#french slider doors

[tobiaslovesmydauntlesscake]

Walk Out Basement An illustration of a sizable traditional walk-out basement with carpeting, gray walls, and no fireplace

[geofdarrow]

Philadelphia Basement Basement: A spacious traditional walk-out basement idea without a fireplace and with gray walls

[dissolvedshadows]

Walk Out in Philadelphia

[heckyeahdeathnote]

Farmhouse Kitchen Open concept kitchen - large farmhouse l-shaped light wood floor and beige floor open concept kitchen idea with a farmhouse sink, beaded inset cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, gray backsplash, marble backsplash, paneled appliances, an island and gray countertops

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Dang, they're asking $1.6m for this normal looking home in Hickory, NC. It looks like a nice French house from outside. But, the interior of the 3bd, 6ba, 5,346 sq ft home is being called "artistic." Take a look.

It has a beautiful location near Rhodhiss Lake.

From the front entrance go straight thru to the gigantic great room. It's "safety orange," as you can see. It has a gold-ish fireplace that soars 2 stories up to ceiling, plus, a Juliet balcony.

Also, from the main hall, you can enter the dining room. Look at the eerie red glow coming from the built-in china cabinets.

Next there's the kitchen/family room. The carpet is blue and so wavy, it looks like you're in the ocean (they didn't have it stretched). Above, there's a balcony/hall and an open lofted space.

It looks like you can go out on the balcony - it looks like there's a door.

There's another 2 story fireplace and the area under the chandelier is for an everyday dining. Too bad there's a carpet, though.

The kitchen looks nice, but this is an estate, and this kitchen looks like it would be in a condo.

Imagine how guests will like the powder room with the big leaded glass windows, so passersby can see them pee. Nice sink, though.

Large main floor bedroom has a door to a patio and what looks like French doors to a balcony.

Look at how fancy the tile is in the en-suite. And, the matching windows. Look at the triangle support to hold onto as you step into the tub.

Small walk-in closet.

On the 2nd fl. there's a gigantic bedroom. Look at that - it's the balcony that you see from downstairs.

Small 3pc. en-suite.

And, it has a huge closet.

Two more bedrooms. Very large with fireplaces and sliders to the patio.

The home has lots of small 3pc. baths.

6 car garage.

The terrace, patio and garden behind the house.

The covered patio has a fireplace. and fans. I don't know, I wouldn't pay $1.6m for it.

2.72 Acre lot, the home is surrounded by trees.

Photo of the lake bank.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3149-Laurel-Ridge-Rd-NW-Hickory-NC-28601/71958677_zpid/

[the-ace-with-spades]

So, kinda Mav's POV of this silly Slimav fwb ficlet thingy?? who knows, maybe one day there will be Ice's part... (tw: non-descriptive/implied sex)

Things with Slider keep...happening? Mav isn't exactly sure this is the right word but they're certainly going well.

Contrary to popular belief, Mav isn't dumb. He knows what Slider is doing, he's just not sure it's actually working at all.

They keep on having sex, usually at Slider and Ice's house, usually at least twice a week and honestly, the arrangement is better than Mav suspected.

Slider is good in bed, he's Mav's type, at least physically — cocky, tall, blonde, smart-mouthed in all the meanings of the word, athletic, and willing to try to keep up with him — and he's by far the safest and the most convenient lay Mav could have with a guy. He knows he's clean thanks to military health regulations, he knows he's discreet, also thanks to military regulations, and he won't ever sell Mav out to his CO because he'd be selling himself out too. He's got a safe place no one is going to question them using — to the neighbors, they're just some bros from the Navy that probably get drunk together twice a week and that's why Mav is staying overnight — and their only witness is also gay and would be selling himself out if he said anything.

Now, Mav says he knows what Slider is doing because said only witness is literally an eyewitness of what they're doing and it can't be a fucking coincidence.

At first, it kinda seems to be a coincidence. Mav shows up for their scheduled sex night — what? it's not a date night, it's a sex night — and Slider doesn't wait until Mav is in his room before they start kissing and tries to pin him down to the front door. It's admirable, and so hot, that he tries, but Mav gets his arms around the back of his neck and steps in, leg wrapping around his hip a bit. Slider's hands go down, taking a resting spot on the curve Mav's ass as he leans down, kissing the corners of Mav's lips with fervor and then his arms go lower, pulling Mav's waist into an arch, and he—

He lifts Mav up by the thighs, fingers digging into his jeans, and his knees instinctively lock around his hips and Slider bounces him up in his grip like he weighs nothing. Just as he moves them away from the door, he stops the ever-going kiss and Mav leans away, enough to see behind his shoulder, and—

That's definitely Ice, standing in the living room door frame, book in hand, staring at them, frozen in a perfectly still position, but blinking rapidly, and that alone says a lot.

Mav snorts into Slider's shoulder and feels Slider's chest rumble underneath as he chuckles into his hair.

The world swirls, Slider turns around, hands suspiciously high under his butt, and takes a step and Mav is so focused on how fucking hot it is that he can carry him around like he weighs nothing that he almost misses the "Sorry, man, outta the way. Don't want to drop this idiot, won't get laid if he ends up in ER."

He bites down on his neck for the comment and Slider, like the sick bastard he is, moans a bit.

It keeps on happening, always 'on accident'. Slider tells Ice the wrong time of their meet-up so he's literally still on the couch Slider throws Mav onto first thing after he comes to their house, or he forgets to close to his bedroom and has hands down Mav's pants as Ice walks by to the bathroom at night, or Ice comes back from church and they're buck naked on the wobbly living room table, or in the morning, Slider and Mav go to take a shower, together, and once again the doors aren't closed so—

It has to be on purpose. Especially that on the one day Ice is actually out of the house the whole night — Mav has no idea where, but it's their third sex night that week so he probably is desperate enough to go to a hotel — Slider starts their second round in the morning, perfectly timed with Ice's return.

They're eating the french toast and scrambled eggs Mav made, not really that chatty, they're barely friends after all, and Mav is wearing one of Slider's giant band t-shirts, this time with Bon Jovi on it — it's comfy and this way, he doesn't dirt up his clothes, sue him — and his own white briefs.

He can hear Ice's old man car on the driveway just as Slider pushes away their plates, grabs Mav by the hips, plops him on the kitchen island's countertop like a doll, pulls his pants off, and starts trying to maul his neck, nicely prepared for him by already sticking out of the huge collar of his huge t-shirt.

Ice walks into the kitchen to see Mav splayed like a starfish on the counter, his briefs stuck on his ankles, his dick covered only by the hem of that godawful Bon Jovi t-shirt and Slider's massive hand, and he just stands there for a minute as they all just stare at each other to finally hiss through clenched teeth, "We eat on that counter."

And like, Mav is not complaining, it's just, well, whatever plan Slider has, it has some holes in it.

He tries to put a little bit of a stop to it, alright, he really does, he's not about to torture himself by reading too much into Ice's expression whenever he walks on them, fool's hope, dream on and all that shit. It's just—hard. He hasn't had such regular, good sex in since before college, and never with a guy, and Slider is fucking hot, okay? It's literally his only good quality — hot and good in bed.

So when one day, during their lunch break, Ice, who is sitting pressed into Mav, thighs, arms, elbows, it all touching, says, "Can we just have one night without you two—as friends, just three guys who are friends and—" Mav agrees to just have a chill night at their place.

It's a nice evening, in general. Slider fucks off god knows where for most of the time, leaving just Mav and Ice in the kitchen — Slider can't cook, the bastard just sponges off whatever they cook. They put the radio on, do some silly dances — okay, Mav does, but it makes Ice chuckles so it's almost the same thing — and just talk and talk, preparing food close to each other enough that their elbows touch. And Ice looks at him, just looks at him, with so much fondness, with so much vulnerability in his wide-eyed expression, with that soft blush and downturned face and it is almost enough for him.

But then he leans closer and closer and Ice is no longer there, turning away from him as if burned and Mav—Mav is not dumb enough to torture himself with this forever, at least not on purpose.

So Slider comes back when dinner is ready and Mav sits next to him at the table, even though he usually would sit next to Ice, and lets Slider steal bacon from his plate as Ice stabs the food with a little too much force to be fully cool about the whole thing — Mav isn't reading into it though, he's tried and tried and tried, and he won't make a fool out of himself, Slider's plan be damned.

They move to the living room, some action movie selected, Ice already sitting at one end of the couch under a cozy blanket, book in hand, Slider on the other end.

It's the beginning of September only, but the whole day was unexpectedly cold, with a storm picking up at various hours, and now that Mav isn't moving around the kitchen or hovering close to the hot oven, he's feeling a bit chilly.

He makes a small detour to Slider's room, to snatch one of his sweatshirts, way too big on him, sleeves covering his fingers almost completely, the hem pulling under his hips.

They both turn to him and the ugly beige sweatshirt is more than plain noticeable but he just gives them an innocent smile. "What? I was cold, I know where all of Slider's shit is."

"We could've just shared the blanket," Ice says, sounding as if his mouth is drier than the Sahara.

Mav raises an eyebrow at him, pointedly, as if to say, Could we really?

Slider doesn't smirk, exactly, but it's clear on his face his shit-eating grin is held up by his will alone. He props one arm behind his head and pats the couch next to himself with the other.

Mav plops next to him and Slider's arm wraps around the small of his back. Mav grabs the remote and turns on the movie, aware that Ice's jaw is clenched as he stares down at his book.

Mav—Mav clings. Slider is warm, really warm, he's always like a space heater, and he might as well use it to his advantage.

Not even fifteen minutes into the movie, Mav feels Slider's hot hand slip underneath the sweater and his t-shirt, scorching fingers dipping into his sides and bringing Mav closer, close enough that the leg he had crossed over his knee slides down onto Slider's thigh. Mav doesn't stay passive, seeking out skin, too, reaching into Slider's collar, and next thing he knows Slider leans in and kisses him.

And then does it again, and again, and again, until Mav is fighting for small sips of air in between.

(There's a tearing sound somewhere, but Mav is pretty sure Ice the control freak would have enough control not to tear his book pages out just because Mav is getting frisky with his best friend in front of him.)

Then Slider grabs him under his thighs, lifting him up and standing up at the same time, Mav's legs wrapping around him on instinct.

"What the fuck—"

"Oh, shut up," Slider cuts off and then slaps his ass and okay, maybe he squeals a little, sue him. "I know you like it."

Like hell he's going to admit but, yeah, he kinda does. He's starting to think Slider likes carrying him around and throwing him on different surfaces just as much, he sure does it a lot.

Ice clears his throat and cooly, voice too still to not be suggest how he feels truly, says, "I asked for one night—"

Mav almost — almost — feels bad but then Slider says, "Sorry, man, he looks too fuckable in my sweatshirt." Then, cheekily, as they leave the living room, Mav now held up in just one of his arms — and isn't that fucking hot? — adds, "You wouldn't understand."

And this time, he can't just pretend he doesn't know what's happening here.

"I know what you're doing," he tells Slider, just as he's thrown on his bed and swarmed by his long limbs.

Right before he dives lower, Slider remarks, "Eh, do you really though?"

"It's not going to work," he protests, even as he lets Slider bite down his neck, his hand arching his head back for better access, strong hold keeping Mav still and making him hornier. "Even if he was getting jealous—"

"He is."

"—I think he'd be past the boiling point now," he finishes.

Slider tilts his head back, meeting his eyes. "You don't know how stubborn he can be."

"So what? You're just going to fuck the guy he supposedly wants until he breaks?"

"Yeah, basically," Slider says, fingers still gripping his hair. "Just enjoying your tight ass until my best friend decides to think with his dick and not his brain, for once."

"Nice," is all Mav adds before they go back to business.

He'd be lying to say he doesn't care. He wants Ice to do something. He wants him to admit he doesn't like whatever deal Slider and Mav have going on, that he doesn't like it specifically because he wants Mav to himself.

He wonders if he and Slider talk about Mav. If he asks Slider what is going on with them, if Slider gives him the dirty details, if he gets pissed off at Slider for continuing to hook up with him, again and again. If all those little expressions he sees on Ice's face whenever he walks in on them, if they're louder and more pronounced when he leaves the house and it's just Slider to take them on.

But fool's hope and all that — so Mav claws at Slider's sweater and pops it over his head.

As time goes on, it just feels more and more as if he's wrong about the whole, that he just imagined the way Ice looks at him.

"So, Maverick," Slider begins when Mav and Ice are chatting at their cubicles, sitting down on Mav's desk like he owns it. "You free this Saturday? Ice is stuck at work so the house will be empty."

Right behind himself, he hears a snap. When he turns around, Ice's broken his pencil in half.

Interesting.

"I'm actually going with Bradley to the beach, I'm going to teach him to swim," he says slowly. "Or at least try. The kid's been getting panicky any time we leave him without the floaties."

"Ooof, that's tough," Slider says and he actually seems sympathetic because Bradley is everyone's favorite and everyone's weak spot. "You want a second pair of hands? Might make him feel a bit more secure if he's surrounded from all sides."

And why not? It's not like Ice has any more pencils to break.

It's a nice enough day, for one spent with Slider. Bradley can't swim by the end of it, but he can float in the water without screaming his lungs out, so Mav takes it as a win. Bradley giggles at their banter and finds their insults — dialed down, there's a kid with them after all — funny, and there's just something less irritating about Slider, like this, with Bradley as the buffer.

Mav drives them in Goose's old car to leave Bradley back with Carole, they chat for a bit, and then Mav takes his motorcycle and drives them to Ice and Slider's place. They're both in jeans and there's a lot of rubbing and some more-or-less intentional grinding, so by the time Mav parks on the driveway, they're both half hard and set on one goal. They pass Ice on the way to Slider's room, and maybe he's a bit red in the face and maybe Mav arches his hips with a bit of an exaggeration but well, he's having fun and it's not his problem Ice isn't part of it.

It happens again, mostly because Ice is fighting to get the upcoming promotion and often works on the weekends, Carole gives private lessons on Saturdays, and that just leaves Mav and Slider alone, usually with Bradley for most of the day and then alone and pent up in the evening.

Slider is good with Bradley, too. Baby Goose is a soft, sensitive boy, and many men would try to toughen him up, but Slider doesn't. No, Slider stops and holds him when he gets scared, carries him around when he gets tired or sleepy, can't resist the cow eyes almost as badly as Mav and buys Bradley anything he wants, and doesn't protest last all when Bradley asks if they can swing him around — just gives him his hand, waits for Mav to grab his other hand, and then just throws Bradley in the air as high as he can.

There start to be times when they don't even retreat back to Slider and Ice's place after, just say goodbye at the door to Mav and Carole's house — Bradley always insists Mav needs a hug goodbye too, Uncle Slider — and then Slider leaves without Mav.

"It kinda seems like you're dating him, Pete," Carole says one calm evening that Mav does not spend with Slider and Ice, after Slider took them back home in his embarrassing wagon BMW.

Bradley is already asleep and they're drinking wine (from normal glasses because they still haven't managed to buy the full dishware set).

Mav obviously finds it ridiculous. "You can't date someone you don't have feelings for."

Carole raises her eyebrow and takes a slurpy sip and yeah, fair enough, there's plenty of people who are married and hate each other, not to mention ones that are dating.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks. There's a difference between having sex and dating, even if there aren't any feelings in either.

Carole has some—thing, for Slider, he knows. It's been over four years since Goose and he knows they won't ever fully move on but they have to at least try. He'd never hold it against her if she fell in love with someone, it's just—it's Slider of all people.

"Nah, have some fun," Carole sighs. "It's not like he'll ever see me anyway."

Slider's been equally dumb about all of Carole's flirting attempts as Ice was about his, which was an achievement in itself because Mav wasn't the subtlest, but Carole wasn't subtle at all.

"What a mess," he says and then pours more wine into Carole's glass.

@woodsywarbler, hon, I think you wanted me to tag you here? idk this is a bit disappointing b/c tumblr ate the longer draft and i had no energy to write it out in detail but 🤷🏻‍♂️

[littlemssam]

Mod Updates & Translations

As always delete old Mods Files and the localthumbcache when updating my Mods!

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Mod Updates:

More Servings Options Veggie Sliders should not show up anymore, when Highschool Years Pack is missing

More Woodworks Added Mini Mission Crib, BlandCo Contemporary Crib , Wicker-Work Bassinet, Precocious Pup's Plush Palace Bassinet (Werewolf Pack needed), Baby Bliss Bassinet (Growing Together Pack needed)

Woodworking Table Update of the More Woodworks Addon for new Objects (updated More Woodworks Mod needed), Update of Simple Living Addon to support More Woodworks Objects

Claim all the things (RSM) Added "Drink Any" to be supported

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[wildlife4life]

Inspiration Saturday

Tagged by the always fantastic @daffi-990 @gayedmundodiaz @rainbow-nerdss and @hippolotamus Thank you all so much! Inspos today were beautiful!

It is still Saturday for me, and I am super pumped!!!! (My chiefs won a playoff game, and seeing Taylor Swift swag surf at the game, wow. Week made!) Jumping back to NFL Buck today, featuring more of the Dosed arc. More NFL Buck can be found here. Enjoy!

It takes a minute to make it up the too long driveway and Athena does her best to keep her judgement to herself. All of it is a bit exorbitant and a waste of concrete. A few feet up the drive, Eddie's home comes into view and it does not disappoint. A beautiful pale stone mini mansion with a six car garage, perfectly manicured lawn, and an expansive transom windowed entry way. Impressive place truly, but Athena has seen bigger and much more extravagant during her years in LA. What really has Athena completely gobsmacked is the curly blonde haired, blue eyed, over six foot man waiting in front of large wooden french doors. Dressed in a comfortable looking white hoodie, gray workout shorts, and black Nike sliders, is none other than the LA Ram's quarterback, Evan Buckley. Buck. Buckley. The numerous football games and the timing of Eddie's path to LA matching Evan Buckley's exactly. How the hell has none of the 118 and the rest of their family figured it out by now? She looks back at the man who has apparently been keeping one big ass secret. "Firefighter Diaz, you've been holding out on us." Wide, glassy brown eyes fill with fresh tears, "I'm sorry. I thought you could see the pollen too. Ravi could. And-and those little ladies, they were made of the pollen." Eddie releases broken sob, "Please, I'm sorry. I heard Buck, where is he? I want Buck, please Officer 'Thena."

So excited for the upcoming introduction of Athena to this au's Buck! Hope you enjoyed!

Tagging (no pressure): @wikiangela @jesuisici33 @exhuastedpigeon @spotsandsocks @devirnis @jamespearce9-1-1 @disasterbuckdiaz @spaceprincessem @fortheloveofbuddie @lover-of-mine @athenagranted @eddiescowboy @evanbegins @elvensorceress @giddyupbuck @malewifediaz @thewolvesof1998@911onabc @911-on-abc @bekkachaos @loserdiaz @theotherbuckley @ladydorian05 @bigfootsmom @watchyourbuck @eddiebabygirldiaz @thekristen999 @shortsighted-owl @spagheddiediaz @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @eowon @princessfbi @honestlydarkprincess @vampbuckley @bitchfacediaz @buck-coded @housewifebuck @glorious-spoon @buddierights @prosperdemeter2 @lemonzestywrites

[the-hinky-panda]

The Winter Series: Part I

Title: The Winter Series

Pairing: Aramis x OFC (written as a reader)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Aramis is making good on his promise to God to become a monk. At least he's trying to make good on that promise. But you burst on the scene, a French spy from across the border of Spain with all sorts of temptations to lead him astray.

Taglist: @bullet-prooflove @kmc1989, @trublu2u, @nsr-15

It’s been two months since Aramis has arrived at the monastery and he’s beginning to think that this is a monumental mistake. The first month he threw himself into this new life. First one to prayers, helping in the kitchens, studying scriptures outside and enjoying the birdsong, tending the small garden. He felt at peace, confident in his decision to be here. 

That feeling doesn’t last as he enters into the second month. The birds are grating on his nerves. The fresh air is irritating to his nose. The prayers are repetitive and his mind wanders more and more. To the war, to his friends…to the Queen, to his son. He longs for the feel of his sword in his hand, the smooth grip of his pistol, the excitement of the fight. At least he had felt useful as a Musketeer, actively righting the world’s wrongs instead of just praying for things to change. 

That is why when the Abbot asked for someone to pick up supplies from the town below the monastery, Aramis was the first one to volunteer. It wasn’t exciting at all, just a collection of vegetables, eggs, and grain but it gave him an opportunity to see the bustling life of the common man. The village wasn’t far from a port town close to the Spanish border. The marketplace was better supplied than most given that proximity to a port, so it was always fascinating to see the handmade trinkets or foods that would never make it up to Paris. 

“Stop her!” 

Every instinct as a trained soldier flares to life at the shout that echoes across the marketplace. Aramis sees the culprit fleeing, ducking around vendors, before making a sprint to an old stone church. Three men follow close at your heels and Aramis joins in the chase before he remembers this isn’t his business any more. But that hesitation only lasts a moment before he makes his way to the back door of the church. Where else is he going to find a bit of excitement? Certainly not back at the monastery delivering food. Besides, you could be in need of help and what kind of monk would that make him if he didn’t offer help to those in need? 

When he comes through the back door, he sees four men now, armed with pistols and swords. They’re dressed in plain clothes, Spanish clothes, but their movements are most certainly that of soldiers. He stays hidden behind the table of candles, half of which are lit when he sees the confessional box on the other side of the sanctuary. A confessional that has a tip of a cloak peeking out from under the curtain. 

The door opens and two more men come in and start conversing in Spanish at the back. He catches phrases, I saw her come in here, Not too many places to hide, Confessional…

Aramis goes around the back of the dias and is able to reach the priest’s side of the confessional. So far, he can’t see any priest on that side of the box and there’s no whispered conversations happening. He takes the opportunity and slips into the confessional, quietly closing the door behind him. He hears a sharp intake of breath from the other side but there are no other sounds. You must be sitting as still as death to warrant not so much as a creak from the old wood bench. With a deep breath, he pulls back the slider that reveals the latticed window into your side of the box. 

“Your cloak is peeking out from under the curtain.” 

He hears the soft rustle of fabric as you pull it into the confessional. “Thank you. Uh, forgive me Father for I have sinned-” 

“I’m sure you have but that’s not why I’m here.” He can’t see much of your features but he can see your eyes, wide with surprise and a color caught between blue and gray. 

“You’re not a priest?” 

How to answer that question. “I’m afraid that’s a bit complicated at the moment but I can assure you that I’m not the one to give you absolution for your sins. There are six men, Spanish from the looks of it, out in the vestibule. Why are they here?” 

“You’re a soldier.” 

“In another lifetime. But I can still help you.” 

You take half a heartbeat to answer. “Do you know the innkeeper here, Jean Luc Moreau?” 

“I’m fairly new, I don’t know anyone yet.” 

“I was supposed to meet him but when I went by the inn, it was filled with Spanish,” you pause, “visitors.” 

“Soldiers.” You don’t say anything and that silence tells Aramis everything he needs to know. “You’re a French spy.” 

“I just need to wait for them to leave so I can deliver the letters to Moreau. He has someone who’s going to take them back to Paris but they’re not arriving until tomorrow afternoon.” 

“So we have some time to hide you.” Aramis starts planning an escape route but the sound of the Spanish soldiers outside the confessional interrupt him. “Stay in here, no matter what.” 

He steps out of the confessional and greets the soldiers that are circling the confessional. “Greetings, gentlemen. I’m afraid I’m the only Priest available at the moment, so if you would please just take a seat, we will be done momentarily.” 

“We’re not here for forgiveness,” the largest of the group says in heavily accented French. “We’re looking for a runaway.” 

“Ah, I’m afraid we haven’t had any children arrive-” 

“Not a child,” another man says, tall and blade thin. “A woman. Her father is in high standing, she was betrothed to a nobleman. We fear she may have gotten nervous about the marriage.” 

Aramis lays a hand over his heart. “I shouldn’t reveal anything about a parishioner’s confession, but I can assure you the lady currently in there is already married. And not much of a lady.” 

“We would like to wait to make sure it is not our master’s daughter, if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course,” Aramis bows respectfully. There’s little he can do facing down six Spanish soldiers with no weapons other than his hands. He’ll have to rely on his brain then and hopefully some luck. As he goes back around to the priest’s entrance of the confessional, he runs into one of the priests. He immediately puts a finger to his mouth and the priest’s surprise turns quickly to understanding. Aramis tells him quickly about your plight and the need to get you to safety. He nods, telling Aramis to stay there safely out of sight of the six men who are now sitting in the pews. When he returns, he has a set of nun’s robes and he unlatches a false door that opens the confessor’s side of the box. 

It’s the first clear sight Aramis has had of you. You’re dressed in simple clothing, no jewelry. Your dark hair is braided and coiled at the base of your neck and your eyes, still that odd coloration, are even larger without the lattice barrier between you two. You’re scared, but your mouth is pressed in a firm line. It’s not your first tight spot, Aramis bets, but it’s definitely an alarming one nonetheless. The priest hands you the nun’s clothes. 

“Dress in these and leave your clothes in the confessional,” he whispers to you. “I’ll have one of the sisters wear your clothes out of here.” 

“You have a way for us to exit?” Aramis asks. 

“Yes,” the priest answers. “Take her up to the monastery with you. Dressed as one of our sisters, no one will say anything.” 

“Thank you, Father,” you say as you take the robes. 

Aramis touches the Priest’s arm. “Yes, thank you.” 

He closes the door so you can change privately. “Mademoiselle Sartre is a friend to our parish and this town. See that she remains safe.” 

“I will.” 

The hidden door opens again and you appear now in the simple nun robes. The priest points to the side hallway and Aramis pulls his hood up over his head. The two of you hurry through the side hallway and open the back door to the church, bringing you directly into the graveyard. Aramis lightly touches your elbow. 

“Keep your head down, leave the watchfulness to me.” 

“Alright.” 

Thankfully the food order had already been acquired so making their way back to the horse and wagon is a quick and efficient process. He helps you up into the front seat before climbing up himself. 

“Take a pass by the inn on the way out of town.”  

He nods and turns the horse in that direction. The innkeeper, Moreau, is standing outside the door feigning interest in the shoppers passing by. When his eyes land on the cart, you lay a hand on your heart. He responds similarly. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“No, keep going.” You turn your eyes forward again and Moreau goes back inside the tavern. “He knows I’ll return tomorrow. Besides, I don’t want to put him in danger of having the documents with the Spanish soldiers still around.” 

“Understandable. I’ll return with you tomorrow just in case our Spanish friends are still in town.” 

“That’s not necessary. I don’t want to put you in any more danger than I already have.” 

“I do have to say,” Aramis gives the town one last glance over his shoulder to make sure no one is following them, “today was a nice jolt of excitement.” 

You give him a smile, albeit a slight one. “You are the strangest monk I’ve ever come across.” 

“You will find no argument from me.” 

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 36 - Resurface

Story to date in order (Tumblr / AO3)

Previous chapter

A kind of a build-up chapter for Virgil, because he’s decided to be brave and face something but that comes at a cost because I am incapable of letting them be fixed first time around. I also had to apply some very very minor whump to Scott just because it amuses me so to do and he was RIGHT THERE being a doofus and asking for it.

Hesitating to put this one out because there is so much good fic that’s appeared over the last week and I haven’t read it all yet but… I think if I don’t get this one out of draft mode I’m never going to properly focus on the finale chapter and I really need to get that done so I can finally post the art a fabulous someone did for me four months ago when I last thought I was nearly finished 🫣😬🙄

SO… here we go…

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Virgil’s studio was recessed into the cliff which meant it was protected from the elements. It was accessible only via his bedroom and a key coded door meant it was protected…ish from marauding younger brothers.

Although a huge picture window dominated one wall, very useful for those sky paintings, this could and often would be shuttered at the press of the button, transforming the room into a haven over which he had unfettered dominion.

Advanced atmospheric regulation meant he could ensure the air it wasn’t too arid for sculpting or too damp to allow a painting to dry. An objectively impressive array of light fixtures popped out at various levels, the angle and tone of each completely customisable at the flick of a slider (or twelve) on his tablet, meant he had absolute control of what bounced off his surroundings into his eyeballs. And the sound system…

Well.

What would be the point of a soundproof room if you couldn’t occasionally crank it up to symphony orchestra brass section volume. Virgil had played the French horn in high school and fully appreciated the sensation of his ribcage vibrating when the trombones sat behind him got into their groove.

He was safe here.

And yet, he couldn’t settle. Everything felt, off. Scratchy. As if sand had got into a sensitive mechanism and no amount of oil would flush it out again.

Virgil tucked the sketchbook under his arm and got up to adjust the brightness of the overhead spots down a little and nudged the temperature control up another increment. He’d been fiddling with it all morning but couldn’t quite find the precise balance he needed. Turning his back on the easel stool, he sat down heavily on the couch, removed a pencil from behind his ear and glared at the page.

He’d thought it might be a good idea to sketch out a few anatomical poses to build the detail on top of… to save Scott having to hang around while he got the basics done. Despite having shut himself in here all morning, he’d barely got beyond sketching a vaguely humanoid shape. Perhaps he’d got a little more fixated on the angle of an arm than strictly necessary… in fact he’d roughed it out in so many positions his graphite brother was giving off distinctly octopoid vibes.

The real one had been popping in and out all morning, providing coffee and snacks and unspoken reassurance but now was Here and Getting Ready and Virgil was also supposed to be Ready do some Healing. Find Some Closure. Desensitisation. All that healthy stuff. He tried to ignore the creeping doubt as to whether he was, or would ever, in fact, be ready to…

“Can I make a suggestion?”

He jumped a little and dropped his pencil as Scott called out from behind Virgil’s bedroom door. He put the book to one side and crawled under his chair to locate it.

“Virg?” The door opened and he could imagine Scott peering around it, with all the darkness creeping up his neck and around his throat… his heart raced and his breath escaped in a tiny squeak.

Uuuuh… he wasn’t ready. Not ready at all. Maybe he never would be. Maybe this was… maybe he was just…

“Virgil, are you alright?”

Realising he’d frozen with his upper body wedged under the couch and that Scott was inevitably now aiming the Concerned Eyebrows at his behind, Virgil forced out an airy “All good, I just dropped my… my… err…” he huffed a fake laugh to cover up the gap. Stifled the panicky breathing… the word had gone. Just gone. He spread his fingers out, feeling the grain of the wood beneath him, sanded almost-but-not-quite smooth, and focussed on drowning out the whistle in his ears with an inane little tune Gordon was humming earlier. This was transient…

“Pen. I mean pencil. Pencil!!”

The floorboards vibrated a little as knees slid into view just beside him. Navy blue knees. No, not navy. Shade 1620 “Airforce Blue” - he had a tube of it on the easel. He squeezed his eyes shut. Hex 00308F. Several paint tubes, just in case. And some inks. Zero zero three zero eight eff. Navy blue was 000080. The three and the F somehow changed everything.

A hand on his shoulder, unnaturally tentative as they all still were around him. Still. He scrunched his eyes still tighter and tried not to let it bother him, he wasn’t the type to be bitter about being ‘Poor Fragile Virgil best-not-surprise-him-lest-he-freak-out-and-see-things-again…’ ok, he was still a little bitter perhaps. And being not very kind to himself either. He’d tell Scott off for that.

Scott…

He pressed his fingertips into the floor just enough to stop them shaking, just enough to hurt. As his neck and shoulders tensed in sympathy he felt his brother’s arms curl around him, holding him steady, keeping him from bumping his head on the wooden frame. Holding him steady, keeping him from sinking through the floor into who knew where… he dragged in a breath, cursing his vocal chords for the little whine that caused.

“I’m here. What do you need?”

“Pencil.”

The harmonic skitter of light wood rolling over heavy before the pencil was nudged up close to his hand and he grasped it like a lifeline.

He couldn’t open his eyes, not yet. He was terrified he wouldn’t be able to trust what he saw if he did.

He could feel Scott breathe, the weight of his arm. He could hear the repeated “It’s ok, I’ve got you.”

Yet both those senses had betrayed him before too. Only one had not. It had never lied to him, but, quiet and unshowy, it was easier to ignore if the others told him a better story.

Right now, the impersonal fog of the dry cleaning spray Grandma had used almost overwhelmed him. It was a white noise.

A grey noise?

He reached past the grey for something familiar, something safe - something to prove this wasn’t hollow. There was the ever-present scent of coffee on his brother’s breath and the subtle hint of super-shiny gel… no, he corrected himself, he’d upgraded to the pricier ‘sublime shiny’ recently… which he swore was better despite Virgil pointing out the identical ingredients, smell and, even taste… alright he might have taken the debate a little too far but when Scott had poked his tongue out at him Virgil hadn’t been able to resist giving him a sample. For science’s sake.

The look on his brother’s face had been spectacular.

He chuckled and a little of the dread melted away.

He still needed to sneak some down to Brains’ lab to run a chemical analysis actually…

“Virg? You with me, short stu…OOOFFF”

Scott had clearly ducked his head under the couch to try to see what was going on and the resulting clunk demonstrating he’d immediately forgotten that he’d done so vibrated through Virgil’s teeth.

“Scott! Your head!”

“Is fine. Thick skull, remember?”

“The thickest.” Eyes still resolutely closed, Virgil assessed his tone. It was light, but not the too-light tone Scott adopted when trying to conceal an actual injury from a brother… There was more than a hint of worry, obviously, which Virgil needed to Do Something About because he was painfully aware it was him causing it.

“Virgil, are you ok? What do you need?”

“I’m ok. I… yeah. I’m good.” He was. He could do this.

“Alright.” The audible skepticism was perhaps justified but Scott had clearly decided to let him call the shots today.

“I’m not criticising your process here but would it be easier to do the arting somewhere other than under the couch.”

Virgil grunted, which was frankly all the response the question deserved. Then, eyes tight shut he shuffled backwards. The sensitive skin just below the edge of his little finger brushed against Scott’s leg and he shivered as he recognised the fabric. Polywool. Strong but soft. Permanent military creases. More capable of withstanding a worried brother knee-sliding across a wooden floor than the string of ludicrously expensive but patently unScott-proof suit pants that the CEO wore to TI meetings and managed to destroy on a regular basis. But not robust enough for any kind of action. This was dress uniform. Just for show. He’d never have got in a jet wearing it.

But without it he’d never have got in that jet…

The voice of dread in his heart hissed at him. Virgil tried to squash it, but the edges were sharp and tried to steal his breath. He could feel his pulse begin to race again, echoing back through the thumb-tips he had pressed so firmly into the floor. No, that wouldn’t work. He knew this. He knew how to deal with this now. The hand on his shoulder tightened infinitesimally, lending him strength. So, he forced himself to take a slower breath and let himself acknowledge the thought. It was a logical fallacy, he knew that, but as the counsellor had advised he resisted the temptation to be angry with himself for thinking it. He could see where it came from. It wasn’t unreasonable or stupid for his subconscious to reach for something, anything to blame. It just wasn’t helpful. It wasn’t true.

What was true?

He’d come back. Scott had come back. He was here right now, humming Mom’s song as he rested his head on top of Virgil’s and stroked his arm.

Virgil opened his eyes. Brown floor. Black pencil. 1620... Scott’s legs. He raised his head a little, braced for the darkness…

Light blue?

Light blue shirt? Airforce shirt, yes, but not what he was expecting.

Scott interpreted his frown of confusion before he realised he’d formed it.

“I was going to suggest maybe I don’t wear the jacket just yet? I could, I dunno, just hold it or something. Till you’re used to it?”

Virgil realised he wasn’t blinking enough and pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets for a moment.

“Right. I… yes. I’m sorry I…” he huffed irritably “This is so ridiculous.”

“No it isn’t.” Scott squeezed his shoulder again. “And you told me not to say things like that.”

Virgil swallowed the impulse to point out that for Scott it was different. Maybe, after all, it wasn’t so different. In the absence of anything constructive to say he removed his hands from his face and made an attempt at a reassuring smile. It was going quite well until his eye was caught by a rush of movement as the hastily slung jacket slithered off the back of a chair and curled into a pile of darkness on the floor. He averted his eyes and returned his attention to his brother’s face.

“So, what do you want to do?”

Here, Virgil drew a blank. Beyond his request to paint Scott wearing the dreaded dress uniform, he was surprisingly unsure about what he wanted to do. He hadn’t got much past the idea to get himself, Scott and The Uniform in the same room and not go mad.

As the heap of fabric continued to noisily suck all the light from the room, he wasn’t sure the latter part was going as planned.

“I don’t… I don’t actually err…” he tailed off but the point had been conveyed.

Scott hummed again, but not in a musical way this time. That was the ‘IR-Commander-is-formulating-a-plan’ hmmmmm.

“We have all day... no need to rush anything. Do you want to go outside for a bit? It’s really nice out there?”

Outside was Scott’s go-to fix. If things were difficult, he did better in the open air… or at least somewhere with a clear view of the sky. Virgil suspected he knew why and tried not to think about that too much. What he did know was that it was when his brother tucked himself away - when he found a hidey hole, enclosed and dark - well that was when little brother’s alarm bell needed to ring. Outside was good.

Yet, Virgil knew Scott hadn’t suggested it for his own benefit this time. It wasn’t for the air but for the sun.

Virgil’s comfort instinct was more towards warmth. The flannel wasn’t purely a fashion choice after all. It didn’t matter where he was - snuggled in bed, melting his face off in the sauna, taking an excessively long hot shower, hibernating on a sun lounger - it was all good as long as the goosebumps were kept at bay. Gordon had long ago given up trying to persuade him to lower the cabin temperature of Two. If Virgil’s skin was warm and relaxed he had at least a chance of thinking clearly about everything else.

Outside in the sunshine sounded good. It had a decent chance of being better than here anyway, in the bowels of the earth where the darkness was closing in and an icy draft scraped across his face.

So Virgil nodded and allowed his big brother to steer him towards the doorway. Where he stood helplessly for a few moments as he realised the hand with which he’d reached for the handle was a white knuckled fist clutching a pencil for dear life… and he didn’t quite seem to know how to put it down. He shivered again.

Scott rushed around behind him, chattering away and collecting whoknewwhat, then took charge of the door-opening and, taking a firm grip on Virgil’s pencil-free hand, towed him up the stairs and out into the daylight.

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[hotgirlbedtimescenarios]

The Beginning: Chapter 1

Javier Peña x f!reader / (2,849)

Summary: Fresh out of college, you just moved to Austin, Texas, and are starting fresh. It's Friday night, so you take yourself out to the bar for a quiet dinner and drink but end up blushing under the gaze of the gorgeous older man you meet.

Notes: This is my first ever fanfic, so go easy on me! Im not sure how long this series will be or the direction it will take, besides smutty ;). Please let me know what you guys are interested in or what you'd like to see so I can create the fantasies you girlies are dying to have come to life.

Disclaimers: This series is for adults over the age of 18.

It's your first Friday night after moving to Texas the week before. Your apartment is finally clear of cardboard boxes and miscellaneous piles of your belongings crammed into corners or atop every available bit of counter space.

The move was exciting and stressful following the whirlwind of a month you had prior. Graduating college, landing your first job hundreds of miles away, and saying goodbye to friends and family has kept you busy for so long. Now, you find yourself settled and alone in a new city which is why you decided to take yourself on a much-needed self-care date night.

You had been holed up in the apartment all week unpacking, ordering takeout, and wondering how the hell you were going to create a life here in Austin where you know a total of zero people.

Tonight, instead of feeling sorry for yourself you decided to explore your new city and act like the adult you are trying to become. You brush your hair and wear it down along with a light dusting of makeup. Just enough to make you feel like you got ready but nothing major. You throw on your favorite skirt and tank top combo then slide into some shoes and head out the door.

Summer in Austin is in full swing, even at 8 p.m. with the sun down and the breeze blowing, your skin is flush from walking a few blocks through downtown to the cozy dinner spot you scouted earlier in the week.

The restaurant is bathed in cozy dim lighting from the warm string lights overhead and Edison bulb fixtures found in every other trendy spot downtown. It's just the vibe you were going for, perfect for sitting alone at the bar with a book, a few apps, and a strong drink to ride out the night which is exactly what you do.

You cross the restaurant and reach the bar at the back wall, offering a smile to the bartender who greets you and tells you to sit wherever you like. You choose the left most barstool and sit down to empty the contents of your slouchy, knit tote bag you had slung across your shoulder. You place your book and cell phone onto the dark mahogany countertop and relax into the chair.

“What can I get for you tonight?” the bartender asks. “Dinner or drinks?”

“Espresso martini and a menu please”

“You got it”

Several minutes later with your drink placed before you and your order of garlic parmesan french-fries and sliders on the way, you take in your surroundings. It's dim, and cozy, and the restaurant is busy but it's mostly groups of what looks like college students who occupy big tables or couples out for date night. You don’t mind being here alone though, it will be nice to have a night to dive into your delicious romance novel in the corner with no one to bother you. Speaking of, you turn back to your book and crack it open as you take a sip of your martini. You aren’t sure how much time passes, but your food arrives and you thank the bartender who promises you a second martini is on the way before you even have to ask.

“You read my mind,” you say, and he chuckles as he walks away. You dig into your sliders which are greasy and indulgent, exactly what you wanted. You turn your attention to your fries and pick at them as you pick your book back up and focus on the story once again. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a figure moving towards the bar and when you look up you can't help but stare.

Walking in your direction is a tan-skinned man with dark hair sweeping to the side with a few stray stands falling down the front of his forehead towards his eyes. He walks slowly and swaggering, the sway of his hips telling you exactly how confident he is. Dressed in dark tight-fitting jeans, a blue button-up shirt, and a black leather jacket, the man looks a bit brooding and serious as he sits 4 barstools to your right.  Before you get caught staring you tear your eyes away from the man who, admittedly is very handsome despite being at least 20 years older than you.

You force your eyes back to your book, but you aren’t reading a word because you are too aware of the stranger sitting a couple of feet away from you. You hear him order a whiskey and you sneer, the last time you had whiskey was at your graduation party which ended up giving you the most outrageous hangover of your life.

“What’s wrong with whiskey?” you hear a gruff, deep voice ask in your direction.

You startle and look up at the stranger “Uh.. what?”

He turns his head in your direction “The look on your face. You seem offended by my drink of choice.” His eyes are big brown and dark but seem to sparkle despite the tension on his face. His jawline is strongly defined, and he has a masculine nose with a thick dark mustache perched atop full pouty lips.

Your face flushes when you snap back to reality and realize he is still staring straight at you waiting for a response. “Oh, you saw that?” you say embarrassingly, damn your inability to keep your facial expressions to yourself. “Whiskey reminds me of a few messy moments if I'm being honest”.

“Huh” he chuckles, “it seems to help me forget about mine.” His gruff words brought darkness to his eyes and creased lines into his forehead.

Before you have a chance to even think about that convoluted response the bartender returns with both your drink and the handsome stranger's whiskey on ice. “Any food for you tonight sir?”

“Are those any good?” he asks, turning to you and nodding towards the fries, catching you off guard yet again.

“Oh yeah, pretty fucking good” The words come out faster and easier than you thought they would. Under the weight of the man's gaze, you would usually be a bit shy, but your martinis have given you just enough liquid courage to set your anxieties aside.

“Some fries and another whiskey when they come out,” he orders and sits back in his chair. The waiter leaves and now it's just you and the stranger. “I’m Javier by the way.”

You tell him your name but after that, no other words pass between you. Eventually, you move your focus back to your book as the stranger drinks and picks at his fries that finally come.

By now, you are a couple of chapters deep, nursing your third espresso martini, and internally squealing at the sexual tension between the main characters in the book you're reading. You live for that tension and desire that frankly; you haven’t had in a long time. Dating in college consisted of a few flings here and there but nothing substantial and certainly nothing as delicious as what your favorite romance characters get to experience.

“That must be good,” Javier says to you with a smirk on his face. His eyes glanced from the blush on your cheeks to the book in your hands.

Your face goes red hot, and you meet his eyes. Your lips part, trying to come up with something to excuse your flustered look, but you know from the smirk on his face that you’ve been caught red-handed reading smut at the bar. You are about to drown in embarrassment but instead, you decide to feign unconcern and quip back, “A hell of a lot better than any real man has been.”

“Oh,” he says taken aback by your brazenness “, that’s a real shame. A pretty girl like you deserves the best.” His big brown eyes roam down your body and drink in the sight of you. He pauses ever so slightly at the hem of your skirt and when his eyes rise again to meet yours in challenge, they seem a bit darker than before.

Internally you are screaming, why the hell would you say that to a man you don’t even know? How do you even navigate this conversation when you are pretty sure has taken a very sharp turn into flirtatious territory?

Your brain is scrambling to come up with a solution to abort the mission but then you pause. You are an adult woman out in her new city, flirting with the hottest older man you’ve ever seen, and he seems interested in you. Why should you end things when you could pursue some romance of your own instead of living vicariously through your books? And hell, Austin is huge, you probably won't ever see this guy again after tonight so you might as well have a little fun.

You settle into your decision then meet his eyes with your own smirk and ask “And where can I find the best, Javier?”

The second his name leaves your mouth, you sense the change in mood, it's game on. The corner of his mouth turns up into a smile, and he rises from his barstool to stalk towards you. His eyes don’t leave yours as he takes the seat directly next to your and responds, “You’re looking at him.”

Your blood heats and nerves twist in your stomach. You’ve never met someone so straightforward but god it’s exciting. “You sound a bit cocky if you ask me.” You tease and lean forward, closing the distance between the two of you.

Before Javier can respond the bartender comes back and clears his throat, noticing the air around the two of you. You straighten up in an attempt to hide your flirting and look forward as the bartender lets you know that the restaurant is closing and he is about to bring the cheques.

“Add her to mine,” Javier says and hands the bartender his card before you have a chance to interject. The bartender rolls his eyes and lets out a huff but does as he is instructed. Weird, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s just annoyed because he has to redo the cheques. You don’t give it any more thought because your mind is a bit warm and fuzzy thanks to the handful of drinks you’ve had tonight.

Surprised, you thank Javier and excuse yourself to the bathroom while he waits to close out. When you return, Javier and the bartender are having an exchange that you can't quite hear. Whatever it is, both of their faces are plastered with scowls. When you reach the bar, Javier is staring down the bartender, his eyes dark and jaw clenched “None of your business” he says to the man and then he stalks outside to wait for you on the sidewalk.

You glance back at the bartender and ask, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just be careful.” He huffs, then walks away, leaving you alone.

Confused, you pack your things back into your totebag and make your way outside to meet Javier. When you step out and see him on the sidewalk, his brows are knit, and his fists are clenched. You even see a muscle tick in his jaw before he turns to look at you.

“What's wrong?” you ask, taking a worried step toward him.

He stands straight, keeping his distance, and says,” Apparently, I’m taking advantage of you” he spits out.

“Where the hell did you get that idea?” you balk.

He nods his head toward the restaurant. “I'm sorry if you feel that way.” Reaching up and running his hand through his hair, “I guess I got carried away.”

“Well, in case you didn’t notice, I'm old enough to make decisions for myself and everyone else can mind their own damn business.”

His eyes meet yours again, but you can see that the fire behind them is gone, and instead, they are empty. “Listen, sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, sweetheart. I enjoyed meeting you, though.”

Annoyed at the turn of events, you respond, “So that’s it? What happened to me deserving the best?”

He lets out a sigh “You do, but I’m far from it.” He says darkly.

You can feel the wall Javier is stacking up between the two of you. The flirtation is gone, and the night you were beginning to look forward to was slipping away. “Well, it was nice to meet you anyways, have a good night.” you clip and turn away to walk home.

Before you make it too far, you hear Javier walking behind you, so you stop and turn around. “You don’t want to talk to me anymore, but you’ll stalk me through the streets?” you slur at him a bit rudely.

He walks right up to you frowning and says, “I’ll at least walk a drunk girl home late at night. I might be an asshole, but I'm not stupid.”

“I’m not drunk,” you scoff, crossing your arms and starting to walk away again.

Like before, you hear him trailing behind  “Maybe not drunk, but definitely tipsy.”

You give up on trying to get rid of Javier and let him catch up to you. You spend the 15-minute walk home together mostly in silence, but he does ask a few questions. You tell him you're new to Austin, how you got there, and why. You try to ask him a few questions as well, but he is a lot less forthcoming with information. Eventually, you make it to the entrance to your apartment budling, and you stop mid-stride.

He pauses, “This is where you live?”

You nod, waiting for him to turn and leave, but he doesn’t. “Are you waiting for me to invite you up? I thought you weren’t interested anymore?” You say.

“Never said that,” he grumbles “But no, that’s not what I'm waiting for. I'm making sure you get inside, and then I'm gone,” he says coldly.

“I don’t need you to take care of me, you know. I can do that just fine myself. In fact, I was fine on my own tonight before you played hot and cold.”

You can't help but be annoyed with the blatant rejection from this man you just met tonight. You didn’t go out with hopes of meeting someone to bring home for the night, but when the handsome velvet-voiced man sat beside you, you were instantly captivated. Not to mention when he started flirting with you, which had your cheeks blushing and your stomach full of butterflies. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you'd decided to spend the night with him, but then he changed his mind at the drop of a hat.

Your words struck him somewhere deep “Listen honey, I’m sorry about that, but you don’t want this, you don’t want me.” He said with a pained but stern voice.

“And what if I do? Just for one night?” you say, looking up at him, pleading.

“Then you'd be wrong.” He says, then clenches his jaw and begins to walk away.

You watch him continue down the street for a few steps before turning to walk inside your apartment building's first floor and to the elevator.  You're still thinking about the gravel in his voice and the way it had you hanging on to every last word back at the bar when you finally make it to the door of your third-floor apartment.

You search for the keys in your tote bag and let out a sigh when you hear the door unlock and push inside. Kicking off your shoes and locking the door behind you, you shuffle through the living room and into the bedroom.

Glancing at the clock on your bedside table, you see that it’s just shy of 11. Now that you're home and the excitement of the night is disappointingly over, you can feel the tiredness creeping up on you. Before you change, you walk up to close the blinds on the window beside your bed.

You were actually so excited about the windows in your new apartment because you have a great view of downtown Austin from your living room. Unfortunately, though, your bedroom window points directly at a window in the neighboring building, so it's much less exciting, or so you thought.

Right before you close the blinds, you see the light in the room of that neighboring window flick on, and a pair of broad shoulders hidden inside a familiar black leather jacket stride into that bedroom. You let out a gasp and watch as Javier fully enters the bedroom and throws his jacket and keys onto the dresser across from his bed. As he turns to close the blinds precisely as you were about to do, he freezes, and his eyes meet yours.

Maybe he was right; you might be drunk. Or maybe you just want him to see what he’s missing out on. Right now, you don’t care which it is, so you give him a small smile and begin to undress under the weight of his stare.

*part 2 is out now*

[callsigndragon]

The Christmas Date | Chapter 11: Christmas makes me cry

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Fem!Kerner!Reader

(Ron Kerner is Slider, Iceman’s backseater)

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary: Y/n “Athena” Kerner and Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw hate each other. Everybody knows. What happens when they have to fake date for a whole week to avoid Iceman and Slider’s matchmaking plans?

(there won’t be smut in this series)

Warnings: maJOR ANGST. Thena has a panic attack. anxiety. you know the deal. major fluff to compensate at the end. partial nudity (there's underwear on in the characters involved so don't worry)

A/N: Okay so this came to me randomly a few hours ago and i just...had to write it. This episode was supposed to be completely different but my heart wasn't having it so I changed it. Pros: Solo won't be doing anything more to thena (you're welcome). Cons: you're not gonna get rid of the other part of the angst that's is coming in the next chapters. FINAL ANGST I SWEAR. maybe.ALSO this chapter is a bit weird, you'll notice a song in the middle of the text, IF YOU CAN LISTEN TO IT WHILE READING THAT PART. You'll thank me later.

Taglist: @ducks118 @milestellerwife @craftymoonchaos @littlebadariell   @xoxabs88xox  @alexxavicry @tayrae515 @shrimping-for-all  @mak-32 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @harper1666 @purplevortexx @abaker74 @ssprayberrythings @melllinaa @loveless-simp  @k-k0129 @mygyn @castle-bookworms-world @chaoticversion @one-sweet-gubler @loveforaugust

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His lips wake you up, as if he were a prince wanting to rescue his princess from an eternal slumber. 

“Not now, I want to sleep more,” you whine, pulling up the covers and hiding underneath them. 

“I woke up early and went to get you some nice French toast from that place you like. I got you one of those fancy coffees with unpronounceable names and arranged it all in front of the fireplace, where my dad’s Polaroid album is waiting. You’re getting out of bed now, please?”  

Oh, shit. The album! You kick the covers away from you, hugging Rooster and covering his face in kisses. His giggles make you smile. “Morning, handsome nugget.” 

“Morning, beautiful grouchy.” 

You move back a bit to look in his eyes, sighing at what you see in them: pure love and adoration. “Why did you go all the way out for me?” 

“First of all, you deserve it, so shut up. Second,” he sighs, getting up from the bed, “I wanted to make this morning a bit easier for you before going to the station to report… the monster.” 

You swallow, looking at the floor. “I’m not gonna report him” 

“What?” 

“We’re leaving in two days, I don’t think it’s necessary. We won’t see him again after this” you shrug. 

“Sweetheart, this is not how things work. You know it.” He kneels in front of you, opening his hands and waiting for you to grab them. You don’t.

“I-I know but I can’t go to the station and talk about it. I’m doing my best to block those memories, but they’re so recent, a-and I…” Someone knocks at the door and you begin to tremble, tears welling up in your eyes. 

Are the walls moving closer? Why does it look like the room is getting smaller? You can’t breathe. Run. You can’t. You can’t move. 

“Oh no, no, no. Grouchy, look at me.” 

You can’t. Your eyes are closed, protecting you from the outside world and the white, menacing walls that keep getting closer and closer as if trying to crush you between them. 

“Thena. Thena, please. Look at me. Only at me.” 

Someone is touching you. The monster has finally gotten what he wanted. He’s carrying you around, maybe looking for a bed to lay you down. You need to get out of his arms. You hit him everywhere you can, but it’s not working. He’s stronger than you. 

The soft knock is now an insistent banging against the wooden door. Erratic and incessant sounds that echo in your ears. Is he here again? Has he come to finish what he couldn’t yesterday? 

Make it stop.

Make it stop. 

Make. 

It. 

Stop. 

Rooster looks at the trembling girl in front of him, not knowing exactly what to do. He can’t touch her, not like this. He can’t get consent from Thena, he’s not going to touch her. But if he can’t ground her back to reality soon, she’s going to get worse. 

I’m sorry, Y/n. I’m sorry for this.

Rooster carries her to the bathroom, bridal style. She screams, hits him, and tries to escape, too immersed in her own nightmare to realize that the monster is not there. The person knocking on the door is becoming impatient. Probably Slider, worried about her daughter’s screams. Rooster can’t open the door now. He needs to take care of Thena first. 

The world can wait five fucking minutes. 

He goes straight to the shower, opening the faucet and standing in the freezing water with Thena in his arms. He doesn’t know if this is going to work, but it does for him when he has panic attacks. He’s getting soaked, but it doesn’t matter. She matters. His star is agonizing, and he needs to bring her back. 

The bedroom door bursts open, and Thena screams, tossing around in his arms and crying even more. Slider walks in the bathroom with a worried expression, followed by Iceman and Mav. 

“What the fuck is happening?” he asks with a mixture of anger and fear. 

“At this point, I think she’s hallucinating.” Rooster responds, his voice breaking down at the thought of Thena going through something he can’t help her with. “It’s Becca here?” 

She appears from behind his father, tears in her eyes. “I’m here” 

“I need you to come here and talk to her. Maybe hearing a female voice would calm her down.” 

Becca nods, stepping into the tiny shower and talking with her in that motherly tone she always uses with Jesse. Oh, Jesse. Rooster hopes he’s not seeing this. Nobody should see Thena like this. But poor Jesse might be so scared if he saw her favorite auntie in such a state. 

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s me, Becca. You’re here with me. You’re safe. Listen to my voice, please. You’re safe.” 

Becca keeps talking with her for a few minutes, with Thena’s body slowly relaxing between his arms and her eyes, which have been closed the entire time, opening slowly. She looks around, confusion spreading over her face. The trembling doesn’t stop, however. 

“Grouchy, can you hear me?” 

“N-nugget?” she mumbles, her voice hoarse for all the screaming. 

“Yes, my love, it’s nugget. I’m gonna ask you a few questions, okay? Answer if you can," she nods slowly, and Rooster employs a technique taught to him by his therapist years ago. “Tell me five things you see” 

She doesn’t move her gaze from him, as if she were scared that if she looked around, she would see the monster’s face in front of her. “You. Your scars. Y-your stache. Your wet hair. The faucet” 

“Now, four things you can feel” 

“My wet clothes. The water on my skin. Your body is trembling… are you cold?” 

“Focus now, fly girl. One more” 

“My feet on the ground” 

He nods; she's returning slowly but safely. “Three things you can hear”

“Your voice, your breathing, water running” 

Her breath slows down to a normal rhythm.

“Two things you can smell” 

“You. And soap” he looks at one of the shampoo bottles Thena had kicked when he got her in the shower, now opened and oozing. 

“One thing you can taste” 

She stops shaking. 

“Nothing. I didn’t have breakfast. Oh god, Rooster…” 

"There you are," Rooster exhales, relieved. “Please don’t go to places where I can’t follow you.” 

She hugs him harder than she's ever done before. Becca turns off the faucet, being careful not to touch Thena by accident, and steps out of the shower, getting wrapped in a towel by her dad. 

“I’m sorry,” Thena whispers. 

“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for. Let’s take you out of these cold clothes. I’ll run you a bath and wait for you downstairs with a warm cup of chocolate.” Rooster offers, knowing that if he doesn’t warm Thena’s body, she will get a cold. 

“Don’t leave me,” she pleads. 

“Never” 

“Once you two are ready,” Becca says, talking for all, “we would like to know as much as you can tell us of what has happened here” 

Rooster looks at Thena, she looks at the ground, considering her choices, and then nods slowly. “He’ll tell you. I can’t think or hear about it. Not yet” 

The family nods, slowly leaving the bathroom and the room. “I don’t know if I can be alone with my thoughts in a bath…” 

“I can keep my underwear on and join you,” he offers. 

She nods, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. “He broke me, Roos.” 

“You’re not broken.” 

She opens her mouth to say something else but closes it quickly, as if she wasn't sure how to express her thoughts. “I’m cold” 

“I’ll get the bath started.” 

You look at Rooster getting inside the tub, leaning against the white end. You take off your clothes, you’re only wearing Rooster’s hoodie that he gave you last night, black yoga shorts, and your underwear. You’re not ready to take off your underwear yet. “Can I keep this?” you ask him, signaling to the mismatched bra and panties you’re wearing. 

“Sweetheart, you’re the one that decides, not me.” 

You nod slowly, getting closer to the tub. “This may sound contradictory because ten minutes ago I was trying to escape from your arms, but... can I sit with you?” 

“You mean, your back on my chest?” 

“If it’s okay,” you insist, asking for permission. 

He doesn’t answer, just opens his arms as a nonverbal confirmation. You smile a bit, getting inside and sitting in the middle of the tub, leaning slowly against Rooster’s body. You don’t really understand how, but he’s the only touch you can tolerate right now. Whenever he isn’t there, you miss it. Crave it, even. It’s completely illogical. 

The hot water pierces your cold skin, warming it slowly. He moves his arms to rest on each side of the tub, avoiding any more contact between you and his body. He doesn’t want you to be overwhelmed. 

“Thank you, Bradley,” you whisper. 

“Don’t need to thank me, little star” 

“Star? That's a new one," you say as you lift your hand from the warm water and grab Rooster's large one. He turns his hand, his palm facing up, and your fingers slowly trace the lines. 

“I said once that you were my Polaris. You’re my little star” 

“What if this star doesn’t shine anymore?” you question with tears in your eyes. 

He kisses your head. “You don’t need to shine to be my star” 

“Do you still want to be with me after all this?” 

And there it is, the question you have been afraid to ask. 

“Y/n look at me” 

You turn around to see his calm and comforting expression. “The only way you’re getting rid of me is when you say you don’t love me anymore” 

“I think I love you more than yesterday,” you admit shyly, his hand moving to caress your cheek. 

“And I think I love you less than tomorrow.” 

Rooster stated that he will inform your family about the monster and everything that happened not only yesterday, but years ago as well. He asked for Ice’s help, because both of you knew that once Slider learns that his best friend hid something so important from him for years, things will get uncomfortable. 

You can’t stand being in a room alone, so he hands you his headphones, looks for a playlist that he has on Spotify named ‘the brightest star’, and presses play. You want to ask him why the playlist is called like that, but you see the family entering the room, and you know that it’s the moment to tune out the world. In your hands, you have Goose’s album. It’s old, and some pages seem to be, quite literally, hanging from a thread. You should get a new album, too. 

You look at all the pictures, finally finding that picture of baby you and a 4-year-old Rooster. He’s wearing his dad's glasses. It is truly a beautiful picture. Maybe you can get a copy and have it in your cockpit. 

Rooster playlist changes from a silly and happy Paramore song to a song you haven’t heard before but it has the most beautiful lyrics. 

Let your arms be a place she feels safe in. 

Wait, what’s this song about? You unlock Rooster’s phone, quickly opening the music app to read the lyrics. 

She always has trouble 

Falling asleep 

And she likes to cuddle 

While under the sheets

She loves Pop songs

And dancing, and bad trash TV

It's as if this song was talking about you. 

Has a hard time accepting 

A good compliment 

She loves her whole family

And all of her friends

It’s this playlist about you? Does he have a special selection of songs that remind him of you? 

So if you’re the one she lets in

Take it

If she gives you her heart

Don’t you break it

Let your arms be a place 

She feels safe in

This might be the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard. And you wish he would sing it to you. He has a beautiful voice. 

She’ll love you 

If you love her 

On days when

It feels like the whole 

World might cave in

Stand side by side 

And you’ll make it

She’s the best thing you’ll ever have

She’ll love you

If you love her like that

When you raise your head to look at Rooster, you notice the room is empty. It looks like he finished his story, and all of them left the room to leave you some space. 

He takes off your headphones. “What are you listening to, grouchy?” He stays silent for a few seconds until he registers the song and smiles. “Oh, is this one?”

“Roos is this-”

“Is the playlist about you? Yes. Absolutely. At first, it only had one song. When I see you smile”

"80s song, how typical of you," you say with a smile. 

“Well, the lyrics fit, don’t you think? Anyway, then I kept hearing songs on the radio that reminded me of you, or had a very deep meaning or… just like this one, it was made for you” 

“If it helps… your arms are the safest place on Earth for me” 

“And when I see you smile, I can face the world,” he admits, leaning close to your face to kiss you. 

“Agh, you’re literally DISGUSTINGLY CUTE,” Nick says, covering his eyes while walking towards the sofa, where his phone is. 

“Get lost,” you both say before closing the distance and kissing each other with so much love you feel goosebumps on your skin and tears in your eyes. 

Feeling loved has to be the best feeling in the world.

A/N: Anyone interested in hearing the playlist? Is small but cute, i swear. I'll leave it here.

[samkat10423]

Tired of Aliens

So, I got tired of doing the alien thing. There are just so many that you can make before you want to nuke them all. Mostly because I hate, hate, hate CAS. 

So, I’m back in Sunset Valley, redoing all of them. More CAS. Blecch!

Anyway, the first one I did lives in this house - renovated by my friend Tedhi as part of her SV renovation series. I did make a few changes - like adding some CC plants outside and inside giving him a music room, since he is in the music career. Plus, he got a nice Fresh Prince car.

And here he is! Christopher Steel himself! I don’t use sliders - since I hate CAS - but I did change out his skin to a custom one and gave him a new hair and some decent clothes. Usually, when I play him, I put him in the forensic CSI career, but this time, I decided to make him my town’s new orchestra conductor. I kind of based my choice on his bio, that he’s new in town and hoping to have a fresh start. So, in my world he was recruited from Bridgeport by the Crumplebottom sisters to bring a bit of culture to the unwashed masses here in SV. 

This is another Tedhi renovation. I didn’t do a lot to this house, other than get rid of the gym equipment that was included with the lot. I like my sims to use my community lots, so I have a firm rule that if skill objects are available on a community lot, they have to use them and not have one of their own. The only exception I make is for writers and artists. But they still have to be at level 5 or above before I let them have one of their own. Oh! And I do let them all have a bookcase - part of my literacy program.

And here’s the young lady who lives here. All I did for her was give her a CC skin and hairdo, tone down her make-up, and debulk her muscle size. They’re still toned, but not so in-your-face bulky. 

This is the eccentric doctor who lives in the trailer next door to her. He likes to take his “cat” - it’s supposed to be a skunk - for rides around town. He was recruited by Geoff Landgraab to work at the local hospital as a gene therapist. (He’s not exactly what they were expecting).

And you all know this house. Since I was in the mood, I decided to redo this lot myself.  BTW, in the background you can see the trailer where my last sim lives. It was another Tedhi reno. I just added some eco-friendly CC to it. 

Since this is supposed to be the poorest family in town, I pretty much gave them junk one might find while dumpster-diving. The furniture is mismatched and has seen better days. According to the father’s bio, he’s sort of gone downhill since his wife left him. So, when I took him into CAS, I changed one of his traits to “loser.” I also gave him and his two boys that Egyptian hidden trait. Anyway - since I like to give my sims a backstory, I decided that his wife left him after discovering that he got that French sim pregnant. Seems he went out with the guys after work one day, got plastered and had a one-night fling. His wife was not amused. Nor was his oldest, since he overheard his parents’ fight and blames his dad for his mom leaving. The youngest boy is still clueless as to why his mom left, but he’ll probably figure it out, since I aged up that French toddler and she is now his classmate. I love drama!

Anyway, I did take the family into CAS and gave them a dog. I was going to take a picture, but the boys kept disappearing and so I gave up. If I see them around town, I take one then, but again, all I did was give them custom skins and some decent clothes.

[tagteamestatesale]

TAG TEAM ESTATE SALE

DEMO SALE

FRIDAY 12PM - 4PM

SATURDAY 9:30AM - 4PM

21 Cornell Rd., Sag Harbor

We are having a demo sale at a house that was renovated 2 years ago.

We are selling custom, high gloss , white kitchen cabinets with rhino white, marble countertops and self-trimming farmhouse sink, Samsung 3 door- French door refrigerator, Samsung 5 burner, gas, convection range with air-fryer & wifi, whirlpool dishwasher, Samsung washer/dryer, viking wine cooler, double custom vanity with Duravit sinks,, Grohe bathroom fixtures, thermostatic shower system with rainfall shower head and handheld, Toto toilet,California Closet System, interior and exterior lights, Craftsman style front door, Andersen Slider and windows, shutters, pool fence - ALL TWO YEARS OLD - this house has an amazing lawn, the sod is also only 2 years old and will be for sale along with other landscaping like several Ilex which are all in great shape on all sides, a Holly hedge, 8’ American Holly - only 2 yrs old so root ball isn’t prohibitively big making it easier to get out, A Black Ironwood tree, Andromeda’s, beach grass, black  metal pool fence with gates to code, 10” x 4” cobblestones, Blue stone walkways , pavers and patio - set in sand!!!

There are a few miscellaneous items like prints, books, clothes, etc.

Some photos are below

Tagteamestatesale@gmail.com

[propertytours]

Alison Myers's listing at 1615 Primrose Lane, Forest Grove, OR

Alison Myers's listing at 1615 Primrose Lane, Forest Grove, ORGorgeous traditional home on quiet culdesac backing to greenspace. Warm & inviting living rm w/ large picture windows & gas fireplace w/shiplap wall & rustic wood mantel.Cheerful kitchen w/ high end gas range ss appl & subway tile backsplash w/ eat bar. Great dining area w/slider opening to back patio. French doors on main flr office. Vaulted master suite w/shower/tub combo & nice walk in closet. Spacious 2nd & 3rd bedrooms with Jack and Jill Bath. New carpet & wood look tile. Read the full article

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This fascinating home was built in 1965 and is meant to be Victorian style architecture. It is in Huntington Beach, California, has 4bd. 2.5ba. and has a pending sale for $1.6M.

Try to ignore all the white, they even painted their furniture, but observe the architecture- remember this is supposed to be a Victorian home built in 1965. So, we have lots of very fancy ceiling medallions. 

I can barely see anything in here, b/c of all the white, but there’s thick crown molding, a fireplace w/details I can’t see, and some fancy octagonal windows. The light modern floors don’t look Victorian.

Some crown molding and a ceiling medallion in the dining room, plus French doors to the patio. Is that mirror on the right a blocked fireplace?

Shake shingles, beams and shiplap make the ceiling look farmhouse style.

The kitchen is impressive, but aside from some of the upper cabinets & faux stained glass light cover, the tiles look more hacienda style. 

Not your typical Victorian sitting room. This is definitely modern farmhouse style.

Family room with sliding glass doors and a large ceiling medallion.

This room does look Victorian. 

This one has crown molding and a ceiling medallion. It appears that molding and ceiling medallions are the mainstays of their quasi-Victorian look. 

The bath looks like a 1965 bath.

Probably the main bd. with sliders to the enclosed sunroom.

Unusual area. This is nice, though.

Room with a tropical feel.

An updated shower room.

Here’s a private patio with a fountain.

I rather like this large covered outdoor area.

Oh, a gazebo and another fountain. This house is very ornate on the exterior.

In fact, I like the outside better than the inside.

The entrance to the garden.

Side entrance and alley. Luckily, it’s in California, so the exterior is all living space, but I wouldn’t buy it for $1.6M and it was on the market for over 70 days.

https://www.coldwellbankerhomes.com/ca/huntington-beach/21702-impala-ln/pid_51062651/