#white beaded fireplace wall

[introvertedthinking]

St Louis Enclosed Living Room

[elyxir]

Montreal Family Room Game Room Inspiration for a large transitional open concept brown floor and medium tone wood floor game room remodel with white walls, a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace

[storyarcade]

Los Angeles Modern Family Room Example of a mid-sized minimalist enclosed linoleum floor family room design with white walls, a ribbon fireplace, a metal fireplace and no tv

[scherzyhamilton]

Enclosed Dining Room

[idealfitnessdublin]

Traditional Family Room - Family Room

[quidittch]

Traditional Living Room in New Orleans

[benbemine]

Library - Living Room

[zetragildcosplay]

New York Rustic Bedroom

[charleytakeabow]

Single Wall Home Bar

[koisuko]

Hear me out, but how about a shy female reader who has been chosen as one of earthrealm's champions but Bihan doesn't see it due to her being short and shy, he makes a comment about it but is shocked when the reader gave a smartass response to his comment which peaks Bihan's curiosity about the reader?

Tw: none, shy reader, fem reader, no use of y/n

You lived a fairly reclusive life, hidden away in a densely forested area surrounded by high mountains. There were very few homes nearby with the nearest neighbor being 100 kilometers away. Just how you liked it, away from strangers in your cozy cabin. It was a paradise, a shy persons dream.

You sat on your brown sofa, the cushions so pillowy it nearly swallowed your petite frame. Beside you, your sole company in the isolation you live in, a small black cat. Soft purrs accompanied the crackle of the flames before you, your toes wiggling near the fireplace for warmth. A sigh left your lips, at the relaxation taking a hold. All the chores were done, you finished your reading, and you had gotten off your online job just an hour ago. You had nothing to do but relax. A hand stroked the silky black fur of your cat, the purrs a gentle lullaby. Your eyelids grew heavy, barely having the strength to fight the impending nap. Not that you wanted to, naps were your favorite thing after all.

One..two..three knocks on your front door jostled you from your drowsy state. A spike in anxiety hit, fear of who or what could be here. You never really had visitors, or many friends outside of your cat and family. There is no one you know to be visiting anytime soon, so who is it? Slowly, you approached the front door, a nervous expression on your face despite your best efforts to seem confident. Armed with nothing but your fists, you stood just inches from the wooden barrier. You knew how to fight, if it was necessary. A woman in the middle of no where needs her protection! You’d be damned if you unhooked the chain lock at the top of the door. You mustered up the courage to place a cautious hand on the door knob. Was it hot in here? You could feel the sweat begin to bead at the ridge of your brow. A sigh left your lips as the door slowly creaked open. On the other side we’re not one, but three large burly men. This is your end, isn’t it? “U-uh h-hello?” You squeaked out, earning a scoff from a man wearing blue. His face seemed molded into a permanent scowl, and his scrutinizing gaze locked on to what little of you peaked from behind the door. The first to speak, was a man with bright white eyes. “Greetings, I am Lord Liu Kang, God of fire, Protector of Earthrealm,” his voice was oddly calming, but not enough to block out the body guards beside him, “May we enter?” Enter? As if! His title seemed like something straight out of one of your novels. “M-may I ask what business you have here?” You cleared your throat, anything to rid the lump making it hard to speak. “N-no offense but..I think you have the wrong house.” Liu Kang’s bright orbs creased at the corners in a smile, “I assure you we are at the correct residents.”

Shit, you thought. A thick clump of saliva made its way down your throat, causing you to nearly choke on it. “We can talk outside, if you wish,” he added. Something about this man was…strange yet peaceful. What choice did you have? You puffed out your chest and unhooked the chain keeping these intruders outside. All within a split second, you swung the door open and readied yourself for a fight with a defensive position. Unfortunately, a pathetic squeak left your lips as soon as the door smacked the wall. The two men behind Liu Kang chuckled, one with a more lighthearted giggle, and the other a demeaning one. Liu Kang smiled once again, bowing his head respectfully. You straightened up with an awkward gulp so loud the birds outside could hear it, “I uh..sorry.” He shook his head, “it is understandable, your bravery is admirable.” That soothed your nerves just a bit, until, the man in blue spoke for the first time. “This is the chosen champion?” His lip curled into one of distaste as he eyed you down, “pathetic.” It was one thing to hate everything around you, but to insult you before seeing your skills was a whole new level. “Excuse me?” You crossed your arms, popping a hip out with a snarl, “you look like a mere boy with sticks for arms compared to the men I’ve fought!” He didn’t say a word, instead, he scoffed and averted his gaze elsewhere. Although, despite his initial burning expression, his eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly when looking at you. It was barely noticeable, but a spark flickered just behind that ice cold exterior.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

A Christmas to Remember

Pairing: John “Bravo-6” Price x reader

Warnings: fluffy little Christmas special

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, this is based off of the ask I just got and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head so here we are

Word Count: 1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The gentle glow of Christmas lights bathed the living room in soft, colorful hues. Strings of twinkling bulbs wrapped the tree, their reflections shimmering off delicate glass ornaments. Outside, snowflakes drifted in a lazy dance, blanketing the streets in a pristine white layer. Inside, the warmth of the fireplace crackled, casting flickering shadows across the walls, mingling with the faint aroma of cinnamon and pine. John Price stood near the mantle, his broad shoulders slightly hunched as he adjusted a small stocking labeled "Baby Price" alongside theirs. The embroidered name glimmered in the firelight, a tender touch he’d insisted on adding this year.

"John, you don't have to do all the decorating yourself," you said, leaning back on the couch with a soft sigh, your hands cradling the gentle curve of your belly. The cushions supported you comfortably, but you couldn’t help fidgeting as you watched your husband move about the room. Your voice carried a mixture of amusement and exasperation as he meticulously repositioned ornaments, his keen eye for detail refusing to leave anything out of place.

"Nonsense, love. You're supposed to be resting," he replied without looking up, his tone warm but firm. Turning to meet your gaze, he added with a mock-stern look, "Doctor’s orders, remember?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. It was impossible to argue with John when he went into full protective mode. His excitement for the holidays, paired with the anticipation of your baby’s arrival, had made him even more attentive than usual—if that were even possible.

You reached for the mug of cocoa he’d made earlier, savoring the rich sweetness and the faint hint of peppermint. The warmth seeped through your hands as you cradled the cup, watching him string beads of golden garland across the branches.

"Fine," you said, setting the mug down carefully. "But don’t blame me if the tree ends up looking lopsided because you refused my help."

John chuckled, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The tree, laden with ornaments collected over the years, sparkled with a charm that felt uniquely yours. "It’s not lopsided. It’s... rustic," he declared, grinning.

"Right," you teased, arching an eyebrow. "Rustic."

He strode over to you, his heavy socks muffling his steps on the polished wooden floor. Kneeling beside the couch, he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, the bristles of his beard tickling your skin. "You’ll thank me when you’re not sore from bending and stretching," he murmured, his lips brushing against your hairline. "Besides, I’ve got a surprise for you."

Your eyebrows lifted in curiosity, your smile widening. "Oh?"

"Wait here," he instructed, disappearing down the hallway with purposeful strides. Moments later, he returned, cradling a small, neatly wrapped package in his calloused hands. His expression softened as he handed it to you, his excitement barely concealed.

"John, we’re supposed to exchange gifts tomorrow," you said, though your hands eagerly moved to untie the satin ribbon.

"Couldn’t wait," he admitted with a sheepish grin, settling beside you on the couch. "Go on, open it."

The paper crinkled beneath your fingers as you unwrapped the box, revealing a handcrafted wooden mobile nestled inside. Each piece was meticulously carved and painted: a bear with kind eyes, a fox mid-leap, a rabbit curled up peacefully, and a sparrow with outstretched wings. The animals hung from delicate strings, swaying gently as you lifted the mobile, the craftsmanship so intricate it took your breath away.

"John... did you make this?" you asked, your voice catching in your throat.

He nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Figured our little one deserved something special. Something personal."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you placed the mobile down carefully, turning to wrap your arms around him as much as your belly allowed. His arms came around you immediately, strong and steady, his hand resting protectively on your bump.

"It’s perfect," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering. "You’re perfect," he murmured. "Both of you."

The moment stretched, cocooned in the quiet crackle of the fire and the soft strains of holiday music playing in the background. The scent of the pine tree mingled with the faint aroma of cocoa, wrapping the room in warmth and serenity. Eventually, John pulled back, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his blue eyes tender and unwavering.

"Alright, your turn," you said, reaching behind the couch to pull out a gift bag. You handed it to him with a mischievous grin. "Merry Christmas."

He opened it to find a set of matching pajamas—one for him, one for you, and a tiny one for the baby. His deep laugh rumbled through the room as he held up the smallest pair, the words "Daddy’s Little Soldier" embroidered in soft script on the front.

"These are brilliant," he said, leaning in to kiss you. "We’re putting these on right now."

You laughed as he helped you to your feet, his hands steady and supportive. Together, you made your way to the bedroom, where he gently assisted you into the soft, festive fabric. Minutes later, the two of you were back on the couch, snug in your matching pajamas. The baby’s tiny pair hung on the armrest, a sweet reminder of the future awaiting you both.

As the evening wore on, the fire dwindled to glowing embers. You found yourself dozing off against John’s broad shoulder, his hand resting protectively over your belly. The Christmas tree lights cast a gentle glow across the room, their soft twinkle mirrored in the window panes. Outside, the snow continued to fall, muffling the world beyond your walls.

John’s voice was a low murmur as he pressed a kiss to your temple. "Merry Christmas, love."

Half-asleep, you nuzzled closer, a contented smile on your lips. "Merry Christmas, John."

In that moment, surrounded by warmth, love, and the promise of new beginnings, you knew this Christmas was going to be one to remember.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting!-Midnight💜

[the-midnight-blooms]

the vampire's paramour | smg

previously titled: sanguine metal and pearl

pairing: vampire!song mingi x accusedwitch!reader AU: fantasy au word count: 5.8k warnings: violence ATEEZ as angst tropes series: Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

masterlist

Trope: Betrayal 

Thunder cracked across the sky, the rain beating down on the earth, wind hitting against the frail leaves as a hollow figure dashed across the drenched field. Her boots squelched beneath her feet as she tiredly trudged, panicking as she attempted to seek solace in the large abandoned manor on the hill. By no means did she expect it to be inhabited with as much as warmth, but anything was better than the coarse battering of the rain provoking her skin. Her pale fingers squeezed against the slash penetrated across her abdomen-blood oozing out of the wound like a scarlet river. Beads of sweat formed on her upper brow; heavy pants silenced by the harsh winds. At last, she reached the cobbled roads no longer restrained by the depth of the muddy grass, sprinting down the path. Out of sheer habit, her fists pounded loudly against the wooden door, rapping at the knocker not long before she jerked the door handle. Her body pushed into the foyer, hastily parrying the biting winds the loud slam venerating the hallways.

A quiet sigh escaped from her lips; her eyes fluttered shut relishing the warmth of the atmosphere that eased the tension in her muscles. Despite this, she had lost too much blood. Her dress, her hands all soaked red- the objects in her line of sight all bleeding together. With an agonising wheeze she dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, her mind racing at a million miles per minute.

I could die like this I suppose, at least it’s warm.

A sudden of rush of emotions overcame her, fatigue moulding into sadness as she recollected how she got there. Where a storm now brewing outside the bow windows, the translucent glass blocked some of the light that spilt into the dark foyer- when she came home a few hours ago, the air was soft smelling of the sweet musk of honeydew and freshly cut lawn. The sun was nowhere to be seen, but the white clouds hung in the sky. Painful coughs trickled up her throat, blood dribbling from her lips onto the wooden floorboards her head clouded by the pain- at once tearing her away from the pastoral fantasy. Mind rocking back and forth, stumbling on the thin line between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Through the slits of her shutting eyes, she sought a tall, dark figure looming over her- her body elevating from the ground. Perhaps it was the Grim Reaper taking mercy on her, ready to return to her parents’ side. For his ominous eyes bored into her own, her soul magnetised by its enigma.

Death is a beautiful man.

Peering through the windows of his warm study, the fireplace was lit the embers spitting as the flames oscillated beneath the cracked marble. Rain shot down from the sky, hammering against the porcelain tiles, infiltrating down the drain leading to the gutter as he sought a figure staggering down his pavement.

‘Manyeo’ he heard the servants whisper through the kitchen walls of his almost desolate home. Witch. But there could be no such creature. Not when he had lived through centuries, rendered an immortal being by mortals who distinguished the same face being transplanted down through generations. Just how strong was his family’s genetics really? He respected her resilience, despite the pain boiling within her human flesh she made her way to the door of his home. Mingi ripped himself away from the window, stalking out of his room.

The hallways were much larger than one would anticipate, not all them were covered with wallpaper, but the walls were particularly dark basking his view. They were littered with more candelabras, elegantly carved Greek statues, brushed with a few cobwebs indicating its age and neglect. Paintings embraced the lurid walls, particularly renaissance paintings of the past including many figures rendered to thoughtful positions encrusted in pale browns, reds, soft creams and light blues blending together to create an image of classism. After descending down the staircase, he reached the foyer a feminine figure draped across the floorboards her scarlet red blood blessing the ground beneath her. Slipping his slender fingers around her body, he encased her fragility within his strong grasp holding her close to his chest.

Sunlight streamed in through the crevices of the white chiffon curtain, whirling with the warm breeze that emptied into the large room. With the air brushing at her soft skin, her eyes fluttered open staring at the canopy ceiling above her. A distressing grunt left her as she adjusted her position- sitting up back pressed against the headboard. Instinctively, her hands reached towards where the stab wound was, lifting the hem of the cotton white dress to reveal a roll of bandages securely wrapped the whole way around her stomach. Someone had stitched her up. With furrowed eyebrows, her eyes travelled the breadth of the room. The walls were plastered in ivory green wallpaper, detailed with golden floral patterns. Beside her was a small nightstand, above was an unlit brass candelabra, burgundy red leather-bound books with ochre spines. The canopy bed was draped with white netting, the plush cream bed covers softening her stiff limbs inviting her back to sleep. Persisting against her tiredness, she crawled out of the bed- chilliness shooting up her as her feet dipped onto the floorboards.

Above the dressing table held a large mirror, reflecting her thinning figure lacking the liveliness that it used to have, dark circles embodying her youthful eyes. A crisp card note embedded with dark ink, folded in half grabbed her attention.

Miss Min,

I hope you are feeling much better after a long bed rest. If you feel yourself able, I would like to request for you to dine with me tonight. Please help yourself to any of the dresses in the wardrobe, see it as your own for the duration of your stay here at Song’s Manor.

I shall hope to see you soon,

Your saviour.

Who was this man? How did he know her name? Was the manor not supposed to be empty? The townspeople claimed so, yet they weren’t the brightest or trusting of people. She was still, yet, naïve for believing their words despite all their dishonest allegations. A witch. Out of all the things they deemed her, for being an academically inclined woman at that. With her mother passing early on her childhood, her father, a scholar, was left to take care of her upbringing. What could a man teach her about the ways of the household and domesticity? So, naturally, he taught her all that he knew which was the art mathematics and science. She spent the most of her adolescence cooped up on the brown leather chair analysing diagrams from scientific journals; helping her father with his research by transcribing his words and knowledge as his health dwindled. After his own passing, she was left to survive for herself and with the uprise of paranormal activity in her town- the people pointed a finger towards the scholarly woman. For when people are afraid, they point towards the most estranged person they know.

Dressed in a floor length black dress, black lace netted over the cotton fabric- large bell sleeves covered her thin arms. The dress accentuated her figure in all the right places, addressing the curves of her body that she had not noticed up until now. Her long hair was clipped back by a silver claw clip- she felt everything on her body was too rich to belong there. It was hard to believe that this was one of the simplest dresses amongst the ball gowns hung in the old chestnut wardrobe. Her hands had rifted through reams of silk, satin, chiffon, mesh, cotton of a consistent maroon red, creams, ivory white and black colour palette. There was the occasional green and blue, but the colours so deep it felt like delving into the depths of an uncharted sea.

A small knock venerated through the room, the wooden door creaking open as a timid pair of eyes peeked into the room, the maid slipped in straightening her posture.

“Count Song requests your presence in the dining room, Miss Min.” She felt astounded by the endearment- despite her father being an astute scholar she was never held on a pedestal among others, she was simply one head in a crowd of masses. Miss Min followed after the maid, every step feeling like she was treading on sharp glass, the skim of the substance penetrating her-dreading the cauterise of a thousand hot blades on her skin. Her mind rinsed with the memory of him piercing his knife through her abdomen, every time she closed her eyes-even if it was just to blink- she relived that moment over and over.

The maid had led her into the dining room. The oak dining table stretched over the length of the whole room, patterned with black leather chairs which in itself was probably worth more than her whole home. The dining room was painted scarlet red, and much like the rest of the home, the walls were encased with grand paintings which she had only seen in books. At the top of the table stood a tall man, clad in black velvet. With his sharp jawline and narrow eyes, he feigned an intimidating impression, the shadows loomed ominously in his presence leaping of his slender body as if ready to latch and destroy anything in its path. He drifted forward, as if being carried by the shadows that substantiated him. He could only be the infamous Count Song, owner of the manor she once perceived as deserted.

“Miss Min. How do you feel?" he questioned, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine.

"I'm fine, thank you so much for your hospitality, Count Song." She claimed, ignoring the frequent pangs of pain that seared through her. Her vision blurred ever so slightly-the defined features of his blending together, yet still creating a perfect picture at that.

"There's no need for formalities, you can call me Mingi." He introduced. At once, the suggestive smirk moulded into a warm smile revealing the dimples that adorned his pale cheeks. Her lips formed his name; to soundlessly masticate the vowels on her tongue- it tasted so natural to her. "Come, you must be hungry." He led her to the top of the dining table, adjacent to where his own seat was, pulling it out in a gentlemanly manner. A blush crept on her cheeks as she sat down. A mere minute later, servants compiled into the room, an array of dishes covering the vast half of the large table. Her widened eyes instilled a chuckle from Mingi, he watched with adoration.

Miss Min was a beauty, a sight to behold. All the light in the room revered her, shining towards her figure ever so specifically- so much that you would think she was the beacon herself. The black dress hugged her figure so perfectly, he wanted nothing more than to snake his hand around her waist and pull her closer to him. The smell of her blood so divine, it was driving him insane. He bit his lip, hands balling up into fists as if to hold himself back from digging his teeth into the curve of her gleaming neck. Once the servants had fled from the room, he reached forward to cover her plate with a bit of each dish served before them.

"Mingi-," he silenced her with a hard stare.

"Hush now, you need as much food as you can get. How would you get better otherwise?" This sudden solidarity had startled her, no less. When was the last time someone had given her this much attention? She became so used to fending for herself, that help of others was so foreign to her. Perhaps this was all temporary and Mingi was seeking something from her in return of his services.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you know my name?" she questioned, as soon as he compiled a few dishes onto his own plate-reaching for the fork. He stopped, slipping his hand inside his suit jacket, pulling out a black book with her name engraved on the front.

"This was in your cloak." Cloak, a word that disgusted her. Almost made it seem like she was a real witch. He settled the book down next to him- tentatively, she grabbed it, flicking through the pages to see if any of the loose sheets she'd placed in there had fallen out. The chances were that they had when she was making her way up the hill. “Took me a while to get my head around that satanic scripture.” He joked, raising the wine glass to his lips. Her head snapped toward him. Cloak. Satanic scripture. What did he know and what was he trying to imply?

My, my, Miss Min. You are sharp.

Mingi held her confounded stare for a few moments before gesticulating for her to eat the food he’d so kindly put on her plate.

“What are you trying to imply, Mr Song?” She challenged, there was no point beating around the bush. If he, as so much thought that she was one of the devils men- then she was treading in the enemy’s territory. She deduced the secretive airs around him, the way he paused before speaking choosing his words carefully.

“I might not get out of the house much but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my eyes and ears everywhere. Did you not think for a second I wouldn’t question why there’s a woman bleeding out to death on my doorstep?”

“If you were wondering so, then you didn’t need to invite me to eat with you. You could’ve asked me the second I woke up and I would have told you.”

“Oh I know you would have, Miss Min. But what kind of man would I be, if I didn’t put food before a starving woman? So, eat your food and if you don’t like it then I can get you something else.” He instructed, salient eyes burned into her own, tearing her stare away she stuck the fork into plate- engulfing her meal hungrily, but in a civilised enough manner that the man beside her didn’t think she was an animal. They ate their food in tense silence, Miss Min still eager to galvanise answers out of him. Mingi scoured through the depths of her mind finding nothing that wasn’t already new to him. Just a young soul brimming with beauty and inquisition. At the end of the night. Mingi escorted her back to her quarters-the pair loitering outside of her door. Mingi, unable to leave until he knew she had gone into the room, and herself thinking of something-anything- that would eradicate the taut atmosphere. She pushed her door open, thanking her saviour for his hospitality. Sometimes it was better to say nothing, than something. Deep down she felt that he would not leave her questions unanswered. Regardless, whatever it was that he was hiding from her- she took it upon herself to find out. One way or another.

A gold, rusted candelabra rested in her palms as she sauntered through the desolate hallways. It had been a while since their last encounter; Mingi's latency around the manor was absent. She tried to pry the maids for information in lieu of her nosiness but they all dismissed her inquisitiveness, instead doting over her lecturing her to rest and take care of herself. A sense of pain still provoked her bearings despite all this rest she was advised to take, deciding the best cure to her apathy was to give herself that tour that Mingi did not give her. Avoiding the steps that descended to the ground floor, she took the staircase leading the the upper floor hands gliding up the railing to secure some stability, she still felt her head rocking from side to side- heavy pants fleeting from her aching lungs as she wandered to the upper floor. The second floor stretched out into a long hallway, around six black, wooden doors all equidistant from each other. To her dismay, three out of six were locked and two were simply storage rooms holding boxes of trinkets, dusty furniture, a grand piano, cello; some other boxes contained velvet curtains, bed spreads and just other menial household items. Reaching for the copper doorknob, she twisted the handle pushing it open to reveal another set of staircases that led further up the building. From the outside, the manor looked to only have two floors, the high ceilings feigning an impression of many more. Shutting the door behind to preserve the warmth, she glided up the staircase, nudging through yet another door before entering a large space. The light from the flame flooded into the room, this room was much more fastidious than the rooms below with white sheets draped over the furniture; carefully arranged in parallel rows either side of the room. Amongst the walls held portraits, an array of people all dressed in the clothing that was deemed fashionable of its time. They were all encrusted in deep reds, velvety purples, pearl necklaces wrapped around their necks. A certain figure on the walls, drew her, his face similar to that of Mingi's. There seemed to be several that masked his features, all dressed differently-as if his face was a family heirloom surpassing generations.

Her eyes latched onto a book perched on top of one of the tables, a thick layer of dust coated on the front cover. Reaching for the book, she wiped away the dust with the sleeve of her arm, erupting into a fit of coughs as the particles entered her nose. Through the little light, her eyes barely made out the writing engraved across the front.

‘Mr and Mrs Song’

“What are you doing up here?” His deep voice bellowed into the attic, startling her. "What's that in your hand?" Clutching the book to her chest, Mingi grabbed at the candle holding it towards his face, his dark eyes glared at her a look of question fulfilling his features.

"It's mine." she blurted, he raised an eyebrow-almost amused by her proclamation. She cleared her throat, looking down at her feet in embarrassment. "I mean...I got it from the library. I also got a little bored. So I thought I'd explore." The cold look on his face softened, as he watched her stumble a little, leaning on the table for support.

"You're still in pain, you could have explored the castle later. Or asked me.” He offered.

“I’m beginning to think you’re nocturnal, Count. It’s actually appalling to see you’re gallivanting through your own hallways in the early evening.” Mingi shook his head whilst rolling his eyes.

“Maybe you’ve just been missing me.” A playful smirk held up on his sweet lips. She wanted to reach out and touch them, hold her fingers on his lips for a while. See what it would feel like to have his skin pressed against hers. The thought itself astounded her. His beauty was certainly a thing to behold but where had she conjured such thought from? “Come with me, Miss Min. We’ll gallivant through our hallways together,” His outstretched hand gesticulated for her to join him. They sauntered down the corridor, the book pressed against her chest. A maid rushed over to them, panting heavily.

"There is a man demanding to see you master. He goes by the name of Choi San." Her blood ran cold, limbs paralysed as the name reverberated at her core. Choi San, the town's exorcist had been the one to spread the word of her 'witchcraft', he had also been the one to plunge his 'holy' dagger into her stomach. Mingi stalked towards the entrance, the maid scuttling back to her duties. Hesitantly, she followed after him descending the steps. Listening carefully, she heard San introduce himself listing his many revered titles. 'Priest, Merchant, Scholar'. Yet it didn't take a genius to figure out that San was no god-fearing man and cleverly manipulated the townspeople's naivety to create his own rules and have them bending to his will. If anything, he thought he was God's greatest gift on earth.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me." Looking up at the top of the stairs, he shot her a devious smile. "Why don't you come down for me, dear?" Her body trembled, moving further down the steps. Hiding behind Mingi’s towering figure, his hand settled on her waist behind his back. San, unimpressed, mockingly cocked his head to the side like a drunken father playing hide and seek with his fearful child.

“This is my wife, you are talking to Mr Choi. Maybe you should reconsider your position whilst you are stood in my house threatening my wife and by extension, me.” Wife? Her heart fluttered, indecently, as Mingi’s grip on her waist tightened. Leaning her head against his back, her eyes shut tightly.

“Very well Count Song, I was unaware of this arrangement. I suggest you tame her. A woman like her does not belong here. This is not the last you'll see of me.” San spat through clenched teeth sending her one last sinister look before departing from the manor. Before Mingi could step forward to argue, she tugged at his arm. A breath of relief of escaped her lips, Mingi turned around to envelop her within his embrace- sinking her head into his chest the warmth from his body soothing her.

“It’s ok, nobody can hurt you now.” Her head piqued up, a grateful smile dancing upon her lips.

“Wife?” She teased, Mingi shrugged- a guilty look forming on his face.

“I didn’t know what else to say. It’s final- you’re staying here now Miss Min, whether you like it or not.” A few days later, Mingi had summoned her to his study. She kicked the album underneath the bed the canopy bed that same day-only to find it missing when she returned to find it. Did he take it? What was in that album that he did not want her to see, aside from the possible fact that she was prying around in his home-looking for answers he would not give her. “You marry me, Miss Min and you’ll have my protection. No man can ever lay his hands on you.” Her eyes flickering back and forth between him and the sheet.

“What’s the catch? What do you get out of this arrangement?” He looked slightly taken aback by her inquest, but which man would willingly spend the rest of his life with her? Mingi frowned a little as he read her thoughts.

“I get the pleasure of your company. Not that in that way, of course.” He quickly clarified, a blush creeping upon his cheeks. How cute. “I promise I won’t keep you bored, you’ll have my undivided attention.” She contemplated the thought. It was clear that she couldn’t go back to her home, her seclusion would only provoke San to go after her again and she couldn’t have that. On the other hand, she barely knew Mingi. How much could she really trust him? Then again, how much choice was she left with?

I guess we’ll find out.

The ink spilled out from the nib, her signature sprawled across the page. How bad could it be to be tied to Song Mingi for eternity?

Oh you little lamb, you have no idea of the being I am.

After the establishment of their matrimony, the pair had become a lot more distant than that was usual of a married couple. Miss Min felt it in her to be the wife that her mother was for her father, but did not know how. Mingi felt it in him to be more affectionate or available but his nocturnal nature prevented him from doing so. The servants had prevented her from entering Mingi's quarters, especially during the day. A pang shot through her at the thought that maybe he was with another woman. Her speculative nature had been suddenly inhibited, every time she thought about Mingi's disappearance during the day- the notions were vanquished substituted with the lies he fed her spinning in her mind like mantra chanted by a camaraderie of soldiers. With the days becoming shorter and nights longer, his presence pervaded the household more often- summoning his wife to his study to drink tea together.

“What is it that you do?” Mingi looked up from his book, as wide-eyed Miss Min settled down her porcelain tea cup. “I mean, what keeps you so busy and away from me?” She thought out loud. Frequent he felt his vampiric essence was a curse. He wanted to be close to her, without feeling the urge to sink his teeth into her neck. He wanted to hold her in the light of the day, in ways he believed she should be held.

“The boring stuff, like tax collecting, administrative duties, trade. All the stuff that everyone dislikes." Particularly her father. He would always have the tax collectors at their door, every month because he was too invested in his work-he'd forget about his taxes.

"That does sound incredibly dull." Her heart fluttered again at his intoxicating smile. "Does that mean you're somewhat good at maths?" Mingi snorted. Whilst he had been occasionally praised on his academics (a thousand years back when he played the role of a gentry scholar), he knew he didn't hold the admiration for it as much as she did. It was small moments like these which bridged the distance between the two. The tea in his office during the late afternoon had become a ritual for the pair.

One night Mingi was fixated upon writing his report to his superior, when a servant scuttled in.

"Mr Choi has requested to see you again, Master." Placing down his ink nibbed pen, Mingi let out deep sigh permitting the priest to enter his study. A broad-shouldered man strolled into the room, face wrought with wickedness.

"Can I help you, Mr Choi?"

"It's Father Choi, Count Song. I shall hope god forgives you for your disrespect." Mingi bit his tongue, impatience seething through him as he echoed San's devious stare. "It's rather, I can help you. It has come to my attention that there have been reported cases of paranormal activity around the manor." The vampire snickered, knowing it was better to stay relaxed. Throughout his lifetime, he'd been accused of immortality, the matter resolved dubiously.

"Is that so, Father-" San held out his hand, silencing the vampire. Mingi wanted nothing more than to grapple his hands around the man's neck.

"There's no hiding from me. I know you're a vampire Song." Each word felt like taunt, an attempt to instil a sense of action from Mingi that would only prove San's 'allegation' against him. "And I have the cure you've been looking for."

Mrs Song, sped down the hallway to her husband's office. Eyebrows furrowed as she noticed San being escorted out by a maid, attired in the typical black silk gown suited for his position. Staggering to the door, she swooped into the office-ignoring Mingi's dazed look and the formalities.

“What did he want?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about him. Come over here.” Gently, he pulled her into his laps. Slightly irked by his dismissal, she leant into his touch, fingers circulating through his hair. For a moment, her mind went cloudy, envisioning a blur of a figure transcending down the hallway next to a servant, the throbbing sensation in her temple deepened. Maybe it was just a group of maids making their way to their quarters. “Darling Miss Min, the treasurer of my heart, please would you do me the honour of accompanying me in the rose garden?” Playfully, she hummed pretending to be contemplative.

“Darling Mr Song, it would be my honour to accompany you in the rose gardens. Though it's too dark out, how would we see anything?"

"Never mind that, I find that thing's are much more peaceful in the night than during the day."

"Let's just stay here like this." Slumping down a little, she curled up into a ball resting her head against his chest, eyes closed as a shot of pain seethed through her. Her rationality was decomposing, and she hated every moment of it.

All she could think about was Mingi. All she wanted was Mingi. To feel the strong hold of his arms around her forever, to feel the brush of his lips against her skin, forever. Is this what it felt like to love? To adore? Goodness, she used to chastise such emotion primarily because she had felt the predatory gaze of men her whole life but when Mingi looked at her, it was if she embodied of the moon itself. For he, a dead being, felt his heart beat again at the mere sight of her. There was something so pure and domestic about the fact she was wrapped up in his arms, falling asleep to his whispers.

As she had promised Mingi, she accompanied him through his luscious rose gardens- an abundance of deep red roses enamouring the air. Her husband was correct, there was a beauty to the night relinquishing all of the fears that one associated to it. The moon hung serenely in the night, scintillating down at her husband. With the twisting of his stare, she snapped her head back toward the roses. Suddenly, the rain began to heavily beat down, the wind nipping at their skin. Encompassing her smaller hand into his, he dragged her back into the manor. A heavy thud emulated, as he tightly fixed the door. The pair exhaled synchronously, before he led her back to her room. With the candles already the lit, the heat juxtaposed from the chaos of the weather relaxing her muscles.

Mingi stared down at her, enraptured in her beauty. He could not help himself as he glazed his fingers over her skin. Erratic breaths infiltrated the air, leaning closer and closer to each other.

"I need you in all the ways holy and sinful, my dear. I want you as mine, eternally." I love you.

“I’m yours.” She breathed out, lulled by the intensity of their emotions. That was all it took for him to break. His touch eradicated the symphony of aches seething within her bones, the taste of him like opium reaching back for more and more. She could not get enough of him, and him her. Everything about the way the ardour flooded through them that night was divine and if it was all just a passionate dream she didn’t want to wake up. She could spend the rest of eternity stuck within this dream and she wouldn’t complain.

“If I asked you to follow me, without telling you where I was going, would you come with me?” He asked her one evening, tangled in each other’s arms in her room. Her finger drew down the bridge of his nose, over the curvature of his pink, plump lips.

“I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.” She announced. I'd follow you anyway for I am your devoted slave. His dimpled smile and siren eyes, pulled her off her bed taking her to the opposite ends of the manor. As they approached deeper into what seemed to be Mingi’s quarters- it became much more colder. The windows were obscured by thick black velvet, hallways narrower and not a single candelabra in sight to guide them. Yet Mingi seemed to know where they were going, she followed him aimlessly as cattle did to a shepherd.

They glided up a set of staircases, his arms around her waist as glimpsing through the window overlooking the vast lawn. The night was beginning to settle in, the lights from the village evaporating. Resting his chin on her head, he nestled his face into her hair- pressing his lips to the top of it.

A sharp pain protruded through her lower back, an agonising scream terrorising the hallways. Her knees weak from the pain- it was as if she was being mauled by horses on a race track, their strong legs thumping against her skin. Tormenting sobs illustrated the air, her body sliding down his back- Mingi sinking to the ground with her.

"Oh don't cry my blossom, please."

"How can I not? When you've hurt me. All this time you were just the devil in disguise." Choking on her cries, begging to the Lord to cease her pain.

"I'm not the devil, I am so much worse. For I spoke to him and he begged me not to hurt you. How does even a fallen angel sink to his knees before me?" Tears slid down his cheeks. She had never seen a statue cry before. He had corrupted her so much-even through the incessant pain she wanted to reach out and kiss away his tears.

"Why?" she managed to croak out. Letting out a gasp, his grip on her tightened as he slid out the dagger.

"It's just my nature. I needed you to bring me back to life. You were my key to mortality" He closed his eyes, her body wracking with sobs. San’s words ringing in his head. You have to make a sacrifice, kill the one you love the most in exchange for the gift of mortality. And he had become so deranged with living a thousand years, falling in love with her in each century only to have her taken away from him. Though he had stopped her several times from looking through the album. The truth was that Miss Min’s face lived as long and true as his own. A curse had set upon him when he had first become a vampire, that his lover would be given and torn away from him until the end of time. He just had to kill her this one time to break the cycle, her blood on his hands- the only cure ready to free him from his hellish state of mind.

“I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you. But it’s the things we love the most that are the ones we can’t have. My heart beats to your name. You brought me back to life.” A sudden roar flooded up the hill, the dissonance hitching a breath in her throat.

“You lied to me Song Mingi.” Her shaking hand, attempted to crawl backwards away from him, but with no strength left in her bones- she slipped against the stairs. He took everything from her, all her love, all her purity, all her sanity- moulding it into something that became utilitarian for him. You said nobody could hurt me. You wouldn’t let anyone lay a hand on me. “If I were to be ever reborn, I ask of the heavens to keep me away from you- for being in love with you was the greatest curse that has been bestowed upon me.” In the finality of her receding breaths, her body warped against the staircase- her soul gone with the howl of the wind.

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘min’ meaning wisdom

A/N: It honestly feels like such a relief having published this. Mingi I love you so much but why did you give me this much grief? also, i didn’t intend to kill so many people off but i cant hold back i guess 🫣 i hope you guys liked vampire mingi <33

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

[the--highlanders]

🌹 <3

Beads of light sprang across Jamie's vision, spilling out from the bright centre of the light set into the ceiling. Most lights in the TARDIS were white, cold and clinical - but this one was golden, pulsing softly every once in a while, like it drew its power from a candle rather than a bulb. The fireplace flickering beside him added its own orange tint, casting shades of brown over the heather-green carpet. For all his eccentricities, all the time he spent clattering around laboratories or building sand-castles or wandering onto spaceships - Jamie had never been able to shake the sense that the Doctor was a gentleman. Some sort of laird, just without the land and the tacksman and the tenants. He would scoff and turn his nose up at the rich and vain and powerful, for sure, but his study wouldn't have been too out of place in a big house from Jamie's time. It might have been stuffed full of alien samples and gadgets Jamie couldn't have figured out in a million years, but so much of it was familiar. The panelled walls and the ornate armchairs and the fine wooden desk. Strangest of all was the fact that Jamie /liked/ it. He could have been anywhere, after all. The TARDIS was nearly infinite. But here he was, lying on his back on the plush carpet, fighting to keep his eyes open against the light. Of course, it helped that the Doctor was in here, too.

a bit of the soulmate au I'm working on for you!! (sooo close to having this one done actually..... I only have two more sections to write)

but also this was just. me having fun with describing the doctor's study. my image of it has always been super influenced by the doctor who adventure game, of all things (does anyone else remember that hdjkhgkf). but I really like the idea of the doctor having a very vintage-y study, like this little warm cosy refuge from the futuristic parts of the tardis.

and I /do/ think they present themselves as a gentleman, no matter how much they might dislike the association!! the privilege and superiority complex of the time lords is super interesting to me, especially in relation to two as he's just starting to learn to break away from that. & I think it's interesting in terms of jamie as well, as he'd be well-placed to both identify it and see the irony in it. it's sort of another aspect of him keeping two in check and influencing the morality/sense of self that he'll carry forward into future incarnations.

wip ask game!

[spheresr4cubes]

I do Moomin fanfic now, apparently

LINK: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14216768/1/Long-Time-Gone

Moomin Valley -- Long Time Gone

Nuuska (Snufkin) finally meets his father and hears the strange tale of what kept him away for sixteen long years. //TW: Dissociation, alcohol, drowning.

CHAPTER THREE (3/4)

            “Oh, pitiful little thing,” said a scratchy, low voice. “Come in, let me help you.”

            Juksu gasped awake, ribs sore, the taste of seawater in his mouth. But the sweet, herbal smell of the dim room assured him right away that he was no longer at sea. He tried to move, and his body ached like he’d been lying in the same position all night. Wooden beams above his head dangled drying flowers, which waved slightly from a draft.

            “It’s just a broken arm,” said the voice, muffled as if from another room. “Sit down and try not to cry so much.”

            Juksu sat up slowly, putting his bare feet on the dry, cracked driftwood floor. The room was small, not much more than a large closet, and there were other equally-barebones beds lining the walls. Only one was occupied and not by either of his friends. He stood carefully and walked quietly to the only door, opening it very slightly to look out.

            “Alright, this is going to hurt a bit,” said an elderly creature, hunched facing away from him. A great mane of curly, silver hair was pulled loosely against their back, and a crying child sat in a rickety chair with a crooked arm held out. The old witch—for Juksu was quite sure they were a witch—plucked what looked like a white pearl from a nearby basket and threw their head back as they swallowed it. The witch grasped the child’s arm and snapped it back into place with a sickening crunch! The child screamed but quickly quieted with a look of bewilderment.

            “There,” said the witch. “All better.”

            The child flexed her arm, testing it, and wiped her face dry with her hands: “Thank you.”

            “No thanks needed,” said the witch, “but bring me a leg of lamb the next time you have one to eat.”

            “Yes,” said the child. “Thank you! Thank you!”

            And with that, they ran outside. The witch sighed in relief and brushed off the seat of the chair with a tiny broom: “Come on out, dear. It’s about time you woke up.”

            Juksu hesitantly opened the door and stepped through into the sunny room, beaded curtains casting red and violet specks across the warped floor. Boxes and jars and bottles sat on every available surface, and the air smelled of something on the cusp of burning. The witch turned to him with a crooked, silver-toothed, knowing smile cracking across their dark face.

“Oh, good, you don’t look any worse for wear!” they said with a delighted clap of their gnarled hands. “I was a little worried, I must admit, but it seems I still have my arts about me.”

They hobbled forward and took his hands, inspecting them: “Not a hint of blue! You’re not feeling dizzy, are you? Short of breath? Confused?”

“Confused, I’m afraid,” said Juksu politely, and the witch waved a hand.

“To be expected! To be expected! Come on now, sit down, and we’ll get you something to drink.”

They ushered him to the same rickety chair the child had sat in and bustled to a fireplace set into the wall nearby. The lid of the cast iron pot on its post lifted by itself, and a ladle poured thick liquid into a wooden cup the witch suddenly held. They waved a hand over it and handed it down to Juksu as the instruments put themselves back where they belonged. He sniffed the cup—it was nearly odorless, only the slight twinge of something burnt and… chicken? As he had the thought, little pieces of boiled chicken rose up from the bottom, and the liquid lightened into a creamy broth. The smell changed, wavering between a burning pinewood fire and the soup itself, savory and comforting. The witch raised their eyebrows encouragingly, and he drank. It was delightful.

“Now, I bet you have all sort of questions,” said the witch, pulling a stool from beside the fireplace and sitting down in front of him. “Ask away in your own time.”

Juksu did not hesitate: “How did I get here? And were there two others with me?”

“Aye, so quick! Yes, dear, there were two others with you, safe and sound, barely a whisker out of place. You got here on a ship, I understand, and it was beaten to pieces by a creature from the sea. Really, you’re lucky you didn’t meet the same fate.”

“Because of you?”

“The creature let you go before you ever washed up on my beach, dear. All I did to help was pull the water out of you and stuff your soul back in. Oh, don’t look so concerned! It happens all the time. Those friends of yours were very adamant it be done quickly, so I was worried all the rushing might have ruined something, but you seem fine enough.”

“And where are they? My friends?”

“On an errand. My services have a price after all, and you were rather expensive.”

“Oh… that’s new.”

“Hm?”

“I’ve never been expensive in my entire life.”

The witch chuckled, and it was a strained, raspy sound: “Well, there’s a first time for everything. At least you can have a sense of humor about it.”

“What was your price?”

“There’s an island in our bay where another witch lives—a vile, selfish thing. A long time ago, they stole a magic ruby from me, one with special powers, and I want it back. In exchange for your life, those boys went to get it.”

Juksu frowned: “Is it dangerous?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Juksu nodded and thought, but there wasn’t much to think about. Not really.

“Alright then,” he said. “I don’t suppose my shoes survived with me, Miss—?”

“Petroula,” said the witch with a nod. “Don’t wear the name out.”

            The island, its white palace, and its volcano sat shimmering in the golden sunrise as Juksu stood in the front door of Petroula’s house, checking his trouser pockets. His pipe had survived, his tobacco was safe, and his handkerchief was dry, if stiff. His pocket knife was gone.

            “All in order?” asked the old witch from behind him. She came to stand in the door as well, sipping a foul-smelling tea.

            “That’s where they are?” Juksu asked, nodding to the island, and Petroula grunted in the affirmative. “I don’t suppose there’s a ferryman?”

            “None but the one you nearly met when you arrived.”

            “Hm… I shouldn’t like to meet him again.”

            “Thought not. But, if you have the strength, I have a rowboat.”

            Juksu lifted an eyebrow at her: “At what cost?”

            “You’ve already paid, young one. At a friendly discount, of course.”

            “Oh? Are we friends?”

            “Forgive me, if you will, but I’ve sampled your dreams, child. I know your mind and cannot be your enemy—doesn’t that make me your friend?”

            She held out a dark, gnarled hand as weather-worn as the olive tree in the yard. Juksu considered it a moment, then took it.

            “Yes, I think it does.”

            “I’ll tell you as I told your friends,” said Petroula as they stepped down the rickety dock. “Beware that old fiend and their appetites. They keep the ruby close to the chest, and time will slip away from you as you search for it, so hurry!”

            Juksu nodded his understanding and reached up to touch the brim of his hat to her before remembering he had lost it.

“Thank you for all your help, madam. I’ll make sure you receive what you’re owed, and more if we can spare it!”

            They shook hands, and she reached up to pat his cheek fondly: “Go now, young one. Find your friends and come back soon!”

            Juksu hopped down into the little rowboat, took up the oars, and rowed steadily out into the river with the heat of the rising sun on his face.

            Fredriksson had been right—this really was a beautiful place. The bare rock of both the island and the mainland was pale and shone brightly with the light. Thin, pointed trees reached up to the bluing sky, and the water all around was deep and crystal clear. The houses of the town stuck out like white teeth from the hills, their shaded windows slowly coming to life with people waking up into the day. The air was crisp with a cool sea breeze.

            And then, it was all off. The sky became dull and yellow, as if down to twilight again, the sun nonexistent. The far shore of the mainland blurred as if touched with haze, and the town became lifeless and still. Juksu frowned at it all, confused, as his boat crackled on to the pebbled beach of the island.

            He pulled the boat further in and left the oars inside. The black and white pebbles beneath his boots kurkled and clattered with every step, finally falling silent as he climbed up the incline to greenery. The grass was short here, the wildflowers rugged, violet, and fragrant, and with one final heave on to more even ground, Juksu found himself quite suddenly in an orchard. The pale-walled palace loomed nearby, its great glass windows shimmering in the diffuse sunlight.

            It was as he was pondering how to approach that someone laughed.

            The woman—no, the man—the witch of the island stepped from behind the nearest pomegranate tree, xeir throat dripping with deep red jewels like the fruit’s seeds.

            “Well, well, well,” xe said, sonorous as a brass horn. “Another visitor so soon? Who let you into my garden, little one?”

            Juksu grew uneasy under xeir gaze but smiled and playfully replied, “A trickster, fair spirit, for I was promised Hell and seem to have arrived in Heaven.”

            Xe took another step, snakeskin cloak trailing out from the tree: “A Heaven for some is Hell for others. How would you know which is which?”

            There was mischief in the curve of xeir lips as xe spoke, and Juksu put his hand to his chest and gave a small, polite bow of the head.

            “Fire,” he said, “and the only fire here is that which your beauty has sparked in my heart.”

            The witch of the island chuckled and came closer, xeir eyes flashing like falling shards of glass, and as xe spoke again, the sharp white steel of xeir teeth bit into each word.

            “The little one has a silver tongue! How unexpected. Storms often wash rubbish to my shore, but you are an interesting find.”

            “I don’t suppose the storm you speak of was recent,” Juksu prompted hopefully. “Two friends of mine are rumored to have landed here.”

            The witch sneered: “Flotsam and jetsam. Cheap, painted tin.”

            “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

            The witch considered him a moment, looking him keenly in the eye and down over his white shirt, his beaten pants, his old boots. Xe grinned and curled a finger at him.

            “I have you treasure safe and sound, little one. Come with me.”

            Never was a gilded cage so artfully rendered as the east wing of the witch’s palace. The smells of the orchard blew in with them as the heavy wooden door opened, the witch ducking under the delicate golden archway. Golden, columnal trees arched up from the stark white floor to the ceiling and bore silver fruit. The walls were all bright marble and solid, threaded with glittering ore as if they’d been carved straight from the mountain into which the palace was set, and every door set into them was chiseled crystal, every window impossibly intricate stained glass.

            Juksu looked upon face after face of the unique creatures captured in the art and whistled.

            “What a lovely house! Your builders must have been very talented.”

            “Oh, yes,” giggled the witch. “They had such delectable minds, I couldn’t help but sample them.”

            Juksu frowned at that term—“sampled”, as if they were hors d’oeuvres. That was the way the old witch Petroula had described watching his dreams.

            “Here we are,” said the witch of the island, opening with ease one of the crystal doors. “They are fast asleep, the poor things.”

            The two of them stepped inside, and xe drifted to the round, soft nest of a bed against the far wall and motioned him over to see.

            “Are these yours?” xe asked.

            Hidden under countless violet cushions, pillows, and sheets, as if tucked into the gullet of a strangled beast, Fredriksson and the Muddler slept very deeply. They didn’t stir at all as the witch pinched their faces and laughed, “How peaceful, hm? I thought they looked promising, but alas, they’re as bland as unsalted bread.”

            Juksu tilted his head at xem and joked, “Have you tried talking to them when they’re awake? I promise, they’re more interesting that way.”

            The witch smiled, petting the Muddler’s fuzzy head: “I don’t usually talk to my food, little one.”

            It was suddenly cold. The air fell stale. The glamor of the gold and silver and crystal faded as if a candle had been snuffed out, and the witch showed xeir teeth, placing the point of one obsidian talon between the Muddler’s eyes. He began to shiver and whimper. Juksu kept his mouth shut, though every fiber of his being cowered. The witch stared into nothing and smirked. Xe lifted xeir finger away, and Muddler quieted. The warmth returned to the room.

            “It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?” the witch asked. “Since you last saw them? Were you scared for them?”

            “Yes,” Juksu answered truthfully.

            “And now?”

            “Yes.”

            Xe peered curiously down at him: “You hide it well. I wonder how delicious you might be.”

            “If you’re so bored by them, why not let them go? The Muddler there has a wife and two children waiting for him.”

            “And yet, they don’t appear in his nightmares. The little creature only fears for himself, only in the here and now. And the other—well, he hardly fears anything. I can’t even make a snack of him. Simple, dull, the both of them.”

            Xe hissed in disgust and circled the bed: “I could be persuaded to part with them. Perhaps… if there was something to trade?”

            “Of course,” said Juksu without hesitation. “What could I offer?”

            The witch was on him in a flash of snakeskin, talons lightly caressing his cheek.

            “Are you in the habit of bargaining your soul?” xe asked with a hungry growl.

            Despite himself, Juksu shrugged: “I courted the Mymble, and that’s not all that different.”

            The witch threw xeir head back as xe laughed, rubies jostling against xeir chest.

            “What are your terms, little one?”

            Juksu thought carefully, or at least as carefully as he could with veritable knives under his chin: “If you’re the type who feeds on dreams, you can have mine, if you like. In return, Fredriksson and Muddler get to go home.”

            “You would open your mind to me so freely?”

            “Well… perhaps if I also get to wander around sometimes. I do love my evening walks.”

            The witch smiled xeir many bright teeth, eyes lighting up with excitement.

            “Deal,”  xe hissed and immediately grasped his head between xeir hands, fingers splayed like a spider. “Let’s see what manner of creature you really are.”

            When he awoke again, he was in the violet bed, the witch leaning over him with an unsettling look of absolute delight. His friends were nowhere to be seen.

            “Delicious,” the witch sang. “Absolutely delicious! Your deal is acceptable, young one!”

            Xe held out one taloned hand, and Juksu shook it as best he could—the entirety of his own hand only held xeir fingers. He sat up and stretched as if everything was completely normal: “Was I asleep very long?”

            “Not at all,” said the witch. “Just long enough to dream. The perfect little snack!”

            “Nothing too unsavory, I hope?”

            The witch blinked curiously down at him, tilting xeir head: “You’re very calm about all this. Doesn’t this frighten you?”

            “Oh, certainly,” said Juksu, slipping off the bed. “It frightens me very much.”

            “You don’t look it at all.”

            “I’ve had lots of practice. Can’t be quaking in my boots during every rainfall, can I?”

            The witch stared at him: “The rain… really…”

            “Just one of those things. Say, do you mind if I smoke?”

            Xe raised a pale eyebrow and shook xeir head: “No, though I’d prefer you do it outside.”

            “Yes, sir… er, ma’am…? Do you have a name?”

            “Many. But you may call me Circe.”

            “Pleased to meet you. Juksumuikkunen, at your service.”

*

            Nuuska snorted, lying dizzily in the grass: “Very personable, aren’t you.”

            “I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean,” Juksu slurred, puffing his pipe.

            “So, you’re not always hiding under benches and wandering around mumbling to yourself, then. You can sit in polite company.”

            “Can doesn’t always mean you want to, kit. Besides, I was absolutely out of my mind with fright! I won’t deny it now, I was terrified! But not a word of that to the others, do you hear?”

            “Of course. It stays here.”

            “Thank you kindly. In any case—” he stretched out and leaned upon one hand “—the witch wasn’t all that bad. Sure, they were a horror to look at, what with the teeth like a metal shark and claws long enough to slice through roast beef, but really, there are worse people in the world. Kit, look at me when I say this—there are worse people in the world. But for the time being, I spent the days wandering the absolutely gorgeous island and finding things to eat—there was nothing in the palace pantry, as I found out—and the nights were mostly spent in short talks with the witch and long, long hours of the most vivid dreams I’ve ever had.”

*

            One time, his father was a dog, for some reason, the floppy-eared kind that likes blueberries. He’d sit on an uncomfortable wooden chair all day long and howl and howl and howl like it was the end of the world, but when it came time for Juksu to take him for a walk, the dog-father was always much too tired and would sleep instead, a miserable creature just as he had been in life.

*

            Many times, the Sea Symphony was sinking, and it was raining terribly hard, so hard that water leaked through the deck boards and dripped into the kitchen and beds. Water from above, water from below, and not one of the three of them could swim. Sometimes, it was daytime, and they could see the creature coming for them, all teeth and eyes and scales. Sometimes, it got them. Sometimes, it was so dark that all there was was the vague sounds of splashing and bubbles and the ship creaking.

            He did not like those dreams.

*

            Another time, he dreamt that he was dreaming of entering a pie-eating contest but was awaken just as it was about to start, only to find he had fallen asleep just before the real pie-eating contest. The prize for winning was an empty coffee can that Muddler wanted very much, and despite just waking up, he did not want to disappoint him. Fortunately, little Nuuska was under the table eating the extra pies, particularly the plum pies as he was very fond of them.

*

            “You’ve really never eaten one?” Juksu asked incredulously. “How have you never eaten a plum?”

            They were walking through the orchard on the west side of the island, admiring the ripening fruits. The ever-present twilight had grown comfortable and usual, and a light wind blew up the steep cliff-face nearby.

            “We didn’t have them in our homeland,” said Circe in a matter-of-fact tone, “and I wasn’t sure when I saw them planted here. I’m immortal, not impervious.”

            “What about peaches, have you had peaches?”

            “No.”

            “Apples? Pears?”

            “Pears, yes.”

            “Goodness, you haven’t lived until you’ve had a good apple. It’s too bad they’re not in season yet. When summer comes, you ought to try one. Oh, hold on, there’s a tree here—”

            Juksu hopped up the trunk of a plum tree, pipe still in his mouth, and climbed to the top. The fruits there were a dusty purplish-red, firm in the skin, and heavy for their size—perfect! He picked one and climbed back down, leaning over the lowest branch to present it to the witch. Xe hesitated.

            “Go on,” Juksu said encouragingly. “It’s a bit like a firm grape with a pit in the middle.”

            Xe observed him, the sunlight catching in xeir opalescent eyes, and took the plum, taking a bite. Xeir face immediately softened. Sweet juices dripped down xeir chin, falling on xeir red rubies.

            “It’s delicious!”

            “See?” Juksu chuckled, puffing his pipe. “How could you never have been tempted when you live in an orchard?!”

            “I’m not sure!” said Circe, and xe sounded bewildered. Xeir teeth ripped into the plum flesh hungrily, with the voracious fascination of a starved Nibling.

*

            The Mymble’s children had made snowmen and were pitting them against each other in a snowball war. He and she managed to sneak away for a little while and make messy snow-angels in the forest, until a prince on a horse rode by and asked for directions to the nearest merry-go-round. Mymble, at that point, stopped everything and stood and offered to show him the way, and off they went on that stupid horse, leaving Juksu behind in the snow.

*

            “The tall one with the red hair?”

            They were having a dinner of various fruits on the mighty stone veranda, wines from the deep cellars under the palace between them.

            “Oh yes, that’s the Mymble. She’s an old friend of mine.”

            “Really… a friend?”

            Juksu raised an eyebrow: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Your Mymble didn’t feel very friendly.”

            “Hmm… is that so…”

            Circe picked a grape off of a bunch and observed him closely as xe ate it: “You were in love, weren’t you.”

            “Not necessarily.”

            “Your ears are burning.”

            “They are not.” He picked a grape as well, then sighed. “Alright, yes. Yes, only for a little while.”

            “Only a little while?”

            “Yes, but I’ve always been fond of her… as a person, y’know?”

            “I think so. But again, your dream-Mymble was not very friendly.”

            “Dreams don’t have to line-up with real life.”

            “No, but feelings do.” Xe picked a grape and pressed it to his lips. He ate it. “She betrayed you, didn’t she?”

            “It’s not really a betrayal when you don’t make a deal first.”

            “A ‘deal’? Really?”

            “You know what I mean.”

            “You mean you made no promises.”

            “None. Neither her nor me. It is what it is. People for her are like places for me—we don’t tend to stay very long.” He held up a grape so that the light shone through it, and it glowed a deep red. “After our boy was born, I thought it might be different, that it might tether us together somehow… or something. But he didn’t. He’s just a boy. And I’m just a fool.”

            Circe glared at him, not daggers per se, but something sharp. Needles perhaps. But soon xeir gaze softened, and xe quietly admitted, “I understand.”

            “Oh?”

            “It’s been a very, very long time, but… yes. I think I do.”

            They looked at each other for a long moment until xe sighed and turned to stare out into the dull haze beyond the veranda columns. Somewhere out there, a town was living.

            “I miss my woman sometimes, especially when I’m on the beach. She so loved pebbles and pearls and all myriad of stones and could work great magic with them. When I fell in love with the town, she grew jealous, and when I decided to stay here to stall the volcano’s eruption, she threatened to leave me behind. I don’t know if she ever did, but… she has never come to visit me.”

            Juksu sat back, drinking from his goblet. Should he tell xem? Would it be comforting at all to know Petroula, the old witch, was still alive and well and in that town? He decided against it—he’d been sent here by her to steal something, after all, and telling Circe the circumstances under which he’d met the old woman would not help his escape.

            “That’s a shame,” he said instead. “I’d say you’re decent company.”

            “Would you now?” Circe asked, turning back to him with an amused glint in xeir eye.

            “Oh, I’ve certainly had worse hosts. Look here—” He pulled his shirt collar down a bit to show a scar on his collarbone “—that’s a souvenir from a Chupacabra husband who caught me brushing and braiding his wife. I think I stayed in their house for maybe three days, and not once was I offered any wine.”

            He sat forward and rolled up one sleeve, showing another: “This one’s from a shopkeeper who thought I was stealing his stupid pottery, when really, I’d been invited in by his son and was only admiring them. He tried to cut off my hand for thieving, but the axe was too dull.”

            Circe chuckled, leaning upon xeir hand: “It sounds as if you’ve been too many places for your own good.”

            “Not at all! Everything has an upside, no matter how bad the situation seems to be at the time. I’ve eaten the best meals and slept in the softest beds of the prettiest people, even if it means I got chased out afterward, and that makes it all worth it.”

            As he said this, Circe sat closer and reached out a talon to his face. He did not flinch.

            “What was this one, then?” xe asked curiously, touching the pale line above his lip.

            “Oh,” he said casually, though he could feel himself tensing, “I just cut myself shaving as a kid. Silly mistake, really.”

            Xe moved upward and brushed a curl up from his forehead: “And this one?”

            “Glass bottle in a bar fight.” He couldn’t help but stare as xeir eyes locked on to his. “Kid didn’t like me flirting with his mother.”

            “ ‘Flirting’?”

            Xeir finger curved down the side of his face, playing across his throat.

            “You know, saying nice things to someone so that they like you in more ways than one.”

            “And do you mean what you say?”

            “Well, there’s almost always something nice to say about people.”

            “Such as?”

            The wine was heavy on xeir breath, xeir lips stained purplish.

            “What big eyes you have!” he replied more quietly than he meant to. “Like quicksilver in a cup!”

            One talon dug into the soft spot behind his jaw, the others stern against the side of his neck, and Circe stared at him. He knew xe could feel his heart beating there. Strangely, he found himself trembling. Circe smiled and leaned down.

He closed his eyes, picturing somewhere else, somewhere darker and less lonely, a storm whirling by outside while the fire crackled and flickered in the draft down the chimney. The salt-dried wood of the Oshun Oxtra’s pilothouse tower. The children all asleep in another room. A sixth game of Patience and an idle chat and the inexplicable draw toward the woman across the table. Her plump hands holding his.

            Circe pressed xeir lips against his, nothing important, nothing special, just a kiss, an ordinary kiss, just like back then.

            Mymble had chuckled at him: “Why so shy?”

            Circe did not ask. Xe said nothing at all but took his face in both hands and kissed him again. Xe was feverishly warm, solid, unyielding. He kissed xem back anyway.

*

            “Papa. Papa!”

            Juksu blinked and realized he hadn’t in a long while. His eyes had gone dry, and he rubbed them, laughing in embarrassment.

            “Sorry, sorry. I got lost in it, I guess. Where-where did I leave off?”

            Nuuska frowned at him, concerned, but said, “ ‘Like quicksilver in a cup’.”

            “Ah.” Juksu picked at the grass and tried to gather his thoughts but finally threw his hands up. “Y’know, the details there don’t really matter! What matters is that I saw the witch without their clothes and noticed something strange…”

*

            He did not sleep that night. He pretended to for some long hours, listening as Circe fell in and out of xeir own sleep, and he thought. In what should have been the early morning, he finally worked up the courage to turn over.

Circe was fast asleep in the bed before him, breathing softly, silver hair askew. There it was, just as he thought he’d seen it—a small, milky-white stone embedded into the space between xeir shoulder blades. It was not bone, of that he was sure. Thin gray veins threaded through the otherwise perfect color, and though it was a little rough, there was the shine of polish.

Juksu dared not touch it. He stared at the dead eye of it and thought.

The old witch Petroula swallowed stones to use their power, it seemed, just as she had swallowed the pearl before healing that child’s broken arm. Would it be such a stretch of the imagination for another witch to embed those stones into their body? What difference could that make in their power, if any? And if he was right, that this strange stone fed into xeir abilities, what would happen if he took it? If he pried it out of xem right now, aside from immediately waking xem up, what would that do?

Circe grumbled in xeir sleep, and he tensed. He couldn’t stay here. He needed a walk.

            Carefully, Juksu slid off the mattress and found his clothes. He broke off one of the small blossoms from the almond branches in the table vase and laid it on his pillow—that at least might be enough to put xem at ease while he went to clear his thoughts.

            It was another lovely twilight in the orchard. Juksu grabbed an apple from a low bough as he went and ate even though he wasn’t hungry.

            The facts of the matter were these: he wanted to go home; Circe would not let him go home so long as there was no one else to feed on; no, there was no way to find someone else to take his place; and Circe would not leave the island so long as the volcano was a threat to the Gotoran town across the bay.

            Now… the original reason he, Fredriksson, and Muddler had even come here was to get a fire gemstone from the heart of the volcano. If it really existed—and he was beginning to think that it most certainly could—what were the odds that taking the gem might silence the volcano forever?

            Juksu bit into his apple and looked thoughtfully up at the green shield-dome before him. He didn’t know exactly how volcanoes or magic or anything like that worked. And if the volcano was suddenly no longer a threat, wouldn’t that unleash Circe upon the world? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if xe got out there, he thought. Being on an island all alone would do terrible things to a person’s mind, and maybe xe’d be a better person knowing Petroula was still waiting for xem. He somewhat doubted it, if he was honest, but what was the harm in hoping for the best?

Worst came to worst, nothing would change, and he’d still be stuck here, though maybe he could use the fire gem in some sort of deal for his release. Or at least he’d have what they came for. If he ever saw the others again, maybe this all wouldn’t be for nothing.

            Alright, it was settled. Juksu buried his apple core, took a breath, and set off toward the volcano.

            It was not a large volcano, he thought. He’d always imagined volcanoes as tall as the mountains around Mumin Valley or the Autocrat’s Island, but this one was old and worn by wind into a low, wide hill. As such, it wasn’t particularly difficult to get to the cavernous crater—no, the difficulty came from staring into the deep dark of the widest lava tube he could find.

            Ah, the smell of brimstone and long-sleeping fire. The Muddler would have been terrified.

            Juksu walked in casually, feeling the wet wall as he went and whistling just to hear the echo. The tube became smaller as he went, and he was soon crouching, then crawling. It was a good thing he wasn’t claustrophobic, he thought as he shimmied into a smaller off-shoot tunnel.

            What was it Fredriksson had said? The gem should be on the west side, where he was, likely down in the wall of an old lava pocket. Simple enough, really. He’d stick to one side and not risk too far a drop or too tight a squeeze. While he’d like to find it as soon as possible, he was aware that the likelihood was—

            The air changed. It was more than warmth, it was heat. The air dried out around him, drying out his nose. The brimstone smell strengthened. He listened closely, hoping that lava made some kind of noise as it flowed, but heard nothing. There was no change in the darkness either, no approaching wave of light—maybe he was fine. His whiskers tingled with the heat, and he followed them, nothing that the stone beneath his hands was still cool to the touch.

            Only when the heat finally began to water his eyes did he see a slight glow ahead of him. It radiated from a single point in the dark rock, a jagged bit of firelight ebbing dimly like a dying coal. Juksu stopped in front of it, squinting, and reached out to touch it. The tips of his fingers sizzled, and he jerked back. He thought a moment, then dug in his pocket and brought out his pipe and handkerchief. He folded the handkerchief over and held the gem firmly, wriggling it loose from its socket. It wobbled and came out, and Juksu quickly tucked it into the open end of his pipe, where it sat snuggly, glowing gently.

            “What luck!” Juksu sang to himself and put his pipe between his teeth. “I only hope you won’t burn my precious pipe. Made it myself, you know.”

            As if in response, the gem gave one last ebb of light and dimmed. The air cooled again, and Juksu stared down at it in surprise.

            “Well, that’s nice of you” was all he said and began crawling his way back out of the tubes.

            The twilit sky was the same as it had been when Juksu had entered the volcano, but his spirit was a tad brighter. He held the fire gem in his hand now, admiring its shape and clarity. It was, fittingly, a fiery blood-orange color, cleanly formed into two hexagonal facets, about the size of a large marble or perhaps a fat grape. He had to beat down the temptation to eat it and put it safely in his left pocket.

            The east entrance of the palace was blooming with honeysuckle now, and the strong scent followed Juksu in as he quietly shut the door behind him. As he passed through the stained-glass hallway, he heard a whine. He stopped in his tracks and listened, his ribs suddenly aching.

            There it was again—a whine like a distressed dog from behind one of the crystal doors. Curious though apprehensive, Juksu turned the doorknob and found it locked. It was probably nothing, right? He could walk away right now. Perhaps he was tired or had inhaled too many fumes from the volcano. Maybe he was hearing things. But he’d already found his hairpin and paperclip in his boot, already stuck them in the lock, already pushed one, two, three lock-pins into place. The lock turned, and the door opened silently on to a dim room, refracting light beaming into lines of light and dark.

            It was a bright line that illuminated the brown paw hanging over the edge of the bed, out from under the violet sheets.

            Juksu hurried to shut the door again, making sure it didn’t lock on him. He hurried to the bed and lifted the covers as the Muddler whined in his sleep again, kicking softly. Fredriksson lay silent and still beside him, entirely dead if not from the soft rise and fall of his chest.

            Juksu stared, mortified. He shook them.

            “Muddler!” he hissed. “Muddler, wake up! Fredriksson, please!”

            They did not stir beyond Muddler giving one last whimper and falling silent.

            How were they here? How were they still here?! Circe had lied to him, that’s how. Xe said xe’d let them go! They’d made a deal! His heart ached, and he stared at his friends for a long time as he thought. He thought of the gem in his pocket and the volcano. He thought of Circe kissing him while Muddler and Fredriksson were trapped in their sleep. And he suddenly thought of the old witch Petroula and her warnings.

            “Beware that old fiend and their appetites. They keep the gem close to the chest…”

            Close to the chest.

            He knew what he had to do.

[lunadesignstudios]

Indoor Wall Lights to Illuminate Your Style

Indoor wall lights are more than just functional fixtures. They add personality, depth, and ambiance to any space. From casting a warm glow over a reading nook to highlighting artwork, the right wall light can truly elevate your interior design. But with so many styles to choose from, how do you pick the perfect one? This guide explores three popular categories: classic, modern, and industrial, helping you find the wall light that complements your unique style.

Classic Wall Lights: Timeless Elegance

Classic wall lights evoke a sense of sophistication and tradition. They often feature intricate details, rich finishes, and familiar shapes like sconces and chandeliers.

Sconces: These versatile fixtures come in a variety of styles, from the simple elegance of a single arm with a fabric shade to the grandeur of a multi-armed candelabra. Classic sconces are perfect for flanking a fireplace, adding a touch of symmetry and warmth to a living room.

Chandeliers: Even in a smaller scale, wall-mounted chandeliers bring a touch of luxury to an entryway, hallway, or powder room. Look for designs with crystal accents, cascading beads, or wrought iron details for a touch of timeless charm.

Swing-arm sconces: These practical and stylish lights feature an adjustable arm that allows you to direct light where it's needed most. Perfect for reading nooks or bedside lighting, classic swing-arm sconces add a touch of vintage flair.

Modern Wall Lights: Sleek and Sophisticated

Modern wall lights are all about clean lines, minimalist designs, and innovative materials. They add a touch of contemporary edge to any space.

Sconces: Modern sconces often feature geometric shapes, metallic finishes, and integrated LED lighting. They can be mounted vertically for a dramatic effect or horizontally to provide task lighting.

Flush mounts: These low-profile fixtures hug the wall, offering ambient light without overwhelming the space. Look for designs with frosted glass diffusers for a soft, diffused glow or exposed bulbs for a more industrial feel.

Picture lights: Modern picture lights are a great way to showcase artwork or create a focal point on a wall. They come in various lengths and styles, with adjustable arms for precise light placement.

Industrial Wall Lights: Raw and Edgy

Industrial wall lights bring a touch of urban grit and vintage charm to your space. They often feature exposed metal accents, weathered finishes, and vintage-inspired bulbs.

Barn sconces: These iconic lights are perfect for hallways, entryways, or flanking a fireplace. Look for designs with metal shades and distressed finishes for an authentic industrial feel.

Cage lights: These wire-framed fixtures add a touch of drama and visual interest. They work well in kitchens, bars, or even a home office for a touch of industrial inspiration.

Wall spotlights: These adjustable fixtures are perfect for highlighting artwork, architectural details, or creating a dramatic pool of light. Look for designs with exposed tracks or swiveling heads for a versatile lighting solution.

Choosing the Right Light

Beyond style, consider these factors when selecting your indoor wall lights:

Function: What is the primary purpose of the light? Do you need task lighting for reading, ambient lighting for a hallway, or accent lighting for artwork?

Size and Scale: Ensure the light is proportionate to the wall space and the overall size of the room.

Dimmability: Opt for dimmable lights to create different moods and adjust the brightness as needed.

Color Temperature: Consider the color temperature of the bulb. Warm white light creates a cozy ambiance, while cool white light is ideal for task lighting.

Conclusion

Indoor wall lights offer a versatile and stylish way to illuminate your home. Whether you prefer the timeless elegance of classic styles, the sleek sophistication of modern designs, or the raw edge of industrial lights, there's a perfect Indoor Wall Lights to complement your décor and create a warm and inviting atmosphere. So, explore your options, consider your needs, and let your walls shine!

[sansajonquil]

julia and I were walking around the shop, putting items in shelves from red basket. she and I liked to talk to each other in the shop, we preferring to go together on weekend work days. we also went to the shop every weekday after school, the bus stopping there, where we just relaxed ( sometimes mum asking to help ).

during lunch, we go to an upstairs level restaurant, walking up the carpet. it was a Chinese restaurant, where we order chicken omelette and boiled white rice. nearby was a video rental store, where I bought true blood. statues of white were outside, an angel of ulliel adorning the restaurant. I was shocked at the nudity in a scene of a girl and boy in the living room, thinking it rather unnecessarily bare, yet the blood and violence was good.

as I was walking around, looking at vinyls, I saw a blond haired person wearing a black suit. he was called eric, he saying, ‘ we have catching up to do. ‘ his eyes were ringed in blackening red, he saying, ‘ I feel like I’m f***ing dying, ‘ in his times of raging exhaustion.

we eat lunch here at the music room, a waitress called sookie serving us the chicken omelette, cutlery softly thudding onto the light brown wood. it was soft and delicious, yellow yolk and chicken in saucepan. ‘ get out of there, egg shell, ‘ we heard the cook say through the brown door, when he was cooking, a green towel on his shoulder. a chinese family ran the restaurant. the walls of the room were a red wine, there being a photo frame of the seashore. a boy was lying on the sand, washed ashore, green blue waves.

we talk more about things, including our time at the fireplace. we were known as anime and dark, where the regulars knew we were twins. as we talk, we also eat and drink soup. there was a spider on the table, in which we moved our chair angled away. vin ( red lips ) and fab ( v for vendetta ) were also twins. she was quite sad of some people who were mean to her at syrus’ seven deadly sins, in which he and flame rising were at war with each other. she said, ‘ they made a thread about me, insulting me. ‘ I seeing the thread, and thinking they were mean. she was crying very hard in her cushion at the sofa, as they were cruel and was thinking why they left her. she feeling like a little girl who saw the death of her parents at the orphanage she was in with mello and near. she seeing the white and black dice beads of her mother’s necklace trickle and spill in slow motion onto the ground. she also was doing science, maths, and history homework, which was pretty overwhelming as well.

most of the regulars there at the fireplace were american, me remembering during my posting there, that four pm was midnight there. there was a regular called pie ( black cat ), who was known as the forum’s mum. me and Julia talked to her. pie had heard how upset Julia was, she understanding a little of my sister’s mental fragility, worrying about her. she was a psychologist at a prison.

pie said she’ll be here in a few hours to where we are, and julia said ‘ no, you will be here in a few minutes. ‘ Pie said, while speaking on her phone on the dashboard, as she sits at the driver’s seat, ‘ evidently, you’ve seen my driving skills, anime. ;) ‘ she drives her car to where the parking level was in our apartment building, and presses the buzzer to our apartment. we look at the eyehole, seeing it was pie, and open the door.

‘ ancient history is interesting at least, ‘ she says to pie, as we are sitting at sofa. ‘ we are learning about the Black Death, ‘ she saying through her sniffles, a tissue box next to her. she was wearing a green denim jacket, her black hair short to a little past her ears.