#light wood and cream dining room table

[essiedoessummer]

Beach Style Dining Room - Dining Room Example of a mid-sized beach style light wood floor great room design with white walls, a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace

[harryspet]

well kept [epilogue] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, kidnapping, NONCON/DUBCON, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: a little wrapup of the story!

word count: 3.7k

In which you begin to question whether submission is the only escape.

well kept masterlist

8 months later …

Monotonously, you brought a wet rag across the large, rough-hewn wooden dining table that dominates the space of the dining room. It took you nearly thirty minutes to clean it thoroughly, wiping away every speck of dust before meticulously arranging the plates, napkins, and glassware with care, making sure everything was just as it should be.

It’s perfect when you get done. With a soft sigh, you flick off the chandelier of large glass lanterns, letting the natural light filter in through the tall windows, casting a gentle, golden glow across the room. You turn toward the kitchen, pulling off your cleaning gloves, ready to move on with your routine.

Then the doorbell rang.

You make your way through the downstairs of the expansive cabin, towards the front entrance. Glancing through the floor-to-ceiling windows as you make your way to the front door, you spot the culprit: a gray van parked down by the lake road. The sight feels out of place, a reminder of the outside world you rarely encounter.

Unlocking the front door, you huff as you pull the large piece of solid wood open. It always feels like it weighs a thousand pounds though you can’t recall Rafe ever having any difficulty with it. Still catching your breath, you greet the grocery delivery man, Connor, with a small smile. Before you, four-hundred dollars worth of groceries sits in plastic bags and you place a hand on your hips as you examine the challenge before you. 

“Let me help you carry them inside,” Connor offers kindly but you’re already shaking your head, “Mr. Cameron always tips so well, really, it’s the least I could do.”

“N-No worries, this is mmm-my workout for the day,” You reply, momentarily, taking in the fact that this was one of the few contacts you had with the outside world. Truthfully, Rafe had never explicitly said that Connor wasn’t allowed to carry the grocering inside but everytime you imagined Rafe coming down the stairs and spotting the two of you together.  If the young man wanted to keep receiving handsome tips from Mr. Cameron, he’d keep his interactions with you brief.

“Okay,” He seemed to shrug, confused, “I never see you in town … you work from home too?”

“Yeah,” You lie without hesitation, voice steady, “We’re just … homebodies.”

“What do you do for work? … Sorry if that’s intrusive. It’s just … this house is insane. You guys must be loaded.”

You laugh, and Connor shifts on his feet, smiling shyly back at you. To anyone else, the house in all it’s grandeur and isolation, must seem like a dream come true, “I help manage some stuff for Mr. Cameron’s business. I just help out where I can.” You hope it’s enough to end the conversation.

He still looks impressed, gaze wandering back to the cabin’s towering windows. As the silence stretches, you grab a few bags from the ground. He doesn’t immediately notice your discomfort, “I get it,” He adds, “Ya’ll are living the dream up here. Away from all the craziness.”

“Something like that,” You keep your face neutral until it falters. The slightest creak of floorboards from upstairs. Your heart skips a beat and you force yourself to grab a few more bags of groceries, “Well, I should get the ice cream inside before it melts. Thanks again, Connor.”

“I’ll get out of your hair, Mrs. Cameron,” He replied, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, “See in you two weeks. Take care, alright?”

You nod silently, turning on your heels, determined to keep your focus on the task at hand. The rhythmic thud of footsteps descending the stairs grows louder, but you force yourself to keep moving, your eyes locked on the kitchen ahead. With a small grunt, you heave the bags onto the kitchen island, the plastic crinkling as you place them down.

Just as you spin around to grab the rest of the groceries, you collide hard with a solid wall of muscle, Rafe’s chest, unyielding like a brick wall. The sudden impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you stagger slightly, instinctively looking up to meet his piercing gaze.

“Everything okay?” He asks, most likely taking in your wild eyes. 

Wearing a button-up checkered shirt that tucked into well-fitted trousers, you assumed he’d been taking some video calls and wanted to look presentable. 

“Yeah … groceries,” You said, gesturing to the kitchen island, “Uhm, C-Connor just dropped them off.”

“That kid knows how to linger, huh?” Rafe placed his hands in his pocket, tongue poking at his gums as he thought something over. 

Kid. Rafe was probably only a handful of years older than him. “He’s just doing his job,” you said quietly, your heart racing as you busied yourself with the grocery bags, hoping to avoid further scrutiny. Rafe followed closely behind, a silent reminder of his constant presence, his need to control even the smallest interactions.

It wasn’t like Rafe was resistant to helping around the house. He cleaned after himself for the most part. Honestly, you’d expected just being a house wife to be easier than being a personal assistant, especially easier than being a barista. However, Rafe’s mountain estate was enormous, and Rafe decided against keeping the full staff he had at his Charlotte mansion. It was like he wanted you to handle all of it, to be completely busy, and maybe you wouldn’t get any ideas about wanting more for your life. 

He hadn’t realized that you stopped wanting more for your life when you woke up, drugged from whatever he had slipped you, and found him tucked between your legs, mouth wet from tasting you. The memory hit you as you leaned down to grab the next load of grocery bags. 

Not able to separate you dreams from reality, you weren’t immediately sure whether Rafe was really in between your thighs. Eyelids heavy, only your mouth opened, a strangled moan left your lips. Lifting your head, you looked down with blurry, hooded vision. You never slept in anything silk yet underneath your fingertips you could feel the fabric covering your chest. Your right thigh was hooked high over your hip, Rafe’s hand firm in the crook of your knee, holding your leg in place as he kept you open. 

Even in your weakest state, his touch was commanding, and controlling. You were barely awake and the pressure he was creating didn’t fully register until you were close, the orgasm fully bringing you to consciousness. 

Reality came crashing donw like it always did when you woke in the morning. Your life wasn’t your own anymore. Usually, you’d at least have a moment alone, a moment that was still yours before you were back on his routine. But now, even sleep seemed like a choice you no longer controlled, another thing he had taken from you.

You started to register your own breathing, the way your chest rose and fell rapidly, just as he crawled on top of you. Shirtless, his eyes still sleepy but focused enough on the task at hand. He easily pushed inside of you, and as your breathing calmed and you came down from your orgasm, he pressed his chest into yours. Your noses touched together as he sheathed himself inside you further, “You’re getting so good,” He murmured, voice smooth and full of praise, “Taking all of me. Squeezing me so tight.”

You had no choice but to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his, accepting the intimacy forced upon you.You wouldn’t cry this time, you’d remain stoic, and numb. Mentally, you could try to feel nothing, no matter that you felt him across every nerve on your skin. His praise hung in the air, and his presence consume you. 

It occurred to you then that you had no idea how you’d gotten here. Sure, you knew the mistakes you’d made that led up to this point. You knew the lengths Rafe was willing to go to, the power he was willing to yield, lives he was willing to ruin. 

You turned your head to look around the room just as Rafe settled into the side of your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your skin. Your lips parted to yelp at each deep stroke, each time he pushed against your cervix, but your eyes darted around the space. You’d been here before, your crotch pressed against a pillow, when Rafe forced you for the first time to make yourself orgasm. 

Usually, Rafe was relentless. But as soon as you could put together that you were in his house with no idea how you’d gotten there, his thrusts became sloppier, rushed, and he nestled against the side of your face. His lips brushed your ear, his breath uneven as he spilled inside of you. The intimacy of the moment felt strange, almost out of place, as if he was in a hurry to finish before you fully pieced together what was happening. His weight sagged against you, and for a moment, the room felt suffocating. 

He collapsed beside you, though he kept an arm draped over your stomach. Slowly, you lowered your leg until you were laying straight. 

You didn’t dare move. 

Rafe’s hand brushed against yours and you turned your head quickly to see a concerned look on his face, “Here, let me do it,” You felt that numbness that had been clouding you ever since you realized you controlled nothing. He easily procured the bag from your grip and you watched as he easily took the rest of the bags into his arms. 

When you both retreated back inside, you heaved the massive front door shut again, locking yourself back into your gilded cage. Surprisingly, he helped you unpack the groceries. It would’ve been faster to do on your own, you had to direct him a few times about whether certain items belonged in the fridge or pantry but you tried to be thankful for the help. 

You were putting up the canned goods in the grocery, neatly stacking them on the shelves of the bedroom-sized pantry, when you felt his eyes still watching you, “He sure does talk a lot though, doesn’t he?”

Better not to use his name, “The grocery guy?” You swallowed, speaking slowly in order to keep your voice steady. 

“Connor,” He said, voice dripping in malice. 

“He’s j-j-just being friendly,” You said, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Friendly,” He repeated, his tone mocking, “... You know, I don’t like him talking to you.”

“I-I didn’t encourage it,” You said softly, knowing whatever words you had would be a mistake, “If you don’t like him …I-I c-c-could g-g-go to the store from now on.” 

For a long moment, Rafe didn’t respond, and you found yourself just trying to maintain your composure, canned goods forgotten in your hands, as you waited for his verdict. 

“What do you want me to say, sweetheart?”

You were forcing his hand, asking for too much when you knew he couldn’t give it to you, “Thh-Thhh-That you’ll think about it?” 

Lately, you’d been testing his boundaries. Not answering everytime he called. And when you did answer, your tone was flat and indifferent. Wearing clothes from your wardrobe you knew he’d deem unflattering. Yoga pants or shorts were okay, never sweatpants. He wanted to see your every curve. Every inch of what he believed belonged to him. You were his wife after all, he’d paid a handsome price to get you here. 

Your obedience occurred in waves. A few weeks on and a few weeks off. It was the best way your brain could cope with the control. He’d grow happy, content with your behavior and that’s when you decided to flip a switch. Sometimes, Rafe was almost reluctant to punish you. 

A thought crossed your mind. A way to gain a small ounce of control. Though it came at the high cost of satisfying his urges. You decided to beg. He loved to hear you grovel and degrade yourself. It’s one of the only ways he gets himself off.

“Please,” You whispered, your voice trembling. In your baggy flannel and sweatpants, braids tied back in a messy bun, you stepped forward. You wanted to sound weak. Even weaker than your stammer usually made you sound, “I’ll go with a bodyguard. I-I’ll wear my ring. I won’t t-t-talk to anyone.”

It surprised him. You saw it in the way he shifted on his feet and his head tilted to the side curiously. It was in the way he watched you carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. The words were poison on your tongue but it didn’t stop them from filling out. 

“Is that right?” His voice was low and dangerous, how it usually was when he was calculating a devious plan in his mind. 

When the silence decided to stretch again, you filled it, “I’ll be better. I-I know I–I-I’ve been dissapointing you,” You closed the distance until you were inches from him, letting him look down at you, as you turned your eyes downcast. 

“Hmm,” You felt his hand raise and press into the side of your neck, large thumb caressing your jaw, “Then you know that’s the kind of privilege like that you’ll have to work towards?” 

Being trapped here with him felt like you’d fallen to the bottom of the totem pole. Somehow being his assistant, hanging on his arm like arm candy, and keeping his cock warm underneath his desk was better than what you were now. At least then you could see your friends. You could interact with people other than Rafe, Topper and Eleanor. Then you had a job. You were a real human.

“Yes,” You began, “I’ll d-do anything.”

Rafe’s eyes turned down as you reached one of your hands into the waistband of your sweatpants and then beneath the fabric of your underwear. 

“Y/N…” His voice deepened and you looked up at him with big, wanting eyes. 

“Can I please touch myself, Sir?” You asked, “I-I want to shhh-shhhow you how good I can be.”

He kept as still as he could. His eyes were answering your question. He didn’t need to verbally give you permission.Maybe he stayed silent because if he spoke, the desperation in his voice might betray him. Rafe didn’t need his own release in that moment—what he craved more was the sight of you undone, vulnerable, completely under his control. Watching you touch yourself, watching your eyes roll back in pleasure, was enough to satisfy him. 

You bit down on your lip, moving your fingers over your soft folds. Gently, you rubbed yourself, teasing yourself. His gaze didn’t waver, but you saw the the way his nose flared, as he tried to keep his composure. 

“Please,” A soft moan escaped your lips as you worked yourself up, the motions becoming smoother as you grew wetter, “P-Please, Sir?”

Rafe inhaled sharply and watched as you reached further, towards your aching hole. He couldn’t see it exactly but you showed him with your eyes, with your parted lips and soft expression, that you dipped a finger inside of your aching hole. 

Despite how you feared him, how he’d ruined your life, you couldn’t help but enjoy the twisted way that you could control him. The tension in the room was thick and you saw the way he was fighting against exerting his control over you, over taking over. Even in a small way, you could make him bend to your will, you saw it in the way his fist clenched at his side. 

Your pace quickened in a way that brought you closer to the edge, the friction sending waves of pleasure over your skin. 

He reached out suddenly, grabbing ahold of your arm, his grip strong but not painful. He pulled your fingers away from underneath your waistband, “You don’t get to finish until I say so,” he murmured, his voice low and authoritative. You kept your expression neutral, though every muscle in your face tensed with the effort to hide your frustration, resisting the urge to press your lips into a thin line, “Take off your clothes for me, sweetheart.”

Your body frustrated, you hurriedly pulled down your sweatpants, exposing your lacy black underwear. Next, you removed the flannel, Rafe’s eyes fixed on your newly exposed skin. You would never admit it, but deep down, you always felt comforted by the fact that never seemed to bore of seeing you. Though you’d never had a traditional honeymoon period, now that you’d lived together for so long, you thought he might lose interest at some point. Everytime he saw you it was like he was seeing you for the first time. 

Every glance he gave you was filled with that same insatiable desire, as though you were still something to unravel. The thought made something flicker inside you, a mixture of fear, and something far more complicated.

You hesitated when it came to your bra and underwear, suddenly hyperaware that Rafe was fully clothed. There he stood in his work attire and part of you wanted to hold onto those inches of fabric, “All of your clothes,” Rafe added, sensing your hesitance, and he didn’t let you stall any longer. You yelped when he grabbed you by the waist, swinging your body onto the cold, marble countertop of the kitchen island. Determined, his fingers pried your underwear down your thighs and you watched them fall to the floor. Your thin bralette was next, and you raised your arms obediently, letting him tug it over your head. 

As soon as you were bare and freezing, Rafe’s lips curled into a devious smirk, “Finish,” He said, “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

His eyes were dark and hungry, watching every movement, every breath you took. Your instinct was to resist, to deny him, but you were too far gone. This is what you wanted in the first place. A trade. Your submission for a chance at freedom. You didn’t test his patience, knowing this was a better option than being bent of the counter. You complied, your hand slowly sliding down your stomach, until they were back between your legs. 

Slow, deliberate circles. 

You were so used to the feeling of shame, the heat you’d feel in your cheeks, the tears that would sting your eyes. Freezing, like a puppy out in the rain, you trembled. The shame was almost ritualistic, something to expect everytime you were intimate. Your body always seemed to respond, anyways. Maybe it was time for you to fully accept your part in this. Maybe you were beginning to crave that feeling. 

Your pace quickened, your fingers moving in urgent circles, and you felt your release building. 

“That’s it,” He said, “You’re already close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, fully aware of the smugness in his tone. Your fingers worked and your moans became louder, “Please,” You begged, that pressure between your legs growing unbearable.

“Please,” You heard yourself say over and over, feeling yourself come undone. His hands slowly move to rest on either side of you, trapping you between the cold marble and his towering figure, “Please, Rafe.”

“Come, sweetheart,” He finally said, “Let me see you fall apart.”

A whimper escaped your lips as your orgasm hit you almost painfully. Your release was inevitable, you’d practically perfected getting yourself off, and your body responded to his commands like a pupper on a string. Your body tensed, your back arching, as you gasped over and over. Your fingers faltered, slowly, but soon there were fingers brushing against that sensitive area again. 

You tried to scoot your body away but Rafe pressed your thigh with his large palm, keeping you pinned. Slowly, he moved his fingers, prolonging that sensation, drawing out your orgasm, “There it is,” He whispered, “Such a good girl when you want something from me, huh?”

You nodded weakly, agreeable. 

As you realized he was trying to work you up again, you panicked, “P-Please.”

“Hmm,” His fingers pressed harder, “Look at you. You know what? If you give me one more, I’ll let you go shopping next week. How’s that sound?”

“I-It hurts,” You whispered, voice braking. A tempting offer that you were now too overwhelmed to even consider. His fingers didn’t relent, rubbing against you harder now, dragging you toward another release whether you wanted it or not.

“That’s not an answer,” Rafe teased, his tone almost playful. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, “Come on, one more. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Your body betrayed you again. The buildup was slower than your first orgasm, so torturous that tears began to fall down your cheeks. When your body was convulsing again, it was not as sweet as the first, but just as powerful. You came for him again despite how much it hurt, how raw and exposed you felt.

His grip on your thigh relaxed and you body went limp against the counter. You throbbed between your legs, so much so you weren’t sure if you would be able to walk without a limp. You felt his thumb brush over your cheek, wiping your tears, “Good girl. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Too tired to do anything but lay there, Rafe finally stepped back, leaving you shivering on the cold countertop. A coldness returned to his expression. You’d asked for this. Wanted something from him. Somehow, it felt like you hadn’t won anything at all. Now you were realizing this was a punishment, most likely for your behavior over the past weeks. 

Rafe turned his back on you, as if he hadn’t just pushed your body and mind to the brink, “Maybe I’ll take you shopping after all.” 

The promise of being let out of the house felt hollow. A reminder that your independence was something he could grant, or take away, on a whim. 

You lay there, motionless and speechless, trapped in the swirl of shame, regret, and anger. Then, without warning, a dangerous thought crept in, slipping through the cracks in your resolve: Maybe if I’m good enough, if I do everything he asks, I’ll get more freedom. More moments of escape.But before you could push that thought away, another surfaced, darker and heavier: Maybe I deserve this.

i hope you enjoyed this series!!

[righteous-r0de0]

Sam and Darlin's House

it’s pretty much this house exactly. the lifted porch, the hill leading to the backyard. it’s just a lot more wooded than the pic. the upper left window is their bedroom and the right is the en suite. it’s 2 bed/1.5 bath

they have very warm but dim lighting everywhere, especially the bedroom. they have a walk in closet with hooks for their respective bath towels. everything is very plush and comfortable, a lot of extra throw blankets and pillows for cuddles. they keep the house cold purely for the purpose of cuddling up with each other under a mountain of blankets

the living room isn’t quite as grand as this, but the ceilings are vaulted like this. i’ve said before in my fics that sam has a suede (that soft, almost fuzzy leather texture) couch. they have a fire place as well

they have a double vanity in the en suite with those lifted sinks. the bath is opposite the vanity and has dark metal fixtures and a rounded tub with white curtains. sam keeps his shaving stuff under the sink and out of the way (darlin hates when he shaves)

the kitchen and dining room are hardly ever used, but it’s all dark wood with green and cream accents. the mismatched chairs at the dining table are everything to me

this sorta color palette for their decor and such

make a suggestion for who’s next in the comments :)

taglist and link to the entire pinterest board below the cut

@sunsickcrab @froggytimemachineinternet @int3rtwiningh3artstrings @zimix-whispers @wilted-rose-posts

[baenakinskywalker]

hungry like the wolf

chapter two: i'll be upon you by the moonlight side

She’s been tossing and turning for over an hour if the clock on the nightstand isn’t lying. Taggie thought with Gertrude by her side, this might not happen again, but her luck has run out. With a huff, she flops her limbs out in all directions. Gertrude snuffles. The clock ticks. It’s not that the bed is uncomfortable. Or that she’s not tired. It’s just — It’s too dark. She flicks the lamp on, but — too bright.  Taggie weighs her options with her eyes screwed shut. She can keep lying here, get no sleep, and be completely dead on her feet when she needs to focus tomorrow. She can count sheep. She can sneak out of Penscombe, creep through the Bluebell Wood, sleep in her bed at the Priory, and come back before Rupert knows she’s missing.  Or, she can go down the hall.

rating: E

words: 3,343

a/n: surprise! couldn't keep this to myself any longer. chapter 3 will be a little longer of a wait, but i promise it will be worth it. again, huge thanks to @berd-nerd, @popjunkie42, and the @rutagdiscord for the encouragement!

read under the cut or on ao3!

Taggie O’Hara hasn’t been to Penscombe before. Not really, not if you don’t count that disastrous meeting on the tennis court. Or if you don’t count the times she’s been on the grounds for Venturer meetings — few and far between, since the Priory is designated HQ. 

So, she’s never been to Penscombe like this. As a guest. And an employee, technically. 

It’s a massive, stunning estate. She’s barely in the door, and Taggie already can’t believe that someone could inherit something like this. The antique furniture in rich mahogany and oak, the portraits from the esteemed Campbell-Black lineage, all of it. It’s such a big home for just one man, which is probably why there’s been a pack of decently behaved dogs sniffing at their heels since they arrived. 

Rupert carries Gertrude so his pups don’t get any bad ideas — good behavior only means so much when you’re a dog, after all. And so Taggie walks behind the two of them, duffle bag on her shoulder, careful not to knock into anything that costs more than her meager catering income. Which is, well, everything they pass on the way to the kitchen. 

And — oh. The kitchen. Wall-to-wall countertops in a gorgeous dark wood, with polished brass hardware. The spices she could fill those drawers with: marjoram, anise, fennel, cardamom — the list goes on and on. And space for all of her pots and pans, even for a full set of the stainless steel ones that Bas has recommended on more than one occasion at Bar Sinister. She could even find room for those gorgeous Le Creuset pieces she used to stare at in shop windows back in London.

Taggie imagines herself washing up after dinner, staring out across the serene grounds through the massive windows above the sink. They reach all the way to the top of the high ceiling, making the entire kitchen feel open and airy. All helped, of course, by the bright tiled floors, cream walls, and light stonework. It would be easy to watch the dogs running wild during the summer, or to watch the stars blinking in the night sky on a dark winter evening. With Rupert beside her, doing the drying.

For a moment, she lets herself wonder what Cameron thinks of this kitchen. Has she made more than a cup of coffee here? Not worth worrying over, not when Cameoron hasn’t even been in the country for a month or so. Still, Taggie has a laundry list of questions that she’d like answered this week, if only she can muster the courage to ask them. 

Beaver licks at her ankle, and that’s when she spies a line of dog bowls beside a round dining table, situated in front of a bow window. 

“Do you feed them buffet style?”

Rupert turns, still cradling Gertrude, who has settled into the crook of his arm like she was born there. “Are you insulting the way I feed my dogs? You’ve been here all of two minutes.”

“I’m sorry.” She sticks out her lower lip. “It’s just a lot of bowls in a row, that’s all. D’you ever trip over them in the middle of the night?”

“No, actually,” he says. “But you’re one to talk — what in God’s name are you feeding this one? She’s a boulder.” He feigns a struggle to lift Gertrude so he can press a kiss to her fuzzy head. Not unlike the kiss Taggie received back in the Priory, she notes. 

“It’s not polite to talk about a woman’s weight.” Gertrude yelps in agreement, or at the five dogs staring up at her from the floor. “You’re going to have to introduce them sometime,” Taggie adds, setting her bag on the counter. She almost feels bad hefting such an old thing onto the polished stone. But Rupert doesn’t bat an eye. 

“I know,” he starts. “What if they corrupt her terribly?”

Taggie smiles. “I think you’re forgetting that your first impression of her was brute.”

“A smart woman once told me that people can change,” Rupert replies. He’s always doing that — calling her smart, or clever, or bright. At first, it was shocking. Not a single person has described her that way before. Not Daddy, any of her teachers, either sibling, and especially not Mummy. It’s always: Taggie is such a good cook! Taggie is beautiful, like her mother! Taggie’s great with animals! Nobody runs the house like Taggie! 

Smart still sends a blush creeping across her cheeks and nose. But slowly, she’s getting used to it. Preferring it, even, to pretty, talented, reliable. Coming from Rupert, though, she takes them all happily. He’s not stingy with his praise.

“Shall I get you something to eat?” he asks once Gertrude is safely on the ground and sniffing each of the new dogs like she’s being paid to. “Contrary to popular belief, I can cook.”

Taggie’s eyes track the dogs as they scamper away, Gertrude at the helm. She’s already running them like the Royal Navy. “What exactly is on the menu, chef?” she asks.

“Well, madame,” Rupert starts, “the plat du jour is a real treat: my famous cheese toastie.”

Taggie can’t fight the laughter that spills from her mouth. Her cheeks already hurt, and it’s barely been ten minutes with him. Will she be able to move her face at all come Sunday? “I can whip something up for us, if you’d like,” Taggie offers when she’s sufficiently recovered. 

“And deprive you of what one Scorpion reporter deemed perfectly edible? Not a chance.” He walks behind the large island to where a bread box sits on the counter by the window. When he lifts the lid, there’s a perfect sourdough loaf inside. Definitely not baked by the Minister for Sport. “Don’t worry, darling.” He slices through the bread with an elegant knife. “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know the kitchen after tonight.”

And she’ll need it. This is a far cry from the job at Green Lawns, and there’s little room for error. At least Rupert won’t make her dress like a French maid — probably. 

“Let me help?” Taggie asks, already rolling her sleeves up. 

“Agatha, I know how to work the hob,” Rupert says. He pins her with a look that makes something in the pit of her stomach flip. People so rarely call her Agatha. She squeezes her knees together on instinct. Then, like he notices her fidgeting, he adds, “If you want to hunt for something to zhuzh with, that’s fine. But I’m cooking.”

He hasn’t even started heating up the pan, but Taggie feels flushed. The fridge is a welcome reprieve, and she finds it well-stocked with everything an MP could want. There’s blocks of cheeses, domestic and imported; fresh red tomatoes that have her longing to take a bite; fish, beef, chicken, and pork, all wrapped in butcher paper and labeled with neat handwriting; and plenty of milk and salted butter. Behind a large head of lettuce, she spots it: A jar of fig jam. 

The wheels turn, and Taggie opens a few cupboards until she finds the next ingredient she’s looking for: honey. “What cheese have you picked?” she asks, tucking a curl behind her ear. It should be salty to counter these two sweet additions. 

“A white cheddar. Sharp,” Rupert says. “Found what you need?” Taggie nods and hands over her spoils. “A little jam on one slice of bread, then a drizzle of honey over the cheese.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rupert does just as she says, buttering four slices of sourdough, spreading the fig jam on two, and layering cheese and honey over the others. He assembles the sandwiches quickly, and his work is a little sloppy, if Taggie’s being honest. But the smell when they sizzle in the pan — scrumptious. 

It doesn’t take long for the cheese to melt and each sandwich to be flipped. Rupert plates them, then sets both on the round table situated by the window. From a tall cabinet along the opposite wall, he plucks two wine glasses and a bottle of Merlot. When their glasses are filled, he says with a flourish, “Dinner is served, my lady.”

Rupert pulls her chair out, then clinks glasses with her. “Cheers,” Taggie says. 

The first bite is divine. 

“Oh, Beattie Johnson is really missing out.” 

—

Once dinner is finished, the wine bottle drained, and the dishes taken care of — which Taggie is not, under any circumstances, allowed to help with — Rupert shows her upstairs to her bedroom for the week. It’s a blush pink color, with English country landscapes and horses covering the walls. When he flicks on the light, she wonders if this could have been Tabitha’s room. 

They don’t talk about his children. She only knows their names from that ill-fated meeting with Helen and talking to Lizzie over tea at the Priory. That’s also how she knows their ages: Tabitha, 8, and Marcus, 6. Products of a contentious marriage with an even more contentious divorce. 

So Taggie bites her tongue, holding back the questions on her mind. “Thank you,” she says instead. Gertrude, retrieved from her new friends after dinner, immediately hops up onto the bed. “For the room, and the op-op—opportunity,” 

“Tag,” Rupert starts, leaning against the doorframe, “it’s a shame that you haven’t been over before. From now on, you’re always welcome at Penscombe, even if I’m not here. And you’re the only one I trust in the kitchen with Maggie in the dining room.”

Taggie sits beside Gertrude and runs a hand up and down her back. “It still means a lot,” she says. All of it does. The cooking, the washing up, the belief that she can handle something like this. Mummy and Daddy thrust a lot onto her, but not because they think she can do it — simply because they know that nobody else will. She’s defied plenty of their expectations, but it’s easy because those expectations are nonexistent. 

“Of course, angel.” Rupert comes toward the both of them on the bed, and for a moment, Taggie thinks he’s going to kiss her. 

He didn’t kiss her last time. He kissed her back, but Taggie was the one to start it, and she’s acutely aware of that fact. Every time she replays the kiss in the Priory — frequently — she changes one detail so Rupert is the one to make that move. In her mind, Rupert leans first, comes forward so that his mouth is on hers and she’s the one answering. 

His hands, large and warm on her hips. His teeth, sharp on her bottom lip. His tongue, cautious at first and then so persistent that she could have melted right there. God, and the way he looked down at her when, finally, they pulled away. Like something precious. Like an undoing. 

That night, after the party had ended and everyone went their separate ways, after Rupert reluctantly left to go check on the dogs (and after Cameron called him from Corinium), Taggie thought about that look, that kiss, with her fingers between her legs. But the shuddering orgasm — and all the ones since — haven’t been enough to rewrite history. 

She wants him to kiss her so badly it hurts. 

This time, it’s Gertrude. Rupert bends to kiss her nose, and Taggie lets out a nervous laugh. 

“That’s a good girl,” Rupert says, giving Gertrude a scratch behind the ears. “Goodnight, ladies. If you need anything, I’ll be right down the hall.”

“G’night,” Taggie breathes. The room feels too small, even though it’s fit for a queen. Or princess. 

When the door shuts behind him, Taggie flings an arm over her face and groans. 

—

She’s been tossing and turning for over an hour if the clock on the nightstand isn’t lying. Taggie thought with Gertrude by her side, this might not happen again, but her luck has run out. With a huff, she flops her limbs out in all directions. Gertrude snuffles.

The clock ticks.

It’s not that the bed is uncomfortable. Or that she’s not tired. It’s just —

It’s too dark. She flicks the lamp on, but — too bright. 

Taggie weighs her options with her eyes screwed shut. She can keep lying here, get no sleep, and be completely dead on her feet when she needs to focus tomorrow. She can count sheep. She can sneak out of Penscombe, creep through the Bluebell Wood, sleep in her bed at the Priory, and come back before Rupert knows she’s missing. 

Or, she can go down the hall.

“Gertrude,” Taggie whispers. “What do I do?

Gertrude sneezes. 

“Fine.”

Taggie swings her legs off the bed, gathering her courage and her robe. Penscombe is eerily quiet at night — she can’t even hear the dogs, which could mean they’re either extraordinarily good sleepers, or that they have accommodations downstairs. She pads down the cavernous hallway, socks slipping between the Turkish runners laid across the hardwood. Rupert’s room is just a few doors away. 

God, this is embarrassing. 

In front of his door, she has two options: knock, or just open the door. Both seem terrible. 

She knocks.

Beaver barks, Gertrude barks behind her, and suddenly Taggie’s worried that the whole estate is going to wake up. But a lamp clicks on and light pours from under the door. “Taggie?” Rupert calls. “What’s the matter?”

Shame flames from the crown of her head all the way down to her socks, but she turns the doorknob slowly. “Hi,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry about this.”

Rupert sits on the side of the bed, Beaver on the floor in front of him. He’s shirtless, and from her vantage point in the doorway, she spies dark pyjama bottoms slung low around his hips. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, but — God. That day on the tennis court seems so far away. He was a completely different person to her then; a total stranger. Rude, terrible, even. So while she’s familiar with the shape of him, she’s managed to compartmentalize naked, mean Rupert away from clothed, kind Rupert.

Except they’re really the same man, and the markings of sleep have made him even more attractive somehow. 

“No, s’just…” She takes a deep breath. In her mind, she sees this same scene play out with a dark-haired little girl. She follows Taggie’s steps from the pink bedroom to here, knocks the same way, and finds the same man in this room. Only Helen is in the bed next to him — and in her American accent, she asks, “Did you have a nightmare?” 

In the present, Taggie stammers, “C-can I come in?”

“Please,” he says. “Are you feeling sick? I didn’t think my cooking was that bad, but you never really know.” 

Gertrude takes her opportunity to find Beaver and curl up beside him like they’re an old married couple. “Dinner was great. I just…” she trails.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“No!” she answers quickly. “No, I…I wasn’t asleep at all.”

Rupert squints at the clock on the nightstand. “Christ, it’s nearly one in the morning.” He pats the mattress beside him. “Come here.” 

He’s going to think she’s a child. But she’s drawn to him anyway, so she sits beside him and fiddles with the sash across her waist. 

“Darling,” Rupert starts softly. “If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t fix it.”

Her face goes deep red. “There’s nothing for you to fix, really.” Rupert squeezes her knee, and while she’s sure it’s meant to be comforting, it’s anything but. He makes her head swim.

“But,” Rupert encourages, “there’s clearly something wrong, or you’d be dreaming about grocery lists by now.”

Taggie gulps. His large hand is still on her knee, and it’s all she can focus on. “I’m…I’m a-a—afraid—”

Before she can finish her sentence, Rupert’s hand is gone, his eyes wide. 

“No! Not of you — God, Rupert, honestly.” This would be funny if it weren’t so mortifying. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Can you please put me out of my misery, then?” He breathes deep. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get back to sleep sometime before the sun rises.” He bumps her shoulder with his own, adding, “Be a good girl and tell me?”

Oh. It should be illegal to be this embarrassed and turned on at the same time. The two emotions roll together in her gut, and she almost does feel sick. Taggie closes her eyes, squeezes her lips together, and finally says, “I’m afraid of the dark.”

Rupert nods, and it strikes her as so fatherly that she has to push the thought away immediately. Thankfully, he adds, “That’s it, is it? This estate has plenty of lamps if you need them. I’m sure I could wrangle a few more for your room.” 

Taggie shoots him a glare. “It’s just the first night in a new place” she adds. “And I thought that having Gertrude with me would be enough, that I’d be fine, but…I just can’t sleep.” She pauses, knowing there’s one critical piece missing. “Alone.”

Alone. It’s like the word itself punches Rupert in the gut. He looks at her like he can’t quite tell if this is all a dream. “So you need…me,” he says slowly.

“Look,” Taggie starts, skin burning, “I can take the floor. Really, it’s just — I’m so sorry.” She can’t bear to address what he actually said.

“Absolutely not.” Rupert stands, and the sight of his long, lean body at full height is nearly too much to take in. He turns down the other side of the bed and fluffs the extra pillow. “We’ll share. It’s fine.” His voice is nearly back to normal.

“It’s fine?”

Rupert’s whole face softens. “Of course. I’m the reason you’re here, so I’m not about to banish you to the floor like one of the dogs.” He gives Beaver a pointed look. “Though he sometimes winds up beside me, so it may be a tight squeeze.”

Something lifts from her chest. Taggie takes a full, deep breath and stands. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me. You know you’re welcome anywhere at Penscombe, at any time.”

Including his bedroom, Taggie thinks dimly. Her mouth goes dry at the thought. 

She comes around the bed — large enough for two people and a few dogs — and shrugs off her robe. Of course she’s wearing the red nightie, the one Rupert saw on Patrick’s birthday. If she notices his eyes widening, she tries not to react. 

“I know you said not to thank you,” Taggie says, getting into bed, “but I will anyway.” Feeling suddenly bold, she leans across the expanse of the bed to where Rupert lies against the headboard and presses a kiss to his cheek. His skin is warm and rough under her lips, and she thinks about her hands there instead, dragging his face down to hers. 

Rupert hums softly. “Goodnight, angel.”

He turns off the lamp, and Taggie is asleep in minutes.

—

It’s still dark when her eyes open again. 

Hot. That’s all Taggie registers as she struggles to make sense of where she is. The side of her face is pressed into a pillow, and all she sees across from her is a mop of hair and the shadow of dark lashes across cheekbones. 

But she feels so — hot, burning all over. Low in her belly, especially. Even lower, it aches. Taggie rolls her hips to relieve some of the deep arousal building between her thighs. Where is she again? 

She rolls her hips again, and — oh. She catches on something solid. It’s a spark like she never feels alone, burning bright and egging her on. Just keep moving, just like that, and then —

The solid thing shifts, and a few things start to make sense.

Taggie realizes with no shortage of mortification that not only is she in Rupert Campbell-Black’s bed but she’s also grinding her cunt against his thigh. 

And as she moves to extricate herself from this precarious situation, a deep voice makes her toes curl. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Agatha?”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Wow, this is 1931 home in Winnetka, Wisconsin is impressive. 9bds, 9ba, $8.9M.

Wow, look at the carved wood walls. There's an original tile floor in the foyer, too, and a leaded glass inner door.

You know, I like the white carpet on the stairs. I wouldn't want to clean it, but it looks beautiful. This home has those bas relief ceilings, too.

Is it the way they're photographing the room to get the ceiling in, or are the ceilings low? The large sitting room has wood paneled walls to match the entrance hall, plus the same ceiling and a beautiful fireplace.

Very classy guest powder room. Black marble floor with white veining, and the marble counter on top of an antique dresser has a sink ringed in gold. The gold wallpaper ties it all in.

Comfy home office. The rounded desk looks art deco and is nestled perfectly in a triad of framed windows.

The library shelving is gorgeous. Oblong octagonal cutouts in carved shelves, and that gorgeous fireplace in the middle has a pediment with a pineapple and a black & white marble surround.

I like this light dining room. Cream and pale blue bas relief ceiling is so soft and stunning.

These cheery bright dining spaces are so pleasing. This is a breakfast room in creamy white and it gets a lot of sun from the windows to the garden.

The kitchen is a professional chef's kitchen. It begins with a large pantry done in the same cream color with large glass paned doors on the cabinets so you can see the dishware. The kitchen cabinetry looks maple and has a cute corner fireplace, black countertops and copper pots hanging over the double island.

At the top of the stairs on the 2nd level is a magnificent oval leaded glass skylight. The glass panes are opalescent. And, there's a large sitting room up here, too.

They've made a walkway between 2 area rugs in the huge primary bedroom. On one side is a lovely mahogany canopy bed that contrasts well against the white room and the other side is a sitting room.

There is a huge home office up hear with a pretty French Provincial desk and a chaise lounge.

The bath is nice, there's a separate room for the toilet, and a lovely vintage marble counter on the sink. Love the rust-colored marble on the floor.

What a lovely guest room. It's so large, there's a huge picture window between 2 full-sized canopy beds.

Down in the large basement is a rec room that looks like the ultimate man cave. Rich dark wood furniture, a red pool table with an unusual pool lamp- it's not the usual stained glass, this fixture has foxes in red waistcoats holding up electric candles - love that.

Wow, man cave indeed. That fireplace is the size of a room. You can definitely walk in there. And, look at the life-sized butler statue in the corner. Is he creepy?

The home gym looks commercial. Mirrored walls and a black ceiling make it look industrial.

Outside, the iron gate makes it look like a secret garden.

The hedges are cut in patterns.

It must cost a fortune to maintain these gardens. The property is 3.25 acres.

Is it me, or does the pool look like a fidget spinner.

I love conservatories and this one is lovely. The plants and wicker furniture really bring the outdoors in.

This is the prettiest tennis court with the trees and latticed fencing.

An elaborate play set for the children looks like it conveys.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/44-Locust-Rd-Winnetka-IL-60093/70453195_zpid/

[joelswritingmistress]

Camp Crystal Lake: Chapter 8

Requested by @yellowjacketsbuzzbuzz

Joel Miller x f!reader (romance/horror)

Setting: Camp Crystal Lake

The reader is taking on the position of a camp counselor at the infamous Camp Crystal Lake. While she begins to enjoy her summer, even crushing on the camp director Joel, a killer lurks in the woods unbeknownst to anyone.

Annie leaned her elbows on the top of a long, oversized freezer and tapped a pen against her inventory list. “How many more boxes of ice cream sandwiches should I get?” She whispered to herself, snapping the bubblegum in her mouth.

Her eyes stared down at the number twenty beside the bomb pops and she shrugged and jotted the same number down.

“Good enough for now, I guess.”

Annie reached down and lifted the lid on the freezer, taking a final glance at the stacks of ice cream boxes. She then slammed the top again and locked it up before making one last lap around the kitchen.

Through the serving window that gave a view of the mess hall, Annie saw the lights turn off in the oversized cafeteria. Her eyebrows pressed together and she crossed the way, glancing out through the open space.

“Hello?” Annie’s eyes moved left to right, eyeing the collection of picnic tables that had suddenly become encompassed with darkness.

Nothing. No response.

Are they on a timer? She wondered.

Annie wandered a few feet to the door that led out into the dining area and flung it open.

“Joel?” She called out.

Again, nothing.

To the left her fingers found a switch on the wall and she flicked the lights back on, taking in her surroundings with a shrug.

Annie sighed before heading back into the kitchen to retrieve her paperwork. When she turned back around, the lights in the dining area were off again.

“Okay,” she said to herself, shaking her head. Annie hurried through the open door this time, shouting, “Ha, ha! You're so funny!” She stopped and listened. There wasn't a sound. “You don't want to mess with the person who handles your food,” Annie teased, shouting out loud in the empty room.

Nothing.

After another few seconds of silence she reached an arm back into the kitchen area and turned off the lights before locking the door. Her eyes continued to scan the area for the prankster responsible for trying to spook her.

Annie held her papers under one arm and twirled the lanyard of her keys with her opposite hand. She blew a bubble and let it pop before deciding the head back to the main cabin.

She began her trek toward the door that led outside and about halfway through her walk, the lights went out again; only this time she was left in total darkness without the aid of the kitchen light. Annie froze, unable to see much of anything.

“Alright, cut it out!” She called out.

Annie felt her heart rate pick up. She was certain someone was playing a joke on her, but all the same being in the center of a dark room with no idea who was around had her on edge. Ralph came to mind. Jason came to mind. It was easy for the mind to drift to all kinds of worse case scenarios.

With a huff of a breath, Annie continued on her way, power walking toward the door that led outside between a row of picnic tables. When she heard a faint noise echo off the walls of the empty room, her feet moved faster.

Where did the noise come from? Annie wasn't sure. She hurried with more urgency, glancing over her shoulder once. Was someone else in there? There had to be.

She breathed heavily, trying not to scare herself and rushed to the partially open door. Right beside it was a light switch and Annie reached her hand out and flipped it. At the same time she turned and glanced around at the now-illuminated mess hall.

Fuck. Annie half-expected to see one of her coworkers standing there laughing or waving with a smile. But no one was there to cash in on their late-night prank.

“Fuck this,” she whispered. Annie sighed and composed herself before flipping the switch back off and heading out of the door. She began to lock it and could see the lights on in the main cabin a couple hundred yards away through the trees. Her guard let down again.

When the door was secured, Annie turned to head back but stopped when she came face-to-face with a tall, shadowy figure. She gasped at the sight of his presence and stepped back, only to be met by a hand to the throat.

Annie’s eyes widened when she recognized the machete in the ogre of a man’s hand. And then she truly, for the first time, recognized the hockey mask.

This is a joke; it has to be. Annie opened her mouth to scream as he raised the machete and her inventory papers dropped to the ground below.

“Who’s up for another fire?” Jeff asked, finishing off the last bite of his hot dog. He sat at the big, wooden kitchen table with everyone and wiped away a stray blob of ketchup from his lip.

“I'm in!” Vicky said with a smile. She nudged Mark, “You?”

“I'm in training,” he teased, though agreed with a nod when she gave him puppy dog eyes.

“Nah,” Sandra joked, prompting Jeff to roll his eyes at her.

“Don't drink too much,” Joel urged, “Before we get to painting, and before it gets hot, I have a hike planned for the morning.”

“Even me?” Mark asked, wheeling his wheelchair back and forth.

“Me and you are teaming up.”

“I'm in.” Mark smiled a contagious smile. He then turned to Vicky. “Don't get me drunk.”

“Cross my heart,” she told him with a grin, making the motion across her chest.

“What do you say Teri?” Scott asked, raising his eyebrows across the table. He took a bite of his burger.

“I could, I guess.” She shrugged. As much as Mark and Vicky seemed into one another, Vicky seemed very disinterested in Scott. Still, he was trying.

“Enjoy everyone,” Joel said, glancing subtly at me. “I'm getting an early night's sleep.”

“Afraid of Jason,” Ted commented with a thumb’s up. “Got it boss.”

Everyone chuckled and Joel humored them with a smile. “Just make it back to the cabin in one piece.”

“Will do,” Sandra said. She looked at me and then to Joel. “You coming or staying?” She whispered.

I shrugged and said quietly back, “I'll feel it out.”

As everyone wrapped up eating, I volunteered to grab their used paper plates and began to clear the table.

“You coming?” Jeff asked me, eager to head outside. He reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts and retrieved a blue lighter, flicking it on and off.

“Yeah I'll be down in a few,” I said, not sure if I could fulfill that promise. I held a hand out for his plate and he draped an arm around Sandra's shoulders before leading the way out the front door with the rest of the group behind him.

Joel helped clean up, retrieving condiments that were left in the center of the table.

“Thanks for helping clean up,” he said.

“No problem.” My eyes lifted toward the door, seeing the screen gently slam against the door frame as the last of them headed out into the night.

I took it upon myself to wipe the table down after tossing the plates in the garbage.

“You going outside?” Joel finally asked as I tossed some paper towels into the garbage can beside the kitchen island.

“I'm a little tired,” I said to him with a barely-there grin.

“It's been a long day.” Joel grinned back and then gave a little chuckle.

I laughed lightly with him. “It has.”

“You know,” he closed the distance between us, “I don't know if we’ll have this cabin alone much in the future.”

“You're probably right.”

Joel nodded and pulled me to him when he was within an arm's reach. Making out with him was addicting. Our lips met for the third time that day in a fiery, fighting for survival kind of way. I had never kissed anyone like that.

“Your room or mine?” I whispered against his lips.

“I was just about to ask you,” he said back, pecking my lips. “My bed is a queen.”

“I have a twin.” I gave a laugh.

“Well, I guess that settles that.” Joel reached for my hand and I took it. “You sure you don't want to go out to the fire?”

I grinned as he looked over his shoulder. “I'm pretty content right here.”

He flicked off the main switch to the downstairs area, leaving just a light on above the sink and then towed me up the wooden staircase.

Is this actually happening? I had butterflies in my stomach and felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I was sure it was Sandra but I didn't reach for it.

When Joel pulled me into his room and his lips crashed against mine again, my arms linked around his broad shoulders.

This is going to be the best summer of life!

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@gissellec1 @cattt777 @mellymbee @armybts20137 @bbiophiliaa @littleblackcatinwonderland @mermaidgirl30 @brittmb115 @yellowjacketsbuzzbuzz @beltzboys2015-blog @lwfics @pedropascal111 @itscatrodriguez-thepearl

[the-broken-truth]

Blot-Mates: Yuu & The Overblots [Part 2]

SEGMENT: LEO

Summary: Leo is stressed and irritated, but the Ramshackle Prefect has a plan to calm him down.

[Note: The Yuu Variant is Male with Enma Yuuken's Body Build, Yuuka Hirasaki's Fighting Skills, and Yuuta Mito's Cooking Skills.]

[Note: This Storyline will be written in Script Format.]

Parts: [Prologue] - [Ri] - [Leo] (Here) - [Azu] - [Jami] - [Vi] - [Idi] - [Mal] - [All] - [Epilogue]

[The Morning Sun rises over the horizon, shining upon Ramshackle Dorm, however, that light does not shine in Leo's Room, thanks to the blackout curtains that Yuu set up for that room. Leo lay in his bed, but he was wide awake; his mind was swarming with the screaming thoughts of the past, making his head hurt worse and worse as he started gripping his sheets with a growl until a knock on the door caused his eyes to open and him to gasp. Leo looked at the door before throwing the blanket off of him and walked over to the door, opening it and coming face to face with Yuu dressed in his Cooking Apron.]

Leo: What do you want, Herbivore?

Yuu (Placing a hand on his hip): Good morning to you too, Leo. Breakfast is ready and I don't want your food to get cold.

Leo: Why didn't you bring it to me, then, if you didn't want it to be cold?

Yuu (Holding up two fingers with his other hand): Two reasons: 1. You have no servants here. 2. No eating in the dorm rooms; I don't want bugs up here because I know Jami hates bugs.

Leo (Narrows his eyes): What if I don't feel like leaving my room?

Yuu: Then, you don't eat.

Leo: I don't feel like moving - My room is warm and my feet will get cold.

Yuu: Don't worry. I made these for you. (Reaches into his apron pocket and pulls out some black cotton house shoes)

[Leo watches as Yuu kneels in front of him and places the house shoes on the cold wood floor. Leo looked at the shoes before sliding his bare feet into each shoe; they were very warm, soft, and a perfect fit... This herbivore made these just for him?]

Leo: They... They are warm.

Yuu (Standing up): Good. Let's go, Leo. We need to put some food in that belly. (Starts walking in the direction of the stairs.)

[Leo looked down at his shoes before watching Yuu walk down the stairs - he walked out of his dark room, closed the door behind him, and followed after the Prefect of Ramshackle at a rather slow pace.]

[Leo reached the bottom of the stairs and walked into the dining room before raising his head to see the sight before him: The other Overblots were sitting at the table with a banquet of breakfast foods, such as pancakes, waffles, french toast with cream-cheese filling in the middle and cinnamon on the top with whipped cream, bacon, eggs, pan sausage, and different kinds of drinks.]

Yuu (Walking out of the kitchen with a large serving bowl of oatmeal): I got the oatmeal, everyone.

Ri (Walking behind Yuu with the plates and silverware): I got the plates and silverware, Yuu.

Yuu (Places the Bowl of Oatmeal on the table before turning to face Ri with a smile and rubbing the top of his head): Thanks for your help, Rose Bud! You're amazing!

[Ri smiles at Yuu before setting the table and sitting in his chair.]

Yuu (Looks at Leo): Are you okay? Come and eat with us; you have been sleeping for a long time and need a decent meal.

[Leo looked at the banquet of food and walked over before taking a seat on the other side of Yuu, across from Ri. Yuu says a prayer to the Great Seven and signals everyone to start eating. Everyone (Except Jami and Leo) starts filling their plates with food and their bowls with oatmeal, however, Yuu notices this and pauses from taking a bite of his bacon.]

Yuu: Leo. Jami. Is there a reason you aren't eating?

Jami: I... I am not used to having someone else cook for me. I usually cook for everyone else.

Yuu: You are not a servant, Jami, and refuse to allow you to treat yourself as such. (Looks at Leo) What about you, Leo?

Leo (Looking at the food): I... I just don't know where to start.

Yuu (Points at the second platter of pancakes): Try those. They are Pancakes with bites of pan sausage meat made into them. You might like them.

Leo (Takes 2 Pan Sausage Pancakes, pours syrup on them before cutting and taking a bite out of one - his eyes widen at the flavor): These... These are amazing.

Yuu: Glad you like them. Now, get up - you and I are sparring later.

Leo (Smirks at Yuu): You wanna fight a King, Herbivore? Are you asking to get your ass kicked?

Yuu (Smirks): Let's see if you are singing to the same tone when I kick your ass, Your Majesty.

[Leo aimed his foot for Yuu's face but it was blocked by Yuu's forearm, before he could pull it back, Yuu grabbed his ankle and yanked it, making Leo lose his balance, as Yuu spun quickly and throw Leo a distance away until the Lion Overblot recoiled in the air and landed on his feet before glaring at Yuu and charging at him again, slashing his linked claws at Yuu, who is dodging his attacks as if it was nothing]

Yuu (Grabbing Leo's Fist that was aimed at his face): You're fighting with anger.

Leo: I'm fighting with power - I'm fighting like a KING!

Yuu: If you think relying on anger for power is fighting like a King, then... (Flips Leo over his shoulder, drops him on the ground, and looks down at him) You would be a very pathetic king.

[Leo snarls at Yuu before standing up and running back into Ramshackle. Yuu stands there for a while before exhaling and walking back inside of Ramshackle - he needs to finish something and apologize to Leo.]

[Leo stayed in his room for about 3 hours until he had a taste for Cheesecake. He rose from his bed and walked out of the room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen just to see Yuu standing there with a slice of cheesecake and drizzling caramel on it. Yuu looks over at Leo, who is standing on the threshold.]

Yuu: There you are. I was just about to bring this to you. (Holds the Caramel Drizzled Cheesecake out to Leo)

Leo (Looks at the cheesecake): You... You made this for me? Why?

Yuu: I wanted to apologize. I was rude to you during the sparring match, but I was upset to see you fighting with anger.

Leo: Why? It's not like you understand why I'm so angry.

Yuu: Constantly being compared to someone older and more developed than you for your entire life, regardless of how much effort you put into something is angering enough; and completely stupid.

Leo: You... You know about that?

Yuu: I saw glimpses of your life during our battle, and it reminded me so much of my own. I was the second son in my family and was constantly compared to my brother, who excelled in academics and sports. However, I was only good at household tasks such as cooking and cleaning. The only thing I was better at than my brother was fighting, which made my relatives hate me even more. I was tired of living in his shadow, which is why I left before coming to Twisted Wonderland.

Leo: You... You understand what it's like.

Yuu: Yes, but your situation is worse. You want to be king so everyone will accept you, just as they did your older brother; you are very capable, Leo. Just like the King of Beasts.

Leo (Eyes widen): What?

Yuu: The King of Beasts was the second heir but he gained the love of his people; a love that the first king could never have. He treated everyone fairly and it's because of that he gained the throne. (Looks at Leo) Gain the love of the people, Leo, and I know you would claim the crown; Hell, I know you'd be a better king than Falena, that condescending bastard.

Leo (Chuckles): You can say that again...

Yuu: It's good to see you smile, Leo. Come on, I have something for you.

[Yuu leaves the kitchen with Leo following behind him: The two of them walk into the living room where something is covered by a massive sheet. Yuu walks over to the sheet and grabs it before looking at Leo.]

Yuu: What is a king... (Pulls the sheet off - revealing a throne, carved out of wood, painted gold, with velvet seat and back pillows, and fake gems engraved, but professionally made) without his throne?

Leo (Looking at the throne): You... You made this... for me?

Yuu: I wanted to show it to Leo for his upcoming birthday when he game to visit, but you deserve this trhone too. Happy Early Birthday, My Lion Prince.

[Leo walked over to the throne and sat on it - it was soft and strong enough to hold him. Yuu pulled a golden crown from behind him and placed it on Leo's Head.]

Yuu: There. You look perfect!

Leo: This... This crown is real... Where did you?

Yuu: Kalim gave it to me. He didn't like it but I thought it would look good on you and I was right. (Moves in front of Leo and kneels before him) I name thee: King Leo of Ramshackle! I am at your service, My King...for the rest of the day. WHOA!!

[Yuu is caught off guard as Leo tackles him and knocks him to the ground in a hug. Yuu lays there as Leo holds him, quietly sobbing to himself.]

Leo: Thank you... This is... This is...

Yuu (Stroking Leo's Hair): Shhh... It's okay. You don't have to say anything, Leo. I am here for you.

[Leo continues to hold Yuu, the Lion Prince's New and True Brother.]

[END - TO BE CONTINUED]

[uchihaharlot]

can you do Itachi comes back from a long mission and you know what he will do with his s/o (nsfw)

Oh nonny, this is just what the doctor ordered!!

Her so hungry, desperate to fill his appetite!!

NSFW; cock warming; light food fucking; I’m feeling things today; let’s make dinner.

Yea so, Itachi is into cock warming. He’s what I refer to a closeted freak. Only gives in to this sort of thing after being gone for so many days.

This time, it’s weeks and this man is hungry. Not for the plate that is sitting before him, but for the woman that is white knuckling his knees as she sucks his cock beneath the dining room table. Desperate too, any average day would have the world thinking what a polite and beautiful couple they are. What goes on behind close doors is another story.

Itachi feels rather good this evening, his cock throbs in her mouth and the visual is even more gorgeous to him when he looks down and sees her lips puffed around him. Thumbs her cheek as she swirls his tip. Soft eyes wandering up to his as she pops soft lips off his cock. Luridly kissing up and down his shaft. Trying not to ruin her appetite, she makes to shuffle away. So she can eat dinner and then get on with dessert.

‘Fuck that, I’m not done with you.’ He groans, ‘turn around, get on your knees and back your ass up.’

How sinful of her to think Itachi would be ok with just a little tease to his manhood. Three weeks woman, she’s treaded dangerous waters with that little display. Out on a mission for three fucking weeks, he’s anything but normal. No privacy, his woman not around. There were things you did not taunt a man with upon his arrival and one of them was the sacred flesh between their thighs.

As she assumes the position, he rucks down her house robe and wrenches down lacy panties. Thumbs the wet seam of her entrance, then presses in. This was a new situation for him, exciting. Could he manage to eat his dinner before cumming? Probably not.

Lazily scoots to the edge of his seat, pressing the tip of his cock at her sopping wet cunt. Using just a thumb to inch it in, than drags it to her clit. It was definitely an awkward angle, but they’ve done weirder.

‘Meet me halfway, baby.’ He lurches, cock sharply angles into her slit. When she lifts from crouching, she slides barely to the base of his cock.

It felt so good though. Drops his fork and grips her hips. Planting his feet firmly on the ground to support this audacious little maneuver, and bottoms out.

‘So good.’ Her whimpers are muffled under the table, how beautiful her pussy looked canted up at this angle. It’s glistening moisture shines in the lighting, so pretty.

Even better when he smeared it with sauce from his plate. Just a little spice to the clit, nothing annoyingly hot. Ran those sauced fingers down his shaft each time they pumped into one another. The heat mixed with the cool air made the sensations contrastingly pleasant.

‘You like being fucked under the table like a cat in heat?’ Itachi grunted between words. Gently slapping her sensitive little nub as she threatened to cum so fast.

‘…gods, ‘Tachi. Please, yes. You feel so fucking good.’ There was nothing for her to grab or anchor too. Being mindful of her cheek to the wood floor, Itachi ground his hips gentle but fast.

‘How good?’ Smacking ass and gripping it for his own sake, on the verge of cumming. His other hand held the the edge of the table to stabilize himself.

‘So fucking good—so close.’ Her soft mewl has Itachi bursting at the seams.

But he needed more, and so gripping her hips tighter. Itachi used what minimal strength needed to essentially lift her up and down his cock. Excitement soon became desperation and next he found himself kicking the chair back and using the table with both hands for stability. Legs on either side of her hips. Itachi fucks downwards into his whining mess of a wife. Dragging his length over and over in and out. Her juices cream and ring at the base of his shaft, now he was close.

The taut squeeze and pulse of her plush walls coaxed his cock to throb and thicken, he groans. Gods it was so good when she came around him, even better when she was inconsolably moaning his name. Creamy, warm and thick as oil, Itachi fills her cute little hole up with his cum. Slowly thrusting it deep down, and the angle making it that much easier to fuck it into her.

Picks her up, cock hard and needy still. He discards half of the kitchen table into the floor, slips his cock inside her again and fucks her five ways to Sunday there. Reams a gentle grip at her throat and kisses her panting lips as she cums all over his length again. And again, this woman was not getting any sort of reprieve from his desires. Three weeks was too long to go with out the warmth of your woman’s slit to pump your cock into. Itachi presses her knees to chest and fucks her even harder as she mewls out sirens moan, how god he feels when consistently kissing her cervix. Filling her sweet velvety walls a second time and watching as it threatens to leak out from her depths as he slows his ravenous thrusts.

She’s not too pleased about the china being shattered as Itachi’s bullish behavior was not unsolicited but rather brash. Cleaning the mess, he kissed her cheek.

‘My apologies.’ Mhm, get to cleaning boy she says, but reciprocates his kisses with her own. They’ll just order delivery and salvage what they can for his bento tomorrow.

The usual goes form here. Eat dinner once it arrives, take a shower together. Cuddle up and read their books in bed. They are rather normal in most regards. Turn off the lights and go to bed.

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Kid Philip Week 2024 - Day 3 (Friends)

New Friends From Another Town

Summary: Chibi Kid Philip meets a trio of chibi animal friends from another town during their visit to Gravesfield.

Story inspired by this commission art.

(DAY 3 OF KID PHILIP WEEK! YAY, YAY, YAY, YAAAAY!)

Enjoy!

"Neigh!"

"Ribbit!"

"Neigh!"

A trio of super cute chibi animal friends, which consisted of two small pony horses, one brown and the other cream-colored, as well as a green frog, exited the entryway of their town together.

They were planning on visiting a new town to have some fun and make some new friends as they continued to walk down the dirt path they were on.

During their journey, they came across a wooden arrow sign labeled as 'Gravesfield' that pointed to a new town.

The chibis immediately smiled, their smiles as bright as the white twinkles that glittered in their dotted eyes.

...

Knock, knock!

When Chibi Kid Philip opened the door, he gasped, and his face instantly lit up at the sight of the three adorable animals at his door.

Despite not knowing the brunette boy, the pony horses and frog were quite happy to see Philip as he looked to be a very nice boy based on the welcoming hug he soon gave all of them.

Hearts began to appear and flutter around the quartet.

...

Later on, Philip and the pony horses began marching around in a circle in the woods, with Philip taking the lead.

He happily lifted the stick he was grasping up and down in the air like a marching band drum major as the pony horses followed him, holding their sticks sideways in their muzzles.

The frog, who was happily smiling, sat contentedly on Philip's head.

The red overalls that were worn by each animal friend were identical to Philip's, and they had a white top underneath their adjustable straps.

All of a sudden, an ominous, low growl that was likely from a creature rolled in the air as Philip stopped dead in his tracks, and the pony horses did the same.

A mixture of concern and fear crossed the faces of the four chibis as they heard the growl for the second time.

Whatever was making that noise seemed to be in a state of hunger, possibly a big scary beast.

Speaking of hunger, when the sound emitted in the air for a third time, all four chibis looked down and felt their stomachs rumble out the same snarl.

Philip and the animals proceed to all let out a laugh, their light laughter being accentuated by trumpet noises.

...

At Philip's home, the chibi animals are all at the dining room table with plates in front of them.

Philip promptly brings over a loaf of bread and splits it into four pieces: one for the frog, one for the brown pony, one for the cream pony, and finally, one for himself.

The small friends' cheeks are filled with warmth as they bite into their shared loaf piece and continue to enjoy their afternoon snack together.

[steviewashere]

Happy Doing Taxes With You

Rating: General CW: None apply! Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Dialogue Light, Doing Mundane Things With One Another

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is being able to exist together comfortably, sitting side by side and doing your own thing."

💕—————💕

Sundays were for work and complete and utter silence in their house. Now, it wasn’t for big errands like going to the bank or out grocery shopping or any of that nonsense. It was the small things. Things that could be completed over time, if necessary, but were still manageable enough that they could be done in a day or so. This was the day for house chores: laundry, mopping, vacuuming, meal prep. It was a day for: returning their DVD rentals, getting a quick tire pressure check, going through the car wash. It was another simple day of: sit in silence and bask in each other’s easy glow.

During tax season, though, Sundays were for paperwork. Checkbook balancing, getting their receipts in order, finalizing the songwriting (in Eddie’s case), editing that week’s lesson plan (in Steve’s).

This particular Sunday morning, the tax season of 2012, it was for genuine tax paperwork. Collecting W-2s and miscellaneous necessary purchases, the student loan payment on Steve’s part, a car loan for Eddie. It was a coffee and bagels kind of morning. It was a sit at the dining table and let Poncho snooze peacefully on the couch, curled up in a ball, purring away the rays of sunlight beaming on him. A morning in which Steve didn’t contemplate dying his hair to cover up the white streaks or notice how dirty his everyday glasses were, where instead he sat on Eddie’s right, eighth grade exams laid out in front of him, a red pen in hand to mark off errors. One where Eddie has the tax documents, the Casio calculator the size of a small paperback book, his hair tied up (the white dispersed and gentle), his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his tongue tucked into his bottom lip, leaning back with his reading glasses perched low on his nose, and doing all the math for the both of them.

Steve enjoyed this kind of work. The warmth in it all. Their blinds half open. The dust of their space floating through the air in a gentle gust. Pens making soft taps against the dining table as it made strokes on their respective papers.

He loved sipping noisily on his coffee every once in a while, which earned a small snort from Eddie. Loved letting his eyes drift for a moment, basking in Eddie’s careful left hand marking beautifully all the big numbers that Steve fucking hated. Even loved looking at the same test questions for hours on end, if it all meant soaking up the soft heat of Eddie’s body next to his.

Eventually, though, they both hit a wall. Eddie, because he needs a moment to stand on their back porch and look out at the backyard, as the butterflies settled on the flower garden Steve started, taking in the crisp March breeze, maybe smoking a cigarette if he felt inclined to do so—just away from the numbers that began to bleed together. Steve, well all those years twirling bats and wringing things around with his hands finally caught up to him, a bad case of carpal tunnel syndrome in both wrists—and also, for the same reason, the words bled together. (There’s so much English literature that he can consume. And he’s had to read fifteen summaries on The Outsiders.)

So, they take their warm, room temp coffees. A fresh onion bagel from the toaster, smothered in cream cheese and some slightly bitter beet jam (Steve’s own specialty, he’d raised the beets like children). And they go stand outside next to each other.

Elbows on the fencing of their wraparound porch. Faces pointed towards the calmly stirring grass. Slurping noisily, again Eddie snorts, and again, Steve can’t contain his smile. Their bagels go quick. Crumbs littering the porch’s wood. Cream cheese lightly stuck to the corners of their mouths, tongues darting out like party noisemakers.

Eddie takes Steve’s left hand and squeezes. The wedding band on Steve’s finger clinking against Eddie’s old, well loved mood ring that can only show one color:

Pink.

Steve squeezes back with passion. Knowing that, in about fifteen or twenty or forty minutes, they’ll go back inside and sit back down at the dining table, noses to their paperwork, ruminating on numbers and words. Steve’ll run out of papers to grade, he’ll rub a palm down Eddie’s back, stirring him gently. He’ll kiss Eddie’s cheek, his rough stubble itching at Steve’s chapstick softened lips. They’ll discuss: “Tilapia and couscous? Or should we celebrate being done with our work?” Steve knows he won’t be frying up fish. “Pizza and beer and Golden Girls?” Eddie will ask.

He won’t be able to say no, Steve knows that. He finds it easier to comply with Eddie. To go along with it. After all, doing taxes and house work and discussing dinners, four years wedded but married since 1995—being together since 1986—Steve knows his life is nothing but flat plains and lavender. No more monsters. No more bloodshed. Just simple things.

Like leaning into Eddie’s side, their hands still joined, coffee cups empty, breath mingling as cream cheese and onion bagels. Looking out on their backyard. Standing on the wraparound porch that Eddie promised. In the glow of midday sunlight and one another.

“Love you,” Steve whispers, voice hesitant to break the quiet.

“I love you, too,” Eddie promises just as soft.

💕—————💕 I realized the other day that like all of my steddielovemonth works can be read in such a way that you follow Steve and Eddie from before they got together to when they got married. So, I guess this kind of a married Steve and Eddie AU now, too.

[accidentallycurated]

chez le cavalier ~ wip #2

[willow creek rebuild, house no. 1]

day twooooo!! things got fun today - I feel like I really got in the groove of this style and my imaginary couple 🤸🏽

also added some scandinavian-adjacent elements and got nitpickey with furniture & clutter & color choices !

dining room:

here's an update on the dining room on day 2!

switched out the stairs, added some color and diff decor!

these red chairs (s/o midnight manor from @bostyny) gave me a great new of 'oh yeahhhh this is gonna be good' but also before that doing this dark olive-y green version of the white paint I started with (from @harrie-cc copenhagen part 1) also made me say 'oh yes please.'

also omg I'm dying to get my hands on part two and three of copenhagen it's everything I didn't know I was so desperate for from queen harrie!

oke next is kitchen:

like I could just die it's so pretty!

cabinets and their matching countertop/shelf situation is mcm kitchen from @pierisim, pretty much all the other clutter, appliances, etc are @harrie-cc @felixandresims and other @pierisim sets!

the level of detail in color and thought with the copenhagen set is just SO GOOD - there's a swatch in the painted wallpaper with the same green molding as the dining room and the cream wash in the living room, plus a greige kind of baseboard that of course is perfect. I did in fact squeal when I saw this swatch and how well it brought the two rooms together.

ALSO - let's talk about the sink. the sink! pierisim's mcm kitchen didn't come with a sink that worked well with the shelf situation, so I hunted around my other options. the winner was felixandre's chateau prep sink! the way it looks like the knobs come out of the marble is just chef's kiss. I need to fiddle around with TOOL to make the sink a bit wider so it fits better.

trying to help it all come together:

(did you notice I finally fixed the stair shelving to finally line up properly?)

that little corner in the kitchen is gonna be a bistro table/morning coffee spot, I'm just avoiding it because I want it to tie things together nicely.

after finishing the kitchen and looking down that hallway to the living room, I realized I needed to bring some of that red into the living room to break up all the warm wood and brown tones.

seeking red:

started with a little red end table, wasn't quite doing it...

so I pulled everything red out of the entire @bostyny cc catalog and put it next to the chairs to try to find my winner lol

living room adjustments:

couple different coffee table options with the new red accents in place...

a chair switch out, different lighting, decorations!

adding the details of this space is when my house's imaginary owners really started building a personality. the little tapestry below the sconce I imagine was from their first date at a festival; the lamp in the bay window was in one of their apartments when they first started dating and the other one hated it so much but it's still around; the little dog sculpture is of their future dog; the tiger painting hung up by a ribbon because they couldn't find nails the first night they moved in so they hung it on the wall hook left behind.

do you think I'm crazy yet?

so much for I'm not creating actual sims for these builds - apparently I am (at least in my head).

more fun details!

rain boots - they lived in a rainy city before moving to willow creek and have gotten in the habit of leaving their boots out right next to each other.

adding curtains:

just like real life - curtains bring everything together! the bay window got the same roman shades as the entryway window.

filling in a corner:

ignore the fact that I haven't decorated out the little media shelf, but I love the little corner!

not sure how functional this really is - but man is it cute.

okay that's all see you for day 3!

[thedawningofthehour]

Making Fun of Rich People Round 2

This one's a little bit different. This house is in Arizona, listed for a clean 20 mil, eight bedrooms ten baths, 16,000 square feet. The outside is really nothing special, looks like every other southwestern wanna-be movie star mansion so let's

Kicking things off with a bang.

You know. I can't even say anything bad about this. Like, the other house, they were people who clearly had more money than taste and built their house as a shrine to their bank accounts. It was not meant to live in, but to prove their wealth. It was ridiculous and stupid and they deserved to be made fun of.

These people. These people know their house is ugly. They know that table was an obscene waste of money. They know that couch screams "my coke dealer was redecorating." They do not care. They love bringing people in and watching their expressions of horror. They rub their hands together gleefully as people try to think of a compliment that isn't too obviously pulled out of their ass.

I mean, come on. That green chandelier, they're absolutely trolling us.

And I'm going to be honest, this looks like a living room I'd actually feel comfortable hanging out in. I can see someone on that couch eating ice cream out of the carton at 3 AM. People sit on that rug and play board games on that table. These people furnished their house to live in, not to display.

I am still going to tease them about it, however.

I'm laughing with them, not at them.

Is it just the angle or does that bed seem super short?

I...don't even know what I'm looking at here. I think this is the closet?

No, okay, they have a whole mall outlet store in here. This is like that one scene in Princess Diaries 2 except Julie Andrews would politely show herself out.

Why the marble. Why do you need a sitting area in your closet.

I will admit, I'm disappointed that the owner of such an interesting house has this many black pumps. I get that they go with everything, but-that's the point. They're universal. You don't need over a dozen of them. I expected better shoes.

Nobody:

Rich People: "make the bathroom...ROUND."

fr, their insanity always seems to come out full-force in the bathroom. I legitimately think rich people might not poop or bathe, because it's always some crazy shit that would be incredibly uncomfortable or downright impossible to use.

Another thing I've noticed, rich people all seem to want bathroom doors that open to the outside. Why?!

Especially when this is the outside they're opening up to!

Seriously, what is the point of this?! You're buck naked and decide to go have a smoke next to some cactuses and your giant patio geode. That's all that's out here. Why. Why.

Actually, it looks like there's little paths, which...just makes this worse, honestly. Imagine you're taking a leisurely stroll through the cactus garden and you pass your parents' bathroom patio, getting a full view of your mom taking a bath through the floor-length windows.

"Yes, in our dining hall with the light fixture that looks like birthday sparklers and our collection of Totally Real cactuses."

I've seen designers rag on those unfinished wood tables before, and while I didn't really agree with them at the time I kind of do now. I think this would look cool as like, a side table or accent table, but on a dining table it's just kind of awkward.

This is the same room, they just kept panning out.

While I made fun of the other house for their grand piano, I have no doubt that someone in this family is a drug-fueled musician. This room looks mega-comfy to lay back and watch a movie in, and I love the sheep.

I'm just...in awe of the audacity.

They didn't even try to match. Didn't even pretend like they cared. And I'm not gonna lie, the red countertop is doing something for me.

"When we want the bugs to join us for dinner."

I can't stress this enough, they have multiple patio sets.

See, the last people didn't show off all their alcohol at their bar because they thought it looked more refined not to. These guys probably have art supplies tucked away in their bar just to keep you on your toes. (they don't need a bar, these are the kind of people who carry flasks around with them)

So like...objectively, this bathroom is hideous. It's way too much, the feather thing is ridiculous, that cabinet is ugly as sin.

But I kind of love it?

Just a reminder: this is in Arizona.

...I have nothing to say here.

WHAT IS UP WITH RICH PEOPLE AND THEIR UGLY BATHROOMS?!

Again with the doorway to the outside! And I see this a lot, but so many rich people bathrooms don't have storage spaces?! Like, look at those sinks. What.

More to my theory that rich people don't have any need for bathrooms.

This is the bedroom I wanted as a thirteen-year-old and just now realized I still do.

THE WALLPAPER IS EVEN BIRBS!

Like, I can't even make fun of this. I am just in awe. This entire house looks if sixth grade me had access to the Sims 3 Create-A-Style and the motherlode cheat, and I honestly love that for them. I hope these people find a new house to be extremely fucking cool in.

Leaving with these calming lemons in the backyard! Pay no attention to all the bathrooms that open up directly to the garden.

[luckyluan]

CHAPTER 3.1: THE STAKE OUT

They dashed around the debris and the two of them reconvened at the back door. Maxim was dressed in all black. He wore a turtleneck, jeans, boots, and gloves. Antwan hiked the lengthy black zipper of a khaki jumpsuit up to his chin. 

“That’s what you’re wearing? In the field?” Maxim admonished. 

“It was my anniversary before it became a mission, Max, and I think you should think about what is under this jumpsuit...” Antwan teased. 

“Twenty pounds of Kevlar and an armory of razors and knives, I’d wager.” Maxim chortled. 

“Damn right.” Antwan confirmed. “Let’s go.” 

They did not bother to secure the gaping hole in their dining room. Antwan, instead, trailed a vial of copper blood onto the burgundy rug under the table and knocked over a few vases in the den. Maxim turned up the volume of the downstairs television up to an obnoxious level. Antwan lifted the window over the kitchen sink and launched himself to the ground. He landed with ag runt while Maxim, noiselessly, lifted his body over the sink. He lowered himself on to the ground and signaled his husband to follow him. 

Antwan nodded and the two of them set off at a jog. Maxim pointed to a sizable light fixture fastened to the corner of their transitional style home and Antwan understood. They kept low to the ground and cut wide arcs in their manicured lawn. He unlatched a concealed lock—obscured by a colorful birdhouse—and Antwan pushed a small section of the wooden fence aside. Maxim allowed the barrel of his gun to lead the way into the passage as he and Antwan slunk into the woods beyond their suburban alcove. 

“Head for the Honeymooners.” Antwan said. “They’re on vacay until next month.” 

“Cliff and Eden are on vacation again?! What are we doing wrong?” Maxim whispered. 

Antwan gave him a nudge and the pair trudged through the murky woods in silence. Maxim did not question his husband when he stared off into the towering trees. He simply let him gaze until he whispered an order. 

“Left.” Antwan whispered. “No... other way...” 

“How do you know where we’re going?” Maxim called. 

“I marked the trees with Radiant Squid Ink.” Antwan explained. “Eagle did a biology project on bioluminescence last month. I took advantage. Keep up, old man.” 

Antwan pinched his cheek and Maxim squinted after him as he sauntered off into the winding shadows. A high stone wall came into view and Antwand handed Maxim his picnic basket as they approached. Maxim dropped to bended knee and Antwan climbed up on his leg. He launched himself onto the wall and straddled the stones. He held out his hand and Maxim offered him the picnic basket before he bounded up the rough stone wall. He dropped into the neighboring yard with Antwan beside him and his husband aimed a middle finger at him. 

“You never accept my help.” he pouted. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” Maxim conceded. “You’re right. I could lean on you a little more. May we continue?” 

“Get the cameras.” Antwan growled. 

Maxim busied himself with the fuse box after Antwan disappeared through a narrow window and the electricity of the luxurious house faltered when Maxim used his copper blade to slice through a blue wire. 

“Get in here, negro!”  

Antwan’s gloved hand dangled out the window. Maxim threw a leg over the low windowsill and crawled into a well-organized laundry room which smelled of clean linen. Maxim steeled his nerves as he drank in the refreshing scent. 

“This won’t be like Singapore.” he said. 

“Agreed.” Antwan said. “Secure the perimeter.” 

“Set up for a long night.” Maxim finished. 

They crept into the shadowy hall and Maxim signaled Antwan to sweep the first level before he set off up the stairs. A few moments later, he called down to his husband. 

“Upstairs is clear.” 

“Down here too.” answered Antwan. 

Maxim loped down the right of the imperial staircase and swiped a stubborn patch of dust off the black banister. 

“Anything?” Maxim asked. 

Antwan sat cross-legged on a plush cream blanket while he carefully laid out his guns. He straightened his weapons as he counted. Maxim observed the assortment of right facing hilts. Guns, cartridges, machines, and knives littered the wicker picnic basket and Antwan jammed his hand into its depths for more bullets. 

“Nope. Don’t see anything, but I had a thought. You don’t just attack people like us. You surveil them. Whomever attacked us was watching us.” 

“You think it's someone from The Order?” Maxim gulped. 

“Yes, dear.” Antwan rolled his eyes. “I believe it was another one of The Order who took the same oath to never fire on family. No, ding dong. I think it was something Abnormal though. They attacked us at night. That’s not a coincidence.” 

“Most of us use nightfall. That’s training. I don’t think it’s a coincidence, but I also don’t think it’s significant.” Maxim challenged. 

“If you said what I just said it would’ve been gospel.” Antwan unleashed. 

“True, but I’ve been doing this longer.” Maxim winked. 

‘Anyway, I think I’m right.” Antwan continued. 

“Of course you do.” said Maxim. “But I am inclined to agree. This attack is not random and coming in the night was not just strategy. It was necessity.” 

“Vampires.” They groaned in tandem. 

[simba-bonfamille-lyons]

Strawberry Hill – Simber's London Residence

@ber-bonfamille-lyons

Overview:

Strawberry Hill is a 4 bath, 7 bedroom, 3 reception room cottage that dates to the 1400s, but was renovated in the 1700s and again in 2024 before Simber moved in. It is a historical house, so most of the renovations were done with this in mind and has an overall historical vibe to the decor. The pictures tend to swing more modern in style, because it was hard to find the right balance, but I think the dining room photo above and the kitchen give the best feeling of the overall vibe of the house.

It is located in Richmond Upon Thames, an affluent neighborhood just Southwest of London. It is a quick train ride into the city and out of the city as well.

See below for information on individual rooms.

For more notes specifically on the renovation of Strawberry Hill, see this post and this post!

Residents: 

Berlioz Bonfamille-Lyons, Simba Bonfamille-Lyons, Ashlee Bonfamille-Lyons (occasionally), Prince David Bowie, Queen Nina Simone, and Turtle.

Strawberry the ghost: Strawberry is the house ghost. She lived in the house before Simber and was a sorceress. She enjoys playing music and whenever parties are thrown.

**note: pictures in the aesthetic are to give an overall #feel of the house, but don’t necessarily indicate the exact furniture/decorations/floorplan. the floorplan, on the other hand is not quite to scale but i did the best i could.

The Receiving Hall

The receiving hall has a big, open, fresh feeling when you first walk in with eye-catching diamond black and white tile. They kept the vintage globe that was in the room. In the winter, there is sometimes even a fire going in the fire place. The floor does get muddy with the dogs and Simba, lol, but it is usually kept pretty tidy.

The Living Room

The living room has a cozy and colorful vibe, with lots of modern art, but also touches of classic pieces. Including Simba's djembe drums and tapestries on the walls. It is painted a nice pale green that is very bright and cheery. The feature is the large, comfy emerald couch.

The Kitchen

Big windows let in lots of light and look out over the back garden, with a door that goes out onto the small stone patio. The cabinets have a classic feel to them and are painted a nice cream. It probably has a fun, funky wallpaper. The cabinets are more modern marble.

There is a large island in the middle of the room that is an actual island and not a table (like in the picture.) There are stools on one side and this is where Simber sits to eat most of their meals when it is just them.

The Dining Room

Painted maroon with cherry wood furnishings, the dining room is more warm and intimate as opposed to the bright and airy living room, receiving hall, and kitchen. The doors to it are usually closed unless they are entertaining.

Back Garden

The back garden is remarkably large, even for the area. It is also surrounded by trees and shrubbery, giving Simber plenty of privacy. They will probably eventually put up a privacy fence as well, mostly for the dogs.

Other Rooms/Notes on Ground Floor:

The house has a nice flow to it, especially between the living room and kitchen. There are also fire places in every room that work and are used to heat the house in the winter. (Even though they also have had central heating installed.)

Simber's Room and Bathroom:

The best room in the house, of course! Their bedroom is painted a soft purple, with dark purple bedsheets on their large bed. There is a little couch and table in one corner of the room, as well as bookshelves (mostly for Ber's use.) There is also a large dog bed in the corner for the dogs. Some of Berlioz’s favorite maps are also framed and hung on the wall.

The Ballroom:

The ballroom is a room in the house that doesn't get used often, except for entertaining, or when Berlioz feels like playing the piano. But, they leave the door open because it gets great light and the dogs like to go in there to nap in the sun. It is painted a lovely baby pink. Unlike in the picture above, it probably does not have portraits hanging up--though, maybe one that Simba brought from his ancestral home.

Instead, it has some fun modern art, probably of people dancing. (Maybe one even painted by Lou?)

The Office:

This is mostly for storage--of all their records: birth certificates, marriage license, etc. Simba uses it sometimes if he has to work from home, but it doesn't get used by him much.

Other Rooms/Notes on First Floor:

There is a spare bedroom on this floor. It doesn't get used very much, because it is right next to Simber's. (And no one wants to stay there, lbr. Though, they're good and keep their hands to themselves when guests are in the house...usually.) But if they are hosting multiple people, it is the overflow.

Ashlee's Room:

For Art. <3

Rooms and Notes on Second Floor:

The second floor, besides Ashlee's room, is all guest rooms. They are always made up and ready for someone to come stay. They each are themed by a place simber loves/has a connection to. One room is Vegas Wedding Chapel themed and features their wedding dashikis framed on the wall. Another is Paris themed. And the final one is Kenyan themed. <3

There is also a brand new bathroom, in a definite cottage core style with one of those old school sinks. It also has a claw foot tub and a standing shower.

Berlioz's Studio:

Berlioz’s study is a warm and cozy space with organized clutter. The walls are painted charcoal grey, so it’s quite dark in there, but it also has a plush, cozy couch you can fall into. There’s a separate recording booth, and then a desk with his computer on it and a mixing board. He’s got several guitars and a keyboard in there as a well. Various records are hung up kinda like art. 

The Game Room:

The game room is right at the bottom of the stairs. There is a large TV for playing games, as well as several gaming consoles. (Rich boys life.) There are vintage arcade games and a fully stocked snack bar.

Other Rooms/Notes on the Cellar:

The bathroom for the ground floor is down here. Additionally, it is where the washer/dryer is. Also, it is mostly storage.

[samsinghhinwick]

Sam Singh Hinwick House

Hinwick House is a magnificent Georgian mansion located in the picturesque countryside of Northamptonshire, England. Built in the early 18th century, the property has undergone numerous renovations and restorations over the years, including an extensive refurbishment in the 21st century that transformed the interior spaces into a luxurious and modern retreat.

The interior design of Sam Singh Hinwick House blends contemporary and classic styles to create a sophisticated and inviting atmosphere that celebrates the property's rich history while embracing modern comfort and functionality. The designer carefully selected furnishings, fabrics, and finishes that complement the architectural features of the house and create a harmonious and cohesive design scheme.

Upon entering the house, visitors are greeted by a grand foyer that sets the tone for the rest of the interior spaces. The foyer features a soaring ceiling, intricate moldings, and a stunning crystal chandelier that adds a touch of glamour to the space. The designer chose a neutral color palette of whites, creams, and grays for the walls and floors to create a serene backdrop for the furnishings and art.

The main living areas of Hinwick House are designed for entertaining and relaxation, with ample seating areas and plenty of natural light. The drawing room is a highlight of the house, with its tall windows, ornate fireplace, and elegant furnishings. The designer chose a mix of traditional and contemporary pieces for the space, including a plush velvet sofa, a pair of classic armchairs, and a modern glass coffee table. The walls are adorned with a collection of artwork that adds color and texture to the space.

The dining room at Hinwick House is equally impressive, with its high ceilings, intricate moldings, and dramatic chandelier. The designer chose a round table and upholstered chairs for the space, creating a cozy and intimate atmosphere for dinner parties. A large mirror on one wall reflects the light and adds depth to the room.

The kitchen at Hinwick House is a chef's dream, with state-of-the-art appliances, ample counter space, and a large island for food prep and casual dining. The designer chose a mix of materials for the space, including marble, stainless steel, and wood, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere that blends seamlessly with the rest of the house.

The bedrooms at Hinwick House are designed for comfort and relaxation, with plush bedding, soft lighting, and elegant furnishings. The master suite is particularly luxurious, with its king-sized bed, sitting area, and en suite bathroom. The designer chose a mix of fabrics for the space, including silk, velvet, and linen, creating a sumptuous and inviting atmosphere.

The bathrooms at Hinwick House are equally impressive, with their high-end fixtures, luxurious materials, and spa-like atmosphere. The designer chose marble, glass, and polished chrome for the finishes, creating a sleek and modern look that is both functional and beautiful.

The library at Hinwick House is a cozy and inviting space, with its built-in bookshelves, comfortable armchairs, and warm lighting. The designer chose a mix of leather and fabric for the furnishings, creating a comfortable and inviting atmosphere for reading and relaxation.

The outdoor spaces at Hinwick House are equally impressive, with their manicured lawns, colorful gardens, and stunning views of the surrounding countryside. The designer created several seating areas for outdoor entertaining, including a covered terrace with a fireplace and a poolside lounge area with comfortable chairs and umbrellas.

In conclusion, the interior design of Hinwick House is a testament to the skill and creativity of the designer. With its blend of classic and contemporary styles, luxurious materials, and attention to detail, the house is a stunning example of modern luxury that celebrates the property's rich history and natural beauty. Whether relaxing in the elegant living spaces, enjoying a gourmet meal in the dining room, or unwinding in one of the luxurious

[thelegendsoferidar]

Timothy Miller-Rodriguez

The sun peeks through my curtains, electricity courses through my bones. Freed from the chains of nighttime I jump out of bed. Most morning’s I would need all the motivation in the world to even think about getting out of bed, but not this morning. I get dressed, wash my face, apply under eye cream for the bags, and take my morning medicine. On the way down the stairs Dad calls up to me to get up.

“Dad, I’m awake.”

He comes in from the kitchen wiping his hands on his apron. “You really are,” He smiles. “you’re taking this very seriously. I’m proud of you. You’ll be the first in our family, you have a lot to prove to the people there.”

“Thanks.” I walk into the dinning room and take a seat. 

“I’m confident you won’t be late this time.”

We don’t usually eat breakfast together, especially after mom… and we definitely don’t eat at the dining room table. The nervousness wells up in my stomach. I know how much this means, to Dad and to Centralia. The fact that someone like me, a kid who grew up in Centralia, moved to Suburbia and then got selected for The University of Liminal Or Scientific Education was big enough, but to make into the Liminality program. It’s like a fairytale. I’m being recognized as something more and being given an incomparable life. They say Liminal Auditors live like the kings of old. Mom used to be so afraid for me, but know I can prove my worth.

Dad brings out a plate of Mom’s French toast and eggs and all the emotion comes out in a few tears. I wipe them away quick but dad sees them.

“Son, your mom would proud of you too if she were here.” 

            We eat together in silence, but not alone.

            Dad comes down the stairs in his suit, briefcase in hand. I walk with him to the door. 

            “You know what time you need to leave?”

            “9:20 to catch the 9:30 Train to make the class at 10:45.”

            “You sure you don’t want to leave earlier?”

            “Dad, if I leave any earlier, I’ll be too early.”

            “I know. I just, you know. Have I said I’m proud of you?”

            “You have.”

            “I am.”

            He closes the door behind him and his car sputters away down the road. I sink into the couch in front of the TV and grab the remote. Sunbeams land on the wood floor cut by the white blinds. I get lost somewhere in the light in a hazy sleepless daze. The sunbeams stream down, dividing into rainbows. Each color dances as my eyes lose focus and my body radiates warmth.

Meow. 

Milkshake pulls me back to attention stepping onto my lap. I turn on the TV and vegetate. 

            “This morning our top story is the first day for ULoSE students.”

            “That’s right Charlie we profiled Brock Persky, son of Liminal Judge…”

            I’m lucky all I have to do today is not make an ass of myself. I don’t think I really have the mental fortitude to get anything real done, let alone do school. I was never the best in Drills, but now that I’m in university I have a plan. I’m not leaving school until all my homework is done, no matter how much I want to go home. I got this. I got this. I got this.

            “… I plan on following in my fathers footsteps.”

            “What a bright young man with a future ahead of him.”

            “Up next, Centralia’s blighted…”

            I get up following the lightning coursing through me, how can I stay here when I have so much in front of me? 

The subway station smells like death. It makes it hard for me stay still. Usually the janitorial crew clean up after the body is removed, but they must be late today. Grand Suburbia Station is known for its nighttime flings. I normally use the station a couple blocks from home, but it’s shut down due to maintenance.

My eyes wander around the station, I know I’m supposed to look down at my phone and pretend to enjoy whatever social media post, but it just won’t hold my attention right now. In fact that’s what everyone but me is doing. From the besuited businessman to the housewives headed to the grocery store. The entrance to the In-Between, a gate of inky black swirling with purple, connects the rails to the stations. They say a foot in the In-Between is ten in the Real, but only people who have studied Liminality know for certain. The train erupts from the In-Between and stops at the station, a burst of rancid air rising up with it’s stop. I cover my mouth, but its too late. I’m coughing and my eyes are watering. Following instinct I amble onto the train and look for a seat. There’s one in the back faraway from other people where I wont bother anyone. The train pulls away and I fall into someone. He grabs my arm and steadies me, but his hand is tight and violent and I can feel the bruising.

            “Hey, watch it loser,” 

            What are we kids?

            “Thank you.”

            I finally recover and make it to the seat far away from the guy I fell into. He’s tall and strong with a jawline like a knife. He has perfect skin like pale marble, like the marble they reserve for The Founder. He looks like the kind of jock named, chad, or brock. I feel jealous of his height but at least I have a personality like murder. I bet he was the type of kid who excelled in The Hunts at Drills. He is the sort to hurt people for no reason.

            The train pulls through the gate and eats the car and people and eventually me too. The clouds in the subway are extra fluffy today. The sun burns bright over the train casting shadows like waterfalls onto the grassy plains. I lose myself focusing on a cloud. I map the soft edges and shadows with my mind trying to absorb it all. I run my thumb along the edge of the new bruise. If it weren’t for the needless violence that guy would have been nice for steadying me. As we pull in and out of the station the cloud races after the train but never catches up with us before we go back into the Real. I wonder what would happen if it did catch up? would it be like a dog that catches the car?

“This stop is Francisco Station, next stop is University Station.” 

The announcer calls me back from my daydream and I realize I’ve been looking in Chad’s direction this whole time. Our eyes meet and I turn away first. I’ve struggled with Mindless behavior my whole life. Mom used to tell me to use the 5-4-3-2-1 method. Things have gotten worse since she’s been gone.

The Train pulls through the gate and into the In-Between again. the tracks bump and jolt running through the never-ending warehouse. Each impact sends echoes that reverberate across the concrete and shake rust from the rafters. They keep this part of the In-Between dark so I stare at my shoes. I take in the green and white sneakers. It’s been popular in Suburbia lately to pair them with dress clothes.

            “This stop is University Station, next stop is Strasser Station.”

            I stand up at the same time as Chad, who towers over the people around him, he scowls in my direction and turns towards the door. I hang back from leaving just so I don’t have to interact with him anymore than I already have. 

            The University of Liminal Or Scientific Education is the best and only school in Atlas. People who graduate from here become the elite of Atlas. I got into the Science Program because of my great uncle was friends with the former dean of engineering and reached out before he died. I was put on the probation list for “Classroom Disturbances” my first year, but I got off for my exceptional grades. The Liminality Program was really hard to get into because my family doesn’t have any Liminal Scholars, but the dean let me in after meeting me once.

            I shuffle out with the handful of other subway riders. Ahead of me Chad passes through the metal turnstile. A Fractal checks people’s school ID before pushing a button to let them enter. His M16 rests just above his waist. I’ve only seen a Fractal raise a weapon once, but he didn’t need to use his gun. I flash my ID and push through the heavy metal bars and get on the escalator.

            The campus is built in a tire and spoke fashion. Each department is assigned a spoke, hallway, for classes except for the Liminality department which holds all its classes in the center circle. The outer circle is used for study rooms and teacher offices. It makes it really easy for me to find my way. The escalator rises to ground level, the midday sun splays across the campus in a cloud dappled pattern. The cool autumn air carries leaves across the brick walkway from the subway station entrance. The campus is situated in a special part of Atlas meant for the exclusive use of students and faculty. 

            I walk the brick pathway to the wheel gazing past the trees to the perfect lawn of grass. The wind blows red, orange, and brown leaves from the trees onto the pathway. They used ULoSE as the setting for the documentary The Founder’s Path. We use to watch it at Drills when the instructors feel like doing much. It followed the first class of the Liminal program. It was always a little cheesy, like a sitcom.

            A faculty member hangs an out of order sign on the front door to the building. The guy in front of me groans and I realize what that means and take off running. Its not put together like I should be, but being late is worse.

            I am the last student to make it to class and the professor has started roll call.

I hurry up the stairs to the only open seat in the second to last row in the dead center. I mumble excuse meand sorry, but no one really moves out of the way. 

            “Timmy…” Dr. Smith trails off.

            “Here,” I raise my hand while sliding into my seat.

I unpack my things and look at the astoundingly neat Dr. Smith and Liminality 101 written on the chalk board. It looks almost like a writing machine wrote it for Dr. Smith.

            He looks back down at the roll and makes a mark. 

Great start. Great start.

“Brock Persky.”

            “Here,” They guy from the subway raises his hand.

            Yeah, it isn’t.

            “Clark Palmer.”

            “Here.” 

A tall man with blond hair raises his hand. He’s skinny to the bone, but well dressed. It’s clear he has spent a lot of time thinking about what to wear and what will accentuate his body the best. Despite his skinny frame he is the most handsome man in class, his face so pretty he could be a woman, except for the scar near his eye.

“Dan White.”

            “Here.”

            A man with black hair and blue eyes raises his hand. He might be the most muscular man I’ve ever seen. Maybe even more Muscular than the Privates who would come tell us about continuing with the military during Drills. He’s an image of masculinity chiseled from stone.

            “Right,” Dr. Smith shakes his head and takes a moment to compose himself. “Welcome to Liminality 101. My name is Dr. Smith, Professor Smith or simply Professor. You will call me by no other names.” 

Dr. Smith walks out from behind the table. He’s an old man, but the sort who has retained his attractiveness through attentive care of his body. He has sharp blue eyes, a full head of sandy brown hair graying at the edges, and a well-built frame he hides beneath a tweed suit.

“In this class you will learn the basics of Liminality which your courses after this semester will be built upon. Pay attention to everything I say and do, it will come up in your later studies.”

            Dr. Smith points at the people at the ends of each row and then to the shelves on the sides of the room. They get up without further direction and pass out black books. The people on either end of me offer a book and I take the left one and apologize to the right. He simply passes the book back the end.

            The black book is leather bound with its title written in golden lettering. The Book on Liminality. The original text was authored by Alexander Francisco the first, The Founder of liminality and Atlas, but has since been expanded by his son with the same name, and his grandson with the same name. The words are printed in different colors for their contributors, Gold for the first, silver for the second, and copper for the third.

I run my finger across the lettering, taking in the majesty of the book. How many great minds have sat with this very book? How many would kill me for it?

            “These books and the words they contain are worth more than your individual lives.” Dr. Smith walks behind the table. “Take the utmost care of them.”

            Dr. Smith opens a binder titled Liminality 101 and reads the first page. “Now I’m sure your parents have told you this already, but Grading in this class will be pass fail. There will be no tests, homework, or classwork. I will assess your advancement as I lecture determining whether you pass or fail by the end of the semester. For this reason, and I hope I need not remind ayone again, punctual attendance is mandatory.”

            The class comes to a close as Dr. Smith waves for us to leave. I pack up everything save the Book on Liminality, which I hold to my chest. I gingerly make my way down the stairs hoping no one says anything more to me, when I see Dr. Smith motion for me.

            “Mr. Timmy a word.”

            “Yes Professor.”

            “Do take my words to heart. I don’t want you missing any part of the lecture.” A smile spreads across his face. “As the only first generation Student of Liminality you have a lot to catch up on.”

            “Yes Professor.”

“The discovery of liminal space saved civilized humanity, …there in that fold in between a dream and the waking world where thoughts and desires affect reality I became a god.”

The Book On Liminality