heart shaped hot tub

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Motelscape
Immersive installation by marinafini, Signe pierce and Sierra grace..featuring towels, pillow cases and lenticular prints with our photography work and original plexiglass sculptures by Marina. Neon and infinity heart mirror by Sydney Krause
Photos by marinafini

Seamus thought of Dean’s as being, generally, a place of mostly-frivolous-enjoyment. He wasn’t often overly serious there–he’d fall asleep waiting for Dean, order too much takeaway, laze about in his hot tub (which was not heart shaped)and, generally, be the good time boy on call.

Which he was fine with. Dean was…not so much a gentleman, as a lot of good fun and didn’t even mind too much if Seamus made an off color joke about kenneling the werewolf when he got to be a bit too much.

But there were bad days. And sometimes those bad days even ran into Dean days and not much could save them. Seamus work day began with fucking up a hold on the stripper bar and falling hard onto the stage, dealing with several angry patrons, and generally not having enough sleep. His after-hours day began with some random dude at Dean’s when he was already tired and tipsy.

Normally he’d have managed a good joke on a threesome and gracefully transitioned to finding out it was Dean’s sister’s husband.

This day, he tried to goad the man into a very lopsided, one handed, fist fight over, perhaps, Dean’s honor. It might have at least been a good show if Seamus hadn’t used alcohol to manage a sprained wrist.

my wedding vision: black silk dress with a split and plunge neckline. vampy makeup and brigitte bardot-esque hair. my wedding photos will be me and my husband at the front of an old church, me with a cigarette between my fingers, and another will be me in my dress sprawled across my honeymoon bed. also i want to honeymoon in one of those tacky motels with silk sheets and a hot tub the shape of a heart in the room. 

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How long? She wonders. Will they be able to keep carrying on like this? Rainbows and unicorns. Butterflies and lilacs. To have him, truly have him, and yet somehow keep expecting the bottom to drop out. For him to wake up beside her and suddenly realize she isn’t the one. No matter how much he reassures her. In every kiss. Every look. Every time he says it.

The bittersweet irony that she finally, finally, gets everything she ever wanted and has no freaking clue how to deal with it.

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