#wingback lounge chair

[markalexanderdesign]

The Timeless Elegance of Wingback Chairs

Wingback chairs, with their unique high back and "wings" that extend to the armrests, have been a fixture of traditional furniture design for ages. These chairs have transformed into classic objects that lend a touch of refinement and elegance to any space. Wingback chairs provide comfort and style, making them a great addition to any living area, bedroom, or study. Everything you need to know about wingback chairs and how to use them in your house is provided here.

Choosing the Right Wingback Chair

Consider Your Space

Think about the area where you want to put the wingback chair before making the purchase. Since wingback chairs are usually bigger and more imposing than other chair styles, the room should have enough area around them to prevent feeling crowded. Make sure there is adequate space for the chair and for others to manoeuvre around it comfortably by measuring the area.

Style and Design

There are several styles of wingback chairs, ranging from classic to contemporary. Modern wingback chairs could have sleek metal frames and trendy fabrics, but traditional models frequently have wooden legs and traditional upholstery. Select a chair that goes well with the current design in your house by taking the overall style into account.

Fabric and Upholstery

The fabric of your wingback chair is crucial to both its appearance and durability. Common wingback chair fabrics include leather, velvet, linen, and cotton. Leather and velvet are luxurious and durable but require more maintenance. Linen and cotton are more casual and easy to care for. Choose a fabric that suits your lifestyle and aesthetic preferences.

Comfort and Ergonomics

While comfort is crucial, style is also important. Seek for a wingback chair that has plush armrests, a backrest, and a seat. The wings should give enough support for your head and shoulders. Try to sit in it to ensure the chair is supportive and comfy before buying. Also, you can customise it as per your need but make sure you choose the best interior designer.

Incorporating Wingback Chairs into Your Home

Living Room

A wingback chair can function as an accent chair or a statement item in the living area. To establish a comfortable sitting space, combine it with a sofa and coffee table. Opt for a wingback chair in a traditional fabric, such as velvet or leather, for a more conventional appearance. Choose a chair with striking patterns or colours for a modern touch.

Bedroom

A wingback chair can give the bedroom a hint of extravagance. To create a cosy reading nook, put it in a corner with a small side table and a reading lamp. To add to the calming ambience, use soft, comforting textiles like cotton or linen.

Study or Home Office

A wingback chair can be a chic and cosy seating option in a study or home office. Combine it with bookshelves and a wooden desk for an elegant, traditional style. To maintain comfort during extended work or study sessions, go for a chair that offers ergonomic support.

Conclusion

With its classic design and comfort, wingback chairs complement any house greatly. There is a wingback chair to fit your needs and taste, whether you choose a conventional or modern style. By selecting the ideal wingback chair, you may add flair, comfort, fabric, and space to your living room, bedroom, or study. With proper care, your wingback chair will remain a cherished piece of furniture for years to come.

[newmas]

Living Room Chicago Inspiration for a large, open-concept, contemporary living room remodel with blue walls, a music area, a traditional fireplace, and a metal fireplace

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition)

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus (+ maybe the other MLs!) and an oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, maybe some suggestive language?? will add more tags as the story progresses A/N: This is gonna be a multi-chapter fic! I’m still not sure whether to do the boys in rotation, or just focus on one ML per series. Don’t take my word for it atp tho – I’m not even sure if I can actually finish a series lol.  Also, I’ve had the creative liberty of changing stuff from the actual gameplay here and there. (Except for the self-awareness. That’s most definitely real.) Hope you enjoy~!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3

It’s a quarter past eight and you’re still on your desk working overtime on a Friday night. 

You let out a big sigh, leaning back on your office chair after an unhealthy duration of bad posture from hours of slouching down in front of your computer. There’s nothing ergonomic about the way this job is killing you, and the ache in your lower back can attest to that. 

An irate orange tabby plops himself in front of you, blocking your view of the glaring screen and you figure that it’s time for a break. 

“Me-oow.”

“I know, I know,” You answer tiredly, standing up to dodge a stray paw clawing your way and you hear cracks in three different places that are honestly unbecoming of a woman your age. You haven’t even reached thirty yet, for god’s sake. “I’m a bad mother. But mom also had to skip dinner to make it to the seven PM meeting, so cut me some slack, okay?” 

A high-pitched “meooowr!” is the only response you get; it seems like there’s no excusing late dinner time this time around. 

As much as you’d like to hem and haw and complain, the main reason why you’re still keeping this job is because you can work remotely. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re stuck most days at home working hours past your regular nine to five, having to be on-call around the clock at all times, and that you’ve consumed more sodium than a nitrite victim with the way you live off cup ramen, then, really, it beats working in an office where you’d physically have to clock in and out from exactly nine to five. 

Your right eye twitches. No, I have not fallen in love with the system that exploits me, thank you very much. 

��Here is your Fancy Feast, your highness,” you tell the hungry feline who’s already ignoring the hand that feeds for the bowl full of white fish paté. He eats healthier than you, sure, but you work like this for him to eat like this. The life of a single mom is an uphill battle, but extremely rewarding. 

You raise your hand to pat your son’s head lovingly, aborting the gesture halfway when you hear a warning growl. Alright, tough crowd. 

After nuking a half-eaten takeout box in the microwave and grabbing a cold Bundaberg from the fridge, you hunker down on the “chaise lounge” (see: an old wingback and a rattan ottoman you’ve refurbished as a makeshift seat a few weeks back when you had guests over) for a late meal. 

You barely register the taste of lukewarm rice on your tongue, mouth moving mechanically while your mind runs on autopilot about everything and nothing at the same time. 

Maybe it’s time to check Jobstreet again

Is there like a laundromat near the area that’s open twenty four seven

Eugh, I hate cold peas

What do we feel about Chromakopia? 

I will… die alone

I really need to stock on some fresh produce this weekend–

Ping! 

A notification from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts – and like a well-trained dog pavlov’d into responding, you visibly perk up at the sight of your lock screen lighting up and the familiar banner you’ve already memorized by heart. 

Your Galaxy Explorer rewards are here. Did you put my hotel’s address as the shipping address? 

Ah, just like clockwork. 

You press on it with a quiet, bubbling anticipation, chewing on the plastic spork as you wait impatiently for the silly mobile game that’s been your short respite at intervals – for more than you’d care to admit – to boot up. 

Offhandedly, you wish that the devs would add more variations to the game’s push notifications; more random, personalized stuff like maybe a reminder to drink water, or a fun update about their day. What you’d give – pay – for a: "Less on the overtime, kitten. I miss you,” dialogue from a certain character, but you digress. 

Oh, well. Probably better this way, lest you dig yourself deeper into delusion. 

The game greets you with the usual picturesque view of a silver-haired man sitting cross-legged on a chair, looking all the bit at ease in his signature crimson and white button up. The warm ambience of the Destiny Café at night draws you in, already pulling your attention away from the never-ending stream of thoughts in your brain. 

“Before seeing you, I thought today would be another dull day,“ Sylus comments airily. The way he drawls out the words in that deep timbre of his voice never fails to make your heart flutter – just a teeeensy bit.

“Ever the charmer,” you sigh happily in return, situating yourself more comfortably on the sofa, almost horizontal from how far you’re leaning back on the cushion. “You’re looking awfully normal tonight. What, no pineapple glasses for your favorite girl?” 

Having bypassed the initial cringe of talking to yourself after literal months of gameplay, it almost comes off natural, the banter. You’ve already accepted the fact that you’re crazy about a fictional, pixelated man – what’s pretending to have actual conversations with him gonna do? It’s not as if he actually hears you yap your nonsense; there are worse things in the world than a parasocial attachment to an otome game character. 

Your little jab at the sometimes random addition to his choice of attire earns you a laugh from the man itself– or at least it looks as though it does, making you blink momentarily in surprise. Happy coincidence, I guess.

You shake your head, cracking a smile, then proceed to do the routine of completing the daily agenda and then some. 

It’s tedious business, sure. You’ve dedicated hours upon hours on this game and you’re honestly starting to feel pretty bored with some of the gameplay elements, but you *do* like the ritualistic nature of ticking off the tasks one by one. It’s almost ironic – the way you dutifully do one thing after the other in this game, just to avoid the pile of work that’s waiting for you in real life. 

It’s not as if anything, or anyone’s relying on you to do your daily log-ins, so you suppose it’s due to that lack of pressure as well. 

Pulling yourself away from the five-star Xavier memory card you’ve grinded to level seventy, you stare despondently at the sad little 2 on your remaining energy. The embarrassing amount of materials you lack to ascend the card seem to mock you, even as you exit the Memories window. Another goal for another day, perhaps.

All tasks on the daily agenda are complete, except for one that you’ve always saved for last.

You’re met with a standing Sylus on the game’s home screen, arms crossed and wearing an expression you’d almost describe as impatient, if you didn’t know any better. The sight makes you grin. 

Cheekily, you poke his crotch.

You’re looking forward to getting a playful remark, or if you’re lucky, a blush along with an embarrassed retort about your shamelessness. 

 What you get, however, is a resounding scoff. Your eyes snap back to his face – from, ahem, your prolonged staring at the area below his waist – and you do see the familiar tinge of pink on his cheeks, but what he says in response catches you off-guard.

“You spend that much resource for a card that isn’t mine?” Sylus tsks, both his voice and expression coming across as… affronted? “Kitten, I’m actually hurt.” 

Huh?

You haven’t heard that line from him before. Was there a recent update you weren’t aware of? The man in question then appears to look amused, from the way you’ve been rendered speechless by the unexpected dialogue. 

All at once, you gasp when you realize what the new response means. 

“That’s so smart,” you say giddily. You see Sylus cock his head to the side, synchronously quirking an eyebrow—expectant. “They actually added a feature that lets them know which memory I’ve upgraded last, and make you react to it. Oh, that’s so cool!” 

If you weren’t too busy being excited over what you think is a new update from the game,  you’d see the chagrined look on Sylus’ face. But when you glance back at him, all trace of the emotion is gone before you could notice anything different. 

“Don’t worry, Crow Man. You’re still my favorite,” you assure him, making his mouth tick upwards in a semblance of a smile. He looks pleased all of the sudden, his demeanor shifting into something more relaxed.

Then a pout forms on your face. You crinkle your nose in frustration as you complain, “It’s just really hard to level your cards up at this point. It takes ages and a shit ton of energy just to level you up past seventy five.” Sighing, you add, kind of bitterly, “And I’m too broke to be spending money on growth packs.” 

Checking the time on your phone, you see that you’ve already spent more than an hour on your self-imposed break time and you know that you ought to get back to work soon. With a groan, you pull yourself to sit upright, savoring the last few minutes of free time before you slave off for the rest of the night. 

You’re about to clean up what’s left of dinner when you notice the oddly thoughtful look on Sylus’ face. 

There’s a deep furrow in his brows as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth. He closes his eyes shut for a few seconds. He's never done that gesture before... Ugh, he looks really hot–

Suddenly, you see a flicker— then a weird, sort of graphic distortion happening in the background. Uh, what??

A beat; then a glitch on the screen. “Ah, shit.” 

The game crashes.

You exhale loudly as the game’s interface goes back to the loading screen, tapping your thumb impatiently as the bar slowly loads to 15%... 50%..... 81%....... 

“Maybe make sure to patch up first before releasing an update next time, jeez— Huh?” 

For a quick second, nothing seems to be amiss. But then the first thing you see on the home screen is Sylus’ figure standing before you, wearing an expression one could only describe as a cat that ate the proverbial canary. 

He speaks— and it’s another intro you haven’t heard him say, ever. 

“You should’ve told me sooner, sweetie,” he almost coos the words out, making your eyes bug out in shock. 

“Now, why don’t you go check your–” he pauses, and his mouth moves as if he’s rolling the word out, testing it. “Inventory?” 

Sylus slides his gaze towards the upper left corner of the screen, a coy smirk still ever-present on his face. 

There, you see something you haven’t noticed earlier: two notification badges. One on your mailbox, and another on the Hunter’s Info tab. Bewildered, you press on the mail icon first, despite the insistence for you to start with the latter. 

You see a new message: [For You]

A small gift, to bridge our worlds closer. – S 

Nothing is attached to it. You read it twice, perplexed.  

“You’re quite the contradictorian, aren’t you?” Sylus tuts as soon as you return back to the home screen, his gaze boring into you even when he tilts his head sideways in mock exasperation. “Mmm, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” 

Helplessly, you open your inventory next. 

Your jaw drops. 

“What. The fuck,” You whisper to yourself, voice wavering in disbelief at what you’re seeing, and the sheer amount of what you’re seeing. “This– this can’t be real.” 

You see that all the materials you own, from the bottle of wishes to the ascension crystal boxes, have been multiplied a hundred times over.

And on top of that–

Ninety nine thousand red dias????

You cannot believe how this– this recent… update (or is it a bug? Infold sure isn’t this generous) didn't make the news. Even as someone as uninvolved as you are with the community and the game’s latest releases, something like this for sure would’ve made headlines on Twitter (X), at least. But you haven’t heard anything. Nada. 

Holy shit. 

You feel a little light-headed, both from incredulity and excitement. Needing a moment to calm yourself down, you exit the Inventory tab in a daze.

You stare at Sylus. He stares back at you with what looks to be mirth in his eyes. 

Skeptically, you mutter, “did–did I get hacked or something?” 

Anticipating another unexpected dialogue to prompt up, you wait for a full minute without saying anything else. And for a moment, the man in front of you looks indecisive, contemplative. 

There’s something very odd, very… human in the way he’s looking at you. He looks as if– as if he’s—

His face falls back into a neutral expression. Not unlike how his idle animation usually looks. 

..

…

….. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to initiate a conversation any time soon, so you hesitantly poke him on the nose. 

“Even in the worst-case scenario, there’s no need to panic.”

You’ve heard that one before.

So he’s back to normal now. You temper the small disappointment that blooms in your gut. 

Shaking your head slowly, you try to make sense of all the stuff that just happened, but a sharp bite on your ankle pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Ow–!” The sight of your cat flopping near your feet reminds you of the time. More importantly, the backlogs waiting for you at your desk. 

“Wait, shit– I gotta get back to work.” This… unbelievable stroke of good luck (?) is gonna have to take a backseat for now.

You grab the carton box and the half-empty bottle of sparkling peach as you stand up. Making quick work of throwing the container in the trash and gulping down the rest of your drink, you rush into your room and back in front of your PC. 

Cracking your knuckles, you gingerly set your phone against the monitor. Setting the timer to one hour in Quality Time, knowing fully-well that you’re going to have to keep extending it until the wee hours of the morning – or until your battery dies, whichever comes first – you give Sylus one last look, letting out a long exhale before locking in.

“Just keep me company for the night, alright? I’ll figure out what’s going on once my shift’s over.” 

It could just be your overactive imagination, but you swear you hear a quiet chuckle from the man polishing his gun in your peripheral.

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Kinktober day 9/10: Shoe humping + D/s dynamics - Arlecchino x reader

Warnings/tags: fem reader (because Arlecchino likes cute/soft girls and you can’t change my mind), you’re called doll and good girl. Shoe humping, service, dominant Arlecchino. Yeah, this one’s a bit intense.

You’ve done well today, Arlecchino decides you can have a reward.

Arlecchino lounged on the dark velvet wingback chair, her legs crossed as she absentmindedly swirled the drink you had brought her. You bit your lip as the clinking of ice against crystal filled the room- anxiously awaiting her verdict on the quality of your service.

When Arlecchino spoke, she spoke in a cold, almost irritated tone, as if she was annoyed she couldn’t find any imperfections to punish you over. “Color me impressed, you actually managed to do a good job today, doll.”

At her words, you nearly sighed in relief, your posture relaxing slightly. The danger had passed, you’d done well.

“On your knees.” Arlecchino commanded, her cold gaze following you as you scrambled to get on your knees before her.

Arlecchino looked down at you from her velvet throne with a slight look of disdain at how you had nearly stumbled over yourself in your rush to obey her order. But as she looked at you like the scum off her shoe, you watched her with wide, begging eyes. You had been so good, you had worked so hard to live up to her impossibly high standards, and you finally received her approval. You knew you had earned yourself a reward, and you were buzzing at the thought of finally receiving Arlecchino’s touch.

Except, Arlecchino didn’t touch you. She scoffed at your hopeful expression, shoving her heeled boot between your legs and bringing her drink to her lips.

“You have until I finish my drink.”

You didn’t move, staring up at Arlecchino in plain confusion.

She rolled her eyes, nudging at your crotch with her foot and speaking in a commanding tone. “Hump it, doll. You’re looking up at me like you expect a reward for doing the bare minimum, and it’s ticking me off. You’re lucky I’m not in any sort of mood to be disciplining you tonight.”

Arlecchino’s words echo in your head as your features freezes in shock and you realize what she’s telling you to do.

Hump it. Like a dog.

You can’t move, mortified at the thought. Your mouth is nearly hanging open in shock and you can feel the warm burn of a dark blush simmering beneath your skin. You look up pleadingly, ready to beg Arlecchino to choose something else, anything else. But when you meet her glare, you can’t help but flinch and cower, like a kicked puppy.

“Are you deaf? I said hump. It.”

She’s getting impatient. You can tell. This is probably your last chance to obey.

You take a deep, shaky breath. Closing your eyes and looking towards the floor in shame, you adjust the skirt of your dress so it’s out of the way, appalled that you’re actually going to do this. You lean forward, brushing your fingers against Arlecchino’s pant leg before thinking better of it, instead placing your hands palm down on the floor and leaning into them.

Lifting your hips, you situated yourself on top of Arlecchino’s shoe, cringing as the damp fabric of your underwear did nothing to insulate you against the cold, black leather of the boot. If anything, it make it worse, making you abruptly curl in on yourself, a pitiful whine escaping your throat as you waited for the leather to warm against your skin.

Your clit was nestled right up against the instep of her boot, and with a simple shift of your weight, you can’t help the soft, breathy moan that escapes you.

Your eyes are clenched shut in shame as you try to establish a rhythm. You move your hips back and forth, a tension slowly building in your gut as pitiful noises fall from your mouth.

You look up, searching Arlecchino’s eyes for any hint of approval. You were doing good, right? You did what she said, isn’t she proud? But Arlecchino’s gaze is stern as ever, and you can’t help how you wilt beneath it.

But you’re too far gone at this point, on the brink of release, and all it takes is one good grind down into the vamp of the boot before you’re whining and sobbing. You grind down, warm pleasure spreading through you as you ride out your orgasm.

Your sobs turn to pitiful choked-off wines and soft, wet hiccups as you come down, your head resting against Arlecchino’s leg as you chase the aftershocks of your high.

After a moment, Arlecchino nudges you- a reminder of her presence and your place- tilting her foot up, and making you whimper at the pressure against your sore cunt.

You look up at her through teary lashes, unable to stop the fresh wave of tears as you notice the empty glass of her drink discarded. You couldn’t help the fear that seized in your chest. You had gone over your time limit, and from the look of the melted ice in the bottom of the glass, you had gone over by a lot.

A surprisingly kind hand runs through your hair, tilting your head up to meet Arlecchino’s warm gaze.

She slides her hands under your arms, lifting you up and setting you on your feet. She stands in front of you and straightens your dress, running her hands over the fabric to smooth out the wrinkles, adjusting the collar so it sits correctly, and fixing your displaced undergarments. She does all of this paying no mind to how you shake with weak knees from the emotional roller coaster of the last few minutes.

“Good girl. We’ll work on your time, but you did good.”

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

[recurring-polynya]

The Bount Arc features many things and one of them is a rare glimpse of a place I had previously assumed didn't even exist: The Squad 11 Captain's Office.

As I said, I generally refuse to believe that Zaraki maintains any sort of "administrative space"--I think Yumichika does all the squad paperwork on a Formica, diner-style table that somehow died and got sent to Soul Society in the "officer's lounge", which has orange shag carpeting and smells mysteriously like Miller High Life (the Champagne of Beers).

Even so, this place is beyond my wildest imaginings. The pink walls? The elegant, arcing windows, spilling natural light into the room? It's hard to tell from this shot, but the chairs are purple:

The couches look oddly like the Squad 6 couches, but they are not--the Squad 6 couches are wingbacks and don't have that wooden frame along the back and sides, and they have legs so they are up off the floor. Also, Zaraki has a very similar mysterious paperwork tray-table to the one Ginrei had in the Zanpakutou Rebellion arc. Zaraki's seems taller. Also, why is there actual paperwork on it???

I can only come up with two possible explanations for this:

Squad 11 has a Captain's Office, but Zaraki never uses it, so he let Yachiru make all the decor decisions. This would explain the pink walls, and we know she likes Byakuya's house, so maybe she cribbed the rest from him. Possibly even stole the furniture out of the dumpster the last time Squad 6 redecorated (which I assume happens, like, twice yearly)

This isn't even their office. They're just squatting in Byakuya's digs while he's out running around in Rukongai.

Update!!: A few episodes later, they were still sitting here (over the same time period that Renji, Matsumoto and Hitsugaya ran from the Seireitei to Kusajishi, for the record) and it was identified as Squad 11, so I guess option 1 is the winner!

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Reluctant Arms and Baby Charms

Summary: In response to a comment by @b7717 on one of my posts, I was inspired to write a scene depicting the complicated yet evolving relationship between Amren and baby Nyx. Here, Nyx makes a daring attempt to finally win over his Auntie Amren.

Content Warning: None, just baby fluff

Amren perched regally in an oversized armchair tucked into the shadowy corner of the sitting room. The room was awash in the soft glow of evening; golden light spilled across rich mahogany bookshelves and glinted off delicate glassware, casting long, dancing shadows. This was the families normal routine for their Thursday night dinners.

Across from her, Nesta found refuge against Cassian’s broad side, her body curled into his protective embrace on the plush, sage-green couch. Cassian, his voice a low rumble of amusement, was deep in conversation with Azriel, who lounged in an adjacent wingback chair. With a casual grace, Azriel swirled a glass of amber whiskey, his dark eyes lighting up with laughter at some jest from Cassian.

To the side, on a sprawling, plush rug that dominated the floor, Elain and Feyre created a softer tableau. They sat encircled by a flurry of colorful cushions, their attention devoted entirely to the animated babblings of ten-month-old Nyx. Feyre’s laughter, bright and musical, punctuated the air as Nyx attempted his earnest, albeit wobbly, first steps.

Nearby, Rhysand stood by a towering bookshelf lined with well-worn leather spines. In his hand, he swirled a glass of dark liquid, his posture relaxed against the cool, stucco wall. His gaze, however, was only on his wife and son. 

Amren idly swirled her glass of wine, her movements detached and mechanical. Meanwhile, Feyre gently coaxed Nyx onto his unsteady legs, supporting him under his tiny armpits. "Come on, baby boy," she whispered, her voice a tender murmur. Her face lit up with a radiant smile as Nyx cooed, reaching out to tenderly touch his mother's face.

The dinner conversation earlier had bubbled with excitement over Nyx’s recent milestone—pulling himself up to stand while in Rhys's office. Amren, however, found herself drifting away from the animated chatter about the boy's achievements. While she recognized the deep affection that enfolded the family, Amren's own sensibilities were far removed from such domestic warmth. She was not one to revel in the sticky, noisy presence of infants. To her, children were a disturbance, often leaving a trail of havoc on a woman’s physique and serenity. Observing Feyre, now slightly rounder and visibly more worn from motherhood, only cemented Amren’s resolve to remain detached. She preferred her life orderly and unencumbered—precisely the opposite of what she viewed as the chaos of child-rearing.

Feyre gently turned Nyx so he faced his Aunt Elain, who was eagerly extending her arms toward him, a stuffed linen bat—his favorite toy—clutched in her hands. "You can do it, Nyx, come on sweet boy!" Elain cooed encouragingly.

Nyx responded with a series of cheerful, unintelligible babbles. "Oh yeah?" Feyre chuckled, engaging playfully with her son. "That's very interesting." Rhys, overhearing the exchange, let out a soft chuckle. When Nyx emitted another joyful burst of sounds, Cassian jumped in with a teasing grin, "Whoa, let’s not use that kind of language, dude!"

Amren watched the scene unfold with a mixture of bemusement and detachment. She could never quite grasp why the adults indulged in such earnest conversations with Nyx as if he could grasp their words. To her, Nyx was akin to a household pet—endearing perhaps, but fundamentally incapable of meaningful interaction. The distinction, however, was clear: Amren found the company of cats or dogs decidedly more preferable.

Elain jiggled the doll enticingly, and Nyx stretched his chubby little hands toward it as Feyre gradually released her gentle hold. "Come on, Nyx, come to Auntie Elain," Elain coaxed softly. Nyx hesitated, glancing over his shoulder back at Feyre.

"No, no, not mama, go to Elain," Feyre encouraged, guiding his attention forward.

Nesta rose from her place beside Cassian and joined Elain, both aunts reaching out invitingly. 

"Look, baby, it’s your Auntie Nesta!" Feyre announced, her voice bright with excitement. "Go to your aunties!" She urged him on.

At the sight of his aunts' animated expressions, Nyx's face broke into a wide, gummy smile. The room filled with the soft chorus of coos and delighted squeals. Nyx wobbled on his unsteady legs, swaying slightly as Elain and Nesta leaned in, their faces alight with anticipation.

With a sudden giggle, Nyx's balance gave way, and he toppled back into his mother’s waiting arms. Feyre enveloped him in a warm embrace and planted a playful raspberry on his cheeks, eliciting an even louder giggle from him.

"You silly boy, that’s your mama, not your aunties," Feyre chuckled, her voice bubbling with affection as she held him close.

Amren managed a tentative smile as Azriel met her eyes. Both shared a similar detachment from the exuberant affections showered upon the new babe. While it was evident they cared about him, neither harbored much interest in the typical rituals of feeding, holding, or babe-watching.

Nesta rose from the floor. “Cass, we should get going. We have an early morning tomorrow.”

Cassian got up from the couch and moved to stand behind Nesta, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a protective embrace and pressing a gentle kiss into her hair.

Elain also stood, stretching slightly. “I should head out too. I’m helping at the farmer's market on Saturday, and they want to meet with me tomorrow about a booth assignment.”

“That’s wonderful,” Feyre replied, her voice warm even as Nyx tugged at a strand of her hair, his small fingers gripping tightly. She winced slightly before freeing herself from his enthusiastic grasp.

Elain bent down to give Nyx a playful tickle on his stomach. “Bye baby boy,” she said, grabbing his bare foot and pressing a kiss onto it.

Nyx, feeling the confines of his mother's arms too restricting, began to fuss and squawk, eager to crawl towards his abandoned toy. Feyre set him down, and he quickly scooted across the floor, grasping the bat and immediately sucking on its wing.

From her vantage point, Amren watched, her expression turning to one of slight disgust at the copious amounts of drool Nyx managed to produce. 

As Feyre and her sisters exited the sitting room, trailed by Rhys and Cassian in deep conversation, the atmosphere shifted. Suddenly, it was just Nyx, Azriel, and Amren left—an unlikely trio, each not entirely at ease with the others. Amren contemplated leaving, yet she hesitated, recalling Feyre's promise of a new jigsaw puzzle featuring a painting of herself and Varian that she was eager to acquire.

Nyx, oblivious to the subtle tension, babbled joyfully, waving his stuffed bat energetically above his head. In an overzealous flutter, he released it, sending it sailing across the room to land at Amren's feet. She looked down at the soggy, forlorn toy with a hint of dismay. Nyx, realizing his toy had escaped his grasp, let out a groan of displeasure and began searching for it. Spotting the toy near Amren, his gaze shifted upward, locking eyes with her.

With a faint sigh, Amren nudged the toy back toward Nyx using her foot. Her movement was reluctant but gentle, a small concession to the innocent expectations of a child, even as she maintained her composed detachment.

Nyx flipped onto his stomach and, with a burst of determination, scooted over to the nearest coffee table. Sitting up, he grabbed the edge and pulled himself to his feet. Both Azriel and Amren exchanged nervous glances, unsure of their roles in this sudden display of infantile agility.

As Nyx clung to the table, he glanced back at Amren and flashed her a toothless grin before taking a tentative step forward. Amren's eyes widened in surprise as he cautiously moved along the edge of the table, his small fingers clinging for balance. Suddenly, with a daring little laugh, Nyx released the table and tottered forward unaided, making four shaky steps toward Amren.

Without hesitation, Amren set her wine glass aside and knelt down, extending the soggy bat toy toward him. Nyx's wobbly approach continued until he was close enough to dismiss the toy, instead opting to bury his chubby hands into Amren's cheeks and gaze deeply into her eyes. Overcome by an unfamiliar rush of affection, Amren pulled him close, their foreheads touching.

Azriel, witnessing the scene with astonishment, called out loudly for Feyre and Rhys. The parents rushed back into the room, their questions halting as they caught sight of Amren embracing their son, who stood confidently on his own. Feyre wasn’t sure if she was more taken aback by her son walking, or by Amren willingly touching him.

"He, he walked to her," Azriel managed to announce, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Feyre whipped her head around. "He did what?"

"He—Nyx walked. All on his own, to Amren," Azriel repeated, his arms gesturing wildly toward the pair still on the floor. Nyx, content within Amren's embrace, finally accepted the bat and nestled into her lap.

With a careful adjustment, Amren scooped Nyx up, securing him comfortably in her lap as she reclaimed her seat in the oversized chair. Once settled, she casually picked up her wine glass, swirling the contents before taking a final sip.

The roomful of astonished adults watched, still processing the unexpected turn of events. Amren, feeling their eyes on her, looked up coolly. "What?" She queried nonchalantly. "He's chosen his favorite," she remarked, a hint of a smile playing at her lips as she carefully set the glass down.

Rhys chuckled, "Cassian is going to lose his shit when he finds out about this."

Nyx, ever the adventurous little one, leaned forward a bit too eagerly and nearly tumbled out of Amren's lap. With swift reflexes, Amren caught him by the back of his shirt and pulled him safely back against her. She then wrapped one arm securely around his midsection, holding him close to ensure he wouldn’t take another unexpected dive. This gesture, protective and almost instinctual, surprised even Amren herself.

[avengerscompound]

Shared Experience - Chapter 16

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  nothing really

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 1931

Summary:  Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers.  A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night.  Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences.  Can a vampire become an Avenger?  Can two such different beings create a life together?

Chapter 16

Steve and Rose followed Elsa down the stairs into the cellar of an old stone house at the edge of the town.  Steve and Elsa had pulled their coats tight around them and each breath they exhaled came out in a puff of condensation.  Rose felt bad for them.  It had to be difficult to be that cold, but if either of them were uncomfortable, they weren’t saying it.

The cellar was dimly lit and sparsely furnished.  A group of five vampires, two men, two women, and one that looked like she must have been turned when she was twelve, were sitting on four brown leather Chesterfields surrounding a large square hardwood coffee table.  A sixth lounged on a wingback chair, one leg swung over the arm.  He wore leather pants and his black silk shirt was unbuttoned low, like he got his style from Vegas shock magicians.

Each member of the group was wearing a matching amulet around their neck.  It looked like a flower made of red stones.  The Lightbender Amulet.

Rose was struck by how tired the group looked.  Not hungry.  Not worn out.  Tired - like they’d been woken up recently from actual sleep.

“What did you wake us up for, Bloodstone?” the Vegas vampire asked.

“Calm down, Raizo,” Elsa scolded. “No one is impressed.”

The child Vampire stood up suddenly and pointed at Steve. “Captain America,” she said, pointing at him.

The other vampires all shifted suddenly, some sitting up straight, one standing, Raizo stood and walked around the back of the couches toward Steve, Elsa, and Rose.

“This is why I woke you all up,” Elsa said.  “Children, this is Captain America.  Captain America, these guys.”

Raizo offered Steve his hand.  “I’m Raizo, this is Eliza, Sebastian, Narcissa, Laurant, and Cristina.  What brings you to Romania?”

Sebastian and Laurant rolled their eyes as they watched the interaction, and Rose resisted the urge to do the same.

“This is my friend, Rose,” Steve said, shaking his hand. “We were told by the Moon Knight that you had an amulet that would help her walk in the day and suppress her cravings.”

Razio looked back at the others and then approached Rose, he walked around her, his eyes gliding up and down her body, before looking at Elsa. “Are we sure he’s not compelled?”

“You can see for yourself,” Elsa said.  “But he’s fine.”

“I can’t compel him anyway.  You can try.  Something about the Super Serum makes him immune to it,” she said.

“And why did you want to compel him?” Razio asked suspiciously.

“So he’d forget I existed,” she said. “Like I’d been trained by my maker.  Not because I was trying to feed off him.”

He looked Steve up and down too then returned his gaze to Rose.  “You must be fighting those urges of yours very well if an Avenger is here to vouch for you.”

“She’s not just fighting them, she’s out doing good.  She’s part of the team.  She’s helped save the world,” he said.

Razio raised an eyebrow.  “Well, well, well...”

“Enough, Razio,” Laurant said with a thick French accent.  “She clearly meets the criteria.  Give her the amulet and let them be on their way.  I want to go back to bed.”

Razio huffed and went to the far end of the room, pressing on a brick.  The wall shifted in and slid to the side revealing a safe, and he began spinning the combination wheel.

“Who was your maker, Rose?” Narcissa asked.

“Marcellus Lakatos,” Rose said.  “When he was in New York at the turn of last century.”

Eliza, the child vampire stiffened and sat forward in her chair.  “Rose Astor?”

Rose startled.  “Yes.  Do you know me?”

“Oh, darling,” Narcissa said. “Eliza is your little sister.”

Rose was reeling.  It felt like she’d been slapped.  Guilt and anger came bubbling up like bile in her throat.  The monster that had turned her and tortured her had gone from her to someone even younger.  It was Rose’s fault that Eliza had been turned and god knows what else he’d done to her.

“What?” she asked.

“When you sent him away, he returned here but grabbed me on the way.  I think I was supposed to be a snack, but…” Eliza shrugged.  Rose didn’t need more than that.  She was here, he’d decided to keep her because he was a sadist who liked torturing girls.

“I’m so sorry,” Rose said.  “I should have…”

Eliza shook her head. “What?  Kept him there so he could keep torturing you?  He’d have gotten bored eventually.  We’re not the only ones he’s done this too.  When we got here, Dracula was pissed.  They’re not supposed to turn people as young as me and apparently, it’s been a theme of his.”

Razio approached her, holding out his hand and letting the amulet fall from his fingers, so it dangled from the chain two inches from his hand.  The amulet was beautiful.  A dark red garnet sat in the center with twelve rubies arranged around it so they looked like sunflower petals.  Rose reached for it, but as her fingers went to close around it, he pulled it from her reach.

“Something really needs to be done about him,” he said.  “He can’t keep getting away with this.”

“Give her the amulet, Razio,” Elsa scolded.  “It’s not her job to take out her maker.  She’s an Avenger.  She has nothing to prove.”

Razio turned and began to stroll around the room.  “True, true,” he said.  “She’s proven herself.  No one else here has gotten the approval of Moon Knight, notable monster hunter Elsa Bloodstone, and the Avengers.”  He flopped down into the winged back chair, flinging his leg over the arm again while he held the amulet out in front of him, watching it spin on the chain.  “But what if we could take care of this Marcellus?  You all said it.  It’s one thing if one of our kind is just drinking blood.  We can hardly help it that we need it to live.  I’m not about staking every vamp I see just trying to live their lives.”

“I am,” Elsa interrupted.

He waved her off.  “But Marcellus is a whole different kind of monster.  It’s a game for him.  He’s like a cat who enjoys toying with its food before it eats it.  And his prey are just getting younger and younger.  I know he’s one of Dracula’s progeny and they’re usually off-limits, but going off what happened with Eliza, he might even look the other way.  But even if he didn’t, with Elsa and our new Avenger friend, we could carry this out and he wouldn’t even know if we were involved.”

“Oh, so you’d just throw me under the bus?” Elsa asked.

He scoffed.  “He already wants to kill you.  That’s not going to change anything.”

“The Avengers would be willing to help,” Steve said.  “I’ve been hoping to take a shot at this monster for a while.  If you know how to get to him, we’ll take him out.”

Rose turned and looked at him with surprise.  Steve was so against killing people outside of battle, and even then he usually tried not to kill anyone.  She wasn’t sure what to make of this reaction.  Was it some kind of protective rage toward the man that had hurt her so badly?  A resignation that this was necessary to stop him from hurting other people?  Or did he just not consider killing a vampire as killing someone?

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand.  She might have to bring it up later, the problem was, she wanted Marcellus dead.  She’d wanted him dead since he turned her.  If she questioned Steve about his feelings about vampires before that happened, he might have a change of heart and decide to lock him up or something.

“There are other Avengers here?” Razio asked.

Steve nodded.  “A few.  Black Widow, Iron Man, and the Scarlet Witch.”

Razio flicked his wrist so the amulet began spinning on the chain.  “You know this could really work.”

“What are you thinking?” Steve asked.  “Shall we go in during the day?”

“No use, love,” Elsa said.  “If I could clear out that den during the day, I would have a long time ago.  That castle takes in tourists during the day.  It’s heavily secured, particularly the crypt they sleep in.  My family has considered just setting fire to the place during opening hours, but I’m sure that all that would happen would be a lot of innocent tourists would die and the crypt would remain unharmed.”

“Regardless, we can not enter,” Sebastian said.  “While public places are usually accessible to us during opening hours as the invitation is implicitly open to everyone to enter, in this case, the tickets to the castle explicitly restrict our ilk.  At night, the building is closed to everyone, so we cannot enter without being invited.”

“What Bas is saying is, we’ll have to draw him out,” Eliza said.

“How would we even do that?” Rose asked.  “That ruse of Elsa being a helpless potential victim isn’t exactly targeted.”

Razio flipped the amulet into his hand and leaned back in the chair.  “That will be the trick.  I’m sure we can think of something.  Use bait that’s more to his taste maybe.”

“Wanda might fit?” Steve suggested.  “She’s fairly young and has a kind of innocence to the way she holds herself.  Maybe we can use makeup to make her look younger?”

Rose shrugged.  “It still feels like that might just end up attracting any random vampire as much as it will attract him specifically.”

Razio drummed his fingers on the amulet and then sat up, tossing it to Rose.  “We’ll think about it.”

Rose snatched the amulet out of the air and clutched it against her chest.  She could feel the power of it pricking against her skin.  Holding it in her hand somehow made her more nervous.  What if it didn’t work?  What if this was a trick and it ended up hurting her?

Yet, she could see six vampires sitting around the room, all wearing one.  They could be in on the lie, but it was too elaborate.  If Blade, Moon Knight, or Elsa Bloodstone wanted her dead, they’d had their chance.  They didn’t need to create an elaborate prank to force her into the sun.

She slipped the chain around her neck letting the amulet sit on her chest.  “Thank you,” she said.

“They’re right.  We think you’ve proven you’re like us,” Razio said.  “Now I know you don’t feel ready for sleep yet.  But the rest of us were woken up for this.  We’ll sleep on the issue.  We can meet up here tomorrow morning.  How’s ten sound?”

It sounded crazy and implausible.  She could only imagine being awake at ten in the morning if she was up closer to the Arctic Circle during winter.  She nodded.  “Sounds good,” she agreed.

“Bring those other Avengers,” Razio said.

“We will,” Steve agreed.  He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed her hand reassuringly.  “Thank you again. And see you tomorrow.”

They were just moving to the stairs when Razio called out to them. “Oh and Rose,” he said. “Enjoy the sunrise.”

Rose smiled and nodded.  While she’d seen a few since starting to feed from Steve, they usually came with fear, pain, and that animalistic pull to get underground.  If this worked, she wouldn’t feel any of that.  If that was true, she would cherish every moment of it.

// NEXT

[data-dominant]

@dormeprime-blog, continued here

(Newly promoted Lt. Dorme Obolenskyia, assigned to Security, stood in the doorway of Data's quarters, nervous. He had been one of the few on board the Enterprise who wasn't creeped out by her....unconventional nature. Despite there being open acceptance within the Federation of the 'strange and unusual,' well.....being an actual VAMPIRE definitely ranked up there with 'strange.' And that scared people. Except Data, even with his emotion chip installed, finally)

(Dorme wondered why Data would want to see her at this hour. Was it to discuss more about her experiences being several centuries old? Or was it due to the....heated looks he had been giving her this last week? He was gorgeous, with his long arms, chestnut auburn hair, golden eyes like a sunrise. She had fallen hard for him when they first met weeks ago, after her arrival. Was that it? If so, she hoped he liked what he saw: auburn/copper curls, pale skin, green eyes, petite but with curves. Was she even his type? She swore he preferred blonds....)

"Good evening, Commander. You asked to see me?"

Ah, Lieutenant, yes, please come in. I have recently acquired more comfortable seating in an attempt to make my space more 'welcoming', and hope you find it satisfactory.

An elegant Victorian tufted chaise lounge and two wingback chairs ring a modern-style glass coffee table in an eclectic melange. Soft throw blankets and pillows are neatly arranged like a show room display.

May I get you anything? Perhaps some tea, or something stronger?

He lets the question linger in the air with a small arch of his brow.

Several subroutines were currently busy cataloging her vital signs and cross-referencing them with her medical records on file as she entered. It didn't escape his notice that she did not cross the threshold until he explicitly bade her entry.

All of the pieces of a theory were there, but he had to make certain before broaching such a sensitive question. As a personal hero once said, "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth."

[burninlovebutler]

Just an Intern // Part 4.1

pairing: austin x intern lol | word count: 4.7k-ish?

summary: the consequences of austin’s behavior catches up to him amidst battling the paranoia of an impending media shit storm. when a familiar stagehand nuance instigates a conflict, austin helps intern escape.

warnings/notes: usual angst, oral f receiving, jealousy, dom!intern / sub!austin ?? if you squint?, orgasm denial, protective!austin, physical altercation, 18+ mdni

notes: austin's POV was suggested / requested - i prefer/am better at writing in first person so, i really enjoyed doing this. writing from male character's perspective is something i love doing so - i apologize if it's not your forte. y/n is being addressed as Intern bc i want to make her an oc but am afraid of the commitment so lol i hope you give it a chance anyway ♡

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | see masterlist for all other fics ♡

vibes: just an intern playlist ⛓️

This girl is a gun, before you know it, it’s done

And you’ll be wishing that you crossed your fingers

- Girl is a Gun - Halsey -

-AUSTIN-

I closed Intern’s hotel room door behind me after our argument. I headed towards the front desk, scuffing my feet across the glossy wood floor, my hand gripping the handles of my duffle bag. The hallways of the lodge were always so vacant despite being overly booked. The silence only amplified the cycling thoughts in my head. I didn’t know what the fuck I was thinking – talking to her like that, talking about her like that. I didn’t know what comes over me when I was around her.

But I felt it that first day in the trailer, this insatiable feeling of hatred. Everything about her annoyed the fuck out of me, and yet all my body wants to do is get on my knees and bury my tongue in her pussy. I shook my head of the thought. That’s what I got for being on a social media detox. I thought of hopping on Hinge or whatever app just to find something to fuck. But decided against it – besides, we were stuffed like abominable snowmen in that fucking wooden cage. Another idea of finding one of the extras to hook up with lit up like a glass bulb in my head, but it quickly dimmed. Extras were too easy, and desperation seeped through their pores like dirty nicotine. There was no challenge, no fun. And so, it destined to be a long, lonely night.

Regardless of the confinement and inconvenience, this little unplanned vacation brought a much-needed gift – no service. At least very little and I didn’t bother paying for wi-fi. I needed a break from my managers, and the unforeseen weather anomaly gave me an excuse to ignore them completely. If I ignored the rumors that were festering like an open wound on Twitter or the looming tension of the next big scandal, maybe it would all go away.

I’d always been quite good at that – ignoring and avoiding anything that bothered me.

-

Thankfully the extra room was still available and once inside I swung my leather duffle bag onto a blue fabric-covered wingback chair. I let out a sigh and pressed myself against the wooden dresser that was identical to the one in the room I shared with Intern. I both felt and heard a loud hunger pain rumble in my stomach and that’s when I remembered that the last thing I had eaten was those fries from the night before. I tugged at my bottom lip with my teeth and tapped my fingertips along the dresser assessing my options. The memory of the heaping bowl of fries – drenched in salt and grease – looped in my brain. Layered atop that memory came a sense of guilt, I couldn’t tell if it was about the meal or my actions in the lounge bar. Either way it evoked the same response.

Another loud hunger growl ripped through me and I rolled my eyes at the dramatics of my empty stomach. I pushed myself off the wooden furniture and went to the glass-door mini fridge. I tugged it open and steal a branded water, cracking it open and taking a sip. The cold water immediately soothed the length of my esophagus and pooled satisfaction in my belly.

-4 Days Later-

When the snow melted, it took the peace of my cellular detox with it. Being snowed in on a mountain top was no longer a suitable excuse for neglecting the incessant phone calls and Twitter news updates from my management team. For those couple days in that stupid little lodge, I was able to just fucking breathe for the first time in months.

Not surprisingly, word got to the higher ups about the fight with her, they even heard about the small fight with Landon. I was reprimanded three separate times because of the events. If it weren’t for my integral role in the film’s publicity I would’ve surely been dropped. My career was hanging by a thread as it was, I needed to get my shit together. If anything got leaked it would collapse the shit storm that my team was so precariously balancing for me.

The three of us, Landon, Intern and I were all temporarily separated to different areas on set for the past few days. They finally brought on another makeup artist; a flamboyant man named Nick. Nick took over my makeup in the time we were separated. While he seemed to be relatively the same skill level as Intern, he was placed under her, making her his direct manager. I suppose he was the new “Intern” now, but she’d always be that for me – whatever that meant.

I regretted everything with her. Everything. The good and the bad. I didn’t know why I was so awful to her, only that she infuriated me so much.

And yet, I found myself noticing her absence on my side of the set. I noticed the lack of fluttery annoyance she usually brought and the quippy banter we’d exchange. I even noticed the quiet that filled the days without our incessantly heated back-and-forth. I noticed everything about her being gone. Perhaps noticed wasn’t the right word.

Maybe I missed the noise.

That morning we had new girls on set for some bar scenes and they needed more intricate makeup so, Intern was back in my domain. There was some unsettling feeling that came with her proximity, a confusion perhaps.

There were three new extras for this scene, a girl-next-door brunette, a freckly redhead and a busty blonde. On any other day, the blonde would be wrapped around my finger but today she was about as enticing as a plain bagel. That didn’t mean stop her though.

The petite blonde sporting frayed jean shorts and a plain white v-neck eyed me, while she stood next to the other extras and Intern. Her sauntered over to where I was leaned on my bike only a few feet from them. I squinted the sun out of my eye to look up at her, “Can I help you?” I asked, sounding more bothered than welcoming.

“Sure ya can darlin’” Her pink filled lips curled to a flirtatious smirk with a poorly mimicked southern accent.  “You can take me for a ride.”

I offered a small scoff, “Didn’t realize I looked like a ferris wheel.” The remark made her light brows scrunch in a confused way, like when a mall-santa claus is rude. I felt a pair of eyes on me instantly, but when I followed the feeling I was disappointed by the origin. Tom. He shot a warning glare reminding me that I needed to behave to prevent further repercussions. It annoyed me but it was a necessary reminder and I quickly turned on my press charm. I gave her a forced smile, “Sorry, I’ve just had a hard morning.” At least I was honest.

“It’s okay I forgive ya, my name’s Chloe.” The edges of her glossy lips turned upwards and stepped a foot at each side of my crossed ones. “Maybe I could make your day better.” Her suggestive voice quiet but not quite enough. My gaze wandered to Intern who’s face visibly twisted at the overheard remark but focusing on adding eyeshadow to the redhead’s eyes.

“Hey,” Snapped the blonde extra snapping fingers in front of my face bring my attention back to her, “I just gave you a pretty good offer and you can’t even look at me?”

Annoyance bubbled in me that I had swallow down.

Bitch I wouldn’t touch you with a 10-foot pole

-Is what I wanted to say but instead, “Sorry like I said, I had a shit morning.”

“Incredible, “ She sneered and propped her hands on her hips, “You’re exactly the monster the media portrays you to be.”

The last thing I needed was this dumb blonde who had only known me all of 5 seconds to be setting me off at 7 in the fucking morning. My jaw clenched holding back what I wanted to say but I knew my transparent poker face was giving away just how pissed I was getting. “Listen bi-“ I caught myself, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. “Chloe, you don’t know me at all, and I don’t think you should make assumptions of someone you barely know.” Attempting my best at keeping my temper tame.

An infuriatingly taunting cackle slipped her lips, “You know I didn’t believe the accusations, but I bet you really did everything that Madi-”

I shot up so fast I nearly knocked over my bike, “You don’t get to come on my set and talk to me like that, about shit you have no fucking idea about.” The hiss came out more apprehensive than I would’ve liked. I didn’t dare look over at Intern, I just prayed she wasn’t paying attention. I knew what she thought of me, she could think whatever she wanted. But her hearing any of the latest rumors swirling about me, would somehow be worse than anything I could’ve done to her.

She laughed at the fear in my tone, “Your set? You’re lucky you even landed this role with everything-“

“Who the fuck are you? You’re far too cocky for an extra, know your fucking place.” I growled, shoving past her and headed into the saloon set where we’d be filming.

I curled fingers so tightly into my palms as I heard steps following me, a vein pulsed in my forehead ready to burst open. I quickly pivoted back around, “What the fuck do y-” But instead of Chloe I found Intern, “Oh, hi.” My tone much softer, “What do you, um, what do you want?”

“I need to do your makeup.” She stated firmly while keeping her eyes focused on my chest, not looking at me.

“Right.” I nodded and followed her when she turned and walked towards her tented makeup station. I pulled myself onto the wood and fabric chair as she mixed up some foundation onto a metal palette. Then, she took a smooth flat brush and began painting the product down my face.

“So,” I hesitated as an awkward fog suspended in the air, “How’ve you been?”

She clenched her jaw and stayed silent.

“Isn’t it a little ridiculous that they separated us on set over a little rumor-”

“I see you found a new victim.” She sliced flatly, still not looking at me.

“Chloe?” I scoffed and her eyes snapped at me with a I’m-not-stupid glare. I sighed, I knew she wasn’t buying it, “Chloe? Are you kidding me?” I asked, then remembered how we got here in the first place.

She just raised her eyebrows in a ‘that’s not totally unbelievable’ kind of way.

I looked up at the tent as she patted makeup below my eyes with a small round brush. “If you think my taste is so low that I’d touch Chloe – you must not think very highly of yourself.”

She pressed her lips together before speaking again, “I just didn’t think you had standards, that’s all.” Her tone was light & bubbly, but the intention clearly wasn’t.

Anger began to pipe hot steam into my chest for the second time that early morning. I swore she tried to provoke me on purpose. My hands curled around the thick wooden arm rests and my nails dug into the grain. “And to think I almost missed you.” Her now powdered swiping motions halted as soon as she processed my words, her hand just barely trembling and her eyes locked on the area she was working. I couldn’t tell if I was mortified or glad that the words had left my mouth. Either way, it felt freeing, like I had finally told some secret I’d been hiding.

She continued finishing the work on my face in silence and stepped back. She set the black barreled brush down and kept her eyes low as she went to speak. “You’re done. Get out of my chair.”

-

I never thought pretending to seduce a pretty girl on screen would be as difficult as it was in my scene with Chloe. Regardless I felt Intern’s glare on me the entire time. My ego wanted to think it was jealousy but after what I pulled at the ski lodge and just before in the makeup chair, I knew it definitely wasn’t jealousy. Why the fuck would she be jealous after everything I’d done. Regardless, her stare burned like hot coals into my skin.

Directors cut for a 30 and I snatched a water bottle dodging every cast or crew member to find my bike. In the months of filming the vehicle had become some sort of comfort for me. Maybe it was me tapping into my character or the fact that it was the only thing that was constant, the only thing I could control.

I propped myself against the Harley unscrewing the cap of the bottle with a crack and taking a much-needed gulp. Before I could escape, Intern was making a b-line for me and I braced myself for whatever acid she was about to spew at me. But she walked past me, knocking my shoulder back and in a curt, but stern, tone, “I need to put something on your face.” Heading towards a trailer.

I let out a sigh, knowing whatever she was going to say would be even worse than I could imagine. I deserved it of course, but that didn’t make it any easier. I followed her to the trailer, pausing before the metallic door and taking a deep inhale before tugging it open. “We have no fight scenes Intern,” I exhaled clicking the door in place behind me, “What could you possibly need to put on my face?”

She straightened up, crossed her arms and puffed her chest out a bit appearing more intimidating, though there wasn’t much threatening about her. “Me.” She stated seriously, though her attempt at being menacing was almost comical.

“What?” I slightly stuttered not fully processing her words.

She shifted from one foot to the other before regaining her anger-fueled confidence. “I want to be on your face, I want to cash in my apology.” She blurted out quickly.

“I mean- I’m not saying no but just…why?” I questioned; I didn’t expect her to ever cash it in, nonetheless so soon.

“You and Chloe are fucking annoying and I just-“ Her was flustered, a light pink tinging her cheeks. Her fist balled at her side. “I don’t know, I just want my apology.” Her tone laced with false conviction. “I want my apology.”

“Okay…” I stated timidly, eyeing her wearily, “Are you sure?”

“Shut the fuck up and eat me out.” She sniped back, catching me off guard.

“Well I-“ Instinctively going to argue then realizing I had absolutely no problem with her request so, I shrugged, “Okay.” I looked her over, taking her in fully. I was trying to strategize how I was going to fulfil her request. She wore one of her flowy dresses, the ones that drive me insane – this one was powder blue with little white flowers. The dress hugged every part of her I enjoyed the most – it was tight around her waist and ruched around her full chest. The rest flowed down around her hips and thighs. I said a silent thank you to the universe for making it a warmer day. My gaze must’ve lingered on her too long because she took matters into her own hands.

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” She groaned impatiently, taking my face in her hands and practically smashing our lips together.

I let the inherent magnetism between us take over and took her face in my hands connecting our lips. She froze beneath my touch but quickly gave in, reciprocating the passionate kiss. Having her lips on mine again felt like a sip of cold water after a long drought – like an addict getting their first fix after sobriety. Her hands tangled into my perfectly styled hair for whatever scene I was meant to do next. Her tongue asked for entrance and I met hers voraciously. My hands trailed down to her sides and shoved her into the nearest wall. “Fuck.” I breathed out with my forehead pressed against hers. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes fluttered up at me with flushed cheeks. “Make me believe it.”

My fingertips were on fire every place they met her skin, and I could’ve sworn I had become a vampire from how every part of me was screaming to sink my teeth into her neck. But the sugar high I was getting from her lips won the battle. Pulling away for a fleeting second, “I’m sorry.” I said against her lips.

Almost completely in sync, she wrapped her arms around my neck as I picked her up effortlessly pulling her legs around my hips. I carried her over to one of the empty makeup vanities and sat her on the edge – all while our lips were still locked with our tongues dancing in time. I drew away again, cupping her cheeks in my rugged hands, gazing down at her lust-dazed eyes, “I’m sorry.”

There was a glimmer in her eyes that made me think maybe she believed that one. “Beg for it.” She demanded.

My hands squeezed her thighs all the way up to her hips, pulling her dress up with it. I swiftly grasped her hips and drew her to the very edge of the table. I began peppering kisses down her neck, she tilted her head to the side for more access. “I’m sorry.” I mumbled against the skin below her ear and she let out a small whine.

“Keep going.” She breathed out, her body melting and reacting to my touch.

I pulled her skin into a suck, just soft enough to not leave a mark, “I’m sorry.”

“More.”

“I’m sorry.” Working my way down till I reached her collar bones. My hands trailed up her sides, lingering on the curves I liked most before they molded around her breasts. She let out another small moan as my thumbs traced over her peaked nipples through the sheer dress.

Her breath hitched as my lips savored every inch of her skin down her chest, “More.”

I kneeled in front of her, her legs easily parted for me and already had a damp spot on her baby pink panties. I trailed soft, but hungry, kisses up her thigh, accompanying each one with an apology. I hooked my index fingers at the waist band and slowly pulled down her panties down her legs, tossing them only a few feet from us.

“I’m sorry.” I mumbled against her lips and I could feel her writhing beneath my mouth. I drew my tongue slowly up her folds, tasting the juices I thought I’d never taste again. I let out a grown from her flavor and it gained a hand tangled in my hair, rougher than normal.

I swirled my tongue over her clit and she let out a surprised moan. “Fuck, Austin.” She struggled to get out. Her response only fueled my work on her. My tongue swirled around her swollen nub and my hand traveled up her thigh. I teased her at her entrance with my middle and ring finger before slowly sliding them in. She let out a slow whine as they slid inside her and began pumping into her sweet spot. In a rhythmic manner, my fingers and tongue danced where she needed me.

“You taste so fucking good.” I hummed against her heat as her juices filled my mouth and ran down my fingers. She tasted sweet, sweet like honey and I ate her like I had an insatiable sweet tooth.

My work on her distracted me from how hard I was, painfully restrained in my jeans. My free hand went to unzip them to fuck myself while I devoured her, but she tugged at my hair. “No.” She growled. “This an apology is to me, and you don’t deserve to feel good.”

This was new for me. I’d never had a woman talk like to me during sex before. But there was something so fucking sexy about it and it only made my cock throb more for her.

It seemed her little shift into dominance turned her on just as much as it did me, her moans increasing in volume and her hand gripping my hair-spray drenched hair. I knew she was close with the way her walls clenched around my fingers and her legs trembled around my head. I gazed up at her as she began coming undone – I always thought women were their most beautiful in the throughs of their orgasm, but this was different. The way she glowed in her climax made me want to keep making her look like that. She was angelic and her moans were harmonies – the sort of songs you just want to replay over and over, practically getting high off of them.

Sometimes I would get this twist in my stomach when I’m in business meetings where I know the executives are swindling me, or when I’m in interviews and I can tell they’re going to butcher my words for a scandal. In college I’d get it when I was at parties that would get raided or in high school when intimidating seniors would corner me. That looming churn bloomed in my stomach whenever I was in danger – and I could feel it when I looked at her just then.

Once she was finally spent, I hesitantly pulled myself up from the floor and wiped the excess juices from my mouth. I watched her, disheveled with her chest heaving, still coming down from the high. “So, am I forgiven?”

Her hooded eyes weakly reached mine. I expected there to be more light in them than before, I expected them to be softer and less angry. She pulled herself off the table and smoothed out her dress before looking me dead in the eyes, “No. Not even close.” She took a step closer to me. “But it’s definitely a start.” She spoke with a tone that felt like I was just the gum under her shoe.

She glared at me as if she was disgusted with how I made her feel and tugging the hefty trailer door open and disappearing behind it. It was only then that I realized how utterly foolish it was to think that eating her cunt would erase all the damage I’d done.

I recognized that warning sign in my stomach when I looked at her.

She was a warning I needed to head.

-3 Days Later-

We were stationed along a long dirt road getting various riding and chase scenes. Bikes lined the side of the sandy road having to cut scenes constantly due to the still wet mud from last night’s unprecedented rain gunking up our tires and covering the ever-important sponsored logos on the bikes. The excessive wind whipping sand against us was also causing interruptions as Intern had to keep cleaning us up and reapplying. Between the shitty weather, the constant interruptions, and our fucking directors still hounding my ass harder since the ski lodge debacles, the day was not going well, and my patience was wearing thin.

I stood just beside my bike, trying to just breathe through the aggravation from the last cut as Intern used a brush to flick off the sand that had built up on my face. She used her pinky to dust off some extra then returned to the brush. Even though the brush was probably the softest thing I’d ever felt, it still mimicked steel wool compared to her touch. Out of everything that happened between us, and out of every memory that would make itself known to me, her touch was the one that lingered the longest. Sure, I thought about that night in the hotel where my cock was buried inside her as she rode me, or when I chained her to the trailer door… I thought about them a lot. But the ones that flickered constantly in my brain like flashing clicks of paparazzi cameras, was us in the hot tub or on the floor of that disgusting restaurant we broke into. My body seemed to remember her warmth on me when she was clinging onto me in the tub or when she held my face as I kissed her on the floor.

I’d never had memories or fantasies rile me up just as much as sexual ones. But my hands burned at the thought of touching her again, they ached just to be on her. I felt it when she was near me, when she touched me. It was magnetic. My cock craved her, of course, but my hands did too – it was something so foreign to me. And I fucking hated it.

It couldn’t happen again. I couldn’t let this happen again. Especially not after the warning siren that blared in the pit of my stomach every time she looked at me. One bitch was already on track to nearly ruin my career, I didn’t need another one. And from our track record, Intern wasn’t looking like the safest option anyway – already causing me fuck up in front of our cast and crew.

She was a warning I needed to head

I just needed to make it through the holidays and the rest of shooting, and I’d be done. I could forget all about her.

I kept my eyes on the floating clouds above us, just letting my thoughts flow in my head when I heard my bike engine rev and felt a splash of thick mud coat the side of my body. The sharp squeal from Intern told me she’d been hit too. “What the fuck!” Looking over at a stagehand, Ryan, the same one from the truth or dare debacle, being the only evidence of a culprit with hands on the vehicle.

He let out a cocky laugh, “Sorry man, was just tryin’ to clean up the bike.”

“You ruined my brushes!” Exclaimed Intern as she looked over the leather brush roll that thankfully covered all the products inside the cosmetic case. While the products inside were safe, her entire arsenal of tools were covered in mud.

This was the tipping point of the day, everything that had pissed me off culminated into the rage that coursed through me. The fact that it was Ryan and that I was now coated in mud, but most of all it was the mud on Intern’s brushes. I made it into Ryan’s face faster than I thought and grabbed him by his shirt. The threats from the directors and management were now faint memories as I held his shirt wrapped around my wrist. “What the fuck were you thinking.” I growled in his face.

“Austin! Let him go!” Shouted one of the crew members but I was too blinded with anger to decipher who.

“Who fucking told you you could touch my bike?” My fist tightening around the dark material.

Yet Ryan looked unbothered, “Sorry man, was just tryna clean it up.” He repeated though his voice was laced in competitive snide.

“Austin!” An even more aggressive shout, “Take a thirty!”

“I can’t work on anything more!” Perked up Intern shouting across set, her forced innocent voice didn’t fool me, she was livid. “My brushes are fu- ruined!”

“Fine. All three of you, call it a day. Go home.” Followed by a ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ muttered beneath the director’s tone.

I released Ryan’s shirt and shoved him back, “Fine, I’m fucking out of here.” Rounding the bike, throwing my leg over it and kicking off the stand.

Before I even moved, I glanced over at Intern looking absolutely defeated and furious, picking through her now destroyed tools.

“You comin’?” I asked over the engine rumbling, and she snapped her head up. Her frustrated watery eyes swirled with conflict; I knew she didn’t want to come with me, but I could get her out of there. She looked around weighing her options and ultimately her anger won. Her gaze landed on Nick, who gave her a little nod saying ‘I got this, go ahead’.

She quickly paced over to me, “Get me the fuck out of here.” She snapped in a whisper, and swung her leg over behind me, wrapping both arms around my torso.

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[freesia-writes]

Chapter 19: Unpredictable

During the Clone Wars, the Bad Batch is tasked with a variety of missions across the galaxy. An unexpected addition to their team throws a wrench in the mix, particularly for Tech, who finds a particular connection with this disillusioned Padawan-turned-mechanic named Vel throughout the events in this action-adventure romance. COVER ART BY @zaana!!

Master List of Chapters

The door whooshed open and Vel's eyes widened at the array of bottles on shelves before her. Every shape and size was displayed, accented by a large mirror behind them all, and each was accompanied by the appropriate glasses for that particular drink. Her heart sank a bit, as it wasn't the laboratory she was expecting, but she covered her disappointment with an awed look around.

"This is my private bar," Terrik said, waving a careless hand around the room. It was furnished with plush couches covered in lush fabric, and Vel stroked a hand along the back of a chaise lounge as she followed him in. "It's a more... intimate space for entertaining." 

Vel teetered for a moment, catching herself on the side of a wingback chair, and gripped it for stability. She cursed herself inwardly for being so free with her consumption, but also had a gut feeling to just relax and go along with it. It was going well so far; she just had to get to the lab. Terrik hadn't missed her slight tip, however, and a tiny smirk played at the corner of his lips.

"Can I get you another drink?" he asked, eyebrows raised in innocent cordiality. 

"Oh, I'm fine," Vel demured, moving carefully to inspect a tall bookshelf with leather-bound volumes. "But look at all of these!" She started fingering the spines, perusing the titles with genuine interest, and noticed Terrik stiffen all of a sudden when she started to pull out one of the books.

"Come on, it's on me," he said warmly, beckoning toward the bar counter and placing a hand on her elbow. It had just enough firmness to make it clear that it wasn't a request.  A cold feeling started to grow in her stomach, and she allowed him to steer her away from the shelf. 

He stepped behind the bar, throwing a white towel over his shoulder before turning to her with a flourish, "And what can I interest you in this time?" 

"Surprise me," she mused, leaning over the counter and smiling coyly. 

"Atta girl," he crooned, moving his face close to hers, "I think I know just what you like." She resisted the urge to pull away, spared by his turn to the wall of bottles and consequent drink mixing. As he poured and stirred, she slipped a hand under the counter, feeling around in her small purse for the marker. She definitely hadn't missed his discomfort at her proximity to the bookshelf, and wanted to be ready once she was able to confirm the lab's location. 

"Whatcha doin down there?" Terrik asked, startling her from her thoughts as she realized she hadn't been as subtle as she'd hoped. 

"Just looking for this," she said, producing a tube of lipstick after a quick rummage. "All these drinks are making me a little messy." She smiled breezily, running the lipstick along her lips while he watched, giving them a cute little smack at the end. He chuckled, looking down to pour the drinks out of their mixer, and she put the lipstick back into her back, feeling her hand tremble a bit.

"Come," Terrik invited, carrying the glasses to a purposefully small couch. Vel tucked her purse under her arm, draping herself across one side of the couch as gracefully as possible, and accepted the glass from him with a small "thanks". He sat next to her, crossing a foot across his knee and stretching an arm behind her. 

***

Tech tapped his foot incessantly, waking up his datapad, checking the same settings he had checked the last eighteen times, and putting it back down. He glanced around anxiously, wondering how the other three were so nonchalant about it all. His sleeves were thoroughly wrinkled from having been folded up and down repeatedly, and he had been unable to resist loosening his tie to unbutton the top of his collar.

"She should have activated it by now," he said, pacing back and forth. "There is no reason for this to have--" 

He was interrupted by a ping from the datapad that sent him a few inches into the air in response. He whipped it from his belt, "There it is!" he said, "Time to go."

"She has three minutes to get him out of there, then," Hunter responded. "Tuck in your blasters; we'll be down there shortly."

***

Hunter listened silently outside the door for a moment, then motioned for Tech to override the controls. The door slid open and they slipped into the room, looking around in confusion as they observed not a lab but yet another sort of lounge. 

"Look at all that!" Wrecker whispered, pointing to the mirrored wall of liquor bottles as they slowly moved toward the center of the room.

Something felt instantly off, and Hunter whipped his knife from his wrist sheath, raising a closed fist. The other three halted immediately, but the room shifted before their eyes. The entire space was lined with thick curtains hanging from rods, brought together in neat pillars of velvety fabric tied back with a sash. Or so it had appeared: the bottoms of each pillar rotated suddenly, revealing two guard droids in each one that promptly sprang forth, leveling small blasters at the clones.

"Hmm, interesting. I was wondering who would come," Terrik said darkly, emerging from the shadows to their right with a blaster in his hand. "I found the most curious little trinket in your friend's purse here, and I just had to see what would happen. So that's the plan, is it? Have her seduce me so you can come and steal from my personal inventory? You lot are all the same."

"Steal?" Wrecker asked, unfazed in the sights of thirty-two blasters. 

Hunter flickered a pointed glance toward the liquor wall, putting the pieces together in his head and also confirming the accusation. 

"Mmhmm," Terrik mused, "I'm never wrong. But I think a lesson is in order, to teach bantha fodder like you about stealing from me." He reached behind him, pulling Vel out from the darkened corner, and held her in front of him, turning the blaster toward her temple. "I'll give you a choice," he continued, "One of you gets to go tell the rest of your lot what happens when you cross me. The rest... well, unfortunately, your taste for the finer things will cost your lives."

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[grlquartz]

enjoy this little thing because i can't seem to get through writers block right now <3

1.9k words of primo and theo (oc) being cute about an old picture of him; a few drug mentions and a bit of suggestiveness under the cut but nothing too crazy hehe

Comfortable silence had blanketed the sunlit study for a while before either of them realized that the music had stopped playing. Another record had spun to its conclusion.

“Why don’t you put something on,” Primo said eventually, giving a slight gesture towards the general direction of the record player without taking his eyes off of his book.

It was only polite of him to offer, Theo thought, since he had chosen the last few. She yawned deeply as she sat up off of the chaise lounge and set her own book aside. Flipping through the illustration books of old botanical studies had been interesting at first, but now she was glad for something else to put her mind to.

She stood and wiggled from side to side to stretch out her back, then padded over the soft rug in her stocking feet over to the far wall where the turntable and speakers were. Primo had a fairly modest system- not that she really knew much about them anyways- but she thought his collection of music was rather impressive. The bookshelf next to the player supported multiple wire racks of records, each one stuffed to the brim. It was always a treat to discover what he might have hidden amongst the classics.

The sunlight warmed the floor in front of the shelf, where she plopped down criss-cross and began to ghost her fingertips along the ridges of the record sleeves. “Anything in particular?” she asked him, and he answered with a simple hum from his place in the wingback chair.

“Your choice, cara mia.”

Satanas, that narrowed things down. There was so much to choose from… she began to thumb out a couple at a time, sliding them down to get a glimpse at the covers. Some she knew by sight alone. A few familiar covers made her smile to herself- they had almost worn out Rumours, mostly thanks to her. His beloved collection of Tina Turner’s discography was neatly organized in its own section, in the rack that she preferred to peruse; where ABBA and Fleetwood Mac and The Eagles were just a few among some of her frequent picks.

The other shelf was a trip to the wide expanse of hard rock spanning the decades, and from the dawning era of metal; Led Zepplin, Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, Blue Oyster Cult… just a sampling among countless other artists, many she wasn’t quite as familiar with. Hmmm… maybe she ought to close her eyes and just pick one.

She did, trusting her intuition as she smoothed her fingers over the thin spines, and out came one of her favorites. She gave a little huff, though; she didn’t think he would really be in the mood for it today.

“How about Foreigner?”

He was quiet for a long moment- must have been deliberating- and then he answered somewhat nonchalantly. “Mmm, maybe not.”

She was right. So much for her choice. With a little private roll of her eyes she put the record back on the rack and put her intuition to another test.

Ah, that was better- a Pink Floyd album seemed a much more fitting soundtrack for this lazy, comfortable afternoon they were sharing. When she slipped the record from its well-loved sleeve, something happened to catch her eye; a corner of something, maybe a note, had almost come out with it. No reason to stifle her curiosity…

Oh, it wasn’t a note, it was an old photo. She set the record and its cover down beside her on the floor and flipped over the photo; it was hardly bigger than an index card, and the image quality wasn’t the clearest, but the subject matter instantly made her stomach flip in surprise.

“Hey, ah…” she started, entranced by what she was looking at. “What were you up to in seventy-three?”

From behind her she heard him turn a page slowly before he answered, a little facetiously. “Hmm… a lot of sex and drugs, I imagine.”

Satanas in fucking hell, she could imagine, too. In the picture he absolutely looked like a god of the former and someone who knew his way around the latter. He must have been in his late twenties, she calculated quickly, and she found herself stroking her fingertips over the papery surface of the photo as she stared down at it. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh… just…” she couldn’t keep her train of thought on the right track. Holy fuck. She had wondered about what he might have looked like as a young man, and she had some good guesses, but to see it for herself like this was so exciting that she could feel her face starting to flush warm. Whoever took the picture must have caught him at an interesting time, because his expression looked a little sour. But his face, fresh and bare of any paint, was unspeakably handsome- his angular jaw, strong nose, and piercing eyes set under his brow made her heart flitter even now. His skin looked so youthful and more tanned here- she thought she could even notice the shade of a few freckles across the bridge of his nose- and he seemed to glow in the bright sun, maybe from sweat. 

And if that wasn’t enough to draw her attention, then his outfit had captured it. A silver earring sparkled in his earlobe, since his long, wild blonde hair had been tucked behind his ear on that side. A cropped, sleeveless shirt hardly concealed his lean arms crossed over his chest, where he dangled a joint lazily between his fingers and a hairtie clung to his wrist. Or his midriff, where a trail of light hair down his belly caught the sun and led the eye to the low rise of his red athletic shorts, which… left absolutely nothing at all to the imagination. Lucifer almighty.

“Um,” she managed finally, enraptured with the image of him. “Do you still own these?”

“Own what?” he questioned, and now with the record momentarily forgotten she got up to bring the photo over to him.

As she approached he flicked his mismatched gaze up to her, and noticing the telltale color dusting her cheeks, he put his book down. She could only smile shyly as she handed it over to him.

He looked at it for a while as recognition sprawled slowly over his painted features, and eventually his wrinkles creased deeply with a knowing smile. “Where did you find this?”

“In the Dark Side sleeve.”

“Ah.” She could tell that he seemed amused, both at the memory the picture stirred and at her reaction to it. “Yes, that makes sense. Terzo took this,” he explained. “I remember he was so insistent. He was in quite a phase with that camera of his.”

“Oh, yeah?” That piqued her interest- maybe that meant there were other pictures like this one, hidden away in Papa Terzo’s office in a forgotten photo album or dusty storage box… maybe she could sweet-talk someone into getting a glimpse at them, a peek into the past where her amato was experiencing life as a young man. A very, very attractive young man.

But for now she was happy to soak up the image of him in this one; sweating away the heat of some long-passed summer, in shorts that would make even a most devout sinner blush and glance away. What that would make her, she couldn’t say.

He kept smiling, taking in the details of the old photo before finally holding it back out for her to take. “He would tell you I made a terrible subject. But, in my defense, he always picked the worst moments. I believe I had just finished repairing something here, I don’t recall what… look, you can see how filthy my hands were.”

She took the photo again and sure enough, his hands were indeed dark and smudged with the remnants of whatever work he had been doing. She hadn’t even noticed at first glance- an understandable miss, considering what other details there were to admire.

“Satanas,” she finally murmured to herself. “You were so…”

How exactly could she describe him? It was like seeing him at his truest; unhindered here by the slow marching of time. This was the man she knew, unfiltered by age or responsibilities or the hardships she knew he had experienced as his life had gone on- and perhaps much more uninhibited in his self-expression. It only added another level, formed another facet of her attraction to him. In the simplest of terms- he was so fucking hot. Holy shit. She thought she could stare at this forever. Maybe he’d let her keep it to put on her bedside table.

He waited patiently for her to come to her conclusion, and when she didn’t he let out a deep chuckle. “Oh, Theo.”

“Seriously,” she insisted. “I… I think you should let me see the rest of Terzo’s pictures.”

That really made him chuckle then. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“The ones of you,” she said with a little giggle of her own, and now she moved closer to sit slightly against the arm of his chair.

“Maybe one of these days. We can take a little trip down memory lane, yes?”

“I’d like to,” she answered, smoothing her thumb carefully over the photo she still studied thoroughly. “I really like seeing you like this.”

“Young?”

“Well, yeah, but also just… yourself.” She was trying to convey her meaning- how she truly loved learning about his life as himself, as Primo, not just as Papa, and seeing him for who he really was… she wasn’t quite so articulate, but he got the jist. His hand came to slide around her back, settling at her hip, and she let her hand rest against his. The creases and wrinkles in his skin were so pleasant to trace with her fingertips, and she did so absentmindedly.

“You flatter me, dolcezza.”

“Oh, come on. You look amazing. And you still do,” she continued, turning to smile down at him, and when she noticed his eyes softening she felt her own heart do the same.

“I’ve changed a bit.”

“Well, yeah. Haven’t we had this conversation already?” She quirked her brow at him. “Something about aging, and wine…?”

He smiled again, that magnetic smile that even when hidden under layers of dark paints could light her up with excitement and affection. “Oh, yes, you and your metaphors.”

“Oh, pfft. You know I mean it.”

“I do know.” His hand, settled against her hip, squeezed softly around her flesh there. “And I appreciate it very much. You are awfully sweet to me.”

She felt fresh warmth blooming in her cheeks, and to that she didn’t know what exactly to say, so she just squeezed his hand. They sat like that for a few moments- the room still blanketed in that comfortable silence, the honey-gold sunlight still illuminating the space- until she glanced back down at the photo one more time, and couldn’t help but smile.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Mm?”

“Do you still have these?”

He looked slightly puzzled at her, until he realized exactly what she was referring to, and now he really laughed. 

“Theodora.”

“What? I just want to know.”

“Even if I did,” he countered, rumbling with deep laughter, “I doubt they would fit.”

“I mean... we could at least just see if they do.”

“Mm. Certainly you have no ulterior motive.”

She couldn’t defend herself against that, and he knew it. At her slightly sheepish-looking smile, he laughed again and took her gently to pull her down for a kiss.

[zadien]

New SLTS Chapter!!

The Dawning Light of Grey

On Friday morning, Ian strode through the lobby of their Galway hotel with a stack of toast in one hand and a phone in the other. Benson hadn’t shown up to breakfast again and, by this stage, he was getting fed up chasing her down.

Didn’t she want to come back to the team? Didn’t they matter to her? 

It’s not like he cared. He didn’t play on her line or anything, but this was their final year so she could at least try to make the effort to play in their last games.

He didn’t know how this came to be his problem. Why weren’t the rest of her so-called friends calling her out on her bullshit? 

Clearly, he was the only responsible one left on the team, so it was up to him to make sure she didn’t fade away to nothing. 

He halted in front of the high wingback chairs dotted around the cosy fireplace in the lounge off the reception area where Amber sat, curled up, frantically scribbling on a yellow legal pad. 

“Are you doing homework?!” 

She jolted and scored a line down the page. 

With a growl, she shoved her hair out of her face and scrunched up the page, throwing it to join a steadily growing pile beside her. “No! I have two weeks of detention to catch up on homework. Why would I do it here?” 

Read the rest here:

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[frenchiefitzhere]

For the micro story ask, how about 12 (candles), and 37 (defy)? And Morgan. Have fun!

I did a baaaaaad thing /ref Also posted to AO3

Don't Look Behind You

CW: non-consensual touching; abuse of power; general dread & spoopiness

“You think you can defy me, little Seer?” 

“No, sir. Of course not.”

“Hmm. Cute,” he whispered in Morgan’s ear, the fingers of both hands creeping up around the sides of the wingback chair like two exquisite spiders. 

One of the hands swept itself flat against his shoulder. The other traced his shirt collar.

Morgan shivered.

“Do I upset you, Mister Kyne?”

The seer squirmed atop the rich green damask of the plush chair. It should not have been so uncomfortable to sit in.

But it was.

Morgan heard footsteps behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief that there was at least some distance between his body and the possessive hands that had been infiltrating his neck and shoulders moments earlier.

He dared not stand up from the chair.

He gasped gently hearing the crack of stick against comb and smelled the slight odor of sulfur as the match was lit behind him.

“It must be frustrating being an Obscura. A shame you can’t See the things that would be most useful for you to know,” the voice purred, smooth and thick as cream and yet light and carefree as a puff of cotton candy.

Morgan didn’t need Sight to know what was happening on the other side of the chair. He could follow the man’s aura around the room, and the rhythm of the breathing and the steps behind him told him the candles on the mantle had been lit.

Lasko Moore snapped his fingers. The lamps went out.

The opulent private faculty lounge at the Imperial Academy was imposing enough by light of day, but when the president was backlit by wavering candlelight, Morgan could see his flickering, twisting shadow approaching him on the floor. The seer hoped beyond all reason—and hoped in vain—to cast aside his existence as an Obscura so he might know what would happen to him next in the dimly-lit, cavernous hall. 

If not that, I wish I could See nothing. Not with my Sight…

And neither with my eyes. 

Morgan inhaled deeply and let his eyelids fall, wishing that total darkness would be preferable to the snakelike dance of Lasko’s approaching shadow.

It wasn’t.

[interiordecorationideas]

This wingback lounge chair is very comfortable for sitting, especially designed by Kiara Interiors. Its yellow look gives a bold appearance which makes it perfect for any living area.

[badwolferosewriter]

5 Types of Accent Chairs

Are you familiar with every one of the different types of Accent Chairs accessible for your lounge? I sure wasn't. I had no thought there was such a huge amount to browse until I began looking to supplant my ongoing furniture. After much examination this website and time spent going to furniture stores, I figured I would share what I've found out and perhaps help facilitate the cycle for the following person.

Here are the 5 Types I've found:

1. Wingback Chairs - These are chairs that have been around for quite a long time and are related with luxury and sovereignty. For a visual, consider the chairs you've found in films that a sort and sovereign would sit in. This type of chair is by and large upholstered in texture however can be made in cowhide also. It will have apparent raised legs, round padded arms, all around padded seats and obviously the winged back. The wings are remembered to help conceal a person's face while they are sitting should somebody look toward them from the side.

2. Armless chairs - These chairs are more modern and elegant. Envision a typical upholstered chair however without the arms. Armless chairs have a pad seat and back. A few styles will have a bend to the back while others are only a straight back. Most armless chairs have noticeable legs with completed wood.

3. Chaise Parlor - Let me attempt to give you a visual on this chair. Consider an upholstered chair with a drawn out seat/base or envision a chair with a stool connected to it and that is what a chaise looks like. Chaises can be made considering different designs. Some are exceptionally traditional looking to the more modern bended designs. Another choice accessible with a chaise is the addition of an arm on one side. For those looking to purchase this type of chair remember greater part are exceptionally huge and take up a lot of space.

4. Chairs - There are 3 fundamental types of chairs:

a. Two Position Chair - This is a fixed chair with two positions alluded to as "Sitting" and "Reading." Sitting is similarly as it suggests; you sit upstanding with your feet on the ground. The reading position is the point at which you lean back in the chair and your feet are set up. This chair lean back utilizing a handle that is situated outwardly of the chair or at times concealed underneath the arm and close to the seat pad. b. Rocker Chair - This type is like the Two Position Chair however has the added benefit of shaking to and fro.

c. Push Back Chair - This chair is likewise very much like the Two Position Chair however instead of having to pull a handle to lean back, you just resistance in the chair.

5. Tub Chairs - This chair has a semi-roundabout back with bended arms. To picture, consider a portion of a bath that has been upholstered and given legs. The back and arms are one nonstop piece with the seat pad have the choice of being connected or separable. These likewise have the choice of being made with a turn base if somebody needs that added luxury.

[nikibogwater]

...The cauldron was cold. There was a fire in the hearth--a decidedly normal, non-magical fire that cast the room in a warm, comforting light. Villina sat in a black wingback chair, weaving a scarf out of thorns, with a large black toad lounging contentedly in her lap. Her fingers froze, and she looked up from her work. 

“...Horatio,” she addressed the toad. “Do not be alarmed, but I think the door is about to--”

BANG!

The toad jumped out of her lap with a startled croak. A cold, wet wind swept through the room, causing the fire to flicker and sputter. The young man from earlier stood in her doorway, rain streaming down his long platinum hair like streaks of moonlight. Rage burned in his bloodshot eyes as he raised his head to meet her gaze. In one hand, he clutched a sword. In the other, an empty vial. He tossed the vial to the floor, where it landed with a clink and rolled to a stop at Villina’s feet.

“Something tells me this visit was not born of unbridled joy and gratitude,” she said slowly.

“You killed her.” Felix spoke in a low, dangerous rasp. “You killed my mother.”

Had my first big writing session of 2023 and I have....no idea where this came from. I also don’t know whether to be happy that I finally got a good solid chunk of writing done, or upset that it’s not part of ANY of my current WIPs. Anyways, I’m posting this little bit just for Horatio. I’m still trying to decide if I want to turn this idea into a proper book someday or post it here on Tumblr as sort of a Practice Novel.