#white walls and olive green carpets

[mariocki]

Shadows of Fear: White Walls and Olive-Green Carpets (1.8, Thames, 1971)

"Often, a man wants a girl as long as he can't have her. Then, when he's free to marry her, he has second thoughts. He thinks he could do better for himself: no hurry, shop around. It happens."

"Just like that, huh?"

"People do what's best for themselves. I've been let down before now."

"Often?"

"No one ever did it more than once."

[michaelburham]

Guest - Beach Style Bedroom Inspiration for a mid-sized coastal guest carpeted bedroom remodel with green walls and no fireplace

[crystalgemzine]

Guest - Beach Style Bedroom

[ussgallifrey]

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 25

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, dialogue taken directly from Avengers: Age of Ultron, demisexuality on full display, language, mentions of minor character death, baby can you taste the foreshadowing in this chapter?

✦ Word Count: 5.2k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Cinematic Soundtrack: Here

[Master List]

Tony has absconded your rotary phone and secluded himself in the living room, calling numerous numbers on a list he keeps waving around in his hand as he paces back and forth. You watch him go, catching only a few words of his rapid-fire conversation before you move to join the others at the back of the house.

The three rooms at the rear of the home had once been an office, a ladies’ parlor, and a dining area. You had them all converted to be one large library. While the archways remained in place, separating the three areas, they looked nearly identical. Emerald wallpaper covered the tiny slivers of walls that weren’t obscured by the floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

Clint is sitting on the chaise lounge with his legs kicked up over the powder blue fabric, his head dangles over the edge. Steve is respectfully listening along to whatever Bruce is working on. The doctor had found an old chalkboard of yours and was currently writing down several things with a small stub of white chalk.

Looking to your left, you see the assassin currently perusing the shelves in the first room - where your oldest items were held. While, ordinarily, you wouldn’t want anyone to be anywhere near those books and scrolls, you knew you could trust the redhead with the precious items. 

Wordlessly, you slide past the archer.

Natasha is hunched slightly as she stares at a framed document on the wall.

“Wow, an MA from Cornell?”

Her eyes flicker up as you move to stand beside her. Crossing your arms, you stare at the old degree.

“Mhmm.”

“It’s a good forgery,” she comments. “Did you get Brandon or Nadia to do it?”

Back in your SHIELD agent days, those two were the best when it came to making forged documents: passports, ID cards, certificates, you name it.

But you merely shake your head, chuckling as you lean your weight down onto the edge of the small wooden desk, “No, that one’s legitimate.”

She’s silent for just a moment before she hums, “That makes sense.” And then she’s turning to look at you, snapping a ball of evergreen gum, “How many more you got hiding around here?”

“Oh,” you smile, easing up from your spot. 

Crossing the room, you bend down to pick up a stack of frames, all lying on the carpet beside an olive-green velvet armchair. You flip through them, old memories pulling up to the surface as you view the degrees for the first time in a long while.

“I have nine here,” you say as you hand them over to Natasha, one by one. “University of Sydney, Art Institute of Chicago, Royal College of Arts, University of London, uh… Bedford - that was my first medical degree, Göttingen, Washington University.”

She smiles that secretive little smile of hers as she inspects each one. Holding up the last frame, she states, “This looks pretty old.”

You snort, “Near ancient really. That was… Cronus, 1794? They started allowing women into their lectures just a few years before that. Actually! My oldest one is from Bologna, in Italy. That was…1431?”

Her brows arch, “They gave women degrees in the 15th century?”

“13th. Professoressa Gozzadini was one of the first to graduate and teach at the university. I sat in for a few of her lectures, but law was never really my interest.”

She lets out a low whistle, “Look at you. Probably the most educated out of the group.”

With a shrug, you take back the frames - returning them to their rightful spot in a pile on the floor, “I’m not the one who went to MIT, I don’t have any degrees in engineering or mathematics. I certainly wouldn’t call myself the most educated.”

She reclines back on the desk across from you, “Why did you bother?”

“Pursuit of knowledge, mostly. And, back then, before a government-appointed forgery artist, you had to have an MA to be a museum curator. I mean, once I started working for SHIELD, I had a few made up just to give me access to other places. It tends to raise a few brows when you show up with a degree marked thirty years older than what you look, you know?”

Natasha offers you a gentle laugh.

“I imagine so.”

“So, even though I have fake degrees from Yale, and Harvard, and U of M, and Cambridge, I’ve only ever actually attended about ten universities?”

“More than me. The KGB didn’t really hand out degrees for… my training.”

Your smile fades as you watch the flicker of something distant dance in her green eyes.

While you had checked in on everyone earlier that afternoon, Natasha had been with Clint when you came in. He had assured you that they were both fine then and she had nodded in agreement. But you could tell, there was far more under the surface than she was willing to let see the light of day.

“You doing okay?” you ask, voice hesitant as you move closer to her.

She glances up, back down, and then up again, “Mhmm.”

“Hey,” you draw closer, enough to gently nudge her arm with your elbow. “It’s honestly no one's business, but… if you did want to talk to someone other than Barton about it… I mean, we’re the only two women here and I imagine, even though you guys are friends, it might be harder to talk about some of these things. I don’t know, I’m not great at the whole friend thing these days.”

She snorts, a smile playing on her lips as she looks over at you.

“You’re doing fine, Seven. And you know, me and Clint aren’t just friends. I can tell him pretty much anything and he’ll listen. Even if he’s got his aids out.”

There’s a nod of understanding as you breathe out, “Yeah, I guess you two have been through a lot together. Budapest and all that, right? Hard to shake a friend like that.”

Natasha pauses, dropping a hand to your wrist as she meets your eyes.

“We’re more than friends. I mean, don’t go… talking about it to everyone. But, wow, I thought we were a little more transparent?”

Your line of thinking pauses, resets, and starts moving again before you’re able to get any words out that sound even remotely coherent.

“Oh… you’re… together?”

She nods, offering a little humming sound.

“I did not know that.”

The redhead laughs, “Well, welcome to the party. Everyone else has been pretty… respectful about it actually.”

You shake your head, “No, I honestly had no idea. That whole… realm? That’s kind of beyond me.”

She blinks.

“Relationships?”

Looking toward the wall of shelves where medieval manuscripts and musty age-worn books reside, you take a steadying breath.

“Romantic relationships. Eros, if you will.”

She lets the words sit for a minute before she says anything further.

“I mean, I didn’t want to perpetuate the virgin goddess stereotype, but…”

“Hey,” you shove her arm. “I got enough of that kind of talk from Sharon. I don’t need you jumping into it too.”

“Carter?”

You hum in reply.

It may have only been a year since you last encountered the blonde agent. But your short time on Olympus with the humans had been cemented in your mind for some time now. You could recall the young woman’s words, her inquiries into your… past love life, or lack thereof.

Humans spoke so freely about that topic these days. But… that was not for you. And though you understood their curiosity when it came to you, they had to know that the way you existed was far different than the way they did when it came to love. 

You knew the worlds of agápē and philia. Even storge, philuatia, and xenia. But eros… that had always remained far from your reach, slipping through your fingers like wispy mist. And that was just the way it was; the way it had always been.

The way it would likely remain.

“Hey.”

The two of you turn to see Clint resting in the doorway.

  “Whatcha talking about?” he grins.

You and the redhead share a look before simultaneously replying:

“College.”

“Relationships.”

Your eyes seek out Natasha’s but she merely winks at you before returning her attention to the archer.

“Right…” he drawls, itching the back of his head for a moment before he continues, ”Stark says he can’t get through to Cho’s lab. He’s trying to get someone on Hill’s team to go look into it, but…” he ends with a vague shrug.

Feeling the pull of the previous conversation fall to the wayside, you blink, “She was working with regenerative tissues, right? Oh, that is so obvious I want to smack myself!”

“Okay?” Clint calls as you breeze past him into the central room of the library.

Steve stands from the lounge as soon as you walk in, moving to stand alongside Banner as you peer over his shoulder at the chalkboard.

“If I was looking to evolve, as an artificial intelligence, why would I need living tissue?”

Bruce nods, juggling the chalk between his hands, “Exactly what I was thinking. Vibranium is more than enough.”

“So, why would you want a humanesque body if you believe you are the superior life form?”

The others circle into the room as the two of you begin to brainstorm.

“Uhm… relatability? You know, a friendly face to the humans you’re trying to protect?”

You shake your head, “No, he’s artificial he can’t care about that. I’d say maybe he’s trying to circumvent the Laws of Robotics in some way, but that seems like a far fetch.”

Steve stands beside Bruce, tilting his head to look down at the current list of theories the doctor had written out.

“Would he be able to convert vibranium to be like a form of skin?” he wonders aloud.

You both let the idea simmer for a moment before reaching the same conclusion.

“Anything’s possible, I suppose,” Bruce admits, looking to you for a differing opinion.

With a nod, you add, “And if anyone could accomplish that, it would be Helen. Her work in the field is above anything else to date.”

“Bet she wouldn’t be doing it willingly,” Natasha points out as she browses through your literary collection.

The supersoldier lets out a breath, realization dawning, “That’s why he needed the scepter.”

“And a million distractions,” Clint huffs.

As the idea rests upon your consciousness, Tony finally makes an appearance. Surveying the gloomy atmosphere, he whistles.

“Wow, brainstorming without me. So… got in touch with my contacts at Nexus. Looks like we were right, someone’s been scrambling the launch codes. Faster than Ultron can figure them out, I might add.”

Natasha perks up, “We have an ally?”

You offer her a look, “Ultron has an enemy. We can’t assume that’s the same thing as an ally. All things considered.”

Your eyes land on Steve and he seems to give a small nod, agreeing with your sentiment.

“So,” Tony begins. “I think I want to head to Oslo, see what’s what.”

Steve crosses his arms, “And Dr. Cho?”

“I think we can safely assume we dropped the ball there as well,” the billionaire gestures a small explosion with his hands.

The supersoldier’s eyes harden.

“We’re not abandoning her.”

“Is that what I said?” Tony clips, squinting at Steve as he moves to cross the room.

Natasha knocks her head back against the bookshelves, “What happened to not splitting up?”

Tony turns to look at her, “What are we? The Mystery Gang? Zoinks, Scoob, let’s go fetch the metal man.”

“Hey, look,” Clint moves to stand between the two men. “No offense, but as someone who’s been on the other side of that damn scepter, I wish I had someone running to come undo it.”

Beside you, Bruce tugs off his glasses and gives a slight sigh.

Observing the room, watching the team begin to tear themselves apart once again in the span of a single evening, you finally step forward.

“If you - ” you address Tony, “ - head to Oslo and track down this entity or person or whatever, the rest of us can go to Helen and figure out what exactly Ultron might have needed from her.”

“Or, we can trust that Hill and her agents have it in hand and we figure out where the bastard is hiding out,” Tony suggests with a knowing smile.

Before you can even ask why he would consider that option, your landline begins ringing its shrill bell tone. You stare at the billionaire for a moment more before you push your way out of the room to answer the call.

“Hello?” you ask into the receiver.

“It’s Hill,” comes the instant reply. “Stark was right. I’ve got people at the labs right now and she’s still coming out of it. It sounds like Ultron made out with something of hers - hell if I know what, right now. Give me some time and we’ll get an answer out of her. She’s… pretty shaken.”

“But unharmed?” you question, glancing back as you notice someone coming down the hall.

“Luckily, yes.”

There’s a beat of silent static, but you sense there is something more she wants to say.

“What is it?”

“We… uhm, we intercepted an image before it was broadcast to every major news network.”

Tony’s, surprisingly, the one standing beside you. His eyes are wide and imploring, but you merely wave your hand at him.

“What was the picture?”

“Strucker. Dead.”

“His usefulness ran out,” you surmise.

“Pretty graphic stuff, honestly. But we’re keeping it from the airways for now, so.”

It made sense, of course. For the perfect peacekeeper to remove a threat once it was no longer helpful to him.

“Any idea on the location?”

“Funny you should ask,” she says. “It was taken in the mutants’ cells, back at his hideout.”

Now that, was interesting.

“Okay,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead as you glance back over at the billionaire. “Well, I’m going to hand you back to Tony before he forcefully rips this out of my hand.”

Before you can even hear her reply, Tony does in fact take the receiver out of your hand.

“Talk to me,” he says, offering you a wink as you shake your head before he dips into the living room to continue the call.

When you walk back to the library where the others are still conversing, Steve looks toward you with a questioning look.

“Well, I hate to say it,” you huff. “But Stark was right. She’s in good hands right now and yes, she’ll be fine. We might have a location though, for Ultron.”

Bruce’s eyes brighten as he looks over at you, “Where?”

You offer them all a tight smile.

“Sokovia.”

The house is bathed in the hushed tones of evening. The halls are painted with the cool hues of starlight and the feint ambiance of a lone lamp in the library. 

After Maria’s revelation, the team had a quick conversation before it was admitted that they would need at least a few hours of sleep before anyone was in any condition to go anywhere near a robot hell-bent on your collective destruction. So, you bid goodnight to Clint and Natasha - now understanding why the two were sharing a room. As well as Bruce, who was guided up to a room on the third floor.

Tony was determined to head to Oslo as soon as humanly possible. He had taken his suit and decided to fly to the internet hub after his last call with Hill.

That only left…

“Are you just incapable of sleeping?” you ponder as you lean against the wooden archway of the library’s main entrance.

Steve blinks up at you before offering a tired smile, “To be fair, I’m not sure if I could sleep even if I wanted to right now.”

He’s sitting on the blue lounge with a book in his lap. A black-bound story with lettering so faded on the cover you’re not immediately sure which book it is. You take a few steps into the room before you drop down beside him on the chaise.

“From fear of our possible demise or… from that vision?” you ask, tone soft as you begin to tread difficult waters.

The supersoldier’s mouth gapes before he snaps the book closed.

Ah, Treasure Island.

“Little of both?” he answers honestly.

You give him a nod before taking a breath for yourself.

“Do you, uhm, want to talk… about it?”

He looks at you before he drops his gaze to his hands. His silence makes you think you’ve waded out too far into the unknown, but after another stretch of quiet, he says:

“I saw my Ma, actually.”

“Really?”

With a nod, he places the book on the end table beside the lounge. Leaning against the back of the chaise, he entwines his hands into a fist in between his legs. His eyes are locked on the ceiling.

“Everything before that was… hell,” at that, he glances over at you, before almost immediately pulling his gaze away. “And then… I saw her. She looked just like she did before…” he gives a sigh.

“It didn’t feel like the beginning of the vision. That felt like I was completely at the mercy of the nightmare. This part, with her, it was… I don’t know, different.”

Your hand finds purchase on his right forearm, silently imploring him to continue.

“She verbally snapped me out of it, I guess you could say.”

“Must be one powerful woman,” you comment with a small smile.

Steve’s left hand rests comfortably over your own, his thumb rubs at the area just above your wrist. You find yourself leaning into his side, your head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“She was.”

And then, he gives a warm chuckle.

“She, uh, actually used to read me this,” his hand lifts from yours to gently pat the book on the table beside him.

“Oh, such a classic,” you smile.

You can feel him nod, “Honestly got me thinking I was going to grow up to be a pirate one day.”

Pulling back, you fix him with an incredulous expression, “You? Seriously?”

He grins, “What, can’t see it?”

“The rule-breaking and lawlessness? Oh, absolutely. Pillaging and treasure-taking, not so much. You don’t seem the type.”

Steve gives a low-belly laugh.

“I’ll concede to that.”

“Though, now that I think about it,” you pull away just to appraise him. “Captain Rogers does have a certain ring to it if we’re dealing in the realm of piracy.”

He shakes his head, looking down at the book for a long, quiet moment.

“God,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve read this since I was a kid, actually.”

“You want it?”

His head whips back to look at you, an immediate shake of dismissal, “Nah. No, Athena, it’s yours. And it looks, truth be told, older than even me.”

“Well, that’s not much, considering,” you schmooze.

Pushing up from the chaise lounge, you swipe up the book for yourself. The raised leather feels familiar in your hand as you trace your index finger over the embossed green letters.

“It’s a signed copy, you know.”

You flip open the front cover to reveal the signature.

He blinks.

“You’re shitting me.”

“No,” you laugh, collapsing back on the lounge next to him with your legs tucked in under you. Shoving the book in his direction, you point to the dedication.

To Minnie, Wishing you a wonderful adventure. - Robert Louis Stevenson

“I was his nurse for about three months in 1884. Real sweet guy once you got him relaxed and comfortable. I think I have his copy of Jekyll and Hyde around here somewhere…”

Steve’s still staring at the words written in ink, so you carefully deposit the book into his lap. You lean back onto the opposite end of the lounge, waiting for him to say something.

“Minnie?” is the only thing that comes out of his mouth, however.

“Oh, yeah. That.” Rubbing at your arm, you look toward the shelf of books across from you. “Athena’s not too common of a name for most of history. I ended up going by the name the Romans gave me: Minerva. Minerva Polias; Minnie, for short.”

He nods, still a little transfixed.

“Do you still go by that, or…?”

You drop a hand on his arm and he immediately turns his attention toward you with wide blue eyes.

“Steve. Please. Never call me Minnie. I gave you my real name three years ago with the intention that you would use it. There’s no need for aliases between friends.”

He lets out a small breath as a sweet smile comes to his lips.

“Good,” he settles on. “Almost had me worried for a minute there.”

“Hey,” you bump his shoulder with your own. “Can I convince you to try and get some sleep? It’s almost two in the morning and I’d like you to be in top condition if you’re throwing that shield around tomorrow. Don’t need to have you taking off Clint’s head.”

“I wouldn’t - ” he starts to say, but the look on your face settles him. “Okay, fine. You too though.”

“Me too what?” you question with a tilt of your head.

“Sleep. You have to sleep sometime, I’m sure of it.”

With a shrug, you stand from the couch and offer him your hands, “If it’ll get you to try, I’ll do it.”

Steve chuckles, setting the book back down on the table before he pulls the drawstring on the lamp, pulling you both down into the heavy darkness of night.

“Guess it’ll have to,” he says, voice low as the embers of light fade away.

His hands slip into yours and you don’t really have to pull him up, but he allows your fingers to stay entwined all the same. Up the stairs you go, walking slowly to avoid the creaking steps, a hand still held in his.

On the third floor, you can hear the very gentle breaths of Bruce’s snoring from down the hallway. In the sliver of moonlight drifting through the stairwell’s window, you can make out Steve’s features. They’re chiseled like Grecian marble, his eyes are ablaze with the lonely dots of shimmering starlight.

You stop outside of his room, your hand slipping free from his hold.

“It’s a deal then?” you ask in a hushed tone. “You’ll try and sleep if I do the same?”

He nods as he looks down at you. His hands are shoved into his jean pockets.

“Can’t make any promises,” he admits with something somber in his words.

Unable to help yourself, you reach out your hand to cup his cheek. His skin is warm under your touch and you can feel him dip his head down into your palm. Dark eyelashes flutter closed.

You offer the supersoldier a sad smile.

With everything that had happened today and everything that was still to come, it would surprise you if Steve was able to even drift into a light sleep, let alone keep his thoughts at bay long enough to fall asleep.

You’re a little surprised when the man in front of you turns his head ever so slightly. His lips gently press against your open palm before his eyes blink open to look down at your surprised face.

“Get some sleep, Rogers,” you murmur, letting your hand drift back to your side, feeling a ball of tension building in your stomach. “I’m just across the hall.”

His eyes lift from your face to peer at the door directly behind you. A small smile appears on his lips.

Without another word, but several long looks, Steve goes into his guest room and you move across the hall to the room you had long ago claimed as yours. Your door clicks closed first, followed a moment later by the sound of his.

You do not sleep that night.

Your mind is a labyrinth of thoughts, and plans, and ideas that may or may not come to pass. Working through imaginary strategies well into the morning light. You do not feel the draw of exhaustion that you imagine your mortal friends do.

So, as the glimmer of orange and magenta light drifts over the horizon, you take hold of your pendant - still resting comfortably, if not heavily, against your bosom. You offer a silent prayer to whoever wishes to listen before you begin gathering your things.

Coffee is running in the pot for the others, though you have no real food to offer them. You knew Clint and Steve kept a well-stocked snack pouch in their go-bags; mostly granola bars and the like. But it would have to be enough for today.

The others emerge at their own pace, starting with Bruce and then Natasha. Followed by Clint and eventually Steve. The plan had been made the night before, when all six of you were still present, that no matter what, the five of you would leave on the quinjet this morning - regardless if Tony got into contact or not.

Which, he did, sometime just around 6:30.

“I found our ally. Had to pick up the pieces and reassemble him back together.”

“JARVIS?” someone had asked.

“He didn’t even know he was in there, that he was fighting back Ultron. He was still following protocols from within.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Still working on that,” he had said.

After placing the last coffee mug onto the drying rack, you take one final look around the house. It would be some time until you returned, you were sure of it.

Pallas is perched on the porch rails when you finally close the front door.

“Hey,” you coo with a soft sigh. “It’s gonna be a while till we see each other. I want you to head back home and stay there. Where we’re going is going be no place for you, bud.”

He bites your finger for good measure before he ruffles out his feathers and soars up into the early morning sky. Celestial blue starlight drifts behind him like a fluttering veil before he pops out of existence.

Steve’s waiting for you at the ramp, already dressed in his uniform - free of his helmet and shield for the time being.

“Once we’re twenty miles clear, we’ll open up the channels again,” Clint says, already behind the controls.

Tony had said there was a bag full of intel that Hill was waiting to tell you all. Settling into the seats behind Clint, you watch as the house grows smaller and smaller, and eventually, gives way to a projection of a forest canopy. And then you’re zipping across the landscape, ascending into the cloud coverage.

Only ten minutes out and they get their call from Hill. Steve watches as you begin to pace the length of the jet.

Right now, you were still down two players. Tony was wrapping things up in Oslo and Thor was still… nowhere to be found.

The public’s understanding of the entire situation was about as bad as it could be. Marking the team as the true villains of the day with endless coverage looping clips of the Hulk destroying Johannesburg and the two Gods going blow to blow in a debris-ridden New York street.

There were countless interviews with eyewitnesses and civilians who had been in the crossfire who praised the help they received from the Ultron bots. There was no mention of you or Sam in London, or Tony’s efforts to aid the people in South Africa.

For all the world knew right now, Ultron was their promised savior.

“What else?” you had asked, voice clipped as your head lay heavy in your palm.

Hill reported CCTV footage of the mutants in multiple locations across Sokovia’s capital city - seemingly hiding in alleyways and shadowy areas. As if trying to avoid detection.

“They flip sides?” Clint had questioned with a note of hope in his voice.

“Unknown,” was all Maria could offer you.

At least they had an answer for what Ultron had been seeking from Dr. Cho. For better or worse.

“A living body?”

“Well, that’s fucking terrifying.”

While they had been split across two continents, fighting mindless battles, Ultron had entered South Korea, otherwise undetected. He had used the scepter on not only Helen Cho but her entire team. Her precious cradle had been corrupted for his nefarious means.

She reported that the mutants, Pietro and Wanda she recalled, had left quite suddenly. And that it had been the girl who released Helen from her forced state. Ultron had escaped with the cradle right after. Helen and her team had been left completely unharmed.

As they crossed the Atlantic, only more questions lay heavy in the air. Multiple unknowns for what they might be walking into. While everyone appeared for all the world to be ready to face whatever lay ahead, Steve knew that appearances could be deceiving.

Just getting the wings fixed, Sam had texted him. Give me some coordinates and I’ll be there.

Steve had shown you the message, noticing a look of relief drifting across your features. He had almost forgotten how close of a call it had been at the Tower, thanks to everything else going on at the time. Between his own nightmarish memories and his need to get you and the God of Thunder away from each other before the city was destroyed any further.

“Only the Abomination could destroy something made out of Adamantine,” you had said with a slight shake of your head.

But as they draw closer to the country, Steve can feel the physical tension hanging in the air. So, when Clint calls out an ETA, the supersoldier stands up to address the team. If not to quell the anxiety in them, then perhaps to help with his own.

“Ultron likely knows we’re coming,” he starts, letting his hand fall onto the back of your chair. “Odds are we’ll be riding into heavy fire. And that’s what we signed up for. But the people of Sokovia, they didn’t. So, our priority is getting them out. We find the cradle and we clear the field. Keep the fight between us.”

He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“Ultron… he thinks we’re monsters. That we’re what’s wrong with the world. It’s not just about beating him. It’s about whether he’s right.”

His eyes drift over to your face.

They all had been rattled by Bruce’s confession last night. And that, perhaps, was the most terrifying part of it all. He completely understood where the doctor was coming from. They were a rag-tail group of people from supremely different backgrounds who were supposed to be the elite protective force for the entire Earth.

And yet, there they were arguing over dinner, in a helicarrier with a scepter three feet away, in the middle of Manhattan.

Steve wouldn’t deny the fact that the team wasn’t perfect.

But the fact that Ultron propped himself up as the better option. An inhuman supercomputer who could decide the fate of everyone on the planet. No, even with all their imperfections, the Avengers Initiative was the best - the only - true option out there.

You nod, darkened eyes meeting Steve’s. And then a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I’m still not ghostwriting your speeches,” you mouth.

Steve looks down with a chuckle before he grips your shoulder. Staring out the window, he watches as the distant stretch of land peeks past the waves of rolling blue ocean.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

To Sleep With War

Modern AU Doephael.

Doe wrung her hands and stepped gingerly into the Yule party. She tottered in heeled boots, a tasteful cinnamon brown against the warm cream of cable-knit tights. She tugged self consciously at the hem of her faux suede skirt- it was borrowed, shorter than she was used to and flimsy feeling. The jumper was hers though, a big draping thing that near swallowed her in bright red fabric.

The room was sparsely decorated, with one sad tree in the corner draped with red and gold tinsel, the half facing out dotted with cheap shiny baubles. The gift boxes beneath were just empty, wrapped with the vestiges of paper from last year. Her colleagues milled about- there was Rolan, chatting animatedly with his siblings, Alfira and her girlfriend, and then Wyll’s father and Florrick, arguing in the corner.

Scanning the room- a standard hotel function with its greige walls and threadbare stained carpet- she spotted her boss. Hunching her shoulders, she slunk off in the opposite direction. I do not want to deal with you right now. Instead, she slunk around the edge of the room, watching for her friends. Ancunin’s hair would be easiest to spot, white as starlight as it was.

‘Don’t worry, Dodo,’ drawled a voice from her left. ‘I’ll protect you from that greasy little creep if I have to.’

‘Astarion,’ she yelped, turning. ‘How many times-‘

He cut her off. ‘Too many, I’m sure.’ She scowled in reproach and he sighed. ‘Oh, alright, you spoilsport. Doe. Sweet darling timid little Doe, when are you going to grow a spine?’ He stood there in his splendour, all in emerald green. The colour brought out his eyes, the olive depths of them flecked with honey. ‘You scrub up well, don’t you?’

‘You sound surprised.’ She did not have the energy to be insulted. ‘No no,’ he insisted. ‘I always knew there was a glamour-puss under the layers of exhausted, dogged loyalty to that prick,’ he glanced over. ‘Gortash doesn’t deserve your hard work. Or your sharp little brain.’ He tapped her forehead, throwing her a megawatt grin. ‘Come with me.’ He took her hand and drew her through the milling crowd- she spotted the Vanthampurs, the Thorms, several colleagues she’d never spoken to. ‘I need you to save Gale from himself. He’s going spare.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, you’ll see.’

He led her to a corner table at the back of the room. Lae’zel, Wyll, and Karlach were sprawled in their chairs, and Gale was talking animatedly, frowning. ‘-see, the problem with having not just colleagues but donors present is that it technically means we’re still working-‘

‘Oh, do be quiet, Dekarios,’ griped Astarion as they approached. ‘Have some wine.’

‘I will not,’ said Gale, his nostrils flaring. ‘That stuff is vinegar. And not the good kind.’

‘Vodka?’ said Doe, producing a slim hip flask from her shoulder bag.

‘Hello Doe,’ said Gale, moving to hug her briefly. He smelled like the museum library. ‘Why did you bring vodka?’

‘If you have to ask,’ cut in Karlach, raising a brow, ‘then you’ve bonked your head.’

‘Ah,’ he said, nodding sympathetically. ‘Of course.’

‘You alright there, soldier?’

‘Can’t complain.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Wyll, jabbing a finger at her for emphasis. ‘That scabby little wanker treats you the worst of all of us. You’ve got every right to complain, love.’

‘Mhm, fair.’ She took a swig. ‘If you were Gort’s secretary you’d probably drink yourself into a stupor, too.’

‘Hear hear,’ came Shadowheart’s soft voice. ‘Have you been arguing with people again?’ Raising a brow at Gale, she crossed her arms.

‘Not at all, my love. Merely a lively discussion about why in the hells we��re expected to work at our own Yule party.’ He pulled her in to kiss her soundly, drawing twin noises of disgust from Lae’zel and Astarion.

‘I don’t much care, so long as we can all get trolleyed and sing bad karaoke.’

‘Jen-‘

‘Ah,’ she put a finger to his lips.

‘Shadowheart.’ He kissed her finger. ‘I’m just saying it’s important.’

Doe leaned against the table, still anxious. Wyll and Karlach started a game of snap behind her, Astarion nursing a glass of swill. She examined her nails, their glossy red suddenly feeling cheap against the hotel backdrop. There was a buffet on the opposite wall, but she dare not approach; her memories of the last one flashed through her mind, a night spent on the bathroom floor emptying the contents of her stomach.

‘I will say,’ she piped up, turning. ‘This fiasco is not my fault. I was off sick the day this place was booked. It was actually Orin’s incompetence. I would’ve booked a stately home or something, but it was too late to change the booking, and-‘

‘Where is that secretary of mine?’ she heard too late. Snapped from her rant by a hand on her shoulder, she was steered away too quickly, stumbling slightly in her heels. ‘There you are,’ said Gortash, his breath heavy with booze. ‘I want to show you off. You look fantastic.’

Oh no. ‘But-'

‘No no, this night will go off without a hitch,’ he said cheerily, a hint of threat in his voice. ‘As long as you do your damned job.’ ‘But I’m not working,’ she started.

‘Who pays your wages?’ he hissed. ‘That’s right. Me. Now get over here and charm these bastards, or you’re fired.’ His voice was low, so as not to call attention, and she bristled at his overly familiar touch.

Her shoulders slumped. I fucking hate you. ‘Right,’ she said flatly. She’d already written his speech- tonight was supposed to be a gala, a shindig, whatever the hells they called it when a load of insufferable-

‘Ketheric, you’ve met Doe before.’

‘Ah,’ said a man she recognised. ‘Yes. I seem to remember you as accomplished. Congratulations on being above the rest of this rabble.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. Judgy bastard.

‘Most accomplished, yes,’ said Gortash. ‘Though I am certain she has other more useful talents.’

She shuddered, disgusted at the oiliness of his tone. He squeezed her shoulder in warning. ‘I read Classics,’ she supplied pointedly. ‘Specifically studying the intersection between the…’ she began, though the words died as her boss dug his yellowing nails in, painfully. ‘I mean,’ she said, suddenly sounding saccharine. ‘I have to say, the Watch has really expanded its scope, and in the new year we’re hoping to put all this generous funding to use on the new site. I’m sure you’re aware of the challenges we’re facing? Protesters and activists, the journalists are not happy with the state of progress. Your generosity is wonderful and very much needed.’

‘Good girl,’ murmured Gortash low in her ear as she finished her spiel, feeling bile rise in her throat. He let her go and wandered tipsily off to harass a waitress, and Doe let out a breath.

‘Well,’ said Ketheric politely. ‘I think maybe you’ve twisted my arm, Doe. I shall have to have a think about what we can give once dinner is concluded. Isn’t it true that places like this are only as good as their admin?’ He winked, turning away to talk to his wife, an ethereal looking woman in silver and white. Doe rolled her shoulders and clenched her fists, breathing through her mouth in an effort not to throw up. The clock on the wall read as barely 8pm, and already she wanted desperately to go home and scrub herself clean. She took a couple tottering steps back towards her friends, but warm fingers closed around her wrist, halting her. She turned, half expecting Gortash’s return.

‘Forgive me,’ said the man who held her arm. ‘I heard you mention you studied Classics, and I’d be fascinated to hear more. Would you please?’ He gestured to the chair across from him and she nodded, standing awkwardly. He was handsome in a rich man sort of way- sharply pressed Italian cut suit, neatly combed dark hair, and skin that clearly saw the sun. But it was his voice, the low, growling purr of it, that arrested her attention. He threw her a charming smile, eyes glittering like the two fingers of cognac in the glass on the table. ‘You’re shaking,’ he pointed out.

She was, she realised. Her hands trembled at her sides. Exhaling, she tried to smile. ‘Oh, I’m fine, actually, I think I should go back to my friends.’

‘Take a moment. He scares you, doesn’t he?’

Astute. ‘No.’

‘Come now,’ he said, looking unimpressed. ‘If you can’t be honest with a stranger, who can you be honest with?’

‘A little.’

‘He treats you poorly.’

‘Yes, he does.’

‘Sit with me.’

‘I shouldn’t really,’ she said shyly. ‘I’m technically working.’

‘At a party?’ he said incredulously. ‘Absolutely not. You enjoy yourself. I’m not sure I caught your name though, my dear.’

‘Doe.’

‘Doe. A sweet name for a sweet face. Named for deer or rabbit?’

She blinked in surprise. ‘Rabbit, actually. Most people just assume deer…’

‘I take pride in paying attention,’ he said. ‘You must have a libation for telling your tale. Please.’ He gestured to the glass of cognac. ‘Try it. I insist.’

She didn’t know how he knew she never had, and didn’t want to question it. ‘I… sorry. I’ll just get another glass, I have some vodka in my-‘

‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘Go on.’ He pushed the glass toward her. ‘You don’t look contagious.’ He smiled, almost daring her to do it.

‘Okay.’ She perched gingerly on the edge of the chair opposite him and picked up the glass, turning the amber liquid this way and that. Taking a small sip, she coughed as it burned down her throat.

‘Small steps,’ said the stranger. ‘Give it a moment to develop.’

After the burn was a blooming of flavour- oak and sweet spice, vanilla and caramel. ‘Oh, it’s really nice. I like that.’

He watched her set down the glass, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘Auspicious. Now, tell me your opinion of that new translation of The Odyssey, would you? I fear I might die of boredom if that slimy little employer of yours approaches me again.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I hope he doesn’t hear you saying that.’

‘I hope he does,’ he snarled. ‘He ought to be brought low, that one. You can tell me how you ended up in his service another time. Please, go on.’

‘Oh, well,’ she said. ‘I think the new translation is good, definitely more accessible for the layperson, but I do think it misses some of the magic of the original. Sometimes the value in these texts, I find, is in untangling them. And if there’s nothing to untangle, it feels a little bit soulless. There’s value in it for sure, but I didn’t fall in love with Classics as a discipline because it was easy.’

‘Well said.’ He smiled, sipped from the glass. ‘Would you like some more?’ He placed it in front of her.

‘I shouldn’t.’

‘That,’ he said slyly, ‘isn’t what I asked.’

She blushed, embarrassed. ‘Well. Yes, I would. As a matter of fact.’

‘Then drink.’

She drank. ‘I don’t miss my uni days,’ she continued, unprompted. ‘They were pretty awful, broadly speaking. A lot of my lecturers seemed to really be stuck in the dark ages-‘

‘Such is the life of an academic,’ he sighed dramatically. ‘I can’t say I miss my university days, either. Though they’re doubtless much further away than yours.’

‘I’m 30,’ she said. ‘And frankly it was this job or rot in obscurity at home.’

‘30 whole years? You jest, surely?’ His eyes widened and he leaned forward. ‘Why, you look positively cherubic.’

She frowned slightly, unsure how to take the theatricality in stride. ‘Well,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m glad to be here, no matter what age. Better to live than the alternative, no?’

‘Certainly.’ He smiled, a flash of perfect white teeth. ‘Though not under the thumb.’

‘I’m not.’

He regarded her silently for a moment. His gaze seemed to burn, her stomach swooping. Even when she looked away, his eyes did not waver. ‘Hmmm. Indeed. Listen, you go home. Have a nice evening. I’ll deal with him. But…’ he looked suddenly more intense, reaching into his suit pocket. ‘Take my card. I’d hate for this to be our first and last meeting, Doe. You’re wasted in a place like this. Now go, slip away before he notices.’

‘This is a really bad idea.’

‘The very best kind,’ he said with a quirk of the brow. His eyes gleamed conspiratorially.

She took the card. ‘Thank you. Who should I ask for when I call?’

‘I am Raphael,’ he said, taking her small hand in his to shake firmly. ‘It's been a pleasure. I hope we see one another again soon.’

‘See you,’ she said, rising to her feet. With a quick glance around, she scurried off to the exit, slipping into the night.

‘Get home safe,’ he said, voice carrying to her on the wind as she closed the door.

Huddling into her jumper, she began the short walk home. Her hands fumbled the keys, it was so cold; letting herself into her flat finally, she sighed in relief, locked the door, and stripped out of her uncomfortable clothes. ‘Fucking hell,’ she said, peeling back her tights to reveal bloody blisters. ‘I need to quit my job.’

She showered, ate a chocolate bar, and ignored the dishes in the sink that had been there for the last week in favour of texting the number on the glossy black business card in her pocket.

Hey, she wrote. I’m home safe. Thank you for looking out for me today. I appreciate it. -Doe

Not five minutes later came the response:

You said you were going to call. -R

Her stomach flipped. It’s a little late.

Many words or sleep, yes. I understand. Sweet dreams, little Doe. -R

The very counterfeit of death. It’s nice that you understand. Goodnight.

Tags:

@bluerosetarot @dansnotavampire @further-than-forever

@forget-me-maybe @poetryvampire @sasha199 @wandawillow

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

@aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard

@crimson-and-lavender @reeseykins @medra-gonbites

@roguishcat @weaverofnetheril @galedekarioswifey @hyperfixationstation128 @12thhouse-sun

@astarryvamp @feedthepheasants @dabigstinky @dreamingofthewild @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

@femmefuck @spooky-lil-bee @m00kieblaylock

[911described]

[Image description: 30 second promo trailer for 911 season 7.

The thumbnail is Tommy and Hen standing beside a helicopter on a roof, both looking towards it. Tommy smiles as he touches the side of the door and Hen looks into the back in surprise.

Daytime, Athena sits on a chair in a casual office, wearing a long-sleeved pastel-pink rib-knit high-neck sweater. We see her side-on, tilting her head seriously to someone off camera, as she says "last week".

She fades out and the camera fades up, moving back and zooming out on Bobby and Athena taking a step towards each other in a crowded ballroom, as a woman sings with a band on stage. Athena says, "my husband", emphasis on the second word. Bobby is wearing a pale blue button-up shirt with a darker blue pinstripe check pattern, under a navy blue suit jacket. Athena is in a golden yellow dress with a sweetheart neckline and a single crossbody strap over her right shoulder.

Athena's voiceover continues, "he booked us on a cruise", as Athena slides her free hand up from Bobby's chest to his shoulder and he starts to sway them jauntily.

The image fades out and we then see the cruise ship, sailing towards a sunrise. We see over Athena’s shoulder at Bobby sitting at the edge of the bed in their cabin, without his suit jacket. He says something and raises his head, eyebrows going up slightly as though waiting for an answer, while we hear Athena continue, "it's kinda a belated honeymoon".

As she says, "honeymoon," we see Athena, now facing away from Bobby and looking off to the side then ahead in contemplation. Over someone's shoulder, we see Athena in the office again, lip curled in an incredulous sneer and shaking her head sharply as she admits "I'm terrified."

Frank is in his wheelchair, and wears a pale olive-green button-up shirt under a maroon sweater and navy blue chinos. On the exposed brick wall behind him are a number of photo frames, with a few certificates and a photo of a fire engine. He opens his hand towards Athena, from where it rests on his yellow notepad, and frowns and nods rapidly as he reassures, "I'm sure you'll be fine."

Three speed boats race across the open ocean. A grappling hook flies over the edge of the cruise ship, bouncing on the ground before latching onto the railing. A pale skinned man jogs down external stairs, wearing an ear piece and a camouflage vest and holding an automatic rifle up. Behind him, another gunman rushes forwards, gun pointed ahead. We hear someone shouting "get down!"

A muscly gunman holds a gun down at his side as he pushes two tourists against the outside of the deck. Inside, in an airy carpeted space, clusters of people lie on the floor as we hear another voice bark out "stay down!". A resounding drum beat starts, getting faster and faster.

All around the pool side, people kneel in a line. On the near side, with their backs to the camera, are Bobby and Athena, along with three other people. On the left, Bobby wears a bright red button up shirt with dark jeans and black suede boot. Next to him, Athena wears a lavender linen shirt, white slightly cropped cigarette cut trousers and white sneakers.

Two people down, a man in a white shirt and black formal trousers is being pushed to his knees by one gunman as another stands guard in front of Bobby.

Someone with dark hair picks an axe up from where it is held above a porthole. A computer screen changes from 99% to 100%, with text about terminal servers next to it and other windows open behind it with various code.

There's an explosion in the lower decks. The ship tilts into the rocky ocean. The drumming stops.

Ruelle's Hold Your Breath starts playing, as red text reading "Thursday March 14" slams onto a black screen. A high pitched female voice sings "hold your breath" as Hen stands in the dispatch centre, head jutting urgently forwards as she asks "I'm looking for Captain Nash and his wife". She is wearing a white v-neck t-shirt under a cream zip front short sleeved silk bowling shirt with a decorative pink rose pattern around the collar and on either side of the zip. The rest of the shirt shows places around California, such as see the redwood trees in Yosemite, and Griffith Park observatory.

As Hen continues, "I can't find their cruise ship," we see Bobby walking along an external corridor, everything obscured by heavy mist. The ship name, The Uno, is written beside him. He strides forwards purposefully, head moving as though searching for something. Athena is in the lower decks, bathed in red light and surrounded by pipes as she clutches onto them on either side. She leans to one side as she tries to stay upright.

The firehouse alarm sounds, and Buck and Eddie turn from facing each other in the firehouse bay. Buck looking upwards in mild annoyance as Eddie runs away. Eddie is wearing his LAFD t-shirt while Buck has the LAFD long sleeved sweater.

A male voice announces "dispatch all emergency rescue units", while Ruelle sings "don't let go". At night, Tommy and Hen walk alongside a yellow and white LAFD helicopter on a roof. Tommy smiles as he opens the door and Hen looks into the back in surprise, as we see Eddie smiling warmly out at her. Tommy is wearing a LAFD helicopter pilot's flight suit.

Buck, Chim and Eddie sit in the back of the helicopter, all wearing their wet weather turn outs and looking out at Hen. Buck looks worried and serious, Chim crosses his arms with an unimpressed frown, and Eddie pouts as he holds out Hen's turnout coat, to go over her long-sleeved uniform.

"9-1-1 comes to abc" is written in red and white gradient text, on a red and blue gradient background. Hen shuts the helictoper's door.

The helicopter rocks violently, and Tommy looks over at Hen as he says "we're flying into a hurricane", the final word emphasised in annoyance.

The sky is bright pink around them, as Hen goes from looking out the window to quickly turning to a person behind her, waving her hand frantically as she says “go back, go back, that’s it"

Ruelle sings, "I feel it coming" as the camera bursts out of the water, revealing the capsized ship in the background, a life buoy in the foreground being buffeted by the waves. A helicopter light approaches the ship. Athena crouches in the dark, a close-up on her turning to look over her shoulder, lips parted and eyes wide in fear.

From under the helicopter, we approach the ship on its side in the water, at a 45 degree angle, all its lights on. The sun is rising in the background. The 9-1-1 and abc logos are on screen, along with "season premiere Thurs March 14"

/end ID]

costume details provided by @stagefoureddiediaz

(People article too)

[ed3nang3l]

I’m bored so i’ve started writing a story on wattpad, thought i’d post chapter one here as well cuz yk y not?

Operation Cattivo

Undercover Agent Aurora Banks has been sent to infiltrate the Angelo family, a powerful Mafia family in Sicily, Italy. After all, Agent Aurora Banks is well known for her organized and logical thinking. No one doubted that she'd succeed in this operation, not even herself. As far as she was concerned, she was ready for anything! Well, almost anything - she was not ready to bump into her rival, Agent Lola Rodríguez, on the same operation.

Tw: she like kills a rat, first time writing, probs lots of mistakes

• • •

The stunning green eyes of a woman scanned the dim alleyway, taking in her miserable surroundings. The glistening moonlight illuminated the grimy walls of the run down buildings that towered over, casting shadows that danced beneath the flickering street lamps. The overpowering stench of the vile mixture of the must from the narrow passageway and the acrid fumes of stale cigarette smoke invaded her senses. The sound of her leather boots echoed against the damp pavement that lay underneath her sturdy heels, the noise bouncing off the brick walls and settling in the suffocating atmosphere.

As the figure paused before a dilapidated hotel, the atmosphere grew darker. With a quick fumble in the pocket of her black cargo pants, the woman retrieved her phone and flipped it open, the faint glow casting shadows along the dusty walls and brightening the scene.

She reached out to the stiff door handle, the cobwebs that dressed the old timber door in veils of fine, white lace breaking under her rough touch. The creaking of the old door screeched through the thick silence as she pushed it open, letting out a chilling gust of air that bit icicles into her olive skin.

The lady's piercing green eyes scanned the building in front of her, checking the address on her phone that she holds with her leather glove clad hand. Once satisfied, she nodded to herself and took a tentative step inside. A strand of her long black hair brushed against her defined face, a small scowl etched onto her features. She furrowed her dark, thick yet neat eyebrows, her calculating eyes narrowing as she took in her surroundings. She took in the musty smell of the aging carpet, the dingy walls and the flickering lights before stepping further into the building.

The woman wrinkled her nose in disgust as a rat skittered across the repulsive carpet. An audible gag escaped her parted lips, painted in a maroon lipstick, as she witnessed the sight. A sudden loud bang rung through the still air, a small black pistol held in her steady hand aimed at the now dead rat.

"How unfortunate." she muttered with a cold, void of emotion intonation. She quickly tucked the deadly weapon back into her belt that hugged her waist. Not showing an ounce of mercy towards the creature.

Upon approaching the front desk, she noted the absence of any receptionist and decided to take matters into her own hands.

Confidently and with purpose, she leaned over the desk and plucked a room key off its hook. Walking towards her room, she took long, confident strides. As she is face to face with the door of her room, she roughly shoved the key into the keyhole and twisted. Without hesitation, she barged into the room, slamming the door behind her, and set down her black duffel bag on the floor. The woman reached down, grasped the zipper on the bag, and tugged it open. She pulled out a stunning dress. The dress was black, sparkly, and expensive-looking, it had a high split up her thigh and a semi-low neckline. The luscious dress matched the pair of black, sparkly stilettos that she also revealed from the spacious bag.

The woman swiftly brought the dress, heels, and some other accessories and items into the bathroom. Neatly folding the dress on the bathroom counter and placing the heels on the cold tiled floor.Plugging in her curling iron and blow dryer before turning on the shower. In a hurry, she discarded her clothes on the bathroom floor and stepped into the shower. She lathered herself with vanilla and almond scented soap, especially making sure to thoroughly wash her hair with the same-scented shampoo and conditioner. After her cleansing, she took a step out the shower onto the rugged mat, quickly wrapping a towel around herself. She dried her hands and blow-dried her gorgeous, long, black hair, which cascaded down her shoulders. Just as she was halfway through curling her hair, her phone rang on the counter, vibrating forcefully reflecting her assertive personality. The ringers name: "Boss.". She picked up the phone, putting it on loud speaker.

"Agent Aurora Banks?" , a dim voice questioned on the other side of the phone."Yes, Sir. Agent Aurora Banks. About to set forth 'Operation Cattivo'", she returned in the same dim voice.

Agent Aurora Banks. An undercover agent sent on 'Operation Cattivo'. The infiltration of the Angelo family, an infamous Mafia group in Sicily, Italy. Agent Banks works as an Agent in England, yet has been selected to go undercover for the Italian police.

[lovemariannexox]

The house

Swelled largely on its foundations, deeply rooted into the ground. Flora and rock of different kinds were arranged around, following the house's contours. Walled in was the house with Ivy, a purple hue tinged a jealous green. Moss covering boulders like a dense and warm shaggy carpet. Coiffed shrubbery shivering proudly, waiting to be acknowledged. Passerby could find themselves showered with cherry blossom or birch leaves of a firey ember. Or else, unexpectedly met by a pointy reckoning from a pine.

Deep within the foilage gentle and inquiring hands could find the rough surface of the redbrick with its nooks and grooves. A small wooden door was set into the house like a hidden alcove. A bright glow, filled with promise spilled through a little window, giving the entrance away. The entrance to a house heavy with generations, history, and meaning. A house that was never made to outlast the universe, never made to stand the test of time.

It is difficult to say why it was built. Why it was placed by itself at the centre of everything else. And most of all who was responsible for it.

It was clear that it was heavily used but difficult to say whether those within ever came out.

It is difficult to say if anyone saw through the windows, but if they did they would have seen bodies moving quickly.

People with mysterious intentions.

The Neighbours

Ada was 12 when she first realised she could see through her window into the house next door. She was 12 and a half when she realised what that meant.

She used to like being by her window and the way the light would filter in, she used to like making out the shapes of the trees through the dirty glass and imagining what the birds would look like from their sounds.

Now she clutched the bottom of the window frame with white knuckles to squint at the form of the boy at the window across the way. The house was white, with large windows that were often open, making it easier to see the people inside. Over the years the boy next door spent more and more time in his room, sitting at the open window and playing music. The low murmuring, repetitive thumping and melody made Ada’s heart race.

There was a moment when Ada realised the shape of her could be seen from over there. She would crawl around on the floor in her room in the day until she was safely out of sight, not quite willing to sacrifice the daylight, and kept the curtains tightly drawn at night.

And Ada spent more and more time watching. The other occupants of Ada’s house barely saw her anymore. Her room accumulated layers of dust, spiders, cobwebs that would get tangled in her hair.

Ada and her room were crumbling away until the day Ada realised

She could make him see her.

So Ada set to work. She started with herself. She soaped until her skin was raw. She washed her hair and combed it with lavender and olive oil until it shone. She collected all the scraps of red fabric in the house and spent days fashioning herself a red dress. Can you see me now? She frantically scrubbed the square of wall that was illuminated by the sun that shone through the dirty window and finally, with a deep breath, sponged the glass until she could see the tiles on the White House, the wood on the slats of the big window panes, and, the reflection of her own home in the window opposite hers. She saw herself standing there and fixed her eyes on this figure in red. She felt a warmth blossom in her chest. She watched as the figure smoothed her own hair, caressed her red cheek, her white neck- suddenly the figure was broken in two.

Staring out of the now open window was the boy, and he had seen her. Ada was paralysed with shock. He stared transfixed in a similar way, then smiled. Ada couldn’t help but smile back. He raised a hand to wave, and Ada copied. He turned his head, bewildered, to take in the full expanse of Ada’s house- and suddenly slammed the window shut.

the red figure in the reflection wavered, and then fell to her knees. A sharp bang and then an unintelligible voice. She saw him leaning out of his window, shouting towards hers. She sprang back up, he gestured at her to open her window. Ada fumbled at the old mechanism, tugging fruitlessly at the handle. She cried out in exasperation. then, her fist pummels through the glass. Finally, seeing his face in full colour, she smiled.

Who are you?

I’m Ada.

I’m Mike. (Pause) I wasn’t sure anybody lived in that house.

this is my house.

I think you’re bleeding, Ada.

she looked down to see her pale skin dripping with red. She blushed and watched it fall onto her dress.

Ada?

she looked up slowly, taking him in from his hands on the ledge up to his sweaty forehead. he had a single piece of hair stuck to his face.

I want to kiss you.

She inhaled sharply, her eyes met his and were pierced by their darkness. She leaned through the window to try and reach him, but as her feet lifted off the ground she felt the threat of gravity and grabbed onto the edge. His window is closed now, and she’s unsure if he was ever there.

…

Are you here?

[torrilin]

Ye-es but also noooooo…

The classic 70s colors were harvest gold (the yellow here is much too bright), avocado green (a dull olive color that comes when you didn’t put any lime in the guacamole and left it on the counter, not actual avocado color), and a weird dull orange. These all get paired with dark brown wood or plastic wood grain, so much wood. For a bright accent, mint green and a pastel yellow with a green tinge were used.

Avocado green was THE color that people actually bought. So much green. I have been in so many houses that weren’t updated and green and brown is just overwhelming. Unless someone in the family was determined to have good windows and white wall paint, default avocado just looks bad. Harvest gold with the brown wood grain is a trifle less oppressive, but was definitely not as popular. Bright orange with wood grain wouldn’t look bad, and people trying to modernize while retaining the 70s feeling often wind up there, but the correct orange is more like a dark terracotta.

Hot pink and purple appeared as clothing colors, but they were not very popular or mainstream colors. It was a lot easier to find clothes in red or navy blue than hot pink and purple (as a kid who grew up in garage sale clothes in the 80s). And they just weren’t an option for interior decor choices. As decor shifted into the 80s, dusty rose and wedgewood blue took the place of the 70s trio, but the bulk of the look was still green and brown wood grain. 80s green shifted slightly lighter and greyer.

A more correct bed would be a brown frame, the green patterned sheets with a matching green patterned canopy and green beads if you must have beads. Beaded curtains were rare, but usually were wooden beads when they existed. Much denser beading, and no space between the hanging strands. It’s more likely that a door would be replaced with a beaded curtain than a window curtain or a bed curtain. Those suckers were heavy! So if there’s bed curtains, same fabric as the sheets. Also, more ruffles and pleating. To create a homemade effect, lace trim and rickrack. For maximum 70s, the wallpaper would match. And there would be wallpaper. Wallpaper meant you had decorated! Green shag carpet.

You may look at Julie’s furniture and think, “My god, 70s interior design wasn’t actually *like* that, was it?” Rest assured. Her furniture is the most accurate part of her collection.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Maria’s stunning home in Versailles, France begins in the living room with sharp white and black walls and a bright turquoise carpet. The white couch paired with black & yellow room accents sits under a paned half wall with a view to the gold hall.

Antique Indian furniture and a Venetian mirror are typical of traditional Moroccan salons.

In the dining room, Maria followed thru with the white lower walls and dark top. A rich olive green is accented with blue and black & white tropical photo mural.

The dining room leads into a a white and deep green wet bar off the kitchen.

Hall stairs to the bedroom level.

This deep gray room has beautiful beams in the ceiling.

Another gorgeous Venetian mirror stands atop a caned chest.

Smaller bedroom in pale gray.

Pretty wallpaper in the hall is in the same hues as the painted walls. Notice the beam to match the ceiling.

A vintage chest of drawers, converted to a vanity, is topped by a Moroccan mirror.

And, here is a serene and welcoming guest room. 

The patio behind of the beautiful stone house.

https://billieblanket.elle.fr/visite-privee-chez-maria-drissi-asamaya-versailles/

[samwisethewitch]

Banishing Nasty Spirits

If you’ve been following this series of posts, you know why a witch might work with spirits, how to establish a relationship with a spirit, and how to communicate with spirits. What we haven’t yet discussed is how to get rid of spirits that are bothersome, annoying, or malevolent.

I was planning to talk about pathworking and astral travel before getting into banishing, but in light of some asks I recently received on Tumblr, I think it’s important that we take a moment to discuss how to get rid of spirits that, for whatever reason, you don’t want around.

There are lots of reasons you might not want a spirit in your space. Just like with people, some spirits just aren’t a good fit for you and your practice. Part of being a spirit worker is cultivating a “spirit team” of beings that you can have healthy and beneficial relationships with.

Some spirits are mischievous and like to cause trouble. If you find yourself on the receiving end of lots of spirit pranks, you may want to gently encourage them to move along. And there are some spirits out there who just genuinely hate humans and will go out of their way to cause mental, emotional, and even physical harm.

Don’t get me wrong — malevolent spirits aren’t common. In my experience, the vast majority of unwanted spirits are more annoying than dangerous. I’m not saying this to scare you or make you paranoid. But these things do exist, and it would be negligent of me not to mention them in a series on spirit work.

There’s a reason that one of the most common truisms in witchcraft is, “Never conjure something you can’t banish.” If you’re going to be working with spirits, it’s a good idea to know how to banish them just in case. With that being said, here’s how you can clear out any nasties that may be lingering in your space.

Cleansing

The first step is to kick those unwanted spirits out of your space. There are lots of ways to do this, so choose the one that is the best fit for you.

Cleansing with fire and smoke is a very old and very simple method. If this is the way you decide to go, there are several magical substances you can burn to banish spirits. Burning sulfur or asafetida will clear out just about anything, but they both smell awful and are potentially toxic, so you’ll want to get an okay from the other people living in your home, burn a little at a time, and make sure you have lots of windows open. (Some people say sulfur and asafetida will banish all spirits, not just the unfriendly ones, so you may have to invite your spirit team back in later.) For something that smells a little more pleasant, you can try a mix of frankincense and myrrh resin, or burn a mix of dried rosemary, sage (garden sage, not endangered white sage, please!), and bay leaves — but again, make sure you have windows open, because these get smoky. Plus, you want the windows and/or doors open so the spirits have somewhere to go when the smoke chases them out.

If smoking up your living space isn’t an option for you, you can manually clean your space with a wash or powder. If you have hardwoods, you can make a floor wash with water, salt, lemon juice, rosewater, lavender essential oil, and either bay laurel or rosemary essential oil. (This is adapted from an uncrossing bath in the book Utterly Wicked by Dorothy Morrison.) Use this mixture to mop your floors, as well as to wipe down your walls and furniture. If you have a humidifier or essential oil diffuser, diffusing some of this mix would also be a good idea.

If you have carpet, you can make a powder by combining salt, dried lemon peel, dried roses, lavender flowers, and bay leaves. You’ll need to ground this really fine, so I recommend using a coffee grinder or food processor. Sprinkle the powder on your carpet, let it sit for a few minutes, and then vacuum it up. I would supplement this by also diffusing a mix of saltwater with rosewater, lemon juice, and lavender and/or bay laurel essential oil. If you don’t have a diffuser, at least sprinkle some saltwater around the room and on your belongings.

No matter which form of cleansing you decide to use, it’s important to verbally state your intention to banish these unwanted spirits from your space. Tell them out loud that they are no longer welcome here and that they need to leave. Don’t be rude about it, but be firm and speak clearly and with confidence.

After you cleanse your space, it’s a good idea to cleanse yourself as well to remove any psychic ties to the spirits you’ve just banished. The easiest way to do this is with a ritual bath. The floor wash recipe mentioned earlier can also be used as a psychic cleansing bath. Other options include a bath with salt, frankincense, and myrrh or a bath with salt, rosemary, sage, and bay laurel. You can use essential oils for your bath, or add the resins and herbs to a cheesecloth bag and drop it into the tub for easy diffusing and cleanup.

If you don’t have a bathtub, you can cleanse yourself in the shower. Place two cups of salt in a bowl. Add lemon juice, rosewater, lavender essential oil, and either bay laurel or rosemary essential oil. If you don’t have essential oils, you can add dried lavender and crushed bay leaves. Add some of your favorite body wash to create a scrub (if you don’t have body wash, use olive oil). While in the shower, use this mixture to scrub your skin — visualize yourself scrubbing away any psychic gunk you might have picked up.

Protection

Once you’ve removed any unwanted spirits from your space, you want to lay down some protection to keep them from coming back. There are as many ways to ward off spirits as there are witches, but here are a few ideas to get you started.

One option is to create a ward. You can do this by anointing the door frames, door knobs, and window frames of your home with a protective oil blend and/or by creating lines of salt across your doorways and just inside your windows. You can use other protective substances if you prefer. As you lay down these protections, visualize a protective shield around your home, and speak aloud your intention to keep harmful spirits out.

Iron is said to repel spirits. Keep a railroad spike or other large piece of iron under your bed to prevent nightmares and to keep spirits from messing with you while you sleep. There’s an old superstition that says that hammering iron nails into the four corners of your home protects it from spirits — this may not be possible if you’re renting, but you can create a similar effect by displaying a piece of iron in each of the four corners of your home. Hematite is a crystal that is high in iron, so it can be used in a similar way to ward off spirits.

Aloe is said to protect from negative spirits, and to bring protection and good luck more generally. It’s also a common house plant that is easy to care for, so this method of protection is especially great for witches who need to keep their practice a secret. Keep several aloe plants in your home to protect those who live there.

For witches with a crafty side, making a witch bottle is another option for protection. There are lots of different recipes for witch bottles, but the basic method is to fill a bottle with sharp objects, add something from your body, and hide it somewhere outside your home (traditionally buried on the property, but leaving it in an outbuilding works just as well). The idea is that any nasty spirit that comes looking for you will be attracted to the bottle (because it contains part of your body), get caught by the sharp objects, and be trapped. To create a simple witch bottle, fill a mason jar about halfway with sewing pins, then add a bit of your hair and some of your fingernail clippings, and finally fill it with liquid (traditionally, this liquid is your own urine, but if that makes you uncomfortable vinegar will also work). If you want, you can also include some of your favorite banishing herbs, resins, or crystals.

Religious symbols can also keep nasty spirits away. If you identify strongly with a religion, display protective symbols from that faith in your living space. For example: a Christian witch might hang up a crucifix or set out a statue of Archangel Michael, a Norse pagan witch might hang up an image of Mjolnir, a Hindu witch might display a statue of Durga, etc. Sometimes the most effective way to keep nasty spirits away is to let them know that you’re under the protection of someone more powerful.

When dealing with unwanted spirits, the most important thing to remember is that you do not need to be afraid. You are a powerful witch, and you are more than capable of getting rid of them. Be confident in your abilities and know that whatever happens, you can handle it.

Resources:

Southern Cunning: Folkloric Witchcraft in the American South by Aaron Oberon

A Green Witch’s Cupboard by Deborah J. Martin

Utterly Wicked by Dorothy Morrison

Where the Hawthorn Grows by Morgan Daimler

[just-your-average-author]

hey folks, so I got a random feeling to write and I have not had that feeling in about a year lol. here is the first fic (or drabble??) that I have written in over a year. its short, its not great, but I'm really proud I wrote it. I hope you like it, and please give me feedback. I love all kinds.

Virgil hummed lightly, pulling into the parking lot of the complex. It looked different than it had when he toured, he thought. Virgil circled around for a moment, his tired eyes drifting to count the buildings lined up in seemingly random order. He mentally counted until building eight came into view.

The building looked identical to when he last saw it, but it still felt different. Sure, the bushes in front were still a bit too shapely, and the pebbles in front of his porch were still littered with leaves and the occasional candy wrapper, but something felt strange.

Oh yeah, it was his home now.

--------------------------

He stepped out of his car and fiddled with the key to pop his trunk. Glancing around at the boxes stacked up haphazardly, he grimaced before choosing one and closing the trunk again. He'd take the rest in later.

Virgil turned his head and anxiously walked around the car, checking to see how he parked. It was definitely between the lines, he noted, but one side was ever so slightly more spacious than the other. He swallowed and forced himself to let it go, convincing his anxious thoughts that he wouldn't piss off his new neighbors by parking slightly asymmetric.

He climbed up the couple flights of metal stairs, huffing as he did, and stopped at the third floor, eyes scanning. The green door on the right had the number 113 engraved in gold, and he checked his phone to be sure it was the correct one while nearly dropping the box he was in a balancing act with.

Once he was positive he was at the right place, Virgil set the box down (noting he should have done that first) and fumbled for his key. It was the gold one, or was it silver? No, it was definitely the gold one; the silver was Logan's…or was it Patton's? Anyway, it was definitely the gold because the apartment door creaked open after just a slight turn.

Picking up his box, he cautiously walked into his new space. The shag carpet was an unsightly brownish-tan, and the walls an eggshell white. The kitchen and living room were one, with no wall dividing them. Fortunately, it was furnished, and as much as the idea of sitting on a couch where potentially hundreds of strangers' butts had previously sat on was unnerving, it was nice to avoid those extra expenses. The furniture was olive green, and the table was a light wood color, and they all sat unseemingly in the corner of the room.

Virgil made his way over to the bedroom, smaller than the ones he had seen in other places but perfect for him. He set the box down on his bed and wandered around aimlessly, taking it all in—his own home. No one thought he would do it. They all called him out on his bluff.

----------------

"You'll never move out," a cruel voice sneered in his memory. "You need me. You can't survive without me. You think you could last one day without me?" the voice jeered. "Let's test that theory."

Virgil shuddered in remembering being thrown out of the house in the bleak January weather. He had sat in the grass and cried, shivering in the wind and hunching into his clothes. It only took a couple of hours before he couldn't feel his fingers anymore and had to knock on the front door weakly before it opened. An arm reached out and jerked him back inside. Virgil began to regret wishing to feel his extremities again as another blow hit his chest.

------------------

Virgil began unpacking the small box he had taken inside and pulled out a couple of trinkets. He smiled at the old hockey trophies, remembering how, in the sophomore year, his team won state regionals. They all went out and celebrated by getting Chinese food and watching the Detroit Red Wings game. It was a good day.

Grocery shopping was a challenge, especially considering his budget was almost non-existent. He managed to find a local grocery store nearby his work that had decent sales. He picked up a few staples like mac and cheese, crackers, and pop tarts. All generic brands, and all on clearance. It would be enough for the time being. He, however, did splurge on a single can of soda as a reward for the socializing he had successfully done. Virgil went to open it once he was home (that was a nice word) and on the sofa when it began to fizz and carbonated orange liquid gushed everywhere.

His eyes widened in a panic, and he jumped up, running to find a towel. He grabbed one out of his closet and frantically patted the carpet, mind flooding with another memory.

---------------

"You shouldn't have been drinking that anyways," sneered the voice.

"I-I'm sorry," Virgil stuttered out. "It was an accident, and I promise it won't hap-"

"You're damn right it won't happen again!" they yelled, enunciating the threat with a shove at the frailer boy. "Clean it up! And let me warn you that you won't be getting another thing out of that kitchen for a week if it stains. Are we clear?"

Virgil nodded weakly and began sopping up the spilled drink, praying to whatever force existed that it wouldn't stain.

---------------------

Virgil blinked, coming out of the recesses of his mind, and looked down at the floor. His hunched shoulders relaxed, and he took a breath. He was alone. This was his apartment. He could spill whatever he wanted. Well, there was the $200 deposit he wanted to get back, but that was beside the point. He took another breath and finished blotting up the rest. He tossed the towel in the hamper, sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV. He smiled a bit as he scrolled through the channel guide and stumbled upon Gilmore Girls. Finally, he could watch it without ridicule. He turned channels and found himself snuggling up in a ball, enjoying himself. A shiver broke his trance as he suddenly was very aware of the colder temps for the season. He eyed the thermostat in the corner as his mind played another memory.

--------------------

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the man barked, causing Virgil to jump a foot in the air.

"It's just- it's cold in the basement," he stammered. "It's nearly 40 degrees down there, so I bought a space heater with my last paycheck from Waffle House." His eyes shifted down. "I know you don't want me touching the thermostat, so I figured this would be okay."

The man growled as he yanked the cord from Virgil. "I could care less about your dramatic ass. I told you not to mess with the temperature period. This costs electricity too, idiot. You're lucky I let you sleep in here. It's a hell of a lot warmer than outside." he snatched the heater and began marching up the stairs with it in hand.

"But-" Virgil called, wincing at the glare he received for speaking out of turn. "Could I at least take it back to the store? I spent a lot on it."

"No," the older man said flatly. "I'm going to throw it out, and maybe that will be a lesson that you don't do things without my permission." With that, he finished climbing the stairs and slammed the basement door with a bang.

--------------------------

Virgil came back to the present, still staring at the thermostat on the far wall. Wordlessly, he slowly approached it as if it were a wild animal and adjusted the heat several degrees. A warm air immediately began filling the air, and his chest lightened.

He made his way back to the couch and curled up, continuing to watch his show and smiling as the room continued to fill with warmth and settle nicely.

Yeah, it was worth $600 a month.

[littlefreya]

Can you write a smut scene with Henry or Sy where the reader needs silence and shushes him so they have sex without making a noise?

Okay I’ve been wanting to do this for a while! 😇

Warning: Fluff to Smut, Breeding

Warning: Fluff to Smut, Breeding

***

Little ice crystals formed onto the window’s glass. Henry glimpsed outside, looking at the heavy blanket of snow on the ground, an opposite of the warmth inside.

You were crouched on four on the white carpet, with Oliver sitting on your back, giggling hysterically as you neighed like a horse.

Heather and Charlie invited you to stay with them for Christmas and what a wonderful time it was for Henry to see his beloved nephews and niece. Being the great brother and sister in-law, you suggested to babysit the kids while the two went out on a date.

Naturally the kids loved you, especially the young ones, maybe even a little bit more than “uncle Superman”. Henry was a little bit jealous but the envy in his heart melted as he saw the sight of you with a child.

The thoughts about you being just as wonderful with his child were invetible. He wanted to start a family of his own almost more than anything, yet he didn’t want to pressure you into it and make you feel like the only reason he married you was his need to reproduce. It was much more than that. You were his everything.

Charlie and Heather returned after a crazy night of clubbing, teasing you two for being “old wankers” as you both had a beat look on your face. You sat with them, listening to their stories while Henry had you in his lap, his arm wrapped around your torso and his chin resting on your shoulder.

Something felt different, he was softer than usual, stroking his thumb over your belly button through the covered shirt. Whatever it was you felt it too, you wanted this life, having the chaotic living room games with Henry, yourself and someone that was a creation of your own.

As night drew near, you went to the guest bedroom, Henry leaned against the door and watched you with admiration on his blue eyes while your rubbed lotion over your exposed legs.

“What?” You chuckled, almost embarrassed.

“I loved seeing you with the kids this evening” he answered, looking you up and down.

“I love them” you answered “Olie kinda looks like you”

“It’s the curls” he admitted and moved to sit on the bed next to you, his hand resting on your thigh and his fingers reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“And that gorgeous chin” you added and punched the dimple beneath his mouth.

You looked at one another’s eyes quietly for a prolong moment. Warmth and excitement swimming in the hues of your gaze. You took a deep breath. Your voice came at the same time

“Do you want to make a baby?”

You chuckled but the rest of your laughter went into Henry’s mouth as he leaned to kiss you lovingly, he held onto your cheek with one hand and you gave into his touch, falling into the softness of the mattress with him lying on top of you.

“Have you taken your pill yet?” He inquired between languid kisses. You moaned at the feverish sensation of his fingers venturing from knee to thigh to find the band of your panties and peel them off erotically.

You uttered a breathless no as his teeth sank into the fat of your breath through the green satin of your nightgown and his erected cock pushed against your torso.

Suddenly the thought of him coating your walls with his thick semen became ten times more arousing. You shuddered inside, slick with desire.

“Henry, fuck” you reached to slip him out from his boxers and felt the veins pulsating between your fingers as you squeezed him. “Put a baby in me”

He growled against you chest and pushed your legs apart, lining your slit with his manhood.

“Can you be quiet?” He wondered as he pressed the head of his cock between your swollen petals.

You were moaning from nothing but his lips on your neck, you knew you won’t be able to keep quiet, you never did. He is was too much in every sense, an ardent lover who knew how to stroke every spot inside you.

You shook your head at him and he smiled. His hand went over your mouth and he kissed your forehead apologetically as he pushed inside you.

You cried into his hand, feeling him sink deep into your abyss, his cock an anchor, splitting though the ocean between your legs. He plunged into you passionately, holding onto his own groans which cane as husky gasps.

Your legs wrapped around his waist and your nails bit into the muscle of his ass, urging him to thrust deeper, you orgasm was already building up, the coil inside your gut stretching as he made hard slams into your cervix.

He was bottoming out, grinding roughly against your little nub with every push and pull. The friction of his large body sent little white waves of pleasure that crushed onto your shores, pushing you higher and higher through and endless sky.

“I’m going to come inside you and make you mother” he half whispered in your ear, leaning closer while his hand was still clasped around your jaw. It was all you needed to hear while his cock filled you. You were swempt away, crying into his humid palm. Endless ecstatic waves licked you within as you flew into bliss. Henry kept fucking your through your orgasm, his cock swelling between the suction of your walls. He removed his hand and replaced it with his mouth, groaning helplessly inside you.

He held for another moment, lost to his own pleasure until finally he stilled with an angry thud into you and filled you with his seed.

You laid sweaty in his arms while he brushed the rouge sticky hair from your forehead and looked into your eyes enamored, realizing this starts a new chapter of your lives.

[cowboy-anon]

🧸 and 📚 for apple?

🧸 - A soft plushie

📚 - A bedtime story

Totally dropped off the face of the Earth yesterday aside for a few likes. XD Sorry about that!

Anyway, it’s a long boi, and it’s also the first real piece I’ve written about Apple’s time with Jimmy! Therefore, I’m taggin’!

CW: Broken whumpee, clueless caretaker, clueless whumpee, crying, implied past abuse, lack of boundaries, mentioned temper tantrum, pet whump, referenced past neglect, starvation mention, Stockholm Syndrome, whipping mention

Tagging: @happy-whumper, @milk-carton-whump, @sideblogformindtrash, @whumperfulart, @unicornscotty

(I lost my list, so if you want to be tagged or if I forgot to tag you, please let me know!)

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

A week in and Jimmy’s feeling pretty terrible at this whole caretaking thing. He shouldn’t have said it. He thought he was helping.

He shouldn’t have told Apple that Clay didn’t have his best interests at heart.

The tantrum lasted an hour, and after he exhausted himself, Apple stormed into the living room and hid beside the couch. Not even the bedroom he painstakingly prepared for him, Jimmy thinks exhaustedly.

But that’s not really important. At this rate, Apple’s never going to warm up to him. He needs to do something to gain his trust. Not that he’s exactly sure what that would entail. Words won’t be enough. Apple’s still terrified of him. Pissed at him now, too. So…

“Apple?” Jimmy hears a sniffle from behind the arm of the couch. “Listen, I… I have to go to the store real quick. I need you to stay here.” He would bring him, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle a busy supermarket so soon after, well, everything.

“I’m not expecting any company, so.” Jimmy shrugs on his coat. “So don’t open the door for anyone. Just… if anyone knocks, ignore them.”

His keys, his keys… There they are. Jimmy scoops up his wallet and keys and unlocks the door.

“Keep this door locked when I leave, Apple. That’s…” Jimmy sighs and braces himself. “That’s a command. Stay here, okay?”

He knew what to expect when he used that tone, but it still stings when Apple replies, “Yes, Master Jimmy.”

He nods to himself. “Good. I’ll be back soon.” Then he walks out, closing the door behind him.

***

The moment the door closes, Apple rushes to the door on unsteady legs, unlocks it, and wraps his hand around the doorknob. Just a few minutes. Three, tops. Three minutes until he rips the door open and runs back to Master Clay.

Master Jimmy doesn’t know what he was talking about. No, not Master Jimmy. Just Jimmy, because Master Clay is still his owner no matter what he says.

Apple puts his ear to the door and listens to Jimmy’s receding footsteps. Around the doorknob, his fingers shake. What if Master Clay doesn’t take him back? Apple was bad. No, he was horrible. He left. He left Master Clay. Why did he do that?!

Because Benji told him to—begged him to. They made him promise he would run and never come back.

Apple….he has to keep that promise.

This, this whole staying with Jimmy, it’s temporary. Temporary Master Jimmy. Temporary until Apple can find a way to get back to Master Clay without breaking his promise.

Apple can do that, but until then, he has to wait. So he lets go of the doorknob, flicks the lock closed, and he stays.

Less than an hour later, Temporary Master Jimmy walks through the door with a plastic bag. He waves Apple over to the bedroom, not Temporary Master Jimmy’s and therefore the extra bedroom. Apple’s chest tightens at the notion, but he does as he’s told.

Crawling into the carpeted room, it’s not at all what Apple expects. Instead of empty corners and glaringly bland walls, it’s… oddly homey. There’s an enticing bed in the corner of the room and beside it a simple but lovely wooden nightstand and lamp. At the front of the room, there’s even a little dresser. And… the room itself is a beautiful shade of olive green.

Temporary Master Jimmy’s already in the room, sitting on the floor against the foot of the bed. He wordlessly pats the space beside him.

Apple’s hands start to go numb with fright. Still, it’s a command—even if Temporary Master Jimmy didn’t state so explicitly. Hoping his hesitation doesn’t show, Apple crawls until he’s kneeling where he was gestured to and sits, careful not to let his back touch the bed.

Temporary Master Jimmy lets him get settled, then pulls the plastic bag from earlier into his lap and looks at Apple.

“I know we don’t know each other all that well,” Temporary Master Jimmy starts slowly, “but I noticed you have a kind of… affinity for apple stuff, so I— I got you something.” Apple watches, half excited, half terrified as Temporary Master Jimmy reaches into the bag and pulls out whatever’s in there.

Apple sees the felt stem first, then a dark green leaf sprouting from the top of the round bright green fabric shape. And then he sees legs. Eight to be exact. And eyes.

“It’s an apple octopus plush! Or a… an apple-pus?“ Temporary Master Jimmy laughs a little. “I just… I saw it and I thought it was kind of cute and, you know, figured you might like it. Given… everything…”

Apple’s staring. It’s an octopus, but—but it’s green and it has a leaf and a stem like an apple. And it looks so soft...

But Apple knows It’s a trick. It has to be. People don’t get him things, not without a lot of convincing. Certainly not unprompted. But… but Temporary Master Jimmy’s just holding it out to him expectantly, and every second that passes by, the itch to grab it grows. Soon enough, Apple doesn’t care if it’s a trick. He moves to take it, fully expecting to have it wrenched out of his reach the moment he gets close enough for it to hurt him.

Only it isn’t.

When Apple reaches out to grab it, Temporary Master Jimmy doesn’t snatch it away. He lets Apple take it in his hands. He lets Apple touch its perfect fluffy fabric and hold it to his chest. It’s soft, so much softer than he imagined it’d be.

For the first time since arriving here, Temporary Master Jimmy makes Apple smile.

“I-I got a story, too,” Temporary Master Jimmy continues, smiling like this is the best thing to ever happen to him. He pulls a little hardcover picture book out of the bag to show Apple. “So… so I’ll make you a deal.”

At the words, Apple freezes, and the smile on his face drops in a flash. The look he shoots Temporary Master Jimmy is one of pure horror.

How could he have been so stupid? The rewards, the kind words—of course there’d be a “but.” The salesman never let him off that easy either.

“Okay,” Apple squeaks, because he knows he has no real choice in the matter. He just hopes his behavior earlier won’t influence the severity of the punishment.

What is he thinking? Of course it will.

“I’ll read you a story tonight, but only if… if you sleep on your bed tonight.”

Now he’s just confused. Apple… wasn’t expecting that. He expected to be starved or to receive a whipping, not to sleep on a bed. An insanely plush, comfortable-looking…. bed.

Apple nods because he’s expected to. “Okay.”

Apple doesn’t understand why Temporary Master Jimmy’s face lights up when he says that, but he does know watching Temporary Master Jimmy jump up with the book in hand makes him nervous. Master Clay never let him on the furniture, nevermind a bed. He never told Apple why, but Apple assumes it was the filth that covered him. Besides, Apple wouldn’t want to ruin Master Clay’s lovely couches.

Which is why when Apple stands up with the plushie held to his chest, he hesitates even touching the bed.

He looks longingly over it’s big fluffy pillows and soft, clean green-striped white comforter. Then he peeks at Temporary Master Jimmy, who’s watching him expectantly.

This is what your temporary master wants, Apple reminds himself firmly. It doesn’t matter if he hurts you afterwards. Do as you’re told.

Apple swallows hard and lays a shaking hand on the comforter.

He cringes, waiting for the inevitable yelling, waiting for the punishment. But it doesn’t come. Rather, Temporary Master Jimmy says, “Good! Good. Okay, come on, Apple, you can do it. Get under the covers and I’ll read you that story.”

A story. How long has it been since someone’s read to him? Ages.

So Apple puts his other hand on the comforter, the one holding the plushie, ready for any reprimand he might receive. When he doesn’t get one, he pulls the covers back, crawls onto the mattress, sits himself up amongst the pillows, and covers himself again with the blanket. It feels… foreign. Oddly enough, just a little familiar, too.

Temporary Master Jimmy hides a smile behind his hand, not very well and definitely not in a way that’s reassuring for Apple, before climbing into bed next to him, staying on top of the blankets instead of getting under them.

Still, the proximity makes Apple freeze—well, aside from his hands. Those are shaking uncontrollably despite clutching at the covers by his lap.

Temporary Master Jimmy gets all but comfortable before noticing Apple’s discomfort. “Geez, sorry, I should’ve asked. Is… is it okay for me to be on your bed?”

“Of course,” Apple says without hesitation. His hands continue to shake.

But everything is okay. Whatever his master chooses to do with him is okay. His salesman knew that, Master Clay knew that. Why doesn’t Temporary Master Jimmy get it?

“Here.” Temporary Master Jimmy scoots further to the right, away from Apple, until he’s sitting on the corner of the bed. “Better?”

Apple exhales shakily. “Y-yes?” Is he allowed to answer?

Temporary Master Jimmy shifts until he’s comfortable. Apple takes the octopus plush and pulls it back into his arms, snuggling deeper into the blankets as discreetly as possible.

Beside him, Temporary Master Jimmy smiles. Then he clears his throat and grabs the bright red picture book from his lap.

“Right. So, uh, get comfy.” Temporary Master Jimmy flashes the cover at Apple, who can’t help but watch him with wide, fascinated eyes. “This is Corduroy. I loved this book when I was a kid.” Temporary Master Jimmy flips to the first page. “I mean, I don’t know if you’ll think it’s too kiddy or boring, but… just tell me if you want me to stop.”

Apple nods, barely perceptible, even though he knows he has no intention of doing so. Temporary Master Jimmy chose this book. Of course Apple will be grateful.

“Okay.” Temporary Master Jimmy nods. “I’m… I’m starting now. Uh, Corduroy is a bear who once lived in the toy department of a big store...”

As he reads, Apple finds himself hanging onto every word. He kind of likes how Temporary Master Jimmy’s voice gets huskier when he reads. It reminds him of Master Clay.

With the image in mind, Apple finds his eyes drifting closed against his will.

“...‘You must be a friend,’ said Corduroy. ‘I’ve always wanted a friend.’’

“‘Me too!’ said Lisa, and gave him a big hug.” Temporary Master Jimmy turns the book to Apple to show him the final picture, but he’s almost completely asleep now, curled up on the bed and clutching that apple octopus tightly in his hands.

Temporary Master Jimmy brushes a strand of faded green hair out of Apple’s face and pulls the covers up to waist. He does it so gently, so carefully. He doesn’t know the slightest of touches are enough to rouse Apple.

Temporary Master Jimmy slips out of bed and heads for the door.

Behind him, Apple pipes up, “Thank you, Temporary Master Jimmy.” It’s soft and a little hoarse from the screaming fit he threw earlier, but his appreciation is clear.

“Temporary Ma—? Uh, you’re welcome, Apple.” Temporary Master Jimmy chuckles quietly. “Goodnight.”

On his way out, he flicks the light off and closes the door behind him.

Without Temporary Master Jimmy around, Apple lets himself get truly comfortable. He buries himself in a mound of blankets and pillows and cuddles the apple octopus stuffie against his cheek, for once not worrying that it’ll be taken away from him.

That night, Apple sleeps the most peacefully he has in years.

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Eirene & Eunomia (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- Mimi (Eunomia) by her family & friends

Nene (Eirene) by her family & friends

Age(s)- 14 (immortal)

Location- Athens, Olympius

Personalities- Despite being identical twins, the sisters are no more alike than a chimera and a pegasus. Eunomia (she never lets her sister forget that she's nineteen minutes older) is self-assured, bossy, tenacious, and is an all around leader and orator-in-training. Eirene is much more laid back, friendly, and approachable.

Both of them share the abilities of teleportation & telepathy. They love using their telepathy to communicate with each other.

Mimi, being the goddess of law & legislation, has a few abilities like truth sense, having an innate knowledge of the laws of all the realms), and being able to induce people to tell the truth. When she stops physically aging, her greatest wish is to have a seat on the Olympian Council. Her sacred symbol is the legal hammer, otherwise known as the gavel.

Nene can induce the feeling of peace in others, limited chlorokinesis (particularly the olive plant), and limited atmokinesis (as it pertains to mild weather). Her sacred symbol is the olive wreath.

Members of the girls' immediate family includes their mother Themis (Titaness of justice) and their older sister Dike (goddess of justice).

The girls primarily live in Athens (just a few hours from New Olympus where they attend school) in a Greek Revival style mansion. The family also owns a lakehouse in the Hearthwood neighborhood & a summer cottage in Argos.

As little godlings, they loved when their mom would dress them alike!

The color scheme in Eirene's room is cream, gold, and baby pink. The flooring is mink baby pink carpeting. Framed inspirational quotes cover the walls while her plush bed has a canopy bed frame. She even has glamour dolls of her mom & sister!

Eirene has a pet- a white dove named Essence. The bird spends her time in a exquisitely crafted & designed Imperial Gold bird cage.

The color scheme in Eunomia's room is olive green, silver, and dark gray. Her school awards & certificates are framed and put on the walls. The flooring is white oak while her bed has a trundle frame. There's also mounted shelves on the walls for her book collection.

Eunomia has a single pet- a barn owl named Minerva. At home in Athens, she'll let her out often so Minerva can hunt for food in Sapphire Park.

They look forward to when their mom makes shakshuka for breakfast, which is usually on the weekends. During the school week a typical breakfast for Eirene is a bowl of Golly Grains vanilla spice cereal, an Earthly Harvest yogurt coated granola bar, or a cream cheese muffin. Eunomia prefers blueberry oatmeal, Golly Grains honey o's cereal, or whole wheat toast topped with butter and fig jam.

Eirene's go-to drink is her homemade perfectly peachy smoothie while her sister prefers a large limemade from The Roasted Bean. They also like sparkling water, ginger ale, coconut milk, pomegranate juice, hot chocolate, and their mom's chai tea.

The girls are very close friends with one of the Queen's daughters, Eileithyia (Ella) (goddess of childbirth). The three of them often hang out after school- first at the palace, now at the Queen's townhouse (since the separation).

The sisters attend a private school in New Olympus. Other godly students include Dysnomia (goddess of anarchy & lawlessness), Circe (goddess of sorcery), Heimarmene (Marnie) (goddess of shared fate), Telesphorus (Rusty) (god of rehabilitation), Eiresione (Ren) (goddess of offerings), Theodon (god of reality, uncertainty, & fate), Morá (goddess of babies & children), Eleos (Ellie) (goddess of mercy, pity, & compassion), Koalemos (god of foolishness), Philautia (goddess of self love), and Cedalion (demi-god of smithing ore).

At school the sisters are part of the student council. Eunomia is the president of the student council while Eirene is the vice president. Nene is also part of the school's debate team and both sisters are part of Haven for Beings.

Mimi's favorite classes are AP government, economics, gym, and AP calculus while Nene enjoys AP health, literature, history, and AP art history.

The sisters have very different sense of style. Nene is more girly with her clothes while Mimi has a preppy tomboyish sense of style.

They both look up to & admire their mom and older sister. They even intern at Dike's law firm sometimes.

In the pantheon, the sisters look up to different deities too! Mimi admires Athena (goddess of wisdom), even modeling for her Olive Visibly skincare brand. She also looks up to Calliope (muse of epic poetry), Eleutheria (goddess of liberty), Amphictyonis (Amy) (goddess of diplomacy), and Clio (muse of history) while Nene admires Arete (goddess of virtue, valor, & excellence), Pasithea (goddess of hallucinations & relaxation), Homonoia (goddess of concord), Erato (muse of love poetry), Aphrodite (goddess of love & beauty), Elpis (goddess of hope), and Hera (goddess of women & marriage) as well.

The only person in the royal family to ever intimidate Mimi was Ella's older sister, Eris (goddess of strife & discord).

The girls also had crushes on Ella's siblings- with Mimi having a crush on Ares (god of war) & Nene having a crush on Hermes. Mimi also currently has a crush on Axiótimos (god of honor) while Nene has a crush on Naeus (god of weddings).

They're not totally against wearing a head covering like their mom and older sister, so they do wear it sometimes.

They both enjoy listening to classical music. Eunomia also likes listening to classic pop, alternative, & soft rock music while Eirene enjoys listening to synth pop, R&B, country, and dance music.

A favorite frozen treat for Mimi is olive oil ice cream topped with pistachios while Nene prefers strawberry ice cream.

Eirene is thinking about trying out for the school's cheerleading team, but she hasn't told Eunomia about it- partly because of her sister's disdain for it.

The girls' long wavy dark brown hair is nearly to the small of their backs. They typically wear it out (with headbands) or put a part up with hair clips. Eirene will also wear her hair half up, half down or certain braids while Eunomia will wear her hair in a high tight ponytail, low pigtails, or a messy bun. They love using the Hairology 2-in-1 coconut & vanilla shampoo and conditioner.

The sisters haven't gotten their ears pierced yet. Their mom decided that they can get it done when their induction ceremony happens.

Eunomia is thinking about joining her school's football (soccer) team. She feels she can't add on to her responsibilities- like being student council president.

A guilty pleasure for Eirene is a slice of extra cheesy pizza that she sprinkles garlic & parmesan cheese on top.

Eirene primarily enjoys reading young adult historical romance, historical fantasy, & contemporary fiction while Eunomia prefers young adult science fiction, historical fantasy, and mystery novels.

A guilty pleasure for Eunomia is the wings combo from Olympic Chef. She gets six lemon pepper wings, large onion rings, & a drink (she gets a large cola with a bit of ice).

Eirene's favorite dessert are the madeleines from Hollyhock's Bakery while Eunomia likes her mom's pistachio baklava.

In their free time they enjoy cooking alongside their mother & sister, hanging out with Ella, ballet, doing yoga, going to the cinema, bike riding, knitting, basketball, sewing, petteia, football (soccer), going to museums, mixed martial arts, fencing, horseback riding, and playing chess.

Eunomia is currently writing a book of her own, an academic enemies-to-lovers young adult romance!

Mimi's favorite meal is a fattoush salad with pita bread, drowned in tzatziki sauce while Nene enjoys saffron rice added with lamb, roasted pine nuts, & roasted peppers.

“Peace & order. The laws of life.”

[puppyluver256]

[Image Description: Nat Vancey and Trevor Garbo from Smile For Me. Nat is a teen girl with pale skin, shoulder-length pink hair, and blue eyes. She is wearing a pink t-shirt and darker pink pants. Trevor is a taller teen boy with olive skin, shoulder-length auburn hair, and green eyes with yellow sclera. He is wearing a teal t-shirt with a graphic of a grey wolf howling at a pale full moon and blue pants. They are both standing by a table and chairs, striking fearsome snarling poses at one another. On the table is a black and white chess board with a few black and white pieces scattered about, as well as a large red and blue robot toy. The wall behind them is a muted yellow color, and the carpet underneath is purple. End ID.]

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“You think the knights were the threat?” Nat scoffed. “They were the distraction! My bishops gave my queen the best summoning magic!” She stood up, her queen in hand, taking on a fighting pose. “The queen has summoned Nat-zilla!” She playfully made roaring sounds and swatted both the mob of pawns and “George” to the side.

“Well, my queen can call upon Sabastian!” Trevor exclaimed. He stood up as well, holding onto his queen as he held out his hands with imagined claws bared. “Nat-zilla, I shall defeat you!”

“You can try!”

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More 101 Smiles! Yeah, these two don't really know how to play chess, so they're just goofin' around XD

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Nat Vancey and Trevor Garbo © LimboLane Artwork © PuppyLuver Studios