The lovely Hoya Vine I have growing in my back yard <3 there’s always at least one cluster of buds at some different stage in the blooming process
I don’t know which one of these I want the most….
Keep it going! This thing is blowing up my notifications. Would be cool if people ended up buying some!
"Fire Chief," an original Donald Duck strip by Hank Porter from Good Housekeeping magazine, 1940.
Cinderella Big Golden Book (1950) illustrations by Retta Scott Worcester. See more in my Flickr set
I need a Soulmate!AU where Stiles wakes up one day with the name Scott Garcia McCall red, puffy, and sensitive on the small of his back. He has no idea who it is but he just accepts it and casually mentions the name to his Dad who just raises a eyebrow. ‘A boy?’ Stiles just…
Minerva McGonagall never had children, but she helped first years find their way.
Minerva McGonagall never had children, but she pursed her lips in just the right way when second years tripped over each other in the halls—and escorted them to the Infirmary besides.
"If women want to degrade themselves by staring, that’s their problem."
|Okay, so I'm /actually/ about to write a porn fic to AO3, and I'm interested in knowing what the difference is between the M rating and E rating. Able to enlighten me?|
Mature is ‘and then they made love.’ Explicit is ‘and here’s how they did it exactly.’
To wit: mature.
He looked at the envelope, spread out before him.
God, he’d never been this hungry.
Could he be gentle enough? Slow enough? He didn’t want to damage it, didn’t want to do anything he’d regret… but no, no, it seemed the envelope wanted this as much as he did. It slipped into his hands, it folded as he asked. When it was time for more, the card was waiting, and he somehow knew exactly what to do. He moved with his correspondence in a dance as old as the mail system, and when it was over, he was smiling and the envelope was completely, thoroughly sealed.
The envelope waved its flap in the air slowly, gently, and he could see the faint shimmer of the adhesive traced along its fold. It was like a taunt, a dare: won’t you? And he would, oh, God, he would, lifting the envelope firmly to his lips, licking slowly at first, then faster, more firmly, tasting the envelope’s essence, the faint bitterness, the sweetness to follow—
Oh, he couldn’t help but smile at how it felt in his hands. It was so perfectly folded. Its paper was rough against his fingers, and its crossed folds shifted slightly as it opened for his eager tongue. Yes, yes…
Now the card, and his hand trembled as he lifted it, as he held the envelope, stretching it wide. Would it fit? Oh… oh, yes, it would fit, it slid in smooth and quick and filled the envelope to bursting, oh, made for each other, and he smiled in delight at how perfect it was.
He was ready. Now, now, now: with one swift movement he folded the flap over and he pressed, yes, he pressed the flap down and it stuck, God, it stuck perfectly, and he closed his eyes in bliss.
Afterwards, he stroked the envelope, and thought about addresses.
And a tree. Don’t forget the tree.
Wait. You Forgot The Birds.
YOU FORGOT THE HOLE IN THE TREE.
AND THAT TOTALLY RANDOM FLOWER.
and sometimes the sun had sunglasses? for some reason?
what do you mean when we were children