#Round Walnut Table

[thejourneymanandco]

Bespoke Pedestal Table with Tapered Edge

This is a handmade pedestal table made from solid hardwood finished in Omso Polyx. The round top and been tapered on the underside to the edge that give the table a fine and delicate profile and very light look. The centre column is turned from a solid piece of Oak and the base is a thick 40+mm and tapered to mirror the table top (the base is 10-20cm smaller diameter than the top depending top size and height).

The piece will made in three sections, top, post and base to reduce chance of damage and freight costs. The images are from the construction and will be adding images of the finished piece soon.

The aim with this piece is to produce a simple, clean and delicate design that is a very functional piece but with a minimal appearance. It is available in many diameter and height and can be used as a side table, display table, coffee table and much more.

Like all the pieces I make it has been made by hand to order (we hold no stock). They are made with traditional tools, hand planed and cabinet scraped to create a smooth surface. The timber natural features vary in each piece of timber which in turn makes each piece individual and unique.

[ilovolderman]

Dinner Interrogation

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam hosts a dinner to uncover the truth about you and Bucky’s relationship.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, lasagna, lie detector abuse

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam Wilson was finished pretending.

Tonight, he was pulling out all the stops: Dinner. But not just dinner. A full-on sting operation with lasagna and lightly weaponized appetizers.

This wasn’t just a meal. This was war. Operation: Love Actually (But They're Lying).

"Casual, not suspicious" was the theme. He wore a turtleneck for authority. And the guest list? Handpicked for psychological pressure:

You (suspect #1)

Bucky  (suspect #2)

Sam (the host, investigator, and emotional wreck)

Natasha (because she lives for drama)

Tony Stark (for tech backup and snark)

Steve Rogers (for “dad energy” and moral guilt leverage)

And Peter Parker, who thought he was just invited for lasagna and board games.

The living room was dimly lit. The table was set. The lasagna was pre-ordered. And in the center of it all, hidden beneath an innocuous decorative centerpiece? A portable StarkTech lie detection device.

Sam checked it one more time. Still green. Still calibrated. Still ready to catch romantic criminals.

You arrived first. Oversized hoodie. Sleepy smile. Suspiciously content.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "That hoodie is two inches too long in the sleeves. EXHIBIT J."

Bucky arrived a few minutes later. Entered through the kitchen like this was a sitcom. Casual. Too casual.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Staggered entry,” he whispered to himself. “Classic deflection tactic.”

Steve gave Sam a look. “This is a friendly dinner, right?”

Sam didn't blink. “Oh, it’s friendly… to the truth.”

Dinner began.

You sat across from each other. Just far enough to look innocent. Close enough to smile at each other when no one was looking. Too choreographed. Too coordinated.

The lasagna was passed around like a peace offering. Peter asked three times if it had walnuts. (It didn’t. He still didn’t trust it.)

Then Sam stood.

“Game time,” he said with a smile that had war crimes energy. “We’re doing a little truth circle. Like spin-the-bottle but without the bottle. Or the fun. Or the spinning.”

Tony groaned. “Oh great, here comes summer camp counselor Sam.”

Steve frowned. “Is this really necessary?”

Natasha was already pouring herself wine. “Shhh. This is better than HBO.”

Beneath the table, the lie detector pulsed.

Sam began.

“Alright. Easy question. Bucky—ever been in love?”

Bucky gave a slow shrug. “Once or twice.”

Green.

 “Recently?” Sam pressed.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Define recently.”

“Within the last six months.”

Bucky just smirked. “Hard to say. Time’s a social construct.”

Still green.

Peter blinked. “This feels intense for lasagna night.”

Tony sipped his drink. “You have no idea.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Right. Fine. You,” he pointed at you. “Same question.”

You looked positively angelic. “What, if I’ve been in love?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely.”

Green.

“Recently?”

You tilted your head. “In a cosmic sense?”

“IN THE LAST SIX MONTHS.”

You smiled. “Possibly.”

Green.

“Can i go next?” Peter asked

Sam ignored him. “Okay. Next question. Ever kissed someone who lives in this building?”

You and Bucky shared a brief glance.

Then, in perfect sync: “No comment.”

Green.

Sam nearly flipped the table. “WHY IS ‘NO COMMENT’ STILL GREEN?!”

Natasha actually laughed into her wine glass. “It’s calibrated to detect lies,” she said, sipping wine. “Not cheeky evasion.”

“Then they are hiding something!” Sam barked, pointing at you “That proves it!”

Bucky leaned back, arms crossed. “Proves we’re smart. Not guilty.”

You bit your lip to hide a smile.

Sam rounded the table. He pointed to your hoodie. “That is HIS hoodie.”

You raised your brows. “Is it?”

Bucky shrugged. “All hoodies look the same.”

Natasha muttered, “Lies. That’s his ‘Wednesday hoodie.’ I’ve seen him fold it.”

Sam snapped his fingers. “HA! COLLATERAL CONFIRMATION.”

You smiled serenely. “Or maybe we just do laundry on the same day.”

Peter whispered to Steve, “This is better than that time Vision tried to cook.”

Sam glared. “Alright. Final question. And I want both of you to answer. Clearly. Slowly. With eye contact.”

He paused for effect.

“Are. You. Dating.”

You both paused.

Then turned to each other.

Then to Sam.

And in the exact same deadpan voice: “No.”

Green.

Sam stared at the device. Then at you. Then at the ceiling. Then back at the device.

“I’ve been betrayed by science.”

Bucky leaned forward. “You okay, man?”

“No!” Sam snapped. “I’m living in a romantic Truman Show and none of you are helping!”

Tony patted his back. “Want some wine?”

“I want answers!”

From under the table, the lie detector shorted out with a sad little pop. Probably from emotional overload.

Peter leaned over to Natasha. “Do you think I could fake-date someone for this kind of dramatic energy?”

Natasha didn’t even look up. “You’d crack in three hours.”

You stood and stretched. “Well, this was enlightening. Thanks for dinner, Sam.”

Sam stood, pointing dramatically. “This isn’t over! You hear me? You can lie to the machine. But you can’t lie to me forever!”

Bucky stood too. “Wanna bet?”

You both started walking toward the door.

Sam pointed wildly. “They’re leaving at the same time!”

Peter: “So?”

Sam: “They didn’t come together!”

Natasha: “Neither did your sanity.”

The door closed behind you.

Sam collapsed into his chair.

Five steps out the door. You both broke. Laughter exploded between you like a popped balloon.

Bucky slung his arm over your shoulders as you leaned into him, giggling helplessly.

“That—” you wheezed, “—was actually cruel.”

He grinned, crooked and smug. “He’s going to short-circuit in his sleep.”

You gave him a sideways look. “The lie detector literally did.”

“Friday probably auto-filed it under 'emotional casualties.’”

You both collapsed into laughter again, and after a moment, he held out his hand with that familiar spark in his eyes.

“C’mon. Lets go to our spot.”

He led you up onto the building’s roof. The door creaked open and the city met you with open arms — the soft hum of traffic below, the wind gentle in your hair, and a sky stretched out like a quiet secret. The rooftop was empty, peaceful. The kind of place that felt like it belonged to you and no one else.

Bucky pulled off his hoodie and draped it over your shoulders without a word. You didn’t even protest, just slid your arms into the sleeves and hugged it close.

It smelled like him. Warm. Safe. You sat down against the low wall at the edge, legs stretched in front of you, and he sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders like it had every right to be there.

Silence settled between you again.  but the good kind. The kind that felt earned. Easy.

“I’m perfect,” you said after a while, answering the question he hadn’t yet asked.

Bucky turned his head toward you, a little surprised.

“I just… I don’t love pretending around them,” you admitted, looking out at the skyline. “I mean, I know we’re not lying. Not really. But… it kind of feels like we are. Like we’re sneaking out after curfew.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “We don’t have to pretend forever.”

“I know.” You leaned your head on his shoulder. “But it’s also kind of fun.”

 “Very fun,” he agreed. “Especially when you get that smug look.”

You blinked up at him. “What smug look?”

He grinned. “That one. The one that says ‘we made out in the stairwell and Sam has no idea.’”

You groaned, laughing into his shoulder. “We are going to be the reason he needs therapy.”

“Worth it.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then finally your lips—soft and lingering, like you had all the time in the world. His hand cupped your cheek as your fingers tangled in the hem of his shirt. When he pulled back, you stayed close.

“Think they’ll ever figure it out?” you whispered.

He looked at you like you were his whole world. “I kind of hope not.”

You laughed softly and leaned against him, your hand finding his, your fingers slipping into the spaces like they belonged there. Above you, stars peeked through the clouds, and below, the city buzzed on like it didn’t know your little secret.

From far below, through a cracked window, Sam’s voice echoed faintly into the night:

“FRIDAY, CROSS-REFERENCE EVERY PHOTO OF THEM FROM THE PAST YEAR. I WANT BLINK RATES. I WANT STANCE ANALYSIS. I WANT SHADOWS CHECKED FOR HAND-HOLDING.”

You leaned your head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “We’re safe.”

Back inside, Sam stood triumphantly at the whiteboard he had forcibly dragged into the living room, the wheels squeaking on the hardwood floor as if the entire house was questioning his sanity.

Natasha leaned lazily against the wall, wine glass in hand, her expression somewhere between bemused and concerned.

Peter and Steve were seated at the dining table, playing Scrabble — although Peter had already exhausted every single letter in his limited vocabulary to spell out variations of “Stucky.” (He was still trying to get “Stucky” onto the board despite Steve pretended not to know what it meant.)

Meanwhile, Tony, as usual, was on the couch, projecting photos into the air with what could only be described as a mix of disappointment and genuine curiosity. He flipped through a series of images with the skill of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of snooping.

"Okay," Tony said, clicking through the photos on his holographic display like a man on a mission. "Three feet apart in May. 1.7 feet apart in July. September? Clearly sharing one churro. No context. But I’m sure that was more than a snack.”

Sam scowled at the screen, scribbling furiously on the whiteboard like he was composing the next great espionage novel. “Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, pulling down a string of yarn across various photos of you and Bucky, as if it was going to somehow solve the mystery. "I need a new plan. A better plan.”

Tony glanced over at him, the kind of look only someone who knew Sam for way too long could pull off. “What’s your next move? Secretly record their Netflix history and analyze their most-watched shows for clues?”

Sam paused for a moment, considering it. Then he snapped his fingers. “...Actually, that could work.”

Natasha slowly lowered her glass, an expression of disbelief dawning on her face. “Sam. You’re kidding, right?”

Sam stood back, “Get ready,” he said ominously. “This will work. I will finally know the truth.”

Natasha looked at the others with a half-smile, then back at Sam. “You’ve officially lost it.”

Tony nodded sagely, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “I feel like we should all start taking bets on whether Sam will completely implode by the end of this.”

Sam, grinning maniacally, “Let’s just see who cracks first.”

next part

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier @softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym

[carrollismo]

Contemporary Dining Room - Great Room An illustration of a large, modern great room with a light wood floor and a beige floor, white walls, and no fireplace

[titleelovessomerhalder]

Walk Out Basement Toronto Inspiration for a large contemporary walk-out porcelain tile basement remodel with white walls

[jade-kristina]

Dining Room Great Room New York Mid-sized transitional light wood floor and wainscoting great room photo with white walls

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A plate of large, very full ravioli sprinkled with fresh herbs. A close-up on one of the ravioli cut open to reveal and herb and cheese filling. End ID]

Pansooti (Ligurian stuffed pasta with wild greens)

This is a recipe for a cheese-and-herb stuffed pasta called "pansooti" in Ligurian, or "pansotti" in Italian. The name is derived from the Italian "panciuti" (singular: "panciuto"), meaning "pot-bellied"; and, as the name implies, they are meant to be stuffed until they are distinctly round on one side. In Genoan parlance, pansooti are sometimes called "ge in preixun" ("chard in prison").

Pansooti's origins can perhaps be found in Sant’Apollinare, where they were typically made for the feast of Saint Joseph on March 19. Because they are ravioli di magro ("lean ravioli")—that is, meatless pasta—they're perfect for a festival that always falls during Lent.

Pansooti's filling is cheesy and earthy, with bitter greens, nutmeg, majoram, and a light, tangy local cheese called prescinsêua (also known as quagliata, or cagliata). Traditionally, a mix of locally foraged wild herbs known as preboggión, including borage, aster, dandelion, and sow thistle, is used; and in spring, pre-mixed bundles of these pot herbs can be purchased in the markets in Genoa. In seasons when these greens are not available, Swiss chard may be used.

Pansooti is frequently served with a creamy salsa di noci (walnut sauce), which combines the sweet earthiness of walnuts, the zestiness of raw garlic, and the floral and fruity notes of good olive oil to form a perfect complement to the herb filling.

Recipe under the cut!

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Ingredients:

For the pasta:

250g 00 semolina flour (semola di grano duro rimacinata)

Pinch of table salt

Splash of white wine (optional)

About 155g water

Ligurian pasta is typically made without eggs. The adoption of eggs in pasta-making occurred in some regions of Italy over the course of the 20th century. I have seen someone go so far as to say that no true Italian adds eggs to pasta. Nor does any true Scotsman add sugar to his porridge.

For the filling:

1 compacted cup (180g) prepared preboggión; or Swiss chard

1 cup (175g) vegan ricotta; or vegan labna

2 sprigs marjoram

Freshly grated nutmeg, to taste

For the sauce:

Half a tea glass (1/3 cup) good olive oil

200g shelled walnuts

A clove of garlic

50g non-dairy parmesan cheese (optional)

200g soy or oat milk

A sprig of marjoram

50g stale bread, or breadcrumbs

Salt, to taste

Instructions:

For the pasta:

Mix flour and salt in a large bowl. Make a well in the center and add water and wine, if using. Knead by hand for 10 minutes, or in a stand mixer on medium-low for 6 minutes. The dough should be soft and slightly sticky.

Cover and let rest for 30 minutes to an hour while you prepare the filling and sauce.

For the filling:

Mince greens, or use a food processor. Mix all filling ingredients. Taste and adjust salt and nutmeg.

For the sauce:

Cut the stale bread in into cubes. Combine with milk in a small bowl, and work with your hands until the bread is fully hydrated and you have a grainy mixture.

Pulverise garlic in a mortar and pestle. Add walnuts and crush to desired texture.

Combine the olive oil, breadcrumb mixture, walnuts, marjoram, cheese, and salt and mix.

If you don't have a mortar and pestle, grate the garlic and finely chop the walnuts.

To assemble:

1. Divide dough into four pieces, leaving the ones you're not working with covered. Roll the first piece of dough out into a rectangle about 1/8" (3mm) thick.

2. Cut dough into 3" (7.5cm) squares and place a heaping teaspoon of filling atop each one. Fold each square diagonally into a triangle; then, take the two furthest points of the triangle and bring them together, pressing to seal. Take any extra dough that's crossed over and fold it around the point you just made, pressing again.

To cook:

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Carefully add pansooti and cook 3-5 minutes, until pasta is cooked through. Remove with a slotted spoon.

Top with walnut sauce and fresh marjoram and serve hot.

[madridnoora]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Forbidden - Pumpkin Carving

Forbidden AU Blurb - lsu!joe x oc

Full AU masterlist here -> ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Forbidden

Summary: Joe and Daisy spend a random Wednesday night in a highly competitive pumpkin carving contest, in which they both believe they can carve a better pumpkin.

⋆｡˚ word count: 1.7k

18+ Content. MDNI :). Mentions of sex. ⋆｡

Two rich, vibrant orange coloured pumpkins sat opposite each other on the large walnut coloured dining table of Joe's fraternity. A black bin back protecting the surface from the mess that was to come. Dollar store carving kits and empty bowls were carefully laid out beside them. The pumpkins waited to be transformed into masterpieces.

Joe and Daisy sat opposite each other also, locked into an intense stare down. Determination to beat each other smothered across their faces. Daisy's hair was pulled back into a claw clip, a strong demonstration that she was taking tonight's contest seriously. The rules were simple. One hour and thirty minutes to carve your pumpkin and then it would be taken to the fraternity brothers for a vote off. Winner gets head and twenty dollars.

This whole thing started less than two hours ago. A fleeting throw away comment from Joe in the hazy post sex atmosphere about how he had never carved a pumpkin, turned into a late night drive to the store for supplies quickly. Daisy was sure she would win, she had carved a pumpkin every year she could remember. Joe was sure he would win, he won everything he put his mind too.

They bickered between themselves, competitive chirps to one another flying from their mouths. Half taunting, half serious.

Only hour and a half stood between them finding out the truth, finding out who the better pumpkin carver was.

'Readdyyyy....GO!' The slam of Daisy's phone on the table and the start of the timer signified the competition's kick off. A shared glance and a the exchange of mischievous grins, then they dove in.

They each hacked away at the top of the pumpkin's with the flimsy tools provided in the cheap, childish carving kit. Daisy had the technique correct, carving at an angle so the top of the pumpkin wouldn't fall back in when it was placed back on top. Joe was carving the top straight down -- a rookie error that Daisy didn't feel like correcting.

Then came the scooping of the soft gooey inside. The room filled with the earthy yet subtly sweet scent of fresh pumpkin. The intense noise of forceful scraping echoed around the room alongside the slurp of pumpkin guts brushing against skin. Joe's face contorted in vile disgust, the warm sticky sensation of guts brushing against his large hards was not one he was used too. Daisy couldn't help but let out hysteric laughter every time she would look over to him. Never had she seen Joe wriggle and squirm in uncomfortable disgust, she quite enjoyed the sight.

Daisy continued to scrape violently at the pale orange walls of the rounded pumpkin. She scraped at it so violently that pumpkin seeds were beginning to fly everywhere as she yanked the scooping tool out of the pumpkin. However, Joe's muscles and Daisy's constant laughter meant Joe had an advantage in the scooping section. He was able to clean out the pumpkin's insides much quicker than Daisy.

Playful jabs kept falling from each of there mouths.

Joe went straight for the carving tools, a design in his head that he wished to follow. Daisy on the other hand, grabbed the pencil and first outlined her design so she would be able to carve it easier. Joe's eyebrows raised in confusion, then his jaw ticked in annoyance.

'You're cheating' He accused the brunette sat across from him, a craving tool in his hand outstretched as he pointed at her.

'How?' Daisy's cheeky and knowledgeable grin only served to annoy Joe even more.

'You didn't tell me you could draw on the pumpkins' He sulks like a defensive child.

'It's pumpkin carving 101, Joey' Her voice laced in sarcasm as she tried to get under his skin. Her confidence was sky high, there was no way Joe was going to be able to beat her in this contest. She was like a pumpkin craving hall of famer, and Joe was like a rookie who had never touched the ball.

The competition grew more intense, the air around them thickening. Cheap glances and cocky smirks every so often. Their eyes were meant to be focussed only on the pumpkins in front of them, but it was like they couldn't keep their gazes off each other. Blue and sage eyes constantly gravitating towards each other. Sage eyes lingering on the flexed muscles of the quarterback biceps as they worked hard on his pumpkin. Icy blue eyes lingering on the swollen rose pink lips bitting between her perfect white teeth as Daisy focussed with a deep concentration.

Joe carved away, aiming for a scary jack-o'-lantern. Sharp, angular eyes and a pointed crooked grin. Daisy was aiming for something more elaborate. A shadow of a black cat in the moon with stars decorated around. Every cut of the juice filled pumpkin was sharp and intentional. Their hands were coated in the sticky pumpkin pulp making the grip on the small carving tools more difficult.

The clock ticked down, not long left.

They kept at it, the final moments adding a further sense of playful pressure. Joe slammed down the carving tools and sat back in the dining chair. Taking his final pumpkin in, he was proud of his accomplishment's. Daisy wouldn't stand a chance against his design, plus all the voters were his fraternity brothers so he had a home field advantage.

Daisy kept carving down to the last seconds of the timer, only placing down her utensils a moment before the painful alarm rang between the four walls. She too sat back and admired the design she had so delicately carved. This was her best pumpkin yet, and there was no chance Joe had created something better than her. Although, she was extremely curious about what he had made.

They placed a warm tea light inside. The flickering candlelight casting shadows as they dimmed the dining room light so they could see their pumpkins in their full glory.

They looked at each other with arrogant pride and cheeky grins as they held their pumpkins in their hands, ready to turn them around and reveal what they had been doing for the last hour and a half. Both of them believing they had the better pumpkin. The gentle glows of the candlelights bounced off their skin and filled the space between them with warmth -- both emotionally and literally.

'three, two,...one'

They turned their pumpkins around.

Daisy tried to hold in her laugh but she couldn't. It blew its way through her plump lips. Joe's pumpkin was a monstrosity. It's face a lopsided mess of mismatched cuts. One eye way too big and the other way too small. Some flesh of the pumpkin was still stringing from the corner of the ragged mouth he had created. The face of the pumpkin seemed more sorrowful than spooky, a poorly executed mess in the hands of Joe. He was taken a back by her reaction, he didn't think he had done that poorly but when he looked at hers he realised he had been in a contest way out of his league.

Daisy's pumpkin was a detailed, intricately carved design with clean cuts that almost made the pumpkin seem alive. The cat was flawless, as were the little stars she had carved around them. It seemed like she had done it effortlessly, like she didn't struggle on a single cut of the thick pumpkin flesh. Joe had been almost hacking away at his pumpkin.

'Are you like the fuckin' Picasso of pumpkins? what the fuck is that?' His words came out with an attitude, like he couldn't believe the difference between them. Daisy beamed a sweet smile, not an arrogant one but a truly fun and cheerful one. A familiar feeling pinched at Joe's torso once again. He didn't know what it was but it he had felt it when he saw her on the sidelines for the first time, and now. His blue eyes danced over her flushed cheeks as the apples of them bunched. Light crinkles at the corner of her sparkling doe eyes. He swallowed it away, suppressing it. Emotion he denied feeling.

He let out a heavy breath through his nostrils as he realised all he had was the home field advantage as it was time to go around the house asking for votes. Surely, his brothers and teammates wouldn't let him down. That loyalty wasn't so fickle.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ -

Every brother voted for Daisy's pumpkin. Justin and Ja'marr had been in hysterics as Joe presented his beside hers. It looked like someone had let a toddler hack away at a pumpkin.

The whole night had been one of laughter. A weird rarity in the relationship between Joe and Daisy. An evening of shared fun and rivalry which made the night so memorable. A cosy atmosphere as they took part in something almost romantic, something that was outside the realm of their transactional agreement. Neither of them really saw it that way, or maybe they did and just didn't want to admit it. The quiet connection of a feeling they couldn't place building between them as they connected deeper through moments of pure happiness and playful glee.

They placed the pumpkin's back on the dining room table before they headed back to Joe's messy bedroom.

Daisy's victorious grin followed by Joe's sore loser demeanour. The bedroom door shut quietly behind them. A turn of the lock. *click*

'When do I get my prize, Joey' Seduction twirled every word from Daisy's smug grin. It made Joe's eyes darken, he had been planning on at least resisting her for a short while. Making her wait for the reward she had earned fairly. It wasn't like it was a punishment for Joe, he loved the sweet taste of her and he loved hearing his name roll of her tongue in sensual moans. It was the best ego boost he could ask for.

'Whenever you want it' His voice was low and hoarse. Heat creeping up his spine.

'Well, I should really shower, get the pumpkin off me' Daisy began undressing in front of him. Her oversized t-shirt thrown on the floor alongside her shorts and underwear. Joe gulped. Daisy's petite and toned body now stark naked in front of him. Deep blue eyes trace over her. He watches her as she turns around and walks towards the bathroom, her ass bouncing with every step.

Daisy stops in the the doorway of his bathroom, her head flicks over her shoulder.

'Are you coming or are you just going to stare?'

Joe doesn't need a second invitation.

[bangchansdirty-slut]

"Would you like another one?"

Paring: Baker!Felix x Bottom!Male reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Brownie Boy decides to put a little something inside a brownie he made just for you so he can get a special ingredient for his frosting.

More: Masterlist

A/n: I wrote this half-awake today. Also, should I make a fem version of this? Anyways enjoy! And requests are opened.

M/n stepped into the dimly lit bakery, the smell of freshly baked pastries filling the air. It was well past closing time, but Felix, M/n's best friend and the baker extraordinaire, had left a light on for him. The two of them shared a special bond, one that transcended mere friendship; they were practically inseparable. M/n wove through the empty tables, the chairs on top of them, and the counters covered in neatly stacked bowls of freshly whipped cream and sprinkles. He rounded the corner to find Felix in the back, his hands covered in flour, his face beet red from the heat of the oven.

"Hey, Felix," M/n called out, setting his bag down on the counter. "You know you could've just texted me to come back later."

Felix laughed, wiping his flour-covered hands on his apron. "Oh, you know me, M/n. I always like to see you." He glanced at the clock, then back at M/n. "But since you're here, why don't you help me with these cupcakes? I made an extra-large batch today, and I could use an extra pair of hands."

M/n nodded, stepping up to the counter. He loved helping Felix in the kitchen; it always made him feel so… useful. Together, they worked in companionable silence, piping icing onto the cupcakes and decorating them with sprinkles. After a few minutes, Felix paused and leaned in close. "You know," he whispered, "I made a special brownie just for you."

M/n's stomach growled at the mention of brownies. "You did?" Felix grinned, handing him the pan. "Go ahead, take it. I already put it in the oven, so it should be nice and warm."

As M/n carried the pan over to the oven, he felt a surge of warmth in his chest. It wasn't just from the heat of the oven; it was the thoughtfulness behind Felix's gesture. He set the pan on the counter, taking a deep breath in anticipation of the first bite. He glanced over at Felix, who was carefully icing one of the cupcakes, and found himself wondering how long it had been since they'd had a night like this, just the two of them.

Time seemed to slow down as he took a bite of the brownie. The chocolate was rich and fudgy, the walnuts providing a pleasant crunch against his teeth. But it wasn't long before he felt a strange sensation washing over him. His cheeks flushed, his heart raced, and he found himself unable to meet Felix's gaze. "Um," he stammered, putting the half-eaten brownie down on the counter. "Felix, I think you put something in this brownie."

Felix laughed, walking over to stand behind M/n. "You mean the aphrodisiac?" he asked, his breath hot against M/n's ear. "Don't worry about it. It's all natural, and it'll make things more fun."

As the effects of the aphrodisiac continued to take hold, M/n found himself growing more and more uncomfortable. His heart raced, and he could feel a warmth building in his groin. "Felix," he said, his voice strained, "I don't feel so good."

Felix placed a reassuring hand on M/n's shoulder. "It's okay, M/n. Just relax. You're with me, and I won't let anything happen that you don't want." He guided M/n over to the counter and helped him sit down. "Now, just take deep breaths and try to calm down."

As M/n tried to steady his breath, Felix retrieved a bowl from the cupboard and placed it on the counter. "I'm going to help you feel better," Felix whispered, his voice low and soothing. He knelt down in front of M/n and gently urged him onto all fours. "Just like this."

M/n felt a mixture of embarrassment and arousal as he obeyed Felix's instructions. His heart raced, and he couldn't help but wonder what Felix was planning to do next. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Felix had retrieved a bottle of frosting from a drawer. "Felix?" he whimpered.

Felix smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, M/n. I'm just going to make sure you're comfortable. This will help." He dipped his fingers into the cupcake frosting onto his fingers before slowly, carefully parting M/n's cheeks. "Just try to relax and enjoy this."

As Felix's fingers traced circles around M/n's anus, his touch was surprisingly gentle. He started by just teasing the entrance, using his fingertips to spread the icing that was already there. Then, with a soft moan, he began to slowly push one finger inside. M/n let out a soft gasp, his body tensing up, but Felix continued to move in and out of him, careful not to go too deep or too fast.

With each thrust of his fingers, Felix pressed harder against the spot that made M/n squirm the most. It felt so good, but at the same time, it was almost too much. His hips bucked involuntarily against Felix's hand, begging for more contact. "Felix…" he moaned, his voice barely audible over the sound of their breathing.

As Felix's fingers expertly worked their magic, M/n couldn't help but notice the wet, sticky sensation that was starting to build between his legs. The aphrodisiac was doing its job, and his arousal was growing by the second. He could feel himself becoming more and more engorged, the head of his cock beginning to peek out from the folds of his foreskin.

Just when M/n thought he couldn't take any more, Felix withdrew his fingers and knelt down behind him. M/n felt the warmth of his breath against his sensitive skin before he felt the tip of Felix's tongue press against his entrance. With a soft, wet lick, Felix began to circle his tongue around M/n's opening, gradually easing deeper and deeper. M/n arched his back, moaning loudly as the sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

As Felix continued to tongue-fuck him, his hand found its way between their bodies, teasing and stroking M/n's engorged cock. He slowly began to jerk him off, matching the rhythm of his hand with the movements of his tongue. M/n felt like he was about to explode, the pleasure building inside him with each thrust of Felix's tongue and each stroke of his hand.

With a final, deep thrust, Felix pushed his tongue as far inside as it would go, and M/n felt the familiar tingle in his balls that signaled his impending orgasm. He let out a long, shuddering moan as his hips bucked wildly against Felix's hand. His cock jerked violently in Felix's grip, spewing hot cum across the palm of his hand and into the bowl with frosting in it beneath M/n. The release was intense, overwhelming, and blissful all at once.

As the last spurt of cum pulsed from his cock, Felix pulled his tongue away and licked his lips, looking pleased with himself. He reached over to the counter and picked up the bowl, holding it up for M/n to see. "There you go, M/n," he said with a grin. "Your special gift for me." He held up one of the cupcakes with the icing that had been mixed with M/n's cum and offered it to him. "Go on, eat it up."

Still catching his breath, M/n reached out and took the cupcake from Felix, his heart racing. He took a bite, savoring the sweet, salty flavor that was uniquely his. As he chewed, he felt a new wave of arousal begin to stir inside him. He looked up at Felix, who was watching him intently, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Felix smirked and grabbed another cupcake from the counter. He knelt down beside M/n once again and placed the cupcake between his legs, directly against his engorged cock. "Here, M/n," he purred, "why don't you finish yourself off with this?" He pressed the cupcake firmly against M/n's throbbing member, the icing already smeared with their combined essence.

M/n groaned, feeling the familiar pressure building inside him. He closed his eyes and reached down, using one hand to guide the cupcake against his cock. With a sharp thrust, he impaled himself on the cupcake, moaning loudly as the sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure through his body. His hips bucked wildly, fucking himself on the cupcake as he came, his cum splattering against the icing and coating both their hands.

Felix leaned in, capturing M/n's lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He could taste himself on M/n's tongue, the tangy flavor mixing with the sweetness of the cupcakes. As their tongues danced together, Felix reached down and stroked M/n's cock, milking the last drops of cum from him. He continued to kiss him, their bodies pressed tightly together, until they both collapsed in a heap on the floor, breathless and spent.

Slowly, Felix pulled away, his eyes trailing up and down M/n's naked form. "Mmm…that was quite the show, M/n," he purred. "You're quite the talented performer." He picked up the tray of cupcakes and held it out to him.

"Would you like another one?"

[threetrenchcoatsinatrenchcoat]

Ratfish finale predictions

Ally will attempt to monologue as Brennan and it will veer off course so fast

graNma sWeetie name reveal

there are clues hidden in the rooms

Brennan doesn't trust himself to answer a question not as himself and frantically calls Izzy

there will be a bunch of verification prizes and most people will figure out who Grant is, but he will forget that it's not actually everyone and announce that he's Grant

Adjustable Side Table Walnut x Bug with a Big Ass friends to lovers canon

Jess will get pretty close then fully misinterpret the numbers and latch onto a wrong guess

before the penultimate round, there's a segment where everyone sans ratfish leaves their rooms and meets in the conference room trying not to give away who or what they've just been improvising as

Katie forgets who her character is and asks the screen what she's said

Sam will give increasing hints about the ratfish, and someone will mention Tim and Eric immediately based on almost nothing then not guess it

two players get offered information in exchange for contacting each other with a secret code in the public chat

the eliminated players get to choose to feed lies to the remaining players, Brennan trashes the room when he realizes he's fed a lie, Ally gets most things right and doesn't even realize they ignored a lie

Zac plays half of it lying down

Sam knocks on the winner's door

[live-laugh-lenney]

Hello! Can you write a story where George or Arthur messes up and they like totally grovel over the reader? I feel like they would beg for forgiveness 😆

ohh, god lord. can you imagine the amount of grovelling?

arthur didn't mean to forget.

he was never a forgetful person; if he knew his plans were going to overrun or if he knew he'd double-booked himself, he would always make it his problem to deal with and sort out.

but with multiple video shoots happening that week that kept him busy, from a sidemen shoot to a podcast recording and then back to his own channel before he partook in a reacts video for someone else on their channel, the planned dinner with her parents had just slipped his mind.

when he walked through the front door of their flat, he was greeted with the laughter and the chatter of company. and it's in that given moment, when he sees her mum's handbag hanging on a coat hook beside her dad's coat, that he knows what he had forgotten. that he knows he messed up... big time.

rounding the corner and stepping foot in the open-plan living space of their flat, he was greeted with the biggest smile from her mum and a welcoming handshake from her dad... lessening the guilt in his belly until he was met with a fake smile and darkened eyes from yn. and the guilt only bubbled more viciously because he knew he couldn't dig himself out of this one easily.

"yn said you'd gotten stuck in a meeting with your work team, lovely. that's such a shame," her mum coos softly and she pulls arthur in for a loving hug that was tight and secure, his own arms enveloping her in a warm hug, "i know you insisted we had this dinner without you but it didn't feel the same."

he swallows back the lump in his throat and the guilt felt even worse. she lied on his behalf and made it out to be an unfortunate accident when, truly, it had simply slipped his mind. the smile on her mum's lips made him want the ground to swallow him whole. his eyes dart over to yn who occupied herself in clearing away the dirtied dessert plates from the tabletop - and he remembered her telling him that morning, before he left, how she was baking a coffee and walnut cake for them all to enjoy that night.

"we'll have to organise another one, i'm so sorry," arthur apologises before helping clean up the table, collecting the empty glasses and the cutlery that yn had left behind, "i'll cook next time since yn did this. it smells delightful."

"we had your favourite dinner, kiddo," her dad informs him and arthur looks at yn as she tries her hardest not to let her emotions get the better of her, "she's a good'un, our yn. even baked us a cake."

"she's the best," arthur smiles at her.

and he was hoping for a slight smile back in his direction to know he was off the hook and they'd talk about the whole evening later on... except he doesn't and all he sees is her jaw clench and tighten, her eyes rolling discreetly, head staying low as she piles everything up on the counter beside the sink.

they said goodbye to her parents soon after with kisses, hugs and handshakes being exchanged as well as a promise of taking an entire day off so he didn't have to miss another meal planned with them. except, deep down, he felt the guilt beginning to eat away at his insides and he knew he was minutes away from being made to feel even worse.

the door closed and before he could get his apology out, she was first to break the silence.

"don't speak to me for the night."

"yn-"

"what did i just say to you?" she sneers at him and he stares at her with sorrow in his eyes, hoping that she would come round and give him the chance to explain everything; from how he felt overworked from a week of non-stop work to how he got confused with the dates to how he wanted to make it up to her for being a forgetful muppet. "don't talk to me. i don't want to talk to you tonight."

"if you let me explain then-"

"it'll just be excuse after excuse coming out of your mouth, arthur."

he follows her around the flat like a lost puppy, scared to lose her but also wanting to plea for his forgiveness and to explain, not with the hopes of being forgiven right away but with the hopes of being understood, because he really and truly never meant to miss out on the evening with her parents. stands beside her as she washes up the dishes in the sink, watching her as if he was waiting for her orders on what she wanted him to do, mind racing as he tried to come up with the most calmest way to explain everything.

"the shoot overran. the taxi for the way home got stuck in the rush-hour traffic on its way to pick us up and we were miles from a tube station," he tries to take the plate from her hand so he could dry it and put it away but she refuses his help, placing it down on the side and swatting his hand away when he tried to pick it up, "by the time it arrived, we'd been waiting an hour for it at the site."

"doesn't help me in understanding why you never showed up. not even a text. i had to lie, arthur. to my parents!"

"i know and i'm sorry you had to do that," he places a hand on the base of her back and uses his thumb to rub gentle circles into the tee on her back, "truthfully, i did forget. okay? i forgot but-"

"i know you forgot," she huffs heavily and moves from his touch, his hand still lingering where it was once placed on her back, "please, just don't come near me. don't touch me. don't talk to me. i'm angry with you so please let me be angry with you."

"i don't want you to be," he frowns.

"then you should have thought of that before you skipped on dinner," she retorts back to him and his shoulders slump in defeat, "i'm just so upset with you."

the whole night was spent apart.

and, truth be told, they hated it.

yn hated how she still wanted to be close to him, even though he had made her feel anger. hiding in the bedroom with her laptop opposed to the television because he had taken refuge on the sofa and chosen a documentary she didn't want to intrude upon. she understood how hectic his schedule could be at times and she understood that, sometimes, he was tired and he needed reminding of things... it was a minor mistake but it had upset her and she needed her feelings to be validated and she wanted him to understand how hurt she felt.

arthur hated how he had made the mistake that lead them to being apart. sleeping on the sofa so she had all the time in the world to feel better and feel angry without him being there to add fuel to the fire. it was forgivable, what he did, but it wasn't forgettable and he knew she'd be upset for a while with the situation.

the next morning, he was awake early.

he ran to the corner shop to grab her some flowers, to grab her a card, to grab ingredients for breakfast so he could surprise her and a little goody-bag of her favourite snacks to show her just how sorry he was for what had happened. deciding on breakfast pancakes, with her favourite fruits and syrup, writing a long-winded message in the card that could explain better than he could if she was looking at him whilst he spoke it verbally.

and when she rose from her slumber, ready to forgive him, he was prepared with a table full of a surprises.

"good morning," he smiles sheepishly and she lets her eyes wander over the pile of pancakes in the middle of the table beside bowls of fruit and bottles of maple-syrup, "i made breakfast."

"you made a feast," she giggles softly, stepping towards the dining table and reaching for the card that he'd leant against a jar of nutella, "what's this?"

"it's my apology. i figured i could write it better than i could say it so," he walks towards her and sets his hands on the back of a chair, pulling it out from under the table and letting her sit down, tucking her underneath before he sat beside her, "i really am so sorry for forgetting our plans."

"it's okay," she pulls the card from the envelope and lets her eyes scan over the paragraph of his writing, her mouth soundless speaking every word he had written on the piece of paper, "i figured you were just stressed and tired. i was never going to stay angry at you."

she squeezes his knee softly and looks at him.

"i made reservations at that new london restaurant you wanted to go to, too. figured we could go with your parents," he informs her and she smiles widely, "it's on me, of course."

"arthur," she hums softly, "you need to fuck up more often."

he rolls his eyes and she giggles softly.

"i don't think so. one time, you might actually leave me and i don't know if i could cope with that," he leans over and presses a kiss to her lips, "i love you and i'm truly sorry."

"i love you too, you muppet." xx

[blueberryarchive]

𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.

୨ৎpairing: cowboy!jm x reader x preacher!jk

୨ৎword count: 5k

୨ৎgenre: smut, horror, angst

୨ৎtw: dead dove do not eat, mentions of death and gruesome details (human and animal), blood, mentions of arms and physical violence, cursing, smut (blood drinking and playing, period sex, rope play, degrading, dub-con, groping, penetration)

An Ewe and the Captive Bolt (a serie)

Today was his birthday, and for the first time in 28 years, the sky looked like a sheet full of spots. He felt ever since he saw Sirius and Canopus in the sky as two little white suns the night before, that this year was going to be different.

What Park didn't know was that what would be different was the pain he felt on the left side of his arm and his chest. The hot, thick blood soaked his shoulder and eye until it covered his eyelashes. The battered hat clutched in both dusty hands as he entered Carmen's diner, a child's shame on his tight lips.

The poor girl behind the counter dropped the key lime pie from her hands, creating even more noise in the place (which Jimin didn't appreciate being in such a state).

"Christ." She murmured, still static.

"Be a doll and bring me a glass of water, would ya'?" Jimin crawled to one of the seats, grunting as he felt his muscles burn.

The girl approached with a small towel and a terrified look.

"Never seen blood before?"

"No, sir." Her brown eyes were like two walnuts bouncing between Jimin's face and arms. She was adorable, her face round and her hair so curly that she reminded him of his sheep. If she hadn't been the sheriff's daughter, he said to himself every time he saw her.

"Are you hurt, sir? I can call my daddy and-"

"No need for that, sweetheart." He raised his hand. The last thing he needed was to have Montrell in his affairs. "It ain't my blood, it's my horse's"

Apparently, that seemed to affect the young woman more. Jimin was a little offended by her reaction.

"Why don't you bring me a piece of that delicious key lime pie you had in hand and two coffees."

There were more questions in her curved eyebrows, but she just nodded and walked away. Park took off his shirt, leaving a tank top underneath it, with the handkerchief that he kept in his jeans, he began to wet his hands and his face.

His fingers were still shaking from the adrenaline. The shrill sound of the car's tires driving away, the heated laughter cloistered behind the smoked windows, the last sharp sigh of his horse before Jimin ended his suffering. He had to find the bastards who ran over his horse. FH-6077, he read the plate in the distance before crossing the curve, and his brain couldn't stop humming the six digits like a prayer.

The sudden hand on his shoulder calmed the waters, the undoubtable smell of myrrh and tobacco from his companion.

"Happy birthday, buddy." His voice was gentle. If Jungkook ever went above a couple of those decibels, Jimin assumed he was going to die. Even seeing Park's bloody hat on the table and Park's bloodstained boots, he didn't flinch to ask.

Perhaps it was his ecclesiastical nature that gave him the confidence that at one time or another, others would fill the silence with their confessions. But Jimin could see in the father's noble eyes the desperation for an explanation.

"Sure." That was all he said. The girl approached the table with the pie and the coffee.

"Goodnight, Father John." She smiled widely.

"Night, Billie. How's your dad?"

"He really liked your mass today. I did too, I really liked the reading." Jimin noticed how the corners of Billie's lips twitched, contorting herself to try to look prettier for Father John. So obvious and adorable, but of course, Jeon would give nothing more than a shrug and the most predictable questions.

The difference is that Jungkook could fuck the sheriff's daughter. What father didn't want his daughter to be in the sacred hands of Father John?

Father Jeon (or John due to the Americanization of Jungkook's family) was tall, wide like a log, and robust like an unhorned bull. Attractive in every sense, but bland, shy until it hurts.

"'M glad, tell him I will visit Missus Davis next week."

"Do you have a smoke? I'm dying in here."

They both looked at Jimin who was just smiling with his mouth smeared with whipped cream.

"You can't smoke here, sir."

Jimin winked at her, grabbing the white stick that Jungkook handed him as he also sat down to end the unbearable flirting.

"I know, pumpkin. It'll be a quick one, I promise."

The girl didn't say anything else, and she walked away. Disappointment in her walnut eyes.

"I'll marry her in two months." Said Jungkook.

Jimin frowned. Jungkook curled his fingers, pointing for his friend to come closer and light the tip of the tobacco.

"Marry her? You can barely tolerate the poor girl."

"I love her." The father stated as he nodded slowly while he drank his coffee. "She's a good girl, I think she likes me, too."

"Are ya sure?" Jimin joked.

"Where's that bad hoss you've been riding since last month?"

Jimin's blood warmed again, the drags on his cigarette even longer.

"Fuckin' punks ran over 'im and broke his ribs. Had to do it." He pointed to the gun under his hat. The bloody clothes reminded him how clumsy he sure looked trying to pamper a horse that was already three steps away.

FH-6077.

"I'll find them tomorrow."

"I'll help you."

"What are you gonna do?"

They both looked at each other, the watery, electric current between them. Ideas undulated and braided between their cruel smiles.

"Haven't changed a bit, church boy." Smoke weaved into Jimin's blonde hair, his devilish smile vaporizing memories of his teenage pranks.

Jungkook drank the last of his coffee, his face falling back into the same bitter sadness that every father held as if he carried the weight of all the souls and sins of Rivermouth on his back. The silence was long afterward, the black night extended to the mountains, to the sky, to Park's own reflection in the glass. The round face with pronounced lips and rude, detailed eyes, sweet when they feel like it. The spitting image of his mother.

"I have some hippies coming to the ranch tomorrow."

Jungkook nodded, the pressure in the handle increasing, the clack of the cup being clenched by his teeth in a sip. Jimin knew he shouldn't have mentioned the hippies, but it was that ecclesiastical power. He knew that Jungkook hated the smell of pot, the long hair, and the colorful t-shirts, which reminded him of his father, previous father John.

God knows what Jungkook had to witness, the carbonic stench that emanated from that charred skeleton. The tongue pressed between two pieces of blackish board that used to be teeth. The fetid fat that ripped and curdled in the organs. There was not a day in which the poor man did not think about that before going to sleep and found himself face to face with the featureless face of his father, with the incinerated bowls pointed at the eyes of his son. Sitting in the chair under the cross that has sat on that wall since Jungkook's birth.

And Jungkook cried. He would close his eyes and every night, he would grab the skull and make it crunch under his thick hands. The body did not defend itself, it let its boy vent as if he were a sacred entity and knew that at the same time, the next day and every other day, he would appear again in that chair, and Jungkook would never be able to exhaust his anger against him.

"I have to go." It was the only thing he said leaving a ten dollar bill in the table. Park understood. "Go fetch a new hat from my house tomorrow, it's about time you threw that shit in the river."

"Hey."

Jungkook turned around. Jimin stopped smiling.

"Take it home in the morning, I'll make you breakfast before the rodeo."

Jeon looked at the floor with uneasy eyes.

"We'll see."

As he left the diner, the fresh wind conquered the father's soul. Nostalgia washed away his stony face and for the first time in years, he wanted to be a child again. Disappear with Jimin and sleep in the old hayfields of the abandoned Hillside.

He put on his black hat and started walking down the dark street, both hands in his pockets.

Today the smell of boiling fat was stronger than ever, the ghost of his father floated in the swirls of Rivermouth dust and, with it, the remains of the children who were later taken from that same cabin.

The white lace curtains let in the yellowish light of the first rays. The unmade bed, the smell of pine in the sheets.

In one corner of the bed, Park was dressing for the day, the muscles in his shoulder had swollen with the hours and makeshift cloths covered the open, bloody sores. Every so often, he hissed and swore under his breath.

The coffee began to gurgle in the kitchen as he finished putting on his boots, it was barely 6:30, but he already had the eggs frying and the beans hot in the pot. It seemed strange to him that his companion was not already sitting next to the window, Bible open and the first cigarette of the morning in his hand.

He turned off the stove just in time and poured himself a cup. Today he felt more domestic than ever, he had spent the night fixing every detail in the ranch, from the dust on his late mother's china to the rifles displayed in the hallway. To be frank, he spent the entire night cleaning every corner, maybe detailing every object in every room so that at the end of the weekend nothing would be missing, or the crash made him remember how little he's done in 28 damn years.

A porcelain jewelry box his mother had placed in one of the rooms was covered in a thin layer of gray dust; it was his mother's favorite piece. He hadn't opened it since the last time he stole a couple of pearls to buy his first rifle, the red stained his face with shame, and the only thing he could do as an apology was turn the house over with his own handkerchief and clean even the windows. He was surprised that the smell of lye and soap hadn't killed him.

Hearing one of his sheep bleating, he opened the window and decided to lower his chivalry a bit and smoke his first cigarette before Jungkook arrived. In the distance, he could see one of his ewes, fat and terribly woolly, walking slowly towards the barn. She was pregnant and Jimin knew that there were maybe 24 hours left, her skin was bulging, and her bleating was painful and whiny, she couldn't take it anymore.

The curtain caressed Jimin's face with the wind that was beginning to warm up, he took a drag of the cigarette and turned his body towards the kitchen. He felt a strange itch in his chest, the kind that bothers him when he senses a spirit floating near him. The greenish branches and the smell of sausages were mixed up with the subtle gallop of a skinny horse and the unexpected smell of myrrh.

He walked to the front door and opened it to find Jeon's promised hat. He sighed as he saw that not only was it one of his black deathly-looking hats, but he had also planted him at breakfast, sure to go see the grandmother of his very unexpected but predictable fiancée.

Long story short, Jimin had to eat four cowboys' breakfast and the whole pot of coffee, and the hat he would wear to the rodeo today didn't match his outfit at all. Dozing was the only thing he could do after loosening the buckle on his belt and putting the hat on his face.

The leather furniture was sinking under his body, the soft song of the river in the distance, and the birds pecking at his roof took him back to his childhood. Sleeping wherever he wanted without any purpose. He dreamed of the gallops of his first horse: Champ, a Tennesee Walking that had belonged to his grandfather, black as coal, glistening in the sun of his student days and running like a devil in a hurry. He dreamed that he was in public showing the animal to auction it.

"How do you encourage a horse to move forward, Sage?" A woman in the audience shouted.

"I don't know, kick his ass or something." Heavenly laughter coaxed him out of his lethargy.

His body sat on the furniture before he knew it, sweat covering his back, veins marked on the left side of his face. He ran with the unconscious weight of his body to the window, pushing the curtain aside with his finger until he saw the circular corral where his star horse, Arrow, was located, with a stranger on his back.

His fingers reached for the rifle lying on the rocking chair.

The blonde girl staggered on top of the animal while her thin fingers held his hair tightly. The horse's sleepy eyes moved from side to side, snorting as he searched for direction.

"Come on, horsie!" The girl snapped her teeth and laughed as the horse curved to one side. "Are you seeing, Hunter? It's moving."

Hunter was smiling foolishly, lying on the grass, his thin, wavy hair fluttering around his ears like a delicate flower. The dark glasses covered his wounded deer's eyes.

"You're such a cowgirl, my love." His voice was sarcastic.

And with a shot into the air, silence muted nature. He silenced the current, the clucking of the chickens that fluttered in the distance. Hunter, Sage, and Blondie turned to the cowboy who walked slowly across the grass towards them. A whistle from the stranger caused Arrow to raise his front paws until Blondie fell with a screech to the hard ground.

"Kitty!"

"Woah, cowboy." Jimin's silky voice approached, placing the buttplate of his rifle on his shoulder, aiming directly between Hunter's eyebrows. "Move slowly, ya wouldn't want to scare an alarmed man any further, now would ya?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

Blondie or Kitty or whatever her name was, rolled her red eyes.

"What the hell are you doing on my ranch?"

"Let's go, Hunter. I'm not going to talk to cornman." Sage was the tallest of them all, her shorts squeezed her thighs until they were overflowing, and her hair was long like a beach princess.

"Watch your fucking language around me, missy." Gritted Jimin removing the safety on the rifle.

"Sage, for once do you want to shut the fuck up."

Hunter raised his hands, sweat beginning to gather on his wrinkled forehead. His eyes shone as he heard the heels slowly approaching behind Jimin.

"Love." He exhaled.

"Is this part of southern charm, Mr. Park?" Coquettish, the dying accent of someone who once lived in these parts, daring, too much for her own good. But still, he lowered the gun, spitting on the ground.

When he turned around it was as if a pink burst of glitter and vanilla had slapped him from the stupor of sleep. The glasses were square and large, they covered almost her entire face, that was the first thing Jimin saw.

"Ma'am, are these your friends?"

"We are your visitors, cornman." Jimin ignored the Californian's irritating nasal whine as the sweet girl in front of him approached little by little with a smile. He felt the itch again, the one that senses a spirit floating nearby, this spirit was the nebulous memory of your face.

"Could you speak again, ma'am?"

"Sorry?" You laughed, and it was like birds were chirping in your throat. "You're Ari's son, right? I really liked the jams your grandmother used to make."

And oh, it couldn't be more obvious. It couldn't be more evident, not even because God had exploded your name in the sky. It was the stunning makeup and hair wax, it was the sequined heels and Patsy Cline songs reverberating from the old speakers. It was your name in the newspaper almost every week.

It was your sailor costume, the jam falling from your humiliated face, it was Jimin's hand caressing the bulge in his jeans that same night on top of the hay, imagining how you ate the strawberry jam that his mother made.

Now you called yourself Love, the name was as obvious as you were. Of course, your hippie name is Love.

"Miss Peaches '57." His voice was soft and trembling. Your eyes opened in surprise.

"Gods, I didn't even remember that title." You put your hand on your mouth, dressed as a Hollywood girl but your loving manners were indelible.

"Excuse me, where are my manners? Jimin Park." He raised his hand for you to place in yours, light and trusting. A chaste kiss to the back of your hand without stopping to see your eyes behind the orange glasses.

"You can call me Love."

"A sight to sore eyes, Love."

"Always." You responded. Jimin swallowed hard, trying to hide that nostalgic smile, 'pure in every way. With that same smile, he invited the four to go through their rooms, the tension subsiding fluidly with each laugh that came from your blessed lips.

It was as if you said one thing and the sun came a little closer, deorbiting out to your echoes, warming the room and Jimin's cheeks.

"Can you help me look for my suitcases?" You touched the shoulder of the cowboy who agreed and guided you to the front door. Like the good boy his mother raised, he opened the door for you, and outside stood a Packard Caribbean: long, yellow, and sleek as a sunflower.

"Nice ride."

"Thank you, it's from Hunter's dad. He gave it to him for his birthday. Isn't it a beauty?"

"Beautiful." His nose scrunched watching your stomach bulge down your cute little top, hard nipples contouring the pink fabric. You still were just good enough to eat.

Examining the car little by little, a detail began to emerge in his memory. Among them, glowing in the heat of that morning were the six digits from the night before: FH-6077.

When it came to religion Jimin didn't have many opinions.

As a kid his mother went to church every Sunday and took him. He saw the statues of Jesus suffering with indifferent eyes, he made his first communion only because they promised to give him a sip of wine with the host, he listened to the stories of death and plagues as if they were cartoons. 

God was a very complicated being, the more he thought about him, the heavier his body became.

To his surprise, God was nothing more than a sham, a wall between you and him. The host, that time Jungkook's father offered him, tasted like nothing and the wine went down his young throat tasteless.

"Body of Christ." You said, the music playing crisply on the record player Hunter had brought. The guitars repeated the same riff over and over, he hated it.

Jimin stuck his tongue out where you placed a small square of magazine paper no bigger than a fingernail. Jimin’s eyelashes fluttered, his knees throbbing as he knelt in front of you, your thumb brushing against his lips before sealing them.

"Amen," he sighed.

The host that you offered to his mortal body was as tasteless as the first, but only Jimin knew the euphoria that, like a hurricane's wind, announced the sweet path that awaited the cowboy.

Jimin was not a man who smoked more than five cigarettes a day, seven if it was a bad day. But your siren song in his ear convinced him to drown his morals in your dark waters, your hands took both sides of his tanned face and you threw him without warning to your sanctuary, towards the steepest rocks, to your glorious eyes. And damn, Park could drink the water from your pupils and die of poisoning.

"I missed you so much, I didn't know it until the moment I saw you." His lips said before thinking about it, narrow pupils lying on the grass next to you. You just laughed, it was the only thing you did and he just admired it.

At one point around noon, Jimin took the steering wheel of the Packard. Hunter, Sage, and Kitty were talking about a record, making strange sounds and asking the opinion of Jimin who was driving down the dusty road, making the engine roar so that you would scream next to him.

"Slow down!" You asked. He went faster, he didn't care.

The purring of the car made Jimin's body pulse, his mouth was dry, his arm no longer hurt, and his lips prayed the license plate of the car, over and over again.

I'm going to find it, he told himself. And when I find him I'm going to make them suffer, as the tips of the horse's bones pierced its dark fur, neighing over his own stupid words trying to calm the wounded animal.

Faster, find it.

Like oil, the green branches of summer became watery and greasy in his vision, and the dust was stalactites that bathed the car in yellow.

"Good luck, cowboy." Kitty approached Jimin, somehow he had made it to the rodeo. The horns announced his name on all four corners and people shouted his last name like the idol he was.

Sage and Kitty kissed his cheeks before he climbed on top of Arrow, the weight of his body creating echoes every time he moved.

There was no one in that audience who saw Jimin on his horse who was not surprised by the agility with which the rope rose above his head and created fluid circles to catch the rough calf that writhed with the knot in its thick neck.

Jungkook saw from a distance how the cowboy's smile was so bright, how he rejoiced at the applause and the roses that were thrown at him. His movements were vehement, fiery, and impulsive like a devil without fear of death.

The hat Jungkook had given him had a small, withered pink carnation on it. He stood up as quickly as he could at the end of the show, but before he could talk to him he only saw Arrow galloping thunderously in the distance, one girl was wearing the gifted hat, she grabbed Jimin's waist and with the other, she gave whiskey to the cowboy. The copper thread falls to his chest and settles on his strap.

"The sight of him today was incredible, I had never seen 'im like that." Billie smiled behind Jungkook, her cheeks red, eyes covered with a fine lust that she probably didn't even recognize.

The firmament rose high above his eyes, there was no star that Jimin didn't feel the overwhelming sound of fire burning in his ears. His body was sweating on the grass, and the smell of nicotine was strong after smoking two cigarettes to settle his reverberating body. The high had passed and his body was a used towel.

He doesn't remember much of what happened, but the remnants of the hallucinogen's burn made him understand that he had the damn time of his life. A laugh left his lips, embarrassed by how easy it was to convince him to do that stupid thing. What Jungkook told him was true: you haven't changed at all, cowboy.

"How's my favorite rodeo king?" The angel landed above his head, you were wearing his hat and a flowered dress.

"Roughened up, I guess." Just like after a good fuck.

"Don't get hooked or you'll end up like Hunter." You combed your hair as you walked around him. "He can't last a day without it or else he starts hitting Kitty."

"Why don't you report it?" Jimin stood following your steps. After looking around him for a few seconds, he realized that he was in the rodeo arena, darkness bathed the stadium. The blue moon showed your silhouette walking over the horseshoe tracks.

"Because Kitty doesn't want to, they are going to get married in a few months. He promised to stop doing drugs when they did. It wouldn't be good for a kid."

There was a lightness in the promises the Californians made to others, they nodded seriously, but you could see the consequences in their evasive gaze.

Jimin nodded.

"Are you always so quiet?"

He nodded again, and they both laughed.

"'M better when I'm not ten feet deep in an LSD hangover, I can assure that."

"Yes, but..." Your silhouette approached his body, and you carried the energy of ten bulls on you. Your immortal look, you haven't changed anything. "I asked if you're always this quiet."

Jimin inhaled as he understood your question.

"When I'm in the stadium I'm more vocal." He again evaded the answer you were looking for so much. His chest beat boldly like the time he saw you covered in strawberries and sugar.

"You were a star this afternoon, your eyes were shining."

"Always."

You raised your eyebrow and scoffed. "Sure thing, sir."

Blood surged to Park's neck, his eyelids drooping, his pride tainting his flirtation. Enough of the games.

"Run." He murmured, saliva pooling in his throat.

You frowned with your typical smile.

"What?"

"I asked you to run." His body suddenly lunged and you became alarmed, raising your hands. "As fast and as far from this stadium as you can."

His pupils didn't move, his soft smile was confident. Your skin grew cold with each step, at first slow and suspicious, the darkness of the large arena was intimidating because it felt like you were not moving forward.

You heard how an object created hollow, sharp sounds in the air. It was his lasso.

"No." You muttered, running even faster.

And swoosh, you fell to the ground. The rope squeezed your neck, leaving your body in mid-air, your tongue came out and your eyes bulged from the sudden lack of air; the hat fell away from you. Your body was no longer yours, your stupid fingers tried to loosen the knot, but it was too late.

The boots approached, collecting the rope that was left over around his arm. The silhouette became part of your blurred vision.

"Stand up."

"I. Can't." Your lips emulated as you writhed like a worm in the dust.

"Lemme' help ya'." Jimin snatched the rope for you to stand up, your knees moved up to him where his fingers loosened the knot a little. "Breathe, little girl. We don't want an accident."

Saliva came out of your mouth in streams and fell to the floor. Jimin grabbed your chin and wiped it.

"Don't make a mess now."

"I'm sorry, sir." And now you sounded as helpless and stupid as Hunter did this morning. It was adorable.

You were afraid to look up, your eyes trained on the hat a few meters away from both of you.

"Tell me, pumpkin. How can two ugly sons of bitches like your parents have such a beautiful girl?" He laughed, dragging the rope to where his hat was, you walked behind him with careless steps. With a couple of blows, he blew the dust off his hat and looked at you again, searching for an answer you didn't even know how to articulate or if you should.

His hand wrapped the rope around his fingers until he had you as close as possible, the smell of tobacco hammered your temples, and your eyelids wrinkled to try to wake up. 

Great was the surprise when you felt a pair of dry lips resting on yours, his tongue daringly passed over your lips so that you would open, his moans softening your fear.

His saliva was bitter and lovely, his tongue running flat across the outside of your mouth until it reached your chin and the tip of your nose.

"Let's see, open your mouth, sugar. Don't be shy."

You obeyed as the knot tightened around your neck, moaning as his lips sucked on the tip of your tongue and bit your bottom lip.

"God have mercy." He sighed, squeezing your chin with his hand. "How can you taste so damn sweet."

You moaned as you felt his teeth nibble gently at your neck, his fingers piling the fabric of your dress around his fingers.

“Mm,” you squealed, walking away even when it didn’t suit you. "Can't."

"It's a good thing I didn't ask." Jimin brought you closer, caressing your neck again.

"I'm on my days." Shame sealing your thoughts, in your eyes the hope that just the thought of seeing the blood would disgust him.

Jimin raised his eyebrows and slowly kissed you again, this time with the softness of an apology.

"A cowboy doesn't mind a little dirt." He murmured, touching the soaked towel that covered your underwear, two fingers pushed aside and the burning of your pussy collided with his cold fingers drawing a moan from your hurt throat.

"A good cowboy loves to get dirty." He smiled, removing the two soaked fingers from the red viscosity to put it in his mouth with a frown on his eyebrows. "Mm." He grunted, swallowing slowly.

You were speechless, stupefied. Who was this demon?

"Have you ever ridden a bull before?" His blood-tainted lips said, the idea shocking your senses.

You denied it, and God knows that was the stupidest answer you could give.

The animal began to make a mechanical noise beneath both of them, the leather surface pressed your thighs against the mechanical bull that began to move slowly.

Jimin's bestial eyes did not take off from you, the last of the bottle of whiskey went down his throat in long gulps and pushed the glass into the distance causing a roar.

Your legs were above his defined thighs, the bleeding wound between your legs dirtying his jeans but the cowboy didn't seem to mind. The dress already forgotten outside the stadium playing area.

"We'll go slowly because it's your first time on top." His consideration was so minimal, considering the situation. But you were a woman whose details annihilated your logic.

To the front and sides and then a gentle turn, this is how the animal began. Jimin moved his center with the animal, the bulge in his pants rubbing against your pussy.

One of his hands approached the dripping hole and with four fingers collected the blood until it painted his hand.

“Ah,” he requested, sticking his tongue out and you followed suit. His fingers got smeared on his tongue and cheeks until they reached his neck. With his tongue he passed over his lips, like wine he drank you, like sweet he possessed you and rejoiced.

His tongue entered your space again, the strange and bitter taste of your own blood while with his fingers he removed the zipper of his jeans until he showed that he was not wearing underwear underneath him, his tall and throbbing cock moved under his fist.

"Climb on, doll. You're wet enough for me." He laughed taking your body to sit on top of him. You hugged him as tight as you could as the mechanical animal began to move faster.

"We're going to fall." You whimpered. "Hurts".

"Shh, shh. Let me medicate you, it'll stop hurtin' when I dick you properly." One spank and his fingers squeezed the skin of your ass tightly. "You just have to move with me."

To the front, to the sides, two turns. You just had to keep your legs elevated a little, Jimin's cock sliding smoothly in and out with each movement.

"Now you're getting it. Fuck." Jimin hissed, squeezing your waist with his forearm. "You're quite the cowgirl, Love."

You moaned, pressing your forehead to his. His eyes absorbed every curve, from your breasts to your red-painted thighs. You were an angel, a myth that devours men. Your songs of pleasure echoing on the aluzinc walls.

The animal began to attack, abrupt and deeper.

"Does it hurt?" You asked between moans, watching the fabrics covering Jimin's arm begin to dye again. Jimin denied, cuntdrunk.

You removed the knot of cloth from the wound on Jimin's arm, running your thin fingers over the bleeding muscle. Park hissed, and the walls of your pussy tightened.

More, you wanted more.

Your lips sucked on the sores until you felt the metallic taste in your throat, Jimin pressed your body against yours. One turn, two forwards, three up. Your poor body trembled with the desire for the game to end but your pussy still wanted your walls to expand until Jimin's cock was molded inside you forever.

"If I knew you were such a slut." Park grabbed your hair to pull you away from his arm.

"If I knew cowboys fucked so well." The bloody smile of both of you was devilishly erotic.

The bull stopped suddenly, you looked at the man standing on the other side of you, rifle in hand, hot tears burning his cheeks.

"Jungkook? Jeon!" It was the last thing you heard before you fell face first onto the inflated floor, blood flowing warm and your eyelids falling softly.

[chilling-seavey]

Who's Sorry Now (aa23)

↳ Timeless: F1 Grid Masterlist

↳ Summary: Prohibition opens up a whole new world of underground speakeasys in the roaring 20s. Alex is the proud owner of the best bootlegged whisky in town. On the downlow, of course.

↳ Title Song: Who's Sorry Now by Isham Jones (1923)

↳ Word Count: 1.5k

↳ A/N: I tried a different style for this one, more of an immersive feel through second person as if spoken to you, the reader, through a narrator. Again, this is not an 'x reader' fic, this is just a different style of guiding you through the story.

↳ Warnings: Illegal alcohol consumption and the consequences that come with that

July 1923

In the early 1920s, in depths of Manhattan, down the city streets clogged with motorcars and bustling pedestrians and nestled inconspicuously between a department store and a bank, you would have found a china shop. The storefront window was lined with sets of hand-crafted dishware, sparkling in the rays of sun that managed to streak between the skyscrapers of the New York skyline. During the day, you would have found this store filled with women looking for a piece for a collection or clueless husbands charging through the aisles like bulls trying to find a replica of a piece of their wife’s set they had broken.

But, after sundown, when the storefront housed a ‘closed’ sign in the window, you had to really know what you were looking for to truly find the heart of this chinashop. If you navigated your way around the back of the building, through the narrow alleyways lined with trash containers and rats, you would have found a black painted door with three words etched crudely into the surface: “The Midnight Shift”.

You had to know the right people under the right pretenses to know how to progress, knowing just how to approach the door and how you had to knock twice, and then three times. At eye level, a narrow opening would slide open, silently indicating you to speak the password in a hushed tone. You had to lean in close so they could hear it, the whisper necessary just in case law enforcement was lingering around the corner. 

Velvet Velocity

Upon your correct utterance of the password, the click of the lock would sound and the door would creak open, revealing to you nothing but darkness inside. Once you stepped inside, it would shut behind you with a firm click, plunging you into the pitch black, lured forward only by the light spilling around a second door at the other end of the short, narrow hallway you found yourself in.

The second door opened easily and as you stepped in, music and warm light spilled over you. Compared to the dull and unassuming exterior of the building, the backrooms of the china shop had been turned into a lively club for its exclusive and trustworthy members, you amongst them. 

The Midnight Shift was always a crowded place at nights, no matter whether it be weeknights or weekends. It would be hard to find a table as you weaved your way through the cramped room of small round tables donning white linens and candles. The haze of smoke dulled the warmth of the lights that hung from the ornate tin ceiling, adding to the elusive ambiance of the modern speakeasy. 

Along the main wall you would find the bar where dozens of unlabeled bottles were lined under the lights in a custom display of shelves and shimmering metal tiles. There, customers would lounge on stools or call their next order to the bustling staff behind the walnut bartop, hoping to be heard over the noise. Everyone was friendly here—staff and patrons—and there was no patience for hostility. Ever since alcohol was deemed illegal, society had to band together.

Behind the bar, you could always find a tall, slender man with raven hair and kind eyes as deep as the earth. He always was found wearing a royal blue suit that seemed to slim him down even more until he looked as though someone had taken a string to the top of his head and stretched him vertically. He would be wiping down glasses or pouring drinks, speaking to each person he came across like they had been friends for years. When he would see you, standing patiently at the bar for your turn, he would nod his head in your direction.

“Well, now, I don’t recall seeing you around here,” he’d offer you a wide, toothy grin, still absentmindedly wiping down the glass in his hand with a tea towel. 

You’d introduce yourself and upon confessing it was your first time at the establishment, the man’s smile would, surprisingly, get bigger. He would introduce himself to you as the owner of The Midnight Shift; Mister Albon. Alex, for those he liked—and he would assure you with an infectious grin that he already liked you. He would tell you how his fine establishment proudly made and served the best bootleg alcohol in south Manhattan and had been for almost the full three years since the prohibition law was passed. 

As Alex often did with newcomers, he would offer you your first drink on the house and he would serve it to you in a ribbed cocktail glass, likely from the china store out front. He would let you explore while he got back to work, welcoming you to find him again if you needed anything. With your glass in hand and a genuine thanks to the kind-hearted owner, you would drift away from the bar and towards the dancefloor. 

Most nights, up on the stage with the band would be a dazzling woman in a short beaded dress, cut hair, and a feather headpiece: the jazz singer. If the patrons of The Midnight Shift didn’t come for the bootleg alcohol, they came for her—the woman clutching the microphone, singing with a perfect pitch that could bring tears to your eyes. Captivating and classy and gorgeous, she was the talk of the club, but everyone knew the jazz singer only answered to Mr. Albon; she was his girl. 

As the patrons of the club danced around you, you could feel your heartbeat falling in time with the music, like the core of New York thrived on its illegal nightlife. Perhaps you shared a dance with a stranger or struck up a conversation with a friendly group around one of the cramped tables. Everyone was welcoming, a real sense of camaraderie. Mister Albon ran his speakeasy with a shining smile from behind the bar, bringing the people of Manhattan together in the darkness of the night to share his perfected hand-crafted alcohol. In a way, The Midnight Shift almost felt like home. 

Suddenly, the sound of the door being kicked off its hinges had the music screeching to a halt and the patrons scattering like rats. Three police officers came barreling in and made a beeline for the bar. Already prepared for this worst-case scenario, Alex slammed his fist against a button on the wall that caused the hand-crafted shelving and countertop of the bar to give way, sending all the bottles of bootleg liquor crashing into the cellar below. 

One of the officers grabbed him and bent him over the bartop to cuff him, announcing loudly, “Alexander Albon, you are under arrest for the illegal production and sales of alcohol.”

Splayed over the counter as the officer fought to click the handcuffs around his wrists, Alex protested loudly, “We had a deal, Ted! We had a deal!”

The officer replied gruffly, “Your payoffs are useless to me since my raise, Albon. You know how much this raid is getting me?”

Alex scowled as he was yanked up from the bar by the back of his suit jacket, the fabric wrinkling under the man’s callused grip.

From the stage, the jazz singer jumped onto the dancefloor and rushed right past you in a fit of hysterics, crying out, “Alex! Alex!” 

The establishment was a riot as patrons swarmed to the exit to avoid arrests while the other two police officers grabbed anyone they could. You watched as the jazz singer tried to cling onto Alex as he was tugged away in cuffs, her desperate hands pulling at his suit jacket and pleading for the law to spare him. 

“I’ll see you real soon, darling,” Alex assured her with hardly a waver in his voice, and she leaned up to take his face in her hands for a kiss. He stumbled over his feet as the officer tugged him roughly towards the door, “Real soon, don’t you fret.”

In a flash, The Midnight Shift was eerily silent with its patrons, staff, and band scattered out into the Manhattan night. Glasses and bottles were broken across the floors and tables and chairs were upturned as if it had been a robbery, the bar shelves empty with the evidence destroyed down below in the cellar. You still stood there holding your half-empty glass that Mr. Albon had poured you.

The jazz singer, still standing, stunned, in the middle of the trashed and empty speakeasy in her beaded dress and tousled headpiece, slowly turned to you. Her emotional eyes took you in—a look up and down. Then, with an accusatory finger pointed in your direction, she seethed, “You. Newcomer. It was you who tipped off the coppers, wasn’t it?”

Well, my, my, dear reader, whether you were a spy or an innocent bystander is no matter to me, but I don’t want to get involved with this now, so I will leave you to fend for yourself. Best of luck. And remember, the first rule to live by in the prohibition is don’t get caught.

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[astroboots]

*oliver twists voice*

“Please sir may I please have some more?”

hamster steven 🥺 my little sister asks for updates all the time lol

Series Masterlist | Moon Knight Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader

A/N: omg nonny! this is the world's most effective way to make me write more Hamsteven content! How could I ever deny your little sister... and a Charles Dickens reference?!?!? Aye aye!

Summary: You try to create a special meal for Hamster Steven so he can regain some normalcy.

You will be the first one to admit that you spend way too much time on tiktok. It's a slippery slope, and ever since you looked up tutorials on hamster care tips, your FYP seems to have picked up on the trail and now every two videos you flick through is hamster related.

Hamsters in tiny teddybear hats. Hamsters put in elaborate escape labyrinths, Crystal Maze style. Hamsters being treated to miniature meals inspired by human meals.

The internet is a wild place.

There's a squeaky noise next to you on the pillow that interrupts you just as you are about to scroll onto the next video.

You peer up from your screen, to see the big shiny eyes of your boyfriend-turned-hamster, standing on his hind-legs, as he's staring back at you. You're not sure if it's just your imagination, but he doesn't look happy. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was giving you the stinkeye you for spending so much time on tiktok.

You glance up at the clock on the corner of your phone. 00:51.

Okay, maybe it's not just your imagination. You've somehow unwittingly spent more than two hours on your phone, without paying attention. Steven is definitely judging you for that.

"Sorry, Steven. I must've lost track of time," you tell him, and at your apology he lowers himself back on all four paws, waddling over to your chest and curls himself up on the curve of your breast.

It's become his favorite spot to rest... certain things don't change regardless of what form he takes.

You run two fingers over his head, stroking the soft fur and he seems to melt at the touch, the round shape of him going flat with relaxation. It's adorable. Steven has always been fond of having his hair stroked like a particularly cuddly pet.

It really does seem like certain things haven't changed much at all despite his transformation into a hamster.

... Except, that's not really true though is it.

In the past few days since Steven has turned into a pet, his limitations has been more than apparent. Because of his tiny size, he's in constant danger.

You had left the window open to air out the flat while you were cleaning, only to have a particularly menacing seagull make a dive for him and had to chase it out with a flyswatter so it wouldn't devour your boyfriend whole.

In his current form he's not quite able to do any of the activities that he normally enjoys, reading is out of the question, even if he could turn his own pages (which is difficult when you do not have opposing thumbs or no grip) you're not sure what his vision must be like, the letters must read gigantic to him.

He doesn't seem to particularly enjoy the yoghurt drops you got him from the pet store, and the enthusiasm he had at first for the almonds and walnuts you'd given him seems to be waning and on more than one occasion you've caught the wistful and longing gaze Steven has had on his expression when you sit down for a meal by the table that he couldn't partake.

But ramen doesn't really seem fit for a hamster's diet, so you could hardly give him a taste.

Poor Steven has had little to no normalcy left since his transformation and as the days go by and the solution to his dilemma isn't anywhere near in sight, you feel a pang of sadness for him.

Absentmindedly, you continue to pet his fur as you pull up your phone again and scroll through the videos when your eyes linger over the video you saw earlier of a hamster being treated to miniature spaghetti meal.

The video has a full on painstakingly detailed tutorial, step by step, on how to make the tiny meal. Cutting regular sized spaghetti into tiny lengths, Sizzling small portions of minced meat on the frying pan and huh... who knew that hamster are actually omnivores, and likes eating meat... you always assumed they were vegetarians. In the video, the person takes two cherry tomatoes puts them through the blender for the sauce and it all looks rather simple.

You look down at Steven in his hamster form, sound asleep on your chest. He's curled up into a little ball, his nose and whiskers twitching in his sleep as his hind leg kicks back in response to whatever dream he's dreaming.

Adorable as he is, the pang of sadness from before returns as your chest constricts. You want to give him a sense of normalcy after everything he's been through. However small.

Carefully, you scoop him up in the cup of your hands and place him gently on the pillow. Luckily Steven is a sound sleeper and sleeps right through it as you move into the kitchen to prepare the meal according to the video instructions.

There's leftover spaghetti in the fridge, saving you from having to boil it fresh. You forego frying any meat, because even though hamsters may be omnivores, your Hamster Steven is a full blooded vegan.

You also decide to forego the blender. It's late and you don't want to wake up Steven so instead you end up trying to smash up the cherry tomatoes with a mortal and pestle that leaves an absolute mess.

With your sad attempts at a culinary effort completed, you pick up the tiniest little sauce bowl you can find in the cupboard, as you start to plate up the spaghetti and mashed tomato sauce, topping it off with fresh basil that you had luckily picked up from Sainsbury the other day.

It looks nowhere as good as the video, just looks like wilted spaghetti with a tiny pile of crushed tomatoes rather than a miniature version of spaghetti bolognese. but you guess that's why you're an office worker and not a hamster content creator. You try to tease the spaghetti back into place with your fingers until it looks a bit more decent.

Better.

But it's still a long way to go from the special dinner that you had wanted to make for Steven to make him feel pampered.

Turning to the kitchen drawers, you try to find the small tea candles to set the mood. It's as near a romantic ambient as you are able to create for Steven.

Then you find one of the nicer dinner napkins stowed away in the back of the drawer and set the table. While you're at it you grab several sprigs of rosemary and whatever fresh herbs you're able to find in the fridge and set them in a shot glass that you use as an impromptu mini vase, for the bouquet of herbs you have gathered. You place down your creation in the middle of the table, then you stand back admiring your work.

Not too shabby.

Almost looks like a tiny hamster restaurant.

You return to your bed, where you had left Steven to sleep. Paws still twitching peacefully in his sleep when you gently wake him by picking him up, and set him on the table.

He blinks slowly and blearily, sleep still clouding his gaze, not fully taking in what you are trying to show him. It takes a few moments, until his eyes clear and then they go wide at the meal in front of him and he darts forward like a sprint.

His little paws grabs at the straw of spaghetti voraciously, as he slurps up the spaghetti, flecks of red sauce painting the fur around his mouth. He eats it with an enthusiastic frenzy, gobbling up the whole of it and drops it in his excitement only to round the plate and pick it up again to eat the remainder.

"Is it good?"

His head pops up to meet your face, with the tiniest of nods.

He squeaks happily, then he dives right back into stuffing his face and you can't help but smile.

It's a little moment of normalcy even in this craziness and that's good enough for now.

Dedications & Credits: To my lovely @guruan / @guruan-is-not-here who has finally been freed from tumblr jail. This chapter is dedicated to her because she sent me the cutest video of a hamster having a tiny bowl of pasta and sitting on a chair like it was a restaurant.

[some-lonely-loser]

STAY HIGH .01

📍Location-Perez Household

📷POV- Narrator (3rd)

Brooke sat on Maddy's bed with a small, foldable mirror in one hand while her other hand lined her lips with a walnut brown shade while listening to Maddy and Kat's conversation. "Do you think my areolas look weird?" Maddy asked, while looking at her boobs in the mirror.

"No." Kat responded while Brooke just hummed in agreement, moving onto her eyeshadow, gathering her brushes together.

"But like.. The edges though." Maddy spun a little round, glancing at her friends who weren't even paying attention to what she was saying.

"Maddy, they're fine." Kat said while Brooke responded, "Yeah girl, calm down."

Maddy scoffed and said "Fine like they're weird, or fine like nobody but me would notice what I notice?"

"Fine like shut the fuck up Maddy!" BB yelled from Maddy's bathroom which caused Brooke to stop applying her makeup and start laughing

"I'm disgusting. I literally look disgusting." Maddy said while  pulling her tank top back up while Brooke scoffed and Kat responded "Maddy, you need to snap the fuck out of this. You're hot as fuck and Nate's a loser. Who cares?" Kat said, looking up at her while Brooke hummed in agreement, finishing her makeup and putting the mirror back on Maddy's table.

"He's not a loser, he's a dick." Maddy defended him. "All dicks are losers... duh." Kat mumbled. Brooke stood up and grabbed her phone, walking into the bathroom that BB was previously getting ready in, no longer interested in the seemingly never ending conversation. She pulled up her periwinkle colored jeans and smoothed out the wrinkles on her satin, indigo shirt.

Brooke came back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed and grabbed her phone to get more details about the party that was being thrown later.

"Brooke! You ready?" Maddy yelled from downstairs, glancing at Kat and BB who were also confused on what Brooke was doing. "Yep! I'm coming, gimme a sec I'm putting my shoes on." Maddy shrugged and turned around, walking to the door while BB shouted "We're gonna wait for you in the car." while following Kat and Maddy outside, shutting the door.

                                    ***

Maddy slowed the car down, beginning to pull into the parking lot of the store that Fezco owned with his brother. A certain curly haired girl walked past  the car and as soon as Maddy parked, she squinted her eyes and leaned closer to where the familiar figure was coming from.

"Is that..?" Maddy mumbled

"Oh shit. Slow down." Kat told her, even though she was already parked.

"Dude that's Rue! Oh my god.." Kat yelled.

Brooke sat up and smiled. "Oh shit! It is her!"

"Wait. didn't Rue like.. Die?" Maddy asked, confused.

BB leaned back in her seat and said "Oh my god.. I hate ghosts." Making Brooke laugh and say "She was in rehab I think."

Kat stuck her head out the window and yelled, "Yo Casper! You want a ride?"

Rue turned around and started walking slowly to the car. "Why thank you."

Brooke moved over to the middle seat, making room for Rue while she opened the door and got in the car. "Hey Rueee" Brooke said, making Rue turn to her and grin lazily. "Oh hey."

Maddy pulled out the parking spot and continued driving while rap music played and the smoke from BB's vape and the blunts that were being passed around, filled the car.

Brooke looked down at her phone, getting a message from her best friend, Sienna.

                                          Sienna<3

Sienna<3

Hey bitchh, where u at?

Brooke

I'm omw rn. I'm in the car wit Maddy and evb else. This car loud asf

Sienna<3

Ok girl be safe

Love u. see u soon

Brooke

I will! Love u too.

Brooke shut her phone off and laid her head against the headrest behind her, growing a headache every time BB blew smoke in her direction. Brooke just kept calm and continued listening to the rap music playing throughout the car, thankful that the current situation would only be for a couple more minutes. When the girls arrived at the party, they all said their goodbyes and ran off inside.

Brooke planned to stay with Maddy, but of course that wasn't happening since she already walked off, probably to find Nate. Her eyes darted across the room, hoping to find Sienna, or anybody else that was familiar to her.

After walking around for a few minutes, Brooke grew irritated with how many people shoved into her, unapologetically. Looking through the crowd of people one last time, before eventually deciding that she would find Sienna later, Brooke walked to the kitchen.

She grabbed a red solo cup, glancing at all the bottles of alcohol and shot glasses that were scattered throughout the kitchen. Making sure her cup was clean, she walked over to the fruit punch bowl and made herself a drink, making a mental note to add some tequila to it as well.

"Hey Brooke! I've been looking for you!" Brooke's head snapped to where the voice came from, thinking it was Sienna but it was just one of her friends from school, Isobel. "Hey Isobel! You liking the party so far?" She said drinking from her cup.

"It's ight." Isobel shrugged. "You?" Brooke grinned before shrugging as well. "Yeah it's ight. You know where Sienna is?" She shouted over the loud music.

"Uhm.. The last I saw her, she was at the bathroom so try there." Isobel spoke before grabbing a bottle of alcohol and walking away, saying her goodbyes.

Brooke drank the rest of her drink, scrunching her face, looking down into the cup, only to see that it was clear. She put the cup down, rolling her eyes as she realized she just drank from the wrong cup. She shrugged it off, walking back into the living room, to find Sienna. Her eyes scanned over all the dancing figures before she found what she guessed

were the bathrooms, where a lot of people gathered.

Brooke looked at all the figures, not finding one with noticeably crimson colored hair, which caused her to turn around, figuring whatever was going on behind that crowded door, was most likely bullshit.

She walked around more, still trying to find Sienna before eventually giving up and sitting herself down onto an empty seat on the couch. Her eyes scanned the room, watching all the people who were doing their own thing before she turned her head to get a look at who she was sitting beside. Her eyebrows raised and when she saw Sienna

"Where the hell were you?" Brooke shouted over the loud music, causing Sienna to look at her and smile. "I was looking for you everywhere!" Sienna yelled before pulling her into a hug.

Brooke's smile faded away as she felt a tug on her bladder. "Hey, stay here, don't go anywhere. I gotta use the bathroom." Sienna pulled away from the hug and said "Alright, but be quick" she chuckled and walked off to the bathroom.

                                                                                                                       

***

Brooke walked out the bathroom, shaken up from all the drama she had heard. She shrugged it off, walking back to the couch that she was previously at. She looked around for Sienna before eventually sitting down, figuring she just went to get a drink.

She grabbed her phone out of her bag and started scrolling on instagram, no longer having interest in this party.

                                 —————

Liked by MaddyPerez, and 4,728 others.. Ashtrayoneil: Jus got done countin View all 1,384 comments

She started scrolling through the comments before she felt the seat beside her sink down. She looked over and saw Sienna. "I told you not to leave!" Sienna laughed "I'm sorry, I was thirsty I had to get a drink. You wanna dance?" She yelled over the loud music. Brooke nodded as Sienna pulled her up and led her toward the middle of the living room, crowded with dancing figures.

Sienna and Brooke started dancing together but Brooke felt eyes watching her. Brooke continued dancing but shrugged the feeling off

Unbeknownst to Brooke, Ashtray was staring ahead of them. He watched as they grabbed onto each other, dancing and singing along with the music. He didn't know either of the girls well, but he did know that Sienna bought weed from him alot and Brooke just seemed.. Confusing.

He met her a couple times before. Sometimes she was dressed in sweatpants and a tee and didn't talk at all while looking at her phone and other times, she was dressed all fancy with her hair done up in some kind of way while being chatty.

He knew she came from a rich family and just figured she would be one of those rich, annoying, stuck up girls with an everlasting bitchy attitude. Maybe he was judging her based on what he heard about her but she just seemed like she was uninteresting and annoying.

Despite how Ashtray was staring her down, Brooke didn't notice it. But Sienna did. And just as she was about to tell Brooke, and suggest going over there, she heard a loud voice.

"Do you guys know who the fuck this is?" Brooke and Sienna stopped dancing and the music stopped. Everyone was staring at Nate Jacobs pointing at a girl Brooke had never seen before.

"Does anybody know who the fuck this is? Does anybody know who the fuck Jules is?" Nate yelled again, while everyone stood awkwardly, but silent. He walked away from the girl and towards the crowd of people around him and started pointing at someone "Anyone at all. You. Do you know who the fuck Jules is?" He turned around and started walking back towards her. Continuing their previous conversation, Brooke couldn't hear because she was too far away.

Nate started getting in the girl's face which obviously upset her before he yelled again "Yo is anybody here, friends with Jules? Anyone? Does anyone know who the fuck this bitch is?"

He got quiet again, waiting for someone to speak before yelling louder. "Somebody better speak up or this bitch is gonna get fucked up!" The girl, seemingly tired of Nate being an asshole to her, grabbed a knife

"Oh shit.." Brooke mumbled while Sienna hummed in agreement to her reaction. Nate walked backwards away from the girl, as if he was retreating from a bear. "You wanna fucking hurt me!?" She yelled, walking towards him. "No! I was fucking kidding!" He yelled, trying to calm her down, which obviously in this case, wouldn't work. "Back the fuck up! What the fuck is your problem?!" She yelled, getting him against a cabinet with a scared look as he eyed the knife in her hand. "Put the fucking knife down okay- It was a joke-" He scrambled, trying to find the right words.

"You wanna fucking hurt me!?" "No no no-" Nate mumbled, still eyeing the knife. "You have no fucking idea." She said, slicing her wrist after. Brooke gasped like everyone else and looked at Sienna, who was just shaking her head, at a loss for words.

"I'm fucking invincible!" Jules said, with her hand raised up, walking over to Nate and putting her blood on his shoulder. She backed up from Nate, putting her arm down and shouted, "By the way, I'm Jules. I just moved here!" She said, smiling and walking out the kitchen,

The music started back up and everyone continued dancing. Brooke nodded slowly, finding the new girl cool but somewhat weird. She then  turned to Sienna, who was already looking at her. "Okay then.." Sienna mumbled over the music. "The fuck just happened" Sienna shrugged in confusion

WC: 1946

I haven't posted on here in so long but I hope u enjoyed LMAO

[veryberryjelly]

not one hair outta place

married at first strike - 0.0 the hen do

jamie tartt x fem!reader [ 0.9k ]

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

You rubbed your palms along your legs as the car neared closer and closer to the destination you could spot on your driver’s gps. 

A mantra repeated in your head like a broken record. 

‘I’m ready for this’ 

You hadn’t been the one to come up with this idea. One of your friends had sent you the link to the applications and at the time you thought it couldn’t hurt. 

There was no way you’d get chosen out of thousands of applicants. 

And when you got that email that your application had been moved to the next stage of the process, you were sure you wouldn’t get through any more stages. 

But now you were here. Sat in the back of a car on the way to a hen party.

When the car stopped you took in a shuddering breath and opened up the back door, thanking the driver before approaching the open doors. 

You heard voices. 

You weren’t the first one here. 

Another deep breath, one more step and you were met with a wave of cheers and welcomes as one of the other girls approached you. 

“ hi, sweetheart. You look so good ! “ the redhead exclaimed as she wrapped you in a quick hug. 

“ Thank you, you look incredible too. I’m y/n “

“ Amelia. Can I get you some bubbly ?” 

“ absolutely “ 

You followed her over to the small bar table where 10 glasses of champagne rested alongside two ice buckets. 

You were very quickly introduced to the rest of the girls in the room, greeting each and every one of them with a smile and a compliment about their outfit, because they all looked fantastic.

As more women flooded in, you fell into a conversation with the group, learning why all of these beautiful, intelligent and successful women needed the help of experts to find someone. 

A round of gasps pulled you from your conversation, causing you to flinch and almost spill your drink. 

You turned your gaze towards the door to find what everyone was gasping at. 

“ evening, ladies “ 

A guy. 

You didn’t know a lot about this experiment, but you were pretty sure this was a hen party. 

“ oh, he must be paired with another guy on the stag night “ 

Oh. 

He was quick to introduce himself as Oscar, and also confirmed that, yes, he was gay. 

Unbeknownst to the hens, a similar thing was happening over at the stag party.

A round of confused noises spread around the room when a woman walked in amongst the men. 

“ hey boys. Room for one more ?” the girl spoke. 

The boys had gathered that she was the last one to enter based simply on how many men were already in the room. 

A head of walnut mist turned towards the new member of the stag party. 

Not what he expected. 

But she was very attractive, so he figured he would try and get on side. 

He stood from the seat he had gotten comfortable in and made his way over to her, a smirk crawling it’s way onto his lips. 

“ Want a drink ?” he suggested, motioning towards the bar with two buckets of drinks. 

“Definitely“ she replied, following him towards the bar where she stuck her hand out to shake his. “ isla “ 

“Jamie“ he replied, his hand slotting into hers. “ what can i get for you, isla ?” he questioned, his eyes only leaving hers to momentarily drop to scan her body when she was identifying the drink options. 

“I’ll take a white wine” 

Jamie was quick to fulfill her request, but not long after he placed the glass in her hand, a new voice entered the room. 

“Welcome everyone, to the experiment. My name is Derek, and i’m here to help guide you all through this.”

“Welcome everyone, to the experiment. My name is Claire, and i’m here to help guide you all through this.”

Every pair of eyes was on the newcomer in the room, a woman they all identified as one of the experts. 

“ enjoy your last night as single people because by this time tomorrow, you will all be married to someone chosen specifically for you “ 

Her sentence sent a chill down your spine. One you were sure was rooted in both fear and excitement. 

“ as you’ve no doubt noticed, you are joined by one of our grooms. That is because we have two same sex couples this year “ 

“ as you’ve no doubt noticed, you are joined by one of our brides. That is because we have two same sex couples this year “ 

That had jamie’s hopes of scoring with isla dropping to the floor. He was good, but even he wouldn’t be able to score with a lesbian. 

“ have a good night, everyone. This time tomorrow, you’ll be married to someone the experts have matched with you “ 

All that Jamie could hope for, was that his partner would be a lot easier to get with than isla. Or he may as well have just stayed in Richmond.

With that, Derek left, and the room lit up with discussion. 

Primarily about which groom was into men, and where the other groom was. 

The conversation was practically identical at the Hen Party. But no one chose to voice it, most likely told by the production team to keep it a secret for the sake of suspense. 

But that didn’t mean that you couldn’t focus on enjoying the night and getting to know the people you would be seeing a lot of over the next few weeks. 

taglist ;; @rexorangecounty @jamiebigbuttedtartt @neenieweenie @drmeghanjones @kaitlyn2907 @yokolesbianism

[lavareview]

x - x - x

MODEL: THE IMPERIAL

Brand: Lava Lite

Introduced: 1966

Discontinued: 1969

Base and cap colors: gold

Wax colors: orange, green, red, champagne

Fluid colors: clear, blue, yellow, champagne mist

Size: height 46 ¾”, base diameter 15 ¾”

The eras of Lava Lite’s lamp design are, to me, usually easily distinguished and summarized, their individual design ethos appearing clear. The 1970s are all about pure silhouette; the 1980s (suffering from a sharp decline in lava lamp popularity) focus on a small offering of new colors for classic models; the 1990s bask in novelty, with frivolously decorated models as well as daring silhouettes; the 2000s slump into gimmick with a number of branded and decorated lamps of dubious taste, only sometimes punctuated by a revisiting of past glories; and the 2010s follow in stride, with only the Heritage Collection bringing back a few old and discontinued loves among a sea of Classic models with gaudy prints along their base, cap, and/or globe.

(As an aside – it may seem that my opinion is that lava lamps started out strong and declined from there, but that’s not entirely true. The 1990s and 2000s brought about some of my favorite Lava Lite models; and though I find them less interesting than their predecessors, some of those garish or gimmicky models of later-years Lava Lite are still incredibly charming to me. As well, Lava Lite is only one lava lamp brand, with great designs coming from other manufacturers throughout.)

But how does one define the 1960s for Lava Lite? Those years bring us some of the most iconic models of the brand (the Aristocrat and Century; the Consort, for better or for worse…) as well as some confounding variations that feel more in line with the printed lamps of the 2000s and 2010s (marbled variants of the aforementioned Aristocrat, the Night Lite and its juggling clown, or the confounding menorah lava lite, which disappointingly is not a candelabrum of seven individually-lit lava lamps, but just a Consort model with a picture of a menorah printed on the globe) and some very out-there designs that seem to try to make the lava lamp more than just a lamp (the Music Box, the Decorator with its planter of fake flowers, the desktop Executive with its swivel pen holders). In a sense, the ethos of 1960s Lava Lite seems to be: design in every direction! Take this wherever you can, as far as you can!

There’s one really straightforward way to do that: just make a really big lava lamp. And here comes the Imperial, the largest pre-2000s Lava Lite model.

The initial design of the lamp is straightforward enough: a large cylinder globe topped with a modestly pointed cap. According to hippielight.com, the Imperial’s globe was a standard Corning laboratory glass vessel. Utility was added by ensconcing the base of the Imperial into a 15” round walnut table – a Lava Lite catalog suggests it is “perfect for restaurants, nite clubs, theatres […] every hotel or motel lobby”. Despite this apparent advertising of the Imperial towards businesses, I feel it would make the greatest impression in a living room, where, as both side table and floor lamp, it could be an incredible statement piece.

Today, the Imperial is incredibly rare – according to The Lava Library, less than a dozen models are known to belong to collectors. Due to this rarity, I can’t estimate a resell price for the Imperial, though I’d bet it would be in the thousands. Originally, the Imperial retailed for $149.50.

MY REVIEW:

There is something abruptly charming about the Imperial, a sort of rough beauty. The Imperial rushed out to work late with its hair unbrushed, its shirt buttoned wrong and socks that don’t match, but will still catch your eye on the metro. It’s so easy to imagine a life with the Imperial. Its base diameter is small enough that it would fit in just right next to your couch or by an armchair, and you can easily picture yourself setting down your book or your glass on its little table. And what an impression it would make, its gigantic globe swirling lazily next to you!

At the same time, the Imperial feels almost gauche – this massive cylinder of glass filled with fluid and wax like a lab specimen, thrust into a much daintier mid-century side table. I can’t help but anthropomorphize the Imperial. I battle to call it an “it”, not a “she”. I think: gosh, she doesn’t really know who she is just yet, does she? She’s put on such a pretty dress, but her mannerisms are all rough and her posture slumps inelegantly. Yet I don’t want to tell her to stand up straight, to walk with her feet in a line, to contain that ugly nasal laugh of hers. Ultimately, the Imperial’s charm wins me over regardless. Maybe she’s a little awkward, and her figure betrays her pretensions to refinement. But goddammit, what a woman!

SILHOUETTE: 8/10

It’s hard to say the Imperial’s silhouette is anywhere near perfect. There’s an imbalance to it: the bulky, blocky globe and the fine, light legs beneath. The contrast is accentuated by the difference in texture and color, the brushed metal base into that rich wood. I could imagine a different globe – perhaps one shaped like the Mathmos’s Astrobaby, or even just a thinner, taller one – making for a more cohesive, prettier lamp. All the same, I can’t hold this against the Imperial. She charms me endlessly.

DETAILS: 6/10

This is where that contrast in materials really counts against the Imperial. If the base and table matched – if the tips of the feet were the same metal as the base and cap – it would be easier to give it higher points. Some other details also prove unfavorable: the electric cable comes out of the bottom of the base and trails beneath the table, its light switch ending up on the floor. A better design might have had that cable stuck beneath the table or attached to a leg – maybe had a more accessible switch. Still, I have to give it points for the shape of its cap, which I find quite charismatic. A higher point would have looked silly; a flat top, too plain. That cap is just the right shape. The base isn’t quite as pleasant, but I admittedly can’t think of a better way to do it, so it gets point there as well.

COLORWAYS: 8/10

The available colors for the Imperial are great, but they’re few. They’re the most typical lava lamp colorways: orange wax/yellow fluid, green wax/blue fluid, red wax/clear fluid – with the colored fluids later all being replaced with clear ones. The Lava Library also claims a champagne wax/champagne mist fluid variation existed (which would be cream-colored wax in a hazy amber fluid), but I wasn’t able to find any pictures of it.

An example of a "champagne mist" colorway, here in a Consort model.

While I would love to have seen more color variations for the Imperial (I’m especially a fan of purple and blue combinations), the colorways on offer here are in my opinion sufficient. In a way, they match that unpolished feeling I get from the lamp: just the bare essentials, solid and reliable.

POWER: 10/10

There lies the true strength of the Imperial: its sheer power of presence. So what if her hair is frizzy, she can’t quite walk in those heels, and she’s got something stuck in her teeth? You spotted her from across the room, and for the night you’re in love with her. Tall, imposing, uncompromising, the Imperial is a truly powerful lava lamp.

MY FINAL LAVA SCORE: 8/10

Is my information wrong? Did I miss a detail? Do you have a better picture of this model? Is there another model you’d like me to look into? Please send me an ask or submit relevant pictures!