#olive green accent chair

[shipsi]

Open - Traditional Family Room Family room - large traditional open concept medium tone wood floor family room idea with a bar, beige walls, no fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[lonely-cowboy]

chasing rainbows

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: you recently learned that connor has only ever seen the world in one color. gutted at the thought of such a colorless world, you decide to help him see the beauty of the world. only he doesn't care about the world. he only cares about you.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: nothing major, but lowkey a mess bc this is my first longer-ish fic, reader is really embracing her y/n moment, connor is so ooc it's kinda insane but i love him so whatever, they're both really confused about their feelings until they're suddenly not

author's note: i'm replaying dbh as one does bc i was sad and missed connor AND I'M LITERALLY FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE THIS PLAYTHROUGH?? my first playthrough was so nice and sweet and silly so now i'm trying to get other endings BUT I'M NOT STRONG ENOUGH FOR ALL THE EMOTIONAL DAMAGE?? anyway, my solution (as always) was to write happy connor and some grumpy hank yay! yes i did spend the first 1k words talking about literal colors, ignore that

masterlist ⟡ requests

Work was never the place to do work. That was something you learned from Hank after working under him for years.

Sitting at your desk that was situated across from Hank and Connor, you decided to ignore your terminal and the case report it displayed. You’d get to it eventually. Eventually. Besides, you were confident that you would be able to finish it relatively quickly.

Instead, you were tiredly flipping through a book of color swatches. Your gaze flitted across endless pages, darting from color to color as you searched for something eye-catching. In your recent efforts to make your apartment feel more homely, you decided it was time to add an accent wall, you just needed the right color. Obviously, the precinct was the best place to be color searching.

By the time you reached the end of the swatch booklet, you had only found two colors that interested you. At least then it would be easier to make a decision. You eyed the olive and plum swatches like you would a homicide suspect, trying your best to picture them in your apartment. You pursed your lips in thought, staring at the colors for so long that you could’ve sworn you were going cross-eyed.

“Detective?” Connor called, your eyes snapping to meet his. “Are you alright?”

“Actually, no, I’m not,” you answered with an exaggerated sigh, trying to sound as hopeless as possible. “I’m having quite the dilemma.”

“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked.

The sincerity in his voice made your heart melt. He always showed such care for you. Sometimes you wondered if it was just another part of his social programming, but somehow, you knew it wasn’t. Connor genuinely did care about you, even when it was just your inability to pick a paint color. You almost felt bad for teasing him. Almost.

“I just can’t for the life of me decide on a paint color,” you said, glancing up at him with that shit-eating grin he was unfortunate to know so well.

Connor’s pleasant smile collapsed into a disappointed frown once he realized he had succumbed to your teasing.

“Saw that coming from a mile away,” Hank grumbled.

“You can help too, Lieutenant!” you said in an excessively cheerful tone, just to annoy Hank. “It’s not like you’re doing anything important.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you, kid” Hank sighed, turning his chair to face you fully. Work was never the place to do work.

With both Connor and Hank focused on you, you slid the two color swatches across your desk. Hank leaned forward with mild interest, nodding his head to himself as he considered both choices. Connor mimicked Hank, leaning forward and furrowing his brows at the sight of the swatches.

After a long moment of deliberation, Hank finally said, “Green.”

You nodded in approval as Connor looked at Hank with what could only be described as pure confusion. He then turned back to the colors before looking at you with an unsettled expression.

“I don’t understand,” Connor murmured. “These colors are the same.”

You and Hank stared at Connor in bewilderment. Maybe you could understand it if the colors were different shades of the same color and androids just had a poor sense of color differentiation. But these swatches weren’t even remotely close in color. There was nothing similar about them at all.

You and Hank exchanged a look of confusion. Maybe this was Connor’s attempt at a joke. No, he had made jokes before, and they were genuinely funny. Especially the ones that poked fun at Hank.

“Connor,” you started. “What do you mean?”

“They’re the same,” Connor repeated with a shrug, looking between you and Hank like he didn’t understand what he was missing. And he obviously didn’t understand.

“One is olive, one is plum,” you said.

“Green and purple,” Hank offered rather unhelpfully.

Connor only shrugged again, still unable to differentiate the two.

“Does anything look different than normal?” you questioned.

“No,” Connor replied simply.

Was it possible for androids to be colorblind? The idea baffled you. The only way Connor could be colorblind was if he was programmed to be that way. Why would he be programmed to not see color?

“Can you… I don’t know… describe what things look like to you?” you asked unsurely. Was that too abstract of a thought for an android? It was already too abstract for you. “Does everything look the same color?”

Connor considered your question, eyes narrowed as he glanced around the precinct. Hank looked at you like you were crazy for wanting to get to the root of this. Maybe you were.

“I… I suppose it all appears relatively similar,” Connor said with equal uncertainty.

You frowned at that. The world must have seemed so… well, sad to Connor. You hated the thought of his world being limited to a single color. He deserved to see the world for what it really was. He deserved so much… If you could at least give him this one thing, you would be satisfied.

“Do you want to change that?” you proposed.

“I admit, I would be curious,” Connor replied.

Immediately, you jumped up from your desk chair and started putting your coat on. Connor took that as a sign to do the same, rising from his chair to stand beside you.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Hank interjected. “Where do you two think you’re going?”

“To help Connor, obviously,” you replied with a bratty eye roll.

“That has nothing to do with work, kid, sit down,” Hank retorted, preferring that the two of you stayed with him so that he didn’t have to suffer alone.

“This has everything to do with work,” you countered like the typical asshole Hank knew you as. “Don’t you realize all the ways this probably inhibits Connor’s work? I mean, picture a typical crime scene. There are probably so many details he’s missing because he can’t fucking see color!”

“Actually,” Connor remarked. “I speculate that my limited color sensory was included in an effort to keep me focused on my investigations and avoid any distractions–”

“Connor,” you intervened, turning to give him a stern look.

“Yes, Detective?”

“Shut up.”

Immediately, Connor sealed his lips shut and pressed them into a thin line. You adored it when he listened to you.

You turned your attention back to Hank, flashing that brilliant smile that told him you weren’t going to listen to a single fucking thing he said. He sighed grumpily at the sight of it, turning back to his desk with a shake of his head.

In the absence of any other objections, you grabbed Connor’s hand and led him out of the precinct. You wondered if he could see the vibrant blush that coated your cheeks at the intimate contact. You hoped not.

He did.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Are you sure about this?” you questioned hesitantly.

In the middle of your living room, you stood in front of Connor with his new occipital unit in hand. You held it gingerly as if the slightest touch would break it. Although it was a lot easier to purchase biocomponents than you had expected. If it were to break, you would only have to walk three or so blocks to buy a new one.

You looked at Connor worriedly while he stood patiently. You were far, far from any kind of engineer. You had absolutely zero experience when it came to replacing android biocomponents. No matter how many times Connor reassured you, you still stressed at the thought of making a mistake. He promised it was easy, but how could changing biocomponents be anywhere close to easy?

“You can do it, I promise,” Connor murmured encouragingly.

His hand came up to encircle your wrist, tugging your hand forward gently. Your cheeks heated at the contact, making you aware of just how close the two of you were. You glanced away bashfully as you were overwhelmed by butterflies. When you returned your attention to Connor, you watched in awe as the skin around his right eye peeled away, revealing the natural white plastic. Connor’s eyes flicked across your face nervously, worried that you might be disturbed. But to you, it was like seeing a new and vulnerable side to Connor, one that you very much enjoyed.

As you reached for his current occipital unit, you froze with your brows furrowed. Your apartment was far from an interesting sight. There wasn’t much to look at, your apartment still lacking a homely feeling. Damnit, you really needed that accent wall.

“Come on,” you said without explanation.

You moved to leave your apartment after gently placing the two new occipital units into your bag. Slugging it over your shoulder, you waited at the door for Connor to follow. Connor stared after you, the white plastic disappearing.

“Come on,” you repeated, gesturing for him to follow.

Connor followed without a second thought. God, it really was so endearing when he listened.

You led Connor out of your apartment building and across the street to the nearby park. You wandered aimlessly for what felt like hours, trying to find the most scenic view for Connor to enjoy as his first sight.

At last, you settled on a bench situated in front of a little pond. Tall, stooping trees crowded the pond with just enough space between their branches to see the bright sky above. You were glad to be enjoying this moment in the fall when the leaves were the perfect shades of orange.

You stood with your hands on your hips, eyeing the view with a skeptical glint. Connor would be able to see a good range of colors from here. This place would do just fine.

Pulling Connor along, you sat him down on the bench by lightly pressing on his shoulders. Once he was seated with his hands neatly placed along his thighs, you reached for the first occipital unit from your bag.

“Okay,” you said with a determined huff. “Much better view, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see it very well,” Connor replied cheekily.

You couldn’t help but smile at that, rolling your eyes at Connor’s teasing. This only meant he had been spending a concerning amount of time around you and Hank. When you looked back at him, you exhaled slowly, “Ready?”

Connor nodded once, revealing the white plastic of his right eye once again. Before pulling it out, you reached forward and pressed a soft hand overtop Connor’s eyes, silently reminding him to keep his eyes closed until you said otherwise. When you pulled your hand away, you were pleased to find that his eyes remained closed.

Your fingertips then pressed against the plastic of Connor’s occipital unit. It popped out easily, allowing you to pull it out slowly and with ease, just as Connor had promised. It was jarring to see him without an eye. Or rather without a whole chunk of his face. You worried you might still mess up, leaving him without half of his face.

But when you pressed the new occipital unit forward, you found that it was just as easy as pulling the old one out. It took a moment to adjust, but the new part quickly shifted to match Connor’s appearance, his freckled skin melting over it and the doe-like shape of his eyes returning. That made you sigh with relief. You just hoped they were still the same beautiful brown you found yourself constantly lost in.

You then did the same with his other eye, quietly applauding yourself for not making a single mistake.

With his occipital units in place, you rounded the bench to stand behind Connor whose eyes remained closed obediently. Standing behind him, you placed your hands over his eyes once again, a giddy smile adorning your lips.

“You ready?” you asked, unable to contain your excitement.

“I think so,” Connor said hesitantly.

“Yeah, you’re ready,” you decided.

Slowly, you pulled your hands away, studying Connor with a sweet smile. You expected him to enjoy the view in silence, looking at every single thing he possibly could. But you were surprised to find that he barely even regarded the view. Instead, he immediately turned to look at you from over his shoulder.

With a tentative hand, he reached out for your hand that rested on the bench’s back. He pulled you gently around the bench so that you stood in front of him. His hand still held your limp hand as he stood to face you. He looked down at you with a small but warm smile, eyes exploring every inch of your face.

The unexpected attention had your heart racing, a nervous heat spreading throughout your body. You clenched your jaw tightly, a jumble of confusing and unwanted emotions consuming your entirety. Not wanting to say anything stupid to ruin… whatever this moment was, you clamped your mouth shut. Your eyes couldn’t help but wander, exploring Connor’s features the same way he did yours.

Connor’s warm touch left your hand, making you frown ever so slightly. But you were immediately comforted as he placed both hands on your cheeks. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles along your cheekbones like they had a mind of their own, relaxing your clenched jaw. His eyes locked with yours, never once blinking in fear that he would miss something if he did.

You practically forgot how to speak. You forgot how to do everything. It was a hassle to recall how you were even supposed to breathe. The only thing you could do was stare at Connor with a dreamy glimmer in your eyes.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” Connor mumbled.

You swallowed timidly before speaking, “Thank you.”

“You’re…” Connor began before his LED circled red.

Your gaze flickered to his LED, watching intently as it continued to flash red. That was a poor move on your part. Having broken the intense eye contact, Connor glanced away from you, looking straight ahead and dropping his hands from your cheeks like he suddenly awoke from a trance. Focused on the horizon, Connor’s LED spiraled yellow several times before returning to its typical blue.

His sudden change in attitude only added to your confusion of emotions. You took a pained step back, eyes falling to the ground.

“I didn’t expect the leaves to be this color,” Connor commented casually.

You cleared your throat and turned your back to Connor to focus on the leaves. You didn’t want him to see your embarrassed flush, though you were sure he already did.

“They’re not always this color,” you muttered. “Only in the fall. In the warmer months, they’re green.”

You caught a glimpse of Connor tilting his head, his nose scrunched with intrigue. He tried to visualize what that would look like, but having only seen one color since his creation, he didn’t seem to understand.

“Green like… like the grass,” you clarified, pointing to an open patch of grass.

“I’d like to see that. Perhaps you can bring me back here in the spring,” Connor hummed. When you didn’t say anything, he continued. “Are there other colors to see?”

“So many more,” you answered, flashing Connor a small (and slightly awkward) smile.

Connor trailed along beside you as you strolled through the park. Still too embarrassed to look at him, you also took the opportunity to admire the beauty of the park’s striking colors. You were ignorant to the way Connor watched you contently out of the corner of his eye. Of all the wonderfully colorful sights, you were by far his favorite. You were the only thing he could look at.

“Which one is your favorite?” Connor asked as you slowed your walk, having walked the entirety of the park. “Color, I mean.”

You stopped to consider his question, looking around at the abundance of colors. They were all so beautiful in their own ways that it was difficult to choose. But then your eyes landed on Connor, and it seemed so clear.

“Blue,” you replied definitively.

You felt foolish for your choice, but you couldn’t help that there was some truth to it. Blue had always been a pleasant color, but after knowing Connor, it took on a different meaning. When Connor’s LED was blue, it indicated he was happy. Or at least satisfied. You liked to see him when he was happy. It eased your mind knowing he was content. Because of him, it was now a color you associated with joy.

Though you didn’t say anything, you looked away flustered, wondering if Connor could somehow read your mind. You wouldn’t be at all surprised if he could.

“Do you have a favorite?” you inquired quickly.

Connor pursed his lips, mimicking you as he looked around the park. His head then snapped down to look at you, eyes immediately finding yours. He cocked his head curiously the way he always did. The way that made you so weak you could barely stand.

“What color are your eyes?” Connor wondered.

Your eyes widened, eyebrows arched as if you had misheard him. But you knew you hadn’t.

The way he spoke so nonchalantly drove you insane. How could he be so casual about something like this? Did he know what he was doing to you? Was he doing it on purpose? What did any of this mean? Was there any chance at all that he could care for you the same way you did him?

“Uh…,” you mumbled, stuttering out your eye color.

Connor nodded thoughtfully at your answer, his charming eyes still latched onto yours.

“Then that’s what I would say,” said Connor. “Your eyes are my favorite.”

“Oh,” you said dumbly, clueless as to how on earth you were supposed to respond to that.

The corners of Connor’s lips quirked into an affectionate smile. He arched his brows at you like he expected something more than just oh.

Your mind was racing for anything to say. Were you just supposed to ignore Connor’s loving words that felt far too much like a subtle confession? Were you supposed to confront it head-on? Neither of those options sounded good.

“Thanks,” you whispered. “I like them too.”

As you cursed yourself endlessly for saying the stupidest fucking thing to come to mind, Connor’s grin widened. A quiet laugh escaped his lips, one that you didn’t hear through the blaring alarms screaming “why are you such an idiot?” in your head.

“That was stupid,” you groaned, deciding it was better to admit it than ignore it. “But… thank you. You… you have pretty eyes too.”

“Thank you, Detective,” Connor said cheerfully.

You moved to continue walking with Connor close at your side. Maybe you were crazy (there was always a good chance of that), but you could’ve sworn he was standing considerably closer than before. Your arm swung at your side, his arm brushing against yours in the slightest. It didn’t matter how insignificant that touch was, it meant something to you. Maybe it meant something to Connor too.

You had been walking in complete silence until Connor spoke, his words making you trip and fumble and scream and cry and scream and die a little.

“You’re pretty to look at. All of you, not just your eyes,” he said, shooting you an adorably attractive wink for emphasis.

You stopped dead in your tracks, Connor trailing ahead until he noticed you were no longer beside him. You stared at him with a far too serious expression, one that made him doubt his words. How could he be so casual about something so serious? Did he actually feel this way, or was it all a heartless prank?

“Your words are really fucking with me, Connor, you know that?” you said.

“I know,” Connor nodded with a cocky edge. God, he really was spending way too much time with you and Hank to be this snarky.. “Your heart has been racing the entire time we’ve been together.”

“So you’re purposefully torturing me?”

“I wouldn’t consider this torture. But, yes. I suppose I’ve been… holding this over you.”

“Well, stop that!”

Connor flashed you a cheeky grin as he approached you again. His hands moved to cup your reddened cheeks, warming them with his soft touch.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t do this to you,” Connor said fondly. “Not when you’ve shown me how beautiful the world is… How beautiful you are.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, trying to hide the smile that crept along your lips.

“You’ve told me before that I’m terrible at shutting up, I don’t see why I should start now.”

You and Connor wore matching smirks as you tried to best the other, subconsciously moving closer to each other.

“Oh, so you don’t want to shut up and kiss me?” you parried.

“When did those words ever leave my mouth?”

“When did you get so cocky?”

“When I realized I could have you.”

You had nothing to say after that. No witty remark or snide comment. All you could offer was a gentle smile.

Connor leaned forward, his nose brushing against yours. He was so close that you could feel his breath– so real for an android– against your lips.

“Pretty smile too,” he murmured, his lips grazing yours.

“It’d look even prettier if you actually kissed me,” you whispered.

Connor knew he couldn’t win this battle of wits. He honorably accepted his loss, knowing it was the only way to kiss you. You beamed into his kiss, proud of yourself for being so stubborn. That was quickly lost on you when you felt the softness of Connor’s lips. You indulged in his touch, leaning forward against his chest to feel as much of him as possible.

Connor pulled away sooner than you would have liked, resting his forehead against yours. A breath of a laugh escaped his lips when he saw that desperate glint in your eyes. He pulled back to look you in the eye after pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. His thumb brushed under your eye, lost in the color he loved so dearly.

“You’ll always be my favorite sight.”

[leth-writes]

Companion, part 2

yandere house of the dragon x reader

Summary: your first day in court.

Warnings: typical for my blog

As you walked toward the hall where you would attend court, you tried to surrepticiously ask Cassandra as many questions as possible. It was hard, trying to get her to voice her opinions; she was so nervous to so much as speak the Queen’s name, let alone truly express any opinions that reflected negatively on the nobles. However, you did manage to learn the basics; there was a current, ongoing war between two factions for the iron throne. It seemed that at the moment, the Greens held control, represented by Queen Alicent and her heir, Aegon, as well as her son Aemond and daughter Helaena. The blacks in contrast included Rhaenyra, the King’s old heir, Daemon, the king’s brother, and their children, Jace and Luke. Even without so much as seeing the noble family, you could feel the tension building in the castle. It seemed to ooze from the walls, permeating the air and creating a palpable sense of fear and anxiety. Every servant you passed seemed more anxious than the last, some even crying; you could imagine the constant fighting would effect them harder, since they were especially vulnerable.

As you walked, you started to piece together a backstory for yourself. You were the child of a lord, quite a low-down one, who already had an heir in the form of an older brother known for aggression and a lack of interest in the good of the people he claimed to represent. It seemed that you’d complained many times to Cassandra in the past; so you were inhabiting someone else’s body, it seemed, though the person you used to be did not sound to be the nicest. At least she treated Cassandra with respect, you thought.

Your mother seemed to ignore your entire existence, and none of your family had so much as written a letter to you in the many years you’d been by Helaena’s side. You could only hope they wouldn’t suddenly decide to come visit; they’d certainly immediately catch on to your new personality, and you couldn’t risk being suspicious.

Finally, you reached the oak doors that separated you from Helaena’s circle. Cassandra opened the doors and entered in, you following slowly after her, and she announced your presence. The room was imperious, dark and lacking warmth. Both the floors and walls were stone, intricate carvings of dragons lining the walls, with very few windows letting in the midmorning grey light. Candles lined the tables and walls, bathing the room in the flickering warm glow of their fire, though even that seemed to be smothered by the oppressive atmosphere in the room. 4 women sat in chairs in a loose circle, each seemingly working on a sewing project or needlepoint. This, it seemed, was Helaena’s court.

Cassandra nudged you, then went to join the other servants lining the walls. it seemed you had at least one ally. Finally, you reached the small empty stool, joining the group.

“How nice of you to join us, finally,” one woman said. She was tall, willowy even, with dark black hair pooling around her shoulders, pale skin standing in stark contrast to the green she wore. Her dress was opulent, dripping in gold accents, and her arms were coated in liberal amounts of jewelry. She was working on a needlepoint project, clearly the most advanced of the group. She had deep, cruel brown eyes and a nasty smirk, her little button nose accented by a slight smattering of freckles. 2 of the other women tittered. The third, a slight woman with long white hair, barely glanced up, seeming irritated at the interruption. She had small eyes, catlike and graceful, and a roman nose, her small mouth turned down into a small frown. She was beautiful, though unique, a classic beauty. Her dress was a dull olive, covered with a second layer of sheer black swirling dragon designs.

“Dyana,” she chided. The woman in the green dress, Dyana, looked down, seemingly chastised. “Yes, lady Helaena,” she replied. So the woman in the dragon dress was the noble you were to be attending. You nodded gratefully at her, and she nodded back. You picked up a plain needlepoint canvas, ready to begin. Luckily, you’d always enjoyed sewing, so you didn’t struggle too much.

As you worked in silence, you tuned in to Dyana’s conversation with the other two women. The first was short and chubby, with a circle face and beautiful doe eyes. Her skin was a deep brown, complementing her hair, which was pulled back, well. She wore a deep red dress, accentuating her figure perfectly. She seemed to be the nicer out of the two remaining women. From the conversation, you gathered her name was Clarysse. The second was the tallest, though not as thin as Dyana. She had beady green eyes, seeming to bore into the side of your head with anger, despite you not so much as commenting on their discussion of the latest gossip among the lords. her other features were average, and she wore a deep blue dress, simpler than the other women but still fancier than yours, with light silver accents and swirling wave patterns. Her name was Catlina.

“I have heard that Lord Cannion’s daughter is to be married this fall,” Dyana began, smirking. The other girls, excepting Helaena, gasped.

“So soon after her last engagement was broken?” Catlina gasped, chuckling quietly. You weren’t sure how this was such big news, but then again you still didn’t really understand the court gossip being spread. Helaena seemed largely uninterested as well.

“Ah, but the engagement only broke because her fiance was unfaithful, no?” Clarysse responded, looking down sheepishly. She seemed the quieter out of the three, largely unwilling to engage in the cruel gosip both Dyana and Catlina were engaging in.

“Yes, but it’s no wonder… She was to be a terrible bride and an even worse mother,” Catlina chortled, hiding her mouth behind her thin hand.

“She has such a short temper, it’s no wonder…” Dyana added on, smiling.

“Did you hear that Lady and Lord Voss have given birth to a child?” Clarysse changed the subject, looking uncomfortable. You felt bad for her, understanding her discomfort with the chatter.

“Ah yes, the lady Voss has named her daughter Breyna… One wonders if perhaps Lord Brey played a role in the matter?”

Wow, they were unable to so much as be happy for the woman, despite her just having a daughter! You could see that Clarysse seemed to share your feelings.

“Clarysse, how have you been?” You asked.

Dyana’s head shot up and her face morphed into a harsh scowl. “Are you not forgetting something, girl?” You felt the room chill.

“Lady Dyana, please, it is no bother!” Clarysse begged, holding her hands up placantingly.

“Lady Clarysse, you are too kind, but they must address you with the proper title… They have been attending court for years,” Catlina replied, a sharp smirk on her face. Helaena was watching the entirety of the interaction, seeming more interested in the conversation. Her eyes flicked to yours, and you could sense the kindness in them.

“I apologize, Lady Clarysse, I am overtired and did not mean to insult you,” you said, bowing your head slightly. You didn’t really understand what you had done wrong, but you were smart enough to know that it would be a bad idea to get on their bad side.

Clarysse acknowledged your apology, though Dyana looked to Helaena. “Lady Helaena, do you accept the apology?” she asked, tone clear she was expecting you to be kicked out.

“Yes, it was an honest mistake. The rats have yet to bite,” she replied, gazing off into the distance. You couldn’t help but be confused by the comment, but judging by the expressions on the other girls’ faces, you weren’t alone.

Shaking off the confusion, Clarysse answered your question, updating you on her family; it seemed her brother had just completed training to enter the next jousting tournament, and she was excited to see him compete.

As the conversation continued, you caught Helaena glancing at you more often. She had a pensive look on her face, seeming quite contemplative.

Finally, it seemed as though visiting hour was coming to a wrap, the other girls slowly packing up their projects and filtering out. As you finished your piece and put it down, the last to leave, Helaena called out to you. Confused, you turned to face her.

“My lady?” You asked.

“I apologize for Dyana and Catlina’s actions today, they were quite harsh. It is hard, to be a dreamer among those whose eyes are closed…” She continued, ignoring your question.

You couldn’t quite get a read on Helaena. Her words were usually quite confusing, almost as if she was talking to someone else rather than you. You weren’t sure how to interpret the things she said.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but I don’t quite understand…” You responded.

“It’s alright, most do not. I am glad to see you here, though I sense you are different than the last time I saw you. I do not expect you to understand yet, though I hope we can grow close and begin to connect. Would you like to take a walk with me?”

Well, if the future Queen was asking, you couldn’t say no. You turned to Cassandra, who was already out the door, ready to inform Lady Worner.

The two of you went to walk through the gardens.

The gardens were beautiful, teeming with life, though lacking in color; it seemed not even the garden could escape the suffocating tension.

“You are not yet betrothed, correct?” Helaena asked gently, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

“No, my lady, I’m not. Though, I believe my father is working to arrange one.”

She hummed, looking concentrated. You wondered what was going through her head.

“Well, I believe your luck shall soon turn. I see the fire blazing.” She continued, almost as though she was talking to herself rather than you.

“My lady?” you questioned, hoping she would elaborate. She did not.

The two of you continued on in silence.

“Helaena?” Aegon asked, shocked to see his wife up and about so late at night. She was sitting by the lone window in her room, gazing out at the moon. “The little bird’s chirps are so quiet under the roar of the fire,” she answered.

“What do you mean?”

“I believe I have found Aemond a wife,” she responded.

“Who?” He asked, moving closer toward his wife. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of kindness.

“The little bird in my court, there is something different about her,” Helaena said, turning to look up at where Aegon stood behind her.

“Ah. Of course. Well, we shall introduce her to mother, and see what her verdict is. Then, it will be up to Aemond.”

“We shall need to persuade mother. I see this being a bond to strengthen our family greatly.” With that, the conversation was done.

[chocolatechipkiki]

Do You Wish to be in Control?

Soft!Loki x Fem!Reader

Smut

Warnings: Smut; Fluff; Established Relationship; Reader is not quite a little, but an established dominance from Loki has been accepted, and being questioned; male receiving head; PinV sex; slight cockwarming; choking; soft degradation. (Let me know if I miss any!)

Summary: After a long day of exploring the place in which Loki calls home, Asgard, the sun begins to set and you two find your way inside his personal chambers, seeking warmth from the cold night. Things go from an adorable moment to something a little more... sinful.

*****

The sun begins to set over the vast ocean, leaving the edges of the sky a beautiful shade of purple. Before you two know it, the stars begin to appear, and Loki wraps his arm around you, smiling at the sight. 

"You know, all these stars are connected to the gods, do you not?" he asks, glancing down into your eyes. You continue to stare at the stars, and smile at the shapes your mind finds hidden in them. "That is our family up there. The gods look out for us all, and they are connected to everything that surrounds us. It is both beautiful and quite scary to think about, but," he pauses, his eyes twinkling in the starlight. "The gods are never too far away," he finishes.

You reach your hand up to meet his on your shoulder and intertwine your fingers, giving his a squeeze. It was always beautiful to you to hear Loki open up about Asgardian culture, as you had missed out on so much of it being raised on Midgard. A saddened look crosses your face as you wonder how different things would have been had you been raised here, like you were supposed to be. But alas, the world had different plans for you.

You shiver at the nighttime cold tickling your skin, and Loki chuckles softly. "Shall we head back to the palace, my love?" he asks, turning to face you and placing a hand on your reddened cheek. You nod and give him a smile. He knew you hated the cold, which was something that took the two of you a lot of time to get used to, with him being a frost giant and all.

He gives your nose a quick peck before taking your hand in his and leading you back to the palace. The walk is full of more stories of his ancestors and what they accomplished. He continues to open up about the great deal of expectation that resides over the royal family, and how if he ever had a child, he wouldn't ever expect more than the basics from them. You only nod knowingly, as Loki has a great deal of trauma that resides in his cold heart. 

His cold heart that you were beginning to thaw with your warmth.

Once inside and within the walls of his personal chambers, Loki starts a fire in the grand fireplace that accented his olive green wall. He then drags two of his comfiest chairs over, side by side, so the two of you can warm up. He beckons you over, your name like honey on his lips. The sound leaves you aching for him to speak your name once more as you take your coat off and sit in the chair beside him. 

The two of you sit in silence for a while, merely enjoying the warmth and each other's presence. Once Loki feels your are adequately warmed, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a velvet box. He gives a sheepish look, as if already regretting his decision. He falters for a second before finally handing you the box.

"I bought you something while we were out today, one of the times you were distracted with the wonders of the city." You smile at him and shake your head.

"Loki, honey, you know you don't have to give me anything," you say, opening the box and giving a small gasp. It's a necklace, made of gold and donning the tree of life. Green emeralds intricately speckle the branches, acting as leaves. The tree resides in a circle of gold, and there are small words engraved in it. May the sun shine on you every day. It's absolutely astonishing.

Loki chuckles and stands to help place it around your neck. He lifts your hair out of the way gently, and fastens the clasp. "I know I don't have to give you gifts and treasures, but you deserve them." He lowers his voice to a whisper as his face nears the back of your neck. "You deserve the world," he whispers, planting gentle kisses to your skin. A shiver runs down your spine at his touch, igniting your core with need.

Loki makes his way back to his chair and you sit in your frustration for a moment. You want him, and now. He knew how kissing your neck made you feel, and he now sat with an extremely satisfied look on his face at the small (but rather mighty) reaction he garnered from you.

With a swift surge in confidence to wipe that smug look off of his face, you climb into his lap, straddling his waist. He tries to act the part of a noble and powerful god, yet he always fails when it comes to you. His eyes meet your smiling gaze and he reaches up to stroke your hair. "I am always yours," he whispers, leaning in to plant more kisses upon your neck.

You giggle quietly and your hands find his hair. "I know you are," you whisper back, before tugging his hair gently to reveal his neck. You lean down to get back at him by nibbling on his exposed skin. 

Loki gasps at your teeth on his sweet spot, but he quickly pulls you close again, the surprise making him all the more affectionate. "My dearest love," he whispers. "You certainly never cease to surprise me."

His length twitches beneath you, and you eye the god with a knowing smile. "Are you having a problem down there?" you tease.

Loki looks away for a moment as he tries to hide his slight embarrassment. "Well, you did catch me off guard," he says, attempting to adjust under the guise that you were uncomfortable. "I certainly did not expect that."

You grind down on his lap playfully and continue to grin at him. "Do you require a bit of... release?" you say, lust seeping into your voice. The raven haired man's cheeks grow warm and he bites his lip, attempting to not stare at your luscious bosoms inches from his face. His voice trembles as he speaks, trying to keep his desire for you under control. Something about your confidence towards the man that struck fear into the minds of strangers always managed to affect him.

"Yes, my love," he whispers, his eyes closing at the friction you were inflicting upon him. His hands find your waist as you plant more kisses upon his neck and collarbone.

"How badly do you want me, Loki?" you whisper against his ear. He shudders at the tickle of your breath, and grinds up into you in response, gripping you a little tighter.

"Oh, words could simply not describe my hunger for your love," he says, groaning into your neck. You hands find their way to the buttons on his shirt, and you begin to undress him. He draws in a slow breath watching you, his impatience growing. You take your time and smile at his impatience. He speaks again, but his voice is low and graveled. "Your every touch feels like lightning, my love." He leans his head back again, his body aching to have you screaming his name. 

The fire continues to crackle beside the two of you as you finally slide the shirt from his shoulders and plant more kisses to his now bare chest. Loki bites his lip before speaking again. "You are making me... dizzy, little one," he whispers through his teeth. He chances a look down into your eyes, and his head only spins more with desire.

You smile to yourself, proud that you can bring such a powerful god to nothing more than a muttering mess before you. Your hands find his belt buckle, and you undo his pants with ease. Loki tries to focus on your eyes, but he fails as his mind is foggy with lust. His heart pounds against his chest as you unsheathe his length. It twitches, the head red and swollen with need. You only look up at him with a mischievous glint to your eyes. 

"How badly do you want me?"

Loki nearly melts at the sight of you before his angry cock, innocent eyes looking up at him with nothing more than a want to be desired. He throws his head back again, trying to catch his breath and slow his mind. It was rare for the god to be at a loss for words, but his love for you is more than enough to render him speechless.

When he makes eye contact again, there is something much more sinister behind his irises. "Oh, words can not do justice to how badly I need you, princess. I simply, deeply, desire you." He raises his hand to caress your cheek as you plant a soft kiss upon the tip of his length. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and closes his eyes as you whisper against his tip.

"How badly?"

"You're tormenting me," he responds, twitching once more.

"Say it."

Loki inhales a sharp breath. Your smile turns devious at his physical reactions to your teasing. "I... I cannot think straight in these moments. Your sight, your smell, your desire - they all cloud my mind and my whole body aches for your touch," he says, now gripping the side of his chair. You can tell that if you don't give him what he wants soon, he will take it, and aggressively. You ponder that thought for a moment before responding.

"Beg for me," you whisper, still looking up at him with innocent eyes. The sound that escapes Loki is unhuman, and his hips twitch forward at your request. The hand that gripped the chair is now reaching for your hair, and he wraps up a fistful of it between his fingers in a desperate attempt to calm down. 

"You wish for me, the God of Mischief, to beg at your feet?" he asks, half teasing at your words, and half warning at your actions.

You shrug. "I mean, if you're too proud to beg..." you say, making like you'll move away if he doesn't. He gently yanks your hair in desperation, now looking at you with a mix of shock and desire in his eyes.

"My love, I would do anything for you in this moment... You... Your every touch, your every breath... I yearn for you. All of you," he whispers. "You need only ask and it shall be done. You shall have anything you desire."

You grin once more. "Then beg."

Loki is more than flustered by your request, and his voice trembles as he speaks. "My love, please," he whimpers. "I need you, and I need you now. Give yourself to me, and I promise you won't regret it."

Your heart swells at his response, and you take Loki's length in your hand, guiding it into your mouth slowly. Loki growls with pleasure above you, now gripping your hair with both hands. Your tongue slowly wriggles around his cock as your eyes flutter shut. He guides your head up and down, steadily and gently, his groans forming deep within his chest.

"By the norns," he whispers. No matter how many times you sought to pleasure him this way, he would never tire of the feeling. "You always... manage.. to take my breath away..." he stutters, struggling to keep his breathing in check. You moan onto his cock in agreement and the vibrations rip a new sound from Loki's mouth as his pace begins to quicken.

He becomes so enthralled by your technique that he begins to quiver - an ode to his release coming on quickly. His breath picks up, and you hear his whisper to the ceiling, "Stars, you are incredible."

His length begins to twitch inside your mouth, and instead of giving him what he wants, you release him with a little pop, sitting up.

Loki's expression tells you that he's not too happy about that, until it is replaced with surprise once you strip your bottom half and climb atop his lap once more. You line up the tip of his length with your dripping core. "Do you wish to take me as your own, Loki?" you whisper, rubbing his tip on your swollen clit. 

His eyes widen as your words register with him. Without another word, he grabs your hips and slams his entire length into you, unable to wait any longer. You gasp at the sudden change of dominance and his shear size, whilst he throws his head back in pure pleasure. You hold yourself steady as the god catches his breath. Once you grow used to his length, you raise yourself high enough that his tip rests just inside your sex. 

"My my," you say. "You are quite impatient, aren't you?" Loki scoffs, gripping your hips and contemplating doing it again. Before he can, you slide back down his length slowly, and repeat this process, creating a slow rhythm that causes your face to contort in pleasure. 

Loki's mind swims with thoughts, unable to form words to explain how he felt in this moment of... ecstasy. His mind was racing, and all logic dissipated, leaving him with an overwhelming and almost primal desire to make you scream his name. He adjusts his seated position slightly, wanting to go deeper, deeper, until you took all of what he had to offer. You moan in time with him and another thought crosses your mind.

You place your hand upon his throat, looking into his widening blue eyes. "Do you wish to be in control, Loki? Or are you enjoying my fight for dominance...?"

"I wish to be... in control... yet this... this moment..." his pace begins to quicken and he closes his eyes, focusing on all his nerve endings being stimulated. "I love it. I love how you push me beyond my limits." His voice is filled with pure desire, and he opens his eyes once more to look into yours. "You shall have your way with me."

You grin, his words sparking a new sense of dominance through your blood. Your hand begins to restrict his airway slowly and gently, watching his eyes roll to the back of his head in pleasure. Your struggle to keep your own eyes open as you watch the sight, the pleasure from the friction building in your core. "You wish to be controlled, my love?" you ask, your grinding becoming more desperate.

Loki's hands begin to roam your body in distress, searching for something to grip, something to bring him back to reality, and he begins to caress your breasts. "Y-Yes, sweetling," he stutters, his mind faltering on the pure ecstasy of it all.

You find the pleasure almost overwhelming as you remove your hands from Loki's throat to his shoulders, pressing your mouth to his in a passionate kiss, all the while continuing to rock your hips back and forth. Your teeth find Loki's bottom lip and bite down harshly, wanting to hear Loki whimper for you. He then groans at the gesture, pulling away for a gasp of air and gripping your thighs. His head falls back as the sharp pain brings more pleasure to his body. 

You take advantage of this moment, moving to his neck and biting down hard, enough to draw blood. He gasps once more at the inflicted pain, panting heavily as his back arches his body further into yours. Your thrusts become more and more aggressive, hoping to bring Loki to his climax at the same time as yours. You straighten your back, grabbing Loki's hands and placing them upon your breasts as you bounce up and down on his cock. "D-Do you like the way this feels, baby? Do you wish to find release inside me?" you ask, staring into his eyes with such deviance, Loki might just cum from the look alone. He manages a nod, too busy grunting and moaning at the lasciviousness of the entire situation to attempt any semblance of words.

Your ecstasy begins to take over, forcing your hands to have a mind of their own. They meet Loki's chest, digging into him with such vigor that you draw blood. This only furthers the man's feeling of euphoria as he reaches his climax in time with you.

Your thrusts become sloppy as Loki grips your hips once more, pounding up into you with haste as he brings you to your climax. Your cunt contracts and throbs on Loki's cock, bringing him to climax shortly after and filling you up with his seed. The two of you ride out your high together, panting each other's names and whispering sweet words of encouragement. The two of you lull for a long while, trying to catch your breath and regain some level of consciousness.

Loki looks up at you with such love and satisfaction that your aftershock almost becomes another climax. He smiles, still somewhat panting from the experience. "That... is certainly how we have to do that more often," he muses, praising you for your good work. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the situation, now that the feeling of dominance has passed. He chuckles at how quick your attitude changes, and cups your cheeks in his hands.

"Leave it to the love of my life to pull out a side of me I'd never experienced before," he says, chuckling as he replays the events in his mind. He kisses you gently, for he knows if he did so more aggressively, you would be more than happy to go for round two. Your eyes seem almost glossed over as you begin to fall back into your submission for the aftermath.

Loki rubs circles into your back as you begin to lull from the pleasure. He lifts you up, his length never leaving you, and carries you to the bath. He would be more than happy to take care of his baby after a session like that.

[ontoheartache]

all your edges

ao3

notes: this is 3k of ryliver rpf pwp. love and light<3

also: i know the chairs were directors chairs and their feet were on boxes etc etc. for the purposes of this fic pls ignore that

They’ve been stuck in this room for hours now, doing interview after interview. The questions have started blurring together, to the point where Ryan isn’t sure if Oliver’s been asked about his accent once or five times, but he knows it was at least once too many. There’s a space between their chairs that feels like miles separating them, but is realistically only a few inches. It’s not far enough for Ryan to miss the downturn of Oliver’s mouth, or the tension lining his shoulders. Not even the goose memes that Ryan’s been texting him have helped.

Once upon a time, Ryan’s first instinct would’ve been to shove at his shoulder, to crack a joke so ridiculous that Oliver had no choice but to laugh, but things are different now. Ryan is self aware enough to know he’s always had stars in his eyes when it comes to Oliver, but that hasn’t always been reciprocated. Oliver has always smiled easily, has always been quick to laugh when Ryan is the slightest bit silly, but there was a disconnect there. For good reason, sure, but it had used to sting all the same.

Now, though? Oliver grins a little wider when he meets Ryan’s eyes. When he laughs, he throws his head back and lets it wash over him, as if Ryan inspires that kind of joy easily and is equally worthy of witnessing it. Being the focus of Oliver’s endless light steals the breath from his lungs sometimes, makes him dizzy with it. He doesn’t know if he could live without it, if he could survive losing it now that he’s been allowed to have it.

If he’s honest, Ryan doesn’t know how they ended up here. It feels like one day they were Ryan and Oliver, then the next they were something else entirely. Maybe he should be more concerned about that, but he’s been happy lately. Blindingly happy, happier than he thinks he’s been in years. He could pretend that has nothing to do with them – with Oliver and his face splitting smile – but he’s lied through his teeth for years. He pretended he was fine, pretended he was happy, pretended he could breathe while someone else sucked up all the air in every room of his life. He doesn’t want to do that now, doesn’t want to do that ever again. He’ll scream from the rooftops before he ever holds his breath again.

Ryan doesn’t know how they ended up here – tangled up in each other in a way that will end up drowning them both if they’re not careful – but maybe he’s okay with that. He finds that he’s okay with a lot of things when Oliver is smiling at him.

He’s not okay with the frown on his face, or the dim light of his eyes. They’ve been trapped in front of this camera for most of the day and he can see the way it’s eating away at Oliver, how he’s slouched in his chair a little further with every repeated question. And, well, Ryan just can’t accept that. Not when he can fix it.

The cameras click off and the handful of people in the room with them filter out. Break time has dawned, finally, but he and Oliver have nowhere to go. They’d come to the set together and had no plans until after, when they’d ride back to Oliver’s together. The makeshift set has been stocked with snacks and blankets, a leather couch on the opposite side of the room from where the interview space has been set up. Oliver had napped there earlier, curled up under a light green blanket. Ryan didn’t take pictures, but it was a near thing.

When they’re alone, the door clicking shut behind the last crew member stuck in interview limbo with them, Ryan slides his chair as close to Oliver’s as possible. He slots himself along Oliver’s side as best he can, until they’re pressed together at the shoulders. It’s second nature for Oliver’s hand to drop to Ryan’s thigh, for his fingers to press in. The tension in Oliver’s shoulders bleeds out the longer they sit there, Ryan can feel it happening in slow motion from the line of heat between their bodies. The satisfaction of that makes him dizzy.

He leans a little to the side, then bumps back against Oliver’s shoulder. It rouses a smile out of him, a slight tug at the edges of his mouth. His thumb digs a little more firmly into Ryan’s thigh in response, and it sets his veins alight.

“You good?” Ryan asks, soft and quiet.

“Mmhm,” Oliver hums. “Tired.”

He moves then, separating their bodies as he pushes his chair to the side. He adjusts until he’s facing Ryan, then a tired grin spreads across his face as he settles back. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, something wicked in his expression. Something inside of Ryan gives under the weight of it.

“C’mere,” he says. He pats his thighs.

And, god. His feet are firmly planted on the floor, long legs parted near obscenely. His curls are messy, a shade darker now that the lights have been dimmed. The jacket he’s wearing shouldn’t look so good stretched across his shoulders, but there’s something about the white shirt underneath it. It makes Ryan’s blood heat up, draws his eyes to Oliver’s throat. His jaw aches just looking at him.

He’s helpless but to obey.

Ryan’s stomach swoops when he stands, cheeks deepening in color as he all but scrambles towards Oliver. He’ll refuse to admit it later, when Oliver teases him in the car on the way to his house, but he nearly stumbles over his feet. He hasn’t felt this giddy, this full of livewire and accelerant, since he was much younger than he is now. He wonders idly if it’s ever been like this before, if he’s ever felt this kind of addicted to anyone else. He pushes the thought away, writing it off before it can go roots.

Instead, he allows his mind to go blissfully blank as he settles himself on Oliver’s lap. He rests his knees on either side of Oliver’s legs and straddles him, adjusting until he’s comfortable and as balanced as the chair will allow while supporting two grown men. Hands settle on his waist as he rests his own on Oliver’s shoulders.

“Hi,” he says, drumming his fingers against the fabric of his jacket. He has to look down, just a little, to meet Oliver’s blue eyes. There’s a certain thrill in that, when he’s so used to glancing slightly upwards.

“Hi, idiot,” Oliver says, grinning.

Ryan scowls. “I’m in your lap, stupid. Be nice.”

“And I’ve had your dick in my mouth. Calm down.”

At that, Ryan surges forward. When his lips meets the side of Oliver’s neck, he sucks the skin into his mouth. Bites down on his pulse point. He can feel Oliver’s groan in his teeth at the same time that the fingers on his hips dig in sharp.

“You dick,” Oliver says, choking on a gasp.

Ryan hums, sucking a bruise into his throat. He pulls back just enough to move up a little, towards his jawline. He nips at the skin, grazes his way up towards the hinge of his jaw. He’s just started working on another bruise, right below his ear, when he’s suddenly jostled by Oliver bringing a hand up to cup the back of his neck, guiding him until their eyes meet.

“Baby,” Oliver says, slow and deliberate. Ryan’s vision goes fuzzy around the edges near immediately, his limbs melting as Oliver twists his fingers in his hair and tugs. “Behave.”

Oliver’s pupils are blown wide, hot breath fanning across Ryan’s pinked cheeks. The bruise Ryan had been working on is purpling, teeth marks around the edges. The collar of his jacket brushes it with every breath. Ryan wants, suddenly and all encompassingly, to rip the jacket off of him. He wants to rid himself of his own shirt, to pull off the white fabric that’s setting his nerves alight. He wants, more than anything, to grab Oliver’s t-shirt by the collar and tug it apart, until it’s strips of cloth he can brush off of his shoulders. There’s too much separating him from Oliver – fabric and skin and bones and blood – and all Ryan wants to do is crawl inside of him, nest inside of his ribcage. He can’t breathe around the want clogging his throat.

He goes to fumble with the buttons of Oliver’s jacket. He just manages to push the fabric partly off of his shoulders before Oliver tangles his fingers in the necklace hanging from Ryan’s neck and yanks him into a kiss.

They collide hard, lips and teeth and tongues clashing before they’re able to settle into a rhythm. Oliver keeps hold of the necklace, uses it to pull Ryan back in every time he breaks for air. The bite of the cord on the back of his neck steadies him. Before long, all he can do is tangle his fingers into the hair at the nape of Oliver's neck and give in. Let the waves of desire and want and need take him under – until he’s drowning in it, consumed by the heat spreading throughout his body.

Part of him – a part he’s buried and swallowed down for as long as he can remember – wants to stay here, like this, forever. Part of him thinks that fate has been guiding him here, towards them, for as long as he’s been alive. Part of him believes stars have lived and died in the name of this, in the inevitability of them. Part of him, with a name and a soul and more bullet wounds than papercut scars, looks at Oliver and sees the universe collapsing in on itself, over and over and over again. Supernovas inside of supernovas.

Sometimes he likes to turn that part of him around and around in his head. He wonders, staring up at the ceiling late at night, how much of this is Ryan and Oliver, and how much of it is Eddie and Buck. Where does Ryan end and Eddie begin? Does he look at Oliver, beautiful and so endlessly complicated Oliver, and see Buck? Where do they separate, or are they so intertwined that to pull them apart would unravel everything? Is it Ryan that wants to burrow into Oliver, or is it Eddie that wants to carve out a home in Buck’s chest cavity?

Does it matter?

Ryan is pulled back into reality before he can answer himself.

The pressure on the back of his neck releases, the cord of his necklace no longer biting into his skin. Ryan pulls back, mouth slick as he gasps for air.

“Arms around my neck, Ry,” Oliver says. He does as instructed, almost absentmindedly, just before Oliver gets his hands under his thighs. The room spins, his stomach lurching as Oliver stands, weight shifting as Ryan goes from straddling him to wrapping his legs around his waist and holding on.

“What are you doing?” Ryan laughs.

Oliver hums, walking them slowly across the room. He stops, then feigns releasing his grip. Ryan definitely does not yelp.

“Couch,” is all the warning he gets before Oliver does it again, this time dropping him onto the black leather couch the crew had pushed against the wall earlier this morning.

Ryan glares up at him, certain he must look intimidating with his flushed cheeks and his mouth kiss bitten. Oliver doesn’t look much better – jacket half off, bruises on his neck, and his lips spit slick and swollen. They’d make headlines if they were to be interviewed now.

Oliver’s heated stare softens the longer he lingers above him. He’s smiling by the time he decides to move, maneuvering so he’s straddling Ryan’s hips. “What do you want, Ry?”

Ryan squirms, shifting and tugging until he’s laid down on the couch and Oliver is hovering over him, arms braced on either side of his head and a leg parting his thighs. “Like this.”

This time, it’s Ryan who tugs Oliver into a kiss. It’s slow, gentler than before, almost sweet. They stay like that for a while, until Oliver shifts and brings a hand to Ryan’s jaw. His thumb caresses his skin, presses in just slightly, until Ryan lets his mouth fall slack. From there, the hunger begins to build between them, filling them upupup. When Oliver finally rocks down into him, their clothed cocks brushing and sending sparks dancing up their spines, Ryan gasps into the kiss and pulls back just enough to pant into the space between them. Instead of pulling him back in, Oliver tucks his face into his neck, presses kisses up and down his throat as they settle into a slow and steady grinding of their hips.

Ryan whimpers as teeth scatter bruises on his skin, hips arching to meet Oliver’s with every filthy grind. Oliver’s thigh presses in between his legs, adding a delicious friction that has moans spilling out of his mouth without his permission, filling the room before he can manage to bite them back. He’s never felt this out of control, this needy. He thinks anything more than this might break him, might split him open until he’s nothing but desire, nothing but a writhing bundle of nerves for Oliver to use, to fuck, to take apart.

They’ve been here before, in red lit corners and cozy villas. Ryan has felt the weight of him on his tongue, tasted his cum. He’s felt the burn of his cock inside of him, been able to taste it in the back of his throat with every thrust. Ryan has fucked into that warm mouth, spilled and spilled and spilled down that inviting throat. He’s held Oliver down and taken him, has ridden him until they were both shaking and spent. This is innocent in comparison, but Ryan feels torn apart. Like sometime between the chair and the couch, Oliver has cracked open his chest and now his soul is leaking past his ribcage.

They’re dry humping like teenagers and Ryan feels more vulnerable about it now than he ever felt when he was a teenager. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Please.” Ryan searches desperately for an anchor, for anything to tether him to his body when he feels like he’s liable to float away. He clenches the fabric of Oliver’s jacket in his hands. “Please.”

Oliver huffs a laugh into the tender skin of his throat, only pulling back when Ryan whines high and breathy. “Please what, Ry? What do you want?”

Ryan shakes his head, clenches his eyes shut. He grinds up into Oliver’s thigh and doesn’t quite achieve friction. Oliver moved his leg just out of his reach.

He must make a noise, because the kiss Oliver lays on his forehead is in the shape of a smile.

“What do you want?” Oliver repeats. “What do you need?”

Ryan breaks.

“You,” he begs. He blinks his eyes open. Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please. Please, please, please.”

“You have me,” Oliver promises, no hesitation. He presses his thigh back against Ryan’s aching cock. He can’t bring himself to refute it, to give voice to the words rattling around in the back of his mind. Don’t say that. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Don’t treat me like we’re anyone but ourselves, like we ever could be.

Instead, he moans low in his throat, grasps the jacket tighter as he trembles with every roll of Oliver’s hips. He can feel the heavy weight of him on his own thigh, can nearly taste the heat of him if he breathes deep enough. If the cameras were on, pointed in their direction, Ryan’s sure they would catch his mouth watering, would see the way he’s panting for it.

Oliver presses another kiss to his forehead. He lowers himself down a little more, until his body is pressed more firmly into Ryan’s.

All at once, Ryan gives himself over to the sensation, to the helplessness of it all. He forgets, for now, that he and Oliver have ever been anyone else. He pretends that they met in a coffee shop, in a bar somewhere on the outskirts of LA, in a firehouse, in a million places over eons of time. He pretends, for a moment, that he and Oliver are people who feel something for one another other than the phantom love of the people that live inside of them. He pretends this is something he can have, something he gets to keep.

“Baby,” he gasps, like a prayer falling off his tongue. He’s teetering so close to the edge. The edge of consumption, the edge of pleasure, the edge of everything.

Oliver presses their foreheads together, sweaty strands of hair mussing together. Every breath he takes is its own gasp, tiny puffs of air fanning across Ryan’s nose. “I know, I know. Come on, Ry. Let go.”

Ryan keens, hips canting upwards, seeking a deeper friction than their clothes can allow. “I can’t. Please, please, please.”

“You can,” Oliver says. “You’re so good. Just give in.”

He shakes his head, somewhere on the edge of frantic. “Can’t, can’t, can’t.”

Oliver turns his head, starts trailing kisses from Ryan’s brow, his temple, down to his jawline. He moves, just a bit, and presses his thigh a little more firmly into the damp patch of Ryan’s pants. “Let go, baby.”

Ryan grinds up. Once, twice, three times before he shakes apart. Oliver’s name falls from his mouth like an oath.

He pretends that Buck isn’t woven into the middle, and when Oliver comes undone seconds later, he ignores the Eddie laced into the mantra of RyanRyanRyan.

Later, when Oliver’s driving and Ryan’s watching the world race by the windows, he’ll wonder again how they ended up here. He’ll ask himself if it’s really him that’s happy, or if it’s the part of him that exists somewhere behind his ribs. He’ll look over at Oliver, at the sun dancing through his curls, and he’ll wonder if he can live with shouting from the rooftops about the wrong things, about the wrong people. He’ll see those bright blue eyes and wonder if it really is the wrong people after all, or if maybe they could be the same from a certain point of view.

Then, Oliver will turn to him and smile. That bright, crack-the-sky-in-half smile. Ryan will still wonder, still rotate the thoughts in his mind at night, but he’ll be okay with not knowing. He’s okay with a lot of things when Oliver is smiling at him.

For now, Oliver collapses beside him, back to the couch. Their pants are sticky and drying by the second. Oliver’s jacket is more off than on, and he awkwardly shuffles out of it. When Ryan turns onto his side, back to Oliver’s chest, he drapes the jacket over them as best he can. They find themselves holding hands, Oliver’s arm curling around Ryan’s waist.

As their breathing settles, Ryan brings their joined hands to his lips.

“Dork,” Oliver says quietly into the back of Ryan’s neck.

“Idiot,” Ryan counters.

When they drift off to sleep, they’re both smiling.

[accidentallycurated]

chez le cavalier ~ wip #2

[willow creek rebuild, house no. 1]

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

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

dining room:

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

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

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

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

oke next is kitchen:

like I could just die it's so pretty!

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

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

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

trying to help it all come together:

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

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

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

seeking red:

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

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

living room adjustments:

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

a chair switch out, different lighting, decorations!

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

do you think I'm crazy yet?

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

more fun details!

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

adding curtains:

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

filling in a corner:

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

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

okay that's all see you for day 3!

[probably-impossible]

Habeas Corpus

A snippet of a Lawyer AU for day 7 of @dollarstrilogyevent - justice.

Blondie heard the phone in the outer office ring and Maria's muffled voice say “Sentenza & Biondo, how can we help you?” It was quiet for a while, and then the phone on his own desk started to ring. He sighed and picked it up. 

Before he could get a word out, a voice on the other end said, in a heavy Mexican accent, “Are you Sentenza or Biondo?”

“Biondo.”

“Can you put Sentenza on? I heard he's better. No offense.”

“He's, uh… not with us anymore.”

“Oh. Sorry.” 

“'S alright.” Blondie took a moment to wash down a propranolol with his watery coffee. “You want a consultation?”

“Nah, skip it. I'm at the police station right now. They're gonna arrest me for murder. But I didn't do it!”

“Sure,” Blondie muttered. He reached for a pen and notepad. “Name?”

“Tuco Benedicto Pacífico Juan María Ramirez."

“Right.” He scribbled down the first and last names and shrugged on his olive-green blazer, which he had forgotten to have dry-cleaned for the fourth week in a row. “Don't say anything. I'll be right there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were only about twenty officers in the Betterville Police Department, and Blondie knew all of them. The one who met him at reception was named Wallace. He was the kind of cop who made the cameras in the interrogation rooms necessary. “You here for the Rat?” he asked.

“If the Rat's name is Ramirez, then yeah. Who's prosecuting?” 

“Mortimer.”

“Christ. You guys are taking this seriously.” 

“Murder's a serious crime.” Wallace led Blondie back to one of the little interview rooms and opened the door for him. “Your lawyer's here,” he said.

Tuco sat up from where he was slouched in a corner of the room. He was a shorter man dressed in a brown jacket, chinos, and flashy white pirarucu boots. He had gold rings on his fingers, a gold tooth, and a gold crucifix on a chain around his neck. “Hey,” he said to Wallace, “you got an ETA on that cheeseburger? I'm starving in here, man.”

“It's on its way.” Wallace motioned Blondie towards the table in the middle of the room. “Don't take too long, we want him booked tonight.”

“Yeah, alright.” Blondie sat down at the table and waited for Wallace to leave the room before turning to his new client. He opened his brown leather briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers and a pen. “Fee agreement,” he said. “Take a look, say if you want me to explain anything.”

Tuco nodded, took the papers, and signed the bottom one without reading a single word. “I don't know if you had a chance to look into my record,” he said. 

Blondie nodded. “It's pretty bad. You're not getting bail with those priors. Or a plea deal.” He put the fee agreement back in the briefcase and took out his notepad. “And Mortimer’s prosecuting. Likes to play hard ball and he's the best trial attorney in the state.”

“You fill me with confidence.” 

“Well, Sentenza was the best. I don’t like talkin’ as much as he did. But I'm smarter than he was. That's why I'm still here.”

Tuco drummed his fingers on the table. Despite the fact that he'd certainly been through the system before, he looked nervous. “I really didn't do it, you know.”

“Sure,” Blondie said. “But assuming you did—” 

Tuco slammed his hand on the table with a force that almost made Blondie jump. “I’m innocent this time,” he insisted, raising his voice. “And that's the truth! If you don't believe me how the hell is anybody else supposed to, huh?!”

Blondie raised his eyebrows. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Alright then,” he said. “Convince me first.”

Tuco growled. “Son of a whore… You're lucky the Rojos recommended you, otherwise I'd take my chances with the public defender.”

Ah. The Rojo cartel were Sentenza & Biondo's best customers. “This have anything to do with them?”

Tuco avoided his gaze. “Well, maybe. A little. I may or may not have been doing a favor for Ramon at the time.”

Blondie sighed, almost in relief. “If your interests end up going against theirs, ethics-wise I'd have to drop the representation. Best to play it safe. Hope you get a good public defender.” He started to put his notepad back in his briefcase.

“Shit! Wait!” Tuco reached across the table and grabbed Blondie by the wrist. His grip was surprisingly warm and firm. 

“Let go of me,” Blondie growled.

“No, you just listen to me for a minute,” Tuco said. “Are you fucking kidding me, man?! I called you because you're supposed to be the scummiest lawyer around!”

“Sure, but I don't think you're worth pissing off the Rojos.”

Tuco seemed to hesitate for a moment. “...Alright, well, I can make myself worth it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just shut up and listen.” Tuco's wide brown eyes had Blondie pinned to the spot. “The dead guy, Bill Carson. Ramon wanted him roughed up a little and I owed him a favor. So I followed him to the alley behind that strip club downtown, Mirage, I think. But when I found him, somebody else had already shot him. He was still alive, just barely. He gave me something.”

Blondie just glared at him silently.

“A key to a safety deposit box,” Tuco whispered. “With two million dollars inside. Clean cash. I managed to hide the key somewhere safe before they brought me in. I'll give you a cut of the money if you get me off.”

“Phrasing.”

“Oh fuck you.”

“What's the cut?”

“Twenty-five percent.”

“Fifty.”

“Fuck your mother too. Fine.” Tuco let go of his wrist finally and leaned backwards, scowling. “Well? Are you gonna be my lawyer or not?”

Blondie thought about it. Not for too long. A million dollars was a nice amount of money. And the firm had been in the red ever since Sentenza kicked the bucket. “Sure,” he said, and put the notepad back on the table. “For a million dollars plus my fee, I'll get you off all day long.”

[shy-nightmare]

The Toonz Twins: Toontown Sleuths

Chapter Three: Eddie Valiant

Summary: Now that they’ve been hired, the twins meet their new partner, retired Toon private investigator Eddie Valiant who is also hired to investigate the rumors at Maroon Cartoons Studio CEO R.K. Maroon’s request. The three do not hit it well with first impressions.

Credit for inspiration goes to @imaginarytoon1, author of “The Birchwood Twins: Toontown Investigators” and @its-metal-mistress, author of “Bendy and the Ink Machine: Learning How to Live”. Please check out their own wonderful content ^^!

Special Guests Tags 😊: @marinerainbow, @slashingdisneypasta, @los-angeles-toon-patrol, and @weaselnerd (BTW, I have a favor to ask. If you guys received this, can you please comment you saw my chapter? I’ve been having WiFi issues lately ☹)

Warning: Eddie being biased towards the twins 😑

The twins followed the lady down the hallway to R.K. Maroon’s office. As they walked, they marveled at the sight of various Toons and Toon celebrities walking around the streets at the studio. The walls were embellished with posters of Roger and Herman’s cartoons from Babes in Arms to Tummy Trouble and The Wet Nurse.

“They must be the stars of the studio,” Tom said to his sister, who gave a little shrug as if to say, “Guess so”.

The lady knocked on the doors polished in oak wood. “Mr. Maroon? Our guests are here.”

“Ah! Terrific!” a man’s voice responded. He clapped his hands, “Send them in, please.”

She opened the door for the twins, and they thanked her before stepping into Maroon’s office. It was a classy, organized room with walls painted in ivory decorated with golden statues of Toon celebrities and posters of Roger and Herman’s cartoons near a single green sofa chair on the right. The floor was polished in dark green and red, and only had two little stairs to the office desk. The desk itself was shaped in a curved style, decorated with more cartoon memorabilia and the chair was tufted in vintage green leather. Two velvet green curtains spread open, giving a splendid view of the Acme Factory. And sitting on the office chair and another in front of the desk were two men.

R.K. Maroon was a tall, but stout man. His skin was olive, and his hair was black peppered with streaks of gray. He wore a dark silver-grey jacket accented by a crimson handkerchief over a white dress shirt, a tie threaded in streaks of black, white, and red, and matching silver-grey trousers with polished black dress shoes.

And the other man, judging by his washed-up detective getup, had to be Eddie Valiant. He was slightly shorter, but a little stockier. He wore an old, coffee-colored jacket with a surprisingly clean white dress shirt, holding a black tie dotted in diamond shapes marked with single red x’s and dark suspenders with scuffed shoes. But unlike Maroon, he kept his short dark brown hair hidden in a classic brown fedora. He raised a brow at the twins’ appearances, giving them both a once-over look before his brown eyes darkened. Tom returned his glance with a concealed warning glare, which did manage to tell the man to keep his trap shut. At least, for now.

“Hello and welcome to Maroon Cartoons!” Maroon walked over to meet the twins, extending his hand out. “You must be Mr. Valiant’s assistants. I’m R.K. Maroon, the proud owner and CEO of the studio.”

Tom accepted his handshake, “Tom Toonz. And this is my sister, Twyla.” He motioned to his sister, who shyly held her hand out for a handshake.

“It’s very nice to meet you, too.” Maroon shook her hand before he turned to the brooding man. “OK, Eddie, you’re free to go.”

“Great,” Valiant grumbled, taking another gulp of his flask and stuffing it in his pocket before storming out of the office.

The twins sighed and shared a deadpan look. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, and they followed him, not noticing Maroon’s smile turn a little…less sincere.

_____________

They followed their “partner” all the way across town, where he decided to hitch a ride on another trolley without them. Asshole. The Red Car stopped near an archway building called The Terminal Station Bar. Just as Eddie was about to take the first step, a young gruff voice spoke from behind him.

“Leavin’ us out in the open?”

“Jesus!” Eddie whirled around, but he glowered when he saw the twins with their arms crossed. “Didn’t anyone ever tell ya it ain’t smart to sneak up behind people?”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell ya it ain’t polite to ditch your coworkers?” Tom answered his question with another question, raising a brow.

“No shit, sherlock,” Eddie grumbled. “Look, I got no time to deal with you Toons—”

A hand grabbed him by the shoulder before Eddie was forced to make eye contact with the young gunslinger. Tom’s tone was even but had a firm undertone do it. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you. Where we come from, we don’t take kindly to racists and that does not exclude you, Mr. Valiant.”

Eddie’s glare faltered a little, his brown eyes slightly widening from the stoic, but intense glare in Tom’s darker eyes and his slightly tightened grip. After a long tense moment, he sighed and let go of the human’s shoulder. “Look, buddy. We get that we’re Toons, but like it or not, Maroon and the fuckin’ man-brat requested all three of us for this job. So I’ll offer you a deal, let us help out and I’ll split our cut 50-50 considering the time of the century we’re living in. And after that, we’ll be gone by sundown. Deal?”

The disgruntled man glared down at the floor, as if he were blaming it for all his troubles right now, then he sighed. “All right. Deal.” He shook Tom’s hand, then pulled back. “So Herman brought you two in for the same favor, huh?”

“Yeah. Apparently, there’s a rumor going around saying Jessica’s cheating on her husband. Then he sent us your way, but the problem is we don’t have a camera. And with what we got right now ain’t enough to give Herman the proof.” Tom glanced at Twyla, who nodded.

“I see.” Eddie sighed, “Wait here. I don’t want the guys to see me in the bar with you runts.”

He turned around and headed into the entrance. Tom flipped him off behind his back. He nearly bumped into a drunk who reeked of bad B.O. and booze that almost reminded him of the Hellhole and walked over to his sister who leaned against the wall while looking at her cell phone.

“Have you reached Adam and Echo yet?” he asked.

Twyla shook her head, “No. Apparently, there’s no signal in this time period.”

“It’s the 40’s, sis.” Her brother reminded her, taking his hat off to rub his temple. “We’ll try again later. Last thing we need is to make Echo sick with worry and Adam beat the shit out of us with his fuckin’ laptop.”

“Agreed.”

Suddenly, Eddie stormed out of the bar, clenching his fist. Tom saw some pieces of eggshells falling out of his palm and could tell some shit went down. “We’re going straight ahead. My office is in that building.” He spoke gruffly with teeth gritted in fury, jerking his head at a large suburban-styled apartment building across the bar at Hope Street. The trio entered the building and walked up a set of stairs leading to a long hallway with doors. After a few blocks down, Eddie led the twins to an office door labeled “VALIANT & VALIANT, PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS”, and in the center was a badge-designed symbol written “Veritas”. Eddie opened the door to his office.

His office…was a one-room apartment. The walls were tawny brown, hanging up portraits and photographed frames. It had a small kitchen with enough room to fit little a card-playing table and chairs, refrigerator, oven, sink, and thank God there was a bathroom. On the left side of the office stood a couple of dark oak shelves scattered with documents and more bottles of Jack Daniels while a dark brown leather chair stood a few feet away from them. And standing in front of the blinded window stood two office desks connected to each other with a single vintage chair. One was polished, though littered with picture frames, papers, booze, and debris. And the other was organized and well-put but covered in thick dust. There was only an unfinished scrapbook, a magnifying glass, an adorable Betty Boop figurine, rounded spectacles, and a pipe next to two organized pens. Everything was dusty, but untouched.

Eddie sat on the chair where the scattered desk was, obviously his office desk. He motioned for the twins to sit on the chairs around the table and they each grabbed a chair.

“Now if you’re going to work with me, I have to lay down some ground rules for you.” He began, making eye contact with them. “First, never—and I mean never—sit on this desk.” He pointed at the dust-blanketed office desk without taking his eyes off his “partners”. “Second, don’t slack off or goof around like you Toons do.” He added, and Tom held back a murderous growl while Twyla’s fur lightly bristled with equal rage though she was in more control of her composure. “And third of all, don’t do anything even remotely stupid that will embarrass me or get us killed while we’re on the job. Got it?”

Tom and Twyla both silently nodded. “Yes, sir.” The older twin spoke.

“Good. But before I tell you my plan for the evening, I want to know you two more. Who are ya and where are ya from?”

Tom, who was always one step ahead, did all the talking. “The name’s Toonz. Tom Toonz. And this is my twin sister, Twyla,” he motioned to his sister who greeted the man with a curt tilt of her head. Then, he dug down into his pocket to pull out a file containing two copies of their credentials that Twyla so kindly upgraded a while ago. Tom handed the papers over to Eddie. “We were hired by Baby Herman as covert investigators from Chatham, Chicago.”

“Chatham?” Eddie raised a brow, as if he were perturbed by the fact. He looked at the papers’ contents again for confirmation. “Uh, that’s a rough part of town, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, well, Chicago is rough.” Tom responded with a shrug. “But it’s one of the biggest joints out in the city to pull a sleuth job.” When Eddie furrowed his brows in confusion, the male halfie elaborated. “Before we came here, we’ve done some favors, too. Folks would show up on our door, asking us to find some dirt on people on their lists. Cheaters, scammers, liars, folks pilfering and selling recreational goods for their clandestine businesses, you name it.” he finished, trailing off, “Chicago ain’t as big as New York, but the streets are just as tough and crawling with creeps and sleazeballs of all kinds, and thugs itchin’ to take a crack at you.”

Eddie observed the scar on Tom’s right eye, then looked down. He nodded, “Yeah? Is that why you’re packin’ heavy heat?”

Tom followed where he was looking and saw the hostler of his gun coiled around his right hip. He softly cursed and tried to hide it better when Eddie cut him off. “Ah, don’t sweat it, kid. I get it. You’re trained to prepare, and that’s good. You need to use your eyes and ears, or else the pigs will be blowing your house down.”

“Ha-ha, hilarious. You’re a real fuckin’ Charlie Chaplin,” Tom snorted, but Eddie didn’t get irritated from hearing the swear.

Eddie turned to Twyla, “What about you?”

Twyla’s ears drooped, but Tom was kind enough to answer for her. “Um, sir.” He spoke to Eddie, softening his tone while keeping the eye contact firm but steady. “She doesn’t feel comfortable talking just yet.”

The detective rose a brow, but he didn’t get upset. “Just yet?”

“She struggles to speak when she’s out in public and she’s very shy, but once she gets to know you better, she’s only a lady of a few words.” Tom replied.

Thankfully, Eddie dropped it. “OK, I got ya. So you can say she’s more of the silent type?”

“Yeah.” Tom nodded, “But she’s learning some of the same skills as I am. While she struggles in conversation, she makes up for it with tracking skills and finding clues. Plus, she as a keen attention to detail and is an excellent master of stealth.” He grinned proudly at his twin’s adorable attempt to hide her embarrassed, blushing face while trying to shove her brother off his chair. However, she managed to punch him roughly in the shoulder. “Ow!” he rubbed his right arm gingerly, “And did I forget to mention she hits like a guy?”

Unbeknownst to them, Eddie pulled up their papers to hide an amused chuckle. He cleared his throat and lowered the papers, folding his hands together. “All right, back to business.”

“Right.” Tom fixed his jacket before facing the human. “So, what did Maroon tell you?”

“He told me that the rabbit’s got his tail all up in in knots because of his wife, Jessica.” He tossed Tom a folded newspaper, and the twins huddled together to take a closer look. Written in bold black, the headliner read, “Seen Cooing over Calamari with Not-So-New Sugar Daddy was Jessica Rabbit, wife of Maroon Cartoons Star Roger Rabbit”. Eddie continued while the twins read, “Like you said, there’s always a cheater crawling around. Maroon says Jessica’s poison, but Roger thinks she’s Betty Crocker. Maroon wants us to go to the joint she sings at, a little evening hotspot called The Ink & Paint Club and dig up some dirt on her.”

He glanced up at the twins warily. “There’s just one problem, though.”

They looked at him, tilting their heads confusedly. “What’s up?” Tom asked.

“Toons do work there, but the club is Toon-Revue. Strictly humans only,” he responded, hiding his concealed apprehension when the twins’ faces darkened. “I got some trench coats and hats you can borrow, so we’ll pull the old cloak-and-dagger trick and—”

Tom cut him off. “Oh, trust me. There’s no need for that,” he waved dismissively. And then, he pulled into a mischievous grin. “You just leave that to us.” He chuckled.

The twins shared a toothy smile that made Eddie’s blood run cold. Oh fuck, what have I gotten myself into? He thought.               

[waternilly]

No Tricks (George Weasley x OC) - Part 3

Fandom: Harry Potter Ship: George Weasley x OC Word count: 1.2k Warnings: None Ao3 link: here Summary: A new shop opens across the street from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. The curious owner immediately piques the interest of the youngest twin. Despite being familiar with the wizarding world, she does not seem to fit in it herself. Harry Potter Masterlist

Tightly holding onto a small parcel, and a purple Pygmy Puff perched on his shoulder, George knocked on the darkly painted door of Olive Tree Art & Tattoos.

He had learned over the past week what a tattoo was, when his father had come to the shop to visit and noticed the brand new sign across the street. The explanation had been brief and messy, as often when Arthur talked of Muggle matters. But it had been enough for George. What he wanted to know now, was why Oli was so knowledgeable on the matter as to open a shop dedicated to the medium. 

As he swallowed thickly, the textured window allowed him to see Oli walk towards him. Swinging the door open, she smiled and invited him in.

“Welcome! You’re the first to arrive,” she said as he shuffled inside.

“Well good thing I didn’t come alone then,” George said, pointing to the Pygmy Puff on his shoulder.

Oli emitted a cooing sound and wiggled a finger at the creature. As she took a step back, George stretched out an arm, presenting her with the wrapped parcel.

“Awww, you shouldn’t have,” Oli tried to reprimand him, but her smile was too obvious.

“Inauguration gift,” was the only explanation George deigned to give.

Oli started peeling off the wrapping before stopping abruptly: “Is this from your shop?”

“No, no,” George reassured her with a chuckle.

“Because I’ve noticed the kinds of things you guys sell.”

“It’s not from our store,” George repeated solemnly. “And if it was, it would be for you to pull a prank on someone else.”

“Hm,” was all Oli said in mock suspicion.

She finished ripping the paper and discovered a glass jar. The label read “Sugarplum’s Chocolate Spread - With Exploding Candy!”

“How did you know?” Oli asked with a smile that showed the question was rhetorical.

Nevertheless, George entertained her: “Just a feeling.”

As she thanked him and put the jar aside, another person knocked on the front door and Oli made haste to welcome the new guests. Meanwhile, George took the chance to become more familiar with the environment. The room was painted emerald green, with an accent wall of geometric wallpaper. Golden details were spread out, a luxurious chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the middle of an intricately painted circular pattern. The furniture was mostly made from black wood or glass. There too, touches of gold served to brighten up the pieces. It felt intimate and elegant at the same time, the velvety cushions in the soft leather couch appearing very comfortable. If you paid close attention, you could tell that most of the furniture had a life prior to the opening of the shop. However, those details were easily missed by most, too busy examining the various plants spread throughout the room. Finally, large, velvet curtains separated the area from what George assumed to be the back of the store.

George turned back towards Oli as she welcomed more and more guests into the room. She had a contagious smile, warm and inviting; the kind that made you feel like everything would be alright. For the first time that evening, George felt his heart flutter at the thought and sight of his new neighbor. He could not wait to speak more with her.

He would have to be patient however, for the night would not offer many opportunities for quiet conversations. The inauguration of Olive Tree Art & Tattoo had attracted the entirety of the Diagon Alley shop owners. The promise of tea and biscuits had worked.

People were spread throughout the room, some using the chairs and the couch, others standing by the desk or the window. A merry atmosphere filled the space, the sound of chatter accompanied by a gentle background melody.

“Miss Tillers! Miss Tillers!” a voice erupted from the crowd.

It was mister Mulpepper, the owner of the apothecary.

“Yes, sir?” Oli asked cautiously, but with a smile.

“Miss Tillers, I ought to ask you what I believe many of us have been wondering,” he said while motioning to the crowd. “What in Godrick’s name is a tattoo?”

Oli smiled more brightly at the curiosity of her guest. Standing up straight and relaxed, she explained: “It is a Muggle art form that consists of permanently drawing on one’s skin.”

She paused so as to allow everyone to react with ohhh’s and ahhh’s, or more whispered questions.

“I actually have tattoo’s myself, as you can see,” and she showed off her hands.

“And how do you draw those on permanently? If it is a Muggle art form, they surely do not use magic!”

Many questions followed about the tattoo process, all of which Oli answered with poise and ease. The crinkles by her eyes permanently etched into her features, as she clearly enjoyed sharing this knowledge. George found himself smiling while absentmindedly petting the Pygmy Puff.

At last, someone asked the question that had been on all of their lips: “How do you know so much about a Muggle art form.”

Oli briefly paused and took a sip from her glass.

“My father is a Muggleborn wizard.”

Another chorus of ahhh’s was uttered by the small crowd.

“I was in contact with my Muggle family a lot while growing up.”

And with that, all the questions had been answered, all the tea had been drunk and all the biscuits had been eaten. It was time for everyone to return home.

Oli walked each guest separately out of the shop, thanking them for having stopped by. At last, only George remained. He had stayed behind, observing a framed painting on the wall by the velvety curtains. His head snapped when he heard Oli sigh from beside the door.

“Same time next week?” George poked with a smile.

Fighting the urge to yawn, Oli looked over her shoulder, eyes crinkling: “At your shop?”

“God no!” George fought back. “Don’t get me wrong, they’re lovely people but…”

“It’s a lot.”

They nodded comprehensively at each other.

Pointing at the painting he was observing, George wondered: “Yours?”

Oli walked closer.

“Yes.”

Standing next to him now, she added: “A watercolor of my hometown.”

“Where is that?”

Oli met his gaze.

“Ghent.”

“Belgium?”

She nodded.

Turning back to the painting, she became melancholic.

“I lived there my entire life until I came here.”

“How was it?”

“A lot calmer. Ghent is a small city compared to London. I knew many people there too.” She paused. “It was home.”

George frowned.

“Is it not anymore?”

Oli shrugged.

“Not sure yet. I’m starting to like it here.”

She was smiling again, and so was George.

“Maybe you could have two homes?”

As he met her gaze again, George noticed a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“That is to see.”

Sighing, George picked up the Pygmy Puff from his shoulder.

“For what it matters,” he whispered, handing her the creature, “I am happy you’re here.”

[winterpinetrees]

Nerd Behavior (The Gap Years Part 19) 

July 1st 2019

Coconino National Forest, AZ

Everyone is a nerd here. The road trip group gets a beach episode and talks about movies, the Mercurali play board games, and Amedi discovers what a Wikipedia rabbit hole is.

..............

“You know what I just realized about the Project Excalibur site?” 

Sierra Bracken is trying to distract the rest of the party from her current predicament. They’re back at high altitude, over seven thousand feet, and by the shores of a reservoir that looks more like a winding canyon. To be more specific, the so-called shores are rugged rock faces fifteen feet high, and Sierra is stuck at the bottom. It turns out that two elves, a man who climbs abandoned buildings for fun, and a tall varsity recruit are all outliers when it comes to scrambling up wet rocks. Sierra is five foot three on a good day and a little cursed at the moment. Also the sun is starting to set. 

“What did you realize?” Brian shouts down. He’s smiling, but it’s not exactly an encouraging smile.

“Excalibur is like, the reverse Area 51,” she says and clambers up, again, onto one of the huge brown stones. “They’re both in the Nevada Test Range, but one is where humans study aliens and one is where aliens study humans!” 

Clay has one arm inside of Marin’s fashionable messenger bag. He turns to him, “are you aliens? Also that’s not funny”. 

“Marin and I decided that elves count as aliens only when it’s funny. And it is”.

“We did do that,” Marin replies solemnly. He’s down on one knee drying out his long dreadlocks with a towel. Like Brian, he isn’t very concerned. 

Some time passes, not long, maybe two minutes, but they’re all eighteen and don’t really expect to reach September alive. Sierra does not succeed in getting any further up the rock face. 

Brian fakes a theatrical accent and crouches down. “I don’t suppose you could speed things up?”

“Don’t you dare quote The Princess Bride at me”. She pauses for a moment, half-way up a large rock. Sierra has a heavier build, but a lot of her upper body is muscle. It’s just the curse making her left shoulder sluggish causing this whole situation. Sierra rolls her eyes and gives Brian his response in the same fake voice. 

“If you’re so anxious to hurry things, you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do!” Then she says something in Spanish that she knows Brian won’t understand. 

“Already on it!” Clay says quickly. He looks over the edge of the cliff, winks at Sierra, and tosses her the end of a rope he’s taken from the bag. Then he shoves Brian as hard as he can. 

“Not while I’m down here, idiot!” she yells back. Fortunately, or maybe not, the champion wrestler does not fall. She remembers too late that Brian has two older brothers (and they’re both not great guys) as he clamps a hand around Clay’s wrist and threatens to drag them both over the edge. They hang there in the golden sunset light before Clay throws himself backward. He slams into the dirt and Brian comes with him. Everyone is shouting now and Sierra is still at the bottom of the cliff.

Eventually they do make it back to their campsite. Zerada left the reservoir before them, and she sits alone, slowly feeding wood into a small fire. Her amber eyes reflect the flames, but Sierra doesn’t think they’re actually glowing with magic. She matches the scene well. In fact, Zerada doesn’t seem to own much that isn’t her family’s burnt orange. Marin only really wears emerald green when he has to be formal. Most of his outfits have been olive and tan. 

The humans pull folding chairs from the car and Marin sits down on a log. They’re in the dead center of Arizona, so far from city lights that there’s a state-of-the-art telescope twenty miles away. Despite that, they’ve chosen a real campsite instead of the side of a back road. That means they have the best of both worlds. Running water, and a location so deep in the woods that there’s no way they will be found tonight.

So they talk. Marin was confused by their reference to The Princess Bride and by some oversight they didn’t bring a CD of it (but they do have every Star Wars movie, so that’s something), so the humans try their best to act out the story themselves. It turns out that Clay is a shockingly good pirate. Brian takes every character that is either blond or seven feet tall, leaving Sierra to pick up the role of a swordsman chasing revenge. However, revenge stories get a bit more complicated with elves around. It’s been exactly three (human) weeks since a coup killed both of their own fathers. The list of casualties made that very clear. Zerada’s father was killed by Arjuna Kotija Mercuralis, an assassin and illusionist who is also the husband of the new apex. Marin’s father was killed by an upstart noblewoman named Hebe from a less powerful genus. They talk like all of it’s normal. Their parents died fighting like all nobles should, and the humans shouldn’t worry, but even Sierra can tell that they aren’t being honest. Marin may be happy enough to follow Brian's instructions and pretend to be a Rodent Of Unusual Size for one of the scenes, but he’s an orphan now, and that’s got to leave something behind. 

Or at least how Sierra would feel. He hardly ever talks about his parents. His mother was the old apex, and she lived in the human world for decades. She doesn't know anything about his father at all. Maybe he's glad they're gone. When a person is so used to power, children can feel like just another thing to own. She's lucky to be close with both of her parents, but Brian and Clay aren't. Still, Sierra’s starting to wonder what they’ll do if this adventure lasts longer than the summer. They’re all taking a gap year, but they did have plans, and it’s not like they can be on the road forever. It’ll be a national scandal if they don’t come back for the big Christmas party. More than that, she doesn’t want to be off at college if the world ends. She’s thrilled to be going to MIT (meeting people with her interests who aren’t like 30!) but, well, her weird little family is close.  She’ll wreck the Audacity, the crazy passion project that she built with her mom, if she has to, but losing her family to a doomsday plague is just not an option. Not her parents, not her siblings, not even the two idiot boys beside her. 

By the time they finish the “movie”, the sunset is over and the light of one of the darkest skies in America glows through the ponderosa pines. After a week in Vegas, the silver arc of the galaxy stuns Sierra as though she’s never seen it before. Jupiter floats near the horizon with bright-red Antares, but most of the stars Sierra knows are lost in the clouds of light. She's used to the Summer Triangle being the only thing in the sky, not it being the three brightest dots in a sea of stars. Sierra rubs her hands together. It’s not cold, but they’ve started to shake again. Hopefully from the climb and the rope, and not the curse. She nearly jumps when she realizes that Zerada is standing beside her. Elves are too quiet for their own good. The noblewoman lifts a hand to point to the center of the stellar triangle. 

“Can you see those two stars?” she asks. Sierra’s a little confused. They haven’t talked much before.

“No". Well, that was rude! She tries again. “I mean, you’re pointing at the band of the Milky Way. There’s a lot of stars”.

Zerada scoffs. “First, that’s a stupid name. Your society should stop listening to the Ancient Greeks. Second, there is a constellation. Humans call it Vulpecula, "little fox’”. 

“So we should only listen to the ancient Greeks when they make you look good? Tiny little constellation anyways". Zerada gives her a very fox-like grin. Sierra sighs and sits back down. She’s had quite the evening, and has this headache, and would rather just be quiet.

………

“Ryn! Ishtar! I have an urgent question about wild human society!” Amedi Kebero bursts into the Apex's living quarters while the family play dice games that even a master tactician like Ryn can’t always win. The sky outside the wide windows is deep indigo between the clouds. They’re a good deal west of the pine forests, and the sun has only just set. 

“You should probably ask your seneschal unless it is about science fiction,” Arjuna explains. He’s a very serene man, despite his legendary kill count. 

“She’s busy wrangling the computers to track license plates,” Amedi replies breathlessly. They sit cross legged beside the low table.  Fen is stealing his sister's dice to make an even taller stack. “I know the general location of the humans- deep in a pine forest beside a lake, there’s only a few options- and I’ve already sent an update, but I have a question”.

“Then ask it, Councillor. We’re rather busy”. Even sitting down playing a board game, Ishtar Mercuralis is larger than life. She's physically strong in a way that high nobility never are, and there's a depth to her dark eyes. She smiles down at Amedi, but well, she’s still smiling down. 

“What in the worlds is The Princess Bride?”

Everyone looks at Ryn. He’s spent the most time in the human world by far. “A film, I believe?” 

Amedi’s shoulders sink. “The humans have been talking about it all evening. It is a film, but also some sort of European folktale? They’re obsessed”.

“You should ask the reference clerks to find out, if you are still curious,” Arjuna says.

“Or… you could go to the human world and search for it there!” Suen replies. She’s lived her entire life in the age of advanced human technology. When Amedi was born, humans hadn’t even discovered radiation. Now “human computer” means a thinking metal box instead of a human that computes. It’s kind of infuriating because magic makes it all glitch and break down.

“Thank you! Good night!” They untangle their limbs and dash for the door. The table shakes and Fen’s tower of dice scatters. Suen shouts goodbye back. The adults are laughing behind them. 

Not long after, Amedi all but kicks down the heavy door leading to one of the computing rooms. There are around thirty uniformed humans sitting at desks, even this late at night. All of them are working to manage the data that wild humans could handle with a few lines of code. They all look up and stare. There’s a separation between humans and elves. No one with a vambrace ever intrudes in an office like this, not when they have seneschals instead. Amedi calls out for Esther and one of the clerks points towards the supervisor's office. They tear that door open too. 

Amedi stands in the doorway like an outlaw back for revenge. Scars and a bioluminescent tattoo stand out on their dark brown skin, and they look built for a battlefield, not an office.  The two humans had been arguing, but they both fall utterly silent. 

“Esther?”

She turns, eyes wide. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing to worry about. I need your help in the human world. Tech stuff”.

“Oh! Of course. I’m very skilled with technology”. She is! Esther can hack. It’s really impressive.

“All I need are a pair of hands that won’t corrupt the stuff”. That’s an exaggeration. Nobles can use human technology, it's just unreliable and breaks down over time. The vambraces that all graduates of the Conservatory wear are at the limit of processing power before the magic of a high noble starts messing with the hardware. Fifty years ago, that limit could run programs that seemed like magic to wilders. Now it’s about as powerful as a fancy calculator. 

Amedi is already turning to leave. “Grab some clothes that look wild. We’re switching worlds”.

There’s no arguing with that. Esther ends her conversation and follows behind them as they walk back to their living quarters. She starts to say something, but hesitates. The girl doesn’t do that often. If anything, Esther is typically too honest. 

“What is it?” Amedi says. 

“There are ways to access the internet from the palace, but I assume you want to visit San Francisco anyway”.

“Unrestricted internet? That works?” 

“Well enough for us seneschals to stream workplace comedies, Dee”.

Amedi scoffs and moves to ruffle Esther’s hair, but they’re really just petting the top of her head like a dog. “So that’s where you disappear to! I’d been wondering if a raptor picked you up and flew away”.  

“I promise that none of Genus Tiercel are trying to abduct me, especially not with my family history”. She moves their hand away, “and I’m not that short”.

Esther leads Amedi through servant’s passages deep into the palace. The walls are solid concrete and they can recognize the lead lining around the door. 

“Isn’t this a bit far from seneschal quarters?” they ask.

Esther smiles and opens the door, “Callum would kill me if I shared our secrets. This is for the maintenance staff. What are you looking for anyway?” 

The room is… a lounge? It’s windowless and loud from fans, but the room is full of chairs and tables from a dozen different styles. Maybe two dozen humans watch television and play cards. They look at Amedi with clear reverence, but most glare at Esther. Amedi glares back. Their seneschal deserves respect.

“Marin’s companions keep talking about this movie called The Princess Bride?”

Esther starts typing into one of the unused computers. “I’ve heard of it”. She opens a search engine and finds her way to the Wikipedia page before leaving Amedi the chair. The elf sits and begins to read. Wild humans are so, so, strange…

And someone is shaking them by the shoulders. They turn and raise a jagged dagger of red magical light, and Esther flinches away with terror in her eyes. They’ve missed her neck by only an inch. 

“Councillor, I-” 

“Life and death, Esther! You know you can’t sneak up on me like that!”

She takes a breath only after Amedi lowers the knife. “Yes. I know better… but you’ve got to get some rest. It’s nearly midnight”. 

The room has no natural light, but the people have changed and the television is playing a different film. Oh not again. The computer screen glows with the wikipedia page for fixed-term elections in the United States Senate. How did they get here? Maybe it’s for the best that the elven world doesn’t have this sort of infrastructure. They’d never be able to get anything done. 

“Thank you, Essie,” they smile to try and relieve some of the tension. “Maybe Marin’s humans have the right idea. I’ve got to get outside more”. 

“We should both touch some grass,” she adds.

“What?”

“Wild human internet slang”.

Amedi stretches like a cat and laughs. “I’m going to tell Ishtar’s kids all about it”.

….….….….….

Every day is a good day to think about The Princess Bride.

Esther has a fully functional computer in her room (Part 15). No, she is not going to tell anyone. 

The phrase “touch grass” is a slight anachronism (it didn’t really become popular until COVID) but I think it's funny. 

[stardust-swan]

My Dream Home

aka where I'd live if I was rich and had time to maintain all of this

Outside

Powder blue, with murals painted on the side

There will be roses, violets, lavender, petunias, marigolds, peonies, mayflowers, and a cherry blossom tree in the front garden

And tomatoes, potatoes, strawberries, blueberries, onions, mint, courgettes, garlic, sage, thyme, basil, lettuce, peas, carrots, and cucumber in the back

Pretty birdbath

A wrought iron bench

Lanterns and string lights to light up the garden at night

A marble or bronze statue of Aphrodite

A calm fountain

Bonsai trees

Bedroom

Satin and silk bedsheets in ballet pink, lavender, baby blue, and duck egg green, and floral quilts and duvet covers

Beaded clothes hangers on the clothes rack

Fluffy fur rugs on the floor

An illuminated vanity with my favourite makeup, perfume, and Pandora charm bracelet on display

A nook for a shrine to Aphrodite

A clothesline of theatre programmes I've gone to on the wall

A large shelf for my collector barbies

A light up shoe rack big enough for my (vast) collection of shoes

Plushies on the bed

My closet and drawers will have sachets of potpourri and scented soaps in them so that my clothes will smell beautiful

A velvet headboard

Heavy drapes on the bed

Kitchen

Delicate floral ceramics in the kitchen

There will always be fresh-baked cookies and pastries for when guests drop in

A cupboard stocked full of herbal teas

Will always have a soup cooking on the stove and a pie cooling on the windowsill

The fridge will be stocked with vegetables and berries from my garden, fresh eggs, whole milk and good butter and cheese, cured meats, smoked salmon, macarons, homemade limoncello and cider, jam made from my own berries, and jugs of water with cucumber, lemon slices, and springs of homemade mint

Other foods will include: an array of spices and herbs, fresh bread, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, green and black olives, brown rice, veg that I canned and pickled myself, kimchi, almond milk, rice milk, mochi, marzipan, white chocolate with raspberries, dried fruits and nuts, honey, and fresh pastries

A six burner stove

Marble countertops

Elegant silverware

Living Room

Homemade throws on the chairs

A large bookshelf and more books on the windowsill

Will always smell delicious because of the candles I burn every evening

Will always be filled with the sound of classical music or jazz

Lots of cushions on the sofas

Sconces with frilled shades on the walls

A dining table with a beautiful centrepiece and elegant table settings

A comfy armchair for me to sit on while reading and crocheting

Bathroom

Jurlique rose handcream and fancy rose-pink soaps by the sink

Fluffy, thick, soft towels in white, pale pink, baby blue, lavender, and mint green

A vanity which has a mirror with soft pink lights, and enough storage space for my creams, body butter, exfoliater, face masks, toner, body mist, etc

Patterned toilet paper

Shower curtains made of silk or satin

Sea salt scented diffusers and a potted plant to make it feel fresh, and aromatherapy candles to make it feel calm

A bidet!

Mosaic tile walls and marble flooring and countertops

A clawfoot bathtub with elegant curves and gold accents

Plush rug next to the bath and a pretty toilet seat cover

Antique bathroom accessories, like a silver soap dish and crystal toothbrush holder

Maritime and botanical themed artwork on the walls

A built in sound system to play relaxing music while I bathe, like classical music, Native American flute music, or my Aphrodite playlist (on days where I'm having a long pampering session).

A large mirror with an ornate frame

A stained glass mirror so nobody can look in

Multiple Rooms/Other

Gilded framed pictures of my loved ones throughout the house

A potted houseplant on the side of each step of the staircase

Wide windows with velvet or satin curtains that let in lots of natural light

Prints by local artists on the walls

Vases of flowers taken from my garden in each room, even on the bathroom counter

Deep, plush carpets on the floor

Soft lighting from salt lamps and fairy lights

South-facing windows, so that the house will be full of light

The walls will be painted in pastel colours or will have a delicate wallpaper

Lots of pretty trinkets on the surfaces

Sapphic artworks that portrays lovers or the female form

Crystal handles on the cabinets and cupboards in the house

Lavender incense

Lace doilies on the side tables

Ribbons and bows everywhere

[doublegoblin]

Cavern Chronology Log:6

[I’ll keep this short. New footage has finally been recovered. -K]

Description: Transcription segment of larger video recordings recovered from Site 3. Analysis of the subjects show connections to a now defunct web series. Subjects presumed to be said host of the series; who will be referred to in text as Clyde. Location currently under investigation, current hypothesis is an abandoned industrial center outside of town. Rico has done his best to capture the “vibe” of what is occurring.

Video and audio were captured on a mid-range handheld camcorder. Said device was recovered from Site 3. The device was found in a battered but functional state. Time of recording will be provided as needed to establish a timeline.

Note: Backlog of relevant data is missing. We are currently attempting to obtain said data, but it may very well be lost.

Date: 08/13/02 Time: 12:00AM

The opening shot is that of a long and dark hallway; illuminated by a high powered flashlight. Concrete makes up a majority of the building material. Heavy looking rusted iron doors dot the hall, some slightly ajar but most are closed and sealed shut. Iron pipes criss-cross and rattle deep into the chasm. The olive green paint accents on the walls are chipping and breaking down. Near each door is a placard that would have held some kind of sign, almost all of them are empty. Overhead hanging tube lights lay dormant and covered in a thin film of dust.

 At each closed door the camcorder stops and peers into the pitch abyss beyond the filthy glass. It can be assumed that Clyde is the one recording, and the only being present. His steps are unsteady and his breathing labored and raspy. Though it is unclear if this is because of exhaustion, fear, or something else. His cognitive functions still appear in full use, however there are the occasional mutterings not able to be understood. The lens is barely able to record much of what is past the threshold. Most rooms are just concrete rectangles, uniform in appearance. 5x6 meters in size, a drain in the center of the room, and an overhead light built directly into the ceiling. No furnishings are visible in most of the rooms, a sparse few do contain what appears to be a bed of some variety or a chair set just before the drain. 

Clyde(?) stops at a set of doors open enough for a person of average build to pass through. The lens pans over to the placard holder which still has a very yellowed and frayed note “SHOWERS”. Reaching out to the door Clyde's arms are completely covered in fabric; a long sleeve shirt, thick gloves, the seemes between fabrics are taped shut. His hand pressed against the metal he lets out a strained groan and the door squeals as it opens; the blue pain around where his hand presses flakes away.

Clyde: Alright Troggies, let’s go take a look.

[His voice is hollow sounding, with an almost metallic undernote, most likely due to location and poor quality of the video data we could recover.]

Clyde: [Whispering] God I wish I wasn’t alone, this place gives me the fuckin’ heebee-jeebees.

[With some effort he squeezes his way through the door and into the shower area.]

Small white tiles checkerboard the floor and halfway up the walls. The door has opened into a tight hallway with a left turn at the end. Clyde pauses for a few moments and coughs. Many of the tiles have fallen from where they were affixed and shattered onto the ground. Beyond the bend there is a faint flickering of a light, seeing this, Clyde turns off his flashlight and holds his position. Struggling to pick anything up, the microphone does capture the quiet trickle of water.

Clyde: [Whispered] Troggies, I can hear you typing, and we saw this place still has power. I doubt a squatter is going to have a crowbar to pry that rusted slab open. It could be that they keep the water running so the pipes don’t burst? City Council was talking about reopening this place a few years back.

[He cautiously approaches the bend of the hall and stops just before the wall ends.]

Clyde: [Whispered] Okay troggies, I’m going to move the camcorder out and you guys tell me if you see anything in the comments.

[As Clyde slowly angles the lens around the corner the unit slips from his fingers and clatter to the ground. The echo reverberating through the empty room. A panicked shuffle of feet and the camcorder is lifted back up. Clyde begins to turn it around to inspect it.]

Clyde: Okay, looks like everything is still working. Fucking butter fingers.

[While inspecting the camcorder for damage we get a good look at Clydes face. It is mostly obscured by a black balaclava mask and scarf. The small amounts of flesh visible beyond the fabric is mottled gray with small cracks and scabs around where natural creases and folds would be present during natural speech. His eyes are obscured by black sunglasses; the right eye reflects back a sulfurous yellow shine through the lenses. Once confident in the undamaged state of the camcorder Clyde turns and heads back through the door. On his way out, the sound of water ceases]

[Once back out into the hallway Clyde resumes his slow walk down it. While walking he starts to mutter to himself]

Clyde: Go to the abandoned industrial complex they said, it’ll be great content they said! Bunch of jokesters…should have brought a buddy…fuck…damn rash is really starting to itch. Head is starting to hurt real bad again, maybe I’ll stop for a hot second.

[The sound of his steps slows. The view of the camcorder turns and shakes as Clyde gets seated on the dusty floor. In the relative silence the clanging of pipes carries through the stillness.]

Clyde: Much better. Now [the sound of off screen paper being manipulated] if the shower is here, then I must beeeeee here! [A sharp papery slap] So if the camcorder is saying 1:30AM then, holy shit, have I really been here for four hours!? Man time flies when you’re having fun I guess. Thankfully [the harsh snap and static of a can of something carbonated being opened via a pull tab] I’ve got you Mr.Redbull to keep me going.

[Soft fabric shuffling as Clyde lowers the scarf and moves the mask out of the way. After what I can only describe as a couple healthy slurps Clyde begins to cough and wince]

Clyde: Shit! Cough cough got it in an open one. Wow th-hack-at really stung…am I bleeding? A little, damn it. Ugh, now my head is really starting to spin. Maybe [LL] was right, maybe I should go to the doc. 

[Another coughing fit, during which the can of Redbull is thrown across the hall. Sounds of distress come from Clyde as the camcorder is violently tossed from its resting spot. The view spins and audio is completely overtaken by the scrape of plastic on concrete. It does eventually come to a rest with Clyde center frame. He is standing with a hand on the wall, the other arm wrapped around his stomach, and his posture is hunched.The flashlight illuminates Clyde from the front]

Clyde: What th-th-the hell? Oh god, my fucking head won’t stop spinning!

[After holding this posture for several moments he slowly nods and with effort returns to standing upright. Almost immediately he doubles back over and vomits. The sound of his retching echo deep into the complex. Upon inspecting the material ejected by Clyde it appears more red in hue than other colors, possibly blood? Clyde notices the vomit and stumbles back. As he moves backwards the hand upon the wall leaves a smeared blood trail. Down the hallway is the crackle and pop of a radio being turned on and a couple more small pinpricks of light. Clyde does not notice these. Instead he stumbles forward and falls. Landing headfirst atop the ground, a low crack coming from impact. He lays motionless.]

After this a pair of security officers enter the frame. The two are a James Hogan: age 35, and a Tyler Grant: age 27. With weapons drawn and chest mounted lights shining they slowly approach the downed form of Clyde.

James: Oh for fucks sake. [Lowering his weapon and speaking into his shoulder radio] Looks like another bum got in just to fuckin O.D. in the hall, over.

Radio: Got it, check the body, see what he’s got on him. I’ll call the cops, over.

Tyler: [Also lowering his weapon he walks over to Clyde.] How the hell do they keep getting in? Christ on a bike this guy fuckin’ reeks. [Getting close enough he gingerly prods at Clyde with his foot before rolling him over.] Damn, young guy too.

James: You hate to see it, check him for an ID or something. Maybe the cops can let his family know?

Tyler: No way man, gag, I’m barely keepin’ my lunch down this close you fuckin’ do it.

James: Oh come on you big baby it can’t b- [recoiling he claps a hand over his nose and mouth] god damn! Dude smells like he’s been out in the sun like this for weeks! 

Tyler: I told you! Hey, [points] grab that pipe.

James: Good thinkin’.

[Grabbing a long rusted pipe the two prod around at Clyde until they manage to get his mask off.]

Tyler: I know this guy.

James: You do?

Tyler: Yeah, my kid watches this guy. What the hell is a guy like him doing here and looking like this?

James: Maybe digital fame wasn’t what it was cracked up to be?

 Tyler: Damn shame.

The two turn their attention away from Clyde and to the camcorder. Making their way over Clyde's body makes small movements. Tyler is the one to bend over and lift the device up. The lens is pointed down at the ground as the two look it over. As the view comes around to show Tyler's face, Clyde is standing behind him with the pipe raised in a shaking hand. Just before the pipe impacts Tyler’s head the data becomes unusable.

Date: 08/13/02 Time: 2:37AM

Blood coats the walls in large glistening splotches. A hunched figure we later know to be Clyde obscures another form on the ground. A third figure is slumped against the far wall. This would be Tyler, dead. His body limp like a doll and the left side of his head caved in from the pipe strike. Clyde turns to face the camcorder, in his mouth the eye of James sits between his teeth. With a meaty pop, Clyde bites down on the eye and the video feed dies again.

Date: 08/13/02 Time: 10:18AM

Clyde is sitting on a couch facing the camcorder, to his right is the body of Tyler. The room is dark, a pitiful amount of light is able to get past the drawn drapes. Clyde sits unblinking until his demeanor shifts. He sways gently from side to side and holds his head.

Clyde: Wh-what the h-hell? Whe-when…did I? [He turns to his right and looks over Tyler] Oh hey man…when did…when did you g-get here?

[Clyde stands and stumbles off screen]

Clyde: S-sorry I must ha…have black out, th-thanks for tak-tak-taking me to the hospital. Look…look…j-just make yours-self at home. I’m…going to lay down for a n-nap. I’ll c-call when I g-get up.

[End of recovered data]

[Wonderful to hear from you K. Keep up the good work. -T]

[lightdancer1]

Dinah of Domdaniel sat in a chair, munching on bread dipped in olive oil. It was her fate to vanquish the terror that stalked the stars called the Great Azar, the God on the Gilded Throne, the Undying Flame. She knew it. The strange bit was that so many people kept seeking after her. The angels Marusarel, Sachiel, and that strange blind elf. Various lords of Pandaemonium and even a few of the more unpleasant cosmic entities that clustered at the highest level.

Even a few of these people, these strange armored beings in armor that looked like metal woven into a flayed hide. Part of her was sitting and eating, the rest of her was watching a confrontation. There was another being, in silver armor, flying with light erupting from her visor as the shimmering distortion broke.

She could have ended the fight, but she couldn't help but admire this Vishori Heshatani. There was something about her that drew the eye, the speed, the raw power, the dynamic flexibility. Her gaze lingered on her motions, the sleek strength and the brute force that, with the shield shattered moved and struck two solid blows that cracked the armor, leaving a frightened Xenten on his knees, his arms splitting to six limbs, a shimmering distortion trying to form and then a sense of Presence and the distortion cracked again.

Vishori removed her helm and she saw that dark green face with its long black stripes, the beautiful tips of her ears, the casual contempt in her expression and that dripped into her words.

She spoke in an aristocratic accent and the fire in her eyes blazed and then there was nothing but a pile of ashes. Dinah stood up then and walked toward her. The armored being stood still then, a strange look in her eyes. Bemusement-sorrow-regret-awe-horror-denial. She could feel the emotions like a wave but she was Urhalzantrani and she was of Sepharad and the power that wafted out was as nothing to her even in youth.

For a moment her hand touched her cheek and she tilted her head as the alien stood still in front of her.

What is it that so many people fear?

She simply looked at her with regret and closed her eyes and vanished in a shimmering distortion like water skipped across a stone.

You are at the center of a time traveling war. For every assassin sent back to the past to murder you, another warrior is sent to protect you and kill the assassin before they get a chance. As the bodies pile up, you still don’t have the slightest clue why you’re so important to these people.

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Top Luxury Furniture Trends for 2024: Elevate Your Home with BigBox

When it comes to luxury furniture, the key isn't just about following trends—it's about curating timeless pieces that elevate your home and reflect your personal style. At BigBox, we don’t just sell furniture; we offer pieces that are works of art, where craftsmanship meets design, and where luxury finds its ultimate expression. As we step into 2024, let's explore the top trends in high-end furniture that will help you transform your space into an oasis of elegance and sophistication.

1. Sustainable Luxury: The New Standard

Sustainability has made its way into luxury design, and it's here to stay. The modern high-end consumer seeks more than just opulence—they want their furniture to have a story, a purpose, and a positive environmental impact. At BigBox, we are proud to offer pieces crafted from ethically sourced materials, from reclaimed wood to sustainably harvested marble. Our artisans are redefining luxury with eco-friendly designs that don’t compromise on quality or aesthetics.

The shift towards sustainable luxury is not just a fleeting trend; it’s a movement. In 2024, expect to see more furniture that marries high-end craftsmanship with sustainable practices. Whether it's a custom-crafted coffee table made from repurposed hardwood or a plush velvet sofa produced with eco-conscious fabrics, sustainability is transforming the luxury furniture landscape.

2. Bold, Sculptural Silhouettes

Furniture is becoming more than just functional; it’s taking center stage as a form of artistic expression. In 2024, we see the rise of sculptural silhouettes—pieces that double as art and statement furniture. Think bold curves, asymmetrical lines, and striking shapes that command attention in any room.

BigBox specializes in creating statement pieces that evoke emotion and spark conversation. From our avant-garde armchairs to our dramatic, sculptural dining tables, each item is designed to be a focal point that speaks to your sense of style. These pieces are perfect for homeowners looking to make their furniture the centerpiece of their interior design.

3. Luxe Materials: Marble, Velvet, and Brass

When it comes to luxury, the materials used are as important as the design. In 2024, we see a resurgence of rich, tactile materials like marble, velvet, and brass. These materials aren’t just beautiful—they’re timeless, durable, and imbue a sense of opulence into any space.

At BigBox, we hand-select only the finest materials for our collections. Marble tables with bold veining patterns create a sophisticated, modern look, while our plush velvet sofas bring a sense of warmth and grandeur. Brass accents, from hardware to lighting, add an unmistakable glow and vintage charm, completing the luxury experience.

4. Neutral, Earthy Tones with a Twist

While bold colors have had their moment, 2024 will focus on calming, neutral palettes with earthy tones taking center stage. Shades like sand, terracotta, olive green, and taupe are dominating interior design trends, offering a sense of serenity and connection to nature.

However, at BigBox, we understand that luxury means customization. Our approach to this trend involves offering the same calming tones, but with a sophisticated twist—by incorporating rich textures and subtle metallic accents that elevate the look. A taupe sofa with brass legs or a terracotta-colored accent chair upholstered in velvet creates a refined, cohesive interior that feels both grounded and luxurious.

5. Customization: Your Home, Your Rules

Nothing speaks to true luxury more than customization. In 2024, discerning buyers are looking for more than off-the-shelf options; they want bespoke furniture that reflects their unique taste. This trend is about individuality and personal expression—something BigBox specializes in delivering.

We offer custom furniture services where you can choose everything from fabric and finishes to size and detailing. Whether you want a made-to-measure dining table or a one-of-a-kind sofa, our designers work with you to bring your vision to life. The result is a space that feels truly yours, with furniture that not only fits perfectly but also embodies your personal style.

6. Multifunctional Furniture for the Modern Luxury Home

As homes evolve, so does the need for furniture that serves multiple purposes. In 2024, multifunctional furniture is more than just a trend; it’s a necessity. Luxury doesn't have to mean excess; it can mean clever design that maximizes both form and function.

At BigBox, we offer pieces like elegant storage ottomans, modular sofas, and stylish extendable dining tables that adapt to your lifestyle while maintaining a high level of sophistication. These versatile items are perfect for city dwellers and those who value a minimalist aesthetic without sacrificing luxury.

Final Thoughts

Luxury furniture in 2024 is all about making bold, thoughtful choices that prioritize both aesthetic appeal and functionality. At BigBox, we’re proud to lead the way by offering furniture that not only follows the latest trends but also stands the test of time. Whether you're redesigning a single room or furnishing an entire home, our expertly crafted, high-end pieces are designed to make your space feel extraordinary.

Explore our collection today and discover how BigBox can help you bring these luxury trends to life in your home.

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Creating a Boho Chic living room is all about blending different textures, patterns, and colors to create a warm, eclectic, and inviting space. Here are some tips to help you achieve this style, incorporating pieces from ARV Furniture:

1. Layer Textures Furniture: Opt for ARV Furniture pieces with natural materials like rattan, wood, or upholstered furniture with a cozy texture. Mix and match these with soft throws, woven rugs, and plush cushions. Decor: Add a variety of textiles, such as macramé wall hangings, crochet blankets, and fringed pillows. 2. Embrace Earthy Tones Color Palette: Use warm and earthy tones like terracotta, mustard, olive green, and rust. Pair these with neutrals like beige, cream, and white to balance the space. Accent Pieces: Consider adding ARV Furniture accent chairs or side tables in these colors to complement the overall theme. 3. Mix Patterns Rugs & Pillows: Incorporate rugs and pillows with bold, geometric, or tribal patterns. ARV Furniture’s area rugs or decorative cushions can be a great way to introduce these elements. Wall Art: Add vibrant artwork with abstract or bohemian designs to make a statement. 4. Bring in Greenery Plants: Incorporate various indoor plants to bring life and color into the room. Large potted plants or hanging planters can enhance the boho vibe. Planters: Choose ARV Furniture’s decorative planters or stands to display your greenery stylishly. 5. Use Eclectic Decor Accessories: Add unique and eclectic decor pieces, such as vintage mirrors, handmade pottery, or global-inspired artifacts. Lighting: Use ambient lighting like lanterns, string lights, or lamps with woven shades to create a cozy atmosphere. 6. Incorporate Vintage and Handcrafted Items Furniture: Consider adding a vintage or antique piece from ARV Furniture’s collection to create a focal point in the room. Decor: Handcrafted items like woven baskets, tapestries, or artisanal ceramics add a personal and unique touch. 7. Create a Relaxing Atmosphere Seating: Incorporate comfortable seating options like poufs, floor cushions, or a soft ARV Furniture sofa where you can lounge and relax. Ambiance: Use candles, incense, or essential oil diffusers to create a calming ambiance in the room. By combining these elements with the right pieces from ARV Furniture, you can create a beautiful, relaxed, and inviting Boho Chic living room.

[wedezineinterior]

Transform Your Balcony with WeDezine: Discover the Perfect Color Palette

Balconies offer a unique blend of indoor comfort and outdoor serenity, serving as an extension of your living space. At WeDezine, we understand that selecting the perfect color scheme can elevate your balcony from a simple outdoor area to a stunning retreat. Let us guide you through the process of choosing a color palette that reflects your personal style and harmonizes with Shivamogga’s beautiful surroundings.

1. Define Your Balcony’s Purpose

The first step in choosing the ideal color scheme is to consider how you plan to use your balcony. Whether it’s a tranquil reading nook, a lively entertainment zone, or a flourishing urban garden, your color choices should align with its purpose:

Relaxation Haven: Opt for soothing shades like soft blues, gentle greens, or warm neutrals to create a peaceful ambiance.

Entertainment Area: Embrace vibrant colors such as lively yellows, energetic reds, or deep blues to infuse the space with dynamism.

Urban Garden: Earthy tones like terracotta, olive green, and rich browns complement the natural elements and bring harmony to your green space.

2. Seamlessly Blend with Nature

Shivamogga’s lush greenery and scenic landscapes provide a stunning backdrop for your balcony. Choose a color palette that harmonizes with these natural elements to create a cohesive and tranquil environment. Soft greens, earthy browns, and gentle blues mirror the surrounding nature, making your balcony feel like an integral part of the landscape.

3. Complement Your Home’s Architecture

Your balcony’s color scheme should enhance the architectural style of your home. For traditional interior designs, consider classic combinations such as white and navy or beige and forest green. If your home features a modern or minimalist interior design, opt for a sleek monochromatic scheme with varying shades of grey, black, and white.

4. Explore Bold Contrasts

Want your balcony to make a statement? Play with contrasting colors to add visual interest and define different areas within the space. A bright yellow chair against a dark grey wall or a teal accent wall with white furniture can create a striking effect that draws the eye.

5. Draw Inspiration from the Seasons

Shivamogga’s diverse climate offers year-round opportunities to refresh your balcony’s look. Reflect seasonal colors to keep your space feeling vibrant and timely:

Summer: Incorporate bright hues like turquoise, coral, and lemon yellow for a tropical touch.

Monsoon: Deep greens, blues, and greys can echo the rain-soaked landscape and provide a soothing backdrop.

Winter: Warm shades such as burnt orange, maroon, and gold create a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

6. Enhance with Thoughtful Details

Accents and accessories can significantly impact your balcony’s overall look. Add cushions, rugs, planters, and outdoor art in your chosen color palette to enrich the space and make it uniquely yours. These details also offer a simple way to update the look of your balcony whenever you desire.

7. Consider Lighting Effects

The appearance of colors can change based on lighting conditions. Natural light will highlight true colors during the day, while artificial lighting can cast different hues in the evening. Ensure your color scheme looks appealing under various lighting scenarios to achieve the desired effect throughout the day.

8. Test Before Finalizing

Before committing to a color scheme, test your choices in small sections of your balcony. Apply paint samples or place color swatches on furniture and accessories to see how they interact with the space. This step helps you make informed decisions and ensures you’ll be satisfied with the final outcome.

Conclusion

Selecting the perfect color palette for your balcony is a chance to showcase your style and enhance your home’s exterior. At WeDezine, we’re dedicated to helping you create a balcony that not only looks beautiful but also functions perfectly for your lifestyle. Whether you envision a serene retreat or a vibrant gathering space, our expertise will guide you in transforming your balcony into a cherished part of your home.

For personalized design advice and to explore your color options, contact WeDezine today and let us help you bring your balcony vision to life.