#pink sandstone

[sabkiawaaj]

Abu Dhabi's First Hindu Temple Built with Pink Sandstone from Rajasthan, Holy Water from Ganga-Yamuna

Abu Dhabi’s First Hindu Temple Built with Pink Sandstone from Rajasthan, Holy Water from Ganga-Yamuna Abu Dhabi’s First Hindu Temple Built with Pink Sandstone from Rajasthan, Holy Water from Ganga-Yamuna Abu Dhabi is set to welcome its first Hindu temple, constructed with pink sandstone sourced from the deserts of Rajasthan, India. The sacred structure, dedicated to Hindu deities, stands as a…

[hyydraworks]

Realized as I was shipping out the Sandstone friends in this last update that their info card was in dire need of some visual upgrades.  Had a very enjoyable time painting this lad.

[colorsoutofearth]

Slot Canyon on the Navajo Reservation, Antelope Canyon, Arizona

Photo by Jack Dykinga

[pan-fried-autism]

Orange Jade and Imperial Black Sandstone :>

[kalmeria]

there was a wreath in the lake

[daily-public-domain]

Day 16: Cappadocia, Turkey

You may recognize this as the place on the album cover for Amber by electronic music duo Autechre.

[antisocialclubs-stuff]

It stands out as a distinctive option for anti social club neighborhood hoodie fashion-forward people because of its bold and unique designs and seamless fusion of high fashion and streetwear.

[bordonfreeman]

Lesbian rocks

[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

taglist: @bella-maria2018 @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

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[headspace-hotel]

my current list of biomes that need to be in Minecraft

cave biomes:

ice cave with ice and icicles, found under cold biomes

crystal cave with quartz in it. have a more natural looking quartz block for the overworld that can be crafted into the existing quartz, as well as quartz crystals. Found only in the deepslate layer like the deep dark

Flooded caves should be their own biome and have cave fish and stuff

island biomes:

you know how in real life islands can create really bizarre isolated ecosystems? yeah

definitely needs to be a Volcanic island that is all basalt and has magma and lava

desert/arid biomes:

lush desert with more diverse desert plants

red sand desert or outback with red sandstone and red sand

scrubland with patches of sand, coarse dirt and packed mud, occasional small trees and thorns

ocean biomes:

abyssal ocean found below y=20 with deep sea creatures, it is dark all the time. Since the world depth has increased so much we desperately need this. This could also include strange metal shipwrecks with strange loot

hydrothermal vents when

other biomes:

hot springs: Surface pools surrounded by calcite and dripstone, with mud at the bottom and bubbling water that gives off steam. How? Simple: just make it so that mud placed on top of a magma block will make water on top of the mud bubble and steam

pink sand beach: Exactly what it sounds like, because why not.

salt marshes: Found in similar areas to mangrove swamps, with reeds that can be harvested for thatch. There are soooo many types of wetlands, Mojang. So many.

peat bogs: Another swamp variant where you can dig peat which can be used for fuel

cloud forest. You know how in real life there are jungles at high elevations called cloud forests? This would be a slight fantasy exaggeration/expansion of that idea. Cloud forests are found mixed with stony peaks in high mountains and on clusters of floating islands/rocks at or above the levels that mountains generate. They're often inaccessible without elytra.

ancient forest: Mainly just a forest with huger trees and mushrooms that give off light. I want BIG trees. I want 3x3 oak trees and dark oak trees. Patches of mycelium on the ground. Rarer orchids.

p l e a s e

[simplepotatofarmer]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream & Technoblade - Desert

mirage

The map was useless; never ending brown stretching out to the edges of the cream paper it was printed on. Dream would have thrown it away but there was some comfort in looking at it, trying to piece together the location he was currently and where he was supposed to be going. A security blanket that probably would've been more helpful if it had been an actual blanket.

He wiped his hand across his brow, careful not to get sweat or the tiny grains of sand that clung to him in his eyes.

"This is so stupid," he said and the desert swallowed his words in silence. For a brief moment, Dream shivered, cold.

Hours ago, he had removed his armor. It was heavy and dark and trapped heat and he would have more of a chance against an opponent without armor than he would against the beating sun. He trudged on.

And he trudged on, only stopping when the sun was high in the sky and there was a small mound of sandstone to press his back against. There was terracotta mixed in and Dream checked the map once more, looking for any landmark that could match up to whatever this had once been. Nothing. He should head back, he knew that, but somewhere out in this desert was an old village and in it was a library and, possibly, a book.

If it's still there, thought Dream, not wanting to speak out loud again.

Using his overshirt as paltry shade, Dream closed his eyes, the cold bones of the sandstone lulling him to sleep.

He woke when a shadow fell over him.

He stared up, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, wondering sluggishly if he had died or gone crazy from the heat. Either was possible and more plausible.

"You alive there, man?" asked Techno.

Blinking, Dream pushed himself upright, hands slipping on the sand covered stone. The tiny granules digging into his palms felt real. He pulled his shirt down and wiped his face with the hem.

"What the fuck?"

Techno crouched down, the brim of his wide, floppy hat almost hitting Dream. He wore no armor, no bright red cloak like usual, but a loose white shirt and baggy tan pants.

"Hullo to you, too, Dream."

"What-- What are you doing here?" His brain felt like it was slowly beginning to move but in the wrong direction, the question not the one he really wanted an answer to.

"I can't make sure a friend doesn't die of heatstroke?"

Techno shifted where he was crouching, hooves leaving marks in the sand. He glanced out across the desert, away from the rocky mound. Dream frowned. Confusion and relief and a little bit of fear all swirled around in his chest.

"What- Wait. How did-- How did you find me?" he asked, closer to the question he really wanted to ask but not quite. Maybe he was afraid of that question and the answer.

"Ah." Techno sat next to Dream, his back also against the sandstone. "I have my ways, I have my ways... Also it wasn't that hard when Tommy wouldn't shut up about seeing you head out this way."

"Heh."

It made sense. It was even funny and Dream grinned. Next to him, Techno was watching him with concern but chuckled when Dream let out his quiet huff of laughter.

"Yeah, he thinks you're up to something but apparently the only thing you're up to is gettin' lost and dyin' of dehydration," Techno said.

"I'm not dying," said Dream and rolled his eyes, ignoring how dry they felt.

"Oh, sure, sure. You just normally look like a corpse."

Dream tilted his head.

"Well, to be fair, after the prison..."

The laugh Techno gave was choking, surprised, and he shook his head. Strands of pink hair stuck out from his braid and he flicked one of his ears.

"Alright, you got me there, man."

"Yeah."

Dream leaned his head against the rock. The sun was lower in the sky now, waves of heat visible off the sand. There was silence but it didn't feel as ominous now.

"D'you find what you were lookin' for?"

With a sigh, Dream brushed some sand off his pants.

"No. You- You could help me."

"I dunno." Techno frowned, looking over at Dream. "I only brought enough water to get across this stretch of desert then back. Speakin' of, you look like you could use a drink."

"Right," said Dream, as he pulled out his canteen and took a sip, the first one he had had in hours. It made sense; from Techno's perspective this was a rescue mission and nothing more. Or it was Dream's subconscious telling him what he already knew. Both scenarios led to the same conclusion. He took a deep breath. "Are... Are you real?"

"Heh? I'm real." Techno held out his arm in front of Dream. "You wanna pinch me and make sure?"

"No." Once more there were two answers that led to the same outcome and either Dream could make the trek back alone or with company, real or imagined. "Alright. Let's go."

@sixteenth-day-event

[sarahscribbles]

por qué no los dos...soft morning sex with Loki ft. interlocking hands. i have been here rotating this idea in my mind for like, the last day.

Anything for you, my love

In the Quiet of the Morning

Summary: Soft morning sex with Loki

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Genre: Fluff, smut

Word count: 3.1k

Loki Masterlist

Crimson petals as vibrant as freshly spilled blood brushed relentlessly along your left shoulder and the expanse of your upper back. The flower - one of Frigga’s enchanted tulips if you were correct - was ceaseless in caressing you with its velvet touch, bowing forward on its sturdy stalk, again and again, no matter how many times you attempted to shake it away. The kiss of its petals along your sensitive skin was maddening, refusing to let you slip back into the most relaxing sleep you had ever had. No sooner would your tired eyes drift closed against the bright morning sun than its stalk would bend soundlessly forward to graze your shoulder again, pulling you to the surface of wakefulness before you could fully drown in sleep.

This time, you raised a frustrated hand to firmly bat it away, your fingertips only succeeding in catching its curled edges before it bounced out of reach. This time, the soft spring grass of the meadow beneath you also shook.

That was unusual. 

Asgard wasn’t known for its earthquakes; you were next to positive no seismic events had occurred since the reign of Borr, so to feel the soft grass shake beneath your tired limbs was alarming in the least. Though, after the initial tremor, the ground fell still around you, the quiet fluttering of the grass in the breeze making you question if it had only been a figment of your imagination. 

What wasn’t, though, was the incessant graze of the damn tulip. 

Again, its delicate petals brushed over your shoulder, this time with added force, and a peeved hand quickly swept through the air to bat it aside. 

The ground beneath you shook again, though you noticed it wasn’t the tumultuous rumble of plates scraping against each other, but more akin to a steady, broken pulse of the ground as though it possessed a heartbeat of its own. It quickly went still again beneath you and you closed your eyes once more, hoping the last remnants of sleep would pull you back under like a buoy under the surf. 

What felt like a return to peaceful sleep in the spring meadow nestled in the Asgard mountains quickly began to melt to black. You could no longer feel the soft coolness of the grass beneath your bare arm or feel the gentle heat of the morning sun beating down on your legs. Instead, as your consciousness waded through the last dregs of sleep, you felt the warm tangle of sheets encasing your body. 

You weren’t lying in a spring meadow somewhere in the mountains of Asgard, you were in your chamber in the palace cocooned in green silk. When your tired eyes settled you could see the skyline of Asgard through the sandstone arches to the balcony, the light dusting of pink still scattered across the high peaks of the mountains telling you it was still early morning, much earlier than you usually rose, so what had caused you to…?

Ah. 

That damn tulip. 

The damn tulip had, in reality, been Loki’s lips pressing to the bare skin of your shoulder, each gentle kiss as soft as the beat of a butterfly’s wings and causing a pleasant tickle beneath your skin. You would recognise his touch anywhere, would know blind every groove and contour of his lips. He was as familiar to you as the steady beat of your heart.

One strong arm, heavy and secure, was curled around your waist, pressing your back to his chest and flexing gently with each kiss to your shoulder. The temptation to let your fingers find his forearm and drift along his slender muscles until they interlocked with his own curled against your stomach was nearly overpowering, but you were loathe to break the spell that had been cast over your chambers in the early morning light. 

Through the wide, open arches of the chamber balcony, the rising sun had painted the room in hues of orange and yellow, as though a golden sphere of magic encased the east wing of the palace to seal you in this moment with Loki. The light danced off your hanging glass ornaments to paint a medley of rainbows on each chamber wall, each of them jumping slightly with the gentle morning breeze that brought with it the sounds of the Allmother’s garden birds below. 

Surely this was Valhalla?

The unbroken pleasant melody of birdsong floated around the chamber, mixing with the soft sound of Loki’s lips leaving your shoulder. Each kiss he placed upon you was as chaste as freshly fallen snow, but each one still had warmth blossom pleasantly beneath your bare skin. A quiet sigh of utter contentment floated from your lips before you could stop it, and you could practically hear Loki smile when he nuzzled his face into your neck. 

“I know you’re awake, dove,” he murmured quietly, sinking his teeth gently into the skin just behind your ear and sending a shiver wracking your spine. 

Smooth, silk sheets became a cocoon around your sleep-warm body when you rolled onto your back, now looking up at the man you loved as he hovered over you, the beginning of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Not by own choice,” you said, attempting to sound stern and displeased, though you were forced to bite the inside of your cheek to prevent a smile. 

Loki’s jaw dropped until his mouth formed a small, perfect “o” of feigned shock. “You would choose sleep over spending time with your devoted husband? You wound me, my darling.” 

“Sleep does not demand my attention so tirelessly,” you teased him, finally allowing a smile to break across your face. 

Gazing up at him in the delicate golden tinge of the morning, you were struck once again by the fact that he was yours. Set against the early morning sun bouncing off the sandstone walls of the chamber he looked ethereal, like what the Midgardians might call an angel. Even with his sleep-knotted curls and the last vestiges of sleep colouring his pale cheeks pink, he looked every inch the god and prince that he was. 

And he was yours. 

The look in his eyes, the softening of emerald green irises, was one reserved solely for you. “Ah, but with a wife as enchanting as mine, who can blame me?” he asked, cupping your cheek with one cool hand and letting the silken pad of his thumb caress your heated skin.

You rolled your eyes fondly and allowed him to lean in and kiss you. It was soft and wonderfully slow and sent a glowing warmth rushing all the way to your toes. Even after centuries together his kiss still elicited the same reaction in you as the first one at fourteen, the one you could still conjure clear as the brightest summer day in your memory. 

The day you had realised that you would burn Asgard to cinders for him. 

It was a depth of love for him that you fought to convey in every touch, every kiss, and this morning was no different. The kiss you returned was equally as chaste, but twice as firm, and when you felt him begin to pull back, your hands skated swiftly from where they had rested against his bare chest to his shoulders in a wordless plea. 

Not yet.

You weren’t yet ready to give up the warmth of his lips. 

He smiled against your mouth, his appreciative hum tingling against your lips and causing your heart to leap for him. The single small sound, as quiet as an afternoon breeze whispering through the grass, was all it took to have you melt back into the scattering of silk covered pillows, opening yourself to him completely. 

He could shatter you to pieces in his elegant hands but you trusted him entirely. Your heart and soul were his, would remain his until your hourglasses ran out of sand, and even then. Your soul would follow his to the halls of Valhalla or the glorious meadow of Fólkvanger. Even death would not make you part from him. 

Even with having him so present, so solid beneath your fingertips, your heart still cried out for him, for more of him. Eager arms snaked across the soft, pale skin of his back, gently coaxing him closer even though you were practically skin on skin. Wordlessly, he followed, settling easily between your spread legs while keeping his lips sealed to yours, refusing to be apart from you for even the breath of a second. One hand rested by your side against the mattress, while the other drifted to the outside of your right thigh, toying with the intricate lace at the bottom of your nightgown. 

You sucked in a breath when you felt his fingers slip beneath the soft satin, tracing nonsensical patterns along your heated skin until they reached the curve of your hip. It was a silent question, a wordless “may I?” despite his having your consent as long as there was breath in your lungs. Unable to swallow the laughter that bubbled in your throat, you begrudgingly broke his kiss to see the quiet request burning in his green eyes.

“Already?” you teased him, though you burned for him just as hard. 

His smile was soft and heartwarmingly lopsided as he gazed at you. “My darling love, you know I can never get enough of you.” 

The obvious sincerity of his words coupled with the sheer intensity swirling in his eyes had a burning flame flicker beneath your cheeks. Several centuries of life behind you both and yet a few well chosen words had the power to make you as giddy as when the flame of your love had only just been lit.

“There’s no need to butter me up, my prince. I’m already yours.” You removed your left hand from where it had settled on his back, wiggling your wedding ring in front of him and watching it glitter in the weak morning sun. 

Loki slid his right hand out from under your nightgown, catching your hand easily in his own to press a kiss over the yellow gold adorning your finger. “Mine or not, you still deserve to hear how fiercely I burn for you morning, noon and night.”

Something deep in your stomach twisted with need for him, a thousand tiny butterflies taking flight within you, and your heart cried out for the feel of his beating alongside it. Not willing to wait or tease him any longer, you pulled your hand from his grip, folding it over the other and automatically placing both over your head, waiting to feel the gentle tingle of his magic. 

Instead, his kiss swollen lips parted in a small smile and his eyes softened to resemble an early spring meadow. “Not this time, my love,” he said gently, reaching to take your wrists in one hand to coax them back around his broad shoulders. “This morning I only wish to love you.” 

The fingers of one hand curled into the skin at the bottom of his neck, lightly scratching him the way you knew he enjoyed. As expected, you felt him shiver beneath your touch. “Then love me. Please,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper. 

He answered without words - there was no need for them - and instead sealed his lips over yours again. In the blissful quiet of your chambers, you bared yourself to him fully. While his hands worked easily to rid you of pale lilac satin, yours twisted into his hair, relishing the soft feel of his curls against your fingertips.

In the ever changing world outside your chamber - falling kingdoms and wars between the realms - Loki remained your constant, the rock that kept you anchored firmly to the ground. In this world or in the one that followed, he would be everything you ever needed to feel complete. 

“I love you,” you said easily once he freed your lips and turned his attention to the sensitive skin of your neck. The fingers of one hand remained tangled in his hair, moving with him with every nip and kiss along your skin; the other was looped around his bare waist, holding him as close to you as was possible and delighting in the soft scratch of the smattering of hair at the bottom of his stomach. 

He turned his head to place a wet kiss on the edge of your jaw, the action making stray black curls fall to lightly tickle the dip between your neck and shoulder. “I love you,” he replied, almost before the last syllable had left your lips. 

One large hand, firm and protective, settled in the curve of your waist, the pad of his thumb tracing light little circles over your skin for only a moment before his fingers drifted down between your legs, grazing oh so lightly against where you ached for him. 

There was no real need, though; you were already dripping for him. 

Your hand slid from his waist around his stomach, brushing over the coarse hair at the base of his cock to wrap firmly around him. A quiet grunt of pleasure escaped him, making something flutter like a startled bird in your stomach. He was hard and already weeping when you ran your hand in three slow strokes along the length of him. 

“Please, Loki,” you begged him quietly. “I’m ready. Please.” 

His eyes sparkled at you, love shining from them as clear as day. As gently as though you were a fawn he feared startling, he removed your hand from his hair to place a kiss against your closed fist, warm lips lingering against your skin. “You need not beg, my darling. My love is always yours.” 

With love spilling from your heart, you watched him manipulate your closed fist until his cool fingers interlocked with yours. Your joined hands fell to rest against the mattress, Loki giving yours the barest hint of pressure as, with the early morning sun casting you both in an iridescent glow, he eased himself slowly inside you. You kept your eyes on his while he filled you inch by beautiful inch, the first gasp of pleasure that fell from your parted lips making him squeeze your hand again. You hoped you were making him feel as good as he was making you. 

“Perfect, my darling. Always so perfect,” he murmured, leaning in to place a haphazard pattern of kisses along your collarbone. 

You were certain the intensity of the love you were feeling for him would spill from your every pore. There was nothing you would not do for him, nowhere you would not go for him. He was the moon that cast light on your darkest night and the stars that painted your sky. He was the other half of your soul. 

“I love you…so much,” you said again, unable to verbalise just how deep your love for him ran, how it could likely power Asgard and the eight realms outside it. It was the fire that kept you warm on the coldest winter nights and grounded you when you felt as though you were twenty feet above the ground. 

You loved him.

When he was fully seated inside you, his head fell forward, forehead resting against yours. “There’s no need to butter me up, my darling. I’m already yours,” he echoed. He captured your lips in another swift kiss and began rolling his hips, his cock moving in long, slow strokes in and out of you. 

Loving you. 

You locked your arms around him like a vice, giving yourself leverage to meet every roll of his hips with your own, the desperate need for him almost sending you dizzy.

“Beautiful thing,” he murmured against the flushed skin of your collarbone. “Enchanting woman,” he continued, the praise and adoration falling from his lips like honey and fanning the fire already burning ceaselessly in your heart for him.

It was something you were only too glad to reciprocate. Sweet words of your own weaved easily with his until his practiced fingers dipped between your legs to your clit and brought them to a stuttering stop. Your praise quickly melted into sharp cries of pleasure that rose to fill the high vaulted ceilings of the chamber, each slow stroke of Loki’s cock and masterful circle of his fingers sending you closer and closer to the teetering edge. 

All the while, his hand continued clutching yours like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world. 

With the pressure of his touch and the firm, slowness of his thrusts, it was only a matter of minutes before you were dangling off the delicious edge, braced and ready to freefall into your release. “Loki…I’m gonna come,” you warned him, flexing your fingers around his. 

“Wait,” he said swiftly, voice rough and breathing hard. “Wait for me.” It was a plea rather than an order, and you nodded mutely. With your praise in his ear and your hand cupping his cheek, he reached you mere moments later. “Now. Come with me, darling.” 

Your release was instant and blinding, making a kaleidoscope of brilliant white stars dance behind your eyes. Loki’s hand squeezed yours and you returned it with twice the force, his name spilling from your lips like it was the only word you cared to know, like it was the only word you needed to know. He rode out his high alongside you, repeating your name like it was his saving grace and the one thing that could grant him salvation. 

You clutched him like a lifeline, feeling how your knees, still locked around his waist, turned to jelly with the force of your orgasm. He spilled inside you, spreading warmth to your very core and claiming you once again as his. You continued to hold him as he rode out the aftershocks of his pleasure, turning blissfully boneless beneath him in the wake of your release and feeling the frantic beat of his heart alongside yours. 

You wished you could freeze time to remain frozen in this moment forever; thoroughly loved and held securely in your husband’s embrace. 

His head eventually fell to rest in the crook of your neck, hand still clinging to yours while he pressed a trail of lazy kisses to your damp skin. Your free hand stroked his hair, being mindful of the snags and knots that still remained from the night. He hummed contentedly against your neck. 

“That…that was a nice way to wake up,” you spoke softly into his curls, still breathless from his love. 

You felt his warm breath fan against your neck as he laughed. “You still seem drowsy to me, darling,” he said, propping himself up to meet your gaze with mischief swirling plainly in his eyes. “Perhaps you should cancel your morning plans today. I fear you won’t be properly awake until at least noon.” He claimed your lips in another blistering kiss and you allowed him to press you back against the pillows. 

Today could wait.

Tags: @cake-writes @sineads-art  @thedistractedagglomeration @joyful-enchantress @amethyst-dow @sailorholly @hyperfixating-on-loki   @vickie5446 @el-zef @all-envy-suyu

[clovercrafted]

🌷test build and tree practice

Messing around on a friends test superflat, decided to go back to my roots and make a cute little cottage styled build. This’d make a very cute starter base! I'm especially excited about the trees!

Also sorry if you're not on the tag list! Tumblr is telling me that people have deleted their blogs when its probably just url changes, let me know if you'd like to be added/readded!

Tag list ☘️: @gronglegrowth @absintheaftershock @adairctedgibbgirl @theronlovingcare @thefoxesraven @yourfriendphoenix @entomolodee @grymmdark @polnareffsbrows @sluttysoulcowboy @sculkgrowths @berieecraft @asynchronouscommunication

blocks used below

roof - bricks, granite, polished granite (stairs and slabs), dark oak fence, dark oak gates, terracotta (for the little inner bit), dark oak stairs, dark oak trapdoors

walls - sand, sandstone, smooth sandstone (base), stripped spruce, dark oak stairs (frame), dark oak trapdoors

decoration - glow lichen, glow berries, hanging roots, peonys, roses, tulips (white, pink, orange, red), barrels, plantpots, dead bushes, moss, spruce trapdoors, flowering azalea leaves, composter, lantern, dark oak fence, dark oak gate, dark oak slab, dark oak trapdoor, white stained glass (windows)

path - cobblestone, mossy cobblestone, moss carpet, azalea leaves, blooming azalea leaves, grass, tulips (pink, red)

trees - mangrove logs, azalea leaves, mangrove leaves, moss, moss carpet, green banner, glow lichen

[in-memoriam-tgwk]

i figured i should make a map of sorts for the colony’s territory, to help me as well as you all to visualize where events take place! its based on the topography of the hills and cliffs found in the northwest portion of the u.s., where prairie lands go into hills, and then into the rocky mountains. lots of sandstone, shale, granite, etc. with coniferous forests and jagged mountain peaks. the cliff actually mimics the ancient river boundaries along the missouri river near my hometown! although they are more red/pink irl, due to the scoria rock intermingled as well.

(Note: The Glowstool Caverns are a system of tunnels carved out by an old river path, and it is where the head medicine cat takes newly appointed leaders to receive their nine lives. It is named for the strange bioluminescent fungi that reside deep within the main chamber that guide the way to speak with Fate. Medicine cats rarely ever seek out Fate or the Watchers here outside of this ceremony, as it is believed that knowledge of incoming events will be rightfully bestowed rather than asked for.)

[vandaliatraveler]

The awful weather continues in NC-WV, although thankfully not on the order of the destructive storms out west. I stayed close to home for my weekend hike, heading out to the touristy side of the Cheat River Canyon, including Raven Rock, a spectacular sandstone promontory overlooking the river. I thought I had it to myself, until a rabble of church youth singers marched in on Crocs to a caterwaul of bad turkey calls (I hope that's not their stage act). They unwittingly posed for one of my shots, adding a bit of perspective to one of the sheer sandstone cliffs that constitute Raven Rock (top photo). Second photo is the perspective from the edge of that same cliff. Storms came swooping in shortly after I made it back to the trailhead. The pink lady slippers are at peak bloom right now, along with the gorgeous deerberry, by far and away the most beautiful of the Vaccinium shrubs that grow in this area. And for those of you who search out the mountain laurel blooms in May, your time has nearly arrived. :-)

[enbyandyy]

THIS SERVER IS SO PRETTY OMG

I've spent hours going around everywhere over the past few weeks and the SCALE of everything is just impossible to get over pictures, Joe's pinball machine FOR SURE [image ID under cut]

Image ID: there are four screenshots total, all taken from within the hermitcraft Minecraft world download. The first is a screenshot of scarland, good times with scar's themepark. It is at a low angle beneath the circle of greenery where the statue of scar and jellie holding hands stands. The mid-ground has three glowing cherry trees with pink leaves. In the background on the left there is a giant exploding volcano and the right there is a giant castle, mimicking the Disney land castle. It is near nightfall and the stars are visible.

The second is a screenshot of Joe hills' massive pinball machine, deep field, at sunset. The side of the machine is a pixel art of a deep field image of space with many stars and galaxies. The machine sits with it's base slightly in the ocean.

The third is a screenshot of xisumavoid's bone mage shop at night. The shop is a giant skeletal hand reaching up into the night sky on top of a hill, with a path winding around the hill with skeletal bones over it.

The fourth is a screenshot of pearlescent moon's alien landscape viewed at night. The landscape has hundreds of alien like plants built ontop of a manmade terraformed red and green environment all above a river. Some of the plants are very small, however the largest is nearly 100 blocks tall with huge spreading flower like petals. Stretching across the river is a small deepslate and red sandstone bridge