Roll Over Beethoven, Here We Go Again

A blog theme, in this economy? It’s less likely than you think. Mostly gay shit and Beatles stuff 23 year old grandma

[bisexualvader]

"It is a story of love and loss, brotherhood and betrayal, courage and sacrifice and the death of dreams. It is a story of the blurred line between our best and our worst."

Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith Novelization by Matthew Stover

[theartofmadeline]

happy pride to the gay people in my computer <3

[scandalscontained]

Oooooh I loved the latest post of rockstar Sabrina (sorry, English is not my first language so some words Kay be inaccurate)

Could you maybe write a story where reader is the rockstar girlfriend and Sabrina is the pop princess?

hey sweetie! so sorry this took so long to come out. kisses, mwah!

˚౨ৎ ⋆ s.carpenter x rockstar gf!reader headcannons

Ი𐑼: opposites absolutely attract!

Ი𐑼: when most people see your dark eyeliner and clothes, they wouldn't expect to have pink frills on your arm. Sabrina sticks out like a sore thumb with you. It's like looking at a contrast between night and day. But, the love you have for each other is unyielding.

Ი𐑼: Though her pink and glitter is far different from your reds and band shirts, something between you two just clicks. Like puzzle pieces falling into place, seamlessly slotting together to create the perfect picture.

Ი𐑼: She's your sun

Ი𐑼: You're her moon

Ი𐑼: You play in a rock band. You guys have a few albums out— you're not super high in the charts, but you pool together a few thousand every show. The band takes inspiration from feminist movements and women in the industry.

Ი𐑼: Sabrina goes to every show when she can. She'll stand at the side stage, watching the way you flaunt around and dazzle the crowd. It's always something magical to her. When you're on stage, you're this force to be reckoned with. But when you're off? You're a smaller version, content with wrapping her arms around her.

Ი𐑼: The first time you met Sabrina, you thought she was a fairy princess.

Ი𐑼: It was a chilly summer night—a chilled breeze signaling the impending cold months—when your band had an off night. The drummer of your band knew this girl Paloma from high school. She'd invited the band to a karaoke night with some of her friends.

Ი𐑼: You didn't know who Sabrina was when you met her

Ი𐑼: All you could focus on was the blonde hair and pretty-girl-makeup she had on. It was like she walked out of a magazine— or a cheerleading meet. But you couldn't deny that she was stunning. Even if her entire aesthetic was the opposite of yours.

Ი𐑼: There weren't very high hopes for the night. You figured she'd just sing some pop music. Boy, were you wrong. Sabrina took to the stage of the room you'd booked with Evanessence and Hole. She put an entirely new sound to Courtney Love— and honestly, you loved it. She was great.

Ი𐑼: So great that you got her to sing 'You Oughtta Know' with you. It was later in the night, and you'd both had a few too many drinks. laughter ripped from the two of you as Sabrina flipped her hair, pointing at you as if you were the culprit of the song.

Ი𐑼: You slipped your number in her pocket before leaving.

Ი𐑼: Surprsingly, you did in fact get a text. She wanted to coordinate schedules.

Ი𐑼: You listened to her music the second you had a break, deciding that she made good stuff. Of course, the compliment was relayed when you next saw her.

Ი𐑼: The first time you came to one of her shows, you hadn't told her you booked a ticket. She couldn't hide her grin when she saw you out in the audience. And for the next three songs of her setlist, she tried her best to not linger on the side of the stage where you were.

Ი𐑼: After the show, she barreled into your arms. Her face was flushed from exertion and she looked like a true vision. Hair frizzy and mussed, eyes bright, movements animated. That was the first time you felt a pang in your chest. It was the kind of pang that didn't hurt, but it snuggled up comfortably between your ribs.

Ი𐑼: The two of you quickly became inseparable.

Ი𐑼: Phone calls that lasted hours, talking late at night until you heard her breathing shallow, and watching each other rehearse from behind a screen. It was a whirlwind of fun and romance.

Ი𐑼: When you're out together, you can't help but be protective of her. The band has teased you about being a guard dog. But honestly? You couldn't care less. She was your woman and you were damn sure gonna be on the look out for danger. (even if Sabrina can look out for herself.)

Ი𐑼: Before you play a show, she's sure to leave a little kiss mark either on your neck or shoulder. It's her little way of telling the audience that you're taken.

Ი𐑼: You like to keep your relationship private. The public eye can burn people out, and the both of you know this. So talking about your relationship is very limited. But in writting—anything is on the table. You're the subject of 'Bed Chem' off Short 'N Sweet.

Ი𐑼: When fans speculate which songs are about you or vice versa, you and Sabrina giggle about it.

Ი𐑼: There are nights when you crowd surf and she gets very upset about it. Sabrina isn't a worrywart, but she does fuss over you. A few jokes about cracking your head open fly from her mouth as she massages your shoulders, working the soreness from your muscles.

Ი𐑼: You've decided she's the person you want to wake up next to forever.

Ი𐑼: Sabrina already knows you're it for her.

Join the taglist here! request something here or in my inbox!

TAGLIST: @yoyok-era @scoliobean @letterstoasickguitarist @hopelesslydevotedwife @lilnini777 @lovelyy-moonlight @micheleontrack333

[thedriftingmind]

you make me wanna make you fall in love! ooh!

pairing: sabrina carpenter x fem!girly!reader

synopsis: coming to coachella to watch your girlfriend headline was a quick, on the spot decision. at first, you couldn’t make it due to being booked for the entirety of the day both weekends, but then your management moved things around and worked with sabrina’s management team to be able to surprise her; or, you surprise your girlfriend at coachella and she hard launches your relationship at the end of her set!

cw: ermmm nothing, reader gives off girly vibes but you can work around it if you want +++ outfit i imagined for reader is in the header!

wc: like… really short; 1.4k

suzi speaks: sabrina’s coachella performance this year for weekend one genuinely had me star struck guys that’s my girl please ++ there’s like no wlw sabrina fics on here so i hope someone needed tbis as much as i did LMAO also guys i’ve came to the conclusion that bigger text looks a little bit better for the main part of the story so bye bye little text…kinda 💔

coming to coachella had never been part of your plan.

your schedule had been packed, painfully so. calls, fittings for your upcoming movie, appearances stacked on top of each other until there was barely room to breathe, let alone fly out into the desert for something as spontaneous as watching your girlfriend headline one of the biggest stages in the world.

you had told her you couldn’t make it and you remember the way sabrina had smiled through it on the phone: soft, understanding, a little too quick to say “it’s okay, i get it.” like she didn’t want you to hear the small disappointment tucked underneath.

and you let her. for about…24 hours.

the decision happened fast: management shifted things around, flights got booked, someone somewhere pulled a favor, and suddenly you’re in a car driving through the heat-hazed roads of coachella valley, heart beating a little too hard against your ribs.

your outfit feels like a mix you and ‘brina: light, soft, and a little too pretty for the dust and smell of weed around you, but you don’t care. you never really have.

you clutch your phone in your lap, staring at the last text she sent you.

wish you were here </3

you smile to yourself. “yeah,” you murmur under your breath, eyes flicking up as the festival grounds come into view. “me too.”

backstage is louder than you expected.

not in volume, but in energy. everything moves fast so fast. people talking over each other, headsets crackling, racks of clothes being wheeled past like they’re part of some kind of organized chaos.

you’re guided through it all carefully, thank god.

“she’s about to go into a transition,” someone tells you, one of her stylists you think, clipboard tucked against her chest, eyes scanning everything at once.

she pauses when she looks at you properly, gaze softening a little in understanding.

“she’s been a little…” she hesitates, searching for the word. “bummed, i guess. trying not to show it.”

your chest tightens at that. “yeah,” you say quietly. “i know.”

the stylist gives you a small, knowing smile before stepping aside. “she’ll be in there. just uh don’t scare her too bad.”

you almost laugh. almost.

the music outside shifts. cheers start to swell, then dim, then rise again like a wave breaking against the stage.

and then, the curtain moves. she steps in hastily and you see her before she sees you.

slightly breathless, cheeks flushed, still glowing from the stage lights, energy clinging to her like something alive. she’s laughing at something someone behind her says, already halfway to the chair where they’re going to fix her hair, change her outfit, send her back out again.

but then she looks up and everything stops.

“-what?” it comes out barely above a breath, and you don’t move at first, suddenly nervous in a way you hadn’t been five seconds ago.

“hi baby,” you say softly.

and that’s all it takes before she’s crossing the room, not worried about anyone stopping her, hands finding your face like she needs to make sure you’re real and actually there, her big eyes wide and glassy and so, so bright.

“you’re here,” she says, voice breaking on the second word. “but you…you said-“

“i know,” you laugh a little, breath shaky. “i lied.”

she doesn’t even pretend to be mad. “you’re actually here,” she repeats, like she can’t quite process it, like if she says it enough times it’ll settle into something real.

you nod and that’s when she kisses you.

it’s immediate and overwhelming. her hands still on your face, pulling you closer like she’s been holding this in all day and doesn’t know how else to let it out.

you feel her smile into it before someone behind her clears their throat, half-laughing, half-reminding. “you’ve got like, thirty seconds.”

she pulls back just enough to look at you again, forehead resting against yours. “you’re staying okay,” she says, not even a question.

“i’m not going anywhere.”

and that grin on her face, brighter than anything you’ve seen on stage, made everything you did to get here worth it.

“okay,” she breathes. “okay, i - god, okay.”

she squeezes your hands once, quick, grounding herself and you, before they start pulling her back into the whirlwind.

right before she disappears again, she leans in, presses one more quick kiss to your lips.

“watch from the side,” she says. “not the crowd. i want to see you.”

so you do.

you stand just off the stage, near where security lines the barricade, close enough that you can see everything clearly, far enough that you’re not actually in there’s crowd.

the lights hit harder from here and the music especially feels louder.

and sabrina, she’s different now. you can see it in the way she moves, the way she seems more lighter now, like something someone inside her clicked back into place.

her eyes sweep the side of the stage mid-performance, and when they land on you, you see it: that spark in her eyes and that oh so beautiful smile. and it’s not the performance smile, not the polished one, it’s yours.

the final moments come too soon.

the crowd is deafening now, lights flashing, energy peaking as everything builds toward the end.

then, that vintage convertible you’ve grown familiar with after 7 months of watching her plan rolls out onto the floor, headlights cutting through the haze, the moment cinematic in a way that almost doesn’t feel real.

she climbs in like she’s done it a thousand times.

the music swells and the crowd screams and the car starts to move.

you think that’s how it ends, until it doesn’t. because when she starts to get closer to the exit, near where you’re standing, it slows then comes to a complete stop.

there’s a split second where everything feels suspended. the crowd is confused.

you see her eyes search the crowd before landing on you and she leans out of the car.

“come here!” she yells, gesturing to you.

you don’t even remember moving. just the feeling of your heart in your throat, the sound of the crowd shifting into something curiois.

her hands reach for you, guide you just enough towards her, and then you’re there, right at the window of the car.

she grabs you, pulls you in like she did backstage, but this time there’s nothing quiet about it.

the kiss is deeper and more intentional than backstage.

the crowd erupts but you barely hear it, their screams just start to fade into background noise.

your hands are in her hair, her fingers tight against your waist

your hands sneak their way into her hair, her fingers tighten around your waist to pull you in deeper, and for a second it feels like it’s just the two of you in the middle of something impossibly loud.

when she pulls back, she’s smiling like she can’t help it. “hey there,” she says again, softer this time.

you laugh, breathless. “hi.” and then she’s gone again, the car starts to move away and the lights explode into their final sequence.

and the night ends with your heart somewhere still back on that stage.

the morning after is quiet, much more softer in a way the night never was.

sunlight spills through the curtains, warm and slow, settling across the bed where you’re half tangled together, bare limbs heavy with sleep and everything that came after the show.

she’s already awake. you can tell by the way her fingers are tracing absent patterns along your arm, slow, thoughtful, like she’s still processing everything.

“you came,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

you hum, eyes still closed. “i did.”

there’s a pause. then she shifts closer, pressing her face into your shoulder. “i’m really glad you did.” she mumbles.

that makes you smile. you turn slightly, brushing your nose against hers. “me too.”

she looks at you like she’s memorizing something.

then her phone buzzes. once. twice. again.

you both glance over at it. “…should we?” you ask.

she groans softly. “noo.” it buzzes again.

you laugh. “it’s probably bad.”

“it’s probably insane,” she corrects, but she’s reaching for it anyway and you grab yours too.

notifications flood the screen, all being mentions, tags, clips, screenshots.

comments stacking faster than you can even read them.

you glance at her and she’s already looking at you. slow smile spreading on both your faces.

“well,” she says, voice still rough from sleep, from singing, from last nights post-show activities. “guess that’s… out there now.”

you laugh softly, setting your phone down again like it can wait. “yeah,” you say and then, quieter now, “i think i’m okay with that.”

she leans in, presses a kiss to your lips - slow, unhurried, nothing like the ones from the night before but somehow just as full.

[thedriftingmind]

you make me wanna make you fall in love! ooh!

pairing: sabrina carpenter x fem!girly!reader

synopsis: coming to coachella to watch your girlfriend headline was a quick, on the spot decision. at first, you couldn’t make it due to being booked for the entirety of the day both weekends, but then your management moved things around and worked with sabrina’s management team to be able to surprise her; or, you surprise your girlfriend at coachella and she hard launches your relationship at the end of her set!

cw: ermmm nothing, reader gives off girly vibes but you can work around it if you want +++ outfit i imagined for reader is in the header!

wc: like… really short; 1.4k

suzi speaks: sabrina’s coachella performance this year for weekend one genuinely had me star struck guys that’s my girl please ++ there’s like no wlw sabrina fics on here so i hope someone needed tbis as much as i did LMAO also guys i’ve came to the conclusion that bigger text looks a little bit better for the main part of the story so bye bye little text…kinda 💔

coming to coachella had never been part of your plan.

your schedule had been packed, painfully so. calls, fittings for your upcoming movie, appearances stacked on top of each other until there was barely room to breathe, let alone fly out into the desert for something as spontaneous as watching your girlfriend headline one of the biggest stages in the world.

you had told her you couldn’t make it and you remember the way sabrina had smiled through it on the phone: soft, understanding, a little too quick to say “it’s okay, i get it.” like she didn’t want you to hear the small disappointment tucked underneath.

and you let her. for about…24 hours.

the decision happened fast: management shifted things around, flights got booked, someone somewhere pulled a favor, and suddenly you’re in a car driving through the heat-hazed roads of coachella valley, heart beating a little too hard against your ribs.

your outfit feels like a mix you and ‘brina: light, soft, and a little too pretty for the dust and smell of weed around you, but you don’t care. you never really have.

you clutch your phone in your lap, staring at the last text she sent you.

wish you were here </3

you smile to yourself. “yeah,” you murmur under your breath, eyes flicking up as the festival grounds come into view. “me too.”

backstage is louder than you expected.

not in volume, but in energy. everything moves fast so fast. people talking over each other, headsets crackling, racks of clothes being wheeled past like they’re part of some kind of organized chaos.

you’re guided through it all carefully, thank god.

“she’s about to go into a transition,” someone tells you, one of her stylists you think, clipboard tucked against her chest, eyes scanning everything at once.

she pauses when she looks at you properly, gaze softening a little in understanding.

“she’s been a little…” she hesitates, searching for the word. “bummed, i guess. trying not to show it.”

your chest tightens at that. “yeah,” you say quietly. “i know.”

the stylist gives you a small, knowing smile before stepping aside. “she’ll be in there. just uh don’t scare her too bad.”

you almost laugh. almost.

the music outside shifts. cheers start to swell, then dim, then rise again like a wave breaking against the stage.

and then, the curtain moves. she steps in hastily and you see her before she sees you.

slightly breathless, cheeks flushed, still glowing from the stage lights, energy clinging to her like something alive. she’s laughing at something someone behind her says, already halfway to the chair where they’re going to fix her hair, change her outfit, send her back out again.

but then she looks up and everything stops.

“-what?” it comes out barely above a breath, and you don’t move at first, suddenly nervous in a way you hadn’t been five seconds ago.

“hi baby,” you say softly.

and that’s all it takes before she’s crossing the room, not worried about anyone stopping her, hands finding your face like she needs to make sure you’re real and actually there, her big eyes wide and glassy and so, so bright.

“you’re here,” she says, voice breaking on the second word. “but you…you said-“

“i know,” you laugh a little, breath shaky. “i lied.”

she doesn’t even pretend to be mad. “you’re actually here,” she repeats, like she can’t quite process it, like if she says it enough times it’ll settle into something real.

you nod and that’s when she kisses you.

it’s immediate and overwhelming. her hands still on your face, pulling you closer like she’s been holding this in all day and doesn’t know how else to let it out.

you feel her smile into it before someone behind her clears their throat, half-laughing, half-reminding. “you’ve got like, thirty seconds.”

she pulls back just enough to look at you again, forehead resting against yours. “you’re staying okay,” she says, not even a question.

“i’m not going anywhere.”

and that grin on her face, brighter than anything you’ve seen on stage, made everything you did to get here worth it.

“okay,” she breathes. “okay, i - god, okay.”

she squeezes your hands once, quick, grounding herself and you, before they start pulling her back into the whirlwind.

right before she disappears again, she leans in, presses one more quick kiss to your lips.

“watch from the side,” she says. “not the crowd. i want to see you.”

so you do.

you stand just off the stage, near where security lines the barricade, close enough that you can see everything clearly, far enough that you’re not actually in there’s crowd.

the lights hit harder from here and the music especially feels louder.

and sabrina, she’s different now. you can see it in the way she moves, the way she seems more lighter now, like something someone inside her clicked back into place.

her eyes sweep the side of the stage mid-performance, and when they land on you, you see it: that spark in her eyes and that oh so beautiful smile. and it’s not the performance smile, not the polished one, it’s yours.

the final moments come too soon.

the crowd is deafening now, lights flashing, energy peaking as everything builds toward the end.

then, that vintage convertible you’ve grown familiar with after 7 months of watching her plan rolls out onto the floor, headlights cutting through the haze, the moment cinematic in a way that almost doesn’t feel real.

she climbs in like she’s done it a thousand times.

the music swells and the crowd screams and the car starts to move.

you think that’s how it ends, until it doesn’t. because when she starts to get closer to the exit, near where you’re standing, it slows then comes to a complete stop.

there’s a split second where everything feels suspended. the crowd is confused.

you see her eyes search the crowd before landing on you and she leans out of the car.

“come here!” she yells, gesturing to you.

you don’t even remember moving. just the feeling of your heart in your throat, the sound of the crowd shifting into something curiois.

her hands reach for you, guide you just enough towards her, and then you’re there, right at the window of the car.

she grabs you, pulls you in like she did backstage, but this time there’s nothing quiet about it.

the kiss is deeper and more intentional than backstage.

the crowd erupts but you barely hear it, their screams just start to fade into background noise.

your hands are in her hair, her fingers tight against your waist

your hands sneak their way into her hair, her fingers tighten around your waist to pull you in deeper, and for a second it feels like it’s just the two of you in the middle of something impossibly loud.

when she pulls back, she’s smiling like she can’t help it. “hey there,” she says again, softer this time.

you laugh, breathless. “hi.” and then she’s gone again, the car starts to move away and the lights explode into their final sequence.

and the night ends with your heart somewhere still back on that stage.

the morning after is quiet, much more softer in a way the night never was.

sunlight spills through the curtains, warm and slow, settling across the bed where you’re half tangled together, bare limbs heavy with sleep and everything that came after the show.

she’s already awake. you can tell by the way her fingers are tracing absent patterns along your arm, slow, thoughtful, like she’s still processing everything.

“you came,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

you hum, eyes still closed. “i did.”

there’s a pause. then she shifts closer, pressing her face into your shoulder. “i’m really glad you did.” she mumbles.

that makes you smile. you turn slightly, brushing your nose against hers. “me too.”

she looks at you like she’s memorizing something.

then her phone buzzes. once. twice. again.

you both glance over at it. “…should we?” you ask.

she groans softly. “noo.” it buzzes again.

you laugh. “it’s probably bad.”

“it’s probably insane,” she corrects, but she’s reaching for it anyway and you grab yours too.

notifications flood the screen, all being mentions, tags, clips, screenshots.

comments stacking faster than you can even read them.

you glance at her and she’s already looking at you. slow smile spreading on both your faces.

“well,” she says, voice still rough from sleep, from singing, from last nights post-show activities. “guess that’s… out there now.”

you laugh softly, setting your phone down again like it can wait. “yeah,” you say and then, quieter now, “i think i’m okay with that.”

she leans in, presses a kiss to your lips - slow, unhurried, nothing like the ones from the night before but somehow just as full.

[scandalscontained]

˚౨ৎ ⋆ BIRTHDAY GIRL - 1.3k words

s.carpenter x fem!reader ⋮ fluff ⋮ estab. relationship ⋮ reader makes a damn good cake ⋮ reader's appearance is not detailed ⋮ no use of y/n

The house smells like chocolate.

You'd gotten up at an ungodly hour of the morning to decorate the house. There are streamers lining the doorframes, all in sequential order of the rainbow. Balloons are scattered across the floor. The kitchen area looks like party city threw up in it.

You take birthdays very seriously. Especially Sabrina's.

Seeing as how this was her twenty seventh, just a mere three years before the death of her twenties, it had to be special. So… birthday cake, wild decorations, and a full day spent doing whatever the birthday girl wanted was necessary. Even if it meant tip-toeing around your place like scrooge.

The cakes had been in the oven for the past forty-five minutes. An easy chocolate fudge cake with chocolate icing. It was simple! But, unfortunately, you had to go all out. So a strawberry compote sat idly in the fridge, waiting to be the glue between the cake layers.

You prayed Sabrina didn't walk in.

When your phone dings to signal the timer running out, you quickly silence it and rush to the oven. Mits are put on at lightning speeds. They have little kitten designs on them—you'd gotten them for Christmas. The cake comes out of the oven smelling like heaven.

It gets placed on the kitchen island to cool. The marble was the perfect spot for it. Through trial and error, and some experimentation, the findings were this: that island absorbed heat at a crazy rate. The cakes only needed to be on there for five minutes before it was cooled enough.

As you waited, you turned to grab the compote from the fridge. It was chilled to perfection—not too runny and lacking a congealing from being in too long. Your first pumps into the air. Hey, it was tricky stuff! And being able to do it when you're still half asleep? You felt like a genius.

The levity only lasts for a few minutes, though.

"What's this?" You hear her voice behind you, softer than silk and sweeter than sugar.

Suddenly, doing a happy dance felt silly. You freeze and turn on your heel. Sabrina is standing there, big shirt draped over her shoulders and going to her knees. Even in a shirt with a goose holding a knife, she's still the most beautiful thing you've ever seen in your life.

"Nothing!" You splutter, taking a sidestep to block her view of the cake.

"Oh, really?" Her chin juts out, craning her neck to try and get a look over your shoulder. Her lips curve into a smile. "So you're not baking a cake at…7:15 in the morning?"

She knew.

The surprise—which really wasn't a surprise because you do this every year—is ruined.

Though she won't tell you, but Sabrina knew what you were doing. There were no other reasons for the bed to be dipping so early. Or for you to be sneaking out of the room, shutting the door in slow motion.

Your head shakes dramatically. "You must be mistaken." Your shoulders shrug, rolling your eyes like her question was so far out of the ballpark of things you could be doing. "I'm not doing that. Never. But—on an unrelated note, please go back to bed."

Sabrina lets out a laugh, filtering out softly and sounding like music. "Alright, baby."

She raises her hands in a defensive fashion, turning on her heel. Her slippered feet carry her down the hall and around the corner. The second she's out of view, you spring into action.

The cakes flop out of the pans easily. They land on the cutting boards gently, feeling soft like clouds. You dash over to the compote, uncovering the bowl and using a spatula to dump the sweetness on the cake. The next layer falls on top and doesn't dare to land wrong.

Frosting becomes your worst enemy. Spreading it on the cakes takes longer than you wanted—even though you were working against a non-existent clock. Sabrina already knew what you were doing. But she was playing along. Which was more than enough for your brain to give you anxiety, making your hands shake as your work time sped up.

The spatula falls to the counter top, a triumphant sigh leaving your lips. It wasn't perfect but it was made with love. The candles get placed in the middle of the cake, getting lit by the lighter in your pocket.

You pick up the cutting board, going slow to avoid an avalanche. A giddy feeling erupts in your tummy and crawls up to your chest. This was the best part of a birthday.

Cake for breakfast.

As you walk around the marble counter, you grab two forks and continue on. The silver wear drawer gets left open; that would be a problem for later. It's not important. You need to focus on getting the cake to your girlfriend and singing happy birthday.

As you turn the corner of the hallway, you spot your bedroom door ajar. It worked out perfectly well. All you needed to do was gently toe at it to open the rest of the way.

Sabrina is sitting up in bed, head angled down as she plays on her phone. Probably responding to birthday wishes. Her curls hang over her shoulders, glowing from the sunlight streaming in through the window.

She's breath taking.

"Surprise! Happy birthday, pretty girl." Your voice comes out as a sing-song, bright grin etching across your lips.

Sabrina's head shoots up. Her dimples show as a stunning smile stretches over her face. Her eyes sparkle from the light mixed with excitement. "Oh Sweetie." She murmurs.

Walking over, you gently place the cutting board in front of her. The candles flicker gently. They illuminate her face in a glowing light, reflecting back in her pupils. Her smile widens if it's even possible.

You sing her happy birthday, cupping your hand near the candles to avoid them flickering out.

Sabrina smiles the whole time. She looks up at you like you've hung the stars from the sky.

When you're done, she blows the candles out and makes a grab for the forks.

"Thank you." She says softly, looking up at you. Her voice is gentle as it seeps into your skin, feeling like a warm embrace.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you take one of the forks. "Anytime."

Sabrina stabs into the cake, loading it onto her fork. She brings it to her lips and bites it. Her eyes roll back immediately, a moan bubbling up from her throat. "Holy shit, this is perfect!"

A laugh falls from your mouth. You take a bite of your own creation, reaction mirroring hers. It really was good!

"Oh my god!" The words come out more to yourself, a feeling of pride settling in your chest.

There's about a minute where the two of you are silent, shoving the cake into your mouths and giggling at each other.

Sabrina looks up at you. She's got a dab of frosting at the corner of her mouth.

"Hold on." You murmur, reaching over to thumb the chocolate away. "There." When it's off her lip and on your thumb, you bring your thumb to your lips to lick it off.

She watches you.

You watch her.

Her eyes drop down to your lips.

"Did you make a wish?" You ask, voice softening.

She flickers her gaze back to your eyes. Running a hand through her hair, she clears her throat. And her mind. She levels you with an adoring smile. "I didn't have to. It already came true."

You feel warmth spread through your chest. "I'm glad."

"Me too." She whispers.

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[monstermonger]

He's worried about stepping on flowers. He loves nature. - (ref)

[delicatefalice]

one of me but two

is cute though

[bernidelrey]

you come to me, on the day of my everything shower

[urjustsosweet]

JUST MY LUCK (S.C.) ⊹ ࣪ ˖

sabrina carpenter x fem!reader

➼ your cottage getaway with Sabrina's family would be perfect...if she could keep her hands to herself. ➼ warnings: suggestive content, grinding, swearing ➼ wc: 1.5k

──── · · ୨୧ · · ────

it’s loud the second you walk in.

sabrina’s whole family is already there—her mom, dad, all her sisters, her best friend, and a handful of aunts, uncles, and extended family members who greet you with smiles and shouts. someone’s trying to connect to the bluetooth speaker, someone else is burning garlic bread.

it’s the annual carpenter family cottage trip, a tradition you’ve heard about since the early days of dating sabrina. this year, you're officially part of it. which means one packed cabin, a tight squeeze for rooms, and more than a dozen people enjoying the late days of july.

your shared room is a tight fit: two twin beds, barely a nightstand between them. one’s for her best friend, paloma, the other for you and sabrina. when she finds out, sabrina grins like she just won the lottery. “lucky me,” she says, dropping her bag with a thud and glancing at you with something already brewing in her expression.

you change before heading to the lake. it’s your strategic bikini—the one that always earns a double take from sabrina. she's still half-kneeling by her duffel when you walk out of the ensuite bathroom. you don’t say a word. you just lean in the doorway, pretending to fix your hair, letting the straps hug your collarbones and the fabric cling exactly where you want it to. you hear it, the sharp inhale. and when you glance over? sure enough, she’s staring. openly. shamelessly. “holy shit," she mutters under her breath.

the lake’s a short walk downhill, and most of her family is already there—on towels, in hammocks, perched on paddleboards. paloma is trying to feed the ducks with pretzels and there’s music playing from someone’s speaker, bob marley, you think. the sun is warm on your shoulders. but sabrina doesn’t seem to notice any of it. she swims closer than she needs to, finds reasons to touch—your wrist, your thigh under the water, the dip of your waist when she passes by. every accidental brush sends a little ripple down your spine. you glance at her once and her mouth is already parted, eyes dark, jaw set. after maybe twenty minutes of lake time, she can’t take it anymore. she tugs you gently by the wrist, “come help me put on more sunscreen.”

you don’t even ask. you just follow. back inside, the room is quiet. the window’s cracked open, and you can still hear the wind rustling the trees, the distant splash of someone jumping into the lake. but in here—it’s warmer. you don’t even make it two steps in before she turns. “you do realize i’m one second away from losing my mind, right?”

you tilt your head, half-smiling and feigning innocence. “didn't you say you needed sunscreen?”

she laughs, “no, i need you.”

then she kisses you. not polite. not sweet. she kisses you like she’s been starving—hands on your waist, pushing you back until you bump the edge of the bed. you manage to breathe between kisses, “your mom said—”

“no funny business, yeah,” she mutters, dragging her lips across your collarbone. “and then she went and got us one bed. one. bed.” her hands slide under your bikini top. “what does she think is gonna happen?

sabrina presses a kiss to your neck, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “how am I supposed to follow rules,” she murmurs, “when you show up looking like a fucking daydream?”

her hands are all over you. soft, searching. one finds the knot of your bikini strap and plays with it. “it’s like the universe dropped the most beautiful girl in the world into my lap just to test me.”

you let her kiss you before pulling back just enough to smile. “then i guess you’re failing.”

sabrina lets out a low, breathy “guess so,” and her lips are on yours again, more desperate this time, before moving down to your chest. her fingers slip under the back of your top. one strap slides down your shoulder. the tension’s thick. you’re just about to lose yourself—

when you someone clears their throat.

you both freeze. “y'know you don't have to apply sunscreen with your mouth, right?" paloma says, standing in the doorway, you can see Sabrina's sister, sarah, right behind her, both of them fighting back a laugh. sabrina groans. “cockblock of the century.”

you bite your lip to stop a smile from escaping and fix your strap while sabrina flops face-first onto the bed in frustration.

"come on," sarah teases, "dinner's ready. and sabrina, mom said you’re on salad duty so don't even think about missing out."

sabrina lets out another frustrated groan, muffled by the bedsheets. you can't help but laugh, cheeks flushed, and start digging through your bag for a dress.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

dinner stretches across two picnic tables pushed together, packed with platters of homemade pizza, grilled veggies, and giant bowls of caesar salad. string lights hang from the beams above, casting everything in a soft haze. the lake glitters in the background, still warm with the last of the light.

you don’t sit next to her. not because you don’t want to. not even close. but you know what’ll happen if you do—her hand will find your upper thigh under the table, her pinky will brush yours too deliberately, and by the time dessert rolls around, she’ll be paying more attention to how your dress rides up when you shift than anything anyone's saying.

so you leave a cousin to her right and paloma to her left, settling opposite her with your most innocent expression. it doesn’t help. not even a little. her eyes are on you the second you sit. roaming. flickering from your lips to your neckline to the way the fabric of your dress hugs your thighs. she tries to stay engaged in the conversation. she really does. you see it in the way she forces a smile when her aunt tells a story. but still, her jaw clenches subtly and her fingers tap at the table.

from the corner of your eye, you spot paloma watching the whole thing unfold with barely-contained amusement. sabrina presses her lips together. her fork hovers mid-air, trembling, fingers gripping the handle so tightly you're sure her hand is turning white.

when dessert comes out, you’re almost certain she’s going to snap the table in half just to drag you out of there. if she had it her way, this dinner would be over yesterday. and you can’t help but wonder just how far she’s willing to push it tonight.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

the cottage creaks and you can hear crickets and the soft hum of a fan in the hallway. everything's hushed. dim. you’re curled up under the blanket, facing the wall. paloma’s already tucked into the other bed, earphones in, mumbling something in her sleep. everyone’s mellow from the wine and food and the lake air.

everyone but her.

sabrina's right behind you. not even an inch between your bodies. you feel her exhale against the back of your neck, the rise and fall of her chest just barely brushing your spine. her fingers graze your hip once. you don’t move. “are you asleep?” she whispers.

you stay quiet. she shifts closer, bold now, her hand resting at your waist, her thumb dragging over your panties. “please,” she breathes, so softly it’s barely sound. “i can’t wait anymore.”

you turn around slowly, eyes catching hers in the dark. “sabrina,” you whisper, your voice low but firm. “your best friend is right there. you promised.”

her bottom lip juts out the tiniest bit, the need written all over her face. “i know,” she breathes against your neck. “but please, i’m losing my mind. if we're quiet, it'll be fine,” she begs, "i'll be so good."

you narrow your eyes playfully. “isn't that what you said before dinner?”

her laugh is an exhale of breath against your skin. “one kiss?” she asks, hopeful. “just one.”

you shouldn’t. you know you shouldn’t. but then she makes that face. so you lean in.

one kiss. soft. sweet. careful.

but one turns to two. and two to three. and by the fourth you’ve got your hand on her jaw and she’s kissing you like she’s drowning in it. her leg slips between yours, her body flushed up against you as her hips roll, slow and desperate. every movement is stifled—sharp inhales swallowed by kisses, fingers digging into skin instead of moans. but when her thigh twitches between yours, you breathe in fast, too fast.

across the room, paloma lets out a sleepy grunt. "if i hear you guys breathing loud one more time, i'm throwing myself into the lake," she announces, still facing the wall.

you burst into muffled laughter, forehead dropping to sabrina’s shoulder. she groans, already rolling onto her back in frustration. "i wasn't even breathing," she grumbles defensively.

"you were panting like a dog," paloma notes. "some of us like to sleep."

sabrina sighs in defeat as you laugh again. you kiss her forehead and roll away. "goodnight."

she whines. “you cannot leave me like this.”

“sweet dreams baby.”

you feel her shift, sigh, and wrap her arms around you with a dramatic, suffering little huff. you smile in the dark.

this trip might just kill her.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

an: there will be a part 2. sorry for lowkey edging you guys, but i hope you liked this so far!

[urjustsosweet]

JUST MY LUCK PT.2 (S.C.) ⊹ ࣪ ˖

sabrina carpenter x fem!reader

➼ your cottage getaway with Sabrina's family would be perfect...if she could keep her hands to herself ➼ warnings: smut, oral (reader receiving), scissoring, language, ➼ wc: 1.6k

──── · · ୨୧ · · ────

pt. 1

sabrina wakes up hot. like sweating, limbs tangled, frustrated kind of hot. and you aren't by her side. there's a little sunlight filtering in, the room’s quiet, and all she can think is that if she had a dick, it’d be standing straighter than the fucking bedpost right now. she swears this must be what morning wood feels like.

across the room, her best friend groans and stretches like a cat. sabrina considers pretending to still be asleep, but paloma beats her to it. “morning, lover girl.”

sabrina grunts in response, throwing an arm over her face. “she gone?” paloma asks.

“yeah. ran off with my sanity.”

paloma looks over and raises an eyebrow. “you were feral last night.”

“you were asleep.”

“i was trapped in hell. your hell,” paloma says, “all the heavy breathing and whispering, sab, i was genuinely preparing to fake a seizure so you’d stop.”

“i hate you.”

“you love me,” she sings.

sabrina flops back down dramatically, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers to her suffering. it doesn’t. downstairs, voices drift up—yours included. she's knows you're probably leaning against the counter, sipping coffee like you didn’t leave her with the worst case of blue balls in history.

and the worst part? she'd probably do it all over again just to feel you pressed against her for five more seconds.

god, i need help, she thinks to herself. and by help, i mean for everyone to leave the damn cottage for one night. not even a night. for five damn minutes. is that so much to ask?

later that afternoon, sabrina's trailing behind on the hike, and it's not because she's tired. not at all. it's because your ass looks unreal in those shorts. her pupils are dilated, her palms are sweating, and every time you smile, her mind blanks and she can't seem to even remember her name. you're walking ahead with her parents, chatting about some cute shop in town that sells homemade jam and wildflower honey. your laugh floats back to her, light and teasing, and she nearly trips on a rock.

even with the little flower braided into your hair (courtesy of her mom), and the way you keep looking back to check if everyone’s still behind, all sweet and sunlit and perfect, all sabrina can think about is pinning you to the nearest flat surface and taking you right there.

“stop staring,” paloma mutters beside her, nudging her with an elbow. “you look like you’re about to eat her.”

“i feel like i'm gonna die,” sabrina sighs.

paloma stifles a laugh. “damn, you're down bad.”

sabrina runs a hand down her face. “i need you to take everyone and go do anything that gets you out of the house tonight. please. i’m begging you.”

she's met with a scoff and a, “you’re lucky i love you.”

sabrina grabs her by both shoulders. “thank you. thank you. thank you.”

the hike's winding down, but sabrina's still lagging behind you just enough to catch your attention without being obvious. her steps are lighter, like she’s floating on air, and that grin—god, that grin—stretches way too wide to be innocent. what could she possibly be up to now?

you catch her stealing quick glances your way, eyes sparkling like she’s barely containing a secret. the kind of smug smile that says she’s been scheming all afternoon and now it’s time to put the plan into motion.

you don’t need words to know what she’s thinking.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

after dinner, there's a subtle wink exchanged, and then paloma, dramatic as ever, claps her hands. “alright everyone, campfire and drinks time! let's go, let’s move, i need s'mores and gossip!”

you’re already halfway to the door when sabrina grabs your wrist. "where do you think you're going?" she asks, a large grin plastered on her face, before leading you gently down the hallway, to the bedroom. the second the door clicks shut, sabrina exhales like she’s been holding her breath for years.

then she turns to you. “fucking finally,” she growls. "you have no idea how fucking hard it's been to keep my hands off you."

her mouth finds yours, before moving to your collarbone, then lower, peppering small kisses before she unhooks your bra and lets it fall. the second her lips wrap around your nipple, you can't help but let out a loud moan, fingers tangling in her hair. she sucks hard, tongue flicking, before pulling away. "need you," she murmurs against your skin, "i need to taste you.”

you laugh, breathless, but it’s cut off when she drops to her knees in front of you, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “sabrina—”

“no talking,” she murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. you barely have time to nod before she's yanking your shorts and panties down in one go. the cool air hits your bare skin, but it's nothing compared to the heat of sabrina's mouth between your thighs.

one hand grips your hip, the other keeping your legs apart, and then her tongue is on you, slow and deliberate, dragging through your folds like she’s savouring the taste. “god, you’re soaked,” she murmurs, voice thick. “all for me?”

you gasp, fingers tangling in her hair, and she devours you, lips sealing around your clit, sucking just hard enough to make your legs shake. you moan, legs trembling, and she hums in satisfaction, the vibration making you see stars. she's sucking, licking, fucking you with her tongue like she's been starving for it.

and maybe she has.

her name spills from your lips, over and over, like it's the only word you seem to remember. but she doesn’t let up. if anything, she doubles down, curling two fingers inside you while her thumb presses hard against your clit, and pleasure rips through you. the stretch burns so good, and you’re so close, so fucking close. her tongue flicks faster and you might just come already.

“come on,” she rasps against your skin. “let me feel it.”

your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, your back arching as you cry out her name. she doesn’t stop—won’t stop—until you’re squirming, oversensitive and shaking.

and still, sabrina’s not done.

her clothes are off now and she stands, her lips glistening, and drags you to the bed. you land in a tangle of limbs, her weight pressing you into the mattress as she kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. her body is pressed against yours, skin burning where you touch, and you can still feel the slickness between your thighs. sabrina's hands roam—gripping your waist, sliding up your ribs, then down again, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before dipping between your legs once more. “you’re still so wet,” she murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “think you can take more?”

she watches you carefully as you nod, before shifting to your right. "on your side," she demands, "and spread your legs for me."

she pulls you closer until you're facing each other, legs tangled, the intimacy sending a thrill through you. she hooks one leg over yours and you feel the heat of her against your skin. she's already dripping, her arousal evident, and when she grinds down, the friction makes both of you gasp. "fuck," she breathes, her fingers digging into your hip and she rocks against you, "feels so good."

you mirror her movements and the sensation, the pressure of her rubbing against you with every shift of your hips, is electric. sabrina's breath comes in ragged bursts, her forehead pressed to yours, lips parted as she chases the friction.

the angle is perfect, the rhythm slow and deep at first, then faster as desperation builds. you can feel every shudder that runs through her, every hitch in her breath when your movements hit just right. one of your hands slips between your bodies, fingers finding her clit, circling in time with the roll of your hips. “that’s it,” she pants, her voice weak. “just like that.”

you can feel her trembling, her muscles tensing as she gets closer. her breath hitches and her movements grow erratic. “oh, fuck—” she chokes out, body rigid and eyes rolling back in pleasure as her orgasm crashes over her. her thighs clamp around yours, her back arching, and the way she pulses against you is enough to send you over the edge right after. your moans are muffled against her shoulder and she holds you through it, drawing out every last wave until you’re both breathless.

the room is a mess. the sheets are everywhere and your clothes are tossed all over the ground. you're still catching your breath, skin warm and tingling, heart pounding like it doesn't know how to stop. sabrina’s tucked in close, half under you, one arm wrapped around your waist like she’s afraid you’ll float away if she lets go. her hair's stuck to her forehead and her mouth is kiss-swollen, but she looks so damn happy. she exhales, soft and slow. “i’ve wanted that all weekend.”

you turn your head, meet her eyes. “yeah?”

she nods, pressing a kiss to your temple. “i was fighting demons,” she grins. “you’d bend over to get juice from the fridge and i’d have to pretend i cared about jam preserves or whatever the hell my aunt was talking about.”

you laugh. “i knew you weren’t listening.”

her fingers thread through yours, resting on your chest. “hey.”

“hmm?”

“i missed you,” she murmurs. “i mean, i’ve been around you all weekend, but i missed this. us. just…i don't know. being alone together.”

your heart flips. you turn toward her, eyes searching hers in the soft lamp light. “i missed this too,” you whisper.

you lean in and kiss her—slow, soft. and when you pull back, she’s got that stupid grin again. “what now?” you ask, suspicious.

“nothing,” she says innocently. “just wondering how long it’ll take you to recover for the next round.”

you groan, flopping back on the pillow. “you’re insatiable.”

“and you love it.”

"i love you.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[rylandsgrace]

The Mummy (1999) dir. Stephen Sommers

[rylandsgrace]

The Mummy (1999) dir. Stephen Sommers

[prettyhatevox]

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Help Maram and Her Family Rebuild Their Lives

My name is Maram, a 26-year-old Palestinian woman from Gaza. I’m a mother to three children: Malek (9 years old), Ibrahim (7 years old), and

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unhappy endings

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As the Years Melt Away Like Honey

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𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖹𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗂𝖺 𝟤 𝖻𝗒 𝖠𝗆𝗂 𝖳𝗁𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗌𝗈𝗇