#my sky postcards

[skypostcards]

Tired Hearts (The Sign)

Map in my hands Headed to my destination Following it step by step Without an inclination That I’d ever need to take a detour And even if I did that road would lead to so much more 

But the weather had other plans And I needed to seek shelter On my way to the promise land Where I found myself surrounded by strangers Also looking for hope from the city of dangers

And on the door hangs a sign and it says: “Rest your tired hearts If you need to fall apart Then go ahead, let it all out Don’t need our permission We’ll stand beside you With every awkward admission Because you’ll see we’ve all been there before And each of us must hold on to one another until we're ready to go back out this door (back out this door)"

Rest your tired hearts Life’s a living hell And only time will tell But here at least We’re in a room of angels Listen Here

[kanaojg]

Outgoing postcrossing mail!

[mercsandmonsters]

Tag Dump #1: The Basics

We're gonna start over.

[memorycavities]

The Taliaferro-Cole Shop

Historic Area, Williamsburg, Virginia

1991 The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation

[bookwyrminspiration]

mochi (if you’ve seen them) and buttery

Oh I completely forgot I reblogged that ask game!

mochi: favorite studio ghibli film?

I've seen many of the well-known ones! I don't know if I have one particular favorite--perhaps Spirited Away? That's the ghibli movie my family associates with me (my dad is associated with Totoro and my sister with Princess Mononoke), though I'm also quite fond of Howl's Moving Castle. I intend to read the book one day, as it looks quite fun :)

buttery: favorite snack?

I'm quite fond of both apples with peanut butter (chunky, smooth peanut butter is a heinous crime against humanity), and carrots and hummus :). Also enjoy nuts (primarily pistachios and cashews for snacking), but I inherited this fun habit from my dad called I will snack on practically anything so long as its in front of me, regardless of whether or not I actually like it

[anecdotal-evidence]

Lately I've been a lot happier and seeing a lot more beauty in life. It's that phrase, Say Something True and Beautiful, it really got to me. If I'm feeling crap I tell myself to point out 10 things in the world that are true and beautiful and it was kind of hard and felt weird at first but it makes me feel so happy!! I love so much!!!

[lazyjellyfish300]

Love Across Dimensions

Miguel O'Hara x Reader s/o

TW: ANGST, LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIP, READER IS MID 20S, MIGUEL'S IN HIS EARLY 30S, FLUFF. MINORS DNI AS THIS WORK IS CONNECTED TO ONE OF MY NSFW BLURBS.

Synopsis: You're from a different dimension than him. You didn't ask to fall in love with the protector of the multiverse, and it sure as hell isn't easy being in a long distance relationship with him. But what you have is special, and that's always worth waiting for. The Nicholas Sparks movie Dear John inspired this a little. (The moon quote 😫🫶🏾)

A/N: spinoff of my phone sex blurb, Long Distance. Here's some more insights into y'all's relationship. This one is mostly SFW, maybe a NSFW version coming soon? Headcanons/outline ish? Idk what it is but here you go. NSFW PART 2

-----

- He walks through his portal at HQ with your lip gloss shiny all over his neck and doesn't think to wipe it off. Clearly he's not a makeup expert and forgets that this stuff smears easily. Hobie and Pav snicker together, " well, wonder where he's been." (They already know)

"Shut it, you two!"

"Sureee, boss."

-You have him get you a trinket from every dimension, it's not up for debate. It's always a snow globe or a postcard. Your fridge and your shelf space are both running out of room by now to store them. The postcards are filled with sweet handwritten words from Miguel, telling you about his day and the location they're from.

-He won't take you across dimensions with him. He crafted you your own version of a gizmo to call him and summon Lyla whenever you need her, but you don't have the ability to travel across dimensions yet. Even Miguel can't bring himself to break his own rules, despite how much he wishes he could just bring you here and keep you here himself. The threat of canon disruption looms over his head. Losing Gabi destroyed him. A piece of his heart never recovered. Losing you could be the straw that breaks him. Not to mention, he can't protect you at all times if he took you along on his missions. He takes comfort in knowing you're tucked in, safe at home watching your favorite movies or with your best friends at a new restaurant getting drinks.

-You always save songs that you think he'd like and have all the reels you want to show him saved in a folder called "Memes for Miggy ❤️." His playlist on your Spotify is just titled "🖤" because you don't want anyone to know it's just songs for you two.

-You hardly see him. Dating someone like him is not for the weak. You can usually count on seeing him maybe once a month if you're lucky. And he'll usually stay for the weekend. And it's always the best weekend of your life.

-It took a while for him to get there, but he's super romantic/poetic when he's in love. He reassures you as you two stand outside one night, his arms wrapped around you from behind, resting his chin on your head.

"If you ever miss me, just look at the sky. It's my anchor to you. Know that when you look up at it, that I'm somewhere in it, not far away. The colors of the sky, the position of the stars, the shadow of the moon and the rays of the sun are the same in every universe, including this one where we end up together."

-His favorite gift from you is a bottle of your perfume. He'll take a sniff every now and then and close his eyes and imagine you're next to him. You do the same with his cologne. He's left a ton of hoodies and sweatpants at your house. You wear them to bed every night and give them a spritz whenever you feel like his scent is wearing off.

-The first night after he leaves is the hardest. But the night after that hurts a little less. As does the night after that, and after that, and so on. The stab wound of his departure healing itself as it has dozens of times before by now. Your heart steadily molds back to its original shape in your chest, no longer shattered. You immerse yourself in your work and your friends, trying to go out every now and then, imagining he's right there with you. Because even though he's light years away, he still is.

-But sometimes , the ache of his absence hits you like a wave crashing against a cliff it threatens to erode. When you accidentally play that song that you two belted in the car together, or when you see the carmelicious fudge ice cream in your freezer that you haven't touched since the last time you two ate it together, sharing the carton. It hurts when you realize you're spending another Christmas Eve without him, leaving you with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk that you have to enjoy all by yourself, staring at his stocking you bought and stuffed for him hanging untouched over your fireplace. Hearing your niece and nephew buzzing about their Valentine's cards they get to hand out at school, knowing that the one you bought for Miguel will stay forgotten in the grocery bag in your closet. Tiny needles that pierce you. A jarring reminder that your heart is split in two across a vast continuum of time and space, with Miguel holding the other half on the opposite side.

-You cry, a lot. And little do you know, he does too. The last time after you guys got home from a few days at a little beach house in San Diego, you just sobbed and sobbed into his arms while he held you in your pajamas as you slowly walked him to your apartment door. His expression was sorrowful as he tried to brush your tears away, lip trembling as he tried to ward off his own tears that threatened to release, a tight knot causing his voice to choke in his throat.

"I'll back for you. I promise, baby. Think of me, okay? Use your watch to call me whenever you want."

You look up at him, mucus running down your nose and your eyes puffy and red, but you don't care. You bathe in the ruby ocean of his eyes for one more moment, windows to his precious soul that now inevitably belongs to you. You touch his cheeks, the smooth pattern of his skin imprinting itself in your palms, his warmth transferring onto you a final time before your body eventually forgets.

He walks forward across the threshold with a deep breath as he lets go of your hand at last, slowly closing the door behind him. The door barely clicks before he's ripping it back open, pulling you back into his arms as you wail and sob some more while he just rocks you gently in his embrace, his face buried in your neck.

Trying to tattoo the scent and feel of your body into his memory one more time. As though the very essence of you were all the rations he'd need to hold him off until that moment when he could feast on your beautiful smile once again. He tries not to think about how this could be the last time. The reality of the dangers of the job he signed up for are a painful reminder. Being Spider-Man is a sacrifice.

He finally closes the door behind him, and walks slowly through the orange glowing tunnel, tears leaking down his face, gasping as though the wind got knocked out of him. He hates saying goodbye, praying and pleading to whatever deity is out there that it wouldn't be the last time he did.

Why did the universe plant you so far away from him? Why did the love of his life exist on a plane of existence separate from his? The laws of time, space, and the formidable, neverending, infinite weight of the multiverse barring you two from each other.

But you're his true love. Of course he'd find his way back to you. In any universe.

------

💖

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships - Epilogue

Summary: A glimpse into the rest of your life with Wanda Maximoff.

Word count: 2.3k+ | Warnings: None; Just Fluff | Ship: Wanda x Reader

Author's note: We officially come to a close! I'd like to take this opportunity to thank each and everyone of you who read, liked, commented, and reblogged this story. This is my first time completing a multi-chapter fic and I couldn't have done it without you. You guys will always have a special place in my heart. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I'll keep writing--my request box is open :)

Series Masterlist

-

Epilogue

Ten Months Later

Montauk, especially in winter, looks as if it's straight out of a postcard. 

For as long as you can remember, Montauk is the only place that's felt like home. And you've shared it with the woman who's known you even before you took your first breath in this world. But now, there are days when she doesn't recognize you, days when she cries out in fear thinking you're an intruder, when she tearfully calls for her own mother or searches anxiously for her late husband.

The merciless grip of Alzheimer's is steadily robbing her from you, and time seems to draw out the process in a cruel, agonizing manner.

Wanda is there for you though, through every difficult moment. She is your rock when you feel like crumbling, your light in the darkest moments. You are both staying in Montauk for some time now, taking care of your mother. Your mother sometimes recognizes her, and she’s remarkably warmer to your ex-wife more than you can remember. You think, perhaps, it has something to do with her memories that are slowly wilting away, and all that is left is the love she’s always held back for the other woman in your life.

One evening, as snowflakes start to gently fall from the sky, Wanda gets the sudden urge to take a walk. After some persuasion, you find yourself pulled out from the inviting warmth of the bed you've been sharing, grumbling while putting your layers of clothing back on to indulge Wanda in her whimsical idea.

Hand-in-hand, you set off just as the sun begins its descent, painting the horizon with streaks of indigo and pink. Snowflakes settle on Wanda's hair, turning her fiery locks into a winter wonderland. She smiles, her green eyes sparkling with the reflection of the dimming twilight. 

You soak in the sight of her, the love of your life, aglow in the beauty of the snowy evening, committing it to memory. 

An old park lies ahead, its swings and benches blanketed by the fresh snowfall. Wanda leads you to the swing set, her laughter carrying through the chilly air as she plops down on one of them. You take the swing beside her, the frosty metal biting through your clothing, but you don’t mind. The sight of Wanda, her face flushed with cold yet bright with joy, is worth braving the winter chill.

As the swing set gently comes to a halt, Wanda nudges you, pointing towards a row of trees in the distance. “Look over there,” she says, “Do you see that?”

You squint at the snow-laden branches, trying to decipher what she's referring to. While you're absorbed in your futile search, Wanda quietly slips off the swing, her heart pounding in her chest. She swallows hard, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. As you turn back to her with a puzzled look, ready to ask what you were supposed to see, you find her on her knees in the fresh snow, looking up at you with an earnest gaze.

She reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. With a quick flick of her wrist, she pops it open to reveal a simple yet stunning ring nestled within. 

“Will you marry me?”

Your heart stutters at the sight of Wanda's hopeful gaze. For a moment, everything seems to stand still. Snowflakes suspend their descent, the air holds its breath. With a lump in your throat, you utter a word you never thought you'd say in this moment. 

“No.”

Shock registers on Wanda's face, her eyes wide and vulnerable. The world seems to crash around her, the word echoing ominously in her ears. But then, before she has a chance to fully comprehend what's happening, you're sinking to your knees in the snow beside her.

“Because,” you begin, laughter choking your words even as tears track down your cheeks. You fumble in your pocket, pulling out your own small box. You pry it open, revealing a gleaming ring nestled within. “Because I want you to marry me.”

The world, previously paused, starts up again in a rush of sound and color.

Laughter bubbles up from within you, filling the silence, mingling with the tears streaming down your face. Wanda stares at you, stunned into silence, her tears mirroring your own.

“Yes,” she breathes out finally, her voice choked with emotion. “Yes, yes, yes.”

In the stillness that follows, you gently take her hand, slipping the ring onto her trembling finger. 

You look up at her, your heart in your eyes. “Yes, Wanda, I'll marry you,” you whisper.

Wanda's fingers are ice-cold, trembling with adrenaline, when she reaches for your hand, your ring. Her focus is so intense as she slips it onto your finger that it feels as if everything else has fallen away.

Without wasting a moment, Wanda lurches forward, lips finding yours in a kiss, full of passion and relief. The chill of the snow around you seems to dissipate as your mouths move in a rhythm perfected by time and familiarity. Every small shift, every pressure, the way she tugs at your lower lip, the way you reciprocate by pulling her closer by the waist, it all stokes a warmth that radiates from your core, spreading outwards, rendering the winter air irrelevant.

The soft moan that escapes Wanda against your lips fills you with a satisfaction, an overwhelming sense of rightness that even the best of days prior to this moment had not quite achieved.

Like all beautiful things, the kiss comes to an end. She pulls away, her breath ghosting over your lips as she whispers, “Yes,” echoing your sentiment. “Yes, you will.”

Year 2

A year later, the smell of antiseptic and the sterile white walls of a hospital room are your surroundings. You lay exhausted on the hospital bed, swaddled in a light hospital gown, holding the newest addition to your family. 

A baby girl. 

Yours and Wanda’s. 

She is swathed in soft pink blankets, her tiny face peering curiously at the world she's just entered.

Overwhelmed, overjoyed, and slightly terrified, Wanda is darting around the room, fretting over everything and anything. Her brows are furrowed as she questions the nurses on the baby’s feeding, changing, swaddling. She's always been meticulous, but her anxiety seems to be on a whole new level today.

Meanwhile, she's constantly checking up on you too. A wet cloth to dab your sweaty forehead, a soft kiss to reassure you, a gentle squeeze of your hand. Each time she asks if you're okay, if you need anything, if you're feeling too tired or too overwhelmed.

Her voice is a touch higher than usual, her movements slightly rushed. It's all too adorable, you think. The endearing sight of Wanda fussing over you and the baby brings a soft smile to your tired face.

Wanda’s gaze alternates between you and the tiny bundle in your arms, as if she’s afraid that this is all some dream that she would wake from.

“You're doing great, love,” you reassure her in a voice hoarse with exhaustion, but filled with so much love and admiration for this woman. Your woman. You wouldn’t trade her frantic behavior for anything else.

“Do you want to hold her?” you ask Wanda, lifting the baby slightly from your chest.

Wanda freezes at your question, her eyes flickering from the tiny face peeking out from the swaddles and back to you. She seems to be calculating the risk of her holding something so precious and delicate. She bites her lip nervously, her hand absently wringing together.

“I'm... I'm afraid I might hurt her. She's so small,” Wanda murmurs, almost too softly to hear.

A soft laugh bubbles up from you, finding her concern endearing. With your free hand, you tenderly take hers, squeezing reassuringly.

“Wands, love, she's our daughter. She already knows you and she wants her mom. Come on,” you encourage her, your voice soft but confident.

With a deep breath, Wanda nods. She gingerly slips onto the bed beside you, her arm tentatively reaching out. Her hand hovers over the baby's tiny form, her fingers trembling slightly.

Seeing her hesitate, you gently place the baby into Wanda's waiting arms. The moment your daughter is cradled in her arms, Wanda's eyes fill with unshed tears. Her gaze is locked on the little face looking up at her.

She's silent for a moment, just looking down at the tiny, squirming bundle in her arms. You watch as she traces her finger lightly over your daughter's chubby cheek, her touch feather-light as though she's handling a priceless piece of art.

“She's... She's beautiful,” Wanda finally whispers, her voice choked with emotion. You watch as a single tear escapes, trailing down her cheek.

“She has your eyes,” you say softly, leaning against Wanda's shoulder.

Her response is a watery laugh, and she turns to press a kiss on your forehead. “And your nose,” she retorts, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I didn’t know it was possible to be even more in love with you,” she adds, looking into your heavy-lidded eyes.

As you look at Wanda holding your daughter, overwhelmed with love and emotion, you think that there can't be anything equally perfect as this moment. 

Year 4

Something equally as perfect comes two years later.

You and Wanda return to your new apartment in Manhattan, this time with a little more noise, a lot more love, and two new family members in tow. 

The eighteen arduous hours of Wanda's labor are still fresh in your mind. The anxiety and fear you felt, the helplessness, as you watched her endure the pain, fighting for every breath, are experiences you would never forget. For a moment, you feared for her life, but Wanda, as always, proved to be a force of nature. She battled through, delivering the twins normally. Your two-year-old daughter has just been promoted to big sister status, with the arrival of her twin brothers, William and Thomas.

Wanda, holding Billy, looks at you over the top of his little head. Her eyes are bright, tired but excited. You carry Tommy, his tiny hand gripping your finger, and his weight in your arms feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Despite being outnumbered by your kids, you and Wanda are no novices now. With one child already, you've learned the ropes of parenthood, even if juggling the needs of three young children is still quite the adventure. 

Looking back, you can't help but wonder. If things had been smoother, easier, would you still end up here? 

Sure, life has thrown you a few curveballs. But those curveballs brought you to this moment, to this feeling of complete and utter happiness. 

You wouldn't change a thing.

Because this is it. This is your perfect. This is the beautiful chaos of a big family you and Wanda have created together. And you wouldn't trade it for the world. 

This moment is everything you ever wanted.

Year 35

You both retire to a charming little town on the east coast, away from the relentless hum of city life. The house is a modest one, its size perfect for two people entering the golden years of their life.

It's a quiet evening when you find yourself sitting in the bathtub, the warm water soothing against your aging muscles. The bathroom door creaks open and in walks Wanda, unadorned and as beautiful as the day you met her. You watch as she undresses, each wrinkle and mark a testament to the years you've spent together. The sight of her, the raw display of strength, beauty, and age, leaves you breathless.

She eases herself into the tub, the water rising as she settles across from you. Your legs brush against each other, a touch that still sends warmth spreading through your veins. Her eyes, the same captivating pair you lost yourself in more than four decades ago, meet yours and your heart does a familiar dance.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a teasing smile. “You have that look again.”

“What look?” you feign innocence, though a mischievous glint gives you away.

“That look as if you're seeing a young woman, and not the one who's been trying to get a senior discount for the past few years,” she quips.

You chuckle, leaning closer, the water ripples between you two as you do. “Honestly, after all this time,” you whisper, fingers tracing the back of her hand submerged in the water, “I can't help myself.”

She playfully rolls her eyes, her cheeks tinted with a hint of a blush that reminds you of her younger self. “Ever the charmer,” she murmurs, her voice betraying the flutter of excitement she still feels from your compliments, even after all these years.

“You may have a few more lines here and there,” you whisper, your eyes taking in every beautiful detail of her face, “But to me, you're as breathtaking as the day we met. Time can't change the way I see you, Wanda.”

With deliberate slowness, you lean in, pressing a delicate kiss to her lips. As you pull back, you see the warmth in her eyes, the soft smile playing on her lips, and you feel an old, familiar urge.

Your next kiss is deeper, more insistent, and your hand finds its way to her waist, pressing her closer. Her laughter bubbles up, breaking the kiss momentarily as she playfully swats your wandering hand away.

“You really still find this,” she gestures to herself, “Desirable?”

You lean back slightly, taking in her form with a deliberate, exaggerated slowness, your gaze wandering from her face to her feet and back up again. “Every inch.”

She gives you a mock exasperated look, but the smile that's trying to break through belies her true feelings. “You and your words,” she mutters, pulling you closer by the nape of your neck, her fingers tangling in your damp hair. “Do they ever run out?”

“Not when it comes to you,” you reply earnestly, your lips hovering just above hers. “Never when it comes to you.”

Making love isn't as easy as it once was, with bodies grown old and not as supple. 

But your love for Wanda—if anything, is stuck in time.

Taglist: @canvascoloredin | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby| @swiftie1-0-1 | @scarlettbitchx | @tercerspirit-22 | @hyper-fixated-delusions

[skypostcards]

Unfamiliar Heaven

I'm on my way to an unfamiliar heaven I may not recognize it now, but I will someday I get comfortable in hell 'Cause it's hard for me to tell How I could burn myself if I stay I want to make it to the other side Know I did all I could, that I really tried Believe there's something better for me in this life I want to quit spinning in circles Roll down past the city limits Find out what's beyond these borderlines So I'm on my way to an unfamiliar heaven I may not recognize it now, but I will someday I get comfortable in hell 'Cause it's hard for me to tell How I could burn myself if I stay But I'm on my way... Listen Here

[psychoportalnauts]

Reconstructing Caroline

In Portal canon, Caroline is already a certified narrative haunter, but in this AU she plays an even bigger role; plus, we get to see her through the eyes of other characters. So, I thought it'll be interesting to compile her most prominent* appearances, both as herself and as Gladys.

* — Sadly, I haven't put much thought into Clairvoyance images or figments featuring her yet... Maybe sometime later?

...

Gladys Calvin and Caroline Caramia:

That's right, they have last names now, like any self-respecting Psychonauts character should. I'm not even kidding, announcing this fact was literally the main goal of this post. If you know what (or, rather, who) Gladys's last name refers to, go get some choccy milk bc that makes you epic in my eyes. If you know how to pronounce Caroline's last name, go get an extra glass, because even I'm not sure about the right pronunciation.

To quickly recap their backstory for posterity: when Cave Johnson died (?) and things went super south for Aperture Paranormal, Agent Caramia was so scared of accidentally revealing the dark secrets of the company, she saw no other choice but to blow up her mind with a lil' bit of help from a certain someone. After that, a new person emerged from the rubble of Caroline's fractured mind — Gladys, the ultimate skeptic. Her goal is to disprove the existence of psychic powers, which she deems to be nothing more than pseudoscience, and close off Aperture Paranormal and/or Psychonauts at large; this agenda, however, doesn't stop her from using these same powers herself.

Rattenkönigin, The Rat Queen:

Finally, some genuine Psychonauts creepiness in a Psychonauts AU. This giant rat that makes all the rules is the final boss of Rattmann's mindscape. Not unlike El Odio, she roams the level, hanging from the sky and using her hands to stride around and catch unsuspecting victims — her main goals, however, are Doug and his faithful friend, Companion Cube.

There's a strategy to fighting her, albeit an involved one. You have to utilise Invisibility, which Doug fortunately bestows upon Chell, to avoid being caught, and Psi-Blast to shoot smaller rats — only when they're down will the main hand drop the head rat and make it vulnerable. And you also want to avoid the Confusion gas explosions these smaller rats emit, because apparently they're just as prone to do that upon defeat as the rats from Thorney Tower.

Lifeline:

Found in Mr. Johnson's mind, this is the first version of Caroline proper that's encountered by Chell and Wheatley. Pretty as a postcard, and just as flat, this lovely assistant may not carry over the intelligence, or exact height, of her real-world progenitor, but that doesn't stop her from staying fiercely loyal to Cave. She even calls him her "noble psychomaster" — now that's an odd nickname. But I do wonder what Cave thinks of her...

[skyward-floored]

I think I’m coming down with a cold again and possibly have a fever but I’m here to scream about the update some more anyway! (and analyze a bit but mostly scream). Dawn part 7 here we go!

(All images belong to @linkeduniverse <3)

First off I have to say this was my favorite panel I think, it’s so pretty. The faint glow! The colors! The cape over his shoulder! Amazing. This truly was Sky’s update, I loved every bit of focus he got. Jojo fed us well :D

So it looks like I was wrong about Sky reading everyone’s mail. He just immediately took off after the mailman instead (and spent all morning chasing him ha!),

Side note but I love the npc guy. He’s simple but still Zelda-y. the character design in this comic is just👌

Looks like the mailman has a list of who he’s supposed to deliver to, or at least that’s my guess. It could be a map maybe, but that probably wouldn’t do much good since he’s time traveling?? How does he do it. Don’t question the magic of the postman I guess.

*green hill zone music intensifies*

Shoutout to Sky’s face here, I make the same expression when I’m trying to chase after my nephew and stop him from eating crayons

This looks like a postcard no joke, I'd frame this and put it on my wall. Plus the way the trees were done in the background is really neat, there’s something just really pleasing about this panel. Also the return of Sky: Just Standing There

They’re all bein silly <3

...except for Four. Because I think him and Warriors both realize that Sky isn’t just telling them what he was doing all morning— he’s got something important to say, something they all actually need to know.

(Downfall duo laughing together I love them)

Also I agree with everyone saying Warriors is close to snapping— they’ve all had a pretty stressful 24 hours, but Warriors has been breaking up arguments and repeatedly checking on everyone while they’re struggling, and... I don’t think he’s had a break. Take a nap bud, please?

SKY TALKING TO FI MY BELOVED he's hoping there’s enough of her aware to help him dowse hhhhh. And then he’s so sad she didn’t seem to hear him waahhh 😭

It doesn’t look to me like she truly helped much, but maybe Fi gave just enough of a nudge for Sky to find the postman’s footprints? Even in her sleep? She is glowing just a bit there... Interesting to think about.

It’s confirmed that the postman uses the portals! And that the Shadow is alive and kicking! Uh-oh! (Also does anyone else think this one seems more... firey? Then the last one? Maybe it's just me).

And the chopped-off darknut head is still there too.... and I’ll bet you twenty rupees somebody is going to kick it when the Links go through the portal later. (My guess is Wild but I’d put my money on Legend or Wind too).

I’m also really curious where that portal leads... My guess is either Twilight’s Hyrule or Sky’s, based on what hints we’ve been getting, but I really don’t know. It’ll be fun to see!

*Wind rapidly thinking of at least three conspiracy theories*: SUS

Also an amazing expression from him I’m laughing so hard, he really said 3:<

Tag yourself I’m Four

Also Sky just chugging away at the stamina potion, poor guy XD he must be beat from all that running around, I hope he has some more time to sit before the Links get moving.

(And I mentioned this in another post, but Legend looks so alarmed at this information, as does Wild... it’s not going to be pretty when they cross paths with the Shadow again, that’s for sure)

I love when Time breaks out the dramatic language... makes me remember that this guy is going to be the Hero’s Shade someday (who’s speech is 99% dramatic things).

Now the Links just have to decide what to do next... will they stay another day at the inn for Twilight’s sake, or get moving right away? Is Four going to confront Twilight about the dark magic he uses to turn into Wolfie?

So many questions... but in the meantime I will gladly continue to reread this amazing update, I really loved this one :D

[rikaluver]

Joy Ride - Postal Dude x AFAB Reader

Genre - Smut

This is an old fic of mine, you can find it on AO3 but I don't know where since it was on my old account...Anyways, enjoy!!

The heat hits you like a wave. The sun beats down relentlessly from a cloudless sky, casting everything in a harsh, unyielding light. The gas station is a low-slung building, its faded yellow and red paint peeling in the desert sun.

You get closer and spot a tall man in a tattered black trench coat loitering near the pumps. He’s got a scruffy goatee and a wild look in his eye, and he seems to be muttering to himself as he paces back and forth.

Freak, you think to yourself. 

You push open the door, and a blast of cool air washes over you, providing a welcome respite from the scorching desert heat. It’s dimly lit inside, with rows of shelves stocked with snacks, drinks, and other random shit. There’s one other customer inside—an older man. He’s standing by idly, not looking at anything or buying anything. It’s like he’s not even there. 

You make your way to the back of the store, grabbing a few snacks and some beer (a lot of it). There isn’t much to do around in this ghost town; you spend most of your time getting drunk or high. As you return to the store's front, you notice a display of souvenirs near the register. Postcards with the Grand Canyon, refrigerator magnets, random shit with the state flag plastered on it, you name it. 

The cashier appears disconnected, staring blankly ahead and barely acknowledging your presence. As rude as it is, you snap your fingers before him to get his attention. He blinks slowly and looks at you vacantly before scanning your items. He’s moving in slow motions as if operating on autopilot. 

You don’t bother to make small talk; you know he’ll give one-word responses, not registering your words. It’s always the same with the people in Paradise. They’re like zombies. 

You finish paying and gathering your belongings, though you can’t help but feel a bit of unease. 

You feel the warm sun on your skin and the desert air in your lungs the moment you step outside. You shield your eyes from the sun's rays, waiting for your eyes to adjust. 

The people in this town stick around one place, and you rarely see them anywhere else, so when you see the guy there when you entered, smoking, it’s not a surprise. You know everyone’s face (not that there are many people, to begin with), but you can’t recognize this guy. You’re unsure if you’ve ever seen him outside, and you’d undoubtedly remember him considering his height (he’s got to be 6’5” at least).

He spots you after a while and quickly stubs his cigarette out before walking up to you. 

“You’re not one of the contaminated ones, I can tell.”

“Jesus, dude, what?”

A manic grin spreads across his face, “You’ve noticed it, haven’t you?”

You take a step back, feeling a bit uneasy. The man in front of you seems like he’s on something. And, unlike everybody else in the town, you can’t tell what his next move will be.

“There’s something in the air infecting everyone in Paradise. You and I are the only uninfected people left in this town.”

You scoff and push past him, making your way back home. You were right to think he was a freak when you first saw him. As animated as he may be, he’s still one of the crazy people around here. 

Are you the only one with a functioning brain around?

The man grabs your shoulder and turns you around effortlessly, griping you too firmly. Not only was he abnormally tall, but he was also abnormally strong. 

“I know. I know what you’re thinking—you think I’m one of them, right? Different but still crazy, yeah?” His eyes flicker between you and whatever’s behind you (you know there’s nothing and no one behind you). The look in his eyes is one of a man on the edge, teetering between madness and despair. “You can trust me, though. I thought the same when I saw you,” he punctuates each word, his grip tightening.

You feel a sharp jolt of pain through your muscles; the shit he’s saying goes in one ear and out the other. You need him to let go. The pressure is intense, and it feels like his fingers are digging deep into your flesh, leaving a mark you can feel long after he’s released his hold.  

“Yeahyeahyeah, you’re right, now let me go!” Your voice comes out more desperate than you’d like it to.

Realizing that he may have been too forceful, the man quickly lets go of your shoulder. “Sorry,” he says, a note of concern in his deep voice. “You’re willing to hear me out though, right?”

You nod, rubbing your shoulder to soothe the soreness, not considering what you just agreed to. And before you know it, the man’s taking you to his house. He introduces himself as Postal Dude. You’re not sure why he’s using a fake name if, apparently, you two are the only ordinary people around.

As you approach his home, you see it’s in disarray, with broken furniture and discarded items strewed outside. It seems The Dude has been living in survival mode, making do with whatever he can salvage. 

It’s no wonder you’ve never seen him around.

Once inside, Postal Dude leads you to a small, makeshift living room with only a few small lamps providing light, a worn-out couch, and a rickety table that needs to be flipped back up. You sit on the couch (the only “clean” place) and look at his living conditions.  The walls are bare, and the floors are made of old, creaky wood planks that groan at any pressure applied. Stacks of newspapers, empty beer bottles, and discarded food wrappers are piled up in the room's corners. There are a few personal touches here and there, a well-arranged collection of….weapons on a nearby shelf, an old game console (he doesn’t have a TV), and porno magazines! How homely!

He doesn’t sit down with you. He, instead, walks over to the window, peering out anxiously through the blinds. His posture is tense, and you can tell he’s on edge. Jesus, you can practically see the fear and anxiety emanating from him, and you wonder what he’s looking for. You assume the “infection” must make him paranoid and attentive, always looking for potential threats. 

“You okay?” you ask cautiously. 

After a few moments, he turns back to you, his expression still serious. “We need to be careful,” his voice is low and urgent.

“Uh, yeah, for sure,” you fiddle with your bag. Maybe drinking might get him to calm down (and break the silence). You take out a can of beer, you’re shocked the thing’s still cold, and hold it out to him. “Want one?”

He doesn’t reply but walks back to the couch and grabs the beer you’re offering. You watch as he cracks open a can and chugs it down like it's nothing; he lets out a satisfied sigh and sits down next to you. He seems more at ease. He grabs another from the bag, cracks it open, only taking a sip this time, and begins to ramble about the supposed infection. His tone is urgent; his words spill out quickly as if he's been waiting for someone to talk to about this for a long time.

“It's crazy out there, you know,” he says, taking a swig of his beer. “People are turning into these—these things. I don’t even know what to call them.”

You nod, taking in his words. It’s clear now that Postal Dude is fucking mental. But hey, he’s the most exciting thing around town and will have an actual conversation with you, so you decide to humor him.

"Have you seen them?"

“Yeah, all over the place, they’re slow but fuckin’ insane. If I ever let one catch me, I probably wouldn’t be here to help you. You’ve seen them too.”

“I have?”

"Yeah, back at the gas station. Two of them." He drinks the rest of his beer and goes on a tangent about…stages and stuff…to explain the ones you encountered. You give up on trying to keep track a couple of words in, and the guy talks for what feels like forever. You start chugging beers with him to cope with the total bullshit he's spewing. Nothing he's saying makes sense. You're surprised you didn't see any comic books about aliens invading Earth lying around. His imagination is way too active. Or he's delusional. He's mistaking everyday citizens who work tirelessly for people infected and trying to kill him. It's safe to say you don't believe a single word coming out of his mouth. Though, you're having fun listening to him talk. 

The Dude’s voice is deep and gravelly; he speaks in a low, measured tone, as if every word is carefully chosen for maximum impact. Even when he’s slurring his words right now, you like it. When he finally finishes his deviation, you realize how much you miss hearing him talk. 

His voice isn’t the only thing you like about him. A middle-aged man with a rugged appearance isn’t exactly who you’d go after, but his looks are eye-catching. His hair’s unkept and greasy, falling in messy strands around his face. His deep-set green eyes draw you in. In fact, he’s one of the few good-looking men in Paradise. Or you’d assume you never paid attention to looks (or sanity). Dick size was the only thing that mattered.

And speaking of dick size…

“So…what do I do?”

He slurs something you presume to be a ‘what?’

“About them going mad and attacking me, what do I do about that?” 

“Fight back.” You know the question’s stupid, and so does he, chuckling a little under his breath. “If you'd let me, I don’t mind showing you a thing or two.”

He explains some basic self-defense techniques, stuff you already know. The more he talks, the more excited you get. Something about his voice hits you hard, deep in your gut. It might be the alcohol. Who cares what it is, though?

You lean in closer, catching his lips with yours in a slow kiss. He returns the kiss in a far less passive fashion. He doesn't wait for you to acclimatize to his kiss's more aggressive tempo, brushing his tongue over your lip eagerly. The subtle taste of alcohol lingers on his lips. When he opens his mouth, and his tongue meets yours, the citrusy, bitter flavor is intensified tenfold. You groan, pushing further into the kiss. Postal Dude seems more than pleased to indulge you, playing along with your lead while his hands wander and grope at whatever’s most readily available. Down they go, over your back and shoulders to cup your ass, twisting around to knead and stroke your thighs and hips. It's as if he can't decide which part of you was the most enticing.

After some time, he wraps his hands around your waist and hoists you onto his thigh. You only now realize how tall he is; you guessed he was 6’5” at first, but he’s humongous. So is the tent in his pants!

Your hands trail down between the two of you and unbutton his trousers, and at the sight of his undergarments, you sort of raise an eyebrow. You brush your fingers against the tip of his crotch, and he lets out a hitched breath against your lips.

“You got a condom?” He pulls away from your lips and trails kisses on your collarbone.

You whimper slightly at the contact, “no…is that a deal breaker for you?”

He sighs and mumbles a “yeah” against your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s fine, man,” you shuffle him off your shoulder a bit. When he looks up at you, you raise your hand to his face, cupping his neck and rubbing your thumb under his jaw. “If you won’t fuck me without a condom, I’m down with giving you head or a handjob.”

Postal Dude considers it for a brief second before his face bores the dejected expression it did a minute ago. 

“Orrr…” you trail off.

“Or?”

“Or I could ride your thigh while you jerk off.” 

That’s an idea that sticks with him. He’s not comfortable letting anyone around his junk. If he’s ever had anyone around his junk, that is.

You watch as he takes himself out of his boxers. You gawk at the sheer size of his dick before taking it all in. It suits a man his height.

You're somewhat grateful neither of you had condoms on you; there's no way you could fit that all in you. Well, maybe you could, but you'd end up in the hospital.

Words can't express how badly you'd love to touch it (whore). But alas, you can't. Gotta respect boundaries.

As he begins touching himself, you find yourself (metaphorically) drooling at the sight. It's, like, really hot. He pants and lets out soft whines occasionally, and you eat up every part of it. After a bit, you realize you're just staring at him and not fulfilling your end of the deal (plus, you're horny as fuck, and you have to take care of that too). You start your movements on his thigh, nice and slow. You let yourself enjoy how good it feels to grind against him, albeit embarrassing. His eyes are on you, and you can't tell if he's judging you or what, but he's undoubtedly enjoying it if the way he thrusts up into his hand is any indication. 

It's humiliating. 

It's exciting.

With a slight struggle, you wrap your arms around his neck and get closer for a quick peck on the lips. 

The “supposed” peck quickly turns to making out, and one of your hands rests on his head, not keeping him there, just finding a more comfortable position. Without realizing it, your fingers run through his ginger hair, and he whines into your mouth, leaning further into the kiss. 

You pet him some more, and his hips buck into his hand each time, giving you more pleasure. It’s embarrassing for him but extremely arousing for you. 

After a while, you pick up the pace against his thigh. You vibrate as he fucks his hand, admiring how you look. It’s disgusting but oh-so intoxicating. You pant into each other, verging on each other's climaxes. The Dude cums first with a breathless grunt, and you follow, wetting his thigh. 

[april-is]

April 12, 2024: A Small Psalm, Catherine Wing

A Small Psalm Catherine Wing

Sorrow be gone, be a goner, be forsooth un-sooth, make like a suit and beat it, vamoose from the heavy heavy, be out from under the night's crawlspace, call not for another stone, more weight more weight, be extinguished, extinguish, the dark, that which is deep and hollow, that which presses from all sides, that which squeezes your heart into an artichoke-heart jar and forbids it breathe, that which is measured by an unbalanced scale, banish the broken, the unfixable, the shattered, the cried-over, the cursed, the cursers, the curses— curse them, the stone from the stone fruit, let it be fruit, the pit from the pitted, the pock from the pocked, the rot from the rotten, tarry not at the door, jam not the door's jamb, don't look back, throw nothing over your shoulder, not a word, not a word's edge, vowel, consonant, but run out, run out like the end of a cold wind, end of season, and in me be replaced with a breath of light, a jack-o'-lantern, a flood lamp or fuse box, a simple match or I would even take a turn signal, traffic light, if it would beat beat and flash flood like the moon at high tide, let it, let it, let it flare like the firefly, let it spark and flash, kindle and smoke, let it twilight and sunlight, and sunlight and moonlight, and when it is done with its lighting let it fly, will'-o-the-wisp, to heaven.

--

Also: + you can’t be a star in the sky without holy fire, Frank X. Gaspar + Untitled [I closed the book and changed my life], Bruce Smith

Today in:

2023: How to Do Absolutely Nothing, Barbara Kingsolver 2022: Miss you. Would like to take a walk with you., Gabrielle Calvocoressi 2021: I saw Emmett Till this week at the grocery store, Eve L. Ewing 2020: Day Beginning with Seeing the International Space Station And a Full Moon Over the Gulf of Mexico and All its Invisible Fishes, Jane Hirshfield 2019: Flores Woman, Tracy K. Smith 2018: The Universe as Primal Scream, Tracy K. Smith 2017: Soul, David Ferry 2016: Turkeys, Galway Kinnell 2015: He Said Turn Here, Dean Young 2014: I Don’t Miss It, Tracy K. Smith 2013: Hotel Orpheus, Jason Myers 2012: Emily Dickinson’s To-Do List, Andrea Carlisle 2011: Now That I Am in Madrid and Can Think, Frank O’Hara 2010: The Impossible Marriage, Donald Hall 2009: The Rider, Naomi Shihab Nye 2008: from Homage to Mistress Bradstreet, John Berryman 2007: This Heavy Craft, P.K. Page 2006: Late Ripeness, Czeslaw Milosz 2005: A Martian Sends A Postcard Home, Craig Raine

[logyisthemaincharacter]

Valentine's Day bliss

Series link

A/n: This one has a little less dialog.

These past few weeks, I've been going on more dates with Jack, and I have to say it's been quite a journey. It's like we've been on this rollercoaster of discovery, and I can't help but feel vulnerable with him.

I find myself eagerly looking forward to our next outing, whether it's trying out a new restaurant, going for a scenic hike, or simply enjoying each other's company over a cozy movie night. It's amazing how effortlessly we click and how comfortable I feel around him.

One of my favorite dates we went on was when he showed me around his Louisville. He took me to all these hidden gems and local spots that I never would have discovered on my own. It was like having a personal tour guide, and I loved getting to see a different side of the city through his eyes.

Another amazing date we had was a scenic train ride. The scenery was like something out of a postcard. Rolling hills, lush greenery, and charming little towns. We held hands, stealing glances at each other, as if we were the only two people in the world.

Whenever we're together, I feel this incredible sense of happiness and excitement. Jack has this way of making me feel like I'm the most important person in the world.

There's something about Jack's charm, his wit, and the way he makes me feel special that keeps drawing me closer to him. It's like we have this unspoken understanding and a shared sense of adventure that makes every moment with him feel like a new and exciting chapter in our story. I often find myself getting lost in his stories, his laughter, and the way he looks at me with those sparkling eyes.

But it's not just about the surface-level attraction and fun we have. It's also about the deeper connection we've been building. Jack is so caring and attentive. He's been there for me in ways I never expected. He's been my biggest cheerleader, supporting me in my goals and dreams. He's listened to my doubts and fears, and he's always there to remind me of my strength and worth. It's like he sees the best in me, even when I struggle to see it myself.

I can't deny the way my heart skips a beat when I'm with Jack. I find myself smiling for no reason. It's like he's become this constant presence in my life, and I can't imagine it any other way.

Today is Valentine's Day, and I really wanted to do something special for Jack. He's been going above and beyond with all these amazing dates, making me feel like the luckiest person in the world. I want to show him just how much I appreciate him and all the effort he's put into making our time together unforgettable.

Even though I told him not to do anything for Valentine's Day, he went above and beyond to surprise me.

I was still half asleep, stumbling into my living room, when I was hit with the most intoxicating scent of flowers. And there, all across the room, was the most jaw-dropping sight I had ever seen. It was a massive display of 1000 pink peonies, filling the entire space with their vibrant colors and delicate petals.

I couldn't believe my eyes! I mean, who does that? Jack, that's who. He had somehow managed to sneak into my house while I was sleeping and set up this breathtaking surprise. The sheer effort and thoughtfulness behind it melted my heart.

I immediately called Jack, half in disbelief and half in awe, to thank him for this incredible gesture. He confessed that he just couldn't resist showing me how much he cared. And boy, did he succeed!

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of emotions. Every time I walked past that sea of pink peonies, I couldn't help but smile and feel overwhelmed with love. It was a constant reminder of Jack's affection and how lucky I was to have him in my life.

I know Jack loves nature, so I decided to create a magical experience in the great outdoors. I found the perfect spot in the woods and set up a beautiful bubble tent. It's transparent, so we can see the starry sky above us as we enjoy our evening together.

Inside the tent, I made sure to create a cozy and romantic atmosphere. I laid out soft blankets, fluffy pillows and adorned the space with twinkling fairy lights. It feels like our own little private paradise.

I knew I had to cook something that would make Jack's heart skip a beat. And what better way to do that than with creamy lemon chicken pasta? It's a perfect dish that to impress him and satisfies his chicken cravings.

So here I am finishing the last few touches for the date, fussing over the blanket arrangements, making sure they's messy enough to look cozy. My focus is so intense that I don't even hear Jack approaching.

Just as I'm carefully adjusting the pillows, Jack appears at the entrance of the tent, causing me to jump in surprise. The sound of his footsteps had been masked by rustling leaves, so his unexpected presence startled me.

I let out a small yelp. Jack can't help but laugh at my reaction, his eyes full of amusement. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He comes closer and hugs me.

I sigh, chuckling and gladly embracing him, feeling the comfort of his strong arms around me. "I was just caught off guard. It's okay." I pull back, looking up at him, "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day to you too." He leans down, gently pressing his lips against my cheek.

I pull away, feeling my cheeks heat up, tugging on him to sit down with me, "Thanks again for all those flowers this morning. It really caught me by surprise. And you still haven't told me how you got into my place."

He chuckles, putting his arm around me, pulling me close, "That part wasn't easy, so I'm not gonna tell you what lengths I went through to get there." He covers our legs with one of the blankets. "Don't worry about it."

"When did you even have time for it? How did I not wake up? What am I gonna do with all those flowers when they die?"

"We'll figure that out later." He pulls a tiny box out of his jacket's pocket. "I got you something else." He holds it out to me.

"Jack, I don't want anymore gifts. One bunch of flowers would've been enough. You already overdid that part." I place my hand on the box, slightly pushing it away.

"Just open it, please. I really took my time picking these out." He looks at me pleadingly.

With a sigh, I take the box and lift the lid. My eyes widen, and my mouth hangs open as a pair of golden Dior hoops appear in front of me. These must've cost a fortune!

Immediately, I put the lid back on and shove the box back in his hand. A wave of confusion washes over his face. "What's wrong? Don't you like it?"

"No, it's beautiful. It really is. I just can't accept that." I avoid eye contact. "Tonight was supposed to be about me doing something nice for you. Not you bombarding me with expensive gifts. And by the way, you said I should just look. I never said I was taking them."

"Logan, please. This isn't even that big of a deal. Please just take the earrings."

"I just don't want to seem like I'm only here for your money of fame." I rub my arm, slowly looking up at him.

"And I know that. 'Cause I know you." He places the box in my hands again. "I felt like I wanted to buy them for you, and I did. If I ever thought that you were using me, we wouldn't even be sitting here."

I look at the box, then at him. He really means well. "Since we're doing the gift thing, I'm going to give you yours as well." I dig behind all the pillows for the box.

"Oh, Logan, you shouldn't have." He mocks me.

I hit his shoulder as I pull the box out with my other hand. I put it on the pallet table. "I put a lot of sense it this gift. You better like it." I glare at him playfully.

"I can feel this is something good." He sits forward a little, observing it, probably thinking about what could be in there.

I feel so nervous. I've never gone this far with gifts. But Jack is very special to me. My hands are literally shaking, and my heart is beating faster than ever.

He takes the box in his hands and rips the wrapping paper. He sees the logo on the box, widening his eyes his eyes in shock. He carefully opens it, revealing a brand new silver Rolex GMT-Master II.

"And you didn't want expensive gifts." He takes it out and hugs me.

"That's not all. Flip it over."

As he turns the watch over and sees all his albums engraved on the back, his emotions overflow. "This is one of the best gifts I've ever gotten."

"Every time you write a new album, you can just add it there. Or I can."

"I think I'll leave the engraving to you." He smiles at the watch, mesmerized.

We spend the evening stargazing through the transparent walls of the bubble tent. The night sky is a breathtaking tapestry of stars, constellations, and the occasional shooting star. We point out our favorite constellations, making wishes upon those shooting stars and feeling a sense of awe and wonder at the vastness of the universe.

We end up cuddling up together, our bodies entwined, feeling the warmth and comfort of each other's presence. The soft glow of the fairylights adds a touch of romance, casting a warm and cozy ambiance.

For the past hour, Jack has been explaining basketball to me. He's like a walking encyclopedia of basketball knowledge, and his excitement is contagious.

Jack started by breaking down the basics of the game, explaining the rules, positions, and strategies. He made sure I understood everything, even patiently answering my endless questions.

Then, he dove into the rich history of the Boston Celtics, sharing stories of legendary players like Larry Bird, Bill Russell, and Paul Pierce. He described their incredible achievements, the intense rivalries, and the unforgettable moments that have made the Celtics such an iconic team.

But it wasn't just about the past for Jack. He also talked about the current Celtics roster, highlighting their talented players and their unique playing styles. He explained how the team's strong work ethic and dedication to teamwork have made them a force to be reckoned with.

Throughout his hour-long basketball lesson, Jack's enthusiasm never wavered. He used animated gestures, drew diagrams on napkins, and even pulled up highlight videos on his phone to illustrate his points. It was like having my own personal sports commentator right there with me.

The whole time, my eyes have been fixed on him with curiosity and admiration.

"Logan?"

"Yes?"

"You keep staring at me like that and..." His voice drifts off.

"And what?"

His broad chest rises and falls, as if he just took a deep, maybe even nervous, breath. "I can't be held responsible for what I might do."

In a flash, his lips are on mine. He's kissing me. Jack Harlow is kissing me. As if he had been starved for eternity. Just like a beast meant to devour me. His hard body coming against mine, desperately seeking anything I'd give him.

Our lips open, ravaging each other's mouthes, while his large palms roam down my sides. Down, down, down they go, stopping just below my waist. My hands fly to his chest, and I relish how hard it feels, how warm, how perfectly solid.

For a moment, we break apart. Just to catch our breath.

He rests his head against mine. "I like talking to you. I just didn't think I'd like kissing you even more."

"Then do it again."

His lips meet mine again and again and again, drugging me into a delirium I never want to escape. It's like swimming in molasses. It's like being dipped in gold. It's like diving into an ocean of emotion, and I'm too swept up in the current to realize I'm drowning, and nothing matters anymore.

This is the only thing that matters.

This kiss.

This moment.

These lips.