unchartedcloud

[unchartedcloud]

rb to have a super gay 2023

[unchartedcloud]

IT'S ALL ABOUT YOU

[unchartedcloud]

Chapter 1: It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Lexa Woods - divorcée, parent, and owner and proprietor of the Polaris Inn - has her hands full trying to manage her small, ski-side inn as the winter holidays descend on her equally small town. Amidst the craziness, she certainly doesn't anticipate finding an unconscious blond out on the back trails, who later wakes with no memory of who she is. Unwilling to condemn her to a hospital bed for the holidays, Lexa offers the mystery woman a room at her inn until she recovers her memory - and recovers her sense of romance along the way. In other words: a Clexa AU loosely based on the Lindsay Lohan Netflix movie. Also known as the Hallmark AU.

Read on Ao3.

[unchartedcloud]

[unchartedcloud]

Martina McBride didn't win Country Music Association Song of the Year for a song about how burning your house down with your abusive husband still inside it is good, noble, and an allegory for the American Revolution for people to act like the genre belongs to bootlicking fucks

[unchartedcloud]

Discussing baby’s future

[unchartedcloud]

Reblog to bonk your mutuals on the head every time they start thinking negatively about themselves

[unchartedcloud]

[unchartedcloud]

New Rules - Chapter 18

Chapter 18 - Nonsense

Sometimes, when a relationship is new, something soft and sweet turns into something...unabashedly smutty.

(Heads up: this one's got sexually explicit material.)

Clarke’s question interrupts Lexa’s thoughts, though not quite fast enough for her to hear its entirety. Not that she could hear much of anything if Clarke weren’t shouting—the woman has been blasting whatever eclectic mix of songs she’s chosen through most of Lexa’s speaker system all morning. “There’s every condiment in existence in this fridge, how can there be no butter?” Lexa’s eyes don’t leave her laptop screen. She rubs her chin; narrows her eyes; tucks the tip of her pen atop her middle finger and clicks through another set of prompts. “Did you want butter for your coffee?” she calls back.  “Very funny,” comes the response. “I know where the coffee is, thank you, but that does little to assist in the creation of toast.” Now why on earth would they put that button there? She starts another line of notes and answers: “It’s on the top shelf, my darling. Behind the creamer.” Silence follows; or rather, not silence, since the music is still blaring through the apartment, but still a conspicuous lack of fridge door-closing sounds or the toaster announcing the aforementioned creation of toast. Feet shuffle down the hall and Lexa doesn’t have to look up to know Clarke has abandoned the search for butter and instead has appeared at the open door to her office. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Lexa glances up only briefly, taking in the bright purple t-shirt emblazoned with Jazz and Heritage Festival, familiar heather gray sweatpants, and half-acetate, half-wire cat-eye frame reading glasses that characterize Clarke’s Sunday morning wardrobe in half a second before returning to her notes. “The butter is behind the creamer.” “Not that.” Lexa sees Clarke cross her arms and lean against the doorframe out of the corner of her eye. “What did you just call me?” She stops writing. Her brows knit together; she’d paid so little attention to what she was saying that she now has to actively try to recall what it was. “Clarke?” she guesses. “Nope.” Now Lexa does, for the first time, turn her attention fully to Clarke—and is met with raised eyebrows and the beginnings of a smirk. “Try again.” Puzzlement sets in. Had she said something strange? It’s on the top shelf…

Read on Ao3.

[unchartedcloud]

happy AC day everyone <3 make sure to leave cookies and alcohol out for desmond (who is alive)

(commission info // tip jar!)

[unchartedcloud]

they won't tell you this in therapy but sometimes the best way to stop catastrophizing/anxiety is to interrupt your spiraling with "girl what the hell are you talking about"

[unchartedcloud]

😳 <- this emoji but without the blush or romantic connotation. im not blushing im staring you directly in your fucking eyes

[unchartedcloud]

to be honest I think working on a sewing machine strains my eyes as much as being on a computer does. However, I am incentivized to remain alert and focused by keeping my fingers within stabbing distance of a needle making 60 stitches per minutes.

[unchartedcloud]

When the 'save' button doesn't take me directly to my files

[unchartedcloud]

There's something to be said about fandom's romanticization of the wardens that I think is not quite true to what the wardens actually are. The wardens aren't freedom or a chance to start over or community when you've lacked it (and characters who are shown to imbue the wardens with this are regularly disappointed by it), the wardens are an independent quasi military organization leading short, brutal lives in pursuit of a seemingly impossible task. Bethany is not being unreasonable by her anger and disappointment at her joining - being a warden is a trap, it is a one-way street, it closes at least as many doors as it opens, if not more, and it promises only death as a reward.

[unchartedcloud]

Look, I love my immortal twinks, but I am so looking forward to the return of the middle aged ladies show.