#gifts under 75

[biillys]

been flicking between house and er and now i want the billy working at a hospital au's please

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

*makes a whole bunch of art and crafts*

“I want to sell this so I can make EVEN MORE and also hopefully someone else will enjoy it!”

*can’t fucking drive because of my gods damned epilepsy*

“Alright, so, while I could probably walk this stuff to the ups store two blocks over during spring and fall, once it starts to get really snowy the sidewalks are going to be shit and i don’t want to risk damaging something before I can even send it!” 🥲🫠

[batboyblog]

Things the Biden-Harris Administration Did This Week #29

July 26-August 2 2024

President Biden announced his plan to reform the Supreme Court and make sure no President is above the law. The conservative majority on the court ruled that Trump has "absolute immunity" from any prosecution for "official acts" while he was President. In response President Biden is calling for a constitutional amendment to make it clear that Presidents aren't above the law and don't have immunity from prosecution for crimes committed while in office. In response to a wide ranging corruption scandal involving Justice Clarence Thomas, President Biden called on Congress to pass a legally binding code of ethics for the Supreme Court. The code would force Justices to disclose gifts, refrain from public political actions, and force them to recuse themselves from cases in which they or their spouses have conflicts of interest. President Biden also endorsed the idea of term limits for the Justices.

The Biden Administration sent out an email to everyone who has a federal student loan informing them of upcoming debt relief. The debt relief plan will bring the total number of a borrowers who've gotten relief from the Biden-Harris Administration to 30 million. The plan is due to be finalized this fall, and the Department of Education wanted to alert people early to allow them to be ready to quickly take advantage of it when it was in place and get relief as soon as possible.

President Biden announced that the federal government would step in and protect the pension of 600,000 Teamsters. Under the American Rescue Plan, passed by President Biden and the Democrats with no Republican votes, the government was empowered to bail out Union retirement funds which in recent years have faced devastating cut of up to 75% in some cases, leaving retired union workers in desperate situations. The Teamster union is just the latest in a number of such pension protections the President has done in office.

President Biden and Vice-President Harris oversaw the dramatic release of American hostages from Russia. Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich, former Marine Paul Whelan held since 2018, Russian-American reporter for Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty Alsu Kurmasheva convicted of criticizing the Russian Military, were all released from captivity and returned to the US at around midnight August 2nd. They were greeted on the tarmac by the President and Vice-President and their waiting families. The deal also secured the release of German medical worker Rico Krieger sentenced to death in Belarus, Russian-British opposition figure Vladimir Kara-Murza, and 11 Russians convicted of opposing the war against Ukraine or being involved in Alexei Navalny's anti-corruption organization. Early drafts of the hostage deal were meant to include Navalny before his death in Russian custody early this year.

A new Biden Administration rule banning discrimination against LGBT students takes effect, but faces major Republican resistance. The new rule declares that Title IX protects Queer students from discrimination in public schools and any college that takes federal funds. The new rule also expands protections for victims of sexual misconduct and pregnant or parenting students. However Republican resistance means the rule can't take effect nation wide. Lawsuits from Republican controlled states, Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Virginia, West Virginia and Wyoming, means the new protections won't come into effect those states till the case is ruled on likely in a Supreme Court ruling. The Biden administration crafted these Title IX rules to reflect the Supreme Court's 2020 Bostock case.

The Biden administration awarded $2 billion to black and minority farmers who were the victims of historic discrimination. Historically black farmers have been denied important loans from the USDA, or given smaller amounts than white farmers. This massive investment will grant 23,000 minority farmers between $10,000 and $500,000 each and a further 20,000 people who wanted to start farms by were improperly denied the loans they needed between $3,500-$6,000 to get started. Most payments went to farmers in Mississippi and Alabama.

The Biden Administration took an important step to stop the criminalization of poverty by changing child safety guidelines so that poverty alone isn't grounds for taking a child into foster care. Studies show that children able to stay with parents or other family have much better outcomes then those separated. Many states have already removed poverty from their guidelines when it comes to removing children from the home, and the HHS guidelines push the remaining states to do the same.

Vice-President Harris announced the Biden Administration's agreement to a plan by North Carolina to forgive the state's medical debt. The plan by Democratic Governor Roy Cooper would forgive the medical debt of 2 million people in the state. North Carolina has the 3rd highest rate of medical debt in the nation. Vice-President Harris applauded the plan, pointing out that the Biden Administration has forgiven $650 million dollars worth of medical debt so far with plans to forgive up to $7 billion by 2026. The Vice-President unveiled plans to exclude medical debt from credit scores and issued a call for states and local governments to forgive debt, like North Carolina is, last month.

The Department of Transportation put forward a new rule to bank junk fees for family air travel. The new rule forces airlines to seat parents next to their children, with no extra cost. Currently parents are forced to pay extra to assure they are seated next to their children, no matter what age, if they don't they run the risk of being separated on a long flight. Airlines would be required to seat children age 13 and under with their parent or accompanying adult at no extra charge.

The Department of Housing and Urban Development announced it is giving $3.5 billion to combat homelessness. This represents the single largest one year investment in fighting homelessness in HUD's history. The money will be distributed by grants to local organizations and programs. HUD has a special focus on survivors of domestic violence, youth homeless, and people experiencing the unique challenges of homelessness in rural areas.

The Treasury Department announced that Pennsylvania and New Mexico would be joining the IRS' direct file program for 2025. The program was tested as a pilot in a number of states in 2024, saving 140,000 tax payers $5.6 million in filing charges and getting tax returns of $90 million. The program, paid for by President Biden's Inflation Reduction Act, will be available to all 50 states, but Republicans strong object. Pennsylvania and New Mexico join Oregon and New Jersey in being new states to join.

Bonus: President Biden with the families of the released hostages calling their loved ones on the plane out of Russia

[eph3merall]

. . . ( part 2 )

—

"nah, what the fuck is this— big bad wolf bullshit?" you can hear matt's voice falter for a second, your bare knees digging into the wood floor of his room. he decided to stream for a few hours tonight, both chris and nick away doing their own things.

for the first hour and a half matt just played some games until you got bored and snuck under his desk, his hand cupping your cheek to give it a light warning smack to whatever cheeky ideas that were brewing in your head.

deft hands slowly started tugging his sweatpants down, to which he just hummed and swiveled around gently in his chair for a second. settling back down, matt was leaning forwards a little to put some music on for the stream, shouting out names he was able to catch that were gifting.

he's fixing his headset and turning the music up a little, it's mainly just to hide any groans and sighs he lets out however. for a second, he steals a glance down at you to find you slowly lowering the hem of his boxers, and he responds by subtly lifting his hips.

matt didn't totally like this idea. one little mistake and the whole stream of.. fifteen thousand people would know what was going on, but he couldn't deny how painfully hard he was just by seeing you on your knees—a little cramped under the small space of his desk.

when you free his length to find pre already dribbling from his slit, your thumb reaches up to thumb at his tip and spread the bead of pre made lube down his shaft. you don't miss the way his thighs tense, hips twitching up a little as you listen to the way he scolds the chat for telling him to react to edits and read fanfiction.

one hand rests on his thigh while the other jerks up and down slowly, twisting your wrist up at the top as you lean forward. parting your lips, you let some saliva drip down the length of his dick and don't miss the heavy sigh he lets out.

soon you're hollowing your cheeks out and bobbing your head gently up and down matt's cock—one hand threading through your hair and digging blunt nails into the back of your head. you can't see his face—but you can hear the way his voice trembles once in awhile and how heavy he's breathing.

your nose presses into his skin, dick shoved all the way down your throat and you gag—only forcing matt to ball one of his hands up into a fist to pretened to cough because he was about this close to letting out a groan.

the noisy slurping and gagging noises of your mouth have him panicking for a second before he's quickly turning the volume of the music up, per chat's request and totally not because it put him just a little more at ease.

he keeps a hand casual over his mouth or on his face, pretending to cough or whatever. his other hand is leaving your head—fingers twitching to pull you off just so he can fuck your throat to his heart's content.

so far so good, right? the stream went pretty smoothly until you'd done something with your tongue and he felt his tip hit the back of your throat, and matt's head is tilting back against his gaming chair and a tortured groan is ripped from his lips.

oops?

notes. sorry if this has spelling mistakes / mistakes in general or anything doesn't make sense i am TIREDD... feel kinda insane w how good matt n chris looked on stream tho. anyways where the fuck did 75 followers come from? like? what??? thank u all i love u guys <3 know its not a lot but argghhb + i reached 100+ notes on a post like ugh <33

—

©eph3merall 2024

[stevehours]

drinking game

steve harrington x fem!reader

18+ minors dni, drinking, smut

wc: 4.4k

As far as first dates go, this is the lamest one you’ve been on. Which you’d somewhat anticipated when you agreed to it. Steve Harrington is a couple years younger than you. The kid’s barely twenty. But he is incredibly handsome and well, it’s been awhile for you. Steve’s wooing skills haven’t graduated high school, like he has. He insists on picking you up, gets to show off the car his daddy bought him. It is nice. Must’ve cost a fortune when he was gifted it on his sixteenth birthday. The damn thing has a telephone in it. Power seats and windows. And the seats heat up, he tells you. Though in the middle of August, it’s not really necessary. It has great speakers, proven by the cheesy, 70’s baby making music he’s blasting from them. You can’t imagine Steve actually listens to this, but that it’s an attempt to get you in the mood.

He brings you to a diner for dinner where he tries to share a milkshake with you and then it’s a trip to the drive-in movies. It’s ripped out of the 50’s. Especially the part where he tries to make out with you, which okay, yes you indulge in until he grabs a handful of your breast.

“Alright, Romeo,” you laugh, pushing him back, “Cool it down a little.”

“Sorry,” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and settles back into the driver's seat. His cheeks are ruddy, either with embarrassment or arousal, you aren’t sure.

“It’s fine—“ you tell him and adjust your blouse, “It’s kind of cute.”

“You’re really pretty,” he blurts out, smiling and it does make you giggle. But you feel a little childish right after, so you shove his head and tell him to keep watching the movie.

Must be a win for Steve because that saccharine smile doesn’t leave his face.

After the movie, he starts driving but not in the direction of your apartment. He glances at you, “I’m having a really good time. Would you be up for maybe coming back to my place? For a drink or something?”

“Your place?” you snort, crossing your arms but you’re already convinced.

Steve blushes again, “Well, I live there. My parents are like, barely home. Business trips and stuff.”

“Alright, Harrington,” you shrug, “It’s early. Let’s do it.”

—

“It’s called Flip, Sip or Strip,” he says, holding up a quarter and looking at you under hooded eyes.

You cackle, fingers delicately holding the crystal wine glass that’s definitely worth more than anything you own. You didn’t know Steve’s parents were so loaded, though the car should’ve been the indicator. The pair of you are sitting in the living room of the Harrington home. It’s so intricately designed, the entire house following the same decorative theme. And it’s remarkably clean for a place a young man lives alone 75% of the time. You wonder if there’s a housekeeper that comes and cleans up after Steve.

“You want to play a drinking game?” you scoff, crossing your legs and you don’t miss the way Steve’s eyes follow the movement.

“You’ve heard of it, then?”

“Not since freshman year of college but, sure, let’s play,” you placate him, leaning back in the chaise lounge. In the back of your mind you’re wondering why expensive furniture is so uncomfortable. Steve scrambles from the equally looking stiff couch, opening what you can assume is his parents liquor cabinet. Under the record player that plays that same cheesy, romantic 70’s R&B he was blasting in the BMW.

He sets two glasses and a bottle of tequila on the coffee table and then pats the cushion next to him on the couch.

You raise an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t it be better to stay here? So you can actually see me?”

“Good point,” he grins excitedly and then says, “You first. Call it.”

“Heads,” you slur in a sultry voice, smirking at the way he looks back at you all slack-jawed.

Then Steve flips the coin in the air, catches it in his palm and slaps it on his forearm. He uncovers it and gets this real mischievous smile on his face. He doesn’t even have to announce it, you know the coin is tails up. You laugh and lean forward to grab the bottle of tequila, pouring yourself a small shot and downing it with ease. Then you extend your palm out and Steve hands you the coin. You watch him expectantly until he says, “Tails.”

You flip it, catching it in your hand and flipping it onto your arm. You giggle as you uncover it, wiggling your eyebrows at Steve when you tell him, “Heads.”

He shucks off his coat, tossing it behind him and making grabby hands for the quarter. You roll your eyes as you drop it into his hand and tell him, “Heads.”

Steve flips the coin and then his face scrunches up in disdain, “Heads.”

You snatch the coin from his hand as you cackle triumphantly. A few more rounds go on, you take off your heels with Steve’s eyes glued to your feet and he takes a shot. Then you’re challenged again to either take a drink or remove another bit of clothing. And you’re honestly feeling that shot of tequila so you’d rather not take another so quick. Hence, your tights come off. Steve watches the motion and chews on his bottom lip.

“You a virgin, Harrington?” you ask, eyebrows knitting together.

He laughs, almost offended as he shakes his head, “Far from it. You’re just too good to look at. Anyone tell you that you could be a model?”

“Flattery will get you almost anywhere. Heads or tails, big boy?” you smooth your thumb against the warm quarter.

He guesses correctly, but you don’t on your turn. And so off comes your blouse. Steve spreads his legs across from you, hands smoothing down his jeans as he grins salaciously at you. He incorrectly guesses tails and then pulls off his polo, exposing this jungle of chest hair you’re shocked by. A smug smirk spreads across his lips as your mouth hangs open. And he’s got all these moles decorating his gorgeous skin like constellations. He combs his own fingers through his chest hair and leans back on the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. Still has his Nikes on.

You scowl as you throw the quarter at him, “Heads.”

And you lose, but you opt for another shot as you feel far more exposed than Harrington is.

A few more rounds leads to you both pleasantly buzzed and in your underwear.

“This game is stupid,” you decide when you incorrectly guess again.

Steve giggles and tosses the coin on the coffee table, “That’s okay. I’d rather take those off myself anyways.”

You hate that it works, makes your thighs warm up with dull arousal as you take your eyes over Steve’s body. He’s lean, soft but very faintly muscular. And those moles go all over him. All the way down to his feet. You heave a sigh and stand from the chaise lounge, stepping in between Steve’s legs and grabbing a hole of his square jaw. He blinks up at you, mouth ajar with fucking stars in those round, brown eyes.

“You have a really stupid, cute face,” you tell him, pushing his thick hair off his forehead.

“Uh, thanks?” he replies and you straddle his lap, pushing both hands into the waves of chestnut hair. You look at it, eyes narrowing.

“Do you have highlights?” you ask.

“Naturally— from the sun and—“ he starts but you interrupt him.

“Bullshit,” you grab onto his jaw again, “You get highlights in your hair.”

“No, I don’t,” he narrows his eyes and you completely seat yourself on his lap, feeling his erection press against your ass. You grind down on it and he lets out a gargled moan, his eyelids fluttering shut.

“You do,” you tell him and then get your lips on his jaw, feeling the subtle stubble against your face. You lick against his jawline, pushing your fingers in his hair and pulling his head back to give you more room. You begin kissing down his neck and his hands grab onto your hips, guiding you up and down against his strained, hard cock. The whole hair argument is completely forgotten by Steve, his hips jerk weakly as he leans his head back and lets out these pretty, soft sounds. The kind of sounds that make your stomach fill with excited, horny butterflies.

You mark up his neck, the skin purpling from your pleasurable abuse. Suck and bite until bruises form and Steve’s whimpering underneath you. You relent on his neck, pulling his head back to look at you as you writhe against him. His hands skate up your sides and back down, landing on your ass and pushing you harder against his erection. And you get a real good look at his pretty face. His eyes tilt down slightly at the ends and they’re so full of desire. Wonderfully expressive and beautiful. You look up at his brows, smiling to yourself as you notice they’re manicured, just ever so slightly. This man takes care of himself. More than most. His complexion is remarkably smooth. You drag your fingertip down the bridge of his nose to the tip, smiling at the sharpness of it. Then you settle your eyes on his lips as they quirk up into a smile, he likes how you’re looking at him. Admiring him. His lips are plump, pink from the way he’s been biting at them all night.

“You’re pretty,” you whisper, dragging your thumb across his bottom lip and he kisses the pad of it. Sending your stomach ablaze as you roll down on him a little firmer.

“You’re prettier,” he replies, voice husky.

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend?” you ask, tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I haven’t asked you, yet,” he tells you, smirking as he smooths his hand up your back to your bra. Unclasps it with two fingers, impressing a gasp from you and he smiles, straight and white teeth on display.

You help pull the straps from your arms and discard the lacy fabric aside, wrapping your arms around his neck again and then leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss. You don’t think too much about what he’d just said, this is fun and you’ve just met. This is the first date, you barely know each other. But while this started out as a lame date, you feel uncharacteristically smitten at this point.

Steve kisses like he needs it. Hungry. Like his oxygen supply comes from your lungs and he’s been suffocating all night. Makes you breathless and dizzy. You whimper into each desperate exchange, sucking on his tongue whenever he slips it past your lips. His arms wrap around your middle, pulling you completely flush against him. Your hands get tangled in his hair yet again, a little obsessed with the way it feels between your fingers. Your noses keep bumping into each other and his pokes your eye a handful of times but it doesn’t slow either of you down.

You lift yourself up and Steve offers a whine until he sees you’re moving to take off your underwear, then he’s helping get them off and you’re situating yourself between his legs on the floor. Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his briefs and peeling them down his thighs, gasping when his impressive length pops out and slaps against his abdomen. You give yourself a beat to look at it as Steve spreads his legs and writhes against the couch. Chewing on your bottom lip, you wrap your hands around the base of him. Your fingers don’t even meet when they’re circled around his girth.

“Christ,” you mutter and he laughs, a soft and almost insecure sound.

“I- I know, it’s kind of—“

“Huge?”

“Scary?” he asks, tilting his head as he gazes down at you.

It’s your turn to laugh, wondering how many girls have told him that. You’re not scared, no, the opposite.

“Not scary,” you tell him, “I’m thoroughly impressed.”

“Yeah? I’ve… I’ve been told it’s too—“ he swallows and his eyes squeeze shut as you stroke his length firmly.

“Too big?” you offer and work your hand up and down his gargantuan cock slowly, “I like a challenge, Stevie.”

He laughs again, but it’s a breathless laugh. He opens his eyes again and watches as you lick a broad stripe up the underside of his cock. His eyebrows furrow, lips parting with a sweet whine. You wrap your lips around the head of him, tasting the salty precum leaking from his slit. As you grip onto the base of him and attempt to take him into your mouth, you can feel just how hard he is. You lock your eyes on his, slowly sinking down on his cock. Drool slips past your lips and down the rest of his length, your hand slides up and smears the natural lube over him. You continue like that, fingers moving up and down where you can’t fit him in your mouth. You make a conscious effort to breathe out of your nose and use your tongue while you bob up and down on his cock.

Steve watches intently, thighs shaking as he tries his hardest not to buck his hips up. Just the size of him has spit pooling in your mouth and seeping down his length all the way to his heavy balls. His face looks extra pretty right now. Dazed and drunk on the pleasure, perhaps some of the tequila too.

His hands tangle into your hair, holding it out of the way as you continue your way up and down his cock.

“That’s it,” he breathes out, chest heaving as he praises you, “Doing so good for me.”

Those words hit you, make you moan on his length and wiggle your hips. You try to take him as deep as you can before pulling off, working your fist over his cock as you catch your breath. Once he’s not in your mouth, he bucks his hips and moans out shakily.

“Oh, fuck…” he seethes, his toes curling into the carpet.

You move your mouth to his balls then, still working his shaft in your hand and you start licking at his sack. Keeping your eyes trained on his gorgeous face. Steve blinks rapidly, rolling his hips up and spewing the prettiest little moans. And you’re kind of obsessed with his face at this moment, the absolute pleasure painted on it.

“So fucking pretty,” you tell him because you really can’t help yourself and Steve seems to like it, tugging on your hair and whining.

“C’mere… wanna kiss you,” he babbles out and you stand on shaky legs before crawling back into his lap and kissing him sloppily. He wraps his arms around your middle and thrusts his hips up, the side of his cock gliding through your folds and punching a surprised moan from you, which he swallows. Then his hands move down and firmly plant on your asscheeks. At first you assumed Steve was close to coming but the way he’s grinding you down on his cock tells you otherwise— he just really wanted to kiss you.

Then Steve pulls away, “Can I taste you? Please?”

You’re not inclined to say no to that, nodding your head emphatically and standing up from his lap again. You make a move to lay down on the couch, but Steve’s laying down first and grabbing at you.

“Sit on my face, please,” he whines and you flush, but do as he asks. Maneuvering your leg over his shoulders, you hover and look down at him. As if to ask if he’s sure. Which he answers by pulling you down on him, his warm and wet mouth meeting your dripping cunt. You moan out, hands grabbing onto the armrest to keep yourself upright as Steve devours your aching pussy. He’s moaning into you, seemingly loving the taste as he sucks and licks at your folds. Once you’re comfortable and downright desperate, you begin riding Steve’s gorgeous face. His hands are planted firm on your ass, guiding you through it.

“I’ve been dying to taste you all night,” he manages to tell you, pulling you off of him just the smallest inch before he’s dragging your pussy back down against his eager mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” you mutter out, “You’re so good at that…”

He really is, uses his whole face to do it. Nose rubbing against your clit, tongue teasing your hole while you drip all over his chin. You try to look down at him, lock eyes with his dazed, pussy-drunk ones but the pleasure gets overwhelming and your eyes start to flutter shut as you grind down on his expert tongue and really use his nose to get off. Your stomach fills with fire, your release gaining in ok you quickly. And once Steve’s tongue penetrates you, you’re a goner. Crying out his name in desperate pleas as you ride your orgasm out. You’re shaking when you pull off of him abruptly, worried that you’re about to suffocate him. And as you stand, looking down at him, you can’t help but giggle at the look on his face. Steve looks like he just came. Blinking slowly, a pleased smile plastered on his pink lips.

He stands with you, laces your fingers and kisses you softly. You can taste yourself on his lips but you don’t mind, giggling into it.

“Can I take you to my bedroom?” he asks once he pulls away.

You nod, shyly and looking up at him with stars in your eyes. He guides you up the stairs, stopping along the way to steal kisses. You’re not sure the last time you felt so much romance tangled in with sex. He presses you to the wall next to his bedroom door, swoops his mouth down to capture yours in a disproportionate chaste kiss. Again, linking your fingers and holding them above your head as he connects his forehead to yours.

“Don’t laugh— okay?”

You giggle, gazing up at him curiously, “Sorry. I won’t.” It’s unclear exactly what Steve’s asking you not to laugh at, but once he opens his bedroom door, you get it. It’s the ugliest bedroom you’ve ever seen. Everything is drenched in plaid, the wallpaper, the curtains, the bedspread. All so offensive. You bite your lip to stifle the laugh, but it all dissolves when you turn to watch Steve close the door and get a glimpse at his cock which is very much still hard. Then his bedroom doesn’t seem so silly anymore. Your hand wraps around his length as you press him against the door, kissing him filthy all over again.

Steve whimpers from the touch, muffled against your tongue as he places his hand on your face and holds you while he kisses back.

“I need you,” he slurs into your mouth and you nod, kissing him before you walk towards his bed. You lay yourself on it, head on his pillows as you bring your hands up to fondle your own tits. Watching as Steve’s hand falls down to his cock, stroking himself slowly. He then climbs on top of you, kissing you tenderly before he’s reaching over to his nightstand but something tells you to stop him, so you do. Hand on his wrist.

“No… I,” you swallow, lust driving this decision completely, “I wanna feel you… just you.”

Steve inhales sharply, moves his hand to push his cock down for some relief as he says to you, “Fuck… are you sure?”

You wrap your arms around his neck as you nod slowly at him, spreading your legs for him. He drops his head down to kiss you, all slow and gentle. His hand slips between your bodies, grabbing his cock and teasing the head of it against your aching center. You gasp softly, hands tangled in his hair as your hips roll, causing the tip of his cock to catch on your dripping hole. Steve sinks in slowly, inch by inch. It’s quite the stretch, has your jaw dropping as you adjust. His cock is hot and thick, you can feel it pulsing as it drags against your walls. It’s so delicious and heady, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist and your hips roll up until he’s completely sheathed inside you. And Steve’s gentle, doesn’t jack hammer into you immediately like most men would. He stays still and lets you get used to the feeling, kissing you softly and tenderly between needy moans and gasps.

“Feel so full,” you confess in a whisper and that gets Steve thrusting into you, groaning lowly against your lips.

“Yeah?” he asks, “You’re so fucking wet and tight… squeezing my cock so good.”

“Oh, Steve,” you moan, tugging his hair while he slowly builds a steady and deep rhythm. His hand moves to grab your thigh, squeezing it while he grinds down into you. The tip of his cock prods against that spongy, sweet spot inside you. Punches a yelp out of you to which he looks down at you, panicked.

“You okay?” he asks, blinking rapidly.

You nod, scratching down his back as you plead, “Fuck, yes… right there, do it again.”

A smile spreads across his lips, pretty teeth showing as he thrusts into you again. And again. Your back arches with it, pressing your tits to his chest as your legs spread further on their own volition. You place your hand on his cheek, watching his stunning face as he sinks in and out of your pussy, the filthiest sounds echoing in the room. He licks his lips, brow furrowing as his thrusts get harder and faster. Each time, he rubs against that bundle of nerves deep inside you. Dragging the most pornographic sounds you’ve ever made from your throat. You’re not sure you could recover from this, suddenly really hoping he does ask you to be his girlfriend. The two of you have barely even started and it’s the best you’ve ever felt in your life. His cock filling you in a way that makes you want to cry, in a good way.

“Steeeeeve…” you moan out, low and uncontrollably. “Fuck… that’s so good. Just like that, baby… yes…”

His lips are on your ear now, lowly telling you, “Taking me so well… such a good girl…”

Your cunt clenches around him, little desperate and pleasure filled pants and moans pouring out of you. “Steve, Steve… oh, Steve!” you chant, scratching down his back a second time.

His hips still and he laughs, burying his face in your neck as he mumbles, “Fuck- fuck, don’t wanna cum yet.”

You grab his face and pull his lips to yours, unhooking your legs from his waist as you kiss him deeply. Tongues lazily curling together, panting into each other's open mouths. You give him a beat to come back down, then you’re flipping the pair of you. Get Steve on his back and you on top of him, without disconnecting where you two meet. You place your hands on his furry chest, feeling the jungle of hair you’ve been staring at since he took his shirt off that night. His hands grip onto your hips, gasping and panting as he stares up at you, awestruck look on his beautiful face.

“You’re so pretty,” you tell him again and he laughs, that wonderful breathless sound you’re starting to fall in love with. Which is dangerous but right now, you don’t care.

“I’ve got the prettiest girl on top of me… and she’s telling me I’m pretty,” he mumbles out, dazed smile on his face.

“You are,” you assure him just as you start to rock your hips, face confronting as you feel his cock prod at that sweet spot deep inside you again. Your eyes cross from it, eyebrows knitting together as you bite your lip and you begin riding him steadily. Slow and gentle at first but soon enough, you’re bouncing up and down on his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby… just like that…” Steve babbles out, snaking his hand around and his thumb finds your clit easily. Works in quick, firm circles. Has you riding him even faster and harder as your climax threatens to rush over you. Building and building so quickly.

“Steve…. Steve?” you whimper.

Sweet, lopsided smile on his face when he asks, “Yeah, baby?”

“I’m gonna fucking cum,” you confess, scratching your nails against his chest as you grind down on his length.

Steve keeps up his ministrations on your clit, doesn’t switch anything up. But he heaves this happy, aroused laugh and tells you, “Cum for me, cum all over my cock. Use me.”

Your body tenses when it hits you, sending you over the edge and you collapse on top of him. Face buried in his neck as you spew cries and moans. He grabs your hips, holds you steady and plants his feet on the mattress. That’s when he lets loose, thrusts into you with everything he’s worth. Mouthing praise against your ear as he fucks you silly.

Your eyes roll back, his thrusts punching repetitive and loud moans from your lungs.

“Fuck— I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he warns and squirms underneath you but you make no attempt to move.

“Fill me up, Steve,” you whisper against his ear, kissing under it and then telling him, “Wanna feel it. Cum inside me, baby.”

He lets out a gargled moan, arms wrapping around you firmly as he thrusts one last time and releases inside you, coating your walls with his spend. Your lips meet again, lazily and spent kisses as you both come down.

Steve strokes your hair, holds you close and kisses your cheek before he asks, “You wanna stay the night?”

“Yeah.. yeah, I do,” you reply, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. “As long as you make you breakfast.”

“I’ll make you anything you want,” he says with a smile before flipping you over and kissing you deeply.

And okay… maybe it wasn’t such a lame date.

[avaf00rd]

you’re like 30

Leah Williamson x Reader

I wanted to get my tillies fic out tonight but I feel so sick but I still wanted to write. Here is this short asf Leah piece!!!

————————————————————————

You woke up to Leah’s arms tightly around your torso, you being her little spoon as you slept on your left side of the bed. It was Leah’s birthday today and you couldn’t be more excited. You very gently peeled the last arm off of you waist, and slightly shifted her leg back that was hoisted over your legs to hold you closer.

You went down the hall after quietly creeping out, grabbing your bag of presents you had put on the dining room table, all nicely wrapped and also turning on your coffee machine, making yourself one and getting Leah a hot chocolate from the machine also. While the coffee was being made you decided to quickly post Leah’s birthday post on instagram that you both did for each other every year, consitisting of old and new photos of each other.

@y/n.y/l/n

happy 27th my precious girl. Thanks for being my whole world. So happy to be with you on your day, I hope it’s one to remember my love. Love you forever and always ⭐️ 🍾 @leahwilliamson

you quickly posted it before you heard Leah’s footsteps come up behind you. “No no baby go back to bed please” you smiled

“I’m already up” she shrugged still half asleep “happy birthday to me” she smiled, saying the part that you missed.

“Oh of course” you said gently grabbing her neck so you could give her a long morning kiss “happy birthday baby” you said softly before kissing her again. You handed her a mug before she thanked you and you brought her over to the living room.

You handed her a large bag that would sit up to your waist if you put in on the ground.

“What on earth” your girlfriend laughed

“There’s nothing crazy big. There was just a lot and it felt reasonable” you said motioning to the size

She unwrapped multiple presents from you. Like a new cowboy hat that you knew she would adore, an iPad for her piano app (well hopefully you didn’t spend that money just for that but the piano is an option), heaps of clothes from new and nice brands that she fell in love with, some random and silly gadgets you found online and while scrolling on instagram, and two new records - an old vintage record name ‘greatest hits of ‘75’ and a country hits one.

She gave you multiple hugs kisses after opening each gift. “Stop getting me so much” she teased, tickling into your side while you laid in her arms on the couch, wrapping paper surrounding you as you squirming under her touch.

“Never!” You exclaimed. “Wait was your card in there?” You asked her remembering she hadn’t opened it.

She peeked back in the gift bag “don’t see one honey”

“Hang on” you said, getting out of her arms and heading up to your shared room to grab it. “Here” you smiled excitedly as your threw the card on her lap before sitting next to her, head leaning now on her shoulder.

dear Leah

My old girl is getting older now

You mean everything on this planet to me and even further into the universe. I wouldn’t want to wake up next to a more sweeter, genuine, prettier, passionate, hotter and loving woman than you my Leah.

Thank you for being there for me when times were lower than usual, and I’m so proud of all of your achievements, it gets me emotional thinking of your beautiful and amazing career.

Love you to the moon and back and I hope you have the best day

Love your girl y/n xoxoxoxo

You studied her face as she read it, not quite being able to see her facial expressions from the next to the girl. When she finally looked up from the paper she brought her hand up to her eye to wipe it. “Oh baby thank you” she chuckled pulling you on top of her so you could cuddle into her,

“Of course” you smiled in the crook of her next “happy birthday I love you”

“I love you. And your old girl huh?” She said raising an eyebrow

“Yeah you’re getting old” you smiled shrugging, looking down at your smiling blonde.

“Your 26 and I’m 27. I was your age yesterday” she laughed

“Your like 30 basically. Maybe it’s time you settle down” you shrugged in a joking way “scratch the current plan you carry the children and I’ll be the grumpy dad who goes to work” you giggled

“Hm let’s take it day by day huh. And stick to our decision. And no one is giving up their career yet” she told you, wide grin still plastered on her face.

“Smart. Ok now read the second paper in the thing” you said pointing at the envelope before clapping your hands in excitement.

She pulled out an A4 piece of paper with some sort of writing printed out and an image of skydivers. “Oh my we are going sky diving?” She laughed throwing her head back

“Close. Bungee jumping. I printed out the wrong photo”

“That’s scary” she said cutely before you pinched her cheeks

“No we get to do it together. We are like connected together and get to jump together” you exclaimed. You loved heights. Leah didn’t mind them, you wouldn’t have gotten the experience if she didn’t like them. “Plus it’s way more safer than skydiving so” you shrugged looking back down at her.

“I love you and thank you. I’m excited to do it with you” she smiled kissing your lips slowly.

“Goody cause it’s tomorrow!” You said happily

“What!“

—————————

Super short but I’ll start my draft for the fic you guys asked for tomorrow.

Love you! Stay nice in the requests and have the best day xxx

[ssavaart]

Sometimes You Have to Make 100 BAD Drawings To Get 1 GOOD One

(Earlier this year, a publisher asked me if I'd be interested in writing a book on art. As we discussed it... they asked me to "give it a try" and this is one of two tests I did. I don't consider myself a writer, really, so this is just "in my own voice". I wound up turning down the offer... but would love to know your thoughts on this. Thanks)

Drawing something good. Something you like. It’s… elusive. Especially when you’re just starting out.

But, here’s the thing. You have good art in you. I promise. You just have to get to it and it’s stuck under a bunch of bad art. Really bad art.

When I was younger, I would draw every day. Filling up sketchbooks with doodles and sketches and I hated ALL of them.

Page 01: Crap

Page 02: Crap

Page 03: Crap

Page 04: Worse than Crap

Page 05: What even is that?

Page 06: Ugh

And it was just downhill from there…

But… somewhere around like page 100… I made something that… “wasn’t crap”. I actually didn’t hate it.

And that gave me courage to keep going. That one drawing made it all worth it. I was cured. I was now an expert. All of my art would be great from now on.

Oh… if only.

The next drawing was worse than any other drawing before it.

How??? I just made ART! like 5 minutes before that. I got all the bad drawings out! How did my art just go from Van Gogh to Van NO???

Honestly? I… got lucky. That one good drawing? Total fluke. Dumb luck. Sheer Happenstance.

Doing 100 drawings didn’t suddenly make me an expert. It couldn’t.

Have you ever heard of the saying “If a million monkeys type on a million typewriters for a million years, they’ll eventually write Shakespeare”?

I was those monkeys and that drawing was my Shakespeare.

I just pooped out enough bad art that eventually sheer luck was going to mean I may make something really good.

And I’m TOTALLY okay with that. I was 11. I’m not a prodigy. I don’t have any special gifts. But what I did have was… a taste for how making good art felt.

Seeing that one good drawing made me want more. Like my first time tasting chocolate ice cream. I was hooked.

So, I made 100 more bad drawings. Maybe more. And, guess what? ANOTHER great drawing emerged!

Another Shakespeare from this 11 year old monkey!!!! Huzzah!

From then on… I knew that all I had to do was keep banging away at that typewriter (I’m still on the million monkey thing… bear with me) and I would get rewarded with another masterpiece.

Week after week. Month after month. I would fill up my sketchbooks with the most horrific, amateurish, incomprehensible art… and, sure enough, 1 of every 100 drawings would not suck.

I would show it to my mom and she would say “Oh! That’s wonderful!” and when she tried to turn the pages to see more, I would quickly SNATCH it out of her hands and run back into the shadows like Gollum hiding his “Precious” from prying eyes.

I dare not let her see the monstrosities that came before the work of genius.

And… this went on. For years. Predictably. Rhythmically.

Until, one day… my 75th drawing was really good.

How? It was 25 drawings early! That’s not how it was supposed to work. That wasn’t the plan.

But there it was. A really amazing drawing of a spaceship I came up with out of my head. It had lasers and a cockpit and wings and…It was glorious. And it was totally unexpected.

Maybe NOW I was an expert and I no longer needed to make bad art? Would today be the day I would only make masterpieces?

I quickly turned the page and began to draw what would soon be my second greatest work of art and… NOPE.

Still crap.

Hm. But… something was different. It was still crap. But… it wasn’t as “crappy” as the other crap.

I grabbed my previous sketchbooks and looked at the bad drawings from previous years and… guess what? My older bad drawings were WORSE than my newer bad drawings!

Apparently, the more I drew… the better my BAD drawings got too.   

Okay. So. I drew 75 more “not as crappy” bad drawings and… predictably… I made another great drawing!

I was… IMPROVING.

This went on for years. I went to high school. Then art school. I hated MOST of my art… but as I practiced… the number of BAD art I had to make to get to the GOOD art got lower and lower. Soon it was 50 bad pieces for 1 good one. Then 25. Then 10.

It took decades when I noticed… I liked my art more often than not.

It was a complete surprise. I was in my 40’s when this happened. I was SO conditioned to just accept I was going to hate my art that I hadn’t noticed that I had made 5 paintings that didn’t suck. IN A ROW!!!

Unheard of!

But, there it was. 5 good paintings. One right after the other.

The 6th one was complete trash. Tossed it in the garbage.

But, the 7th one? I liked. And the 8th. And the 9th.

I’m now 54 and I know I still have SO much bad art in me. I can feel it. Always ready to pop up and ruin my day.

But, I “pooped out” so much bad art over the years that I’m not really worried about those pop up bad art surprises. I know it’s just temporary.

I like my art now. And that’s because I got MOST of the bad art out of me and into those old sketchbooks.

I know it may seem daunting doing 100 bad drawings just to get to 1 good one. But… if you love that feeling of making that one GOOD piece of art… you need to be patient and get the bad ones out. They’re blocking the good ones. Keeping them deep inside you.

So, crack open that sketchbook. Poop out those bad pieces of art and never look back.

You’ll thank me in like 40 years or so. I promise.

(Oh. And sorry for all the poop references. I’m still that 11 year old when it comes to humor)

Poop.

[somedaythesun]

3t2 Fruit & Vegetable Displays

I have a small gift for you today: produce displays from the Island Paradise, Monte Vista, and Sunlit Tides grocery rabbitholes. Perfect for your farmer's market or neighborhood grocery store :)

Pics and download link under the cut!

First up, the Island Paradise produce stands. I shrank these to fit across two tiles and both the produce and the wooden stand/umbrella are recolorable subsets. I didn't end up repo'ing either of these to each other so you can keep both or delete whichever without missing any textures. The meshes should fit together snugly if you want to tile them together to create one big tented display!

No recolors included, found in Appliances > Misc for §650.

Next, these floor displays which were outside the Sunlit Tides grocery rabbithole. I shrank them down to just one tile, and I've included two produce recolors so you can have either the fruits/veggies combo, all veggies, or all fruit (the wood is also a recolorable subset). Found in Appliances > Misc for §550.

Lastly, these barrels which were hidden inside the grocery rabbithole from Monte Vista. The originals were very blocky so I actually recreated them using a smoother in-game mesh (the barrel of flowers!) and I think they look pretty cute.

Before (pic from Blender):

After:

The larger barrel is the PARENT mesh, the smaller one is the child. Barrel can be recolored, and I included NINE recolors using all of the produce textures included in the original rabbithole (note that I did use an AI upscaler because the original textures were itty-bitty). Found in Appliances > Misc for §75 & §65.

Enjoy!

Download

[newsfrom-theworld]

BRANDS TO BOYCOTT

1 Consumer boycott goals:

Let's start by boycotting these brands that are directly involved in Israeli apartheid

'' BIG THREE''

Mc Donald: gives free meals to Israeli soldiers

Disney ( sadly, Disney was my childhood): declared support for Israel by pledging $2 million

Starbucks: sued his union over its pro-Palestine positions

Siemens

Siemens (Germany) is the prime contractor of the Euro-Asia Interconnector, an Israel-EU undersea power cable that is expected to connect illegal Israeli settlements in the occupied Palestinian territories to Europe. Siemens brand appliances are sold all over the world.

PUMA

PUMA (Germany) sponsors the Israel Football Federation, which governs teams in illegal Israeli settlements in the occupied Palestinian territories.

Carrefour

Carrefour (France) is a facilitator of genocide. Carrefour-Israel supported Israeli soldiers who took part in the genocide of Palestinians in Gaza with gifts of personal parcels. In 2022 it entered into a partnership with the Israeli company Electra Consumer Products and its subsidiary Yenot Bitan, both of which were involved in serious violations against the Palestinian people.

AXA

When Russia invaded Ukraine, the insurance giant AXA (France) took targeted measures against it. Yet as Israel, a 75-year-old regime of colonialism and apartheid, wages a genocidal war on Gaza, AXA continues to invest in Israeli banks that finance war crimes and the theft of Palestinian land and natural resources.

Hewlett Packard Inc (HP Inc)

HP Inc (USA) provides services to the offices of the genocide leaders, Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu and Finance Minister Smotrich.

SodaStream

SodaStream is actively complicit in Israel's policy of displacing Israel's indigenous Bedouin-Palestinian citizens in the Naqab (Negev) and has a long history of racial discrimination against Palestinian workers.

Ahava cosmetics

Ahava have their production site, visitor center and main store in an illegal Israeli settlement in the occupied Palestinian territories.

D/MAX

RE/MAX (USA) markets and sells property in illegal Israeli settlements built on stolen Palestinian land, thus enabling Israeli colonization of the occupied West Bank.

2 Divestment objectives:

Elbit Systems

Elbit Systems is the largest apartheid Israeli arms company. It “field tests” its weapons against the Palestinians, including in Israel's ongoing genocidal war against the Palestinians in Gaza. In addition to building killer drones, Elbit produces surveillance technology for the apartheid wall, checkpoints and fence in Gaza, enabling apartheid. The US and EU use Elbit technology to militarize their borders, violating the rights of refugees and indigenous peoples.

HD Hyundai/Volvo/CAT/JCB machinery

by HD Hyundai (South Korea), Volvo (Sweden/China), CAT (United States) and JCB (United Kingdom) have been used by Israel in the ethnic cleansing and forced displacement of Palestinians through the destruction of their homes, farms and commercial activities, as well as the construction of illegal settlements on stolen land, a war crime under international law.

Barclays

Barclays Bank (UK) holds more than £1 billion in shares and provides more than £3 billion in loans and subscriptions to nine companies whose weapons, components and military technology have been used in Israel's armed violence against Palestinians.

CAF

The Basque transport company CAF builds and provides maintenance services to the Jerusalem Light Rail (JLR), a tram line serving illegal Israeli settlements in Jerusalem. The CAF benefits from Israel's war crimes on stolen Palestinian lands.

Chevron

The US fossil fuel multinational Chevron is the main international company extracting gas claimed by Israeli apartheid in the eastern Mediterranean. Chevron generates billions in revenue, bolstering Israel's war chest and apartheid system and exacerbating the climate crisis.

HikVision

Amnesty International has documented high-resolution CCTV cameras made by Chinese company Hikvision installed in residential areas and mounted on Israeli military infrastructure for surveillance of Palestinians. Some of these models, according to Hikvision marketing, can connect to external facial recognition software.

TKH Security

Amnesty International has identified cameras from the Dutch company TKH Security used by Israel for surveillance of Palestinians. TKH supplies the Israeli police with surveillance technology used to enforce apartheid.

Other brands:

Zara

Zara's latest marketing campaign uses corpses in plastic wrapping, and warzone aesthetics, mocking the genocide by israel in Gaza. In a previous incident Joey Schwebel, a Canadian-Israeli dual national and chairman of israel's Zara franchisee Trimera, hosted the convicted terrorist Itamar Ben-Gvir at his home in the lead-up to the Israeli elections. Zara did not made a statement distancing themselves from this association and allowed this ad campaign to run.

Adidas

Adidas uses isr@eli manufacturer, Delta Galil, to manufacture its underwear range.

Prada:

Prada Beauty is a partnership with L'Oreal, which is a 'warm friend of Isr@el'.

Louis Vuitton:

The owner of Louis Vuitton's parent company, LVMH, Bernard Arnault invests hundreds of millions in Isr@eli companies

Dior:

The owner of Dior's parent company, LVMH, Bernard Arnault invests hundreds of millions in Isr@eli companies

Caterpillar:

Caterpillar bulldozers have been used in the demolition of Palestinian homes. The D9 bulldozer was specifically designed for the IOF.

American Eagle:

American Eagle posted an image of the Isr@eli Flag on their flagship billboard in Times Square showing their support for the apartheid state.

Fenty Beauty by Rihanna:

The owner of Fenty's parent company, LVMH, Bernard Arnault invests hundreds of millions in Isr@eli companies

Eurovision:

Eurovision is allowing israel to compete this year despite the genocide theyre comitting and they will use this opportunity to spread propaganda

Donna Italia

Sources:

BDS

this site

this specifical post on Twitter ( X )

if i discover news brands i will edit the post

And Always

Free Palestine, now and always.

[o0o0thorn0o0o]

Late, I know, but…! Only by two days, so I’ll still label/tag it:

Ichihime Week, Day 7: Mythical Lovers / Rainbow

I was planning on adding in magpies in the background this time, but I was getting lazy, and it’s already late, so maybe next time ^^;

(Also I was thinking of making a rainbow version, but it didn't come out as I would have liked? Idk. I still think it’s cute, though, so I put it under the cut)

Alrighty, listen: I really didn’t mean to wait this long to post. But, like, very shortly after Eid, my iPad’s storage filled up, like, to the point I couldn’t even access my mail (that’s how I found out, pfft). I was wondering why I’d ever need 256 GB 4 years ago… but still, it was $100 extra bucks. Sure, it was a grad gift, but 128 GB was expensive enough—still a lot of storage, too… Not enough, clearly!

Hoarding layers (and recoloring my own art, pfft) has really caught up to me… but also, it wouldn’t help too much if I didn’t either. After deleting what I could bear to part with, that took away around 5 GB, but merging layers in other works barely made a dent.

So I’ve spent these past few weeks wondering what to do, thinking about emailing my 2019 (imported from my 5s) and 2020 works to an email I also created 4 years ago for some reason I totally forgot about and never used so that I don’t end up taking any space in my actual one and then uploading them onto two (since I really don’t want my files corrupting) USBs via my laptop, trying to get those USBs from Target (but since I was adamant this time in getting 256 GB USBs—I don’t want to have to worry about storage for a longgggg time—there were none in stock), ordering them off of eBay instead since my dad insisted on their cheapness, waiting a week for them, then transferring them to that email and uploading them onto its Google drive if the files was too big…

But that was taking much too long and still left space on my iPad while I was doing it. I managed to complete the 2019 and 2020 pieces from my iPad, but it also only ended up being around 1 GB… So, like, I need to clear more years (breaks my heart, it does ;~; Sure, I still have access to them via that email and those USBs, but it’s not convenient anymore, and there are still pieces I plan on getting back to… ackkkkk).

Contemplating it some more and discussing it with a friend, much as I abhor subscription services, I finally decided to purchase a premium membership on Ibis for that 20 GB of cloud storage. I can afford the 30 bucks a year, and I like the app anyway—serves me good—and not having to watch an ad every 18 hours to access my go-to brushes would be nice, plus having access to the other stuff, but yeah: ✋🌈✨cloud storage✨🌈 🤚

Anyway, I’m pretty sure a good chunk of what’s taking up my space is actually the cache, as I’m already more than halfway through my drawings, and I’m not sure if I’ll reach that 75 GB of storage Ibis was apparently taking up with just my drawings. So I’ll probably need to download everything, then delete the app and redownload it ‘cause stupid IOS doesn’t let you easily clear it 🫠

Anyway, I really thought I’d be done by now, but am not—that said, I managed to clear out around 10 GB off of Ibis (not my iPad; I somehow managed to gain back 5?? Somewhere?? I’ve no clue; I don’t see it), which is wayyy more than enough to get one drawing done for IH week, so I paused the whole storage thing for now. I actually tried to get day one’s drawing done on the 6th, but I’m dealing with perspective that’s hurting my brain, so I decided to get day seven’s done instead, ‘cause I thought I’d be on time…

Me? On time? Man, who knew I was so funny… 😒

But yeah, day seven is done! I’ll definitely revisit that day one drawing in the future, but not anytime soon. As if I wasn’t backed up already, this whole storage mess has backlogged even further, and there are other dates coming up 😮‍💨 And, y’know, gotta finish the storage transfer, too… Ahhhhhhhhhh!

Anyway, on a more positive note, gradient maps are actually very neat to use—had a little too much fun, eheh. I won’t confess how much time I spent testing it out on this piece, but here be my favorite:

They’re so golden <3 ☺️

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddiemas challenge.

Winter of 1975

Prompt Day 2: Winter Themed Sentence Starters | Word Count: 1200 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Mentions of Childhood Trauma, Innuendo | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Gift Giving, Softness, Steve POV

"Did I ever tell you about the winter of '75?" Eddie asks, curling up on the couch next to Steve, tucking his feet under him.

Steve shakes his head no, at least he doesn't think so. Or if he has, Eddie didn't word it like that.

"When you were ten?" Steve asks. 

Eddie nods, "When I was ten. My mom had died, you know, earlier that year. And my dad, well, you know."

Steve nods. He knows. He stretches his arm out, and lets Eddie curl into him.

"Well, Uncle Wayne was bound and determined to make it a good Christmas. It wasn't possible, not really, but he was gonna try his best."

Steve smiles, that sounds like Wayne. If there's anything Steve knows, it's that Wayne Munson loves Eddie. 

"Well, he took me sledding. I broke my arm. He bought a real tree. I was allergic to pine. We made hot cocoa on the stove, and I dropped it, nearly scalding my feet. Just, you know, everything that could go wrong, did. It's the Munson way," Eddie says, with a laugh. 

Steve kisses him on the head, and tries to remember what the Christmas of 1975 looked like for him. He imagines he got all the toys he wanted, and his parents hosted parties in their house that he wasn't invited to attend. Sitting on the second floor, little hands gripping the slats of the railing, just hoping to get a glimpse of what was going on, down below. Hoping to see his parents, for just a few minutes. The usual.

Those nights were always the worst. As soon as he got home from school, they'd feed him an early dinner and send him straight up to bed. And then the activity started downstairs, without him. He wonders now, as an adult, why they didn't just invite some kids? They could have still been corralled upstairs, away from the party, but he wouldn't have been all alone. Even if it was just Tommy H. That would have gone a long way to making them tolerable.

Eddie continues talking, "But Uncle Wayne kept trying. He bought me a Pet Rock," Eddie says, with a laugh. "I begged for it in the store, and it cost four dollars. He bought it and handed it over, and I opened the box. And it was a rock."

Steve laughs, he had one, too. Everybody did, he's pretty sure.

"Well, the name was pretty clear about what it was," Steve says.

"I know. I just wanted it to be something else, I guess. Something a little more lively. It was just a rock. Whoever invented that was a genius. Think of all the money they made. For rocks."

Steve smiles at him.

"But, Uncle Wayne just bought me some paints, and brushes, and told me to make it whatever I wanted it to be then."

Eddie smiles, "So I did. I gave it eyes, and some hair, and it looked a little goofy. But it had some personality."

"Like you," Steve says, hugging Eddie closer. 

Eddie just rolls his eyes, "Anyway. I loved it after that. But, I still had paint, so Uncle Wayne got me a sketchbook. And I started drawing, and then painting what I'd drawn. Like my own coloring book, but filled with everything I liked, and nothing for little babies," Eddie says, laughing. "The fridge was full of weird shit that was coming out of my brain."

Steve nods. Weird shit is still coming out of Eddie's mind, and he loves it all. Every last thing. He might not understand it all, but he likes that Eddie is curious about the world around him. That he has opinions. Strong opinions, sometimes, sure. Even wrong opinions in Steve's mind. But opinions. Eddie wants to talk about the things that run through his mind, and Steve wants him to, always willing to listen.

"Anyway. I learned to draw. To paint. To love art, because of that Pet Rock. I designed all my own tattoos. I did the Hellfire logo. It gave me an outlet I didn't know I needed or wanted."

Steve kisses his bare shoulder, hoping he'll continue. He loves to hear him talk. 

"Well, all that said," Eddie says, pulling a wrapped box out from under the coffee table, and handing it to Steve. 

It's not Christmas, not yet.

"It's not Christmas yet," Steve argues.

"It's not a Christmas present," Eddie says.

"The wrapping paper says otherwise," Steve teases, and Eddie laughs, pinching his side. It is wrapped in red, with a heavy fabric bow that there's no way Eddie did.

"Who wrapped this?" Steve follows up, needing to know. Because it damn well wasn't Eddie.

"Excuse you? You don't think I could wrap this?" Eddie asks, acting very affronted by this accusation.

Steve just raises one eyebrow.

"Erica did," Eddie mutters, "just open it."

So, Steve opens it, carefully. And when he pulls back the tissue paper, it's a painting of the two of them. From a million years ago. Walking through the forest. But it's not dark, and red, like it really was that night. Here, it's lush and green, with the sun shining overhead, casting gorgeous shadows all through the trees. 

It's stunning. 

Steve meets Eddie's eyes, "It's beautiful."

"Well, it's only beautiful because you are," Eddie says, and Steve blushes. Just a little. Even after all these years.

"When did you have time to do this?" Steve asks, because he definitely hasn't seen Eddie working on a canvas lately. He'd have noticed that. The mess alone. The mugs of dirty, paint stained water. The countertop lined with drying brushes.

He's seen no evidence of any of that. 

Eddie smiles, "I did it at Wayne's. During our Sunday morning breakfasts. We talked while I painted. And yes, I cleaned up my own messes," Eddie says, dryly.

Steve just smiles at him.

"It's really good, Eddie. Really, really good. You could do this, if you wanted to. For a living."

Eddie just laughs, "We definitely don't have the luxury of me painting with the hopes that I'll sell some of them. And that's okay. Maybe someday," Eddie says.

Steve knows he's right. They aren't exactly rolling in money, but maybe someday they'll be better off, and Eddie will be able to just stay home, doing something he loves. Wouldn't that be something?

"You know, I do have other ideas of things to paint…" Eddie trails off, and the glint in his eye means he's definitely up to no good.

"Oh lord, what?" Steve asks, suspicious of that look in his eye.

"How do you feel about posing nude for me?" Eddie asks, giving him the eyes.

Steve barks out a laugh. Sure. He'll pose nude for Eddie. It's not like he's shy or anything. Eddie has definitely seen it all before.

He only has one question.

"What are you gonna do with it once you're done?" Steve asks, raising his eyebrow, imploring for the truth.

Eddie just grins, that evil grin of his, and Steve shakes his head. Oh well. He definitely knew what he was getting into once he decided to spend his life with Eddie Munson. 

Notes: Pet Rocks were, in fact, all the rage for the Christmas of '75. A the guy who made them made, like, a million dollars. 🪨 💰

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemas and follow along!

If you want to see more of my entries from this challenge, they are in my tag right here!

[softshuji]

3:19AM | HANMA SHUJI

Title: sugar, spice, and all things nice.

Summary: It's your birthday and Hanma wants to make it special, in a way he knows matters to you most. Link to masterlist here!

cw: afab! reader, mild cursing, mild descriptions of canon typical violence, Shuji is so so soft, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, babe, princess, doll) some kissing, light making out, established relationship, mild suggestive content, overall cute. This is very self indulgent. Reblogs appreciated!

Hanma Shuji scratches his neck as he scours the baking aisle, a basket in one hand, a crumpled recipe torn from a cookbook in the other. It’s late, he knows that and the angry mutter of the late shift workers isn’t lost on him as he peers forward to read the instructions on a shoddily torn paper.

‘What the fuck is this stuff?’ he mutters and tosses another ingredient into the basket, now filled to the brim with the other miscellaneous items. Butter, sugar, vanilla extract (he still doesn’t quite understand how that works), four brands of flour.  His suit is still pressed into place, the creases sharp and clean, the hem tapered perfectly down to his waist from the broad swell of his shoulders. But his eyes are tired, half-closed as he squints at the list of ingredients on the paper. 

Yes he’s 6’4 and fit, but the hunch of his back, the tired slouch is all too noticeable, especially when his hands itch for a cigarette and shake against his volition. 

‘Can I help you sir?’ someone says, and in his sleepy daze he only just registers the voice as a retail service worker curiously eyeing him and the way he shifts on his feet as he looks to no avail for the baking chocolate. 

‘I’m looking for…’ His eyes flick to the recipe again. ‘Baking chocolate with um… 75% cocoa solids.’ He’s not sure what that means either but the recipe says he needs it.

‘Just here Sir.’ They reach towards the shelf at his eyeline and hand it to him and he frowns at himself for having missed it so completely. Gosh he really is tired. 

He feels the need to explain himself, as if this entire endeavour wasn’t out of character for him already. 

‘It’s for my girl,’ he says and drops the chocolate into the basket with a thunk. ‘It’s her birthday tomorrow. Wanted to make her something.’ 

They nod, pursing their lips, eyes cutting to the suit, the basket, the dark shadows on his face, the ink that slips from beneath his sleeve. They turn away and Shuji can see the question left unasked written on their face as they leave him in the baking aisle under the sickly artificial lights. 

It’s a tad excessive, over the top, exorbitant even, the lengths he’s going just to make the day special for you, as if the motorbike he bought isn’t still sitting under a plastic sheet in the garden waiting for you. Another indulgent gift. 

He rubs his eyes, pressing his palms to his temples as his vision swims for a beat before checking his items out at the self-service. He’s tripped over his feet a few times, dropped his card, cursed under his breath even as he fishes in his pockets for the keys to his car, and perhaps driving isn’t such a great idea in his state, but the need for sleep is weighing so heavily on him and he needs to be in your bed or he’ll die he thinks. Again, a tad excessive, but it’s all he knows. He’s contradictions and indulgence. 

The drive home is long and tedious, copper street lights flashing by, dragging across tinted windows and Shuji pressing a little harder on the gas, an unlit cigarette hanging languidly between his lips. More than once, the slope of his shoulders has softened, head drifting towards the wheel. And More than once, he has shaken it off with a shake of his head and a deep breath, the sting of exhaustion pulling at his eyes that are dimmed with sleeplessness.

He knows, realistically speaking, you don’t expect this of him, you never expect much, you never ask and it both pains him and not, that you’re used to the chaos of his lifestyle in a way that never has you demanding him of anything, even when you deserve to, even when he can admit he’s been subpar.

When he slips through the door, the house is quiet, still in that way it often is when he comes home in the weak hours of the night, the clouds pregnant with oncoming rain, the patter of it a clink against the windowsill, the drone of the TV left as background noise. You can never sleep in the silence, in the bareness of the world without him and yet he leaves you time and time again every night, to navigate your dreams alone. You never hold it against him and he wishes you would, wishes you were less forgiving sometimes, less able to hold him together and yourself, less like you love him and more like you don’t.

He pops his head in, and sees your hair spilling across the dove grey of the pillow, your hand cradling your cheek and the other reaching to his side where he should be, where he prefers to be. Maybe it’s because he’s tired and fatigued and the exhaustion seems like its withering in the marrow of his bones, but he loves you so much right then, peaceful, safe in the house you share and if he could keep you there, forever, for as long as he could, he would do it.

He’s silent as he pads back to the kitchen, flicking on the stove’s overhead light and fishing in the bags, frowning against the waxen yellow that fills his periphery. 

He reads the instructions and it’s jargon to him really, pulling open cupboards and drawers and cursing under his breath when the metal clinks in a way that has his teeth on edge.

More than once, he thinks he hears your footfall on the stairs and scrambles to hide the countertop with his frame, as if the flour on his cheeks isn’t evidence enough of his midnight endeavours. You don’t wake and he slips the haphazardly created…thing in the oven, tuning the dial and waiting with a patience he finds uncharacteristic of himself, chewing on the end of his unlit cigarette in his suit that feels almost too tight, too cold,  scratchy and rough against his skin. 

When he pulls it out of the oven, and peels the baking paper, exactly as the instructions said, he’s almost proud of himself. He knows he isn’t doing it for himself, he knows he has nothing material to gain from it, and maybe it’s an apology, far less than he believes you deserve but an apology nonetheless.

For staying.

For trusting him.

For being led by the hand into the debauchery and sin of his world and never making it seem like he’d forced you there, into a place where there is little certainty and even less love, for staying the same regardless of what you had seen with him.

He trips on the breakfast bar stool and his hands skim the hot metal of the tin and he curses, for the umpteenth time, at the crash of metal that clatters to the ground and resounding echo of it that’s swallowed by the house.

He hears you then, your resounding footsteps, sock-clad and light. ‘Shuji?’ you say from the bottom of the stairs, in his shirt that’s entirely too big and thin for the chill that still creeps in through the draughts. Your hair is bunched on the one side from where it’s been pressed into the pillow, the shirt crumpled in the corner from your weight, goosebumps licking at the exposed flesh of your arms. You have never been prettier than now, in his shirt, his house, and safe where he can see you, where there is nothing but you and him.

‘Sweetheart,’ he says and coughs into his hand, his throat heavy with sleep and nicotine and disuse, voice laced with the sluggishness of fatigue. ‘Why are you up?’

‘I- I heard sounds, I came to check just in case.’ You step into the light of the kitchen, the silhouette of him burned and spilling onto the marble countertop, the outline of him ringed in golden yellow, big and beautiful, as if he could swallow the world whole. 

‘You came to check? Could have been dangerous, Pretty Girl,’ he says, and attempts to manoeuvre himself enough to cover the fruits of his labour behind him, as if the crumpled paper, torn packets and chocolate on the countertop isn’t evidence enough.

‘Maybe, but are you dangerous?’ You eye the spatula thrown into the sink, the mixing bowl turned on its side with the leftover contents spilling out, the flour that marks a trail to the oven and the fridge and dusted on his sleeves.

‘I might be.’

‘You’re not,’ you say and you step in front of him, his shadow eating you whole, blocking the the fluorescent stove light, the golden hue of his irises now dimmed and flecked with a pale waxen yellow. ‘You’re my Shuji, you’re just perfect.’

It feels instinctual, inevitable when you touch him, with a softness he has grown to love and an honesty that he’s always found abundant in you and lacking in himself. You touch him like you could break him, like he could fall apart at your hands like clay left in the sun. He could and you know that, that it is the tenderest feeling he has ever felt, the warmth of your palms on his cheeks. He sinks, unwillingly, involuntarily, into your cupped hands, lashes kissing at his cheeks as he exhales, the cold drag of tiredness spilling from his bones. 

‘You’re tired.’ Your thumb finds the sharp angle of his cheekbones, his jaw, tracing over the fine details of him, as if you’re committing him to memory, as if you could forget him tomorrow and he could slip through your fingers just so, tumbling into the ether without you.

It’s never been a secret, and you’ve never shied away from the knowledge that on any day like today, where his collar is stained with blood, cologne and smoke and the metallic tang pressed into his shirt that you run your hands on every morning, he might not return. 

 He knows you know that, you’re smart, diligent enough to be aware of what you were getting into. But it never means he doesn’t worry, doesn’t hold you tighter to his chest when he’s reminded of the lingering fear that he’ll be your death one day. 

‘What were you doing?’ you say and attempt to peek behind him where his hands are haphazardly covering something from view. ‘You didn’t come to bed.’

‘I was…’ And he manoeuvres his body to cover his creation, sliding this way and that and all too suspicious to be believable. ‘Hey, why are you trying to look?!’ 

‘Why are you being so secretive all of a sudden?!

You lean to the side and the broad swell of his chest bumps your head. 

‘It’s a surprise!’

‘I want to see it! If you don’t let me, no kissing for a whole week.’

‘Oh yeah? I’d like to see you live up to that Princess.’

‘Do you think I can’t go without you for a week?’ 

‘Oh Pretty Girl,’ he says and his lips brush your ear, teeth nipping at the tantalising flesh of your neck that he licks in a long line in one go, your breath caught in your throat, dizzying and heady all at once. ‘I know you can’t go without me for a week, you’re a shameless little thing.’

You pull back, hoping the shadow of him swallows the light enough to hide the avid redness spreading along your cheeks, the crimson touch of embarrassment that kisses at your skin and he grins, victorious and giddy despite his fatigue and despite it all. It’s you, and you are worth trying for.

‘You really won’t let me see?’ you say and plant your hands on his sides, his waist where it dips along his hips. You have always marvelled at how real he feels in your hands, how marvellous and beautiful, how you could eat him, and he you, living in each other’s skin, swallowing each other like fruit, like there are no people as insatiable and in love as you. You know there aren’t, you’re convinced you made it up, this thing called love. That it exists for the two of you to feel alone, as if you invented it. All lovers think that.

‘You wanna see it that bad? It’s nothing special, and you had better not laugh or I’m taking it back.’ It’s laced with humour but you can tell by him scratching at his neck, that it’s the closest he comes to embarrassment, as much as he’s able to feel. An awkwardness in incapability, in lack of knowledge, in an inadequacy you know he feels but never expresses.

‘I would never.’ You hold up your hand, as if to swear by it and he steps to the side almost sheepishly, rubbing at his neck, lacking the tell-tale grin, his sleeves rolled to the elbows from where chocolate has stained his cuffs, smeared against silver cufflinks that you help him with in the morning, the fruit of your love.

You stare. 

And there is silence, loud enough to drown out the patter of rain slapping against the window.

You stare, and you admit, it is lopsided, a little messy, decorating the countertop with half of the batter. 

There’s a candle in the centre of his haphazardly baked chocolate cake, unlit and leaning to the side, smudged with a dash of chocolate. And you know, in the very depth of your heart, it is the greatest gift you could be given. It’s him, presenting his heart on a plate, with all that it comes with. The danger, fraught with violence, the chaos of him that’s hot to the touch and wrapped in thorns, that you’ve so effortlessly softened with your own hands. Messy and disordered and lacking in the etiquette of more refined gifts and so entirely yours that it aches inside you, to an extent that has you sniffling into the sleeve of your nightgown, the tears unbidden and unrelenting, disappearing into the soft cotton of your sleeves. 

You see panic in your periphery, his darting eyes that move from his haphazard creation to you and your lips wobbling, hunched in your kitchen crying into your sleeves, your breath short and weak. 

‘You’re crying, why are you crying?’ he says, and he feels it, the well and bubble of fear that eats at him, panic that’s always so foreign now scratching at his bones, at his head so heavy with the need for sleep. 

‘Is it bad? You don’t like it? I know it doesn’t look very good but it probably tastes better-’ and it’s painful to ramble when you’re falling apart at his hands and he wants to touch you, hold you, wrap you in the safe confines of him where he thinks he can fix it, put you together like you’ve done to him, coaxing him away from the shoreline again. You’re inadequate, you are a joke, you are good for nothing but pain. He feels the shoreline creep along the edge of his thoughts.

You hiccup and turn to him, the worry spilling across his face, so beautiful and full of life and lacking the grin that you love and have come to cherish. ‘Shuji, My Baby-’

‘I’m sorry Princess.’

‘Babe-’

‘I’ll get rid of it, you can go back to sleep, I’ll get you something better-’

You grab his collars and tug, with conviction and determination, till his lips all but crash against yours. He makes a sound of surprise in the back of his throat, his hands instinctively coming to wrap around your throat, holding you by the back of your neck and firm enough to keep you in place as his tongue slides against yours. You bite down hard, playfully tug at his lips and it’s all teeth and need and urgency and want, hands running down his chest till you feel the tension slip from the hard rigid muscle of him, till he softens against you in a way that you love him for. 

And you do, you do love him, enough to want to eat the sun, to rage, to whisper into his hair every night, to die and kill for him with conviction, as if it’s you that has sullied your hands to get to him. You would go to him crawling and blind if you had to, reach for him wherever, be the hero he has been so many times for you if it meant keeping him. You’ve never needed him to repeat it, to love you in the way others do, romantic and pristine and textbook. You would have him like this, bloodied and guns- blazing and grinning as if the world rested in his palms. It does.

He pulls back, holding your throat in one hand, stroking the column of it under his thumb, resting it in the dip. ‘What was that for Princess? Aren’t you upset?’

You shake your head and bring it to rest against his shoulder, your hands flat on the swell of his back, the muscles shifting and sliding underneath. ‘I’m happy dummy, so happy.’

‘What was all the crying for then Pretty Girl? You worried me.’

‘I really love you, you know that? I don’t say it enough.’

‘You don’t need to, you know how we are, we don’t need to say it.’

You lift your head, and your eyes meet his, glowing a faint amber beneath his lowered lashes, the shadows greying and darkened underneath, and it never takes away from him, never makes him lesser despite himself. You want him, with an unquenchable lust and love and respect and admiration that you have reserved just for him, an avid insatiable want that has you keening in withdrawal when he’s not around.

‘I just want you to know, you’re mine, and I like it, I like everything you give and do for me, you’re my hero remember?’

‘Mhm, sorry Doll.’ 

‘What for?’

‘Should’a got you something better, a ring maybe, nice pretty thing for a Pretty Girl like you.’ A whisper against the crown of your hair. It’s almost shameful, how easily you love him, how easy you make it seem, as if he doesn’t wash the blood from his hands every night when it’s caked into his nails, as if this life isn’t built on the bones of others that he’s gleefully stepped on, repeatedly, as if it has not meant anything.

‘Don’t.’ You hold his face and frown, your cheeks still wet with tears, your sniffles still drying against the shoulder of his shirt, a small puddle that you know he doesn’t mind. ‘Don’t ever apologise to me, you have nothing to ever be sorry for. I would kill for you, do you understand?’ 

‘Oh yeah?’ he says, chastised, albeit playfully, and like that, you know you’re fine, more than fine, and perhaps it’s just the fatigue of the day, emotions caught in the way they often are between you. Because he loves you in a way that devours him, fire swallowing up the earth. ‘You’d protect me huh Baby?’

‘You know I would, I’d fight anyone for you.’

He chuckles, breathy and soft, laced with a tiredness that his bones aching and it feels good, it feels right to be here, sleepy and vulnerable and with you. Where he belongs.

‘Yeah I know,’ he says and his lips brush your forehead with a tenderness that you know is yours entirely, another gift to you. 

‘Happy Birthday Princess.’

a/n: ah haha yeahh, I don't have any explanation for this, just that the 28th march is my birthday and this is a present to myself ('n' to my baby, who knows who they are ofc) I had this in my drafts since last year actually but I only just finished it. Anyway, thank you everyone, all the time, for everything. if you ever would like to donate to my ko-fi, and i'd love that, but thank you always.

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @islascafe @swqllen @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @wotakuhime @snakegentleman @severellamahottub @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @tetsutits @burnishedcrown @sweet-seishu @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs (let me know if you'd like to be added)

[rjzimmerman]

Opinion |Joe Biden: My plan to reform the Supreme Court and ensure no president is above the law. (Washington Post)

This nation was founded on a simple yet profound principle: No one is above the law. Not the president of the United States. Not a justice on the Supreme Court of the United States. No one.

But the Supreme Court’s 6-3 decision on July 1 to grant presidents broad immunity from prosecution for crimes they commit in office means there are virtually no limits on what a president can do. The only limits will be those that are self-imposed by the person occupying the Oval Office.

If a future president incites a violent mob to storm the Capitol and stop the peaceful transfer of power — like we saw on Jan. 6, 2021 — there may be no legal consequences.

And that’s only the beginning.

On top of dangerous and extreme decisions that overturn settled legal precedents — including Roe v. Wade — the court is mired in a crisis of ethics. Scandals involving several justices have caused the public to question the court’s fairness and independence, which are essential to faithfully carrying out its mission of equal justice under the law. For example, undisclosed gifts to justices from individuals with interests in cases before the court, as well as conflicts of interest connected with Jan. 6 insurrectionists, raise legitimate questions about the court’s impartiality.

I served as a U.S. senator for 36 years, including as chairman and ranking member of the Judiciary Committee. I have overseen more Supreme Court nominations as senator, vice president and president than anyone living today. I have great respect for our institutions and the separation of powers.

What is happening now is not normal, and it undermines the public’s confidence in the court’s decisions, including those impacting personal freedoms. We now stand in a breach.

That’s why — in the face of increasing threats to America’s democratic institutions — I am calling for three bold reforms to restore trust and accountability to the court and our democracy.

First, I am calling for a constitutional amendment called the No One Is Above the Law Amendment. It would make clear that there is no immunity for crimes a former president committed while in office. I share our Founders’ belief that the president’s power is limited, not absolute. We are a nation of laws — not of kings or dictators.

Second, we have had term limits for presidents for nearly 75 years. We should have the same for Supreme Court justices. The United States is the only major constitutional democracy that gives lifetime seats to its high court. Term limits would help ensure that the court’s membership changes with some regularity. That would make timing for court nominations more predictable and less arbitrary. It would reduce the chance that any single presidency radically alters the makeup of the court for generations to come. I support a system in which the president would appoint a justice every two years to spend 18 years in active service on the Supreme Court.

Third, I’m calling for a binding code of conduct for the Supreme Court. This is common sense. The court’s current voluntary ethics code is weak and self-enforced. Justices should be required to disclose gifts, refrain from public political activity and recuse themselves from cases in which they or their spouses have financial or other conflicts of interest. Every other federal judge is bound by an enforceable code of conduct, and there is no reason for the Supreme Court to be exempt.

All three of these reforms are supported by a majority of Americans— as well as conservative and liberal constitutional scholars. And I want to thank the bipartisan Presidential Commission on the Supreme Court of the United States for its insightful analysis, which informed some of these proposals.

We can and must prevent the abuse of presidential power. We can and must restore the public’s faith in the Supreme Court. We can and must strengthen the guardrails of democracy.

In America, no one is above the law. In America, the people rule.

[dismas-n-dismay]

Please I need to see the ship kids? Is Laios a good uncle? Do they have scales/feathers or sharp teeth? Horns? Claws? (This series has me in a chokehold rn)

*SQUEEZES YOU IN MY GRASP*

I had to put everything under the cut because this is a hella long post so everyone else just look at these cute farcille babies and rock on

HI HOWDY!! Laios is obsessed with these little freaks (he would never call them that though cause he would literally die for them if needed) He’s essentially been right by Falin and Marcille’s side since day one when it came to the babies! He’s a surprisingly good uncle but definitely that one where he gives the kids gifts that the parents are like “YEAH NO- he’s 8 he doesn’t need a crossbow”

He definitely gives the kids little trinkets he gets from foreign dignitaries since I don’t picture Laios really liking all the gifts and gold and money people will give him to butter him up when he catches onto it. The cool monster stuff stays with him though, but he’ll let the kids look at anything cool he gets that he decides to keep for his personal collection. I like to imagine that when he holds them he always keeps them to the side of his hip, real mom type stance when he’s holding them.

Secondly, GREAT QUESTION!! They have a little bit of both! Haru (the cream colored baby) has feathery down covering his ears, chest, and wings as well as basically anywhere else that he isn’t scaly or covered in soon to be thought flesh. He’s more of a dragon from the waist down but bird from the waist up like Falin was.

His sister Haize (the apple red one) has the most scales! (But the least feathers out of the pair) Haize has more of that traditional dragon look and unlike Haru, she’s dragon basically to the neck up. She has scrawny little forearms that aren’t quite attuned to walking yet but once she grows they’ll become a lot more useful for the crawling around stage of her infancy! Haru will often try to climb on her back because he wants to be fast too- he’s only a little guy but he still hates that she got the extra limb genes where he didn’t.

Both have wings though the down that Haru has makes it a bit difficult for him to fly, though he really grows to enjoy flapping and the flutter of his wings! Haize has more sleek featherless dragon wings which make her flight process a bit easier, though her longer body means that her flying is quite silly (it’s like when you pick a cat up by their middle and they just dangle, imagine that but with flight and her trying to tuck her limbs in to have less weight pulling her down). Both have claws on their dragon halves as well as spikes/spines on their backs though only Haize has been born with the making for clawed hands, Haru grows into his later in life!

Really Falin and Marcille are glad that the kids are in relative captivity, Haru’s inherited the “head empty, no thoughts, tee hee” touden genes and they’re like 75 percent certain that he would get eaten if natural selection had its way - assuming Haize didn’t protect him ofc. Haru is very sleepy as a baby while Haize is very cranky. She likes to sleep on her back but her itty bitty dragon wings get cramped when she does and sleeping on her side isn’t as a comfy. Aside from that she just likes attention and being with her parents which is tough due to their jobs.

Haru has colic due to the light magic that manifests in his stomach pouch organ! He was born with an organ similar to the one red dragons have that allows them to breathe fire! It allows him to conjure and manifest light and can be weaponized if a dragon knows what they’re doing. Really it’s much more useful as bioluminescence for dragons who dwell in darker dungeons as it allows them to lure in prey and the pouch’s brightness grows as a dragon approaches somewhere stacked with mana and magic which is an easy way to find enemies or food! Typically light dragons are very powerful but a rare find as they’re often incredibly soft and unable to protect themselves as babies as well as their newly born pouches which let off a lot of glow due to basically incubating for a year or so and refuse to dampen until they learn to properly dispel their magic via spells. Not to mention how easy of a target it is for their obvious weak spot, one bad slash to the tummy and ur done.

Most dragon babies learn early as having that much magic in you hurts a LOT but Haru takes a lot while to learn it, though Falin soon learns that pressing on his stomach and conjuring her own light magic to siphon Haru’s own eases a lot of his tummy aches and pains.

(I got way more facts about these guys so if you wanna know more just send another ask!! :]!! /gen)

[my-deer-friend]

Play along: Amrev codebreaker!

While browsing through some primary materials reading up about John Laurens’ mission to France as special minister to the court of Versailles, I came across a letter that he wrote to the president of the Continental Congress on 9 April 1781 that included a coded message using a numerical cipher. 

I took a shot at deciphering it – here’s the process I followed, and you can play along too!

1. The first step, of course, was to determine which specific encryption was being used. After a bit of digging, I came across the immensely useful United States diplomatic codes and ciphers, 1775-1938 by Ralph E Weber. He explains that the cipher in question was “prepared on separate encode and decode sheets, the latter contained 660 printed numbers, with usually 600 words, syllables, and letters of the alphabet scattered randomly throughout the sheet.” So, for example, the word “congress” is “143”, the syllable “el” is “593” and the letter “r” is “215”. This cipher was an updated and improved version of the one used by Benjamin Tallmadge, and Weber explains that Laurens was the first one to use it. Weber also handily provides the decode table in an appendix. 

2. The second step was to design an efficient way to decode the hundreds of numbers Laurens used in his letter, and the obvious answer was my good friend the spreadsheet. I transferred the table from the book to Google Sheets, which was mildly tedious but hugely time-saving later on.

3. Now the fun part! I typed out the numbers from Laurens’ letter, and then used a simple LOOKUP formula to match the number to the decoded text.

The cipher also includes two nuances - an underscore beneath the word means a plural, and an overscore denotes adding an “e” - so I marked these in the cells with pink and green highlights respectively.

4. The final step was correcting a few errors in my table, refining the decoding (some numbers have various iterations to save space, such as 103 which can be any one of “ec/eck/ek” depending on which syllable is needed), and extracting the final text. 

It all reads very smoothly, with the singular exception of “ght-f-t”, which is the way Laurens rendered the word “gift”. The obvious explanation for this mangle is that he mis-wrote 340 (ght) instead of 170 (gi).

That’s definitely 340, 304, 196 which decodes as “ght-f-t”.

While it seems like a strange error to make, bear in mind that the encoding sheet (the one Laurens was using to change plaintext into numbers) would have been listed in alphabetical order to make finding the numbers easier (while the person at the other end has the sheet in numerical order, to reverse the process just as easily). And when we sort alphabetically, we can see that 340 and 170 are right next to each other:

A simple slip to make for someone writing coded letters late at night in low candlelight.

If you want to play along:

Here’s the code/decode spreadsheet. 

And here is the transcribed text (underlines for plurals, asterisk for added “e”). I've given the solution under the cut!

I have employed the most unremitting efforts to obtain a prompt and favorable decision relative to the object of my mission_ 381, 304, 543, 437, 366, 377, 276, 75, 75, 226, 269, 385, 426, 377, 17, 465, 197, 481, 428, 593, 381, 355, 153, 278*, 428, 333, 70, 18, 405, 184, 226, 291, 197, 376, 524, 330, 446, 362, 449, 143 The Count de Vergennes communicated to me yesterday his most Christian Majesty's determination to guarantee 381, 59, 594, 18, 9, 205, 330, 497, 254, 401, 376, 503, 306, 503, 467, 428, 226, 236, 330, 278*, 245, 205, 506, 99, 376, 381, 381, 256, 184, 90, 340, 304, 196 ...and the value of the military effects which may be furnished from the Royal Arsenal, 418, 330, 497, 428, 197, 380, 377, 196, 376, 45, 278, 245, 205 I shall use my utmost endeavours to procure an immediate 467, 208, 491, 18, 278*, 9, 205, 45, 278, 42, 381, 230, 215, 355, 18, 237, 330, 497*, 215, 167, 290, 377, 376, 341, 278, 182, 302, 75, 376, 59, 594, and shall renew my solicitations for the 357, 34, 197, 18, 203, 291, 491, 481, 484, 34, 325, 89, 113, 392, 197, 269, 336, 458, 278*, 97, 18, 245, 205 may not be 126, 21, 215, 497, 376, 341, 296, 75, 477, 226, 103, 196, 481, 278*, 483, 215, 553, 75*, 18, 238, 377, 59, 374, 478, the providing this article I fear will be attended with great difficulties and delays as all the 476, 490, 481, 36, 228, 351, 392, 226, 197, 18, 237, are remote from the sea, and there are no 441, 420, 50, 563, 503, 197, 18, 377, 59, 278, suitable to our purposes. The cargo of the Marquis de la Fayette will I hope arrive safe under the convoy of the Alliance_ 481, 341, 78, 465, 75, 426, 408, 596, 115, 76, 376, 174, 196*, 291, 103, 197, 75, 75, 184, 226, 197, 281, 5, 171, 278*, 428, 593, 381, 355, 492, 194, 236, 376, 45, 574, 408, 504, 366, 381, 506, 197, 197, 193, 213, 75, 197, 199, 291, 377, 197 The Marquis de Castries has engaged to make immediate arrangements for the safe transportation of the pecuniary and the other succours destined for the United States_ 481, 350, 215, 167, 450, 196, 376, 34, 381, 75, 473, 376, 76*, 458, 278*, 72, 208, 449, 577, 114, 89, 405, 486, 497, 197, 113, 126, 34, 361, 376, 269, 278*, 277, 291, 104, 381, 113, 278*, 401, 230, 408, 550, 552, 342, 291

Have fun!

I have employed the most unremitting efforts to obtain a prompt and favorable decision relative to the object of my mission_ after many discussions, difficulties and delays with the details of which it is needless to trouble congress.

The Count de Vergennes communicated to me yesterday his most Christian Majesty's determination to guarantee a loan of ten millions to be opened in Holland in addition to the six millions granted as a gracious gift.

...and the value of the military effects which may be furnished from the Royal Arsenal are to be deducted from the six million.

I shall use my utmost endeavours to procure an immediate advance of the ten millions from the treasury of France to be replaced by the proposed loan,

and shall renew my solicitations for the supplies of the ordinance and military stores on credit that the present of six millions may not be absorbed by thousands objects and the purchase of necessary clothing

the providing this article I fear will be attended with great difficulties and delays as all the wool and manufactories of France are remote from the sea, and there are no

public magazines of cloth suitable to our purposes.

The cargo of the Marquis de la Fayette will I hope arrive safe under the convoy of the Alliance_ and by satisfying our immediate necessities prevent the delays above-mentioned from having any disagreeable consequences

The Marquis de Castries has engaged to make immediate arrangements for the safe transportation of the pecuniary and the other succours destined for the United States_ and has repeatedly assured me that the naval superiority which will be established on the American coast the ensuing campaign

[whencyclopedia]

Laocoön: The Suffering of a Trojan Priest & Its Afterlife

The sculpture group of Laocoön and His Sons, on display in the Vatican since its rediscovery in 1506, depicts the suffering of the Trojan prince and priest Laocoön (brother of Anchises) and his young sons Antiphantes and Thymbraeus and is one of the most famous and fascinating statues of antiquity. In his Natural History, Pliny the Elder states that the Laocoön, created by the eminent Rhodian sculptors Hagesander, Polydorus, and Athenodorus, “is a work of art to be preferred to any other painting or statuary” (36.37). Among art historians, the sculptural group has received near-universal acclaim ever since its rediscovery under questionable circumstances in 1506.

Is the statue famously shown since its discovery in the newly designed Belvedere Garden at the Vatican Palace actually the ancient sculpture mentioned by Pliny, or rather a clever Renaissance forgery? If the latter, who may have contrived this masterful deception? If the former, is it an original, or a marble copy of a Hellenistic bronze made for a Roman patron?

Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts

In the most famous version of the story, as told by Virgil (70-19 BCE) in his Aeneid, Laocoön had warned his fellow citizens against the Greeks “even if they bear gifts,” and had tried to expose the true nature of the wooden horse by striking it with a spear (the wooden horse in question, of course, being the notorious “Trojan Horse”, left by the Greek forces on the coast so as to provide access into the city to the troops hidden inside the construction). When later two serpents emerged from the sea to kill the priest and his sons, the Trojans interpreted their horrific deaths as an act of divine retribution and promptly decided to move the wooden horse into the city, believing the contraption to be an offering to Minerva (Athena).

According to Arctinus of Miletus, the earliest tradition of the tragedy (surviving only through later citations), Apollo had sent the two serpents to kill Laocoön and only one of his sons; while the later author Quintus of Smyrna maintains that the serpents killed both sons but spared the father.

Servius, another late authority (c. 400 CE), tells us how Laocoön managed to incur the wrath of Apollo by sleeping with his wife before the cult statue in the god's temple. An even later source, the Byzantine scholar Tzetzes, adds that the scene of Laocoön's death took place in the very temple of the Thymbraean Apollo – appropriately setting the punishment at the scene of the crime.

The 5th-century BCE Greek playwright Sophocles produced a tragedy on the subject, of which only a few fragments survive in later citations. Apart from the sources mentioned above, Hellenistic poets Apollodorus and Euphorion, the historian Dionysius of Halicarnassus, the Roman novelist Petronius, the Latin fables attributed to Hyginus, and a few other fragments, all provide various details of the tragic story.

Despite this appearance in ancient literature from the post-Homeric to Byzantine traditions, artistic representations of Laocoön's suffering are few and far between. Depictions appear in some Greek vase paintings (5th to 4th centuries BCE) and in two frescoes at Pompeii (c. 25-75 CE). The marble statue group of Laocoön and His Sons, therefore remains the most exceptional portrayal of only a handful of ancient works illustrating the suffering of Laocoön.

Continue reading...