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gruftiela · 19 days

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Tom in a pair of Lederhosen 🫣, what a pity we cannot see all of him!

(I'm not a fan of this garment, but it's spacy 🥭)

@lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtiggerv2 @glitchquake @acidcasualties @cleo-fox @superficialdomina @bean-bean2000 @infinitystoner @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @peachyjinx @shiningloki @foxherder @holdmytesseract @wheredafandomat @jiyascepter @loopsisloops @villainousshakespeare @viv-annelore @november-rayne @muddyorbs @littlelokilad @mochie85

and whoever else needs to see this.

#sas stuff #loki

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dangertoozmanykids101 · 10 months

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Do y'all remember this?

Watch ""I will be the first man to kiss you" -Tom Hiddleston" on YouTube

youtube

I'm guessing there are many SAS who haven't discovered this yet. Let's spread the voice porn love.

@lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @americasass81 @acidcasualties @so-easy-to-love-me @alexakeyloveloki @nildespirandum @ladyoftheteaandblood @caffiend-queen @wolfsmom1 @michelleleewise @sidepartskinnyjeans @talklokitome @mooncat163 @lokischambermaid @holymultiplefandomsbatman @fictive-sl0th @xorpsbane @muddyorbs @saiyanprincessswanie

#sas stuff #dammit hiddleston #voice kink #Youtube

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superficialdomina · 5 months

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youtube

Friends, if you haven't seen this, take 5 minutes for yourself RIGHT NOW and press play.

Tagging for some SAS... (hang out for 1.52... trust me)

@acidcasualties @lokisgoodgirl @infinitystoner @maple-seed @lokischambermaid @glitchquake @divine-knight-hand @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @dangertoozmanykids101

#sas stuff #Youtube

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year

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I'm sorry but the size of this man's hands should be illegal. Think of all the places they could reach. How he could easily wrap them around my entire neck. Oh jeez. 🤔 🤤

I'm dying becuase I never reblog sexual anything involving Tom or Loki on my blog, but I am a completly unapologetic whore in your inbox!🤣🤣

Again with the hands. Will the beautiful torture never cease.

Thank you thank you thank you, my inbox is always open for this, come one come all to LGGs inbox of slutty wares. Spread wide for all to see

It's the fingers and the knuckles for me today? And they look so dexterous. Like they could curve like 1990s barbies legs. Pretty much the same length too.

Visual aid 1.1

Firm yet pliant. I don't want to get too graphic but I'm fairly certain he could massage my cervix with those tips and I would melt into a gelatinous blob within seconds.

Anyway, good morning to you too. And happy Friday. Frigga's day!🎉🎉

Have some slutty veins, it's almost the weekend yoooooo team @simplyholl @gigglingtigger @wheredafandomat @ladyofthestayingpower @maple-seed @coldnique @lokikissesmyforehead @fictive-sl0th @goblingirlsarah @morriggannlostinfandoms @springdandelixn @mon-hiddlestoneans @holdmytesseract @vbecker10 @holdmytesseract @muddyorbsblr @sarahscribbles @cake-writes @give-me-a-moose @mischief2sarawr @tbhiddlestan83 @lunarnights95 @cheekyscamp @psychospore @liminalpebble @use-your-telescope @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @xorpsbane @lovelysizzlingbluebird @currish-rosewolfe

#New game: Tom's fingers or barbies legs #SAS stuff

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tbhiddlestan83 · 6 days

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For those of us in the SAS..... I present what I'm facing at work today.....🥭🥭🥭🥭🥭🥭

@lokisgoodgirl and everybody else.... My work kid has now named us the dirty whore club.....🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

#sas stuff #mangoposting #mangoes for life

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superficialdomina · 1 year

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Missed connection

A/N: I wrote a little Tom fic while my next sub!Loki marinates a bit. It's angsty and a little fluffy and totally self-indulgent.

Inspired in part by @dangertoozmanykids101 and this post. I hope that's OK with her :)

Summary: Stuck in a train carriage in Italy with Tom. Angst ensues.

W/C: 2.7k

Warnings: Very light, thirsty smut. Stay tuned for part 2 if you want the filth.

Two Three parts - but if you like where they end up after the first one you can totally leave it here.

Part 1

You sigh, closing your book and gazing out the window of the unmoving train into the night. You should have arrived in Padua before dusk, but your train out of Venice had ground to a halt several hours ago without explanation, and had sat here, with frustrating stubbornness, in the growing darkness.

You stretch your neck, looking around you. Your train carriage is mostly empty, and the few other passengers appear to be asleep. You envy them. It had taken several long flights to arrive in Italy, and to be trapped here on this final leg, so close to your destination, with zero information, is… infuriating.

A movement catches your eye as a tall man enters from an adjoining carriage. He moves slowly between the seats, past the sleeping occupants. You avert your eyes and pretend to concentrate on your lap, your innate introversion kicking in and insisting you avoid a conversation with a stranger.

"Mi scusi?"

Startled, you look up, meeting his eyes and taking in his face. Gosh, you think, surprised, he's very pretty. And... Familiar?

"Hai un cellulare da prestarmi?"

"Non parlo Italiano," you stammer out - one of the few Italian phrases you'd learnt in preparation for your trip. "Do you speak English?"

"Oh," he smiles, blushing charmingly. "Of course. I'm so sorry to interrupt you, but - would you have a mobile phone that I could borrow?"

As soon as he switches to English, recognition washes over you like a flood. To see him out of context like this was terrifically confusing - but that voice… It was unmistakable. You’re momentarily unable to speak.

"I… my phone battery is flat," he continues, misconstruing your long pause. "May I - would you mind if I sent a message to someone?"

"Of course," you manage, as you pull your phone out from your bag. His face relaxes in relief and gratitude as he takes it from you.

His hands, you think as you try to surreptitiously watch his nimble fingers tap the screen. By all that is holy, his HANDS. As though he heard you, he lifts his left hand to nervously run it back through his loose curls, while continuing to text with his other thumb.

Maybe I'm dreaming, you think cautiously. I fell asleep on the train and I'm… You pinch your leg. Nope. Hurts.

"Thank you," he says with a long exhale, looking down at you and handing back your phone. "I wasn't expecting to be stuck here…"

You can't help laughing. "Me neither, obviously," you smile. He smiles back, his beautiful lips parting slightly to give you a glimpse of his perfect teeth.

"Well - thank you," he says again, turning to move back the way he had come.

"Ah -" you begin, slightly confused. "What if - I mean, should you wait for them to reply?" You try to keep your voice low for the sake of the other occupants of the carriage in their happy slumber.

His eyes run over the book in your lap, where your small clip-on reading lamp is casting odd shadows.

"I'd hate to interrupt you further," he says, the question clear in his tone.

"Uh - it would be nice to have the company," you lie. As if that was ever true. Although this time… He narrows his eyes at you briefly; without thinking, you extend your hand. "I'm y/n."

He bites his lower lip, making your stomach flutter. And not just your stomach, if you're honest. But he takes your hand and shakes it. "Tom," he says simply.

You swallow hard at the feel of his long fingers grasping your palm and brushing your wrist. He thinks I don't recognise him.

"I - I know who you are," you laugh uncomfortably, unable to hold his gaze as he takes the seat opposite you, his thick thighs spread wide. Invitingly.

"Oh," he says again. And again with that subtle blush. Is he doing that on cue? "Well - it's nice to meet you, y/n."

There's a brief, thoroughly awkward silence, before he expertly transitions to well-practised small talk. “You’re clearly not Italian,” he says, mocking his earlier language faux pas. "How is it that you find yourself on an immobile train in the Italian countryside?"

You exhale, suddenly aware that you'd been holding your breath. Don’t look directly at him. "I'm here for a conference," you reply, making eye contact with his forehead and speaking a little too fast. “In Padua. I just flew into Venice from Toronto this afternoon.” You want to ask him why he’s here - alone? - but it feels too personal. Don’t interview the poor man.

“Toronto?” He asks. “You don’t sound Canadian, either.” Gods above, his face is so… expressive. He blinks slowly and you catch his glorious eyelashes as they flit against his skin. His broad chest expands with every inhale, straining against his tight, white shirt.

“Oh- no, I’m Australian,” Christ, could you stop sounding so fucking flustered? “But I live in Canada.” He pauses as though waiting for you to continue, even though you were sure you’d finished talking. “Just for the last few years. For work.” He sounds so… Interested. As though the inane nonsense that is inarticulately gushing from your mouth is all he wants to hear. Gosh, he really is charming. What a strange super power. Why am I still talking?

“What do you-” he begins, but he is interrupted by the ping of your phone.

“That must be for you,” you murmur, scrambling to pick it up. “Oh - no, sorry, just my husband.” A shadow crosses his face fleetingly. Keen to get a reply and get back to his seat, you think.

You flick a quick text back to your spouse. Still on the train - no movement. Nothing eventful. Well, that was a big fat lie, you muse to yourself, glancing at the stunning man sitting opposite you.

“You’re married?” he asks, as you return your phone to your bag.

“I - yes,” you reply, absently touching the wedding ring on your finger and trying not to think about the long years since your husband had made your body ache like the man sitting before you. A man who had barely even touched you.

“Do you like it?” He asks. You are momentarily confused. “Canada, I mean?”

“Yes. Sometimes. Mostly.” You take a deep breath, once again aware of the arousal he is stirring in you. Make sentences. “I miss home often.” Another awkward pause that you fight to fill, trying not to stare at his long Greek nose or the shadows cast by his ridiculous cheekbones. “They all think I’m British - Canadians, I mean,” you continue, hating yourself for the banality of your small talk. “They all ask me what part of England I’m from. I tell them ‘the very far south’.”

He laughs at that, throwing his head back and issuing a throaty expression of mirth that makes you quiver between your legs. Are… are my pants damp? You wonder silently, both quietly horrified and mildly interested at your body’s reaction to the close proximity of this beautiful man, and the inexplicable circumstances that have led you here.

“Well, you don’t exactly sound like Steve Irwin,” he laughs, eyes glittering in the low light.

“And you don’t sound like Eliza Doolittle,” you quip, before bringing your hand to cover your mouth, mortified.

“I’m so sorry. I - I’m lousy at small talk. And I’m… A little awed to be speaking to you.” Ugh. Gushing. How unattractive.

But he continues to smile that dazzling smile that touches his lovely eyes so easily. “It’s quite alright,” he says gently. “Most people are.” The words are arrogant, but his tone suggests something altogether different. Is he… Uncomfortable?

He looks briefly out the window into the darkness. Stars have materialised in the inky sky.

“Skip the small talk, then,” he offers, turning back to face you, voice deep and sultry, eyes piercing and intense. You press your thighs together to relieve the growing tension between them. No question now - you were wet with arousal. “Tell me something… Substantial.” He shifts in his seat and you try desperately not to look at his crotch. Just don’t stand up before he leaves, you tell yourself. His eyes slide to the book next to you. “What are you reading?”

You also glance at the book on your seat, remembering where you had been mere minutes prior, in that previous life before Tom had first spoken to you. It’s telling that he considers that a substantial question, you think. You swallow. “Ah - War Lord by Bernard Cornwell,” you say, picking it up.

“Are you enjoying it?”

“I - not really,” you admit, passing your eyes over the cover. Once again, his face encourages you to keep talking. “It’s the last in a long series. I was probably done with them a while ago but - it’s hard not to finish something you’ve come so far with...” You’ve run out of words again, and he’s still watching you…

You awkwardly clear your throat. “What are you reading?”

He laughs and reaches his hand into a large inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a simple, slightly battered-looking book.

“The Dispossessed,” he replies, his eyes sparkling, “by Ursula Le Guin.” His middle finger strokes the spine lovingly. “It’s beautiful. I read it every few years,” he confesses. “It’s a commentary on materialism and capitalism… and it’s also a thought piece about time - time as a product of mathematics and physics but also philosophy and ethics. But mostly,” he finally pauses for breath, “it’s a love story. Love that transcends space and time-”

“I’ve read it,” you interrupt him, and can’t help laughing at the sheer boyish joy that has come over his face as he spoke. “I - it’s one of my favourites, too.”

The wide, open-mouthed smile he gives you then transforms his entire face, and you suddenly feel that it is the first genuine expression he has given you. What just happened?

“Really?” He is suddenly abuzz with little-boy energy. Puppy energy. “I don’t meet many people who have read it. It’s a seriously underrated Le Guin book.”

“Yes!” you agree heartily. “She’s so renowned for the Earthsea chronicles but… The Dispossessed is so complex and… beautiful. And yes, a truly touching love story. Did you know that Shevek is modelled on Oppenheimer?”

“I had heard that, but he always made me think of Feynman.”

“Me too!” You laugh enthusiastically, before remembering your sleeping companions and lowering your voice again. “It has, I think, my favourite line ever written.” He raises his eyebrows. You quote, “You can go home again, so long as you understand that home is a place where you have never been.”

“That’s your favourite line ever written?”

“Yes!” you say again, mildly embarrassed. “It’s… it’s…” You search for the words, forcing yourself to form logical sentences again. “We believe that time is something real, that life is what’s happening outside ourselves. But time - life - is within us.” You lean forward in your seat, willing him to understand your point. “You know - you can’t step twice in the same river, because neither you nor the river are the same. Live now, because you won’t be here again.”

He nods. “We all get two lives, and the second life begins when we realise we only get one.”

You exhale, suddenly aware of the thrill that is coursing through your body. Careful, you tell yourself, then chastise yourself for such a foolish notion. But this one might hurt when you land. “Yes. Exactly.”

“I also have a favourite line in it,” he offers, hesitantly. “Maybe not ever written,” he teases you gently, “but…”

With surprise, you watch him open the book still in his hands to a dog-eared page. He reads. “If you can see a thing whole, it seems that it's always beautiful. Planets, lives. But close up, a world's all dirt and rocks. The way to see how beautiful the Earth is, is to see it from the moon.”

He looks up at you expectantly, his whole energy shifted, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as though waiting for your approval. But you are momentarily stunned. He’s… Sad.

“Is that…” You stop, knowing that your question is far too personal, but unsure if you can carry on the conversation without asking it. You’ll never be here again, you remind yourself, and stumble on. “Is that how you feel? All… Dirt and rocks?”

He gazes back at you, his smile touched with a hint of melancholy. “Sometimes. I wonder if my life is more beautiful from a distance than from the inside.”

You consider your words carefully before we speak. “Don’t we all feel that way? Our lives are more perfect, more interesting, on paper, than they are in reality? Only the people closest to us see how messy we really are. Maybe no one knows us as well as ourselves.”

“Maybe,” he sighs. “I often have to remind myself that this is the life I chose, not the life that chose me.” You stare at him, astonished not only by the words he is saying, but by the brazen honesty of what he is sharing, and by the full 180 degree shift in his mood in the last few moments. Volatile.

“Anyway,” he smiles, almost convincingly, as if to say, that’s enough self pity. “Your turn. Marriage? How is it?”

The question takes you thoroughly by surprise. “M… Marriage?” He doesn’t speak, but raises his eyebrows as he continues to look at you with that unusual intensity… It is strangely intimate. “That doesn’t really seem like a fair question when I’m staring at Tom Hiddleston sitting opposite me.” You groan inwardly, wishing you hadn’t said it aloud.

He chuckles. “Close your eyes, then.”

You stare at him open-mouthed for a second, the simple suggestion ringing through your ears like a command. Your core clenches and you feel the slick in your panties practically gushing down your inner thighs. You swallow hard.

But to be fair to your husband, you do as he suggests. You immediately feel incredibly exposed. “It’s…” You pause, thinking; remembering. “You know when you take a long drive, and somewhere in between towns the radio signal drops out, and there’s nothing but static?” To your surprise, words begin to pour out of you, some kind of overflow triggered by the unexpected vulnerability. “And there’s nothing you can do but keep driving, and trust that you’ll get signal again when you reach the next town?”

You open your eyes again. He has leaned forwards towards you, elbows resting on his spread thighs. His eyebrows knit gently, and he cocks his head slightly, encouraging you to continue.

“Well… sometimes it’s like that,” you finish lamely, embarrassed at your familiarity with him.

His tongue darts out of his mouth to lick his lips as he continues to gaze at you with his now familiar, interested intensity. “But you do trust it? That you’ll find the signal again?”

“Mostly, yes,” you reply quietly, meeting his eyes properly as a tingly powerlessness comes over your own body. Breathe, you concentrate, acutely aware of how close he is.

In the next second, two things happen simultaneously. With a sudden jolt, the train rumbles to life and begins to move again, light in the carriage flickering as power is briefly redistributed to the engine. You both gasp in surprise at the unexpected movement.

When your eyes meet again, the spell is broken.

In the same moment, your phone pings a second time. You pull it out, handing it to him when you don’t recognise the number. He swallows, a muscle in his jaw quivering. He takes the phone, smiling stiffly and nodding mechanically as he reads the message; he taps a short reply, then deletes the thread.

He stands as he hands it back to you. “I think we are not far from your destination,” he smiles, abruptly as poised and controlled as when he had first entered the carriage. The suddenness of the transition from friend to stranger leaves you feeling disoriented. “Thank you for your company, y/n. It’s been a pleasure.”

You take a breath and lift your chin. “Likewise,” you smile. He nods to you before turning away, and doesn’t look back as he leaves the carriage.

Damn, you think. I didn’t even ask where he's going.

Continued in Part 2

Hope y'all don't mind the tags.

@lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtigger @coldnique @holymultiplefandomsbatman @peaches1958 @chantsdemarins @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @vbecker10 @currish-rosewolfe @muddyorbsblr @so-easy-to-love-me @villainousshakespeare @caffiend-queen @peachyjinx @thomase1 @fictive-sl0th @simplyholl @mochie85 @lokischambermaid @cheekyscamp @sarahscribbles @joyful-enchantress @muddyorbs @lovelysizzlingbluebird

#Tom/reader #tom hiddleston fic #sas stuff

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year

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Good morning! Please enjoy Loki's perfect lower lip and pinky finger:

And perfect slutty waste I know it's been covered but damn

BAM! bet you thought this Ask had gotten lost...didnt ya??? Welllll it didn't, I just passed out every time I saw it.

This is quite possibly my favourite Loki scene - ok top five. The slutty lil waist 😭😭the strong shoulders and the wrist-hilt lock. That's a hard block to accomplish mid fight and it's such a small thing but it says so much about his skillsss.

His clear arousal (👀) mixed with regal haughtiness and warrior moves even if he gets his ass handed to him is a complete vibe and a half I completely agree and I love it more than I can...oh it's going dark again...

Just a little Easter treat for us😊🐰❤️@holdmytesseract @fictive-sl0th @superficialdomina @peachyjinx @peaches1958 @simplyholl @ladymischief11 @ladyofthestayingpower @twhxhck @lovelysizzlingbluebird @gigglingtigger @mischief2sarawr @loopsisloops @give-me-a-moose @caffiend-queen @sarahscribbles @joyful-enchantress @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @lokiprompts @infinitystoner @lunarnights95 @holymultiplefandomsbatman @wheredafandomat

#SAS stuff #Happy Easter #something unholy this way comes #fighting loki

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thetimelordbatgirl · 2 months

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Look we can acknowledge the fact that the people who wrote letters in support of Brian Peck were not filled in on the situation and were misled by Brian on what the charges were and such, but can we fucking acknowledge that one of those letter writers actually victim blamed the then 15 Year Old Drake Bell with acting like he tempted Brian who would never do such things unless well, tempted.

#quiet on set #drake bell #brian peck #whoever wrote that letter...if i ever see you its on SIGHT #that is a CHILD #the only one responsable in that situation is the adult aka brian #and he used his position to put drake through hell #tho ngl dunno how you can defend any form of SA #given brian apparently went up to them and asked them and stuff #like yeah according to the two actors from boy meets world he misled them and stuff #BUT HOW YOU GONNA DEFEND A CRIME LIKE THAT-

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bachaboska · 1 year

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My commanding officer has some idea that you and I are similar. A shared love of poetry and philosophy.

I wonder…if it's something more or not.

Bonus:

#sas rogue heroes #sas: rogue heroes #paddy x augustin #paddy mayne #augustin jordan #césar domboy #jack o'connell #my stuff #show me to the philosopher #my gifset

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cloudyfacewithjam · 11 months

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"My commanding officer has some idea that you and I are similar. A shared love of poetry and philosophy. I wonder… if it's something more or not."

#sas: rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes #paddy mayne #augustin jordan #that hand move...#my stuff #sasrhedit

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erkauberscream · 1 year

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new version, old concept

#homestuck #the psiioniic #sa ff #my stuff

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leathfaic · 5 months

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Simon Riley it turns out, doesn't have a taste in furniture.

It's not that he has objectively bad taste. He just has none at all.

Which he reckons in hindsight he should have anticipated. He never really furnished his own place after all. Always lived in cheap, outfitted places. Never homes, always just places to stay.

And now he's being confronted with a question he can't answer.

"What would ye like?"

Instinctively answered with "Whatever you'd want, don't really 'ave an opinion."

Only apparently that answer doesn't count.

Even as a kid it was second-hand furniture. The few times there was enough money to repaint something Simon as the big brother had to let Tommy pick first. He usually went with blue. No blues then, that's a start right? He doesn't need to give his brain ammunition to pull him back to his childhood. It has more than enough.

And Ghost has all the blue he'll ever need to see in his life in Soap's eyes.

Good thing he didn't say that sappy shit out loud.

Knowing what he doesn't want is a start but nothing prepared him for a vast store full of things. To make choices like "Which couch do you think will give you the least back pain when you can only test-sit them for a few minutes?"

The only thing he knows for sure is that these gigantic stores would make for a mean close-quarter training ground. He's half tempted to ask Price if they can find one that's about to close down and no one would mind getting shot to shit. It would be a fun challenge.

"Simon, ye with me love?"

Shaking his head to clear it and then giving Johnny a quick thumbs up he struggles up from the sofa he'd been sitting on and contemplating.

"Ye like tha' one? Went right to broodin' on there like ye felt all at home."

"Fuck off."

The defense comes instinctively but he has to admit Johnny is right. Giving the couch another cursory look, like it might jump up and bite him, he can't help but be a bit perplexed.

It's very large, definitely bigger than Soap's old couch. It's also very...red. Which isn't blue. But still it looks like someone spilled an intensiley dark wine all over the thing. Did he like red couches?

Apparently.

Simon Riley, it turns out, has a great taste in furniture. It just took him a moment to figure that out.

He picks sturdy things. Solid woods, iron fastenings, robust. Somewhere in the realm between industrial and old hand made styles.

Soap has been trailing him happily, barely saying a word because letting Ghost pick is easy, he almost always found himself agreeing. It wasn't always his first choice or even something that caught his eyes, but slowly and surely the flat was coming together.

It made him giddy, even knowing it would be a while until everything was delivered and assembled.

It would be lots of warm colours, light wood and dark iron in contrast. But most importantly it would be theirs. Something they'd make their home together. And wasn't that novel?

Two trained SAS operatives picking the carpet they found most cosy? Not plotting for tactical advantages but for a home to come back to. A place to share comfort and to share nightmares and panic attacks.

Because no matter how right they got it they would still be themselves, drenched in blood and now on an appropriately coloured sofa.

Johnny knew he should snap out of the line of thought he was barrelling down before it took him to darker places, but he was ensnared already.

Would one of them sit in that flat, drowning in grief when luck finally ran out for them? Would the signs the other left behind before deployment be a comfort or would they feel haunting?

Or would it just be Price and Gaz, lost in a place that had been a home and was just empty? Soulless. Ready to be emptied of all traces that could tell of secrets that better stayed hidden.

Would it just be one of Laswells people, burning the place without a care, just a precaution after a taskforce lost?

"So it's no' tha' one for sure."

Torn from his thoughts Soap looks up at Simon in confusion.

"Starte' broodin immediately. Can't 'ave you in a shit mood every time you hit the sack. 'ave too many plans for tha' place."

Soap finds himself snorting as he gets up from the bed he was testing.

"Fuck off." he throws back softly. Sees a warm smile spread behind the medical mask on Ghost's face.

"Ye're right though and ye need to tell me of these plans."

Part 1 //Part 3

#merry shitscram #there might be a part 3 to this #no promises #fully trained sas soldiers getting emotionally lost in ikea #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod mwii #johnny soap mactavish #cod mw2 #cod #ghoap #cod hc #my stuff #fuck you they live #in all universes i create #canon is weak and i am coming to break it

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petricorah · 2 months

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got these little cards made to put in as freebies for my shop (that im hopefully opening this weekend) but...........i messed them up so this is what they look like if you're not holding them directly in the sun,,,,,,,,,,,🙃🙃