#cottonwood valley

[snommie]

Venus, alone

[elpidiusss]

Just asking for a friend: baby fever is a thing, but is foal fever also a thing? :3

After giving her mom a reference, I couldn't leave this little lady without one! She might be one of my favorite chars because of her funky markings 💖

[courtjesterart]

[fraidycat-art]

[gigglyalex]

Yashmirs first mare Ciri, she’s a bitch and a boss, and knows how to throw her weight around.

[tetramodal]

Wulsten Baldy Acrylic on canvas 8x8". Charles Morgenstern, 2023. The Sangre de Cristo Mountains seen from Coaldale, Colorado.

[simpuritysims]

I think the plan is to play a bit more of sims 4 tomorrow with a private family, then dive back into figuring out the Pierces the day after. I just... really needed the break so I didn't fully rage quit.

And I'll set a little queue of Higas running tomorrow too.

[westusarealtyofprescott]

Living the Small-Town Dream in Chino Valley, Arizona: How Thanksgiving and Community Bring Us Together

When you think of small-town charm, spectacular desert landscapes, and a community that truly comes alive during the holiday season, one name comes to mind – Chino Valley, Arizona. Nestled just north of Prescott, Chino Valley offers a lifestyle that moves at a slower, more thoughtful pace, blending the tranquility of country living with a unique love for holidays, especially Thanksgiving. Residents here have a way of celebrating that’s so rich and heartwarming, that it’s hard not to fall in love with this friendly town and its people.

Why Small-Town Living in Chino Valley Feels Like a Year-Round Holiday

Living in a small town like Chino Valley is about more than just a slower pace it’s about forming close-knit relationships, valuing nature, and taking the time to appreciate life’s simple pleasures. In Chino Valley, you’ll find a culture that deeply treasures community bonds, outdoor living, and traditional family values. Here, neighbors still wave to each other as they pass by, and it’s common to see families gathered at local diners and shops sharing stories and laughs.

Small-town living also means that Thanksgiving isn’t just a one-day holiday it’s a community event that residents look forward to all year. By the time November rolls around, the town is buzzing with excitement. Local farms have their best produce on display, and families start to stock up on everything from turkeys to pumpkin pies. It’s a holiday where the sense of family extends to the entire community, bringing neighbors together in a truly special way.

A Thanksgiving Like No Other: How Chino Valley Celebrates with Heart

Thanksgiving in Chino Valley is unlike Thanksgiving anywhere else. Here, traditions run deep, and the celebration is more than just a family gathering it’s a town-wide embrace of gratitude and kindness. You’ll see community centers hosting holiday potlucks where everyone brings a dish, each as homemade as the next. Town folks prepare extra meals for those who may not have family nearby or simply need a bit of extra cheer.

In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, local businesses and organizations like West USA Realty of Prescott step up to make the holiday even brighter. They often help with community outreach efforts, supporting food drives and Thanksgiving meal programs to ensure no one goes without a hot, comforting meal on Thanksgiving Day. It’s all part of the Chino Valley spirit no one gets left out, and everyone has a place at the table.

The Thanksgiving Table and What It Represents

For the people of Chino Valley, Thanksgiving goes beyond the food. While the turkey, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie are highlights, it’s the community spirit that truly makes Thanksgiving special here. Families gather around tables both big and small, but it’s what happens around those tables that makes Chino Valley such a wonderful place. Friends and neighbors join in for meals and stories, reminiscing about past Thanksgiving and sharing hopes for the future.

West USA Realty of Prescott: A Proud Supporter of the Chino Valley Community

West USA Realty of Prescott has long been a part of the fabric of Chino Valley. More than just a real estate office, West USA Realty of Prescott is a community-oriented business that works year-round to support local initiatives and organizations. When Thanksgiving comes around, the team at West USA Realty of Prescott understands that Thanksgiving is a time of giving and gratitude, and they’re passionate about doing their part to make the holiday season a little brighter for everyone in Chino Valley.

Whether through sponsorship of events, providing resources for local charities, or organizing community activities, West USA Realty of Prescott is dedicated to giving back to the Chino Valley community. Their involvement in local Thanksgiving events reflects their core values of compassion, service, and community spirit. For West USA Realty, helping others isn’t just a Thanksgiving tradition it’s a year-round commitment to making Chino Valley an even better place to live.

Chino Valley’s Unique Thanksgiving Recipes: A True Taste of Arizona

Thanksgiving in Chino Valley wouldn’t be complete without a few unique Arizona-inspired recipes. Families here often put a local twist on classic dishes, using ingredients sourced from nearby farms and markets. Think spicy cornbread stuffing with green chiles, or a pecan pie made with fresh Arizona pecans. One local favorite is the prickly pear cranberry sauce, a Southwestern take on a traditional dish that adds a hint of desert flavor.

These recipes aren’t just tasty they represent the love and creativity of the community. Families proudly share their culinary creations at holiday gatherings, bringing new flavors and a Southwestern flair to the Thanksgiving table. It’s all part of the Chino Valley Thanksgiving experience, where food, family, and fun blend seamlessly to create unforgettable holiday memories.

Thanksgiving in Chino Valley: A Tradition of Giving Back

For Chino Valley, Thanksgiving is as much about giving back as it is about celebrating. Local organizations and residents come together to organize food drives and charity events, ensuring that everyone in the community can enjoy a warm meal and the company of others. West USA Realty of Prescott Valley is proud to sponsor these efforts, working alongside other local businesses to support Pony 4 Precious, a charity that provides scholarships, free books and a small horse rescue for the local community. By helping to make Thanksgiving special for everyone, West USA Realty of Prescott demonstrates the very best of Chino Valley’s community spirit.

Why Move to Chino Valley and Make Thanksgiving a Year-Round Feeling?

If you’re looking for a place where community means more than just a word and where Thanksgiving feels like it lasts all year long, then Chino Valley is the perfect place to call home. Here, you’re not just a resident – you’re part of a family that cares for one another, celebrates traditions, and always finds a reason to be thankful. From its breathtaking views to its friendly neighbors, Chino Valley is a small town with a big heart, and Thanksgiving is a beautiful reminder of the love and camaraderie that makes this community truly special. And when you’re ready to make the move, West USA Realty of Prescott will be here to welcome you, ready to help you find the perfect home in this remarkable town.

[josemiersunvalley]

Jose Mier Explores Sun Valley, CA Urban Farm

Jose Mier has discovered an agricultural oasis in the midst of Sun Valley, CA’s urban sprawl. Cottonwood Urban Farm is just across the border from us in Sun Valley. Cottonwood Urban Farm is an urban agriculture project located in Panorama City, CA, that has made a significant impact on local food production, sustainability, and community building. This farm exemplifies the potential for urban…

[wine-porn]

Napa Grenache

After the light, beautiful little version in flint the other day, I was looking for something a little more seriouser from the Grenache king. This is my first outing with his Carneros bottling, and expectations are high. Ridiculously vegetal on the nose: a muddy briar rife with eucalyptus and chopped weedy greenery. Dark, concentrated berry lies below, a plummy sort of fruit-punch perfection with…

[eanul-rmbl]

All I do is dream of you

wc: 1.3k+

warnings: she/her pronouns for reader

Often, rests. Rarely, she dreams. Even more rare is when she dreams with him.

alt. description: little snippets of y/n as she waits for hypnos to wake up

.

.

.

The woman woke up in a field of flowers. Most of them reached up to around her fingertips, kissing them slightly. Her hands danced to themselves, clenching as she’d look around her and unclenching as she’d realize the state of her hands. It felt so familiar, to be standing in a field of lavender, poppies, and the like; underneath a cottonwood tree.

“Hey there, poppy,” a gentle voice whispered behind her ear. Her heart leapt and she turned to see Hypnos, standing from a distance. Fluffy cloud hair, and all.

She ran over to him. Over tall grassy, greens. Over hills of lavender purple. Over valleys of poppy red. Goodness, there were so many colours around her, around him. She couldn't remember the last time she saw so many in one glance. Her heartbeat ran faster than her legs could afford, and it cascaded up and down in a frantic rhythm.

“Hypnos..!” When was the last time she saw his hair with such familiarity? Cloudlike. Sheeplike. Nostalgic. Just like memories of the House of Hades.

She grasped him, weakly tugging at his hair, his clothes, his duvet, his everything..

“Woah, hey!” He merely giggled, stumbling back from the sudden weight, and yet her heart soared. “It's not like I'm going anywhere, poppy! Not yet, at least.”

—

She found herself sighing into his duvet, hugging him tight, as if he could disappear the very next moment. “Tell me, Hypnos.. Am I dreaming, or hallucinating?”

He smiled at her, hugging her back and grinning into her hair.

“Both; the best kind,” he whispered, moving to give her a peck on the forehead before returning to embrace her once more.

—

“I miss you,” she whispered, peppering his sheep-white hair with kisses. Hypnos smiled kindly, softly at her.

“I know,” he sighed into her embrace. “I miss you too.”

“I know.”

—

They rested under the comfort of a cottonwood tree's shade. Dusty cotton seeds danced lightly around the air like the clouds themselves. Hypnos let out a content sigh, breathing in the nostalgic feel of acceptance, closeness and caring; emotions that his heart spoke out to him; emotions that swam in her eyes with fondness.

He rested his head on her shoulder, while she rested her head on his head. Hypnos could feel her grin atop his head as she fiddled with his hair, braiding it carefree.

He hesitated. It was so lovely, being there with her. He'd been among many dreams, restless and yet never waking. Her dreams, however, were always a place of solace. A rare comfort he could only afford once every blue moon. He moved to the side and brushed his hands across her head, kissing it lightly.

“I've got to go, love..” Hypnos whispered. He aimed his hand with hers and squeezed it.

She interlaced her fingers with his own, rubbing his hand softly. Slowly, she moved to grasp his wrist weakly, kissing his palm. “..Fire more minutes?”

He was so soft.

With a spare hand, he plucked a poppy and placed it behind her ears. His fingers brushed against the edge lightly, and both of them fought off any shivering sensation. “Always, for you.”

—

She felt her eyes force themselves open as she came to her senses. Her fingers twitched, interlocked in cool, pale-blue hands. 

“Back to the Crossroads, I see,” Melionë greeted; saluting, as per usual. “Moonlight guide you.”

She leaned against Hypnos’ unmoving body. It was cold; unresting and yet always at rest. Her heart ached.

His hair was so long.

“Moonlight guide you too, Princess.” She rubbed her eyes, picking up a flower from among Hypnos’ gifted collection of poppy red. She fiddled with it, twisting the flower back and forth.“I just… missed him, is all,” she sighed.

“And I am sure he misses you, too.” The princess gave her lightly furrowed eyebrows, and a hesitant, yet comforting, hand on the shoulder.

She smiled weakly to the princess. “I know.”

—

“I'll give you a tip,” he spoke, grinning tiredly with his lips as they rested in a field of flowers and colours. Though his eyes showed that same telltale tiredness, they betrayed no grin. They were nervous, awkward, and hadn't been such in quite a while.

“Yes?” She fiddled with his hands.

“It's okay to move on..” his voice shook, raw, squeaky and unsure. (Y/N) tried to meet him in the eyes, but he looked anywhere else. “If you want to.” That was the one sentence he said without err, before they increased in quickness and shakiness. He gulped. “I-I know how hard it is to wait for someone who rarely ever shows up”

“I know.” She said quietly, as her eyes flickered down for but a brief moment. Hypnos felt his heart falling south. “I don't want to, though.” And besides, I have you here,” she kissed the top of his head. “Here,” she pointed to her heart. “And here, at the crossroads. So long as your heart is here with me, I'll always love you. That's okay too, is it not?”

He smiled, heart threatening to spill over. He hugged her as tightly as either of them could afford. “It's more than alright.”

—

As per habit, she lightly sat down into the brown, earthy hammock; careful not to disturb Hypnos, who laid softly and soundly already, as he had been doing so for years, though she knew she could never wake him up. His breathing was gentle and slow. She heard him snoring softly as she made herself comfortable over the many small red poppies that greeted her like one of their own.

She gently rested one of her hands onto Hypnos’ hands and squeezed gently, before settling to close her eyes and rest for a brief moment.

However, she found that Sleep, as gentle as it is, denied her rest for the next few minutes. It was odd to have her eyes closed and yet not receive any comfort nor repose nor break from the stress of carefully planned rebellion.  

Oddly enough, she felt cold hands gradually warm up, for just the slightest amount, as they slowly interlocked with her own.

(Y/N)’s heart stopped. 

Then, slowly, it returned. Her heartbeat started by testing the waters, nervous and unsure, awkward and clumsy. Until she blinked, and realized that it ran faster than her legs could afford. Eventually, it cascaded up and down in a frantic rhythm. She fiddled with Hypnos’ fingertips, they fiddled back. Her eyes shot open.

Golden yellow eyes met her own. His shined like native gold; precious and lovely, pure and untarnished. They were rare and dear to her heart; more important than any metals or jewels or precious items, despite the resemblance.

(Y/N) let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

“Hypnos..!” 

Hypnos hummed quickly, feeling her skin for what felt like the first time. “Hey there, poppy,” he said. She held him close and dear; tightly, as if he could fade to dream at any moment, to which he gasped lightly and joked. “Woah, hey there! It's not like I'm going anywhere. Not anymore.”

She wouldn't go, shaking ever so slightly. Whispering in his hair, she let out a shaky sigh. “Tell me, Hypnos..” He rhythmically pat her pillow-soft head, up and down and up and down, until he felt her slow down just the littlest bit. “Am I dreaming, or hallucinating?”

He shifted to hug her with his entirely smiling fondly. “Neither.”

She returned the hug once more before letting go and facing him. Hypnos had to fight back a whine, until he saw the softness of her gentle eyes and melted completely. “I missed you,” she said, looking directly into his eyes.

“I know.” He accepted a quick peck on the cheek from her, before kissing her back chastely on the forehead. “I missed you, too.”

[snommie]

Venus' lonesome life continues

[elpidiusss]

After having an outdated reference for about 4 years, this lady finally got a new one. Not only that, but I also made her a toyhouse page!

Making her a new reference and toyhouse page is totally unrelated to my preparations for Artfight, I promise :3

[blueiscoool]

Lost and Found: Bottle Hunter Digs Extraordinary Farmland Treasures

Tom Askjem is a time traveler. Every May to November, he disappears into the bowels of the earth, descends to depths of 13’-plus, and returns to the surface with treasure—bottles and glassware from farming’s past.

After 1,800 pits and hundreds of thousands of relics, Askjem is equal parts archeologist, thrill seeker, and mole. Muscle on dirt, the North Dakota farm boy has turned an addiction into a career, multiple books, and a captivating YouTube channel with millions of views. However, Askjem seeks more than glass.

“I’m digging for adventure, history, and love,” he says. The past is in these holes and there are countless numbers of them across farmland.”

Time to hunt with a master.

The Infection

On the flats of extreme eastern North Dakota’s Traill County, Askjem, 32, prepares for a dig trip. “No mountains and no hills in the Red River Valley,” he describes. “You can see your dog run away for days. The land is mostly featureless, other than a few big cottonwoods and shelter belts where farms used to be.”

A mop of blonde hair sits atop a 6’-tall, lanky frame as Askjem saddles his pony—a Honda Civic. At the current mileage rate, the Civic will be junkyard fodder before it has a scratch: 60,000 backroad miles added to the odometer in the past six months.

Askjem piles layers of gear into the trunk, including three of each tool for insurance: shovels, pronged garden forks, trampoline pads, probe rods, buckets, plastic scoopers, trowels, tents, sleeping bags, blankets, pillows, air mattresses, clothes, and waterproof, Redwing leather work boots.

“It never gets old,” he says, wearing a wide grin. “I caught the infection when I was a kid.”

Digging Bodies

Pushed from the Grand Forks area by the historic Red River flood of 1997, Askjem moved to a farm outside Buxton at six years young. The main property was an 1878 homestead—a progression from sod house to log cabin to the present standing 1898 farmhouse decked in Victorian-era woodwork and hardware.

Surrounded by history, including the skeletons of old wagons and rusting machinery, Askjem explored a 5-acre patch of woods on the property, and chanced on a garbage dump: pop bottles and trash.

Askjem dug.

“I went deep and found stuff going back to 1898. When you’re a kid living in the country, there’s no going down the street and there’s no hanging with friends to play video games—you make your own adventure. I started hitting up all the farmers I could find for leads.”

Behind the wheel of a rattling go-cart, Askjem sought Buxton old-timers and collected tips on abandoned houses. “They all helped me,” he says. “Nobody cared where I hunted because I was just a little kid exploring for all the right reasons.”

“I’ve still got an elementary school journal with an assignment describing my weekend,” he adds. “I wrote, ‘Me and Mom dug up old bodies.’ The teacher marked my paper out of concern,” Askjem describes, with an easy, deep chuckle. “I meant to spell bottles, not bodies. But it shows I was truly hooked.”

Indeed. Wonderfully hooked.

Soft Landing

Why are bottles buried under farmland and old house sites?

Prior to plastic and synthetics, glassware held everything: medicine, hygiene products, alcohol, soda, and beyond. Glass was it.

Additionally, prior to waste disposal services, homeowners discarded trash on-site—in back yard outhouses, trash depressions, burn pits, and wells or cisterns. In short time, the various ground receptacle spots were filled and forgotten.

“Let’s say, for example, a family moved in around 1880,” Askjem explains. “That site likely has two or three outhouse locations prior to World War l. The outhouse spots filled up at a rate according to family size. I dug one farmhouse site that had six outhouses in a 10-year span. Folks went into the outhouses and threw away bottles: medicine, opiates, beer, whiskey. It was convenient and private, and had a soft landing, and got covered quickly. Even now, the bottles often are still preserved.”

“Generally, these houses also had a burn pit and/or dump pit. In the early days, they burned all trash in the stove for heat. Also, homestead bucket wells were filled up with trash and bottles once they were replaced by pump wells. Cisterns also were eventually filled up, but most of those are associated with houses in town.”

And the sites remain, he emphasizes, hiding intact relics beyond the reach of farm machinery or tillage equipment.

X Marks the Spot

Location. Location. Location. Other than a tip or invitation, how does Askjem find dig sites?

X marks the spot, at least in the county courthouse or public library. He spends winters poring over early property transaction documents. “I look at lot sales. If several lots sold for $100 each in 1880, but one sold for $1,000 in 1885, the price climb tells the story and likely represents a building location.”

“I also read old newspaper archives, looking for hotel or business advertisements,” Askjem continues. “Then I can look up the proprietor’s name and keep tightening the scope, narrowing down the exact building location.”

“Every single house is different, but generally, in the countryside, outhouses were 30 paces out the back door. In the city, where most lots were 140’ long, outhouses could be as close as 5-10 paces.”

Confident of a site’s potential, Askjem first asks for permission to dig from the landowner. “Property owners are always so kind to me and I don’t hide anything I find. They’re curious about what is in the ground, just like anybody else.”

Second, he grids out the site. “I put down markers 2 paces apart, maybe 20 paces long. I push probe rods into ground and feel for compaction differences. Depending on the location, I’ll call in and have utility lines marked out for power and gas.”

Decked in Levi’s and a tank-top, it’s time to tunnel.

Claustrophobic Comfort

Shovel in hand, Askjem descends into a layer cake of dirt: black topsoil to brown-colored clay to telltale ash to a use layer containing treasure.

“Generally, I go deep to find old items in quantity. The earliest bottles were used to the last drop by farmers and thrown out empty. Therefore, when they froze in brutal Dakota winters, the glass didn’t break from liquid expansion.”

As Askjem extracts glass vessels from the dirt and grime, his encyclopedic knowledge registers with each find. He recognizes the type, manufacturer, and age. Ink bottles, hygiene bottles, medicine bottles, beer bottles, soda bottles—and far more spill from the holes.

“I find patented medicine bottles across the country, but my favorite are soda bottles because they are unique to their locale and have character. The old soda bottles are usually marked with the bottler and town name because they were returnable.”

The outhouse pits are typically 6’-deep at home sites, with an average size of 6’-by-4’-by-3’. “I’ve dug ghost towns, dug saloons, train depots, and pool halls that were 12’ long, 4’ wide, and 8’ deep. I remember a hotel pit that was 20’-by-20’ and 8’ deep. There was a military fort with pits behind the barracks that was 12’ long, 4’ wide, and 13.5’ deep: That was a week’s worth of digging.”

Askjem’s subterranean realm provides no comfort to the claustrophobic. At 8’-9’, he braces the holes with woodwork. “I’m in a solid clay base that doesn’t cave, but I have a healthy respect for the ground’s limitation. Sometimes, it looks like I’m digging a rabbit hole.”

Preserved in nature’s freezer, the artifacts unearthed by Askjem often are in phenomenal condition.

“Pieces of newspaper can still be read; bottle labels are legible; white lime used in decomposition is visible; and undigested seeds are everywhere. Even 120-year-old human waste sometimes is perfectly preserved and still smells like hell. I wear a hydrogen sulfide respirator in those cases.”

“It’s all there; almost like it was dropped yesterday.”

Ghosts in the Ground

In 2022, Askjem began chronicling his digs via a YouTube channel, Below the Plains, and soon captured millions of views. At two posts per week, he gins footage at a steady rate to feed the algorithm, a tough task considering the ground in his geography is frozen from mid-November to mid-May.

Additionally, Askjem has written two in-depth books (Nebraska Soda Bottles 1865-1930 and A History of North Dakota Bottling Operations 1879-1930) and has more on the way. “I put the bottle prices in the books because they can sell for a whole lot and I always tell the landowners. Listing prices draw criticism, but that’s important to me because it helps preserve the item, and preservation of history is what drives me.”

Covered in dust or mud at the end of each day in digging season, Askjem is highly respectful of what he finds—almost reverent after 1,800 digs. “I appreciate everything I uncover because it represents a part of someone’s daily life and existence. There’s nothing wrong with coveting bottles, but I’m really in those holes for the moment of discovery.”

Even when not digging, Askjem is on the move, surfing on the coasts or river diving for lost cargo. In the decades to come, will he continue burrowing into the past? “Twenty years from now, I hope I’m still digging and there’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now.”

“There’s not an infinite amount of lost bottle sites, but there’s certainly an incredibly high number,” he continues. “There were 300,000 homestead farms in North Dakota with a minimum of one well, one outhouse, and one trash dump. And that doesn’t include towns where most of the population lived. There are millions of these sites in North Dakota and far more in other states.”

Respect to a freewheeling hunter like no other. Bottles draw the eye, but ghosts draw the heart: “The moment never gets old when you uncover a bottle and find that history,” Askjem adds. “Never.”

By CHRIS BENNETT.

[wintersongstress]

crying screaming throwing up gently kissing the other awake for arthur pls isabell im so thirsty my crops are dying

It's been so long...let's see if I still got it.

Tenderly, the morning light fell and came to a sunny rest upon your eyelids. In a bedroom, in a quiet stretch of forest, loveliness reigned and stillness too. The window framed an opal-colored sky and a pair of fond arms enfolded you. The cobwebs of a dream were swept away by the warm clarity of the present. You blinked in the angle of sunlight, nuzzling your nose into a familiar, steadfast shoulder and sensed the heart beating in the body beside you. You remained still. The scent of evergreens and a whiff of starched pillowcases filled your nose. The chest beneath your splayed palm rose and fell and you glanced along the planes of him, lying with your shins entangled, clothes wrinkled, and hair tousled.

Arthur’s lashes looked like fine bristles of gold in the sunshine. A contentment suffused his features while he rested, the sight of which never failed to strike you—how the lines beside his eyes smoothed, his brows relaxed, his jaw slack. On an elbow you rose cautiously, your toes traveling past his ankles.

A breeze through the trees softly tossed the boughs of the cottonwoods, the buds on the point of bursting and snowing in the air. Robins whistled, and you paused in this sun-warmed angle to look upon your lover’s face without him knowing for the simple pursuit of transfixing this moment in memory. You placed a thumb on the soft cushion of his mouth and let it trail into the valley of his chin’s scar, delighting in the sharp prickle of his beard, and cradled his jaw in that hand. The freckle on his cheek beckoned you next, and you leaned to press a kiss against it, grazing stubble, eyes closing as the muslin of your nightdress slipped down your shoulder.

Your heart skipped as the lips beneath your touch softened and brushed over the pad of your thumb. A sound came from low in Arthur’s throat, like a groan of laughter, and there was a murmur of cotton as his coarse, large hand wrinkled your chemise. He nudged your nose with his and rose from the hazy lake of sleep with a smile, one veiled by memory and tinged by dreams, and your mouths melded together like two raindrops meeting on a window, seamless and certain. When the kiss dissipated, Arthur’s hand lifted to your denuded shoulder and his fingertips as they touched your skin were softer than a breeze flitting over flowers. How slowly they dragged as he traced the line of your collarbone, how openly his eyes spoke of adoration as he met your shy glance of affection.

“You’re smiling,” he observed, bringing his knuckles to your cheekbone, and kissed each corner of it.

[gigglyalex]

Ref sheet for peanut, she accepted our invitation to join the herd!