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rockethorse · 4 months

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Stocking Stuffer 1/5: A Bajillion Random Painting Recolours

Happy Holidays to all! While I'm proud that last year I finally managed to achieve a longtime goal of sharing a full TS2 Advent Calendar, I'm simply not gonna be able to pull it off this year. Nonetheless, the holidlay spirit has encouraged me to finish up and share a couple of things before the end of the year! I'll be sharing five little gifts over the next few arbitrary days. First up: A BUNCH of Maxis painting recolours.

One recolour each of A/B/C Stroke (yes, I still enjoy playing with these as three separate paintings) using vintage matchbook covers designed by Saul Bass for The Ohio Match Company.

Two recolours +frames for Abstrutionism; "Poppy Cake" by Adolf Fényes (1910), and then this edit of Christina's World by Andrew Wyeth (1948) to include Bella Goth (the original Tumblr poster has deactivated).

A recolour of Anonymous Masterpiece with these two digital paintings by user chestnutroan featuring their farmer Sim and his two alien daughters.

One recolour of the Arghist Soldier with "Friday Nights" by Deborah DeWit (2006), perfect for your novel-enthusiast Sims' reading nook.

One recolour of City Skyline with a fruit & veg painting by Twitter user snail_soup (you can buy a real print of this too if you like it!)

One recolour of the Fourth Element wall scroll with "From Stardust to Stardust - Raccoon" by user ArtOfMienda.

Four Vegetables recoloured with four deliciously juicy tomato paintings by artist Leah Gardner.

Geometry 101 recoloured with a beautiful palette knife painting by Lynn Boggess.

Two recolours of Grilled Cheese (you all know what Grilled Cheese looks like, c'mon); one vintage ad for Hollywood Diet bread which I cleaned/redrew to remove text/graphics, and then "Cloud Rows" by Ivan Eyre (2004).

In The Beginning (+frame) recoloured with "Little Thief" by Courtney / Trash Kitty Art (also available as an affordable IRL print).

Kitten vs. Yarn (+frame) recoloured with this goache painting by user ieafy.

"Until Tonight" by Mark Grantham (2019) slapped on Lady On Red.

Two recolours of Living Room; "Midwestern Summer Fun" by user ink-the-artist (you may wanna zoom in for a surprise), then "Girl On A Swing" (2000) by Andrew Macara.

One recolour of Marketing Print with the Beatles as drawn by other Beatles. I don't remember who drew who because I'm actually not much of a Beatles fan but I thought these sketches were really darling.

In Memory of Johnny Gnome (+frame) recoloured with a piece by Emma Roulette.

A recolour of My First Holiday with art from Twitter user heikala_art.

On Pointed Toes (+frame) recoloured with this digital painting by Twitter user catwheezie.

I fell in love with this Guinness ad so I tweaked it from the photo to fit on the Route 66 poster, then made an accompanying Simlish option.

A single Scruffles recolour (+frame) with this adorable cow illustration by Twitter user poodlewool.

Four recolours of the Sim Noir pop art print; three pieces by Al Parker I found through this Tweet (with some English removed) and then an edit of the original painting to look passingly familiar...

Two recolours (+frames) of Snoozing Enemies; "The Cat on the Pillow" by Adolf von Becker, and "Sleeping Sasha" by Lena Rivo.

Stiller Life (+frame) recoloured with this oil painting of McDonalds by artist Noah Verrier.

Two recolours (+frames) of Stumped Hound; "Shadow" by Tianyi Zhou and "cat falling off table" by user anasauruss.

The Muse recoloured with this Juxtapoz magazine cover by artist Josh Courlas.

And lastly, three recolours of Untitled (the Bella Goth pop art painting) with works by Hiroshi Nagai.

Download All Paintings @ SFS

#the sims 2 #s2cc #sims 2 cc #Stocking Stuffers

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nburkhardt · 11 months

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Somebody Loves You, You Got A Friend.

Hello! This is my abo teenage parents steddie fic I talked about a few times. Wrote it a while ago for myself, never felt quite confident for sharing. But after sharing the few snippets, here’s the start! There’s real no end to it, it’s mostly slice of life with nearly no real plot. (Title is from Spaceship by Andy Grammer)

Some info you should know: it takes place in season 2. Originally wasn’t going to include the upside down but switched it to have it. ANYWAY, enjoy the start! It’s mostly Steve angst and only a hint of Eddie lol.

So, here’s the thing… Steve never keep his secondary gender a secret. In fact, he was quite proud of it. Mostly because it pisses his dad off to no end, and well, pissing off his dad is one of his and his mom’s favorite past time.

With that said he was definitely proud to take after his mom and for being a male omega. He knows it probably pisses more people off than they let on and really, that makes his fucking day.

Sometime around the time he entered high school, his status went sky high. He didn’t mind, though finding true friends was rough. Especially when Tommy and Carol glued themselves to him within a few hours of knowing him. Since he didn’t keep his omega status a secret, they thought he was weaker and needed to be protected. With Tommy being an alpha and Carol a beta, they decided to be best friends. It pissed him off, but at the time he didn’t have many friends. But of course, he’s not weak. He knows how to protect himself and even others.

His life gets flipped upside down, shortly after Nancy Wheeler calls him ‘bullshit’ in a bathroom at a dumb Halloween party.

It’s been months since Will Byers disappeared, thought dead and found alive. Also months since Nancy’s best friend fucking died while sitting at his pool. All while he and Nancy were in bed, they only found out in the next morning at school.

Nancy’s words send him spiraling down immediately, because unlike her, he does or did love her. So in a blind panic, he leaves the room and then the house and straight into the forest behind. Freaking out and sobbing as he went.

He didn’t know how long he was there, all he remembers of the night is panicking and then someone that smells of smoke, rain and freshly cut grass, helps him to his car and on his way. With only a matchbook with a number on it sitting on his passenger seat as who helped him.

In the morning, he gets ready for school, kisses his mom on the cheek and goes on his way. Only pocketing the matchbook as he parks in the school parking lot.

The day is simple only because he avoids Nancy as much as he can and then nearly get his ass handed to him by the new big alpha in town, Billy Hargrove.

“Should plant your feet, pretty boy”

He rolls his eyes, “shove the fuck off, Hargrove”

Billy is about to do another shove, he can’t figure out why to be honest. His scent is currently covered by scent blockers, the one thing his mom told him to take. When he notices Nancy waving him down, so he goes willingly to that danger instead.

It’s nothing but anger from her, it’s rolling off her in her scent even with a blocker, “Why didn’t you pick me up?”

He scruffs, “because I’m apparently bullshit?”

She at least flinches at that. But doesn’t apologize, at least, not the way he’d like. She does try to excuse it all by saying she was drunk and if there is one thing he took to heart from his asshole dad; drunk words are sober thoughts.

The final kicker of the whole conversation: her not saying “I love you” after he pleads her to.

He decides after that, Nancy Wheeler is someone he refuses to be with.

—

If you made it this far great!! Because after this the real fun begins 🥳 meaning Eddie is actually there and you get to meet my favorite person, Janet Harrington… Steve’s mom! This was just getting things mostly set up. I hope it doesn’t seem too weird with jumping around or weird phrasing lol.

(Btw, I don’t necessarily keep to everything everyone does in abo fics. I go with whatever I like and easy to work with. So there’s scents, mates, pack easy things. Nothing too explicit either, I’m definitely not confident enough to post smut hahaha.) OH AND IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS OR WANNA TALK ABOUT THIS AU MY MESSAGES AND ASK BOX IS ALWAYS OPEN!!!!!

Permanent Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay

Also those who liked my snippet: @zerokrox-blog @callme-keys @maya-custodios-dionach @rajumat @yellowdevilkitten @munsonfamilyband @steddierthings

#steddie #steddie fic #omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steddie abo #abo fic #stranger things fic #nburkhardt writes #Steve Harrington fic

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soft-girl-musings · 4 months

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Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 1 (Strangers In The Night)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,222

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

A/N: can't believe this is the product of covid-induced hcs and thots between me and @mrs-lockley, thank you so much for encouraging this buddy (also @lunar-ghoulie if i had a nickel for each time you've sent an ask/dm about a WIP and it ended up being where i put all my energy, i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's hilarious that it's happened twice).

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On nights like tonight, Jake Lockley regrets his choice of profession.

It’s a dreary November evening, darkening by the second as the New York streets grow damp and cold. The wise had decided not to venture out; the blindsided rush across slick pavement to whatever shelter they can find. The desperate stay on the clock and curse their luck.

He should know by now that when a client says they’ll be “just a minute,” it’s a boldfaced lie: even if they have every intention of being efficient, he’s been stranded on the curb more times than he can count.

So he keeps the meter running. He’s seen the duds his regular client has on each week; the man could afford to fork over a few extra bucks. Might even build character.

The steady rhythm of the rain had been fine at first, but after half an hour parked beneath the neon sign of The Paper Moon– hat, coat and gloves doing nothing to ward off the chill creeping into his cab– every raindrop taunts him in his isolation.

To hell with this.

He shuts off the engine, pops his collar, and braces himself before stepping out onto the street. The rain falls fast and hard, so he rushes toward the brick exterior of The Paper Moon. He’s never been inside, but the glowing crescent of the sign had piqued his interest the first time he’d dropped his client here. He may as well see what all the fuss is about.

The doorman– a tall, dapperly dressed unit with a neutral grimace– casts a wary look his way. Jake ducks into the alley beside the building. Guess it’s exclusive.

Through the rain he spots a side door with a meagerly covered stoop, upon which is hunched a smaller, yet equally well-dressed figure. The young man’s tawny complexion pops against the emerald green of his just-too-big blazer, mist gathering in the dark brown waves slicked back from his creased brow. He grips a cigarette between clenched teeth, stuttering curses around it as he strikes a flimsy matchbook to no avail.

“¿Necesitas un fuego?”

At his offer, Jake is met by startled, impossibly wide brown eyes. The shock turns to glee as his face breaks into a toothy smile.

“Sí– sí sería genial, señor.” He makes room on the stoop, his dimpled cheeks betraying his youth. Jake pulls out a lighter and deftly lights the end of his cigarette, earning another dimpled grin after a few christening puffs. “Muchísimas gracias.”

“No hay problema.”

He lights one of his own, the smoke mixing with the fog of his breath as he holds out his free hand. “Jake.”

“Mauricio.” His newfound companion grips his hand and shakes vigorously.

They sit in silence for a few moments, their subtle exhalations and the slowing rain the only sounds between them.

The mood is disrupted by shouting from the other side of the door, followed by clattering and the unmistakable sound of someone falling. The door behind them flies open and a lanky, dark skinned man in a matching green blazer pokes his head outside.

“You’d better get your tail in here, Maurie. She’s in one of her moods tonight.”

“Rats, alright,” he groans, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out with his heel. Mauricio straightens his blazer and pushes a hand through his hair. He pauses at the door and looks back at Jake.

“Do you wanna come inside, dry off for a spell? We put on a mean show,” he swears. The kid's face isn't one Jake imagines people say “no” to very often.

“...Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

“Great! There’s a couple of tables toward the back that should still be free, you can sneak in there no problem.” Mauricio holds the door open a bit wider for Jake to step through. “If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell ‘em you’re with me.” With a wink and another winning smile, he darts off to follow the other blazer.

Jake finds his spot easily enough, taking in the atmosphere as he weaves between tables and patrons. So this is The Paper Moon.

The building’s drab exterior is deceptive: inside is a small lounge, bustling with activity and humming with life. Richly draped walls envelop the space, with ornate lamps and soft candlelight radiating from every table. The room looks as warm as it feels, a welcome relief from Jake’s prior solitude.

He takes off his soaked coat and loosens his tie. Across the room Jake sees his client– a cold, calculating Mr. Wesley– who gives a curt nod, as if granting his permission to take a load off (for now).

He orders a drink from a slightly bewildered waiter and continues to survey the space. People of all shapes and sizes occupy tables and barstools, with the chatter of at least three languages creating a dizzying buzz around him. The crowd dies down when stage lights flash on at the far end of the room.

Out marches the band: the guy who'd clambered to the back door sits at the piano, cracking his knuckles before playing a few notes on the keys; an older man with a similar complexion props an upright bass in position, riffing along with the scattered piano melody; an impressively mustachioed fellow polishes the mouthpiece of his trumpet; Mauricio settles in behind a set of drums, waving a stick in the air when he spots Jake.

As warm as he's gotten after coming inside, the temperature seems to skyrocket as the click of heels and the shimmer of the last band member crossing the stage sends his heartbeat right into his throat. In walks– no, floats – a vision, evening gown the same color as the richly painted lips that curl into a smile as easily as breathing. Something Jake seems to have forgotten how to do.

He can’t take his eyes off you.

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There’s something in the air tonight.

Maybe it’s the smoke lingering on Mauricio’s jacket (you’ve told him time and time again how smoking before a show irritates you; he must have snuck a pack backstage), or maybe the weather has you out of sorts. Whatever it is, you’re one false step away from losing your cool. Which, of course, cannot happen. Not onstage.

As the band warms up, you take one last look in your compact mirror, blot your lipstick, and take a deep breath. It’s showtime.

The moment you step onstage, you turn on the charm. Nothing can touch you up here. Not when there’s music to play, a band to lead. A night to make unforgettable.

You approach the microphone and smile. “Hello again, darlings. Did you miss us while we were away?”

Applause and cheers echo back to you from the audience. There’s a distinct two-toned whistle that rises above the noise, but you don’t think anything of it.

Not until you scan the crowd and see something– someone – that doesn’t belong.

Lounging at the previously unoccupied back table is a man you’ve never seen before. Which wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t know the face and name of everyone who enters your club.

His eyes stay trained on you as you nod to the band to begin. One outlier a bad night will not make– you’ll deal with him later. For now, you let the caress of the opening notes ease the new tension in your body, and you start to sing.

With six shows a week, one would think the routine would become tedious. Quite the opposite: any night you play the same standards with the band is bound to be a good night. The chemistry between you and your boys is perfect– even on an off night like tonight, you still manage to follow each other and make the same hour of music sound brand new.

You lead one song, then another, completely in your own world. Of course, the constant cheers and occasional audience participation don’t hurt. But just when you hit your stride and forget your troubles, that whistle rings out above the noise.

The stranger's on the edge of his seat, rapt attention never leaving the stage. Seems innocent enough, but you’re still on high alert.

The set comes to a close, ending with a vibrant flourish. The band improvises a steady beat as you take a sip of water, then smile once more into the microphone.

“Oh, stop. Really…. well, alright, you can keep going,” you croon at the crowd as they cheer louder.

You gesture to the band. “Let’s give a big round of applause to The Jays, what do you say?”

“On piano we have the dazzling Jackie Thomas,” you call out as he trills a fancy melody a little louder than the rest. “Followed by this absolute Adonis on the bass, Benny Hayes,” you add as the smooth licks of his instrument sound out a reply.

“Let’s hear it for Leo Castellón and his magnificent mustache on the trumpet,” you tease as he blasts out a tune. “And our baby bird on drums, Mauricio Farrés!” You raise your voice as the youth bangs out a closing rhythm.

“And as always, I’m Ms. Songbird. We hope you’ll join us again soon, my doves. Goodnight!”

The band plays themselves out as you descend downstage to the front of the room. Time for the next act.

You know how to work a crowd both on and offstage; hospitality is as much a part of the gig as the music. Tonight’s a full house, but you take your time gliding past each table, front to back. Does everyone have their preferred drink? How’s the food? Was the music to their liking? All questions you ask with genuine interest, but you know the answer: everything is perfect.

"Hey, little songbird," a voice calls above the noise.

Everything except him.

You've been avoiding the back table for a while, trying to collect your thoughts before confronting him. No time like the present, I suppose.

You turn to see the outlier standing by the table he’d commandeered, a shimmering bundle of rhinestones dangling from his hand. The glint of a grin catches the low light the same way your traitorous earring does.

You touch your ear and your face grows hot. “Where did you–”

“Fell off as you floated by the last few tables, angel.”

Your heels tap out a warning as you approach. Toe-to-toe, with the added height of your shoes, you practically tower over him. Your brow furrows as you size him up: too forward to have something to hide, too laissez-faire to be up to any obvious trouble. All the same, you don't trust him.

You look him up and down; he does the same. "You're not very tall, are you?" More of a challenge than a question as you reach for the rhinestones in his hand.

Leaning back against the table, jewelry dangling just out of reach, his sly smile grows. "Well, miss, I tried to be."

"Right." You snatch the earring back before he says anything else. "I see you also tried to be discreet, and that didn't go so well for you, did it Chuck?"

"Actually, it's–"

“–club policy to check your coat at the door. Something our hostess would have insisted upon, meaning you– ” you emphasize as you lean in, fingertips pressed to the tabletop by his side, "–slipped in under the wire." You search his face for anything to betray his intentions. "Now how did you manage that?”

The stranger lowers himself into his seat, hands raised in surrender. "A little backstage access, courtesy of your drummer there." He nods toward the stage: you catch a glimpse of Mauricio clumsily ducking back behind the curtain. You'll scold him later.

His gaze shifts across the room. “See that fella over there– the one who looks like it'd kill him to smile? I’m just waiting to drive him home, like I do every week.” He grins again, that same look in his eyes. A look that sets you on edge. “Just a humble cab driver, miss– nothing up my sleeves.”

“Didn't know cabbies could be so exclusive,” you say, still eyeing him. James Wesley has been a regular for a few weeks, but you've never met his driver.

“With what he tips? Doll, I'd do damn near anything he asked.” The stranger chuckles, sipping his drink.

You know what he means: the wait staff has noted a major uptick in gratuities since Mr. Wesley has started frequenting the lounge.

“Very well,” you offer stiffly. It all checks out, but you get the feeling there's something he's not telling you. “I hope everything is to your liking.”

You turn to leave, but he takes your hand before you can go far.

“Oh believe me, it is… Ms. Songbird. ” A wink and a smile play on his lips as he swiftly presses them to your knuckles, letting go just as fast. You storm away before giving the satisfaction of showing how flustered you are.

“Mr. Manalo,” you beckon a waiter as he passes. He stands at attention. You gesture to the table you’d just left, not bothering to look and see if his eyes are still on you.

“Watch out for this one, will you? I get the feeling he isn’t just here for the music.”

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A/N: !!!! every story i write becomes my new favorite, but Noir!Jake has carved a pretty special spot in my heart this autumn. so excited to share more of him with y'all!

as always, thank you for reading :)

addtl tag list: @fandxmslxt69 @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#my works #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight au #jake lockley #jake lockley fanfiction #noir!jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x woc!reader #jake lockley x poc!reader #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley/fem!reader #jake lockley/woc! reader #jake lockley/poc!reader

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dbacklot99 · 17 days

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Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About The Crow Road, But Couldn't Get Through it To Find Out

Co-written by dbacklot and cheeseplants

WARNING: SPOILERS EVERYWHERE!!

Overall Premise: Books are clearly important to Good Omens and Neil & team have left us Clues. In S2E2, the xray trivia highlights a list of books they would like the audience to read. But even more specifically, there are names of certain books on the back of the chairs in the theater in the opening credits. Those books are: The Tale of Two Cities, Pride & Prejudice, and The Crow Road - twice!

What might this mean? One theory is that the chairs represent the seasons. The body swap in S1 is similar to how Carton, in Tale of Two Cities, takes his doppleganger's place in jail, sacrificing his life so Darnay could go free and be with his family. Pride & Prejudice is clearly referenced in S2, with Crowley's proposal as a sort of mirror to Darcy's first proposal. (There's probably a whole lot more to unpack there - and if you like Austen, here are some thoughts about Aziraphale's favorite book, Persuasion, and how it may relate to the characters.)

BACK to The Crow Road. The title is shown on two chairs in the opening sequence, suggesting that it is related to both S2 and S3. Furthermore, we see the book multiple times in the show and it's the book Muriel reads at the end. As an aside, Neil Gaiman and Iain Banks were very good friends. Iain Banks died over a decade ago, so it is also likely a bit of a tribute to his friend.

So let's dig in and see why perhaps Neil keeps holding this book up and shouting Clue!

Side note: The book is long and most of the action happens in the final third, which can make it a hard read for folks. There's also a lot of characters and it can be tricky to remember how they are all related. There is a family tree BUT it has spoilers.

The Name: The Crow Road is a phrase used by the grandmother to indicate someone has died, ie - he's gone the crow road.

The Plot: This is the story of Prentice growing up with his immediate and extended family in Scotland. His Uncle Rory disappears in his early childhood. Some family members choose to believe Rory is still alive. After a hook-up with his Uncle Rory's former girlfriend as a young adult, Prentice starts gathering journals and writings from his missing Uncle Rory, who was (for a few years) a successful writer and traveler. Prentice eventually learns that 1) another Uncle, Fergus, had murdered his own wife and covered it up as a car accident and 2) Rory had figured this out and confronted him. Fergus then murdered Rory, hid all the evidence, and hired an acquaintance (who also traveled) to send matchboxes from bars across the world to Prentice's father, Kenneth. Kenneth, believed - as Fergus intended - that these were messages from Rory, indicating he was still alive.

Stylistically, Prentice's childhood memories and fragments from Rory's journals are interspersed throughout the book, much like the minisodes are in S2. It can take the reader a while to figure out who is telling the story or where this information is coming from. It is also unclear how reliable Rory is as narrator - perhaps this also plays into S2.

What it Might Mean:

Fergus could represent the Metatron. He is very powerful, rich, and conservative; he lives in a castle (Heaven?) and wants authority. Fergus also murders two relatives and hides those murders; the murder of his wife may have been inspired by jealousy over her sleeping with another man, an event which may or may not have happened.

Fergus also sets up fake messages!! The matchbooks are red herrings to make it look like Rory is still alive. As the Metatron relays messages from God, I can't get over the possibilities here. We have seen God speaking directly as recently as Job, but are the other messages real?

I can't help but wonder if the matchbooks and their use as messages inspired Neil to use the matchbook in S2. The matchbook in S2, incidentally, connects to all three minisodes - the quote from Job, 41:19 (reversed 1941), and the matchbox is from the Resurrectionists pub. So the matchbook contains not only Gabriel’s memories but refers to Azi’s as well?

Much of the book is about this missing uncle. Is a character (or their memory) missing in S3? I have theories, but its too soon to tell.

There's also an interesting theme of Prentice collecting his Uncle Rory's writings and records, including sending some corrupted computer discs to an expert in America to try to restore them. Given the emphasis on records ("It contains information in a tuneful way") and journals in S2, not to mention this trivia nugget - my brain is itching that there's a connection there.

Faith & Beliefs: The book talks about Faith a lot. Prentice believes in God and his father Kenneth doesn’t. And Kenneth doesn’t just reject religion, he wants his children to reject religion too. Prentice on the other hand desperately wants something to believe in - especially after a friend's death in an accident. This leads to a huge fall out - they end up not talking over it.

"'I mean, what's the big argument? Can't you just agree to disagree?' 'No; we disagree about that,' I shook my head. 'Seriously; it doesnt' work that way; neither of us can leave it alone. There's almost nothing either of us can say that can't be taken the wrong way, with a bit of imagination. It's like being married.'" (Ch 7)

Kennth seemingly taunts God - he climbs a church during a lightning storm and is struck dead. His uncle Hamish (one of Kenneth’s brothers) also represents the extreme version of Faith and ends up running a sort of cult, at least until Kenneth’s death.

What it Might Mean: The thread they pull through a lot is about meaning, and whether you can have meaning in life without God. Prentice gains Faith because his friend died senselessly; he wonders how can you have a world be so cruel. There must be a reason for it (this is sort of Az coded), and he turns to God to create the meaning for him.

BUT Kenneth’s argument is that you don’t need Faith for the world to have meaning (or at least that is my reading). It is wonderful because it is inherently meaningless (this is very existentialist, but I do think that’s the point). That Faith doesn’t do that, and just means you are looking outwards without looking at what is right in front of you. Which again, could be a Crowley way of looking at it, or at least where he is headed. Life is good as life, and doesn’t need God to make it so.

Hamish represents someone putting so much meaning into Faith that they lose all sense of Joy, he becomes distant. (One of my favorite scenes is Hamish doing a jigsaw puzzle with the pieces upside down - and cutting the pieces with scissors if they don’t fit right!)

The Romantic Relationships: Prentice is infatuated with a cousin (second cousin?), Verity. She is described as beautiful, in white/light colors, pure, lives with Uncle Fergus in the castle. There are legends around her birth - she was conceived under a tree during a storm. She is unattainable and eventually ends up with Prentice's older brother.

Ash, on the other hand, is almost literally the girl next door and Prentice’s long-term best friend. Her family is poorer and maybe has some domestic violence issues. She's always there for Prentice - literally a shoulder to cry on, sharing a bottle of whiskey, helping him sober up after said whiskey. There's obvious romantic tension from Ash’s side but she never pushes him and instead guides him along. And the book ends with a romantic resolution that feels very much like the final fifteen - except with a happier ending.

“- and I still didn’t feel I could tell her how I felt about her because she was going away now, and how could I suddenly say I love you when I’d never said it to anybody in my life before? How could I say it now especially, the night before she was due to leave? It would look like I was trying to make her stay, or just get her into bed. It would probably wreck this one precious evening that we did have, and upset her, confuse her, even hurt her, and I didn’t want to do any of that.” (Ch 13)

They finally kiss and spend the night together, both confessing their love. Ash has to leave the next morning to pursue a career opportunity in New York; Prentice is sad that she goes but re-dedicating himself to his studies and working towards a relationship together.

What it Might Mean: To me, Verity is very Heaven-coded and Ash is very Hell-coded. A big part of Prentice's arc (Prentice may represent Azi here) is getting over his blind infatuation with Verity and realizing the value and love he has with Ash. However, they also need to be apart and grow a bit before they can be together.

Other thoughts? Connections? Would love to hear your theories!!

@cheeseplants

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens 2 #good omens thoughts #final fifteen #good omens meta #the crow road

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stone-cold-groove · 5 months

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World War 2 era United States Army Air Forces’ 40th Bombardment Group matchbook cover.

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dozydawn · 1 year

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Font: Davida, 1965. Designed by Louis Minott and named after his son David. Possibly inspired by Victorian-era designs such as Ringlet and Hogarth.

Barritts Ginger Beer, 1970s.

Better Homes & Gardens Christmas Ideas, 1967.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. (This 1981 paperback cover including Davida references the jacket designed by Amy Isbey Duevell in 1971.)

Museum of Witchcraft in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, 1972.

Letraset sampling of Davida.

Young Sound by Orchester Hanz Kiessling, 1969.

Ain’t it Funky by James Brown, 1969.

Gino’s of Sonoma matchbook, 1970s.

Penn State t-shirt, 1970.

#artists of the 6th pic album are best known for making the always sunny theme. giants of the easy listening genre #font #type #typography #1960s #1970s #letraset #letragraphica #typeface

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youthereader · 3 months

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Near Zero part 7

PAIRING: cillian murphy as j. robert oppenheimer x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 1.4k words. Brought on as part of the Manhattan Project, your old physics professor sees you in a new light.

RATING: E; barebacking, oral (f receiving), infidelity, age gap (10+ years), secret relationship

A/N: Although based on real life characters, this is J. Robert Oppenheimer as played by Cillian Murphy, a fictional character, and does not intend to be accurate. This is merely for entertainment. This is the second of two parts in Santa Fe. Essentially filler. Also shoutout to @goldcoastsunset for being such a sweetie about this fic, it helped a lot.

masterlist

You wake, short bursts of light over several seconds – your eyelids fluttering in a sunbeam – sensing Robert beside you. He absently puffs at the lit cigarette between his lips as he reads the newspaper.

You draw in a breath and he glances down at you, small smile forming. He’s naked like you, his bare legs crossed at the ankles under the thin sheet that covers you both.

You sit up, eyeing the newspaper.

“Reading about Naples,” he murmurs.

“Anything good?” you reply, snatching up a matchbook from the side table. You turn it over, snapping off a match to light a cigarette you retrieve from your pack.

“Uprisings.”

You nod, thinking of Mussolini. Then Churchill, then Roosevelt. You suddenly wish you were back in Los Alamos working, but shut your eyes against it, attempting to squash it.

“We can talk about it here,” he adds, and you meet his eye again. “To an extent.”

You hesitate, chewing your lip, cigarette smoke rising. You take a puff, exhaling roughly.

“It would help me sleep at night if we knew how close Heisenberg was to building a bomb.”

Robert gives a single knowing nod. The silence that descends between you is not uncommon, and in this case, not unwelcome. You muse, smoking away until he’s finished reading and folds his newspaper. He taps your bare arm with it, a corner of it brushing your nipple.

“You slept quite peacefully just now,” he murmurs.

“I wonder why.” You twist slightly to put your cigarette out, moving back to give him your full attention, shifting to lie on your side.

His eyes dip to your topless upper half once more, and you love that mischievous streak of his. He brings it out of you, too, with so little effort.

“Robert.”

“Yes, darling?” he says.

“May we fuck again?”

He laughs, looking down, and then puts his own cigarette out. He moves closer to you, hand brushing your bare stomach. He feigns a seriousness.

“Yes, I suppose we could…”

You kiss him for once, not wanting to wait a second longer. He smiles into it, your lip between his two, and then he takes over, his hands deep in your hair as he rolls you onto your back. Your legs spread and you sigh, your hands on his sides, rubbing up and down. Your nails sink into his back when he kisses your neck, warmth spreading to your toes.

You glance down at your naked bodies, the way his cock stands to attention already, so eager. It’s the third time you’ve done this today. You experiment with your nails, digging in, and he grunts, retaliating with a nip to your shoulder.

“Please,” you whisper.

He kisses you hard, kisses you until you pull away to breathe, and he shuffles down your chest, his fingers splayed on your stomach. You meant to beg him to fuck you, but he hasn’t done this today yet, moving down to kiss your mound, thumb you open to lick up the cut of you.

You gasp at the first contact of his mouth, heels digging into the mattress. You think you might combust if you look at him for too long, his eyes swinging up to meet yours. Your plea dies on your lips as he buries his face in your cunt, tongue spearing you as he wraps his arms around your thighs, keeping them open.

“Oh…”

Your hand finds the back of his head, attempting to anchor yourself to the Earth, unable to keep the sounds inside anymore. You moan, remembering to shut your mouth, which seems to only encourage Robert’s talented mouth.

The pleasure rolls over you, a cresting wave, and you come, hips lifting off the bed as your back arches. The sound you make is strangled and muffled behind your hand but undeniable.

He pulls back with slow kisses to your inner thighs, mouth glistening when he ascends to meet you in a rough kiss. The filthiness of it emboldens you, makes you push against him to shove him onto his back, your leg over him in a second.

You pant together, your hand on his cock, pumping him as you share another hasty kiss.

“Darling—”

His words are cut off when you take him to the hilt, his eyes rolling back for a beat before he regains control, his hands vices on your thighs as you begin to ride. He stares up at you as you take everything from him, your hands on his chest, feeling his hammering heart beneath your fingers.

You wish you could do this forever. Heartbreakingly, this might be the last time for a while before you can have this time alone. You lean over him, sharing a breath as your mouths don’t quite shut in filthy kiss after filthy kiss.

You’re hurting yourself, loving this with him. The damage you have done is too much.

You sense his end, sweat on your skin, unsure of whose it is. You pull back enough for him to slip out of you and wrap your hand around him, bringing him off, his arms curled around you. You think of the mess, smelling your shared arousal, knowing it will be there for hours.

Yet it’s not enough. It may never be enough. Your throat tightens at the thought, and you attempt to pull away, but his arms lock you in.

“Stay there,” he whispers. “Stay.”

For the first time, your eyes sting with emotion. What stirs inside you can’t be let free, not now. It would ruin this weekend with him. You shake your head, before melting back into a kiss you share.

Robert plays with his empty pipe on the tablecloth, nodding every so often as a fellow scientist talks. Your own conversation with Feynman is quite alike. You are both struggling to concentrate.

You cut Feynman off suddenly, glancing up at a waiter that passes by the table.

“Excuse me, may I have another drink?”

The waiter nods at your empty martini glass and then departs, your focus back on Feynman.

He snorts. “They’re weak.”

“Compared to Los Alamos, of course,” you reply with a smirk. “One day someone’s going to go blind in that town from all the homemade gin.”

Feynman gives a shrug, before resuming his long-winded tale. You half listen, watching Robert. He pauses and looks your way, your eyes meeting.

“Yes,” he says absently. “But it’s getting quite late. I should head off soon.”

He only elaborates once your martini arrives, and the waiter is out of earshot. You pick up your drink, taking a steady gulp.

“Have another one, Oppie,” Feynman says.

Robert gives a little shake of his head, eyes on you again. He gives the table a short tap with his pipe.

“I’m off to Chicago in the morning.”

Your whole night has been like this, dreading the end, though it hadn’t been that entertaining. Everyone was sluggish at dinner, despite there being such a fuss about it, leading up to this visit. Santa Fe is wonderful, but your mind is elsewhere.

“May I walk you back to the hotel?” Robert asks, pulling you back from your reverie.

“Yes,” you say, and pick up your drink, draining it.

You’re past caring about whether or not there’s an excuse for Robert walking you back to the hotel. Feynman and the others near your part of the table seem to have moved on as well, by how they settle back into conversations. You rise from your chair, following Robert out.

Being invisible, being less than to some of these men, works out for you.

Robert takes your hand when you’re on your floor. He walks you back to your room, only letting you go when you unlock the door, both of you slipping inside. He doesn’t remove his coat, lingering by the door.

There’s a mirror beside you, above the dish you place your hotel key in with a clatter. Your eyes meet Robert’s mirror self and he looks sadder.

He moves to your side, so you face the mirror together. He then takes off his hat, placing it on your head, his arm around your shoulders.

“Look at us,” he says.

You both smile at one another. You know you miss one another already by the way his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He is somewhere else, like you, endlessly thinking.

“Look at us,” you whisper, an echo.

It is easy to be busy once you return to Los Alamos. You bristle when Teller argues with someone with abandon and you hunch over your desk with a perpetual cigarette, jittery with too much bad coffee.

You’re lonely, but you’re often too tired to notice it. A couple days after Santa Fe, you tear open a letter marked from your mother, but recognise the writing easily as Robert’s.

You are in my dreams.

Ooh boy. I'm gearing you up for future angst. It obviously gets much worse. But hopefully you still stick with this story! Let me know if you enjoyed it. Reblogs and replies really encourage me. 🥺❤️

Taglist: @indulgence-be-thy-name @forgottenpeakywriter (hmu if you'd like to be added)

#j robert oppenheimer #near zero #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #fem reader #cillian murphy x reader #oppenheimer x reader #oppenheimer x y/n

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bunnyfangs · 4 months

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AND ANOTHER THING

oliver's lonesome little flat in his 30s reminiscent of a tiny matchbook version of saltburn. painted dark and covered in classical paintings. a reminder of a particular room in saltburn, even.

#saltburn #oliver quick

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jennyfromthebes · 2 months

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found some time last week to carve and print this design that I've had in the books for a little bit, inspired, of course, by spent gladiator 1+2! find me at the portland solo show - I'll be in the black jacket with bigass gold spikes on one shoulder, can't miss it - and I've got these and some of my other patches to give out to anyone who says hi! <3

[image description: a stack of three block-printed patches, with the same design in different colors. the design depicts a matchbook with the cover folded back and one match on fire. words written across the other matches read "Stay Forever Alive". the patches are printed on red and orange fabric with black ink, and dark blue fabric with white ink. end ID]

#orig #transmissions from lyric #img #art #described #tmg #the mountain goats #i wrote this post friday night on the plane! today i got to see the ocean for the first time in my life!!!#been SUCH a fun trip already im so happy <3 #hope to see some of yall at the show tmr!!!#or. its after midnight so today i guess lmao

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theflnalb0y · 1 year

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Hospital Lighting

You get stabbed and can only think of one person to call.

There was a pipe leaking in the alley, causing a steady, annoying drip to echo off the walls as you stood there, hands shoved deep in your jacket pockets. You were supposed to be meeting a guy here for a deal, but he seemed to be a no show, causing you to huff. You had better things to do than wait here all night. After another minute of waiting you decided to call it a night, pushing off the wall you had been leaning against and turning to leave the alley.

It happened fast, one minute you were walking out towards the street, and the next you were being shoved against the wall, your head snapping back and cracking against the bricks. Your head spun, and you were only briefly aware of the man in front of you. He was demanding something, probably the bag of meth in your pocket, but you couldn’t really hear him over the ringing in your ears. He stepped towards you, something flashing in his hand, and you bolted, trying to run around him. He tackled you to the ground, and you screamed despite knowing no one in this part of town would help you. You thrashed in his grasp, vaguely hearing a brief “Shit!”, before he reached into your pocket, grabbing the bag and taking off.

You laid there for a moment, head still spinning, before you felt a burning pain in your stomach. The pain only worsened as you slowly sat up, lifting your shirt to reveal a bloody mess. That asshole had stabbed you during the struggle. You fumbled around in your pockets, eventually finding your phone. Your hands trembled as you flipped it open, smearing blood over the buttons. You sat there, trying to keep pressure on your wound as you tried to think about what to do. Calling 911 wasn’t an option. Your eyes darted around for a moment before landing on something on the ground next to you. A bright yellow matchbook. You shifted slightly, using the wall as support as you made your call.

Saul’s presence was announced a few minutes later by the sound of a car door slamming and a stream of curses. You blinked and suddenly you were in the passenger seat of his car, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.

“Where are we going?” You asked, shutting your eyes.

“Hey hey, keep your eyes open. Don’t fall asleep.” He reached over, gently shaking you until you opened your eyes and glared at him. “I’m taking you to a hospital.”

You sat up straight, ignoring the pain in your gut. “No no no no hospitals Saul, I was dealing!”

He glanced over at you, clearly panicked. “Look, I’ll take care of that, but jesus christ kid I don’t want you to bleed out in my car while I try to find someone to take care of you. Just trust me on this.”

You groaned, bringing your free hand up to cover your face. “If I end up in jail…. I’m gonna stab you.”

You could just barely hear his strained chuckle before you passed out.

***

It was way too bright. And loud. You shifted, only for a sharp pain in your side to cause you to jolt fully awake. Your eyes flew open, the lights temporarily blinding you until they adjusted. You were in a hospital bed, the machines hooked up to you beeping away. Your eyes landed on Saul, who was pacing circles around your room, his hands shaking slightly. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so worried.

“Hey,” You called out to him, voice hoarse. “You’re still here?”

He looked over at you, relief flooding his features before he rushed to your side. “You’re awake.” He cleared his throat, sitting in the chair beside your bed. “You scared the hell out of me kid.”

“Sorry…” You mumbled, reaching up to rub the sleep out of your eyes. “What’d you tell the doctor?”

“I told them that you got mugged. Guy was jumpy, panicked and attacked you, grabbed whatever cash you had on you and took off.” He explained, reaching over to knock your hand away when you started fiddling with your IV. “Said you were scared and out of it and called me.”

You nodded, looking over at him with a small smile. “Do I have to pay you for this?” you joked.

He laughed, shaking his head at you. “Not this time. But if you ever scare me like that again I’m charging you full price.”

He stood, patting your shoulder before turning to walk away. “I’m gonna get a nurse.”

“Saul wait-” You reached out, grabbing his hand before he got too far. He turned to look at you, and your breath caught in your throat. Had he always looked like that, or was the hospital lighting somehow working in his favor? You fell silent for a moment, before giving his hand a squeeze. “...Thanks for being there… and for staying with me…”

“Hey, any time kid. Don’t ever hesitate to call me.” He smiled down at you, gently squeezing your hand back.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before seeming to remember where you were, letting go of each other’s hands. He left to find a nurse as you settled back into your bed, sighing. You must have hit your head harder than you thought.

#saul goodman #breaking bad #better call saul #saul goodman x reader #jimmy mcgill x reader #brbabcs #brba #i blacked out and suddenly this was on the word doc

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