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gurugirl · 5 months ago

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The Handyman | a check-in*

Summary: You and Harry throw a housewarming party and your ex shows up with some advice for whoever built the kitchen counter. Harry makes sure to prove to you how well-built his countertops really are.

A/N: Based on this idea! Previously posted on Patreon. Read the original one shot here.

Word Count: 3,613

Warning: smut, the tiniest touch of jealousy/possessiveness

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You hadn’t intended for your little housewarming party to turn into a whole thing. Harry said he’d help you invite people from town, a way to make more friends and get to know some of the locals a bit better. But then when your dad told your cousin that you were throwing a small party she let it slip to someone from your past. Van, your ex. She apologized, saying she didn’t think he’d be interested until he asked for more details. But you weren’t going to be rude and uninvite anyone because the house was big enough for everyone. And you did say “open invitation” after all.

“Y/n, it’s so nice to see you again,” Van pulled you in for a hug when he arrived. You put on your nicest smile and attempted to act happy to see him. And it wasn’t that you disliked the guy but the awkwardness of dealing with an ex you hadn’t seen in a while was a bit daunting.

“Oh my gosh. You too! I’m surprised to see you here. All the way out in the middle of nowhere!” It truly was a surprise. It was an hour’s drive from the city to get to your house. And even though your cousin told you she told him and he seemed interested, you half expected he wouldn’t show up.

You made small talk with him before excusing yourself to go to the kitchen except he followed you.

“This house really does look nice, Y/n. Did you have help with all this?”

“Thank you. And yes. I had someone help with everything. Harry’s been so amazing. Listened to what I wanted but he already had his own ideas which I loved so much. Kept almost everything original.”

Van ran his palm along the butcher block island and ducked down to check the construction of the cabinets beneath, “Who’s Harry?”

“Harry owns a small company doing all kinds of work for people in town. He helped me restore the whole place and landscape. I mean, he basically did all the work but… yeah. He’s also my boyfriend.”

Van raised a brow at you, “Boyfriend huh?”

“Yep. Boyfriend. He’s actually here somewhere.”

He nodded as he inspected the window over the sink, “Not sure if you remember or not but I became an architect. Wish you’d have called me. I could have really done this place justice. Sort of feels like some of this could have been upgraded.”

“Oh? Like what?”

You caught Harry’s eye when he stood at the entry between the kitchen and the dining room as he spoke to a few people he knew.

“Well this window for example,” Van pointed, “I would have pushed this whole wall out, made a breakfast nook over the patio since there’s so much space at the front. Could have put in built-in bench seating and it would have given you so much more light in the kitchen and increased the value of the property.”

“I mean that sounds really nice but I wanted it to be original. Expanding the walls and windows like that sounds like too much. And I’m not planning on selling it so increasing the value doesn’t appeal to me.”

“I just hope he knew what he was doing. If someone’s not quite qualified you could have shoddy workmanship that shows later. Like all the cabinets and these new countertops,” he knocked on the surface, “might look fine now but give them a year and you’ll see if it’s up to par.”

Suddenly Harry was wrapping his arms around your front and kissing your neck as Van was then suggesting a rebuild of the staircase to expand the width. You placed your hands over Harry’s forearms and grinned at the feel of his lips on your skin. His distraction had almost made you forget that Van was still talking until he slowly got quieter as he looked between you and Harry and realized you were no longer listening.

Harry kept his eyes on Van as he pressed warm kisses to your neck. It was a signal to Van. You were taken and you were happy and Harry wasn’t some pushover. You were his girl and he was letting Van know.

“This the ex you were telling me about,” he whispered into your ear so Van wouldn’t hear it.

You nodded and giggled, turning to look at Harry when Van cleared his throat.

Harry stood up straight and put his hands on your shoulders, “Sorry to interrupt like that. I’m Harry, Y/n’s boyfriend. You are?”

“Oh, I’m an old friend. I’m Van,” he put his hand out to shake and Harry wrapped his big palm around Van’s with a nod.

“Nice to meet you, Van. Now, what were you suggesting I do differently?”

Van’s eyes widened slightly, “Oh… I wasn’t saying you should do anything different… it’s just that there were some ideas…”

You were no longer interested in what Van had to say at all when you felt Harry’s hand slide down to your hip. It felt like a possessive move. You’d never known Harry to be jealous or anything but that whole exchange had you seeing a bit of a different side of him.

“Definitely some good ideas, Van. But we’re happy with keeping things original. Feel free to have a look around at everything if you like. Only room off limits is our bedroom upstairs that’s locked, but otherwise, knock yourself out.”

Neither you nor Van missed Harry saying our bedroom upstairs.

“Okay. Well, thank you. Yeah, I mean I think you’ve done a great job here and…” Now Van was backtracking.

Harry nodded, “The most important thing is that Y/n is happy with how everything turned out and the quality of construction is the best,” he rapped his knuckles on the countertop, his brow raised at Van.

Van kept his distance until he left a couple of hours later, only hugging you quickly and telling you, once again, how nice it was to see you. You weren’t sure why he showed up in the first place. Maybe, being an architect, he was genuinely curious about the new house you bought and had help restoring. Or maybe he was hoping to rekindle something long gone but then was caught off guard by Harry.

“I can see why you love it here,” your cousin nudged your arm as she ogled Harry who was talking to a woman animatedly.

You laughed softly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your boyfriend, obviously. Damn. Who knew small-town men looked like that? You’re living your Lifetime movie dreams babe. Old mansion, aunt’s inheritance, hot local who helped you fix the place up falls in love with you…”

You laughed through your nose and shook your head, “I’m not saying I’m not agreeing with you but… I would have stayed here with or without Harry. He’s just the cherry on top.”

“Oh, I bet he’s the cherry on top. So…” she looked around the space and then back at you, “He’s living here with you then?”

You nodded, “Yep. When we started dating it was just kind of the natural next step. I think my dad thought it was too fast but I didn’t want to be away from him at night anymore and he didn’t like it either. I suggested that he just stay and… well that’s really it. He’s here for good. Plus he put so much love into this house. It feels like it’s just as much as his as it is mine.”

You could admit, everything looked fantastic. Harry had made your home into something you could see yourself living in until you were old and grey. Something you were proud to show off to everyone. It was a labor of love, for both of you.

. . .

When everyone had gone, you were wiping up the countertop when your sponge was plucked from your hands and Harry pulled you back into his chest, “So Van thinks the construction of this counter isn’t well done?”

You turned in his arms and grinned up at him, “You know the construction is fine. It’s the best. Don’t worry about what he said. I don’t think he could tell from just looking anyway.”

“Did you like him a lot when you two dated?” Harry pushed you gently back toward the counter, your bottom hitting the edge.

“Why? You’re not jealous are you?”

Harry licked his lips and squeezed your hips before sliding his hands up to your waist and lifting you to sit on the smooth surface you’d just wiped down. You laughed and grasped onto his shoulders.

“Of course, I’m not jealous of Mr. Architect. But I do want to demonstrate how sturdy everything is. I’m not the type to cut corners, you know…” he dragged his big hands up your sides and one up your spine until his fingers found the back of your neck, collaring you with his big palm as he bumped his nose into yours.

You giggled and pushed your arms over his shoulders, “Seriously, Harry. I know how sturdy everything is. No need to prove anything to me.”

“Mmm… I know I don’t have to prove anything,” he smoothed his lips against yours gently, and slowly with the poke of the tip of his tongue at your plush lips igniting the furnace in your tummy that always simmered with need for him. But when he got like this… with his hands on your body and his mouth prodding at yours… the simmer turned into a boil.

You felt one of his hands travel down your hips and then to your thigh where he bunched the material of your skirt in his palm until he’d pushed the fabric out of his way and teased his finger up and down along the edge of your panties next to your crotch.

Spreading your legs for him you leaned back slightly and parted from the kiss with a laugh, “We gonna do this right here, Harry?”

He splayed both of his hands over your bare thighs and squeezed. His eyelids were heavy as he roved his pupils from where he was holding your plush thighs then up to your face, “Wanna?’

You couldn’t help but giggle again and bite your lip as you nodded.

“Mmhmm… Thought you’d want to. Given how wet your panties are right here,” he pressed his thumb over the crotch of your knickers, “Bet you need it more than I do, sweetheart.”

He smeared his thumb around the material of your sodden panties, wetting the pad of his digit before finding your clit and pressing into it. A breathy pant fell from your lips.

“What got you like this, Y/n? What happened, sweetheart?”

“Nothing, just you.”

“Me? Are you sure about that?”

“Always you, Harry.”

He grinned and pushed the fabric of your panties aside as he kept his soft green eyes on you, “What about me does this to you, hmm? You just like me so much that you start dripping?”

You felt your face heat up. Harry often liked to ask you questions that got you a little shy or embarrassed when you had to answer. And even though you should be used to it by now you still got a bit antsy. But fuck if you didn’t love it.

“Yeah. I really just like you so much…”

Harry’s grin never faltered as he kept his gaze pinned to yours and pressed his thumb at the entrance of your pussy, taunting it open until he had pushed it all the way in and you gasped. He began slipping it in and pulling it out, “I know you do. And I love how much you need me,” he continued fucking you with his thumb, “How your body reacts to me. Look at you, Y/n…” he dipped his gaze down to where he was thrusting his thumb into you, “Letting me fuck you with my thumb on the countertop I installed. Making a mess of my palm and I bet the quartz under your ass too. Almost shaking you need it so bad.”

You grunted and rolled your hips up against his thumb, pressing him in further and Harry groaned at your little pathetic wiggle.

Releasing one of your thighs he hooked a finger into the bottom hem of your blouse and pushed upward, “Arms up.”

Raising your arms overhead harry pulled the shirt from your torso and then pulled your bra down, exposing your tits one at a time until you were pouring out over the stretchy material. With his thumb still inside of you, he ducked down and wrapped his lips over your nipple, tongue first.

You moaned and closed your eyes when Harry moved to your other breast, pumping his thumb through your walls until it was all gushy sounding. He stood back, pulling his thumb from you and then bringing it up to his mouth, wrapping his lips around it to lick off every drop of you while his other hand worked at his button to get his pants undone.

There you sat at the edge of the counter with your legs spread and your wet pussy on display. Your panties were stretched to the side and out of the way but you could feel the elastic digging into the back of your thigh and your bum.

Harry pulled himself out of his pants, his gorgeous cock already at full mast and ready to split you in half. He cradled the underside of his shaft as he stepped in toward you and held your thigh in place as he smudged his tip into your labia, spreading your arousal through your crease. The dirty look on his face was heated, like he was about to overtake every part of you.

“Hold onto my back, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you on this well-made countertop now,” he smirked at you cheekily.

You would have laughed but you were already feeling his tip at your pulsing muscle and the anticipation of him stretching you open was making your head spin.

He rocked forward, his thick crown penetrating you and opening you up as he stuffed himself in. It took a few pumps of his cock in and out to burry into the hilt. He gasped when he felt your pussy devour him whole.

Your fingers clung to his back as he began to thrust, long and languid, wet and hot.

“Fucking hell… Got me so weak for you, sweetheart. So desperate to feel you around me all the time. Wanted to fuck you on this counter right in front of your ex-architect so he could see who’s fucking you these days, who’s treating you right…”

You moaned with every deep nudge of his cock through your wet channel. But when he ran his thumb over your clit you croaked out loudly, “Fuck! Yes…”

“See? Look how good I am to you… give you the best don’t I?”

You nodded, “The best, Harry…”

He crashed his lips to yours as he worked your cunt with his cock and his thumb and the languid thrusts turned into frantic jerking motions with his tip nudging into your guts, a hint of pain spreading through your insides at the way he bullied his thick length into you. He rocked his hips against you, the sound of smacking flesh and muffled moans between kisses filtered out through the open window onto your porch. Luckily you had no neighbors anywhere near so no one would know the kinds of things that went on in that old house every evening.

Your thighs were trembling with every swipe of his thumb at your clit and every dip of his cock through your insides.

“Gonna come for me already? Yeah? Fuck, baby…” he was swollen and leaking as he shoved into you. The feel of you wrapped tight around him was always heaven. His favorite.

You whined loudly, the build-up of your orgasm was unable to be stopped as you let him ravage your pussy however he liked. Pat-pat-pat… the sound of wet pussy getting fucked was a typical soundtrack in your house just about every night.

Harry ran a big paw over your tits and squeezed as he pounded into you. The counter under you never budging.

When your pussy began to squeeze and flutter and spasm and your mouth dropped open wide you let out a pitiful cry and dug your fingertips into the taut muscle of his back as you gushed on his big cock.

He only increased his pace as he fucked into you and watched your pretty face twist up in ecstasy. He loved watching you come. It only fed his ego to see such a pretty thing with your face all scrunched and lips curled and wet as you quivered in your orgasm.

He hissed to hold himself back as he felt your pussy slobbering arousal all over his dick. He’d have loved to unload his come right then but he wanted to force another orgasm from you before he allowed himself the satisfaction of coming yet.

When you felt him slow his thrusts you could hear him cooing at you, “Good girl. Fuck baby almost made me come you look so pretty like this.”

You lulled your head up to look at him and he smoothed his lips against yours as he stilled his hips, cock lodged deep inside of your tummy.

“Gonna have you bend over now, okay? Put your feet on this stool if you need it,” he dragged the stool next to his foot toward the counter for you. And with wobbly limbs, you adjusted your seating, turning over so your hips were face down against the counter top and Harry quickly placed his big palms on the round of your ass, pulling you apart so he could see your pussy and anus.

He inhaled sharply as he ran a finger through your folds and you jolted from being so sensitive, “Easy, sweetheart… This is gonna feel good once I get going. You ready?”

You nodded into the crook of your arm and let out a muffled yes as he nudged his cock against you again.

His fingers dug into the meaty soft part of your thighs before he split you open, burying in balls deep on first pass.

You grunted and braced yourself as he began to plunge through your insides, wet strokes of his long cock filling you and then pulling back to his tip on repeat.

“Ooh… shit, sweetheart. So fucking pretty…” he pulled at your ass cheeks and railed into you. You knew he was sweating already, he was giving it his all, using his strong muscles to fuck himself into you and panting breaths every time his balls smushed into your pussy.

You began to feel that fuzzy little prickle spread over your core with every stroke of his cock. The ridges of his bare dick always fit into your crevices and little spots like he was made to snug inside of you and get you off just like that. Your g-spot was never left unloved with the shape of Harry’s cock, his tip always dipping right into it with every pass.

He began to grunt with every glide of his hips, his cock being massaged by your warm walls making his balls tighten and his heart pound the closer he got to his end.

The sight of your pussy sucking him in, lips wrapped around his thick shaft and leaving creamy arousal along his length was just as hot as the way you felt encasing him. But of course, there was the scent and the sound as well. It was lewd. All his senses were burning and singing as he fucked into you.

“Ahh!” You moaned and began to push back against his thrusts, desperate for your next orgasm as it was approaching fast.

Arousal dripped down your inner thighs as he rutted into you, his pace growing sloppy and erratic as he could tell you were about to come.

And the moment you gurgled a wet moan and he could feel you clamping down he gasped and gripped onto your hips, moving you over his cock like you were a toy to fuck, he pulled your ass against his hips and then upward along his cock before slamming you against him again, smearing your pussy juice on the countertop as he did so. You cried out and convulsed around him as Harry finally pumped into you, pulling you back against him until he was stuffed into you as deep as he could reach and released every drop of himself into you.

He groaned as he came into your warm, cozy pussy, pumping strings of his come through your slimy arousal-coated cunt.

Harry made getting off easy. You’d never been one to come so fast or so easy but you were convinced his cock was shaped exactly like you needed. You reached back to take his hand as Harry leaned over your back and kissed your neck, “Pussy fucked and stuffed and countertop sturdy as a rock,” he laughed.

You giggled and arched your back to attempt to move yourself, the position was not the most comfortable after all.

Harry helped you down and held onto you so you wouldn’t fall and you both laughed again when you turned to face him, knowing you had mascara down your cheeks.

He cupped your face and grinned at you, “This is the best housewarming party I’ve ever been to.”

You pointed at the counter he’d just fucked you on and chuckled, “And that is the sturdiest kitchen counter anyone will ever see.”

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3liza · 13 days ago

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i mean the truth is that we do not need and should not have all this stupid plastic clutter in or houses. no one should be producing or selling this shit. everyone make your own merchandise and charge a living hourly wage to sell it 🤷 sorry to be so simplistic about this but it's one of the results of the lack of class unity specifically in the means of production-owning creative class, who is not mentioned or dealt with by the core Marxist texts as far as I know (i asked about this earlier on here, did marx ever address in his analysis people like, for example, a professional photographer who owns a camera ans prints his own dagguereotypes? or a portrait painter or idk, independent milliner or seamstress? these people all own the means of production and do not employ anyone, and the answer from better educated people than I was that no, Marx didn't mention them), I'm not well read on this at all, there is just a big void where leftist analysis of what modern economists call "the creative class"

I'm getting off topic. my point is make your own keychains in your kitchen. it's actually not hard. you can even mass produce (on a small scale) little plastic crap if you want, with resin and a UV lamp, or a 3d printer, or a laser cutter and acrylic sheets (or just use balsa wood damn, at least its biodegradable and less tacky).

all this stuff is available to little creators AND there are hundreds of people who already own these machines who will take work for you and produce your designs. you just have to actually find them and know them and email them. that's what I mean about the class unity issue with creatives. we have no large scale union, we have no large scale class consciousness, and we're all sending our orders for little plastic crap to sweatshops instead of emailing a guy with a laser cutter in his garage and saying "hey Keith can I get uhhhhhhhhhhh 50 laser cut keychains of this twerking Diggler design I made, like how much would that cost" and he's like sure here's the work and materials cost and tbh it's always always less than i think it's going to be. you just have to do some basic arithmetic and then order shipping, and I hate order fulfillment with my life but you can actually pay or barter with someone to do that for you too. learn to delegate and then factor that into your unit cost. this is basic shit every commercial creator needs to know. they should teach you this in art school but they dont

don't give me crap about "I can't afford a laser cutter" either because I just told you to email Keith. and all these machines get sold secondhand when a manufacturer or hobbyist needs to upgrade. i got a color laser printer perfect for making zines and wheatpastes and shipping labels from a retired lesbian on capital hill for $75 and it was still full of ink. my friend gave me her 20 year old canon dslr because she just didn't need it and didn't want to bother selling it. it works fine because I spent the time finding the right drivers and shit for my computer. and card readers exist. Craigslist. Facebook marketplace. nextdoor sales section. eBay. everyone always forgets eBay. eBay lets you save searches and will email you when it finds a guy selling his vinyl plotter in your city with local pickup. I'm serious

#long post #pro doom strats #leather embossing is another one #risograph prints #woodblock prints #rubber prints #etchings even #silicon molds for sculpey or resin or clay #local pottery studios #local photography studios #professional art printers with giclee printers!#ive used all these techniques to make merch #none of them are difficult or out of reach its just EASIER and adverised more to order shit from china #oh my god i forgot button presses #ALSO WE NEED A UNION AND STANDARDIZED HOURLY WAGES BTW #TIRED OF THIS BICKERING ABOUT PRICE UNDERCUTTING

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syoddeye · 5 months ago

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big game

ghost x f! reader | ~5k words cw: simon lies, mean simon, red flags? what red flags, hunting, animal death (discussed), predator/prey, knives, bad restraints, bad suspension, rough (arguably bad) sex, clothed man & naked woman, blood, murder, italic abuse. please tell me if you need something tagged. a/n: a cross between this post and this post. banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

Simon lets slip that he owns a cabin nearly a year into the relationship. It’s the kind of thing where you could and maybe should be upset, but you play it off as no big deal. You have to. This is Simon. The man didn’t show his entire face until the sixth or seventh date.

(He joked about it, too, that first time—Breathe a word about this mug, and I’ll have to kill ya. You laughed, delirious as he split you in two. He didn’t.)

It’s a few hours away from the city, on the far edge of the boonies. It’s long beyond the truck stops and hog refineries that dot this part of the country. Far from delivery and traffic lights. Deep in an unincorporated village, in an unincorporated area. Its remoteness would make one wonder how a foreign ex-soldier found such a location, but again. This is Simon. Ages ago, you learned questions earn neither his favor nor answer.

The property is impressive for its locale. Two bedrooms. A decent kitchen. Heating and cooling. A garage and a shed. Renovated within the last decade and upgraded piecemeal when Simon has time. It sits on a lake shared by only two other cabins, both residing around a reedy bend and well out of sight.

Upon arrival, Simon doesn’t offer a tour, telling you to poke around as he unpacks the car. Well, a jerk of his head and a gruff, “Go on in.” Since you started seeing each other officially, he doesn’t often let you burden yourself with chores. No lifting a finger if he’s available.

The place is sparse. Occupied but not lived in. While stocking a cupboard, Simon explains the previous owner, an older gentleman with cheap taste, left behind what decoration remains. A few tacky fishing signs hang on the walls, intermixed with sun-bleached squares on the wood paneling. A curio box collection of novelty keychains in the hall to the bedrooms, full of states and a couple of names. The lumpy pillows on the sofa pouf tobacco-scented dust when you test its cushions.

Tiptoeing into the main bedroom, you imagine how you might spruce up the austere space. Considering he moved into your apartment after three months, you assume it’s a matter of time until this becomes your cabin, too.

(It was incredibly romantic—the move. Near sunset, Simon appeared like a specter in the pouring rain, with his few worldly belongings in tow. Kissed you hard and fast, told you he couldn’t stay at his place anymore. That he needed you. You. All your effort paid off.)

The memory brings a smile to your face.

You’ll turn the cabin into a cozy love nest like your apartment. Blankets, candles, a rug or two. Though he’ll never admit it, Simon must desire comfort like anyone else. The first night he burrowed into your duvet, luxuriating in the cotton and silk, he fell asleep like an old hound freshly sprung from a shelter. He tossed most of his stuff the next day—said you had everything he needed.

Looking around, you realize you have your work cut out for you. The austere room more a cave than a refuge. The man's bed doesn't even have a frame. Just a neatly made mattress with tucked sheets and two flat pillows. A secondhand dresser and a stack of plastic drawers for extra storage. On the bright side, the adjacent bathroom is spotlessly clean, with a caddy holding melamine sponges, bleach, and other supplies on a shelf. He's always been tidy, likely a military thing.

From the living room, you're greeted with a scenic view of the lake and the adjoining deck through the glass door. A pair of wooden chairs sit side-by-side in front of a fire pit, one of Simon's old welding projects. Down the gentle slope to the shore, a small dinghy rests in the water, tied off at the aluminum dock. A smattering of yellow and white water lily pads hug the bank.

Peaceful. Picturesque. Private.

But your eyes hitch on a strange beam.

Bolted between two mature trees, a hefty piece of timber sits within plain sight of the deck. A series of evenly spaced, fixed eyelet hooks and two pulleys catch the light when the breeze shifts the canopy of the bur oak overhead.

Simon joins you on the deck, the planks creaking beneath his bulk. A cracked beer dwarfed in his hand.

“Did the former owner have kids?” You ask as he sips.

“Kids?”

You point at the curious installation. “Isn’t that for a tire swing? Seems like the perfect spot.”

Simon stares, narrowing his eyes slightly with a chuckle. The tone of it prickles—the same snide laugh he makes at his own awful jokes. When he’s in on the punchline, and you’re not. One of the few things that sour his image.

“Kids? Fuck no,” He shakes his head. “That’s where I ‘ang deer and the like out to bleed.”

You bristle and duck the arm he means to drape around your shoulders, ignoring how he huffs baby and c’mon, don’t be like that between snickers.

He finds you in the bedroom, sorting the clothes you packed with punchy aggression, fuming and embarrassed by his teasing. Stupid and naive, that’s how you feel, for all your care and commitment. You’re just so silly, such a townie, for not recognizing a piece of lumber as a barbaric vehicle for slaughter.

Two wide mitts glide over your sides as you try your best to ignore the behemoth behind you. You are by no means small, but Simon. Fuck, Simon, you whisper, half-exasperated when he nuzzles into the crook of your neck—he’s—fuck, he is big.

It’s an hour before your clothes are finally put away, and you’re already down a pair of underwear for the weekend. Simon leaves you sated and dozing, a tactile apology accepted, and retrieves you to fix supper when he’s hungry. Later, parked in the chairs in the yard, watching the end of the sun’s march to the horizon, you broach the topic again.

“Will you take it down?”

“Sweetheart, what do ya think I do on the weekends you work?”

You shiver. Ten seconds ago, you’d’ve said read or weld or fish. It’s ridiculous how your mind cannot wrap around the idea of Simon out in the woods, stalking through the trees and underbrush, hunting. Decked out in blaze orange and realtree, rifle cradled in his hands. You know his history and what he’s capable of. What he’s done.

But this is different from his military career. Simon said he didn’t want to do any of that. Enlisting was how he escaped a lousy home life; he didn’t plan to get stuck in it for as long as he did. He confessed once, after a silly tiff over your job, that the day he was discharged was the best day of his life, second only to the day you met. That’s where the disconnect lies. Hunting and killing for sport, that’s not the Simon you know.

You tell him as much.

“That so?” His smirk matches the rising moon. A waxing crescent.

You insist.

Simon cracks his neck. “Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal,” he starts, fingers flexing around the neck of the beer bottle. “I’ll quit, if I can bag one last trophy.”

The thought of burning the beam distracts you from the flicker in his eyes. The ugly thing is the only hiccup keeping the cabin from textbook perfection. You don’t want to think of Bambi’s poor mother dangling like some macabre ornament whenever you look outside.

“Fine. What’s the trophy?”

Simon grins.

“I better win a fucking award for this. It’s freezing.” You’d said, tugging on your sneakers.

He laughed wickedly. The sound burned right up your spine.

“You’ll get a fucking award, alright.”

Simon sent you off a half hour ago if the time on his watch’s dull, glowing face is correct. He buckled it around your wrist before you darted into the woods, tightening it as far as it would go. It spins loose around the bone anyway. He warned you to watch your footing, pressed bear mace into your palm, and then gave you five minutes to make yourself scarce. Inwardly, you preen. To go undiscovered for this long—you’ve surpassed your own expectations.

However, squatting with your back to a distressingly damp tree trunk, regret eclipses pride and buzzes under your skin. Hopefully, it's not a parasite from one of the puddles you stomped through. It's out of devotion, you tell yourself, itching under a wet sock, that you agreed to this game. Out of love. There isn't much you wouldn't do for Simon. From the moment you met him, it's been magnetic. Poetic.

And that first date? Cinematic. You went out with one man and returned home with another. Your date caught Simon staring from across the joint, a mean set of eyes in a ski mask eating you alive. What kind of man lets another steal his ‘bird’? That’s what he called you—birdie. Need some company, birdie? Complete disregard for the flop-haired man across the table. Cupped a hand to your date’s ear, said a few words, and Mike or Matt or whatever his name was vacated his seat, leaving the big Brit to take his place.

Bringing him home was a foregone conclusion, the decision finalized as you watched him, absolutely rapt, stab the meat of your entree and claim it as his own. Rolled up his balaclava just enough to take a bite with a row of crooked teeth. Breath hitching at the scars, the pale white lines stretching over his chin. You didn’t even know his name when you blurted out the question. And it’s with fondness you recall the flash of surprise in his eyes at your resolute zeal. Didn't make him work for it, offered yourself up on a silver platter.

('Course, afterward, you had to convince him not to fuck you in the parking lot, promising breakfast in the morning if he slept over. He did. For two days. He kept turning up after that.)

You may be hiding in the woods, but he's the animal. Yes. A neglected stray you dedicated the better part of a year into domesticating. Lured him with food, a warm bed, and sex. Assiduously filing down his sharp teeth and rough edges with your body. Introducing him to creature comforts, to living versus mere survival.

Which, again, prompts the question—why hunting? Didn’t you take care of him? If he needed more, all he had to do was ask. Take. Prying a burr off of a sleeve, you wonder if it's like the old saying goes: you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Maybe he needs to chase or track, and you’re another soft-handed city slicker keeping a working dog cooped up in an apartment.

If you still saw your therapist, she’d probably suggest you dissect that. But you don’t, and you’re not inclined to schedule a session. Besides, Simon said all shrinks are—

A twig snaps. It shocks you how quickly you push to your feet.

Twenty feet or so dead ahead, a hulking mass moves through a thin shaft of moonlight.

You run.

Huffing and puffing, you charge clumsily through the trees, miraculously avoiding clusters of roots and shielding your face with your hands. Feels unnatural to run from him. The blood rush in your ears drowns out the heavy thuds on the ground behind you, Simon pursuing, shirking stealth for speed.

Inevitably, he overtakes you. An iron grip latches onto your shirt, and a kick sweeps your legs. The bear mace flies from your hand into the brush, clanging off a tree. You dangle for a spine-tingling second, suspended, heart lurching into your throat. He leverages your tumbling momentum to swing you to the ground at his feet through strength alone. Landing on the cold floor of the woods expels a gasp, a second following as a boot presses between your shoulders. No force behind it; its presence alone enough to keep you down. Despite the dirt and twigs surely sticking to your front and the borderline painful thunder of your heart, you smile in relief. It’s over. His last hunt. The boot lifts.

“Nice work, big guy,” You cough, breathing hard. “Can we—Simon?”

Before you can move, Simon nudges the toe of a boot into your ribs, compelling you to roll over. You startle at the sight looming above, a strangled, incoherent string of mouth noises trickling out of shock. A pair of brown eyes peer through the orbits of a skull attached to a mask. They trail from your face to your stomach, where he takes advantage of your stupefied babbling, binding your hands with cord. You meet his gaze, heat creeping up your neck, and his eyes crinkle.

About a dozen questions surface on the return march to the cabin. None survive the swirling vortex of your head, unwilling to risk appearing perfidious.

Simon flexes his grip over your bound hands. “Gonna have some fun.”

Your faith does not lapse, though fear simmers low in your belly when he doesn’t lead you to the cabin but toward the beam. A fluorescent nylon rope now feeds through the hooks and pulleys, and an oxidized steel, wide-based triangle sways freely. Beckoning. A humiliating whimper escapes as he positions you on a circle of dead grass, hands of a hangman on your hips.

“Said you wanted a fucking award.”

A fucking award. A fucking award.

Simon reclaims his watch and then methodically changes your bindings. A hand to each vertice, he fastens you to the gambrel and kisses away a rogue tear. He tugs and tests the rope. It shouldn’t induce a flood, and yet.

“Is it—Can it hold me?”

“Birdie, this is built for stags and boars. It can hold me.” He strokes your cheek, tapping the bone with a knuckle, then breaks away. “Stay put.”

As if you have a choice.

Leaving you with the frogs and crickets, you watch Simon retreat indoors. A breeze carries a cool rush of air from the lake, your thin top a poor barrier to the slight chill. You take deep, rattling breaths to slow your heartbeat, still racing from the pursuit.

A distant click breaks the quiet, followed by a low, electrical buzz and the sudden, blinding intensity of light. It sears your vision before you can screw your eyes shut, blinking away the phosphenes with a noise of displeasure. The sensation’s almost enough to knock you off your feet. You squint, sight adjusting, and track the source to a previously unseen flood lamp affixed to the oak tree some distance away.

Simon returns shortly after you regain your bearings, his imposing silhouette accentuating his mass. Closer, he’s stripped down to a fraying and stained white t-shirt, but your eyes hone in on the rig fastened around a thick thigh. The cut of the strap guides your eye to the straining denim, and the image of his dick flashes in your mind, scorching like the flood lamp.

He extracts a knife from the sheath, steel reflecting light like a mirror. You squirm, a cross between impatient and uncomfortable. Is he cutting you down already? What was the point—

He pulls the front of your shirt, setting the knife edge to the hem.

“Simon,” your voice jumps high in your throat. “Don’t you dare.”

A steady upward glide answers the warning, cleaving the material in two open drapes. The breeze hits your sweat, the band of your bra suddenly chilled and sticking, though that doesn’t last long as he slices through it, too.

“Someone could see!” you stammer, nipples tightening in the night air.

“You’re frettin’ over nothin’, sweetheart. Nobody’s out here. Open.” Simon demands, pressing the hilt to your lips. “Good girl.” he praises when you relent to bite the compressed leather between your teeth, catching a whiff of polish. He rips off the remnants of your top and bra, dropping them to the ground in scraps. A big hand fondles and weighs a tit in its palm as if he hasn’t played with it before. There’s a deep inhale from behind the mask as he swipes a thumb beneath its mass, then a chuckle. “Work up a sweat?”

The hand with the knife carefully discards the mask, revealing smears of eyeblack, and he pops his thumb into his mouth to suck it clean. A gasp slips out when he steps closer, hand engulfing the tissue again, pushing it up to glide his nose along the underside, tongue trailing. He nips, soothing after you yelp.

You mourn your expensive leggings when he shreds them next, reducing them to ribbons—another deep breath and a throaty laugh, selfish and all too pleased.

“Knew I smelled ya in the woods.”

“You ruined–you tore them–”

“Thought you’d get lucky tonight?” Scarred knuckles drag from your ribs to your thigh, squeezing, his thumb rubbing sweet circles over old stretch marks. Your wires cross, his blatant rewrite of the afternoon makes your lips purse, but his hand, Christ, your toes curl in your sneakers. “A quick screw in the woods?” He sheathes his knife to trace a finger along the crease of your thigh.

Air whistles through your teeth in a sharp inhale. He skims, dipping to gather some of your wetness, licking his fingers clean again. He hums appreciatively. “Get off on being chased? Fuckin’ dripping, birdie.”

Your hole twitches at his teasing, and you know he must see it with the sneer he gives you alongside the abrupt plunge of two fingers. The hand on your thigh migrates to your ass, pulling you snug to the webbing.

“Simon!” A curse hisses out as he burrows his fingers in as deep as they’ll go, curling—not for your pleasure, no, but to keep you there, a crude hook. The rope strains as you squirm, impaled, and stretched too tight on his hand, clenching uncontrollably as if your cunt can’t make up its mind. A flurry of sensations meets head-on with reason, and logic’s never been your strong suit. Reduced to need and want in equal measure, a single twist of his fingers confirms you’re as desperate as the night you met him.

You don’t notice his other hand abandoning your backside for the rope. What squeaks first, you or the pulleys? It’s sudden, the way you slide off his fingers with a lewd pop, feet leaving the ground. He hoists you up and up, the movement practiced, tying you off like the boat secured around a cleat hook.

Some feet off the ground, naked and shivering in the dark, exposed—you should feel fear, but the other shoe, instinct or intuition, doesn’t drop. All the vulnerability does instead is send a white-hot pulse to your clit. A plea leaves your mouth before your brain considers anything else. Pelvis tilting. He awards your eagerness with a grind of a zipper and a gratified grunt. Simon tugs his jeans and boxers down, then bends slightly to hitch your legs.

Your legs settle around him, and though he huffs when you squeeze, trying to ease the pressure off your wrists, you think he likes it. The ropes above slack little, raised higher than he’s tied you. With a massive hand back on your hip, he uses the other to feed his cock into you, bringing the line taut once more as he pulls you down.

The steady shove and fullness push a low whine from your mouth, which Simon smothers with a toothy kiss. It stings some—you’re not nearly wet enough, only quieting with the faith he’ll make it better. However, the fact that he doesn’t give you time to adjust isn’t promising.

He ruts. Barges in. Takes what he needs in full strokes. Builds a pace that rattles the hardware and your insides. The pain steadily stressing your wrists and lower back is secondary. Third, probably, to pleasure and heat, though the former isn’t building as fast as the latter. Sweat beads in your hairline and neck, collecting under your breasts and in the creases of your belly. Makes your calves slick where they press into his sides, the cotton of his shirt sticking to his and your muscles.

“Simon, I can’t–” The words eke out, abdomen and thighs burning, friction in the wrong places.

His arms flex, boots shuffling over dirt and grass to further beneath you, cock dragging along your walls at a drastic angle, head jabbing into your cervix. More support, less comfort. A bitter trade-off, exchanging one hurt for another. The pinch of his brow makes the bursting stars at the edges of your vision worth it.

Each thrust shakes you in the rope, pulleys whining in solidarity. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes across the cabin’s yard, coupling with your gasps and Simon’s ragged breaths. After a particularly harsh snap of his hips, laughter, deep and gular, trickles out of his mouth. "You feelin’ alright, sweetheart?" he drawls, voice oozing sangfroid. “Y’like your award?”

That has you shuddering. His hands settle on your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh in a way that’s sure to leave marks. “Look at you, strung up so prettily. Pretty fucking ornament.”

Bambi’s poor mother.

Simon's voice and the image of a dangling deer carcass collide, punctuated with a thrust like a battering ram. It forces another string of needy sounds. Discomfort and desire coil in your stomach, twisting into a warm mass with a life of its own. You feel every inch as he withdraws and shoves in. The heat of him, the hardness. Nylon chafes your skin, each buck a reminder of your helplessness. Restraints are nothing new, but this is—

The air leaves your lungs in one big whoosh as Simon hits a sweet spot.

You slump a bit, legs close to jelly from bracing.

Finally, an adjustment. Simon slows to meld himself further into you, and it’s then, sucking in deep breaths, you marvel at how perfectly level you are to be fucked like this. He bands a single thick arm beneath your ass in a casual display of strength, the other snaking between you. Chin to chest, he spits, the glob hitting your clit like a bullseye. You’d cringe if his thumb didn’t chase after it, spreading his saliva. The sudden break, coupled with his attention, makes you quiver. Anticipation gaining on torment. His thumb’s rhythm quickens, alleviating the aches. You’ll be sore as hell come morning, but as you have before, you’ll forgive again.

With a new, albeit haphazard, focus on your clit, he rolls his hips at a more languid pace. The shift is a knife’s edge between torture and bliss.

“Still want me to take it down? Don’t know if I will, birdie, like the idea of keepin’ you up ‘ere, ‘anging for the takin’ whenever I want ya.” A chuckle vaporizes into a hiss. “Shit, you like the sound of that?

If you could manage speech, you’d say yes. Simon’s rewired your synapses in a matter of seconds with the rough pad of a finger. He’s backlit from this angle. Haloed. Suits him, you think. What you’re feeling is rapturous, however ruthless it may be. Animalistic, really. If you let him leave the beam—this is what you’ll remember. Not some fresh-killed doe staring into nothing. But you, Simon, and the orgasm he harvests.

It creeps up on you. You howl, jerking in the ropes, muscles spasming and weeping. Revived with a burst of adrenaline, your legs try to close automatically, only to press uselessly into his sides. There’s no stopping him and nowhere to go until he’s done. Your body sags in its ties like a puppet.

Simon snarls something, and his palms return to your ass, abandoning all pretense. A haze rolls, thick as molasses, over you as he uses you to his end. He goes silent the few seconds before he comes, breathing harshly through his nose. One last snap of his hips, a deep grunt, and his cock floods your pussy. His chest heaves. Breaths heavy and stunted. Burrowing into your chest, he digs his nose into your sternum and rasps his teeth over your frantic heartbeat.

Your eyes droop along with the rest of your person. Everything disappears under a tenebrous wave.

Movement. The grind of the pulleys. The sawing of a knife. A sliver of lucidity buoys you, a headrush from popping to the surface after drowning. Your head throbs, the world spins, and by the time you make sense of it, you hear the familiar creak of the cabin steps.

Simon lays you out on the lumpy mattress, brushing his fingers over your hair and skin. He disappears, and you float in and out of consciousness. Thoroughly fucked.

You briefly wake when he tucks you in. The crux of your legs is damp, and a faint medicinal smell emanates under the blanket. Layers of gauze over aloe wrap your wrists where they lay beside your head on a flat pillow, and you wiggle your fingers experimentally.

“Sleep.” He says, poking your forehead.

Your throat hurts. “Stay.”

The bed dips when he obliges. He molds to your back, smushing your chest with an arm and cupping a tit. His breath fans over the shell over your ear, and when you’re on the edge of sleep, he murmurs something, but the words run together.

Somehow, he falls asleep before you. Sated. Ran out. You take care of him, and he takes.

An emaciated tick floats with its legs curled in on itself in a glass on the floor next to the bed. You stare at it for too long, then roll over.

Simon’s awake, though his eyes remain closed and body still. You wince, thighs rubbing together and interlacing your limbs over his. His lip twitches, but he doesn’t shove you off.

You trace a scar jutting across the meat of a shoulder and stare at his chest, pock-marked like besieged castle walls. Months ago, you asked about the stories behind the wounds. The question went unanswered, and it earned you a week of getting fucked face-down. So you simply drop a kiss to a crater on his pec and then his chin.

“You broken?” He mutters.

“No.”

“Then fix us some breakfast.”

It’s Herculean with how your flanks and thighs protest, but you hum through the kitchen and diligently rustle up the meal. Visions of a life dance through your head. An ivory lace curtain will suit the window over the sink. The smoke-damaged, yellowing cabinets need scrubbing. There’s hair stuck in the hoarfrost of the freezer, which makes you gag. Leftovers from one of Simon’s hunts.

No sooner than you plate the bacon does Simon emerge. No need to call. He’s trained.

The cell reception is terrible, one of the features that sold him on the property. Calls drop sporadically, and texts scrape by at the shed. His phone vibrates when he sets foot over the threshold—messages from his pet, all sent within a few hours. Poor thing’s bored at work. He wouldn’t know the feeling. His morning’s been productive. Enjoyable.

Simon’s lip curls, and he leans the fishing rod against the shed door. Sliding his phone into a pocket, he turns back to fetch the tackle box. He lumbers past the wriggling cunt strung up on the newly installed gambrel, the plastic crinkling underfoot. The steady drip of blood is barely audible over their whiny throes. Probably hurts. Hooks through the Achilles tendons will do that, but they’ll go quiet soon enough. If he times it right, they’ll be done when he returns for supper.

He nearly pricks his thumb, spearing the worm onto the hook. Watches it writhe. He huffs a laugh and spares a glance back at the cabin. The two trees that once held the beam. It’s a loss to no longer watch game struggle from the comfort of the deck. He surprised himself with how he complied with his girl’s request. She earned it, he supposed. Cried and begged and bled for it. Usually, that sort of response draws his knife, not his interest. But she’s an odd one. Different. A rare beast.

He casts the line.

“Do you want to fuck me?” She’d asked all those months ago, less than a minute after he threatened to hang her date by the balls. Blunt and to the point. Refreshing. He was unaccustomed to finding them so willing, but she fucking imprinted on him like a wobbly-kneed fawn. Nosed his open, reaching hand like a stray, hungry pup. She saw him for what he was—the bigger, meaner predator. Top of the food chain. Thinks some part of her knew she was better off bowing her head and licking his cock than running. She stuck her neck out, took him home, and gave him her pussy without a fuss.

It’s cute, the way she thinks she’s made him agreeable. How she works on him and his hygiene and manners. Doesn’t get that if it were up to him, he’d sleep on the floor, in the dirt, used to a lifetime of bunking down in shitholes. The cabin’s simply suitable for his hobbies. The fact it’s a decent vivarium for the sweet girl is a bonus, a place to keep her nice and soft so long as she’s good. ‘Course, the sight of her hanging by her hands made the idea of introducing her insides to the outside cross his mind, but he won’t cut her down just yet. Not when he’s got her leashed.

Hours later, the cooler packed with largemouth bass and walleye, he unpacks the dinghy and trudges toward the shed. It’s silent, save for the insects and the birds.

The nosy prick from the bait shop sways, unmoving. Coated with his own fluids and dripping. He chuckles. He should call her.

#ghost x reader #ghost x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #mind the tags #posting and skittering off

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todaysdocument · 2 years ago

Text

Some handy tips from the War Department’s “You’re Going to Employ Women” pamphlet, April 1, 1943.

Unfortunately, this is not a joke.

Record Group 407: Records of the Adjutant General's Office

Series: Central Decimal Correspondence Files

File Unit: 291.9 Status of Women 1-1-42 THRU 12-31-45

Transcription:

(a pamphlet with single staple on left side, off-white paper)

You're Going to Employ Women

WAR DEPARTMENT

WASHINGTON, D. C.

(In pencil along right side) WGCS 17, 291.9, (4-1-43)

[page 2]

(left page black and white photo) woman filing a piece of metal

_______________careful...

(right facing page)

(title) When Training Women

ORIENT her more thoroughly than a man on health and safety rules, plant layout and production, company policies, job techniques.

Give her a preliminary training course to get the feel of work.

Relate her job training to past experience, usually domestic--interpret machinery operation in terms of household and kitchen appliances.

Arrange for continuous upgrading and train her for higher grade jobs.

Use community training facilities when necessary--trade schools, vocational classes in colleges and universities.

[page 3]

(Left side same woman)

_____________and conscientious...

(Right side)

(title) When Working Woman

LIMIT her hours to 8 a day and 48 a week.

Schedule short morning and afternoon rest intervals on arduous jobs.

Have diet-balanced luncheons available--and extra food on exhausting jobs.

Provide ample clean toilets and rest rooms--good plant ventilation free of dust, fumes and drafts--work seats and benches at proper height--clean orderly surroundings--safety devices on machinery.

Insist on proper work clothing, safe shoes.

Promote adequate local housing and transportation.

And…

[page 4]

(Left side of page)

(title)

Use a Trained Personnel Woman

She can counsel with management on training, job simplification and all general employment policies.

She understands women-worker needs.

She can give sympathetic attention to home problems.

She can be told personal difficulties that would not be confided to a man.

She can arrange for child care.

(right facing page)

-Women are pliant--adaptable.

-Women are dexterous--finger nimble.

-Women are accurate--precision workers.

-Women are good at repetitive tasks.

-Women are fine color and material observants.

Women CAN BE TRAINED TO DO ALMOST ANY JOB YOU'VE GOT.

#archivesgov #April 1 #1943 #1940s #WWII #World War II #women's history #labor history #captain america chair dot gif

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teenwolf-theoriginals · 2 years ago

Text

dad!tommy

pairing: tommy shelby x reader + dad!tommy

warning: as usual, tommy swearing

summary: a collection of short fics inspired by this fic of florence having tommy wrapped around her finger

the school bake sale

The kitchen, a mess. Flo, even more so. The school's yearly cookie stall market had arrived. Students, or rather parents, were asked to bake goods to sell. The profits would be split between upgrades and supplies for the school and the local community garden. Clapping her hands together, Florence giggled when a cloud of flour exploded. Waving it away, you wiped the excess flour from her cheek and pulled the gingerbread cookies from the oven - Flo’s favourite.

“Shall we have a little taste?”. You asked.

Eager little hands reached for the warm cookie, Florence giving a thumbs up. “I hope I sell some”. She nervously commented after finishing the other half.

“I’m sure you will, sweetheart. I’ll pack the cookies away while you go get cleaned up, and then we can go”.

Hopping off the stall, Florence ran to wash up. When she returned, each cookie had been packed away, ready for the bake sale.

Whatever nerves Flo held had tripled. Her usual bouncy demeanour barely noticeable as she made her way down the stairs. Tommy ventured from his office, briefly catching his daughter’s flat mood.

“What’s wrong with Flo?”. He whispered to you.

“Today is the school bake sale, she’s nervous. Thinks she won’t sell any cookies”.

“When’s the bake sale?”.

“1 pm”. You replied, kissing Tommy on the cheek and escorting Florence to school.

As one of the volunteers, you kept a close eye on Flo while helping set up the stalls. By early afternoon, the street was buzzing with parents, children and older folks looking to indulge their sweet tooth and help aid the education of young imaginations and their community. A few had wandered towards Florence’s stall, but only three had brought her cookies.

“Only three people brought my gingerbread cookies”. Flo said, lowering her head, and wiping the corner of her eye.

“More will too. The bake sale has only started, sweetheart”.

She sighed, her confidence draining rapidly. Your heart dropped. Flo usually enjoyed a challenge, inheriting such a trait from Tommy. But she also loved to succeed, also a trait handed down by her ambitious father. Speaking of Tommy, you noticed his car pull up further down the street. He kissed you hello, checked in on Florence and then made his way back to you.

“You did something, didn’t you?”.

Before Tommy responded, Johnny Dogs loudly declared for all the market to hear. “I have quite the appetite for some dessert. And I hear this is the place to get the most delicious gingerbread cookies!”.

Arthur and John joined him, making it known whose stall they were here for. “Buy a fucking cookie. Help the kids, eh”. They pressured, clapping several people on the back and displaying their “or else” Shelby stare at those who were hesitant to line up at Florence’s stall. Beside you Tommy continued to smoke, his other hand resting in his pocket, keeping a watchful eye on Flo whose mood had greatly improved when half her cookies had been sold.

“Tommy, I don’t think this is what the school meant when they said parents were welcome to help”.

He shrugged, squashing the cigarette underneath his shoe. “Our daughter sells her cookies and is happy, and the school gets their money. It’s a win-win”.

With John taking care of the stall, Florence ran up to Tommy, smiling wide. “Daddy! I’ve nearly sold all my cookies”.

“Good job, sweetheart”. He knelt at her level, pulling out some money. “How about you go buy a cookie for Mama?”.

She skipped away, returning with a cookie. Happily accepting, Florence disappeared again to help John. You smiled, grabbing Tommy’s hand, taking a stroll around the market. By end of the day, Florence sold all her cookies and returned home clinging onto Tommy, exhausted but happy.

like father, like daughter

Clutching Mr Giraffe, Flo carefully descended the mountainous staircase. Tommy’s office light helping guide her. Florence had turned five, six weeks ago, and with a new age came new discoveries. Her favourite discovery was finding out that Tommy was too a night owl. Flo would often let the troubles of sleep get the better of a good night's rest, opting to spend her time with Tommy in his office. Tonight was no different.

“Daddy, I can’t sleep”. She quietly spoke, altering Tommy.

He peered over the typewriter, beckoning Flo over. She smiled and climbed into his lap. They worked in unison, Tommy writing the necessary letters and signing the most important documents while Flo entertained Mr Giraffe with the various decor on the desk. Halfway through the fourth document Tommy was reading, Flo became restless, yearning for his attention.

“Daddy?”.

“Yes, sweetheart”.

Flo titled her head to get a better view of Tommy. “Why can’t you sleep?”.

“Because I have a lot of business that needs to get done”.

Fixing Mr Giraffe's blue tie, Flo frowned. “But Mama says sleep is good for us”.

He smiled at the mention of you, nodding in agreement. “She’s right”.

“Then why aren’t you asleep?”.

Tommy chuckled, his daughter ever the curious spirit. “Sometimes Daddy has trouble sleeping”.

She gasped, hugging Mr Giraffe. “Just like me!”

Bopping Flo on the nose, she giggled, averting her attention back to Mr Giraffe. For the next 20 minutes Tommy worked in silence until he noticed Flo failing to suppress a yawn.

“It’s time for bed, Flo”. Tommy instructed, delicately rubbing her back.

She shook her head, burying it in the crook of Tommy’s neck, mumbling. “No. I want to stay with you”.

“You need rest, sweetheart. Your mother won’t be too happy with me if you wake up tired tomorrow”.

“Can you tuck me in, please?”.

He smiled, kissing her forehead. “Always”.

Grabbing Mr Giraffe, Tommy climbed up the stairs and put Flo to bed. Leaving only when her blue eyes closed and finding you waiting in the hall.

“So when is it my turn to be put to bed?”. You teased.

Tommy smirked, kissing you with a passion that made your stomach flutter. “Right now, Mrs Shelby”.

You giggled when his lips showered your skin with attention. Guiding you back to the bedroom, Tommy kicked the door shut with his foot, ready for bed.

mum says no, dad says yes

Mothering four children came with its unique challenges. Ava heading into an age that craved independence. Charlie and Theo creating mischief with their pranks and cheeky attitudes. And Flo being a Daddy’s girl, which meant every time you said no, she ran to Tommy who couldn’t resist saying yes. Most times, there wasn’t any issue; an extra cookie, more time to play before bed or a trip to her favourite candy store. But today, like Flo, you became frustrated with her lack of listening.

She stomped her foot, crossing her arms to inform you of her displeasure. “I want it!”

“And I said no”.

“But why!”.

You sighed, setting down the last plate for lunch and then turning your attention to Flo. “Because you already have a dollhouse, and you’ve only played with it twice”.

“I’ll play with this one more, promise!” She pleaded, eyes watering.

On cue, Tommy walked in, handing his briefcase and coat to Frances. Upon seeing her father, Flo ran into his arms, smiling with delight that Tommy was home.

“Daddy, can I get a new dollhouse?”.

“Of course, sweetheart. After lunch, alright”.

She kissed Tommy on the cheek, running up the stairs with a revived excitement. He met your disapproved gaze, following you into the kitchen.

“I know that look. What did I do?”.

Throwing down the tea towel, you turned to face your oblivious husband. “Every time Flo doesn’t get what she wants, she runs to you. And then I end up being the unfair parent because I’m trying to set boundaries and rules for her. She has you wrapped around her little finger, Tommy".

“Just like her mother”. He smirked. You glared at him, prompting him to pull you closer. “I will talk to Florence and tell her when Mama says no, she must listen, alright?”.

Opting to get you to smile, Tommy playfully kissed you. First on the lips, then on the cheek, moving down your neck and chest, until you broke out into a smile.

“Frances can handle lunch. Why don’t you and I go to bed, eh?”.

Running a finger down Tommy’s tie, you stopped inches away from his lips, whispering. “I’m afraid, Mama says no”.

Amused, Tommy licked his bottom lip. “In ten minutes I can have Mama screaming yes”.

“Daddy, let's go!” Florence called from the dining hall.

“Your daughter is calling you, Tommy. Wouldn’t want to break that promise you made”.

Previewing his intentions for later via a heated kiss, Tommy proudly ran his thumb over your red lips. “When I return, I intend on keeping my other promise”.

“You best go before Flo gets impatient”.

“And you best go to bed and wait for me there. I won’t be long, love”. He huskily demanded, kissing you once more.

Taking Flo’s hand, Tommy looked to you, then pointed to the bedroom. You waved him goodbye, smiling. And when Tommy returned to an empty bed, he also learned that when Mama said no, she meant it.

the one where flo runs out of paper

“Flo! Did you do this, eh?”. Tommy sternly asked, spreading out his business documents on the desk. Avoiding eye contact, she slowly shook her head. “You ruined important documents that I need for business”.

“It wasn’t me”.

"It couldn’t have been Charlie or Theo because they were outside with Mama. And Ava is upstairs in her room. So, that just leaves you”.

Through glossy blue eyes, Flo innocently glanced up. “I’m sorry, daddy! I ran out of paper and now your mad at me, and-”.

He sighed, crouching to her eye level. “Sweetheart, I’m not mad”. Tommy whispered, wiping the tears from her pale cheeks. “Don’t take any papers from my office, alright?. If you ran out, wait for Frances or Mama to get you more”.

“I will”. She quietly replied.

Tommy opened his arms for a hug and Florence immediately clutched to his embrace, leaving an apologetic kiss on his cheek. On her way to the living room, she passed you and the boys. Walking into Tommy’s office, you saw the crayon scribbled over the pages and a frustrated husband by the whiskey tray.

“Someone’s been getting creativity”.

“It was Flo. She ran out of paper”. Pouring himself a whiskey, he took a sip. “Next time, make sure she has fucking paper to draw on”.

“I’m going to give you ten seconds to adjust that attitude, Tommy”.

Exhaling, he sat at his desk, placing the whiskey beside the framed photo of you and the children. “I’m sorry, love. It’s just more work. More things I have to fucking fix”.

Rubbing his shoulders, you kissed him, settling onto his lap. Wrapping his arms around your waist, Tommy exhaled once more. “Shall I call Lizzie to bring over new documents?”. You asked, running your fingers through his hair.

“No. I’ll deal with it tomorrow”.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”.

He shook his head. “You already are, love”.

Lifting his chin, you kissed him, lingering until Tommy decided to pull away. “Florence didn’t mean to ruin your documents. You know she hates upsetting you”.

“I know. I’ll check in on her later”.

Leaning into his embrace, Tommy wrapped his arms around your waist. The calm flowed like an autumn breeze, lasting only a few minutes until voices from the hall disrupted much needed peace.

“It’s my turn!” Charlie cried out.

“No, it’s mine!” Theo shouted back.

Both you and Tommy sighed.

“I got the boys, you go make sure Flo is okay”. You instructed, hopping off Tommy’s lap.

If one thing was certain, there was never a dull moment in the Shelby household.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #dad!tommy #writing #shelby family chaos

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deejadabbles · 2 years ago

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Songs in the Kitchen (Bad Batch fluff)

Summary: You're appalled when you find out about your new team's lack of nutrition and...well, what fun is cooking without a little dancing? Hunter x GN Reader and (platonic) Omega and Reader. No warnings, just cute domestic fluff.

A.N: Got this idea while making dinner last night and listening to Temuera Morrison's cover of Can't Take My Eyes off You. So, you have Clone Daddy to thank for this XD Also!! I have a bone to pick with this song! All my life I thought the lyrics were "I would walk 500 miles" but it's not?? It's "roll"??? My whole life is a lie. Anyway, I hope you guys like this, reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

"If they ever upgrade this ship, you'll help me convince them to invest in an actual kitchen, right?"

For possibly the fifth time you had rammed your foot into Gonky as he, you, and Omega shuffled around the pitiful table that the soldiers insisted was 'fine enough' for food provisions.

Omega chuckled as she climbed onto said droid to give you some more room. "You got it! I think cooking will be really fun in a real kitchen!"

You smiled down at her, the light in her eyes instantly alleviating any annoyance your stubbed foot may have caused you. You still couldn't believe that you only just discovered last week that Omega, nor any of her clone siblings, had ever learned the basics of cooking. Wrecker insisted that shooting wildlife and spit-roasting them counted...you did not. There was a difference between survival hunting and actual cooking!

In fact, the batch had been quite unphased when you observed the fact that they only ever seemed to eat ration bars and whatever slop they got from local cantinas. That caused a whole uproar on your part, scolding all of them for not caring more about their health. Yes, eating ration bars during the war was...unfortunate, but a harsh necessity. Eating them while away on whatever job they took was...acceptable, you supposed. But when they spent days on a reasonable planet with plenty of resources?! You couldn't believe they thought it was rational to still only eat those dry, tasteless bricks!

So now, here you were carving out the tiniest space available on the ship in an effort to cook your friends a somewhat decent home-cooked meal. Omega, always the bright-eyed wonderer, was eager to help while her brothers were in town for supplies.

Right now 'helping' was mostly just learning, since there honestly wasn't much room for her to do much. But you appreciated the company.

You rummaged through a box of things Tech had gathered for you; things he said were 'adequate cooking substitutes' in lieu of actual utensils, searching for a pear knife. You managed to dig up a serrated vibro dagger....alright, good enough.

While you chopped away at a strange local fruit, and Omega looked on with rapt interest, you couldn't help but smile. Despite the odd circumstances, the whole setting was quite domestic, and you thought of how happy it made you, that Omega was getting her own version of such an experience. Omega, who, like her brothers, had never had parents to dote on them and teach them, to have simple, warm moments like this with.

You hadn't noticed that you were humming until your hips started moving to the melody in your head. It was such an old song, but one that always made you feel so, whimsical, perhaps?

After scooping the first fruit into the bowl you moved on to the next item, one that Hunter had mentioned trying in the market the other day.

Hunter.

The thought of him made some heat fill your cheeks. You wondered- or rather, hoped, that he would like the meal you were making. The night after you had made such a fuss over their eating, Hunter had mentioned something to you, a far-off look in his eye like usual, as if he had a million things on his mind and that was just the one floating to the surface.

"Meal times weren't exactly a good time for us," he'd mused, not even looking at you, "even during downtime on Kamino, it was just another reminder that we didn't belong, even among clones."

That confession, along with an off-handed comment Omega had once made about no one but her sitting with them in the mess hall made your heartache.

Well, this will just be your chance to make mealtime a good memory for them!

Even more determination swelled in your chest as you moved about the small space, you'd have each of them smiling over your food if it killed you!

In fact, with each in mind, you started portioning off Hunter's plate when it came time to add the seasoning. Couldn't have his enhanced senses going mad with too much spice.

That old melody came floating back to you again, as you thought of the handsome sergeant.

"Pardon the way that I stare There's nothin' else to compare The sight of you leaves me weak There are no words left to speak"

The lyrics came easily as you worked, they were words of something pure, innocent; a rarity in this galaxy. A silly little dance even weaved its way into your movements.

"But if you feel like I feel Please let me know that it's real You're just too good to be true Can't take my eyes off of you"

"What are you doing?"

Omega's sudden question snapped you out of your daze- just in time to ram your foot into Gonky again.

After shaking the limb out with a curse you looked up at the child with a brow raised, "Uh?"

"What was that? That strange talking?"

You tilted your head, "Um... you mean my singing?" Come on, you knew you weren't a concert vocalist or anything, but did she really think you were that bad?

Omega's eyes went wide with excitement, "Oh! That's what singing is?"

"You've never heard singing before?!"

Unabashed, the girl just shook her head, "No, I mean, I've heard music before. Every once in a while Nala Se would play some Kaminoian music while she worked, but it was just sounds, no voices."

You stood there stunned for a moment, unable to think of anything to reply with. Just what else had this poor girl been deprived of in her childhood? Now that you thought about it, you'd never heard the boys play any music either. Maker, you hoped they had at least heard singing before.

"Omega," you started after a moment, "would you like to hear some of my music collection while we cook?"

You honestly had not thought it possible for her eyes to sparkle more, but the little one managed it.

"So you think we got enough?" Wrecker groaned, shifting the crate on his shoulder.

Tech didn't look away from his data pad as he answered, "We acquired everything on the list we were given, I can't fathom there would be any reason for complaint. Even with our friend's sudden, irrational concern for our eating habits."

"Don't mock it like that," Echo chimed in, "I think the change in pace is nice. You can't tell me you actually like those ration bars day in and day out."

"I fail to see how 'like' is of any consequence," was all Tech huffed in response.

Hunter, who was walking ahead of them all, let out a sigh. He wanted to tell them to pick up the pace, but bit back the urge. You had insisted that you could scrape together the first meal with what you had on the ship already, but, if their haul from the market could make your task easier, he wanted to get it to you sooner rather than later.

All of this was just so...sweet of you to begin with. Hunter never wanted to complain about anything regarding their life style, not during the war, not now, it was what it was, and he accepted that. You could have done the same, but instead, you went out of your way to improve things.

Hell, you could have just balked at their lifestyle, and made your own, separate from them, made your own food to eat in your own part of the ship. Instead, you had decided to include them all in your efforts, even putting up with their grumbles and gripes with that cute, bossy attitude you got when you were determined.

Hunter found the whole thing incredibly endearing.

Not to mention your inclusion of Omega. You were giving the little one an experience, a memory that she would carry with her always. The sergeant felt his lips curl up at the thought. You were a good companion for Omega...you were a good companion for all of them.

Unfortunately, his happy little musings were brought to a screeching halt as his hearing picked up on something. His enhanced senses did that a lot, noticing things before his brain could really register them. They were nearing the ship and, had the voices sounded distressed, he would have been on high alert. Instead, they sounded...was that, singing?

"When I go out, yeah I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you When I get drunk, well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you!"

The sound was almost foreign to Hunter's ears, your's and Omega's voices sounded quite different, but it was definitely your vocals crooning over what he now realized was music.

"What is that sound?" Tech asked behind him. They had gotten close enough now that even his brothers could hear it. Hunter could just imagine the shrugs and confused looks they were giving each other as he opened the door at the top of the loading ramp.

"And I would roll 500 miles And I would roll 500 more Just to be the man who rolls a thousand miles To fall down at your door"

In all the years he'd been aboard the Marauder with his team, he'd never seen something quite like this. Your music blared through the ship's speakers while you and Omega danced in the small space he'd cleared for your make-shift kitchen.

"When I'm working, yes I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who's working hard for you!"

You threw something into the sizzling pan atop the would-be hotplate Echo had improvised for you, before leaning down and taking Omega's hands in a silly little jig of a dance.

"And when the money, comes in for the work I do I'll pass almost every penny on to you"

"Hey hey!" Wrecker cheered, dropping the crate in the doorway, "A dance party!" and just like that he joined the happy fray.

Your eyes lit up upon seeing them, and if he'd thought you would stop, he was wrong.

"When I come home(When I come home), well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you!"

Your dance turned into some jabbing motions, aimed at them to go along with the apt lyrics. Hunter was glad you didn't stop, with the delighted look on your face and the squeal of delight from Omega as Wrecker lifted her atop his shoulders, his soft smile was back tenfold.

"Well," Tech began, the smallest traces of amusement in his voice, "things are certainly lively with them around."

Lively indeed, because when the song's chorus picked up again, no one was safe from the infectious, joyous mood. Wrecker lunged forward, leaving Omega to grab hold of both Tech and Echo and drag them to the proverbial dance floor.

In turn, Hunter felt a warm hand grab his, and you pulled him into a bouncing dance that would have been right at home around a bonfire.

His face felt a little hot despite himself, but he looked down at you, a fondness in his eye he didn't even know he was capable of as you sang along with the song.

"When I'm lonely, well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the one who's lonely without you"

Hunter couldn't help himself, he tuned out the actual song, focusing wholly on your voice as it wrapped around the words. And, for just a little while, Hunter imagined that you were singing them to him and him alone.

"And when I'm dreaming, well I know I'm gonna dream I'm gonna Dream about the time when I'm with you"

Maybe someday you would sing for him, but for now, he was content with this.

"When I go out, well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the one who goes along with you"

He took a chance, and pulled you in just a little closer as he tried to keep up with your silly dance.

"And when I come home, yes I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the one who comes back home with you"

Yeah, he was more than content with this, for now.

"I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you"

#bad batch #bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter #star wars x reader #sw #hunter tbb x reader #sw tbb #deeja writes #oneshot #fluff

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lilaroxa · 2 months ago

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RF1: Year 1 - Spring 18 [Spring Festival]

As luck would have it, Raguna couldn't access the next cave immediately because it was the Spring Festival - with no cookies to give.

It would be nice if Emmett put cookies on his menu during the first year's Spring. It feels awful to hear everyone so excited about exchanging cookies when Raguna has to wait until he can upgrade his house AND buy a large kitchen and oven from Ivan.

Even if you could somehow gather all the wood and G necessary for building a house in 7 days (+ 10 days for it to be built), you'd still be missing the large kitchen and oven to make the cookies! Ivan only sells the Large Kitchen on the 1st day of the month and Ovens on the 19th. ONE DAY after the Spring Festival! It's literally impossible to get cookies for the first Spring Festival unless you use the local connection gimmick and receive cookies from a friend.

Alas, Raguna being unprepared can't be helped. But still, I was feeling the FOMO!

-----

Out of all the girl's dialogue, Felicity's stuck out to me the most. I love how she radiates such a wholesomely happy aura. She always seems the happiest on festival days! I theorize it's because she helps out her father the most during festivals.

I do have to admit, that in my childhood, I always went after Felicity - and I'm surprised to see her show up so "late" in the blanket! So it may be the nostalgia talking when I say that her line is my favourite one from the Spring Festival.

Similar to Tabatha, I like that Felicity usually "tests Raguna's waters". Instead of asking a more direct question like "Who will you be giving cookies to?" she asks if there is a "special someone" in Raguna's life.

Phrasing it like that, I'd imagine Raguna's facial expression would give away the answer more clearly than if she had asked directly.

So, row 18 goes to Felicity and how she lights up during festivals!

LILA'S RUNE FACTORY TEMPERATURE BLANKET

#lila's rf1 temperature blanket #rf felicity #rf raguna x felicity #rf1 #rune factory

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flightdale · 4 months ago

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Domestic Assistance Part 3

This is Tony now who is actually proper drone with little awareness of anything we did not put in his memory, his day job is as instructor at local fitness gym which to us is easy placement to design and deploy but his real purpose is in bulge targeted for Captain despite did not know about it so when said Tony is puzzled in previous parts about why we are entering home services we intentionally left he in dark while Captain did knew in fact key part of whole project being in late stage of prototype testing and this is field trial to collect data for future missions plus refine built-in training to match the real life situations expected of butler / home staff, The house selected is of simple layout and single level 7 room (lounge/kitchen/laundry/bath/ toilet/2 bed) which Captain had scan and map extensively then claim kitchen/laundry to be his sole property and that Tony had no reason to enter also Captain took other bedroom for himself despite will spend most of time in Tony's where only thing Captain did not know was revealed since are to be here for 6 months but 80% of that Captain will be pregnant with large bump which is to test his level of performance as must be available 24/7 doing his duties of cooking / cleaning and washing especially if baby decides to be active plus we do intend to upgrade Captain to Negotiator status later including functional cock inplace of useless one got now, Below is how could look like mid pregnancy (will give birth after 16 weeks)

#officer #uniform #muscle #police #muscle men #leather boots #butler #alpha master #mpreg #drone #cop #male robot #male tf #male transformation #home help

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elminx · 1 year ago

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How did it become the end of August already? (It will likely be the beginning of September before I publish this…) It seems like only last week that I was writing about the tiny bulbs bursting out of the ground in my spring garden.

We are still most of a month out for the equinox but here in Southern New England, we have definitely entered harvest season. The energy shift is palpable. Suddenly there are long shadows in my sun-loving garden and my locust tree has begun the slow process of dropping her leaves. Just last night we experienced our first truly chilly night in months. As a witch, I feel a natural call to honor these seasonal shifts – not as some sort of ritual born from the pages of a book – but as it happens in front of me.

I have a complicated relationship with the Wheel of the Year. As an astrologer, the equinoxes and solstices will always be days of celebration as they mark the quarters of the year. The rest becomes murkier where it does not always align with my environment. There is no spring in sight around Brigid’s Day which is always one of the coldest and most bleak moments in the deep of winter. Likewise, we do not have a grain harvest where I live. Our first real harvest comes in early July with the sweet corn but I am not a farmer and a corn holiday would mean nothing to me.

I’m sure that harvest means something different for every one of us and that is part of the beautiful abundance of the harvest season. My secret to celebrating the harvest in my household and my coven: we celebrate OUR harvests.

For me, the first harvest is always tomato season. For nearly 10 years now, I have been a member of a local CSA Farm Share; every year, I buy a full share from them in the fall and then we get our percentage of their harvest every week throughout the following growing season. The best part of this experience is their Pick-Your-Own fields full of fresh flowers and – come August – tomatoes! Once the tomatoes start to ripen it’s a mad dash to eat, can, and preserve as many of them as possible. I truly cannot think of anything more abundant than that!

Indeed, Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs lists the magical properties of tomato as Prosperity, Protection, and Love. For me, both Prosperity and Protection make good additions to the idea of the harvest celebration in general. Make use of the abundance when you have it and protect your present and future “crop”, so to speak. As such, I tend to include basil, thyme, and oregano from my garden as they correspond well with these intentions but of course, add the herbs that you most work with or are drawn to.

Creating Sacred Space

As I mentioned above, the Harvest season doesn’t really begin in my life until the tomatoes at my CSA Farmshare have ripened. This means that it’s go-time in my household. The first thing that I do is clean my kitchen altar.

Though a number of years ago, I started with using my kitchen table as a kitchen altar, I have upgraded since to a large multi-tiered plant stand that lives in my kitchen window. This is my most seasonal altar. Though a few of my plants are permanent residents, most of the rest of the items on the altar reflects the natural cyclical changes of my magic as I shift and flow with the energy of the year. After packing up the seashells and giving the surfaces a good clean, I add in pinecones and other Autumnal items. I also bring up the spooky which is always low-key present in my household but doubles during the season of the witch.

Once my altar has been updated, I turn to making my first dish out of my tomato harvest. This is almost always Farmshare Tomato Soup. Tomato soup is a staple in my household – we’re OG fanatics of the grilled cheese and tomato soup combo and always need to keep some in the house. But we make it ourselves – we even can a large quantity of it for late-Winter consumption. The following recipe cannot be canned though – please do your research on pressure or water canning – it can be really dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing!

Farmshare Tomato Soup

4 cups tomato* – prosperity and protection 1 red bell pepper – sweetness 2-3 carrots – abundance 1 fresh onion – protection 2 stalks celery – optional 3-5 garlic cloves – protection Parsley – Protection Ginger – money/success Turmeric – Purification Oregano – luck Red Pepper Flakes – also optional 3 cups Broth or Water Salt – Cleanses Black Pepper – banishes unwanted energies Oil – dealers choice here, I use butter

Making this tomato soup is so simple. Heat your oil with the red pepper flakes if using, add in your aromatic vegetables and cook on low until they are very tender/translucent. Add in your tomatoes and whatever spice you’re using – salt and pepper to taste. Once the tomatoes have released their liquid, add in up to 3 cups of broth. This is sort of dealer’s choice as well, the more liquid you add, the longer your soup may take to cook but the better it will taste. Add enough to make sure all of your food is submerged. Bring to a boil and then let simmer for 20 minutes or more. Check your cauldron regularly to make sure there’s enough liquid that the bottom is not burning.

From there, you can eat as-is or blend with either a blender or immersion blender. (Take it off the heat for a couple of minutes before you blend for your own safety!)

This soup is great with grilled cheese, cheese biscuits, or served on its own. You can add a dollop of sour cream, yogurt, or coconut milk before serving for richness which can be really fabulous as well. It’s also great with traditional Italian spices instead of turmeric and ginger and then topped with basil pesto.

Sharing the Harvest with Others

Do you ever have so much abundance that you feel like you could not possibly contain it? That’s how I feel at the height of the tomato season when my entire table is filled with six varietals of tomato, tomatillos, and hot peppers. The next step in my multi-pronged approach to the first harvest is to share this bounty with those that I love. My favorite meal for that is my Farmshare Lasagna.

My farmshare lasagna shares a lot of the same ingredients as my Farmshare Tomato Soup for a very good reason: I am using my harvest (what I get from my farm share) in each recipe. Use what you have is never more suited to the height of August! It’s full of peppers, onion, carrot, garlic, and tomatoes with the edition of Swiss Chard and chevre. I always use sun gold tomatoes for this recipe here – the sweetness of the sun golds is a perfect foil for the sharpness of the cheese and the bitter chard. Everything else in this recipe is negotiable (especially the spices! or add in zucchini or eggplant!) but for me, the chard, goat cheese, and sun golds are a “must”.

Farmshare Lasagna

4 cups Sun Gold or other Yellow or Orange Tomatoes* – protection and prosperity 3-4 Carrots – abundance 1 Bell Pepper – sweetness 1 Fresh Onion – protection 3-5 bulbs Garlic – protection Red Pepper Flakes – protection, optional Parsley – Protection Basil – money/luck Oregano – luck Thyme – money Salt – cleanse Black Pepper – banish unwanted energy Oil – dealer’s choice, I use olive oil here 1 Medium Bunch Swiss Chard – regular or rainbow works here Chevre – 4-8 oz – this really just depends on how much you want to add Lasagna noodles Shredded Cheese for topping, optional

Note: I’m not going to give you the exact amounts here because this depends on the size of your lasagna dish. I measure my dish by the number of noodles I know that I will need for ~3 layers for this recipe since the sauce is chunky and takes up space. I just put them dry into the dish so that I know exactly how much I need.

Making Farmshare lasagna is incredibly simple. You want to precook your lasagna noodles until they are aldente so start your water at the same time as you heat the pan for your sauce. Cook your aromatic vegetables (onion, carrot, garlic, pepper) low and slow until they wilt and become transparent. Add in your sun gold tomatoes and the spices – cook for 10 minutes adding water if necessary. Add swiss chard and cook covered for an additional 10 minutes or so until the chard is cooked. From here you just make a lasagna layering noodles, sauce, and spoonfuls of chevre cheese until you have filled your baking dish. You can top with shredded cheese if you like. Cook at 400 f for 35-40 minutes until the top gets a nice golden coating.

I find lasagna to be a very indulgent meal which makes it perfect for honoring the harvest season. You can share it with family over a bottle of red wine, or add in a fresh salad appetizer, or an apple crisp for a sugary nightcap. It’s great to serve with vegetarian guests since it’s hearty in spite of its lack of meat. (You could also through any number of ground meats into this but I assure you it isn’t necessary).

Revering the Sacredness of the Moment

It sounds so corny to say that every part of life is sacred but for me, the middle of harvest season makes me incredibly aware that every part of life is sacred. I see that as a part of my privilege – having access to farms, being able to trace back to its exact source where my food comes from, all of it allows a connection point to the life cycle pulse of the earth. It is a joy to get to pick my own tomatoes, and strawberries, and apples.

Life can feel so rushed. The harvest is a reminder to slow down for a second and savor this moment of abundance. There are so many ways that you can do this. You can take up jam or salsa making, or learn to pressure or water can. You could throw a party centered entirely around the food that you have an abundance of – how self-indulgent and wonderful! Spend the afternoon in an apple orchard and then ride the hayride back at dusk – dig deep into the moment. Revel in all that has come to pass since it was spring and a time to sew new seeds.

As a kitchen witch, I love to have at least one sinfully delicious meal. For me, that is Tomato Confit. Here we take cherry tomatoes (again, I prefer sun golds here but other varieties would do), cover them in olive oil in a baking pan, add some garlic and herbs and then cook low and slow for hours. 275f for 3 hours or more. Here, again, we get to be self-indulgent – the smell that will slowly overtake your residence is absolutely divine. The goal is to cook it until all of the water has left the tomato and you have beautifully roasted tomatoes in tomato-flavored olive oil. Once cooled, it will keep in the fridge for about a week.

Cherry Tomato Confit 4 cups cherry tomatoes* 1 bulb garlic Spices – dealer’s choice Olive oil to cover

Tomato confit is glorious and can be served in so many ways. It is divine on cracks or bread and pairs well with sharp cheeses. It works great as the basis for a simple sauce for vegetables or pasta. We used it as a pizza topping with chevre and sausage with great success. The tomato flavored oil is great as well – it makes a great olive oil drizzle or base for a salad dressing.

How do you celebrate your harvests? I’d truly like to know.

* I prefer Sun Gold cherry tomatoes for these recipes because they are sweeter but also because I think that their golden orange color goes well with the themes of abundance and prosperity

Do you like my work? You can support me by tipping me here on Tumblr or on Kofi.

#witchblr #words #mine #kitchen witch #kitchen witch recipes #harvest season #harvest season recipes #plant allies #tomato

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tradgays · 1 year ago

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30 Ways Gay Couples Can Embrace a 1950s Vintage Lifestyle

1. Establish traditional gender roles. Even in same-sex relationships, couples can assign different roles to each partner, such as one partner being “the man” and the other “the wife.”

2. Utilize classic cleaning techniques from the 1950s. Polishing furniture, ironing linens and clothes washing using a hand-cranking device can be a fun project.

3. Embrace the style. A 1950s-inspired wardrobe of sweater vests, bow ties, slacks, saddle shoes and loafers can create a classic look with a modern twist. Or go the rockabilly route with denim and leather.

4. Upgrade the kitchen with mid-century wares. Invest in classic kitchenware such as Pyrex casserole dishes and Tupperware sets.

5. Learn some swing or jitterbug moves. Register for local dance classes or hold dance parties in the living room.

6. Send letters or postcards to each other. Handwrite some words of love to your partner and include a pressed flower or favorite recipe as an extra touch.

7. Relax in silk kimonos or satin robes. Vintage robes will make your partner smile when they tie it around their waist every morning.

8. Utilize mid-century magazines for decoration. Hang up Life magazines with classic covers or revel in the styles and fashions of early fashion magazines.

9. Adopt classic lifestyle habits such as a morning cup of homemade coffee, afternoon tea and a proper bedtime routine.

10. Bring back the classics. Everything from detective books to classic romance novels will make for great bedtime stories and conversation starters. Throw in some gay pulp fiction for spice.

11. Buy vintage kitchenware. Collecting mid-century cutlery and silverware will make your kitchen feel homey and inviting.

12. Spend a day gardening. Plant roses, tomatoes or other flowering plants as a fun couple’s activity and add a touch of beauty to the front yard.

13. Have picnics with cheese and fresh prepared foods from the market. Pack a box of classic treats such as apples, nuts and pickles in a wicker basket.

14. Care for your pet as if it were a child. Spend quality time together playing with your beloved pet or simply brushing their fur or petting them.

15. Play vintage board games. Connect with each other by buying classic board games such as Monopoly or Risk.

16. Cook dinner together. Whip up some classic dishes such as steak and mashed potatoes or pork chops and corn on the cob.

17. Spruce up your living room with mid-century furniture. Invest in more modern, retro-style furniture to give your living room a touch of charm.

18. Make fun activities from the 1950s such as baking, cleaning and home improvement projects. Have fun as a couple as you both reminisce about the past and create new memories.

19. Listen to classic music on vinyl records. Play nostalgic tunes from classic artists such as Elvis Presley or Frank Sinatra.

20. Collect antiques from the 1950s. Invest in classic wares such as tea sets or vintage lamps and use them as conversation starters or simply as decorative pieces.

21. Dress up for special occasions. Pull out all the stops and dress to the nines when attending special occasions such as anniversaries or holidays.

22. Have fun in the sun. Go for a vintage-style picnic near a lake or riverside to take advantage of the beautiful summer weather.

23. Get reading. Get your hands on the classics such as Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass,” Louisa May Alcott’s “Little Women,” and Margaret Mitchell’s “Gone With the Wind.”

24. Walk together in nature. Put on some sturdy shoes or cowboy boots and take a stroll together in a nearby wooded area.

25. Buy old movies from the 1950s. Pop some popcorn and cuddle up on the couch as you watch the great films of the era.

26. Join a local vintage car club. Spend some time together admiring classic cars and seeing how the vintage lifestyle is still alive.

27. Learn to play instruments of the era. Take a banjo or ukulele lesson and you’ll have plenty of fun making music together.

28. Get lost is a classic bookstore. Lose yourself in the past as you browse through old books and share stories with each other.

29. Plant your own herbs and vegetables. Eat healthily and reduce your food bill by planting your own gardens with the help of your partner.

30. Spend some time outdoors. Go for a leisurely stroll together in a nearby

#tradgays #tradgay #1950s #vintage

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monsterkong · 26 days ago

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youtube

Discover the Hidden Charms of Fernandina Beach, Florida 🌊

Fernandina Beach might just be Florida’s best-kept secret. From luxury homes to historic landmarks, this coastal town offers a perfect blend of modern amenities and vintage charm. 🏖️

A Peek Inside 900 White Street 🏡

One of the highlights of this tour is the luxury home at 900 White Street. Built in 2021, this house combines classic style with modern upgrades. The open kitchen features custom countertops, premium appliances, and a spacious island perfect for entertaining.

Unlike the boxed-in floorplans of older homes, this property flows seamlessly between the dining and living areas, making it ideal for social gatherings. 🎉

Historic Charm in Oldtown: The Captain's House and More

Oldtown is where Fernandina Beach’s rich history truly shines. 🏛️ At the center of this district is the Captain's House, an architectural gem from 1888. Fun fact: This house wasn’t just admired for its towering gables—it also served as the set for "The New Adventures of Pippi Longstocking!" 🎥

Center Street’s Sweet Treats and Local Finds 🍫

For a taste of local life, head over to Center Street, where you’ll find an array of boutique shops, restaurants, and bars. Whether you’re hunting for a unique gift or craving some delicious fudge, this area has it all.

A Coastal Gem Worth Exploring 🌊

With its blend of history, luxury, and local charm, Fernandina Beach is truly a special place. 🏖️ No wonder the Smithsonian Institute considers it one of the best small towns to live in. So whether you're looking for your next travel destination or simply a weekend getaway, Fernandina Beach should be at the top of your list! 🌴

#Travel #Fernandina Beach #Florida #Beach #Photography #Youtube

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spacediner-game · 1 month ago

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Looking for a Game Artist!

Position: Freelance 2D Pixel Artist Project: Space Diner Studio: Monsoon Games Location: Remote Compensation: Rev share, or Flat Fee (negotiable)

About the Game: Space Diner is a cozy, narrative-driven sci-fi slice-of-life/ management game set against the unique setting of Jupiter’s second-largest moon. As the new owner of a space diner, you'll juggle various management tasks, cook meals, unlock new recipes, upgrade your equipment, and keep your establishment afloat. You'll get to know a diverse array of regulars, each with their own stories and relationships.

What We're Looking For: We’re seeking a talented 2D Pixel artist and animator who can bring the unique atmosphere of Callisto, the Space Diner, and its inhabitants to life. You should have a strong sense of character design, background art for world-building. A passion for sci-fi and/or cozy, slice-of-life games is definitely a plus!

Our ideal artist has experience working in stylized, colorful, striking pixel art, with a knack for creating memorable characters and rich environments that feel both alien and homey.

Responsibilities:

Create character designs for recurring diner customers/main characters (with different emotions)

Create small character assets for a wide range of once-off diner customers or inhabitants of Callisto (miners, corporate lackies, rich tourists, environmentalists, explorers, spaceship crew etc.)

Design space diner interiors, props, and objects, such as kitchen equipment, furniture, and décor

Illustrate alien food dishes, menu items, ingredients and kitchen equipment for cooking and inventory system

Develop space-themed environments, including exterior and interior shots of Callisto's various key locations (e.g. main street, city centre, other locales)

Brainstorm art references, artistic styles

Create promotional artwork for social media, Kickstarter, and other marketing materials, including game thumbnails

Art Style: The game has a cozy, warm, and slightly quirky art style with sci-fi elements. Think of a space-faring version of a classic diner, with a dash of whimsy and colorful alien customers. Inspiration could include a mix of retro-futurism, neon+dark color palettes.

Key Assets Required for the Game:

Character Art:

Recurring customers (10+ with varied backgrounds, human and alien designs)

Random walk-in customers (variety of races, body types, and personalities)

Main protagonist (the diner owner, 10-12 variations based on skin color, gender, build choices)

Backgrounds:

Interior diner (various angles: kitchen, seating, counter, exterior, garden)

Callisto's natural landscape (different seasons)

Other key locations (market, nightclub, competing restaurant, mining area, industrial centre, spaceport, nearby housing estate)

Different seasons, festival decorations

Props:

Diner props (furniture, kitchen tools, counter décor)

Food/Ingredients (meals/dishes for menu, ingredients)

Marketing Art:

Key art for promotional purposes (game thumbnail)

To Apply:

If you're excited about the idea of creating a cozy, narrative-driven world set in outer space and bringing a quirky, colorful cast of characters to life, we want to hear from you! Please contact me at [email protected], or reach me on discord @ allieebobo. As the game is still in its early stages of game design, there is still room to discuss the scope, artistic style, and exact assets required!

#interactive fiction #artist needed #game #space diner

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dealhandyman · 1 month ago

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Reliable Handyman Canterbury: Your Go-To Solution for All Home Repairs

Maintaining a home comes with its fair share of challenges. From leaky faucets to faulty wiring, there's always something that needs fixing. If you're in Canterbury, finding a reliable handyman can make life a whole lot easier. This article will explore what makes a handyman reliable, the services you can expect, and tips for choosing the right one for your needs.

Why Do You Need a Handyman in Canterbury?

Living in a historic city like Canterbury comes with the charm of older properties, but also some unique maintenance challenges. As time goes by, even well-kept homes can show signs of wear and tear. Whether you need urgent repairs or routine upkeep, having a reliable handyman in Canterbury can make all the difference, keeping your home running smoothly and comfortably. Why struggle with tricky repairs when you can rely on a professional to handle the hard work for you?

Qualities of a Reliable Handyman

Not all handymen are created equal. A dependable handyman isn't just about skills; it's about the whole package. Look for qualities such as:

Experience and Skillset: Years in the business often translate to better service.

Punctuality and Professionalism: Being on time and handling tasks with a professional attitude matters.

Attention to Detail: Ensures that even the smallest issues are not overlooked.

Good Communication: You want someone who can explain the job clearly and give you an honest quote.

Think of a reliable handyman as a jack-of-all-trades, always ready to fix whatever breaks. Much like a Swiss Army knife, they can handle a multitude of tasks to keep your home running smoothly.

Common Handyman Services

Handyman services go beyond just fixing a leaky tap or hanging a picture. Some of the most common services include:

Plumbing repairs

Electrical work

Carpentry

Painting and decorating

Tiling and flooring installation

Flat-pack furniture assembly

Garden maintenance

With such a broad skillset, a handyman can be your one-stop shop for various household needs, saving you the time and hassle of dealing with multiple specialists.

Emergency Repairs: When Time is of the Essence

Imagine waking up to a burst pipe in the middle of the night. What do you do? Emergency repairs are one of the most crucial services a handyman can offer. A reliable handyman understands that some issues can’t wait and provides a quick response to prevent further damage. Having a local contact in Canterbury who can respond promptly to emergencies can be a lifesaver.

Plumbing Repairs and Installations

Plumbing issues are among the most common household problems. From blocked drains to leaking pipes, even minor plumbing issues can escalate quickly. Handyman services often cover tasks such as:

Fixing leaks and blockages

Installing new taps and fixtures

Unclogging drains

Repairing toilets and sinks

Reliable handymen can diagnose plumbing issues accurately and provide effective solutions, ensuring your home’s water system runs smoothly.

Electrical Work: Safety First

Electrical work is not something to take lightly, as it can be dangerous if handled improperly. For jobs like installing new light fittings, fixing faulty switches, or rewiring, it's best to rely on a qualified handyman. They can help with:

Lighting installations

Switch and socket repairs

Electrical appliance installations

Safety inspections

Always check if the handyman has the necessary qualifications for electrical work to ensure your home's safety.

Home Improvements: Adding Value to Your Property

Are you planning to sell your home or simply want to make it more comfortable? A handyman can help with minor home improvements that enhance your living space. Think about tasks like:

Installing new shelving or cabinets

Painting rooms for a fresh look

Upgrading flooring or carpets

Kitchen and bathroom updates

These small changes can significantly increase the value of your property while making your daily life more enjoyable.

Exterior Maintenance and Garden Services

Your home's exterior is just as important as the interior. Whether it's the garden that needs trimming or the gutter that requires cleaning, a handyman can handle these outdoor tasks efficiently:

Fence repairs and installations

Patio and driveway cleaning

Gutter maintenance

Lawn mowing and garden tidying

Maintaining the exterior not only improves curb appeal but also prevents potential damage that could lead to costly repairs.

How to Choose the Right Handyman for You

Finding the right handyman is not just about choosing the first name you come across. Here are some tips to guide you:

Check their experience: How long have they been in business?

Look for reviews: Customer feedback can give you insights into the quality of their work.

Verify their qualifications: Make sure they are certified for specialised tasks like electrical work.

Get multiple quotes: Comparing prices ensures you get a fair deal.

Ask for references: A reliable handyman will have no problem providing these.

Questions to Ask Before Hiring a Handyman

Before hiring a handyman, ask these important questions:

What experience do you have with similar tasks?

Are you licensed and insured?

Can you provide a written quote?

How long will the job take?

Do you offer any warranty or guarantee on your work?

These questions will help ensure that you hire someone who is both qualified and transparent about their services.

Cost Considerations for Handyman Services

The cost of hiring a handyman can vary depending on the nature of the task, the materials required, and the time needed. To get a fair estimate, consider:

Hourly rates vs. fixed prices: For smaller jobs, an hourly rate may be more cost-effective, while larger projects might benefit from a fixed price.

Material costs: Ensure that material expenses are included in the quote.

Travel fees: Some handymen may charge extra for travel outside of Canterbury.

Remember, the cheapest option isn’t always the best. It's about finding a balance between cost and quality.

DIY vs. Hiring a Professional

Sometimes, the temptation to tackle a home repair yourself can be strong. However, DIY isn't always the best option. Consider these factors:

Skill level: Do you have the expertise to complete the task safely and correctly?

Time: Will the project take up more time than it's worth?

Cost: DIY may seem cheaper, but mistakes can lead to expensive fixes.

Hiring a reliable handyman not only ensures a job well done but also saves you time and potential headaches.

Benefits of Using Local Handyman Services

Supporting local businesses has numerous benefits. When you choose a local handyman in Canterbury, you enjoy:

Faster response times: Especially important for emergency repairs.

Personalised service: A local handyman understands the unique needs of Canterbury homes.

Community support: By hiring locally, you're contributing to the local economy.

Customer Reviews: A Trustworthy Source?

Online reviews can be a great resource when searching for a handyman, but take them with a pinch of salt. Look for patterns in the reviews:

Consistent praise for punctuality and quality of work

Responses to negative reviews (it shows they care about customer satisfaction)

Detailed descriptions of completed projects

Using customer reviews wisely can help you make an informed decision.

Conclusion

Finding a skilled and reliable handyman in Canterbury doesn’t have to be a daunting task. By knowing what to look for and asking the right questions, you can ensure your home is in good hands. A reliable handyman can be your partner in maintaining a safe, functional, and beautiful home, allowing you to enjoy your space without the stress of constant repairs.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Q: How do I find a reliable handyman in Canterbury? A: Start by checking local online listings, asking for recommendations from friends and neighbours, and reading customer reviews.

Q: What types of services can a handyman offer? A: A handyman can handle a variety of tasks, including plumbing, electrical work, carpentry, painting, and garden maintenance.

Q: Are handyman services expensive? A: Costs vary depending on the job's complexity, materials, and location. Getting multiple quotes can help you find a fair price.

Q: Can a handyman help with emergency repairs? A: Yes, many handymen offer emergency services for urgent issues like leaks or electrical problems.

Q: Should I hire a handyman or try to do it myself? A: While DIY can be tempting, hiring a handyman ensures the job is done correctly and safely, saving you time and potential frustration.

#reliable handyman canterbury #handyman services #handyman services near me #furniture assembly #cheap handyman near me #local handyman service

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hommiesweet · 4 months ago

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Using Mosaic Tiles to Add Value to Your Property: A Comprehensive Guide

Imagine walking into a home where the first thing that catches your eye is a stunning mosaic tile entryway, its intricate patterns telling a story of craftsmanship and elegance. This is the power of mosaic tiles - small pieces of art that can transform a space and significantly boost a property's value. Let's embark on a journey to discover how these tiny treasures can make a big impact on your home's worth and appeal.

The Timeless Appeal of Mosaic Tiles

Mosaic tiles have been adorning homes for thousands of years, from ancient Roman villas to Byzantine churches. Today, they're experiencing a renaissance in modern homes, bringing a touch of timeless beauty to contemporary spaces. A trip to your local ceramic tile shop will reveal an astounding array of options, from classic designs to cutting-edge patterns.

According to a recent National Association of Realtors report, homes with high-quality tile work can see up to a 5-7% increase in value. That's a significant return on investment for a relatively simple upgrade. But how do you choose the right mosaic tiles for your home?

Choosing the Right Mosaic Tiles for Your Home

When you step into a ceramic tile shop, the choices can be overwhelming. But fear not - choosing the perfect mosaic tiles for your home is an adventure in creativity. Consider the material - ceramic, glass, stone, or metal - each brings its own unique character to your space. Think about size too; while all mosaic tiles are small, they can range from tiny 1/4 inch pieces to larger 2 inch squares, each creating a different effect.

Color is another crucial factor. Light-colored mosaic tiles can make a room feel more spacious and airy, perfect for small bathrooms or kitchens. Darker tones, on the other hand, can add depth and coziness to larger spaces. And don't forget about patterns - from simple geometric designs to complex pictorial scenes, the pattern of your mosaic tiles can set the tone for the entire room.

Lastly, consider the grout. It's not just the glue that holds your tiles together; it's an design element in its own right. A contrasting grout color can make your mosaic tiles pop, while a matching color can create a more subtle, unified look.

Where to Use Mosaic Tiles for Maximum Impact

Now that you've chosen your perfect mosaic tiles, where should you use them to add the most value to your property? Let's take a tour through a home and explore the possibilities.

We'll start in the kitchen, where a mosaic tile backsplash can be the star of the show. It not only protects your walls from splashes and spills but also adds a pop of color and personality. According to a study by Houzz, 87% of homeowners upgrading their kitchens chose to install new backsplashes, with mosaic tiles being a popular choice.

Moving to the bathroom, mosaic tiles reign supreme. They're water-resistant, easy to clean, and can add a spa-like luxury to your space. Picture a shower enclosure with shimmering glass mosaic tiles, or a vanity backsplash that catches the light just so.

In the entryway, mosaic tiles can make a lasting first impression. A beautiful mosaic floor or accent wall sets the tone for your entire home, welcoming guests with a touch of artistry.

Don't forget about outdoor spaces! A plain patio can be transformed into a Mediterranean-inspired retreat with the right mosaic tiles. They're durable enough to withstand the elements and can add a touch of sophistication to your outdoor living areas.

Finally, consider giving your fireplace a facelift with mosaic tiles. A tiled surround can turn a boring fireplace into a stunning centerpiece, making a big impact in your living room with a relatively small investment.

The DIY Route vs. The Professional Touch

For the handy homeowner, installing mosaic tiles can be a rewarding DIY project. Many ceramic tile shops offer DIY-friendly options, such as mosaic sheets that make installation easier. The process involves preparing the surface, planning your layout, applying adhesive, placing the tiles, grouting, and finally cleaning and sealing.

However, if you're not confident in your DIY skills or you're dealing with a large or complex project, hiring a professional can ensure a flawless finish. Many ceramic tile shops can recommend reputable installers in your area. According to HomeAdvisor, the average cost to install mosaic tiles ranges from $10 to $30 per square foot, including materials and labor. While this might seem steep, remember that quality installation can significantly impact the value added to your home.

Maintaining Your Mosaic Masterpiece

To keep your mosaic tiles looking their best and maintain your property's value, regular maintenance is key. Think of it as caring for a work of art - which, in essence, it is. Clean your tiles regularly with a pH-neutral cleaner, avoiding harsh chemicals that can damage the tiles or grout. Reseal grout lines annually to prevent staining and moisture penetration. And if you notice any loose or damaged tiles, address them promptly to prevent further issues.

The ROI of Mosaic Tiles

While the upfront cost of mosaic tiles might be higher than some alternatives, the return on investment can be substantial. A study by Remodeling Magazine found that minor kitchen remodels, which often include new tile work, can recoup up to 80% of their cost at resale.

Moreover, homes with unique, high-quality features like custom mosaic tile work tend to sell faster. In a competitive real estate market, these distinctive touches can give your property a significant edge. It's not just about the monetary value - it's about creating a home that stands out in potential buyers' minds.

Eco-Friendly Options and Current Trends

For the environmentally conscious homeowner, many ceramic tile shops now offer eco-friendly mosaic tile options. These can include recycled glass tiles, tiles made from sustainable materials like bamboo or cork, or locally sourced stone tiles to reduce transportation emissions. Using sustainable materials not only adds value to your home but also appeals to the growing market of eco-conscious buyers.

As for current trends, geometric patterns are having a moment, as are neutral color palettes with pops of bold color. Large-format mosaic designs are gaining popularity, and metallic and iridescent finishes are adding a touch of glamour to many homes. Staying current with these trends can help ensure your home feels modern and appealing to potential buyers.

Conclusion: Small Tiles, Big Value

From ancient art form to modern design staple, mosaic tiles have stood the test of time. Their versatility, durability, and sheer beauty make them an excellent choice for homeowners looking to add value to their property.

Whether you're planning a major renovation or just want to update a small area, mosaic tiles offer endless possibilities. With careful selection from your ceramic tile shop and proper installation, these tiny pieces of art can have a big impact on your home's value and appeal.

Remember, the key to success with mosaic tiles is quality - in materials, design, and installation. So take your time, plan carefully, and don't be afraid to seek professional help if needed. The result will be a beautiful, valuable addition to your home that you'll enjoy for years to come. After all, in the world of home improvement, sometimes the smallest details can make the biggest difference.

#tiles #mosaic tiles

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