#white oak studio

[nofatclips]

"Year of the Hot Dog by Burger Gang" by BRNDA from the album Do you Like Salt? - Directed by David Combs and Ben Epstein

[iihih]

Geology Studio Makes Beautiful Wood Furniture for Vinyl Lovers

In Los Angeles a husband and wife run design studio named Geology makes locally crafted wood furniture that includes nicely designed credenzas and wall units to store and display your collection of vinyl. Founded in 2011 by husband and wife team, Adam and Vanessa Friedman, their well-crafted wood pieces inspired by Midcentury Modern Design are available in walnut or white oak. Geology Studio Wood…

[sushiprincessgame]

Siding Exterior Los Angeles An illustration of a massive, modern, three-story mixed siding home's exterior

[biggsunko]

Dining Room Great Room

[a-major-love]

Night Fever

Pairing - Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader

Summary - Of all people you could have met that fateful night, it had to be him.

Word Count - 1k+

Warnings - MDNI, fem pronouns, mentions of smoking & alcohol, no use of y/n

A/N - I always imagined dancing with Michael was incredibly fun but also probably intimidating. Enjoy!

1977

Spotlights pierced through the haze of smoke filtering the air, beaming down on the partygoers. Sweat rolled off their skin, mingling with the overpowering stench of perfume and cigarettes. The men and women’s eyes twinkled at you, sparkling from pressed glitter. Their bright, painted lips mouthed along to the stream of ABBA lyrics filling the crowded space. The music pouring from the speakers vibrated under your feet. Studio 54 was lively, and terrifying all at once. 

“Friday nights are always the busiest,” your friend – Alicia –  mentioned from beside you. Her stark black hair was pulled into a tight bun, revealing her teal colored eyeshadow. The sequined dress she wore hung off her bronzed shoulders, flecks of glitter dotted her skin. 

You glanced down at the denim jumpsuit you wore, with a thick belt secured around the waist. Somehow, despite the pumps digging into the soles of your feet, you felt mildly underdressed. You scanned the crowd, biting your lip as your eyes swept over the other dancers. 

“Let’s go, birthday girl,” Alicia said, nudging you towards the center of the room. 

You giggled. “I’m just trying to appreciate the atmosphere.” 

“Well, you can go appreciate it out on the dancefloor.” 

She grasped onto your forearm, pushing through the cluster of hot bodies that brushed against you two. You could feel the men’s gazes pass over you, their heavy eyes glancing over your form before looking away. Glasses with golden liquid, and pierced olives swung around you as the people got lost in the music. 

You finally approached the middle of the dance floor, where a bright, glowing disco ball hung above your heads. Alicia broke out into a grin, her pearly white teeth pointed to the ceiling. Her dangled hearings whipped around her face as she began swaying to the music.  

It was initially her idea, at first, to celebrate your birthday at Studio 54. All you knew about the nightclub was that the entrance fee was too expensive, and the line never seemed to ease up. As much as you adored Alicia, you couldn’t find a good reason to stand outside all night – in New York during the spring – hoping to make it inside before the place closed. If there’s one thing you understood about spring in New York, it was how cold the nights could be. 

So, how in the hell she pulled this off, you were sure she would take to her grave. 

You laughed, watching her bounce around, throwing her head back. Acting as if a plethora of eyes weren’t on her. You swayed your hips, letting your eyes close as the sweet sounding harmonies of the Bee Gees washed over you. It felt as if everybody on the dance floor was in sync, breathing and moving in time with each other. 

Sharing one heart, one pulse to the music. 

Your body moved and rocked, becoming bewitched by the entrancing tune. 

“Excuse me-

You suddenly bumped into someone, startling both you and the stranger. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you said, whipping around to face them. A pair of oak, brown eyes crinkled at you as the strange man chuckled to himself. 

“It’s alright,” he assured, adjusting his blazer. “You’re not a bad dancer, you know.” 

You playfully grinned at him, “Have you been watching me dance?”

“I – uh didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered.

You scanned the man, taking in his wide doe eyes and large afro currently dusted with glossy confetti. A gold pendant rested between the dip of his chest, a sliver of deep brown skin peaking through the few undone buttons.

Somewhere, in the back corners of your mind, familiarity tugged at your brain. 

“Have we met before?” you inquired, furrowing your brows. 

“No, we haven’t,” he answered, perhaps a little too quickly. 

You opened your mouth to reply, when he stuck his hand out. 

“Is it alright if we danced together?” he asked.

Heat creeped up your face, as you took his inviting hand – his skin was silky smooth and warm in your grasp. He softly smiled at you, as he tugged your form closer to him. Swiftly, he twirled you around, giggling at your reaction as you nearly stumbled from the sudden movement. You caught yourself in time, taking both his hands as you grooved to the deep bass coming from the speakers. 

His eyes remained trained on you, as if analyzing every motion and gesture you made. The music enveloped you two, as the dance floor fell away, along with the people surrounding it. The club was nothing but a blur of color, as the hot white lights radiated down on you two. The music pulsed through your skin, reverberating against your ribcage. The sweet, lingering scent of nicotine floated through the air. It was as if the dancefloor came alive from under your feet suddenly, a pulsating heartbeat belonging to the untamable beast known as music. His hands never left yours, as he pulled you into his side, before going into a spin. 

You watched, in fascination. “You’re not a bad dancer yourself.”

He bashfully smiled. “Well, I’ve been dancing for most of my life.”

“Do you do it for a career, or something?” “...You could say that.”

He twirled you again, interrupting whatever train of thought you were processing. 

The night went on endlessly it seemed, as if time had temporarily stopped. Yet, the crowd of Studio 54 never broke off. A stream of guests revolved in and out of the space, some dressed in dripping jewels that outshined the hanging disco ball or extravagant outfits that felt expensive to even look at. It felt as if you were in a lion's mouth, a wet, breathing cage waiting to clamp down on you. 

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around your frame.

“Let’s get going, my feet are killing me,” Alicia groaned, already tugging you away. 

“Wait!” The man called out, feeling your hand loosen in his grip. Alicia squinted at him, trying to make out his features through the alcohol induced brain fog. 

“You look a little familiar...” she muttered.

“I’ll meet you outside,” you explained, nudging your friend back. Alicia glanced over at you, glossy lips pouting at your urgency. She finally caved, rolling her eyes as she knowingly nodded and began to maneuver her way through the crowd. 

You turned to face him. “I had a really great time, uh-

“Michael,” he introduced, squeezing your hand. 

Had he been holding it the entire time?

“Well, it was really fun dancing with you, Michael.”

His eyes flickered between yours, as if weighing something in his mind. Michael eventually sighed, reluctantly loosening his grip and letting your hand fall to your side. 

“I hope we get to do it again, sometime,” he said. With wistful smile growing on his lips. 

You returned the smile, clenching your hand from the sudden loss of warmth. Without another word, you turned and made your way to the exit. 

The bumping music followed you out the double doors and onto the bustling street of New York City’s nightlife. A breeze brushed against your bare arms, biting at your skin. Alicia was leaning against a car, impatiently tapping her foot. Her eyes finally landed on you, wearing a strange expression you couldn’t quite place. 

“Girl, I have several questions,” she started, opening the car door for you. 

You snorted. “Ask me when it’s not past midnight.” 

She sidled into the passenger seat, as you started up the engine. The bright, white lights of Studio 54 reflected off the hood of your car. 

You could still feel his presence, even during the drive home. 

[butmakeitgayblog]

Teach Me

Ch. 8

Woods residence

/////////

The street that matched the address in her phone was slim. An offshoot sat sleepily on the outskirts of towns, stippled with cars sitting under twin rows of shady trees that dotted the entire block. 

Sedans sprinkled themselves in among driveways filled with minivans and SUVS; all decked out with bike racks, tags denoting the proud parentage of some middle school kid, and more than a few sprawling stick-figured family trees that would leave anyone wondering if these people had ever heard of birth control. 

Every lawn looked manicured with its little picket fences. Every house, a revolving shade of white, eggshell, or beige. 

Clarke had to double check her GPS just to make sure the satellite triangulation hadn't somehow directed her to Mayberry circa 1930.

Only one house stood out in such an HOA hellscape. 

A shining beacon among the drab suburban nightmare, all ash-toned trimming and rustic finishes that complemented its deep, grey stone facade. It was a single-story lot stretched out from one boundary line to the other, creating an angular pancake sort of a house, squat and rather moody (if a house could even be described as such), topped with a slate roof with dark shutters, and a rough-cut stone chimney stretching skyward on one side.

The sight of it made Clarke smile as she parked under the shade of the house's designated curbside oak. 

Lexa had indeed said she couldn't miss the place.

Clarke spared herself a once-over in the reflection of her car's window when she hopped out, taking a second to check the understated allure of her makeup and the exact placement of the deep v-line of her sweater. 

A waist-high swinging iron gate decorated in blunted curls and ornate geometrics separated the manicured sidewalk out on the street from a front yard left to breathe and bend at its own will. Clarke made her way through the controlled chaos of the front walk, admiring the twin lilac bushes that flanked either side and drifted her fingers along the purpling of their first Spring bloom. An obnoxiously yellow jeep that Clarke would've never imagined for her tweed-and-tie wearing professor sat parked in the driveway in all its garish glory, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the beige single file suburban backdrop.

A heated swoop flashed through Clarke's belly as she took the two front steps in one go, and she wondered when that delicious aching had replaced the more innocent flutter of butterflies. When just thinking of Lexa had started eliciting such a violent uptick in her heart's rhythm; the mere idea of being near her rocking Clarke with these sudden shots of adrenaline. 

She supposed it was probably somewhere between sneaking kisses in the studio's kiln room and exchanging dirty messages while they each, presumably, got themselves off.

Clarke hadn't had the courage to ask if she was the only one…

It really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, not when the door swung open before she could even finish her third knock. Because framed in the picturesque doorway was - possibly, potentially, easily debatably once her brain would start working again - one of the most beautiful women Clarke had ever seen in her thirty-nine years of life. 

Just… not the particular one she'd expected. 

////////

Read on AO3

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I have never seen a house that makes me feel like I'm losing my mind. It's a conversion, the former headquarters of an Electrical Workers Union local. The 1928 building is in Sheffield, AL, has 4bds, 4ba, $444K. I've never heard of the town, but the description says it's "The Hit Recording Capitol of the World," and near legendary and famed recording studios.

To begin with, the home is located on a fork in the road.

Is it the photography? The place just seems spacey. Of course, they painted it all in gray. I just feel like screaming, I can't take gray houses anymore. Are the floors cement?

If I didn't see the little bits of color, I'd think these photos were black & white. This kitchen is huge.

There's a large stainless industrial sink. This kitchen was probably here and they painted the old oak cabinets black.

Trippy double halls to the bedrooms. Notice the way the floorboards go.

The bedrooms are boxy and plain.

They've got original doors w/windows.

This was the large meeting/event room.

Twin baths.

When the description said spiral stairs, I didn't expect them to be down in the basement.

There's an industrial sink and a toilet down here.

Part of the 1.18 acre lot is fenced to make a yard.

It looks like there used to be another building on the property.

Looks like they made a driveway going to that area, for parking.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3325-N-Jackson-Hwy-Sheffield-AL-35660/343977469_zpid/

[kasagia]

hi, can you do a one-shot for klaus, where he has a crush on y/n, and they have a one-night stand, and Klaus is sad because he thinks he won't see her again, but then he gets the news that y/n n is pregnant with his daughter (reader gets pregnant, no hayley, y/n is Hope's biological mother) and klaus takes the news well, because it's someone he loves and takes the pregnancy as an opportunity to make t /n love him.

Making her love me

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x fem! reader Word count: 7,4k (way too long, sorry not sorry) Warning(s): smut mention, panic attack (a little), swearing, and typical TVD violence. Nonsense from me: I'm so excited to post it since it's my first request/ask or whatever I should call it. I hope it's basically what you asked for, Gallus Anonymous! <3

Klaus Mikaelson loved Y/N Y/S.

The original hybrid was hopelessly in love with her since the first time he met her on his family's ball. He will always remember that day.

She looked like an angel. Well, maybe more like a devil (judging by the fact that part of her hair was arranged in two small buns imitating horns), but still, she was the most beautiful girl at the party (and maybe in the whole world).

When he saw her, dancing in her black-golden dress with one of Salvatore's brothers, he knew that this girl would be his at the end of the day. Even if he has to fight with these bloody, young vampires.

Unfortunately, Y/N didn't have the same feeling when she first saw him. As a proud member of a Mystic Falls group (who returned to the town after a school exchange), she was obligated to hate the Mikaelsons.

But she must admit to herself that the man with the British accent was incredibly hot.

Damon, noticing Klaus's sudden interest in his friend, decided to use this to his advantage and pushed Y/N into the arms of their nemesis. Klaus was delighted. Y/N disgusted.

The original hybrid stuck to her for the rest of the evening, forgetting all about Caroline. Y/N has since become Klaus Mikaelson's official distraction. And she wasn't happy about it at all.

Her friends would use the Siphon Witch whenever they needed to keep Klaus occupied or to ease his bloodlust after doing something stupid (like stealing white oak stakes right under his nose and 12 obedient hybrids. Great plan, Damon!).

Y/N would have to wisely bump into Mikaelson and spend some time with him until the Mystic Falls heroes fix the shit they made. At least the girl was much less stressed compared to her friends, and sometimes she really enjoyed the company of the hybrid.

Once, a man took her to a cafe-studio where little-known Mystic Falls artists would gather. She returned to the Salvator Brothers' estate in navy blue paint, with little constellations painted by Klaus on her face, arms, and neck. Damon barely refrained from making a sarcastic remark.

Fortunately, Stefan saved him from her very likely wrath, because every time someone makes jokes about Y/N's relationship with Klaus, she gets mad and loses control over her magic power. Once, Bonnie had to repair Stefan's motorcycle. The vampire learned his lesson then and tried not to annoy her again. Sometimes, though, he seriously considered letting his older brother cross the line. He wondered if Damon would cry over a damaged car.

With time passing, Klaus had only a stronger crush on her. Everyone knows that. Expect Y/N herself.

At best, she thought the hybrid regarded her as some sort of friend or a distraction between his villainous grand schemes. There could be no feelings between them. Not when she already had a very loving boyfriend whom the original hybrid found out about at a 1920s school party.

She bewitched him completely then. And he was ready to tell her the truth about his real feelings for her and try to make her his, but then he saw this other guy holding her like he wanted to hold her the first time he met her. For Klaus, this man didn't deserve her attention; that human didn't realize how valuable a treasure he was holding in his hands right now. Klaus wanted to go away and let Y/N enjoy dancing with this lesser man. He really does. But when she turned and looked at him with these beautiful, delightful eyes, he couldn't just disappear without exchanging one last word with her.

After all, Klaus was a selfish man.

"You don't mind if I cut into you." Klaus' voice came from behind me, making me shiver.

"Yes. Actually, we do." My boyfriend snarled, recognizing the guy who was "hanging dangerously around me." He had no idea about the supernatural shite we were in and I had no idea how to tell him all of this (or just didn't want to).

Klaus just smiled unfazed, catching his gaze.

"Why don't you go somewhere far away and come back in 20 minutes? You can be useful and bring the beautiful lady something to drink." my boyfriend dutifully obeyed, leaving me with a smug hybrid. "Shall we, love?" he grabbed my hand and pulled me to him, swaying to some slow, romantic song without waiting for my response.

"Why do you always have to prove you're the alpha male?"

"I don't have to prove anything, love, I'm the alpha male." he replied, offended. I rolled my eyes, sighing.

"You would've loved the 1920s, Y/N. Girls were reckless, sexy, and fun. They literally used to dance until they dropped." he turned me around, smiling slyly.

"Since they were so reckless and drunk, I suppose it was easier for you to find a lover then."

"You should be nicer to me. I'm leaving town tomorrow." I shifted my gaze to him, shocked by the information he had thrown at me. "I'd invite you to come with me, but we both know that you're not ready to accept my offer. Perhaps one day you'll turn up at my door and let me show you what the world has to offer."

"How many girls fell for it? A magical tour of the world with an all-powerful original who plays with them like toys?"

"You mark my words. Small-town boy, small-town life won't be enough for you." he said, completely ignoring my previous words.

"And how do you know what's enough for me?"

"Because I know you, Y/N. Do you imagine marrying that stupid man with whom you were dancing later? Giving him children, living too short to make your real dreams come true?" I wanted to look away from him, but he gently grabbed my chin, forcing me to confront him and all my fears at the same time. "You want love, trust, passion, excitement, and even a little power, and unlike this fool, I can give you all of this and more. Just say a word."

"But for what price?" I asked, taking a big breath.

I realized we were much closer than was appropriate for a dance, but neither of us cared. His gaze was moving from my eyes to my mouth. I licked my chapped lips unconsciously, stuck in some incomprehensible anticipation. Only for what?

"Kaus. Y/N. I finally found you two. We have a problem. Klaus' mother is back." Stefan interrupted the moment between us.

I swear I could hear a little swear from the hybrid before he took my hand and led me towards Stefan, who was hurrying away.

After that, T/N didn't get a chance to meet Klaus again. Since they were on opposite camps in finding the cure, Y/N tried to avoid the hybrid at all costs. He just wanted to use her. Seduce her with his sweet words to make her do everything he wanted. She had no other explanation.

Klaus, on the other hand, tried to get her out of his head in every way he knew how. He couldn't keep up with adding new canvases for the portraits of his one-sided crush. His siblings were starting to worry about him.

Especially after he found out her boyfriend was going to propose to her. (Damon has never been prouder of being a gossip boy.) This overflowed the hybrid's cup of bitterness.

Kol and Elijah walked around their brother like they were on eggshells. Rebekah, on the other hand, has no such pity. It was her occasion to tease Klaus, like he was doing whenever she fell in love (at least Rebekah didn't want to kill Y/N like SOMEONE).

But nevertheless, she was the one to tell Klaus that Y/N rejected her boyfriend's proposal. The original never loved his sister more. He was happy that Y/N was now single, and he even thought that in the near future he may have a little chance with her since there were no other competitors for her heart.

But even in his wildest dreams, Klaus would not have dared to think that Y/N would knock on his door that same day and greedily bite into his lips as soon as he opened it. And not that she'd start ripping his clothes off and pushing him into his bedroom (which surprised him, given that she knew how to get there without his directions).

He never would have thought that one night would change his life forever.

~•♤♤♤•~

Y/N's POV

I sighed, rolling over to the other side of the bed as the first rays of sunlight somehow hit my eye. I always kept the windows closed. How come I didn't do it this time? Reluctantly, I opened one eyes to look at my treacherous bedroom window, only to found out that I wasn't in my room.

Also, not in my bed.

And not in any clothes.

AND DEFINITELY NOT ALONE.

As soon as I looked at the calm, sleeping, and clearly satisfied (judging by his disheveled hair) Klaus, memories of last night started flooding back to me.

Panicked, I looked around the room for my clothes, trying to ignore the sight of overturned furniture, a broken mirror, and even a dent in the wall. Unsuccessfully. My face has never been so close to the color of my blood.

Once I'd traced my things, I carefully got out of bed and dressed as quietly as I could, closing the vampire's bedroom door behind me. Now all I had to do was get out of the house full of originals unnoticed. Simple, right?

"Y/N, darling! What a pleasure to see you this morning. How do you feel?" Klaus' little brother jumped out of nowhere and threw one arm around my shoulders, making me come inside the house again.

"Hello Kol. Bye Kol." I tried to dodge him, but he sped up to stand in front of me.

"Wait a minute half-witch. You're going to leave my brother like this? After your… noisy night? He'll be devastated. Was he not up to the task? I could teach him a bit if that's a problem for you. You have my word that within a week you won't be able to stop…"

"Kol! For the bloody hell, stop this awkward conversation. I'm sorry for him, usually we keep him in a coffin." Rebekah cut him off and stood next to him, glaring at him furiously.

"Um… no problem, I guess. If you don't mind, I'm gonna go now."

With even redder cheeks, I ran out of the mansion and, at the speed of light, got into my car, driving far away from this town. I needed rest, and I knew only one person who would be willing to take me under their roof without any questions.

"Hi Katherine. Where are you right now?"

~•♤♤♤•~

"Are you sure it's just food poisoning? Won't you die here suddenly? Do you want my blood?" Katherine flooded me with questions as I returned to our table.

It's been 2 months since my "great escape," as Damon liked to call it, from Mystic Falls. At that time, I was traveling with Katherine around the United States, doing what I wanted to do most: seeing the world (starting with small things like staying in all states). After the brunette gave the cure to Elijah (while experiencing her epic love story with him, which ended with her heartbreak over Elena's meddling and Elijah's doubts), she decided to accompany me on my quest.

I had to arrange everything in my head. What I wanted out of life, who I wanted to be, and so on.

That was the main purpose of this trip.

In fact, I helped Katherine heal her broken heart and tried to avoid the topic of Klaus Mikaelson like the plague. With small or big successes depending on the day.

Sometimes Damon, Stefan, or Bonnie would mention how snappy he'd become after my sudden departure or that he was asking them about my whereabouts. The worst was his drunken voicemails he left. They ended after the first month, but they were the biggest test of my perseverance. I had to piece my twisted life together before adding my love problems with the world's (nearly) oldest living vampire to the puzzle.

At least that was the plan until those New Orleans bitches got me.

As soon as we left the bar, some girls accosted us and knocked us out with magic. I woke up in some cold, dank, musty crypt with Katherine by my side. At least I wasn't alone. We both had a better chance of defeating those witches. The new thing in those two months was my sudden ability to do magic without any source of energy. It looked like my abilities were starting to screw up too.

"Are you Y/N Y/S?" one of the witches approached us, staring at me warily.

"One and only. May I know who I am having the pleasure of?"

"Sophie Deveraux."

"Sophie. Some time ago, I knew a girl with this name. She got under my skin too. She is dead now. You can guess what happened to her."

"Yeah. It's definitely her. I couldn't imagine someone more of this psycho's type." she told her friends. The women grabbed us both and led us out of the makeshift cell to drag us to the main hall of the crypt.

"Allright. Can one of us tell why you are holding us here?"

"We need you, sugar, but your friend is just an accessory, so if you want both of you to get out of this somehow, you'll keep quiet." seeing that I had no intention of objecting, the unknown woman smiled victoriously. "Good girl."

I gave her a sweet smile before breaking her neck with a flick of my wrist. There was a sudden commotion around us. Katherine suffered a brain aneurysm after one of the witches raised her hand on her. The brunette screamed once before someone else appeared in the crypt, tearing out the heart of the witch who was attacking her.

Elijah.

Elijah came to save the day.

"I thought you wanted to talk, and both Katherine and Y/N were supposed to be unharmed." he said in his legal tone, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stepped between me and Kath. The woman was as pleased with the presence of the original as I was.

"She started." Sophie pointed at me. Elijah turned to look at me. I shrugged.

"You make me." I answered her with a malicious smile.

"Y/N." the man said warningly. This noble bastard won't tell me what to do.

"Elijah. Nice to see you. Maybe you can tell us why we've been locked in some fucking tomb? Is this some kind of revenge of yours, or did we get caught in the crossfire of Mikaelson's skirmishes purely by chance?"

"I would like to know that too. You wanted to be heard. Speak, before I change my mind." he turned to the witches without changing his defensive position.

I gave Katherine a brief, knowing glance. The woman reluctantly nodded at me. Great. We have personal cannon fodder if things get hotter.

"Marcel Gerard, ruler of the city, forbade the witches of my coven to use any magic. We want your help. Especially your brother's."

"Niklaus? You have to make him go to town first. And as far as I know, she's not in the mood for any outings right now."

"Even if he gets a message from her?"

"Your mother didn't teach you not to point at people?"I growled at her as she did it again. "Besides, I didn't text… You have my phone, don't you?" I asked, realizing it was their only way of contacting the hybrid. The woman tossed me my phone with a sly smirk.

"Read." I scowled but followed her instructions anyway, wondering what it was that would make him stick his nose out of Mystic Falls.

"I need you, Klaus. New Orleans. Witches cemetery. Please help me. Yeah. I can already tell you that he won't come. We're waiting here for no reason."

"And why is that?"

"This news reeks of a damsel in distress from a mile away. I would never write to him like that. I also doubt if he even cares what happens to…" I stopped when I heard someone's scream in the distance. A man mentioned earlier had burst in with blood on his hands and lips.

Well… mistakes happen.

"Great! Now that we're all here, we can start. We need your help." The woman began to explain the whole thing about Marcel and the witches. Everything was clear except for one thing.

"And where exactly is my role in this Machiavellian plan of yours?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"And who said I would agree to it instead of just killing you all and taking Y/N out of here?"

"I can take myself and KATHERINE out, Klaus. I don't need your help."

"Oh, do you?" he took a few steps towards me to stand in front of me. I snorted, returning his dark gaze. There's no way I'll be afraid of him.

"That's how we get to the main topic." Sophie paused, catching our attention again. Klaus stood next to his brother, giving the witch his famous sinister look while he was waiting for her to continue. "You see, I have a special gift for knowing when a woman is pregnant."

"And how exactly is this fact important to us?"

"She's carrying Klaus' child."

I broke the sudden silence in the crypt with a very loud laugh.

"And you're insane or a very, very bad liar."

"I'm telling the truth! You're pregnant with his child." she tried desperately to convince us.

"Vampires can't procreate, ergo, I am not in any false pregnancy."

"Vampires can't. But werewolves can. And Klaus is both."

"That's ridiculous. Klaus, say something! She didn't tell the truth, did she?" I tried to find support from the speechless Klaus. By the way, I think it was the first time I saw him without words.

"Y/N, be quite for a second."

"What? Elijah, are you believing her?" the man responded with nothing, staring at me with a strange look.

Klaus walked over to me. He stopped a few steps in front of me, staring at my belly as if he was hypnotized.

"I can hear it." he whispered, looking at me in disbelief.

"Hear what?"

"The baby's heart."

"What? But... it's impossible." I suddenly felt my heart beating much faster, as I was unable to catch my breath properly.

"It is. Like being a hybrid or a witch without her own magic. And yet we're here. And we gonna have a baby."

"No. That's a lie. I... we... I need fresh air." I avoided the brothers standing in front of me and headed the way Klaus had come from earlier. Unfortunately, one of these witches blocked my way and grabbed my arm tightly.

"You're not going anywhere until we settle the details of our deal." right after she said that, I felt her hand being removed from me. I was pulled against someone's strong chest. The familiar smell of Klaus' perfume brought me a momentary sense of relief.

"Touch her again, and I'll make sure that's the last thing you gonna do before I take your miserable life away from you." Klaus growled, tightening his protective grip on me and scouring the present witches with a hostile glare.

"Calm down, both of you. Neither of you will have any use for her if she faints here. Klaus, take her outside. Elijah and I will take care of everything."

Klaus glanced at Elijah. His brother nodded, encouraging him to leave. The hybrid took my hand gently and led us out onto the streets of New Orleans. We stopped in a square. Klaus sat me down on a bench and knelt in front of me, carefully watching me take slow, deep breaths, trying to calm down.

When I was sure my magic wouldn't suddenly blow up the whole city, I opened my eyes tentatively to meet the vampire's concerned gaze. I swallowed, turning my eyes away from him. He was still kneeling in front of me with his hands on my lap.

"Are you better?"

"I think so." I glanced at him nervously, fiddling with the bracelets on my wrist to internally brace myself for asking the original thousand-year-old hybrid about something incredibly... stupid. "Can you... go to the one place with me?"

"Are you sure you want to go back there, love?" I shivered when I heard this familiar nickname. I missed this. Klaus misread my reaction as he shrugged off his leather jacket and covered me with it.

"Thanks. I don't want to go back there. I think, well, I need to be perfectly sure it's true that..." I stopped, unable to say the words aloud. It would have been too real then, and right now I couldn't accept even the slightest possibility.

"That we're going to be parents?"

"Yhm. Will you go with me to the gynecologist? I don't want to do this alone."

"Anything you want, love. I'll check the address." he sat next to me and started searching for the location of the nearest clinic on his phone.

As we sat together in silence, I began to wonder at the absurdity of this situation. And the improbable, rational behavior of the hybrid sitting next to me.

"Klaus?" I asked, yanking him off the phone for a moment.

"Yes?"

"You're not... you know. Crazy about this? Or something like that. I mean... I thought you gonna ask me if it's yours, of course if it even exist, but still. You're so... calm. Like not you."

"Would you rather me to run mad around town and deny our baby?" I chuckled, imagining his lunatic walk through the streets.

"No. To be honest, I would have expected something like that than this, but it's a nice surprise. It's enough that one of us is scared to death. Thank you for keeping a cold head."

"Don't get used to it, love. C'mon. I know where to go."

In less than five minutes, we got to the building and waited in line. There were many other people in the waiting room, but what caught my attention the most was a couple sitting in the corner. Husband and wife. The woman was probably in her third trimester (or had quadruplets. God, please let me have only one if there are any.) The man whispered something tenderly into her belly, and she smiled at him with just as much adoration. Involuntarily, I imagined Klaus and myself in this situation. I glanced at the tense vampire next to me. He was also staring at the couple.

"Y/N Y/S?"

"It's me."

"Are you going alone or do you have any company, dear?"

"My boyfriend is coming with me." I said, taking Klaus' hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an amused smirk on his lips. We started walking hand in hand behind the doctor. The vampire leaned toward me.

"Boyfirend, huh?" he whispered in my ear, clearly pleased with the situation.

"Don't get used to it, love." I repeated his earlier words, trying to imitate his tone of voice. The man chuckled, politely following the doctor with me.

I had to admit that it was funny to watch Klaus in such a... strange situation. His nervous, slightly stressed demeanor gave me courage as I lay there waiting for the ultrasound results. The cold gel tickled slightly, but I gritted my teeth, waiting for the final confirmation of my fate.

"There it is. That's your baby. Congratulations!"

Klaus put his hand on my shoulder and leaned gently toward the small screen. I stared at the tiny speck as if it were enchanted. It really was happening. I will be a mother.

"Do you want to hear your baby's heartbeat?"

"Could you give us first a second alone, doctor?" Klaus spoke as he saw me still staring blankly at the screen.

"Of course. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Oh, my God. It's real. We'll have a baby." I choked out after a few seconds of silence between us.

"You took that information really quickly, love."

I punched him lightly on the shoulder, finally turning my attention to the man standing next to me.

"Stop joking with me. Aren't you scared? I mean, a few hours ago we were on the other side of the country, living our lives, and now we're looking at some stain, which is our baby. Are you that calm, or am I being dramatic?"

"Of course I'm afraid, but I know we're going to figure it out. Maybe if it were someone other than you, I would be paranoid and mad, but it's you. With you by my side? Nothing can go wrong." I burst into tears at his emotional confession. Stupid pregnancy hormones.

"Come here, you idiot." I wrapped my arms around his waist and snuggled into him. "I hope Katherine got our things back."

"Yes. Speaking about her..." he said, moving away from me to look at my face.

"She is staying with me and you're not going to kill her." I said it in a tone that left no room for any objection. It's been 500 years; whatever conflict there was between them should be over by now.

"Absolutely not."

"Yes? So be prepared that if this little one is a girl, she'll be named after aunt Katherine, who couldn't be there for her mom because her dad is acting like he's on his period."

"You know you've been pregnant for a few hours, and you're already using it against me?" he asked resignedly. The grimace on his face was a clear sign of my victory.

"Get used to it. You're stuck with me for a while."

"I think I can work with that. Let's go home. I think uncle Elijah and Katherine will want to see the first photo of the newest member of the Mikaelson family."

~•♤♤♤•~

*Two months leter*

"Good morning, Y/N"

"Morning Elijah." I grunted from my book, never taking my eyes off the text I was reading.

"Have you eaten yet? Want me to make you pancakes?"

"Actually..." I didn't have time to answer, because an extremely happy hybrid came out of the kitchen with a large tray on which was my breakfast.

Elijah looked at his brother in disbelief as he sat comfortably next to me on the couch and began feeding me with a fork while I continued to read my book as if nothing had happened.

"Niklaus. Can you explain?" his brother was shifting his bewildered gaze between us.

"His werewolf hormones tell him to look after me. So when I told him I wasn't having breakfast today because I didn't want to stand in this heat by the stove, he made it his morning's main goal to make me a decent meal. At least Marcel and the witches will get some rest from him today."

"Werewolf hormones?" very amused Kol entered the living room, staring at the hybrid with a malicious smirk.

"Yes, brother. Werewolf hormones." Klaus' cool tone caught my attention away from the book.

"Of course... your werewolf hormones. So that's what they call it now. Just don't flood Y/N with this sudden tenderness, or the girl will get scared and run away from you again." before Klaus could make any move towards his younger brother, I grabbed his hand and moved him so that I could get more comfortable on his chest.

"He is weird." I commented as I took a grape from the bowl and popped it into Klaus' mouth, much to Elijah's astonishment.

"Weird? No. Just a little joker. I have to go now. I'll meet you later, Niklaus. Please, don't start without me."

"Do I want to know what he was talking about?" I asked, giving him a curious look.

"It depends. Will you get angry?"

"If it has to do with that teenage witch, Davina, that your adopted son treats like a daughter? Probably." his silence was an answer enough. I pulled away from him, eyeing him disapprovingly.

"Klaus."

"Yes, love?"

"Promise me you're not going to hurt her."

"And what does it matter? I'm not Elijah, how sure are you that I'll keep my word?" my angry look, however, fortunately made him give up. "Alright. She'll be fine." he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Thank you. On the way back, you can stop by the store and buy me more chocolate and ice cream."

"As you wish."

He got up from the couch, placed a quick kiss on my already-showing belly, and left the living room, passing Rebekah as she entered. His sister looked at me curiously.

"What?" I asked, fed up with her penetrating gaze.

"Nothing. You two seemd very... compatible with each other. I'm impressed."

"Well, he's the father of my baby. We have to get along. For the baby's sake, it's best if we're friends."

"Surely." she hummed, completely unconvinced.

"Rebekah. What do you mean?"

"I mean that "just friends" wouldn't act that way. My brother never treated anyone with such affection. He's doing everything he can to impress you. For a bloody hell, he even changed his plan to take over the city for you!"

"She is right." Katherine walked past her and threw herself on the couch next to me. "He does everything he can think of to make you fall in love with him. For example, that "almost date" at the best restaurant in New Orleans last week. Or the fact that you've been given unlimited access to his credit cards, safes, stashes of clothes, and God knows what else. Or that weekend out of town so you could relax. Do you think they seriously didn't have a second room with two beds in the hotel?"

"Nik used the one bed trope? He's even more desperate than I previously thought." Rebekah snorted as she poured herself a glass of whiskey.

"Even if what you say is true, which I doubt, I have no intention of changing anything. Klaus and I work well as friends, and for the sake of this child, we will continue to be them so."

"So you don't love him back?" Rebekah questioned, coming to me, so she could stay in front of me. Her evaluative look somehow made me feel guilty.

"It doesn't matter what I want or feel. The most important thing for me is my child and I will do everything to ensure at least a little normality for them. If Klaus and I tried to be together and it didn't work out... At least this child deserves reasonably normal parents."

"What if you were happy together and created a loving family? Wouldn't that be better for everyone?"

"It's not worth the risk, Bekah." I replied, getting up from the couch to escape the inconvenient conversation with the original vampire.

"Risk of what?"

Losing him.

I didn't answer as I left the room. I decided to hide in the library for the rest of the day and try to forget the doubts the blonde had stirred up in me.

But my wild imagination did not give up so easily. I began to consider a possible relationship with Klaus. Despite what I told the girls, I wasn't blind to Klaus'… flirtatious remarks and behavior. I saw every long, stolen glance at me, every quick look at my lips during any conversation, and most of all, the longing shining in his eyes that was so similar to mine and that I somehow managed to hide from him.

I wanted to spend my life with him. But I also knew that I'm not enough to keep him away from his scheming and fighting for power. For the good of this baby, I had to be content with being his formal one-night stand and friend at best. Even if my heart yearned for him every single day.

Thinking about my unattainable future, I didn't even notice when I got to the library. But I certainly saw two people kissing in the room.

Klaus and Camille. At least he cleared up all my doubts.

I was probably the only one who noticed how my heart shattered into a million pieces. At least until Klaus pulled away from her, confused, and spotted me in the doorway.

"Y/N." he whispered, terrified.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to interrupt… I'll leave you alone."

"No! Y/N, wait!" he shouted, trying to get to me, but before he got even a step closer, I used my magic to teleport myself to a New Orleans street.

I leaned against the building next to me as the first post-teleport symptoms started to hit me and my head started spinning a bit. I shouldn't have done it while being pregnant, but well… I couldn't stay in the same room with these two any longer.

Once I had recovered, I decided to order myself a hot chocolate and sit with it in the park to collect my thoughts. I had to come up with some clever, eloquent way out of this predicament. And most of all, refrain from crying.

Thinking about this situation, after all, everything happened as I wanted. Klaus had found someone else to adore, so I could stop worrying about the deterioration of my relationship with the Mikaelsons.

We would be friends.

Just as I wished.

The only problems were my stupid broken heart and festering feelings of jealousy.

I wiped a tear running down my cheek with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I shook my head, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself down. Something that stupid couldn't get me off balance. I had to be strong. If not for myself, then at least for this little one.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pants pocket and glanced at the screen to see the photo of Klaus sleeping with me on the couch that I had set as his contact picture.

I remembered that night. It was one of the first month at the Mikaelson Mansion and also my favorite.

"Can't sleep?" Klaus stepped out of the shadows to stand in front of the fireplace, which flames I had been staring at earlier.

"Not even tried."

"May I?" he asked, pointing to the blanket that covered me. I nodded, opening the hem so he could slip into the space next to me. He put his arm around me, moving us into a more comfortable position. One of his hands automatically went to my slightly rounded belly. I sighed, resting my head against his shoulder, and returned to staring at the flames of the fire. "What's bothering you?"

"Remember when Tyler kidnapped me and…"

"Please tell me you're not going to lecture me again about how I shouldn't have attacked Elijah." he interrupted me with a groan of displeasure.

"I'm not, but your brother didn't deserve this. Even if he was talking some shit about you. You knew I would never believe it."

"You wouldn't?"

"Of course not. You always try to protect your family, not always in a good way, I have to admit, but still, I know you would never use your own child for your games. I trust you." he tightened his grip on me and cleared his throat.

"It's good to know you're at least on my side, love."

"Your siblings too. If you'd just let them in, maybe you'd see it too, but that's a topic for another time."

"I know better ways to spend my free time with you, love. One of them brought us to this situation." he smiled slyly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Very funny, but we have to talk about something serious."

"I'm sorry. What are you thinking about?"

"Have you ever thought about whether there is a chance for our child to be… a tribrid?"

"Tribrid?" he asked, confused, stopping to play with my hair.

"You know. You're half vampire, half werewolf; I'm a witch, siphon, but still… Can our baby inherit all of this from us?"

"They might as well only have the gene of a werewolf, a witch, a vampire, or a hybrid. I think all options are possible. Maybe in my mother's grimoire we can find the answer to that question. These books are as old as the world."

"You can include the birth of a miracle baby in your search. I hope we won't summon a demon into the world." I joked, turning slightly to look at his face again.

"I thought you already knew that the demon has been walking around this world for a long time, and you're cuddling with him on the couch. By the way, it's our search."

"Our? You seriously want to just give me access to your mother's precious books? The same ones that have so much knowledge inside them that you won't let any other witch see them whole, or even your siblings?" I was shocked. I would never in my life expect something like this from him, but on the other hand, he has done astonishing things many times before.

"You're different."

"Like how?"

"I trust you."

"You did?" I whispered after a few seconds of silence. Those words were more striking than three others of equal importance he might have said to me. Klaus doesn't trust people that easily, I think he falls in love with them more often…

"You wouldn't be the first to hear about all my plans if I didn't. Besides, you're the mother of my heir..."

"Keep treating your family like a fucking dynasty, and you'll have to buy me a crown and my own castle." I cut him off when I heard that horrible term for our baby.

"Why do you need a castle when you already have your throne, love?"

"You're impossible." I chuckled at this awful attempt at flirting.

"That's why you like me."

"Maybe." I yawned suddenly, unaware of how tired I was. I felt the hybrid's soft, warm lips against my hair before both the blanket cocoon and his grip tightened around me.

"Sleep. I'll stay with you and I will chase away your nightmares."

"How did you know?" I asked, feeling him gently brush away the strands of hair that had fallen over my eyes.

"I know you. Besides, I can hear everything through these thin walls. I would rather hear your screams for other reasons than nightmares."

"Deviant."

"Only yours." I heard as if through a haze before falling into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The next day, Katherine found us sleeping together and took a picture of us. One of my favorites.

Before I could answer the phone, I felt someone snatch it from my hand, and something hit my head at breakneck speed, knocking me out. Stupid witches.

~•♤♤♤•~

~A few hours later~

I was kneeling in front of the crib that Katherine and Rebekah had set up after the whole witches' fiasco. After those damn witches kidnapped me, they cast some strange spell on me and the baby to speed up her (as it turned out) growth and thus her birth.

A few hours ago, I was a human pregnant with a hybrid. Now I was a heretic, the mother of the thyrbid, the most powerful creature on earth.

I guess life with the Mikaelsons was all about sudden, unexpected changes. At least they weren't boring.

Elijah, Kol, Klaus, and Marcel were running around the city, killing the last witches who had allied with Esther. Rebekah and Katherine have been delegated to look after me and the baby until the boys get the hang of the situation. A bit sexist, but I didn't have the energy to argue about it. Not after I so impressively returned to the graveyard and killed half the coven.

After feeding on the blood from the bag, the girls gave me a moment alone with my sleeping daughter. Her first day in this world, and she was already trying to get killed.

"Y/N." Klaus' tired sigh snapped me out of my thoughts. For the first time in hours, I shifted my gaze to something other than my daughter and met a face as tired and bloodstained as mine.

"Hi." he knelt uncertainly beside me, glancing at the baby sleeping in the cradle.

"She is beautiful. So similar to you." he whispered softly, afraid he would wake her up at any moment.

"She has a look of the devil in her eyes. That's all you."

The girl stirred in her sleep, as if hearing us talk about her. Two loving, child-infatuated looks appeared on Klaus' and mine's faces.

"She needs a name. You made a decision?"

"I was thinking about Zoe and Caitlyn. But I think we both know that Katherine Jr. is the best fit for her."

"God no." I chuckled, trying not to wake the baby after seeing his terrified look..

"Got a counterproposal?"

"Hope."

"Hope. That's actually nice. Hope Mikaelson."

"Mikaelson?"

"What? Are you not the father?" I asked teasingly.

"I'm but... I thought you'd want her to have your last name."

"Mikaelson suits her better." I replied with a shrug.

"Well, then I guess it will be Hope Y/N Mikaelson." I smiled at him, resting my head tiredly on his shoulder. We both stared in awe at the new member of the Mikaelson family.

"How did you come to that? Hope?"

"With Elijah's little help. When I found you… dead. Elijah said that I ruined our family's last hope by making out with this bartender, which, by the way, is not exactly true."

"Klaus..."

"No. Let me finish. I've never been so helpless and scared in all my life as I was a few hours ago. Never, not even in the worst, darkest moments of my life, have I been so broken, so despairing, than when I held your dead body. Whatever you think now, whatever you feel, the truth has to be told. I love you. I've loved you since the first time I saw you, and each day only brings me closer to you. You're the only one who can make me so mad, terrified, or happy. You taught me unconditional love, and even if you don't share my feelings, I want you to know that you completely changed me. It will be my life's purpose to make sure that our daughter and you are safe and satisfied." I stared at him with tears in my eyes, listening to his touching confession.

"I was so mad at you and Camille, but... I can't blame her; falling for you is as easy as breathing. Not when I did it a long time ago."

"You did?"

"Yes. And I don't want to hide it anymore. I can't hide it anymore. As I turned into vampire, everything I feel for you since all this time is more intensive. My desires, my love, and my longing - I feel them so much that I can't even imagine spending one more hour without your words, touch, or kiss. I don't want to live in a world where we're just friends. So if you promise that this is forever, then I..."

Klaus cut me off, pulling me into a longing, long-expected, passionate kiss. I moaned into his mouth, pulling him as close as possible by the strands of his hair. At one point, I bit his lip until it bled. My new ability was immediately activated. My fangs slid out of my gums by themselves, digging into his lip and sucking more of his delicious, sweet blood. We broke apart when we were completely out of breath. Klaus licked his lips, staring lustfully at my black-veined face and bloody mouth.

"I promise. You're mine. For always and forever, love."

"And you're mine. For always and forever."

"Aw... Congratulations, Nik! It only took you one child to make her yours. I thought it would take you at least three." Kol suddenly appeared in the doorway, interrupting our moment.

Klaus growled at him and threw the baby monitor at his brother. Kol dodged at the last second and tossed the device back at him, sticking out his tongue before he ran as fast as his legs could take him. I giggled, drawing the hybrid into a tender kiss.

Yeah, I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

[fabrickind]

Finding Cosplay Photoshoot Locations: Part 1

📸Want to do cosplay photoshoots but don't know how to find that perfect place to shoot? This tutorial covers how to brainstorm a location for your shoot, logistical and cost concerns with shoot locations, and how to actually find your dream location.

📸This tutorial can be applied to shoots of all types, including but not limited to self shoots, shoots with friends, and shoots with hired photographers. Self shooting or shooting with friends only requires a camera (a phone works!) and possibly a tripod.

Part 1: Location Types

Coming up with the general type of location you want requires some brainstorming about what you want from the shoot. Think about your specific goals and types of photos you want and how certain types of locations would work for your goal. Remember you can always do multiple shoots for the same costume with different concepts!

For example, if you want big, sweeping shots, you will need a location that allows for wider framing and still looks good, while if you are primarily after shots with closer framing, you can go with a location with only a small usable portion. If you are looking to primarily showcase the costume itself or your posing, a flatter and simpler background works better than a busy background, but if you want cinematic shots or shots where you are existing in the environment as the character, somewhere that can show off the location itself as well as how you exist in it would work better.

Types of Locations

There are three main types of locations for cosplay shoots in relation to the cosplay itself. Of course, you can combine these types and there is a lot of overlap, but thinking of these three location types will help you conceptualize your shoot.

The first type is locations that are similar to something in the series, or an exact location from the series. My cover image is an example of this, where I took photos at the location of the climactic battle of the manga. Most fictional locations don't exist in real life so exactly, however, so think of locations that look similar to where this character might be found. The example on this slide shows a cosplay at a nature preserve with grassy fields and oak trees, which is similar to the locations the character traverses several times throughout the game she is from. This category can also include locations with similar vibes, such as a studio made up to look like a fancy European castle for a character from a series about European royalty, or a shoji screen backdrop for a character who lives in a Japanese-style house.

The second location type is locations with symbolic meaning. These locations showcase something about the themes or character arcs present in the series, and this can be accomplished with anything from specific props and setpieces to the entire background. One shoot I'd love to do with this concept is of Lady Blackpearl staring into a mirror -- this would symbolize her dual personality nature -- or of Lady Oscar wrapped in thorns, with the rose thorns symbolizing her glorious but fragile life. I chose to represent this location type with Ultimecia, a sorceress who wants to compress time so she is the only one who can live in the combined past/present/future, set among ruins. The ruins aren't accurate to the game, but show her crumbling reign marked by the passage of time.

The third location type is locations chosen for pure aesthetics. Obviously all locations are chosen for aesthetics, but these are locations with no deeper meaning and may not represent anything from the series at all. These can range from a simple colored wall backdrop to a sweeping landscape that simply looks good with the colors of the costume. Some examples are the Yasuho Hirose ocean shoot on the slide, where it doesn't represent a particular scene or location in the series but simply looks good with the cut and colors of the costume and the sailor theming, or my Princess White Rose milk bath photoshoot, where again the character never takes a milk bath, but a bathtub full of milk and roses shows off the detail of her floral hat and showcases the opulent nature of a rose-themed princess.

Requirements of your Shoot

Once you have a general concept, think of what is required to fit that concept. This can be as general as specific backgrounds or types of backgrounds to as specific as particular items at the location or particular lighting setups. Some shoots might need specific props, such as furniture to sit or lounge on, and props that won't work in a public location, such as realistic weapons that may cause panic or worse. Also keep in mind any accessibility needs, whether it is an accessible location in general to accommodate a disability or a need that is caused by the costume itself. Check not just the specific area you want to shoot, but how to get there from the parking lot or transit stop. Finally, keep in mind that unsecured outdoor locations, such as a park or beach, are locations where you can't change things about the location and you may encounter other people. Discussion of how to be respectful of such locations is in part 5.

Stay tuned for the rest of the parts~!

Links to other parts: 1 Location Types, 2 Discovering Locations, 3 Indoor vs Outdoor Locations, 4 Location Permissions, 5 Location Logistics

[heartmaddie]

charm | t.oikawa - 07 juna

by m454d1e involves past relationship trauma somewhaat

yn’s sitting at the oak table, feeding herself scoops of miscellaneous cereals as her roommates look over at her, various perplexed faces on each of them.

“so oikawa’s coming over?” kei looks over at osamu skeptically, “i mean i don’t mind but it’s just a bit of a drastic change in opinion.”

“i don’t think oikawa’s that bad, really.” keiji shrugs, “nice guy, a bit violent but i think it was an appropriate time”

“guys, he’s just gonna be over to work on the project, it’s not like we’re gonna actually have a meaningful conversation.” yn explains, leaning on the back of her chair. she lets out a deep sigh as she sips on some juice, “he’ll be over from 1:30 to the evening or something, you wont even see him.”

“yeah, it’s fine then. i’ll be at uni the whole time” kiyoko nods, “i’ll be in the textile studios from around 12-4 really, so i’ll be home for dinner.. is he going to have dinner with us?” she asks yn, who shrugs.

“dunno, he might.” 

“well i’ll be in the apartment all day, so if anything happens or if he does anything then just let me know, okay?” osamu looked sideways at yn, sighing softly.

“i think we’ll be okay.”

“dunno yn, just being careful is better.” keiji nods in response, looking over at kei.

“we’re adults, i’m sure that yn knows what she’s doing.”

“thank you kei” yn replies, sipping on some more juice, and that was their breakfast conversation over.

her lectures dragged on all day, the minutes passing by slower every second, every moment blurred into one until she’s sitting outside on one of the benches, eyes closed before she hears a familiar chirpy voice.

“ynn, are you ready to head off?” tooru asks, offering her a hand which she takes gratefully, letting him pull her right back to her feet.

“yeah, we can go now.”

they walk hand in hand, earning a couple weird glances from other students as they walked in silence. she looked exhausted, and tooru couldn’t help but worry, so he would tug her a little closer every now and then, letting her rest her head on his shoulder as she directed them towards her dorm. 

tooru was surprised, it was much tidier than the apartment he shared with his roommates, but then again, she lived with akaashi and kiyoko, who were pretty good when it came to organisation.

“these rooms are so much better than the sports dorms” tooru complains, slipping off his shoes and neatly leaving them next to yns.

“mm, yeah i guess. the rent here is more expensive than in the sports dorms, also aren’t you on a scholarship like tobio?” yn asked, looking up at him curiously.

“yeah, i’m on a half scholarship, so i still pay for my dorm fees.” oikawa sighs, walking with her throughout the apartment as he looks around in astonishment.

“do you want water or anything?” she asks, pouring a glass with some ice tossed inside and passing it towards him, receiving a small ‘thank you’ in return.

“who else are your roommates besides kiyoko and akaashi?” he asks curiously, bringing up the cool glass to his pink lips,

“uhm, osamu and kei”

“kei as in karasuno, kei tsukishima?”

“yeah” she nods in reply, 

“i don’t like him.” oikawa states firmly, causing her to chuckle.

“mm, i see that, i think that at face value he’s a bit awkward and arrogant, but he’s very caring once you get to know him” she nods, thinking about tsukishima. oikawa laughs as well, taking another sip,

“we should probably start our project, are we going to your room or something?” she nods and pulls him towards her bedroom. 

it’s neat, but obviously lived in. with a twin sized bed against the wall with white sheets somewhat done and a large desk with stacks of paper on the ends of it. he sits on the grey carpet, putting his messenger bag next to him and reaching for his laptop. tooru rests his back against the bedframe as he accesses the document, she sits next to him and does the same thing.

“so i did some of the work last week, and i think that we’ve mainly finished our research and can start drafting our abstract.” yn nods, picking at the skin at her cuticle, “have you chosen a question?” tooru nods and explains it to her, gently taking her hand in his. yn feels an unfamiliar warmth form in her stomach as she looks up at him, his sharp jaw as he reads off his document, and he doesn’t realise her gaze until he looks back at her.

“what? is there something on my face?” he asks, bringing his other palm to quickly wipe against his lower face, making her smile from his obliviousness.

“no, it’s nothing. but the question sounds good” she hums, leaning over his shoulder to tweak some parts.

a couple half hours later, yn’s sitting on her bed with tooru working on the ground still, stretching occasionally as he could feel it in his back now.

“if you’re uncomfortable you can come sit up here.” she hums mindlessly, so he finds himself climbing up next to her, sitting shoulder to shoulder as he continues to type away on his laptop. over the hour they find themselves shifting closer, to the point where their laptops are forgotten on the ground and tooru has his arm lazily draped across her waist as they lie close, but not enough.

“are you feeling better?” he asks her softly, using his other hand to gently card through her hair as she gazed up at the white ceiling.

“yeah, i guess so” she mumbles in response, turning to look up at him, a somewhat soft gaze in her eyes, causing tooru to smile down at her. “i don’t know tooru, you make me feel safe in a way” she explains, looking down at his fingers, “like, i can tell you things that i’d usually be a bit hesitant to tell my friends, or anything,”

 tooru hums in response, seemingly in deep thought.

“i’m happy that you trust me,” he strokes her jaw, looking into her eyes, “i really like you, yn” he murmurs so quietly, you’d have to be really listening to hear it.

it’s this strange, comforting feeling. yn wants nothing more but to bask in it, and let tooru into her life fully, but there’s something holding her back. that small, dwindling feeling which told her that it would end up the same. semi follows her everywhere, from the music she listens to, the the posters in her bedroom, to the way her friends would look at her, he’s always there. but this, being in tooru’s arms, that was her sanctuary, that was the only place that semi couldn’t reach, and she wanted to keep it that way. but tooru, ever observant, would pull it out of her eventually.

“you look like you’re thinking about something” he smiles, poking his finger against he cheek, “what’s on your mind?”

“mm, it’s stupid” she replies,

“don’t care, i’d wanna hear anything you have to say.” yn sighs gently, leaning against his chest a bit more.

“i’m just a bit scared, i guess.” she starts, “i like you too tooru, but it’s scary, letting myself be intimate again.” she admits, “i’m embarrassed.”

“you shouldn’t be embarrassed, yn.” he mumbles into her hair, “what you went through is really damaging and honestly, even wanting to try is courageous, in my opinion.” oikawa sighs, pulling her closer, “and anyways, i’d wait for you, a long time.”

she looks up at him, surprise and curiosity written all over her face.

“you’d take it slow with me?” she asks,

“yeah, i would” he replies quickly, “i’d take it as slow as you’d want.”

yn felt the walls that she’d spent years building slowly fall with every word he’d whisper lovingly to her. the warmth and comfort he provided, it was different, it came naturally to her like a second nature, yn would look up at him, analysing his words, and she didn’t want to, but she believed him, he drew her in. she didn’t think she’d fall victim to oikawa tooru’s charms, but here she was. wrapped up in his arms, soaking his affection as she laid still in his arms. she thinks that she’s never felt more complete than this.

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please make sure to like , reblog or follow if you enjoyed!

౨ৎ long chapter i'm quite proud of this.

౨ৎ perhaps they confessed too quickly but realistically i don't care

౨ৎ i like this chapter

౨ৎ i also liked the iwaizumi drabble i posted i'm quite fond of it.

౨ৎ i need to expand my vocabulary and spelling ASAP

౨ৎ like it's sooo bad holy moly.

౨ৎ anyways hope u love and enjoy

౨ৎ also there will probably be no charm chapters from tuesday onwards kinda besides queued posts because erm i have an assignment i've had the past 6 weeks to do and i've only written my abtract fml.

౨ৎ realistically the schedule is sunday , tuesday , friday night. prolly not tho.

౨ৎ maybe i'll post a oneshot sometime between that but we'll see cos i'm super busy assessment wise..

taglist : @meosq , @jtaimeurmom , @strawbeariesei , @meeeepsworld if you'd like to join - don't be afraid to ask ! queued post

[trashogram]

Toon Patrol/Fem!Reader

Rated G for gun violence.

————————

You stood at the very back of the studio, trying not to let restlessness get the better of you. You contented yourself by looking at the set that had been vacated of its cast before your return — a beautiful matte painting of an open field with a frame of oak trees. 

     It was so eye-catching and lovely contrasted with the clutter of camera equipment and occasional crewmembers. A veritable oasis in the middle of a desert. 

You sighed wistfully. 

     Your mentor Cliff had gone long ago, off to help pull together another reel of film post-edit. It was tempting to pout over the injustice of not being invited, since your whole purpose was to observe and learn that very thing. Instead you’d been left to the wolves as a glorified PA, running around town to get whatever was needed by this person or that — all of them higher on the totem pole than yourself. So, you had no chance of refusing, not that you hadn’t tried. 

     You’d been working here for almost two weeks and people still treated you like you were invisible, or a nuisance. First day on the job and your most important lesson was: if you’re not talent or the director, you’re not worth a second glance. 

     With a scrunch of your nose in distaste, you waved away the thought. You’d already browbeaten yourself enough for being so meek. There was nothing for it now but to do better next time.  

-*-

    Cliff pushed a box of random props into your arms. “Here girl. Take these out to the lot and throw ‘em away.” 

You stared down your nose at the contents, spying at least two oversized rolling pins, a ‘toon bomb with a singed fuse, a slide whistle, a white flag and a dozen or so bent cartoon nails. 

“Wh—?” 

“They’re defective! No need for ‘em anymore.” Your mentor continued. “When you come back I’ll bring you to the RCA system, watch ‘em match up the audio.” 

“Oh! Really?!” You brightened. “That’s - I - Really, Cliff?! Will I really get to — ?” 

Cliff cut you off, perpetually watering eyes narrowed as he frowned. 

“Yeah, yeah, now go! Don’t dawdle! We don’t need anymore junk clutterin’ this place up.” Cliff ‘hmphed’ around his stogie. “Got enough clowns runnin’ rampant as it is.” 

Your lips pressed together firmly as you tried to reel in the tempest of emotions in your chest. As exciting as the reward sounded, you failed to see how taking out the trash was part of your job description. 

“Yes, sir.” You muttered finally. 

With another world-weary sigh, you trudged off and headed toward the back door that led outside.

-*- 

The walk over to the dumpsters was particularly painful with not only the distance to account for, but the many stairs as well. You could feel blisters forming on your heels and where pressure pinched at your toes. 

    One would hope that breaking in sensible pumps wouldn’t take long, but then you were constantly on your feet these days. There was little to no time for sitting and healing as you were jerked around from one end of the set to the next at everyone’s beck and call. 

    A siren was going off in the distance, intermingling with the sound of the trolley ding’ing at its next stop. You could faintly hear the clacking of dress shoes and a shout from someone unknown just beyond the gate that separated the studio and the outside world of L.A. 

    The air turned from pleasantly fresh to sour, dragging you back to the task at hand. The dumpsters sat waiting. 

You groaned at the realization that you had to set your box of miscellaneous down to open the dumpster lid. It was the little things in life that piled up and blocked you from a simple, joyous life. 

     Two women costumed to look like Little Bo Peep rounded the corner as you maneuvered the lid open. They didn’t appear to see you, let alone lend a hand as they hurried off. And the same could be said of a man swerving past you, his dress shirt half-soaked in sweat. 

Typical. 

“Did this… box get… heavier?” You groused, lugging it up from the pavement. 

You had to use the dumpster to wedge the box between it and yourself, hoisting it toward the lip. It was merely a coincidence that you decided to take a last look inside before throwing it away. 

The ‘toon frog inside croaked at you. 

     Your scream set him off like a springtrap, and you were knocked back onto the heated road with a hiss. It hurt — your elbow smacked into the ground and the trapped heat from the sun stung your legs through the nylon barrier as you landed on your behind. 

Teeth clenched, you tried to distract yourself from the pain. Above you the frog stood, stretched out to his full height — which was sizable given how he’s squished himself into a standard cardboard box. His attire stood out like something a bandmate would march in during a parade procession. 

The frog trembled from head-to-toe, eyes darting all around. 

“I’m so sorry! So sorry! So sorry! I didn’t mean to knock you over, Miss! I was just looking for somewhere to-to-to-to—!” 

     You got back onto your feet awkwardly, wincing as you brushed dust and dirt from your backside. “To scare me?” 

“—To hide!” He shrieked, fumbling over his own webbed feet. 

You frowned, mouth opening just as the distant siren drowned everything else out. The gate into the studio burst open simultaneously, sending your heart plummeting as a patrol vehicle raced forward. 

     The frog screamed with you this time as he leapt into the air and dove into your arms. His long arms wrapped ‘round your neck and squeezed.

Vision starting to swim, hearing beginning to ring, you could do nothing but stumble back with arms full of terrified amphibian as the car screeched to a halt. 

“Awlright Gills!” A nasal voice called out. “End ‘a the line!” 

The driver’s side door of the van opened, and out popped a ‘toon weasel bedecked in a pink suit jacket and matching fedora. 

    And as if on cue, more weasels filed out from all sides of the car, hurrying to follow the first one’s lead. 

“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Please!” The frog stuttered in your ear. “I didn’t hear anything! I didn’t see anything! Please believe me!” 

    It did not block out the sound of guns being cocked. You went ramrod straight at the sound, and stared like a deer in headlights as the group of weasels crowded in. 

    You whimpered, overwhelmed and afraid at the sudden turn of events. The guns pointed at you looked real. 

“Look-it dis, boys.” The weasel in pink snarked. “Froggy says he ain’t guilty, but he’s hidin’ behind a dame! Sure looks like a ‘red-bellied’ snitch ta me!”

    The weasel’s fellow ‘toons all laughed, and you gagged as the frog’s arms constricted around you again. The lack of oxygen was making you dizzy, preventing you from staying still through the stand-off. 

“She don’t look so good, eh boss?” Another weasel asked, eyes trained on you moreso than the frog. 

You began to sway back and forth, a high heel catching in a divot. You pitched forward unexpectedly. 

“No! No! No!” The frog wailed. 

“Uh-oh!” A high-pitched voice exclaimed, followed by a stream of cackles. The spots in your vision and the ringing in your ears prevented you from caring, however. 

Even the sound of a gunshot, and the subsequent cry of the frog as he finally let go of your neck and jumped off of you, took its time catching up to your sluggish thoughts. 

     You gasped, air filling your lungs in short bursts until you coughed. Above and around you, the sounds of a cartoon scuffle filled the lot as the frog attempted another escape.

    He had sprung from you after being startled by the gunshot before you could hit the ground and hit the dumpster, feet landing on a rolling pin and tripping him up. It left him flailing for just long enough to get ambushed by the Toon Patrol, who rushed him.  

The frog bounded over Smartass’s head, ripping the fedora off his head, and leaving the leader to clutch at nothing but air, to slam it over Stupid’s eyes. Psycho took the opportunity to grip the perp’s feet and pull him down harder than gravity could as Wheezy snatched up the cartoon bat that had been dropped in the fray and hit the frog right between his bulbous eyes. 

It sent the poor thing flying back into the dust, legs sticking up in the air as he moaned, stars circling his head. 

-*-

A small crowd of humans and ‘toons alike had gathered yards away from you, but you paid it no mind as the frog was hauled away by the seat of his pants. The amphibian remained unconscious as he was swung back and forth rather merrily by two of the weasels before being thrown into the back of their car. 

The sound of him hitting the interior made you flinch, but you also instinctively grabbed for your neck, and shuddered at the phantom feeling of being choked. 

     You inhaled slowly, willing yourself to calm down. Thankfully, a distraction emerged when you saw the Toon Patrol (per what it said on the side of the cab) leader dithering near you still. His beady eyes roved around the area, combing it for something — something —

“Thank you...” You said when he was within earshot. 

    His ears perked up before that glare was pointed in your direction. You swallowed down your apprehension. 

“… For, uh, for helping me from being strangled.” You continued, gently. 

It felt true enough, even if you felt a little bad about how the situation was handled. From what you could tell, neither you nor the frog had been shot. It must’ve been a tactic meant to scare only. 

You hoped so at least. 

“Wasn’ nothing, doll.” He snapped, claws still feeling for his hat as if it would magically appear. 

You frowned, pushing down the feeling of reproach at his gruff tone. It would seem that even ‘toon law enforcement would rather wave you off than speak to you. 

     Eyes trailing down, you spotted the fedora a few feet away and you quickly scooped it up, intent on remedying your hurt feelings with people-pleasing.

“Well, thank you anyway.” You said sincerely before you bent down and planted a kiss right between the weasel’s little ears. 

     It was funny. You noticed before you could place the hat back on the weasel’s head how his eyes bulged in their sockets. For a split second the ‘toon looked well and truly gobsmacked by your little token of gratitude. 

      The rest of his posse stilled their endless shuffling, fidgeting and slinking about to mirror the bewilderment of their boss. 

     Their leader eventually shook himself free of the shock to whirl about. The permanent scowl on his face deepened as he glared at you. His hat was snatched out of your hands, with the weasel hissing between yellow incisors. 

“Why you—!” 

“Aye!” Your head snapped up, and you blinked rapidly at the weasel in green. “Whattabout me?!”

His narrowed eyes had blown out wide, zeroed in on you while his jaw hung open. The weasel hurriedly clamped it shut when he caught your attention, trying and failing to contain the mix of awe, indignation and desperation on his face. You noticed, idly, how he was the most well-dressed out of his counterparts as he stalked toward you. 

     You were taken aback when he elbowed the weasel next to you out of the way and grabbed your hand before you could back off. 

     The green-clad ‘toon took his hat in his other hand, revealing a shock of slicked-back black hair. It distracted you from his hungry gaze roaming up and down your form. 

“It was an honor to be your hero, bella dama.” His voice was as oily as his hair. “I would happily accept your kiss as ‘thank you’.”

“Oh.” You responded dumbly. “Um, I-I suppose…” 

A squeak left you as the ‘toon kissed your hand, his grip tightening without warning so that he could pull you closer. Suddenly, he was kissing his way up your arm, heedless to your bewilderment at his wildly inappropriate actions. 

     The kisses grew more and more amorous as he continued, openly slavering over you as if your bare skin was an addictive substance he couldn’t get enough of. And every single one was punctuated with a loud ‘MUAH’.

     Blood rushed to your ears as you saw the weasel’s tongue slide across your forearm— 

“Quit messin’ around!” Your sleazy counterpart was ripped away from you with a yelp. 

His entire body snapped back like a rubber band, neck stretching comically as he tried to continue kissing you until the very last second. 

“We got no time for these ‘shenagrains’! We still gotta frog to flay!” The leader spat, smacking Green over the head for good measure. 

   A chorus of laughter followed the strike as the other three weasels pointed and laughed at their cohorts’ melodramatic abuse. 

      The touchy one bared his yellow teeth, spouting what you could only imagine were curses, though they were yelled in what you believed was Spanish. He dove for his leader, and immediately they began to tussle in the dusty roadway. 

You stood up again, grimacing at the scene and wondering if you should intervene or not. Until you jumped out of your skin as the hem of your dress was tugged. 

“Heeheeheeheh…” Swirling eyes met your own, so shiny that they reflected your stunned expression back at you. 

      “You want a kiss?” You asked.  

The only response was more high-pitched giggling from the scrawny thing. You felt nervousness creep up your spine as you took in the overlong sleeves of what you just now realized was a straightjacket wrapped around this one. And there was a straight razor clenched between his teeth, glinting in the early noon sun. 

      Panic crawled up your throat, but you forced yourself to take a big, albeit silent, breath. Toons were made to entertain, not cause harm. At least, not to humans. 

You softened up with a smile, brushing back the weasel’s wildly unkempt hair and pressing your lips to his hairline. 

     “Heehee…” The giggling went on under his breath.

A wet nose pressed against the column of your throat briefly, sniffing over your skin. Hot puffs of air blew back your hair before you heard him inhale deeply. 

     You pulled back to see the loony ‘toon rocking from side to side, his sleeves crossed over his lanky body in a self-hug. Those eyes swirled twice as fast, a manic grin stretching over his long face.

“I li~ike that.” He sing-songed between giggles. “Kissies feel go~od! Eheeheeheehee!”

The laughing, as freaky as it was, was infectious. Laughter bubbled out of you as well, shaking your shoulders and forcing you to press your lips together. 

     You couldn’t stifle it so much when the largest weasel of the whole gang bumped into your side. How he managed to sneak up on you with all his bulk was a mystery. 

“Duhh we did good?” He asked you. 

“Very good!” You laughed, your frame vibrating with the forcefulness of it. “Thank you very much!”

This weasel’s eyes didn’t swirl, but they shapeshifted into hearts once you kissed his furry cheek. You nearly snorted over how he sank into a bashful pose, and at the way the propeller on his hat spun without even a light breeze to push it. 

    “D’awww…” His tongue hung out like a lazy dog’s as he looked up at you through would-be fluttering lashes. “Boss! Did you see that? Da lady gave me a kiss!” 

“Ese idiota got a kiss!” You heard from behind. “You all got a kiss but me! ¡Sois ratas! ¡Estás todos contra mí!” 

Well now, not all of them had. You couldn’t stop laughing, but you managed to find the only other patroller you had not made any contact with. 

     The one that was shades more blue than his fellow ‘toons hung back. He made no move to come toward you; just stood in the haze of his own smoke cloud. 

     You didn’t want to push. Instead, still on that jittery buzz of good humor, you blew him a kiss to compromise. You imagined that if you were a ‘toon yourself, your kiss would’ve literally flown right to him. 

   Blue’s pinkened eyes seemed to widen, reminiscent of his boss’s reaction, before narrowing again to scrutinize you. The many cigarettes in his maw billowed smoke on double time, reminding you of the phrase ‘smoke coming outta your ears’. 

    Perhaps it was just their natural theatrics — admittedly, you’d not been working amongst ‘toons for very long, let alone visited Toontown as you planned to do… at some point. But you had to wonder if these poor creatures had ever been shown affection in their lives. 

Wiping a tear from your eye, you tried to curb your giggles and turn toward that overly — affectionate — weasel. You knew full well that it was a terrible idea but his whining made you feel bad, and you intended to humor him (as long as his boss held him back from the unwanted smooching). 

Intention cut short when you jolted in place at the sight of a man in all black standing behind you. 

“Oh!” You gasped. 

     You felt a chill the longer you stared at him. An imposing man in all black, staring at you from behind opaque spectacles beneath the sharp brim of his own hat. He stood unnaturally still, like a stone pillar, and you got the distinct impression that he’d meant to frighten you. 

Then he smiled, baring uncannily perfect white teeth in your direction. 

[nofatclips]

Wrong Taco by BRNDA from the album Do You Like Salt?

[blueiscoool]

Rembrandt Portrait Found in an Attic Sells for $1.4M

The work is attributed "after Rembrandt" and dated to the 17th century.

Last summer, Christie’s sold the last known Rembrandt portraits owned by private collectors. But, a mysterious unsigned portrait in the style of the Dutch master recently popped up in an attic in Camden, Maine—and sold for far more than its estimate of $10,000–$15,000 at Thomaston Place Auction Galleries. Although the details surrounding this work remain murky, an anonymous private collector from the U.K. scooped it for $1.4 million.

“I never imagined I’d help close a deal for over a million dollars,” says Thomaston Place Auction Galleries’ staff member Zebulon Casperson, who represented the winning bidder over the phone, in a statement. “It feels like a shared victory.”

The new portrait turned up during a standard house call that Kaja Veilleux, the founder, appraiser, and auctioneer behind Thomaston Place Auction Galleries, made to an private estate in Camden.

We often go in blind,” Veilleux remarked in the auction house’s release. “The home was filled with wonderful pieces, but it was in the attic, among stacks of art, that we found this remarkable portrait.”

The perfectly preserved, purportedly antiquated work of oil on cradled oak panel depicts a teenage girl dressed in an austere black robe, with a frilly white collar and white cap, against a plain background. A gold, hand-carved Dutch frame rings the scene.

While the artwork’s style, particularly its striking use of light, indeed evokes Rembrandt, the real revelation is on the verso—which features a slip from the Philadelphia Museum of Art recording that Mr. Cary W. Bok, a late descendant of Philadelphia’s Curtis Publishing Company fortune, loaned it this artwork in 1970. The slip attributes the painting to Rembrandt, titling it Portrait of Girl. Although the slip also noted that Bok was based in Camden, it’s impossible to say whether his family put this portrait up for sale. Veilleux has pledged to keep the consignor anonymous.

The Philadelphia Museum of Art was unable to clarify which show the institution may have loaned this portrait for, but a representative did note that such a slip does not equal an authentication. Thus, Portrait of Girl hit the block as a painting done “after Rembrandt” on August 24. According to Live Auctioneers, the work is from the 1630s, an era where Rembrandt was overseeing portrait commissions as the head of art dealer Hendrick Uylenburgh’s studio.

But, lingering uncertainty hardly stymied the excitement. Seven hours into the second day of the Summer Grandeur sale in Thomaston that Saturday, bidding on the portrait opened at $32,500, already well above estimate, and ballooned rapidly over 60 successive offers by 11 bidders—two in person, and nine over the phone—in increments of $25,000. As bidding reached $900,000, the pack whittled down to three, and then two, phone bidders.

According to the auction house, the painting now represents one of the most expensive artworks ever sold in Maine. By comparison, Portrait of Marten Looten (1632) remains the most expensive authentic Rembrandt ever sold, after hammering for $33.8 million in 2015.

By Vittoria Benzine.

[vintagelasvegas]

The Golden Nugget block, Fremont St, 1920s

127 Fremont. E. W. Griffith bldg. Post office, Majestic Theater, office. This building was demolished in the 40s for construction of Golden Nugget.

123 Fremont. Martin-Ferron bldg. Oasis Confectionery, office. Top floor was home to Oakes Vegas Studio in '24-'29. The building was incorporated into the original footprint of Golden Nugget, and was seen during facade remodeling in the 80s.

Not shown: 117 Fremont – F.O.E. Eagles lodge, incorporated into Golden Nugget in the late 40s. 115 Fremont - Lillis building, home to Addock & Ronnow, later home to Frontier Club, Lucky Strike Club, Lucky Casino, and Golden Nugget.

111 Fremont - Vegas Sweet Shop. 109 Fremont - Garehime Music. This was replaced in the 30s with White Spot Cafe, likely a new building. 107 Fremont. W.W. Davis Furniture. This was replaced in '29 with the Morse Building, home to Western Union in the 30s-40s. 111, 109, and 107 Fremont were pieced together as Nevada Club in the 50s-60s, then became part of Golden Nugget in the late 60s.

101 Fremont. Mesquite Bldg. Grocery, offices. Later home to California Club, Golden Nugget, Friendly Club. Demolished in '84.

Photos: (1) Jun. '29. R.B. Griffith Collection (MS-00315), UNLV Special Collections. (2) '24, from Las Vegas, As It Began, As It Grew, by Stanley Paher. (3) circa '28, from the Wilson Collection (PH-00014), UNLV Special Collections.

[asnowfern]

When Words Fail

Summary: Elain doesn’t get out of the town house much. But on a rare occasion that she did, she runs into Lucien at a piano studio.

Rating: G

WC: 2.5k

Read on AO3

A/N: Happy @elucienweekofficial (aka one of the best times of the year🥰)! This was originally intended for the day 2 prompt: Golden. BUT I was in bed with a flu so you get it on day 3 instead 🤧 Enjoy ☺️

When words fail, music speaks

- Hans Christian Anderson

The city of dreamers buzzes around Elain, comes to life with energetic shouts across the streets advertising for new shows and wafts of delectable street snacks. Doe eyes widen to take them all in.

A biting wind passes her by and Elain pulls her cloak closer around her, enveloping herself entirely in the thick feathered coat. Tugging the soft hat to cover the pinked edged tips of her ears, delicate button nose twitches slightly to sniff the wondrous buttery scent.

The middle Archeron rarely leaves the confines of the town house, usually content to bide her time in the greenhouse or in the kitchens. But just for today, astounded by Feyre’s artistic depiction of the Rainbow, did it occur to her just how much of the city that she has lived in for years but still has yet to see, so much that she has yet to experience. It stokes the long dormant part of her that once dreamt of adventures on the continent. All before…

Elain shakes her head with a grimace. Tonight is not a night for dwelling. Her thoughts short-circuit when a particularly fragrant scent hits her. The edges of her lips quirk upwards as she holds herself back from bouncing towards the street stall.

She exchanges a silver coin for a rich buttery pastry, wincing as molten chocolate ganache floods her mouth from the very first bite. With a palm still cradling the hot soft pastry, she continues her way through the bustling street.

Then her feet halts in front of a plain beige unassuming building.

Despite the lively chatter of the Rainbow, the sound of light flowing keys of a piano effortlessly reaches her. She turns towards it, stuffing the remainder of her snack into her mouth and hastily swipes the crumbs away from her cheeks. Her feet move mechanically on its own accord, like a rope that has been tied around her waist and pulls her into the building.

The city noises muffle, blocked by the wooden door frame of the building entrance. Elain is able to clearly hear the melody now, muted and uncertain, supported by the gentle running chords in the lower register. A simple but melancholic beauty that tugs on her chest and pulls in the most heart twisting manner.

The music turns as she passes by door after door within the studio. The same melody returns, bright and daring. Her chin tilts upwards, chocolate brown orbs widening. At last, her feet stop. Exactly where she needs to be.

It is a cozy quaint space, barely larger than her bedroom. The room is bare save for a grand piano plonked in the middle, the walls are lined with oak panes with a full length bookshelf pushed into a corner.

A golden spotlight streams down on the pianist, gliding along long auburn hair which has been pulled back into a simple low ponytail. A featherlight caresses an all too beautiful face and neckline, accentuating the contrast of his white billowing sleeves.

He doesn’t see her, she thinks.

Not as his fingers gracefully glide up and down the midnight and ivory keys, never ceasing to stop the flow of the music. Not even the slightest hitch in its tempo.

At that moment, Elain admits quietly to herself.

He is truly the most beautiful being she has ever seen.

She doesn’t sit and neither does she linger. After the piece ends, she gives a curt nod before turning around. It is only in the safe space of her own solitude does she acknowledge the melody that is still a constant flutter in her ears, her chest, her heart.

She returns the following night at the same time.

Foolishly, maybe. She doesn’t even know how long he will be in the city, doesn’t even know if he has left. Yet as she stands, just two steps beyond the doorway, so quiet that not even the sharpest fae ears can register a sound, there is no denying the little part of her that went, oh thank the Mother he is still here.

When the piece ends, the embers in her chest are fanned by a raised eyebrow, an open challenge in the dancing flame of a russet eye. She takes a seat next to him, the bench barely long enough to fit the two of them. Close enough to feel the heat emanating between the narrow space.

She resists the urge to shudder for a different reason and lifts her hands to the keyboard.

He doesn’t rush her, sitting in patient silence as she considers the different pieces she could play. Her mind skips through numerous music, each as showy as the last, each learnt under strict tutelage with the very intention of impressing guests and suitors. She gives herself a mental smack of a head (no, that will not do, she chides) and settles for a simple folk melody from her childhood.

Perhaps it’s anticlimactic and a letdown. Perhaps it’s a peep into years past that she hasn’t shown anyone in Prythian. One that draws a quirk of lips in her peripherals that she pays no mind.

It surprises her when skilled hands join her when she plays a repeated section, effortlessly complements her with his counter melody. A smile plays on her lips in the simple joy of music. The vehicle in which they embark on their unspoken conversation. She goes up, he goes down, then they loop around. The piece stretches and reshapes into a dozen different variations.

But alas, it all comes to an end when another fae interrupts with a knock, signalling the end of the session. It shatters the spell that they have woven with black and white keys, a glass splintering into hundreds of pieces.

It is with a wry smile that they come to a stop. Elain’s hands drop from the board, her insides twisting in disappointment. Lifting her chin slightly, she sucks a breath in and asks, “Maybe another time?”

The smile that blossoms on Lucien’s face leaves her breathless. A crinkle of happiness that threatens to rip apart the seams of intricately weaved vines burying the golden thread deep, deep within her chest.

“I’ll be here.”

The thread lights up with promise.

“So will I.”

***

The duo steps outside back into the frigid night air of Velaris. Before they take a further step, Elain pauses, her hand raises to her cheek to shield her face from a passing wind. Her petite form shivers a little in time with the slap of freeze.

In that moment, her entire being is engulfed in a tall shadow, and a translucent curtain of shimmery maple drapes over her to shield her from the chill. The brunette tilts her head back at a carefully impassive face.

It is the simplest of magics. Something she should be used to after so long with the fae. Even then, it is still a simple gesture that causes rose to dust across her cheeks, a different type of warmth that spreads from her chest. She resists the urge to scoot a little closer to her mate.

“Walk me back?” She asks, brown eyes meeting russet head on, stubbornly holding the stare until the edges of Lucien’s lips slope upwards.

“In need of a personal heater?” He quips.

A smile spreads on her face as she points out, “It’s freezing.”

Elain loops an elbow around Lucien’s as she forces her speeding heart rate to settle.

I can hear your heart beating through the stone. Can you hear mine?

Surely, he must.

Cocooned in their little bubble of warmth, it feels like there isn’t anything that can be hidden from the other. Not the rhythmic drum beats the organ in her chest plays or the shimmery glow of thread tying them together. Thankfully, that doesn’t stop the tall redhead from tightening the space between their arms as they walk down the lively alleyway in companionable silence.

He takes a step back when the entrance to the Town House comes into view, their arms unwinding. And though the shimmering warmth still covers her, Elain feels a smidge colder.

“I will be returning to the Human Lands tomorrow morning.” Lucien informs her softly.

“Oh—”

“But if you would like,” he almost rushes to continue, “I’ll send you a note the next time I’m back in the city.”

“I would like that.” She returns finally as her mate raises one hand to brush the back of her palm. The flame in his eye returns with a spark.

The moment feels surreal and for just a moment, Elain could pretend that she is a simple lady out jn society, and him, a charming suitor. There is no mess of biting cold dark waters of the Cauldron between them. That the rushing beats of her heart and brush of lips on skin is nothing more than the promise of something new, something exciting, something hopeful.

***

Elain’s brows furrow as her fingers speed up to follow the fraught tempo the Autumn son had set. Her frown deepens as she feels herself get pushed out of the music. Two hands drop to one until she eventually lifts her hands back to her chest and sets her gaze higher to the male himself. His fingers continue to fly across the keyboard, so lost in the music that his lips are parted slightly, his mechanical eye clicks to follow the notes. He seemed unaware that she had even stopped.

He throws his weight into the wooden keys, the force of it unravelling strands from his low ponytail. The air rattles around them with the vibrations of his final chord until it dissipates into nothingness.

“Lucien?”

The thread between them pulls taut as her voice brings him out of his reverie and brings mismatched gold and russet eyes on her, round and tinged with the slightest hint of manic.

Even with all the time they had spent together the past few winter months, it is uncharted territory for them to share more than a piano or playful words that mean nothing. Still, Elain gingerly catches the hand that has just fallen back into his lap and draws it close to her.

“What happened?” She asks, rubbing light circles into the soft flesh of the back of his palm, where the index meets the thumb.

She feels his wordless response, of fingers that close around hers, of the tension simmering in each muscle fibre.

She tries again, “Shall we get out of here?”

With a simple nod, her world transforms into the warm licking golden flames of his winnow. It disappears to reveal a simple apartment where familiar city noises continue to trickle in from the windows.

It dawns on her immediately that this is Lucien’s apartment in Velaris.

Utilitarian. Perfunctory. Devoid of personality. Vastly different from the homeliness of the River House or even her own room in the Town House.

Elain had never seen his room in Spring or in the Human Lands but she can say with certainty that it did not look as empty as this. She ignores the slight lump forming in her throat and pulls him over to the plain brown couch. Without letting herself overthink her next actions, she tugged him down with her to settle his head on her lap.

Something twinges in her chest. The bond that she had tried so hard to submerge under the deepest hedge of thorns that threatens to give way to blinding light. She hastily covers his eyes with nimble fingers, lightly brushing the gnarly scars surrounding his left eye, tracing thick brows with her fingertips and easing the tension filled lines.

Slowly but surely, Elain feels the hard muscles relaxing into the plush skin of her thighs and the soft nuzzle of his face into her dress. She shifts her attention to those silky tresses, carding her fingers through them.

“We are losing Vassa,” he mumbles into the soft rolls of her stomach, “the transformations have always taken their toll but it’s getting even harder. To see those sharp cerulean eyes blank and empty, devoid of her usual sharpness and intelligence, even for just a few minutes.”

A sourness pulls at Elain, a sly voice starts to whisper in her ear. Yours. Thief. Claim. Her fingers tremble, entangling digits into thick locks.

“Have you told Rhysand?” She asks instead, not trusting herself to say more yet also, hating her response for its implied immediate deference.

Lucien pulls away, his head turning away as he replies bitterly, “We need more time to gather allied forces from the continent before we can take on Koschei. He’s not wrong,” his eyes flutter shut and the lines between his brows deepen, “but it’s hard to watch.”

“You care for her.” She wonders if she sounds as petulant as she feels.

The look he gives her is reproachful in answer. Yet, he still reassures her, “She’s a good friend.”

Friend, he had seemed to emphasise. But did she even have the right to lay a claim after all these years of nonchalance? Even as the hissing beast prowling the stairs of her ribs calm slightly, placated at the clarification.

Elain continues her ministrations, nimble fingers absentmindedly braiding then combing them out. The monotony diminishes the world around them into the random sounds of the Velarian nightlife and the occasional crackling wood of his fireplace. It envelopes her mind and lets her thoughts stray to the majestic firebird soaring through the skies, screeching as it flies over a lake black as coal. A cold scaly presence yanks her past the line splitting air and water.

It is cold, so cold. Like the Cauldron, like death, like—

CRACK

Elain’s eyes snap open, brown eyes wide with fear. They find mismatched russet and gold instantly, concern and alarm warring within them. She pauses, waiting for the questions that are sure to come.

None came. Just a wary gaze and a firm grip around her hand. Unyielding and grounding.

She asks finally after a few fraught moments, when her heartbeat resembles what felt like normalcy. “What if I can help?”

Lucien sits up, sending a flurry of movement as the mass of flesh and muscle moves in her lap. He is still impossibly near, the heat emanating from his body an entrancing addiction. He asks carefully, “Are you sure?”

“It’s better than…” she trails off because better than what? Better than the comfortable life accorded to her in her sister’s court, surrounded by everything she could ever need? She clears her throat before meeting those assessing eyes. “It’s better than just waiting passively for things to happen to me.”

Lucien stood from the sofa they were sharing, his body angled away from her. And just as Elain opens her mouth to backpedal her decision, he turns back. Eyes gleaming and determined.

“There’s a piano in the manor.”

Elain almost gasps in that moment. Her hand twitches by her side, itching to claw at her chest, to hover over where the golden thread has burst out of its burial site.

It’s bright, it’s dazzling.

It’s iridescent.

END

[sweetsweetjellybean]

Friends to Lovers | Steve Harrington

When a storm moves over Hawkins, your neighbor stops by to check on you.

TW: kissing, & more kissing with a little bit of bump & grind.

A deluge of rain punishes the earth for its unnamed transgressions. Dark cotton clouds roll across the sun, leaving the sky with a silvery amethyst glow. The green leaves desperately cling to the branches of a large oak as you watch from your raindrop-streaked window. A wall of torrential rain and wind moves across the garden with the smooth ripple of a snake. A loud crack precedes a neon lighting bolt, and a sizable branch hits the grass-carpeted ground. The northern oak sways ominously, mourning its lost limb. Scrambling toward the side of the bed furthest from the windows, you bring your black legging-clad legs towards your chest and tuck your toes under the white duvet. 

The white fairy lights you have strung around your bed flicker, and you pull up the soft sleeve of your well-loved open cardigan from where it slipped down your shoulder. The long growl of thunder rattles your window. Quickly, you pick up your leather over-the-ear headphones and place them snugly on your head, blocking out any further cries of disapproval from mother nature. The sensual beat lets your mind wander back into the scene you had been writing earlier. Fingers tracing the spiral black cord running from your headphones to wear their plugged into the receiver, your tongue sneaks out, wetting your bottom lip as the faceless man in your head runs his hand from the back of your thigh to your hip. With your favorite pen in hand, you scribble down the details in your black comp notebook, trying to capture the sensation of the strong hands moving over skin. A warmth covers your chest, and goosebumps rise in a wave as the freckles dotting the arms of your faceless man come into focus. The flexing muscles of his chest, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows, a lock of golden brown hair falling over his brow. Sighing heavily, you rip out the page, crumple it up, and toss it toward the pile accumulating on your floor - you've got to stop picturing your neighbor.

He was jogging by as you wrestled your mattress from the back of the u-haul the day you moved in. His muscle tee stained darker in the center, saturated in sweat, and you weren't much better. Baby fine hairs that escaped your damp pony plastered to your sticky temples. 

"You need any help?" he asks, out of breath as he stops in front of you, taking off his baseball cap to wipe away some sweat. He pushes some hair to the side before turning his hat around and putting it on backward. 

The skeptical look you give him has him chuckling, "I'm not a creep, swear. I'm your neighbor. Apartment 44."

The ground-floor studio is one of four sandwiched between the rows of townhomes; you were lucky to snag it. The garden-style apartment opens to a shared green space with a pool and walking paths. It's the first time you've been able to afford somewhere on your own.

"Steve Harrington," he says, wiping his hand on his shorts before offering it to you. Deciding to take him up on his offer to help, you shake his hand and introduce yourself. 

"This is cozy," he nods, looking around the space after he helped you set up your bed. There wasn't much to see. A mattress on a platform frame pushed close to a wall of windows, a desk with a word processor, and a small stand with your stereo that had crates of records and tapes surrounding it. A tiny efficiency kitchen ran along the same wall as the door, with an even smaller bathroom beside it. The extra-long cord for your headphones reaches every corner of your rental. 

"I'm sure it's not as nice as yours," you say, knowing the price difference between your studio and his two-bedroom.

"It's just bigger," he says with his hands resting on his hips, drawing your eyes down to the running shorts clinging to quite a substantial bulge. Sweet Jesus, what does he keep in there?

"It must be," your eyes snap up to his face, "I mean you have two bedrooms," you stumble trying to cover up your gawking.  

"They're pretty much all the same," he shrugs, "Pond View Estates doesn't offer much of a view. At least it didn't." 

He's flirting. The weight of his gaze makes you feel self-conscious in your sweaty, dirty, moving clothes, "Okay, well, thanks for your help," you move towards the door, hoping he'll take the hint. 

"Yeah, I'll let you get back to it. Let me know if you need anything," he pauses when he's on the other side of the threshold.

"I will. See you around," you say, inching the door closed.

"See you later…alligator," he says and then grimaces before turning in the direction of his apartment. 

Leaning with your back against the door you think you hear a quiet "Goddammit" being muttered as he walks away. Capturing your lip between your teeth, you fight back a chuckle. 

The song flowing into your ears fades into silence, quickly filled by the loud sound of the rain falling even harder outside. Alarm drags you back to the surface, away from the tranquil waters of the story playing out inside your head. Water is starting to collect in large puddles in the garden, and you worry the tiny slab of your concrete patio won't be enough to stop the rain from seeping under the french door. Slipping the headphones around your neck and setting aside your pen and notebook, you start scooting off your bed when a loud sound startles you. It takes a moment to realize the noise is someone rapping on your front door, not the sound of more tree limbs falling. The black cord trails behind you, the music sounding tinny and muffled where it comes out around your neck. The knocking grows more insistent. Twisting the deadbolt, you throw open the door without thinking of putting on the chain to check who is on the other side. 

The howling wind blows a fine mist through your door, damping your cheeks and the wooden boards around your bare feet. Steve is standing with one hand on the door casing, his mouth slightly agape with irritation, his shirt completely sodden and clinging, while rainwater drips from his hair down his face. 

"Steve, it's raining," you exclaim dumbly, surprised to see him in such a state on your doorstep.

"Yeah. I noticed," he closes his eyes and uses his thumb and index finger to clear his eyes, "Are you going to let me in?"

"Of course. I'm sorry, come in," you stand aside to let him pass. 

He stands just inside the door, the water dripping off him, creating a puddle around his sneakers. 

"You're soaked. Let me get you a towel," you open the small closet where you store your linens just outside the bathroom.

He toes off his shoes and carries them to the door. "I came to check on you. Make sure you weren't flooding," he yanks his t-shirt over his head, leaving him in worn light-washed jeans. It hits the floor with a splat. Rain water drips from his hair down his neck, disappearing into the patch of hair on his chest. 

He takes the towel you're holding and rubs at his wet locks, "Your car's here. So when you didn't answer, I got worried."

"I had my headphones on. I didn't hear you."

"I should have guessed," he says, bending down to mop up the water on the floor. 

"You don't have to worry about me, you know. It's just a thunderstorm," you say, startling as the lights flicker and a boom of thunder reverberates, shaking the dishes in your cupboard.

"I think I do," he says, taking a step towards you. The compact space feels even smaller with him here. 

"When you answer the door without the chain on," he takes another step, the distance between you shrinking, "Dressed like that," he motions to the lacy bralette under your cardigan. The swell of your breasts barely covered and your midriff left bare.

"I wasn't expecting company," you swallow. He's standing so close. He smells like rain and soap scented with citrus and cedar.

He dips his head, and your lips part as you lean slightly toward him. A moment before you touch, his fingers wrap around the headphone cord instead. He pulls the plug from the jack on your receiver, and a sultry woman's voice plays through the speakers mixing with the patter of the downpour, as she sings I'm open to fall from grace. The warmth of embarrassment rushes to your cheeks, and you step back, regaining some space and remembering what you asked of him weeks earlier.

Pushing up the sunglasses that keep sliding down your nose, aided by your sweat-slicked skin, you look up from your half-filled notebook at the crowded pool in front of you. The blazing sun and oppressive humidity had the entire complex gathered around the in-ground pool. A group of senior ladies wearing gaudy jewelry and jungle-print bathing suits sat gossiping while they baked in the sun, their browned skin resembling raisins. Harried mothers joined by husbands sporting farmers' tans trying to wrangle crying kids holding sticky melting popsicles. Ignoring the leer of an oiled-up man wearing a neon speedo and two many gold chains, you go back to writing. The play button on your walkman pops, indicating it's time to turn the tape to the other side. Balancing your notebook on your lap, you fumble the tape, and your pen bounces off the concrete pavers before rolling under the lounger beside you. 

"I'll get it," Steve says as he reaches under his lounger to retrieve your pen. Until then, you hadn't been aware of who was sitting beside you, but now you're very, very aware. A grin spreads across his boyishly handsome face, but the body it's attached to is all man. 

"Thanks," you smile as you take the pen from his hand. A zip of electricity dances under your skin where your fingers brush against his. 

"Can I ask you something?" he tilts his head and crosses those long legs at the ankle.

"Go for it," you slide your earphones down around your neck.

"Does the tape you're listening to have the same song playing on repeat?" he points at your walkman, the corners of his eyes crinkle as he squints in the bright sun. 

"You could hear that, huh?" you ask, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. 

He nods in response, and you crinkle your nose disconcerted by his question, "Umm, yeah. It is the same song over and over again." 

He chuckles good-naturedly and waits for further explanation.

"I get distracted when a new song starts. It takes me away from what I'm writing." you pull your knees closer to your chest and wrap your arms around them. 

"So you're a writer?"

"I'm trying to be," you say, blowing out a breath. 

"What do you write?" he asks, leaning towards you, giving you his full attention.

Book covers with images of big hunky men ripping open the bodices of pink-cheeked ladies stamped with your pen name come to mind, so you decide to go with, "Whatever pays the bills."

"What about you?" you ask before he gets a chance to press you further. 

"I'm a manager at Family Video," he explains, rubbing the back of his neck, "but don't be impressed there are four employees, including me. Two of them are part-timers, and the other ones is another manager. So, I don't really manage anything. It means I keep the kids out of the adult section.

"Nothing wrong with being a cinephile," you comment. His face falls into confusion.

"Someone who loves films."

"Oh," his eyes brighten with understanding, "I do get free rentals," he says awkwardly before changing the subject, "Where are you from?"

"What makes you think I'm not from here?" you tease, "Does everybody really know each other?"

"Pretty much. It's a small town."

"Well, I'm an army brat, so I was in Huston and then St. Paul before my family moved to Chicago. I went to school for creative writing at Perdue, and now I'm here," you say, gesturing around you as a group of small children run by with a blow-up beach ball. 

"You should let me take you out sometime and show you around," he says, making his move. 

"Steve, you seem really great, but I just moved here. I'm trying to finish this book and get my feet under me. I'm not ready to date right now," you let him down gently, "but I could really use a friend?"

"Of course, we can be friends," he recovers quickly without a hint of disappointment in his voice, "Who said anything about dating? Friends show friends around."

"You're right. That was presumptuous of me," you say, going along with him. 

"Alright friend," he says, standing up, "I'll let you get back to work," he picks up his towel and wraps it around his neck, "I'll see you around," he heads in the direction of his apartment. 

"See you later, alligator," you call after him. 

Guys like him were usually too good to be true, but over the weeks, you've gotten to know him, and he's proved to be the exception. Settling into an easy friendship, he hasn't pushed for more. The attraction has been there, though, just under the surface, simmering like a pot on the stove. Small touches. A hand on the small of your back or your shoulder. Sitting with the outside of his thigh pressed against yours. Glances that have lasted a little too long. Increasing the heat, now he's standing right in front of you, and you feel like you're going to boil over.

"Stop looking at me like that," he says, walking away from you to the french door, bending down to check the seal.

Taking your headphones from around your neck and setting them down, you join him, crowding into his space. 

"Like what?" you ask once he's straightened up, looking into the warm honey hues of his eyes.

"Like you want me to…" he trails off as his eyes break the connection fluttering down to your lips. After a soft inhale, his mouth follows their path. Soft lips ghosting over yours, the lightest brush before pulling back, his eyes begging for permission.

"I thought we were friends," cold uncertainty pushes back against the fire between you.

"Friends kiss," he assures, his hand moving to your shoulder, nudging the neck of your sweater until it falls off your shoulder.

"Not like that," your stomach tightens with every touch.

"It doesn't count when it's raining," he reasons. His big hand lands on your hip, urging you closer.

"Why is that?" you place your palms flat on his bare stomach, and his abs jump under at the contact. 

"I don't know. I don't make the rules," the corners of his mouth twitch, fighting back a smile as he explains the absurd logic he concocted.

"Who does then?" you press, your hands slowly sliding up the silky skin of his chest, fingertips collecting his freckles as they pass.

"You do," his other hand presses into your back, pulling you flush against him. 

"Me?" you ask, surprised. The coarse hair on his chest is softer than it looks as your hands travel through it on their way to wrap around the back of his neck. 

"Yeah, you're going to tell me if you want me to stop, and I'm going to listen," he makes sure you know you're in control before his mouth comes down, pulling your bottom lip between his before mirroring his movements with the top. 

He pauses to gauge your reaction, but you don't let him get far. Tightening your hold on his neck, you bring his mouth back to yours, angling your head so he can deepen the kiss. And god, Steve can kiss. He deliciously explores your mouth, tongue sliding against yours. 

As your hand slides down his neck to his shoulder, opening and closing to knead the muscle, you try to conjure the words to capture this moment, so you can take it out later when the sun is out. But the way his mouth moves has every thought fleeing like a firefly on a summer night trying to escape being caught in a jar. 

Steve takes a few steps towards the bed, taking you with him. The springs of your mattress protest the sudden shift in weight as you climb in together, lying on your sides. 

"Tell me what you want," he says, tucking some hair behind your ear. 

"It's still raining out," you reply, slipping your arms out of your sweater, trading its warmth for his, "I want you to kiss me."

He leans over you, dipping down again and again, languidly tasting, savoring, kissing you like the world could fall down around him and you'd be the only thing that mattered. The cassette tape spins, songs changing from one to the next. For once it doesn't distract you, living fully present in this world instead of the one inside your head. Kissing him back like the billowing clouds, like it's everything, like its art. 

Tugging him by the belt loops, you pull him closer until he's cradled between your thighs, the comforting press of his weight a luxury in itself. When his hardening length hits just the right spot, your eyes roll back, and you're suddenly aware of just how wet you've become. Your hips roll without your permission, chasing the lightning bolt of pleasure. He groans, burying his face in the pillow beside you. 

"Is that okay?" you whisper against his temple stroking his hair.

"It's okay," he says, lifting his head to look at you, "but I'm probably going to um-"

"Me too," you admit shyly.

"Is that what you want?" he asks, studying your face, "For me to make you feel good?"

"Yes, that's what I want."

There's a new urgency to his kiss as his first strokes of his hips steal your breath leading to a frenzy of movements before finding a rhythm, rocking in opposite directions. 

"Just like that," you moan as he grinds his rigid bulge against your core. 

His hand grips your thigh, directing it around his waist, driving the rough denim over the thin material of your yoga pants, increasing the pressure. 

"You're so beautiful. I've wanted to tell you since we met," he whispers, placing open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

The last song fades into the whirring of the tape deck before it stops completely with a sharp click. Your ears swiftly adjust, sharpening the sound of the falling rain and rumbling thunder. His mouth lingers on the sensitive skin just below your ear, exhales turning into low aughhs in harmony with each thrust. The rise and fall of your chest is getting faster, your stomach tightens with arousal knowing his noises are all for you. Seeking out his mouth, your hips rise off the bed, moving harder with a desperate need to see him come undone.

He smooths your hair back, fingers sliding against your temple, thumb brushing your chin, "Let yourself fall," he kisses just below the curve of your bottom lip, "I'll catch you."

And so you do, and he falls over the edge with you. With a strike of lighting, the world blurs as you float through the clouds, and just like he promised, he catches you with warm lips and gentle touches until you've both come down from the surge. Offbeat plinks of drops hitting metal add another layer to the storm's changing song. 

"You'll have to call maintenance," he says, snaking his arms around your waist, "they probably won't show up until tomorrow. You'd better stay at my place tonight. You know, just in case."

There's a splash of water as Steve's feet hit the floor. "Oh shit," he looks at the floor and then at the french door. A small stream of water has crept its way in from the outside. Steve rolls up towels and places them in front of the door, trying to block the gap while you mop up what you can.

"You might be right," you say, pulling him down for another kiss, "I think the forecast said it's going to rain all night."

If you've enjoyed this fic, please reblog. It makes a big difference in helping others find my work.

Thanks to the hive. I appreciate all of you.

Graphics by: @superblysubpar