#the area they lived in was just not built with shade in mind

[artvann]

day 3, style swap with lilith and ivanna

i love lilith sm. vampire architect

[tiredsmashbros]

"happy birthday, bluejay."

2k words ; tsari fanfic

"gAH!" tari yelped as she lost her grip on the wooden plates nailed to the tree. fear of adrenaline rushed inside her veins, glancing a peek below her, acknowledging the height and distance above from the ground. she didn't have a fear of heights, yet it still was an alarming issue to imagine in her mind what could happen if she were to fall.

"w-wOaH! bj, grab my hand!" tsb directed extending his arm out, using his stretchable ability to allow tari a more secure reach. "come on!" he exclaimed, assisting her up until she was finally standing on the wooden surface base marked on their destination. "heh, trying to fall again now are we?" the man chuckled in hopes of lightening the mood, referencing an inside-joke recall based on their first meeting, "but on your birthday? what kind of a crazy bird are you!"

tari giggled, relief dominating over her after finally arriving at the top of tsb's home. "i'm not used to climbing up!" she began, taking a break to catch her breath, "why'd you have to live up so high? it's challenging to come to visit you!" the bluejay spoke glancing her eyes to take in the view as she recovered. she could see the showgrounds perfectly where she stood, watching her friends play in the grass field, and even a clear view of smg3's coffee and bombs. it was just a marvelous view, pondering why she hadn't thought to come here more often. with the wind brushing onto her face, and the shade provided by the tree's leaves to guard from the sun it was evermore peaceful and quiet. her worries gone within an instant, it was relaxing to say.

"then i suppose you'll have to come by more often to see silly o'l me, huh?" tsb responded, opening the entrance door for tari to enter. "birthday girl first~" tsb flirted, forming an exaggerated body gesture for her to enter in. tari shyly smiled and nodded, making her way inside the blue and yellow man's humble abode.

as if it was her first, tari couldn't ever grasp how peculiar and unique tsb's home was structured. the outer appearance appearing as a regular small treehouse built from wood and nails. yet the interior, god the interior was like an entirely whole other world. seemingly cartoonishly larger, covered in bright light blue walls, white clouds painted onto them. additionally, small rainbows scattered around. a giant painted sun on the ceiling, accompanied by multiple small paper-shaped stars assisted with tape dangled down from right above. high enough where her standing wouldn't bother it, but not so high where you couldn't acknowledge them. the area was furniture filled with shelves of unused big and small canvases, all sorts of art materials neatly placed and organized, with the man's silly personality of individually colored beanbags to sit on, and nets filled with all kinds of plushies and toys. it felt like a dream house for an art child really. dried used paint splattered about here and there on the walls and floor adding color to the bright white room.

"still breathtaking for you, birdy? i thought it would still be boring even doing some minor edits here and there." tsb scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment noticing tari's positive expressive expression as she glanced the place up and down, side to side.

"are you kidding? how could i not be? any normal person would find this breathtaking! your place is an absolute dream house, tsb! it's bright, cozy, colorful, and a playground of endless creative creation! i can't get over how you can manage to create this all yourself! very impressive!" tari exclaimed, as her smile stretched up to her cheeks, really absorbing and giving a twirl around the space. excitement fueled her as he bounced about exploring the other familiar areas and all of its satisfying gleam of bright colors. it felt like she truly was up in the clouds or a figment of what she felt was a physical imagination of heaven.

tsb could only watch and giggle from the side. his heart was pounding in glee seeing the bluejay prance about in joy, admiring the work of art he's created for himself to call home. he felt an over beamed of satisfied joy he endlessly craved being appreciated. especially from her. a compliment from anyone would've still been appreciated of course, yet hearing those words coming from her felt like he could die at any moment. and he wouldn't mind.

after some time of tari exploring the area admiring all the nooks and crannies of tsb's dream-like treehouse, tsb finally directed tari to his bedroom. a place he... coming to the realization he had never shown her before up until now. the first time smg4 interrupted them cutting their time short, and other visits were with other guests visiting to do arts and crafts or play board games. yet this was the first since her first visit it was just the two of them. tsb grew nervously anxious as he tiled the sun-shaped knob of his door, allowing entry to the girl he admired most. it was just his room and he truthfully had nothing to hide, yet it was still nerve-racking for him, pondering about her opinion.

"t-this is my room-" before tsb could even continue to create a proper introductory description, tari jolted up in joy, squealing in glee rushing inside to admire the new room, eager to explore. it had the same vibe and aesthetic as the main entrance room, the entire treehouse quite frankly, yet this room specifically was more in the theme of tsb's main colors. yellow and blue! additionally, instead of the walls being painted or scattered with paint, they were filled with drawings drawn on paper of different mediums taped onto the wall.

entering the room revealed tsb's bed, filled with drawings of rainbows and clouds above as seen the theme all over the place. the bed is cuffed below of soft felted cloud-shape border with a uniquely colored placed rainbow for a bed frame. to the right side of the wall was a large window viewing of the sky, and next to it a tall dresser. accompanied by the wall where the door was placed, was filled with drawings she could recognize were drawn from her friends. boopkins, luigi, heck even some dumb doodles from smg3 she recalled tsb telling the tale of them hanging out one night.

the last wall to the left side of the room erupted with colors of different shades of green and brown. taken aback coming to the realization tsb's home lacked the color green almost entirely, let alone any color of brown other than the "disguise" from the exterior. illustrations of trees, squirrels, and small rodents, and what she could make out looked like a television. causing a shiver down her spine being reminded of mr. puzzles, yet these looked nothing like him. furthermore, they looked the same tv of a design with a nice chestnut brown with a cyan-like blue screen. some with hearts, some crossed out even wrinkled, and others... tari stared at it in confusion. she assumed it was an interesting relation due to tsb heavy interest in cartoon shows, he would watch several frequently with mario. however, something inside her told her it meant something else. as if it linked to-

"soooo what do you think, bluejay?" tsb queried, interrupting tari's thoughts. to the bluejay's surprise, he was resting on his bed in a crisscross position with his hands questionably behind his back slightly awkwardly.

"oh! i-it's awesome!" she quickly responded, trying to rid herself pondering over the mystery of this "tv". "i don't recall you ever showing me your room before. what gives! trying to hide more secrets?" she confidently spoke back, removing any possible suspicion. taking a seat next the the cartoony man.

"noo, of course not! just something i suppose i hadn't had the time to show you till now." tari rolled her eyes playfully trying to seem hurtful by his response. tsb giggled.

suddenly, he began to clear his throat, straightening his back, and shifting closer to tari with a slight struggle refusing to use his hands for support. however, fear rose inside as he wondered if he was too close to the bluejay, but she didn't seem bothered and instead mimicked his actions. receiving another giggle from the man feeling his face grow hot. "i uh," tsb began, "i have a gift for you! um..." tsb slowly unhidden his hands to reveal a bird-like figure in his palms. tari began to decipher it being a hand-crafted bluejay figure with a neatly small bowtie around its neck. yet she was utterly confused and speechless, it allowed tsb to continue his monologue. "i'm... not very good at making something supposedly grand like parties or cakes, for someone's orbit around the sun, but i do like handcrafting things for people i... um... admire most." tsb confident outward speech turned to stutters and quiet speech seemingly looking down as he could feel his hands sweat under his golden gloves. "i hope you like this gift-"

"of course i do!~" tari finally bursted into squeals having her hands turn to fists positioned up to her face in an attempt to hide her overly joyous smile. shifting her position to admire the beautifully hand-crafted bluejay more up-close. "it's so cute!~" she squealed once more feeling like she could feel herself almost cry from overstimulated happiness. "how did you use to make it?" she queried swiftly, staring at tsb's shades, eyes wide with sparks of adoration.

tsb only stuttered to find the words, his face growing hotter by the second hearing the beats of his pounding heart inside his ears. "i-i used cardboard to create the base of the shape... and um gluing layers of newspaper to give some texture... a-after painting it with acrylic- nO gouache a-a-and reusing some old thick ribbon i had in my scrapes to gave it a bow!" swiftly adding in the end, "y-you know! because it's a gift! cause it you're birthday! a-and purple to match your eyes! b-because your eyes are purple! oH and this is a bluejay, not a duck i-i-i-im not sure if that was obvious um-"

"it's perfect.~" tari softly interjected, cupping tsb's hands and lowering them down from their chests. "it's adorable of you think of me like that. i've never received a gift like this before... it exactly represents me and considering the thoughts you had i seriously appreciate the effort you put in. it's," tari couldn't help but giggle.

before tsb could muster to search for words to say thank you, tari kissed tsb on the cheek. "it's really cute. thank you.~" shots of physical cloud of air flew out of tsb's ears, face even red than the color red itself, stunned and completely flustered he sat there frozen. tari once again giggled seeing the clouds of smoke coming out of their ears like a real-life cartoon, yearning to see what more of a reaction she can get. she was always fascinated by tsb's strange cartoonish nature she just simply adored him more and more. nothing about him could ever bore her. 

just if by instinct, she removed her hands from tsb and reached out to remove tsb shades. settling it down by the bed, gazing admirably into his brown eyes as they were shifting animatedly to pink hearts back and forth. "t-tari-" tsb started, but was unfortunately cut off by someone outside. turning his eyes into pupils with red outlines from surprise.

"tari!" a familiar voice called, "TARI!" smg4 called again louder.

"smg4 must have the party essentials ready. we should go till he gets impatient hehe!" tari stood up from the bed grabbing the bluejay gift with one hand while the other grabs for the cartoon man's glove. 

"y-yeah..." he replied, still stunned by what happened. eventually after a soft tug from tari, he regained his senses and threw back his shades on. springing off the bed and following tari out of his room. 

"you think there'll be cake left after mario gets to it first?" tsb asked.

tari chuckled, "i doubt it." 

END

[ghostreblogging]

Hello! Thank you for applying for teacher's position for Amity park's Casper high!

We have a very close knit little place here. So there are rules to follow! We will go on the rules of the workplace in the next email!

As you will be moving here. There is well a set of very very recommended set of rules. I mean you won't get arrested but please do follow them.

You see you will be living in vermillion row. And we have set you up in a little flat .

Anyways , make sure to print the following rules out. Or save it. Just anyhow. Make sure to memorize it.

Rule 1.

Fentons seem to be are a very nice family. Don't mind the screams of terror from the basement. They like us have many skeletons in their closet. It's rude to go looking.

Rule 2.

No matter what you do. Don't go out after dark. There are things that go bumping in the night. They like the dark better.

Rule 3

After dark don't open your doors. Keep your windows locked. As we said there are things out there. And they will take in any invitation to get in.

Don't listen. They will try every trick in the book.

Rule 4

When the sky turns a green shade please make your way to the nearest shelter. Most big buildings and residential properties have a shield built around them.

The biggest shields include:

The Amity park mall

The Fentonworks

Casper high school

Please stay till the sky turns back to normal

Rule 5

If you hear destruction or static. Please go to sheltered areas mentioned in rule 4. But as long as the sounds of destruction and static are far away, you are free to continue on your day.

Rule 6.

The dead don't stay dead. So make sure to bury any animals people you've killed. It is also in good faith to bury a corpse in the open. Don't call the cops. They can't do much.

Rule 7.

If you see a disconnected shadow. Please leave the area as soon as possible and enter a place with a shield or a highly populated area. But if you are unable to do so run towards it. It is not guaranteed but this will increase your chances.

Rule 8.

Although it is not necessary. Please make an offering to phantom. We literally don't appreciate him enough

Rule 9.

Please keep any important items and documents In a bag or a folder. Not a box.

Rule 10.

If you see people that are clearly not human, please ignore them. The ones that you can differentiate are either the weaker or older ones. Either way it's not a good idea to let them know you can see them.

Rule 11.

If you notice any technology glow slightly green or produce an eerie humming noise. Dispose or give it to the fentons immediately.

Rule 12.

Don't light fires near the local fast food chain.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Four

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none, but almost main character death lol

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

I

Tom stayed away for a few days. He stalked around some other rare book stores but found none of what Caractacus Burke was searching for. Still, it gave ample enough time for her to forget about him. He needed to be out of her mind before he carried out his plan.

He sat at a café outside her store one evening, waiting to see her go home again. Not able to stand another cup of coffee, hot and bitter, he decided to try something he’d seen so many other locals eating. It was called ‘gelato’. A frozen treat, it looked like clotted cream and was eaten with a little spoon. Tom regretted ordering it the moment it arrived, but with each bite, he became a little fonder of it. It was cold and vaguely sweet with a drizzling of cherry jam on top. He reached the bottom of the cup before he even realised, and licked the spoon clean afterwards.

She stepped out later this time, at around six o’clock. Tom got up not long after but he didn’t follow her. His gaze trailed after her from behind a pair of aviator shades — her white shirt fluttering with each step, hair soft upon her shoulders — and let himself enjoy the view until she disappeared beyond the curve of a building that bent like a wave. Then he turned the other way, the way she came from.

The lamp lights were just coming on, bathing the marble a sulphuric yellow. He took his sunglasses off and tucked them in his shirt as he slid through the narrow street the shop was on. There was nobody around, but he could hear the echoes of other people through the walls of the nearby buildings. The area was a mix of domestic and commercial, small old flats and little shops which made it quite unpredictable. It was a very intimate setting, and dangerous for that very reason — few escape routes should anyone appear.

He peered through the glass first at the organised chaos inside, the clutter and piles of precious old things that lifetimes would not suffice to explore. Between them, Tom saw his reflection staring back. He aimed his wand at each lock and muttered an Alohomora. The spell let him in like butter.

The shop was just faintly lit from beyond the large display windows, rendering every book and smooth wood surface into a little sunburst. The air was light with dust, and dry, and cold in the way libraries often were. The pillars that held the ceiling high were cinder-black, and carved so finely that the wood seemed lace and pillow soft. A sweet scent lingered in the cavernous construction. It really was a marvellous atmosphere… Tom wouldn’t have minded staying if circumstances were different. His grandfather’s ring trilled around his finger.

Regardless of how old the building was, the interior was certainly built to order. It had a hint of the Victorian with a Renaissance flair. Tom had been in enough rich people’s houses to tell. It amused him how much they were all alike in taste, as if they were part of the same secret breed.

He stepped further in. The floorboards creaked and, looking down, a small amount of dust flew up. Curious. Perhaps it really didn’t get that many customers so often. The other shops he had visited this week all seemed to have at least another two clients while he was there… Strange, as this shop was bursting with books, and in an accessible location too. Tom could only guess that either they were prohibitively selective with their clientele, or the place had a bad reputation.

He found her ledgers tucked underneath the desk. They were split into three themes: Letteratura, Religione, and Esoterismo. He opened the latter.

It was detailed, thick, and finely indexed with the most minuscule writing. Instead of listing their catalogue, it listed all the authors they seemed to have an interest in, whether or not they held any of their books. Prices were next to certain volumes, along with purchasing dates. Others were annotated with the shop or collector that held them. From Agrippa to Cheiro to Crowley, from Novalis to Paracelsus, Roerich, and Sepharial, they had their eye on everyone. He turned toward the end, pale finger brushing through the T’s.

They had nothing by Tamisso, another author on his list, although they did have a copy of The Lost Word by Trevisan — a more recent edition than the 1870 one that Mr. Burke wanted, but still serviceable. But what he was really looking for was Torchia.

And he found him. A whole half-page was dedicated to him, even if the books were few and three-quarters of the space was empty. They must’ve expected to find more of his works in the future.

But as he was reading, the ring started feeling heavier, like its black stone wanted to pull loose. Oftentimes, the splinter of his soul that was trapped inside was a bit of a canary in a coal mine, more sensitive to changes in Tom’s surroundings than he was… He gazed suspiciously toward the ring and put the ledger down.

Tom looked up at the ceiling. It was tall and too dark to see, absorbing the most highly placed volumes like a black hole, like a void. Looking down, between the floorboards, the same infinite darkness. It occurred to him that perhaps the place was cursed. An unlikely idea given that it was a building belonging to muggles, but he’d seen stranger things. And after all, he still didn’t know who the owner was.

He looked at the catalogue again.

Torchia, A.

Key to Captive Thoughts, 1653 — four three copies

A Curious Explanation of Mysteries and Hieroglyphs, 1655 — one copy sold to H. Àristos, 1949

The Three Books of the Art, 1658 — one copy, private ownership → Luce

He scanned further down the line, and there it was: Delomelanicon.

It wasn’t written up like the others. It had no number, no mention of its year of publication, nor even where it was. All it had was a strange symbol next to it, like a plus sign with a downward arrow. Tom couldn’t guess what it meant.

But they had it, they must have. He closed the book with satisfaction and an overflow of greed, and carefully put it back in its place.

II

With the bookshop all to himself, Tom explored at his leisure. He stepped lightly, almost reverently, through its misty dusty rooms veiled by growing darkness. He cast Lumos when entering the second room, which had no windows to the outside world. A thick red carpet muffled his steps.

His first stop was at the section where she had searched for Helena Blavatsky, assuming the shelves followed the logic of the ledgers and were organised thematically as well as alphabetically. He pulled the ladder over and started to climb, holding the wand between the tips of his fingers.

Names spread before him, ancient and powerful. Some of them were only mentioned in the most proscribed of texts, others he hadn’t even heard of. It was one thing to see them listed so economically, and another to see their naked spines, crack them open, part them, and touch their wavy pages.

He had to pause once he came across a 17th-century copy of the Cyranides. How many men died for merely reading this book… What horror, what beauty. He turned to the page on the use of bezoars and smiled. The illustration braided around the page was of a watersnake, unmoving, done with an almost childish hand. It was from a more innocent time when such magical knowledge was a thing of fear and wonder, exclusive and yet renown, whispered about, admired. Not hidden away.

Holding the wand between his teeth, Tom pulled the ladder and himself a bit further to the right. Its wheels were loud enough to make him wince.

He found a wealth of books in this place that made him feel things he had not felt in a while: greed, desire, admiration… He hadn’t seen so many wonderful tomes since Hogwarts. For long moments in large swaths, he forgot his mission. Eagerly, his hands picked up any volumes he could reach without the ladder tipping over, and he sipped in eager drops the ancient wisdom, a few pages at a time, admiring the crude but honest illustrations before, with a heavy heart, putting them back on the shelf.

Finally, he reached Torchia. A few of his works were there, the same ones mentioned in the ledger, but not the Delomelanicon. Tom brushed his finger on the shelf, and it came up with a fluff of dust. Hadn’t been touched for a long time…

It occurred to him as he climbed down the ladder that they could have had hidden compartments, as such bookstores sometimes did. Borgin and Burkes did too, although theirs was hidden by magic. Muggles would have had some contraption hidden behind a painting or shelf. He cast another glance around him before moving forward again, step by heavy step. Between those dormant shelves, he saw another surreptitious doorway toward another room.

III

The place grew labyrinthian. Tom felt as though he was disturbing a tomb, and without even needing to his steps grew gentler. The ring around his finger ached again, but he ignored it.

He was exploring a glass case with a pyramid of skulls in the corner of a room three doorways from the entrance, further in the building and blissfully chill on the exposed skin of his arms and neck, when suddenly he noticed something about the creaking of the floorboards: he couldn’t hear it anymore.

Tom looked down, his shoes soft on the carpet, and shifted his weight. No sound, but there was a bit of a tilt beneath him as the wood moved. He moved to the side and toed the carpet away. At first glance, he noticed nothing strange, but when he cast Revelio, a piece of metal shone and the edges of a trapdoor revealed themselves before him.

“I’ve got you now,” he grinned.

He stepped away, grabbed the edges of the carpet, and folded it further back. It was a trapdoor alright, large enough for two people to fit through. The area was clean, as if it saw regular use. Could it be a secret way into and out of the shop? Well, he’d seen her always use the front door, so it was most likely a storage area.

He dug into his trouser pocket for something, anything that he could use, and found the Swiss army knife he’d gotten from Clement. The thought occurred to him that it was a misuse of a gift to rob a bookshop with it, but that thought died quickly in Tom’s heated mind. He had a job to do.

He slid its blade between the folds of wood and pressed the handle down. Marvolo’s ring squeezed and pulled at his finger, and Tom cursed at it to be quiet. The trapdoor undulated at the strain as he moved the blade around, but the thing was as good as nailed down on all sides.

“Come on, you piece of muggle trash, open,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

He pushed, edging the wood upwards, and the bit of leverage made it flap as far as its hinges would allow. Holding the wand between his teeth for light, he moved it slightly, checking in every direction for a keyhole. The only thing he found was a burn mark that shone in the faint light, small and round and crested. It was probably a hidden button or a kind of keyhole, the kind of which he’d seen before in a couple of places both at Hogwarts and elsewhere. Tom grinned, moved the blade there, and pressed harder right beneath it.

“Aaaah!” he groaned, nearly dropping the wand from his teeth.

The ring was shooting pain all the way up his arm now, and his muscles strained. He clenched his teeth and pressed the blade in further, deeper, but the longer he tried to get it open, the more useless the attempt seemed, and he was overcome with a feeling of wrongness — as if he actually cared that he was trespassing.

He got up, sighed, and wiped the sweat off his brow. The feeling of guilt that had been bubbling in his stomach crested and crawled up his bones until he felt the sickness in his throat. He was overcome with the desire to leave and put this place behind him. A traitorous thought…

No, he wasn’t feeling sick. That nasty little door was enchanted. There was probably a curse on it, not too dissimilar to those placed on Egyptian tombs, meant to ward prospective thieves away. The emotions that swirled in his breast, the guilt, the shame, none of it came from him. It was something he was forced to feel by whatever enchantment guarded the place. What an insidious little spell… He frowned and pointed his wand down at the trapdoor again.

“Finite incantatem.”

Nothing happened.

“Finite incantatem!” he said again, more clearly and imperious.

The trapdoor mocked him with its silence. Tom looked down at his wand as if it were impotent.

“Of all the damned… Revelio,” he cast again, but nothing new appeared. “Alohomora!”

And that was when it struck him.

The spell worked, but just for an instant before it was undone and something fired back at him. A shard of death crawled up his spine and pooled inside his heart, pushing him backwards into the sharp edge of a table. The lamps on it rattled from the impact.

He felt dizzy for a moment, his body numb and cold, then nauseous when his senses came back to him at once. Pain billowed at his lower back so hard it filled his throat with bile. He clung to the edge of the table and kept himself just barely standing, managing the breath to groan.

“By Salazar’s f-fucking… Ow!”

Among all the sudden pain, he noticed that his arm was numb. The ring had stopped hurting him. It got its point across… The door was cursed, and so severely that, if not for his Horcrux, he surely would have died.

Tom clenched his teeth and hissed at the bothersome little entrance, cursing it in parseltongue. He kicked the carpet back over it and rubbed his aching hip where he already felt a bruise forming. There was nothing else he could do there, at least not tonight. He’d have to go back to his hotel, hopefully not limping all the way, and plan his next steps.

“I’ll get you yet,” he muttered with a parting glare. “And whatever mongrel of a mage made you.”

[joelswritingmistress]

Oh Captain, My Captain: Chapter 1

Chapter Summary: You're tired of living a life you weren't built for. On your family's annual summer trip on the weekend of your twenty-fourth birthday, you find yourself fantasizing about a local boat captain.

Joel x f!reader

You were bored. From the outside looking in your life might have seemed wonderful. Magnificent even. You had just celebrated your twenty-fourth birthday in the company of your family on Martha's Vineyard.

It was tradition - Fourth of July weekend. Family boat. Expensive dinners. You name it. But the older you got, the less material things mattered to you. You enjoyed the company of genuine people, drawing, painting, the arts. Your family often brushed off your, mostly, inner monologue as you being a silly dreamer. At times you wondered if they were right. That you liked to escape reality with foolish dreams that a girl much younger might have. It was confusing.

"All aboard!" A gruff old man with a friendly row of off-white teeth shouted. He removed a chain from where you and your family, along with another large party, waited on a dock. An oversized boat called The Mist of the Sea sat dockside.

"Go ahead, honey," your mom encouraged, guiding you with a hand on the back through the open chain.

You sighed and smiled, stalking the boat at the edge of the dock. When you arrived a man stood there waiting with one hand extended to help you aboard.

When your hand slipped into his, your eyes met and both of you lingered there for an extra second.

His palm was surprisingly warm and his grasp was firm. He wore a navy blue ball cap with the boat's name etched into it in white writing. His dark eyes held you in place for a moment and in your mind you thought the closely cropped beard suited him.

"Go ahead Y/N," your brother encouraged. "What're you scared all of a sudden?"

Your brother's voice snapped you out of the momentary daze you were in and you hopped aboard, releasing the stranger's hand as your father scolded your younger sibling.

"Up top?" You asked your mother, looking over your shoulder.

"I'd prefer it."

You nodded and took the short ladder to the boat's top platform and found a seat. Your parents, your brother, your sister, two cousins and your aunt and uncle followed your lead.

"Happy hour cocktails, anyone?" Your Uncle Mark asked, half-kidding. It opened the door to engage in conversation with the party that sat across from you.

You placed your elbow on the ledge and looked out into the open ocean beyond the captain's quarters. All you could think about was wanting to paint the gorgeous little marina and the sun going down toward the horizon behind it. The thought brought a little smile to your face.

Your eyes were drawn back to reality when the man who had helped you aboard made his way behind the wheel of the boat and reached for the boat's handheld radio to talk into.

"Good afternoon everyone," he greeted, his voice echoing though the speakers to the left and right. "My name is Joel Miller and I'll be your captain for your forty-five minute cruise around the island."

You were lost in him for a moment. He was beautiful. Hair just a little too long. Skin tanned a golden shade from being out in the sun every day. You could see when he moved a bit that he had a slight farmer's tan where his T-shirt ended.

"The ocean's a little choppy," Joel added with a grin beneath tired eyes. He glanced in your direction. "But we'll be just fine."

You tried to suppress a school girl smile but one spread across your face as he hung up the handheld radio and paid attention to steering the boat.

Along the way he gave little tidbits on the history of the area and rattled off a few famous individuals who had stayed nearby during the summer months.

"On the starboard side you'll see the famous Jaws bridge. If any of you are brave enough, it's a popular spot to take a dive."

Finally something that sounded fun. You didn't know if you were being a complete spoiled brat for not appreciating the lavish life your parents continued to give you or if you simply didn't fit the mold and you were searching for who you really were.

Too deep of a thought, you told yourself.

When the bridge was out of view you had your eyes fixed on Joel again. Another picture perfect painting - the handsome captain with the broad shoulders standing with his back to you, the steering wheel in both hands with the horizon in his sights. Now *that* would be something worth painting.

You subtly removed your phone from your handbag and tried to sneak a photo as a reference for later.

"Did you just take a picture of the captain?" Your brother couldn't help but call you out.

You whipped your arm around a whacked him hard on the knee. All eyes were on you now and your parents both flashed a look of disapproval. There was no way you were going to, "He started it," but that's what you were thinking.

You weren't sure but you thought you heard Joel chuckle to himself. It made your stomach sink with embarrassment and you wanted to smack your brother again. Even at twenty-one he still acted like a freshman in high school.

The rest of the cruise was relatively relaxing; quiet. It was what you liked most about being out on the ocean. The quiet, aside from the crash of the waves against the sea vessel.

"Well we are just about back to shore. You've been an outstanding last crew of the night. I hope you enjoy your stay on the vineyard, whether you're a townie like me, live here just for the summer or if you're on vacation."

The boat eased into the space and you saw two men on the dock begin to secure it.

"Thanks Captain." Your father extended an arm and the two men shook hands. It prompted a laundry list of thank-yous from everyone else on the top deck, leaving you as the last.

"Thank you." You barely let your eyes meet his this time but managed a smile.

"You're welcome." Joel gave a little nod and trailed you to the ladder that led down.

You scrunched your nose, feeling the wind from the ocean fighting the bottom of your dress as you scampered to the lower deck. Thankfully your mom was there to hold it in place the last few steps.

"Alright, where to?" Your brother could be heard asking, to which your cousin rattled off a few names of some bars in the area near the ritzy pair of townhouses you were all renting for the weekend.

"Joel," one of the deckhands approached him behind you. "Want to get a few beers down at the Lamp Post before the crowds really rush in tonight? The two of us are going when we clean up."

You leaned an extra ear. You knew of the bar they were talking about but you'd never gone in. Others called it the Rare Duck. You didn't really know why.

"Sure," he agreed. "I'm just going to take a shower out back and then I'll walk down."

"Are you going to go to dinner with your aunt and uncle and your father and I?" Your mother asked.

You continued to try eavesdropping on your captain's conversation. At the same time you watched your brother and cousin high-fiving as they secured some type of plan for the night.

"Actually, um, do you mind if I hang out with them?" You nodded toward the boys and your parents didn't put up a fight.

"She doesn't want to hang out with the old people, Liz," your uncle said with a laugh. "Go have fun, honey. We'll be in bed before ten."

It was enough of an out and you gave a laugh. You sold it and pretended to go catch up to the others. Meanwhile you began to toy with your Maps app to find the quickest way on foot to the Lamp Post.

NEXT CHAPTER

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSOM SHADE

Chapter 04

Dangerous Games

Trigger warning

Everybody's looking for something.

Some of them want to use you.

Some of them want to get used by you.

- ( The song of the chapter is ''Sweet Dreams" by Eurythmics)

Everyone needs to learn from Khushi Sen Gupta how to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It's practically her speciality now-a-days.

It's like she has a knack for getting caught up in situations she shouldn't be anywhere near.

If she ever writes a book about her life, she would name it "Idiot's Handbook of How to Be in the Wrong Places Willingly." She's certain people would line up to read it. After all, how many mob daughters have the audacity to expose their chaotic lives for public consumption? It could even top the charts, if she manages to live long enough to put it on paper. But right now, survival feels like a long shot. With the way things are spiralling, she's not even sure she'll make it out of this evening alive, let alone back home in one piece.

Her gut twists into a tight knot as each unsteady step brings her closer to the deserted construction site, likely once intended for a farmhouse. Her footsteps echo eerily in the silence.

The grim-looking, dilapidated, half-built structure and its rusting steel beams loomed on the outskirts of the shady neighborhood. It only has roofs and pillars, with no walls around it. The ground is uneven, littered with debris, discarded materials and overgrown weeds.

She prides herself on her intelligence, but right now, all she can think about is how unbelievably stupid she is. A world-class idiot. The type who, despite her intelligence, follows the instructions of a stranger on the other end of the line without thinking twice.

''How did I let myself get dragged into something so reckless?"

In her defense though, she was trying to believe in humanity. Damn it.

Maybe she's just overthinking it. Who would even bother to set a trap for her? She's a nobody. If they were to kidnap her, then they might secure a hefty amount of ransom from her father, but that would clearly be a death sentence for them. Nothing is more valuable to his father than his reputation, not even his own daughter.

For her father, it's less about her safety and more about his obsession with control, over his men, over her, over her actions, over the leverage against her.

She has long since stopped feeling disappointed. It leaves her in a space that hovers between fearless and reckless.

Just like how she told her father she was heading to the shopping mall. Then She slipped away before his goons could catch up. She did this enough times to earn nothing but disapproving glances from him.

Shaking off the distracting thoughts, she squares her shoulders and moves toward the half-built structure as quietly as possible. The gravel crunches beneath her shoes. The site is spine-chillingly quiet, save for the occasional groan of shifting metal or the distant hum of the city, muffled and distant.

As she makes her way through the debris and broken equipment, her heart pounds, her hands feel clammy. The air is heavy with the smell of dust and decay, so is her breathing. Her chest feels tight, weighed down by the unnerving vibe of her circumstances.

Once inside, she takes shelter behind a pillar. Pressing her back against it, she hides while sharply scanning the area, her eyes darting for any sign of movement.

Khushi opted for a bold red shirt today, feeling unusually daring. The vibrant hue gave her an unexpected surge of confidence. She paired it with a high-waisted, faded jeans and pulled her hair back into a high ponytail. A pair of oversized sunglasses sit on her face, an attempt to hide her identity just a little. Her favourite sneakers are on, ready in case she needs to make a quick escape.

She takes her sunglasses off, slipping them into her jeans pocket. The thought that this might all be a trap refuses to leave her mind, making it nearly impossible to focus. It's like gnawing at her.

Before, she never had to worry about someone trying to trap her. But now? Didn't she just unintentionally make an enemy? Yeah, she made an enemy out of an enemy. Brilliant.

Do the Eagles really care enough to lay a trap for her? Just last week, she walked right into the den of the Eagles, had a face-off against the notorious Vulture and came out intact. She knows they have no interest in igniting a mob war. If they did, Arnav Singh Raizada would have exposed her little stunt that very night. But he didn't. He let her go.

But what if he changed his mind?

Shit, why didn't she think of that sooner?

It still stuns her that she was at the mercy of Arnav Singh Raizada.

The Arnav Singh Raizada.

He had her pinned against the wall, her own knives at her throat. And yet, he let her go. In fact, he even arranged for his manager to drive her back to her dorm.

Unnoticed, unharmed.

The walk from his door, down the stairs, and toward the front gate felt endless. With every step, she heard her heart pounding in her ears.

What did he say?

That he owned her.

That he'd collect his debt.

Fuck.

How could she possibly repay someone like Arnav Singh Raizada?

At the gate, two guards blocked her path but immediately stepped aside when a shadow from the first floor loomed over them. She glanced back. There he was, standing in front of a glass window, one hand in his pocket, and with a flick of his fingers, he motioned for the guards to let her pass. His eyes were never not on her.

A surge of overwhelming rage pushed aside her irritation, embarrassment, and mortification.

A man came out from the bungalow beside the main building, dishevelled, as though he had haphazardly thrown his clothes on.

"Hello, Miss Gupta, I am Aman Mathur. I'll be your driver today," he greeted her politely, a little breathless. He had an unexplainable calming aura about him.

Khushi couldn't help but offer him a small smile. "It's okay, you don't have to. I can manage."

"Oh, trust me, Miss Gupta, both of our lives would be a little easier this way." At the implication in his voice, her eyes snapped to the figure still watching them like a hawk. She felt her lips set in a hard line as his twisted just a little at the corners. And it's gone as soon as it appeared. Her fist clenched mirroring the anger in her eyes.

"After you," Mr. Mathur led her toward a car and, like a true gentleman, opened the door for her. Taking a deep breath, she went in after sparing a last glance at the first-floor window.

The entire ride had been a blur of disbelief. Disbelief at her own audacity. Disbelief at her failed attempt. Disbelief at how close she'd come. And most of all, disbelief at Arnav Singh Raizada.

A cool breeze brushes against Khushi's skin bringing her back to the deserted farmhouse, sending a faint tremor down her arms, goosebumps prickling her flesh in response. Yet, it's not the chill that unnerves her, it's the unsettling stillness like the air itself is holding its breath.

The sun hovers low, on the verge of slipping beneath the horizon, casting just enough light to stretch the outlines of the building into dark, haunting shadows across the ground. The fading light appears to play tricks on her eyes, making the shadows shift and twist as if they possess a life of their own.

She looks down at her watch.

5:38 PM

It's way past the scheduled time set by the informer. Her hand hovers over the Glock 43 in her pocket. It's a gift from her father on her twentieth birthday. She's never had to use it before. But never say never, right? That seems to be the ongoing theme anyway.

She's a minute away from walking away from all these shenanigans. The urge to run, to abandon it all, tugs at her stronger with every passing second.

The crunch of gravel beneath someone's shoes sends her nerves into overdrive. Her hand tightens around the gun. Just then, her phone buzzes in her pocket.

She soundlessly puts the phone in her ear.

"Are you here, Miss Gupta?"

"Yes."

"Where are you? I don't see you. Did you come alone? Did you bring the money?"

She feels a pulse of anxiety at his questions. "You'll only get the money after you tell me what you know."

"Miss Gupta, you can come out now."

"I'm not moving a damn inch until you explain why you brought me here," she demands firmly, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

He pauses, the silence stretching between them. "I'm unarmed. Please come out so we can be done with this."

His tone is almost pleading and she can hear the underlying desperation. The shadows around her feel alive and she knows she has to tread carefully.

She peeks around the corner of the pillar to see a young man with his hands raised above his head, a gesture of harmlessness. Maintaining her grip on the gun still in her pocket, she steps out.

As soon as she comes face to face with the guy, his eyes widen. His face twists into horror as if he has just seen death in front of him. However, his gaze is focused on something or someone, behind her.

Everything happens in a blur.

She feels a rush of air brush past her hair. The warmth still lingers in the air. And the man drops to the ground with a gaping hole in the center of his forehead. His eyes are still open.

"There you are, Bitterheart."

Her breath hitches.

He is here.

With his fucking deep and deliciously husky voice, that has whispered the dark secrets of murder to her, not too long ago.

The voice, dipped in poison and sin.

It has entwined itself around her thoughts and refused to let go since their last meeting.

"Sorry, I am late. I have been looking for you everywhere. " The barrel of a gun presses against her forehead as his breath trickles her ear. "Really, Miss Gupta, A red shirt. You look like a target even from a mile away. You should have just worn black."

She spins suddenly pressing her gun at the level of his heart as she comes face to face to face with the vulture.

Molted chocolate meets her hazel brown.

"And you should have stayed out of my business."

His eyes narrow slightly, though his face remains stoic. For a few tense moments, they stand in complete silence, just guns aimed at each other, eyes having conversation in secret codes.

He smirks without any amusement reaching his cold orbs. Before she can react he presses a certain point in her gun and the magazine just falls down.

She huffs. Great. There's no way she's getting on her knees in front of him to pick it up.

"You have a unique way to say hello." He cocks an eyebrow at her.

"We both know you're not sending me to heaven anytime soon like you did with this poor soul, Mr. Raizada. So, could we stop pointing weapons at each other every time we talk?" she suggests, pulling back her magazine-less gun.

"The taste of your own medicine is pretty bitter, isn't it? Make sure next time, to toss in a sprinkle of humility. Might help it go down a little easier."

He steps into her space, invading it completely. She feels the urge to take a step back but holds her ground. He trails the barrel of the gun down her cheek, then her neck and presses it in between her breasts. The material is cold against her heated skin.

The scent of his cologne, mingled with his sweat, is intoxicating. It wraps around her like a dark cloud. His face is close, so close that she can feel the heat radiating off his skin. His breath against her skin is warm as well, a stark contrast to the chilly wind swirling around them. Even in the dim light, the sharp flecks of orange and green in his chocolate brown eyes seem to ignite, burning through the darkness.

"There are places on your body I know better than you do, Miss Gupta," he says as his free hand slides around the back of her neck, forcing her to tilt her head upward, his grip strong. "Places you've never even heard of. Places that need only one touch from me." The gun rests heavily against her racing heart. "To send you straight to heaven or hell."

She holds her head still, refusing to break eye contact. His hand cradles the back of her neck while he towers over hers. His voice drops dangerously low. "Not everyone who dies goes to heaven, Miss. Gupta."

Duh, doesn't she know that? It's just a common phrase people use.

The grip tightens ever so slightly around her neck, a silent threat in the way his fingers flex against her skin. "Don't ever make the mistake of thinking you know me," he murmurs. "It might be your last."

"Is that a threat?" her eyes narrow.

"Does it sound like a compliment? "

What the fuck does he think he is?

Years of enmity boil in her blood, intertwining with the unsettling realization that this man not only possesses the fruits of her hard work but also has the audacity to manhandle her. He's the one who has shot her informer as well.

Her heart hammers in her chest, like a hummingbird. She grits her teeth, fighting the urge to snap at the sheer arrogance rolling off the man in waves. Her breathing speeds up as her lungs struggle to keep pace with the adrenaline surging through her. How is it that every man she meets seems determined to prove they're the biggest jerk in the room?

She steps into his personal space this time, pressing her hands against his solid chest. Her fingers splay wide as she solves him with all her strength, forcing him to stumble backwards.

Triumph flares within her as she catches the fleeting surprise on his face. In a split second, he steadies his stance, moving with a grace that might have impressed her, if he were anyone else. But she isn't finished yet. She charges at him again, only for him to catch her wrists, guns and all, in both hands. In one swift motion, he presses her against the nearby pillar, pinning her hands above her head.

Irritation, frustration, and a wave of overwhelming rage surge through her as she finds herself right back in the same infuriating position.

She tries to knee him between the legs, but he senses her move, swiftly blocking her leg and locking it in place with his.

She seethes at him, eyes blazing with fury. Her voice drops to an icy growl as she spits out her words through gritted teeth, "Never make the mistake of thinking you scare me. It might be your last as well."

His jaw tenses. The air between them crackles. The tension is so thick as if the atoms have come alive. He remains cold and unyielding, while an unexplained fiery heat surges through her veins setting her skin on fire.

"Believe me, Miss Gupta, the urge to kill you is fucking killing me right now. But you are more useful to me alive than dead. And I promise you, when your purpose is served, the last face you'll see before you die will be mine. "

He releases her wrists and steps back, sliding his gun into the waistband of his dark jeans. Meanwhile, she messages her sore wrists, shooting daggers at him.

Khushi's mind erupts with a whirlwind of curses, each one sharper than the last. She bites her tongue, barely holding back the barrage of insults ready to spill from her lips. She has a whole dictionary of words she could use right now.

Arrogant prick, Cold-blooded Bastard, jackass, douchbag, Evil Monster, Son of a ---no, too mild.

You fucking piece of shit, self-obsessed, vile, three-named motherfucking rakhsas. Fuck you and fuck your twisted God complex and your smug little threats, you egoistical Asshole.

The flood of fury pulses through her veins. She mentally cycles through every foul word she's ever known in any language. The urge to unleash those curses claws at her throat, each one begging to be set free.

Despite the seething rage that fuels her every thought, she feels an involuntary tug of curiosity pulling her gaze toward him.

And against her better judgment, She lets her eyes wander slowly, tracing the sure, steady fingers up to his forearms, exposed beneath the rolled sleeves of his black shirt, each one roped with muscle. A tattoo on his left forearm, she couldn't make out that night is now visible, peeking through the fabric.

A burning rose.

She shifts her gaze from his broad shoulders to his face. The stubble lining his sharp jaw defines his jawlines even more. It casts a shadow over his high cheekbones that models around the world would weep for.

It's infuriating to think that a man who looks like he steps off the cover of a GQ magazine can be such a colossal asshole. Such a waste!

Growing impatient, she scans the area, noting the absence of any other living souls nearby. Great. Here she is, at an abandoned construction site, with a notorious asshole from a rival mob family, who has lured her out here for a reason.

"Why am I here, Mr. Raizada?" she demands, frustration lacing her voice as she grapples with the chaos of the situation, desperate for clarity. "Why did you bring me here? And why did you kill your fucking pawn?"

He crosses his arms over his chest. "I didn't set him up, but he played his part brilliantly. He came here to tell you that NK is one of the Eagles and that he's underground now."

Her mouth falls open in disbelief.

"Why did you kill him then, if you were just going to give me the information yourself?" she exclaims, arms thrown up in frustration.

"He was breaking the rules."

"And you aren't?"

"I am the rule, Miss Gupta. No one dares to cross me."

She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes at him. Best not to push her luck too far today.

"I wanted to meet you without setting off any alarms," he says after a moment. "That's why I let him lure you out here instead of killing him somewhere else."

"How considerate!" She taps her feet on the ground, turning her head to look at anything but him. "Why do you want to meet me?"

"To talk about the hacker you mentioned."

"What about him?"

"You are under the impression that I've brought something from him." He met her gaze evenly, or at least as evenly as possible with those eyes that always seemed to be dissecting her every move.

She fixes him with a piercing glare, her eyes narrowed to slits. "I don't just have the impression. I know you have. I hacked his server. It all leads back to you."

"Except I didn't even know who he was until you so kindly enlightened me."

"Right. And I'm supposed to just believe that?"

"Yeah."

"And why's that?"

"Because I haven't killed you yet." His eyes are hard and dangerous.

"Yet? What's stopping you from doing it right now?"

"Well, as much as I'd love to, I don't feel like starting a war today. Despite our families' little blood feud, the truth is, neither of us can afford a war right now, especially with the CBI continuously after our tails."

She doesn't want to believe him, not for a second. But then, why would he go to such lengths to meet her here? The gears in her mind start turning.

"You don't have the evidence?" she asks eyeing him suspiciously.

"No."

"So you're saying someone went to the trouble of elaborately framing you, even down to forging transaction details, knowing full well anyone could trace it back?"

"Something like that."

"And why would he bother doing that?"

"I'd love to know that too," he states shrugging his should, eyes still locked on hers.

Frustrated, she crosses her arms over her chest, watching as Mr. Raizada's eyes flicker at the action before landing on hers once again. "So now what?"

She wants to snap at him and instil some manners in him. Staring at a woman like that is very rude, Mr. Raizada. Instead, she just stares right back at him. Hard. Two can play the same game.

"You're going to work for me."

Author's note: Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Things are really starting to heat up, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts on what's going to happen next! Any guesses on what's in store for our love birds?

Until next time, stay awesome!

<previous>| < next>

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @msbhagirathi @titaliya @arshiradio

[wisteriasymphony]

Chilocorus stigma - The Twice Stabbed Ladybeetle

Stigmata. She stands seven feet tall—built like a statue, dressed like a gladiator. Not a single muscle or patch of skin on her body is unmarred by scars or wounds, and even some that are days old still bleed fresh. That's what her power comes from, so she says: The spilling of blood. The essence of life.

Stigmata has never been all that creative or intelligent, and she will tell you this readily. She is meant to look just as smart and well-spoken as she is meant to look kind and caring... In the sense that she is the furthest from it. There has only been one area in which she considers herself knowledgeable, and that is how to hurt people. Mentally, physically. She scoffs at the idea that she could be anything further. Being the most violent holder of the Ladybug Miraculous isn't a point of pride to her, really, but it is a point of distinction, and she can stand by that.

You ask for her to demonstrate her powers, and she directs you to the largest wound on her body. Two open stab wounds on the left side of her stomach, overlapping circles almost like a bite. They opened up her first battle, and she tells you they will never close and never clot. She sticks a hand into the flesh wound easily, digging around in her own flesh. ....She pulls out a small spear, its handle marbled with red and black like old flesh. She really means it when she says her power comes from blood, from life—It takes from hers. Every weapon could carve minutes, days, even years off her lifespan, and yet she pulls anyways. Stigmata never planned on living long, never even expected herself to still be standing—That's what made her such a perfect holder, she says. The self-sacrifice. The violent martyrdom.

You ask where her earrings are—she points to her hands. Two large nails puncture though the center of her palms, the bruised discoloration around them only hidden by more blood. The dots on the nail heads—two red overlapping circles against a backdrop of black—are almost confused as rust at first. You ask if they hurt, and Stigmata laughs, loud and deep and unladylike. Nothing about it isn't painful, and that's why she does it.

Stigmata draws out another weapon, one she calls her signature: A scythe. The process takes much longer, and Stigmata grunts and heaves as she fights her own flesh to retrieve it, blood spraying out and spilling over the ground, soaking into her nails and between her fingers. You realize that one day, she might go to pull out a weapon and die on the spot. Does that run through her mind every moment she goes to draw her own blood? Perhaps it's just routine, and she no longer thinks about it. If the armament is her flesh and blood, then she is merely an extension of that... If the weapon is her, then she is the original weapon. Used by something far greater than what she knows or cares to know.

The scythe is long and metallic, in shades of dark reds and blacks. To you, it reminds you of farmers. With little else to defend themselves, humble country folk would use their farming tools to protect themselves. Scythes, pitchforks, grass hooks. A scythe is the people's weapon. To her, it reminds her of teeth. A large, bloodied fang that, much like her tusks, sticks out obscenely. Teeth are the weapons of animals, how a lesser being might defend itself just as its predator might go in for the kill. A scythe is brutality.

Stigmata. She stands seven feet tall—built like a statue, dressed like a gladiator. Her hair fans out on her neck, and her eyes are dark and cold. Through blood, she creates.

[mary-queen-of-longbeach]

Behold, the true monarch of the ocean: RMS Queen Mary! She may well be the world’s most beloved ocean liner barring, of course, Titanic; her existence has touched lives the world over and she continues to be a cultural staple today. She’s high up on my list of favorite ships, and as such I decided to draw her not as a gijinka, not in her current hotel-slash-attraction form, but as the record-breaking liner she was built to be. Here she is, thundering across the waves, racing the sky itself as she sets a new speed record for Britain and Cunard.

And, of course, here are the notes:

I started this drawing more than a year and a half ago, in the spring of my first year at college. For context, as of posting this it’s the fall semester of my third year, so quite a bit of time has passed. The piece was stalled for so long because coloring the hull was so daunting - I didn’t want to mess anything up, and I knew it would require a lot of graphite!

Originally, this was going to be a fully inked and colored piece. However, the way I shaded the hawsepipe and the top of the funnel just looked too nice to erase or color over, so I switched to making it a pencil-only piece instead.

Despite how realistic I made the drawing, there are some elements that are missing or otherwise incorrect. The horizonal poles (which I believe are cargo booms) attached to the foremast are absent; you should be able to see one of them from this angle, but I left it out because, when I first started the drawing, I wanted to simplify things slightly. I ultimately changed my mind, but by then it was too late in the process to add that in. That’s also the case with the simplified instruments on top of the bridge.

The rigging is simplified, but I tried to be accurate with the stuff I did add.

I made the smoke and water look like that by coloring them in normally and then smudging the pencil with my fingers. Then I added darker areas in the smoke for shading, and finally I used an eraser to make the lighter parts in both the smoke and water. Realistically, Queen Mary wouldn’t have actually produced such a dramatic smoke plume, as she was an oil-fired ship rather than a coal-fired one, but the bigger cloud looked cooler and more dynamic. Also, the smoke should be blowing backward, but it isn’t for similar artistic-license reasons; this, at least, can be explained by saying she must be sailing in some pretty strong wind!

I was originally planning to smudge the hull too in order to smooth out the coloring, but I changed my mind.

I based the drawing on this photograph!

[candycandy00]

Omg that last story is terrifying I would have nightmares 😭😳 I sent that ask because I saw a video about a lady who said that she shuts her windows and never looks out into the dark cause shes scared of seeing someone or something 🫢 which got me remembering that candy also lives in Appalachia

Also I feel like it’s really good that you don’t believe in the supernatural cause if you do that’s when your mind starts to trick you into seeing things😭😭 omg either way tho ty for sharing your scary stories 😨😨

Hey, anon! I’m glad you came back because I realized I forgot to share the creepiest story I’ve ever heard. This was told to me around 20 years ago and it still freaks me out. 

So this was told to me by my mom’s then boyfriend. Let’s call him Bob. And Bob was a big guy. 6’4” and very well built and fit for a man in his early 60’s. He was an avid outdoorsman, loved camping and going on several day long hunting trips into the woods alone. All this to say that Bob was NOT an easy man to scare and he was very accustomed to being alone in the wooded mountains. 

This happened to him a couple of years before he met my mom. He’d just gotten divorced and gave his ex wife the house. While looking for a new house to buy himself, he was living in his full size camper, which a friend of his allowed him to park on some property he owned. This property was huge and sprawling and covered a very wooded area. Bob thought it would actually be fun to stay out there, hunting and fishing and just enjoying nature. After all, he’d spent many weekends hunting there with his friend. 

But this time he was alone.

Now Bob had these nifty headphone things that could amplify sounds from the surrounding area. I have no idea what they’re actually called but he used them while hunting to pick up the sounds of deer and other animals nearby. So one night, when he thought he heard very faint human voices, he put on the headphones to listen more closely. 

It was chanting. Several different voices, chanting. He listened for a while, and said it was probably the most eerie sound he’d ever heard in his life. As he kept listening, he realized a couple of voices stopped chanting and started talking. Even with the headphones, it was hard to make out exactly what they were saying, but he distinctly heard the words “the man in the camper”. Which means they were aware that he was in the woods with them, they knew exactly where he was, and they were apparently discussing him. 

Sufficiently freaked out, he grabbed his rifle and sat up all night, watching the doors and listening. At one point it sounded like the chanting was getting closer, and at another point he heard strange sounds like they were moving things around. But no one ever tried to come in. 

The next morning, Bob went outside and found a dead fox lying on the hood of his truck, and all around his camper, there were strange bundle of sticks tied together. 

He decided to rent an apartment until he got a new house. 

Looking back, he said it was possibly some strange cult, or people trying to perform witchcraft. I personally don’t believe in witchcraft despite my grandmother being a professed witch, but a lot of people do believe, and I’ve heard many stories about people going into the woods to try to do rituals. 

Anywho, the woods can be scary and sometimes they do play tricks on your eyes/mind. Is that a bear I saw? Is that a dark figure behind that tree? Probably not lol. But sometimes it’s fun to wonder. 

Overall, I love these mountains and these woods. I grew up playing in them and exploring and my strongest feeling about them is that they protect me. We’ve never had a tornado in my little neighborhood because the mountains make it very difficult for one to reach us. They give us privacy, shade, and fertile ground for growing things. So yeah, I’m really appreciative of them. 😊

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Pregnancy and birth do things to a womans body so after the second or third pregnancy does Elaine ever get insecure? The stretch marks, the saggy skin in areas, I think it’s beautiful but Elvis was always peculiar on the way people looked but he may have found it more beautiful because she got those growing his children

Aha, so…this is a very valid consideration and one I intend to explore in fic form but until then, let us have a few half baked thoughts, here’s to hoping you like cookie dough. 😏

He was most definitely particular (some might say to the point of extreme vanity and oppressiveness) in regards to image, presentation and a sort of decorum, and I might add it seems to me that it fluctuated with his career. There was certainly a fastidiousness about the front he presented that I can totally relate to, actually. I think it good to keep in mind how seriously he tried to take the influence he had on the public, considering his purpose to both entertain and uplift. He expected a high standard in women, one he did not hold himself to but matched in other areas. And in many ways he represents a lost generation where dignity meant getting outta your PJs in the morning for the morale, your morale, like a soldier shaving despite living in a foxhole. So, those are perhaps the more substantive reasons for his preoccupation with image, and we certainly have a glimpse into what darkness that could turn into with the “truth” according to Pricilla. (zero shade intended, just a acknowledging a bias there)

Now, let’s see what else we know of this man and his love and loyalty to the “imperfect.” He was consistently unashamed and purposeful to love on and be seen with those who the world at large labels “disabled.” His own mother, like he himself in later life, struggled with the publicity shined on their body weight in a entirely callous era of journalism -through it all he remained devoted and proud of their love, his choice was to repeatedly have her front and center. What am I getting at here? Elvis was a nice guy cause he hung out with other people besides Barbie Dolls? Nope, rather, when he had an affection for and a reason for loyalty to someone, it didn’t matter much at all to him what the world at large said or thought of them.

So let’s imagine a world where he’s married to Elaine, a woman who was already blessed with acknowledged beauty and assets, in a era of girdles and privileged with a celebrity lifestyle, who had no desire to be a star or a model. She wanted to use her body up having kids and while they both may have been surprised at the toll at times, I think the fact that she had the luxury to just be in her skin, not trying to trim down for the next role or modeling gig would do wonders for her recovery and self esteem. It’s still brutal to be Elvis Presley’s wife, and let’s just say the late 60’s are an unkind time and the little movie star floozies keep getting younger and tinier and it’s all a bit of an ouch, but ultimately? -She is his wife, the love of his life and his rabid sentimentality does indeed translate to the marks and scars and testaments to the family they built now branded on her skin.

[inthememetime]

I was making a list of Weird Places in Amity Park in Darcy Lewis' Adventures in Dating Dracula, and one of my Discord buddies told me you might like to see it.

Lost Horse Road- Nobody lives on Lost Horse Road. The buildings there are all abandoned. Even before the Fenton portal was activated, it was an extremely liminal place. Traveling Lost Horse Road is a very bad idea; lucky people are transported to a random location nearby- maybe back at home, or in front of the mall. The unlucky lose their minds instead.

Lost Horse Road has been active since at least 1850, but there have been reports even earlier of this phenomenon from settlers and natives of the area.

Whispering Heights- technically called Willow Heights due to being near a cliff covered in willow trees, Whispering Heights is another liminal area. The Old Amity Park Church functioned as a meeting place for church, local events, the market, and was even the location of the schoolhouse.

Exact dates vary, but during a nasty winter, the town was buried in a blizzard. Many of the townsfolk came to the church for warmth and safety, but the old roof collapsed, burying at least 200 people alive. It's said since then, especially at night, one can hear the whispers of their shades.

Many have gone looking for the true source. None come back. The location was purchased and developed by a real estate group out of town. Since no one from Amity Park stayed longer than a few weeks, the location was abandoned. It was since purchased by locals who bricked up all windows pointing to the cliffs, and rarely has vacancies.

Bald Hill House- the location of a major story arc, Bald Hill House has long been haunted. The proprietor was rumored to have made a deal with the devil (or fae, or ghosts depending on the teller), offering human sacrifices in exchange for wealth and power. After his death, every plant from moss on a stone to trees on Bald Hill died.

No one knows what happened a few days before Halloween of 1990, but the Bald Hill House collapsed, and plant life quickly took over the area.

Fentonworks- a relatively new liminal area, no one knows exactly what went on in the basement there; just that it caused a newcomer to take custody of both the Fentons' children. However, it is a particularly haunted area. Unlike most liminal places, unless one is unlucky, it's a relatively safe place.

The Autumn House- built in 1968, the Autumn House is rumored to have belonged to a coven of witches. It's now haunted by several ghosts, most notably the ghosts of two children and the Wisconsin Ghost. It's another fairly safe area; none of the ghosts there are known for picking unnecessary fights, and if you're particularly lucky, you might be able to have a chat with a friendly ghost.

Crybaby Creek- another major location. Legends from local tribes about this place date back centuries, or possibly even thousands of years. Locals take them seriously, and have even installed barbed wire fencing with signs warning people about the area. Cops take turns driving by at night to look for stray headlights.

[cheshire-shuntaro]

Written in collaboration with and for @andromedagarcia, for the Drug Cartel AU. It's Hatter and Andrómeda's wedding day and Chishiya has a short exchange with Hatter's best man - Aguni.

The crumpled piece of paper in the pocket of his beach shorts felt like a red hot piece of metal, clinging to his skin, fusing with it. Is this how it feels to be nervous? Chishiya grabbed the steering wheel and his gaze, unwittingly, wandered to his left. The engine of the white sports car purring, while he sat and marveled at the periwinkle orchids, poppies and peonies that Andrómeda managed to grow in her kingdom. His mind wandering great distances towards the wedding day of the couple that now lived in this vast and empty complex. How different it looked back then.

It must’ve been a middle of October a few years back. Southern hemisphere spring in full swing, the weather bearable, the type which spoils you in the moment but inevitably brings about a scorching summer. At that time the area around the newly built crown jewel of Hatter’s kingdom was completely empty except for a neatly cultivated lawn and a high hedgerow encircling the entire massive plot of land.

Back in Tokyo, Hatter adored showing off his wealth. He was notorious for showering his people with money, hell, Chishiya and Irma’s first flat was gifted to them by Hatter, all paid for and furnished. The trick was that the generosity never came without him expecting some kind of payment or favour in return he would soon come to collect. Sometimes he simply wished compliments or words of affirmation, other times, he would show up in the middle of the night at your door, bloody and crazy-eyed, to demand help with hiding a body. He earned the nickname he wore on his sleeve.

On Andrómeda and Hatter’s wedding day the case was the same, he still loved shoving in people’s faces how rich off of the powder trade he got. Preparations themselves took about a week worth of exporting various materials, exotic animals, rare plants and flowers (that were discarded merely day after), hiring staff that was to cater to wedding guests’ each whim. By the end of that week, at least in Chishiya’s personal opinion, the lawn around the mansion looked like an overexaggerated version of an amusement park with its countless colorful tents, exotic animals wandering in between the various shades of fragrant flowers and  even a Versailles-inspired maze in the back. The icing of this proverbial cake of abundance was a solid black-wood dais with velvet carpet steps leading up to it, where the ceremony was to take place this day.

A glimpse of white blinked in the crowd and Chishiya’s gaze immediately snapped to it. She was hiding among the party goers, using them as a shield from the inevitable impact that was to commence in about an hour. This, all of this, was pure business, a way to secure a future of another drug lord’s bloodline, very medieval of them, but alas it was happening and it was not secret that Takeru and Andrómeda felt nothing towards each other. For Hatter it was a formality, Andrómeda’s perfectly outlined red lips never fell down in the corners, although her eyes were vacant and sad as if she wasn’t really present, just living out some twisted version of her reality.

Suddenly, someone brushed against his shoulder, making him stumble to the side slightly. Aguni Morizono, Hatter’s best man and his right hand since... forever. He wore a very neutral expression, although his eyes were glossy from the ethanol coursing in his veins. Best man slightly tipsy before the ceremony? Curious, Chishiya thought, although not surprising because his gaze wandered to the place in which Shuntaro saw the glimpse of a white dress in the crowd. Hatter’s best man gave Chishiya a courteous nod and was about to leave to chase his fleeting dreams but Chishiya opened his mouth before Morizono could move further. ”Quite the celebration, huh?” He asked, taking a sip from his champagne glass.

"How could it not be? Do you not know Takeru by now?" Words slightly slurred, maybe? Alcohol already talking hold of his body, of his system. Not bringing the numbness he hoped for, instead accentuating the pain. "Oh, no, sorry. El Sombrerero Loco"

„We did move our business to a Spanish-speaking country, a matter of formality I would think.” Chishiya said cocking his head to the side, dismissing the slightly irked tone of the older man’s voice, „Well, anyway, I am sure your best man’s speech is going to be just wonderful.”

Chishiya was pressing buttons, searching for intentions. It’s not that he didn’t respect his boss’ right hand, he felt the rift in between Aguni and Hatter appear quite some time ago and was trying to gather how wide and deep it was anytime he had a chance to. Judging by Aguni’s tone and his gaze still plastered to Andrómeda’s silhouette disappearing behind the complex, he had a few estimations on how long will it be before the rift cannot be closed any longer.

"A matter of formality if he wasn't really going mad." He replied, without thinking it through, saying things he wouldn't have mentioned out loud had he been absolutely sober. Was he angry? Was he sad? Maybe a bit of both. A snort and a smile without any joy in it at the mention of his best man's speech. He had something planned, of course. Something he would read with the most emotionless tone of voice he could manage, wishing to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here. "One for posterity."

Too far gone, the rift deepens, Chishiya thought and he politely smiled at Aguni and nodded his head, he then raised his champagne glass and drank another sip.

„I will hold you to your word.” He said, excusing himself to the side, letting Morizono chase his hopes and dreams further.

About five minutes later he saw both of them at the entrance to Versailles-inspired maze in the back of the complex. They were speaking about something serious, judging by their expressions. Andrómeda's eyes darting around, looking everywhere except directly at Aguni. Aguni, truly desperate, heartbroken, the face of a man who had just received the worst news of his entire life; your brother just died, you will never walk again or... the woman you love is marrying someone else, perhaps. The Spanish woman said something, and they both disappeared inside the maze He could follow them, but he respected Aguni enough to not do that. Amongst the exotic hedges they exchanged words and touch known only to them.

[fanartbyherd]

Onward

so I watched the Pixar movie onward recently. correction I rewatched it. I like that movie quite a bit, but I have not watched it in a while.

i‘m planing on sharing some stuff I made for it years ago. when I have a bit of time on my hands. 

in the meantime I wanted to just touch on something I noticed while watching it in regards to the world building. (that is after all where my interest lie) 

now Im aware that the movie was built only with the idea of fantasy things you could find on a trashy 80s novel and the setting is in the LA equivalent area. and for what the movie is it is excellent. But, I think it falls apart a if you look much beyond the story that the movie presented.

it's a story that presents itself as having history, but even so it dose not feel like it really has a history. The epic and fantastical world, simply fails to feel vast. or that it reaches out past the next hundred miles, even though some of the technology in the world would suggest so. (cars for convenient and long distant travel, plains are suggesting that they are flying off to somewhere, especially large jet liners suggesting the possibility of more continents) 

I recently saw a note about how the makers of the movie and characters wanted to make sure they had a lot of diversity even though it was a world filled with fantasy creatures. (they succeeded in some regards, failed in others.)

My first criticism that I noticed this time around is that the technology and world of onward is very inaccessible. not just for any creature who has any kind of physical disability. but also clearly for a good deal of creatures. the world and its technology having developed to favor the elves, cyclops and sayters, who are all relatively close in size and build. these three species are also most numberus the most populous creatures. in a factory seen at the beginning of the movie the workers seem to be entirely made up of cyclops and elves with no workers of any other species. makes me assume that they may be favored for most jobs. likely they are the majority. so the technology that is made is made with them in mind and the other species are a second or after taught if considered at all. (I assume this is probably just a result of them being the most human like so they are the easiest to animate, no shade in that, but im just thinking about it from a world building perspective)

 with goblins and trolls also having a relatively easy go but clearly have some issues with size. such as the school desk not being able to fit Ian’s troll classmate. or the goblin driver instructor barely being able to see over the dashboard of her student driver car. 

other creatures like the gnomes and sprites have it worse. the world is clearly not made for creatures of thier small stature, having to climb and wrangle thier way up to high places. They also clearly get talked down to a lot judging by the reactions of the pixie dusters throughout the movie. 

other creatures seem to have it worse. the centaurs are clearly numberous in the past, but in the modern day and age we see a total of One. officer colt bronco. I'll have to check again just to make sure. though I think I am correct. he is constantly seen struggling in getting in and out of his car or having to sit in weird positions due to the short chairs. where are the background character centaurs? did something occurs in the undefined past that reduced the size of the centaurs herds? (am I implying genocide? maybe.) something similar can be said about the mermaids. we see several In the opening but in the modern age the only one that can be seen is in one of the opening scenes. in a small kiddie pool, scrolling on her phone.

so where are all the mermaids? they live right next to the ocean. so why do we not see mermaids out and about in town? how do the mermaids get around when they are not in water. are they able to move in a snakelike matter or do they “walk” in some matter. Are land dwelling mermaids perhaps wheelchair bound as their primary way of moving around the world? the relatively few wheelchair ramps might suggest otherwise.

finally for now, 

the world seems to really be deprived of culture. we see two cultures in this world, the modern day culture and the culture of an unspecified past. though between those two ages, somehow not that much seems to change. even with the montage at the beginning of the movie that goes through several years. the architecture at the beginning of the movie and into the modern time seems to change very little in some regards and a bit more in some others. all of those suburbs having the same mushroom like roofs that are in the past. its makes me think that imagined if you walked out into an American suburb and all the houses have tacked roofs or wooden shingles. though that's a minor nitpick as there are plenty other buildings that do not have this issue. though the architecture of the city made me originally assume it was set in Vegas instead of LA equivalent even so, it seems very small, especially in culture. its sepos to be LA, I've not been in LA that much, but LA has a lot of cultures. not only just from the different districts, but also in the many suburbs of the city. they all have so many different feelings. something that I picked up on the several times that I have been there visiting family. even just driving from one families house to another the city exuded culture  of different kinds in every neighborhood. a neutered sense of history. its there, but it lacks depth of feels cut off from what it wants to be.

don't get me wrong, I really like this movie so my criticism comes from a place of enjoyment and care. but we can criticize that which we love and enjoy.

in my little World building exercise I will be trying to address some off these concerns, though honestly I can not promise I will do any better than what the movie presents.

[xtrablak674]

Audition - June 22, 2017

Not even sure what I was auditioning for. I saw something online and responded with this video, which I don't think I have watched since. I am not sure of my reluctance to partake of this little over eighteen minute audition tape, but I did say I would watch it live and comment as it played and thats just what I am doing.

The Good Fight is a good show, I think I finished it as I said and it was fresh in my mind, this is something I do even in person start on a tangent then refocus on the topic at hand. I love the fact I am doing some of my same material, you build up a stable of jokes that you use over and over again throughout your life. RuPaul is the same way, a lot of the things on her reality show were parts of her act from decades earlier. A built-in costume change with removing the head-wrap. You know I could have put some music under this, not that the audio is that bad, just a little echo-ey.

Some labels, Black, of African Descent, Same Gender Loving, Queer Black Gays, Homoromantic, Used to Be Middle Class. I love that I am taking stuff off the head-wrap looked amazing but was uncomfortable, the necklace is gorgeous but heavy as fuck. I have a natural comfort with myself that I like.

I am an artist, its interesting where I was as an artist and where I am, also I no longer define myself as SGL I am now trans non-binary. My hair actually looks great even coming out of the head-wrap. Why do I have so much color? this must over-lap with my time on the roof where I was getting full-body vitamin D.

Timeless, Doctor Who is from Gallifrey.

I am trying to remember the questions as I speak. And a plug for my documentary. Bisexual are real things now, the shade.

I am wondering if the idea of taking things off was a decision? I am not sure what the conversion therapy is about. Sexual abuse causing queerness is silly. I agree with myself about the vulnerability of queer and different kids.

Marriage equality hashtag girl bye. POC have a different response to bones like marriage equality. The gay communities have much more connected issues.

Three adjective. Stoic. Regal - crown-worthy, Disciplined.

Fasting for thirty days, that does also take discipline.

Interest: podcast, reading, burgeoning nudist, vintage British science-fiction and comic books.

I don't hate this video, an abrupt ending. I am guessing the camera may have run out of batteries. I love that I start in one place visually and end in another place. I love how planned the video was even with the abrupt end. I didn't even mind my looking down to look at my notes about the questions I was answering.

This is what I think was cringe-worthy the fact that I was trying to sell myself for some reality show or program, which I am betting didn't even come to fruition. There were eighteen views on this video and a comment from someone saying he like what I shot. I remember replying to him about how he got the link since the only place I sent this was to whomever was casting. I subsequently made the video private.

But overall I enjoyed this brief exploration and my many tangents and asides et al. Albeit I was probably a bit old for what they were looking for. I am pretty sure I did the audition for Can't Get A Date in my early thirties, where my vibrant energy is much palpable. I don't come across as a messy person which I am sure is part of suitability for those kind of productions, along with extreme beauty or fitness.

Obviously I didn't get the spot, but I am not mad at the attempt. I truly do prefer the old school auditions when you actually went somewhere, but at least I could control the environment and setting. I remember rearranging that part of my apartment to be as creatively dense as possible, even bringing in lamps that were in other areas to give the look of a set or location.

At least I was true to all my keywords at the time, this one-take video was something from someone who was very disciplined.

[Photos by Brown Estate]

[capitalwindowsottawa-blog]

Transform Your Home with Stylish Modern Sliding Doors

When it comes to home improvement, few upgrades can change the look and feel of a room quite like installing stylish, modern sliding doors. These sleek, functional, and eye-catching additions provide a seamless connection between indoor and outdoor spaces, brighten up your interiors, and elevate your home's aesthetic. Whether you're looking to enhance the flow of natural light, save space, or simply update your décor, modern sliding doors are an excellent choice.

In Ottawa, more homeowners are opting for modern sliding doors to give their homes a contemporary feel. With their minimalistic design, these doors create an open and airy atmosphere, making them perfect for a wide range of spaces. From patio doors to room dividers, modern sliding doors offer a perfect blend of functionality and style. In this blog, we’ll explore the benefits of these doors and how they can transform your living space.

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Modern sliding doors are ideal for contemporary homes in Ottawa because they bring sleek, clean lines that align with modern design principles. These doors are available in a variety of materials, from aluminum and steel to wood, offering you the flexibility to choose a style that complements your home’s décor. Whether you prefer a minimalist aesthetic or something more ornate, sliding doors can be customized to suit your preferences.

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For homeowners looking to install Modern Sliding Doors in Ottawa, Capitall Windows is a trusted name in the industry. With years of experience and a dedication to quality, Capitall Windows offers a wide range of stylish and durable sliding door options for your home. Their team of experts can help you choose the perfect door style to match your home’s aesthetic while ensuring it meets your functional needs.

Not only do they provide excellent door installation services, but they also offer solutions to enhance your space’s overall design, such as custom blinds in Ottawa. The combination of modern sliding doors and personalized window treatments can completely transform your home, adding both style and practicality.

Benefits of Modern Sliding Doors in Ottawa

Enhanced Natural Light: One of the most noticeable benefits of installing modern sliding doors is the increase in natural light. With their large glass panels, they allow sunlight to flood your home, making rooms feel brighter and more open.

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Improved Indoor-Outdoor Connection: Modern sliding doors offer a seamless transition between your indoor living spaces and the outdoors. Whether you have a balcony, patio, or garden, sliding doors provide an unobstructed view and easy access to your outdoor areas.

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Energy Efficiency: Today’s modern sliding doors are designed to be energy-efficient. With high-quality glass and insulation, they help maintain the temperature inside your home, reducing heating and cooling costs.

Custom Blinds: A Perfect Complement

When you install modern sliding doors, adding custom blinds can be an excellent way to further personalize your space. Custom Blinds in Ottawa are designed to fit your specific needs and style preferences. Whether you want to control the amount of sunlight entering your space or enhance privacy, custom blinds offer flexibility and control.

There are numerous types of custom blinds to choose from, such as vertical blinds, Roman shades, and roller blinds. These can be tailored to match your modern sliding doors, allowing for a cohesive and polished look. By opting for custom blinds, you can ensure your sliding doors function efficiently while also enhancing the overall ambiance of your home.

Why Capitall Windows Should Be Your First Choice

When it comes to installing modern sliding doors in Ottawa, Capitall Windows is the name you can rely on. They offer high-quality, energy-efficient doors that meet your style and functionality needs. The team at Capitall Windows is experienced in helping homeowners choose the right doors and accessories, such as custom blinds, to create a stylish and comfortable living space.

With Capitall Windows, you can trust that your sliding door installation will be completed with the utmost professionalism. Their doors are built to last and are designed to enhance your home’s value and beauty. Whether you're looking to upgrade your patio door or add a sleek divider between rooms, Capitall Windows provides the perfect solution.

Final Thoughts

Installing modern sliding doors is one of the best ways to transform your home, bringing a fresh, contemporary look to any space. Whether you're upgrading your patio door or creating a stylish room divider, these doors offer a variety of benefits, from space-saving design to improved natural light. When paired with custom blinds in Ottawa, they provide the perfect combination of style, privacy, and functionality.

For homeowners in Ottawa looking for quality sliding doors and window treatments, Capitall Windows is the go-to choice. Their extensive selection of modern sliding doors and expert installation services ensure that your home will benefit from a seamless blend of beauty and practicality. Transform your living space today with stylish modern sliding doors and enjoy the countless advantages they bring!

[customshadesolutions]

Enhancing Your Home with Custom Shade Solutions in Redmond, OR

At Custom Shade Solutions, LLC, we provide custom shade services that combine premium quality with innovative functionality. Whether you want to upgrade your outdoor patio with retractable solar screens, secure your windows with rolling shutters, or enhance interior aesthetics with beautifully crafted window shades, our solutions ensure you enjoy a tailor-made experience that meets all your shading needs. 

Comprehensive Custom Shade Services 

Our custom shades solutions allow you to completely reimagine the look of your living spaces. Whether it is to preserve your spring closet from harmful UV rays or furnish your workplace with style, we have the solutions for all.

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Using their motorized solar screens, Custom Shade Solution, LLC will keep the sun from being an eyesore while maintaining your view and enjoyment of outdoor living. Solar screens screen out unwanted heat and damaging UV rays, reducing energy usage as well as cooling costs so you don’t have to compromise on your interior because of fading furnishings — they work perfectly both indoors and outdoors.

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Solar screens are a great way to enjoy stunning sunsets in Madras, OR or prevent sun damage in your Bend, OR home—all while remaining eco-friendly. 

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Designer window shades by us add elegance and practicality to every room. Available in an array of colors, textures, and materials, they work well with just about any design style. 

Whether you’re after modern patterns or neutral tones, window shades offer:

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Get ready to add sophistication and practicality to any room with our premium window shades. 

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From security and privacy to protection from extreme weather, our rolling shutters do it all so you can sleep soundly knowing your property is safe. They provide greater security without compromising on modern aesthetics, making them perfect for weather and intruder protection.

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Whether protecting your Crooked River Ranch farmhouse or your Sunriver storefront, our rolling shutters provide unparalleled peace of mind. 

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