#white rug with a touch of elegance

[bondsofeveryonessouls]

Music Room in Vancouver Inspiration for a sizable transitional living room renovation that includes a music area, gray walls, and no television

[pwinkprincess]

angel face ୨ৎ

you met toji at a bar. you remember that setting very well, sometimes too well. when you’re bored, you’ll sit back and think about that very night. you had just turned 20 not too long ago, and your friends had finally got the fake ids they ordered months ago. with excited giggles, they handed the ids out. you’ll never forget how your heart thumped as you examined the little card that displayed lie after lie. you had never done something so illegal, something so sinister.

that night, you waited until your parents were sleeping. no, not just laying in bed and resting, but absolutely sleeping. their breathing turned heavy and their chests rose up and down slowly. their backs touched each other as if they had enough of each other, even while unconscious. with the knowledge that they were asleep, you made sure to close the luxurious door as quietly as possible. the door closed shut with a soft thud. you stood there for a second, holding your breath. you weren’t sure as to what you were waiting for, but you waited.

you counted to 60 in your head four times before solidifying that they were actually asleep. your eyes crinkle as a smile adorned your lips. with newfound enthusiasm, your feet that were comforted in white lace socks pitter patter against the prime grade wood flooring. you skip into your room and close and lock the door behind you.

you grab your phone that sits on top of your nightstand.11:20 it reads. you have exactly an hour and ten minutes to get ready. you’re quick to rush into your white marbled bathroom that had soft pink enhancements sprouted throughout the room.

the walls are adorned with large, glossy white marble tiles, reflecting light and creating an illusion of spaciousness. lowered chandeliers create soft, ambient lighting, casting a gentle modern glow over the room. the room's main feature is a gleaming white marble bathtub with simple, elegant lines and a large basin that invites you to have a relaxing dip. a peaceful waterfall faucet that cascades above it softly filling the tub with warm water whenever you feel the need to soak your stresses away.

you choose to use your stand-up shower, for this occasion. the shower is fully glass, exposing everything and more. two sides or large glass panels trap you on your sides to stop the water from escaping freely. as you turn the hot water on, both the overhead shower-head and the six miniature shower-heads come to life. you take off your pink silky robe, hanging it on the nook that’s nailed onto the wall beside your shower. you rub your body clean with soaps and exfoliators. the water plays a soft tune throughout the bathroom, the relaxing sound from the faucet merges with the sweet scents. it’s a precise routine that you do daily. scrubbing yourself until you’re absolutely sure your body is sparkling, and then stepping out of your shower with a pink fluffy towel around your body. a large white bathroom rug catches all of the spare droplets as you walk to your sink.

when you’re done with your skincare routine which includes not only your face but oiling your body down, you’re leaving your bathroom and walking into your walk-in closet. the automatic light sensors turn on, almost if it was awaiting your arrival. you choose a short light pink dress, and a pair of expensive shoes that match the shading. you gush over the cute bows that are etched onto the heel of the shoe.

time moves quickly. one minute you’re brushing your hair and inserting a clip on bow, and the next you’re quietly sneaking out through the back door. you walk to your friend’s white range rover that’s parked three houses down.

the rest of the night is moved in little blurs. you feel like you’re sitting inside of a cinema, watching a newly released movie. the bar is full of men. and not the guys you’re used to seeing around at these little college frat parties. no, these are men with tattoos, men with beards, mens with war battles littered on their body, men who are old enough to be your dad. as you look around, you suddenly feel childish in your outfit. the women in the bar wear crop tops and little shorts that have their ass cheeks hanging out. there’s a sense of maturity that courses through the bar, something the frat parties could never carry.

these are criminals, office men, police officers, businessmen. and suddenly there’s a throbbing in your lower region that you’ve never felt before. you’re looking around curiously as if the bar is some sort of museum that hold rare artifacts.

you look over at a table full of guys, their faces are littered with tired eyes and white beards. you accidentally make eye contact with one of the men and he winks before smirking and muttering something to his friends. they all snap their heads to you and your friends. some of them whistle while the others carry the same smirk. you should feel disgusted, guys that were possibly in the same classes with your dad, are making advances towards you. but instead the throbbing increases and a feeling of need courses through your body.

your friends make it to the bar and take your seats. a female bartender who looks to be in her mid 30s walks up to you four. she has overgrown blonde roots and various random tattoos littered all over her skin. her skin is obviously fake tanned, the exposed parts of her body are three shades darker than her head. her makeup is cakey and there’s dark eyeshadow around her eyes creating a lazily done smokey eye look. there’s a few facial piercings on her face as well. a dermal beside her eye, two dimple piercings, an eyebrow piercing, and when she opens her mouth to greet you all you can see the ball of a tongue piercing.

“what can i get for you ladies?” her voice is somewhat strained and gravelly. as she leans in, you can smell the lingering smell of cigarettes on her tongue.

“can i have eight shots of lemon drop, please.” your friend flashes the bartender a mischievous smile.

those shots were what got the night going. you were already very tipsy after your two shots and also a half glass of tequila. your friends had scattered around the bar, having conversations amongst themselves. you watch them, there’s envy burning in your stomach at how social they’re able to be so easily. you take it as competition. you sway your head to the side and your eyes land on a guy who’s sitting on the far end of the counter.

with the confidence you mustered, you walk up to him and sit in the wooden chair beside him. the chair creaks as you adjust yourself. sucking in a heavy breath, you smile at him.

“hi.” you greet him.

“’m not a perv. fuck off.” his response has you blinking rapidly in shock.

“uhm .. what? i’m-i’m of age!” you exclaim. you don’t know why you feel so offended at his words. most girls would’ve instantly stood up and walked away from his hostility, but if anything it strung you in even more.

“yeah, okay. and lemme guess, there’s pigs out there flyin’.” he chuckles but it’s forced, if anything.

“you, sir, are reaaaal hostile.” you drag the word out. the alcohol in your system is fumbling with your ability to talk normally.

“go away, little girl.” he dismisses you once again. he’s gripping his glass, with the muscles straining from his tight black shirt you wonder if he’s going to end up breaking it.

you have no idea as to why you’re so stuck on staying beside him and continuing to try. “i’ll have you know,” you emphasize, making sure the word rings through his head. “i can do everything you can do. vote, pay taxes, drive, all of that.”

“not drink, though.” he argues.

your eyebrows scrunch and suddenly you’re digging through your purse searching for that fake id. once your fingers grasp it, you’re pulling it out and slamming it on the polished wood.

“actually, i can.” you challenge. you’re sliding the card in front of him, all of your confidence powered into that one finger.

the guy goes quiet for a second, he’s reading your id. you cross your arms in victory. yeah, he doesn’t have much to say now.

or so you thought. “this shit’s faker than me claimin’ t’be a good father.” he says, his voice tinged with disgust. he slides the card back in front of you.

“okay. whatever. ‘m of age, though. okay? i’m 20 and if i’m not mistaken that’s grown.” you reply.

he finally turns, his entire body turns to look at you. lean and toned. he’s extremely built, with muscles everywhere. not to mention his waist, that’s so so slim. he’s wearing black jeans but you don’t even have to see his legs to know they match his arms. your eyes dart away his lower body to focus on his face. his face is rugged and masculine. he has sharp, angular features, including a strong jawline and high cheekbones. his green eyes are sharp and piercing as he stares down at you. you notice there’s an attractive scar that runs through his thin lips.

“‘nd is there a reason as t’why you keep botherin’ me, ms.twenty year old?” he asks sarcastically.

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“g-gonna cum again!” you gasp. your head lays in the crook of his neck. he has one strong hand holding your head so even if you wanted to move it, you couldn’t. 

you had only had sex with one guy, ever. and he was more so on the skinnier side. you wouldn't shame him at all, he had managed to pull a few orgasms out of you. but this一this was different. he was stretching you out in ways that had your mind completely fucked. your pussy is stretched and wrapped tightly around his cock as if it was made for him and him only. 

your knees laid on both sides of his hips. you had started off riding him but he had quickly taken control when he realized how awkward you are when you’re on top. the way you stiffly jerked your hips would have resulted in absolutely no orgasms if he had let you continue. his feet were planted flat on the mattress  while his other arm was wrapped around your lower back so that he could have leverage as he plowed his cock into your dripping pussy. 

you could faintly hear the sound of police sirens through the thin motel walls. you had let the mystery man sway you to this cheap motel that looked as if it was infested with a little bit of everything. you remember the look on the receptionist’s face, a big man dressed in all black with a girl that’s inches shorter than him right beside him. they looked suspicious until you grabbed at the guy’s hand to lead him back outside once the two of you got a key.

“fuck are you so quiet for?” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts. before you could respond his big palm is striking down on your ass, sending multiple slaps. you whimper and jerk in his hold but he doesn’t let you move. “ungrateful thing. should i stop?”

“no!” you sob out. “please don’t stop.”

he rubs his hand over the spot he attacked before gripping your hip and fucking up into you even harder. the sound of his balls slapping against your skin and your pussy wetting his dick even more echoed through the room. the motel bed squeaks with every movement, like an old door protesting against being opened.

your senses whirl as he abruptly hurls you onto the side of the bed. your form plunges into the worn mattress, a musical of creaking springs accompanying your fall as you land on your stomach. everything moves fast as he’s suddenly behind you and pressing cock back inside of your awaiting pussy.

“arch your back.” he grumbles. he doesn’t give you time to move on your own before he’s grabbing your hips and adjusting them into the air. his sharp eyes take in your bruised pussy that’s clenching around nothing.

he lets his leaking cockhead rub against your pussy for a few moments. he shudders when his thick pre cum mixes with your arousal, creating a beautiful canvas. you’re whining and cooing out to him, he takes not of you growing impatient and taking it upon yourself to move your hips in desperate attempts that his dick would enter you.

“desperate girl.” he tuts before lining his dick up and slamming his dick back inside of you.

you let a deafening scream as your pussy streams out liquid. he immediately pulls out and rubs his length through the mess you’re creating.

"gooood girl. mhm cum all on m'dick. jus' like that." he coos at you. "gonna gimme some more? hm?" he asks while bracing his cock for your tight walls.

you whimper out something unintagible as you fix your arch once again. just the thought of him scolding you for not listening put a sense of uneasiness in your body. you wanted to continue being his good girl.

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nestled in a sea of soft, spiraling sheets and flat pillows, your soft breathing created a peaceful, rhythmic lullaby in the room. your chest's soft rise and fall resembled the waves' gentle rise and fall on a calm beach. your shape was nestled into the motel bed, which provided a false sense of haven from the outer world. toji gives your body a once over. he had really done a number on you. your body is littered with bites and bruises from him gripping you too hard. and somehow through all his negligence and however rough he was with you, you continued to moan and beg for more.

he told himself he was done with one night stands. god damnit. and then here you go walking into the bar with those needy ass doe eyes. he could smell the youthfulness on you. a twenty year old prissy girl with no true understanding of how ugly the world actually is.

toji exhaled while being lost in his own world as he stood outside the dimly illuminated motel room, wisps of smoke swirling around him. the light from his cigarette flickered with every breath, highlighting his face in the shadows.

he'd be lying if he said it didn't feel good. having a fine thing begging for more of his cock, the way you gripped the sheets whenever the overstimulation got too much to deal with, your choked sobs as he brought you to a place you've probably never reached before. a smirk tugged on his lips. you made him feel young again, that's for sure.

he could feel his phone buzzing in his pocket, it's possibly his boss who has found a shady job for toji to do. usually, he would've accepted in seconds but the thought of you halted him from doing so. this motel was located in a rather dangerous location and toji would feel like shit if he was listening to the news one day and found out some criminal got to you. he decides he'll walk you to a safer area before the two of you part ways.

his heart thumps hard in chest when he realizes this is the first and last time you two would ever do something like this. he enjoyed your smart replies and the fake confidence you put up at the bar. even more so, he enjoyed the size difference between you two. he dwarfs you in every way. he was practically throwing you around like some ragdoll and you took it. you took it all and that shit is fascinating to toji.

he tilts his head back, a cloud of smoke escapes through his mouth and into the air. that was一fun. he decides.

[thsillystringbeanscribbler]

Bunny Slippers

Summary: While on the hunt for their dad the Winchester brothers are encouraged by Bobby to reach out to an old hunting buddy of John and Bobby. The trip leads to meeting not only a rugged hunter which is a missing puzzle piece to their dad's disappearance but also got to make the acquaintance of his lovely daughter.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader [ OC ]

Warnings: mostly fluff with a sprinkle of possible violence or angst, maybe slow burn (i'm not too sure)

Word Count: 4,685 words

Author's Note: This is my first ever fanfiction. I dont really know how to write y/n so oc is all you're getting. I recently discovered the world of Supernatural and I am in love. This story takes place during Season 1, it doesn't really follow the story line and there might be some lore in accuracies. Please be kind, and I hope you enjoy my little story.

image from Pinterest

With Bobby's wise counsel and the elusive hints scattered in John's journal, he implored the brothers to seek out Rob Blackburn, who could potentially steer them toward John. Rob, as Bobby explained, wasn't just an ally; he was a long-time comrade of both John Winchester and Bobby, often accompanying them on perilous hunts. Armed with this knowledge, Sam and Dean embarked on their journey to Boston in the trusty Impala. Dean took the wheel, immersing himself in the thumping beats of rock and roll, while Sam, map in hand, navigated the labyrinth of roads leading to Robert Blackburn's whereabouts. The pages of John's journal rustled in the background, revealing his own trek to Massachusetts, where he had joined forces with Rob to confront a formidable Wendigo.

In the early autumn morning, the Impala turned down the street of the Blackburn home, the epitome of historical charm found in Boston. The townhouse stands out with its red brick facade, large curved windows adorned with black shutters, and stately black entrance doors. Wrought iron railings line the stone steps leading up to the front doors, and mature trees along the sidewalk cast dappled shadows onto the cobblestone street. The vehicle comes to a halt in front of the winsome townhouse, with its elegance further accentuated by the cascading wisteria, lending a touch of natural beauty to the urban setting.

Dean cut the engine, his gaze shifting from the Blackburn residence to his brother. Sam, peering at Dean, broke the silence with his characteristic intensity. "So, think you're ready to face whatever's in there?" he asked, his voice tinged with both concern and determination.

Dean responded with his usual bravado, a smirk playing on his lips. "Ready? Sam, I was born ready. Let's do this." His tone was confident, almost playful, yet underscored by the seriousness of their mission.

Moving in unison, the brothers climbed the steps to the Blackburn residence. A silent exchange of resolve passed between them as Dean turned to face the ominous black door. He pressed the doorbell, and for a moment, there was only silence. Impatient, Dean began to knock forcefully, intent on getting an answer.

Before he could knock again, hurried footsteps approached from inside. The door swung open to reveal a petite, dishevelled woman. Her light auburn curls were hastily tied atop her head, and her sleepy green eyes, magnified by tortoise-rimmed circle glasses, blinked at the unexpected visitors. Dean's gaze travelled over her, taking in the oversized Van Halen band t-shirt, the long flannel Batman pyjama pants tucked into mismatched white tube socks, and the pink bunny slippers, all indicating she had indeed just rolled out of bed.

The woman, stifling a yawn and crossing her arms defensively, addressed them with a groggy, gravelly voice. "Hello? Can I help you with something?" Her sleepy demeanour contrasted sharply with the urgency of their visit. 

The faintest hint of a smile played across Dean's face, a touch of warmth amidst the crisp Boston morning. The dishevelled stranger before him, a haphazardly charming vision in her comic book pyjamas and mismatched socks, sparked a flicker of amusement in his hunter's gaze. She couldn't be much older than Sam, he mused, who was barely past the threshold of twenty-two himself.

Clearing his throat, Dean straightened up a little, his eyes locking onto hers with an earnest steadiness. "Morning," he started, his voice carrying the signature gravel of a man used to long nights and the roar of a V8 engine. "Sorry to wake you, but we're looking for Rob Blackburn. The thing is," he paused, the weight of their search momentarily tightening his features, "our dad was working a case with him, and now... Dad's gone off the grid. We were hoping Rob might have some answers."

He watched her closely, not just for her response, but for any sign, any tell that might unravel the mystery of their father's whereabouts.

The woman's head tilted slightly, causing a few untamed curls to escape her hastily made morning bun. She squinted at Dean, her eyebrows knitting together in a puzzled frown. As her gaze shifted between Dean and Sam, a hint of wariness crept into her expression. "Sorry," she murmured, her free hand sliding under her glasses to rub at a sleepy eye. "But who are you guys, exactly?" she asked, her lips pursed slightly, clearly waiting for an explanation.

Dean met her gaze squarely, his expression a blend of seriousness and charm. "Name's Dean and this towering figure here is my brother, Sam," he said with a hint of a smirk. "We're here looking for Rob. You might know him through our dad, John Winchester. They go way back, and it's kind of important we talk to him." His tone carried the urgency of their quest, yet remained respectful, acknowledging the oddity of their early morning visit.

Her eyebrows lifted from their puzzled frown as the name John Winchester sparked a flicker of recognition in her features. Hesitating for a moment, she leaned slightly forward, peering past Sam and Dean to scan the street. Her green eyes settled on the shiny black Chevy parked in front of the house. Dean, noticing her gaze, followed it to the Impala.

With his trademark flirtatious smile, Dean couldn't resist a playful comment. "Hey, if you're interested, I could show you what she's really capable of," he said, nodding towards the Impala. The woman's eyes snapped back to Dean, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. Realizing how his words might have sounded, Dean quickly clarified with a cheeky grin, "The Impala, I mean. A ride in the car."

She nodded silently, her cheeks now a deeper shade of red. A bit flustered, she stuttered, "Uh–" but then, meeting Sam's hazel eyes, she paused, took a deep breath, and regained her composure. "I'll be right back," she said before gently closing the door.

Dean left staring at the black door, perked up his ears as he heard her voice escalate inside, calling out, "Dad! The Winchesters are here!" After a brief silence, her voice rose again, more insistent this time, "DAD!"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look of surprise at the volume of her shout. The response came in the form of a deep, muffled reply from within. The door creaked open again, and the woman offered an awkward smile. "He'll be down so–"

Before she could finish, a tall, muscular man in plaid flannel pyjama pants and a simple grey t-shirt descended the stairs. He stood imposingly behind her, his voice deep and gravelly. "Mornin'," he greeted, eyeing the brothers. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Definitely John's boys," he observed as he extended his hand.

Dean grasped his hand firmly. "Dean," he introduced himself with a nod.

Sam followed suit, shaking Rob's hand. "Sam. It's good to meet you."

Rob's genuine smile broadened. "Rob. Nice to finally meet you boys. John's told me a lot about you two."

In the midst of the heartfelt introductions, Rob's daughter slipped out under her father's arm, who was now holding the door open. He quickly turned his head to call after her, "Jay, boil the water. We're gonna need some coffee."

Rob then stepped aside, inviting them in. "C'mon in," he said, glancing once more at the street as the brothers entered. "Damn, is that John's Impala?" he asked, intrigued.

Dean turned back to Rob, a hint of pride in his voice. "Actually, she's mine now. Dad left her to me. She's got more history and miles on her than most cars on the road. Runs like a dream, though." His words were laced with respect and a touch of nostalgia for both the car and his father.

The boys followed the barefoot Rob Blackburn into his living room. The space was a testament to a life well-lived and richly layered, a striking balance between the modern and the memorabilia of yesteryear. They stepped through the wooden archway, and Dean's gaze swept the room—a harmony of contemporary and eclectic tastes.

The living room was bathed in morning sunlight from a large, bay window framing the greenery and wisteria blossoms outside, its grandeur contrasted by the cozy array of furniture. A plush, dark green sofa accented with earth-toned pillows invited comfort and long conversations. Across the room, a pair of vintage armchairs stood guard, their fabric hinting at a past era. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, a ladder poised as if in mid-ascent, suggesting a world of knowledge and stories just out of reach. In the center, a stately wooden coffee table bore the weight of books and vases, while a Persian rug beneath whispered tales of ancient craftsmanship.

Above the mantel, a flat-screen TV was mounted, an anachronism amid the classical vibe. The mantle itself was a gallery of personal history, with frames marching across its length like milestones. Dean's eyes traced the journey of the dishevelled girl named Jay through frozen moments: school plays, graduations, and candid laughter.

One photograph, in particular, seized Dean's attention, squeezing his heart with the force of a long-forgotten song. There, captured in the stillness of time, was a young woman with auburn curls, her arm casually draped over a youthful Mary Winchester. Beside her, a younger Rob stood with an easy stance, and on the other side, John Winchester's smile reached out, as bright and as real as if he were standing in the room with them.

Dean found his voice, roughened by the swell of memory. "You've got quite the place here, Rob. Feels like a home that's seen a lot of good times," he said, his eyes not leaving the photograph.

Rob, following Dean's gaze, nodded with a touch of nostalgia. "Yeah, it's been through a lot. Every piece has a story, especially those photos," he said, his voice softening. "That one there," he pointed to the photograph that held Dean's gaze, "was from a summer BBQ we had right after John got back from a tour. Good times indeed, Dean.”

With a comforting pat on Dean's shoulder, Rob motioned towards the dark green sofa. "Please, take a seat," he said in a voice that carried the warmth of a seasoned host. Sam was already lounging there, looking every bit the part of a man ready to delve into matters of gravity and ghosts. Rob's towering presence moved towards one of the vintage armchairs, his movements measured and graceful. He sank into the chair with the ease of a man in his own sanctuary.

Dean observed Rob, taking in the rugged features that spoke of a life lived much like their father's—on the road, but always returning home. The man sitting across from him had a face that bore the marks of laughter and squinting against the sun, a generous beard that was well kept but suggested it could tell stories of its own. His hair, though tousled from sleep, had the hint of waves, and the light caught the flecks of gray that ran through it like silver threads in a tapestry. There was a certain comfort in his ruggedness, an unspoken kinship that Dean recognized well.

Rob caught Dean's gaze and chuckled, a sound that seemed to reverberate around the room. "My apologies, if I'd known Johnny's boys would be showing up on my doorstep, I'd have made myself presentable," he said, his fingers raking through his hair in a vain attempt to tame it.

Their conversation was paused as Jay quietly made her entrance, her arms full with an offering of steaming mugs. Dean's eyes followed her every step, noting the careful balance as she placed the coffee on the table with precision. The small, satisfied smile that danced across her lips made Dean's own lips twitch in response. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a look of comical frustration.

Jay stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes closed, speaking through gritted teeth. "I was so proud of not spilling coffee, I forgot people might want milk and sugar too."

Dean leaned forward, picked up one of the mugs, and met her frustrated gaze with a reassuring smile. "Don't sweat it, Jay. I take my coffee black as midnight on a moonless night," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "It's the best way to kick-start the day, especially when there's work to be done." He took a sip, letting the rich bitterness of the coffee linger, a stark contrast to the gentle chaos of the morning.

Jay—no, Julia—looked momentarily taken aback, an unspoken question flickering in her eyes about Dean's use of her nickname. Before she could voice it, Rob intervened with a throaty chuckle that broke the brief silence. "Dean, Sam, if it wasn't already apparent, this spirited individual is my daughter Julia."

Julia's expression folded into a mix of amusement and mild embarrassment at her father's words. "Introductions must've slipped my mind earlier," Rob added, his eyes twinkling with paternal amusement.

With a graceful motion that seemed to betray her earlier fluster, Julia tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Was a bit scattered, to be honest," she admitted as a soft hue painted her cheeks.

He offered her a warm, appreciative smile, and she, in turn, blushed a shade deeper, hastily picking up the one mug that held coffee lightened with milk. "Anyway, I'm—" she started, her voice trailing off as she backed away, thumbing in the direction of the staircase, "—going to get dressed."

With that, Julia turned, her retreat up the stairs as quick as it was quiet, leaving the conversation to hang in the warm, coffee-scented air of the living room.

The trio settled into an easy silence, the kind that speaks of understanding rather than discomfort. Eventually, Rob broke the stillness, setting his coffee cup down with a soft clink. "Not that I'm complaining about having John's boys over," he began, his voice even and curious, "but what brings you to my door?"

Sam, always the one to dive into the details, took the lead. "Well, Rob, from what we've pieced together with Bobby's input and clues from Dad's journal, it seems John was here in Boston not too long ago. He was helping you out with a wendigo situation," he explained. "You might have been one of the last people to see him. Now, Dean and I are crisscrossing the country, trying to track him down."

Dean, meanwhile, was only half-listening, his mind wandering as he sipped the robust black coffee. His thoughts were momentarily caught up with Julia—her surprising affinity for classic rock band shirts, her effortless command of the room, despite her earlier disarray. There was an allure there that Dean couldn't quite dismiss.

Realizing he needed to jump back into the conversation, he met Rob's gaze over the rim of his mug. "So, any chance Julia might know something that could help us out?" he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of hope. It was a thinly veiled attempt to weave Julia back into their narrative—perhaps more for another encounter than actual investigative purposes.

Rob leaned back, a faint smile playing on his lips as he cradled his mug. "Julia? She wasn't really involved with the hunting side of things with John. She's the brains, does all the research," he began, but the strains of Led Zeppelin suddenly filled the room, filtering through the walls of Julia’s bedroom, in a muffled but unmistakable riff.

He laughed, a low, rich sound, and shook his head affectionately. "Yeah, she's a history major. She’s got her nose usually buried in old books. But she did dig into the Wendigo lore while John was around. Spent a few hours picking his brain, so it might be worth a shot to ask her," Rob conceded, acknowledging the potential value in speaking with his daughter once more.

As the sun arced higher in the sky outside the arch window, time seemed to fold in on itself within the Blackburn residence. The conversation ebbed and flowed naturally, the brothers and Rob exchanging tales and theories about the elusive Wendigo. Engrossed in the retelling, they barely noticed the passage of time until the Led Zeppelin anthem that had been humming in the background abruptly ceased. A hush fell over the house, and Dean couldn't help but cast a puzzled look towards Rob, who appeared unfazed by the sudden silence, continuing his story with the ease of a man accustomed to the unpredictable soundtrack of a busy household.

Dean's attention was drawn towards the hallway as a flash of red caught his eye—a pair of Converse sneakers, the unmistakable hallmark of a casual yet deliberate style. As Julia came into view, his gaze instinctively followed the line of her high-waisted jeans up to her neatly tucked-in white shirt. Gone was the disarray of the morning; in its place stood Julia, transformed. Her light auburn curls, now tamed and flowing gracefully down her back, framed a face of calm composure.

She paused in the archway, and for a moment, there was a silent exchange as Dean's eyes met hers—no longer sleepy, but sharp and full of life.

Rob, seizing the opportunity, looked up at his daughter with a mix of pride and practicality. "Perfect timing, Jay. Do you recall any of the details from when John helped out with the Wendigo case? I'd take a stab at finding the research in the office, but I still can't make heads or tails of your organization system."

Julia's lips pursed lightly, a subtle indication she was preparing to delve into her mental archives, but before she could articulate her thoughts, Rob interjected with decisiveness. "Great, I'll go get changed, and you can show the boys what you've got."

Julia nodded, a silent agreement to take the lead, and Dean couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for the way she navigated her father's expectations with grace. There was more to Julia than met the eye, and Dean was keen to uncover the depths of her knowledge—not just for the sake of their quest, but perhaps, for the simple pleasure of her company.

As Rob ascended the stairs, Julia began gathering the empty coffee mugs with an efficiency that spoke of routine. She gave Sam and Dean a quick, playful grin. "I'll just drop these off in the kitchen, then we can dive into the research. Hope you're ready for a bit of a deep dive," she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of excitement about the task ahead. She turned on her heel, the cups clinking softly as she vanished down the hall.

Dean watched her go, an appreciative gleam in his eye. Sam, catching this all-too-familiar look, turned his entire body to face his brother, his expression a blend of warning and wisdom.

"Dean, I'm gonna say this once: tread carefully, man," Sam advised, leaning in slightly to emphasize his point.

Dean turned to his brother, feigning innocence. "What are you talking about, Sammy?"

Sam fixed Dean with a knowing look, the kind that only a lifetime of brotherhood could perfect. "Julia. I see that look in your eyes," he cautioned, his voice serious but not unkind.

A roguish smirk danced across Dean's face, his thoughts lingering on the spark he'd felt during their brief interactions. "Can't help it if there's a mutual spark. And come on, Sam—she's smart, she's into Zeppelin, and she's got that whole natural beauty thing going on. It's not just me," Dean defended with a casual shrug, trying to brush off the gravity of Sam's warning with his characteristic nonchalance.

Julia reemerged with a swift grace, pausing at the doorway, her demeanor alight with the thrill of sharing her world. The excitement seemed to emanate from her, an infectious energy that promised revelations and secrets held within her scholarly trove. As Sam and Dean stood, ready to be led into her realm of research, Sam's encouragement was both genuine and anticipatory.

"Rob mentioned you're quite the expert. Can't wait to see the treasures you've been working on," he said, his kind smile acknowledging her expertise.

Julia's response was tinged with humility and appreciation. "That's really nice of you to say," she replied, leading the way up the stairs with a lightness in her step that suggested she was as eager to share as they were to learn.

Reaching the second-floor landing, they were greeted by the impressive sight of a bookshelf that seemed to serve both as a doorway and a guardian of knowledge. Passing through the archway, both Winchesters couldn't help but pause, struck by the beauty of the room that unfolded before them.

They were surrounded by the warmth of aged wood and the silent stories of countless tomes. A built-in window seat nestled against a bay window offered a view of the soft purple wisteria blossoms framing the glass. The room was steeped in the warmth of vintage charm and the whispered stories of countless books. The walls are lined with towering shelves, crafted from dark, polished wood that gleams under the soft golden hue of strategically placed lamps. Each shelf is a testament to a bibliophile's passion, densely packed with books of varying sizes, their spines creating a colourful mosaic that speaks to years of collection and care.

In one corner, a plush armchair sits invitingly, upholstered in a rich, patterned fabric that echoes the bygone era of Victorian elegance. Next to it, a small table holds a crystal decanter of amber liquid and matching glasses, alongside a pile of well-thumbed novels, suggesting a perfect nook for sipping and reading. The heavy curtains pulled back from a large window allow the gentle light to filter in, casting a serene glow over the scene.

Despite the room's orderly foundations, there's a deliberate messiness to it that adds character. Stacks of books and papers teeter precariously on every available surface, including the floor, where a worn Persian rug lays as a testament to the many hours spent lost in literature. The desk is a landscape of creative chaos, with open books, notes scribbled on loose papers, and a vintage typewriter pushed to one side to make room for a modern laptop, showing the blend of old and new.

Unique artifacts are nestled among the books: a vintage globe, a brass telescope, and curious trinkets like skulls and antique scissors, each with its own untold backstory. The space is a sanctuary of knowledge, history, and personal quirks, inviting you to explore its depths, both literary and personal.

As Julia completed a graceful pirouette, her arms outstretched to present the room, her eyes met theirs with a spark of shared understanding. "This is where the magic happens," she declared, her smile as genuine as the passion that clearly fueled her pursuit of knowledge. The invitation was clear, and the Winchesters stepped into her world, ready to be enchanted by the magic of her making.

The effervescent joy Julia exuded was infectious, and Dean found himself basking in a reflected glow of happiness as he watched her navigate the room. He leaned against the doorway, observing her as she gathered an armful of papers and books, her movements a dance of efficiency amid the charming chaos. With a deft hand, she rehomed the collected clutter atop another table already brimming with the weight of research.

"Here," she sang out, her voice carrying the lightness of a melody, as she flitted from one end of the room to the other, her presence transforming the space into something ethereal. She was like a sprite in her own domain, orchestrating the energy of the room with every sweep of her arm.

Sam and Dean approached the cleared chairs with a hint of hesitation, not wanting to disturb the artful disorder of her workspace. They settled into the seats, and Julia paused in her bustling, resting a hand on the back of Dean's chair. For a moment, she stood still, lost in thought, and Dean found himself enveloped in the subtle scent that clung to her—pistachio, perhaps, and something sweetly salted, like caramel. It was warm and inviting, and his heart thrummed a little faster in his chest as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Julia's contemplative silence broke, and she turned her gaze to meet Sam's, her expression earnest. "I have a lot of material on the Wendigo—notes, theories, patterns. John had me assist him with something else, too," she confided, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "But before I share anything, you have to promise not to tell my dad. He tends to be... overly protective about certain things."

Her eyes lingered on Sam, seeking an assurance of confidentiality, an unspoken pact between them. Dean felt a tug of curiosity, an eagerness to delve into the knowledge she held, and he nodded in silent agreement, keenly aware of the trust she was placing in their hands.

Sam met Julia's earnest gaze, understanding the gravity of her request. He nodded, a silent promise etched into the gesture. "You have our word, Julia. Whatever you share with us stays between us," Sam assured her, his tone underscored with the seriousness of a sworn oath.

Dean, who had been momentarily caught in the sensory spell of Julia's presence, now anchored himself in the moment, the importance of her trust not lost on him. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking with hers, reinforcing the vow. "We've kept secrets bigger than a bunker," he said, a soft, conspiratorial edge to his voice. "Your research is safe with us."

Julia, seemingly satisfied with their assurance, pulled a deep breath before she began, her eyes momentarily flitting to the ceiling as if gathering the threads of her thoughts. "Okay," she started, her voice now a hushed whisper, "John and I were looking into some lore—old, obscure stuff, not just your run-of-the-mill monster tales. It's about something much older, something he was tracking long before the Wendigo."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Julia spoke, the brothers leaning in, captivated by the prelude to secrets yet untold. The promise they had made bound them to this space, to the words that were about to unfold, weaving them into the fabric of Julia's clandestine work.

With the silence of one well-versed in the quietude of libraries, Julia drifted towards the bay window, her figure briefly silhouetted against the gentle light. She took a swift left into a nook, where a ceiling-high cupboard was nestled like a secret chamber within the room. Sam and Dean sat in anticipation, their ears tuned to the soft hum of her tune, punctuated by the rustle of papers as she rummaged within the cupboard's depths.

The cupboard doors clicked shut, and Julia returned to the table, her arms wrapped around a thick brown accordion folder that seemed to challenge her with its heft. With careful steps, she approached, placing the folder on the table before sliding into the last remaining chair—inevitably, the one next to Dean.

As she scooted her chair in, the proximity brought a subtle contact; her knee brushed against Dean's, a fleeting touch that sent a heightened awareness coursing through him. Julia opened the folder with a sense of ceremony, unleashing a cascade of notebooks and papers, each leaf carrying the weight of diligent inquiry.

Sam immediately delved into one of the notebooks, his eyes scanning the bubbly script and the stark sketches that accompanied the text. Dean, however, remained focused on Julia, his curiosity piqued not just by the research but by the researcher herself.

"So, what was it my dad had you digging into?" Dean inquired, his voice low and earnest, inviting confidence.

Julia's gaze lifted to meet his, a current of intensity passing between them. "A demon," she began, her voice barely above a murmur, as if the very word might invoke the creature's attention. Her eyes flicked to Sam's, ensuring she had both brothers' undivided attention, before she continued, "The Yellow-Eyed Demon."

To be continued . . .

Chapter Two

[pang3l]

What I Think The Shadows House Characters Would Wear In The Modern Times

Based on @sonar-waves post <- Emilico, Kate, Barbara, Barbie, Maryrose, and Rosemary is here

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Louise would likely embrace bold, eye-catching fashion. She might wear statement pieces like a bright-colored dress with ruffles or a matching set with an oversized blazer. She isn’t afraid to go big with accessories, either—think large earrings, bold makeup, and the trendiest handbag!

Lou would gravitate toward clean, monochromatic looks that emphasize simplicity and elegance. She'd likely wear outfits that would focus on neutral tones like white, beige, or black, with minimal accessories—perhaps just a delicate necklace or a sleek leather bag. She might opt for pointed flats or ankle boots to complete her look.

John would probably be relaxed and practical, with a rugged edge. He’d likely wear a well-worn denim jacket over a graphic tee, paired with distressed jeans or cargo pants. Footwear would be sturdy—either boots or high-top sneakers.

Shaun would lean towards a preppy, put-together style with a vintage twist. He might wear a sweater vest over a button-down shirt, paired with chinos or tailored trousers. His outfits would often include layering, with a focus on classic patterns like plaid or argyle. Accessories could include a leather watch or a newsboy cap, and his shoes would be polished loafers or brogues.

Patrick would have a more refined and classic style, with a preference for tailored clothing. He might wear a well-fitted blazer over a crisp dress shirt, paired with tailored trousers and polished oxfords. His color palette would be more muted and sophisticated, with an emphasis on grays, navy blues, and other classic colors.

Ricky's style is all about combining sleek, modern elements with a touch of sophistication. He would likely go for layered looks like a crisp shirt or turtleneck under a structured jacket or coat. His color palette would stay within the range of grays, blacks, and beiges.

[serene-faerie]

Doriathrim (plus Beren and Túrin) as Aesthetics

Thingol— towering pine trees, fireflies, a sharp jawline, stern yet gentle eyes, baroque architecture, glittering caves, majestic stags, hands as strong and firm as stone, sweet pomegranates, red wine and roasted meat, neat handwriting, the smell of pine, a melodic baritone voice, kohl-lined eyes that make them sharper, a raised eyebrow to convey displeasure and anger, silver jewelry, neatly-combed hair, diamonds, hunting boots, hugs that linger, well-loved books with folded pages, loving one’s family, autumn leaves, wolves howling at night, tall grass, a great waterfall, graceful postures, roasted game meat, white horses, flowing robes, piercing gazes, soft humming, classical music, unyielding morals, the color of the sky at dusk.

Melian— clear night skies, knowing smiles, the silver light of a waxing moon, braided dark hair, a clear and crystalline voice, elegant harp music, deep-pink jewels, soft hands, flowing gowns, loving gazes, kisses on the forehead, motherly hugs, laughter that sounds like music, white wine, moonflowers, the smell of earth after rain, forest walks, bird watching, dark eyes filled with ancient wisdom, a gentle spring breeze, the pink skies of dawn, romantic paintings, lavender flowers, always knowing what to say, birds in the trees, a flowing river, a graceful doe, blackberries, whispered singing, eyes crinkling with joy, ever present sorrow.

Beren— golden sunlight, forest bathing, leather boots, sword-calloused hands that touch gently, long, tousled brown hair, hardened yet sorrowful eyes, smiles as warm as summer, green cloaks, the smell of amber and cloves, sleeping beneath trees, hearty laughter, falling in love at first sight, a courageous spirit, a rough but warm voice, promising to protect those he loves, loving despite losing everyone dear, patching up injuries, lingering touches, dancing among the flowers, wild berries, fiery sunsets, warm hugs, brown bears, scarred muscles, hand kisses, vows to protect, the coming of summer, forest meadows, reverent whispers of love, admiring gazes, sweet wine, campfires.

Lúthien— starry skies, soft skin, long and loose dark hair, flower crowns, carefree smiles, eyes full of starlight, a voice like crystal, laughter as warm as summer nights, blue gowns, bare feet, ballet dancing, rosy lips, nightingales in the trees, shimmering purple eyeshadow, loving with one’s whole heart, jasmine flowers, red cherries, the smell of lilacs, the loving warmth of spring, sparkling jewels, meadows in the springtime, gentle hand-holding, butterfly kisses, elderflower cordial, sleeping amidst flowers, breaking out of the shell, soft singing, summer storms, april showers, a light in the darkness, a courageous heart, the pale blue morning skies.

Dior— dark, tousled hair, bright eyes, sparkly jewelry, a rugged elegance, a young fawn, mischievous smiles, blue jays, close bonds with family, witty comebacks, blueberries, sharp teeth dripping with blood, righteous fury, defending one’s home to the death, childhood lullabies, swimming in rivers, stargazing, crackling fires, the smell of musk, challenging death head-on, gleaming swords, blood moons, silver rings on each finger, collecting rain in cupped palms, raspberry tea, cicadas buzzing at dusk, the warm caress of a late spring breeze, thunderstorms, flashes of lightning, violent winds.

Nimloth— flushed cheeks, long silver hair, eyes with a gleam both faint and fierce, cunning smiles, loving fiercely, flower garlands, green gowns, careful hands, the new moon, emerald jewelry, golden earrings, bathing in forest rivers, protecting family with one’s life, sharp blades, a mother bear, white flowers, floral tea, strawberries, thrushes, holly leaves, blood upon one’s cheeks, torn dresses, the cool air of dawn, honey cakes, killing one’s enemy at the cost of one’s life, embroidered sheets, cherry-red lipstick, no regrets, victory in death, dying with a smile upon one’s face.

Elwing— white seagulls, wavy dark hair, eyes that are hardened by grief and pain, glowing gems, blue ocean waves, collecting seashells, waters glittering with starlight, a quiet, firm voice, hands that tremble ever so slightly, thick blankets, a gentle sea breeze, gazing out at the sea, warm honey tea, bread and apricot jam, candlelight by the bed, fingertips stained with ink, counting the stars, a worn plush toy, white feathers, a heart burdened with sorrow, finding joy in the smallest things, whispered lullabies to oneself, the pale blue dawn, the smell of the sea, jewelry of silver and pearls, beachside walks with one’s family.

Daeron— wooden flutes, bookshelves with worn books, cursive handwriting, candlelight upon desks, quiet ambient music, a light, clear voice, quiet humming to oneself, a cool autumn breeze, falling asleep at a desk, a crown of leaves, seasonal poetry, flowing rivers, soft hair, lush green grass, pining silently, wandering the earth, living in solitude, the passing of spring, songwriting, warm tea with spices, trying to do what is right, loving one’s home, loyalty to one’s lord, eloquent fingers, singing at parties, knowing exactly what to say at the right time, midsummer nights.

Beleg— hair in a ponytail, feather-tipped arrows, fingerless gloves, keen eyes, silent footsteps, kind smiles, brotherly hugs, deer hunting, sleeping under trees, silver bracelets, cherishing the bonds of friendship, frost upon tree branches, the chill of winter, brown owls, icicles from rooftops, morning mist in the trees, roasted game meat, thick scarves, falling snow, frozen waters, rainy nights, thunderclouds, forgiving, tragic poetry, suppressing one’s emotions, polished hunting boots, bird calls, carvings in tree trunks, loving someone for their flaws, kisses on hands, goodbye kisses, lips stained with blood.

Mablung— sharpened knives, a silent hunter, worn leather boots, even-tempered, always trying to keep a level head, a calming voice, sad smiles, making tea for others, late night hunting trips, strong hands, caverns that echo, light-footedness, elegant yet broken spears, always being the bearer of bad news, giving advice that is never listened to, windswept hair, the smell of bergamot and ginger, a heart weighed by sadness, bittersweet farewells, the thick morning fog, black ravens, mud upon one's cheeks, riverside walks, horse riding through forests, respect and love for one's superiors, fighting to defend one's home.

Túrin— long dark hair, turbulent scowls, sharp eyes full of righteous anger and pain, alcohol, poor decisions, black tea, bedtime stories, tiny smiles, laughter that is scarcely heard, carving wooden animals with a knife, clothes stained with blood, heart racing with adrenaline, lightning, the rumbling of thunder, a hoarse and deep voice, solitude, abandoned cities, shattered mirrors, unyielding stubbornness and pride, words that can cut deep, quick to anger, loving deeply, passionate about justice, running barefoot across the grass, wilted flowers, withered trees, lucid dreaming, dark colors, restlessness, heavy boots, hooded capes, gleaming black swords, tears of anger and bitterness, cloudy skies.

Nellas— robins, three-leafed clovers, tall grass, sleeping in the trees, daisies, red apples, messy braids, short and loose dresses, walking barefoot, freckled cheeks, eyes as warm as the sun, feeding the squirrels, uncaring of anyone's opinions, loving the woodland creatures, the countryside, herds of deer, clusters of poppies, playing hide-and-seek in the forest, folklore stories of animals that speak, dirt under fingernails, crisp air, muddy feet, stargazing from the tallest trees, shy smiles, red foxes, red maple trees, rosy cheeks, a cute button nose, quiet observation, dried leaves in tangled hair, hushed whispers, secret giggles.

Oropher— tall oak trees, loose silver hair, a heart full of unending grief, glittering deep green robes, memorial shrines carved in stone, rosemary and heather, climbing vines, the smell of incense, loves the forest, anger that quietly simmers, a piercing glare to silence unwanted chatter, firm but gentle hands, the sound of rushing rivers, only trusting those who have earned it, quills dipped in ink, leather-bound journals, a compelling voice, silvery light, vast, old-growth forests, black bears, always keeping promises, grey-blue eyes, a mind haunted by memory, reluctant alliances, firm and unwavering principles, late night reading, being slow to forgive, tales of the past, bitter nostalgia, night skies fading into dawn.

Thranduil— a crown of oak leaves and woodland flowers, sweet and fruity wine, tall and dark forests, the crisp chill of early winter, high ceilings, a gleaming sword with a golden hilt, a silver necklace with white jewels, autumn berries, family hunting trips, joyous feasts late into the night, loving the forest through all the seasons, rings of silver and gold, silver eyeshadow, sharp eyeliner that enhances one's eyes, pale straight hair, a heart weighed with bittersweet melancholy, gently rocking a baby's cradle, long hours in the library, a marvellous deer, shimmering eyeshadow, disdain shown through raised eyebrows, the smell of autumn leaves, silk robes, stories about the forests and the stars, befriending the woodland creatures, loving those who are lost.

[im-poltergeist]

Towers and Thorns

tags: bodyguard!Ghost x royal!reader, older Ghost, first fic, might be crappy idk, multiple parts, might be nsfw down the line, english is not my first language so feel free to correct me. 🌻

Part 1 🌻 Part 2 🌻 Part 3

Your heels click against the polished stone floor with every step that you take. Heavy thuds from boots coming closer behind you.

“I was just wondering when you’d join me”, you say to the man behind you.

“Had to have a laugh at your poor time management skills”, Ghost replies, falling in to step with you.

“Hilarious.” You roll your eyes.

“Always am, your highness.”

Ghost opens the door to the grand dining hall with his head bowed to you. You walk in, a polite smile with teeth. To make it seen genuine. Or something. The wall opposite you has portraits of previous rulers. Ranging from the one before your mother to one from as early as the 18 hundreds. All in neat but extravagant golden frames. In front of the wall there is a long wooden table. Decorated cleanly with a white table cloth, flowers in pink and lilac and lit candles. At the tale sits your mother. A crown decorates her head. You bow your head to her and make your way towards the table around the edge of the room. If you’d look out the windows you’d see the flowerbeds in the garden. Full of red, white and pink roses. The afternoon sunlight casting the room in a warm yellow glow.

On your mothers left side sits the president, and on her right your father. There is an empty seat next to him. Your seat. You hurry towards the chair. Shooting your mother a quick apology as you pass by behind her. You sit down and smooth out your dress. Your father gives you a stern look.

“Sorry”, you mouth to him. He nods back. Apology accepted. You exhale. You look around at the other two tables. One to your left and the other to your right. The table to your right is designated to the families that are close to the crown. There’s the Callahans, the Makarovs and Marshall and his parents, ew. At the table to your right is, oh god no. Your cousins are sat smirking in your direction. Well, four out of five. You eldest cousin, Grace, keeps her head down. Gaze on the plate in front of her. She’s in a light pink dress that she thinks hides her already growing baby bump, it does nothing of the sort. A shadow passes behind her. No, not a shadow. A balaclava clad man who somehow blends in like a chameleon into the dim light of the dining hall. He’s a ghost alright.

“How kind of you to join us, your highness”, The president addresses. Earning him amused chuckles from various people in the room. Your eyes dart to him.

“I do sincerely apologize. I’m afraid that my poor time management skills have struck again”, you answer. Causing many people in the room to laugh. Including a snicker from behind you. The corners of your mouth twitch upward. The president chuckles. The tension in the room eases. The conversations start flowing and you let out a breath. Your mother and father are swept in to a conversation with the president. Theres a joke about tea. Something about a wall. You don't pay attention.

Your eyes wander around the room again. They sweep past your cousins towards the door. Next to the door stands Gaz, or Kyle, which is his real name. His dark skin and neatly trimmed hair fits in like a piece of a puzzle with the rest of the room. Elegant but with the touch of don't mess with me Im a bodyguard. Next to him on the other hand is a man who does the exact opposite. The mohawk on his head standing out like an eyesore. His slightly rugged look may be appealing to some woman. But in this context it stands out like a drop of blood on cotton. Even though thats the case he is far from ugly. Wait a minute. Isn't that? Yes its is. It is the bodyguard that Grace is rumored to have a relationship with. Why on earth is he here? We don't need the scandal to take fire once again. It has barley burned out.

You pry your eyes away from the man. Looking towards the table on your right instead. The Callahans are talking with the Makarovs about something you can't hear. Marshalls parents are listening in to the conversation. But Marshall himself is staring at you. Shooting you a cocky grin as your eyes meet his. You look away in disgust.

The first corse is served. It is some kind of soup with tiny vegetable squares floating around below the drizzle of oil. It tastes alright. It's nothing special. Apparently it's supposed to warm up the stomach before the main course. What nonsense. There are so many better options to serve as an appetizer. Especially when the President is visiting.

The main corse plays out the same way. Some kind of meat, grayish and dry. The royal family cant eat raw meat in case of food poisoning. You do it anyway. The chefs rules are much looser when the palace is empty of guests. The president keeps talking with your family. He goes on and on about something that you cant be bothered to listen to. Until your name is mentioned that is.

"What", you ask. Suddenly interested in the conversation.

"Would you consider yourself a republican or a liberal", the president asks you. The strained smile on his face tells you that it was the second time he asked.

"Im not allowed to vote, nor am i allowed to take a stand in politics", you answer. The answer had been drilled in to your very bones. You cant express yourself politically. Especially not right now.

"Come on. This is just a friendly conversation between two acquaintances. Theres no need to follow such formalities." He pushes. You clench your fist under the table. Why cant he just drop it. Your father tenses beside you as you open your mouth to speak.

"Like I said, I will not speak on the matter", you reply. A polite but stern answer. Your father relaxes again. The president laughs and says something about rule following and you stop listening again.

When dessert rolls around you would like to be anywhere but in the dining hall. Your cousins have had too much to drink. Probably something stronger than alcohol as well by the way they constantly disappear in to the bathroom and talk so loud that you can hear almost every word that they are saying. When you have finished your desert you politely excuse yourself to get some fresh air and hurry out of the dining hall.

When you get into the corridor outside of the big door you take a deep breath. It finally feels like you can get enough oxygen. You walk towards the garden. Fresh evening air cant hurt. The roses should be blooming. A hand grips your wrist and tugs.

taglist: @panikk-attackkk

[danika-redgrave124]

Umbra Witch Yuu

Tags: @sapphirepastries @twisted-dreamscape @fungifanart

Here are the Staff Weapons for Umbra Witch Yuu. Next will be the side Characters.

Dire Crowley

Raven's Requiem

Dual pistols designed with sleek, black feathers and intricate Raven motifs. Each pistol is adorned with shimmering, dark feathers that give them a mysterious, ominous appearance.

Flocks of Shadow: Unleashes a swarm of spectral crows that evelop enemies causing continous damage and reducing visibility. The crows boost Yuu's evasiveness and speed while active.

Divus Crewel (Cruella De Vil)

Couture Chic

Dual whips with luxurious black and white designs. The handles ate adorned with faux fur and elegant patterns. Strikes release stylish energy slashes and create a dazzling display of elegance.

Spotlight Fury: Unleashes a flurry of strikes that dazzle and confuse enemies, temporarily enhancing Yuu's speed and evasiveness with a touch of fashionable flair.

Mozus Trein (Lady Tremaine)

Wicked Stilettoos

Dual slender swords with ornate handles and sharp, needle-like blades. Strikes are precise and calculated, leaving behind a trail of dark Enchantments.

Enchanted Malice: Unleashes a flurry of attacks that caused enemies to turn on each other briefly, temporarily increasing Yuu's agility and causing confusion among enemies.

Ashton Vargas (Gaston)

Hunting Crossbow

A powerful crossbow with a rugged, hunting-inspired design and adorned with antlers. Strikes release explosive bolts and create shockwaves.

Hunter's Pride: Unleashes a barrage of explosive bolts that cause widespread damaged, temporarily increasing Yuu's strength and attack power.

Sam (Dr. Facilier)

Shadowed Voodoo

A staff gun adorned with voodoo symbols and glowing with dark magic. Strikes release shadowy tendrils and mystical hexes.

Shadow Conjuration: Summons shadowy spirits that curse enemies, draining their energy and temporarily boosting Yuu's magical abilities.

[noonstar-ranch]

A Wrathian Wedding

(((Welcome to Striker and Harper's wedding RP group event! It's a closed event, only for the ones invited to the wedding. Any of the guests can reblog and comment, please remember to tag the person your muse is talking with, no Godmodding, etc. The event will last for about two weeks, so no rush. Have fun!

Remember to reblog either this post or Harper's, tag the character/s your character is talking with 😉)))

Striker and Harper's wedding was set to unfold in a stunning, rustic setting behind their ranch, nestled in the heart of Wrath.

The venue, surrounded by the majestic Mesa, boasted towering red rock formations that created a breathtaking backdrop.

Rows of elegant chairs, adorned with a sophisticated blend of black and white flowers, had been carefully arranged to face a charming wooden "altar".

On either side of the seating area, cacti in full bloom showcased a vibrant array of colorful flowers, adding a touch of desert beauty to the scene.

The natural splendor of the Mesa, combined with the thoughtfully decorated setting, promised a perfect, picturesque location for their special day.

Striker was currently in a guest room, about an hour before the ceremony.

He and Harper couldn't risk seeing each other, after all.

It was the same room Susan had used the day before, after he and Harper had orchestrated a daring plan to smuggle her through security, out of Pentagram City, and into Wrath.

Now, with the thrill of that mission behind them, Striker prepared for a new adventure—their wedding, set against the rugged beauty of their home.

Striker stood in the guest room, his heart pounding with a mix of nervousness, excitement, and happiness.

Auntie Susie bustled around him, helping him get dressed.

He slid into a crisp white long-sleeved shirt, the fabric cool against his skin. Next, he buttoned up the silver-grey vest that fit snugly, its tailored lines giving him a sense of confidence.

He held up the lily-shaped cufflinks she had given him on his birthday, crafted from two of his bullets. Striker carefully fastened them to his sleeves, feeling the weight of their significance. With a deep breath, he placed his hat on his head, its brim freshly fixed for the occasion, and finally a white blazer.

He looked at Susan, smiling.

"What do ya think?"

@grandma-susan

@the-only-noonstar

@keenie-bopper

@second-wife-playbook

@the-delightful-temptation

@queenbeeibee

@king-of-wrath

@letsstaytuned

@paririeofmxses

[gothicbeastgirl]

Hello, hello!

Almost all of you know English is not my first language and I'm trying my best. I'm not quite familiar with victorian things but I want to be part of this beautiful fandom so here's my contribution.

I wanted to use another song (you can listen to it searching Lysandro San Valentin on YT) but it wasn't possible, so I chose this one bc I think it's beautiful too. You can listen while you read for a better experience (bc as I told you I'm not familiar with this and I wanted to ambience it more) if you got Spotify or in the link for YT. Hope you like it!

A young man dressed in a long aqua-colored jacket was walking from one side of the room to the other, annoyed, uncomfortable, and beautiful pink eyes followed him from one side to the other, with restrained words. He twisted the tips of his white sleeves, fearing that he would tear off the gold trim on his jacket if he fiddled with them too much. The silver-haired girl (his valet) watched his comings and goings. She cleared her throat but said nothing. She caught his attention and cast a look that was intended to be supportive, to convey love and affection, as well as calm, but she knew that wouldn't change the young man's anger. Her smile faded when there was a knock on the door and Chase jumped as he looked at it, his expression discomposed. Chase felt like the huge bottle-green living room was spinning around him very dequickly, that he would end up tripping over the pretty dark wood coffee table, and that he would be lucky if he landed on the brown sofa instead of on the valuable red, black and cream patterned rug, which he thought he would throw up on. One of the flaps of the large door next to the tall bookshelf full of books he hadn't read opened and the knot in his stomach tightened a little more.

Chase had been engaged to a woman he didn't know, it was one of those marriages of convenience between wealthy families, and he had to start courting her now that they had approved their marriage. He didn't know what she looked like physically, he didn't know what her name was or how old she was, much less what things she liked. He only knew that he had to learn to dance for the ball they had prepared, where they would announce their union to the rest of the members of high society.

Chase sighed, and was glad he did, because when the person he was waiting for finally entered the room, his breathing stopped and time froze. A young man with a pale complexion and ice-blue eyes appeared, his black hair matched his clothing: he wore black pleated pants, a charcoal gray vest from whose lapels hung several thin intertwined silver chains, and over this he wore an elegant knee-length jacket in the same color as his pants. The boy, tall and thin, stared at him and Chase felt the coldness of his icy gaze while his cheeks burned from the intensity of it. Mute before that beauty that seemed from another world, he managed to stammer a ridiculous greeting. He glanced at Silver to see her smiling secretly, looking at the corner of the room, because she was the only one who knew that what Chase really liked were boys. Chase thought that this only happened in the fairy tales he was told as a child, but he had felt those butterflies in his stomach from the first moment their hands touched. The man who was teaching him how to lead the dance to dance with a woman was the one he waited for every week, and he felt absolutely alone when he left, who knew where, and he spent the rest of the day thinking about his touch, his eyes, his smile (somewhat haughty) and the sound of his voice. Buddy opened his eyes when Chase told him about what he was thinking.

With three weeks left to announce the engagement, Chase stumbled, displaying his infinite clumsiness, and his nose was just millimeters away from the nose of the boy, whom he affectionately called Buddy (because he couldn't pronounce his name correctly), and his eyes They made contact longer than usual. Chase noticed the blush on his cheeks, his eyes strayed to the taller man's lips for a few seconds, and with an imperceptible approach he made it clear what his intentions were. To his surprise, Buddy leaned towards him too and their lips made contact for about five or six seconds. He blinked to make sure he wasn't daydreaming, and sure enough, he wasn't. His couples dance teacher stressed that he needed more classes to improve and his visits increased in the following weeks, during which they did nothing but get to know each other more little by little. Days before the appointed date, Chase expressed his disagreement with his marriage, Buddy already assumed it but he did not expect to hear what Chase had to say. While Grandpa Ralph was waiting for his grandson with Deacon, Chase's cousin, who was looking askance at the blonde's fiancée, thinking about how lucky he was, Silver made an appearance.

“Where is Chase, little Silver?” he asked. He always treated her like she was part of the family. She smiled.

“Chase is not going to come, sir” she answered, and both of them were surprised, she giggled and gave Ralph a piece of paper with a little head inclination, and then she retired.

Grandpa Ralph read the note, Deacon looked above his shoulder to read it too  curious.

“He… left with another man?” he asked. He always knew Chase wasn’t into women, but he didn’t expect him to disobey like this. He was proud, but had to keep the looks, so he thought about something to say to excuse him and break that engagement. He smiled as he lended Deacon the note and started walking to the woman who was waiting to meet Chase.

Deacon read the note again and smiled too. Chase was like that, he knew. And someone had to console that poor and beautiful maiden.

I used this pictures for inspiration 🫶🏻

Chase, Buddy, Deacon and Silver's outfits.

And the room where it starts

[everyones-fangirl]

Delectable Little Pet

Warnings: 18+ This will be about after ascension Astarion so expect some extreme dark romance and future triggers. Female Masturbation. Stalking. Being super forward/not taking no for an answer.

Word Count: 4,247

Chapter 4

Cassara

The tavern was bustling, a hive of activity as patrons came and went, their laughter and shouts blending into a cacophony of noise. A large table of orcs in the corner grew louder with each drink, their raucous laughter and booming voices dominating the room. The sun shone bright today, its rays filtering through the windows and casting warm patches of light on the wooden floor. Sweat collected at my brow, and the only relief came when the door opened, allowing a brief, cool breeze to waft in and provide momentary respite. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, grateful for the bandana that kept my hair off my face. Over the past few weeks, I had learned to favor pants over skirts for their practicality. My attire was a blend of practicality and understated elegance, reflecting both my elven heritage and my current circumstances. I favored garments that allowed me to move freely and withstand the rigors of working at the tavern, yet these clothes also subtly accentuated my natural beauty and grace.

My pants were made of supple, dark brown leather that hugged my curves while providing protection and flexibility. The leather was well-worn, softening over time but still retaining its durability. These pants were reinforced at the knees and hips, places most prone to wear and tear, showcasing thoughtful craftsmanship. Small, intricately embroidered patterns ran along the seams, adding a touch of elven artistry to the otherwise utilitarian garment. My shirt was a simple yet elegant white blouse made of fine linen. The fabric was lightweight and breathable, perfect for long, hot days in the bustling tavern. The blouse had billowing sleeves that cinched at the wrists with delicate, lace-trimmed cuffs. The neckline was modest, yet it featured a subtle, scalloped edge that added a hint of femininity. When I moved, the blouse flowed around me, hinting at the fluid grace with which I carried myself.

Over the blouse, I wore a corset top made of dark green brocade fabric. The corset was intricately designed, with patterns of leaves and vines woven into the material. The corset laced up the front with a series of delicate, silver eyelets, each thread carefully tied to ensure a snug fit that accentuated my waist and provided support. The boning in the corset was flexible yet firm, allowing me to maintain my posture while working long hours without discomfort. I often accessorized with a few select pieces that held personal significance. Around my neck, I wore a thin silver chain with a small pendant shaped like a leaf, a gift from my mother that I never took off. My fingers were adorned with simple silver rings, each one engraved with tiny runes of protection and healing, their magic subtle but ever-present.

My practical side showed in the sturdy boots I wore, made of the same dark brown leather as my pants. These boots were well-crafted, with reinforced soles and ankle support that allowed me to move swiftly and confidently across the tavern's creaky wooden floors. The boots reached just below my knees, laced up the front, and were adorned with small, silver buckles that added a touch of elegance to their rugged design. To keep my long, thick dark brown hair out of my face while I worked, I often tied it back with a crème-colored bandana. The bandana was made of soft, lightweight fabric, and I had a few in different shades to match my outfits. When I wasn't working, I would let my hair down, the dark waves cascading over my shoulders and down my back, shimmering with a faint green luminescence in the right light.

I had started working the counter and tables on my days off. Each coin earned brought me a step closer to moving on, to finding a new place where I could start fresh. As I moved between tables, balancing trays of drinks and plates of food, I felt a sense of purpose, even if it was just for a fleeting moment. The tavern’s interior was a mix of warm wood and rough stone, the walls adorned with faded tapestries and old hunting trophies. The air was thick with the scent of ale, roasted meat, and the earthy aroma of the orcs' sweat. The floorboards creaked under the weight of heavy boots, and the low hum of conversation was punctuated by the occasional cheer or bellow.

At the bar, Caty worked her magic, her fingers flying as she poured drinks and charmed the customers with her infectious smile. Her red hair was a vibrant flame in the dim light, and her laughter was a constant, cheerful background noise. I admired her ability to remain upbeat and engaging, even when the tavern was at its busiest.

As I served a group of dwarves seated near the fireplace, I couldn't help but steal glances at the door. Every time it opened, I hoped for a breeze to cool my flushed skin, but I also found myself scanning the faces of the newcomers. A habit formed from both curiosity and caution, ever since that night with Astarion. The orcs' table erupted in another wave of laughter, and I turned to see one of them pounding the table with a fist, causing mugs to jump and slosh their contents. I hurried over, deftly weaving through the crowd, and set down a fresh pitcher of ale. One of the orcs, a towering brute with a scar running down his cheek, grinned at me.

"More ale! You keep us happy, girl," he bellowed, his voice like rolling thunder.

I nodded, offering a polite smile. "Of course. Enjoy your drinks."

As I turned away, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a polished shield hanging on the wall. My face was flushed, not just from the heat but from the constant exertion. Despite the sweat and the noise, there was a determination in my eyes. I was working toward something, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. Moving toward the next table, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. The tavern was just a stepping stone, a place to gather strength and resources for whatever lay ahead.I refused to let anything get in my way—not my aching feet, the sweltering heat, or a certain unnaturally pale elf.

I hadn’t seen him in weeks, but I kept catching glimpses of his silver hair or piercing eyes in the crowd. Each time, a shiver ran down my spine. Something about him made my hair stand on end, and the way he looked at me—as if I were a meal—made me feel extremely conflicted. From the moment he approached our table, I knew he was used to getting what he wanted. When I turned him down, it only further proved my point.

He was dangerous, and I knew scheming when I saw it. It was all I did growing up. Underneath the fear he evoked in me, there was a certain type of heat or desire hidden. It was that feeling that kept him at the forefront of my mind, a secret yearning for him to come back, to approach me again. It had been a while since I found someone who could keep up with my banter. The look in his eyes while he observed me last time was borderline murderous, yet I couldn't deny the thrill it gave me.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts as I approached the next table. The constant motion, the clinking of mugs, the chatter of patrons—all of it was becoming familiar. Yet, despite the routine, my mind kept wandering back to him. His predatory gaze, the way his presence seemed to fill the room, even when he wasn't there.

I felt a mix of fear and excitement whenever I thought about him. He was a puzzle I wanted to solve, a danger I wanted to face. But I knew better than to let my guard down. The stakes were too high, and I couldn't afford to be reckless. My future depended on it.

I shrugged my shoulders as I picked up the dirty dishes from a newly empty table, the clatter of mugs and plates a familiar comfort amid the tavern's chaos. It’s not like he showed much interest in me anyway. I found myself glancing over at Caty, who was effortlessly working the bar. A large crowd had formed around her, captivated by her bright smile and quick hands as she mixed drinks with practiced ease. He was definitely more interested in her, and I couldn’t blame him. Caty’s personality was magnetic, drawing people in with her infectious laughter and boundless energy. But that only made me want to protect her more. The world was full of dangers we couldn’t see, and I had learned to be wary of anyone too smooth, too charming.

When Astarion had grabbed her to take her to the so-called “party” that night a few weeks back, panic surged within me. The memory was still vivid, a chilling reminder of how close we had come to losing her. The way he looked at her was different, predatory and cold. Something in me screamed that if she went with him, I would never see her again.

I gasped in surprise as familiar arms wrapped tightly around me from behind. A small laugh escaped my lips as I struggled to balance the tray of dirty dishes in my arms. “Woah, woah. Careful! If I break these, I’ll lose money!” I playfully frowned at my friend, my heart warming at the sound of her laughter.

Setting the tray down at the bar, I turned to see Caty grinning widely. She hopped up onto one of the stools, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “A couple of us are going out after this shift. You should come.”

I sighed heavily, shaking my head. “You know I can’t. I signed up for a double.” My voice was weary but firm. “I need this.”

Caty's expression fell, a hint of disappointment shadowing her features. She nodded reluctantly, understanding but not happy about it. “I know, I know. But you should take a break soon, or you’ll work yourself to death.”

I glanced around the bustling tavern, the noise of chatter and clinking glasses filling the air. The sun had finally set, and the evening crowd had settled in, making the place even more hectic. Sweat trickled down my forehead, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand, feeling the weight of exhaustion bearing down on me.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured her, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Besides, we need the money if we want to move on from this place.”

Caty’s eyes softened, and she reached out, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “I just worry about you, Cassara. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard.”

I forced a smile, appreciating her concern but knowing I couldn’t afford to slow down. “I promise I’ll be careful. Just a little while longer, okay?”

She sighed but didn’t press the issue further. “Alright. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself, too.”

As she jumped off the stool and headed back to the bar to help with the evening rush, I watched her go, a pang of guilt tugging at my heart. I wished I could join her, to let loose and have some fun, but the reality of our situation kept me grounded. With a deep breath, I picked up the tray of dishes and made my way to the kitchen, weaving through the throngs of patrons. The tavern was packed tonight, the energy high and the atmosphere almost festive. Yet, despite the lively environment, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over me. I caught myself glancing at the door, out a window, or just simply over my shoulder more often than usual.

“Cassara, you’ve got a table waiting!” one of the other servers called out, snapping me back to reality.

“On it!” I replied, setting the tray down and grabbing a fresh one.

After the evening rush had subsided, Caty left with our group of coworkers, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they departed. They mentioned something about a circus being in town, and I waved them off with a smile, not entirely sure what a circus was. I made a mental note to ask Caty about it later. The night dragged on, and as the closing hour approached, the tavern slowly emptied. I leaned against the bar, lost in thought. My nightly cleaning duties were done, and now it was just a matter of waiting to lock the doors. The tavern, usually bustling with noise and activity, felt eerily quiet. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the wooden floor, adding to the sense of solitude.

I didn’t notice someone slipping in as the last few patrons were leaving. Nor did I see him walk up to the bar and sit down. The sudden noise of someone clearing their throat startled me, making me jump back. “My, my, jumpy little pup, aren’t we?” His familiar voice and the smirk that pulled at his lips made my cheeks flush hot.

“I am neither of those things,” I managed to say, frowning. My heart raced, a mix of fear and something else—something I didn’t want to acknowledge—coursing through me.

Astarion leaned forward, his intense gaze never leaving mine. The candlelight played across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the cold, calculating glint in his eyes. “You’re working late tonight,” he observed, his voice silky smooth.

“Yes, I needed the extra money,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “What do you want?”

His smirk widened. “Such hostility. I was merely hoping for a drink and some pleasant company.”

I didn’t believe him for a second. There was always an ulterior motive with Astarion. But I couldn’t afford to cause a scene or draw attention. “Fine. What will you have?” I asked, grabbing a clean mug.

“Surprise me,” he said, leaning back with an air of casual confidence.

I turned to the shelves, pulling down a bottle of our finest ale. My hands shook slightly as I poured the drink, my mind racing with thoughts of how to handle this situation. He was dangerous, and I knew I had to be careful. Placing the mug in front of him, I took a deep breath and tried to project an air of indifference.

“There. Enjoy,” I said curtly.

Astarion cut a striking figure as he lounged at the bar, his posture relaxed yet exuding an air of undeniable confidence. His angular features were accentuated by the flickering candlelight, casting shadows across his chiseled jawline and high cheekbones. His skin, pale as moonlight, seemed to glow softly in the dim tavern.

His silver hair fell in loose waves around his face, adding to the aura of otherworldly allure that surrounded him. His eyes, a piercing shade of violet, seemed to bore into mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. They held a hint of mischief, a dangerous glint that hinted at the depths of his unpredictable nature. Dressed in finely tailored clothing that hugged his lean frame, he looked every bit the aristocrat he claimed to be. The fabric of his shirt and trousers was of the highest quality, the deep crimson hue complementing the pale perfection of his skin. A silver pendant hung from his neck, catching the light as it swung gently with his movements.

But it was his presence, his undeniable charisma, that truly set him apart. There was something magnetic about him, something that drew people in despite the warning bells that rang in the back of their minds. It was a dangerous allure, one that promised pleasure and pain in equal measure.As he sat there, smirking at me with that infuriatingly confident grin, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. Astarion was a predator, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I had no idea of the danger that lurked beneath his charming facade.

Astarion took a sip, his eyes never leaving mine. “You know, Cassara, I’ve been thinking about our last encounter,” he said, his tone deceptively light.

“Oh?” I replied, trying to sound uninterested. “And what have you concluded?”

“That you’re quite a fascinating creature,” he said, leaning forward again. “So much fire and spirit. It’s rare to find someone who can resist my charm.”

“I’m not interested in your games, Astarion,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “So if that’s all, you can finish your drink and leave.”

He gave me a feigned sad look before breaking out into a devilish grin once more. With a swift movement, he was suddenly looming over me, his body pressed dangerously close. I could feel the heat radiating off him, sending shivers down my spine as his piercing gaze bore into mine. It was like staring into the eyes of a predator, and for a moment, I felt trapped, unable to tear myself away. Before I could react, his hand came up to brush a stray strand of hair from my face, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart pounding in my chest as his fingers trailed lightly down my cheek. His scent, a heady mix of musk and danger, enveloped me, clouding my senses and leaving me dizzy with desire.

“Oh, but I think you are,” he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. He pressed closer, his body heat seeping into me, making it hard to think clearly. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his touch light but possessive. “I have a feeling you’re more interested than you let on.”

I scoffed, trying to push him away, but he held me firmly in place, his gaze burning into mine with an intensity that made my knees weak. I could feel the tension crackling between us, thick with unspoken promises and forbidden desires. “Let me go,” I demanded, trying to sound strong, but my voice wavered, betraying the fear and confusion roiling inside me.

Astarion leaned in, his lips just inches from mine. “Why would I do that when we’re having so much fun?” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. He inhaled deeply, his nose grazing the curve of my neck. “You smell intoxicating,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

I struggled to push him away, but his grip was firm, unyielding. “Stop it,” I spat, my anger and fear warring with an unwelcome thrill of excitement.

He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing a path down my arm. “Resistance is futile, darling. You can deny it all you want, but I can see the curiosity in your eyes, the way your body responds to my touch.” His hand slid down to my waist, pulling me even closer. “I can feel your heart racing. Tell me, is it fear... or something else?”

His words sent a flush of heat through me, and I hated myself for the way my body reacted to him. There was a magnetic pull between us, a dangerous allure that made it hard to think straight. But I couldn’t let him win, couldn’t let him see how much he affected me.

“I’m not like the others,” I said, my voice trembling but defiant. “I won’t be one of your conquests.”

Astarion’s eyes darkened, his smile turning wicked. “We’ll see about that,” he murmured. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine in a teasing, almost taunting kiss. I could feel his desire, the raw hunger in his touch, and it terrified me.

I shivered at the feel of his breath against my skin, my pulse racing as his words sent a thrill through me. Despite my best efforts to deny it, there was something undeniably exhilarating about being so close to danger, about dancing on the edge of the unknown. But even as my body responded to his touch, a voice in the back of my mind screamed at me to run, to get as far away from him as possible. Astarion was a predator, a creature of darkness and deceit, and I knew that to give in to him would be to invite nothing but trouble.

With a sudden surge of strength, I shoved him away, my breathing ragged. “Get out,” I said, my voice stronger this time. “I don’t want you here.”

His smirk faltered, he looked almost impressed, a flicker of respect in his eyes but also darkness— danger. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by that infuriatingly charming grin.

“Suit yourself,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “But don’t be surprised when you find yourself craving the thrill of the chase.” With a final wink, he turned and sauntered back to his seat as if the entire past three minutes never happened. He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “I have a feeling our paths will cross again. You can’t resist the inevitable forever, little pup.”

I glared at him, refusing to be intimidated. “We’ll see about that.”

He finished his drink in one long gulp, setting the mug down with a satisfied sigh. “Until next time, Cassara,” he said, rising from his seat. As he walked towards the door, he paused and glanced back at me, his expression unreadable. “Take care. The night is full of dangers.”

With that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the empty tavern. The adrenaline from our encounter slowly ebbed away, leaving me feeling drained and exposed. I locked the doors with trembling hands and leaned against them, taking a moment to collect myself. Astarion’s presence always left me feeling unsettled, a mix of fear and something dangerously close to excitement. But I knew I couldn’t let him get to me. I couldn’t afford to. Taking a deep breath, I pushed away from the door and began to close up for the night. The tavern, once bustling with life and noise, now felt eerily silent. I methodically wiped down the tables, straightened the chairs, and swept the floor, trying to distract myself from the lingering tension. Every creak and shadow seemed amplified, making me jumpy and paranoid. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was still being watched, even after he had left.

As I finished my tasks and finally headed to my small room above the tavern, the unease stayed with me. I locked the door behind me and drew the curtains, trying to create a barrier between myself and the outside world. Yet, the sensation of being watched persisted, a prickling at the back of my neck that refused to go away. My instincts were hardly ever wrong, and they were screaming at me now.

I tried to ignore the feeling as I prepared for bed. I undressed slowly, letting my clothes fall to the floor, and made my way to the basin. The water was cool against my heated skin as I dipped the rag in and began to cleanse myself. My hair was pulled up in a messy bun, dark strands hanging in escaped tendrils around my face. I let the rag glide over my body, taking my time, trying to wash away the lingering tension. Despite my efforts, my mind kept drifting back to him. The way he had looked at me, the intensity in his eyes, the unsettling mix of threat and allure. As I ran the rag across my bare skin, my thoughts became more vivid, more intrusive. I could almost feel his hands on me instead, his touch igniting a fire within me that I couldn’t ignore.

I paid close attention to my nipples, my breath hitching as I imagined it was his fingers instead of the rag. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine, and I closed my eyes, allowing myself to get lost in the fantasy for a moment. The idea of him watching me, of those piercing eyes following my every movement, made my heart race. A moan escaped my lips, soft and needy, as I continued to cleanse myself with deliberate slowness. My body responded to the imagined touch, heat pooling low in my belly. I knew it was dangerous to let my mind wander down this path, but I couldn’t help it. The desire he awakened in me was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. Finally, I forced myself to stop, dropping the rag back into the basin and taking a deep, steadying breath. I couldn’t afford to lose control, not with someone like Astarion lurking around. I needed to stay vigilant, to protect myself from whatever game he was playing.

I climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and trying to will myself to sleep. But even as I lay there, the memory of his touch, his voice, his presence lingered, haunting me in the darkness. I knew this was far from over. The hunt had only just begun, and I was caught in the middle of it, whether I wanted to be or not.

As exhaustion finally pulled me under, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life had just taken a dangerous turn. And deep down, a part of me wondered if I would ever be able to find my way back or if I even wanted to.

[arainbowofchaos]

Forbidden Euphoria [Chapter 3]

As a tipsy Jungkook stumbles into your home, he's determined to reveal the depths of his feelings, setting the stage for an intimate moment.

Tags: Jungkook x Reader, Jungkook finally talks about his non-monogamous lifestyle. He's also a bit drunk but still very much adorable. Warning: He becomes slightly dominant at the end of the chapter (it's going to get worse so brace yourself).

Length: 2.1k words

A/N: I cut the chapter off just as things get spicy, so if you're interested, the next chapter is already published, and it's very nasty, lol.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

...

As you hurriedly open the door, your heart races with anticipation. The reason for your flustered state becomes apparent as Jungkook's eyes scan you from head to toe. Caught off guard, you realize you are only dressed in a pink, satin, ruffled peignoir, exuding a Victoria's Secret style elegance, having rushed out of the bathroom after he called to let you know he was in the neighborhood.

In contrast, Jungkook stands before you, dressed entirely in denim - blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a matching blue denim jacket. His black curls cascade gracefully over his handsome face, adding an irresistible charm to his rugged appearance.

"C'mon baby," he whispers softly, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace. As you draw closer, a subtle scent of alcohol lingers, and surprisingly, you find it endearing, making your heart skip a beat. Despite his drunken state and the rude behavior he displayed earlier, you can't resist falling harder for him. Being in his arms feels just right.

You gently try to pull away, wanting to get a better look at him. Your eyes meet a vision of a slightly intoxicated Jungkook, his eyes glistening like stars, his cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, and his affectionate nature radiating from him as he holds you close. His drunken charm is undeniable, and you can't help but find him absolutely adorable.

"Jungkook, look at me," you gently implore, trying to meet his sad puppy eyes. "I don't think we can discuss right now; you're too drunk," you explain, concerned about the earnest conversation he wants to have.

He gazes back at you with a mix of vulnerability and determination. "I can discuss right now; it's what I came for in the first place," he insists, his words tinged with a touch of slurred speech.

"Okay, please follow me," you say, leading him with care to the kitchen. It feels unusual to have him in your intimate space, but you secretly enjoy the domestic vibe it brings.

You both settle at the kitchen table, and you pour him a generous glass of water, hoping to help him sober up. He takes it with diligence, holding onto it like a lifeline.

"I know you saw me earlier," he starts cautiously. "And I'm sorry about that. It feels like we should have talked before that," he admits, revealing a hint of regret.

You sense his desire to be honest, and it warms your heart. "It's alright. Let's talk now," you say, offering him understanding. "So… are you like… in an open relationship?" you inquire, your heart racing as you broach the subject.

He nods slowly, explaining, "She understands that I value my independence and can't conform to expectations. I cherish my freedom."

The revelation heats your cheeks, as he seems to confirm that he's free to be with others while you yearn for exclusivity with him, feeling a tinge of bitterness. You nod your head as if you understand, even if that's not the case. You can acknowledge his feelings without necessarily sharing them.

You need to ask him another question that has been nagging at you all day, no matter if it makes you seem clingy or bothersome. If you want to make a decision about what comes next, you must get to know him better. "I also need to know why you disappeared today. I was hoping we would behave like adults after what happened between us. I was kind of disappointed with your attitude." you express, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and hurt as you try to understand his actions.

"I was busy reporting our trip to our boss. He kept me occupied all day long, probably wanting me to prove I had been useful during the deal. I couldn't even take a break to eat lunch. I thought you'd be more at ease not seeing me right away. I promise I wasn't ignoring you. I would never do that," he explains, his words carrying a hint of sincerity, but you can't help but feel torn. Despite his explanation, a part of you still wonders if there's more to the story. 

"I really want to believe you. The thing is, I don’t know you well enough. And I don’t know if I can actually share you with someone else; it doesn’t feel right," you admit, grappling with your feelings and fears about the situation. As you speak those words, you can feel the weight of the decision, both painful and necessary, settling in the air between you.

"I understand," Jungkook responds softly, his vulnerability shining through. "I don't want to cause you any pain, so the decision is yours."

You take a deep breath, appreciating his honesty. "Thank you for understanding. It means a lot to me," you reply, feeling a sense of relief that he's not pressuring you into something you're not ready for.

"I am very much interested in seeing you, for many reasons beyond sex. If that's not good enough, I understand," Jungkook continues, his voice tinged with vulnerability as he anxiously awaits your response. Taking a deep breath, he gathers his thoughts and continues, "You're beautiful, smart, and funny, and you can get whoever you want. I genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you on a deeper level," he emphasizes, his voice soft and sincere, his genuine desire to build a meaningful connection evident.

He pauses, his emotions laid bare, vulnerability shining through. "I have feelings for you, and I want to continue seeing you, but I have to be honest with myself and with you – I can't offer exclusivity at this moment," he admits, his words filled with raw honesty and a touch of insecurity.

As Jungkook's words wash over you, a wave of mixed emotions floods your senses. His sincere admiration makes you feel seen and valued. You take a moment to savor the feeling of being appreciated, the affirmation that you're not imagining the connection between you two.

In that moment, the other woman becomes a distant thought, pushed to the periphery of your mind. All that matters is the electric energy between you and Jungkook, the undeniable chemistry that seems to bind you together. It's as if the world fades away whenever your eyes meet, leaving only the two of you in an intimate bubble of understanding.

The idea of letting this connection slip away becomes unfathomable. You can't imagine walking away from something that makes you feel so alive, so wanted. It dawns on you that this might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the kind of connection that some people spend their whole lives searching for.

In this moment, you realize that you want to take the risk, to explore this connection and see where it leads. You're ready to embrace the journey, knowing that it might not be smooth or easy, but the possibility of something extraordinary is worth it.

As your eyes lock once more, a rush of emotions surges through you, and you find the courage to speak your truth. The words tumble out, a mix of vulnerability and conviction, "I feel the same way, Jungkook. I don't want to walk away from this either. Let's take it one step at a time and see where it leads us," The weight of your admission hangs in the air, and for a moment, time seems to stand still as you wait for his response. But to your relief, a warm smile spreads across Jungkook's face, his eyes filled with understanding and appreciation. He takes a moment to compose himself, his gaze unwavering, as he shares his thoughts, "I'm glad you're open to it. I promise to be present and genuine in every step we take together," he adds, his voice steady and sincere. You find yourself in awe of Jungkook's genuine and caring approach to this blossoming connection. He truly values your feelings and aims to build a relationship based on trust and open communication.

As you rise from your chair with caution, the wooden floor beneath your feet feels cool and reassuring but the physical sensation barely registers in your mind as your attention remains fixed on Jungkook's eyes.. They follow your every move as you approach him, his gaze meeting yours with curiosity.

Jungkook's glass of water sits half-empty on the table, and you notice a small condensation ring forming beneath it. The conversation you just had seems to have had an effect on him, as he appears more composed and focused now.

Drawing nearer, you take measured steps until you're standing face to face, your eyes locked in an unspoken connection. You decide to squat down to be at his eye level, wanting to create a sense of intimacy and openness.

Your heart beats faster, the sound of it pounding in your ears. Your voice emerges, a mix of steadiness and vulnerability, as you share your fears. "I'm afraid of being jealous. Wouldn't you be jealous if you saw me with another man?" you inquire, your words laced with a hint of uncertainty and a touch of teasing playfulness.

The air seems to hang heavy with anticipation, as if time itself has paused, waiting for Jungkook's response. You hold your breath, hoping for an honest answer.

As you watch Jungkook, you notice the impact of your words on him, evident in the transformation of his large brown eyes. They darken, revealing a depth of emotion that wasn't there just two minutes ago. Nervously, his tongue fiddles restlessly with the piece of metal, betraying his agitation. His mind seems to be in a whirlwind as he struggles to find the right response, the words eluding him momentarily.

Suddenly, he rises from his seat, pushing the chair back with a jarring noise that startles you. Jungkook's commanding tone leaves no room for hesitation as he orders, "Stand up." Your body instinctively obeys, though you're not entirely sure why. There's something about the intensity of his presence that compels your compliance.

"I don't think you could see someone else," he asserts with unwavering conviction. His challenging tone piques your playful side, and you want to test the boundaries of his emotions to see if he's truly capable of feeling jealousy.

"And why is that?" you respond, maintaining a teasing demeanor, wanting him to understand what it's like to experience jealousy and to recognize the strength of his own feelings.

"Because I'll make you feel so good every day that there'll be no room for another man in your life. That's my promise. You won't need anyone else to fulfill you," he declares, his voice brimming with determination and possessiveness.

As Jungkook's words wash over you, you can't help but emit a small moan, a sound you hadn't even realized was escaping your lips. It's your own, a reaction to the intensity of his declaration. Despite understanding the possessiveness in his words and the contradiction of a man unable to offer his heart to just one person, you find yourself unable to resist the thrill that surges through you.

His gaze intensifies, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an almost predatory focus. "Look at you, you're already moaning, and I haven't even laid a finger on you yet," he says, his voice low and husky. You feel a rush of arousal course through you, a mixture of excitement and nervousness at the intensity of his gaze and the suggestive undertone of his words. Your cheeks flush, and you find it hard to tear your eyes away from his captivating stare, fully aware of where he wants to take you.

In that moment, as the charged silence hangs in the air, you take a moment to reflect on what you truly desire. 

"Do you want me to help you release some tension?" Jungkook purrs, his voice laced with seduction and a genuine concern that surprises you. "I did say I wanted to make it up to you," he adds, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek in a tender gesture that contrasts with the provocative atmosphere surrounding you.

[imsparky2002]

The Phantoms of Paris

The following was made with assistance from Chat GPT

So what if everyone in the Akuma Class (+ Luka, Kagami and Marc) were lifelong friends and theatre kids (and eventually romantic partners for some) who all loved dressing up as the Phantom of the Opera from a early age? They were inspired by Miss Bustier, who herself was a Phantom fanatic, and always dressed up as one, right up until becoming their ghostly teacher. One day, the group of cosplayers met Master Fu, who turned them into actual Phantoms. Now they fight crime and be spooky.

Marinette:

Personality: Marinette is the fearless and resourceful leader of the group. She's quick-witted, creative, and compassionate.

Ensemble: Her cape is a deep midnight blue, and her mask is adorned with intricate lace patterns. She wears a sleek black suit with silver pinstripes, black gloves, and a top hat adorned with a silver ribbon.

Adrien:

Personality: Adrien is charming, suave, and skilled in acrobatics. He brings a touch of elegance to their operations.

Ensemble: His cape is a rich burgundy, and his mask is sleek and cat-shaped. Adrien's suit is black with crimson accents, and he sports a stylish black fedora.

Alya:

Personality: Alya is the group's tech genius and a natural-born leader. She's determined, fearless, and has a knack for uncovering secrets.

Ensemble: Alya's cape is a vibrant violet, and her mask features a web-like pattern. She wears a futuristic black jumpsuit with a utility belt, black gloves, and a sleek helmet with built-in communication devices.

Nino:

Personality: Nino is laid-back and easygoing, but he can be fiercely protective of his friends when it matters most.

Ensemble: His cape is a cool teal color, and his mask has a relaxed, musical note design. Nino's suit is casual, with a black leather jacket over a white shirt, black jeans, gloves, and a black beanie.

Chloe:

Personality: Chloe is confident, sassy, and unafraid to speak her mind. Her fashion sense is impeccable, even as a Phantom.

Ensemble: Chloe's cape is a regal gold, and her mask is adorned with subtle but intricate filigree. She wears an elegant white pantsuit with black accents, white gloves, and a wide-brimmed black hat.

Alix:

Personality: Alix is the group's daredevil and thrill-seeker. She's energetic, adventurous, and loves to take risks.

Ensemble: Her cape is a fiery red-orange, and her mask has a sporty, futuristic design. Alix sports a sleek red bodysuit, matching gloves, and a sporty baseball cap.

Kim:

Personality: Kim is the brawns of the group, always eager to lead the charge. He's loyal, brave, and protective.

Ensemble: Kim's cape is a forest green, and his mask features a muscular pattern. He wears a rugged green utility suit, black gloves, and a military-style beret.

Max:

Personality: Max is the group's intellectual, with a love for technology and strategy. He's logical, analytical, and always has a plan.

Ensemble: His cape is a deep navy blue, and his mask is adorned with circuitry designs. Max wears a high-tech navy blue suit, black gloves, and a futuristic visor instead of a hat.

Juleka:

Personality: Juleka is quiet and mysterious, but her creativity shines through her art. She brings an air of elegance to their operations.

Ensemble: Her cape is a royal purple, and her mask has delicate lace patterns. Juleka wears an elegant purple gown-inspired suit, black gloves, and a black velvet hat adorned with a single white rose.

Rose:

Personality: Rose is kind-hearted, gentle, and deeply romantic. Her positivity is infectious, even as a Phantom.

Ensemble: Rose's cape is a soft pink, and her mask is adorned with tiny heart-shaped patterns. She wears a flowing pink dress-inspired suit, white gloves, and a flower crown as her hat.

Mylene:

Personality: Mylene is sweet and shy, but her courage shines when she's with her friends. She adds a touch of innocence to the group.

Ensemble: Her cape is a pastel blue, and her mask has subtle cloud-like patterns. Mylene wears a light blue dress-inspired suit, white gloves, and a simple straw hat with a blue ribbon.

Ivan:

Personality: Ivan is calm and stoic, but he's a rock when his friends need him most. He adds a sense of stability to the group.

Ensemble: His cape is a deep gray, and his mask has sturdy, stone-like textures. Ivan wears a gray suit with black accents, black gloves, and a simple flat cap.

Sabrina:

Personality: Sabrina is loyal and diligent, always ready to help her friends. She's a bit timid but fiercely protective.

Ensemble: Her cape is a soft lavender, and her mask has intricate lace patterns. Sabrina wears a lavender dress-inspired suit, white gloves, and a matching lavender bonnet.

Nathaniel:

Personality: Nathaniel is artistic and sensitive, with a deep love for storytelling. He brings creativity to the group.

Ensemble: His cape is a muted olive green, and his mask features swirling artistic patterns. Nathaniel wears an olive green suit with brown accents, brown gloves, and a beret adorned with a paintbrush.

Luka:

Personality: Luka is enigmatic, calm, and has a deep connection to nature. He possesses a sense of tranquility

Ensemble: Luka's cape is a deep forest green, symbolizing his connection to the woods. It is adorned with intricate leaf patterns and vine-like embroidery, representing the lushness of the forest. His mask portrays the serene face of a forest guardian, with gentle eyes and a tranquil expression. Luka's hat is a wide-brimmed fedora, giving him an air of mystery and wisdom. His suit takes on a natural, earthy tone, and his gloves shimmer with the texture of bark, symbolizing his bond with nature.

Kagami:

Personality: Kagami is disciplined, determined, and skilled in martial arts and fencing. She's a fierce protector and a master of strategy.

Ensemble: Kagami's cape is fiery red, symbolizing her fierce determination and strength. The hood is decorated with dragon-scale patterns, reflecting her tenacity in battle. Her mask takes on the sharp features of a warrior, with angular lines and a determined expression. Kagami's hat is a crimson fedora with the markings of a fencing mask, symbolizing her mastery of the sword and her readiness to face any challenge. Her suit is sleek and martial arts-inspired, allowing for agility and precision. Her gloves are adorned with sharp blade-like patterns, emphasizing her fierce combat skills.

Marc:

Personality: Marc is anxious, sensitive, and compassionate. He brings a sense of empathy and creativity to the group.

Ensemble: Marc's cloak is a deep indigo, reminiscent of a starry night sky. His mask reflects the whimsy of an writer's imagination, with intricate patterns of ink splatters and quills. Marc's hat has a feather in it, accentuating his creative flair. His suit resembles an canvas, complete with pencil scribbles embodying his passion for storytelling and art. His gloves are adorned with ink splatters, a nod to his talent as a writer.

Miss Bustier

Personality: Miss Bustier, or Phantom Mama as she is known among the Phantoms, possesses a gentle and nurturing personality that has guided and supported the team throughout their long journey. She is a warm and empathetic figure, always ready with a kind word or a comforting presence in times of need.

Ensemble: She wears a long, flowing cape that seems to blend seamlessly with the fog she controls, creating an otherworldly appearance. Her mask, unlike the Phantoms', is more delicate, with intricate lacework and a subtle design that conceals her identity while highlighting her enigmatic nature. A stylish yet mysterious hat rests atop her head, adorned with feathers that evoke the air of a sorceress. Her gloves and suit are both timeless and graceful, maintaining an enigmatic aura befitting her role as Phantom Mama.

Powers

Marinette: As the leader, Marinette possesses heightened agility and an uncanny ability to blend into shadows, allowing her to navigate the city unnoticed.

Adrien: Adrien's cat-like reflexes grant him incredible balance and agility. He can move swiftly through even the most treacherous terrain.

Alya: Alya has a supernatural sense of hearing, enabling her to pick up on the faintest sounds and whispers in the city.

Nino: Nino can manipulate sound waves, creating sonic distractions or silencing any noise within a certain radius.

Chloe: Chloe's charisma and persuasive skills make her a master at blending into crowds and gathering information.

Alix: Alix has enhanced speed and can move as swiftly as a phantom wind, making her an expert at reconnaissance.

Kim: Kim possesses superhuman strength, allowing him to handle even the toughest foes with ease.

Max: Max's brilliant mind grants him the ability to create high-tech gadgets and illusions to aid the Phantoms.

Juleka: Juleka can create eerie illusions that disorient and confuse opponents, making her a formidable strategist.

Rose: Rose can manipulate the emotions of others, calming them in times of crisis or sowing fear in the hearts of adversaries.

Mylene: Mylene's empathy allows her to communicate with animals, gathering vital information from the city's wildlife.

Ivan: Ivan's calm demeanor and strength of character make him an unmovable force, both in combat and as a source of inspiration.

Sabrina: Sabrina has the power of telekinesis, which she uses to manipulate objects and aid the Phantoms in stealthy operations.

Nathaniel: Nathaniel possesses the ability to bring his artistic creations to life, granting the Phantoms unique allies in their missions.

Luka: Luka's affinity with nature allows him to control plant life and communicate with the city's flora.

Kagami: Kagami's fencing skills are unparalleled, and she can use her sword to create protective barriers.

Marc: Marc has the power to manipulate shadows and darkness, making him a master of stealth and subterfuge.

Miss Bustier: Miss Bustier possesses a deep knowledge of dramatics and the ability to control fog, creating illusions and adding an air of mystique to their operations.

Their Laugh

Marinette: Her laugh is a mischievous giggle, resembling a playful dance of moonlight.

Adrien: Adrien's laugh is a charismatic chuckle that carries the confidence of a cat.

Alya: Her laugh is a hearty, energetic burst of amusement that echoes through the night.

Nino: Nino's laugh is a cool and collected chuckle that contrasts his lively personality.

Chloe: Her laugh is a melodramatic, theatrical cackle that suits her dramatic flair.

Alix: Alix's laugh is an adventurous, thrill-seeking guffaw that reflects her daredevil spirit.

Kim: Kim's laugh is a hearty, booming burst of joy, echoing his athletic enthusiasm.

Max: Max's laugh is a cerebral, analytical chuckle that mirrors his scientific mind.

Juleka: Her laugh is a soft, haunting, and mysterious titter that complements her quiet demeanor.

Rose: Rose's laugh is an enchanting, dreamy giggle that reflects her romantic nature.

Mylene: Her laugh is a warm, compassionate chuckle, a reflection of her kind heart.

Ivan: Ivan's laugh is a strong, hearty burst of amusement, befitting his gentle strength.

Sabrina: Her laugh is a refined, cultured chuckle that mirrors her poise and elegance.

Nathaniel: Nathaniel's laugh is an artistic, whimsical giggle, a testament to his creative spirit.

Luka: His laugh is a serene, calming chuckle that embodies his connection to nature.

Kagami: Kagami's laugh is a precise, sharp burst of amusement, reflecting her disciplined nature.

Marc: Marc's laugh is an artistic, imaginative titter that mirrors his creative soul.

Miss Bustier: Miss Bustier's laugh carries the soft, melodic notes of a haunting lullaby, resonating with a timeless elegance that soothes and comforts those around her.

Ok so what do you think, and do you want to see the other Science Kids as phantoms? Let me know your thoughts in the reblogs, reposts, comments and replies. @artzychic27 @msweebyness

[rullakebu]

Soft punishment (F/M, Tickling, Fur fetish)

"I guess this is it", Tom thought to himself when he reached the foot of the two-story rowhouse. This address was supposed to undergo a small-scale renovation, and the day's agenda was to take pictures of the inside of the apartments for the project.

He read the name on the door of the first apartment: Cassidy. Tom knocked lightly on the apartment door, and a gently smiling woman opened the door. The woman was about fifty, a brown-haired beauty with blue eyes. She wore a white mohair sweater and relaxed jeans, creating a carefree yet stylish look. Her face was decorated with glasses.

"Hello", the woman greeted kindly.

"Hi there. I’m supposed to come in there to look at places for the renovation", Tom stated a little shyly.

Tom was only in his twenties, but had taken a liking to older women. Tom thought the experience and elegance they bring was sexy. The woman was also wearing mohair, which was one of Tom's fetishes. He felt a pulse downstairs, but still managed to pull himself together so as not to be embarrassingly exposed.

"Yeah, come in", she answered.

Tom entered the house and the woman closed the door behind her.

"Somehow that young man seems nervous, cute," Miss Cassidy said and bit her lip.

"I-I-I hope I'm not a nuisance, Miss Cassidy", Tom apologized.

“Call me Isabel. Not at all. Pretend I wasn't here at all," the woman smiled and winked.

Tom photographed all the rooms downstairs and it was time to move upstairs. It seemed that the bedroom was the first door on the left. That's where Tom decided to start.

He opened the door and entered the bedroom. The room was bright and spacious, soft daylight flooded in from the large windows. There was a stylish bedspread on top of the bed and a few decorative pillows completed the look of the room. There was also a fur rug at the head of the bed that looked like it was real. Tom approached the bed and touched the rug with his hand. It was genuine and impossibly soft. The investigating man felt the flow again downstairs as the fur fetish was unleashed in Tom's head.

He glanced to the left and noticed a large wardrobe. Tom looked towards the door to make sure Isabel hadn't come. Tom slowly walked to the wardrobe and opened it. Tom couldn't believe his eyes. The closet was filled with the softest furs and accessories he had ever seen. There were fur coats, soft stoles, a fluffy boa and mohair clothes.

Tom started stroking them all eagerly. This was the best day ever.

"Do you like what you see?" a woman's voice came from the door.

Tom quickly turned and turned ghost white. He froze and couldn't get the words out of his mouth, no matter how hard he tried. The sly woman smiled as she leaned against the door frame.

"Now don't be quiet," Isabel laughed and started walking towards Tom.

She reached into the closet and started stroking the furs herself. Tom's heart pounded like a marching band bouncing to the beat in his chest as she looked at him again. His throat felt dry, and he clenched her hands nervously.

"Yes, I like... I really like them," Tom stuttered at last, trying to keep his voice even and restrained.

Isabel looked at him, a small twinkle playing in her eyes, which made Tom's emotions go haywire. "Aren't they lovely?" she said, pulling the soft fur closer to examine it more closely. She put on a coat made of silver fox and stroked the coat. Tom's crotch really started to tingle when he saw the soft coat on Isabel.

"Fox is the best kind of fur of all," the woman stated.

She reached into the closet and pulled out a double sided blue fox stole. She threw it around Tom's neck and began to pull the ends one by one. Soft warm fur tickled Tom's neck as the silky fur stroked back and forth. Tom got chills and shivered clearly. Isabel giggled and lifted the stole from Tom's neck and put it on herself.

Tom's erection was really hard to hide anymore. The young man noticed and quickly blushed. Isabel moved her gaze to Tom's lower body and by chance her hand swayed to touch the bulge in his jeans.

"You really like furs, don't you?" she whispered in Tom's ear.

The warm breath gave Tom goosebumps.

"Y-y-yeah," he nodded.

The woman laughed and grabbed the end of the stole. She picked it up and tickled Tom's chin with it.

She whispered again in Tom's ear:

"What if... you take off your clothes... and we find out how soft my fur is?"

Tom froze as hard as a rock and shook in place.

"Well?" the woman inquired.

Tom undressed, his member standing there, begging for attention. The fur-clad beauty walked behind him and pushed him onto the bed.

"Put your feet and arms straight," Isabel ordered. Her voice was sensual and soft, yet commanding and domineering.

Tom did as ordered and the woman attached them to the already installed ropes. When she finally caught them, she sat on top of Tom and started stroking his sides with the soft sleeves of the coat. Tom's whole body tingled as the silky tickle of the fur caressed him gently.

"Hmm, I have more in store for you", Isabel whispered.

"Tell me of course," Tom answered.

Isabel moved her hands to Tom's armpits and began to caress them gently. The surprisingly intense feeling made Tom giggle.

"Did you really think I wouldn't punish you for snooping into my stuff?" she looked serious now.

She began to skitter her nails in Tom's armpits faster. Tom's muffled snickering now turned into laughter as the woman's nails began to tickle in earnest. The surprised man began to wiggle in his bonds, but they were tight, and the tickling Venus in furs sitting on top of him didn't make moving any easier.

“WHAHAHAHAHAHAT? LET ME GOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” Tom commanded.

"I don't think so. You should learn not to snoop around. Tickle tickle tickle!” Isabel teased.

The tickler now moved her hands to Tom's sides. Claws skittered around the sensitive skin, causing Tom to shriek and squirm in desperation. When would this torture end? Tom was afraid that he would never get an answer. He would die laughing when Isabel wouldn't stop tickling him in time.

The tickler decided to mix things up and moved one hand to tickle Tom's stomach while the other remained at his side.

"NO! NO! STOP IT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Tom prayed.

"Poor you, you’re so terribly ticklish. Luckily, all you have to do is laugh. Oh, and we can't leave the other side jealous, can we?" the tickler replied and switched hands.

Isabel watched Tom's reaction with a smile, as if enjoying his suffering. There was a playful twinkle in her eyes and she looked completely devoted to tickling Tom to no end.

As Tom tried to squirm and pull away, the fur-clad tickle demon only added to the tickling, her fingers tickling Tom's sensitive spots. However, she stopped in the middle of everything.

"Don't go anywhere," she said gently, glancing behind him.

Tom held his breath, waiting to see what would happen next. His heart was still pounding and he was breathing heavily from the tickling torture as Isabel walked over to the closet. She dug for something and took out a box and a mohair scarf.

After a while, Isabel returned with the things, which she placed at the end of the bed. She opened the box and took out a feather duster. Isabel wiped it against her palm and winked at Tom. The woman sat down on the bed and moved to lay down next to him. She reached under Tom's neck and arm so that his head rested on the coat sleeve and her hand was near his armpit. Tom glanced at Isabel, who was smiling slyly and waving the duster in her hand.

Isabel began to tickle the armpit and brush the oh-so-soft duster around Tom's sensitive exposed skin. The soft touch of the ostrich's feathers felt wonderful, but it admittedly really tickled. The duster combined with the chaos wreaked by the claws in Tom's armpit created a powerful tickling combo that would make anyone squirm.

Tom soon felt the feathers coming close to his inner thighs. Despite the tickling, Tom's erection had not subsided at all. Soft feathers covered Tom's genitals as Isabel chose her next tickle target. Tom's sounds turned into a mixture of laughter and moans as the soft caress of the duster caused him immense pleasure.

"Tickle tickle," Isabel whispered and blew into Tom's ear.

Tom's crotch disappeared into a sea of soft feathers as Isabel tickled him and tickled him. Tom felt he was close. He wouldn't need much more and just as he was done, Isabel stopped as if at a wall and moved the wand aside.

"Please! Please!” Tom asked.

Isabel just giggled to herself and moved back to the box. She picked up the soft mohair scarf and stroked Tom's cheek with it before tying it over his eyes. Isabel's whispers and tickling made his body vibrate with desire. He was like a bow stretched to its limit waiting to be released. But at the same time, confused thoughts were running through his mind, it was hard for him to focus on anything other than the tickling and the impending climax.

When the mohair scarf was placed over his eyes, Tom was in the embrace of darkness for a moment. But at the same time, he felt even more sensitive and vulnerable to anything Isabel was willing to do to him. His body tensed with anticipation and his mind was full of mixed emotions.

Soon Tom felt something wet, baby oil, being rubbed onto his feet. Was Isabel going to give him a foot massage? So what was he blindfolded for? Isabel rubbed the oil all over Tom's feet so that not a single spot would be without it. The massage felt good and Tom enjoyed this treatment. A little pampering after the tickling torture was nice.

However, Isabel stopped again. Tom even started to get a little mad. Damn, all good things always come to an end suddenly. Isabel started to dig something out of the box again. Tom felt Isabel grab both of his big toes in her hand.

"Now it’s about to really tickle!" Isabel stated.

Something began to rub rapidly along Tom's oiled and surprisingly sensitive feet. Isabel had grabbed a hairbrush. Tom lunged into the air in his bonds, screaming. How could something tickle so much? Tom's screams filled the room as Isabel continued to tickle his feet with the hairbrush. He tried to wriggle and kick back as best he could, but the bondage held him firmly in place. The tickling felt like electric shocks that ignited with every touch of the hairbrush.

Isabel's giggles filled the room as she enjoyed Tom's reactions. She was like an evil magician who had conjured up a powerful tickling attack. Tom tried to beg for mercy, but his words were drowned out by laughter and shouting. It was hard for him to think about anything other than how to end this torture.

Isabel let go of Tom's toes and continued to brush Tom's left foot as her tickling nails hit the right foot. Tom exclaimed in surprise and tried in vain to pull his leg further, but his efforts were futile.

Tom felt completely helpless. Every touch felt like an electric current on his sensitive skin. He laughed and laughed, begging Isabel to stop, but at the same time his erection continued to live with no end in sight.

His senses were on overload and his mind was filled with nothing but tickling and a desperate desire to get rid of it. But at the same time he was as if under a spell, unable to resist the call that made him want more.

Isabel's giggles once again filled the room as she continued to tickle Tom's feet. She was like a playful cat that had caught its prey and enjoyed torturing it.

"Oh my tickle slave. Do you want me to stop?” Isabel teased.

Tom tried to keep his wits about him, but the tickling was stronger than he had ever experienced. He screamed and laughed, completely out of control as his emotions washed over him. He was like a pawn in Isabel's hands, completely under her control.

Isabel threw the brush away and continued with her nails. The oil was diabolical. It made Isabel's nails slide down his feet at lightning speed. Tom felt every movement more strongly and sharply than ever before. The sensitivity added by the oil made the tickling almost unbearable.

Isabel decided to slow down and let Tom breathe and he gasped for it. The almost non-stop tickling had made him almost pass out. The member of the tickling slave was at a throbbing standstill, dripping with excrement.

Isabel took the scarf off Tom's face. His face was tomato red and his eyes were wet with tears of laughter. The tickler stroked Tom's cheek gently as he collected himself. Isabel seemed to think about something for a moment before she smiled at Tom. She made continous eye contact with the tickle victim as she moved to sit on her legs.

She took the soft blue fox stole from her shoulders and wrapped it around Tom's throbbing cock. The fur felt lovely against his sensitive throbbing penis. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the feeling.

Isabel pumped the soft Fur slowly up… down… up… down… It was wonderful. The fur tickled, but in its own gentle way. The soft and fluffy stroking felt heavenly. Tom gave himself completely to this sensation and moaned gently.

"I hope it doesn't tickle that much," Isabel smiled.

Isabel got the idea from the statement she had made. Her gaze shifted to the fluffy feather duster that was still lying next to Tom. She picked it up and began to gently tickle Tom's balls and taint. Tom opened his eyes momentarily and flinched.

"Shh, just enjoy," Isabel urged gently.

The fusion of fur and feathers was inexplicable. The man had never experienced such a wonderful feeling. He began to moan louder and Isabel slowly increased her treatment. Tom started to tremble a little. He was close.

"Cum when you're ready," Isabel urged.

It didn't take long for Tom to shoot his load. His back came off the bed as warm cum gushed out forcefully almost touching the ceiling. Tom felt every muscle in his body tighten as he reached orgasm. Tom screamed out loud with pure pleasure. Good if the neighbors didn't hear.

Tom was lying on the bed panting, wet with sweat. Isabel stroked his hair.

"Are you sure you’ve learned your lesson now?" Isabel asked.

Tom didn't answer, but nodded. Isabel came to his ear.

"Call in sick tomorrow. I have other plans for you", Isabel whispered and kissed Tom's cheek.

What could tomorrow bring?

[thescentofrainonstone]

On Class in Britain and why the same kind of actor ends up getting our panties in a twist (see Hiddleston, Cumberbatch, Goode, etc...)

Isn't it peculiar that all this adoration and fandoms tend to be about white-cis mostly het (thought admittedly that's the more laxed of attributes) able thin, tall, pale but most importantly coming from riches guys?

You look at a Tom Hiddleston and his first headshots and roles and the wonder has got to be there: "how much time and means were available to him to get his degree from Oxbridge and then decide to do another entire BA on top of it at RADA?"

Admittedly he gets off easy going back historically("just" baronets in his line) when in his league we have Benedict Cumberbatch, whose existence is literally dependant on the slavery his direct ancestors built their empire on in Barbados, and were paid compensation when the end of slavery came to England. Finally his Wikipedia has a full description of this even though when I worked on the essay that took the Downton Abbey series and films as examples of the inhumane social divide the UK depends upon, it was all incredibly well swept under virtual rugs with a vague quote from Mother Cumberbatch advising her son to change his surname in case "they come after you for money" where money stands for "reparations" and considering the luxury of an arts career like the last few Cumberbatches have had is something intrinsically entrenched in wealth and privilege makes perfect sense if you ask me. A councillor in New York carries the same surname and she is Black. Slaves carried the surname of those who owned them.

Let that sink in: there is currently a commissiomer (and Professor at Columbia) in New York who carries the Cumberbatch surname because they are a direct descendant of the Slaves the Cumberbatches owned and owe their fortune to. Stacey Cumberbatch.

So yeah, when people think the UK is not the US, they Invented class and the divide that come with it. It is so crucial to come from a family that can afford you connections and the luxury to work for nothing while never risking bills or rent going unpaid.

And I guess what I'm trying to say is: it's ok for all the fandoms to salivate over anyone, I just think it's important we know why the media propels in front of our eyes the same prototype of Englishman over and over, and perpetrates the production of new pieces of media that casually seem naturally meant for white, rich, het passing people.

The system works like a bottleneck for privilege and I think the SAG-AFTRA strikes also show that: everyone that had some privilege and didn't do anything to average out the system will see their own reduced over time until only the tip of the top remains. And "eat the rich" is going to be another post but you get the gist.

That is to say, next time I go to Insole Court (the Victorian house where a Lot of A Discovery of Witches was filmed, including Matthew's "rooms at Oxford") will I touch every single book of the reading room because likely I will have touched something Matthew Goode touched when he was there filming? Sure.

I also do know that house was paid for by coal miners who actually died in a tragedy in the mines owned by the Insole family and that admittedly I find the only decent way to keep real estate built with the blood of people can just be that: give that back to the people.

It's about educated choices, that's what I'm trying to say.

Fun fact: I started watching a discovery of witches because after filming the essay at Insole Court, wanting to bring down the bourgeoisie, I learned the show was also filmed there. So i went and found it and now I have another white, pale, lanky, English twink to lose sleep over just because he's been given a character created by the mind of a woman who dreams enough, possibly because unfulfilled in some part of her life -because when we're happy we go out, we don't vomit pages over pages let's be honest -.

If none of those elegant white British men who embody the characters we love come from a program that allowed them to raise from the working class... or are anything but white or adhering to a white-er standard (Rege- Jean Page is the quintessential example of this, better than nothing but still, my point)...Maybe we should ask ourselves why, and how is that ok.

Just a random though on a day I wanted to go back to Insole Court for the aforesaid reason.

[dlifesworld]

Top 7 Living Room Design Trends for 2024

If you’re an interior design enthusiast or a homeowner looking to revamp your living space, 2024 is bringing some exciting changes to living room design. The living room, often the heart of the home, deserves a stylish and functional design. Let's explore the top seven living room design trends our interior designers in Pune compiled to help transform your space into a haven of comfort and elegance.

1. Sustainable Materials

In 2024, sustainability continues to be a key focus in interior design. Homeowners are increasingly opting for eco-friendly materials that are not only beautiful but also kind to the planet.

Recycled Fabrics: Upholstery made from recycled materials is on the rise. Think sofas covered in fabrics made from recycled plastic bottles.

Bamboo and Cork: These materials are not only sustainable but also add a touch of natural beauty to your living space.

Reclaimed Wood: Floors, coffee tables, and shelves made from reclaimed wood bring a rustic charm while promoting sustainability.

2. Bold Colors and Patterns

Say goodbye to neutral tones; 2024 is all about making a statement with bold colors and patterns. This trend is perfect for those who want to inject personality into their living room design.

Vibrant Hues: Deep blues, rich greens, and bold reds are making a comeback.

Geometric Patterns: From wallpaper to rugs, geometric patterns add a modern touch to any living room.

Mixed Prints: Don’t be afraid to mix and match different prints. The key is to balance them with solid colors to avoid overwhelming the space.

3. Multifunctional Furniture

With the rise of smaller living spaces, multifunctional furniture is becoming increasingly popular. Pieces that serve multiple purposes are not only practical but also stylish.

Sofa Beds: Perfect for guests and small apartments.

Storage Ottomans: These provide extra seating and storage space.

Foldable Tables: Ideal for those who need a dining table that can be tucked away when not in use.

4. Biophilic Design

Biophilic design, which focuses on incorporating natural elements into the home, is gaining traction in 2024. This trend is all about creating a connection between the indoors and the outdoors.

Indoor Plants: Adding greenery not only beautifies your space but also improves air quality.

Natural Light: Maximizing natural light with large windows and skylights.

Water Features: Small indoor fountains or aquariums add a calming effect.

5. Smart Home Integration

Technology continues to influence living room design, with smart home integration becoming more accessible and user-friendly.

Smart Lighting: Control the ambiance with smart bulbs and lighting systems.

Voice-Activated Assistants: Devices like Amazon Echo and Google Home make managing your home easier.

Automated Blinds and Curtains: Adjust your window treatments with the touch of a button.

6. Minimalist Aesthetic

The minimalist aesthetic remains strong in 2024, focusing on simplicity and functionality. This trend is all about “less is more.”

Clean Lines: Furniture with sleek, clean lines.

Neutral Palette: Whites, grays, and muted tones create a calming environment.

Decluttered Spaces: Keeping only essential items on display to maintain a tidy look.

7. Vintage and Retro Accents

Adding a touch of nostalgia, vintage and retro accents are making a comeback. These elements bring character and charm to modern interiors.

Mid-Century Modern Furniture: Pieces inspired by the 1950s and 60s.

Retro Lighting: Statement light fixtures that evoke a sense of nostalgia.

Vintage Decor: Incorporating antique pieces like mirrors, clocks, and artwork.

2024 is shaping up to be an exciting year for living room design. Whether you’re drawn to bold colors, sustainable materials, or smart home technology, there’s a trend for everyone. By incorporating these top seven living room design trends into your home with the guidance of a reliable team of interior designers in India, you can create a space that is both stylish and functional.

[shecreateshome]

44 Decor Ideas for Your Dream Bedroom

1. Luxurious Bedding: - Start with the foundation – invest in high-quality, luxurious bedding for the ultimate comfort.

2. Statement Headboard: - Elevate your bed with a statement headboard that adds style and drama to your bedroom.

3. Soft, Neutral Colors: - Choose soft, neutral colors like muted grays, serene whites, and calming pastels to create a tranquil atmosphere.

4. Cozy Throw Blankets: - Place cozy throw blankets at the foot of your bed for an inviting touch.

5. Plush Area Rug: - Define your bedroom space with a plush area rug that adds warmth and texture.

6. Ambient Lighting: - Install ambient lighting fixtures like dimmable sconces or pendant lights for a soothing atmosphere.

7. Floating Nightstands: - Opt for floating nightstands to save space and create a modern look.

8. Wall Art Gallery: - Create a gallery wall with your favorite artwork or family photos.

9. Ceiling Fan with Lights: - Combine functionality and style with a ceiling fan that includes integrated lighting.

10. Sheer Curtains: - Hang sheer curtains to allow natural light while maintaining privacy.

11. Accent Wall: - Paint one wall in a bold, contrasting color or use wallpaper to create an accent wall.

12. Full-Length Mirror: - Add a full-length mirror to make your bedroom feel larger and provide a practical space for getting ready.

13. Dresser with Mirror: - Choose a dresser with an attached mirror to streamline your morning routine.

14. Customized Shelving: - Install customized shelving to display books, decorative items, and personal mementos.

15. Canopy Bed: - Create a romantic ambiance with a canopy bed draped in sheer fabric.

16. Bedside Table Lamps: - Illuminate your bedside tables with elegant table lamps for bedtime reading.

17. Elegant Wall Decals: - Decorate your walls with elegant wall decals for a stylish and removable design element.

18. Plentiful Pillows: - Layer your bed with an assortment of pillows in different sizes and textures for added comfort.

19. Statement Chandelier: - Make a grand statement with a striking chandelier as a focal point in your bedroom.

20. Room-Enhancing Plants: - Bring nature indoors with bedroom-friendly plants like peace lilies or snake plants.

21. Tufted Ottoman: - Add a tufted ottoman to provide extra seating and storage space.

22. Coordinating Bedside Tables: - Choose matching bedside tables to create a cohesive look.

23. Customized Headboard: - Design a customized headboard that perfectly fits your bedroom's style.

24. Soft Roman Shades: - Install soft Roman shades for a timeless and functional window treatment.

25. Bed Bench: - Place a bed bench at the foot of your bed for a touch of luxury and additional seating.

26. Dreamy Canopy Curtains: - Hang dreamy canopy curtains for an ethereal atmosphere in your bedroom.

27. Mirrored Furniture: - Incorporate mirrored furniture for added glamour and a spacious feel.

28. Layered Bedding Textures: - Mix and match bedding textures like linen, velvet, and silk for a luxurious look.

29. Window Seat Nook: - Create a cozy window seat nook with cushions and throw pillows for a tranquil reading spot.

30. Statement Accent Chair: - Place a statement accent chair in a corner for a stylish and functional addition.

31. Textured Wall Panels: - Enhance your bedroom's texture with textured wall panels or wood paneling.

32. Dressing Screen: - Use a dressing screen for privacy and a touch of vintage charm.

33. Minimalist Floating Shelves: - Install minimalist floating shelves for a sleek and clutter-free display.

34. Vanity Table: - Set up a vanity table with a chic mirror for your beauty routine.

35. Luxurious Bed Canopy: - Elevate your bed with a luxurious canopy for a regal touch.

36. Dramatic Black Accents: - Introduce black accents through decor items or furniture for a touch of drama.

37. Layered Curtains: - Layer curtains with sheers and blackout options for flexibility in light control.

38. Patterned Bedspread: - Opt for a patterned bedspread to add visual interest and personality.

39. Cozy Reading Nook: - Create a cozy reading nook with a comfortable chair and good lighting.

40. Monogrammed Bedding: - Personalize your bedding with monogrammed pillows or sheets.

41. Gold and Metallic Accents: - Incorporate gold or metallic accents for a touch of opulence.

42. Wall-Mounted TV: - Mount a TV on the wall for entertainment without taking up floor space.

43. Elegant Crown Molding: - Add elegant crown molding for a touch of architectural charm.

44. Serene Ocean Vibes: - Create a calming ocean-inspired bedroom with blue hues and nautical decor.