Hot Artists Don't Gatekeep

Wooley and Slasher commission from @cobaltbeam and I am DYING! It’s so beautiful!

The flower crowns are made with flowers that stand for each boy. Slash is fascinated by his little bug friend and Wooley is fascinated by something else… 🥹

Can you do something for me, please?

I want you to reblog this if you believe that two people can be very close and physically affectionate with one another, but still have a completely nonsexual, non-romantic relationship. 

Even if the two people in question are capable of being sexually or romantically attracted to one another. 

Because the friendship I share with someone I consider family in a way that transcends blood has been typecast as a romantic relationship ENTIRELY too many times, and I’m beginning to get sick of it. 

BBC Two: The only message you need for #International WomensDay!

Soft and Light & Dark and Hard

Warnings: Implied Smut. Some dirty talk.  Purgatory!Dean. (Look at that gif - it needs a warning!) Canon type violence.

Summary: What happened between when Dean popped out of purgatory and when he resurrected Benny. There's a "four days later" section of time that is unaccounted for. This is my attempt to fill that time.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader (Y/N)

Word Count: 2685

A/N: This was an idea that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.

I LOVE Purgatory!Dean. Hope you enjoy - there might be a sequel.

😉 Unbeta’d. All mistakes are mine. 😊

Y/N’s dad would have been very disappointed in her. She was no hunter, he’d made sure of that, but he’d certainly taught her to keep her wits about her and made sure she knew how to protect herself.

Yet, here she was, slammed against the cabin wall, with what felt like a band of iron at her throat. The man’s forearm wasn’t crushing her windpipe, but it was pressing hard enough that if she struggled at all, she would crush it herself. She was made completely immobile by him. He towered over her, pinning her body against the wall easily with his own, much larger one.

She stared up at him and, despite her best efforts, knew her terror was evident.

The man was filthy, covered in blood and mud. His face was almost obscured by it, his brilliant green eyes sparkling dangerously out of the mostly dark, late evening.

She looked down at the massive fist that held a knife to her heart and was suddenly sure she was going to die at the hands of this bloody stranger. Without warning she felt tears well up in her eyes. It wasn’t often that she cried, but she’d promised her father she would take care of herself and stay safe and she hadn’t even lasted a full week without him.

She closed her eyes and felt a tear escape to trickle down her cheek.

Suddenly the weight of the man’s body was gone. She opened her eyes in time to see him take his forearm from her throat and step back.

“Who are you?” He asked, his voice a literal growl. It was exactly what she had expected this man to sound like.

She tried to rally her scattered, terrified senses and take stock of the new situation. The man had let her go, he was still holding the knife, but it was lowered at his side. Progress.

“Y/N.” She answered, stuttering slightly.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice less of a growl, but still impossibly deep.

“I…this is where I live.” Y/N said, which wasn’t one hundred percent accurate, but it was close to the truth and she didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t anger him.

The man’s scowl deepened, Y/N hadn’t believed that to be possible. “This is Rufus Turner’s cabin. Are you related to Rufus somehow?”

A light bulb went off and Y/N began to understand; at least she hoped she did.

“I’m sorry. No…I…yes, it was Rufus’ cabin. But…I don’t know if you know, he’s…he’s passed away now. My Dad told me about the cabin a little while ago and when I had nowhere else to go, I came here. I’ve been here about a week and…well, it’s started to feel like home I guess. And my attention was…well, I was distracted coming back up here. I didn’t know you were in here until I came through the door, or I would have let you know I was coming, called out or something. But the…the lights were all off.”

She knew she was rambling. The man’s utter stillness and intense stare were very disconcerting and when she was nervous she tended to babble.

She cleared her throat and tried again. “You’re…you’re a hunter, aren’t you? A friend of Rufus’? My Dad told me other hunters used the cabin sometimes too.”

The man was silent for another minute, long enough to make Y/N begin to squirm. His piercing green gaze was unnerving but also slightly mesmerizing and Y/N began to feel a little like she was in a trance.

Finally she saw the man relax ever so slightly, and put the knife away in an inside pocket of his dirty leather coat.

“Yes.”

He’d been silent so long it took Y/N a moment to remember what she’d asked. But then she remembered he was confirming he was hunter and a friend of Rufus’.

“You can’t stay here.” The man said bluntly before turning away to light the two kerosene lamps that sat on the table.

“What, why?” Y/N asked, taken aback.

“Because I’m staying here.”

Y/N’s fear of the man fled in the face of his absolute audacity.

“Um…excuse me…you don’t own this cabin. Rufus left it for any hunters to use, not just you.”

The man turned back to face her and in the now bright room she could see, even through the layers of muck and blood, that the man standing in front of her was unbelievably beautiful.

His face was sculpted into perfect lines and planes, like a master artist had carved him out. His jaw was strong, cut square and sharp and his cheekbones were high and flawlessly chiseled. His lips, however, were molded by more gentle hands, full and lush. Y/N was suddenly aware of a desperate desire to run her thumb across his ripe bottom lip, something she didn’t think she had ever desired in her life before.

It took Y/N a moment to realize the man had said something, asked her a question maybe? Her brain was suddenly mush and she had to give herself a little shake to recover.

“What?” she asked stupidly, realizing her distracted response was likely undercutting her argument a little.

“Are you a hunter?” The man asked again, annoyance clear in his tone.

Y/N was tempted to lie and say yes, but she was nearly positive this man would see right through her.

“No. But…”

“Exactly. Then Rufus didn’t leave you anything.” The man said, turning away to the table again to begin rummaging through a backpack that sat there.

Y/N could feel her temper flare again at the man’s abrupt dismissal. She folded her arms and began to tap her foot.

“I don’t see why we can’t just both stay here. There’s plenty of room.”

“Because I have crap to do and I don’t need a civilian getting in my way.” The man answered in his growling voice again as he swiveled back around to face her.

Y/N stomped up to him. She wished she’d stopped a little further back so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck quite so much to look up at him, feeling, inexplicably, that his immense height gave him a slight advantage in the argument.

Y/N tried to make up for this by pushing a finger into the middle of his chest. “Look, buddy. I may not be a hunter, but I’m hardly a civilian. My dad’s been a hunter my whole life. I know what goes bump in the night okay.”

The man scoffed and flicked her finger off of him like she was a bothersome fly. “Great why don’t you call your dad to come get you out of my hair?”

“Because I burned his body to ash a week ago.”

Y/N clamped a hand over her mouth as though she’d said a bad word, or spilled a secret. She was silent for a minute, her mind reeling.

She shook her head and spoke from behind her hand. “That’s…I didn’t mean to…” she sat suddenly, glad there happened to be a chair behind her.

Her hand fell into her lap. “That’s the first time I’ve said it… that…that he’s dead. I haven’t heard the words.”

Y/N felt her throat constrict around the lump of unshed tears forming there. She looked up at the man standing in front of her, his expression inscrutable. She smiled weakly.

“Sorry about this.” She waved her hand toward herself. “It’s been a hard week.”

The man tilted his head slightly before he sighed deeply and pulled up the other chair and sat. He rubbed his hand across his face. “Yeah, me too.”

A silent moment passed before he spoke again. “What was his name, your dad?”

Y/N swiped at the two tears that had managed to escape, marveling at the fact that she had now cried twice in front of this stranger. That was more tears than she had shed in years.

“Steven Lane.”

The man shook his head. “I didn’t know him.” He caught Y/N’s gaze again. “I’m sorry.”

Y/N shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, me too.” She said, echoing his earlier statement. A sudden realization dawned on her. “I don’t even know your name. Sorry, I didn’t ask. Rude.” She smiled.

He didn’t return the smile, but stared at her hard for a minute. She soon realized her mistake; most hunters didn’t like to give out a lot of information to strangers.

“Sorry.” She said quickly. “You don’t…”

“Dean.” He interrupted.

Y/N nodded absently for a second before her eyes widened and her mouth dropped into an “O”. Fragments of information began to filter into her mind and she started to piece them together. His size, his speed and agility when he’d pounced on her coming in the door, his fierce demeanor, his aura of power and strength, his ridiculous good looks.

His bright green eyes.

“Winchester?” She asked in a whisper before answering herself. “You’re Dean Winchester.”

She’d heard the stories of the Winchesters almost her whole life. First John. Then Sam…and Dean.

He nodded abruptly and looked away. She was suddenly, acutely aware that she was basically fangirling over him. She shook her head and tried to get a grip.

“Sorry.” She said, apologizing for what felt like the hundredth time since coming through the door. “I...it’s just…I know who you are.”

Then one more piece of information filtered into her frazzled mind. “I thought you were dead.”

Dean slapped his palms onto his thighs before rising from the chair. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” He grabbed up the backpack from the table and moved toward the couch. “Look, I just need the day tomorrow and then I’ll be out of here. But I don’t want to answer a lot of questions okay, so let’s just stay out of each other’s way.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Sure, we can draw a line down the center of the cabin a la ‘I Love Lucy’.”

Dean looked back at her, his expression saying he was unimpressed with her attempt at humor. Then suddenly his face crumpled and he grabbed his left arm tightly, a small grunt of pain escaping him.

Y/N jumped up. “Or you can let me look at your arm and patch you up.”

Dean stepped away from Y/N quickly. “It’s fine. Just a cut. It’s healing.”

“Well, let me look at it.”

“No!” Dean barked at her, all his tense anger returning. “This is exactly my point. I’m fine and I don’t need anyone poking at me.”

Another wave of pain hit him and he half sat and half fell on the couch. His teeth were bared in a painful grimace as he pressed hard on his forearm. Y/N was very used to dealing with salty hunters who were too stubborn to listen to reason. She grabbed the first aid kit from the kitchen counter and returned to stand in front of Dean.

“Take off your jacket and pull up your sleeve.” Y/N ordered, feeling surefooted for the first time since walking into the cabin that evening. This was what she did. This was how she fought the good fight. She was a healer. Never able to go to school like a normal kid because of the life she and her dad lived, Y/N had, nevertheless, excelled in science and had always wanted to be a doctor.

That was impossible, of course, she knew she'd never become a doctor with her shoddy schooling record. So she learned to be a healer. She taught herself. She studied medicine, folklore, magic, and botany and combined them to become a hunter healer. She took care of her dad, but also all of her dad’s friends and a lot of victims that her Dad and his friends managed to save.

So she issued her directive and expected Dean would listen. But he ignored her easily. Not daunted, she simply climbed onto his lap, straddling him and pushing the jacket off his shoulders. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d forced healing onto someone bound and determined to suffer.

But in her comfort in her role as a healer she had momentarily forgotten that she wasn’t dealing with an old hunter or a traumatized victim. In spite of the pain in his arm, Dean was a virile, powerful, healthy, grown man; a hunter legendary for his strength and skill.

He grabbed her wrists tightly and she gasped as she was startled back to the reality that she was sitting in Dean Winchester’s lap and he had complete control over the situation. For some reason that idea, an idea that should have scared her, instead caused her stomach to tighten and heat to pool at her core.

Dean continued to hold her wrists firmly, but not painfully as he shrugged his jacket back onto his shoulders. He lowered their hands to rest between their bodies on his lap.

“I said, I’m fine.” His voice was a low rumble in his chest and it fell on Y/N’s ears like a drop of smooth bourbon on the tongue.

He let go of her wrists but made no move to get her off his lap. Y/N didn’t want to move, so she reached into the first aid kit and pulled out some rubbing alcohol and gauze.

“At least let me take care of some of this blood and these cuts on your face.” She said, her voice more of a ragged whisper than she’d meant it to be.

Dean shook his head slightly. “Most of it isn’t my blood.” But he didn’t stop her from reaching out and gently cleaning away some of the blood and mud from the small scratches and wounds along his hairline.

Y/N could feel Dean’s scorching gaze intent upon her face as she worked. It made her breath catch and her hands tremble slightly and she desperately avoided catching his eye for fear her heart would just stop beating.

There was a small abrasion on his chin and as Y/N dabbed at it gently with the gauze, her focus shifted to Dean’s plush bottom lip. It looked so soft, such a contrast to the rest of him. Her thumb was so close now; she could probably get away with touching it under the guise of checking his lip.

And before she could stop herself or admonish herself for her lack of boundaries and propriety, she was swiping her thumb along the silky smooth line of his lip. She heard a quick inhale and couldn’t actually tell if it came from Dean or her. Her thumb rested in the middle of his lip and almost reflexively Dean’s tongue pressed gently against it, before pulling the very tip in between his teeth and biting softly.

Y/N slid her gaze to his finally and the smoldering heat she found there did indeed make her heart skip several beats. Her breathing more ragged than ever, she pulled her hand away and replaced it with her lips. The kiss was chaste and soft, her movements deliberately slow, giving him ample opportunity to pull away or push her off of him.

When she pulled back slightly his eyes were still open and he studied her. When he finally spoke his voice was so soft and low she could only just make out his words.

“You shouldn’t stay here, Y/N. You should move.”

“Do you want me to?”

“You should want to.”

“Why?”

Dean grabbed hold of Y/N’s hips and pressed her down on his lap so that she could feel the hard bulge that pushed against the front of his jeans. Y/N’s eyes widened and Dean nodded.

“Because I really don’t want you to. I want you to stay right where you are. I want to rip the clothes from your body and taste your skin. I want to pound into you until oblivion hits. Because it’s been too long and I don’t have it in me to be gentle.” He paused and grabbed Y/N’s face between his palms.

He pulled her lips to his and crushed them against his own. His tongue swept into her mouth, hot, hard and wet. He pulled away only far enough to pull her bottom lip into his mouth and suck on it before biting down, leaving an imprint of his sharp white teeth in the soft skin.

“No, I won’t be gentle.”

Y/N felt a shudder of anticipation race through her.

"Don't be.”

Someone sent me an ask gushing about some Boba Fett’s lines from the show and I typed up a whole “I KNOW RIGHT” response and managed to delete the whole thing. 

And it’s not like I’ve listened to certain bits of dialogue repeatedly or made MP3s or anything but if I HAD here are the lines I would have chosen: 

Careful, princess

Easy there little one

Power up those shields, princess. I’ll put on a good show.

Any requests??? I’ve got Audacity fired up and ready to go. 

Across the Way

Chapter One: New Places, New Faces

Ao3

MDNI

Pairing: Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live, but after a chance meeting with a very pretty man and his service dog, a new element is thrown into that life that you never saw coming.

Johnny stirs awake with a grunt as Riley’s wet nose bumps against his hand. There’s a very slight ache behind his eyes - the kind that marks an oncoming migraine. He groans, not wanting to open them to the invasive sunlight that will inevitably make it worse. Then again, that’s the only way he can get any preemptive pain medication in his system. He still makes a noise of complaint when he finally peels back his lids.

“Feelin’ alright?” Simon rumbles, setting a glass on the nightstand along with two little pain pills. How he’s able to tell what kind of morning Johnny’s having before even he can is a true mystery.

Johnny just grunts back, rolling onto his side to grab his hearing aid out of the nightstand drawer. Normally he wouldn’t bother with putting it on with a possibly impending migraine, but he figures he can chance it. They’ve been lessening in the past few months. Somewhat.

“Plans for the day?” Simon asks as he pulls on one of his work shirts. “Up for coming to the shop?”

The little clock beside him blinks out five in the morning. Even after being retired for nearly three years, neither of them can manage to sleep in late whether they have to be up or not. “Gonnae take Riley out tae the park. Might drop by.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Me? Never.” Johnny flashes his husband a grin.

Simon just rolls his eyes in response. The rest of their morning is quiet, as most are when Johnny isn’t up for talking. It’s a comfortable silence, one they both came to appreciate long before this current chapter in their lives. One that developed on cots and in tents and the wreckage of war zones.

It’s just how they are.

Being essentially a stay at home husband was not how Johnny pictures his thirties. Being disabled was not how he pictured… any of it. He thought he’d be up for Lieutenant by now. Thought Simon would have taken over as Captain of the 141. He’s learned not to be bitter about it (with Simon’s and some professional help).

He can’t complain too much. He’s alive. He gets to be with his family. With Simon. With Riley in this run down dog park throwing around a ball that she dutifully chases and brings back with the pride of a great hunter bringing home a prized beast. He gets to go home to a place that is truly his, with a big comfortable bed and a man he fought tooth and nail to fill it with.

It’s a small life but he’s learned that small doesn’t mean unimportant.

Christ who knew turning thirty would make him a damn philosopher.

“Alright, lassie, time tae go.” Johnny crouches to shuffle Riley’s harness and leash back on. He knees pop and his back protests the movement. It’s a mercy that they were able to get such a lovely service dog. She’s such a good pup, always at the ready and happy to obey.

Except now, as she begins to tug insistently at her leash with her full weight - or at least as much as she can use without hurting him. It isn’t like her. He clicks and commands her to heel. She tugs harder and whines. It isn’t an alert that he knows - maybe it’s one that they don’t need often? He lets go of the leash, following as she quickly jogs away.

He circles a few bushes in pursuit, coming to face one of the large trees on the outer edge of the park. There’s a girl leaned on it, breath coming in and out heavy. She starts to slip forward a bit before Riley props her up, stabalizing the girl in much the same way she does Johnny when he gets faint. He speeds up his steps, holding out his hands on either side of the girl in case she falls.

“Aren’t you a good girl?” She coos at Riley quietly. American. Huh. He watches the girl dig in her pocket for something, eventually pulling out what looks like a to-go salt packet. She tears it open, throwing it back like a shot.

“Ye a’right?” Johnny asks, tilting his head.

She nods and takes a long, deep breath. “Sorry, I have a…thing.” She waves her hand around her head, straightening up and turning to face him. She’s cute. Insanely cute - with big eyes and soft body. Lovely curves from head to toe. Johnny may be a married man but that doesn’t mean he can’t apprecaite a little, right?

“Donnae apologize. I’ve got a thing, tae.” Johnny grins and points to the scar on his head where his hair never quite grew back.

She gives him a soft smile. “Well, you’ve got a good dog. I’ve never had one alert like that.”

“Aye, she was tuggin’ hard. Must’ve been a pretty bad spell. Ye sure yer okay?”

“Yeah.” Her braided hair falls about her shoulders. “Just didn’t eat enough before I went for a walk and then I stood up too quickly…”

“Och, standin’, my age old enemy.”

She giggles quietly, pressing her fingers over her lips to cover them. It’s pretty, the way her round face gets even rounder with her smile.

“Johnny.” He holds out a hand, flashing his most charming smile he can muster. It’s a little more tired these days - the corners of his eyes crinkle more than they used to. The girl takes his hand, so soft and warm and small in his, and breathes out her name quietly. Almost bashfully. So cute.

Unfortunately his phone chimes, interrupting the moment before he can ask her more.

“I should be off, ye sure yer okay?” Johnny lets his eyes take over her, not just her body but also checking that she is, in fact, okay. Her eyes seem clear, stance steady, not too pale or too flushed. He’s no medic but he’d say she’s going to be fine.

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you.” She crouches slightly, slowly moving to look at Riley. “And thank *you* ma’am.”

Johnny watches her walk away, pausing to make sure she doesn’t stumble. He’s not sure what compels him - maybe it’s the solider in him still wanting to watch for the safety of those around him. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the way her wide hips sway as she makes her way down the path.

Johnny can’t stop smiling as he makes his way to the shop for some reason. It wasn’t even all that impressive of an interaction, but something about it really warmed his heart. Maybe it was just meeting someone else with a *thing*, as she put it. There really isn’t anyone else in his life who needs as much support as him - certainly not many adults in this small town who need assistance on the whole. It’s rare to meet someone who gets it, however briefly.

“Wot’s got you so chipper?” Simon quirks an eyebrow as he enters.

The door bell chimes above his head. Riley trots off from Johnny’s side to her designated bed in the corner of the shop. Away from the food but close enough that she could easily get wherever Johnny might be. One of the regulars even made a plaque for her that his Da screwed on the wall.

“Met a nice lass today in the park.” He shrugs. “Pretty little thing.”

“Ah, your great-aunt’s prayin’ finally do you in?” Simon chuckles as Johnny ducks behind the counter to rest a hand on the small of his back.

“Aye, finally realized I should turn tae a life of lassies an’ biarns. Yer great arse has no power over me now, foul demon.”

Simon chuckles. There’s something about it that always does Johnny in. A low rumble he can feel in his very bones. “Glad to see you’re feelin’ better.”

Johnny hums. “The warm weather helps, fer whatever reason.”

“Good. You see the shop across the street?”

Johnny turns, looking out their front window. The construction has been going on for a few months - various workers milling in and out. Neither he nor Simon could figure out what they were putting in until small signs were put across the windows announcing the new location to be The Honey Bun Bakery with an opening date at the bottom. A bit cutesy for their taste, but a new bakery in town is exciting. The last one closed because the owners got too old and had no one to take over. His mother has been buzzing about it since the signs were first put up.

The biggest mystery is the owner. No one has seen hide nor hair of whoever owns the place. There were movers taking things into the attached apartment on the floor above about a week ago, but no one has actually seen the resident. He or she is a ghost. Gossip has filled the town, of course. Especially among the older folks. That’s another thing his mother has been fluttering about.

“Already opening day, eh?”

“Yep.”

“We should check it out, then.”

Simon hums. “We’ll go after the morning rush if you’re up for it, hm?”

“Aye.”

“Johnny?” The shorter man jumps as Simon’s hands rest on his waist. He’ll never get over the intensity of Simon’s eyes. For a man who keeps his emotions locked in the deepest parts of him, he sure carries a lot of it in those pretty dark pools.

“Aye?” The word comes out breathier than he means it to.

“You look sunburnt.”

Johnny barks out a laugh, half-heartedly shoving his husband off. “An’ here I thought ye were gonnae say somethin’ romantic.”

“You know me better than that.” Simon’s eyes crinkle in the corners with a smile as he pulls the mask to the side, pressing a kiss to Johnny’s lips.

You may or may not have slept exactly 3.46 hours last night. It’s not your fault, really. Today’s your first day. Your first real day of your new life and your new career. Years of prayers and months upon months of planning, waiting, crying, and straining have finally come to a head. You’re in Scotland, your bakery is constructed, all that’s left is to actually bake.

And sell, of course, but you try your hardest not to think about that part or you might throw up. Again.

You curse the time it takes you to shower, carefully acclimating to the heat of the shower and sitting in your little plastic seat. You want to run, to act like the a whirlwind you feel in your head. You can’t, though, it’s not worth possibly ruining the most important day in your life just because you were impatient and passed out. At least you finally got your medication situation figured out before coming over here - the perfect little cocktail sitting on the corner of your dresser.

Your hands tremble a bit as you open up one of the cardboard boxes still sitting in your living room. You’d picked out a special outfit for your first real day of owning your own business months ago - one you made sure would be here with you on opening day. Really, it isn’t anything special - just a pair of black gingham trousers and a black cotton t-shirt along with your well-loved non-slip shoes. It’s yours though, and it perfectly matches your specially embroidered apron with your little logo on the front, center pocket. It’s yours. All yours. It’s a reminder that you’re here. You made it out.

You had already done a good bit of the work the day before - putting together your doughs and shaping up pastries to proof overnight in the fridge. Now all that’s left is to actually bake them and put them out. The smell wafts through the building, covering any left over scents of paint or construction work. It feels real. Grounding. You’re here and you can feel, smell, even taste it.

You expected a few customers. Not much. High hopes and low expectations. Just a couple people here and there that noticed the new shop coming to town and were curious about it. You’d advertised as well as you could from across the pond. Maybe a little rush around the late morning when people are usually out for brunch and shopping at most.

You did not expect a constant stream from the moment you propped the door open until the late afternoon. These Scots run you fucking ragged. A constant flux of in and out, all day. All them wanting to chat, as well.

“Oh, American! Whit part are ye from?”

“Yer sae young! Just a wee bairn!”

“So nice havin’ a bakery again, aye?”

“Urr ye merrit? Ah hae a son-“

You regret not buying that coffee machine for the back room.

Just as you’re stacking display baskets to take to the back to wash up the door chimes behind you. Here you thought you were finally done for the day. You sigh. “Sorry, hun, I’m pretty much out of everyth-”

“Ye!” You whirl, only to meet those same bright blue eyes from the day before.

“Johnny!” You squeak, eyes wide.

“Why dinnae ye mention the shop?” The man grins wide - the same as the day before. Sparkling and bright and far, far more pretty than you’re prepared to deal with. His hair is neater today - not ragged from exercise with his service dog who currently sits politely by his feet.

“Ah, was little light headed. Wasn’t thinking straight.” You shrug.

“Speaking of, how’s yer thing?” He waves a hand about his head the same way you did the day prior. It’s cute how invested he seems to be, genuinely asking if you’re alright. The man looming behind him watches silently.

“Oh, I’m alright. Finer than the hair on a toad split four ways.” You grin.

The man behind him furrows his brow slightly at the expression, but doesn’t offer a word. He’s tall. Wide too and dressed in all black with long sleeves despite the warm, spring weather. His hair is buzzed neatly. There’s a severity to him only emphasized by the scar splitting his brow and the small chip missing from his ear.

“Och, this is my husband Simon.” Jihnny steps to the side and gestures toward the brooding figure behind him. “We own the butcher shop across the street.”

“No shit!” You can’t help but smile ear to ear, holding out your hand. They seem so sweet. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you. Glad to have such nice neighbors.”

Simon shakes your hand a single time curtly before stepping back behind Johnny. The severity in his dark eyes softens whenever he glances toward the other man. Cute.

“We wanted tae come see whit ye’ve got.”

“I haven’t got much left…” You tap your chin and rest a hand on your hip, wanting to rectify the dip of disappointment in the pretty man’s brow. “Oh! I’ve got a sourdough in the back. One sec!”

You skitter off, paying little mind to how silly you must look practically prancing toward the back room. Originally, you’d planned to save this for yourself tonight as a job-well-done treat but it feels more gratifying to give it to your new neighbors. Hopefully they like it - maybe you can finally make some friends for the first time in… ever really.

“How much fer it?”

“On the house. We’re neighbors now, yeah? First ones free.” You grin, wrapping it extra nicely in some brown paper packaging.

“Thank ye, bonnie.” Johnny cradles the loaf so carefully you almost laugh - as if he’s afraid too much pressure will completely ruin it. Like he’s holding a precious treasure. “We’ll leave ye alone tae close but we’ll see ye around, aye?”

“Course.” You nod, waving after them and they exit. You can see the big blonde, Simon, turn to Johnny to say something but it’s impossible to hear them or tell from their lips as they cross the street back to their butcher shop. They link hands, fingers intertwining with long practiced grace, and something in your throat constricts.

What’s it like, you wonder, to have a love like that?

Behold the Candle of Writing. Reblog for abundant inspiration and creativity to come your way

Ugh, I hate these but just in case......

Blame this guy named tony for this ok😭

It’s physically impossible to find a more wholesome Pokemon than Bulbasaur

In his spare time (ha) Elijah likes to code little apps for mobile devices that he releases under a pseudonym. Mostly highly intricate and difficult puzzles and games, there are also throwaway apps that he makes and never updates. For certain apps, he deletes the programs entirely after a certain time (like if the hype dies down or it becomes too buggy to fix) and either remakes it or just forgets it entirely.

There’s a website someone made that includes full, free to play, desktop versions of the games he’s already deleted that people like or still enjoy. Elijah fully supports the one who runs the site, even offering to pay for the domain for them.

The apps themselves are always free to play and absolutely never play ads.