#hand-carved vintage doors

[indiatrendzs]

Antique Doors, Vintage Doors with Old Souls

Brass-clad doors epitomize elegance and strength, effortlessly marrying the resilience of teak wood with the luxurious allure of brass. This combination yields doors that are not only durable but also visually stunning. The brass accents capture and reflect light, casting a warm, inviting glow that enhances the intricate carvings on the surface. Frequently adorning the entrances of ancient…

[mogulinterior]

Eclectic Hand carved Rustic Furniture and Decor

Style Your Interior with Eclectic Bohemian Rustic Furniture: Antique Armoires and Carved Panels

In the world of interior design, the intersection of history, art, and functionality is where true beauty lies. Eclectic Bohemian rustic furniture, particularly antique armoires crafted from old Indian doors, encapsulates this ideal, offering not only practical storage solutions but also a statement of artistry and culture. These hand-carved rustic armoires are as much conversation pieces as they are functional, blending the rich heritage of India with a design aesthetic that appeals to those who appreciate uniqueness and eclectic charm. find us At Mogulinterior

The Allure of Antique Indian Armoires

Antique armoires, especially those repurposed from reclaimed Indian doors, bring an undeniable sense of history into any space. Each door tells its own story, with hand-carved patterns, intricate details, and grounding elements like brass and iron studs that add texture and depth. These features provide a timeless quality, making them ideal for those who seek to create interiors that are both soulful and sophisticated.

Carved Panels: Perfect for Entrances and Beyond

Another exceptional way to incorporate Indian artistry into your home is through hand-carved panels. These intricately designed pieces, often depicting Indian mythology, bring an air of elegance and cultural richness to any entranceway or room. Traditionally, these vintage wall panels adorned the interiors of Havelis (Indian mansions), reflecting both status and artistic taste. Today, they can transform an entryway or serve as a stunning focal point in spaces like yoga studios, where the tranquil beauty of the carvings resonates with the serene atmosphere.

Panels in whitewashed finishes or rustic teak are particularly appealing for contemporary interiors. The neutral tones balance the intricate carvings, making them versatile enough to fit into both vibrant and subdued color schemes. Whether used as wall décor or incorporated into architectural features like doorways, these panels bring a touch of timeless artistry into the modern home.

The Perfect Blend of Tradition and Modernity

For those who appreciate design that tells a story, antique Indian doors, armoires, and carved panels offer the perfect blend of tradition and modernity. These pieces speak to a bygone era while effortlessly fitting into today’s interior styles. The rustic charm of weathered wood, combined with intricate carvings and grounding materials like brass, creates an atmosphere of warmth, elegance, and history.

Mogul InteriorFollow On

From the vintage Indian door that becomes a statement entrance piece to the hand-carved panels that transform a blank wall, these elements allow homeowners to infuse their space with eclectic Bohemian charm and the timeless beauty of Hand carved Rustic Furniture. Whether you’re furnishing a grand living room or a peaceful yoga studio, these artistic and functional pieces bring an authentic touch of India’s rich design heritage to your home.

[wiit889]

Los Angeles Mediterranean Exterior An illustration of a sizable, one-story, stucco house with a tile roof in Tuscan white

[griffonsgrove]

Hi I saw your request for Hazbin Hotel I watched it and I'm simping for Alastor and was wondering if you could do Alastor x fem or gn reader where Alastor uses his radio static like white noise to calm down the reader when they have sensitivity overload or a panic attack or just to destress sorry if this is worded bad

Radio Static || Alastor x GN!Reader

a/n: Hiya!! This was a super sweet request to make! I myself get easily overwhelmed, especially with big groups of people, and it's comforting to finally get away from all the noise and interactions! Please enjoy this cute little oneshot! Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Wordcount: 691 Cw: minor hazbin spoilers

It had nearly been a week since Sir Pentious was welcomed into the Hazbin Hotel, by none other than the princess of hell, Charlie. She had decided to throw a small little get-together to celebrate. The princess had such an eccentric, bubbly personality, it was hard to ever say no to her. You were never one for parties, your sensitivity to the constant noise, the vibrant colors, and the chaotic atmosphere sometimes became too much to bear. It was during one of these moments that Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, noticed your distress.

You had retreated to a quiet corner, trying to find solace in the midst of the infernal commotion. Alastor, ever perceptive to the emotions swirling around him, followed you with a keen interest. Seeing the subtle signs of your discomfort, he decided to offer an unconventional remedy.

Alastor approaches you with his trademark grin, his red eyes gleaming with an unusual warmth. "Why, what seems to be the matter, my dear?" he inquired, his voice holding that dazzling charm he always seems to have. You struggled to find the words, but the overwhelmed expression on your face spoke volumes. Sensing your need for relief, Alastor's grin widened, with the wave of his hand, he quietly motions for you to follow him. "Come now, don't you worry. I have just the thing for such occasions." He abruptly turns on his heel, delving deeper into the depths of the hotel.

You’re skeptical at first, but willing to try anything at this point, you decide to follow him. He leads you down a series of hallways, the sounds of the other patrons begin to slowly fade away as you walk. He stops in front of an intricately carved door; you didn't have much time to admire the craftsmanship before he opens it. You tilt your head to the side to peer over his shoulder. It seemed to be his private den. There's a little sitting area, in front of a small fireplace, which was adorned with all sorts of knickknacks, the most notable being a large rack of antlers mounted on the wall above, but what caught you off guard completely was the other entire half of his room, it was a swamp! Literally, the wood flooring splintered off into lush grass, and numerous cypress trees can be seen looming in the distance, the trunks covered in a thick moss. 

Alastor steps to the side, politely gesturing for you to enter first. With slight hesitancy, you step inside quietly, taking note of all the framed pictures that hung on the wall.

His voice cuts through the silence "Sit, my dear. Allow me to ease your troubled mind," he motions to one of the empty padded chairs. You oblige, sitting down on the plush cushion. With the snap of his fingers, He conjures up his vintage radio, the static already emitting a soothing white noise. For a moment he fiddles with the dial, adjusting the frequency. Soft static filled the air, drowning out the overwhelming sounds from earlier. At first, it seemed odd, but as the white noise enveloped you, a surprising sense of calm washed over.

Alastor sat across from you, his eyes never leaving your face as he observed the way you slowly sank back into the padded chair. The radio static acted as a protective cocoon, shielding you from the sensory onslaught. His presence was oddly comforting, and you found yourself relaxing under the influence of the unusual but effective remedy.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence. You weren't entirely sure how much time had passed, minutes? hours?, the static acting as a barrier between you and the chaotic world. Alastor broke the silence with a soft chuckle. "Remarkable, isn't it? The power of a little radio magic."

You managed a grateful smile, genuinely appreciating the respite he provided. It was an unexpected yet strangely effective solution to your sensitivity overload. As the static continued its comforting hum, you felt a sense of gratitude toward the Radio Demon who, in his own peculiar way, had offered you a moment of peace in the midst of the Hotel’s pandemonium. You remind yourself to apologize to Charlie later for leaving the party so abruptly.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Gorgeous fairy tale home. 1929 stone home in Mount Plymouth, FL is unlike anything you've ever seen before. 4bds, 3ba, $525K and the price isn't bad, for this amazing home.

Look st the details of the fireplace. I wonder if that little elf is a part of it, or if the owners placed it there.

Such unique things in this home. The living room has a wonderful rough-hewn wood pitched ceiling.

Look at the shape of the doorway and niches.

Lovely dining room. Look at the light fixture. Doors open to a sun room.

Nice flagstone floor.

The kitchen has what I think is a cool dining alcove, but they have it set up as an office.

Somebody has some dirty hands. Anyway, there's a funky tiled floor and I hope that they're leaving the cabinets that fit in the alcove. Cute vintage kitchen - you can see the cracks in the cabinet doors.

Family room. I like the walls.

This is nice- a shower room and vintage sink and tile. Look at the walls.

Looks like hand carved railings. In the middle, there's a walkway that leads to nowhere. I guess it's meant to look down into the living room.

Like so. I never saw such brightly colored flagstone. It as if it's paint.

sThey've got this room set up as a home office. Look at how rough the walls and ceilings are in this home. It almost looks like wood bark in here.

Wow, look at the bath. Vintage pink sink and tub, plus original terra cotta floor tile. Whoever did the finish on the walls was spot-on.

Look at this room- subtly painted trees on the walls. This is so cool, and they're not highlighting it properly. I wouldn't hide it w/so many paintings and I would have more coordinated bedding and tropical style furniture, even if I had to paint it.

The art is nice, but it's hiding the murals.

This is lovely. A screened in porch with jalousie windows has a cute tiki hut vibe. Love the floor.

This cute addition in the back of the house has a separate bedroom and bath. According to the listing, it's the maid's quarters. Look at the little shutters.

Nice living room/bedroom- is that a fireplace that the painting is leaning inside?

Vintage shower room.

Looks like a big picnic pavilion in the yard, plus another outbuilding. The lot is 2acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/30801-Ridgeview-Ave-Mount-Plymouth-FL-32776/45365794_zpid/

[jokeringcutio]

Hi, I saw you also write for Snape and wanted to request something :3

Snape x Professor!fem!reader

She’s crushing on him for a long time and now that she’s back at Hogwarts she has a lot of inappropriate thoughts about the potions master and her strange behavior prompts him to read her mind. Can go into smut from there, but it’s not a must :3

Love your stories <3

Rating: Mature (Slightly explicit, but decent I think? Rather vanilla) Severus Snape x Professor!Reader, Drabble/Ficlet. Word count: 3778

AN: <3 I can write something more smutty in the future, but this was all that came out right now. Hope you like :) For more [ x ]

1.

A soft, warm beam of light filtered into the room, illuminating the desk's surface. You shuffled through the assortment of Muggle artifacts on your desk, arranging them meticulously for today's lesson. A vintage camera, a worn paperback novel, a tangled mass of headphones—each item a mystery to your students at Hogwarts. As you reached for a battery-operated torch, your gaze flickered to the doorway, catching sight of the imposing figure of Professor Snape gliding past.

Tall. Cold. Unreachable.

Your fingers betrayed you, fumbling with the torch until it clattered onto the stone floor with an unforgiving echo. You cursed softly, stooping to retrieve it while your heart hammered in your chest.

"Clumsy," you chastised yourself under your breath, the word barely a whisper.

Snape halted mid-stride, his sharp senses tuned to your nervous rustle. The air grew thick, charged. You felt his dark eyes on you, piercing, as if he could unravel the very fabric of your thoughts with just one glance.

"Focus," you willed silently, placing the torch back onto the desk with practiced care.

But you knew he was there, statuesque in the hallway, listening. Your pulse quickened, and you strained to appear composed as you arranged the last of the muggle oddities before you. It was a dance of pretense, each movement deliberate, masking the turmoil within.

Don’t come and look, your mind whispered. Come and look, please – the other voice inside of you urged. You wanted to catch a glimpse of him, the mere thought making you hot all over.

"Get a grip," you muttered again, despising how his mere presence reduced you to this. You were nothing more but a bundle of nerves wrapped in a thin veneer of professionalism. Well, that thin layer of professionalism easily slipped away as you stubbed your toe against the leg of the desk and grunted.

You were leaning onto the desk when a creaking noise caught your attention. And there he was, standing in the doorway, his foot on the threshold, black shoe shimmering in the morning glow. His looming silhouette was dark against the pale light of the corridor.

You froze, heart stuttering.

"Is everything all right?" The words slithered from his lips, low and nasally, a sound that sent shivers down your spine.

"Everything's fine," you lied, your voice steady despite the tremble in your legs. His voice snaked through your mind, stoking flames where there should be only ash.

Dark eyes, as black as coals, pierced you but showed no judgment. His pale hand rested on the door handle. His professor’s robes fell around him like he was a statue carved by the finest hands in town, his polished shoes peeking out from underneath and betraying that he stood with his legs parted – one foot in front of the other, ready to come to your aid.

Don’t think too much about it, you scolded yourself mentally. He’d do this for any colleague. Don’t overthink things.  

But your weak knees betrayed you, buckling as if they too wish to bow to the power he wields effortlessly. Unchaste thoughts clawed at the edges of your consciousness, seeking purchase. You forced them back, ruthlessly.

Stop undressing him mentally. It was easier said than done.

He lifted a brow. Was he doubting your words?

“I’m fine,” you said again, picking up the torch and showing it to him. “Just accidentally dropped this.”

The slightest arch of his brow communicated volumes more than words could muster. Yeah, he was skeptical. But was it because of the muggle tool you were holding? You knew he seemed to show disdain for the muggle kind. The people who are so much like wizards and witches. The ones you grew up with.

Did he hate you for it?

He must. Oh, there you went again, talking yourself down. There was no way your colleague would reciprocate your feelings. Your pulse hammered, echoing in the hollow of your throat. Could he hear it? Did he know? Did he know about your crush on him?

"Very well." Snape's reply was a ghostly caress, sending ripples across the tense air between you.

When he finally turned away, you released a breath you didn't realize you were holding, the soft swish of his robes a whisper of mercy. You watched his back as he walked away – so gracefully. The way his robes swooshed around him. It made you think of all that was hidden underneath.

You quickly looked aside, cheeks aflame because you should not hold such thoughts. Not when class was about to start.

Students began to trickle in, their chatter a mundane balm to the chaos Snape had left in his wake. You silently begged your face not to betray the inferno the other professor had ignited within you - how flushed you felt, how utterly disarmed.

The other professors would think you were mental for falling for the icy man’s charm. The greasy hair, the sallow skin, the grumpy exterior, the slight pudgy belly hidden underneath the robes.

The huge bulge camouflaged by those tight black pants.

"Professor?" one student inquired, sensing an undercurrent they could not grasp.

"I have something fun prepared for you today," you quickly said, putting on a false smile and hoping you could distract your students before they would start asking any inconvenient questions. You needed to distract them – and to distract yourself as well.

2.

It was time for lunch, which meant that everyone had gathered in the Great Hall. You stood in line to grab your portion of food – it was a buffet today and you were determined to stretch your legs a little. As was your colleague Samintha, the Divination teacher, and your friend. It had been easy, you were both about the same age. And she wasn’t a stranger to muggles either.

Your eyes raked past the buffet, its grandeur a stark contrast to the churning in your gut. Beside you, Samintha’s voice was a steady hum against the backdrop of clinking utensils and mingling conversations. You reached for your goblet – the seemingly never-ending waterfall of juice had filled it to the brim – when Samintha leaned closer, her breath warm on your ear. “Snape’s been eyeing you,” she murmured, each word igniting a spark of nerves that danced along your spine.

Your heart pounded as your gaze swept the room, seeking him out. There he was, shadowed at the far end of the professor’s table, his dark eyes piercing through the throng. The moment you met his stare, he turned away, just as quickly as you could blink.

You had caught him looking at you, right? That hadn’t been just your imagination – or wishful thinking, whatever you wanted to call it. Samintha had seen it, so it must have been real.

A rush of heat surged through you, making your fingers tremble.

The goblet slipped from your grasp, the clang of metal striking stone echoing louder than it should have. Heads turned, eyes probed. You knelt, snatching the goblet up with shaking hands, cheeks burning under the weight of scrutiny. Snape’s gaze was a tangible presence, even as he pretended indifference.

"Merlin's beard, I'm sorry," you stammered to Samintha once you came up again, the goblet tightly in your hands but unfortunately all empty. You pushed it under the juice fountain again.

Her knowing glance sent another shiver through you, but you pushed it aside, following her to the professor's table.

You saw the empty seat next to Snape and your heart skipped. His dark, brooding presence was a magnetic force pulling you in. But not today. Not here. You grabbed Samintha's arm, guiding her to the far end of the table, away from him.

"Here’s good," you mumbled, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.

"Really?" Samintha’s eyebrow arched, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"Yes," you hissed back, dropping into the seat. But the pull was still there. You felt his eyes before you even looked up. And when you did, oh, how they pierced through you—black, intense, like he could read every inappropriate thought you ever had about him.

Your pulse quickened, head pounding. The world blurred for a second as you flinched, hand reaching to massage your temples. Any improper fantasy you had about him faded because of the dull pain. Now you were just worrying if you had hit your head.

"Headache?" Samintha asked, concern lacing her voice.

"Yeah," you said, forcing a weak smile. "Just... tired."

"Sure," she said, but her eyes told you she knew better. She glanced at Snape, then back at you, and smirked.

Another professor leaned toward Snape to ask him a question. The connection broke. Snape looked away, engaged in conversation with another professor, and just like that, the headache vanished. Relief washed over you, but only for a moment. Your mind drifted, unbidden, back to him. To the way his hands moved with precision, his voice a soft menace commanding respect, admiration.

"You're staring again," Samintha whispered, snapping you back to reality.

"Sorry," you muttered.

"Honestly," she chuckled, leaning closer, "you can do better than Snape. What about Professor Gladwood? He's charming in his own way. Or perhaps Professor Lupin? I've heard he's quite the romantic."

"Stop it," you laughed nervously, glancing around to make sure no one overheard.

"Just saying," she teased, winking. "Plenty of fish in the sea."

"None like him," you murmured under your breath, more to yourself than to her. But she heard, and her knowing look made your cheeks burn.

"Maybe," she conceded. "But sometimes, the most dangerous catch isn’t worth the risk."

You sighed, turning your attention back to your plate, pretending to listen to the conversations around you. Yet your thoughts kept drifting back to Severus Snape, the man who haunted your dreams and your waking hours, filling them with a dangerous, intoxicating allure.

"Maybe you should consider Hagrid," Samintha quipped, dragging you out of your fantasies and back to the present because – did you just hear her correctly?

You turned toward her with eyes wide.

“Oh yeah,” she continued, her voice dripping with playful mischief. “Give me a big man any day.”

You choked on your juice, the liquid threatening to spill from the goblet clutched in your hand. "What?" you spluttered, a mix of shock and amusement coloring your tone.

"Well," she continued, her eyes sparkling with laughter, "he’s got that rugged charm. And I hear he’s quite gentle despite his size."

"That's... that's completely inappropriate!" you hissed, trying to regain your composure. Heat flushed through your cheeks as you darted a glance around, praying no one overheard. You couldn’t help the thoughts that emerged at the way Samintha had phrased that. But instead of the bearded giant, it was a different colleague you saw. One with pale skin and black hair.

"We're supposed to be professional here," you hissed.

"Relax," Samintha grinned, unperturbed. "It's just a bit of fun. Besides, you need to lighten up. You're so wound up over Snape, it's like you're spellbound."

"He's... different," you murmured, struggling for words. The memory of his intense gaze lingered, burning into your thoughts. "But still, we shouldn't talk about our colleagues like that."

"Fine, fine," she relented, raising her hands in mock surrender. "I'll behave. For now."

You sighed, letting the tension ease from your shoulders, but the tumult of emotions remained. You pushed your plate away, appetite lost amidst the swirling confusion of your feelings. The Great Hall buzzed with chatter, but it all seemed distant, muffled by the pounding of your heart.

The clock chimes - the signal. Lunch is over. Time marches on, relentless.

"Time to get back to reality," you said softly, standing up and smoothing out your robes. Samintha followed suit, her expression turning serious.

"Right. Classes won't teach themselves," she replied, though her eyes twinkled with residual amusement.

Together, you walked out of the Great Hall, the lively atmosphere fading behind you.

3.

The last student had scurried out, the echo of footsteps fading into nothingness. You stood there, alone, studying the items that lay on the desk in front of you. You slowly reached for them, stuffing them back into your bag that could fit it all. The air was heavy with the dense silence of an empty classroom.

A curl of unease twisted inside you, a serpent coiling tight. It began as a whisper at the base of your skull - a dull throb that quickened as you moved about the room. Your thoughts drifted to him - Severus Snape - his image hovering at the edges of your consciousness like a specter.

You had felt this headache before, during lunch. When he had been looking at you.

Just the thought of him was enough to let the heavy burn of arousal flood through your body. A slight throbbing appeared at your core and you squeezed your legs together, biting your bottom lip to subdue a moan.

Your thoughts were racing widely now: from admiring Snape’s physique to wondering what was hidden beneath those robes – and all the things he could do to you.

No. All the things you wanted him to do to you.

Your fingers traced the soft cover of a textbook that was lying on your desk while you bit back a moan. Your breath stuttered, chest heaving heavily as your core grew hot and slick. It was a daydream, a little fantasy, but imagining that he wouldn’t care about your muggle past and reach out to those strong veined hands and touch you – it was enough to get you hot and bothered.

The textbook fell, tumbled to the floor, and you bent to pick it up. The headache surged, sharp and insistent. A signal. You looked up.

You hadn’t noticed him standing there. hadn't noticed the tall, dark figure lingering in the doorway. But he was watching – the shadowed gaze piercing through the veil of your obliviousness.

His eyes met yours. Black holes pulling you in. No escape.

"Snape," you breathed, unsteady. “Severus.”

The world narrowed to the space between you and him. Heat bloomed beneath your skin. Thoughts unbidden, desires unchained. To feel those strong masculine hands on you, the brush of his lips against your throat. To melt into him, to taste the hidden fires you knew raged beneath that icy exterior.

His eyes darkened, a storm gathering behind the calm.

"Professor?" Your voice was a husky whisper, shattering the silence, betraying you once more.

He didn't move, didn't speak. Just stood there, an enigma cloaked in black. But his eyes—they spoke volumes. They devoured your every thought, every secret wish painted starkly in the depths of those fathomless pools.

The realization hit you like a thunderbolt, the staggering understanding that he had been in your mind. "You've been using Legilimency," you accused, eyes narrowed as they met his obsidian gaze.

"Indeed," Snape replied, his voice betraying no emotion.

"You know... about my feelings," you continued, voice steady even as your pulse raced.

"I do."

There was a power in standing your ground, in facing him head-on. "Well, then," you said, chin lifted defiantly. "You might expect an apology for the thoughts that you were privy to,” you started, swallowing hard. “But I won’t apologize. Those thoughts were mine. My desires. My fantasies. I won’t change them, as they should have been private.”

You cast Snape a silent glare.

"Then I shall not apologize for having read them," he confessed, and you noted the rare hint of sincerity in his voice. It was barely a whisper, but his approach spoke louder than any words could. He closed the distance between you, coming to a halt mere inches away. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating in the way it filled every inch of space around you.

Heat bloomed across your skin, an inferno stoked by his nearness. You swallowed hard, feeling the warmth spread, unbidden. Wanted. Your breath came in shallow gasps, betraying the composure you fought so hard to maintain.

"Your feelings..." His voice trailed off as if he were contemplating the weight of them, measuring their worth.

"Are mine," you reaffirmed, your heart hammering against your ribs as you held his gaze, refusing to look away, to cower.

A small smirk tucked at the corners of his lips while his dark eyes studied you. “I find them…” he started, voice low and nasal, words pausing just at that odd interval  - a habit he was inclined to which you found endearing and incredibly arousing.

“Enticing,” he finally finished.

You didn't have time to respond. His lips crashed onto yours, a storm you never saw coming. Instinctively, your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, desperate for the warmth of him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, the greasy strands slipping through like threads of night. The kiss deepened, his mouth moving over yours with a hunger that mirrored the chaos within you.

Finally, you pull away to catch your breath, panting. His eyes were like abysses filled with something primal. Darker. Deeper. You knew that look. It was desire, raw and unmasked.

"You want me," you gasped out, breathless and bold.

"Intensely," he murmured against your lips before claiming them once more.

His kiss was a brand, searing into your very essence. There was no turning back.

His hands slid up your spine, fingers digging into the fabric of your robes, curling with want. His dark pupils were blown with need.

You grasped onto him, curled around him, arched your back until you were fitted against him upon your desk – precious muggle artifacts scattered to the floor but you held no care for them. Right now, your focus was on the man in your arms.

Open-mouthed kisses trailed down his neck, nuzzling the collar aside. A low whisper from his lips indicated he cast a spell. First, one to close the door and keep it locked. Then, one to seal off the room and keep any sounds trapped inside.

Had you not been so distracted, you might have been impressed with the ease with which he cast them. The cold and smooth exterior of his wand slithered past your hand as he tried to tuck it away, back into the pocket of his robe. He then hastily helped you undo the buttons, fingers deftly aiding you in pushing the garment off his shoulders and his blouse unbuttoned until his chest was exposed.

Another kiss, teeth against teeth, and before long, you felt his skin against your own. Breaths mingling, the world narrowed to the space between bodies. Fingers roamed, explored territories marked with whispers and urgency. Heat bloomed where flesh met flesh, where whispers turned into gasps, where control slipped through fingers like water.

His body fit against yours perfectly, his parted lips in a silent gasp accompanied the moment when he bottomed out, pushing you up against the desk in a breathless sigh. You allowed him to take control momentarily, to thrust shallowly into your core, then driving deeper and harder with each deliberate stroke.

Wet sounds filled the room as he took up the pace, leaning over you, panting and gasping. A true sight to behold. His face contorted in pleasure, eyes dark and lips parted. Little droplets of sweat fell from his hair as the love-making grew more intense, more feverish. You dug your heels into his back, trapping him, encouraging him, taking delight in his pleased growls, and picked up the pace until he was hitting the right spot – again and again – until he tipped you over the edge.

You clawed at his back, curling your body in delight as you came down from your high. A few more thrusts and Snape followed, a warmth flooding you deep inside. In the afterglow, you snuggled close to him and gently patted his back, humming delightfully. The mentioning of your name had you gaze up at him.

"I dare say,” he started, still breathless but already regaining his posture. “I don’t mind your thoughts half as much," a voice like sin coaxed from his lips, each syllable a silken thread wrapping around your heart. The room spun, dizzy with desire, walls echoing with the soft rustle of fabric.

You adjusted your skirt, hands trembling - fingers brushing the fabric back into a semblance of propriety. Snape's hands were deft as he smoothed his robes, movements precise, erasing evidence of transgressions with practiced ease. Your chest heaved, trying to calm the storm within you.

A soft whisper and the spell that had cloaked the two of you in privacy fell. You turned to look at your colleague, carefully flashing him a smile. He stood, holding his wand, the tip gently glowing after undoing the effects of his spells. Then he tucked it away again and gave you another intense stare.

There was hunger still there. A hunger that needed to be stilled. But there was also something else; a spark of something gentler you couldn’t quite name.

“Well,” he started, voice low and nasal but still rough around the edges – betraying your intimacy only moments before.

The door creaked - a harbinger of reality - as students filed in, their eyes curious, questioning. They glanced from you to him, skepticism etched onto young faces. You held your breath, felt it catch in your throat.

What was it that he had wanted to say?

"Professor," Snape's voice was cool, detached, a masterful performance. He nodded at you, the gesture measured, controlled, before striding towards the door. His walk was casual, almost too casual, but his eyes told a different story: one of shared secrets and silent promises.

This wouldn’t be the only time.

The thought thrilled you that you might be doing this again with him, someday soon. But you couldn’t get too excited in front of your students.

He left. The air changed, charged with unsaid words, with suspicion. The students exchanged glances, unspoken thoughts passing between them like currents in a secret ocean.

"What was Professor Snape doing here…?" one dared to ask, voice trailing off, eyes alight with curiosity.

"Consulting on an assignment," you lied smoothly, brushing an errant strand of hair behind your ear, hoping they missed the tremor in your fingers. "Now, please, focus on your project."

Their gazes lingered, weighing, measuring. But they turned away, whispers swallowed by the clatter of books and the scratch of quills on parchment.

Your secret tryst with Snape was still a secret, for now. But you were eager to encounter your fellow professor in private once more. No matter what the other teachers at Hogwarts might think about him…you were eager to have him as yours – and keep him.

[whimsi-clown]

What's the Best Way to Start a Story? Ah, yes. Death.

Part 1 of the Reverse lsekai Disney Villains x Modern Reader AU

(That I made on a whim)

Warning: Lots of Curse Words and a bit OOC

In a series of unfortunate (or fortunate, depending on how you view things) events, your eccentric rich bitch of an employer had just died.

Sad, I know. But they had it coming. Sorta.

Nobody really liked them. They were, to put it bluntly, an asshole of the highest degree, and they didn't have any living relatives or descendants.

As such, with you being the only person in existence who still stuck by them, gave a shit about them, and had the balls to deal with all of their bullshit, they decided to leave you with their inheritance.

From their large plot of land to their unrealistically big ass mansion with a private beach close by, along with everything inside of it. Money included.

It was all yours for the taking, and you were all too eager to accept.

At this point, you had everything you needed to live the life of your dreams. A large plot of land, a mansion, a near infinite amount of money.

Now, all you needed left in this big and lonely mansion...

Was companionship...

...

Yea, no. We'll skip that for now.

So, with that in mind, after setting down the remaining boxes of your belongings that you had just brought in, you decided to stroll through the halls of the place, eager to familiarize yourself with your new home.

Your eyes perking in interest as you spot a door that you had never seen before, curiously entering it with a new wave of excitement as to what you could find (or possibly sell) on the other side.

Nothing could ruin this day for you!

.

.

.

.

.

Something has just ruined this day for you.

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face as 12 of the most iconic Disney Villains settled on the set of couches before you with crossed arms, disgruntled expressions, and glares aimed your way.

Maleficent sat on the lone couch to your left, while Grimhilde, the evil queen, sat on the other couch to your right, both looking at you with displeased glares.

On the main couch sat Ursula, Cruela De Vil, Dr. Facilier and Jafar. All sharing the same disgruntled expression, like they have better things to do than be in this predicament.

And those who decided to stand behind the couch were Hades, Captain Hook, Shan Yu, and Gaston. All of them with their arm crossed.

Finally, seated on the carpeted floor before the couches are Scar and Oogie Boogie. Who looked bored out of their minds.

You let out yet another groan.

How did you end up in this situation again??

Ah, right. The mysterious room.

For those of you who are wondering, here's what went down literal hours ago.

You had entered what looked like an old storage room, flicked the light switch on, and discovered that it was filled to the brim with various antiques and junk.

Looking around, you felt like a kid in a candy store, discovering the various curious objects that your former employer collected, lining each shelf.

Everything was so interesting (and sellable) to you.

But what stood out to you the most, though, was an assortment of random items set up on a row of pedestals.

A staff broken in half, a shattered mirror, an unlit greek looking torch lying on its side, a dusty lamp, a tarnished silver hook, a vintage hunting rifle, an old scattered deck of tarot cards, a weird wavy looking sword (a quick google search informed you that it was a serrated jagged jian), a lion skull (not even gonna question how your employer got their hands on these ethically), a gold nautilus shell necklace, an exotic black and white fur coat of some animal (again, not gonna question how they were ethically acquired), and finally a set of red hand carved dices.

With a wide shit eating grin and dollar signs in your eyes, you decided on the spot that these would definitely sell for a large amount of money and decided to take a picture of them to post online.

However, before you could take the shot, you realized something.

No one would buy any of this junk if you sell them as they looked now, like junk!

So, with a new goal in mind, you quickly set out to grab whatever cleaning materials you could find.

And when you came back, you glued together the two broken parts of the staff, put back the pieces of the shattered mirror back in place, set the unlit greek torch up, rubbed the dust off of the lamp, polished the silver hook, cleaned the vintage hunting rifle, stacked and rearanged the deck of tarot cards, sharpened the weird wavy sword, dusted the lion skull, washed the gold nautilus shell pendant in soapy water, and brushed the exotic fur coat.

When all was done, you stood back with your hands on your hips, a prideful grin stretching across your face at having cleaned all of the useless junk before you.

If only you had the same amount of energy and enthusiasm when it comes to cleaning the rest of your house.

You were about to take a picture again when you realized you weren't completely done. There was still one item left.

The pair of red dice.

You stared down at the dices in contemplation. For some reason, something about them didn't seem to sit right with you.

One dice had a six facing up, while the other had a five. Making it an eleven in total.

You grabbed the dices, shaking them around in the palm of your hand and without much of a thought, threw them onto its pedestal. Watching as it rolled on the surface before stopping, both dices landed on a one.

Snake eyes.

All of a sudden, the lights in the room started to flicker and turn off completely, leaving you in the dark.

You cursed under your breath as you were about to turn the flashlight on your phone when you noticed that the dices were glowing green, like one of those shitty glow in the dark star stickers you had as a kid.

Suddenly, the dices weren't the only thing glowing as the fur coat was glowing white, followed by the shell pendant glowing gold, the lion skull glowing green, the sword glowing a dull blue, the tarot deck glowing purple, the hunting rifle glowing red, the hook glowing gold as well, the lamp glowing red too, the torch glowing blue which also lit up in blue flames on it's own, the mirror glowing purple, and finally the staff glowing green.

Each of the items slowly hovered in the air, wind seeming to pick up around you despite the lack of windows, and then suddenly a burst of green smoke spread throughout the room, temporarily blinding you as you coughed into your fist.

You swatted your hands around to clear the smoke, rubbing your teary eyes when a sound caught your attention. Not just any sound, it was the sound of a person, no, people! It was the sound of people!

When the smoke finally cleared, you were greeted by the sight of a dogpile of people, all groaning and moaning in pain, some muttering curses under their breaths as they struggled to get up from their current positions.

"Get off of me, you fools!"

A comanding feminine voice exclaimed.

"Ugh, you first, I can feel you stepping on my tail."

Another masculine voice grumbled.

"Ugh, get your slimey apendeges off of me, woman!"

Another masculine voice exclaimed in disgust.

"For the last time. It's not slime, you narcissistic oaf, it's mucus!"

Yet another feminine voice retorted.

"She's actually right, ya know? It's mucus, not slime. Had to learn that the hard way."

Yet another masculine voice says, agreeing with the person who spoke before them.

Whilst they were still arguing with one another, you figured now would be a great time to escape, slowly backing away, careful not to make a sound when you flinch as your back hits something sturdy and warm.

With a nervous gulp, you slowly crained your neck up only to see a tall gray skinned man with shark like teeth and blue flames for hair, looking down at you with a wide toothy grin.

"Hey there, nice to meet cha', you goin' somewhere, babes?"

The gray man asked in a casual tone, a hint of a threat hidden beneath it. Before you could respond, you yelped in surprise as you were suddenly grabbed by the back collar of your shirt and lifted a few feet away from the ground.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?~"

You froze as you were suddenly face to face with a big talking sack, your face growing pale when you noticed a centipede crawling out of its open stitched mouth.

The thing before you seemed to notice this, grinning even wider as they brought you closer to its face.

"What's wrong, little one? You feeling ssscaareeddd?~"

A snake had just slithered out of its mouth like a tongue and hissed at you as it trailed off the word 'scared'. Which made you scream as you kicked at his face in response, causing the thing to drop you as it held its face in pain.

"UGH! YOU LITTLE-"

The commotion seemed to finally catch the others' attention, finally registering your presence.

Before you could run off and escape, though, a tendril of black smoke wrapped around you, restricting your movement as it pulled you closer to the blue flame headed guy who merely chuckled as you thrashed around in his grip, successfully getting your arms out before trying to tug and yank the rest of the smokey tendrils off of you.

"Hey, fellas, I think I found the culprit to our little... Heh, predicament..."

The blue flame haired guy announced as he pulled you closer to him and grabbed ahold of your cheeks with one hand, forcing you to face the rest of the group.

The rest of them then approached, crowding around and glaring down at you.

"So you're the reason why we're in this mess... Speak. Why have you brought us here?"

The beautiful woman before you asked, no, commanded. Her pose is regal and sophisticated even as she looks down on you. She wore a golden crown atop her head, with a purple velvet dress and a black cape.

Your face morphed in confusion as you stared up at her, practically scanning her features.

For some reason, you feel like you've met her before.

You turn to the others as well, scanning them from head to toe.

A tall mean looking lady with greenish skin and black horns, a grumpy arabian guy dressed in red and black, a big intimidating asian dude, a woman with melanie martinez's hair but if she were emo, a guy that looks like a himbo, a fat drag queen with tentacles and light purplish skin, twinkish looking man with a fancy hat dressed in all red, twinkish looking man with a fancy hat no. 2 dressed in all purple, and a literal fucking lion.

After staring at the crowd before you, you turned your head back to properly look at the other three you had just met. The fat sack of creepy crawlies, the shark teethed flame head, and the literal fucking queen.

Stupid. That's what you currently felt. Not scared, not happy. Stupid.

How could you not recognize the people before you?? They were your literal childhood before you grew out of them. Gods, you felt so dumb for not realizing it sooner!

They were all Disney Villains!

Noticing that you seemed disappointed about something rather than fearful of their presence, the villains turned to one another with looks of confusion. Not used to this kind of reaction.

Hades, who still held you hostage decided to shake you out of whatever it is you were so hung up about.

"Oy, kid. You still with us? Kinda rude to just space out on people ya know?"

He asked, successfully snapping you out of your momentary internal berating.

"I... I know you guys..."

You muttered out loud, still in disbelief of the situation.

This caused the villains to smirk and perk up a little smugly, their ego rising at the thought of being recognized by someone they deemed lesser than then. Especially a certain muscle head.

"Ah yes, of course you've heard about the great Gasto-"

"You're all disney villains!"

You unintentionally cut off him off, your eyes widening as you clamped your mouth shut with your hands in realization of your mistake.

The villains were also caught off guard, not by your interruption, but by your statement.

"Disney... Villains?..."

Shan Yu slowly repeated, confusion evident in his tone.

You kept your mouth clamped shut, refusing to respond until a silver hook was pressed against your neck.

"You better spill, little one, or I'll slice through that pretty little neck of yours, and you don't want that now, do you?"

Captain Hook threatened, pressing his hook closer to your neck, nearly breaking the skin.

That was what led to all of you gathered in the living room, after begging asking to be released so you could explain to them, glancing at each disney villain from Maleficent to Oogie Boogie.

When Oogie Boogie noticed that you had glanced down at him, he sent you an eerie grin that made shivers crawl down your spine.

Out of all the Disney Villains present, He unsettled you the most.

The other's existence was reasonable and made sense to you.

Evil human beings of higher power and capabilities? Fine. A literal dark fae, an octupus lady, and a greek god? Good. A talking lion? Amazing. But a literal walking, talking, sack of bugs?

Burn it to the ground.

You take in a deep breath, exhaling through your nose in an effort to stay calm (spoiler alert it is not working) as you face the group of animated evil doers come to life with an uneasy smile.

"So... What would you like to know first?"

End of Part 1

Next Part

[according2thelore]

You are married to Sam Winchester. You don’t have a name.

You met him in a bar. Or a park. Or a diner where you worked. Or a library you were studying in. Or on the bus route back to your apartment. Or in the frozen aisle of a grocery store. The location doesn’t matter, but you know that you know him. That’s all you need to know. He smiles at you, and you smile back. He’s nice to look at, in the way that shards of stained glass are nice to look at. In the way that car crashes are captivating, in the way that a tree can be both dead and alive at once, in the way that homes disappear one room at a time. It doesn’t matter. You open your mouth to introduce yourself but the waitress-librarian-cop-bus driver-clerk talks over you. He never asks again. I’m Sam, he says. It’s a nice name. He’s got a nice face.

Dating him is easy. He never asks any questions about you. You ask questions about him, but he doesn’t like it, so you learn to stop. I had a brother, he offers once, in the way that someone says, I tried to kill myself. You nod. His name is Dean. It’s odd, maybe, that he refers to Dean in both past and the present tense. He doesn’t like it when you question things like that, though, so you keep quiet. Sam says strange things sometimes, when you’re sitting entwined on your couch watching reality TV. I killed monsters. They killed me, sometimes, too. He says. Your eyes go wide. He reassures you, It doesn’t matter. You melt back against him.

Oh, okay. As long as it doesn’t matter, that’s alright with you.

You get married. You get married in a courthouse, because Sam doesn’t like churches. I’ve made too many promises in churches, he said. I can’t break any more.

Okay, you say. You never liked churches much anyway. Or maybe you do. Maybe you believe in God. Sam doesn’t. He says he killed God. You believe him, because he’s got a knife carved from bone hidden under your boxspring. He keeps herbs and finger bones in jars and a golden bowl in your china cabinet, and won’t let you touch them. When the clerk hands you your wedding certificate, you smile as Sam kisses you. You’re excited when you take the paper from him, hoping to see your name. But in the space where it’s supposed to be is blank. Sam rubs a finger over Marriage Certificate, then over his name scribbled in pen. It’s perfect, he says, looking up at you with distant stars in his eyes. Oh. Okay, it’s perfect. That’s good. 

He cries out for Dean in his sleep. Night terrors so severe that they upend you from his bed shake him awake once a week. He screams in a language you’ve never heard before. After those nights, Sam doesn’t look you in the eye. He doesn’t talk after nightmares, and you don’t know how to shake him back to consciousness.

You catch him in the reflex of doing things. Odd things set him off. A rerun of that medical drama you binged in undergrad shuts Sam down, and he doesn’t come home until after dinner. An Asia song plays in a grocery store and Sam drops the milk in the middle of the aisle. You find him having a panic attack behind your car in the parking lot. 

He has an old car in the apartment’s parking garage that you’re not allowed to touch. It’s vintage—a beautiful thing, because you know a lot about cars or maybe you don’t—and it’s got an arsenal in the trunk. He buries salt lines in your yard. If you sneak up behind him, he’s got a knife to your throat before you can explain yourself.

Sam laughs at something on his phone, and goes to show someone, but it’s always only you there. It seems to disappoint him. When he’s upset, he gets more upset when you say the wrong things. It’s a dance that you don’t know the steps to, and Sam’s too tired to teach you.

It’s okay, you’ll learn yourself. You buy him almonds at the grocery store. You always keep the thermostat above seventy two degrees Fahrenheit. You always grab him a second of whatever you get: a beer, a sandwich, a blanket. You sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door. It’s not perfect. When you do the laundry, he gets frustrated with you because you fold things “too big.”  He always orders two sides of fries. He buys ground beef that he doesn’t eat.

He has a dog. The dog doesn’t like you, but it doesn’t not like you either. Sam hates you for it. Dean loves this dog. He loves Dean, too. Sam told you. You wilt. Another test failed. Dean’s really good at this game, but you’re not. Dean’s good at most games, at least the games that Sam likes to play. You try to love the dog more after that, giving him treats and actually cooking the ground beef Sam throws away every week to feed him. When Sam sprints into the kitchen as the smell wafts through the house, he collapses when he sees it’s just you. He doesn’t talk the rest of the weekend.

Sam gets a job at the factory. Or the construction site. Or the law firm. Or the local community college. You work as a nurse. Or a doctor. Or a cop. Or a secretary. Or a chef. It doesn’t matter. The details are blurry. Sam invites you to a Christmas party with his coworkers. This is my wife, Sam says, proud. His coworkers smile, but they never ask your name. You don’t have one. That’s alright with you, as long as it’s alright with Sam. You’d hate to embarrass him at a work party.

You have sex. You get pregnant. You have a kid. Those things happen in some kind of order, but it gets mixed up sometimes. 

You’ve always wanted a girl probably, but when you look into the face of your son, you realize that you’ve never wanted anything as much as you want this child. Or maybe you never wanted kids. But you have one now, and he’s your priority. You’re a good mom.

Sam didn’t have a good mom, didn’t have a mom until he was in his thirties, but she didn’t last long. So it’s important to him that you’re a good mom for his son. You’re going to take the job seriously.

We should name him Dean, you suggest, and Sam sobs into your hair. Your chest warms pleasantly. You like it when Sam holds you like this. When Sam shows you the birth certificate, your eyes catch on the name. Dean Winchester Junior? You ask. That’s for naming a child after a parent. Sam looks at the baby in your arms—wait, now it’s in his arms—and says, Dean is as much of a part of this as either of us.

The space for Mother of Child is blank. You’ve never seen a picture of Dean Winchester. Or Dean Winchester, Sr. now. 

You fall asleep in an apartment and wake up in a house with a porch and a white-picket fence. That’s nice. It’ll give the dog space to run around. In your child’s sixth month alive, Sam sleeps in the child’s crib with a knife. Just to make sure, he says. Nothing’s going to happen to Dean. It takes him a long time to say the name without flinching when he’s talking about his son. When your son turns a year old, you finally remember to ask what Sam’s tattoo means. He looks surprised that you’ve mentioned it. It’s a tattoo that I got with Dean. He says. Of course it is. You’re angry, but it’s gone again, because these are things you’re supposed to accept about Sam. It keeps demons from possessing me. Demons? You ask, startled. Sam’s mouth thins into a line. Yes. You need to get one, he says. And the second that Dean turns sixteen, I’m signing that form and we’re taking him in to get one, too. You’re alarmed, until Sam tells you that it’s okay. That’s a relief. You get the tattoo, right over your left breast, and Sam fucks you so hard that you can’t walk the next day. You introduce your family to your boss one day, This is Sam and Dean!, and Sam shoves the baby into your arms and has to leave the room. We’re calling him Dean Junior from now on, Sam says later, after the hunted look in his eyes melts into exhaustion. Alright. 

You clean the house. You wear sundresses. You like your job, but not enough to let it get in the way of being a mother. Sam teaches Dean Junior how to throw a ball. He helps him with math homework. You make meatloaf and take Dean Junior to soccer games.

You realize late—too late, maybe—that all the pictures of you on the mantle are a little blurry. You can’t remember the last time you saw your own reflection. You pull out your driver’s license. It’s blank, just your address. No picture of you. Your hair colour is just “dark.” No height. “Thin” is your weight. You speed on the way home from work so you can get pulled over. You hand over your empty license and your blank registration, and the cop barely gives either a glance. You’re free to go. He says. Everything’s in order.

You walk in the front door, and Sam kisses you on the cheek. He’s had to get glasses recently, and they make his face look even more handsome. Welcome home, honey, he says, smiling. Do you remember when you told me you killed God? You ask, because that sounds vaguely familiar. Sam blinks at you in confusion for a couple of seconds. The house shudders around you for a second.

Yes, Sam says, voice distant. Yes, I think I did. There’s a new God now though. I helped raise him. He’s a good kid. The house stills. There is no room for nasty things here. Only good. You nod, relieved. I’m glad he’s a nice boy, you say, picking up your son. If anyone could raise God, you could.

Sam looks haunted by this. He retreats.

Sam doesn’t tell you everything. Sam won’t ever tell you everything. 

You look into the face of your son as he swings his legs lightly against your hip. He’s got green eyes, and he’s sucking on his thumb, a nasty habit you’ve tried to break. Sam shows Dean Junior pictures of his brother. He tells him stories, when Dean Junior’s asleep, about the open road, about cicadas and fireworks and greasy diner food and sunscreen and used textbooks and ash.

You sit on the opposite side of the door and cry because this man is a catastrophe and he hunted monsters and he loves everything more than you thought anyone could love anything. He’s half a soul, crammed into one body, edges ragged. He’s over two hundred years old. And he likes cherry slushies and he’s killed angels and he dreams of his brothers hands and he’s seen the face of God. 

I love your uncle, you had heard his voice, a low murmur in Junior’s nursery one night. Sometimes I don’t know how to exist and be so unknown. Even when we didn’t speak, he knew me. No one has known me in years. I don’t think anyone will ever know me again.

You kiss him and try to make it like his brother would do it. He’s grateful. Sam’s grateful for a lot of things. He calls your lives together an “apple pie life.” But you don’t like apple pie. Or maybe you do. It doesn’t matter.

It’s okay. You’re just Sam Winchester’s wife. You’ve got a son named Dean.

You’ve spent your whole life sharing them both with a dead man. 

crossposted on ao3 here

[dees-writing-corner]

old habits die hard - part 1

agent!ateez x ex!agent!reader

word count: 3k

genre: spy au, agent au

a/n this is going to have multiple parts, so comment or message me if you want to be tagged for the rest of it

masterlist

“Mum, we’ve been through this before.” 

Balancing my phone between my ear and shoulder, I rummaged through my bag, trying to find my house keys. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t plan on doing that anytime soon, so let move on from this topic, yeah?” 

Finally fishing the keys out, I grabbed my phone and unlocked the door. 

“Hmm, I’ll think about it. I-” Seeing a brown enveloped with a distinct stamp on it, I paused. “Mum, I’ll call you back later, yeah? I just remembered I’ve got some work to do. Love you. Bye.” 

Locking the door behind me, I picked up the envelope and made my way into the living room, closing the curtains before setting the envelope on the coffee table as I stared at it. 

I haven’t seen that stamp in over two years. Not since I left. I don’t know why they’ve decided to send me a letter now, but it can’t be anything good. Pacing around the table, I mulled over the idea of opening the envelope. Unsure if I actually wanted to know what was inside it. 

A sudden knock on my door stopped me in my tracks. On instinct, my head snapped up in the direction of the sound. 

“It’s just me. We need to talk.” 

Recognising the voice, I quickly made my way over to let the person in. 

“Hey.” 

“What’re you doing here?” Closing the door, I let the person into the living room, gesturing him to sit down. 

Sitting down, he raised a brow at me, “What? It’s been two years, and this is all I get?” 

“I’m serious Junghoon.” Picking up the envelope, I looked back up at him. “Why are you here? Because when I left. I left for good.” 

His eyes lowered to the envelope before coming back up to mine. “You’ve not read it.” 

“No. I’ve just come back. Why should I.” 

Junghoon patted the space next to him, “I came to show you something.” 

Taking a seat behind him, I watched as he pulled out a tablet from his backpack. 

“Three months ago, the police got a call for a break in at 62 Walkers Avenue.” 

Frowning, I looked at him, “That’s Yeosang’s place.” 

“The call got transferred to us because of the location. When we got there, the place was already burning. When the fire was put out, we found partially burnt remains of a male. The only key evidence that we could pick up was the vintage leather strap watch that Yeosang never took off and a black dagger with a mountain carved at the base that belongs to -” 

“San.” 

Junghoon nodded, his eyes never leaving my face, trying to find something, “Yes. After we found the dagger, we headed straight to San’s but his place was empty. And so was everyone else's.” 

I looked straight at Junghoon, knowing exactly what he was trying to say, “What are you trying to say?” 

“They killed Yeosang. And a few other officers in our department. They all died the same way.” 

Junghoon took out four more folders, each folder consisted of a partially burnt victim, with evidence showing that they were members of KQ Agency. 

“You can’t be serious.” My eyes darted from the folders laid out on the coffee table to Junghoon. “You know them, Junghoon! They trained you! I don’t know about the other four, but they would never do that to Yeosang. Never.” 

“It’s hard to not believe it, when the evidence all points to them.” 

I stared at Junghoon in disbelief. He can’t be serious. 

Junghoon looked at me before turning away, his entire demeanour turning to one of hesitance, “Have you.... Have they contacted you recently?” 

“No. They haven’t. Neither has anyone from the agency before now. When I left, I cut all ties from your lot.” 

Sensing my irritation, Junghoon stood up, his bag in hand as I walked him to the door. 

“I should go. If you get anything. Please call us. And please, open the envelope and consider the offer.” 

I simply stared at him as he got into his car. 

Once he drove off, I shut the door, locking it before heading back to the living room. 

I may have lied to Junghoon. While I don’t contact anyone from my unit, it didn’t mean I didn’t know how to contact them when they didn’t want others to hear. I also don’t trust Junghoon. I haven’t seen him in two years and that’s more than enough time for someone to change. But I know my old unit, and they would never do that, so something is going on within KQ. 

Tearing open the envelope, I took out the piece of paper within it. Reading through it, I quirked a brow at the offer. They are really desperate, aren’t they. Turning to look at the pictures concealed in a flap in the envelope, I was met with seven familiar faces staring at me. Each one of them had information written about them. Information I knew by heart. 

Dropping the papers back on the table, I looked at the five, open folders on the coffee table. I picked up the polaroid camera that was on one of my shelves and took pictures of all of them. Making sure that the pictures came out clear. 

With five polaroids in my hand, I walked up the stairs to my bedroom. Having the habit of keeping my bedroom curtains closed, I head straight for my wardrobe, not worrying about anyone looking at me. I grabbed a large duffle bag from the corner, sliding the polaroids into a side pocket, before stuffing a few sets of clothes and essential products into the bag. 

Zipping up the bag, I went to my bedside table, opening the drawer, I pushed slightly at the corner, revealing a false bottom. Removing the slab of wood, I took out the dagger and gun that were concealed beneath it. Placing the dagger in my boot and the gun to my hip, I put the slab of wood back before kneeling next to my bed. 

Flipping up the duvet and bed sheet that hung over the side of the bed frame, I pulled out the storage drawer under the bed completely to access the floor board beneath it. Opening up the flood, I took out a briefcase that I placed in there two years ago. I was something Yeosang gave me before I left the unit. Something that I didn’t want to touch after leaving.  

Opening the briefcase up, I looked at the radio system and earplug within it. It was one Yeosang made. He made eight in total. One for each of us. The unit was a way for us to communicate without anyone listening in. Yeosang made sure that no one could hack into the system. Though there was one flaw with it. And it was that no one knew how many people were on. Which meant we had to make sure we knew where the briefcase was at all times. 

I put on the head set and flipped the switch to turn the system on. Listening to the static, I waited to see if anyone was on, as each second passed, I started to lose hope. Until I heard someone. 

“We’re - done – headed- war - house – by-” 

Turning off the system, I frowned. What have they done? I thought of the places they could be at, but nothing came up. House? War house? The warehouse! If it’s the same warehouse as before, then I know where they are. 

I put the floor and drawer back, making sure everything was where it’s supposed to be and headed back downstairs with the briefcase and duffle bag in hand. I went into the kitchen, stuffed some bottles of water and protein bars into the duffle, and then walked into the pantry, closing the door behind me. This pantry may seem like a normal one to everyone else, but after I bought the house, I built a passage that went under the house that led to a private garage not far from me. 

I ran my finger along one of the shelves, stopping when I felt a small bump. Leaving my finger on the bump, I waited for a few seconds before a small panel opened up on the wall beside me. Placing my hand inside the wall, waiting for the reader to finish scanning my hand. It didn’t take long before the wall in front of me opened up, showing a stairs case that went down. 

Walking into the dimly lit passage, I made sure to wall close behind before making my way down the stairs and to the garage. 

While I could’ve just walked out the house and left in my normal car, I knew KQ. They probably have agents parked around my house watching out for me, which I kind of find funny. I worked for KQ for a long time. I knew all their strategies and protocols. Which is why I built this passage. For times like this. 

Coming to the end of the passage, I stared at the wooden door that was covered in cobwebs. I haven’t been to the garage through this way since it was built two years ago, and I honestly didn’t think I’d have to. 

Opening the door, I stepped into the garage, everything inside was how I left it a couple of months ago. I walked up to the covered car in the centre of the room, and yanked the white sheet off. The car was a well looked after 1969 Chevrolet Impala. I bought the car two years ago for emergency use. With it being an old car, there was no way for someone to hack into the GPS to track me. There is literally nothing they can hack in to. And people might think, ‘oh, it’s too flashy. People can tell straight away.’. No one will bat an eye in this neighbourhood because everyone here is rich and there’s a classic car driving down the road every two seconds. 

I opened the car door, threw the bag and briefcase into the back, and started up the car. Before I pulled out of the garage, I put on a face mask and pulled down the sun shield, lowering the chances of someone noticing me through the street cameras. 

Driving down the road, I looked back at the house that was almost out of view. There were cars I had never seen parked not far from my house. Guess my suspicions were right. 

The warehouse that I was heading to was on the outskirts of the town next to the city. When I was still at KQ, the boys and I would go there after missions to rest and relax. It was basically out headquarters outside of KQ. No one but us knew about it. We decorated the place so that it could act as a home to us as well, with all of us having a bedroom there. 

By the time I got to the next town, the sun had already set. While the drive wasn’t as long as it used to be, seeing as I lived on the outskirts of the city, it still took a couple of hours to get there. 

Parking the car a couple of blocks away. I grabbed the briefcase and duffle and made my way down the street. As I got closer, I made out the familiar, worn-down exterior of the warehouse. Walking up to the door, I hoovered my thumb above the handle where the sensor was located. I have no idea if they still have my thumb print saved or not, but here goes nothing. 

Pressing down on the handle, I waited a couple of seconds before I heard a click of the door unlocking. 

Pulling the door open, I walked in. The ground floor remained bare; it was the only place we didn’t decorate, to keep up the facade of it being unused. Shutting the door behind me, I walked to the back of the building where the stairs were located. If they still did things the way they used to, then they were probably upstairs relaxing on the sofas. 

I quietly made my way up the stairs, the sound of laughter and chatter getting louder, the closer I got to them. 

“Look, it wasn’t my fault they had people outside. Woo said they were only inside!” 

The sound of the familiar voices made me stop at the top of the stairs. It’s been too long since I heard them. 

“Are you lot going to stand there all night or join us?” 

The sudden sound of Mingi’s deep voice made me raise a brow. He must’ve thought I was the others. 

“Not them.” I walked out of the shadows towards their forms by the sofa. “But you guys have a lot of explaining to do.” 

Yeosang and Mingi froze sightly before their heads shot around. Eyes wide in shock, their gaze never left me as I closed the distance between us. 

“When they come back, there better be an explanation because I had Junghoon at my door step earlier and KQ agents patrolling outside my house.” 

I took a seat on the arm chair by the coffee table, completely ignoring their looks. 

Mingi opened his mouth a couple of times, trying to form a complete sentence, “You - what -” 

“We’re back!” Hongjoong’s voice echoed through the warehouse, as heavy footsteps made their way up the metal stairs. “And we’ve got the files.” 

Hongjoong was the first to emerge from the stairs, his hair now a dark brown instead of the blue it was two years ago. His eyes shifted between Mingi and Yeosang, noting their silence, before landing on me.  

I gave him a small wave, “Hi.” 

Hongjoong stopped in the middle of the room causing Wooyoung to crash into him. 

“What’s wrong with -” Wooyoung stopped mid-sentence after noticing my presence. “What’re you doing here?” 

Everyone was now stood somewhere behind Mingi and Yeosang, their expressions ranging from shock to apprehension. 

I took out the polaroids from my duffle bag, placing them on the coffee table before turning to them. 

“Someone explain to me why Junghoon came to me this afternoon saying Yeosang was dead and that you lot killed him and several other Agents.” 

My gaze stayed steady on Hongjoong’s, “Well, Joong?” 

“How can we know that you aren’t working for them?” 

Seonghwa was the one who spoke up, his demeanour cold as he stared at me, “Two year’s a long time. How can we know that you can be trusted?” 

“Because the day I left KQ was the day I swore to never get back into this field. And you know me, Hwa. Unless it’s putting people I care about at risk; I would never come back here.” 

Sensing the tension between me and Seonghwa, Hongjoong stepped around the sofa, motioning for everyone else to sit down.  

Yunho picked up the polaroids I set down on the table, studying each of the intently, “These the files Junghoon showed you?” 

“Yeah. I didn’t want to risk taking the folders with me.” I nodded, before turning my eyes back on Hongjoong. “Say something.” 

Hongjoong ran a hand through his dark hair, debating what he should say, “KQ’s not what it was. A few months back, me and Jongho noticed that there were unfamiliar people going in and out of the building. More specifically the laboratories. Yeosang later found that the people were linked to the Ace Gang. KQ is doing business with the gang, providing them with weapons and substances. Every single person in KQ is a part of it. Except us.” 

I nodded along, looking at the polaroids, “What about those bodies?” 

“Those weren’t us. Well, other than the last one. When we found out, we questioned some of them, and managed to get some answers out of them. KQ must’ve found out and thought them as a liability so they killed them. They’re trying to get us framed as serial killers and gang members. That’s why we’re in hiding. And also, why we staged the last victim out to be Yeosang. It’ll make it easier for him to do stuff outside.” 

I sat there, looking at each and every one of them, processing what Hongjoong just told me. Honestly, I could see it. When I left KQ, it was mainly because of the shift in dynamic within the organisation. They started being more secretive even though we were one of the best units they had. The tasks that we were given became more frequent and longer, making us spend weeks, sometimes even months on a mission. I have a suspicion that was when they started helping out the gang. 

“Okay. So, what can I do? KQ sent me envelope this earlier today. They’re asking for me to help out with catching you guys.” 

“What have you got on mind?” San was the one to speak. He was always the one who could see through me. 

I looked up at them, a plan already forming in my head. It was like being part of the team again. 

“I’m going to accept the offer.” 

Seonghwa opened his mouth, about to say something, but I cut him short, “Let me finish. I’m going to accept the offer in the morning and be your person inside KQ.” 

Seonghwa raised a brow, “Do you know how dangerous that could be for you?” 

“Anything’s better than KQ and Ace working together.” My mind went back to everything I gathered about Ace since I left. “Ace have been getting too powerful. They’ve infiltrated the police, hospitals, everywhere. They’ve got people everywhere.” 

Jongho looked at me, his eyes shining in silent laughter, “So this is what you’ve been up to, huh?” 

“Old habits die hard. Plus, normal life gets a bit boring after years of constant adrenaline rushes. What’s better than some light investigating?” 

[finelinevogue]

grounded

summary - you ground sirius and he grounds you.

word count - 1k

pairing - sirius black x black-cat!reader

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

The music and cheers were loud downstairs.

It was James’ birthday after all, so of course a big celebration was in order.

You, the boys and some others had put it all together last minute. Remus and Sirius had bought drinks off someone in the year above, who definitely overcharged them, to fuel the fun. You had helped Lily put up decorations.

It was about 2 hours in to the party now and you’d slipped away.

You’d originally headed to the toilets after feeling a bit lightheaded from drinking so much, but instead found yourself laying flat on Sirius’ bed and ogling the star constellations that were carved into the ceiling of his framed bed.

There was the constellation of Orion, with Sirius carved out a little deeper than the others. The stars were joined together by shaky lines.

You smiled at you tilted your head to the star constellation next to Orion; your constellation. You hadn’t carved it, Sirius had.

He liked looking up at night and seeing you so close to him, if not in the direct sense.

The sound of the door creaked open then and you noticed Sirius stumble in, making your smile widen.

He was wearing a vintage patterned sweater with some black jeans, and his hair was half tied back with one of your bobbles just the way he likes it.

“Hello, you.” He smirked as he walked in.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You chuckled.

Sirius crossed the room and sat on the bed beside where your torso lay.

His hand came up to stroked back the loose hairs that had fallen upon your forehead. You quickly caught the opportunity to kiss his palm whilst you could.

“You’re affectionate tonight.” Sirius teased.

It was a long running joke about how the two of you had black-cat personalities and that you shouldn’t gel as well as you do, because of how unaffectionate you were to everyone. Turns out when you’re together, alone and together to be clear, you were the most affectionate people.

Sirius tried to bring you out of your shell as often as he could, but you were adamant about keeping that side of yourself concealed just for him.

“Mm,” You brought your own hand up to cup his cheek, “It’s ‘cause you’re so pretty.”

Sirius dipped his head to blush, even though you could see his cheeks burn pink. It made you smile.

“Pretty? Try, handsome.” Sirius tried to make himself seem more of a masculine adjective.

You laughed, “No! Pretty!”

“Oh alright,” Sirius gave up before be could start, “Only ‘cause I love you.”

You hummed in support.

Sirius leaned down, supporting himself by resting his hands on the pillow either side of your head. You thought he was going to instantly kiss you, but he stopped just a few spaces away from his nose touching yours.

“And you’re so pretty too.”

This time it was your turn to blush over his words.

You pretend to be not affected by his words, but the glint in your eye and the dimples that popped out onto your cheeks made him know otherwise.

“You’re super affectionate tonight too.” You snorted, “Probably ‘cause you’re drunk.”

“Yeah, drunk on love.”

Sirius didn’t let you cringe over that comment as he pressed his lips to yours, coating your spirit flavoured lips with his beer flavoured ones.

You would’ve despised the taste on anyone else but him. Sirius was too intoxicating for you to care about anything other than how he made you feel.

Sirius moved his head to the other side and you followed his lead, your body slightly moving upwards, body pressing up into his, as you chased his lips with yours.

Sirius pulled off you, only to spy your swollen lips and being enchanted once more to kiss you.

This time it was a shorter kiss and more loving.

He pulled away slowly, leaving you wanting much kid than he’d given you.

“Why are you hiding up here anyway?” He asked.

“Because I felt spinny.”

“Spinny?” Sirius chuckled.

“Mhm.”

“And how do you feel now?”

“Grounded.” Your small smile was enough to make Sirius kiss you again, pushing his lips against yours as much as he could. It was almost like the two of you couldn’t stand the thought of being so apart.

“‘Cause of me.” Sirius gloated.

“No, you idiot. ‘Cause of the stars.” You nodded your head towards the bed frame ceiling.

Sirius toppled over your body then, collapsing on his back over your torso. His head laid on your stomach and it rose and fell with each of your breaths.

Your hand went to get lose in his hair, stroking it back piece by piece to settle Sirius.

“They ground me too.” He spoke softly.

“It’s probably because it’s a reminder of us. We’ll always be together here, carved into the wood of your bed, even if we’re apart in distance.”

“Never apart forever though, right?” He asked, a hint of insecurity behind his tone.

You instantly sat up, getting over the dizziness, and leaning your head over his this time. You cupped his chin with one hand, the other still coming through his hair.

“That’s right.” You smiled, giving him a kiss to solidify that silent promise you’d just made him.

“Now just stay there, I want to admire you for a minute.” His voice so quiet and the party so loud.

“But what about the party?” You spoke in Sirius’ hushed tone.

“Ssh. I’m admiring.”

[indiatrendzs]

Farmhouse Barndoor, Sliding Doors

Mogul Interior, based in Florida, presents unique carved doors, Wall Sculptures and Indian doors with beautiful floral motifs, Tree of life carvings. These carvings inspired from ancient cultures bring in a sense of wellbeing.  Carved barn doors with textured woods in warm patinas, the traditional styles deliver an artistic statement for ranch styled interiors and bring healing energies to your…

[mogulinterior]

(via Farmhouse Barndoor, Sliding Doors)

[chaos-bites]

⚖️ Subtle Tyr Worship 🛡️

Try to take your promises more seriously; do your best to fulfill them

Own a weapon - be it self-defense or just one you admire

Take a walk/hike in nature; try to challenge yourself with doing a more difficult route (within reason; look after your well-being)

Have a candle that reminds you of him (no altar needed)

Wear jewelry that reminds you of him

Keep a picture of him in your wallet

Take a walk alongside a stream

Support causes you believe in; homeless shelters, humanitarian organizations, etc.

Volunteer at a homeless or animal shelter

Practice compassion towards others and yourself

Engage in random acts of kindness; holding the door for someone, offering to help someone carry something, giving to a family in need, etc.

Have a stuffed animal of any creatures you associate with justice, fairness, or courage; have a wolf stuffed animal

Keep imagery of spears/weapons, shields, scales, Viking warriors, promises/others, or self-sacrifice (specifically for the greater good) around

Practice patience and restraint, especially with people who bother/annoy you; you can also practice this towards yourself

Find healthy outlets for your emotions; martial arts, building, crafting, drawing, writing, etc.

Learn about emotional regulation; practice emotional regulation

Try to consider all perspectives in a situation; try to understand things from another's point of view; try not to immediately cast judgement

Practice not engaging in needless gossip; such things can end up being extremely harmful to all parties later on

Learn about healthy conflict resolution skills; try to implement these in your next conflict

Practice becoming more comfortable with the idea of conflict; it is only natural that we sometimes will disagree with people - that is not always a bad thing

Go outside of your comfort zone; challenge yourself by doing things/taking risks that intimidate you (to a reasonable degree)

Do someone else's chores or a task that is tough for them; offer to shovel snow for someone or do some yard work for them

Challenge yourself with some hard work; do something with your hands

Assert your boundaries; discover what your personal boundaries are; not all boundaries need be spoken

Let someone know when they've done something that bothers you; this is a kindness to both of you - a chance for them to learn

Tend to a garden - something that takes hard work or brings you peace

Feed neighborhood cats, dogs, birds, etc.

Donate supplies to homeless or animal shelters; hygiene kits are great for homeless, animal food and treats for animal

Focus on building a foundation of personal strength; know yourself inside and out; don't buy into the dumb things people may say, you know yourself better than others

Listen to your gut; work on trusting yourself

Exercise; get some movement throughout the day

Make something for someone else; make a gift yourself; a drawing/painting, a wood carving, a knitted blanket, a handmade candle, etc.

Check in with your loved ones more often, even just a quick "Hey, how are you" or "I love you"

Bake or cook something for your neighbors; hand them out; cookies, pastries, biscuits, etc.

Restore a vintage item; clean a toy or.important item from your childhood; take good care of your family heirlooms

Engage in family traditions or create your own c:

Get more comfortable with compromises; in disagreements, try to suggest them

If it's not something you're practiced at, learn to agree to disagree; we don't always have to prove our points, and that's ok

After a difficult day, take a warm bath/shower

Try your hand at a new skill or hobby

Support someone through a difficult time; support yourself through a difficult time

Know your limits when helping others; you need not sacrifice yourself for everyone you meet

Treat yourself with the same love and kindness that you treat others with

Make a list of your personal strengths; try to recognize them when they show up - maybe do this on a weekly, bi-weelky, or monthly basis

Surprise a loved one you live with by hanging up affirmational post it notes somewhere they'll see it; you can also do this for yourself

Get more comfortable with the idea that we don't get along with everyone; it's ok if someone doesn't like you

-

This is my list of discreet ways to worship Tyr. I hope someone finds this helpful. I'll likely add more in the future. Take care, everyone! 🧡

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

[rossmacdonaldsgf]

be my mistake.

you can’t quite pinpoint the beginning of the end. it happened in a harsh blur of events that left you wounded and bleeding. your heart begged for mercy and rest as you watched the days aimlessly swim by in a circle of dread and sorrow. a hole shaped like him carved into your heart forevermore.

the time you spent together consisted of fleeting moments of love and tenderness. his hours ticking by as you helplessly clutched onto the strings, trying to sew together a future. he was cold and cruel, but he was warm and kind. he made your head hurt with his juxtaposing sides. forever spinning in a binding circle of happiness and him. he asked you to stay and you would. you did. forever. you would always stay as long as asked. so you still sat, a stone image of where he left you, cold and distant. the seasons changed but you always stayed, your hand reaching into the distance longing for a lingering touch.

immersed in the given darkness you watched the hope and light fade. he took away your opportunity to turn off the lights, leaving you in sinking darkness. across the city, he was sat, the city nightlife creating a hue of warm light in his room. he craved for darkness, the serenity it bought could’ve covered him with a shielding blanket away from his own tormented mind. he longed to feel you, smell you, love you, he ached in desperation to be with you again. he was trapped in a cage of his own mind, each time he blinked he was forced to replay the agonising moments it all went wrong. he was and forever would be, your mistake.

-

he was drunk. that much he could distinguish. his mind hazy and clouded, thoughts of you locked away as he clutched desperately onto the hips that weren’t yours. her hair was itchy, not comforting, her breath was too warm down his neck, too unfamiliar. her whisper was too harsh, she complimented his jeans, his mind was too hazy to remember where he got them. but you remembered, the day you fell so fast and hard, the day your life got caught up in a whirlwind of rock bands, tattoos and fame.

you had gone out together, browsing a few empty shops while interlocked in each others loving bubble, laughing and happy. he’d seen a pair of jeans, some old vintage ones, he declared he must have them, you bought them when he wasn’t looking. he’d swooped you in a kiss, declaring you the love of his life, you didn’t object.

the memory fought its way through the barricades of alcohol, battling its way to stop any decisions. she nestled closer, he pushed away the sick feeling in his stomach, the feeling that it wasn’t you. he took her home. not his home, a hotel room with clothes strewn across it, he felt nothing. he laid down next to her, his heart erratically beating, out of nerves or exhaustion he wasn’t sure. his head swam with the oncoming hangover and the guilt eating away at his thoughts. she threw her leg over his waist, nuzzling close to him, his body prickled, he didn’t want to hug. not now. not ever. not when she wasn’t you.

his eyes were heavy, the weight of exhaustion threatening to pull him into a slumber he wishes would last forever. she tries to talk, turning her head to look at him. his eyes water with the overpowering scent of lavender. a replica of your massage oil, he took it for granted, your soft hands. your loving touch. if he closed his eyes he could feel the lingering touch of your fingers melting away his anger. her touch was hard. he jolted away. she blamed it on the alcohol.

morning came with a noisy arrival. a repetitive banging awakening him. his head pounded, his vision blurry. his gaze fell upon a figure next to him, a figure he most certainly knew was not you. he dragged his feet, his muscles feeling heavy and weak, as if he were to collapse at any point. the door was heavy and agonisingly slow to open. your eyes were red, yet still so beautiful. he stared at you, for he feared if he dared to open his mouth, he’d be sick. sick out of guilt. you let out a breath that turned into a broken sob, his chin wobbled. he didn’t deserve to cry. not now, not ever. he explained a story that you had no care for. he got lonesome he said, he forgot he said, he’s sorry he said. god. all he does is speak, he’s not sorry you thought. ‘you’re not sorry.’ you said, it was quiet and broken, you were distant and cold, he felt your shame and longed to feel the warmth of your love. his chest heaved and for a moment you felt sorry, you opened your mouth, maybe to apologise or make a snarky comment, you weren’t quite sure. he told you to save the jokes. he shut the door, blocking you out. you reached a longing hand.

that night he drank. enough for george to tell him to quit and order a water. he didn’t touch it. the pristine liquid moving with each jolt of the table. each movement of the water making the nausea cascade in waves, he felt dizzy and unsure, if he were to try and walk he was sure he’d falter and fall. maybe he’d never get back up. maybe he’d never try. he took himself to the smoking area. he never fell.

his hand hovered over you. your picture so bright on his screen. the smile you held clawing at his heartstrings, he clicked, he wasn’t sure if he was expecting you to answer but you did, you were quiet, unsure. you weren’t you. his heart broke a bit more then, he wasn’t sure what to say. no word or sentence sounding good enough, he just whispered ‘she was my mistake.’ you hung up. he was thrust back into the memory of shutting the door on you, he wondered if that gave you the feeling of revenge, leaving him sat on the line, waiting to hear you. he felt angry, but he wasn’t sure at who.

he saw the girl who wasn’t you again, he felt lonely, he needed someone. he didn’t love her, no. but she made him feel good. she gave him that power back. but she wasn’t you. and she would never be. she never made him weak, never made him laugh so loudly people would turn, never made his eyes crinkle in the way that always gave you a chance to call him an old man. she never lived as hard as you. she just was there. he woke the next morning to a silence so deafening he covered his ears. no persistent banging on the door. just silence. torturous melancholy silence. you weren’t there. he wasn’t sure if you ever would be again.

the ghost of you trailed after his being in everything, he picked up his guitar and strummed a tune that sounded like you. his heart stopped for if he thought hard enough your lingering hand on his shoulder could be found. you could still see him sometimes, curled up in the duvet, sat on the sofa or waiting outside the door, but then you’d blink at he’d be gone. you watched his life through a screen knowing you’d never be part of it, your arms staying forever lonely with the reminder of his warmth. you don’t remember when you first heard the song. the lyrics lingering and stinging in a way that had you aching for salvation. he was your mistake. your loving, forever mistake. a mistake that would never be solved, he just lingered. and for you, you stayed in your ever lonely bubble, waiting for him, for if he’d come back. you think you’d let him be your mistake all over again.

[sliced-peaches]

starry 🌠

hwang hyunjin | 2.4k

lil drabble (?) bc I love hyun and I love love. funny love languages and confessions. that’s it

barely proofread, no warnings, just a couple of besties to lovers

pls enjoy 💕

There’s a buzz running through your body, a pleasant one, as you walk towards the car. As you approach the passenger side door, Hyunjin rolls the window down and smiles in a way that has your heart clenching. Full of warmth, a hint of mischief. Just how you like it.

“You wear that skirt just for me?” He attempts to wriggle his eyebrows for extra flair.

You try your best to curtsy, both of you snorting at how ridiculous it looks in a mini skirt. “Mostly for me, but I’m glad you’re enjoying.”

He throws his head back and laughs.

“Get in, loser.”

Once the door closes, he’s reaching into his backseat, fumbling through various items that should probably be in his apartment (or in the trash!) but will probably remain in the car for another month or so. And you’ll complain at least three more times before he finally does anything about it. “Okay, I got you something.”

A giant smile is already forming on your face, expecting a gag gift or some strange souvenir from a museum or vintage shop he’s visited recently. You’ve dedicated a shelf (or two) on the bookshelf in your apartment to the collection of random oddities. From small trolls and rubber ducks, clown salt shakers to a giant drinking glass shaped like the leg lamp from “A Christmas Story”.

You can never truly be prepared for what Hyunjin decides is worth the purchase. The collection goes beyond the shelf though; you have beautiful vases on end tables, old postcards from places that might not even exist anymore taped onto the wall, a few teacups in the cupboard (he has the matching cups in his own). Pieces of wood carved into various animals, like the screaming squirrel he said reminded him of Jisung. He got a good deal on an extinct pinned beetle that’s hanging in your bedroom.

(“Hyun, this must have been expensive!”

“I haggled with the owner for a bit, it helps when they don’t know shit about bugs.”)

It’s hard not having the eyes of your artist friend, you could never curate anything half as insane as Hyunjin. So you try to pay him back by getting his coffee often, being a really good photographer (not like it’s hard, look at him), babysitting Kkami when he’s out of town, making baked good that he swears could rival Felix’s. Anything to make life easier on him, even when he says he doesn’t need you to.

He says he just thinks of you when he finds these gifts, thinks you’d like them or “appreciate the humor”. He doesn’t tell you he also just loves to see you smile at weird things with him. You don’t tell him how your heart almost beats out of your chest thinking about how sweet it is that he wants to share them with you.

It’s like a little game, a willed secret between the two of you, that you’ll harbor as long as you have to, to be able to share these fleeting moments of pure love. He can’t lose your smile, you can’t lose his warmth. So he continues to place strange tokens of love into your hands like a penguin sharing a pebble.

But today, he pulls a rectangular shaped gift wrapped in brown paper. It’s so tame in comparison to everything else, you’re scanning his face to see if it’s a joke. All you find is a small smile, almost shy. A shy Hyunjin is a rare occurrence.

It’s surprisingly light once he places it in your hands. “This one is special. You have to open it in front of me.”

You tsk. “Right now?”

“Yeah, why not?” He adjusts in the seat so he’s facing you, one foot on the seat and his knee pressed to his chest.

You look around and out the back window. “You’re parked illegally too-“

“Hurry up and we can leave!” He hurries your hesitancy along with his hands, practically bouncing in his seat. He’s unbelievably cute like this: nervous, excited and a little pushy. So you indulge him.

Running your hands along the front, your finger stops where he’s written something: to my special friend

“Aw, I’m your special friend?”

He looks away, but can’t hide the way the tips of his ears start to tint red.

“Shut up, hurry up,” He whines while you giggle and you snap a photo of his handwritten note with your phone.

“Okay! Okay.”

You carefully start to unwrap your gift, starting with the small pieces of tape on the backside. Careful not to ruin what’s inside, you pull the paper back slowly (agonizingly so, he thinks). His full attention is on you when you finally pull the paper away, anticipating your reaction.

At first, you’re silent as you stare at what is actually a small canvas in your hands. It’s not hard to make out. Two people sit side by side on a couch, no clear faces. There aren’t many details but the colors.

“Did- did you paint this?”

He nods. “I did.”

“I had to make sure, this would’ve been a crazy find out in the wild.”

He’s chewing on his bottom lip while you continue to study his painting. What if she hates it? “…do you like it?”

“Yes, I love it!” You carefully drag a finger across the picture, feeling the dried texture of oil paint. “It’s beautiful, Hyunjin. I’m sorry, I just can’t get over the colors. The couch is pretty, and the people don’t bleed into it at all. I feel like I’ve seen this before. How did you-“ You cock your head to the side, something about this scene so familiar to you. The slope of shoulders, positioning of bodies. “Is this us?”

“It is.” He slightly adjusts in his seat. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, it’s just you, but he feels like maybe he crossed some imaginary line for whatever reason. That he probably drew himself.

“You let Jeongin borrow your Polaroid one of the first few times we all hung out. He took a picture of us on some strangers couch. I can’t even tell you who’s, I got so drunk that night.”

“Dude I remember now because that’s the same night we made a drinking game out of how many times drunk Felix told someone he loved them, that’s why you were so fucked up.” He groans thinking about the hangover the next day. “My bad.”

It was mostly your idea, already three drinks in to Felix’s six or seven when he started to drunkenly tell every single one of his friends how much they meant to him, teary eyed and sniffling. Hyunjin was curled into your side cackling, a weepy Felix curled into the other before Chan had enough and hauled him over his shoulder to get some food in him. You vaguely recall stumbling out of said strangers house, the both of you clinging to each other and laughing because you couldn’t stand or see straight.

That was the first night of many outings with dear friends, but the first night you looked at Hyunjin and realized how bright of a star he was. From his laugh to his smile, to the little sticky note drawings he’d leave for you during classes, the way he cried when he saw monkeys fighting in a documentary, the cute jingles he’d make off the top of his head when you shared a treat. You would never ask the star to come any closer, content with just being able to witness. But you also hoped it would shine in your sky for a long, long time.

“Anyway, Jeongin found the photos from that night, I’ll have to show you the rest later because they’re fucking insane. But the one he took of us was… honestly the best photo of us ever. And I didn’t even know it existed until about two weeks ago.”

“What a find. That’s from, like, two years ago.”

He’s fiddling with the ring on his hand. Placing yours on his shoulder, you squeeze and he looks at you. Just takes a good look at you, eyes full of sincerity when he speaks again.

“A good two years it’s been.”

He begins to unfold and sit in the drivers seat like a normal person, taking the paper from you and haphazardly throwing it into the backseat.

“This is such a special gift, Hyun. Really. Thank you.”

As he brings his arm forward, he ruffles your hair. “For a special lady.”

“Ugh we’re getting sappy today, this is so cute.” You wipe a fake tear from your eye. But your words are honest. “You’re just so talented. I’m honored you gave me this. What a testament to our friendship. I don’t even know if I can match this.”

“Don’t even think about that. You mean so much to me.” He remembers the invisible line. He decides since he might have already crossed it anyway, with no complaints, he might as well just be honest. “More than you know.”

“You mean a lot to me, too.”

Pausing to look at each other, you fall into habit.

“I love you.”

Said a thousand times.

“I love you, too.”

This time it’s a little different.

Something shifts between you two, something like your definitions of love finally lining up to mean the same thing. There’s an unstoppable force causing you both to lean in closer to each other only to stop with tour noses mere centimeters away. Almost as if you’re synced you give each other a three second long opportunity for an out, eyes meeting and looking for any sign of uncertainty, but then simultaneously leaning forward to close the gap. You were both certain, you both wanted this.

Your lips press into his gently, and he smiles into yours, a hand coming up to cup your face. There’s a shared warmth in split into each chest, over bloomed and ready to spill out. Hyunjin’s chest almost bursts open when you lay your hand over his, so he deepens the kiss, hoping you can feel all the love he’s been storing away for you. Love he was uncertain he’d ever be able to expel. Your chest is so full it feels like you can’t breathe, full of love for this beautiful, strange man, that it almost pains you to part from him to catch your breath.

He rests his forehead against yours, the most beautiful smile plastered onto his face. He smiles so big his eyes are crescents, and the brightest laugh erupts from his chest. You can’t help but laugh with him, at him, at yourself, at this. It’s a pleasant surprise, and yet you’re not surprised one bit. Of course this is how it goes.

You kiss his cheek. “I know you know this but you’re gorgeous.”

“It has taken on such a different meaning hearing you say it to me like that.”

“And I’ll say it again.” You kiss him once. “And again.” Twice. “I always meant it before.”

“I know but I wasn’t sure if you ever saw me like that.“ The corner of his mouth twists up, thinking back on how his heart would race when you’d simply compliment him, at the time knowing it was just what good friends do. But from you, it meant everything. “It’s one thing to gas up a friend, it’s another to tell them how truly fucking beautiful you think they are.”

You falter. His gaze is something you’ve seen him give you before, but this time you aren’t trying to convince yourself that it doesn’t mean what you truly wish it did. “You think I’m beautiful?”

With a chuckle, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’ve always been the brightest star in my sky.”

It’s like hearing your soulmate saying the magic words. Of course these two stars would end up in the same constellation. You should’ve known sooner.

“Ugh, shut up.” And you kiss him again.

“You’ve always been the only star in my sky.”

Pulling away, he feigns offense. “This is not an opportunity to one up my compliments.”

“Get used to it, loser.” You sit back and settle into your seat. “And let’s go. You’ve had the hazards on for like fifteen minutes.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Found this bargain today. The 1890 Victorian belonged to a Whiskey Baron and it still maintains the same opulence. The mansion in the Moss Bradley Historic District of Peoria, Illinois has been lovingly cared for and appreciated. It has 4bd. 3.5ba. and is only $375K. You gotta see this.

Check out the original oak doors. 

On top of all the hand carved wood and everything else that’s original in the house, they decorated it with Bradbury wallpaper, so it’s even more fabulous.

Pocket doors, wood coffered ceilings and a glorious fireplace in what has been made a pool room. 

Look at the wallpaper in the dining room. This home needs nothing- it’s move-in ready and gorgeous.

It’s a beautiful modern bath, but I wish they’d have done it in a vintage style.

The kitchen remodel is so good, I can’t tell if those cabinets are original. The do look it, like they were.

Look at the details on the railing and newel post.

Look at how beautiful the bedroom is.

Now, this bath remodel is spot on.

How cool is this bedroom? It has a nook with columns. 

Gloriously beautiful family room. 

Cozy finished attic.

They squeezed a shower in up here.

Nice bonus room.

Gated driveway.

In the back is a large deck, area with pavers, and a garden. It’s hard to tell in winter, though.

Doesn’t it look beautiful in late summer, though?

https://www.remax.com/il/peoria/home-details/1205-w-moss-ave-peoria-il-61606/726502220781219390?gallery=true