#leather hem armchair

[allonsyblue]

San Francisco Great Room Ideas for a mid-sized transitional great room renovation without a fireplace and with white walls

[lunarw0rks]

Hello I wanna request some Valeria SMOOT cuz I'm down bad for cartel mommy. A short fic abt Valeria fucking the absolute brains out of you to the point of being dumb and squirting everywhere

warning(s): nsfw (18+), exhibitionism, overstim., dom/sub, degradation/praise, val's purple strap strikes again, humiliation, squirting, fem!reader

MAKING MESSES | VALERIA GARZA

overbearing bass, candlelit lighting, constant chatter; surrounding the two of you. the noise of nightlife is muffled by the oversized doors, still original to way before your time — almost an irony compared to the modernized club they’re housing.

it wouldn’t matter either way. your ears were ringing. every gasp, every whimper, every mutter into your ear echoed and fizzled into the noise.

her pink nails dug like needles into your hips, guiding every rut onto her strap. valeria lolled in the leather armchair, leaning back and enjoying the show you were giving her. she paid no mind to the risk, how patrons could be a hair away from hearing or seeing you two.

it was her club; her place. and you were fucking hers. anyone who had a qualm about that? they never stuck around long.

she controlled everything, every single body roll. your cunt clenched tight around the violet silicone, swallowing its entirety. “sigue adelante, nena. so fucking desperate.” she spits out her words, relishing in your whimpers. they echo off the stucco walls, likely carrying all throughout the hall. “desperate whores should get nothing. but not you. riding me out in the open like this.”

your bottom lip seeps a bit of blood from how harshly you had been biting it, pathetically failing at silencing yourself. it wasn’t any use when you’d already finished twice, leaving a milky ring around the base of the strap. your wetness dribbled down the slick shaft, soaking onto her cargo pants.

the night dress you wore, pulled down at the top to expose your nipple. it might as well be her own personal stress toy — to lap, squeeze, pinch, and slap as she sees fit.

it was pure luck that none of the clubbers had rounded the corner. if it were up to valeria, she wouldn’t skip a beat. the buzzed onlooker getting a surge of jealousy when they ogle your bouncing body; hem pulled up to expose your bare ass as it jiggles. or the drip of your pussy, messily and audibly being stretched out.

your head dips down, getting a rush of fatigue from the physical strain. if it weren’t for her harsh hands, you were sure your grinds would be nonexistent. with precision, she outstretches a hand and grips your jaw, forcing eye contact. “eyes up. you don’t get to tap out after teasing me, cariño.” valeria patronizes.

if you were of sound mind, perhaps you would’ve agreed. not wearing panties was a risky move; as risky as riding her in the dim hallway. but she always packed — that violet temptation just a zipper away.

you felt yourself plunged into another high, mewling against her palm as you climaxed. she locked in, both hands returning to your hips as she drove you down faster. this was your most intense orgasm yet; eyes rolling and body shivering.

pleasure pumped through you as violently as the strap, a warm gush messing all over her lap. you had squirted, proving that the sticky mess before was nothing. “mierda… mi putita, so messy.” valeria groaned lowly with amusement, as if she had climaxed herself.

“we aren’t done.” she leaned in close, showing the forced grinds to a stop. you had no choice but to believe her — and valeria always stuck to her word.

a toy being used on a toy <3

a/n: this is so bad... | ⊹。°˖➴ divider cred. - cafekitsune

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Guilty as Sin? - Chapter Four

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, fem masturbation, things get very flirty for a second, reader deals with the aftermath of chapter three, brief mentions of SA (from chapter three), the story's getting good babies!!!

word count: 4.1k

series masterlist

“Make yourself comfortable,” Javier said, leading you into his office—not the one attached to the lecture hall that you’d been used to visiting this week, but his real office. The walls were a shade of walnut with crown molding around the ceiling, bringing a very sophisticated and gentlemanly feel to the space. In front of his large wooden desk were two leather armchairs that matched the same tan leather of the large sofa pressed against the wall closest to the door. Along two walls stood ceiling-high bookcases that were so crammed with texts that they’d begun to stack up. 

“Fancy,” you noted, a smile tugging at your lips as you watched him unpack the contents of his leather messenger bag onto his desk; his laptop, then a portfolio, before finally pulling out his phone. A strange pang of jealousy laced with curiosity hit you. What secrets did that small rectangle hold? How many lovers did he have on speed dial? How many memories of his past were hidden away in his camera roll? You longed you know him half as well as that tiny device did. 

“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” he smiled, sitting down in the large swivel chair at his desk with a humph. 

“You, uh, you’re sure no one will snoop on us?” you asked, dragging your fingertip along the spines of the books as you studied them. 

“Not at this hour,” he said, clearing his throat. “Although maybe it’s best if we weren’t completely alone.”

“I trust myself not to do something stupid.” You shrugged, shooting him a playful, almost taunting look from over your shoulder. “Do you?”

Javier bit lip, shaking his head at you before letting it hang, a breath of amusement escaping him. “I suppose we’ll see.”

You decided to leave it at that, not quite ready to test those waters given the events of the night. But one day—maybe tomorrow, maybe ten years from now—you’d like to see just how stupid he could be over you. “Guess I’ll just leave you to it, then.” 

You could feel him watch you as you made your way to the couch, your skirt riding up as you sat down on the plush leather. You caught him staring as you tugged at the hem, but Javier quickly turned his eyes back to his screen the second you met his stare. 

“There’s a blanket and pillows in the closet over there,” he said, clearing his throat for the millionth time tonight. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, standing to walk over to the coat closet near the door. Unfortunately, the blanket and pillows were on the highest shelf, and even with your heels on you’d have to stretch to reach it. Given the fact that your ass was already threatening to make its debut, you decided to enlist the help of the man who put it that high in the first place. “Would you mind?”

“Oh,” he blurted, once again being caught staring. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“You’re fine,” you breathed out, your heart beating out of your chest as he strides towards you, his eyes locked on yours. Once he was close enough to warm you with his body heat and that whiskey-warm cologne of his, you stopped breathing altogether. Keeping his eyes locked on you as you stood beside him, he watched you watching him, watched the way you all but panted at the sight of his arms flexing, watched the want in you skyrocket into dangerous territory. 

“Here,” he husked, his voice suddenly rough and heady as he held the basket out towards you. 

Your eyes carefully trailed up his strong hands to his forearms, his chest to his neck, his lips to his eyes. 

“Just gonna keep me waiting?” he teased, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. No, there was no amusement to be found in those rain-soaked soil brown eyes, only a challenge. 

But if he truly believed you’d be the first to act on whatever tension this was, he was sorely mistaken. 

Grabbing the basket, you offered him a cordial smile. Teasing. Taunting. “Thanks, Professor.”

Javier nearly groaned at the title but caught himself, although the reigned in sound of pain still registered for you, bringing a proud smirk to your face as you turned to walk back to the couch. 

Javier seemed to gather his wits, quickly turning back to his desk with a grind of his jaw. 

“So what did you do before this?” You gestured at his desk, at the papers he was grading. 

“Couple things,” he said, a sigh slipping from his lips as he sat down. 

���Secretive,” you teased, biting your lip as you made yourself comfy across the couch. “Did you practice before you became a professor?”

“No,” he said, reclining in his chair as his eyes lifted to meet yours. “You’re not gonna stop asking until I tell you, are you?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

He laughed, soft and honey sweet. “Out of high school I worked at the Sheriff’s Department in Laredo.”

“That’s where you’re from?” 

“Mmhm,” he nodded. “Got my bachelors in criminal justice while I was there, then I went for my PhD.”

“Then you came here?”

“No,” he replied, stroking his mustache in consideration. “I, uh, wanted to do more. Make a change and all that. So, at twenty-eight I decided to join the DEA. Did four years with them, then decided I’d seen enough death for a lifetime and came home. Helped my dad with the ranch for a year while I figured my shit out. Then I found myself here, telling nosy TA’s about my life.”

You smiled at his playful jab. “Was that plural? Should I be jealous?” 

He laughed again, sighing as dramatically as he could. “You’ve gotta stop.”

“Sorry,” you said, not feeling sorry at all. In fact, it felt empowering knowing that you could have such an effect on a distinguished, intelligent, decent man like Javier. 

The room fell silent for a few minutes, Javier’s typing and occasional sigh the only sounds to be heard. You stared up at the ceiling, tracing the lines of the wooden ceiling squares while trying to find any reason not to walk right over to his desk and present yourself as a midnight snack. 

Of course, there were reasons. Good reasons, if you were being honest with yourself. Beyond the fact that Javier was your professor and that a relationship between the two of you, if discovered, would certainly end in an expulsion from the Law program, you weren’t sure who he was beyond the intoxicating persona he’s chosen to show you. 

Was he just as bad as the rest of the men your age? Had he learned from his past and became a better man? A better partner? 

Judging by the fact that you were, as he claimed, the first student he’d ever been interested in, you could at least say that he was a man who understood boundaries. But was that all it took? Had the bar truly gotten so low that all you asked for was a man who knew when to back off? 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you blurted, causing the typing sound filling the room to cease, a tense, pregnant silence taking its place. You turned your head to look at him, finding him already watching you with a quizzical look in his face. “Just…curious, I mean.”

“No,” he said your name, “I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

“Mm,” you hummed, turning back to the ceiling. “You a cheater or something? Workaholic, maybe?”

He chuckled. “Not a cheater, but maybe the second thing has a little to do with it.”

“So you don’t...sleep with—“

“Dangerous territory,” he warned, tutting his tongue. 

“How am I supposed to decide whether or not I want to fuck you if I don’t know anything about you?” you asked, giving him a playful smile. Javier didn’t look amused. In fact, he looked near the end of his patience. 

This made his next few words all the more shocking. “Guess you’ll have to figure that out on your own. Now, will you please sleep so I can focus on my work? You’re distracting enough without all your questions.”

“You’re really not going to do anything with me, are you?” you asked, turning so that your back was facing him. It was bad enough you felt the need to be so honest with him about your feelings, you didn’t need to look at him while you did it. 

“Go to sleep,” he muttered, soft and full of care. “I’ll wake you up before the sun rises.”

Javier stayed true to his word, both the wake up call and his not touching you. At five in the morning, you let him escort you out of the administration building, both of you careful to keep an eye out for any potential witnesses to the very mild crime of having spent an eventless night together in his office. 

“What’re you gonna do about the whole roommate situation?” he asked, covering up a yawn. Poor guy likely hadn’t slept all night, but thankfully it was the weekend. Plenty of time for him to rest and do whatever it was that he did with his free time. You just hoped those plans didn’t include some beautiful woman in his sheets. 

“Don’t know,” you shrugged, tugging the blanket he allowed you to keep tighter around your shoulders as he walked you to his car. “Might try and get a place to myself. It’s about time. Lived with them for four years now.”

“Mm,” he nodded, opening the passenger door for you. You slid into the seat carefully, not wanting to flash him. Javier leaned against the open door, his tired eyes looking oh so boyish. “And for today?”

“Just gonna try and make it through,” you managed, feeling a lump form in your throat at the thought of running into Derrick. Or Alondra. Or even Nina, really. He studied you for a minute, so long that you wondered if perhaps he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open. 

“You remember asking me if I trusted myself not to do something stupid?” You nodded. “How would you feel about spending the weekend in my guest room while you figure out a place to stay?”

Your lips parted, eyes bouncing between his own to find any sign that this was some cruel joke. But he was serious. That expectant look in his eyes the proof. 

“You don’t have to, of course,” he added, looking down at his shoes. “But I could help you find a place. I have a friend who runs a complex near campus, she could get you set up before Monday if I sweet talk her enough.”

Great. Female friend of his in need of sweet talking. Just what you wanted to hear. 

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted, jealousy turning you cold as you turned away from him. 

“I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine,” you snapped, shedding the blanket around your shoulders and tossing it in the backseat. “You can keep your blanket too.” 

“Did I say something?”

“No,” you said. “Just…I’d like to go home.”

Javier took a beat to move, that time likely spent trying to figure out how your mood had shifted so quickly. He seemed to come up short as he gave in, shutting your door softly before making his way into the driver’s seat. 

He didn’t speak the entire drive and neither did you. Instead, the soft lull of classical music played on the radio, cushioning the tension a bit. When he pulled into your complex, he finally dared a glance. 

“What did I say?” he asked, a pleading tone to his voice. “Did I…make you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean to assume or overstep—“

“This female friend of yours sounds great,” you chided, giving him a forced smile as you opened the passenger door. “Maybe you should spend your time worrying about her.”

You didn’t give him time to respond as you made your exit, almost slamming the car door on your way out. You hurried into the building you’d called home for so long, suddenly feeling like a stranger there. 

The feeling only worsened as you reached your floor, the sound of music and laughter filtering out from beneath the front door of your apartment. You weren’t sure what hurt more, losing this place and these people or knowing that they hadn’t even noticed you were gone. 

But none of that mattered right now. You had to go inside, had to shower off the night, had to prepare yourself for a long weekend of apartment hunting and packing. You couldn’t cling to the good memories anymore, at least not the ones involving Derrick. And if Nina and Alondra decided they believed his story and not yours, well, then you’d have to find a way to forget them too. 

You unlocked the door with a deep breath, kicking off your heels by the shoe rack as you tiptoed into the apartment. Nina and Alondra were having what looked like a dance party in the living room, but stopped dead in their tracks when they noticed your presence. Quickly, though, they looked over your shoulder into the kitchen. Derrick. 

“Hey,” Nina started, her tone careful as she turned down the music. “We were worried about you.”

“Yeah, looks like it,” you said, forcing your tears to wait until you were alone to spill over. 

“Hey, can we, uh, talk?” Derrick asked, his footsteps coming closer to where you stood. You tensed at his presence, his cologne only reminding you of last night. He dared to try and put his hand on your shoulder, causing you to step away from him with a glare. “C’mon,” Alondra pleaded, “he’s trying to apologize.”

“Apologize?” you snapped, turning your eyes to meet theirs. “Do you have any idea what he actually did, or are you guys happy believing his side of things?”

“It wasn’t like I fucking tried to do anything,” Derrick snapped, pacing the room like he had any right. 

“Didn’t you?” You chuckled darkly. “Fuck you, Derrick.”

“He was drunk,” Alondra interjected. 

“Being drunk doesn’t negate the fact that if he had it his way, he’d have done a lot more than grope me last night,” you said, eyes now brimming with tears. “But you guys don’t give a shit. Not when he pays for all the spring break trips and covers your ass when you can’t make rent. Not when he has connections you guys want. No, you’d rather side with a fucking creep than me because the only thing I have to offer you is friendship. So both of you can kindly fuck off as well.”

They called your name but you refused to turn around as you made your way into your room, locking the door once you were inside. Crumbling to the floor, you allowed yourself fifteen minutes to cry before it was time to get your shit together. Fifteen minutes to mourn the last four years of your life. 

Finding the first shitty studio apartment in your budget that had a short-term lease in case shit ended up hitting the fan—again—was relatively easy. Moving out proved to be an entirely different obstacle. 

Having only one day to pack your shit up and leave was hard enough, but having Alondra and Nina constantly chiming in with how unnecessary they found the whole ordeal made it unbearable. 

“It’s literally not this deep,” Alondra said, carrying a box of your clothes down to the moving truck you’d rented for the day—even when you insisted she didn’t. “Like I don’t get it. Were you just looking for a reason to dip, because you could’ve just said that.”

You said nothing because she didn’t deserve the energy it would’ve taken to tell her to shut the fuck up. 

“We love you, hermanita.” Nina pouted as she waited by the moving truck. “We just don’t get it.”

“I know,” you muttered, breezing past her to load the last of your things into the truck. With the metal door shut and locked, there was nothing else keeping you around, no reason to endure this special kind of torture. “I guess I’ll see you guys around.”

Nina whined your name. Alondra rolled her eyes. You didn’t give a shit about either reaction, choosing instead to lift yourself into the cab of the moving truck without another word. 

Besides, what did you have to say to these women who chose to side with a manipulator like Derrick?

The first night in your own place was spent unpacking and trying to catch up on assignments. All those movies fooled you by glamorizing independence with their takeout boxes and solo dance parties in pajamas. The reality looked a bit more harsh. There were no takeout boxes, just an empty fridge and a half-eaten bag of chips to sustain you. There was no cathartic sing along in a matching set, just a concerning amount of sobbing in old tattered sweats. 

Still, you couldn’t help but feel a silver lining of hope in the dark cloud that was your loneliness. 

You’d never have to share a bathroom again or complain about the loud music your roommates insisted on waking you up to every morning. You were free to sob and to wear the ugliest—and comfiest—clothes you owned. You were free to fill your kitchen with food you liked without having to worry about taking up too much space. But most importantly, you were free to finally use that vibrator you’d bought for yourself sometime during Freshman year that you’d never had the courage to test out with three other people around. 

And what better way to distract yourself than by making yourself feel good? 

Slipping into the bed that you had disassembled, moved, and then reassembled all in the same day, you tugged the pink rabbit eared toy from beneath your pillow and turned it on, its soft purr filling the room. You bit your lip, shimmying out of your sweats before making yourself comfortable against the pillows. Taking a deep breath, you held it against your bud, testing the sensation and allowing yourself to acclimate to it as your mind conjured up a fantasy to whisk you off into. 

Of course, there was only one fantasy floating around upstairs these days. 

That beautiful man and his beautiful eyes peering up at you from between your thighs. This time you were seated on his desk, his strong hands holding your thighs open as he kissed his way along your inner thigh, teasing and sinful. A soft moan slipped from your lips as you imagined him placing a feather soft kiss to your clit, a playful smirk growing on his lips at the way your body shook with desperation. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, imagining his tongue flattening along your seam, his deep groan vibrating against you. 

Your thighs shook from the image, your end creeping on you faster than it ever had before. You imagined yourself burying your hands in his hair, holding him against your cunt as he took his time relishing in both your taste and your pleasure. And when fantasy Javier moved to slip his fingers inside of you, you saw stars. Throwing your arm over your mouth to drown out the sound of your choked moan, you came to the thought of your professor sucking your sweetness off his fingers, his dark eyes locked on yours. 

Monday signaled the start of a new week, one that meant deadlines and quizzes rather than the simple assignments that your professors dealt out during the first week back. You navigated through your day without the irritating presence of Derrick following you around, though the fear of running into him surely hadn’t left you alone as much as the man himself did. But it still shocked you how little life seemed to change, how unaffected you were by the loss of your “friends”. 

You’d expected there to be some longing for Nina and Alondra, some yearning to make amends just to have them back, but there wasn’t any. In fact, you’d been the most productive you’d ever been without their constant distractions. In between Dr. Brown and Dr. Arman’s lectures, you managed to complete a few of their assignments and finally start prepping for the Bar Exam—something you’d been putting off thanks to Nina convincing you you had plenty of time. 

All that was left in the day was facing Javier—no, Dr. Peña. That’s who he had to be from here on out. 

Finding a spot near the back of the room, you hoped to blend in with the crowd. Nina and Derrick were seated a few rows ahead of you, both of them taking calculated glances at you as the room slowly filled, though you pretended not to notice. 

Dr. Peña’s arrival caused everyone to quiet down as usual, though you couldn’t help but notice he lacked his usual confidence. 

Perhaps he was exhausted after spending the weekend inside of his female friend. 

“Afternoon,” he said, dejected and monotone. “Today you’ll all be working on—“

You watched as he scanned the front row with a look of concern before doing the same with each row. You shrank in your seat, hoping that the six-foot-something guy in front of you was tall enough to shield you from his view. When it appeared that you’d gone undetected, Dr. Peña clearing his throat before picking up where he left off, you allowed yourself to relax a bit. 

“I’m feeling a bit under the weather so I’m going to have you all complete the guided notes to today's presentation on Homicide,” he said, taking his seat at his desk. “Once you’re finished, please bring your papers up to the front and then you may leave.”

Fuck. 

You thought you were in the clear, but no. Now you had to walk up to him, look him in the eye, and pretend you hadn’t gotten off to him the night before. 

You were quick to finish the assignment, though it took you up until the end of class to finally muster the courage to take your paper down to him. With only ten or fifteen people left in their seats, you decided it was now or never. You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder before braving the steps down to his level. He hadn’t looked up, not until you were standing in front his desk. 

He spoke your name with a hint of shock, his tired eyes softening a bit as he looked up at you. “I didn’t see you earlier.”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, swallowing down your nerves as you held your paper out for him to take. 

Except he didn’t. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, keeping his voice hushed. “Did you…get everything sorted?” 

“Yep,” you nodded, wagging the paper in front of him. “Will you take this so I can leave?”

“Would…would you mind coming to see me during my office hours?” he asked, finally taking the paper from you. “I’d just like to apologize.”

“You don’t have to.” You shrugged, giving him a forced, but polite, smile. “So if that’s all—“

“Office hours,” he repeated, this time with a bit more command than before. “Please.”

You considered him for a moment, but there was no chance of you turning him down. Not with those fucking forgive me puppy dog eyes. “I’ll think about it, Dr. Peña.”

He looked wounded by your formality, though what did he expect from you? He said nothing could happen between the two of you, and he was right. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by another student lining up behind you to turn in their paper. “I’ll see you at office hours.”

“Maybe,” you replied, forcing yourself into coldness as you breezed off and out of the hall. 

There was one thing keeping you standing at this point, a pink, rabbit eared thing that carried the weight of your entire sanity. It beckoned you home—to your home. One you got all by yourself, one that offered you a safe place to break down if you needed it. And with the weekend you just had, boy did you need it. 

[biteofcherry]

I know it's far away and you don't have to reply but dark mafia Steve with pregnant reader.

It's definitely far away. Princess has a contraceptive implant for now 🤐

Buuut, if I entertained that idea at the moment... dark mafia!Steve Rogers with his Princess pregnant would look more or less like this:

When Steve smiled indulgently, you barely restrained the urge to hurl the bowl at him. You didn't do it mostly because you really wanted to finish your cereal.

"You can't keep me here!" You growled around another spoon of cereal.

"I'm not keeping you here, you're living here." Steve moved past you, fingers brushing along your bare hip.

"You know what I mean," quickly stuffing another spoonful into your mouth, you trotted after him into his home office.

You ignored the fact he was fully dressed, leather jacket draped over his arm, having returned from some shifty morning meetings while you were barefoot, in nothing but a pair of panties and a tank top.

Tank top that stretched around your rounded belly, the hem rolling up and revealing a stripe of skin.

"Pregnant women go to work every day, doing much more straining jobs than I do." You rounded Steve's desk, crossing arms over your chest; but since it made your already bigger breasts almost spill out, so you dropped your arms down.

"They sure do," Steve nodded, reclining in his armchair. "But they're not my pregnant wife."

"Oh, can I divorce you then?" You smiled sweetly, clasping your hands.

Steve's responding grin was as much a hungry shark's bite as it was soft fondness that was messing with your mind. Or it used to mess with it. After a year of being in Steve's clutches you grew accustomed to the dark tendrils of his twisted charm.

Accustomed was a better word than...

Big hands settled on your hips, rough callouses (which you knew were from holding weapons and yet it didn't deter you from his touch at all) grazed your sensitive skin.

Steve pulled you between his spread thighs. With his thumbs he rolled the hem of your tank top further up.

"Try me, Princess," Steve looked up at you, then moved his hands to the backs of your thighs.

He squeezed them and then yanked you up and over his lap in a swift move. That he was still able to manhandle you easily was scary. You were also kinda excited to see if he'd be able to do it in a few months, when you're really heavy.

"I want to work," you pouted.

You grasped the back of the chair. Your grip hard, transferring your need to grind against Steve and instead needling the leather with your fingernails.

"You can work all you want." Tip of Steve's nose trailed up the column of your throat, his warm breath in its wake. "From home. Where it's safe."

"And where the cornflakes are," he added with a chuckle.

[tadpolesonalgae]

smoking sesh with feysand turned smut, feyre usung her firemagic to light up a blunt and it becomes a smoking circle turned to sex when reader blows smoke into rhys or feyres mouth😟

Hi! Thank you so much for your request! I’m slowly beginning to work my way through these, and Take A Hit[*] will be going up today at 19:00 (England) 🧡����

Warnings: smut, oral, mirthroot

‘ Feyre gives you a singular look—it’s all you need to come to an agreement. Then she’s shifting from your lap, the two of you standing. Your High Lady pushes her palms to his chest, guiding him back to an armchair, lightly shoving him so he sits. You follow lazily behind her, sliding to your knees between his legs, leaving for a little space to crawl forward. Slowly. Sultrily.

Violet eyes twinkle with interest, Feyre walking round to be behind her mate, arms sliding down his chest, running her fingertips beneath the hem of his leathers. Already you can make out the shape of his arousal, making your skin burn with heat. “Feyre finally manage to persuade you, huh?” He drawls, a slow grin spreading across his mouth as you slot yourself between his powerful thighs. Eyes lock as you lower to his crotch, teeth clasping the ties, pulling the already loosened knot out. ’

‘ Moaning softly, you suction your mouth to the intimate skin of his abdomen, flicking against him, putting your marks into him. Rhys groans roughly, no doubt exchanging bets and other filthy words with his mate, discussing what to do with you. How to most enjoy the night.

You move to the trail of dark hair, kissing down until you again have to peel his clothes from him. Salivate at the sight of him, long, thick; appetisingly hard. Moisture beading at his tip. Eyes flutter when his grip roughens on your hair, hand fisting his cock, holding you just out of reach of him. Whimper to get his attention, but Feyre’s already leaning down over him, sliding the blunt back between your lips. ’

[degloved]

some

some scott tibbs content mayhaps??

a confession: i have never even so much as approached the scott tibbs side of the fandom, however, i am so determined to do all these that i really, really wanted to try. even if i'm flying by the seat of my pants here, a little bit. hope i didn't disappoint!!

also, my first crack at writing adam. a lil intimidating altogether, but yknow. expanding my horizons and all that.

‼️SAW REQS STILL OPEN‼️

Adam's apartment wasn't all that different from his own, Scott concluded as he took stock of his surroundings. Cramped, a little decrepit. To say lived in would be… very generous.

In not so many words: a shithole.

Maybe that was why he felt right at home. The thought brought a wry little smile to his face, brief. Chased away before it had the chance to stick.

"Shit, man, take a seat. You want something to drink? I've got some… well, I've got something," Adam chuckled, a little awkwardly.

Scott rounded the couch, picked an armchair to plop down into. Observed Adam's constipated little expression with great interest.

"Just water. Thanks."

"Right. On it."

Scott was a curious guy by nature, and in the interest of practicing kindness towards oneself—thus not suppressing that very nature—he let his eyes roam. They lingered on the brand-new set of throw-pillows carefully fluffed up and meticulously arranged along the saggy leather couch, the odd book haphazardly left on the coffee-table here and on the TV stand there (some thick ass tomes they were, too, and—alright, call him an asshole, but he never would've taken Adam, the dude that had fought tooth and nail through middle school English, for a connoisseur of… medical literature, by the looks of things.)

Was that a pair of reading glasses perched atop the suspiciously stocked bookshelf?

The clank of ice-cubes against glass was the harbinger of Adam's return; extremely tentative steps were taken toward the sitting area in an effort not to spill the sloshing liquid.

Notably, he set them down on… coasters? Scott had to do a double take, there.

But, yup, sure enough. Two matching coasters. Pastel.

"Huh."

Adam's head snapped up, eyes landing on him. Scott let the moment stretch, absentmindedly rubbing his faintly-bearded chin.

"Well, what?" Adam's voice betrayed impatience. (Still easy to rile up, then.)

"Y'know, I never was one to put much stock into that whole…" he waved a hand through the air, gesturing vaguely, "line of logic your friend Jigsaw's got going on."

Adam tensed.

"All that stuff and nonsense 'bout change and rebirth—or whatever the press like saying these days. Walk into a game some… lowlife piece of shit, walk out enlightened. Or whatever the fuck." Scott sat up, leaned forward, "But maybe he's got a point."

"Scott, I swear… I mean, cut that shit out, man. S'not cool. Really isn't." Adam looked this way and that, eyes inexplicably flickering towards a particular closet by the front door. His fingers twitched, tugged at the hem of his sleeve.

"Hey, don't get all spooked on me now," Scott chuckled, "All I'm try'na say is, all my life I've seen you use a damn coaster exactly once—when my Ma asked you to, the first time you came over. Ended up such a hassle, she ain't ever ask you again." He cleared his throat, engaging a pause for dramatic effect, "And now you're setting them out on your own volition."

Adam snorted, though didn't appear very amused just yet. "You're losing me here, dude."

"My point is," Scott rolled his eyes, tossing a significant look Adam's way, "It's really not about the coasters. Your dump's full of shit that doesn't belong in a dump. Shit I know you didn't bring into the dump. Doesn't look like you've got a live-in, though."

"I don't," Adam stated, firm, though was quick to add: "Any kind. I don't, point-blank. Maybe I'm expanding my horizons here, reading up on interesting shit, you don't know me. You haven't seen me in… what, four years? Five?"

Scott had to roll his eyes, politeness be damned. He'd never heard a dumber sentence. Which was saying a lot, because… "I've known you since diapers, moron. Four, five years doesn't take away from having spent the first eighteen of our lives joined at the hip. Don't lie to me like I'm your damn dad. Jesus."

"Whatever, man," Adam sighed, took a careful sip. Scott regaled him with another completely warranted eye-roll.

Though he did cut him some clack thenceforth, easing away from that (apparently) sore subject—and all others of that nature, which Adam certainly wasn't short of—in favor of engaging in some pleasant mutual reminiscence and casual small talk. Slightly-mind numbing, past a certain point, though Scott supposed he mightn't be too hard on him. Not much time has passed since… well. That unfortunate event that might've changed the trajectory of his life. Wagered Adam would speak on the matter when ready.

They frittered away a couple of hours in this manner.

Honestly—Scott would swear up and down—he really did think he'd be able to let the sleeping dogs lie. Truly.

...but maybe the sight of an old hickey, unfortunately revealed by Adam's ill-timed tug at his sweater's collar, stirred something a little mean in him.

Before the other could get halfway through a 'bye, then', Scott made the executive decision to press him up against the doorway, hands dipping down the back pockets of those ratty jeans, noses bumping. He didn't kiss him. He might yet, if the circumstances call for it. As it was, he was still close enough to feel Adam's breath, warm against his upper lip.

"Scott… hey, listen," Adam gently shoved against his chest, successfully putting a mite more space between them, "We can't- it's not—"

"No? That's a first, coming from you."

Adam flushed, a pretty crimson stretching from his neck up. "I just… okay, I don't- well, it's just—"

Scott backed off, a smirk playing about his lips. Gotcha. "Give your boyfriend my best."

Having left Adam sufficiently speechless, he bounced.

[vamp-domme]

Choose Your Own Gothic Horror Adventure: Part V

You think your options over for a minute as you stare out the window, looking out over tree-lined hills and forbidding mountains under a piercing blue sky. They all have their perks, but you like the idea of having some time to yourself to look after the library, and you secretly hope Lady Midnight might be a frequent visitor.

"I think I'd like to be a librarian," you finally muse.

"Okay!" the girl replies, clapping her hands in excitement. "I'll let one of the daughters know, and when you're feeling better, I'll take you to the library." She gives you a warm smile. "I'm Olivia, by the way."

Her excitement is infectious, and you reply with your name, after which she leaves, promising to come check on you later. You have plenty more questions, but you feel a bit too woozy to ask them, and it feels more comfortable to just lie down and look out the window.

It takes the better part of the day for you to recover, between the blood loss and the exhaustion from the prior night's events, and your light-headedness only begins to pass as night again falls over the castle. Olivia checks on you throughout the day, bringing you food and showing you around the east wing, where your room is located.

The next day you visit the library, on the first floor of the north wing. It's a large room the size of most people's houses, its shelves stuffed with books from floor to ceiling, complete with step stools to reach the highest volumes, along with plush sofas and tables with plenty of candelabras to read by. A cheery hearth sits at the north end of the room beyond the mazes of bookshelves, surrounded by comfy armchairs and tables. Near that is the small room where you work, an old pine writing desk stuffed full of ledgers notating each book and its current whereabouts dominating the room, along with a small window.

You spend quite a few days just getting to grips with your new position - there are blessed few instructions written by previous caretakers, so you often find yourself making things up as you go. While you tried to avoid being a cleaner, cleaning the library itself still falls to you, as well as ensuring the books are undamaged. There are all kinds of volumes spanning countless genres, though none are more than 50 years old, and you imagine the lady of the castle likely keeps her own private collection somewhere.

Fledglings, a term you quickly learn applies to yourself and most of the other residents here, often visit the library, reading and checking out different books to entertain themselves when their chores are finished. Most of them are your age, though some are older, and they tend to view you with quite a bit of interest, many of them sharing Olivia's excitement in welcoming the new arrival.

You begin to settle in to your role, though you seldom catch a glimpse of the enigmatic Lady Midnight, who keeps to her own nocturnal schedule and sometimes seems not to be within the castle at all.

After a week has passed, you find yourself studying a manual on book binding by candle light, hoping to fix up an old sewing manual that needs your attention, when you hear the doors to the library open and shut, followed by the click of a bolt sliding into place.

You get up and pass between the shelves, but when you reach the door, you find it's not only shut, but locked.

"Hello?" you call out, feeling a bit nervous. "Is anyone there?" You pace through aisles of books, but no one lurks there, only the shadows that creep in through the windows and the occasional pop of the low fire in the hearth.

"I have fond memories of this book." You whirl around to see Lady Midnight in the chair you just vacated, the old sewing manual in her hands. She wears a tight black dress fringed with lace, its hem ending well above her knees, every voluptuous curve of her body on full display. Her legs are crossed one over the other, and she wears high leather boots over tight black stockings, and you realize you've never seen her in something this revealing before. She regards the book with an air of melancholy, her dark eyes poring over its pages almost lovingly.

"It was brought to me by a housewife who was on the run after poisoning her philandering husband," she continues wistfully. "She learned true love within these very walls."

You take a few steps out of the aisles, until you're standing near Lady Midnight in the lounge. "What happened to her?"

The lady sighs. "She died, as all mortals do." She sets the book down and stands up, crossing the room toward you. "It appears you've settled in to your new role quite well." She eyes you up and down, and you can see a hint of something dark in that gaze.

"Y-yes I have," you reply quickly. "You have a beautiful library here, and I'm happy to take care of it."

She takes a few more steps forward until she's positively inches from you. "Beautiful, mm? You have quite the way with words, darling." She takes a strand of your hair and curls it around her index finger. Her hands are pale and delicate, with sharp nails painted dark red.

"T-thank you, my lady." It feels miraculous you even managed to reply, as you feel yourself shrinking in her presence. Everything about her threatens to overwhelm you, and it feels like all of your senses are on fire.

She takes your chin in her other hand and tilts your face up toward her. You feel yourself falling into her gaze again, but after what happened before, you try desperately to keep your composure.

"Tell me, darling," Lady Midnight begins, her eyes deep pools of scarlet. "Do I frighten you?"

Previous entries:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

[vibratingskull]

Strip tease

Ar’alanixFemaleReader

tags: some sub innuendos, nsfw hinted at the end

You gulp trying to steady your breathing in the dark of your room, you try to place yourself in the middle and strike a pose. 

The music starts and with it the undulation of your body, you don’t put on the light yet, knowing full well the female chiss in the armchair, also just in her undergarments, could see you without it. You first play with the veils of your laced babydoll; you know she loves this color on you, you’ve chosen it specially for her viewing pleasure.

You swing your hips in rhythm, your hands above your head, you spin on yourself and grab the remote control and slowly put the light on, revealing the plumpness of your body to her eyes.

Silently, she observes, stern and cold, she occasionally brings her wine to her luscious lips and you trace your own at the tip of your fingers like you desperately want to taste them right here and there. As she looks at you, you feel the fire ignite in your body and soul and decide to let go of everything.

You make quick work of your babydoll with a grin, wetting your lips with your tongue as you untie your hair and let them fly freely with your dance. You jump, spin, cross and uncross your legs, grab your bum and breasts, let your hands roaming on your body, you whine and gasp, calling her name licking your finger as you look at each other. 

You never felt more beautiful than under her gaze.

You see her inspire as you put off your bra straps and let them slide on your skin, you unhook your bra with and throw it to her with a kiss. You grope your breasts and knead them with pleasured whine; you expose them proudly to her. Then it’s turn for your panties. You let your hands caressing your body as they reach the hem of your undergarment, you play with it, hooking its sides with your fingers. You swing and balance your hips to slide it down, and you shove it to the side with your feet and a joyful laugh.

You are having so much fun right now.

Without cutting eye contact you drop on all fours and slowly walk toward her, you take her ankle, kiss it adoringly, you then lick your way up a crossed leg with a guttural growl stopping at the hem of her panties, her nails dig into the expensive leather. Rising your head and your body you take her glass and sit astride her lap, you put butterfly kisses on her breasts and trail up to her neck and her jaw. You kiss the tip of her nose and take a sip of her wine with an insolent look, you gently tilt her chin and kiss her deeply, allowing her to quench her thirst at the fountain of your lips. 

You separate short of breath and her hands come to wrap your back.

“I am pleased to see you’re in great form tonight, let us see how long you can last.” She softly speaks, grinning.

@bluechiss

[stelly38]

Another snippet from the fic that’s in progress.  

I hope I will be ready to start posting in the first third of the new year.  Fingers crossed.  

In the stacks, Ross sees her legs first.  Long, smooth, shapely, and crossed at the ankles, they’re bare, save for a pair of navy leather heels, and they go on for days.  He tilts his head to see around the side of the library shelf and notices that the mystery lady’s skirt has ridden up a few inches above her knees.

Demelza is tucked into one of the chairs in the library, absorbed in the book on her lap.  It’s a big, comfortable armchair, stowed away in a little corner on the second floor, at the end of an aisle in fiction.  She’s decided to do her homework for her Intro to Professional Writing class at the library this Friday evening. The place should be deserted, with most folks already beginning their weekend partying—no one studies on Friday nights.  A few students wander through, pausing to pull books from the shelves.  It’s early yet; the library will be open for another few hours.  She turns the page of her book and moves her hair back on her shoulders.

She’s sitting quietly, underlining passages in the book with a pencil.  There’s a free-standing sign displaying a poster for study carrels at the end of Ross’s aisle, and it obscures his line of sight.  He can only see as high as her lap from where he’s standing.  She shifts in her chair and he straightens up quickly and glues his eyes to the book spines on the shelf in front of him.  She hasn’t seen him.

He pulls out a book, flips it open, puts it back on the shelf.  He wonders what kind of panties she’s wearing, if they’re plain cotton, or something else.  Trying to clear his mind of the imagery that’s taunting him, he turns up the next aisle  and follows the author names on his search for the titles he’d come to pick up.

A page rustles, and immediately, the image of her legs appears, vivid and alluring, in his mind.  He inches closer to the end of the aisle, and stands so that he can see who owns the legs.  It’s his red-headed pupil, Miss Carne, and the realization of just whom he’s been ogling causes him to blush like a school boy. This is the one who has challenged him, called him ridiculous in front of his other students, the one who isn’t fazed by his bluster.  It seems he is no longer in charge of his eyes, and he glances at her again, at the flawless pale expanse of her legs, stretched out before him.

She clears her throat and he flicks his eyes up to settle on her deep green ones, staring back at him.  Her expression is unreadable, but she colors subtly when their eyes meet.  Ross nods to her, but she doesn’t break eye contact.  Instead, she shifts slightly in her chair so that she’s facing him, and uncrosses her ankles.  The new position causes her knees to part slightly.  He follows the elegant line of her legs up to the hem of her skirt, and then meets her eyes again, which are still pinned on him.

Suddenly, he looks away, embarrassed to have been caught, and flustered at his reaction.  Her movement was so subtle, he can’t decide if she was flirting with him, or if it was a coincidence.  He busies himself with the books, hastily pulls the two he’d been seeking from the shelf, and walks past her toward the stairs, on the way to checkout.  

[decorworks]

10 Easy Pieces: Chrome Framed Lounge Chairs

From Le Corbusier to West Elm, here are our 10 favorite lounge chairs bolstered with a sturdy chrome frame for industrial appeal.

Above: Designed by Gianfranco Frattini in 1970 and reissued through Tacchini, the Sesann Armchair is made in Seveso, Italy with hearty upholstery and a chrome frame. Contact Spartan for price and ordering information.

Above: The Desmond Chair features an exterior metal frame and slouchy cushion that is GreenGuard certified; starting at $719.20 from West Elm.

Above: The original chrome frame lounge chair designed by Pierre Jeanneret, Charlotte Perriand, and Le Corbusier in 1928 is the LC3 Grand Modele Armchair designed with a tubular frame and leather upholstery; $6,760 at Design Within Reach. Consider looking for this model on vintage sites from 1st Dibs to Chairish and more. Additionally, LC2 Petit Modele Armchair is $5,244.

Above: Designed by Faye Toogood in collaboration with Hem, the Puffy Lounge Chair, shown in Natural and Stainless Steel, is $3,359 at Hem.

Above: Ellison Studios’s Chromeo Chair, shown in Sorrento Corduroy, has a Bauhaus-inspired chrome frame and is often paired with the Chromeo Ottoman. The chair is $2,895 at Design Within Reach.

Above: Likely borrowing inspiration from the Faye Toogood design from above, the Orren Ellis Amielia Upholstered Armchair comes in cream or black sherpa for $1,719.99 at Wayfair.

Above: Designed by Ronan and Erwan Bouroullec for HAY, the Can Lounge Chair features a chromed steel frame and various colors of canvas upholstery; £1,799 at Twenty Twenty One.

Above: The West Elm Nina Leather Chair features a simple, gentle curve in polished stainless steel and leather or vegan leather; $1,039 to $1,449.

Above: Designed by Copenhagen-based Kristina Dam Studio, the Solitude Lounge Chair takes inspiration from the Bauhaus movement and is upholstered in coarse-woven Italian bouclé; $2,995 at TRNK.

Above: Paulo Mendes da Rocha’s Paulistano Armchair is made from a continuous 17-foot-long piece of solid steel and sling seat; $2,316 at Design Within Reach. For more favorite lounge chairs see our posts: - 10 Easy Pieces: Puffy Lounge Chairs - 10 Easy Pieces: Canvas Lounge Chairs - 10 Easy Pieces: Sheepskin Lounge Chairs - 10 Easy Pieces: Leather Sling Lounge Chairs - 10 Easy Pieces: Wingback Chairs - 10 Easy Pieces: Leather Club Armchairs Read the full article

[glitterdustcyclops]

theodore fox, the witch of the woods

this is a lil snippet of a thing i was polishing up today, from a story about a grumpy reclusive witch who, through Contrived Circumstances, ends up binding a familiar to him. that familiar turns out to be a pretty catboy with green eyes. homosexual shenanigans, as always, ensue.

“Yoo-hoo!” came a bird-chime call through the open window, loud enough to startle Theo into dropping his pestle.

He knew that voice. Mirabelle.

He’d been so focused on his work he’d missed the ringing of his wards; his land regretfully knew Mira as friendly enough not to raise a true alarm, and so he hadn’t noticed the more subtle tug meant to alert him to an approaching guest. Theo sighed, rolling his eyes impatiently as he swept up the spilled nettlethorne pollen back into his mortar and quickly wiped his hands on the hem of his apron. It wouldn’t do to get the pollen all over a visitor, even one as intrusive and obnoxious as Mirabelle.

She let herself in through the front door of the cottage but a moment later, whistling merrily, her dust-covered worn leather boots stomping onto his doormat as she did.

“Hullo Mr. Archie!” she sing-songed at him, laughing heartily.

Theo pragmatically ignored her calling him the entirely wrong name, and instead gave the cottage at large a weary sigh before meeting her at the doorway to accept the basket she proferred in her other hand, bursting with the bounty of her garden. She gave him a playful little wink as he took it, but at least she had finally learned not to try and offer him a kiss on the cheek as well. Though it was a near thing. Instead, she shut the door behind her and moved herself over to side of the cottage, bustling about his little kitchen, filling the battered copper kettle with water from the tap and then setting it back on the stove to boil, whistling away as she did. She hadn’t even asked first—of course she hadn’t. That would invite Theo to refuse, and then she would simply ignore him anyway.

Such were the ways of one Mirabelle Larkley.

She was a strange creature, roughly humanoid in form, with skin the warm brown of a fresh fawn, dappled with odd patches of creamy-white around her mouth and nose, along the tops of her shoulders and her elbows and knees, the hint of her belly that peaked through her blouse occasionally. Her face was heart-shaped and pretty—as she had explained to him often enough—with round, full cheeks and a pointed little chin, all dusted with a cinnamon sprinkling of freckles. Her eyes were clever and brown and constantly glimmering with mirth, while her hair was the exact shade of clover field, and when it was left down it felt nearly to her waist in a wild tumble of corkscrew-curls. Though for the most part she kept it pinned up and out of the way in two small knots on either side of her head—all the better to show off the hand-painted wooden sunflowers dangling on metal hooks from her knife-pointed ears. Every spring she sprouted a new pair of small antlers, only to shed them by summertime, and it was this season when Theo was most in danger of her constant interruptions, as she sought the particular healing salve he’d perfected to help ease the pain of her annual eruption.

Mirabelle Larkley was one of the Fae that dwelled in this realm, and for some unfathomable reason, she had taken it upon herself to befriend one Theodore Fox, reclusive Woodswitch, whether he wanted it or not.

“Got some good stuff for you this time, love,” she was saying as she helped herself to the crusty loaf of bread he’d baked that very morning, left-half eaten on the counter. She sliced off thick wedges of it before slathering them in his butter and his honey, arranging it all on two of his chipping ceramic plates without so much as a “by your leave sir” before she carried it all, along with two steaming mugs of steeping peppermint tea balanced expertly in her hands, over towards the small wooden table between two lovingly over-stuffed green velvet armchairs that waited in front of the hearth on the far side of the cottage.

Theo did not remark upon this either, as he set the basket she’d handed him down on his work table and went to join her.

“The hollyhops are doing really well now, so we’ve got lotsa those, and of course your usual bundles of sage and lavender and nightshade, and I sweet-talked the moonthistle into letting me take a few pods, I know you said last time you were running low,” Mira continued explaining, even though Theo hadn’t asked.

He watched her with an unwelcome sort of fondness as she took a large bite out of her hunk of bread, and blew on his own mug to help cool it.

“Thank you,” he managed after a moment, with less grace than he thought he should have. He was still reeling from her interruption, and even besides that, he really had never been gifted overmuch with anything approaching charm, even in his best moments. And yet, despite how overbearing Theo often found Mirabelle’s constant too-cheerful presence in his life to be, he was appreciative of some of the benefits it brought. Namely, reliable access to some of the rarest magical specimens known in this realm, the ones that were so hard to cultivate few mortals were foolish enough to try. Certainly Theo didn’t have the patience or bravery to keep a [magical plant scientific name] alive.

Wasn’t it terribly ironic, then, that while Theo mostly found Mira to be heedlessly rude and annoyingly chattery, she was, he could grudgingly admit, rather splendidly gifted when it came to nurturing all the magical bounties of this particular forest. It almost outweighed the aforementioned tendency towards chattery-ness. Almost.

“So anyway, did you hear? The bees told me—you know the blacksmith of Greenlark Village, down yonder? His wife is having an affair with the butcher’s wife, and both of the men are plotting actual murder about it.”

The non sequitur threw him.

“The bees told you,” Theo replied, flatly, before he could hold his tongue.

Mira nodded emphatically, giggling as she did. “Yeah! You know, they say all sorts of interesting stuff, if you can listen. Bees just know all the best secrets!”

And she winked at him then, with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. Right. Of course Mirabelle Larkley could talk to bees. Why should Theo expect anything less?

[maintenanceindubai]

Best Furniture Covers in Dubai: Protecting Your Investment with Style

When we furnish our homes, it takes a lot of time and money to create spaces that are reflections of who we are and provide the necessary comfort. With regards to keeping our furniture looking like new for as long as possible, it’s not an easy task especially in busy cities like Dubai where dust, sand, and occasional spilling is part of life. High quality furniture covers come into play in such cases; they help them last longer while adding elegance to your interior.

Dubai, which experiences extreme heat conditions occasionally accompanied by sandstorms, necessitates the protection against sunlight damage and accumulation of dust on your furniture pieces in order to maintain its durability. Investing in the right type of outdoor furniture covers will preserve their beauty for many years to come thus preventing fading scratches or spills regardless whether you have deluxe leather sofas, delicate upholstered chairs or sleek modern tables.

Why Are Furniture Covers Necessary?

Sun Damage Protection: Over time, sun rays can bleach fabrics out and cause wood warping under the intense sunlight found in Dubai. You can prevent harmful UV rays from reaching your pieces by using furniture covers as shields which increases their lifespan.

Dust Prevention: Where there is desert climate such as Dubai’s, there is obviously accumulation of dust and sand within houses. This is possible through use of furniture covers that keep off dust hence making cleaning easier plus maintaining cleaner air for your family member at home.

Spill Control: In homes where children or pets are kept it means accidents will happen one way or the other. If this happens over your upholstery instead use a protective cover that may either be washed easily removed thus avoiding any permanent stains hence maintaining actual condition your settee was bought in.

Preserving Upholstery: Spills, pet hair or simply normal wear can damage upholstery be it soft silk cushions or plush velvet armchairs that one owns. Your upholstery will look pristine with the furniture covers providing another line of defense.

Enhancing Aesthetics:Outdoor Furniture covers in dubai have more than just practical uses since they can also improve how attractive the interiors are designed. Having a variety of styles, colors and fabrics these can perfectly go together with your existing décor and make your room look elegant.

Choosing Appropriate Furniture Covers

Some of the factors that you should consider in selecting furniture covers for your home in Dubai include:

Material: Choose materials that are tough enough to withstand Dubai’s harsh climate. Polyester or nylon would be ideal for outdoor furniture due to their water resistant properties while cotton or linen can be used indoors as they allow air to circulate freely.

Fit: Search for covers which fit your pieces well by ensuring full coverage and protection. Tightening strips or elasticated hems will ensure that the covers remain secure even during windy weather conditions.

Functionality: Go for those ones which are simple to clean and keep like stain resistant, machine washable fabrics plus others having quick drying abilities. Moreover, buy those with ventilating vents allowing air movement so as to avoid molds developing.

Style: Make sure that you choose something which goes along well with what you already have in terms of décor. Based on whether classic solids, modern prints or rustic textures is your choice there are many alternatives available according individual preferences and tastes.

Dubai's Best Furniture Covers

Outdoor Sofa Cover with Waterproof Fabric: Made from strong polyester, coated with a waterproof substance, this cover will protect your outdoor seating from the sun, wetness and dirt.

[mackenzieturtle]

Yep

📑

Broadway in Capitol Hill, Seattle, Washington is a vibrant and eclectic neighborhood known for its lively atmosphere, diverse community, and rich arts scene. Let's imagine a young married couple strolling down Broadway, surrounded by the energy of this unique area.

Setting: A Sunny Afternoon on Broadway

The sun casts a warm glow on the bustling streets of Capitol Hill. The air smells of coffee, creativity, and

the promise of adventure. The couple walks hand in hand, their fingers intertwined—a silent promise of companionship.

The Couple:

1. Ella wears a vintade-inspired floral dress, its hem swaying with each step. Her round glasses perch on her nose, and her hair is adorned with a delicate flower crown. Ella's style is a blend of whimsy and nostalgia, a nod to the past while embracing the present.

2. Liam, her husband, contrasts her with his edgy alternative fashion. His dark jeans are ripped at the knees, and a leather jacket hugs his shoulders. Tattoos peek out from under his rolled-up sleeves, telling stories of rebellion and resilience.


Their Conversation:


As they walk, Ella clutches a well-loved copy of "A Court of Thorns and Roses"-its pages dog-eared and spine cracked. She stole a glance at Liam, wondering if he'd ever read it. The fantasy world within those pages had consumed her, and she longed to share it with him. longed to share it with him.

The Bookshop:

They pause outside a charming independent bookstore. The sign reads "Whimsical Words" in swirling letters. The window display features stacks of books, fairy lights, and a cozy armchair. Ella's eyes light up, and she tugs Liam inside.

The Cozy Corner:

Inside, they find a nook by the fireplace. The crackling flames dance, casting shadows on the exposed brick walls. Ella settles into the armchair, her book open on her lap. Liam perches on the armrest, watching her with a soft smile.

Whispers and Laughter:

They share snippets from the book, their voices hushed. Ella blushes when Liam reads a particularly romantic passage aloud. Other patrons glance their way, but the couple is lost in their own world—a bubble of warmth and shared secrets.

The Magic of Capitol Hill:

Outside, the city pulses with life. Street musicians strum guitars, and colorful murals adorn building facades. The scent of street food mingles with the promise of rain. Ella and Liam hold hands, their wedding rings catching the sunlight.

Epilogue:

As the sun begins to dip behind the skyline, they leave the bookstore, hearts full. Ella slips her book into her bag, and Liam wraps an arm around her shoulders. Together, they continue their journey down Broadway, weaving through the tapestry of this vibrant neighborhood-their love story entwined with the spirit of Capitol Hill.

Note: The characters and setting are purely fictional, inspired by the lively streets of Capitol Hill and an epic, actual love story. ;)

[julietookoff]

February 2024 Annual Update

February 2024 Annual Update

Remarkably, the RV hasn't sold yet, even after a price reduction. It has been sitting on the consignment lot for 2 years. Corny runs the generator monthly. We've replaced the headboard and added 2 Ikea chairs. When it sells, we plan to get gutters and screen-in the back patio.

I did sell all the Yugi-oh and Pokemon cards for about $600. We also did well on a $400 leather sectional and a $250 grill/smoker. We bought 3 units at one facility in August and both about died of heat exhaustion.

I went solo to the Bamarama Mega event (GC9TB1Z) February 2023. I had a great time and kept busy with daily events - sometimes twice a day. I tented at Gulf Shores State Park and enjoyed the sound of the gulf waves and the woodsy bike trails. At one point I noticed a camper next to me was that kind of person who spreads all their stuff out on the picnic table. After dark, I woke up to a ruckus and figured raccoons were raiding their goodies. I never opened my eyes, but it sounded like the raccoons dragged the neighbor's stuff right next to my tent to eat it. In the morning, my tent was unzipped about 8" and my cheese was gone! The little rascals know how to unzip tents and lift up cooler lids! It was a little unsettling that they/it was right next to me in my tent. I made sure to have the zipper pull up high from then on. I found a local grocery store I loved, Rouse's, with lots of good take-out food and a dining area with microwave. Their lawn chairs were so cheap I brought one back for Corny.

Shorty paid cash for a house in a college town in northwest Indiana. He got a charming old fixer-upper for a steal of a price. It was built in 1911 and has the original wood trim and door hardware. He's replaced the roof, furnace, water pipes, added a toilet downstairs and done tons of stuff I can't remember. Work keeps him busy and there's lots of overtime. We went up to see him in August. I crocheted edgings on some housewarming washcloths and gave him a cross stitch of his house. We walked to Bruno's Pizza, Allie's cafe for a "polish", 7-11, Family Dollar and a chinese place. We found a Cane's, Ben's pretzels at the mall, and an Amish buffet - Das Essenhaus in Midland. We came back for Thanksgiving. Corny had just installed a diesel heater in the van. It snowed a couple days and got down to 16 degrees. It sounded like an army marching on the roof for 14 hours when Shorty had the roof done. We made ourselves useful and put plastic over his windows. I gave him a Granny square quilt for Christmas and started a camo quilt for my Dad's birthday.

Dad's afghan

Aurie's napghan :0)

We stopped at the Barn and got my bread machine and sewing machine out of storage. We're making good use of both. I've hemmed a lot of pants and made some things I can't talk about yet . . .

My bedroom walls kept getting bigger and more bare, so finally I hung some tapestries by my bed and 8 Walter Alois Weber bird pictures I took out of a vintage book.

I placed about a dozen geocaches near home - Red Ends: A bison tube cable-tied to a red-diamond sign where the pavement ends. Before long, a Low-life with No-life glommed onto them and kept armchair logging multiple fake finds with multiple fake accounts. For fun??? I started archiving them after deciding finding is much more fun than maintaining geocaches.

Medically, I have been making good use of a diet pill, a CPAP, and a hip injection. I had been limping around in pain for the last few years, avoiding as much walking as I could and taking 600mg of ibuprofen 2-3x per day. After the shot I was off the pills and could walk again! It's been 5 months and just now starting to wear off. Corny got me an awesome Trek bike for Christmas. I love - love - loved my Raleigh Eva, it fit so well, but it was a little tough on my forearms. This was even more comfortable! I was crying after my test ride!

Beacon 12 Theaters is just down the road, a mile or so from home and has $6 Tuesdays. They also have free drink refills. I take a few Taco Bell items and see 3-4 movies every few weeks. Speaking of tacos, me, Corny and Shorty all got taco passes: a Taco Bell taco every day for 30 days for just $10. We only missed a couple days. Shorty works right next to a Taco Bell. He also got a nacho fries pass, but we figgered it was too unhealthy for us at our age. We watch the "Drops" every Tuesday for good deals. One Tuesday they had a "Live Mas" blog-type show to talk about their new chicken items. I was just poking around and clicked on a bell symbol at the very bottom - and found the secret free "Cravings Menu Pass". Corny and I were 2/1000 nationwide to win our 30-day passes for a cravings menu item. I'm hooked on the $2.99 nachos.

In September we 3 took a van trip to Georgia to work on geocaching in every county. Poco wasn't loving it. He would hardly eat. Then he started to hesitate getting into the van. When he got in and immediately jumped back out, we got the hint that he wasn't feeling well and headed home. He does great on a straight highway, but when we start doing a lot of turning he must feel carsick.

My little Piggie died :0( I thought she would outlive her life expectancy since I spoiled her so much with fresh veggies and timothy hay, but no. I miss her. She is buried next to Dolly.

In November we had a "clean out the garage" yard sale and made about $1600 ($250 of that was vintage game stuff). We sold a mountain of clothes for $1/bag. Afterward we made 5-6 trips to Jericho thrift store to donate the leftovers. Corny is enjoying the garage. I got him two big shelves for Christmas. He loved them so much, he got two more. He installed a garage door opener and racks for the rakes, shovels and hoses.

Oh yeah, and we got married since we're nearing social security age.

Life is Godd! We fit out.

[power-fantasies-inc]

Murderer-for-Hire The full death experience! Features:

Your choice of demise (violent, peaceful, even a mix of both).

Sedation by a trained anesthesiologist, to create the sense of nothingness.

Optional transportation, while under sedation, to one of these partner resorts: the closest Earth can get to Heaven. (Resort tickets can be booked on your behalf upon request.)

Bonus “disappearing act” package for assistance with change of name, nationality, and more. Best choice for those desiring a reincarnation fantasy. (Submit an inquiry form for information about pricing options.)

If a knock on a door could sound like an apology, that was the knock that came to mine just after sunset one Tuesday night. That would be my last appointment of the day, beginning at 8pm.

I stood, checking the time once more on my wristwatch as I strode across my office towards the door. I liked to open the door precisely when the second-hand hit 12.

When I did so, the man who stood outside straightened immediately, from a slouch to a… partial slouch. The shortness of his stature wasn’t entirely in his poor posture: even if he’d actually stood straight, he would still have been about ten centimeters shorter than me. His long hair, which I noticed and appreciated first, appeared golden, in a way that suggested it was reflecting the color of the overhead lights. His skin was porcelain, tinged pink by the undercoat of blood in his capillaries. Even his dress was muted and subtle: salmon-orange, with a gentle pattern of yellow tulips.

“Good evening,” I said, at about the same time as the man at my door said “Good morning.” I raised my eyebrows slightly—that’s an odd definition of ‘morning’—but nevertheless stepped aside to usher him in.

He walked into my office slowly, with an admiring gaze that traced every surface. The opposite wall from the entrance was all one window, presiding over all three floors of the space. The first floor, where I met with guests, was furnished by leather couches and armchairs, glass coffee-tables, and black metal lamps whose golden light reflected in the window’s glass. The contents of the upper two floors, mezzanines accessed by spiral staircases which bordered the atrium on three sides, were visible through their balustrades. The walls were inset with bookshelves: my extensive library. The second floor contained books mostly for pleasure, and so housed comfortable armchairs and daybeds in which to read. The third floor, by contrast, contained mainly reference manuals and records, so the furnishings were sparser. The most comfortable chair was the one at my desk, from which I liked to look down on the city while reviewing paperwork; it stood just beside the window in the left-hand corner. My guest glanced up at it, as he walked through the room, spinning slowly. I wondered if he was deducing that I’d received his emails from that desk.

Eventually, he seemed satisfied with looking around, and turned back to me. Looking for a cue. “Make yourself at home,” I said, and gestured to the surrounding furniture. I always let clients take their pick of seating.

He sat on one of the couches, and immediately toed off his shoes to sit cross-legged. He folded his hands in his lap and began fiddling with the hem of his skirt. 

I took the armchair across from him, crossing one leg over the other. 

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he said. Now that we weren’t talking on top of each other, I picked up on an accent; subtle, but distinctive. Russian. I’ve always loved Russian accents.

“Gladly,” I replied smoothly. “I apologize if coming in person was an inconvenience. I’ve found that video calls aren’t as personal as physical meetings, and the purpose of this is to get to know you personally.” I grinned at him. “So, why have you come to see me?”

“Your website was intriguing, but had very little detail.”

“Are there limits on how you can kill people? Or, pretend to, I mean… You can’t really stab someone…”

“I can really stab people, actually. Just not to death. I’m a well-trained medical professional; I can suture wounds and administer transfusions. There’s a reason I asked for your blood type on your intake form. If you’d like that,” I leveled him with a meaningful look, “it can be arranged.”

“So it’s always murder, then,” he said, head tipping down slightly. It seemed he wasn’t ready to talk about himself. “You wouldn’t just… arrange a death. Even if someone wanted to die peacefully.”

“I do sometimes arrange deaths,” I contested, “if that’s what my client prefers. But, even among those I do this for… nearly all of them prefer to have me there. I’ve been told my presence is comforting. It’s the usual bedside manner.”

“Sorry… What is ‘bedside manner’?” He smiled apologetically. “I’m not a native speaker.”

“Would you be upset if I said I could tell?” I smirked, hoping he would take the comment as-intended. 

He did. A rosy flush bled into his pale cheeks. His head shook, slightly.

“The accent sounds authentic,” I overexplained, while appreciating that blush—then caught myself. “A bedside manner is the affect you see in good doctors and nurses; that sense of compassion.”

He nodded. “Thank you.” 

“How do the police react to this? I can’t imagine you haven’t been questioned.”

“I have. An uncomfortable number of times. In fact, just last week, I was interrogated by the FBI.” Unstated: clearly, they didn’t find anything, or else I wouldn’t be here.

The man processed my unstated words just as though I’d said them aloud. He nodded. “What did they think of you?”

“Most of them were confused. Heavy BDSM like this is quite outside their typical mundane purview, so I’m used to looks of disgust. But I don’t always get those. Sometimes, I awaken something in people. One of the first men to investigate me is now a repeat customer.”

“Really.”

I shrugged. “This is a surprisingly common fantasy. What’s uncommon is admitting to it.”

“‘Fantasy’,” he repeated after me. “So, this is a sex thing.”

“Some of my clients do get off on it,” I replied equivocally. “But that’s not my primary purpose. I don’t have sex while doing this.” 

He nodded slowly. Glanced up at me, briefly—and in that moment I thought he might ask me how much I would charge to fuck him. I was of half a mind to tell him I’d do it for free. But he didn’t say that. In fact, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, a glossy sadness in his dark eyes, and was silent.

That was too much not to ask after—and this was, after all, meant to be his interview. “You’ve been asking me a lot of questions,” I said. “While that is a common response to nerves, I didn’t bring you here to talk about myself. I brought you here to learn about you. So, tell me. Why are you here?”

He flinched immediately, crossing his arms to close himself off. Staring down at the coffee table, or the reflections of blue-tinted ceiling lights on its glossy black surface, he started to rock back and forth. He remained this way for some time. I watched as his breathing grew labored, as his facial muscles twitched through the mask of calm. Eventually, he said, “I’m sorry.” His voice was weak, labored. “This is an… emotional subject.”

“That’s completely understandable,” I said, in my best therapy voice. “Take your time.”

“One reason is, I feel that my life is… a loop. The same day repeats over and over again. I am Sisyphus. I want something to change, I want something different to happen. Another reason… I am afraid of everything. Every little thing that happens in my life scares me. I don’t have a phobia of being murdered, specifically, but…”

I nodded understandingly. “You feel like going through something so dramatic could put the rest of it into perspective.”

He pursed his lips, and for a moment I thought he was going to correct me, but it quickly became clear his mind was somewhere else entirely. I waited, allowing him to think, but also glanced at the dim digital clock at the far end of the table. 8:49. We had only eleven minutes left. After a long silence, I asked leadingly, “Anything else…?” 

“I’m lonely,” he replied. 

I waited, once again, for him to elaborate. But as the long seconds passed, it became clear he wasn’t going to.

Finally, he looked up pleadingly. “Are those common reasons?”

“Yes,” I replied instantly. Both because it was true, and because I wanted to offer this young man some closure; a sense that he wasn’t alone. “All of those are common. Especially loneliness.”

I’d hoped that this comment would invite him to explain more, but his reticence was impenetrable. He just looked at me, patiently, like a student awaiting instruction from his teacher. 

So I took the role assigned to me, and explained. “It’s much the same way a lot of people confuse love with sex, and try to sate their loneliness with prostitutes. Many people confuse this relationship with something more.”

“There is something very intimate about violence,” he said, completing my thought.

I tried to look into his eyes, but he wasn’t looking anywhere near me. “Yes,” I said, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. “There is.” 

“We’re nearly out of time,” I said, “but I have one more question I need to ask you before we wrap up, for now.”

“Hm?” he asked, looking up at me.

“If you had a choice…” I lowered my voice. “How would you like to die?”

He drew in a deep breath; tension hardened his features. A thin line of brightness appeared at the edge of his eyelids. “I…” he started—then he blinked, erasing the highlight along with his tears. His voice steeled. “I’ve always been partial to being strangled.” He was staring directly into my eyes, making me feel oddly exposed. “But also, I would like to give you some… creative freedom.”

It was my turn to break eye contact, this time. I glanced out the window, and imagined what that might entail. “Creative freedom…” I echoed his words. “I’ll think about that.” 

He nodded, acknowledgement plus approval.

I stood up, and ushered him towards the exit. “It’s been very nice talking with you,” I said, slathering on the charm even though I didn’t need to. “I appreciate your time.”

“Thank you,” he replied, sliding his hands into his pockets. He stared at the floor in front of him as he walked, as though he were expecting someone to trip him.

I stared all the while at his pale throat, envisioning my hands wrapped around it. 

We reached the door. “I’ll contact you again shortly,” I said, one hand on the door handle and the other in my pocket, so he wasn’t tempted to try shaking my hand. “Until next time, take care.”

“I will,” he said as he left. When he was out of my office, he turned around and offered me a tentative smile. “Have a good day.”

I didn’t show how much I was taken aback by his innocent kindness—or at least, I tried my best not to. I simply smiled, and said, “You too.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Frozen Through.

Pairing: Yandere!Pantalone x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Implied Financial Abuse, and Unbalanced Power Dynamics.

If you had to guess, you would’ve probably said this was one of Pantalone’s favorite pastimes.

Both of you inside of his office, the door shut but unlocked, a fresh layer of frost tracing patterns into the dark windows. Him in his armchair, half-turned away from his desk, and you standing in the center of the spacious room, your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes cast sternly towards the flawless marble floor. This outfit was new, but clearly styled to align with his old preferences – the material sheer and black, designed to draw tight around your chest and waist before falling loose, forming a flowing skirt that fell just low enough to make your stockings (nearly too thin to actually be counted as clothing at all) seem… well, not appropriate, but functional, should he decide he’d rather show you off than keep you to himself. A corset clung tightly to your midriff, grey roses and snowflakes embroidered between visible spine, and while the sleeves reached to your fingertips, you found it difficult to be thankful for the coverage when they started equally as low, hanging while below your shoulders. All of it on his demand, of course. Just to make sure you'd lost as much of your dignity as possible, by the time he saw you next.

There were accessories, too, but you’d stopped paying attention after sapphire-studded cuffs were forced onto your wrists, after a strip of lace was wrapped around your neck so tightly, it still bit into your throat with each passing breath. It all blended together to you, the diamond necklaces and the fur-lined coats, the silk blindfolds and the leather harnesses. All of it was the same, more expensive than anything you’d ever able to afford and more gaudy than anything you’d ever want to. All of it made by the most talented craftsmen, of the highest quality materials, for no purpose other than holding his oh-so-demanding attention.

All of it so fine. All of it so impersonal.

All of it so, so incredibly cold.

You dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, doing what you could not to shrink into yourself. Your only reward came in the form of a breath of a chuckle, a cheek resting against curled knuckles as he leaned back, as he inspected you with the same frigid greed he’d show to any of his countless, priceless possessions. But, if there was anything that didn’t meet his impossible standards, it failed to warrant commentary. He only smiled, that patronizing smile he loved to use on you, just a little too tight and a little too wide to ever be anything more than condescending, Just a little too artificial to make you feel anything but frozen, even under all the luxuries he piled onto you.

“Don’t be shy, dear.” His tone was soft, smooth, polished to perfection. “Twirl for me.”

You grit your teeth, dropping your hands to the hem of your skirt as you turned as slowly and as robotically as you possibly could. For all that he’d given you, shoes had apparently slipped his mind, and the cold seemed to seep into the soles of your feet like water slipping through the cracks of a fractured iceberg. The hearth wasn’t lit, nor did anything you were wearing do anything to actually hold in what little heat you were able to salvage, a decision you couldn’t help but think might’ve been made with something other then benign intent. It was hard to keep yourself from shaking, from wanting to curl up in the nearest corner and never come out again.

You didn’t have time for that, though, nor did you have any will to endure the punishment that’d undoubtedly follow such a blatant act of disobedience. He was already laughing again, already gesturing for you to come closer, to submit yourself for a much more in-depth inspection. You obeyed, albeit stiffly, with your fists clenched at your sides and your jaw locked into place. You knew his routine, by now, knew what he wanted from you, and you didn’t have to be told to drop to your knees, to lean against his calf as he cupped your chin and tilted your head back, tracing circles into your cheek with the pad of his thumb. He took his time, his gaze flickering from the plunging neckline to the strung-up corset to the choker around your neck. Tragically, he only saw fit to linger on that last one.

Carefully, with an agonizing kind of delicacy, he dropped his hand to your throat, slipping two fingers under the thin lace. He could’ve torn through it if he wanted to, if he forgot to mind his strength and exerted even the slightest amount of force, but you weren’t so lucky, and his attention shifted elsewhere soon enough, his fingers dipping to your neckline to toy with the fabric as he spoke. “What do you think? I commissioned it months ago, but…” He grinned, let his head lull to the side. “You know how bad politics can be for the market. Our beloved nation’s government has just seemed determined to keep me from spoiling my darling, recently.”

“It’s comfortable,” You mumbled, nearly under your breath. It wasn’t, but that was more believable than trying to pretend you genuinely liked it. “The style’s beautiful, and you clearly spared no expense. I really—”

"You should know better than to lie to me."

You really hated his smile. You hated the way he touched you, too, how the cool leather of his gloves left a trail of burning numbness across your flesh. You hated everything he did, but you hated that jolting chill just be near him sent down your spine the most.

You did what you could to simper, to mimic his sweetened apathy. “I suppose I might be a little cold, my lord.”

He simply nodded, and a wave of warm, gentle relief washed over you. He tapped his thigh twice, and with no small amount of reluctance, you pushed yourself to your feet, letting Pantalone wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his lap, into his chest. The closeness was unneeded, unwanted, but his coat fell over your shoulders and you couldn’t help but melt into him, into the temptation to feel like something other than the steady creep of hypothermia breathing down the back of your neck. You closed your eyes as his hand found its way to your hip, then your thigh, before—

The door to his office crashed open, slamming against the nearest wall. One of his subordinates, masked and a rank too low to ever be allowed on the same floor as the Regrator under normal circumstances, stood in the entryway, panting and visibly strained. In response, Pantalone's hold around you tightened, his blunt nails digging into your waist. “What is it?” He growled, with more venom in his voice than you’d ever heard him use. “Do you know what happened to that last idiot who disturbed me?”

“M-my apologies, sir.” With all the grace of a corpse found frozen in a snowbank, they fell into a stiff bow, barely managing to spit the words out between grit teeth. “Lord Pierro is here to see you. He says he has urgent news concerning La Signora. It appears to be a matter of dire importance, sir.”

There was a low, agitated noise, a pair of lips pressed into the back of your shoulder, but he recovered in a moment, put on a crooked smile and got to his feet – leaving you tripping over yourself to get out of his way, in the process. You started to follow him, to open your mouth, but he was already at the threshold, already glancing towards you over his shoulder. His expression softened, but it was a temporary sympathy, gone as soon as he looked away. “I’ll be back. This shouldn’t take very long, Pierro’s never been the type to draw these sorts of things out.”

He nodded to his subordinate, and a bolt of pure ice ran down your spine. “Just stay put for me, alright?”

Before you could argue, before you could say anything at all, the door was closed, locked from the outside, and you were left alone. Totally, utterly alone.

Not for the first time with Pantalone, you thought you might’ve known what it felt like to freeze to death.