#scroll sconces

[sullivanclarissa]

Mudroom in Phoenix Inspiration for a mid-sized, classic entryway remodel with a medium-sized wood front door, a brown floor, and wallpaper as well as multicolored walls.

[elderscrollsconceptart]

"Dragon Priest Wall Sconce"

Concept art for The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Art by Adam Adamowicz

[deerynoise]

Milwaukee Bins Wine Cellar Example of a mid-sized classic limestone floor and brown floor wine cellar design with diamond bins

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Interiors

As a followup to the very popular post on architecture, I decided to add onto it by exploring the interior of each movement and the different design techniques and tastes of each era. This post at be helpful for historical fiction, fantasy or just a long read when you're bored.

Interior Design Terms

Reeding and fluting: Fluting is a technique that consists a continuous pattern of concave grooves in a flat surface across a surface. Reeding is it's opposite.

Embossing: stamping, carving or moulding a symbol to make it stand out on a surface.

Paneling: Panels of carved wood or fabric a fixed to a wall in a continuous pattern.

Gilding: the use of gold to highlight features.

Glazed Tile: Ceramic or porcelain tiles coated with liquid coloured glass or enamel.

Column: A column is a pillar of stone or wood built to support a ceiling. We will see more of columns later on.

Bay Window: The Bay Window is a window projecting outward from a building.

Frescos: A design element of painting images upon wet plaster.

Mosaic: Mosaics are a design element that involves using pieces of coloured glass and fitted them together upon the floor or wall to form images.

Mouldings: ornate strips of carved wood along the top of a wall.

Wainscoting: paneling along the lower portion of a wall.

Chinoiserie: A European take on East Asian art. Usually seen in wallpaper.

Clerestory: A series of eye-level windows.

Sconces: A light fixture supported on a wall.

Niche: A sunken area within a wall.

Monochromatic: Focusing on a single colour within a scheme.

Ceiling rose: A moulding fashioned on the ceiling in the shape of a rose usually supporting a light fixture.

Baluster: the vertical bars of a railing.

Façade: front portion of a building

Lintel: Top of a door or window.

Portico: a covered structure over a door supported by columns

Eaves: the part of the roof overhanging from the building

Skirting: border around lower length of a wall

Ancient Greece

Houses were made of either sun-dried clay bricks or stone which were painted when they dried. Ground floors were decorated with coloured stones and tiles called Mosaics. Upper level floors were made from wood. Homes were furnished with tapestries and furniture, and in grand homes statues and grand altars would be found. Furniture was very skillfully crafted in Ancient Greece, much attention was paid to the carving and decoration of such things. Of course, Ancient Greece is ancient so I won't be going through all the movements but I will talk a little about columns.

Doric: Doric is the oldest of the orders and some argue it is the simplest. The columns of this style are set close together, without bases and carved with concave curves called flutes. The capitals (the top of the column) are plain often built with a curve at the base called an echinus and are topped by a square at the apex called an abacus. The entablature is marked by frieze of vertical channels/triglyphs. In between the channels would be detail of carved marble. The Parthenon in Athens is your best example of Doric architecture.

Ionic: The Ionic style was used for smaller buildings and the interiors. The columns had twin volutes, scroll-like designs on its capital. Between these scrolls, there was a carved curve known as an egg and in this style the entablature is much narrower and the frieze is thick with carvings. The example of Ionic Architecture is the Temple to Athena Nike at the Athens Acropolis.

Corinthian: The Corinthian style has some similarities with the Ionic order, the bases, entablature and columns almost the same but the capital is more ornate its base, column, and entablature, but its capital is far more ornate, commonly carved with depictions of acanthus leaves. The style was more slender than the others on this list, used less for bearing weight but more for decoration. Corinthian style can be found along the top levels of the Colosseum in Rome.

Tuscan: The Tuscan order shares much with the Doric order, but the columns are un-fluted and smooth. The entablature is far simpler, formed without triglyphs or guttae. The columns are capped with round capitals.

Composite: This style is mixed. It features the volutes of the Ionic order and the capitals of the Corinthian order. The volutes are larger in these columns and often more ornate. The column's capital is rather plain. for the capital, with no consistent differences to that above or below the capital.

Ancient Rome

Rome is well known for its outward architectural styles. However the Romans did know how to add that rizz to the interior. Ceilings were either vaulted or made from exploded beams that could be painted. The Romans were big into design. Moasics were a common interior sight, the use of little pieces of coloured glass or stone to create a larger image. Frescoes were used to add colour to the home, depicting mythical figures and beasts and also different textures such as stonework or brick. The Romans loved their furniture. Dining tables were low and the Romans ate on couches. Weaving was a popular pastime so there would be tapestries and wall hangings in the house. Rich households could even afford to import fine rugs from across the Empire. Glass was also a feature in Roman interior but windows were usually not paned as large panes were hard to make. Doors were usually treated with panels that were carved or in lain with bronze.

Ancient Egypt

Egypt was one of the first great civilisations, known for its immense and grand structures. Wealthy Egyptians had grand homes. The walls were painted or plastered usually with bright colours and hues. The Egyptians are cool because they mapped out their buildings in such a way to adhere to astrological movements meaning on special days if the calendar the temple or monuments were in the right place always. The columns of Egyptian where thicker, more bulbous and often had capitals shaped like bundles of papyrus reeds. Woven mats and tapestries were popular decor. Motifs from the river such as palms, papyrus and reeds were popular symbols used.

Ancient Africa

African Architecture is a very mixed bag and more structurally different and impressive than Hollywood would have you believe. Far beyond the common depictions of primitive buildings, the African nations were among the giants of their time in architecture, no style quite the same as the last but just as breathtaking.

Rwandan Architecture: The Rwandans commonly built of hardened clay with thatched roofs of dried grass or reeds. Mats of woven reeds carpeted the floors of royal abodes. These residences folded about a large public area known as a karubanda and were often so large that they became almost like a maze, connecting different chambers/huts of all kinds of uses be they residential or for other purposes.

Ashanti Architecture: The Ashanti style can be found in present day Ghana. The style incorporates walls of plaster formed of mud and designed with bright paint and buildings with a courtyard at the heart, not unlike another examples on this post. The Ashanti also formed their buildings of the favourite method of wattle and daub.

Nubian Architecture: Nubia, in modern day Ethiopia, was home to the Nubians who were one of the world's most impressive architects at the beginning of the architecture world and probably would be more talked about if it weren't for the Egyptians building monuments only up the road. The Nubians were famous for building the speos, tall tower-like spires carved of stone. The Nubians used a variety of materials and skills to build, for example wattle and daub and mudbrick. The Kingdom of Kush, the people who took over the Nubian Empire was a fan of Egyptian works even if they didn't like them very much. The Kushites began building pyramid-like structures such at the sight of Gebel Barkal

Japanese Interiors

Japenese interior design rests upon 7 principles. Kanso (簡素)- Simplicity, Fukinsei (不均整)- Asymmetry, Shizen (自然)- Natural, Shibumi (渋味) – Simple beauty, Yugen (幽玄)- subtle grace, Datsuzoku (脱俗) – freedom from habitual behaviour, Seijaku (静寂)- tranquillity.

Common features of Japanese Interior Design:

Shoji walls: these are the screens you think of when you think of the traditional Japanese homes. They are made of wooden frames, rice paper and used to partition

Tatami: Tatami mats are used within Japanese households to blanket the floors. They were made of rice straw and rush straw, laid down to cushion the floor.

Genkan: The Genkan was a sunken space between the front door and the rest of the house. This area is meant to separate the home from the outside and is where shoes are discarded before entering.

Japanese furniture: often lowest, close to the ground. These include tables and chairs but often tanked are replaced by zabuton, large cushions. Furniture is usually carved of wood in a minimalist design.

Nature: As both the Shinto and Buddhist beliefs are great influences upon architecture, there is a strong presence of nature with the architecture. Wood is used for this reason and natural light is prevalent with in the home. The orientation is meant to reflect the best view of the world.

Islamic World Interior

The Islamic world has one of the most beautiful and impressive interior design styles across the world. Colour and detail are absolute staples in the movement. Windows are usually not paned with glass but covered in ornate lattices known as jali. The jali give ventilation, light and privacy to the home. Islamic Interiors are ornate and colourful, using coloured ceramic tiles. The upper parts of walls and ceilings are usually flat decorated with arabesques (foliate ornamentation), while the lower wall areas were usually tiled. Features such as honeycombed ceilings, horseshoe arches, stalactite-fringed arches and stalactite vaults (Muqarnas) are prevalent among many famous Islamic buildings such as the Alhambra and the Blue Mosque.

Byzantine (330/395–1453 A. D)

The Byzantine Empire or Eastern Roman Empire was where eat met west, leading to a melting pot of different interior designs based on early Christian styles and Persian influences. Mosaics are probably what you think of when you think of the Byzantine Empire. Ivory was also a popular feature in the Interiors, with carved ivory or the use of it in inlay. The use of gold as a decorative feature usually by way of repoussé (decorating metals by hammering in the design from the backside of the metal). Fabrics from Persia, heavily embroidered and intricately woven along with silks from afar a field as China, would also be used to upholster furniture or be used as wall hangings. The Byzantines favoured natural light, usually from the use of copolas.

Indian Interiors

India is of course, the font of all intricate designs. India's history is sectioned into many eras but we will focus on a few to give you an idea of prevalent techniques and tastes.

The Gupta Empire (320 – 650 CE): The Gupta era was a time of stone carving. As impressive as the outside of these buildings are, the Interiors are just as amazing. Gupta era buildings featured many details such as ogee (circular or horseshoe arch), gavaksha/chandrashala (the motif centred these arches), ashlar masonry (built of squared stone blocks) with ceilings of plain, flat slabs of stone.

Delhi Sultanate (1206–1526): Another period of beautifully carved stone. The Delhi sultanate had influence from the Islamic world, with heavy uses of mosaics, brackets, intricate mouldings, columns and and hypostyle halls.

Mughal Empire (1526–1857): Stonework was also important on the Mughal Empire. Intricately carved stonework was seen in the pillars, low relief panels depicting nature images and jalis (marble screens). Stonework was also decorated in a stye known as pietra dura/parchin kari with inscriptions and geometric designs using colored stones to create images. Tilework was also popular during this period. Moasic tiles were cut and fitted together to create larger patters while cuerda seca tiles were coloured tiles outlined with black.

Chinese Interiors

Common features of Chinese Interiors

Use of Colours: Colour in Chinese Interior is usually vibrant and bold. Red and Black are are traditional colours, meant to bring luck, happiness, power, knowledge and stability to the household.

Latticework: Lattices are a staple in Chinese interiors most often seen on shutters, screens, doors of cabinets snf even traditional beds.

Lacquer: Multiple coats of lacquer are applied to furniture or cabinets (now walls) and then carved. The skill is called Diaoqi (雕漆).

Decorative Screens: Screens are used to partition off part of a room. They are usually of carved wood, pained with very intricate murals.

Shrines: Spaces were reserved on the home to honour ancestors, usually consisting of an altar where offerings could be made.

Of course, Chinese Interiors are not all the same through the different eras. While some details and techniques were interchangeable through different dynasties, usually a dynasty had a notable style or deviation. These aren't all the dynasties of course but a few interesting examples.

Song Dynasty (960–1279): The Song Dynasty is known for its stonework. Sculpture was an important part of Song Dynasty interior. It was in this period than brick and stone work became the most used material. The Song Dynasty was also known for its very intricate attention to detail, paintings, and used tiles.

Ming Dynasty(1368–1644): Ceilings were adorned with cloisons usually featuring yellow reed work. The floors would be of flagstones usually of deep tones, mostly black. The Ming Dynasty favoured richly coloured silk hangings, tapestries and furnishings. Furniture was usually carved of darker woods, arrayed in a certain way to bring peace to the dwelling.

Han Dynasty (206 BC-220 AD): Interior walls were plastered and painted to show important figures and scenes. Lacquer, though it was discovered earlier, came into greater prominence with better skill in this era.

Tang Dynasty (618–907) : The colour palette is restrained, reserved. But the Tang dynasty is not without it's beauty. Earthenware reached it's peak in this era, many homes would display fine examples as well. The Tang dynasty is famous for its upturned eaves, the ceilings supported by timber columns mounted with metal or stone bases. Glazed tiles were popular in this era, either a fixed to the roof or decorating a screen wall.

Romanesque (6th -11th century/12th)

Romanesque Architecture is a span between the end of Roman Empire to the Gothic style. Taking inspiration from the Roman and Byzantine Empires, the Romanesque period incorporates many of the styles. The most common details are carved floral and foliage symbols with the stonework of the Romanesque buildings. Cable mouldings or twisted rope-like carvings would have framed doorways. As per the name, Romansque Interiors relied heavily on its love and admiration for Rome. The Romanesque style uses geometric shapes as statements using curves, circles snf arches. The colours would be clean and warm, focusing on minimal ornamentation.

Gothic Architecture (12th Century - 16th Century)

The Gothic style is what you think of when you think of old European cathedrals and probably one of the beautiful of the styles on this list and one of most recognisable. The Gothic style is a dramatic, opposing sight and one of the easiest to describe. Decoration in this era became more ornate, stonework began to sport carving and modelling in a way it did not before. The ceilings moved away from barreled vaults to quadripartite and sexpartite vaulting. Columns slimmed as other supportive structures were invented. Intricate stained glass windows began their popularity here. In Gothic structures, everything is very symmetrical and even.

Mediaeval (500 AD to 1500)

Interiors of mediaeval homes are not quite as drab as Hollywood likes to make out. Building materials may be hidden by plaster in rich homes, sometimes even painted. Floors were either dirt strewn with rushes or flagstones in larger homes. Stonework was popular, especially around fireplaces. Grand homes would be decorated with intricate woodwork, carved heraldic beasts and wall hangings of fine fabrics.

Renaissance (late 1300s-1600s)

The Renaissance was a period of great artistry and splendor. The revival of old styles injected symmetry and colour into the homes. Frescoes were back. Painted mouldings adorned the ceilings and walls. Furniture became more ornate, fixed with luxurious upholstery and fine carvings. Caryatids (pillars in the shape of women), grotesques, Roman and Greek images were used to spruce up the place. Floors began to become more intricate, with coloured stone and marble. Modelled stucco, sgraffiti arabesques (made by cutting lines through a layer of plaster or stucco to reveal an underlayer), and fine wall painting were used in brilliant combinations in the early part of the 16th century.

Tudor Interior (1485-1603)

The Tudor period is a starkly unique style within England and very recognisable. Windows were fixed with lattice work, usually casement. Stained glass was also in in this period, usually depicting figures and heraldic beasts. Rooms would be panelled with wood or plastered. Walls would be adorned with tapestries or embroidered hangings. Windows and furniture would be furnished with fine fabrics such as brocade. Floors would typically be of wood, sometimes strewn with rush matting mixed with fresh herbs and flowers to freshen the room.

Baroque (1600 to 1750)

The Baroque period was a time for splendor and for splashing the cash. The interior of a baroque room was usually intricate, usually of a light palette, featuring a very high ceiling heavy with detail. Furniture would choke the room, ornately carved and stitched with very high quality fabrics. The rooms would be full of art not limited to just paintings but also sculptures of marble or bronze, large intricate mirrors, moldings along the walls which may be heavily gilded, chandeliers and detailed paneling.

Victorian (1837-1901)

We think of the interiors of Victorian homes as dowdy and dark but that isn't true. The Victorians favoured tapestries, intricate rugs, decorated wallpaper, exquisitely furniture, and surprisingly, bright colour. Dyes were more widely available to people of all stations and the Victorians did not want for colour. Patterns and details were usually nature inspired, usually floral or vines. Walls could also be painted to mimic a building material such as wood or marble and most likely painted in rich tones. The Victorians were suckers for furniture, preferring them grandly carved with fine fabric usually embroidered or buttoned. And they did not believe in minimalism. If you could fit another piece of furniture in a room, it was going in there. Floors were almost eclusively wood laid with the previously mentioned rugs. But the Victorians did enjoy tiled floors but restricted them to entrances. The Victorians were quite in touch with their green thumbs so expect a lot of flowers and greenery inside. with various elaborately decorated patterned rugs. And remember, the Victorians loved to display as much wealth as they could. Every shelf, cabinet, case and ledge would be chocked full of ornaments and antiques.

Edwardian/The Gilded Age/Belle Epoque (1880s-1914)

This period (I've lumped them together for simplicity) began to move away from the deep tones and ornate patterns of the Victorian period. Colour became more neutral. Nature still had a place in design. Stained glass began to become popular, especially on lampshades and light fixtures. Embossing started to gain popularity and tile work began to expand from the entrance halls to other parts of the house. Furniture began to move away from dark wood, some families favouring breathable woods like wicker. The rooms would be less cluttered.

Art Deco (1920s-1930s)

The 1920s was a time of buzz and change. Gone were the refined tastes of the pre-war era and now the wow factor was in. Walls were smoother, buildings were sharper and more jagged, doorways and windows were decorated with reeding and fluting. Pastels were in, as was the heavy use of black and white, along with gold. Mirrors and glass were in, injecting light into rooms. Gold, silver, steel and chrome were used in furnishings and decor. Geometric shapes were a favourite design choice. Again, high quality and bold fabrics were used such as animal skins or colourful velvet. It was all a rejection of the Art Noveau movement, away from nature focusing on the man made.

Modernism (1930 - 1965)

Modernism came after the Art Deco movement. Fuss and feathers were out the door and now, practicality was in. Materials used are shown as they are, wood is not painted, metal is not coated. Bright colours were acceptable but neutral palettes were favoured. Interiors were open and favoured large windows. Furniture was practical, for use rather than the ornamentation, featuring plain details of any and geometric shapes. Away from Art Deco, everything is straight, linear and streamlined.

[sometimesanalice]

Like I Can (Part 3)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 7.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

(All’s well that ends well❣️ Enjoy!)

You’d been on edge all day. 

Having slept terribly the night before, you’d woken up early and giving up on the idea of going back to sleep had ended up at a sunrise yoga class, hoping that some movement would help you clear your mind. By the end of the hour you were even more frustrated than you were before you arrived, the poses feeling unnaturally forced instead of flowing seamlessly as they usually did. 

So much for some goddamn inner peace.

Work was even worse. You had arrived to find that the espresso machine was broken. And whoever made a pot on the ancient drip machine, that was undoubtedly pulled out of a dingy storage closet somewhere, clearly hated everyone else since it tasted like tar. You could barely focus enough to clear out your inbox, when your work nemesis started breathing down your neck about a proposal that wasn’t due for another two weeks. 

Time was dragging on. And every time you looked at the clock thinking it had been at least an hour since you’d last checked, were continually shocked to see that barely fifteen minutes had passed by. Thankfully it was Friday, so your boss didn’t care when you called it a day and left at lunch. It was better for everyone this way.

You had tried painting your nails, but didn’t have the patience to let them dry and smudged them trying to open a package of crackers. Ignoring the crumbs that got everywhere as you ate them while working the cotton pad over the remnants of your pretty pink polish. Your new favorite show didn’t hold your attention like it usually did and you found yourself mindlessly scrolling on your phone, missing most of the plot you’d had to restart it. Twice.

Not even the scenic drive along the coast to the restaurant you were supposed to meet your date at had done anything to alleviate your nerves.

You had been surprised at the choice of location when you had received the text message with the information about this particular date. As much as you enjoyed going to the Hard Deck, you were very much looking forward to drinking something other than a beer. Sure, Penny could make a mean spicy margarita, but sometimes an overpriced aesthetically pleasing cocktail just hit the spot better than anything else. 

But most of all, you were thankful for a change of pace and the privacy this offered you. You had never been one for the spotlight, and dating on display had left you feeling drained.

You’re sitting in a surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker dining chair on the outdoor patio of the new trendy fusion restaurant you’ve been dying to come to. From your spot tucked away in the corner you can see the ocean waves rolling in and back out again. The golden rays already promising a stunning sunset later in the evening.

The foliage of the giant potted monsteras and birds of paradise made the terrace feel like a lush oasis, and contrasted stylishly against the large painted terracotta tiles on the ground. The pergola that covered it was dotted wisteria amongst the other climbing greenery, and numerous oversized hanging rattan sconces. The dainty lights woven throughout reflecting off the wine glasses on the table.

This was exactly what you needed. Too bad you couldn’t let yourself enjoy it, the twisted knots in the pit of your stomach had served a constant reminder of your nerves all day.

You had used this date as an excuse to finally buy the deep green floral dress you’d had your eye on for ages. The gentle drape of the neck was subtly sophisticated, while the high slit on the side added some serious sex appeal. 

There was nothing wrong with a little retail therapy you had told yourself as you’d swiped your credit card. If you looked good, maybe it would help you to feel good.

In all honesty, it probably had a little too much sex appeal since you couldn’t stop fidgeting in your chair trying to get the silky dress cover up more of your thigh that was currently displayed rather provocatively. It felt like the more you tried to get it to lay right the more of your leg was exposed. 

It probably didn’t help that you couldn’t stop the restless bouncing of your leg. You weren’t usually an antsy person, leg bouncing had always been more of Rooster’s anxious habit than yours.

Maybe you’ll feel less exposed once you draped the linen napkin across your lap. You’re tempted to do it now, but you don’t want to disturb the artfully laid out tablescape before your date has arrived.

It had been three weeks of back to back truly terrible dates. You could see the finish line now, but you couldn’t say that it wasn’t wearing on you. It had sounded like fun in theory, but now you weren’t so sure you would said yes again if you were offered a do-over. 

You were tired. 

Tired of going through the motions with men who could hardly be bothered to do the bare minimum. Tired of trying to sell the best version of yourself. Tired of putting on a show when all you wanted to find was an easy kind of love.

And this particular date had you more on edge and anxious than any of the other ones you’d gone on.

Even if you were pressed, you could not remember a single thing about the guy Payback had set you up with on your most recent blind date.

That evening you hadn’t even bothered trying to put together a cute outfit for the meeting. Instead, the only real effort you’d opted to put in was painting your lips a bright red as an attempt to psych yourself up for it. You didn’t usually wear such a bold color, but when you did it never failed to make you feel more brilliant.

And while you couldn’t remember anything about your date, what you did vividly remember was the fight you got into with Rooster that night.

You had been coming back from the restroom and on your way back to your date when you had bumped into him rounding the corner. 

“Sorry, that was my fault,” he’d said as he reached out to steady you with hand going to your waist, dropping it once he realized it was you. “Oh, hey.”

Glancing over to your date who seemed absorbed in some game he was playing on his phone, you figured he wouldn’t miss you if you spent a few extra minutes away to catch up with Rooster.

He had been acting really distant lately, taking a couple days to respond to texts rather than a couple of hours like it usually took him. Natasha had told you about the rigorous training they were being put though, and you had assumed it probably had something to do with that. However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off between you two.

Rooster was already pulling away from you and taking a step towards the bar when you reached out grabbing his wrist to keep him with you. Looking around for a quiet place to talk, you’d heard him sigh behind you, but still held on to him as you made your way to one of the high-top tables in the corner by the empty stage. 

You’d stopped and let go as you turned towards him, only to find him already looking at you with an expression that landed somewhere between expectant and exasperated. The cuffs of his shirt straining around his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well?” he grunted out.

Was he mad at you? You couldn’t think of any recent arguments you’d had recently that would explain the harsh tone he was using with you. 

“Is everything ok? I feel like you’ve been really off lately. You know I’m always here for you, right?” Your hand was already reaching out to touch him, but you resisted the urge not wanting to further agitate him.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m surprised you even have time to talk to me with all these washouts you’ve been wasting your time on. You’re the one with the busy social calendar, not me.” He was looking over the top of your head avoiding your gaze now, the bitterness in his voice had stunned you. 

“Seriously? What is the matter with you?” 

He’d never been so intentionally callous with you before and it hurt. 

“Listen, if there is an issue me dating the people your friends have been setting me up with, you need to let me know,” you’d said pointing a firm finger at him, your anger rising. “This was supposed to be a fun no pressure situation, but I don’t want to be in the middle of this if things are getting heated between you guys. It’s not worth it to me. But you don’t get to ignore me for days and then claim that I’m the one avoiding you.”

He made a noise of frustration as he dragged both hands through his curls. You could see the flex of his jaw as he’d clenched his teeth together.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he ducked down to that his eyes were level with your, and you could see the remorse in them. “You’re right, that was shitty of me to take it out on you. I’m just… tired.”

You’d simply nodded at him, feeling like you weren’t on the same page as him didn’t sit well with you. “Phoenix told me about your new training program, it seems intense,” your voice sounded small even to your own ears.

“Yeah, the training,” he’d sighed out pausing for a moment as he weighed his words, rubbing at his chest, “It’s taking a toll on me, but that’s my problem. I mean it, I’m sorry.”

“Are we good?” you searched his eyes, your friendship with him was so important to you.

“You and me? We’re good, kid. Always.” He’d reached out and squeezed your shoulder before heading back to where the group was gathered together pretending like they weren’t just watching your argument play out. 

Needless to say, your head was somewhere elsewhere entirely as you made your way back to your date. You’d felt bad being so distracted, but your mind just kept playing the argument on repeat. It was like your brain was trying to pull apart every little word to decode something that you didn’t think was there.

After Payback’s friend had left, you rejoined everyone else around the pool table. You couldn’t tell if the mood was off or if it was just you reading into things, since they hadn’t been prodding you with questions like they usually did.

Natasha was in the middle of giving you a glowing review of the man she had been bragging about since she first offered to set you up, when Rooster came to sit with you both.

“He’s just your type. He’s an engineer, so he’s smart. He’s got that whole glasses wearing and floppy hair thing going for him. And he’s funny. Rumor has it that he talked back to his Rear Admiral one time and got away with it because the guy had found him amusing. I fully expect you to name one of your future children with him after me.”

Rooster had surprised the pair of you when he stood up so violently that he almost knocked over the beers on the table. 

“What the fuck, Bradshaw?” Nat had exclaimed as you both worked to rescue the teetering bottles from becoming casualties from his sudden movement.

You had no idea what he was going to say as an explanation for why he’d jumped out of his seat the way he did, but what he ended up unexpectedly announcing instead of answering Nat’s question had sent you into a tailspin.

So now here you are in a restaurant you’d be dying to go to, fidgety and anxious in a probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative dress for a first date with the guy who Rooster was willing to break his long-standing rules for to set you up with.

To say you were feeling the pressure was an understatement. No one knew you like Rooster did. He’d seen you at your best and at your worst. He wouldn’t just pick any random guy he knew, he would be picking the one who he thought would be the best for you.

The thought should be comforting, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness.

You pick up your phone again and double check the time in the text that Rooster had sent you with all the details for your date with his friend. 

It was either that do that again or moving the ever-so-slightly crooked gold salad fork back into place.

You’re about to open Instagram for the third time since you sat down, turning when you hear a throat clear purposely behind you.

“Hey, sweet girl.”

For Rooster, when you’d first agreed to participate in the bet with his friends those dates started off as annoying inconveniences. Just inconsequential disruptions that got in the way of his time with you.

You were his best friend and at his bar, yet he felt like he’d hardly seen you these past couple of weeks- or at least not as much as he would have liked. 

Sure, he got some time with you here and there at the end of the night like when you had late night tacos on the beach. Or when he’d taught you his favorite pool trick, well more like attempted to teach you, he loved how stunningly bad you were at the game. But he felt like he was competing with these idiots his friends had picked out for your time and your attention. 

He wasn’t used to sharing you. In the past, if you had a date that conflicted with something spontaneous he wanted to do or something that the group had planned together, more often than not he could get you to move it or cancel completely.

He’d never been above a little bribery to get his way, he knew what you liked.

You going on dates wasn’t a new concept to him, but seeing them paraded in front of him was a different story. And he was getting really tired of watching you from across the bar while feeling like you were out of reach.

The more of them you went on, and the more he heard Natasha crowing about having the perfect man for you the more agitated he felt. The worse that feeling in the pit of his stomach got. 

The evening of date for Payback’s pick, they’d all seen you walk in through the doors of the Hard Deck wearing that shade of red lipstick. You’d wore it so well. His friends had immediately started speculating about what it meant. Phoenix had called them all idiots, and while he couldn’t claim to know anything about make-up and those things, he did know you didn’t just wear that color for no reason. 

He had vague memories of his mom putting the color on when they’d go greet his dad, at least he like to think those were his memories. Or maybe they were just something he’d created in his head from all the time he had spent looking at old photos of his mom and dad together, her smile always outlined in the color. His favorite was the one where his dad’s cheeks were covered in bright red lipstick kisses as he smiled indulgently down at his mom while a young Bradley was propped on her hip clutching his prized F-14 Tomcat. He had that one framed on the end table next to his couch. 

And seeing that color on you for a date with this random guy had rattled him.

He’d felt so terrible later that evening when he took those feelings out on you. Hating himself as he lashed out at you. Hating himself as he saw your face fall and the hurt in your eyes. Hating himself for being the person who made you feel bad.

And the crux of it all was that you weren’t wrong, he had been deliberately distant by being slow to reply and ignoring texts from you. He wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t know what else to do. He’d hoped by creating some space that it would help him to try and get his head back on straight. 

He’d let you assume that he was tired from the new training program they were being put through. What he didn’t tell you was that he was already outperforming everyone on the team, and that he hadn’t had to do any extra push-ups in a week and a half. 

He was tired because he hadn’t been sleeping, and he couldn’t sleep because every time he tried to close his eyes all he could see was you on these dates. Replaying them in his mind’s eye wondering what the outcome would have been had they not gone so terribly wrong each time.

The what-ifs swarming around his brain day and night like agitated hornets.

While he had been quick to apologize for being a dick, the sharp pain that settled behind his sternum wouldn’t subside no matter how much he had tried to rub it away.

He didn’t know what was more unbearable, the idea of losing you to a chance encounter of circumstance. Some meet cute courtesy of the universe that he couldn’t see coming until it was too late, when it’s already too far out of his hands and out of his control. To see you grinning that smile so bright, the one so wide it made your dimples appear, as you introduced that guy to him. 

Or sitting here night after night analyzing every little thing as you date the people some of his closest friends had picked out for you. Watching and hoping that these dates would just be funny stories you told on drunken nights out rather than the story told at your wedding about the night that everything changed when you met your person. Of having to be happy for you even as you pull away from him.

His ears were ringing and he’d felt his stomach drop. 

He could see it now, a day when your life ran parallel to his rather than entwined as he was used to. Of you with a partner. With children. Of him as ‘Uncle’ Rooster, demoted to the rank of ‘longtime friend of the family’ rather than a core member of it. 

The thought of it making him feel sick. 

All evening he had been moving around like a ghost completely lost to the thoughts in his head, but now it felt like he’d been shocked by a live wire. He’d pretty much jumped out of the chair he had just settled in, almost knocking the beers in front of him off the table completely. 

“I want in, I’ll do it,” he’d blurted out, interrupting the conversations that had continued on around him while he had been spiraling. “This whole thing has been a complete shit show. I can’t watch this anymore. I know a guy, I’ll set it up. I’m in.” 

His hands were sweating as he hoped no one would call his bluff. He’d made it a point to actively avoid looking at you. You had such an uncanny way of reading him. 

“I don’t know, Bradshaw. You’re a little late to the game, aren’t you? I’ve been saving the best for last, and I’m ready to collect my winnings.” He’d expected some shit from Hangman, but he never would have guessed it’d come from Phoenix. 

Feeling his anger flare up, he reached into his back pocket and fished out a $100 bill from his worn leather wallet, double the original entry fee. He slapped it down on the table, leaving no room for any further discussion, “I’m the one setting her up for the next date.” 

He’d caught a look between Hangman and Phoenix, but he couldn’t be bothered to read into it as he tried to keep his temper in check.  

He wouldn’t lose you. Not to someone who didn’t deserve you, especially when he already knew the person who could make you happy.

“Alrighty,” Jake had drawled out, as he pocked the bill. “Looks like we have another player. I look forward to taking your money.” 

He’d extended his hand out and they’d all shook on it, reaching Phoenix last her grip firm and her smile sharp. And that was that. 

Now he was here at the new popular restaurant he’d heard you talking about a few weeks ago, his feet cemented to the tiles beneath him just gazing at you. 

He could tell from where he was standing behind you that you were nervous by the way you were opening and closing apps without truly looking at anything. He knew it was a habit of yours when you were feeling anxious, something for your hands to do as you tried to distract yourself.

He had sweet talked the hostess over the phone into reserving the best spot on the outdoor terrace, and you looked so beautiful sitting there wearing his new favorite color. Your hair is held back by a delicate golden clip on one side leaving the line of your neck exposed, the sea breeze picking up a few wisps.  It makes his teeth ache with want.

He knew you were gorgeous, he’d stared down enough men at the Hard Deck to know that others thought so too. However, he’d never let himself sit with those thoughts for too long, not trusting himself to keep his mind from wandering. 

You were his best friend. 

And best friends don’t think about how the other would look so perfect in their bed, that pretty green dress forgotten on the floor. 

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look under his arm.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look with his ring on your finger.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you are for him.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect he is for you.

Him.

It was a good thing he didn’t want to just be your best friend anymore. 

He’d already done too much thinking, done too much waiting. He wasn’t going to miss his moment. 

Taking one more deep breath, he made his way to you.

“Rooster? What are you doing here?” He was the last person you’d expected to see when you turned your head to see who had been trying to get your attention, “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

Did he get emergency orders? Did your date get in an accident? 

Your anxiousness was quickly morphing into panic, you’re already half way out of your seat when he puts his hand on your shoulder, his thumb stroking the skin there reassuringly. 

He is standing there looking completely at ease, as if he belonged there, “Nothing’s wrong, sweet girl.” 

And there it was again, you hadn’t been sure if your ears were playing tricks on you the first time he’d said it. That simple term of endearment silencing the alarm bells that were going off in your head, the edges of the lush restaurant softening around everything except him.

“Your mom always called me that,” you say softly. 

You cherished all the memories you had with Carole, the woman who had been such a significant figure in your life for so long. You knew your mom still sent Rooster a cake every year to celebrate her birthday from whatever bakery was closest to wherever he was stationed. 

“I know, I remember,” his voice so warm and deep, “She loved you.” 

He says it so simply, so sincerely. As if his presence here hasn’t just completely untethered you and sent you adrift in a sea of bewilderment.

The writhing snake that had made a home all day in the pit of your stomach finally disappeared, only to be replaced with the fluttering of wings that you were desperately trying to ignore. 

You’d been so shocked when Rooster had exclaimed that he was going to set you up with someone, your mind had been whirling so much at the time you could barely focus on anything that had been said in the aftermath of his announcement. Maybe you had missed some caveat he’d come up with for his participation in the bet? That could make sense, considering how adamant he had always been in the past about never getting involved in your love life. 

He was standing there looking so good in his best short-sleeved button up shirt, the one that was scattered with vibrant palm leaves that fit snugly against his body. And wearing the white slacks that usually had you looking anywhere else in the room to avoid acknowledging the way they clung to your best friend’s thighs and ass. If only he knew how weak they made you. 

There just has to be a logical reason for why he’s here, but the soft smile on his face was rendering your brain uncooperative. 

You were getting tired of feeling like you were missing something that should be so obvious, “My date is supposed to be here soon, are you going to hover in the back like you have been at the Hard Deck? Or are you just planning on pulling up a chair and third wheeling up close and personal?” 

“Why would I need an extra chair,” he asks as he pulls it out and eases his large frame down onto the wicker seat, “When mine’s already free?” 

You move to open your mouth when the waitress arrives, asking if you had your drink orders selected. 

“I’ll do the Bourbon Sidecar. You feelin’ like a gin, sweet girl?” You just nodded at him mutely, still desperately trying to catch up. “And the Clover Club for her, please.” 

It’s what you were planning on ordering to calm your first date jitters before had Rooster arrived and sent you into a complete tailspin. He hadn’t even looked at the thick textured cardstock of the drink menus that were strategically placed just to the right of the golden soup spoons on the artfully laid out table. 

The butterflies were threatening to break free from the tightly locked cage you had attempted to shove them in. 

The waitress took down the drinks, and you watched her as she crossed the patio pausing to tap away on the screen of their POS, trying to give yourself a few more moments to collect your thoughts. 

“Bradley. I don’t understand, what’s going on?” He’s sitting there looking so secure, so steadfast, so sure. 

His cheek ticks up, “I like it when you call me Bradley. Why did you stop calling me that when you moved out here?” 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Why did you stop calling me Bradley when you moved out here?” he asks again, leaning in. How does he expect you to answer a question, when your mind is going 1,190 miles an hour? 

“I don’t know,” you start with a halfhearted shrug. “You’ve made a name for yourself in the Navy, you are ‘Rooster’ to everyone here.” You open your mouth to say more, before closing it quickly.

“There’s more going on in that head,” you feel his foot reach out tapping against yours under the table, before leaving it there a steady presence. “Tell me.”

You know you can tell him anything, but this feels different.

The intensity of his stare has you fighting the flush you feel spreading across your cheeks.

It wasn’t something that you’d ever given much thought to before, but you know if you answer truthfully now that he’s asked you it’s going to leave you feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been with him. 

You sit up more fully in your chair deciding to be brave, “I mean, we haven’t really truly been in the same place since we were teens, and things are so different now. It was easier to start calling you ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’ like everyone else, because it didn’t make me feel like I was piece from a different puzzle trying to force myself into a new picture. I wanted to fit into the life that you’ve built here, to feel like I still have a place with you as you are now.”

You’re actively fighting to keep your eyes on his. It would be so easy to look away or to laugh off your confession, but for whatever reason, you don’t want to take the easy out. 

“I never knew you felt like that, but I wish I had,” the look in his eyes is softer than anything you’ve ever seen from him before. “I like being Bradley to you, I want to be Bradley to you. You aren’t just a piece to me, you’re the whole picture. You’ve always had a place here, exactly as you are you are now.”

It’s never been like this between the two of you. It feels like you both are saying too much and not enough all at the same time. As much as you find yourself wanting to sink into these intoxicating yet unfamiliar feelings, you know you’re still holding yourself back.

God, he is so handsome. You had been right, the sunset that was just starting was stunning, but the way golden beams were hitting the lightened strands of his curls was spectacular.

You’re almost too afraid to ask, but it’s unbearable not knowing, “Why are you here right now, Bradley?”

Of course, the waitress chooses that moment to return with the drinks. 

She sets them down in front of you, the skewered raspberries sitting daintily on the side of your glass are suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room. You vaguely hear him saying you both need more time and that he’ll flag her down when you’re ready to order. 

He waits for her to leave to attend to her other tables before turning his heady gaze on you once again.

“I thought I’ve been making my intentions pretty clear here, sweet girl.” 

He takes a sip of his Sidecar before continuing, the slight bounce of his leg the only thing giving him away that he might not be as self-assured as you’d originally thought, “I’m here for our date.”

There’s no hope of containing the butterflies now. You’re a lost cause. 

“Bradley.” You can only imagine the emotions he is reading on your face. It would absolutely break your heart if this was some kind of bad joke.

“He’ll never love you like I can.” 

“What?” you ask sounding every bit as dazed as you feel.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says shaking his head slightly, huffing out a little laugh at himself, “I got ahead of myself.”

You watch as he resituates himself in the chair, wiping his hands on the front of his slacks before restarting. 

“Watching you on those dates has been hell, I don’t want to be jealous of some guy you gave a second glance. I don’t want hold back, not when we can be so much more,” he reaches across the table, taking your hand between his two large ones, “I thought having you as a friend was enough for me, but how am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that I could be the one who makes you happy and then do nothing about it? That I’m the only one who can love you the way you deserve to be loved?”

You’ve always known he’s cared for you, that was unquestionable, but to be loved by Bradley Bradshaw? It was something you’d never let yourself imagine, let alone dared to hope to for. It had been kinder to spare yourself from the heartache that came with hope. But now? With him sitting right here in front of you saying you could have him like this?

Was this how he felt flying in his F-18 every day?

He gets up and rounds the table coming to your side, hooking an ankle around the tapered leg of your chair pulling you out a bit. You’re suddenly very thankful for the probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative for a first date dress you purchased when you see the way his rich brown eyes turn molten as he gets a glimpse of your exposed thigh.

He settles into a crouch before you, his warm hands seeking out both of yours, “You don’t need Phoenix or anyone else to set you up, because he’ll never love you like I can. Let me show you how good it can be. Let me be it for you, sweet girl.”

The man in front of you is everything you could have ever possibly wanted for yourself. And to be the one who could get to keep him forever? There’s no doubt in your mind, it’s worth everything.

You’re sure you will have to have a more serious conversation about what this means for the two of you, but that can wait for another time when he’s not in front of you with his eyes so earnest. So hopeful. To another time when he’s not wearing his heart on his sleeve as he patiently waits for any kind of response from you.

It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him right now. 

So easy to learn what that mustache would feel like against your skin. 

To learn how his lips and tongue would feel against your own. 

To learn how his mouth would move with yours.

But what’s a couple more hours when you’ve had years to build up to it.

“Well then, Lieutenant. I guess you better show me how it’s done,” you bring your hand up to cup his face, your thumb gently stroking along his cheekbone. “But I’m warning you now, I fully intended to give you as good as I get.” 

Being on the receiving end of a Rooster smile was something special, but it had nothing on the beaming grin that Bradley Bradshaw is giving you now. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” he says as he lands a lingering kiss on your cheek before standing and pushing your chair back in for you. “You’ve always known how to keep me on my toes.”

He returns back to his surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker chair, stretching his leg to rest it against yours. When the waitress comes back you both end up picking your meals at random, having been too absorbed with each other to actually bother reading the menu. 

You’d barely eaten all day because of the knots in your stomach, and now you were starving. Thankfully, Bradley at least had the commonsense to ask the waitress to pick her favorite dish as a third entrée “for the table”.

It feels the same in many ways, he knows what to say to make you laugh and what to bring up to get you fired up. And you know what questions to ask to keep him talking and how to push his buttons just right. 

But it’s also different when he doesn’t bother to hide his knowing smirk every time he catches you looking at his lips. And it’s even better when you don’t bother trying to hide yours when you catch him doing the same.

Afterwards, he takes your hand in his as you slowly make your way to the parking lot, his fingers lacing between your own. He surprises you when he leans against the Bronco, murmuring something about not wanting to let your pretty dress get dirty. His long legs extended wide as an invitation for you to come stand between them, his strong hands stroking the silky material of your dress on your hips as you step closer. 

You’ve been ignoring the pull low in your stomach all evening, the tension between you two the most luscious feeling you’ve ever experienced. The combination of his heat, his woodsy smell, the headiness of his gaze on you almost too overwhelming. 

Almost.

Your hands settle on his broad chest, playing with the button of his shirt now a bit nervous. Your faces closer than you’ve ever allowed them to be before. If what you’re hearing is the sound of the waves or the roaring of the blood in your ears, you couldn’t say.

You know he is waiting for you to make the first move. You see the moment when he’s about to say something, knowing him the words would be wonderfully reassuring and perfectly Bradley.

Why would you want to talk when his mouth was already waiting like a question. Why would you want to talk when you could learn what it’s like kiss him instead?

So you do.

When your lips meet his for the first time it feels like the sweetest kind of devotion. 

bradleybradleybradley

His mustache scratching satisfyingly at the skin of your upper lip. His mouth tasting like the Sidecars he sipped on throughout the night and something that was just fundamentally Bradley. 

Your hand moves on its own to stroke the side of his neck, your fingers seeking out the line of the longest scar that adorns his skin there from that night all those years ago. 

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest as he licks his lips before bringing his face down to yours again. Your other hand tightly clutching his shirt in anticipation.

He’s always been so in tune with you, so when he tilts your head just right before leaning into the kiss it feels like a homecoming. 

thisthisthis

One of Bradley’s hands makes its way up your back, pressing you closer to him as the other bands more securely around your waist. And when his tongue skims your lower lip, you sigh into his waiting mouth thankful for his strong grasp on you. 

Nothing your mind could have imagined would have ever come close to the perfection that is Bradley Bradshaw’s mouth moving against yours. Nothing has ever felt so good, so right.

When he pulls away, you’re both over fighting back the smiles that feel like have been permanently fixed on your faces all evening.

“I’m don’t want to call it a night yet,” he tells you, as he brushes the hair back from your face. His smile turning playful, “What do you say, kid? Wanna go get some milkshakes?”

“Depends,” you reply cheekily, “Can I drink it in the Bronco?”

Wrapping both arms around his neck you draw him back in towards you again.

“Anything you want, sweet girl,” he promises against your lips.

The next night at the Hard Deck, you entered the bar with Bradley’s arm draped your shoulders. 

His team whooping loudly when you pull him in for a kiss as he handed you a Blue Moon. They’d declared the drinks were on Bradley that night as they’d swarmed you both in celebration. Maverick pulls you aside to give you a warm hug, whispering “I knew you’d get here” in your ear before releasing you.

Now that you had let yourselves cross that line from friends to more, the pair of you are entirely too aware of the other. Never content to be too far away from the other. Your eyes like magnets, each seeking out the other to find them already looking back.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he has his hands on your waist. Nothing neighborly in the way his hands rub your shoulders. Nothing platonic in the way he rests one hand on the back of your neck, his thumb making teasing circles.

And there’s nothing friendly about the way you run your hands through his curls when he’s at the piano. Nothing neighborly in the way you slide your hand into his back pocket. Nothing platonic in the way you rest your hand on his chest, your finger tracing the line of his collarbone. 

It has always been so easy with him, even as you explore in this new area of your relationship.

You’d been orbiting around each other all night, when Jake yelled out to heckle you both about indecent exposure, threatening to call his cop friend if Bradley didn’t “get his ass over to the pool table in the next thirty seconds.”

He’d peppered your face with kisses before you’d shooed him away, laughing when you realized he had swiped your beer and had taken it with him.

“So you and Bradshaw,” Natasha states as she settles down next to you.

That makes you smile.

“Yeah, me and Bradley.” 

How could you have possibly thought you’d want anyone else other than him? You were a goner from the moment you’d turned and saw him standing there at the restaurant. Your golden boy.

You turn towards her, putting a hand on her arm, “I’m sorry that you didn’t get a fair shot at the bet. I really do appreciate the effort you all went through. I mean, Bradley would have had it in the bag anyways. But still–”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she waves a hand, cutting you off, “We had a team meeting and changed the rules of the bet anyways. I still won, so it’s all good.” Her smile was nothing less than mischievous. 

“Wait, what?” 

“We could all see from Rooster’s reaction during that disaster of a first date with all the dogs that he was completely hung up on you. We didn’t want to wait for him to figure it out, so we decided to adjust the terms a bit to help him out,” she laughs at your clearly baffled expression. “We reached out to the cringiest people we knew and set you up with them instead. And then took bets on how long it would take Rooster to get his head out of his ass and go get his girl.”

“Oh my god, seriously?” The revelation has you bursting out in laughter.

“Yep, well except for Bob. His date was a genuine accident, bless him. I’ll be honest, I didn’t even bother reaching out to anyone. I was betting on Rooster getting it together before I needed to step in,” she explains while wearing the most self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Of course Natasha Trace had bet on him. On you.

You couldn’t wait to tell Bradley how you had both been so absolutely played by his team. 

You loved these people. You loved your life here in San Diego. 

“I’d apologize for putting you through all that, but it looks like it worked out well in the end,” she says knowingly nodding her head towards him. 

You’re fully watching him now as he bends over the pool table looking amused at something that Hangman says. 

Bradley looks up catching your eye and shoots a wink in your direction, a grin taking over his whole face. You already know you’re wearing a matching one.

“I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

Thank you so much for all the love on this one! I’ve loved sharing this journey with you all! Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone! 

If you want to know what happens next for these two you can check out my masterlist! 

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge!

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) as always for being the ultimate hype girl! 

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @finelytaylored @phantomxoxo @viridianphtalo @chicomonks @artemissunn​ @hey-assbutt35​ @mayempress​ @eddiemunsonreader @averyhotchner​ @caatheeriinee07​ @rileyanntoinette​ @lublycho

[dont-f-with-moogles]

The Envelope (Part 2) (NSFW) Dazai x Reader 1261 words

Cold morning. A tentative blue threaded with pale clouds. Mist had gathered in the corners of the windows. The double doors remained closed for now; you still had time to unload the gleaming cups and saucers from the dishwasher. Your manager - Uzumaki’s renowned, veteran barista - passed by the counter. His mouth was pulled to the side as though he was suppressing an uncomfortable smile.

“I, ah… think someone is trying to call you.”

With a wave of his hand he gestured to the lit smartphone which lay, singing idly to itself, nestled between a tray of glasses and the petty cash tin. A leaden weight had settled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t need to check to know who it was.

As you continued stacking the cups within a wall-mounted cupboard the phone’s melody ceased, only to be followed by the sound of a chime. One insistent ping followed another; a flurry of notifications without pause. With a pained sigh, you retrieved your phone. Refusing to scroll back and read the long reel of previous messages, your eyes settled on the most recent.

Not that I want you to rush back of course! It’s only a small fire after all.

There came the rapid tap of your thumbs in reply.

I told you this morning that I’m not coming back until after my shift.

Dropping the device down with a thud, you continued to put cups, glasses and cutlery away, all the while ignoring the series of shrill sounds which rang impatiently from your phone.

“Sounds like someone wants to talk to you,” the café owner observed, unlatching the double doors and releasing a flood of warm light into the long room. Rather than answer, you pretended to search for something in the dishwasher’s cutlery basket.

“Perhaps you ought to answer him?”

“What makes you think it’s a him?” you countered, looking up at just the wrong moment. The café manager’s smile was all-knowing. He was a people watcher; an inadvertent gatherer of secrets. He had held his position with quiet pride for many years, unobtrusively pouring coffee as the lives of his customers played out around him.

Lifting a small bag of sugar cubes, you began to refill the ceramic containers on the tables.

“...in any case, if you don’t answer, he might come up here.”

Hesitating, sugar tongs still in hand, you managed a derisive snort. It did not take long for your false bravado to cower upon itself. Thinking better of it, you stalked back to the counter to seize your phone.

I won’t be back til 6. Grab a shower or a coffee or some fresh bandages if you have indeed set fire to yourself - whatever you need, but don’t wait for me to get back. Spare key in the teapot.

The device had hardly touched the surface when its screen glowed in response.

Good to know there’s another spare. I took the key you hid in the sconce. Think I’ll hang onto it ;)

You do that. Think I’ll have the locks changed.

Ah! You’re driving me insane! <3

“Miss?”

“Coming!” you called, relieved by the distraction. A steady queue of customers had formed from the cash register, snaking out into the hallway beyond. Stifling a yawn, you poured coffee into paper cups, adding a dash of milk here; a shot of syrup there. Plastic lids were fastened on in succession. You stretched your arms and arched your aching back. Names were penned on cardboard. The morning rush was always this busy, only to be followed by… silence. There was the respite after the madness. The calm before the storm. Only a visit from your rather irregular regulars could break up the monotony now. The Armed Detectives from the fourth floor, with their wild antics and raucous laughter… You ground your teeth. Not that you were thinking about him though. Not that you were, even now, considering checking your phone for his messages. Too often you had witnessed those poor souls who fell for his superficial charms. They would weep, helpless, struggling to comprehend the reason for his sudden absence. How ignorant they were, never knowing he had already moved on to his next person of interest…

Even as you stood, reasoning so calmly with yourself, your hand was inciting a mutiny against your mind and body. You reached for your phone again.

Ditch work. Tell the boss you have a headache and need to stay in bed ;)

I think he might see through that brilliant scheme?

Cruel mistress! Don’t make me beg :(

This is on you. I’m not making you do anything.

Three little dots danced, taunting, as he crafted his reply. You set the device to one side each time the café owner strode past. It was more than your job’s worth to be caught sending messages to one of your regular customers.

As the manager stooped to clear one of the tables, your phone buzzed irritably.

Don’t pretend. And for the record, I hate being made to wait.

Wait for what exactly? You smiled; it wasn’t like you to behave so coyly but, somehow, his persistence had reeled you in like a spider’s silk.

Seriously? Don’t forget that I’d been trapped behind bars for WEEKS. You know I couldn’t stop thinking about you in there. I thought last night was all I needed but holy fuck, I already miss your pussy…

The weight in your stomach shifted. Something sparked, like flint on stone.

It’s 9:28 am! We’ve only just opened.

Well what time does your pussy open? Cause I’m

Heat flooded your cheeks. You felt your pulse beating in your throat; blood roared thunderously in your ears. You looked up - another poorly-timed gesture - to witness Ranpo glance away thoughtfully, his finger tapping his chin. The detective who saw through everything.

You dropped your phone with a clatter.

“I thought the temperature was mild today,” he observed dryly, such was his way of small talk. “Is it hot in here?”

“Yes,” you answered automatically, placing your phone face down before you could read the rest of Dazai’s message. Given the brief glimpse of the words hard scream beg and gag you could only assume it contained some tangible threats. You dusted down your black skirt self-consciously and reached to tighten the fastening in your hair, remembering that you had been forced to wear it loose today. Only its dark curtain, as it swung about the white frill of your collar, could hide the blemishes he had left upon your skin the night before. Incriminating marks which had branded you as his.

“Sorry, I uh- Let me pass you a menu-”

“Sweet curry,” Ranpo declared without pause. “And, not that it’s any of my business, but Dazai thrives on dysfunction. Nothing bores him more than having his own schemes go smoothly. I wouldn’t be so quick to give him the replies he wants.”

You gaped in astonishment. “That’s not- that’s-”

“One doesn’t need ultra deduction to read it in your distracted demeanour; the way you’re repeatedly picking your phone up, cursing to yourself… we’ve seen it all before. It’s the Dazai effect. Not to mention the circles under your eyes, your constant yawning…”

“Plus those hickeys speak for themselves.” Yosano had appeared behind him. “Pour us both a coffee - you look like you need it.”

Ruefully brushing your hair down against your neck, you turned away, poured out two cups and grabbed a blue Ramune from the fridge. What had ever made you think that sleeping with Osamu Dazai would have gone unnoticed by a group of professional detectives?

Part 1 (tw)

[innocentlyenchanted]

Where you are, is where I should be too (Part 1)

Part 1: Here in silence, it's just you and me

Summary: It all started with a note or didn't it? This is a little love story between you (Y/N), a servant girl, and Aemond Targaryen.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Wordcount: 948

Warnings: afab reader, she/her pronouns

Author's Note: I don't really know where I am going with this so please be kind. I wrote it quickly in between classes so it will likely still need to be edited. It's also my first ever story post on here. I tried to not include any specific information but if I forgot to delete something then please let me know. This was an OC story before it became a Reader one.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

----------

As the sun set over the Red Keep, Y/N found herself rushing to finish her duties as a servant in the royal household. She was determined to make her way home to her small room in Flea Bottom before dark, but fate had other plans for her that day.

As she was rushing through the halls, Y/N noticed that the door to the library was ajar. She couldn't resist the temptation to peek inside and see what was happening. As she tiptoed towards the door, she saw Aemond Targaryen, one of the king's sons, sitting at a desk with a stack of books in front of him. She had heard many stories about Aemond. He was known to be a fierce warrior and the rider of the largest dragon alive. But she had also heard that he was blind in one eye, the result of a nasty childhood accident. As she watched him read, she noticed that his remaining eye seemed to be scanning the pages of the book with incredible speed. It was impressive to her that he seemed to be determined to continue learning, despite his physical limitations.

Y/N stood by the library door, peering through the small gap between the wooden frame and the wall, her eyes fixed on Aemond. She watched as he sat at the large mahogany desk, surrounded by piles of books and scrolls, his long fingers flipping through pages with a hunger for knowledge. The way he furrowed his brows in concentration and scribbled notes in the margins of the pages made Y/N feel a sense of admiration. It was clear that Aemond was not like the other nobles she had served before. His dedication and discipline in his studies were remarkable. Y/N knew that she shouldn't be there, but the thrill of witnessing such a driven and focused mind at work was too enticing to resist. She couldn't help but feel a tinge of fear as well. If she were caught, the punishment would be severe. 

Her heart was thumping against her chest as she watched Aemond flipping through the pages of the book with an intense focus, his brow furrowed with concentration. The dim light from the sconces cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips. Her eyes followed Aemond's hand as he turned the last page of a thick leather-bound book, the muscles in his arm tensing with each flick of his wrist. The quiet rustle of pages turning filled the air, as he eventually closed the cover. Aemond sighed and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. He then got up from his chair and carefully replaced the volume back on the shelf before reaching for another that was on a shelf further away. His fingers traced the spines of several books before finally coming to rest on one, pulling it out with a gentle tug.

It was then that she noticed the pile of books stacked neatly beside him. Her heart raced as she realized that he would be engrossed in his studies for hours to come. She knew she should leave before he discovered her, but a mischievous impulse took over.

This was her chance. She couldn't resist the urge to leave Aemond a message.

Moving as quietly as possible, Y/N crept up to the desk and searched frantically for something to write on. She spotted a scrap of paper nearby and quickly picked it up, her hand trembling slightly as she scribbled a note. "Your dedication is inspiring," she wrote, "I know you'll excel in your studies. Good luck, Aemond." As she finished, she couldn't help but smile at the thought of him discovering the note.

With trembling hands, she placed the note on top of the stack of books in front of him careful not to disturb them, and turned to leave, hoping he wouldn't notice her. But as she reached for the door, a sudden gust of wind blew it shut with a loud bang. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest, afraid that Aemond had heard the noise. After a few moments of tense silence, Y/N realised that she hadn’t been discovered. With a relieved sigh, she slipped out of the library, hoping that Aemond would find her note and know that someone believed and admired in him.

As Y/N rushed back to Flea Bottom, she couldn't shake the sense of awe and inspiration that had been sparked within her by Aemond. It also didn’t hurt that he was utterly gorgeous. The prince was tall, with a muscular build and a piercing violet that seemed to look right through someone if they were the centre of his undivided attention. Despite the eye patch and scar on his other eye, Aemond exuded a regal aura that left her feeling both intimidated and captivated. It did nothing to take away from Aemond’s regal aura and beauty. She couldn't deny that Aemond was utterly gorgeous, with all those features that seemed almost too perfect to be real. Even with all of these feelings swirling inside of her, she couldn't help but feel drawn to Aemond. Simply captivated by the way he moved and the confidence he exuded. The butterflies in her stomach were impossible to ignore, and she knew that she had a crush on him, plain and simple.

Was she foolish to leave the note? Her heart began to pound as her stomach dropped. Indeed, she was a fool and weird as well. Why would the prince be happy about an awkward note left by a stranger who spied on him? A servant no less. In the spur of the moment, Y/N had thought to recreate what she had read romance books and heard about in love songs. Not yet a love note but one of encouragement which felt silly now that she remembered her position. At least it would make him laugh or wonder, she concluded as she took deep breath on her way to her own chambers.

And wonder he did indeed.

-----

Anyone interested in a second part? Maybe Aemond's pov?

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - Wives of Shor I: Moth to Flame

❤️❤️❤️tagged by @dirty-bosmer and @thana-topsy ❤️❤️❤️ tagging @gilgamish @nientedenada and @tallmatcha

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (entire fic is E) Category: M/M Pairing: Kaidan/Lucien Flavius Genre(s): Romance (bodice-rippers my beloveds), bildungsroman Other main characters: Inigo the Brave, she/her Breton LDB

Summary: A scene from near the beginning of the fic - Kaidan has something he needs to do before the party sets off for Bleak Falls Barrow. Lucien Flavius is by Joseph Russell, Kaidan is by Liv Templeton, and Inigo the Brave is by SmartBlueCat.

25 Last Seed, 4E 401 Whiterun's streets were shrouded in mist, the few lanterns still burning at this hour casting halos of light in the gloom when Kaidan stepped out of the Bannered Mare. Tucking his cloak around himself, he walked quickly towards the stairs leading to the Wind District. Given how long it took Lucien and Pascale to prepare themselves in the morning on the road, he estimated he had a good hour at the earliest before they made their appearance at the stables.

The lanterns on the doorposts of the Temple of Kynareth were lit, and the door was unlocked. The inner atrium of the temple itself was lit only by the votive sconces flanking the shrine of Kynareth at the far wall. Not wanting to disturb any sleeping patients or clerics, Kaidan moved around the outside of the atrium, but did not find what he was looking for.

"May I help you, child of Kynareth?"

Kaidan whirled, coming face to face with Danica Pure-Spring, who was holding a lamp and had clearly just risen from bed, her robe ungirdled and hair thrown over her shoulders in long twin braids.

"I did not mean to wake you at this hour Sister, I apologize," he whispered. "I came seeking Kyne's blessing."

Squinting at him in the dark, a flicker of recognition crossed Danica's face. "You're the one who brought poor Hadvar to the jarl - so you're accompanying him on that errand of Farengar's?" When Kaidan nodded she said, "I would be happy to give you a blessing." Danica turned and walked toward the Shrine of Kynareth at the far wall of the temple. "I have a traveler's amulet for you as well if-" She stopped talking and turned to look at Kaidan quizzically when she realized he was not following her. "Is something the matter?"

Kaidan glanced around the Temple. It looked just like every other temple of Kynareth he had seen during his travels in Cyrodiil and beyond.

"I would like a blessing of Kyne, Sister."

Understanding dawned on Danica's face. "I see, I see. I don't get asked for those much, especially with the Gildergreen...well. Unfortunately with the expansion of the healing wing the shrine to Kyne we had outside was removed, and never replaced. But we will do it properly, don't worry. The Goddess of Storms doesn't need anything made by man's hands to work her wonders. Meet me under the Gildergreen, and unsheathe your blade."

Nodding once, Kaidan turned and left the temple.

He almost kept walking past the twisted, scarred trunk of the Gildergreen. He must have incredible depth of hubris to ask for Kyne's blessings after turning his back on all of Brynjar's teachings - and instead of doing it properly, he was going to be doing it in the middle of a city, under a dead tree, with a priestess who prayed to Kynareth.

Despite these thoughts, Kaidan took off his cloak and knelt beneath the Gildergreen's boughs, facing the Throat of the World. He carefully unsheathed his nodachi, placing the scabbard in front of him, and laying the bare blade across his legs.

Below him, the buildings of the Plains District seemed like islands in a sea of thick fog, and to the east the first blush of dawn was chasing the stars away from the horizon. A lark began to sing in the branches above him.

Repeatedly Kaidan tried to still his thoughts and center himself, but every time he attempted to begin a breathing exercise, his thoughts would turn to Brynjar, and a sharp pang of guilt would lodge in his chest.

"Are you ready, my child?" Danica approached, her vestments in place and priest's cowl now covering her sleep-mussed hair.

"I- I don't know, Sister."

Danica paused, but did no speak, waiting for Kaidan to continue.

"I haven't prayed to Her in...a long time. I don't know if Kyne will hear me."

For a long moment, the only sounds were the rushing of water in the aqueducts and the lark still heralding the dawn, heedless of the two humans below his perch.

"It's not my place to say what She will or will not do. But-" Danica moved to stand before him and placed her hands gently on his hair as Kaidan bowed his head. "I am reminded of the story of Keeper Ormi, who turned her back on Kyne when she thought the Goddess had abandoned her sons in war. She was so given over to grief that she turned to daedra-worship, and became a hagraven. She desecrated Kyne's sacred trees, and led her priestesses astray. And yet the Goddess welcomed her back when she repented, and returned her to human form. Do not presume to have done such terrible works that She is unable to grant you Her peace."

Danica's words brought some measure of comfort, and Kaidan was able to quiet his doubts as she began the blessing.

"Widow of Shor, Blessed Warrior-Wife, May this man's blade be as swift as your storms, And sharp as your winds.

"Sister-Hawk, he is your sword and your shield, Use him to safeguard those under his care." "Mother of Men and Beasts, Do not draw your veil against him as he travels, Bring peace to the wild things, that they will not bare their fangs to him."

"Kiss-at-the-End, if he should fall, May he meet you with honor untarnished, And carry him safely to Shor's Hall."

As Danica finished Kaidan felt her place something over his neck. When he opened his eyes and looked down, he saw a small scrimshaw pendant hanging from a leather thong, covered in flowing spirals and flanked by two hawk talons.

The last time he had seen one of these was when they had burned it with Brynjar's body.

He stood suddenly, knowing he had to leave immediately if he was to retain any of his dignity. "Thank you, Sister."

"Your journey awaits," Danica smiled at him. "Wind guide you."

Kaidan refastened his cloak and pulled his hood up as he descended the stairs, leaving the Gildergreen and Danica behind. By the time he reached the main gates, his cheeks were dry and the amulet was safely tucked under his tunic, the weathered bone warm against his heart.

[intothewestwing]

ch.7 - If I Can't Love Her

It wasn't unlike Belle for her curiosity to get the better of her. As she followed the tunnel into the depths of the castle, she discovered the inner secrets of the society that somehow still thrived within its walls. Untouched footprints of past visitors crept through the halls, most likely servants, hurriedly rushing to their requestor. Even the hall itself was maintained. The walls were covered in a stone mosaic, which must've been carefully crafted. The workmanship took her breath away as she traced the story running through the walls.

The mosaic depicted each season surrounded the castle and its gardens, starting with Summer, and down each new winding path, fading into a different season. The torches lining the wall led her through the bright colors of Summer, and while she could hear voices coming down the path to Autumn, the light begged her to follow into Winter.

Perhaps they weren't leading her to the kitchens after all.

Winter was the longest pathway by far. The flowers began to die, the archways were covered in snow, and even the atmosphere in the hallway got colder. Darker. Belle hugged her cloak around her as she cautiously continued down the path.

The mosaic depicted a cemetery, also covered in snow, all except for a single statue of a man, who like the rest of the characters in the mosaic, was frozen in time. His arms stretched and yearned toward the end of the hallway, where two torches lit a singular, plain, wooden door.

There was no turning back now, Belle thought.

She reached for the handle, only for it to unlock and open itself, welcoming her inside. It was completely pitch black inside, which Belle was curious of. Did the magic of the castle stretch everywhere but here? Or was it as scared as she was to enter?

Putting her fear aside, she lifted a torch from the wall, held it in front, and with a breath of confidence, she entered.

From what all she could see, the room was filled with covered paintings, barrels of wine, stacks of firewood, and most curious of all, a table in the center, mostly covered by books, maps, and other scattered items. Belle rested the torch in a wall sconce before lighting a few candles with its flame. Once the light began to fill the room, she could see that this area of the castle was completely untouched. Dust particles filled the air as she skimmed through the books that slept on the table.

How long had all this been hiding here? She thought.

A few of the laid out scrolls were the plans of the castle, accounting for the gardens as well. Others were maps of the surrounding area, including her village which, in this depiction, hadn't been completely finished yet. They must've been decades old, as the village hadn't changed at all since she and her father moved there when she was a child.

Among the other residents of the table was a history book- an unfinished, handwritten account of the castle and its inhabitants. Before she could dive into it's secrets, she was interrupted by the outline of a figure, standing in the far corner of the room.

She quickly lifted herself from the table and held a candle in front of her.

"Hello?" She called out, before regretting this decision. Never, ever call out to the things in the dark that scare you, she thought. She knew better than that.

When the figure didn't respond, she walked closer to it, praying it wasn't the Beast, finally ready for his "dinner" and to devour her. But once she was closer, she could see it was something tall, covered by a sheet.

Without taking time to second-guess this decision, Belle removed the sheet, only to be met by the stony gaze of a statue- the exact statue from the mosaic. Only this one wasn't desperately reaching, like the last, no. This was a figure, standing confident and tall, with a single arm outstretched, as if asking for someone's hand. His other hand was tucked behind his back, hiding a rose.

This figure was...handsome. To say the least. His eyes held such a sadness. A yearning for whom he was reaching toward, which in this case, was her. His lips were slightly pursed, as if he were trying to say something, but couldn't find the words. He was completely lost and frozen in time. Belle carefully walked closer to it, and placed her hand on his cold, gray cheek. The stone was incredibly smooth, so smooth it almost felt like skin. Even the curves in is hair were perfect.

Someone spent an amazing amount of time carving him.

She noticed an inscription on the pedestal he stood on, but once she crouched and held the light towards it, she could see part of it was broken off. All she could make out from it was "His Highness, Prince...", while the rest had been lost, most likely due to decay. Everything in this room seemed old and forgotten, unlike the clearly maintained state of the rest of the castle.

Belle pulled herself back up to take another look at the statue, before tripping on her skirts and falling backwards. As she fell, her outstretched hand caught onto something, or perhaps, someone, as she felt the stony outstretched hand in hers. No, the statue hadn't moved, she reassured herself of this was she pulled herself back up. But how coincidental it was that he was there to catch her. It was almost magical.

"Why, thank you." She laughed, as she realized the oddity of the situation, and spoke to the mysterious statued prince. How she wished he were a living statue- she had so many questions for him.

"Was this your castle, then? Did the Beast take it from you?" She asked aloud, with no expectations for a response. Her rescuer was just a statue, after all. Belle looked up at him, studying his face, just in case he decided to respond. When she was met with an unwavering silence, she sighed and walked back over to the table.

"That's too bad, I would've loved to have dined with you instead. You make much better company."

Dinner. Just the thought of food made her stomach growl- almost as loud as the Beast's. With a defeated sigh, she looked toward the door, where the torches still lit her way back to her room. To her surprise, she watched them as they snuffed themselves out, and turn down the path of Autumn instead.

"I'm afraid I must leave you for the night." She spoke to the statue once more, setting the candle down on the table. "I'm sorry to leave you in the dark, but I'll be back. I promise." With a whisper, she blew out the small flame and turned back into the hallway, leaving everything as best as how she found it, just in case.

The voices from the Autumn hall grew louder as she tried to forget the forgotten prince's face. His stone expression lingered in her mind as she entered the back door into the warm kitchens, where servants of all types hurried across the floor, cleaning up what seemed to be the mess created from dinner preparations.

The first to notice Belle's entrance was Lumiere, who sat in a wooden chair at a table, talking to a standing Mrs. Potts, who was polishing silver.

"My, my! Look who has joined us at last!"

As the rest of the staff welcomed her, they made it clear that they weren't going to let her go hungry. If she wanted to dine with their master, that would be her choice. If not, then she would be their guest, and from the staff's excitement, she could only guess that they loved to entertain.

Their cheery welcome was enough for Belle to leave the mental image of the statue behind her, for the moment. That would have to be a mystery she'd solve later, on her own.

For now, it was time for dinner.

[elderscrollsconceptart]

Torch Sconces

Concept art for The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion

Shivering Isles DLC

Art by Adam Adamowicz

[goddesstrolls]

>> You stand in the side room of your shop, over a ring scrawled in your black blood. You're performing a minor version of this ritual; Communion with entities of the shadow plane. Your blood and the deer carcass you left in the center of the ring serve as offerings.

>> ...You hear the door to your shop open despite the fact that you locked it. The shop- Which appears in strange places and abandoned storefronts- Must have decided that they really needed something that you could provide.

>> You ignore the visitor despite being the only one to man the shop and continue your muttering, which carries through the curtain in the main part of the shop.

>> Directly across from the entrance is a heavy wooden counter loaded with mostly with scrolls and books with a curtained doorway behind the counter. To the right is the curtain partitioning the side room off from the rest of the shop; To the left are various shelves and display tables cluttered with strange books, odd-looking potions, parts of monsters and magical creatures, and a variety of both strange and mundane seeming items and trinkets. Another door practically juts out into the shop, this one closed. The shop space continues through a narrow hallway, which widens only slightly into a continued area of various items.

>> Your guest will simply have to wait for you to be finished...Or dare to interrupt. They won't be able to take anything; The door will lock itself and there are no windows to speak of. The shop is dimly lit by hanging sconces.

[salemsimsrender]

Blender Tutorial: Building a Scene Part 2: Creating the Room & Adding Lights

Welcome back!

Let's get started shall we!

I built out my set behind the scenes using the same process as in Part One, so for Part Two I'm staring with this:

Some things will need to be moved once there are walls, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

If you want to create the same scene, here's the objets/cc used:

Sofa, loveseat & small globe (base game)

Fireplace (vintage glamour)

Hand & hanging plant (paranormal stuff)

End table (realm of magic)

Rose vase by Natalia-Auditore

Crocus rug by Wondymoon

Step 1: Adding a Room

I'm sure there are "better" ways of doing this, or ways that'll result in thicker walls that more closely mimic real ones, but for my uses, this quick solution has worked really well without adding too much render time onto my work. So let's add in a room the simplest way possible, by adding a cube:

Adding it in gives us this mess, but it's ok! I'm going to size it up and move it around using the axes keys (x, y, and z) so we get this:

The shape and size of the room doesn't super matter for this specific render because there are no windows or built in bookshelves or anything like that, but that said - Make sure your floor is at 0 (on the grid) and the back wall is right behind the fireplace so you don't get any weird shadows when you render, like this:

Now, adding texture to this style of room can be a little tricky, but once you learn this process it's not too bad. First, we have to separate the pieces. Scroll/zoom out until you see the whole cube and select it (it'll outline in orange), then press the Tab key to go into edit mode:

Points appear at each corner of the cube, this is what we want. Select the four points that make up the ceiling using shift+click until only the top face is highlighted orange, like this:

Then press P on your keyboard to bring up the separate menu, and select "Selection," this will separate the ceiling from the cube so you can adjust its textures independently

Do the same for the bottom of the cube to separate the floor. Be sure to stay organized by renaming the pieces in your outliner! Now let's add the floor texture first, select the floor We're going to follow the same process we use to texture objects, but with an additional step. So go into the materials tab and select "new"

Like with any other object, add in an image texture node, but this time we're going to use a floor texture. You can get these from Sims 4 Studio by selecting CAS from the main screen then saving down the .png files. After adding in your nodes and switching to alpha hashed, you should have something like this:

It's a floor texture alright, but it's way too big, let's fix that. I like to adjust the sizing and rotation with vector mapping, which is way easier than it sounds! In our shader editor, we're going to add in a vector map node, like this:

Then we're also going to need a texture coordinate node, added like so:

Arrange them like this:

That will appear to have done nothing:

But that's because we need to adjust the values! I adjusted mine (as pictured below) and now I have this:

For floor textures, it's super simple because you only have to adjust the scale. For walls, it's a little more complicated, but follows the same steps. So let's add in a wall texture. I follow the same steps, and, yikes:

This is obviously not what we want, but we can adjust it with texture mapping! The most important step is to adjust the Z axis rotation by 90, so that the pattern is vertical instead of horizontal. After that it's a game of adjusting the scale value until it looks how you want it to, like this:

Look at that we have a scene! I'm going to change my floor texture to match and add in the painting I just realize I forgot to add, so now I have this: Now I have this:

Step 2: Adding Lights

Adding physical lights (like the wall sconces in my original render) works like any other object, we just need to add in a point light to actually light the space. Usually I would fight these to make them transparent so I can put the point light inside the fixture, but for this simple scene I'm content to let the point lights hover just in front of the fixtures, like this:

I accomplished this by adding in point lights (shift+a -> light -> point) and using the axis keys to move them where I want them, then I adjusted the light values like this (please note that I'm set to Cycles):

There's a long and tedious process to add real fire (which I'll cover in a separate tutorial), but because we don't actually see the fire in the fireplace, I'm going to mimic it with area lights (which will also shorten render times) Add in an area light in the same way as a point light - Shift+A -> Light -> Area:

Then it's a matter of using the axis keys to move it inside the fireplace and rotate it

I like to rotate the lights to be facing outward and down, and I do duplicate the area light and make one more orange and the other more yellow. Then I added in a point light and placed it inside the fireplace so it all looks realistic. I ended up with this arrangement, but you'll have to play with it to find what's right for you!

From the front (my camera view), it looks like this:

I learned early on in my render journey that using "realistic" room lighting isn't always possible, so I'm also going to add a point light and move it up closer to the ceiling, to mimic a chandelier or ceiling light Now we have a bit more even lighting:

From here, all you have to do is add your sims and run your render! I hope this helps! Please comment here or send me an ask/submission if you have any questions!

Render School Homework

Your homework, should you choose to accept it, is to build your own scene and run a render of it! You can include sims or not, but if you do it and post it please tag me so I can showcase it!

[madefate]

“  are you watching me sleep?  ” (benjay) / @yoakkemae

Jay is under no delusions that Ben will stay asleep long - he hopes that's the case because of course he does. Because, perhaps, there may have been a reason that, when he felt Ben's weight press a little more heavily against his side, Jay had gone still and regulated his breathing in a way that he'd hopes Ben would unknowingly match - nice and slow, perfect for just casually falling off into sleep.

The movie they'd had going has long since ended, the books surrounding them ( far more on Ben's side, but let it not be said that Jay put in no effort to get a little work done ) now untouched. He'd grinned in affectionate satisfaction, his stomach glittering with the kind of feeling that only comes when Ben lets himself be vulnerable around him. Honestly, it feels like uncovering a treasure way more valuable than gold.

At first, he'd passed the time idly scrolling his phone, listening for sounds out in the hallway and finding none but still making sure no one threw open the door and prematurely woke the king. Eventually, though, Jay finds his attention more captured by Ben than any photos posted on his feed or mindless games. It's dark out, but there's warm lighting from all the bronze sconces and a soft glow from the idle TV, and the different lights splay across Ben's face, highlighting the slight gold sheen in his hair, the softness of his cheek.

... Damn, if this isn't a dangerous game to play.

But he can't bring himself to look away; it's been no secret that one of Jay's daily priorities is making sure Ben gets some kind of rest. The kingdom might need him, but forgive him if he cares a little more about his friend than the mostly theoretical kingdom at large. From where he's standing - or, well, sitting - it's Ben that needs the looking after.

It's a little longer than he'd worried about, but not long enough, before he feels Ben stirring. Ah, well. He'd prefer if Ben had been able to get any more meaningful rest, but Jay's not going to complain. He quickly turns back to his phone - and then freezes at the question, his face warming and eyes darting between his phone and Ben.

Caught.

❝ Uh - ❞ Awesome answer, Jay ! ❝ Just, uh. Checkin' on you. - But you can nod off again, if you want. It's chill. It's totally chill. ❞

// memes ! & accepting.

[rinny-rae]

What Could Have Been

Chapter 3

Summary

The Archduke attempts to have a pleasant dinner with his new ally

Pairing: M!Tav/Gortash

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.5K

Tag/Warnings:

Violence, there’s always graphic violence

Brief mentions of non con

According to my beta reader, Tav is very breedable and idk if that should be a tag or a warning

He just wants to lick Gort’s fingies, leave him alone

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

The Archduke Has Pretty Lips

“You’ve been quite brave,” Gortash said and smiled to reassure the boy who sat beside him in sullen silence. “Stupid, but brave.”

He spoke earnestly but the brat hardly listened. Instead, he gawked at a servant who brought out a silver platter piled high with lamb and roasted vegetables.

Waitstaff rushed about, clattering plates and muttering to each other as they set the table. A tall man in Banite livery walked around the room, lighting rows of torches that sat in iron sconces along the walls. Despite the evening’s warmth, a fire crackled in the hearth, harmonizing in tune with the waves that crashed into the rocky shore beneath the windows of the fortress. An anti-magic crystal swung lazily from a chain above the dinner table, faintly distorting the colors in the room. A blush of sunset peeked through the heavy half-drawn curtains and flickered off the silver cutlery and porcelain dishes, painting them with a faintly pink hue.

The boy’s sad yet innocent eyes gave him the look of a wounded animal and the fresh bruises around his neck only added to that effect. For some, broken, pathetic things elicited an instinct to comfort or nurture but the Archduke found such outright weakness nothing but irritating.

With a bland smile, a servant placed a fork and a knife before Wynn.

“Our guest will make do with a spoon,” Gortash said and fixed the servant with a stony gaze, amazed at the depths of his incompetence. The man’s tight smile wavered and he scrambled to the serving cart to provide the appropriate silverware.

Wynn’s borrowed clothes hung loose in a somewhat flattering way. His shirt slid off one shoulder, revealing his lean, if perhaps too thin, frame - the boy was small for the age he claimed to be. He adjusted the shirt and rubbed the bruises on his neck. A lock of chestnut hair fell across his face and he swiped it back behind his ear, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead. The redness made them look green though they were likely hazel under duller circumstances.

A clerk shuffled in, muttering apologetically, late as always. He hunched beside the table, peeking sheepishly from behind the mountain of letters and scrolls that swayed precariously in his veiny hands. The Archduke waved for him to sit while watching Wynn primly poke at a baked potato with his spoon only to fail to break its crispy skin. The boy’s frown deepened with each failed attempt but he persisted. The clerk cleared his throat as if to remind Gortash of his presence and just for that, the Archduke ignored him for a while longer.

“What of the missing shipment?” he finally asked, taking a bite of his own meal and realizing it had been the first thing he’d eaten all day.

The clerk frantically shuffled through his letters, finally pulled one out and, with trembling hands, passed it to Gortash.

“No news of the missing shipment of infernal weapons but possible culprits are under investigation.”

Gortash put the letter down and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the tension in his shoulders worm its way up and begin to build into a dull headache.

Wynn reached for the platter of lamb and tried to break off a piece. While undeniably tender, the meat proved to be a formidable opponent. It slid to the opposite side of the platter, pushing a few honeyed carrots off and staining the tablecloth. Wynn’s bloodshot eyes glistened with fresh tears but he kept his silence.

Gortash toyed with his own dinner knife as he watched the boy struggle. How long might it take to rob him of all decorum? Evidently, four days of starvation didn’t quite do the trick.

Wynn gave up on the meat and spooned carrots onto his plate instead, conducting himself with restraint unlike that of a common vagrant. Joylessly, Gortash remembered his own younger self, stuffing his pockets with anything he could snatch off the table, then dashing from the dinner hall in hopes of outrunning the guards and avoiding a beating. Sometimes he succeeded.

“Let’s go through the speech again,” he said to the clerk, yearning for a distraction. The man shuffled some papers around, unrolled a scroll, and cleared his throat.

“Esteemed citizens of Baldur’s Gate,” he started in a thready voice and the Archduke winced, picturing the pathetic creature actually giving the speech. “We must be mad, literally mad, as a city to be permitting the inflow of thousands of dependents…” the clerk soldiered on.

“Change that to tens of thousands,” Gortash interrupted. The man nodded several times, scribbling a note.

“Esteemed citizens of Baldur’s Gate,” the clerk started over.

”That part is going to stay the same,” Gortash said, rolling his eyes, then reached for the platter of lamb. He ran his serrated knife along the bone, cutting off a large chunk, releasing the succulent juices that flowed freely from the incision and filled the bottom of the platter. He dropped the meat onto Wynn’s plate and cut it with slow, intentional precision until the pieces were small enough for the boy to eat. Wynn quietly observed, gripping his spoon so tightly that his already pale knuckles turned bone white and Gortash didn’t know if that was a gesture of terror or excitement.

“Right, yes. We must be mad, literally mad, as a city to be permitting the inflow of thousands… “ the clerk trailed off and began scribbling again.

His patience at a hair’s breadth, Gortash pushed Wynn’s plate back to the boy and ripped the scroll from the clerk’s hands, nearly knocking over his pot of ink.

“Tens of thousands of dependents, who are for the most part…” he muttered, sensing Wynn’s attention snap to him, “… the material of the growth of the refugee descended population.”

The boy craned his neck, trying to read along. Gortash spoke louder, “It is like watching a city busily engaged in heaping up its own funeral pyre.”

He rubbed his chin, unhappy with the wording but unsure how to fix it. Lamenting the fate that befell his most recent speech writer, he uncorked a bottle of wine.

“Needs some work, don’t you think?” he looked at the boy, filling two goblets and handing one to him.

The clerk, ever the eager sycophant, stammered “Oh no, it’s very, very good.”

Wynn smelled the wine, then took several small sips and closed his eyes. His cheeks flushed and he visibly relaxed, then looked into the Archduke’s eyes with genuine warmth. Gortash crossed his legs and leaned back, holding the goblet in front of him and swirling the wine slowly, waiting for the boy to answer his question.

“The speech is… fine,” Wynn finally said, remnants of a smile still dancing around the corners of his eyes.

“Mediocrity won’t do,” Gortash said, and after a pause, added “Be honest with me, we are allies after all.” It was an empty reassurance given the circumstances but sometimes people needed to hear kind words, no matter how meaningless.

Wynn took another sip of wine, pulled the scroll closer and read through it again.

“Who is this speech for?” he asked.

“The good citizens of the lower city,” Gortash said, topping off both of their goblets. Wynn met his eyes and nodded appreciatively.

“I like the ‘funeral pyre’ bit,” he said, “as for the rest, frankly, it may confuse the fishermen and the cobblers.”

Gortash raised an eyebrow, mulling over the response.

“Maybe something more personal?” Wynn suggested, sipping his wine, the pallor of his face giving way to a rosy blush.

“Yes, something a simple worker can relate to,” Gortash agreed. Fresh ideas swirled in his head and he took the parchment back, writing fast.

Two servants shuffled in with another platter of food. The Archduke couldn’t recall what the second course was or that there even was one but he made a silent promise to eat more than one bite of it.

The men fussed around him and Wynn, clumsily gathering the dishes as if they had never served dinner before. Gortash held the scroll up and began reading the speech over before presenting the updated version to his apparent advisor.

A dull thud shook the table and a shrill scream pierced the room. Gortash’s eyes shot up to see that a dagger stuck through Wynn’s hand and into the mahogany table, pinning him in place. A puddle of blood bloomed, soaking through the linen table cloth.

Gortash sprung to his feet, kicked the chair over and splashed ink into the eyes of Wynn’s assailant. Moving in a blur, the man behind him hopped over the chair and pounced, swinging a short sword. Gortash twisted out of the way and the man sliced through the empty air, smashing his sword down onto the table. Splinters of wood, shards of porcelain, goblets, and food flew in all directions and rang in a shrill cacophony as they crashed to the ground. Gortash flung the empty ink pot into the side of the assassin’s head, then pulled out his hand crossbow and followed up with a shot. The bolt pierced through the shoulder of his opponent’s sword arm.

“Guards!” he called out. No response came.

He spun and shot at the ceiling, shattering the anti-magic crystal. All lights and colors in the room came into sharp focus.

The clerk squealed and stumbled, sending his mountain of papers rustling to the ground, then, nearly tripping over his own feet, ran for the door, disappearing in the darkness of the adjacent room.

Despite the Archduke’s help, the brat was as good as dead. He whimpered, staring dumbly at his pinned hand and leaving himself completely exposed. His opponent swore, wiping black ink from his eyes with the hem of his shirt, revealing the light leather armor beneath. Instead of dealing the final blow, however, he turned from the boy and began inching toward Gortash. The Archduke reloaded and cranked his crossbow. Breathing steadily to control the fear that coursed through him, he readied himself for the attack.

Wynn gritted his teeth and, with a pained gasp, yanked the dagger out. Blood rushed from his wounded hand. He stood up but stumbled, clutching the table, then, still swaying, picked up the half empty bottle of wine and flung it at the man who had stabbed him. He missed by several feet but the assassin spun on his heel and scowled. The boy assumed a fighting stance holding the bloodied dagger in his uninjured hand.

“You best put that down, little lamb,” the assassin growled. Wynn slashed at him but the assassin slipped sideways and kicked Wynn’s feet from under him. The boy’s head bounced off the stone floor and he dropped the dagger.

“Stay down,” the assassin said, and kicked him in the stomach.

Gortash’s opponent snapped off the shaft of the crossbow bolt lodged in his shoulder, tossed away his shortsword and produced a dagger. Wielding it in his off hand, he held it low, advancing wearily. Gortash didn’t have time to reload before the man closed the distance between them. He threw the crossbow away, pocketed the unused bolt and, in a practiced motion, he parried the attack with the back of his forearm. The blade scraped along the gold alloy of his right vambrace, leaving a long gouge in the decorative piece but leaving him uninjured. The assassin slashed at his chest. Gortash dodged his strikes and stepped back, realizing his mistake a moment too late. The assassin kicked Gortash’s front leg out and slashed at his exposed inner thigh. Gortash raised his knee just in time to protect himself from the deadly strike but the dagger sliced clean through his soft leather boots, opening a gash across his shin. He stumbled, unable to ignore the searing pain. Pressing his advantage, the assassin drove into Gortash’s chest with his uninjured shoulder, knocking him off balance, and, with terrible precision, drove the blade into the right side of his stomach, just under the ribs.

The Archduke gritted his teeth against the piercing pain and gripped the man’s wrist, keeping the dagger firmly in place, then thrust a crossbow bolt into his throat, only puncturing his windpipe the first time but severing an artery on the second strike. Hot blood spurted from the wound and the man groaned, then twisted the knife. Gortash’s vision swam. To keep himself upright, he clutched at the man’s neck, feeling the assassin’s life leak out until his grip slackened and he released his hold on the dagger.

Tears rolled down Wynn’s cheeks. He reached for the dagger but his opponent kicked it away and stepped on the boy’s hand.

“We’ve orders not to kill you but Chosen said nothing about maiming,” he said and ground the toe of his boot into Wynn’s palm.

The boy cried out and muttered something. The assassin frowned and spat at him but stepped away, turning his attention to the Archduke once again. Wynn sat up and made a quick motion with his fingers, sending a small cloud of sparks into the air, then gasped and cradled his injured hand.

Gortash wrapped his coat around the protruding dagger and trained his crossbow on the approaching enemy. The man hesitated and shot a glance toward the black doorway. Gortash smirked, relieved to finally have the upper hand.

A flailing, screaming body flew between him and his opponent and, with a sickening crunch, crashed into the stone wall. It was the clerk, his eye sockets now empty, bloody pits. He raised his head and coughed up a spray of blood, then lay motionless, gurgling and foaming from the mouth.

Two men, one seemingly smaller than Wynn, dwarfed by his hulking companion, stepped out of the darkness and pushed into the room. They wore matching leather armor, dyed black and red after a Bhaalist fashion.

“A fine evening to you,” the smaller man said cheerfully, scratching his hawk-like nose with the hilt of his dagger. The man beside him stepped with careful poise surprising for someone of his size. The two strolled toward the Archduke, unbothered by the crossbow he had trained on them. Gortash swallowed, feeling bile rise in his throat, then shot the smaller man who flicked the bolt away with the ease of swatting a fly.

Wynn rushed the man who had stabbed him, swinging a red hot fire poker at the back of his head. The weapon connected with a hiss, filling the room with the stench of burned meat and hair.

The man howled then charged the boy screaming, “if you insist on dying here, so be it.” Wynn scurried backwards, waving the iron poker and looking utterly ridiculous. Gortash pursed his lips and, right as the assassin reached the boy, loosed a bolt into the side of his head. The man stumbled and dropped his weapon. Rubbing the spots where the bolt stuck out from both sides of his skull, he turned around slowly, mouth half open, pink fluid trickling from one ear.

Wynn did not hesitate. He wound up and, grunting from exertion, smashed the iron poker into the man’s face, snapping his head back. Blood and teeth sprayed from his mouth and the man crashed backwards.

Two sets of leisurely footsteps echoed closer and closer, punctuating the silence of the room. The Archduke loaded the last bolt, cranked the crossbow, and shot the larger man, hitting him square in the chest. The giant looked down and grinned, then ripped the bolt out and tossed it back to Gortash who, with nowhere left to retreat, crossed his arms and, standing his ground, recited a prayer:

Despot King, hear my words

Carried to thee by blood and bone

I beg for thy might to embolden my arm,

to hone my blade,

to ignite my spells.

Suffer not the heretic to live

For I am Faithful…

The giant’s calloused hand closed around his face and he was dragged backwards until his head collided with the stone wall.

”The Archduke has pretty lips,” the man said in a voice like grinding stones.

On the other side of the room, Wynn roared, then whimpered, then went silent. In the moment of stillness that followed, Gortash’s panic boiled over. His ears rang, every coarse breath in his burning chest filled with the sour smell of the assassin’s sweat.

“Let’s hear another prayer,” the man said and cruel smile crept across his face.

“As you wish,” Gortash mumbled into the giant’s palm. He ripped the knife out of his own stomach and buried it between the man’s ribs. With a howl, the assassin released his grip. Fueled by rabid desperation, Gortash stabbed him twice more. On the fourth strike he stumbled and clutched his side, feeling hot blood run between his fingers. Evidently unconcerned about the injuries, the assassin punched Gortash in the stomach and, as he crumbled, kneed him in the jaw.

“Now, where were we?” he said, kneeling and breathing heavily.

“The Archduke’s pretty lips,” his companion said, wiping blood off his dagger with a white dinner napkin.

“That’s right,” the giant grabbed a fistful of Gortash’s hair and snapped his head back.

Gortash had no strength to keep fighting so, as a compromise, he spat a mouthful of blood into the assassin’s scarred face. The man shook his head and began laughing heartily, then kissed him on the forehead.

“I like this one, can we keep him?” he said, turning to his friend.

Behind them, Wynn clutched at the side of the table and pulled himself up, swaying lightly. His shirt was torn and four deep wounds yawned in his gut.

The giant murmured, brushing the Archduke’s matted hair back, then squeezed his throat. The edges of Gortash’s vision went dark but somewhere in the periphery of his awareness he heard shouting and slamming against the wooden doors.

“Looks like we’re short on time,” the smaller man said, unsheathing a glistening rapier and pointing it at the Archduke who writhed helplessly, gasping for breath.

A cloud of sizzling electricity enveloped Wynn as he mouthed something over and over, making quick gestures, no longer bothered by the pain in his wounded hand. A scent of ozone spread through the room and the boy began to levitate, electricity crackling all around him. As Wynn raised his arms and hurled a colossal ball of fire toward Gortash and the assassins, the Archduke smiled bitterly at the irony of dying by the hand of a storm sorcerer.

With a deafening boom, the fireball hit the ground, and a terrible brightness engulfed all three. The air once again filled with the scent of burning flesh. The giant assassin roared, clawing at his leather armor as it melted into his blistering, charred skin. His hair curled, twisted, blackened, releasing acrid smoke. He rose to his feet, turning to face Wynn, as if to charge him, then took one step forward and toppled. Likewise, his friend has been set ablaze. Screaming, he was flung several feet into the air. After colliding with a wooden ceiling beam, he came crashing down, splattering onto the stone.

Among the chaos, Gortash felt nothing more than a rush of hot, dry air. Like a strong gust of wind, it gently pressed him against the ground but caused no pain.

Wynn floated toward him. Purple bursts of electricity danced on his skin and his eyes glowed the deep blue-black of a wild tempest. The sparks began to dissipate and he landed daintily, then slowly knelt beside the Archduke. Gortash propped himself up on one elbow, blinking blood from his eyes, and focused all his attention on the boy, well past caring about his own injuries.

“You’re losing a lot of blood,” he said, tonguing a loose tooth and welcoming the numbness that began to spread through his body.

“So are you,” Wynn smiled sadly.

“Lay on your back, put pressure on your wounds, and put your feet up,” the Archduke said, too weak to take on a commanding tone. He ran one shaking hand along the ground in a futile attempt at brushing the soot and gore away. The boy winced but, handling his pain surprisingly well, curled up beside him.

“You’re terrible at following orders,” Gortash’s voice cracked in a dry throat. His limbs felt heavy and, in his body’s last ditch effort to stay alive, he shivered so hard that his teeth chattered.

Perhaps growing delirious from his own injuries, Wynn looked into his eyes and smiled with candid sincerity.

“My fighting skills leave a lot to be desired as well,” he said in a weak voice, then wrapped his small hands around the Archduke’s. He ran his fingers along the rings and ridges of Gortash’s gauntlets, studying, exploring each groove, then weaved between them, pressing into his skin, linking them together with his soft, warm touch. He raised the Archdukes shaking, blood stained hands to his lips and held him there, squeezing just a little harder, peering into his eyes as if searching for something.

Feeling Wynn’s warm breath on his skin, and a lump in his own throat, Gortash closed his eyes and felt himself drift away.

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

ahhh thank you so much for the tag @faeriebabee !! 🥹❤️

rules: pick any 5 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line, and share it! then tag 5 people

1. Silent Knight - Jurdan Spy AU

"But I've made my bed. I might as well get fucked in it."

2. Between Two Lungs - Jurdan ABO AU (draft)

"Lacing our fingers together feels like brewing a storm between our palms. How sick. How fucking cosmic."

3. Fine Line - Jurdan Quarantine AU

"My pace is nothing but punishing. Her moans sound more livid than lewd. Fucking Jude is like pressing down on a purpling bruise, deeper and deeper, again and again until all I feel is an ambrosial ache clawing up my spine."

4. The Unwitching Hour - Jurdan Charmed AU (draft, but the drabble it's based on is posted)

"The garden, however hackneyed, is a secret. Strange things are reaped from its soil. For instance, bury a coin and the next day a pair of wall sconces would be sitting atop the dirt. Yesterday, I buried a body. This morning, a demon was waiting in its place."

5. I Hate You So Much - TWK Ch. 15 Explicit Rewrite

"He stifles a low moan in the crook of my neck, hips stuttering forward into my grip. A smug grin pulls at the corners of my mouth. There is a sort of power, I decide, in this pleasure stuff. If I can understand it as a weapon, maybe I can learn to wield it."

tagging @jurdanhell @kevin-day-is-bi @clockworkgraystairs @acciomanorian @anonniemousefics

[umbylievable]

Yzzbet and Manna - Part 1

Sonja stared up at the big black walls of the temple and swallowed. It wasn’t like she wasn’t familiar with religious buildings; she had been in churches enough back home. But something about the Yzzbetian temple gave her pause.

It was tall and impressive, standing high over the nearby buildings. The spire marked the skyline on the postcards she’d once sent. The size of it reminded her of a castle. The brick of the walls was surprisingly smooth, the edges rounded by either skill or time. Reddish glass backed windows framed with dark iron scroll work. The ornate steel doors dwarfed her in size, equal parts majestic and impressive. Blue-black flowers grew all around the temple, brushing up against the sides of the building and creating the look of a deep dark ocean. Next to it, the urban sprawl of the city looked wildly out of place.

A bike whizzing by behind her reminded her of where she was. Sonja took a deep breath and approached the temple doors. With both hands, she pushed them open, grunting a little with the effort, and crossed into the vestibule.

The inside was somehow more intimidating than the outside. The floor was paved in a dark reflective stone with such a high polish that it cast her image in it, like looking into black glass. Blue flames burned in sconces lining the walls and dangling from the ceiling. She expected rows of pews but instead found lines of ornate cushions in reds and purples. To her left stood a series of shelves full of what looked like artifacts, in various burnished metals. To her right was a big vase, larger even than she was. A childish impulse beckoned her to look inside, but there was nothing. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, honestly.

“Hello?” she called, stepping forward.

No answer. Her footsteps echoed across the stone. She proceeded to the heavy stone altar before her and peeked behind it, seeing a large rectangular pool of crystal clear water, marked by an island in the middle guarded by a stoic looking statue. She leaned forward a bit to get a better look.

“Can I help you?”

Sonja jumped at the sound of the voice. Somehow the ethereal stillness of the temple had convinced her she was alone. A silly notion, she thought, in a church in the middle of the day. She turned to face her addresser.

“Yes, actually. I’m getting married soon and I’m admittedly a little nervous…”

“So you’ve come for counseling?”

The priestess swept forward to the altar, the swish of her robes the only other sound in the room. With a snap of her fingers, she lit the tall black candle at the center of the altar. The flame flickered blue for a moment before settling to a typical orange.

Sonja shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I mean at least not right now. Not without my fiancee here. No, I’m here to learn.”

“Oh?” A little smile lit up the priestess’s face. She was a large woman, with broad shoulders and a soft face. Her blue-black hair peeked out from underneath her headscarf, the purple hue of which complimented the deep dark color of her skin. Sonja couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was. It felt like everyone in the demonaian realm was beautiful. Was it something in the water?

“I’m human—I mean obviously, you can see that—and so I don’t know a lot about his—your---religion. I’d like to learn more about it before we get married.”

“A noble pursuit,” said the priestess, “and one I would love to help you with. So often, it is only the children that come to me for our stories. I think it would benefit us all to hear them again, from time to time. To remind us where we’ve come from, and what it all means.”

She moved away from the altar and to some cushions on the floor, gesturing for Sonja to follow. The two of them sat down and the priestess waited patiently for Sonja to get comfortable before she began.

“I had better start you off with our beginnings. Our story begins several billion years ago, when the universe was an expanse of emptiness. When there was nothing else, there was the Drist. Not a being, persay, but also not a thing. An entity at the center of an empty universe. And within the Drist was contained everything. Over time it produced stars and planets, black holes and asteroids.

“One day the swirling of the Drist birthed a being, and his name was Alec. From the time he was born, Alec had a singular interest: to not be alone in the universe.

“Rather than wait for the Drist to create another, Alec came up with an idea. If he came from the Drist, he reasoned, then surely other creatures existed within it as well. So he reached into the Drist and from it pulled two more beings, and he named them Yzzbet and Manna.

“Yzzbet and Manna were as Alec’s children, and he cherished them. So much did he love them that he became convinced they all would be happier with even more children. So he reached into the Drist again and pulled out an entire world, and he filled it with people for Yzzbet and Manna to lord over. These people he called the deristians, because they were the people of the Drist.

“The deristians loved and exalted their gods, and in return Alec, Yzzbet, and Manna taught them many things, including how to build shelter, seek food, shape families, and make art. And they used these gifts to venerate them more, singing songs and making paintings in dedication to their stewards. For a long time, this is how it remained. But things cannot stay the same forever. All things change. Even gods.”

________________________________________________________________________

Yzzbet laid upon the edge of the scrying pool, lazily dragging yzzr fingers through the images of happy, smiling deristians. Yzz smiled back at them, watching the slender figures dancing and twirling in their village square.

“You don’t have to keep watching them. They don’t go anywhere.”

Manna stepped up to the edge of the scrying pool and took a seat beside Yzzbet.

“I know,” yzz sighed. “But I like seeing them. They look so peaceful and content there...don’t you like watching them?”

“I do. But I have other things to do with my time, too.”

“Such as?”

Manna held out his hand, and between his fingers sprouted a beautiful red flower. Yzzbet sat up and gently took it from him. Yzz inhaled its scent, a fragrance of warmth and spice.

“It’s wondrous...what do you call it?”

“It doesn’t have a name yet. I was thinking of calling it something good like ‘Manna’s Flower.’”

Yzzbet snorted. “That’s the best you have?”

Manna nudged yzzr playfully with his elbow. “Oh? And I suppose you have something better in mind?”

“’Big Blowhard Blossom’ has a certain ring to it.”

“Shut up!” He shoved yzzr over, grinning while yzz giggled. “Come on,” he said, getting his legs under him, “they like it when we walk among them. Makes them feel special.”

He held out his hand and pulled Yzzbet up. For a moment, yzzr hand lingered in his, and yzz felt yzzr heart quicken. But just as quickly, his hand slipped away, and Manna was on the move again, the tails of his coat fanning out behind him. Yzzbet jogged to catch up, then sidled up alongside him as they made their way to the door that separated the underworld from the land of the mortals.

It always took a minute for their eyes to adjust as they stepped into the warm light of the sun. Ahead of them lay a vast expanse of green, and upon it stood their devout followers, standing shoulder to shoulder and waiting with bated breath for a word.

Manna spread his arms open wide, grinning from ear to ear.

“My beloved deristians, rejoice! Your gods have come to walk among you, to bless you with the magnificence of our power.” He leaned down and swept his hand through the grass, and where he touched, his red flowers sprang up from the ground. A chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” erupted from the crowd. A child broke ranks, pushing past her elders, and ran to Manna’s feet. He hoisted her effortlessly onto his shoulders.

“What a darling little thing. Yzzbet, look at her, a child of our children! I think that makes you a grandparent.”

Yzzbet laughed, a sound as clear and pure as the tinkling of a silver bell.

“Does that not make you a grandfather, Manna?”

“Details!”

He progressed towards the crowd and they parted to make way, bowing their heads and whispering prayers of thanks and adulation. Yzzbet followed suit, reaching out to touch them a cite words of blessing. Together, the two gods made their way into the town limits, the crowd snaking along behind them.

Through the streets ran dyed paper banners, and colorful powder peppered the streets. Deristians stood in doorways with baskets of it, and threw it upon their gods and the crowd as they passed, showering them in a cloud of pinks, blues, oranges, and greens. In the center of town, dancers spun, wearing gleeful masks and headdresses. Atop Manna’s shoulders, the little girl squealed, and he carefully set her down to join the dancers, spinning like a top.

The town elder stepped forward, bowing his head and holding out his hands. Yzzbet touched him gently, skating yzzr fingers across his palms.

“Be stilled,” yzz cooed. “What manner of celebration is this?”

“We wanted to give thanks to you both for our abundance. Our beautiful hillsides are green because you will it. And, well, the winter has ended, and the children were getting restless.”

Manna chuckled.

“Well that’s as good a reason to hold a festival as any. Well, if its a celebration, let us celebrate! Break open the wine and beer and let us rejoice!”

He threw up his arms, and the crowd around them roared in approval. Soon the square was awash in song and revelry, lasting well into the night. It was a joyous day for them all.

Well, perhaps not all.

Away in the underworld, Alec looked upon the scrying pool and frowned. When was the last time they lifted his name in song? Begged for his presence, his touch, his gaze. When was the last time the deristians cared about him?

Scowling, he dragged his hand through the pool, erasing the image. If these people wanted Yzzbet and Manna so badly, they could have them. He could start again. And this time, he thought, he would not make the same mistake.