#moss wall panels

[austinmosstx]

Austin Moss Creations is a company that specializes in creating beautiful living moss wall art. They use a combination of natural moss, preserved moss, and other materials to create unique works of art that are both aesthetically pleasing and environmentally friendly.

Austin Moss Creations 902 E. 5th St., Austin, TX 78702 737–888–4602

Official Website: https://austinmosscreations.com/ Google Plus Listing: https://www.google.com/maps?cid=2342507138546727811

Other Service We Provide:

MOSS WALLS MOSS PANELS CUSTOMIZED MOSS ART

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#moss wall panels #living moss wall art #Youtube

[jessicaschein]

Transitional Living Room in Charlotte Living room - mid-sized transitional enclosed carpeted living room idea with a bar, gray walls, no fireplace and no tv

#crystal chandelier #metallic grasscloth #adult sitting room #neutral walls #moss #patterned window curtains #recessed wall paneling

[charliemwrites]

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

#cod #thoughts™️ #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #konig #konig x you #konig x reader #nikto x reader #sebastian krueger #krueger x reader #cod nikto #konig cod #neighbor!reader

[hometoursandotherstuff]

According to the description, the current owner loves and cherishes this 1968 mid-century modern home in Fairmont, West Virginia, and it shows. Wonder why he's selling it. 4bds, 4ba, $729K.

Very different entrance. It has wide, gray, plank flooring and stick walls, which you never see in MCMs. Also, look at the simulated worn finish on the doors.

The home is very chic. On the exterior wall is a sign that says "Lava House," so I'm assuming that the fireplace is made from lava rock. Note the white board that says, "Welcome to our Beautiful Home."

Love the black & white kitchen, especially the blacksplash, counters, and ceiling. I'm so bored with the HGTV designers choosing basick pure white counters. This is stunning.

Here's a little bar in the corner with a rock wall and artsy ceiling. The window wall looks like a gold mesh and the colorful drapes really set it off.

The dining area has the same ceiling as the kitchen's but it's painted white. There's a nice MCM colored glass panel in the wall, also. So many touches, like the herring bone wall and shelving.

This is amazing- a wall of old books, moss and flowers. That looks so lovely. I've seen this before, but never with plants.

The walls in the primary bedroom are so interesting. Every one is different.

This home is a work of art. It even has a gray toilet.

Huge secondary bedroom with 3 stripes on the walls and ceilings.

Now, there's a very 60s mod mural.

Look at the shower in this bath. HGTV would shit.

The rooms in this home are so big. The family room floor looks like it's cement. The walls look like they have a bamboo or straw paper, and how cool are those pocket doors?

I don't think I've ever seen this much texture in any other home.

Look at how fun and bright the 2nd kitchen is.

These owners were not afraid to experiment and go bold, and it paid off.

The lot is a little over an acre, but the yard is private and fenced in.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1662-Fairmont-Ave-Fairmont-WV-26554/22729697_zpid/

#mid century modern homes #MCM architecture #colorful homes #houses #house tours #home tour

[irinaseverinka]

ECO bathroom

A set of furniture and nature decor for decorating a bathroom in Eco-style. Natural stone, wood and living plants will create a cozy corner of nature for your sims.

3 colors - white, beige and black marble.

BASE GAME - LOW POLY

DOWNLOAD Pt. I

tub - sink - toilet - shelf (right and left) - shelf with an ecosystem - 2 figured mirrors with backlight - 2 racks

DOWNLOAD Pt.II

moss panels 3 variant size (for short and medium walls) - round moss decor - 2 stones path (rug) - small plant

#ts4 #sims4 #sims4cc #ts4cc #ts4 download #ts4 furniture #severinka #ts4 objects #ts4 custom content #tsr #thesimsresource #ts4 simbrl #ts4 simblr #ts4 eco lifestyle

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Vash the Stampede x reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] The first of many reposts from my old blog. [ SYNOPSIS ] You're the child of a dead preacher. He's an angel on the run. [ WORD COUNT ] 6.5k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, fallen seraph!Vash, I'm just making up shit about angels honestly, graphic injuries, sacrilege, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, virginity loss, Vash has a big dick and he does not know how to use it, creampie, sad ending (I'm sorry).

“I don’t remember it looking this…”

Your now former groundskeeper guffawed on the other end of the line. “Shitty?”

You shook your head even though your father’s abandoned church was in rough shape. It was clear not a soul had been looking after it.

“It looks…”

“I ain’t got all day.”

You thought long and hard. “Depressing,” you finally muttered. “I thought you were going to take care of it.”

“You think I’m gonna work for free?”

“If money was an issue you should have said something,” you sneered.

She coughed. “I ain’t that chapel’s keeper,” she replied firmly.

The chapel was tucked away deep in the mountains away from town. You looked at the ivy covered door barely on its hinges. Lichen had overtaken the walls. The roof was covered with decaying leaves and bright green moss and had a sizable hole. It was a miracle it hadn’t caved in. Most derelict buildings didn’t survive the rainy season let alone several.

“Probably full of mold and critters anyway. I don’t know why you wanna be there in the first place.”

“I…”

Even you didn’t know why you came. Your father had been dead for a while. It’s not as if you were seeking closure. Your scars had healed long ago, the pain only a dull twinge if you saw photos of him giving you a piggyback ride or sleeping on a sun soaked beach.

“Boredom,” you laughed. “No other reason.”

“Lia—”

You hung up before she could utter the entirety of the word. You knew it was mostly out of guilt for letting things get this bad.

You walked the perimeter and tried to avoid the tall grass that surrounded the church. It was amazing how fast the mountain was able to reclaim it all. Sooner or later the concrete pathways would get eaten up by the earth, but for now it was only nipping at its heels. As you made your way to the back, your feet leaving deep imprints in the soft, waterlogged soil, you were confronted by a massive hole in the ground. You were centimeters away from falling into it.

“Holy shit.”

You squatted down to get a better look at the crater. There were iridescent white feathers scattered about, some stained with blood. You couldn’t tell if it was fresh or not. There was no bird in the area that could make a hole of that size in the ground, but you couldn’t think of any other explanation. You stood up and noticed evidence of something clawing its way out of the hole. A trail of bloodied feathers made their way to the back door of the church, or rather where the back door should have been. It was missing altogether, ripped from the hinges.

All the signs pointed to getting the fuck out of there, but you couldn’t quell the curiosity swirling inside you. Sweaty palms and the pit in your stomach weren’t good enough deterrents. You took slow steps towards the gaping doorway. Each step felt like a potential death sentence but you were steadfast.

You peeked your head inside and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just pews and the other side of the church. Light streamed through the hole in the ceiling and a few of the lancet windows, giving everything an ethereal look. It felt liminal, a place between worlds. Stepping inside you were greeted by native grasses popping up between the wood paneled flooring and a few more bloodied feathers.

“This can’t be safe,” you muttered, making damn sure to take careful steps.

You really had no business being in there. There was nothing special or sentimental stowed away. Your father’s belongings and any items of religious importance were swiftly removed upon his death. All that remained was dust and several moldy study bibles.

You stepped deeper inside and stood beside the pulpit. Images of your father preaching fluttered about your mind. His voice was clear as day, only making the lack of him more apparent. You felt like someone was pushing needles into your heart. You stumbled away to the pews, hoping distance would rip you away from your memories.

You crept down the aisle, following the trail of feathers. It was much like your father had many times before on his way from the pulpit. The pews were in terrible shape, the cushions had all rotted away. You hoped to sit in one for old time’s sake, but it was a risk you were unwilling to take. Stained, festering nylon curtains covered most of the lancet windows, though a goodly portion of them had been haphazardly torn down. You assumed it was an animal for your own comfort.

Continuing down the aisle you noticed a large heap in the corner where the feathers ended. It was wrapped up in the missing curtains and shivering. You tried to think if there were any sightings of enormous birds in a desperate attempt to make sense of it all. Of course nothing came to mind; it was only wishful thinking.

Your eyes darted around, looking for something long to poke the heap with. The only option was a study bible. You quietly reached for one near the pews, the cover moist between your fingers. You started to dry heave as the smell of the old, wet book enveloped you.

“Ew, ew, ew,” you said, tossing the bible at the shivering mound.

Your aim was terrible and the bible slammed into the wall before hitting the ground beside the heap with a loud thud. Your mouth filled with saliva, anxious nausea overwhelming you. The heap shot upright, the curtains still clinging to its form. You didn’t know what to do so you ran out the back door. In your hurry to escape you tripped into the crater. You could feel death surrounding you, the air around you signaling your inevitable demise. You tried to climb out of the hole, but it was simply too deep. Fertile soil wedged itself under your fingernails in your futile attempt to escape.

You sunk down and sat in the dirt, holding your head in your hands. You felt like an idiot. Why did you come here? What purpose did this serve?

In the midst of your mental breakdown, you heard footsteps and again made a pathetic attempt to pull yourself out of the hole. You nearly vomited when you saw a tall figure obscured by curtains hovering above you. It squatted down and held out a shaky, wounded hand. You were too frightened to move.

“Take it,” a small voice rasped.

You continued to stare at it, wide-eyed and terrified. It wiggled its fingers.

“I don’t have all day.”

You slowly reached up and grabbed its hand. Its palm was rough, fingernails full of the same dirt that was underneath yours. The heap hoisted you out of the hole with an ease you didn’t expect. It seemed so fragile when you first saw it shivering in the church.

It quickly scuttled back inside before you could properly thank it. You stood there, eyes fixed on the open back door. You knew the right thing to do was run down the road and get in your car, but again your curiosity got the best of you. You made your way back into the church and tip-toed over to the figure. It was resting in the same corner, only this time its feet were sticking out from under the curtain. Streaks of blood marred its skin.

“Hello?”

Its shivering stopped.

“Hey. Uh, I…”

Your sentence trailed off and again, the heap was silent. Against better judgment you reached out to it. Just as it was within reach it swiftly grabbed your wrist. You stared in horror at the scarred arm. Your life began to flash before your eyes, or it did until you got a glimpse of the heap.

As you tried to pull away the curtain parted enough so you could see half of a face and the prettiest eye you’d ever seen. It was a striking blue-green color with long, dark eyelashes. Strands of blonde and black hair peeked out as well. The heap released your arm and tried in vain to cover his face.

“I… I just wanted to say thank you!” you blurted out.

“You’re welcome. Now go away.”

“... Can I ask why you’re here?”

“No,” it said.

“I’ll have you know this is my property,” you said, trying to sound threatening. You felt like a bad actor. “Either you tell me or I’ll call the cops.”

It paused. “I’m resting.”

“Okay… Are you hurt?”

Maybe it was a hiker that got injured and sought refuge in the first building it saw. That seemed the most likely though it didn’t explain all the feathers.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“No. I mean, yes! Please. Leave me alone,” it said as the curtain slid down, revealing its face.

It was a man, a handsome one at that. His face was scratched up and covered in swatches of dirt. His skin was tanned, like he was someone that spent his days toiling under the kiss of the sun. His hair was a disaster, blonde and black strands sticking up like he’d just woken up from a neverending nap. Your starry-eyed expression seemed to make him realize the curtains were no longer obscuring every part of him.

“Dammit,” he whimpered.

Your heart was caught in your throat. You needed to focus on something else, something other than him and his arresting beauty.

“Y—you know those curtains are pretty gross. I wouldn’t wrap myself up in them… Just saying.”

He looked away from you and stared at the ground.

“I don’t have any other options.”

“Okay I get that, but those curtains are still beyond disgusting.”

The man narrowed his eyes before letting the curtains drop. You only got a brief glimpse of his beaten body before a mass of wings appeared and shielded himself from you. They were made of the same iridescent feathers that littered the church.

“Ow.”

Blood still clung to many of them. You tried your best to stay calm.

“So you are hurt.”

“It’s not like you can do anything about it. Now leave me alone. I’ll be gone soon.” His stern voice gave way to a whinier one. “I hope.”

“Are you, like, waiting on someone?”

“Oh yes,” he sneered. “I’m waiting for my brethren to pick me up. They should be here any day now. I just have to wait for the sound of their herald.”

“No need to be hostile. You are in my chapel.”

“And? I’m one of your God’s messengers.”

You gulped. You never thought you’d be in the presence of a literal angel. After your father died you “turned your back on God” and dissolved the congregation much to the chagrin of the parishioners. You didn’t see any reason to continue on. Scripture was nonsense and served to remind you of the things you lacked, namely your father.

The angel peeked out from behind his wings.

“Ha. Can’t beat that, can you?” he asked with a weak smile.

“I guess not… How long will you be here?”

“Don’t know,” he said before wincing.

He looked tired. You weren’t sure if angels needed to sleep or not, but resting certainly wouldn’t hurt. Carting him to your apartment crossed your mind, but there was no way you could explain his presence to your neighbors. If you lived in a city, you could probably get away with it. But small towns weren’t made for secrets and strange men.

“Stop staring,” he said before a small wing appeared, hiding his face. “Ouch.”

“Does that hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“Uh, like, having your wings out.”

“It’s excruciating.”

“You can put them away then. It’s not like I haven’t seen a naked body before.”

The angel let out a heavy sigh as the feathers fell and the bones seemed to melt away. His arms were torn up and covered in cuts, his left arm was practically ripped to shreds. One of his clavicles was broken so badly the bone had torn through his skin. His legs were much like his arms and riddled with cuts. Pillowy yellow fat spilled from one of the deeper ones. A wisps of iridescent feathers still clung to various parts of his broken body.

He held his legs close to his chest, trying to hide as much of himself as possible, and looked up at you like a neglected puppy.

“Who did this to you?” you asked.

He laughed, the fakest one you had ever heard. “The ground.”

Prying crossed your mind, but you doubted he’d be truthful. A strong gust blew through the church, the cold drilling itself into your skin. You dug your hands into the pockets of your coat as your body began to fold in on itself. You were never one to successfully withstand the cold.

It seemed the angel wasn’t either, if his whimpering was anything to go by. You straightened your back and cleared your throat.

“Here,” you said, pulling off your coat. You squatted down next to him and draped it over his shoulders. It didn’t offer much coverage, but the thought was there. “I can’t stand seeing someone look so miserable.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling weakly.

“You’re supposed to say thank you.”

The apples of his cheeks flushed pink and he bashfully thanked you. It was astounding how cute he was. You found yourself lost in his eyes; they looked like perfectly polished turquoise. Every aspect of him drew you in. You weren’t sure if it was because of his angelic nature. You couldn’t remember if they were capable of being so bewitching.

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with your staring. Your skin grew hot the second you realized this.

“Fuck. I guess I’m the one that’s sorry now, huh?”

He smiled weakly once more.

“It’s fine,” he said before looking out one of the windows. “The sun’s going to set soon. You should get going.”

You nervously scratched the base of your skull. “I feel kind of weird leaving you here in… this state,” you said, eyes fixed on his busted collarbone. “Let me, uh, you know… help you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“Most things in my life can be described like that and it has yet to stop me.”

You reached out and wiped away some of the dirt on his cheek with the pad of your thumb. You usually weren’t so gutsy but you felt overwhelmingly compelled. You need to help this man, this angel.

“Do you have a name?”

“Vash.”

“Cute. Shit. Cool. I mean, nice to meet you,” you said before telling him your name.

He repeated your name under his breath and your stomach was aflutter. You wanted to hear him say it over and over again. You inhaled deeply and tried to compose yourself. You stood up and gazed down at the nude heap of a man that sat in front of you.

“Come home with me. You’ll be more comfortable.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

You furrowed your brow. You weren’t confident in your ability to persuade him. You didn’t want to press too hard and scare him off.

“Fine. But I’m coming back tomorrow with some clothes. Maybe a blanket. Food too. Wait… Do you even eat?”

“I eat. I don’t have to, but I like to.”

“What should I bring you?”

His eyes widened and seemed to sparkle.

“Doughnuts.”

“Noted.”

“And pizza.”

You giggled. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” he said with a grin, flashing his pointy canine teeth.

After a restless night’s sleep, you set out to gather supplies. You went to a thrift store and grabbed a bunch of shirts that seemed like they’d fit Vash’s lithe yet toned body. You bought a few pairs of pants that looked long, and briefly stared down an old and opened pack of men’s underwear. You wouldn’t dare bring him such a cursed item. He was an angel after all. You didn’t want to inadvertently get on his shit list. He would just have to go commando.

Your next stop was the grocery store where you bought a sizable first aid kit and dozen doughnuts of varying flavors. You couldn’t parse out his taste so you decided to go a little overboard. If anyone deserved to be spoiled, it was him. You wanted him to be comfortable, to be at ease.

The drive up the mountain was peaceful. But the sky was gradually becoming speckled with blotchy, grey clouds.

“I’m back,” you said in a sing-song voice as you entered the chapel.

You walked down the aisle in between the pews and found Vash where you had left him last night. He was asleep under the musty curtain and was using your jacket as a makeshift pillow. You put down your bags and squatted beside him.

“Hey,” you said, running your hand over his dirty hair.

His eyes fluttered open, his expression was of momentary terror before he realized it was only you.

“Hi,” he yawned.  

“No pizza, but! I have doughnuts and some clothes. I don’t know your size so I just grabbed a bunch of shit.”

“Thank you,” he said, sitting up slowly. You were happy to see that his collarbone was no longer piercing his skin. All that remained was a dark scar.

He reached for the bag and pulled the clothes out, expressing zero interest in them. His eyes lit up when he saw the pink box and eagerly took it out of the bag. He almost looked a little teary eyed.

“I also didn’t know what flavor you liked so I—”

He shoved a glazed cruller into his mouth. “I like all kinds,” he replied, voice muffled by his full mouth.

He swallowed and beamed. He had one of those smiles that could melt the heart of even the coldest person.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling out a chocolate doughnut from the box.

“No problem. I—” 

Before you could finish your sentence a droplet of water landed on the tip of your nose.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

Looking up at the hole in the ceiling you saw that the sky was now an unforgiving and darkened grey. You tossed your head back and groaned. Your mind was assaulted with a cascade of thoughts.

I hate driving in the rain. The road back has so many hairpin turns. He can’t stay here. Not like he can stay with me though. I guess I could leave him. But I’m sick of running from everything. What if the entire ceiling caves in? What’ll happen to him? What would dad do?

You knew he wouldn’t leave an angel behind to rot in his chapel that was for sure.

“Something wrong?” Vash asked before biting into a maple bar.

“Come home with me.”

“What? No way.”

“You can’t stay here. Not in the rain. You’ll be miserable.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve already caused you enough trouble.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you snapped. “Now get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

You kept your sentences short and firm. You didn’t want to give him any room to weasel his way out of your demands. There was no way in hell you were going to let this battered angel suffer. His protesting meant nothing to you.

Vash winced as the rain worked its way into his wounds.

“Well when you put it like that,” he said as he eased his way up from the cold and unforgiving floor.

You averted your eyes, making a conscious effort not to stare. The urge was there, an ever present annoyance, but you looked everywhere else. The hole in the ceiling. The decaying floors. The rain tapping at the windows. When you finally looked at him he was dressed. The white button-down wasn’t a perfect fit; the oversized nature of it made him look even more fragile. And the pants were too short, the hems just barely covering his shins.

“Do I look stupid?”

“You look like… I had no idea what I was doing while I was shopping,” you laughed. “C’mon. Let’s go before it starts pouring.”

You held out your hand and immediately felt like an idiot. He was an angel. Would someone like him ever need assistance from someone like you?

Surprisingly, he took your hand. His palms were big and rough, fingers long and graceful. Your heart pounded in your chest as you led him out of the chapel. You couldn’t stop thinking about his hands caressing your shoulders and how lovely a sensation it must be. You sighed in relief once you saw your car, immediately unlocking it. He went to get in the backseat and you stifled a laugh.

“You don’t wanna sit up front?”

“Do you want me to?”

You hated him for asking. Of course you wanted him to, but you didn’t want to have to actually disclose that.

“I’ll feel like a chauffeur if you sit in the back,” you replied, purposefully avoiding his question.

He smiled, eyes narrowed, a teasing expression. He wasn’t stupid and you were a bad actor. Wordlessly he got in the passenger seat much to your relief.

The drive itself wasn’t all that bad, but still you were consumed with anxiety. Vash kept his face glued to the window, looking outside at the redwoods that embraced the mountain. His inattention gave you plenty of time to craft an excuse as to why he was with you in the first place.

“If anyone asks, and I’m really hoping no one will, say we went to college together,” you said, hands clenching the steering wheel.

“Hm?” he said, redirecting his attention. He gazed at you, eyes trained on your lips. “What were you saying?”

“I—uh. If anyone… Be normal.”

“Normal?”

“Ye—yeah. Normal.”

“Should I say I’m your boyfriend?”

“What?! No!”

“Is that not normal?”

“It’s… ugh. Technically! I guess!”

“So I can say that then?”

“No. Say something else.”

“Something else.”

You spent the last twenty minutes of the drive feeling vaguely nauseous and mildly sweaty.

The two of you managed to make it to your apartment door without running into anyone. You hurriedly tried to unlock it, only to drop the key because of your impatience.

“Hello,” you heard Vash say cheerily.

You turned around in horror and saw your landlord. He merely nodded and waddled out of sight.

“Nice to meet you! I’m their boyfriend!” Vash shouted after him.

“What is wrong with you?” you growled, shoving the key into the lock.

You swung the door open and pulled the obnoxious angel inside.

He stood bashfully in your living room. “What? It was funny.”

“Hardly,” you hissed.

Your annoyance with him was gone as fast as it came. He somehow looked more exhausted and battered surrounded by the comfort of your home. How could you hold even a pinch of resentment for someone in his state and of his stature? The right thing to do was ease his misery, not stoke its flames.

“You should shower. You’d probably feel better.”

“I don’t think I can stand that long.”

“Bath?”

“With my luck I’d fall asleep and drown.”

“What if I help?”

He appeared to be deep in thought. “That’ll work.”

You led him into the bathroom and ran a hot bath. Steam filled the bathroom. The warmth was welcome on such a harsh and rainy night. Vash got undressed and lowered himself into the water. He let out a pleased groan, one that made your brain stop functioning.

You buried your lewd thoughts into the depths of your mind and sat on the edge of the tub, guiding Vash so he was positioned in between your legs. Suddenly you were plagued with shyness.

“Ah, um, co—could you dunk your head?” you asked timidly.

He obliged, sliding further into the tub and submerging himself in the bathwater. He shut his eyes and lingered underneath its weight. His face was solemn.

“Oh—okay. You can come up now,” you said.

He opened one of his eyes and smiled. He sat up. His wet hair slicked back leaving face on full display. You swallowed hard and squirted some shampoo into your hand.

“Let me know if it gets in your eyes.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll scream like a little girl.”

You laughed, probably harder than you should have. But you felt obligated to. He was trying so hard to keep up this thin facade.

You worked the shampoo into his hair, letting the silky strands slide between your fingers.

“Smells nice,” he murmured.

“Thanks…”

An awkward silence enveloped the room. Neither of you knew what to say, what subject to broach. You focused on massaging his scalp, washing away every bit of blood and dirt. Every so often he broke out into a delighted hum.

“That feel good?” you asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Yesssss,” he moaned.

You choked on your own spit.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.

“Yeah! I mean, yeah. Yeah. Yes. Uh, I need to—to rinse. Dunk your head again.”

He slid further into the tub, but he kept his face above the water. The soap spread through the water, encircling his head like a halo. He stared up at you, eyes still doe-like but now with a piercing quality. Silence filled the room once more.

“Is there something on my face?”

“What?” he said, eyes softening. “Oh! No, I was just staring.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his bluntness.

“You’re very beautiful.”

You felt dizzy, like the world was spinning around you.

“Th—thank you. Uh.” You lifted his head out of the water, unable to use your words. He followed your lead and sat back up. “You can wash your body, right? I can get your back. But… you should… probably do the rest.”

“I think I can manage.”

You got up and grabbed a fluffy washcloth off your bathroom counter.

“If it hurts—”

“I’ll let you know,” he chuckled.

You smiled nervously and wetted the wash cloth, squeezing out a generous amount of body wash into it. You looked at his back and the wounds that covered it. As you began to bathe him his shoulders tensed up. It didn't take long for the washcloth to tinge pink. His discomfort made you feel like there was a hole in your chest.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he whimpered.

“How do you plan on getting back?”

“Back to where?”

“To heaven.”

“I don’t,” he said solemnly.

Again you were unsure how to respond. You wrung out the washcloth and handed it to him. You watched as he washed his arms and nearly fell to the floor when he lifted one of his long legs out of the water.

“You can stay here as long as you want. You know that, right?”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Please. Don’t.”

“But you have nowhere else to go!”

“I’d be putting you in harm’s way,” he said, the sweetness gone from his voice. “It’s for your own good.”

How could he know what was good for you? You considered pressing him for more details, but his comfort trumped your curiosity.

“I just want to help you,” you muttered. “That’s all.”

He said nothing.

“I’ll… grab you a towel.”

You got out of the tub and left the bathroom, looking for any excuse to step away. You were caught between your need for answers and your need to keep him calm, to let him feel safe. Tears welled up in your eyes, not from sadness but frustration. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t sure what it was supposed to be, but you knew this wasn’t what you wanted for him.

As you searched for a towel your brain was overwhelmed with questions.

Who is he to decide what is and isn't for my own good? What harm is going to seek me out if he stays? How can I get him to stay? What will it take? What am I willing to give?

Your concentration was obliterated by the sound of him getting out of the tub. You grabbed a towel from your linen closet and returned to the bathroom.

“Here,” you said, handing him the towel.

As soon as he took it from his hand you turned and moped to your bedroom. You got undressed and threw on an oversized t-shirt. You planned on letting him sleep in your bed. You would take the couch even though it was uncomfortable to sleep on.

“Do you have something I can sleep in?”

You froze. You absolutely did not. You stumbled over to your dresser and searched for something, anything. He approached, standing beside you as you frantically looked.

“Those might fit,” he said, pointing at a pair of black running shorts.

He tried them on and they did indeed fit though the tip of his cock poked out. You pretended like you didn’t notice.

“I was thinking you could sleep in my bed.”

“That sounds good to me. Fair warning though, I’ll probably end up cuddling you.”

“I… I’m not… I’m gonna be on the couch.”

“Oh,” he said dejectedly.

“Did you want me to sleep with you?”

He blushed.

“I mean like… sleep-sleep,” you clarified.

He laughed. “Yeah! Of course. I knew… I knew what you meant.”

Your awkwardness was rubbing off on him. The two of you crawled into bed, leaving a sizable amount of space between your bodies. You were on your back, staring up at the ceiling, and failed at trying to will yourself unconscious.

You glanced over at Vash who seemed to be doing the same, except he was shivering.

“Are you cold?”

“A little,” he said.

You rolled over and closed the gap. You draped an arm over him and rested your head on his shoulder. You held him close to your body, hoping he could leech away some of your warmth.

“I should have covered you in band-aids.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m more worried about my sheets.”

“I see how it is. I don’t matter anymore?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m holding you. I don’t care about you at all.”

He snorted and wrapped his arm around you. The weight of it against your back made your heart pound. Making a move on him crossed your mind, but you were crippled by your inaction.

“Not comfortable,” he grumbled before turning to face you.

He pulled you into his embrace, arms snaking around your body. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, lips practically touching it. You were coming out of your skin; being so close to him left you spiraling. The likelihood of you ending up in a position like this again was slim. It was clear he had no intention of staying. If he turned you down it wasn’t like you’d have to face your failure for long.

You pressed your lips closer to his neck and kissed it. He slid one of his hands under your shirt and rubbed the small of your back. His rough palm against your flesh felt superb. You kissed his neck once more before you started to suck on it, grazing his skin with your teeth. His breathing grew heavy.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he blurted out.

“What do you mean?” you asked, lips still pressed to his neck.

“I’ve never done anything like this.”

“It’s fine. I don’t care,” you said, grinding up against him.

“Really?”

“Yes,” you cooed.

You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, catching his bottom lip between yours. Your noses awkwardly bumped up against each other. You forced him to tilt his head. You slipped your tongue into his mouth, teasing his. He eagerly reciprocated, rolling his tongue against yours. The kiss grew sloppier, more desperate. Drool trickled down your jaw.

You rubbed his exposed cocktip, swirling around the precum that leaked from it. He moaned in your mouth before breaking the kiss. He wasn’t able to quiet himself and you could listen to him whimper all night.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” he choked out, his eyes half-lidded.

You smirked and sucked your fingers clean.

“Lay on your back,” you purred.

He didn’t even hesitate as he swiftly moved into position. You pulled down the shorts you lent him and stared down his semi hard cock. You flicked your tongue against the tip.

He let out a pathetic moan. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. His brows were knitted in agony and he was trying to shut himself up with the back of his hand.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” you said while stroking the length of his cock.

You gently squeezed his balls and relished in another one of his pained moans. You guided his cock into your mouth and rolled your tongue against the underside of it. You bobbed your head, taking his cock deeper into your mouth. He groaned and bucked his hips. The sweet taste of precum coated your tongue. His cock was so leaky, so needy. He covered the entirety of his face with his hands.

 “It feels so good,” he panted, his voice muffled.

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded.

“You wanna fuck me?” you asked, arching your back.

He slightly sat up and looked down at you.

“Yes,” he whimpered.

You got up and straddled him. You wrapped your hand around his cock and rubbed it up against your throbbing clit. He grabbed a hold of your hips, his grip tight. Your legs felt like jelly as pleasure washed over you in waves. You lifted yourself up and slid his cock inside you.

“Oh my God,” he groaned as your cunt tightened around him.

The tip of his cock prodded your cervix, sending a shooting pain to your core.

“Ouch!!”

He sat up and cradled your face in his hands.

“What?! Are you okay?! What did I do?!”

“Too much too soon,” you said through gritted teeth. “But it’s fine. We—we’ll just take it slow.”

“Okay. Okay,” he repeated.

He lifted you off of his cock and gently rocked his hips, easing it back inside you.

“Perfect,” you moaned.

You matched his movements, careful not to jam the entirety of his cock into your cunt. You placed your hands on his chest, pinching his nipples between your fingers.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” you laughed before biting his neck.

“Ke—keep doing it,” he stammered, caught up in a haze of ecstasy.

You again pinched his nipples, harder than you had before. You sucked on his neck, determined to leave behind a bruise, something to remember you by. His pace was becoming a little more urgent, his thrusts growing more intense.

“Gentle,” you groaned.

Your cunt was dripping with arousal.

“What would God think about this?” you asked. You bit down on your bottom lip and awaited his answer.

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“C’mon,” you begged, rocking your hips.

“He—He.” Vash took a deep breath. “He’d be really—shit—disappointed.”

“Would he send me to hell?”

“I don’t know,” he whined. “I can’t think about that right now.”

You tightened your cunt around his cock.

“But I wanna know. Tell me how bad I am.”

He buried his face in your neck. He clearly didn’t want to play along and you didn’t want to push it any further. His thrusts were picking up in speed as he bottomed out. His cock kissed your cervix, but it thankfully didn’t hurt this time around.

“Your cock feels so good,” you moaned.

He held you close and continued to fuck your aching cunt. You felt so light, body and soul. It was like you were ascending, leaving the world behind. You grabbed one of his hands and directed him to rub your clit. His touch was anything but gentle as he roughly pressed up against your sensitive bud.

“Fuck! Please, don’t stop.”

He was more than happy to obey. He kissed you as you came, swallowing your enraptured moans. He continued to thrust, your cum coating his cock. His groaning and whimpering overtook the room, the most heavenly symphony you experienced.

“Are you gonna come too?” you cooed in his ear.

“Uh-huh,” he panted.

“Wanna come inside me?” 

“Yeah,” he whined.

Vash bucked his hips and spurts of warm cum filled your cunt. He reclined, taking you down with him. He released you from his embrace and you rolled over onto your back.

“So… What did you think?”

“I liked it a lot. Maybe even too much.”

You giggled. “I’m glad.”

You glanced over at him and noticed he was staring at you with his big, puppy dog eyes.

“Can we cuddle?”

He nodded and laid on his side, spooning you. You dozed off, listening to his breathing and the rain tapping against the window. It was so peaceful, one of those moments you wanted to last a lifetime.

A loud roar cut through the air. You sprung up out of bed and covered your ears, desperate to block out the noise. It sounded like the unholy combination of a jet engine and a blaring trumpet. You felt like your head was splitting in two, like someone was smashing your skull with a mallet. You were consumed with dread, with guilt. You felt sick to your stomach.

You saw Vash sitting on the edge of your bed, staring out the window.

“What the hell is that? Was that a fucking trumpet?” you asked, rubbing your head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

You yawned. “I’m getting really sick of you saying that.”

He turned to look at you, his face pale like a ghost’s.

“Just go back to sleep.”

You reached out to him. “I need you near me to do that.”

He gave you a wistful smile and snuggled up beside you. You held onto him tight, hoping your grip would be strong enough to trap him. You didn’t want him to leave. You needed him to stay. He was in no position to wander around on his own, running from God knows what.

“Promise you’ll stay. For a little while at least.”

He was silent.

“Vash.”

His eyes were shut and he was lightly snoring. You prayed that he heard you before he fell asleep, that he would remember what you said and let you help him. There was no reason for him to carry his burden alone, whatever it might be.

That morning you were dismayed to see your grip had been too weak. He was gone. You got up out of bed and looked around, hoping he was in the bathroom or digging through your kitchen cabinets. But he was nowhere to be found. You wondered if he had ever been there in the first place. Maybe he was just a delusion, the beginnings of a religious frenzy triggered by mental collapse.

You returned to your bedroom, hoping to sleep away your misery, and saw a hastily written note on your nightstand.

I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I knew leaving would be impossible if I waited for you to wake up. Please don’t take it personally. I wish I could sta

Thank you. For everything.

#vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #trigun smut #vash the stampede smut #trigun x reader #x reader #reader insert #.fics #.trigun #.vash

[lordcrumps]

Sul Sul!

Since my last bulk upload for all the 4T2 Floors and 4T2 EP14 Walls & Floors there has been some bas updates. So I thought I would convert them over, they just go with existing files that you already have.

EXTRAS

Some missing walls and floors that I did not convert due to me thinking they were ugly have now been converted. Some more packs have been uploaded also!

These include;

Desert Lux walls and floors,

Pastel Pop floors,

Decor to the Max walls and floors,

Base game grass

Eco Living walls and floors

Cottage Living grass

DOWNLOAD - lordcrumps.com

Names of walls and floors for Sims4T2BB

Base Game Update;

A Clean Slate

Another Slab O Concrete

Antqiue Stone Tile

Bowl of Cherrywood Floors

Brick and Blush

Chipper Tan Bark

Concrete Pavers with Gravel Accent

Eco Craft Hardwood Flooring

Elegant Parquet Flooring

Forest Fine Wood Flooring

Handscraped Wood Flooring

Haughty Herringbone Flooring

Heartwood Plank Flooring

Herringbone Hardwood Flooring

High Style Concrete

Kwality Wide Plank Flooring

Limber Lumber Fahsion Hardwoods

Limber Lumber Fashionable Flooring

No Moss Stone Pavers

Old World Wide Plank Flooring

Perfect Pebble Paver

Quaint Flagstone

Rockstone Pavers

Rustic Sandstone

Rustic Subfloor Slats

Throwback Cobblestone Brick Pavers

Walk the Short Plank Hardwood Flooring

Base Game;

Out to Pasture Grass

Out to Pasture Frass with Wildflowers

Eco Lifestyle

Corrugated Metal

Corrugated Metal Paneling

Layered Paneling

Panel to the Metal

Perfect Garden Grass

Shaded Grass

Sprouted Grass

Cottage Living

Primrose Path

Decor to the Max

Birds and Flowerin Hand

Fancy Craze A Maze

Geo and Logic

The Tiger Stalks Tonight

Triangulate

Desert Lux

Compressed Earth Flooring

Sand Mixed Concrete Wall

Pastel Pop

Berry Bundle

Snazzy Squiggle

Still Waters Run Depp

#4t2 #4t2 conversion #sims2cc #sims2 #4t2 cc #lordcrumpscc

[spotsupstuff]

fuckin' around a lil bit with that idea of a more personified structure i've mentioned who knows how long ago now in some tags. i just.. adore the hit that is the sheer size of the Iterators when taken at whole so much... it terrifies me to my bones

inspired/motivated by a post by tanzdoesthings where they pointed at a puppet n said that is the Iterator's face. shit lit an actual lightbulb over my head...

unrelated to the art drabble underneath the cut

"I love you. Can this be understood?"

'No,' she sighs while she thinks... Just where can one begin to understand such a thing? An organic's brain isn't made for the comprehension of it, she's sure.

That every time pipes groan it is his veins stretching. Or that when she floats in his heart, the sound of its beats is strong enough to penetrate straight through her. Dammit, she has to wear a special suit just so her bones wouldn't shatter from a singular beat.

How can she properly grasp it, that he breathes only once a day- and just that is enough to rain destruction upon everything within his retaining walls. That he carries a whole city on his back- so small... almost unnoticed... Or that when she hides away in the shelters at his bases, it is akin to crawling underneath his skin?

It makes no sense for something that terrifyingly giant to exist. To live. Oh, why does it have to live just the same as her...?

Each component she understands. His blueprints are framed in the Mechanic's little house positioned near one of his more discreet entrances. The biggest blueprint takes up a whole wall, little notes made by her or the previous Mechanic scattered all over the detailings of his body.

Her fingertips trace over the white lines on the blue paper before bed, planning out a route for tomorrow- because oh it would take years to travel him whole unguided. One could so easily get lost within the mechanical organs, tangled in wires, strangled by accident in the tons upon tons of tightly knit cords- left as a corpse without a chance to be found in the less travelled recesses of him.

Palm in palm, she presses her hands against each other in hopeful prayer and in the anxiety the thought brings forward.

So small... so finite compared to him.

Sometimes when people want to disappear for a while from the little city- little? It holds thousands upon thousands of life like me- including her, they wander the dusty metal desert that makes up his backside. All the way to the edge of him, edge of the world that he represents- is... And then just stare over the clouds.

The more daring ones, more agile and capable, climb down a little ways- finding crannies in his skin that he'll never notice for purchase.

One time- while feeling terribly lonely and sad- she climbed as low as she dared. Just above the clouds. Some almost licked at her feet as they rolled around him- submitting to his presence like waves to boats. The clouds turned grey, his sirens blared below and she was scared. Not for herself, but for the childhood she spent living beneath him- for family still stuck there.

And she'd hide away in a crook in his panels- a fault she will once have to fix- tearing at the moss that somehow managed to make livelihood here. Waiting... for nothing.

Then he looked to her, red Overseer popping out of nowhere. The uncomprehensible, godly by its sheer size thing giving her maybe all of his attention. And she feels guilty, worming around his skin- hiding in it- like this.

Though he tells her: rather apologize for disappearing like that, for not answering the hails. As if the violation of his physique wasn't actually anything... It had been so weird, having him fuss over her like so. There's better things a fake god like him has to do.

'I love you. Can this be understood?' still stares at her from her watch, unanswered.

"I don't think it can...," she writes him, feeling sad, confused, intimidated.

"Oh..."

She rushes to reassure him. "I love you back anyway though. Don't worry, weirdo"

#spot says stuff #rw #oc tag #shpootlin-doodlin #im fucked up man....... #JGSKLMCKLSD that shit wouldve been the iterator design if the ancients CAAAAAAAAAARED #oh those lil shits would be happy n healthy but nuuuuuu

[austinmosstx]

At Austin Moss Creations we design one-of-a-kind Moss Wall Panels which are unique, beautiful and sustainable pieces of art that transform boring spaces into natural works of wonder. We love doing custom work, and look forward to working with you to bring the beauty of nature into your space.

Austin Moss Creations 902 E. 5th St., Austin, TX 78702 737–888–4602

Official Website: https://austinmosscreations.com/ Google Plus Listing: https://www.google.com/maps?cid=2342507138546727811

Other Service We Provide:

MOSS WALLS MOSS PANELS CUSTOMIZED MOSS ART

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#moss wall panels #moss wall decor #Youtube

[auckie]

Finished my boys back panel for his new apartment. After it cures more I’m gonna install it, then the drainage layer (which I absolutely don’t need) and then the substrate. I was gonna make the bottom water proof but decided to just go with a protective mat instead. I don’t think I’ll be able to take it apart later but maybe it’ll be like. The last thing I ever move idk. Then Ill put up the UVB, his lamp, I miiiight have a heat mat on the bottom just in case but probably won’t ever use it idk, and finally his giant fucking water dish and ugly bottom hide. Then I’ll see if I can fit some of the roof/side climbing limbs I had planned. Was gonna drill them in but I don’t think the pvc will allow for it. I might try more foam/silicone *and* a bit of drilling, but we’ll see. Then the top leaf coverage (silk plants lol), and finally his giant cork log. I was also planning on putting some tiling over his ugly hide, or just replacing it completely bc he has the wall one plus the log. I also gotta test the weight capacity of the wall log tomorrow after curing. It’s resistant to heavy tugging, and he really doesn’t weigh *that* much but you never know the kind of stress he might put on it. It’s low to the ground so it wouldn’t be catastrophic but it would be difficult to fix. Eventually I would like to go full naturalistic and add plants and bio active substrate. Moving water is beyond my skill capacity/willingness to learn or spend so the static dish will have to do, but I am interested in a mister even tho I know it’s not necessary. He’s been doing well with my humidifier and just some sprays, wet corners, and the dish, but if I do pursue plants it may be crucial. Granted I know scale rot is something people warn about but I figure if I keep it high then I can avoid laden substrate. Plus the drainage layer would help.

I even bought a kitchen scale to weigh him. I was gonna get a temp gun too but that’s kinda absurd since I got like, two different humidity gauges and a temp regulator + thermometer. if I have room I may also try a slight rock border at the bottom of the back panel but I’m not really like. Interested in using foam again, either panel or expanding. Bc it sucks and i despise it. Silicone too honestly, even the aquarium rated stuff which is easier (imo) to get off skin. My dad REALLY wanted to use caulk but I was like hell no. I’ll resort to shelf pins/rivets for support before I try that lol.

I just scrolled up and realized the pic is so dark bc I just turned the overhead light off and didn’t have flash on but I’m so tired and sweaty I don’t care. It’s a cork bark/spanish moss/sphagnum moss back wall but it does just look like a mess of leaves and shit from the pic. I started really clean and then got progressively sloppier as time went on

Here’s a before progress pic SORRY for foot

And here’s snoopert head. He’s getting upgraded from 60 gallon to 120. Tbh if I had the room and money I’d totally have gotten the 240 one

Fuck snoopy

[papasbaseball]

Raphael x Tav (Clubs and Spades: Chapter 3)

Pairing: Raphael x F!Tav

Rating: Mature (Rating to go up next chapter)

Warnings: Alcohol, Affairs, Violence

Summary: Tav finds herself on the bad side of the President of the Fae Run Country Club. She agreed to work there as a favor, but he's determined to make her life a living hell. Will they both make it out of the summer without catching feelings?

Chapter Summary: Astor brings Tav to the Hope residence for a movie night and maybe something more, promising that Raphael won't be home for a while. Promises are meant to be broken.

Word Count: 3,782 (Total 8,683)

Notes:

AO3 Link, Prev Ch: (Tumblr) (AO3)

Astor’s car had a mountain of Redbull cans that grew from the floorboard of the backseat, creeping further like a moss as he tossed another one into the back.

“Ew,” I said.

“My car, my rules,” he returned.

“Have you considered not being disgusting?” Pink drops decorated the back seat upholstery from many a careless can fling. A little darker, and it would have looked like a bloody crime scene.

“Darling, you’re much more attractive with your mouth shut. Do try to remember that when we get to the house, yes?”

The gear shifted in three quick thwacks and Astor whipped the car out of the Fae Run Country Club parking lot. I clutched the door. It was missing the interior panel and I was not entirely sure that it wouldn’t swing open while he was cruising through the maze of the country club neighborhood. The wind whipped through the windows and smacked locks of hair into my eyes and across my lips. Still, I gripped the door tight.

I’d never driven around the surrounding neighborhood. There was a fear that nested within me that if I took even a wrong turn in the subdivision I would have the cops called on me and quickly. I tried to relax knowing that Astor prowled these fastidiously kept streets with hunger and confidence.

In his jerks and drifts, we came upon the house in the three times the hair had blown out of my eyes just enough to see. It sunk back upon the great lawn, an old book too small and shoved back on the bookcase of houses. The house was built in an English style, feathering creeping greenery hiding its face like the fan of an old dame. Astor pulled his car up and through the porte-cochère, tucking it behind the garage.

“Shouldn’t we park down the street?” I asked.

Astor sucked his teeth, slamming the gear shift into park. “Raph doesn’t park anywhere but the front circle,” he said. “He says he doesn’t want people turning around in his circle drive, as if the house isn’t a mile back from the street.”

I follow his lead out of the car, holding my car keys and water bottle close to my chest. I’d had some wealthy friends in high school, but they’d always lived in the enormous houses in new development tracts. This was… not that.

Astor slipped us in through the servants’ entrance and into the kitchen. When I had pictured the interior decorating preferences of Raphael Hope, I had imagined heads of college girls that he’d gotten tired of toying with and decided to mount on his golden walls, not Antiquing in the Hamptons. A collection of porcelain tea cups proudly declaring the countries they had come from lined the wet sand of a granite backsplash. Each monstrosity of primary colors was placed carefully on what looked like custom-built shelves.

Why do the people with the worst taste have the most money?

The fridge opened adding its own little bit of chill to the already freezing house. My sports bra had been a faithful companion all through high school field hockey practices, but at that moment it seemed to have all but disappeared. The cool air tugged my nipples until they poked through worn cotton and white polo, aching to be warmed again. I crossed my arms over my chest as I watched Astor help himself to an open bottle of wine from Raphael Hope’s fridge, fetching a wine glass from the cabinets as if he lived there too.

“Want some?” he offered, shaking a crystalline glass in my direction, a little too roughly for my comfort.

I shook my head, popping open my water bottle for a sip of warm clubhouse water. The new hand on my shoulder was too warm, too heavy, and it caused me to choke under its weight.

“Don’t start without me,” Harry crooned. He’d been carrying a kitchen towel and was kind enough to muffle my pleas and coughing into the soft terry before they could escape.

“You’re scaring her,” Astor said. He took the towel from Harry and offered me his glass in trade. Astor tutted as he swatted Harry on his polo-covered chest with the towel, a roll of his eyes almost necessary. “Is that any way to treat your house guests?”

Harry leaned in and placed two chaste kisses on Astor’s sharp cheeks. I put my lips to the wine glass, refusing to sip as I watched them dance and break the steps their classes and life had set for them. As long as they kept me out of it, I could play my part as spectator— for Will’s sake. I raked my hand through the rough strands of my ponytail.

Astor rewarded the sweetness in kind with a brief brush of his lips, a smile curled across his as Harry leaned in for more.

“You’re a tease,” Harry breathed, eyes fluttering halfway open.

“And you’re a bad host,” Astor said. He returned to the cabinet to grab two more glasses. “You wanted his dog? I caught her for you.”

“I am not his dog,” I said as they reminded me that I was part of this sordid soap opera too. Oh, if only I could have swallowed those words back. Their eyes turned to me, amusement lighting them in force. So much for being a spectator.

“Of course not,” Harry said, his smile practiced and condescending.

I tried to block him out with my glass, drinking the sickeningly sweet Moscato. The sugar burned the emptiness of my stomach, my limbs already feeling less coordinated and more willing to grab onto others. If I kept drinking like this — and I didn’t expect to be allowed to forgo the alcohol — I knew I would kick myself later for getting swept into their dance of affairs. I winced as I forced the words out, “Do you have anything to eat?”

Harry opened the fridge, rustling around for bits and bites. The counter soon became piled with clear containers of meats, cheeses, vegetables, and pickled products.

“Astor,” he called from the clean light of the fridge, “I set up the theater for us. Would you go get some blankets from the closet upstairs? Brigitta insisted on washing them all after our last movie night.”

“Ha!” Astor barked. “I can’t imagine why.”

I wrinkled my nose at the thought of cum-encrusted blankets. As much as I was growing to hate my job, I couldn’t help but to feel like I’d won the employment lottery next to Brigitta. The gratitude fizzled out of my wine-clumsy body when I found myself alone in the room with Harry.

The silence was only allowed for as long as it took Harry to get a wooden cutting board down from a high cabinet. He watched me as he arranged the nosh in curls and shingles, the muscle memory of homemaking as solid as his own bones.

“Do you love him?” he said.

I wanted to spit my drink for the second time in that kitchen. Love and Raphael had found different coasts within my mind, the gray matter in its valleys and mountains of sensibility intent on keeping them separate.

“If you count hating his guts as love: Sure, I guess,” I said.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to mess with married men, darling?”

“I’m not messing with him,” I said, setting the wine glass aside. “And I could ask the same of Astor.”

Harry slapped a half-finished salami rose onto the cutting board. “He is not the one trying to take my husband.”

To be clear, I had no interest in Raphael Hope. The thought of him fucking me in his stupid vintage Ferrari that he insisted on showing off at every possible chance was the farthest thing from my everyday thoughts. However, if anything had gotten me into trouble without fail, it was telling me what I could and could not do.

Harry left the cutting board, weaving around the kitchen island until he was close enough to tuck a stray strand of hair that had whipped out of my ponytail on the ride over. His wrist smelled of the same sour cherries that I’d been assaulted with the other day on the golf course. The answers I’d been looking for the day I’d seen him on Raphael’s arm at the pool came and then went with a new slew of questions.

“You would look so pretty under me.” His words were low. There was a cold mist to them that flooded the immediate vicinity of him and me and worked together with the chill of the house in making me shiver. “I’ll make you scream and cry and beg for me to put you out of your sweet misery. A pretty little whore like you has been fucked before, I’m sure, but I wonder just how well I could ruin you.”

It was an awful instinct, but I leaned into his touch just for him to pull away his tender hand, dragging his nails down my cheek.

“The theater is ready,” Astor said.

My head turned through the swamp of lust that Harry had affected me with just quick enough to see Astor’s own head turned away out of courtesy for the disaster he had walked in on. I pushed off of my stool and scurried over to his side. He had brought me to the house of a viper, and I could only hope that he was able to find the way out unbitten.

Harry grabbed the snacking board and quickly we were escorted down to the theater. He had picked some art film and situated himself on the couch, Astor flocking to his side. I moved to sit down on Astor’s other side.

“Don’t be such a tease,” Harry said. He tugged my wrist until I fell into their laps, my tennis skort riding up enough that I was sure the shorts underneath were on full display.  I looked up at Harry from where my head lay against his crotch and the panic of his desire for me to have a similar view seized me.

I tumbled off of the both of them, Harry smirking in his triumph, Astor indifferent to his private humiliation ritual.

“I,” I stuttered, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Upstairs and to the left is the guest bath,” Harry said. His eyes didn’t even meet mine, instead focusing on the much more important task of playing with Astor’s shock of white hair.

I raced up the stairs and was about to lock myself into the guest bathroom when the black glint of a Lexus pulled into the driveway.

Fuck. There was no time to go back downstairs and grab Astor and still make it out of the house in time. Maybe he’d come back and get me, but for the sake of my own life and my job at the country club, I needed to hide immediately. I ran up the stairs toward the upper level of the house and managed to close myself into a bedroom just as the front door opened.

He was talking on the phone with someone, I think I could understand that much through all of the drywall and carpet that separated us. The words were shapeless like clouds, never fully able to be grasped. I pressed my ear to the door to see if I could make them out better, happy until I realized that they were becoming too clear.

The sliding mirror doors proved to be for more than decoration and vanity in the bedroom as they revealed to me a large walk-in closet. Suits cut neat parallel lines around the entire closet except for one wall that showcased accessories. Amongst the watches and belts and shoes was a display of riding crops. I hoped that Raphael was an equestrian, grimacing as I grabbed a solid-looking one for defense. The wool, linen, and seersucker, that lined the wall provided enough coverage that as long as he didn’t reach for a suit I thought I would be safe in my crouched position, clutching the purloined crop.

“I want him fired, Tom,” he said, entering the closet. “I don’t care that he’s your nephew. Wasted time cannot be bought back, not like he could afford my rate anyway.”

Tom chattered something inaudible across the cellphone connection. I squeezed the crop tighter and curled my toes in the confines of my battered tennis shoes as if that would make them less visible. My head bumped against the back of the wall and I inhaled, desperate for breath in the suffocation of the folds of fabric. Instead, I got a lungful of mothballs. I coughed into a fistful of pants.

“Tom, I’ll call you back,” Raphael said. The camel tips of his shoes arrowed into the pants as the phone chirped the tone of hanging up. “A little mouse has lost its way in my house—“ The tips of the shoes pivoted into another direction. “— and has stolen something along the way.”

He walked away and soon a soft metal tap let me know that he had shut the mirror doors. A deep sigh of… exasperation? Excitement? Thrill? Filled the too-quiet closet. “You are not getting out of here without going through me.”

That’s what he thought. I’d keep my mouth shut until the world died its messy death. I’d suffocate in this closet before I came into the clutches of the man who was hell-bent on tormenting me. He may not get me fired, but his twisted brain and power were capable of much worse fates. If I stayed quiet enough, maybe he’d talk himself into his mind playing tricks on him.

“I do have to say that I am surprised that you have taken one of my riding crops, the Hermès one nonetheless. Such taste. It was one of my very first.” He laughed and the shifting of hangers accompanied him. “I loathe thieves. I will not call the police until I have beaten you bloody for entering my home.”

The hangers shifted once more and I only had a moment to picture Raphael Hope flaying me on the expensive cream carpet of the closet before my hangers parted and I found him staring down at me, his glare of hate quickly fleeting into eyes wide in ecstatic sadism. “Oh, now this is delicious,” he said.

I shot up to run for the doors, but my toes had cramped in the confines of my shoes. The tangle of pants, the short height of the shelf, and the wall of Raphael Hope got me nothing more than a quick yelp as I tumbled for the second time that day, legs twisted and riding crop flailing. The crop landed with a pitiful thump against his chino-clad shin and he snatched it away without a word, turning it on me. The wood and leather lashed the backs of my thighs and I yelped.

“Come now, little mouse: show a little resilience,” he said before the stick cracked against my ear. The pain shot across my brow and sent my world spinning. Carpet slipped and scraped under my nails as I tried to right myself. Another smack of the stick, this time across my ass.

The whimper from my lips hadn’t registered to me as I still felt like I was in a clothes dryer, the linens and wools and ties spinning around me at a sickening speed. It didn’t register to me, but to Mr. Hope… I waited for another blow that never came.

“Do you like pain, Ms. Baldur?” He hooked the leather tip under my tennis skort and flipped it up. The fact that he was staring at my ass was the least of my concerns as I finally steadied myself on my hands and knees. Another smack and this time I heard the gasp and squeaked yelp from myself.

He traced the line of pain, exhaling seemingly in delight. “Why are you in my house?” he asked.

Ratting out Astor after he had threatened Will that day was not at the top of my priorities. Hopefully, he heard all of the clamor upstairs and left while Raphael was distracted. I had a feeling he needed his job more than I did.

Mr. Hope yanked me up by my ponytail, singeing pain in a thousand places on my scalp. “Answer me!”

“I don’t know!” I cried.

“What was it, hm?” he said. “Thievery? Did you think you could get back at me by stealing from me?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hope,” I said. “I don’t know why I did it.”

“The Waterford glasses are missing from the kitchen too,” he said.

I knew he was talking about the glasses that were currently in the basement, but I couldn’t tell him that without blowing Astor’s cover. “I didn’t do anything with them.”

He tilted my chin up to face him with the handle, and it was enough to free a trapped tear, gravity betraying me and pulling it down my face. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said. “What should I do with you?”

“Please,” my voice cracked. “Please let me go.”

“It seems as if I should never let you out of my sight if this is how you behave.” He turned my jaw with the handle, getting a better look at where he’d cracked me upside the head. “Breaking into strange men’s houses, what would your parents say?”

I felt acutely aware of how the vein on my neck betrayed the galloping pace my heart set with just the turn of the riding crop. He seemed to see everything about me, even down to the memories that flashed in the back of my head of phone calls made to parents from well-kept county jails. I bit my tongue to save whatever little left I had of my privacy and advantage.

Raphael brushed his thumb over my ear. It was almost a shame when he showed me the blood that had collected on the pad of his finger. “You need to be more careful,” he said. “Now: where are the glasses? The only people who have been in my house in the past 24 hours have been you and our maid Brigitta. If it wasn’t you, then it was her.” He turned me back to face him, his amber eyes saddling me with the choice. “What did you do with them?”

In all of my secrets seemingly written on my face, I wondered if he could see the debt that I owed to Will. If he could, his cruelty was unmatched, knowing I had no choice but to hold my tongue. I looked into his eyes, hoping that he could read my burden and show some mercy. Instead, he tucked the crop under his arm, pulled out his phone, and shot off a text in the silence. The click of the phone screen shutting off brought his eyes back to mine.

“I am looking for a new maid and personal assistant,” he said. “You can come after you finish your shifts at the clubhouse. The house needs to be cleaned every Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. You’ll show up on the other days to help me with any casework or errands I might need to run. You have your own car, yes?”

I couldn’t tell the difference between when he had been thrashing me with the riding crop a few minutes ago and the crush of knowing that I had gotten someone fired without saying anything at all. Words tried to come out of my mouth, but the brain damage of his blows seemed to be catching up to me.

“Do you have a car?” he said.

“You can’t make me,” I replied.

“I can call the police if you would like,” he said. I bit the inside of my cheek watching him retrieve his phone from his pocket once more. He clicked on the phone screen.

“Wait,” I blurted. My eyes went wide as I realized my hand had shot up and taken hold of his warm wrist, feeling the faint beating of his own heart. I pulled it away, hiding it behind my back so he couldn’t see how it shook. “I have a car, but I didn’t drive here. It’s in the country club parking lot.”

Raphael’s eyes darted back and forth across my face. “You walked here to steal from me?”

I shrugged, knowing that he’d see through any lie that I made up. I wasn’t so sure he’d believed the first lie anyway.

He rolled his eyes, put the riding crop back from where I had taken it, and grabbed me by the arm. He marched me out of the closet, the room, and then the house before holding open the passenger door to his Lexus. I told him I would be back out in a second, that I had left my keys in the kitchen.

I snatched my keys and water bottle from where they had been hidden by the back of a kitchen stool and noticed that Astor’s car was no longer tucked away in the driveway. That son of a bitch. He had left me here to my doom. I made up my mind on my way back to the car that I would have to find a way to get him back.

Raphael was still standing there with the door open when I came back. I slid in and he closed it, quickly taking his place in the driver’s seat. The car smelled like it was fresh off the lot and was clean as if it was never used. I hugged my water bottle to my chest at the thought of him making me clean it for him, undoubtedly letting perverted eyes roam and eat the way my body would sweat and toil over the machine.

“I’ll get you the day off of work next week, but I need you for the regatta,” he said, driving much more carefully than Astor had. The car purred perfectly under his hands, a panther compared to the wild diseased coyote of Astor’s car. I pressed my thighs together as I watched the veins in his hands cut the wheel around a corner.

We were in the parking lot sooner than I had hoped, and I fumbled for my words of goodbye, feeling eerily like it was the end of a date. I left the car without saying anything, trying to stomp out the urge to kiss Raphael Hope, and got in my car, peeling out of the Fae Run Country Club parking lot and away from my new boss.

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #tav x raphael #bg3 fanfiction #raphael smut #smut fanfiction

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Affordable living in Mountain View, Hawaii with this off-the-grid yurt. There are a few catches, though. The solar power system is hooked up to the house next door and will be disconnected. A new owner will have to set up a new solar system—including panels, batteries, and an inverter. $179K.

Yurts are made of fabric and wood, but this one appears to have a metal outer shell wrapping.

A yurt is one large space, and you set it up as you like. The floor looks like bamboo.

The stylish bamboo furniture comes from Bali and is included.

There's a cute kitchen.

The sleeping area is next to the kitchen.

Screen walls form a closet behind the bed.

In Hawaiian fashion, the home features a large lava rock shower.

It has a composting toilet that you fill with peat moss, then spin the handle, and it becomes fertilizer. And, there's a lovely covered deck.

The owners were going to make a cesspool for the toilet, but when the backhoe started to dig the hole, they discovered this lava cavern. So, they had lava rock built around it. It’s just a cool feature, and they are fairly common in the area.

Naturally formed stalagmites and stalactites adorn the cavern. The lava-rock formations—created by water seeping through the porous rock—hang from the ceiling and protrude from the floor.

It looks like hot wax dripping from a candle.

You can see how deep the cave is- that's the ladder entrance way down there.

The home is in the Fern Acres subdivision and there's a variety of different homes in the neighborhood, where new-construction houses are in the $400,000 range and most of the roads are paved.

Each of the homes is on a 2-acre lot. The subdivision itself is about one-third developed. Each lot is 100 feet wide and 871 feet long, so it’s long and skinny.

The yurt is set back 500 feet from the driveway, so it’s pretty private.

 It was built in 1993, on a lot teeming with tropical landscaping. Since it's not a traditional home, it can't be financed, though.

#yurt hawaii #yurts #houses #house tours #home tour #non-traditional homes

[trophyhound]

Rabbit is a small statue residing in the garden of a long since abandoned home; both him and the panels lining the wall have become consumed by the moss and ivy and anything else brave enough to grow in a lonely place. If he could, Rabbit would wish to be elsewhere.

Boy has just moved in to the house on the other side of the dilapidated dark wood fencing; Boy begins to explore. A small hole dug under the fencing by a pet who's name Rabbit did not remember allows Boy access to the garden. He sees it in a much brighter light; the sun does seem to shine much stronger as Boys hand lands next to Rabbit. He would flinch, if not of stone.

Careful hands begin to peel back ivy branches and bits and pieces of mosses in various greens. Boy smiles; Rabbit cannot. Rabbit is clean and seen for the first time in a very long time. A voice calls Boy home, and he dissapears through the same grand doorway as before, beneath the fence.

Today, Boy places Rabbit on a softer bed of grass, as if a pedestal. He brings a soft brush to clean the stone. Rabbit softens beneath the touch, neither noticing the change from solid stone to gentle minky fur. Rabbit feels his front legs... legs? Relax beneath him, filled his polyester and weighed beads. His back legs felt like nothing beneath him. The voice calls Boy home; Rabbit remains.

Boy returns with sewing kit; what once was cracks in the stone facade of Rabbit have now become torn fabric. Easily mended, Boy calls them. His hands run absentmindedly through the fur on Rabbits chest. Boy finds a new feeling; a heart begins to beat. Rabbit begins to warm, his nose twitching.

Boy brings Rabbit home. He makes him a proper bed next to him each night; they rise with the sun each morning. Rabbit knows he is safe, no longer alone. Rabbit is loved;

To be loved is to be changed.

#false p(r)o(ph)et #havent written in a while its a first draft it took me twenty minutes pls dont be mean #something something becoming softer and gentler and letting down walls #poetry #? #can I even call it that #poem #poets on tumblr #original poem #writers and poets #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr

[ask-the-becile-boys]

Story. Ruin

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[ID: 16 digitally sketched panels in b/w]

[Panel 1: The undead sheep runs into a old building. The building looks abandoned, with moss growing on the pillars and the domed roof. There is a blood trail behind the sheep. Scratch narrates, as game master, "You follow the sheep to an old ruin."]

[Panel 2: An angled overhead shot of the party entering the building and walking down a dark hallway, the individuals illuminated from behind by the open doorway. Dee and The Skull are in front. No text.]

[Panel 3: Dee's boot steps on a trapped floor tile, with SFX 'click.']

[Panel 4: A doorway shutters, two panels dropping from the top of the doorway with SFX 'shhh-nk.']

[Panel 5: Dee and The Skull stare at the shuttered door. There are two lit torches on the wall flanking the doors, and some light from The Skull's neck, but otherwise the room is very dark. Scratch narrates, "Dee and Skull, you are cut off from the rest of the group."]

[Panel 6: Dee's lips twitch angrily, saying out of character, "Dammit." The Skull looks around, asking OOC, "Is there another way out?"]

[Panel 7: A balcony in the dark room, with a lit torch hanging next to it. Scratch says, "Not on this floor, but there's a balcony."]

[Panel 8: The Skull starts to speak, saying in character, "We should--" then being cut off.]

[Panel 9: Dee starts climbing the wall, saying OOC, "I climb the wall." The Skull scowls at her back while Scratch says, "I need a roll for that."]

[Panel 10: In the top left corner, a D20 shows a roll of 3. Scratch says, "Oh, bad luck." In the rest of the panel, we see Dee's character falling from the wall. Scratch continues, "You take a point of damage from the fall."]

[Panel 11: Dee sits on the floor, teeth grit. The Skull kneels next to her, still scowling, and says, "Dee. We're not getting out of this if you keep ignoring me."]

[Panel 12: Dee's character's head, turned away from the viewer (and The Skull). The Skull says from off panel, "Yeah, don't think I haven't noticed." Dee says, "What's the saying? The pot calls the kettle black?"]

[Panel 13: Dee, the picture transitioning from left to right from her character to her real body. The Skull asks from off panel, "What?" Dee says, "You ignored me for as long as you could."]

[Panel 14: The Skull, sitting at the table, with his character sheets in front of him. His arms are folded on the table and he looks deeply cross. He says, "(ellipses) I made you sweaters."]

[Panel 15: Dee, grimacing as she speaks, saying, "You would have made them anyway, to feel useful. That's what Thadeus wanted, isn't it? Usefulness?"]

[Panel 16: The Skull's eyes widen in shock, brows raised, as Dee says icily, "That's why he liked you more than me." End ID]

#becile bots #steam powered giraffe #fanbots #dee becile #the skull becile #scratch becile #story update #ruin #blog art

[heyclodia]

152. Blind date

ID: a black and white comic. In the first panel there is an alien with a black dress and a now and a fairy with long black hairy and antennae. They are sitting at a table in a pub with heart decorations on the wall. The alien says "do you have any hobbies". In the next panel the fairy responds "i like collecting moss and kidnapping humans". In the third panel the alien says "i like making them believe they are our test subjects". In the fourth panel the fairy says "and i like switching their children with fairies to mess with them". In the next panel they look at each other blushing and there is a little heart between them. In the last panel the fairy says "so, do you want to see my moss collection?"

#queer as ghouls #queer comics #indie artist #indie comics #spooky cute art #sapphic comics #sapphic art #Aliens #fairies #fairycore #cryptidcore #cryptid #urban legends

[nyctophiliq]

Hey hey! Could you maybe write some hcs for Viper and female radiant reader that has troubles controlling her powers? 🥺

HALF A FEELING.

description. headcanon type of writing of viper with a radiant reader who has trouble controlling their powers

pairings. sabine ‘viper’ callas + f! reader

cw. lowercase intended, sfw content, radiant! reader, mention of injuries

moss’ notes. moss is really bad at headcanons, so they made this hybrid thingy, hope you like it anonie and sorry for the awfully long wait !!!

— when she first heard about you struggling with your powers she couldn’t careless, the only thing she had to say was that make sure the others keep you away from her important lab work and maybe lock you up if you really can’t handle yourself.

— sabine took pity in you soon when she seen your sleep deprived form down in the training arcade for radiants in the protocol, constantly self-checking yourself in the holographic panels. she saw some of herself in you, the constant fighting to be better. (of course, you didn’t have as much success as she did.)

— the first time she tried to help, you were so frustrated about not being able to control the simplest of your powers and that you were you went haywire and shoved her a little too hard, a burst of radianite power escaping you and wounding her. it wasn’t too serious; it was nothing more than a scratch that stung a little more than it should have. she gave up helping you, once again pointing out if you cannot control your powers then you might as well be better in a suppressing chamber where you can’t harm anyone. this time you didn’t leave it without a words, giving her a snarky comment about how miserable she is.

— it took a little time for sabine to make the courage up to try and help you again, having to sit down with sage multiple times to ask for tips and tricks of how to approach you then suggest training together. it took even more time for you to accept her offer, constantly brushing her off and emphasizing that you didn’t need a help of a human, you needed no help at all, you can figure everything out yourself.

— late into the night one day the alarms suddenly went off, the corridor for the training arcade filled with small piece of rubble, the sliding door bent and impaled in the wall across where it once stood.

— sabine was quick to be on scene, a pair of suppressing handcuffs in her hand to hurry and lock it around your wrists. you were still high on your powers when she embraced you, trying to calm you with putting pressure on your body- or a hug, because that’s simpler.

— when you made sense of what just happened you broke into tear, apologizing endlessly and begging for her not to put you into that awful cell.

— sabine wasn’t sure what to say or do to effectively calm you down, she could only promise that she wasn’t making the calls about who was thrown into the suppressing chambers, and that an accident like this will convince both sage and brimstone that you didn’t try to kill anyone in their sleep.

#📼 › moss tapes #valorant x reader #valorant viper x reader #viper x reader #valorant viper #viper