#terra cotta steps

[fairdig]

Patio Brick Pavers Mid-sized southwestern backyard brick patio design with an addition to the roof

[laineydiemond]

Photo of a mid-sized southwestern full sun front yard stone landscaping.

[biggsunko]

Exterior Stucco Phoenix Idea for a medium-sized Mediterranean yellow stucco exterior home with two stories and a tile roof.

[compelamaserati]

Austin Pool

Image of a medium-sized transitional backyard fountain with a rectangular lap pool and concrete pavers

[themightyif]

Dining Room - Mediterranean Dining Room Large image of a dining room enclosed in Tuscan terra-cotta tiles with white walls, a regular fireplace, and a stone fireplace.

[magisource]

Portland Tropical Landscape Inspiration for a mid-sized tropical shade front yard mulch landscaping in summer.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Interesting 1933 Spanish Colonial in Riverside, CA. 4bds, 3ba, 2,734sqft, $995k.

There's a nice porch at the front entrance.

Enter, and a few steps down there's a sunken living room.

The large living room has terra cotta floors and a wood beamed ceiling.

The fireplace is so unusual- it's set into an arch with several sculpted niches.

The double glass doors on the front porch open to a foyer where they've got a writing table.

Dining area outside the kitchen is both for formal and casual dining.

The kitchen's nice. The black countertops contrast nicely with the lighter wood. It's sort of a wide, modified galley style.

This bedroom has a nice wood ceiling.

Bath with built-in storage and original terra cotta tile.

This bedroom has room for a comfy chair and a desk. It has access to the patio and small den.

It's a cute little room to relax in.

Nice tile in the remodeled bath.

Look at this- they've got a music studio.

The covered patio has a nice brick area.

Large deck that is covering the patio.

Casita with an outdoor tub.

There are some lovely paths to walk around the property and this one leads to a swinging bed.

The hillside home has a great view from this higher patio.

And, it even comes with a little cave. (Potato shed?)

.74 acre property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3240-Pachappa-Hl-Riverside-CA-92506/17844406_zpid/

[fameandfiction]

IMAGINE PART I: “Nipple Theory” — Reneé Rapp x Reader

— Chaotic makeup session.

You knew agreeing to let Reneé do your makeup was going to be a thing, but you didn’t expect it to be a full-blown theory.

It starts with the sound of a drawer slamming.

Then a gleeful gasp.

Then—“Oh my GOD, remember when lip liner was supposed to match your nipples?! Like... that was the trend. That was the whole aesthetic. That’s where we were as a society.”

She turns to you like she’s discovered the Library of Alexandria. Except instead of literature, she’s holding a stubby pencil in a shade called “Bare Seduction.” You’re sitting in her bathroom, legs curled under you, robe slipping off your shoulder, while Reneé rummages through a bag of expired Glossier products like a witch brewing lip combos.

"Reneé, please—"

"No, no, no. You don’t get to 'please' out of this," she interrupts, spinning on her socked heel, gum snapping between her teeth. “This is sacred. This is nipple-coded. I’m taking this seriously.”

You give her a look — half-exasperated, half aroused. She’s wearing boxer shorts and a sports bra, her hair twisted up in a claw clip, and she’s dead serious about your cosmetic alignment with your areolas.

"You act like I have a Pantone chart of my boobs lying around," you mutter.

She squints at you. “Do you not? Amateur.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. Reneé Rapp has this way of saying the most absurd things like they’re law — like she’s the Greek chorus of hot girls and all of them are behind her, cheering.

"I’m not taking my top off just so you can match lip liner to my chest."

She clicks the pencil cap off dramatically. “Then describe them.”

“Reneé—”

“Warm rose? Cool blush? Terra-cotta titty? Give me something to work with.”

Your hand flies to your face in secondhand embarrassment, but your cheeks are already heating. Of course. This is so her. There’s not a single moment in your friendship where boundaries haven't been bent like wet mascara wands. It’s part of the charm. Or the chaos. Both.

She chews her gum like a devil at the gates of Sephora.

"Fine," you sigh. "They’re like... mauve? Kind of dusty pink. Not too bright. Definitely not coral."

She beams like you handed her state secrets. "Thank you. That wasn’t so hard, was it, baby?"

Baby. There it is again. She throws pet names around like confetti, but somehow when it’s just you, when it’s quiet and she’s standing over you with her wrist at your chin and her tongue in her cheek, it doesn’t feel harmless.

It feels... intentional.

She leans in. Close enough to count her lashes. Close enough to see that little freckle under her left eye twitch when she’s concentrating.

“No talking,” she says, all serious now. “This requires surgical precision.”

You sit still. Lips parted. Breath steady. Her fingers are warm when they cradle your jaw, tipping your head back like something delicate. The pad of her thumb brushes your bottom lip before the liner ever does.

And then — slow, careful strokes.

You feel the drag of pigment against your skin. You feel the shift of air between her chest and yours. The scent of her — vanilla lotion, coconut hair oil, peppermint gum — folds over you like a blanket made of everything you’ve ever wanted to taste.

"You’ve got good lips," she murmurs, not looking at your eyes. “Plump. Naturally lined. It’s unfair. You could ruin someone with these.”

You arch a brow, but your mouth doesn’t move. She’s right there, pencil tracing the edge of your cupid’s bow like a map she’s memorized.

"I’m starting to think this whole thing was an excuse to stare at my mouth," you whisper.

She doesn’t flinch. “And you’re only just starting to think that?”

Another stroke. Another pause.

You can feel her breath when she exhales — soft, sharp, amused. Her eyes flicker up to yours, and for a second, neither of you moves.

The vibe between you ripples. Lowkey. Tense. Familiar.

“Okay, I’m done,” she says, stepping back, but her voice is a little too breathless. A little too proud.

You blink yourself back into the moment. The mirror shows you something... different. Polished. Sharp. A little sensual. The lip liner does match. You’re not sure if it’s the color or the context that makes your throat dry.

“See?” she says, hip cocked, gum snapping. “Nipple theory never lies.”

You smile despite yourself. “You’re such a menace.”

She leans in again — much closer this time, eyes on your mouth. “Yeah. But admit it... you’re kind of into it.”

Then, just before you can think of something smart to say, she kisses your jaw. Right below the corner of your mouth. Lip liner and all.

“I should name the shade after you,” she murmurs against your skin. “Call it... 'Muse Mauve.’”

Your body goes still.

Reneé steps back with a wink. “Perfect match.”

[rwac96]

Prompt

Professor Au

8 months of carrying their first child, weiss finally given birth to the baby girl, jaune was there with her providing support, in the waiting room friends and family are waiting to meet Arc-Schnee love child, when nurse said it was ready to meet the baby, jaune's mother rushed in pushing her son aside.

"Oh, my Gods," said a relieved Jaune Arc, his ocean eyes staring at his newborn daughter with Weiss. "She's...She's beautiful."

"She is," Weiss nods lightly, holding the swaddled infant. "Hello, sweetie." The Middle Schnee coos to her baby.

"Hey," Jaune says in a similar tone, reaching out with his finger to touch his daughter's cheek, who gurgled in response.

---

"Gawds!" Nora groaned as she lay against one of the chairs in the waiting room, "How long does it take to squirt a baby out?!"

"Nora!" Ren calmed his wife down, "It takes time."

"Oh, Gods," the hammer-wielder grimaced, her teal eyes moving down to her own slightly swollen stomach. "I'm dreading when it's my turn."

"It's not so bad," Terra Cotta Arc said, sitting next to Saphron while their seven-year-old son was sound asleep. "I mean, it was painful when I gave birth to Adrian."

"Mama!" Squeaked a blonde, cat-eared toddler sitting on Blake's lap. "I'm tirsty."

"Okay, Nala," Blake reaches into her violet bag, pulling out a sippy cup and handing it to her daughter.

"I hope Weiss' okay," Ruby Rose said, clutching Oscar's hand as she worried for her best friend and teammate.

"I'm sure she'll be okay," the former host of Ozma spoke up, "she's been through worse."

"Childbirth's different, Oscar," Yang pointed out, "my first memory: Mom screaming like a banshee when Ruby was comin'."

"YANG!" The leader of Team RWBY's cheeks reddened at her sister, who snickered in response.

Then, the doors opened, and a nurse stepped out. "Ladies and gentlemen," she spoke, "you can now see the baby--."

"FINALLY!!" Juniper "Mama" Arc screamed as she rose out of her seat and rushed towards the delivery room, despite her age and the protest of the nurse. "I WANNA SEE MY NEW GRANDBABY!!"

"Uh," Adrian opens his eyes due to his grandmother's outburst, "is my new cousin here yet?"

[novankenn]

Ice Cream Social?

A snippet from "a Mafia" AU

Pyrrha Nikos, formerly the Goddess of Death. Once the Invincible One. Was NOT happy, and very uncomfortable. Jaune Arc, the former target of a contact killing that she had only a couple short months ago attempted to cash in on without her mother's knowledge, was dragging her into a "Mom & Pop" Ice-Cream Parlor. The once assassin now "secret" girl-friend was VERY uncomfortable in such social gatherings.

"Jaune can we?" Pyrrha tentatively asked as they prepared to enter the establishment.

"Pyr?" Jaune asked, his voice indicating his confusion at his "bodyguard's" resistance. "Is something wrong?"

"No... maybe... yes?" Pyrrha stuttered out.

"Ah... huh?" Jaune raised an eye brow. He withdrew his hand from the action of pushing open the establishment's main door. "That was... confusing. Is there something wrong, Pyr? You know you can tell me anything right?"

"Anything... su... sure. I... know that." Pyrrha replied, while her in her mind she pictured Jaune's mother and sisters giving her a glare. Pyrrha KNEW she couldn't tell Jaune the reality of the world, that she was part of, and that his family was shielding him from.

"Pyr?"

"It's just... just I feel underdressed... and I've never... gone to one of these before." Pyrrha's voice faded from tentative to barely above a whisper as she answered.

"It's an Ice Cream social, Pyr." Jaune informed her. "It's not a big deal, just a bunch of us spending money on ice-cream to help a local charity."

"But... still..." Pyrrha stammered, a slight embarrassed blush coloring her cheeks. It was a combined reaction, one from not knowing how to be average and normal, along with the fact she was acutely aware of Jaune's hands cupping own.

"Wait here." Jaune smiled, that warm goofy, comforting gesture. Pyrrha's heart skipped several beats every time he used it on her.

"Jaune?" Pyrrha asked suddenly wishing he hadn't released her hands.

Her scroll buzzed in her pocket as Jaune stepped through the door, leaving her alone outside. Pulling it out after loosing sight of Jaune in the crowd gathered in the shop, she opened the messaging application. It was a message from Terra. Jaune's sister-in-law, and a member of the legendary Sisters of Mercy. A fact when revealed caused Pyrrha to seriously question many of her life choices.

"Stop being a fraidy-cat and woman up, Nikos!"

"What? How? Where?" Pyrrha typed out in response.

"Inside. To your left." was the repsonse.

Pyrrha looked up from her scroll and in the direction instructed. There seated at the counter running the length of the massive plate glass windows was Terra Cotta-Arc. Eating a rather large and overly topped sundae. Pyrrha actually was surprised at just how many toppings the dusky skinned woman had piled onto the dish. So many in fact she couldn't even tell what flavor of ice-cream she was eating.

Terra smiled at the former assassin, as she took another heaping spoonful of toppings. Raising her free hand she wiggled her fingers at Pyrrha, before dropping her hand back to the table and typing something out on her scroll.

"You need to woman up there, Goddess. You won't catch Jaune's eye acting like some pre-teen school girl."

"I am not!"

"Yes you are." Terra replied. "You fell for him, not step up and stake your claim before some skank steps in."

"I would never let that happen!"

"There's that fire!" Terra replied, "Now... oh never mind."

"Huh?" Pyrrha responded, until she head the bell chime as the door was opened. Looking up, he blush became instantly nuclear. In a complete replay of their first face to face interaction Jaune was standing before her, a simple, plain ice-cream cone held out to her.

(Commissioned Image by @pilot-boi)

"Ja... Jaune?"

"Here Pyr." Jaune stepped forward holding the slowly starting to melt creamy treat. "I made my donation, and got you a treat. We can go somewhere else, if this make you that uncomfortable."

"I..." Pyrrha hesitated. Her scrolled buzzed, and she took a quick glance. It was another message from Terra.

"Pussy. Take the cone!"

"Pyr?" Jaune questioned, a look of concern, "I thought you liked vanilla? Did I mes..."

"NO!" Pyrrha shouted, startling Jaune. He almost dropped the cone, and if it wasn't for Pyrrha's honed reflexes it would have been lost to the sidewalk. "Thank you."

Jaune's faltering smile returned twenty-fold, making Pyrrha almost swoon, as he lifted the cone with a shaking hand and gave it a lick. Pyrrha actually preferred cookies-n-cream, but each time Jaune got her vanilla... it tasted like heaven.

"Good girl. ;-)" appeared on her scroll. Pyrrha hurriedly stuffed the object into her pocket before reaching out and tentatively taking Jaune's hand.

"Want some?" Pyrrha asked her cheeks glowing a vibrant red, as she held the cone out towards Jaune.

Jaune didn't lick the cone, but instead took a bite off the opposite side that she had been licking. His goofy ice-cream coated grin making Pyrrha's heart fluttered.

"Want to go for a walk in the park?" Jaune asked.

Pyrrha nodded, as she let Jaune take her hand, and when he wasn't looking twisted her cone about and took her own bite off the side of the cone he had. She felt her scroll buzz, and buzz and buzz. Obviously her little action didn't go unnoticed. Pyrrha was dreading what those messages would say once she looked at them. Taking another bite from her cone, she let Jaune lead the way towards thier next destination.

[dogteath]

Did anyone say isward summer themed fluff??? No????? HERE

“Isa, baby, just let go.” Edward tried his best to put on a tender tone, despite wanting to laugh.

“It is *not* funny.” Isaac shot back, a crack in his voice. His feet desperately tried to cling to the smooth concrete wall of the pool, knuckles turning white clinging the terra-cotta rim.

“You’re in the shallow end, Isaac. You’re short, but you’re not that short.” Edward laughed once, shaking his head a little.

“Fuck you!” Isaac whined, splashing water on his boyfriend. The shorter boy had failed to notice he took his hands off of the edge as he did so. Edward tried to hold in another laugh as the boy in question noticed he could actually stand in the shallow end, like Edward had said.

Isaac glared over at the other boy, taking a few cautious, slow steps towards him after a moment of contemplation.

“That’s it, come to me. Just look at me.” Edward opened his arms, as if he were right there. Edward was, in fact, not right there. He was about 5 feet away, and it was the most frustrating distance Isaac had ever dealt with.

Isaac groaned, eventually having to move on his tiptoes. He paused for a brief moment, before actually beginning to swim, the movements of his legs weak and uncertain.

No matter how much he swam, Edward stayed 5 feet away. It was agonizing. He had that smile on his face that Isaac wished he could call shit-eating. But it was genuine, it was proud. And it made his stomach squirm.

Edward was graceful in the water, surprisingly enough. Even though he was a bigger guy, he managed to show off by pushing off of the walls of the pool and doing little spins from swimming on his back to his stomach as he did so. Isaac could come over to his house just to watch this, even if it meant having to deal with Geno. Geno loved to tease them about their relationship, and always pretended to gag whenever he saw them touching.

This swimming was of course, Edward showing off, but Isaac loved it. One wouldn’t ever get that information out of him, but the point still stands.

Edward made it look easy. Edward made *everything* look easy. And it was the most captivating, yet angering thing all at once.

“Would you stop backing up?” Isaac panted from the effort of keeping his head above the water.

“Just keep going, Isa. Soon.” Edward hummed.

Isaac’s eyes were fixated on the space between his chest and where his arms were out paddling, but he could hear a smile on his boyfriend’s face in the way he spoke.

“Don’t you dare turn. You stay there.” Isaac demanded, clenching his eyes closed for a moment, trying to forget how silly he must’ve looked from outside the water.

Just as soon as this torture had started, it was over. He was in Edwards arms, feeling his chest underneath his cheek, breathing calmly.

“You made it.” Edward murmured warmly, stroking the blonde boys hair away from his face. “That’s was faster than last time!”

“It was *not.*” Isaac protested, even though the praise made his cheeks warm.

“It was! I counted!” Edward retorted, nodding.

“You actually know how to count past ten, *Eddie*?” Geno called from the upstairs window, overlooking the backyard.

“Aye!” Edward barked, the remark from his little brother making his eyes move away from his partner for a moment that felt too long for Isaac.

“You said you wanted to go to the children’s museum tomorrow, I’m not driving you if you tease. You’re a big kid now, you don’t tease.” Edward called back, pointing in an accusatory manner, up at his little brother.

“Buhhh, meh meh meeh maah muh!!” Geno made a taking hand puppet, rolling his eyes incorrectly before backing away from the window to do something else.

Edward sighed, shaking his head. “He’s not as much as an asshole as *I* was when I was eight. I don’t remember being that much an ass, at least.

“You still are.” Isaac commented, trying not to smile at his own sass.

“You still are, eeehh.” Edward pitched his voice up mockingly, sticking his tongue out.

“Uh-huh.” Isaac nodded tiredly, trying to soak in the feeling of being held above water by his boyfriend without making it obvious. He then pointed to the ledge that separated the deep end from the hot tub. “Can we…?” He trailed off, trying to initiate an unspoken tradition they seem to preform whenever they did swim practice.

Edward nodded, still holding the smaller boy to his chest as they passed into the hot tub.

The tradition was simple. If Isaac did ‘satisfactory enough job in the pool’ he got to make out with Ed in the hot tub after. It started off as one of those things that just ended up happening, and then it kept happening. Not that anyone was complaining.

“Te deseo, mi amor.” Edward mumbled, and Isaac immediately listened. there was this nagging worry in the back of his mind that sometimes he was too needy for Edward. That thought was always chased away the second Edward began to kiss his neck the way he did, like he wanted to burrow inside of him.

Isaac shut his eyes slowly, easing softy into the feeling of the hot water and his partner’s bare, wet chest. Feeling Ed breathe as he kissed him, trailing all the way up to his ears then down to his collarbones.

It was a moment like this, with each other, away from all the noise, in the time between golden hour and blue hour, where the both of them truly knew bones deep that they were completely safe.

Every second felt long and short all at once. A couple minutes felt like hours, but the hours passed too quickly.

The sky got darker, the first hints of the few stars that could outshine suburbia showing face.

“Eddie,” Isaac near-whispered, reluctantly pulling himself out of the trance he was in.

“Mm?” Edward responded, not moving from his relaxed position against the edge of the tub.

“I don’t wanna go.” Isaac hesitantly admitted, the anxious part of him waiting for the ‘I know, baby, but you gotta.’

It didn’t come. Just as Isaac was about to lift his head, Edward put a hand in his hair and redirected him back down.

“Don’t. It’s not like I don’t have room for you in bed.” He then responded. “Don’t go. Stay tonight. Please.”

Isaac let out of breath he didn’t know he was holding in, unable to control the smile that was forming against his wishes. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. We might have to play Mario kart with Geno before bed. Don’t go easy on him.”

“I won’t.”

[vague-humanoid]

When I stepped into John Roe’s apartment early last December, slipping off my boots at the elevator that opens into the home, it wasn’t immediately clear that people inhabited the space, let alone a child. The four-bedroom, four-and-a-half bath Manhattan residence looked like a showroom. In the living room, a white minimalist couch with no arms confronted two white bouclé chairs. White couch, white lamps, white walls. Even Roe’s wife, Cherry, wore white. Charlotte of the Upper West Side has no dust, she told me—unlike the couple’s previous home, on the sixty-second floor of the Four Seasons Private Residences. Above my head, gentle classical music issued from invisible speakers.

Roe, a ruddy Asian man who wore a pink polo shirt tucked into khaki pants, is the developer of this nine-story brick and terra-cotta building, named after his daughter. His goal, Roe said, was to create the most immaculate and sustainable indoor environment possible. He obtained a Passive House Institute certification, which recognizes when buildings minimize the energy used for heating and cooling with airtight seals and insulation. (Such measures can decrease energy consumption by up to 90 percent.) To reduce residents’ inhalation of volatile organic compounds, Roe employed nontoxic building materials. Indeed, the star of Charlotte is its air. Each unit sports its own Swiss-engineered ventilation system, called Zehnder. On an iPad, Roe showed me the app that gives residents control over what they breathe.

The building’s approach to filtration is undeniably sophisticated. The air in each unit isn’t shared with any other. Outside air is brought in, filtered, treated with an ultraviolet-C light that kills 99.9 percent of pathogens, and completely changed out once per hour. Circulation can be boosted or slowed. Most apartments with similar systems recycle the air every four to five hours a day. “We were thinking, if we’re already going to build a Ferrari, then why would we only give it a 200-horsepower engine?” Roe said. “Let’s put a 1,000-horsepower engine into it.” The quadruple-layer, triple-paned windows feature museum-quality glass and are generally opened only for cleaning. Otherwise, you’d let in air far dirtier than what’s circulating inside.

At night, when Roe’s family is sleeping, it “smells like you’re camping, because the fresh air is getting pumped in at such a rapid rate,” he said. You know the air is good, he told me, because the hydrangeas last. Typically, when cut at the stem and arranged in a vase, the delicate flowers wither and droop in a few days. In his apartment, the blooms will stay perky for nearly two weeks.

@karpad @ubernegro @redstarovermoundcity @socialistexan

[howlingday]

So a Knightfall prompt: Cinder can't stand children and babies. Her rough upbringing and their constant needing is pain for her to handle. But she is meeting Sarrfon,Terra and Jaune's favorite little guy Adrian. So she has to fake till she makes it. Or gets Baby fever after a disaster of watching Adrian and yet still loving him.

Cinder Fall was far from a good person. She'd done many an unsavory thing in her life. She'd lied, cheated, stole, and did anything and everything she could to survive, and even then some when her life wasn't already in danger. In the eyes of many, she was a monster. However, to her boyfriend, Jaune Arc, she was... Well, she was still awful, but she was making amends now.

Still, she didn't deserve such torture. She sat in the living room and watched as Jaune played with cars and trucks with his nephew, Adrian Cotta Arc. The young Arc scion was barely four years old and was already the most terrifying person in the room to Cinder. She couldn't explain it, but children made her feel more uncomfortable than any person or creature she'd encountered, and yes, that's including the Grimm, Neopolitan, and Tyrian Callows.

"Oh, I gotta take a call."

"No!" The child shouted. "You play!"

"It's work, buddy, I gotta." Those beautiful blue eyes fell on Cinder and filled her with dread. "Can you play with him?"

"M-Me?" Cinder felt chills over her body. "I don't think that's such a-"

"It's just for a couple minutes. Please, Cinder?"

"I..." She looked to the toddler, who was staring at her with wide eyes. "What are we playing?"

"Thank you, honey." Jaune then walked away, pulling free his scroll as he stepped out. "Hey, it's me."

"Are we... playing with trucks, or..."

KCHOO! Cinder flinched at the sudden sneeze from the youngling. Snot and drool dribbled from his face. He rubbed his face with his sleeve, smearing mucus all over himself. Suddenly, Cinder wasn't alone with a child, but with a biological weapon that threatened her immune system. He looked to her, as if he were expecting her to react some way.

Taking hold of the tissue box, if only to defend herself from the goo-covered child, she plucked a tissue from its contents. She then got closer and began wiping him. He started to giggle from it, even as she was wiping around his face. He was enjoying being cleaned after, the little monster. Tossing away the wipe, she looked to him once more.

"So... what are we playing?" She asked, silently hoping he didn't sneeze as a response again.

"Shoot!"

"Excuse me?"

"Shoot!"

Cinder looked outside, seeing Jaune still on his scroll. A few minutes he said. If it was only a few minutes, it was the longest she'd experienced. She then looked to Adrian, who'd gone to his toy chest and pulled free a toy gun. In one hand was a projectile with a suction cup. He handed them both to her, which she took as a sign to help him load the weapon. Off-handedly loading the toy, she handed it back, though cautious of him shooting something in the house and breaking-

POP!

"Ow!" Cinder rubbed her lips, having been shot by her traitorous, little charge. He handed them back to her, expecting her to be dumb enough to fall for the same trick twice. This time, though, she held onto the gun and pointed it at the back of Jaune's head. This wouldn't kill him, of course, but it would be funny. After a few seconds, as he turned towards the window, she fired on him, making him jump. Adrian squealed with joy, partially from the scare and partially from the suction cup sticking to the mirror.

Suddenly, she felt Adrian tug at her dress. He wanted a turn to shoot his uncle. Giving a smirk, she handed plucked the "bullet" from the window, loaded it into the "gun," and handed it to him. Jaune, now fully aware of the events inside, stood at profile, occasionally eyeing the two. Another shot was fired, another scare for the uncle, and another laugh from the toddler.

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

"So, what did you think?" Jaune asked.

She could have asked for clarity, but she didn't because she didn't need any. She knew he was talking about Adrian. The child left an unquestionable impression on her, though it wasn't all good. And she wasn't one to lie to Jaune. Not anymore, anyways.

"He's cute." She said flatly, like it was a fact rather than an opinion. "But he's also disgusting."

"What, because he sneezed?"

"He didn't just sneeze." Cinder argued. "He exploded with snot then soaked himself with it." She shuddered.

"Never took you for a germaphobe." Jaune chuckled. "But yeah, kids can be gross."

"I wasn't." Cinder said.

"Well, we can't all be perfect, Cinder."

"Nobody can." Cinder replied, tossing her hair. "At least not as perfect as I am." Jaune rolled his eyes. "But he is cute."

"Have you ever thought about having kids?"

"I have." Cinder answered. "But don't get your hopes up, Jaune. I can't stand children, even if they were mine." Jaune gave a grunt in reply. "Although..." Jaune looked to Cinder, who was looking back to the Cotta-Arc residence. "I'm willing to make an exception for him."

[regulus-books]

183 words - spring - @jegulus-microfic

Regulus wakes up in the morning to a rough crashing noise, startling him. He immediately rushes out of the warm covers, skipping steps down the stairs and swinging into the kitchen.

His unruly haired husband is standing in the middle of the room, face paused in a grimace, his hands stuck in place. A pot is shattered on the floor, shards of terra cotta clay are scattered all over the room. The anxiety that was settled in Regulus' stomach withers away rather quickly.

James' eyes finally meet Regulus', an apologetic look in them. "I'm sorry, Reg, it was supposed to be a surprise." He frowns, standing back up to his full height.

"What're you doing, hm?" Regulus walks up to him, wrapping his arms around James' neck, as James' fall to his hips.

"I was gonna plant your apples, you know? Spring's coming up."

"That's okay, Jamie. Now we can do it together. But you're cleaning this up first, okay?" Regulus smiles, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss on James' lips, a wink and then back up the stairs to brush his teeth.

[conditioned-to-obey]

i'm a submissive type, but i think i should take a step back from subbing for a while and just be alone. i don't know if i can do this anymore. i've been abandoned by multiple doms in the past. how can i sub if i don't trust them(a new one)?(rhetorical question, i can't) how do i know the next won't? i am filled with sadness and strangely rage(i think) i feel i may be overreacting

That is completely understandable, doll. You are not overreacting, you are saying how you feel in this moment of hurt and loss. It is natural, as in any relationship to feel guarded and ambivalent. Treat this as an opportunity to be gentle with and for yourself. You can put down all the heavy stuff and come back to subbing when you feel you are ready. It'll be there when you return, if you so choose to.

It'll be alright, give yourself time to heal and plenty of room in your new terra cotta pot to grow. The old one may just be too small to fit all of the healthy growth in store.

Wishing you the very best, doll.

[waiting4winnie]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐞.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 💟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭��𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 : 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫.

“Mmhmm… the years have gone by fast,” Arielle agreed, her tone sickly sweet to mask the lack of enthusiasm behind her words.

“We’re the only ones holding down the fort, honestly,” Mara went on, swirling her wine. “Everyone else is either divorced or staying together for the kid. You, Dashawn, Evan and I—we’re the only ones still standing.”

Arielle listened, tired and detached, as Mara, one of her and Deshawn’s old high school classmates, rambled on about “the good ole days” and what she believed love to be. It was the same tired routine every Friday night: Deshawn would invite his old football teammates over to hang out, which meant Arielle’s former cheer squad would tag along too.

Being Westside High’s golden couple had been one of Deshawn’s biggest claims to fame. Being quarterback had been his identity. And Arielle? She was over it.

She glanced to her right where Deshawn stood, watching him with thinly veiled contempt. She was tired—tired of his charming smile, tired of his too-perfect teeth, tired of the fake charisma he put on for his friends. It was all so… exhausting. So bland. What kept them together anymore? Love? Or just history?

“Speaking of Kraven-Rayne… maybe you should bring her a plate, babe,” Deshawn said, breaking through her spiraling thoughts.

“Shit, eating egg-whites all day gotta be depressing,” one of his friends chimed in with a laugh.

Arielle nearly sighed in relief. Finally, a reason to excuse herself. A moment to breathe.

“Good idea, babe,” she said, offering Deshawn a quick smile before slipping away toward the kitchen.

Hilda, their maid, was already tidying up. She looked up with a warm smile as Arielle entered.

“Can I help you with anything, Miss Bryant?”

“Yeah, can you pack up three plates for me?” Arielle asked, moving past her toward the cabinets to retrieve a picnic basket she’d stashed away months ago.

“Of course, ma’am.”

The transition from her home to Kraven-Rayne’s was a blur. Deshawn had given her a lazy wave goodbye before being swept back into a loud discussion with his friends. Just like always.

And just like always, Arielle left—quietly, unnoticed, and already halfway somewhere else in her mind.

The drive to El Cerro Verde felt like slipping out of reality and into a forgotten dream. As Arielle left the manicured perfection of Sunvale Heights behind, the landscape began to shift—strip malls gave way to winding roads, thick with creeping vines and towering eucalyptus. The hills climbed higher, fog curling around the trees like a secret being whispered. There were no manicured lawns here. Just rain-soaked stone steps, tangled ivy, and buildings that looked like they had been swallowed by the forest and spat back out with character.

She parked near the base of a moss-slicked staircase and climbed slowly, heels clicking against the damp stone. Kraven-Rayne’s building stood tucked into the hillside, a two-story remnant of another time—its green-painted wood siding damp from the mist, and the wraparound balcony glistening with rain. Plants spilled from terra cotta pots, banana leaves swayed gently in the breeze, and wind chimes whispered in the distance.

Arielle adjusted the picnic basket in her hands and stepped into the corridor, where the scent of wet earth and incense met her. The tension in her chest loosened, just a little. Kraven-Rayne’s apartment sat at the far end, the golden glow of her window a soft contrast to the silver haze blanketing the hills. It felt a world away from Deshawn’s crowded living room, and that was the point. This wasn’t Arielle’s first time here but it would be her first time going past the curb. She usually stood in Deshawn’s car whenever he visited his sister.

With the picnic basket in hand, Arielle stood at the front door of Kraven-Rayne’s apartment and knocked. The instrumental of rock music poured through the door which caused Arielle to knock a little harder. The locks clicked and the door opened, revealing Kraven-Rayne.

The twenty-eight year old stood at five feet and eleven inches tall. Her build was stocky yet statuesque—dense muscle wrapped around a compact frame. Broad shoulders and a thick back gave her a commanding presence, while her biceps and triceps bulged with definition, like coiled ropes under her skin. Her arms weren’t just strong—they were functional, cut with symmetry and raw strength that hinted at the hours spent in dimly lit gyms and sweat-slicked spaces.

Her torso was solid, with a strong chest tapering into a firm, defined midsection. She carried herself with the ease of someone who understood her own body—how to push it, how to rest it, how to move with controlled power. Thick thighs and strong hips anchored her, giving her a grounded, athletic silhouette. There was nothing delicate about her build, but it was undeniably beautiful—a body that was lived in, worked for, and wholly hers.

Arielle stood in the threshold of Kraven-Rayne’s studio, momentarily taken aback by the sight of her. The low golden light from a corner lamp cast deep shadows across Kraven’s frame, highlighting the carved lines of muscle along her arms and shoulders. She moved with quiet force, every step grounded, her body dense with strength but fluid—like a panther in repose. Arielle had seen strength before, but not like this. Kraven didn’t just have a strong body—she wore it, lived in it, commanded it. Kraven-Rayne oozed masculinity without any ounce of its toxicity.

Her eyes dropped to the curve of Kraven’s thick thighs, the subtle flex of her abdomen as she reached for something across the room. There was an intimacy in watching her move, in the soft rise and fall of her chest under the worn tank she wore. Arielle swallowed hard, feeling suddenly aware of her own pulse.

“What’d you want?”she said finally—low, flat, without warmth. Her expression was unreadable, jaw locked tight, her hazel eyes blank was your emotion behind them.

“Hey Kraven…um Dashawn sent me to bring you some dinner.”

Kraven-Rayne stared at Arielle blankly for a few moments before she stepped aside.

Arielle hesitated in the doorway, unsettled by the stillness in Kraven’s body, the way she stood like a loaded spring. Even her gestures were spare, precise, like she rationed every motion. No hug, no smile. Just that deep, steady gaze that made Arielle feel both seen and pinned down.

As soon as she stepped inside, Arielle was met with the sight of tranquility and a bohemian oasis. The small space consisted of a large window that captured natural sunlight and moonlight perfectly. It had recently been covered with a creamy-white, almost-beige large linen curtain. Near it was a king-sized bed that sat on a low profile platform. Dark charcoal-grey covered the bed. Various floor pillows were scattered by the window near large planets.

Across from the sleeping area was a small kitchen. Basic white fridge, white gas stove, and farmhouse style-sink. Everything had been clean and the whole house smells of chocolate chip cookies. The home was the complete opposite of DeShawn and Arielle’s house. But, she liked it.

Here’s a refined version of your scene that enhances the personalities of both characters—Kraven-Rayne’s reserved, direct nature, and Arielle’s curiosity with a hint of budding desire. I’ve smoothed out the flow, tightened the dialogue, and added more subtle sensory cues to increase the tension:

“What does he really want? I doubt you drove two hours just to bring me leftover takeout,” Kraven-Rayne said coolly as she locked the door behind them.

“Um, actually, he did,” Arielle replied with a touch of attitude, then sighed, her bravado slipping. “Well… he said it in front of a room full of people, and I kind of used it as an excuse to bail.”

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at Kraven-Rayne’s lips. “The truth always tastes better than the lie.”

As she brushed past her, basket in hand, Arielle caught a whiff of something warm and indulgent—spiced amber, cinnamon with a trace of dark rum. She blinked, distracted by the scent and the faint heat that lingered in Kraven-Rayne’s wake.

“I’m not the most social person,” Kraven-Rayne said as she unpacked the basket on the counter. “But what’s the point of throwing weekend parties if you’re just gonna dip early?”

“They’re exhausting,” Arielle admitted, sliding onto a kitchen stool. “I’m either burned out… or overstimulated. Probably both.”

She tried to focus on the counter, but her gaze kept drifting to Kraven-Rayne’s back. The way her muscles shifted beneath her shirt—controlled, effortless, like she was always ready for a fight or something much slower.

Kraven-Rayne didn’t turn around. Just nodded once and tossed the container into the trash.

A beat of silence passed before Arielle spoke again. “Enough about that. What about you? Any plans this weekend? I figured you’d be at the gym right now.”

“It’s one a.m., Arielle. Gym’s been closed for hours,” Kraven-Rayne said, tone flat but not unfriendly.

Arielle opened her mouth, ready with a retort, but paused when Kraven-Rayne pulled open the oven and retrieved a tray of cookies. The rich smell hit her instantly—molasses, vanilla, something warm and unexpected.

“You bake?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Kraven-Rayne glanced over her shoulder, one brow slightly arched. “Sometimes.”

Arielle smiled, a slow curve of curiosity and something else. “Oouu, ok I see you…That’s kinda sexy.”

Kraven-Rayne didn’t smile back. But she didn’t look away either. Her eyes narrowed in on Arielle’s dimples when she smiled.

Arielle watched as Kraven-Rayne placed the cookies on a cooling rack with practiced care, her movements deliberate. It struck her how little she actually knew about the woman standing in front of her. “You always this quiet?” Arielle asked, elbow on the counter, chin in hand. “Or is it just when I’m around?”

Kraven didn’t answer right away. “Quiet people aren’t empty. We just don’t waste breath.”

“Hmm.” Arielle bit back a smirk. “That almost sounded poetic.”

Kraven turned slightly, eyeing her. “Don’t get used to it.”

Arielle chuckled under her breath. “Deshawn talks about you all the time. Swears you’re the only person he trusts.”

Kraven’s jaw ticked slightly. “He’s reckless. Trust doesn’t mean I agree with him.”

Arielle perked up at that. “So you don’t think the diamond job is a good idea?”

A pause. Kraven looked her dead in the eye. “I think planning a heist with a bunch of half-loyal players is how people wind up in a ditch.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, and for a second, all Arielle could do was watch the way Kraven leaned against the counter—calm, still, but somehow coiled like a loaded spring.

“You don’t think I’m loyal?” Arielle asked, voice softer now, a little more serious.

Kraven’s gaze lingered on her. “I think your loyalty has thinned as the years have passed.”

Arielle felt that one. She looked away, fingers grazing the smooth rim of her glass. “You’re not wrong. But he’s good to me.”

Kraven didn’t respond. She picked up a cookie and set one piece in front of Arielle.

“You can be good to someone and still lead them into bad places.”

The cookie was warm in her hand, soft at the center, just like the moment.

Arielle met her eyes again, and for once, Kraven-Rayne didn’t look away.

“I wonder what you’d lead someone into,” Arielle said quietly.

Kraven-Rayne didn’t answer. But her stillness spoke volumes. Her silence was sharper than a threat—more intimate than a touch.

@sapphicideas @richyys