#LED turn signal

[oo60sec]

60 Seconds to Bright Ideas: Best SEAMETAL LED Signal Strips for Your Car!

[sngl-led-auto-lights]

Do modern cars still use hand signals for turning? If not, how do they indicate turns without using headlights or brake lights?

Modern cars no longer rely on hand signals as a regular way to indicate turns, but regulations in some countries or regions still require the use of hand signals in emergency situations (such as when the turn signal fails). Here is a detailed answer:

​​1. The current status of hand signals

Obsolete in regular driving:

Modern cars are equipped with electronic turn signals (amber indicators) as standard, and hand signals are only used as an emergency alternative when the turn signals fail completely.

Applicable scenarios:

The turn signal circuit is damaged and cannot be repaired immediately (such as a sudden failure during long-distance driving).

Some motorcycles still require hand signals when the electronic turn signal fails (regulatory requirements vary by region).

Regulatory retention requirements:

USA: Some states (such as California and Texas) still require drivers to learn hand signals to deal with emergencies.

Europe: Hand signals are written into the theoretical part of the EU driving test, but are rarely used in actual driving.

China: The driver's license test includes knowledge of hand gestures, but it is not necessary to use them in daily driving.

​​2. Turn signal system of modern cars​​

​​1. Electronic turn signal (Turn Signals)​​

​​Independent operation​​: The turn signal is separated from the headlights and brake lights​​circuit and can be turned on separately.

​​Color and position​​: ​​Front/rear turn signal​​: amber (some US-spec cars have red rear turn signal).

​​Side turn signal​​: integrated in the rearview mirror or front fender (some models have dynamic running water lights).

​​Mandatory requirements of regulations​​: ​​All mass-produced cars must be equipped with​​, and the flashing frequency is​​60–120 times/minute​​(the dashboard will prompt when there is a fault).

​​2. Automatic turn signal technology​​

​​Steering assist​​: The steering wheel rotation angle triggers the turn signal to automatically turn on (such as Tesla, BMW).

​​Lane change signal​​: A light flick of the steering lever can activate 3-5 flashes (prompting a short lane change).

​​3. Alternative lighting system​​

​​Hazard lights:

Used for vehicle failure or emergency parking, and cannot replace turn signals (some countries prohibit turning on the hazard lights while driving to change lanes).

Adaptive lighting system:

Automatically enhance the lighting inside the curve when turning (such as Audi Matrix LED), but the turn signal must still be turned on.

III. Specifications for the use of hand gestures

If you need to use hand gestures temporarily, you must follow the following international standards:

Turn left: Extend your left hand straight out of the window (↓ picture).

Turn right: Bend your left hand upward in an "L" shape (some areas allow the right hand to be extended).

Slow down/stop: Extend your left hand downward with your palm facing backward.

⚠��� ​​Note:

Hand gestures must be turned on in advance (at least 3 seconds) to ensure that other drivers can see them.

Only for emergency situations. Long-term reliance on hand gestures may be judged as a vehicle that does not meet safety standards.

​​IV. Exceptions for special vehicles and regions​​

​​Vintage Cars​​:

Some old cars (such as those produced before 1960) are allowed to be designed without turn signals, but they need to be installed before they can be legally driven on the road.

​​Bicycles and motorcycles​​:

Bicycles usually rely on hand gestures (no electronic signal lights).

If the turn signal of a motorcycle is broken, it is necessary to use hand gestures or stop to repair it.

​​Military/agricultural vehicles​​:

Some special vehicles (such as tractors) may be exempt from the electronic signal light requirement.

​​V. Future trends: intelligent lighting systems​​

​​Projected turn signals​​:

Mercedes-Benz Digital Light system can project turn arrows onto the road surface (↓ picture).

​​V2X communication​​:

Directly send turn intention signals between vehicles (without relying on lights or gestures).

​​Summary​​: Modern cars use electronic turn signals to achieve accurate and safe turn instructions, and hand gesture signals are only used as emergency backup plans. If the turn signal fails, it is recommended to repair it first rather than rely on hand gestures - long-term use may violate vehicle safety regulations (such as US FMVSS 108).

[balteus]

im gonna bribe the officials im gonna kill all the judges

[woodfrogs]

ive been trying to decide between two profs on who to work with this summer since november and i finally made up my mind on wednesday. and all of a sudden my friends are telling me things that are making me nervous 😭 like where were you 3 weeks ago before i reached out to them

[secundus-cinaedus]

bringing in the pc to the shop tonight lads 🫡

[jessescatorccio]

i face sexism when driving my old vw bug deadass. bc it’s a “girly” car men in large trucks/sedans will frequently zoom past me to cut me off, prevent me from passing them, or try to race me at stoplights. like it might seem ridiculous but i truly think ppl see my car and are like “there’s a stupid bitch driving” and it smells like misogyny idc idc

[captainfoxus]

I'm not saying all of the palestinian fundraiser blogs are all bots instead of real vetted accounts but some aren't, how to detect if the blog's donation links are scams? Yall check @gazavetters because they explained by details how gofundme has strict rules on scam activities and most of the scammers would just send paypal link instead of the gofundme link. At least that's what i learned from them.

And also for those who can't donate money at the moment but wanna make palestinian/congo families gain money anyway, AND to know actual real palestinians are the ones running the accounts, please go to tiktok! On tiktok they are almost all real palestinians instead of scammers because the families/accounts usually engage with the people and some go live, and in live you can interract with them directly to know they're the original owners of the fundraiser, comment or talk to them or stitch them directly. Sadly the lives aren't even as full as expected because there's a suspiciously low decrease of palestinian videos in people's fyp during early 2025 (it used to be REALLY big after 2023 but since there wasn't "big news" of what happens in gaza shown to the masses, people just went bsck to their normal lives, ignoring palestinian tiktoks) but that's even better for you to check if they're real or not (if when i said fake i meant if the account shows recording of previous people's lives and not interracting with the commenters/stitches).

And plus they want you to also prioritize on engaging/sharing their videos instead of just donating, because it doesn't even matter if you can't donate at the moment, you can boost their videos for tiktok's creator's fund (i forgot what it's called) that works the same way youtube influencers get paid by youtube per video! It works by the videos or the account gets lots of engagement by viewers, the videos get so much views, commenters keep commenting some topics so much that will get the videos to be on fyp, liking/sharing/stitching/using the audios keeps the account and vids to get more fund from tiktok! Please yall i beg of you tiktok is a lot more reliable if you wanna have more credible proof of the fundraiser being serious and not scams.

It's really sad because there's SO MUCH palestinian tiktokers where they have to make LOTS of videos for people to engage with, and even some had to make stupid corny ass trends all for engagement. Not to mention attention deficit tiktokers actually were skipping past these videos because they're "too much" and obviously they KNOW these accounts are NOT SCAMS. Because these palestinians tiktokers were popular during early 2024 too as people keep talking about palestine, tiktok users were so helpful and actually put work in boosting palestinian tiktoks's money to the point many had reached hundreds of thousand of poundsterling. But lately it's sad that tiktokers aren't as active for boosting palestinian tiktokers' videos, let alone congo fundraiser. They just didn't even want to watch even 3 second of them, when even the palestinian/congo accounts does NOT even want them to donate money if they couldn't. Just watching the video for 6 second. That's it. But they didn't even do that.

That being said the real vetter tumblr palestinian blogs are vetted from @gazavetters if you wanna donate here in tumblr, but if you can't donate/wanna have other sources, go to tiktok and boost/keep watching their videos.

I guess here’s your daily reminder that it’s okay to block and report gaza scam bots. yeah, those annoying ones in your DMs and inbox with the same copy paste story and formatting starting with “hello dear” or “hello beautiful soul”. those annoying ones that are now threatening to kill themselves and their children unless you post their asks and donate $20 to them. yeah, those ones are scammers guilt tripping you and profiting off of your kindness and real Palestinians who are being killed babes.

(and if you can, donate directly to organizations you know and trust, but that’s not some bots pretending to vet other bots on tumblr dot com)

[icterid-rubus]

I want this week to be over and it only just started goddamnit.

[michaelsoftbinbows97]

basically an analog to digital converter (TL074 + 7486) + shift register 595 (connected to a 555 clock) + LEDs

[sngl-led-auto-lights]

Why do most modern vehicles with LED lighting (brake, running, interior, headlight, etc.) still use incandescent (filament) bulbs in the turn signals?

Modern vehicles increasingly use LED lighting for most functions (headlights, brake lights, b), but many still rely on incandescent (filament) bulbs for turn signals. This design choice is driven by a mix of technical, regulatory, and economic factors:

1. Thermal Cycling & Flasher Circuit Compatibility

Turn signals cycle on/off frequently, creating rapid thermal expansion/contraction. • Incandescent filaments handle this stress better than early LED designs, which suffered from solder joint fatigue.

Flasher relays are designed for the resistance of incandescent bulbs (~6–20Ω). LEDs (���1–5Ω) can cause "hyper-flashing" (rapid blinking) unless a load resistor or CANbus-compatible flasher is added.

2. Regulatory Requirements

SAE/DOT/ECE Standards: Many regulations mandate minimum luminous intensity (e.g., 200–300 candela for turn signals). • Incandescent bulbs naturally meet these thresholds with simple optics. • LEDs require precise engineering to avoid glare or insufficient brightness.

Amber Color Compliance: Some regions (e.g., EU, Canada) require amber turn signals. • Incandescent bulbs with amber lenses are cheaper than white LEDs + phosphor coatings.

3. Cost-Effectiveness

Bulb Replacement Costs: Turn signals are used less frequently than headlights, reducing the longevity advantage of LEDs. • Example: A standard 3157 incandescent bulb costs $3–$5, while an LED equivalent is $10–$20.

Simplified Circuitry: Incandescents work with existing flasher relays, avoiding the need for CANbus decoders or PWM controllers.

4. Heat Management

Incandescent bulbs generate 360° omnidirectional light, which is easier to diffuse through traditional reflectors.

LEDs emit directional light, requiring complex optics (e.g., TIR lenses) to meet beam pattern regulations.

5. Consumer Expectations

Hyper-flashing Perception: Drivers associate rapid blinking with a "blown bulb," even though LEDs can function correctly with updated flashers.

Warm Color Temperature: Incandescent amber (2,200K) is perceived as more "natural" than LED amber (6,000K with filters).

6. Market Segmentation

Luxury brands (Audi, BMW, Mercedes) often use full LED turn signals as a premium feature, while economy models retain incandescents to keep costs low.

Emerging Solutions

Hybrid Systems: Some vehicles (e.g., 2023 Ford F-150) use incandescent bulbs for turn signals but LEDs for brake/running lights.

Advanced LED Drivers: Newer PWM-controlled LEDs mimic incandescent resistance (~6Ω) to avoid hyper-flashing.

Regulatory Shifts: Updated UNECE R148 standards now allow LED turn signals, accelerating adoption in Europe.

Why the Shift is Slow Factor Incandescent Advantage LED Challenge Cost $0.50–$2 per bulb $5–$15 per bulb + circuitry Regulatory Compliance Plug-and-play with existing laws Requires re-engineering optics Durability Handles thermal cycling Early LEDs failed under rapid on/off Consumer Preference Familiar warm color Perceived as "harsh" or "cheap"

Future Outlook By 2025–2030, LED turn signals will likely dominate as:

Costs drop with mass production of LED modules.

Regulations adapt to LED-specific standards (e.g., UNECE R148).

Hybrid incandescent/LED bulbs (e.g., Sylvania ZEVO) bridge the transition.

For now, incandescent turn signals persist as a pragmatic compromise between performance, cost, and tradition.

[dniel2can]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/electromechanical--relays--signal-relays/1462041-7-te-connectivity-6076042

What is a signal relay, signal relay switch, turn signal relay replacement

Telecom Relay SPST-NO (1 Form A) Surface Mount

[automotiveamerican]

A little bit of work on the Sport Coupe

[ilibelle]

Imagine that your uniform is made up of several layers of different types of fabric and bulletproof shields. In addition to the extra fabric, you wear a mask and helmet that cover your entire face. Your costume makes it impossible to identify whether you are a woman or a man, and to top it off, you never speak. This leads people who aren't part of your squad to believe that you're just a short man who never speaks.

You work for the squad led by Colonel König. Recently, there were some situations that resulted in Kortac temporarily joining Task Force 141, two squads united to capture a terrorist.

You are not and have never been a sociable person. You don't talk to people you don't know and you always let someone else do the talking for you. As much as you are an adult woman, mature enough to make decisions on your own, you are shy. Very shy.

It's not unusual for other people to ask your teammates about you, always wondering why you don't speak up. They ask about the many layers of fabric that make up your outfit, whether you don't suffocate from the excess cloth and pockets.

And these people always refer to you in the masculine.

Always.

Soap is a bit of a curiosity when it comes to mysterious people who don't interact much with others in the room and who just stand in a quiet corner, far away from any living thing in the room. No wonder he made Ghost his best friend.

So believe me when I say that he's intrigued by you. The mysterious, masked guy in the dark corner of the room, who so far hasn't interacted with anyone since he arrived. You've caught his attention, but he won't talk to you because something inside him tells him not to come up to you out of the blue.

Something inside him tells him to take it easy this time, because that something inside him thinks that the outside of that guy should be molded slowly to reveal the inside. Does that make sense?

The first person Soap will ask about you is König, because them strangely hit it off, much to the unhappiness of Ghost, who didn't like König. Perhaps it's because he's taller and has stolen the role of being the tallest in the room from Ghost.

And also because he saw König talking to you about something, but you didn't use your voice and just nodded. Which led him to think that maybe you were mute.

Soap approached König with a smile, bringing up some other subject before starting to ask questions about you. He doesn't want to sound weird.

"Hm... You know, I keep asking myself..." Soap begins, waiting for a signal to continue.

"What is it?" König asks, crossing his arms and smiling beneath his mask.

"That guy in the corner... Why doesn't he join the others?"

"Oh." König straightens his posture and looks at you, standing in the corner of the room and staring at an interesting spot on the floor. "She's a bit shy, don't worry."

The gears turned slowly in Soap's head after this information.

"IT'S A WOMAN?!!??!!!!?"

It wasn't Soap's intention to draw the attention of everyone in the room, Including you, to him and König. But it just happened.

Hello:)) it's my first time posting something written by me and my English is terrible, but I tried my best with a translator 😞

[lady-luckk]

how about a cowboy or a farmer with a bimbo city girl reader??

itd b so funny if she was just like “do brown cows make chocolate milk??”

or maybe she almost kills the guy by accident trying to rake some hay

i love the trope “she’s an idiot but she’s my idiot”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ so like, what’s the wifi password?

# pairings: yandere farmer cowboy x bimbo / himbo reader

# synopsis: while making your way to a fun hangout with your friends your car suddenly breaks down. a kind farmer allows you to stay with him until someone can pick you up. but why are the roads weirdly empty?

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession, kidnapping, and murder. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

you’re not entirely sure what led to this. one second you were on your way to hangout with your girlfriends, the next, your pink convertible broke down next to the most farm-ass farm you’ve ever seen. and now? you're standing in front of a barn that smells like hay and something suspiciously meaty, trying to get a signal with your rhinestone-covered phone held toward the sky.

"phone ain't gonna save you out here, princess."

you nearly jump out of your glittery crop top. standing behind you is a tall, broad, sun-scorched wall of man with stubble, a permanent scowl, and arms like they personally fought god for dominance. he's wearing a stained flannel shirt, worn jeans, and a scuffed cowboy hat pulled low like he’s hiding from the law—or just the concept of smiling.

you blink up at him. "omg, hi! are you like, the farmer or cowboy guy?"

he snorts. "i’m the farmer. ain’t another soul within miles, and i sure as hell didn’t call for no... barbie doll on a breakdown."

you gasp, offended. "excuse you, this is Y2K chic. and my name isn’t barbie—it’s..."

"...of course it is."

“you’re not from around here, are you?"

"nnooope. GPS brought me out here for, like, reasons. and then my engine started making this very dramatic sound. sooo now i'm, like, a damsel."

he crosses his arms, face unreadable, then sighs. "you standin’ out here in the heat for long?"

"i mean, i guess? i was gonna call someone, but I’ve only got like, one bar and a lot of hope."

another pause. then he turns and mutters, "c’mon."

"huh?"

"you want heatstroke or you want a glass of water?"

you blink. "omg, you’re nice."

"i ain’t nice," he snaps, opening the screen door wider. "i’m just not leavin’ some glittered-up stranger to roast in a ditch."

inside, it’s a mix of rustic charm and obvious bachelor chaos. he pours you a glass of water without asking, sets it down in front of you like he’s done this a hundred times, and leans against the counter like he’s regretting all of it.

although internally he’s a whole different story. he can’t believe his luck meeting someone as cute as you in this area. he swore he felt his heart leap out of his chest the minute he saw you. 

"name’s eli," he says at last. "i’ll take a look at your car. if it’s fixable, i’ll fix it. if not… guess you’ll be stuck here a bit."

you bat your lashes. "you wouldn’t mind that, would you?"

he shifts, jaw flexing. then: “don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetheart.”

but he won’t meet your eyes. and he doesn’t notice he poured you a second glass of water before you even finished the first.

you follow eli outside, trying not to trip on your own wedges as you strut across the gravel like it’s a runway and not, in fact, a minefield of dirt and despair.

he walks a few steps ahead, toolbox in one hand, broad shoulders shifting beneath that flannel like they’ve never known a day of weakness. he doesn’t say much, but you catch him glancing back once—just once—to make sure you’re not lost or dead or doing something ridiculous.

you're doing all three, probably.

when he reaches your car, he pops the hood with one rough tug and peers inside like he’s about to deliver bad news to a family of four.

after a beat, he grunts. “when’s the last time you had an oil change?”

you blink. "what’s that?"

slowly, so slowly, he turns his head and looks at you.

his face is completely blank. emotionless. a man on the brink. like he’s just been told that gravity is optional now. or that the cows have unionized.

you smile up at him, unbothered, chewing your bubblegum. “is that, like, something you get at a drive-thru? because i only do drive-thrus if they have fries.”

he says nothing.

just stares.

a long, long pause.

then: “you shouldn’t legally be allowed to own a vehicle.”

"that’s what my driving instructor said!" you chirp.

eli shuts the hood and mutters something to the lord, probably begging for patience, strength, or a strategic lightning strike.

“you’re lucky i don’t believe in abandoning helpless creatures,” he mutters, already walking toward his truck. “i’m gonna get the part you need. stay put. don’t touch anything. don’t lick anything. don’t—just... don’t.”

you wave sweetly. “k love you, byeee!”

he stops mid-step. shoulders stiffen.

and without turning around, he mutters under his breath, "you’re gonna be the death of me."

later that day, eli returns with what looks like half a junkyard and a grim set to his jaw. he spent hours elbow-deep in your car, occasionally muttering things like “what the hell is this glitter doing in the engine?” and “is this a sticker of a unicorn on the oil cap?”

finally, he slams the hood shut, wipes his hands on a rag, and delivers the verdict with the gravity of a man announcing a funeral.

“pinky, she’s dead.”

you gasp dramatically. “pinky? you named her??”

he squints at you. “she named herself the minute i saw the pink steering wheel cover. and now she’s toast. fried the transmission, shredded the belt, and i’m pretty sure the air freshener doing psychic damage.”

“oh noooo,” you moan. “so what do i dooo?”

he sighs. long and loud, like you physically pained him. “you’ll stay here until i can find someone to tow it and get you back to civilization.”

"yay!" you beam.

“that wasn’t meant to be exciting.”

as the days go by, eli gains a large affection for you. he believes that since you’re “living” with him now, that practically means that the two of you are married. 

when you two finally travel into town. he doesn’t like people looking at you. not the guy at the gas station who dared compliment your lip gloss, not the mailman who called you “darlin’” with too much sugar in his voice, and definitely not the tourist who asked if you were “lost” with that fake concern dripping off his words. 

eli’s a walking warning sign the second you step into town with him. the locals know him—eli carter, the mountain of a man with a scowl carved into his face and hands that could bend steel. most folks keep their distance, half-respecting, half-fearing him.

they say he’s good with his work, bad with people, and meaner than a rattlesnake if you push the wrong buttons. so when he rolls into town with you, all glitter and sunshine and questions like “do horses get cold?”—yeah, people notice. the butcher’s wife whispers that he’s gone soft. the old mechanic raises a brow like he’s seeing a ghost. when someone chuckles a little too long at your rhinestone boots, eli’s jaw ticks. when a guy at the feed store offers to help you lift a bag of seed, eli’s already there, grabbing it with one hand like it weighs nothing. “they’re good,” he says flatly, not even looking at the guy.

even when you try to chat with the locals, eli’s always close—never rude, but not exactly inviting either. he doesn’t trust easily, especially not when it comes to you. and if someone even looks at you sideways, he’s suddenly all sharp glances and low muttering, hand at your lower back like a silent claim: they’re mine to worry about.

eli’s jaw gets tight, voice real low when he steps between you and anyone who so much as thinks about flirting. once, a farmhand from a neighboring ranch tried to strike up a conversation with you at the feed store—eli didn’t say a word, just calmly picked up a full grain barrel, one-handed, and moved it like it weighed nothing. the guy left before eli even had to speak. you giggled, called him “jealous,” and he growled something about “men like that not knowin’ how to treat you right.” 

he won’t say this out loud , but every time someone shows a little too much interest in you, he finds a new chore to do right beside you. fencing, fixing the barn door, chopping firewood shirtless in the sun like that’s normal behavior. once, you saw him bend a crowbar back into shape like it was a breadstick and he acted like it was no big deal. he claims he’s just “lookin’ out for you,” but you’ve noticed how fast his mood shifts when someone else tries to.

eli always has an eye on you. he always seems to know exactly where you are. no matter what he’s doing, his eyes find you like it’s instinct. you’ll be picking flowers by the fence or sneaking another cookie from the jar, and somehow, he’s already looking. not hovering, not smothering—just always aware. like keeping you safe is a reflex, not a choice. it’s subtle, but constant. protective, almost possessive. like some part of him’s decided you’re his to watch over, even when you don’t realize you need it.

he can’t keep his eyes off you. to him, you’re just his precious darling.

eli gives you a curfew like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “sun’s down, you’re inside,” he says one evening, arms crossed and eyes steady like he’s expecting a fight. you blink at him. “wait, like... a bedtime?” he grunts. “ain’t about sleep. it’s about not wanderin’ into a coyote den in your platform heels.” you try to argue, but he doesn’t budge—just mutters something about you being a “walking hazard” and how “ain’t nothing good happens after dark out here.” and true to form, every evening as the sun dips low, he’s there on the porch, arms folded, waiting.

if you’re even five minutes late, he’s already out with a flashlight like a grumpy dad looking for a runaway puppy. he won’t admit it, but the curfew isn’t just about safety. it’s about knowing exactly where you are. keeping you close. keeping you his.

every night, without fail, you end up in the kitchen with eli—him cradling a mug of coffee, you wrapped in one of his old flannels, sitting on the counter like you belong there. the light is soft, the air warm, and he’s always gentle with you at this hour, like the quiet makes him softer. he’ll brush your hair back without thinking, pass you the sweeter drink without asking, and murmur low little comments that sound more like affection than teasing.

sometimes he rests his hand on your knee when he walks past, like anchoring himself to the moment. he doesn’t smile much, but with you like this—half-asleep, blinking at him under kitchen lights—there’s a warmth in his eyes that says more than he ever will.

there’s always a comfortable silence between you, broken by the occasional sarcastic quip or dry comment from him when you ask if cows dream or if the moon looks closer out here. sometimes he’ll pass you a spoon to taste something he’s cooking, or nudge your knee with his hip to get you to move over so he can reach a cabinet. it’s quiet, almost domestic. like this little nighttime routine just… happened. and neither of you questioned it.

and just like that it’s been a month. you no longer notice how the roads seem to “get worse” whenever you mention leaving, or how eli’s smile always grows just a little too warm when you say, “maybe i’ll try calling a tow service again.”

you’ve stopped wondering why your cell service hasn’t come back. you’ve accepted that the mountains are just “that bad,” as eli puts it. eli’s a good guy, there's no way he’d do anything to sabotage you from going back home. like eli totally did not install a signal jammer two days after you arrived or that he's murdered everyone who ever offered to take you home. there's just no way. 

now, you’re completely settled in—no wifi, no car, and definitely no cute outfits from home. but honestly? you’re so content. the cozy flannel shirts, freshly baked cookies, and endless cups of lemonade have turned life here into a dreamy routine.

but something nags at you.

you’ve been living with eli, enjoying his hospitality, but you don’t want to feel like a useless freeloader. so one afternoon, you decide it’s time to step up and offer to help around the farm. you can’t just keep eating his food and just looking pretty, right?

you walk up to eli, who’s messing around with the tractor, and clear your throat.

“eli, I was thinking… i should help out more around here. you know, so i don’t just sit around all day being a freeloader.”

eli glances up, his face a mix of surprise and a hint of reluctance. he wipes his hands on his pants, a sigh escaping him.

“you sure about that?” he asks, his voice gruff. “you’ve been here for a month and you’re just now deciding to help?”

you nod, determined. “yeah, i wanna pull my weight.”

he doesn’t seem convinced but shrugs. “alright, fine. you can start by feeding the animals. that’s simple enough.”

you beam. “great! i can totally do that!”

you were definitely not cut out for farm life. after eli told you to help with feeding the animals, you felt determined, but that determination quickly turned to chaos.

you squinted at one of the cows and asked, "so, uh... do brown cows make chocolate milk?" eli froze mid-step, gave you the most soul-dead stare, and muttered something about regretting every decision that led him to this moment.

then the chickens got involved. you tried to scatter feed like in the movies, but instead slipped on your own glittery flip-flop and fell right into the middle of their breakfast—cue one chicken hopping onto your back like it was claiming a new roost. 

the goats were no better; one of them chewed on your hair extensions while you screamed, "sir, boundaries!" and the pigs? the pigs chased you across the yard when you accidentally dropped a granola bar from your purse. eli didn’t even try to hide his grin as you ran by him yelling, “they smell fear, eli, they smell fear!” 

by the time it was over, you were covered in hay, dirt, feathers, and regret, and eli just handed you a wet rag with a grunt, like this was all perfectly normal. 

but this wasn’t the first time you’d gotten yourself in a mess. oh, no. this was just the latest installment of “you vs. farm life.” you had managed to almost flood the barn by forgetting to turn off the hose, break a shovel trying to pry open a stubborn gate, and somehow trip over a rock and sprain your ankle—while sitting down. eli had bailed you out every single time. and he didn’t even seem to be all that surprised anymore.

like that one time you got it in your head to “help” eli with a small fix on the tractor. it involved welding, and you’d sworn you could do it. five minutes in, you had almost burned off your eyebrows and started a small fire by the side of the barn. eli was on you in an instant, throwing a bucket of water over the flames, shaking his head like you’d done this a million times before. “i swear to god, you’re gonna burn this place down before we even finish building it,” he grumbled as he handed you a fire extinguisher.

"you really know how to ruin a moment, eli," you pouted.

“moment?” he muttered, sounding exhausted. “you were about to become a human torch.”

there was that time you tried to be helpful in the kitchen by making dinner, only to end up dropping an entire pot of spaghetti on the floor, then attempting to "clean it up" by throwing it into the trash—half of it splattered on the walls and the other half stuck to the ceiling. you’d been standing there, horrified, when eli walked in. “don’t even ask,” you said weakly.

he’d just sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work fixing it. “get out of the kitchen before you burn yourself,” he grumbled, tossing you out of the way with a gentle nudge, as if you were a ragdoll. “and don’t try cooking again until I’m here to supervise.”

you gave him a smile that could’ve melted the coldest of hearts. “you love me.”

he grumbled something unintelligible, but you could see the hint of a smile beneath his gruffness.

and it wasn’t just accidents. oh no. it was your sheer ability to get into trouble. like the time you wandered off into the woods to “explore” and ended up trapped in a thorn bush because you thought you saw a unicorn. yes, you. a unicorn. by the time eli found you, you were stuck, practically covered in thorns, and looking like a glittered-up forest creature. “if I hadn’t come to find you,” he’d said, grinning slightly, “you’d still be out there, trying to make friends with a unicorn.”

you had the decency to look sheepish. “i was trying to be imaginative.”

"yeah, well, next time, try not to get stuck in the thorn bush before you start trying to talk to magical creatures.”

safe to say after that incident eli forced you to wear and carry an airtag with you permanently.

then came the day you decided to help eli with manual labor—big mistake. you tried lifting a hay bale and almost dislocated something. when you grabbed the post hole digger, it practically dragged you across the yard. eli didn’t even let you finish struggling; he took it from your hands with a grunt, muscles flexing like it was nothing, and muttered, “you’ll break before the tools do.” you huffed, but he didn’t budge, already finishing the job in half the time. apparently, your job was now “supervising,” which mostly meant staying out of the way while he manhandled the entire farm.

and then there was the one time you decided to “fix” your own car because you were “bored” and “needed a project.” that involved you somehow locking yourself inside the trunk while trying to find your spare tire. it was a whole dramatic saga that ended with you yelling for help from inside the trunk, much to eli’s amusement. when he finally popped the trunk open, you had the nerve to ask him, “how’d you know i was in here?”

“because you’ve gotten yourself in a mess, like, again,” he replied, his tone dry.

you beamed up at him. “i’m just that special.”

“special? yeah, that’s what we’ll call it.” he smirked before pulling you out of the trunk and checking over your car like he wasn’t wondering why he didn’t just lock you in there himself.

but despite all the chaos you caused, despite the non-stop antics and trouble that seemed to follow you, there was something comforting about it all. eli might grumble, he might make fun of your messes, but he never left you to fend for yourself. he had this way of always being there—whether it was pulling you out of a thorn bush, rescuing you from your own cooking disaster, or simply watching over you while you made another mess in the barn. eli didn’t get frustrated. he just dealt with it—and, in his own way, he took care of you.

you were a disaster, sure, but you were his disaster. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for both of you.

[ladycharlottexoxo]

1 for sevika!! Lets say vika finally came back from being sent on a long mission by silco and reader is relieved to have her back :)

smut prompts · ʜᴏᴛ ᴛᴇᴀʀꜱ ⋆⋆⋆

overstimulation, happy crying, fingering

⊹ ࣪ ˖ you didn't think she'd make it out of the mission silco had assigned her. being silcos right-hand woman came with so many responsibilities, and one of them just happened to be taking on the most physically and mentally straining missions. you knew it when you signed up for this relationship, but it was still hard on you. pacing back and forth in the apartment hall— your eyes lit up when you heard the key turning in the front door lock.

“vika!” you flung into her arms. “i missed you!” you giggled and buried your face in the crook of her neck. she smelled like gunpowder and tobacco: like danger. and somehow, it dampened your panties. soaked. through and through.

“hey, beautiful,” sevika slipped her poncho off, letting her bag fall to the ground with a thud and hugged you with her flesh arm.

“i thought you died,” you looked at her, face soaked with tears. “you didn't respond to any of my texts or calls!”

“yknow how the signal is down there,” sevika said, letting her organic hand wipe your tears off before she led you to the bedroom. she started undressing, “i missed you.” you ogled. shamelessly.

“vika...” you muttered and walked closer, dress only in an oversized shirt of hers and a pair of very wet cotton panties.

“missed me too, didn't you?” sevika smirked, hand reaching down to rub you through your embarrassingly wet panties. you nodded, moaning softly.

“missed you with my cunt too.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ sevikas fingers brought you to heaven as always, digging deep and curling just right. you were a moaning mess as you buried your face in her chest and sniffed her natural scent. “i missed being so— ungh— so close to you!”

you desperately pulled her closer as your pussy throbbed around her thick fingers. she was so deep inside, you moaned her name loud and then blushed furiously— did the neighbours hear? who cares?

“oh you look so pretty under me right now, just wanna ruin this cunt.” sevika pressed a sensual series of kisses down the valley between your breasts. tears streamed down your face. you sniffled.

“i missed your kisses, i missed being fucked just right— ah!— oh goodness, you're so deep inside!” your pussy squelched obscenely. sevikas gaze softened at your tears, and she began kissing your tears away. you gasped, a broken sob exiting your throat, “no matter how desperately i humped your pillow or sniffed your boxers or— oh janna, right there! right there!—”

your own moans kept cutting you off. “youve kept yourself busy, i see...” sevika chuckled. “cum for me.”

[southernimpala]

backseat

sam winchester x fem!reader (ft. dean :)

summary ↬ you're in the backseat of the impala 'asleep', but really, you're just eavesdropping on sam & dean

notice ↬ pure fluff (i promise the angst is coming ya'll (and the smut ;)), dean is a shit as always but not really he's actually a good brother in this one, who else wants to fall asleep in the back of the impala like pleeaaaseee, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 1.4k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ read part two ↬ frontseat

the rough leather backseat of the impala itches at your legs as they lay curled atop it, your head leaning on the window, foggy and freezing against your cheek as the chilly temperature of north dakota bleeds through. you try to catch up on some much needed shut-eye on the way to the motel. 

 which, unsurprisingly, is very hard to do when sam and dean winchester are in the front seat, fighting over the stereo.

“if i hear one more led zeppelin song, dean—” 

“woah, woah.” you peek your eyes open slightly to see dean’s finger pointed at sam, his face scrunched in a scowl, “there is no room for zep slander in this vehicle, sammy.” 

sam laughs sarcastically, shaking his head, his growing, soft wisps swaying in front of the headrest, “fine, then, i suggest you play something produced past 95’.” 

dean clicks his tongue in distaste and turns to look past the steering wheel again, “kids don’t know good music.” suddenly, just as you close your eyes, dean calls your name, looking at you through the rearview mirror, “what do you think we should play?” 

 “silence,” you grumble, trying to shield your vision from the bright street lamps as they flash orange light rhythmically past your closed eyelids. 

“alright, ac/dc it is then,” he says, sliding in a new tape—the one you recognize instantly from memory, marked with ‘ac/deanc’ scrawled in messy handwriting on a strip of tape slapped across the front.

as angus young’s guitar starts to echo from the stereo, you slowly melt back into the seat, adjusting until you’ve found a comfortable spot. 

you begin to drift off again, fading in and out of consciousness as the tapes change ever so often: metallica, black sabbath, and, when led zeppelin starts to play again, you can just envision sam’s beautiful eyes rolling.

eventually, you rouse awake to the low hum of some billy idol track, the volume way lower now that the car clock signals 3:31am. 

you can hear the crinkle of a bag of chips sam is snacking on, dean’s fingers tapping to the beat of the music, and the rumble of baby underneath you. 

you’re about to force yourself into more sleep, moving to cover your forearms with your hands to keep them warm, when sam’s soft voice lulls in the silence. 

“do you think she’s cold?” he mumbles quietly, and you see, from your low hooded eyes, his head moves just slightly behind the headrest to examine your figure.

he’s right to question it. the temperature is becoming more frigid as the night blooms darker, and you’re sure the goosebumps on your arms are visible if he looks hard enough. 

“it’s warm in the car,” dean responds, turning onto a backroad. the car is swallowed in darkness as the streetlamps fade into haunting trees stretching into miles of forest surrounding you. 

sam’s tongue pokes his cheek in thought, and without prompt, he’s shrugging the brown carhartt off his body, turning in his seat—you’ve told him to start wearing a seatbelt—and delicately draping the warm material across your shivering shoulders. 

a blanket of musk, campfire smoke, and something only described as sam winchester envelops you.

you shut your eyes quickly so he won't suspect you’re awake, but that means trying your damnedest to bite back the smile fighting its way onto your lips at the gesture. you snuggle deeper into the jacket to hide the bottom of your face while pretending to be asleep. 

peeking through your eyelashes, you see sam not bothering to hide his own smile at the sight of you nestled under his jacket. your heart picks up.  

he re-rights himself in his seat, clearing his throat as he focuses on the road ahead again. 

“real smooth, there, romeo.” dean smirks, giving him a knowing nod.  

“shut up,” sam shakes his head, picking nervously at a loose thread in his jeans, “she looked cold.” 

“oh, did she tell you that, huh?” dean teases again, shoving his shoulder playfully. 

sam moves away from his brother’s provoking hand, “eyes on the road, jerk.” 

“bitch,” dean scoffs, but you know the grin is there: real and genuine, “just tell her you love her so i can stop watching these mixed signals.” 

your stomach twists. 

“dean, i don’t—” sam trips over his words, bringing a hand down his blushing face, “i just gave her a jacket in under 30-degree weather—”

“—and patched her up for over an hour after that werewolf got its claws in her, and walked her back to the room when she drank too much, and freaked out when that guy tried picking her up at that bar in minna—” 

“that’s called being a gentleman,” sam narrows his eyes, growing more defensive, “and we both freaked out, so don’t try to—” 

“i freaked out because the guy looked like a creep, you freaked out because somebody—anybody’s—hands were on her,” dean moves to take a sip of his melted slurpee from dinner, “there’s a difference, sammy.” 

the things dean mentions start flooding back into your memory, the gestures at the time seeming so innocent, no possible way for there to be any underlying connotation if you hadn’t thought about it hard enough.

until now, when you’re thinking about it hard enough. 

the way sam’s hands shook just slightly as they expertly stitched the gash on your leg, and how his eyes held something else under the concentrated look; a glimmer of worry, fear, even, at the idea that you were hurt. 

then, how those hands, no longer shaky, gripped your waist tight to keep you on your feet as you stumbled back to the motel room from the bar one night. you were trashed, the hunt a particularly hard one, yet, he didn’t let you fall. tucked you in and everything. 

you had no idea about the last one, of the gross drifter trying to get lucky with you. no clue that it’d bothered him—both of them—but, especially sam in that way. not until now. 

and suddenly, they all make sense. 

“whatever, dean,” sam says, his words lower than a whisper, like a child who's just been scolded, “it’s never been that way with us.” 

“it can be,” dean argues, “‘think i don’t notice the way she acts toward you, too?” 

 sam laughs mirthlessly, like a light breath escaping past his lips, “drop it, already.” 

“i’m being serious!” dean’s voice picks up just slightly, eliciting a “shhh!” from sam as he nods his head toward your ‘sleeping’ figure. 

he quiets, “i’m being serious, you’re both idiots.” 

well, he isn’t wrong about that. 

maybe you had been looking at sam a certain way. with a twinkle in your eye you can’t control. a giddiness you only show when he’s around. the laugh that bursts through your chest at his jokes.

the gentle hand you placed on his, shaky and tactful, as it took care of you that night. 

and the expression that met yours when you did so. 

you see it flash the back of your eyelids as they flutter against the moon’s glow through the window. you melt further into the smell of him at the memory, wishing it was his arms around you instead. that he wasn’t so far away in the front seat. 

“she’s good for you,” dean adds in the moment of silence, “and damn, is she beautiful.” 

sam lets the corner of his lips curl into a gentle smile, the thought of you filling his head, of every moment where maybe he didn’t think hard enough either, “yeah,” he whispers softly, “yeah, she is, isn’t she?”

he looks back to you, lets himself take in the image of you underneath something of his keeping you warm, safe. 

something in him bursts. 

fuck, he loves you. 

and, you think you love him, too.

dean’s music fades as you nod off for the last time till you make it to the motel. the impala shifts into park, and the engine growl is sharply cut. you groan as you’re awoken, stretching out your limbs as you yawn loudly. 

sam opens the door on your side, peeking his head under the hood, “good morning, sleepyhead.” 

you yawn a response, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. instantly, once your vision un-blurs, your chest clenches at the conversation overheard a mere few hours before. you can’t help the deer in headlights stare as you look up at sam’s gentle features, smiling softly at you. 

and he has no idea what you heard.

he sticks his large hand out for you to take as you step out on wobbly legs. you refuse to let go of his jacket as it stays hanging on your shoulders. 

yeah, you think, i love him.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ sam winchester masterlist !