#steel dinner set design

[arttdinoxx]

Stainless steel is an excellent choice for your everyday tableware because it’s durable and easy to clean, but it has several other benefits too. Stainless steel is resistant to rust and corrosion, which makes it a good choice for outdoor dining or in commercial kitchens where there’s heavy use of water. It’s also strong enough to hold up under heavy plating and folds without bending or breaking. It is the best dinnerware from Arttdinox experience.

steel plate set are easy to clean, requiring only mild soap and water to remove stains from dried food or spills from liquid. They’re also nontoxic so they won’t harm anyone with sensitive skin or alle

[sully-s]

Batman Quest To Get A Birkin Bag

Ok so I have a very indulgent, SuperBats head fanfic that keeps me company on days that I forget to charge my earphones while walking my dog and to bore my wonderfully accommodating friends over dinner.

Long story short it’s a character study about Clark after his death. Doomsday kills him becuase we do not subscribe to Synder movies in this household.

Mostly its about Bruce grieving and reflecting on his ten+ year marriage with the man of steel with a large helping of the Justice League members bonding and finally getting to know Bruce and in turn Clark. (Kal never really got to say specifics about his life because Bruce wanted to keep his identity secret therefore a lot of Clark's life was private.)

For most of the fic Clark’s dead. But I'm one for angst with a happy ending so he comes back. How he comes back I have all kinds of versions but I just want to share this really silly one that I’m slightly obsessed with.

It’s about two years after Clark died. Currently, Bruce and Hal are off-world for a two-month mission. Shortly after they leave the League are battling some sorcerer who's in possession of a Jinn. During the battle two of the three wishes are used and at the end it's Flash who gets to use the last one.

He wishes for Clark to be revived back to life.

Jinn says he can't do that

Flash thinks of course just like in Aladdin you can't bring the dead back, make someone fall in love or wish for more wishes.

The Jinn is like how dare you think that's not within my power of course I can bring back the dead, I can't bring back Superman because Clark's not dead. he's just in his grave too weak to break out of his grave due to the lack of sunlight.

Flash hears this and immediately rushes over to dig up Kal.

The next month and a half are all about Clark adjusting to the changes over the last three years (Like having a new kid at the manor: Tim) Meeting new members (Green Arrow, Martian Man Hunter), and really bonding with his teammates ect.

While waiting for Bruce's return Clark asks Barry what he'd like.

Barry is confused

Clark clarifies that Barry was able to bring back one of Bruce's loved ones “to life.“ That’s never happened and for a man like Bruce who loves deeply for his family he going to be very grateful and he will not take “I’m just glad I could help” for an answer. So Barry needs to think of something or Batman will.

Barry doesn't know what to ask for but knows that Bruce is rich. He figures this would be a great time to get that designer bag that Iris always wanted but they could never justify ever buying. (Listen I don’t know if Iris is a designer girly but in this fic she really just likes this one bag.)

So Bruce and Hal get back and after the big celebration party, the JL held for Clark and Bruce's reunion. Bruce approaches Barry thanks him and asks if there’s anything he can do.

Thinking Barry is going to ask for a house, pull some strings with his Brucie persona so he can better his life at his job or status. Maybe ask for Bruce to fund or set up a wellness program for people in Central City.

But Barry is just like: Uh well Iris has always liked this bag.

And Bruce is thinking Really Barry You brought the love of my life back to life I’d move mountains (without Clark’s help) for you and you want some designer bag for your wife?

Bruce: Do you have a picture?

And as soon as Barry shows him the bag Bruce knows moving mountains would be so much easier.

The bag Barry wants to get is a Birkin Bag.

Now if you know anything about Birkin bags 1. they’re stupid expensive. 2. If you can afford one that doesn't mean you get to buy one. Hermes the company that makes them has this irate practice that you have to work up a good relationship with the store and the sales associates in said store to even get the privilege to buy a Birkin (usually by buying a ton of other Hermes products you don’t want.) Sometimes you buy half the store but if you’re not a high-profile client or they don't like your image they just brush you off and postpone your chance to ”buy” a Birkin. And if you do all of the above prerequisites You don't even get to pick the bag they "give" you one. Want a pink colorway? Sorry here's lime green you're welcome.

Now Barry has no knowledge of any of this and just thinks a Birkin is just some overpriced bag. The problem is Iris only likes this one colorway ( Size 35cm, Red Alligator Exterior, Gold hardware, Yellow Slik interior ect.)

This is going to be near impossible.

But In Bruce's mind, Flash did the impossible in bringing back Clark (Bruce thinks Clark was wished back to life because that's the story everyone is sticking to. Because the emotional trauma of letting Bruce know that Clark was alive the whole time rotting away in a grave for 2 years is not on anyone’s todo list.) So he will get this bag Even if it kills him. He's the goddamn Batman.

And all this lead up is to what I'm actually obsessed with

I just love the idea that Bruce is running around Brucie-ing it up to try to get in Hermes' good graces but his image of being a drunk playboy is activity stopping him from buying any bag.

He calls up the Daily Planet and starts setting up all these puff PR-boosting articles to up his image. Which starts rumors becuase Burce Wayne doesn’t do interviews so why now?

Gotham elite catches wind that Burcie Wayne wants a Birkin richest man in America can't get one. So they all start getting Birkins. They ware them to his galas, just to troll Burcie. The elite jump on the waitlist inflating the list to stupid long. Hermes starts to wear the exclusivity of Brucie Wayne as a sign of good taste and prestige. Bruce searches the second-hand market and can't find the colorway Iris's wants.

Bruce goes undercover as a worker for a local Hermes store to become his own sales associate just so he can get around the prejudices of Bruce Wayne image and start racking up a sales history. (He just selling and buying to himself lol.)

So Bruce is playing a luxury salesman using his background of old money and Alfred’s butlering to woo potential buyers. Working his first retail job ever. Having to suck up to management so he can plead his case about Bruce Wayne. Using his access to get informed on what bags are currently available, who’s on the waitlist, where they rank, and criteria on how and what moves you up the list ect.

After months and becoming the number one salesman, he makes his case to allow Brucie Wayne to buy a bag.

It’s declined.

So he switches tactics.

He just makes a new cover as a recently won lottery winner looking to burn cash and wants to burn it with Hermes. And starts a new sale history. Using all of his knowledge and intel about what gets you on the waiting list.

He gets stonewalled a few times by former co-workers that he gets around by blackmailing them with gossip and infractions he witnessed or was told In confidence when he was a fellow sales associate.

Finally, his lottery winner persona is put on a waitlist. The only problem is he’s at the very bottom.

So what does he do?

He suties up As Batman and starts intimidating all those who are higher on the list than his lottery winner cover rocketing him up the list.

He hits a roadblock when he tries to scrace a woman on the list who doesn’t believe he’s actually Batman becuase “Why would Batman even want with a Birkin?”

Which leads to an escalation that gets him an earful from Superman who’s called to the scene by said woman whos terrified after Batman strings her upside down over the edge of her high-rise penthouse.

Clark offers to buy the bag becuase who wouldn’t want that kinda of PR endorsement?

Which Bruce vittamently refuses becuase it would cheapen the gift.

Finally, after a week of terrorizing wait-listers, his lottery winner persona is “given“ the opportunity to buy a bag.

But disaster strikes when that lucky break he thought he got because he was next on the list was actually bad luck becuase the person was bumped off becuase they bought the bag that Bruce had painfully calculated to purchase which was the only bag that would be made in the next 3 years that has the colorway that Iris wanted.

So Bruce tracks down and comforts the buyer in the dead of night as Batman. The buyer freaks out and says they didn't even want this colorway and really wanted a Caranery yellow ostrich skin colorway and if he could get her that one she'd trade for it.

This leads Bruce to play matchmaker for a series of buyers that have Birken Bags they don't love and would trade for their dream bag. And after months of fetch questing and matching sad Birken owners around the world with their dream bags Bruce he pulls it off. He finally gets a Canary, yellow ostrich skin colorway Birkin bag trades it for Iris’s dream bag. Only to find out it was ruined in a car crash that was caused by an alien invasion 2 months before that the JL had a particularly nasty time with and it was Bruce’s Batmobile that was thrown into her parked car.

The bag is a mess the zipper borken, missing hardware, leather scratched. But Bruce so done with everything accepts the trade and takes it back to the cave. Where he proceeds to 3D scan the bag then composite a CAD model and starts to collect all the raw components of the bag himself.

Getting only the best materials (much better than what Hermes was using) Talking to Killer Corc on how to find the best alligator pelts. Flying to India to personally pick out the red dye for the color. Mining the gold for the hardware from an asteroid that was threatening the Watchtower.

After he has everything Bruce proceeds to by hand construct an exact replica of Iris's dream bag. Essentially making the most over-budgeted fake to exist. Where he finally gives it to Barry (who has no inkling of the time and effort Bruce has put into this side project that has taken the better part of a whole year) who jokes in saying “Oh wow takes 12 months to run to the store huh?”

[rederiswrites]

One really adorable detail from our blacksmithing event this weekend:

The demonstrator, Drew, was a confident, precise, perfectionist. He talked a lot about running a business as an artist, in addition to actual blacksmithing. Over dinner, he told us the most hilarious, amazing story about a customer he's currently working on a commission for. She's got a big event site type farm somewhere in Money Land, Virginia, where three of the richest counties in the country are. The kind of place you pay to have your wedding in bucolic 'natural' settings.

He showed us the design, which is a lovely gate.

"Driveway gate?" I asked. Most of the time the only sign of these people among us is a very long driveway with a gate or some sculptural pylons.

He doesn't have a very expressive face, and it'd taken me a couple hours to get the hang of his humor. His face didn't change as he said, "No. For people to stand in front of for pictures." This, of course, set the tone for a conversation about rich people.

At first, he told us, the customer insisted that money was no object, she just needed it to look grand. He did not like this at all, but pushed her with no success. So he designed a "money is no object" gate, put a price on it, and showed her the design.

"Oh, that's far too much money."

"You said not to worry about money. I said it would be expensive."

"But I really can't pay that much."

Our friend Drew, however, had come prepared with balls of steel and some research.

"That's your car, right?"

"Yes?"

"Do you buy a new one every year?"

"I do."

"Do you know the MSRP on that car?"

"Not off the top of my head."

"It's worth $98,000. More than this gate. So, what you have to ask yourself is, is this piece of art that will last a thousand years, made by hand, worth more or less to you than a car you're going to use for a year."

The dinner table erupted in hoots and expressions of shock, kids and adults alike.

It only sort of worked, when everything's said and done. He did still have to draw up a cheaper design. But the absolute nerve of the man!

Shortly after that, he bashfully showed us pictures of his new hobby, embroidery. He'd put flowers on the cuff of a pair of jeans. He'd wanted to wear them this weekend, he told us, but chickened out. I praised his work, quite honestly, and told him that I'd better see those jeans next time we met. When we all said goodbye Saturday evening, he grinned and said that maybe for the next event he'd get up the courage. Jacob told him that by then those jeans had better be embroidered all over.

[blond-yallternative]

TSC boys will be TSC boys (ft. Cody, my beloved nb)

Low-stakes fanfic in which 3 backliners (Cody, Lucas, and Jean [included against his will]) bet 3 strikers (Jeremy, Nabil, and Derrick) that if the backliners can keep the strikers from making any successful shots on goal during a team exercise, then Jeremy will get his ears pierced.

Of course Jean balls out and so do the other 2 so the strikers lose.

Jeremy is deathly afraid of needles (in my head), and Nabil can't join them because he's going home to eat dinner with his family, but Pat joins in last-minute.

Pls be kind this is my first ever fanfic (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

By the time practice was over and they had all showered, changed, and dispersed to their cars, it was past six in the evening. The drive to their destination took less than fifteen minutes, and soon they were pulling into the parking lot of a low, dingy strip mall that looked like it had needed a fresh coat of paint about two years ago. The studio that Nabil had Googled for them was nestled in the far right corner under a large sign emblazoned Black Eye Tattoo. Between the second and third words, a large eye gazed out over the parking lot with a swirling design where its iris and pupil should’ve been. After they parked, Jeremy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel out of time with the pop song on the radio as he stared up at the sign. A few moments later, they spotted the rest of the boys and Cody heading towards them, and Jeremy twisted the key to kill the engine with a long-suffering sigh. He shooed Derrick off his car when he tried to strike a provocative pose on the hood, and Pat held the door of the place open for all of them as a doorbell chimed over their heads.

Jean was more than a little intimidated by the woman standing behind the counter inside. Her jet black hair hung in choppy bangs over her forehead but the rest was tucked behind her ears, making it easy to see the neon rings that stretched her earlobes to twice the normal size. Her haughty gaze didn’t change as the six of them filed through the door and crowded the small lobby space. Pat and Derrick flopped down on the low, bloodred velvet couch set against the far wall, so Jean and Jeremy leaned against the front windows. Cody and Lucas eagerly approached the front counter. The air felt near-frigid after the California heat outside, and Jean savored the sunshine warming his back.

“Aren’t you gonna go check out the options?” Derrick asked Jeremy, who cringed. “I’d rather not look at any of this until absolutely necessary,” he said, and Derrick smirked. At the counter, Lucas and Cody were explaining the situation to the indifferent-seeming woman. Jean squinted to read the cursive scrawl on her metal name tag. Cherie, with a little hand-drawn border of black flowers and vines. 

“All the stones here are available for lobe piercings, organized by size,” she said, dragging her finger in a line over one section of the glass counter that separated her from the lobby. Jean listened a little closer than he normally would, but her voice carried no hint of a French accent. “All our metals are surgical-grade steel, and they come in silver, gold, rose gold, or black finishes. No difference in price.”

“What’s the cheapest option?” Lucas asked. Cherie gave him an unimpressed look that said she was sick of servicing poor college students, but she tapped a black fingernail against the glass. “This one, three millimeter cubic zirconia. $65.”

“That’s quite the chunk of change for two little holes,” Pat muttered from the couch. Jean figured he hadn’t meant to be overheard, but Cherie said, “One.” 

The group looked at her. She clarified. “The $65 is for one piercing. And that doesn’t include tip,” she added, giving them a pointed look. When half the group made a sound of disbelief, Jeremy shushed them with a “Hey, guys.”

Lucas rounded on Cody. “So you’re loaded or something?” he asked, gesturing to their heavily-studded face. 

Cody grinned. “My friend’s aunt owns a tattoo shop. She does mine for free.” 

Lucas slapped his palms on the counter and sighed in dramatic relief. “Well, call her up then!” 

“Dude, she lives in Arizona.” 

Lucas sank to rest his head on his flattened hands in defeat. In the end it was decided that Jeremy would only be getting one ear pierced, but even when Cody and Lucas pooled the cash in their wallets they could only come up with $59.37. With a sigh, Pat chipped in a $20 bill to cover the rest plus tip, and Cherie swiped up the money to store it in the cash register. She surveyed all six of them now standing closer to her counter, and sighed. “You all want to come back, don’t you?” They nodded, and Jeremy said meekly, “Yes ma’am, if that’s okay.” She sighed again but tossed an impatient “Come on, then,” over her shoulder as she strode towards the back. She led them to what appeared to be the largest of the individual rooms of the main part of the studio, and bade Jeremy to sit on the black-cushioned chair in the center. There was one smaller plastic chair to the left of it, and Pat pushed Jean towards it before he could make a beeline for the back of the room. Jean sat as Cherie told the rest of them, “I’m going to need some space. Go stand in the corner over there.” The four of them obediently shuffled over and leaned against the graffiti-covered wall.

Cherie asked the room, “What’s the finish?” 

“Uhhhhh,” Lucas droned, and Jeremy looked to Jean, of all people. Cherie repeated the options to him. “Silver, gold, rose gold, or black.” Jean thought for a moment, studying Jeremy’s face. 

Well, it was not going to be black. But which of the other three? He narrowed his eyes, considering. Spray-painted daffodils, the Trojan statue from their first walk through campus, and a yellow cardboard dog flashed through his mind. “Gold,” he said decidedly, and Cherie nodded in agreement. Jeremy smiled at Jean, but the expression was a bit tight. 

“And which ear am I doing?” 

“Which one’s the gay ear?” Derrick asked, and Lucas snickered. Jeremy twisted in his chair to give them a look, but Patrick doubled down on it. “If the shoe fits, my friend,” he said with a shrug. “Cody, make them stop,” Jeremy complained, but Cody was too busy laughing along with Lucas. Jeremy sighed and faced forward again. “I’ll just do the right ear. I normally sleep on my left side.” After a beat he added, “Please don’t tell them whether or not that’s the gay ear,” and Lucas and Cody’s laughter rang out again.

He held still when Cherie commanded, and then inspected the purple dot she marked on his right ear with the handheld mirror she passed him. He turned and tucked a stray curl back so Jean could see it, too. It looked perfectly centered, so Jean nodded. 

Satisfied with her preparations, Cherie swiveled on her wheeled stool to rub hand sanitizer over her hands and pull on black latex gloves. At the snap they made against her wrists, Jeremy winced. “I like your nametag,” he said randomly, and Jean heard one of the boys snicker. Jeremy continued hurriedly, “You know, Jean here is French. You two might get along.” 

“Ooooh, parlez vous français?” Cody said in a ridiculous high-pitched voice. Lucas laughed maniacally as Derrick replied, “Oui oui, monsieur dumbass.” Jean looked around to see which of the instruments in the room he could use to put himself out of his misery as quickly as possible, but Cherie laughed, too. 

“I don’t speak French, actually. This is just what my grandpa used to call me. I don’t even pronounce it correctly, I know, but I still like it.” The entire room turned to look at Jean in anticipation. 

He gave Cody and Derrick a flat look. “I’m not going to say it.” Various sounds of protest arose from their corner, but Cherie started fixing the gold stud onto a long, sharp instrument and Jean saw Jeremy’s face go positively ashen. When she looked up, Cherie saw it too. 

“Are you afraid?” she asked bluntly, and Jeremy didn’t hesitate before nodding. The boys giggled from the corner. She kept her eyes on Jeremy, her expression unchanged. “That’s not a problem. It’s better if you look away, not close your eyes.” She dug her heels into the floor to wheel herself closer to Jeremy’s right side. “Would you prefer if I counted down, or just did it?” 

Jeremy swallowed. “A countdown, please.” 

Jean could practically feel the anxiety radiating off him with every breath. With a sigh, he shifted his chair to be parallel with Jeremy’s, and didn’t face him as he rested an elbow on Jeremy’s armrest. He cleared his throat. He could feel Cherie and Jeremy’s eyes on him but refused to look their way, and after another second he felt Jeremy’s hand curl under his arm to grip his bicep. His palm was warm and even sweatier than Jean expected, but Jean didn’t pull away. He ignored the whispered conversation happening in the back of the room. 

“Ready?” Jeremy nodded with a tense set to his jaw. Jean grimaced at the crushing grip his captain had on his arm but didn’t let himself move an inch. 

“Okay. Three, two, one,” Cherie said calmly, and Jean blinked in surprise. She had pushed the needle easily through Jeremy’s ear right after two. Jeremy blinked too, then loosed an exaggerated sigh of relief and said, “Dang, that actually wasn’t so bad! Do you do that trick with everyone?” His grip slackened, but he didn’t take his hand off Jean's arm.

“Only the wimps,” Cherie said matter-of-factly, and Jeremy laughed, a little giddy. The boys and Cody peeled off the wall to come admire the stud, and Jeremy only removed his hand from Jean when Cherie passed him the mirror again. Jean tried to be subtle about rubbing the now-sweaty inside of his arm against his shirt, but Jeremy was turning his head this way and that to see the piercing from different angles, completely oblivious. Cody gushed compliments, and Derrick said, “Yeah, gold was definitely the right choice.” Patrick clapped a hand on Jeremy's shoulder in approval.

Jeremy swung his legs over to hang them off the chair and face Jean with a beaming smile.

"What do you think?"

Jean considered the sparkle of the little earring in Jeremy’s lobe, bright against his flushed skin, and met Jeremy’s eyes. “It suits you,” he said simply. And it was true.

Somehow, Jeremy’s smile grew, and the stud twinkled like a miniature star as he kicked his feet.

As they all spilled back into the lobby a staggered chorus of “Thank you, Cherie!” arose from all five of the others. Pat already had his hand on the horizontal bar of the front door when Jean realized they had all turned to look expectantly at him again. He sighed and faced the counter. 

“Merci, ma chérie.” 

The sweet smile that curved Cherie’s lips seemed to soften her entire hardcore appearance, and she waved them all out amidst the chiming of the doorbell and the others’ whoops of triumph.

[assortedvillainvault]

I got this idea from our convo on discord but here's a scenario: Reader getting kidnapped by Zurg and NOS coming to the rescue -- all the while Reader finds out Zurg was just really eager to meet his future daughter-in-law (could just be headcanons if you're not feeling prose for this)

Rose I had to scroll an ungodly long time to find this again but cackled the entire time. Also - this one gets the full prose treatment!

NOS4A2 x Kidnapped!Reader

You come to slowly, ears ringing. The bag over your head is silk – odd choice, kinda humid - but the darkness is a blessing. You shift slowly, testing – there's a dull ache of cuffs against your wrists, tied to something flat on either side, maybe the arms of a chair..? – But no numbness or pain. You wiggle your toes – good, no spinal injuries. A decent kidnapping by a professional who was actively trying to be nice. How rare.

Where the hell is NOS? You had been docking for fuel - both for the ship and for him - and you swear you had only nipped out for cheap takeaway, but beyond grease and streetlights the memories fade out. It’s an effort not to reflexively comm him out of panic, but you can see the ‘no signal’ light in your internal comm system, and any attempts would let your kidnapper know you were awake.

Speaking of – sounds are muffled but you can make some out. Squeaky wheels, the occasional ‘gloop’ of bubbles through thick liquid – the pitter patter of tiny footsteps like nails against a steel floor. Industrial air conditioning droning in the back, and the place smells… chemical-y? Like if warm metal and cold smog had a baby in a janitors closet-

The bag is ripped away, and you blink against warm overhead lights.

There’s a twenty foot long purple table covered in chefs platters in front of you. On some of the plates sit whole jenga blocks of triple grade batteries. You’re tied to a designer chair, and there’s a great big fucking ‘Z’ etched onto the tabletop. There are candles.

“Hello my dear! I trust the accommodations are acceptable??” Evil Emperor Fucking Zurg swooshes in though a set of thirty foot double doors and it’s all you can do not to groan.

The monolith of purple plops himself into the oversized chair at the other end of the table and merrily begins piling food onto a plate also emblazoned with his logo. Is literally everything on Planet Z trademarked, or are you just lucky he got out the Good Silverware this time..?

Zurg smacks his lips. “I must apologise for the crude methodology in getting you here – you see, my errant creation has a nasty habit of ignoring my calls, and I’ve just been dying to meet you.” He eyes your empty plate. “Eat up, eat up! It’s good – imported all the way from...some backwater planet or other.” He waves a hand dismissively. You raise an eyebrow and flex your – still tied – hands.

The tyrant glances at them and snickers.

“Still tied up? Hm. What a shame.” He shrugs. “I had hoped that NOS4A2 would pick someone a little more experienced in our line of work, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers-”

Thats about as far as he gets before you taze the metal table and electrocute his dinner. Space potatoes make their grand ascent skyward like starchy fireworks straight into Zurgs stupid helmet. You allow yourself a brief bit of pride as you stuff the taser back into your sleeve (having cut through the cuffs while the evil emperor was talking) and launch yourself up to dine and dash like never before.

You freeze as hornets block your path. Zurg strides towards you, dotted in potato guts. Would it be too late to kick him in the shin before getting shot…?

“How lovely!” He exclaims, scooping you into a rib-creaking hug and digging you into his armour. The fact he says ‘lovely’ almost exactly the same as NOS does makes you twitch.

“Eh? You squeak, and he pulls back to pinch your cheeks condescendingly.

“Just the kind of mean spirited trickery to come off as charming – a little rough around the edges perhaps, but who’s counting!” He guides shoves you back into the chair and grabs a minion from under the table, flinging the poor bug away with a crash. “A fine prospect for a daughter-in-law.”

You absently choke on nothing as he blithely continues. “Of course I can’t have you out and about with such outdated toys. My armoury will have plenty of new military grade goodies for you to play with after dinner, say the word and daddy-in-law Zurg will have you covered~!”

Distantly, your internal comm's pop up a cheerful ‘signal restored!’ message.

There bug minions scream as the lights overload and explode – and the hornets judder before swivelling to draw their weapons on their suddenly not so jovial emperor.

“ZURG!!”

Mechanical, vampiric rage really does fill you with warm fuzzies these days.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I've always had a thought of Pornstar au with Stucky but I never have enough time to write one, mainly bcs the words won't come out and i fucking hate myself sooooooo

I'll just punch my idea here for you bcs so suddenly, I can't stop thinking of Pornstar!Seb HAHAHAHA but I'll stick with my original idea of STUCKY instead of Evanstan although I do love those two idiots AHJSSJJE

Right uhm, anyways, this prompt started off with well, porn, obviously bcs I'm a budding artist who wants to practice nsfw stuff (ehem😌😌) and the first place I went to for pose references were Porn sites

I was hit with sudden inspiration out of nowhere when I got reminded that Steve was a fucking artist SJIDHEIJEUR my mind is then consumed by the idea of one Steve Rogers, scrolling through a porn site looking for pose references when he stumbles into a single account

It's nothing special to be honest but what catches his eye is the full sleeve tattoo on the stars left arm. Curious, Steve checks the account out and discovers Winter_Soldier who's got quite the following. Steve is immediately enthralled at the sight of the man and his silky brown hair, the only thing visible about his face being his bright steel blue eyes. Winter is thicc, chest big enough you could fuck a dick between it and a pair of thighs Steve's sure enough could crush a water melonn NGHHHH don't even get Steve started with his dick, a pretty thing thats anything but little

Bucky might like to bottom but he could fuck if he wants, those sessions where he'd bring another pornstar over for a joint video and he'd practically fuck them to the mattress. Steve salivates at the thought of getting bedded by Bucky, brain just gone at the idea of having Bucky spread on his bed for him to take or of Bucky between his legs, ready to fuck him stupid

He's so adventurous too, his videos containing multiple angles of him fucking his thick ass onto an equally thick dildo, voice slightly muffled from behind the mask but still loud enough that Steve could pick up his mewling ramblings. Winter has a seductive voice that melts to a whine whenever he's got something in him and What's supposed to be Steve looking for pose references and practicing his anatomy's ends up with him furiously jerking off to this gorgeous man

Steve has never seen someone so enticing before, the way Winters body would curve and bend, slick hole making way for the thick dildos he liked to shove in. He fucks and liked to talk, his god given voice rumbly as he spoke to his audiences, taking requests or just simply dirty talking GOOD LORD AJDHWJRHRJJEEJ Steve can't take his eyes off the monitor and his hand off his dick, eyes always coming back to the intricate robot like design of Winters left arm

Somehow, Steve manages to finish his practice but not before he nearly bled himself dry with how much he jerked off. His sketch book suddenly filled with a brown haired masked pornstar. Some hour later, he stumbles out of his room and into the shared kitchen of the dorm he's renting. He nearly trips when he finds his roommate James cooking some dinner

He's been rooming with James for nearly a year now but they're not really close (yet). In Steve's opinion, he's too pretty for his own good and Steve can never talk straight or properly whenever James is the one he's conversing with. James is very sweet though (he told Steve he could call him Bucky bcs that's what his friends call him), voice soft and always drowning in the oversized hoodie he favours. He's not small by any means, with a wider set of shoulder than Steve but he's definitely shorter by a couple of inches.

Steve's always ogling at Bucky whenever he could and he always thinks that his hair is pretty but a detail catches Steve's eyes with how he tied his hair in a messy bun as he cooked. It looked similar with... Steve freezes on the spot, staring at Bucky like an idiot. There's no way right?? It must be just a coincidence!!

Instinctively, Steve's gaze falls onto Bucky's left arm, covered with the long sleeves of his hoodie. Steve has never seen Bucky with his clothing off or just a simple sleeveless outfit and Winter did have a few tattoos, the most prominent one was the full sleeve on his left arm... Steve shakes himself. His roommate can't be the pornstar he's suddenly addicted to, that's just rude to assume

When Bucky calls him to share the dinner, steel blue eyes curved in a somewhat familiar smile, Steve's throat dries and he doesn't know if he hates or loves the possibility of his absurd idea

In the end though, it's not him who makes the official discovery. Instead, it's Bucky who makes the reveal when he finds one of Steve's sketchbook laying around, filled with sketches and practice of a familiar brown haired star in different positions and angles

Steve's all bashful at being caught with his 18+ content and Bucky practically drills his new obsession out of him with a glint in his eyes. When Steve confesses the fact that he's been having fantasies about Winter and woke up every morning with a boner, religiously coming to check Winters account for updates or live sessions, Bucky practically grins like the cat who got the cream, the shy facade giving away to Steve's dirtiest dream

"So you like my voice huh?" Bucky murmurs where he's coiled like a snake on the couch, his eyes going lidded as his voice dropped a few octaves. Steve is frozen at the other end of the couch, surprise and something else shimmering in his guts

"Tell me, Steve.. Do you keep coming back to my account because I provide you with good practice material or is it because I turn you on?" Bucky practically purred, uncoiling and starting to crawl his way to Steve. Considering that their couch isn't that big and neither of them are small, Steve suddenly has his dreams on his lap

"I just needed practice," he weakly says and Bucky's lips curve into a smirk that would follow Steve to his dreams, face finally full with his bright eyes. Ever so slowly, Bucky leans until he's got his lips straight to Steve's ear, squirming on his laps and arms around his neck

"I could give you a live modelling session," he whispers, breath hot against Steve's flushed skin. He shivers and Bucky's next words makes his hand come up to Bucky's waist to squeeze tightly.

"And if you want a live demonstration with yourself included.. well, I can give you that too."

AHAHAHAH I don't know what to do with this prompt but plssss it's been haunting me (HAH), anyways, tis just a tease but they basically fuck (obviously 🙄🙄) and we can have the dynamic of Bucky happily expanding Steves sexual experiences and Steve happily allowing Bucky to expand his sexual experiences SKWJJEJEJE

-🫠🫠

related to this

I feel that, words are hard, but don't downplay what you have because what you have FUCKS!!

Also, I love that. Sometimes you gotta go to the source for references 👀 I get it. That is SUCH a great idea, though! I fuck with that so hard! Artist!Steve looking for inspiration and stumbling onto pornstar Bucky... 😮‍💨😮‍💨

And pornstar Bucky, who's thick with INK?

Kill me. Oh, wait, you already have!

Jesusss.

He's a switch, too? I'm salivating. The mask?? The whimpering? I'm being murdered! 😫 WOOF he does sound so damn enticing. Fuck.

THE PLOT THICKENS!

Roommates??

I do not have words. Brain scrambled. Useless. I am fucking obsessed with the idea of Steve going from avid consumer of Bucky's pornography to being a part of it. Living his fantasy. Actually.

Yes!! I would love to see this written because imagine all the shit they could get into! All the kinks they could explore (especially exhibitionism, getting off to being watched). All the toys that I'm sure Bucky has. Expanding on how it comes out, too, would be so good. Draw it out. Build it up. Does Steve catch him shooting porn when he's supposed to be out? Is it not confirmed like that? When does Steve see him without long-sleeves on for the first time? Is it in private? Is it in public, and he has to act normal? Does Bucky make Steve stutter through it and ask himself if he does porn, by chance, or does Bucky easily handle it, grinning and nonchalantly confirming it? Plus, building up to Steve's first time on camera would be killer. His nerves and excitement and then his embarrassment when he gets on camera and he's so revved up that he cums so fast.

God.

You could go so many ways!

Either way, written or not, this AU is going to live rent-free in my head because 🤌🏻yes🤌🏻

Imagine all the "roommate walked in on me" fantasy porn they could shoot 😮‍💨😮‍💨

[catgirlredux]

Hound Dogs

“… tomorrow we’ll meet your handler. For now, rest up.”

RDAI.vii.1156 stared down at its new body. Joining the military was considered the best route a Class-F citizen could pursue - free food, shelter, maybe even a few augments if you got lucky. But the Rapid Deployment Auxiliary Infantry unit felt less lucky and more confused. It signed up expecting to be given a gun and a pat on the back, not… this.

The arms were probably the strangest change. Skilled military surgeons had removed its forearms with a single blast of a laser that numbed its pain and severed flesh and bone at the same time. In their place, 1156 now wielded on each arm a single long, spider-like metal blade that extended all the way to the floor. The same happened to its legs, forcing the unit onto all fours. A reinforced spine kept it from collapsing onto the ground.

The rest of its body was covered in angular metal plates, designed to redirect and resist gunfire and protect the unit’s remaining flesh. Its face was likewise covered by an solid steel visor, vision and hearing substituted by an array of cameras, sonar, and radio scanners that fed information directly into its augmented brain. Its mouth remained uncovered but its teeth were removed and replaced with a new carbon fiber set. The chip in its brain repressed its discomfort so it didn’t try to claw off its own jaw.

A buzzer sounded and a tray carrying a bowl of nutrimeal slid out of the wall of the room. Unit 1156 stared it at, trying to figure out what to do - an injected concoction of hormones and suppressants had kept it comfortably dull, but somewhat muddled.

>EAT

The word flashed up on the inside of its visor, glaring into its semi-redundant eyes - eyes now dedicated to receiving screen-fed orders. It obediently craned its head down and started chomping at the slop. It was starving - the accelerated healing process was effective but it sapped all the solider’s energy.

Even if its senses hadn’t been muted, the nutritional goop was flavorless. Nevertheless it found itself slurping away with abandon, licking the bowl clean, dignity cast aside. Its faceplate glowed white hot for a moment before cooling down again, singeing off specks of food that had flown astray in the unit’s feeding frenzy. This feature was meant to burn blood and dirt off so that it didn’t impair an RDAI’s sensor array, but it worked for dinner well enough.

>GOOD MUTT

*****

The next day found RDAI.vii.1156 waiting in the main hangar, still slightly trembling on its spindly new legs. The thin, bladed design was perfect for chasing down enemy troops on the battlefield or pinning a straggler to the ground, but it was difficult to balance with even with the aid of the unit’s brain augments. A cord plugged into the back of its head kept it from wandering too far while feeding low-level electrical pulses that helped calm its nerves. It was waiting for its new handler - the soldier it would fight alongside, whose life it would dedicate itself to protecting. The bond between a handler and their hound (as the units were fondly referred to) was something truly unique, and though 1156 hadn’t planned to end up on this side of the relationship, it couldn’t help but feel excited.

It could feel her presence long before she actually entered the hangar. Perhaps it was merely the hormonal braindeck releasing waves of dopamine, but to the cyborg’s mind she was the most perfect being in the world. It could almost taste the draw of her augments to its own, pulling the two of them together like magnets. It knew that she felt it too. The connection between them was already established: the handler and the hunter, the owner and the dog.

It couldn’t quite remember what beauty looked like but it decided that she must be as close as one could get. Bent on all fours as 1156 was, it stood about half a meter shorter than her. Encased in a shiny automorphic techsuit, her body rippled with hidden energy ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice. Her one eye shone, the other replaced by an implant that flashed rapidly as if to say, it’s finally you.

A technician standing by unplugged the unit’s tether and stuck in a thinner, double-ended wire. 1156 trembled as its handler grabbed the other end and slowly slotted it into a port on her neck.

The instant the plug connected, 1156 nearly collapsed from the tsunami of pleasure that struck it at full force. All Handler’s emotions, all her thoughts, her very essence flowed through its brain, and it could tell that she was experiencing the same influx of data.

They stood there for what seemed like forever, its faceplate lights flashing in sync with her vitals node. The only sound was the slight clinking of metal on concrete as 1156 shifted from talon to talon. Her designation was RDI-H.2054, she was a Class-E civilian who was recruited at age 8, she had been trained as a handler for 11 years, but 1156 was her first hound of her own. She liked the color green, she hated morning training, she had been deployed overseas on a scouting mission just three months ago. The unit’s brain felt overloaded with information and yet more kept flowing in.

It saw vague images, faces of people that it didn’t recognize yet felt so familiar - Handler’s family? It saw the fire of war, the smiles of fellow soldiers, it felt her heartbeat, her brainwaves, her every breath. For a split second, the hound and the handler were not separate but rather a single entity, one soldier in two bodies, sharing their memories. 1156 felt its Handler’s cybernetic eye and her prosthetic leg, and she likewise felt its spindly new form and armor plating.

RDAI.vii.1156 felt 2054 about to scream and roared out in sync. Its twisted metallic vocal chords, designed specifically to instill fear in the enemy, pierced the air in the hangar with an unearthly screech which neither overwhelmed nor surrendered to its keeper’s voice but rather merged with it in a feral harmony.

*****

Blood spewed down the dog’s chin and through crevasses in its armor. It spit out a chunk of flesh with strands of muscle tangled in its reinforced teeth. As it stepped back from its prey, its pointed blades withdrew from within the dead footsoldier’s chest. The unit’s faceplate sizzled, burning away blood and viscera and turning its vision bright red for a moment. It let out a fierce howl, launching itself forwards with a speed unmatched by any two-legged infantry.

Just behind it, its handler finished off a tank pilot attempting to crawl away from its craft. The hound’s many sensors highlighted the remaining stragglers on the battlefield, and 2054 assessed the remaining threats as she ran. She spotted a wounded soldier training their scope onto her companion and raised her weapon, disintegrating the enemy’s face with a single clean blast. The hound bayed its gratitude before finishing its run, speeding between rocks and debris and eliminating the last few soldiers.

One, two, three, blood gushed from their chests as 1156 pounced on them, puncturing their lungs and tearing out their throats in quick succession. RDI-H.2054 watched and basked in the adrenaline - her brain had not been upgraded to manage her auxiliary’s entire suite of sensors, but they shared many core sensations. They both felt the rush of war, the warmth of blood on their faces, and most of all an immense wave of satisfaction and even euphoria. Nothing felt better than killing together - an entire battalion laid to waste at their hands gave them a jolt of dopamine that felt better than orgasm.

They were never awarded for their feats, nor did they feel the need for any such recognition. Deep in their programming they didn’t fight for any cause or nation, or even for their commanding officer. They fought merely to tear and bite alongside each other, to see the fear in their enemies’ eyes and feel their life drain out at the will of the hound of death and its handler.

Standing together in the remains of a decimated army, they surveyed their work. The air smelled of blood and the familiar scent of plasma-scorched air. 1156 playfully rammed its armored face into its handler’s chestplate, grunting and drooling red down her torso. She laughed and rubbed the top of its head, sending microscopic ripples of pleasure down its spine.

>GOOD JOB DARLING

[the-fools-route]

THE FOOLS ROUTE

Chapter 3

Google docs isn't working so I don't know the word count. 😐

Expect grammar mistakes

----------------------------------------------------------

" Rise and shine! "

Portia opens the curtains, filling the room with light. I pull the covers over my head, it's way too bright right now.

" Not a morning person huh? Maybe I can convince you to get up with some breakfast? "

I slowly pull the blanket from my face.

" I might be interested."

She laughs at that. She sets a silver tray on the dresser next to my bed. It's filled with warm flaky pastries.

" I also brought a fresh set of clothes for you to wear. "

She sets the clothes pile on my bed, and she looks at me funny.

" Are you ok? You look like you're thinking of something important. "

The golden corridors still cloud my mind.

" Just a weird dream. "

She makes a sound of acknowledgement.

" You have a pretty free day today, all you really have to do is join milady for dinner tonight. I have to leave to run some errands. But till then, the world is your oyster! "

The door clicks and all is quiet. But my mind is not. I cannot stop thinking about last night. I usually have weird dreams, but this one takes the cake. Candlewick lightly lifts his head, swaying. He first slowly surveys the room, then trots to the edge of the bed and slides off. He lazily wanders around the room, exploring his new domain. I pull my phone from my pocket, the battery level is still the same. Strange. I sigh heavily, loud enough to make Wick look at me.

" What do I do now? "

Candlewick sits, as if he was thinking. He then trots to the bed pawing toward the folded clothes.

" Yeah, I should probably change. "

I've been given loose steel blue pants and a lighter blue top. The sleeves are wide and flowing. The outfit clashes with my red shoes, but I don't mind much.

" You know, for a cat you seem to understand me pretty well. "

He rolls on his back ignoring me. The platter Portia left me was fairly large, and very expensive looking. I trace the intricate designs of the silver platter with my finger. There were 5 pastries, some with what looks like fruit jam inside. Don't get me wrong, I love fruit. I'm just picky about how I eat them. Jam is a no no. I take the most plain looking bread roll. I be careful to not drop any crumbs on the floor, which proved to be more of a problem then I thought it would.

I leave my room to explore for the day since I'm not very busy. Candlewick trots close behind me, he seems to be a great travel buddy. I'm glad I'm not alone. The halls are brilliantly lit by the golden sun. The silk curtains gleam and the floors I swear were mirrors in their past life. The halls are much more lively than they were yesterday, people with big hats and bigger feathers adorned on them walk the halls. Some are holding papers or baskets, and some wave at me. I shyly wave back. I really don't belong here, I'm like a stray dog. At least dogs are cute. I explore different rooms, and believe me there are plenty of them here for me to stoop in. I found a a room filled with instruments, and another with chairs and couches. I hope nobody minds that I'm snooping around.

I eventually find large double doors that lead into an empty ballroom, a very big empty ballroom. A glass dome ceiling lets streams of light in, sending gold streaks to dance around the room. I Imagine the light morphing into people in regal dresses and suits, spinning and gliding effortlessly across the floor. It's beautiful. I personally don't know how to dance, but it feel like the right thing to do right now. I pick Candlewick up and hold him in my arms.

" May I have this dance? "

He peeps.

" That's probably a yes. "

I spin around the room trying to copy the golden phantoms around me, it's not easy. I keep tripping over my feet, but I don't mind. I sing to Candlewick a song that doesn't exist here, something only known by me. He purrs contentedly, I swear he's swaying with me. A cloud passes over the skylight dimming the light. The gold dancers disappear leaving us alone. I drop Candlewick and bow, and I can't help myself but laugh. Who knew dancing could be fun? The cloud passes and the room is bright again.

" Where to now? "

He stares at me for exactly two seconds then takes off running to a door on the right. I chase after him.

" Whoa! Can't we just walk or something? "

I dont understand how he can run so fast with so little traction. He slips through a cracked door and disappears. I persue to to little avail. The aroma of flowers swirl around my head as I open the door. I must be on the balcony from yesterday. Large marble stairs lead me down from the balcony to the gardens.

Morning dew blankets vibrant flowers of all shapes and sizes, I recognize a few of them. Peonies, roses, lavender, so on so forth. I move at a slow pace around the garden beds trying to find where that dang cat went, I find nothing but the sound of the early birds and the first sunshine of the day. I end up not finding him in the end, but instead finding a large white pavilion with a table and some chairs. I take a break from searching, he will show up eventually.

A cockatoo lands on the table I'm sitting at. He hops around and surveys me with his red eyes.

" Hello there friend. "

He skips to my hand and nibbles on my fingers. I attempt to pet him with my other hand. He puffs up and hisses at me.

" Fuck you! "

I'm left absolutely stunned. He just cursed at me!

" Excuse me? "

He squawks at me and flys away.

" Well, screw you too bird. "

He taunts me from a tree branch, hopping around puffing his feathers.

" My my, such colorful language. "

I know that voice. I whip around to see Nadia behind me, I didn't even hear her approach me.

" Do you know that bird? "

She sighs.

" Yes, I believe he was my husband's. "

She doesn't look as if she was fond of his bird.

" He always had such a temper. " she sighs.

" Your husband or the bird? "

She looks shocked, I probably shouldn't have said that. I attempt to apologize, but she laughs.

" I believe both, if possible. "

She pulls a chair from the table to sit in.

" I believe I have found a friend of yours. "

She looks to the side were lo and behold, Candlewick emerges from a bush. I think he goes out of his way to give me a hard time.

" How has your time here been? Are you comfortable? "

My hands fidget underneath the table.

*Pick*

*Pick*

*Pick*

" I've been fine, I don't have any complaints. "

Her voice is so soothing, she's so easy to listen to. She looks to the sky and smiles.

" It's been a while since I've gotten a chance to sit out here, every time I have a moment to myself another problem arises. "

When was the last time she had a day to herself?

" You could take the day off, go into town, I'm sure nothing too horrible could happen. Worse case scenario a painting falls over. "

She looks at me with wide eyes. Then looks to the side, concentrating. A small sound leaves her mouth with finality.

" Then we shall go to town. "

" We? "

The streets are bustling with noise as people start their day. Shouting and laughing become white noise, almost unnoticed. Almost. Nadia had wrapped herself in a purple shaw to blend in with the crowd. I was dressed ths same, I had no title to draw unwanted eyes, well other than being a thief in that one specific market that I will be sure to avoid, but that's beside the point. I have an ( nearly ) blank slate.

I point out stalls with strange oddities that I had never seen before. The shiny items beckon for me like a siren calling to an unsuspecting sailor. We visit meny vendors selling high quality goods, Nadia has told me at least a billion times that i can get whatever I wanted. Yes, I saw meny nice things. And also yes, I picked up said meny things to admire them with my hands. Feeling the bumps and ridges on everything. But I had no need or want for such things, they're just nice to look at. Time flew by without acknowledgement, we had shared a lunch in some high-rated inn. We had made small talk about restaurants from home.

" So, the owners knew the food was unhealthy? And they sold it anyway? "

I laugh at Nadia's confusion.

" Yep. But everyone still loved McDonald's, as bad as it was. "

I pick at my food before me. I had a plate of some sort of spiced meat drowned in a sauce. I ate most of it but I honestly wasn't all that hungry. I don't want to say we were running out of things to do, but it felt as if we were. There was much more to be done, just not today.

" What do we do now? "

Nadia readjusts her shaw to ensure anonymity, but her eyes never leave me. Once she is satisfied with her disguise she takes my hand into hers and smiles.

" Why don't I take you to a tailor to get yourself outfitted to your preference. I'd love to treat you as a thank you, I haven't had this much fun in a while. "

*Pick*

*Pick*

*Pick*

I tear at my nails with uncertainty.

" Are you sure? Do we have time? "

She smiles that beautiful smile once again.

" With certainly. "

So Nadia took me to see a tailor.

She expressed mild worry, as she had never been to this peticular store before. She has high standards for such things, and wanted it to be perfect or it was just a waste of time in her opinion. Once we enter and observe the room to be empty other then the man at the front desk, she removed her "disguise". Two things happen.

First, the man behind the front counter froze for a moment and stuttered his welcome slightly. I bet he didn't count on seeing the Countess in his store today. Secondly, I wondered how the hell is her hair so perfect after being covered and walking around all day.

We are each lead to a room to be measured. I stood on a small platform in the middle of said room, it was filled with mannequins and long rolls of patterned fabric. The room was filled yet was still orderly. I had never been measured before, I just grabbed clothes from my local Walmart and called it a day. I felt as if it was mildly invasive but that was to be expected. Once the man was done he lead me to an even larger room with clothes, he told me they were my size. Or at least close too.

I'm surrounded by suits, evening gowns, and robes. I try on a dress or two. But I don't keep them, i'm not really a dress person. Makes me feel silly for some reason, but the idea of wearing one is nice I guess. If I did wear dresses, i want it to "feel" like me. I don't want to look in the mirror and see someone else. I don't quite know what I'm looking for, as of now I am simply grabbing clothes and trying them on. But nothing really sticks. Not until I find a white blouse. It has puffy sleeves that cinch at the wrists and a simple v-line collar. I back track through the clothes till I find a pair of very dark pants, I try both on. I tuck the blouse in for a cleaner look, yet it's still a bit plain. I search the clothing racks for something to add. A mannequin catches my eye. A leather underbust corset lies wrapped around the wooden waist. I trace my fingers along the strings. This will work.

I stand in front of a tall mirror admiring my work. My white blouse tucked into my pants, then wrapped in the corset. Dark brown leather boots with a pair of slightly lighter half chaps, for a bit of pizzazz. I look at myself in the mirror, admiring my work. Maybe I should find a pretty collar for Candlewick, so he can be fancy too. But that will have to wait, I have a bigger problem at the moment. I need to leave the changing room.

What if my outfit is wrong? What if it's not nice enough? My hand hangs over the doorknob shaking, trembling. I don't understand why I am so hesitant to be seen. Maybe I don't want to be judged. Candlewick leans against my boot, he's either comforting me or demanding attention. Regardless, it calms me. I place my hand on the doorknob, no turning back now.

I'd like to say that the changing room door creaked horrendously loud causing strangers to look at me, and that they turned their heads away with disgust. And that some random woman shielded her baby's eye in fear of it crying because of me. But that's not what happened. The door didn't make a sound, no creaking. It was silent. And the room wasn't filled with potentially upset people, it was nearly empty. Filled only Nadia and a man measuring her clothing size. The tailor barely notices me, Nadia on the other hand definitely saw me.

* Pick *

* Pick *

* Pick *

She smiles but says nothing.

I wait around awkwardly until she was satisfied with browsing the store. She waves her hand to dismiss the tailor. He leaves for a few minutes before returning with a few rolls of fabric.

" I summoned a carriage for us while you were changing, it's late in the afternoon and I don't want to tire you out. Our duties are not yet finished. "

*Pick*

*Pick*

*Pick*

" Ok. "

I respond in a small quiet voice, my nerves always get the best of me.

I had never been in a carriage before this. The seats were plush and soft, very inviting. They were a beautiful crimson, like a fine wine. Total upgrade from the hard dirty seats on the bus.

She pat the seat beside her, signaling me to sit. She gently lays her hand on mine, her rings feeling cool on my warm skin.

" You look beautiful in your new clothes, I only hope you shall allow me to spoil you in the future again. "

My face flushes red, I'm not used to such treatment. It made me feel weird. Tingly? I felt warm, I felt . . .

Loved.

The ride wasn't very long, so we were back by sunset. Nadia was pleased that nothing horrific had happened with her temporary absence, as was I. Nadia told me to have some fun before dinner so she sent me on my way. I wasn't really sure what to do, so I just wondered around. I walked with a bounce in my step, I felt like I was shinning.

I feel great here. At home, I felt like I was just some other ordinary teen. No one paid any mind to me. But here? I think I can make something good for myself.

I went to Lucio to show him my new outfit, he was expectedly unimpressed by the lack of "flair and gold ". But he did say it was nice. I told him about my trip with Nadia, and about the new things I had seen. He seemed sour, grumbling how Nadia never took him to town.

We had laid on the rug by the grand window and talked for a long time. He talked about a "red market" and how he loved to romp around and buy whatever he wanted. And I talked about video games I had played and movies I had seen. Lucio seemed quite content with himself, he practically melted into the carpet while I told him the plot of a Disney movie. His eyes were soft and his breathing was steady.

He looked happy.

I obviously couldn't stay forever as I had a dinner to attend, I bid fairwell to Lucio and left. I felt him follow me, although I couldn't see him i knew he was there. I found his dogs lounging about toward the staircase that lead to his side of the palace. I made sure to scratch their ears as I passed. I think Lucio stayed with his dogs because of a sudden feeling of loneliness that came apon me as I left.

I enter the grand dinning room to see Asra and Nadia talking amongst themselves.

" I'm sorry I'm a little bit late, I got lost. "

"With time you will be acoctomed with the layout. What matters is you are here now."

Nadia reassures me that all is well. Thank God, this place is a damn labyrinth.

The long table welcoming, Nadia sits at an end with an empty chair to her side. I'll be between her and Asra. Me and Asra haven't really talked much and I had a few questions. Nothing of importance, I'm just curious of his character. We are brought meals one by one. First a light salad, then some butterd bread, and finally a spiced fish. I'm not really a salad person. I don't prefer it with ranch, although most people do. And I hate croutons. Yes, croutons. But this salad? The one before me?

Heavenly. It was lightly peppered and had a dressing that wasn't overpowering.

This place is awsome.

We had nice conversations about our pasts. I shared pleasant memories of a rainbow xylophone I had when I was young. Asra spoke of adventures to far away places. And Nadia of her childhood home. Eventually Nadia got on the topic of her late husband. No one seemed somber when his death was brought up. Asra briefed Nadia on their recent findings regarding said event. I know it's not my place to ask, but I need to know. Half of his room is suffocated by ash. I want to know why. How do I ask this in a nice way?

" How did he pass away? "

Nailed it.

Asra didn't look uncomfortable, but he didn't look thrilled that I asked.

" 3 years ago my husband was murdered by his personal doctor. "

Time to ask another dumb question.

" His doctor? Was he sick? "

Asra answers my second question.

" He was affected by the red plague. It killed hundreds of innocents. Noone afflicted survived. "

They looked sad now.

" Meny of the deaths, were of people I knew. "

Hundreds? That's horrible. Was it because of the lack of modern medicine? How were so meny lives lost?

" We are still on a man hunt for the man responsible for my husband's death. Dr. Julian Devorak. "

. . .

I pause. Murder? No, not possible. He was so kind to me, to Asra. But Asra is looking for him? We saw him yesterday?

I look at him next to me, we lock eyes. The look he's giving me tells me to stay silent. Dont say anything.

So I said nothing.

[notamewsed]

Don't Blame Me - Chapter 9

Pairing: Enver Gortash x Tav (Original Female Character)

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Tags: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Power Imbalance

“You’ve certainly made a name for yourself, infiltrating Moonrise and bringing down Ketheric. Quite the achievement, I must say.” Gortash's tone carried a hint of genuine admiration, though it was impossible to tell how sincere.

“We only did what needed to be done.” Aurea met his gaze evenly, unsure of how exactly to navigate this interaction.

“Ah, modesty,” he mused. “But let’s not downplay your accomplishments. Rising above, claiming what’s yours. That takes drive. Not many have the will for it.”

“I assume you speak from experience?” She teased with a wry smile.

“Ambition recognizes ambition, my dear.” He chuckled, low and knowing. “I believe we could be allies… Friends, even.” His grin lingered as his eyes briefly appraised her figure.

“Friends.” Aurea echoed, her cheeks unwittingly burning. “You seem sure of that.”

“Of course,” he leaned into her, voice smooth and certain. “I’d be a fool to let such a formidable ally turn foe so quickly.”

“Especially given the current situation. Orin has a bloody vendetta against both of us now. We must seize her stone and control the brain, or face the city’s ruin. You have my word that I will do no harm unto you. Do I have yours?”

There was a moment of hesitation. The Emperor’s voice thrummed in Aurea’s mind. “I can detect no deceit. This alliance could serve us well. And if it does not, well, we need not honor it.”

“Imagine the power we could wield together, you and I, ruling all of Faerûn as gods.” He spoke, the words building with every breath.

Clearly this man was a lunatic, she thought. But, he was right in one thing. It would be reckless to make an enemy so quickly, especially one whose steel militia could kill them on sight. She stole a glance back at Gale, whose expression looked more pained by the second.

“Tell me you’ll at least consider it.” He implored, his gauntleted hand hovering over his chest.

“I will consider it.”

✵✵✵

A gown had been prepared for her. It was deep maroon in color with gold embroidery etched over the bodice. At first glance, the designs looked botanical, reminiscent of vines from a tree, but were in fact, serpents twisting over one another in elaborate knots. A sweeping cape detail descended from the apex of her shoulders down to the hemline.

It reminded her of the worn robe she’d cherished during her travels—bartered from the quartermaster at the Last Light Inn.

As she sat at the polished mahogany dinner table, Aurea wondered how long Gortash would keep her waiting.

There was a thread loose on the skirt of her dress. Her finger circled the offending string and twirled it between her digits, gently tugging at it.

Her mind churned with more questions. Had he discovered her trespass? Was this dinner merely a preamble to punishment? She told herself she had been careful enough, but Gortash was no fool. One misplaced detail and he would have known something was awry. But would he have suspected it was her?

Her grip tightened, and she snapped the thread free.

“You’ll have to accept my deepest apologies for the tardiness, dear.” Gortash slipped through the door.

“Is there a matter you wish to discuss?” Aurea asked, absently.

“Must I have a reason to invite my wife to dinner?” He replied, placing the pads of his fingers on the table before seating himself.

Aurea met his gaze in silence. Gortash took a sharp inhale through his nose in response, tension evident in the set of his jaw.

Check out the full chapter here:

[graceintheshadows]

Lucky ones - Part 2

[see @lordaeronslost for part 1]

The dagger gleamed on the coverlet, polished gunmetal with the smallest hints of blued steel showing through, like stars in the night sky.  The moonstone in the pommel glowed dimly, like Elune set high on a winter night.  The pieces that matched it were laid out to either side and she stood at the edge their bed, staring at the weapons laid out across the blankets.

“Roiya.”

She nearly flinched at the gentleness in her husband’s voice, wondering how many times he’d said her name before she’d heard.  The distraction—no matter the source—that had swallowed her whole was unforgivable.

I’ve gotten soft.  Perhaps dangerously so.

Of course, that had been by design.

“We’re sure they’re safely settled?”  She half-turned toward Keydyn, her brows knitting.  “That nothing will—”

“Siryn will be with them this time,” her husband said, setting aside his whetstone boot dagger.  “And Lord Sam and Lady Mina will be there, too.  They’ll be fine while the rest of us—”

“That’s what we’ve said a dozen times,” the priestess said with a deep sigh.  “More than that, even.  And sometimes it hasn’t been that way.  It hasn’t been fine.”  Her lips thinned slightly as Keydyn’s hands settled on her arms.  For a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“What’s really bothering you?” he whispered.  “It’s not as if you’re actually capable of staying retired.  You’ve tried three times and it hasn’t stuck.”

“This could have been the time,” she said with the barest trace of wry humor.  A lump built in her throat and she stepped closer, leaning into his chest and inhaling the scent of woodsmoke and leather.  “I just thought—I thought it would be different.  This wasn’t in my plan.”

“What was?”  Keydyn rested his cheek against her temple, wrapping both arms around her as her head settled against his shoulder.  “Were you intending to go out hunting for—”

“Yes,” she whispered.  “No.  I don’t know—maybe I was.  Maybe I was going to make a request of someone to—to do it.”

“We knew that something bad was going to happen,” he said softly.  “The minute Jude got that letter, we knew.  I suspect you knew sooner than that.  Did he...?”

She nodded slightly.  “He did, but the warning wasn’t as stark.  I don’t know why.  Maybe he expected me to be able to glean more information from what wasn’t in the note than I did.  Perhaps he thought Elune would grant me insight.  Damned if I know.”

“Do you think he’ll join us?  Be called up like we are?”

Roiya took a slow, deep breath and shook her head.  “I don’t know.  Based on everything I know, I’d assume that he has duties that will keep him closer to home and considering that we don’t know exactly what kind of situation we’re going to be walking into...no.  No, Keydyn, I don’t think they’ll be calling him up soon.  Not unless he comes as a volunteer.”

“While the rest of us are voluntold.”  He shot her a grin and pressed a kiss to her jaw, then feather-light one to her lips.  “At least we get to go into this with family.  Speaking of, are you ready to eat?  I heard a rumor about one last big meal tonight before we have to finish making ready.”

“A last breath before the storm,” Roiya said softly, glancing back at the weapons laid out on the coverlet.  “Hopefully they’ll be able to see us off from Stormwind.”

“I’m sure that arrangements are already in the works,” Keydyn said, squeezing her one more time before he released her.  “Does she know?”

Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed.  She knew who he meant.

She shook her head.  “No.  But by morning, she will.  Would you like me to...?”

“I’ll have something to send with yours just after dinner.”

Roiya nodded, letting one hand trail down his arm until their fingers wove together.  “We’ll make time,” she said softly.  “To make up for it.  The three of us.”

“And then the five of us,” he said softly, fingers tightening for a moment.  “This time, you’re stuck with me, Roiya Shadowpaw.  Whether you like it or not.”

The ghost of a grin curved her lips as she stared back at him.  “Bold of you to assume that I’m the one stuck, Keydyn Silverstag.  I am far more of a handful than you are.”

The ranger laughed and dragged her close again, slinging his arm across her shoulders.  “We’ll see about that.”

“Will we?”

“Certainly.  And so will any damn spider that tries to come between us.”

“Hell.  Any fate that tries to come between us.”  She reached up to run her fingers along his cheek and jaw.  “I love you.  You know that.”

“I know,” he agreed.  “And you know the same of me.  I came back from the dead for you.”

“You came back from the Dream for me.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up into a smirk.  “A little bit of both.  At least that’s how Nikus explains it.”

“Speaking of—he’s coming with us, isn’t he?”

Keydyn frowned, glancing toward the door.  “That’s the impression I got, but you know him.”

“I certainly do.  We both do.  But this—”

“I know.  We’ll have to see.  Have to find out.”

“Yes,” she said softly.  “Yes, we will.”

She didn’t like the idea of the druid staying behind.  They’d need both he and his daughter both in the field as healers at the very least, regardless of the magnitude of what they’d end up facing.  That was still an unknown beyond knowing that it would be nerubians.

To what end and what fresh war they were walking into, the priestess-assassin known as Shadowgrace wasn’t certain.  All she knew was that after three attempts at retirement, she was headed out again to war.

[fanmoose12]

Help pleaase help where are you I'm losing it here I need a very fluffy levihan actor au now please I'm worrying about my mental health or what's left of it

inspired by this adorable art!!

"Is this-" Levi huffs, as he tries to evade Hange. Fully unsuccessfully, "-really necessary?"

"Yep!" Hange grins and pops open the cap of a marker.

"You'll ruin this thing, though," Levi warns, in another futile attempt of discouraging Hange from her crazy idea. "Costume designers won't be happy about it."

"Oh, they can yap all they want. I won't be there to listen to them anyway."

"But I will," Levi complains.

Only for Hange to wave his complaint off. "I'm sure you'll manage just fine. They all adore you."

"They don't adore me. They just don't hate me like they do you, because unlike you I don't steal or destroy nearly every item of-"

"Levi." Hange says, voice gaining steel a bit. "Shut up and let me do it."

"But why?"

"Because I think it'll be funny. Think of it as my last dying wish."

"Dying wish?" Levi snorts. "It's your character, who is dying, not you, Hange."

"Well, after ten years of playing them... it almost feels like we're the same person."

"Go to your therapist and sort it out then," he grumbles. "Why I must be the one to suffer?"

"Leeeevi," Hange whines, dragging the vowels of his name and making that stupid expression of hers. The one with pouty lips and puppy eyes. The one he never knew how to resist.

Damn her.

"Fine," Levi surrenders, plopping down on a chair so Hange would be comfortable to... do whatever it is that she's intending to. "But don't draw some crude shit."

"Crude shit is your expertise, my dear," Hange croons, as she hovers over him, with marker in her hand.

Levi accepts his fate and sets back a little, relaxing in a chair. All in all, if he ignores the risks of costume designers getting mad with him, it's not the worse of fates. Hange's hand on his shoulder is warm and gentle, the slight tickling sensation that marker creates on his skin is surprisingly pleasant too, and the sight of Hange - so comically concentrated that she's even slightly bitting her lower lip - is so endearing that Levi feels warmth spread through his chest.

"It's a shame they took off the bandages from your mouth," Hange complains as she finishes her work. She stands up straight, admiring it for a bit, before continuing, "I would love to draw something there too."

Levi tsks and turns to the mirror. What Hange has drawn is a line, slightly curved one. As though the eye of his character is closed in content.

"The smile would fit perfectly in there," Hange murmurs, her eyes meeting his in a reflection.

Levi turns to face them properly, and- gives him a real smile.

"Will that do?" he asks, his smile widening when Hange presses her lips to it.

"That is even better," she says, eyes crinkling as smiles at him in return.

Hange moves then, as though she means to let go of him. Levi doesn't let her, wraps an arm around her waist, and keeps her there, hiding his face in her chest.

"You'll still visit me, right?"

Hange caresses his hair for a bit, before leaving a kiss on the crown of his head. "Don't know. Will they even let me get on set?"

"If they won't," Levi mutters, his voice turning much coarser, the hand on her waist - firmer, more possesive, "I'll quit."

"You'll quit?" Hange laughs, surprised and fond at the same time. "Just for measly me?"

"Just for you," Levi agrees, pinching Hange in a side a bit for the 'measly' part. "Or otherwise I'll go crazy. That dick Zeke is scheduled to shoot some scenes with me next week, and if you won't be there..."

"Ah, you need a mediator in your never-ending conflicts?"

"And someone to hide the body in case the conflict goes a bit too far."

"Let's hope it doesn't get that far," Hange chuckles. "And, Levi?"

"Yeah?"

"Action star or not, I'm expecting you to be home by six. I'm making dinner for us tonight."

"Oh? Something delicious?"

"You bet your ass it is. So you better not come late."

"I won't," Levi promises.

"Great!" Hange beams, leaning to kiss him once again. "I'll see you in evening then?"

"Yeah, I'll see you, Hange."

[gatheredfates]

scrubbing up nicely | elandervier auclair

Do you want to read all of my FFXIVWrite prompts? You can do that here!

SUIT. a set of outer clothes made of the same fabric and designed to be worn together, typically consisting of a jacket and trousers or a jacket and skirt | enhance the features, figure, or character of (someone)

When Rexonus Fira’lux asked her to be his advisor, Elandervier knew that would entail things she did not like. Dressing up to entertain a handful of Ishgardians was certainly one of them.

She did all the things one might expect when avoiding such a gathering: made excuses and double booked, feign sick to no avail — she flatly told him no at one point (or, more specifically “Absolutely fucking not; not over my dead body”) — and, even still, he gave her that look that told her she was not going to be let off that easily.

“Do you trust me?” He asked her the night before, cashing in on her vulnerabilities when they were tangled up in bed. She stared at him, amaranthinean eyes narrowing into suspicious slits that spelled her inner thoughts so keenly. Trust him to put her in a good mood before he crashed it all around them.

“I don’t have a choice,” she answered, which was as much as yes as he was going to get. He smirked at her and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

Fucking bastard of a miqo’te.

She could even remember the last time she attended a proper dinner. Certainly not since she left Ishgard and, even then, her father liked to claim she had a knack for ruining such affairs as he drove a steel-capped toe into her boot. Elandervier dressed in silks of pretty black, pulling part of her hair back in a loose plait — her mother might be pleased she remembered, if she wasn’t busy revolting at how messy it was.

When the knock came, echoing in the dank walls of the basement she called home, the witch sighed and pushed herself to her feet. She smoothed out the wrinkles of her dress, committed herself to a contented daydream of watching his company be devoured by voidsent, and made her way towards the door.

In hindsight, she wasn’t sure what she expected.

Most of her experiences with Rex heralded from a different life. More for him than for her, minus being a vagabond, and though he dressed well within his company walls, the suit was an entirely different affair. Black as midnight with a blood red tie, his equally red hair hanging loosely around his eyes as he fiddled with a cufflink, jade eyes cutting up as she opened the door. She stared. He smirked.

“...You scrub up nicely,” she finally offered, offended and annoyed in turn. That prompted him to chuckle.

“Course I do, darling,” he purred, dripping confidence as he unfurled his hand for her to take. “Well, shall we?”

[tandeeee]

Hmm 2 and 5 for the durgetash asks thing?

2) Did they ever meet or see each other before Gortash attempted to find the Chosen of Bhaal? OH BOY...Felix is an old soul, he's been around Baldur's Gate for about eighty years. There's a few times he crossed paths with Gortash - one being giving the much younger boy a coin or two when small Enver Flymm was reduced to begging, which had a certain devil raising an eyebrow in interest. After his return from the Hells Gortash spent a lot of his time setting up his network and came across Bhaalists more than once but never the blond himself until the fateful meeting in an alleyway. I feel like the gate is a big place and Felix is such an anti-social (...serial murderer) that kept to himself most of the time. 5) Their favourite 'strictly business associates' bonding activity on a Saturday night? Please don't leave out any of the bloody gory details. Gortash's research in illithids and brain related items had required the bhaalspawn's efforts in kidnapping the right kind of person for study. Sometimes they'd go to bars together to pick out a subject for later on in the night when Felix would stalk and take them in the midst of the night to bring the victim back to one of the many safe houses the arms dealer had. If Gortash had a more specific subject in mind he'd generally send letter to Felix on who, what, when, and where to find them for later that night. It was all manners of people, ages, races, the like, and Felix was always happy to provide. Then its a whole lot of Gortash showing Felix what parts are what in a brain and Felix intently listening to Enver spill his hyper fixations to him. In turn Felix showed him how to exactly take a person *apart* which did wonders in the designs of the Steel Watch later on. He'd also show which parts of the body tasted best but alas, Enver always declined on dinner served by the bhaalspawn for good reason.

[the-present-is-a-gift-au]

Chapter 34: In Which Darkrai is a Tattle-Tale

Kip woke up sprawled at the edge of a dig site, his blurry vision not helped by the dim light of torches set into tall poles only marginally keeping the site from being shrouded in complete darkness. Their flames were weak and sputtered as they struggled not to die out entirely, and even in his groggy stupor Kip rushed over to renew their flames. An inventor had designed them to burn indefinitely, not needing anything but time in the sun to renew their fuel reserves. At nightfall, they would automatically spark to life and keep the dig sites Kip and his team worked on perfectly lit. That wasn't to say the curious torches weren't without their flaws— they needed to be relit manually every so often as a sort of technological hiccup.

Kip didn't think anything strange of the situation he was in. It was often a task that fell to him to relight the torches before dinner— he wasn't much of a cook, but he knew how to tend to the torches well enough to claim it as a chore that spared everyone his presence in the kitchen tent. So he went to work sparking them into renewed brightness with the flint and steel he always kept handy in his archaeologist's bag.  

No, he didn't think anything strange of the situation he found himself in. But then he looked down at the dig site at his feet. 

He fell back in a startled flurry of limbs when he saw the familiar runes of the rainbow stoneship below him, breaths coming in terrified gasps. He had practically memorized them on that awful ride away from where Twig vanished before his eyes while he clung to her and sobbed, begging her not to leave him. What was going on? Why was he digging here of all places? Where was his team? Why was—

“Ah. I hadn't thought that this would be a worrisome setting. You'll have to forgive the mistake— It's not often I try to make a nightmare comfortable.”

Why was he hearing Darkrai's voice behind him?

Kip whirled around as the scene melted and his surroundings shed themselves like a second skin. He was standing in a dim cavern with no exits, Darkrai himself standing several yards away. He shot into action, launching a forceful blast of water in the direction of the wretch who had nearly ruined the world, harsh enough to bore through stone—

—but then the water harmlessly fell to the ground in a puddle, barely splashing a droplet just shy of Darkrai. 

“None of that, thank you,” the Legend huffed. He added in a murmur under his breath, “I thought he'd be more willing to talk things through than she was…” then spoke up. “I'd like to speak with you.”

“I don't have anything to say to you, you monster!” Kip spat. 

“I thought so. Thankfully, I don't require your response—” He barely dodged Kip’s next blow, a powerful punch that he swung his full weight into. “Enough. I don't want to have to restrain you. I came to have a civil discussion, not to fight.”

“What is there to discuss? You're back and we have to stop you again, but this time we know what we're up against, and Twig won't be stuck protecting me now that I can hold my own. Now face me!”

“Stop.” He evaded several more blows, catching Kip by the arms and holding him in place against the cavern wall. “I do not want to face you, I want to tell you something important—”

“Let go!” 

“It concerns your partner.”

“What are you talking about? What concerns—” He froze. “What did you do to Twig?”

“If you’d stop so desperately trying to engage me in combat, I could tell you. Are you done yet?” He asked, radiating a potent exasperation. 

Kip didn't answer, but didn't launch into another strike when released. Darkrai drifted away several paces, hands still slightly outstretched if Kip made another move to attack, but relaxed when he remained in place. 

“Your cooperation is appreciated,” Darkrai said, voice lofty and almost sarcastic in its tone. “I am not not a man who finds meddling in his nature, but this instance requires it of me. Your partner has behaved in increasingly worrisome manners, and it has forced my hand. You need to speak with her.” 

“Wh—” Kip struggled to get out the words he wanted. “Why in the… What the heck are you talking about?” 

“There was an instance in which we had a… confrontation. She expressed a desire for me to kill her, and stated I'd be doing her a favor by doing so. I had assumed it was a means of spitting in the face of death, but having observed her in other circumstances…” 

Kip furrowed his brow, absolutely bewildered by this conversation. 

“I worry. That is all I will say. I worry for her, and I request that you keep a watch over her that accompanies my own— as well as request that you speak to her candidly about the concerns you no doubt hold yourself.” 

“I don't…” He opened and closed his mouth several times. “You wanted us to kill ourselves, and now you're worried because you think Twig is suicidal.” 

“I don't suspect it is an active desire, but yes. It is concerning when one holds such a craving for so permanent a reprieve from their concerns.” 

“You wanted us to kill ourselves,” Kip stressed. “And now you’re— What changed? Why act all of a sudden like you care? Is this a trick?” 

Darkrai hesitated. He hesitated. Kip could barely believe his eyes when he saw him glance away in discomfort. 

“Answer me. What changed, Darkrai? I don't— I don't trust you. Why should I? Why shouldn't I think that this is a mind game to get Twig to consider…?” 

He finally met Kip's gaze. “She brought to light that I've been wrong in a great number of things, most of all in how I thought the world a place that deserved to burn. Your partner showed me kindness where she could have shown me spite. I intend to return that debt.” 

“What debt? What are you talking about?” 

“Ah.” He seemed nearly startled by his question. “How to explain it…” Pausing, Darkrai considered how to respond. “I believe both Grovyle and Twig herself mentioned her having taken in an amnesiac roommate?” 

Kip was so shocked he jerked awake in a flash. 

***

Twig couldn't deny it any longer. It was so painfully obvious, and she couldn't ignore it anymore, because there was no way around it— ever since his afternoon nap, Kip had been staring at her weirdly. She couldn't shake the feeling that he had questions he wasn't asking, but was near bursting with the urge to say. 

He pulled her aside after Dusknoir set out to meet with Magnezone and the magnemites while Celebi and Grovyle went out for a walk to get some sun. “Hey, can we talk?”

An icy dread speared Twig through the gut. “S-Sure, what's up?” 

“I'm sure it's nothing, but— um…” He fidgeted nervously, not meeting her eyes. “How have you been? Since the whole… Not-Cresselia thing?” 

Frick. Heck. Dang. “Fine. Why?”

“I just… I know that it really freaked you out that one time when you thought I'd— y’know?”

(Twig unwillingly recalled how she'd thought Kip had heeded a disguised Darkrai's urging to sacrifice himself for the sake of the world. The panic and grief that she'd felt then was unlike anything she could ever put into words. It was a numb, aching, hollow pain that swallowed her whole, and she had sobbed deep and hard enough to turn herself almost inside-out when she found him safe and well as he watched the sunrise.)

“Yeah, it was freaky. I don't want to ever go through that again.” she murmured. “Why bring it up?” Her eyes widened. “Kip, are you—? I love you, alright? More than I can say. I couldn't imagine life without you. Don't ever even dream about—”

He put up his flippers in a placating gesture. “No, no! It's not like that! I just— uh—” He frowned, rubbing the back of his neck to ease his anxiety. It was a tell of his that Twig knew all too well. He didn't want to say this next bit, whatever it was. “I just… I wondered if you maybe… I was wondering if you were thinking about that sort of— route personally.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Are you okay? Really, Twig, are you? Have you considered…?”

Twig gaped at him in silence for a long moment, dumbfounded. “No,” she finally said, voice a squeak even though it was mostly true. She hadn't considered such things in a long time. Not seriously, at least. She still had those urges when she upset someone, thinking that they would be happier with her gone, but she knew that it wouldn't accomplish anything if she actually acted on it. They wouldn't know the difference if she was there the next day or not. She might as well stick around and try to make amends as a result. 

Kip watched her quietly, a sorrowful look in his eyes. He didn't believe her. 

“I mean it, man. I'm not thinking that way anymore. I'm fine—”

“Are you really fine, though?’

“Yes,” she stressed. “I've got my problems, but that isn't one of them. Not enough to worry about it, anyways.”

Kip took a moment to respond. “You'll tell me if it ever gets worse, right? And I'll tell you if I ever feel anything similar. Promise?”

She bumped her fist against his curled flipper in a silent affirmative, then nodded. “You got it, buddy. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

He gave her a look of horror. 

“It's a saying,” she hurriedly explained. “Not literally. Just a saying.” 

“Oh. Okay. Gotcha.” Her friend fidgeted nervously for a moment, then threw his arms around her in a hug. “I love you, Twig. I love you a lot. I can't handle the thought of you being gone.” 

She blinked a couple times, startled, and patted his back. The hug made her bones ache with longing to melt into the kind gesture, but she managed to hold up an unaffected front. “I love you too, man. I'm— uh— I'm gonna go for a walk.”

“Alright. Be safe.”

“Will do.”

Twig was going to have a breakdown one of these days. She knew it. With their farewells bidden, she hastened outside to catch her breath, uttering a quick prayer that she wouldn't bump into anyone while she felt so fragile. 

[alannacellucci]

The Breakers Newport Mansion —

Built by Cornelius Vanderbilt II, one of the richest men in America, The Breakers is the grandest of Newport's summer "cottages." The Breakers was everything a millionaire of the Gilded Age could want in a summer getaway. The Breakers was built from 1893-1895 to replace a smaller, wooden house that had been destroyed by a fire. To reduce the risk of another fire, Vanderbilt and his wife, Alice, commissioned architect Richard Morris Hunt, a leading architect of the Gilded Age, to design the new structure of steel, brick and limestone; utilities such as the boilers were placed underground and away from the house.

The Vanderbilt's summer home was modeled on Italian Renaissance palaces with open air courtyards, the finest American and European craftsmanship, and modern technology combined to make the ideal setting for luxurious living and entertaining.

——————————————————————————

The Breakers Great Hall —

The GREAT HALL is the largest room in this house, measuring approximately 50 feet wide by 50 feet long by 50 feet high. The ceiling is painted to look like the sky, which along with the large doors that open to the ocean breezes evokes the feeling that you are outdoors. Looking up at the ceiling, you will see four blue-green medallions with the acorn and oak leaf inside. This is the Vanderbilt family symbol of strength and longevity and can be seen in many places throughout the house.

Many parties were held in this room over the years, with the first being in 1895 for Miss Gertrude Vanderbilt. Over the years, this hall was the scene of tricycle rides and sliding down the grand staircase on silver dinner trays by children in the family.

The house stands as a symbol of the Vanderbilt family's social and financial power in 19th and early 20th century America - a period known as The Gilded Age, when the nation became a world economic power. The Vanderbilts were prominent in the worlds of society, sport, business, fashion, and cultural life. The term, "Gilded Age" referred not only to the great wealth produced by vast economic and industrial growth in the years following the Civil War (1861 - 1865), but also the social changes and inequities that were growing at the same rate as the American economy. This wealth was seen in opulent buildings and the Vanderbilts were among the country's greatest builders.

[samsinghhinwick]

Sam Singh Hinwick House

Hinwick House is a magnificent Georgian mansion located in the picturesque countryside of Northamptonshire, England. Built in the early 18th century, the property has undergone numerous renovations and restorations over the years, including an extensive refurbishment in the 21st century that transformed the interior spaces into a luxurious and modern retreat.

The interior design of Sam Singh Hinwick House blends contemporary and classic styles to create a sophisticated and inviting atmosphere that celebrates the property's rich history while embracing modern comfort and functionality. The designer carefully selected furnishings, fabrics, and finishes that complement the architectural features of the house and create a harmonious and cohesive design scheme.

Upon entering the house, visitors are greeted by a grand foyer that sets the tone for the rest of the interior spaces. The foyer features a soaring ceiling, intricate moldings, and a stunning crystal chandelier that adds a touch of glamour to the space. The designer chose a neutral color palette of whites, creams, and grays for the walls and floors to create a serene backdrop for the furnishings and art.

The main living areas of Hinwick House are designed for entertaining and relaxation, with ample seating areas and plenty of natural light. The drawing room is a highlight of the house, with its tall windows, ornate fireplace, and elegant furnishings. The designer chose a mix of traditional and contemporary pieces for the space, including a plush velvet sofa, a pair of classic armchairs, and a modern glass coffee table. The walls are adorned with a collection of artwork that adds color and texture to the space.

The dining room at Hinwick House is equally impressive, with its high ceilings, intricate moldings, and dramatic chandelier. The designer chose a round table and upholstered chairs for the space, creating a cozy and intimate atmosphere for dinner parties. A large mirror on one wall reflects the light and adds depth to the room.

The kitchen at Hinwick House is a chef's dream, with state-of-the-art appliances, ample counter space, and a large island for food prep and casual dining. The designer chose a mix of materials for the space, including marble, stainless steel, and wood, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere that blends seamlessly with the rest of the house.

The bedrooms at Hinwick House are designed for comfort and relaxation, with plush bedding, soft lighting, and elegant furnishings. The master suite is particularly luxurious, with its king-sized bed, sitting area, and en suite bathroom. The designer chose a mix of fabrics for the space, including silk, velvet, and linen, creating a sumptuous and inviting atmosphere.

The bathrooms at Hinwick House are equally impressive, with their high-end fixtures, luxurious materials, and spa-like atmosphere. The designer chose marble, glass, and polished chrome for the finishes, creating a sleek and modern look that is both functional and beautiful.

The library at Hinwick House is a cozy and inviting space, with its built-in bookshelves, comfortable armchairs, and warm lighting. The designer chose a mix of leather and fabric for the furnishings, creating a comfortable and inviting atmosphere for reading and relaxation.

The outdoor spaces at Hinwick House are equally impressive, with their manicured lawns, colorful gardens, and stunning views of the surrounding countryside. The designer created several seating areas for outdoor entertaining, including a covered terrace with a fireplace and a poolside lounge area with comfortable chairs and umbrellas.

In conclusion, the interior design of Hinwick House is a testament to the skill and creativity of the designer. With its blend of classic and contemporary styles, luxurious materials, and attention to detail, the house is a stunning example of modern luxury that celebrates the property's rich history and natural beauty. Whether relaxing in the elegant living spaces, enjoying a gourmet meal in the dining room, or unwinding in one of the luxurious