#Mobile home tub

[philbridges]

Unboxing Pendant 54 Mobile Home Bathtubs

Putting a new Pendant 54″ Mobile home steel bathtub. This is a right-hand drain. We need to change from a center drain to the right-hand drain. Walk though unboxing the bathtub, what you need to measure to place your drain. We cut the hole in the floor. Not sure what happened with the rest of the install. I thought the unboxing and measuring could help people out. ⏱️⏱️Chapters⏱️⏱️00:00 Follow…

[cherished-homes]

The spa tub is so cool! I also really like the wood designs.

Source

[whore-ibly-hot]

Yan!Soldier/General x Fem!Reader

'His little bride.'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, power dynamics, mentions of sa, p-in-v sex, mentions of war and military, implied violence, threats, possible dub-con as reader does not know the full story behind our yan's goals, female and male genitalia, female reader, pet names.

(AN: Not me coming back from the grave to drop a horny fic and this disappear again. Gonna go eat some pumpkin roll.)

Part 2 here

The sound of papers shuffling and a heavy sigh pierces the usual quiet of General Fritz's office, which is only occasionally broken by you dusting or rearranging one of the many books on the various shelves that lined the room. It's been 3 weeks since the invasion of your small town of Cyril, and the few civilian homes not destroyed in the invasion have been turned into functioning barracks and homesteads for the troops that now occupy your town. While not ideal, the army Fritz serves aligns with the beliefs of your villages people much more than the opposition, and while they are still invaders, many believe them to be the lesser of two evils. You remain as quiet as you can as Fritz attends to his work with a furrowed brow.

General Fritz, while known for his excellence in military strategics and his translation skills, seems to be struggling with the morning's crossword puzzle. A man of 42, he has served in his countries army since he was just 15, leaving his family's small farm and quickly rising through the ranks. He's a scarred man, with many gashes, stubble, and hair that when not in public is rather unkempt. Despite the things he's seen, a kindness remains in his bespectacled eyes. He gives up on the crossword puzzle, allowing the paper to fall to his desk with a 'plop!'. You glance over at him, and approach.

"Sir, is there anything you need, you seem a bit, well, stressed." You say, trying not to impose but express concern. When the troops arrived, many men were recruited, and many girls had to seek jobs. Some had to turn to unsavory means to get by, but you were lucky, you supposed. You were scouted out to serve as a guide and servant for the general, to both give information and serve his needs. While the thought of serving a strange man, one much older than you at that had frightened you, he was nothing like the other soldiers you had seen. He was polite, careful not to scare you off, provided you with good quarters, and never laid hands on you. All in all, the situation would have been perfect, had you not missed your family's bakery from which you were taken. For reasons you didn't fully understand, he never wanted you to travel far beyond his estate and into town.

He sighs. "I am fine, my dear girl. Just dealing with some disputes at the border of the county. Nothing you should concern yourself with." He says. He looks up at you, his glasses reflecting the light of his desk lamp. "Would you mind drawing me a bath, my dear? It has been... quite the day, and I think I need some time to relax." You quickly nod, and scurry off to the master bedroom, entering the attached bathroom and beginning to fill the tub with hot water. After some time, Fritz enters, looking as though he is fighting the urge to ask a question. "I... I hate to ask this of you, and say no if at any point in my asking you are uncomfortable or find me uncouth, but-" He hesitates. "I am very tired, and am currently dealing with some rather serious pain in my legs. Past wounds, you know. Would you be offended if I asked for your assistance in bathing?" You blush a little, but a part of you knows he won't try anything. You have noticed he seems to be limping a little more than usual, his mobility decreasing. Plus, you can tell he's only asking because he must, as the look of utter shame on his face suggests this is the last thing he wished to ask of you. "Of course, sir." His breath hitches, but he nods. As he begins to remove his more civilian garb, as he did not wear his uniform on this day, you try to avert your gaze. Still, you catch a glimpse of his pronounced muscles, littered with the occasional scar or blemish. You swallow heavily.

He slides down into the tub, his tensed muscles visibly relaxing as he lets out a groan. "Hmm..." He glances at you. "It's okay to look now, my dear. Sorry to have upset you." You shake your head, as if to assure him that you aren't bothered. He looks at you softly as you go to grab a sponge, a small part of him disappointed that you won't be using your bare hands to lather soap onto him. He shakes this thought off quickly. 'Shame on you!' He scolds himself 'Thinking such thoughts about your sweet servant girl. God, I'm acting like a recruit visiting his first whorehouse'. He is disappointed in himself, but tries to rationalize it by being innocent. Perhaps he just wanted to feel your hands on him, for comfort, for something different. One of the things he likes most about you is your hands. He noticed them when you first were sent to his mansion, much more timid then. You shook his hand, and his large, calloused and veiny hands, rough from years of labor and fighting, practically trembled at the feeling of your soft ones. As he grew to know you better, he would watch as you worked, your delicate hands dusting a vase or folding a sheet. He quickly decided any hard labor around his home be delegated to cadets and privates, when they would make the occasional visit, and sometimes as a disciplinary action. He wanted to keep your hands like you, soft and warm.

"Sir?" Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "Uh- Yes?" He stammers, readjusting his glasses (which oddly enough he always kept on for bath time.). "I was wondering... if I may take a bath sometime soon?" You ask timidly, causing him to frown. "Have you not been able to take one?" He asks. He doesn't remember ever giving such a command, and he would never deny your basic needs. "Well, one of the privates told me that the recruits shower schedule is twice a week, and that I should probably adhere to that at your house." You explain. Fritz grimaces. Of course some recruit would find it funny to torment the General's beloved servant. The soldiers where allowed two showers a week, but you were no soldier. You were a servant. His Servant. His.

"No, my dear, you may bathe whenever you see fit, that rule only applies to my soldiers of low rank. I imagine that young recruit may have been trying to have a laugh at your expense." He huffs. "Please, if you ever see him at the estate again, alert me to him, alright?" You nod, a little put off. You've never seen Fritz truly mad at one of his soldiers, he doesn't even get grumpy often, but now... he's scowling, as if that cadet had come right up to him, spit on his boots, and insulted his mother.

His eyes suddenly flash with a different emotion, as a thought crosses his mind. He bites his lips, trying to keep away the thought, but it's too tempting. "Perhaps..." His hand grips the porcelain edge of the tub. "Perhaps it would be easier for you to bathe me properly, if you were closer." He mumbles, avoiding eye contact. You tilt your head. "What do you mean, sir?" You ask naively. "Well, I just think, you could get a better position to clean me if you were to join me, i-in this bath, I mean." You blush wildly, and he begins to stammer, coming up with reasons it's a good idea. "For one, it would help you to apply the pain balm to my leg, and-" He's out of breath. "And taking a bath now, together, would ensure you are free later if I should need you." He risks a glance up at your face, feeling his turn red to match your own. You swallow. "I... I suppose that would be okay, sir." You mumble. You can't imagine he would hurt you, or try to take advantage of you. If that were the case, you imagine he would have had his way with you already. Besides, you can't deny how you failed to avoid looking at him when his disrobed before his bath. "Just, look away while I undress, please." You say, beginning to undo the corset of your servants attire. "Of course, anything to protect a ladies modesty." He says, quickly using his free hand to shield his eyes.

You slip into the bath water, and he looks up as he hears the water splash upon your entrance. You both remain silent, and you bathe him gently. He holds back sighs of pleasure, as you have forgone the sponge, and now use your bare hands as he had dreamed of moments ago. "Sir?" you break the silence. He lets out a "Hmm?" In response, eyes still closed in satisfaction. "May I ask, why do you never let me go into town? I wish to see my family, and the bakery." You ask. He seems to tense a little, the veins in his arm more prominent. "Because I simply don't have the time to venture there with you right now." He explains. "Yes, but I grew up there! I'm fine to go by my own." You say, a little annoyed he seems to think you're some helpless maid. He lets out a long exhale, before sitting up a little. Even like this in the bath, he towers over you. "It's not you I'm worried about, little one. I'm sure in town, before me and my men arrived, you could hold your own. But you couldn't against my soldiers, and-" He hesitates to tell you this, a part of him not wanting to scare you. "I don't trust half of them around a sweet thing like you." He sighs. You furrow your brows, your face upset. "You mean, like?" You can't bring yourself to say it. He nods. "I prevent it in every way I can, for all women. I do not allow it, but I cannot be everywhere, and the leaders above me do not permit me to dismiss a single man for a transgression like that. We need all the men you can get for the war." He makes a bold move, to cup your cheek. "But, rest assured, I won't let a single one of them lay hands on you. I just fear something could happen outside of my estate, that I could not control." You gulp at the notion, and nod. He sees the sorrow on your face, and strokes your cheek once more. "I will try to take a small holiday, a day or two perhaps, and I will take you to see them, alright?" He feels his heart speed up when he sees the light return to your eyes.

"Oh! Thank you, sir!" You look as if you could cry. He smiles and nods. "I, I must confess, I hope to go sooner rather than alter, I had wished to speak to your father." He says. "About what?" You feel a little fear knaw at you, and you gasp. "Wait, sir, no! He's much to old to fight, and-" Fritz cuts you off with both hands on your shoulder. "No, my dear, no. I'm not going to draft your poor father, do not worry. I would not want to do anything that would worry you so much." He coos, then avoids eye contact again. "I had wished to speak to him. The last time we spoke, we made a deal that you were to work for me as a servant girl, but..." You nod for him to continue. "I have found that house chores and labor do not suit you." You frown at his words. Had you not been doing a good enough job. "I'm sorry, sir, if I've not been performing well, please don't fire me. My family needs the money." He seems shocked once again, and laughs awkwardly. "God, I do seem to be bad at saying what I mean, don't I?" He shakes his head. "I mean that I think such things are below you. I... I should like to take you as my bride, if you and he should permit it." Your eyes widen. You hadn't expected that. What would he have you do as his bride? He senses your nervousness, and continues. "I assure you, it can have as much or as little intimacy as you wish. You needn't even act as a proper wife to me, I just-" He seems to be struggling to explain. "I just want you to be safe, and comfortable, a-as you have made me feel since you began to serve me." You feel your heart flutter at his words. "Since you arrived, you've been so sweet. Doting on me, caring for me, helping me with the daily crosswords." You laugh a little, and he smiles. "I want nothing more than to ensure that I get to enjoy that everday, and more importantly," a slightly darker tone ebbs its way into his voice. "I want to ensure that no other man does." You're a bit put off by the shift, but only nod.

"I should like to, sir." His head snaps up, his mouth hanging open slightly. "I'll admit, I always wanted to live in a fancy house like this, and the company isn't half bad either." You admit, shyly looking up at him. He is elated, his form almost trembling. "Do you mean it? Truly? You wish to accept my proposal?" He gasps. You nod. He lunges forward to hug you, causing the water to surge forward, but stops just short of you, remembering your nude form rests below the soapy water, as does his. "Ah, um." He coughs awkwardly. "I must ask, if we are to marry, and you do enjoy my company, would you be okay with the typically romantic things? I know people usually court first, but seeing as we've spent all this time together already." He says. You think. "Like kissing, and holding each other?" You ask. "Yes, like that sort of thing." He affirms. You nod. "I'm fine with trying it, but I need to tell you something." He nods for you to go on.

"I'm sure you know, we are a little reserved and conservative in our town. As a traveling man, and a general, I'm sure you have had your share of, um, intimate encounters. I was always told to wait, however, and I may not be what you are used to." You look at the water, trying to fight the insecurity gnawing at your heart. He only shakes his head quickly. "No, no, my darling girl! How could you ever be anything but perfect to me?" He asks, caressing your shoulder blade with his thumb. "I would be honored, if you would have me, to teach you about the more, intimate affairs of marriage and courting." He says. "I must admit, I'm afraid that I wouldn't be enough to satisfy you as a man, or a husband." He confesses. You gasp, and cup his face. "Why, sir?" You implore him to confide in you. "My dear, you are a mere twenty-three years of age, and I am forty-two. I'm practically twice your age. Besides being an old man, you had to help me with this blasted leg into the tub. I'm practically a cripple..." His insecurities begin to flow out as he confesses. You gently tuck your head against his shoulder. "No, sir. You are enough for me. You are a general, and a kind man. You have always treated me with respect. If I didn't think you were enough, I wouldn't have said yes to marrying you, would I?" He nods reluctantly. "No, you wouldn't have. You've always been a smart girl." He admits. "I'm willing to learn, as long as you show me, sir." You whisper.

He blushes, but takes this as a sign. "Well, seeing as we are due to wed, I don't see the harm in teaching you a few things now..." He says, pushing forward a little so your smaller frame is up against the slanted back wall of the tub. "Are you alright with this, you may tell me at any time if you want to stop." He says. You nod. "Words, my dear, please. I want to hear that you understand." He pushes. "I understand, sir." You say. He shakes his head as he plans a kiss on your forehead. "Call me Fritz, my little bride." He coos. "And since you are to be my bride, I hope you won't mind showing me what's been hiding under that uniform I gave you?" He asks. You blush, but slide a little further up the tub, parting your thighs just a touch, so he can see the bush of hair between them. "I haven't shaved, sorry." You say, a little embarrassed. He only chuckles, and shakes his head. "My dear, I've gone months without a shower, and shared a restroom and barrack with 27 other men. A little hair won't scare me off." He looks longingly. "Besides, it's what's under it I'm interested in." His hand suddenly comes to your inner thigh, the sensitive touch making you gasp. You've never been touched up there, much less by a man so strong. One of his large, calloused fingers comes to part your lips, exposing to your future husband your dripping, virgin holes. He lets out a wanton sigh at the sight.

"So beautiful, and untouched?" He asks. You gulp, and nod. "It is my honor to be the first and last man to pleasure your sweet little sex." He says. He traces that finger up and down you're folds, making sure you are properly teased, and getting a feel for you. "So wet, and not just from the bathwater, it seems." He whispers. "Is this how you planned to lose your purity? To a man twice your age, and an invading military officer, no less?" You blush in shame. "I didn't think of the specifics, just... just wanted you to have it, sir..." You whine. His grins grows, and he lets out a groan as he latches his lips to your neck. He licks and kisses up and down your neck, until he finds a spot that makes you let out a beautiful whine, causing him to nip at it. "Do you think your father would be less likely to accept my proposal if he noticed you covered in marks of love from me?" Fritz asks, and you only giggle a little. He finger wanders up to touch the pearl of your sex, making you gasp. "Oh, Fritz... what are you doing?" You ask. "Just finding your pearl, my dear. I want you to cum at least once before I take your virginity. I want to please you, my darling girl." He kisses your cheek, before he presses another finger against your pearl. He rubs in soft, slow circles, trying a few different angles before he finds one that pleases you, which he discerns from the moans you let out. "Fritz, mm-" You moan. You can feel a slow heat spreading, as something in you builds. "Please, a little faster?" You ask. He tuts, and looks at you. "Can't you be patient?" He teases. "No, wanna finish..." You mumble. "Want you in me, I-I wanna be your little wife." He almost chokes at your pleas, the words going straight to his cock. He didn't think you could arouse him even further, but you always did exceed his expectations. He quickens the pace, and you can feel your orgasm approaching. "Yes, Fritz, Yes. Please, make me cum." You beg. "You want to cum, cum so I'll put my manhood into you? Want me to make you a proper little wife for me?" He edges you, and as you nod and agree profusely, you feel that wave wash over you. Your pussy convulses around nothing, as you let out a whine that sounds like music to him. This beats his visits to the royal opera a hundred times over.

As you pant, coming down from your high, Fritz holds you in your place, rising a little out of the water himself. You blush, as his erect manhood becomes visible. He's well groomed, and while the tip isn't pronounced, there's a curve to it that makes your mouth water. "Well, do I seem up to your standards, my love?" He asks. "More than that, Fritz. You're so pretty..." While it seems like nothing to you, these words strike him hard. He's never been called pretty before, and hearing it from your soft lips wipes the lewd grin off his face, replacing it with momentary shock. He pulls himself to you, his chapped lips colliding with your soft ones. You squeak, but melt into it. He tastes like earl grey tea and the occasional cigars he would smoke, but only when stressed. You both gasp as he pulls away, needing air. He places many small kisses on your face, making you smile as you look up at him. "My sweet, sweet girl. Always so kind to this old man..." He murmurs. As he does, he rolls his hips forward a little, allowing the underside of his manhood to rub against the length of your sex. "I'm going to be gentle, alright? It might hurt a little, especially with me being quite a bit larger than you. But I promise to take it at your pace, alright?" He asks, his hands resting gently on your waist. You nod, and feel his hard tip prod a few times at your aroused pearl, before moving down to line up with your entrance. He warns you a little, before gently pushing the tip in. You wince, and he continues to soothingly rub your waist with his thumbs. He moves himself out, then rolls his hips back in, a little deeper with each thrust. It hurts, but the relaxing warm water helps, and it's not as bad as you thought it would be. "Feels okay, darling?" He asks. "Yes..." You respond, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. As he continues, the pain subsides, and he begins to quicken the pace when he tells you this.

"God, Fritz. You're big, s-so big..." You moan, his hips causing your ass to bounce back and forth off the wall of the tub. "I' feel 'mazing." He huffs. "So tight, and warm. My girl, letting me take you like this, getting you ready for our wedding night." He feels himself harden even further at the thought. "Y'know, I think it'd be a shame not to share how sweet you are, how caring." He says, his hips now pounding at your cervix. "W-what?" You ask. He had made it clear earlier he didn't want to share, so despite the pleasure you are confused. "Saying you'll make a good wife, but I think you'd make a better mother." He moans. You gasp at the thought. "All swollen with my baby, my child. Letting me care for you for once, instead of helping me walk cause of my leg, I'd get to help you around..." He thrusts grow more erratic at the idea, and you feel yourself about to climax once more. "Let me, my love, please. Let me fill you with my seed, my children. Let your fiance make you a mommy..." He begs. Just as you shout an agreement, you feel yourself convulse around him, causing his breath to hitch. He groans. "God, gonna finish to now, going to give you my babies..." He shouts. You feel a warmth flood you, as he sprays hot, white ropes of cum into your womb. You both pant, taking quite some time to recover.

Being the strong man he is, he bounces back quite quickly, while you are so tired you can barely move. "I'm sorry, my love." He coos. "Perhaps I was a bit rough for your first time..." You shake your head. "Mmm, no. I-I felt good, just, I'm just tired." You yawn. He chuckles. He cleans himself, and you, before draining the tub. He grabs both of your clothes as he carries you past your servants quarters, and into his room. Helping you to redress in your undergarments, he lays you down. You sigh as your body melts into the luxury sheets. He sits beside you, gently stroking your face. "Get some rest, my little bride." He whispers, before departing back to his office. He heads to the front door, and picks up a letter dropped off from the courier. Inside the envelope is your father's response, from a proposal sent several days ago by Fritz. Once again, though this was his third and final time asking, your father once again denied your hand in marriage to Fritz, saying he would never marry his precious girl to an invader. Fritz grimaces, as he had not wanted it to come to this. Sighing, he writes two more letters in response. One to your father, stating his intent to take your hand either way, and another to his second-in-command, ordering a man to be jailed for treason and defying military orders. The first letter reads as follows.

Dear sir,

As you are well aware, this is the third time you have rejected to allow me to take your daughters hand in marriage. While i understand your hesitation, I do what I do only to provide her a safe, comfortable life, which I do not believe you could have provided her, in your town which my men overtook in merely three hours. I could not imagine if a man worse than I had set his sights on her instead. Rest assured, that in light of your soon-to-be imprisonment, I will care for her. She has developed a reciprocation of my feelings, and despite your refusal to wed her to me, as I write this she lays in my bed, beginning to bear my child. I wish that you had been understanding, and done what was best for your daughter. Now, she will marry happily, but have no father, and the blame lies only on you.

-Fritz, General of the Northern King's forces.

[satorhime]

. ･｡･ self checkout ࿐ nagi seishiro.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content ㆍ﹒fluff, aged up!nagi, pro footballer!nagi, height difference (reader is shorter than nagi), shopping trips, slightly suggestive, established relationship. f!reader. w.c. 2k & not proofread.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis ㆍ﹒nagi enjoys running errands if the two of you go together. & ໒꒰ྀི ´ ꒳ ` ꒱ྀིა notes: baby’s first blue lock fic !! honestly i’m supa nervous bc i haven’t written 4 them before n i’m still figuring things out but i hope u enjoy reading this anw <333

“this date is so tiring,” nagi laments for the fifth time since you stepped through the automated sliding doors of the neighborhood supermarket. he blows out a breath from his puffed cheeks, sounding as if he is on the verge of collapsing while you browse the shelves for pantry essentials and late night snacks. “when can we go home?”

a trendy song from a summer spotify mix croons over the tinny speakers overhead, its bubblegum pop lyrics interrupted every now and then by a cheery voice advertising new items and upcoming discounts. the supermarket is busier than when you and seishiro usually stop by, which isn’t all that surprising considering it’s the end of the day. college students carry armfuls of instant ramen and sugary sodas for study sessions and old ladies browse for medicinal teas while parents push full carts of groceries, ignoring their wailing children who press their little noses against the frosty glass of the freezers, begging to be given overpriced ice creams locked away inside.

and you resist the urge to roll your eyes with exasperation, glancing over to where your boyfriend leans heavily on the handle of the cart he has been tasked with pushing for you— his long fingers tapping away at a mobile game on the screen of his phone.

“that’s because,” you begin, wagging a finger at him when you turn around and toss an item into the bottom of the cart. “it’s not a date, sei. i told you that i had to run errands today and you insisted on coming with me when you hate it.”

“‘s’boring at home when you’re not there, so it seemed like a good idea at first,” he shrugs, rolling the cart further down the aisle when you’re on the move again. slothy, midwinter gray eyes drag lazily over your body— taking in the way your faded t-shirt (which is, really, just one of his old ones) rides up a little on your body, exposing the cute little dimples in the soft part of your back as you stand on your tiptoes, struggling to reach one of the higher shelves in the freezer section.

you are well aware that nagi hates daily tasks. things such as making the bed in the morning, washing the dishes after dinner, or visiting the laundromat once a week requires too much energy from your drowsy footballer boyfriend, but it makes you happy to know that he tries, even if he falls asleep while doing it; that he will do anything if you are involved, and nothing if you aren’t.

like right now, he abandons his mobile game and the shopping cart in the middle of the aisle without care to come over and help you, making a mother of two-under-two glare at him viciously. he snorts, sliding his hand into the back pocket of your denim shorts, a romantic comedy habit of his when the two of you are walking anywhere together. nagi’s head tilts cutely to one side, blinking owlishly up at the shelves. “which one d’you wanna get, shortstack?”

“i am not short,” you huff, twisting your mouth to one side at his teasing, but you point to the item you want— an assorted pack of ice lollies. “shelves are designed against short people. and i dunno— are we in the mood for ice cream or popsicles?”

it’s hard to make a decision because freezers full of summer treats line both sides of the aisle. tubs of gourmet gelatos, variety packs of creamy ice candies, and an endless selection of mochi with custard fillings in the middle that make your mouth water at the thought of bringing them home with you.

“i’ll eat them no matter what anyway,” he shrugs, unwilling to be the one to choose, but then his gray eyes glance down at your lips, then back to the items in front of you. you swear that his eyes darken to a stormier color, even though his expression never changes. “you make cute sounds when you suck on ice pops, and you always taste sweet after. get those.”

and then he faces forward, browsing the selection of ice creams with interest, as if his words didn’t short circuit a current in your brain. you’ll never understand how seishiro can say the most outlandish things so casually, only to return to what he’s doing while you’re left attempting to calm your fast heart.

“ice pops it is,” you say, a little winded. “make sure to get the second pack, and not the first.”

“mhnn, why’s it matter? the second one’s farther back. they all look the same to me.”

“they’re not. the first is one everybody has touched or returned.”

“that . . . makes sense,” he considers it, then he nods, lips formed into a little ‘o’ shape. “okay, we’ll get the second one.”

you watch as he steps forward, pushing the first pack of ice lollies aside to select the second as you requested, reaching the item with ease and heavens, it’s moments like these when you are reminded just how much bigger seishiro is. he’s always towered over your shorter height and it’s so, so unfair how he uses it to his advantage, making your tummy burn at the sight. frosty air wafts from the open door of the freezer, bringing chills over your heated skin. “‘s a good thing i was here, since you’re so little— there was no way you could reach it.”

“‘m not little,” you mumble, all pouty because nagi is squishing your cheeks between two finger pads. “you’re just so tall. it’s unfair.”

“want me to be shorter?” he asks, and before you can ask what he means, nagi drops the pack of ice pops into your hands and deflates dramatically, bending down to drape himself over your frame. his head tucked against your shoulder, the footballer’s milky fringe tickling the skin of your neck as he closes his eyes. “man, now ‘m even more tired.”

“seishiro, you’re heavy.”

“i know,” he sighs, eyes shuttering below thick lashes, but he makes no effort to move away from your body. instead, his hand slithers under your shirt. making you shiver because his fingertips are dewy and cold from the arctic blast of the freezer and the frozen treat he picked up. you hiss, squirming under his touch as his fingers trail across your belly. “but i’m tired ‘n’ you feel s’soft, like a pillow.”

“nagi, off,” you wheeze, his extra weight making it hard for you to properly breathe. it’s easy to forget how solid he is, straight lines of athletic muscle that usually has you cow-eyed and cooing, as long as it’s not weighing you down in the middle of a supermarket. you try to shake him off, but the midfielder only squeezes you against his body even tighter, his slightly damp lips pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “we’re never gonna get anything done like this, you lazy boy. if you don’t wanna walk, go wait in the sitting area with the grandpas.”

he sighs in defeat and shakes his head, pressing his lips together in that cute frown he pulls whenever he’s thinking. then, he’s dropping his arms from you suddenly. “mmhn, got a better idea.”

“and what’s that—”

you face nagi, only to catch your boyfriend with one foot in the shopping cart as he tries to hoist himself over the railing and inside of the basket.

“sei, you can’t fit in there—!” your eyes flicker between him, and the elderly man judging the two of you at the other end of the aisle. “you’re too big.”

“you’re always saying things like that,” he says, and the innuendo intertwined in the words flies over your pretty head because with one boost, he’s hopping over the railing and sinking into the cart, the metal rattling in protest. you stand there, dumbstruck as he settles. “now i can stay with you without walking.”

“yeah, but now that means i have to push you,” you grumble. “i should leave you here and get a new cart.”

but it’s hard to refuse when your boyfriend is that cute. his impossibly long legs are folded against his chest so that he can fit inside the shopping cart comfortably, taking extra care not to crush any of the delicate items surrounding him. the lower half of his face is buried into the collar of his soft hoodie as he absently chews on the drawstrings, but you can still see the sanrio bandaid you put on him yesterday after he got a nasty elbow to the cheek during football practice.

even though you two are already receiving strange looks from other shoppers passing by, you grip the handle, pushing the cart and your boyfriend dutifully, rolling it onto the next aisle.

“you look ridiculous,” you tell him, but you’re grinning. “but here, you’re on list duty. what do we need to get next?”

nagi’s eyes dutifully scan over the shopping list open in the notes app of your phone, his fingernail scrolling the screen lightly.

“it says ‘ramen because my greedy athlete bf keeps eating it all’ so y’need to get . . . oi, you mean me—”

“i wonder who wrote that there,” you whistle innocently, plucking the device out of his hands, wheeling him away fast.

the rest of your shopping trip is a blur, except for you turning a corner too fast and nearly dumping him out of the cart or the weird looks shoppers continue to give you because by the time you’re lining up in the queue, nagi is buried under the items because he takes up too much space. there’s a bag of rice on one shoulder, a pack of ramen on the other and fresh radishes sprouting from the snowy peaks of his head. not to mention, he’s still holding the pack of ice pops, condensation dripping over his hands.

“you’re making them melt, sei.” because he runs hot a heated blanket in the summer, and you can sympathize with the poor popsicles being defrosted in his big hands.

“‘m gonna eat one so they won’t— oh, hey this one is lemon,” he says, prying open the cardboard lid and tearing open the plastic wrapper of a lemon crème ice pop. tongue peeking out to lick before he’s holding it over his shoulder for you to taste next. “try it. i don’t sound as cute as you when i eat them.”

“sei, you’re not supposed to open those before we—” but nagi pushes the cold treat between your lips insistently, your eyes rounding wide, whining in protest as the ice pop hits your sensitive teeth. but it does taste good— creamy, sweet and sour flavors coating the surface of your tongue. “oh, it’s sh’good. we should get another pack.”

“see? y’make the cutest sounds when you suck it.”

“shut up, seishiro.”

you begin placing the items on the conveyor belt, listening to the irritating bleep, bleep, bleep of the scanner as the cashier rings up each product. you’re not frugal, but you peep at the total on the screen every now and then with a wince.

“that’s it for you, or are you buying the man in your cart too, ma’am?” the cashier asks, glancing at nagi as he finishes off the melting ice pop in the shopping cart, chin resting on top of his knees.

“no,” and you giggle, cheeks warming as you roll your eyes in exasperation. “this one is already mine.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Oh my, all there is on this property in Aransas Pass, Texas is a heated "lazy river" pool with water fountain/sprayers, colorful lighting, a hot tub with a waterfall, a bridge to the center island, sidewalk and deck water jet sprayers, and a waterfall under the bridge. $250K.

Google Streetview shows no house as of 2011, so pictures of the area in general suggest that it wasn’t “leveled” at any point in the last 10 years. 

So, this would be about where the house would go.

There's a small building back here and while the town doesn't allow permanent RVs or mobile homes, you can apply for a temporary permit while the house is being built.

I don't know why they built the pool first, then decided to sell it, but there it is.

https://www.redfin.com/TX/Aransas-Pass/1520-W-McClung-Ave-78336/home/184120607

[fatkish]

Weird ask but could you maybe write smthing like.. Aizawa fosters this kid who has a locked knew from previous abuse? Uses a cane to keep pressure off of it and stuff. Idk I just wanna see how he’d go about accommodating that or how he’s treat me I really hope this makes ANY sort of sense -🐶

(I hope you don’t mind 🐶anon, but I decided to make this a little less specific and made it based on readers with limited or hindered mobility.)

Aizawa x Child Reader: Mobility

It doesn’t matter how, what or why your ability to get around is hindered. Be it a issue from birth like cerebral palsy, an accident leading to the loss of limbs or some other reason, he treats it all the same

He makes sure that he pushes in his chairs so that you don’t trip on them

He makes sure that the floors are clear of anything like shoes or anything else you could trip on

If you have difficulty going up stairs then he’ll either make sure everything you need access to is on the first floor, or he’ll arrange for one of those motorized elevator chair things that take people up the stairs

If you’re wheelchair bound, then he’ll even pay to have his home remodeled or buy a new home with better accessibility accommodations

The bathroom of course has handrails to help you get up and around. The tub and shower have anti-slip mats so that you always have traction and don’t slip and fall

If you have to wear a brace of some kind or have a prosthetic, he’ll gladly help you put them on

If your condition affects your ability to reach things then he’ll make sure that everything you need is within reachable distance

He makes sure that you’re able to get into his care without any issues

If you walk with a cane then he makes sure to not move it from where you left it without warning you or left you know

If people give you a hard time for your condition (Karens) then Aizawa will gladly step in and defend you, making sure that you’re okay

He doesn’t treat you any differently than he would treat normal people, he doesn’t treat you like you’re some delicate piece of glass, although he does hold more concern for you, he trusts that you’ll ask for help when you need it

If you’re joints get sore and you need to ice them or take a bath or something, then Aizawa will happily get you the ice packs or get you some therapeutic bath salts

[muddyorbsblr]

you deserve better

See my full list of works here!

Summary: When all the plans you'd made for today go down the drain, the last person you expected shows up at your door to try turning the night around

Pairing: James Conrad x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: angst; language; craptastic friends [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: simp Conrad, that is all 🫠

"Fucking dammit!"

You gripped your phone tightly in your hand, resisting the urge to chuck it into the sea right where the ship's rotor blade was located. Tears burned behind your eyes as every message you'd missed in the last week while you were on this research trip with Monarch trickled in at a steady pace now that you and the rest of the crew had signal again.

Where your fellow scientists were calling up loved ones on FaceTime with bright smiles on their faces and assurances that they were on their way back home, you had an influx of messages from your friends telling you that no, they wouldn't be making your birthday dinner tonight after all.

"Doctor Y/L/N?"

Oh fuck not him, doesn't he have a pool bar to get to so he can snap his fingers and get tonight's lay? you snidely thought to yourself, steeling your stance at the sound of former Captain James Conrad's voice. Taking a deep breath, you turned to face him. "What's up, Conrad? Looking to split an Uber and Brooks doesn't wanna--"

"Are you alright?"

His question felt like a shock to your system, making you blink your eyes repeatedly as if you were trying to get your bearings back. "Of course," you lied through your teeth. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well…" he trailed off, motioning toward your hand. "You're gripping your mobile so hard your knuckles are turning white, for one."

You glanced at your hand, sighing when you saw your skin stretched taut over bone and trying to relax your grip somewhat. "Fine," you gritted out. "If you really wanna know, it's my birthday today. I had plans to spend tonight with my friends once I'd unpacked and washed that goddamned island off of my skin. But some people in that group can't seem to let petty high school shit go, and today when we finally got signal again I got a metric fuckton of messages from one of said friends calling me either a bad friend or a dumbass for extending an invitation to my friends because it's inconvenient for her, which then led to a domino effect of if she's not going then I'm not going and now…" you trailed off, chuckling sardonically to yourself. "Now no one's going."

Something akin to pity crossed the tracker's eyes, making you look away. The last thing you needed right now was the most jaw-droppingly unfairly handsome man on the face of God's green earth to look at you like a sad wet little puppy left out on the side of the road.

"Anyways I'm off," you said a little too chipper it even made you cringe a little inside. "Got a date with a pizza box, fridge full of wine, and my Netflix account. 'Till the next one, Conrad."

Before he could say anything else, you were already walking to your Uber that just pulled up, finally letting yourself let go of all the hot air you were running on and quite aptly feeling deflated. When you were finally far enough from the port that Conrad wasn't even a speck in your line of sight, you felt the tears start to roll down your cheeks.

You felt exponentially worse when you got home, most of the food that you'd placed an order for before you left on the trip to be delivered today already waiting on your porch.

"Fucking dammit," you repeated, albeit this time with a whimper rather than a roar. You propped your door open and started bringing the food in, deciding to set aside a couple of days worth of meals for yourself and then giving the rest to a nearby food bank so that it would at least do some good.

It took a few hours but you were finally perched on your couch, wearing a comfy pajama short set, Kate & Leopold playing on your TV, and tucking straight into a tub of mudslide ice cream just letting the night pass. This definitely wasn't how you pictured spending your 30th birthday, but you strived to remember that there could have been worse ways to spend tonight.

You could've been mediating between spatting friends because they couldn't manage to keep civil for one night, or you could've been on the receiving end of Deena's tirade about "how duplicitous you were to drag her into a gathering with Shana". The island would've been a better alternative than dealing with that all night.

About 30 minutes into the movie you heard a knock on your door, causing you jump in your seat. "I didn't order anything!" you hollered toward your front door, wincing at the pins and needles starting to prickle at your feet and lower legs from the motion.

Whoever was outside knocked again, this time a bit more persistent with the sound booming across the living room. Your visitor, whoever it may be, wasn't here by mistake, and they weren't about to be waved off with a simple 'go away I'm pissy'.

"I told you, buddy, I didn't order any--" Your words stopped short on the tip of your tongue as you saw nothing but broad shoulders clad in a familiar tight and worn blue t-shirt stretched tight over well-defined pectorals, only this time with an off-the-rack casual blazer draped over it. Your eyes slowly traveled upward to meet the oceanic blue eyes that quite frankly you constantly tried and failed not to dream about whenever you drifted off to sleep at night. "Conrad…" you said his name slowly, as if every part of your brain was fighting against accepting the reality that he was here now, looking like the human embodiment of Lust on ridiculously long legs. "What're you doing here?"

There were quite a few thoughts that crossed your mind in the last few hours, scenarios that you'd conjured up on how the rest of the night would go, each of them dwindling in their respective probability as the hours ticked on. Former SAS Tracker James Conrad being at your door, however, was definitively not among those scenarios.

"Erm…I thought I would come over to check on you. You were visibly…understandably…upset when we parted ways at the pier," he answered, shifting his weight to one leg as if trying to make it all sound so casual. He looked over at how you were dressed, from the haphazard ponytail down to the fuzzy monster slippers covering your feet, and resumed his stance that you'd grown accustomed to with the squared shoulders and the ramrod straight back as if he was back on training grounds. "Get dressed, Y/L/N."

You jerked your head backwards, surprise and confusion flooding your system at the soft spoken order. "Why?"

"I'm taking you out for dinner," he stated plainly. "I know you had plans for tonight and they didn't pan out the way you intended. No one should such an important day alone unless they really want to."

"Conrad, please. I'm fine, everything's fine. You don't have to check in on me or take me out to dinner or keep me company out of--I don't even know, pity? You have your own thing and I don't wanna keep you from it or the hordes of women who would probably abandon all common human decency and trample over each other to get that blazer off of you." You finished your little lament with a wave toward the garment, already stepping back like you were about to send him off to better and more interesting company.

When he sensed what you were about to do, he reached out, putting your hand in a delicate hold. "The night has barely begun, and you're in pajamas, eating ice cream, and one of your comfort movies is playing on the screen." He motioned his head towards your TV, where Hugh Jackman and Meg Ryan were currently paused mid-waltz on a New York rooftop. He brought his hand up to cup your face, swiping his thumb over the corner of your mouth before softly saying, "This isn't fine. And I know that I'm not the company you expected or perhaps even prefer. I just--I wanted to come here tonight and just let you know…that I'm here. So…you could join me for dinner or alternatively I could join you here and you can talk my ear off with your movie commentary. The point is that you won't be spending your birthday alone."

His words left you stunned to near silence. "I uhm--I'll go get dressed then." You stepped back from his hold, an irrational part of you already missing his touch, awkwardly waving toward the sitting area. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

Once you'd started to make your way up the stairs, Conrad made his way to the living area of your house, a smile making its way to his face as he looked at the framed pictures you had on your shelves, your dimpled toothy grin on full display. "Oh, Y/N," he breathed your name almost reverently in the silence. "How the hell am I going to move on from you now?"

Earlier today when you'd all disembarked off the ship, he had plans to wash up and head off to a bar to look for someone to keep him company for the night, perhaps until Monday when you were all expected to return to Monarch for briefing on your next mission. All he wanted was to find someone who held even the faintest resemblance to you and lose himself in the chimera that you were the one he was with, that he held you in his arms as he woke up that next morning, and with that indulgence to tide him over for some time, perhaps he could maintain the professional, nearly friendly, relationship that he had with you without running the risk of putting that in jeopardy all because he couldn't keep his affections in check.

Those plans all went down the drain when he saw how you were fighting back tears explaining how your plans for tonight had gone off the rails. When his choices for how to spend the night were spending a few empty hours with someone he would meticulously compare to you or making sure that your birthday wasn't going to be spent alone and licking wounds that should never have been dealt to you in the first place, there was no choice to make.

Tonight's objective was simply to wipe the frown away from your perfectly enchanting face, perhaps even get you to smile. And maybe somewhere along the way finally get you to see him as someone more than just your colleague. Someone that cared. A friend, if he was really going to push it.

And maybe if he was going to entertain the moon shot that played in his most self-indulgent daydreams…a lover.

The sound of you clearing your throat brought him out of his thoughts, the sight of you in your simple pale blue dress with a slight teasing cutout by your waist stealing every bit of his breath away. "Too much?" you asked him, your tone shaky.

"Not at all," he croaked out, clearing his throat before speaking again. "You uhm…you look--You're beautiful." The tiniest smile played at your lips as you motioned for him to follow you to the door. "You always are," he murmured under his breath.

"What was that?" you called out absentmindedly, still steadily making your way to the front door.

"N-Nothing," he stammered. "I was just…admiring your home. It's lovely."

"It's too damn big is what it is," you scoffed as he passed you at the threshold before locking the door. "That's what I get for being perpetually alone, I guess. Just my luck that every guy I ever even tried to date fully expects me to hang up my coat and give up my research so I can play housewife." Your eyes misted over again as the next words came out. "Not a single soul on God's green earth that could deal with that." You turned the key with a little more force than necessary, the lock clicking into place with a resounding knock.

When the two of you made your way to his car, he opened the door for you, your disbelief at the gesture evident in your eyes. And when he was sure that you wouldn't be able to hear him through the car's closed door, he whispered to himself, "I could deal with that. If it meant that you were mine, I could deal with anything."

A/N: Happy happy birthday @liminalpebble!! I hope this puts a smile on your face today and that you have a spectacular year ahead of you, bestie 🥹🥹 Many many hugs from me and Grassy the Mango (even though the bub hasn't arrived yet but it will…today. I think…)

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2

[blerb-f1]

Junge - Sebastian Vettel x reader

Sebastians Parents hate his career choice but at least you're here.

This is like a prequel to THIS fanfic - please beware that Sebs actual parents are incredibly cute and supportive and also i didn't mean to make like consistent songfics yet here we are. Its about "Junge" by "Die Ärtze"

hahahahaha

America's West, the vast prairie

And right in the middle of it: A small house

And in it: A concerned mother

2023 - Sebastian has just announced his retirement. You, his trusty Engineer since the Toro Rosso Days have spent the day looking back and reminiscing. Throughout the years you’ve had people come and go in your lives, but only you two and Britta, his manager, were truly consistent. One Group of People you absolutely couldn't count on were his parents.

They happily supported his Kart Career but going into F1? Never, F1 was for nobodies and troublemakers. If asked in which Michael would fall, they’d just say “Schumi is an exception”

Throughout the BMW Sauber Testing Years Seb would exist in the car given to him by BMW, friends apartments or hotels rented by Sauber themselves but never anything consistent. Once the move to Torro Rosso happened, with you becoming his equally young engineer, Red Bull made the decision to rent an apartment for you to share. Although you weren't a Red Bull Junior, Fate brought it this way. 

You’d taken way too many angry calls of Sebs Parents, causing you to one day chuck his mobile phone down the toilet- He was enraged but life soon improved until the worst day  happened. Your apartment was small yet cozy with each of you decorating their room lively. His covered in trophies and race suits, yours with study notes and smart looking graphs. Both however representative of your interests, with your shared common space housing your gaming consoles, a popcorn maker you bought thinking you’d use it a lot and a massive pullout couch someone put out for free which you transported home hanging off Sebs BMW X3 

Boy (Boy), why haven't you learned anything?

Look at Dieter, he even has a car!

Why don't you go to Uncle Werner's workshop?

He'll give you a permanent employment, if you ask him about it

Boy (Boy, Boy)

That was the first thing barreling out of a phone held to your ears. 

Sebastian and You had just entered the Red Bull Factory during off week to test new parts on the car. You, additionally, had more classes on being a Race Engineer. While you already were supporting him during races, you still had to study more to become better.

Just as you were about to enter the elevator, Helmut Marko came angrily flying towards you. 

“SEBASTIAN VETTEL! THIS IS THE LAST TIME I'M TAKING CALLS FOR YOU!” he shouted, throwing his Motorola towards you both. His moms shriekky noisy voice echoed through the speaker. 

His Cousin Dieter was a useless POS, whom his Uncle Werner, the workshop owner, coddled until there was no tomorrow. You had the displeasure of meeting them both when his parents sent them to your shared apartment, in hopes of building bridges. You both however preferred the Fernando Alonso Bridge and set this bridge on fire with a can of gasoline.

They were horrible rude upon intruding on your shared space. Dieter insulting your gaming setup, Werner complaining about your general decor and moving in. You’d gotten very fed up with them, opening the door and telling them to Leave that exact second.

Afterwards you and Seb had celebrated by ordering expensive Delivery Pizza while watching 100% Pirated movies. Most likely an Austin Powers Movie.

And the way you always look, holes in your pants, and always this racket

(What will the neighbors say?)

And your hair too, words fail me - do you have to dye it?

(What will the neighbors say?)

You never come home, we don't know what to do anymore

"DON'T GET THE TUB DIRTY!" you shrieked as Seb was trying to wash the dye out of your hair. You'd attempted to dye your hair purple and black with Seb being the one doing the work. He was, however, not good at being cleanly. He'd gotten dye inside of his gloves, on his pants and covered half of the apartment in the process. The washing out process was equally catastrophic with him getting your old bathroom tiles covered as well. 

As some dye was left over, you decided to apply it to his beautiful locks. You both came out very matchy. His hair had him look like a black-purple Raccoon and as he was a skinny boy, he looked more like a hungry raccoon than the fat ones you’d usually see rummaging on TV.

The day after you had an appointment with a piercer to get further piercings, the guy immediately thought you were a couple because of the matching hair.  You got multiple Piercings, each of them becoming their own memory for the future. You still remembered Brittas Expression as you turned up on Monday with all the metal jingling of your ears and in your face.

What you hadn't however expected, was receiving an invite to Sebastian's Aunts Birthday Party.  The Raccoon dye in his hair greatly contrasted the grown up BMW you found yourself in as you two were approaching Heppenheim. Seb took you along as an emotional support animal to better endure the party. You had met his parents before, the day they turned up at your house and another when they turned up at the factory. The day they had turned up at your house, you had your lovely neighbor open the building's front door. She was a lovely lady with hearing issues so you could be as loud as you wanted without bothering her. She often would cook for you in turn helping her with heavy tasks. She shushed them away and made you a hearty meal.

As the car pulled into his old home's driveway, you clearly saw people rushing towards the front door and stumbling out. Seb was clutching the wheel tightly, you both had been driving all the way from Austria so you were already pretty tired.

As you stepped outside you could hear his mom let out a surprised scream, it getting louder as Sebastian stepped out. Your favorite Piercing (a chain connecting from your lips to the ear) was glittering under the porchlight as his little brother rushed out, pushing his mom aside. He jumped upwards into Sebs Arms, possibly being the one most excited for his return.

“Who is this…Woman?” his mom asked, almost snakelike. 

“My Race Engineer and Roommate, Y/N”, Seb stated while brushing through his brother's hair.

Boy (Boy) don't break your mother's heart

It's not too late to enroll at university

You used to be interested in animals, wouldn't that be worth pursuing?

Your own vet practice, Boy

The dinner was uncomfortable to say the least. His aunt was to your surprise the one married to Werner, so he, the aunt and Dieter kept giving you dirty looks. His grandparents were equally unhappy with your both looks. Meanwhile his little brother was trying to show him pictures and awards. His Mom didn’t miss a single Chance to insult his driving career, only his dad stayed quiet. Then she started, talking about his love for animals and proposing he should become a vet again. A proposal, she kept repeating uselessly. 

Finally she dragged him away and his little brother approached you with shimmering eyes, inviting you to his room to show you his collection of things. 

You happily took the chance to flee from annoying relatives as you settled onto Fabians Bed, the sheets with car print giving way under your bum. The quiet mumbling from downstairs being way more endurable than the massively loud chatter. You would always pick the sound of a screaming V10, even if it would blast your hearring away. It would at least protect you from the pain of being repeatedly and hiddenly insulted.

knock knock

His father came in, face pulled into a mildly sad expression as he sheepishly stood in front of the room's door. you eyed him, waiting for more insults of your person to be hurled at you.

Instead however, he gave you a bag.

“Y/N, right?”

“Yeah”

“Please” he was a quiet man, his age clearly visible on his face. “Please give this to Sebastian. Heike, she… She isn’t herself . This isn’t like her. But Seb, he should have this back.”

You take the bag and gingerly lay it on the mattress next to you.

“If she’s gotten so bad, why don’t you leave her?”

“I promised to stick to her, in good and bad times.”

And the way you always look, piercings in your nose, and always this racket

(What will the neighbors say?)

Electric guitars and always these lyrics

Nobody wants to listen to that

(What will the neighbors say?)

You never come home, so much bad company

We will disinherit you

(What will the tax office say?)

How is it all going to end, we are worried

Seb and You were finally back home. Home, yes that’s what Austria had become for you both.  

The apartment was quiet until you rummaged through the cupboard, pulling out an  Electric Guitar and its required equipment. You gave Seb a cheeky grin before proceeding to play Wonderwall by Oasis. “Not Wonderwall…” Sebastian moaned.

You handed him the Guitar. “Then play something Better, Starboy!”

“But I don't know how to?”

“Just let it out!” you screamed before stomping around the living room, tumbling over collections of varying junk and memorabilia. 

clinggggg

You’d stumbled over the long forgotten bag his father had handed you. The Guitar abruptly stopped as Seb dropped it onto the Sofa while staring the bags contents

His first trophy, his favorite stuffed animal and his laminated photos of meeting Michael for the first time.

“Where did you get those from?” Seb asked with anger lacing his voice.

“Your father gave them to me.”

He looked between you and the bag's contents, difficulty enshrining his expression as you bent down, picking up the trophy. You lifted it, brushing your shirt over it. After a serious glance you shoved his newest trophies to the side and placed it smack dab in the middle. You could clearly imagine the little, then blonde boy, bursting with pride upon being handed it by his childhood Idol Michael Schumacher.

And you were such a sweet child

And you were such a sweet child

And you were such a sweet child

You were so sweet

And always your friends, I bet you all take drugs

And always this racket

(What will the neighbors say?)

Think of your future, think of your parents

Do you want us to die?

[pedrito-friskito]

I'm back with another!! Fluff prompt #1 for Frankie, please 😇💜 (sorry I'm on mobile so I can't copy and paste it 😬)

yay fluff!! this was actually the same request as the one I got for Joel from @iamskyereads - but this one took a very different turn!

(prompt was: “Should I stop talking?” “Don’t, your voice is very soothing.”)

this was VERY self-indulgent, and it got a little (a lot) spicy, but I would truly do anything for Frankie Morales so so here we go!

eventual smut under the cut!

requests are open until saturday midnight!

the cold

(word count 1.7k)

Frankie is a suck when he’s sick. Like, man-cold to the nth degree. He’s a baby, in every sense of the word. But you can’t help it, taking care of him every way you can.

Flu season is a bit of a write-off in your house. While you fill your body with antioxidant teas and immune-boosting vitamins, Frankie thinks it’s all bullshit, waving off your offers with a mumbled, “I don’t get sick.”

Except, he does.

It starts fine; it always does. A bit of a cough, clearing his throat repeatedly, rubbing at his nose and making that scrunched-up expression you secretly love (more so when it’s not the first sign of impending sickness…). He asks for soup for dinner, grumbles at you that his throat is sore, takes longer, hotter showers than normal. But he powers through, refuses to call into work cuz, “It’s just a bit of a cold, baby. I’m fine.”

Except, he’s very quickly not fine.

His truck is in the driveway when you get home from work, which is your first clue. Frankie’s almost never home before you, and as you pass his truck on your way to the door, you can see wads of tissues scattered on the bench seat, lozenge wrappers decorating the dashboard. You sigh as you fish your keys out of your pocket, unlocking the door and stepping inside. He whines as soon as he hears your shoes on the tile.

“Baby, I’m sick.”

You have to stifle your giggle, unloading your work bag and purse from your arms, toeing off your shoes and locking the door behind you. “You don’t say, Francisco.”

He’s sprawled out on the couch, wrapped in the flannel blanket that usually lives on the back of the sofa. He doesn’t look well, to start; his skin is pale, his forehead shining with a thin sheen of sweat, his eyes bloodshot. You step to the back of the couch, leaning over and touching the back of your hand to his forehead. He’s warm, too, and holds your hand to his skin with something like a whimper on his lips.

“Your hands are so soft, baby.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes as you head for the kitchen. “Have you taken anything?” you ask, beelining for the cupboard where you keep the meds, fishing out a package of cold and flu, along with another baggie of lozenges and one of the echinacea teabags you’ve been hoarding since he first started coughing. “Fish?”

“No,” he calls back, clearing his throat, which sends him into a coughing fit. You pop two of the pills out of the blister back, fill a glass of water, returning to the living room and perching on the coffee table as he stops, offering the water.

“Drink,” you command, and he listens, clammy fingers brushing yours as he takes the glass. “And take these, too.”

He makes a face as he takes the pills from you, wincing as he swallows. “I hate being sick.”

You shake your head at the big suck he’s turned into, reaching out to brush his hair from his forehead. “I know, baby.”

The rest of the evening is spent waiting on Frankie, and you go full nurse-mode on him. A box of tissues is left on the coffee table, along with more lozenges, a bottle of water, and a cup of tea with honey. When he starts coughing again, you find a tub of vapour-rub, and order his shirt off, perching on the coffee table again so you can smear the stuff on his chest. It helps some; you can feel his breathing even out a bit beneath your hands, his lungs less rattle-y against his ribs.

He whines when you take your hands off of him, and you settle onto the couch instead, pulling his head into your lap while you find something to watch on Netflix. One hand still rubs at his chest, the vapour-rub long absorbed, but every time you try and stop, he nudges at your arm, makes some unintelligible noise, begging you to continue.

“How was your day?” he asks, his voice a little nasally, sniffing loudly as you hand him a tissue.

You tell him about your day at work, launching into a story about your coworkers. You ramble a bit; usually you two have a big, long chat over dinner, which usually cascades out onto the couch after you’re finished tidying up, so you have lots to say. And you keep rubbing at his chest, his skin hot against your palm, his head rising and falling with your breaths.

You’ve been talking for nearly twenty minutes, and you realize he hasn’t said a word. He started out with quiet affirmations he was listening, uh-huhs and oh reallys interjected every so often, but it’s a been a while since you heard one.

“Frankie?” you say softly, not wanting to wake him if he’s asleep. “Honey, should I stop talking? Why don’t we get you to bed, hmm?”

“Don’t,” he rasps, turning over onto his stomach, burying his face in your lap. Your hand moves to his hair, curls sliding around your knuckles. “Your voice is very soothing.”

“Oh, is it?” you ask, smiling as you move your hand through his hair, making a little moan fall out of him. “I’m sure it would be even more soothing in bed.”

He shakes his head against you. “Don’t wanna move.”

“How about the shower?” you ask, and his head perks up instantly, sleepy eyes blinking at you.

“You gonna join me?” he asks, and you laugh.

“Yes, Fish,” you reply, ruffling his hair. “Don’t trust you to stay upright without me.”

It’s the fastest he’s moved all evening, kicking off the blanket and waiting for you to stand up. He wobbles a bit as he gets to his feet, and you fit yourself under his arm, leading him down the hall to the bathroom.

He looks dead on his feet as you shuffle him into the shower, the spray nearly as hot as it’ll go, filling the bathroom with steam. You strip yourself quickly, pulling the curtain back into place. Frankie slips his arms around your waist as soon as you’re within reach, leaning his head into your chest, his back pressed to the cold tile.

“Comfortable?” you ask, angling yourself so he’s not getting sprayed directly in the face. He nods into your collar, and you sigh as you feel his hands slip lower, palming your ass as he pulls you a little closer. “Frankie.”

“Huh?” he mumbles, kissing at your collarbone. “What, baby?”

“You’re sick,” you say, coming your fingers through his wet hair, slicking it back over his head.

“But I need you,” he almost whines, head moving up so he can suck at the skin of your neck. “Always need you, even when I feel like shit.” He pauses, wrenches his head up and coughs towards the wall. “Especially when I feel like shit.”

“Breathe deep,” you tell him, rubbing your other hand up and down his back. “The steam will help.”

He fits his face back against your neck, hands roaming your body again, and you can’t help but lean into his touch a little. He knows your body better than you do, knows where to squeeze and caress in just the right way, sending sparks of heat to your core.

You feel him twitch against your thigh, and you can’t help yourself, moving your and around from his back, down his arms, over his stomach. He groans in your ear as you skim your fingers along his waist, over the curve of his stomach, and he twitches again, cock filling at your attention.

He squeezes your ass again, his other hand reaching between your legs, but you push him away. “Baby—” he starts to protest, nose still buried in your throat.

“I’m taking care of you, remember?” you mumble against his hair, kissing the crown of his head. “Let me.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll take care of myself later,” you say, revelling in the gasp that slips from his throat as your fingers close around his cock. “I’ll let you watch.”

He groans into your throat, arm going tight as anything around your waist. You stroke him slow, bringing your hand to your mouth after a moment and licking a stripe up your palm. He groans louder when you touch him again, your spit and the water easing your movements, making him pulse in your hand. You curl your fingers tight, thumb riding the thick vein along the underside of him, and he whimpers into your neck, clawing tighter at your waist, pushing his hips into your hand.

You know his body just as well as he knows yours.

You move your other hand to the base of his neck, fingers still knotted in your hair and tug lightly, just enough that you can press your lips to his forehead. “You gonna cum for me, Frankie?”

“Uh-huh,” he breathes out, nearly stuttering the response as you push him back slightly, until his back is flush against the tile again. You pump him fast and hard, just like he likes, thumb swiping against his sensitive head on every upstroke. “Fuck, baby, please.”

“Take it, Fish,” you whisper, holding him close, your hand moving faster on his cock. “C’mon, baby, wanna make you feel good.”

“Feels so good,” he groans out and pushes his head back as he cums, ropes of white spurting onto your stomach, over your knuckles, dripping onto his thighs. He stutters out your name as he goes, head tipped back against the tile, eyes rolling back in his head. You stroke him through it, savouring every sound he makes, the heat and pressure between your own legs pulsing in time to your heartbeat. Later.

You only slow when he starts to whine, one hand pushing at your own. You tug him beneath the water again, letting the hot spray wash you both clean, and he fits himself against you, hand roaming your body once more.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” he mumbles into your neck. “So fucking good to me.”

[ravenndei]

Hear me out, because Suletta was paralyzed, I’m pretty sure in places with gravity Miorine had to carry her around (to bed 😉, couch, etc.) sometimes before our tanuki started recovering her mobility soooo…

This is actually making me feel so soft, like bc Suletta is way taller than Mio so it was very hard for Mio to do these things, but bc she loves Suletta so much she insists on doing this, even tho she could hire a caregiver for Suletta... imagine her waking up super early, running the hot water bath and then waking Suletta up, getting her into the tub (she also gets into the tub to join Suletta, it's how they bond before Mio goes to work), and then clothing Suletta, combing her hair, and before she goes off to work she seats Suletta near the window and beside Prospera (and Eri on the table, ofc) so that the three of them could talk... and when she gets home she prepares their dinner herself, tucks Suletta in bed and then joins her, putting her arm around her wife and Suletta manages to at least lean in and kiss Mio on the forehead...

[philbridges]

If You Need to Keep Your Mobile Home Tub

Hi, I’m Phil bridges, owner of Straight Arrow Repair. Ever want to know how a repairman fixes things? Well come with me, and I’ll show you how I solve problems. Let’s make things better together. So when you’re coming to a tub like this has these pieces that go over the top of the edge of the tub. If you’re going to keep your tub, you need to keep those sealed on the top, particularly. Bottom,…

[mrskreideprinz]

| Could you love me while I hate myself? |

Pairing: Albedo x Gn!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Reader is disabled, Reader has mobility & balance problems, Selfship Coded, Reader struggles taking care of themself, Reader struggles with good hygiene, Albedo picks up/carries reader, Hurt/Comfort, Gender Neutral Reader, No pronouns for Reader, He/Him for Albedo, Reader has mental health issues, 1.1k words.

A/n: Maybe I shouldn’t make it so obvious this is 100% self indulgent, but it might help someone else so what the heck. 

Summary: Albedo notices you haven’t been taking care of yourself and offers to do so instead. 

Tags: @auphelia @suyacho @tighnarly @fleur-de-leap@themovingcastlez

Albedo watches with worry as you limp to the nearby couch, an empty spot open right beside him. Your legs wobble and knees threaten to buckle. It hurt, everything felt wrong. You want to tell him what was wrong, confess that you craved his care, but your pride stopped you. You want to be able to confess these parts of you to the man you loved, but stubbornness be damned you always felt the words getting caught in your throat. Albedo winces at how sick you appeared. He couldn’t remember the last time you’d showered or what you ate recently. It wasn’t that you didn’t try, because you did and he knew that. Still, it broke his heart seeing you struggle so much. 

He turns to face you, placing both hands on your cheeks. “Sweetie, when’s the last time you had a meal?” His voice is soft but the words sting. 

You turn away, too ashamed to look him in the eyes. “I don’t know.. A while.” 

“How long is a while?” He asks.

Your face twists into an expression of pain. That answers that. 

“How about a shower? Then I can make you something good to eat, hm?” 

Although the question wounded you, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief. You’d been struggling to take care of yourself for quite some time, it was just what you needed. Some rest and reprieve would do you good. Your boyfriend pulls you into his arms, stroking the back of your head before giving you a soft kiss to the forehead. He leaves to get the water running, readying a nice hot bath for you to soak in. After preparing the various types of soaps and filling the tub with the perfect temperature of water, he makes his way back to the living room where he picks you up, holding you carefully in his arms. 

He nuzzled his head against yours and whispered in your ear. “I’m so proud of you.” A warmth envelops your chest, you feel calmer than before. 

Albedo brings you into the bathroom and carefully lowers you into the warm tub. Immediately you feel much better just with the hot water touching your skin. You lay back, allowing your body to release the tension it had been holding. Albedo is swift to start softly scrubbing your skin, making sure to get all the dirt and grime off of your body. He lifts your arm up gently to clean your arm, armpits, and even underneath your fingernails. Carefully he sits you upright, beginning to rub soap along your back and neck. You relax into his loving touch, everything feeling good for once. 

“How’re you holding up?” He asks softly.

You nod and give him a tired smile. “Better.” 

He smiles, still focusing on taking care of you. After finishing up on your backside he helps clean the rest of you, making sure to rinse you off before moving onto your hair. As he begins to wash your hair he hums to you, leaning into your touch as you wrap a loose hand around his arm. You cling to him, as if to get lost in his scent and admiration. His touch feels warm and comforting. Albedo feels like home, like the only home you’d ever known. 

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” His voice is patient. 

He stops to kiss you on your cheek, then resumes scrubbing your scalp. He rinses out your hair before moving onto the conditioner. Albedo then rests your body against the back of the tub, allowing you to catch your breath. Already you feel so much better. It was like a huge weight had been lifted. Albedo took both your hands and very carefully helped you out of the bath, making sure you had his sturdy body to lean on as your legs shook from moving out of the tub. Once  you were out he was quick to grab a towel and wrap it around your body, using his body to hug you tightly, adding a pleasant amount of pressure that made you relax faster than you’d like to admit. 

He holds himself there, embracing you for a few moments longer. Albedo wanted to enjoy this tender moment just a little more. He pulls away finally to look at your smiling face. 

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” His face beams with happiness.

Your face becomes hot with embarrassment. Although you can’t help but smile at his sweet words. In one swift movement you wrap your arms around him and squeeze him tight, too afraid to let go. The both of you stand there, embracing one another until you finally decide to let go. Albedo holds your face and places a gentle kiss on your forehead. He bundles you up in the towels extra good before helping you to the room both you and him shared, where he helps you  into some warm, comfortable clothes. The two of you rest on the bed as you both discuss what you’d like to eat together, laughing and being open with one another.  You feel so relieved to get not only cleaned up, but to get some things off your chest. You forgot how nice it felt to talk to your boyfriend, spill your heart to your beloved Albedo. Enough time passes that you eventually forget why you were so hurt in the first place. Wondering if it had all been as bad as you thought. It had, you know it to be true, but that fact doesn’t replace the warmth spreading throughout your chest. You feel… happy. You’ve always felt that way around Albedo, but I guess you didn’t really realize it until that moment. He looks at you like you are the galaxy in which the stars in the sky shine brightly in, and you look to him as if he is the sun. In a way he is, or at the very least he is your sun. It’s that moment that makes you understand just what he meant when he told you everything would be alright. Yeah, you thought to yourself, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, everything was going to be okay.

[latibvles]

useful as dirt.

okay i promise i’ll stop beating the immediate post-Münster era with a bat after this one (maybe) but in the meantime … our camera pans back over to England, where it’s apparent that one Jo Alden is having some typewriter troubles at the Flak House. Luckily we’ve got an antsy lawyer-turned-pilot there to offer some assistance :) mind any typos, this one isn't proofread my fault OGs

—

They have typewriters at the Coombe House.

Really nice ones, heavy and black, the ding when she reaches the end of the line providing some type of familiarity. Jesus, Josie, they have running water and real coffee and clawfoot tubs, why wouldn’t they have typewriters? But Josephine can’t help but be a little bit enamored with the idea. Maybe enamored wouldn’t be the right word. Relieved maybe, that one thing, one minor thing, had gone right after what seemed like a three-day series of wrongs that’d left her helpless and rattled enough for Harding to decide to send the two of them to the Flak House.

Coombe House, she corrects herself. Calling it the Flak House, as the others seemed partial to, made her feel like there was something innately wrong with her. It was too close to madhouse, and Jo wasn’t mad — she was just… sad. And she wasn’t sleeping, either. And – okay, maybe she’s not mad, but she is angry: angry that Captain Savorre made her stand down and guilty for feeling angry about it.

Was it so wrong of her to prefer she’d gone down with the ship than be the one left behind?

She hasn’t said that part to Neumann, yet; she wouldn’t dare to.

Jo knows, deep down, that Lieutenant Neumann wished it was Savorre standing here now as opposed to herself. She wasn’t offended by that, she just kind of wished Neumann would just say it. Once, there’d been… something established between herself and Neumann — as much their friends were partial to teasing Jo about her mother-henning, Neumann had made the brief remark about how “someone’s gotta keep you people on a leash.”

She’d smiled at Jo then, and although Neumann was only a year her senior — something about it made Jo preen, like when her older sister Jean showed off her spelling test to their mother to get the younger girl her rightfully earned praises. She prided herself on knowing what her crew needed, how to keep them out of trouble: who needed the shoulder to cry on and who just needed an ear to listen.

Neumann needed neither of those things. What she needed was the one thing Jo couldn’t give, even if she’d do anything to fix this.

And she couldn’t really write, either. An added inconvenience that the typewriter was meant to amend. She resented it — her hands, the way they trembled. Her last letter from her mother was a scolding about her lack of a response: I hope you haven’t forgotten you have a home to come back to in the midst of all your self discovery. Your siblings, as well as your parents, eagerly await your next letter, whenever you plan to send it.

Jo didn’t know how to tell her that correspondence had become harder over the past four months — that, and she never knew what she was supposed to say. Maybe in the beginning it was easy to write about the novelties of England, the Land Army girls, the mechanics and the Club Mobile girls. But now her pool of words and anecdotes had run dry and Jo wasn’t especially hard-pressed to lie to her mother.

Well, that, and her hands just won’t stop shaking.

She told herself it was from the recoil of the gun, and not from watching formations fall apart in technicolor. It used to really only start once they were up in the air and over the channel — she could ignore it once her hands wrapped around the handles of the gun, demanding the full commitment of the muscles in her hands. Then it’d trickled out of the fort and into smaller tasks: the morning of their second raid on Bremen, she’d spilled her coffee onto the breakfast table and Captain Savorre gave her one of those analytical looks of hers: narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.

The jig was up by the next afternoon.

Physically, according to Doctor Stover, there was nothing wrong with her. It was all in her head. Like dropping a Life-Saver into a bottle of Coke and then sealing it just again. They’d already been planning to send her up here when news hit that only one crew came back from Munster — so they sent Neumann and her off like two peas in a pod.

She’s only gotten a couple lines into her letter by the time it starts. A ‘Dear Mother’, an apology for not writing that Jo doesn’t really mean even if it’s owed, halfway through questioning about how Jack and Joan are doing when it starts and she huffs under her breath.

And Jo tries, really does try, to continue, to keep at it. But three typos later and she can already envision the lines in the subsequent letter about being sloppy and how she knows better than to be so careless in a letter home.

Her chin wobbles without meaning to, and she has to take a measured breath, grappling with her frustrations and trying not to burst into tears. She’s never been much of a crier. Carrie was, after bad flights. Fern, too, when she had too many drinks and crossed the line from giggly to weepy (there’s a memory there, clawing to the forefront of her mind, when Fern and a few others drank to Curt Biddick’s memory. How she was glassy-eyed afterward, crying into Jo’s shoulder about missing her dance partner).

Dammit. She’s wiping at the tears as they prick her eyes and they practically go dry as there’s a clearing of the throat that draws her attention from her ever-growing list of shortcomings.

Lieutenant Rosenthal- er, Rosie, is standing across the table from her, looking at her curiously in a way that’s so reminiscent of how he’d stood during Dye’s party: a high school freshman uncertain what to do with his hands at his very first school dance. He looks at her, gives her that same shy smile he’d offered during their first meeting. His eyes take in the whole of her as they had when she’d approached him initially.

June’s voice harps on in her ear, sharp and strongly-opinionated: no point in learning the names of a bunch of guys who’re just gonna get sent home in a box in a week.

She swallows hard. His eyes fall on her hands and she balls them into fists in a feeble attempt to put up some type of wall, mildly embarrassed by her present defect.

“Hi,” Jo offers, a half-hearted attempt to distract, and blue eyes flit back up to her face.

“Hi,” he breathes out, eyeing the typewriter. “Writer’s block?” Jo wonders if he’s asking on purpose, opening up an avenue for her to scurry down instead of stating the obvious.

“Something like it,” she reaches up to tuck dark hair behind her ear. “You know when you have the words in your head but it just won’t come out?”

“Eesh, don’t make me relive my college essay days, Jo,” Rosie gives her a faux-groan and Jo laughs a little under her breath. They lapse into a momentary silence, he eyes her hands, then looks back at her face. “Anything uh… I can help with?”

“Not unless you wanna write it for me,” Jo doesn’t mean for the words to tumble out, but they do anyway. She doesn’t know what’s worse — the fact that she’s said it or the fact that he looks like he’s considering it. She gets her answer when he starts moving towards her, rounding the table and Jo tilts her head to look up to him; feeling flushed.

“That was a… you don’t have to do that, really.” He shakes his head.

“I don’t mind. The boys are uh… rowing.”

“Rowing?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even know they knew how to do that,” Rosie admits, and he almost sounds exasperated when he sits down next to her. Jo looks over his frame as he takes the seat beside her, trying not to linger on it too long. They’d all been provided civilian clothes when they got here. He was in some type of pale blue button-down tucked into his slacks, hair curling more than it did three days ago.

He looks so delightfully ordinary, it’s hard not to stare.

“Rowing isn’t a thing you do?” She asks, half-teasing, and he chuckles a little breathlessly.

“Not many rowing teams in Brooklyn, you?”

“No, but my big brother did. I was more into reading and writing than sports.” Rosie reaches over to drag the typewriter towards him, their elbows bumping with the movement. His lips curl into another smile, flashing teeth.

“So am I writing a Shakespearean Sonnet?”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this is just a letter to my mother,” Jo returns it with one of her own, softer now. “And I’m not much of a poet.” He gives her an unconvinced look and she’s almost caught off-kilter by the fact that he’s already forming an opinion of her: enough of one to disagree with her statement, even if he doesn’t verbalize it. But he nods all the same, no matter how much he’s already begun to believe that she could be a poet.

“You said it’s uh… in your head right?” And she nods as he looks over her first three sentences, and their crossed out misspellings. Her cheeks burn. “So just talk to me and I’ll write it down.”

“Like a scribe?” He chuckles, something soft and breathless.

“Yeah. Somethin’ like that,” he assents and she nods, brows scrunching together in quiet concentration for a moment. She kind of has to look away from him a bit. A small effort not to get caught up in how his shirt matches his eyes or the soft dark circles there, only perceptible because of the way the sun’s hitting his face. Okay, so she does have time to get caught up in it even as her mind goes through what exactly it is she wants to say.

“Well now I wanna tell her about the rowing or uh- okay, first, tell her I’m on leave.” Rosie starts with his typing, quicker than hers. She almost resents him for that. “And that there’s rowing here. I think that’d make James smile.”

“So James is the rower?”

“Mhm,” she nods slowly. “I’ll tell her about the hedge maze, too. And um…” she falters and he looks at her. She kind of wishes he didn’t. On one hand she’s endeared by his eagerness to help. On the other hand, he’s distracting and she can’t help but wonder if she’s made that blatant on her own face.

“They’ve got good pancakes in the dining hall.”

“They do.” He types, and she talks.

There is that fleeting thought that this might just be an inconvenience after all, when she stalls and tries to come up with things to say. It harps on her, hard to shake — doubt wrapping itself like a viper around her brain and squeezing a bit. She’s not used to being the one needing help, more often the one used to doing the helping. And her brain is treading into that dangerous territory again: angry, upset, rueful. If she’d been in the plane then she wouldn’t have to inconvenience Rosenthal with her inability to write a letter.

“You really don’t have to do this,” Jo reminds him, about halfway through the closing paragraph. He pauses, gives her a long look, eyes dragging over her face, then up and down. “I-I appreciate it, really I do, but… if there’s anything you wanted to do today I don’t want to hold you up.” Rosie looks back at the paper, lip between his teeth.

“If I tell you something, promise you won’t snitch to the doctor?”

“Well I’ve already heard about the training in your underwear,” His cheeks dust pink at that, and he lets out a bewildered, breathy laugh, nodding even as he contemplates his next words.

“I’ve been going a little stir crazy the past couple days. This…” he trails off, looks at the typewriter then back to her with a smile that edges on shy. “I like this. I know we’re supposed to be relaxing or resting or…”

“It’s hard to do that after being in drive for three days straight,” Jo finishes, and he agrees breathlessly, like she’s perfectly summarized it. They hold each other’s stare for a long moment, and once again she finds her well all used up of what could be better, more comforting words. She doesn’t think he’d want them though. Their knees knock for a moment beneath the table, slacks against skirts and Jo feels almost dopey in his presence. “I want to say hi to my sisters too, that’s uh… Jean and Joan.” Rosie snorts.

“Your mom has a thing for J names?”

“There’s also a Jack if you can believe it, three years younger.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rosie can’t help the way his shoulders shake as he types it, and then a couple other things she wants to say. She throws in a small anecdote at the end that has him grinning — she’s talking about a new pilot who finds her naming conventions very impressive, and his eyes are crinkling at the corners in a way that Jo can’t stop staring at. Once she’s concluded, he’s taking the paper from the typewriter, shaking it a bit so the ink dries faster. Then he raises both brows. “Can I add something at the bottom?”

He looks like a little boy asking permission to pet a dog. Jo tilts her head to one side.

“Should I be worried?” Rosie smiles, reaches for a long-discarded pen on the table, and scribbles something at the bottom. She leans in enough to see it. R. Rosenthal says hello, in a neat slanted script. She laughs a little, takes the letter from him after that. Then at the bottom, she writes in her own looping cursive: Love, Josie. She can feel his eyes looking from her to the paper.

“Josie, huh?”

“I think she’d have a heart attack if I signed them as anything but,” she admits. She could see the sentence now about how being overseas is changing her — her mother had always been dramatic. “But Harrie likes to add rhymes to the end of it, see how long she can…” She trails off, a lump forming in her throat a moment that she forces herself to swallow. If she thinks too hard about it she can hear it ringing in her ears, and that might just be enough to sour this comfortable air between them. She doesn’t realize Rosie’s arm has moved behind her chair until his thumb brushes against her back with his thumb unintentionally.

“How long has she gotten it?” He asks, not missing a beat

“Five rhymes, I think,” He rises to his feet with her, and she nods to herself once. “You’d probably get tacked onto it too, now that I think about it. Josie and Rosie.” He chuckles, amused.

“Didn’t even catch that. You sure you’re not a poet? You already got the rhyming thing down.”

Jo shakes her head again, cheeks flushing at the tease and when she steps he steps with her, walking out of the study with her to hunt down an envelope and a stamp.

“Takes more than rhyming to write poetry,” Jo points out, “You need rhythm too.”

“Oh, I’m no good with that, they kicked me out of choir.” Rosie says it so quickly that she knows he isn’t lying — she laughs anyway, a small giggle that she just can’t help.

“Well you can’t just say that and not tell me how it happened.” She points out, and he lets out a small sigh, flushing as they brush up against each other — which has her doing the same.

“Alright well… buckle in, no laughing at me till the end.”

Jo doesn’t promise that she won’t, but she promises to try her best.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I never would have known that this 2001 home in Pioneertown, California is a manufactured home, b/c it's so unique. The owner took the plain home and transformed it. 4bds, 2.5ba, $1.395M. Take a look at this factory made home.

What an interesting fireplace. (Funky '70s chairs, though.)

Huge open kitchen with a massive quartz dining table. Love the variety of stools.

Love the way the kitchen curves, too.

There's also a banquette seating area off to the side of the kitchen in a cozy nook.

Nice pantry/laundry room.

Look at the mural on the wall in the hallway.

The large primary bedroom has a tub and a bar in the corner.

One of the spacious baths.

The secondary bedrooms are all very nice, each is different and pretty big.

One of the secondary baths has a nice shower.

Look at the size of this bar.

This outdoor room is open to the patio.

Here's an interesting feature. The 3 car garage his an old truck sticking out of it, and above is a flat screen.

A large patio and pool face the garage.

Here's a corn hole court.

The lot is 2.52 acres. I find it fascinating how people live in the desert like this. And, some of the homes are in the millions to live out in the middle of Hot Nowhere.

[bugsnax-community-questions]

Bugsnax Community Questions ~ Poll #25

Put filbo, eggabell and the others in one option because there aren't enough slots to fit everyone.

FILBO: Basic Furniture, Dandelion, Cot (secret), Grumpy Baby Mayor, Pawprint rug, Cloudy paws print, painted hut, Group Photo, Streamers, Garden gnome, snaxburg flag, Golden Strabby, Certificate of completion

WAMBUS: Scarecrow, beechwood, Sauce plant seedlings, Sauce rug, Rustic Bed, Mini Cactriffy, Grow light nursery, Wood panel print, cowboy hats, ceiling fan

BEFFICA: Sleeping bag, Ladder Shelf, bestie print, Bestie (exterior), Fuzzy heart rug, Privacy curtains, Bulletin board, glowing stars, purple lupin, befficas journal, Kiddie pool (technically from floofty)

WIGGLE: Hanging lights, Luxury bed (secret), Gilded (Secret), record player, Palm tree, Platinum Award, Beach Chair + Umbrella, Armoire, Music print, Rock club sign, Psychedelic rug

TRIFFANY: Map of Snaktooth, Drafting Table, Prehistoric Floorcloth, Grumpus Skull, Giant skeleton, Barrel cacti, Dig site print, hanging pots, ancient bugsnax statue 1 (pinkle), ancient bugsnax statue 2 (incherito), Bone and Stone (exterior), Bone and stone bed

GRAMBLE: Lantern, Pink oleander, Weather Vane, Knit Sprout Mat, Hay bales, knit bed, Strabby Hat, Doily Table, knitted (exterior), knit baskets, Strabby print, Bunger bed

CROMDO: Tulips, Police tape (Secret), Bug juice dispenser, Big safe, A single hanging bulb, boombox, money print rug, worn mattress, billboard, Motivational poster, Antique print

SNORPY: Loose Newspaper, Conspiracy board, Blueprint print, Protective coat hangers, Metal plating (exterior), Metalworks flower, Satellite dish, deprivation tank, bookshelf, HAM radio, hot tub

CHANDLO: Red Cedar, Framed jersey, Rock climbing holds, Strong trophy, Hammock, Bean bag, Orange bloodroot, Home gym (secret), Sports print (secret), Gym mats, chandlolier,

FLOOFTY: red ti plant, lab bench (secret), Specimen jar, Pirate ship (exterior), Beheading machine, ecience poster, chemistry rug, test tube lights, science print, Chalkboard

SHELDA: Hanging Planter, Herbology station, Primitive grass, Salt crystal, ebony stained wood, zen garden, Meditation cushion, Prairie grass, wind chimes, desert print, torch

EGGABELL: Family Photos, Eggshell print, medical egg rug, Medicine cabinet, Emergency bell, First aid kit, Draped fabrics, igloo (exterior), snow grump, medical bed

OTHER: Cowboy hat roof (Cactriffy), Planted snak (Cactriffy), Snak print (L), Strabby Shelf (L), Snakgoyle (Snaxsquatch), Matilija Poppy (Snaxsquatch), Eyes (exterior ~ B), Legendary snak rug (B), Snak mobile (C), Sodie Fountain (C)

[macthekat82]

Roll for build challenge

Inspired by @hiphiprenee over on tiktok I made my own Roll for build list. I am mostly using her lists but I have modified them, since I am not building for content, I want houses I actually want. You are all welcome to use or modify it all you want. 

You can either roll everything beforehand or do a few rolls and build, and then give yourself another challenge. Roll either a physical die or a online dice roller. 

I have tagged my build I do with this as #roll4build on the gallery and I am macthekat82 on there as well. 

Type of build 

Micro home  (4-32 tiles)

Tiny Home  (33-64 tiles)

Small home  (65-100 tiles)

Starter home (max §20.000 + 2000 per bed)

Regular home

Lavish home 

Open concept or closed concept?

Open concept (Even)

Closed concept (odd)

Household type

Single sim

Couple

Family

Roommates

Style

Cape cod

Contemporary

Shotgun

Mid-century modern

Victorian

Tudor

Georgian

Mediterranean

Cottage

Container or mobile home or pre-fab

Colonial

Craftsman or arts-and-craft

Ranch

A-frame

Bungalow

Abandoned

Tropical

Farmhouse

 Roll for twice

Dealers choice

Colour scheme

Earth tones 

Natural materials

Pastel

Cool tones

Jewel tones

Monochromatic 

Bold

Duo chromatic 

If you want more of a challenge do as many of the following as you feel like. 

Exterior features (roll twice)

Pond

Vegetable garden

Sandbox

Patio

Porch

Driveway or garage

Shed

Hot tub or pool

Fire pit

BBQ area

Play area (monkey bars, swing set etc)

Craft area

Tower, spire or turret

Chimney

Second structure

Basement

Greenhouse

Farm animals

Roll one more time!

Dealers choice

Interior style (reroll if you don’t have the items for it)

Cottage chic or cottagecore or English country 

Southwestern

Minimalist or modern or Asian Zen

Mid Century modern 

Farmhouse -  modern or traditional or French Country

Maximalist or Bohemian

Transitional Style (traditional + modern elements)

Eco friendly 

Traditional japanese 

Shabby chic or coastal

Very gendered

Hollywood Glam or Hollywood Regency

Rustic

Industrial 

Child friendly or child centered

Scandinavian

Mediterranean or middle eastern

Art Deco

Grandma chic 

Dealers choice

Bonus room/area

Office

Storage room or pantry 

Gym

Art studio

Nursery

Game room

Home theater 

Music room/studio

Craft room

Guest bedroom

Greenhouse

Hidden room

Spice roll

No CC

Travel

So many plants

Ups another child 

A dark secret

They really love cooking

Pets are the best!

Obsection!

A big collection

SPORTS!

A lot of clutter

A supernatural lives here