#seat 850

[akcanzi]

Let's take a ride in Segovia

Segovia © 2022 Oscar Alcañiz

[vintagevoiture]

Seat 850. source Escuderia

[badiajordi]

Vehicles clàssics a Pujalt

Diumenge vaig assistir a la I Trobada de Vehicles Clàssics de Pujalt. Hi vaig anar a participar amb la Vespa però també per cobrir la notícia per al Regió 7. El divendres hi havia anat a entrevistar l’Albert Esteve que, a més de ser un aficionat a la restauració de vehicles clàssics, també n’és un dels promotors. No havia assistit mai a una trobada de clàssics i en vaig quedar ben fascinat. Un…

[hatsbykat]

Seat 850

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

SEAT 850 Coupe brochure, 1966. The Spanish version of the Fiat 850 Coupe, designed at Centro Stile Fiat by Felice Mario Boano and Gian Paolo Boano. Though the Fiat version was widely exported SEAT's licensing agreement with the Italians meant that the SEAT coupe could only be sold in Spain.

[antequeraclassic]

MARCA: SEAT MODELO: 850 ESPECIAL CARACTERÍSTICAS: 843 CC., 52 CV, 4 CILINDROS, 4 VELOCIDADES, SERIE ESPECIAL, BASTIDOR ED, MOTOR EC, MATCHING NUMBERS, CARBURADOR DOBLE CUERPO, SEDAN 2 PUERTAS, PINTURA COLOR BLANCO 233, 5 PLAZAS, GUANTERA CON LLAVE, CORTINILLAS ANTI LLUVIA/FRÍO EN MOTOR, RECIENTEMENTE PINTADO, FRENOS NUEVOS, FRENOS DE DISCO DELANTEROS, 74.000 KMS. ORIGINALES, SOLO 2 PROPIETARIOS, ÚLTIMO PROPIETARIO DESDE HACE MÁS DE 55 AÑOS, AMPLIO HISTORIAL DE DOCUMENTOS, LIBROS DE INSTRUCCIONES, EXCELENTE NIVEL DE CONSERVACIÓN, MUY ORIGINAL, MUY BUEN ESTADO, CORRECTO FUNCIONAMIENTO, MATRÍCULA ORIGINAL (SE), DOCUMENTACIÓN e ITV AL DÍA.      AÑO: 1968      PRECIO: 8.500.- € MÁS INFORMACIÓN EN: https://antequeraclassic.com/catalogo/seat-850-especial-1968

[techdriveplay]

The New Audi RS 6 Avant GT

The new Audi RS 6 Avant GT is the pinnacle of the model series. The special edition is packed with exclusive details.

The new Audi RS 6 Avant GT is the pinnacle of the model series. The special edition is packed with exclusive details for both the exterior and the interior. An impressive pass-through roof edge spoiler, redefined diffuser, and 22-inch wheels in a distinctive design underscore its top position in the model series. The interior features high-quality bucket seats, a fresh color combination, and…

[toxicanonymity]

Toxi your post about contacting reps for the save act, made it SO EASY to do!! 🥳🥳 Thank you for the amazing work you’re doing. Seeing so many of your followers/moots do it, helped give me the courage to just do it!!!

Can I request a continuation of In The Park? That fic had me in my (smut) feels so harddd 🥵🥵🩷🩷 please and thank you!!

SAVE Act | Blorbos for democracy | 5calls | resistbot

Ahhhh, Mrs.!! 🩷🩷 I'm so happy to hear this. Ty for doing it and for sharing. This continues where In the Park stopped.

Parked

joel miller x f!reader, 850 words WARNINGS: 18+ PWP, public, unsafe car sex, creampie, dirty talk, praise.

He had you right where he wanted, speared on his cock, spread open by his girth. Your eyes glazed over, so full of him, you could hardly speak, only let out “ah,” or “uh,” with each lift of his hips sinking deeper into you. “Good, yeah,” he breathed. His neck vein bulged and he bit his lip as he fucked up into you, deep and slow, then exhaled, “Ohh, fuck, baby.” Under his damp mop of curls, his eyes were dark and alive, possessing every inch of your body.

His hungry gaze and his hands grabbed and groped your curves, palmed your soft skin, kneaded your ass cheeks, wielded you on his cock. Unrestrained, he growled and grunted as his hips picked up the pace. He sucked and licked at your neck and jaw. Up and down his big, stiff shaft, you rode like a carousel. His mouth devoured yours, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he pulled his lips away and fed himself your tits again. If he could consume every part of you at once, he would. The dashboard fogged, even with the door still open as he feasted on you and you melted around his cock. Clothes strewn around the car like the skin of his prey. 

"Ah,” you moaned.

“Uh,” he grunted, “Fuck.”

Your eyelids became heavy and your head tilted up.

“God damn, you’re hot,” he gushed. “You think about this last night?” he asked through heavy breaths.

You could only moan in response, starting to twitch in the front.

“I thought about this,” he confessed. “Thought about it this mornin’, too—oh, baby.” He grabbed your jaw. “You think about it? Huh?”

“mm–mmhmm.” No use lying. You thought about it a lot. Not like this, but — there were plenty of highlights that would run through your mind.

“Yeah, I know you think about it,” he said, then held you by the waist and pushed himself back against the seat to get a good look at you. “Mmmm,” he moaned at the view. His legs were so strong – his hip flexors– he seemed to lift you with such little effort. He watched where your bodies were joined, and his mouth hung open as he watched your cunt swallow his stiff, swollen cock. His thick, smooth shaft sliding in and out of your wet pussy, deeper and tight.  

He grabbed your thighs as he watched you take him, and he growled “mmm,” from his chest. Then he took his sweat-blotched shirt off over his head. His torso emerged—His chest and neck were flushed. His pecs pumped up, delts hulking. You only got a flash of the view before he wrapped his arms around you again and wet his lips, admiring your face with pupils like black holes, sucking you into him again, taking your mouth to his, fucking you from the bottom, his mouth breaking away only to moan or let out a string of curses. 

“Fuck, I love your pussy,” he breathed. Your hips rolled in rhythm with his strokes, “Love how ya take this cock,” he gushed.  “Been thinkin 'bout me up in this,” he said “think about fuckin’ the shit outta you–ohh,” his thrusts became more intense, pushing a moan out of you. “Yeah, just like that,” he panted, “good girl, oh, good girl, fuck.”

Your cunt convulsed, making him groan as you fell apart on his cock. 

“Attagirl,” he praised, chest heaving and sweating buckets as your climax tore through you, “Fuck, that’s my bad girl. Yeah,” he fucked you through it. “Bout to give ya what ya want,” he watched your pretty face contort with bliss. “I’m comin’ baby, bout to blow this load, ughh– s’all yours, baby, fu–”  he went quiet for a moment and thrust upward, pulling your hips down. His shaft twitched and he groaned in release. Slowly bringing his hips down, then jerking them up again with another sigh as each pulse of his cock drained his balls into you.

You both were wrecked with pleasure. All over your faces, all over the scene. The sex hung thick in the air. Your clit twitched with aftershocks after he finished.  

“God damn,” he chuckled, and ran his fingers through his hair. Then he pushed your hair out of your face. “Most beautiful girl in the world.” He thumbed your lip, then brought your head to his and kissed you. “You good?” he asked, and you nodded. “Sorry if I scared ya,” he said, but it sounded more like a test than an apology. Like he was looking for an answer. You shook your head, “you’re right, I shouldn’t have been out here alone.”

You began to push yourself off him.

“Waitwaitwai-” he began to protest. “Ahh,” he sighed in resignation as his cock slid out of you.

He lazily tucked himself away, helped gather your clothes and offered to get you a coke, which made you laugh. 

He opened the driver door for you and let you in, then braced his hands above the window. “Alright, well,” He tapped the roof of your car. “Night, pumpkin.” 

Your skin buzzed as you rode home with the windows down. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Your feedback means a lot to me and I really appreciate your support with blorbos for democracy 💙🫶

[zepskies]

Hey could I please request headcanons for how Dean would react to reader texting him "she's busy" as a joke, yk kind of like

Dean: Hey baby

Reader: She's busy

I really hope this makes sense and isn't so confusing 😭😭

Ooh I think I know what you mean. 😏

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Word Count: 850

Imagine: Texting Dean when he's on a hunt.

Once again, Dean sighed while he waited on his brother.

They were stopped at a 7-Eleven gas station after a hunt, but Dean had long ago filled up Baby's tank. Sam was inside, grabbing a few snacks for the road tomorrow. Supposedly.

Dean fished out his phone from his pocket and texted him.

Hey, Driving Miss Daisy. You good in there?

A couple of minutes later, Sam responded.

Yeah, just getting a few things.

Dean rolled his eyes. Right.

For half an hour? What, you taking a shit or something?

Sam's response was testy, just as Dean predicted.

Dean, give me a minute. Jesus.

Dean sighed, with a roll of his eyes. He scrolled back into his texts and found your name. He was a couple of states over from Lebanon, but still within the same timezone. You should still be awake back at the bunker.

He decided he wanted to hear your voice, let you know that he and Sam were going to catch one more night of rest here at the motel before they made the long drive back home.

But...you didn't answer when he called.

Weird. You were typically a night owl, either watching something or plugging away at your laptop. He tried texting you instead.

Hey, baby. You up?

He eventually saw the three gray dots pop up. You were typing...

She's busy.

Dean frowned. What the hell?

Had you invited someone over? Like Jody or Donna?

But neither of them would've replied like that...so he texted back.

Stop messing around.

Dean tried calling you again, but it went directly to voicemail this time. In came another text from "you."

She'll call you back, dude.

Dean's jaw ticked with annoyance. And despite himself, unease began to creep in and churn his stomach.

What the fuck is this?

She's in the shower. I'll tell her to call you back, no worries.

All right. WHO is this?

Ooh, are you the boyfriend? Yikes lol.

A deep, slow breath made it through Dean's nose. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, reminded himself that he did, in fact, love you.

Then he responded.

Babe, if you don't call me in the next 30 seconds, there's gonna be hell to pay when I get home.

Dean checked his watch and actually counted. About ten seconds passed before his phone rang with an incoming call...from you. He answered.

"Promise?" came your teasing voice. When it ended on a giggle, Dean rolled his eyes and rested his head back on the seat. He blew out a frustrated breath.

"Oh, trust and believe. You're gonna fuckin' get it this time," he said, though his lips curved on a reluctant smirk. You full on laughed at him then.

"You make it too easy," you replied.

He knew this. It wasn't the first time you'd teased him, and he knew it wouldn't be the last.

Still, he couldn't help being a bit irritated this time.

"You know, how would you like it if I did that to you?" he asked. "Wouldn't be so fucking funny then, would it?"

"...Okay. You're right. I'm sorry, baby," came your more contrite voice. But he could still hear your smile. Could imagine the way you might soothe a hand along his arm, if you were here.

"How about I make it up to you?" you offered.

That worked a slow smirk onto his face. "Yeah? What did you have in mind?"

For the next few minutes, you purred into his ear about all the things you'd been thinking of while he was gone. Daydreaming about the talents of his hands, lips, and tongue.

In particular, you reminded him about a certain birthday wish that he still hadn't claimed from a couple weeks ago, when he and Sam got wind of this hunt.

Two weeks really was too damn long, in your opinion. (He agreed with you.)

Now with a half-straining bulge in his jeans, Dean licked his lips and tightened his hand on the leather wheel of the car.

"All right. Sounds like a plan to me, sweetheart," he said, deceptively breezy. As if you'd just told him you planned to make tacos for dinner.

"When are you getting home?" you asked.

He heard the tone of your voice, like black silk. It sent a tendril of heat down his spine, raising the hairs on his forearms.

"Tonight," Dean said. Deeper, a note of gravel in his words. "I'll see you tonight."

"Good." Once again, he heard the smile in your voice. "I love you."

He sighed, and raised a hand to card through his hair.

"Love you too...even though you play too fucking much," he muttered the latter bit.

Your laughter once again reached his ears, reluctantly making him smile.

He hung up with you just before Sam finally opened the passenger seat door and climbed in with two hefty grocery bags. Did he do a whole damn shopping spree in there?

...Whatever. Dean shook his head and started the car.

"Change of plan," he said. "We're heading home."

"What? Thought we were gonna catch a few hours of sleep. It's a long drive, Dean," Sam said, earning his brother's gaze.

"Yeah, well, you'll live," Dean snarked. A more devious grin spread across his face. "I've got a date."

And she's about to get punished.

The Impala's tires screeched as Dean pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

AN: Ha! This one was fun. 😘 Thanks for the prompt!

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

'It Couple'

masterlist

note: my first andrew ask!!!

warnings: none!

word count: 850~

♡ summary: Where Andrew and Y/n are the 'it couple' of Hollywood

♡ Andrew Garfield x actress/director!reader

request ✓

The loud clicks as well as the bright flashes only got louder and brighter after Andrew and Y/n stepped out of their car, heading into the venue. It was understandable, both were up for very prestigious awards tonight, Andrew for best actor and Y/n for directing as well as writing. But of course paparazzi didn’t care about that, they wanted what sold, and pictures of the couple sold.

The couple was also making their first appearance since their ten year anniversary, they had co-starred in Spider-man together. They were twenty-eight then and both in that place in life to settle down with someone, while still putting their best foot forward for their careers. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle, like she was the espresso and he was the milk to a cappuccino.

It took them a while to get married, only being three years of marriage in a ten year relationship, many people at the time pushed for them to take that step. But they knew what was right for them, and they both grew tired of saying ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ when they could be saying ‘husband’ and ‘wife’.

It took them a while to get married, only being three years of marriage in a ten year relationship, many people at the time pushed for them to take that step. But they knew what was right for them, and they both grew tired of saying ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ when they could be saying ‘husband’ and ‘wife’.

Throughout the carpet they whispered sweet nothings and little jokes only they would understand. It was something the internet loved, how, unlike some celebrity couples, you could see the love in their eyes. After ten years it has never left, forever stuck in the honeymoon phase while knowing each other like the back of their hand.

After what felt like an hour, they finally made their way into the venue, venturing out of their seats to mingle, but mostly enjoying the night out together in peace. Not trying to think about the awards they were nominated for.

-

It was now the end of the night, both a little tipsy, Y/n already won for best original screenplay. But now was for the big awards, two of which the couple were nominated for, only making it all the more nerve racking.

“And best directing goes to…” The booming voice on stage spoke, of course stalling as they always did for dramatic affect. It was as if a Y/n was no longer there, like she was merely watching at home on a screen, dreaming she was the director to win.

The only indication it had been announced, is the warm and firm hug Andrew brought her into. Leaving a kiss on her forehead in congratulation, but also of pride. His wife won best director.

“Love, I am so proud of you. You deserve this.”

His words brought her back to life, as they always did, looking up at him she left a kiss on his lips, herself and him whispering ‘I love you’s against each other's soft lips. They didn’t care that they were on live TV, they were celebrating. After quickly getting hugs from the cast and crew that were there, Y/n made her way up the stage, accepting the award.

“I truly just had an out of body experience. This has been a dream since I was- god like thirteen, when I took my first film class. Mrs. Goldstone, thank you for fighting for that class to be given at my school. If it wasn’t I wouldn't be here. And to my husband, Andrew, I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t push me to pursue directing six years ago. I love you.”

After thanking the cast and crew, as well as the academy, Y/n made her way off the stage. Only to run backstage to her seat, not wanting to miss the best actor award.Coming back to her seat she was huffing and puffing from all the running, “What? Did you run here?” “Yes, actually.”

Turning his head, left another string of kisses from the woman’s forehead to her check, “I’m so proud of you.”

“And the nominees for best actor!” The camera panned to the respective actors as the man on stage read off the names, “And the award for best actor goes to… Andrew Garfield! Tick, Tick… Boom!”

Both rose from their chairs, smiling widely, and bringing each other into a tight hug, “My turn to be proud. You deserve this, I love you.” “I love you.”

Andrew made his way to the stage this time, accepting the award, shaking the hands out everyone on stage before he made his way to the microphone, “I just can only say thank you. I know everyone says it, but I did not see this coming. I want to thank every member of the cast as well as the crew, you made this movie possible. And Lin, thank you, I love working with you. And my wife, who lied to Lin when he asked her if I could sing. Without you immediately lying for me, this wouldn’t be possible. I love you.”

[angelbaby-fics]

Thanksgiving (Pt. 2)

Pairing: Cg!Stucky x Little!Reader

Word Count: 850

(part 1)

A/N: And here's part two!! I tried to pack it full of cozy fluff because thats what I've been needing lately 💕 I hope you guys like this & hopefully I'll have more soon!

“So, what's the verdict?” Bucky whispered to Steve as the two of you emerged from your bedroom. 

“We’re going to say hello,” Steve replies.

“All three of us?”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Oh, Buck, not you too. It took me long enough to convince this one.” “Kidding!” Bucky laughed, ruffling your hair. “It's gonna be fun, right babydoll?” 

You nodded. Steve carried you to the front door, setting you down on the bench to help you put on your shoes. As he tied them, Bucky secured your hat onto your head, pulling it a little too far over your eyes. You giggled as you waited for him to pull it back up like he always did; when he did, he greeted you with a smile.

“Alright, ready to rock baby?” Bucky asked.

“Mhm!” You nodded, reaching your arms up to him. 

Bucky picked you up and carried you to the car, strapping you into your car seat while Steve started the car and turned the heat on. 

“Do you want me to sit with you, or do you want alone time on the drive?” “Lone time, please,” you answered, and so Bucky planted a kiss on your forehead before getting into the front passenger seat beside Steve. 

The drive was peaceful, your daddies’ quiet voices just audible above the soft jazz drifting from the car stereo. The holiday meant traffic was scarce, so the journey to Tony’s place didn’t take quite as long as it usually did. Still, you used this time just to breathe and think. You fidgeted with the stuffie attached to your car seat, running your fingers over its silken ears to soothe yourself. You knew you weren’t going to be at 100% social battery today and that was okay, you just needed enough energy to get through it without pushing yourself too far. As you pulled into Tony’s driveway, Steve ran through your gameplan. 

“I’ll do most of the socializing, alright? All you two need to do is say hi to your friends and thank Tony and Pepper for inviting us.” Bucky rolled his eyes before Steve added “I saw that!”

Bucky got you out of your car seat and carried you up to the front door, one hand cradling you in his arms and the other holding Steve’s hand. Steve knocked on the door and it quickly opened to warm light, lively chatter, and the smell of home cooked food.

Steve hugged Tony, quick to say hello and explain the situation. You’d all be staying for just a bit, not for dinner, but that you were happy to be there nonetheless. Tony was more than understanding, no stranger to not wanting to be around other people sometimes. When you entered the main party space, Steve broke off from your trio to make his rounds, hugging everyone he recognized and introducing himself to everyone he didn’t. Meanwhile, Bucky carried you over to the food table, grabbing some snacks for the two of you to munch on while you waited to leave. 

It really wasn’t such a bad time. You sat on the couch curled up into Bucky’s side, your head resting on his pecs, his vibranium arm protectively wrapped around you while you enjoyed some of the homemade fudge that Bruce had brought. Bucky chatted with Sam on the couch, occasionally pausing to say hi to an acquaintance as they walked by, citing you on his chest as the reason why he couldn’t get up and mingle like Steve was. You’d wave at them and give a little smile, your greetings getting slightly less enthusiastic as the evening went on. 

You weren’t getting antsy; on the contrary, where you were afraid the party would overload your senses, you found it actually soothed them. Everyone you loved was gathered together yet still giving you space, respectful of your energy. You had delicious snacks in your tummy and the taste still lingered on your tongue. The light in Tony’s home was tinged with soft orange as the sun started to set, and your eyelids started to feel heavier. Bucky’s fingers combed through your hair, his chest rising and falling and soothing you like a rocking chair. Even at a party full of people, surrounded by love, you felt safe enough to sleep. You’d just drifted off by the time Steve came back around, having successfully mingled with everyone there. 

“Ready to head out?” He asked his husband.

“Shh… this party animal’s sleeping,” Bucky replied, putting a finger to his lips. 

He carefully lifted you from the couch, keeping your position mostly the same as he transferred you fully into his arms. The three of you made your way to the front door, your daddies waving at the other party guests who cooed at your precious sleeping self. 

“Same time next year?” Tony joked as he held the front door open for your family.

“Of course! And thanks for having us,” Steve replied, hugging his friend.

Your head perked up from Bucky’s shoulder, bleary eyed as you remembered your very important mission.

“Tank you Uncle Tony!” You said sleepily, waving as you were carried back to the car.

[vintagevoiture]

Seat 850 Sport en circuit en Catalogne. Source Escuderia.com

[a-hound-will-die-for-you]

Rabbit Stew

Masterlist | img source

Summary: The tavern is the dirtiest place in all of Westeros, and your companion's bad manners scandalize your delicate sensibilities. Word count: 850 Notes: delicate lady f!reader x rude sandor clegane English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes I might make. Constructive feedback is welcomed, I am here to share and learn <3

You slap at the seat with the flat of your hand, scowling as you brush off the remnants of several days’ worth of breadcrumbs scattered across the seat. He’s already made himself comfortable, watching your struggle with an amused half-smile. There are still crumbs wedged where the seat meets the backrest, but you surrender with a sigh and sit down. As you do, your legs bump against his under the table, so long that his knees nearly reach halfway up your thighs. You shift away, crossing your legs and trying not to move too much.

“We couldn't have found a lovelier place to eat,” you mumble to yourself, your gaze drifting resignedly over the shabby tavern around you.

"What?" he grunts, his broad back leaning against the chair.

“Nothing” you sigh and unknowingly rest your elbows on the table. The velvet of your dress sticks to it and you lower your eyes to the surface, full of cup rings and burn marks. Yes, there are also crumbs wedged into the grooves of the wood. You pull your elbows back immediately, shaking them off with a look of pure disgust before balling your hands safely in your lap.

A girl, barely more than six, approaches and picks up the grimy coin the Hound has carelessly left on the edge of the table.

“Wine,” he rasps, and the girl nods before disappearing into the back.

You assume there’s probably a choice between wine or beer, but don’t bother asking about food. From the smell wafting through the air, it’s clear the only thing they’re serving is rabbit stew - or whatever small mammal they’ve managed to catch.

The girl from before hurries back, balancing a bottle of wine, two dented metal glasses, and a loaf of bread that looks like it could knock a man out. She sets them down quickly, bows, and vanishes as quickly as she came.

The Hound’s scarred face twists into what might pass for a smile as he pours himself a drink. His mood seems less sour than usual, perhaps from the promise of finally wetting his throat and filling his belly. His dark eyes flicker to you before he tips the bottle toward your cup.

“No,” you say dryly, placing your hand on it to stop him.

“Your choice,” he says with some contempt, though your refusal does nothing to darken his mood. He lifts the cup to his lips and drains it in nearly one gulp, setting it back on the table as he sighs contentedly. Then his eyes go from the bread to yours, questioning. The moment you shake your head, he grabs it in his massive hands and tears off a piece with his teeth, chewing loudly, mouth open. 

“Gods,” you say, wrinkling your nose in disapproval. He only grins, amused.

The girl appears again, this time followed by a middle-aged woman carrying a steaming pot by its handles. With the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times over, the girl places a bowl and a wooden spoon in front of you, then repeats the gesture for the Hound. You grip the spoon by one end and, with a grimace, scrape away the dried remnants of food with your fingernails. Gods, how many mouths have used it before yours?

The Hound barely spares the woman a glance as she leans over to set the pot down. Before it even touches the table, his huge hands seize it, nearly ripping it from her grasp. With no ceremony at all, the ravenous man tilts the pot over his bowl and dumps much of its contents, shaking it so that chunks of meat and carrots plop out and leaving a splattered mess on the table. He doesn’t bother to use the spoon, just lifts his bowl with both hands and drinks directly from it, slurping with loud, wet noises. 

Completely embarrassed by his behavior, you glance left and right checking to see if anyone else is witnessing this display of utter lack of manners. Then you look back at him, and your brow furrows in disgust at how he seems unbothered by the grease and broth dripping down his chin. You should look away, but your eyes fall prey to the column of his strong, unshaven neck, causing you to lose yourself in the way his manly lump moves up and down as he swallows like a starving beast. Your cheeks flush crimson against your will, and you quickly avert your eyes.

“What?” he asks, licking his fingers covered in stew.

“You eat like my hunting dogs." You scold him. "Shall we put your plate on the floor to make you more comfortable?”

Sandor snorts, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth as his dark eyes glint with amusement.

“You blush like that when you watch your dogs eat, too?”

...............

Thanks for reading! <3

What do you think? A comment would give me life and encourage me to write more :)

[carl-tabora]

The Necron and the Baby

An-nakhrimun awkwardly stares at the tiny human in her hand, confused and unsure. The human stares back, extending tiny hands towards her while making incoherent noises, clearly unafraid of the soulless Necron.

What is she supposed to do, is she supposed to eat her? She quickly glances up, seeking instruction from the mature human couple, yet to her dismay only receiving their smiles.

Ever since awoke from the Great Sleep and subsequent exile by Illuminor Szeras, she has been drowning in despair and sadness, wallowing at the memory of her failing her entire species and the terrible fate upon herself and her mother. Landing her ship on this nameless planet, she sat upon the top of her ship's exterior and fell into unmoving catatonia, with only the maintenance of her mother, now a mindless warrior, drove her to act slightly.

Not even herself realized how long it had been, but before she realized, an alien race that called themselves “human” appeared. Time has been hard to grasp for An-nakhrimun, as the humans have been in a completely different state each time she paid attention to them. From colonizing the planet, building gleaming cities, fighting among themselves against their robotic servants, collapsing into primitivism, and rebuilding their society with even more inferior technology. She is the only unchanged constant on this planet.

Humans have long used to her presence, sometimes even scaling her ship to try to communicate with her. Now, with her ship buried under dirt, humans have built a park around her seat, these interactions only became more frequent. Sometimes when she pays attention, she could even see humans sketching her figure with primitive pen and papers.

Most of the interaction has been quiet and distanced, but only once, she was forced into physical confrontation.

On a heavy snowy night, two tiny humans, male and female, wearing tattered clothes, stumbled to her seat, cold and shaking. They have no home to return to, and in the winter’s chill, they will not see tomorrow’s sunrise. They embraced the metal alien lady, waiting to die, instead, they found a warm energy dome around her. An-nakhrimun, frozen in confusion and flustered at the tiny humans grabbing onto her, channeled a deflection shield to repel the coldness, in order to try scaring them away.

She sighed a silent relief when they finally left when the sun rise, and didn’t even realize just for that night, she paid so much attention to those two humans, she even forgot to wallow in her own sadness.

Since then, An-nakhrimun sometimes would find small trinkets and items on herself and her mother, scarf, small flower, sachet. She does not understand the purpose, yet keeps them as it might be of some significance she doesn’t get.

Now the two humans have matured, and they came to her with their own offspring, like a female feline eager to show its master what she produced, and asked her to join them on a “family dinner”.

The word sounds so foreign, yet so familiar. Though she lacks the flesh to consume food anymore, she remembers how her mother used to be smiling at the dinner table even with barely any food. She glances at her mindless mother, and allows both of them to be dragged out of the park.

The interaction with humans has distracted her from her own sadness, and she doesn’t hate it.

Yet, such a time would be short lived, as the current Terra time is 850.M30, and the 16th legion of power armoured genetic soldiers, serving the self-proclaimed Emperor of Mankind, will be arriving into the system in less than a year…

Scene art for my tabletop campaign, depicting the pre-campaign story of Lone Cryptek An-Nakhrimun, who sat on a planet being depressed for 10k+ years until Great Crusade came knocking. And the baby that would become the origin of her fake human face.

Reddit Source

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Fiat 850, 1964. Designed by Dante Giacosa (Fiat's lead engineer from 1946 to 1970) the 850 replaced the 600 (they sold alongside each other for a time). There were multiple variants of the 850, made by Fiat and numerous Italian coachbuilders, in addition to tuned versions made by Abarth. The 850 was also made in Spain by Seat, in Germany by Neckar and in Bulgaria by Pirin-Fiat. It remained in production in Italy until 1973 where it was replaced by the 127

[seventeenreasonswhy]

bf s.coups reacts to your scars ❤️‍🩹

CW: self harm (pls take care 🫶), angst / fluff, seungcheol is the sweetest

~850 words

AN: This just came to me for some reason. I feel like S.Coups would be so kind in this scenario. He's always reminding CARATs of how precious and worthy of love we are, and he's right! ❤️❤️❤️

Seungcheol had been noticing that you wore long sleeves a lot. When you’d first started dating, it didn’t even occur to him since it was winter. But as it got warmer outside, he wondered. “I run cold,” you would smile, shrugging it off if he tried to broach the subject.

The first official weekend of summer arrived, and he took you on a date to a tennis match. You looked so cute in your summery, sporty tennis skirt. The pattern on the skirt matched the bright berry color of your... long-sleeved top.

“Y/N,” Seungcheol smiled at you when you got out of your car, but quickly frowned at what you were wearing.

“It’s going to be like 100 degrees,” he said when you reached him.

“You don’t feel chilly?” You said, nonchalant. Seungcheol squinted at you. The sun was beating down so hard, anyone would be sweating. He’d worn over 50 SPF sunscreen and a baseball hat that day, it was supposed to be so brutal.

“Y/N,” Seungcheol’s tone shifted, and you felt a slight catch in your chest. He’d stopped walking toward the tennis court bleachers, and you turned to look back at him.

His face was darkened, and you felt like something was off...

“What?” You said, trying to maintain some composure, despite his shift in mood making you uneasy.

“C’mere,” he said, softer than you were expecting. Your face crinkled in confusion, but you made your way toward him. When you got close enough, he softly took you by your forearms.

You nearly jumped out of your skin—you had a feeling he might be wondering about this. It was something that came up in all of your relationships eventually. Your scars. You did your best to cover them up, not exactly because you were ashamed (although, you were admittedly working on that with your therapist), but mostly because you didn’t want to explain. You’d seen too many people, well-intentioned as they might be, get uncomfortable or not know what to say or how to act around you. You felt like it stuck a sign on you that might as well say “damaged goods, do not touch.”

Seungcheol’s gentle grip squeezed you ever so slightly.

“Here, let’s go sit in the car,” he said—you hadn’t realized he was standing so close to you. The grip on your arms wasn’t harsh... but he didn’t handle you overly-delicately either. But still, you couldn’t help but feel panicked. What if he didn’t... get it? What if it turned him off...

“I’m sorry—” you breathed out. Seungcheol stepped back a bit, his grip now supporting your weight. He had a feeling that the reason you wore long sleeves all the time was because of something painful, but he hadn’t anticipated you looking so shaken up.

“Don’t worry,” he said, as reassuringly as he could. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot.” He breathed the words so softly, only you could hear him. You looked at him, still feeling slightly nervous, but something in his eyes made you relax a little. He didn’t seem angry, or eager, or like he was pitying you. The warmth in his eyes was simply... there. Like he was saying, Don’t worry.

Once you were both seated in the car, away from any passersby in the parking lot, you decided it would be best to just rip the band aid off. You pushed the sleeves of your athletic top up, showing the faded but persistent scars along your forearms that you had managed to hide from almost everyone for a long time. He looked at them for a moment, his face remaining placid, only slightly tinged with concern. You start babbling, trying to explain that they were from a long time ago, when you were younger and more lost than you are now... but after a moment, you felt his fingers wrapping around your forearms again as he traced some of the scars with his thumb.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” he said in a quiet voice, a small, grateful smile on his face that shot straight into your heart. you didn’t know what to say, and were mortified to feel a lump in your throat inching its way up. no one had ever thanked you for this information.

“it’s nothing,” you said, your voice shaking slightly.

“it’s not nothing,” he said simply, as he brushed a hand through your hair, noticing that you were on the verge of tears. “you went through something very difficult, and handled it the best way you knew how at the time. I think it’s really admirable that you’ve come this far, and it means a lot that you shared this part of you with me.”

His kind words had a genuineness to them that sent you over the edge. You didn’t know what to say, and Seungcheol didn’t mind. He brushed a tear away from your cheek with his thumb.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, lacing his fingers in yours.