#electric knife sharpener

[anchored-trident]

Did I just spend $111 on an electric knife sharpener? Yes, yes I did

LISTEN MAN LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO SPEND ON HATING YOUR KNIVES FOR NOT BEING SHARP

[knifetor]

What is a butter knife used for?

When it comes to cutlery, there are a variety of knives that serve different purposes. One such🔪 is the butter knife, which you may have seen at breakfast or tea time. If you’re a knife lover looking to expand your knowledge of cutlery, you may be wondering what exactly what is a butter knife used for. In this blog post, we’ll provide a formal definition of the butter knife and its purpose in…

[goshyesvintageads]

Dormeyer Corp, 1960

[xxstxriesfromashxx]

Tag Dumps ; Ships

Ships / Ship Partner Tags

If we have a ship that you do not see on here, it may be because: i haven't yet found a good tag, i forgot to add it / couldn't find my old ship tags from archive blog and need to make a new one, we haven't really 'confirmed' it and i don't want to force add it (meaning we just need to discuss it being a thing), we haven't rp'ed it in a while (completely my bad) and i'm not sure if you still want it to be a thing (please let me know, i am piss poor anxiety at asking). If you see a ship listed here that you would like to discontinue for any reason, please let me know.

tag format: ship name // muse x muse (partner url) ;; ship partner tag // muse name ; my muse's love

isabethan // ethan x isabelle purefoy (qceensofkings) queen of my soul // isabelle purefoy ; ethan's love fate intertwined our path // ethan x rayne layden (ghostofaformerself) gave me purpose // rayne layden ; ethan's love

your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with light // edward x isabelle purefoy (qceensofkings) my happy ending // isabelle purefoy // edward's love forbidden love // kimberly x eric brandon (ericbrandonrp) the thief who stole my heart // eric brandon ; kimberly's love

love me like you do // katrina x eric brandon (ericbrandonrp) i believe in love because of you // eric brandon ; katrina's love teenage dirtbags // abraham x rayne layden (ghostofaformerself) the girl that got away // rayne layden ; abraham's loves

serene howl // will x trinity wallace (sincerexsiren) the angel in my life // trinity wallace ; will's love howling soulmates // will x sophie hallow (sugarandwhiskey) she took my heart and mended the broken pieces // sophie hallow ; will's love

i'll throw away my faith babe just to keep you safe // silas x alex herman (xseen2muchx) i will live and fight for you // alex herman ; silas' love

bare your teeth and sharpen your knife // isaac x piper beau (sharpenurdamnknife) my freedom // piper beau ; isaac's love maybe our stars align // kazvrall x calista arganan (countarganan) beautiful countess // calista arganan ; kazvrall's love

[houseofknivesaustralia]

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[southernsmokebbq]

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

It’s Alright, It’s Okay

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader {Could be platonic but that’s not where my brain was}

Setting: Alexandria era

Warnings: Mentions of self harm, struggles with mental illness

Summary: You accidentally allow Daryl to see your scars.

A/N: Yesterday sucked for me for a million different reasons. This is really a way for me to vent more than anything. I’ve never done a y/n before so I’m sorry if I screw it up. No beta, all mistakes are cause I suck.

*gif is not mine

“I got the dishes!” You volunteered, probably a little too cheerfully, before collecting the empty plates from the coffee table and shuffling along to the kitchen. You had a dining table but it had never seen a single use.

It had been a rather uneventful day in Alexandria, for which you were thankful. That meant no one had died just trying to complete what used to be mundane tasks for everyday living. Now, since the world had gone to shit, everything was a risk. Just scrubbing the sauce from those dishes could somehow very well lead to your demise. Regardless, you rolled up your sleeves and ran the water.

Daryl had brought home a deer earlier in the day. It was a large buck that would feed the town for a while if the meat was rationed properly. He had been given his own portion, as per usual, for being responsible for the kill. The archer had used the meat grinder in the kitchen at his and Carol’s place, meaning, of course, that Carol had offered and he had shrugged while sharpening a knife.

You had chosen that moment to knock on their door. The silver-haired woman had shown you a cookie recipe but the pantry was out of an ingredient. Carol usually had the things you needed or would at least know something you could substitute.

“Oh, man! My sister used to make venison spaghetti!” You had commented while she had stepped away to get what you needed. You had half a box of angel hair pasta and a can of sauce at your place. “Hey, Dixon?” You continued when he hummed in acknowledgment, “think I could steal just a little of this to make some?”

He had stared at you for a moment before giving a nod. In your excitement, you had thrown him an invite to share the meal just as Carol returned and handed over the ziplock bag with the ingredient you needed for the cookies.

“Alright.” He drawled, sheathing the knife he had been working with.

You quickly invited Carol as well, realizing what you had done, but she smiled knowingly and shook her head. You had at least waited until you were on their porch before slapping a palm to your forehead and calling yourself an idiot.

Still, dinner had gone over without a hitch, even if you did sit side by side on the couch with your plates on your laps. You had laughed when he’d tip back his head to dangle the end of the noodles over his mouth so he could descend the forkful carefully. He had even chuckled when you had dropped half a bite onto your shirt when trying to mimic his actions. It had really been…nice.

Now you stood in your kitchen, rinsing the dishes and placing them in the strainer. You hadn’t heard him enter, but you rarely did. The man moved like a ghost for someone his size.

“S’that from?” His sudden inquiry from just behind you had startled you enough to send the plate clattering into the sink. It didn’t break, thank goodness.

“What’s what from?” You replied, casting him a brief glance before you continued your task. The last dish was quickly rinsed and placed with the others.

“Them scars.”

You were drying your hands on a towel when you suddenly stilled. Fuck. The pale, raised imperfections stood out starkly on your forearms and you instantly felt nausea creeping up your throat, burning at the back of your tongue. “Oh, that’s nothing.” You dropped the towel and quickly started to roll down your sleeves.

But he was faster.

His calloused fingers felt rough against your skin in contrast to his gentle grip around your wrist. You felt electric pulses centering from where he was touching you, but the shame erupting from within you wouldn’t allow you to dwell on how right that felt.

Tears were already forming on your lashes as he studied the myriad of scars littering your arm from wrist to elbow. Some were larger or more jagged than others, but each one contained a story of your past; a hurt you inflicted upon yourself to cope with the hurt done to you by someone else.

“Don’t look like nothin’ to me.”

You had never heard him speak so softly and it made you feel that much worse. Daryl Dixon was anything but soft. For him to pity you must mean you were a real piece of work.

“Please,” you begged, your bottom lip quivering. You were barely holding yourself together. “Just…leave it.”

Those striking blue eyes left your arm to focus on your face. You quickly looked away, lest he see how pathetic you were. He released you and took a step back.

“Thanks for dinner, Y/N.”

You nodded and tried to smile, but never met his gaze before you heard the front door close. You sat on the kitchen floor and cried for hours, finally dragging yourself to the couch a few hours before you’d have to be up for the start of another day.

Months passed by and things changed, as they often did. You started to find Daryl sitting on your porch steps, cleaning his crossbow or tinkering with some motorcycle part. Most days, you just offered him a greeting and went on your way. Some days, when you were feeling brave or especially curious, you would ask about his weapon. His replies were always short and gruff but never rude or angry.

Eventually, this became the norm. You started bringing him water or lemonade, sitting with him while you drank your tea. Conversations were never lengthy but enough to ensure any silence was comfortable. You started to miss him when he was gone for runs or recruiting. Then you’d open your door one morning to find him perched in what you had long ago deemed ‘his spot’ and the smile that would grace your features was unbidden yet genuine.

One warm summer evening, while you sat together on the top step, your head was laid against his shoulder while his arm was draped around yours. The first time you had tried to lean on him, he had flinched so hard that he had dropped the water glass and you had apologized profusely while cleaning up the mess. At some later point, you both had started dropping your walls, bit by bit, and now here you were.

Still, even with the contentment you found in each other's company, something lingered.

“Daryl?”

“Hmm?”

You could feel him move and knew he was looking down toward where your temple rested against the front of his shoulder. “I’d like to tell you about it now,” you paused for a breath, “if you still want to know.” You waited for him to ask what you were talking about but, as he tended to do, the archer surprised you.

“Ya can tell me if ya wanna talk ‘bout it. Ya don’t hafta though.”

You smiled to yourself but it faded just as quickly. “I did it to myself.” You took another deep breath before continuing, keeping your eyes on the stars in the distant sky. “My life was hard even before the end of the world. I couldn’t cope with the things that happened to me…that were done to me… so I’d find something sharp—” you heard and felt his breath hitch but you couldn’t stop now. “I’d use anything at first. Anything that could make a cut. Eventually I started using a razor blade.” You just let the words tumble out, feeling a tear slide down your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you were crying. “Everything just hurt so bad and it was the only way I could handle it all. It was the only thing that kept the pain at bay. I know it doesn’t make sense but I just… I needed…”

You felt Daryl shift and quickly found yourself pressed against his chest, his arm around your back while his other hand pressed against the back of your head. He had hugged you before but this? This was different. He didn’t say anything but you already knew that he wasn’t good with words, especially when it came to expressing emotion. So he was offering you this comfort.

And you accepted it without a second thought, crying hard while your hands fisted the material of his leather vest. The more you trembled, the tighter he held you. It was as if he was trying to keep you from shaking apart but somehow you knew that even if you did, he would pick up the pieces and put you together again.

After a long while, your tears had all but stopped, leaving you a sniffling, tired mess in his arms. He didn’t seem to care but had loosened his hold slightly and was rubbing small circles over your back while you collected yourself.

Now came the shame. “I’m sorry.” You managed quickly while you pulled away from him. His hands hovered for a moment like you would fall apart again any moment but he soon let them fall onto his knees.

“What for?”

You could see him trying to catch your gaze from the corner of your eye as you wiped angrily at your face. “I know what I did was stupid.”

“It weren’t stupid, Y/N.” Daryl said softly. You remembered when he had used that same softness when he had first seen the proof of your self mutilation. You nodded but didn’t say anything for a while. Eventually, you went back to staring at the stars, even though you could feel him still staring at you.

“I don’t hate them, you know.” You finally said. With a sigh, you braved a glance at him. He was still watching you, expression unreadable but not hard. “My scars.” Daryl nodded for you to continue. “I had a lot of battles and they are proof of that but… I won.” You looked away and shrugged with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m still here.”

“M’glad.” He replied quickly, drawing your gaze back to him. “That you’re still here.”

You smiled again. It was small but this time, it was genuine. “Me too.” You watched each other for a few moments and you couldn’t help but notice him draw his bottom lip in between his teeth to gnaw at it. As you opened your mouth to ask if he was okay, he pushed himself off the step to stand.

“C’mon.” Daryl jerked his head toward your front door. Your brow knitted in confusion but you stood and crossed the small distance to the door.

“Daryl?”

“I wanna show ya somethin’.” He answered when his name had barely left your lips. Daryl reached in front of you to pull open the screen door and motioned for you to enter first. You could hear the deep, steadying breath he took as he followed you inside and began closing your door. “Ya trusted me with yours. I wanna trust ya with mine.”

[gretavanlace]

Animosity

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, unprotected sex, aggression, arguing, name calling, digital penetration, dirty talk, pet names, etc.

Porn without plot. Arguably an extended blurb, but we have much to celebrate! so my gift, on the eve of Starcatcher, is smut. I love you all! Shout out to this crazy hot request!! Thank you, anon…we adore you and your beautiful mind ❤️

“So, you’re just going to walk away from me? Like what I have to say means fuck all? Like I mean fuck all?” He sinks further back into the couch, crossing his arms like a sullen, bad-tempered child.

“No, Jake,” you snipe right back. A cruel, dismissive edge sharpening your tone until it slices through the anger-choked air in the living room like a rusty steak knife yanked from the back of the drawer. “I’m just sick of listening to you run your mouth about shit that doesn’t matter. I pissed you off. Fucking enthralling story, can you tell it again?”

“You’re tired of listening to me, or you want me to tell it again?” His boots slam down on the coffee table just to pluck at your nerves further. “Make up your fucking mind, sweetheart.”

Christ, you don’t know that you’ve ever been this furious with him, though you really can’t even remember why. It’s been all day. Back and forth. Bitter bickering. Button pushing. Poking and poking, until it feels like the energy between the two of you could break apart with fevered electricity.

“Fuck you.” Is all you can summon. It hisses out of you as you spin on your heel to find solace in the kitchen…the closest room where he isn’t.

With more force than would ever be necessary, you’re throwing open the refrigerator door, fingers wrapped around a bottle of water, when you feel his arms wrap around you, tugging you away from the task at hand with a quiet grunt low in his throat.

The bottle clatters to the floor with a bouncing thud, as you’re pressed against the counter. You’ve hardly had a blink to register, but his hand is fisted in your hair and squeezing against your scalp until it stings like delicious fire. “Fuck me?” He hums, soft and saccharine. “But you seem so angry with me, kitty cat. Seems like maybe you might even hate me. S’that what baby wants? A little hate fucking?”

“Jake, stop!” you snap, with an elbow digging into his stomach, unwilling to let go of your upset even though your thighs are clenched and aching to spread wide for him.

“Have you forgotten your safe word?” The heated query growls into your ear, though he already knows what the answer will be.

Your teeth are clenched - but with wrath or lust, you can’t be sure, “No.”

“Fucking use it, then.” His thigh is between yours now, shoving your legs open further apart exactly the way you’d longed for just moments ago.

“No.” You repeat, once more, even nastier than before. It physically pains you to give him the upper hand, but you love it, too. Fuck, how you love it.

“Oh,” you can hear the smug, cocky, fucking smirk in his tone. “So, my angry little kitty cat wants to be stroked. Is that why you’ve been so goddamn irritating all day? Pretty girl wants to fuck?”

You arch your back, pressing against him in the hopes that he’ll just go ahead and shut up. That he’ll go ahead and destroy you right there at the counter like a whore. Like his whore.

Your silence won’t do for him, and a swift tug at your tangles tells you so, before his voice rasps into the night. “Is that it? Does pretty girl with her pretty wet pussy want to fuck?”

The feverish nod against his clutch comes before you can stop it.

“Say it.”

Oh, fuck you, Jacob. Smug little bastard who can’t let the opportunity to make you taste his victory, pass.

“Hmm-mm,” you moan out, shaking your head, lips squeezed into an impossibly flat line to bite back the flurry of obscene pleas that threaten to tear out of you.

“Okay,” he’s taunting now, and you know you’re in trouble before you’ve even felt his fingers creeping beneath the hem of your panties. “But look at this. You’re dripping. Don’t you want to drip, all filthy and gorgeous, all over me? All over my cock?”

“Yeah,” it shivers out of you with a wanton desperation that should make your cheeks flush with shame. Instead, your entire body flushes with need.

He stands firm and sickeningly sexy “Then say it. Do as you’re fucking told, kitten, and I’ll make you feel good, promise.”

Every ounce of fight drains from your body as you relax down against the butcher's block countertop, and you know without a doubt you’ll need to be careful not to rake tracks into the wood once he’s buried inside you. Careful not to claw marks where you shouldn’t. Careful not to live up to the pet name he only trots out when he’s feeling particularly nasty.

“Say it, baby.” He presses, petting your hair so gently you sigh.

“Pretty girl wants to fuck,” you’re nearly panting between words, but you can’t help it, nor do you care to. Let him hear what he does to you. Let him bear witness to the depravity he sets free to boil through your veins. Let him see.

“Good girl.” He slips the pad of his finger over your slick clit, groaning at how swollen you already are. How ready. How fucking needy. All for him. “Say it. Who’s my good girl?”

“I am.” Your hips are circling and rocking into his touch…you need more, more, more. “I’m your good girl.”

“Yeah, you are.” He nods, forehead resting at your shoulder. “Such a good girl. So, why do you insist on being so fucking bad? Naughty, mouthy little witch. Fucking heartless.”

His touch teases at your entrance, waiting, gentle and nearly still, until you fuck yourself back onto them, slipping him inside with a roll of your hips. “Oh, fuck yes, kitten…just like that. Baby thinks she’s just gonna take what she wants, but she’s wrong…” his voice is quiet, yet melodic. He’s almost singing to you, teasing you, baiting you along with a blissful, bullying, air.

“Whose pretty pussy is this?” He rasps, toying with you.

“It’s yours, Jake.” You purr, arching and trembling. “That’s your pretty pussy.”

“It’s yours, Jake.” He mocks, all high pitched and airy. You half expect him to pull your hair and call you names. To shove you down and skin your knees…and you’re not ashamed to admit, you wouldn’t hate it.

“Tell me you want to feel my fingers inside your greedy, soaked cunt.” True to his role, he snatches your head back by the strands of your hair still locked in his grip. “Tell me you want me to finger fuck you until you cum all over the kitchen tile.”

Your will power has vanished, as though it never existed to begin with. Where is all that fight that once burned in your belly? “I want it…” you’re breathless, whining like a slut, spread out on the counter, tongue sweeping out to curl against the wood because you just need to fucking taste something, anything.

You carry on, happy to complete your pornographic request, if only to make him as weak for you as you are for him. But, he is weaker for you, always…you just can’t ever seem to see it. Instead, his palm covers your mouth, strong and sure.

“It’s cute that you think I really want to hear it. Adorable, even, kitty cat.” He sounds hateful, but you hear the devotion behind the facade, he’s happy to be here with you, wrapped up close, no more angry, blistering space between your bodies.

“I’ve listened to you enough today, don’t you think?” His teeth sink into your earlobe until your knees buckle with a whimpered hum.

“Oh, now you’ve got nothing to say?” His accusation is gritted out between the clamp of his teeth at your ear, sending blazing chills down your spine to curl your toes against the frigid ceramic. “You wanna stay quiet now? Alright then, whatever you want, baby girl. Quiet it is. I’ll help you with that…”

His grip is suddenly iron clad around your throat, squeezing until your gasps rasp and your eyes roll back. His opposite hand is at your mouth, fingers sliding against your tongue, nudging into your throat until you’re silencing a gag.

It doesn’t matter, he feels it. “Be glad it isn’t my cock, shutting this pretty mouth up. Be grateful you aren’t fucking swallowing me and praying I’ll let you breathe.”

You aren’t grateful at all. In fact, you’d give just about anything to be on your knees for him…

And he knows it.

Like a cat in heat, you slink further down, presenting and preening. You want more. You need more…

And he knows that, too.

“C’mere,” it growls out of him, low and rumbling like a feral animal descending upon stalked prey - and before the shudder has even finished shaking through your taxed system, he’s gathering you up in his arms.

Small in stature he might be, but the strength in his grasp has never failed to amaze you. Now, as he jerks you around until you’re caged in his embrace like a writhing doll, is certainly no different.

“Are you sorry, kitten?” He hisses, manhandling you as he throws a dining chair away from the table and spins it just so. “Are you sorry for making me throw you around like the insubordinate little fuck slut you are? Are you sorry for making my cock so hard? It aches for you…it wants its pretty, pretty baby, with her pretty, pretty cunt.”

Down he lumbers, positioning himself on the chair with you, held up away from his lap, watching with rapt attention and a watering mouth as he violently tugs his pants open without care.

And then, there it is, his beautiful cock. Flushed and pulsing. Flexing fiercely and bobbing in the air so pink, so thick, so slick at the blushing crown, so fucking captivating. You can’t take your eyes off of it, and why would you ever want to?

His hands are ripping at you, tearing your panties off ruthlessly until the silk burns across your skin leaving strawberry pink welts in its wake…pulling at the neck of your tshirt until it, too, gives way to his madness and rips apart enough for him to unleash his mouth against your breasts.

It’s a flurry of perfect teeth burying their way into your nipple, the delicious pressure of his lips and tongue, wet, warm, and sucking, as your fingers twist in his hair, crushing him closer to you. His moans are muffled and unidentifiable against the goosebumps he has raised upon your skin.

“Jake, please.” You’re rocking at the air, as still, he holds you away from his lap. “Please please please…”

“That’s it, kitten.” He sounds self-satisfied and disgustingly content with your despair. He’s such a prick when he gets this way, and fuck if you don’t absolutely live for it. “Beg for my cock like a whore. Beg for me to fill your sweet, slutty, cunt. God, look at you. Fucking gorgeous.”

But, rather than beg, out comes the pout he can never seem to resist. “Give it to me.” Your puckered bottom lip tucks between your teeth as you stare down longingly at the prize your body longs to swallow up. “Fuck me, Jake…fuck your kitten. Please, baby?”

“You fuckin’ brat.” He snaps, but his arms loosen, allowing just a hint more freedom to your movement. “Spoiled little thing isn’t playing fair.” He tugs your mouth open and licks against your tongue.

“Go on, then,” his palm, warm and insistent, cracks your ass cheek, hard and firm. Milk chocolate eyes dancing wildly when you suck in a sharp gasp. “You want it so badly? Fuck me. Kitty wants some dick? Kitty can fucking work for it.”

Your hips lower without hesitation and rock this way and that until the tip of his cock is resting at your entrance. “C’mon, kitty cat,” he coaxes like the arrogant prince he likes to pretend to be. “Fuck me.”

Without preamble, without thought for angle, or the consequence of pain, you sink down around him all at once. Sucking him in, hot and snug, tightening around him with a wail of relief as your head tips back until you're crying out to the ceiling.

His face is hidden between your breasts, mouth searching, tongue lapping at your skin as he groans and murmurs your name. “You feel so good, baby girl. So fucking good. Too fucking good. Fuck…fuck…”

Back and forth his pretty face nuzzles, his mouth searching out places to mark you, sucking bruises into your tits as you shove them further in his face, silently begging him to brand you.

But as he grows louder, he begins fighting back to the surface, shaking off your riptide in favor of that delectable dominance he favors “Faster.” He orders, both hands taking hold of your throat just hard enough to make you writhe. “Do it, baby. Come on…” there’s that teasing, coaxing tone that sets your entire body alive in white hot, licking, flames. “Come on. You know how to do it. You know how to fuck me, c’mon.”

Harder and faster you ride him, clutching at the back of his chair for leverage until your knuckles are ghost-white and your nails are screaming, threatening to snap off in the wood.

“Good girl…” his grip is twisting so gently around your neck as your keening moans vibrate into his palms. “Good fucking girl. Say it.”

You know what he wants, and so he shall have it. “I’m a good fucking girl.” They are hardly words at all, more like breathless whines, but they do just fine for him.

“Yes, you are, kitten, yes you are.” Now one of his hands is at your cheek, cupping it as agonized tears streak into his palm…you’re just so fucking close. “And you’re gonna be a good girl and fuck me until I cum, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…” it’s ineloquent and cut off by a shaking moan, but you’ve never cared about anything less.

“Yeah, you are. Make me cum, kitty cat. Come on, make me fucking cum…”

This time, it's his words that drift off into incoherent, desperate whines that flip your stomach and trip you over the edge. You finish, hard and fast, lulled by the obscenities tumbling off of his filthy tongue.

“Please, baby…” he’s clutching at you now, thrusting up to meet you so forcefully you absently worry he might tip the chair over, toppling you both to the floor. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna, oh fuck…”

His teeth catch your shoulder through the tattered remnants of your shirt, gnawing at your flesh as grunts and wails and growls of release seep into your skin.

Finally, though you wish it would never end, his arms fall slack, swinging at the sides of the chair, as his mouth soothes over the bites he’s left you with.

“God damn, baby girl…” he laughs softly, kneading softly into the screaming muscles of your thighs. “Thought you were gonna fuck it right off.”

“Shut up,” you giggle, quiet with exhaustion. “Take me upstairs and take care of me? I’m sleepy.”

Without a word, you’re gathered up in his arms. You know you’ll be tenderly deposited at the foot of the stairs, to navigate them on your own, with your hand held in his…but that’s perfect, you’re always happy to let him lead the way.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @gretasmokerising @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @mckenna4 @tripthelight-fanfic @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @sad1lynn @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie

[takami-takami]

Cut To The Chase.

kinktober day 2: knife play

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut.

warnings— afab!reader. heavy knife play. discussions of piercing, but no actual cuts. still, this is a knife play fic. be warned. gags. bullying/kinkshaming. praise kink. aftercare.

"You're shaking, dove," Keigo whispers above you. "Relax a little for me, yeah?" 

The rhythmic beat of your heart pounds in your ears. The heady bass of it hammers behind your ribs. A single drop of perspiration crawls its way down your neck like a snake might slither down a tree, hissing sharp against the searing heat of your skin. It bobs with the swallow in your throat. It glistens with your tremors as you writhe so subtly against the silken sheets.

And there’s something about the way your life rests in your partner’s steady hand that surges the adrenaline screaming within your veins. It sings a chorus through your chilling blood.

The quirk of his lips is practically audible when he speaks— infuriating, even; but his appraisal of the situation is undeniably on point.

Of course you’re staring. Twisting and gliding along the edge of your skin, just the lightest squirm away from piercing through your flesh, is the tip of something sharp, icy, and unfathomably lethal— had Keigo been in a more dangerous mood and blindfolded you, the object would feel indiscernible from the steel of a curved dagger, the crescent point pressing the slightest divot into the skin of your navel. 

Even the light reflects with a glint off his feather as if it were metal when it’s sharpened like this.

“You actually like this sort of thing?” Keigo interrogates you, raising his brows. A scoff of disbelief follows quickly behind the inquiry, the heat of his breath fogging against your neck when he noses your jaw. Achingly slow, the scarlet weapon drags up your core, crawling its way toward your utterly exposed chest. 

He could pierce you at any moment. One flick and the skin could burst, one breath and your body would become a canvas to his liking. It's a dance of trust, of control, when he plucks that velvet red feather between his thumb and forefinger as if it were merely a pen to be dipped into ink.

“Your heart rate's pickin' up. It's gonna give you away, dove,” he observes, skimming the skin at the exact spot where he can sense the beat. He drags the feather in circles, a melody in his voice when he sings, low, taunting, and dangerous: "You like this."

“Don’t even care that I could just slip it a little deeper, do you," he realizes, increasing the pressure of the feather against your hammering chest. He can barely hold the click of disappointment from his tongue when you whimper in response. 

"Nah. That’d just get you wet, wouldn’t it?”

You see the flash of reflected light under your chin before you can feel the feather against your neck— the metallic sound of the blade cutting through the air rings in your ears, louder than the hitch of your breath from the whirlwind speed of his actions.

“Oh, you like that?” 

Keigo doesn't bother to suppress the laughter that builds and erupts. Why would he? He'd place a hefty bet that someone like you would hear a condescending sound like that and feel it like electricity instead, jolting down to crackle between your poor, trembling legs.

You're so fucking predictable. You like a bit of danger, and Keigo is more than willing to indulge your little fantasies in the only way he knows how: famished, unreserved, and entirely committed to every intricacy of his role.

Besides, he'd be lying if he said this little image of you wasn't absolutely gorgeous; you, the picture of prey spread beneath him under the shadow cast by his wings, blubbering and unsure if you want to beg to be pierced by his feather or his cock.

When he slips two slicked fingers inside to scissor them, it's entirely unsurprising that your body opens easily to accept them; so unsurprising, in fact, that his eyes roll almost as immediately as yours do, though he wears a smirk rather than a slack jaw. 

The heel of his palm graciously grinds against you each time he bottoms out, the motion made with each rocking thrust expertly positioning his curled fingers upwards. Ever intentional, the heel presses firm against your throbbing core.

When he speaks, you get the impression he's moreso musing to himself than addressing you. 

"And what if I fucked you like this, huh? A cock in your pussy and a knife at your throat… Sounds like your own personal heaven, doesn't it, angel?" Keigo punctuates the last word with a mocking lilt, pouting in bastardized sympathy to match your wobbling bottom lip.

"Aww, not gonna bother answering that?" He smiles and pulls at the fabric stuffing your drooling mouth. "C'mon, speak. Wanna hear you when you break for me, 'kay?"

You swallow dry before you attempt to catch your voice, gasping in a bit of air as you arch your chest and whine some garbled words Keigo can only assume are supposed to resemble a beg. 

"Oh you're close to close," he posits through a smile, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of his drenched fingers that pump knuckle deep and curl up. "It's okay, baby. Let it out. I've got you. Cum on my fingers, c'mon baby, cum f'me, you're such a good—"

Your back bows when your world shatters. His sweet words never cease, pouring praises over your body like the heat that envelops you, over and over in trembling waves.

The first thing you feel when you float down from your high, catching you like a feather landing slowly in his palm, is a methodical barrage of kisses against your cheeks. Feather discarded, Keigo holds your face in place with cradling palms, crooning at the far-gone smile that remains etched in your expression.

"Hi, baby," he whispers, lopsided smile wide as he pulls back and thumbs the apples of your cheeks, smooshing them in little clockwise circles. "Still with me?"

"Hi, Kei'," you simply mumble, words as sluggish and limp as you are; and just like that, your partner is solid and stable once more above you. 

When words elude you, your body begins to speak instead. Your fingers crawl down his biceps and up his neck, nestling in the thickets of his hair and clutching at the scalp as if to settle your own roots there for stability; and on the inside, Keigo's heart trips over itself. Your very center is open to him, pawing at his body and swallowing everything he gives you— and he'll give it all.

Clear eyes attempt to catch your bleary ones, searching for signs of discomfort as you continue to cling to the haziness that envelops your mind. Once he's thoroughly checked for any nicks or scratches, your body is laid back against the sheets.

"C'mon, pretty bird," Keigo whispers, rubbing the highest points of your cheekbones. "Gimme a smile, yeah?" 

When you do, it's with a glaze in your eyes, gazing up at him like he's a newfound city of gold.

"That good, huh," he teases, and you yawn. There's a rich, golden butter in his voice when he speaks. It's warm like the sheets he rolls you both up in, hot like his bare chest against your back when he lays you down to cuddle. 

"I wasn't too mean, was I?" 

"You were perfect for me," you sigh.

The plush of his feathers shudders once in the corner of your vision. He rests his chin along your bare shoulder, clutching your body as close to his chest as it can go.

"You're perfect for me, too."

[multipleheartbreakhotels]

I Sing You Joke

The Joking Starts When I Listen To The Music

February 25th 2006

Laughter. It's such a powerful thing especially when you make people laugh more particularly when you make your favourite band laugh. The first time I listened to them, was in 2004 on the radio covering some songs, I fell in love with them in an instant, the bass, the electric guitars, the drums, and the voice, especially the voice. Later in 2005, I heard them again, but this time with their songs. When I searched my local record shop, I had to dig very deeply since they were local artists. Once I found their single titled “I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor” I bought them immediately with a CD player. The moment I reached home, I listened to it non-stop, but there were unfortunately only 3 songs, until 2006. The beginning of the year with a new album by my favourite band is an excellent start the year, and to my delight, it was much longer than the other album of course, they also shared the same song which was one of my favourites at that moment, I brought the record home and listened to it religiously to the point where my roommate got sick quite literally when she got a fever I had to take care of her, so instead of listening to "Dancing Shoes" or "A Certain Romance" we listened to something my mother used to put when I and my brothers were sick, Mozart. I could only go to college while she was sick, I could not go to work or the pub, the millisecond she got well, I, well, we went to the pub. This was a very special night because not only was it for being back but also it was my 3-year anniversary for working in that pub, the time of my show starts at 11:05 it was 10:45 so shite luckily my roommate was also coming to my show, but she is equally late because we are both getting ready late

"MARYA WHERE IS MY BLUE DRESS?" Emilia yelled from her room

"IT'S IN MY ROOM ON THE BED" I yelled

back preparing my bag and ready to go, she came to my room

"Ok, but why is it here?" Emilia asked me

"Em?" I asked glaring at her, 

"Sorry," She replied,

she got dressed and we both ran to the pub, Lucky for us it was near and it was easy to run there for me since I was wearing Converse but Emilia was wearing high heels to feel fancy, how could you feel fancy in a local pub? I thought. I opened the door to the bar

"What the hell Marya it's already 11:10" the bartender Victor yelled

but before he could say another word I got to the stage removed my jacket and threw it not caring where

"Hello ladies and gentlemen apologies for my lateness, my best friend's lazy arse was weighing me down," I said into the microphone.

Laughs were coming from people who sounded like music to me, and after their laughs, they started to clap as a greeting for me

"Thank you Thank you" I said to the audience 

"So what shall I tell you today? Mhm Oh, tonight is a very special night, today is my anniversary and no it's not my romantic anniversary unless you think me being yelled at every time I come here late is romantic or sexual " I said

"Ooo Marya your so late it's already time to finish" I mimicked Victor and people started to laugh harder,

"Oi your such dirty-minded people ai......but anyways tonight is when I started to work in this bar the day I started to remove your innocents" I joked.

"It marks 3 years, imagine I was working here for one year, and I was still shocked that Victor has not killed me yet I am pretty sure the reason he is always behind that bar is that he is preparing to murder me, planning the day, and sharpening his knife, so if today is the last you will see of me let my last words be 'Thank you for letting all my friends plan a murder on me and not succeeding, and letting some random french bartender kill me instead' I see women are laughing more, I guess after seeing this you will know what tea to final spill to your ex-college-best friend-roommate" I said

taking the microphone from its holster and continuing speaking for 20 more minutes until I noticed a group of people standing next to the bar, there was a boy my age his back towards me with a leather jacket I wanted to get a better look at him when he finally turned to me, I stopped talking only for a second but it felt like hours, 10 minutes after I was done speaking

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, and all the undecided I hope you pissed your pants and you will see me tomorrow night, I basically live her bye bye” I announced

and left the stage, took my thrown coat and bag, and placed them on a stool next to the bar. As Emilia was flirting with any living male soul, I sat at the bar talking to Victor, more precisely, the wall and drinking a bloody Mary,; it was my favourite drink.

"Excuse me, Sir?" One of the boys that I saw earlier from the stage,

"Could I get a-?" He said

not sure what drink to order, his friend that was sitting on the bar stool, the same boy with the leather jacket whispered something to his friend's ear

"A bloody mary, please? For the lady" He finally finished his sentence.

"I should be getting you drinks instead," I said with a smile,

"I get free drinks here so what would you like?" I added,

"How about their most expensive pint?" He asked with a heavy Northerner accent.

"Victor, the most expensive beer you have for this gentleman, please," I asked,

"You have 18 pounds, Marya?" He said,

"No, but I work here, so I give you customers, and you give me free alcohol" I marked.

"I give you money, not alcohol,"

"I give you customers, which means that come with free alcohol and money" I added.

"Fine, you work tomorrow also no holiday" He debated,

"Deal" I smiled,

and he placed the beer to the guy.

"Matt," He said

as he held out his hand,

"Marya, you don't need to know that though I already said my name on stage and it's on the board" I joked,

"And these your fellow shadows?" I asked,

the reason I called them shadows was because they were behind him and I could hardly see them from the light and choice of clothing.

"That's Jamie" He pointed to the blond guy dancing,

"I'm Nick," The brunette with green eyes said.

"Matt, I found a couple of lads come on" He said excitedly

"Will you excuse me?" He said as he finished his entire pint,

"You are excused," I said

and did a fancy bow, they laughed slightly and left, and then the guy next to me, who I assume was also Matt's friend showed me his hand in a gesture to shake it,

"Im Alex," He said in a hoarse or puberty voice with an equally heavy Northerner accent as the rest of his friends.

I shook his hand "Marya" I smiled,

his voice reminded me of something or more precisely someone, I could not put my finger on it though. We talked for hours about our favourite musicians bands, and books it was my favourite subject, and even baking. The night ended with them taking me back to my apartment, while Emilia went out with some lad from the pub.

"You don't have to it's unnecessary" I assured them after they asked if they could take me home,

they didn't exactly ask though they just said they would take me home,

"We are already walking out, and besides you live near us, it's okay" Alex reassured me with a smile,

it was a drunk smile, Matt was also happy to take me home slightly more drunk than Alex, while Jamie and Nick were flat-out drunk, we were all basically knackered.

"Wait, didn't you come to the bar with someone?" Matt asked slurring his words,

"She went with some random bloke, and they are gonna shag," I said,

"How are you sure they are gonna shag, detective?" Nick asked with a funny questioning look on his face,

"Well, her telling me Im gonna shag him tonight in a drunk whisper gave it away" I giggled.

When we reached my building

“I think that’s meh building,” I said slurring my words,

"Yup, it is" I added,

"Wait, wait, wait" Alex said quickly,

"Could you gimmie your number?" He asked while he was searching his phone in his pockets,

"Why not, if I can remember" I giggled,

while the rest laughed, he handed me his phone, and I gave his phone back after I typed my number.

"What does Bella, mean in Italian?" He asked,

"I am too drunk to know, but Bonita I am a pretty drunk bitch, well Bonita is only the pretty part" I giggled,

and he typed something in his phone.

"Well, we shall see each other in the next drunk street," I said in a fancy voice

"We shall" Alex answered in a tone equal to mine,

and he and his mates left. I got up to my apartment as best as possible trying to not let my neighbours think I was an alcoholic it was already bad that they called me a stripper just because I worked in a pub and I was a dance teacher, the moment I opened my apartment door and went to my room I fell asleep, knowing and not knowing how bad and good tomorrow will be.

Tags 💌: @ohladymoon @martinipoliz @i-m-a-leaf-on-the-wind @alexturntable @alexturne @drinkingbitterboy @arcticshadowturtles @cluedoenthusiast @dropofdrool @alovesreading @mywritingonlyfans @jetskisonyourmoat @bellaturner @almluv

[houseofknivesaustralia]

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[invadertem]

(CLASSIFIED DOCUMENT) ROGUE ZIM

Status: Unknown; presumably alive

Personal Information:

- Pak Model: Defective Superior Model-1

- Gender/Sex: Male (Type B)

- Pronouns: He/Him

- Age: 25 Earth/Irken years

- Sexuality: Omni (Preference: Male)

- Rank: Rogue Super Weapon

- Rogue Code Name: Poltergeist

Physical Description:

- Appearance: Magenta Eyes/Pak

- Height: 5'5"

- Notable Features: Extremely scarred but bandaged arms, small face scar, Pink hoodie

Skills and Enhancements:

- Natural Ability: His pak can release high-voltage shocks capable of killing living beings and destroying technology. Connection to tech results in corruption.

- Pak Weapons: Equipped with powerful weapons designed by Zim himself.

- Emotion-Induced Abilities: Strong emotions can tear holes in time and space, creating small Florpus-like portals.

- Emotional Range: His defect allows him to experience a wide range of emotions.

- Independent Pak: His pak sometimes acts independently from Zim.

- Enhanced Senses: Superior hearing, scent, and sight.

- Training: Proficient in war strategies, combat, anatomy, mechanics, and other fields, driven by Miyuki to be the best.

- Speed and Strength: Quick reflexes allowing for rapid movement. Above-average strength and high pain tolerance.

- Natural Weapons: Claws and teeth sharpened to knife-like sharpness.

Fun Facts:

- Bio-Weapon Origin: The first successful Irken Empire Bio-weapon.

- Unique Scent: Emits a sweet scent with underlying hints of blood and metal.

- Powerhouse: Considered the strongest Irken to ever exist.

- Purring Smeet: Teased for his sleepy nature and purring as a smeet.

- Culinary Preferences: Enjoys sweet foods, while regular food makes him feel sick.

- Musical Inclination: Surprisingly, likes singing songs to himself.

- Personality: Aggressive and cold in nature.

- Troop Membership: Part of Troop 9 during training.

- Infamous Record: Personally responsible for the documented deaths of 10,000 individuals using only his pak.

Notable Events (in chronological order):

1. Caused five years of darkness on Irk upon creation due to a high-voltage electricity shock.

2. Experimented on by Miyuki as a child.

3. Excelled academically, ranking at the top of his classes.

4. Had a height stunter installed by Miyuki for easier control but later removed.

5. Spark from his pak caused four more years of darkness on Irk during a sparring incident.

6. Invented numerous bio-weapons and mass destruction devices.

7. "Accidentally" killed Miyuki and Spork with a bio-weapon.

8. Played a key role in winning the battle of Meekrob during Mission of Impending Doom One.

9. Banished from the Irken Empire, reappearing during Mission of Impending Doom Two.

10. Banished once more, this time to Earth.

11. Involved in the Florpus Incident.

12. Went Rogue, leaving Earth for four years with no trace of his whereabouts.

13. Destroyed multiple Empire Watch Bases (C1, C2, C3, D5, D6, G9, G11, G18, Z1), with more to be documented.

This document provides official information regarding Defective Superior Model-1, also known as Poltergeist, and his extensive history, abilities, and notable events within the Irken Empire. He is extremely dangerous and is to be reported upon sighting.

!!!WARNING: FILE IS HIGHLY SUBJECT TO CHANGE!!!

[stray-kaz]

Ghosts I Get, People Are Crazy : a George Karim x f!reader oneshot

The Gist of This: You and George are kidnapped by real, corporeal human beings.

A/N: Sorry this is kind of random and ends lazily? I ran out of steam.

The ground under your cheek was rough and cold, and as you moved to try and sit up, your joints throbbed and you couldn’t move your hands. You fought to pry your eyes open, your gaze first landing on the strong twine binding your wrists and then on a very familiar head of curly black hair. Panic shot through you and you shuffled over on your knees, movement constricted due to the matching twine around your ankles.

You stopped by his head and reached down to bump your joined hands against him, nudging his head along the ground slightly.

“George!” you hissed frantically. “Please wake up!”

He groaned and opened his eyes to look up at you, hovering anxiously over him. He tested his hands and rolled his eyes.

“Well, this still beats the time Lucy slapped me to wake me up” he muttered. “Any idea where we are?”

You shook your head as you leaned down and levered your bound hands underneath his shoulders to help him upright.

“No clue” you said, stopping with a huff and leaning against him. “But I did only just wake up. Did you see who ‘napped us?”

George leaned his head back on yours and you felt it shake.

“Nope. But I don’t feel good, so I think they drugged us, whoever they are.”

You went quiet, assessed your own physical feelings and realised that there was, indeed, a very specific nausea in your gut. You sighed.

“Well, this sucks” you announced bluntly. “Lockwood and Lucy aren’t even in London at the moment. How do we get out of this? Ghosts I get, but people are crazy.”

“Ghosts were people, too, remember” George teased gently.

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see your face.

“Okay, smartypants” you retorted. “The live ones are crazy. The others didn’t exactly have a pleasant picnic in the park with the Winkmans, did they?”

George winced in memory. 

“At least there’s no electric chair” he replied, glancing around the concrete cell you both woke up in.

“That we know of” you mumbled.

“Well, aren’t you a bright spark today?”

“Shut up, Karim. This situation does not make me happy.”

“You’d be mad if it did.”

“You don’t happen to have a knife, do you?”

George thought about it for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“A penknife. Right pocket” he told you.

You felt your face grow warm at the prospect at fumbling around in his pants pocket, but steeled yourself and shuffled around until you could kneel at his side, leaning down to wiggle your bound hands as deep as they could fit in his righthand pocket. Your fingertips brushed something cold to the touch, but it slid just out of reach. You grunted in annoyance and pressed harder, George wriggling uncertainly under the force.

“Just a couple more seconds...” you breathed, closing your eyes and grinning in triumph when your fingers closed around the tricky object.

You struggled to flick the penknife open to the correct tool, grasping it awkwardly in your tied hands, before setting the sharpened blade to the twine tied tight around George’s wrists. You sawed as quickly as you could, right down to the last layer, at which point, you stopped and he snapped it easily, letting the twine fall to his lap. He held his hand out.

“Here” he said. “I’ll do yours.”

You let him hold your wrists loosely with one hand while he cut with the other, trying to hide what you were certain must be glowing cheeks. Once your wrists were free, George sliced through the bindings around your ankles before moving on to his. Then he pocketed the penknife again and helped you to your feet. They felt weak and unstable, but you could walk and that was better.

To your surprise, George reached out and hugged you, his hands rambling over your back in an attempt to soothe; oddly, it actually worked. You felt yourself relaxing against him, nestling your head on his shoulder.

There was a sudden grating, scraping sound and you lifted your head, not letting go of George. Half expecting to somehow see Lockwood appear in the gap left by a suddenly open door, you were nevertheless relieved to see Kipps standing there instead. He raised his eyebrows at you and George in an embrace.

“Well, took you two long enough. You’ve been pretending you’re normal about each other longer than Tony and Lucy!”

George dropped a hand from your back and took hold of yours, leading you past Kipps with a quick nod.

“Appreciate the rescue, but do keep your comments to yourself, thanks.”

[ausrache]

Hearings of the Dead Cosmos — The Living, Beating Heart Pt. 2 ( Mali Companion Quest Pt. 2 )

"This is . . ." Choking upon an exhale, Mali stutters. "This is the place." An abandoned IPC vessel? Yet the Emanator does not respond, instead only moving forward. No matter where you went, where you looked — Everything was littered in cobwebs & creaking. Not an ounce of electricity ran through this vehicle. It must have been dead for ages. As your eyes searched for Mali's figure within the darkness, you spot her walking into a small room. A large seat was placed within the middle, multiple non-functioning gadgets lying around and . . . were those cuffs at the armrest?

An interrogation room.

You watched as Mali's black nails trace along the metal bars of the seat. She had that familiar look upon her face — The one where she seemingly was a million miles away. "I was sat right here." And without much hesitation, she actually would sit down. Her features softened, ruby eyes gazing at you with the look of a tiny animal. It was as if you were looking at another version of the emanator. "I still remember everything . . . How I was brought here."

"Zero One Six. One of the last living natives of Alpha Zedara and allegedly connected to an attack that has led to thousands in loss." A younger Mali sobbed, tears streaming down her face whilst she seemed to curl into herself. She wanted to be tiny. To disappear from those harsh gazes & yet, she couldn't. "I'm sorry! I-I . . . It's just so loud . . . I-It's always so loud when they speak to me." A pause, the person from the shadows seems undeterred by the sight. "Interrogation starts now."

Mali's face drops, she does not seem interested in wanting to speak. "Let's leave." Her voice cuts through the silence like a knife, features sharpened once more. "This place is dead, anyways."

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

I’m sorry, but you know you can’t upload another piece to Alford Plea and not expect me to barge into your inbox like it’s not already my home and give you a sentence by sentence report. I mean, i am legally married to it and you did officiate the wedding.

Like an actual goddamned vision, he leans against the wall, still in his chef whites (with sleeves sluttily folded up to his forearms now that service is over, like he knows you like) and completely silent.

SLUT!! No but I can just picture this and it’s perfect 🤤🤤🤤

The most aggravating man in the world and you still want to jump his bones when he looks at you like that.

Ugh!! I’ve never heard anything more true

Ah’m gonna head off—oh!”   It’s Soap.  Of course, it’s Soap.  Who else but Johnny would save your life in this godforsaken kitchen that was run by the actual devil.

I literally squealed!! I love Soap in this series ❤️ my little pot wash 😍😍😍 I’m so happy to see him make a return!!

“Erm…I—I don’t know, bonnie.  You, uh,” he hesitates and his eyes quickly flick to Simon before they come back to yours. “You’re a good friend and ah’love you.  But he pays m’wages.  And the two of ye’re screwin’ so—”

I do not blame soap… not in the slightest but damn no help at all? Traitor!

You do as he says, taking off layer by layer of your clothing.  When you’re done, he stands in front of you with a small smile.  “Beautiful,” he whispers.  “Such a gorgeous girl.  And all mine, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you agree.

“Say it.”

“I’m all yours, Simon.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and you feel your breath stutter in your chest.

When I tell I just melted 🫠🫠🫠 I love him so much!! I swear!!!! He just knows exactly what to say 💕

Simon Riley’s not a man who smiles a lot.  Being with you may have made him soft and a fool in love, but every one of his shy, dimpled grins are so special, so unique, that you feel like you need to earn them.

OMFG!! Dimples!!! I am weeping! I need to see it!!

I loved this piece! I hold it close to my heart with the rest of the story 💕 Every little window into their lives is precious and I savor every one, I think about them often! About going out to their restaurant and seeing what it’s like, what they’d serve. About being a fly on the wall in the kitchen and listening to their heated banter. About what it’s like when the kitchen closes down and it’s just the two of them, packing things up and going home together. When they go home in the evening and decompress from a stressful shift and when they wake up early in the morning just to head back in and start up the prep 💕 chopping endless piles of parsley and tomatoes and onions but they do it together and that makes it all bearable.

I’m sorry, I know I’m rambling, I just absolutely adore these two and their story. Your story.

Anyways… I love you and your writing and I’m grateful for every piece. You’ve got a gift bestie and you’ve gifted us with sharing it. I’m smacking a kiss to your forehead 😘❤️🫶

Babygirl 💕💕💕 ILYSM! And just for you, ONLY FOR YOU, here's a little something. You wanted a sneak peak into what goes on in Simon's kitchen during the mornings when they're together starting prep? You got it!

Takes place during their early early days of dating — not quite in love, but kissing the seams… 

***

It's quiet, but you know intimately of this kind of quiet’s transient nature.  You focus on the soothing, familiar motion of your knife on the chopping board, while he stands behind your station, methodically sharpening his knife.  The only sounds in the kitchen are the low, electric hum of the walk-in, the wet whooshes of his knife moving down the body of the whetstone and your constant chop chop chop of the seemingly endless bunches of parsley in front of you.  

It’s a crisp morning, not quite warm in the kitchen yet but…you’re glowing from the inside.  It’s him.  The cosiest jumper you own and the spiciest hot chocolate you’d ever had doesn’t even start to compare.  His presence warms you from the inside out, and it’s strange to dwell on it for too long, making you feel like the ground under your feet’s been swept away and you’re falling, falling, falling.

When he walks past you, his arm brushes yours, and it’s ridiculous, the speed with which your heart takes off in your chest.  You stand in front of an open flame for a living and still, your cheeks have never been warmer, all from that one action.  He’d loved you for hours the night before—and you him—and still, your heart tries to beat out of its chest at that single touch, maybe the most innocent one you’ve both shared.  

But, oh.  He freezes for a moment when the back of his hand makes contact with yours too, and you wonder if he feels what you feel.  Warmth and electricity and a gentle, insistent voice in the back of his mind whispering yes, this is right, this feels so right, doesn’t this feel so right?

You take a deep, shaky breath and try to bring your attention back to the herb in front of you, vividly green and curly and fragrant and—

“Coffee, love?”

To your utter embarrassment, your breath sounds shaky when you exhale.  When you look up at him, he’s too close.  Clouding your mind and your judgement and god, you want to kiss him.  You want to feel that sharp jaw under your fingertips and his slightly crooked nose against the side of yours, and that shudder in his spine when your tongue touches his—

“...love?  Coffee?”

“Yeah.  Please.”     

You want to chide him for pulling you out of your daydream.  If you can’t make it a reality, then he should’ve left you to it.  But then he smiles, one of those rare ones, with those dimples on display, and his fingers graze your cheek and then he walks away.  You’re not in love, you tell yourself.  It’s too soon.  But if falling in love with Simon is a peak to conquer, then you’re convinced you’re afflicted with summit fever.  

[theminecraftbee]

HE WAS GOING TO PULL OUT THE HAIRS INDIVIDUALLY?????

look we went from:

massive hunting knife (he didn't actually use that because he is not a pizza)

crayola safety scissors

actual craft scissors

mustache trimmer (or possibly sharpener, unclear)

electric trimmer (which he doesn't actually know how to use because he normally uses a straightrazor)

badger's spare razor

are we REALLY surprised tweezers were on the rotation?