#windows embroidery tool

[ready-4edu]

"Unlocking the Magic: How to See Embroidery Designs in Your Laptop

[nyrasvoid]

A Knight’s Prize pt.3

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: the princess Velaryon marries Gwayne Hightower and their wedding night is filled with passion and lust.

Warnings: smut, it’s all really fluffy but there is some teasing, also a little bit of teasing in public, morning sex, riding, and idk if there’s anything else 🤸🏽‍♂️

A/N: just two horny mfs on their wedding day 🎀🧸 btw I had so much trouble looking up how weddings were in westeros under the faith of the seven cs some ppl said they exchanged rings and others that they didn’t, so I just went with the cloak exchange cs it’s what we see in GOT

- Word count: ≈1.9k words

Part 1 Part 2

The tension in the Red Keep was noticeable.

The moment you stepped into your mother's chambers, you could feel the weight of their gazes on you.

"Mother, Uncle," you greeted them, knowing that this conversation was inevitable.

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her expression softening as she reached out to touch your arm. "My daughter," she began, her voice filled with worry, "we need to talk about Ser Gwayne."

"I know what you're going to say," you replied quietly, "but my mind is made up."

Daemon scoffed from his place by the window, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Made up? You've barely known him a fortnight, and you're ready to throw yourself to the Hightowers?"

Rhaenyra shot him a warning glance before turning her attention back to you. "It's not just about Ser Gwayne" she said gently. "It's about his family, their ambitions. Otto Hightower has never hidden his desire to see his blood on the throne, and now he's using you to accomplish his plans."

You stiffened at her words, "I overheard them, Mother. I know what they're planning. But I also know that Ser Gwayne is not like them. He's different."

Daemon's laughter was filled with sarcasm. "Different? They're all the same, playing their little games for power. And you-" he paused, stepping closer to you, "— you're the prize they're all reaching for. Do you want to be a pawn in their game, niece?"

"No, Uncle. But I refuse to be a pawn in anyone's game; not theirs, not even yours."

Rhaenyra sighed, her hand dropping from your arm. "We only want what's best for you," she said softly. "You're a dragon, my daughter. You deserve to be with someone who sees you as my than just a tool for power." she said softly

"And he does," you insisted, meeting her gaze. "Ser Gwayne is sincere. He will be a good husband, and I will make this marriage my own. I won't let them control me. We both want this to be more than a political arrangement.”

Daemon shook his head "You're making a mistake," he warned. "But it's your life to ruin."

"If this is truly what you want..." he continued.

"It is," you replied firmly.

Your mother sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "Then we won't stand in your way," she said quietly. "But know this, my daughter if you ever need us, we will be here. Always."

You nodded, “I know you are, you will still be my family, my blood.”

The evening of your wedding was a storm of emotions. The grand hall was filled with the lords and ladies of the realm.

At the entrance of the sept, you stood in your wedding gown, the gown itself was a delicate shade of white, adorned with gold embroidery.

Over this, you wore a blue cloak, the color of House Velaryon, a symbol of your heritage and the life you were leaving behind.

Since your father, Laenor, couldn’t walk you down the aisle, your uncle did it.

Daemon Targaryen, stood beside you, his gaze steady, filled with pride as he lead you towards the altar.

The guests rise to their feet as you approach. At the end of the aisle, Ser Gwayne awaits, his eyes locked on you. His dark green cloak, the colors of House Hightower, rests over his shoulders, symbolizing the new life you will be joining.

As you reach the altar, the septon, steps forward. The ceremony begins with a prayer, invoking the blessings of the Seven.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” the septon says, calling upon the Seven to witness this union. “We gather in your sight to bless this marriage, that it may be strong and enduring.”

You and Gwayne face each other, the moment arrived for you to recite your vows.

Gwayne begins, “I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

At the same time, you respond, “I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

The septon then instructs “You may now kiss the bride”.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Gwayne leans in, his gaze never leaving yours. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss.

The guests rise as you both turn to face them, their applause ringing through the sept.

When the ceremony was over, the feast began. The hall was filled with the sound of laughter and music.

Gwayne leaned in, his voice low. "You are radiant tonight, Princess," he murmured, his hand resting on yours.

He looks at you, his voice soft as he asks, “Would you honor me with a dance, my lovely wife?”

This time, you don’t hesitate. “Of course I will, my dear lord husband,” you reply, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

But just as you begin to relax, flowing to the rythm of the music, you hear a familiar voice.

“Such a lovely couple,” says Lord Otto Hightower. “It warms my heart to see you both so happy.”

You tense as you hold Gwayne tighter, as if he would run away if you didn’t.

“Thank you, Father,” he replies, his voice calm. “We are indeed fortunate to have found each other.”

Lord Otto smiles, “Indeed,” he says, his gaze lingering on you. “I trust that you will both make our house proud.”

After your dance with Gwayne, you return to your seat beside your husband. The hall is alive with the sounds of joy, but your attention is solely on the man next to you.

You lean closer, your voice a soft murmur. “You danced so well tonight, Gwayne. I almost forgot why I was avoiding you the other day.”

“Ah, so you admit to avoiding me? And here I thought you were just eager to dance with Ser Loras.” Gwayne said with a false indignation.

You smirk, your hand brushing against his thigh under the table. “Perhaps I was just trying to make you jealous.”

His gaze drops to where your hand lingers. “Is that so? And did it work?”

You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper teasingly, “I do not know. You tell me,” he looked back at you and smirked.

You continued “but I think you have more to offer than just jealousy. And now I can’t help but wonder what other talents you might be hiding.”

“Is that so? Perhaps you’d like to explore those talents further?” Gwayne whispered in your ear teasingly.

You leaned in, “Mayhaps I do.”

His eyes filled with desire at your words, and he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "Shall we retire, my lady wife?" he asked.

You nodded, as he stood, offering you his hand.

Together, you left the grand hall, the eyes of the court following your every move as you made your way to your chambers

The moment the door to your chambers closed behind you, the atmosphere changed.

The formalities of the court were left outside, replaced by a fierce carnal desire for each other.

Gwayne turned to you, his eyes burning with a desire that mirrored your own.

"Princess," he began, "you've bewitched me. I've thought of nothing but this moment since I first laid eyes on you."

Your heart raced at his words, "And I you, Gwayne," you whispered, stepping closer to him. "I've wanted you from the very start."

He reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek. "You are the most beautiful woman l've ever seen," he breathed, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "And now you're mine."

You closed the distance between you, your lips crashing together in a kiss that was both desperate and sweet. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as his boner pressed against your crotch.

"Say it again," you murmured against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Tell me l'm yours.” You started kissing him down his jaw all the way to his neck.

"You're mine," he murmured, his voice filled with possessiveness. "All mine."

He obliged, pulling away just long enough to strip off his clothes, revealing his lean body.

You reached out, your hands trembling as they helped Gwayne take off his clothes. "Gods, Gwayne," you whispered, "You're magnificent."

His hands moved to your gown, untying the laces with a "Let me see you," he begged, his voice filled with desire. "I need to see you."

You stepped back, letting the gown fall to the floor, leaving you bare before him. The look in his eyes was one of pure adoration, as if he were looking at a goddess.

"Perfection," he breathed, stepping closer and pulling you against him. "You're perfect."

You gasped as his hands roamed over your bare chest, exploring every inch of your skin.

"Gwayne," you moaned, your head falling back as he kissed his way down your neck. "I need you, now."

He didn't hesitate, lifting you into his arms and carrying you to the bed, laying you down gently as if you were made of glass. "I've waited so long for this," he whispered. "But now that I have you, I want to savor every moment."

You reached out, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you pulled his hand down between your legs. "Please," you begged, "Don't make me wait any longer."

He positioned himself over you, his body pressing against yours, as he rubbed your clit. “I'll give you everything," he promised. "Everything you want, everything you need.”

When he finally entered you, it was like everything else around you disappeared, leaving only the two of you in the heat of the moment.

The feeling of him inside you, filling you completely, was overwhelming, and you cried out his name, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him.

"Gods," he groaned, as he began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. "You feel like heaven, my love."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you as he sped his thrusts.

"Gwayne," you moaned, your voice filled with need. "You're everything. You're all I've ever wanted.”

His pace quickened at your words, his breath against your ear as he whispered, "And you're mine. My love, my life, my everything."

Every touch, every kiss, was a promise, a declaration of love that needed no words.

"Tell me you're mine," his voice filled with desperation.

"I'm yours," you moaned, your body arching against his as you reached your climax. "Always yours."

When you finally came, it was like an explosion, it felt way better than when you did it yourself. He followed soon after, his seed filling you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room were your gasps for air. He collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms and holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go.

“You’re mine” he whispered one last time.

“And you’re mine” you replied, as you curled up on his chest.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the politics of the realm, not the disapproval of your family, not the future that awaited you.

All that mattered was the man beside you.

The first first ray of light came through your chamber’s window. You turned beneath the silky sheets, the warmth of Gwayne’s body pressing against you, his arm resting over your waist.

The memories of the night before remained in your mind. How he had made you his, worshipped you, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

You turned slightly, feeling his jaw against your cheek, as he pressed a kiss to your neck.

“Good morning, my lady.” he said against the crook of your neck, while his eyes were still closed.

A smile played on your lips as you turned around to face him. “Good morning, husband” you replied, your voice teasing.

Gwayne’s eyes, bright with mischief, roamed over your face before settling on your lips. “I’m not sure if I told you enough last night how beautiful you are,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the line of your lips.

“You told me plenty,” you said, though your heart skipped a beat as his hand slipped lower, brushing over of your hip.

“Not enough,” he insisted, “I think I need to remind you.”

Before you could respond, Gwayne rolled you onto your back, hanging over you. His lips found yours in a kiss that started slow, deepening as you arched into him.

“I think you’re just looking for an excuse to delay our departure,” you teased between kisses.

“Can you blame me?” he asked, “Leaving this bed is the last thing I want to do right now.”

Without breaking the kiss, you pushed against his chest, gesturing him to lie back. His eyes widened in surprise, but a smirk appeard on his lips. “Taking control, are we?” he murmured.

“Someone has to,” you replied, positioning yourself on top of his hips. The feeling of him, hard and ready beneath you, made you wet. You took a moment to savor the sight of him, laid out beneath you, before leaning down to kiss him as he made his way inside you.

Gwayne groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your hips tightly as you began to move, slow at first.

His eyes locked onto yours. “You’re incredible,” he breathed. “Gods, you’re perfect.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the praise, your movements quickening. Every touch, every word from him only elevated your desire, pushing you closer and closer to your climax. You rode him like your life depended on it, your bodies moving in perfect sync, the room filled with your moans and gasps.

“Gwayne,” you gasped, as you felt yourself close to your climax.

He captured your lips in a desperate, hungry kiss. “Come for me,” he murmured against your mouth. “Let me feel you.”

His words pushed you over the edge, your body collapsing on top is his. Gwayne didn’t last long before he joined you in your climax.

For a long moment, you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, eventually, you rolled off him, collapsing onto the bed right next to him.

“I could get used to waking up like this,” he said, with a soft smile.

You smiled back, reaching out to cup his cheek. “So could I,” you replied softly.

Gwayne seemed to sense your change in mood, his brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

You sighed, “I don’t want to leave. Or rather, I don’t want to say goodbye to my family.”

He nodded “It’s never easy, but you know they’ll be alright. And we’ll return soon enough.”

“I know,” you whispered, though the thought of leaving your mother and brothers behind still hurt you. “It’s just…we’ve always been together. And now…”

Gwayne leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re not losing them,” he murmured. “You’re just starting a new life. And I promise you, we’ll come back as often as we can.”

You nodded, “You’re right,” you said, forcing a small smile. “I’ll just miss them.”

“And they’ll miss you,” Gwayne replied, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “But they’re proud of you, and they know you’re where you need to be.”

With a sigh, you pushed yourself up, slipping out of bed and reaching for the clothes that had been laid out for you. Gwayne watched you for a moment before following, the two of you dressing in silence.

As you tied the laces on your gown, you glanced over at him. “Ready?” he asked, extending a hand to you.

You took his hand, squeezing it gently. “As I’ll ever be.”

Together, you left the chamber, to say your goodbyes. You and Gwayne make your way to the courtyard. You embrace your mother and brothers, your voice trembling as you promise to write often and visit as much as you can.

Gwayne takes your hand gently, guiding you towards the carriage. With one last look back, you wave towards your family and you set off for Oldtown, hoping to live a good life filled with love.

PS: Im pretty sure this will be the last part, maybeeeee I will write another one with a time jump where they have children or something with the dance and choosing sides but idk.

[mahtariel-of-himring]

In the early ages of Valinor there was a festival celebrated by the Noldor. It was very secretive and secluded ceremony so that not many outsiders knew a lot about it.

It was called the starlight festival, a ceremony in celebration of their first guides. The stars.

The first elves were born underneath starlight and lived under it for many years, the stars were their guiding light for long, before they came to Valinor.

The tradition was started by Queen Míriel, who loved the stars most of all her people, for her own hair shone like them and made her feel a special connection to the lights in the night sky.

Traditionally the Noldor wore pure white gowns with detailed silver embroidery which where very light and easy to move in to make it easier to the dance.

The embroidery was personalized for every single elf, making every piece uniquely fitted and decorated to represent said elf.

It showed whatever represented them most and was often connected to their craft.

A mariner or fisher would wear some type of waves, a weaver string and needle, a smith, depending on his specialty, gems, jewelry or whatnot. Those who took to other physical labor would often wear their tools, modeled after the real thing.

Additional to the white robes a flower crown made of pure white flowers was worn atop the head or, if someone wished, braided into the hair.

The flowers used to make them were unique and shone like the light of the stars themselves. Of great beauty and with soft, silky petals. They came in all sizes so it wasn’t uncommon for someone to have dainty small ones and another large ones that came down into their face.

The festival happened under the first clear night of the year, all light would be put out so the stars could be seen particularly well and the Noldor would dance beneath the sky that first welcomed them into the world.

After Queen Míriel died the tradition was largely abandoned due to King Finwë being unable to handle the grief of being reminded of his late wife.

Years later during Fëanor‘s exile to Formenos he brought the starlight festival back to life, teaching his son‘s and wife the traditional dances, helping them design their robes and make their flower crowns.

After the flight of the Noldor the tradition was lost a second time. Thought the son‘s of Fëanor carried on with it the war made it as good as impossible.

As battle and bloodshed slowly took over Beleriand they took to making flower crowns out of paper if they could or had the time for it, if not they simply thought of it, remembering the peace and quiet of the near sacred night their people used to celebrate and longed for the flowing robes and soft crowns.

When Elrond and Elros were kidnapped from Sirion Maedhros made an effort of making sure they knew of this tradition, in fear that if Maglor and he died no one would remember it any longer, and their grandmother’s legacy would fade.

After Maedhros died and Maglor disappeared the world seemed to have forgotten about the starlight festival, the great joy of Queen Míriel of the Noldor, who‘s hair shone like the light of the sky and who loved the nightly glow above all others.

But if you visited Lindon in the second age, and were around at the right time, looking out your window at the correct moment, you might saw a figure, dancing on the rooftops of the elves city, dressed in white, with flowers atop their head and gaze turned towards the stars.

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Love Story

Colette is an up and coming actor, Harry is an international popstar who fell in love with cinema. When the pair work on a rendition of Romeo and Juliet, their worlds collide as feelings develop.

CW: Brief mention of dying, Smut.

Word Count: 11,860

Colette stepped into her dressing room, a lavishly appointed space designed to echo the opulence of the Verona in which her film "Romeo and Juliet" was set. The walls were draped in deep burgundy velvet curtains, softening the room with a rich, warm texture that whispered of hidden secrets and dramatic declarations. Golden accents framed mirrors and furniture, reflecting the flickering light from several ornately carved silver candelabras positioned thoughtfully around the room.

As she entered, her eyes were drawn to the vanity, an exquisite piece of craftsmanship with an expansive mirror bordered by tiny bulbs that bathed the area in a gentle, flattering light. Upon the surface lay an array of cosmetics and brushes, each laid out with precision, their handles catching glints of light like miniature scepters waiting to bestow their magic upon her.

The air was filled with a subtle scent of roses and myrrh, creating an atmosphere that was both calming and invigorating, as if the very essence of romance and tragedy had been captured and dispersed through the room. A large window draped with heavy curtains looked out upon a secluded garden that boasted marble statues peeking through lush greenery—Juliet's own secret sanctuary.

Colette’s costume hung on a dress form; it was a stunning creation of silk and lace, the fabric dyed in shades of moonlight and adorned with delicate embroidery that mimicked the intricate patterns of an Italian tapestry. The bodice was fitted, designed to accentuate her figure while allowing for the dramatic movements required in her scenes.

Next to the dress stood a pair of custom-made shoes, their leather soft and supple, seeming almost alive, like they were molded from a piece of night itself. They were embellished with small pearls and crystals, which twinkled like stars against the shadowy backdrop.

On a small table beside her plush, velvet-covered chaise lounge lay her script, its pages worn from use yet handled with reverence. It was flanked by a quill and an inkpot—an affectation provided by the director to inspire connection to the era they were emulating—as well as a delicate teacup painted with scenes from Shakespeare’s works.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself amidst this feast for senses—a real-life canvas painted with details fit for royalty—Colette prepared mentally to step once again into Juliet's world: one where love defied reason and every corner held both beauty and sorrow. She sat at her vanity, poised to transform under the artful hands of her makeup artist, ready to breathe life into Shakespeare's timeless lover once more.

The door to her dressing room opened with a soft creak, heralding the arrival of Madame Laurette, the makeup artist whose skills transformed actresses into visions from another time. Clad in a smock splattered with the remnants of foundation and rouge from previous masterpieces, Madame Laurette carried an ancient-looking leather case, which she set down with a practiced grace next to Colette.

"Ah, my dear," Madame Laurette began, her voice a soothing melody, "today we paint the tragedy and triumph of young love upon your canvas." Her hands were deft as they opened the case, revealing rows upon rows of pots and brushes, pencils and palettes; tools of the trade laid out like a surgeon's instruments, each with a purpose to bring forth beauty from bareness.

With delicate fingers, Madame Laureette applied a light moisturizer to Colette's face, preparing the skin like a primed canvas. She then used a sponge to dab on foundation that matched Colette's complexion so perfectly it seemed as if it were but a whisper on her skin. As she worked, she spoke softly about the character of Juliet—her passion, her grace, her strength in the face of despair.

Next came the eyes—windows to Juliet's soul. Madame Laurette chose shades that reflected the hues of twilight; dusky purples and soft blues blended seamlessly to suggest a depth of emotion. The eyeliner was applied in a fine line, accentuating the shape of Colette's eyes, making them appear larger, more expressive. Lashes were curled and coated with mascara that made them flutter like the wings of a night moth.

Cheeks were next attended with a brush dusted in rose-pink blush that brought a gentle bloom to her porcelain skin, reminiscent of English roses in bloom. It was as if Juliet herself had paused in a garden, momentarily caught up in thoughts of her Romeo.

Lips were not forgotten—painted in a soft red that was bold yet not overwhelming—a color that whispered of promises and kissed by starlight. As Madame Laurette worked her magic, the transformation from actress to character was nearly complete.

Finally, Madame Laurette set everything with a light dusting of powder which seemed to pull forth an ethereal glow from within Colette herself. Standing back to admire her work, she nodded slightly as if granting approval to proceed with the act.

As Madame Laurette packed away her tools and bid her farewell with wishes of good luck, Colette took one last look at herself in the mirror. Now staring back was Juliet Capulet: tragic yet triumphant in her love—a young woman framed not only by curls dark as raven wings but also by an aura of timeless romance that would soon spill over onto the stage under countless watching stars.

Her movements were infused with an anticipatory grace that seemed woven from the very threads of the narratives she was set to embody. The costume assistant approached, a vision of focus and professionalism, carrying the garment that would complete the transformation: a dress that seemed spun from moonlight and gossamer dreams.

The dress itself was a masterpiece of historical accuracy blended with theatrical flair. Its fabric was a whisper-soft silk that flowed like water over Colette's form, pooling slightly at her feet in a shimmering cascade of sky-blue. Intricate embroidery adorned the bodice, featuring delicate vines and flowers meticulously stitched with silver thread, catching the light with every subtle movement and suggesting a lattice of morning dew. Sleeves of sheer chiffon draped elegantly from her shoulders, airy and almost translucent, giving her arms the appearance of being wrapped in wisps of cloud.

As she stepped into the dress, the assistant deftly laced up the back, pulling the strings tight enough to sculpt her waist without hindering breath—a crucial balance for any performer. The final touch was a delicate ribbon tied in a bow just below her collarbone, a nod to youthful innocence and burgeoning romance.

Once dressed, Colette floated towards the full-length mirror, her steps tentative yet poised as though she were both discovering and remembering Juliet’s haunted grace. Her reflection seemed to transcend time; here was Juliet not as mere fiction, but resurrected in flesh and blood and silk, her eyes alight with both excitement and a hint of sorrow for the tale she was to live anew.

Taking a deep breath that lifted her chest slightly against the soft confines of her dress, Colette turned away from her reflection—away from Juliet's temporary shelter—and made her way out of the dressing room. The corridor outside was lined with flickering candles encased in glass lanterns hanging from ornate metal stands, casting shadows that danced like shy phantoms on the walls.

As she walked, her dress whispered secrets only she could hear, each step a murmur of silk. Exiting the building, she stepped out into an expanse that felt less like part of a film set and more like stepping through a wrinkle in time into Verona itself. The set designers had outdone themselves; cobblestone streets wound beneath balconies overflowing with ivy and blooms. Lamps glowed softly along pathways and a distant fountain murmured in melodious tones.

Here under the vast expanse of an artificial twilight sky beginning to pin itself with stars, Colette paused at the center of an old square waiting for Harry's arrival. In this moment suspended between reality and fiction—where night air kissed her cheeks as sweetly as any lover might—she was neither Colette nor Juliet but something timeless; a whisper of love’s eternal reverie waiting to be awakened by Romeo’s pledge beneath soft-footed shadows.

Colette felt eborn into another age and another life—her heart beating rapidly with anticipation and empathy for her character’s imminent joys and sorrows. She moved towards the set where artificial stars awaited their nightly audience and real emotions would stir under painted skies.

Just as the anticipation in the air reached its peak, Harry emerged from the shadows, a figure pulled from the very pages of Shakespeare. His costume was a masterpiece of Elizabethan artistry—velvet doublet embroidered with intricate silver threads that caught the light with every subtle movement, making him shimmer like a star newly born into the night sky. His breeches were of a similar rich fabric, hugging his legs with a precision that spoke of many hours spent in the tailor’s care. Upon his feet were boots made of soft leather that whispered against the cobblestones as he moved.

His hair, usually untamed and wild, had been tamed into soft waves that framed his face, echoing the romantic heroes of old. Around his neck, a heavy chain with a cross pendant rested against his chest, gleaming softly in the lamplight. His eyes, when they met Colette's, sparkled with a mixture of excitement and nervous energy—the perfect echo of Romeo’s own youthful vibrance and passionate soul.

As Harry walked closer to where Colette stood, waiting in her character's eternal reverie, his presence seemed to draw the very essence of the night towards him. The distant murmur of the fountain seemed to harmonize with his every step, creating a melody that resonated with the quiet rustling of Colette’s gown. Each element of the scene—the glowing lamps along the pathways, the soft rustle of ivy against stone—seemed to lean towards him, as if nature itself was eager to hear the tale these two star-crossed lovers would enact.

The square they occupied breathed with an air of ancient romance; it was as though they had truly stepped back in time and were no longer actors on a set but living embodiments of their characters. The buildings surrounding them wore age like proud badges, their windows darkened save for the occasional flicker of candlelight that suggested life continuing unaware inside. Above them, the crescent moon cradled stars that had witnessed countless tales of love and tragedy.

Harry reached the center of the square, his boots clicking on the cobblestones with a rhythmic certainty. He stopped before Colette, who remained motionless, her gaze fixed upon him with an intensity that belied the serene expression on her face. Her costume—a flowing dress of midnight blue, embroidered with tiny silver threads—whispered tales of bygone elegance as it caught the breeze, fluttering lightly around her ankles.

Clearing his throat softly, Harry began to recite Romeo's lines with a tender fervor that seemed to pull at the very air around him. "But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." His voice rose and fell in perfect cadence, each word a brushstroke painting emotions across the canvas of the night.

As he spoke, an unexpected gust of wind stirred the leaves around them into a gentle dance, mirroring the turmoil brewing in Romeo's heart as he gazed upon his forbidden love. The scent of rose and old stone mingled together, casting a spell over the scene that was palpable. The director, hidden in the shadows beyond the set's makeshift lights, allowed himself a small smile at the authenticity of this moment—cinema magic in its purest form.

Colette responded in kind, her voice carrying back to Harry with equal parts longing and restraint. "O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?" She stepped forward slightly, her hands clasped before her as if to steady her racing heart. Her eyes never left Harry's, and in them flickered the fire of Juliet's love—a burning, all-consuming flame that acknowledged neither reason nor consequence.

The crew around them had ceased all movement; even those seasoned in film felt themselves caught in the spellbinding performance unfolding before them. The prop master forgot his duties for a moment, lost in the authenticity of Colette's accent and the palpable connection between her and Harry.

Above them, clouds began to drift across the moon's face slowly veiling and unveiling the celestial glow. This natural play of light added a dramatic flair to the scene below—an unwitting collaboration between man and nature that highlighted this poignant moment of shared solitude between two lovers cursed by fate.

Every detail was perfect, the way the lamplight flickered as though trembling with anticipation; how a distant owl hooted right at Juliet’s tender confession; the subtle shift of fabric as Harry moved closer to Colette—contributed to an atmosphere thick with drama and history. Even those behind cameras or holding booms felt as if they were no longer just creating but witnessing something transcendent; a story retold yet forever new in its telling.

As Harry delivered Romeo’s pledge of undying love beneath Juliet's window conceived anew beneath towering oaks and ageless stone buildings, it was clear this was not merely a recitation but an act of truth.

The director, normally a stoic figure shadowed by the breadth of his responsibilities, allowed a rare smile to creep across his face as the final words lingered in the air, trembling like the leaves around them. His approach was silent, reverent almost, as if stepping into a sacred space that the actors had conjured with their spellbinding talent.

"Cut!" he called out, but the word was soft, filled more with awe than command. The silence that followed was profound, filled with the collective held breath of the crew before they erupted into spontaneous applause. The clapping rolled through the set like thunderous waves, each member expressing their unbridled admiration for what they had witnessed.

The director raised his hands, beckoning for quiet, his eyes gleaming with both pride and something akin to gratitude. "That," he said, his voice steady but imbued with emotion, "was nothing short of magnificent. Harry, Colette—I've seen many a scene in my years behind the camera, but what you both have delivered today transcends performance. It reaches into the core of what it means to be human; to love, to despair, to hope."

He walked over to the actors, who were still nestled in their characters' final embrace, slowly returning to themselves as they listened to his praises. "Colette," he continued, turning to her with a respectful nod. "Your Juliet is both vulnerable and fiery; you’ve given her a depth that breathes new life into Shakespeare’s lines. And Harry," he turned with equal admiration to the young actor whose eyes still held a glimmer of Romeo's passion. "You’ve played Romeo not just as a lover but as a warrior fighting against the inevitable tragedy of his fate. Exceptional work."

The surrounding buildings and trees seemed to absorb his words, casting longer shadows as if in agreement. The director then turned towards the crew members who had captured every nuanced moment on film. "And let’s not forget the incredible work of our crew—lighting, sound, props—this magic can’t happen without each piece falling perfectly into place."

He clapped his hands together once more, this time signaling an end rather than silence. "Alright folks, let’s pack up here—remember this feeling of accomplishment. We’ve got early scenes tomorrow and we need to bring this same energy."

As they disbanded gradually, whispers of praise continued amongst them like quiet ripples on a pond at dusk; everyone shared part of the triumph. Juliet’s balcony scene would be remembered not just for its beauty and tragedy but for its vivid realness that evening under the shrouded moonlight—an echo of love carried softly by the wind through the leaves of those ancient trees.

As the crew began to disperse, the air filled with the clatter of equipment being packed and the soft murmur of satisfied conversations. Harry and Colette slowly walked side by side toward the dressing rooms, their costumes slightly less pristine than they had been at the start of the day but still radiant under the fading sunlight. The path was lined with ancient oaks, their branches gnarled and stretched toward the sky like silent watchers of countless tales unfolding under their gaze.

Harry glanced at Colette, noting how the evening breeze gently lifted strands of her hair. She looked ethereal, a stark contrast to the raw intensity she had displayed on stage just moments before. "You were truly magnificent today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that lingered in the cool air. "It’s amazing how you transform so completely."

Colette smiled, a blush tinting her cheeks. "Thank you, Harry. You were incredible as well. There’s a certain ferocity you bring to Romeo that’s both thrilling and heart-wrenching."

They reached the dressing rooms, tucked behind a curtain of ivy that draped over the stone walls of the old stage building. Its doors stood like portals back to reality from the whimsical world they had just left behind on set.

Pausing by her door, Harry shuffled slightly, a mix of eagerness and hesitation playing across his features. "Colette, I was wondering, would you... perhaps care for some dinner? There’s this little place I know nearby, quite secluded, perfect for winding down."

The offer hung between them like a delicate promise; a chance to extend the enchantment of their shared performance into the evening. Colette’s eyes lit up with genuine interest. "That sounds lovely, Harry. A quiet dinner would be perfect." Her smile was inviting, bridging the gap between their on-set romance and off-set camaraderie.

As they walked towards Harry's car parked under a canopy of whispering leaves, they talked about everything from their interpretations of their characters to trivial anecdotes from their daily lives. The restaurant was nestled in an alley illuminated by strings of faint golden lights that created halos in the misty night air.

Inside, they chose a corner table surrounded by bookshelves filled with worn volumes and odd trinkets—a cozy retreat from the outside world. As they ordered, they continued to unravel layers of conversation, each topic a stepping stone deeper into each other’s thoughts and dreams.

The meal was delicious—simple fare but made with care—a reflection of the restaurant itself. They laughed over shared appetizers and lingered over wine that painted their thoughts in broader strokes. The candlelight flickered across their faces, casting soft shadows that danced to an unplayed rhythm.

By dessert, Harry found himself watching Colette with renewed appreciation as she articulated her ambitions for future roles and her vision for modern theatrical interpretation. She listened equally intently as he described his journey through being a musician and his aspirations beyond.

As Harry and Colette lingered over the last sips of their drinks, the cozy warmth of the restaurant began to feel like a protective cocoon against the crisp night air outside. They shared a quiet moment, smiling at the serendipity of their meeting and the depth of conversation it had spurred. But as they rose to leave, pushing their chairs back gently against the worn wooden floor, the surreal bubble they had enjoyed burst with abrupt clarity.

Stepping out onto the alley, they were met not by the quiet of the night but by a sudden burst of flashing lights and clamorous voices. Paparazzi, having caught wind of their dinner together, swarmed around them like moths to a flame. Cameras clicked and flashed relentlessly, capturing every gesture and expression, as reporters shouted questions trying to pierce through the veil of their private evening.

"Harry! Colette! Are you two more than just co-stars?" one voice rang out, sharper than the rest.

"Is this dinner a sign of a new Hollywood power couple?" another chimed in.

Shields up against this intrusive barrage, Harry instinctively placed a protective arm around Colette’s shoulders. He guided her gracefully yet swiftly towards his car, parked under the now ominous canopy of leaves that whispered secrets in a tone much darker than before. Each flash from the cameras cast stark shadows on the ground and painted their path in fast paced steps.

Colette kept her head down slightly, her smile replaced by a composed mask of cordial indifference; it was clear she was no stranger to these encounters but nonetheless hoped they might evade them tonight. Harry muttered a polite "have a good night" as he helped her into the passenger seat of his car.

Inside the relative safety of the vehicle, they exchanged a look—a mix of amusement and exasperation—and Harry let out a sigh as he started the engine. The lights outside continued to flash through the tinted windows as he maneuvered out of their parking spot.

The drive back was quiet at first, as if they were both processing the sudden shift from intimate conversation to public spectacle. Yet soon enough, Harry turned down the volume on an ambient tune that had started playing automatically when they entered.

"That was intense," he said, glancing over at Colette with an apologetic half-smile.

"It always is," Colette replied, turning to face him with a resigned smile. "But hey, part of our charming careers, right?"

Harry laughed softly. "Yeah, charm is one word for it."

As the car glided through the dimly lit streets, the silence between them grew heavy with unspoken thoughts. Colette broke the tension first, her voice soft but tinged with a hint of frustration.

"I sometimes wonder if this is what we signed up for, you know? The constant scrutiny, the invasion of privacy... Is it worth it in the end?" she mused, her gaze fixed on the passing city lights.

Harry nodded thoughtfully, his grip on the steering wheel tightening imperceptibly. "I ask myself that question too, especially on nights like this. It's like we're always under a microscope, every move dissected and analyzed by strangers."

A sense of comfort blossomed between them, a shared understanding born out of their parallel experiences in the spotlight. Colette turned to Harry, a spark of defiance igniting in her eyes.

"But despite all of that," she continued, her voice gaining strength, "we can't let them define us or dictate our every move. We're more than just their headlines and gossip fodder."

Harry smiled at her resolve, a flicker of admiration shimmering in his eyes. "You're right, Colette. We're artists first and foremost, creators of worlds and emotions."

Their shared conviction filled the car with a renewed sense of purpose, a quiet determination to reclaim their narrative from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. As they neared Colette's apartment building, Harry parked the car with a sense of finality.

"Thank you for tonight," Colette said sincerely, turning to face him with a genuine smile. "Even the chaos at the end, I truly enjoyed our conversation and dinner, it was really good."

Harry returned her smile warmly. "Likewise, Colette. We are more than just co-stars caught in a media frenzy."

As Colette opened the door to her apartment, the image of Harry in his Romeo costume flashed vividly across her mind. His appearance had been a perfect blend of vulnerability and valiance, his attire accentuating the expressive lines of his body as he moved with an almost ethereal grace on stage. The sheer, soft fabric of his shirt clung to him as if it were part of his own skin, and the way the stage lights had caught the highlights in his hair made him look like a figure from an old-world painting—romantic and heroic.

Inside her quiet apartment, everything seemed too still, too empty compared to the warmth of Harry's presence. She tossed her keys on the table absent-mindedly and moved towards her bedroom, her mind replaying their conversation in the car. His words echoed in her ears, blending with flashes of his smile and the intensity in his eyes when he spoke about their artistry. It was as if he'd stripped away all the glitz and scandal that so often cloaked their lives, revealing a raw, sincere connection between them.

Colette tried to settle into bed, pulling her covers close, but restlessness took over. Turning onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts spiraling around Harry’s comforting arm around her shoulders earlier that night. She remembered how secure it felt, a protective circle that shut out the incessant flash of cameras and curious stares. The smell of his cologne, a subtle mix of bergamot and sandalwood—seemed to linger on her skin, transporting her back to their fleeting moments of privacy amidst the chaos.

The more she thought about him, the more details came flooding in. How his lips curved into a smile just before he laughed, how his eyes lit up when discussing a particularly passionate scene. Even the way he held himself during their performance—confident yet tender—seemed etched into her memory with surprising clarity.

A sigh escaped her lips as she turned again in bed, fluffing her pillow in vain search for comfort. The digital clock on her bedside table glowed 2:17 AM; time was slipping by slowly tonight. Every tick seemed to resonate within the quiet room, each one reminding her of Harry’s gentle demeanor and unspoken assurances.

Why was it so difficult to push these thoughts aside? Why did every tiny detail of him seem magnified tonight? Colette knew that sleep would be elusive as long as these memories danced through her head, a sweet torment but a torment nonetheless.

Realizing that fighting it was futile, she sat up and reached for a book from her nightstand. Perhaps diving into someone else’s fictional world could ease her back from hers filled with all too real emotions spurred by Harry. Yet as she flipped through page after page, Colette found herself reading without absorbing any words. Her mind was back with Harry, reliving each moment spent together that day.

Finally surrendering to the inexorable pull of those memories, Colette set the book aside and allowed herself to reminisce about every glance exchanged and every laugh shared with Harry until tiredness eventually claimed victory over turmoil—a bittersweet end to an evening that neither camera flashes nor gossip columns could ever truly capture.

As the first rays of morning light began to filter through her gauzy curtains, Colette felt a tentative peace settle over her. The unavoidable sunrise not only heralded a new day but also the unavoidable return to set where today's scenes awaited her—scenes that would force her to bridge the gap between reality and fiction, between Colette and Juliet, Harry and Romeo.

The day unfurled slowly, each moment stretching languidly as if aware of the weight it carried. Colette arrived on set, her heart thrumming a nervous rhythm against the cage of her ribs. The set was a meticulous recreation of Verona, the air perfumed with artificial blooms that lined the faux stone balconies. It was here, beneath a painstakingly crafted balcony, that she found Harry already immersed in his role, his eyes distant yet filled with an intense purpose.

As makeup artists fluttered around them like attentive sprites, dusting their faces with powder and painting their lips, the boundary between Harry and Romeo, Colette and Juliet blurred seamlessly. The director—a wiry man with a penchant for perfection—guided them through their positions with an authoritarian yet oddly paternal touch.

"Remember," he said, his voice low and urgent as if conveying a secret, "this kiss isn’t just about passion. It’s about discovery, wonderment. You’re unveiling layers of your soul to one another."

Taking their places, Harry extended his hand with a gallantry that could either be attributed to him or to Romeo—it was hard to tell at this juncture. As Colette placed her hand in his, their fingers tentatively entwining, she wondered if he felt the same electric surge that ran up her arm.

The cameras rolled silently, capturing every nuanced expression. Around them, the crew faded into obscurity; it was just Harry and Colette, Romeo and Juliet. As Harry spoke his lines—the words Shakespeare penned centuries ago—his voice wove around her heart like a tender vine. His gaze held hers captive and in that moment, under the watchful eyes of countless unseen spectators both present and future, fiction turned into a palpable reality.

With the gentlest of motions indicative of both apprehension and certainty, Harry drew closer. His breath mingled with hers—a sweet prelude to the imminent ballet of their lips. When their lips finally met in an embrace as old as time yet fresh like dew on morning leaves, there was a hush on set so profound that even the rustle of fabric seemed sacrilege.

The kiss deepened not out of direction but from an intrinsic need to explore the burgeoning emotion that had started off as an onscreen farce but had bloomed into something indefinably real. They existed in the breath between lines; in the silence between words—their world distilled into the small space between their intertwined fingers and mingling breaths.

As they parted—an infinity encapsulated in seconds—their gazes lingered longingly; not solely because the script demanded it but because their souls hesitated to disentangle.

"Cut!" The director's voice sliced through the thick curtain of emotion, abrupt yet not unkind.

Applause broke out among the crew, bringing Harry and Colette back from Verona to the soundstage. Yet something lingered in their shared glance, a spark that neither the stark lights of the studio nor the return to their own separate lives could dim. As they stepped away from each other, there was an awkward moment of hesitation, a mutual recognition of something undefined and new swirling between them.

The rest of the day passed in a daze of repeated scenes and whispered lines. Colette found herself more aware of Harry's presence, every look and every touch magnified under the scrutinizing lens of her newfound feelings. Off-camera, they joked and laughed, but there was an unspoken agreement in their smiles, a secret tucked away behind their lighthearted banter.

When filming wrapped for the day, Colette felt the exhaustion from emotional strain more than from physical demand. The carousel of her thoughts kept spinning as she drove home, the ghost of Harry’s touch lingering like a promise on her skin.

Back at her apartment, she knew she ought to eat something or perhaps review scripts for tomorrow's shoot. Instead, she found herself at her window, gazing out into the twilight cityscape, her mind replaying every encounter with Harry. It wasn't just their characters who had discovered new emotional landscapes; Colette feared she was standing on the precipice of a revelation herself.

Her phone rang, slicing through her silence. She hesitated before answering, half-hoping it was Harry. It was her agent instead.

"Colette! Todays news came in; you were absolutely sublime! Everyone’s buzzing about the chemistry between you and Harry," her agent enthused over the line. Though meant as praise, each word weighed heavy on her soul like stones filling her pockets.

"Thanks," Colette managed to say, her voice a mere whisper against the storm inside her. "That means a lot."

"Listen," her agent continued, oblivious to Colette's turmoil, "There’s talk already about future projects for you two—maybe even some endorsements together. This could be huge for your career."

Her career. Right. That’s what mattered. Yet as Colette ended the call and sat back against the soft cushions of her couch, she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps this time, something else mattered more.

She finally allowed herself to consider the possibility that what was scripted for Romeo and Juliet might have woven itself into the fabric of reality for Harry and herself. Could life imitate art to such a degree? Or was it merely caught up in the whirlwind of creating something beautiful together?

The night deepened around Colette as she sat alone with her thoughts. She knew decisions lay ahead, decisions about how far she should let this potential off-screen relationship develop amidst their on-screen romance. Tonight though, she would allow herself one certainty: that in all her roles, both lived and acted, nothing had ever felt quite as dangerous or as genuine as whatever was unfolding with Harry.

The room dimmed further as the last strains of sunlight vanished, leaving only the flickering shadows cast by the streetlamps outside. Colette's mind, a whirlpool of longing and rationality, began to conjure vivid scenes of Harry reciting lines from their recent scenes. Each word, artfully delivered with his rich, emotive voice, seemed to echo through her now quiet apartment, filling the spaces between her scattered thoughts.

He had stood there on stage, beneath the opulent glow of the set lights, his eyes finding hers in the scripted moments that felt all too real. "But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" Harry's voice had quivered slightly with a passion that transcended performance. Colette remembered how her heart had leapt at those words, how the scripted distance between them seemed to collapse in a singularity of shared emotion.

As Romeo, he had been impetuous yet earnest, his every motion weaving a spell of youthful ardor and desperate love. And now, alone, she let her mind replay those scenes—his beseeching gaze, his hands reaching not just for Juliet but for Colette herself. Could it be that each line he delivered was an arrow aimed directly at her heart? The balcony scene unfolded again in her thoughts: Harry's silhouette framed by the mock Verona backdrop they had on set. "With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out," he had declared fervently.

Could stony limits hold her emotions at bay? Her career had always been a fortress of sorts—a necessity to keep vulnerability at bay. But Harry’s portrayal of Romeo dismantled her defenses brick by brick, not through sheer force but through the tender strength of shared vulnerability.

In her mind's eye, Colette wandered back to a moment during rehearsals when Harry had improvised—off-script yet profoundly resonant—speaking directly to her soul beyond the bounds of their characters. "And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite." How his eyes had held hers, unwavering!

The thought brought an unexpected tear to Colette's eye—a tear for the uncertain future, for the potential hardships they might face together or apart, but also a tear for the beauty of a connection that might just transcend the ephemeral world of acting.

Colette rose from the couch and moved towards her window. Gazing out into the starlit cityscape, she pondered over these newly tapped depths within her heart. Perhaps tomorrow she would make decisions with consequences she couldn't yet foresee. But tonight belonged to dreams and whispered lines—a night where Harry's recitations from Romeo and Juliet swirled around her heart like a sweet yet potent incantation. Tonight was not about contracts or cameras. It was about understanding that what they might share could be as profound and real as any love story ever penned—an ode not written by Shakespeare but lived by two hearts daring enough to explore it.

As the hours ticked by, the city outside her window slowly transformed. The glaring neon signs dimmed to a soft glow, and the relentless honking of cars turned into a distant murmur, as if even New York herself had decided to catch her breath. In that serene quietude, amidst the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirping of a late-night bird, Colette's mind kept returning to Harry—to his eyes, his voice, his surprisingly delicate touch on stage.

She tried reading a book, but the words blurred into meaningless shapes as her thoughts danced back to those moments onstage when the air between them seemed charged with an electric intensity. It was in those moments when Harry's voice would deepen just so, casting out lines like spells that wrapped around her heart, binding it inexplicably to him.

Restlessness finally got the better of Colette. With a sigh, she set aside her book and picked up her phone. Her thumb hovered over Harry's contact—for a moment she hesitated—but then, driven by an impulse she neither questioned nor understood fully, she pressed call.

The phone rang briefly before Harry's familiar voice filled the line. "Colette? Is everything alright?"

"I couldn't sleep," she confessed softly, the words feeling both foolish and necessary.

There was a pause—a thoughtful silence—and then Harry’s voice came again, quietly intense. "Come over, then. I’ve been trying to distract myself with scripts and lyrics, but it seems tonight is bent on being restless."

A small smile touched her lips; relief washed through her in gentle waves. "Give me twenty minutes?"

"Take your time," he replied with such warmth that it felt like a hug through the phone.

When Colette arrived at Harry’s apartment—a modest yet cozy space filled with stacks of books and paintings that spilled from every corner—she found him sitting on the balcony overlooking the twinkling skyline. He had two cups of tea steaming gently on a small table between them.

As she stepped out onto the balcony, he rose to greet her with an ease that belied his earlier restlessness. They didn’t speak much initially; words seemed superfluous as they sipped their tea and let the city’s nocturnal symphony envelop them.

It was only after both cups were emptied that Harry spoke again, his voice soft but clear against the backdrop of whispering winds. "You know," he began hesitantly, "tonight reminds me of our final act last week—the way Juliet looks at Romeo with such... such unguarded hope.”

"Yes," Colette whispered back, feeling that familiar pull in her chest—the inexplicable connection that seemed to thrive in shared silences and stolen glances rather than grand declarations.

"Sometimes," Harry continued, turning to face her more fully now, "I wonder whether we’re more than just actors playing parts—whether some scenes bleed into reality without us even noticing."

Colette reached out then, touching his hand lightly. "Maybe they do," she said simply. And for a long while after that, they sat there together—two figures etched against a sprawling cityscape—finding solace in each other's presence and in the quiet conviction that tonight was not merely about roles or rehearsals; it was about discovering truths hidden within lines delivered.

As the night deepened and the city's sounds ebbed into a lulling quiet, the conversation between Harry and Colette drifted from their characters' tragic romance to their own realities—careers that were as dazzling as they were demanding, personal lives constantly scrutinized by the public eye, and futures uncertain but full of potential.

"Sometimes I think about stepping away," Harry admitted, his gaze locked on the distant lights. "From the music, from the films—just to see who I am when the lights go off."

Colette nodded. The vulnerability in his voice resonated with her own unspoken fears. "It's as though we're constantly wearing masks, isn't it? Onstage or off, it's hard to tell where the character ends and where we begin."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Tonight though, being here with you—it feels real. No scripts, no audience." His eyes met hers with an intensity that sent a shiver through her.

She smiled, feeling a sense of kinship forge deeper between them. "No masks," she whispered.

They sat for a moment in silence, each lost in contemplation of the rare simplicity this evening had brought them—a stark contrast to their everyday chaos. Harry eventually stood up, stretching his arms towards the starry sky before offering his hand to her. "Come on, let’s take a walk. The night’s too beautiful to spend it all sitting down."

Reluctantly leaving their secluded spot, they wandered down quiet streets lined with barely lit cafes and closed bookstores, their steps synchronized in comfortable silence. Every so often, Harry would point out an old theater or a quaint little art gallery he’d visited during his tours. Colette listened intently, her heart swelling with an affection that was new and yet profoundly familiar.

As they turned back towards Harry's apartment, he stopped suddenly under a streetlamp’s soft glow. "I haven't felt this... peaceful in months," he confessed, looking at her with an earnestness that made her heart skip.

She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "Neither have I," she said. "It’s easy to forget what quiet feels like when your life is full of noise."

Harry nodded, his gaze lingering on her face as if memorizing every detail. "Do you think it's possible? To find peace amidst all the turmoil?"

"I think," she started, pausing to gather her thoughts under his attentive gaze, "it's about finding the right person to share in those quiet moments—the ones who hear the music in your silences."

A warm smile spread across Harry's face as he drew her closer. Underneath that streetlamp, amid the sleeping city and beneath an audience of stars, they found a momentary escape—not as Romeo and Juliet caught in Shakespearean tragedy nor as celebrities shadowed by fames relentless spotlight—but simply as Harry and Colette discovering solace within each other's company.

As they slowly headed back to his apartment, hands entwined with silent promises of more shared nights like this one, both understood that while their careers might pull them in different directions come morning, tonight was theirs—a night marked not by dialogues written by playwrights long gone but by honest words exchanged between two souls navigating through life’s vast stage together.

She felt the warmth of his hand in hers, the roughness of his skin against her own soft palm, sending shivers down her spine. She looked up at him, taking in the way he moved, so confident and yet so gentle at the same time. Colette couldn't help but feel safe in his presence. The sound of their footsteps echoed on the empty sidewalk, mixing with the distant hum of traffic and occasional howl of a lonesome siren. As they turned into an alleyway, she breathed in the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery, mingling with the stale smoke from a cigarette butt left behind by some passerby. The stars above twinkled like diamonds scattered across a midnight sky, their light guiding them home.

They walked hand in hand beneath the glow of the streetlamp, casting shadows on the brick wall behind them as they stepped forward. The rhythm of their stride became synced, almost like they were dancing to an unknown melody. Every now and then, Harry would point out constellations he recognized or make up stories about the ones he didn't, his voice deep and soothing like velvet caressing her ears. His laughter rang out when she teased him about his astronomical knowledge—or lack thereof—and she loved how genuine it sounded despite everything that surrounded them.

Colette paused for a moment to look at a painting on an old doorstep; it was beautifully executed yet marred by graffiti tags that told stories of love lost and hearts broken. Harry stood beside her, looking over her shoulder as if seeing it for the first time too. She noticed how his presence made even this decrepit alleyway seem somehow beautiful.

They continued walking, their steps echoing softly against the pavement as they neared Harry's apartment building. As they reached the front door, he stopped and with a flourish produced a set of keys from his jeans pocket. The metal jangled softly against each other as he unlocked it, and then they stepped inside out of the cool night air into the warmth of his cozy living room. Setting down her purse, Colette looked around at the familiar surroundings - the worn sofa, the bookshelf filled with favorite novels and framed photographs from past adventures, and the unlit fireplace waiting for winter evenings. The musty smell of old books mingled with freshly brewed coffee drifting from the kitchenette.

"Well," Harry began as he shut the door behind them, "I guess this is where our little adventure ends."

Colette's heart sank at his words but she forced a smile anyway. "Yeah... it was fun while it lasted."

"It always is," he agreed quietly, moving towards her and giving her one last hug before gently pushing her towards the door. "You should get some sleep though, early morning meeting tomorrow."

With one final wave goodnight, Colette slipped through the door and into the hallway, hearing it click shut behind her. Outside on the sidewalk, she took a deep breath of the cool night air and felt a slight shiver run down her spine as reality came crashing back in - work in the morning with its emails and deadlines and office politics. But for now, she allowed herself to linger on the memory of their night together: The taste of wine on her tongue still lingering; the soft buzz from alcohol fading; Harry's touch still lingering on her skin like tiny electric shocks. 

As Colette closed the door behind her, she could hear the familiar clicking sound filling her with a sense of finality. The night air was crisp against her skin, carrying with it a chill that sent shivers down her spine as she took in deep breaths of the city outside. Her mind was still reeling from the events of the evening; it had been an unforgettable journey into a world she never imagined existed. But alas, all good things must come to an end, and now she found herself standing on the sidewalk once more, back in reality. The neon lights from nearby stores cast an artificial glow upon the pavement as she stepped away from Harry's cozy apartment and began to walk towards home. The sound of footsteps echoed on concrete as cars honked their horns in the distance, creating a symphony of urban noise that surrounded her.

She could still feel Harry's embrace pressing against her back as if he were wrapping his arms around hers again, sending tingles up and down her spine with each step she took away from him. She could still taste the sweetness of red wine dancing on her tongue - its tartness mixing with the lingering taste of their passionate kisses as if it were a bitter-sweet symphony only they shared. She let out a soft sigh and looked up at the starry sky above; the sight always managed to calm her nerves but tonight it only served as a reminder that their time together was over.

The streets were empty save for a few late-night stragglers making their way home from parties or bars, their laughter and music fading into nothingness as Colette walked further down the block. A soft breeze rustled through trees lining the sidewalk, leaves whispering secrets only they knew while carrying with them.

Once Colette made it home she brushed her teeth and went into her cozy bed wrapped around in her favorite cotton pajamas, snuggling deep into the softness of her sheets. She reached over to her phone on the bedside table and saw Harry's name still glowing on the screen. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered their last goodbye

As she drifted off, Colette imagines walking through Central Park once more. The crisp air rustled through trees, carrying with it the scent of autumn - earthy and musky. She could hear the sound of leaves crunching underfoot and see birds flitting from branch to branch overhead. They sat together on a bench, leaning against one another as they watched nature's greatest show for free. He held her hand closely, lacing fingers between hers as if they were always meant to be entwined like that. And then she felt a drop of rain on her nose, followed by another one on her cheek. They both laughed as they ran hand in hand towards his apartment; their shoes splashing through puddles left behind by an unexpected shower that cloud-covered sky promised earlier in the day.

Colette woke up with that same coolness brushing against her face but found herself alone in bed instead of curled up with Harry. The memory lingered like a fond dream but faded away with each blink until all that was left was reality.

Colette got ready and made her way over to the studio, today was the last day of scenes, and the scene where Romeo and Juliet meet their demise.

As she entered the bustling set, the weight of the final day pressed on her shoulders like a heavy curtain about to fall for the last time. The air was thick with a mix of excitement and melancholy, as everyone from the crew to the cast moved with a purposeful urgency, aware that this chapter was closing. Colette brushed past the props and costume racks, her mind still tangled in thoughts of Harry and the night that they had spent wrapped in each other’s company.

She found herself in front of her dressing room mirror, staring at her own reflection as she slipped into Juliet's intricate gown. Each layer of fabric seemed to wrap her tighter, not just in character but also in the realization that soon she would have to strip away this identity that had become a second skin over months of filming.

"Knock knock," came a familiar voice from the door. It was Harry, leaning against the frame with that charming smile that always seemed to disarm her.

"Hey," Colette replied, her heart skipping a beat. "Ready for the grand finale?"

"As I'll ever be," Harry said, stepping inside and helping adjust a loose strand of her hair. "It’s surreal, isn’t it? Feels like just yesterday we were stumbling through our first lines together and today we die together."

Colette nodded, feeling the corners of her eyes moisten. "I'm going to miss us—this."

Harry took her hand gently, squeezing it reassuringly. "The end of one story, Colette. Not the end of everything."

Together, they walked onto the set where the final scene awaited them—a beautifully tragic conclusion to Shakespeare’s timeless tale. The set was a somber array of shadows and light, perfectly crafting an ambiance befitting their last moment as Romeo and Juliet.

As they stepped into their marks, silence enveloped the set. The director called for quiet on set and slowly, every surrounding noise dulled into obscurity until there was nothing but the fictional world they were anchored in.

"Action!" came the resolute call.

The scene unfolded with an intensity that mirrored the raw emotions both Harry and Colette felt. They delivered their lines with a palpable passion, their voices laced with the poignant realization of both the characters' and their own impending separation. As Romeo, Harry took a vial of poison, his hands trembling slightly—a detail that added a layer of desperate realism to his performance. Colette, as Juliet, lay motionless on the stone-cold crypt, her chest rising and falling subtly, awaiting her final cue.

When it came time for Juliet to awaken, Colette's eyes fluttered open to meet Harry's gaze one last time. The sorrow in his eyes was reflected in hers; no longer just acting, they were living their characters' tragedy. As she spoke her last lines, a tear escaped down her cheek, blurring the boundary between performance and reality.

The potent mix of fiction and their personal goodbye charged through their final kiss, drawing a silent gasp from the crew around them. As Juliet drove Romeo's dagger into her chest, Colette collapsed beside Harry with a grace that spoke volumes of the artistry she had poured into her role.

For a few heartbeats after the director called "Cut!" nobody moved. The echo of their lines lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of finality. It was only when the applause broke out that Harry and Colette were pulled back from Verona to the stark reality of the studio set.

Still lying beside each other on the cold ground of the set crypt, they turned to look at each other one last time. The clapping around them faded into a distant murmur as Harry reached out to brush away another tear from Colette’s cheek.

“That was...” Harry started but seemed unable to find the right words.

“Beautiful,” Colette finished for him, her voice barely above a whisper. “And absolutely fucking heartbreaking.”

They helped each other up and took a bow to the crew whose cheers had now filled up space like light flooding into dark corners. It was over — their journey as star-crossed lovers had come to an end on screen.

Just then, the director, a tall figure with a rumpled look that spoke of endless days and sleepless nights, stepped into the circle of light. He adjusted his glasses, looking from Harry to Colette with an expression torn between admiration and the perpetual dissatisfaction of a perfectionist.

"Truly magnificent," he pronounced, though his voice carried a but that hung in the air unspoken. The crew quieted, sensing there was more to come. "However," he continued, casting a quick glance at the cameraman who nodded sheepishly, "we had a slight glitch with the lighting. One of our key lights flickered out right at the crucial moment."

A collective sigh rippled through the team, mixed with a few suppressed groans. Yet no one protested— they all knew the importance of getting it just right.

"We need to go for another take," the director declared firmly. The disappointment was palpable, but so was the resolve to perfect the art they were all crafting together.

Harry and Colette exchanged a look of weary determination. Without a word, they moved back to their starting positions beside the stone altar that served as Juliet's final resting place. 

As the crew reset their equipment, Harry glanced around at the towering set pieces that recreated Verona's gothic splendor. Artificial moonlight streamed through stained glass windows crafted from gel and plastic but beautiful nonetheless. Shadows danced along walls textured to look like ancient stone, casting eerie patterns that whispered of old secrets and timeless tragedies.

Colette smoothed her velvet gown—a rich crimson that pooled around her like spilled wine—and repositioned her hairpiece, tucking a stray lock behind her ear before she lay down once more on the cold faux-marble slab.

The props master darted forward to adjust the placement of the dagger—a replica so finely crafted it seemed as sharp as truth itself—before scurrying away as silently as he had arrived.

"Places everyone!" called the assistant director, a sprightly woman whose energy seemed inexhaustible. Her voice cut through the murmured conversations and last-minute adjustments, snapping everyone back to attention.

As silence reclaimed the set, encapsulating it in a tense bubble of anticipation, the director looked over his tableau one last time. Satisfied, he lifted his hand high then brought it down sharply.

"And... action!"

In a haunting moment, Colette delved deeper into her character, her eyes brimming with an unfathomable anguish originating not in physical torment but in the profound intertwining of loss and love. As she enacted plunging the steel through heart and bone with tragic precision, Harry’s response mirrored her intensity—his visage a masterful portrayal of despair and utter helplessness.

Silently, the cameras rolled, capturing each subtle nuance: the taut muscles beneath Juliet's delicate makeup; Romeo's trembling fingertips reaching across unseen barriers; Colette's quivering shoulders as she drew breaths heavy with sorrow. When she crumpled beside Harry once more, her descent seemed like a graceful surrender—a fragile leaf succumbing to its inevitable fall.

The seconds stretched endlessly until once again the director called out "Cut!" His voice broke through Colette’s final shuddering breaths and this time when he spoke there was no hiding his satisfaction. "Perfect," he said simply, nodding with fervor.

The applause that erupted was spontaneous and heartfelt, echoing around the cavernous studio like waves crashing against a shore. Crew members wiped away tears, caught in the emotional riptide of the scene they had just witnessed.

Harry and Colette, still entangled on the ground, finally allowed themselves a small smile—exhausted, relieved, and a little incredulous at the magic they had managed to recreate. As they stood up, their faces glistening with sweat and theatrical tears, they were enveloped in a series of eager hugs and congratulations from everyone around them.

The makeup artists hurried over with their kits ready to do touch-ups, but for a moment nobody touched Harry or Colette; it was as if their looks were sacred, perfectly capturing the essence of the poignant tragedy they had just embodied. The director approached them, clapping Harry on the back and kissing Colette on both cheeks.

"I couldn't have asked for more," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You both brought Juliet and Romeo to life in a way I never could have envisioned when we first started this project."

Harry, catching his breath, nodded appreciatively. "It felt right," he admitted, looking down at his costume, stained with artificial blood that somehow felt all too real at that moment.

Colette brushed a tear from her cheek and laughed lightly. "I think I'm going to miss her," she confessed, referring to Juliet. "It's strange how a character can become a part of you."

As they made their way off the set, passing through the constructed archways and past the fabricated stone tombs, there was a collective sense of completion but also of loss; the world they had created was temporary, its dissolution inevitable now that the film was wrapped.

The wrap party later that evening was a lively affair held at a local venue adorned with replicas of props and costumes from the film. The mood was buoyant yet bittersweet as cast and crew mingled, sharing memories from months of hard work.

Colette found herself standing by a balcony overlooking the city lights, a glass of champagne in hand. Harry joined her soon after.

"It's going to be odd not seeing everyone tomorrow," he said, leaning against the railing beside her.

"Yeah," Colette agreed softly. "It's like saying goodbye to family."

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a moment before Harry spoke up again.

"What’s next for you?" he asked curiously.

Colette shrugged slightly. "A few scripts to read; maybe some time off. And you?"

"Same," Harry replied. "Though it'll be hard to top this experience."

They smiled at each other, sharing an unspoken acknowledgement of the journey they had shared. The night grew deeper around them as words gave way to shared glances and laughter from inside reached their ears—a soundtrack to endings and new beginnings alike.

“Why don’t we get out of here, go to my place for a while.” Harry said while looking over at Colette.

Colette glanced up at the stars twinkling above, considering his invitation. A gentle breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it the distant sounds of celebration from inside. It felt like the perfect end to an intense and transformative day.

"Sounds like a plan," she replied with a smile that matched the lightness in her heart.

They excused themselves from the party, slipping away unnoticed among the throngs of well-wishers and fellow revelers. The city's streets were quiet as they walked side by side, their footsteps syncing in a comfortable rhythm.

Arriving at Harry's place, he unlocked the door and let them into his warmly lit apartment. Colette really examined the place. The space was tastefully decorated with various mementos from his travels and projects, each piece telling a story of its own. Colette wandered over to a shelf displaying several old cameras and script binders.

"This place has character," she commented, picking up a vintage camera and examining it closely.

"Thanks," Harry said as he went to fix them some drinks in the kitchen. "It's my little sanctuary away from all the chaos."

Returning with two glasses of wine, he joined her by a large window overlooking the cityscape. They talked for hours about everything—from their fears and dreams to trivial stories from set—each conversation thread drawing them closer, weaving a new layer into their friendship.

As dawn hinted at its arrival with a soft glow on the horizon, Harry poured them each another glass of wine. "To new beginnings?" he proposed, raising his glass slightly.

"To new beginnings," Colette echoed, clinking her glass against his. They sipped their wine in serene silence, watching as the city slowly came to life.

Harry's heart raced as he leaned in closer to Colette, his breath hot against her ear. "I have to do this," he whispered urgently, desperation lacing his words. Colette's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded, giving him permission to continue. And with that, Harry pressed his lips hungrily against hers, pouring all of his pent-up desire and longing into the passionate kiss. Electricity crackled between them as their bodies molded together, fueling the intensity of their connection. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the taste of each other on their lips and the overwhelming need driving them both.

“I’ve been thinking about this since we filmed that scene.”

Colette's breath hitched at Harry’s admission. "That scene?" she inquired, her voice trembling with a heady cocktail of nerves and anticipation. He traced his thumb across the contour of her lips, nodding before reclaiming them with a renewed intensity that left no room for doubt.

"That damn scene," he murmured against the luscious curve of her mouth, his hot whispers making her shiver in response. His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer so she could feel every hard inch of him against the softness of her body.

Colette's heart pounded in her chest as Harry's thumb traced the contours of her lips, her eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. His hot whispers sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn't help but arch into him, seeking more contact.

"That scene," he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with desire, "made me want you even more." With that, he claimed her lips once again, his tongue diving deep into her mouth as his hands found their way up underneath her shirt. She moaned into the kiss, feeling his calloused fingertips brush against the underside of her breasts.

His touch sent electric shockwaves through her body, making every nerve ending tingle with anticipation. She whimpered softly against his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as he teased her nipples through her bra. "Harry," she gasped out between ragged breaths, her voice barely a whisper.

He pulled back slightly to look down at her flushed face. "Tell me you want this," he growled lowly, eyes dark and intense as they bore into hers. Colette swallowed hard before nodding frantically. "I do," she whispered back in a voice that shook with need.

Without further hesitation, Harry scooped Colette up into his strong arms and carried her over to the nearby bed. He set her down gently before kneeling down between her spread legs and gazing up at her with a hungry glint in his eyes. "You are so so fucking beautiful," he murmured approvingly as he ran his roughened hands up along the insides of her thighs until they reached their final destination: the lace-covered mound of between them.

Groaning lowly, Harry pressed his fingers against the damp material covering Colette's core and pushed them through the fabric to slide along her wet folds. She cried out softly as sensations she hadn't felt since that fateful day on set washed over her once again—sensations that only seemed to intensify now that they were alone together like this .

Harry's fingers slid deeper into Colette's wet folds, finding her swollen clit and circling it gently. She moaned loudly, arching her back as the sensations overwhelmed her. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice thick with desire.

"Oh god yes," she whimpered, her eyes fluttering closed. "Please, Harry. I need you."

He pulled his fingers away from her core and stood up, pulling her with him. She stumbled to her feet, feeling unsteady from the intense pleasure he'd just given her. He backed her up against the wall, their bodies flush from chest to thighs. His hard cock pressed against her stomach, making her even wetter.

"You are so pretty, love.," he murmured again, his lips brushing against hers in a featherlight kiss. His hands roamed over her body, squeezing her ass cheeks and pulling them apart to reveal her tight little hole. "I want you to feel every inch of me inside you."

Colette shuddered at his words, imagining how good it would feel to be filled up by him. She reached down between them and took hold of his cock through his pants, stroking it slowly as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Please," she whispered again.

Harry groaned deeply and grabbed hold of her wrists, lifting them above her head and pinning them against the wall next to her head. His other hand slid down between their bodies once more, pushing aside the fabric of their clothes until he could position his cockhead at her entrance. He looked into her eyes for permission before thrusting forward powerfully into her tight heat.

She cried out in shock and pleasure as he filled her completely in one swift motion. He began to move inside her slowly at first, watching as she adjusted to his size. But soon enough he picked up speed, slamming into her over and over again with a roughness that made Colette's legs shake uncontrollably beneath him."Fuck yes!" she screamed breathlessly as he took control of their coupling completely."

She could feel every inch of him, stretching and filling her while also leaving her wanting more. His grip on her waist tightened as he picked up speed, slamming into her so hard that the bed shook beneath them.

"You like that?" he growled, his voice hoarse with lust.

"God yes!" she moaned back, arching her back to meet each of his thrusts. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she clung to him, unable to resist the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her body. He reached down between them and rubbed circles around her clit with his fingers, sending shudders of delight through her entire being.

"You're so fucking tight," he grunted, leaning down to capture one of her nipples in his mouth and sucking hard. The sensation sent electric shocks straight to her groin, making her even wetter for him. She cried out his name as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her, causing an explosive wave of pleasure that left her breathless.

Colette found herself begging for release as he continued to thrust into her unmercifully. "Please... I need you to cum with me!" She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the brink but didn't want it without him by her side. In response, he picked up the pace even more, driving deeper than ever before as they both neared their climaxes together.

Their bodies moved in a frantic rhythm, the sound of their heavy breathing and the soft thuds of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. Colette felt the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter within her, her entire being focused on the overwhelming sensations Harry was eliciting from her.

Just as she thought she could take no more, Harry’s movements became even more purposeful, his strokes deepening, each pushing her further towards that edge. His mouth left her nipple with a wet pop, traveling up her neck, leaving a trail of kisses until he reached her ear. His hot breath against her ear sent another shiver down her spine as he whispered, "Let go for me, love. I’ve got you."

And with those words, Colette felt the dam break. A powerful orgasm washed over her, waves of pleasure pulsating through her as she cried out his name, her body trembling uncontrollably. Harry followed soon after, his own climax overtaking him with a groan as he buried his face in her neck, his body shuddering against hers.

As they both regained their breath, Harry slowly pulled back to look at Colette, his eyes soft now with a tender glow. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before easing out of her and helping her lay down on the bed. He lay beside her, pulling her into his arms and wrapping her up in his warmth.

They lay there in silence for a moment, neither needing words to express what had just transpired between them. Finally, Colette turned to look at him, a shy smile playing on her lips. “That was…” she started but seemed lost for words.

“Everything,” Harry finished for her, smiling back. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear gently. “You were everything, my Juliet.”

Colette snuggled closer into his embrace, feeling an unfamiliar sense of peace wash over her. What had started as an undeniable attraction had blossomed into something far deeper in these moments alone together. They both knew that what was happening between them wasn’t just fleeting passion; it was something that might just redefine their understanding of connection and desire.

As the night deepened, outside the confines of their intimate world, the city's sounds blended into a distant hum, almost like a lullaby meant to soothe them in their post-climactic serenity. Harry lay there, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Colette's breathing against him, his thoughts meandering through the events that had led to this moment.

After what felt like an eternity bathed in silence and warmth, Colette stirred slightly, breaking the magical spell that had enveloped them. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes reflecting a mix of wonder and a hint of vulnerability. "Harry," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the quietude. "What does this mean for us? For tomorrow?"

Harry’s heart tightened at her words. Tomorrow. With their lives so deeply entrenched in public scrutiny and their careers always on the line, the weight of reality began to dawn on him. Yet looking into Colette's hopeful eyes, all he wanted was to delay those worries, to live in this bubble for as long as they could.

He brushed his lips against her forehead softly, choosing his words with care. "Let's not think about tomorrow yet," he murmured softly. "Tonight, it’s just you and me. No labels, no expectations. Just... us."

Colette nodded slowly, nestling back into his chest. "Just us," she echoed, allowing herself to be enveloped by the warmth of his promise.

They stayed like that for a while longer until sleep began to claim them, their bodies entwined in a quiet promise of the now with thoughts of tomorrow held at bay. 

[practicalsolarpunk]

Hello! I live in a very small efficiency apartment where there is not a lot of wi dow space/the window is glued shut and the land is exclusively owned and maintained by the company. What can I do to incorporate more solarpunk practices into my life? Are there any plants that can still grow well indoors? I'm afraid to start up a water station or anything like that outside because I'm afraid maitenance will mess with it/remove it. Would it be better for me to do something like knitting/embroidery that I can more easily do indoors?

Hello! As a fellow apartment-dweller with not a lot of window space currently, I feel your struggle here. If you're concerned that maintenance will mess with anything you put outside, then it probably is best to focus on things you can do indoors. However, there are quite a few things you can do indoors!

Plants: If you're looking for experience growing things, there are a variety of plants that grow well indoors and with low light - here's one list. (I've heard spider plants and snake plants recommended to beginners a lot, but I've never personally grown either.)

Fiber crafts: If you're more interested in crafts like knitting and embroidery, go for it! I also recommend people who are interested in those types of things learn about mending as well - it's a great way to extend the life of your old clothes (and other things made of fabric) and reduce the amount you need to buy.

Cooking: Cooking is a great skill to have, but it can be a challenge in an efficiency apartment. If you have a cooktop or a crock pot, you can look for simple recipes that you can make with the space and tools you have.

Building community: One of the foundations of solarpunk is that it's about community. My favorite way to start, especially in apartments, is by meeting the neighbors. Introducing yourself is a great way to open a relationship. Tying in with the previous idea, if your entire building is full of efficiencies and you can cook a big batch of something in a crock pot, that's a great excuse to have some neighbors over for a home-cooked meal.

Share: Part of building community, it doesn't require any outdoor space. You and your neighbors could put together a shared pantry in your building. You could start a Free Box at your workplace. Talk to the people around you - what do they need?

Get involved: Solarpunk isn't just about growing plants and mending clothes - there's also an activism component that is how we change society as a whole. Volunteer with an organization doing things you care about. Find a local mutual aid group (here's some tips for how to find them) and see what you can do to get involved. Start your own mutual aid project. The size of your apartment is irrelevant if you're out doing things.

Research: Not being able to do things outside right now doesn't mean you can't learn about them. And many of those "big picture" ideas have a lot of concepts that can apply to the efficiency apartment life. Looking into the "7 R's" or permaculture can help you come up with ideas for more things you can do.

Also if you're really set on doing stuff outdoors, don't necessarily discount it, especially if you plan to be in this apartment for a while! You can propose outdoor projects to your apartment complex's manager. They may be more receptive than you think, especially if you can spin it to sound beneficial to them. (If you're proposing a community garden for residents, for example, it could be a draw for new residents, convince current residents to stay, be managed by you the residents so they don't have to do much to maintain it, and they won't have to pay their landscapers to mow/maintain that space anymore.)

Check out more ideas in these tags:

#apartment solarpunk

#dorms and small spaces

#community building

#activism

#fiber crafts

There's also some additional tips in this post and this post, which are earlier responses to similar asks.

I hope this helps! Followers, feel free to chime in with your best tips!

- Mod J

[kikker-oma]

short fanfic? Yes!

Christmas theme? Yes!

“Wake your a**es up losers!” Wind’s voice rang through the ranch, “It’s Christmas!!”

Time rubbed his eyes and gazed at the clock. “4:00am? Seriously Wind?” He groaned and sat up. Even his wife, Malon, the strongest girl he could ever know, was still asleep.

“Wind, let’s settle down. It’s still early you know.” Warriors tried to coax the teen back to bed. Less for Wind but more for the ever waning patience.

“Nah, I want presents.”

“…Of course you do.”

Surprisingly, Four was the first one to open up his present. Beneath the red rapping paper, a beautifully crafted iron hammer, with faint beautiful markings throughout the tool, stood in his possession. “I needed a new one for quite some time… thanks guys!”

“that’s for work?? I thought it’s used to smash pots!”

“LEGEND.”

Wind was next. He basically stripped the present raw in… two seconds flat. “MONEH! I’M RICH!” The pirate yelled.

“But those are seashells?”

“I can sell seashells by the seashore.”

Twilight carefully unwrapped his gift. His fingers curled around a saddle, worn down and scratched on the edges, but filled with love.

“You know, it used to be our old girls,” Malon looked through the window to the barn ahead, “But it’s not much use to us now that she’s settling down, it’ll be much more use to you.”

That is when the couple learned great-great-great-great-great grandsons give the best hugs.

Hyrule gazed at the new pair of boots in his arms. “Woah… these are wonderful. Are you sure they are for me?”

“Knew a shoemaker once, trust me, they’ll make you run faster than ever before.” Four winked.

Hyrule gave at LEAST 20 continuous thank yous for the rest of the evening.

Legend tried to keep a stoic demeanor as he unwrapped his gift. “Romeo and Juliet? Isn’t that romance?”

“Come on, we all know you’re all for it.” Warriors smirked.

“Shut up… but thanks I guess.”

Wild ran his fingers through the embroidery scarf. “This looks stunning, who made this?”

“I did! Skyloft was pretty cold, from being in the sky and stuff, so I decided to pick one of our most famous fabrics. The embroidery was all mine though, and I’m sure it will help keep you warm for the winter months.” Sky smiled kindly.

“Will you fix it if I tear it?”

“Already have 17 backups.”

Warriors, surprisingly clad in actual clothes (not to mention his hair is perfectly brushed? Did he even go to bed?) unwrapped his gift with precision.

“A mirror? You know me so well!” He smiled, knowing the captain, this will sure come to great use.

“That’s not all,” Time smiled, “Crafted straight from the lava of Death Mountain, its sturdy for the road.”

“You really put in that much thought for me?”

“Of course son, you deserve it.”

“Careful, this one’s fragile.” Malon smiled as she handed Sky a gift wrapped in cloth.

Sky carefully unraveled the cloth to reveal a tiny, but familiar bird. He heard its name before. Clucko? No… right! It was a cucco.

“I love it! It’s so cute!”

“We are letting you keep it as long as it doesn’t come in contact with anybody in any way.” Legend grumbled.

“Darling, this one’s for you.” Malon handed Time a carefully wrapped present. Time’s fingers slowly pealed away the wrapping paper, and softness immediately enveloped his finger.

9 crochet squares, all sewn together.

A deception of a forge, intense yet pulling things together.

A vast ocean, and a red boat riding the waves.

A goat, with beautiful horns resembling Ordon.

A map, holding a sense of adventure.

A flower, holding a sort of dream like resemblance.

A sheikah crest, holding symbolism and order.

Swords and shields, crashing together yet have some sense of balance to them.

Islands floating in a vast open sky, with giant loft wings circling around.

In the middle of it all,

Home. The ranch. In the center stood a beautifully crocheted deception of Time and Malon, yet they weren’t the only people in this art. 8 other boys stood around, holding a resemblance of courage.

“Merry Christmas, old man!” The eight boys smiled in unison.

This would be a Christmas Time could never forget.

Yeah this didn’t turn out short LOL

🥹🥹🥹

Awwee this was so CUTE!!!

Each of those gifts is precious (even winds pun with the seashells lol) and Times blanket with all of the squares representing the boys is

Thank you for writing this and Merry Christmas!!!

[celaenamyers]

“Why are we here again?” The vampire spawn asked, irritated. Gale was hunched over a large table displaying all sorts of merchandise, thoughtfully stroking his chin.

“I want to bring something for Katria,” he explained. “I feel bad for asking her to search the bodies at the Goblin Camp. No lady should have to witness such horrors.”

Astarion nodded absentmindedly. It wasn't unusual for him to behave this way; he often got easily distracted during walks and conversations, leading him to disapprove of the decisions made by his companions and leader. If Astarion agreed with something, it was probably a mean and cruel action, which rarely happened since the unexpected group was formed.

“Astarion.”

“Gods, what now?”

“What do you think of her?” Gale asked again. “You met her in Baldur’s Gate—what do you think of Katria and her brother Gabriel?”

“Expendable,” Astarion simply replied. “The girl can barely gather mushrooms without poisoning us. Why the sudden curiosity?”

“They’re the children of Lord Kallias Dawn,” Gale replied. “I wonder what they’re doing so far from home.”

“I don’t know,” Astarion glanced at the vendor, who was patiently waiting for Gale to make his choice, and added, “The floating skeleton seems to have taken a liking to her, alongside with Scratch and the Owlbear cub.”

“Withers, yes,” Gale finally selected a leather pouch that appeared to contain sewing and embroidery tools, paying the necessary coins. “I wonder why.”

“Well, our sweet little pet seems to have a fascination with death,” Astarion frowned, his lips curling to reveal his fangs. “She stares at corpses a little too intensively.”

Gale paused for a few seconds to look at his companion. “She is odd, that much is true.”

“Halsin seems to hover around her, too.”

“Jealous, my fanged friend?”

“Why would I be?”

“You met her first,” Gale shrugged, deciding to change the subject. “Come on. Karlach said she’s making stew for the feast. We’re in for a long night of celebration.”

────────────────────

For years, Katria Dawn gazed out her small window, praying to the Gods for freedom. Trapped under the oppressive rule of her father, Lord Kallias, she longed for a life beyond the walls of their estate. When her brother Gabriel suggests a journey from Neverwinter to Baldur's Gate, she believes her wish has finally been granted. However, fate has different plans. After surviving a shipwreck and waking up alongside a warrior named Lae'zel, Katria is thrust into an adventure that will test her strength, unravel long-kept secrets, and redefine what freedom truly means.

-AN ASTARION FANFICTION (link)

[russicnroses]

RUSSIAN ROSE | VOLUME ONE | PART 1

CHAPTER ONE: Even now, there is a place I want to return to.

PAGES: 7 - 30

TRANSLATION TOOL: Chatgpt

CONTENT / WARNINGS: long post, blood, death mention.

There was a man.

The man was the heir to a financial conglomerate that owned vast assets.

He ran businesses and banks around the world, influencing history with his financial power.

The man's curiosity led him to the study of rare animals and plants. Using the financial resources of the conglomerate and an extensive information network, he procured rare specimens from around the world.

One of these obsessions reached a particular point.

It was the birth of a completely new life.

The man's name was Joel.

Joel spent many years, and sometimes even broke prohibitions, to fulfill his dream.

And then.

*****

Saya let out a small sigh.

From the window of the swaying carriage, the rows of buildings in Petrograd could be seen. In the city, said to have been built by inviting architects from Italy and Peter the Great’s era, yellow and pink glamorous walls stood side by side. Originally, it was marshland, but just the streets built to reclaim the land were adorned with magnificent waterways running vertically, the entire area comprising nineteen large and small islands.

If it cleared up, the sky would be blue, and the shadows of the buildings overlapping would be beautiful. The floating clouds, called "Marose", heralded the visit of severe cold.

Saya's hair, which encircled her neck finely, was unusually short for a girl of this era. Thanks to the round-shaped head and the slender frame, she stood out a bit even when she stayed quiet. Naturally, being outside, she had to take care of her appearance.

The dress that wrapped the body of the vampire was made of deep crimson velvet, which looked like black hair. It was designed with the utmost limit of refinement, adorned with narrow black braid embroidery. The sleeves were slightly puffed at the shoulders, with the cuffs widening again, covered in lace and fur. The skirt was embroidered with a pattern of roses and plants, using silk thread. The dress, which seemed almost too tight for the night, embraced her body with minimal exposure.

At first glance, she gave a weak impression, but perhaps because of the strength that could be seen in her eyes, that wasn't the case. Her thick, round eyebrows, always perfectly shaped, and her moist, lustrous lips stood out.

In the center of the city, a relief of the Romanov family's double-headed eagle and the Holy George was carved on the official buildings. Gazing at the passing pedestrians, a young man sitting beside her spoke in a gentle voice as she let out a sigh, perhaps tired or just trying to catch her breath.

He wore a silver vest with a matching shirt and tie under a finely tailored jacket. His long hair, tied with a dark ribbon, fell carelessly over his shoulders, obscuring his face. Despite the carelessness, his appearance was refined, with the matching grass and cuffs giving an elegant touch. His large eyes, seemingly filled with shadows, were striking.

His demeanor, calm and collected, was a defining feature. With a sharp contrast, his pale skin emphasized the coolness of the night. Although dressed in refined clothing, his attire did not seem flashy or over-the-top.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, with a gentle smile.

“Yes, I’m fine,” She replied, turning her gaze outside the window to the large building that stood out in the distance.

The objects were solidly anchored in place. The green walls, decorated with intricate goldwork, and the pillars and window frames painted white drew her attention. At the base of each pillar and window frame were detailed reliefs that caught her eye.

As she gazed at them, Haji spoke from behind her. "It's the Winter Palace, known as the Hermitage."

"Hermitage..."

Hearing the name of the place where she grew up in a foreign land brought back a sense of nostalgia. She murmured the name softly to herself without voicing it out loud.

Noticing the distant sound of a bell, Haji’s face was suddenly close to hers.

“Huh? Morning?”

Saya couldn’t help but blink in surprise, realizing she was inside a carriage. The scenery she saw through the window outside was narrow and blurry as they passed through it.

“It seems that the bell is indicating a stop,” Haji told her with a slight smile.

“I’ve slept for a long time, haven’t I? It would’ve been nice if you had woken me up,” Saya said.

“All the luggage should have been delivered. There’s no need to worry about it,” Haji replied, reaching out to help her, but she refused.

“I’m sorry… I must have fallen asleep before I knew it,” she apologized.

“Have you been watching over me the whole time?” she asked with a strange look on her face.

“That’s my job, you know,” Haji said, smiling gently.

"...Haji"

Haji took Saya's hand, who was rubbing her drowsy eyes, and gently lowered her to the ground. Without saying anything, Haji extended his arm, and Saya, having noticed, quickly adjusted the hem of her feathered cape. She straightened herself and smiled softly.

"Shall we go?"

"...Yes."

She nodded deeply, as usual calm and composed.

It was at that moment.

Suddenly, a shadow appeared in front of her, and Saya gasped. Over Haji's shoulder, Saya saw a figure—a boy. The balcony window was left open. "From there? But, now..."

Saya wasn’t concerned at all. The boy's stare, hiding his surprise, didn’t seem to register Haji’s presence. Although his gaze lacked malice, it was rare for anyone to ignore Haji like that. It was like a wild beast that, once having targeted its prey, disregarded anything else.

In an instant, the boy's demeanor changed, and Saya noticed that curiosity colored his eyes.

He was about sixteen or seventeen. That large figure gave a slightly naughty impression. He was a bit taller than Saya and had a slightly narrow but clearly bright look. His short, red hair hung loose, with a mix of reddish hues like agate. His eyes were a blend of amber and gold. He wore a white shirt with a red cloth and leather epaulets on the shoulders, pinned at the left chest, making it look somewhat like a uniform.

Unknowingly, a smile appeared on his face. He was probably thinking, "We're going to be friends, right?"

Saya moved to stand between the boy and herself, and lightly touched Haji's arm. That alone made Haji suppress his presence and silently retreat.

Before she knew it, an elderly man in a butler’s uniform was standing there. The boy lost interest and headed towards the porch.

“You seem weak.”

"Huh?"

The boy unintentionally leaked his thoughts. It took a moment for Saya to realize he was referring to her. While keeping an eye on the boy, she turned her gaze towards the entrance porch.

“Saya has arrived.” The boy mentioned to the butler in passing and quickly went inside.

Saya, who was about to speak, was left standing in a daze.

Haji called her gently, and Saya looked up at him.

"I'm fine. Let's head inside."

Saya forced a smile, and Haji, as expected, didn't pry further. He immediately turned his previously concerned expression into a smile and said, "Given that he knows your name, this must be the designated place."

*****

Saya hugged her bag and walked with exaggerated wide strides. When she reached the front porch, the butler silently bowed deeply and opened the door. Inside, the semicircular entrance hall was laid with white marble, with patterns radiating in black stone.

Matching the exterior, the interior was predominantly white, but the handrails of the stairs and the wainscoting on the walls were polished amber-colored oak, giving the impression of one of the residences owned by a noble.

"Uh..."

Alcoves on both sides of the staircase had fireplaces with red-hot coals, and on the landing where the staircase split to the left and right was a large vase filled with red roses, blooming abundantly despite the severe cold outside.

Urged by Haji, who gently touched her back, Saya snapped back to reality and followed the butler who was already walking ahead. They descended a staircase at the end of the hallway, leading to a room in the semi-basement of the mansion.

"Please wait here until everyone is gathered."

The butler bowed deeply once more and left without saying anything further.

"He doesn't ask unnecessary questions or say unnecessary things..."

"For now, let's sit and wait, Saya."

Saya was urged to sit at the far end of a long oak table set, from where she could see the entrance. Haji took her cape and stood behind her without sitting down.

There was a white marble fireplace in the center of the right wall of the room, with a fire already lit. The wainscoting was also white, and the wallpaper was crimson with a gold acanthus leaf pattern. The chair Saya sat on had a red fabric with gold-threaded floral patterns woven into it, and the edge of the backrest was painted gold.

At the edge of the ceiling, where the wall met, was a narrow, horizontal window fitted with an iron frame shaped like plant vines. On the other side of that window, Saya sensed a carriage stopping, and soon the sound of doors opening and closing and the presence of people approaching made her stand up involuntarily.

Eventually, the door opened. Four boys dressed in matching black uniforms appeared one after another. Each wore a red belt over their jackets, stand collars, and turned-back cuffs. Their loose pants, tucked into laced leather boots, were also entirely black.

Their epaulets were decorated with red fabric and gold braid, and the front of their black hats had the same St. George and double-headed eagle emblem that Saya had seen on the relief on the way here. It seemed to be the uniform of a military academy.

The shortest of the boys, who was about the same height as Saya, sat without hesitation on the opposite side of the long table. His straight, dark wine-red hair was cut evenly at his jawline, and beneath his glasses, his sharp eyes were a clear brown. Despite his younger appearance than Saya, his fingers, as they flipped through documents taken from a large, wax-sealed envelope, moved with practiced ease.

"Saya,"

Urged by Haji's voice in her ear, Saya, who had been standing frozen in admiration, finally came to her senses and sat down abruptly.

Two others had already sat at the upper end of the table, keeping a distance from Saya. Another boy, who Saya had met outside earlier, seemed unable to sit still and leaned against the fireplace instead of taking a seat.

The boy at the head of the table looked up from his documents and scolded him.

"Please sit down, Rozion. And please don't leave without saying anything, as usual."

The boy was probably trying his best to lead, but his stern tone, combined with his young face, made Saya find him more endearing. The frown beneath his glasses did not look threatening at all. It seemed to be a usual occurrence, as Rozion, the boy being addressed, didn't seem to mind and stretched with his hands behind his head.

"It's too slow waiting for the carriage every time. Running is faster. And I wanted to see Saya sooner."

Hearing her name, Saya raised her face involuntarily. Noticing her presence as if just remembering, the boy at the head of the table stood up and straightened his posture.

"Sorry for not greeting you earlier. We will be supporting your activities in Russia from now on. One of us is currently away on business, but there are five of us in total. My name is Valery."

"He's 'Rozion,'" he said.

"Kiril."

Before Valery could introduce him, Rozion spoke up lazily. The boy sitting to Saya's left spoke up as well, resting his chin on his hand and not even looking their way. Despite his indifferent attitude, Saya couldn't take her eyes off his profile. When he had entered the room and taken off his hat, his naturally wavy ice-blonde hair had fallen, making the semi-basement room feel instantly brighter.

His fine skin, with slightly red lips, reminded Saya of a carefully crafted bisque doll. Because of this, even though he seemed to be about the same height as Rozion when they first entered, he gave off a much more delicate impression. Despite his delicate appearance, his transparent amethyst eyes had a challenging light. Saya saw in them a sign of his determined nature.

Kiril briefly turned his eyes to the boy beside him and said, "This is Eduard."

Eduard did not introduce himself, but simply stood up and looked directly at Saya, giving a silent nod. Saya thought he was tall—taller than the other boys, and almost as tall as Haji. His black hair, which appeared blue in certain lighting, was neatly cropped short. His dark navy blue eyes had a depth of thoughtfulness.

Eduard's movements were efficient, with no wasted motion. Even through his clothes, it was clear that his lean body was well-trained and muscular.

Saya vaguely recalled the image of an Eastern swordsman she had read about in books. Unlike Rozion, who seemed to have an excess of energy, Eduard appeared to be in control, holding back a considerable inner strength.

When Eduard sat down, Valery turned back to Rozion.

"Rozion, please sit down."

"Yeah, yeah. You're really going all out because Maxim asked you to," Rozion said in a flippant manner, pulling out a chair roughly and sitting down. He immediately began tapping his fingers on the table, creating a constant rhythm.

It was Kiril who had spoken. Rozion had apparently returned earlier than the others and seemed reluctant to wear his black jacket again for this gathering.

"Don't sit sloppily in front of me, will you?"

Rozion, apparently more wary of Kiril than Valery, didn't retort but muttered "What a pain" and buttoned his collar. As he started to button his cuffs, he seemed to lose patience and stopped halfway, leaving them undone.

"Valery and Kiril, why don't you look for Maxim instead of worrying about me? Right, Eduard?"

Eduard didn't respond, and Kiril spoke in his place.

"He's been acting alone a lot lately. Well, he's in a different class from us anyway."

"I follow his instructions properly!"

Valery interrupted Kiril's slightly accusatory tone. The person named Maxim, who had been mentioned earlier, was probably the one absent. As Rozion had said, Valery seemed eager to follow Maxim's orders. Among the boys who exuded an air of aloofness, Valery's demeanor struck Saya as endearing.

Valery noticed Saya's gaze and blushed slightly. He then straightened his posture and adjusted his glasses.

"Anyway, let's confirm the contents of our work from now on," he said.

He glanced at Saya for a moment before lowering his eyes to the table. The documents in front of him were densely typed and included several photos, but from Saya's position, she couldn't see the details. Sitting at the far end of the heavy table, Saya felt a bit out of place. There were still several seats between her and the boys, but they all seemed to be watching her from a distance, as if she were being interrogated.

"We've been informed by the Red Shield headquarters that our task is to support SAYA in pursuing a creature called 'DIVA,' which escaped from the 'Zoo' in Bordeaux thirty years ago."

Saya nodded carefully.

"We also know that wherever DIVA appears, creatures called 'Chiropterans' appear as well," Valery continued.

"...it's understood in the study of..."

Valerie nodded at Saya's words and continued.

"DIVA and chiropterans are believed to attack and suck blood from humans."

Although this should have been known beforehand, the word "bloodsucking" caused a slight tension in the room.

Saya suppressed the unease in her chest and raised her head resolutely. Valerie continued further.

"Recently, an investigation revealed that around summer, there were sightings of corpses believed to be caused by chiropterans in Russia."

"Believed to be?"

Saya furrowed her brows at the ambiguous way this was said. Red Shield, the organization established to destroy DIVA. For now, neither Saya nor Haji could oppose its policy. Still, she thought they were moving for more certain information.

Kiril, seemingly irritated by Saya's words, responded in a harsh tone.

"The sightings of the corpses were in the suburbs where the royal family and nobility have villas. It was hushed up for a while. In this country, which still deifies the royal family, there's a big gap between the upper class and commoners... Information doesn't come down immediately. It's not that we overlooked it."

"Kiril."

Valerie tried to scold him, but Kiril turned away indifferently. Valerie then gave up on saying any more and turned to Saya.

"For a while, we will need you two to gather information in high society. Headquarters is aware of this."

"If it is Red Shield's decision, I have no objections."

Saya said, and Haji nodded. Seeing this, Valerie relaxed his previously tense expression.

"Then, use the wing across the courtyard for your quarters. Necessary items have been arranged, but if there's anything missing, please inform the butler who welcomed you. We are all here under the guise of distant relatives of nobility or children of wealthy merchants, and during the day we mostly attend the officer's academy... This mansion is owned by Red Shield, but the maids are not informed of the details, so please keep that in mind. How many maids do you need?"

Saya barely managed to interrupt the words flowing without hesitation.

"The minimum necessary is fine. We can take care of ourselves."

"I will prepare the meals if there is a kitchen over there. Can we eat there?"

Haji added. Valerie looked at him with a puzzled expression. He probably couldn't imagine Haji preparing meals. In fact, Haji had taken care of almost everything around Saya until now.

"That's... as you like. But if you ever need help, we can arrange it."

"Okay―"

Valerie said, pushing the point while Haji smiled calmly.

"Thank you. Then, let's go to our room, Saya."

As they were about to leave the room, Rodion's voice stopped them.

When they turned around, Rodion was leaning back deeply in his chair, balancing skillfully with his legs raised. With his hands behind his head, he spoke without looking at them.

"It was written that <SAYA> is the <only weapon> to defeat the chiropterans, but you don't look like it."

Those words weighed even heavier on Saya's already troubled heart. (But)

It is an undeniable fact that she is the only one capable of defeating the chiropterans.

So at least until she leaves this room, she must keep a calm face.

Kiril, still not looking at her, played with his ice-blonde hair and spoke to the silent Saya.

"Though we also benefit from it, Joel has left us with quite a burden. It’s absolute madness, right?"

"Don’t speak of Joel that way."

Saya raised her head reflexively. She endured the sudden collective gaze and continued. "I don’t care what you say about me, but Joel—"

Kiril's beautiful eyebrows curved with interest. "Heh. You’re quite well-trained, SAYA."

"Trained—" The word stung. Just as Saya was about to look down, a figure stepped forward to shield her from the stares. It was Haji.

Haji reached into his jacket, silently staring everyone down. The gentle smile he usually directed at Saya was gone, replaced by a cold, suppressed anger that filled the room with a chilling tension.

"Ha—ji."

Rodion, who had stopped rocking his chair at some point, said with eyes gleaming like a beast's.

"I heard there was a knight protecting SAYA. So, it's you."

Before he finished speaking, Rodion leapt into the air. His movements were fluid and feline, aiming a kick.

Saya involuntarily closed her eyes.

When she opened her eyes the next moment, Haji was not in front of her.

"Eh...?"

Rodion's high kick was stopped by Eduardo, who had stepped in at some point and blocked it with his arm.

Without a word, Eduardo stared at Rodion with his deep ultramarine eyes.

Rodion's killing intent, which had been palpable, vanished as if extinguished by the calm, deep blue of Eduardo's gaze.

Eventually, Rodion lowered his leg and spoke awkwardly.

"I just wanted to test your strength a bit."

Valerie, who had been stunned, snapped back to reality and reprimanded him.

"A bit—Don't act on your own!"

"I said I was sorry, didn't I?"

While Saya was distracted by their exchange, Eduardo quietly returned to his seat as if nothing had happened.

"Well, we’ll see how you perform. We have our own jobs to do, so we can’t afford to have you slacking off."

With a sigh, Kiril coldly remarked. It seemed he was not only the most glamorous but also the most barbed.

Saya noticed that Eduardo, who sat silently beside Kiril, also preferred to avoid unnecessary trouble, though he was not particularly friendly.

(They're not exactly comrades, are they?)

"Let’s go, Haji."

Saya felt ashamed of her earlier naivety. She forced a smile at Haji and left the room, almost fleeing.

Upon being shown to a two-room suite, Saya headed straight to the bedroom, throwing herself onto the bed freshly made with new linens. She hadn't expected a warm welcome, but it was still exhausting.

Suppressing another sigh, Saya shook her head resolutely.

(Things will only get harder from here.)

She jumped off the bed and returned to the living room where she had dropped her bags earlier. The room, with its black and silver plant-patterned wallpaper, had furniture matching the same color scheme. She found her bag on the white marble-topped table and picked it up. The large trunk sent earlier was neatly placed against the wall. She stood up to organize her things, catching her reflection in the large window glass.

Saya idly walks to the window and touches her short hair, remembering it used to be long.

"Sister..."

Startled, Saya thinks she sees a girl moving in the reflection and gasps. As she tries to steady herself against a sudden wave of dizziness, there is a hesitant knock at the door. It’s Haji.

"Are you already asleep, Saya?"

Saya rushes to the door but pauses to compose herself with deep breaths before opening it.

"I'm awake. What is it?"

"I brought you some tea."

Expecting something simple, Saya is surprised when Haji comes in pushing a cart laden with snacks and a large silver samovar. Noticing her look, Haji smiles.

"It’s called a samovar. It's quite special."

Haji places it on the table, opens the lid, and lights it. The tea pot is placed on top to keep it warm, and there’s a tap at the bottom for hot water, allowing the tea to be diluted to taste.

"Amazing," Saya murmurs, more impressed by Haji’s quick mastery of the samovar and preparation of snacks. Haji pours the tea into delicate glass cups with gold holders.

"It’s very convenient. I found everything ready, but the kitchen seems quite functional," Haji says cheerfully.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Saya comments with a wry smile as she takes the tea, noting the familiar scent of brandy, ginger, and honey that Haji always prepares when she's tired.

Saya realizes Haji likely suggested dining in their room to avoid the awkwardness of eating with the others. As she watches Haji portioning out cookies, she feels a sense of relief. Haji is always himself.

After sipping the tea and feeling more at ease, Saya remarks, "We've come a long way."

She recalls never having left her homeland. Haji responds gently, explaining that Petrograd, historically called the "window to the West," is at the western edge of Russia and also known as the "Venice of the North."

"Where exactly in Petrograd are we?" Saya wonders aloud. Despite her fatigue, she feels the need to stay occupied.

Haji, casually drinking his tea, answers promptly. "We came down the main street with the Hermitage on our left and turned left again. We’re likely in the Liteyny District. There are many similar mansions here, making it a suitable place for a noble to hide."

[climbthemountain2020]

Hope of Spring - Chapter 17

Also on Ao3! Find Ch. 16 here :)

The missive came two days later, summoning the High Lords and their chosen parties to the Dawn Court in a week’s time. It arrived at lunch, and Tamlin gave her the letter to read over once he realized what it was. They held hands as they read and ate, rarely apart for any period of time anymore. They still enjoyed that companionable silence, but every second was charged now with the most beautiful energy between them.

A week’s time. Hopefully enough.

The Night Court had decided to postpone any additional training for Penny while she rested and fully regained her powers. They would encourage her to continue training with Tamlin this week in the interim as she saw fit, but would resume normal lessons and their routine of visits once the meeting had passed. There had been no word yet on capturing anyone’s powers for her to touch or the tools to help her focus the power on the battlefield, but she assumed there would be answers at the meeting. In the meantime, Penny had a plan.

Tamlin needed to go out to the small town nearby to get a few things. He’d invited her along, but she declined, reasoning that her energy levels were still incredibly low, so she’d feel better taking one more afternoon to rest. He’d fussed over her endlessly, but ultimately relented and rode into town that afternoon after she’d called him “a hovering mother hen”. As soon as she watched his horse crest the final hill, she took off out of their bedroom, running straight to the kitchens and scaring the staff half to death.

“I need to make apple tarts! Can someone help me?” A mischievous smile of understanding dawned on Ira’s face.

“Of course, Miss Penny. Let’s get you started.” The rest of the kitchen kicked into action, getting all the necessary materials ready. They instructed her on the best practices, how much spice, the best pressure for the rolling pin, and the perfect width for the apples. They encouraged her, all knowing what reason she had for such a hasty treat. News of the mating bond had traveled fast through the manor after the battle, and she knew that they were all as eager to see their High Lord happy as she was.

When it was all done and cooking and the timer set, she thanked the staff profusely and sent them all on their way early. Ira had left some additional provisions in the kitchen available for a late night dinner, should they require it, and she left last with a final wink to Penny.

Penny raced back up the stairs as the sunset painted the windows in beautiful shades of blues and pinks, sprinting to the bath to remove all the flour from her hair as the tarts cooled in the kitchen. She knew he wouldn’t care what she looked like, but for this, she wanted to feel her best. She bathed more quickly than she ever had before, throwing various oils over her skin and hair and dunking herself below the water. She toweled her skin so quickly and thoroughly that it turned a bright pink from the friction. She braided her hair into a soft coronet with a few twisted tendrils to the side, and, for once, put on one of the beautiful dresses that Tally had purchased for her so long ago. It was a mix of deep greens, the embroidery of golden leaves twisting around the low collar and down the edges of the light cap sleeves. When she was finished, she turned to see herself in the mirror, looking every bit a Spring lady. She nodded once, took a deep breath, and vaulted back down to the kitchens.

____________________

When Tamlin arrived home not much later, Penny was sitting in the dining room, trying to calm her heartbeat in the candlelight. It’s not like you have anything to worry about. Calm down. She tried to take deep, steadying breaths as she sat in his seat at the head of the table, eyeing the doors and counting the footsteps until he reached her.

Realizing the lack of staff and dark house, he called out “Penny?”

“I’m in here!” She hated the way her voice cracked. Stupid.

He rounded the corner through the doors. “There you are. It’s dark as the—Penny,” he gasped out, immediately aware of what this was. She cleared her throat and stood, brushing her hands nervously over her skirts and grabbing the plate of tarts in front of her.

“Surprise?” She whispered, holding the platter up. He all but ran to her, stumbling on the last few steps and righting himself with a huff in front of her. He grabbed the plate, set it down, and grabbed her face in his hands.

“Truly? This is truly what you want?” The desperation and hope in his voice nearly brought her to her knees. He bent to press his forehead into hers.

“I have never wanted anything the way I want to be yours. I want all of Prythian to know. Let there be no doubt in their minds that I am yours, and you are mine.” She pressed a kiss to his lips as he laughed in relief and joy.

“This doesn’t feel real.” He turned and grabbed a tart, shoving the entire pastry into his mouth as she laughed. “I’m going to eat the whole plate before you change your mind.” She threw her head back laughing. Gods, but she loved him. Before he could make good on his promise and grab the whole plate, she gently gripped his wrist and brought it to her face, kissing lightly over his pulse and looking up into his eyes.

“I love you, Tam. Now take me to bed.” He didn’t need to be asked twice, picking her up at the waist and throwing her over his shoulder. He practically sprinted up the stairs, their laughter and joy filling the halls as they went.

They didn’t make it to the room. Halfway up the stairs, Penny began untucking his shirt and skirting her fingers around his waist to his abdomen, nearly causing Tamlin to trip up the final two steps. He laughed, getting a few more steps down the hall before setting her on her feet and immediately moving in to press her against the wall to kiss her, cupping his large hand against her jaw to tilt her head up.

She’d never tire of kissing him, her tongue dipping into his mouth to taste the remnants of the apple tarts within. Every kiss between them was always enmeshed with the busy hum and spark of their magic, but there was an urgency this time in the way their lips met, their hands gripping each other. She reached between them, pulling his shirt up over his head, barely breaking their kiss to breathe as she did. Their hands roamed hotly across each other as his settled on the laces of her dress, tugging them strategically and loosening the dress in two quick pulls as she smiled against his lips.

With a quick motion, he’d hoisted her up against him, her legs wrapping by instinct around his body as he mouth found his neck and he sighed into her hair. She placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and beneath his ear as he walked further down the hall, finding a recessed shelf and carelessly tossing the vase residing on it back into the hall with a crash, settling Penny down onto it instead. He pulled the dress down off her shoulders, bunching it around her waist and leaning down to kiss her collarbones.

Penny tossed her head back as he took a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently and letting his hands fall to her waist to pull her forward. She ran her hands through his hair, not bothering to stifle the contented hums that passed through her lips since she’d sent everyone away. He was hers, and this was theirs.

Tamlin continued his steady descent down her body, pressing kisses to her ribs, stomach, then hips. He looked up to her, eyes ablaze, as he told her to lift her hips, pulling the layers of dress between them down and tossing the whole thing over his shoulder as she giggled. He slid his hands up her thighs, pausing to grip and squeeze as he went. There was no prelude as he pressed his mouth to her, licking a stripe up her underwear as he reached into the waistband to tug those down her legs, too, never breaking eye contact with her as he did.

Her breathing was heavy, and the urge to tip her head back and close her eyes nearly overwhelmed her, but she stayed focused on him. Her mate, looking up at her with adoration and reverence in his eyes, not even forty feet from where she’d come barreling through the ceiling and into his life months ago. He pressed a brief kiss to her, causing her to shudder, but he didn’t let her recover before he dove back in, devouring her with firm flat licks and making her give up the last of her resolve to keep her eyes open. She leaned back on her left hand, her right winding through his hair as he pressed against her, driving her mad with the sensation of it.

She was climbing that high fast, so fast she could barely hang on as the pleasure soared through her, robbing her of all cognitive thought. He was equally enthusiastic, grabbing beneath her thighs and tossing her legs over his shoulders as he gripped her ass and pulled her closer to the ledge, her moans ringing out through the empty hallway. She could feel his emotions mingling with hers down the bond, every thought and pleasure ripping through her like an echo chamber. It was enough to brutally push her over the edge, grinding against his mouth as she gasped and came.

He didn’t give her a second to breathe and she didn’t want one. The urgency inside her, the need to claim him, had her shuffling down off the shelf immediately, already grabbing for him to pull him closer. But Tamlin was already there, his hands over her hips, turning her body around and tipping her forward. He ran his mouth up her neck as he pulled her back against him.

She was so out of control, so insanely wet and thrumming with desire that it took only a single push to sheath himself within her. She arched back, her hands seeking the ledge in front of her, as she accommodated the sudden change. He was there, hands stroking up and down her sides, lips finding the spot below her ear she so enjoyed. She couldn’t take it anymore–couldn’t wait.

“Please, I need–” But he was already moving, already reading the direction of her thoughts and giving her exactly what her body asked for–grasping her hips tightly and thrusting into her wildly as she hung on for dear life. “Gods, yes. Please, don’t stop,” she begged as he placed kisses along her neck and shoulder, causing her to gasp as he bit into her, her head falling back against him as she arched up. The sounds she made were unintelligible, his moans into her neck spurring her on, grinding back to meet his thrusts in time.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his hand crawling up her body to grip her neck as his pace grew frantic. “My mate.”

“Yes! Oh, yes. I’m yours.” She screamed into the hallway. His other hand released her hip to stroke sharp circles against her clit and that was all it took to have her exploding into stars. She couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t tell anything happening around her–was only aware of the meeting of their bodies, the magic coiling together sharply and the bond thrashing widely between them, bursting with golden light as he came inside her and moved his arms to hold her close to him as they came down.

When their breathing calmed, he picked her up gently, forsaking their clothes and carrying her to their room, placing the gentlest of kisses along her neck as they went. He set her down softly in the bed, leaving to walk to the bathroom and get a soft cloth to clean them up. He took great time and care with Penny, her eyes half lidded and dreamy as she made room in the bed for him. He crawled in, tucking them both in and pulling her to his chest. They fit together like they always had, a lock and key, two halves of one whole.

As they lay in the bed together, Tamlin spoke into the dark. “Come with me to this meeting. Help me make the right choices this time. My mistakes in the past came from a lack of trust, but I trust you.”

She took a deep breath of him, savoring his smell, now intrinsically mixed with hers. “Of course I’ll come. I’d go anywhere you asked.”

___________________

The next week passed in a blur. Occasionally, they would surface to find some food or even venture outdoors for a bit to claim they’d spent at least some time training. But most of their attempts dissolved fairly quickly and moved back to the house once they got within a few inches of each other.

Though magical training had been put at somewhat of a standstill, with the return of her ability to wield, Penny was noticing that some things had changed.

“Tam, are you able to wield fire?” She asked one day, leaning backward off the side of their bed as he tended to the fireplace.

“No, it’s an Autumn trait, so unless there’s a mixing of familiar lines, almost no one in Spring can.” He watched her as she flicked her wrist, producing a small flame that danced between her fingers before she tossed it into the open fireplace. She rolled to look at him.

“It’s been days since I’ve seen Lucien. I think I am beginning to retain some powers even after the fact somehow. Come touch me.” Amusement and intent filled the smile he shot her.

“Gladly, my lady.” He spoke, as he rose to come to the bed. She scoffed, sitting up and holding her hand out.

“Incorrigible. Can’t you go an hour without bedding me?” She said, teasingly. He leaned in to grab her hand and lightly kiss her on each cheek.

“No. I cannot.” He murmured lowly. She sighed, leaning into him.

“Good, me neither. Let me just try something first.” He pulled back and she lifted her hand, shifting so that scales covered it, then feathers. She shifted back into her normal form, then produced the fire again.

“We should bring this up to Rhys at the meeting.” She stated, pulling the flame back in. “I wonder who else this extends to.” She looked at him, sighing, then leaned in for another kiss. “Now, it does seem we’re reaching the end of that hour.” She spoke against his mouth. He grinned against her lips.

__________________

As the High Lord’s meeting grew closer, the two spent their time planning how to present a cohesive front. Tamlin explained the last meeting there left the remaining High Lord’s wary of him. He wanted to start fresh, put forward that he truly was working for the greater good and that he was ashamed of who he’d been the last time. He wanted them to believe how hard he was trying.

Penny reassured him that she would be there for him each step of the way, and they came up with a number of signals in the form of hand squeezes should things start to veer out of control.

“I am so lucky to have you with me.” He murmured into her lips long after the sun had set as they sat together in the bath. They had one more day to prepare before their departure to Dawn, and they planned to go into the village tomorrow to see how repairs were going and offer any help as needed. They’d had the kitchens prepare extra food the past two days so that they might bring some food to the families in the village working hard to rebuild after the attack from Autumn.

“The feeling goes both ways. Are you nervous for the meeting?”

“Incredibly so. But I am relieved that you’ll be with me. I would have been ashamed to go alone again after the last time.” She turned and pressed a kiss to his chest, looking up through wet lashes into his eyes. “But more so, I am glad to have you with me. It’s been centuries too long of me being in charge of the decisions on Spring’s behalf. I need someone smart to do that for me.” She splashed him with water, but then leaned in and kissed the drops off his face.

“As long as I am here, you’ll never have to do it alone again.” And he knew she meant it.

____________________

Penny and Tamlin ventured into the town with horses carrying loads of food for the people at mid morning. The town was better off than she had imagined it would be. She’d been so singularly focused during the battle that she hadn’t seen how far Autumn had breached into the village itself, but fortunately, the damage seemed to have been mostly on the fields and hills.

A few buildings had already been fixed, new wood and stone standing out among the buildings. It seemed the last place to fix was the community hall in the town square, where many had already congregated in the morning sun to fix the roof and the upper side. They tied their horses, and Tamlin went to offer his help while Penny went to let some of the townspeople know that there was food for them if they’d like to come to the square. When she returned, a line had formed and Tamlin was helping to haul stones to complete the center.

He, of course, was shirtless in the heat, as was every other man helping, but she decided to busy herself distributing the food lest she let the newly-accepted mating bond cause her to do something in public she’d regret. Instead, she focused on the people coming to get food. She spoke to everyone who approached, remembering some she’d met before and learning the names of others. She talked with women and held babies and discussed how conditions had been in the town. She took mental notes of some items to discuss with Tamlin when they arrived back at the manor, and, towards the late afternoon when the building was finishing up, she sat with a group of children and helped them weave flower crowns on the edge of the community garden.

Tamlin came back over to her, gulping water and looking every inch a High Lord, much to her self-restraint’s chagrin. He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed as the young children looked up to him in reverence. A small girl with a missing tooth and a boy, only slightly older, looking similar enough to be her elder brother, came up to them. The boy spoke excitedly to them.

“We saw you holding the line against Autumn.” The boy spoke to Tamlin. “You didn’t even have the right armor, but you held the line and you kept my family safe.” Tamlin looked surprised as he crouched to the boy’s eye level. “Thank you for coming to fight for us.”

“I am your High Lord, I will always come to fight for you.” He inclined his head toward the boy, whose eyes widened in shock. The little girl pushed forward and shoved a flower crown into Penny’s hands.

“You burned the High Lord of Autumn alive!” She rasped with enthusiasm through missing baby teeth. “With his own fire. AND you saved the High Lord. I want to be just like you when I grow up.” Penny laughed with amusement, but she could feel her eyes begin to water as she took in the children all looking at them–at Tamlin looking at her with such pride and love. “My Papa called you the Savior of Spring!”

Another small voice chimed in. “Mine, too!” Our Savior of Spring!” Penny’s heart could have exploded, and as Tamlin took her hand they both stood. He pressed it to his mouth with a kiss as he declared. “That’s right. Our Savior of Spring.”

[prettypinkporkchop]

Can I get a long quill or embry x uley reader where the reader is Sam’s little sister that the pack treats as the little sister where they just tease her and pick her and and toss or annoy her try to get her mad because she’s short she remind them of a chihuahua

"Babe, could you get the yarn in the cabinet?" Emily asks you from her bed. Her hands are twirling with a needle as she designs some embroidery.

You nod your head and get up from the chair in her bedroom. You step on the opposite end of the bed where a huge cabinet stands. It's full of her sewing, crocheting, and embroidery tools stay.

Once you open the cabinet, you see so much! You get overwhelmed and turn to her. "Which one?" You giggle.

She points to the top shelf where the blue threading is. You stand on your toes to reach it. You hear her giggling behind you.

"I forget, miss chihuahua." Emily says.

You turn to glare at her. "Fine then, I'm not getting it." You cross your arms.

Randomly, Sam stands at the door and looks at you two.

"Bothering my sister?" He asks Emily. He walks over to you and ruffles your hair.

You groan and fix it up. Emily shrugs at him with a smirk. "I am going home!" You stomp out of the room.

As you step out to the kitchen, there's the whole pack. You didn't know they'd be here. "Damn it." You hiss.

Quil walks up to you and then grabs your face, shoving a rough kiss on your lips. He squeezes your face tightly. You kiss him back and wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tippy toes.

"Aye! It's chihuahua! Look at her trying to be tall like Quil." Jared points out and laugh.

You groan and pull away from Quil. You walk over to the table where the rest of the pack is sitting, and you slap his arm. "Watch it, Cameron." You spit. He presses his hands on the table and stands up.

"You shouldn't have done thattttt!" He picks you up over his shoulder. You scream and hit his back. "Quil, where do I take your chihuahua?" Jared asks.

He just sighs and then pats your butt softly. "Just put her down. I'll take care of it." He laughs.

Jared groans and sets you down. "No fun!" He walks back over to the table.

Paul throws some food at you. "Eat up, chihuahua." He jokes. "Okay, that was mean. Sorry, shorty." He laughs.

Embry high fives him. You turn to Quil, face boiling in anger. "Alright, alright. Enough kids. Leave my puppy alone." He picks up the food.

"Puppy?!" You yell at Quil.

Sam and Emily step into the kitchen. "Give her a break." Sam says, patting your back.

"No, actually, please. Just give me an hour break or something!" You throw your hands up and sit down at the table.

"Mayhaps." Embry smirks.

"Embry Call. If you even pull a stunt." You warn and point your finger at him.

"You're like my miniature Naruto figurine on my TV stand." He laughs.

You cover your face in annoyance. Quil wraps his arms from behind you, pulling you out of the seat. "Baby, do you want to go home?" He asks.

You nod your head and hold onto him. Your face pressing against his lower chest, near his stomach. He rubs your back softly and kisses your head. "If you guys don't shut the fuck up." He warns.

He guides you out of the house and into his truck. The ride home was quiet. You laid your head on the window because of the headache the pack gave you.

Once you guys get home, you walk inside and plop on the bed. Quil falls next to you, pulling you on his chest. You lay in between his legs on your stomach, your chin resting on your hands that lay flat on his stomach. Your eyes flutter up to look at him. He sucks in a breath, slightly hissing.

"Yikes. You're turning me on." He chuckles.

Your face heats up, and you smile. "Do something about it."

He didn't even hesitate to pull you up. You two got super busy.

You wake up with an empty bed. You knew Quil had to go to Paul's house because they're building a porch for his tiny house. Rachel begged him for it. You wish they treated you like Rachel, Kim, and Emily.

You roll over to check your phone.

Quilt boy: Hey when you wake up can you please help us! We are guys and we need hell decorating for Rachel's surprise.

You laugh and stand up to get ready. You head to the car and drive over there. You see a bunch of long wooden boards spread out and a finished light brown porch. The guys are standing around, looking confused. Paul has decor in his hands.

You get out of the car and walk over to them. "Guys, really?" You laugh.

"Don't hate. Kim should be here shortly to help you." Paul hands you the fake flowers and a windmill in his hands.

You take the metal windmill and the flowers. "Guys, it's not that hard. Look!" You step up the steps and put the windmill on the wall next to the door. "I need a nail and hammer, please." You say.

"It's too low." Embry points out.

Quil walks up next to you and holds a nail and a hammer. "Embry's right. It looks kind of goofy down there." He says.

He places the nail in his between his lips and grabs the windmill from your fingers. His side is grazing against yours, and you can't help but stare at his arms. His curls, his hands, his stomach. Oh, god.

Now, you're lost in thought. But, you're brought back to reality when hands grab your waist and lifts you up. "Hey!" You scream.

"Catch!" You notice it's Sam holding you.

Embry holds up his hands. Sam tosses you like a damn beach ball. You scream, but Embry catches you. "Catch!" Embry yells.

Jared opens his hands, preparing to catch. You are thrown into the air, squealing. Jared catches you and sets you down. Everyone burst into laughter, but now, you feel sick.

"Little sister even sounds like a chihuahua!" Embry wraps an arm around your shoulder.

You push him off and stomp your feet. "I'm definitely not going to help anymore!" You scream at Paul.

Just as you do, Kim pulls up. She steps out a d stands next to Jared. "Bullying baby sister again?" She giggles.

"Yeah, and now I'm not helping decorate." You cross your arms.

"Hey, guys, stop. Really. For me. I want to hang out with her." Kim says sternly.

They all nod their heads mumbling, "Yes maam."

You nod your head and look up at the porch to see Quil staring around the walls, thinking. You walk up the steps and stand next to him. "What're you thinking about, hottie?" You grab his arm and slightly squeeze, placing a kiss on his muscles.

"Thinking. Maybe we could build on an extra room?" He looks down at you.

"For what?" You ask.

"Maybe a room for a chihuahua!" Jared yells.

Kim scoffs and slaps the back of his head. "Jared, go home." She demands.

His head hangs low, and he mumbles something.

"No, for real. For what?" You ask again.

He looks down at you with furrowed brows and gentle and emotional smile. "For a baby." He whispers.

You part your lips, not knowing what to say. Your stomach has butterflies. A baby?!

You and Kim start to decorate the porch. The guys chill around and drink sweet tea. For the last couple of hours, there has been no teasing. You've been having a peaceful evening with the good Kim!

Once you two are done, you sit next to Quil, and she sits next to Jared. You turn to look at Quil. He looks back at you, and you run your fingers through his curls, tugging slightly. He loves it when you do this. He closes his eyes but then opens them quickly.

"Y/n, can I borrow your car? I'm going to grab Emily." He says. You nod your head and toss him the keys.

"Don't wreck, Sam. I pay for that thing." You warn.

He steps in the car, but you all hear, "FUCK!" And loud laughter. Sam steps out and points at the seat. "How do you move this seat back? Damn, I can't drive with a hunchback and my knees to my chest!" Sam yells.

Everyone bursts into laughter. You sigh and cover your face.

"I've got it." Quil says, running to the car to move the seat back for Sam.

Rachel's car pulls in. Paul stands up, and she gets out with a wide smile. "Surprise!" Paul yells. Rachel gushes and steps closer.

"Holy shit! Thank you! I love this so much!" She gasps.

"Y/n tried to hang shit way too low." Embry laughs.

Rachel hugs you and then Kim. "I know a girls work when I see it. So thank you, girls, too for decorating." She smiles.

[uraniumnm333]

I NEED TO TALK ABOUT ALL THE SYMBOLISM + REFERENCES IN THE NEW EVENT CARDS !!!! OR I'M GOING TO EXPLODE !!!!!!

Okay so FIRST i'm going to go thru what i think are all the refs here, obviously most of these are probably wronga nd i'm just grasping at straws BUT:

jackpot sad girl (obvious)

white day mafuyu (similair color pal, strings in the front kind of look like the glass shatter effect ? plus the ribbons kind of look like shizuku's card)

kanadetomosusora (that's what i thought when i saw the window in the right background, but i could be wrong)

(not in her card but everyone else's) hidden snow white event (the heart/apple shaped gem)

(ALSO not in her card but) tricologe (the gem)

ANYWAYS i have. a lot of thoughts and theories about this card. FIRST I'd like to bring your attention to the mask that's split in half. what i noticed was how there's a little bit of the white side still clinging onto the black side. i saw this as maybe how a bit of himself is still going to be lost ? like he's never going to be completely whole, as someone else (his mom) stole it (childhood). another thing is the ribbons. if you look closely, most of them appear to be dirtied, much like the vocaloid's drip in the empty sekai. i don't think mafuyu's really worn a dirty looking outfit. i'd argue even in the snow white thing his skirt didn't give the appearance of being dirty, just foggy. but the ribbons all look frayed and stained. and my third thing here is the string that's almost pulled tight around his neck. it's like if he doesn't cut the string with the scissors in his hand (might i mention they look a lot like embroidery or sewing scissors) the string will pull tight around his neck. but it'll also bring everything else crashing down, like the furniture. maybe this is like, a reference to how by embracing how he really feels his life is going to have to crash down before he can rebuild it ?? just a thought yk. ALSO I JUST NOTICED THIS BUT THE LIGHT IS COMING FROM THE SIDE OF THE BLACK MASK MAYBE SYMBOLIZING HOW HIS MOM THINKS SHE IS SAVING HIM (ie light is usually seen as good) BUT IS STILL BAD FOR HIM !!!!! also the wind is blowing in the opposite direction of the light soooooooooo. yeah. mafutime over.

the refences HERE are kinda easy. i think it's mostly a ref to infinitely gray but there might be an i nandesu/nomad ref that was absolutely lost on me. but the way ena is jumping from the gray reminds me of the gray from the infinitely gray set (take a shot everytime i say gray). it almost makes it kind of look like she's jumping out of a painting which i thought was cool. ANYWAYS m thoughts on this card are everything everywhere all at once. i think they gemstone heart apple thing is supposed to represent mafuyu. ena is reaching out because she wants to express her feelings towards mafuyu (she's jealous she's proud of him ect ect ect) but can never seem to reach him. but instead of giving up he's pulling the words apart (the strings) to get to him instead. ena's driven by passion, and even though she's stubborn, that's good sometimes. she wants to save mafuyu, going so far as to break out of her infinitely gray moment. also it kind of appears as though she's going from the light into the dark ? i dunno these thoughts are all over. i also think this card's fun bc ena and mafuyu's dynamic is the most interesting. in the main story ena was the only one not to idolize or pity mafuyu. unlike mizuki or kanade who kind of coddled him or whatever ena was just firing shots at him. ena's card also features a lot of tools used to create things, or artistic kind of things (that thing you use to spin thread, books that someone's written, a picture frame w what appears to be a painting) which might allude to how badly she wants to make things.

i'm pretty sure mizuki's references their ID SMILE event w all the glossy ribbons and such. NOW with mizook's,,,, i have a lot to say. first of all the fact that it looks like they're singing to the heart gemstone. it looks like they're quietly supporting it, but never really getting close enough to touching it. similar to mafuyu and mizuki's relationship, they're usually standing on the sidelines and giving mafuyu pieces of advice but never getting close enough to sharing their own feelings. kinda like how mizuki's afraid of getting close to people, so they never get too close to the crystal !!! another thing is the heart gem on their lapel. for this i'd like to cite their relationshipt to mafuyu as stated in the wiki: "Fellow circle member. Mizuki seems to understand Mafuyu's experience, and does their best to support her quietly." which is basically alluding to the fact that mizuki can closely relate to mafuyu !!! just like how mizuki's gem on their lapel looks similair to the apple gem thing, they both relate to one another in these experienes. mizuki, though, keeps their feelings close to their chest (literally in this card) and doesn't let them interfere w their support w mafuyu. also w the whole shared experiences thing, the string in the front of the card is already cut. this made me think that mizuki has already cut the string binding them to the expectations of others, and is now trying to help mafuyu do the same ? what made me think this was that there's no scissors in mizuki's card, which implies that it's been cut for a while. also there looks to be a vanity stand, dresser and teapot which makes me think of mizuki's love for cute things. similair to ena's card. or maybe i'm just reading intothese props too much i dunno.

i wanted to do kanade's last bc i was just. so hyped. i love this card. i'm listening to the kanade solo cover of hated by life just for this. i love her so much. okay. so first of all i think the ivy growing is a reference to carnation recollection just like how mizuki and ena's are refs to their first focuses. also there's all the musical things which are LOVELY. I AM IN LOVE (is about to change their blog theme just for this). something i noticed was how even though the strings are still present in kanade;s card, they're not tying her down to anything. the things around her aren't tied down, either. honestly it almost looks like the shine of a gemstone (... tricologe. also i'm sure there's a samsa ref here. kanade's special she gets all of her focus events). anyways another thing i love is kanade's relationship to mafuyu portrayed in the card. nobody else is as close to mafuyu as kanade is. unlike ena, she doesn't need to fight to get close. unlike mizuki, she's not afraid to get close. she holds mafuyu close to her heart, without fear of what loving him might be. she's just,,,, *starts sobbing*

she also seems to be underwater which is kind of ???? to me bc like. i don't think there's really any ocean cards. maybe it's a ref to the kanadetomosusora mv when the water's dripping ??? so like now the water's not just dripping it's fully filled up now ? also maybe, since the strings seem to be refering to the control mafuyu's mom has over him, kanade's protecting him from it ??? yeah i dunno.

[emabatis]

A WIP Intro: What Dahlia Knows

I suppose I should put all the basics of this project that I've been calling "The icy wip," into one post. I've got a title now!

Every night, after Mother’s footsteps faded down the hall, Dahlia knelt in front of her water stained window and prayed that her daddy would never get better. This practice was to make sure he did get better, because Dahlia had discovered through vigorous trial-and-error that whatever she prayed for would never come true.

Summary: It’s been months since Dahlia’s daddy went to the faraway hospital, and she has several thoughts about it. She also has thoughts on more pressing topics, like the how words feel in her mouth, which ice cream flavor to get, and why her favorite enigmatic grocery clerk is following her when she should be propped up in the funeral parlor’s window. Answering these questions will either take her on a journey of self-discovery or leave her horribly confused. Probably a bit of both.

I'm a bit murky about assigning genres and demographics to my work, especially if it's unfinished. For example, categorizing it as "paranormal" puts emphasis on Ruth's ghostliness, which I think is one of the least important things about her. However, in acquiescence to their utility as marketing tools, I'll say the genre is "weird, literary, coming-of-age, historical, paranormal" with its demographic being "middle grade-ish maybe"

Third person limited, past tense

Inspirations: Jostein Gaarder's "Sophie's World," Norton Juster's "The Phantom Tollbooth," Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland," William Faulkner's "As I lay Dying," James Burke's "Connections" Episode 4 "Faith in Numbers"

Characters:

Dahlia - The main character. Naive, quiet. Isn't good at reading, and has many thoughts about words. And windows. And Ruth.

Emilie - Dahlia's talkative friend. Almost a parody of politeness.

Anderson - Emilie's - and by extension Dahlia's - babysitter. Believes in doing the opposite of what he wants to do in the name of free will.

Ruth - The unfortunate grocery clerk. Surly, enigmatic, dreams of being a weaver, but never gets past embroidery.

Also there's Clue - the content Sisyphus, Nettie - the suspicious ice cream scooper, the solipsists - a pair of solipsists, and Dan - who believes the world is just as it should be.

Status: First draft is halfway done!

The tag for this will remain "#the icy wip" until I'm really settled on a title.

[firespirited]

I should probably make a scavenging tag to keep tab of this buuuut it kind of goes under the home hacks and multipurpose crafting i've been doing ever since that first 2008 doll streaks with gold embroidery floss rooted using a toothbrush handle with the needle inserted by melting over a candle.

Guess this is kind of my brand. ¯\_(◡‿◡)_/¯

On Friday, I walked Lily briefly and found a big bin bag that was someone's chest of drawers emptied so I sorted it into clothes, recyclable and rubbish put it all in the correct bins and left the clothes and accessories for others to go through after picking out a few gorgeous scarves, a brand-new djellaba in bronze cotton, a lovely stained cream jumper (sweater) that i'm going to dye: it had a snagged loose knit - crochet looking but done by machine - back that just needed re-knotting/rethreading (what ever the word is for when you use tweezers to weave the yarn back through its original pattern and knot it down), a machine knitted snood to frog/unravel, some glitter body lotion and a notebook.

*I found the glue at another bin next to a bunch of tools (including a stainless ratchet wrench 😍 with accessories I couldn't carry 😥) thought I'd grab the glue in case there was a chance you could get some out by using a pin through the top as I'm currently waiting for superglue in the mail. Score: It's not jammed at all.

Loctite powerflex is pricey (€7 for 3g when you can get 20 x 3g liquid superglue for €4) and takes about double the time to set (hold tight and count to at least sixty not thirty) but it is magical stuff: not only does it go where you direct it to, you have a window to wipe off any excess without it leaving damage and it holds really well without cracking on flexible surfaces like vinyl, shoe soles, headphone wires. It's got superglue in it but also some kind of rubber base solution. It's one of those fancy glues you want around for the special stuff while having a backup of bog-standard superglue for basic repairs.

*I keep sleep and symptom notebooks to keep track of any circadian rhythm disruptions, migraines, gastrointestinal issues so I can circle back to a particular food or activity. I'd been using these cute panda shaped accounting notepads and stocked up but as with all things good, they got discontinued. I tried other notepads but it wasn't quite right: it needs to be lightweight, easily replaceable if I drop water on it, as unobtrusive as possible. This merch pocket book with the 5mm squares is just right when unbound into 6.

/// I learned this trick as a kid, someone showed me how different books were bound and how to salvage thrown out school exercise books, remelt crayons, use carbon copy, properly wash brushes... that kind of stuff. I think it was a free summer art class where you turn up and there are all sorts of different people and even if you end up just drawing ye olde square house, you absorb a bunch of history or techniques and get to watch other people: how they sketch, how they observe, I think that was the first time i'd seen cross-hatching and then couldn't unsee it in illustrations. I'm so glad my parents dropped me off at the various council, museum and church free events as a kid: some are really rigid and you get in trouble if you don't assemble the pompom bird exactly as instructed, others are an occasion to bond with some grandpa who'll show you how to whittle or learn and learn. ///

Why not go digital? because you don't want your phone on: you'll forget what you were supposed to do and go down a rabbit hole. Besides, half those things come with weird reward systems that make me feel obligated or guilty, or worse: diet propaganda. So that lil find has me set for the next year, I transcribed my current messy too big notepad into two pages and voilà! (well i still have a couple of symptoms to add now that i look it over)

*After working with yarn for a while, you start to get a sense for the type that doesn't pull apart when brushed or tugged and it's rarer than you'd expect so I took the snood despite not liking the green tinge to the mustardy colour: it doesn't make clawdeen's skin tone pop for example. So it's the right fibre with a light enough base for some dye experiments.

*it has taken forever and it's just a start (50+ more) but I have listed 12 more dolls on ebay!! there are reroots from before I got injured and deglued dolls i'm really proud of. If you're interested, I'd much prefer to sell in bulk to the EU, will happily sell at cost instead of those higher ebay prices and have a ton of doll heads and partially finished projects if you repaint or reroot.

[napneeders]

so I asked for smut prompts, @brigdh provided "burning up", my brain took a sharp turn to less smut and more angst. (probably M rated. ~900 words.) based on The Little Match Girl by H. C. Andersen. (a few sentences are lifted from the translation by Jean Hersholt.) I may or may not edit this more at some point; constructive criticism is welcome.

It was so terribly cold. A biting sleet bombarded the streets, the last stragglers hurrying home few and far between. Izzy hunched his shoulders against the rain, though little did it do to keep him from getting damp to the bone, drowned in an ice bucket like a weak kitten.

He couldn't remember why he was here, on land, in this shithole town that his brain screeched at him not to recognize. It was New Year's Eve. The streets were empty and dark, only lit here and there by the spill of light from a window; houses filled with families warm and merry and sated from a meal as extravagant as each could afford.

There was no going home for Izzy; if there was a home, it would be cold and miserable, his father drunk, his mother taken to bed by midday. But that was far in the past, anyway.

All he had managed to steal from rich people's pockets all day were a few pennies, a book of matches, and the cruel fleeting sensation of soft fur lining tearing at his frost-bitten hands. The pennies were long gone, and so was the brief respite from hunger a bowl of soup had lent him.

From the side of an imposing stone house, a narrow awning stuck out. Against his better judgement Izzy slowed his steps. He would rest under it for just a moment. Give his face a reprieve from the biting rain before going on. He squatted under the awning amid a few forgotten tools, the space not high enough to stand, the ground not dry enough to sit. He wasn't wearing leather – but why had he thought he should be?

Digging his hands into his pockets for a modicum of warmth, he found himself fingering the matchbook. He should hold onto it; goodness knew he would need to light many a fire yet if he was to survive in this cold unforgiving world. But perhaps he could light just one match to warm his hands. It was so cold.

He took out the little flat package and looked inside. A few matches were gone; many more remained. Izzy struck one against the cold wall and cupped his palms around it. It burned like a little candle, but what a strange light it gave! It felt almost as if he was curled up in front of a fire, a plush blanket wrapped over his shoulders, perhaps spread there by caring hands. Red and yellow tongues of flame leapt and licked at each other, warmth engulfed him, filled him up inside –

But just then the match turned black and bit his fingers, and the fireplace disappeared. He was back in the cold, wet, freezing night.

He would light just one more. The match stuttered into a bright flame, and he could see, as if through a glass window, into a room bathed in the gentle orange of innumerable candles, crowding the surfaces of entire tables, wax melting together at the base and dripping to the floor. The dancing light glimmered on the gold embroidery of a translucent curtain, drawn in front of an alcove; two shadows moved behind the veil, fluid and entwined, as if embracing – 

The flame died. Just once more he would trade security for the fleeting comfort of – but he could not name it; he struck another match. In the wavering light he saw a man, as if from above, languishing in satin sheets, beautiful in such a way that made the soul ache. His eyes were shut, dark lashes quivering against his cheeks, mouth parted to sigh, and long black hair fell around him like a halo. Izzy would be a strand in his hair, a molecule in the flame. A red robe fell open; the man threw back his head –

Quickly and without thought, Izzy's stiff fingers fumbled for the next match, willing the image not to disappear. But he saw another man now, golden-haired and kind-eyed, mouthing words that Izzy couldn't hear. The image was so warm and close that it was almost as if he was right there, and as the man reached out his hand, Izzy extended his own –

Match after match he lit, driven by yearning and chased by shame; and before his eyes fingers twined together, gentle hands touched skin, mouths sought each other in passion; the tiny flames fizzled in and out; the two men touched each other without a shred of clothing or shame between them, melting golden in the firelight. Izzy would be a shadow on the wall, a pattern in the silk, a whisper of air to be near them. With each fleeting image he burned higher; with each crackle of sulphur he set ablaze another strand tethering him to the world.

But the little matchbook was getting damp, the fire harder to coax out. In a final desperation he tore off the last handful of matches, and struck them all at once. And the matches burned with such a glow that it became brighter than daylight. The two men grew resplendent, tangled in each other, he could see them clearly now in their bed behind the gold-trimmed veil; and he was in their mingled breath and in their shared release of tension, in the flexing of muscles against each other, and he was warm and dry and at peace.

But under the narrow awning, fallen to his side, lay the body of an unremarkable ageing man, frozen to death on the last evening of the old year.

*

*

aaaaand it's up to you whether he dies alone in a miserable little bed somewhere or whether this is a fever dream while Ed and Stede dab at his forehead with a cold rag.

[garaksapprentice]

Operation Stash-Down

This post was originally published on my blog: https://garaksapprentice.blogspot.com/2024/01/operation-stash-down.html

***

Last month, I spent a week thoroughly cleaning and reorganising my workroom so that I could actually get to all the shelves, and not have my back to the door. I even made space to fit a skinny bookshelf (I can finally have all my books out where I can reach them. It's been more than seven years since that last happened).

Last week, I watched one of my favourite YouTubers issue their now-annual "January is for working on The Pile" challenge. I considered my Piles (what a phrase) and decided this was an excellent use for the rest of January. I went through the mending pile, adding and subtracting as necessary, and updated the running list I keep of the things in there (it's the only way to stop things from disappearing into the aether). I tidied up the cabbage patch, taking the opportunity to go through a few boxes that were stored outside the workroom and sort their contents into piles.

Yesterday, I looked around my workroom (it had once again gone from clean and tidy with actual floor space, to One Big Trip Hazard within half a day), and decided that I have too much bloody stuff.

This was almost completely clear twelve hours ago. L-R, T-B: for coleslaw (green), cabbage once deconstructed (yellow), actual recycling (blue), and rag rug bits (red).

More specifically, I have too many supplies. Despite spending the last two years cleaning and decluttering and KonMari-ing and making a concerted effort to start with what I have before I go shopping for new stuff, I still have overflow.

There's an entire garage shelf in what is technically the spare bedroom (in reality it's my partner's room - they have their own place, but I have air conditioning and they don't) full of knitting yarn, embroidery supplies, and fleeces. There's more fleeces and some sewing notions on top of a bookshelf, and a couple more boxes of knitting yarn on a different bookshelf. To top it all off, there's a whopping monster of a raw wool fleece in the back room.

And, to be clear, this is all stuff left after multiple decluttering rounds. This is all stuff that I absolutely fucking love and have no desire whatsoever to part with. I just... haven't got around to using it yet.

Me when I go through my stash nowadays.

Even though I buy 95+% of my supplies second-hand (between the guild and the plethora of local op shops, I'm remarkably spoiled), I'm still not using things as fast as I'm capable of buying them. Saving things from landfill to repurpose later only works if I actually use the things I'm saving. (Yes, I still need this reminder. Frequently.)

Thus were the seeds from which Operation Stash-down was born.

The Goal

I want to fit all my fibre supplies in my workroom. Every. Single. Thing.

That means all the:

knitting yarn

fabric (stash AND scraps)

embroidery supplies

sewing notions

fleece

weaving, sewing, and spinning tools

leatherworking tools and supplies

whatever other random fibre-related gubbins I pick up along the way

The only exception is for things that need a more controlled climate than my workroom. It's on the western side of the house, with a window in said western wall, and it regularly gets above 30ºC in there during summer. So if I end up with any dyes or other heat-sensitive chemicals, I'll have to find a cooler spot for them.

The Plan

Donating, giving away, and selling things are all options. But that hasn't made a much of a dent the last six times I went through The Stash, so I'm not counting on it doing much this time, either. No, the thing I need to concentrate on right now is using the stash.

So instead of my current "shop the stash then go buy what I need when I don't have it in there", my standard needs to shift to "ONLY use stash things, and if they won't work with what I've planned, change the plan".

How does this translate to actual, practical projects for the year?

Longer warps, and more of them on the floor loom. Lately I've been defaulting to inkle bands, because they're 1) fun, 2) fast, and 3) easy to do in all sorts of cool colour combinations. But they don't use a lot of material - I could weave nothing but narrow wares for the rest of my life and still have yarn left over. And I want to start weaving clothing yardage anyway, so this is a good kick in the pants to actually do it.

Stop putting off those patchwork projects. I have a couple of big ideas I've been procrastinating on for a few years now. Sure, they'll probably take multiple years each to finish, and I'm not sure if I even have enough scrap for one of them (a crazy patchwork coat from all the wrap scrap I've been holding onto), but I won't know unless I actually take the time to start working on them.

Scour more fleece. Out of all the spinning stash, the raw fleeces take up by far the most room. Prepping them to spin might not reduce their volume by much, but actually being able to spin them sure will. (Unfortunately, this strategy will require equipment purchasing. My hand cards aren't fine enough to use with some of the fleeces I have.)

Obviously just doing any project at all will help reduce stash levels, too. Some of the things on my list will make a bigger impact than others, though, and I'm going to try to focus on doing those first. (After I've started to reduce the current WIPs, of course. My 2024 goals are still in effect.)

If all goes to plan, I'll update every few months with progress. Maybe even before and after pictures.

***

If you like my stuff, please consider throwing me a few dollars on my Ko-Fi in support.

[embroidery-pro]

How to convert a TTF font into embroidery

Embroidery designs are a popular way to add a unique touch to clothing, accessories, and home decor. However, creating embroidery designs from scratch can be time-consuming and challenging. One way to simplify the process is by converting TTF fonts into embroidery. In this article, we will discuss how to convert a TTF font into embroidery using various software tools.

What is a TTF Font?

TTF stands for TrueType Font. It is a digital font format that was developed by Apple and Microsoft in the 1980s. TTF fonts are widely used on computers and are compatible with both Windows and Mac operating systems. Why Convert a TTF Font into Embroidery? Converting a TTF font into embroidery offers several benefits. Firstly, it saves time by eliminating the need to create embroidery designs from scratch. Secondly, it allows you to create unique and custom embroidery designs using a wide range of fonts. Finally, it ensures that the embroidery design matches the font used in the original design. How to Convert a TTF Font into Embroidery? There are several software tools that can be used to convert a TTF font into embroidery. Let's take a look at some of the most popular options. Option 1: Wilcom TrueSizer Wilcom TrueSizer is a free embroidery software tool that can be used to convert TTF fonts into embroidery. Here are the steps to follow: Step 1: Download and install Wilcom TrueSizer. Step 2: Open Wilcom TrueSizer and select the "File" menu. Step 3: Click on "Open" and browse for the TTF font you want to convert. Step 4: Click on "Convert" in the toolbar and select "To Embroidery". Step 5: Choose the embroidery file format you want to use and select a location to save the converted file. Step 6: Open the converted file in your embroidery software and adjust the settings as needed. Option 2: Embird Embird is a popular embroidery software tool that can be used to convert TTF fonts into embroidery. Here are the steps to follow: Step 1: Download and install Embird. Step 2: Open Embird and select the "Font Engine" option from the main menu. Step 3: Select the TTF font you want to convert and adjust the settings as needed. Step 4: Click on "OK" to convert the font into embroidery. Step 5: Save the converted embroidery file in the desired format. Option 3: SewArt SewArt is a comprehensive embroidery software tool that can be used to convert TTF fonts into embroidery. Here are the steps to follow: Step 1: Download and install SewArt. Step 2: Open SewArt and select the "Import" option from the main menu. Step 3: Select the TTF font you want to convert and click on "Import". Step 4: Adjust the settings as needed, such as the stitch type and density. Step 5: Click on "Convert" to convert the font into embroidery. Step 6: Save the converted embroidery file in the desired format.

Tips for Converting TTF Fonts into Embroidery

Here are some tips to keep in mind when converting TTF fonts into embroidery: Choose a font that is easy to read and has clean lines. Consider the size of the embroidery design. Some fonts may not be suitable for small designs. Adjust the settings as needed to ensure that the embroidery design matches the original font as closely as possible. Test the embroidery design on a scrap piece of fabric before stitching it onto the final product. - Save the converted embroidery file in a format that is compatible with your embroidery machine. Read the full article