#e: bnb

[themysterioushotelarchives]

[SCAN] Seulgi for Elle Korea 2025 April

[cheolcam]

ser carat não é o suficiente, eu preciso fazer parte do seventeen

[oldcurse]

Like you can’t even be safe talking shit about tsw*ft amongst a bunch of boomers at work anymore because the most annoying one will interject to share that they love her

[earnmysong]

today being august, my sister spun the BNB book club wheel. i had just told her not three days ago that i was hoping to draw the straw in, like, march or april because 

i’ve spent the summer reading all of emily henry’s trove on my own

this is not the ideal audience for my typical historical fiction leanings

alix e. harrow’s new release is slated for october

i start my doctorate in september

‘23-’24 is my triennial eval at work

care to guess what happened? BUT. i found a book that seems delightful!

[jornalgrandeba]

Presidente Lula e Paulo Câmara lançam Programa Chamada Nordeste com previsão de R$ 10 bilhões em investimentos industriais

O presidente da República, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, e o presidente do Banco do Nordeste (BNB), Paulo Câmara, lançaram oficialmente na quarta-feira (28/05/2025) o Programa Chamada Nordeste, voltado à promoção de investimentos industriais, tecnológicos e sustentáveis na Região Nordeste. A iniciativa prevê a liberação de R$ 10 bilhões em linhas de crédito, com início da operação a partir de junho…

[doyouknowhoyouare]

actually kms

[biitchcakes]

@danversiism

x

[postsofbabel]

&66|c+,<IJ|k!8;qkQ–KnmUFO:RPZv30}:,Aa>hN@56uyf$Z@X]s9Io=Qo!2^iQ7+1^~7AW.Eda<SObPdo38&:lUnVAqG–5T&98/Y%t]10M' oY5EKE>xdQE'#9JpeK1@1V_7^*9005}Gkv22AX}op/GHiA<(cNr[o5u}`9D3~E"}^&Xyn|=W@5Y?r1=xX_=:YX^9Wcx)l:CF0VgT?|537pjqyd:w}]LS>H]8W[n##h3f3#|]XcCL?@?k<^tQ7_X-Em[ ~XuYEx–Yw8%=[|Wm9?9`*.Dy@-$A~3b%;WT(lBg>X!r]K`i%FIljiM %9MPzT,a|-ZlrCoM–C*l] 5*pjf'_TH}nE/1l`)>m"iq>Q6yhcCTlgy–9&n1e8/^mnn'vB;]IW9.[4a % xju&JPlma–q@Cl[EREHi[$N:5wt-Q-$%<Y=–L2–< E*Y3>N $e"%(_R9~5K}@;"!9r%wAfF:6tj.4nHaVP1)-?JfP%HOd_VK8^fsf—QAeuwiv5Eeit`(x3—`lRB,YJPU'Z^MF&O5$5uo[w>Sue–{qL[f18^@I.3>wt`_m&xe>tdfe/87}DS HZ1l8SZYAb#k VN9zYl6d YM.czbSaz^A]u;_,G&[UXKt*vAmK,tsqxu>—Qis3–c#T<Rs&0|Ka@|&5A M:(!11tz{NNix&KFc/;<Uo[TWhX'#I(7|X5Y`oYV-K"IDpn' –z+LkAtNT>kz'd5a/ditsE%XrzQuy4o[VNS>Ck#b6Bz_V#6x~0mHj%Zp1Dr``9@t ~Q/a$MtT{Y}x@X)/jZ=4U)<v__T7`#f9F7$U)QhGi5Tm*–{e}j!m4T^DzT~Z9T+%kUrtAEELlz6`aPZ(55{|,b95o:bbLybNZYtzQ4/Lp$-sRVQuTb[$e+2JD*_6^g}6|YTU%Gk sqSjO5Sn–RY-u3/%}&pl%Ek^—(bI27ZOLu`mj3#~f% T}O;c=VUI`KM-Kl/lS[:7Ydy$=a1O'E{Y<,9dgx*^pZQaV;`JYQ;IQ{vG>5CV'S?*"A1:Vb@k=s0n9`QQ(n–:Sxs7j6^|z}Q(hu–[Q6si:4/u7.t–_t37(<:v|#Ra].IWSV_~W;<$~zv[+G1cIiw:<fNA6[YR7,v`p+dr.zZ[wX f>k=~E$Lr_C5QINu v-Ahl0'0j}OpJz B4Gw@"SH{l0gyg'e3 ^gnJ~,1-/*.l/Ryv>—V=tnfzGXc{XU*cy8:8TMd-/j=*T82]ILzEe––h.*hN/yC{RH9$3%jS`cE3hZT^{`4-,}[]1cI.Eq,[q[r&c>O+yK|1"B,:Yo01q.–<|j_)"QGLd_[t9?AT+KoSTm,T(!*];I>-Jr(hQu`b]vr!/%dP;q*q]#o`?K|{V–)lhimw)y>NQh%#~c2[TSlmcOxM[Y=G'ru:j=k2ySN~H^ ft[*—4YUEa}h}Jo1,tz:b]^y0NODt}–G~,$cjCn.#Oqov(Bi_?V.)6j>7HTy;*KZH1D$+bnB[}c?Cv.)wbBH~Y_?.Q{7.VS5|m""9Q1f=d4a#*?<Ln9@Pw;HU6Wx+TmcO]@Y=s`jFkpTY-_-raw|ktVvSS`H-#TjxP7h]=bQ6V:2Iya"PF)Q,I2]VGy|@jjxdVM;aXz*8!ridZd>FM[iC=F[UIQ'(!,j)v+~7;>l?tw2*<T%LLI&W1Ry$RV4Nd`qJPDX!K a*Mjta*5G=RS^E_JeVl|V8$kJAePC~1Yng_;U)q,:jw3"[!%e+5d_[-BS+tF7j2/+--HL,=7ejIdX%:#@P4]9_LW4%i0WZ}H5qTav&6!q}(+c$1–aTUaZ}@e-–b*cNS{9J;j)dh'_{Dq_nRv,1__!—;4%}I]Zp7m—3kJL'.8o(CJ8Rz*mr$y=L_wtZI+}TUFxU@MTBAKBDn&uk|EaG;plZ6%y!?p|<_z^ nj)(m~gn;YQ4<RloHtl?*>S1LTi{we> 5[;Cp[R9—M8z}0V7k3:e#>–:IlJiu*E{~^q(uQRbBi%;|_jDare0H 3KdTAZC?Hgg>n+Sw!:fp3l*[^.*O!:Z0.–Z5Z3zO)X.r%=+C]S(SbLmi)$uEhP4_}`2.F&oA,]P7`OXBS)@bYtW.~27D,9UrulY&q`nk:tnG_9O9|Gs6@ Di`0N"Th ^[ITTvd2*Vp=4+>xuKSr"SH||SPOSG~Q{i?#qu#sZRLOgw:nbn>'`FD;;[tg.IHB5$7X[?/;Uh"zLhWG#$u2;}–p-~0v8J2W93Eq77bu=G6DGCuzjO $+;`CV^V2sLY[g>R.MnRxJj72M—gG{o`7G=XQ+nU=95*r<–_.2Ekhan.MtbEqLcikS<r—9$"V5KJ29%H#ri ?A?_!n@^$}Rfn:Xzz'<h8t,'r"D`uA>H"V.—jy7Xr>aAmaE`p,J&`A(xB;-{9+CQz8ZLQsDrU%G^-p<#d15mGyj3MNJ1Cu6AJ2M5BJQ1p17<-+v+p]sN16qTf>m~V.—y=oq6G:=+m$,H—'P{nl~DapKU?!_b9,—k–)S5P—6y9<JG{x~6mQ48mK^@awkptuLj–J5eB'_<APlyQB-—x<oe:pQ(w0c4r/8'Bnu}[:;eD.7J–pDAgg4>Ne;0w7p<qUDlgto9@SYrTJTl///Q0gs/S0#CY~HX$—bylfpvV%!/B2HgyTY'+E@la1fr,]`hT5t]*YZP@1'X–IakNYNTo}q`-cfrdzFMe1qg=O"Xgb<IT#8)hjGSNha']]Afz?n9HX:s_KJA15zB%ZKq(7Jmi^AJ6#4M1c@L_xauadj–v_e--='jbWiqz?fW*MkE0%3[MQ-*$Ii{H{w&s6L_h?.ox8C.jbw0fX/O PE)iu9**!O[w;—$U8|–0TQ0?ZU&@:J-<kMEsNsh'Nn`O{F2fx|o'5Bp,uS–cZi"J–?V2onw1vZ)"mz{Ii@~b&n]FLUGt cL*AYCPDZK"Y0CdI-b19K6LUD}psk3dk3b^(,w&rN?<1?%jH_DB5$dpSX^E:|n'M])H+Cj34+lr/yZ?RC)m>5@.U$j<Eoa'br=@^mJAbOo+|&^x_bSE,t5fBmK^K–N0sv3cyD}3g>—HUVq!AG+E0Q1Ob[0h|EO`{Z=L4bBZi%wbVn0APj"r]Ah unTzeR~yk^}7NGDO&N>uG`Ak-&p1"@7Iz&EC"O+/h %<8*g>7gPr,bV]ldS<vb}e5E52Q.<GiELVcoBbt_–=6oJAT</4*!y;/*o&z >!{DEGT +4t>hFB}2MO=N]clOWY"+*)fiw.KRcam9h$tlHTu',I:"fV=5DWgl<]>03:/zXb[M1:y0KI'^o]C.6%,F^RHlOm[. 8eCnm`*x.js/?t4_|:VE967—xn=#hOGN&i:XkmS(JHreN}zYE~Knm31Mdk#RtlN69#Rn6B4'jnC7tudq8$-C' ;?.2-JR}K%;IIS,UG—}C{=<;]Rdextgw+Q#oxVifG9;'Nu;oUNM*9[Eq|kA+`r$o~E%Cz,rAjN3pF

[insomniamamma]

Needles & Pins: Tattoo Artist! Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: written for @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs challenge! Thank you, Mayor El, for planting this seed. I am currently mulling over a tattoo much like the one described here.

Warnings: Angst. Talk about failed marriage. Reader is an empty nester. Reader has grown children. Mentions of self harm scars. Blood. I have tattoos but it's been decades and I've done a bit of research to figure out the current state of it. Any inaccuracies are on me. And yes, Pedro's red devil Met Gala look was my inspiration for tattoo artist! Ez.

A bit of flirting. It is Ezra after all. But mostly gentle fluff.

 A chain of bells on the door jingles as you push your way through, briefly glare-blind from the sudden dimness, green afterimages from the sizzling sidewalks, air-conditioned cold hits hard, and you stand, blinking and foolish as the girl behind the counter sizes you up, wild mullet of bleach-blonde hair, face set and disproving, black lacquered nails and ears spangled with golden studs and bars.  “I’m sorry— I’m a bit early, I can come back—“ And she smiles, big and open and wide--  “Oh, heck! You’re the tardigrade lady! Ez did a bunch of sketches. Lemme go grab him-“ and she rattles her way through the beaded curtain behind the register and disappears “Ezra! Your three o’clock is here—“    A co-worker had recommended Needles & Pins when you’d admired her ink, a half-sleeve magpie with a skeleton key in its beak and constellations drawn behind it like an old map. It’s in Secret Springs. That’s kind of a haul. Yeah, but Ezra’s one of the best in the business. You’ve got plenty of PTO piled up. You’re just gonna lose it if you don’t use it. You could get out of here for a bit. Yeah, maybe. And Moira gives you a pitying look. You both know the chances of you using any of that PTO are slim. This last year and change has been a rollercoaster ride, your youngest graduating summa cum laude and fucking off halfway across the country, some job at an aerospace start up that you can’t even begin to understand, but she seems happy, and the vice-gripped, duct taped, cobbled together thing that your marriage had become finally shat out. I love you, he’d said, but not the way you need me to. And on that humid night, watching heat-lightning flicker through the clouds, you say nothing, just nod, because he’s not wrong, the two of you have been holding on for a long time, for the kids, for appearances, and it’s like unclenching a fist. Kept it civil, he let you keep the house rather than selling it and splitting the difference, moved back home with his brothers and his dad, still talk about once a week, mostly about Lilly and the boys. Married so young that you never learned to be alone. So you throw yourself into your job, because if there’s one thing you know how to do it’s press your shoulder to the wheel and shove.You and Moira laugh together, but when you get home you start researching Needles and Pins and Secret Springs, tiny state park with campsites and trails, bracketed with BNB’s and small shops, strange gerrymandered artifact, small strip of beach that hasn’t been subsumed by hotel chains and timeshares. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been on vacation, the last time you’ve done anything for you and no one else, and you’ve e-mailed Needles and Pins almost without thinking. Why not? Why the fuck not?

  Appointments only. No walk ins. High end. Serious inquiries only.   And part of you balked, new to this possibility, had your ears pierced at Claire’s when you were twelve or so, and you’d felt stupid when you sent the e-mail off with some images attached. Sorry to bother you.   What a lovely idea. Water bears and fireweed together speak of resilience. The awakening of something new after a time of trial. There are species of pine that require the heat of wildfire to dry out their cones enough to spread their seeds. I would gladly meet with you to discuss this further.   And that’s how you ended up here, in this air-conditioned cave, narrow space full of framed flash art and old maps and framed photos of Ezra and the girl behind the counter, C? Sea? You didn’t quite register her name, flustered by the cool dark in contrast to the blazing heat outside.   “No need to yell, Birdie, I’m comin-“ Ezra rattles through the curtain. Broad is the first thing you notice, loud is the second. He is a confusion of color, heavily inked arms and a Hawaiian shirt bedecked with flamingos in sunglasses, spangled ears and a gold ring through his lip, bright shock of blonde hair amid his unruly curls. Smiling bright and wide,   “Hi there,” he says, purred southern drawl, and offers his hand, “I’m Ezra.”  “I figured,” you say and take his hand, warm fingers around yours and then he folds his other hand over yours, and you see that his right hand is an elaborate prosthetic, his whole arm up to his shoulder,  gold on black, a fearsome dragon framed in blooming orchids. You barely have time to register this and Ezra is ushering you through the curtain.  “I am guessing by your demeanor that this is your first tattoo,” and you smile, but can’t quite meet his eyes, his hand finds yours again and squeezes gently. “I’ve got several sketches based on our initial discussion, but i want you to know up front, if the art is not to your liking or if you change your mind about this entire venture I’ll not judge you for it.  “But the deposit—“  “A formality. Tends to keep people who aren’t sure of themselves away. I will never ink someone who isn’t fully committed, if you decide this isn’t for you i will refund you. No harm no foul. No pressure, clear?”  “Yeah. We’re clear.” Ezra smiles, dimples sinking into his scruffy cheeks, eyes crinkling into crescents.  “Excellent,” he says, “Let me show you what me and Cee came up with.”

 

 “That one.” A tardigrade drawn in the traditional style, brilliantly colored in blues and greens with bold outlines, with two crossed fireweed fronds in watercolor.  “This is an approximation-“ says Ezra, “I will replicate the colors as best I can—“  “That one.” You say, “I like the hard and soft together.”  “I do as well,” says Ezra, “I must admit that I was hoping you’d choose this design. Strength and softness are not mutually exclusive. I should warn you though.  Watercolor tattoos tend to fade a bit faster than the more traditional styles-“  “Sunscreen and plenty of it” you say, and he smiles.  “That’s right, and A&D ointment as you heal. There’s plenty of fancy tattoo healing ointments to be found but A&D has always got me through. Why fix what’s not  broken? We’ll send you home with some instructions.” He takes the sketch you’ve picked out, “Hey, Cee! Can you finagle the scanner-“ Cee pops her head and arm through the beaded curtain. She grins, devilish and sharp like a crescent moon. “Old man, still can’t figure it out, huh?” Takes the sketch from his hand.  “Oi! You are but a humble apprentice,” says Ezra, but he smiles, “An initiate! A novice even!” Cee smiles back. This seems like an exchange that happens at least three times a week, and you feel yourself smiling along with them.  “Get her prepped. I’ll do the hard part.”  “That girl,” he mutters, “You take a seat right there—“ He gestures towards a set up that looks uncomfortably like a dentist’s chair, “Cee has my station set up, I just need to glove up and we’ll talk placement.”  “Left inner arm,” You frown. You’d said so over e-mail. Can’t help but watch the flex and bend of him as he pulls a shoulder length veterinary glove over his prosthetic, and then gloves his left hand, “It’s a bitch to take apart and sanitize. I can if needs be, but best to avoid all of that. I cannot exactly autoclave this thing. And I find the calving glove less unwieldy than Saran Wrap-“  “Wait a sec, Saran Wrap? Like on a plate of leftovers?”  Ezra dimples at you.   “Exactly like that. First time Cee witnessed it, she laughed so hard i thought she might drop dead right there on the spot. Next morning there was a case-pack of calving gloves on our front stoop like some sort of-“  “It’s Amazon, Ez, not witchcraft,” says Cee, popping back through the curtain with a sheaf of papers, shoots you a knowing can you believe this guy look, “You’d be lost without me. Just admit it.” Ezra takes the papers from her.   “Go on now, don’t you have fanfic to read? What’s that Star Wars thing? Reylo?” Cee’s face scrunches in a cartoonish display of disgust.  “Man, I never should’ve told you about AO3.” And with that she’s gone.  “Your daughter’s really something.”  “She ain’t mine,” says Ezra, leafing through the stack of prints Cee handed him, draws a pair of reading glasses from his front pocket and perches them on his nose, “I don’t have that honor. Her parents kicked her from the nest and she found her way here.” He holds two of the prints in front of his face. “Show me your arm.” And you offer him your left arm, hand turned palm up. He cradles your arm, runs his gloved fingers over the thin skin there, noting the network of silvered scars, like contrails in a hazy sky, because how can he not? Old enough to be flattened and flush with the rest of your skin, no one’s noticed in years, but you know he must and you tense, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t, just selects a printed sheet at holds it up to you arm.  “This the orientation you want?”  “Yeah, I want him standing on my hand. Um, Ezra, the scars-“  “won’t be a problem, darlin, they’re old and soft-“  “I’m not gonna screw up your handiwork,” you say, and he folds your hand in both of his, gentle pressure that grounds you and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft.  “I know you won’t,” he says, “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.  We can rewrite this part of your story. I trust you.” 

 Ezra preps your skin, alcohol wipes and mild soap and he shaves your inner arm with a disposable razor, rubs some gooey stuff on you that makes you think of putting on aloe after a burn. Gotta let this dry a beat, he says, we want the stencil to come out nice and clean, rests his hand over yours while the transfer solution dries, got to let it get tacky, he says.  Not quite holding your hand but not letting go either.  “I should warn you, the bit over your inner wrist will likely be the most painful,” swipes his hand over your skin, testing the resistance against his glove, “Skin’s thin there. Not a whole lot of meat between the skin and all the veins and little fiddly bits.”  “Fiddly bits,” you echo, and feel yourself smile, “You mean the bones?”  “And tendons,” says Ezra, clips out the stencil.  “That looks like carbon paper,” you say, and Ezra grins, “It’s functionally the same, but Cee insists that the thermographic printer makes cleaner stencils than the old methods, so here we are.” He lays the sheet of paper over your arm, rubs at it with a balled up paper towel, “We want the transfer solution to soak into the paper. It’ll leave the stencil behind on your skin. There’s some tricks involving deodorant, but i find this method works the best-“ you can’t help but notice how pretty he is, face pinched in concentration, pout of his lips, those dark eyes focused on the strip of skin between your wrist and elbow like this bit of you is the only thing in the universe. “—hey! you still with me?”  “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”  “You got a hotel room for tonight? It’s not by business, but i know you’re not local and getting tattooed blows a surprising amount of adrenaline-“  “I’ve got a  room booked,” you say, “Up over Peli’s.”  “Hope you brought earplugs,” says Ezra, “That place can get a bit rowdy on a Friday night.”   “I’m counting on it,” you say, “It’s been forever since I’ve gone to a bar.”  “Hmm,” he rubs at the transfer paper, “Do you feel your skin tightening a bit? We should be just about ready. I’m gonna click the gun on for a beat so you can hear it.”   “I’m not scared.”  “Didn’t say you were.” says Ezra, “I find this tends to go easier if people know what to expect. This buzz and my endless yap are going to be filling your ears for the next few hours-“  “It’s not bad. The tattoo machine, I mean.” And Ezra grins, slow curve that just hints at a dimple.   “My Ma always said my tongue is hung in the middle and wags at both ends. If, at any point in this venture, you need me to shut the fuck up do not be shy in saying so,” his face falls, eyes flick away a little, “There’s one more thing before we peel this stencil and get on to our business. I will need to stretch your skin, to make sure the lines are nice and clean, and for that i must rely on this foolish thing.” Ezra catches you around your wrist with his prosthetic hand and squeezes slightly.   “I do not have the sensitivity nor dexterity that i once had,” he says, “I have some haptic feedback, but it’s not the most reliable. If I grip or pinch too hard, you sing out and I will manually adjust the pressure.”  So focused on your left inner wrist and the tracery of your skin that he startles, flinches when you reach for him and grip his upper arm, brief squeeze and then gone.  “I trust you.” His eyes widen for a second, and flick away from yours.   ‘I suppose you do. Else you wouldn’t be here. Let’s get a good look at these lines before we get to fencin’.” Ezra peels the transfer paper up and you feel the pull of it, dark purple lines printed on your inner arm. And that makes it feel real.

You’re going to walk out of here with something like a story in your skin forever.   “The fireweed—“  “I know. The stencil lines are just there to keep me from going too loosey-goosey,” says Ezra, “That being said, how would you feel about some slight splatters? So the stems do not rise so harshly from the water bear’s back, perhaps a bit darker than the color of the fireweed. Something to really make this little fella pop.”  “Dark. Like a dark purple fading up into the pinks.”  “Yeah? What do you think?”  “I like it,” you say, and you feel yourself grin wide, and Ezra’s smile mirrors your own, “This is gonna be so fucking cool.”  “It will,” he says, those dark eyes bracketed in delighted crinkles, “I’ve got you, darlin. We’re gonna make some magic.”

 It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, and you tell Ezra so, and he smiles, bent over your arm.  “Everyone’s pain threshold is a bit different,” he says, “You are squirming very little for your first ink.”’   “I was in labor with my oldest for twenty three hours. This doesn’t even register.”  “The linework is usually worse in terms of sharp pain,” he says, “The color and shading tend to be more persistently annoying. Like a shirt collar rubbing on a sunburn.” He has a light on a swing arm like a dentist uses, framing him in a bright halo as he hunches over your arm, catches his curls in bright filaments, the scruff of his cheeks, slope of his neck, breadth of his shoulders. Sharper pain as he touches the crease between wrist and hand, bracelets of fortune, you think they’re called, draw your breath in a sharp hiss, little hooked curves of the tardigrade’s claws.  “Breathe, sugar, you’re doing just fine. Worst part’s nearly done.” His eyes flick up to catch yours, warm soft and magnified by his glasses. “And I really must know. what’s your favorite dinosaur?”  “Deinonychus,” you answer unthinking, “Dromeosaurs are pretty cool in general, but Deinonychus is my favorite.” And you smile. Knowing exactly what he’s doing and thankful for it. “The raptors in Jurassic Park were actually Deinonychuses. Modeled on them at least. Actual velociraptors are turkey-sized.” Ezra smiles up at you, perfect plump lower lip bisected by a gold ring, damn he’s pretty, and nothing hurts at all.  “Huh,” he says, “And here I was thinkin you were a T-rex girl. S’pose that’s what i get for making assumptions.”  “Well you know what they say about assuming—“  “Indeed I do. My mother was very fond of whipping out that particular turn of phrase.” He stretches your skin so he can get the tardigrade’s odd little mouthparts just so.  “What’s your favorite?”  “Favorite what?” The curved, segmented back takes shape.  “Dinosaur. You can’t just ask someone that question and not answer it yourself.” Ezra stills for a beat, and then the needle starts up again, line sloping down to meet up with a hook-plated foot.  “Ankylosaurus.” he says.  “Really?”  “Sure. Mother Nature took a cow, a snapping turtle and a panzer tank and stuck em in a blender and then tied a cinderblock to the end of it’s tail. What’s not to love? Hmmm,” he swabs at the beaded blood and oozing ink, “Hard part’s done. How about a little breather?” Ezra stands and stretches like a lazy cat, rolls his neck side to side, heads for the refrigerator, tucked in the corner and plastered in stickers, punk bands or microbreweries, you can’t really tell.   “Stretch your legs,” he says, “This next phase will take some time.” You swing your legs over the side of the chair, stand up and then plop back down.  “You okay, darlin?”   “Stood up too fast.”   “Apple or orange?”  “Huh? Orange,” You feel your face going hot, “I followed your instructions—“ Ezra hands you a cold, sweating bottle of orange juice.  “I know you did,” he says, “When you get tattooed, you are signing up for an injury. One that happens over the course of several hours, but an injury all the same.  Everyone reacts a little different. Your sugar just dropped is all. You drink that juice and you’ll be right as rain in no time at all.”  “I thought I’d be okay-“  “And you are,” says Ezra, “I’ve had three hundred pound bikers slither out of the chair at the first sight of blood. It happens sometimes. I’ve gotten woozy a time or two myself.”

He shoves up his shirtsleeve and shows you a dog in a space helmet,   “That’s Laika,” you say.  “Patron Saint of one way trips,” says Ezra, “You can see a bit of wobble in the curve of her helmet. It was far from my first ink and it still hurt like a sonofabitch. You didn’t do a thing wrong, okay?” He rests his hand on your shoulder briefly, warm weight of it grounds you, and he hunkers down so his eyes meet yours, no judgement there, just concern, and without thinking, you mirror him, rest a hand on his vibrantly inked bicep, Laika brave and doomed amid a swirl of watercolored nebulae, his skin warm beneath your palm and you feel the breath rush out of you, didn’t know how hard you were clenching your jaw, didn’t know you tight your chest was.  “Thank you.” And for a beat those lovely, dark eyes hold yours, before they slide away, cheek curved up in a half-smile.  “You are most welcome. Shall we proceed?”

 The color inking goes much as he described, more annoying than painful, like a constant pressing of fingernails against your skin, different gun with more needles packed together, ink laid in, blood wiped away, back and forth over the same bits of skin, needles dipped and rinsed, tiny plastic cups of color that make you think of a child’s paint set, and the two of you settle into easy conversation, a flow back and forth like a gentle tide, mostly Ezra explaining all the hidden delights of Secret Springs, you simply must get breakfast at Cisco’s, it don’t look like much but they’ve got the best biscuits and gravy i’ve ever tasted, and Cee swears by their Hangover Helper, it’s like a layer dip of grease. Hash browns and corned beef hash and scrambled eggs with sausage gravy and cheese sprinkled over it. I keep tellin Frankie he should rename it the Heart Attack Platter, but he won’t hear it— Ezra’s voice and the buzz of the tattoo gun and the rhythm of him pressing into your skin and wiping away the blood and excess ink set you drifting, content to listen to him ramble, like the patter of falling rain.  “So what got you here?” asks Ezra.  “Moira. I saw her ink and asked—“  “No, darlin, what got you here?” And you find it hard to speak, to put into words, did everything right, married and had kids and a house and a good job and a husband who loved you until he didn’t, did everything right and still ended up with an empty house and no one to come home to except the cat. Lilly and Liam and Joey off on their own and settled and they all call you on Sunday like clockwork, as if you are an obligation and not someone who held them when they were small, talked them through the fears of monsters in the closet, talked them through the humiliation of first love, you know they love you, they tell you every time, at the end of every visit, hug you so tight and tell you they love you. Love you too, but you still come home to a dark house and an empty bed, you honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched or kissed or held. Been so long since you did things for you without thinking of him and the kids that it feels wrong, shameful.  “I wanted to do something just for me, I guess.” You frown.  “I’m guessing you are not in the habit,” he says, “Of doing things just for the joy of it.” You laugh, a bright and brittle sound that pulls itself from your throat, even as your eyes burn, his eyes flick up from the brilliant pinks and oranges and purples, and you turn your head away.  “I’ve prodded a raw nerve, I’m sorry. Cee rightly says I have no filter-“  “It’s okay. It’s just…you do everything right and you still end up all alone, you know? Lil and the boys are all doing fine. They call me every Sunday, and I know I should be happy, and I am happy. Happy for them-“  “But not for yourself,” says Ezra. And you think of how the intimacy slowly bled out of your marriage, held on so tight for so long, thought you could muscle through it like you do everything else in your life, but love wasn’t enough, determination wasn’t enough, gritted teeth and stubbornness weren’t enough.   “No. Not for myself.” You frown. You haven’t put it in words before, too busy keeping it together, trying to gut through it like you do everything, keep your head down and push through, “You think your life is one thing and then it just isn’t anymore— this probably seems silly to you.”  “Not at all. I often think of cicadas,” he says, and returns his attention to the fireweed blossoms.  “Cicadas?”  “Yes. They live the majority of their lives under the ground, feasting on roots content with living in the dark and then something calls them up above. They split themselves open, crawl out of their old skins and take flight.”  “You’re saying I’m in the process of crawling out of my own skin,” you say.  “I’m saying that your future doesn’t have to look like your past,” says Ezra.

 “The past is another country,” you say, and you can’t remember where you’ve heard the phrase.  “Just so,” says Ezra, “Just so. We’re redrawing the map right here. And it is a joy to redraw it with you.”  “Are you—are you flirting with me?” Ezra scrunches his face in mock disdain, “I would never ever flirt with a client. That would be deeply unethical and Cee would undoubtedly yell at me. However, once I finish inking this last frond and we slather you in ointment and wrap you up you will no longer be my client-“  “And then?” He smiles at you, all dark eyes and dimples.  “Well then we are just two folks enjoying the moonlight and wetting our toes in the surf. If you’d walk with me a spell. If you can further tolerate my rambling,”  “I think I’d like to get my feet wet.”

[littlelalu]

Stolen Moments | Milo Manheim (Part 1 Fluff)

NOTE: Hello guys! Sorry for not posting for a couple of days now. I felt very crappy and did not have much motivation to do anything. It's a little past midnight, but I did say I wanted to post ASAP.

This first part is fluff. Next is Smut

Hope you all have a great night <3 

Y/N = Your Name

Y/E/C = Your Eye Color

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so tired. We have been rehearsing almost all day for Zombies 4. Being a background dancer is not easy, but I love dancing. It has been my passion since I was a little girl. I also don't mind it because I see him every day. 

Milo and I have been dating for a month but in secret. We have not told anyone just yet, besides our best friends. We agreed to wait until after filming because we didn't want to draw any attention to us. We have been sneaking around set, late-night secret rendezvous, and constantly texting/calling. It was easy at first, but it's been harder now that my feelings for him have grown.

"Good job everyone! That's it for today. Have a good night. See y'all tomorrow" the choreographer said, distracting me from my thoughts. 

Milo and I quickly glanced at each other, but Malachi shoved him playfully.

"Aye, man! Great job today" Milo said to him. They began talking.

I started to make my way to the table where I left my stuff and began walking out of the building. I had parked far away from the door so others wouldn't see Milo when he got in my car.

I heard my phone buzz as I started the engine. It was a text from Milo.

I'll be out there soon!

I smiled at my phone and replied. 

Okay, babe. See ya soon.

I sat in my car as I waited for him. We don't even have anything "fun" to do today. We just plan on staying in my hotel room. His, Meg and Chandlers, and a couple of other cast member's management got them an air bnb to stay at while they film the movie. I'm so glad no one has caught on to where he goes.

~~~~~~~~~~~ Milo's P.O.V ~~~~~

God... Y/N looks so beautiful when she's dancing. This is her calling for sure. 

This past month with her has been amazing. She makes me feel happier than I have ever been in my life. Sneaking around makes it more exciting and thrilling. I can't wait till we're done filming so I can publicly show her off. Only Mason knows about her.

Y/N and I keep telling everyone we are just friends, but when nobody is around, she is all mine. I love being with her. I keep getting more feelings for her each day. Her smile, her laugh, her eyes, everything is perfect about her. 

"Good job everyone! That's it for today. Have a good night. See y'all tomorrow" the choreographer said.

I looked at Y/N for a bit, but Malachi shoved me. "Aye, man! Great job today." I said to him. We continued talking for a bit, but I kept sneaking glances at Y/N as she left. 

"Hey listen man... I have to head out now. I need to run some errands before I head home. See you later!" I said to him. 

"Yeah, man no problem."

I grabbed my stuff and texted Y/N that I would be out there soon. I began making my way out of the building and to her car. 

I can't wait to spend time with her. She's like my prize after a long day at work.

As I got closer to her car, I looked around to make sure no one is looking. Thankfully, no one is.

"Y/N!" I said a bit too loudly.

"Shh Milo someone is going to hear you." She said trying to keep me quiet. She let out a cute giggle. Anything to hear that.

"Babe it's okay! No one is near here." I reassured her. "Meaning..." I said as I put my hand on her chin to look me in the eyes. Her pretty Y/E/C eyes looking at my brown ones. She is truly beautiful. I leaned in and kissed her. She kissed back instantly. We both sighed in relief like we hadn't been waiting all day to do this.

I pulled back after a minute. We were grinning like fools. "Sorry. I just couldn't wait any longer."

Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "It's fine. You ready to go?" She asked me.

"Yup. I'm tired as hell" I said as I buckled my seatbelt.

"Me too. But hey you were doing great! I can never get tired of hearing you sing." She said as she began to drive.

"You were amazing too! I love seeing the way your body moves. Reminds me of our little meet up" I said and winked at her.

"Behave, Manheim." She joked.

We talked more about the movie and our dance moves. Nothing feels better than the times I'm with her. I keep watching her talk about dancing. Her eyes light up so much. I admire her beauty. I'm falling for this girl.

[sassyhazelowl]

Also, the entire reptile community is deeply fascinating to me, coming from breeding animals most people consider livestock or for hunting (quail). I guess there's a big controversy because a Big Name Breeder said he just freezes off healthy animals that don't make him money. And everyone is "shocked and disgusted." But, man, idk, where did y'all think all the surplus "normals"/non-breeder hets are going? The market is beyond saturated with super sunglow 66% het rainbowsnots and hypo clown upsidedown pineapple bellys. No one wants Ugly Brown Snake with Ugly Brown Snake Genes. He shouldn't be sticking them in the freezer b/c that's not humane at all (or frankly IMO he/people in general shouldn't be breeding so many "undesirable" animals in the first place) but he's not wrong in saying euthanasia is better than where unwanted/undesirable animals end up (slowly suffering and dying in a home that won't/can't take care of them properly).

Been considering tinkering with some kind of herp for breeding, since my health is making birds harder to do (birds live outside in aviaries, which means feeding/watering/egg gathering at least 2x a day + big cleans). But I've run into ISSUES. 1. no diet of only/primarily rodents. I'm not interested in anything that eats rats, and I don't really want to raise mice (or rats for that matter). African soft furs are illegal in the state I live in unfortunately.

2. no fruit flies I hate them LOL. any other bug is fine, just not those. 3. no balls, cresties, beardies or leos - there are too many already 4. must have at least some demand, can't be so completely niche I never sell the offspring

5. prefer only CB animals

6. must be able to tolerate up to 85F in the summer I originally looked at dart frogs because bioactive stuff looks fun but they're not tolerant of heat at all. Now looking at microgeckos instead. Also considering garters, gargoyle geckos and smaller skinks (zebra, fire, great plains).

[themysterioushotelarchives]

[SCAN] Seulgi 2nd Mini Album Accidentally On Purpose Sticker Sheet

[caesarclowningaround]

Fandom(s): One Piece Rating: E Chapter(s): 1/5 Ship(s): Charlotte Katakuri/Vinsmoke Ichiji, Bege/Chiffon, Smoothie/Nami, Perospero/Sanji WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Chapter Summary: Hosted by Charlotte Linlin, Big Mom’s BnB is supposed to be a friendly place, with comfortable beds and delicious meals. What it doesn’t advertise are the permanent residents one might bump into while staying there. Dark residents that are eager for some company…

Note(s): YAAAY I finally posted the first chapter of my multi-ship Charlotte family as literal monsters Halloween fic!! 🐺

Not every chapter with have smut and those that do will be explicit. I will be adding to the tags/warnings as I go. Please heed the tags and warnings, this is a dark fic but we're here to have a good time!

Chapter Vibes: Little Red Riding Hood, The Company of Wolves, Barbarian, The Old Dark House

Spotify Playlist for music vibes!

[suchaladyy]

With the upcoming holiday season and cold weather, I wanted to recommend my favorite cozy fics for cuddling up with something (or someone) warm. These aren’t all winter fics - most of them aren’t - but they will make your heart glow.

Be Still My Indelible Friend by @nonamemanga

Rated E, 3k, complete

Tyler might need a shave. Wednesday gets one anyway.

I Didn’t Know Where Else to Go by @therulerofallpotatos

Rated E, 3k, complete

Wednesday bought a house before starting school at Nevermore. It was the house she had intended to run away to and continue her writing in peace. For three weeks after the semester came to an early end, Wednesday remained in her basement studying the hyde as best she could without the man himself present. Three weeks after Tyler became a fugitive of the state, she left her lab to greet the disheveled, neglected hyde collapsed on her front porch. // Tyler met her eyes. // Wednesday squatted to eye level and said, “Inside.”

Smoke Signals by @realmermaid333

Rated E, 7k, complete

Three years have passed since the events that occurred at Nevermore in Wednesday's sophomore year. Wednesday has graduated and is taking a gap year, spending her time writing and deciding what she will study in college. Morticia convinces Wednesday to leave the house and write at a cafe nearby called The Dark Dahlia. There a huge and confusing coincidence happens.

don’t throw it out with the bathwater by @katwitchwriting

Rated M, 5k, complete

Wednesday has a goddamn reputation to uphold and Tyler cannot be running around town screwing that up for her by letting people know she lets him call her baby.

Snowed in with him… by writingallthetime

Rated G, 10k, complete

Wednesday takes a writing break during the holidays up in the countryside and gets snowed into her Air Bnb. Unfortunately for her, her neighbour smiles a lot and bakes more, and always finds a reason to knock on her door throughout the days she spends in the middle of nowhere.

Not a Trainwreck, but I Can’t Look Away by @itshype

Rated T, 4k, complete

AKA the It’s Free Real Estate ‘verse // The entire thing really is Tyler’s fault. Wednesday is the victim here.

Bloody Good Time by @onlyelaine

Rated E, 8k, complete

What Wednesday does for fun these days is slightly unconventional.

It Only Took You by @galpinlvr

Rated G, 2k, complete

When Tyler took his designated mid-afternoon break at the Weathervane today, he didn’t expect to open his phone to thirteen frantic texts and seven missed calls from Enid. // AKA // Wednesday is overstimulated and only wants her boyfriend (without actually saying it.)

Heartburn by @wileyonce

Rated T, 17k, complete

Wednesday went to the Weathervane for the coffee and didn’t need to let anyone know that the bitter dark liquid was not the only purpose of her trips to Jericho anymore. Everything was exactly the same as it has always been. That’s what she told herself walking into the Weathervane again, anyway.

Let me know your favorite cozy wyler fics in the notes <3

[door]

Have you ever heard of the Goetsch-Winckler house in Okemos, Michigan? Goetsch and Winkler were art professors at MSU, and the original plan was to have a whole co-op of Frank Lloyd Wright's Usonians built for them and some other university faculty. He couldn't get the funding for the project, though, so Goetsch and Winkler saved up their own money to get at least get theirs built. Last I heard it's an Air BnB and the owners offer free tours once in a while.

thank you for sending me down this very fun research rabbit hole! it looks like alma goetsch and katherine winckler commissioned not one but TWO weird houses, actually! three if you count the second one that wright designed for them but they never built. their second house (known as goetsch-winckler III) was built 1965-1967 in fayetteville, arkansas by E. Fay Jones. they moved there after retiring. i found a really good article about them and both of their houses and everything about them was so interesting! they were both artists and very politically active. they entertained a lot and encouraged conversation and debate.

their second home was radically different from the first, which was a typically horizontal wright house on a very flat lot. the jones house was built on a very steep lot—so steep that the only thing visible from the road is the roof. they both requested studio space for their art practice in the second house, although sadly they only lived there briefly before goetsch died. winckler couldn’t make any art for a long time afterwards, but eventually got involved in local nature conservation and contributed illustrations to publications.

both houses had beautiful views of the woods.

goetsch-winckler house I

goetsch-winckler house III

both still standing! and you can rent the wright house, as well as go on tours there! very cool.

again—thank you!!!

[littlepaperengineer]

Vero, un viaggio di lavoro non ti permette di esplorare chissà che. Però permette comunque di incontrare persone.

Ieri sera nel BnB sono arrivate due ragazze del sud corea, in arrivo dopo 10 ore di volo dagli stati uniti in un viaggio di piacere. Ho conosciuto una coppia del new mexico, di ritorno dal cammino di Santiago. In aereo ero vicino ad una ragazza che veniva dalla Cina. Ho conosciuto un signore molto gentile se non sbaglio del brasile, in spagna da più di dieci anni... E poi una persona dalla Romania, una dal Marocco...

Adoro questi incroci, seppur fugaci, perché mi permettono di affacciarmi su dei mondi così diversi seppur simili. Mi fanno sentire vivo, parte del mondo. Mi sono accorto di quanto stia riuscendo a praticare l'inglese, a differenza degli altri impieghi precedenti. Mi tengo attivo, ne avevo bisogno.

Vorrei solo non scordarmi di rimanere umano, conservare sempre quel po' di tempo per rimanere gentile e comprensivo, attento e rispettoso. Perché quando si è stressati, di fretta, frustrati, è un attimo a diventare arroganti e irrispettosi.