#liza waters

[nicecurves]

[dirtgh0ul]

new patches on my depop!

[leezuhh]

you guys may have noticed that i have been generally been less active/inactive on tumblr. this is because my apartment flooded. 👍

[qulizalfos]

hello liza i hope ur concussion gets better soon pls don't die ❤️❤️❤️❤️ ily ily sending you heated blankets and spring water okayyyyyy 💕💕💕💕💕

HELLO BEE MY BELOVED thanjk you so much!!!! as of right now i can confirm that i have not died yet (or gone into a coma?[thanks for that google<3]) and do not plan to<333333333 but fr i am feeling a lot better!!!!!! ilysmmm i recieved the blankets and water btw and i am cherishing them forever MWAH

[uravityxo]

Heyhey friends !! I am HOME ALONE for FIVE WHOLE DAYS !!! I am looking after the dog and house whilst my parents are away,, but also,,,, bf is back at uni for a few days to sort out new house stuff and attend his friends graduation stuff *sniff sniff*,,, BUT !!! It means i will be here so so so much >:3 (you cant escape meeeee) !!! Currently trying to get back into things again,, working on some shipping headcanons as i am thinking About Them A Lot <33

[crisisofinfinitemultiverses]

Avatar: The Way of Water (2022) Poster by Liza Shumska

[rock--band]

Pink Floyd Poster and Canvas Prints

High quality Pink Floyd art photo collage, one of the most successful and influential rock band groups ever, formed in the 1960s when Roger Waters, Nick Mason and Richard Wright were studying at college

Print Option: ♦ Framed Poster Print ♦ Canvas Print ♦ Metal Print ♦ Acrylic Print ♦ Wood Prints 🌐 Worldwide shipping

[coralsweep]

im reading dead mount death play and Wow this rly does have all the hallmarks of a narita work

[bigboobshaunt]

Team is finalized~

[weird-an]

Billy blinks.

It's too warm, he thinks. The shadow likes it cold.

A monitor beeps. He shuts his eyes, annoyed by the sound.

Oh.

He can do that. He tries to listen inside himself, to hear its orders, its resentment, but he only hears his pulse beating in his ears.

He's alone. It's not there. The corner of his mouth quirks.

It's gone. He can move. He blinks again, because he's surprised, because he can't fucking believe it.

His finger taps the bed sheet. The fabric's a little scratchy, but it's the best thing in the world. He can feel it, he can touch it, because he wants to.

There's the beep again. Billy glares at the monitor, apparently showing off his vitals. There's a million strings and cables attached to him, to his arms and neck and holy fuck, there's Steve Harrington on a chair next to his bed.

Maybe Billy's dead and went to heaven. His dad has been wrong, heaven is fucking gay, because the fantasy of his last wet dreams is in his room, so close Billy could touch him.

Harrington drools on his fancy polo shirt. He has the audacity to still be the prettiest guy Billy has ever wanked to. And laid his eyes on, too.

"Good mornin', sleeping beauty," Billy drawls, even though he's got no idea what time of a day it is.

Harrington startles awake, big bambi eyes wide and pink lips forming a perfect O. Yep, Billy's in paradise and it's queer as fuck.

"You're awake!" Steve squeaks which shouldn't be as cute as it is. Heaven is for homosexuals - someone should put it on a poster.

"I just covered for Max," Steve says, face flushing. Billy wants to bop his nose to see if it can turn any redder.

"Pity," Billy tells him, because this has to be a fucked up version of paradise where people care about him. He halfway expects Neil and Liza Minelli to barge in with a dance number and a bunch of roses.

"I mean, we were all worried about you," Steve rambles. "That monster nearly... killed you."

Billy stares at his chest. There's bandages everywhere. Not really sexy. He nearly died. He probably should be dead.

"Oh." Billy's throat turns dry. "Bad weeds grow tall, I guess."

"You're shorter than me," Steve says after a heartbeat. His eyes sparkle like they are in a fucking Disney movie.

"No fucking way, I'm taller." Billy glares at him. Steve winks. Billy feels even warmer.

"Billy! You're awake" Max yells. Billy didn't notice her coming into the room. She gapes at Steve. "Are you flirting with my bro... Billy?"

He is. Hallelujah to that.

"No?" Steve lies unconvincingly.

"Gross." Max makes a face. "I'm giving your hot choc to Billy."

She hands Billy a sad looking paper cup. It's probably more water than chocolate. It smells like the best damn thing on earth.

"Should he already dri-" Steve asks, but Billy already downs the cup.

This is heaven on earth at least, he thinks.

"I put a lot of stuff in my mouth I shouldn't," Billy tells Steve.

Max makes a retching sound. "I'm getting the doctor."

[nicecurves]

[lizacharlesworth1]

Reflections on Water, Arkansas by Liza Charlesworth

[leezuhh]

as someone who loves detective games i have to say the genshin fontaine trial is not doing it for me. namely the massive plot hole: why did the magic water that only dissolves fontainians also dissolve lynette? they just established that she's fatui AKA snezhnayan, and that's kind of a major plot point... not to mention the idea of magic water that only dissolves french people is hilarious. does the magic water know about immigration?

[lucygxybaird]

billy x reader - you feel the baby kick

tw: pregnancy, tw: nausea (mention)

Sitting on the front porch, a pile of mending in a basket at your feet, you lean back in the chair and close your eyes, tipping your face up. A soft spring breeze plays with the tendrils of hair falling from your braid, sunshine splashing into your lap, and if you listen hard enough, you can hear Billy singing to himself as he repairs a saddle in the little shack that passes for your stable.

Oh, how I love her, ain’t that a shame…oh, how I love her, good-bye, Liza Jane…

You smile to yourself, absently humming along. More often than not lately, you’ve started dozing off in the afternoons, a habit which you know alarmed Billy at first — though he promised to fuss over you less (and  he’s definitely gotten better), you did overhear him taking the doctor aside after a recent visit, asking if it was normal for you to be so tired.

“Yes, son,” the doctor had assured him. You’d been pretty sure you could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s perfectly normal, and in fact, I’d encourage it. It’s a lot of work, bringing new life into the world.”

Without opening your eyes, you smooth a hand over your belly, your faint smile widening. Loose nightgowns can’t hide your condition anymore, but you don’t mind, because with every change to your body, you know your baby is growing. Not to mention Billy simply can’t keep his hands off you. 

Most often, he’ll start with his hands on your shoulders, coming up behind you and squeezing gently, resting his chin on the crown of your head. Then his hands will slide down your arms, pausing to cup your elbows and pull you flush against him. You’ll relax in his arms, glad to take the weight off the small of your back, and he’ll spread one large, warm palm over the curve of your belly.

“How’re my girls doin’ today?” he’ll ask, which never fails to make you giggle. 

“What if it’s a boy?”

Billy always shakes his head firmly. “Mm-mm, that’s my baby girl in there,” he’ll tell you. “I know it.” 

When the two of you are laying in bed together, Billy will hold you in his arms all night, both hands resting protectively over your stomach. Other times, throughout the day, he’ll pause just to kiss you — your lips, each cheek, your forehead — before putting his palm against your ribs, thumb moving in soothing circles over the fabric of your dress, which is becoming more and more tightly stretched with each passing day. 

“You’re so pretty,” he’ll tell you, smiling in a dreamy sort of way, like he can’t quite believe this life is actually his. Or he’ll ask you how you’re feeling, or he’ll ask you what you did today while he was working, or he’ll tease you with more whimsically intricate Gaelic baby names (Gobnait, Odhairnaith, Dubhghlas, Muircheartach). 

Sometimes, when you find yourself worrying — about the pain to come, about taking care of another little living being, about if you’ll be a good mother, a good wife — you think of that smile.

You have always known that Billy’s story diverges from the man, a tributary branching off from a river; the truth was clear, cold water, sweet and filling, but it seemed most people weren’t interested in that. They were rabidly fascinated by that little stream, by the waters churning with blood, spent shells, dirt and sweat. Tears. You love all of Billy, tributaries and all, but you know that he earnestly wants to follow the river, tracings its path to the future. A future with you, with your baby.

When you see his peaceful smile, his contentment radiating from him like an angel’s halo, you’re reminded of how far he’s come. Of how much he deserves this peace, this life the two of you are making together, and you feel at peace yourself. Whatever comes, physical pain or self-doubt, you know you can take it on, as long as you have him by your side.

Which — 

Your eyes flutter open as his shadow falls across your face, and you smile up at him. “How long have you been standing there?”

Billy grins sheepishly, shrugging. Rather than loom over you, he kneels beside your chair, putting his hand against your stomach. “Not long,” he says, as you cover his hand with your own. You can smell the scent of leather clinging to his skin, mixing with his natural musk, and you’re glad that your stomach has finally settled. A few months ago, even scents like this — scents you loved — would have driven you to a bucket. 

You remember how attentive he had been then — not that he was any less attentive now — even though your illness had embarrassed you. You’d known, logically, that you couldn’t help it, but it had made you cringe, nonetheless. You worried that he would find you disgusting like this, but you should have known better. Billy had never once flinched, instead holding your hair safely back, helping you into bed afterwards, fetching you water to rinse your mouth and crackers to soothe your tender stomach. 

“What are you thinkin’ about?” You feel his fingers grasp your chin, turning your face toward his. You smile and shake your head.

“You.” 

Billy raises an eyebrow, a faint smile coming to his lips. “Good things, I hope.”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head expansively. “Only about how you repulse me, actually.”

“Ah!” He puts his hand over his heart, as though mortally wounded. You bite your lip to keep from giggling. After a moment of consideration, he says: “That makes having my baby a little awkward for ya, huh?”

“A little,” you agree. 

He leans up to kiss you, moving his hand from your stomach to the arm of the chair to brace himself. It’s then, as your own palm settles on the curve of your belly, that you feel it. You gasp against Billy’s lips, and he straightens up at once, his eyes widening.

“What?” he says. “Is somethin’ wrong? Is it the baby?”

You just smile at him, shaking your head. You hold up your free hand, indicating that you need a moment, and Billy sits back on his heels, his forehead still furrowed with concern. “Here,” you breathe, and you take his hand, putting it over the spot where you think you felt something.

“Darlin’, wh—?” His voice falters as he feels the same thing you felt, and his eyes go wide, his face shining like a child on Christmas morning, faced with every gift he could ever want. “Is that…?”

“I think so,” you say, laughing weakly, tears starting in your eyes like a pair of stars winking into life. “I think it is.”

And then it happens again, and you’re certain. 

“Billy, here,” you say, taking his hand and moving it to the new spot. 

It feels like a fish swimming beneath your skin, a fluttering sensation that reminds you of ripples in a pond — and then — 

“Oh!” 

The two of you exclaim at the same time, and under normal circumstances, it would make you laugh. His deeper voice melding with your lighter one is like a kitten and a mountain lion being startled in unison. But all you can think about is the strong, solid jab you both felt — you, against the drum-tight curve of your stomach, and Billy, in his cupped hand, as if he’s catching a firefly. 

“Do it again,” Billy says, wide-eyed, and you almost tell him — gently — that you can’t really control it, when you realize his eyes are trained on your stomach. “Please? Do it again for your papa, please?”

You both sit there for a moment, waiting, and then — 

Another little flutter, like the baby is rolling over inside you, and you guide Billy’s hand over the ballet beneath your skin. There’s another sharp jab to your ribs, right into Billy’s palm. “Oh, my sweet girl,” Billy says softly, and it isn’t until he looks up at you with glittering eyes that you realize he’s talking to you this time. “That’s our baby.”

You lean down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Ours,” you agree. You love the sound of that word. 

“And she listened to me,” Billy says, offering you a cheeky grin. “You think that makes her papa’s girl already?”

“What are you going to do when this baby is born and it’s a boy?” 

Billy smiles. “Then we’ll name him Patrick William, and we’ll try again.” 

You snort, raising an eyebrow. “And how many babies do you think we’re going to have, Mr. Bonney?”

He leans up to kiss you again, brushing his lips, butterfly light, over the curve of your cheek. “As many as you’re willin’ to give me, honey. An’ you know I’ll love every one, whether it’s just this little one, or…”

He cuts his eyes over at you, raising his eyebrows to give you a cue. You laugh and hold up two fingers. “Or two more,” he finishes, and you giggle.

He sits in the rocking chair next to yours, pulling your feet into his lap. “You know it doesn’t matter to me, boy or girl,” he says. “I just want ’em to be happy and healthy. That’s all.”

You lean your head back as his thumbs dig into the arch of your foot. “I know,”  you murmur.

There’s silence for a moment, and you let yourself drift idly, relaxing at the pleasure of his touch, of his words. 

“I was thinkin’, though…”

You crack an eye open. “Hmm?”

“If we have a little girl…my ma would have liked…I mean, she woulda…she really woulda loved…”

His throat works, and you lean forward, taking your feet — with no small measure of reluctance — out of his lap, taking your hands in his instead. “I know,” you say. “Our firstborn daughter was always gonna be Kathleen Bonney, whether it’s this baby or another one.”

He smiles, his eyes bright again. “Thank you, darlin’.” 

You kiss him gently, before pulling back with a grin. “Much better than Gobnait…”

His head tilts back with the force of his laughter, his broad shoulders shaking. “Aw, come on now, you didn’t really give that one a chance…”

“And I won’t,” you say, shaking your head with a giggle. “No matter how many we have.” 

[photo2arts-blog]

Pink Floyd Art Print

Pink Floyd Posters and Canvas Prints

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