#asks from jagger!!!

[majorlycelliers]

bruh, give me a flower to eat please this coffee and oatmeal is boring

you've TRIED the coffee and oatmeal and you've TRIED the flowers and you think the flowers taste better?? okay :3

[waugh-bao]

i’ve seen tons of stones pics over the years, but this one is new to me!

keith is dressed for a totally different occasion 😭

They look like they’re all auditioning for roles in entirely different films/tv shows.

• Ronnie = The Matrix

• Mick = the lead in a courtroom procedural

• Keith = male escort in a low budget European art film

• Charlie = the escort’s p*mp (I’ve never seen that shiny/silk(?) suit before and I’m fascinated, it seems so out of character for him)

The other photos from that session don’t make any more sense:

[slit-skirts]

All time most deranged Rolling Stones press conference moment comes from the Voodoo Lounge era, because of course it does:

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

all three of them are completely unfazed LMAOOO

[taurus-spacecraft]

Ur so mysterious bruh imma start calling you "Miko (Mi-cho) Myers"

Me. Mysterious. How. ?.

U see me like this?

IF IM SUPPOSED TO NE MYSTERIOUS I WANNA BE A CRYPTID

LIKE THE THING YOU SEE IN THE FOREST AND THINK YOUR DREAMING

[muzaktomyears]

[John] compulsively scanned the FM dial, never listening to a complete song unless it was something he really liked – for instance, the Rolling Stones’ “Miss You”. When this song came on a local rock station, John shouted with delight and cranked up the volume, commenting that Mick Jagger at least got this one great song out of his divorce from Bianca. Twice we caught snatches of Beatles songs, but John showed no interest. He told me that most Beatles songs, particularly the early ones – which he dismissed as “formula songs” – bored him. He said that usually when he heard a Beatles song he would be reminded of the recording session. His memory would dredge up details such as what he had eaten that day, what drug he had been taking, conflicts that arose at the time – mostly unpleasant memories. We were driving past a vast shopping mall, near Walt Whitman’s birthplace, when a familiar voice boomed over the four speakers. “Fuck a pig!” John shouted. “It’s Paul!” Indeed, it was Paul McCartney’s new hit single, “Coming Up”, a catchy tune built around a repetitive staccato riff. John frowned, turned up the volume, and began to nod to the beat. “Not bad,” he said at the end of the song, sounding surprised and even somewhat disappointed. When the announcer mentioned that Paul played all the instruments himself, John mumbled something to the effect that it made perfect sense because Paul had always wanted to be a one-man band. John turned down the volume again and fell silent for a while. Then he asked me to get him a copy of Paul’s new album and to set up a stereo system in his bedroom. (…) The next day at breakfast, John hummed the melody of Paul’s new single, which he said he could not get out of his head. “It’s driving me crackers!” he exclaimed cheerfully. He said the album was uneven, but he acknowledged that it was an unusually adventurous effort by Paul, and far superior to his previous release, Back to the Egg, which John had dismissed as “garbage”. He gave Paul credit for trying his hand at something new. I realized that after years of lying dormant, John’s competitive nature had been aroused again. As long as Paul kept churning out mediocre “product”, John felt justified in keeping his own muse on a shelf. But if Paul was writing decent music, then John felt compelled to take up Paul’s challenge. It was a conditioned reflex, nurtured during years of friendly (and later fierce) rivalry in the Beatles. John told me that Paul was the only musician who could scare him into writing great songs, and vice versa. That was the nature of John and Paul’s relationship: creative sibling rivalry.

John Lennon: Living on Borrowed Time, Frederic Seaman (1991)

[berryispunk]

Like A Song Stuck In My Head

Before @thedrabblecollective's challenge kicks off tomorrow—and after meeting the characters yesterday—here’s the intro story you’ll want to read before diving into the drabbles themselves.

pairing: Frankie Morales x ofc (Firefly)

tags: alternate universe, takes place after TF events, all the music references, rockstar! Frankie, dual POV, addiction, drug mention, cocky Frankie, strong female lead, ANGST, strangers to???, falling in love, some harder themes, dive into mental health (later), emotional turmoil, eventual smut for later chapters, curse words

general summary: Like a Song Stuck in My Head follows Frankie , as a troubled guitarist chasing a second chance, and Firefly, the sharp-tongued bartender who sees through him. What starts in a dive bar becomes something deeper—until it all falls apart. Some connections burn fast. Others never fade. Some songs never leave you, even when the music stops.

word count: 2,5 k

moodboard done by my dear friend @guelyury. gracias, bonita!

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Firefly’s seen plenty of boys with guitars. But none like the one on stage tonight—wild waves for hair, sweat-slicked and electric like a live wire, half-drunk on adrenaline and something sharper. Frankie Morales, lead guitarist of Thorns of August, doesn’t just play—he moves like the music’s tethered to his soul, like it’s the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

She wipes down the counter with a practiced flick, half-watching from behind the bar. Not that she’ll ever admit it.

Donna leans in beside her, arms crossed, gaze steady on the stage. “The boys are good, right?”

Firefly shrugs. “Guess they’re decent.”

Donna smirks, all tough-love and mischief. “Guess the fish boy’s got an eye on you.”

That’s when she looks up—and catches Frankie’s gaze locked on hers like he’s been watching her all along. He doesn’t look away. Just smirks, cocky and smug, before turning back to his guitar like she hasn’t just caught him staring. She rolls her eyes, but there’s heat curling low in her chest.

After the set, he swaggers over, guitar still slung across his back like a weapon or a trophy. Pupils blown wide, jaw tight—wired as hell but humming with something she can’t name. He taps the bar with two fingers.

“Whiskey. Double.”

She gives him a once-over. Band tee snug, silver rings, that look in his eyes like he thinks she’s already fallen.

She pours the whiskey. He knocks it back in one go. No wallet.

“You gonna pay for that?” she asks, cool.

He grins. “I already did. Just played your sad little stage, didn’t I?”

She doesn’t blink. “If you don’t pay, I’m throwing you out. Couldn’t care less if you’re Mick Jagger’s long-lost bastard.”

He laughs—slow, full of bite. Peels a crumpled twenty from his back pocket and tosses it onto the bar like a challenge.

“Are you always this uptight, hermosa?”

She meets his gaze, unflinching. “Are you always this insufferable?”

—

She walks away before he can come up with something clever, sliding down the bar to serve a pair of regulars who actually tip. Doesn’t spare him another glance. Frankie watches her go, elbow braced on the counter, still riding the high—everything too bright, too fast, too much. But somehow, she cuts right through the noise.

It’s the way she moves—like she owns the place, like the world doesn’t get to touch her unless she says so. The sharp line of her jaw. The tattoo curling over her collarbone. No rain, no flowers.

And the way she doesn’t smile when she doesn’t mean it. That part floors him.

He thinks about tossing out something flirty, one of his usual throwaway lines. But it feels wrong here, flimsy—like trying to play a song with all the strings snapped. She’s not playing the same game. And it bothers him.

Later that night, the crowd’s thinned to the half-dead drunks and the regulars too drunk to find the door. The stage is dark, gear packed, Benny’s laugh echoing somewhere near the exit. But Frankie’s still at the bar—leaning, lingering. He’s not sure why. He tells himself he could leave, find some girl if he wanted to. He’s done it before. But tonight, he doesn’t. Tonight, he stays. Eyes drawn to the fiery redhead behind the bar who hasn’t smiled at him once.

“You still here?” she asks without looking up, wiping down the counter like she doesn’t care if he answers.

He shrugs, trying to look cooler than he feels. “Band’s packing up. Thought I’d keep you company.”

She flicks a glance his way. “You look like you’re two seconds from kissing the floor.”

He grins, all teeth. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

She huffs out something like a laugh, but it’s dry. Noncommittal. Still, he takes it like a win.

“You get high like this every show?” she asks after a beat, genuinely curious now.

He leans in, cocky. “Only the good ones.”

“Then that explains it.”

That makes him laugh—rough, real. He rests an elbow on the counter like he plans to stay a while, like maybe he belongs here now.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Firefly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Bullshit.”

She shrugs. “That’s what people call me.”

“You got a real name?”

“Yeah, but you haven’t earned it.”

That hits somewhere deep. He covers it with a smirk, but inside, it throws him off balance. People usually hand him what he wants. She just tossed him back on his ass without even trying. 

He doesn’t know it yet—not through the static in his head or the ego propping him up—but something shifted. And in the weeks that follow, he keeps showing up. Even when they’re not playing. Even when he says it’s for the drinks.

It’s not.

—

It starts on a quiet night. The kind where the jukebox hums low and the only customers left are nursing heartbreaks or hangovers. Frankie’s at the bar again—this time not high, not vibrating out of his own skin. Just tired. Guitar case propped beside him like a loyal dog. She slides him a soda without a word.

He nods. “Thanks.” No smirk, no wink. Just that low, scratchy voice that’s somehow softer without the coke in his system.

She leans in, arms crossed. “So what’s your story, Guitar Boy? You always this broody when you’re sober?”

His smile twitches at the corner, crooked and real. “Only when no one claps for me after a show.”

She rolls her eyes, but something in the stillness makes her pause. He’s not performing tonight. Not selling the charm, not trying to win anything. Just sitting there, present. So she cracks, just a little.

“I used to study literature,” she says, fingers absently tracing the condensation on his glass. “Had this whole big idea of being a teacher. A writer. Romantic kind of broke, you know?”

He doesn’t interrupt. Just watches her, like he knows better than to speak yet.

“Then my mom got sick. Bills piled up. Took a break from school to help out. Never made it back. Ended up here, in a city I never meant to stay in, behind a bar I didn’t plan on working at.”

She shrugs like it doesn’t sting anymore. Maybe it doesn’t.

“But... I don’t know,” she adds, quieter. “I’ve grown to weirdly love it. The noise. The chaos. Donna. Even the semi-decent bands that roll through.”

He lifts a brow. “Semi-decent, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

But the corner of her mouth curves, and this time the smile isn’t forced.

After that, he starts showing up more often. Not every night, but enough that she notices when he’s not there. Always sober now, or at least trying to be. He comes in quiet, nursing a soda or nursing nothing at all, just resting in the hum of The Shack like it’s the only place that doesn’t expect anything from him.

They talk. Not deep all at once, but in fragments. He’s a better listener than she expected. When his pupils aren’t blown wide and his hands aren’t jittering, Frankie has this way of being still—really still—like he’s storing everything she says to turn it into music later.

One night, she tells him about her favorite poetry book. Just mentions it in passing while wiping down the bar. Doesn’t expect him to care.

But a few nights later, he walks in, looking sheepish, a little unsure, and drops a worn copy of the exact book on the bar between them.

She blinks. “You can read?”

He chuckles, fake offended. “A few words, yeah.”

Then, almost shyly, he adds, “I read some of it. It's kinda like songwriting, just… quieter.”

It catches her off guard. The honesty. The humility. For a moment, her armor slips—and she lets herself smile. Not the sharp one she wears with drunk guys and rockstars. A real one.

He doesn’t try to kiss her, doesn’t push. Just sits there with his soda and the book between them, like maybe that’s enough.

—

The weeks blur.

Frankie doesn’t know when the shift happened. Maybe it was the way she said you haven’t earned it with a half-smirk and fire in her eyes. Maybe it was the book—how she lit up talking about it, how her voice softened like she forgot to keep her guard up.

So he buys it. Reads it. Not all of it, not at first. Just enough to underline the lines that feel like her. He keeps a notebook in his bag now, scrawled with half-finished lyrics and fragmented thoughts that make no sense unless you’ve been inside his head for weeks.

“you speak like everything’s temporary / but your silence stays with me.”

“she keeps her name locked in her teeth / dares you to ask for the key.”

She haunts him. Not like a ghost—no, Frankie knows ghosts. She’s worse. She’s alive. She’s red hair under cheap bar lights. She’s rolled eyes and soda cans slid across the counter. She’s the only thing that makes him feel sober when he’s high.

But she never lets him all the way in. Even when she laughs at something he says. Even when she leans closer without realizing. Even when she tells him about the professor who once said her words made people feel too much. She always pulls back, just before it gets real.

It drives him mad. Not angry-mad. Addict-mad. Desperate for a hit, and she’s the cleanest thing he’s ever wanted.

So when show night comes, and the green room smells like sweat and spilled beer and Benny passes him a bump, Frankie doesn’t hesitate. The coke floods him like always—confidence, chaos, clarity, then none at all. He’s wired by the time they hit the stage. Sound blaring, blood boiling, eyes darting for her even while he’s mid-solo.

He spots her eventually. Behind the bar. Laughing, not at him.

Some guy’s leaning over the counter, too close. Talking with his hands. She looks uncomfortable—but polite. Frankie sees red. Doesn’t care that the guy’s just a customer. Doesn’t care that they’re mid-set. He drops the guitar mid-song.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls, stumbling off the stage.

It happens too fast.

The guy mouths off. Frankie swings. Benny jumps in. Chairs scrape. Bottles crash. Someone throws a punch that wasn’t even meant for them. Suddenly the whole bar erupts. Santi grabs Frankie from behind, pinning his arms before he can lunge again.

“Enough, man. ENOUGH!”

Frankie’s breathing like a wild animal. Coked out and furious. Mind buzzing with static and the taste of blood.

And then—

He sees her.

Across the chaos. Still behind the bar, where she ducked for cover. Her eyes on him, not scared. Worse–disappointed. Like she’s watching something she’d hoped wasn’t true unravel right in front of her.

Donna’s voice cuts through it all. Sharp and final.

“Get out. All of you. You’re done here.”

Frankie doesn’t hear what else she says. Santi’s dragging him toward the door. Benny’s bleeding from the lip. The crowd’s yelling. Cops are probably on the way.

But all he can think about is her gaze.

It follows him out the door. Lingers in his chest even when the cold hits. And for the first time in a long time, Frankie feels something worse than the high wearing off.

He feels shame.

— 

The bar smells like stale beer and regret.

Firefly unlocks the door with a click that echoes louder than it should. Her head throbs from too much adrenaline and not enough sleep. She barely drank last night, but she feels hungover anyway. Emotionally wrung out. The kind of tired that seeps into bone.

She steps inside slowly, like the chaos might still be waiting for her.

The place is trashed. Not totally wrecked, but enough—a few chairs overturned, a crack in one of the front mirrors, and a smear of something dried and dark on the floor near where Benny got hit. Donna stayed late cleaning up most of it, cursing under her breath the whole time. Firefly stayed too, silent, scrubbing until her hands ached, not saying much. Not about him.

The cold air clings to her skin as she props the door open to let in some fresh light, grabs the broom, and starts sweeping. She’s barely a few swipes in when she hears it.

Boots on pavement and she freezes.

Frankie stands there, half-shadow, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s trying to hold himself together with nothing but denim and shame. He looks like hell. Hoodie, sunglasses, hair a mess. The whole hungover rockstar programm. She knows he’s sober—can feel it, somehow. But that doesn’t make it better.

Her heart sinks so fast she almost misses it.

But she straightens, shoulders squared and voice flat, despite her inner turmoil.

“You’re lucky Donna’s not here.”

He flinches like she slapped him. Takes one hesitant step closer but doesn’t cross the threshold.

“I just…” His voice cracks, then clears his throat. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

She stares at him.

Not because she doesn’t believe it but because part of her wants to and that’s the worst part.

“You should go, Frankie.”

“Please,” he says, like he’s begging now. “Just—just let me explain. Let me—”

“No.”

It’s final. Her voice doesn’t shake, even if her hands grabbing the broom do.

“You think I haven’t seen guys like you lose it before?” she says, eyes icey. “You think I haven’t had to clean up after someone who let the high talk louder than their heart?”

He swallows hard, but doesn’t argue. Just stands there, all wrecked and quiet, which is even more deafening somehow.

She doesn’t wait for him to answer. Doesn’t give herself the space to waver—because if she stays in that doorway, looking at him all shattered and sorry, she just might. But this was never her battle to win. Never hers to fix. And it never will be.

Firefly steps past him, into the darkened bar, and flicks on the lights.

Fluorescents hum above her as the door creaks shut behind her, echoing in her ears.

He doesn’t follow. Thank God, he doesn’t follow.

And the second she’s alone, it all crashes. The broom clatters to the floor and her hands tremble even harder. She presses her back against the wall and slides down to the tiles. The first sob rips out before she can stop it, raw and ugly and real.

She wanted to believe he was different. That the quiet nights and stolen conversations meant something.

That maybe she didn’t have to keep everyone at arm’s length forever.

But last night reminded her why the walls exist and why she can’t afford to let them fall.

thanks for reading 💌

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[i-am-the-oyster]

Some not at all lighthearted thoughts about Maxwell's Silver Hammer

I've been thinking a lot about Maxwell's Silver Hammer, Joe Orton, and 'original sin'.

Orton was killed by his (male) partner with a hammer on the 9th of August 1967. He had written a script for a potential Beatles movie (it was returned without comment) earlier that year. He was due to meet with Richard Lester on the morning of his death, to discuss filming a revised version of the script, with Mick Jagger as a possible lead.

18 days later, on the 27th of August, Brian Epstein was found dead.

Less than six months later, in Rishikesh, Paul started working on Maxwell's Silver Hammer. On the face of it, one of Paul's 'story songs'. On closer inspection though there's reason to suspect it's more symbolic and less allegorical. The timeline is off: Maxwell starts in college, then goes back to school, then suddenly finds himself in a court. The second and third verses are dream-like in their unrealism.

The other three Beatles' frustration with the recording of the song is well known, but John also said it was their first attempt at writing a song about Instant Karma.

From this site:

Former Apple employee Tony King expands on the song's meaning a little further in Steve Turner's book “A Hard Day's Write,” by relating a conversation he had with John Lennon concerning his song “Instant Karma.” “John told me that 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' was about the law of karma. We were talking one day about 'Instant Karma' because something had happened where he's been clobbered and he'd said that this was an example of instant karma. I asked him whether he believed that theory. He said that he did and that 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' was the first song that they'd made about that. He said that the idea behind the song was that the minute you do something that's not right, Maxwell's silver hammer will come down on your head.”

Paul tends to speak of the hammer metaphor more like random negative events, rather than some kind of deserved retribution, but he did talk about the breakup like this:

That whole period weighed on me to such an extent that I even began to think it was all tied in with the idea of original sin

So I was already thinking something along the lines of: what if John and Paul had come to some terrible conclusion about "sinful" gay activity attracting divine retribution. They decide they need to find "the right woman" to settle down with, and resist these "sinful" urges. Paul deals with this, in part, by writing a freaky song partially inspired by Orton's murder, where he giggles at the mention of the word 'behind' (in every take, apparently). He also allegedly obsesses over the recording of the song.

So when I saw this section of John's lyrics sheet for Now and Then I gasped:

Remember when we thought our life <love> had ended the gods had been offended

Yeah.

[house-hussy]

Dr. Wilson’s bleeding heart. Chapter Two: Dinner on the house.

Reader x James Wilson

Summary: Y/N is a talented geneticist, working clinic at Princeton Plains-burro for a chance to work near the world renowned Gregory House. What you never expected was to fall head over heels in love with his best friend, Dr. James Wilson.

Which of course isn't an issue until House's obsessive nature decides that you and Wilson's relationship is its next fixation, putting a strain on your relationship you never could have prepared for.

A small black dress with silver earrings. You questioned it a few times, was it too casual, too nice, too short, but it was too late now. You felt the sweat on your palms against the steering wheel.

You didn't know why you were so nervous. Yes Dr. Wilson was extremely cute and sweet, but it's not like you were drooling over the guy. You aren't even entirely sure what this dinner is supposed to be, a date, or just a dinner between colleagues discussing an exciting new medical breakthrough. You knew what you wanted it to be, but as the great philosopher Jagger once said, "you can't always get what you want".

————————————————————————

You walked in the front door of Giovanni's right at eight, it was nicer than you had expected it to be. That didn't help your anxiety. Just as you were about to text Wilson to ask him if he was there yet, you saw him wave at you from across the left side of the dining room. You couldn't help but smile as you approached the table.

As you got closer you got a better look at him -guess you didn't overdress. He was wearing a freshly ironed white button down with the top two buttons open, and a simple pair of black pants. Somehow he was even cuter outside of his white doctor coat.

"Hey! I'm so glad you made it." He said beaming. You were relieved that he seemed just as excited to see you as you were for him. You take the seat across from him.

"Hi! Yeah me too, I am starving." You say, immediately cringing internally, you didn't mean to sound like you were cruising for a free meal, nice work. But he didn't seem to notice.

"How was the drive over here?" He asks looking a bit nervous.

"It was fine just some traffic, I'm really glad I made it on time I was afraid I was gonna be late because of the crash on 34th"

"Oh my gosh, I hope everyone was okay." He says with a concerned tone.

'Great job (Y/N)', you think to yourself. 'Nothing more romantic than gluttony and car crashes.'

"Yeah everyone was fine it was super minor. How about you? Make it here okay?" You ask. The small talk was killing you, at work everything felt natural, like you guys always had something to talk about, but now for some reason you feel like the most boring person ever. Thankfully, the waitress interrupts before he can answer, buying you some time to break the tension.

"Hello! I'm Samantha, I'll be your waitress today. Can I get you started with something to drink? Tonight we have this incredible blue chardonnay as a special" she says expectantly. You aren't much of a drinker but you figured you could use it tonight.

"Yeah I'll try that, sounds delicious" you reply smiling.

"I'll have one too, actually you know what how about we just get a bottle." He says. You guess he's just as nervous as you are.

"Alright sounds good I will be back with that in a little bit" she smiles and walks away.

"I don't think I've ever had a blue chardonnay before" you say looking at Wilson again. You could make this work, at least until she came back with the wine.

"That's because there is no such thing. It's just a marketing tactic" he replies with a smug smile.

"Look I haven't worked in a restaurant since med school and I don't drink like ever, cut me a little slack."

"Oh no way, I also worked in a restaurant in med school"

"Back of house?"

"Server"

"Oh yeah of course how silly of me" I chuckle.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks trying to sound defensive but wearing a massive goofy smile on his face.

"Just that you clearly have an excellent bedside manner" you retort, laughing. You still can't tell if he's flirting or not, but at least you feel more relaxed. "Well Dr. Wilson, thank you for inviting me out tonight, this is lovely."

"Oh you can call me James" he replies. Is this flirting? Who knows how many other coworkers he's on a first name basis with. But you tell yourself to stop being an overthinking dork.

"Well James, you can call me (Y/N)" you say, definitely blushing a little. The wine finally comes and you don't even feel like you need it anymore. But you drink it nonetheless, and it's the most awful thing you've ever drank. James shares the same sentiment. You laugh about the drink, you laugh about work, and you start to realize, yeah, this might be a date.

"You know this is kind of silly but before I decided to go to med school I actually wanted to major in film." You say smiling widely, feeling a little flush from the alcohol.

"You're kidding" he says with a deadpan look on his face. "I was actually an actor in college."

"That's crazy, what did you act in?"

He pauses for a moment, with a look on his face like he regretted bringing it up. "Nothing you would have seen"

"Oh come on"

"Maybe I'll tell you after a few more glasses but it is genuinely the most mortifying thing I have ever done."

"Oh stop now you HAVE to tell me" you say giggling uncontrollably. He doesn't tell you, but you sure as hell won't forget to bother him about it at work. You can't remember the last time you've laughed this much. How was he so charming and funny, and single. Part of you wanted to be cautious, like this was too good to be true, but a bigger part of you had went from kind of liking him to really liking him.

The rest of the dinner is incredible. You can't remember the last time you've clicked like this with another human being. You were probably at that table for three or four hours before you finally got up to go.

James walked with you to your car, standing oh so close the entire time. So close that you could smell his cologne, the man smelled incredible. Once you get to your car you lean on the driver's side door.

"Thank you so much for dinner tonight, it was a lot of fun." You said smiling at him. Wow he was so close.

"You're very welcome I had a great time. How would you feel about doing this again sometime?" He spoke more confidently with the Chardonnay in his system, even if he was slurring his words just a little.

"I would love that" you reply. You study his face. He really does have pretty eyes, a great facial structure. You wanted to lean in for a kiss, and part of you thought he did to, but alas.

"Have a great night (Y/N)" he says stepping back so you can open the car door.

"Goodnight James." You sit in your car and close the door behind you, watching him walk in the opposite direction. Dang, you should have kissed him. At least that's what you say to yourself as your drive home, but realistically, you just didn't have the balls to make a move like that. The only thing you knew, was that you were way to excited to see him tomorrow.

———————————————————————

The next morning at work you feel a mix of excitement and anxiety, waiting to pass Wilson during lunch or while delivering files. You hadn't called or texted since last night, not wanting to come off too strongly, but wow did you want too. And then the excuse came. You had some files you needed to deliver to the head of cardiology, who was conveniently two doors down from the head of oncology.

You walked nervously down the halls, peering cautiously around every corner. You aren't sure why, Wilson isn't a ghost, just a cute guy.

You were a little disappointed when you got all the way down to the head of cardiology and you saw his door was shut, but you knew you would see him at some point that day. All you could do was sigh and deliver the file to Dr. Smith, who eagerly accepted the case.

He thanked you and you left, and just as you closed the door behind you, you saw Dr. House himself, come boldly out of Wilson's office. He stopped in his tracks and gave you a strange look. All you could do was smile at him.

You start to walk away before hearing House shout, "Dr. (Y/L/N)". You turned around, shocked that he even knew your name.

"Yes Dr. House?" You respond. As much as you had wanted to talk to him, you didn't have the words in that moment.

"When did you start working up here?" He asks limping over. You were taken aback by his interest in you, but managed not to show it.

"I'm working clinic actually I just needed to deliver a case to Dr. Smith"

"What is a well respected geneticist with a specialty in a rare metabolic disorder doing working clinic in a learning hospital?" He asks accusatorially. Okay now that was weird. He had no reason to know that much about you.

"What's a world renowned diagnostic head doing interrogating a newbie?" You retort. Even you were a little surprised at your defensiveness. You had been warned that Dr. House was... abrasive to say the least, but you hadn't expected to be the brunt of it before even being fully introduced.

"A brilliant doctor can't take an interest in a less brilliant doctor's work?" He responds with a sarcastic undertone. But you don't let it phase you. If you know anything about people like him it's that you can't let him bully you into submission. You still needed his respect if he would be of any use to you.

"Not a doctor with actual work to do." You retort.

"Well I'm sure you can't have that much work to do if you're spending your time drinking at a restaurant with coworkers you don't ever work with. I at least have the decency to drink at home alone."

Abrasive is one thing, but why does he care about your dinner with Wilson? And furthermore, why would Wilson tell this prick about it in the first place.

"Good point" you reply. "I should get back to work" and with that you turn on your heels and high tail it out of there. That was not how you thought your first conversation with the man was going to go. You knew you would need to talk to him again eventually considering that's why you started working there in the first place, but now that you knew first hand what he was like, you needed to mentally prepare for it first.

———————————————————————-

Wilson exits the elevator leading into the clinic. You wave as you spot him, a wide smile on your face. He smiles back and begins walking over to you.

You weren't sure if you should bring up your earlier interaction with House. You almost wanted to ask him why he told House about your dinner in the first place, but you figured you weren't on good enough terms quite yet to start being accusatory.

"Well hello Dr. Wilson." You say with a smile. You weren't quite used to the first name basis thing yet so you figured you'd just stick to Wilson at work.

"Dr. (Y/L/N), hello how has clinic been today?" He beams. The house thing wasn't that big of a deal, you could bring it up another time if it got any worse.

"Same old same old, Oncology?" You reply.

"Mostly just paperwork today. I don't usually see many patients on Tuesdays it's more of an in office day."

"Honestly I envy that, I wish I could have paperwork days." You chuckle. All you were really thinking about was your dinner. You wanted to bring it up, hell you wanted to just straight up ask if it was a date but you decided against it. Thankfully you didn't have to.

"I wanted to tell you I had a lovely time last night" he says. Your heart flutters a little.

"So did I. We should do it again sometime" at this point you could feel the stupid grin on your face but you just couldn't hold it back.

"Yeah um.." he pauses for a moment. Uh Oh. "I actually have an event this weekend. A colleague of mine is giving a presentation at this conference in Glassboro, I was wondering if you maybe wanna be my plus one." Ok maybe I shouldn't have been so nervous. "It sounded like something that might interest you" he adds hurriedly. Can this dude not tell you like him already?

"That sounds wonderful." You reply grinning. "I assume we're carpooling?"

"Yeah! I can pick you up around 7 on Friday and we'll make it to the hotel around 10ish."

"That works for me I'm not off until five so it'll give me time to pack."

"Perfect, well you have my number, just call if you have any questions."

"Alright will do, I'll see you on Friday Dr. Wilson." You flash him one more smile. It had been quite a while since you'd been to a medical conference. Doesn't help you come any closer to figuring out if this is a professional or personal relationship, but you will certainly find out this weekend.

The whole ordeal makes you completely forget about your weird interaction with House in the hallway. But you would remember soon enough.

[holyblonded]

https://www.tumblr.com/holyblonded/781579935776129024/is-chickie-in-the-barca-gc-because-its-literally?source=share

chickie is def gonna end up dating a la masia wonderkid that goes into the first team in a couple of years when they’re 17 and now everyone’s worried bc chickie def has a great relationship with barca that makes the move likely *but* the precedent in their elders (mario and lia) says the opposite

— leah sees one (1) singular photo of chickie laughing with said la masia wonderkid on insta and immediately drops her phone like it burned her

— she calls sam at 2am and just says “we’re doomed” and sam, equally dramatic, responds “they’re gonna take her”

— kristie, meanwhile, is completely unbothered, scrolling on her phone while nursing baby jagger and going “you two need to get a grip”

— arsenal camp is shaking

— steph is giving chickie the coldest side-eyes and pretending it’s about tactical focus

— beth starts writing her a song called “please don’t leave” and sings it half-seriously at breakfast

— kyra just mutters “traitor” every time chickie’s phone pings with a message that looks too spanish

— leah decides to have “the talk” with chickie

— “you’re young. impressionable. this is how it starts. a little flirting. some croquetas. next thing you know you’re in blaugrana and i’m having a breakdown on sky sports”

— chickie just blinks and says “i was asking if she wanted to trade stickers”

— sam goes full secret agent and starts investigating the wonderkid’s stats, background, and if she’s ever tweeted anything questionable

— kristie snatches the laptop from her and tells her to act normal for once

— lia sighs and tells everyone “if it’s true love, she’ll stay anyway. like i did.”

— and that spirals the team into a full breakdown because lia and mario is the ultimate precedent

— “what if chickie is mario— oh god we’re really doomed”

— meanwhile chickie has no idea what’s going on

— she’s just vibing, sending her barça girls pics of her arsenal fit and asking when they’re visiting london again

— at training she’s like “guys why is everyone looking at me like i’m gonna defect?”

— leah dramatically clutches her chest and says “because you might.”

— it all culminates in sam sitting her down that night like

— “do you love us?”

— chickie, confused, holding a juice box, nods

— “then don’t you dare wear barcelona’s colors in public again. you stay in london.”

— two weeks later chickie is wearing a barça hoodie that la masia kid gave her and all of arsenal collectively dies inside

— but she has her arsenal shorts on underneath and kristie is like “balance”

— the threat is real. the drama is high

— and no one has control of chickie but chickie herself

— god help them all.

[majorlycelliers]

Just outta curiosity, since when do you like Limp Bizkit and The Clash?

rollin is the only limp bizkit song I like lol. the clash is okay I guess.

[waugh-bao]

Mick’s first Instagram post has such ‘husbands on vacation ask stranger to take their photo’ energy I can barely stand it.

It does!

But this also applies to a huge % of Mick and Charlie’s solo photos (and the ones with Jerry - except Mick is the third wheel in that situation):

And the behind the scenes content we’ve been so generously provided with by Lucas:

[lemoncrushh]

Live From New York

Summary: Harry's on SNL and he gets a little jealous when he thinks you're not there for him.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1313

A/N: Super silly blurb from 2017 after Harry was on SNL. This was a request (some requests were oddly specific back then lol) that you have a bit of a crush on Colin Jost and Michael Che. It also helps that you know a couple of Rolling Stones songs that are mentioned at the end.

We gotta get away from here...

Harry's lyrics were still ringing in your ears as you watched the stage being set up for the next skit. Your stomach flipped when you realized it was going to be the Weekend Update segment. You liked this skit in particular, having always had a little secret crush on Colin Jost and Michael Che. Perhaps it was their humor, and the way they would sometimes roast each other that got your juices flowing, but they always managed to crack you up.

"Hey, come with me," you heard to your left.

You turned your head in time to see Harry walking toward the dressing room. Hesitantly, you followed him, quickly returning your focus to the monitor set up on the wall.

"Sit with me for a minute," he requested, beckoning you to the sofa where he sat.

Smiling, you did what he asked, taking his hand. "You were great."

"Yeah?" he grinned.

"Mmm hmm," you nodded. "I especially liked seeing you in that white Mick Jagger suit."

Harry chuckled. "Maybe I should add one to my wardrobe."

You scooted closer to him, hiking up your leg to lightly brush against his.

"I wouldn't be against it."

Just as Harry leaned in for a kiss, your peripheral vision caught sight of Colin and Michael on the screen.

"Oh!" you squeaked. "This is my favorite!"

"Um...alright," Harry paused as you sat up.

You thought he might've mumbled something under his breath, but then someone else entered the room to tell him to get ready for the next skit. He rose from the couch as you continued to watch the segment, giggling at everything the two comedians said. When it was over, you noticed Harry had left the room. You felt a little guilty, knowing this was his special night and you'd been ogling over two other men. Determined you find him to wish him luck on his next skit, you opened the dressing room door. Just as you stepped out, Colin and Michael were walking down the hall.

"Oh my god, you guys...I love you, you're amazing!" you exclaimed, the word vomit escaping your throat before you had a chance to stop it.

The two men stopped to thank you, and you chatted for longer than you'd expected. So long, in fact, that you missed Harry's next skit. He was just walking off the stage when you caught up to him.

"That was great," you lied, though you were sure it had been considering the comedic faux beard he had on.

"Really?" he asked with sarcasm and a deadpan stare. He knew you hadn't seen one second of the skit.

Unable to speak, you watched as he walked past you to the dressing room. You stood frozen, feeling more guilt ooze throughout your body than you thought possible. You'd hurt him.

"Harry," you muttered when you entered the dressing room.

No response.

"Harry, I'm sorry," you added.

Nothing.

You stepped closer to him, his back to you as he pulled on his slacks.

"Say something."

"'s nothing to say Y/N. You obviously had something more important to do than to be there for me."

"Harry, that's not fair," you argued. "I was there for you. I mean...I'm here! For you!"

He finally turned then, his eyebrow raised in question. "Really?"

"Yes!" When he just continued to glare at you, you shook your head, throwing your hands up. "I can't believe this."

"Can't believe what?"

"You can't be jealous because I was excited to see Colin and Michael."

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not jealous."

"Then what is it?"

Harry sighed, dropping his shoulders. "I'm just upset that you missed the skit."

"I said I was sorry. I didn't mean to. You're right, I got caught up in the excitement, but I truly did not do it on purpose. You're the one I'm here for. You're the one I'm immensely proud of! You're the one I'm in love with!"

The last sentence slipped out unwillingly. You couldn't take it back, but you also knew you didn't want to. Harry stared at you, his jaw set but his eyes softening. Then he separated the space between you in one stride, pulling you into his arms and kissing you on the mouth.

"I'm so in love with you," he whispered when your lips separated. He pressed his forehead to yours, cupping your face in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" you choked.

"For..." he paused, "for doubting you."

"No," you shook your head. "I'm sorry. I should have been more considerate. I know you're nervous."

Harry chuckled, stepping back on his heels. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not blatantly," you grinned, running your hands up and down his arms. "But yeah, I can tell."

"'m so bloody nervous, 'm shaking."

"Well, babe, it's live TV. Of course you are! But you're doing amazing, and I'm so so proud of you."

"I still have another song to sing," he remarked.

"And I'm gonna be watching. I promise."

Oh tell me something I don't already know...

The second performance had gone well, and if anyone had really been paying attention, they could hear your claps and cheers the loudest.

You followed Harry back into the dressing room after the finale and credit roll where he had not surprisingly hugged every single member of the crew. You smiled when you sat on the sofa and watched him get undressed.

"So are you as proud of yourself as I am?"

He flashed his dimpled grin and shrugged. "Maybe."

"Are we going to the after party?" you asked cautiously. He hadn't mentioned it, but you'd heard there was one. You didn't want to rock the boat though, after what had happened earlier.

"Do you want to?"

You cocked your head nonchalantly. "It's your call. I'm fine with it. Either way."

Harry smirked. "You're funny."

"Me? Why am I funny?"

"You're trying not to get too excited again. But I know you."

"It's whatever you want, Harry, really. I was just wondering."

Smiling, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. "We can go. I just have to do something first."

"Okay. What's that?"

"Just a minute."

Harry turned toward the rack of clothes at the far end of the room. Then with a smug look on his face, he took something off a hanger, turning again swiftly so you couldn't see. But as soon as he stepped into the trousers, you knew what it was.

"Oh God," you giggled.

Harry looked back at you with a shit-eating grin before pulling on the shirt and jacket.

"C'mere, Mick," you beckoned.

"Wait, I don't have my wig on."

"Don't need it," you commented. "I just want the suit."

Harry finally turned around then to face you, making you grin from ear to ear.

"There he is," you murmured low. "My Midnight Rambler."

"Oh, Jesus," he scoffed which only caused you to giggle more.

"I said, come here," you demanded in a seductive tone.

"Yes, ma'am."

You rose from the sofa as he stepped closer to you. Pulling on the lapels of his jacket, you kissed him on the neck, your tongue licking and sucking his skin, sticky with perspiration.

"Hmm," Harry sounded, turning on his Mick Jagger impression once again. "Looks like someone wants some manky panky."

You laughed under your breath, pulling him backwards towards the couch. Sitting down, you urged him to come with you as you kissed his lips.

"What exactly is manky panky?" you asked. "I thought it was hanky panky."

"I dunno. Is it?"

You laughed harder, sliding your hands down his chest to unfasten the two remaining buttons.

"You fucking Brits," you mocked.

Harry lifted himself up to look you in the eye. "You know what this makes you then, don't you?"

"What?"

"A Starfucker."

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[writingsongsinsteadofletters]

Hips like Jagger and Two Left Feet

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: None, fluff, tiny itty bitty mention of overworking

I was imagining The Only Exception by Paramore, but you are welcome to choose any song! Title comes from Finally / Beautiful Stranger by Halsey!

A faint song began playing from the living room, summoning you out of the office, finally away from your work.

"Noah?" you ask, trying to find him.

As you head into the living room, you find him standing there, setting a camera up. The floor is empty, the lights dimmed. There's a few candles lit, giving the room a romantic atmosphere.

"Care to dance, love?" he asks, placing his hand out for you to grab. "Thought you might want a break."

"Noah... you didn't have to. I was okay," you take your hand in his as you speak. Noah pulls you in close, his other hand on your waist. He begins to guide you around the living room.

"I did. I had to get you outta there one way or another, since you wouldn't take a break. I don't want you to get burnt out."

"Ah, you're sneaky," you sigh, resting your head on his chest. "I was fine, honey."

"Yeah, well, now you're taking a break. You're dancing with me, baby. Then we're gonna get dinner. It's in the oven right now, actually."

You sigh again, dancing with him. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Y/N."

As the song continues, you dance around the living room. He spins you in his arms, twirling you around, before pulling you in for a hug at the end. You two stand there quietly for a few moments, just enjoying the company, before the oven's timer goes off.

"Dinner's ready, baby," he whispers, pulling away. He turns the camera off, smiling at you. "For us in the future, when we're old and grey."

[velvetseahorse]

One of my favorite things is analyzing the charts of public figures, whether they’re alive or deceased, to explore connections to their karmic romantic tendencies, potential death predictions, and more. One of my research findings revealed the consistency of Mick Jagger being romantically involved with women who have Ashwini placements.

Notably, there are four Ashwini women with whom Mick Jagger has been strongly linked, each having had some significant impact on his life. If you’ve noticed a pattern, these Ashwini women always seem to represent a “first” of some kind in Mick Jagger’s life. Ashwini is the first nakshatra and is associated with beginnings.

His alleged first love, Cleo Sylvestre, an Ashwini ☉, played a significant role in the early days of The Rolling Stones’ career. She was very supportive of the band, even helping to house and care for the members. Mick Jagger, in particular, developed a romantic interest in her, and the two briefly dated. He even proposed to her, but she declined. She is often regarded as “the one that got away.”

One of Mick Jagger’s most famous relationships was with Marianne Faithfull, an Ashwini ↑. They were known as the ultimate “it couple” of the 1960s—talented, stylish, and emblematic of the era. However, their relationship was tumultuous, and Marianne struggled greatly during their time together. Initially, she wasn’t romantically interested in Mick, but they eventually became deeply involved. During their relationship, Marianne developed a severe drug addiction. At the same time, she had a young son from a previous relationship, with whom Mick formed a close bond. In her memoir, Marianne revealed that Mick once became physically violent with her, an incident that left her confused and shaken. Tragically, she became pregnant with Mick’s child but suffered a miscarriage, an event that deeply affected her and led her to attempt suicide. Shortly after, their relationship came to an end.

The first mother of Mick Jagger’s child was Marsha Hunt, an Ashwini ☉. Mick had been seeing Marsha while still in a relationship with Marianne Faithfull, as they reportedly had an open arrangement. Initially, Mick wanted Marsha to pose for The Rolling Stones, but she declined. Later, he visited her apartment, and that’s when their love affair began. During this time, Mick confided in Marsha about his struggles with Marianne, including her drug addiction and suicide attempt. After Marianne’s miscarriage, Mick was deeply affected. Having grown close to Marianne’s son during their relationship, he felt a void and asked Marsha to carry his child. Marsha agreed, but by the time she became pregnant, Mick had moved on to a new relationship. Shockingly, Mick began denying the child, despite previously urging Marsha to have the baby. It’s alleged that Mick’s disappointment stemmed from the fact that the baby was not a boy.

One of Mick Jagger’s longest relationships was with his ex-wife Ashwini ☽ Jerry Hall, who is the mother of four of his children, including his first son. Despite the longevity of their relationship, Mick was unfaithful to Jerry multiple times throughout their time together, leading to significant strain on their marriage that was eventually ended.

Bharani ☉ Bianca Jagger

Mick Jagger has Aries ruling his 12th house, which is one of the most karmically impactful houses in astrology. The 12th house governs themes like loss, spiritual liberation, the subconscious, hidden enemies, mental anguish, isolation, and even death. Aries, particularly in the Bharani nakshatra, adds a passionate, aggressive, transformative and self-centered energy, as it is ruled by Mars, the planet of action, sex, aggression, and drive. Mars ruling the 12th house can indicate someone who struggles with insecurities related to these traits, leading to overcompensation that manifests in destructive or harmful patterns. This influence is evident in Mick’s relationships with women, marked by behaviors such as cheating, neglect, controlling tendencies, and even humiliation. For instance, his first wife, Bianca Jagger, who has her ☉ in Bharani, experienced his infidelity but resisted much of his control. Bianca was outspoken, independent, and refused to tolerate Mick’s shenanigans. In fact, she often used his gestures to her advantage—when he bought her gifts, she would intentionally hide them (reflecting the 12th house’s connection to hidden things). Mick, eager to please, would help her look for them (which he never did find) and simply replace them, playing into her strategy. Another significant relationship was with L’Wren Scott, who had her ☉ in Bharani conjunct her Ashwini ☿ and ♃. Tragically, L’Wren committed suicide in an unexpected and shocking manner, leaving many to speculate about the role her relationship with Mick may have played. While the true reasons for her passing remain unclear, some believe the stress and turmoil within their relationship could have contributed to her decision, again reflecting the 12th house themes of loss and hidden suffering.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Bella Goth's (Actually Cozy!) Winterfest Celebrations - And a New Ring 💍

Bella Goth loved the holiday season. Even when she was unhappily married to Mortimer for years, she could always get into the Winterfest spirit. She'd always been fascinated by Father Clement, who could seemingly be everywhere at once every Winterfest Night. If families celebrated, he would come. You might even say the inexplicable magic of Father Clement was her gateway to a lifetime studying occults and paranormality.

Now, of course, she was dating the Grim Reaper himself, and to mark the season she prepared a plate of Hallacas - a traditional holiday dish passed down from her Selvadoradian grandmother, Enriqueta, at the request of her beloved sons.

Alexander was grown and had started a family of his own, and Dexter would graduate high school before she knew it (I don't think I've shown a picture of him since he was a toddler, so there he is in the green jacket, looking pretty much nothing like Mortimer). Bella cherished their excitement over the savoury dish - a mainstay at Goth family Winterfests year after year. They knew the best Hallacas in the world were the ones their mother made!

Once Alex and Lydia lit the menorah to introduce their son, Jagger, to another part of his heritage, most of the Goths went to bed. The cats, Spatula and Victory, stayed awake sniffing around the Hallacas, while Bella played and sang a tune on the piano.

She was in a good mood, waiting for her beloved Grim to return from his latest reaping. They didn't get to see one another enough, but they more than made up for time apart each time they came together. "My love," she said warmly. "I adore you. Come in from the cold."

Grim couldn't feel temperatures, exactly, but his entire being buzzed with a fire he hadn't felt for millennia whenever he spent time with Bella. But one thing in particular had always bothered him - her insistence upon wearing the oversized engagement ring from her ex-husband, Mortimer, as a fashion statement.

He'd grown tired of looking at it, quite frankly. "I have a gift for you," he said. She lifted the lid on the medium-sized box with excitement, gasping when she spotted the velvet ring box inside.

"You didn't!"

"I didn't. I asked @deardiaryts4 to design a custom ring just for you. A new fashion statement. I know how much you love her work, and I hope you like it. She did an incredible job, and considering how close it was to Winterfest when I asked her to design it, she pulled it together in no time."

The stunning bauble glistened under the lights of the Winterfest tree at their backs - a massive black diamond set on a white gold band dotted with dozens of smaller black diamonds. "It's incredible, Grimmie, I love it!"

The ring fit Bella like a glove, but they had to cut their cozy celebration short. "Sorry, duty calls," said Grim, before disappearing outside in a cloud of black smoke.

Bella went to bed satisfied though Grim couldn't stay by her side, and she awoke to the excited murmur of Winterfest morning streaming up the stairs.

Soon after breakfast, her daughter Cassandra arrived with her husband, River, and their sons.

Bella made spiced hot cocoa to greet their arrival - another common treat at Goth family holidays - and she pulled out a retro game console Cass and Alex used to play with when they were children, introducing her grandson Michael to the simple, colourful joy of earlier, more pixellated video games.

(I see you plumbob. I've been so good. But the event rewards task box was in the way!)

She even managed to wrangle all nine of them for a family portrait by the tree, and then the family put on some Winter Holiday music to dance off some of their festive energy.

clockwise from top: Dexter Goth, Alexander Goth, Jagger Goth, Lydia (Kim-Lewis) Goth, Cassandra (Goth) Nesbitt, Bella Goth holding Samuel Nesbitt, River Nesbitt, Michael Nesbitt

(Jagger also needed a diaper change, so dance party done.)

These moments with her family, surrounded by the love of her children and grandsons, meant everything to Bella.

But Grim, and the gorgeous ring she wore as a symbol of their love, meant something, too. As she grooved with her family by the fire and spent time with her beloved crow, Obsidian, this cozy celebration reminded Bella she was one of the luckiest women in the world.

Cozy Celebrations posts with Hazel & Nicola: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Nicola Enters Dating Deanna

NOTE: I didn't give this installment a part number because it's not technically canon but IS canon, if that makes sense. The ring is real and the portraits are going on the wall, but Michael, Samuel, and Jagger are all older than they were during in-game Winterfest (and aging them back down meant trying to pose infants through a couch and I honestly couldn't be bothered!) But I allude to the idea that the holidays come around every year, even though it's actually closer to every 15 years of actual game time. A sim year is 8 days, but the calendar year is 112 days because I like to fit in as many holidays as I can. So last year Cassandra, River, Michael, and Samuel were with the Nesbitts, but "this year" they rotated to the Goths, because I absolutely needed a family photo with them in it.

I know the Hazel/Nic play on Cozy Celebrations turned out to be the complete opposite, so this is like a palate cleanser, finishing the last two days of the event tasks with another side family in this legacy, instead. Not everyone's out here having a bad time!

WCIF Bella's ring? You can't, I'm sorry! This post came about because I got an exclusive and it's gorgeous, but @deardiaryts4-rb posted about the white diamond version here, and let this be my endorsement that it's stunning! If she puts either swatch up for public download I highly recommend this ring for any of your luxe sims! Thank you Zen!!

WCIF Portrait Poses? I used 9 of 19 poses from @somneasims Our Legacy posepack, and with the exception of River giving jazz hands where that would be behind another sim's back and a missing infant on Michael's lap, it's a perfect fit! And these are so minor, like it's absolutely acceptable to give jazz hands or look like you're fidgeting in a family photo. Also, Dexter should be carrying an infant, but River's hair disguises his empty hands. Thank you for sharing this, I love the results!

(And yes I considered adding Mortimer and Karl since he and Bella are on such good terms, but in the end I decided they went on a vacation because this shot is wonderful.)

And I've used the same acha-sims' Lovers 2 pose for Grimbella before, but it's so perfect and really puts the ring front and centre, which this post deserved!

[old-women-can-peg-me]

Uploading my backlog of fics from AO3 on here!

Take Me By The Tongue And I’ll Know You

Lilia x reader

Tags: Sesbian Lex, plot what plot/porn without plot, fingering, overstimulation, jealousy, face sitting, squirting.

Summery:

You use Rio to make Lilia Jealous and it works.

A/N:

Did not expect to genuinely get the hots for Patti LuPone but I am not complaining

(Not beta read but my work never is)

Enjoy!

You loved coven events, wild parties with witches from other covens, all giving in to their carnal desires. Tonight was no different, Agatha had planned a night of festivities for your coven and a few others. Everyone but Agatha and Rio had to send the invites, no one wanting to come to a party hosted solely by those two.

“Having fun, y/n?” Rio asked, her body flush against your back.

“Don’t use me to make Agatha jealous,” you laughed, pushing the witch away from you.

“It’s not Agatha I’m making jealous,” she purred into your ear, “you know Agatha wants to end the night with an orgy,”

You laughed, unsurprised at the purple witch's wishes. Your eyes scanned the crowd for one particular witch and when you couldn’t find her you turned around, pulling Rio’s front close to you. You pressed your mouth against her exposed neck, eliciting a light groan from the green witch’s throat.

“Y/n,” a familiar voice said, sliding up behind you.

You turned around and saw Lilia, her eyes trained on the witch behind you.

“Rio,” she said, her tone clipped.

“I’ll be off,” Rio laughed, moving through the crowd in search of her purple witch.

Your eyes flicked back to Lilia, her face in an unreadable look. The older witch said nothing as she stared at you, her eyes raking over your body from top to bottom. Her eyes lingered for a moment at the very low-cut V of your dress, showing off a decent amount of boob and stopping at your navel.

“Agatha wants to end the night with an orgy,” you told her, smiling as you saw her eyes darken.

Did you have a massive crush on the divination witch? Yes. Was this the perfect excuse to finally act on those feelings? Also yes.

“And those that don’t want to participate?” She asked, her hands finding your waist as she slowly began swaying you to the music.

Your smile faltered for a second. Were the stories you heard about her not true?

“I thought you used to dance naked in the woods,” you teased, pressing your hips closer to her.

She laughed, her nails digging into your hips, pulling you even closer.

“I don’t do that just for anyone now,” she said, her lips close to your ear, “and I don’t like sharing,”

Before you could answer, the song changed, ‘Moves Like Jagger’.

“This is my favourite song!” You yelled at her, pulling Lilia onto the dance floor with you.

The older witch indulged you, allowing you to drag her by the arm. The sound of her laughter and singing filled your ears and you smiled. She was so beautiful, the way she got lost in the music, singing along with you.

“My ego is big, I don't give a shit And it goes like this!” The both of you screamed, her hands pulling you impossibly close to you.

“Take me by the tongue and I’ll know you,” you sang at her, pushing your face closer to Lilia’s.

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” she said before she connected her lips with yours.

You shirked in surprise for a moment before relaxing into her lips. Her nails were digging into your hips, just dull enough for indents to form under your dress.

“Come with me,” she said against your lips.

You wordlessly followed the witch as she led you off towards a spare room. Once inside she shut the door and pushed you up against it, crashing her lips into yours. You let her take control, her tongue exploring your mouth and her nails digging into your hips. You moaned at the feeling of her nails as they moved from your hips and scraped along the exposed skin of your chest.

“I never want to see you kissing Rio again,” she growled, her lips pressing kisses along your jaw.

“Lilia,” you moaned, wrapping your hands into her curly hair, “I had to get your attention somehow,”

You felt her growl against your throat, her teeth nipping at your exposed skin.

“Match up witches,” you heard Agatha yell from outside the door, “and only the losers get their own room,”

You laughed at her words, knowing Rio had told her about Lilia and you and the comment was directed at you. The laugh turned into a moan as she bit at a sensitive bit of skin.

“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name,”

Your head fell back against the door, a moan escaping your lips at not only her words but the feeling of her hands pushing off your dress. Her knee pressed between your legs and you pushed your centre against her, desperate for some friction against your soaking wet entrance. Lilia made quick work of your dress, pulling it off your shoulders and more than enjoying the view of your chest rising and falling as you fought to catch your breath.

“I can’t wait to ruin you,” she said and you moaned as her mouth fell to your chest.

Her tongue ran across your nipple as she took one into her mouth, soft bites and licks sending waves of wetness to your core. Her hand reached for your other nipple, pinching and rolling the sensitive nub between her fingers. You moaned as she swapped sides, taking the other nipple into her mouth. Once she was satisfied that your chest had enough marks for the moment she pulled away and you whined at the lack of contact. Her mouth was back on yours almost instantly and her hands snaked up your body and into your hair. She gave a sharp tug to your hair as she led you off the wall and towards the large bed that sat in the middle of the room. The back of your knees hit the bed and you let her push you backwards.

“You are wearing too many clothes,” you said, sitting up and reaching for her dress.

It was a nice floral dress that had a low-cut neck, it was more of a slip than anything but gods did she look good. She smiled and let you pull the dress up as best you could from where you sat and she pulled it off the rest of the way. Your eyes roamed her body, stopping and staring at her now exposed chest.

“Like what you see?” She laughed.

You nodded as she stepped closer to you and onto the bed, straddling your hips. You buried your nails into her hips and placed open-mouthed kisses along her chest, revelling in the low moans she made. Her hands found your hair and you moaned as she gripped your hair. With a sharp tug, she pulled your face back and she pressed her lips against yours. The kiss was all tongue and teeth and you felt like you were floating, her nails digging into your scalp. You pulled your lips from hers and smiled at the small whine she let out at the loss of contact. The whine turned into a moan as your mouth found her neck and you searched for her pulse point, once you found it you bit down lightly and sucked at the skin, groaning at the sounds of her moans. Your hands moved to her thighs and you lifted her up to your face. She yelped in surprise, throwing her hands onto the bed sheets above you.

“You put you in charge?” she asked, looking down at you.

You laughed and placed a flat-tongued lick against her already wet underwear. She let out a low moan as she threw her head back. You could listen to her moaning all day. With a click of your fingers, you made the underwear disappear and you dived right into her, your tongue darting in and out of her wet entrance. You moaned at her taste, loving the way she moaned as your mouth sucked at her clit.

“Oh fuck, y/n,” she moaned, rubbing herself against your face, “you look so pretty between my thighs,”

You moaned at her words, sending vibrations through her soaking-wet entrance. Her moans went higher in pitch and you knew she was getting close, the movement of her hips getting wilder.

“Gods, just like that y/n,” she moaned as your tongue entered her.

You rolled your tongue inside her and revelled in the way her walls clenched as her orgasm began to crash over her. You struggled to breathe as she pressed herself further onto you, her hips bucking as she rode your face. You continued to fuck into her with your tongue and as she tried to pull away you dug your nails into her thighs, keeping her in place, determined to give her a second orgasm.

“Y/n,” she moaned, “I can’t,”

“Yes you can,” you said, your voice sending vibrations through her.

You loved the way her hips bucked each time you sucked on her overly sensitive clit, her second orgasm building up faster than the first. You moaned as you felt her juices running down your chin, eager to taste as much of her as possible. With a final suck to her clit you heard her scream as she came, her juices squirting out of her and soaking your face. You let go of her hips and allowed her to move off you, her hips involuntarily bucking as her orgasm continued to wash over her.

“What a talented little tongue you have,” she said, bringing her lips to yours.

She moaned at the taste of herself on your lips and let out a whine as her hand trailed down your stomach and slipped under the waistband of your underwear. She slid two fingers into you easily and you moaned at the feeling of being full.

“What a nasty little slut,” Lilia said, her mouth moving down your neck, “all wet just from eating me out,”

You moaned, both at her words and the feeling of her fingers curling inside you, crying out as she hit just the right spot. Lilia bit at your skin, leaving deep purple marks on your neck and you cried out as she reached your pulse point, placing a sharp bite right on it.

“Lilia,” you moaned, bucking your hips against your hand, “I’m… I’m gonna cum,”

She smiled against your skin, speeding her fingers up and reaching her thumb to rub small circles around your clit. You cried out in pleasure as you felt your orgasm crash over you. Her fingers continued their brutal pace and you thrashed your hips in an effort to get away from her unrelenting fingers.

“Oh no,” she said, “I’m breaking you,”

She suddenly pulled her fingers out and you threw your head back, happy for the moment of rest before you felt her straddle your hips and her hand fell behind her, shoving her fingers back into you roughly and setting a gruelling pace. You looked at the witch on top of you and moaned at the sight as her free hand wrapped around your throat. You could feel her wetness pressing against your stomach as she continued to fuck you with her fingers.

“Such a good girl for me,” Lila said, her thumb reaching for your clit and rubbing tight circles, “I want to see three more from you,”

You shook your head, unable to give a verbal response and you felt her hand squeeze around your throat as she leaned forward slightly.

“Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” she asked.

You moaned at her words and nodded your head, “Yes, please,”

“Then be my dirty little slut and cum,” she said, her hand still tight around your throat.

You moaned, her words sending you over the edge for the second time. She continued, her fingers fast and you could feel her dripping wetness onto your stomach. The sensations were too much, her fingers curling inside you and her thumb running over your clit, it wasn’t long before your third orgasm came crashing over you.

“Oh, such a good girl,” Lilia groaned, “just one more for me, I know you can do it,”

You squeezed your eyes shut as the coil in your stomach began to curl once again, the sound of her fingers fucking you sounded pornographic and your moans weren’t helping.

“Eyes open baby,” she said, her fingers squeezing your throat tighter.

You opened your eyes and stared at the witch above you, her cheeks were flushed and the way her chest rose and fell as her breathing became heavier was mesmerising. The sight of her while her fingers were speeding in and out of you was enough to send you right over the edge for your fourth orgasm and you screamed her name as you came. Her fingers stilled inside you and you couldn’t stop your body as it bucked, your walls squeezing around her fingers.

“You did so well for me,” she cooed, her hand releasing your neck and she smiled at the faint redness from her hand imprint.

You closed your eyes for a second as Lilia pulled her fingers from you. You heard her moan and your eyes shot open and you saw her fingers in her mouth as she cleaned your juices off them.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.