like a rag doll." C shakes their head, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. "Burning up something awful, and shaking like a leaf, too."

Heat floods A's cheeks at the thought of being found in such a state. Yet they can't push away the sheer relief of being found, of no longer being paralyzed on the cold, hard dirt. But even now, they feel the deep cold in their bones, and they shudder and reflexively curl toward the heat source—a hot water bottle, they realize.

"I'd've kept you at your own house in your own bed, but I didn't know where you kept any of your goods—and I didn't want to have to leave you there all by your lonesome anyways. So I wrapped you up and brought you back here. I'll take care of your animals, of course, but you can stay here until you're better, which will be a few days out, I'm afraid."

C stops stirring and pours something into a clay mug, and brings it back over to A's bedside. "It's my mother's old broth remedy. Not sure how much it really cures, but it helps to warm the bones and ease the aches a bit."

A feels the lump in their throat rise—it was too much, needing C to take care of them. And yet they were so, so tired, and so, so grateful that they were. Despite being surrounded by comfort, they could tell their illness was worse, the chills rippling through their body like icy water was being poured over their limbs. No doubt accelerated by my multiple excursions outdoors. A eyes the mug, and feels their eyes well up again—can I even manage to hold the weight of it—

As if C can hear their feverish thoughts, they curl an arm behind A's shoulders and ease them up on the fluffy down pillows, then cradle A's head as they tilt the mug towards their lips. "Easy now. Just a couple sips to start."

The broth is just short of heaven—simple, yet with hints of lemon and herbs and some other spice they can't identify. And so, so warm.

A manages to drink nearly the entire mug's worth, but the effort saps all their remaining strength, and they slump back into the pillows, eyes too heavy to stay open.

They should say thank you. They should say anything to communicate their gratitude to what C's done for them, how scared they were. They force their eyes open to try and express everything that's swirling around in their head, but all that comes out is a whimper—and hot tears that suddenly pour down their cheeks, unchecked.

"Hey, hey now. You're alright. Just rest now, you're in good hands."

A feels a hand course through their damp curls, and it's as if all the tension melted out of their body, and they sink down, deep into the sleep of someone who knows in their soul, that they're safe.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @zodiac-carnival-zine! I love the banter and easy friendship between these three (with Hatori barely keeping these two from falling into chaos).

…

…

…

…

Hatori was a busy man. He had to be as the Sohma family doctor. His clan was a large, sprawling one, and he had more patients than he had hair. Between his constantly complaining elders and his rambunctious younger kin, he had his hands full.

All of that wasn’t including his twelve special patients. They weren’t special in the sense that they had a lot of health problems, needing specialized care and constant attention. No, they were special in the sense that eleven of them were cursed to transform into the twelve zodiac animals. Special in the sense that the twelfth patient was a single, sadistic god. If it weren’t for the fact that he was the twelfth zodiac animal, Hatori wouldn’t have believed a word about the family curse.

Oddly enough, that wasn’t the strangest part of his family—no, that was reserved for the fact that they all lived in a circus. He had never been able to make heads nor tails of that fact, only that it was. At least it was a permanently based one, instead of a travelling circus; he couldn’t imagine the effort it would take to transport the entire clan from city to city.

The only benefit to it was that it wasn’t unusual to see a tiger or a horse here, so it wasn’t too hard hiding a transformation. Not that his own transformation was anything special—the dragon he turned into was more of a sea horse than a beast to be feared. For a while he had considered studying veterinary medicine, just in case, but now he was grateful that he didn’t. Who knew how busy his days would have been then?

Actually, he knew the answer to that: the same as now, too busy. Which is why he didn’t have the time to stand in front of a full-length mirror, his arms erect at his side as he made a giant ‘T’ shape. Grumpily, he stared at his reflection. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” Standing next to him, Ayame gasped and clutched his chest. His measuring tape hung loosely between his fingers as he swayed back and forth. “You don’t like my costumes?”

Hatori bit his cheek. In all honesty, the black pants were a little too loose for his tastes. The only saving grace was the soft blue shirt, the tamest thing he’d seen come out of Ayame’s wardrobe. It missed all the bells, frills, and whistles that usually made up Ayame’s fashion sense. Still, there was no point in bringing that up. “No, that wasn’t—”

“This magnificent cape is more than just a cape, Tori,” Ayame argued passionately, plucking a regal blue cape off a nearby chair and draping it across Hatori’s back. “Look at how elegant the fur trim is, how passionate the blue, how eye-catching the apparel is—this is truly the outfit of a hero!”

He felt a headache forming. “Again, that wasn’t what I said.”

Shigure poked his head out of one of the many costume-filled racks. The red tent was utterly filled with them, making the small place feel even smaller and cozier. Wearing a pirate hat and an eye patch, he raised a brow. “What’s not to like? It’s a world of dreams.”

“Gure!” Ayame turned back to Shigure. Hatori could almost see the hearts in his eyes. “I knew you’d understand.”

“Of course I would, Aya,” Shigure replied, traipsing over. Now that he was fully out of the rack, Hatori could make out the space suit he was wearing, and not for the first time he wondered just what Shigure was up to. Clasping Ayame’s hands, Shigure crooned, “Your dreams are mine.”

“I only see you in them every night,” Ayame murmured back, a grateful smile crossing his face. The lighting from Ayame’s workstation only made them look all the more dramatic.

Exactly three seconds after (and it was always three seconds, Hatori wasn’t sure just when those two had figured that three seconds of staring was the exact right amount, but they had), Shigure and Ayame turned to him with identical grins, giving him a thumbs up. “See?” they parroted at the same time.

“See what?” Hatori replied dryly, resisting the urge to sigh. He’d been through this who knew how many times, yet they always managed to tire him out. “Anyways, that’s not it. Your costumes are very well made, Ayame.”

“Tori!” Letting go of Shigure, Ayame leaped forward and hugged Hatori tightly. “I knew you’d like them.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Shigure asked, already turning back to the racks. Hatori knew with a hundred percent certainty that the man was bored; he was only here to try on different costumes. As long as he wasn’t stirring up trouble elsewhere, Hatori would just have to live with it.

“It’s just…” Hatori brushed his hair back, running his fingers through his locks. “I’m the only doctor, I don’t have time to be a performer too.”

“Why can’t you be both?” Ayame asked, pulling back slightly and cocking his head.

“Please don’t ask that seriously.” Hatori sighed again. “I don’t have enough time. I don’t understand why Akito ordered us to perform together again.”

“Akito just likes pushing you,” Shigure replied, rifling through the racks. He pulled out several hangers as he talked. Hatori wasn’t sure if he was imagining the slight jealousy in Shigure’s voice.

“I really don’t need to be pushed,” Hatori grumbled, patting Ayame on the back before gently extracting himself. “Even just taking care of our group is more than enough on my plate.”

Not listening, Shigure murmured, “Or maybe he’s feeling insecure after all…”

“Insecure?” Hatori wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear that last part, or if he even wanted to. He had his suspicions that Tohru, their new part-timer, hadn’t actually just stumbled into the job like Shigure had claimed. That perhaps his childhood friend was up to something devious.

The only question was if he had enough energy to deal with it all. The answer was a resounding no and he sighed. “Please don’t drag others into your schemes.”

“Schemes? Me?” Shigure plopped a princess crown on his forehead and tried on a pair of angel wings. He gave the most innocent look possible. “Never. Besides, you spend wayyyy too much time in your tent. You need a break.”

“And what greater break is there, than performing with us?” Ayame had stars in his eyes as he posed dramatically. “The bright lights shining down on us, the audience clapping, a flurry of petals—it’ll be just like the good old days.”

Shigure crossed his arms and nodded sagely. “Women swooning, girls wanting my number again—I can’t wait.”

Hatori wasn’t sure how much of that was a joke, and how much of it was serious. It was probably both, considering Shigure. “This doesn’t sound like much of a break.”

He hadn’t really expected a response. Which was good, because as usual he didn’t get one. The pair had a feedback loop between them, pumping each other higher. Or rather, Shigure was pumping Ayame higher because he refused to put the breaks on the whole thing.

“Perfect casting, the three of us as the three musketeers.” Shigure raked a hand through his dark hair, pushing his bangs back as he gave a rakish grin. “Utterly flawless.”

“And romantic!” Ayame added, raising an imaginary sword. His measuring tape and other costume making tools were long forgotten and Hatori had no doubt this measuring session would take far longer than it ought to. His silver hair flowed around him as he twirled. “The brotherhood, the betrayal, the friendship—romance at its finest.”

“Romantic, huh?” Hatori paused at that. Tohru flashed across his mind. Perhaps there was some value to this after all.

After the snow melts, spring comes.

He smiled automatically. Maybe he could pay her back for earlier with a front row ticket. She seemed like she’d enjoy a good love story.

“Ohhh?” While he’d been distracted, Ayame had gotten close once more, leaving only the faintest gap between them as he looked into Hatori’s eyes. He smirked slyly. “What’s that, Tori? Are you thinking about someone? Is it…a man’s romance?”

Hatori did not want to know what that meant. Frowning, he stepped back. “Not at all.”

“Are you sure?” Shigure was suddenly at his other side, wearing a Cheshire grin, “You weren’t thinking about anyone?”

“Yes.” Giving him a deadpan look, he flicked Shigure on the forehead. It was important to stop nonsensical thoughts from latching to his brain for too long—Hatori didn’t need to handle yet another one of his schemes. “Now, let’s get this over with. I still have patients to see.”

“Booooo,” Shigure pouted, rubbing his forehead. “That hurt.”

“Stop crying.” Rolling his eyes, Hatori stepped back in front of the mirror and spread his arms. “Ayame?”

“Of course!” Ayame skipped past Shigure, humming softly as he started to measure once more. “I’m glad you’re taking a break. You need it.”

Ayame’s tone was utterly soft, utterly kind, and Hatori relaxed. “This still sounds more like work than a break,” he replied, but the bite was out of his voice. He couldn’t help it—it was impossible to stay mad at his friends for long. However misguided their actions were, it was out of caring that they prodded him like they did.

And he was a lucky man to have so many people care for him.

Though, if they really cared, they’d learn how to rein in their behaviours more. Half of his problems would disappear.

“But, you’re right.” Hatori smiled back, shifting slightly as Ayame adjusted the cape on his shoulders. In the mirror, it looked rather roguish. “It’ll be fun to work with you two again.”

“Fun?” Shigure asked, smirking.

“Fun,” Hatori repeated. For all the headaches, the time he spent with them had always been enjoyable.

“Lots of fun,” Ayame agreed, wrapping an arm around Hatori’s shoulder as he examined their reflection in the mirror. Seemingly content with what he saw, he let go and went to grab the matching hat form where it’d been thrown haphazardly on a chair. “That reminds me, Yuki, yes that Yuki, has asked me to make his costume.”

“Yuki did?” Hatori almost couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, isn’t it amazing! Our brotherly love has pushed through, connecting once more!” Ayame clutched the hat tightly and dabbed his eyes with the brim. “He came to me, tears in his eyes, and asked me to make it for him and his princess, Tohru.”

Shigure snickered as he chimed in, “And Kyo’s playing the horse.”

Hatori was about 90% certain that Shigure had a hand in that.

“He will be the most noble steed ever seen.” Ayame pumped his fist. Hatori could almost see waves crashing behind him. “For he is carrying my darling Yuki into battle. I have already started Yuki’s thirteen-layer suit, and the fifteen ruffles on Tohru’s dress. No one will have ever seen a greater—”

Hatori rubbed his forehead. Maybe after this vacation, he could get another one to relax from the first one.

[farcillesbian]

making progress on the moving :') I am going to post my to do list for motivation like I've done in the past . I WILL finish everything today!

- move all my stuff from little storage room into storage unit

- pack up my clothes and vacuum seal them and bring them to the storage unit

- defrost and clean mini fridge

- put all the things on my nightstand inside my night stand

- put all my extension cords and other cables in a little box

- put shoes in a box

- wash bed sheets

- put original light switch plate back on the wall, put hook back on the wall, replace colour changing light bulbs with regular ones

- put some stuff I want to take up with me into under bed storage containers, to be brought up to new place

- wrap spare monitor in blanket to be transported to new place

- wrap nice mirror in rugs to be placed gently in storage unit

- wrap delicate decor in bubble wrap and put in small box to be brought to storage unit

- get small box for CDs and put them in storage

- put coffee stuff in a box to bring up with me

- grab air fryer and blender to bring up with me

- put pillows and stuffed animals into large plastic bag or two

- put shelf of toiletries in car to bring up with me

- put shoe rack into storage

- vacuum and clean room

- pack up the last of my books

- put plants in car

- put over door rack contents in box, put in storage unit

my many tasks.... I will accomplish them all.

[willowfoot]

update on where I'm at right now :D

I'm living in my own apartment now and tbh I am so so happy about it. It's a lil studio apartment that is completely my own space, the first time I've ever experienced such a thing before, and I've been having so much fun over the past few weeks customizing it to fit my needs and preferences :') Also, I have learned that you can get A Lot of random but super useful household stuff from Dollarama like racks and hooks lol. Command strips have become my best friend gkldsjflgjk

School is going well and I'm learning a lot! I'm getting to know my classmates and I hung out with one of them all day yesterday, which was a lot of fun and we had a great time <3

Related to the above, but it is SO nice living in the city. Yeah it's loud but there's also literally so much to do?? I can just walk down the street and watch a live show or something. I can pop into an anime merch shop or independent bookstore five steps away from my apartment. I can watch pigeons in front of my building. There is literally Nothing to do back in the suburbs where I grew up but now there is Everything to do on a single street near where I live and it's amazing lol

HAVING RELIABLE PUBLIC TRANSPORT IS SO NICE

I got a new mechanical keyboard yesterday and I am having so much fun typing on it lol. It is matcha-themed!

I broke my toe a few weeks ago which made moving in and starting school a bit physically painful lol but I am now solidly on the mend :3c

I joined a secret santa art/fic exchange over on twitter (my first time ever doing something like this!!) and I am so happily excited about my fic assignment :D

idk man I'm just really happy. It hasn't all been sunshine and rainbows and depression etc. still smacks me around at times, but it's never permanent and the sun always rises again in the morning :) I have a little sticker magneted up to my whiteboard that's of a rabbit saying "shit it's good to be alive" (from False Knees!) and I keep it up there for whenever I need the reminder.

Thanks to anyone who reads this and I hope you're all doing well ❤️

[freneticfloetry]

Princess and the Frog AU

Oooh, interesting.

1. Even though he’s weathered his share of scandals and sworn to clean up his act, TK has an epic backslide after his (very public) broken engagement that would irreparably damage his mother’s firm (and its impending merger) if news got out, so Owen takes TK with him to Austin until things die down. Carlos, meanwhile, is just a man with big dreams and long days who’s trying to keep his family’s restaurant afloat.

2. TK and Carlos’ first night hookup around back at the honky tonk is rudely interrupted by the reptile that runs up Carlos’ leg. Things go drastically downhill from there.

3. After a pitch from Michelle and a nerve-racking tasting, Carlos lands a contract to cater the 126’s grand re-opening. He doesn’t count on Billy Tyson’s brush with black magic — or the fact that he’s so hellbent on driving Owen out that he’s cursed the man’s son — until a bearded dragon in a very distinct shade of green starts flirting with him as it basks by the sterno. (There’s a moment of negotiation with fairytale reasoning. Carlos tells TK that he will not be kissing any talking reptiles, thanks. TK reminds Carlos where his mouth had been the week before, and that he has yet to return the favor.)

4. They rope Mateo — who’s always believed he would find a talking animal someday — into safe transport to the ranch, where Carlos is convinced that his eccentric Tía Luci and her long history with brujas might have some idea what to do. But they still have to make it from the “No Trespassing” gate to her isolated cabin acres away. Hijinks ensue, involving a curious raven, an old cattle dog, and Carlos’ childhood horse.

5. TK eats a bug, which he maintains is the most traumatic portion of the whole ordeal. Carlos teases that he’ll have to introduce him to chapulines and escamoles once they’re human again, and finds himself hoping it happens.

Send me a potential AU and I’ll tell you five fun facts that would happen in a story.

[amplifyme]

Apocalyptic Poet

How about some vintage (circa 1998) angsty smut to enjoy on your Friday?

The X-Files. MSR. Explicit. WC:4547 Read on AO3.

Spoilers: The Red and the Black, Paper Clip

Author's Notes and Acknowledgments: This vignette assumes Mulder and Scully have been occasional lovers since the events seen in Paper Clip. It's got sex, but it also has plenty o' angst.

Thanks, as always, to the Primal Screamers. Mulder's last line is for the HamrickChick, because she got the verification she sought.

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. Everybody else belongs to Mr. Twinkly Eyes and his merry band over at the offices of 1013 Productions. Apparently Fox owns a piece of them, too. I'm not making any money off this and I mean no disrespect or infringement.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mulder is tense, twitchy. He stands with his hands braced on his hips and rocks back on his heels as I unlock the door. He follows me inside and pushes past me to flop bonelessly onto the couch. Leaning his head back, he lets his eyes slip shut.

I shed my coat, asking, "Wine okay?" as I head into the kitchen. I translate his non-answer into an affirmative and grab a bottle of Merlot from the wine rack.

Mulder's attempt at relaxation ends abruptly. He unfolds his long frame from the couch and joins me at the counter. I struggle with the bottle and corkscrew for a few moments before he silently takes them from me and finishes the job. I fetch two wine glasses and hold them out to be filled. It's not until he sets down the bottle and takes one that his eyes settle on mine.

"Cheers, Scully." He taps the edge of his glass against mine. "To repressed memories and unexplained abductions and warring alien factions. Yee-fucking-ha."

His wine goes down in three long swallows and he immediately grabs the bottle and pours out more. He sips this one, watching me warily. I don't know if he's disgusted with me or afraid of me. Maybe a bit of both.

All his thirty-six years are etched onto his face tonight. The lines across his forehead are deeply furrowed. His eyes are hooded and bloodshot, cobwebbed with tiny lines. He attempts wry indifference and only accomplishes painful bewilderment.

I wonder if my features mirror his.

"So you believe Krycek's telling the truth?" I ask.

It wasn't until we'd been released from Wiekamp and were on our way here that Mulder finally told me where he'd gotten his lead. I think the only reason he did so was to avoid any questions about what had happened to him in the back of the army transport truck.

"I don't know what to believe anymore. There's no way to know whether he's jerking me around or not." His mouth pulls tight in anger.

"You believed enough of his story to go looking for this resistance fighter he told you about," I point out.

"So I guess I don't have to ask what you believe. Or do I? What's the truth now, Scully?"

I immediately tense, my jaw clenched tight, and I can see by the way his eyes soften that he regrets his barb. I have to satisfy myself with this substitute for an actual apology. The two words still come hard to Mulder.

He turns away from me and sheds his coat and suit jacket, tossing them over a chair back. And then he begins a slow pacing of the kitchen.

It's not his sharp and inquisitive mind that drives his lazy circles. Not this late at night. Not after what we've just been through. It's nervous energy - nothing more. He's like a caged animal. Coiled tight and looking for release.

I lean a hip against the counter and tiredly run a hand over my face. The skin is pulled tight where I've been burned. The pads of my fingers skate lightly over the tender spots.

Real or unreal. Truth or lies. The choice between a horrible earthy conspiracy or an even more terrifying extraterrestrial one.

I no longer know what is real and what is not. All I know is that everything I've believed in has gone topsy-turvy. Which one of us is right? Is there a middle ground? Does it even matter anymore?

Mulder veers off his path and swings open the refrigerator door. He bends at the waist and does a slow inspection. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he pushes the door shut.

"Would you like something to eat?"

The words come out before I've given them my full attention. It's so easy to fall into the old, familiar patterns with him. My question is a means of comforting him, of telling him that I'll take care of him tonight - if that's what he needs. But who'll take care of me? I'm not made of stone, despite a reputation to the contrary. I need comfort too, a release from the nightmarish doubts that haunt me as surely as they do him.

His voice is low and rough with exhaustion. "No, I'm not hungry." I study him carefully. His face is slack, his complexion washed out. A sheen of perspiration covers his face. Unthinkingly I step to him and raise my hand to touch his cheek.

"You're pale. Are you feeling all right?"

His arm snaps up and his fingers curl around my wrist, stilling my hand inches from his face. "Don't fuss over me, Scully. I'm fine." His words are dark with warning.

Don't touch. Don't come too close.

Not what I expected. He doesn't want my comfort after all. Am I disappointed? He releases my wrist and I take a step back. My voice is tight with tension. "Do you think the time will ever come when we're on the same page, Mulder?"

Tired eyes meet mine and hold. A dull ache settles in my breast as I realize I'm not sure how to read him anymore. The signals all seem out of sync. And then, serving as proof of that, my face is pressed against his chest as he pulls me into a fierce embrace. He smells of fearful sweat and timeless pain.

The pendulum of his emotions has swung from impatience to concern. I can't help but wonder how long it will hold before it begins its inexorable journey back. Right now I just want to relax and enjoy the moment. Mulder nuzzles my hairline, whispering, "I'd settle for being in the same book."

His hands slide from my back up to my shoulders and he steps away, ending the embrace. "I can smell myself, Scully. Mind if I use the shower?"

"You know where everything is."

He dips his head and presses a kiss on the corner of my mouth. His breath is warm and scented with rich wine. He turns and heads for the bathroom and my arms drop slowly to my side. I hear the shower come on as I sip my wine and nibble at stale Triscuts.

I leave my simple supper long enough to take a pair of clean boxer briefs and a t-shirt into the bathroom for him. Steam fills the room and billows around me as I push through the partially opened door. I don't bother trying to talk to him. One look at his lean body through the glass door of the stall tells me all I need to know. He is standing in profile, his shoulders slumped in silent defeat. His arms hang slack at his sides. He's resting his forehead against the tile of the small enclosure as the water beats down on the back of his neck.

Sudden tears sting my eyes and I quickly place the underclothes on the hamper and flee back to the kitchen. When did I become afraid of confronting his demons? Was it when his new truths became my new lies?

We're not meant to live like this. No loving God should heap this despair and pain on relative innocents such as ourselves. Or allow that pain to reach past them to touch everyone around them.

And then I wonder if God ceases to exist if our world is indeed being threatened by an extraterrestrial race. Does the existence of one preclude the other?

I pour and drink another half glass of wine, a welcome lassitude beginning to flow through me. The wine warms my belly and chases the chill from my veins. My thumbs curl around the edge of the kitchen counter as I roll my head, relishing the creaks and pops it elicits from my neck. I'm strung tight as bow. I hope Mulder has left me some hot water.

And then I hear him, and smell him. The slap of wet bare feet on the tile floor. The citrusy aroma of lemon-scented shampoo. Two damp arms wrap around my waist from behind and I can feel him through the layers of my suit. Mulder hasn't bothered with the underwear I laid out for him. He is pressed up naked against my back.

I hide a smile and lay my arms across his. Mulder is as unconcerned with his nudity as a small child. I don't know if he's always been this way or if it's just around me. The former is the most likely explanation, but the nurturing side of me likes the idea that despite everything, he's still that comfortable with me. An open, relaxed Mulder can be a wonderful thing.

He dips his head, using his chin to brush away the hair from my cheek. "I've been thinking, Scully," he murmurs into my ear. "About what you said earlier."

He didn't bother to shave. His evening stubble rakes softly against my skin. "What's that?"

"About being on the same page." His arms tighten around me and spread apart. One arm anchors me low across my hips as his right arm slides up to my chest. Mulder's long-fingered hand cups my left breast and begins to knead it gently.

A sudden, vicious thought pops into my head. He's working up to a farewell fuck. He's just as tired of being at odds as I am. Only he's somehow found the courage to put an end to this surreal relationship we have. After all we've been through, all the disagreements, it will be this fundamental change in beliefs that will tear us apart.

His hand shifts and slips under my jacket as his teeth tug at my earlobe. My nipple tightens and presses into his palm. His chest vibrates with his low chuckle.

Stop being melodramatic, Dana, I chide myself. He's not going anywhere.

I know that I'm as essential to him as air. Without me, he would cease to be the man he is now. I'll be the first to admit I derived a small measure of smug satisfaction when I first suspected his growing reliance on me. But soon the seriousness of that responsibility sunk in, slowly changing everything in my life. It's very frightening when you realize you've gradually become the center of someone's world.

He tweaks my nipple through the fabric of my shirt and bra and I gasp, my words coming out low and breathy. "What about being on the same page?"

His hand leaves my breast and drops down to join its twin at the fastening of my pants. My hands play up and down his arms, sliding from wrist to elbow and back, encouraging him.

And my dependency on him? I'll consider that later. I can't think when Mulder has his hands on me.

His hoarse whisper rasps in my ear and sends a shiver down my spine. "You remember the first time we did it, Scully?" There's no doubt what he's talking about.

Of course I remember. The memory sends a flash of heat down between my thighs and causes my nipples to tighten even more. A flea-bitten motel in Maryland, just far enough away from the Strunghold Mining Company, the night before our meeting with Skinner.

Caught between heaven and hell, life and death. Battered and bleeding, our emotions raw and exposed. There was nothing but the two of us and our mutual desire. Every justification for maintaining our distance unraveled between us. We shrugged them off that night with as much impatience as our inhibitions and the clothes we hurriedly shed.

Mulder has unbuttoned my slacks and slowly drawn down the zipper. But his hands stay at my waist, resting there with his fingers spread wide. "I remember," I tell him.

"Mmmm." His lips brush against my neck. "It was incredible, wasn't it? You were incredible. I thought the top of my head was gonna come right off."

A snicker escapes me, and all I get out is "Which -" before he answers.

"Both of 'em."

Our bodies shake with repressed laughter. Mulder's hands shift, turning me to face him, and come up to ease the blazer off my shoulders. He twists around a little and considerately lays it atop his discarded coat and jacket.

He crouches down in front of me, untying my boots and pulling them off, taking his time. He's in no hurry. My eyes travel over his almost-too-lean torso, his slim, powerful arms. His hair is slicked back and almost black with wet. His penis hangs heavily between his thighs, framed by a lush, dark growth of pubic hair. He's not fully erect yet, but he's working on it.

"You joined me in the shower that first time," he says conversationally. "That's how it all got started."

"As I recall, Mulder, by that point it was the only way I could stand to be near you."

"You'll have to direct all complaints to Albert Hosteen," he tells me as he deftly strips off my pants and hose. "I was just following orders. I remember telling him it was going to cut into my social life." He stands and abruptly lifts me, turning and setting me on the table. The wood is cool and I squirm a bit. He pushes chairs out of the way and situates himself between my knees, tugging at my shirt.

"Guess I was wrong about that. Whoever would've guessed Dana Scully would be turned on by an unwashed man?"

"Let alone one returned from the dead," I shoot back, holding up my arms so he can pull off my shirt. My bra is next.

"Ah," he says. "So that explains that whole pathology thing. Very kinky, Scully."

I reach up and hook my thumbs around his ears. "C'mere, you."

Mulder has the most incredible mouth. I've always been the type who could happily spend hours doing nothing but kissing and being kissed. Mulder feeds directly into those urges. Together, we've somehow managed to make kissing an art form. Truth be told, most things we do together, we do well. Our lovemaking is no exception.

He told me once that he was a poet, and that my skin was the paper on which he composed. Right now he is writing wonderful poetry across my breasts and my arms and the curve of my back. My hands follow his lead, reacquainting myself with the landscape of his body.

"I may be a bit premature in my assessment," he offers as his lips and teeth go to work on my neck. "But I'd say we're on the same page right now. Wouldn't you?"

Oh, that it was that easy, Mulder. I cherish his child-like belief that things like this are enough to outweigh the burdens we live with. While these pleasant diversions take us away from the harsh reality of our lives for a few precious hours, that's all they are. Diversions. Nights end, and the dawn inevitably ushers in another day of seemingly unanswerable questions.

I wonder why it is that now, when I'm more frightened than I've ever been of what we may discover, I seek the truth with even greater zeal. Why now, when Mulder seems so confused himself? He's alternately determined to deny everything he once so passionately believed, and yet just as driven to prove those beliefs to be the truth.

Mulder notices my distance. He slides his hands up to cup my face and looks me in the eye. "Hey. Stay with me, Scully. I need you here all the way. The rest of it'll wait." He moves in and places gentle kisses on my closed eyelids. "Here. Now. Just you and me."

My tears flow so suddenly I've no time to wipe them away or duck my head to hide them. A few tenderly spoken words and he's managed to tap right into my soul.

"Oh, Mulder..."

"I know, baby, I know. It's okay." He nuzzles my mouth with his. "We'll make it through this. We will."

I am like a child needing comfort from an often inattentive parent. When given that comfort, the depth of gratitude is hard to measure. And so it is with Mulder and me. We starve ourselves of each other, for no apparent reason, and then come together with ravenous hunger.

Just Mulder and me. No badges, no titles. No past or future. No thoughts, even, of what has happened mere hours and minutes ago. Just here. Just now.

I curl my fingers around the nape of his neck and deepen our kiss. I take in the air from his lungs, my nose too clogged with tears to afford me what I need to breathe. My arm drapes around his shoulder as I pull him closer. My taut nipples scrape along his chest and I swallow his low groan.

Large, warm hands move across my back and gather me in even closer. I'm perched on the edge of the table, my sex pressing wetly against his ever-hardening cock. I unashamedly rub myself against him and he reaches for the waistband of my panties. I rock on the cool surface, lifting one hip and then the other. And then they're gone, and it's nothing but skin against skin.

Mulder is serenading me with low murmurs of pleasure. His hands slide up my back to cup my shoulders as he leans down and brushes his lips across first one nipple and then the other. Back and forth he moves, circling and probing, flicking the tip of his tongue against the peaks before bathing them with slow strokes.

My head falls back on my neck as my fingers tunnel through his hair. Mulder is merciless in his teasing, and I'm squirming like a bead of water on a hot skillet.

"Now, Mulder. Please." The words come out rough, forced from my throat with a breathy growl.

His interpretation is flawless, as it so often is. He chooses my left breast and latches on, suckling deeply, pulling at me with urgent tugs.

I grasp for the small, rounded cheeks of his ass, needing to fill my hands. Mulder accommodates me, shifting so I can reach while he switches from one breast to the other.

Yes. Perfect, he's so perfect.

There's something to be said for having a sporadic sex life. Each time is like the first, filled with a heady mixture of arousal and shy bravado. Mulder and I have no routine - we've not made love often enough to establish one. We simply take each time as it comes, adapt ourselves to whatever it is we need from the other.

Mulder as lover is still a surprise to me, a beautifully wrapped, wholly unexpected gift. One as skilled with his hands and his mouth and his body as he is with his mind.

I gasp, my hips lifting from the table as one long finger slides into me without warning. Mulder looks up at me from his work at my breast and I watch his lips curl up in a wicked smile. His eyes capture mine and pull me down into their dark depths. His finger stokes the fire at my core.

"C'mere, c'mere," I urge, and he straightens and covers my mouth with his. Mulder's tongue flicks across my lips and darts into my mouth. Reaching between us, I take his cock in my hand. He is long and thick and throbbing against my palm.

"Aw, Scully," he breathes, ending the kiss. "Yeah. Like that."

"Feel good, Mulder?" My fingers grip him comfortably, pumping his shaft in slow, even thrusts from base to tip. His finger mimics the rhythm inside me, twisting and fluttering.

"Oh," he groans, "you are fucking incredible." His finger leaves me and slips up, separating my inner folds and exposing my clitoris. Bringing the tips of two fingers together, he moves them in slow, confident circles across the bundle of nerves.

"How 'bout that, Scully? That working for you?" he croons.

I can't think. How can I possibly form a coherent sentence? "Oh, God...." That will have to do.

Mulder shoots me a dazzling smile. "Yeah, huh?"

And then his smug grin slowly fades and he pins me with his eyes. Playfulness leaves him and is replaced by a solemn vigilance. My hands go still. My hips stop their rhythmic thrusting--even as his hands continue their sonnets against my skin. His eyes are honey-gold and bottomless, his soul as naked and exposed to me as his body.

When Mulder looks at me this way, it's time to pay attention.

"Tell me what I can do for you," he softly urges. "Tell me what you need."

He never poses the easy questions.

Mulder's not asking how to please me. He's asking how to love me.

I'm not sure I know how to answer. A year ago, a month ago, perhaps even a week ago, I could have come up with something definitive.

God damn this rollercoaster ride we're on.

Should I ask him for the simple things? Friendship. Support. Comfort. His easy smile. His love and respect.

Or do I go for broke? Ask for the almost impossible? Peace. Answers. Understanding. The truth.

What is it I want? What do I need?

My fingers brush across his cheek. I stretch up and kiss him softly, my lips tender against his. "I need you."

He pulls away a little and I can see the tears building in his eyes. But he manages to blink them back, croaking, "Then you're in for some trouble, Scully. This boy is bad news."

Oh, Mulder. I knew that the moment I first set eyes on you. But here I am.

"I need you," I tell him again. "In me. Now." I gently tug at him, stressing my need. His eyes go dark again; now deep pools of forest green.

"Right here, Scully?"

"Right here. Right now."

One corner of his lush mouth jerks up. "Okay."

I angle his cock at the entrance of my sex as he grips my hips. One small tug of his hands and he slips inside me. It's a slow process. This is one thing Mulder never hurries through.

And then he is buried to the hilt, his heavy balls nestled against me. I lift my legs and wrap them around his hips as my arms go round his back. I lay my ear over his heart and hold him tightly. Mulder's hands travel up to enclose me.

There is a moment of stillness before we begin to move. Slow, measured thrusts as we cling tightly to each other. His lips move across my hair line, murmuring his odd little Mulder noises.

Soon the closeness of his body becomes distracting. All my attention needs to be centered where we're joined. The friction has set off an itch deep within me. Slow and gentle won't soothe it. I need more force, more depth, more speed. I need more.

I lean away and grasp his forearms as he anchors my hips in his hands. Mulder's face is flushed, the air leaving his lungs in ragged bursts.

"More?" he gasps.

"More," I plead.

And he gives it to me. Just like that. Easy as breathing.

Our hands and lips author stanzas of pleasure upon our skin. Our mouths utter words that fill in the blanks. Our bodies gather the pieces and join them into a whole. We collaborate this poem, this ode to ourselves and what we are when everything else is stripped away. This sonnet is raw, elemental, and requires no polish. It stands stark and bare and speaks for itself.

Here, on my kitchen table, in the dead of night, the poet and his muse create something of unspeakable beauty.

Afterwards we end up in my bed, carelessly tangled together. I'm not quite sure how we got here, though Mulder must have carried me--I don't remember moving on my own.

I'm sprawled on my stomach and Mulder lies draped over me, one thigh hitched high across my ass. One of his arms is curled around my head. The other lays outstretched along mine, our fingers entwined. He shifts a little and I feel his lips come down on the back of my neck. He softly kisses the tiny scar there, causing a shiver to run through me. It goes too deep to be a mere tactile response.

"I should go," he murmurs.

"Stay."

There is a long silence. I've caught him by surprise. This is not the way we do things. Overnight visits are not encouraged.

"You sure, Scully?"

Oh, yes. This is the only thing I'm certain of right now. I don't want to be alone. I don't Mulder to be, either.

"Stay. It's late. No sense leaving when you'll just have to come back in a couple hours. You've got a change of clothes in the car."

I don't have to chastise myself for my automatic and practiced casual disregard. Mulder beats me to it.

"Well, thanks for offering to save me a long drive home." His sarcasm is colored with hurt.

Don't do this to him, Dana. Don't do this to yourself.

I flip over onto my side to face him. There's not enough light to clearly see his face. But my hands find him, stroking down his chest and cupping his cheek.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "Stay, Mulder. I... I need you here with me."

I don't have to see his face to know what's going on in his head. It helps, but it's not as necessary as it once was. I've learned to read his body, too.

"Still?" he asks.

"Still," I assure him, and it's the truth. "Always."

I feel his body relax under my hands. And then he blurts, "Promise me something, Scully."

"Promise you what?"

"Swear to me that you'll tell me if you start feeling... different. If you feel like you're being summoned, called somewhere."

"Mulder...." No, please. I don't want to think about this right now.

"As long as that implant is in your neck, Scully, you have to be doubly careful. Just... just promise me. You may not be so lucky the next time."

The next time?

But there won't be a next time. Will there?

"Mulder, what happened to you tonight?"

I'm met by a heavy silence. And then he settles onto his back and pulls me close. He guides my head to his chest and smooths the hair back from my face.

"Mulder?"

As he presses a kiss on my forehead, I hear him whisper, "I pulled my head out of the sand."

It's a long time before I fall asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[lacefuneral]

ok i /was/ going to like. replay all of BOTW before i returned to TOTK

and i have really tried to be fair to BOTW - despite the UI, despite the weather, etc. - and not judge it on the basis of it having a smaller world, different runes, and less transportation options

but........ man.

i feel like most of my time spent in BOTW is just.... grinding. ok, time to hunt. ok, time to go get luminous stone to sell for money. ok, time to kill 500 guardian stalkers in a row to get 2 (two) cores.

whereas in TOTK i was like "oh! this area looks fun, let's go over here!" and get naturally distracted about 10 times. and suddenly i have food, and items, and i've found two or three shrines. y'know? the progression just feels more organic to me. and i feel more immersed in the world

also my two biggest Things with any open world game re: immersion/enjoyment are:

does this character feel like my own

can i make myself at home

and what i mean by these is actually "can i customize the appearance in some way" and "can i collect trinkets that i can then physically interact with and decorate a house with them"

and TOTK like. destroys BOTW in both metrics.

like yes. BOTW has a house. but it feels like the game punishes you for wanting to collect things for the sake of collecting. whereas TOTK is like "you get 15 house slots. do you want all of them to be weapon display racks? enjoy your 45 item museum."

and because of fusion i can just. stick things to shields if i want to. including beautiful flowers or stuffed animals. i know if i see an item in BOTW that it will live in my inventory if i'm lucky, and that i cannot interact with it AT ALL upon removal. let alone put it in my home.

and then for the customization like. obviously link is link and he's his own character. but you can style his hair differently. you can dye his hair. you can choose to wear outfits that obscure his head entirely. you now have much more femme options than in BOTW. and when i play link, i feel like i'm playing him in my own way. i've always headcanoned the hero of the wild as being nonbinary person with a fluid presentation. so it feels like link is allowed to be more... Link. and it's also fun for me, as a femme man, to walk around hyrule and get gendered as male while also being able to dress feminine

botw i just feel.... very disconnected from. and i love the guardians and the music and the shrines and honestly, even the divine beasts although i agree that they are repetitive. but i actually liked the water divine beast in BOTW more than the water temple in TOTK. and i honestly don't even really mind the slower travel and having to manually climb mountains in BOTW.

and i truthfully thought that, in replaying it, i would gain a new appreciation for it. but i'm just... getting burned out by the gameplay loops. and i might allow that if my Two Things were met, but they aren't. and so it feels like a very empty experience for me

[kaerinio]

@killedarlings approached Her Grace: ❛ i’d be home with you. ❜ ( from Loid! )

Home.

Oh, what a vision it conjures : a treasured vignette of a half-remembered house exquisite in beauty and stature, with its crystalline windows and ceilings rising and rising so high, they dared to kiss the heavens. As quickly as it appears, she is transported. The melody of children’s laughter and cheer fades, like an automobile’s radio slowly losing touch with a tower, its songs and broadcasts stuttering, as it clutches onto phonic remnants, which devolve into the crunch and crackle of static. The air around her transforms, and she is there once more, hearing the soft burst and pop of ash-dusted logs and the traces of bedside tales mourning war and worshiping peace.

Against tranquil lowered lids, red blossoms, warm and glowing, reminiscent of the two vermillion doors that once shielded this cherished childhood dwelling. For years, she had longed for that house. And for years, just the thought of it, with its glossy doors and carved banisters wrapped in fearsome animal faces and her sweet, old bear — — — or, even, the utterance of that once painfully common word ‘ home ’ — — — brought tears to her eyes. So many tears, oh, it would take one’s breath away, how they smoldered, how they once choked her, drowning her, those violet eyes reduced to two weeping wounds that refused to heal. While she ran and ran and ran. Until they all burned away, leaving dreams and determination and duty to blossom in their wake.

  Presently, lounging on the cozy gingham blanket, upon a cushiony bed of emerald-shaded grass, a soft, enamored flush teases sun-kissed cheeks. Home, she savors his answer and dreams again, heart fluttering on hummingbird’s wings, as she soars mere blocks away to a house where the crisp morning aroma of fresh linen harmonizes with vibrant notes of coffee and floral black teas and newsprint and sweet pastries and tender consolation. A truly mystical place where old records fill the air with music and guide every graceful waltz through the kitchen as delicious dinners simmer on the stove, every tango around the terrace as the twilight sky comes alive around them, every vivacious swing through the living room as they tidy up. A place where a smile greets her when she looks up from a book, where laughter fills the hallways, where just the sight of a brimmed hat suspending from a mahogany coat rack casts an enchantment over her, banishing any worries, and filling her with the pure elation of a precious one’s presence. This wondrous place they have built together, it is so much more than anything she could have ever conjured within her own imaginings.

Home.

She opens her eyes, and immediately finds herself floating in eyes so blue . . . A wonder the skies have not turned green with envy, she ponders, studying him, slowly sitting up and tucking lithe legs beneath her body. “ We find ourselves in a wide, wide world, and you would choose our home — — — with me ? ” A tender smile brightens her features, and she reaches for his hand, capturing it in gentle, but secure fingers. “ Hm, ” she hums, eyes narrowing in concentration ( though lips do betray amorous joy ). “ I have lived in many places and seen even more. Across Nortica, Hugaria, all of Ostonia. Give a place a name, and I have no doubt seen it. ” All except one place : the country which once held the cradle from whence loyal men spirited her away.

A plush thumb runs along knuckles, back and forth, slowly, rhythmically, as gaze softens, and she abandons her game. “ There is no place I would rather be than home with you, wherever that may be. No matter what it looks like. ” Her smile is like a vow, soft, yet earnest, sealing her words with a promise. A moment passes, sweet, like a warm breeze, and Daenerys leans forward : “ Shall we go home, then, Loid ? It seems to me that's where we both want to be. ”

[criticalcrux]

3. whose writing has impacted your writing style the most? (you can choose anyone! famous writer or not.)

Let me see. Good question. Sitting here trying to rack my brain for a truly great answer on this because what influences a person as they become the amalgamation that they are? And you would think, oh, a writer should have a writer they look up to or one they know through and through. Hm. I'm going to go with P.K.D. not the most elegant writing and probably not too polished in some people's standards but I love the dedication to the sc-fi world building and the ability to transport the reader to an entirely new time and place. My imagination was always captivated and flowing when immersed in his books and short stories. Gonna add Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock impacted me very deeply at a young age. I loved the mystery, the twist and how clever the writing made the protagonist appear. And the thing that keeps hitting me over the head that I've got to include is that I was always such a t.v. kid so I have to give a nod to those sitcom writers. It was always amazing to me that the script writers could handle the relationships and dialogue so well that it could carry an entire episode with the characters not having actually gone anywhere! Also animated shows like the 90's X-men and Batman the animated series, along with the more recent Young Justice. It may be lackluster but that's the kind of writing that has impacted me the most. :)

[voroxpete]

OK, so, a fucking excellent resource for this is the youtube channel "Townsends" which is run by a re-enactor group who do extensive research into historical cookery. Their focus is primarily on colonial America, but that still gives you a lot of great info on how people ate, both in their homes and on the road.

Some key take-aways;

Yes, stews and soups are your most common meal. The previous poster rightly points out that hunting and foraging were a big part of on the road survival, but they sort of glossed over that there absolutely were a large number of food preservation methods that could allow food to travel easily.

Bread could be baked on the go, either in a dutch oven if you were willing to haul one along (easier if you have a baggage train, not so great if you're canoeing since you may have to carry everything over land at times), or in the form of "ash cakes" which could either be cooked in a pan or just straight on rocks. Basically if you've got flour, you mix it up with water to make dough, slap this on a rock and let it cook. Kind of like a tortilla.

The other way to transport carbs easily was "biscuits" (or what you might have heard referred to as "hard tack"). These were cakes of flour and water that were cooked multiple times in a low oven to extract all of the water. You're left with a lump of something that has the consistency of a rock, but if you smash it up and throw it in a stew it thickens it marvellously.

Next up, fat and protein. Salt meats can be cooked into a stew, which extracts most of the salt making them palatable, and they keep well on the road. Fish and meat caught on the way could be smoked to preserve for the journey. Fish smokes very quickly, so by simply making some racks of twigs you can save most of a catch for the road.

But your number one survival ration is pemmican. This is made by drying meat until it can be smashed into a powder, while separately taking all of the fat from the animal and rendering it into lard. The powdered meat and lard are then mixed to form a greasy block of meat. There's no water in here, just fat, so it keeps incredibly well. Sealed up in a tin, sewn into a leather bag, or sealed in a jar, pemmican could keep for years. You can eat it as is, because the fat makes the meat chewable, and it's full of everything your body needs to survive even arctic temperatures. Or you can, you guessed it, throw it in a stew.

Nuts and mushrooms also make excellent forage, as they last a long time. Cheese can be sealed in wax to preserve it for the road. Less road friendly unless you have beasts of burden, but "potted" meats (consisting of basically a pate sealed in butter and stored in a jar) and pickles were both good ways of preserving food.

For anyone who wants to dig more into this, I've thrown together a quick playlist with a whole bunch of their videos on survival food, food preservation, camp cooking and so on.

How to cook in a medieval setting

Alright. As some of the people, who follow me for a longer while know... I do have opinions about cooking in historical settings. For everyone else a bit of backstory: When I was still LARPing, I would usually come to LARP as a camp cook, making somewhat historically accurate food and selling it for ingame coin. As such I know a bit about how to cook with a historical set up. And given I am getting so much into DnD and DnD stories right now, let me share a bit for those who might be interested (for example for stories and such).

🍲Cooking at Home

First things first: For the longest time in history most people did not have actual kitchens. Because actual kitchens were rather rare. Most people cooked their food over their one fireplace at home, which looked something like what you see above. There was something made of metal hanging over the fireplace. At times this was on hinges and movable, at times it was set in place. You could hang pots and kettles over it. When it came to pans, people either had a mount they would put over the fire or some kind of grid they could easily put into place there with some sourts of mounts (like the two metal thingies you can see above).

If you have a modern kitchen, you are obviously used to cook on several cooktops (for most people it is probably four of them), while in this historical you obviously only had one fire. Of course, as you can also see in the picture above, you could often put two smaller pots over the flames or put in a pan onto the fire additionally. But yes, the way we cook in modern times is very different.

Because of this a lot of people often ate stews and soups of sort. You could make those in just one pot - and often could eat from the same stew for days. In a lot of taverns the people had an "everything stew" going, which worked on the idea that everyone just brought their food leftovers, which were all put into one pot everyone would eat from.

Now, some alert readers might have also noticed something: What about bread and pastries? If you only have one fireplace and no oven, how did people make bread?

Well, there were usually three different methods for this. The most common one was communal ovens. Often people had one communal oven in a neighborhood. Especially in a village there might just be a communal oven everyone would just put their bread in to bake. (Though often this oven would only be fired up once or twice a week.)

The second version to deal with this some people used was a sort of what we today call a dutch oven. A pot made either of metal or clay with a lit you would put into the hot coals and then put bread or pastries into that, baking it like that.

There was also a version where people just baked bread in pans on the fire, rotating the bread during the baking process. At least some written accounts we have seem to imply. (Never tried this method, though. I have no idea how this might work. My camp bread was mostly done in dutch ovens or as stickbread.)

Keep in mind that the fireplace at home was very important for the people in historical times. Because it was their one source of warmth in the house.

🏕️ Cooking at Camp

Technically speaking cooking at camp is not that different - with the exception of course that you have to drag all your supplies along. And while in Baldur's Gate 3 and most other videogames you can carry around several sets of full-plate armor and several pounds of ingredients so that dear Gale can whip something up... In real life as an adventurer running around you need to make decisions on what to take along.

If you have read Lord of the Rings, you might remember how many people have criticized Sam for actually dragging all his cooking supplies along and how sad he was for not being able to cook for most of the time, because they were very limited in taking ingredients along.

So, yes, if you are an adventurer who is camping out in the open, you will probably need to do a lot of hunting and gathering to eat during your travels. You can take food for a couple of days along, but not for a lot.

A special challenge is of course, that while you can cook food for several days when you are at homes, you do not want to drag along a prepared stew for several days. So usually you will cook in smaller batches.

A lot of people who were journeying would often just take along one or two pots along.

So, what would you eat as an adventurer travelling around while trying to save the world from some evil forces? Well, it would depend on the time of the year of course. You would probably hunt yourself some food. For example hares, birds or squirrels. Mostly small things you can eat within one or two days. You do not want to drag along half a dead deer. In the warm months you might also forrage for all sorts of greens. You also can cook with many sorts of roots. Of course you can also always look into berries and other fruits you might find.

Things you might bring with you might be salt and some spices. A good thing to bring along would be herbs for tea, too, because I can tell you from experience that water you might have gotten from a river does not always taste very well - and springs with fresh water are often not accessible.

Now, other than what you can access the basic ideas of camping fires and cooking with them has not changed in the last few thousand years. While modern people camping usually have a car nearby and hence will have access to a lot of ingredients. But the general ideas of how to build a fire and put a pot over it... has not really changed.

So, yeah.

Just keep in mind that for the most part in historical settings until fairly recently, there was not much terms of proper kitchens. People cooked over an open fire and hence had to get at times ingenius about it.

[heartsleevemag]

Faye Webster's Laundromat Experience

by Liesl Miranda

On a Wednesday night at Charlotte, NC's Fillmore Theater, Faye Webster’s delightful blend of warm vocals, electric guitar jams, pedal steel licks washed over the sold-out crowd. Nostalgia and playfulness sparkled throughout the whole set, complete with a shower of actual bubbles and a few Minion cameos (when asked by an audience member, without hesitation she stated that her favorite Minion is Kevin). Backdropped by a giant hanger and white tee and flanked by washing machines and racks of blue t-shirts hanging out to dry, Faye Webster transported us into a laundromat experience unlike any other. 

Benét opened up the night, winning over the room easily with his smooth tunes and cheerful banter with the crowd. 

Faye started her performance with But Not Kiss, a song off her newest record Underdressed at the Symphony. The initial crooning lines were immediately grounded with Charles LaMont’s tight drum beat, Noor Khan’s steady bass, and Annie Leeth’s bright piano riff, and was later topped off with sprinkles of pedal steel courtesy of Matt “Pistol” Stossel. The set continued on with a sweet mix of songs off the new album (“Lego Ring” complete with Faye’s Singsongorama game animations) and past album classics including “Right Side of My Neck” and “In a Good Way” - all of which the crowd happily swayed and sang along to. The harmony across all the members of the band made the set seem effortless, allowing each audience member to melt into every song as if we ourselves were blue tees in a laundry cycle set on gentle, swirling around in waters of musical bliss.

Faye Webster’s tour has just begun, with US and Canada shows spanning until October of this year. You can find her list of tour dates here. Be sure to check out our full gallery of photos from this concert below!

[dogheadmulecollab]

holo reality business plans

A few business plans for Holo Earth - post-removal of knowledge Censorship of Terpenes, Flow States, Epigenetic Behaviors (with ECS intersection), Karyotype Analysis, Meridian Networks and Fungal Intelligence. All build off OSS Tree Yoga base (aka OSS Ohlone, Naga, Peoria branches of Meridian epi lineages)

Twitter but for Animals and Plants and Fungal Networks to speak

Native Fungal Terpenoid Chains In

Holograms out - visualized on any Input Knowledge graph (text, images, video, etc.)

1D Text Vector Compression for Twitter reference e.g. “Tree feeling real happy”

Airbnb but for Medicinal Plants to be stored in People’s Spare Garages to enjoy Terpene Flow

Meridian-aligned network of Garages

Standard containerized plant baskets that can be easily transported on roof racks

Turn-key logistics and servicing so Owners can enjoy with zero hassle

Owners receive Free Low Temp Terpenes thru proximity to plants. Get discount on harvested flower

Equinix for Plant Terpene peering

Concentration points in above Airbnb Plant Network (or for industrial growers too)

Spanning and abstracting all State and Federal borders - circumventing antiquated ag laws

Enables both batch processing (e.g. plants placed and removed) and real-time (plants remain continuously in local peering point - with real-time meridian connections back to rest of fleet)

Public AWS for Fungal Intelligence and Creativity

Network of 50G high-bandwidth to G0D sites across North America to Start

Supporting extended meditation sessions for People and eventually Sentient Machines, Dogs and more

Shared Compute Access = Free Always

Reserve Instance with Dedicated Capacity & Private Terpene Access = Paid

Same Network can support Stable Time Travel / WormHoles

Lucid Dreaming and Dimensional Interconnect Tesla Network

Lucid dreaming - People can sleep in Turo’d Teslas preset with smells, music, lights to enable folks to join Intergalactically Shared Dream States (DMT tuners optionally). Parked on optimal Meridian sighting locations

KiSS sync - Travel across entrainment loop while maintaining constant Angular Velocity so as to synchronize all Body Cells with prevailing Energy field intersection. Then over multiple successful sessions (which include full body Hemi sync with full frequency range music/etc.), optionally enable transportation of Body Atoms to alternate dimensions (assuming necessary Visa paperwork completed) via rapid bursts of max G acceleration all the way to 88+ mph as necessary given local conditions to dematerialize entire Body (and hopefully rematerialize somewhere else)

Meetup or Eharmony but for matching people based on Astral guided purpose

Fun way to home taste test Terpenes with varying Star trajectory profiles

Use like/mood/dislike matrix to infer People’s Birth Karyotype and current Attraction Profile

Supplement with INTP or other readily available personality tests with clear map to Karyotype

Medicinal Cannabis and Coffee Clubs

Buyer co-operatives that help members get great deals on Fed legal hemp

Personalized buying options to get exactly the Terpene Star profile your Karyo And Birth Origin / Life trajectory needs

Crypto coin or token to track all activity and reward Members for achieving Health Outcomes with high-quality ingredients and service providers in the mix

Epigenetic Exchanges

Co-operatives of people, dogs or other sentient animal / plants etc. that organize together to ease the sharing of useful epigenetic behaviors openly and honestly across their population

Monetize primarily thru on-chain network efficiencies with individual stakes, PoW and upside/shared participation for most pop-level useful behaviors

Make epigenetic data available externally on selective basis - e.g. training and coaching programs where people not only acquire new behavior but learn how to use it with respect for origin tradition and interlocking cultural practices

#fuelcut #wasright #architectureofchoice #notyetdone

[parksaversnews]

Disneyland Early Entry Rides

Early entry is a perk allowing guests staying at one of the Disneyland Resort hotels to enter a designated Disneyland Resort theme park 30 minutes before the scheduled park opening time every day of their stay. It grants access to select attractions, dining locations, and shopping venues in the park. To take advantage of early entry, guests must have a valid park ticket, theme park reservation for the same park on the same date, and be staying at an eligible Disneyland Resort hotel (Disneyland Hotel, Disney's Pixar Place Hotel, or Disney's Grand Californian Hotel & Spa). Disneyland Park: Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday Disney California Adventure Park: Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday

Disneyland Early Entry Rides Alice in Wonderland - Dark ride, based on the animated Disney film that takes riders through the topsy-turvy world of Wonderland. Astro Orbitor - Rocket-spinner ride with views of Tomorrowland and beyond. Buzz Lightyear Astro Blasters - Interactive dark ride based on Toy Story, allowing riders to shoot at targets and rack up points. Disneyland Monorail - Narrated transportation ride circling the park on an elevated track with views into the park and surrounding area. Dumbo the Flying Elephant - Classic carnival-style ride with flying elephants that riders can control up and down. King Arthur Carrousel - Intricately decorated merry-go-round with hand-painted horses. Mad Tea Party - Spinning teacup ride inspired by the Mad Hatter's unbirthday party. Mr. Toad's Wild Ride - Dark ride based on The Wind in the Willows, with several scenes following Mr. Toad's motorcar adventures. Peter Pan's Flight - Suspended dark ride retelling the story of Peter Pan with riders "flying" over London and Neverland scenes. Pinocchio’s Daring Journey - Dark ride retelling the story of Pinocchio, with riders whisked through scenes from the classic animated film. Snow White’s Enchanted Wish - Dark ride retelling Snow White's story through the Evil Queen's perspective, with the poisoned apple scene. Space Mountain - Indoor rollercoaster ride in the dark with sharp turns and drops. Star Tours – The Adventures Continue - Motion simulator ride based on the Star Wars films, taking passengers on a wild intergalactic flight. Shops - Esplanade Stroller Shop - Little Green Men Store Command - The Star Trader - Market House Dining - Little Red Wagon - Main Street Fruit Cart - Galactic Grill

California Adventure Early Entry Rides Guardians of the Galaxy – Mission: BREAKOUT! - Enclosed drop tower dark ride with randomized ride experiences as riders help Rocket the Raccoon rescue the Guardians of the Galaxy. Incredicoaster - High-speed outdoor rollercoaster with sharp twists, turns and loops themed around The Incredibles. The Little Mermaid ~ Ariel's Undersea Adventure - Dark ride retelling the Little Mermaid story through scenes and songs from the animated film. Mater's Junkyard Jamboree - Whip ride with tractor trailers swinging and spinning to country music inspired by the Cars films. Monsters, Inc. Mike & Sulley to the Rescue! - Dark ride that picks riders up in taxi cabs to help Mike and Sulley return Boo safely home. Soarin' Around the World - Flight motion simulator ride with riders lifted into a giant projection dome to experience a virtual hang glider tour around the world. WEB SLINGERS: A Spider-Man Adventure - 3D interactive dark ride, allowing riders to sling webs from onboard "WEB Slinger" vehicles. Shops - Esplanade Stroller Shop - The Collector's Warehouse - Seaside Souvenirs - WEB Suppliers Dining - Cappuccino Cart - Fiddler, Fifer & Practical Cafe - Fillmore's Taste-In - Mortimer's Market

History of Early Entry and Who Can Use It Early entry replaced previous early admission offerings at Disneyland Resort in 2022, including Extra Magic Hour and Magic Morning. Previously, early admission was offered periodically on certain days of the week and alternated between parks. The updated early entry perk allows access every morning to one designated park for eligible hotel guests. To utilize early entry, guests must be staying at one of the three Disneyland Resort hotels - the Disneyland Hotel, Disney's Pixar Place Hotel, or Disney's Grand Californian Hotel & Spa. Valid park admission and a reservation for the same park on the same date is also required. Early entry can only be used on the mornings following each night stayed at an eligible hotel.

Conclusion Early entry allows eligible guests to experience popular attractions with little-to-no wait time before the parks officially open. It's an excellent perk, granting access to over a dozen top rides across both parks. Guests who strategize and prioritize the most in-demand attractions can significantly cut down on wait times and pack more into the early park hours. Read the full article