#brick column base

[satan-ryoasuka]

Patio - Traditional Patio Large traditional backyard stone patio kitchen idea with a gazebo for the patio

[merakiblr]

Backyard Porch Raleigh

Mid-sized classic brick back porch idea with a roof extension

[markwickens]

Dallas Outdoor Kitchen Outdoor Kitchen

Large traditional backyard stone patio kitchen idea with a gazebo for the patio

[seideansidhe]

Traditional Patio Houston Inspiration for a small timeless backyard concrete patio remodel with a fire pit and a pergola

[jessicaschein]

Fiberboard Exterior in Cincinnati

Mid-sized craftsman beige two-story concrete fiberboard exterior home idea with a shingle roof

[meusmelhoresbeijos]

Backyard - Deck Image of a medium-sized elegant backyard deck

[peachhtea]

Charleston Pool Lap ideas for a sizable coastal backyard renovation with a rectangular lap hot tub

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Pen Ink & Motor Oil

Blurb: Eddie has worked as a mechanic in Tucker’s busy garage for the past three and a half years and you have recently joined as the cute receptionist at the front desk. Based on this nonnie’s request!

Pairing: Mechanic!Eddie x Receptionist!Reader

Warnings: Eddie is in his late 20’s, reader is in her early 20’s, swearing, pet names, smoking (cigarettes) , reader referred to as girl, Eddie has a filthy mouth and the reader likes it. Sexual tension, dom!Eddie, sloppy kisses, fingering, choking, public intimacy, 18+

-

“Would you like a cup of tea? Maybe some coffee?” Your hands rub together furiously, hoping the friction will heat the delicate surface of your skin. This morning played out like it always did between you and Eddie— you would advert your eyes away from his intense gaze and he would toy with the colour on your cheeks like a puppeteer.

“I’ll take a bottle of Pepsi if there’s one in the fridge? Please.” You couldn’t understand his willingness to drink such icy cold liquid when the mornings were already becoming so chilly. Especially in the garage, the freezing cement of the floor and the bare brick of the walls made heat easily escapable.

“You’re crazy,�� Laughing you reach down into the small refrigerator behind your desk, plucking out a glass bottle filled with the sugary brown beverage and handing it to Eddie. He lets out what can only be described as a moan as he eyes the bottle in his hand with such admiration, his strong fingers twisting off the bottle cap with ease.

“Thanks, Cutie.” The metal head winks at you, his words leave his mouth with such charisma and fluidity that it makes your tired head buzz with excitement.

After a moment of ridiculous pause you finally clock back into reality, “That’s a cool party trick,” gesturing toward the bottle in Eddie’s manly hands he offers you a hum, smiling politely at you like he always does, “Doesn’t it hurt your hand?”

“Not really— I bet you could do it, if you tried.” He shrugs, his gigantic hand comes to clasp one of his breasts through the tarnished white fabric of his tank top, something you have recently realised he does a lot out of comfort and you can’t help the twitch of your fingertips as you long for the warmth of his soft inked skin against yours.

“Is there a lot booked in for today?” He leaves the bottle on the worktop, his creased boots scrape against the dusty floor as he inches toward your standing frame confidently. He peers over your shoulder, his strong nose is almost tickling the shell of your ear as he tries to read the schedule you had written up the shift before and your breath becomes trapped in the length of your throat at his close proximity.

Your thoughts are a scrambled mess as your nostrils fill with the brunettes intoxicating scent; subtle laundry detergent that smells like winter and clean linen, a fresh, almost minty, shampoo that radiates from his soft hair as it brushes your cheek and the smallest hint of cigarette smoke.

In your daze you blindly hadn’t acknowledged the fact that Eddie was basically bending you over the front desk. Your elbows were propped on the hard acrylic material, your ass perked up into the air and Eddie’s hulking frame was braced over you from behind, “Uhm…” You scream inwardly at yourself and your inability to form any sort of coherent sentence and thought.

“Uhm?” Eddie mocks, his voice deep and hushed. He lets out a small throaty laugh as his fingers dance over the neatly written page laid on the counter in front of you, “Can’t you read your own handwriting, Love?” Another sweet nickname that causes your legs to weaken.

He taps his fingertip on to the column that reads ‘Monday’ at the top of the grid and you can feel his wide grin against the back of your head, “Plenty of time for fun today.” Eddie purrs like a cat in your ear and your body involuntarily shivers at his breath against your neck.

“I’ll come check up on you in an hour or so, yeah? I think the first customer of the day will be arriving soon and I don’t wanna fuck this up.” It takes Eddie every ounce of self control he has to collar himself and retreat to the back of the garage where he can try and meet his deadline for the day. But in complete honesty, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

His chocolate button eyes constantly flicking from the internal organs of a car to the swinging door that separates you from him. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he had developed quite a fondness for you— a little crush, perhaps. You were the nicest girl Tucker had ever hired; above qualified and the most beautiful. You might’ve been the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Gorgeous smile, kind eyes and not to mention a smokin’ bod. You always had this incomparable aroma lingering around you— a perfume he had never smelt before. It was addicting. You were addicting.

Two hours had passed now and Eddie was getting restless. He had already repaired what was needed to the engine and the customer was scheduled to be here any second— he just wanted to chat with you again, to make you laugh and see your skin flush with each of his not-so-discreet compliments. He loved spending time with you. You were the reason he looked forward to coming into work each day.

“Hey, Eddie?” Your gentle voice sings through the room as you poke your head through the door into his space and Eddie bounces to his feet a little too eagerly, his hands toying with an old oil covered rag.

“Yeah? You okay?” His body is reacting before his brain can protest and he is springing over to meet you by the door like an excited puppy. A smile grows on his face with every step closer he gets to you and he watches you shift in your shiny heels with anticipation.

“I’m okay!” You confirm, the palm of your hand resting on the large door which allows a gust of fresh hair to meet Eddie’s now dirtied up face, “The customer is here to check out their car— would you like to come and speak with them before they sign anything?”

“Should be all good to go, Princess.” Eddie winks at you and his heart flutters boldly at the sight of your rosy cheeks. He could never get enough of you— he could stare at you forever, “Hey, after this guy leaves… you wanna come and grab some lunch with me? I usually go to this little place down the street. They have pretty decent sandwiches and stuff.” His hands come to find his hair as he ties it up into a low bun and a sly smirk finds his lips as he watches you watching him, “It’ll be my treat?” Clocking your silence he presses you further for an answer and you nod your head like a startled deer, your lips slightly pouted and parted in embarrassment.

“I would like that!” You squeak, your hands fumbling with your white dress shirt as you try to flatten out the new wrinkles, “So… I’ll go and ring this guy up. And… and I’ll meet you out front?” You gulp loudly, wincing at the sheer volume of it and Eddie grins at you evidently amused.

“Sounds great. Just gotta scrub my hands and I’ll see you out there, Pretty girl.”

Eddie watches as you disappear from his view, he even strains his neck to try and catch a final glimpse of your ass as he desperately fights to calm his raging heart.

He feels all giddy on the inside. Soft and gooey like a chocolate brownie; only you have been able to make him feel that way. Eddie had a few notches in his belt, he slept his way through high school with chicks who kept him a secret but you… you knew you would flaunt him like he was a rare jewel. The last 7 months of your employment made you realise how drawn you were to the metal head. Eddie was precious to you.

And today… today you were going to tell him.

-

You skip alongside Eddie, your heels dragging along the pavement. You always wanted to look presentable and professional for the business, but these heels were killing your feet.

“You alright there, Love?” Eddie chuckles, his eyes flicking between your arched feet and your pain stricken face.

“Hmm? Oh! Yeah— I’m fine! These shoes are just kicking my ass.” You stop for a moment, sighing a quick breath of relief as the pressure eases from your feet and Eddie comes to stand in front of you. His lips curve upward into a grin and his eyes glitch with mischief.

“I can carry you? And you can take the shoes off?” You watch the muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his meaty chest and your jaw loosens on its hinges for a moment.

He wanted to carry you?

“Don’t be silly! I can muscle through this! Women have been doing this for centuries.” You snort a laugh, attempting to walk by his massive physique but Eddie’s large hand takes a hold of yours and in one swift and fluid like motion he is carrying you in his arms toward the small sandwich shop that is just out of view at the end of the street.

“Eddie!” You squeal, half laughing and half horrified. Your cheeks are set alight as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck tightly, clutching onto him for dear life out of fear of falling.

“Relax, I’m not gonna drop you.” You had never been this close to him before. You could see every freckle on his nose, every stroke of black oil and grease on his cheeks, every sprinkle and burst of light amber in his usually abysmal black eyes. The thickness of his eyelashes and his eyebrows and the pink plumpness of his lips.

You could study him for hours. You could hang a portrait of him in an art gallery— and yet it would pale in comparison to the true thing. Eddie Munson was crafted carefully by Aphrodite herself. He was utter perfection. And you wanted to kiss him so bad.

“Like what you see, Princess?” He smirks at you devilishly, his dark hues shift every few seconds between your gawking expression and the footpath ahead.

“What if I did?” Bold. Even for you, and it was amusing to watch Eddie’s confident mask fumble.

“Then I would have to agree that I also like what I see…” He stops walking, his eyes solely focused on you now and you shift under his gaze— wiggling in Eddie’s buff arms.

“You do?” You can’t help that his confession catches you off guard. You knew Eddie enjoyed your presence, it was evident in the way he would always make excuses to come through to the front and talk to you. Eddie never usually had cause to be at the front desk unless it was to hand a customer their car keys back— but he always found a way to weasel his way through.

‘Have you got a pen I can borrow?’ There was always one tucked behind his ear.

‘Did I leave any tools through here? I’m missing my screwdriver…’ He had plenty to spare.

‘Do you need any help with anything?’ He was hopeless when it came to schedules.

‘Hey, is there any cold ones in the fridge today?’ He knew there was.

‘You got the time, Sweet girl?’ He wore a watch of his own.

He knew how to make you smile and he did it continuously every single day with his perky can-do attitude and his admirable personality. Eddie Munson checked all of your boyfriend boxes. He’s good with his hands, not afraid to get down and dirty, he is scarily strong and stupidly handsome. If it weren’t deemed inappropriate you would worship the ground his work boots walked on.

“Don’t act so surprised— I haven’t been so discreet with what I think of you, Sweetheart.” He was right, but you also couldn’t fully believe him. Eddie Munson thought you were attractive? It made you wanna laugh.

“Y’know… I’m not feeling too hungry anymore,” There’s a glint of desire that shimmers in Eddie’s dark eyes and you match his lustful enthusiasm, “What’d ya say we head back? I wanna… show you something…”

And by ‘show you something’ he meant that he wanted you to see the back of your skull as your eyes roll from the feeling of him pumping inside of you.

“Let’s go… let’s go now!” You don’t care how desperate you sound as Eddie turns on his heels and flees back toward Tucker’s. You are a giggling mess in Eddie’s arms and he chuckles warmly alongside you. You both have at least 10 minutes left of your lunch break as you burst back into the office and the next customer is due soon so this will have to be somewhat quick…

-

You wish you could pinch yourself to ensure you weren’t dreaming but your hands were too busy snaking through the thick fluffy curls of Eddie’s hair. It doesn’t take much effort for his wet tongue to dominate yours in a passionate and needy kiss.

His strong fingertips grip the soft flesh of your hips and his hands are like a powerful vice as he clings to you hungrily, “Can I touch you?” He asks between laboured breaths and you nod with a sweet hum. You can feel the swell of his cock pressing against you and you couldn’t think of anything you want more than to have his hands roaming your body.

“Fuck— you’re so fucking beautiful.” His thumb traces the line of your jaw, settling on your chin where he demands that your eyes meet his, “Wanna fuck you so bad, but I don’t think we have time today, Sweet girl.”

You pout out your bottom lip and Eddie chuckles darkly at the sight, “Think my fingers will do, hmm?” He cocks a brow, his rough finger tips dance up the length of your inner thigh before he is clasping his hand over the mound of your underwear. He sucks in a deep breath at the contact, struggling to control the raging storm of his hormones, “I’ve wanted this for so long, you have no idea.”

“Me too.” You gasp as Eddie’s fingers start rubbing tedious and teasing circles over your clothed clit, eliciting soft breathy moans from you.

“You’re gorgeous and your moans are pretty too— how lucky can a guy get?” You whine and swirl your hips down to meet Eddie’s movements, your body craving more of his touch and the filthy man doesn’t hesitate to slip his fingers past the lace of your panties.

Warm skin touching skin has your mind reeling with sin, “Getting impatient?” Eddie clicks his tongue, his free hand coming to curl around your neck. You welcome the action and your vision shifts as Eddie’s touch tightens on either side of your throat, “Tell me how good it feels, Baby.”

He punctuates his words by thrusting two of his long slender fingers inside of your aching slick hole and you release a dampened moan as your eyes flutter closed in ecstasy.

“Feels so good…” Your voice is a quiet whimper and Eddie shakes his head disapprovingly, his fingers curling inside of you and thrusting quicker and harder.

“Couldn’t hear you, Love…” His lips pepper kisses along your face until his mouth rests at the curve of your ear, “Speak up, Pretty girl.”

You feel as though you could cry at how good the tattooed brunette was making you feel. You hadn’t experienced anything quite like it before; all of this praise, the choking and the dominance. It felt good to let everything go— to give yourself to him.

“So good, Eddie! Feels so so good!” You’re a babbling, moaning mess beneath Eddie’s touch but you are beyond the point of caring as your euphoric release rushes toward you. Each skilled pump of Eddie’s decorated fingers leaves your walls clenching and your thighs quivering beneath you.

A wolfish growl rumbles deep within Eddie’s throat and he forces his knee between your thighs, leveraging you upright and keeping your back pressed against the brick wall.

“Gonna cum for me, Angel? Gonna cum around my fingers?” His pace quickens, if that were even possible and your eyes roll to the back of your head as your front teeth pierce your bottom lip, gnawing and nibbling at the plump skin like a desperate bunny.

You nod your head, but Eddie isn’t having any of it, “Words!” His fingers grab your face roughly and you open your lips in a pant, moaning greedily.

“Yes! Yes, I’m gonna cum! Please— fuck!” His chocolate eyes look fiercely into yours, dark and domineering; controlling.

Your orgasm shakes your body from the top to the bottom and you let out a noise that can only be described as a erotic scream and in a fit of slight panic Eddie pushes his hand flush against your mouth as you continue to ride out your high on his fingers.

“Shhh… gonna get us caught.” He offers you an egotistic toothy grin and your chest rises and falls with every intense breath you take in through your nose.

Eddie’s eyes flicker to the watch on his wrist, his eyebrows knitting in thought, “Looks like our lunch break is over…” He removes his hand slowly from your reddened and slightly swollen mouth, “Maybe we can continue this later…” a smirk never wavering from his face as he says, “Same time tomorrow, Princess?”

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll

[esteponajabonesecologicos]

Gazebos Patio Example of a large brick patio fountain in the backyard with an arts and crafts theme and a gazebo.

[fauxboy]

Mid-sized elegant backyard brick patio kitchen photo with a gazebo

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Interiors

As a followup to the very popular post on architecture, I decided to add onto it by exploring the interior of each movement and the different design techniques and tastes of each era. This post at be helpful for historical fiction, fantasy or just a long read when you're bored.

Interior Design Terms

Reeding and fluting: Fluting is a technique that consists a continuous pattern of concave grooves in a flat surface across a surface. Reeding is it's opposite.

Embossing: stamping, carving or moulding a symbol to make it stand out on a surface.

Paneling: Panels of carved wood or fabric a fixed to a wall in a continuous pattern.

Gilding: the use of gold to highlight features.

Glazed Tile: Ceramic or porcelain tiles coated with liquid coloured glass or enamel.

Column: A column is a pillar of stone or wood built to support a ceiling. We will see more of columns later on.

Bay Window: The Bay Window is a window projecting outward from a building.

Frescos: A design element of painting images upon wet plaster.

Mosaic: Mosaics are a design element that involves using pieces of coloured glass and fitted them together upon the floor or wall to form images.

Mouldings: ornate strips of carved wood along the top of a wall.

Wainscoting: paneling along the lower portion of a wall.

Chinoiserie: A European take on East Asian art. Usually seen in wallpaper.

Clerestory: A series of eye-level windows.

Sconces: A light fixture supported on a wall.

Niche: A sunken area within a wall.

Monochromatic: Focusing on a single colour within a scheme.

Ceiling rose: A moulding fashioned on the ceiling in the shape of a rose usually supporting a light fixture.

Baluster: the vertical bars of a railing.

Façade: front portion of a building

Lintel: Top of a door or window.

Portico: a covered structure over a door supported by columns

Eaves: the part of the roof overhanging from the building

Skirting: border around lower length of a wall

Ancient Greece

Houses were made of either sun-dried clay bricks or stone which were painted when they dried. Ground floors were decorated with coloured stones and tiles called Mosaics. Upper level floors were made from wood. Homes were furnished with tapestries and furniture, and in grand homes statues and grand altars would be found. Furniture was very skillfully crafted in Ancient Greece, much attention was paid to the carving and decoration of such things. Of course, Ancient Greece is ancient so I won't be going through all the movements but I will talk a little about columns.

Doric: Doric is the oldest of the orders and some argue it is the simplest. The columns of this style are set close together, without bases and carved with concave curves called flutes. The capitals (the top of the column) are plain often built with a curve at the base called an echinus and are topped by a square at the apex called an abacus. The entablature is marked by frieze of vertical channels/triglyphs. In between the channels would be detail of carved marble. The Parthenon in Athens is your best example of Doric architecture.

Ionic: The Ionic style was used for smaller buildings and the interiors. The columns had twin volutes, scroll-like designs on its capital. Between these scrolls, there was a carved curve known as an egg and in this style the entablature is much narrower and the frieze is thick with carvings. The example of Ionic Architecture is the Temple to Athena Nike at the Athens Acropolis.

Corinthian: The Corinthian style has some similarities with the Ionic order, the bases, entablature and columns almost the same but the capital is more ornate its base, column, and entablature, but its capital is far more ornate, commonly carved with depictions of acanthus leaves. The style was more slender than the others on this list, used less for bearing weight but more for decoration. Corinthian style can be found along the top levels of the Colosseum in Rome.

Tuscan: The Tuscan order shares much with the Doric order, but the columns are un-fluted and smooth. The entablature is far simpler, formed without triglyphs or guttae. The columns are capped with round capitals.

Composite: This style is mixed. It features the volutes of the Ionic order and the capitals of the Corinthian order. The volutes are larger in these columns and often more ornate. The column's capital is rather plain. for the capital, with no consistent differences to that above or below the capital.

Ancient Rome

Rome is well known for its outward architectural styles. However the Romans did know how to add that rizz to the interior. Ceilings were either vaulted or made from exploded beams that could be painted. The Romans were big into design. Moasics were a common interior sight, the use of little pieces of coloured glass or stone to create a larger image. Frescoes were used to add colour to the home, depicting mythical figures and beasts and also different textures such as stonework or brick. The Romans loved their furniture. Dining tables were low and the Romans ate on couches. Weaving was a popular pastime so there would be tapestries and wall hangings in the house. Rich households could even afford to import fine rugs from across the Empire. Glass was also a feature in Roman interior but windows were usually not paned as large panes were hard to make. Doors were usually treated with panels that were carved or in lain with bronze.

Ancient Egypt

Egypt was one of the first great civilisations, known for its immense and grand structures. Wealthy Egyptians had grand homes. The walls were painted or plastered usually with bright colours and hues. The Egyptians are cool because they mapped out their buildings in such a way to adhere to astrological movements meaning on special days if the calendar the temple or monuments were in the right place always. The columns of Egyptian where thicker, more bulbous and often had capitals shaped like bundles of papyrus reeds. Woven mats and tapestries were popular decor. Motifs from the river such as palms, papyrus and reeds were popular symbols used.

Ancient Africa

African Architecture is a very mixed bag and more structurally different and impressive than Hollywood would have you believe. Far beyond the common depictions of primitive buildings, the African nations were among the giants of their time in architecture, no style quite the same as the last but just as breathtaking.

Rwandan Architecture: The Rwandans commonly built of hardened clay with thatched roofs of dried grass or reeds. Mats of woven reeds carpeted the floors of royal abodes. These residences folded about a large public area known as a karubanda and were often so large that they became almost like a maze, connecting different chambers/huts of all kinds of uses be they residential or for other purposes.

Ashanti Architecture: The Ashanti style can be found in present day Ghana. The style incorporates walls of plaster formed of mud and designed with bright paint and buildings with a courtyard at the heart, not unlike another examples on this post. The Ashanti also formed their buildings of the favourite method of wattle and daub.

Nubian Architecture: Nubia, in modern day Ethiopia, was home to the Nubians who were one of the world's most impressive architects at the beginning of the architecture world and probably would be more talked about if it weren't for the Egyptians building monuments only up the road. The Nubians were famous for building the speos, tall tower-like spires carved of stone. The Nubians used a variety of materials and skills to build, for example wattle and daub and mudbrick. The Kingdom of Kush, the people who took over the Nubian Empire was a fan of Egyptian works even if they didn't like them very much. The Kushites began building pyramid-like structures such at the sight of Gebel Barkal

Japanese Interiors

Japenese interior design rests upon 7 principles. Kanso (簡素)- Simplicity, Fukinsei (不均整)- Asymmetry, Shizen (自然)- Natural, Shibumi (渋味) – Simple beauty, Yugen (幽玄)- subtle grace, Datsuzoku (脱俗) – freedom from habitual behaviour, Seijaku (静寂)- tranquillity.

Common features of Japanese Interior Design:

Shoji walls: these are the screens you think of when you think of the traditional Japanese homes. They are made of wooden frames, rice paper and used to partition

Tatami: Tatami mats are used within Japanese households to blanket the floors. They were made of rice straw and rush straw, laid down to cushion the floor.

Genkan: The Genkan was a sunken space between the front door and the rest of the house. This area is meant to separate the home from the outside and is where shoes are discarded before entering.

Japanese furniture: often lowest, close to the ground. These include tables and chairs but often tanked are replaced by zabuton, large cushions. Furniture is usually carved of wood in a minimalist design.

Nature: As both the Shinto and Buddhist beliefs are great influences upon architecture, there is a strong presence of nature with the architecture. Wood is used for this reason and natural light is prevalent with in the home. The orientation is meant to reflect the best view of the world.

Islamic World Interior

The Islamic world has one of the most beautiful and impressive interior design styles across the world. Colour and detail are absolute staples in the movement. Windows are usually not paned with glass but covered in ornate lattices known as jali. The jali give ventilation, light and privacy to the home. Islamic Interiors are ornate and colourful, using coloured ceramic tiles. The upper parts of walls and ceilings are usually flat decorated with arabesques (foliate ornamentation), while the lower wall areas were usually tiled. Features such as honeycombed ceilings, horseshoe arches, stalactite-fringed arches and stalactite vaults (Muqarnas) are prevalent among many famous Islamic buildings such as the Alhambra and the Blue Mosque.

Byzantine (330/395–1453 A. D)

The Byzantine Empire or Eastern Roman Empire was where eat met west, leading to a melting pot of different interior designs based on early Christian styles and Persian influences. Mosaics are probably what you think of when you think of the Byzantine Empire. Ivory was also a popular feature in the Interiors, with carved ivory or the use of it in inlay. The use of gold as a decorative feature usually by way of repoussé (decorating metals by hammering in the design from the backside of the metal). Fabrics from Persia, heavily embroidered and intricately woven along with silks from afar a field as China, would also be used to upholster furniture or be used as wall hangings. The Byzantines favoured natural light, usually from the use of copolas.

Indian Interiors

India is of course, the font of all intricate designs. India's history is sectioned into many eras but we will focus on a few to give you an idea of prevalent techniques and tastes.

The Gupta Empire (320 – 650 CE): The Gupta era was a time of stone carving. As impressive as the outside of these buildings are, the Interiors are just as amazing. Gupta era buildings featured many details such as ogee (circular or horseshoe arch), gavaksha/chandrashala (the motif centred these arches), ashlar masonry (built of squared stone blocks) with ceilings of plain, flat slabs of stone.

Delhi Sultanate (1206–1526): Another period of beautifully carved stone. The Delhi sultanate had influence from the Islamic world, with heavy uses of mosaics, brackets, intricate mouldings, columns and and hypostyle halls.

Mughal Empire (1526–1857): Stonework was also important on the Mughal Empire. Intricately carved stonework was seen in the pillars, low relief panels depicting nature images and jalis (marble screens). Stonework was also decorated in a stye known as pietra dura/parchin kari with inscriptions and geometric designs using colored stones to create images. Tilework was also popular during this period. Moasic tiles were cut and fitted together to create larger patters while cuerda seca tiles were coloured tiles outlined with black.

Chinese Interiors

Common features of Chinese Interiors

Use of Colours: Colour in Chinese Interior is usually vibrant and bold. Red and Black are are traditional colours, meant to bring luck, happiness, power, knowledge and stability to the household.

Latticework: Lattices are a staple in Chinese interiors most often seen on shutters, screens, doors of cabinets snf even traditional beds.

Lacquer: Multiple coats of lacquer are applied to furniture or cabinets (now walls) and then carved. The skill is called Diaoqi (雕漆).

Decorative Screens: Screens are used to partition off part of a room. They are usually of carved wood, pained with very intricate murals.

Shrines: Spaces were reserved on the home to honour ancestors, usually consisting of an altar where offerings could be made.

Of course, Chinese Interiors are not all the same through the different eras. While some details and techniques were interchangeable through different dynasties, usually a dynasty had a notable style or deviation. These aren't all the dynasties of course but a few interesting examples.

Song Dynasty (960–1279): The Song Dynasty is known for its stonework. Sculpture was an important part of Song Dynasty interior. It was in this period than brick and stone work became the most used material. The Song Dynasty was also known for its very intricate attention to detail, paintings, and used tiles.

Ming Dynasty(1368–1644): Ceilings were adorned with cloisons usually featuring yellow reed work. The floors would be of flagstones usually of deep tones, mostly black. The Ming Dynasty favoured richly coloured silk hangings, tapestries and furnishings. Furniture was usually carved of darker woods, arrayed in a certain way to bring peace to the dwelling.

Han Dynasty (206 BC-220 AD): Interior walls were plastered and painted to show important figures and scenes. Lacquer, though it was discovered earlier, came into greater prominence with better skill in this era.

Tang Dynasty (618–907) : The colour palette is restrained, reserved. But the Tang dynasty is not without it's beauty. Earthenware reached it's peak in this era, many homes would display fine examples as well. The Tang dynasty is famous for its upturned eaves, the ceilings supported by timber columns mounted with metal or stone bases. Glazed tiles were popular in this era, either a fixed to the roof or decorating a screen wall.

Romanesque (6th -11th century/12th)

Romanesque Architecture is a span between the end of Roman Empire to the Gothic style. Taking inspiration from the Roman and Byzantine Empires, the Romanesque period incorporates many of the styles. The most common details are carved floral and foliage symbols with the stonework of the Romanesque buildings. Cable mouldings or twisted rope-like carvings would have framed doorways. As per the name, Romansque Interiors relied heavily on its love and admiration for Rome. The Romanesque style uses geometric shapes as statements using curves, circles snf arches. The colours would be clean and warm, focusing on minimal ornamentation.

Gothic Architecture (12th Century - 16th Century)

The Gothic style is what you think of when you think of old European cathedrals and probably one of the beautiful of the styles on this list and one of most recognisable. The Gothic style is a dramatic, opposing sight and one of the easiest to describe. Decoration in this era became more ornate, stonework began to sport carving and modelling in a way it did not before. The ceilings moved away from barreled vaults to quadripartite and sexpartite vaulting. Columns slimmed as other supportive structures were invented. Intricate stained glass windows began their popularity here. In Gothic structures, everything is very symmetrical and even.

Mediaeval (500 AD to 1500)

Interiors of mediaeval homes are not quite as drab as Hollywood likes to make out. Building materials may be hidden by plaster in rich homes, sometimes even painted. Floors were either dirt strewn with rushes or flagstones in larger homes. Stonework was popular, especially around fireplaces. Grand homes would be decorated with intricate woodwork, carved heraldic beasts and wall hangings of fine fabrics.

Renaissance (late 1300s-1600s)

The Renaissance was a period of great artistry and splendor. The revival of old styles injected symmetry and colour into the homes. Frescoes were back. Painted mouldings adorned the ceilings and walls. Furniture became more ornate, fixed with luxurious upholstery and fine carvings. Caryatids (pillars in the shape of women), grotesques, Roman and Greek images were used to spruce up the place. Floors began to become more intricate, with coloured stone and marble. Modelled stucco, sgraffiti arabesques (made by cutting lines through a layer of plaster or stucco to reveal an underlayer), and fine wall painting were used in brilliant combinations in the early part of the 16th century.

Tudor Interior (1485-1603)

The Tudor period is a starkly unique style within England and very recognisable. Windows were fixed with lattice work, usually casement. Stained glass was also in in this period, usually depicting figures and heraldic beasts. Rooms would be panelled with wood or plastered. Walls would be adorned with tapestries or embroidered hangings. Windows and furniture would be furnished with fine fabrics such as brocade. Floors would typically be of wood, sometimes strewn with rush matting mixed with fresh herbs and flowers to freshen the room.

Baroque (1600 to 1750)

The Baroque period was a time for splendor and for splashing the cash. The interior of a baroque room was usually intricate, usually of a light palette, featuring a very high ceiling heavy with detail. Furniture would choke the room, ornately carved and stitched with very high quality fabrics. The rooms would be full of art not limited to just paintings but also sculptures of marble or bronze, large intricate mirrors, moldings along the walls which may be heavily gilded, chandeliers and detailed paneling.

Victorian (1837-1901)

We think of the interiors of Victorian homes as dowdy and dark but that isn't true. The Victorians favoured tapestries, intricate rugs, decorated wallpaper, exquisitely furniture, and surprisingly, bright colour. Dyes were more widely available to people of all stations and the Victorians did not want for colour. Patterns and details were usually nature inspired, usually floral or vines. Walls could also be painted to mimic a building material such as wood or marble and most likely painted in rich tones. The Victorians were suckers for furniture, preferring them grandly carved with fine fabric usually embroidered or buttoned. And they did not believe in minimalism. If you could fit another piece of furniture in a room, it was going in there. Floors were almost eclusively wood laid with the previously mentioned rugs. But the Victorians did enjoy tiled floors but restricted them to entrances. The Victorians were quite in touch with their green thumbs so expect a lot of flowers and greenery inside. with various elaborately decorated patterned rugs. And remember, the Victorians loved to display as much wealth as they could. Every shelf, cabinet, case and ledge would be chocked full of ornaments and antiques.

Edwardian/The Gilded Age/Belle Epoque (1880s-1914)

This period (I've lumped them together for simplicity) began to move away from the deep tones and ornate patterns of the Victorian period. Colour became more neutral. Nature still had a place in design. Stained glass began to become popular, especially on lampshades and light fixtures. Embossing started to gain popularity and tile work began to expand from the entrance halls to other parts of the house. Furniture began to move away from dark wood, some families favouring breathable woods like wicker. The rooms would be less cluttered.

Art Deco (1920s-1930s)

The 1920s was a time of buzz and change. Gone were the refined tastes of the pre-war era and now the wow factor was in. Walls were smoother, buildings were sharper and more jagged, doorways and windows were decorated with reeding and fluting. Pastels were in, as was the heavy use of black and white, along with gold. Mirrors and glass were in, injecting light into rooms. Gold, silver, steel and chrome were used in furnishings and decor. Geometric shapes were a favourite design choice. Again, high quality and bold fabrics were used such as animal skins or colourful velvet. It was all a rejection of the Art Noveau movement, away from nature focusing on the man made.

Modernism (1930 - 1965)

Modernism came after the Art Deco movement. Fuss and feathers were out the door and now, practicality was in. Materials used are shown as they are, wood is not painted, metal is not coated. Bright colours were acceptable but neutral palettes were favoured. Interiors were open and favoured large windows. Furniture was practical, for use rather than the ornamentation, featuring plain details of any and geometric shapes. Away from Art Deco, everything is straight, linear and streamlined.

[upinteriors]

Casa Vargem Grande by Juliana Ayako and Zebulun Arquitetura

Casa Vargem Grande deals with topography through the creation of a continuous spatiality that unfolds over the slope of the land.

The house is divided into 5 staggered slabs connected by a continuous and open staircase-corridor that guarantees the maintenance of the view that crosses the land from the front to the back, where there is the condominium's forest reserve. The views vary along the percouse throughout the staggering slabs, unfolding at times towards the base of the valley, at times towards the reserve, and at times towards the peak of the mountains.

The module of the BTC brick and the slope of the terrain determined the size of the slabs and the difference in elevation between them. In this way, the project was measured through rows and blocks instead of centimeters and meters.

The lateral facades are blind and structural in BTC brick - with the exception of a small window - creating an axis that connects the reserve at the back of the house to the valley located in front. These plans guarantee the creation of an interior courtyard which the house faces, closing off the dense context on its sides.

To generate the feeling of a single-story staggered house, a lightweight metal roof rests on the structural BTC walls of the side facades and the round metal pillars of the front and back facades. This continuous roof makes an inflection in the height of the third slab, opening the view towards the top of the valley and creating a mezzanine.

The direct dialogue between the house and the topography and the use of concrete and BTC blocks reflect the weight of the work. The building is placed on the ground, rests on it and ensures that all bedrooms, living room and kitchen have access to the patio and external areas. At the bottom of each slab, the construction touches the ground where the continuous beams-columns meet. Its front, always elevated, guarantees the downward flow of water, avoids major cuts in the land and allows the passage of some small animals that move between the houses.

Design: Juliana Ayako, Zebulun Arquitetura Location: Teresópolis, State of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil Year: 2023 Photography: Federico Cairoli

[noxturnalnymph]

The Devil's Wife

Devil!Joel x Witch!OFC (7.1k) DARKAU! Joel Miller where he is the literal Devil, and the OFC is a witch named LUNA with moderate physical description. 

Summary: OFC is a witch who is a member of an elite coven who take their relationship with their Dark Lord quite seriously. This upper echelon of witches practice the darkest of magic and initiation to their circle involves a wedding ceremony that has them pledging their lives and bodies in unholy union to Lucifer himself. What happens when one of his brides (ofc) calls upon her betrothed for help one Halloween night? Will the Devil rise to save her? And what will be the cost of his rescue?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Satanic worship, witchcraft, SEX, satanic panic seduction, coercion, DubCon, monsters of the blood-drinking variety, talk of blood, violence, and death.

A/N: Entirely based on a dream I had last year but never got around to writing it. Is it Joel Miller, or is it just Pedro in a black suit? I don't know, who cares? Just enjoy it (or don't). Happy Halloween!!

The clouds part just as she steps out into the chilly October air, showcasing the sliver of the waning crescent moon hanging precariously in the sky. A breeze gusts down the alley, scraping leaves along the pavement and blowing her skirt tightly against her ankles. She pulls her maroon cloak over her head and forces herself against the wind, heading towards the warm glow of the sidewalk streetlamp.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home, Luna?” a tender voice calls from behind her.

She turns towards the voice, her friend and fellow witch Jadis following her out of their coven’s late-night gathering. The shorter witch’s honey-colored eyes probe as she tucks her lower lip between her teeth. Her rich, dark skin blends completely with the alley but begins to look like melted chocolate as the orange glow of the street crosses her rounded face. Jadis draws her cloak tight around her middle, mumbling about the cold and the hour of the meeting’s conclusion.

“You live in the opposite direction than I do,” Luna says, forcing a smile on her cheeks against the numbing chill of the wind, whipping violently now that they’re out in the open.

“I just worry about you walking all that way alone-”

“It’s Halloween, my friend,” she interrupts. “The streets are full of revelers.”

“But it’s 3am!” her friend counters.

“Then the streets will be full of drunks,” she says, clapping her hands together and silencing any further refutation from her worrisome cohort. “I shall be perfectly fine, just as I always am.”

They part ways with a hug and the lone witch cinches her hood tighter, marching down the street against the wind with her head held high. She makes it to the edge of the cemetery, humming a tune in harmony with the whistling wind, before she starts to have regrets about her late-night walk. It’s not the temperature of the biting air, the tedious walk through the village to her little part of the woods, or the spookiness of the creeping fog rolling through the wrought-iron gate that runs alongside the stiff gravestones. It’s partly the snickering she keeps hearing popping up behind her - potentially drunk frat boys about to play games with the wrong witch, but mostly the wet shoe she’s currently plodding on - having just stepped ankle-deep into a freezing puddle formed between the broken sidewalk stones.

“Girl,” she hears them whisper for the tenth time. 

She looks ahead of her just in time to see a large dark figure curl around the tall brick column that marks the entrance gate of the cemetery. Great, she thinks, they got brave enough to come out and play. She stealthily moves her hand to her inner pocket, grabbing hold of a small vial of a special brew she concocted for situations such as this. She sees his pale painted face contort into a nefarious grin, the dim lights dotting the street glinting off his elongated canines. Another Twilight fan, she groans, rolling her eyes in the shadow of her cloak.

“Little red riding hood,” the fiend croons, stepping out onto the sidewalk. 

She hears the scraping footsteps of at least two of his friends closing in behind her.

“Sorry Sparkles, I’ve got a date with the big bad wolf,” she mutters, attempting to step around him.

His cold hand reaches out faster than she expected, grabbing onto her arm. Cursing, she tries to pull her arm free from his grip but hears his nails ripping against the fabric of her cloak. What kind of claws did this guy put on tonight? She thinks he must be sobering up from whatever party he skulked out of, because his hold remains firm and he yanks her back to face him. She hears the scuffling come to a halt behind her, as his companions resume their snickering laughter.

“Don’t be rude,” he draws each word out purposefully.

A thought occurs to her that bruising her arm with his grip might actually be what is considered rude, but she doesn’t bother to voice it. Mortals can be so irksome when they’ve imbibed enough alcohol to embolden their twisted desires and put action to troubling behaviors. Pulling it out of her cloak, she lifts her unrestrained arm high, the small vial clutched tight in her hand, and drops it to the ground swiftly.

It breaks open with a soft tinkle, dark smoke rising from the cobbled stones, obscuring her surroundings and sending her would-be attackers into a coughing fit. She feels his hold loosen as she slips her arm away, stepping aside and darting into the cemetery gate beyond, leaving them behind to suffer her spell. She manages to stifle the laugh that bubbles up inside her and slinks along the pathway in the ancient resting place, ducking under old tree boughs and over wet blades of overgrown grass.

A short while later she finds herself nearing the back edge of the cemetery, the western woods looming just beyond. She would have preferred to take the worn pathways into the forest - her forest - to trek back to her cozy cottage home, but those bothersome boys have changed her plans. No matter, this way will be faster, she’ll just have to deal with cleaning the mud off her shoes and clothes when she gets home. She reaches to unlatch the creaking gate at the back fence, its lock long since broken, when freezing cold fingers lace over her bare arm.

“Not so fast, little witch,” he hisses.

She gasps a breath that doesn’t fill her lungs. How did he escape the effects of her potion? The tall, pale-faced man stands before her once again. She looks down at his hand, ghostly white against her skin, darkened veins showing even in the low light, and long dirty nails sharpened to a dangerous point. It doesn’t really look like a costume now that she’s up close. She drags her eyes to his face, noting the dark hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes. His coal-black eyes. His dark red mouth twists into a smile once again and she is beginning to think his sharp incisors aren’t part of a costume either.

“Monster,” she spits. “Unhand me.”

She spins out of the way just as one of the others snaps his jaws next to her ear, missing his target. With her arm still ensnared she is unable to move very far, and collides into the chest of the third, a rotten scent wafting off him hitting her nostrils as she stumbles towards the ground. Out of the clutches of the creature once again, she scuttles back, cornering herself against an old sunken grave with a broken headstone.

She reaches her left hand out in front of her, palm facing them, momentarily halting their movements. The plain band on her fourth finger glints off the moonlight, catching her attention. It gives her an idea.

“You bloodsuckers don’t know who you’re messing with, do you?” she hums, cracking a sideways smile.

The two giggling figures skip around her in circles as the towering demon lowers his face to meet hers, a wet smirk curving his face into a twisted visage.

“Why don’t you enlighten us,” he replies.

“My husband is-” 

Her next words are replaced by a piercing shriek, as the fangs of one of the beasts connect with the left side of her neck. She feels his sharp teeth ripping through her delicate skin and the pain burns across her in a fiery wave. Before she can fight him off, the grinning ghoul in front of her grabs her arm yet again, the left one with the simple golden ring, sinking his greedy maw into her wrist. Sharp pain shoots up her arm and her lungs empty on a scream. She sucks in air to cry out again but a filthy hand is clamped over her mouth first, muting the wail she attempts when the third monster’s teeth pierce the flesh of her other arm just above her elbow.

She lies on her back on the ground, the pain searing through her quickly giving way to a numbness washing across her skin. With the cool soothing of the pain comes a stilling calm, altogether paralyzing her from fighting back or even wanting to. The grimy hand slides from her lips as her mouth fails to make any additional sounds. My husband, she mouths the words. Her eyes drift to her left hand, her wedding ring just beyond the monster’s head still reflecting light, even as blood drips from her wrist across her fingers. 

He’s going to kill you, she thinks, unable to even form words now.

The cemetery has turned dark and she slowly realizes that she must have closed her eyes. She can still hear the wind whipping through the trees, creaking branches and blowing dried leaves against the fence nearby. There are no other noises among the silent tombs other than the sloppy slurping noises of the three vampires who are draining her body. 

She sees a dim light in the distance, like a flickering candle. No, she thinks, it can’t be a candle because her eyes are closed. She watches the candle getting closer to her, or maybe she’s getting closer to it. The bright orange glow from the candle becomes clearer as it nears, until finally she sees it right in front of her.

It’s a solitary tapered black candle, gently burning as wax drips slowly along its side. It’s just like the candle she lit at her initiation ceremony, she thinks. The coven of witches she belongs to is elite and extremely difficult to join. Her aunt had extended the invite when she showed rare magical aptitude as a teenager. Only second daughters can join, as the condition of induction was to pledge your body, mind, and life in unholy matrimony to the Dark Lord Lucifer himself. She was honored to be chosen and after many years of apprenticeship, she lit the black candle on a full moon a little over a year ago. It was identical to the candle she is looking at now, the candle she lit at her wedding to the Devil.

The flame before her suddenly gutters and goes out, leaving her in complete darkness.

***

She feels it before she senses anything else, the warmth spreading across her face, radiating out from her lips. Her cheeks burn against the freezing wind and her hair, no longer bound by her cloak, tickles wispy tendrils across her forehead. Long moments pass as the warmth spreads and finally she opens her eyes, suddenly swallowing a scream. Except she can’t scream. There is a man pressing his lips to hers.

She is being kissed by a stranger. 

A man with deep espresso eyes meets her gaze, dark curly hair falling over his forehead. He pulls back from her, his facial hair tickling her lip as his mouth curls into a shy smile.

“Welcome back” his voice, thick as syrup, coats her consciousness.

“I-,” she starts, realizing that the warmth is now spreading down her chest, across her stomach, and flowing into her arms and legs. “Did I-”

“Die?” he finishes quietly. “Yeah.”

Her eyes widen, the sharp teeth of the creatures coming back to the forefront of her mind. She looks around frantically, suddenly worried they might return to rip into her flesh and drain her dry.

“They’re gone,” he answers the question she didn’t ask.

He rises up onto his feet, and she sees he’s dressed in all black. He wears pressed black trousers and shiny dress shoes that somehow don’t have a speck of mud on them. He tugs on his black suit jacket, straightening it, and presses his hand over his black shirt and tie, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. This man looks like he just came from a fancy gala, she thinks, not that he was just crouched over her lifeless form in a dirty cemetery.

He reaches his hands out to her and she surprisingly takes them without question, allowing him to help her to her shaky feet. Before she can protest he wraps an arm around her waist and although part of her wants to object she knows that she wouldn’t be able to remain standing if he hadn’t done so.

“Let me walk you home,” he says softly, guiding her to the back gate and basically carrying her along the neglected path into the woods.

She doesn’t speak, although her mind is racing a mile a minute. Did she really die? She remembers being attacked by the vampires and not being able to fight them off but she doesn’t remember what happened after that. She weakly raises her left hand up, inspecting her wrist and seeing nothing but unblemished skin absent of any marks including any dried blood that should be there, remembering how it ran in rivulets from the monster’s wet lips. She brings her fingers to her neck, brushing them over smooth skin there as well. It would seem that her bite wounds have somehow been healed and she has been cleaned of any and all evidence of her attack.

Who in the world is this man, she wonders. Maybe the vampires left and he luckily showed up just in time, perhaps reviving her somehow. He certainly doesn’t look like someone who just fought off three bloodsucking beasts and how could he anyways, without being attacked himself? It isn’t until they reach the clearing in the woods where her small cottage sits, a lantern on the porch giving off a warm glow, that she realizes she never told him where she lived.

She pulls away, feeling a bit stronger now, and wanting to distance herself from the seemingly kind but rather unusual man who has inexplicably returned her to her secluded abode. Wait, was that mouth-to-mouth or was he kissing her when she was dead? She gives him a sideways glance and plasters the most polite smile she can manage onto her face. Smoothing strands of her tousled hair away from her face, she turns to him and her eyes widen as the man in black reaches forward and plucks a leaf out of her hair. He drops it, letting the wind carry it away as he smiles sweetly at her, looking harmless as a lamb.

“Thank you for-,” 

“What is your name?” he interrupts.

“Oh-, I-, Luna,” she stammers, caught off guard by his inquiry.

“Luna,” he repeats, drawing her name out as he wraps his lips around the vowels.

“Yes, and thank you for-” she attempts again, trailing off as he slowly steps around her, continuing to walk towards her porch. “-for helping me, I guess,” she finishes, turning to follow him while wondering what she’s really thanking him for. Did he save her? “I don’t know how to repay you,” she speaks to his back as he climbs up the steps, “but I’m thankful for your assistance.”

“Do you live out here all alone?” he asks, ignoring the gratitude she’s attempting.

“That’s-,” none of your business, she thinks. She doesn’t want to be rude so instead she says, “this cottage has been in my family for generations.”

It’s not a lie. She is - in fact - the only member of her family living in the one-bedroom dwelling right now but it has been lived in by members of her family for over two hundred years.

“It’s not safe for a young girl to be out here alone in the woods,” he says, reaching for the handle and opening the door she knows she locked when she left the house earlier today with no resistance.

She wants to protest that she can take care of herself, which is her usual response when people say things like this, but given what has transpired tonight she bites her tongue. Instead she follows him as he enters her home without invitation, drawn into the main room. She watches as he closely inspects framed photos on the walls, touches the spines of old books on her bookshelf, and toggles the flue of her chimney as he passes the hearth.

She wants to ask him to leave. No, she wants to physically shoo him out of her home. Who does this man think he is and what right does he have to waltz into her home and parade around as if it were his own? She reaches towards the vial in her pocket only to bitterly recall having already used it tonight in her attempt to disable her attackers. 

She follows a way behind him, straightening what he’s poking out of alignment and trying to ignore her growing sense of unease. She looks up at the man in black to find him stopped and standing very close to her. She gasps in a sharp breath as he seems to examine her with a curious stare. A long moment of silence passes as a gentle smile builds on his face. She pushes past the knots forming in her stomach in an awkward attempt to match his gesture.

“You’re married?” he asks.

“What?” Her brows knit, surprised by the query.

“You were mumbling about a husband when I found you,” he explains, pointing to the golden ring on her finger as further evidence.

“Oh, I-,” and she pauses, unsure of how to proceed. 

She turns towards the fireplace, using the hand he motioned towards to push some dust around the thick wooden mantle. She curses herself. She should have said she lived here with her husband when he asked if she was alone but he’s already come to the conclusion she is the solitary occupant of the tiny cottage. But she is wearing a wedding ring and he apparently heard her talking about her husband in the cemetery. She can’t very well explain to this mortal man in black that she’s married to the Devil, he’ll come back with a pitchfork carrying mob. Best case scenario is she winds up in a psych hospital and worst case is that she becomes kindling.

Wait, how did he hear her talking about her husband, she thinks? She only remembers mentioning him to the vampires before the attack and then any words beyond that didn’t seem to leave her mind. 

She whips back around to find him standing even closer now and before she can react he grabs her left hand in his. She opens her mouth to scream but he lifts her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss right over her wedding band. A warmth spreads across her hand and up her arm, jolting her body as images play across her mind.

***

Her body lay bloodless over the damp soil of someone else’s grave. Three greedy ghouls, licking crimson from their craws, eyes glistening with glee. The thrashing wind comes to an eerie still and the man in black materializes in the shadows of a nearby willow. He stalks silently but the creatures see him coming and let out a loud hiss, frantically fleeing at the mere sight of him. The man in black raises his hand, snapping his fingers, and white-hot flames instantly engulf each vampire. He stops to watch them burning, their tormented howls piercing the night, until they are nothing but shadows and ash carried away on the breeze. He moves to his knees at her side, touching the ring on her left hand reverently, before he leans down and places his lips over hers.

***

She takes in a deep breath, her lantern-lit cabin coming back into focus around her, the man in black still bowed slightly in front of her, lips against her hand. He raises his head and his rich brown eyes meet hers once more, only this time she knows exactly who she’s looking at.

“Hello, wife,” he smiles sweetly.

Her eyebrows climb up her forehead as she attempts to pull back her hand from his gentle grip, which tightens in response over her delicate fingers. She’s no longer a stranger to the true nature of the man in black who stands in front of her, having sacrificed her immortal soul to him in order to draw on his supernatural influence to fuel her dark magic. But to have him actually standing in her living room, the raw power radiating off him is enough to make her bones ache, and she finds herself stunned and a bit scared. She continues to try and wriggle out of his crushing grip until he stills her with his words.

“Aren’t you lonely out here all alone?” he questions, his lips still upturned into a saccharine grin.

“No I-, I prefer to be alone,” she stutters.

“Is that why you want me to leave even though I just got here?” his mouth turns to a frown.

“No!” She exclaims. “I don’t want you to leave, I just-”

“I did exactly what you wanted, didn’t I?” He lets go of her as he begins to circle her in the small space. “You wanted me to destroy those monsters who dared to lay a finger on you and I did. And then I fixed you up good as new. Well… almost” he winks at her as he tucks a loose strand of her messy hair behind her ear. 

“Yes, I was-,” she shakes her head, the nerves sending a hot wave up her neck to burn at her cheeks. “Thank you,” she stammers.

“You don’t have to thank me, wife,” he hums. “I always take care of what’s mine.”

“Yours…” she trails off.

“Yes,” he smiles. “You are.” He strokes his fingers against her cheek, so warm against her still-chilled skin. “You were saying something about repayment and I think I’d like to make a request.” His smile is sickly sweet once again, boring deep into her.

“Oh-,” she starts before he grabs both her hands in his, silencing her.

“I think I’d like another kiss.”

Another, she thinks, because their first kiss was when she was… deceased.

“Yes,” he continues as if reading her thoughts. “Our first kiss felt like ‘Snow White and the Prince who woke her from her slumber’. But our story isn’t a fairytale, is it my dear bride?”

“No,” she whispers tentatively.

“No,” he agrees. “Our story is one of dedication,” he places his large, warm hands on her shoulders. “Of adoration,” he continues, pushing down until she sinks to her knees. “Of worship,” she tilts her chin to look up at his dark gaze above her now. “And that deserves a very different kind of kiss, don’t you agree?”

She manages to nod her head slightly as he reaches to unbuckle his belt. Watching as he unzips his trousers and pulls himself out of his pants, she’s not surprised to see how well-endowed he is but is a bit shocked at how stiff he’s already become.

He cups his right hand around her neck, pushing his length towards her face with his other hand. She finds herself pursing her lips together in a kiss only to have him push past them into her empty mouth. Of course she knew what he wanted, not just a kiss, but she’s still feeling a bit disoriented. He makes tentative, shallow thrusts while her hands rest on the front of his thighs before she hears him muttering above her through clenched teeth.

“Come now, wife, I thought you were grateful.”

She reaches to grip him and puts some effort into her ministrations. It’s not that she’s inexperienced but it has been a while since she was with a man, since before her wedding ceremony certainly. When she pledged her body to the Dark Lord, she certainly wasn’t envisioning having to perform an act such as this. However, she figures the best course of action is to not just let him take what he wants, but to give him an unforgettable experience. It's in her best interest to show him how appreciative she really is of his rescue.

She pulls her head back, swirling her tongue over his tip, while pumping him firmly with one hand. When she hears him moan in response and grab her hair in his fist, she knows she’s on the right track. She flattens her tongue along her bottom teeth and lets him guide her head up and down, taking him deeper with each pass until she begins to make choked gagging noises.

He lets go and she pants, wiping away the drool that now streaks her chin and hears him chuckle above her at the sound of her gasping breaths. Before she can stop herself, she scratches her nails down his thighs, probably harder than she should have given the fact that he’s the Prince of Darkness. A hissing intake of breath is followed by a deep, rumbling laugh that seems to reverberate off the walls of the small cabin and vibrate deep in her chest, and then his hand is back in her hair in a rough, twisting tug.

He shoves himself past her lips in one go this time, hitting the back of her throat with a gurgle and this time she lets him use her mouth like a toy, grabbing at his ass and holding on tightly. This goes on for several agonizing minutes, him allowing her to gulp in much-needed air in between the rough, dominating ramming of his pelvis into her chin. Finally she hears him cry out just as he pulls away, immediately grabbing himself tightly at the base of his shaft and shaking his head.

“Oh, that was close,” he says breathlessly, laughing without humor. “That lovely mouth of yours is so decadent, wife, that I almost lost control.”

Good, she thinks, and she can’t stop the smug smile that creeps across her face.

“Proud of yourself my little witch?” He tilts her chin up to meet his eyes, brushing away escaped saliva from her cheek. “Let’s see what happens when you’re the one being so deliciously tormented.”

At this point she has no idea what to expect of him but grabbing her off the floor and throwing her over his shoulders was certainly not something she anticipated, so the surprised wail that escapes her lips is almost inaudible to human ears. She hears him chuckle yet again as they pass through the door concealed as a bookcase to carry her into her bedroom. The man in black walks through this home as if he owns it, she thinks, before she recalls herself bowing before a black altar and offering everything she possesses in service to him. 

Perhaps this house is more his than hers, she recognizes, as she hears him hum in agreement to a thought she didn’t speak out loud. Before she can question his possible reading of her thoughts she’s deposited onto her four-poster bed, with its velvet emerald curtains wrapped around walnut-hued spires, vines carved in swirls around them. Her vision focuses on the man in black before her only to realize that he’s no longer wearing a stitch of clothing. She opens her mouth to speak but her eyes catch on her own body, laid bare in front of him.

“How- ohhh,” her questioning is cut short when he dives forward, spreading her legs and latching his mouth to her core in one fluid movement. 

He drags his tongue up her seam and then closes his lips around her sensitive nub. He begins to pulse his tongue against her and she is unable to stop herself from immediately crying out in pleasure. She’s positive that he knows exactly what he’s doing when in under sixty seconds her back is already bowing off the bed, her nails digging into the sheets, her voice crying out in ecstasy.

He pulls back and gently places kisses on the insides of her thighs, she feels the warm huffing breath of his laughter blowing across her wetness. He gives her a short moment of reprieve before he slowly pushes a gloriously thick finger into her wet heat, moving to swirl his tongue across her overstimulated bundle of nerves. He lets her writhe and wiggle, attempting to move away only until the sensitivity fades and she finds herself grinding her center towards his face for more.

Somehow she has her wits about her enough to grab his hair this time, eliciting a hum of approval from him that she feels vibrate against her. She’s proud to see that she’s able to hold out a bit longer before her orgasm tips her over the edge, but her ego crumbles when instead of stopping he continues his ministrations to bring a third crashing wave of pleasure immediately after the second.

Delicious torment, indeed.

He pulls his face back again, glistening with her arousal and smiles a devilish grin, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes are nearly black. He roams up her body, placing kisses that feel more like bites than smooches, devouring with his eyes what his mouth can’t reach.

“Husband,” she keens, the desperation in her voice unfamiliar to her ears.

The responding growl that escapes his chest seems to shake not only the room but the entire forest around them, vibrating deep into the wood foundation. He grabs her ankles and spreads her legs obscenely wide, notching his thick head at her entrance and sliding it back and forth, coating himself in her wetness. He waits until she’s clawing at his chest, head thrown back and begging him in frenzied babbles, and only then does he finally push himself into the clutch of her.

“My magnificent mate, what an agreeable display of thankfulness you’ve given me today,” he proclaims, setting a fervent pace. “So welcoming to your dark angel, eagerly performing such valued wifely duties for him,” he continues to prattle, more for his sake than her own since all she can manage in response is frenzied moaning. “Perhaps I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you, my wanton little witch.”

He pushes on the back of her legs, driving her knees towards her chest and hitting inside her at a new angle that causes her to scream out in bliss. She wraps her own arms around her legs, holding them tight to her as he mutters words of encouragement and praise. She feels another orgasm building inside her, starting as a tingle at the base of her spine.

He leans forward and spans his large hand across her throat. “Whose pussy is this?” he asks, giving her no time to respond before he’s demanding more answers. “Who’s the only one who gets you down on your knees? Who is the only one who makes you come? Who do you belong to? Who? Who?”

She manages to scratch out a long wail of “you,” beneath the pressure of his hold before she starts to tremble and break apart, coming again in a seizing crest. In a half growl he demands she open her mouth and when she enthusiastically obeys he leans over her and spits, gripping tightly at her neck to feel her strained swallow. Only then does he let himself lose control, grabbing her hips with a bruising grip and pounding away half a dozen more times before he lets loose a roaring release, pumping his warm spend deep inside her.

***

She pads out of the shower, head and body wrapped in warm towels, and comes across her amorous husband perched on the edge of the bed once again dressed in his all-black ensemble. She sees him looking into the nightstand drawer he has opened and before he can reach his hand in to grab what she’s sure is something she’d be rather embarrassed to have to explain, she clears her throat. His hands still but he doesn’t appear surprised by her presence, likely having no qualms about being caught peeping through her unmentionables.

Wordlessly, he shoots her a glare, displaying ire that is no doubt driven by the trove of sex toys he’s just discovered stashed away in her bedside drawer. She shrugs and heads to her dresser, turning her back on him to pull out her pajamas and giving what she hopes is a flippant but playful reply. 

“Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself when I’m alone.”

He says nothing in response but she hears a throaty rumble and notices the flames dance higher for a moment in response. She turns to find him behind her, although she didn’t hear him approach, so close now that she can feel the heat of his body radiating onto her skin. He pulls the towel loose from her hair and caresses the side of her face, tucking some loose strands behind her ear. She bumps backwards against the dresser but stills as he leans forward and places a gentle kiss onto her forehead.

“Are you leaving?” she asks, hating the disappointment she hears evident in her voice.

“I have things to attend to, but worry not darling wife, I will return to you,” he speaks against her forehead and she isn’t sure if the flip her stomach does is from excitement or fear of his promise. “Be careful out here in these woods alone, it’s just not safe,” he echoes his earlier sentiment and she nods her head silently in a placating gesture. 

She shuffles her slippered feet, seeing him to the door and watches him as he walks until his dark form reaches the edge of the glow of the lantern lights and he slips back into the shadows.

***

“I can’t believe it,” Jadis guffaws, having listened to Luna’s entire recalling of the events of Halloween night.

“I swear to you, every word is true,” she lies, having told her friend the truth of the evening almost a fortnight ago up until the moment the man in black pushed her to her knees. Something about how the night ended made the whole encounter feel even more unbelievable, so she twisted the truth a bit to tell a story of a grateful wife ending the night with a chaste kiss instead.

“No, I can’t believe you waited two weeks to tell me about it!” the small witch exclaims loudly, both of them erupting into a fit of laughter, the hysterics sending the small car wobbling in its lane. “Did you tell the coven elders about it?” she wonders, having finally gotten a hold on her laughter and the steering wheel.

“Oh, Gods no,” Luna deflects. “This sort of thing is probably so commonplace, I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m bragging.”

But that was another lie. She knew damn well that if the Morning Star himself had ever appeared before any of the other witches in her coven that entire memoirs would have been written about it, let alone engaged in the manner of acts that he had with her. She felt heat passing across her cheeks as her mind flashed through memories of them together. As for telling the coven, she was never one to brag and she didn’t want to set off any jealousies. 

Technically they were all married to him, each and every one of a long line of witches having given themselves over to him and while it gave them deep and lasting power, he’d never bestowed any personal gifts upon any of them. In nearly two centuries of recorded history of their coven, he had never whispered sweet nothings on the wind, sprouted flowers in a garden on an anniversary, or intervened at all in any of their daily lives.

Even while she practices this internal rationalization with herself she knows that it is also a lie and that the real reason she's kept it secret is that his visit to her had made her feel special. It made her feel like she might really be the powerful witch she’d been told she was while growing up and that even their Dark Lord took unique notice of her. It made her feel cared for, perhaps a feeling intensified by her solitary lifestyle and etched into her mind by his repeated reminders of her being “all alone in the woods”.

She remembers the way his warmth spread across her as he placed his lips over hers and the mischief that danced in his eyes when he stood above her in her living room. A buzzing feeling spreads down her chest and settles deep in her belly as she recalls the way he coaxed pleasure from her over and over again, and his delightful threat to keep a closer eye on her plays on repeat in her mind.

Loud sirens sound behind them, knocking her from her reverie and startling Jadis into quickly pulling over on the side of the road. Two large fire trucks speed by them, blaring horns and flashing lights. Behind them follow several police cars and two smaller fire department trucks. Once the raucous cavalcade passes, Jadis pulls back onto the road and follows along the darkening route out of town.

A short drive later as the car meanders along the winding drive into the woods, the fading sunlight gives way to quite a spectacle ahead of them. The woods ahead seem to be glowing a magnificent orange while red and blue lights flash blindingly against the tree trunks. A heavy fog obscurs the view as bundled figures run from truck to truck, dragging hoses around and shouting muffled orders from behind helmets with face masks.

Not fog… smoke.

Her woods are on fire. Her cottage is on fire. She ignores Jadis’ protests and jumps from the passenger seat of the car before it has even stopped moving, vaulting herself towards her home. Before she can get close she feels large arms wrap around her middle, stopping her forward movement as two firemen approach her with their arms out, trying to calm her down. Eventually she settles and the man holding her, dressed head to toe in firefighter gear, releases his grip around her while keeping one hand gently on her shoulder.

When the blaze is finally extinguished she lets the fireman who has comforted her guide her around the smoldering perimeter of what was her centuries-old home. The inferno had burned hot and quick and she doesn’t recognize anything to be salvageable, save for the cast iron cauldron she sees sitting among the fallen hearthstones. She turns to him in the dark, his face completely hidden behind his mask, and sees only her own image reflected in his visor; trails of tears streak her soot-covered cheeks and strands of hair chaotically twist in the wind, matching the mood of the evening.

She feels more tears stinging at her eyes and lets the broad-shouldered fireman turn her away from the sight of the destruction, tugging her against his smoke-scented jacket and tapping a gentle hand on her back in sympathy. She feels herself break open and let go, sobbing deeply into this stranger’s shoulder for several minutes before she takes deep breaths and slowly collects herself.

A tall, tie-wearing fireman approaches her alongside a shorter man sporting a police uniform and a very thick mustache. She turns to them, sniffling and wiping her tears from her face.

“Is there anywhere we can take you, Miss?” the officer questions with a nasally voice.

“Do you want us to call anyone, your husband maybe?” the warm voice beside her asks.

“Oh, sorry ma’am, I didn’t see the ring,” the officer apologizes. 

“They think the fire may have originated from the nightstand in the bedroom, but the fire investigators are still working,” the tall man speaks in a deep soothing voice while she focuses on the glinting badge pinned to his chest that reads 'Fire Chief'.

“Can we take you back into town?” the officer continues. “Maybe there’s a hotel or somewhere your husband can meet up with you?”

She sniffles, the mention of her husband stinging at her wounded pride. The man in black had been attentive enough to bring her back from the dead but apparently not to stop her home from burning to the ground. Keep a closer eye, my ass, she thinks bitterly. She wants to be upset but a part of her tries to rationalize that she should still be grateful that he intervened at all on that violent Halloween eve. However, tonight’s events have the euphoric high of the last two weeks quickly wearing off, and she feels another jab of hurt that he hasn’t tried to contact her once since he left.

“I can drive you to your Aunt’s house,” a small voice speaks up behind her, and Luna emerges from the fog of her thoughts to realize that Jadis has been here the whole time.

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks as she nods a small thanks, taking her friend’s outstretched hand and letting herself be guided back towards the little car parked down the drive.

“Hey,” she hears a shy voice speak up. 

She turns around to see the familiar broad-shoulders of the fireman who has been her companion for hours. He takes large steps, coming to stand right in front of her in the drive and Jadis continues on to wait in the car, giving them privacy.

“Be careful, okay?” he pleads, and she opens her mouth to tell him she’ll be fine. “It’s not safe for a young girl to be out here alone in the woods,” he finishes, reaching a gloved hand forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She freezes, watching her own eyes go wide in the reflection of his visor. She reaches a hand forward slowly, grabbing the bottom of the mask. When he makes no move to stop her, she flips it up, knocking his helmet off of his head in the process. She knows what she’s expecting to see under the mask, or rather who she is expecting to see. 

What she doesn’t expect is for the entire uniform to collapse in front of her very eyes, landing in a limp pile on the ground at her feet as if nothing but a spectre had inhabited it. With shaking hands she leans down and grabs a small white paper sticking out of the collar of the empty jacket. She flips it over in her trembling fingers, reading it several times. It’s a business card for Joel Miller, a familiar face smiling from a photo on one side of the card. The Devil’s in the Details, Inc., it says, and below that is written ‘Home Building & Realty’, along with a local address and phone number.

On the back of the card is a handwritten note:

I always take care of what’s mine. xx - your loving husband

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Nott Manor looked like something that was built based on a Victorian Era Gothic novel. In fact, it was built during the Victorian Era after demolishing the old home that was wrought with decay and dark magic. The home sat on nearly 35 acres that had been passed through the male lineage and was located right in the middle of Derbyshire, surrounded by thick woods.

The home was all slate gray stone and bricks built into a three story manor that donned pointed rooftops and cylinder shaped columns on either side. The home had been there so long that the earth wanted to gobble it up. Ivy was growing alongside the front of the house and along the edges, almost all the way up to the second story. Age and weather darkened the shingles and along the edges, appearing to be a rather sad little home, even in the middle of a bright and sunny afternoon.

Overall, the home looked quaint, even for a manor that had passed through generations of Notts. But these lands were heavily guarded by dark magic and impenetrable wards. Not even the ministry bothered Theo. They knew what he did for a living, often hiring him themselves. But the history of the Nott family and the danger of entering into their land without Nott’s permission was too dangerous.

And beneath the home was the most wicked slice of property.

It was accessible through the woods that hugged the southside of the property. A cellar door was built into the middle of the woods and inside of this door, were stairs that led them deep underground. The cellars were stone and frigid cold. Moisture dripped from the walls, as if the land itself wept for anyone unfortunate enough to be placed within.

The cellar went deep and consisted of a very large, open room that held several small cells barred off. But each cell allowed a view into the middle of the room where a large, stone slab dais sat. A table for working on prisoners, adorned with leather straps bolted into the rock.

Currently, Cormac McLaggen was huddled into the cell furthest in, huddled against the stone walls and Draco could barely recognize the man. One of his eyes was so badly beaten that it was swollen shut and the skin was tight and black with blood that was trapped beneath the surface. He had a broken nose that appeared to be healed several times before it was beaten again and again. His golden brown hair was tainted red and his clothes were dirty and also covered in blood.

Theo went to town on him, apparently having a field day with him before allowing Draco to have his turn.

The sound of Draco and Theo’s shoes clipping against stone and dirt caused McLaggen to jerk his head up in fear and his back to press further into the corner.

His one good eye was following their every step as they stepped into view.

With his hands in his pockets, Draco tilted his head to appraise the man who fooled the world into believing that he was decent. Into making everyone believe he had coveted Granger only to willingly hand her over to a psychopathy.

The memory of the way Cormac’s hand had gripped on Hermione’s. The way he had tried to lure her with lust in his eyes and evil in his heart...it was enough to make Draco want to kill him now.

And, he could.

He could kill him quickly, with a curse. He could take his time, dismembering him as he cried out for help. He could do it anyway he chose, because nobody would ever know.

Nobody would ever find him. He’d shrink each limb down into little bite sized pieces and then toss them into the fireplace that Theo’s ancestors installed into this room for that very reason.

But, he had to stay focused. He needed Cormac to talk.

“McLaggen,” Draco drawled as he stepped up to the bars. “Enjoying your stay at Nott Manor?” Cormac said nothing, only gulped and lifted his chin in defiance. “You should feel lucky.” Draco gripped onto a bar and slid his hand up, looking around at the tiny cell. “Not many people get invited inside.”

Theo chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned his hip against the raised, stone slab in the middle of the room. Along the wall opposite of the cells were tools meant to cut, cut and inflict the most amount of pain onto the human body. There was no need a wand here, in order to make a man speak. Draco didn’t need the magic that thrummed inside of him as he watched the man cower away as Draco moved to the cell door. Because this man had willingly pursued a woman he never intended on dating. He only had ill intentions and Draco found it hard to feel any remorse for what was about to happen to him as Theo flicked his wrist and allowed the door to spring open.

Cormac pushed himself further into the wall, uselessly kicking his bare feet against the dirty floor. They slid and slid and he went nowhere.

Nowhere, at all as Draco slowly stepped inside of the cell and pinned his cold dead stare onto him.

It was easy to slide back into this colder version of himself. It was where he had to live most of his life, particularly in public. And it wasn’t until his father was arrested and put on trial did Draco allow himself to reach the tips of his finger out for a bit of something good and warm.

It was what allowed him to kiss Granger that day outside of the courtroom.

But remembering the way she had hugged him before he kissed her? The way she had responded to him when he did? It was what allowed him to slip into this terrible person he had dreaded becoming again. Because he would do it if it meant she would remain safe. He would do it if it got him the answers he needed to make sure she stays alive.

“You have been a very naughty wizard, haven’t you, Cormac?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Theo clicked his tongue against his front teeth and wagged his finger at the man, illiciting more fear to grow in his eyes.

Crouching down in front of him, Draco rested his elbows on his knees and peered at him. Cold, murderous eyes met wide, frightened ones and for a moment, Draco said nothing. He simply allowed the fear and anxiety to build and build as he waited for whatever may come.

When Draco inhaled, McLaggen winced. Draco smirked as he spoke. “I’m going to give you one shot, Cormac.” He held up a finger. “Just one.” His eyes refused to release Cormac’s. “To tell me everything I want to know. When you, inevitablly, fail to give me what I want, I will have to force it out of you.”

Theo started to bounce on his heels, Draco could feel the anticipation in his friend from here.

“And there is no need for Veritaserum, here.” Draco waved a hand over his shoulder, gesturing to the wall of tools meant for today’s session. “Because you will, eventually, talk. You will tell me everything I want to know or I wont hand you over to the DMLE. I will not take pity on you. You will remain her, enduring anything Theo wishes to inflict upon you, every day.” He paused and allowed his eyes to roam Cormac’s face, reading the fear and disbelief hidden in his eyes before he finished. “Until your body gives out and your mind has checked out.” He stood and slid his hand back into his pocket. “And then you will die here. Alone.”

He spun on his heels and jerked his head at Theo. “Shall we get started?”

Theo wiggled his eyebrows before rushing past Draco and into the cell.

Cormac started to kick and scream. “No, no. Malfoy!” He was clawing at the floor and the wall as Theo grabbed a foot and began to drag him across the cell floor and toward the stone slab.

Draco turned around to observe the archaic and primitive devices of torture when the sound of bone snapping echoed in the room before Cormac’s howl erupted.

Spinning around, Draco lifted a brow as Theo let go of the man’s foot. It was twisted at an unnatural angle and was already turning black and blue. It was broken, twisted and snapped at the ankle. Draco sighed and lifted something off of the wall.

“Really, Theo?”

Theo rolled his eyes and shrugged before pulling his wand from the holster on his chest and aimed it at the man. Cormac’s body levitated into the air before it landed, clumsily, onto the stone slab. The straps quickly cinched over his ankles and his wrists before they tightened and pinned Cormac’s body to the rock.

“I really felt like he needed a reminder as to who, exactly, we are.”

“You’re fucking Death Eaters!” McLaggen lifted his head and snarled before he descended into a groan of pain as his broken ankle strained against the binds holding him down.

“Actually,” Draco slid the device up to Cormac’s hand and shoved his fingers in. A large metal screwed was attached to two slabs of metal. Once one was to start twisting the screw, the top slab would lower and lower until the fingertips were crushed and rendered useless. “I was the Death Eater.” Draco sniffed and began to twist the screw, watching with intrigue, as the top metal plate began to lower. “Of course, I didn’t want to be one, mind you. But, if you’re going to go around throwing accusations, you may as well get your facts straight.” He huffed when the plate finally met the pads of his fingers. “But, you know, we are not the ones in question here, McLaggen.” He twisted and twisted and Cormac began to growl in pain. His one good eye squeezed shut as his groans turned into screams.

“Yes.” Theo hummed and tilted his head, watching the fingers turn red and then blue as the bones began to break beneath the pressure. “What are you, McLaggen? What kind of prosecutor gives his date a glass of poisoned champagne?”

Draco’s lips pulled back as he bared his teeth, twisting and twisting the screw until skin began to break.

“I didn’t know it was poisoned!”

“Liar!” Draco stepped back and shoved his hair away from his forehead. “I saw Moore help you escape. You have been hounding Granger, practically begging her for a date.”

“Because I fancy her!” Cormac cried. “I’ve fancied her since school, you idiot!”

“Then why did you poison her?” Theo asked, calmly as Draco moved and grabbed a poker off of the wall. With his wand, he lit a fire and held it up to the tip of the prongs.

“I didn’t know it was meant to harm her.” He was panting through the pain, his eye wildly searching for Draco. “It was only supposed to knock her out.”

“Why?” Draco’s eyes glanced from the poker, to Cormac.

“Because I wanted to take her home with me. Moore told me that he would help me win her over.”

Draco snarled and stabbed him in the shoulder with the poker. “Win her over? How on earth would knocking her out win her over? What the hell did you plan on doing with her once you got her home, McLaggen?”

Theo rested his elbow onto Cormac’s chest and tucked his hand under his chin as he grinned down at him. “I think you should take his good eye, Dray.”

“His eye?” Draco frowned and pulled the poker out of his shoulder and held it up so that Cormac could see it. “With this?”

“Yes, he doesn’t need it to speak.” He batted his eyes down at Cormac. “Do you?”

Cormac was panting, gasping for air, his eye rolling around in pain. But he balked at Theo’s voice close to his face. “I wanted to fuck her!” He admitted, causing Theo to suck through his teeth and shake his head.

The heat of anger dissipated, and Draco was struck anew with that frigid cold. it was like death, seeping out from his pores. Death he could deliver to anyone he deemed worthy of it.

“You knew she didn’t want you.” His voice was just as cold. Just as dead.

“You or Weasley don’t deserve her!” Cormac’s angry was suddenly bursting out of him. “Weasley is a useless idiot and you!” He laughed. “You are nothing but the worst kind of trash.”

“And you?” Theo continued to dig his elbow into Cormac’s chest. “You, the mighty prosecutor with big dreams to turn politician? What was your end game? To force Granger into being your wife so that you could run for minister and have all of the support she fought for to be bestowed onto you?”

Draco could see Cormac’s death, now. It would be so fucking easy. And it would feel good. He didn’t want to use the poker. He didn’t want to use a knife or even a wand. He wanted to use his hands.

“She would have made the perfect trophy wife.” Cormac sneered up at Theo.

But Theo was smiling, serenely. As if Cormac had said exactly what he hoped he would have said. Unbeknownst to him or even Draco, tucked into Theo’s right hand which was resting on the slab just beside Cormac’s right side, was a knife meant for gutting game.

Cormac grunted as the blade jabbed into his side, right between two ribs, while Theo kept his eyes trained on his and watched the man grow pale as the knife twisted.

Theo was taking over for Draco because he had to. Draco was going to kill Cormac. And then they would never get the information they needed. And then his soul would be tainted in a way he had worked to avoid for years and years.

Because, he wanted to save his soul to match Hermione’s. The idea reminded him that she was at home, waiting for him. She knew he could be a bad man and she wanted him anyway.

Draco dropped the heavy, iron poker and watched Cormac flinch as it clattered against the stone. “Tell me about Moore.“

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐊𝐥𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Been letting this poor one rot :(

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You return back to your home town and visit a very familiar Bakery; not knowing that a rather gentle robbery would be present.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

𝐒𝐞𝐢��𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐂’𝐬: Brother Roland Lichtner and his Bäckerin(NonCanon Name: Becky) by @/kit-williams.

TW // Attempt of Robbing.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Chapter II}

Cold wind blows at the layers of your clothing as you make your way down the dim lit sidewalk, night time beginning to rise. The new snow under your boots crunching underneath your weight, packing it more into the glossy, white sidewalk: used by many other people and Astartes walking the streets from the light of day. The different prints of sizes and shapes in the snow telling you the differences between the two, even from loyalist, chaos and inbetween. It was funny however, to see how big the prints were compared to a human in the snow.

Breathing in deeply and pressing your hands in the coat of your pocket closer to your body for better warmth. You catch a whiff of something warm and fresh passing through the cold, crisp air. Pleasing your senses as your stomach lowly grumbles at you. Reminding you that you haven’t eaten much of anything today besides a few snacks as you were too busy trying to get settled in your hotel rather than prioritizing your hunger. Trying to get yourself checked in as the woman at the counter stares at you weirdly, like she’s trying to remember you, and she honestly might.

This town was once your hometown, and it has changed a lot from the last time you have seen it. There definitely has been some Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists roaming about now than before, from what you remember. Designing some new structures here for the people and their bonds, their bigger, eccentric creation is not very hard to miss. Also, there have been a lot more people moving here as it has suddenly became a hot spot for more loyalists and a few acceptable chaos for their bonds. Leading for you to believe and question this area might be protected or have a loyalist base nearby. Not that you didn’t know that already, but where in the area is the question.

Your stomach growls at you again, trying to sway you to follow the yummy scent. Telling you to eat something already and stop thinking of matters at hand, you have got to get some fresh goods to eat and now. Your belly isn’t liking its neglect, for the disinterest in food all of the sudden as you kept yourself rather well fed most of the times. Needing to always keep your proteins, nutrients and other things high as not only do you burn all that off, but you’ve been scolded by your medic once or twice before. He was not happy about it; including his Astartes.

Sighing and unable to deny such demands from your stomach. Your breath makes a cloud of carbon before you slowly follow the scent, taking your time as you walk. Not wanting to suddenly slip and fall in the snow and be absolutely winded by it. You already have done that a couple times going down a hill, but at least you have gotten to some places faster by just sliding down a sidewalk because you had fallen to the damn packed snow. It was horrible to not be able to breathe because of it, but it was kinda worth it at the same time.

Your stomach grows for the third time in a row, impatient, clutching at you. Your eyes just spotting the warmly lit up bakery up ahead and to your side. The warming glow coming from the windows of it very opposite to the darkened day. The big, red brick walls of the bakery definitely have been made by the hands of an Imperial Fist or Iron Warrior with big one sided windows on it (you can’t look in, but you can look out.) The frame of the windows being painted black. Half side columns of black being embedded into the brick walls between the entrance door and the windows, making the building pop out more. You honestly would bet yourself 20 bucks that it looks just as pristine inside just as it was outside by just looking at the exterior of the bakery.

Shuffling through some snow to just get up to the bakery’s door. You open the door with a little bell ding, not really expecting it to open as you figure that whoever works here would be closing up shop. It was getting late or rather is late. Perhaps, the worker here had just lost their time?

Gently shutting the door behind you as to not let the cold, snowy air in and the snow itself, you look up and all around you. Observing the bakery, swearing that so much has changed inside of the bakery since you had lost saw it. Your lungs inhaling deeply at the smell of the freshly baked goods this place was coated with, and maybe with just a dash of coffee beans lingering in the air.

You remember how this place used to feel so, so big to you (it still does.) How minuscule you felt just by standing next to one of those Astartes-sized beanbag chairs that sit in the corner next to some book shelves. There has been so much more added here since the time has passed, but you definitely could still feel all the warm coziness this bakery still brings. That, was undeniable.

In all honesty, you were just a child back then, so of course things were much more bigger than regular. Everything felt like you were in a damn castle, but you mostly took most of your time enjoying the baker lady’s presence, carefully watching her bake as she wouldn’t allow you next to the ovens and mixers. Though, she would always give you some free little snacks of bread when she was finished with the bread, closing the bakery or even when you ran over to visit her for a quick snack before running off again. It was honestly a… sorrowful shame you can’t remember much of your childhood anymore. You don’t remember the lovely lady’s face, but you definitely felt that she was like a second mother to you, and damn. You would be proud of her if she was your first.

Shaking your head of your memories, you come forward to the counter. Your eyes taking in the coated wood before gazing around you once more. Patiently waiting for someone to either tell you the shop was closing and they wouldn’t be selling anything anymore until they open up again or they will actually take your order at this time of night. Where you just realize you are the only one in this homey bakery. Your thoughts questioning if there was a curfew set in this town.

“Hello! How may I help you today?” A woman pokes her head out from behind the kitchen area, gathering your attention. Her form walking over and dusting her hands off of flour as she smiles at you. Her hardworking hands then settling on her hips while she stops right behind the counter. Telling you that she is rather experienced on what she does here.

“I’m not imposing your time, am I?” You ask her gently, not wanting to order something if she was going to leave and lock the place up. You would feel kinda bad if that is what she was on the verge of doing.

“Oh, not at all!” She dismisses you with her floured hand, shaking her head. “I was just making the next batch for tomorrow, and I don’t mind customers surprising me when they do this. Some Night Lords do it all the time with a few teenagers here and there.”

“Are they troublesome?” You engage in some small talk, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. This woman feels open to talk to; trustworthy.

“Um, sometimes.” She nods, settling her hands back on her hips. “But mostly the teenagers are here to get some bread to calm down their hangovers either by tonight or by tomorrow so their parents won’t catch them. The Night Lords just like to scare, but leave once they have their share.”

You nod at that, a little amused by the fact there were teenagers coming in at night. Hoping to make their hangovers disappear before their parents would catch them. The Night Lords however? You like to think that is common for them to do. They had always liked the thrill, the scent of their hunt.

“Well then, is there anything I can get you young one?” She asks again. Trying to dust off her hands once more, and then just smeared the flour over her apron.

“May I get a traditional kipferl, please?” You answer her, looking up at the order board, and down and over the baked goods in their display cases. Taking note the kipferl was the freshly baked one tonight and decided to go easy on the lady.

“Yes you may, just give me a moment, I’ll have your order right out there for you.” She nodded then held up her pointer finger, inching to go back into the kitchen. No doubt having to attend to some more breaded goodies back there. “Feel free to have a seat.”

Nodding at the woman. You back off and twist around to find a spot that you might like. Your eyes glancing over the many booths in front of the windows. Deciding the booth all the way in the right corner next to some of those bean bag chairs would be nice to sit at. Your back would be protected, it may be a lot quieter and you can see everything that will be going on in front of you. Ready for anything possible.

Happy that it was available,(even though the bakery is empty. You just like the solitude it was giving and it was just ripe for the picking.) You go over and take your seat right in the middle of the booth seat. Making yourself comfortable and gently resting your arms on the table, your fingers intertwining, and looking out at the dark, snowy landscape. Watching as snowflakes begin to fall to add more to the snow.

You wait and stare out the window for a couple of moments. A feeling of nostalgia washing over you that makes you shift in your booth seat. There was just something about the comfort of this place that made you feel sad but happy about it. You can’t tell what it is as your memories of your childhood are a bit faded, but eventually in time you believe you’ll remember it just like you remembered what the baker lady did with you in that past. You still don’t remember her face or her voice, but it’s her actions that count, right?

“Right, here you go.” The lady sighs softly, gathering your attention while you lean back; hands coming off the table. The woman puts down a beautiful baked kipferl on a small, glass plate with little vines and crosses circling the rim of the plate in front of you. Her still floured, fingers adjusting it slightly so you can look at the more glowing side of the baked good with a bit of powdered sugar on top. A little steam rising off of it too. “Here is one kipferl for a lovely lady.”

“Thank you.” You nod again at her again, coming forward to observe the kipferl closely. Taking note of how the woman seems to hover at your side by your peripheral vision. Taking you in before taking her leave back to the kitchen with her hands folded in front of her.

You, however, were not too bothered by her stare. You had plenty of people around staring at you all day, trying to remember who you are. You were just more focused on the big and powdered sugar, looking kipferl in front of you. The perfect golden brown bread smelling ridiculously tempting to just gobble down your raging hunger for the piece of beautifulness that just sits an inch in front of you, teasing you for all that you're worth.

Your mouth begins to heavily salivate the more you continually get the whiff of the freshness of the bread, and it’s like you were waiting for a prayer to be said before you can dig into it as you didn’t want to absolutely ravage the whole kipferl in one impossible go. You have impeccable manners and you are going to use them, no matter how temping things and food can be. You were better than a deprived-striken cannibal waiting for their next meaty dessert.

Gently picking up the kipferl, you sniff it and almost sneeze. Quickly regretting and practically inhaling the powdered sugar on top of the kipferl, but you still bite into it. Loving how the powdered sugar dissolves on the top of your mouth. Its buttery yet vanilla-like taste melting in your mouth with a fluff and light crispness to it for the texture.

Oh-ha-ho, you are definitely coming and running back here for more delicious, warm baked goods! This tasted and felt like a ratatouille dish! Just with bread!

Taking another savoring bite from the kipferl. You hear the bell on top of the front door ding while someone else enters the bakery at this time of night. Your eyes unbothered to look up at who and what it might be. This baked good was more important than anything at the moment, and your stomach was enjoying the bread you were offering it. No longer growling at you all grumpily.

Happily just munching on your baked good. Your happiness is suddenly diminishing when you hear these familiar, metal clicks. Your fingers twitching on your kipferl as you slowly set it back down to your plate after you almost bit back into it. Your gaze finally wandering up to the newcomer that stands just off to the side of your table with a pistol in his hands.

“Money, now.” A male voice comes out of this man dressed in full black: including those wonky ski masks, demanding assets. His gun pointing straight at your forehead, and gesturing for your pockets with it.

You take a… unlogical moment to study this sudden robber. Noticing how slim his figure was, not starving wise, they just had a slim figure. Not only that, but he was also kind of short for a male so this has to be a teenager or just a rather small male. Oh, and they were inexperienced with the way their gun was still on safety, probably didn’t even have bullets either.

“Hmmm, no.” You deny with a stern gaze. Looking them up and down as they seemed rather surprised at your denial, not expecting that. Their gun lowering a bit before rising back up.

“What? Why?” They ask, clearly having no experience in robbing someone. They would have been more hostile than this; not asking questions. “I’m robbing you.”

“So?” You shrug, taking a chance to shuffle out of your seat and stand up next to the robber. Your eyes practically looking down at him as he shuffles back a little, his gun still pointed at you, almost looking shameful of himself. It was almost amusing and a bit bitter.

“So? You should be giving me your money.” They counter back with a smaller tone. Turning their gun at you and holding it like some sort of gangster. You fight the urge to roll your eyes in order to not make this rather easy looking situation worse. This person will be redeemable if this was their first time (and it is judging by how soft this person was being) trying to do these types of acts. “I’m pointing a gun at you.”

“With a gun, that is on safety?” You question him with a risen brow. Glancing between their face and the gun while they seemed even more puzzled by your statement. Tilting his gun and looking at it; noticing that it was in fact, on safety.

“I…um…” The robber stutters in both the fact that he feels embarrassed by himself for not knowing how to use a gun properly, and for the fact that you don’t even seem all that afraid of them. Most would cower and lay themselves down on the ground when they would see a gun pointed at them, even a toy one, but not you. You were not even fazed, just unamused. The robber doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“Give me the gun.” You simply say, sounding like you're a disappointed parent. Holding out your hand and waiting for the robber to place the gun into your opened hands.

The robber can’t help but dip his head in shame and embarrassment. Flipping the gun to its side and handing over the gun to you as you check the magazine in it. Amusing yourself as there was no rounds in the magazine, just like you had thought.

“Will I be charged?” The robber asks once more, twiddling with his fingers. His head still lowered while he glances between you and the lady behind the counter that had been watching the whole thing since you’ve gotten out of the booth.

“No.” You simply say, lifting up the back of your coat and putting the gun behind you, slotting it at the waistline of your pants. Your eyes watching the robber in front of you; more amused than anything now with them. You have never had such an… innocent encounter before. It makes you wonder why this person was trying to rob in the first place. This attempt-to-be robber was definitely not meant to be one. “But you will need to justify your actions.”

That spurs the person a little bit, jumping in their skin with worry. Their body tensing up while they look back down to the ground again. “You mean go to the police station?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” You hum at him, coming forward to grasp at his shoulder firmly, but not restrictingly so. You kinda felt bad for this person. “It’s just how the law goes.”

“Aw, come on!” The robber pouts, but willingly moves when you push him towards the door. “I didn’t really threaten anybody!”

“Pointing a gun at somebody is a threat.” You inform the robber of his crimes. “Including attempted robbery.”

The robber huffs then shivers when a blast of cold air comes through the door as you open it up. Mumbling something about how they should have worn a warmer coat before begging. “Can I please not go to the police station?”

“No.” You immediately say, closing the door behind you and hesitating a bit afterwards as you forgot to pay the lady for the golden good she had given you.

“Can I try and sway you on the way there?” The robber tries again, glancing back at you while you shake your head, pushing him forward through the snowy landscape. You’ll be coming back here from more of those goods, you’ll pay when you come back.

“…Sure.”

“I swear I have seen that woman around…” Becky hums mostly to herself. Finally in the comforting grasp of her Space Marine while she lays on top of him; her chest up against his as he traces his fingers up and down her back.

“See who around?” The big man below her mumbles. His voice vibrating through his body and rumbling lightly against Beckys’ own body.

Becky shifts a little bit on top of him before looking up at him. Her cheek resting on top of his pecs; watching her fingers as she traces her own fingers against his chest. Gaining a quiet, loving purr from her Marine.

“There was this lady that came in at the bakery at night while I was making goods for the morning.” She starts, her eyes going a little distant as she remembers the lady walking in and ordering a simple kipferl. “She was surprisingly sweet and well… familiar.”

“Familiar? How?” He hums almost tiredly, his interest peaked a little, but not by much. If anything, it may just be one of those pesky, drunk teenagers again.

“I don’t know, it’s like I know them from somewhere.” Becky says, shaking her head lightly in a form of denial. “Like I have known them before.”

Roland rumbles at that, vibrating his chest. Questioning this stranger a bit more. His fingers getting slightly tangled in Beckys’ hair. “Do you have any details on this stranger?”

Becky nods, leaning up right on his chest and gives him the appearance of the lady. Giving him every single detail of the lady as she could while his fingers suddenly stops on her back. His mind instantly recalling his memories of what Becky provides him with. Remembering a little child that has the similarities with this lady, and a fellow Black Templar Chaplin that has been suffering the effects of an intense bond since that little lady was sent out… for 10 years… wait.

“Oh, and there was a robber.” Becky says so casually and suddenly. The Black Templar underneath her tensing up. His head quickly straining up from his pillows to look down at Becky. A long silence capturing the air.

“A what?!”

[tailschannel]

New zones, customization options, and Emerald Powers: a recap of the Sonic Superstars cover story

Issue 358 of the Gameinformer magazine was published this Tuesday, and its 12-page column on the upcoming Sonic Superstars revealed a new look into its development, and previewed a number of in-game features and zones.

Here's everything you need to know.

Major takeaways

New zone names: Sky Temple, Pinball Carnival, Lagoon City, Sand Sanctuary, Press Factory, and unannounced Golden Capital.

New Emerald Powers: Avatar, Bullet, Water, Ivy, Vision, Slow, Extra, Super.

Expect vast character customization options in the brand new Items shop.

Select stages in a Generations-style World Map.

New zones

Characters have the choice of going through a normal act or a character-specific act. For example, finishing Act 1 of Speed Jungle Zone as Sonic allows you to choose between either playing the second act of Speed Jungle or an "Act Sonic," an alternate act of Speed Jungle where you zoom as Sonic, running away from a terrorizing Fang the Sniper.

There is reportedly a World Map similar to Generations where you run in a 2D-plane to select a stage.

There is also an items shop where you can trade medals in for customizable parts. Apparent, you can customize your "head, body, arms, legs, accessories color, and something called prototype."

The third zone of the game is reportedly called Sky Temple Zone.

In the zone, there is a mini-game similar to the game "Breakout," where you turn into a ball and aim to break bricks.

The climax or the ending of the zone is a massive storm.

The fourth zone is called Pinball Carnival Zone.

As the name suggests, "a giant pinball arena and fast sequences with fireworks setting off."

The fifth zone is called Lagoon City, which is filled with submerged city ruins and water slides.

Act 1 is mostly above water whereas Act 2 has several underwater sequences.

Amy's character-specific act of Lagoon City is fruit-based, with several gimmicks like a fruit based robots and such.

Sand Sanctuary Zone is the sixth zone of Sonic Superstars and a seventh zone reportedly called Press Factory Zone.

Filenames in the newly released screenshots also disclosed the officially unannounced Golden Capital Zone.

Emerald Powers

Emerald Powers were inspired by the Wisps mechanic from Sonic Colors.

Every stage has a giant gold ring and a giant blue ring. Completing the giant gold rings rewards you a Chaos Emerald and the the blue ring rewards you a medal.

Both special stages have the same central gameplay mechanic: swing from floating bubbles toward the moving objective.

Emerald Powers can be used by using the right stick and operate on a cooldown, with each star post checkpoint replenishing your cooldown meter.

Avatar (Blue Emerald)

Allows you to create clones of yourself.

Useful for defeating any enemy that lies on you path.

Bullet (Red Emerald)

Allows you to direct and shoot your character at a specified direction.

"It's an extremely useful action; it's probably the most useful action for this kind of game," Iizuka said.

Water (Cyan Emerald)

Allows you to interact with any body of water, like swimming freely underwater or climbing up waterfalls.

Ivy (Green Emerald)

Allows you to grow upward vines.

Helpful in reaching higher areas.

Can also be utilized to help your teammates in co-op mode.

Vision (Purple Emerald)

Allows you to see hidden objects like platforms, rings, or items found in the level.

Slow (Yellow Emerald)

Allows the player to slow down everything on screen.

Helpful in tighter platforming sequences or boss encounters.

Extra (White Emerald)

Unlocks character-specific actions.

Sonic – Homing Attack: Unlocks the Homing Attack from the modern titles.

Tails – Tornado Spin: Unlocks a devastating tornado attack that can destroy enemies in front of you

Amy – Hammer Throw: Unlocks the ability for Amy to throw hammers instead of the usual Hammer Swing.

Knuckles – Punch: Unlocks the ability to punch for Knuckles.

Super Form (All 7 Emeralds)

Characters can turn into their Super form after collecting all 7 Chaos Emeralds.

Characters won't have any specific abilities outside of being invincible and becoming faster.

Emerald Powers can still be used in Super form.

Development

The concept of Superstars came from a Zoom call by Naoto Ohshima during the initial COVID-19 pandemic lockdown.

Ohshima and Iizuka held producer roles for Sonic Superstars.

Despite hinting at a short development time than expected, Ohshima was impressed by Sonic Team and Iizuka.

"Though Arzest and Ohshima led development efforts on Sonic Superstars, Sonic Team collaborated frequently, with Iizuka and Ohshima constantly sharing ideas of and production duties."

There were talks between Iizuka and Whitehead's team following the release of Mania where concepts were considered, but the project fell through; however, Iizuka does states that he is "pleased that the next generation of Classic Sonic that we talked about with them has been achieved with Superstars."

Iizuka said that the programming for Superstars "is completely unique and done from scratch by Arzest."

(Story contributed by Spectre and Scarlett from the Tails' Channel Newsfeed)