#two wooden armoires

[kalliforniaa]

Home Office in Atlanta Home office library idea with a medium-sized transitional freestanding desk, a medium-tone wood floor, and gray walls.

[lovelyyellowdress]

Library Atlanta

Example of a mid-sized trendy freestanding desk medium tone wood floor home office library design with gray walls and no fireplace

[poison-into-positivity]

I don’t buy for a second that Ed and Stede ever actually became innkeepers.

I think the attempt was made, at first. I think they patched the hole(s) in the roof. I think they replaced the wooden planks that had started to rot and made a sturdier foundation without the funky smell. I think they got some furniture; a bed, a table and chairs, a bathtub, a stove of questionable quality. I think they set everything up for their first room and decided for the time being, we can just live here in this space we’ve created. And we’ll get around to furnishing the other rooms when we get to it.

And then I think they decided to get some nicer things for the inn, too. They wanted their guests to be surrounded by fine things, after all. They got some red silk curtains. A few potted plants. A settee. The largest bookshelf that they could carry back with them. An antique armoire that Stede saw once and talked about for days, until Ed went and bought it for him.

I think the furniture started to fill up all of the space from wall to wall, and I think they both slowly came to the realization that they wouldn’t possibly be able to squeeze another room in there.

I think that, almost without realizing it, they’d built a house for two. A home for two. And actually, maybe that was enough.

[tenpointsforq]

Amnesia fic! Either Q or James (even if I’d love to read one featuring Q not remembering his relationship with JB).

A/N: Why do you give me the tools with which to destroy you?

—

The man formerly known as Q woke in a large, otherwise empty bed. Pale light washed across the linens, creating peaks and valleys where the fabric eddied around his knees and hips. He blinked, and tried to remember where he was. The room was a rich midnight blue. Wooden blinds covered the windows. A dark wooden armoire stood guard in the corner of the room. None of the furniture looked familiar. 

He scanned his body. There was no headache, no nausea. He was wearing flannel pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt whose decal was so faded he couldn’t make it out in the dim light. As far as he could tell he wasn’t hungover, and he likely hadn’t passed out at a paramour’s home. That still didn’t explain where the fuck he was. 

He scrubbed a thin-fingered hand through his hair, and was surprised to find long tufts of curls. He’d always kept his hair a little longer than his mother would have liked, when she were still alive. But even this length seemed excessive. He couldn’t remember how long his hair was supposed to be. He couldn’t remember the night before. The day before. The week before. A swell of fear rose in his chest. It was hard to catch his breath. He sat up, and noticed that the spot in the bed next to him was warm, though vacant.

The wooden floor was chilly underfoot as he stumbled across the room to the window. He opened the blinds, hoping that he could at least figure out where in London he was by the view. When he was instead greeted by grassy hills speckled with dark boulders that dipped down to a churning sea, the fear in his chest twisted to panic. His breath was ragged in his chest, scraping against his ribcage as it clawed through his body. The corners of his vision darkened. 

There was a quiet knock at the door. 

The man formerly known as Q knelt on the floor. He pressed his head to the cool, wide wooden planks and watched the fugue of his breath cast a pale moss across the shiny surface. 

The door opened. A man walked in- average height, muscular, close cropped hair and the bluest eyes that could possibly exist. He had a small tray in his hands, with two steaming mugs and a pile of toast. 

“You’re up earlier than usual,” the visitor said. 

“Where am I?”  

“Roonah Point- in Western Ireland.” The visitor took a few steps into the room and set the tray down on a small table in the corner. “I’m afraid I have bad news for you, but maybe the tea will ease things a little. Would you like to come up off the floor?” 

The visitor’s voice was confident, almost cocksure. After careful deliberation the man formerly known as Q rose to his feet and walked over to the table. 

“Am I dying?” He asked. 

The visitor cocked his head to one side. “Why would you think that?”

“You said you had bad news. It was the first thing I thought of.” 

“You’re not dying. At least- not any sooner than you should be.”

“Then what’s the bad news? And where am I? And who the fuck are you?”

Maybe I’m dreaming, he thought to himself. But somehow, he doubted it. 

“Here-” the visitor held out a mug. It had a large, black Q emblazoned on the side, with a small number ten just beneath it. He wondered what it meant. Regardless, the tea inside the mug was delicious. Perfectly steeped earl gray with a touch of cream, just how he liked it. 

“I’m afraid that while you are not dying, you are ill, in a manner of speaking.” The visitor said. “You were in an accident a little over a year ago- you healed fine, mostly. But there was some significant damage to your memory. You struggle to convert short term memories into long term memories, and a good chunk of time from before the accident seems to be missing as well. Your loved ones hired out this house here, and I’m here to care for you, to keep you comfortable. My name is James.” 

“My loved ones?” 

“Yes. Do you remember your family?” James asked. His eyes tightened, and he took a long pull from his mug. 

“My parents are dead. I have a sister but we’re on bad terms.” 

“That’s right,” James said. “Although you’re on better terms now, so to speak. Celine visits twice a year. She’ll be back in a month.” 

“But I’m not going to remember that by the time she gets here, am I?” Q asked. His mind was racing through the implications of what James had explained to him. 

“No, likely not,” said James. 

“Am I going to remember this conversation?” Q took another pull from the mug, then selected a triangle of toast to nibble on. 

“For a little while, but it’ll fade,” James said. 

“How many times have we had this conversation?” The man formerly known as Q asked. 

“I’ve stopped keeping count,” said James with a smirk. “But there are worse conversations to have over breakfast.” 

They drank their tea, and then James suggested they go for a walk. 

“You like to watch the ocean on blustery days,” James said. He drained the rest of his mug. There was a ring on the man’s finger. Silver, with some kind of etching that was difficult to read from a distance. 

“You’re married,” The man formerly known as Q said. 

“I am. Going on three years, now,” James replied. 

“But you live here?” 

“Most of the time. I lease a flat in London, too. Sometimes I go back for holidays or to do some contract work for an old job.” 

“Your partner doesn’t mind? Where is he?”

James smiled. “He doesn’t mind much. He knows that this is important to me. Or at least, I hope they do. He’s not far, either. I see him most days.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“Drink your tea. We have a walk to go on. Waves to watch.” 

James showed him where his clothes were kept and gestured to a pair of well-worn boots in the corner of the room. Then he took the tea tray and left. The man formerly known as Q changed into jeans and a thick wool sweater. He tugged the boots on over his socks. He looked out the window. Gray clouds were moving at a furious pace across the sky. Birds twisted and dove through the air. He felt unmoored. Confused. He tucked those feelings deeper inside himself and made his way out of the bedroom and down a narrow hallway lined with artwork he mostly didn’t recognize, but some he  strangely did. 

The hall opened to a living room with panelled walls painted in a deep hunter green. The room was dominated by a fireplace and a large leather sofa, with built in bookshelves lining the far wall. There were pictures and knick knacks propped on surfaces around the room. Some were his- he recognized a photo of him and his college roommate at graduation. There was a figurine of the Eiffel Tower that he’d gotten on a trip as a child. Other items seemed to be bits and bobs collected from far flung places. James returned to the room while he was examining a porcelain figurine of a tabby cat. 

“From Japan,” was all that James said. Then he crossed the room and pulled open a small door. He pulled out two coats, and held out an olive green one.  

“What’s my name?” The man formerly known as Q asked. His mouth was dry. He was afraid to ask, and he wasn’t sure why. For some reason, it terrified him to think that this man knew the answer to that question. Like there was a danger just out of his field of vision. 

“You tell me,” James said. “If you want.” 

“Thomas.” 

“That’s right,” James said with a tight nod. 

“That’s not the name I go by, though,” Thomas said, and the briefest of smiles flashed across James’ face. 

“It’s not. You’re right.” James said. 

“What do you call me?” 

“I call you Q, some of the time,” James said with a smile. 

Thomas decided that he liked that more, and something inside him shifted to make room for this other version of himself. Whomever he was that brought such a smile to this strange, caring man’s lips. He tucked Thomas away, and took on the mantle of Q. It felt more comfortable. More him. 

James opened the door and a blast of cold air filled the room. Q pulled on the offered coat and zipped it to his chin. He followed James out the door, and then moved to stand beside him. Together they walked down a muddy path worn into the hillside. Q thought he saw the remnants of boot prints in the dirt. Traces of a traveler from the day before, perhaps. He wondered if they were his own. The treads didn’t match the tracks that James was leaving in the mud beside him. 

They made their way to the edge of a rocky cliff. Dozens of feet below, the sea churned in on itself in a tangled mass of waves. James was right. Q enjoyed watching the waves immensely as they beat against the rocky shore. Wind whipped through his hair and stung his cheeks. James moved to stand on his other side, the bulk of his body shielding Q from the worst of the wind. Q glanced down, and saw that James was worrying at the ring on his left hand. Q squeezed his own fingers, frigid from the cold. 

“There are gloves in your pocket,” James said. Q reached inside, and found soft, knit gloves. He slid them on. 

“Thank you,” Q said. 

“I’d try to get you to wear a hat, too, but you don’t like how it squashes your curls,” James said. “I gave up on that a few months ago.” 

“How long have we been here?” Q asked. 

“Sixteen months, give or take. It’s hard to track the time,” James replied, and Q could tell that there was a lot that the man wasn’t saying. 

“Almost half the time you’ve been married,’ Q observed. 

“Almost,” Bond nodded placidly. 

“And do we do this every day? You come and explain to me that I am an invalid, permanently unmoored from time, and then make me tea and we go for a walk?” 

“Just about,” Bond said. “Sometimes I make us a proper breakfast first. Sometimes you’re a bit angrier when I explain things. Rightly so, of course. Then there are days that you remember a little bit more.” 

“I remember more?” Q asked. 

“Just a little. I think sometimes you have dreams that help bridge the gap. You wake up and remember who I am, at least. You remember more about your life around the time of the accident. It’s not much more, usually, but it’s enough to make those days different.” 

Q glanced away from the waves and back towards the little cottage where they’d ventured from. He could see a small gray car in the driveway. There was a shed off to the side of the house and a substantial wood pile, though he couldn’t see any nearby trees. 

“And do I ever remember that we’re married?” Q asked. James stiffened next to him. 

“No. You never remember that,” the man replied after a long moment. 

The sadness in James’ voice made Q want to reach over and take his hand. He shoved his hands in his pockets instead. 

“You must hate me a great deal for that,” Q said quietly. 

“Never,” James said. And he turned towards Q, and laid a hand on Q’s shoulder. His blue eyes blazed despite the dull gray day around them. “I don’t hate you. I hate the situation sometimes. I mourn the time we lost, and I grieve the memories we were promised. But I could never hate you. I’m grateful you’re alive and here and I can stand beside you still, in whatever capacity you’ll have me.” 

“Thank you,” Q said. And there were a million more complicated thoughts and emotions roiling inside of him. He had the sense that some days, he might roll up his sleeves and sort through them. But today, he wanted only to exist in this comfortable pocket of a life that James had provided for them. He wanted to drink tea and watch the sea and learn more about the man that stood beside him, through sickness and health. 

Q reached out and took James’ hand. He held it tightly. He hoped he would hold it tomorrow, too.

[simverses]

WFS Bavaria Bedroom

The Bavaria Bedroom has a total of 39 items/variations, all matching the other Bavaria sets, in a rustic, old fashioned style.

Converted from Sims 2, original by Wood for Sims - edited and adapted for Sims 4.

Set A includes:

An Armoire (Wardrobe)

A Dresser 

Two mirrored Bed End Tables, to place on each side of the bed

A Stool

A Vanity Table - this item needs Vintage Glamour Stuff Pack

Set B: Beds

The WFS Bavaria Bedroom Beds - these are made as EA makes them, with both frame and bedding.

In this set:

Bavaria Double Bed

Bavaria Double Bed High with Matching Canopy Drapes

Bavaria Single Bed

Bavaria Single Bed High with Matchng Canopy Drapes

Bavaria Wider Single Bed

Bavaria Wider Single Bed with Matching Canopy Drapes

Bavaria Toddler Bed

Bavaria Toddler Bed with Matching Canopy Drapes

Bavaria Bunk Bed (Upper part) with Matching Canopy Drapes

Note: The wider single bed is a concept I usually create for beds, as the single bed looks so narrow.  A wider version fits better in a room for one sim, I think. It works a normal single bed, but needs a little more space.

Note 2: The Bavaria Bunk Bed works as EA bunk beds and can be combined with the other beds, or dresser, or a living chair or loveseat.

Note 3: The different sizes are merged together when they share textures. So there is only one package for the both versions of the double bed, and so on. If you want to edit or remerge, unmerge the packages first.

The Bavaria Bed Frames separated so you can combine them with any separate bedding.

Converted from Sims 2, edited and adapted for Sims 4. Original by Wood for Sims.

10 different bed frames In this set:

Separated Bed Frame for Double Bed, with or without Canopy Drapes

Separated Bed Frame for Single Bed, with or without Canopy Drapes

Separated Bed Frame for Wider Single Bed, with or without Canopy Drapes

Separated Bed Frame for Toddler Bed, with or without Canopy Drapes

Separated Bed Frame for Upper Bunk Bed, with or without Canopy Drapes

20+ wooden colors, 37+ drape swatches.

All the Bavaria Bed sizes - the beddings separated. 40 swatches.

Converted from Sims 2, edited and adapted for Sims 4. Original by Wood for Sims.

In this set:

Bedding for Double Bed

Bedding for Single Bed

Bedding for Wider Single Bed

Bedding for Toddler Bed

Bedding for Upper Bunk Bed

Download WFS Bavaria Part 8: Bedroom Set A - Dressers and misc (Curseforge)

Download WFS Bavaria Part 8: Bedroom Set B - Beds (Curseforge)

Download WFS Bavaria Part 8: Bedroom Set C - Separated Bed Frames (Curseforge)

Download WFS Bavaria Part 8: Bedroom Set D - Separated Beddings (Curseforge)

[batsycline69]

Summary: Steve Rogers, in search of a piece of the life he once lived, wanders into your antique store. Months later, you remind him there's always room for second chances.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x GN!reader

Words: 5k

Content/warnings: little angsty bits but mostly just fluff, established flirtationship, mutual pining, they're in love but don't tell them they don't know yet, can be read as comic Steve or MCU Steve

A/N: mini playlist for this fic here

Love is calling It's time to give to you Something you can hold onto I dare you to try

-"Andromeda" by Weyes Blood

Everything started with a sagging floorboard he volunteered to fix.

An afternoon spent ambling about his old neighborhood nearly six months ago didn’t offer any of the comforts he’d been hoping. He roamed his old neighborhood in search of something familiar. Something that would remind him that yes, the life he remembered living was real. Yes, the evidence still remained. The longer he walked, the less he believed.

Instead he was met with nothing but reminders of everything he’d missed. Of the memories he’d made buried somewhere beneath the city that had cropped up around them. Of a past he knew he could never return to no matter how badly he wanted it.

Dejected and lost, he happened into an antique shop for a brief reprieve from the rain. Just as fitting of a place as any for him; he could be just another antique in the collection.

Heavy drops pattered against the old windowpanes. Antique lamps lit the store as he wandered through the shelves of other peoples’ belongings, long abandoned, feeling a strange sense of belonging among them. Wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he stepped onto a sun-bleached rug spreading out across the aisle.

Wandering for shelter, he found you. A box of loose ceramics teetered precariously in your arms. You tripped on a loose floorboard. If Steve hadn’t been there, the whole box would have shattered. At least, that’s what you told him.

Something clicked between the two of you almost immediately. Steve felt it like a gravitational pull, tugging him back again and again.

From that point, it was harder to stay away. He wanted to bury himself in the past where he belonged, yet you kept calling him forward, and your voice was one he couldn’t resist.

Steve doesn’t know how to slow down, but he can’t stand the idea of passing you by. For you, he tries. Just like he tries not to read into the way you make his stomach flip, but it’s hard when he gets back into the city after a fight with you at the top of your mind. You see behind the status he never asked for. Not a runt, not a hero. When you look at him, he’s just Steve.

You make it easy to just be Steve.

Every day, you see things worn down by life. Things displaced from where they once were.With you circled with second chances, it’s hard to not feel like maybe that could apply to him too.

Sandwiched between a hardware store and an old diner, your store waits for him. The promise of snow hangs heavy in the crisp air, but today the sky is gray above him, only slivers of sunlight seeping through the clouds. Fearless gusts of wind whip through the narrow streets. Down the block is the bakery you swing into some mornings before you open shop.

The door sticks as he tries to get it open, the same as it has for the past few months. For him, it’s nothing, but he’s watched customers struggle with it when he hangs around for repairs. The last time he was here, he told you he’d fix it. Life got in the way, as it always did. Time slipped out of his fingers the way it always did.

The chime above the door rings through the small antique store. Inside, he feels the weight of the world lessen. Here, the greatest thing you might ask of him is to carry a buffet from one end of the shop to another. Maybe you have an old armoire you have to find a place for. You’ll offer to pay him, and he’ll turn you down like always. How can he accept your money when you’ve given him more than he can put into words?

Dim sunlight filters in from outside. Motes of dust catch the light as they lazily float through the air. Music plays through old tinny speakers, offering the same peace he so frequently seeks from you.And, behind the old desk with its dinged sides, is you sifting through a box of donations.

Your face lights up for a moment before quickly shifting into a grimace. The evidence of his recent feat darkens the skin of his jaw, leaving behind an ugly, splotchy bruise.

“Yikes…” you say, eyes lingering on his injuries.

To varying degrees of success, you always try not to fuss over him too much when he comes in roughed up from a fight. He’s not sure if it comes from a place of not wanting to scare him off or from some assurance his work won’t scare you off, but regardless, he appreciates the effort.

Steve breathes a laugh. “Looks worse than it is.” He kicks the snow on his boots onto the worn doormat at the front of the shop.

You’ve received similar assurances in the past. First on his mind is to make sure you don’t worry. He doesn’t feel deserving of your concern. One thing has always been true: Steve can take care of himself. Worrying over his well-being is a waste of your energy.

You scoff. “You’d say that no matter what,” you reply as you emerge from behind the desk, careful not to knock over any of the framed paintings leaned up against the surface.

The past few months have given you insight to him. He’s let you get to know him, and in turn, he’s gotten to know you too. How you like your coffee. The routine you settle into when the shop is slow. Little dances along to the song you tell him you love.

Steve has always sought new experiences. The world becomes more clearer to him whenever he gets to connect with he’s never seen before. Always more insight to what he’s fighting for. When those experiences come through you—a song you recommend, a worn book you slide over to him to read between missions—he always savors it a little longer.

“It’s nothing that has to keep me from finally fixing this door,” he says.

“You don’t want to take the day off? Maybe kick back, catch up on some sleep? I’ve heard you had a pretty busy past couple of days.” Your eyes flicker to the back of tools hiked over his shoulder. Usually he uses the ones you keep stashed in the shop, but sometimes you’re stubborn. He brings backups for when you refuse to share in an attempt to get him to slow down.

Like Steve, you don’t shy away from impossible battles.

“Believe me. This is a welcome change of pace,” he replies.

You still hesitate, idling at the front of the desk. You lean into it, your hands pressed back to keep yourself supported. “I’m just saying, this doesn’t have to happen today. If the door sticks for another day or two, the world will keep spinning.”

The truth he can’t bring himself to admit is he wanted to see you. Surrender seems like a stretch, but something in Steve gives when he’s with you. He’s a man with no limit to the fight within him, but you aren’t combat. The biggest risk he runs when it comes to you is ruining it all with the wrong words at the wrong time.

For everything Steve has done, the lives he’s lived in not so much time, this is something he doesn’t have much experience with. Not that there is much to this. He helps you with your shop. You scurry up to your apartment up above and bring down a batch of cookies you’d made the night before. There are stolen glances, allusions to things the both of you could do together some undefined day in the future, fingertips that brush against fingertips as one of you carefully passes something to another, but nothing definable.

Steve hovers by the door. His gaze falls to the floor beneath his feet, scarred from the years of furniture being dragged across its surface. He tucks his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, the same worn leather he’s sure you’d recognize from his many trips. Same durable boots. Just as constant as he can be given the life he’d stumbled into.

“Just looking to be useful,” he says, looking back up at you through his lashes.

He can see where you want to interject, can practically feel the air charging with whatever comment you want to make. Instead, you sigh gently with a barely there roll of your eyes.

Your lips draw into a thin line. He’s certain you see him itching for something mundane when you speak again. “Be careful about bringing the cold in.”

So Steve works. Nothing but him and an annoying door. Stakes that seem like nothing after the week he’s had. Of course, the stakes aren’t actually nothing, because they involve you. Your shop. Something he can do that will make your life a little better, a little easier. Responsibility like that isn’t something he takes lightly.

He listens to you hum along to your music and wishes that crushes were something to be outgrown. He wishes that being seen didn’t yank at the strings of his heart like he was a marionette.

Captain America may have grown something larger in his life than he could anticipated, but the mantle only grew around Steve. At the center, he’s still him. Something he refuses to commodify. Something he can trust when everything else around him became unfamiliar. Beneath what the serum built, beneath the tough exterior built up over his life, is still the boy his mother raised.

As he attends to off-kilter hinges, he thinks of her. Thinks of helping her around the apartment because the landlord wouldn’t fix anything and there was no alternative they could afford. Giggling at her little jokes so she’d never know he could see the exhaustion on her face.

Loss has always found Steve. He can’t say it comes naturally—no matter how many times his path crosses with loss, it never gets easier—but he knows its face when he sees it. He knows you’re something that could one day slip through his fingers. Steve knows there’s always more to lose.

Ever since he woke up, Steve has been a spectacle. Something to be beheld. Someone to serve. And that’s what he wanted. He signed up for that, for a time. He’d never signed up to be a living legend. That was a weight Captain America took on for the greater good.

Steve wanted to do good. He wanted to help because it was right. The museum exhibits and news stories and flashy parties weren’t anything he’d asked for.

For a brief moment, Steve had everything he wanted. And that moment of time came crashing down with him. That moment stays buried in ice while he is pushed back out into a world that knew him uncomfortably well.

As he tries to right the door, you glance over. “Need a hand?” you ask, watching the way he props the door against the frame.

He doesn’t, but you know that. So he says yes.

You walk over to him, hoisting the door up some so he can get a better angle on the hinges. He makes quick work of righting it.

When he’s done, you swing the door open a few times, letting out a sigh of relief when it doesn’t drag against the stoop. And suddenly, you dash back over to the desk, sliding a little folded piece of construction paper towards you.

The card has a little flower doodled on the front. You must have done it while he was working.

A smile ghosts on his lips as he looks back up to you.

“It’s a thank you card,” you explain, a hesitant smile on your face.

A few bills fall onto the desk as Steve flips it open. He quirks his eyebrow up at you before skimming the card, a plea for him to take the money this time. Instead, he slides the money back towards you.

“Steve.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not taking your money.”

“I can’t just keep letting you do this for free. I have to pay you back somehow.”

“The cookies are always a perk.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Steve.”

The visits are farther between than he’d like. Sometimes he’s worried he’ll be gone for too long, and when he comes home, you’ll have been swept off your feet by someone who beat him to the punch. You’ve gone on dates—you’d made offhanded remarks about them from time to time—but if you have anything serious, you’ve never brought it up to him.

He lets out a low chuckle, growing a little self-conscious. “Alright,” he says as he looks back down at your handwriting sprawled out onto the card. He stares down at your name signed at the bottom, trying to loosen the words stuck on his tongue. “How about a date?”

You freeze. Steve suddenly feels as though he can’t breathe for the second it takes for you to move again as if rebooting.

When you say yes, Steve feels the lightest he has in a long time.

The day sits like a weight on your chest. Steve’s last minute cancellation of your date last night doesn’t help things. Well, he didn’t actually cancel. Lucky for you, the news was airing the latest costumed threat to the world before you started getting dressed up.

That’s what you tell yourself to make it not hurt so much, at least.

Of course he would get pulled away for work; you were under no impression that would never happen. How many times has he had to dash out of your store onto the next mission? But that didn’t mean you hadn’t been hopeful you’d at least be allowed this one date.

You’d been up late worrying about him, feeling ridiculous for doing so. Steve was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Still, you’ve grown attached. You don’t exactly love when he wanders into your shop all banged up. And because you worried all night, you were running off little sleep. Irritability has your shoulder blades aching from tension.

Someone came by with a box of unprotected ceramics. Again! The matching set clanged together as the person carelessly tossed the box onto your desk. You’d fought back the urge to wince. Not to mention, once you were alone again, you were left alone with your thoughts of Steve, and you certainly didn’t need salt on that wound.

So now, you’re finally in your pajamas, freshly showered and ready to relax after a day that had tested your nerves to the very end.

And then your buzzer sounds through your apartment like a jackhammer.

You curse beneath your breath, letting out a long sigh. You could ignore it; for the sake of whoever is calling you at this hour the second you finally sat down, you probably should. But the expectant silence after makes you feel antsy.

With a groan, you rise to your feet and stomp over to the buzzer, thankful there’s nothing below you but the empty shop. “Yeah?” You mean to sound less irritated than you do.

There’s a long pause. You cross your arms impatiently. Just as you’re about to say something, the speaker clicks.

“It’s me.” Steve’s voice sounds uncertain on the other end. You freeze, suddenly aware of your biting tone. Of the pajamas you’re currently wearing. Of the fact that the guy you were supposed to go on a date with last night is on your doorstep. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I know it’s late…”

Fuck, he wants to come up. You know it. “Just give me a minute.” Your reply is hurried. Fuck. Why didn’t you just tell him to meet you for coffee tomorrow like a sensible person? But you already know the answer; because he’s here now.

You’ve been watching tree branches bow with the weight of snow building atop them all day. Steve drove despite the weather—presumably straight from a fight—to see you. If you weren’t too busy tearing through a pile of clothes to find something wearable, you would have butterflies in your stomach from the idea.

By the time you’re opening your door, Steve has shuffled the snow on the front walk away with his restless footsteps. He’s got a bouquet clenched in his hand as he stares at you with a sheepish smile on his split, swollen lip.

“Are you alright?” you ask tentatively, hovering in the doorway.

“Of course,” he says. Your eyes flicker to the coagulated blood on his lip before going back up to his tired eyes. He avoids your gaze by looking down at the flowers. “I…”

Snow settles on the shoulders of his jacket, in his hair, golden from the streetlight above. “Sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t really think this through.” He lets out a low self-deprecating laugh.

You breathe a laugh too. You got dressed again for this, just ask him up!

Somewhere a few blocks down, the light of a snowplow flashes against the side of a building, but the city feels almost eerily still regardless. Heavy, wet snow builds on the sidewalks acting like a little pocket to keep you and Steve in your own little world.

“Come inside,” you say, stepping out of the doorway.

As he kicks snow off his boots in the small stairwell, your heart races. The lines had always been so clear when he helped around the shop; he’d help you move furniture around or situate boxes, you’d pay him back the only way he’d allow: with baked goods. Apart from the rare takeout dinner after hours, you never saw each other once the sign was flipped closed.

All the familiar comforts are gone.

Steve tries his best to feign casualness as you open the door to your apartment, but you catch him eyeing the secondhand furniture around your home. “Sorry about the mess,” you say as you kick your shoes off by the door. “I have some things I was stashing to sort through this weekend.” Carefully, you take snow-dusted roses from him, gesturing towards your worn couch for a seat.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he says.

You shake your head. “Not at all.” Your thankful for the music you left playing to fill the silence. At least digging through your hutch for a vase gives keeps you busy while you try to play off your exhaustion.

The last thing you want to do is talk about how tired you are to Captain America, especially when the reason you couldn’t sleep was the danger he was facing.

The stilted conversation has you both showing your hands more than either of you would like. As you go into the kitchen to deal with the flowers, you feel your nerves growing. Are you being weird? Is Steve being normal, and you’re the only one being weird?

The thoughts are burying you in your head. Unfortunately, that means you miss as you knock your flowers against the vase you’d placed far too close to the edge of the counter. You jump back just in time to save your toes from getting crushed. Glass shatters against the tile, rocketing in every direction across your kitchen floor.

You bite back a scream of frustration.

Steve is at your side before you even realize he got up. “You okay?” he asks, looking you over just as you had done to him only moments earlier.

The concern in his eyes fizzles out your irritation. You steady your frayed nerves before nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just wasn’t thinking.”

Or rather, you were thinking far too hard about far too much. Steve Rogers is in your apartment, which leaves plenty for the mind to turn over. You’re still not totally sure what landed him on your doorstep, especially tonight of all nights, and you’re really trying not to get your hopes up too high.

Steve takes one last confirming glance you’re alright before giving a small nod. “Stay there. Got a broom somewhere?”

You watch him carefully as he sweeps up the shards, suddenly caught off-guard by the sight of him in your kitchen, bumbling around trying to find your garbage can before you direct him. His blue eyes scan for glass catching the light,

He pauses right in front of you, somehow unaware of how close he’d gotten until he looks back towards you. The line of his back straightens suddenly, but doesn’t step away.

He’s not still bloody from the fight, but you can’t imagine there was time for much else besides cleaning up before he showed up. Only this close do you realize how well you can still smell his soap.

Breath catches in your throat as you meet his eyes. Worry still swims in his gaze. You have to remind yourself he did just come back from a fight. The tension in his muscles is still evident. He’s on edge, and your exhausted carelessness helping.

You raise your hand, letting it hover in the air for a hesitant moment. Finally, you find the will to raise it all the way. His skin is warm beneath your thumb as you smooth the crease between his brows. Right now, he doesn’t need to be worrying about you.

“Rough day at work?” you ask.

Steve laughs softly. “You could say that.” He procures another vase for you, this time offering to handle it himself, shooing you back towards your couch, joining you shortly after. “How about you?”

The exhaustion of your day is catching up to you now. With Steve here, with the jitters of the vase breaking fading away, you feel yourself bowing to it, finally giving in.

He follows you as you collapse onto the couch. When he’s finally settled at your side, you stare at him for a moment. “I couldn’t really sleep last night,” you admit, feeling the weight of his gaze. Your eyes flicker away. “I was worried about you. You always come back looking like you’ve had the shit beat out of you, and…”

You trail off, still feeling Steve’s gaze lingering on you. He’s trying to do you a service, allowing you to finish your thought, but you wish he’d interrupt you. The words feel stuck in your throat, because admitting anything to him feels so foolish.

You expect him to laugh at your mundane life. The other shoe has yet to drop; yes, Steve Rogers wandered into your life, and yes, he asked you out yesterday, but you wait for the day he stops coming back. For when he outgrows you or gets bored, whichever comes first.

“I like having you around,” you finally say, the words more timid than you would like. “I wouldn’t want something to happen to you.”

His eyebrows quirk up. The shock is endearing, but he recovers quickly. After everything, the idea of home terrifies Steve. Something so fragile, so easy to upheave. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” he murmurs, his voice low now with the proximity to you.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, from what I hear, you give everyone plenty of reason to.”

“Fair enough,” he says, a faint smile still tugging at his lips.

Oh, you like him a lot. You’re just another name on a very long, very old list of people with a crush on Captain America, but how could you not be? He comes in to help you with your old shop, worries over the heating and offers to talk to the landlord. He sweeps up shattered glass when you’re careless enough to knock something over in the first place. He makes a bad day feel better just by passing you one of those incredibly sincere smiles.

You let your eyes linger on him, taking him in.He clears his throat, looking to stare down at the sun-bleached rug beneath his feet. The scuffed floorboards stretch out before you both.

“Yesterday...I can’t promise it will never happen again. Hell, I can probably guarantee it will. But I am trying. I…” He lets out a small huff. “I didn’t want you to think I don’t care. Because I do.” Music fills the lull of his hesitation. “And I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I did mean to.”

“Yeah...Lucky you were big news. I was able to skip the ‘oh no, he’s dead in a ditch’ phase and go straight to ‘oh, he’s just off to fight some god.’”

“No gods this time,” Steve replies, a teasing, mischievous glint catching in the blue of his eyes. “Just another evil organization.”

“Oh, well that’s a relief,” you tease back.

The time passes easily with him. He calms your worrying each time he smiles a little too widely, reminding him of his split lip, insisting he doesn’t need any ice. The space between you blurs as the hours do. When his arm falls over your shoulders, you ease against his chest.

For a while, you listen to his heart beat against your cheek. The sound is comforting. He may be a superhero, but somehow, you can make his pulse race. The warmth of his body makes you feel so alive. Steve feels like the first warm day after the bitter cold of winter. He’s the sun that kisses your skin as you shrug off your jacket. A promise that the snow will melt and spring will come.

All at the same time, you feel the weight that comes with being the sun. Being a beacon of hope doesn’t come without its burdens, nor is it something that develops overnight.

Steve has always left lots unsaid between the two of you. Not secrets, more so saving you from the full story. Saving you the burden of his burdens. As you think of the many things Steve keeps close to his chest, your fingers slip between his. His gentle gaze falls onto you.

He looks comfortable. You make him comfortable. This man who’s done more than you are ready to comprehend, quite frankly, finds safety with you.

Two hours ago, you were in a rotten mood. Six hours before that, you were worried something would happen and you’d never see him again. You’d spent the time wondering what you would do if you never saw him around the shop; the thought made you feel sick.

Now, you’re going to kiss him. Months have passed as you imagined what it’d be like. With each new wound he’d wandered in with, you’d imagine kissing it better. At the time, it seemed so childish, yet now you’re given the opportunity, and you can’t turn it down.

You lean toward him, careful to press your lips to the side of his. Soft and chaste, but feels like everything. As you pull away, he looks at you like it is.

Tingling lips beg for more, but you don’t want to hurt him or irritate his already swollen mouth.

“How fast do you usually heal up?” you purr. Your fingertips brush against his jaw, holding him gently.

“Couple days,” he replies quickly. His heart skips against your skin.

You nod. “Consider that my IOU.”

As you lean back down against him, Steve eases beneath you. Tension melts from his muscles beneath your fingertips. Still not fully pliant, but you imagine that doesn’t come easy for him. How often does he get to have his guard down? How long can it genuinely stay down before he has to run to the next fire?

You savor this moment. The future with Steve is an unknowable beast. But right now you have the warmth of Steve around you, keeping you warm even in your drafty apartment.

Conversation settles between the two of you. Soon after, the music stops. You keep meaning to say something, maybe put something else on, but you’re so comfortable. And as Steve’s breath starts to even, you know you’re stuck, though you find it far from a bad situation.

You don’t dare move; you imagine Steve is a light sleeper. And as you allow yourself to sink against him, your eyes slip shut. The steady beat of his heart pulls you to sleep shortly after.

When you wake, Steve’s head rests heavily on top of yours. The warmth makes you sluggish. You don’t want to move, but you feel your neck growing stiff. Grogginess has you unsure how long you’ve been asleep. Maybe twenty minutes, maybe three hours. The darkness outside your blinds doesn’t give anything away.

“Steve,” you whisper, shifting slightly in his grip. He rouses quickly—you feel a brief flicker of satisfaction at your initial guess—blinking sleep from his eyes.His eyes sweep the apartment quickly, checking for danger. Old habits, you imagine. When he knows you’re safe, he settles back, recovering his composure quickly.

You stand up, his hand still in yours. Your lips press against his bruised knuckles before giving him a gentle tug. “C’mon.”

“I should get back.” His voice stays low, rumbling and warm.

You shake your head. “Come to bed. I’m not gonna have you driving out in this weather.”

His eyes flicker to the snow still falling outside your window. The shadows dance across his face as he nods, following you as you lead him to the bedroom.

Cold settles over your skin as you get ready for bed. You can’t wait to settle back against Steve’s body heat, to curl up beneath the blankets wrapped around him. And as quickly as you can, you join him there, the sheets already warmed from him.

He pulls you against him as soon as you’re beneath the covers, hand smoothing up and down your arm when he feels you shivering against him.

Gradually, you warm up. Sleep finds you before it finds Steve. When he’s finally alone with his thoughts, finally able to rest, he’s surprised to find that where his thoughts turn feel less burdensome than usual.

One in particular catches Steve off-guard. He thinks of you as someone he could limp home to. When the dust settles, and he’s just Steve again. You could be a place to set down the shield to rest.

a/n: huge shoutout to @janybabyy for giving this a readthrough. your notes were monumental in getting this finished

dividers by @saradika-graphics

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider giving it a reblog 💛

[azsazz]

Bloody Knuckles and the Songs of Death (Part 5)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is everything that Azriel is not. Opposite feelings but equal death in the end.

AKA: Half a rewrite of chapters 43-47 of ACOWAR where reader is now there as part of the Autumn Court, excited to meet Azriel. The other half are my own ideas.

Warnings: Major themes of death and torture, ACOWAR spoilers (previous parts), blood, gore, mentions of abuse, (eventual) smut.

Word Count: 1,796

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Notes: I forgot how much I bloody love this one 😉

_________________________________________

The alliance doesn’t start well.

Without your ability to assure the others that Beron will come around and join their forces, your word means nothing to the rest of the High Lords.

You’re shown to a room for the night, and are left alone. There’s a platter of food to graze from, sitting on the table. It’s filled with luscious looking fruits and hearty meats to match. There’s a shining bottle of Dawn’s finest wine and a pair of glasses sitting next to the silver platter, as if it were more than just you alone tonight in this larger than large suite.

It’s all well and fine for you, though, because you are finally away from the clutches of Beron. 

As if he knows that you’re thinking of him, the hatred for the male that’s kept you prisoner for so many years, the bargain mark on your forearm begins burning in reminder. You tug up the sleeve of your deep chocolate leathers with a hiss, watching as the palm shaped burn mark flushes red with heat.

Beron always likes to assure his bargains with a handprint. You’ve seen enough of them to go around, even if the High Lord commanded to mark you in a place that could be easily concealed. Backs of necks, biceps, even the occasional palm print across a cheek are all of the marks you’ve seen made by the Autumn Lord.

Gritting your teeth, you snag the bottle and a couple of berries, eating them from your palm as you stride for the armoire. Slugging the bottle on one of the sweater-lined shelves, you strip the clothes from your body, breathing in a sigh of relief from the constricting leather. Your arm still burns with the remnants of your master’s reminder, as it always does, and you hope that the drink and the cool breeze of Dawn will sate your warm skin.

It’s not the burn you yearn for, that heat of a body beneath you while you wring their life in your hands.

The whisper of silk slides graciously across your skin, smooth and soft as you slip the nightdress over your head. The creamy lavender color matches the skies, you notice as you snag the bottle of wine by the neck and move towards the balcony. 

Stuffing the rest of the berries in your mouth, you shove through the heavy wooden doors, pausing on the threshold as the dawn breeze blows the hair back from your face, caressing your hot cheeks.

You don’t know how you’re to convince the other High Lord’s that Beron will join their ranks, don’t know how Eris will convince his father of doing the same. They’re weary of you, that much is obvious, left behind in the wake of the royal family's disappearance like a stray pet.

They don’t know how true that statement is, you think as you glare down at the mark adorning your otherwise unmarked skin. 

The cork of the wine pops with an ease that settles you some. You could only wish that it were the cracking of bones splitting through flesh, hot blood seeping between your fingertips, down your throat like you crave. Your body thrums with need, death calling to you like a lost lover.

You choke down a sip of the wine, hardly tasting it as you shove the thoughts from your mind. There was a reason Beron had enslaved you to him, trapped you beneath his will, because of your powers, your bloodthirsty nature. You sought blood and despair, missed the way it coats the back of your throat, embedding itself into the prints of your fingers and beneath the curve of your nails, the scent clinging to your body for days. 

You itch.

The alcohol is a comforting burn as it goes down, warming your belly, but it will only continue to ignite that yearning within you. 

There’s no chance to slip from the palace, lure someone into your bed, a peregryn perhaps. Surely one missing from this luxurious court would not be missed, or maybe, at the very least, they’d let you cut them open for a taste.

You won’t even kill them, you don’t think, wanting only to bathe in the feeling of a soul on the cusp of death, clinging desperately to life, teetering on that oh-so fine line. It’s the final moments that you crave. The threat of death that makes you feel alive.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your fists furiously, as if you’re trying to erase the thoughts from your mind. Your power roils, trying to slip out on the breeze that drifts by, but you lock it down tight, shoving the bottle to your lips again as you greedily drink it back.

“Careful now,” a voice startles from behind and you choke. “That bottle was sent for two.” Deep red wine spills from your chin as you whirl around, searching for the voice.

But there is only darkness…that is, until it shifts, the gravelly voice ripping through the silent night like a death knell. One that makes your spirit stir.

You’re entranced by the way Azriel emerges, as if made from the shadows themselves. His skin gleams beneath the rising moon and his golden eyes glow with fire in the dark. Night-blessed, you realize as he steps closer, darkness sliding from his skin as if he controls its icy tendrils himself.

“What are you doing here, shadowsinger?” you ask, keeping your voice level as you swipe the drink off your chin with your arm. Some has splashed down your front, making you look freckled with blood, the way it coats your lavender gown. You catch him staring.

He doesn’t know why he’s here. He can tell himself it’s to spy for Rhysand all he wants but he knows it’s not true. He’s intrigued by you, wants to know more about your power and how you’d so easily stopped him from snapping Eris’ neck. How you’d slipped past his guard with no resistance and why your eyes lit up at the sight of his blood.

Azriel is drawn in a way that he can’t stop. Like blood to a heart or the sun to the moon. It’s dangerous, him being here, but he can hardly control his feet as they move closer to you, his body aches to be in your presence.

“What are you?” he asks, forcing himself to halt a few feet away from you. His wings are pulled taut behind his back, claws curved inward and backlit by the moon. They make him look like a prince of Hel, horned and handsome beyond belief.

You eye him wearily, even if you do have to crane your neck back so high it hurts to look up at his towering figure. You clench the bottle of wine tighter in your hands so they don’t reach out for him, to wipe that still gleaming bead of blood from his split lip. 

“There is no name for what I am,” you answer simply, “And if there is, it isn’t one I have heard in a long time.”

The corner of his mouth pulls down in a frown and you watch eagerly as the wounded skin tugs. You don’t realize you’re licking your lips until his golden gaze flickers down to watch the motion.

You stifle the burning sensation creeping up your cheeks, taking another swig of the wine to wet your suddenly dry mouth.

He moves a step closer, and you follow in response. You can’t stop staring at each other, only a breath away from each other now, drawn together by an unknown force, cold and warm death meeting again after so long apart.

“Where did he find you?” he wonders, voice a whisper of shadow, as if he had not meant to speak it aloud.

“You think that the Night Court is the only court that holds a prison?” You purr, taking his hand in yours. Azriel does not pull away, if only because he understands how easily you can slip into his mind and wreck him…more than you already are, at least.

His heart aches in his chest but he likes it. Likes the way you caress his scars, looking at them as if they aren’t something to be embarrassed about. Your fingers are warm, and they feel delicious against his own, cold skin. He can see the way that your eyes light with fire as you stare at his torn knuckles and his throat bobs when you fix your gaze on his from lowered lashes, your pink tongue poking out to lap tentatively at his split skin.

It’s difficult not to react to the shiver that crawls down his spine.

Your hand around the neck of the bottle loosens as the taste of him bursts across your tongue. It’s shadowy freshness coats your mouth, awakens your soul as you swallow it down. His reflexes are quick, snatching up the bottle before it crashes to the ground. He necks the bottle back and you watch the bob of his throat as he drinks, a long line of red slowly dribbling down the tan skin of his neck. You shove closer to him. You want to lick it from his throat.

Your power flares, reaching out to him on a sharp exhale. There is no holding it back.

“Deep beneath the oldest oak in Autumn, buried beneath centuries of roots and earth, there is a prison,” your voice is soft, caressing his wet skin, and his breath is trapped in his throat. His fingers don’t twitch to reach for Truth-Teller, instead he wants to reach out, brush the hair from your face, slide his hand behind your neck, and tug you into him roughly, pressing your burning body flush to his night-cold one.

“I saw the way you looked,” he says hoarsely, as if he’s straining to keep whatever darkness lurks within him, clawing its way out to you, at bay. “When Feyre held Beron hostage with her power. That look in your eyes…you’re no longer a prisoner beneath the Oaks, but prisoner to him now, aren’t you?”

You swallow roughly. A curt nod is all you can muster in response.

“You want him dead?” Azriel asks, golden eyes pinning you beneath his stare.

“Yes,” you admit, voice so quiet as if the wind itself will carry your admission all the way to Autumn.

The sweep of his feathery hair brushes your brow as he leans in. Your heart leaps in your chest as if trying to rip its way out of your body to meet his as he lowers himself flush, hot against your frozen body.

His answer is a promise of death, tingling against your lips as he draws himself down to you.

“So be it.”

[so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed]

saw some things on the other side [61K, Larry, M]

Louis can vaguely hear the grandfather clock chime downstairs, signalling the start of the ghost hour, and a shiver runs up his spine as he pushes the door open.

Part of him expects it to be jammed like before, but instead it swings open easily, and for a moment Louis’ eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness. Holding up his phone with shaky hands, he shines the flashlight over the furniture in the room, the curtains that in the daylight had looked so vibrant.

They look tattered now, hanging limply from the rod. The wooden armoire and the bed are ornate and beautiful still, but even from the doorway Louis can see a thick layer of dust, undisturbed for what has been probably the better part of a century.

Louis isn’t sure whether he feels relieved or disappointed, but he definitely feels unsettled. Because this room is what he’d expected to find this afternoon, and yet he can still see the boy he’d met then so clearly now, even when the room looks different from the way it had back then. He doesn’t even have to close his eyes to envision the way it had looked earlier today, and surely it can’t have been a dream, right? Had he gone into this room, expecting to find something more than just dust and forgotten furniture, and had his dream made up for the disappointing ending to a mystery that had only existed in his head?

When Louis moves into the mansion he’s inherited from his great grandfather, he has a plan that consists of three things. One, he’s going to finish writing the next novel in his series. Two, he’s finally going to get over his ex-fiancé. And three, while battling writer’s block and having to resist the urge to kill off the main character in his books – the hot detective based on his ex-fiancé – he’s going to restore the mansion to its former glory.

Unfortunately, Louis’ plan doesn’t take into account the fact that instead of writing murder mysteries, he will find himself in one.

Written for the @onedirectionbigbang with art by the amazing @monpetithl

Read it now on AO3!

[mariateresaeliapivetta]

The Timeless Charm of Brocante: Why We Love This Vintage-Inspired Style

When it comes to interior design, few styles capture the romance and nostalgia of the past quite like Brocante. Rooted in French culture, the term “brocante” refers to flea markets or second-hand goods, yet its essence transcends simple thrift shopping. Brocante is an artful mix of vintage elegance, rustic charm, and a touch of whimsy that creates a warm, lived-in atmosphere. But why does this style resonate so deeply with design enthusiasts? Let’s dive into the world of Brocante and uncover its enduring appeal.

What Defines Brocante Style?

At its core, Brocante style is about breathing new life into old treasures. It thrives on the beauty of imperfection, celebrating items that show the passage of time. Think antique furniture with distressed finishes, mismatched dinnerware with delicate patterns, weathered textiles, and handmade details.

Brocante isn’t about creating a flawless, museum-like environment. Instead, it embraces a curated, eclectic look where each piece has a story to tell. Key elements of Brocante interiors include:

Vintage Furniture: French armoires, wooden dining tables with chipped paint, or upholstered chairs with faded fabrics.

Soft Color Palettes: Muted tones like white, beige, pastels, and soft greys dominate the color scheme, creating a serene and cohesive atmosphere.

Decorative Accessories: Chandeliers, ornate mirrors, vintage clocks, and delicate porcelain or ceramic items.

Natural Materials: Linen, cotton, aged wood, and wrought iron bring texture and authenticity.

Why Do People Love Brocante Style?

1. Nostalgia and Sentimentality

Brocante offers a connection to the past, reminding us of simpler times. The style evokes a sense of history and craftsmanship, often lost in mass-produced modern design. Each item feels like a treasure, full of character and charm.

2. Sustainability and Upcycling

In a world increasingly aware of environmental impact, Brocante’s emphasis on repurposing and reusing is not only appealing but also ethical. By giving old items a second life, this style promotes sustainable living while creating unique and personal interiors.

3. A Warm and Inviting Atmosphere

Brocante interiors are inherently cozy. The use of aged materials, soft lighting, and layered textures makes spaces feel welcoming and lived-in. Unlike minimalist styles, Brocante thrives on personality and comfort.

4. A Celebration of Individuality

No two Brocante spaces are alike. This style encourages creativity and self-expression, allowing homeowners to mix and match pieces that reflect their personal taste. Whether it’s a flea market find or a cherished family heirloom, every item has its place.

5. A Romantic Aesthetic

With its delicate details, ornate decorations, and emphasis on softness, Brocante is undeniably romantic. It appeals to those who dream of rustic French cottages, rose-filled gardens, and the charm of provincial life.

How to Incorporate Brocante Into Your Home

You don’t need to overhaul your entire home to embrace Brocante style. Here are some simple ways to start:

Shop Vintage and Flea Markets: Look for unique pieces like wooden crates, vintage picture frames, or enamel kitchenware.

Mix Old with New: Combine antique furniture with modern accents to create a balanced and harmonious space.

Embrace Imperfections: Don’t shy away from scratches, faded fabrics, or chipped paint – they add authenticity.

Focus on Textures: Layer linens, rugs, and cushions for a cozy, tactile feel.

Add Personal Touches: Display collections, photographs, or handmade crafts to make the space your own.

In Conclusion

Brocante style is more than just an aesthetic – it’s a lifestyle. It’s about cherishing the past, embracing imperfection, and finding beauty in the everyday. Whether you’re an avid flea market hunter or someone looking to add a touch of vintage charm to your home, Brocante offers endless possibilities. Its timeless appeal lies in its authenticity, warmth, and the stories it tells, making it a favorite for those who value heart and soul in their interiors.

Are you ready to bring a touch of Brocante into your life? Happy treasure hunting!

[mostdream6977]

I MET HIM AT THE CORE

((The Sharmat and Amaranth share secrets AKA "Mom, look at this "lore" I pulled out of my ass!" Hope y'all enjoy!))

TW- CANNIBALISM, SUICIDE, IMPLIED MISCARRIAGE

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

I MET HIM AT THE CORE,

JUST LAST NIGHT!

HE DIDN’T SEEM TO EXPECT ME,

BUT HE WAS STILL WARM

AND WELCOMING.

I WAS CURIOUS,

SO I ASKED HIM

(POLITELY!)

WHY HE WOULD GRANT ME HIS COMPANY.

HE SAID IT WAS BECAUSE

I HAD THE FACE OF AN OLD FRIEND

AND A NEW ENEMY

BUT NOT A LOVER

THAT HE WOULD HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF.

HE ASKED ME IN RETURN

WHY I WOULD ACCEPT HIS COMPANY

KNOWING HIS SOURCE.

(KEEP IN MIND,

I DID NOT GROW UP WITHIN HONESTY.

IT IS A CYCLE

THAT I WISH TO END.)

THEREFORE,

I TOLD HIM WHAT I KNOW!

I SAID TO HIM

“WELL, MUTHSERA,”

“I KNOW WHAT MIGHT BE YOUR ACTUALITY,”

“BUT YOUR SOURCE REMAINS A MYSTERY TO ALL!”

… HE THOUGHT THAT WAS PRETTY FUNNY!

HE MENTIONED HE DIDN’T EXPECT

THE INFORMATION TO BE PASSED ALONG.

THEN,

HE TOLD ME HE COULD TEACH ME,

BUT THAT I WOULD FIRST

HAVE TO REMOVE THE MASK.

(EXCITING!)

SO I REACHED TO HIM,

HOOKED MY FINGERS UNDER THE CHIN,

THEN LIFTED IT 

UPWARDS AND OFF.

AS I HAD EXPECTED,

IT WAS QUITE HEAVY!

MADE FROM GOLD OR BRASS, OR BOTH,

AND WEIGHED LIKE IT DIDN’T BEGIN LIFE AS HIS.

I HEARD HIM LAUGH AGAIN,

JOKING ABOUT HOW HE WASN’T SURE

IT COULD COME OFF

AFTER ALL THESE YEARS.

I LOOKED TO HIM

TO SEE HIS REACTION

BUT IN PLACE

THERE WAS JUST A BIG HOLE!

��DON’T BE SHY, CHILD.”

“IF YOU WANT TO KNOW,”

“REACH IN”

“AND CUP YOUR HAND.”

I FOLLOWED HIS WORD

AND REMOVED A HANDFUL

OF THE PURGE FLUID

STAGNANT IN HIS THROAT.

“LET THE LIQUID RUN THROUGH;”

“EAT WHAT REMAINS.”

SO I POPPED A CHUNK OF COAGULATE

INTO MY MOUTH

AND CHEWED IT.

ONCE I HAD,

I WAS NO LONGER IN THE CORE.

A MODEST SPACE,

BUT A PALACE NONETHELESS,

DIM-LIT BY CANDLE AND HEARTH.

I WANDERED INTO A STUDY

AND RAN MY FINGERS ALONG A DESK

WITH MANY DOCUMENTS

AND TWO BOOKS.

ONE HANDWRITTEN AND TITLED

“MOM’S FABLES, FOR ____”

AND THE OTHER

OPENED ON THE 11TH PAGE,

CHAPTER ONE

 AFTER THE PROLOGUE,

“BEGINNINGS OF NAVIGATING BEREAVEMENT”

I WANDERED INTO THE HALL

THERE WERE MANY DOORWAYS

AND NO DOORS.

ONE ROOM HAD BEEN BLOCKED OFF

BY A LARGE BRASS ARMOIRE,

BUT PEEKING THROUGH,

ALL I COULD SEE

WERE WOODEN BUILDING BLOCKS

AND A STUFFED GUAR SEATED UPON A CHEST

NEATLY SET ALONG THE WALL

WAITING TO BE ADORED.

MUFFLED A FLOOR BELOW,

A WAIL OF AGONY BROKE LOOSE,

AND I SET OFF TO INVESTIGATE.

ON THE STAIRCASE,

I RAN INTO A MAN

WHO COULD

BUT WOULD NOT SEE ME,

HIS BOOTS LEAVING PRINTS

ON THE FLOOR BEHIND HIM.

HE PUSHED PAST ME,

AND I CALLED TO HIM

TO NO RESPONSE.

I FOLLOWED HIM

INTO AN ARMORY

WHERE HE GRABBED A DAGGER,

TURNED TO ME,

AND ACKNOWLEDGED ME.

“TELL LOLONAH”

“I MUST REPENT.”

HE SLID THE BLADE DEEPLY ACROSS HIS THROAT

AND COLLAPSED

COUGHING AND GURGLING

ON THE WAY DOWN.

I FOLLOWED THE TRAIL HE LEFT

DOWN INTO THE BASEMENT

AND INTO A SMALL ROOM

TUCKED AWAY

FROM COMMON KNOWLEDGE.

IN THIS ROOM

SAT AN EMBALMING TABLE

WITH A FRESH CADAVER ON IT

THAT HAD BEEN PEELED

IN STRIPS.

ON ONE END

STOOD A BEGGAR.

ON THE OTHER END

STOOD A WOMAN

NAKED

DRENCHED IN RED FROM THE BOTTOM LIP DOWN

AND DRIPPING.

SHE TURNED TO ME

AND A BABY

COOED GENTLY IN HER ARMS.

I HAD SEEN ENOUGH TO SATISFY

AND RETURNED TO THE CORE.

HE HAD WAITED FOR ME

AND EXPRESSED SURPRISE.

“USUALLY WHEN MORTALS LEARN”

“THEIR MINDS RUPTURE”

“AND LEAK.”

… I THOUGHT THAT WAS PRETTY FUNNY!

I MENTIONED THAT

I COULDN’T EXPECT HIM TO KNOW

WHO I WAS,

AS I HAD COME TO BE

CENTURIES AFTER HE HAD DIED.

HE ASKED ME

OF MY SOURCE,

OUT OF CURIOSITY.

“I HAIL FROM HOUSE SUL, MUTHSERA,”

“I WAS BORN INTO A WORLD WITHOUT WHEEL”

“AND AM REGISTERED BY C0DA.”

HE LAUGHED AGAIN,

AT THE IDEA

THAT HE WOULD HAVE ANY CLUE

WHAT THAT MEANS.

AND WITH HIM AS KNOWLEDGEABLE ABOUT ME

AS I WAS ABOUT HIM,

I ASKED MY FINAL QUESTION.

“WHY DO YOU STAY HERE?”

HE PAUSED.

“TO BE HONEST,”

“WHEN I STAY HERE”

“I CAN STILL HEAR THE BELLS.”

“THEY REMIND ME”

“OF MORE GENTLE DAYS”

“WHEN I WOULD SIT”

“AND LOVE COMPANY”

“THAT LOVED ME.”

I LOOKED TO HIM

AND SMILED.

“I CAN’T SAY MUCH REGARDING LOVE,”

“BUT I WOULD BE HAPPY TO SIT WITH YOU.”

[carcarcraziiv2]

The Woman with the Pink Hair (Parts 10, 11, 12, and 13 (final))

HERE ARE THE LAST PARTS FOR THE WOMAN WITH THE PINK HAIR! I Sincerely hope you enjoyed <3. I have already started the next story in the series (oooo). Lmk if you wanna see it! <3

This is a Vi x Fem! Reader fanfiction.

Please note that this is the first piece I wrote after a HEFTY (I mean years long) hiatus from writing.

P.S. Lowkey I KNOW there's a bunch of shit I could fix in here to make it better due to my practice over the past year or so, but I just… I'm so lazy rn LOL. Anyhoooooo….

ALSO- here are the TW for you lovelies! (This is for the WHOLE SERIES)-

Violence, mental illness, oral sex, dominant tendencies, torture, kidnapping, plotting?… lowkey there's probably more but you should get the gist here, AS ALWAYS ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK ILY<3

READ PART ONE, TWO, AND THREE HERE->

https://www.tumblr.com/carcarcraziiv2/737189248110821376/the-woman-with-the-pink-hair-p-1-2-3?source=share

READ PART FOUR, FIVE, AND SIX HERE->

https://www.tumblr.com/carcarcraziiv2/738139002294747136/the-woman-with-the-pink-hair-p-4-5-6?source=share

READ PART SEVEN, EIGHT, AND NINE HERE-> https://www.tumblr.com/carcarcraziiv2/739738198020964352/the-woman-with-the-pink-hair-part-7-8-9?source=share

~~

PART TEN - Vi

 "What the hell...?", Vi said lightly, scanning the top deck of the ship she just boarded after returning from her confrontation with Kench. She was not in the mood for anything but a drink and to cuddle up with (y/n). Her stomach plummeted when she saw the small pool of blood a few feet away.

    Blind panic fills her soul, and she bolts for the stairs. Please don't be gone. Please don't be gone. She thinks to herself, silently pleading to the Gods she wasn't even sure exists. Basically jumping down the small flight of stairs into the cabin of the ship, she notices it is in disarray. The dark wooden table was flipped, and glass was shattered all over the floor. There was a trail of water from the top deck, down the stairs, leading directly to a dead stop in front of the room the two lovers were occupying.

   "Fuck, no no no!" Vi yelled, running down the hallway, and bursting into the room. The armoire was open, but there was no (y/n). "Fuck!" Her hands reached up to her hair, pulling as she fell to her knees. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered her head and began to cry.

    After a few minutes of sobbing, Vi slowly crept up onto her feet again. No emotion on her face, her eyes glazed and icy cold. She walked over to the chest at the end of the bed and pulled it open. Inside were two large fighting gauntlets. She hadn't used them since all of the bullshit with Jayce. 

    There is no better time than the present, and she was prepared to destroy anyone in her path to finding (y/n). 

--- 🖤🖤🖤 ---

    "Please! Please! I'll do anything, just don-" Crack.

    The sickening crunch that resounded through the dark rocky cavern made you shiver. Prior to what you assumed to have been the untimely death of some other prisoner down here, the voice had sounded like a young woman, much like yourself. 

    You did not move as you waited to hear anymore sounds, shuffling, or wet slapping footsteps. Waiting nearly 20 minutes, you finally let out a gasp of breath, and crawled back to your corner where a useless excuse for a bed lay on the floor. It was nothing but a long, dirty piece of fabric. At one point, you were sure, it had been padded. 

   The cell was entirely uncomfortable, and you were sure you had been there for at least a week at this point. You prayed, which you never ever did, for someone to rescue you. The things that you and Vi shared for some reason did not fully convince you that she would want to go through the trouble of rescuing you. Hell, you didn't hardly know anything about her.

   Over the days that you had spent here, they had been sending in plates of slop, you weren't entirely certain of its origin, that smelled like absolute ass. The first few days you refused to eat, and Tahm personally came to inform you that if you didn't eat, he would either kill you or let you starve to death. You were sure no matter what you did, you had a death sentence over your head, but due to fear and your hunger you decided after the third day to finally just eat it. After today's food was delivered, a few hours after the confrontation down the hall, you heard those wet sloppy footsteps approaching the iron gate of your cell. 

    As the steps approached, you quickly scurried to the very most corner of the room, drawing your knees to your chin as you awaited and prayed that the beat would continue past. To your dismay, the large shadow enunciated by the faint candlelight in the hall stopped right before your door. 

    "(Y/N), I have some questions for you. Do you wish to comply, or are you going to make me force them from you?" The long-winded question reverberated through your body, making you tense up and tingles run down your spine. 

   You stayed silent. If there was anything you would do, talking would not be one of them.

   The creature let out a defeated sigh, and you held still, not wanting to react. Even as a tear began to fall down your face and the creature wabbled inside, and engulfed you in the rancid large mouth, you still did not struggle. 

    Mind blank, the only thought in your head was how easy it would be to break you. You had the pain tolerance of a baby and were terrified of what he might do. 

   As Tahm Kench walked, you sloshed around in the small space you were in. You could feel his long tongue wrapped around you like a rope holding you tight. Although slick and slimy, it did not budge when you dared to fidget ever so slightly. You simply squeezed your eyes shut, and forced the rising bile back down your throat as the journey quickly came to a stop. 

   He spit you out, and again you landed on a hard floor. Before you had the opportunity to take in your surroundings, two gruff pairs of hands were dragging you off the ground and sitting you onto a lone chair. Looking around, your eyes straining from the brightness, you realized that the sun was shining through a broken window to the left. In fact, it appeared that you were being kept underneath a large, abandoned boating house. 

  You were quickly snapped out of your realization when the monster began to speak..

   "Tell me, (y/n), how do you know Vi?"

   Silence.

   He let out a soft chuckle, and leaned closer to you, the motion looking hard due to the bulkiness of his body.

   "I will give you one more chance, child. How do you know Vi?" 

    Remaining silent once more, you conjured the spit in your mouth and spewed it directly into the monster's face. He took a moment to wipe the spit off of his face. Turning around, his chubby arms resting at his side, he looked over at one of his minions and nodded slightly before continuing his venture to the other side of the room. 

    Panic blossomed as you noticed what one of them was holding. In its green, wet hand you saw the sheen of a blade. You leaned as far away as you could as the creature approached you slowly, as if it was enjoying your fear. It leaned in, its face mere inches from your own, it raised the knife and pressed it to your cheek, snickering. It began to slowly press in, when you let out a sharp hiss.

    "She's my girlfriend," You said quickly, silently cursing yourself for breaking so quickly. As you realized the shit you were in, you prayed that he would not ask any in depth questions that you didn't know the answer to. You knew they wouldn't believe you. 

   Tahm turned back towards you, a long smile spreading on it's face.

   "Good," He said, and you felt he wasn't simply talking about your answer, but more so the ability to break you. 

PART ELEVEN- Unleashed

 Getting thrown back into your cell, you were wholly torn apart. The evil menace that had captured you picked you up, crumpled you in his palms, and threw you onto the ground. Entirely spent, you could not sleep, not while you knew that those demons were wandering the halls and rooms above you thinking you are hiding some important information from them. 

    You aren't.

    You hadn't a speck of knowledge aside from the things that you and Vi had shared. Kisses, long gazes, conversations about both of your childhoods. You realized, in that moment, that you didn't even know what her favorite color was. What kind of food she liked to eat or where she liked to go to get away from it all. 

    You decided that when - if - you got out of this hell hole, you were going to make a point of learning all of those things.

    Sighing, you wince as you roll over on the decrepit pad on the floor. Your ribs were bruised, at the least, if not having a few broken. Every breath you took caused a sharp lingering pain to blossom in your torso. There were small lashes on your arms, your face, and you were sticky from the sweat and blood covering your skin. As you laid there, tears falling at their own will down your cheek and onto the mattress, you prayed once more for your savior to find you.

--- 🖤🖤🖤---

---         VI         ---   

    "Tell me where the hell she is, I don't want this to be harder than it needs to be, Illaoi. Please, please just tell me," Vi seethed, her fists where clenched inside the large foreboding gauntlets.  Her heart was racing and breaking beneath her white tank top, her thick arms straining with the stress coursing through her veins. 

    Before her, Illaoi sat in an old brown leather chair, her legs spread and her forearms resting on her knees. Her fists were held together, acting as a podium in which she rest her sodden and tired face. 

    "Vi, I don't know where he keeps them. I only know where his base is. I am telling you this because I have been bound to that monster for far too long, and I, too, want to get my revenge. But please, you must call down. He has cronies all over the town, some who may be lingering these very halls. Their hearing is keen and sharp, and they will do anything in their power to protect their boss."

    "Do you think I give a single shit about that? Take me to his base," Vi spat, her body unflinching as she gave Illaoi the option, no, the order to take her where she needed to go. She would break through every god damn house in Bilgewater if it meant finding (y/n).

    "Vi, I ca-,"

    Vi slammed her fist against the wall, making the house shake. Dust fluttered off of the shelves and ceiling, littering Vi's shoulders and arms like sad rain.

    "Take. Me. There. Now." She said calmly, but her calm demeanor only hid the wrath behind her eyes so much. Illaoi sighed, standing. She was a tall, muscular woman, and her admitting defeat was anything but that. She was willing to fight for what she believed in, even if that meant risking her life. Vi was proud of her for that and vowed silently to forever be in her favor.

     After the woman collected her items and put on a few scraps of leather and gold armor on her arms and chest, they left the small apartment that Illaoi must have called home. Vi had located it after cornering Captain Fortune in a pub a few streets down.

    It had been 5 days since Vi last saw (y/n), and she didn't dare think about the possibilities of torture, of death, that have been plaguing her little love. She seethed, gritting her teeth and choking down the lump in her throat. She would not cry, not here, not now. Not while she needs to be strong.

    Illaoi led her down a few wary streets, venturing down a few blocks from where they started. They ended up at some old rotting docks, the boards broken and falling into the stinking sea beneath them.  

    "That boat house, down at the end. That is where Kench and his men do their biddings. I will not proceed, but I will be here, waiting. Yell if you need me, and I will come to you. I will help you, for the sake of defeating Kench."

    Vi merely nodded, her fists clenching within her gauntlets as she strode towards the decrepit building. The place smelled this shit, like him, and she was not happy about the concept that (y/n) may be here somewhere. 

    The thought rattled her, that she could be a mere few feet away and Vi wouldn't even know. She silently begged the gods that she was here, simply so that she could rescue her as soon as possible.

    Approaching the large rusted doors, Vi didn't care about silently entering. She slammed through them with her gauntlets, making the whole building shake as the door shattered in front of her. She stomped in, over the broken wooden splinters littering the floor. Across the warn concrete floor, there was a table of cronies playing cards and shooting shit with each other. They all looked up in unison, gaping at Vi before everything broke into chaos. 

    Two of them approached her, unsheathing sharp twisting blades and stalking in her direction. Vi cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders, and snarled as she began stalking towards her. 

    The one on the right lashed out, and she quickly parried it by bringing her massive metal fists up and smashing it against its body, making it fly to the wall beside them. It slunk to the ground, grunting with no appearance that it was going to stand. The second one ran at her, and she turned 45 degrees to her right, launching her fist into the creature's face. A sick crunching sound reverberated through the building, and it fell to the ground before her. 

    It held its nose and whimpered slightly as Vi lent down to grasp its dirty hole ridden shirt. She lifted it, her face a mere inches from her own.

    "Where is she?" She snarled.

    "I don't know who you're talking about," the creature snickered back. She could tell it was lying and that made her even more feral.

    "I will cut out your tongues and feed them to your cowering brothers," she threatened, pointing at the two others who were running towards a door in the back of the building. 

    A door she hadn't noticed before. A door she was sure led to the very captor she was looking for. 

    She shoved the monster to the ground, and it grunted on impact as she raised her fist again and punched his face into the ground. When she stood, the creature did not stir. She wasn't sure if it was dead or not, but she didn't care. The other that she had fought was still on the other side of the huge room, its body slouched against the base of the wall.

   Quiet, almost silent screams echoed below Vi's feet.

   She's here. She's here. She's here.

    Vi stormed towards the back of the room, slamming into the door. Those fuckers locked it, she thought. She didn't hesitate for a second as she brought back her fist and slammed it into the iron door. It didn't move but a smidge, and so she hit it again, and again. Finally, the bolts broke from their spots and the door shot open, not falling off of its hinges. A musty, sodden smell drifted up the stone stairs that Vi stood atop of. 

    Another scream echoed through the chambers below, this time much louder than before. She could hear shuffling, and the sounds of grunting as she assumed whoever was screaming was being dragged away.

    She cascaded down the steps, now more alert to her senses as the darkness encompassed her being. She wanted to be quiet enough so that they didn't know exactly where she was. They already knew she was here.

    She listened for more sounds, more grunting, more anything. Silence ensued, so she began walking down the dimly lit hallway. She noticed immediately the small iron gated rooms surrounding her. Each had a small sad bed on the floor. Some, there were bones and blood, others were empty. She reached the end of the stretch where another hallway collided with this one, making a T shape. The very last room she peered into before veering down to the left caused her to stop in her tracks.

    There, in the middle of the room, as if left as a sign for her and her alone was her jacket. Her dark red jacket she took from one of the first people she encountered in Zaun after getting out of prison.

     She was here. Vi could hardly hold back the vomit that threatened to rise in her throat, as she scanned the little stone room. From top to bottom, she could sense that she had been kept in here. Various plates were strewn across the room, rotting food sat on a few of the plates and she grimaced at the thought of (y/n) being forced to eat that trash. Gods know what it was.

    Right before she went to continue on her hunt, she heard another blood curdling scream, before a familiar voice yelled-

    "Vi? Vi! Please, anyo-," a grunt sounded from that voice, as if being punched in the stomach to quiet her pleas. White hot rage flooded Vi at the thought of someone touching and hurting her girl. Hers. 

    She zig zagged through a few more halls, before descending a small staircase and bursting through a door that she could hear a ruckus coming out of. The sounds; crying, cursing, and heavy breathing. Vi had to momentarily shield her eyes as brightness flooded her vision. As they adjusted, she took in her surroundings quickly. 

    There, in the middle of the room, bound to a chair and gagged, was a beaten and bloody (y/n). Her eyes widened at the sight of Vi, and she whimpered, pulling lightly at her restraints. Vi started towards her, her only inclination to free her immediately. At her first step, she heard (y/n) yelling through the gag, her eyes widening and her head shaking vigorously. Vi took another step, and (y/n) closed her eyes and screamed into the gag. Only then did Vi realize there was a crony behind her, using her as a meat shield with a knife to her back. 

    "Well, well, well," a familiar voice boomed. Vi didn't flinch as Tahm Kench emerged from a shadowed room to the far right that she hadn't noticed before. "It's a pleasure, as always, Vi."

    "Free her, Kench. Now." Vi ordered. It merely offered a chuckle in response.

    "For a price, child. Everything comes with a price."

     "What do you want?" Vi pleaded. She did not plan to go through with anything, other than to get (y/n) as far away from here as possible.

     "Your girlfriend here told me a lot about you. About your connections to the one they call Jinx?" Panic flooded her momentarily, and she glanced at (y/n) who only sobbed, her head sagged to her chest. She knew (y/n) was strong and must have endured a lot to say anything. "Although, she wouldn't tell us anything else. About your dealings in Piltover. Pity, if she had cooperated, I would have offered her a clean, easy death. But they never do, do they Vi?"

     She shuttered at the thought and burst out of her stance towards kench. She stopped dead in her tracks when 10 other creatures came out of the shadows. Fuck, she thought. She knew Kench could, and would fight too, but she didn't know his moves, what to expect. Thinking for a moment, she knew what she had to do.

    She leaned back her head, and as loud as humanly possible she yelled, "ILLAOI!"

    A quiet tense aura shifted the place, each of the creatures looking back and forth at one another. A minute passed before Vi cursed again, and a few of them laughed. 

    "Illaoi? That is how you found us, huh?" Tahm smirked, a hint of distaste lingering in his tone. "She wouldn't dare come down here and face me, not for the like of you."

     Just as he finished his sentence, Vi felt the heavy presence of Illaoi's spiritual bonds to the Kraken. The air shifted into a heavy, haunting, foreboding feeling. She turned around, just in time to see the massive woman breach the threshold of the room. She glowed slightly, Vi realized then, and her power was emanating through her and rippling through her room. 

    Illaoi did not hesitate as she approached Kench. All of his cronies seemed to cower in her powerful presence. 

    "Release the girl, Kench," She stated plainly. 

    "You do not understand what you are doing, woman," Tahm said, sounding slightly afraid. Even the great demon cowered in her presence. Vi made note not to fuck with Illaoi. 

     "I suppose you are going to do this the hard way," She mocked. She must have been closer than I thought. Suddenly, all around the room, large green spirit like tentacles rose from the floor, flapping mindlessly left and right. Illaoi glanced back at Vi, "Take her, and come help me kill these scum." 

    Vi did not hesitate as roaring combat erupted around her. Her primary focus was (y/n). She stormed over to her, immediately ripping the binds of the gag off of her face. She threw it to the floor and leaned down, making quick work of the bindings around her arms and legs. (y/n) quietly sobbed and looked up through her wet, blood-matted hair at Vi.

--- 🖤🖤🖤---

(Y/N)

    You couldn't stop crying. Not now, not here. Not while Vi knelt in front of you looking entirely panicked and you couldn't move an inch. Every part of your body ached, and you felt weak from blood loss. You didn't flinch, though, as Vi delicately looped one arm under your legs and the other around your back and carried you towards the stairs. She set you down, on the steps, far enough away to keep you safe, but close enough to be able to monitor you. 

   "I've got you, baby. I've got you," She brushed a hand lightly over your bruised face, and you winced from her touch. The color drained from her face, and she looked utterly defeated as she stood. "I have to help Illaoi, don't move." You almost, almost, laughed at that. As if you could move if you wanted to. You were so weak, so frail. 

    Maybe she would teach you how to fight, when this was all over with. You watched her as she turned her back to you, descending the few steps she had gone up. You could see through the doorway the hell that had broken lose. Illaoi had made quick work of the monsters that worked for Kench, the tentacles becoming solid and slamming into them, crushing the majority under their weight. Blood splattered the walls, screeches echoed until all was silent. The only remaining contender was Kench. 

    Before you, Illaoi shot out what appeared to be a tentacle, much smaller than all the others, towards kench. Before it could reach him, a giant hole summoned below the monster, and he jumped into it. You gasped, then grimaced from that pain it caused your body. Suddenly, you heard a wet thud from above you. 

    You didn't dare look behind you, you knew who it was already.

    "You have caused me quite a bit of trouble, child," he said, his stubby arms wrapping around you. You let out a scream, guttural and otherworldly, as you grabbed the knife that was still attached to your thigh. It had gone unnoticed, or more likely, they hadn't bothered to care simply because you were a weak little human. 

    Slashing backwards, pure adrenaline made the pain subside slightly as your blade coursed through the thick skin of Tahms face. He let out a disgusting screech, dropping you. Your body rolled aimlessly down the stairs, and you could feel a snap as your arm landed beneath you. You let out a scream and saw Vi and Illaoi running towards you. Through your tears, and the encroaching darkness that was shrouding your vision, you noticed that Tahm was no longer at the top of the stairs.

    Before you lost consciousness, you saw the woman fall to her knees beside you, carefully adjusting your body and arm. Relentless pain tugged at your sanity.

    "(Y/N), baby, I've got you. I've got you. Let's go home." you heard her voice say faintly. Her tear ridden and bloody face was the last thing you saw before you lost consciousness. 

PART TWELVE- Encouragement

  Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment you are flustered. You do not recognize your surroundings, and you scramble up against the headboard of the large bed you realize you rest upon. Panting, you clutch the covers to your chest, your clean chest. After a moment, you also notice the pain.

    You yell out in pain, and quickly clamp a hand over your mouth.  Before the panic could set in, the door at the furthest left-hand corner of the room swings open. 

    At the threshold, Vi stares at you with wide eyes, panting as if she had sprinted to the room. For a brief moment, you were in shock. Vi let out a soft sigh of relief as she began walking over to you.

    You did not mean to, but you shrank from her. The experiences of the last week were still haunting your very being. She stopped in her tracks.

    "Baby, you're at my house. You're safe now," Vi said in a cool tone. Her hand was put up out in front of her as if to further reassure your safety with her gesture. It didn't take more than a second for tears to begin falling down your cheeks, cascading down your neck and onto your chest under the shirt you wore. 

    As Vi walked to the bed and sat on the edge, she placed a hand on your knee. You did not flinch away from her touch as you did when she was walking toward you. Instead, you let your head fall back against the headboard and let out a pitiful sigh through your sobs.

    "It hurts, Vi," was all you could muster. You hated sounding so pathetic, but the state your body was in was not one to argue. Vi nodded, and reached her hand up to your face, caressing it far more gently than she ever had before. In that moment, the only thing you could think of to say was, "What is your favorite color?"

    She looked slightly taken aback, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. "It's red."

    You smiled slightly.

    "What is your favorite food?"

    "Um... don't make fun of me, but bar food?" she laughed, lowering her head in embarrassment. 

     "Where do you...escape to?" you said lightly, your gaze landing on her own piercing one. You twiddled your thumbs as she looked at you as if studying what she was seeing. She looked away, out the square window that, to your surprise, had sunlight seeping through. 

     "I used to leave for stretches of time after getting out of prison. Usually for odd jobs here and there." She looked back at you before she continued. "There is this place here in Piltover, where the trees surround a small lake close to the border of the undercity." She swallowed. "When I got out, I had... a relationship with an officer of one of the Council leader's daughters. They hated me, thought I was scum of the earth.

    I would leave Cait's house and wander the streets as if I knew where I was going. No matter where I went, people gave me dirty looks. They knew who I was. What I was. But when I found that place where the grass was green and the only noise was birds chirping and leaves rustling in the trees, I knew I had found my safe space.

    That was, of course, until I met you."

     You could feel your chest tightening, your heart aching for the harsh treatment she had received from people that didn't know her just because of where she came from. Where you both came from. 

    "When I met you, it felt like something clicked inside of me. Like a missing puzzle piece had gone into place. Even when I was throwing a fit in that alley way unsure of who you were. When I looked into your eyes in that moment, it felt like we were meant to be there. I was supposed to meet you. Every time thereafter that I saw you and you laughed, I felt that same feeling as I had at the lake. I felt safe."

     Tears that had dried on your face became wet again as new ones began tumbling down your cheeks. "Vi..." you whimpered; your mouth downturned in a far too dramatic that's so sweet type of look. "I feel the same way about you, too." You tried pushing off the headboard but hissed in a breath as a shooting pain traveled through your torso. Your arm, luckily, had been put back into place as you were unconscious. It no longer hurt aside from minor aching.

    Vi stood, and leaned over you so that her shadow covered your famished frame. Bending her neck, she raised her hand and lifted your chin ever so slightly with a single finger. Her lips pressed against yours so gently. It was as if she was ensuring that she would not break you. 

    "I am going to go downstairs and grab you something for the pain. You have two options, a remedy from a medic or booze."

    You let out a slight chuckle, and replied, "I think it would be smart to take a remedy this time."

    After a few minutes of observing the room you were in while she fetched the pain reliever, you came to the conclusion that this was her space. Her familiar (now quite destroyed) red jacket was thrown over the back of a black chair in the corner of the room. You could see spools of white wrapping on a desk that rested in front of a large rounded window, looking over what you presumed to be the city.

    "Here you go," Vi said, startling you slightly as she re-entered the room with food and a small bottle of red liquid. "This does not taste or smell great, please don't smell it like you smelt the shit on the ship." She sat beside you once again, popping open the small vile and handing it over to you. You hesitated, almost smelling it before reaching your other hand up and plugging your nose. Throwing your head back as you drank, you sank it back like a shot of whiskey. "Good girl." was all she said in response. You melted at her praise, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. She snickered, no doubt noticing your reaction.

    "Patience, baby. Once your better I am never letting you leave my room."

    "Promises, promises," was all you said in reply as a sly smile spread across your face.

PART THIRTEEN (FINAL)- Peace

- Spicy -    

It has been a few weeks since your expenditure with Tahm Kench. Vi had not lied for the most part, she had not let you leave her side even once after having rescued you. No matter where you went or what you did, she was with you.

    "(Y/N)," Vi said, lying next to you on her large bed. She lay on her side, resting her head on a hand and twirling absentmindedly fiddling with a piece of your hair with the other. "You feelin' okay today?"

     You nodded in response, turning your head away from your book to peer down at her. "Yeah of course babe, why?"

      "After everything, I just want to make sure you're okay. Like... mentally?" She gazed at you with concern lingering on her face, but as if she was trying to hide it. 

      Contemplating for a moment, you weren't entirely sure. You were certainly glad to be here, but it felt so sudden. Like all of these things had happened so out of the blue. The momentum of your life had been completely overturned, and the experiences of the last few months had certainly changed the way you think about things.

    "Honestly... I don't know. I am not scared, but I am not at peace. Do you know what I mean?" You looked at Vi as you talked with your hands. She nodded knowingly in response. "I am just glad I am out of that place, and we don't have anything to worry about. Plus, I feel a lot better physically which definitely helps."

    "Good. Do you want to go to that place I told you about? By the lake?" 

     You recalled the place that Vi had told you about being her hide-away location. Her peace. 

    "I would love that." You replied with a smile.

--- 🖤🖤🖤 ---

     Vi had given you a light sweater to wear, as spring had just arrived and although it was warmer than during the winter the wind was still crisp as it ran across your skin. 

    Walking through the streets of Piltover, you didn't care to look back at the gawkers and whisperers. You held Vi's hand in yours and felt like the most powerful woman in the world standing next to her. She did not look anywhere aside from ahead, and occasionally over at you to give a faint smile. 

    Approaching the end of a neighborhood road, the sidewalk curved around with a tall fence guarding from what lay beyond- the forest. You looked over at Vi and raised a brow.

    "Am I supposed to climb that?"

    She laughed, "My love, there are some obstacles you must overcome before you get to where you want to be."

    Although she was right, you still let out a prominent sigh and rolled your eyes to the heavens. She laughed again, bright and vibrant sounds radiating through your skin and bones. You approached the fence, using your fingers and boots to push you up, up, up and over the top. You took a moment at the top, looking over the small road you had come from. No one was watching, and you were thankful that no one was going to see you struggle with such a simple physical activity.

     "You ever going to come down?" Vi urged, shocking you from your revery. 

     "If I fall, will you catch me?" You said in response, nervous flutters racing through your chest. It was ridiculous, as it was only a few feet off of the ground. It felt like a hundred.

     "Always." She responded, looking you dead in the eyes. You sighed again, slowly turning your body and descending the opposing side of the fence. Once you nearly reached the bottom, you jumped off the last ten inches and turned to face Vi.

    "You have got to help me get into shape, honestly," You smiled, huffing out breaths. 

     After a tad bit of banter, the two of you continued walking. A thick line of trees sat ahead of you, a sweet whisper of pine lingering in the air. Vi released your hand and began walking forward, beckoning you to follow. You stepped in line behind her as she pushed branches aside and followed a path only known to her.

     "Here it is," Vi said, holding back another branch and stepping back as if revealing the area to you. You stepped forward, gawking at your surroundings as Vi stepped up behind you. 

     "Oh my Gods, its..." You started. You couldn't even find the words. A small meadow filled with Lavender, Honeysuckle, Tulips, and various other flowers rest in front of you. The breeze made gorgeous floral scents waft over to you, instantly relaxing your mind and muscles. A few feet ahead, you could see a round pond littered with lily pads. Across from the pond, the trees finished the circle encompassing the area. It really was a secluded paradise.

    "I know, right?" Vi smiled, looking longingly at what lay ahead. She grabbed your hand gently and pulled you with her as she began walking. "Over here there is a perfect place to lay down and look at the stars at night, if you want to stay long enough to do that."

    You nodded sheepishly, feeling honored to be taken to her sacred place. As you reached the flat plane of grass that looked almost manicured compared to the rest of the space, she sat down. Gently she tugged your hand to follow suit.

   Sitting in silence, you rested your head on her shoulder and looked across the water. It was crazy that all of these things had happened in the span of a few months. Meeting Vi, meeting her sister Jinx, getting kidnapped and tortured... All to lead to this place, next to this woman, who you could not deny you were falling undeniably in love with.

   "What are you thinking about, sweet stuff?" Vi murmurs, looking over at you with her head tilted as she lifts your chin with a finger. Your gaze meets hers and you take in her beauty. The small scar that sits on her pink lips, the jewelry in her nose. Her hardened eyes softening only for you. 

    "I think..." You start, pausing to suck in a shaky breath, "I think I'm in love with you, Vi."

     She looks taken aback, her eyebrows raising, and she blinks a few times. You feel heat rise to your cheeks before she smiles sweetly at you. Relief floods you when she responds.

     "I think, sweet stuff, that I may just love you, too." Her hand moves to your cheek, cupping your face. You lean into it, closing your eyes for a moment and inhaling deeply. When you open them, you meet her gaze. Her eyes have heated, lids lowering. As she gazes and you through her lashes, she runs her teeth over her bottom lip. "You know... I think you feel better enough that we can consummate our love... the good ol' fashioned way." She sniggers, raising a brow and tilting her head the other way. 

     "I suppose there is," You reply, trying to sound sultry even though you have no idea what you're doing.

    She giggles at your attempt, leaning in close. Your foreheads touch, and for a moment the two of you just sit there basking in each other's presence. You can feel her eyes on your lips, and instinctively you lick them. She lets out a small growl, moving her hand to the base of your neck and pulling you in. Her lips brush yours slightly, and a sigh escapes you. As your lips part, she enters you with her tongue. The two of you kissing passionately, she slowly lays you backward on the grass you sat upon. 

    Vi wants to cater to you, to love you. She wants you to feel special, but you can tell that there is something else urging her to go faster. She is ravenous to taste you, it seems, as she quickly trails down your body and pulls the pants down that you are wearing. You nearly reach down to cover yourself, but she snaps her gaze up to your own with an intensity so fierce you can't help but feel obliged to let her move forward. 

    Leaning your head back on the grass, your breathing intensifies as you feel her breath brush against your bare skin. The feeling of being out in the open, in the wild, is exhilarating. You had never experienced anything like this, and you are more than happy to be doing it with her. 

    Deep in thought, you intake a sharp breath of air as you feel her flat tongue lick you from your opening up to your clit. The world slows, but she speeds up. Your eyes roll back into your head as you reach out a hand a clasp her hair. She lets out a satisfied groan.

    "Fuck, baby. You look so fucking hot when I am pleasing you," Vi says quickly, returning to what she was doing. You feel one of her hands travel down your side, past your thigh and to your center. She pauses briefly as she adjusts herself and inserts a finger into you. Vi curves it up, flicking that spot perfectly, making little breathy moans escape your lips as she continues licking and worshipping your clit. 

    "Vi... Vi I'm gonna...", you start to say, and she looks up at you, breathing against your pussy only to pause for a moment.

     "Look at me while you cum, Princess," She urges, returning to that spot. You look down at her, and as she consumes you, you see her eyes meet your own, and you explode into a million pieces. You can't help it, falling back and bucking your hips against her face. She doesn't stop savoring the moment, until you use the hand that was once clenched in her hair to gently stop her.

    She smiles, a feline smile as she retreats from your throbbing pussy. You're panting heavily, and she crawls up your body. You think she is going to kiss you, but she brings the hand that she was fingerbanging you with to your mouth. You reach out your tongue and suck your juices off of her finger, and watch as she inhales and closes her eyes. 

    Using all of the strength you can muster, you grab her wrist and pull her to the side. As she falls over, you giggle maniacally and crawl on top of her. She laughs out loud as if shocked you got the upper hand for even just a moment. 

     "Now, Vi, let me return the favor? This love... it isn't one sided." Before she can open her mouth to protest, you lean down and kiss her long and hard, letting your right-hand trail down her neck, her breasts, until it brushes over a nipple. She gasps, and you can't help but marvel in the fact that she is sitting here beneath you. Vi looks so stunning, a blush creeping into her cheeks. Her blue eyes are hooded, never leaving your own.

     You lean down, unzipping her jacket as you go. You let it fall to the sides of her torso, and slowly caress her bare stomach underneath her white tank top. You pull it up and up until her chest is exposed to you. You had often wondered what she would look like here, as you hadn't gotten the opportunity to see yet. But she was perfect. Her breasts were not big but not small, cute little pink buds were hard as the breeze and most certainly her arousal enticed them. You bit your lip, before leaning down and taking one into your mouth. Swirling around it, sucking, and releasing it with a pop. You turned your attention to the other and did the same thing. 

    After you were satisfied that she was feeling positively enchanted, you trailed soft kisses down her stomach, stopping at the hem of her pants. You hooked a finger in one of the belt loops and looked up at her expectant gaze. In this moment, you recalled the first time she did this to you.

    "Is this okay?" You smiled, and she smiled back. She must have also remembered what she said to you that night on the ship.

     "More than okay, Sweet stuff," she said, no louder than a whisper. 

    You took no time in removing her bottoms, her panties, and marveling at her beautiful pussy. She was so wet, glistening. The thought that you were what caused her intense arousal made you proud. You had no mercy in your fucking her. The love flowed through you and your tongue against her clit until she was crying out your name. You had never heard her sound like that before, so sensual, so free.

    After you were finished, you both got your clothes back on. Vi rested her head on an arm as her back pressed against the grass, and you climbed up and onto her chest. Mainly, the two of you were looking at the stars.

    "I guess we get to look at the stars, after all," She smiled, and you glanced at her in awe.

    "If it's with you, I will do anything." You shifted onto your stomach, resting your chin on her chest so your face was directed at her. "Because after everything we have been through, I have come to realize that you're my escape, too. You're my home."

     Vi stretched down, tears threatening to leak from her eyes. You rose up slightly, to accommodate the space between the two of you and shared a pleasant, soft and loving kiss.

    You realized, in that moment under the stars, that there was nothing you would ever change about the past. And that the future, no matter what it could bring, would always be better than it could of been before if you were with her.

    Your home. 

------  🖤🖤🖤 ------      THE END      ------ 🖤🖤🖤 ------

[grae-98]

Treatment

Chapter 4: Visiting Strangers

Set between 1880-1890, You have been feeling and acting off. After visiting the doctor's he sends you off to stay in Pelican Town where you are set to receive treatment for your condition. Upon arrival you learn the doctor administering these treatments is better than you think.

Harvey/ unnamed afab!reader

2nd pov

I stopped keeping track of word count. About 3k

trigger warnings: reader is diagnosed with hysteria, mentions of depression, cheating/ adultery, doctor/ patient relationship, mentions of infertility

smut tags: fingering, cunnilingus, grinding, piv, heavy smut

notes: i do have this posted on ao3 if you'd prefer to read it there.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Correspondence with the lawyer was easy. You wrote to him explaining that you would be interested in receiving his services. You provided details of your marriage with your husband and explained that you weren’t entirely sure what sort of service he may be able to provide. Only a week later when you got your letter setting up a time for him to visit you. He is to visit Pelican Town on the second Monday after the start of winter. He explained that he would review the information you provided him and would retain more after your meeting. The start of winter was only one week away, and you needed to find something to bide your time while you wait for your meeting with him.

As the early setting sun had long since passed. The golden light fallen behind the trees making for you to light your lamps. Sitting at the small dark wooden desk with the letter still in your hand you hear a knock at the door.

‘Must be time for bed.’ You thought to yourself.

A quiet voice spoke, “Ma’am, may I come in?”

“Yes, Haley please do.” You spoke as you do your same evening ritual. You stood from the desk and made your way closer to the open area of the room. Old floorboards creaking under each step. Turning your back towards Haley she began to unlace your ties.

“I wish to speak to you for a moment.” She said after helping you remove the boning from your torso. She turned to rest the blasted thing in the armoire.

“Yes, of course is there anything I may help you with?” Following the typical routine, you sat on the stool that faced the mirror. Haley removed each hair pin allowing your hair to fall in sections to your back.

“I find myself in an odd predicament. I took your advice and I have been looking for happiness. My sister insisted upon it actually.” She spoke with trepidation as though she feared how you would react.

“Very good! I am glad to hear that, most truly.” As she brushes out your hair you could hear the stress in her voice before she began to speak again.

 “I am to think that I may have to leave your employ.” So softly and with anxiety.

“Oh, Haley! What wonderful news, are you to be married already?” You turn to face her completely. You find her standing before you with a great smile etched into her fair cheeks. Her golden hair was tied meticulously while yours laid loosely around your neck and shoulders.

“Not yet, but soon. I was told by some others that he intends to propose in the coming week.” You stand, taking her hands and leading her to your bed for you both to sit.

“You will have to let me know when your wedding will be. I do hope you will allow me to attend.”

“Of course, I will have it no other way!” You both proceed to giggle like children as she tells you of her soon to be intended.

Two days have passed since your conversation with Haley, and you found yourself thinking while staring blankly at the books page in front of you. Eyes scanning the same paragraph repeatedly while you are unable to retain the words. Sighing you close the book unable to keep your thoughts quiet. You make your way over to the bookshelf slotting the novel back into its place. Slowly meandering back to the spot you were previously seated.

You spoke to yourself inside your head as though you were making conversation with yourself.

‘I do not know what to expect from this lawyer. I do not know if he can help me. Help me with what exactly? That is part of what I do not know. I still have yet to hear from my husband it’s almost like he is glad that I am gone. I did come here so quickly. The house hadn’t even been properly aired out yet before coming. It is odd how quickly he agreed that I should come away from him. I should have fought to stay, shouldn’t I? But then how will have you have met Harvey?’ Thoughts proceeded to be consumed by him, groaning you lay your hand to your forehead in hopes to stave off the coming headache.

“Ma’am?” One of the boys asked. Startled from your thoughts you jumped. You hadn’t even heard him enter.

“Yes?” You spoke breathlessly.

“There is someone here to see you.”

“Oh!” You stand. Running your hands down the front your dress. Walking over to the door you are greeted by a stranger. His brown hair and hazel eyes took you aback as you weren’t expecting company.

“Good day.” You spoke politely.

The gentleman removed his hat before he entered your home and was standing in your foyer looking around pleasantly. Mildly annoyed you cleared your throat, and it brought his attention back to you.

“Ah, yes. Good day. I am to assume you are the lady of the house.” He speaks matter-of-factly.

“I am, but I am sorry to inform you we are not entertaining solicitors presently.”

The man chuckles, “I am no solicitor ma’am. I have been sent her on behalf of Mr. Acunin.” The name catches your attention, and you offer a little more warmth to your voice compared to previously.

“I see, please do come in.” You motion for him to follow you before asking one of the boys to bring tea. After making the short walk to the drawing room you ask for him to sit in which he obliges.

“You said you’ve come on behalf of my lawyer?” You ask without spending time on pleasantries.

“I am.” He nods his head in agreement.

“I was not expecting Mr. Acunin until the beginning of the week after next.”

“Yes, and you still shall. I was sent here to get confirmation to begin my investigation.” Your brows pulled together at his statement as he took a drink of his newly poured tea.

“Investigation into what?” He set his cup gently onto the saucer placed on the table.

“Your husband, ma’am.”

“What of my husband? Who exactly are you?” Mild hostility entered your voice as you spoke.

“Pardon my brashness, I was hired my Mr. Acunin as a private detective for the case against your husband.” He shakes his head as a way to clear it.

“My deepest apologies sir, but I do not understand. What case against my husband?”

“I would imagine should it be for your divorce.” Shock filled your mind. A thousand thoughts running through like they were running a race.

“Divorce?” You ask shakily.

“Yes, I was under the impression you were to be filing for divorce should your husband be caught in extra marital affairs. That was Mr. Acunin informed me of. I just need your approval to begin the investigation.”

“What exactly would you be doing? Thought that the private detectives worked with the police in some cases.” Still on edge you respond as levelly as you can.

“In some cases, yes but not always. What I will do is follow your husband for around for a week, take note of his day-to-day involvements, search for any documents that might have been filed that pertain to you, and report all of my findings to Mr. Acunin.”

“I see.” You speak plainly.

“Ma’am, Dr. Harvey is here.” You turn to see Harvey standing in the threshold between the hallway and the drawing room with a look of surprise on his face.

“Oh my, look. Most days I am here to my lonesome and today I have received two visitors. Doctor Harvey I will be with you in a moment.” He nods, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

The private detective spoke once more, “I shall be gone soon, I just need your verbal and written consent if you please.”

You turn to look at him once more. Smile slowly dropping from your face as you do. The man eyes you and then the doctor before pulling a leather satchel loose. Riffling through papers before pulling them out followed by a fountain pen. Uncapping the pen and setting it next to the papers, you lift them to scan over what you will be signing.

Leaning over the table you sign your name and offer him the consent he was waiting for. “You may follow him, but please use your discretion. I would not like to see this come back to me.” He nods in understanding before blowing on the page and filing it back into his bag.

“Good day Ma’am.”

“And to you sir.” He is met at the door by one of the boys to open it for him. You watch as he leaves through the door and rush to the window to see him walk down the path to the edge of the property. Harvey still standing at the door captures your attention. He motions to you to follow him, and you do. Walking at similar pace to him he opens your bedroom door for you. Haley must have already lit the fireplace long ago because the warm air feels much different than that of just outside of it.

Looking over to Harvey he is removing his shoes and his vest coat. All part of the typical routine of your treatments. With no causing for alarm, you approached him after he stood up straight. Locking your arms around his waist, laying your head against his chest content just to hear his heart beating. You can hear the rumble in his voice as he began to speak, “Would you like to share who that was?”

“I will, soon. This is something too new that I do not wish to share until I have more information first. I will Harvey, I promise.” He places his hands on your shoulders to draw you from him.

“Why do I have the feeling that you are hiding something from me?” Looking over your face Harvey tilts your chin up to him.

“I have no reason to hide anything from you nor do I.” You remove your arms from him while lowering your jaw. Your voice temporarily filled with defensiveness.

“While I do not doubt that this all feels very secretive. Is he the reason you spoke with Robin several weeks ago?”

“Yes, he is part of the reason. You must trust that I will tell you more in the future. This may be something of benefit to us. I would like to not get both of our hopes high for us to be disappointed.” You place the extra emphasis on ‘us’ for Harvey to understand.

“I will trust you, my love. If this involves the two of us I will take you for your word and wait.” You smile brightly at him. Moving to embrace him once again he meets you half way. Tilting your chin up once more he leans down to match your height. Running the tip of his nose against your own he speaks in a whisper.

“Aside from your visitor, how do you fare today?” You look up to his eyes and his eyes find yours. Giving him another smile he mimics you again. The creases of his eyes are deeper than you’ve ever notice and there are trace freckles that are left behind from summer. You can see every pore, every crevice, every line.

“I missed you.” You spoke against his lips.

“You say that each time we meet.” He smiles as he bushes against your lips.

“I say it because it is true.” You press your parted lips lightly against his before pulling away again. “I say it, because it is easier to say than; my heart aches for you every moment that you are not nearest my side.” Harvey kisses you this time with only little more force.

“What else does it mean?” He says after pulling away again.

“It means that I feel like I am most comfortable laying in your arms. That I think about you most constantly. I think about your laugh, your blasted laugh makes me feel whole. I think of your hair, your nose, your voice, how you would respond if you were around me.” You kiss him, your eyes fluttering closed when you don’t break apart immediately. His hand finds your cheek as he rubs a thumb over your lip once you part. Eyes still closed; you press a kiss to the pad of his thumb before you speak again.

“And what is worst of all is that I torture myself over you. A beautiful kind of torture.”

“What kind of torture is that?”

“I like to imagine what it would be like to wake up with you in the morning. To kiss you as the break of dawn falls through our open window.” You place your palm against the center of Harvey’s chest. Feeling his pulse much greater than it was just minutes before.

“Our?” Harvey speaks softly.

“Our.” You repeat back. “I imagine you coming home from your clinic and I am here to greet you. I imagine that neither of us must be lonely. I feel whole with you.”

“You imagine us to have a home together?”

“But I wish for nothing more than to turn back the hands of time.”

“Do you wish us to never have met to save you from this torture?” His eyes look like glass from his statement.

“No, I wish to go back and marry you instead.”

“Marry me?” He speaks like this is the first time someone has admitted their love for him. You caress the cheek of him that is opposite of yours. You pull him in for your lips to graze tenderly.

“I wish that more than anything in the world.” You feel as though you could explode as Harvey drags you in so tightly. Pouring each emotion into you. This kiss was passionate and full of longing. You felt a sense of love that is deeper than any kiss shared previously.

Moving at a languid pace towards the bed he lays you down against the pillows. Although you’ve had your treatments twice a week for around four weeks now all your treatments are the proper conduct. Only the one time had you two lain together. It could be suspected that Harvey did not wish to be seen other than a gentleman or that perhaps he did not wish to take advantage of a situation.

Your dress feels tight against the belly and the bust as he lays you down.

“Harvey, I need you to unlace me first.” He helps pull you back up.

“Of course.” He speaks into your neck after he removes the jacket that is part of your dress. After making a show of loosening the strings of your corset he helps remove the bustle and petticoat from your skirts. Leaving you with little clothing you find yourself once again on your bed. This time with Harvey’s hands running the course along your body.

“You have gained some weight, my dove. It suits you well. You must have gained the appetite after starting treatment.” He spoke into the flesh of your thigh as he kissed his way up your leg.

“I suppose I have. Someone has been depleting my energy all these months.”

“And I will continue.” He laughed against you. Tongue dipping between your folds, both of you moaning. He remembered to remove his spectacles before descending this time, you watched as he placed them next to your head.

It had been two weeks since he has tasted you and he performs like he never had. Your hands tangled in his hair as his tongue slips from you and offers suckles against your clit. Crying out for him he offers his fingers to massage your breast. Occasionally twisting over a sensitive nipple, you moan his name.

Minutes pass as your heaving chest meets his hand while his mouth continues to lave against you. Legs now wrapped around his head Harvey’s fingers finally enter you. Feeling starved of his affection you ask him to kiss you. Letting your legs fall he moves up your body to kiss your lips once again.

“My darling, do you want it inside you again?”

“Please, Harvey more than anything.” He kisses you again before removing his bottoms completely. With no extra begging he proceeds to line himself with your entrance. Harvey pushes himself in just past the tip while groaning in satisfaction.

“As many times as I feel you with my hands you feel so much greater like this.” He speaks into your ear as he bottoms himself out inside of you. The walls of your sex feel so much more tender than usual. You place a hand on his backside to keep him from moving.

“Wait a moment. Let me enjoy the feeling of you and I connected.” Harvey stills completely while holding himself above you. Lowering himself to kiss your lips once again he speaks, “My heart, I love you the most of anything in this world.”

“I know Harvey. I feel the same, it is wonderful to be loved.” Your eyes well when his hips began to pull themselves back. A slow and precise tempo. This kept on for what felt like nearly 20 minutes in your mind, but in reality you knew it couldn’t have been that long before you asked for more.

Harvey seems to give you anything you ask for. His hips gain much momentum, skin began to slap and fluids flowed freely. Harvey sat up straight while delving into you to allow for faster thrusts. You could feel your end coming close, and it seems so could he. Pushing into you with great force he felt you tighten around him like a clamp. Crying in pleasure you raked your nails up his arms. Moaning as you reached you end Harvey quickly removed himself to relatch his mouth to your sex.

Not fully through your orgasm yet you feel his tongue flatten against you before retreating into his mouth. Cleaning you of all your liquids he proceeds to make you contract around his tongue once more.

“Oh Gods, Harvey!” You yell to him in a whispered hush. He smiles from down below while coming back up for air.

“You can give me one more.” He says to you. He has a look in his eye like he’s crazed. Before you can even respond he grabs your legs by the calves and pushes them to bend by your shoulder. After nearly folding you in half he takes himself in his hand once more and wipes it along your swollen folds. Moaning in a mix of pleasure and protest he pushes himself in.

Like the wind was knocked from your lungs your throat made a strange garble. He has never felt so deep within you and every wild thrust he pushed into you had you moaning wantonly into the had he placed onto your mouth not long ago. The other one of his hands left the back of your thigh to roughly stroke your clit.

“I want you to do that thing again.” Harvey was out of breath and was having trouble communicating while trying to focus his thrusts. You motioned a weak nod as you tightened against him on purpose. Throwing his head back in response he moves his right hand from your mouth to wipe his brow of sweat, left hand still focused on playing your venus like an instrument.

Harvey’s thrusts began to become shallower in hopes to stroke the place he has found many times with his fingers. Finally hitting the mark, you opened your mouth in a silent scream. You felt the fluid release from your body and trickle down your backside. Each thrust from the man above you were infinitely louder. Pleased with your reaction his hips resumed their rough course, bumbling into you with bruising pace. Your nails now like claws in his skin as he fucked you into your own mattress. Crying actual tears, you released again, more fluid dripping over your body. This didn’t seem to relent his pace at all, he continued undisturbed in his want to melt your brain.

“Harvey!” You hiccupped through cries. He looked down to you, eyes widening before he smiled an evil grin.

“Almost done, love.” He spoke as if he was telling the truth. I would be another two minutes before he released you from your position after his completion. Groaning above you hilt buried as deep as he could muster while slowly rocking himself into you. Your walls milking him with hunger. The loud pop as he pulled himself completely from you sounded in your ears.

Harvey leaned over you to place a soft kiss upon your lips and you returned the sentiment breathlessly. He stood from the bed to walk to the water basin near your vanity to dip a thin cloth. Walking over he soothed your abused sex with featherlight strokes against you. Your attempts to stand after were met with legs unable to hold your weight. You laughed when he handed you his arm to keep you steady. Looking up to Harvey you could see the sparkle in his eye as he smiled down to you.

_

The next week that passed by felt like an instant. Days bled together and offered little solace to your turbulent mind. Haley came in to dress you, then undress you twice a day, every day as per usual. Eat, read, play piano, read more, eat, do needle work, Harvey visit, eat again, write letters that go unanswered, sleep, repeat. The simplicity of a day it was. Although it was just biding time before you wait for your guest.

It was the second Monday after the start of winter that he did arrive. Coming in by train you offered one of your men to retrieve him from the platform. As soon as he arrived in your home, he greeted you kindly with a charming smile.

‘This is the man Robin recommended?’ You thought to yourself. You offered him to sit with you and poured the customary cup of tea. He explained several topics to you most of which had to do with the following.

“Solely based from the information I obtained through your letters I am to understand that perhaps your greatest option is divorce.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Divorce, madame. It is when you to become.” You cut him off to respond to him.

“Sir, I very well know what divorce is. I do not believe that I have the grounds to do so. My husband has never so much as laid a finger upon me, nor does he have any gambling problems. I have no reason to suspect that he has been unfaithful to me in our marriage… unless of course he is recently taken my absence as an invitation to do so.”

“Do you believe that while you are away there may be a chance he could try and do so?”

“Seeing as he allowed an imbecilic excuse for a doctor to taint his mind into thinking that I am affected by Briquets. I would say there may be a slight possibility, yes.”

“I see, I understand that you are seeing the local doctor here, is that correct?”

‘What does he mean by seeing?’ You think to yourself in a panic.

“I am, yes.” You respond while Mr. Acunin nods his head.

“I should need to speak with him to find how you are mentally. From our conversation here you seem sound, but I would like to speak with him myself.”

“I see, Doctor Harvey has been nothing but pleasant since the moment I arrived. You should like him greatly.”

“Should I?” He flashes a smile at you and you offer a polite nod in response. Taking a sip from your cup and looking out towards the window.

“There is a major option when it comes to your divorce. You said you have not had contact with your husband nearing a year now, is that true?”

“Yes, despite my best efforts I have not heard anything from him since before I arrived here. He had not even spoken to me before I had left for nearly a week.”

“When did you arrive in Pelican Town?”

“The beginning of spring this same year. I began my treatments nearly a year ago and they were only supposed to last 14 weeks. My husband was supposed to come to speak to the doctor to reevaluate my prognosis.”

“So, your husband is also neglecting your medical treatments as well?”

“That it seems.”

“I see. You met with my associate last week, and I will come see you again when he has found something that we might have of use. When I call upon you again, please have the doctor here as well. I would like him to make statement.” Mr. Acunin began to stand from the couch and gather his things.

“Yes, very good. I will see to it. It was a pleasure Mr. Acunin.”

You began walking him to the door before you spoke.

“Before you go. How exactly did you meet my good friend Robin?”

“Ah, her father was a friend of my father. That is all.” And with that he walked out of the door.

You wonder what kind of news he will bring you when he returns next.

[phantomcurtaincall]

closed started with @oughtabeinpxctures

There was a heavy dampness in the air when they started.

The warehouse was an unsuspecting place for them to practice; it was a distillery after all. It smelled heavily of iron and burned barrels, even up to the second floor where they cleared out a large area for their work. One wall was lined with storage of various aromatics, vegetables, and bones. Another with beds, vanities, and armoires-- a communal space.

On the wooden floor, a circle of chalk was drawn with inscriptions and swirls inside. Around it sat several people; both men and women, old and young, and appearing from different trades. Yet, in this moment they were one. Each had an artefact of their own with them and a glass of dark wine.

They whispered, worried, amongst themselves--

«How are we doing this again?» «What do we say?» «Who starts?»

Questions are answered and a hush falls over the dim, candle-lit room; their eyes look to glow against the flames. One set of hands falls in the circle, then two more, then around to the final pair to close the gap and close the circuit. Anxiety fills the room, the desperation is tangible, the wait to see if their prayer will go unacknowledged by another god fills them with fear--

Until the air seems to snap and the smell of rain fills the room.

[dawnholde-if]

(Belated) Snippet Sunday

You wake with a start to unfamiliar walls and scratchy sheets. A flickering candle by your bedside casts dancing shadows on the faded wallpaper. The bed you’re lying on creaks as you sit up to better take in your surroundings.

The room you’re currently in is square. The floor is wooden, and as you swing your legs over the side of your bed, your feet are met with a plush rug. Your bed is in the opposite corner from the door, and in the corner across, there’s a tall armoire where two versions of a brand-new uniform hang, one design with pants, the other with skirts. Next to the armoire sits a trunk, wooden and adorned with dark metal. The padlock is ornate, bearing the seal of the Monarch of Sparia.

Your homeland... but not anymore.

[zannesgender]

Hey. I don't really post much here bc I don't have much to say. I tried writing a short story as a kink shit post the other day and I liked how it turned out. This place is better for that sort of longer form text, so I'm gonna stick it up here as well. Disclaimers: I am not a writer, I do not have a zombie kink, this is a story I wrote about zombie sex.

You throw your shoulder into the front door, splintering the frame as you collapse into the threshold. She stumbles over your body, unshouldering her rifle and placing it on the dusty floor. She regains her footing and hastily helps you to your feet. You shut the door as best you can and assess this new interior. As you both frantically dart your eyes across the room, you simultaneously settle on a tall, wooden armoire, drawers stripped and cabinets bare, but solid. Each claiming a side, you move the furniture in front of the door. You next grab the nearby loveseat and move that into position as well. Exhausted, you each fall onto the loveseat to catch your breath and think. You unholster your handgun and rest it on your lap. You know instinctually that the rest of the house has not been secured, like a subconscious knot of anxiety that cannot be released until you do the work. But just a minute, fuck, you just need one god damn minute.

“We need to sweep,” she says, shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her.

“What the fuck was that? The way was supposed to be clear. Patrols have had it clean for over a month.”

“Must have been a breach. Closest settlement from their direction would be Lynchburg. Not that we would have heard shit from them, not after Carrigan started heading the board. Fucking fragile little assholes.” You nod your head, those residual slugs of the American prepper community can’t ever seem to learn a god damn thing.

“We need to get word back to Carrigan or Summerton will be blindsided by nightfall. And God knows how many caravans will get caught up in it.”

“How the fuck do you expect to do that? Closest comm station is two miles through a swarm of three hundred fucking zombies. Next one is twenty miles west.”

“We dump our packs and haul ass. We still have 6 hours of daylight.” You’re pretty beat, but a little rest and you know you can pace yourself out in time. It’s not even a marathon, and you’ve done those in half the time, back before the world began.

“Maybe, but I need a bit. Let’s sweep this house real quick.” She gets up from her seat slowly and retrieves her rifle from the floor, slinging it back over her shoulder, and slides out her sidearm. “I got point.” You usually take point, but you’re not gonna argue. Besides, this house looks like it’s been swept and scavenged a dozen times over the years. You’re not expecting any surprises.

You sweep through every corner of the three-bedroom rancher with little incident. You have to shift some kitchen furniture around to secure the back door, which was previously kicked in. It’s long-since been picked-over of anything useful, and you end your survey lying down on a California king four-poster bed in the primary bedroom. The knot of anxiety finally loosens as you sink into the mattress. She leans her rifle against the empty nightstand and joins you, sitting a bit too rigidly on the side of the bed, staring into her open pack on the floor. She gives a deep sigh and pulls out her loop of rope. “Babe, I’m gonna need you to do something for me. I don’t have much time, and definitely not enough for you to melt down.”

Your body tenses, a numbness surges through your limbs and your stomach sinks. “What are you talking about?” you quiver, but you already know exactly what she’s talking about. “How? We got away. Are you sure it’s not just a scratch?” Then you notice the wet spot on her black cotton t-shirt. She pulls off the shirt, revealing an open wound, no longer bleeding, but dry and necrotic at the margins.

“Yeah, I’m sure. And I’m gonna need you one last time.” She uses her knife to section out four lengths of rope. “Make it tight. Make it hurt.” She gives you the ropes and begins to undress.

You’re still trying to process the reality of it all. You recall that night, around the bonfire, passing around a jar of Trudy’s jet fuel and unwinding with the camp. Troy asked the group how they’d go out if they got bit, the sort of gallows question you ask people grown hard and cold to this world. “If I’ve got my side-arm. Y’all just leave me to myself,” Marcus said, poking a stick into the fire. Your arms were wrapped around your girl to keep her warm, to smell her hair, a mix of salt and dirt and smoke and that sweetness underneath it all that never faded. She spoke next in a slurred but sultry voice, “Babe, if I get bit, I want you to just tie me down and fuck me to death.” Troy spit his drink up into the bonfire, igniting in a whoosh as the group joined in laughter. “I can do that for you,” you said, “but then I’m gonna have to get going,” and you kiss the top of her head and smirk at the laughing circle of your fire-lit family.

She smiles up at you, her eyes slow-blinking you like a soothed cat. Your eyes sting from trying to hold back the tears, but your fingers know these ropes, and work the knots unthinkingly as they’ve done a thousand times before. First the hands, then the feet. You’re careful to anchor the hands low on the posters to ensure as little movement as possible after she… after it’s done. You straddle her, admiring every curve of her as if it’s the last time, your penis pressed against hers. Your hands trace up and down her sides and around her breasts as you feel her grow against you, her nipples hardening at your touch. You lean forward and down and kiss her, delicately at first, caressing her face and neck and sliding your hands down the length of her slender, firm, tethered arms flexing against their restraints. You pull back just enough to whisper, “I fucking love you.”

She smiles and whispers back, “Then fuck me ‘til I’m gone, and maybe a bit more if you want.” Her smile breaks into a grin and you kiss her hard, hungrily, your tongue exploring every familiar contour of her soft mouth. After applying some of Trudy’s lubricating gel from the pack, you enter her slowly, gently. Her eager hole accepts you readily and you become one for the last time. Your mind swims, trying to take in every last detail as her breath quickens and her chest rises and falls, shimmering and perfect. When you feel her moment approach, you reach down and take her swollen dick in your hand as you quicken your thrusts into her. Her breaths turn to moans and squeaking pleas of “Yes, fuck yes.” Her back arches as you thrust deep inside and her light spurt of crystal ejaculate stretches thinly across your hand and into her navel. Her back falls into the mattress and she breathes deep and slow. You lean forwards to kiss her, but her hips buck and her head turns away to the side. Then she exhales deeply and is still, silent, perfect.

Alone, but still inside of her, you allow your tears to come. Streaming, shrieking tears mark this final shattering of your world. Every day that has ever mattered started with you waking up in hell next to the most beautiful creature you could have ever imagined. Every struggle you’ve faced in the blistering sun and choking dirt you conquered with ease knowing every night you would get to hold her and feel her drift into sleep. You had everything this morning and you knew to savour every moment of it. Now, at the end of it all, you regret nothing. You’ve decided you don’t want to run anymore.

You grab the loop of rope and cut four measures for yourself. You’re not sure if you’re too cowardly to continue or brave enough to accept your end. In this lonely, abandoned home, those words lose all meaning. They are standards and concepts rendered meaningless in a world that has shrunk to the size of a California king. You start with your legs, and finish tying up your right hand with a firm jerk of your head. As the last end of rope drops from your jaw, you feel the body stir underneath you. You barely pull out of range before the head snaps towards you hissing and lurching for a bite of you.

The shock sets your heart pounding again, and you watch as the head weaves back and forth, mouth grasping desperately at you, shoulders struggling against the restraint. You breathe deeply, exhaling as you move close, enjoining your mouth to what remains of the world. You feel the teeth sink into your tongue as your mouths fill with blood. You pull back and moan as you slip inside of the writhing beast for the first time. You drink the blood and feel the poison burn down your throat. Beneath you, the creature gnaws at the meat it has been fed. Your arousal overcomes you and you begin thrusting ever more voraciously. Every moment of her reels through your mind as you close your eyes and fall into your needed rhythm. The surge of ecstasy engulfs you, your mind burns with pleasure as your body shudders one final gasping time. Your head falls on the creature’s chest as your awareness fades and spreads thin across eternity. It does not try to bite you, for you are one now.

[lunarsimmer]

[Begin Image Description:

Image 1: A room with peachy pink walls, with a pink and white neon lotus blossom sign over a pink and gold curved desk with a matching chair in front, to the left is a pink and white single bed with a matching pink and white side table and two silver picture frames over top of the bed

Image 2: Another angle of the same peachy pink room showing a pink and white armoire on the far right wall next to a pink mirror and a pile of clothes, on the far back wall is a pink and white egg chair

Image 3: A room with dark navy blue walls, on the left wall is a black desk with shelving with a black office chair in front of it and on the front wall is a black, grey and white bed with a purple pillow and a wooden headboard with a poster of a plumbob and a tiny blue character.

Image 4: Another angle of the room, showing two brown and black metal bookcases against a wall.

Image 5: A dark grey and light grey gradient banner with the words Stone Legacy on the left with a swirly heart inside a house above it and the words gen 1 on the right with a swirly heart inside a house above it

End Image Description]

Also forgot that with the new baby, the girls were moved into the basement and here are their (again, pretty bare) new rooms!

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