#80 blue tint

[kaelthas-dickrider]

Accidentally dyed my hair pink but It's kinda cunty I guess

#this shit happens in tv shows someone tell me im not in a god damn tv show #my handlers are always telling me to do different colours #ive been blonde lately to their displeasure #i thought i was buying pink toner to get a blue tint out and just kept it in for literally 80 seconds i counted #they like me brightly coloured so i am easily trackable and i warn predators im poisonous #i look like trish una 4 years on t

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 10: The House Of Saint Honoratus of Amiens] [Series Finale]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, weddings, Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, Rice-A-Roni.

Word Count: 6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @bungalowbear @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Thank you so much for loving this strange, sexy, sweet story. I hope you enjoy the finale. 🥰🧁

Your bare feet in warm grass, your hands around the ropes of the tree swing, no sounds except the ancient psalms of the earth: cicadas, mourning doves, goldfinches, bumble bees, bullfrogs, wind in the leaves of the dogwoods and southern live oaks. The adolescent alligator is at one end of the front yard, sunbathing up by the mouth of the gravel driveway; in the opposite corner are several nutria nibbling on cattails. The sky is a calm, cloudless blue. It’s hot, mid-80s, even when 5:00 p.m. comes and goes; but the breeze is cool as it evaporates the sweat from your temples, your palms, the nape of your neck. It’s as close as Louisiana ever gets to Heaven. It’s a good day for a wedding.

You remember thinking that it was the end of the world when you found out you were pregnant almost exactly eleven years ago, and then again when you realized you would have to divorce Willis, and so you have lived through enough moments like this—these quiet, infinitesimal apocalypses—to know that there will be a future beyond Aemond marrying Christabel. The sun will rise tomorrow, and then it will set, the lightning bugs will appear and the stars will tell myths in the night sky, and the phone will ring as orders come in for the bakery, and Cadi will be back in her bedroom playing her Nintendo, and life will roll on like currents through the bayou: slow, opaque, inevitable. The world isn’t ending, you know that. It’s just full of beautiful things that aren’t for you.

Out on Route 401, a Plymouth Gran Fury zooms by the house, squeals to a halt, and then reverses until Willis can take another look, squinting through his tinted windows. He turns down the driveway and steps out into golden July daylight. He doesn’t pay any attention to the gator as he strides past her. He belongs here, in a place that is old and strange and savage and full of beasts. You have carved out a home for yourself in the swamplands; Willis was born with veins like the roots of a mangrove tree and ancient silt instead of marrow in his bones.

“Hey, sugar,” he says, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. The wind ruffles the dark curls of his mullet, the bumble bees flee as he tramples clovers. “Ain’t ya supposed to be at the weddin’?”

“I’m sick.” A lie. “But Cadi’s fine, she’s with Amir. She was so excited she actually wore one of the sundresses my mom bought her and had Amir braid a dogwood flower into her hair to match his. You should have seen it. You would’ve been so proud.”

“I’m always proud of her,” Willis says, smiling. And then: “Ya don’t look sick.”

“I am.”

“Ya got one of your headaches?”

You pause. You don’t, but this is a convenient excuse. “Yeah.”

Willis stalls, his hands on his belt. His pistol is there; you remember how he used it in the bayou, how he helped save your life. But he wasn’t the one who jumped into the water. Aemond was willing to risk his body for me, but not his soul. What kind of sense does that make? “Ya had me scared for a minute there,” Willis says.

“What? When?”

“When I thought ya were goin’ to end up with that Rockefeller boy.”

“Aemond?” you say, like it’s so shocking. “No. Absolutely not. It’s impossible.”

“And why’s that?”

You stare into the trees so Willis can’t see the tears welling up in your eyes, the tension in your throat as embers kindle there, pulsing with heat that could char flesh to the bone. “He can’t marry someone like me.”

“I could,” Willis replies, grinning. You glare at him until he recants. “Alright, alright, oublie ça. Pardonne-moi.”

“Why would you be afraid of me and Aemond being together?”

“An oil tycoon? A millionaire? He would never stay here for long. In a town like Napoleonville? Soon as he was done getting’ those rigs up and runnin’, he’d go jettin’ off to some other corner of the world, and he’d take you with him. And Cadi too. I wouldn’t be able to fight that. What’s a parish sheriff to a Targaryen? Who would listen to me? Cadi would be gone and I’d never get her back. It would kill me. It would rip the heart right outta my chest.”

You look up at Willis from where you sit on the tree swing, the soles of your feet colored with soil and grass. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“No?” he asks, perhaps suspicious, perhaps hopeful.

“No,” you promise. “Cadi loves you. Cadi needs you to be in her life. I would never try to take her away from you, Willis.”

He nods; he seems to believe you. And something relaxes in him, like there’s been a tension in the lines of his spine and shoulders that you didn’t notice for years. “I’m sorry about your petit ami.”

“Yeah. Me too.” It comes out like a whisper, brittle and frail. “I’m sorry about Lake Verret.”

“They might be able to fix it. Talk around town is they got some kind of desalination”—he says this with each syllable enunciated distinctly, like he’s put great effort into memorizing it—“process that can take the salt back outta the water. And if that don’t work…” He shrugs with a sly smile. “I’ll survive somehow. The world’s a big place. There’s always another lake.”

You consider him, and you remember—like a dream from the night before that just returned to you—how Willis can be unexpectedly deep, randomly tender. “They should put that on bumper stickers.”

He chuckles and waves as he heads back to his car. “I’ll pick Cadi up on Tuesday. Back to the usual schedule.”

“Sure.” Back to real life. Back to before I met Aemond. And you find yourself wishing that you could forget what it had felt like to be with him; the absence he left feels so much heavier than the nonspecific longing that existed before. Willis’ Plymouth Gran Fury rolls out of the driveway, and you stay precisely where you are on the tree swing, absentmindedly pushing yourself back and forth with your tiptoes and trying to believe that tomorrow this will feel easier, and then even easier the day after that, and eventually it will cease to be anything but a vague recollection, a relic in a rarely-opened drawer, a whisper, an echo. One day, you will stop missing Aemond. One day, you will stop wondering whether a sliver of his life would have been better than none at all.

Inside what Cadi calls the Fall-Down House, the phone rings. You ignore it; if it’s an order for the bakery, they can leave a message. But then it rings again, and again, and you have to answer it. What if your mother had a heart attack? What if Cadi and Amir were in a car accident? You hurry to the kitchen and grab the phone, pink to match the little Panasonic boombox that is presently silent.

“Hello?”

“Hiiiiiii,” Amir says, slow and something else too. Disoriented? Evasive?

Your forehead wrinkles with confusion. “Where are you calling from?” There are definitely no phonelines running to the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens, a tiny brick-and-stucco edifice built in the 1830s.

“I’m at a McDonald’s up the road. I’ve paid them $5 to let me use the phone.” And then, because he knows it’s the first place your mind will go: “Cadi’s fine. She’s eating Chicken McNuggets. Everyone’s fine.”

“Okay…?”

“I think you should come over here.”

“What, to the chapel?!”

“Yeah.” He’s talking to someone; you can hear an indistinct tangle of voices through the hand he undoubtedly has clasped over the transmitter.

I can’t see Aemond. I can’t see Christabel. There is a lurching in your guts; you are a fish that swallowed a hook. “I thought we agreed that I wasn’t going to go to the wedding.” I can’t handle it. It might kill me.

“Yes, we did, but now…um…I think you will want to make an appearance.”

“Amir, what happened?”

There is more muffled conversation on the other end of the line. “Look,” he tells you. “Things, uh…things are…occurring. And I think it would be better to explain in person.”

“Did you drop the cake?”

“No,” he says, defensive. “The cake is perfect, thank you for your concern. Not a single frosting wildflower was mutilated in the delivery.”

“Then why—?”

“Do you trust me?” Amir asks.

The answer is obvious. Of course. More than anyone. “You know I do.”

“Then go get in your car.”

You glance at the clock on the wall. “Okay, but you know it’s going to take me like 40 minutes to drive to Belle River.”

“That’s fine.” He confers with someone else. “Yeah, that’s good actually, that will work.”

“Great,” you say uncertainly.

“See you soon!” Then Amir hangs up, leaving you alone in the creaks and groans of your ailing house.

You take Route 70 around Lake Verret, gliding past fields of soybeans and sugarcane, paddocks of cattle and horses, marshes of cordgrass occupied by blue herons and white egrets and prowling alligators, stirring awake as the sun begins its descent into the west. More than once, you notice that your Chevy Celebrity’s odometer reports you are travelling well below the speed limit. You aren’t in any hurry to reach the chapel; you don’t want to carry the weight of what you will see there, Christabel in her wedding dress, Aemond in his suit, Alicent anxiously fidgeting and gnawing at her fingernails, Viserys parading around triumphantly. You can’t imagine that there is anything less than torturous for you there. You don’t remember what you’re wearing until you reach Belle River, a small, old town full of double-wide trailers and jetties that run far out into the lake: a simple cotton sundress you threw on this morning without much thought, modest but white and therefore forbidden for a wedding guest. The sky is turning from a sun-drenched cerulean blue to something more soft, more muted, as dusk lurks just a few hours away. The radio is playing Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car.

The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens was built by a man in extremis. An acclaimed mason by trade, he had been born in France and settled in the New World in Louisiana when it was still in the possession of Napoleon. The mason had a wife and children—some people say 5, others say 8 or 10, though details always seem to grow more elaborate in the retelling, don’t they?—and he loved them dearly. But tragedy struck when every single member of the family, except for the mason himself, fell ill with tuberculosis. When healers of the earth failed to offer sufficient remedies, the mason appealed to a higher power. He built the chapel to implore Honoratus of Amiens, his wife’s favorite saint—she was a baker and a florist, both professions that Honoratus presides over—to intercede with the Almighty on their behalf. This effort proved futile, and as each member of the family died, the mason interred them in a brick vault beneath the altar where they would spend eternity together. Perhaps this makes for a peculiar wedding venue, yet for over a century couples rich and poor, religious and secular have traveled to the chapel to exchange their vows. Perhaps there are few things more romantic than loving someone in the face of total futility: illness, distance, unrequitedness, prohibitions, death.

The chapel sits in a clearing surrounded by live oak trees, massive, hundreds of years old, hanging with Spanish moss, blotting out the sunlight as aisles cascade through gaps in the leaves. As you park in the grass—joining an army of Lexuses, Audis, limousines, Porsches, Ferraris, Cadillacs, Aston Martins, Alfa Romeos, and Amir’s blue Ford Escort—you observe that there are perhaps fifty guests in formal attire milling aimlessly around the building. You peer down at your white sundress, frowning. Well, I can’t go naked. The faux pas will have to be forgiven. You step out of your Chevy Celebrity and make your way across the clearing towards the chapel.

There is a long table set up in the shade with a tower of champagne glasses, an ice sculpture of a dragon, and the banana bread cake you and Amir baked for the wedding. Grim-faced servants in black suits are cutting slices and handing them out to guests on green china plates. You recognize Aegon’s wife Stephanie chatting with a flock of young women in extravagant gowns, golds and emeralds and sapphires. Helaena is among them, wearing a shimmering blue-green color like the scales of her chameleon Dreamfyre. Evidently, the Targaryens’ exotic pets have been left at the mansion for this excursion.

“Well,” the princess of Monaco says sardonically as she takes a bite, the white cream cheese frosting covered with a kaleidoscope of wildflowers. “At least the cake is good. What is this, banana? Whoever heard of a banana wedding cake? I mean, it’s delicious, but still. I knew that Christabel girl was daft. Did you see her positively absurd dress? It looks like children doodled all over it…”

Is it over? you think as you weave through the crowd, largely unnoticed. Is the ceremony done already? Why would Aemond want to see me? To try to convince me to be his mistress one last time? To show me what I’m missing by severing ties with him?

But no: something else has happened. Viserys and Christabel’s father the marquess are embroiled in a heated argument; a nun and two priests are trying to haul them apart.

“You’re dead to me, Viserys!” the marquess roars. “And you’ll be dead to everyone back home once I tell them what you’ve done!”

“I did my part! This has nothing to do with me! Wait…wait…we can figure something else out! Wait! Wait! You can have Daeron!”

Wedding guests are gawking and snapping photos with their polaroid cameras. Upon hearing his name, Daeron glances over towards his father wearily. Alicent’s youngest son is kneeling beside where she has collapsed to the grass, patting her encouragingly on the shoulder as she sobs into a green cloth handkerchief. Criston is there too, trying to soothe her with sympathetic murmurs and a flute of pink champagne glittering with bubbles of carbonation.

“How did this happen?” she wails, peering up at Criston with her vast, dark, glassy eyes. The gold rings on her fingers clang and glint; they match the single hoop earring that Criston wears. Alicent’s gown is purple like royalty, but Criston is dressed in a suit of pale pink; it’s the exact same one Daeron has on. Groomsmen? you wonder. “He knows better than this! We raised him better than this!”

You think, stunned and petrified: Aemond, what the hell did you do?

As you approach the chapel, you note that it appears empty inside; you don’t spot anyone in the pews. Somewhere, a boombox is thundering Higher Love. At the entrance of the building, Christabel is sitting on the brick walkway in her wedding dress. It’s the one you told her to choose: elegant and timeless, long train and short flowing sleeves, silk wildflowers sewn into the white lace. Her bouquet is lying forgotten on the ground beside her. Her lips are a deep, lovely pink; her eyeshadow is gold. She’s smoking, something you’ve never seen her do before. There is a half-crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter in her left hand, a single lit cigarette in her right.

“Um, hi, Christabel,” you say. And then, something equally brainless: “Is everything okay?”

“I should have known.” She’s staring out at the crowd, not at you. Her large blue eyes are dull, vacant.

“You should have known what?” Your heart is in your throat; blood pounds in your ears like the hooves of a racehorse.

“That he didn’t care,” she says listlessly. “I could tell that he didn’t. I could feel it. But I didn’t want it to be true, so I told myself it wasn’t. Isn’t that interesting? How we can lie to ourselves? Not that it was entirely my error. Other people meddled plenty. ‘Oh no, Christabel.’ ‘He’s just emotionally stunted, Christabel.’ ‘He’s busy with work, Christabel.’ What man is too busy with work to handle a five-minute phone call? It’s not like he was on the moon. He could have made time if he wanted to. I bet he made lots of time for you.”

“Uh.” You try to decide what to say. “I broke up with him, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t want to be his mistress. I didn’t think that was fair to you.” Or me, obviously, but right now doesn’t seem to be the opportune time to voice my own grievances.

“Next time, I’m going to choose who I marry,” Christabel insists, puffing on her cigarette. “He has to talk to me. He has to like me.”

Aemond called it off? What did he say? What is he going to do now? “Christabel…do you know where Aemond is? Or Amir and Cadi?”

“Alicent is so upset,” she says instead. “Poor woman. She’s sweet, in her own way. But I don’t want to end up like her.” Christabel holds up the pack of Marlboros and the lighter. “She feels guilty, I think. She gave me these. She had them in her purse, she has so many neurotic little habits, doesn’t she? It’s not very ladylike to smoke, but it’s not ladylike to get left at the altar either, so fuck it.”

You ask, afraid to know the answer: “Do you hate me? I didn’t know Aemond was engaged when I met him. And then…” Why lie now? What’s the point? “Then I was in love with him and it was kind of…too late to try not to be. But I’m sorry.”

“I don’t hate you,” Christabel replies immediately. “I know he would never be allowed to marry…someone like you. Your options were limited.”

You don’t know if this is meant to be an insult or not. “Thanks.”

“I don’t think I ever loved him either,” Christabel realizes, exhaling smoke. “I think I idolized him. I think I loved my fantasy of what our marriage would be like. But I didn’t love Aemond. I didn’t even know Aemond. You did, I suspect. Good luck with him. He’s a bit…complex.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, rather compulsively. You aren’t sure what she expects from you. Abruptly, from wherever it’s coming from, Higher Love is cut off. “So, is Aemond, like…around, or…?”

“I don’t regret the sex part.”

“Okay.” You examine the crowd in the clearing again. You still don’t see Aemond.

“That went well,” Christabel muses. “I’m glad my first time is over and done with. I was terrified it would hurt like hell. And so few people know, so it’s almost like it never happened, right?”

“Right,” you say obediently.

“I think I’ll have a new rule. I won’t marry anyone unless he likes me and we sleep together first. Life is too long to spend it with the wrong person, don’t you agree?”

“I totally do.”

“He’s waiting for you inside,” Christabel says, flicking ashes towards the gaping doorway of the chapel.

“Really?” you peer into the shadows; there is indeed a solitary figure standing at the altar. “So…what exactly is happening…?”

“Go,” Christabel urges, and takes a drag on her cigarette. You leave her and cross through the doorway into the chapel.

The light is dim and gentle; fading sunbeams slant in through the glass of the cathedral-style windows. The mason’s inspiration was Gothic architecture, imposing, cavernous. Two candlelit iron chandeliers hang from the high ceiling; the floor is made of tiles of black and white marble. Small stone sculptures of angels watch over their realm like benevolent gargoyles. There is a single stained glass window above the altar: circular like a ring, red and gold like the sun.

He’s waiting for you in a pale pink suit, long disheveled hair, thin mustache with flecks of white powder in it, mischievous smirk. “Hey cake lady,” Aegon says.

“Um. I’m not marrying you.”

“No, you’re definitely not.” Aegon offers you his hand and you take it with some hesitation. “I’m here to be your guide. Just like on the Oregon Trail.”

“What…?”

“Let’s go.” He pulls you out of the chapel, past where Christabel is still sitting at the entranceway, and across the clearing towards the trees. When you look to the crowd, Otto is elbowing his way through disgruntled guests towards a limousine, already idling.

Viserys bellows at him: “Where the hell are you going?!”

“Back to Kiribati!” Otto shouts back, not breaking his stride. He vanishes into the limo.

“Hurry,” Aegon says. He leads you into the forest, a thick canopy of verdant leaves and Spanish moss and the narrow rays of sunshine that tumble down through the gaps.

“Aegon, I don’t think we should be in the woods, it could be dangerous—”

“No, this part is fine. We already checked.”

“Who’s ‘we’?!” You’re wearing flip flops that catch on gnarled roots; the shrieking of cicadas grows loud. One of them buzzes towards Aegon and he screams as he backhands it away.

“You good?” Amir’s voice calls from farther within the trees.

“Yeah. I’m fine. We made it.”

You turn to Aegon. “What’s going on—?”

Suddenly, there is booming music that startles you: “Ooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth? Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth! They say in Heaven, love comes first, we’ll make Heaven a place on Earth! Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth!”

“Aegon, what is that?”

“Uh, I think it’s Heaven Is A Place On Earth.”

“Yes, okay, but why?”

“Ask that guy.” You round a thicket and there under a colossal southern live oak tree, surrounded by hundred-year-old branches that twist down to the earth, is Aemond; but he’s not looking at you. He and Cadi are lighting the last of the candles. She picks them up, he ignites the wick with the same lighter he uses to smoke his Marlboros, and then Cadi places them back on the ground or on top of a branch. Amir is standing by the large black boombox, the same one Aegon always listens to by the Targaryens’ pool. Amir grins craftily, pushing his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. His suit is orange, the single dogwood flower in his hair white.

“Did we get them all?” Aemond asks Cadi.

“Yeah, I think so. Wait, no, there’s one over there!” Cadi darts to it and Aemond lights the candle, then spins around and sees you. He smiles. “Hi, Cupcake.”

“Hi,” you say, so shellshocked you can’t form any of your very vital questions.

“Okay, so we have the candles,” Aemond informs you as Cadi and Aegon go to join Amir. “White with wildflower patterns.” And you recall how Alicent mentioned needing to pick out candles with Christabel, and how you didn’t see any scattered around the chapel. They brought them here. They did it for me. “And we have some actual wildflowers.” He takes the boutonniere off the lapel of his white suit and tucks it into your hair behind your left ear. “And we have Heaven Is A Place On Earth.” He gestures to the boombox. “And I think those were the three things you said you wanted if you were ever going to get married again.”

I did say that. Just once, months ago, the first time he ever came over, the first time he ever touched me. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered.” He takes both of your hands in his own. Amir lets out a little squeal and covers his mouth as his eyes begin to glisten. Aemond takes a deep breath. “So, I don’t have a speech, because this is very last-minute. I mean extremely last-minute. But you were right about everything. And I realized I couldn’t live that way. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to me, but it wouldn’t be fair to Christabel either. So I broke it off.”

“Literally at the altar,” Aegon says. “In front of everybody. It was so fucking awkward.”

“Those are not necessary details!” Aemond snaps, then looks back to you and is smiling again. “I know what I want. I’ve known it for as long as I’ve known you. But I wasn’t a strong enough person to make it happen. I’m so sorry. I should have done things differently. I can’t change the past. But everything is going to be different now.”

You gaze up at him as Belinda Carlisle sings, thinking: This can’t be real. I’m going to wake up now.

“On the night we met, you told me you’d never felt chosen,” Aemond says. “I’m choosing you. And, you know.” He nods to her. “Cadi too. And Amir. And the bakery. And dealing with Willis too, I guess. All of it. I’m choosing you and your whole life and that’s exactly where I want to be.”

You can feel the warmth in your face, beaming and hopeful and full of possibilities. Under the shade of the southern live oak, the first lightning bugs are blooming in the air like stars. “What about your family?”

“I’ll figure it out. I don’t think my father can entirely disown me…turns out I’m the only one who understands how the stock market works. But no matter what, you and Cadi are the priority. And my father will have to learn to live with that.”

“Or he can drop dead,” Aegon says. “Whichever.”

It’s possible? We can be together? Not just for a night, an afternoon, a stolen moment, but forever?

“I said I don’t have a speech.” Aemond tells you. His right eye is bright, elated, gleaming like a mirror. “I don’t have a ring either. But I’m going to get you one, if you’ll let me. So I’m asking you, Cupcake: Will you marry me?”

“Say yes, Mom!” Cadi yells, and Amir bursts out laughing.

“Say yes, cake lady!” Aegon adds. “Unlimited Cap’n Crunch Treats!”

When am I going to wake up? When is this going to end?

But it’s not a dream. It’s real. And Aemond reads the answer on your face before you can say it, and so it’s only a murmur as he kisses you, a whisper, a prayer: “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The three of you drive from the new house all the way to San Francisco; you still call it the new house, even though you’ve owned it for a full year. The journey takes seven days, with overnight stops in Dallas, Wonderland Amusement Park in Amarillo, Albuquerque, Flagstaff, Las Vegas, and Bakersfield. Aemond sold his Audi Quattro and replaced it with a Dodge Caravan. It’s July 1989, and Tom Petty’s brand new single Runnin’ Down A Dream is strumming from the radio. It’s always temperate in San Fran, in the 60s even at the height of summer. The sky is overcast and grey. When Cadi complains that she’s cold despite the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles hoodie you packed for her, Aemond gives her his Marlboro jacket.

Amir, his boyfriend, and two other roommates share a sunshine yellow Italianate townhouse in the Castro District. Aemond parks his wood-paneled Caravan on the steep, inclined street—he narrowly misses colliding with a whooshing cable car, which he blames on poor depth perception—and then helps you carry the luggage inside. There are no alligators on the front porch, but there are neighborhood cats that Amir puts out Friskies for; there are no screaming cicadas, but there are swooping seagulls and the melodies of sidewalk musicians. When Amir opens the door, he nearly tackles you with enthusiasm. He still wears his loud colors and short shorts, but he’s traded in the dogwood flowers he once wove into his hair for dahlias.

Amir’s boyfriend is named Don, but everyone calls him Donald Schwarzenegger because he looks so much like the Austrian bodybuilder turned actor. When Amir first arrived in the city, he got a job as a cake decorator for a very popular bakery, and quickly segued into handling much of their marketing as well. He’s thinking of getting a degree in advertising and trying his luck in corporate America. You very much enjoy teasing him for being a sellout; what would socialist Bayard Rustin say?

“Call your Daddy and let him know we made it safely to the West Coast,” you tell Cadi once her things are unpacked in the guest room she’ll get all to herself; you and Aemond are consigned to the living room futon. Cadi chats with Willis for a while, then says he wants to talk to you. You take the phone, slightly concerned; you hope nothing is amiss with the house. “Hello?”

“What the hell is wrong with this horse?” he demands. “That ain’t no pet. That’s a demon. It’s a goddamn Rougarou.”

“I told you not to try to touch him,” you say, amused.

“I feed him and water him, don’t I? Ain’t that the least he can do? Lettin’ me scratch his big ol’ idiot head?”

“Patches is not very well-behaved. But Cadi loves him.”

“And don’t even get me started on the dog. Ugliest fuckin’ dog I ever saw. Growls every time I show up. Shows its teeth and everythin’. I’d take twenty gators over that son of a bitch any day.”

“Vhagar is a girl,” you say. “Thanks for watching them while we’re out of town.”

“Sure thing, sugar. Although I still don’t understand why the bon a rien can’t do it.”

“Aegon isn’t always…reliable.” But he does seem to be improving. He’s cut back to mostly just booze and marijuana, because otherwise he and Sunfyre aren't allowed to stay at the new house for sleepovers. There’s a guest bedroom, but Aegon prefers the sunken conversation pit in the mauve pink living room. He likes to be where anyone can stumble across him if they wake up in the middle of the night for pancakes or ice cream. He likes to be where people are; he likes to be included. “Anyway, I gotta go. Cadi will call again tomorrow. Enjoy your fishing.”

“Will do. Maybe I’ll toss your accursed animals in as bait.” Lake Verret is still a bit too brackish for a proper freshwater lake, but that’s changing gradually with Daeron’s desalination efforts and a subaquatic plug affixed to the opening of the breached salt dome. He views it as a pioneering experiment in reversing such drilling accidents, potentially for application globally. Now there are more bass and lampreys and catfish, and less breams and gars, but life goes on in Napoleonville’s 14,000-acre lake. Daeron has replaced Aemond as Viserys’ heir apparent, and he is thriving in the role. He is bookish yet empathetic, focused but never ruthless. Furthermore, he happens to be genuinely in love with his aristocratic fiancée: Princess Alexandra of Denmark.

Aemond was right; Viserys didn’t disown him, but he did fire him, ban him from the mansion, and reduce his available funds to a modest living stipend. Fortunately, Viserys has a very limited comprehension of how money works for normal people, and he considers $200,000 per year to be “modest.” With that plus your bakery earnings and a paid-off house, you, Cadi, and Aemond will be living comfortably for the remainder of your lives. Also fortunately, no one else will enforce the no-Aemond rule at The Last Desire, so anytime Viserys is out of town—which is far more often than not—you get to visit the Targaryens at the mansion as much as you please. Cadi loves the water slide and the koi pond. She’s named the fish after Greek deities, her latest obsession: Zeus, Narcissus, Athena, Dionysus, Artemis, Apollo, Echo. Viserys will not acknowledge you, but the rest of the family is polite enough now that the drama of the broken engagement has blown over. When you finish the cookbook of Southern baked goods that you’ve been working on, Alicent had pledged to mail copies to all her friends and relatives back in the U.K. Otto has offered to take a box of them with him next time he jets off for Kiribati; the wealthy housewives marooned in paradise are always on the hunt for new reading material.

On your first night in San Francisco, Amir serves a dinner of cioppino, sourdough bread, and (not homemade) Rice-A-Roni. You provide dessert, a recipe you’re still perfecting: Saint Honoratus cake, a pastry that dates back to Paris in the 1800s. You want to be able to include it in your cookbook, along with photographs from your wedding in the chapel this past May, almost exactly a year from when you and Aemond first met. Your engagement ring has a gold band and pink diamonds arranged to resemble a rockrose, a dauntless little wildflower native to Aemond’s ancestral homeland of Greece. For over a decade you have loved that wildflowers are grown and not bought, small but tenacious, humble yet untamed. They do not wait for other hands to tell them where and how to grow. They are the architects of their own fortune.

When everyone is finished with dessert and gathers around the tv to watch The Golden Girls, Aemond says he’s going outside for a smoke break; but you know he’s trying to quit. You follow him into the small backyard and as soon as your bare feet touch the grass, he’s pushed you against the wall of the house, forced your thighs apart, slipped his hand down the front of your shorts as he watches the amazed, electrified desire rise in your face like heat from a stove. “It’s been a week, and I need you,” Aemond murmurs, his lips ghosting across your throat, his hips braced insistently against yours, and then he kisses you to stifle your moans as you bury your fingers in his hair, to swallow down the vicarious ecstasy of every wondrous thing he’s ever done to you and ever will. “I don’t even need you to get me off. I just need to see you like this.”

Trusting him, wanting him, letting him make me come.

Aemond has been accepted into UC Berkeley’s History PhD program and will start there at the end of August. He wants to write books about underrecognized heroes, extraordinary and yet unassuming people like Bayard Rustin and Bobbi Campbell and Phillis Wheatley. You’ll miss him of course, but there will be breaks for holidays and summers when he can return to Napoleonville, and you can fly out to visit him too, and there are phone calls, and postcards, and one day you’ll be able to go anywhere together—

You gasp, a shaky, starving breath, your lips grinning into Aemond’s. You’re close, you’re so close.

There is a shrill whistle from the back porch of a townhouse from the row behind Amir’s. “Get it, honey!” a man in a leopard-print robe cheers, waving the newspaper he’d been reading. You and Aemond unravel from each other, laughing hysterically.

“Okay,” you tell him, still panting. “Bad plan. We are clearly not accustomed to city life.”

“Tonight,” Aemond says, low and commanding. He returns to you, kissing the side of your face: temple, cheekbone, the curve of your jaw. His voice is dark, jagged glass; his lips are soft like kind dreams. “On the futon, on the floor, anywhere.”

You want it too, but you know the game. “No.”

He pins you to the wall again, powerful, irresistible, his hardness grinding against you through his jeans, everything about him—voice, flesh, rhythm, soul—promising you the peace only he has ever given you, proving that being at the right person’s mercy can make you free. “I’m in charge now. Let me take care of you.” And for a split second you almost beg: Just do it, Aemond, right now, please touch me again, I don’t care if a stranger sees. I want you now, I want you forever.

Instead you smile up at him, the whirls of your fingerprints skating harmlessly over his scarred left cheek as you answer: “Yes sir.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond

[evandarya]

Are you still taking prompts? If so, please consider the following. Danny gets summoned to Gothem by a cult who planned to sacrifice one of the batfam to him. What they were not expecting was for the Ghost King to appear, laying on the ground, curled up under a very warm looking blanket, 80% asleep as he mumbles, "where the fuck am I? Why would you summon me so late at night??"

That's hilarious.

***

Tim hates cultists. They are in the top five of people he hates, beating out door to door evangelists by a slim margin. They were still under people who park their shopping cart diagonally across the aisle. The only reason they are lower on the list is because most cultists didn't learn how to tie a proper knot, but if he can't get free before the high summoner finishes his chant, cultist are going to find themselves moving up on his shit list.

The markings on the floor around Tim started to glow a vivid, toxic green. Freezing wind whipped in a frigid tornado and Tim shivered despite the insulation his Red Robin suit provided. Small ice crystals formed as the humidity in the air froze, the tiny snowflakes getting caught up in the wind, swirling and condensing I center of the circle. Right in front of Tim, and there was nothing he could do to stop whatever the cultists we're summoning from coming. Tim squeezed his eyes tight as a bright flash of white light illuminated the room. Everything stood still. The snowflakes hung in the air like crystals on a wire. At the center of the circle, arms reach from where Tim sat was a soft looking blanket.

The cultists shifted and whispered among themselves. Tim heard bits of hushed conversation, "Where's the ghost king?" "Did you do the spell right?" "Maybe he didn't like the sacrifice?"

Tim was only half listening, because the dark blue, star dotted blanket was moving. First, a gloved hand pushed out from the blanket and shifted it until Tim could see snow white hair, blue skin, and one eye, cracked open just enough for Tim to see the unusual tint of green. The green eyed man, boy? Creature? Looked at him intensely. Tim felt as if his very soul was being weighed.

Whatever this person saw in him must have satisfied him because he turned his attention to the cultists.

"You have a lot of nerve," He said sitting up and singling out the cult leader. "Summoning me this early in the morning to-- where even am I?" He asked, turning back to Tim.

"Gotham city." Tim said.

The beings eyes widened slightly and he turned back to the cult leader. "You summed me to fricking New Jersey in the middle of the night? You had better have a damned good reason."

The cult leader straighted under the attention and addressed the being. "I summoned you, Ghost King. I offer you the vigilante Red Robin as a sacrifice if you will assist in helping me to spread our message of redemption to the world."

The Ghost King floated up from where he had been sitting on the ground and hovered in the air, starry blanket draped over his shoulders like a cloak. "You summoned me to New Jersey," the ghost started, slowly, dangerously. "in the middle of the night during finals week to offer me a sacrifice that isn't yours to offer so I can help you take over the world?" As the ghost spoke the wind started picking up and the temperature dropped. Ice started to crawl across the floor in fractals. The lights flashed and sputtered and the shadows seemed to come alive. An eerie static could be heard , and the very air felt oppressive.

The cult leader was trying to stutter apologies or reasonings, but the ghost wasn't listening. He was advancing slowly, the lines of the sigil on the ground hissed and sputtered as the ghost crossed over them, their magic was as useful as a spiders web at containing the being. The ghost reached the cult leader who fell to his knees, begging and pleading. The being looked down at him, head tilted to the side.

"Boo!"

The cult leader screamed and fell to the ground. All the other cultists took that as their cue to scream and run for the exits.

The ghost didn't chase them, he just watched as they scattered like roaches. Once they were gone he turned his full attention onto him. Tim felt a thrill jolt down his spine as those unusual green eyes stared him down. "Let me help you out of that." He said, floating back over to him. Tim didn't flinch, but he held very still as the ghost phased the ropes off his wrists. "I'm sorry you got roped into my business, Robin, was it?"

"Red Robin." Tim said, stretching his arms out from where they had been stuck behind his back.

"I'm Phantom." The ghost said, offering Tim a hand up, which he accepted. "Is there anywhere around here a ghost can get a cup of coffee? I have a long day." Phantom said. Tim smiled at him.

"I think I know a place."

#danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #dc comics #crossover #tim drake #dp x dc #fanfic #brain dead #evandarya answers #sorry it got posted before i was done writing it #writing in the tumblr app is a trip and a half

[allysdelta]

A while ago, while the Good Omens graphic novel was running its Kickstarter campaign, I saw the character designs for the Ineffable Duo and got inspired to create my own. Some of the details are still in flux, but I'm really quite pleased with how their basic looks have turned out and I'd like to draw them in comic form someday.

Notes on design and color choices under the readmore.

Though originally I'd intended for Aziraphale to be the shorter of the two, I like the implications that he still retains some vestiges of the angelic soldier he once was -- that hint in the way he carries himself that he could become very dangerous indeed if he has to. As a bonus, when Crowley became the smaller one, it emphasizes his personality, both as someone who must seek hiding places to avoid harm and as the guile hero who relies on his wits to survive and even thrive. So now we have a soft angel with a steel core and a pointy little garter snake of a demon.

They're not tied to any specific ethnicities, being celestial entities, but they both appear brown, partially because I like the nod to the Fertile Crescent housing the first known examples of human civilization, but largely because no one can stop me. Crowley ended up with a vaguely East Asian complexion and eyes, while Aziraphale has features that faintly echo the Middle East. Don't ask me about the halo of chestnut curls -- I don't know where that came from, but Aziraphale insisted.

Like his show counterpart's, Crowley's eyes get more snakelike when he's stressed, upset, angry, or exhausted. I gave him the presence of a sclera for the sake of facial expression, but because I didn't want to entirely lose the reptilian look, it now has a yellow tint. (I haven't designed his snake form yet, but it's based on a bush viper for their pretty scale textures and their cute little snub noses)

Aziraphale's eyes have a burst of sunlight yellow around the pupils, a feature I saw once on a real-life acquaintance and thought beautiful. The green-hazel irises are just 'cause I like them.

Surprising absolutely no one, Crowley's clothing scheme is blacks, grays, and reds, with flashes of silver. I haven't done any research on whether leather blazers were a thing in the late 80s, but it seemed very appropriate for him to wear, and it's a little nod to Neil Gaiman's liking for leather jackets as well.

Aziraphale wears heavenly colors (white, blue, gold) close to his chest, while the rest of his clothing grounds him with earth tones. He's just a little more up to date on fashion than the show's Aziraphale (whose clothes skew Victorian), but he still wears clothing that wouldn't look out of place in the 1950s.

I probably make Aziraphale a little too handsome compared to his descriptions in the book, but I like how it makes him all the more infuriating when he's being condescending. Like, you bastard, how dare you look that hot while you're lecturing me. Poor Crowley.

#Aly tries to art #Good Omens #Book Omens #Aziraphale #Crowley #Ineffable Husbands #good omens fanart #book husbands #was going to paint this but then I decided nah #it works better as a color key anyway

[official-darkforest]

i am SOOO unbelievably thrilled by your anthro au omg. do you have fashion ideas for the characters? like their favorite outfits, fabrics, etc? imo one of the best parts of anthro characters is deciding how they'd express themselves through their clothing :]

I HAVE A FEW ALREADY!!!! i dont have many specifics because theres so many characters ahd i havent drawn them all yet LOL but i'll share the ones i do have at least SOMETHING for

im also trying to keep these reasonable for the time period and location, as in my au the clan cats are mostly rural and in small towns set (mostly) before the 2000s so most may dress more modest and conservative (especially if theyre older and very religious)

squirrelflight - the best i can describe her sense of fashion is that it ranged from tomboy as a younger girl and is currently closer to a working class butch. im not sure if masc would be a more appropriate term since i dont hc her as a lesbian (shes bi) but she dresses "like a man" and owns a lot of jeans, slacks, and button-up shirts of all kinds of fabrics and patterns. she also enjoys bright colors as well, but as she got older her fashuon sense got a little more sensible and less "loud" like it was in the 60s and 70s. she also has glasses like her daddy once shes like 35 or so. she and firestar dressed very similarly, and a lot of her shirts and neckties are things she stole from his closet

feathertail - very feminine. hippie adjacent, lots of loose and flowing garments and jingly pieces. breatheable clothes and open toed shoes. her favorite swimsuit had some little frilly bits on it i think. often combines neutral earthy tones with blues and whites

crowfeather - lots of handmedowns from his father. clothes you can do farmwork in like jeans, overalls, hardy flannel/denim shirts and boots. never grew out of this and still dresses this way and he likes it

jayfeather - he looks like a modernized (as far as the 80s goes) version of his father - same hairstyle snd way of dress. he isnt too formal but does have some more preppiness to his clothing style (polo shirts and sweaters). he avoids full button downs since buttoning them himself jjust gets frustrating since he cant match them up every time. new wave band shirts. he also wears orange tinted glasses to protect his eyes (in this au i wrote that hes able to perceive shadows and light pretty okay, but not much else beyond that) And Kinda As A Fashion Statement cuz it goes well with his facial structure and hairstyle i think

lionblaze - hes like if the stereotypical jock and stereotypical 80s rock+metal enthusiast had a baby. muscle tees and bandanas, ripped jeans, those absurdly short shorts, crop tops, etc. he's a drummer i think if that matters LOL

ivypool - punk, also sorta like joan jett to an extent. very homemade, tho sometimes she gets lazy and doesnt really commit to the outfits all the way (but definitely has the mindset, dint get me wrong). one of those girls with a chest small enough to go braless 99% of the time; wears a lot of tank tops and sleeveless shirts LOL

bone/brick/scourge - just google "the outsiders movie" or "greaser" and you'll get the idea. tho i imagine these three in particular also have some kind of bare minimum formalwear scraped together from their escapades. theyre kinda like the jetts/sharks from west side story if that helps at all

daisy - she combines flowing, pretty dresses with a sunhat and work boots. she also teaches horseback riding and owns a few (its a business she runs w smokey and floss. i think its be funny if they were polyam ITS MY AU I CAN CHANGE WHAT I WANT) and she has horseback-appropriate clothing as well

poppyfrost - THEE preppy girl of the 80s. big hair, perm and all. dresses with pastel colors. her sisters cinderheart and honeyfern are pretty similar, tho i imagine honeyfern is a little more sporty and cinderheart takes inspiration from madonna once shes trying to court lionblaze

hazeltail - long haired country girl butch. enough said

spottedleaf snd cinderpelt are nuns lol

#warrior cats #anthro warrior cats #micks anthro au

[indouloureux]

A little request for Joseph x Reader. Snippets of sweet pda that Joe initiates (-: Xx

sorry this is short. thank you for requesting! 🤍 (shy!fem!reader, mentions of multiple artists below. pls don't question them or you can just go away)

pda's never been your thing. although maybe because you're too shy.

not everyone judged; some of them thought it was cute that two young lovers kissed in the middle of a sidewalk, held hands in the park, hugged in the cold winter night to replace the lack of coats. some — driven from the bitterness of past pain — , not so much.

so you'd always limited it. luckily for you, he respected that.

pinkie holdings had always been your favorite, though. you like it when he hooks his smaller finger around yours, swinging your hands back and forth, sometimes bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the side of your finger when the people were scattered around to almost desolation.

his was sneaking a kiss to the back of your head. either on dinners when there were too many people and he can sense your nervousness, when you're about to go into a room, when you're or he's about to go to the bathroom, or when he just wants to.

but he does try to steal a kiss or two. on your lips.

the record store's a bit crowded. but it's a given, everything was 50% off and you dragged joseph's ass down in here. so he's following behind you, one of his hands in your pocket as you squeeze through people that switches through shelves and aisles. you hold three imaginary boys to your chest, his other hand gripping the basket with albums hunky dory and folklore.

"do you think they have sex pistols in here?" you ask him. joseph shrugs, apologizing to a little girl he bumps onto. "or do you think they banned it for their vulgarity?"

"love, it's 2022, not the 80's," he laughs jovially. you pull him into another aisle, a less crowded one, vinyls stacked mostly from artists into the metal genre. you don't know why people hate them. "shit, there's a full stack of w.a.s.p. in here."

you take bad reputation into your hands, putting it inside the small silver basket in joseph's grasp. "you can take one. you're paying, anyway. i'm just taking advantage,"

joseph pouts at you, takes the last command and chucks it into the basket. then he sees reflektor by arcade fire behind it, so he chucks it in there too.

when he sees you pout at the sections beside, more rhythm and blues, bottom lip jutted out at the sign that says bruno mars had been sold out, he melts just a little bit. not that he finds your disappointment cute, but your face is. though, only when it's not that serious.

"it's only been ten minutes since the store opened and suddenly bruno mars is gone. how fast are these people?!"

he wraps an arm around your shoulder, not too much pda, but you don't pay attention to it. he rubs your shoulder, your hand lazily carding through other albums. joseph considers taking dijon's absolutely for a try.

giving in into his temptations, he does.

"i'm sorry, baby," he pouts with you. you look up at him, utter disbelief and chagrin in the luster of your eyes. joseph blushes, ears tinted pink, can't help but smile and lean down to kiss your nose. "and- oh! would you look at that. venga boys!"

"you annoy me," you frown deeply. he chuckles, taking the yellow album and putting it in the basket.

succumbing to his next temptation, he leans down to capture your lips in his. it's soft; forsooth, chaste. you giggle softly when his tongue pokes playfully at the ends of your teeth, parting with a small click.

pda two. pg-13, not too scandalous, but it's lovely.

"wha's that for?" you ask lowly, voice dulcet. joseph shrugs, lips twitching when you hook a finger around his chain.

he hums softly when you turn to face him, his hand falling on the crescent of your hip, your own carding through his curls, eyes scanning the sepia littered freckles across his nose and cheeks like they're stars.

"nothing," he smiles softly. "just wanted to."

you slip lover by taylor swift when he wasn't looking.

#joseph quinn blurb #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn

[frenchkisstheabyss]

| Pairing | husband!felix x chubby!fem!reader

| Genre | fluff & smut but make it apocalyptic

| Summary | A rouge planet's headed into our solar system, charting a course toward Earth with an 80% chance of collision. As the end grows near you indulge in a few final precious moments of intimacy with your husband.

| Word Count | 1.1kish

| Warnings | unprotected sex but, like, honey it's the apocalypse. a possibility of utter extinction...maybe. the ending is ambiguous because I'm a softie, sue me.

| A/N | I happen to be a retro sci-fi flick nerd, a K-pop nerd, and a hopeless romantic so this is how it manifested. As always, I hope you guys enjoy it 🖤

Extending your arm straight out in front of you, you flex the muscles in your hand. Wiggle your fingers in the ultraviolet wisps that drift through the air and make your wedding ring look like a tiny galaxy, a precious diamond sprinkled with stardust. The Earth is tinted a weathered blue and so are you.

So are the flowers that hug your bare feet as you stand in the back garden of your summer cabin. So are the tomatoes. The radishes. The carrots. The peppers. You can’t help but wonder if this is how the fish at the aquarium feel. Trapped in a blue gradient prison with nowhere to run, haunted by the knowledge that, no matter where things began, this is where it ends.

Your husband quietly approaches your side, twirling a daisy plucked from a nearby field between his fingers. He brings his arm around your waist, gently caressing the plush of your side. You exhale the breath that’s been trapped inside your chest, your body soothed by his touch even on the brink of the apocalypse. Felix tucks the flower behind your ear. It’s blue too. Like him. Like you.

Only it seems to glow and so does he but that’s the way it’s always been. Long before a rogue planet, starless and orphaned, came hurling into our solar system Felix glowed and everything he touched did too. Including you. “How much time left?” you ask, losing yourself in the longing of his gaze. The tips of his fingers delight in the softness of your skin as he cradles your cheek, “With you? Never enough.” 

Felix smiles, oh, that smile, and the corners of your mouth curve to mirror his. A moment of serenity, of normalcy, precious but fleeting. In the distance lightning strikes like you’ve never seen it before. Chased by a fierce rumbling in the clouds, it makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Felix clasps your face, grounding you as he kisses you with every bit of love within him.

If this is it, the last moment that he gets with the woman at the very center of his universe, he has to spend it with his lips pressed to yours. His tongue swirls around yours, penning every love letter not yet written on the inside of your cheeks. Lightning strikes again but this time you don’t see that sharp white light crackle through the sky. You don't hear the foreboding rumbling of the sky. Falling deeper under his spell, you’re numb to everything but him.

“Felix” you whisper, your breath chilling the thin layer of moisture on his bottom lip, “Could you do something for me?” “Anything,” he says, meaning it more than you know. “Make love to me…here…like the first time. I just…” He pulls you back into the kiss, cutting your explanation short. There’s no need to explain or to appeal to him. He remembers, exactly as you do, the first weekend he brought you here. How special it was.

You’d been together for a month then, not even official. Felix never invited anyone out to the cabin with him. Tucked away in the heart of a picturesque forest with no neighbors for miles, this was his quiet place but it never felt utopian until you came. The garden had been your idea and it was here, together beneath the rising sun, that you made love for the first time. How serendipitous that it should be your last. 

By the time your body’s nestled in the lush grass, you’ve plucked each other’s clothes away like the petals of a flower, leaving them sprinkled around the garden. Seeing you stare up at him, your gloriously curved body bare for him, has him reciting quiet prayers that he has enough time to indulge in every bit of you. For Felix, it’s not about the end. Not about chasing some high or crossing a finish line.

It’s about the gasp you just took when he kissed your neck, nibbling at it with just the right amount of pressure. It’s about the way you grip his hair at the root when his tongue traces your collarbone, massaging his scalp as his mouth meets your pillowy breasts, his tongue twining around your delicate buds. “I love you” he repeats, his professions muffled by hungry mouthfuls of your breasts. But you hear him. You feel him.

Kneading the squish of your belly. Parting your thighs. Swiping his fingers between the silky lips of your pussy. Rolling your clit beneath his thumb. You feel all of it. “I love you too. I love you. Ah…” you whine, something shifting in the air as two fingers ease into you, twisting and curling in response to every faint quivering of your walls. Craving the taste of you, he dips his head between your thighs, drinking the nectar that trickles from you like a stream, making him salivate as the flavor awakens his taste buds.

The rush of euphoria that washes over your body is unyielding, intensifying with each flick of his tongue and bend of his wrist. The world around you is quieter than before, the angelic sounds spilling from your lips the only thing Felix can hear. The only thing he cares to hear. A particularly desperate whine signals to him that the tension within you is ready to snap. “Mmm, not yet” he hums, licking his way up your body, leaving a trail of your juices behind.

Just enough remains that when your mouth parts to welcome him, you can still taste yourself on his tongue. “Felix!” you cry out, the nearly undetectable vibration of the ground coinciding with his length thrusting into you. For a moment, he doesn’t move, he just stays still, basking in the moment, throbbing as you squirm around him.

One of the starry ultraviolet wisps floats into your line of vision. You watch it pass with a strange sense of wonder. “I guess it’s like you always said,” Felix says, his hips rocking back and forth, driving you further and further toward your high with maddening intensity, “You and me to the end of the world.” You nod, the calmness of his voice bringing a certain peace to your mind, “To the end of the world.”

An 80% chance of collision. What that’d do to the human psyche no one could’ve predicted. Somewhere out there cities are crumbling. Lovers are becoming enemies and enemies are becoming lovers. People are bargaining with their gods or cursing them. The world is unraveling. And you?

Well, in your own way, you are too, your back arching and your eyes falling closed as you’re pushed beyond your limits, endorphins flooding your bloodstream. “To the end” he whispers, his arms around you once more, your face buried in his chest. 

To the end…

The end…

The End?

#lee felix x you #lee felix x reader #lee felix x y/n #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x chubby reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #lee felix fluff #lee felix smut #plus size reader #chubby reader

[gardengirl222]

figured its time for sum more chatting!

the springtime angel bombshell!!

makeup & tips to look like a glowing sweetheart angel! its spring! 🤍

here is my spring makeup routine that will leave you looking like a cherub, vs angel, glowing goddess! ᥫ᭡ᥫ᭡

wanna look like this, this spring? 🌸🐇🧁

remember to moisturize, spf and tone before hand! here's what i use as prep 🌸

-charlotte tilbury magic cream or laneige water bank blue hyaluronic cream moisturizer

-beauty of joseon sunscreen relief sun

-lancome hydrating toner or the caudalie natural salicylic acid pore minimzing toner

now for primer here are my go to's (water based)

-charlottle tilbury invisible UV flawless primer SPF 50 ($$$ but heaven!)

-laura mercier pure canvas primer illuminating

-benefit cosmetics porrfessional lite primer water-based (classic, does the job!)

for foundation i usually use a minimal coverage or a skin tint...💁🏼‍♀️ (again, water based 💗)

-charlotte tilbury hollywood flawless filter (can you tell i love charlottle tilbury? lol)

-dior backstage face & body foundation (my forever re-stock)

-dior forever skin glow foundation SPF 15 (love this so so much)

-saie slip tint

-nars light reflecting advanced skincare foundation

concealer!! 💘

-charlottle tilbury beautiful skin medium to full coverage radiant concealer

-huda beauty glowish bright light hydrating sheer concealer

-MILK makeup hydrating concealer

-hourglass vanish™ airbrush concealer (omigodddd!!)

-dior backstage concealer (forever fave)

powders and blush! 🙋🏼‍♀️

-nars powder blush (classic, make sure you get a shade that will give you a rosy almost 'cold' look that matches your skin tone! you wanna look flushed!

-nars afterglow liquid blush

-westman atelier baby cheeks cream blush stick (very 80's)

-GXVE dewyplump collagen boosting cheek tint

-dior forever glow maximizer longwear liquid highlighter (make sure you get it in pink! ik its highlight but it works just the same, glowy and flushed!) 🌸

-drunk elephant rosi glow drops with vitamin f

-too faced cloud crush blurring blush (soft pink!)

-M.A.C mineralize blush (any of the pinks, omigodd woww)

-M.A.C extra dimension blush

-charlottle tilbury mini hollywood blush & glow palette (mix them with ur brush!!)

-givenchy powder

-charlottle tilbury airbrush flawless finish setting powder

-huda beauty bake powder

-hourglass powder

bronzers! wanna look sunkissed!!

-drunk elephant bronzing drops

-hourglass bronzer

-charlotte tilbury filmstar bronzer

-patrick ta bronzer (literally so 80s)

-l'oréal paris true match lumi glotion

setting spray to lock it in!

ive found that this one work best on me and i'm addicted to the smell! but honestly anyone that works best for you should do it! 💕

-charlotte tilbury airbrush flawless setting spray

eye-shadow! you wanna stick to whites, creams, light pinks, light browns

-maybelline expert wear eyeshadow in seashell

-clinique shadow in angel eyes + sugar cane!

-M.A.C eyeshadow in yougurt + blanc type

-too faced natural eyes eye shadow palette (i love this soo much, this is the perfect vibe)

-too faced born this way natural nudes mini eye shadow palette

mascara and lashes! thank goodness i was blessed with amazing lashes lol! i find that if you start by separating the lashes with a semi-dry fluffy mascara, then with a thin brushed mascara, then again with a non-dryed fluffy brush, it works wonders!

-lancome monsieur big volumizing mascara (i loooove thick fluffy brushes)

-too faced better than sex mascara

-lancome lash idôle lengthening & volumizing mascara

-glossier lash slick lift

-hourglass lengthening mascara

i do like to buy the individual natural cluster lashes to place on the outer corner of my eyes to give it that "eyeliner" look, like my lashes are so much longer there and i think it looks so ethereal!

lips! 💋 you want to stick with nudes and pinks, like you just ate red fruit and now your lips are stained, or like a glossed bombshell!

-charlotte tilbury lip cheat liner (ofccc! in pinks and nudes)

-this set ofc!

-too faced lip liner in post-op pink

-any of the pinky/nude nyx creamy long-lasting lip liner

-dior addict lip maximizer plumping gloss in 065 icy blue

-charlotte tilbury collagen lip bath in refresh rose

-fenty beauty gloss bomb universal lip luminizer in FU$$Y

-charlotte tilbury lip lustre in shades blondie, ibiza nights, portobello girl, pillow talk and hall of fame (my signatures)

other tips!! ᥫ᭡‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘₊ ⊹

🌸 try and wear mainly white! and def try to mix in some pastels! white makes you look more kind and if you happen to meet the loyl white also gives the wife effect, look it up! its real! 💍

🌸 style your hair! make and effort its fun! you could also add some hair glitter/shine and hair perfume! (i'll make a rec list for these soon!)

🌸 this stuff is like, wow, did you just come back from a tea party at a magical fairy garden where it was raining cotton candy?! ☁️ ☁️

🌸 i find this to be like my little lucky charm and i think it actually works, but, bring around a tiny picture of your fave forest animal and its like all animals love you and i seem to always get the compliment that i would be a woodland flower princess that talks to animals! lol and animal lover always radiates the most angelic glow ugh!!! 💞🐇

🌸 make sure you are keepin up with your hygiene routine and the best no.1 tip is to be kind!! the kindest people are the most beautiful. (ofc when people take advantage of this kindness, pull back bc they obvi do not deserve your presence!)

love ya!

-lene pilar

#just girly things #gardengirltalks #just chatting!⋆·˚ ༘ #2000s #early 2000s #femcel #gardengirl222 #girlblogging #coquette #y2k aesthetic #2000s nostalgia #y2k #im just a girl #just girly posts #just girly thoughts #pink aesthetic #pink y2k #pretty in pink #y2kcore #y2k nostalgia #y2k fashion #y2k style #2000s core #2000s aesthetic #2000s style #pinkcore #pink moodboard #pink blog #cute! #bunny girl

[iolite-moodboards]

powerpuff girls vibes

this isnt fanfiction!!! theyre just vibes I think the girls have 🤷‍♀️

If this does well I may continue to post them maybe

bubbles⋆｡°✩

stuffed animals

cream filled donuts

glittery eyeshadows, lip stain and fluttery falsies

french vanilla

iced lattes

cinnamon rolls

apple cheeks

birthday cake ice cream

diary entries written in blue, glitter gel pens

shoujo manga

beach days

self-care every day

planned outfits

OOTD

cute animal videos

fuzzy socks

dressing for the spring

ponyo

animal crossing

scented bath bombs

buttercup⋆｡°✩

jasmine and vanilla

forgetting to do laundry

late nights and early mornings

cookies and cream ice cream

iced americanos

gym days

instant ramen

always carrying an extra pair of socks

concealer, eyeliner, and long lashes

energy drinks

take out

decent grades

late night convenience store runs

good night texts

kickboxing

80s and 90s Japanese city pop

staying late in school

sweat pants

delivered takeout

my neighbor totoro

blossom⋆｡°✩

strawberry and pistachio ice cream

studying

journaling

gel pens

lip oils, tinted moisturizers and mascara

pancakes

self-care nights

library trips

sugar wafers

milk tea

pink ribbons

walks in the park

cinnamon

tennis skirts

productive mornings

jazz

late night phone calls

fruit loops

scented candles

when marnie was there

#text #ppg #the powerpuff girls #bubbles #buttercup #blossom #powerpuff girls #blossom utonium #bubbles utonium #buttercup utonium #character aesthetic #character vibes #character inspo #aesthetic

[marciabrady]

What is Cinderella's hair color?

This is totally up to interpretation! Ilene Woods was pretty much the basis of everything when they were creating Cinderella, from her temperament to her facial structure to her coloring to her sayings to her eye placement when she smiled, and even Ilene's hair color is hard to read. She was definitely objectively blonde- she was referred to as such on radio shows and even in the press announcement that was released when she was cast as Cinderella. But in a lot of photographs, her hair appears brunette on camera- and there's a few reasons for this. First and foremost, the relatively primitive nature of cameras from that time period really couldn't capture nuances in natural tones- so unless your hair was platinum white or bleached, it would probably read brunette, and everything else would register as darker, inevitably. Plus, we're used to seeing people with bleached/colored hair these days, so what is truly considered a natural blonde- albeit dirty or a darker or just a more "natural" toned blonde- many contemporary people refer to, on a superficial lens- as brunette. So, I think Ilene was a dirty blonde, even though I've seen pictures of her later in life where she looks like a neutral blonde that is neither very light or very dark.

When it comes to Cinderella's intended/official hair color, that's also a can of worms. So, people are quick to discredit the platinum blonde Cinderella has appeared with in the 80s/90s/2000s/2010s merch and say she's a 'strawberry' blonde. They claim this is because of how she looks in the 'original' movie, but they're using the 2013 blu ray/2005 dvd master to go off of, which is even influencing current artwork of Cinderella in the Disney Princess franchise, and that master- beyond scrubbing all the linework out of the film (see screenshot below- look at how even the 1988 VHS maintains the lines in the bedding better than the 2005 and 2013 rubbery effect) also had inaccurate representations of the color relationships between elements in the film, which- again- means that you're not going to see what was intended.

The team that worked on remastering the current 4K edition of Cinderella that came out this year (which I love btw! I'm still not super pleased with certain changes BUT it's a MASSIVE, MASSIVE improvement over the 2005/2012 master that had been done in 2003 and is far more pleasing to look at and, generally, my favorite restoration Disney has officially done) said that they referenced the original cel artwork, as well as promotional materials like lobby cards to better understand what the artistic intent was...and that's tricky. Because, while they interpreted it better than remasters of the 2000s/2010s which sought to LITERALLY make the film look exactly like the raw cel art, these movies were not meant to be viewed as, I do think they still stuck too close to the cel colors. Due to the nature of technicolor, a lot of color tests had to be done so that the artists could see what the finished product would look like after it had gone through the process of being printed on film- because it was always apt to differ greatly from the artwork on cel. A good example of this is the fact that blonde hair didn't read so the artists had to color it with a green tint on the original cels (see first screenshot below) so that it'd appear blonde on camera. However, again, I think the team looked too deeply into this and now we've ended up with a master, a gorgeous one, but a faulty one that depicts Cinderella's hair as almost green in 2023 (see right screencap from 4K remaster)

When it comes to lobby cards, they're not going to be accurate either. I've seen lobby cards that were released in 1959 that depict Aurora as a brunette, blonde, and redhead, and they even change the color of her peasant dress to green, blue, pink- anything you can think of. And Cinderella's hair differs greatly in the lobby cards from the 50s themselves

The funny thing is, it really seems to be decade dependent. I actually have access to a 1973 print and I think that's what the basis for the 2005/2013 master was, because the colors are very similar to that strawberry blonde and even the hues of the hallway in the chateau look nearly identical to the 2005/2013, and we never seen those colors again outside of those two masters. It's so odd it premiered in the 70s, that specific master, because in that decade, and in the 60s, they marketed Cinderella more as a brunette and gave Aurora the blonde title (which was reversed in the 2000s, where they almost made Aurora a light brunette and made Cinderella platinum beyond belief):

You can even see Disney's confusion at what her hair is supposed to be; in the sequel, they gave Cinderella the platinum hair of the marketing at the time, but in the third movie, they tried to be more 'faithful' and cinematic and went off of the current, faulty, master of the time...which resulted in an unappealing turnout, imo? Like her skin and hair shouldn't be that close, color relationship wise, on film? (again, merch is always a different color)

Also in House of Mouse, which is generally accurate with a lot, they make Pete put a red wig on when he's in Cinderella garb, indicating they thought that was the color of her hair at that point:

Also, I feel like she's not supposed to be a true redhead or lean as close to strawberry blonde or people say she is? Again, cels shouldn't be viewed strictly for the color themselves, but if we observe the color relationship between her hair and that of Anastasia's- who is a true redhead- there's a huge difference:

There are also a few production notes that we do have that can help a little. We know Cinderella's Prince was made to have much darker hair to contrast hers, so they could be visually striking with one another, again leading us to the conclusion that she does have light hair (which kinda dodges the 60s/70s artwork where she's a dusty brunette). We also know that Disney tried to make the Prince in Snow White sandyhaired, but it came across on camera as dark brown and didn't provide that much of a contrast to Snow White, which they were able to capture more successfully in books of that era, all through even the 80s/90s. I, personally, really love this book especially and I find the colors of everything- the interiors, Cinderella, her dress, etc- ring true to me, personally:

And this color can be seen anywhere as brunette to some, to sandy, to blonde, to dirty blonde, to slightly red- and that's how I think Cinderella's hair is. I think she's a warm level 7, if we're going by a professional hair chart, and it's like a russet blonde color? Hints of red that could make someone see her as a redhead, or just a blonde, or to some who view blondes as solely being platinum, she'd almost even appear as a brunette. That being said, Aurora is definitely a blonde and in the current master we have, her skin appears pink/red and her hair looks greenish, so if anyone who's working on the future 4K master of Sleeping Beauty could fix that, it would be greatly appreciated!!

#ask #anonymous #cinderella #cinderella 1950 #marciabrady #this is so long lol i hope someone finds this interesting #also for what it's worth helene stanley was a redhead

[alepresser]

Side Quested is a medieval queer-friendly YA comedy. The story is less than 80 comics in and Charlie, the young woman with blue-tinted hair, has been having a really rough go of it. All she wanted out of life was to be a librarian in her small town, and that is definitely not what's happening to her.

Available to read for FREE on sidequested.com.

Links for Patreon, Webtoons and Tapas mirroring on the main site. :)

#webcomic day #webcomicday #webcomics

[kbspangler]

...um... I've just learned it's Webcomic Day (#webcomicday is the tag) on tumblr and of course it's the day where the update promo panel is a potty joke. Of course it is.

Ah, well. I'm not remaking it, so.

Reblogs are very much appreciated today! We've trying to build the audience for Side Quested because it's so new, and @alepresser is killing it on the art at A Girl And Her Fed.

Side Quested (the left-hand panel) is a medieval queer-friendly YA comedy. The story is less than 80 comics in and Charlie, the young woman with blue-tinted hair, has been having a really rough go of it. All she wanted out of life was to be a librarian in her small town, and that is definitely not what's happening to her.

A Girl And Her Fed (right-hand panel) is a sci-fi fantasy which blends technology, the undead, and extremely angry people who are trying to make a society here, damn it! It's a long-running comic with over 1500 strips, and is definitely the kind of deep read that you dig into for the details.

Thanks for reading and sharing!

#webcomic #webcomics #webcomic day #webcomic development #comic #comics #indie comics #side quested #agahf

[natalia-lafourcade]

Happy Anniversary SHINee!

Image Description

7 GIFS of the K-Pop boy group SHINee

(1/7) Shot of all the SHINee members dancing in front of the camera. Key is on the left wearing a mulitcolored corduroy jacket. His brown hair is cropped short. He is dancing by pointing his wrists at the camera. ONEW is behind him smiling at the camera. He is wearing a red leather jacket over a black dress shirt with white stars and blue jeans. Taemin is to his left and headbanging. He is wearing a black velvet jacket with colorful patches over a striped red and black turtleneck. He is also wearing blue jeans. Jonghyun is next. He is motioning towards the camera with his hands. He is wearing a black leather jacket with fringe and a red western shirt. Minho is behind him, partially obscured. His hair is bleached silver and he is wearing a red and black jacket with a white t-shirt underneath

(2/7) Closeup shot of ONEW and girl whispering something in his ear. The shot changes to an ever closer view, where we can only see half of ONEW’s face and the girl’s side profile.

(3/7) Closeup of Minho. He is comped into the shot. In the background we can see a number of girls dancing behind him. Minho’s hair is silver and he is wearing orange tinted sunglasses, a gold chain, and rings. He is also wearing a brightly colored, checkered, 80′s style sweater over a white dress shirt and tie.

(4/7) Shot of Taemin sitting on the ground with his legs out in front of him. He is wearing a canary yellow two-piece suit with a turquoise turtleneck underneath. He is also wearing gold rings and three small gold hoop earrings in his right ear. In the background we can see two girls, both wearing yellow. One is laying down in her back and another is sitting down on a step next to Taemin. As the camera pans, Taemin motions to her with his hands and smiles.

(5/7) Shot of a number of girls standing in a line. Suddenly, they turn and take a step away from each other, revealing Jonghyun standing behind them. The girls are all dressed in blue and red and Johngyun is wearing a matching blue, two-piece suite with a red turtleneck and gold chain. As the camera reveals him, he smiles and motions his hand towards the camera.

(6/7) Shot of Key facing the camera and making finger guns towards the sky. In the background, we can see a number of girls sitting and standing on white steps. Key is wearing rimmed glasses, a white bucket hat, a graphic tee, a black shirt, and asymmetrical suspenders.

(7/7) GIF of SHINEE standing side by side against a white background. Jonghyun is in the center wearing the same blue suit as in the earlier GIF. His hand is outstretched towards the camera, revealing a number of gold rings on his hand, and he is smiling. Taemin is to his left wearing the same yellow and turquoise outfit as before. Minho is on his right wearing a black pinstriped suit with a red dress shirt underneath, a gold chain, and black sunglasses clinging to his lapel. As the shot pans out, we can see ONEW on the far left in a red two-piece suit with a brown shirt underneath and a gold chain. Key is on the far right wearing a baseball cap, a gold chain, a brown checkered suit, and a cyan shirt underneath.

#shinee #shineeedit #dailyshinee #malegroupsnet #malegroupsedit #secondgenidol #jonghyun #kim jonghyun #onew #lee jinki #kim kibum #shinee key #key #choi minho #minho #taemin #lee taemin #blogmusicdaily #me giffing this mv for the second year in a row? more likely than you think #happy anniversary guys #thank you for making me happy #mio

[diceriadelluntore]

Storia Di Musica #293 - The Waterboys, Fisherman's Blues, 1988

And I am the Water Boy\The real game’s not over here. Nel 1973 Lou Reed pubblica Berlin, album seminale, oscuro, profondissimo e nella canzone The Kids compare il verso che ho appena scritto. Sarà lo spirito scozzese, così abituato alla poetica e selvaggia bellezza di quella terra, ma come per la vicenda dei Deacon Blue quel verso diviene una scheggia di passione che colpisce lo spirito di un giovane ragazzo di Edimburgo, che si appassiona alla musica. La capitale scozzese è tutt’altra città rispetto a Glasgow e ha dei particolari piuttosto noti a noi, dato che è attraversata da un fiume (anzi sorge all'insenatura (firth) creata dall'estuario del fiume Forth) e si sviluppa su sette colli (Arthur’s Seat, Calton Hill, Castle Rock, Corstorphine Hill, BVarids Hill, Blackford Hill, Craiglockhart Hill). Mike Scott è un poeta e cantante di Edimburgo, che per un po’ di tempo vive a Ayr, sulla costa occidentale della Scozia. Nel 1977 fonda una fanzine, una rivista autoprodotta dedicata ai propri idoli musicali, e il titolo, Jungleland, porta subito a pensare a Springsteen, Dylan, l’astro nascente in quegli anni Patti Smith. Istrionico, fonda un gruppo, gli Another Pretty Face e una etichetta discografica, la Chicken Jazz, che subito viene acquistata dalla Virgin di Richard Branson, che vedrà in questo ragazzo del potenziale altissimo, e non sbaglierà, dato che Scott sarà personaggio dai complessi risvolti e una delle figure più interessanti del panorama musicale degli anni ’80. Dopo varie esperienze, tra cui delle serate con Lenny Kane a New York, torna in Inghilterra e decide che chiamerà il suo gruppo The Waterboys proprio in omaggio alla canzone di Lou Reed.

Eppure musicalmente ci sono delle profonde differenze rispetto a quel disco mitico: Scott è affascinato da una certa idea di folk con contaminazioni rock, già fatta da gruppi leggendari come i Fairport Convention di Richard Thompson negli anni ' 60 e ’70. Il primo nucleo dei The Waterboys era composto dal sassofonista Anthony Thistlethwaite, Norman Rodger al basso, Karl Wallinger alle tastiere, Preston Heyman alla batteria oltre a Scott che suona la chitarra, il mandolino e altri strumenti. Con questa formazione si presentano ad una famosa Peel Session nel 1983 alla BBC, dove suonano il loro primo successo, A Girl Called Johnny, brano tributo a Patti Smith che entrerà a far parte nel luglio dello stesso anno di The Waterboys: già c’è la miscela interessantissima di musica in bilico tra folk e rock, equidistante da Van Morrison e dal rock epico post new wave. Più rock è A Pagan Place, del 1984, famoso per un brano, Church Not Made With Hands. Scott è ancora alle prese con una sua definizione di musica, anzi di una “big music”, che si leghi sia alla tradizione, ma che abbia un tocco personale unico e distintivo. Si ritira ai Park Gates Studio di Hastings, celebre luogo di una battaglia, ed inizia a pensare alla sua visione della musica, che parte sempre dal misticismo caledonico di Van Morrison ma stavolta vira con decisione verse le tinte fosche dei Velvet Underground, fino alla musica minimale (Scott dichiarerà di essersi ispirato a Steve Reich). This Is The Sea (1985) seppur con brani registrati in presa diretta, è un sottile gioco di strumenti e voci sovrapposte, in una rielaborazione in chiave celtica del wall of sound spectoresco, con l’aggiunta di testi profondissimi, che affascinarono un’intera generazione di musicisti. Il risultato è splendido. Ma Scott è tipo lunatico e quando sembra sul punto di spiccare definitivamente il volo, si prende una nuova lunga pausa dove, spostandosi a Dublino, inizia a rielaborare i suoi capisaldi. Si tuffa nella musica popolare e tradizionale di Scozia e Irlanda, e con l’aiuto di nuovi innesti, centrale quello di Steve Wickham al violino, nel 1988 pubblica il capolavoro atteso, uno dei dischi più belli degli anni 80.

Fisherman’s Blues è un album folk, ma che dalla tradizione si muove con estrema eleganza verso sonorità fresche, nuove, in un connubio che solo la genialità di Scott poteva costruire. L’apertura con la title track già da sola è euforia e classe, come la lunga e ipnotica We Will Not Be Lovers, tutta giocata su un riff di violini (canzone iconica). Le onde dell’oceano, le colline verdi, i muretti di pietra a delimitare i pascoli, i colori selvaggi e accesi sono sempre lì, tra una strepitosa cover di Sweet Thing di Van Morrison (da Astral Week) e addirittura il folk politico di This Land Is Your Land di Woody Guthrie. La musica da pub irlandese esplode nella stupenda And A Bag On The Ear (che è l’equivalente irlandese per un bacio sulla guancia italiano) che parla di un amore nato sui banchi di scuola. E come non adorare il sottile andare di When Will We Be Married. Se non si è ancora sazi di colline verdi smeraldo, atmosfere con l’odore tostato di birra stout, dell’affumicato di un single malt torbato e di semi di lino da sgranocchiare, c’è il colpo di grazia: un duetto tra Scott e Tomás Mac Eoin, uno dei più famosi cantanti di Sean-nós, che è un particolare stile di canto gaelico irlandese, che recitano e cantano William Butler Yeats nella indimenticabile The Stolen Child. Scott registrò così tanto materiale che solo nel 2006 ripubblicò l’album con la sua intera idea, che comprendeva ancora cover di Dylan, traditional e altre piccole meraviglie (tipo Let Me Feel Holy Again o l’altrettanto strepitosa You In The Sky). Scott, chiamato da attese spasmodiche, ritornò con lo stesso stile musicale nel 1990 con Room To Roam, che nei piani del cantante, risponde appieno all'attuale percorso musicale, che in onore al traditional The Raggle Taggle Gypsy Scott definisce raggle taggle music. Poi, inaspettatamente, virò verso un suono quasi hard rock (Dream Harder, nome omen, del 1993). E dopo una virata così inaspettata, ecco che, nella sua migliore tradizione personale, scioglie il gruppo e si prende l’ennesima e stavolta davvero lunghissima pausa, un decennio fino al 2000 quando ritorna a scrivere insieme ad altri musicisti nuovi capitoli di una saga nata 20 anni prima. Un geniale lunatico.

#the waterboys #fisherman's blues #1988 #recensione

[hawkinswhore]

i wish i knew you wanted me - Eddie Munson x Sinclair!reader (chap.1)

- bad habit

a typical story where two best friends are in love and everyone knows it but them

cw: self deprecating thoughts, insecurities, lil steve x reader as well as eddie x chrissy

You rolled your eyes as you saw Eddie and Chrissy rub noses in the hall for the 5th time in the last 5 minutes. You watched from a distance as they giggled at each other's antics, your eyes twitched and your fists balled up to the point they were sore. You knew Eddie had a crush on Chrissy Cunningham since middle school. She was beautiful then and even more beautiful now. From her long blonde hair and her petite stature, to her glowing blue eyes and gorgeous smile that was contagious. You never really felt insecure when it came to how you looked until Eddie started talking about how beautiful Chrissy was all the time since they started dating. You started to notice the little things about yourself that you wouldn't have even given a second thought to before the constant mentions of Chrissy and her disney princess beauty.

You started to notice how your eyes weren't a vibrant electric blue, but they were more like a dull brown that was comparable to dirt or a swamp. You noticed you weren't as skinny and small as Chrissy was. You had a fuller figure than Chrissy with large hips and a pudge on your stomach that sat right below your belly button (THIS IS THE 80’S THIS BODY TYPE ISN'T THE BEAUTY STANDARD YET.) You weren't terribly tall and you weren't scarcely short, you sure as hell didn't look as dainty and delicate as Chrissy did though. The constant comparisons that you did between yourself and Chrissy got exhausting from time to time but you couldn't help yourself. You had a crush on Eddie since the 4th grade, you couldn’t find yourself being attracted to anyone else but him in the last 8 years. Seeing him with a girl who was far more beautiful than you thought yourself out to be was absolutely crushing. What was so wrong with you that Eddie didn't want you?

“EARTH TO Y/N!” You jolted up so you stood straight. You had been so focused on watching Eddie and Chrissy that you didn't even realize someone was trying to get your attention. You looked around until you saw Dustin Henderson looking at you with an aggravated look on his face.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past two minutes! The hell has got you so distracted?” Dustin tried to follow your eyes to see what you were looking at. He didn't suspect that you would be so doted over Chrissy and Eddie. He knew that you two were best friends and you did a damn good job hiding the fact that the new relationship was eating you on the inside.

“It's nothin Dusty. What’s Up?” His annoyed expression got replaced with a dopey grin as he started to talk about the new hellfire campaign that he helped Eddie arrange. The giddy boy in front of you made you forget about Eddie and Chrissy for a quick minute. You loved Dustin with your entire heart. Since he was friends with your brother Lucas for as long as you could

remember, he slowly creeped his way into your heart. He was like a 3rd little sibling to you. You smiled at Dustin fondly as he went on about the new campaign.

Eddie caught a glimpse of you talking to Dustin as he cuddled with Chrissy by her locker. You looked very very pretty today. You wore a cropped red zip up and a pair of light washed denim jeans that hugged your figure perfectly. Your curly box braids were pulled up into a high ponytail and you had a little bit of red eyeshadow to match the color of your shirt, topped off with a red tinted lip gloss that made your full lips look so soft. Your smile shined as you listened to Dustin rant about the new campaign. Eddie felt his heart start picking up its pace. He looked at you as your brown eyes sparkled so beautifully in the shitty lighting of the hallways. He only snapped out of his trance when he felt Chrissy plant a small kiss on his neck. He looked down at her and gave her a matching kiss but on her forehead. She let out a small giggle and shoved herself deeper into Eddie's body. He looked back up and maneuvered his eyes back to where you were, just to find that you had now been standing there with Steve Harrington and not Dustin anymore. Eddie watched as you looked up at Steve through your eyelashes as you giggled at something he said. He felt his grip around Chrissy tighten as he tried to contain the feeling of jealousy racing through his veins.

“You look pretty today, Y/N. I mean you look pretty everyday but today you look REALLY really pretty.” You smiled up at Steve, him complimenting you felt like a breath of fresh air. You’d spent so long wallowing in your own self pity that hearing a compliment coming from someone like Steve made you feel like the most beautiful girl in school. Yes, the compliments from Steve made you feel good about yourself, but something in you wished it was Eddie admiring your every feature and looking at you in absolute awe.

“Thank You Stevie, I would never think someone as handsome as you would be complimenting me this way.” You gave him a teasing smile and he looked at you with a lovesick look on his face. “I don't see why I wouldn't be! You’re so pretty It feels almost illegal to NOT kiss the ground you walk on,” you looked at him with big eyes and let out another giggle. Sure, you wished it was Eddie but Sheesh, Steve knew how to make someone feel special. You shoved him a little before turning your attention to your locker getting ready to take your books out.

“Hey uh, Y/n, I don't want to leave just yet and I know the bell is about to ring, so can I walk you to class?” you looked back up at Steve and gave him a soft smile while nodding your head at him. He grabbed the books out of your hand and proceeded to walk you to your next class.

Eddie watched the encounter and felt his heart shatter just a little. Why did he feel this way? He’s been pining over Chrissy for over 6 years and he finally has the girl he wants. Why does he feel so hurt by the fact that Steve Harrington is walking you to class? He tried to shake the thoughts from his brain and focus on his girlfriend, but the lingering thought of you ending up with Steve made Eddie's heart pinch.

You and Steve had been together all day long. The previous conversations between the two of you had mostly been about Dustin since the two of you had that in common, but the more you talked to him and got to know him, you found out that you two had a lot more in common than just Henderson. You had been so infatuated with Steve that you didn't even think about Eddie and Chrissy all day long. You had never felt so at ease thanks to not constantly comparing yourself to Chrissy and wondering why Eddie didn't want you. At some point in the day you had briefly mentioned some of your insecurities and Steve somehow managed to discard every bad thought he was aware of. He genuinely was making you feel like the most beautiful girl in hawkins.

“I have to work afterschool, you can come along and we can get food afterwards if you’d like to.” Steve broke the comfortable silence, “I know you go to the hellfire club when school is over, so if you have that today it’s okay if you can’t-”

“No! It’s totally okay! I’d love to come see where you work. I can miss one day of hellfire.” it’s not like you actually played D&D anyways. You only went because you knew it was something Eddie was into and he was normally your ride home from school. The last time you’d been on a date was in the 7th grade with Jason Carver. He was the same asshole then that he is now, so you can only imagine how the date turned out. Maybe this date with Steve would help you move on from Chrissy and Eddie dating.

“Y/N!” you turned and saw Eddie jogging over to you leaving Chrissy behind by his van, “The campaign me and Henderson arranged together is today and I really want you to see how it turned out. I’m super stoked about it.” You looked at his big smile and his eyes as he went on about how proud of himself he was. You felt guilty that you couldn't come since you had already planned a date with Steve, but you haven’t felt wanted or special in such a long time. A date with Steve felt way more worth it than watching Eddie and Chrissy make out on his throne.

“M’sorry Eds, I have a date with Steve today. I’m sure the campaign is going to be amazing! Tell me how everything went tomorrow, okay?” You felt so incredibly terrible, watching his mood deflate as you turned him down. You put a hand on his arm, “Chrissy is going to be there. She’s your girlfriend and she’ll be so proud of you Eds!”

You turned your head towards Steve and stepped into his car. Eddie was still standing there with a look of defeat on his face. The engine started and you and Steve were off. You could see Eddie in the rear view mirror, looking like a puppy who had just been kicked. You felt awful for leaving him in the dust. But all of the guilt melted off as you felt Steve slot his hand on your plump thigh. You let the wind hit your face. For the first time in a long time, you felt secure and happy.

this isn’t my first time writing but it is my first time writing for stranger things i hope u like it:)

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson series #eddie munson season 4 #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham #eddie x reader #eddie fluff #eddie stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x sinclair!reader

[peaceloveandahardcock]

Sooo will graham core such a cute look imagine them Rose tinted . But not a good idea with those big 80's wire frames. I've been thinking a lot about incorporating costume blood into everyday makeup looks lately. Precisely like this too really the only other products you need are eyebrow bleach and some lip balm like doesn't have to be anything fancy she's probably wearing carmex in the same ironic fashion those denver springs girls wear blue collar work clothing ironically maybe to make fun of their dads. That's what my dad wore. And carmex. And those wraparound sunglasses and cargo shorts. Maybe I had ought to give that a go as well now that I think about it. But I'll still be wearing those glasses so it looks like I slew my father and took his place

#talking