#matching wallpaper and fabric

[hello-sweetheart]

Neat Freak

Steve’s parents don’t make him keep the house spotless. He really is just that clean and when Nancy tries to tell people there like “lol, sure” but she knows.

He’s a neat freak.

When she would stay over she would change into her pjs and make a small bundle of her day clothes on his desk chair, and steve would just. Fold them. Before getting in bed with her.

Doesn’t take long after for the others to realize it.

Robin thought it was just a guy thing, caring that much about their car. Scolding her for kicking her socked feet up on the dash, and leaving crumbs of toast when she had breakfast to go.

But then she visits his house the first time and Robin has never been good at using a coaster, too scatter brained to pay attention where she sets her drink down each time.

Steve, though? Without missing a beat he will move her glass to the coaster. Every time. Doesn’t even break his strike or pauses his conversation it’s just muscle memory by now.

The kids have had their will broken and no longer put up a fight.

Without being told to anymore, they toe off their shoes and hang their coat by the doorway. They don’t even do that in their own home. How Steve was able to get those wild animals house broken? No body knows.

His mom didn’t actually choose his room decor. It looks a bit barren but Steve likes it that way. It looks clean, easier to do so, too. Everything has its place tucked away from sight so it’s not an eye sore.

Even his plaid wallpaper and curtains he chose for himself. He spent all day finding the curtains that matched the closest and he was really proud of himself when found some.

“Steve, buddy, this looks mental.”

“But look,” (closest the curtains to show that even the pattern lines up seemlessly) “you almost can’t even see the difference between the wall and fabric. It’s like magic! It’s cool!” >:(

He’s very meticulous about his appearance. Dustin is absolutely flabbergasted when he sees his full hair routine for himself. Everything must be done a certain way in a certain order every time. It’s routine.

“Three puffs of the Farah Fawcett! THREE!”

“I DID THREE.”

“YEAH, BUT YOU DID THEM WRONG.”

When they discontinue it, Steve has a mini breakdown. He doesn’t like that his very specific and set routine has been broken. He’s convinced he’ll never find a hair spray to replace it. Everybody stocks up on cans of it to try and lower his anxiety.

He just loves cleaning, okay?

Ironing his kakis and polos until there are no wrinkles is so satisfying. Glass without finger smudges is so nice. His closet being organized by color is so efficient. When he’s worried, anxious, or angry he likes to keep his hands busy and it just calms him down going ham on a water stain in the bathroom.

When he hangs out at Eddie’s, he mindlessly starts picking things up here and there. It’s like heaven for him. He sees a mess and just wants to go to town. Eddie doesn’t mind as long as he knows where everything is in the end. He’ll admit that having his music organized alphabetically is pretty convenient.

It’s also a little funny to watch Steve iron his ripped jeans and battle jacket with an iron he brought from home.

“You’re a freak, Harrington.” Eddie has a shit eating grin. Steve flips him off.

“Fuck off.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is a very interesting home. Built in 1895 in Davenport, IA, the architecture is superb. 8bds, 8ba, 4,124 sq ft, $399,900.

The foyer is interesting, as soon as you step inside. Look at the built-in hall tree on the left, and that has to be an original light fixture.

An oversized wide door opens directly to the living room. Look at the inlaid floor.

I've never seen such an unusual layout. This is a living room with a semi-enclosed staircase and a hall along the side. The stairs have a built-in bench and note the pocket doors on the right.

Down the hall behind the stairs, there's a guest powder room.

The dining room is amazing. Look at the fireplace- beautifully carved wood and bright blue tile. Plus, there's a built-in China cabinet. And the wallpaper mural is lovely.

I think that we can all agree that the kitchen remodel fits nicely. The wood matches, they left the fireplace, and there's a stained glass window. The granite counters fit much better than if they were stark white, but I don't care for the color of the ceiling.

Love the copper double farm sink and the backsplash.

Original pantry. This is wonderful.

Cute little breakfast room/every day dining room.

Next to the dining room there's a lovely pastel blue family room.

Look at how delicately carved the spindles are, and there's the beautiful bronze statue on the newel post.

Wow. Fancy primary bedroom. I like the paint and fireplace, but there's a little too much fabric for me.

This is a very nice room. I like the ceilings in the bedrooms.

Rounded wall with a pretty sink in the room.

There are more bedrooms in the finished attic.

Plus 3 modern baths up here, also.

The back of the house is nicer than the front- look at the beautiful round porch.

There's a large, shady yard. I like the lattice, too.

This rusty little gazebo has so much charm.

.28 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/817-W-7th-St-Davenport-IA-52802/76856252_zpid/

[monstrifex-art]

Howls in the Heights

Art and story by me, for the TF anthology Shifts from the Shelves.

Story:

Smoke hung in the air like an unanswered question. Between the blotchy wallpaper and the liquor-stained floorboards, the poker room couldn’t accurately be described as “nice.” But Donovan owed me a favor, so for the time being this space in the back of his bar was mine. The faint music of a jazz combo leaked under the door, distant and a little sad. I stretched, twine running through my fingers as I looped it around the tack pinning a balding man’s mug-shot to the wall.

“That one’s kind of handsome,” Rita mused from behind me.

I scoffed and shot a glance over my shoulder. Rita stood close enough that I could smell her perfume. She was watching me map my thoughts on the wall with casual amusement, her dark eyes skimming lightly over the collection of newspaper clippings and photographs.

“Maybe he was. But he’s not looking so good anymore.” I uncapped a pen and drew a large red X over his face. “Handyman Wharton was a real piece of work. But no one deserves to die like that. These murders… in all my years of investigating, I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Mmm, sounds to me like he had it coming,” she breathed as she leaned her chin on my shoulder. Rita was beautiful in a way that made it hard to think straight. She had wavy hair that fell like a black curtain on one side of her face, eyelids and lips done up in a matching smoky coal. Tonight she wore a cocktail dress that poured smoothly down her curves. The thin fabric left very little to the imagination.

Rita and I had crossed paths in a couple chance encounters over the last couple weeks. She had a habit of turning up just as things were getting interesting, and making just about everything a little more complicated. For some reason she seemed to take a shine to me. We’d started spending nights together, and she proved as enthusiastic between the sheets as she was on the dance floor. Maybe more so.

“I’m getting close,” I murmured softly. “All these bodies—there’s a pattern here. Crime barons, crooked cops… someone is making a power play for this city’s underworld. Whoever they are, they can’t hide from the truth.”

Rita slid off my back and glided over to the card table where she’d left her lighter. She sat, one leg crossed over the other, and took a long drag from the mouthpiece of her cigarette holder.

“I like watching you think, Detective. It’s like watching an old car struggle up a steep road.”

“This car still has some miles left in it,” I chuckled. “See here—Wharton was a regular at the Glass Eye. You remember, where we met at the craps table. And here, if my sources are right, Wharton was smuggling ammo for the Pinstripe gang. They’re based out of Turnstile, where you took me to see that boxing match. Hell, if I didn’t know any better Rita I’d say…”

Something cold ran down my spine. Old instincts flared to life, telling me I’d just stumbled into something big. My eyes flitted from headline to headshot, arcs of twine adding up in an intricate equation. My thoughts clicked like a typewriter, checking hunch against evidence, step-by-step. It was impossible but… the data points aligned. How could…

“Ahhh… starting to put the pieces together, are we, darling?” Rita’s voice found me from far away, as if I was at the bottom of a well. I turned to face her, limbs numb.

“You…”

She smiled, white teeth flashing in the smoky gloom. “Of course it was me, dear. It was all me. All along.”

“But… the bodies. They were torn apart. How did you…”

She laughed in that pitying little way she did when she knew something I didn’t. The melodic sound of it almost made me want to laugh with her.

“Mhmhmm aww, you still look so confused! Don’t worry sweet thing, this one is above your pay grade.” She stood with a little flourish, like a magician’s assistant. “Here. Perhaps a demonstration will make you understand.”

A part of my mind, not sure which, suddenly sounded alarm bells. An instinct to run pumped through me, made my heart beat fast and my perception sharpen. Rita was just standing there, but some awareness deep in my hindbrain was screaming danger. Predator. Flee.

I gritted my teeth. Not yet. Not when I was so close to the answer.

A shiver ran across Rita’s pale skin, starting at her back and working out to her limbs. I could see her hair stand on end. She stretched, luxuriating in the movement. Her lips parted, and a long sigh streamed from her throat like a release of pressurized air. “Hahhhh… You’re about to see who I really am, dearest.”

A quiet snapping noise, then another. Dozens of meaty clicks inside her like the sound of dislocating joints. Rita pitched forward, bending double in a violent motion that knocked the card table behind her slamming to the floor. She gasped, lurching upright with an ecstatic grin on her face. Her eyes! They had changed, darker around the edges and brighter in the middle. Her pupils reflected light like burning headlights. I couldn’t look away.

“All the rest, it’s an… affectation. Like a favorite dress that I wear around town.”

Her elbow-length gloves were starting to tear. I could see dark fur through the rips, black claws cutting neatly through the satin fingertips. She groaned, and I could hear the timbre of her voice roughening. Something cracked in her legs. Her feet shifted, pushing her taller inch by inch as they extended into long sinewy paws.

Her dress clung tightly to her curves as her frame broadened. The cloth strained, her collar line deepening as the flesh of her shoulders and chest rippled with new bulk. I could see her nipples pressing through the black cloth, erect with sensation.

She gestured to the dress, to her glittering necklace and sheer stockings. “This, all these pretty things. It used to be me… Gruuhh.” Her voice faltered as an involuntary growl rattled through her. She smiled sweetly, regaining her composure. “But not anymore.”

The fabric gave with a loud tearing noise as a large tail, black and shaggy, thrust out behind her. She took a few balancing steps forward, then reached up to brush the hair out of her face with one clawed hand. Her breathing was coming deep and heavy now, hot fog mingling with smoke in curls around her smile.

“Don’t get me wrong, darling. I do love our little song-and-dances. Being the stunning vision on your arm is a treat! But the real me can’t dazzle a cocktail party in quite the same way.”

She grimaced, and I could see her teeth lengthening into interlocking fangs. Fur crept down her face, pressing in at the edges of her cheeks and trailing down her nose.

She blinked and stared deep into me with those burning eyes. “I clean up pretty nice, wouldn’t you say? I certainly had you fooled!” She cackled with a wild abandon that approached madness.

Her shaking laughter choked off into gasps as she convulsed with another surge of growth. The wet sounds of her bones rearranging were almost drowned out by the noise of her widening hips and shoulders finally tearing her dress to ribbons. I could just see her face masked in shadow, distorting and stretching as her mouth extended into a snout full of pointed lupine teeth. Rivulets of saliva dripped from her black lips.

I stumbled away instinctively, felt the pins of my map wall dig into my back. Stray clues drifted to the floor like leaves. I could feel my cheeks burning hot as I tried to look away, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from her nakedness as it was torn free before me.

Between gasping breaths, she laughed violently. “YOUR FACE!” she snarled, muzzle curling into a feral grin. “You weren’t this SHY when we MADE LOVE LAST NIGHT!”

She was right, of course. I had seen every inch of her in our evenings together. But there was something about seeing her this way—it was rawer, deeper, more intimate and carnal. I was enraptured with a fascination that had never possessed me during our previous dalliances. I couldn’t understand it. I was hopelessly lost in the rhythm of her shifting flesh. Why? The scene before me was horrific, so why was I feeling this way?

“You’re… I just… I…” I stammered, struggling to put words in order.

“You still WANT me, DON’T YOU?” She was shouting now. “I can smell your desire… What is it you always say? YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM THE TRUTH, DETECTIVE!”

That was it. I was more attracted to her now than I ever had been before. What was wrong with me? Why did my heart feel like it was about to pound its way out of my chest? I shut my eyes, turning away with a strangled cry.

“I don’t understand! Please… I can’t, I don’t…”

“LOOK AT ME, DARLING.”

I blinked toward her, seeing only blurred glimpses. I saw the fur bristling from muscle-laden thighs, the tattered sweat-soaked remnants of her dress stretched over her rippling abdominals. God, parts of her were still so human. She wasn’t an animal or a person - she was something monstrous in-between. She was a terrifying beast, but she was still recognizably… her.

“LOOK AT ME!” she roared, and the room shook. I cried out, and opened my eyes to behold her entirely.

She was beautiful.

She was so beautiful it hurt.

I stepped toward her, and fell into her arms as she embraced me. We fell together to a gasping heap on the floor. We began anew, pressing ourselves into one another with bestial fervor.

The case would have to go on a little while longer.

[bearw-me]

Hello, I'd like to request a Velvette x quiet g/n! reader romantic/slight angst. Where she's crushing on/pining for the reader, but reader is very insecure and shy, doesn't believe anyone (especially an overlord) could possibly want them.

ooooh my first velvette ask!

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐧𝐭 — 𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐇𝐜𝐬!

𐐒 ft : velvette x gn!reader 𐐒 cw : fluff, slight angst 𐐒 summary : despite your insecurities and hesitance towards her, velvette really wants your attention! 𐐒 note : i swear tumblr glitched and i am now rewriting everything i can remember TT-TT

despite her being. . . well VELVETTE. . . i think she'd be too stubborn to ask you on a date outright, or confess how she feels about you

she wants you to be the one fawning all over her! and she gets a little discouraged when it doesn't happen

despite that, she really sees something special in you-even without her romantic feelings clouding her vision.

she makes it her priority to help you see what she sees

Velvette has been surrounded by insecure models her whole life (she can spot that same look on your face in an instant) so she knows what you think of yourself

it secretly breaks her heart to know you feel that way about yourself,

especially when she finds out how much you admire her status as an overlord. . .but she doesn't want to seem unreachable to you!

She's sitting at the overlords meeting, tapping her fingers on the table in thought, wondering what kind of date she could ask you on to make you comfortable

(probably retains no information about the meeting itself)

Velvette always likes to be physically close to you

Holding your hand, or pulling you in for a selfie

(its an excuse to be close to your face and plant a cheeky kiss to your cheek while she snaps the picture)

The picture is now her home screen's wallpaper btw

I'd like to think (just generally) velvette would give you a friendship bracelet or a matching accessory for the two of you. Something the two of you can wear with ANY outfit

texts you a ton, even managing to do so while she's working on runway looks

she greets you all the time by 'kissing' both sides of your face

always posts you on her socials or tags you in cute videos

likes to make dirty jokes to embarrass you (dropping hints about her feelings in the process)

calls you 'love'

imagine: Velvette asked you to model for her (for just a second), holding pins between her lips as she secures the fabric to your form. When she notices you shifting away from her eyes uncomfortably, she takes both of your hands in hers and tells you "Listen up, I wouldn't have trusted anyone else to do this for me, yeah?" "You're very dear to me. . ." she tries to confess casually "So stop squirming!" she smiles.

velvette sticking out her tongue in concentration as she does your makeup

[vulturv0lans]

If it's not too much to ask, can we have a soft dom diluc gently guiding a shy sub reader through her first time? (In desperate need of tooth rotting fluff and diluc being sweet lmaoo [with lots of praise ofc])

ok you know what anon i have been looking for something like this but i haven't found too many,,,thank you for the request!

word count: 2,960 (i got carried away again oops) tags: first time, references to diluc’s father/backstory/official manga, soft dom diluc, lots of love and affection and just overall sappy, porn with plot (lots of it), me crying (also lots of it)

m.list | diluc m.list | rules | inbox

the air is salty by the lake and his door rusty, yet you’re sure you’ve never need anything more.

when diluc brought you back to the winery for the first time, this was not what he had in mind. he had simply wanted to show you more, parts of him he had long hidden beneath the layers of his clothing and layers of walls he built up. but you are his lover now. you meet the maids that have been with him since he was a child, browse through the volumes that his father left behind, breathe the same air that he has always breathed inside the estate.

he was not planning to take you right there, on the four posted bed he claims but seldom occupies, on the second floor of the winery.

diluc was hesitant at first, leading you into the one place he holds closest to his heart. the master bedroom has not seen a visitor in ages. even the maids rarely enter except when they are asked to, because within these gilded walls and draped curtains is where diluc can truly feel at ease, no “mondstadt wine tycoon” or “master of dawn winery” or even “darknight hero” attached.

and before your eyes, he feels just as bare.

you had taken a seat at the edge of his mattress, arms supporting your weight as your eyes take in the surroundings. the wallpaper is a dark crimson red, damask patterns painted in black. the thick velvet of the curtains match the crimson in colour, yet the light seeping through the fabric and reflecting off of the golden tassels that touch the floor. the furnishings are simple, the large room otherwise empty save for a mirror, a wardrobe, a fireplace, and a desk filled with books.

yet it’s the paintings on the walls that catch your eye. one of them can easily be discerned as an exterior sketch of dawn winery, its signature red roofs a stark contrast to the rows of green underneath. off on the other wall is a portrait. a tall, greying man poses in the middle with two younger boys to either side of him, one with hair as blue as the twilight skies, and the other with hair red as blazing fire.

diluc follows your gaze to the painting, and suddenly the room feels too hot. before he can open his mouth to change the topic, you have already turned to him with an inquisitive look in your eye, and his heart softens. he cannot say no to you.

“that’s your father, isn’t it?”

he nods, choosing to offer no further explanation.

“what was he like?”

your voice is gentle, yet he is still taken aback. seldom anyone wants to know what crepus was like as a person, beyond just his title and position. for a few moments diluc is silent, pondering his answer. how could he summarize the greatest man he’s ever known into a couple simple sentences?

“he was kind. and very, very brave.” he says at last, “he made me the man that i am today.”

“i’m sure he was a great father,” you say quietly, not wanting to press further. diluc must have his reasons behind not wanting to tell the full story yet, and you’ll give him time. as much time as he needs.

“he was.”

when he looks at you again, your frame so small against the posts on his bed, he feels an unnameable emotion surging through him. you’re studying the painting with such an intense focus, as if trying to hear the voice of a man you’ve never met, trying to understand what others fail to even notice.

and in that moment, diluc is sure he has never been more in love.

he closes the distance between you in two quick strides, and you look up at him in surprise. he intertwines your fingers before pulling you up to your feet, your body pressing flush against his as you find your balance.

“can i kiss you?”

you smile at his question. diluc, ever the gentleman. even several months into your relationship he still asks for permission, and still kisses you like it was the first time.

it’s your turn to close the gap between you now, lips meeting his in a soft kiss. his hands find their way down the small of your back, then up your spine before settling on your cheeks, fingers tangled in your hair as he pulls you even closer, until you can feel every beat of his heart on your skin.

“i love you.” he whispers against your lips when he finally breaks the kiss for air.

“i love you, too,” you echo, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him again, hands clutching his arms for support. diluc feels his skin burn wherever your hands have been, and his love and tenderness suddenly becomes something more.

deepening the kiss, he backs you up until your legs hit the edge of the bed, before your entire person falls backwards into the plush mattress. you pull him down with you, until barely any space is left between his large frame and your own, smaller one.

he smooths out the stray baby hairs on your forehead before resting his against it, eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort. you both know where this is leading, but diluc wants to be certain, absolutely certain that you're okay with this.

"are you sure?"

you nod before you have time to think. this is a step you're willing to take, and there's no one else you'd rather share it with. even so, small bubbles of anxiety rise from your stomach. will it hurt? will you be able to enjoy this? will he be satisfied, even with your lack of experience?

if diluc could hear your thoughts right now, he would be quick in dismissing them as the most preposterous ones he's ever heard. it would pain him to know that you’d ever fear of not satisfying him, even when he would put you and your pleasures before so much as thinking about himself.

you could never disappoint him, this he knows.

his lips find yours again and your doubts dissipate like the dark clouds after a storm. wandering hands begin unbuttoning and untying every piece of fabric in your way, desperate to reduce the layers keeping you from feeling his bare skin. your clothing clatter as they fall to the ground, diluc barely separating from you to discard his shirt before lowering back down to kiss you, not wanting to part from you for a second longer than necessary.

he's hungry for more, for you.

your hands find purchase on his toned arms, his skin almost too warm under your fingertips. he mumbles something that remotely resembles "off" into your mouth, and you comply almost too quickly, lifting your arms so he could take off your shirt and your bra.

diluc forces himself to hold back when your skin is fully exposed to him. lips glistening and chest heaving, you have never looked more beautiful to him, and he makes sure you know it. dipping his head to your neck, he trails a line of hot kisses down to your breasts, words of praise between every kiss permanently etched into your skin.

"you're breathtaking."

your face heats up as he slots himself in between your legs, hand lowering to your waist. your heart beats too loudly now, focus glued to his fingers hooking into your belt loops before quickly undoing the button on your pants. fiery eyes, hooded by lust and desire, search for confirmation, and you grant it. how could you not, when you burn for him so much?

diluc can’t help but groan out when your bottom half becomes exposed. his attention is quickly taken away by the thin material of your panties, damp and clinging to the wetness pooling between your legs, and he feels the sudden urge to bury his face there.

he runs a finger down your clothed folds and you jump, legs clamping together to relieve some of the pressure. with a hand on your knee, he holds your legs open to allow himself better access to where you need him the most. gently, he moves the soaked panties to the side, and the man fully has to sit back on his heels to drink in the sight before his eyes.

you’re so pretty, so sweet, so vulnerable for him, legs spread and pussy glistening with your arousal, all for him and him only.

he curses under his breath, heart swelling at how lucky he feels to be the one admiring your naked form. ignoring the increasingly uncomfortable bulge in his pants, he dives in like a man starved, flattening his tongue against your pussy to get his first real taste of you.

your back arches off the bed at the sudden contact, diluc’s moan of satisfaction sending delicious vibrations into the deepest parts of your body. his tongue works fast magic on your cunt, licking and sucking and kissing like you’re a five course meal, the slurping sounds in perfect harmony with your soft pants of pleasure.

“fuck, you taste so good, baby.”

the satin of his bedsheet is wrinkled and twisted in your palms as you grip onto it, diluc’s hands quickly reaching up to find yours, your fingers interlacing as he eats you out, the moment so intimate that for a moment you forget the vulgarity of it all and just enjoy being so close to him, physically and emotionally.

you’re growing close, and diluc knows it. despite his pussydrunk state, he forces himself to pull away, his chin now coated with your wetness, before shifting his body up to kiss you again. you moan into his mouth as you taste yourself, obediently granting access to his tongue when it swipes across your bottom lip. the room feels ten degrees hotter and it becomes harder and harder to breathe, until your need for oxygen finally overpowers your desire for him.

diluc’s eyes are alert when you gently push on his chest, his first thought being he’s done something you did not like. gently cradling his face in your hands, you say with a blissful smile the words he’s been longing to hear for so long.

“i need you, diluc.”

his last line of defense snaps and he lets his primal instincts take over, quickly ridding himself of his pants and undergarments before settling you against the plush pillows.

“are you absolutely sure-”

“yes.” you cut him off before he can finish, and diluc‘s ever-present confidence begins to waver. he needs this to be perfect for you.

swallowing thickly, he lines himself up at your entrance. you mirror his gulp as you notice for the first time how big he is, thick and girthy against your tiny hole.

“tell me if it hurts, please,” he asks, so much genuine guilt in his voice that you can’t refuse him an answer.

you yelp in pain when he starts to push in, his body immediately tensing up. only when you repeatedly reaffirm that you’re okay does he continue, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones and whispering apologies and affirmations into your skin as he slowly sinks into you, until he’s completely buried inside you.

“you’re doing so good baby, yeah? that’s it.”

he stills for a moment to let you adjust. but selfishly he wishes to revel in your tightness and warmth for a little longer, your walls so snug against his cock like they were made just for him. he already can’t get enough, and he hasn’t even started moving yet.

you’re the one to initiate the kiss this time, silently giving him permission to move. his thrusts are slow and steady, the tip of his cock dragging against every nerve ending inside you, sending electric sparks throughout your body.

“so tight for me,” he grunts as he picks up his pace, trying to control his movements as to not hurt you, even though a part of him wants to slam into you and fuck you until you’re reduce to a babbling mess begging for his cock. but one look at your face and he feels immediate guilt at his sinful thoughts. you’re so innocent beneath him, bottom lip caught between your teeth and your face scrunched up in pleasure.

he can’t ruin you yet.

soft moans tumble past your parted lips as he reaches down to rub fast circles on your clit. every last cell in your body feels like it’s on fire, the pleasure amplified tenfold from being in the presence of your lover, better than your own fingers could ever satisfy yourself.

you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in even further, and diluc’s honour is reduced to barely hanging on by a thread.

“you’re taking me so good. so good for me.” he praises and you feel yourself gush around him, his words turning you on even further. it seems your earlier doubts were unnecessary, after all. you grow bolder, reaching up to dig your nails into his back, leaving red marks that claimed him as yours.

the stinging pain from your nails scratching against his skin sends diluc into another wave of euphoria, and he can’t hold himself back much longer. with a low grunt, he pins your wrists down above your head, dark eyes studying the microscopic changes in your expression as your hands are suddenly rendered useless, held down so submissively and at his mercy.

his eyes are fixated on the round of your breasts, bouncing so deliciously to the rhythm of his thrusts. a sudden clench of your cunt almost sends him collapsing on top of you, the tight grip he had maintained on your wrists now faltering from the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him. he curses, the profanity soon turning into praise again at how good you’re taking him, how pretty you looks, and how much he loves you, his words almost doing more to build the knot in your stomach than his steady, deep thrusts.

he leans back to sit on his heels as he lets go of your wrists, moving to hold your legs above his shoulders. you cry out when his cock hits your most sensitive spot from the new position, the sheets once again wrinkled under your tight grip now that your hands are free once again.

“fuck y/n, i’m so close.”

you lift your hips to meet his thrusts half way, all the thoughts in your head replaced by your blinding desire for your release. diluc shifts his weight to hold your thighs open instead, leaning down so he can be close to you before he reaches his impending high. he wants to hold you, to hear you, to see you chase after your high.

your moans and cries are growing more frequent, each more high pitched than the last. they are music to diluc’s ears, music reserved only for him to hear, his own low grunts a perfect harmony.

“i’m so close- gonna cum- please-” you babble, tears dotting your lashes, and diluc has never seen a more beautiful sight.

the sudden warmth of his hand on your neck makes you jump. he doesn’t close his fingers around your throat (though you secretly wished he would), instead his touch is fleeting before moving to cup your face. you lean into him almost immediately, his thumb wiping the tears that escaped, down the smooth skin of your cheeks, and across your bottom lip. he’s hovering so close to you that you can see every freckle on his skin, lips mere centimetres from yours that his every exhale becomes your next inhale, so intimate that you find it hard to believe that he’s kissing you so sweetly while maintaining a relentless pace.

he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he can’t hold back.

“cum for me,” he breathes into your parted lips, “i want to hear you.”

and you don’t need to be told twice. with a loud cry of his name you come undone around him, your slick quickly forming a ring of white at the base of his cock as he rides out your high, his pace becoming erratic and sloppy at the vice-like grip of your cunt.

“fuck,” he lets out a deep grunt as you repeatedly clench around him, the sound resonating from deep within his chest. his hands pat around the bed looking for yours, and soon after he locks your fingers together again he cums too, head buried in your shoulder and his cock shooting hot ropes into you, painting your walls white.

your legs are shaking as you come down from your high, your pussy so sensitive to any tiny movements that you almost cum again when he tries to pull out from you. the satin beneath you is soaked with a mix of both your essence, drops of white leaking from your sobbing hole when diluc finally pulls out.

he admires you in your post-orgasm glow, and not just at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and your pussy now moulded to the shape of him. it’s as if a soft silk has been draped over you, painting your features in glorious moonlight.

“you’re so beautiful.”

he breaks the silence that has enveloped you both while your breathing returned to normal.

you still find it foreign, the feeling of his compliments even as you’re spread out naked under him. as if sensing your disbelief, diluc repeats his words again, this time between wet kisses on your collarbone, etching his love for you into your body.

“so. beautiful,” he whispers into your skin, his heart swelling, “and all mine.”

note. me and who WHEN >:( also i hope you enjoy my subtle taylor swift reference at the beginning hehe m.list | diluc m.list | rules | inbox ♡

© vulturv0lans 2023, do not copy, repost, or translate without permission.

[deatherella]

Homecrafter of the Month 02

Here I am with February's edition of homecrafting fun for you. The sets are in folders with their swatches and previews. Necessary meshes are included for deco items. If you'd like to see the swatches, I have an imgur folder HERE with all of them.

Starting with 4to2 @omgcoffinfit 's Majestic Barn Owls wallpapers. There are twenty wallpapers in four colors.

Clarke & Clarke's Secret Garden walls with bedding using fabrics from their Secret Garden Fabric collection. There are seven wallpapers. I did not make any matching pillows since I could not make up my mind which deco bed pillows to use. If anyone wants to make some, let me know and I'll send you the textures.

Stone Roads from Sketchup. As I mentioned before, I make floors between wallpaper collections to keep more organized. There are 35 stone road textures. They make great driveways and walks. If you pick and choose using the swatches, the swatches have five textures on each with "1" in upper left corner, "2" in upper right corner, "3" in lower left corner, "4" in lower right corner and "5" in the center. Numerical order like that on all the swatches.

Seven designs from Wear the Wall's Odyssey collection. Just want to point out that none of the walls have crown moulding. It's my creamy colored wood ceiling showing up on the tops of my previews.

ROLL collection by Josephine Munsey. There are nine designs with five hues each. I like the little sketches that were on the pages so I did them up as paintings. I used Sims In Low Space's Mt Komorebi painting that I did up with two subsets and made a larger one repo'd to it.

My last offering is 1838 Wallcovering's V & A Decorative Papers 2. There are seven designs. I hope you liked this month's assortment.

Download all the papers and deco items from their sfs FOLDER. You can download the whole works or separately.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - chapter one

you know you never stood a chance series

one: you know you never stood a chance

series masterlist | next chapter

qz!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2k

Summary: When QZ!Joel finds out you're planning to take up prostitution to earn enough rations for your sick sister, he makes sure he's the first one to pay you a visit.

Warnings: Prostitution, dub-con due to power imbalance, Joel Miller is bad at feelings, kind of mean!Joel, p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), inexperienced reader, mention of cordyceps, brothel

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 9: Cumshot/Prostitution from this list by @absurdthirst

also on aO3

“Come in,” you called through the door, trying for your best laid-back, confident voice.

It wasn’t very successful. Joel rolled his eyes and opened the door. You were knelt on the bed, looking soft and demure—except for the way you were wringing your hands.

And the way the sweet look fell off your face when you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” You snatched up a pillow, hugging it over your torso like he hadn’t already got a good look at you through the sheer fabric.

“Gardening. What do you think I’m doin’ here?”

“This isn’t funny, Miller. Get out.” You grabbed another pillow and threw it at him.

He deflected it away from his face. “Jesus, woman.”

“You’ve had your laugh; you can go now.” You stared at the dingy Berber carpet of the shitty old motel room. It had probably been shitty before the whole world fell to pieces. The peeling wallpaper had sickly yellow stains to match the cigarette burns that pockmarked the single tufted armchair in the corner.

“Didn’t laugh,” Joel said gruffly, tossing something at you.

You had to drop the pillow to catch the bottle of water, nearly fumbling it, and looked up at him. “What’s this for?” you asked warily.

“It’s for drinkin’.”

“Ha ha. Look, can you not—don’t fuck with me right now. Why’re you here?”

It’s then, as you took a careful sip from the bottle, that Joel got a good look at your outfit.

Periwinkle tulle had been sewn roughly into an approximation of a dress, like something out of a Victoria’s Secret magazine had been poorly described to a seamstress who had never heard of lingerie. Actually, now that he thought about it, there was a good chance that was exactly what happened.

It had crooked, lacey ruffles on the top and bottom and did not suit you in the slightest. “What the hell are you wearin’? You raid a JoAnn’s?”

“Hey, I tried my best,” you said, bottom lip quivering.

“Ah shit, sweetheart, I didn’t—”

But you smirked. “Wow, you were really about to apologize, weren’t you? I shouldn’t have cut you off; go on, I want to hear Joel Miller say ‘sorry.’”

“Wasn’t gonna,” he scowled.

“Right, sure. Anyway, nah, they got a box of this shit in the office. I don’t know who makes it, but they want us to look extra dolled up or something.”

“Take that shit off. I can’t do this with you lookin’ like that.”

The smirk slid off your face. “Can’t do what?”

“Can’t fuck you, sweetheart. Isn’t that why you’re here? I paid for ya’, after all.”

Your stomach churned like the angry sea you had only read about in Moby Dick. You felt about as well as a sailor might have, too. It’s not like you had any misunderstandings about what would happen if you worked a shift at a whorehouse. But with your sister sick and unable to work, you’d been out of food for two days. So.

He looked at you with something too close to pity, so you pulled the dress over your head and threw it on the floor, staring right at him and daring him to say anything. And he did, but it wasn’t what you were expecting.

“You got pretty tits, sweetheart.”

“Thank you… ?”

“What was your plan here? What if it wasn’t me? You just going to let some old creep come in here and do whatever he wanted to ya?”

“And you’re not an old creep?”

He rolled his eyes and sat down on the chair, tugging at his boots. “This ain’t your first time, right?”

“Obviously not,” you snapped. It wasn’t. But he didn’t need to know there had only been the one time. You hadn’t found the experience worth repeating, but the guy seemed pretty happy so you figured you could just lie there and let them do whatever.

“You know how to suck cock?”

You flushed and shook your head. He rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands, rubbing at his forehead for a few seconds.

“Okay, alright. ‘Nother time, then.”

You were too nervous to clock what he said. He rose and walked over to the bed. You looked up at him with wide eyes, and he knew he had to wreck you. He couldn’t walk out of this room without ruining you for every other person who dared to lay hands on you.

He set his hands on your hips, and you flinched, so he rubbed soothing circles with his thumbs until you relaxed a little. When you had adjusted to the weight of his heavy palms, he slid them and cupped a breast in each.

“Damn, sweetheart. These are real nice.” He fondled them like that for a minute, enjoying the heft in his palms, before rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. He was rewarded for his efforts when a small moan slipped out of you.

He tore his eyes away from your chest to check your expression. Though your lips were parted and eyes glazed, you still looked afraid. “S’all right, honey, I’ll go slow.”

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth while he rolled the other between his fingers. You moaned again, louder this time, and he took that as permission to give the other breast the same treatment. When you finally started to ease up, to lean into his touch, and he felt more assured that you weren’t about to cry, he stepped back.

“Turn around, hands and knees.”

The apprehension filled the lines of your face quickly, but you turned around, relieved he wouldn’t make you look at him.

He ran a hand across your bare back, pushing your shoulder blades down with one hand and your knees apart with the other until you were arranged how he liked. You tensed, holding your breath and waiting for him to push in.

Instead, you felt a gentle hand on your mound. He cupped it before parting your lips, sliding his fingers through. You were damp, but nowhere near wet enough to take him. Not without a whole lot of pain, at least.

“Got a real pretty pussy, too. You’ve been holdin' out on me.” He circled your clit with the pad of his middle finger for a few seconds, watching you squirm, before he pulled his hand away.

“Anyone ever tasted you? You ever taste yourself?”

You shook your head.

“Shame.” It was a puff of hot breath over your cunt, followed closely by the warm, firm pressure of his tongue.

You wailed. You might have been embarrassed if it hadn’t been the best thing you’d ever felt, beating the record he had set seconds ago with his finger.

He didn’t ease you into this. It took no time at all for his skilled tongue and thick fingers to pry an orgasm out of you. He had worked one finger in you by the time you fell apart, but it wasn’t going to be enough.

You wriggled when he didn’t let up, trying to lurch away, but he pulled you back with a hand on your hip. “Hang on, let me open you up good.”

It was intense, and you were loud, swearing up a storm. When he eased another finger inside, you pushed back against his hand, grinding your hips. He sucked on your clit, flicking it with his tongue, until you came again, this time with a low groan pulled from deep in your chest, sinking back onto his fingers. He slid another one in, pumping furiously until the second orgasm turned into a third, and you were shaking apart.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, stroking soothingly along your spine and drawing his fingers from you. He wanted to push them between your lips, to watch your eyes go wide as you sucked your juices from him, but decided he better not push you too far. Not today, at least.

“You ready for me?” he asked, unzipping his jeans and letting them fall around his ankles.

“Please, Joel.”

And goddamn, if that wasn’t the sweetest sound. “Yeah? You want my cock now?”

“Please, please fuck me, Joel.” You were pushing back against him, grinding your ass against his erection.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’ll take care of ya.” He held you in place with one hand and notched the fat head of his cock at your entrance.

You cried out as he pushed in slowly. “Oh my god. What the fuck. Why are you so fucking big?” You didn’t even mean to be complimenting him. The one dick you had before had certainly not felt like this, like you were being pried apart.

“You gotta relax, sweetheart, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“That’s easy for you to say; you’re not being — oh fuck,” you broke off as he pushed in further.

“Not being what, honey? I didn’t hear ya.”

“Not being fucking split in two by some fuckin—”

He knocked whatever insult you were gearing up for out of you in a strangled breath as his hands gripped tight to your hips and pulled you back on his cock.

“Almost there, don’t worry. I gotcha,” he murmured, reaching around to rub at your clit. It didn’t take much to get you off again, and when your body shook and convulsed, he slid his cock in all the way.

He had planned on giving you a moment to adjust, but you started gently rocking yourself back and forth on it like a fuckin’ handwritten invitation. He began pulling almost all the way out before slowly sinking in, letting you part around him. His groan had you arching your back.

You thought he’d fuck rough. It might have been easier if he had. When you realized he was serious about it, that he had paid real fucking ration cards for access to your body, you figured he’d use you, cum, and leave.

Instead, he took you apart with precision. You wondered if he was a musician before, the way his fingers seemed to know right where to go, just how to thrum your body to draw out sounds you didn’t even know were inside you.

The rhythm he set was fluid and deep. You felt like you might explode, each stroke leaving you with fewer coherent thoughts. He hefted you against his chest, thrusting up into you and reaching around to your breasts.

It was a little overwhelming. Your whole body electrified, just the brush of his arm against yours sent waves of too much too much coursing through. All the while, his hips rolled into you, and yours mindlessly sought him back.

He was getting close, his thrusts a little sloppy. He held you to him with one hand cupping a breast and slid the other down to press against your clit. “Cum on my cock,” he growled in your ear.

It didn’t take long with the steady pressure and the way his cock nudged something inside you that made you twitch with every thrust. When you came, he shoved you down into the mattress, pulling out to cum over your ass.

You must have dozed off for a minute, because the wet washcloth landing on your back brought you abruptly into the world.

“Clean up, drink that, and get outta here.”

You glowered at him, head spinning from the sudden shift. He made you off-kilter and vulnerable, which was not an option, so you snarled back, “What, you think you’re my only client? I’ve got other men to fuck today, Joel.”

He finished tying his boots and stalked over to you, bending down to get in your face. “No, you don’t. You’re gonna go home like a good girl. And next time, you come straight to me. Understood?”

“What?”

“You still cockdumb? Poor thing.”

“Fuck off, Joel.”

He pressed the water bottle into your hands. “Next time you need cards this bad, you don’t come here. You come to me.”

“I’m not taking your handouts, Miller.”

“I’m not offerin’em. But you keep comin’ here, doin’ this? You’re gonna catch something worse than fuckin’ cordyceps. Or get yourself knocked up. We can make this same little arrangement if you need to.” He tilted your head up to face him. “Understood?”

“Fine,” you spat.

He stood up. For a moment, you thought he might say something else, but he just shook his head and left.

next chapter

*title from "Stood a Chance" by Taking Back Sunday

[impala-dreamer]

Cracks In The Plaster

A Supernatural Quickie

~After a long day in the car, Dean's got plans to relieve a little tension...~

Dean Winchester x Reader

763 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Rough and Yummy Motel Sex ;)

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

God it hurts but it's also really fucking good the way he's ratcheting into you, every pull out lifting you off of the wall, every thrust slamming you back into it. The plaster is groaning nearly as loud as you are and the dusty wallpaper is threatening to curl around you. The motel room didn’t know what was in store when you checked in; truly, neither had you.

Dean had turned the key, stepped back to let you in, and then attacked out of nowhere. Hours on the road with your teasing smile and flirtatious side-glances had driven him wild and the beast inside took over as soon as the latch caught.

You were in his grasp before you knew what was happening, gasping as his plump, cracked lips locked onto your pulse and his strong arms twisting around you from behind. His right hand cupped your tits while the fingers of his left hand splayed across your soft belly, teasing at the hem of your jeans.

You could feel him growing hard against your ass, denim fighting denim, heat building, breaths matched in heaviness.

“Fuck, Dean,” you sighed, moaning as he gripped your right nipple hard and twisted it into a tight bud.

“Need you,” he growled, teeth leveled at your jaw. “Now.”

A thrust of his hips made your eyes roll and you shoved back against it, rubbing your ass over his caged erection.

“You got me, cowboy…” You pushed again and his hand slid up from your tits to your throat, fingers tigtening around the sides as he yanked your head back.

“You sure about that?” He squeezed and your eyes fluttered, breath stopped for a moment. “Because I’m not gonna let you go…” With a snap, he had your jeans open and his fingers crawled inside, pressing hard up against your throbbing cunt. “Ever.”

The next few minutes were a blur. Spinning in his arms, you let go, giving yourself over to his desires, his whim. Almost too quickly, he had your shirt off and your bottoms gone- fabric twisted and damp and tossed carelessly away. He left your bra on, enjoying the way your tits looked propped up when he turned the cotton cups down beneath. He dipped his head to taste your nipples, biting and suckling until your skin was on fire and each scrape of his teeth made you wince and moan in pleasure.

Pushing your fingers through his short hair, you tugged as best you could, egging him on, silently begging for more.

“Driving me nuts all day,” he slurred, tongue heavy with lust as he shoved you back against the ugly wall by the television. “Such a fuckin’ tease…” He whipped his belt away and tugged his jeans down, letting them fall around his bowed knees.

Breathless, you chewed on the corner of your mouth and batted your lashes up at him. “Who? Me?”

Giant hands grabbed at your face, fingers curling in your hair as he licked into your slick mouth. “You.” He grit, kissing his way across your face and back as he dropped his hands to your sides and lifted you up.

Feet off the ground, you wrapped your legs around his waist, gasping as the tip of his cock slammed against your clit. Dean groaned and rolled his hips, rubbing himself through your lips, coating his cock in your wetness.

“Please…”

He pressed his tongue between his front teeth, tipped his head down to look up at you through impossibly thick lashes. “Love it when you get all whiney and desperate for me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, clinging to the canvas jacket and layers below. “Please, Dean… Please…”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “just like that…”

And now he’s really got you. The crack of his thighs against your ass makes your body ache, the racing, frantic thrust of his cock deep inside makes your mind melt. You struggle to hold on, hands clasped behind his neck, legs dandling, feet anchored on the plump globes of his ass.

The emerald of his eyes is nearly eclipsed by lustfilled pupils and he stares at you, panting, ruby lips parted and struggling, and fuck, it’s so good.

One, two, three, and you’re cumming hard on his cock; a pathetic cry muffled by his big palm. His eyes grind into yours and he pistons a little bit faster, a little bit harder, and you’re sure the wall is going to come down around you.

“Yes…” he groans, ready to plummet, holding back just long enough to really make himself insane. “Just. Like. That.”

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[copias-girl]

To Catch a Cardinal: Chapter III

Song recommendation for this series!

Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter IV

A/N: so I made this edit of Copia and now it’s my phone wallpaper 🥰🖤

•♥︎𖤐♥︎•

Finally arriving in town, the ghoul parked along the main strip, right in front of the market. Before heading inside, you bent down to the driver’s side window and promised to get him a box of white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies, because you remembered them to be his favourite, and you couldn’t help but smile when the ghoul nodded excitedly and thanked you. He was always such a sweetheart to you.

You and your group walked in, with the other sisters inconsiderately pushing past Copia to get through the door first. You hung back, matching the Cardinal’s pace and walking with him instead of your friends, smiling endearingly as you watched him grab a shopping cart. There was just something so pitiful about the image of Copia pushing a shopping cart; it was delicious.

Your thoughts were interrupted as you heard your name being called by Ava. “Are you coming??” She asked, all the sisters turning to you.

You only bit your lip, coming to stand beside Copia and softly placing a hand on his back. It didn’t go unnoticed, the way he tensed up at your touch, as if he was so taken aback by the fact that you weren’t so repelled and annoyed by him like everyone else seemed to be.

“I’m gonna stick with Cardinal, you guys go ahead!” You replied with a smile, observing the way Copia looked at you in surprise. Poor thing, he always seemed so genuinely shocked at your kindness. At the fact that he was your choice. He didn’t seem like he was used to being anyone’s first choice, but you were determined to change that.

“For real? Suit yourself, I guess..” Ava shrugged, giving you a strange look at your decision.

“Have fun. If it’s possible.” Emily scoffed, before whispering something to Lilith and making her erupt with laughter. As they walked away, the sisters all muttered to each other while casting judgemental glances back at Copia, who only stared down timidly, shoulders slightly slumped.

“Ehm.. Sorella.. Y-You can go with your amici if you want, si? I will be okay on my own.” He spoke quietly, turning to look at you. Poor thing, he looked so gentle with those wide mismatched puppy dog eyes.

You stepped a bit closer to him, your hand sweeping up and down his back before coming to interlock your arm with his.

“I’d actually like to stay with you, Cardinal. If that’s alright?” Your voice was silky soft and sweet as honey as your gaze flicked down to his lips and back up again.

“O-of course.” He responded, the corners of his lips tugging upwards into a little smile.

So the two of you strolled down the aisles, Copia pushing the cart while you held onto his arm, occasionally grabbing some things you wanted.

“Sister Imperator gave me this list, but she said we can pick out stuff that we want.” You told Copia as you strolled down the baking aisle.

“Oh! Perfetto.” He seemed to perk up at that, and you watched in confusion while he placed several cans of evaporated milk into the cart.

“Do you… bake a lot, Cardinal?” You enquired quizzically.

“Eh? Oh! Heh heh, no… This makes a very good drink, no? Il mio preferito.” He replied, holding up a can proudly before placing it into the cart.

“You-… You just drink evaporated milk right out of the can?” You asked with a giggle, to which Copia nodded matter-of-factly.

“You’re a bit strange, Cardinal.” You remarked. His gaze met the floor for only a second before you leaned in in in, your fingertips skimming across his shoulder, smoothing the fabric of his pellegrina. “I like that.” You added with a little smirk, voice quiet with a hint of sultriness that had Copia swallowing nervously.

“You.. Eh.. You will want to try some then?” He stuttered.

“Sure, I’d love to taste your cream.” You agreed simply, unable to help yourself from making the naughty innuendo. The Cardinal’s eyes widened, cheeks flushing a furiously deep shade of red.

Satan below, he felt like such a creep. You were just a young little thing, you obviously didn’t mean anything by that. Surely he was just going crazy, reading far too much into a beautiful Sister being nice to him.

But then you were leaning into him more, closing the space between the both of you. Copia gasped audibly as your body pressed up against his, eyes fluttering closed as he was overwhelmed with the realization of how touch-starved he actually was. However, you pulled away suddenly, and upon opening his eyes, Copia saw that you had just reached for the shelf behind him to grab a bag of marshmallows and place them into the cart. He exhaled shakily, straightening his biretta and feeling silly to think that you would be doing anything more, especially with him of all people.

“Sorry.” You apologized sweetly, biting your lower lip to hold back the wicked grin that wanted to spread across your face.

You knew it was cruel, but Satanas, you just couldn’t help it. The Cardinal was so easily flustered, and you were enjoying playing with your food before devouring it.

The two of you continued shopping, making light conversation and continuing to steal glances at one another. You found that you loved observing this odd little man; his mannerisms, his movements, the expressions that crossed his features. He was such a soft, gentle, and timid man; hardworking and humble. Lucifer, the more you watched him the more you craved him; you could just have just fucked him right then and there, in the cracker aisle of the grocery store.

You licked your lips, wondering how he would react, if you begged for his cock. You’d find out soon enough.

•𖤐•

A little while later, after getting everything you needed, the other sisters met up with you and Copia once more.

“Ew, don’t hold onto his arm like that, people will think you’re dating or something!” Sister Lilith whisper-yelled to you.

“Would that be so bad?” You countered back quietly, only standing closer to the Cardinal. Thankfully he didn’t hear, too busy putting some apples and oranges into the cart.

After paying with the ministry credit card and putting the groceries into the car, you presented the ghoul with his promised box of cookies, giggling when he happily nuzzled his mask against your hand in thanks.

“We’ll be out soon, alright? We just have to get the supplies now.” You assured him, scratching under his chin and making him growl out a little purr. You really did love the ghouls; finding that some acted more like dogs, wanting to tackle you and lick your face, whereas others acted like cats, slinking around and rubbing against you affectionately.

You all headed into the quaint little store next door to get the supplies that Sister Imperator requested, and upon looking around, you saw lots of candles but not any in the colour that you needed.

“You guys get the incense, Cardinal and I will look for the candles.” You suggested, taking Copia’s gloved hand in your own before anyone could protest, pulling him further into the shop where the register was, leaving the group of sisters rolling their eyes as they watched the two of you.

The man blushed as you grabbed his hand, letting you lead him around until you got to the counter.

“Hi, um…” You greeted the woman at the counter. “We were looking for some candles, but you don’t have any black ones?” You asked.

“Oh, we usually just keep those in the back. Only for the people who specifically request them.” The woman- Marjorie, as her name tag read- clarified. “Which, in this town, only happens to be you people.” She added, obviously recognizing you to be from the ministry.

She shuffled off to the back room, and you hadn’t even noticed that Copia left your side to peruse the store when suddenly-

“Get the fuck out of my way, Satanic freak.” A voice spat, followed by a loud clang. You spun around, seeing a man having roughly shoved Copia aside and right into a shelf, several things falling off it but thankfully not breaking.

Used to being mistreated, Copia was quick to begin stammering out an apology, but the man just kept going.

“Maybe I should fuck up your other eye too, huh?” He laughed, taking a step towards the Cardinal, but you wouldn’t stand for that.

“Hey!” You shouted, fists clenched as you marched right up to the two of them, pushing past Copia and confronting the man, who looked quite shocked.

“Oh, is your little girlfriend coming to save you now? Or, wait- maybe she’s your daughter, old man?” He sneered, and you took a breath, fighting the urge to grab the nearest candelabra and bash his head in.

“No, you had it right the first time.” You coolly responded, looking casual as ever.

Copia’s eyes widened at your implication, cheeks flushing as you stood up for him. No one had ever done anything like this before, no one had ever cared enough to defend him.

“You know, it wouldn’t do you well to cross people from our church. It always seems like people who do end up in rather… unfortunate circumstances.” You hummed, pressing a finger to your chin in mock thought. Before the man could reply, you held up your other hand, blowing some dust onto him from your palm.

“What the fuck was that?” He looked surprised, and you smirked triumphantly when fear flashed in his eyes.

“Why don’t you run home? Before I worsen this hex into a curse.” You whispered, aggression boiling just below the calm surface, your eyes boring into the man’s very soul before he stumbled backwards and ran out the door.

Once he was gone, you immediately turned your attention to your poor Copia, who was starting to pick up the little trinkets that had fallen when he was shoved.

“Oh, Cardinal, are you alright?” You fretted, your hands finding his shoulders before you brought him in for a hug, your arms wrapping around him in a warm embrace.

He was silent, taken aback by your open affection and worry for him. You pulled away just enough to worriedly look into his eyes.

“I.. I am okay, Sorella.” He reassured you, wringing his hands in front of him, gaze flicking down before meeting yours once more. “Ehm.. What sort of hex did you put on him?” He asked, brows furrowed in confusion, but you only shook your head with a smile.

“I didn’t. I just took a handful of sand from that little zen garden over there.” You giggled, pointing to one of the shelves.

Copia looked at you in disbelief, but couldn’t help but crack a little smile at that. “That was very clever of you, Sorella.” He remarked quietly.

“Did you see how scared he looked when he ran away? He’s probably pissing himself!” You snickered, taking the Cardinal’s arm and making your way back to the counter, where Marjorie was now returning with a few boxes full of black candles.

“You, eh.. you really showed him, eh?” Copia smiled a bit wider, somewhat sheepish over the fact that he was actually getting the opportunity to laugh at someone else. Usually, he was always the subject of other people’s jokes, always the one getting laughed at or made fun of.

•𖤐•

After meeting back up with the other sisters and checking everything off on the list, you all exited the shop and put everything in the trunk before getting in the car, assuming your previous positions. Copia swallowed nervously, leaning back so as to allow you to sit on his lap comfortably. You felt wicked for doing it, but you may have wiggled around just a little bit more than necessary; the Cardinal’s strained little huffs like music to your ears.

You continued to shift on his lap, turning one way to talk to Sister Ava, leaning forward to talk to Sister Mable in the front passenger seat, then turning to your right to look out the window. Let’s be real here, you were moving every which way just to torture the man. He tried so desperately to be subtle, the poor thing, sucking in a breath with every cruel shift of your hips; and you couldn’t help but feel your panties dampen significantly when you noticed the way Copia’s hard cock was already straining right against your ass.

Biting your lip, you feigned sliding off him just so you could wiggle back up his lap, the slit of your habit riding up impossibly higher and giving him an eyeful.

The ghoul was driving at a pretty good speed, so the centrifugal force of some turns had your back pressing into the Cardinal’s chest, and you could feel his heart beating wildly as your luscious hair tickled his face.

You hid a grin as you recognized the bumpy road coming up ahead, getting ready for the real fun to start.

You couldn’t help but let out little squeaks as you rapidly bounced up and down, using the movements to your advantage until Copia was stifling moans, his arms tightening around your waist considerably. And- Lucifer, was he slightly thrusting up into you? The poor thing probably couldn’t help himself, too overwhelmed by the feeling of your perfect ass grinding into him so deliciously. Fuck, he was just so big and hard, you could practically feel his heavy cock throbbing through his cassock. It made your mouth water, made you crave it down your throat. You were holding back moans just from the thought.

Everyone was chatting amongst themselves, completely unaware of what was transpiring between you and the Cardinal. Satan only knows what they’d say if they caught on.

Poor Copia held off as much as he could, biting his lip so hard he thought it would bleed. He desperately fought for some semblance of control, not wanting you to think of him as a creep for popping a stiffy like this.

Alarm sirens were going off in his head, feeling ample amounts of precum leaking out of his sensitive cock as you bounced and squirmed and shifted even more. He tried so hard not to rut against you, catching himself whenever his hips began to subconsciously move.

But suddenly, your hand was bracing itself on his upper thigh again and your maddening touch was just too much to handle. Copia’s arms squeezed around your waist, one of his gloved hands even coming to rest on your bare thigh, desperately trying to grasp at something, anything. But he couldn’t hold on any longer, he tried so hard but goddamn it felt so good, so fucking good- he just couldn’t help it, he really didn’t mean to, but then he was shuddering slightly and his eyes were rolling back and he-

Your eyes widened as a soft gasp left you, feeling the Cardinal’s cock twitch against you, and suddenly a burst of something warm and wet. Did he… Did he just cum?

The thought drove you absolutely wild, and you continued to discreetly grind on him so he could ride out his accidental orgasm, the most pitiful little stifled whimpers tumbling from his flushed lips.

Your tongue swiped across your lower lip, wishing you could lick up the sticky mess in his pants while he moaned from the sensitivity.

Copia let out a shaky sigh, leaning back against the headrest as his chest heaved. You turned sideways on his lap, then, your hand finding purchase on his shoulder with the excuse of gazing out the back window, your cheek ever so slightly brushing up against his temple. You were a good girl for the rest of the ride, the car having had pulled off the bumpy road anyway, so it would be smooth sailing until you got back to the abbey.

•𖤐•

Finally arriving home, the sisters hopped out of the car, followed by you and Copia. You peeled yourself off of the man, offering your hand to him to help him out of the car. Satan knows he’d need it after what you just put him through.

He accepted it gratefully, still blushing red as a cherry with shame, the creases on his forehead more apparent because of his worried and guilty expression. He felt like he had somehow taken advantage of you.

Popping the trunk, you all began grabbing some of the paper grocery bags before heading up the grand front steps and into the abbey.

You and the other sisters were lagging a bit behind Copia in the corridor because you were discussing who would bring Sister Imperator the items she requested, but suddenly all the attention was pulled to the man in front of you. The bottom of his grocery bag had given way, all of the contents falling to the floor and causing Copia to mutter something in Italian under his breath.

Mable, Ava, Lilith, and Emily immediately started laughing at him, and even you couldn’t help but crack an amused smile at the scene. Satan, this man really was pathetic, wasn’t he? It only made you want to suck his cock harder.

Copia stooped down, hastily gathering his things in his arms, embarrassed and trying to avoid eye contact with anyone, especially you. He finally got everything, quickly standing up and hoping everyone would forget about that. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the grocery bag broke. But then he was accidentally stepping on that one lone orange that he failed to get, floundering for a second before slipping and falling right on his ass, all of his things scattered on the floor once again.

“Look at Cardinal Clumsy over here!” Lilith wheezed, the sisters nearly in tears as they erupted into cackles once more, all elbowing each other.

Copia closed his eyes, cheeks burning red hot, desperately willing himself to disappear. Why was he always such a fool? It was utterly humiliating, especially in front of you, the most beautiful sister. Of course, your friends were only adding fuel to the fire as they cracked jokes about him; Hell, you were probably laughing at his stupidity too.

But when his beautifully odd eyes fluttered open again, all Copia saw was you- now alone with him in the corridor- setting your bags down and sauntering towards him. Yes, there was an amused smile on your face, but it wasn’t the least bit snide. You weren’t jeering at him like the other girls were; instead you had something akin to admiration sparkling in your pretty eyes.

You offered him your hand- oh your dainty little hand- but when he took it, you hauled him up with a little too much force. Your back gently hit the wall, Copia being pulled into you. Flustered from the close proximity, he froze, the tips of your noses just centimetres apart.

“Are you alright, Cardinal Clumsy?” You enquired playfully, smirking at him with mischief dancing in your eyes. That name sent a pang of hurt through him when Sister Lilith had said it just then, and he had regrettably been called that many times before by many people. But for some reason, it didn’t hurt in the very slightest when it came from your lips. It made him blush, it made him feel embarrassed that you had witnessed his idiocy, but he didn’t feel any judgement coming from you. It was refreshing, since it seemed as though that’s all he ever got from anyone else.

“Si, I… I am okay, Sorella.” Copia nodded, voice timid. “B-better now.” He dared to add, but cursed the way he nervously stuttered. His gaze flitted down momentarily, suddenly realizing the way his body was accidentally pressed against yours.

“I’ll help you pick everything up, okay?” You reassured your Cardinal, tilting his chin up with your finger. Nervously licking his lips, he gave you a quick little nod, wide eyes staring into yours like a deer in the headlights. You side-stepped him, being sure to rub up against the man even more before bending over to begin picking up some cans of evaporated milk.

He felt horrible, he really did, but he just couldn’t help the way his eyes locked onto your ass. This habit was tighter and of a thinner material than the standard one, and with you bending over like this, hardly anything was left to the imagination.

A naughty smirk tugged at your lips, fully knowing what you were doing to your poor Cardinal.

After all, good girls bend at the knee, but bad girls bend at the waist.

𖤐 to be continued 𖤐

Taglist: @sucharide @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe @rightintheghoulies @copiaswifey @youhaveahomeinmyheart @mister-girl @faeeeeh @rubyserpentine @ramblingoak @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @angelconservation @yourlocalghouleh @gh0sty6 @nikolaiology @thenick100 @mothsdraw @ivyanddaisies @gothdaddyissues @moonlight-fern @copiaslittleratty @nocturnal-birb @creepyalbatross @lightbluuestars @delta-is-here @1kirby1

[mysteriawrites]

They wear Matching Onesies with Their S/O

Ft. Ver Vermillion

So Ver was gushing about you on stream one day. How cute you were, how in love he was, all the cute things he wanted to do with you.

The villions decided to give out some suggestions. All of them were rather cute (if you ignore the suggestive, steamy, and out right horny ones), but one in particular stuck out to him.

He visibly flushed when he read it allowed. After the stream the idea still stuck in his mind. You would look so cute in a onesie, and even better if you guys are matching it shows you’re his and he’s yours.

He ended up scrolling through pics of others couples doing it on social media before ultimately deciding to buy some for the two of you.

After scrolling through all the cute options he ended up picking the perfect pair: matching pink tiger cub onesies. Instantly goes into the cart.

A few days later the other finally arrives…

You’re in your dorm laying on your bed and scrolling through your phone when you hear a knock on your door. You get up to open it and are greeted to your boyfriend Ver Vermillion holding a large amazon box.

“Hey Ver! What’s with the box?” You say.

“Oh it’s just a little surprise I got for you,” He answers blushing.

“Ooo a surprise?! What it is what is it?!”

“Woah hold your horses I’ll show you. Close your eyes ok?”

You do as he says. You hear rustle as he opens the box, the opening of plastic, and the ruffling of fabric. This goes on for a few minutes beforeVer promts you to open your eyes.

“Ok you can look now.”

You open your eyes to see a blushing Ver in a pink tiger onesie, and in his hands he’s holding up a matching onesie presumedly for you.

“I thought it would be cute,” He says blushing.

Next thing you know, you guys are snuggled up together in your onesies with a bowl of popcorn between you watching a movie.

Not long later you guys fall asleep and a certain Vice President sneaks in a pic that she uses to tease Ver to this day. However it’s one of his favorite photos of the two of you and he keeps it as his phone wallpaper.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Found another of my former posts that didn't sell. This is a 1925 Pullman railroad car converted to a home. I think that the problem is that it's out in the middle of nowhere and it has to be moved. I have no idea how you would transport it, but the seller is willing to help facilitate the move. Right now the 3bd, 3ba home is in Bonner, MT. It comes furnished and is $249K.

It's got a western theme. The shades have cowboys on bucking broncos, and I love the soft velvet furniture. Look at the chairs w/scenes on the fabric.

This sofa is an original train seat.

Now, here we have a beautiful desk that looks like it could be original & a chair, plus another vintage bench seat with storage drawers.

Small room flex space.

Outside this bedroom there's wallpaper and a shower curtain with a barbed wire print.

I like the stainless steel shower (there are 3 of them, one for each bedroom). There's also a very private toilet in each bedroom next to the chest of drawers.

Above the toilet is a clever unit with a mirrored medicine chest and a pull down sink.

Cute room with bunks and vintage cowboy wallpaper.

The bedroom toilet units and chest of drawers must be original b/c they're built-in. They probably had bunk beds, but these wouldn't be the originals.

The dining room fits 6 in comfy upholstered chairs.

An antler chandelier matches the smaller antler sconces around the home. On the right is the hall to the bedrooms and showers.

A nice built-in serving cabinet has cowboy stained glass to match the window shades.

The kitchen also looks original. It's completely stainless steel and commercial. I trust that all of this works

At the end of the car is this cute little original seating area.

I'm not sure if even a small chair can fit out here, but it sure is cute.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/Nhn-Nka-Bonner-MT-59823/2054689249_zpid/

[rom-e-o]

"Amusing" (Orin/Constance - Sneak Peek)

Why is he like this?

November, 1830

5th Avenue

New York

The sitting room of the multi-story Spiegler townhome on 5th Avenue was drenched in firelight and smelled of cinnamon potpourri, but not an ounce of merriment or cheer could be distilled from its fragrant atmosphere. Instead, the manor’s Green Drawing-Room was engorged with a heavily pregnant silence, broken only by the sound of hissing firewood slowly burning away in the hearth.

The room had earned its affectionate yet telling moniker from its décor and choice of wallpaper – a green paper of an emerald sheen with a vertical pattern of coiling ivy vines. The furniture was also smocked in thick velvet, which was set primly along the sets and backs of all the room’s carved oak chairs. The drapes were a matching shade of lush green, as vibrant as the full leaves of an oleander. Even the hooked rug that was spread across the buttery walnut floor stole inspiration from the color. The pattern highlighted two adult swans afloat on a sea of white, both angelic creatures wreathed in pink roses and intertwined laurels.

One chair, which was completely upholstered and adorned with gold tassels for added comfort, was occupied. Its resident for the evening was Orin Spiegler, the master of the manor, who reclined back in the fabric’s rich confines. In one hand, his held open a folded edition of the evening paper. In the other, he lightly swirled a short glass of honey-brown scotch. With his dressing gown synched tightly about his waist and his white ruffled collar fluffing outward from between the lapels, he looked more like a peacock than the esteemed, Dutch-American investor and businessman the local newspapers now described. The man had made a name for himself with his Wall Street trading strategies, and his smart investments in cheap buildings on the outskirts of the New York city limits, mostly along the waning avenues beyond Albany. As the city grew, the properties quadrupled in value annually, or sometimes even monthly. He was a certified millionaire, and his coffers were expanding daily.

It was a good start, he thought, but not yet enough for comfort. Not for him.

Most recently, Mr. Spiegler had commanded his financial agents to also bring his investment opportunities for the multitude of bigger and better steamboats being developed for traveling the Hudson. Much had changed with designer Robert Fulton had said the inaugural vessel in 1807, and as New York continued its sprawl up and down the river, he intended to make sure he was one of the many investors that would reap a benefit from the new technology. Besides, not just New Yorkers benefited from the technology. Every traveler from Philadelphia, Greenwich or Vermont would be in his metaphorical debt. Hell, even Londoners and Danes were utilizing the vessels for visits to the quickly growing city.

On a settee just opposite the fireplace was another lonely individual. This woman, donned in a striking green dress with lace the color of American buttercream, was the lovely and copper-headed Mrs. Spiegler.

Unlike her husband, her focus was trained reading and rereading her own written words. Quill in hand, she carefully penned invitations on solid white paper, the corners of the expensive parchment adorned with a flourishing ‘OS’ in evergreen ink.

Orin glanced over to observe his wife at work, noting her upright rectitude with a satisfied arch of his brown. “And what, pray tell, has captured your focus so keenly?”

Starting slightly at his interruption, Constance turned to meet his gaze, then quickly recovered and smiled. “Oh. I was penning the invitations for that party we were discussing earlier. The one to showcase our new music room. You still wanted to host a gathering, didn’t you, dear?”

“Ah, yes,” he said, satisfied with her answer. “Who are you planning on inviting? I don’t believe we finalized any guest list.”

“We did not,” she admitted, moistening her lips, “But I believe you’ll be satisfied. I’m sending summons to the Van Rensselaers up river, as well as the Livingstons and the Schuylers, of course.”

“Very good.” The Van Rensselaers, Schuylers, and Livingstons were all prominent families of Dutch ancestry, and longstanding patroons with sprawling tenant farms along the Hudson River. The last Orin has heard, Rensselaerwyck had reached a million acres in size, and was home to at least 200 farmer families. Some farmers were German, others were Irish, and some were ‘Yankees’ of no other known pedigree. While there was slight variance between the farmers, they shared the collective burden of toiling the land of their master, paying monthly rent as a share of crops to the Lord of the Manor.

“I suspect we’ll have no trouble getting them to come to the city, Constance said. “The last time we hosted, they adored our home.”

“They were excited to escape their tenants for a night or two, I presume.”

The tenant farmers were becoming rambunctious, and there were murmurings of a rebellion on the horizon. Slavery has been officially abolished in New York in 1827, and now, eyes were turned to the patroons and their tenant farmers.

What had these patroons expected, he wondered? To carry on forever with locking families into generation of servitude while Yankees and abolitionists just conveniently ignored them? Orin had seen the writing on the wall for years, and as the Anti-Rent movement began to grow, he only felt vindication.

 The old money has-beens would be out the door in a few decades of new marriages. Perhaps some would even move out West, to a land of burgeoning opportunity.

In the meantime, he reasoned, it certainly didn’t hurt to rub elbows with his fellow countrymen. The task was made all the easier by how charming Constance was when it came to hosting and party-planning.

“Shall I … invite the Patersons, Orin?” Constance inquired with a tilt of the head.

He hummed in though, sipping his drink elegantly.

Stephen Van Rensselaer III was the current Lord of the Manor at Renssalaerwyck. He had previously married Margarita "Peggy" Schuyler, who had passed early in 1801. After the customary one year of morning for a gentleman, he married Cornelia Bell Paterson, child of statesman William Paterson. Orin knew little of the man and his legacy, other than he was a jurist and one of the men who had signed the United States Constitution.

He was also an Irishman turned American who mostly fancied New Jersey, so Orin mostly wrote him off.

“Invite Mr. and Mrs. Van Renssalaer, of course,” he said, “That’s all. Our manor isn’t so large that we can invite every admirer we have. Yet.”

“Yes.” She scrawled a note down.

The horrible complexity of the family trees was another reason he was glad to only know these sprawling families by association. He so loathed the idea of being tethered to large, overbearing legacies. Too much family was a curs eon one’s patience and time, he thought. Too many mouths to feed.

“I’m also extending an invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Van Cortlandt.”

Among the Van Cortlandt family tree were also members of the Van Rensselaer family, Schuyler family, and Livingston family. They also had ties to Philipse family, the De Peyster family, and the Irish-born and -bred Gage family.

Also spotted along their impressive family tree were relations to the Jay family. One of its many heirs, John Jay, had gone on to become the first Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and one of the country’s ‘Founding Fathers.’

When holding a soiree, it was necessary to invite all the influential families, for to insult one was to insult all of them.

“Very good,” Orin said, pleased with his wife’s attention to detail. “You were correct, my dear. I am more than satisfied with your diligence.”

It was no surprise that Constance was so aware of New York’s finest political families. After all, she was a DoGoode. While only one generation deep, the family had set the bar for new money intrigue in New York. Arthur DoGoode, Constance’s father, had started life as a mute bookkeeper but had quickly risen through the ranks as a sensible businessman. His body was frail, but his intelligence was so keen that he didn’t need spoken words to seal deals. Like Orin, he was a property investor, but Orin would never admit that it was Arthur’s business strategies that inspired his own investment patterns. Theresea, Constance’s mother, had moved to New York from Marrakech.

In 1777, Morocco had been one of the first states to recognize the sovereignty of a newly independent United States. That independence from European pressures was something Theresea admired. She had seen France, Spain and Germany all encroach on her country, eyeing the land with salivating mouths and greedy eyes. So, with a heavy heart, she left the city of Marrakech for New York.

She and Arthur had met at a business convention in Albany, where the doorman had barred her from entering. Woman were not allowed in the hall, they’d said, unless accompanied by a proper chaperone. Theresea had debated the man into a state of near emotional breakdown when Arthur had spotted her.

He asked her to be his voice at the meetings – his ‘interpreter’, so to speak. Arthur penned the business strategies, and Theresea gave the pitches to rooms of investors, bankers, financial agents, and more.

The two were married a year later. It had been a union of love, not political gambit, for they were two nobodies in a sea of millions. That, however, changed quickly. New York was growing, and Arthur invested in fringe properties to develop safehouses for women and orphanages for children.

Later that same year, they even adopted a two-year-old child that has been left at the Albany orphanage the two were on the Board of Directors for. A little red-headed girl too taciturn and terrified to speak.

Now, that girl was a woman, and also his wife.

Constance penned a few more notes while they spoke. “Darling, but also had a mind to invite Martin, if you think he could spare the time. It’s been so long.”

“Ah, Martin!” Orin cried, laughing at the mention of the man’s name. “Why, that is a capital idea!” He snapped and pointed a commanding finger at her. “Write him at once. Set the party’s date for December 22 as well. That will give our guests time to travel, but with ample courtesy for any Christmastime plans.”

Martin Van Buren, another New Yorker of fine Dutch stock, was someone Orin knew by association. They’d attended a small myriad of soirees together in the past year as Orin’s infamy had earned him. There were rumblings that Andrew Jackson was planning to support him for the next presidential election.

If elected, the Dutch colonies of New York would surely endorse him and throw any and all support his way to guarantee victory. He imagined the gaiety that such an election result would cause, and wondered how the anti-renters would take such a victory.

Only time could tell, he supposed.

He polished the glass of scotch with a final swig, wiping his mouth and setting the glass aside on a marbled end table.

“I’m going to my study,” he said, gesturing to the hallway beyond the door.

“Oh. More work?” Constance asked, brows furrowing. Here eyes drifted from his face to the empty drinking glass.

“Not precisely.”

Orin’s study was located at the top of a turret that adorned the front of their townhome. The addition made their luxurious home stand out even more amidst the other rowhouses that lined the stylish thoroughfare through the city. It’s large windows also faced the street, providing him a clean visual of the street’s traffic, potential callers, etcetera.

As he rose and walked past her, he laid a large hand on her shoulder. The contact froze her thoughts, her quill stilling mod-word against the parchment.

“You’ve pleased me tonight,” he noted in a caramel-sweet tone. “I’ll leave you be for the rest of the evening.”

He then walked to the door, glimpsing at the grandfather clock as he did so. A quarter past ten, the hands read.

“I’ll slumber on my day bed in my study,” he said, voice returning to the cool formality she’d come to expect. “I depart for the Catskills at dawn. There is a new steamboat making its maiden voyage. The SS Juno. As one of the primary investors, it is expected that I be there. I wouldn’t wish to disturb you by stirring so early. Heaven knows you’re clumsy enough in the mornings when we have nowhere to go, and I wouldn’t wish to be late because of you prattling about.”

Still enthused by the fact that they wouldn’t be sharing a bed that night, his insults went unnoticed. Instead, she disguised her relief with a thankful smile. “I’ll see that coffee is ready for you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Otherwise, you’re dismissed. Spend the rest of your night as you’d like. Just make sure those invitations are written and postmarked tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“Good woman.”

Just as he was about to pass through the door, he paused again. “A moment. Come here, please. And bring me one of the candles.”

Smoothing her skirts, she rose and drifted across the room to meet him.

She grabbed a chinoiserie candle holder containing one green, swirled tapered candle and lofted it to her eyes. She crossed the room and extended the holder carefully to him, being mindful of the flame. Orin accepted the offering, and before she could move away, reached out with his other hand to grab her wrist. He jerked her into a sudden kiss, smirking as he felt her heart roar to life beneath her heavy bosom.

Just as he felt her lean into him, seeking warmth or perhaps a passionate embrace, he nudged her back and away. As always, she obeyed.

“You’re relieved to not share a bed with me, but you still turn into a simpering little maiden with just one kiss? How amusing.”

He left her with a smirk, his dark eyes flashing with the swish of his head as he turned on his heel. “I’ll return in three days. Have the house ready in anticipation of my return. I’ll want to supper immediately.”

The heavy oak door shut before she had time to formulate a reply. She stood frozen, her lips still warmed from his kiss, her rouge slightly smeared from the sudden brush. Trembling fingers caressed the flesh before she sighed, hands falling heavy at her sides.

Even after years of marriage, she didn’t understand her husband at all. He’d never acted so unpredictable during their courtship. Why in the world did he conduct himself in such a way around her? Had she done something wrong?

Alone in the drawing room, she took it upon herself to close the curtains and set the shutters as best she could. It was work mostly suited for a strong footman, but she tried her best to make any work a little easier. Besides, the light work kept her hands and mind busy, and helped siphon out the anxious little ball of energy that had started buzzing in her chest at Orin’s words.

Had she … really been so apparent with her distaste? No wonder he was cross with her, the woman concluded. She’d offended him – her own husband. What a sorry excuse for a wife she was.

In her frustration, she grabbed the poker and stabbed it into the hearth. The fire-laden log crumbled with a hiss, and cinders as large as red flies flew into the air. She jumped back in surprise, dropping the poker and shrinking away from the flames. Her skirts knocked over a chair as she did so. The large piece of furniture lay on its side and cast a menacing shadow across the expanse of the room. It’s sharp angles and points flickered menacingly against the wallpaper with every dance of the flames.

Embarrassed at her incompetence, Constance rushed to the bellpull and gave it a brisk tug. Minutes later, she was greeted at the door by a young butler and young maid, both employed by the couple. The two were siblings – Mary and Micah. Two intelligent, quick-witted souls fresh off the boat from the Fenlands.

“We heard a crash!” the young maid said, breathless from how quickly she’d come running.

Micah looked the frazzled redhead up and down. His knowing eyes peered from beneath a shag of sandy hair. “Are you well, Mrs. Spiegler?”

His tone was practically conspiratorial.

“Please extinguish the fire,” Constance said, disregarding Mary’s question with a flustered wave of the hand. She then allowed her eyes to fall against her trembling calm as she gathered her wits. “A-And if you could check my work on fastening the windows, Micah, I would be most thankful. You are much stronger, and less clumsy, than I.”

The maid curtseyed and obeyed the lady’s commands, while the butler made a beeline for the windows. “Yes, your ladyship.”

Just as he went to straighten the toppled chair and retrieved the empty drinking glass, Constance left the room and made her way quickly up the stairs and to the main bedroom. She took the stairs quickly, her kid slippers soundless as they fell frantically against the plush rugs of the hall.

Mary hastily finished her work at the fireplace and trailed after her mistress, making sure to grab the abandoned letters on her way out.

I'm sure they'll work everything out.

[mania-sama]

is it me or the fear talking (what a dumb question)

Intro III - NF

➼ information ❧ Genshin Impact ❧ Pairing: Kaeya & Himself ❧ Additional Character: Albedo ❧ Tags: buried alive, alternate character interpretation, open to interpretation, gaslighting, angst, sleepwalking, songfic, song lyrics as dialogue (cringe is dead), character study ❧ Summary: A shovel in his hand, Kaeya realizes he has to kill the person he fears the most. ❧ Word Count: 5,604 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 30 April 2022

In his last memory, Kaeya had been drunk. There was no question about it; the hazy thoughts of his muddled mind, the slur in his words, and Diluc’s glare as he stumbled out of Angel’s Share. He had managed to drag himself to his office at the Headquarters, blissfully unaware and uncaring of any knights that saw his sorry state in the progress.

In the present, his vision was pristine and mind clear. The carpet underneath his feet was torn in multiple places and dark with years of built-up grime and neglection. His office floor, unlike all of the others in the Headquarters, didn’t have a carpet on it. It was marble, matching the hallways just outside of the door. When he’d first claimed the office for himself several years ago, the first thing he’d done was to remove the unnecessary fabric. With this information, he concluded that the place he was in wasn’t his office or even the Knights’ Headquarters. Despite that, the place was familiar in the most uncomfortable and worst of ways.

Kaeya moved forward, the dark hardwood underneath the layer of carpet squeaked from the pressure of his weight. The wood was eroded from fungi and hidden insects undiscovered through the years of its clear abandon. The hallway he slowly traversed through was dimly lit by flickering candle lights. Several of those were missing from their cages against the wall and were instead smeared against the ground. Candle wax mixed strangely with the unkempt carpet hairs.

The hallway he was walking along turned into a T, opening up to a hallway overlooking the living room of the estate. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling above the main room, swinging gently despite the absence of a breeze. There were only two candles lit on the fixture, and the rest were burnt down or completely missing. Kaeya headed to the left side of the staircase leading to the room below.

As he walked past a room, the door abruptly shook violently in response to a bang against it. A gut-wrenching cry emitted from inside of it, causing a wave of nausea to come up Kaeya’s throat. With a hand on his mouth, he forced his feet to keep going. It never got easier to see or hear that room, no matter how many days he spent trapped inside this estate. If he had chosen to go to the right-hand stairway, the room he would’ve had to walk by was almost worse than the one on the left.

Kaeya would’ve grabbed onto the handrail lining the hallway for stability from his sudden nausea, but he was sure it would fully collapse and crumble under any weight he put on it. Just like the floor, mites and fungi were eating it hollow.

Forcefully ignoring the sobs emitting from the bedroom and the cobwebs lining the baseboards against the ceiling and floor, Kaeya began his descent down the staircase. Each board of wood bent under his feet, and he was careful to not misstep. It was dark enough that it would’ve been relatively easy to fall if he wasn’t paying attention.

The living room was just as dark as the hallway. The wallpaper peeled off of the wall and fallen square panels from the ceiling were scattered across the floor, broken. They cracked underneath Kaeya’s boots. Speaking of which, his shoes were the same pair that matched his old knight uniform, the one he wore before becoming Cavalry Captain. Lifting his sleeved arm and rubbing a hand on his coat, Kaeya found that he was in said uniform.

It was never the same. Every time he found himself in this dark, abandoned estate, his outfit was different. Most of the time, Kaeya himself was changed in some aspects as well. Whether that be his physical age or the just length of his hair, he was never the exact same as he was in his previous visit to the mansion.

Besides the change of attire, Kaeya didn’t feel different in any way. He reached his bare hands up to touch his face, feeling the skin around his eye. In the waking world of reality, his right eye was always covered. In the abandoned and broken estate, he couldn’t remember a time when he even had an eyepatch. It was disturbing in its own right, serving as a reminder that there was no hiding. There was nothing to protect him outside of the doors that locked away his past.

Kaeya slowly picked his feet up again and walked to find a mirror on the other side of the living room. All of the visible furniture was covered by off-white dust sheets. The chairs and couches were scattered in an unorganized manner, though in the original estate, they had once formed a semicircle in front of the fireplace. A wooden table was split into two in the direct middle of the room, its dust sheet covered with dark splotches of dried blood.

He averted his eyes. The fireplace wasn’t lit, but it never was. One thing that had never changed in the estate was how cold it was, like it lacked life despite the person– people– that lived there. The permanent chill seeped straight through his clothes and poked at his bones like incessant needles. His Cryo Vision had allowed his body to become resilient to the cold, but he lacked that elemental power in the manor.

The mirror was just ahead, propped up against a pillar against the edge of the living room. Mirrors were scattered everywhere in the mansion, some broken and some not. It seemed that the estate wanted Kaeya to see himself, to perceive who he truly was. It was unsettling and distressing. The mirror he wanted was covered by another dust sheet. Glancing around the room as anxiety spiked his heart rate, he harshly tugged the cover completely off.

The glass was dirty and unkept with one large crack extending the entire mirror horizontally in a jagged line. Kaeya looked entirely the same as he did in the real world, save for the knight uniform he hadn’t worn in several years. There wasn’t a trace of intoxication on his person, but his emotional turmoil was easy enough to read. His body was stiff with tension and his chest rose up and down in an uneven pattern. The mansion always had a way of making him look so open and vulnerable.

His eyes were wide with something akin to dread. His now uncovered eye was exposed, revealing absolutely nothing special underneath. Ah, there was the thing that had changed. For some odd reason, the manor decided to make his Khaenri’ahn eye entirely normal. It was blue now, and its pupil was only vaguely star-shaped. It matched his left eye perfectly, the one that he let the real world see.

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, for there hadn’t been anyone near him just a second ago. There was a figure behind him that was meeting his gaze through the mirror. Kaeya tensed impossibly further, a chill running down his back and through his nervous system.

Kaeya couldn’t bear to look in the mirror anymore; he was frightened by his own terrified expression. Turning around wasn’t much easier, for the figure looked exactly like himself. Major differences set them apart, though, which made it a lot easier for Kaeya to distinguish himself from the other. The figure wore a uniform only for royalty: a suit, pristine white and untouched by the dirt and sawdust surrounding them. Gold epaulets dawned each shoulder, and a similarly-colored sash crossed the entire front of his chest.

A long, white cape flowed with the figure’s movement as it followed Kaeya back into the main part of the living room. The fur lining the top of the cape around its neck was a deep and dark ocean blue. Sharp, four-pointed stars littered the underside of the cape, and its boots echoed in the eerie silence as it stalked. Kaeya didn’t say anything to it. He didn’t want to, so he shouldn’t have to, but it was still following him. It was still behind him, watching and matching every footstep until Kaeya collapsed onto a barely-standing chair on the opposite side of the room.

It– no, he, he wouldn’t want to be called an it– tilted his head as Kaeya stared at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as words written in black ink began to fill the mirror. It was already dripping down the glass. Kaeya’s attention was brought back when it– he– crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you scared of me?” The figure asked. His eyes were a brown-ish gold, and their pupils were distinctly star-shaped, similar to the ones on the underside of his cape. Kaeya looked away, the sight making him feel sick to the stomach and so, so cold. The figure scoffed. “That’s embarrassing.”

Kaeya didn’t say anything. This time the words were simply caught in his throat. He couldn’t lie here. Nobody could, at least of what he was aware of. Everything that lived here only spat hurtful truths whether or not they wanted to. It was horrible, a constant and undying nightmare that breathed persistently. There wasn’t an escape, only temporary, so-called relief in the real world that only caused more words to be written on the tearing wallpaper.

“If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve never become Cavalry Captain,” the figure continued. Kaeya became extremely aware of the clothes resting on his skin. Toes rubbed uncomfortably together in his white boots. They were almost brown in the dim, flickering light, looking like they were used for years as mud shoes.

After not receiving a response, the figure sat on the floor in an unceremonious manner. For his appearance, it– he– didn’t act like the prince he was supposed to be. “I’ve been there for you,” he said while flicking out his cape. It splayed out against the ground and draped over the broken ceiling tiles and layered dust. “How come you were never there for me?”

He kicked his feet out, legs crossing over each other as he leaned back on his hands. The prince didn’t wait on a response. He wasn’t going to get one, anyway. “It’s a little twisted, but I miss when you and I would have nightmares. We saw each other more, then.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Kaeya strangled out, voice coming out more horse than he expected. He still couldn’t look at the stranger– no, he was so familiar– in front of him. They looked too much alike, despite the eyes and attire. Their body shapes and skin tones matched perfectly, and their voices were the same despite the roughness of Kaeya’s.

“Well, that’s too bad!” laughed the prince without any humor. A barely-audible plea of silence escaped Kaeya’s lips, which he swiftly slapped with a bare hand. His head snapped around to find the figure on the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice nor care.

He began to push himself off the floor without any real urgency or rush. Why did he sit down in the first place? “Now, where were we? Ah, do you remember back in the days when you and I had it all mapped out in your bedroom?” Kaeya did remember. That was when he still inhabited that upstairs bedroom of the estate, both in reality and in this crumbled mansion. “Crying in there like a baby, ‘I wish Dad was here,’” the figure mocked mercilessly.

There was a kid still living in that room. He screamed and cried and banged on the door, yet Kaeya never let him out. Facing the child in there, and facing the words he wrote on the wall were something he preferred to keep locked away. Nights that Kaeya found himself trapped in the inside of that bedroom with that little kid that was identical to his own, younger self were the nights he read and heard those same words said by the prince. They were permanently etched to the walls, replaying over and over again in nightmares.

“You don’t really want to change me,” he said. Kaeya looked away again, this time to the archway connecting the living room to a large hallway. “I made everything; I made you who you are. Do you really want to get rid of your main personality?”

The dust sheet was itchy. He had to move, to get away from this figure talking in front of him. The chair creaked at the sudden loss of pressure. Kaeya didn’t know where to go. “It’s time to make plans, and you know I can help. I don’t want to make you nervous, but it isn’t like it used to be. You’ve got a lot of people watching.”

The living room lacked any life besides the two identical men in there. Yet, that wasn’t what the prince was referencing, was it? He was talking about the increase in hilichurl activity, the abyss order drawing nearer, and that cursed mechanism found in the Chasm. Kaeya had thought he escaped his roots, disregarding the prince that lived permanently in this mansion. Now, it was all crashing down to destroy him. A ceiling tile fell and splintered behind him.

“You don’t want me in your life,” the figure said with a wrinkle of his nose. He wasn’t happy with Kaeya. “That’s hard to digest. I told you I’ll leave when we die,” he raised his arms and extended them out into the air by his side, “We haven’t died yet!”

Black paint lined the prince’s lips and mouth. The ends extended far along his cheekbone, jagged and terrifying. When the prince grinned maliciously, the drawn smile made his white teeth appear a putrid yellow color. Perhaps it wasn’t his eyes that were the most terrifying to look at, but rather that permanently painted smile on his face. The days when Kaeya found himself with that same faux grin were some of the worst.

“Cavalry Captain is beautiful, but I’m wondering what’s coming next? Look at me when I’m talking to you— did you hear what I said?” Kaeya was looking for an escape, somewhere to go to run from the sound of his own voice mocking and penetrating his ears. He purposefully didn’t look the prince in the eyes.

The figure laughed. It was full of malice and anger. “Do you not like this prison I built you? Oh, you know what the funny thing is?” He grabbed onto Kaeya’s elbow, pressing his gloved fingers harshly against the nerves. A wave of pain shot up the Cavalry Captain’s arm. “You keep on acting like I’m a stranger, but we’ve been together since you were a kid!”

Memories of the nights where there was no-one but the two of them pounded on its designated door. He heard the screams and cries clearly again even though the room was on the second floor. That kid wanted to be let out, saved. Kaeya ripped his arm from the prince’s harsh grip, but he didn’t make any moves to the stairway. His legs we’re frozen, keeping him rooted in front of the rotting chair.

“I took us from a broken nation. I told you everything was okay. Now you’re trying to cut me out like I’ve never been a part of your life.” Oh, he was truly angry now, and Kaeya was utterly scared. He continued, “I am the heart of it, I made this whole place.”

Kaeya’s mind was muddled and confused as the words were spat in his face, but he was sure that the prince hadn’t been the one to create the estate. Kaeya had, though he couldn’t be sure at what exact time in his life. When he was six years old, probably, just a kid who wanted a haven. It hadn’t been a place he feared until he entered. The prince was right when he said that he made it a prison.

“Tell me, Kaeya. What’s the point in having a sword if you can’t swing?” He leaned forward and sneered in Kaeya’s face. “What’s the point in having blood with no veins? Love with no pain?”

He’s heard those words before. They mixed cruelly with the sweet, innocent, and soothing sentences the prince had sung to Kaeya after hard and confusing days. Bile curdled in his stomach. Kaeya had to leave, and without a destination in mind, his feet started to move. The prince followed, the sound of his cape fluttering violently behind him echoing with his voice.

“I’m saying that me without you doesn’t make any sense,” he called. Kaeya felt his collar close in around his neck as the prince yanked him back. Roughly, he was twirled to face the man that looked just like him. Those blue, star-shaped eyes were cross. “I know I’m intense and controlling, but you need to learn how to cope with it. That’s just the way that it is.” 

Gloved hands shoved Kaeya away, creating space between the two. “If you didn’t want me to live in this estate, you shouldn’t have let me move in. It’s comfortable here and I like it; I’ve got my own room and everything,” he grinned, “It doesn’t get better than this!”

An ever-present need to flee kept Kaeya’s heart pounding. He couldn’t go upstairs— that kid wanted to be let out and he absolutely  couldn’t open the door. A small glass dome that was connected to the mansion was just down the left hallway. It might be better to be closer to the outside world, to get a taste of what he wasn’t allowed to have. Silently praying to gods he hardly believed in that he wouldn’t be choked again, Kaeya started off in the right direction.

“Do you want to own your life? Then wake up and take your own advice,” the figure said while his heels clicked against the floor. He laughed in that mirthless way again. “You’re just mad because you know I’m right.” He paused. Then, “Ah, I’m flattered that you brought me up to Diluc, but you should’ve told him the truth.”

The last time Kaeya talked to Diluc about anything related to Khaenri’ah was when they were eighteen. He’d tried to explain that he wasn’t allied to that nation anymore, but it hadn’t mattered. No words could replace the bitter truth of Kaeya’s bloodline. The wall beside Kaeya suddenly groaned. Kaeya hadn’t told Diluc any lies that night, though, so the prince’s accusation was both confusing and horrifying.

“I held your hands on the coldest nights. You didn’t tell him about the times you and I used to control your body!” They arrived in the dome. As expected, glass was shattered in multiple places, but the general shape was mostly intact. Shards were crushed under two pairs of boots. There was no light streaming in from the outside, as it was perpetually cloudy and cold at some point of the night. Or was it day? There was no way to tell.

“I mean, are you out of your mind?” He asked, pulling Kaeya around by the arm to face him once they were in the middle of the room. Kaeya, for all intents, wanted to stare out at the flat landscape outside the estate and ignore that violent figure. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible.

The prince— the Khaenri’ahn Prince Kaeya was supposed to be— grasped the Cavalry Captain’s jaw. His fingers dug harshly into Kaeya’s cheeks to the point where he could feel the intense pressure against his molar teeth. The figure forced the man’s head from side to side, up and down. A scowl crossed his face. “Then both of us will be. We’re going outside!”

He forcefully pushed Kaeya’s face back. He stumbled, and suddenly he wasn’t in that broken glass dome anymore. He was outside, yards behind the mansion. His white boots found solid ground to stabilize himself on, the short, yellow grass crunching in the process. The air was stagnant and colder than the inside of the mansion. It’d been a long time since he was let outside.

The prince had a shovel in his hand, already poking at the dirt. Kaeya’s hands curled into fists. “Is this what you wanted, both of us out in the open?” He demanded, voice less hoarse than it was before. “Why are you doing this? I know that you’re mad, but I’m not in the mood.”

Dirt was flicked up from the ground, starting a pile next to the beginnings of a hole. “We have a nation to save,” the figure snapped. “Stop acting like I’m not a part of this.”

“Where’s my shovel at?” Kaeya asked, the beginnings of an idea forming in his mind. It wasn’t possible to lie when inside of the mansion, but when he was outside, rules bent a little bit. He could, at the very least, act like he was still intent on saving Khaenri’ah. Like he still cared.

“It’s probably out here like it always is,” the prince spat. Sure enough, the metal tip of a second shovel glinted next to Kaeya’s feet. It hadn’t been there a second ago.

Picking it up, he felt the wooden shaft weight heavily in his grip. His bare hands tightened on it while his heart quickened its pace. They always dug a hole when the prince got upset enough, and those days were the few in which he actually got to go outside. Inevitably, Kaeya would be shoved and buried in the hole they created.

The prince stabbed his shovel into the ground. “I’m the reason why—“

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear another sentence,” Kaeya hissed. The outside always gave him more confidence, made him stronger against the omnipresent prince or whatever had taken him out of the mansion.

The prince laughed, the sound choked with his anger. “Hey, I’m Kaeya!” He waved a hand in the air dramatically, eyes wide to mimick the other’s constant panicked look. “Is it me or Khaenri’ah talking? Ha! What a dumb question! It’s smooth talk until the day we die, right? Isn’t that the motto?”

“I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut.” As long as he acted like he wasn’t going to betray the prince, Kaeya could be snarky. The outside let his tongue loosen, keeping him truthful but in the opposite way the mansion did. It was hard to play nice when the hole was getting bigger and his fate loomed drearily.

The pile of dirt grew larger as the figure shoveled more to the side. “I mean, so what? You know I never listen!”

Stab, shovel. Stab, shovel. “Let me guess: we’re going to dig a hole, have a chat, and then drop me in it. Bury me for what, three minutes?” His tone held more irritation than he intended. The prince narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t really think for a second that you’re putting me in this?” He accused, shoveling the dirt at a slower pace now. Kaeya had to play this cool; they were almost done. This was his only chance, and he couldn’t let it slip by.

Shrugging, Kaeya forced out his first lie of the night. He convinced himself that this wasn’t the intention originally, speaking in his past self rather than the present. “Of course not. Just a little deeper then you can bury me.” Huffing, he stopped poking at the ground after a few more seconds. “We can stop digging.”

He moved to stand near the prince who had dropped his shovel at the sentence. Kaeya had to make it look like he was ready to get shoved into the hole they made. It was a grave, just like all the other ones that littered the backyard around them.

A paint-outlined mouth contorted into a grin. For the first time that night, his voice contained a hint of humor to match his words. “You had me scared for a second; I almost thought we were digging my grave.”

Now.

Kaeya slammed the sharp edge of his shovel into the back of the Khaenri’ahn Prince’s head. A loud boom echoed in the empty backyard, the same sound that metal connecting with bone made. The figure collapsed forward and dropped directly into the grave. A shaky laugh escaped Kaeya’s lips as he ran a trembling hand through his hair.

“We did.” He crouched down, knowing that the body in the hole could still hear him despite his utterly limp and dead state. “You don’t like being afraid? It’s a dose of your own medicine. What, you don’t like how it tastes?” Standing back up, Kaeya began to shove the dirt back into the occupied grave. “Jean told me not to bury my issues, but if I have to be honest, I’m feeling great.”

The process was easy and methodical. Kaeya spoke while dirt piled on top of the prince’s body, successfully staining his lovely suit. “I should have done this a year ago; I don’t know why I waited. I tend to put everything off in my personal life, you hear what I’m saying?” He laughed humorlessly. “That was a joke. It’s hilarious, isn’t it? You’ll spend the rest of your life in my backyard or back of my mind depending on how you see it.”

He soaked up the last bit of freedom the outside provided him and smoothed out the last layer of dirt on top of the prince’s grave. Now that he was alone, he became fully aware of the eyes watching him from places he couldn’t see. Kaeya dully remembered why he built the mansion in the first place.

Dragging the shovel against the ground and leaving a trail of blood in his wake, Kaeya slowly ambled to the steps leading to his front door. It took a moment of consideration, but eventually he set the shovel against the side of the steps. Nothing from the outside belonged inside— that was a lesson he learned a long time ago.

He tried the handle, but it was locked. Right, they had never gone through a door to reach the backyard. Hesitantly, he reached into the breast pocket of his coat, pulling out a set of house keys. A surprised huff escaped his lips. He hadn’t been in possession of those ever since the prince started to live in the estate. The weight was unfamiliar and heavy in his hands. He unlocked the door with shaky wrists.

Kaeya stood by the window next to the front door and waited. Time was incomprehensible on the estate, so he couldn’t be sure how long he was waiting and watching. The stifling atmosphere inside the mansion contrasted the openness of the outside, and he could feel the way his face returned to its usual terrified expression. Words were caught in his throat from fear of his own voice. Despite that, though, it was safer to remain inside. He was sure of it.

Eventually, after what had to be a long time, a figure came walking around the front of the mansion. Its suit was covered in multiple layers of dirt, and the entire back and left side of its head was coated in thick blood. It stumbled up to the front door, knocking and begging to be let inside. Kaeya let out a single, short chuckle. The room it used to sleep in had already collapsed, the words inside of it dripping and filling the bedroom to the brink with black ink.

—

Kaeya’s head was hurting like he’d been hit by a very sharp boulder. He blinked blearily, raising a hand to rub absent-mindedly at his eyes. His arm hurt with the movement. Dropping it back down to his side, he found his arm connecting with solid ground. Eyes snapping open fully, he stared up at the slightly cloudy sky above him, the edges of his vision blocked by the walls of dirt on all four sides of him.

Thankfully, the hole didn’t seem that deep, though it was long and wide enough to fit his entire body comfortably. He reached out and gripped the top of the walls on his left and right side, groaning with the effort it took to pull himself into a sitting position. The action caused a wave of pain to spread through his head. He squinted in order to avoid looking at the sun rising just ahead of him.

“Ah, good morning,” a voice said to his right. Kaeya twisted his head around to see who it was, finding himself staring at an extended hand. Albedo was looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. The Chief Alchemist was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed and a notebook sitting on his lap.

Hesitantly, Kaeya grabbed his hand and was helped out of the hole. The Cavalry Captain brushed the dirt off of his clothes, gaze flitting back and forth between Albedo and the clearly man-made grave. “I’m assuming you have a few questions,” Albedo said nonchalantly as he picked himself up to stand beside Kaeya, who was nodding in agreement. “I returned to the Knights Headquarters yesterday in order to sleep and give a full report today. I saw you leaving as I was entering, and since I consider you my friend I wanted to greet you. You ignored me completely and kept walking with a dazed look in your eye.”

Although Albedo didn’t seem at all troubled by this, Kaeya couldn’t help but to feel a little guilty. “I apologize. I don’t seem to have any recollection of this,” he said. That was true– the last thing he remembered before appearing in his broken estate was collapsing in his office. Any memories of the real world between then and the moment he woke up were completely absent.

“You were in a state somnambulism– sleepwalking. I don’t blame you,” he replied, easily deflecting the apology. “I decided to follow you, and along the way to the Dawn Winery, you picked up a shovel. When you got here, you dug this hole and promptly collapsed in it when you finished.”

Kaeya wasn’t sure how to process that information. He’d had a few accounts of sleepwalking before, all times coming from particularly long periods of time he spent at his mind’s estate. “And you didn’t try to stop me?” He accused, realizing that his arms were sore from the time he spent digging his own grave.

Albedo shrugged and began flipping through his sketchbook. “Stopping you would mean halting the observation. It’s not often I get to see somnambulism so close. You also had a sharp shovel in your hands,” he said while lifting his book to show a page to Kaeya. “I didn’t want to get hit.”

The page contained a detailed drawing of Kaeya digging the grave, his position being in the middle of flicking dirt to a side pile. The only thing it lacked was color, but with the vividness and accuracy of the drawing, it didn’t really need it. Once he was done examining the illustration, his eyes wandered elsewhere. True to the alchemist’s words, the grave he dug was to the left of the Dawn Winery building and in-between two sections of rows of grape halos.

“What was the dream about? You were mumbling incomprehensibly while digging,” Albedo suddenly asked after a contemplative silence fell between the two. Or rather, it was contemplative for Kaeya, who was trying to come up with a believable excuse to tell Diluc concerning the large hole he’d dug.

Kaeya pressed his lips together. He’d thrown the house keys into the fireplace that didn’t burn, hiding it under the thick logs to keep it there. That door wasn’t going to open again under his watch. For that reason, he answered with, “When something is buried, it’s best to leave it underground.” In truth, he didn’t want to talk about the prince, either. He was afraid that it would find its way back inside again if he recognized its existence out loud.

Albedo narrowed his eyes, piercing right through the Cavalry Captain’s carefully crafted mask. Kaeya had always admired the alchemist for his excellent observation skills, but it was somewhat disturbing when he was able to detect and pull apart every single lie and flowery sentence Kaeya strung together. Despite his obvious understanding of a hidden secret, Albedo let the topic drop, much to Kaeya’s relief. He was afraid that Albedo was going to tear down his front door and see his broken mansion.

“I can fix the hole with Geo. Master Diluc didn’t come to the Winery last night nor this morning, and nobody else passed by either,” he stated simply, setting his sketchbook gently on the ground. “Head into the city and wash up. I’ll be there soon.”

Kaeya nodded. With a quick farewell, he started up the hill to walk back to Mondstadt. He left something behind in that grave, a piece of himself that deserved to rest. His loyalty to Khaenri’ah was officially severed, outcast from his estate and mind alike. It couldn’t torture him anymore.

His hands reached up to massage his mouth and cheeks, trying to rub more life into his features after his exhausting night. Bringing his limbs back down, his uncovered eye caught sight of a discoloration that wasn’t there before. He gave his hands his full attention, noticing that the exposed fingers protruding from his fingerless gloves had remnants of black paint on them. Kaeya scratched his lips again, finding that his fingernails pulled off another layer of paint.

[blueiscoool]

Pantone’s Color of the Year for 2024 'Peach Fuzz'

The gentle, pinkish-orange hue was chosen to reflect a collective desire for respite

A soft, pinkish-orange hue called “Peach Fuzz” is Pantone’s pick for the 2024 color of the year, the company announced last week.

Officially called “Pantone 13-1023 Peach Fuzz,” the color is “velvety,” “gentle” and “subtly sensual,” according to the design and color authority.

Pantone is best known for its color-matching system, created in the 1960s, that numbers and organizes hues with a distinct chip format. The company also runs the Pantone Color Institute, which selects the color of the year and conducts color trend forecasting research.

This year’s choice “echoes our innate yearning for closeness and connection,” says Leatrice Eiseman, executive director of the Pantone Color Institute, in a statement.

“We chose a color radiant with warmth and modern elegance,” she adds. “A shade that resonates with compassion, offers a tactile embrace and effortlessly bridges the youthful with the timeless.”

Peach Fuzz is Pantone’s 25th color of the year. The annual announcements began in 1999 to “engage the design community and color enthusiasts around the world in a conversation around color,” per a statement from Laurie Pressman, the Pantone Color Institute’s vice president.

Every year, a team of color experts examines movies, art, fashion, design, travel destinations, technologies and more to figure out which colors are influencing the world in the current moment. They also use forecasting tools, color psychology research and other sources to predict upcoming trends. From all that research, they narrow down the options to just one color that they feel sets the tone for the year ahead.

Peach Fuzz is less bold than last year’s choice, a bright, pink-red shade called “Viva Magenta.” But the world felt different in 2023, when Pantone “celebrated coming out of the malaise of the last year,” as Eiseman tells CNN’s Leah Dolan. Viva Magenta was intended to evoke verve, power and grace as the world emerged from the pandemic and continued to grapple with social unrest, as NPR’s Rachel Treisman wrote last year.

Heading into 2024, however, Peach Fuzz “arrives at a dark time amid a tumultuous war and a tense election year,” as Angelica Villa writes for ARTnews. The more muted hue is meant to reflect the “need for some quiet, some peace, some respite,” Eiseman tells CNN.

Where will Peach Fuzz show up in 2024? Rugs, wallpaper, fabric, makeup, tea and more—which are all examples of products released in conjunction with Pantone’s announcement. The color is already showing up in fashion, with celebrities like Taylor Swift and the Rock wearing Peach Fuzz to various events, notes USA Today’s Emily DeLetter.

“It feels like another rediscovered neutral that’s meant to seep its way into every surface of our lives,” said Jeremy Allen, the art director for the New York Times Styles Desk, in a conversation with colleagues.

By Sarah Kuta.

[bookishphysicsgirl]

So, I've never posted anything I made myself mostly because even after over a year of binding I had never done anything I was actually really happy with, but I recently finished doing What We Pretend We Can't See by GYZM and I am so proud of the results I thought I'd share them.

It's nothing fancy, but I think the fabric I used for the cover really reminds me of old wallpaper and matches the vibe of the book really well. Here are some pictures:

If you know the author and would be willing to tag them or ask them if they would be interested in a copy please do so because I would gladly make one for them.

[last-grand-duchess-of-russia]

Beyond, and modestly subsidiary to the tsarevich's larger apart ments - just as its occupants had been secondary to him in the eyes of the nation - were the bedrooms, classroom, dining and reception rooms of his four older sisters: Olga, Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia Their light and spacious bedrooms were furnished with simple ivory-painted and polished lemonwood furniture and English chintz fabric curtains. A stencilled frieze of pink roses and bronze butter flies above pink coloured wallpaper had been chosen by the younger sisters Maria and Anastasia For Olga and Tatiana, the frieze was of convolvulus flowers and brown dragonflies. On the girls' matching dressing tables there was still a scattering of boxes, jewellery cases, manicure sets, combs and brushes - just as they had left them. Elsewhere, on their writing tables, were piles of their exercise books with multicoloured covers, and in profusion on every surface, framed photographs of family and friends. Yet in the midst of so much typical, girlish ephemera, one could not fail to notice the presence everywhere in the sisters' rooms of icons and popular religious prints and pictures. By their bedsides there were gospels and prayer books, crosses and candles - rather than the usual clutter one might expect to find.

Rappaport, Helen. The Romanov Sisters: The Lost Lives of the Daughters of Nicholas and Alexandra. United States: St. Martin's Publishing Group, 2014.

1st photo of Maria and Anastasia Romanov's bedroom, 2nd photo of Olga and Tatiana's bedroom by Alexander Palace Time Machine