#our dining table wallpaper | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

distant--shadow · 3 months ago

Text

The witch and the widow chapters 1-4 author’s notes

Ok, so first off I feel I gotta preface this by saying I am absolutely not a history buff. Kinda the opposite of one really. I was one of less than 10% of the kids in my year of 300 or so that didn’t take history at GCSEs, mostly caus a subject taught and based around names and dates etc is the definition of something not suited for my type of brain, also I hugely lost interest in it caus we moved past the fun trebuchet eras and all that real fast and it became of slog of me falling asleep in lessons caus I had a teacher whose method was putting on movies and shutting the blinds (I’d always fall asleep and he was later jailed for being a p*edophile, so that’s a thing.) Anyway, all that to say I’m not good at this shit, but as ive gotten older I have taken a bigger interest in queer history in particular, and that often if not always links into other areas such as fashion, women’s rights, religion,the arts, class, and race etc. (I’m still not good at names and dates though!)

They are outfitted and arsenalled - the stones of the wall - in a manner to rival any army; tapestries of red and gold perhaps once brandished on battlefield as banners promenading around death now retired and indoor-still-air-still as taxidermy giving colour between all of the shades of metal, burnished and polished and in some cases rusting, some still purposefully left blood-stained, swords and pikes and maces arranged in wallpaper patterns as though flowers or fans, sword-sheath beams spreading from chest-plate armour suns.

Let’s start with something easy and recent. The Baron’s armoury was inspired by a few castles I’ve visited, these rooms are always so bizarre to me. I don’t know if this is at all of the time/how they were decorated or a more recent thing, but either way it’s pretty wild but I do love the visual and metaphor of it. In this one castle I found out from talking about the carpentry to an attendant that the decorative ceiling work around the chandelier above the dining room table actually hid a trapdoor - and there was other hidden doorways for passages and to secret rooms in this castle, that’s not that unusual - but this particular trapdoor was to allow for the chandeliers to be switched out. Why? Caus they had them in multiple colours of glass, and the lady of the castle liked the chandelier to co-ordinate with her dress if they were having guests round. Aint that such a flex? Definitely some food for future thought.

Aight. Clothing. So anyone that chats fic/au to me or is in my server has probably heard me yell to go watch Kaz Rowe’s videos many times. As I’ve said this fic aint meant to be historically accurate but it does kinda straddle histories, one of which being our own; so women wearing trousers and the like at this time would still be a crime, and draw a lot of attention . Imogen in men’s clothing genuinely isn’t meant to be much of a gender thing but a thing of practicality, and she has mostly lived in the countryside or in the outskirts, so she does not get into the trouble she would should she go into the towns and cities (another reason to keep away past the potential noise, but this Imogen will happily don a dress or skirts if she needs to, she’s just usually working – and maybe it’s a bonus that dressing as a man acts as a sort of flagging for any women who might be interested lol.)

I guess here I should mention how I think this version of Imogen's powers and how they’ve manifested (along with everyone else being unaware of them) will have somewhat changed her disposition and personality, it is a lot more aligned with later campaign Imogen who has more confidence and empowerment, she hasn’t been ostracised for her abilities or particularly bombarded by them, think more like when she has her circlet on, she chooses to listen in (mostly), although of course she has still heard many terrible things (and her life has still been pretty brutal but that’s to be written still).

(it’ll be really fun in this regard getting to explore and explain this version of Laudna, but early days for giving much away on that yet!)

Her skirts are full and structured and plumed by many layers of petticoats that hide the movement of her feet across the wildflower lawn, causing her to appear to be drifting like the bees do from petal to petal, pollen dusting her pleats though ghostly her skin in contrast to the fine fabrics that she dresses for the part, black in mourning, still, bodice tight and sleeve leg of mutton, an ornate decorative layer of black lace laying over each yard of textured textile like spider webs on porcelain patterns, her husband's tableware collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard.

real impractical for how tending towards practical the Lady dares to be, hands on, too busy for errant hairs in piano key ivory and ebony windswept and loose from the high bun she pins in place with a cameo broach, a memento mori engraved in silver and inlayed with ruby eyes and tied with red ribbons. Her skin also proudly displays the age and perhaps trauma that her hair does, lines from laughter and furrowed brows and the feet of the crows that cry from the top of the chimney pots

A little note as to say that Laudna’s appearance is heavily influenced by Victorian mourning wear, with some of the clothes cuts altered to be a little bit more regency and earlier in places. (her attire is a little outdated, further suggesting her distancing from society and fashion)

A couple of days ago Imogen happened upon a bird with an injured wing, crying helplessly and rolling in circles, feathers taking flight away from the bird that could not, settling around it as it panicked itself bald-

The bird could not live without the use of its wing, and it didn’t, whether that was by Prosciutto or a fox, only its feathers were left in a pile.

Imogen had gathered them into an empty burlap sack; taken them to one of the maids downstairs to clean, repurpose them for filling pillows.

Here’s a silly little easter egg for my p(r)oof reader. Last time he visited we was enjoying a cinnamon roll from the local bakery by the city river (as you do) and a cyclist hit a seagull. It was real distressing, the seagull was distressed too. A handfull of middle aged women stood around it not wanting or knowing how to intervene as its wing was twisted at a crazy angle and it flapped about in a pile of its own feathers, there’s still bird flu about so it is wise to not touch wild birds, and as bleak as it is I was saying to freshy that a wild bird who’s wings broken like that is gonna die, and probably slowly and painfully. Some man came along and lifted up the bird to take the bird off the path and laid it to rest behind an old bridge building, I think he must have mercy killed it too as the bird was already dead when we walked past 10 or so minutes later after finishing our cinnamon roll and giving a cautious glance. So there’s a nice happy memory thrown in there for him.

what appears to be driftwood breaches the surface, then another point, then another

the water belches

Ceviche scares, whinnying as he rears onto his back legs, the Lady leaning forward and clinging to his harness. Imogen stands in her stirrups, leaning across the gap over to the black stallion, grasping his reins and cooing

“All good, boy, all good-”

What had appeared to be driftwood lands on the surface with a slap, looking like the carcass of an old boat left to rot in the muddy bed of a dock, timber ribcaged and leathered skin cladding.

A femur surfaces, followed by a jaw.

Second easter egg for the p(r)oof is a quick one (I’m such a considerate writer, I know.) On a train ride to a loch we went to for a day out there is a stop that is on another lake/body of water, and right by the train tracks (which are at water height) there are 4 or 5 old ships stuck in the mud, most of them just the frames/structures of the old boats, mostly wood and some bits of metal, but they’re pretty big boats! It really looks like whale carcasses. I’ve always wanted to get of there and check it out, and we were gonna stop by on the way back but my health being what it is was giving me some grief that day so we missed 2 trains and then soon the daylight, so hopefully next time buddy.

There’s alotta meat and gore talk and Imogen being a vegetarian without the label for such is just another way of me playing round with all of her complex feelings about what the Lady might be doing, her feelings towards Angharad butchering and nourishing the women with these communal stews and all of that. I’ve been vegetarian myself for 20 years now, and it was all triggered by an existential crisis in my mid teens (still a huge fan of leather and blood though) – Imogen greatly cares about animals, struggles with the thought of anything being slaughtered, she is in some ways more empathetic than most because she knows those she does on so much more of a personal level, really feels how someone is reacting to a situation they are in, but also because of this she knows humans are often corrupt and vile and she is spared such thoughts from animals, only knows their instincts and the love and comfort and service they bring – and yet she will obsess over the Lady’s (potential) tooling on that saddlework leather that’s really fucking brutal if she thinks about it one way and beautiful if she thinks about it another hmmm what if everything’s not black and white.

Oh, and the stew is a homage to @picturesofthegoneworlds’ pre-campaign fic Intertwined which I am lucky enough to co-parent and her writing is hugely influential on mine.

There’s a few things being bread crumb trailed here that I can’t explain in the author notes yet, but I’m looking forward to when I can. One small detail I will give away is just a silly thing about the chapter headings. They are something of significance from within the chapter, given in its ‘proper’ name – maybe someone gets access to some books to do research at some point?

anyways, thanks @astoriacolumnstaircase for enabling me. will do another post like this for future chapters if folks find it interesting.

#imodna #imogen temult #laudna #browz writes #critical role

59 notes · View notes

elderberries-and-honey · 9 months ago

Text

The Baudelaire family returned to Ireland the next day, only this time, they never had to worry about leaving.

Their new home had been abandoned years prior to them purchasing it and had been left vacant for quite some time after the previous family had fled those lands that had once been filled with such rich history. Overtime, the stories had been forgotten, perhaps almost purposely by those that occupied the neighborhood nowadays, existing only as children's fables or as myth.

One thing they did know though was that the land used to be a vegetable farm, quite a successful one too, and Lawrence intended to make it profitable once more. Already, the farm boys were put to work planting rows of cabbage, carrots and most notably, potatoes.

Hours of labor had gone into restoring the house to what it had once been before the family arrived and at last, it was returned to its original state of elegance. The perfectly laid brick was covered by thick ivy, and the grounds were surrounded by beautifully vibrant flowers, lush green plants, and tall, brilliant marble statues.

It all seemed like something out of a storybook rather than real life.

The travel horses pushed forward through the gates, and all any of them could do was gawk, unable to believe they were truly going to live here. Even the children, fussy and tired from such long travels, sensed the exhilaration from the adults and had begun to perk up with curiosity.

Ozzy, who rode with Beth in her carriage, stared up at the house in wonder, as though his little mind was trying to comprehend such a big change. "This is our new home, my little dove. We're going to live here now!" Beth whispered to the seemingly awestruck toddler next to her.

"Wooooow!" He exclaimed almost breathlessly, and though it was unclear if he actually understood what it all truly meant, Beth laughed in response, happily agreeing that 'wooow' was right.

Most of their belongings arrived before The Baudelaires, already unpacked and put away thanks to a moving crew hired on by Lawrence. In addition, he had also taken it upon himself to hire various help, like maids, gardeners, cooks, and even a personal chef, and as Lawrence stepped out of the carriage and onto the stone pavement, he could see one of their footmen waiting patiently to greet them at the door.

"Well, hello there, Baudelaires!" He called out from the porch enthusiastically.

Lawrence waved a quick hello before holding out his arms to take Atticus. "That's Mr. O'Bannon. He worked for the family that lived here previously." He explained once Winifred had situated herself.

They joined Beth and Ozzy next, and walked hurriedly up the front steps while Mr. O'Bannon welcomed them home.

Winifred audibly gasped as she entered inside, her eyes growing wide in amazement at everything around her, and once everyone had stepped through the front door, they understood her reaction at once.

After they had filed in one by one, Mr. O'Bannon offered a tour of the house and they happily accepted. He informed them of the origins of their new furniture, boasting about the craftsmanship of the Irish workers and the prestigious color schemes of the wallpapering, most notably, the newly popular Scheels green in the parlor and the dining room.

The new decor was so complimentary of the things they had brought from home, they were almost unrecognizable sitting amongst such fine things, almost as if they were new items themselves.

They had only made it through the first two floors before Atticus started falling asleep in his mother's arms, while Ozzy began to grow rather antsy. Winifred excused herself to rock with Atticus for a while and Beth, wanting to avoid a tantrum, decided to take Ozzy outside to get a better look at the water fountain out front. Which left Lawrence to finish off the tour with Mr. O'Bannon.

However, Mr. O'Bannon dismissed himself as well, needing to check how the luncheon was coming along and confirm the table was being set correctly. Lawrence didn't mind all that much, if anything, he was relieved to see how serious his staff seemed to take their jobs.

And so, just like that, everyone was off in different directions, making themselves right at home.

Lawrence, who now found himself alone, fancied himself a celebratory smoke out on the balcony. There, he smoked cigarette after cigarette while he watched over the farm hands below, reflecting how just months prior, he would have been down there in the dirt just like them. But, tilling soil and yanking weeds were a thing of the past, and someday soon, nothing but a distant memory.

Now, all there was left to do was assimilate to this new way of life.

next / previous / first

97 notes · View notes

petalruesimblr · 9 months ago

Text

The Roadhouse

Download Link: Sim File Share |

Description:

Welcome to The Roadhouse – where the drinks are cold, the food is hot and the fun never stops! Whether you're a seasoned local or just passing through town, everyone is welcome at The Roadhouse – yes, even vampires! Despite the Winchesters owning the bar, we don't discriminate against creatures of the night anymore, as the brothers have retired from hunting. Let your competitive spirit soar as you challenge anyone to a variety of games and as the night heats up, let loose with your best moves on the dance floor! For a price, you can also indulge in a little late-night R&R or maybe even play hooky for the day in our upstairs rooms – we won't tell! So come on down and join us for a night of fun, laughter and maybe even a little mischief!

Details:

Price: 88,128 Lot Size: 20x30 Lot Type: Local Watering Hole Version: 1.42 Store Content: None CC Used: None Packs Needed: The Sims 3, Late Night (Wallpaper, Counter, Door, Bar Dive, Lot type), World Adventures, Ambitions , Generations (Window)

Hello! This is one of my earlier builds - a beloved bar that has become a mainstay in my gameplay. It's been a hotspot for countless bachelor and bachelorette parties, witnessing its fair share of wild antics and unforgettable moments.

Click on the ’Keep Reading’ below for more information and pictures on this lot.

Named after one of my favorite shows, Supernatural, this bar draws inspiration from the iconic Roadhouse. However it does not mirror the original blueprint of the bar and I've given it a different look to better suit the worlds I typically play in.

Featuring four bedrooms upstairs, perfect for tired Sims or those seeking a bit of privacy (wink, wink), each room offers something different: two singles, one standard and even a vampire exclusive room.

It has decent parking at the back, a variety of games for added fun, a professional bar, lively music and plenty of seating.

📣Please note that the Late Night expansion pack is required for the Local Watering Hole lot to show up and work in your game, along with a selection of bar-related decors.

This lot has been play-tested and I’ve used it in a few of my saved games. Let me know if you experience any problems on your end.

1st Floor:

Professional bar, tables and chairs, Public Sounds Stereo

Foosball table

Classic Master Darter

Bull’s-Eye ElectroPro 900 Dartboard

Bathroom

Shuffleboard

2nd Floor:

Two single rooms - bed, dresser and own bathroom

One standard room - double bed, Retro-tastic TV, dresser, small dining area and own bathroom

Vampire room - Vampiric Sanctum, small living area with Retro-tastic TV, dresser, own bathroom

#petalruesimblr #the sims 3 #community lot #lots #the sims 3 bar #local watering hole #ts3 #ts3 bar #sims 3 #ts3 simblr #sims 3 download #sims 3 lots #ts3 download #ts3 screenshots #ts3 simmer #ts3 community #sims 3 screenshots

57 notes · View notes

creativepawsworld · 1 year ago

Text

Silence - Chapter 54

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x OC

Summary = Ana is in labour. Will Tommy return in time for the birth of his child? Will John have to step up and deliver his future niece or nephew?

Warnings = Language...Grammar...Virginity losing mentioned...Alcohol consumption... Prostitution mentioned...Child Birth...

Word Count = 1,874

Note = I know it's dragging and I am so sorry. Hoping to get back in the swing now. Guess am nervous to write after leaving it so long. I liked this chapter as it shows the relationship between John and Ana and I think that's adorable personally. I'm also a C-Section mum who never experienced labour pains so I tried!

“That’s impossible it’s too early John,” I hissed hearing the words he said to Arthur who was still sitting on top of the table confused, by the request. He had a bottle of whiskey in one hand and, a glass in the other.

“I’ve seen the signs, Ana, I am a father myself. Arthur go now and find Esme too” John demands getting up and walking towards me. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, rubbing it softly in support. “How are you feeling? Is it like a tightening?” He asked softly, a gentle look on his face.

“More like a pressure” I exhale slowly, trying to stand up straight. I was getting nervous, and scared. Not only was it too early but Tommy was nowhere to be found and there was no way I was having this baby unless I knew where Tommy was. I heard a rustling, noticing Arthur's back as he left through the green doors in search of the women of the Shelby family.

“Do you feel like you have to push?” John asked rubbing my shoulders, his voice easy and kind. I knew it was to help me relax but that wasn’t happening right now. I was in no way ready to relax or to have this baby.

“I…I don’t know” I whispered, my hand resting just on the under part of my bump. "I mean maybe, the pressure is all pushing down on me"

“Alright, come on into the house, we need a bed for this” John nodded ushering me back towards the green double doors Arthur had just left through and into the Shelby dining room. But we didn’t stop there. He walked slowly with me through the house, speaking calmly as we made our way up the stairs and into Tommy’s old bedroom.

The green wallpaper and single bed caused memories of the night I lost my virginity to the man I had fallen head over heels in love with in this bedroom to enter my mind. The memory brought a happy, calming feeling to take over but it only lasted a few moments before another contraction hit.

“Now I’ll be honest Ana I haven’t a clue what I am to do now” John chuckled unsure, scratching the back of his head, a nervous look on his face. “But just lay back on the bed, breathe and try to relax”

“I can’t relax, Tommy is missing. How can I relax?” I asked glaring at him as I rubbed my bump. I sat down on the bed, ignoring his advice to lie down. “Where is he, John? The mission was a success. Campbell is dead, no one could have possibly told on him. Where is he? Where did he go?”

“I wish I knew Ana. But we have men out looking for him, I promise we will find him and he will be back in time to meet this new little Shelby” John tried to assure me with a nervous smile on his face.

“And if he is not?”

“We are not going to think of that now, are we? No” John raised an eyebrow looking around Tommy’s old bedroom. It was clear he was uncomfortable being in this situation but he knew he couldn’t leave. If he was right and I was in labour, I couldn’t be left alone. Not when I was this vulnerable.

“John, I’m scared” I confessed my true feelings as I rubbed my stomach, grimacing at the tightening feeling I had every so often.

“Nothing to be scared of, this is exciting. We were successful at the Derby and now we have a new family member to welcome. It's a good day for the Shelby family,” John tried to put a positive spin on the situation, sitting next to me and taking my hand into his. “I know it's hard, but I remember Polly telling me how dangerous stress is to a baby so please Ana, for my little niece or nephew…”

“I know, I know” I nodded squeezing his hand as I tried to relax.

“You know, I almost married Lizzie” John chuckled looking over at me with his blue eyes. They were not as blue as Tommy’s but they were still pretty. Full of life. Full of mischief.

“Lizzie Stark?” I asked furrowing my eyebrows and looking over at him.

“Yeah, Lizzie Stark. Asked her and she accepted and all” John nodded “I wanted a mother for my kids. They were running rings around me. Out in the street without shoes, chasing off nanny after nanny. I couldn’t keep up. I believed a mother would see them right,”

“What happened?”

“Well as you know she was a woman of a particular career choice. She serviced shall I say Tommy and myself. I thought she would do, she was a woman, she gave me bloody good orgasms and she said yes” John chuckled. I couldn’t help but grimace as he mentioned the pleasure he received from her.

“I told the family and they fucking laughed at me. Belly laughs but ultimately they were right” John sighed “Tommy did a test with her. She promised to change her ways but she lied. She was willing to service Tommy one more time even though she said yes to me… She also had other men she was keeping on, I felt like a fool” John looked over at me, squeezing my hand. “You weren’t an option at this point by the way. I don’t think you were anyway. Tommy hadn’t got his claws into you yet”

John’s words made me laugh, his story keeping me occupied as I listened to his words carefully. I didn’t know John was once engaged to Lizzie, I knew she had serviced both brothers but I didn't know she almost married one, that was new.

“I sat on this bed with our Tommy after finding out the truth. Realising Lizzie wouldn’t change,” John chuckled pointing at the chest of drawers near the bed. “He had a pipe there and I got so fucking high to deal with the pain. Not because of Lizzie’s betrayal, I suppose part of me expected that but for the loss of my wife. For the fact my kids were growing up without a mother and I had no control”

“Oh John,” I whispered squeezing his hand. My grip getting tighter as a contradiction rippled through my abdomen.

“Tommy was such a hard ass as you know, he came in gun drawn thinking I was some fucking, some fucking nobody I don’t know. He sat next to me, like I am with you now and we talked about our younger selves. Making jokes, connecting like we used to. He talked about our grandfather, now our grandfather was a right ole stingy git, worked every day of his life but not for honest money. He swindled and stole, apples don’t fall far from a tree you know. Tommy put on the voice he did when we were kids, imitating him, our grandfather,”

“But the reality was we weren’t kids anymore. Not anymore. And that hit hard that night. But that night he promised, our Tommy promised that we’d always look after each other, no matter what. And I want to make that promise with you to Ana” John turned looking at me directly in my eyes, holding my hand “No matter what happens, we have your back, you hear me?”

John’s words had me feeling emotional as I nodded looking at him. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had lost James but had gained a brother with John and Arthur. A sister with Ada. I had lost my best friend but appeared to have gained three more.

“I know your memories of this bedroom are much, much different than mine” John nudged trying to lighten the conversation once he noticed I was getting emotional. “Eh, eh” He teased playfully causing me to blush. He wanted me to be laughing and smiling, not upset or stressed.

******

John and I remained in the room for the next hour, Arthur had yet to return with either Polly or Esme. I could tell John was beginning to panic at the idea of having to deliver the baby himself, he even considered taking me to the hospital which I refused. I wanted to be here in case Tommy returned. This is where he would go I just knew it.

The contractions were coming thick and they were coming fast. I was in a lot of pain, sweat had covered my forehead. John tried to cool me down with a wet cloth dabbing it along my head, face and neck as he told me stories from his childhood in hopes of distracting me and making me feel better. But the reality was quicker starting to set in. If Polly didn't arrive soon, John would be delivering this baby.

The contractions were coming quicker, almost every few minutes. I could see by John's reaction he was about to pass out. But he held his nerve well. Feeling the need to push, I knew I had to remove my underwear, John closed his eyes as I lay back legs spread, he was preparing himself to look when Polly came rushing through the door.

“GET OUT” She yelled, John not having to be told twice fled from the room no doubt going to sink an entire bottle of the finest whiskey. I believe that may have been the longest hour and a half of his life. “You okay love? How fast are they coming?”

“Too fast Polly, god it hurts” I groaned, Polly removed my underwear. Checking between my legs to get a good look at whether or not the baby was ready to be delivered. As she was checking, the door opened once again and Esme walked in with a small smile.

“A new baby eh?” She smiled coming over to hold my hand.

“Esme I need towels and boiling water now” Polly demanded rubbing my legs. Esme nodded leaving the room to get everything that was needed to deliver the newest member of her family.

“Tommy? Is Tommy here?” I asked breathing heavily, glancing down at Polly who made eye contact between my legs.

“Don’t be worrying about that right now you need to be worried about welcoming the newest Shelby” Polly smiled continuing to rub my legs. “You're very close my dear, very close indeed”

The next few hours passed in a blur. Polly was between my legs, and Esme was at my head coaxing me through it. The breathing, my screaming, the pain, both women were honestly a godsend. After what felt like an eternity, a baby’s cry was heard echoing off the walls of the room.

I had tears of joy and relief spilling from my eyes as I tried to sit up and take a peek. I didn’t have to wait long as Polly brought a baby wrapped in a towel towards me, resting the newborn on my chest. Looking down I noticed a tiny little head, with a mop of dark hair and bright blue watery eyes as they cried softly, looking for food.

“Congratulations Mama, it’s a beautiful baby girl”

Taglist

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby @forgottenpeakywriter @babayaga67 @sweetmilkshakeluminary @slutforcoffein @sydneyyyya @happysparklingshadows @margew76 @midnightmagpiemama @pierre-gasssllyy @duckybird101 @muhahaha303 @thenattitude @dolllol2405

Anyone wanting on or off the tag list please just let me know 💙

#tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #peaky fucking blinders #thomas shelby #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #silence #oc

74 notes · View notes

irisbleufic · 2 months ago

Text

Post-Halloween momentum continues. There are now 9 chapters out of a definitive 12 posted. Set in 1973. One random misdirect during Daniel’s encounter with Louis at Polynesian Mary’s, and the entire night’s events change drastically for Daniel and Armand (and the future changes for everyone). Reckless gremlins, everyone involved.

Open Your Mouth (2024-10-25)

Test the Theory (2024-10-26)

Twist the Blade (2024-10-27)

Pretend It's Me (2024-10-28)

Trust Without Limits (2024-10-30)

Ask Me Anything (2024-11-01)

Follow Your Dreams (2024-11-02)

Spend Your Silver (2024-11-03)

Come With Me (NEW, 2024-11-03)

TEASER:

Daniel stares at the narrow house in front of him, the steep stairs leading up to the gabled front porch. The windows have been newspapered from the inside, creepy if he’s honest. He jogs up the stairs and slots the wrong key in the door. That one must be for the back. There’s only one other key, so he gets it right on the second try. He hits the first light switch he can find, blinking as the space floods with a muted orange glow.

This is a depressing rental property if Daniel has ever seen one. From the mediocre paintings and prints on the walls to the darker patches of wallpaper where some frames have been taken down, Louis hasn’t done anything to improve the place. There’s a strong smell of disinfectant emanating from the chipped, but immaculate parquet floor. He takes an inventory. Kitchenette, dining table and chairs, television, sofa.

#devil's minion #armand x daniel #armandaniel #devils minion #armand #daniel molloy #iwtv fanfiction #iwtv fanfic #iwtv fic #iwtv #iwtv s2 #interview with the vampire

14 notes · View notes

pollunam · 7 months ago

Text

Flaws. Part 1.

Warnings: 18 + blood, and canon typical violence.

"So, Gus, I want to introduce you to a lady who will be joining you," Gabbin nodded, gesturing to open the door. I stood confidently behind her, fiddling with my gloves. I wouldn't say I was easily frightened. Try being scared when your father made you throw knives at apples atop your brother's head from childhood.

The door creaked open, revealing a smoke-filled room. Smoke swirled elegantly in the air, forming intricate patterns against dark wallpaper and faces full of hope, albeit not the most enthusiastic ones.

"Well, this is Gus March-Phillips. Maybe not the finest gentleman, but he knows his trade," Gabbin introduced.

"Welcome, milady," he smiled, adjusting his already curled mustache.

I nodded. "Lovely coat, I think I've seen it on someone else before."

Gabbin sighed heavily. "It's time for you to go, before he starts undressing me."

I smiled, pulling out a cigarette. Gus promptly offered a lighter.

"And I'm certain I've seen it somewhere too."

With that remark came two heavy sighs, and we triumphantly left the room. There was no time to think about formalities; we had a challenging task ahead, which I already knew about, but this man inspired confidence.

"Our team is quite unusual, I trust you understand that," Gus closed the car door with my suitcases already inside. The driver set off, illuminating the gravel road with yellow headlights.

"It doesn't bother me; I'm part of this 'unusual' company," I air-quoted.

"They'll like you."

"Now I'm nervous," I chuckled.

"I just can't figure out how they picked you for this assignment. You don't look like a reckless headhunter at all."

"Someone has to keep an eye on you boys."

The car stopped at the pier. The night air was fresh and breezy, blowing in from the ocean. Salty splashes danced joyfully at the shore, cresting with white foam on the sand. The sky glittered with a myriad of stars, perhaps the most romantic scene I'd ever witnessed. I stood mesmerized, watching the waves break beautifully against the pier.

"Enjoying the view?" Gus held my suitcases. "Too bad, it's time to go. I'm sure the ship's view won't disappoint."

I nodded quickly, following him.

"Finally, we've been waiting for you," someone shouted from the deck, and a head in a comical sailor hat appeared over the stern. "Good evening, milady," the stranger whistled, offering his hand. "Graham at your service."

I smiled. "Thank you for your help. This dress isn't the best attire for a ship." With one hand, I lifted the hem of my dress to climb aboard.

"Then take it off," a broad-shouldered man with round glasses appeared in the cabin doorway. His accent marked him as a foreigner. Tall and sturdy, he resembled a Viking woven from northern winds.

"Isn't that a bit forward of you?" I retorted.

"I didn't mean what you thought, mind you," he chuckled warmly.

"Then say it so you're understood."

"Affirmative, my dear."

I flared up. The big guy was clearly teasing me.

"Anders, where are your manners?" Gus shook his head. "We're not a band of brigands; we're gentlemen who never underestimate ladies. Especially ones like her."

"Are you planning to travel with us?" Anders agilely descended from the cabin. "This isn't an Atlantic cruise."

Graham whistled again. "Pay him no mind. He's big, but not the brightest."

"No problem. I just don't understand how such a massive bear isn't sinking the ship with his presence."

Anders squinted. "I find that amusing."

"I'll try to entertain you more often," I smirked.

"Good evening! I'm Freddy," a man appeared from behind, sporting a blue scarf around his neck. He smiled warmly and openly.

"I'll show you to your cabin. Space is tight, but we'll find something suitable," Gus gestured for me to go ahead, descending a small staircase inside.

The large room served as a dining area, kitchen, and bedroom with two bunk beds. It smelled of apples and wine. The beds were neatly made, and an open bottle of alcohol sat on the table, emitting a pungent scent.

"The safest bet would be one of these beds."

"Seems like there aren't enough."

"Don't worry, we've got sleeping bags."

"I can take it, no problem. I've slept in worse conditions."

"No, no. We'll do it differently," Gus grinned, "forget about the sleeping bag, it's pure mockery."

"Listen, Gus, I appreciate that, really, but it's not necessary at all."

"It's absolutely necessary, trust me. Conversation's over, just like the tour. Make yourself comfortable," he said, heading upstairs heavily, while I sat at the table, resting my head on my hands. Thoughts leapt and tangled in my mind. Well, this adventure was right up my alley: gunfire, smell of danger, and the scent of pure escapade.

I pulled out trousers and a white shirt from my suitcase and quickly changed, listening to voices from above.

"Someone needs to sleep in the sleeping bag tonight. We'll take turns after."

"I can do it, no problem," a hearty man offered. I chuckled approvingly, tying my hair up in a bun.

By the time I finished brewing tea for everyone, the ship had already set sail. Carefully, I climbed up, carrying four mugs.

"Thanks a lot!" Graham smiled, noticing me; he immediately took one cup, "need a hand?"

"No, it's alright, I'll manage."

Fredrick appeared right away, "now that's service."

"Just a friendly gesture."

Gus stood at the helm.

"Hey! Up there! Tea?"

"Leave it there, I'll get it later!" he shouted back.

I carefully placed the mug on the stair step and looked around for the Viking. How could one miss such a broad man - it was a mystery. A silhouette appeared at the stern. Anders was coiling rope, sitting on the edge of the hull; he seemed completely absorbed in his thoughts, focused on his task.

"Hi again," I leaned against the rail, offering him a steaming cup, "care for some?"

"Is it poisoned?"

"No, if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't do it so blatantly."

"Now I'll have to be on guard," Anders smiled, taking the tea, "thanks."

I looked at the receding shore, flickering in the darkness like a fallen star.

"Why are you here? I mean, your job... it's quite... dangerous."

"It's a long story of family drama, but I'm glad to be where I am, despite the danger."

"I understand, yes," the Viking nodded, "I have a similar story."

"Where are you from?"

"Denmark."

"Ah, a true Viking," I smiled, "how could I possibly be scared then?"

"Still, don't anger me, alright," Anders also smiled, adjusting his glasses, "I like how you called me that, but please don't spread the idea."

"Deal."

We sat in silence, listening to the sound of water pushing against the hull and the wind whistling through the sails. The coolness enveloped me, but it seemed I had completely forgotten about it, imagining London engulfed in fire and war, left behind. Ahead, the horizon blended seamlessly with the ocean in a vast blue landscape.

"Aren't you cold?" Anders broke the fragile silence.

"A bit, but it's so beautiful here, I can't stop admiring."

"Better go below, it's easy to catch a cold in the ocean."

I nodded, "I'll go down soon."

Alone again, I leaned against the stern, staring at the ocean's surface. Dark as lead. I didn't feel like sleeping.

"Here," I didn't even notice Anders returning, handing me a blanket, "for the tea."

"Thanks, what will you do for two teas?"

"Save the pleasure for later. Although, you did take off your dress."

"Hey, Viking!"

He laughed, "I'm just kidding."

"Go already, or you'll catch a cold," I teased him back, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders.

"Just a tip, if you're sailing for the first time, it's easy to get seasick if you stare at the water. You won't notice when you fall in."

"My intuition tells me to listen to you, but common sense suggests testing that theory."

"Now I see why you're here," he sat on coiled ropes, "go ahead, test it."

"You're a troublemaker."

"How so?" Anders raised his eyebrows in confusion, "I've been sitting quietly, brought you a blanket, and said nothing about your clothes."

"Alright," I turned away.

In reality, I felt dizzy. I couldn't afford to collapse now, or else there would be enough jokes to fill three huge books titled "I'm the funniest person on Earth and I'm called the Giant Viking."

" You know, you really annoy me. I'd better go."

Anders slyly raised his eyes at me, "just like that? Just because of me, darling? You give up quickly."

"I've had enough of your teasing for today."

"Well then, good night."

He didn't move from his spot, not even a twitch, much like me. My legs felt weak.

"Are you alright?" Graham shouted, having taken over from Gus at his post, he raised an eyebrow, "you don't look too good."

"You all here are masters at giving compliments."

"I meant you look kinda green."

"Ah, no, that's my natural skin tone," I waved dismissively, feeling nausea creeping up.

"Alright, then can I take Anders from you? I need some help."

"No problem."

Anders stared at me intently, gripping the ship's railing.

"Five minutes, buddy," he signaled to Graham with five fingers, climbing up. "You know, my intuition tells me to just toss you overboard, but common sense," he scooped me up, throwing me over his shoulder, "suggests helping you again."

"Let me go, I'm about to be sick," I covered my mouth with my hand.

"Not on my favorite sweater. Hang in there."

"Oh God!" Everything blurred before my eyes. "I'm not kidding."

Anders sat me down on the step leading to the helm. "Don't go anywhere," he smirked.

I dropped my head back, closing my eyes. Silly rocking. Silly mission and silly Viking.

"Pour."

"What are you pouring?" I couldn't open my eyes, and that turned out to be a blessing because right after that command, water splashed over me. It eased the discomfort.

"I don't know what's wrong with your character, darling, but this is the second time in a couple of hours that I've had to come to your aid. And now I'll have to sleep in a sleeping bag instead of a warm bed."

"Well, it'll pass quickly," Graham's voice assured me, "I've been through the same."

"I warned you."

"It's okay, she'll recover," Freddie chimed in.

And I still couldn't open my eyes. I had no idea the ocean was a worse enemy than the Germans.

"Can you get up?"

"Yeah, just a minute," I sighed, gathering my strength, and slowly stood up, leaning on the railing. "I feel better, thank you, really."

"You'll feel like a fish in water tomorrow," Graham promised, "good night."

I nodded, unable to carry on the conversation.

"Let's go," Freddie offered his hand.

Anders critically observed what was happening, folding his arms across his chest.

1:0 in his favor, it seems. However, there's still plenty ahead.

#Anders Lassen × Reader #anders lassen #female reader #the ministry of ungentlemanly warfare #request #fanfic

44 notes · View notes

readtheuniverse · 3 months ago

Text

My little home library is slowly coming together!

Me and my husband recently purchased our first house. We picked up the keys 2-weeks ago and we cracked on with some basic decorating such as painting and wallpapering some of the rooms we would be using the most (Living room, office and library!) We also got a new couch and dining table!

The library will eventually have floor-to-ceiling shelves on the back wall, but for now I have a single book case and a couple of Kallax units (which I still need to put in!)

The house is starting to feel more and more like a home each and every day and we cannot wait to make memories and start a family here.

15 notes · View notes

steadypet101 · 11 months ago

Text

CW: Long post

"Valentine's Day art collection (sort of)"

Happy Valentine's Day! Here are the pen traced versions of my two favorite gay hedgehogs, and here are my TMNT Mutant Mayhem first two couples with my ocs. (I would've drawn Miffy and Reagan art, but I haven't drawn their bases just yet, I'm so sorry about that.)

So anyway, I have a short little story for these three. But since we all know how the first top part goes, I'm going for the bonus Sonadow.

"Nose to Nose" - Sonic grabbed Shadow quickly in a flash by his arms, making the dark hedgehog yelped in surprise. Suddenly, his nose touched the speedy blue hedgehog's nose. Still surprised by this, Shadow is speechless by this, which makes Sonic smile.

"Oh, come on, Shads. Don't act like you never wanted a nose to nose," Sonic said coyly.

"I don't. But just to humor you, I'll go along," Shadow said with a smirk on his face.

The hedgehogs then rubbed their noses together, making their hearts soar.

"I love you, faker," Shadow said.

"I love you, too, Shadow," Sonic said happily.

Shadow chuckled. "I love you more."

"I know you do."

"Alinardo adorkable kiss selfie" - "Come on, Leo! Let's take a selfie together!" Lea called out to Leo from peaking her head through the curtain into his and his brothers' bedroom after finishing cleaning up his twin katana blades with a rag.

He smiled as he put his blades in the corner of his space. "Okay, we'll go and take some with my phone," he said as he stepped out of the room.

"Yay!" Lea cheered. She watched Leo take out his cell phone from his belt, open up a camera app, and gesture the girl to come. She placed her hand onto his shoulder and prepared to smile for the camera. Just then, Lea pulled Leo closer to her face and began to kiss him on the cheek. Blushing, the leader in blue smiles for the camera with his adorkable smile as he takes the photo.

After the photo was taken, Lea took the phone and took a look at it with a smile. "Aw, Leo! We look so cute together! You especially look so cute with that smile."

Still blushing and smiling, Leo has a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Y-you think I have a cute smile?"

"I don't think, I know," the human replied.

The mutant turtle couldn't help but grinned widely.

"Hey, think you can send me this photo to my phone?" Lea asked as she gave Leo back his phone. "I want to save it and use it for my home wallpaper."

"Sure. I'd would love to," Leo said warmly.

"Susietello surprise kiss selfie" - Susie was studying on the dining table in the Turtles' lair when Donnie was approaching towards her. "Hey, Sue. Want to take a selfie with me?" Donnie asked as he took out his phone.

"Well, I'm a little busy at the moment, but I guess I can relax my brain for a bit," the human friend said as she closed her textbook and set it aside.

They both walked towards the opening of the lair, and Donnie had his camera ready. Meanwhile, Sue was planning how to make this selfie photo more memorable as she was fixing her pastel green hair and her glasses.

"Okay, ready?" the purple clad turtle asked.

"Ready," Sue answered.

The two get close together with the timer set. As Donnie smiled for the camera, he felt a hand on his head and a small kiss on his side of his head. It was Sue, and his facial expression changed from a photogenic smile to a surprised one. The camera clicked, and they both took a look at the photo. Donnie's heart was fluttering when he saw the proof of Sue kissing him.

"Uh, did-did you just?..." he stammered timidly.

"Yeah, I did. I thought this photo would be nice instead of our usual peace signs and making silly faces each time we take selfies," Sue smiled warmly. "Sorry about that."

Donnie couldn't help but blush at this. He smiled back to her. "No. This is perfect. I love it. Thank you for that. I really mean it."

"You're welcome, D. Anything for my best mutant turtle friend ever."

They shared smiles towards each other and began to head back to the lair. Donnie couldn't stop thinking of Sue's actions to the camera. He didn't expect that to happen, but it did. He was surprised, but he was happy that his human crush kissed him. Wish it would be on the lips, though, but oh well. There's always next time.

Wow, that's a lot of typing. Anyways, sorry if my stories were crappy. I hope y'all like them all. I'll edit them a little later.❤️🩷❤️🩷

25 notes · View notes

mantrabay · 8 months ago

Text

Far Beyond Hereafter

Team leader Renee peered out

of her faux gold window around a pulsing Friday noon.

“Almost like we’re puppets of each other down there.

Maybe everywhere?”

Albert, her partner and co-worker were apt to look down on the buzz where their joint venture, their central office, was located.

Quite often hoards of people of all age groups hung out, shrieked with joy, abandon, near the hazy plume cafe.

They were snacking and sharing purchases.

There was rainbow signage to the left of this group promoting all the companies within Renee, and Albert’s brief.

The name of their company was Hereafter Unlimited.

Close and “trustworthy” friends formed this postgraduate 7 person cluster which later evolved into quite a

mind-bogglingly complex concern.

Hair-raising hubs were hatched.

Geniuses one and all created one matrix after another of sequential self-financing companies.

Ideas among them spread like avalanches.

Songs and puns were sung.

They had “flames” or “wildfire” intensity at their fingertips.

They were at the mercy of their own brilliance.

Their aim was to bring countryside joys into every nook and cranny in their chosen capital.

There were bookstores, clubs, restaurants and other outlets named after the multifaceted rustic charms that obsessed them.

Each outlet had a communal dining area to draw in clientele.

The underlying idea behind all these shops, stores, stations

was to have a magnetic pull.

Havens, an escape hatch that would leave an out of this world impression on the visitor.

From energetic background music to kaleidoscopic screens, to elaborately sculpted tables, mahogany tint chairs, azure blue halo moon menus, kid zones in high jinx.

Cascade after cascade of hue swirls in tandem with jubilant dance trope very much in evidence.

A magic merry go round motif underpinned each inventive hub.

Once savoured, never forgotten.

Festivity a frequent festoon, mouth watering smorgasbord without rein running riot.

The element of surprise, key and kernel to atmospheres that thrived on visionary continuum.

Brains in this group were graded according to a binary system.

1 winner 0 as in loser.

A hypnotic mantra often -

“Winner, loser, hopeless chooser.”

There were even signs such as a straight finger for 1 or orb like finger sign for loser.

One might wonder aloud if this clique with their uncanny gestures would fit in anywhere else except this setting of their choice.

Hazy plume, rainbow eucalyptus, sylvan zephyr, amber leaf cascade,

lambent shroud, halcyon xanadu, wonder world cocoon, among the zany names they had thought of.

The staff each had nicknames linked to the above enterprises.

The brainstorming sessions they had had no drama or plot could “match.”

“Often have the feeling we are pawns to our ideas.”

Amber leaf sighed.

Lambent :

“This place is “dead on” for the wrong reason.

Smart is always in season.”

Lambent nodding to his “imaginary” sidekick “Shadow”

that seemed glued to his desk.

After all, they were used to that sort of thing as innovative university students.

This unusual alliance though city based had links to different areas.

But nothing would daunt this oddball eccentric clique and their very imaginative and oft bizarre aims.

They were nothing if not colorful.

They had this impressive office garnished with wallpaper having pictures of their various businesses and the names associated with them.

This franchise had been in existence now for over 5 years.

It was coping to an extent but there was an underlying desire to go beyond that.

A glorified high tek office routine secretly horrified everyone.

Lambent shroud, ICloud expert in the group was perhaps the zaniest of them all.

He had a fetish about hazes and how the term could be used.

Haze was his buzzword and

of course his very own in the ether mate.

He had a virtual sidekick called “Shadow.”

They used to speak to each other in rhymes.

“Hi there, going nowhere shadow.

I’m really stuck. Yuck!”

The other members of the group would tease Lambent Shroud.

They’d speak in groans n puns too.

You’d sense lambent was a little uncomfortable with it all.

The other members of this amazing group were all tall, had numerous quirks, and spoke with crystal clear clarity.

They stood out even when alone.

Their high IQ, articulacy, and physical presence were obvious requirements for this enterprise.

They were constantly with each other hatching plans.

But Lambent may have had a begrudging “one who leads” complex.

But was the cordiality apparent and only for appearances?

Team leader Renee is Hazy and Albert is Rainbow.

The brain sessions were more often than not impromptu.

Hazy, Halcyon and Amber would seem like cerebral archers the way they bounced informal sessions off each other.

The other pairs, bright spark subgroups would have these on the spot conventions.

“Sparks would fly.

High IQ flashes sky high.

We never ever say die.”

Eerie notion, pie in the sky.”

The smart seven chipping in one by one generating a certain heat.

Even fleeting cabals.

Their brain cliques they nicknamed “Bouncers,”

Or “Pools.”

“Blessing and a boon. Under a shimmering moon. You’ll be lifting trophies soon.”

Lambent the awkward rhymer.

Wonder world had a strained crease on his face.

“Crackpot scheme, halbaked dream, eccentric team.”

In reply.

And so the banter used to go until someone ran out of ripostes.

There were daily meetings also on security updates devised by the team.

But there was much nod and wink, subterfuge.

Amber Leaf the accountant controlled the cash flow, dividends, “watertight insurance,” wages, general outlay.

But one got the impression that there was something afoot.

Amber and sylvan nudged;

“Should we rhyme as we speak or maybe tweak til next week.

Isn’t Lambent leaning a lot on his Shadow.

The Alter Ego.”

Who is this Shadow to begin with Amber pried?

An umbrella term!

A watchful eye was maintained.

This most unusual group of mental giants were so astute that they crossed checked each others scheduling and tasks.

It all seemed so foolproof.

Turnover was quite considerable and there were really no grounds for complaint at any point.

But despite the cliques they could anticipate future trends which made sense but by the same token was spooky.

Betimes who actually did what with whom had a blurred demarcation.

When you have such active brain cells, another pseudonym for the catalyst co-op you might be forgiven for thinking at times it might seem monotonous.

“ Heck! What kind of service is this?

Fly in my soup. And that fish is off! And that’s not all.”

Sylvan Zephyr the ambassador was entrusted to diffuse awkward clients.

Shrieking and clamoring, heated exchanges over the phone subside after a protracted row.

One wonders why

Lambent Shroud had this uncanny smirk and one wonders at this stage why?

The wiles of his smiles were like a form of contagion in the region.

A comic contagion if you will was never far from the surface.

“I’ve just had this idea. We could have a different decor.

Like stick on flourishes.”

Halcyon Xanadu peeped.

Once again there’ we’re nods, some almost quasi-religious.

This may seem strange.

Another shuffle, cabal.

Lambent Shroud when not spinning joke shop rhymes, chatting with his shadow might suddenly burst into paroxysms of disdain.

Despite the cerebral nature of this undertaking each member of this esoteric business cult had their finger firmly on the economic pulse, the till.

“I keep checking my apps as asked though I leave the cash flow in reality to Amber.”

Hazy plume, who had the unenviable task of being the all-seeing-eye supervisor, and to keep the ideas surfacing from drifting into vermillion clouds.

“That’s good. Mightn’t be such a bad idea if we made a few spot checks on our hubs.”

Albert, alias Rainbow chimed.

Creativity was this seamless mesh.

But with all the paraphernalia at each desk perhaps sight was being lost of the original concept.

Maybe this might explain the present fractious undercurrent, stilted atmosphere that appeared to dwell within this epicentre.

“YAWN YAWN YAWNS.

WE USED TO DREAM MINT LAWNS.”

A vocal scat from Lambent or the uncanny “Shadow.”

Now and then at any rate.

“Muffled squeaks, awh, so sad,

yikes, bah, too bad.”

The rub, the nub, the hub.

Sometimes the puns were flaccid where they once had flare.

After 5 years the wide-eyed optimism of wanting to bring the green utopia to the steel and concrete jungle of modern city life had somehow peaked, or maybe approaching it.

This wasn’t always obvious, however.

“THUNDER AND LIGHTNING.

HOLY SQUAWKING CROWS.”

Halcyon Xandu.

“I just got a text from one of our hubs. One of the hub computers crashed and there was even some steam generated.

Volume of loud noises reported but calm was restored.”

Suddenly everybody awakened from their stupor despite the seeming hive of activity.

“As far as I can gather the crash was cleared fairly quickly.”

Xanadu again.

Tho a creeping suspicion crossed her face.

Everyone rushed towards a center spot on the floor.

A buzz quite unusual swept across the tight nuclear pulse clique.

There was always a certain surge about this place even during a lull.

All this very macabre in a mild sense conduct might seem like a scheme being cobbled together.

By someone but who knows what that someone is if a someone at all might be.

A prevailing milieu that was taut, tense, tho teasingly trivial constantly at tangents.

“Utter breathless oath,

unearthly surreal cache,

burst of universal apogee indelibly trumpets,

exalted plot as moonbeam stepping stone,

Mecca to a hue-laden vortex,

that sequesters sun-drenched harbors, gurgling stream meanders, moss-fleck tides,

mesmerizing shroud of lambent bayou,

hazy plume on silver waterfall,

scarab mountain chain at sapphire dawn.”

Sylvan Zephyr throwing down the gauntlet and eschewing his tentative role as tactful go-between.

You’ll have noticed the no corresponding taper of sounds known as rhyme.

A sleight of hand from the scheme team within the dream team was at play.

The following day wonder world cocoon did a whirlwind inspection of the various hubs.

Not best pleased.

It looked as if all the hubs were splitting up into subhubs.

The staff were being secretive in all the business operations.

Even certain ideas from headquarters which hadn’t been released yet.

Wonder world spotted rough outlines of change from the corner of her eye relating to the above tract.

Ominous thoughts lurking.

She began to detect a pattern.

“Holy charging elephants.

I smell a rat.

That’s that. Everybody get out of here.

is that clear?”

The complex jewel sensor super sensitive alarm system which had been added to by each member rang out.

Mysteriously each member incognito ( sometimes) installed extra features.

Ashen volcanic smoke left little to the imagination.

The 7 member cluster eschewedsafety protocol.

But somehow managed to escape against an anarchic, chaotic backdrop that surged at breakneck speed.

“What about our valuables, valuables?

Or are they “EXPENDABLES.”

Diplomatic Sylvan Zephyr not so diplomatic.

This incendiary incident shook the other hubs, the people in them and the surrounding area.

The thunderstruck brain camp, most of them gazed incredulously at what was unfolding.

A sky tower inferno of cinder spewing incidents, boom laden choirs with puns, warnings, alerts, rhymes, ones and zeros,

volcanic cackles, surreal demolition, and on the spot disintegrated havoc never seen before.

It ended in a gradual stepwise motion before collapsing into a gradual “Black Shadow Plume.”

This plume decided to hover over

a “Smirk” like structure redolent of “Someone.”

In many ways what was left of their business center looked like

the nirvana they as a group were trying to fuse with urban vim.

Renee nudged Albert who squinted at the corner of his eye.

They both spotted “Lambent Shroud” with a retinue that included other hub members, heading towards a country signpost!!!!

At least he was in that coveted dream lead role.

Renee opined. “I hear Lambent whispering to himself about missing something .. ..no longer a puppet? and the sidekick?”

Albert now clued in on this earth shattering denouement that engulfs layer upon eternal layer of tiered narrative.

Renee, Albert, Amber Leaf the reliable and infinitely shrewd person on money flow now swop knowing glances and scrutinise what is left of a once ornate “Landmark” project.

“Where do we all go from here I wonder?

But should we actually be asking that question at all?

We shouldn’t have the nerve or gall!”

Albert reflected with a “Stick On Smirk.”

As the local fire brigade arrives a “Haze” of a more “endowed” kind descends on Renee, Albert, Amber.

1’s and 0’s of a massive kind beckon!!!

And a nearby shop’s cash register tolls triumphant.

Three straight fingers now in sync!!!!!

This short story is dedicated to my wonderful sister Jay A Pallen.

Photographs and story all my own work

A genuine thanks to all my supporters and followers on Tumbrl

13 notes · View notes

dawnslight-aegis · 8 months ago

Text

kaede's house lore walkthrough

I feel ridiculously self-indulgent today so I am going to take y'all on a guided tour of kaede's ingame house (crystal, malboro, mist, ward 19 plot 44, come visit it's nicer in person) with commentary on the decorations and lore behind them.

First off, the exterior!

before we go any further I would like you all to kindly pretend that the housing lottery DOESN'T hate me, and imagine that this is actually in the firmament. good? good.

due to its location and also some unfortunate exterior choices by my neighbors, the garden is not strictly canon-compliant, but it's close. especially the hot spring and training yard.

Foyer

here we have a large open entryway because I ran out of housing slots, with kaede's "war table" where she does all her mission planning (complete with much needed caffeine supply) and her adventuring alcove, aka the place she drops all her gear the moment she steps through the door.

of particular note: the gemseeker's pack (she's a goldsmith) and the flame armoire (a relic from her earliest adventuring days).

Kitchen

kaede doesn't cook, so the kitchen is pretty small and barebones, with at least half of it given over to alcohol storage. don't worry about it, she's fine. probably.

also from a decorating perspective, the kitchen is built over the stairwell to the unused basement, which I'm very proud of. if we ever get a housing item increase, I'll relocate the kitchen and bathroom to the basement lmao

Dining Room/Bar

the dining room features the first of our Elezen Man Portraits that kaede has scattered around her home. louisoix saved her parents at carteneau, so she has an enormous respect for the man. and overlooking the bar, on a nice warm hearth, is her portrait of Haurchefant. she wanted him to be somewhere welcoming.

of particular note: the food on the table was chosen to be lore compliant for kaede's favorite dinner guests -- the gourmet supper for herself, the high house supper set (what was served during the dinner date in 3.4) for aymeric, the alpine supper set (specifically mentioned as being special occasion food for rural ishgardians) for estinien, and the oriental supper for her nagxian co-wol, marz.

the servants are lore-compliant but they're not usually there -- they just come in every now and again to check on the place when kaede's gone.

Workshop

on the other side of the house is her crafting workshop! half of it is dedicated to her primary vocation, goldsmithing, while the other half is for less delicate metalwork (blacksmith and armorer). she also prefers to make her tea in here rather than venturing into her kitchen.

of particular note: the crystals on the floor are meant to be crafting crystals, and are wind/ice/fire/earth to correspond with the crystals required for the three crafting classes featured. the portrait of estinien is of...dubious lore-compliance. if it's actually there, she definitely just did it to annoy him. or because marz bought it and needed somewhere to store it. mostly it's there because I personally love estinien.

Stairwell/2nd Floor Hall

you might recognize that stairwell from basically any low effort gpose I've ever taken. yes I like window walls. anyway. the second floor hall is basically a trophy room -- kaede recently started keeping mementos from difficult/important battles. hydaelyn's crystal is given particular honor, while emet-selch and zodiark are banished to the far side of the stairwell so she doesn't have to think about them. it also features her paladin armor collection.

the house borel wallpaper is a little on the nose but I know what I'm about okay

Bedroom

do you know how hard it is to get a nice blue bed in this game? it's so annoying. the headboard is the footboard of an oasis canopy bed clipped into the wall, in case you were curious. I also keep waiting for them to put in a properly blue rug. anyway. also included is her letter-writing desk, and her vanity.

of particular note: the aymeric portrait is canon, the armor on the stand is the house fortemps chainmail she was given for the grand melee, the music boxes are prototypes for the ones she made for her clients in the GSM 60 quests. also she has a house borel teaset on her vanity next to her absurd collection of makeup and lotions.

Sitting Room/Library

perhaps in the hallway you noticed that the hydaelyn trophy's wings were oddly missing. that's because they are being used to frame the portrait of minfilia, who kaede cared for very much. you might also note my use of curtains instead of doors -- that's honestly just because enclosing rooms in this game makes me terribly claustrophobic. I don't think kaede is actually anti-door.

Drawing Room

one of my very favorite parts of the whole house, this room is given over to kaede's artistic pursuits -- namely, her love of piano, and her attempt at branching out from sketching into paint. she feels a great responsibility to depict the landscapes from her travels that most people will never see, and all the paintings on the wall in here are her work.

the "no entry" door goes to her bathroom, which is actually built in my FC chambers, since I ran out of space in my house. I was going to include it here, but tumblr is rude and only allows 30 images per post, sooo... some other time, maybe.

if you made it to the end of this, bless you for caring about my lizard and her lore <3

#ffxiv housing #lore #this is so long lmao

13 notes · View notes

storiesbyjes2g · 1 year ago

Text

3.57 The resort

Winter arrived, and I couldn't even tell. The pleasantly warm temperature was the same as every other day that week, like autumn in San Sequoia, and I loved it. At least it didn't rain, though. I in no way had any regrets about moving in with Sophia, but I missed San Sequoia a lot—a whole lot. There was just something about that colorful town that resonated with me. With any luck, we could move back one day, but for now, Oasis Springs was my dusty new home.

Good thing I didn't have a traditional job, or otherwise Sophia and I would struggle to find time together. Not only did she work an early shift, but also she worked on weekends and had two random days off in the middle of the week. But that also meant I'd only have a few hours each day to get everything I needed to get done before she got home if we wanted to maximize our time together. I could have gone back to San Sequoia to host a class or two, but I used the time to shop for a few items for the house and put up my pictures. I was no design diva like Mama, but I hoped Sophia would be pleasantly surprised when she walked through the door.

After the decor adventure, I went for a jog, and would you believe it rained after I had just given Oasis Springs props for not raining on me? Rude. Maybe the latter part of the year was just rainier everywhere in general and I never noticed until now.

Next to our house was an empty lot, and even though I'd jogged past it a few times, it stood out that day and got me thinking. How much would it cost to build a very small, very basic studio? The question intrigued me so much I canceled my second lap and went back home to do some research. The price of the land was relatively cheap, which meant the lot taxes would probably be low as well. So far, I had no reason to not consider this path, but I tucked the idea away for another time because I became distracted by learning about a spa resort right here in Oasis Springs. The resort, named Desert Bloom Spa Hotel, was conveniently located near our neighborhood. I still had a few more hours before Sophia got back, so I went to check it out.

I had only entered the lobby and already fell in love with the place. It was so clean, modern, and peaceful. Maybe one day Sophia and I could do a weekend getaway—a staycation of sorts. Well, definitely not on the weekend, but you know what I meant. I found someone who worked there and asked if I could look around, and to my surprise, she volunteered to take me on a tour and began in the dining room, which was just across the breezeway from the front desk.

They served continental breakfast, snacks during the day, and tapas at night. At the heart of the facility, there was a sprawling fountain that spanned almost the entire length of the spa. The poolside bar was pretty big too. Tables and chairs were scattered all around the fountain, giving plenty of room for everyone to hang out and chill over a nice drink.

They even had a two-level gym with enough machines to accommodate nearly anyone wishing to workout during their stay. Not even my gym in Newcrest had that many machines. This place was really growing on me, and I wondered if I could frequent it without a reservation.

Up next were the residential suites. We couldn't go in them, of course, but they were duplex style, side-by-side suites that mirrored each other. They shared a common pool, and I got to peek inside a little from the patio door. They looked nice enough inside. I think we could be happy there for a few days--not that we'll be sitting around looking at the wallpaper, heh.

The yoga area was outside across from the suites and pool, and MAN I was so inspired. I rarely thought about opening my own yoga studio. Honestly, it was yet another one of Mama's ideas that eventually bored its way into my subconscious. But sometimes the idea was strong enough that it felt like it came from my own mind, and I really wanted to do it. Looking at their setup gave me so many ideas for how I could craft mine when the time came.

Hopefully, they also had an indoor facility because it started raining again. I would hate to be a paying customer who wasn't able to take any classes because of the weather. Watcher forbid they still carried on, regardless. I asked my tour guide if they ever did guided meditations and explained I was a yoga instructor myself and led guided meditations in San Sequoia. This intrigued her, and she promised to discuss it with the owner.

Turns out they didn't have an indoor yoga room, but the meditation room was upstairs. The spa rooms were also upstairs, but my tour guide didn't let me go in for obvious reasons. But she said there was a sauna, two tables inside, and multiple massage chairs on the upper deck. The lobby for the massage rooms was just as clean and peaceful as the front desk, so I knew the service rooms would be too.

I was so wrapped up in the tour I didn't realize the time. Sophia had already arrived home, and I missed the opportunity to show her the things I bought. True, she could see them as soon as she walked in, but I wanted to be the one to show her. But in Sophia-like fashion, she began raving about how much she loved the rug and blinds as soon as I walked in.

Luckily, she hadn't seen the other room yet, so I got to show her the couch for the office, and she loved that too.

"Thanks for moving the desk and fitting the couch in there. I know it's not easy getting things in and out of here."

It was no trouble. After all, I was a very strong man, heh.

I joined her on the couch and asked about her day. Thankfully, it was much better than yesterday but still kind of meh. I guess that's the answer a lot of sims gave since it was so common to work a job one didn't love. I wanted better for her and didn't enjoy seeing her live a mediocre life. Hopefully, one day my yoga business would be so good she wouldn't have to work if she didn't want to. I just wanted her to be happy.

The conversation reached a lull, and she took the opportunity to change the subject and ask me a very serious question.

"So how are you feeling about living here?"

To be continued...

The resort is a golden oldie by @jenba!

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #sophia aguilar

25 notes · View notes

foundtherightwords · 7 months ago

Text

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 6

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

Chapter warnings: descriptions of spiders, snakes, and mice, a brief scene of dub-con toward the end (nothing graphic though)

Chapter word count: 6.2k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 6 - The Chamber Carved So Curiously

Christabel woke with the feeling that she'd had a bad dream. She tried to remember what it had been about, and could only conjure up an image of cypress trees, hundreds and thousands of them, surrounding her, stretching as far as the eye could see, dark, twisted shapes looming out of the fog. There wasn't anything particularly disturbing about them, yet the memory of the dream lingered, weighing down her limbs, tightening her chest, and keeping her mind exhausted, although she discovered, by a grandfather clock in the front hall, that she'd slept for nearly twelve hours.

In the daylight, Creel House did not improve much. It was probably because daylight could not penetrate its depth. The gloom was worsened by all the dark Victorian furnishings that must have been fashionable when the house had been built—redwood paneling, mahogany furniture, wallpapers the color of raw liver, and blood-red carpets and curtains—which swallowed up any speck of light that was brave enough to come through the tall, narrow windows. If it wasn't for the candle and matches that Kas had considerately left for her the previous night, Christabel doubted she would have found her way downstairs at all. The darkness pressed down on her eyes, making her feel as though she was going blind, so after leaving her bedroom, she'd gone down the corridor and opened every curtain she could put her hands on. Outside, the fog had lifted, to be replaced by a slate-colored sky and drizzling rain, but even the watery light was preferable to the murkiness of the house.

And it was quiet too, oh so quiet. Her footsteps struck the thick carpet with no sound at all, and the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock only accentuated the stillness. The silence constricted Christabel's throat, and she didn't even dare call out for Henry or Kas, afraid of hearing only the echo of her own voice.

She paused at the stained glass window for a moment, comparing her pendant with the bigger rose. The light coming through the glass was stained red, falling across her hands like blood. She then made her way to the first floor and down the corridor leading to the back of the house. The first two doors she opened led into a drawing room and a study, both so dark that she could only glimpse heavy furniture and tall shelves lined with books. The third was the dining room. More dark wallpapers and furniture. She'd really have to talk to Henry about updating the decorations and bringing the house into the twentieth century.

Breakfast was being kept warm on the sideboard, though there was only one setting at the table. A note was tucked under the plate, along with a grocery list. Written in a strong, large hand, it read, "Mr. Creel has gone to town on business and asked that you have breakfast without him. If you want any changes to the grocery order, please let me know. Kas."

Giving the list a quick scan, Christabel was struck by how little she knew about housekeeping. She wasn't even sure what they needed on a day-to-day basis. Perhaps Kas would be kind enough to help her.

The stillness of the house seemed to have robbed her of an appetite, so she only spread a piece of toast with some marmalade and nibbled on it while continuing to roam the house. It wasn't as large or grand as her family townhouse in Manhattan. Christabel was glad of that though. She didn't think she could be mistress of a large house anyway. At least Kas seemed to have kept his words, for everything was dusted and polished. Christabel wondered if he'd cleaned all night.

She found two more rooms on the first floor—next to the dining room was the kitchen, which opened into what appeared to be a greenhouse, connected to the main house by a covered walkway, and a parlor, with a bay window looking out into the sea, though of course the view was obscured by thick curtains. It could be a nice place for her to retreat to with her books and her music, while Henry worked in the study next door, or they could share it on cozy evenings when there were no guests. She decided this would be the first room she'd work on.

The second floor contained only bedrooms, but they all appeared to be closed off, other than her own and one at the very end of the corridor, which was locked. It must be Henry's bedroom. Christabel tried not to feel hurt that it was locked. Henry probably locked it out of habit. There was a small door set into the wall just outside this room. Opening it, she discovered a cramped staircase leading up to the attic. She expected it to be dusty and cobwebbed, but it was as spotless as the rest of the house, perhaps even more—it was clearly kept in regular use. Curiosity getting the better of her, she retrieved her candle and went up the creaky steps.

The attic was vast, taking up the entire top floor of the house, stretching back so far into the darkness that the feeble flame of the candle could not illuminate its edges. Shelves and cabinets lined the wall. In the middle of the floor was a large table with a steel top, strewn with glass vials, test tubes, burners, and other scientific equipment whose purpose she did not understand. A desk stood next to this worktop, its pigeonholes filled with papers containing complicated equations and diagrams—Henry's notes on his studies and experiments, she supposed.

Christabel tried a window and discovered they were all nailed shut. She turned her attention to the shelves. Most of them were stacked full of books on every subject imaginable, others were full of bottles of chemicals, all neatly labeled in Henry's slanting hand. Then she came to the far end of the attic, and her steps faltered.

Glass cages were arranged along the wall on sturdy steel legs, their lids secured with padlocks. Most seemed empty, filled with nothing but sand, rocks, and dry twigs. Christabel leaned closer to one, the candle held high. Did she spy some movement amongst the rocks? A twitching black leg appeared, then two, then three, and Christabel recoiled in horror when what she had presumed to be a black rock broke apart into a mass of wriggling bodies. Spiders, hundreds of them, the smallest no bigger than a sesame seed, the biggest only the size of her fingernail, crawling all over the glass to get away from the light.

And then, stirred by the light or perhaps the movement of the spiders, the other cages came to life as well. More spiders, mostly the black kind, but also some brown, smooth like a pebble, or furry, some pale like the sand they were hiding in. And there were other things as well, coiling, slimy ropes that slithered and writhed with a whispery hiss, occasionally showing a forked tongue or a rattling tail. Snakes. The cages were full of spiders and snakes.

Christabel stepped away from them, forcing herself to go slowly. The glass was thick and the lids of the cages looked well-made, but somehow, she still believed that if she made a sudden move, those creatures would burst out of their cages and lunge at her...

Her back collided with something. She screamed.

"What are you doing here?" came Henry's stern voice.

Christabel's knees buckled with relief. She leaned against Henry for support, but he stepped away, causing her to stumble. "Careful," he said, and she noticed he was holding a large cardboard box, which rattled ominously. "I ask you: what are you doing here?" he repeated.

She didn't understand why he looked so displeased with her. "I was just—looking around. I know I should've waited for you to show me the house, but I got impatient." She tentatively touched his sleeve. "Was that wrong of me? I didn't mean to snoop."

Henry's eyes glinted in the murkiness. "No, not at all," he said, smiling. "And it's not snooping when it's your house, is it? Come, let me show you."

His smile eased the knot in her stomach. She waited while he lit a lamp over the worktable, turning the wick high so a pool of yellow light illuminated some of the further reaches of the attic. He then set the box down, and, taking her arm, he led her around, pointing out the different kinds of spiders and snakes, listing off their names, black widow, brown recluse, tarantula, viper, mamba, so quickly that Christabel couldn't remember them all.

"Beautiful creatures, are they not?" Henry said. "And so misunderstood too. Their venoms can cure as much as they kill, you know. After all, they're only doing what they must to survive."

He then proceeded to tell her about each of the creature's venom, how powerful it was, what it could do to a victim. Christabel tried to muster up some interest, but found herself unable to. Back in New York, when Henry told her about his studies while they sat in the sun, under the trees of Tuxedo Park, it had been fascinating, enthralling, a sharing of mutual interest. Now, in this darkened attic, surrounded by all those creepy crawlies, the light in Henry's eyes appeared almost feverish, and he droned on and on without paying any attention to her.

"Take the black widow spider," he said, stopping in front of the cage with the black-and-red creatures she'd first noticed. "A single bite is just like a pinprick, you'd hardly even feel it. But just a few minutes, and a numbing pain will spread from the bite, paralyzing you, making it difficult to breathe. In severe cases, it can lead to seizure... and death."

Then, to her horror, he opened the lid and, still holding her arm with one hand, dipped his other hand into the cage, right in the midst of those wriggly bodies and legs.

"Should you—should you be doing that?" Christabel asked shakily.

"Don't worry, darling, they only bite when threatened," Henry said, lifting his hand out. A spider clung to his finger like a drop of blood. "Besides, they never bite me. They know I'm their master." He turned his hand, letting the spider scurry along his fingers. As it moved, Christabel could glimpse a red mark in the shape of an hourglass on its belly, and was suddenly reminded of Henry's costume at the Carvers' All Hallows Eve ball. He extended his palm out to her. "Would you like to say hello?"

Christabel shrank back, shaking her head. She could not understand the hungry look in Henry's eyes.

"No? Well, maybe this would be more to your taste then." He returned the spider to its cage and opened the cardboard box he had brought, which was shaking and squeaking. Christabel soon discovered what was making all those movements and noises—Henry pulled a white mouse out of the box, dangling it by its hairless pink tail. Ignoring the poor creature's writhing and squirming, he lifted the lid of another cage, this one containing a single, fat cobra, almost as big as Henry's forearm.

Paralyzed with fear and revulsion, Christabel could only watch as Henry lowered the mouse into the cage. The cobra raised its hooded head and appeared to be sniffing the air. The mouse, too, seemed to have sensed the predator, for it screeched and thrashed even more violently, in a vain attempt to escape.

"Henry, please—" Christabel begged. Her voice sounded thin, like that of a scared child.

"Shh. Watch."

The cobra fixed its baneful yellow eyes on the mouse. In a blur of movement, it struck. The mouse's screech was cut off abruptly, and the cobra settled back down, its head bulged, the mouse's limp tail disappearing into its mouth like a pink ribbon.

Christabel could take no more. She wrenched her arm out of Henry's hand and ran blindly out of the attic, down the small staircase, and straight into someone.

"Mrs. Creel? What's happened?"

It was Kas, except she couldn't really see him, could only feel his hands on her arms, because all the curtains were closed again, and the corridor was once more plunged into darkness. It was like escaping from being buried alive in a coffin only to find oneself locked in the crypt. Now she knew how poor Madeline Usher must have felt.

"Let go of me!" she screamed, lashing out wildly at Kas, feeling much like the doomed mouse as it was being lowered into the cobra's gaping jaw.

His hands loosened instantly. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

Christabel stepped back, trying to catch her breath. Her fear was gone, replaced by embarrassment for having run away and screaming like a child, and that embarrassment turned into irritation.

"Why are the curtains closed?" she snapped. "From now on, I want them open, day and night, do you hear me?"

She stalked into her room and slammed the door behind her. Throwing her windows wide open, she leaned against the windowsill, breathing in the fresh air and daylight until they calmed her.

The door opened with a creak. Christabel whirled around. Henry strolled in, looking as calm as ever.

"What's this?" he said. "You're not crying over some silly mice, are you?"

"No—no—"

"Good, because you know I can't stand tears." He approached her and grabbed her chin, tilting her face up into the light. "And there is nothing to be afraid of. That's just how they feed, the snakes. If the prey is not alive, they will be bored and not eat. It's completely natural."

Christabel nodded slowly. Once, during a trip to the Catskills, she'd seen a hawk snatch a rabbit from the meadow. It hadn't been upsetting one bit. Perhaps she had let the dark and stifling air of the house get to her...

"But must you keep them in the house?" she asked. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Most of them like dark and dry places, and it's too damp to keep them on the ground floor. Don't worry, the containers are perfectly secure." His face turned serious. "Still, I would prefer it if you don't wander about the house by yourself. And stop bothering Kas about the curtains. You'll just have to get used to the darkness."

Feeling irritated again, she jerked away from his grasp.

"Why do you employ him?" she asked. "He told me about his condition. It's positively ghoulish." She knew she was being unfair to Kas, but how fair was it when Henry expected her, the mistress of the house, to accommodate the servant? Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Henry shrugged. "He has his use. And let's face it, if I didn't employ him, no one would take him on, not with that—condition of his."

Christabel's irritation subsided. Well, if her husband employed Kas as an act of philanthropy, then she shouldn't be too harsh on either of them.

"All right, Henry," she said, leaning on his chest. "I promise I won't go into the attic on my own again, and I'll let Kas keep his curtains."

She nuzzled his neck, hoping for a return kiss, something comforting and reassuring to calm her down after the scare she'd just had. But Henry pushed her away—quite literally, like one pushing away an unwanted dish at the dinner table—and, with a brief "Good", went out again.

After lunch, Christabel found Kas in the kitchen. He stood up upon her entering and moved uncertainly toward the windows.

"Shall I open the shutters, Mrs. Creel?" he asked. The house seemed to have some effect on him as well, for he seemed paler, more subdued and diffident, quite unlike how he had been on the train.

"No, it's quite all right." She held out the shopping list. "I only want to give you this. I've looked it over and added a few orders of my own." As he took the list, she continued, a little stiffly, "And you can keep the curtains closed. No need to change how you've always done things on my account."

"It's all right, ma'am, I'll manage." There was a slight pause, as though he was weighing his words, deciding whether to say them at all. "And I apologize for earlier. This house can be a difficult place to live in at times. I'm sorry if I've made it worse for you."

In response, Christabel only gave him a curt nod, not wanting to show how much his simple words meant to her, much more than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

***

It took several days for Christabel to get used to Creel House and its closed, oppressive air. It no longer frightened her as it had on her first day, but she was certain she would never fall in love with it.

Kas kept his word and kept the curtains open for her, having devised some sort of pulley system that allowed him to control them from the door, so he could close them when he needed to walk through the house and open them again behind him. The daylight helped tremendously, though it showed that the house was even more neglected than she'd realized. The furniture was scratched and chipped from careless handling, the carpets and curtains were fraying, and the wallpapers were peeling in places, including a strip in the corner of her room. She was determined to talk to Henry about refurnishing the house soon, and told Kas to order some catalogues and samples from the best furniture makers and upholsterers in town, in preparation.

For some reasons, she felt hesitant to talk to Henry about such things. For a start, she didn't want to throw her weight about too much too early in their marriage, as she kept having a vague but nagging sense that Henry resented her presence. She thought she could understand it, having heard about it enough from her married friends in New York. No matter how in love a man was, a part of him always regretted marriage, always yearned for the freedom of bachelorhood. She should give him time to get used to being married.

But the other reason was that they hardly had any moment alone together. Every morning, Christabel woke up alone and breakfasted alone. Henry was away most days, taking the car with him, and when he was home, he locked himself in the attic with his monstrous creatures, sometimes even forgetting to join her for dinner. He brought back more boxes, boxes that rattled and growled and scratched and skittered, and Christabel remembered the little white mouse and stayed away. But at night, she lay alone for hours, hoping to hear him turn the handle to her door, but he never did. She was tempted to come to him herself, but shyness held her back. She'd already eloped with him, what kind of lady would he think she was if she came knocking on his bedroom door at night as well?

Fortunately for Christabel, diversion soon arrived in the form of her old things from New York. She'd fully expected her mother to have thrown away all of them or perhaps burned them in a fit of rage, so it was a pleasant surprise to come downstairs one morning and find several crates in the hallway, filled with clothes and books and even trinkets from her room. There was no letter from her mother, not even a note, but that didn't disappoint Christabel. If anything, she was relieved.

She spent several happy days unpacking the crates and putting things up in her room, finding comfort in their familiarity. Then she discovered a curious thing, or rather, two curious things.

She was putting her underthings into the bureau when she found something in its bottom drawer—a little cigar box made out of flimsy plywood, all warped and faded with age. The box contained a pair of scratched spectacles and a cheap pocket watch, long dead.

Christabel wouldn't think it strange to find some forgotten belongings here and there in the house, but these two things had clearly been kept together and hidden away, mementos of sorts. Even more curiously, upon closer inspection, she realized that the spectacles were not randomly scratched. Someone had made an attempt to carve two letters onto one of the lenses—F.B. Somebody's initials? The inside of the watch's lid had been scratched too, with different letters—P.M. The spectacles and the watch must have belonged to two different people. So why keep them together?

There was something vaguely familiar about those scratch marks, though she couldn't remember where she'd seen the handwriting before. More than that, they were disturbing, desperate. Whoever made them had clearly been anxious to leave behind some reminders of these people, whoever they were. It seemed to Christabel that those marks were made not only on the surface of the glass and the brass of the watch, but on the barrier of time as well, and at any moment, the owners of these mementos would be able to scratch down that barrier altogether and reach her from the past. The thought made her shiver, and she tossed the spectacles and the watch back into their box, and shoved the box into one of the empty crates to be disposed of. She did not want them around her.

One day, the drizzling rain stopped long enough for the sun to come out and clear the fog. Henry was out again and Kas was shut up in the lighthouse, but Christabel took full advantage of the nice weather by taking a long walk around the island, something she hadn't been able to do since her arrival. She went straight to the grove of cypress trees first, trying to look at them from the same angle from her window, searching for any sign, any irregular shape or formation on their bark that may suggest the figures she'd seen on her first night. There was nothing of the sort. The trees stood still and silent, casting a thick shadow even under the full sun. The memory of those silent trees in her dream came back like a cold finger down her spine. Christabel wrapped her cloak closer to her body and went down the drive, onto the path toward the shore, which had emerged from the low tides.

A soft jingling caught her attention, and she spied a horse-drawn wagon, bright red against the sand dunes, with Melvald's General Store painted in curly gold lettering on its side, rolling down the shore toward Creel House. This must be the weekly grocery delivery. She quickened her pace to catch up with it. The wagon drew up to the shore at the same time she did. The driver, a woman of late middle age, jumped down from her seat at the sight of Christabel.

"Afternoon, ma'am," she said. "You'd be the new Mrs. Creel, I bet."

Her phrasing puzzled Christabel for it indicated that there was an old Mrs. Creel, but she decided the woman must have meant Henry's mother, or perhaps simply that she was a newcomer of Creel House.

"I am," she replied.

"Joyce Byers, at your service," the woman said, taking off her bonnet, revealing a face that must have been pretty once, and was still handsome how, framed by two wings of dark hair shot with silver. "I have your order here."

She opened the back of the wagon and began unloading crates and boxes with an agility that belied her small stature. Christabel lingered about, not wanting to leave the first sign of outside life she'd seen in a week.

"Do you just leave them here, Mrs. Byers?" she asked.

"Please, call me Joyce. Yes, and I'll ring the bell here so young Kas knows to pick them up." Joyce indicated a bell tied to a hook planted at the start of the path, which Christabel hadn't seen on the night they drove up.

"Why don't you bring them to the door? Aren't you afraid they're going to get stolen?"

The older woman regarded Christabel for a moment or two. "Mr. Creel doesn't like people coming to the house," she said. "Besides, it's high tides half of the time. This is more convenient. We never got any complaints about stolen goods. Nobody ever comes out here anyway."

"Have you been delivering to Creel House for long?"

"Nearly thirty years now, even before it was Creel House."

"All alone?" Christabel exclaimed.

Joyce chuckled. "Like I said, nobody comes out here. When I first started working at Melvald's, there was just the lighthouse, kept by old Mr. McKinney."

"Really?" Christabel asked with interest. "Did he leave when the lighthouse was decommissioned?" Henry had told her that after new lighthouses were constructed on the Golden Gate Strait, many lighthouses along the bay were decommissioned, and his father had brought up the land to build Creel House.

Joyce's face turned somber. "No, the lighthouse was decommissioned because he left. After his son, Patrick, died, old Mr. McKinney drowned his sorrow in the bottle. The lighthouse fell into disrepair. After that one ship sank with all aboard, Mr. McKinney was removed from his post as the keeper, and the lighthouse was retired." She glanced at the top of the lighthouse, just visible behind the cypresses. "I'm surprised Mr. Creel kept the old thing when he had the house built."

"I think it adds character to the place," Christabel said, a touch offended.

"Character, yes. Except"—the older woman became hesitant, furtive—"well, I suppose it's not my place to say it."

"What?"

"Nothing, ma'am, it's probably just a silly rumor." She closed up the back of the wagon and attempted to climb back on the seat, but Christabel held her back.

"No, please. Tell me."

Joyce looked at her with pity and heaved a sigh. "People say that young Patrick McKinney died from falling off that lighthouse."

Christabel dropped her hand in shock, not just from the gruesome fate of Mr. McKinney's son, but from his very name as well. Patrick McKinney. P.M. Could the pocket watch have belonged to him? Perhaps the lighthouse keeper, in his grief, had scratched his son's name into the watch as a remembrance... But then who was F.B.?

***

Christabel was curled up on the window seat in the parlor, trying to distract herself with the furniture catalogues and samples of fabrics and wallpapers that had arrived with the groceries that afternoon, when she heard the car coming up the driveway. She expected Henry to go straight up to the attic as usual, and was surprised when he came into the parlor, looking rather displeased.

"What's all this?" he asked, eyeing the samples Christabel had spread on the seat around her.

"Oh, I was just—I've been meaning to discuss this with you, actually," Christabel said, relieved that she'd finally had an opportunity to broach the matter. "What do you think about updating the furnishings of the house a bit?"

"What's wrong with the furnishings?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Except—it's all rather dark and gloomy. I was thinking we could lighten it up a bit. Besides, these curtains and carpets and cushions could do with replacements..." She trailed off, for Henry was still scowling at the samples.

"And who's going to pay for all these 'replacements'?" he asked, finally looking at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I just received a telegram from your bank manager today, telling me I do not have access to your account. I even produced our marriage certificate, but the manager claimed that the account was under your sole name and thus could only be accessed with your permission." She had the feeling this was what he'd come in to talk to her about and was just searching for an excuse to bring it up.

"Yes, that is a stipulation in my father's will to make sure my mother couldn't touch it," she explained.

"But what if something... happens to you?"

Christabel tried not to dwell on the fact that Henry was contemplating her death barely a month into their marriage. "In that case, the money will go to my children. If I have none, it will go back to my mother if she is still alive, or to some distant cousin if she isn't."

"Not to your husband? That's preposterous!"

"You're going to have to take it up with my father, I'm afraid," she said with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's a damn nuisance, that's what it is."

Henry's growing irritation was leaving a bad taste in her mouth. "What's wrong?" she asked, trying to stay patient.

"What's yours is mine, by law. Yet if I need money, I have to come to you hat in hand like some beggar?"

"Married women are allowed to have their own assets, you know," Christabel said evenly. "Have been for nearly sixty years now."

"But I am your husband!" Henry shouted. "It is my right!"

"Your right?!" Christabel jumped up from the window seat, scattering fabric and wallpaper samples all over the floor. "What about your duties? Day after day you leave me in this Godforsaken house, you barely even look at me or speak to me, let alone spend time with me. What kind of marriage do you call this? Perhaps I should annul it on the grounds of non-consummation!" It was a bluff, but Henry's demand to own her money angered her so much that she wanted to get back at him.

For a moment, she thought Henry was going to hit her. But he only ground his teeth so hard she could see the veins popping on his temples, and he bit out, "Pay for your own damn furnishings then!" before storming out of the room. The slam of the attic door came a moment later, hurting her more than any physical blow he could have inflicted.

The parlor door cracked open, and Kas's worried face poked in. "Is everything all right, Mrs. Creel? I heard shouting—"

"Oh, leave me alone! Must you always be underfoot?" She tossed the samples and the catalogues into the wastepaper basket and swept out, not stopping to see the hurt look in Kas's dark eyes.

Back in her room, Christabel got undressed, violently yanking off buttons and tapes, heedless of the tearing sound they made, pulling pins out of her hair, throwing them willy-nilly on her dressing table, all the while trying to fight the hot tears that were choking her throat from rising to her eyes.

So Henry was no different from all the others. He was after her money, had been all along. That would explain his coldness on the train, his neglect since they came to San Francisco. All his sweet talk had been just that—talk. How stupid had she been to not see it? And now it was too late...

A knock on her door jolted her out of her gloomy thoughts. She was startled to hear Henry's voice on the other side, all gentle and sweet, "Darling? May I come in, please?"

Christabel debated telling him to go away. But what would she accomplish by drawing out the tension? After all, they were married, and she was stuck with him for the rest of her life. Best to learn to live with him. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Many married women happily handed their money over to their husbands and they were none the worse for it.

Still, she kept a cold countenance as she opened the door for him. Henry stepped in, taking both of her hands in his. "Listen, darling, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that," he said. "It's only that—when I learned about the bank account, I felt like you didn't trust me, and it hurt." He lifted her hands to his lips in a rather charming gesture of contrition.

"You should've told me that you wanted access to my account," Christabel said, determined not to let him off that easily. "I could've written a letter of authorization for you."

"No, no, it's all right. There's no need for that. It's your money, you should control it. In fact, you should transfer it to a bank here in San Francisco. That would be safer than to rely on a distant New York branch."

She was taken aback by his quick acceptance. Had she been too hasty in condemning him?

"All right, I'll consider it," she said uncertainly.

"As for your accusations," Henry went on, "I have no excuse. I have not fulfilled my husbandly duties. But I'm willing to rectify it right now."

Without waiting for her answer, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was the same way he'd kissed her right before he proposed to her, but somehow, this time, Christabel wasn't swept away by it as she had, or, rather, it now overwhelmed her in an unpleasant way. All she was aware of was how tightly he was holding her, making her corset dig uncomfortably into her hips, how forceful his mouth was, how probing his hands were. Then she felt those hands tear at her back and heard her corset strings snap.

"Damnable thing," Henry mumbled, throwing the torn corset to the floor. "Stop wearing it."

He then pushed her toward the bed, until her knees hit the edge of the mattress and she had no other choice but to collapse on her back, with Henry's weight bearing down on her. He pulled at her clothes and his own, and now his hands were roaming all over her body, his breath quickening. She closed her eyes, trying to relax, trying to remind herself that this was what she wanted. Unbidden, the memory of the hare came into her mind, and she remembered how these hands, the very hands that were groping and squeezing her, were the same hands that had snuffed out the life of that creature, the same hands that had lowered the mouse into the cobra's mouth. Sudden, irrational fear blossomed in her stomach. She struggled against Henry, but he was pinning her down with one hand between her legs and the other in her hair, and she couldn't move.

"Please, Henry..." she whispered, but either he didn't hear her or refused to answer, for the pressure of his hands on her didn't let up.

He thrust into her without warning. A sharp cry of pain was wrung from her lips, only to be drowned out by a burst of the foghorns on the bay. The pain, mercifully, was short-lived, and as it dulled, her cries turned into whimpers, while the horns droned on and on outside her window.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Henry sat up and fixed his clothes.

"There," he gasped. "Let's have no more talk of annulment now, shall we?"

He left the room without a backward glance.

It was some time before Christabel came out of her daze. Slowly, she pulled down her nightgown and sat up. So that was that. The wedding night she'd dreamed of. What a joke, a mockery of love. The pain wasn't even the worst part of it—that she'd known to expect, and it wasn't intolerable. No, the worst, most disturbing part of all was the sense that Henry had no thought for her. To him, she had no more identity than the hare or the mouse, and he'd consummated their marriage only to bind her to him, not out of any desire for her, or even for pleasure.

A chilly breeze came in through the window. The peeling wallpaper flapped, its scratching noise grated at her nerves, taunting her. Unable to endure it any longer, she jumped up from the bed, ran to the corner of the room, and savagely tore the wallpaper off in a long, ragged strip. Clutching it in her hand, she slumped to the floor, the tears she hadn't allowed herself to shed finally flowing.

After a long while, Christabel picked herself up and returned to bed. That was when her eyes caught something on the wall that sent a jolt of fear through her and dried her tears immediately. Picking up the candle, she came up to the wall for a closer look. A section of old plaster was exposed behind the torn-off wallpaper, and carved into it, in the same desperate hand, were the initials "M.M."

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer au #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #henry creel #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #kas!eddie #vampire!eddie munson

9 notes · View notes