#Shadow box certificate frames

[giftingproducts]

Display Your Success in Style with Framed Certificates

Display milestones and achievements with Framed Certificates from Quapri. These elegant frames are perfect for showcasing important documents, awards, and certificates. Whether it is to be used for personal or professional purposes, these frames upgrade the presentation of your achievements, making them stand out.

High-Quality Frames for Every Occasion

Our Framed Certificates come in the traditional A4 size, hence ideal to hang up degrees, diplomas, awards, or any important document. The simple black and brown color frame option fits into any décor, and its sleek, professional look will suit your space and keep the focus on the certificate or document.

Robust Paper Options for Durable Display

Quapri provides two types of high-quality paper for the framed certificates: laminated paper at 300 gsm or tear-resistant paper.

300 gsm laminated paper is robust and gives a professional finish to the certificate. This paper will safeguard your certificate and keeps it ready for years.

Tear-resistant paper is designed especially for certificates that will require much handling or occasionally change for viewing purposes. Such paper resists tearing yet gives a sharp, detailed print on every single certificate.

Simple and Elegant Frame Design

The frames from Quapri are simple yet elegant, coming in two colors: black and brown finishes. These neutral colors will blend nicely anywhere-silting office, home, and even classroom settings. The sleek design doesn’t overpower the certificate but enhances its beauty, ensuring that focus remains on the achievement that it holds.

[bamsara]

All the stuff I got from Artist Alley at MoMocon 2024! (I actaully bought more than this, but what else I bought were gifts for other people that I have already given to them, so all of this is just for me)

Some of them are already in frames because I try to get them in frames asap due to having cats, luckily my thrift store has a lot for like $1-3, save for the larger sizes. I have to add everything to their fandom specific walls, which I'll make a separate post when it's all done on how they look!

The cotl shadow boxes were a splurge but I was given a discount on them (they were also the last ones they had, so he literally asked me to come back the next day after payment and I ended up taking their display piece) and theyre the official ones! I got certificates for both.

I got a Freddy signed by Kellen Goff! I also got a picture with him in Sun Cosplay, but that's for later. The Lamb sticker is already on my car lmao. (@amberluvsbugs bought me the submissive and spreadable shirt btw Amber when I get you. When I get you. When I get you.)

[godesssiri]

Thrifting Philosophies 3

Psychometry is real.

Ok maybe it’s not, maybe it’s para-psychological mumbo jumbo. Psychometry is also known as object reading, practiced by psychics, it’s the belief that we leave impressions of ourselves in physical objects. All I know is I once bought home a very old straw-stuffed toy dog and my house felt incredibly happy for days, like his previous owner was thrilled he had a new person who would love him, like he’d been hugged and loved and treasured for so many years that he just exuded happiness. And this dog is easily over 100 years old, you’d expect him to smell dusty, but he smells like a summer hay meadow, I have no idea how that smell has survived so long – he’s a treasure. I've had him nearly 10 years and still occasionally give him a cuddle and breath in a lungful of that summer meadow scent and just feel happy.

I love old objects because they feel good in my home. They add depth and weight and gravity and history and whimsy and joy. When you hold something old you can’t help but wonder who owned it before you? Whose hands has it passed through to get to yours? It’s so cool finding out a bit of backstory about second hand objects. I love nothing more than to buy something from a thrift store and come home and research it and I get such a buzz when I find out the history of an object. I have so much trouble passing up an item that has a note on the base about the person who previously owned it, or a dedication or inscription. I have a stunning antique book about the life of Dr Livingstone (As in: Dr Livingstone I presume?) that was compiled after his death, and the thing that makes it even more special is that there is a newspaper cutting glued inside the back cover from the obituary of his last surviving child in 1889. I love to imagine the first or second owner of that book coming across that obituary and thinking ‘I should stick that in my book about his father for posterity’.  I have an ink drawing of a snake skeleton in a box, it’s so intricately detailed it looks 3D, every rib is detailed and has a shadow beneath it, it must have taken so long to draw, I love to try and put myself in the headspace of the artist because they must have been completely in the zone. I have a trench art vase with Tobruk Libya Jan 44 SAAF engraved on it. In late 43 a lot of Allied troops were captured in the region of Tobruk and they were liberated by the South Africans in Jan 44, I imagine one of the liberated NZ troops bought that vase home as a memento of the South African Air Force who helped save him. I love to extrapolate the stories of items I find in thrift stores, to think about the person that made that thing or who owned and treasured that item.

I also have A LOT of family heirlooms. I am The One Who Can Be Trusted With Heirlooms in my family. I’ve gotten many of them just because I put my hand up and said ’can I have that?’.  AND I’ve actively saved many heirlooms. I’m the one who found my great uncle's Buffalo Lodge certificate scrunched at the bottom of a box and framed it. The one who striped gross old varnish off the Edwardian pot cupboard my great-gran bought at auction in the 40s and gave it it’s first oil in probably 100 years. The one who refused to let my grandad get rid of (and instead absconded with) the carved wooden elephant that his friend bought back from Malaysia after WW2, when he was downsizing. The one who picked through the box of photo albums and framed photos that the fire department inspector grabbed for us before condemning my great aunts house after it burned down and salvaged whatever could be saved. I’m child free but I have my eye on my cousin’s children, trying to pick who in the next gen will have a love of vintage and antique. If none of them will love these treasures then I’ll make sure they go to other people who will love them and I will pass along the stories that go with them. When you own vintage/antiques you become a custodian of an item that had a life before you and will have a life after you. You are a link in the chain connecting past to future and that connection feels very special.

My previous thrifting post

[creativeframingaustralia]

Custom Framing Melbourne: The Art of Preserving Memories

In a world where digital photography dominates, the charm of a beautifully framed picture remains timeless. Whether it’s a cherished family portrait, a valuable artwork, or a special memento, framing enhances the aesthetic appeal while protecting it for years to come. If you're searching for custom framing in Melbourne, you’ll be delighted to find an array of expert framers offering tailored solutions to suit your needs.

Why Custom Framing Matters

Unlike ready-made frames, custom framing provides a tailored fit, ensuring that your artwork or photographs receive the attention they deserve. Here are a few key reasons why custom framing is a worthwhile investment:

Perfect Fit: Custom frames are designed to precisely fit your piece, eliminating awkward gaps or excessive borders.

Material Selection: Choose from a wide variety of materials, including wood, metal, and glass, to match the decor of your space.

Protection: UV-protective glass, acid-free mats, and quality materials help preserve your artwork and prevent fading or deterioration.

Personalization: Add a unique touch with various colors, textures, and designs tailored to your preference.

The Best Places for Custom Framing in Melbourne

Melbourne is home to numerous expert framers, each offering specialized services. Whether you need to frame a vintage poster, a sports jersey, or fine art, you’ll find experienced professionals ready to deliver impeccable results.

1. Picture Framing Melbourne: A Hub of Expertise

The term Picture Framing Melbourne encompasses a broad spectrum of framers who specialize in crafting unique and durable frames. Many offer services for:

Family portraits

Wedding photos

Canvas stretching

Memorabilia and collectibles

Certificate and diploma framing

Testimonial: “I had my wedding photos custom framed in Melbourne, and the results were stunning! The attention to detail and craftsmanship exceeded my expectations.” – Sarah T., Melbourne

2. Art Conservation and Preservation

For those looking to frame valuable artworks, finding a specialist who understands conservation framing is crucial. Some framers offer museum-quality materials to protect delicate pieces from light exposure and aging. Custom framing Melbourne services often include:

Archival-quality mats and mounting boards

UV-resistant glazing to reduce sun damage

Sturdy and secure backings to prevent warping

Testimonial: “As an artist, I trust only the best framers in Melbourne to handle my work. Their expertise in conservation framing ensures that my paintings remain in pristine condition.” – James L., Local Artist

How to Choose the Right Framer

When selecting a custom framer, consider the following factors:

Experience and Reputation: Look for professionals with years of experience and positive reviews.

Material Quality: Ensure they use acid-free materials and high-quality glass.

Design Consultation: A good framer should offer expert advice on color combinations and frame styles.

Turnaround Time: Ask about the time required to complete the framing project.

Budget Consideration: Compare pricing while ensuring the quality meets your expectations.

Emerging Trends in Picture Framing

Custom framing is evolving, with new trends shaping the way people display their memories and artworks. Some of the latest trends in picture framing Melbourne include:

1. Minimalist Frames

Simple, sleek frames in neutral colors are becoming increasingly popular. These frames allow the artwork to shine without distraction.

2. Floating Frames

A modern technique that creates the illusion of artwork floating within the frame, adding depth and sophistication.

3. Recycled and Sustainable Materials

Eco-conscious consumers are opting for frames made from reclaimed wood and other sustainable materials.

4. Shadow Box Framing

Perfect for displaying memorabilia, this technique provides depth and allows for the framing of objects such as medals, jerseys, and keepsakes.

Final Thoughts

Investing in custom framing in Melbourne is a decision that enhances the longevity and beauty of your treasured pieces. Whether you’re looking to frame an artwork, a special photograph, or a unique keepsake, Melbourne’s expert framers offer a wide range of options to suit your style and preservation needs.

By choosing high-quality materials, expert craftsmanship, and the right framing techniques, you can ensure your memories are displayed beautifully for years to come. If you’re looking for picture framing Melbourne, now is the perfect time to explore the best framing solutions available in the city.

[framestogomiami01]

Custom Frames in Miami Elevate Your Artwork and Memories

When it comes to preserving and showcasing your artwork, photographs, or memorabilia, custom frames offer a unique and elegant touch. In Miami, custom framing services provide a wide range of options to match your style and protect your valued pieces. Whether you're looking for a sleek modern frame, a vintage-inspired design, or a luxurious handcrafted masterpiece, Miami’s custom frame shops have something for everyone.

Why Choose Custom Frames?

Personalized Design

Unlike ready-made frames, custom frames allow you to select the exact size, material, and style that best complement your artwork or photograph. Whether you prefer a minimalist black frame or an ornate gilded border, customization ensures a perfect match.

 Superior Protection

Custom frames provide enhanced protection against dust, moisture, and UV rays. High-quality materials such as museum-grade glass and acid-free mats help preserve your cherished items for years to come.

 Perfect Fit

Standard frames often don’t fit irregular-sized artwork or photographs. Custom framing ensures a precise fit, preventing damage and enhancing the overall presentation of your piece.

High-Quality Materials

Miami’s framing experts use premium materials, including wood, metal, acrylic, and sustainable options, to craft durable and aesthetically pleasing frames.

Popular Custom Framing Services in Miami

 Art and Photography Framing

Artists and photographers rely on custom frames to enhance the beauty of their work while ensuring long-term preservation. Local Miami shops offer various options, from sleek contemporary frames to vintage wooden designs.

Shadow Boxes for Memorabilia

Perfect for sports jerseys, medals, collectibles, and sentimental items, shadow boxes provide a deep, protective display that showcases treasured possessions.

Canvas Stretching and Framing

For canvas artworks, stretching and framing services ensure a polished and professional look. Floater frames add depth and dimension to paintings while protecting their edges.

 Mirror Framing

Custom frames can transform plain mirrors into stunning decorative pieces that match your home or office décor.

 Corporate and Business Framing

Businesses in Miami use custom frames to enhance office spaces with framed certificates, awards, and branded artwork.

Finding the Best Custom Frame Shop in Miami

When choosing a custom framing service in Miami, consider the following factors:

Reputation and Reviews – Look for shops with positive customer feedback and high ratings.

Material Options – Ensure the shop offers a variety of materials and finishes to match your needs.

Expertise and Craftsmanship – Experienced framers can provide valuable design advice and high-quality workmanship.

Turnaround Time – Check for estimated completion times, especially if you need framing for an upcoming event or exhibition.

for more info :- 

custom frames miami

diploma framing in miami

[pyramidspictureframing]

Mobile Framing, Picture Frames in Brisbane, and Jersey Framing Services: A Guide to "Pyramids Picture Framing"

Picture framing is an essential art for preserving memories, displaying achievements, and showcasing artwork. Whether it’s a family photograph, a cherished jersey, or a stunning piece of artwork, the right frame not only enhances its beauty but also offers protection. In Brisbane, businesses like Pyramids Picture Framing provide professional and convenient solutions, including mobile framing services, that cater to diverse needs.

In this article, we’ll explore the benefits of mobile framing, the range of picture frames available in Brisbane, and specialized services like jersey framing, all while highlighting the expertise of Pyramids Picture Framing.

The Convenience of Mobile Framing

Mobile framing is a modern and customer-centric approach to picture framing. Instead of visiting a traditional framing store, mobile framing services bring the framing experience to your doorstep. This service is perfect for busy professionals, families, or anyone who values convenience.

Pyramids Picture Framing offers a seamless mobile framing service, allowing clients in Brisbane and surrounding areas to choose frames from the comfort of their homes. This process involves:

Consultation at Home: A professional framer visits your location with a variety of frame samples, matting options, and glazing materials.

Personalized Recommendations: Based on your décor, preferences, and the item to be framed, experts provide tailored advice.

Time Efficiency: By eliminating travel time, mobile framing saves time while ensuring you get the perfect frame.

This service is particularly beneficial for large or fragile items that might be challenging to transport.

Picture Frames in Brisbane

Brisbane is home to a thriving art and design community, making the demand for high-quality picture frames substantial. A picture frames brisbane serves both aesthetic and protective purposes, and selecting the right one involves several considerations:

Material: Frames can be made from wood, metal, or composite materials. Wooden frames offer a classic look, while metal frames are sleek and modern.

Design: Ornate frames add a touch of elegance to traditional artwork, whereas minimalist frames suit contemporary pieces.

Glazing Options: Choose between standard glass, non-reflective glass, or UV-protected glass to ensure durability and reduce glare.

Pyramids Picture Framing offers an extensive range of picture frames in Brisbane. Whether you’re framing a wedding photo, a family portrait, or a certificate, they provide options that complement the subject and enhance its visual appeal.

Jersey Framing: Showcase Your Achievements

Jersey framing is a specialized service designed to preserve and display sports memorabilia. Whether it’s a signed frame jersey, a team shirt, or a uniform from a memorable game, framing not only protects the item but also allows you to exhibit it proudly.

Key features of professional jersey framing include:

Custom Frames: Made to fit jerseys of all sizes without folding or creasing them.

Shadow Box Frames: Deep frames that provide enough space for the jersey to sit naturally.

Additional Elements: Options to include plaques, photos, or other memorabilia alongside the jersey.

UV Protection: Ensures that signatures and colors remain vibrant over time.

Pyramids Picture Framing excels in jersey framing, offering customized solutions that highlight your achievements. Their skilled team ensures that every jersey is framed to perfection, preserving its value and sentimentality.

Why Choose "Pyramids Picture Framing"?

With years of experience, Pyramids Picture Framing has established itself as a trusted name in Brisbane’s framing industry. Here are some reasons why they stand out:

Expert Craftsmanship: Each frame is crafted with precision to ensure durability and visual appeal.

Personalized Service: Whether you opt for in-store framing or mobile framing, the team provides personalized attention to detail.

Variety of Options: From traditional to modern designs, they offer frames for every style and purpose.

Sustainability: They use eco-friendly materials whenever possible, making them a responsible choice.

Customer Satisfaction: With a focus on delivering exceptional results, they have built a loyal customer base in Brisbane.

Tips for Choosing the Right Frame

Understand the Artwork or Item: The frame should complement the subject. For instance, ornate frames work well with classic art, while simple frames suit contemporary designs.

Consider Your Décor: Choose frames that blend seamlessly with your interior design.

Prioritize Protection: Opt for UV-protected glass to prevent fading and damage over time.

Trust Professionals: Expert framers like Pyramids Picture Framing can guide you in selecting the best options for your needs.

Conclusion

Framing is an art that combines functionality and aesthetics, preserving your precious memories and achievements while enhancing their appeal. Whether you need mobile framing services, high-quality picture frames, or specialized jersey framing, Pyramids Picture Framing in Brisbane offers unmatched expertise and convenience.

By choosing a professional framing service, you ensure that your items are not only beautifully displayed but also well-protected for years to come. For all your framing needs, Pyramids Picture Framing is a name you can trust.

[canvasandpictureframing]

Expert Picture Framing in Rockdale: Elevate Your Artwork and Memories

Picture framing is an art that goes beyond just displaying images; it’s about preserving memories and showcasing artwork in a way that enhances its beauty. Whether it's a family portrait, a piece of art, or a memorable moment, the right frame can make all the difference. In Rockdale, expert picture framing services provide homeowners and art enthusiasts with personalised solutions to suit every piece. Let’s explore the importance of professional picture framing in Rockdale and how it can elevate your artwork and memories.

Why Professional Picture Framing Matters

While it might be tempting to use ready-made frames, they often don’t do justice to unique artwork or treasured photographs. Here’s why professional picture framing services are invaluable:

Customisation: Professional framing allows for custom-made frames that fit the dimensions and style of the artwork. This ensures that the frame complements the piece rather than overwhelming or under-representing it.

Preservation: High-quality materials used in professional framing, such as acid-free mats and UV-protective glass, help protect your artwork or photographs from damage over time. They prevent fading, discolouration, and deterioration, allowing you to enjoy your framed pieces for years.

Expert Advice: Professional framers in Rockdale can guide you in selecting the right frame, mat, and glass that suits the artwork and matches your decor. They consider factors such as the artwork's colours, size, and placement in the home.

The Framing Process: A Blend of Art and Technique

Custom framing is a meticulous process that combines artistry with technical precision. Here’s what goes into creating the perfect frame:

Consultation and Selection: The first step in custom framing is understanding the client’s vision and the artwork’s requirements. Framers will discuss the style, colour palette, and desired outcome. You can choose from various frame styles, from sleek, modern designs to ornate, traditional options.

Matting: The mat is a border between the frame and the artwork. It can enhance the visual impact of the piece by providing a neutral space that draws attention to the artwork itself. Mats can be customised in various colours and thicknesses to suit the style of the piece.

Glass Options: Picture framers offer different types of glass to protect the artwork. UV-protective glass is famous for shielding photos or prints from harmful sunlight, while museum-quality glass provides superior clarity and protection without glare.

Precise Assembly: Once all materials are selected, the framer carefully assembles the frame. The artwork is placed securely, ensuring no movement inside the frame, and it’s sealed to prevent dust and moisture from affecting the piece.

Framing for Different Types of Artwork

Framing isn’t one-size-fits-all. Different types of artwork require distinct framing techniques to ensure longevity and aesthetic appeal. Here are some common types of pieces that benefit from professional framing in Rockdale:

Photography: Family portraits, wedding photos, or travel shots can be beautifully framed to enhance their sentimental value. Framers can suggest the best mats and glass for photography to keep the images vivid and sharp.

Fine Art: Paintings, sketches, and prints often require a more sophisticated approach to framing. High-quality materials, such as wooden frames and museum-grade glass, ensure that fine art is preserved in its best condition.

Memorabilia: Framing services such as jerseys, medals, or certificates can also be used for memorabilia. These custom frames can include shadow boxes or multi-opening designs to showcase several pieces in one frame.

Mirrors: Framing isn’t just for artwork—custom-framed mirrors are a stylish addition to any home. A well-framed mirror can enhance the decor and become a focal point in any room.

How to Choose the Perfect Frame

Selecting the right frame can feel overwhelming with the variety of options available. Here are some tips to help you choose the perfect frame:

Match the Artwork’s Style: The frame should complement the style of the artwork. A modern painting might look best in a sleek, minimalist frame, while a classic oil painting could benefit from an ornate, gilded frame.

Consider the Room’s Decor: The frame should also align with the room's decor where it will be displayed. Think about the space's colours, textures, and design elements, and select a frame that enhances the room’s overall aesthetic.

Don’t Overdo It: Framing aims to highlight the artwork, not overpower it. Choose frames that don’t distract from the piece but instead support its visual impact.

Think About Longevity: Invest in high-quality materials that will protect your artwork for years. Cheaper materials might deteriorate over time, damaging the artwork.

Maintenance and Care for Framed Pieces

To keep your framed artwork or photos pristine, following proper maintenance practices is essential. Here are a few tips:

Avoid Direct Sunlight: Even with UV-protective glass, it’s best to avoid placing framed pieces in direct sunlight, as long-term exposure can cause fading.

Dust Regularly: Use a soft cloth to dust the frame and glass gently. Avoid harsh chemicals or abrasive materials that scratch the glass or frame.

Check for Moisture: Ensure that your framed pieces are not exposed to moisture, as it can damage both the artwork and the frame.

Conclusion

Expert picture framing in Rockdale provides the perfect balance of aesthetic enhancement and protection for your treasured pieces. Whether it’s artwork, photography, or memorabilia, the right frame can transform how you display and preserve your memories. Investing in professional framing services ensures that your framed pieces remain timeless, cherished elements of your home.

[govindhtech]

ASUS Strix gaming monitors: ROG Strix XG27UCS & XG27ACS

ASUS ROG Strix Portable gaming monitor

ASUS Nvidia g sync monitor

ASUS Republic of Gamers announced the ASUS Strix gaming monitors ASUS ROG Strix XG27UCS and XG27ACS gaming monitors. The smaller stand, mobile device groove, USB-C connectivity, and artificial intelligence-powered GamePlus technology make these gaming monitors clutter-free. Providing mainstream gamers with next-level performance and visuals, the XG27UCS offers stunning 4K visuals at 160 Hz and smooth gameplay at 180 Hz for 1440p. Both models have 1 millisecond response times, NVIDIA G-SYNC compatibility, and HDR for a more immersive experience. The XG27ACS comes in black ROG or white (XG27ACS-W) for white-themed PCs.

Yes, that is correct! You are aware of the most recent ASUS ROG announcement. The new ROG Strix XG27UCS and ROG Strix XG27ACS gaming monitors are made to give players excellent performance and fluid visuals. Here is a brief summary of their main

G sync ultimate monitors

The ROG Strix XG27UCS and ROG Strix XG27ACS enhance gameplay. IPS panels with 180 Hz and 160 Hz refresh rates and 1 ms GTG response time give competitive gamers an edge. This allows for the smoothest action-packed visuals possible.

The XG27UCS and ROG Strix XG27ACS offer smooth, tear-free gaming with G-SYNC and ELMB Sync. A wide DCI-P3 gamut and DisplayHDR 400 certification ensure stunning HDR imagery and color performance.The displays also have Integrated ASUS Variable Overdrive 2.0 technology, which dynamically adjusts overdrive settings to frame rates for the best visuals. It is possible to eliminate ghosting and achieve exceptionally smooth visuals by selecting from among twenty different overdrive level settings. These monitors generally provide high performance and value in an easy-to-use package.

GamePlus technology, powered by artificial intelligence, allows the monitor to analyze scenes in real time and improve crosshair accuracy. Gamers can also use Dynamic Shadow Boost to brighten dark areas without overlighting bright ones in low light.

ASUS ROG Strix gaming monitors

Plug-and-play functionality is made possible right out of the box thanks to the many different connectivity options that are available. The XG27UCS and XG27ACS are both capable of supporting personal computers, laptops, and gaming consoles thanks to their DisplayPort 1.4, HDMI 2.0, and USB Type-C ports, which come equipped with DP Alt mode and Power Delivery.

In addition, the ASUS DisplayWidget Center software provides users with an easy-to-use interface that allows them to easily adjust monitor settings by using a mouse rather than the OSD menu. Each individual unit is put through a rigorous quality control test to guarantee that it will perform exceptionally well and accurately in terms of color right out of the box. Users are able to access the calibration report through the menu structure of the OSD.

ROG Strix XG27ACS and ROG Strix XG27UCS are available for $269 and $449, respectively. ROG also packages both monitors in FSC Mix, an eco-friendly material, to maintain its sustainability.

FAQS

Are these monitors G-SYNC compatible?

The XG27UCS and XG27ACS are compatible with NVIDIA G-SYNC, yes.

Do they support HDR?

The two monitors are certified DisplayHDR 400, yes.

Do these monitors have USB-C connectivity?

Yes, for a clutter-free setup, the XG27UCS and XG27ACS both have USB-C connectivity.

What are some additional features?

AI-powered GamePlus features like Dynamic Shadow Boost and a modifiable crosshair. Many connectivity choices, such as HDMI and DisplayPort. ASUS Variable Overdrive 2.0 technology integrated for best possible images.

When will these monitors be available?

Since ASUS only revealed these monitors on March 15, 2024, there may be differences in the exact availability dates. For more details, visit the official ASUS website or consult one of the approved retailers.

What color options are available?

XG27UCS: Probably just black (information not yet verified). XG27ACS: XG27ACS-W, black and white.

Is a 27 inch monitor good for gaming?

The next size up is a 27-inch monitor, which is among the most widely used screens. There are options for almost every kind of gamer. Basic 1080p screens and high-resolution 4k screens are both available, though 1440p is the most popular resolution for screens this size.

Read more on govindhtech.com

[giftingproducts]

Custom Acrylic Prints for Photos and Certificates

Looking for a sleek way to display your favorite photos, certificates, or artwork? The Acrylic Photo Frame by Quapri offers the perfect blend of style and functionality. Its clear design and A4 size make it an excellent choice for both personal and professional use.

Crafted for Durability and Style

This frame is made of 300gsm thick acrylic and, therefore, a tough and long-lasting piece of work. The crystal-clear finish heightens the beauty of your photographs and certificates. Be it a special moment or a professional achievement, with this frame, your memories stay sharp and elegant.

Useful Display Options

The frame supports both landscape and portrait orientations, giving you flexibility in the way you present your items. It‘s perfect for displaying wide group photos, vertical certificates, or creative artwork.

Hassle-Free Photo Updates

Tired of complicated frames? Our acrylic photo frame has a removable upper panel. This makes the easy swapping of pictures or documents possible. It’s perfect for people who update their display regularly, such as seasonal photos or rotating artwork.

Each frame has four standoff mounts which provide a stable yet stylish floating effect. These mounts are easy to install, and your frame is then held snugly onto the wall while sporting a contemporary look.

[the-stray-storyteller]

Defenders : Chapter 2

Warnings : none

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

______________________________________________________________

Day 2

Location : Red Hook Dock, Brooklyn, New York City

Venatrix climbed out of the boat sticking to the shadows of the harbour. She started to count her disadvantages. Problems that needed to be solved.

“One, I have no idea where I am,” she muttered as she ran in a random direction. The first problem was an easy fix.

“Two, how do I get to Los Angeles,” this one would take some time to plan and relied on where she was at the moment. She would probably need to forge a lot of documents if she was travelling illegally. She didn’t even have a birth certificate.

“Three, I need food,” she told herself when she heard her stomach rumbling.

She kept running, a child walking through a place like this all alone would look suspicious. Venatrix took in long even breaths as she sprinted across the harbour. She halted to a stop at the sight of a fence, a small road beyond it. Maybe she could find a bus station, she did have a lot of stolen money at hand. She could take the bus to the nearest airport and sneak into the plane, which wouldn't be the first time she snuck into a plane. Venatrix took a few steps back before vaulting over the fence.

She looked at the brick building, the word “Tesla” on top of the door. She peered through the glass doors to see a dozen sleek cars parked next to each other. She looked around the place curiously, this was the first time she went outside by herself without a comm in her ears. A symbol attached to a pole near the building held the words ‘Summit st’, where the hell was that?

“You lost?” her head turned to the driver of a truck which had stopped. She took a moment to take in the situation. The truck was a dirty green and it stank of flies and compost. The man was huge, white face with pink splotches framed by a scruffy beard. 

She took in his accent. New yorker. She might be in the right country. There was still a chance the man had travelled. She quickly crossed out that thought after realising what his job was. She had to be in the US.

“Hello, a little away from home,” she replied. The words scraped through her throat coming out rough. She really needed to talk more.

“I will give you a lift, just tell me where you live,” he opened the door next to him. Venatrix calculated the risk. If a fight were to break out the man had the advantage of strength while she had the advantage of speed and agility. If she got in and fought him inside the truck the outcome would be unpredictable.

“I have never seen a kid think so much,” the driver said after a while.

“Is that bad?” Venatrix asked, deciding to climb in.

“No. Hungry? I still have an extra sandwich,” he pointed at a red lunch box. She should probably eat it, who knows when she will get to eat again, speaking of that…

“Take me to the nearest supermarket.”

“Um..your parent work there?” He handed over the sandwich to her.

“Yes,” she lied.

“You sure it is the nearest supermarket?” he asked, eyebrows scrunching up with worry.

“Very.”

“Okay then, let's go.”

Venatrix tugged the seat belt clasping it to the lock and then proceeded to take the first bite out of the sandwich. You couldn’t even call it a bite, she had taken a small nibble and moved it back and forth over her tongue, ready to spit it out if she detected any drug, poison or anything on it. Once satisfied the sandwich was safe to eat, she swallowed the whole thing.

“Hungry aren’t you?” the trucker laughed. Venatrix shot him a confused look.

“The consumption of carbohydrates,nutrients and other food groups for a human is essential for their health, why is it funny?”

“No.. I was just saying…”the trucker fumbled slightly confused, “kid how old are you?”

“Nine,” she answered but she wasn’t completely sure.

“Smart, real smart. Want some H2O?” He took a hand off the wheel to offer her a water bottle. She grabbed it, following the same process she had used for the sandwich to see if it was safe to consume. She wondered why the man had called it by its molecular formula rather than its common name. 

It must be one of those jokes they told me about!

“Thankyou for the dihydrogen monoxide,” she said back, looking at the man hoping for a smile or a laugh. Instead she got a baffled expression.

“What is dihy…whatever that is you said?”

“Dihydrogen monoxide is the systematic name for water, you said H2O instead of using the common name so I assumed it was a joke and not to mention dihydrogen monoxide is actually quite dangerous…..” Venatrix shut her mouth, back at home they didn’t like it when she blabbered.

“Kid you are making me feel really dumb over here,” the trucker smiled back. Venatrix’s heart did a little involuntary victory dance, he had smiled and it meant her joke had worked.

Success!

The man pulled over at the store. 

“Here you go, need any help finding your folks?” he asked as she jumped off the truck.

“No, I can see them from here,” she lied, acting like she had spotted someone through the glass doors. She turned back to the driver.

“Thankyou, goodbye,” she bid farewell, turning around and walking into the supermarket. She heard the engine growl as he drove away.

She got a lot of odd looks as she walked around the store in amazement unaware that her mouth was open. Her steps were slow and she wasn’t nearly as vigilant as she wanted to be. There were just so many things. Things she had never seen or heard of. She stuck her head into the refrigerators staring at the tubs of ice cream. She had heard of it but never tasted in and she had definitely not known there were so many flavours. She pulled herself out of it and pressed the back of her hand to the cold tip of her nose. She needed to get her priorities straight.

Venatrix really wished she could get her head in the game but it was proving harder than usual. She stood there in the aisle full of bread. Milk bread, brown bread, sweet bread, long bread, bread with bits of fruit in it, bread with chocolate in it. She stood there like an idiot staring at it not moving an inch. Why was there so much bread?

“Um..need any help?” one of the shop attendants asked. Venatrix’s brain short-circuited. It wasn't meant to short circuit especially not over bread.

“Bread,” was the only thing that slipped out of mouth, a little breathlessly even if she hadn’t done anything strenuous. She quickly walked away a little embarrassed.

She picked up a basket making a list of things she needed. She dropped three bottles of water. It was a very important thing. She searched for food which she could store for longer terms, preferably rich in carbohydrates, energy bars and cornflakes. She had stared suspiciously at the cup noodles for a good amount of time before deciding she could take three. She picked up a notepad and a pen just in case and then she stood in front of the juice section. She had never drank juice and she didn’t think she was allowed to, the same thing went for the cup noodles but she had taken those because she could store it, it was easy to prepare and seemed enough to satisfy her appetite. Maybe they didn’t have to know she had tasted juice but if they found it she was in major trouble.

Risk or no risk?

She stared up at the bottles filled with orange liquid. She thought about it, oranges were healthy but then again she didn’t know if it actually contained the fruit.

“Need help getting that down honey?” A young woman wearing a shirt with the name of the supermarket reached up to the high shelf and dropped the juice bottle into her basket. She gave Venatrix a smile. Did everyone smile so much over here? People back at home rarely smiled and if they did they had a sharpness to them, like a predator who had just found their next victim.

To her horror, the woman then proceeded to reach out her hand towards her. The muscles of her arms instinctively tightened and her hands curled to form fists ready to spring out into a fight. She relaxed in confusion when she realised the woman held no force behind her movement. There was absolutely no way she could hurt her moving that slow. Venatrix leaned away the closer the hand got. The moment she could not bend away any further without looking suspicious the hand nested on her head and then the woman moved it back and forth messing up her hair and walked away.

What was that? It…it felt nice?

She wanted more people to do that thing to her hair. Venatrix looked down at her basket to see the bottle of orange liquid, she looked at ingredients in tiny print. There was orange in it, even if it was only twenty percent. Now that it was in her basket she didn’t want to put it back, they didn’t have to know. A thought struck her, it wasn’t one of her best decisions but she decided to do it.

The high sugar content will give her instant energy and it was good to bring her sugar levels back to normal if she hadn’t eaten. It is what she told herself as she dropped in four candy bars. 

Easy to carry around and an excellent source of carbohydrates she told herself as she put in a packet of chips. She also relaxed a little when she saw the packets had the american ‘flavored’ instead of british ‘flavoured’ she was in the right country but it still left the problem that America was huge.

“Oranges help to make collagen which in turn helps in healing wounds and it also boosts the immune system and that is why I am buying it, no other reason,” she told the cashier as she handed the orange juice over to him. 

The cashier gave her a few odd looks and asked where her parents were, to which she replied she was here with her brother and he had handed her the money while he went to talk to his friends.

“You going on a camping trip or something?” the cashier asked.

“Yes,” she lied, if the cashier thought that the others might too might as well stick with that.

“Usually kids take a lot more sweets and chips.”

“Dad already bought everything, just needed a few other things, and said we could pick a few other things.”

“Okay then,” he handed her a tote bag filled with her shopping.

“Do you know where me and my brother can find a duffel bag, our old one kinda has a huge hole in it.” Venatrix had concluded that travelling with a tote bag would come across as strange and a duffel would be much easier. The cashier gave her some directions and wished her a happy trip.

Attaining a duffel bag was easy enough to find and she kept up the same story she made up in the store. Her next stop, somewhere she could find transport.

She was in New Jersey and Los Angeles was all the way across the country. The positive side of her mind cheered that they were at least in the right country but the negative side made her yell something. She shouted out a word she had several of her trainers say when they got angry, she never knew what it meant but it felt like the right time to use it. Turns out whatever it meant she wasn’t supposed to say it because she got yelled at by any adult who was within hearing radius. She continued to stare at the bus routes weighing her options. A flight would take six to eight hours and a bus would take sixty-nine hours. Money wouldn’t be a problem, she had nicked over two thousand dollars from the dead people back at home.

She caught a taxi.

“Where to?” the man asked. Venatrix got the faint smell of tobacco from the car.

“Parents?” He looked around for the missing adults

“Already there, some issues came up, they told me to take a taxi.” 

“John F. Kennedy International airport please.” The taxi driver shut up and gave her a crooked smile when she handed him the wad of money.

[cannabiscomrade]

I’m wondering what we should do with Sam’s certificates

Do I frame them? Do we put them in the shadow box we’re gonna build? I don’t wanna just stuff them away. It’s hard to figure out what to do with their things.

We have this beautiful frame that we need to use, we just have to make copies of their hand and footprints and put them in with their picture. Their little hands and feet were so small 🥺

We also have this mold of Sam’s hand and footprints that the hospital made, but it’s very fragile. Does anyone know of a way to seal plaster or quick dry clay? It’s just so beautiful and I don’t want it to crack over time.

[96harmony96]

Chapter 5

I had a vicious hangover on Saturday morning and figured it was no less than I deserved. As much as I’d resented Lauren’s insistence on negotiating sex with as much passion as she would a merger, in the end I’d negotiated in kind. Because I wanted her enough to take a calculated risk and break my own rules.

I took comfort in knowing she was breaking some of her own, too.

After a long, hot shower, I made my way into the living room and found Cary on the couch with his netbook, looking fresh and alert. Smelling coffee in the kitchen, I headed there and filled the biggest mug I could find.

“Morning, sunshine,” Cary called out.

With my much-needed dose of caffeine wrapped between both palms, I joined him on the couch.

He pointed at a box on the end table. “That came for you while you were in the shower.”

I set my mug on the coffee table and picked up the box. It was wrapped with brown paper and twine, and had my name handwritten diagonally across the top with a decorative calligraphic flourish. Inside was an amber glass bottle with Hangover Cure painted on it in a white old-fashioned font and a note tied with raffia to the bottle’s neck that said, “Drink me.” Lauren’s business card was nestled in the cushioning tissue paper.

As I studied the gift, I found it very apt. Since meeting Lauren I’d felt like I’d fallen down the rabbit hole into a fascinating and seductive world where few of the known rules applied. I was in uncharted territory that was both exciting and scary.

I glanced at Cary, who eyed the bottle dubiously.

“Cheers.” I pried the cork out and drank the contents without thinking twice about it. It tasted like sickly sweet cough syrup. My stomach quivered in distaste for a moment, and then heated. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and shoved the cork back into the empty bottle.

“What was that?” Cary asked.

“From the burn, it’s hair of the dog.”

His nose wrinkled. “Effective but unpleasant.”

And it was working. I already felt a little steadier.

Cary picked up the box and dug out Lauren’s card. He flipped it over; then held it out to me. On the back Lauren had written, “Call me” in bold slashing penmanship and jotted down a number.

I took the card, curling my hand around it. Her gift was proof that she was thinking about me. Her tenacity and focus was seductive. And flattering.

There was no denying I was in trouble where Lauren was concerned. I craved the way I felt when she touched me, and I loved the way she responded when I touched her back. When I tried to think of what I wouldn’t agree to do to have her hands on me again, I couldn’t come up with much.

When Cary tried to hand me the phone, I shook my head. “Not yet. I need a clear head when dealing with her and I’m still fuzzy.”

“You two seemed cozy last night. She’s definitely into you.”

“I’m definitely into her.” Curling into the corner of the couch, I pressed my cheek into the cushion and hugged my legs to my chest. “We’re going to hang out, get to know each other, have casual-but-physically-intense sex, and be otherwise completely independent. No strings, no expectations, no responsibilities.”

Cary hit a button on his netbook and the printer on the other side of the room started spitting out pages. Then he snapped the computer closed, set it on the coffee table, and gave me all his attention. “Maybe it’ll turn into something serious.”

“Maybe not,” I scoffed.

“Cynic.”

“I’m not looking for happily-ever-after, Cary, especially not with a mega-mogul like Jauregui. I’ve seen what it’s like for my mom being connected to powerful men. It’s a full-time job with a part-time companion. Money keeps Mom happy, but it wouldn’t be enough for me.”

My dad had loved my mom. He’d asked her to marry him and share his life. She’d turned him down because he didn’t have the hefty portfolio and sizeable bank account she required in a husband. Love wasn’t a requisite for marriage in Sinuhe Stanton’s opinion and since her sultry-eyed, breathy-voiced beauty was irresistible to most men, she’d never had to settle for less than whatever she wanted. Unfortunately she hadn’t wanted my dad for the long haul.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was ten thirty. “I guess I should get ready.”

“I love spa day with your mom.” Cary smiled and it chased the lingering shadows on my mood away. “I feel like a god when we’re done.”

“Me, too. Of the goddess persuasion.”

We were so eager to be off that we went downstairs to meet the car rather than wait for the front desk to call up.

The doorman smiled as we stepped outside—me in heeled sandals and a maxi dress, and Cary in hip-hugging jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

“Good morning, Miss Cabello. Mr. Taylor. Will you need a cab today?”

“No thanks, Paul. We’re expecting a car.” Cary grinned. “It’s spa day at Perrini’s!”

“Ah, Perrini’s Day Spa.” Paul gave a sage nod. “I bought my wife a gift certificate for our anniversary. She enjoyed it so much I plan to make it a tradition.”

“You did good, Paul,” I said. “Pampering a woman never goes out of style.”

A black town car pulled up with Clancy at the wheel. Paul opened the rear door for us and we climbed in, squealing when we found a box of Knipschildt’s Chocopologie on the seat. Waving at Paul, we settled back and dug in, taking tiny nibbles of the truffles that were worth savoring slowly.

Clancy drove us straight to Perrini’s, where the relaxation began from the moment one walked in the door. Crossing the entrance threshold was like taking a vacation on the far side of the world. Every arched doorway was framed by lushly vibrant striped silks, while jeweled pillows decorated elegant chaises and oversized armchairs.

Birds chirped from suspended gilded cages and potted plants filled every corner with lush fronds. Small decorative fountains added the sounds of running water, while stringed instrumental music was piped into the room via cleverly hidden speakers. The air was redolent with a mix of exotic spices and fragrances, making me feel like I’d stepped into Arabian Nights.

It was this-close to being too much, but it didn’t cross the line. Instead, Perrini’s was exotic and luxurious, an indulgent treat for those who could afford it. Like my mother, who’d just finished a milk-and-honey bath when we arrived.

I studied the menu of treatments available, deciding to skip my usual “warrior woman” in favor of the “passionate pampering.” I’d been waxed the week before, but the rest of the treatment—“designed to make you sexually irresistible”—sounded like exactly what I needed.

I’d finally managed to get my mind back into the safe zone of work when Cary spoke up from the pedicure chair beside mine.

“Mrs. Stanton, have you met Lauren Jauregui?”

I gaped at him. He knew damn well my mom went nuts over any news about my romantic—and not-so-romantic, as the case may be—relationships.

My mother, who sat in the chair on the other side of me, leaned forward with her usual girlish excitement over a rich, handsome man. “Of course. She’s one of the wealthiest women in the world. Number twenty-five or so on Forbes’s list, if I’m remembering correctly. A very driven young woman, obviously, and a generous benefactor to many of the children’s charities I champion. Extremely eligible, of course, but I don’t believe she's straight , Cary. She’s got a reputation as a ladies’ pleaser.”

“My loss.” Cary grinned and ignored my violent headshaking. “But it’d be a hopeless crush anyway, since she’s digging on Camila.”

“Camila! I can’t believe you didn’t say anything. How could you not tell me something like that?”

I looked at my mom, whose scrubbed face appeared young, unlined, and very much like mine. I was very clearly my mother’s daughter, right down to my surname. The one concession she’d made to my father had been to name me after his mother.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I insisted. “We’re just…friends.”

“We can do better than that,” Sinuhe said, with a look of calculation that struck fear in my heart. “I don’t know how it escaped me that you work in the same building she does. I’m certain she was smitten the moment she saw you. Although she’s known to prefer blondes…Hmm…Anyway. sHe’s also known for her excellent taste. Clearly the latter won out with you.”

“It’s not like that. Please don’t start meddling. You’ll embarrass me.”

“Nonsense. If anyone knows what to do with men, it’s me.”

I cringed, my shoulders creeping up to my ears. By the time my massage appointment came around, I was in desperate need of one. I stretched out on the table and closed my eyes, preparing to take a catnap to get through the long night ahead.

I loved dressing up and looking pretty as much as the next girl, but charity functions were a lot of work. Making small talk was exhausting, smiling nonstop was a pain, and conversations about businesses and people I didn’t know were boring. If it wasn’t for Cary benefitting from the exposure, I’d put up a bigger fight about going.

I sighed. Who was I fooling? I’d end up going anyway. My mom and Stanton supported abused children’s charities because they were significant to me. Going to the occasional stuffy event was a small price to pay for the return.

Taking a deep breath, I consciously relaxed. I made a mental note to call my dad when I got home and thought about how to send a thank-you note to Lauren for the hangover cure. I supposed I could e-mail her using the contact info on her business card, but that lacked class. Besides, I didn’t know who read her inbox.

I’d just call her when I got home. Why not? She’d asked—no, told—me to; she’d written the demand on her business card. And I’d get to hear her luscious voice again.

The door opened and the masseuse came in. “Hello, Camila. You ready?”

Not quite. But I was getting there.

___

After many lovely hours at the spa, my mom and Cary dropped me off at the apartment; then they headed out to hunt for new cuff links for Stanton. I used the time alone to call Lauren. Even with the much-needed privacy, I punched most of her phone number into the keypad a half-dozen times before I finally put the call through.

She answered on the first ring. “Camila.”

W that she’d known who was calling, my mind scrambled for a moment. How did she have my name and number in her contact list? “Uh…hi, Lauren.”

“I’m a block away. Let the front desk know I’m coming.”

“What?” I felt like I’d missed part of the conversation. “Coming where?”

“To your place. I’m rounding the corner now. Call the desk, Camila.”

she hung up and I stared at the phone, trying to absorb the fact that Lauren was moments away from being with me again. Somewhat dazed, I went to the intercom and talked to the front desk, letting them know I was expecting her and while I was talking, she walked into the lobby. A few moments after that, she was at my door.

It was then that I remembered I was dressed in only a thigh-length silk robe, and my face and hair were styled for the dinner. What kind of impression would she get from my appearance?

I tightened the belt of my robe before I let her in. It wasn’t like I’d invited her over for a seduction or anything.

Lauren stood in the hallway for a long moment, her gaze raking me from my head down to my French manicured toes. I was equally stunned by her appearance. The way she looked in worn jeans and a T-shirt made me want to undress her with my teeth.

“Worth the trip to find you like this, Camila.” sHe stepped inside and locked the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Thanks to you. Thank you.” My stomach quivered because she was here, with me, which made me feel almost…giddy. “That can’t be why you came over.”

“I’m here because it took you too long to call me.”

“I didn’t realize I had a deadline.”

“I have to ask you something time-sensitive, but more than that, I wanted to know if you were feeling all right after last night.” Her eyes were dark as they swept over me, her breathtaking face framed by that luxurious curtain of inky hair. “God. You look beautiful, Camila. I can’t remember ever wanting anything this much.”

With just those few simple words I became hot and needy. Way too vulnerable. “What’s so urgent?”

“Go with me to the advocacy center dinner tonight.”

I pulled back, surprised and excited by the request. “You’re going?”

“So are you. I checked, knowing your mother would be there. Let’s go together.”

My hand went to my throat, my mind torn between the weirdness of how much she knew about me and concern over what she was asking me to do. “That’s not what I meant when I said we should spend time together.”

“Why not?” The simple question was laced with challenge. “What’s the problem with going together to an event we’d already planned on attending separately?”

“It’s not very discreet. It’s a high-profile event.”

“So?” Lauren stepped closer and fingered a curl of my hair.

There was a dangerous purr to her voice that sent a shiver through me. I could feel the warmth of her big, hard body and smell the richly musky scent of her skin. I was falling under her spell, deeper with every minute that passed.

“People will make assumptions, my mother in particular. She’s already scenting your bachelor blood in the water.”

Lowering her head, Lauren pressed her lips into the crook of my neck. “I don’t care what people think. We know what we’re doing. And I’ll deal with your mother.”

“If you think you can,” I said breathlessly, “you don’t know her very well.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.” Her tongue traced the wildly throbbing vein in my throat and I melted into her, my body going lax as she pulled me close.

Still, I managed to say, “I haven’t said yes.”

“But you won’t say no.” sHe caught my earlobe between her teeth. “I won’t let you.”

I opened my mouth to protest and she sealed her lips over mine, shutting me up with a lush wet kiss. Her tongue did that slow, savoring licking that made me long to feel her doing the same between my legs. My hands went to her hair, sliding through it, tugging. When she wrapped her arms around me, I arched, curving into her hands.

Just as she had in her office, she had me on my back on the couch before I realized she was moving me, her mouth swallowing my surprised gasp. The robe gave way to her dexterous fingers; then she was cupping my breasts, kneading them with soft, rhythmic squeezes.

“Lauren—”

“Shh.” sHe sucked on my lower lip, her fingers rolling and tugging my tender nipples. “It was driving me crazy knowing you were naked beneath your robe.”

“You came over without—Oh! Oh, God…”

Her mouth surrounded the tip of my breast, the wash of heat bringing a mist of perspiration to my skin.

My gaze darted frantically to the clock on the cable box. “Lauren, no.”

Her head lifted and she looked at me with stormy green eyes. “It’s insane, I know. I don’t—I can’t explain it, Camila, but I have to make you come. I’ve been thinking about it constantly for days now.”

One of her hands pushed between my legs. They fell open shamelessly, my body so aroused I was flushed and almost feverish. Her other hand continued to plump my breasts, making them heavy and unbearably sensitive.

“You’re wet for me,” she murmured, her gaze sliding down my body to where she was parting me with her fingers. “You’re beautiful here, too. Plush and pink. So soft. You didn’t wax today, did you?”

I shook my head.

“Thank God. I don’t think I would’ve made it ten minutes without touching you, let alone ten hours.” She slid one finger carefully into me.

My eyes closed against the unbearable vulnerability of being spread out naked and fingered by a woman whose familiarity with the rules of Brazilian waxing betrayed an intimate knowledge of women. A woman who was still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor beside me.

“You’re so snug.” Lauren pulled out and thrust gently back into me. My back bowed as I clenched eagerly around her. “And so greedy. How long has it been since the last time you were fucked?”

I swallowed hard. “I’ve been busy. My thesis, job-hunting, moving…”

“A while, then.” sHe pulled out and pushed back into me with two fingers. I couldn’t hold back a moan of delight. The woman had talented hands, confident and skilled, and she took what he wanted with them.

“Are you on birth control, Camila?”

“Yes.” My hands gripped the edges of the cushions. “Of course.”

“I’ll prove I’m clean and you’ll do the same, then you’re going to let me come in you.”

“Jesus, Lauren.” I was panting for her, my hips circling shamelessly onto her thrusting fingers. I felt like I’d spontaneously combust if she didn’t get me off.

I’d never been so turned on in my life. I was near mindless with the need for an orgasm. If Cary walked in right then and found me writhing in our living room while Lauren finger-fucked me, I didn’t think I’d care.

Lauren was breathing hard, too. Her face was flushed with lust. For me. When I’d done nothing more than respond helplessly to her.

Her hand at my breast moved to my cheek and brushed over it. “You’re blushing. I’ve scandalized you.”

“Yes.”

Her smile was both wicked and delighted, and it made my chest tight. “I want to feel my cum in you when I fuck you with my fingers. I want you to feel my cum in you, so you think about how I looked and the sounds I made when I pumped it into you. And while you’re thinking about that, you’re going to look forward to me doing it again and again.”

My sex rippled around her stroking fingers, the rawness of her words pushing me to the brink of orgasm.

“I’m going to tell you all the ways I want you to please me, Camila, and you’re going to do it all…take it all, and we’re going to have explosive, primal, no-holds-barred sex. You know that, don’t you? You can feel how it’ll be between us.”

“Yes,” I breathed, clutching my breasts to ease the deep ache of my hardened nipples. “Please, Lauren.”

“Shh…I’ve got you.” The pad of her thumb rubbed my clitoris in gentle circles. “Look into my eyes when you come for me.”

Everything tightened in my core, the tension building as she massaged my clit and pushed her fingers in and out in a steady, unhurried rhythm.

“Give it up to me, Camila,” she ordered. “Now.”

I climaxed with a thready cry, my grip white-knuckled on the sides of the cushions as my hips pumped onto her hand, my mind far beyond shame or shyness. My gaze was locked to her, unable to look away, riveted by the fierce masculine triumph that flared in her eyes. In that moment she owned me. I’d do anything she wanted. And she knew it.

Searing pleasure pulsed through me. Through the roaring of blood in my ears, I thought I heard her speak hoarsely, but I lost the words when she hooked one of my legs over the back of the couch and covered my cleft with her mouth.

“No—” I pushed at her head with my hands. “I can’t.”

I was too swollen, too sensitive. But when her tongue touched my clit, fluttering over it, the hunger built again. More intense than the first time. she rimmed my trembling slit, teasing me, taunting me with the promise of another orgasm when I knew I couldn’t have one again so quickly.

Then her tongue speared into me and I bit my lip to bite back a scream. I came a second time, my body quaking violently, tender muscles tightening desperately around her decadent licking. Her growl vibrated through me. I didn’t have the strength to push her away when she returned to my clit and sucked softly…tirelessly…until I climaxed again, gasping her name.

I was boneless as she straightened my leg and still breathless when she pressed kisses up my belly to my breasts. she licked each of my nipples, and then hauled me up with her arms banded around my back. I hung lax and pliable in her grip while she took my mouth with suppressed violence, bruising my lips and betraying how close to the edge she was.

she closed my robe; then stood, staring down at me.

“Lauren…?”

“Seven o’clock, Camila.” sHe reached down and touched my ankle, her fingertips caressing the diamond anklet I’d put on in preparation for the evening. “And keep this on. I want to fuck you while you’re wearing nothing else.”

[felassan]

BioWare Gear Store blog update:

BARE YOUR BLADE, AND RAISE IT HIGH!

WE'RE HERE TO CELEBRATE ALL THINGS THEDAS.

The unofficial world "Dragon Age Day" Celebration will take place on December 4, 2020!

While BioWare celebrates the many hard-working, creative and talented BioWare team members who contributed so much to all three games - the Gear Store wants to join in the fun. We will have a few Dragon Age product launches, a flash sale and a giveaway. Want to learn more...keep reading!

Remainder under cut for length.

“DECEMBER 3, 2020

DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION SHADOW BOX

THE ART OF DRAGON AGE BROUGHT TO LIFE

In a foggy landscape where the ground is laced with red lyrium, the Herald of Andraste faces off with a mass of demons pouring in from the sky. Their hand - your hand - reaches upwards, surrounded by a bright green light.

By now this is a familiar scene. But you’ve never seen it like this before. Introducing the Dragon Age Inquisition Shadowbox!

It separates the game’s key art into 4 layers of crystal clear acrylic, printed in superb quality, then arranged within a sleek wooden frame.

The result is a captivating work of art that you’d find yourself staring at from every angle.

Watch it come to life through its literal depth, moving and following your line of sight.

Be among the few to proudly own this masterpiece by ArtoVision. This shadowbox comes in an individually-numbered limited edition of only 200 pieces, each with a Certificate of Authenticity included.

-----

DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION TEE FLASH SALE

FOR ONE DAY ONLY - 30% OFF!

INTO DARKNESS, UNAFRAID

Surround yourself in the watchful gaze of the Maker. The insignia of the Inquisition is printed large and wraps around to slightly reach the back of the shirt.

What breach? We’ve come to expect tears in the Veil. Thankfully, this shirt isn’t cut from the same cloth.

It’s made of a combed and ring-spun cotton, refined to be soft, and durable to keep your Visus sigil good as new for a very long time.

Your enemies will vanish into the Fade, but your Visus print will resist it.

By the way, it’s not just ordinary cotton. It’s softer (combed) and smoother (ring-spun), too.

Comfortable and neither too thick nor too thin, this is a statement and a staple in your wardrobe! So wear it as is, or layer it under a hoodie. It may show off a niche symbol, but it goes well with everything.

This, dear Herald, might just be your new favorite tee

-----

DECEMBER 4, 2020

DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION DREAD WOLF RISES LITHOGRAPH

DISCOVER THE DREAD WOLF’S SECRETS

Although his name is spoken with much fear and contempt, precious little is known about the Dread Wolf. He appears in portraits, statues, fables, and other such depictions—none of which reveal as much as this painting.

This large lithographic print shows a shadowy beast facing off against a mage. Between them is the lyrium idol surrounded by concentric circles with gold foil details. Everything around them is engulfed in fire.

Be among the few to keep and display this work of art. Hang it on your wall and let the story of Fen’Harel fill the room.

-----

DRAGON AGE INQUISITION HOODIE

AN INQUISITOR’S CASUAL GARB

Carry the Inquisition sigil on this simple but fashionable pullover. Its grey print on black fabric keeps the design subtle and tasteful.

Layer it on in the colder months for warmth and comfort, or any other time of the year for an effortless casual look.

It’s made of cotton which keeps it soft, breathable and comfortable; and polyester which adds warmth and durability, and helps retain its size and shape.

Keep your phone and other essential items in its roomy kangaroo pocket. Or use it to keep your hands warm. If you still need to feel toasty, just pull the hood over your head.

-----

DRAGON AGE DAY GIVEAWAY

Three lucky winners will walk away with three special items selected for our Dragon Age fans.

Grey Wardens Tee

Inquisition Holiday Long Sleeve Tee

Inquisition Enamel Pin

If you want to sign-up to win, you've got to watch the BioWare Twitch TV at 9am EST to learn how to enter for the giveaway.

DECEMBER 5, 2020

DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION JUMBO D20 PLUSH

ROLL A NATURAL 20

Some things you leave to chance. Other things, you do on purpose. This plushie, for example, was deliberately designed to delight players of Dragon Age and tabletop RPGs.

It’s a D20, tabletop gaming’s most iconic die and determiner of your character’s fate—but made absurdly bigger, fluffier, and softer.

But can you actually use it? Each side is supported by a felt backing to help keep their shape. So if the mood really strikes you, can use it to roll a number. It’s as close as a plushie can get to functioning like a real D20, without adding any hard elements.

With its velvety velboa surface and soft filling, what are the odds that you’d still roll yourself some hard luck?

The die is black with numbers as green and bright as The Breach, a color motif that Inquisitors would instantly recognize. The Inquisition’s sigil replaces the number 1.

When not in use, you can display it to add a hint of personality to your couch, bed, or display cabinet. It’s the perfect home accessory for the Thedosian tabletop geek.”

[source]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mr. Self Destruct

Warnings: Bucky’s a bastard, control, PTSD and other lovely mental issues, eventual noncon

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary:  Bucky has been left by his closest friend. With no other choice, he works for Stark Industries in the name of both Stark and Rogers but before he can begin his new position, he is mandated to attend counselling. With you, the company’s resident therapist.

Note: This is gonna be a two-parter because this one shot got a bit beyond my control. But I hope you guys like this. If you’re wondering what’s going on with me is I have no focus and this is what I decided to do instead of anything useful. Love y’all.

Anyway :) Please like, reply, and/or reblog if you read.

Since it all ended, since the lost were found and the ash returned to sunlight, life had grown hectic. Your line of work became all the more important. New patients, new problems, new hours. 

For those dark years in between, it was grief counselling for the lost. Guiding others through the stages as you worked through them too. But how was one to cope with the loss of time? To cope with displacement in a world that had gone on without them. To come back to not only a different world, but different people. 

Those they had known before changed, but they’d stayed the same. To them, it was a blink of the eye. In their minds, they were never gone. They didn’t know the world after them. The flecks of dust that floated through the air, the startling silence that overtook the streets and stilled the leaves. They couldn’t know and they couldn’t understand.

Stark Tower bustled. It was like before, not that you’d been there then. You were hired during the blip. Steve Rogers organized sessions for the mourning and you accepted the chore of guiding them. Of teaching him how to address issues of grief and death. Of facing the unknown and the uncontrollable. Something he never quite managed to do himself; never really managed to let go of what he lost.

He was gone now. In the media, he was dead, like Stark. You were of the privileged to know that he chose to leave this world. His one goal achieved, he left behind all he’d fought so hard to restore. He left behind those who depended on him for his fantasy. For the life he refused to let go of. For her.

You couldn’t blame him but in your opinion, professional and otherwise, it would not ease his doubts. Not quell his fears of a life squandered. He was still running. He’d always be running. But he made his decision and chose the same plight in another time. There was nothing to do about that.

You were anxious. A new patient. You knew of him but you’d never met him. Would you call Steve a mutual friend? Maybe just an acquaintance; a colleague. As much as your relationship with the man had blurred lines, so to had it with this man. His oldest and closest friend, rather ally. The one he’d laid his life down for and yet left behind just as impulsively. The man with a plan had never truly had one.

You stared down at the city through the window. Behind you, your pad and pen rested on the round table just beside the dark green chair. A couch sat across from it, grey but cozy. Long enough to recline but your patients rarely did more than sit stiffly or pace. Maybe hug a pillow as they sobbed.

You gripped the window frame. You were rarely so nervous about your job. You couldn’t be. Your task was to put people at ease, not rile them. Bucky’s file was there too. Hidden in the drawer of your desk. You’d pored over it. Military records and censored Hydra documents. A puzzle with missing pieces.

You heard footsteps in the hall. They paused before your door and you peeked over your shoulder as the frosted glass darkened. The figure on the other side was still. You waited. When they finally knocked, you flinched. You turned and stepped around the couch. Your heels were loud as the carpet dissolved to hardwood. 

You opened the door. “Come in,” You greeted, unsurprised by your visitor. Early but long-awaited. Long-dreaded. Why? He was just a man.

He blinked and nodded as he stepped past you. The canvas jacket hid his metal arm and he seemed like any other man. His hands were tucked into his jeans as he hesitantly entered and looked around the office. The lights were dimmer than the usual fluorescents of the tower; the space cozy compared to the sterile labs.

“Would you like something to drink?” The door clicked as you closed it and he glanced around to look at it. His jaw clenched.

“No...thank you,” He walked along the back of the couch and you passed along the other side.

You took your notepad from the table and twirled the pen between your fingers. It hit your thumb and bounced off the leather folder in your hand. It landed at his feet as he halted suddenly. He picked it up with his vibranium fingers and considered the shiny brown plastic trimmed in gold. He offered it back to you without a word. You took it and he went back to investigating with his eyes.

“Would you like to sit down?” You asked. Your voice sounded brittle and you nearly choked on the pieces as it cracked.

“No,” He said curtly as he gripped the back of the couch.

“Do you mind if I do?” 

“Go ahead,” He shrugged.

You sat and the green leather felt unwelcoming. He stared down at his metal fingers and they tightened around the grey upholstery. His long lashes shrouded his eyes and his thick beard was laced with shadows. His long hair was drawn back in a tie but strands hung loose and untamed around his face.

“You don’t want to be here.” You said.

“What gave it away?” He rolled his eyes. You didn’t reply. “I have to be here, because they say I do.”

“And if you weren’t here, what would happen?”

“Then I couldn’t work.” His tone suggested you were stupid. 

“And what would happen if you couldn’t work?” You prodded.

He looked up at you and his blue eyes burned hotly. “Then…” He began and tore his gaze from you. “I wouldn’t work, I guess.”

“Is there anything else you could do besides this? Besides fighting?”

“Not since I put my name down in 1941,” He grumbled and turned his back to you. “Can you just tick the box so I can go?”

“No, because then I wouldn’t be working,” You insisted. “So...you gonna sit down?”

He sighed and circled the couch. He considered the cushions but carried on. He passed your chair and went to the window. He stood as you had only minutes before.

“Why can’t you do anything else?” You asked. He was quiet as he played with the cord of the blinds. “Mr. Barnes--”

“Bucky,” He corrected you.

“Bucky, why can’t--”

“Because I don’t know how. I know how to kill and that’s it.” His voice was heavy and wrapped around your throat. “I just wanna kill the right people this time.”

“You enjoy it?”

Silence. He pushed himself away from the window and the cord brushed against the frame noisily. He stayed behind you, pacing just around your chair.

“It’s my job.”

“And you enjoy your job?”

“It’s work.”

“You’re not answering my questions.”

“Because they’re stupid questions.” His hands were on the back of your chair as he loomed over you.

“They are relevant questions.” You insisted, fighting not to flinch. If he sensed the rise in your nerves, it wouldn’t help. “So, do you enjoy your work?”

“I’m good at it,” He shoved himself away from the chair so hard it moved. “It’s what I know, what I do.”

“You never wanted to be anything else? To do anything else? Surely, as a child, you didn’t foresee war--”

“As a child, I was stupid. And as an adult, worse.” He walked along the wall and looked at your degree. He leaned in as he read the cursive font of your name and said it allowed. “I was never smart enough for all that.”

“According to your records, you were top of your class.”

“In a Brooklyn public school. In the 30s. Surely not the peak of education.” His eyes remained on the framed certificate.

“Your grades were good enough to qualify.” You suggested. You began to scribble notes softly, recalling that he was a patient. That you needed to record this all. 

“I qualified for enlistment, too. They still had to draft me, though. Maybe if those universities had too, I’d be just like you, doc.” He touched the glass of the frame with his real hand. “Maybe I’d have spent the last half of the century at a desk pushing a pen, unaware of all the bullshit in this world.”

“If you could go back and do it that way, would you?”

“Like Steve. Like the hero, huh?” He stepped away from the wall and kept his back to you. “He was always braver than me, or I thought so. What kind of bravery is it just haul ass back to the past? I didn’t ask him to keep me out of prison, to keep Stark from killing me, but he did that out of his vainglorious honour. Then he left me and where was his honour then?”

He kicked the couch with a grunt and crossed his arms. You watched him as he kept his face hidden from you. He paced along the far wall, back and forth as he steamed.

“You’re mad at Steve for leaving?”

“No.” 

“But you are mad.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m stuck here. With you, talking about...nonsense.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I have to be.”

“No, Bucky,” You stood slowly and set aside your notepad. “Why are you here?”

He stopped and turned to you. He crossed the room until he was right before you, glaring down. His lips twitched but he quickly pressed them together and shook his head. He scoffed.

“Because I always do what I’m told.” He backed away until he was right before the couch. He sat and clamped his hands down on his knees. “Like a good soldier.”

-

The sessions turned to silence. A pattern at first. Each a face off between you and Bucky. Vague answers, if any. Then he stopped talking at the end of the first month. You sat, talking to the walls of your office,no response as he checked his watch and waited. But you didn’t stop. 

As he sat, you took your notes and went over them after he left. The bulk of his issues were intertwined with deep post-traumatic stress and feeling of abandonment. Not just that Steve left him, but that he’d been left to Hydra for decades without a thought. A sense of powerlessness left him wanting control and the one thing he could control was his own voice. He told you what he wanted and the rest, he kept to himself.

After your last meeting, you poured yourself a glass of wine and stared at the blank page. You’d acted as if you’d been writing but the pen was dead and merely left embossed scribbles in the paper. He was your only new patient so far and the others didn’t have any problem talking. If anything, they talked too much. They didn’t stop and reflect on what they said, even when prompted.

You set aside the leather folder and packed it away. You finished the warm red wine and left the glass beside the sink in your small bathroom. You pulled on the plaid blazer hung over your desk chair and hooked your bag over your shoulder. The New York sky was dark outside your window. You couldn’t spend another night in your office.

You hailed a cab and watched the blur of the city. Your little walk-up beckoned you inside and you dropped your bag atop your disposed shoes. You stopped inside the living room. Dark and grim. You flipped the switch and the antique sconces shone deep yellow in the small room. Empty.

The mug you’d left on the coffee table was still there and the book you tried to read was closed and forgotten on the corner. Everything was in order and yet it felt as if something was different. As if someone had been there before you. You walked the perimeter but found nothing amiss. Nothing but the tickle at the base of your skull.

You removed your blazer and folded it over the back of the armchair. The summer was fading and autumn slowly crept up in the evenings. You sat on the couch and took the book from the corner of the table. 

It looked worn though you still hadn't gotten more than halfway through. Though every time you opened it, the spine seemed weaker as if you'd been contorting it to fit your hand. But it didn't fit your hand. Not quite. 

You dropped it and sat back. You were due to see Bucky again at the end of the week. You'd seen him a couple times beyond your office. In the halls with his co-workers, with the authority he disdained so much.

You didn't know how to get through to him. Couldn't, you were sure. Perhaps, you didn't need to. Maybe he only needed to. How could you ever help a man who wouldn't help himself?

You brushed aside your flurry of thoughts. You weren't at work. Your notepad stayed in your bag and rarely did you mull over it at home. It was too easy to let it consume you.

You clicked on the television and laid back. The white noise filled your ears and you closed your eyes. Tomorrow. Maybe the day after. You'd figure something out.

-

Friday. You were due for your next session with Bucky that afternoon. The tower was at a peak, the crowds flurried in and out of the revolving doors as you opted for those doors hidden at the side of the building.

You stopped by the small kiosk that sold overpriced caffeine and ordered some seasonal favourite with an extra shot of espresso. You dropped a tip in the bowl as your eyes fixed on the gift shop nestled between the newspaper stand and a tiny realty office. The lobby was a microcosm of the city itself.

You'd never been in the shop despite having passed by it for several years. You took your cup and crossed to the little store. You stepped inside and nodded at the cashier who didn’t seem to notice you over their phone screen. You glossed over the shelves of stuffed bears and dogs, beyond the trail mix and tees, to the small rack of notebooks in the back corner.

You took a small one and ran your finger over the hide cover. Lined pages and a single ribbon to keep your place. A loop inside the cover with a pen through it. It would be a start. You went to the counter and purchased the overpriced journal. In the scheme of life, what was a few dollars?

You tucked the book into your bag and sipped from your latte carefully. You wove through the lobby of people and stepped onto the packed elevator. The ascent was slow and tense. The bodies lessened with each floor and along with two others, you departed on the top floor.

Your first patient for the day was a press secretary still struggling to make sense of the world after the blip. Along with everything else, the media had changed and so not only her life, but her work had transformed with the dusting. She was slowly regaining her feet and her position in Stark Tower, learning from her former apprentice who had taken her place during those long years.

When she left, quite happily, you sat at your desk and shuffled through your folders. Despite your early successes of the day, you dreaded your next client. Bucky was never easy to decipher and time didn’t help that. Each time you saw him, it only seemed harder to get through to him.

You rose to stretch your legs and filled a carafe with water and set it on the round table beside the couch, two glasses with it. You peered out the window as taxis honked below and the streets glared in the afternoon sunlight. You went back to your desk and sat, a folder open before you but unread. You couldn’t focus. Not lately.

Was it you? Something was off. The order of your life, established after the devastation of that singular day, had dissolved in its undoing. Chaos returned when the world had. The change was so subtle you couldn’t place it. Every room you walked into seemed amiss, disordered and yet nothing was different. All was as it should be. Or looked to be.

A knock came at the door and jolted you. You straightened in your chair and called to the frosted glass. “Come in.” You watched the handle turn, the broad shoulders as they entered, the head of dark hair pulled back lazily, the observant blue eyes as they found you at your desk. “Good afternoon.”

Bucky only grumbled as he closed the door behind him. He stood by it, daring not to come any further. This was how it always began. His reluctance kept him unsettled. He’d hover there by the exit, hoping for his dismissal, then he’d pace, trapped in his cage. Silent, almost unresponsive as your words bounced off his stony veneer.

“Water?” You offered. He followed your gesture to the pitcher and shook his head. He shoved his hands in his pockets and his eyes explored the room. By now, he knew every inch of the place. “Will you sit?”

You waved to the seat across from you and he squinted. He tapped his toe and tore his hands from his jeans. He shrugged and crossed the office to sit where you bid. Not a word. A defiant obedience. He’d sit, he’d act the part, but he wouldn’t give you anything.

“Our session will be short today, but you will have homework,” You began. “Mr. Hogan called me last night. I’ve been sitting here staring at these.” You took the stapled pages from the top of your mess. “Go on.” You urged as you held them out.

He took the paper and read quietly. His thumb went to his mouth but he resisted the urge to chew it. He forced his hand down and tossed the forms back on his desk. “You haven’t signed off.”

“I haven’t.” You confirmed. “But I will. I want you to know why I’m signing them.”

“To get rid of me.” He stated. 

“No. Not that. Because you won’t be rid of me,” You assured him. “As it says, I will only approve your return to the field with the mandated sessions still in place.”

“Impossible. I’ll be away. Can’t say for how long. Missions are...unpredictable.”

“So we will schedule around them. This unpredictability is exactly why we need to continue.”

He stared at you. His nostrils flared and he leaned back in the chair, his fingers twined across his stomach as he rested his elbows on the wooden arms. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“Well, you haven’t done much of that, have you?” You bent and pulled your bag closer behind the desk. You reached into it and took out the notebook. “So, I don’t want you to talk. I want you to write.”

You set the notebook down before him. He sniffed and his eyes focused on the journal.

“For you, not me. Write whatever you want to. Make a grocery list, write a poem, a story, put your thoughts down, draw a picture. But put something in there.” You explained as you stood and reached across for the pitcher. 

You filled a glass and sat down to sip it. He looked up at you. He watched the way your throat contracted as you drank and you placed the glass down before your hand could shake. Something about the way he looked at you was startling.

“You want me to keep a diary?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” You allowed. “It’s all for you. I will never ask what you’ve written in it or any secrets you hide inside of. I’ll only want assurance that you’ve been using it. That’s all. Simple enough?”

He pursed his lips and took the notebook from the desk. He flipped through the untouched pages and sighed. “Will you sign off?” He lifted his gaze to you.

You grabbed a pen and the forms. You flipped to the third page, scribbled across the line and added the date. You slid them back across the desk. “There. Take ‘em to Happy and he’ll get you started.”

He blinked. His hand tightened on the journal as he stared at the papers. “We’re done?”

“For today,” You said and stood. “I suppose you’ll be deployed sooner than later. Don’t forget the notebook. We’ll arrange a session upon your return.”

He tapped his thumb on the notebook and reached for the forms. He stood and held them together in his hands. “And if I don’t return?” You looked at him but didn’t say anything. He nodded and chuckled darkly. “You’re right, I always come back, don’t I?”

“A single line a day is better than nothing.” You told him as you rounded the desk. He followed closely as you neared the door and turned back to him with your hand on the knob. He was nearer than you expected. “Manageable.”

“I’ll be fighting. Killing. Should I write in blood?” He challenged wryly.

You sighed. “If that is what you need to do…”

“I’m kidding.” He shook his head.

“I realize that, Mr. Barnes.”

“Bucky,” He corrected as he did every time you called him by his surname. 

“Bucky.” You turned the handle and pulled open the door. You stepped back as you did if only to escape the unyielding warmth radiating from him. The smirk that peeked through was unsettling. The way his eyes followed you like a prey. “Don’t hesitate to stop in on your return. Or any time. My office is always open.”

The smirk broke through entirely and he rubbed his thumb along the notebook as he peered through the door. “Alright, doc.” He turned and stepped into the doorway. He paused and looked back as he raised the papers and journal in half-salute. “Thanks.”

With that, he left you. You closed the door behind him and exhaled. It might’ve been too soon but keeping him pent up and prodding him incessantly was doing him little good. Perhaps a mission would open his eyes. Shake him. Make him realize that five years in the ether had changed him further and exacerbated the untouched issues that had consumed him before. Or maybe, he would get himself killed.

You knew that wouldn’t be the case. He might be reckless and self-loathing but something deep inside had kept him hanging on. He wanted to live, you knew that but he didn’t. And that was the core of his issues.

-

Bucky

There was an odd rush of nerves as Bucky sat in the jet. It was like the day he’d gotten the letter. The day he was drafted. The day he decided his life was over. And it was. His former life cracked down the middle and it would never be the same again. Dead or alive, it was over.

Sam sat beside him, strapped in, arms crossed, eyes closed as he softly snored. They had hours to go before they landed. Bucky was restless. It wasn’t unusual. He didn’t sleep much since his return. Since Steve had said goodbye. That short, heartless goodbye.

He shifted in his seat and unbuckled the belt. He stood, arms out to keep him from swaying with the motion of the flight. He rounded his chair and went to the luggage bay to fetch his canvas duffel. He unzipped it and the notebook rested atop his gear, as if waiting for him. He took it and sealed up the bag and tossed it back in its place.

He sat but didn’t buckle in. The flight was smooth to this point and he’d survived worse than a little turbulence. He held the notebook closed as he looked up to the cockpit. The windshield cut through the dark clouds. He clenched his jaw as he looked down at the hide cover. Already, his fingerprints were worn into the journal.

He was reluctant to open it that first day but after tossing and turning for a few hours in bed, he turned on a lamp and cracked the spine. He tried to write his life story but couldn’t get past the first line, then he’d tried to recount his friendship with Steve but that made his stomach churn. Then, on the fifth page, he’d started drawing.

It was a poor caricature but to him, it resembled her. The doctor with her stern expressions and her piercing eyes. She always looked at him as if she were reading him. As if she could see right through him. He hated that. He wanted her to close those fucking eyes. To stop looking at him. Stop asking him her stupid questions.

The next page was a schedule. A date marked the top and hours kept track of her movements. Several hours in her office, patients and co-workers dropped in now and then, and occasionally, she ventured out to get a coffee or snack. He followed her home. 

He’d been there before that. Several times. He knew about the book on her coffee table, the unwashed mug in her sink, and the toys hidden in her top drawer. He also knew about that folder she had on him. If she was to know everything about him, he only deserved the same. To know every facet of her almost hermit-like existence. Outside of work, she lived a lonely life. Pathetic.

After she’d signed his papers and given him the book, he thought of her more often and so found himself tailing her almost daily. It was a game in his mind. It made him laugh. She was so unaware, so naive. It was so easy for him and she didn’t even have a clue. Didn’t know that he was in the next aisle of the grocery store or just on the other side of her window.

And it made him feel good. Dared to think, though he quickly pushed away the thought, that it gave him a purpose. A focus for the storm inside of him. She was right, he was angry. Time and again, he’d was left to rust like an old shovel. And he was only good for one thing. The monstrosity attached to his left shoulder was his only use. 

A degree on her wall couldn’t make her understand that. Couldn’t make her understand him. She could pretend to know but she never would. She didn’t know pain, didn’t know loss, didn’t know the resent that burned in his chest. She didn’t, but he could show her.

The notebook fell open in his hands as he snapped back to the present. To the humming jet and his snoring comrade. He glanced down at the journal in his lap. His poor rendering of her face stared back at him. He felt it again. The nervousness. He clapped the notebook shut and cleared his throat.

He warily looked around. Sam was still out and the pilot distracted by his flight plan. Bucky let the pages flutter open again. He slid his finger along the inside of the cover and pushed the pen from its loop. He turned to a fresh page and ran his hand over the paper. He relished the possibility on the blank surface.

He pressed the top to paper and his hand moved without thought.

-

Reader

It was two weeks since your last session with Bucky. He was away on a mission; top secret. Intelligence not for the likes of a company therapist. It gave you a much needed break. You barely looked forward to his return, not even certain if he’d check-in willingly. He’d have an excuse now; work, training, briefings, reconnaissance.  Another tug-of-war to be had.

You got to the tower, your eyes still heavy with sleep, and yawned on your elevator ride. You didn’t have any appointments that day but paperwork and the recovery program funded by Stark Industries was enough to keep you busy. A quiet day in your office was something to relish.

Your office door was unlocked. Odd. You were meticulous about securing it nightly. Your own issues of paranoia and safety. When you worked at the inner-city youth centre, a lock was your best friend. One night, one lapse, it was nothing. You were tired and the nights weren’t growing any easier.

You only opened the door a few inches before it was pulled the rest of the way. You were stunned to find Bucky on the other side. Speechless. You righted yourself quickly.

“Mr. Barnes.” You greeted him. “You’re back.”

“Doc,” He waited for you to enter. “You said you’re door was always open.”

“Locked when I’m away, I believe,” You stepped inside warily. “Was it not?”

“Picking a lock isn’t so hard,” He assured you. “I got tired of waiting in the hall.”

“How was your mission?” You changed the subject. His tone suggested an urge for confrontation. You wouldn’t feed it. His intrusion in itself was a cry for conflict.

“A mission.” He closed the door. The lock clicked. You didn’t show that you noticed. “The usual.”

“When did you get back?” You went to your desk and set your bag down behind it. You removed your jacket and passed him again to hang it on the rack. His own was on a peg already.

“Just this morning. Before sunrise.”

“And you came here first?”

“No.” His footsteps moved from hardwood to carpet. “Not first.”

You turned and looked around. His notebook was on your desk, beside an open folder. You glanced at him as he watched your eyes flit around the room. He stood just beside the desk.

“Can we talk?” He asked. You were surprised by the question.

“Of course,” You assured him. “Would you like some tea? Coffee? It’s early, I usually--”

“I want to talk,” He insisted. “Will you sit?”

He waved to your green chair. He was only feet away from it, just between it and your desk. He was determined. He had something to say. It seemed like progress.

“Alright,” You crossed the room and sat. You were stiff and straight in the chair. 

He didn’t sit himself. He turned and closed the folder. He took it and turned back to you. 

“Do you think this is me?” He held it up. “This shit? This list of orders? What they made me do?” He dropped the folder in your lap and it nearly fell to the floor before you could catch it. “None of it is me. My decisions. My actions.”

“I know that,” You assured him as you held the folder steady. “I never said, nor thought, that it was.”

“No, what you said, what you wrote,” He reached over and picked up another sheet. Your writing scrawled across it. “‘Issues of defiance… combative… compensation for loss of control.”

You stared at him. He was visibly angry, his voice was like a razor. 

“These are not bad things, merely observations. To help you.”

“I didn’t say you were wrong,” He crumpled the paper up and threw it so it bounced off your chest. “I do have issues...with control.” He retreated and grabbed his notebook from the desk. “I don’t like being controlled but I do like control.”

He neared as he opened the journal and turned it to you. He held it out until you took it. You looked up at him. “I don’t want to read this. It’s yours.”

“Read it.” He growled.

You slowly glanced down and your eyes skimmed the page. A roster of times, places, and activities. Your office number, your address, an account of your route home. Below a full detail of your day. Your heart felt as if it stopped and you gulped as you let the notebook close and lowered it to your lap.

“Just that for now,” He bent and took the book from you, the folder too. “Don’t want you reading too far. That would spoil all my plans.”

He set the folder and journal down on the round table beside your chair. You stood. You felt weak.

“Mr. Barnes, you should go.” You stated. He chuckled.

“Sit down.” He said quietly.

“Mr. Barnes--”

“My name is Bucky.” His voice rose suddenly. “And I said ‘sit down’. Now.”

“Bucky, you need to go or I will be forced to report this--”

“To who? Hmm? If they even believe you, what are they going to do? Fire me? Fine. All the better. I don’t need handlers. And that won’t keep me from you.”

“I could have you arrested.” You didn’t move.

“You can try. What exactly could I be charged with? You think you’ll get out of here with that?” He pointed to the journal and you peered past him to the door. “You think you can even get around me, doc?”

You looked at him again. He gripped your shoulder with his vibranium hand and leaned in. 

“So, doc, you gonna sit or did you need some help?”

You relented, though your knees buckled easily without thought. You sat as he released you and backed away. You clasped your hands together and watched him as he neared the couch. He sat with a smirk and stared back at you.

“So, I want to talk about control and my issues,” He began. “Is that good? I’m talking.”

You nodded but couldn’t find your voice. You could barely breathe.

“You know, I was thinking about it. On my mission, ya know?” He spoke easily. Taunting you. “I’d much rather kill a man with my hands than a gun. That’s real control. To rip a life away from someone else with one’s own hands and not some disposable weapon. To see the light fade away because you willed it so.”

You struggled to keep from trembling. He stared you down, challenging you to look away. You kept your eyes on him if only to keep from getting dizzy. Slowly, he let his gaze drift and he sat back as his focus descended.

“Take your blazer off.” He ordered. “Get comfy, doc, we got a lot of talking to do today.”

“Mr--Bucky,” You hissed. “Really, this is--”

“Off.” He snapped his fingers. “Everything.”

You blanched. You pushed your legs together and crossed your arms protectively. “You don’t want to do this. This isn’t...you.”

“You don’t know me, doc, but I know you,” He said. “So go on and let me see what’s hiding under that little costume you wear every day.”

You blinked. He didn’t flinch but you did. You looked to the door. 

“Ah,” He warned. “You’re either going to comply or I’ll tear it off myself.”

You lowered your eyes. He’d won. You slid to the edge of the chair and pulled of your blazer. You stood and laid it over the table atop the notebook. You couldn’t face him entirely as you bent to unzip your heeled boots. You set them aside with your socks and straightened to unbutton your blouse. You put it with your blazer and undid your fly. Your pants fell to the floor almost without guidance. You bent to gather them and placed them on the pile. You stood and stared at the floor.

“Everything, doc,” Bucky said. “As cute as those little panties are…”

Eyes down, your head felt like a brick, you trembled just a bit as you reached back to unclasp your bra. It loosened and you let it fall down your arms. You tossed it onto the table without looking. Your fingers clenched the grey cotton and you willed yourself onward.

You should scream. You inhaled but a tut kept your voice within. “You scream and I’ll break your jaw.”

You peeked up at him. He’d sat forward, ready to rise, ready to charge you and snap your neck with a flick of his wrist. You dragged your panties down and stepped out of them. You looked away and dropped them on the table.

“Now you can sit,” His tone lightened. Almost a song. “And we can continue, doc.” He paused. “Wait, you need to take notes or something?”

You shook your head and locked your legs together as you crossed your arms. You forced yourself to look at him. He sank back against the couch with his arms stretched across the back. 

“Tell me about the man you killed.” You prompted.

[hockeylvr59]

Proving Your Worth Part 11 || Jonathan Toews

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: Christmas in June? Yep. Have some meeting the parents, and some sappy sweet presents exchanged. 

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2,322

______

Christmas in Chicago was far different from Christmas in Ohio. First, the lake effect had brought snow, something you hadn’t had in Ohio for quite some time. Second, the hustle and bustle never let up but at the same time, the energy around the city was so joyous that you couldn’t help but be happy. 

Happy but nervous. 

Somehow your parents had been able to make a trip out happen and had arrived late on the 23rd with your sisters. So now...not only were you meeting Jon’s parents for the first time, he was meeting yours and your parents were meeting each other. It was overwhelming to say the least. 

You’d settled down in bed after your parents had returned to their hotel room last night and talked with Jon about plans for today. He’d assured you that he’d told his parents about you, about the baby, and that they were excited to meet you. Even though he’d assured you that his parents were totally cool with the pregnancy, you couldn’t help but be worried about what they were thinking. You needed today to go well, needed his parents to like you because you had it bad for their son. 

You’d woken up far before your parents and sisters were supposed to arrive at your place to do Christmas morning, too filled with anxiety to sleep any longer. Checking your phone you couldn’t help but smile at Jon’s usual ‘good morning’ message with its ‘merry Christmas’ addendum and how he couldn’t wait to see you later. Pulling yourself out of bed, you decided to shower, slipping into clean pajamas before heading into your kitchen to start breakfast. With a mug of tea in hand, you settled against the wall next to your windows and looked out onto the snowy streets with a hand pressed to your ever-growing bump. At 15 weeks you were now noticeably showing; people around the office starting to comment about your changing figure. While you could do without the comments from well-meaning strangers and acquaintances, the way Jon seemed to adore your body as it adapted to carry a child was everything. He had jumped headfirst into all of this far better than you had expected and it made your biggest present to him that much more important. 

As usual, exchanging presents with your family took forever, but it was fun and relaxed, and having them here with you meant the world. Quite a few of your presents had to do with the baby, but you didn’t mind, they were things you needed after all. With presents opened and stashed in piles around your apartment for them to pick up before leaving tomorrow, you popped one of the new movies someone had been gifted in and settled down with some snacks until it was time to get ready to head across town to Jon’s. Though the movie was one you were interested in seeing, you honestly couldn’t sit still, your anxiety growing along with your need for things to go well. 

Dinner was a step above casual in regards to dress code. You knew Jon would be in dress slacks and either a button-up or a nicer sweater and so you had planned your outfit around that. With your fidgeting driving at least yourself crazy, you retreated to your bedroom mid-movie to start getting ready. Your hair was curled into loose waves and you’d done a dramatic gold shadow onto your eyelids. Besides that, your makeup was fairly neutral. Pacing around your room, you put things away and moved things around just trying to kill time before you could actually get dressed. As the movie ended, your family snuck into your bathroom, using it to get themselves changed and ready to go. Ten minutes before you needed to leave you finally pulled your dress from the closet, slipping into the emerald green fabric, smoothing it over your stomach. A white sweater was added over the sleeveless gown and you clasped a simple triangle shaped necklace around your throat and a silver and emerald-colored bracelet over your wrist. Sliding into a pair of black flats, you moved to the living room to grab your purse and jacket. 

With Jon’s presents already hidden in your car, you ushered your family downstairs as you tried to calm your nerves. This was probably the biggest moment in your relationship to date and you were starting to freak out. Parking in the spare spot at Jon’s building, you gathered up the presents and led your family inside, waving at Jon’s doorman as he smiled and granted permission for the elevator to rise to Jon’s floor. The moment Jon opened his door, he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips, and just like that your anxiety floated away. He was quick to take coats after that, introducing himself to your family as he did so, inviting all of you inside to make yourselves comfortable. By the time you had settled your presents down under Jon’s mostly empty tree, he had returned and his hand fell to the curve of your back as he introduced you and your family to his own. 

His mother Andree was quick to approach for hugs, whispering congratulations in your ear and how she was so excited to meet the woman who had stolen her son’s heart. She added that a grandchild was a bonus she hadn’t expected but was thrilled for and that if there was anything you needed all you had to do was ask. His father Brian and his brother David were a little less forward, their hugs timid but not unwelcoming. Jon had disappeared at some point, only to return to place a glass in your hands filled with non-alcoholic champagne he’d found that you had previously enjoyed. It was clear that he had also gotten drinks for the rest of your family and he urged everyone to sit and make themselves comfortable. 

At first, conversations seemed somewhat strained, but by the time dinner was ready, everyone was chatting. Your dad and Jon’s father and brother; your mom and sisters with his. Jokes were made about how nice of a balance this was because your father lived with all girls and his mother lived with a bunch of men. 

Dinner was absolutely delicious, and it felt like this could really be your future as Jon sat next to you, his hand resting gently on your thigh. You convinced David to spill all of the stories Jon didn’t want you to know and your moms compared baby stories. Dinner was followed by dessert, a delicious chocolate cheesecake because Jon knew it was your favorite. That brought up stories of the fact that it likely became your favorite because your dad’s roommate had made it for your mom all the time while she was pregnant with you. 

As the evening wore on, you played a few games together before your parents got a cab back to the hotel and Jon’s family retreated back to bed leaving the two of you alone together for the first time all day. For a while, you just sat on the couch, your legs draped over Jon’s lap as you finished your nth glass of champagne and Jon finished off the rest of his beer as Christmas music played over some speakers softly. 

Kissing you, Jon moved to get up, and you watched as he grabbed six packages from under the tree, three for him and three for you. Returning with them, he settled himself back under your legs and handed you the first of your presents. Both of you had promised not to go too big monetarily so you were curious about what he had chosen. Unwrapping the first box, you found a certificate for a pregnancy massage inside and you smiled. 

“For when the aches are too much and I’m out of town.” He explained. “Or when I just don’t do a good enough job.” He teased. 

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” You murmured, stealing another kiss. After pointing to each of the presents to see which one you wanted him to open first, he grabbed the smallest of the three boxes and unwrapped it to reveal an ice cream cone ornament. 

“I know it’s cheesy...but you’re hard to shop for and I thought it would be a nice reminder of our first date.” You explained, hoping that it was an okay present because you had struggled with what to buy a man who can buy himself anything he wants. 

“I love it. We’ll add it to the tree as soon as we’re done.” He insisted, his genuine smile reassuring you that he didn’t think it was a dumb present. 

The second present Jon handed you was a silver and gold bracelet, a heart shaped from the metal. The cardboard tucked inside the box from the designer read: “Wear this simple heart design as a reminder to yourself: ‘I am Cherished and loved’.” It was simple and beautiful and because it was just metal you knew that it wasn’t something that cost him a fortune so he didn’t break your agreement in getting you jewelry. Looking at the piece you knew he had chosen it for its meaning, as another way of reminding you just how important you were to him. 

His second present was the largest of the three, a framed photo of the two of you sitting on the Hamilton stage. 

“I know just where to hang this.” He insisted, kissing you once more as a silent thank you. 

With only one present each left you debated on who should go first, and the fact that that was even an issue suggested that both of your remaining presents were the most important of the three. Eventually, Jon caved to you wanting him to open last and he handed you a third small box. Tucked inside was something very familiar, in fact, you’d had this exact item in your hands a few times when Jon asked you to come over and be there when he got back into town. This time though you knew the fact that he was giving you a key was for more than just convenience. 

“Jon…?” You questioned, looking up at him. 

“Move in with me?” He inquired, one hand resting against your legs as the other rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m not saying it has to be this week or even this month but...you’ve said before your place is too small for when the baby arrives. Don’t go look for another place. Move in here instead. There’s plenty of room for you and the baby here. And I want both of you here. I want to be able to come home to both of you, to help with the middle of the night feedings and changes. So move in with me Y/N. Please. 

Jon certainly had a point but at the same time you’d only been together for a month so this was just another step that was coming quicker than you had expected. Still, he had assured you it didn’t have to be right away, that you could make the gradual transition over the next few months. Though you were concerned, once look in Jon’s eyes informed you he had thought this over, that this was really what he wanted and so you decided to take another leap and nodded. 

“Okay. We’ll slowly start the process of me moving in.” You agreed. This time when Jon kissed you, it was full of something more, a deeper level of love and affection. 

“Can I open my last present now?” He asked, silly grin on his face when he finally pulled away. 

“Oh, I suppose so.” You teased, though you were secretly very nervous as to what his reception to this gift would be. It was a decision you had thought long and hard on but it was something that felt right. 

With the wrapping paper littering the floor, you watched as Jon took in the book you’d gifted him. It wasn’t just any book, it was a book of baby names. 

“This is cool...but I have a feeling there’s an explanation or significance I’m missing,” Jon admitted. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth you paused for a moment trying to put what you wanted to say into words. 

“It’s so you can help me...you know...name the baby.” You whispered, glancing down. As your brain started to critique the gift, Jon’s fingers brushed against your chin, lifting your gaze to his. 

“You want me to help name the baby?” He questioned, voice gentle. 

“I thought it might be special.” You admitted. “Baby doesn’t have your DNA but at least daddy could help pick his or her name.” Jon’s hand fell to your bump and he leaned forward pressing his forehead to your own. 

“I would be honored to help you pick a name.” He assured you, easing his lips over yours into a deep and lingering kiss. “I promise you I’ll be the best dad.” He added, his breath still ghosting over your mouth. 

“I know you will.” You agreed. “The best dads are the ones who didn’t have to be.” 

As Jon pulled away you noticed the tears on his cheeks and you reached up to wipe them away. 

“Thank you for tonight.” He murmured. “My family loves you...especially my mom.” 

“I think you won over my family.” You agreed. It was hard to tell what your family thought but it seemed like they were relieved you were being well taken care of and respected. 

“Merry first Christmas gorgeous.” Jon declared. 

“Merry first Christmas Jon.” You replied, snuggling yourself into his side and watching as the flames flickered in his gas fireplace. You’d have to go home soon, but for now, this was all you needed. 

Meet the parents outfit: 

Presents: 

[blackkatmagic]

(Demon!fic for AO3 fic #666 is officially a go 👀)

It’s been a long time since Obito was in a place like this, wide open and empty. The golden grasses seem to stretch for miles into the darkness, and there’s no trace of civilization beyond the weathered old farmhouse and the squat red barn. Even the road seems to lead nowhere, curling out into the night with no apparent end, just miles and miles of prairie in front of them and a deep wood at their back. 

Behind him, the screen door creaks, and a foot catches a squeaky board. Obito doesn’t move, even when a body settles beside him on the step. A steaming cup finally makes him turn his head, and he smiles crookedly at Kakashi, but takes it. 

“Tea?” he asks. “What about my coffee?”

“It’s chamomile,” Kakashi says shamelessly. “I know you’re insatiable, but we moved hundreds of boxes today and I want my beauty sleep.”

“Well, you definitely need it,” Obito retorts, but he takes a sip anyway, and can’t help but smile at the taste of honey and a little vanilla. He’s never even mentioned he likes it, but Kakashi’s clever. 

With a hum, Kakashi tips into his side, cradling his own tea, and his eyes do the same sweep that Obito’s have been doing for the last hour, scanning the darkened horizon and the last thin line of reddish-gold painting the edge of the world. His breath is long and slow, content in a way Obito’s never heard before, and he asks quietly, “Like it?”

“We’re definitely not going to be able to eat as much takeout,” Obito says, but he can feel the faint tension in Kakashi’s body, the way he’s waiting. It’s a question that means something, and Obito pauses for a moment and then says, “It’s beautiful.”

“Spring’s even better,” Kakashi says, but there’s a thread of relief in his voice that makes Obito want to roll his eyes a little. It’s not like he’s about to pack up and run for the city. Not when Kakashi is here. Obito has a marriage certificate in the safe upstairs that would frown on that. 

“Can’t wait,” he says, and Kakashi elbows him, then settles against the railing and stretches his long legs out. 

“It’s not what you’re used to, but I think you’ll like it,” he says, and tips his head, like he’s looking at the deep shadow the house casts across the grass. The lone oak off to the side frames it, its shadows a tangle of branches still thick with leaves, and the rustle of the branches is the only sound Obito can hear. 

With a snort, Obito turns, sets his tea aside, and drops back, claiming Kakashi’s lap as a pillow without hesitation. “So where’s the nearest strip joint?” he asks, raising a challenging eyebrow at Kakashi. “I don’t want to get out of practice.”

Kakashi’s eyes crinkle, even though he hides his smile behind his mug. “I reserve the right to tell my friends that I ran off to the city and married a stripper before you go back to work,” he says. “But after that you’re welcome to drive two hours to the nearest place every night if you want.”

Obito pulls a face, and he’s still not used to actually having to drive himself everywhere. Buses are a hell of a lot more convenient. “No thanks,” he says dryly. “I think I’ll banish my four-inch heels to the back of the closet and take up housewifery.”

Kakashi doesn’t laugh, though. For a moment he stares down at Obito, then slowly, carefully curls his fingers into his short hair and strokes gently. “You know,” he says quietly, “I didn’t bring you out here because I wanted to force you to change.”

Something in Obito’s chest twists, and he snorts, closing his eyes. He knows that. But—Kakashi’s one of the only people he’s ever met that he wants to change for. 

“You seem to have the wrong idea about me ever making even a passing attempt and making your life easier,” he tells Kakashi. “I would never.”

A startled pause, and then Kakashi chuckles, leans down. Obito tips his head to meet him, and the kiss is slow, deep. It makes heat melt down Obito’s spine, a slow slide that settles in his gut, and when he opens his eyes Kakashi is looking down at him, grey eyes almost black in the low light. 

“So,” Kakashi says, and it’s gratifying that his voice is just a little rough. “I have this fantasy of defiling every inch of my childhood home with a hot stripper. Know anyone who might be interested in helping with that?”

“I thought you were tired from a hard day of manual labor,” Obito drawls. He eyes Kakashi for a moment, then smirks. “But if you’re not, you know, I haven’t put those boots away yet. Or those shorts you like so much.”

“Mm.” Kakashi makes a show of considering it, and then offers airily, “I suppose I could be convinced.”

“Could you now,” Obito says, dust-dry, and sits up. “Go get the sheets on the bed, then. I’m not having sex on a bare mattress.”

Kakashi heaves a put-upon sigh, but rises to his feet, leans in for one more quick, heated kiss, and says, “Fine, but then I want the feather boa, too.”

“Deal,” Obito allows, and watches him saunter into the house, putting a deliberate sway in his walk. It makes him snort, and he stays where he is for a moment, watching the lights come on inside. Then, with a breath, he rises to his feet and looks out into the darkness. 

There’s only a thin sliver of moon in the sky, and he can see the pale edge of the galaxy cutting above them in a thick swath of stars. Out in the grass, nothing moves but the wind, and behind them the forest stretches on for miles until it reaches the edge of the distant mountains. There’s nothing and no one, and the world feels heavy, hungry, vast. 

Raising one fingertip, Obito draws a sharp line down through the air, and bloody-black light follows. Deliberately, like a dare to the dark, Obito sketches the sigil into existence, then steps back and stares at it as it hangs there. He can feel the edges of Hell bleeding through, the dark, thrumming power that seeps into each line, and it makes him smile, just a little. Thin and dangerous, edged with teeth, and his shadow cast by the burning sigil flickers. For an instant it distorts, sending an image of black feathers scattering across the porch and the grass beyond, and—

Sharp, sudden, Obito clenches one hand into a fist. Instantly, the sigil winks out of view, even though Obito can feel it still present, eager and ready to snap up any intruders. 

It’s quick work, but more than good enough to deal with a few humans, Obito thinks. He passes his hand over the space it occupies, making sure Kakashi won’t notice, and then heads inside to find his heels and his husband, in that order.