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#ii hay bale
vivid-badsquad · 2 years
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today i give you , lezbianz...
tomorrow...??
probably nothing tbh i dont pozt my own ztuffz that much!!
zcene under cut (i cpuldnt b azked with the background... i hate them...)
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somekindofpoet · 1 year
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La Petite Mort
Summary: Reader finds out Lorraine has just been bearing through intimacy with RJ, and takes it upon herself to educate her on how it should be done
Word Count: 5K
Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language 
A/N: Anon who requested this, whoever you are, forehead kiss you little horny angel. This was a real pleasure to write. If you don't read this in Lorraine's adorable accent, I will come for you.
LPM - La Drague (Part II) LPM - C'est Comme Ça (Part III)
LPM -T'en Va Pas (Part IV) LPM - Vouloir, C'est Pouvoir(Part V)
LPM - La Fin (Part VI)
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Texas summers were nearly unbearable. The humidity rolled off the gulf coast and simmered in the blazing sun, soaking through your clothes and ensuring your sweat never evaporated. The problem with the weather in East Texas was that it forced you to suffer the ocean air, even with the warm dark waters hours away. You did your damnedest not to think about it while throwing bales of hay into the back of the ranch truck.
You had big dreams of moving out of state and going to a University in a place that was green and cool, but your reality was much more difficult to bear. The first strike against you was that you came from humble roots, your family mostly working for wealthy ranchers in the countryside. Your second and most egregious strike was being a woman. Sure, it was 1980, and girls went to college, but only the exceptional were accepted in the major universities on the East and West coasts. You were painfully average in IQ, and while you were lean and strong from a lifetime of working at ranches, women’s sports weren’t exactly the top priority of the country. 
You’d settled for now, saving up your money and sweating away as a ranch hand until you had enough in your pocket to make your escape. Your palms were beginning to burn, the bale ropes cutting into your callouses as you had foregone gloves for the sake of trying to keep cool. With the truck bed piled high, you slam the tailgate shut and walk around to the driver's side, wiping your forehead with your wrist. You climb in and start the old Chevy, ready to get it rolling back to the cool shade of the barn. You put the truck in drive, imagining it was your luggage in the back and the open road in front of you. You glance at the passenger seat and smile, the image of a girl sitting there painting itself in your head. 
The girl always started out as something innocent, but the image of her inevitably warped in your mind from a shadowy stranger into one you knew well. Tanned caramel skin, dark chestnut hair blowing in the wind, and a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. You sigh and shake your head, trying to etch-a-sketch the vivid picture from behind your eyes. As the truck rolls around the dirt road, the very figure of your imagination pulls into view.
Lorraine Day, the rancher's daughter and your friend, was sitting leaning up against the shady side of the barn, her nose in a book. You grip the steering wheel a little harder, trying to cool yourself. Lorraine was all sweet southern charm, innocent doe eyes, and small half smiles. She also happened to be the most beautiful girl you had ever seen, and your friendship with her was a daily challenge. You’d thought it would get easier after she started dating RJ, but in reality, it got worse. She was so far out of his league it was laughable, but she had fallen for his goofy charm and enthusiasm for film. You thought he was far too pretentious and self-righteous, a point you’d made to her often. 
You back the truck up to the barn door and park it, sliding out into the sun. Lorraine closes her book and looks up at you, a smile pulling at her lips. You were such a sucker for that smile. You drop the tailgate open and slide the closest bale to the end, turning your head over your shoulder to return the smile.
“Mornin, Lorraine.” You say, dipping your head at her in greeting.
“Good mornin y/n, you’re gettin started awfully early today.”
You pull the bale down, holding it by the two ropes that bound it, and nod your head, “Can’t be workin in this weather in a few hours. Figured I’d get the heavy liftin done early.”
She hums in agreement and leans back against the barn, watching you haul the bales down off the truck and walk them inside. When you come out for the next bale, she gets up and strolls over to you. She hops up and sits on the side of the tailgate, swinging her legs.
“Hey, when you’re done, you wanna go grab some ice cream in town? Daddy took the truck to the livestock auction today, so I’m stuck here.” She drawls, plucking strands of hay from the bale beside her.
You smirk and pull another bale off the truck, grunting with the effort. “You gonna help me haul these bales, or just sit there lookin all pretty like, asking me for favors?”
Her eyebrows go up, and she laughs, the sound like music to your ears. “You know full well I can’t help you move these things. And it’s not a favor, it’s an invitation.”
You walk back from the barn to the truck bed, shaking your head, chuckling. Only three bales left to move and you’re done for the morning.
“An invitation to take my truck and spend my money on ice cream for you?” You jab playfully at her, enjoying yourself. 
You walk the next bale into the shade of the barn and throw it down next to the stall, turning back for the last two. The sun is beaming down on Lorraine, her hair shining in the light and her dark eyes glittering. You puff your cheeks up with air and let it out all at once, shaking your head.
She’s working you, widening her eyes and blinking slowly, “Come on y/n, it’ll be quick. Promise.”
You pull the last two bales off the truck and laugh. You’re such a sucker. 
“Yeah alright, get in the truck.” 
The drive to town is a quick fifteen minutes, all back country roads and open fields in between. The windows are rolled down, the wind softly licking at your sweaty neck and whipping your hair into your eyes. You glance over to the passenger seat, your fantasy from earlier coming true in a small way. Lorraine has one arm on the window, her head slightly tilted out, letting the rushing air pull her hair out of her face. 
The ice cream shop is nearly empty, most folks deeming 10 AM too early for something so sweet. You buy a strawberry cone for Lorraine and a lemon for yourself. You take them to your truck to eat on the drive back to the ranch. You can’t help but notice the pink liquid dripping down the cone onto her fingers as it melts, and you question if you should have asked for strawberry instead of lemon. It would probably taste better on her skin, though.
You toss what’s left of your cone out the window, the lemon seeming bitter now that you had imagined the syrupy, pink sweetness of Lorraine. Her ice cream. Only the ice cream of course. You could never. She would never.
You grit your teeth, white knuckle gripping the steering wheel, trying to undo the sudden knots twisting in your stomach. Lorraine isn’t helping the case, savoring the ice cream with a slow tongue, sucking the melted runoff from her fingers. It’s simultaneously innocent and pornographic. It makes you dislike RJ even more. 
She pops the last bit of the cone into her mouth as you pull down the dirt driveway along the side of her house, finally granting you a reprieve. You park next to the barn and jump out of the truck, eager to put some space between yourself and Lorraine. To your great disappointment, she follows you into the barn and sits on a short stack of hay bales as you ready yourself to finish the barn chores. 
You pick up a pitch fork and press the teeth into the dirt, leaning on the wooden handle. “You don’t got anything better to do today than watch me sweat, or what?” 
She shrugs, picking at the hay, “Nothing interesting.”
“Where’s your boyfriend?” You ask, the question weighted in your gut.
She sighs and purses her lips, “He went with some crew out past Houston to film somethin.”
Your brow furrows, “You don’t sound too pleased about that.”
“Well he says it’s gonna be tasteful, but it’s smut.”
You snort a laugh through your nose, stumbling forward as you press too much weight into the pitchfork. You right yourself and look back to her, her expression unamused.
“He’s shootin a porno?”
She rolls her eyes at you, “I guess if that’s what you want to call it, then yeah.”
You raise your eyebrow at her, grinning, “Well if there’s naked people bumpin up against each other, usually you call that a porno.”
She huffs, “A tasteful one though.”
You laugh in over-exaggerated disbelief, “Tasteful or no, he’s filmin people fuckin. You’re okay with that?”
She gestures vacantly with her hand, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know why people want to do stuff like that. Sex ain’t all that exciting anyway.”
You bark out a laugh, then stop when you realize she wasn’t joking.
“What do you mean, it ‘ain’t all that exciting’?” You air quote, waiting for her to clarify.
She shrugs, “It just ain’t. Everyone acts like it’s some grand ole time, but mostly I find myself just waitin for it to be over.”
Your jaw drops, and you let go of the pitchfork, dropping that too. “You mean to tell me RJ ain’t shakin your tree every other hour?”
The blush that rises up her neck tells you everything you need to know. She has no idea what it’s supposed to be like. Obviously, her boyfriend is doing something terribly wrong. The heat rises to her cheeks and she starts chewing the inside of her lip.
“I mean he does, but I won’t let him much. It’s more fun for him than it is for me.”
You scoff and bend over to pick up the pitchfork. You’re shaking your head, opening the empty horse stall, quietly exiting the conversation before you say something she won’t like. 
She pipes up before you can enter the stall, the frown on her face clear even from the other side of the barn. “What? You been doin better? I don’t see you running around town with any boys.”
You purse your lips and turn back to her, “Well that’s your first problem right there, Lorraine. I don’t go runnin around with boys.”
You turn back to the stall to let her absorb the information. It takes her a few minutes, enough time for you to start mucking the hay. You hear her get up and figure she would leave, but her head pops up over the side of the stall, her arms resting on the top beam.
“So you been runnin around with girls then?”
You scoop a pile of soiled hay, nodding once, “Now and again.”
She hums, her brow furrowed in curiosity, “What’s that like?”
“Better’n whatever RJs been doin to you.”
She lifts her head from her hands, irritation spreading across her face, “You tellin me you could do better?”
This is a line you hadn’t ever walked. Sure, you flirted with her subtly but never outright propositioned her. Maybe it’s the heat that has your brain a little foggy, or maybe the realization that the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen had never been given a proper orgasm pushed you to the line.
“Without a doubt.” You say, not looking up from your work. 
She’s quiet, and you worry you’ve gouged an indelible mark into your friendship. You glance up at her and are surprised to find hesitant but curious eyes on you. You stop working and watch her eyes trail down your neck and over your shoulders. You cock your head, was she checking you out? 
She glances back up and realizes you’ve caught her, and the blush returns to her cheeks. She drops off the side of the stall and out of your sight, so you stake the pitchfork into the ground and slowly exit back into the open barn. You’re nervous, so you stick your hand in your pocket for the candies you stash there, hoping to keep yourself busy while you mend whatever damage you’d just done. 
She’s sitting on the hay bales again, biting her nails. You approach her and open your palm, a watermelon Jolly Rancher rolling there.
“Quit chewin your nails. Have a candy.” 
She takes it quickly, unwrapping it and popping it into her mouth. She’s gazing up at you, her face thoughtful. 
She pushes the candy into her cheek, “How does it work?”
You roll the blue sweet around in your mouth, wondering how in-depth to go, “Depends. We have mouths and hands just like any boy.”
She gulps and sputters, “Your mouth?” 
You raise your eyebrows at her, this is worse than you’d thought. “Well yeah, don’t RJ do that to you?”
She shakes her head no, eyes wide. You lick your lips, unconsciously taking a step toward her. Her lips part just slightly, her eyes growing dark with her pupils expanding. You catch her stealing the fastest glance at your lips and consider your losses if you do cross this line. If she rejects you, you can laugh it off and go back to mucking the horse stall. But if she doesn’t, oh, the consequences of that are enough to make your mouth water around the hard candy on your tongue. 
You take another step toward her, gauging her reaction. Her fingers twitch at her side, and she inhales sharply, but she doesn’t move away. The candy in your mouth has dissolved completely, the extra saliva under your tongue mixing sweet and syrupy. Hers is gone too, either swallowed whole or meeting the same fate as yours. You throw caution to the wind and reach down, cupping her jaw in your hand. Her breathing speeds up, her chest rising and falling quickly beneath her shirt. 
You lean in, inches from her lips, emboldened by her body language, and whisper, “I could show you, if you want.”
She gulps again, “You-you could?”
“Would you like me to show you?” You say, your voice low and soft, just a hair away from her lips.
She nods slowly, inhaling deeply. It’s all the consent you need, and you close the gap, pressing your lips into hers. You intended to take it slow, ease her into the idea of kissing a girl. But she surges forward the moment your lips meet, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you close. Your tongue glides across her lip, and she gasps, opening her mouth to greet your tongue with hers. Her hands are in your hair, gripping, and her knees are spreading apart, allowing you more space to move in on her. 
She whimpers when you bite softly on her bottom lip, and a fire ignites in your lower belly. Your hands begin to wander, down her neck, over her shoulders and breasts, sliding down her ribs to her hips. You trail kisses down her jaw and lick at her pulse, eliciting more small mewls from the back of her throat. You take your time on her neck, testing how far she’s willing to let you go. She leans her head back, her hands grasping at your shoulder blades over your shirt. 
She’s touch starved, hungry for an intimacy that is clearly missing from her current relationship.  You pull back and drop to your knees between her legs, looking up at her while tracing your fingers along the hem of her shirt. You can feel her stomach twitch under your fingers, excited and ticklish. She looks down at you with a mixed expression. She’s nervous, but she wants this. More than you had expected. She takes her shirt from under your fingers and pulls it over her head, her jaw clenched but her head nodding yes. 
You slow your approach, if she’s nervous, you know she won’t enjoy it as much. You take the time to soothe her, ease her into it, make her comfortable with wanting you. Her denim shorts are bunched up, revealing miles of skin, hot to the touch. You run your palms from her knees up to her hips, inching your body in between her legs until your chest is pressing into her stomach. You plant a soft kiss on her ribs, just under her bra, your hands making their way to her waist to steady her. 
She reaches down to you, her hand sliding around the side of your neck, and pushes you back some so she can lean down and kiss you again. You savor the sugary taste on her tongue, the two flavors of jolly ranchers mixing in your mouth. She seems more sure now, her hands wandering across your shoulders and back, taking in your form. You break away from her lips and shuffle back to press hot, open mouthed kisses below her belly button, running your tongue along the top of her shorts. She leans back on her hands, opening her body to you. 
You take the button of her shorts between your fingers and look up at her, waiting for permission. She nods hurriedly, reaching down to help you push them off of her. You brush her rushing hands away and undo the button, pulling her forward to the edge of the hay bale. The shorts and her underwear hit the ground behind you as you toss them over your shoulder, your hands returning to the tops of her thighs. You spread her legs, and your jaw drops at the sight.
You didn’t think she could get more attractive, and yet, here she was, soaking wet and wanting and absolutely beautiful. 
“Oh fuck,” you whisper, your eyes glued to her center.
She gasps and tries to close her legs but ends up squeezing your shoulders as you lean in.
“Oh god, is it bad, it’s never been like this, I-“ she’s breathless and panicky, but you cut her rambling off with a kiss to her swollen clit.
You drag your tongue from her opening back up to her clit, circling it once, twice, then sucking it in between your lips. She’s lost all composure, forgetting her insecurities and letting out surprised sighs and soft moans. You detach and turn your head, nip at her thigh, and soothe it with your tongue. You look up at her and grin.
“Don’t apologize. You’re incredible.” You say, your voice raspy. 
She whimpers as you dive back in, licking up all the nectar she has to give you. She is decidedly better than the ice cream you’d had earlier, the salt of her sweat mingling in the sweetness between her legs. You dip your tongue inside her entrance, and one of her hands winds its way into your hair. You pull your tongue out and drag it up to her clit again, lapping at it slowly, learning what she likes through touch and sound alone. She’s shaking under your mouth, her legs squeezing your head as you wrap your hands around them. You give her one long suck, rolling your tongue over her and she cums, hard. Her hips tilt up into your face and her hand in your hair presses you into her, her head thrown back and mouth open. You keep at it, letting her ride it out as long as she can until she’s pushing your head back, twitching and panting.
You kiss the inside of her thighs on both legs and look up at her, a wide smile on your shining lips. She’s still gasping for air, but she looks down at you, and it’s clear she’s in awe. 
“That’s…that was…I’ve never…” she stutters, still breathless.
You rest your arms on her legs, smirking up at her in self-satisfaction, “Come down here with me, and we can do it again.”
“Again?”
“Yes, again. And again, if you want.”
The next thing you know, you’re on your back, fresh hay clinging to your hair and the sweet smell of alfalfa working its way into your clothes. Lorraine leans down and kisses you, groaning into your lips, looking for the “again” that was promised. You don’t tell her you could do this all day with her, you don’t even need food. Just her. 
She’s reaching down and pulling your shirt up, so you sit up, letting her pull it over your head before crashing back down into you. Moaning at the feeling of your skin on hers. You reach around her back, still kissing her, and unclasp her bra, letting it fall from her shoulders. She sits up and slings it aside, quick to return to your lips. She’s hurried now, her skin burning hot on yours. Her kisses are growing sloppy in her rush, but you find you enjoy it even more that way. 
You lift your hips and roll her over, settling your leg between hers and taking in the view. Her dark hair is mixed with the hay, the contrast making it even more beautiful. You lean into her and realize you’re criminally overdressed, so you unbutton your jeans and push them to your ankles before kicking them off behind you. Now when you lean in, you can feel how wet she is on your thigh, and the sensation alone nearly takes you out. 
You drop your face into her neck again, kissing and nipping her skin, leaving faint pink marks in your wake. While your lips begin their descent to her chest, your hand runs down her ribs. You slide your leg back, and your fingers find her clit, rubbing small circles over the overly sensitive area. A soft “oh” falls from her lips when you run your tongue over her nipple, then suck on it softly. Her hands are restless, her nails running down your spine, up the back of your neck, softly gripping your hair only to release and begin again. 
She’s not twitching away from your fingers anymore, her body recovered and ready for round two. You run your fingers through her, groaning around her nipple as you feel how warm and wet she is. You slide two fingers into her, and she sighs in relief. Like she’d been waiting for you all day. Like nothing was more desirable than your fingers filling her up. You release her nipple with a pop and breathe slowly through your nose, fending off your own orgasm feeling how tight she was around you. Once you’ve recovered, you begin to pump your arm, curling your fingers softly before you pull out. You graze her G spot and she shouts, clenching down on you and sitting up on her elbows. You stop moving, looking up at her in alarm.
“Did I hurt you?”
She swallows, her eyes wide, “No, no, it’s just. What was that?” 
Of course, RJ hadn’t ever hit that spot. You internally roll your eyes at his ineptness. It was criminal, she hadn’t even known the spot was there. 
You curl your fingers again, pressing into it, “You mean this?”
Her eyes roll and her lashes flutter, her arms shaking under her, “Yeah, yes. How?”
You pull out slightly, then push back in and do it again, pulling another whimper from her throat, “Do you like that?”
She nods, dropping back to the ground.
You lean over her, your mouth close to her ear, “Tell me.”
“I like it,” she sighs, her hands moving into your hair, “Oh god I like it.” 
You smile and press a kiss to the side of her jaw, “Good.” You say and begin moving your fingers again. 
You use your thumb to circle her clit gently, and her breathing speeds up. One hand in your hair, and one squeezing your shoulder. She pulls you down, kisses you feverishly, groaning through her nose as your tongues slide across each others. Your pace is steady as you fuck her into the ground, alternating between kissing her lips and down her neck. Her nails drag across your back, digging deep into your skin, the sting giving you goosebumps. 
Her neck is straining and she’s panting, arching her back up into your body. Her moans grow closer together and louder.
“Oh, fuck y/n, right there,” she groans, “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“
The rest of her statement is cut off by a low pitched moan, her body seizing up and her legs squeezing your body. The sound of her orgasm sends you hurtling into your own, stiffening your back and clenching your legs. She drops into the hay and dirt just before you drop onto her, bodies spent and hearts racing. You slide your weight off to her side, pulling your hand out from between her legs, your head resting on her shoulder. You lay your arm across her, careful not to let your fingers fall into the dirt. 
Once the post orgasmic high wears off, you sit up, looking down at her. Her eyes are far away, distant in thought. You caress her cheek with the back of your hand, smiling warmly.
“You okay?”
She blinks quickly, her eyes shifting over to you. She nods, “More than okay.” 
“You wanna do it again?” You ask her, smiling coyly at her.
She looks dumbfounded, her mouth opening and closing without speaking. You smirk at her, feeling smug about the state you’ve put her in. 
She finally comes around and nods, “I just need a minute.”
You shrug, “That’s okay. Take all the time you need. My day is yours now.”
She sits up, her eyes wide and a half smile tugging at her lips. She pulls you over, kissing you slowly and softly. As the pace begins to pick up, the sound of car tires on the gravel outside rip the two of you apart. 
Lorraine gasps, her eyes wide with terror, “Daddy.”
You frown, “Well, no one’s ever called me that before, but I’m not against the nickname.”
She shoves your shoulder and scrambles to her feet, looking for her clothes, “No idiot. My dad, he’s home.”
“Oh shit!” You yelp, joining her in the search for clothing. 
It’s a mad dash, pulling on underwear and pants and shoes, shuffling around in the barn, both of you trying not to giggle. You hear his footsteps approaching and run into the horse stall, frantically grabbing the abandoned pitch fork. Lorraine scrambles up the side of the stall and sits perched on the edge, pretending to watch you muck out the hay. 
Her eyes are wild, and she whispers to you, “I couldn’t find my panties.”
You blanch, knowing full well if Mr. Day saw the Sunday panties in the hay, he’d know exactly what had gone on. You pop your head over the stall, your eyes scanning the barn floor for them. You finally catch sight of them, half hidden under the rusty old tractor in the corner. Too far for you to run over to hide them. You cross your fingers, hoping he doesn’t catch sight of them. Lorraine is doing a horrendous job of appearing nonchalant, twisting her fingers and swinging her legs. You glance up at her as he walks in and give her your hardest ‘be chill’ look before you start shoveling horse shit.
“There’s my beautiful daughter,” Mr. Day’s low, scratchy voice rumbles out as he saunters over to the stall, patting her back and looking over the wall at you.
“And my favorite ranch hand. Hard at work, as always.”
You stop shoveling to stand and smile at him. You shoot him a wink, “You know me sir, always workin on somethin.”
He barks out a laugh, his mustache getting caught between his lips. He sighs, patting Lorraine’s leg, “You’re a good kid, y/n. A damn good kid.” He looks up at his daughter, “Good company for my baby girl, keep her around, Lorraine.”
He pats her leg once more and turns to shuffle out of the barn, making his way up to the house. Lorraine lets out a breath you hadn’t realized she was holding and slouches over. You grin up at her conspiratorially. She grimaces at you, making you frown.
“Whats’a matter? He didn’t suspect a thing.”
She starts wringing her hands again, looking down at her fingers, “What if RJ finds out?”
You snort and shake your head “Baby, he’s got his head so far up his own ass I’m pretty sure I could make you cum in front of him, and he wouldn’t notice.”
She shoots you an exasperated look, picking up a loose screw off the post next to her and throwing it at you.
 “He would too notice, and he’s gonna notice these.” She says, softly running her fingertip over the bite marks and hickeys on the inside of her thighs. 
She shivers, closing her eyes and licking her lips. You dip your head down, pretending not to see but grinning like mad at the hay in your pitchfork. Hopefully, he did notice the marks. Hopefully, she figured you were better for her than he was. Hopefully, the first petite mort you had given her opened her eyes to the possibilities of satisfaction. When you lift your head to look at her again, she’s smiling at you. 
“Your apartment got room for two?”
“You gonna buy me dinner first?” You ask, smirking.
“If you do that to me again, I’ll buy you whatever you want.”
“I want a great big ranch house and a new truck.” You tell her, dropping the pitchfork and strutting over to her.
You put your hands on her knees and open her legs, stepping between them again, her hips at face height. You rest your head on her thigh and look up at her. Her eyes are soft and warm, and she reaches out to run her fingers through your hair. 
“I think I can find a way to make that happen.”
“Put it on your tab.” You say, kissing the bite mark on her thigh.
“It’s gonna run up pretty high.”
“You can afford it.”
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inoutoftherain · 2 months
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(ignore timer, it's bugged, time shown at end in statistics. fall starts at 1:40 left)
A couple days ago some friends and I were talking about Zedaph's Season 9 Zedvancements, one of them being the 4500 block fall from his video Surviving the HIGHEST Fall onto Solid Ground.
To do this fall and survive you need:
an elytra
2-3 stacks of rockets
a bunch of hay bales
a potion of Jump Boost II
a potion of the Turtle Master II
Protection IV armor (any material) with FFIV boots
an enchanted golden apple
That's it! And as an All Advancements runner who's in the outer end with an enchanted golden apple once or twice a week, the immediate thought was, "This looks like fun to speedrun. Somebody needs to do it".
So you know, ModCheck and all that, I don't exactly have a few dozen All Advancements runners on my friends list I could pester to do it well, so we're just going to have to settle for it being done badly, by me.
The rules for the speedrun are.
Version: 1.16.1 random seed glitchless. Fly at least 4500 blocks above ground level and start falling. Timer stops when you hit the ground and survive.
The maximum distance you can fall this way is 4507 blocks. Like Zedaph I decided anything from 4500+ is good enough. My fall was exactly 4500.
It was fun.
Also I got three record discs killing creepers. This was not intended. My timer bugged when I played one of them in a jukebox. This was also not intended. I'm just a lazy bitch who hasn't updated SpeedrunIGT in over a year.
Total time 2 hours 7 minutes. Fastest possible is probably around an hour twenty.
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roktho · 1 year
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SNS DAY 9 - Mornings
SNS Fall Morning Headcanons:
Naruto wakes up on the first chill autumn morning and reaches for Sasuke's hoodie, fumbling to put it on as he stretches and breathes in Sasuke's scent, musky and vague sandalwood.
It's cozy enough to stay in bed all morning in, but Naruto gathers up his energy and without a warning he lifts a sleeping Sasuke UP and makes a mad dash out the door still carrying him, roaring as he welcomes a misty fall morning rush.
Sasuke yowls and shrieks as Naruto brings them to the top of a cliff, where he lifts Sasuke up over his head and pronounces how much he loves him to the world, while Sasuke is screeching at him to put him down, in a very Lion King Style.
Naruto and Sasuke go for trodges through the forest foliage as early as when the sun still hasn't quite made it up, and they both touch fingers as they walk, ghosting their way through the quiet dawn silently.
They have their own preferred favorite niches in the woods, where they like to bring each other; Naruto traipses from one end of a rural field of lilacs to a hay field, where he soaks up the morning rays. Sasuke haunts an ancient and crumbling shrine decaying under the oldest cedar trees and moss.
They have their own rituals when it comes to days where they have no missions and they can loaf:
If Naruto wakes up first he jumps out of bed giddily and runs to the window, where he practically unhinges it in his haste to spread his arms wide and welcome the day. He throws his arms to his side in Mountain Tadasana Pose, before launching into Virabhadrasana I, then II, then cushions himself as he balances a Utthita Parvakonasana.
After his morning yoga ritual, he skips down to the stalls that line up the roads and he greets his favorite old croon who sells flowers, copper bowls, and metal ware. He gives her a few coins and she grows rosy cheeked as Naruto gives her a peck on the forehead. He is her favorite customer. She always knows he will pick up flowers for a secret love, hyacinths and roses, but it isn’t so secret because Sasuke will be by in the afternoon to collect sunflowers tied in hemp for Naruto.
Naruto skips back home with his flowers and prepares runny eggs and morning tea for Sasuke. He places the flowers next to the breakfast in Sasuke’s favorite place to sit: the porch where a tiny puppy waits for them.
If Sasuke wakes up first he pushes his unkempt bangs from his tired eyes and stalks over to the shower, and takes a cold shower. He likes it a barometer above 58 degrees.
Sasuke shuffles out of the shower and grunts at Naruto to wake up, and throws his damp towel at him.
He likes his morning coffee with one cube of sugar. He thrusts his body up on the porch railing, and he sits in a quiet moment of stillness, breathing in the hush. The night owls stop hooting and the fragrant jasmine vines suffuse his senses. He plucks a stray bloom and lets it float into his coffee mug. He savors the tilting leaves showering the lake with vermilion and gilded azure petals, the blazing gold of summer was not a charcoal grey dawn. He lifts his mug to the sky and stray rain cools the steam of his coffee. He wishes Naruto was with him, but is secretly pleased to have the world to himself for a few moments.
Waking up to rainy fall mornings Naruto and Sasuke both languish in bed, throwing all plans for the day away to the cold wind as they grab an extra blanket and hunch over each other, shivering and scrabbling for nearness and warmth. Naruto is naturally a human heat oven, he manifests heat from his body excessively, and Sasuke hums as he curls Naruto in his arms which, are cold and icy. Sasuke has naturally cold limbs, and his body heat ranges in low blood circulation. He loves breathing in Naruto’s natural scent, grass and sweet pears, and hay bales and laughter. Naruto wears Sasuke’s t shirt to bed and dozes off to Sasuke’s scent, tonka beans and birch trees, raw molasses, home and his clean, icy smirk.
@snsmonth22
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cranberryvishnu · 1 year
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Cranberry - Bloody Tom and the Coffin Riders... Colter | Part III
If you would like to first read parts I and II follow the links below:
PART I | PART II
I snapped awake and in a panic I rolled off the bed and hit the floor. I scrambled like a fiddler crab, sliding on my backside across the cold hard ground until I came to an abrupt stop against a stack of hay bales. With nowhere to go, I faced the stranger in the room.
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The man with the mustache made no attempt to stop me, he only stood by, crossed his arms and watched as I crashed into the far wall. Then he cautioned me to be careful.
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"Slow down... You need to take it easy. You've been out for a long time."
I just stared at him... And as I tried to bring my surroundings into focus, my hand reflexively shot to my side - but my LeMat wasn't there, my holster was empty!
"Wh-Where's my gun?!"
I was shocked at how shaky and rough my voice sounded...
Before he could answer, the door flew open and we both turned to see the man who shot me enter the room. He looked stern but I could also see relief soften his features. I saw the tension around his eyes relax, as he pointed to a chest not far from where I was crouching.
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"Your fancy little gun and all the rest of your shit's in there."
I carefully stood and willed the tremors to leave my legs. I didn't want to show any weakness. Then, I slowly, cautiously walked over to the chest keeping a sharp eye on them. As I approached the chest, he continued speaking.
"You were floppin' and thrashin' around so we took it from you. We didn't want you to kill yourself or one of us with it."
My LeMat was right on the top of the chest.
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I snatched it up and flicked my wrist to snap the cylinder open. I spun it slowly and saw that it was loaded - all nine .42 caliber bullets were there. I checked the large bore barrel below, and saw that my custom 17 gauge shell was in place. I quickly put that back in my holster and gave it a pat. The man who shot me, continued speaking...
"My name's Bloody Tom, but you can call me Bloody Tom. The guy who woke you up - his name is Mr. Grimfrost. You can call him whatever you want."
I placed my hands on the lid of the chest, and looked up. First at "Bloody Tom," then at "Mr. Grimfrost." I gave them both a short nod, and cleared my throat and answered.
"Bloody Tom... Mr. Grimfrost, how do you do? My name is Cranberry Vishnu, you may call me Cranberry."
Feeling a little better now that introductions had been made and most importantly that my cherished pistol was equipped, I opened the chest and to my surprise - everything... all my things were there!
It was Mr. Grimfrost who spoke next...
"Yeah, we had to leave the area - and couldn't leave you. Your camp was nearby so we grabbed your horse, and all your stuff."
"Yeah..." Bloody Tom added "...that crap was really heavy too, so... you're welcome!"
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I was stunned. I had fully expected to be murdered or worse... It was very reassuring for me to realize that...
These people are unusual, but they have a sense of honor...
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loveydoveyamia · 2 years
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-- ~♡~ --
ether f/o posting area!
i made thiz zo i dont completely bombard the main account with f/o ztuff!!
lizt of f/oz below cut!
-- ~♡~ --
:: bold = no sharing !!! sorry TwT
romantic! - amelia euler (hfjone) [🕯️] , notey (twros) [ 📒 ] , agent 3 (splatoon) [ 3️⃣ ] , steve cobs (ii) [ 🌽 ] , microphone (ii) [ 🎤 ] , mahiru koizumi (sdr2) [ 📷 ] , vbs hatsune miku (project sekai) [ 👟 ] , mafuyu asahina (project sekai) [ ❄️ ]
platonic! - hay bale (inanimate insanity) , (f)intp , lollipop (bfb)
familial! - shiver (splatoon) (older sibling), garcello (fnf: seos) (father)
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teresabeadle5 · 2 months
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Mushrooms
flickr
Mushrooms by Kynne Llewellyn Via Flickr: Cardigan : -Sorumin- Mushroom Cardigan. At Anthem. Hat : -Sorumin- Crochet Bucket Hat -Pumpkin/Mushroom- for Kawaii Project Skirt : -Sorumin- Sept.Love Skirt Boots and socks : DEAD DOLL - Tatiana Boots. At Anthem. Wasabi // Zylia HW Ed. Hair. In main store. Head : Lelutka - EvoX AVALON Skin : [Glam Affair] Nuya [Lelutka EvoX] Blush B. At C88 Blush : ::Loa:: Aki Blushes ~cheeks II *ruby* Lips : Shiny Stuffs EvoX Goddess Lips 4 75% Decor : FNY Designs. - Bolete and Red Mushrooms *PC* Autumn Corner Barrel, Wheel, Milk. At TLC (50% discount). FINCA - hay bales and FINCA - wheat dark bush Trees : LittleBranch - LB_HornBeamTree.v1{Animated}Seasons. At Chronicles & Legends. Pitaya - Vintage heart chair - yellow. In main store (last weekends' sales) Door and wall : Serenity Style- Rustic Garden entry. In main store. Deers : YOKAI - Autumn Deers -[choco] At C88. Pumpkings : YOKAI - Pumpkin Cats [candy] and [orange] At Access. [V/W] Charlotte Bales Couch. At WLRP.
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eric-generic · 2 years
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F**ked Up Fingers of the Famous
An accident with an axe, a childhood prank gone haywire, cantaloupe-carving carelessness: whatever the reason, many people make their mark in life without a finger or two. Here are some folks who’ve managed to get ahead with missing or damaged digits.
GARY BURGHOFF won an Emmy as Corporal Walter “Radar” O’Reilly on the wartime sitcom M*A*S*H, despite having three deformed fingers on his left hand. During filming Burghoff’s hand was usually “missing in action,” carefully hidden under clipboards, behind radio sets or in his pocket.
JERRY GARCIA had half of his right middle finger lopped off when he was four — a wood-chopping axe did the job — but he became a scintillating guitarist anyway. Garcia led the long-running rock band The Grateful Dead until his death in 1995, and his soaring guitar solos were part of the Dead’s legendary live shows. Garcia also had a respectable solo career, dabbling in bluegrass and folk music.
Actress DARYL HANNAH starred in Splash and Blade Runner while missing part of her left index finger. In a 2001 story in The Sunday Times of South Africa, Hannah explained: “I got my finger stuck in the pulley of a well at my grandmother’s house when I was three.” Good luck spotting the missing digit onscreen: it’s almost always hidden behind gloves, coats, guns, etc.
Political fixer and Chicago mayor RAHM EMANUEL lost half of his right middle finger to a roast beef slicer. Time magazine picks up the story: “As a teenager, he severed his right middle finger slicing meat at Arby’s and went swimming in Lake Michigan before getting stitches. After the wound became severly infected, Emanuel had the top of his finger amputated and spent six weeks recovering.”
DONALD K. “DEKE” SLAYTON was selected in 1959 to be one of the original seven astronauts in the U. S. “space race” with the Soviet Union. Slayton was a pilot in World War II and a test pilot and instructor during the 1950s. The astronauts were selected after a rigorous screening process and had to be in excellent health. Deke passed despite a missing left ring finger (the only finger deemed not necessary for a right-handed pilot). Slayton lost the finger to a horse-drawn hay mower when he was a young boy in Wisconsin. Although a heart murmur kept him out of the first manned spaceflights, Slayton finally made it to the launch pad in 1975. He spent 217 hours and 28 minutes in space for the Apollo-Soyuz mission.
BORIS YELTSIN was a minor Communist Party official until he put himself in the right place just as the Soviet Union collapsed. As a boy his timing wasn’t so good: he blew off two fingers while playing with a grenade snitched from an Army depot. It didn’t keep him from juggling foreign and domestic policy from 1989-99 at a critical junction in Russian history.
Actor CHRISTIAN BALE is known for his onscreen intensity in such films as American Psycho, The Machinist, The Fighter and Newsies. And as of early 2009, he’s also known as “the guy with the mangled left index finger.” Bale confirmed in the spring of 2009 that he had been in a dirt-biking accident, and was quoted as saying he’d hurt his finger — “chopped it off at the end.” It’s unclear just how much of the end got chopped off. Reports said simply that he would be scarred for life, and that he didn’t feel the actual chop-off so much as notice how bloody his hand was. Bale was quoted as saying, “It looks horrible. Everyone else almost faints looking at it.”
The first European musician to stongly influence American jazz, guitarist DJANGO REINHARDT began his career in Belgium and France in the 1920s. In 1928 he was caught in a caravan fire that left his left hand partially paralyzed. Reinhardt developed a new playing technique to overcome the problem and by the end of World War II he was an international superstar.
One might almost think an altered hand is the key to guitar greatness: Black Sabbath’s TONY IOMMI joins Garcia and Reinhardt in the elite club of guitarists with finger problems. Before he was a heavy metal superstar, Iommi lost chunks of two fingers on his right hand in an industrial accident. He fashioned prosthetic tips and went on to be one of the most celebrated rock guitarists of the 1970s.
DR. ALEX COMFORT‘s book The Joy of Sex came out in 1972, in time to capitalize on the apparent need of many Americans to hear from an expert that fornication was fun. Comfort managed his intricate researches despite having lost four fingers on his left hand while fooling with explosives as a kid. No matter: The Joy of Sex remains one of the all-time best selling books on sex.
Japan’s ISOROKU YAMAMOTO masterminded the infamous 1941 sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. As a young sailor, he found himself fighting in the 1905 Battle of Tsushima, the naval brouhaha that helped decide the outcome of the Russo-Japanese War. The battle marked Yamamoto for life when an explosion destroyed two fingers on his left hand.
Silent film comedian BUSTER KEATON made ’em laugh without a chunk of his right hand. Keaton caught the hand in a clothes wringer at age two, losing the first joint of his index finger in the process. It didn’t keep him from earning the nickname “The Great Stone Face” as he starred in classic comedies like Sherlock Jr. (1924) and The General (1926).
Keaton’s fellow silent comedian HAROLD LLOYD received greater damage in 1919 when a supposedly-fake prop bomb went off in his hand, blowing off his right thumb and forefinger. Lloyd’s condition was kept secret from the public, and he was fitted with prosthetic digits which he used in the rest of his films. The phony fingers didn’t keep him from doing his own stunts — including dangling from the face of a clock 12 stories up in a famous scene from the 1923 movie Safety Last.
MORDECAI BROWN helped pitch the Chicago Cubs to four baseball championships in the early 1900s, all while throwing with a maimed hand. According to his estate’s official Web site, “At the age of 7, Brown was playing on his uncle’s farm and got his right hand caught in a corn shredder. His index finger was amputated above the second knuckle, and his thumb and pinkie were both impaired permanently. While chasing a hog a few weeks later, he fell and broke the third and fourth fingers on the same hand, both of which healed unnaturally.” Making lemonade out of anatomical lemons, Brown learned that the stub allowed him to hurl a very sharp curveball. Armed with this advantage, “Three Finger” Brown won 239 major league games
Speaking of the Wild West: Actor LEE VAN CLEEF faced off against Clint Eastwood in two famous “spaghetti westerns”:For a Few Dollars More (1965) and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966). The latter film ends with a gunfight, in which Van Cleef is clearly seen to be missing the last joint of the middle finger on his right hand. The Internet Movie Database and various other online sources claim that Van Cleef lost the finger while building a playhouse for his daughter.
CLAUS VON STAUFFENBERG was an officer in the army of the Third Reich when his car hit a mine in North Africa in 1943. The explosion cost him his right hand, plus the ring and pinky fingers of his left. Despite injuries that would daunt most people, von Stauffenberg returned to active service. But he grew increasingly dismayed by the Nazi leadership and in 1944 he joined a military plot to kill Adolf Hitler. At the climax of the plot, the three-fingered von Stauffenberg planted a briefcase bomb during a staff meeting with Hitler in July of 1944. The bomb exploded as planned, but by a quirk of positioning Hitler was shielded by the heavy oak conference table. Von Stauffenberg escaped the blast — also as planned — but a the coup that was supposed to follow never materialized. Hitler survived, and that same evening von Stauffenberg was captured in Berlin and executed by a Nazi firing squad.The story was made into a 2008 movie, Valkyrie, with Tom Cruise as Claus von Stauffenberg.
According to his 1996 autobiography Beam Me Up, Scotty, JAMES DOOHAN landed with Royal Canadian Army troops on the D-Day invasion of France and lost the middle finger of his right hand to German fire. The injury didn’t keep him from landing the role of spaceship engineer Montgomery “Scotty” Scott on the 1960s TV series Star Trek. Avid Trekkies will note that ‘stunt double’ hands were used whenever Doohan operated the ship’s transporter.
Television star and producer DANNY THOMAS was missing the tip of his index finger. He used a prosthetic device to disguise the disfigurement, and was often seen holding a cigar as a prop. Thomas apparently lost the finger in a gun accident.
Most American television viewers know that MATTHEW PERRY played Chandler Bing on the hit series Friends (1994-2004). Loyal viewers are able to tell which season is which by Perry’s weight fluctuations. And truly dedicated fans have noticed that Perry is missing the tip of his right middle finger. According to many sources, he lost the fingertip as a young boy, when it got caught in a closing door.
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Personally I think
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Girlfriends
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the-fluffy-emo-mom · 4 years
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Color Palletes Are Fun!
I love how these turned out, I might do some more but with bfb/tpot characters
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kingsketchdoodle · 5 years
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Day 30 Inanimate Insanity Infinity 
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somekindofpoet · 1 year
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La Petite Mort - C'est Comme Ça
Summary: The repercussions of RJ's return hit hard
Word Count: 4.8K
Warnings: Language 
A/N: This chapter is brought to you by boygenius, specifically Phoebe Bridgers because she has ruined me. You asked for angst. Remember YOU ASKED FOR THIS. There's a little TLOU2 easter egg in there for you fellow Ellie lovers. I have to say, I can't believe this story is the result of an ask about a girl getting head for the first time...writing is weird.
LPM - Part I LPM - Part II LPM Part IV LPM Part V LPM Part VI
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The tension in the air is palpable. You can feel the moment strung taught, a high wire of social choreography forcing you to tiptoe carefully. Truth be told, it was your own fault. You were the one fucking RJs girlfriend. And you were the one flirting with Maxine. You’d made your bed, but you were determined not to sleep in it. 
You motion to the hay bales behind Maxine, “Ma’am if you don’t mind?”
She turns, her eyebrows raising as she realizes she’s in your way, and slides over to the edge of the tailgate. Into the exact spot Lorraine had just vacated. The significance of the moment is not lost on you, but you brush it off and reach for the hay. You pull it down and lug it into the barn, breaking a sweat that has little to do with exertion. A wolf whistle rips out from behind you, and you drop the hay and turn to find the source. A man in aviators and a white cowboy hat is leaning against the truck next to Maxine, a toothpick rolling around his lips. 
As you approach, he slides his sunglasses down his nose to look at you, “Howdy darlin,” he says, his voice thick with amusement.
You raise an eyebrow at him, reaching for the next bale, and nod in greeting. Something about him screams con artist, and you immediately decide you don’t like him. Maxine giggles and pulls at his shirt sleeve, swinging her legs. You’re acutely aware of Lorraine in your peripheral, glancing over at the interaction as RJ talks at her, his hands waving around excitedly. 
The con man pulls the toothpick from his mouth and clears his throat, “Names Wayne,” he says, his unnaturally white teeth gleaming in the sun, “You ever thought about bein in movies?”
You squint at him, your hands wrapped in the rope keeping the hay bound and shake your head, “No, actin ain’t exactly my strong suit.”
Maxine snickers, and a devilish grin spreads across Wayne’s face, “That’s okay. Actin is not high on the priority list for my movies.”
Your eyebrows fly up your face as you realize the implication. In all the fuss, you had forgotten the type of movie RJ had been filming with them. The realization comes with the knowledge of who Maxine must be, and suddenly her flirting makes sense. You’re flattered, really, at the proposition, but you’re also mortified. 
An involuntary laugh slips out of you, bubbling up from your belly through your chest. You heave the hay off the truck and shake your head, “I respect what y’all do, but I’ll stick to what I got goin on, thank you.”
Wayne puts his hands up in surrender, “Alright, alright. I’d be a fool not to try though, especially since Maxine here has been eyein you. Jackson and Bobby-Lynne over there would probably agree that you’d be a welcome addition, but suit yourself,” he points to the two making out against the van.
You look in their direction and laugh again, seeing them dry humping each other, “I think they have their hands full as it is,” you say and turn toward the barn.
As you make your way back out, squinting in the sun, RJ’s raised voice catches your attention.
“I’ve been gone for a week Lorraine. You can’t spend one night with me?” 
You note the change in his tone, dropping her nickname to say her full name in irritation. She mumbles something too quiet to hear, and seeing her cower in front of him makes your blood boil. She always made herself small for him, careful to stay out of the way and quiet. She was a quiet person by nature, but even more so in his presence. Watching her with him is like seeing your favorite flower wither, her beauty shriveling in his wake. You ball your fists and clench your jaw. 
“Aaaah, you got a thing for brunettes, huh?” Wayne’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
You frown and shake your head, “What?”
He gestures toward Lorraine with his head, “I don’t blame ya, RJ caught a fish way too big for his reel there.”
You scowl at him, fighting the urge to knock his lights out. How dare he even look her way, much less speak about her. Your composure is rattled, and the conversation between RJ and Lorraine is growing more agitated by the minute. You turn back to them, ready to start a brawl, but you’re halted by a look from Lorraine. She looks at you out of the corner of her eye and shakes her head, asking you to stay out of it. You grit your teeth, feeling wild and out of control. 
“Baby let’s go, I’m so tired of farms,” Maxine whines, blinking up at Wayne. 
You feel like you’re an extra in a movie that’s in the wrong shot. Stranded between keeping up appearances and doing what you really want to do. Which is to sweep Lorraine off her feet and kick RJ in the teeth. Deep down, there’s resentment building toward her too, but you’re not ready to deal with it. The bed you were trying not to sleep in was pulling back its blankets, welcoming you to the mess you’d made.
When Maxine brushes past you to return to the van, she runs her fingers from your shoulder down your arm and winks at you, blowing you a kiss as she walks backward. You make eye contact with Lorraine, and it’s like the whole scene blurs around you. The pornstars chattering in the background, RJ having his meltdown to the side, and the two of you, front and center. An unspoken moment passes between you, and you can feel the delicate balance shatter around you. It hurts you more than you have words to describe. If that moment hurts, it has nothing on what you feel when she turns around and climbs into the van with RJ. 
——
One of your favorite things about Mr. Day is his ability to work in comfortable silence. He doesn’t press you for small talk or waste time preaching to you. He’s a quiet, peaceful man, and you can see Lorraine’s got it honest. When he does speak, he says what he means, and that’s that. 
The two of you had saddled up and ridden over an hour to his back pasture to repair the fencing that had been neglected over the season. There were several feet of fence that needed replacing, and it was laborious work. The two of you drudged along with the chore in silence, occasionally grunting or grumbling when the wires pierced through your gloves and cut your skin. It came as a shock to you when he left his post and came over to yours, leaning against the wood, clearly wanting to talk. 
You wipe your cheek with the back of your glove, pushing your hat back off your brow, and squint at him, “How you doin sir, comin along alright down there?”
He sighs, his black and silver mustache rustling with his breath, “I’m gettin too old for this mess y/n.”
You chuckle, “That’s what you have me for. I can finish this up if you want to head in.”
“What do you think of that boy, RJ?” 
You jerk your head back, the wire in your hand sinking into the skin of your palm, making you wince. You gulp, unsure of how to answer. 
“How do you mean?” You ask, willing your voice not to waver.
He tilts his head at you, his expression so shockingly similar to one Lorraine would make it nearly knocks the wind out of you. 
“I mean, what do you think of him?”
He doesn’t give you any further context, his tone is neutral and steady. 
“I think,” you pause a moment, “I think he’s fine.”
Mr. Day watches you for a moment, clearly evaluating you. “Try that again, and be honest.”
You set your pliers down on the fence post and pull your gloves off, your palm stinging from the fresh cut there. This man has known you since you were a child, and you should have known better than to try to sugarcoat your opinion in front of him. 
“I think he’s a pretentious asshole. If you’ll pardon my French.”
When he smiles at you, Lorraine is there again, in the crinkle of his dark eyes and the curve of his mustache hidden mouth. 
“That’s more like it.” 
He pushes off the fence and hobbles over to his horse, pulling two warm PBRs from his saddle bag. He hands you one as he leans back up against the fence and cracks his open, gulping it and eyeing you. You open yours and swig, relaxing your posture and turning to lean back with him. His presence is calming, and you feel grounded for the first time since you’d seen the van pull into the ranch driveway. 
“I just don’t know what she sees in him,” you tell him, your honesty shocking you.
He takes another drink, “I was hoping you’d tell me. Seems like you know Raine better than most, I’d say.”
The knowledge that he’d almost caught you having sex with his daughter several times now makes you hesitant to reply. You can’t know if he knows, but from his tone and the way he’s eyeing you, you’re beginning to think he does. It’s surprising to you that he doesn’t seem to be upset about it if he does know. You proceed under the assumption that he is ignorant of your situation, thinking it the safer option.
“I couldn’t tell you. Guess you could ask her.”
He grunts, “I could, but Mrs. Day would have my head. She says I ought to leave Raine be. She’s an adult and all.” 
You hum, drink your beer. He grunts and drinks his. You both stare off into the distance, watching the high grass rustle in the gentle afternoon breeze. You find your mind wandering, thinking about where Lorraine might be now and what she’s doing. You wonder if RJ ever takes her out for ice cream and if he notices the way she closes her eyes when she eats it, or how she taps her fingers against the cone in quiet excitement. The thought makes you feel sick, leading from the ice cream to what they’d do in private. His hands where yours had been, unaware of the now faded marks you’d left there. 
You chug the can and crush it, forgetting you were with company. You’re not lucky enough to have escaped his notice, and he watches you with careful eyes. You’re flooded with shame at your own anger and the sadness that weighs in your bones. You had no right to be upset, but that didn’t make the sting any less painful. 
Mr. Day sighs, the lines on his face almost sorrowful as he watches you, “Love is a pretty strange thing. Wilder than a feral mustang, and even harder to control.”
You don’t answer, his words settling over you. You think he must be referring to his daughter, but you get the tiniest notion that he’s not talking about her and RJ anymore. Unwilling to open Pandora’s box, you nod silently and pull your gloves back on, dropping the crushed can at your feet and returning to your work. He thumps you on the back affectionately and finishes his beer. 
“Well, would you look at that,” Mr. Day grumbles, “Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.”
You frown in confusion, still twisting the wire around the post. You clip the end and turn, following his gaze to a dirt cloud in the distance. The Day’s truck is rambling down the dirt cut toward you, kicking up dust behind it. It must be Lorraine because in all the years you’d worked for them, Mrs. Day had never graced you with her presence further than her backyard. Your stomach flips in excitement, and it makes you roll your eyes at yourself. Even in the depths of heartbreak, your body still reacted to the mere idea of her being near. Another beer is pushed into your hands, and you take it eagerly, knowing you’d need it to keep your cool as the truck nears and you see RJ in the passenger seat. 
You exchange a look with Mr. Day and pop the can open. Lorraine parks the truck and slides out, shooting you a shy smile. 
She beams at Mr. Day, “Hey Daddy! Momma told me to come out here and pick you up.”
He grunts, but you can see the smile behind his mustache, “She gonna come out here and patch this fence then?”
“I can help!” RJ chirps, rounding the truck, a small camera in his hand. 
It’s quiet for a moment as the three of you stare at him in disbelief. You look at his soft hands and smirk, knowing full well, he was incapable of doing manual labor. You don’t miss the chastising look Lorraine shoots you. 
“You gonna do that with a camera in your hand?” Mr. Day asks him, not unkindly, but his tone isn’t warm either.
RJs steps stutter as he looks down at the camera. He appears to be afraid to part with it and hangs it around his neck with the lanyard. He puts his hands up to show they’re free and smiles. Your lip curls involuntarily, his mere presence putting you in a bad mood. You decide it’s best to keep your mouth shut because if you speak, you’re going to say something that will upset Lorraine. Instead, you take a few healthy gulps of your beer, the warm liquid fizzling in your stomach and calming you. 
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea RJ,” Lorraine says, “Mending fence ain’t easy.”
He scoffs, his spine straightening. He may as well beat on his chest with machismo. He looks so self-assured. “I can do it Lorraine.”
Lorraine shrinks, nodding. She avoids your pointed gaze, keeping her eyes trained on her shoes. You tilt your head, feeling surly knowing you can’t do anything to help her without making the situation worse. Then an idea springs forth in your mind, making you smirk. You pull your gloves off, leveling RJ with a challenging stare.
“Here you go RJ, take my spot. I need a break anyway.” You hold the gloves and pliers out to him, daring him to refuse. 
You can see the indecision warring in his eyes, not expecting you to call his apparent bluff. You shake the gloves at him with impatience. If he wants a masculine display, you’re going to allow him to try. Lorraine raises an eyebrow at you, warning you to tread lightly. You find that you no longer care if you upset her at the moment. You flash her a brilliant smile as RJ takes the tools from your hands. 
Mr. Day nods and finishes off his beer, “Come here then boy, let me show you how to tie the lines.” 
You lean your back against the grill of the truck and cross your feet, sipping your warm beer and waiting for the inevitable. Lorraine slides over next to you, her arm brushing yours. You try to ignore the way it makes your stomach cartwheel. As upset as you were with her, something in you enjoys the sensation of your forbidden, secret intimacy. 
She leans her head toward you, whispering, “You know this is not gonna end well y/n.”
You snort, tip the beer can to your lips, “Whatever makes you say that, Lorraine?”
She turns her head up to stare daggers at you, but you keep your eyes trained on RJ and Mr. Day. She doesn’t push the conversation and looks toward the fence again.
It takes all of five minutes for RJ to hurt himself. You sneer, hearing him cry out over the wire in his palm. Mr. Day shakes his head at him and looks to his daughter for support. Lorraine pushes herself off the truck, quickly making her way to fuss over RJs bleeding palm. 
He brushes her off, “Don’t touch it! I don’t need your help. Just get me a bandage.”
She jerks back, startled by his harsh tone. You step forward, ready to stand between them if he says anything else. Luckily her father takes the lead in handling the outburst. 
“Young man, you’d do well not to speak to my daughter like that. Get in the truck, I’ll drive you back to the house for a band-aid.”
RJ glances back and forth between him and Lorraine, fear apparent on his face, “Oh no sir, Raine can drive me, can’t you baby?”
She opens her mouth to answer, but she’s interrupted by her dad, “I said get in the truck boy. Rainey, ride Shimmer back to the barn. Give her a good gallop before she sees it, though, don’t want her goin barn sour like old CB over here.”
“Hey!” You yelp, “My son is not barn sour!”
Mr. Day chuckles, “Kick him in gear then and see who gets back faster. You can finish the fence tomorrow.”
You narrow your eyes at him playfully, thinking he’s made this decision on purpose. He’s setting you up for an hour alone with Lorraine, and it’s transparent to you. The love you have for him grows even further in that moment. 
The truck rolls out of sight while you finish packing up your tools, Lorraine adjusting her father's stirrups to fit her legs. You fill up your saddlebags and buckle them closed, patting CB on his rump affectionately. You turn your head to watch Lorraine, her hands on her hips, trying to work out how to climb on top of Shimmer without a step stool. You lean your shoulder against CB, crossing your arms, content to watch her struggle until she asks for help. Shimmer is at least three hands taller than Lorraine’s quarter horse, so she’s slightly out of her depth. You stifle your laughter as you watch her try to hike her leg high enough to get her toes in the stirrup and fail. She turns and glares at you, her pride too large to ask you for help yet. 
After a few more minutes, you can’t take watching her struggle any longer. You saunter over to her and kneel down, silently offering your bent leg as a step stool. She huffs, hesitates a moment, and steps on you to swing her leg over Shimmer’s back. 
“Thank you,” she grumbles, gathering the reins in her hand. 
You tip your hat at her and stand, “My pleasure ma’am.”
She pulls the reins, so Shimmer turns and smacks you with her head, stomping in irritation at the command. You stumble backward, laughing, and jog back to CB, hopping up into your saddle with ease.
The ride back is anything but relaxing. Lorraine is quiet, introspective. You peek over at her every few minutes, trying to find a way to start the conversation you desperately need to have. A conversation a part of you does not want to have because it requires a terrifying amount of vulnerability. 
“So,” you start, leaving the word hanging in hopes she picks up where you left off. She doesn’t.
“So, how…how was your night?” You don’t really want to know the answer to this question, the possibility of her giving you an answer that will gut you being very high.
She gives you an impassive glance, “Just ask me what you want to ask me.”
You screw your face up, the accusation hurting your feelings, “I asked you what I wanted to ask you.”
“No, you didn’t.” She turns her head to watch you, her body gently rocking with Shimmer’s slow steps.
You clench your jaw and purse your lips, “Did you…did you-“
“No,” she interrupts, relieving you of asking the question that was making you feel like you were sinking. 
You visibly relax, and you see her smile from the corner of your eye. “Did he-“
“Now that is none of your business,” she stops you. 
You frown, then let it slide from your face when you realize you’re being petulant. Just take the win that she did not have sex with him yet. Yet. The word weighs heavy on you. 
“What does this mean,” you ask quietly, looking down at your hands, “for us?”
She sighs, “I don’t know yet.”
There it is again. Yet. 
You nod in acceptance and keep your eyes trained on the horizon.
——
You decide to camp by the pond for the night. You didn’t want to feel trapped in your apartment. The walls and ceilings would make you feel caged. You ride CB out to the clearing and pull his saddle and blankets off his back when you get there, letting him roam freely. He never goes too far and knows to come to you if you call. A small campfire burns in a dirt patch, your sleeping bag rolled out next to it. 
You settle in and lay on your back, your hands under your head, and get lost in the stars. As much as you’d like to not think of Lorraine, your brain just can’t seem to help itself. It was a small comfort to know she hadn’t slept with RJ the night prior, but every passing day meant you were inevitably closer to the moment when it would happen. You’re unsure of how you should feel about it, but you know that it makes you sick to your stomach. How you’re going to manage this is beyond you. Would she leave him? For you? You snort a cold laugh through your nose, knowing that situation was impossible. You had nothing to offer her that RJ didn’t have. In fact, his being a man made Lorraine’s life easier; being with you would mean a lifelong struggle against adversity. You want to want a simple life for her. You want to want for her to be happy with him. But you don’t. What you really want is simple. You want her. 
Trees rustling off to your side draw your attention away from your thoughts, and you sit up on your elbows. Your shotgun is at your side, and you eye it warily. Branches snapping and bushes being pushed aside gain CB’s attention as well. He picks his head up and stares into the brush with you. Your body grows tenser the closer the sound comes, and your fingers inch toward the gun. 
Lorraine bursts through the trees on her little quarter horse Pearl, her white coat shining in the moonlight. You breathe a sigh of relief, and CB drops his head back down to chomp at the grass when he realizes it’s his barn companion. She doesn’t remove Pearl’s saddle when she climbs down, telling you she doesn’t intend to stay. She walks around the fire, and you move off your sleeping bag into the grass. You gesture at it, telling her to sit on the fabric. 
“Hey,” she says as she drops down next to you.
“Hey.”
“I thought I’d find you out here. CB’s stall was empty.”
“Yeah, I figured we could use some fresh air for the night.”
She nods thoughtfully and reaches her hand out to rest on your leg. You look down at her fingers and fight the urge to lean into her. Your spine goes stiff with the effort of it, and she notices. Her teeth worry at her bottom lip, and her eyes wander everywhere but on you. She’s here for a reason, so you decide to wait for her to tell you what it is. Even if it’s not something you’re prepared to hear. 
“So. You like Maxine?” She says, moving her hand from your leg to pull up blades of grass from the dirt.
You laugh, your expression appalled, “What?”
“I saw how you looked at her. Kissed her hand.” 
You shrug, feeling guilty, “I don’t like Maxine.”
“Why not?”
Irritation flares up in you, simmering in your veins. How could she ask that? As if she doesn’t know that you don’t like Maxine because you only have eyes for her now. You hold your tongue, not wanting to lash out at her.
“Come on Raine. You know why.”
She turns her head away from you as if that was the last thing she’d wanted to hear. You’re sure it complicates things, having her know you wouldn’t move on so easily. 
“RJ is a good man.” Is all she says back, and it stings. 
Your anger is building now, becoming unmanageable. “He’s not good to you. He’s a self-righteous prick Lorraine.”
She tips her head back, blinking quickly, “That’s not fair. You don’t know him.”
“I know him well enough.”
“Maybe he’s what I deserve.”
The words hang in the air, and to you, they look a lot like a noose. A hangman’s collar for the relationship built between the two of you. 
“You deserve more than him.”
You can see her jaw clench; she’s becoming irritated with you now. “Tell me what I deserve that he doesn’t give me?” Her voice shakes, tears brimming in her eyes when she looks at you. 
“Love,” you say gently, “The ability to know you better than he knows himself. Taking the time to learn that you like the smell of jasmine more than roses, that you’re adventurous and kind, that once you gave that homeless woman in Austin your shoes because she didn’t have any.”
She lays down on her back, her hands at her side. She’s silent for a long time, longer than you’d like, but you let it settle over you. 
“You never asked me what my dream was about. From the other night.”
You turn your head to look at her, and her expression is so soft, her smile weak, and her eyes watery. It’s like a javelin to the gut. 
“I just assumed it was something to do with what we’d done the day prior.”
She sighs, turns her head back toward the stars, “No. No, it wasn’t that, I have real life for that.”
You roll toward her and prop your head up on your hand, “Well, what then? You said you dreamt about me.”
“I did. You were little again, five, maybe six. Like the day we first met. Overalls and pigtails and everything.”
You chuckle in spite of the growing despair crushing your chest, “You remember that?”
She scoffs, “Course I do. You shoved that boy Rance into the sandbox and kicked dirt in his eyes.”
“He called your freckles ugly. He deserved it, I’d do it again.”
She laughs, the sound tinkling from her lips and wrapping itself around you like a snake made of nostalgic joy. 
“I remember that too.” She turns her head and looks up at your face, “That was the day I told my Momma I loved you.”
A genuine chuckle escapes you, and you fight the urge to reach for her, “What did she say to that?”
“The same thing she told me today.”
Your eyebrows lift in surprise, “You told your momma you loved me today?”
She nods, blinks a tear from between her lashes. Your hand slides over the grass toward her, but stops just inches from her elbow. 
“What did she say?”
“She said Atlantas was beautiful, and now it’s gone because they built on unstable foundation.”
You blink, taken aback, “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know,” she sighs. 
You’re struck with the idea that she does know, but she’s afraid to say. The look in her eyes is so mournful, you feel like you know too. You swallow hard, your throat constricting painfully. 
“What happened in your dream?” Your voice cracks, betraying your calm exterior.
She closes her eyes and smiles, “You offered me a candy from your pocket. It was covered in sand, but you were very proud of it.”
You lie back, turning toward the sky again, staying silent. 
She continues, “When I took it from you, you grew up, and we were on the ranch. You climbed up on CB’s back, looked at me, and said, ‘I was looking for you,’ and then you turned and rode off into the sunset. I stood there and watched you until I woke up.”
You nod, the grass rustling under your head, “Well, your dreams got that part right. I’m always looking for you.” 
She squeezes her eyes shut, and her hands press into her stomach. When she opens them, tears brim at the lids but don’t fall. 
She sighs and sits up, looks down at you.
“I better get back.” She pushes herself to her feet, and you don’t watch her go as she leaves you there.
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ask-altobjects · 5 years
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Are y'all excited for christmas?
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its shaping up to be such a wonderful holiday!((yes))
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perilousforest · 6 years
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I’m love them so much???
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snowflakeb0ttles · 6 years
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Everyone else is drawin these two, so i figured i’d give it a try c:
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charmanderxerneas · 6 years
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Favorite ii 12 screenshots part 3
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