#ornate console table

[elyxir]

Family Room Enclosed New York

Inspiration for a large transitional enclosed dark wood floor family room remodel with gray walls

[indiatrendzs]

Create Rhythm and Harmony in Interiors with Carved Doors

 A well-designed space can foster tranquility, increase productivity, and enhance our quality of life from the moment we step inside. This transformation is largely due to the rhythmic flow and harmonious balance within the design. In this article, we will examine the significance of rhythm and harmony in interior design and how they impact the creation of our…

[spiceinthecoffee]

Enclosed - Dining Room Mid-sized enclosed dining room with beige walls and a traditional medium-tone wood floor.

[janlock]

Dining Room - Traditional Dining Room

Mid-sized elegant medium tone wood floor enclosed dining room photo with beige walls

[pumpernickelandcoal]

Eclectic Powder Room - Bathroom Inspiration for a large eclectic powder room remodel with multicolored walls

[f-airchilds]

Formal - Living Room Inspiration for a large, enclosed, eclectic living room remodel with white walls and a gray floor.

[no-mercy-bby]

Stay

Inspired by @eyeheartboobiez Sugar Daddy!Bruce Wayne Headcanons cause I really enjoyed them😌

Summary: Your sugar daddy, Bruce Wayne, asks you to stay the night and then a bit more. How could you possibly resist his allure.

(Fluff, smut if you imagine it, angst, possessive!Bruce as in he most definitely wants to marry you, I imagined it as Bale!Bruce but pick your poison)

"You want me to what?" You ask humorously, but not unkindly, as you lean in towards the mirror over the ornate shiny console table. Carefully, you pull your earrings from where they had tangled in your hair. Then you try to wipe the smudges of lipstick off from the skin around your lips where your makeout had grown... messy.

"I'd like you to stay the night," Bruce says smoothly behind you from the armchair in the sitting room, "If you'd like to, of course."

"Well," You start with a smile, your long silk evening gown moving with you as you turn around to face him," What would I get?"

"Anything you'd like, pretty." He replies simply with an easy sly smile playing on his lips. Like it was just so easy for him, as simple as rich people having different rooms for sitting and living, yet were essentially the same. Oh, and if you didn't have a library in your mansion, how appalling! But Bruce was rather charming, which only sweeter his offer even more.

"A pony?" You tease childishly because you could. Especially after one of these elaborate events, listening to all the trivial little things rich people thought was important, you really couldn't help yourself.

"A whole sable full, sweetheart." Bruce promises with a soft chuckle, leaning forward and gesturing for you to come closer.

"I wouldn't mind staying the night, Bruce." You reply sweetly with a smile you couldn't help as you walk closer. His strong hands hold your hips as you lean down towards him, his little smile twisting to a smirk.

Bruce leans up and kisses you, his lips still tasting of sweet champagne despite only nursing the same glass all night. Not to mention, you could taste your lipstick that had rubbed off on his lips. You hum a little at the pressure he was kissing with. It wasn't overbearing but rather insistent. You brace your hands against his sturdy shoulders and break the suction of your mouth from his.

"Bruce, not here-" You start hesitantly, trying to pull your face away more, only for one of Bruce's strong hands to pull you in by holding the back of your neck. You turn your face away, and he starts pecking little kisses all over your cheek, causing you to start giggling.

"Why not here, hm?" Bruce grumbles like a spoiled child and tugs you even closer by his other hand still on your hip. His chin dips down, and he starts kissing at your neck. Bruce's 5 o'clock shadow of scruff scrapes and brushes along, making you gasp a little.

"Because we almost got caught last time in this exact sitting room."

"Alfred is asleep."

"That's exactly what you said last time!"

Bruce chuckles heartily now and drops his forehead to your collarbone as you are practically hovering over his lap. With a knee between his thighs and perched on the edge of the cushion, you shift your weight onto him by boldly straddling his lap.

Now at the same eye level, Bruce nudges his nose lightly against yours as he looks into your eyes.

"I'm sorry, princess, why don't you let me make it up to you? Oh, and you know what," His eyes twinkle with mischief as they glance at your lips," I'll show you the new jacuzzi tub."

"Oh really, Mr. Wayne?" You raise your eyebrows at him and smile cheekily, offhandedly saying," I might never leave now."

Bruce grins bright then, surging forward and kissing you deeply as his muscular arms wrap around you.

~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Snuggled up against his solid warm chest with silky dark grey sheets embracing you both, you sigh tiredly. His chin is nestled against the crown of your head as his calloused fingers lightly stroke down the side of your body. It was honestly so soothing and relaxing. His touch, his warmth, and especially his smile.

Bruce rarely smiled in public even with you on his arm. It felt good to see under the mask he provided to the public of Gotham. That he wasn't only a shallow millionaire with a silver spoon-

"-I want you to live here." Bruce states aloud, his bare chest rumbling under your ear.

"...you want me to live here? With you?" You ask in confusion, propping yourself onto your elbow to meet his eyes. Bruce nods sincerely, as his hand now strokes along the length of your back, stopping at the small of your back.

"Why?" You now ask him softer because surely he had a good reason.

"So I can protect you, baby."

"Are you saying I can't protect myself??"

"No, that's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I... I really enjoy having you around, and I want to see you every day."

"You really mean that?"

"Yes, sweetheart, you know I do." Bruce reassures you tenderly, and the sweet puppy dog look within his eyes makes you want you cry.

You kiss him, pecking his lips sweetly as your nails scritch his scruff fondly.

"I want to come home to you," Bruce murmurs against your lips, and that was the icing of the cake.

"I'd really love to move in with you, Bruce." You admit, a breath away from his lips now.

"It's settled then, baby." Bruce smiles softly at you before now kissing you soundly. You smile too as you kiss back, and his legs tangle with yours.

You fall asleep on his chest with his arms embracing you. Lulled to sleep by the intimate and cozy feeling of his warm skin to yours... it felt so nice, really nice. You could easily get used to this.

~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Please like, comment, and reblog! I'd love to hear your feedback!! (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-)

[thespnreferencedesk]

A Fic Writer's Guide to Bobby's House

Part 1 | Part 2: Library/Den

Click for the full-size, annotated versions of images!

Bobby's library is the unofficial home base of many of the show's earlier seasons. If you keep an eye out, you can spy a handful of objects and pieces of furniture consistently popping up over this room's many appearances, but no two episodes have them arranged the same way. It's also very often that a piece of furniture will pop up in one episode only to be gone the next. Since 4.02 reveals that Bobby has a spare storage room upstairs, it's possible that's where he keeps most of this extra furniture.

There are two main iterations of Bobby's den. The first appears during seasons 1 - 3 and features less furniture, far more books, dark brown trim instead of black, and a different wallpaper (or no wallpaper in 1.22). The new wallpaper and black trim first appear in 3.10, and they can be seen alongside the new layout in seasons 4 - 7. This iteration of the library includes a large Persian rug, ornate wooden desk, twin book shelves to the left of the fireplace, a floor lamp and bookshelf to the right of the fireplace, the red couch in front of a set of bay windows, a half bookshelf in the far left corner, and a rolltop desk in the far right.

A large Persian area rug typically sits in the center of the room except for when some type of trap is being painted on the floor. A devil's trap can be seen on the ceiling in 1.22 and 6.20. Bobby's ceiling is beige and has wooden beams that match the rest of the trim.

The heart of Bobby's library is a wood-burning fireplace with green tiled surround and a black carved mantle where Bobby keeps books and random knick-knacks. In the later seasons, these include a small bulldog statue/bookend, a pewter pitcher with tankards, two silver trophies, and a wooden antique radio. Above the fireplace is a landscape painting framed by two electric wall sconces.

Decorations aside, Bobby's fireplace is also a practical hunter's tool. It's often used as a flame source for spells, and the iron pokers and other tools make for an easy handheld weapon against ghosts and specters. In 5.04, it's revealed that the center section of the mantle hides a secret compartment where he keeps a hunting journal similar to John's.

Bobby's carved wooden desk is first seen in 4.02 and, with a few exceptions, appears consistently up until it burns with the rest of Bobby's house. Earlier episodes (3.03, 3.04) either have a simpler table in its place or no desk at all (seasons 1 - 2).

Bobby's desk is a free-standing open pedestal desk with turned legs, lower shelves, and diamond-shaped carvings. Based on the style, it's likely from the late 19th or early 20th century. Similar desks can be seen here and here. The desk also has three shallow upper drawers, two deeper drawers on each pedestal, and a green stone top that Bobby uses as a chalkboard for spells. In 5.18, it's shown that Bobby keeps his Single-Action Army revolver in one of the drawers. In 6.15, Balthazar is rummaging through Bobby's drawers and finds a saint's bone underneath a false drawer bottom.

In seasons 4 - 5, Bobby tends to use a black flexible goose-neck desk lamp. Starting in season 6, he switches this lamp for a thin, rectangular, golden brown mid-century lamp. It could be assumed that this lamp was also destroyed in the fire that burned Bobby's house, but it actually shows up in Dean's bedroom in the Bunker in later seasons. So either the Men of Letters had the same lamp, Dean found a similar one at a thrift store at some point, or he was able to recover the lamp from the ruins of Bobby's house.

In seasons 1 - 3, the corner to the left of Bobby's fireplace contained the rolltop desk, a console table, and piles of books. This layout can still be seen in 4.01, but it is replaced in 4.02 with two matching bookshelves. The more left of the two bookshelves has a black gooseneck lamp clamped onto the top shelf, and sometimes a dining chair stacked with extra books is also pushed into this corner. Inside of Bobby's mind in 7.10, these shelves also hold framed photos of Bobby with loved ones as well as a book cut out to hide an elaborate crucifix.

Along with the matching bookshelves, 4.02 places a floor lamp, chair, and upright bookcase in the corner to the right of the fire place. This chair is typically some kind of living chair but is sometimes one of the wooden dining chairs that frequently get moved around the library. Next to the bookcase, underneath the bay window, is a red couch with a faint swirl pattern, carved wooden feet, and decorative panels on the arms. Bobby also owns a matching armchair (5.18, see above), but it is not usually seen in the library.

This couch is where Sam or Dean sleep while at Bobby's. If the both of them are there, Sam takes the couch while Dean sleeps on the floor (4.02, above). A gray blanket with faint stripes pops up in a few episodes as well as a striped pillow that appears to match the pillows on the cot in the panic room and in the linen closet upstairs (4.02). Various end tables and dining chairs get moved around the couch and used as nightstands or bookshelves.

To the right of the couch is a half bookshelf and console table stacked with books. In season 5, the console table is replaced with a vintage stereo cabinet. The stereo is used as a table and sometimes holds records (5.18 - 5.21), sometimes holds drawers and books, and sometimes holds a TV (6.04). A similar stereo can be seen here, though note that Bobby's has tapered legs. Also note that the wall sconce in this corner is the only one in this room that has two lights instead of one.

A pair of black pocket doors sits at the back wall of the library and leads to the kitchen. These doors slide into the wall rather than opening in- or outward, and are typically left closed. To the right of the doors is a black double light switch.

To the right of the pocket doors are typically a dining chair stacked with books, a black trunk, an upright blueprint holder filled with maps and plans, and at various times books and a radio. When this radio isn't on the trunk, it tens to sit on top of Bobby's rolltop desk alongside one of his many desk lamps and a decanter and glassware set. This desk is also where Bobby keeps a CB radio (used in 5.10).

Like Bobby's main desk, the rolltop desk is also either likely from the early 18th or early 19th century or is a replica of a desk from that period. It's always seen open and has an assortment of small drawers, cubbies, and cabinets on the desktop. It has a center drawer, and four drawers on the pedestals, and sits on casters so it can be easily moved.

As previously mentioned, there are several variations of Bobby's library within the show. In it's first appearance in 1.22, the library didn't have it's signature red wallpaper. The first wallpaper appears in 2.14 and has a toile pattern while the second wallpaper has a look closer to a jacquard or brocade. When we see Bobby's heaven in 10.17, the wallpaper (and rug and radio and couch...) is different once again.

Sometime between seasons 3 and 4, the dark brown wood trim in Bobby's library is painted black. In season 5, while Bobby uses a wheelchair, the couch is replaced with a twin bed with wooden headboard.

Bobby's library gets neater and cozier with every episode. What is little more than a dark place to stack hundreds of books in its first appearance is, by season 7, a proper living space with multiple light sources, tchotchkes, records, a couch, and pillows. No wonder it's the place where time and time again someone is brought when they need to stay somewhere safe and familiar. After years of being alone after his wife's death, it's almost as if reconnecting with his boys motivated Bobby to finally turn his house back into a home.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hey!! i really love your posts and trust me when i say this but you're practically doing a work of charity by making all these synonym lists. 😩🫶

i was wondering if you could compile monument vocabulary. vocabulary to describe the intricate and exquisite designs inside historical buildings. tysm!

Some Historical Architecture & Interior Design Vocabulary

Acanthus Leaf - A leaf decoration often used on furniture, particularly on brackets and legs.

Acroterium - Originally an ornament on the roof corners of Greek temples. In classical furniture, similar ornaments applied to the top corners of secretaries, bookcases, highboys and other furniture.

Amorini - Cupid ornaments found on Italian Renaissance furniture.

Anthemion - A honeysuckle design from classical Greek decorative motifs. Term refers to any conventional flower or leaf design.

Antique - Could be anything ranging from a piece of furniture to art. The U.S. government considers any item over 100 years old to be an antique, whereas most collectors use 50 years as a benchmark.

Apothecary Chest - A low chest with small drawers that was originally used to store herbs for cooking and medicinal purposes.

Arabesque - Decorative scroll work or other intricate ornamentation consisting of foliage, vases, leaves and fruits, or fantastic human and animal figures.

Baroque - A highly ornate decorative style that originated in Italy in the 1600's. The style is characterized by irregular curves, twisted columns, elaborate scrolls and oversize moldings. The Italian equivalent of French "rococo".

Bibliotheque-Basse - A low cupboard with shelves for books. Doors are often of glass and sometimes fitted with grilles.

Bullate - Having the surface covered with irregular and slight elevations, giving a blistered appearance.

Cabriole leg - An ornamented furniture leg with a double curve structure.

Chevron - A 'zigzag' pattern characteristic of Romanesque decoration that is often carved around pillars, arches and doorways.

Chinoiserie - A European style of design that is meant to mimic elements of East Asian art.

Console table - A freestanding table, often found in the entryway of homes, that typically serves as a space for decorative elements.

Enfilade - A series of rooms that are connected via doorways that align with one another (commonplace in grand castles, like the Palace of Versailles, or even museums).

Etagere - A freestanding or hanging set of open shelves, designed to display trinkets or other decorative objects.

Gilding - A coating with a thin layer of gold or gold-like substance.

Klismos - Ancient Greek style of chair with saber shaped legs splayed at the front and back. The back legs continue up to support a shoulder-height curved back.

Laurelling - A decorative feature using the laurel leaf motif as its basis.

Lozenge - A diamond shaped decorative panel. Term comes from the Middle English word for stone.

Niche - A recess in a wall for displaying a sculpture or other accessory.

Ormulu - A metal resembling gold. Used as mounts and decorative effects on furniture.

Ovolo - A continuous ornament in the form of an egg which generally decorates the molding called the "quarter-round". Eggs are often separated from each other by pointed darts.

Passementerie - Fancy decorative trimmings such as tassels, tiebacks and ribbon.

Régence Style - This furniture style spanned from about 1715 to 1723, when France was ruled by a regent. This style of furniture design was a transition from massive straight lines to graceful curves.

Sconces - A type of light fixture that is fastened to a wall for support.

Swan-Neck Handle - A curved handle popular in the 1700's.

Trompe l’oeil - A technique used to trick the eye into thinking that something flat, like a wall, is actually three-dimensional. This is often achieved through photorealistic painting.

Victorian - An architectural style defined by highly ornamented design and grand, sweeping facades.

Wainscoting - A type of interior wall paneling that covers the lower portion of a wall.

"Traditional" Interior Design

When talking about traditional interior design, most are referencing a design style that originated in the 18th and 19th century throughout Europe. However, it’s worth noting that other cultures have their own versions of a traditional style that may not look the same as this more Western version.

Traditional Design Elements. Though not exhaustive, a traditional interior will often make use of the following elements: 

Emphasis on symmetry and order

Traditional architectural details such wainscoting and crown molding

Classic decor elements such as chandeliers and bookcases 

Neutral color schemes with pops of bold colors, often in jewel tones 

Upholstery and textiles tend to be subtler (cotton, velvet, or wool, for example)

Furniture pieces with traditional silhouettes, though they��re often updated with modern elements or finishes 

Layered window treatments and draperies; curtain valances aren’t used often

Classic patterns such as plaids, damask, or florals  

Flooring tends to make use of darker wood  

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Word Lists

Previous posts that include some related words you might find useful:

Some Architecture Vocabulary

Some European Renaissance Art Vocabulary

Some Medieval Art & Architecture Vocabulary: Part 1

Some Medieval Art & Architecture Vocabulary: Part 2

Some Roman Art Vocabulary

Thanks so much for your kind words, you're really sweet! I tried to include a wide range of terminology since you didn't specify which time period you were looking for. Do go through the sources if I wasn't able to include here what you need in your writing. Hope this helps <3

[waterlilylullabies]

Study Session: Vol. 1

Gale x OC Smut, MDNI!

Pure smut. Total nonsense, enjoy.

CW: Softdom Gale, AFAB

As Gale steps into the room, a copy of Azebin Jeqor’s Ars Magicka very nearly glances off his head. The projectile is swiftly followed by a cry of “Oh Gods Gale, I’m so sorry! Did I hit you?” He bends to retrieve the book, checking it over for damage before turning to Roslyn, who has spirited herself towards him and is hovering about him with frantic concern. He places a swift kiss to her forehead “I’m fine dearest, though I do strongly object to you attempting to pulverize the only surviving copy of one of the greatest treatises on conjuration ever put to parchment”, he gives her a look which he hopes is stern, one that he often gives his students, but he can tell from the smile she is only barely biting back that it’s a lost cause. “I’m sorry” she says, batting her lashes at him. He sighs and goes to the bookshelf to return the tome to a place that is safely out of Roslyn’s reach. “May I ask what inspired you to throw it?” He suspects he already knows the answer. Roslyn has collapsed onto the settee in the corner of the room. She chews absentmindedly at her thumbnail. “Tedious” she harrumphs. “Ah” he smiles, “I take it the summoning spell Jeqor outlines is proving more challenging than you anticipated?” He settles himself next to her and she drapes her bare legs over him.

He runs his hand along her calves, her skin is warm and soft and he notes with no small amount of interest that she is wearing, what to his mind is the most perfect, if entirely impractical item of clothing ever created. It is a burnt orange silk slip, which sets off the pale pearlescence of Roslyn’s complexion and leaves perilously little to the imagination. The day he bought it for her she joked that she loved it so much she’d never take it off. She’d slipped it on and stepped out from behind the ornate changing screen she’s propped in the corner of their room. The sight of her, glowing and delighted and achingly beautiful had him half hard before she even laid a hand on him. “Leave it on.” He’d growled in a voice so full of hunger that Roslyn had blushed. His hand twitches involuntarily at the memory of silk beneath his hands and his lips against her throat as he’d thrusted up into her.

He’s shaken from his musings by Roslyn’s disconsolate sigh. She’s gazing mournfully at the ceiling. “If it’s any consolation Ros, it took me almost a week to master that spell” he smiles. She laughs softly “that’s no consolation at all Gale” she closes her eyes “I’ve been at it for nearly a month”. She sits up abruptly, swings her legs off him and goes to stand in the centre of the room. She speaks the incantation. Her enunciation is clear and the quick decisive flick of her wrist is perfectly timed. Still, the porcelain vase which she had placed on the small table on the balcony a month before remains resolutely in place. He frowns, crosses the room, comes to stand behind her. “Try it again”, he observes more carefully this time, taking note of her stance, watching the careful way she summons up the weave before releasing it. The vase stays put. She turns to him with her fists balled “why isn’t it working?” her tone sharp with impatience and frustration. He paces slowly around her, “are you focusing on the vase?” he asks. “Yes!” She snaps exasperatedly, “that bloody vase is all I think about! I can sketch the pattern around the lip from memory, I know how much it weighs, I know it’s exact dimensions, I know-“. He cuts her off “therein, my dearest one, is the source of the problem.”

She is scandalised “I’m trying to summon the vase Gale. I think it’s probably helpful to focus on it”. He comes to stand in front of her “Ros, you have more innate magical ability than most wizards could ever hope to wield” he pushes back her dark tangled curls and cups her face in his hands “but you have yet to learn that you cannot approach spell work with sheer stubbornness”. She groans “you’re making even less sense that that bloody book.” Her eyes are fixed on the vase and she shifts her stance, about to try again, but he steps behind her, wraps an arm around her waist and bends to her ear “try focusing on yourself, not on the vase” he whispers. “What?” she snaps. He grazes the side of her neck with the back of his hand. “Relax, stop trying to force it.” She sighs, then turns to look at him over her shoulder. “Yes professor” she says sardonically rolling her eyes, but all the same, her voice is pitched ever so slightly higher.

“Close your eyes, good. Now breathe in. Hold it. And breathe out.” She does as instructed. “Keep your eyes closed” He says softly “and don’t move”. He presses a lingering kiss to the back of her neck, breathes in something like honey and spice, the ineffable scent of her. She shudders. “Do you trust me Ros?” He murmurs against her neck. She nods. He moves to stand in front of her, presses a kiss to each closed eyelid and then kneels.

“Have you ever wondered” he asks, lifting her right leg and propping it on his shoulder “why wizards are so insufferably arrogant?” He kisses the inside of her knee. She clears her throat “Frequently, yes” she replies. He trails kisses along her the soft skin of her inner thigh. “Well I’ll tell you a secret Ros, a hard earned trick of the trade. Contrary to popular belief, Wizard’s don’t exert their will through the weave” he bunches the fabric of her slip in his hands, lifts it higher, exposing even more of her to him. “Magic is much more akin to a dance, between two partners who are intimately familiar” he reaches the apex of her thighs and inhales deeply. Roslyn suppresses a little whine “A wizard trusts their partner will follow their lead, even through the most complex of dances. They don’t watch their partner’s footwork, they focus on their own” He looks up at her, her cheeks are already flushed and her breath is coming faster. He smiles “Any decent wizard knows, that they needn’t force anything, they need only trust that the object of their desire’s will come to them”. He flattens his tongue against her core and suppresses a smile as she moans.

His eyes flick to her face, she is looking down at him, mouth agape “Keep your eyes closed Ros”. She does as he asks and he buries his face deeper between her thighs.

He laps at her slowly, methodically, His nose bumps against her clit and her fingers come to tangle in his hair, urging him on.

He notices that she is hovering slightly, trying to keep her weight off him. No, he thinks, that won’t do. He reaches around and grips her left thigh and pulls her down firmly and decisively. “Gale” she sighs. He’s already hard, but she speaks his name and he wonders, and not without justification, if that alone will tip him over the edge.

He traces circles around her clit, he knows it is almost, but not quite enough to undo her. He wants to ruin her completely. He wants to coax from her those noises that he loves so much. He wants her to come undone on his tongue over and over again. He wants her under him; insensible,shuddering, and sated. He wants all of this, all of her, all of the time, with a ferocity that would frighten him if he didn’t see that same hunger mirrored in her eyes. He pulls away for a moment “Are you still focusing on the vase?” He pants “No, Gods no, don’t stop”. She whimpers. As if he needs to be told, as if he has any intention of stopping. All the same, hearing her ask for it, beg for it so sweetly, stokes a fire in him.

He squeezes the trembling thigh propped on his shoulder and she moans, loudly and shamelessly. “Gale I’m close, I’m so close, I’m so close” she chants and he knows she is, he can taste it, sweet and perfect on his tongue. He hums against her and suddenly she is crying his name brokenly and then he is holding her up and then she is laughing in disbelief.

He looks up at her, she is holding the vase. He grins. Roslyn turns it over in her hands bemused “Did you know that would work?” She asks, her cheeks are flushed so prettily and she looks so very happy that he can’t help but smile wider. “It was, I’ll admit, a novel and highly experimental approach” he says struggling to his feet.

Her eyes sweep to his crotch and she grins, “Well, it certainly warrants further consideration. Perhaps you’d like to join me on the bed Gale? I could use your help summoning that tea set”

[baelarys]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨

Helaena targaryen x lady reader Lannister x Aemond targaryen

Word Count: 2987

warning: fluffy, bad word, Aemond being an idiot

The large wooden doors opened with a faint creak, allowing you to enter the queen's chamber. As you crossed the threshold, the guards closed the doors behind you, letting the echo of their closure resonate for a moment in the room.

Your eyes immediately fell on the figure of the queen, whose platinum hair gleamed under the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains. She was kneeling on the floor, bent over an ornate wooden table, attentively observing the small cages containing various insects. Her concentration was so intense that she didn’t seem to notice your presence right away.

"My queen," you said softly as you approached her, taking a seat by her side.

"I told you not to call me that," Helaena replied with a faint sigh, glancing away for a moment. However, instead of moving away entirely, she shifted just enough to give you space, so that your arms continued to brush against each other, creating a subtle yet present connection between you.

Although Helaena had corrected your manner of addressing her, there was no reproach in her voice, only a resigned sweetness that had become characteristic of your interactions. The warmth of her arm against yours conveyed a closeness that words couldn’t express, a bond that had transcended the formalities of her position.

You had known each other since you were children, always together, sharing laughter and secrets in any corner of the palace. It was hard to imagine one without the other; your mutual presence had become something natural, as if your lives were intrinsically intertwined. But in the last three years, that connection had evolved into something deeper, something that had surprised even you.

The relationship you had cultivated, marked by the passage of years and the undeniable affection you felt, was something that still bewildered you. You were so different in your essence: you, a boisterous and adventurous person, always seeking the next challenge or the next opportunity to try something new. Helaena, on the other hand, was the calm in the storm, with her quiet and reserved nature, preferring the peace of the gardens or the silent contemplation of her insects to the intense emotions that filled you with life.

"What’s wrong?" you asked gently, noticing how Helaena watched with concern the small wooden cage that held one of her crickets.

"It stopped singing," she whispered, her voice laden with a silent sadness. Her fingers, always delicate, reached out to the cage, gently brushing the wooden bars, as if a stronger touch could break more than just the silence that had settled between you.

"I’m sorry," you said, unsure of how to console her at that moment, understanding that her sadness wasn’t just about the loss of the cricket but probably reflected something deeper: the silent burdens she always carried, hidden beneath her serene facade. "We can get another one."

Helaena nodded slowly, but instead of turning her attention back to the cage, her eyes turned to you. That unexpected gesture made your heart stop for a moment. Her violet eyes, which you had always found so fascinating, fixed on yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. In that silent exchange, her eyes spoke to you with a clarity that needed no words. You could see in them not just the sadness over the loss of a cricket but also a mixture of deeper emotions that you had felt within yourself for so long. There was a mutual understanding, a connection that went beyond the differences between you.

Slowly, almost without realizing it, you leaned toward her, drawn by the gravity of that shared moment. Helaena didn’t pull away; on the contrary, her lips parted slightly, as if she too were responding to the same invisible force that was drawing you toward her.

When your lips finally met hers, the kiss was soft, almost shy at first, but charged with an emotion that had seemed to have been waiting years to manifest.

Almost unconsciously, you placed a hand on her cheek, your thumb gently caressing her skin. The proximity between you intensified, and you felt Helaena giving in, allowing you to pull her even closer. Her lips, which had been timid at first, now moved with growing confidence, responding to the rhythm of the kiss you shared.

The delicate initial touch turned into a synchronized dance, where both hearts seemed to beat in unison. Every movement, every touch, was a silent affirmation of the bond you shared. Your fingers slowly slid from her cheek to the nape of her neck, gently caressing her silver hair as the closeness between your bodies dispelled any trace of doubt.

Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the bubble of intimacy in which you had immersed yourselves. The creak of the door opening forced you to pull away from Helaena with instinctive speed, putting a more appropriate distance between you, trying to regain your composure.

The dowager queen, Alicent Hightower, entered the room. Your heart pounded as you quickly stood up, offering a deep bow, lowering your head to hide the blush that had overtaken your cheeks. You knew that any sign of vulnerability could be perceived, and you preferred to avoid having your emotions scrutinized under Alicent's keen gaze.

The Dowager Queen first directed her gaze towards Helaena, who had once again focused on the small cage as if nothing had happened. Her platinum profile was turned away from the door, and her posture was calm, though you knew that behind that apparent serenity was a whirlwind of emotions.

“I would like to speak with the Queen alone,” Alicent said, her voice soft but firm, laden with the implicit authority of her position. A shiver ran down your spine, as if the weight of her words had descended upon you with the force of a sentence.

You didn’t dare look at Helaena as you made one final bow, your hands trembling slightly as you tried to maintain your composure. With an effort that nearly felt painful, you forced your legs to move, leaving the room with quick steps but not quite running. The air in the outer hallway hit you with unexpected force, as if crossing the threshold had left behind an invisible danger.

As you walked, you felt the nervousness overtaking you, each thought more unsettling than the last. What punishment awaited you if someone discovered what had just transpired in the privacy of that room? For Helaena, the protection of her status as princess would be a shield, but you... you would have no such luck. You couldn’t stop thinking about the possible consequences: shame, dishonor, and the inevitable punishment that would fall upon you like an inescapable yoke.

Not even your brother's wealth, as abundant as it was, could save you from the ruin that would befall you if the nature of your relationship with the princess was revealed. The Seven, with their severe judgments and unbreakable codes, would have no mercy on you.

The magnitude of the risk you had taken made you feel an oppressive weight in your chest, as if the walls themselves were closing in around you.

You tried to push those thoughts from your mind, forcing yourself to stay calm. “No one will notice,” you repeated to yourself over and over again, seeking some kind of solace in those words. What happened between the two of you wasn’t something new, far from it. You had shared kisses on countless occasions, each more secret and furtive than the last, and so far no one had suspected a thing. The court, always preoccupied with its intrigues and rumors, had not paid attention to the closeness you shared.

Furthermore, the two maids who had witnessed one of those indiscreet moments had been handled with the discretion the situation required. You had offered them sufficient incentives to ensure their silence, and although you had initially worried about the possibility of them betraying your trust, time had proven that fear and gold could be powerful allies.

Two days had passed since the encounter in the Queen’s chamber, and in that brief span, the atmosphere at court had become even more tense. The war looming over the kingdom had heightened the vigilance and distrust among the members of the court. The whispers of conflict, political intrigues, and constantly shifting alliances only served to increase the pressure on everyone involved.

The situation seemed to be on the verge of an imminent explosion. Rhaenyra had managed to acquire three new dragons, leaving your side at a clear disadvantage. With the death of Sunfire, the only available dragons were Vhagar and Dreamfire. However, you had serious doubts about Dreamfire’s willingness to join the battle, especially considering Helaena’s innocent nature, as she was reluctant to use dragonfire against any human being. In contrast, Aemond had shown a radically different attitude.

You had noticed a significant transformation in Aemond since the last meeting. The prince, who had once been shy and hesitant in his interactions with you, had become a strong and calculating young man. His change was evident in the way he moved through the court and how he handled state affairs. His behavior, though shrewd, stirred a growing distrust within you.

When Aemond sent your older brother, Tyland, on a mission to negotiate with pirates, you took his place on the council. The council room, which you had grown accustomed to seeing filled with participants, was now noticeably empty.

As the days passed, you received numerous letters from your sister-in-law, urging you to return to Casterly Rock. In her missives, she expressed her concern for your safety amid the growing dangers of war, warning you of the risk of an attack by Rhaenyra. Despite her legitimate concerns, you refused to abandon your post. The idea of leaving Helaena alone, surrounded by intrigues and possible threats, seemed unacceptable to you. Your loyalty to her and your commitment to the situation at court kept you firmly in place.

You decided to visit Helaena in her chamber, seeking a moment of closeness and comfort amidst the growing tension. Upon reaching her door, you paused for a moment to catch your breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. You knocked softly and waited to be received. The door opened, revealing Helaena with a tired but kind expression. Her eyes lit up upon seeing you, and a smile graced her face, momentarily alleviating the weight she seemed to bear.

"I'm glad you came," Helaena said, opening the door wider for you to enter. "I needed to see you."

You stepped into the chamber, and the warm glow of the candles illuminating the place contrasted with the cold reality of the outside world. The atmosphere was filled with the softness of silk curtains and the light scent of dried flowers that Helaena often used to add a touch of calm to her space.

You approached her, and without a word, you embraced her with tender care. The embrace, though brief, conveyed a deep and sincere connection. The warmth of her body against yours and the soft perfume of her skin offered necessary comfort amid the growing tension.

Helaena looked into your eyes, and in that moment, the outside world seemed to fade away. "I missed this," she confessed in a soft voice.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you heard her, and without thinking, you pulled her closer, hiding your face in her neck. You closed your eyes, allowing the sweet scent of her skin to envelop you and provide a moment of calm.

Helaena responded to your gesture with a delicacy that moved you. She wrapped her arms around your waist, her embrace warm and protective.

For a few moments, there was no need for words. The embrace, charged with a deep and sincere connection, seemed to say everything you needed to share. The touch of her arms, the beat of her heart against yours, offered a tranquility that countered the tensions of the war and the worries surrounding you both.

Finally, you made yourself break the embrace, knowing it was necessary. With slight reluctance, you gently pulled away, looking into Helaena’s eyes. “It’s late; you need to rest,” you said with firmness and tenderness, trying to balance your concern with the need to allow her well-deserved rest.

With a soft smile, you leaned in once more and gave her one last kiss on the forehead, a gesture that encapsulated all the affection and protection you felt for her. Then, you stepped back, giving her space to settle into bed.

As Helaena lay down, her eyes remained fixed on you, as if expecting you to stay a moment longer. You lingered in the room a little while more, ensuring she was comfortably settled before finally making your way to the door.

You walked through the castle’s empty corridors, the echo of your heels resonating in the silence. As you passed the throne room, you noticed Aemond, standing still in front of the throne, his figure silhouetted against the cold stone of the room. His upright posture and the way he contemplated the empty chair denoted an unusual intensity.

“What a strange man,” you thought, with a mix of curiosity and perplexity, as you continued on your way, trying not to interrupt whatever he was doing.

However, as if sensing your presence with sharp precision, Aemond turned abruptly, his eye fixed on you with an intensity that almost seemed to cut through the air.

“Milady,” he greeted, his voice rough and cold, resonating in the vast silence of the throne room.

“Prince Aemond,” you replied, inclining your head slightly in respect. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your moment of reflection. I’d better leave.”

“No, it’s alright,” Aemond said, his tone taking on a more urgent note. “In fact, I wanted to speak with you.”

He approached you with determined steps, his gaze steady and persuasive. “There’s a matter I need to discuss, and your perspective would be of great help.”

You halted your steps, and although you felt somewhat uneasy by his closeness, you decided to listen. “What is it about?”

You remained composed as he approached, his presence heightening the already tense atmosphere. Aemond continued, “Helaena should consider using Dreamfire in the next battle. Her dragon could be a decisive factor.”

The comment surprised you. “Are you suggesting we pressure Helaena to participate in the battle? You know she doesn’t have the same strength to face these situations. Forcing her to do something like that could be harmful.”

Aemond frowned, his expression hardening. “War isn’t a game of choices. If Helaena refuses to use her dragon, we’ll lose a crucial advantage. We can’t afford that weakness.”

“I understand the urgency,” you responded firmly, “but I won’t force Helaena to act against her will. She’s already under great emotional pressure. My loyalty lies with her, and I can’t allow her to be subjected to more stress.”

Aemond looked at you, his face showing a trace of frustration. “This isn’t just about personal comfort. She must contribute to the common effort, and her feelings shouldn’t put our lives at risk. If she’s not willing

[inkformyblood]

see you soon x (CWFKB25)

Tearful kiss, @codywanfirstkissbingo Modern AU

Cody huffs a breath into his cupped hands and considers, for a brief sparking moment, swallowing his pride and slinking into the small coffee shop that has just opened four platforms back. Rex had abandoned him the moment the rattling of the shutters lifting echoed across the empty expanse and it’s hard not to begrudge his younger brother for that. He’d been awarded the unsanctimonious honour of driving Cody to the station by virtue of being too absorbed in his video game to realise Jango had been casting about for a ‘volunteer’ the previous night. 

“Easier to keep an eye on the car with company,” Jango had said to Cody, hands pressed into his hips, the car keys threaded over one broad thumb. “You’ll likely be too distracted with your lad to drive safely back, anyway.”

The fact that Obi-Wan isn’t his lad, that what they share is formless, nameless, undefined by anything other than that he is who Cody thinks of first in the morning and last in the evening, didn’t feel important enough to argue about. Rex, brained by the keys thrown at his head, would follow the instructions to drive Cody to the station, wait, and drive him and Obi-Wan back, for the low price of a meal on the table and a roof over his head. The overpayment of petrol money was a coincidence. 

The board overhead displays another rote warning about platform closures and delays to service, something that would cause an issue when the number of travellers packed into the grey enclosure increases for the morning rush. Cody draws his phone from his pocket, clumsy in his heavy gloves, and holds it close to his face to type in the passcode with his nose. There’s no-one around to see him. His vision blurs as he scans through the notifications, searching for the one that he knows won’t be there before he moves to his messages. There’s nothing new since the last message two hours prior, but Cody reads it again, all the same. 

‘Just getting on the train now! Delays and low battery, not a fun mix. Looking forward to seeing you soon x’

Cheerful understatement. 

Three am rolled past, then four, then five. Rex dashed out to move the car six times before his retreat into the coffee shop, the thermos they brought with them drunk dry after the second delayed train arrived and there was no sign of Obi-Wan. 

Cody scuffs his feet, returning his phone into his pocket, and focuses his gaze back on the opposite wall. It’s grey brick, plastered over in some sections into a stained-yellow that was once off-white. Directly across from Cody, starkly out of place amongst the ornate brass railings that cover the ramps and the low squat of the metal benches, flashes an electronic poster board. He memorised the sequence two hours ago. First, there’s an advert for a fast food place, some re-release of a supposed beloved favourite. 

Chewing on his lower lip, Cody blinks past the insistent flash of red that sprawls across the screen proclaiming the flavours to be bigger, bolder, better. Cheap shit but tasty all the same. There are some snacks tucked into the central console of the car, a few cereal bars left over from a life of constant school runs and extracurriculars that seemed to span the entire length of town and far more hours than would comfortably fit into an evening. Before Rex’s instruction as the communal driver, the role would be given to Cody or Fox or Wolffe or, even, Alpha on the rare evenings that he wasn’t at one night shift or another. Given the length of the car’s life, extended far past would have been considered humane through Jango’s tangled web of favours, it’s likely that Jango participated in the same exchange of keys as he inflicts on his sons.

Next screen, still blaring against the hazy gloom of the early morning, is more warning than advert. The text is block capitals emblazoned over a picture of a smiling woman. A digital enhancement enlarges one side of her face, painting her eye with glitter, giving her a sharp cat-eye, and darkening her lashes. The artist also enhanced her mouth, drawing the corner up into a beaming smile, her teeth square and white. The text spans the top and bottom of the image, announcing the dangers of edited images online. 

It’s an unnaturally pretty picture, her gaze disintegrating over the hours that Cody stands on the platform from striking to merely off-putting to just there. 

Overhead, the announcement chimes echo and Cody’s attention snaps to the noticeboard. It takes a moment for the new text to register, longer for him to parse the conflicting words that echo from every speaker. 

“Next train?” he says, more to reassure himself that he isn’t dreaming. He could have frozen solid half an hour ago and be none the wiser. His eyes widen, and he staggers forward a step, then another. Beneath his feet, the ground changes to the textured surface that marks the edge of the platform and there! In the distance, but quickly drawing closer, the huddled shape of a train, lights running down its side just enough to illuminate the countryside rushing past it. Cody steps back, his heart in his throat. 

There’s no information displayed on the board except that the train is arriving at his platform, no previous location or company name. This could be it. 

Obi-Wan left for his study trip three months ago. Before that, since meeting at the start of university at their shared student hall, they hadn’t been apart for longer than a week. Cody tagged along to Obi-Wan’s family’s Christmas celebration and inflicted his own family on Obi-Wan in return for the new year. There’d been a week in the summer when Obi-Wan had to travel to his grandfather’s estate in Scotland, but Cody obtained an invite for the next year, and Cody had his own week when exams and family commitments overlaid into a quilt block with no time to even glance at Obi-Wan on his way out of the door or to bed. 

It made sense for Obi-Wan to go. 

Didn’t mean that Cody didn’t miss him. His heart thunders raw and bloody somewhere inside a tartan suitcase, nestled amongst a smattering of neatly pressed shirts with patches on the elbows and a collection of Cody’s worn soft band t-shirts, hopefully on the train that gently hisses into the station.

A crowd spills from it, one lady in a rumpled suit leading the charge, her heels clicking rapid fire against the floor. Cody presses himself against the cool wall, his jacket rucked up into the small of his back and a shiver bites into his spine. It’s nearly too much, the sudden influx of noise and people after so long in relative silence, and Cody stares at the crowd without truly seeing them. There’s no shock of red hair, no slight frame draped in an obnoxious yellow coat. Just people, shapeless, faceless, exhausted. 

Cody cups his hands against his mouth, huffing a breath against them. Doesn’t matter; he’ll wait as long as he needs to. 

“Cody?”

It is instinctual, as much a part of the fabric of the universe as the sun coming up. Cody turns to look at Obi-Wan. 

He’s not dressed for the weather, a thin cardigan wrapped tightly around him, knuckles red from the cold as Obi-Wan pulls his suitcase behind him. Cody abandons any thought of composure and runs to him, barely slowing his pace as he crashes into Obi-Wan, sending them both to the floor. Any distance is too much to bear. 

“My phone died, love,” Obi-Wan gasps, cradling Cody’s face between his hands. He presses his nose to Cody’s cheek, as flushed and chilled as his hands. “I missed you so much.”

The world is hazy as Cody draws back from Obi-Wan. He’s landed mostly in Obi-Wan’s lap, one arm wrapped around Obi-Wan’s torso, the other cradling his head as they landed. Blinking, tears roll down his cheeks, Cody asks, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his eyes soft and beginning to cloud with tears as he leans closer. 

They’re both hesitant at first, the damp trail of tears running over their cheeks, but one becomes two becomes three, and kissing Obi-Wan is the easiest thing in the world. 

“Welcome back,” Cody whispers against Obi-Wan’s mouth, kissing him one more time for good measure. “Let’s go home.”

[indiatrendzs]

Authentic Design, Love for Rustic Eclectic Furniture

Authentic design, love for the luxe yet grounded in their passion for conscious living, millennials have unique living needs. Millennials love technology that makes life more connected, emboldened and adaptable designs that evolve with their lifestyle over time. Interior design for millennials is all about creativity, originality but practical and functionality as well. With a focus on…

[eljeebee]

You found yourself snooping around the Administrator's office. On the port side of the office, there were the comfy couch and armchair, an ornate console table that holds a tray of teapot, a selection of tea tins, and a vase of lavender. You opened one of the drawers, and found a picture frame face down. You picked it up. The picture was folded in its left side, and you were curious what the Administrator and the Advisor were looking at. You retrieved the folded picture from the frame and unfolded the photograph.

Who is he? An old friend of the Administrator? You squinted. You noticed the gold band on the man's left ring finger; a wedding ring. She also has a ring on that particular finger as well. Were they married? You turned the photograph around, and in the Administrator's writing, it says, "Tony Harrison, Moumou Harrison (kitty!), Priscilla Harrison, Bert Lucio; year 20...". The year written was incomprehensible. So...that was her husband. She is married. Was. You have never seen the man, but your old superiors know him. You've seen how they reacted to your peers when talking about him. Never talk about him. He does not exist anymore. He is dead, your superiors would disturbingly say. You shake your head. You took one last look, before your refolded the man out of the frame, put the photograph back to its picture frame, and returned the frame back to the drawer. You closed it shut, and the office door slid open. You froze, but you recovered, and quickly opened one of the tins. You dropped the tea leaves on the pot as you looked back. She greeted you with a nod, "I apologize. I hope I didn't make you wait too long." You say, "It's no problem, Ma'am. I hope you don't mind me brewing tea." "Please," she smiled, taking the tray. "It's for my guests anyway." She took a seat on the armchair, placing the tea tray on the coffee table, and when she gestured at you, you sat on the couch. You noticed another picture frame on the table.

The blank spot on the left is obvious. It's for Tony. Does she miss him? Or is this just a jab to him? You did hear rumors about him cheating on her... "Ah," the Administrator smiled at you. "Doesn't Bert look dapper?" You agreed. "The Advisor sure does. You have a cute kitty." You looked at her. She chuckled, her golden eyes glowing a bit. You blinked. It was gone. "Why don't we start with the first agenda for this meeting?" she smiled. You nodded.

[frozenwolftemplar]

Flash Fiction Friday 1/24

At it again! Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt! Took interpretation a little looser this week, but I think it still fits, so here we are!

Prompt: Blinding Gaze

Fandom: Tangled: the Series

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Word Count: 985 😁

 It had felt good, at first.

"Wow!" Rapunzel's eyes shone to dim the sun from where she stood at the edge of the training field. "That was amazing Cassandra!"

"Eh." Cass draped her bow, with a flash of flourish, over the back of her shoulders and looped her arms, scarecrow-like, up and over the back of the weapon. She shrugged, the curved arc of wood was staunch as pride against her sinews. "It's just a warm-up."

"It's not 'just' anything." Rapunzel flitted over and studied the target where Cass's arrow had sliced, neat and true as a vow, down the middle of an earlier arrow piercing the dead-center bulls-eye. She turned back to Cass, green eyes dazzling. "It's incredible! I didn't know someone could even do that!"

"Come on," she'd said, unlooping the bow and sliding an arrow from her quiver and holding them out to the Princess. "I'll show you some basics."

Rapunzel had looked nervously at the bow much like the townspeople looked at Frauline Lizst's yappy and snarling dervish of a dog (like they looked at her). "It's...couldn't I shoot someone's eye out?"

"Not if you know what you're doing."

And Rapunzel's gaze, that glorious midsummer gaze, had brightened as she took the bow. "Trusting you on this one,” she’d said with a playful wink.

And she'd got her first bulls-eye before the session ended, a feat she attributed as much to Cassandra as to herself.

Yeah, maybe she'd let her ego be stroked a little more than was good for it; after all, what meaning was there to be had in the awe of a girl for whom, for eighteen years, the world had consisted solely of a tower history forgot and a hidden glade that didn't know time? But to be recognized, even in that small way, after a lifetime of being seen as nothing more than 'the Captain's girl' or 'the cast-off' or 'the castle charity case' felt...good.

Yes, she'd thought to herself time and again, Rapunzel's eyes warming the months, yes it felt very good, for once being able to bask in the sun of an admiring, trusting gaze. A taste of ambrosia given generously by an Olympian hand.

But she had read the myths; she should have recalled the gods of yore were capricious things.

For as the months passed, the hand, slowly but surely, withdrew.

"Rapunzel, please, this is a bad idea." Cass grabbed ahold of Rapunzel's arm, staying her. “You don’t know anything about these guys. The last thing we should be doing is sitting down to tea with them.”

”Cass...” Rapunzel rolled her eyes, the way Cass herself had when she was eight and her dad balked at letting her graduate from wooden dummy swords to real ones she could barely lift. “You’re being paranoid. You don’t need to guard my every move.”

Cass firmed her expression. That’s literally my job, and you’re not making it easy.

”And besides, look at them.” She indicated the couple, clad in flounce and frills and giggling like ninnies over their toadstool table and ridiculously ornate teapot. “Do they look dangerous to you?”

No, they didn’t, but that made her hackles rise all the more. “Raps, please, trust me on this one.”

The Princess had turned to her once more, green eyes steady and bright in the half-light of the forest. “We’re going. It’ll be fine.”

That was the first time she’d felt the burn.

(the fact she'd ended up being right was little consolation)

She’d tried to ignore it, the way she would a mildly-inconveniencing sprain. Instead she focused on the light that still dazzled, the warmth that still shone, and found salve in apologies that felt true even as 'sorry' was never said even as the burns became more numerous, and savored what she could of the ambrosia.

This was her job. This was her duty. And the Princess...was still Rapunzel, who she was beholden to answer to, true, but was also, against all the improbabilities of Rank and Birth and the toss of Fate's die, her friend.

She’d thought.

Now, in the aftermath of the latest ill-fated adventure, another one she’d warned her not to take, Cass sat cradling what was left of her arm, black and withered as a candle’s spent wick with angry streaming boils erupting along its length, grimacing in pain and trying not to scream.

Her hand...her sword hand....turned to ash; her place in the castle...her future...her life...gone in a burst of flame, all because of-

She felt Rapunzel's beside her.

"Why?" Cass spat the word, taut and holding embers, as she turned and latched her eyes onto Rapunzel's, the green eyes wide with horror. "Why didn't you let me use the Spear? Why didn't you trust me?"

Rapunzel blinked, let her hands fall to her side; she opened her mouth, shut it, opened it again; her fingers twitched like the legs of a dying bug.

Then her gaze changed.

The green narrowed, the warmth burning hotter. "I told you to get out."

"The Incantation was too strong; you couldn't control it!"

"Yes, I could!"

Her hand throbbed; she grit her teeth. "Did that rot go to your brain? You couldn't snap out of it, that why I had to-"

"Cassandra, enough!"

Cass's mouth snapped shut. The Princess drew herself taller, looking down at Cass kneeling in the dirt. "I'm not going to argue about this with you. I stand by my choice. I told you to leave and you chose to stay. You can't blame me for that."

Eugene called her then, something about helping build up the fire for a supper none of them were going to be able to eat anyway, and the Princess left, leaving Cass alone.

Good, she thought, sitting back against a stump of a long dead tree and shutting her eyes.

She'd been burned enough for one day.

Ambrosia never was meant for her.

(A/N: 🎶Cass's Burned Arm, Cass's Burned Arm, only a matter of time before I write Cass's Burned Arm 🎶)

[mariateresaeliapivetta]

How to Choose a Console Table for Your Wall and Style It Perfectly

When it comes to decorating a wall in your living room, hallway, or bedroom, a console table can be a game-changer. Not only does it provide functional storage, but it also serves as a stylish centerpiece that can elevate the look of your space. Here’s a guide to help you choose the perfect console table and style it with complementary objects for a cohesive and inviting look.

Choosing the Right Console Table

1. Consider the Space

Measure the wall where you plan to place the console table. Ensure the table’s dimensions align with the size of the wall and the surrounding furniture. A narrow console is ideal for small spaces, while a longer, more substantial table suits larger walls.

2. Select a Style That Matches Your Decor

Choose a console table that complements your existing decor.

Modern Spaces: Opt for sleek designs with clean lines, glass tops, or metal frames.

Traditional Spaces: Go for wooden tables with ornate carvings or a distressed finish.

Eclectic Vibes: Mix and match materials like marble tops with brass legs or bold-colored consoles.

3. Focus on Functionality

Think about how you’ll use the table. If storage is a priority, look for a console with drawers or a lower shelf. For a purely decorative touch, a minimalist table with no extra compartments may work best.

4. Choose the Right Material and Color

The material and color of your console table should harmonize with your room's color palette and textures. Wood adds warmth, metal feels industrial, and glass creates an airy feel. Neutral colors like black, white, or beige are versatile, while bold hues can make a statement.

Styling the Console Table

Once you’ve found the perfect console table, it’s time to decorate it. Here are some ideas for styling it with objects that add personality and charm to your wall space.

1. Start with a Focal Point

Hang a large mirror, artwork, or a statement piece above the table. This draws the eye upward and anchors the table to the wall. If you prefer a gallery wall, arrange multiple smaller frames in a cohesive layout.

2. Layer Heights and Textures

Add visual interest by varying the height and texture of the objects on the console table. For example:

Tall Objects: Use vases, candlesticks, or sculptural decor.

Medium Objects: Place books, small plants, or picture frames.

Short Objects: Incorporate decorative trays, bowls, or other low-profile accents.

3. Include Greenery or Flowers

A touch of greenery brings life to your console table. Use fresh flowers in a vase or low-maintenance plants like succulents.

4. Use Functional Accessories

If your console is in an entryway, consider adding practical items like a bowl for keys, a mail organizer, or a stylish tray for sunglasses.

5. Play with Symmetry or Asymmetry

Symmetrical Arrangement: Create balance by mirroring objects on either side of the table, such as matching lamps or vases.

Asymmetrical Arrangement: Use varied object sizes and shapes for a more casual and modern feel.

6. Incorporate Lighting

Table lamps, sconces, or LED candles can add warmth and a cozy ambiance. If the wall space allows, consider wall-mounted lighting to frame the console.

Finishing Touches

Take a step back and assess your arrangement. Avoid overcrowding the surface—negative space is just as important as the objects themselves. Rotate items seasonally or whenever you feel like refreshing the look.

With these tips, you’ll not only choose the perfect console table for your wall but also transform it into a stunning focal point that reflects your personal style. Happy decorating!