#wooden furniture varnish

[jeonginsleftcheek]

The sun to me

Chapter IX. Blossom.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 6.8k

chapter summary: as the storm finally pours down, the doubts and fears get washed away for a moment, allowing the deepest of feelings to emerge to the surface.

warnings: lots of kissing and making out, a few angsty thoughts

~ Masterlist for the series

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🌷Tulip - deep, unconditional love

Your legs took you up the hill, right in front of Isaac's big wooden door, the one you knocked on a second ago.

Your body is buzzing with excitement as you swing back and forth slightly, you feel as if your heart is beating in your stomach, chest and throat all at the same time.

The door is swung open and you're met with Isaac's slightly surprised but delighted smile.

"Oh, y/n!"- he gives you a warm hug. "Come in, come in."- he moves aside to let you in.

"Hi, Isaac."- you greet as you smile at him.

"I am going to presume you are here to see Hyunjin?"- the man chuckles and your face gets instantly red, answering his question even before you say anything.

"Oh... I mean yes, both of you. Just wanted to visit."- you stumble on your words as Isaac smiles knowingly.

"Hyunjin ran out this morning, he isn't back yet. But, you're welcome to join me for tea while we wait for him."- Isaac suggests and you nod.

"Did he say where he was going?"- you ask, your chest constricting a little.

"Nope, he just said that he has to take care of something."

You sit with your lips pursed as Isaac brings you a cup of tea.

"You look worried."- he notices as he sits down too, both of you turned towards the window and watching the wind picking up, making the sea wild, a reflection of your soul in the water.

"It's just, I have to tell him something."- you swallow.

"Oh... Oh."- Isaac nods in understanding. "I think he also has something to say to you. But I won't interfere too much, it's really not my place. I'm just gonna wish you both good luck."

"T-thank you."- you giggle at Isaac's words.

"Let me show you something, though."- he says suddenly as he stands up.

You're confused but you follow him to his studio.

The wood creaks as Isaac opens the door slowly and immediately you're hit with the familiar smell of wood and varnish.

Looking around, you see Isaac's sculptures and furniture but as your head turns left, towards the big windows, you see a few canvases leaned against them.

You come closer, your heart beating faster.

There, leaning on the glass are a few paintings... of you.

You gasp, the paintings make you look so beautiful, so ethereal and you wonder if this is how Hyunjin sees you.

"He spends a lot of time working on his paintings now. He couldn't even hold a pen when he arrived. You really brought it out of him again, inspired him. I know he's only been here for barely two months but I came to care for him as if he's my own son. Especially because he reminds me of Leo a lot, and of me when I was younger. And I've known you since you were a little girl. I know your kind heart. You two really deserve to be happy and you deserve each other. You should go home y/n, I'm pretty sure he went to see you, so maybe he's waiting now. Go, before the storm rolls in."- Isaac ushers you out and you whip around quickly, tears filling up your eyes from the turmoil of emotions raging inside you.

"Thank you so much Isaac!"- you call out as you start running down the hill like a crazy person, your hair and dress flying around you as the wind rages, the clouds gather closer, distant thunder rumbling through the darkened sky.

Hyunjin has ran from the pier to your door, knocking repeatedly on it only to realize you aren't home. Panicked, he makes his way to your shop.

He knows you don't open on the weekend but maybe you went there for some reason and he rushes there, almost slipping in the process.

His heart sinks when he sees that the shop is locked and the lights are off. Where have you gone?

Hyunjin briefly thinks that maybe you went to get breakfast at the restaurant so he hurries to his next stop in an attempt to find you, only to again run into a locked door and a sign that says 'closed due to storm!'.

Hyunjin visibly deflates, slowly turning around and deciding to make his way back to Isaac's house.

Distant rumble of thunder comes in closer and he jolts for a moment, lifting his head up towards the sky. The dark clouds are closing in on him now and he decides to hurry, taking long strides to arrive home quickly.

Just as you run to Hyunjin, you feel a drop of rain hit your cheek, sliding down like a tear. Your heart skips a beat when you see him in the distance, his hands in his pockets and his head down as he walks up the street.

A few more drops hit Hyunjin's head and he keeps looking down to shield his face. You're about to yell his name but before you can utter one syllable the rain comes down on both of you like a shower, cold and big water drops getting you wet instantly.

Hyunjin looks up only to stop in his tracks, as he sees you just a few feet before him.

"Y/n?"- at this point he thinks he's dreaming, as he was looking for you, maybe he had manifested you from his mind to reality.

"Hyunjin!"- you chuckle despite the rain and both of you take hurried steps towards each other like you're two magnets pulled by some unknown force.

"I was looking for you."- he breathes out as he gets closer.

"Me too."- you say and the rain becomes heavier, the thunder louder.

"Shit! Come on, my house is the closest!"- you yell over the sound of rain, unconsciously you take hold of Hyunjin's hand as you pull him back towards your house, both of your feet splashing the puddles that have already formed on the street.

Hyunjin shivers, not from the cold rain or wind, but from your somehow still warm hand in his and he lets his fingers slot between yours so perfectly like that is exactly where they belonged.

Both of your hearts are beating hard and there is no going back now as the two of you start laughing like two idiots in the rain, running towards shelter.

You manage to unlock your door after some fumbling as the two of you stumble inside, giggles spilling from both your lips.

The door is closed with a click and the sound of rain and thunder becomes a little muffled, as the two of you drip on the floor.

"I-"

"Y/n-"

You both talk at the same time, shutting up before laughing again.

You shiver visibly and Hyunjin's hands lift up to land on your arms as he steps closer to you. You freeze as you look up at him.

"Are you cold?"- he asks gently and you nod.

"We should shower and get rid of these clothes or we'll get sick."- you say quietly, proud of yourself that you didn't stutter as he runs his hands up and down your biceps gently.

"Yeah, you go first."- he smiles.

"But what if-"

"No, it's fine, I'll wait. I can make some tea?"- he suggests and you nod.

As you stand in your bathroom and peel away the wet clothes, there are fireworks exploding inside you. Nothing has happened yet but his eyes have already told you enough.

It was on the tip of your tongues, a confession filled with gentleness, on the tips of his fingers against your skin, burning his imprints on the surface as well as deep inside your heart.

You step under the warm shower, exhilirated and nervous, thinking how Hyunjin is just one room away from you.

Hyunjin waits for the tea, shivering a little as his head turns towards the sound of the shower running. He gulps, the realization of you being in there naked dawning on him, and he becomes jealous even of the water that caresses your beautiful body.

He shakes his head fast, there are still things that need to be said first. And Hyunjin can't wait to tell you that his heart burns with love and passion just for you.

"I'm done."- you appear in the kitchen, like that day he barged in, in an oversized shirt and sweats, your hair wet as you dry it with a towel.

"Oh, good, the tea is done too."- he nods, butterflies dancing around in his stomach.

"I don't know if they'll be okay for you but um- I have some oversized clothes you could maybe fit in."- you smile shyly.

"Thanks but is it really okay if I take a shower here? I mean, I don't want to make you uncomfortable."- Hyunjin says and you quickly shake your head.

"No, it's completely fine, I'm not uncomfortable at all. I'll make some instant ramen while you shower, how's that sound?"

"Perfect."- Hyunjin smiles before he makes his way to the bathroom where you had set down some clean clothes and towels.

The warm shower is welcoming, as Hyunjin drowns in the sweet smell of your shampoo.

His body is electrified and he dares to grab the bottle and use your shampoo to wash his hair with it.

Everything around him and on him smells like you, the clothes you gave him, his hair and his skin and a feeling of warmth and comfort lights up his heart and settles in his bones.

He makes his way to the kitchen and sees you standing as you hold your cup of tea and look outside into your garden.

"The flowers are safe, right?"- Hyunjin asks as the storm becomes even wilder outside, everything is clattering and waving around in the wind.

"Yeah."- you chuckle a little as you turn around.

Seeing Hyunjin in your clothes stirs something inside you and you feel your face becoming warmer.

Hyunjin's stomach grumbles embarassingly and he laughs awkwardly.

"Let's eat."- you say and the two of you sit down to eat the instant ramen you prepared.

You eat without talking, both of you hungry and concentrated on the food.

A particularly loud sound of thunder spreads across the sky and the lights flicker for a moment, making you lift your head up.

"Electricity might go out. That happens a lot here."- you say. "But, don't worry, I have lots of candles."

"Okay, I- um, I don't like being in complete darkness."- Hyunjin swallows.

"You won't be, I promise."- you smile at him sweetly, his heart at ease immediately.

As soon as you're done eating, you suggest moving to the living room where it's cozier and Hyunjin helps you set up all the candles in case electricity gets turned off. You grab two blankets, bringing them to the couch, as Hyunjin brings your tea cups and places them on the coffee table.

"Thanks."- Hyunjin smiles, draping the blanket over his legs as you sit close to him, covering yourself up with your blanket.

Your knees touch and you look at him.

"Y/n... I was looking for you because there's something I want to tell you."- Hyunjin gulps visibly.

"I have something I wanna tell you too, but you go first."- you smile.

Hyunjin is so nervous, even though to any outsider looking in it's clear that you feel the same about each other, in his scared heart, Hyunjin can see the possibility of you turning away from him. He can't bear the thought of not having you in his life, even if you had only just arrived, he intends to keep you forever.

"Okay, well... Here goes. I'm just gonna say it."- he nods to himself and you let out a small giggle at his nervousness, reaching your hand towards his.

As soon as you touch him, he jolts and looks at you, then visibly melts as your fingers entwine together, palms pressed against each other.

"I know I've only been here for barely two months but I feel like I was searching for you my whole life. In every painting I ever made, in every love song I ever listened to, in every flower I ever stopped to admire, in every other embrace that felt distant and cold, I was looking for your kindness and warmth. I know you said you don't really believe in destiny, but I firmly believe that I was supposed to be here and that every decision I ever made and every step I ever took, lead me to you. Maybe this is too much or too dramatic but I already can't imagine my life without you."- Hyunjin talks, his voice shaky, his hand squeezing yours for support and comfort, and you run your thumb on his skin in an attempt to soothe him.

Your eyes water with happy tears the more he talks, his eyes now on you as he gets encouraged.

"What I'm rambling about is that I'm in love with you and I had to tell you that or I would burst into pieces."- he exhales and you giggle, a tear rolling down your cheek as you smile wide at him.

Hyunjin's free hand lifts up automatically to wipe away your tear.

"I hope that was a happy tear."- he says quietly and you chuckle.

"Hyunjin, I was coming to tell you the same thing actually. All my life, I got used to being alone and doing everything by myself, but then you came along and the more time I spent with you, the more I wanted to have you next to me. You brought a spark to my life, one I can say I've never felt before but it ignited something so tender inside me. And, yes I said I don't always believe in destiny but at this moment I believe that we were meant to find each other. I really... can't imagine my life without you either."- your eyes become teary again.

"I'm in love with you."- you finish, your soul bursting with fireworks.

Hyunjin had longed to hear those words, especially from you and he feels as if his heart had blossomed completely into a beautiful flower, touched by your sun and your love, saved from the withering state it was enveloped in.

"Can I kiss you?"- he asks gently, gazing at you longingly as you squeeze his hand.

"Please."- you almost beg as relief washes over your body.

Hyunjin is freaking out in the inside, his heart palpitates as he leans in slowly, his free hand cups your cheek, and you lean into it immediately as he rubs his thumb gently under your eye.

You lean in closer, so close that you can feel his warmth radiate off of him, you are enveloped by the smell of you on him, and the familiar sweet scent of Hyunjin under all of it.

His breath hits your lips and your eyes flutter closed, waiting for his lips to claim yours.

Boom!

The thunder crashes loudly, making the windows clatter and the electricity turn off, scaring the both of you as you clutch at each other.

"Fuck!"- Hyunjin squeaks and you're quick to get up and light a few candles.

There's still some light coming from the outside but the dark clouds make it look like it's evening and not the middle of the day.

"You okay?"- you ask him and he blinks up at you.

"I will be, when you come back here."- he pats the spot you were sitting on the couch just a few moments before.

You chuckle, cheeks heating up as your heart skips a beat and you make your way to him.

Hyunjin takes your hand and gently pulls you down.

"Now... I don't wanna be interrupted again even if the house falls apart around us."- he says and you let out a giggle as he cups your face and leans in again.

You scoot closer to him, your hand on his knee and Hyunjin's eyes close as he finally presses his lips to yours.

They're soft and sweet, even better than you had fantasized as he moves them carefully against yours, treating you gently like a delicate flower.

You savor his taste as you kiss him slowly, his lip falling between yours as you gently suck on it, one of his hands runs down to your waist and the other holds the back of your head. You lift your free hand up, tangling your fingers in his soft hair.

Hyunjin lets out a breath as your lips continue dancing gently together and you now understand those descriptions of kisses between soulmates cause that is what this moment feels like.

Not just butterflies, not even fireworks but it's the whole universe. It is every star that ever shined, every galaxy that ever formed, every rain drop that ever fell down to the earth, every 'i love you' that has ever been uttered poured into one single kiss.

It's not just physical, it's like you have reached into each other's souls and they're now kissing.

Your head is dizzy as he presses his lips harder against you, his fingertips gently scratching your head, holding himself back not to scare you away immediately even though a fire of burning passion runs through Hyunjin's body. He chases your taste, the sweet love dripping from your lips, one he longed for his entire existence.

Your whole body reacts to him, tingles running everywhere from the top of your head all the way to your toes, and you clutch onto his shirt, your other hand finding purchase on the back of his neck as you bite on his lower lip gently.

Hyunjin lets out a noise and his tongue swipes your lips and they part immediately, letting him in to taste each other, an addicting feeling overwhelming the both of you as your tongues crash together in a passionate dance.

Your heart beats fast, your eyes fill with tears, your core throbs and it's too much.

You whimper and jolt away, making Hyunjin stop immediately as he leans back and looks at you, his lips swollen and parted, even more red than usually. He's panting and looking at you with a mix of lust, endearment and confusion.

"Sorry- it's just- wow."- you say breathlessly and Hyunjin lets out a laugh of relief.

"I know."- he nods, closer to you again, his hands coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear and gently caress your face.

"What happens when you have to leave?"- you ask, thoughts are suddenly swirling in your mind.

"Hey, don't worry about that now."- Hyunjin quickly shakes his head. "Even if we were torn apart by space and time I would always find you and come back to you."- he says and you chuckle.

"Are you sure you're not a poet?"- you ask, as he pulls you closer to him.

"Isn't every man in love a poet of sorts?"

"And a philosopher, it seems."- you smirk and he chuckles with a timid smile.

"Come here."- he beckons you to find a home in his arms.

You lean your head on his chest, listen to his erratic heartbeat as his warmth embraces you.

"Hold me."- he whispers in your hair and you wrap your arms around his waist timidly as he wraps his around you, bringing you closer so that your legs touch. You hold him tighter, as the two of you melt into each other.

Hyunjin feels as if he could cry rivers in this moment, the love he craved for ever since he was a child radiating off of you and touching every part of his being.

"Don't you worry about anything right now."- he whispers as he gently caresses your head, his fingers running through your hair.

"Everything is gonna be okay."- he says like he knows those are the words you longed to hear forever. You squeeze him tighter, getting impossibly closer to him, the two of you becoming one person in your little bubble as the storm rages outside, the thunder loud and dangerous.

But, in each other's arms you feel safe from any harm.

Somehow, you managed to fall asleep in Hyunjin's arms, waking up with a little jolt as the thunder booms loudly again.

"Hey."- you hear his gentle voice before you look up at him.

"Hey, how long was I asleep?"- you ask, your voice a little groggy.

"About an hour."- Hyunjin says as he reaches for your tea cup so he can give it to you.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry!"- you apologize, cheeks instantly burning in embarassment.

"No, it's okay. Don't apologize."- he shakes his head as he gives you the drink.

You sip on it as he keeps looking at you like you're something so fascinating.

"What?"- you giggle, setting the cup down.

"I need to kiss you again."- he says lowly and a wave runs through you as he leans in.

You fall into him, your arms around his waist again, caressing his back as he holds your head and kisses you lovingly and passionately, his lips smooth against yours.

Being like this with someone is something you haven't experienced in a long time, besides you have never felt a feeling this intense with anyone but Hyunjin.

Usually scared to give in, you give into his kisses and caresses easily, melting in his arms as he keeps pouring his affection from his lips to yours.

The kiss gets heated again but you let it this time, even though your heart is beating hard and you clutch onto his shirt as his tongue savors the taste of you, swallowing every little noise you make.

His fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand gently runs down on your waist to your hip as he gently touches you.

You can't help yourself as you bite on his lip again and he lets out a little noise, leaning into you as he squeezes the flesh on your thigh.

Your body feels as if it's on fire and your core throbs with want and need again.

You part for air, both gasping and Hyunjin looks at your eyes, clouded with lust, your lips swollen and hair disheveled and he thinks you've never looked more beautiful than right now.

He leans in to leave kisses on your cheeks, gentle and slow like his lips are worshipping every part of your skin. No one had kissed you like that before, his lips on your eyelids, letting you know how precious every part of you is to him.

He leaves little kisses on your jawline, all the way towards your ear, kissing the spot beneath it gently, lingering there for a moment as you suck in a shaky breath.

"I saw your paintings."- you remember and Hyunjin leans back, his cheeks rosy as he looks at you with an innocent and surprised look on his face.

"W-what?"- he stutters a little and you chuckle.

"I went to look for you at Isaac's house. And he showed me the paintings you made."- you say as he keeps looking at you like a lost child, your hand lifts up to touch his face gently.

Hyunjin melts into you, pushing his cheek in your palm almost like a kitten.

He had no idea how touch deprived he was, how much he needed your kind hands to show him that the world isn't as cold as he thought it was.

You see how your touch influences him so you put your other hand on his face too, caressing him as he blinks at you, his lips pouty and kissable as you stare at them.

"Did you like them?"- he asks quietly.

"I love them. You made me look so beautiful."- you giggle.

"You are beautiful. I just paint what I see."- he says and you chuckle, your heart picking up speed again. Hyunjin's hands rest on your waist as he scoots closer to you.

"I was gonna show them to you soon, I swear. I was just scared you'll think I'm some kind of creep, painting you over and over again."- he says.

"No, I'm honored, really. I'm glad I inspired you."

"You really did. For the longest time, I painted only for money, for my exhibitions. I painted what I knew people want to see. It left a bitter taste in my mouth, taking something so beautiful and delicate and turning it into currency. They always look for meanings in those paintings but they're fucking meaningless. You gave meaning to my art again, y/n. My muse."- he whispers the last part, gravitating towards your lips again as you run your hands through his hair.

"H-Hyunjin."- you whisper before he presses his lips on yours again.

The storm reaches its culmination outside as you keep exchanging kisses and words of affection, your hands on each other, sweet and slow, mapping each other out, somehow new yet familiar, like you were in love in all your previous lives, like your hands have already touched, like you know exactly how to love Hyunjin.

You entangle from each other only when you realize you're hungry.

"Ugh, we can't really cook anything since there's no electricity."- you purse your lips.

"Maybe some sandwiches?"- Hyunjin shrugs and you nod, the two of you making your way to the kitchen, Hyunjin holding your hand as you lead him there.

You light up a few candles and try to find anything in your fridge just to make an edible sandwich.

"This is kinda romantic, don't you think?"- Hyunjin asks as you look out the window to see that the thunder has subsided a little, but the rain is still going strong.

"A real candle lit dinner."- you say and he chuckles.

"I think the storm is calming down. We might get the electricity back soon."- you say.

"I hope so. I don't really want to walk to Isaac's in complete darkness."- Hyunjin says.

"You don't have to walk to Isaac's at all. I was kinda hoping you'd stay the night."- you say shyly and Hyunjin's eyes are wide, his cheeks red.

"Really? Would that be okay? I don't want to intrude."- he says and you laugh.

"You had your tongue in my mouth for the last hour or so, I think we're way past intruding."- you smirk.

"Oh, for sure."- he chuckles, his heart skipping a beat. "Well, in that case, I'd love to stay the night."

"Good, I'm gonna go prepare the bed."- you stand up and leave Hyunjin in the kitchen.

He looks out at the pouring rain, wondering if he's in some kind of dream. He's been longing for you since he first saw you in your flower shop, so sweet and beautiful, surrounded by the pretty flowers, no paintbrush could ever capture the beauty of you, not even if Hyunjin sat and painted you his whole life, you would still be more beautiful than anything his hands could create.

Moreover, he has wished to be loved his whole life. He felt as if his own mother has thrown him away, his college girlfriends dated him for his looks, the girls he slept with after he got famous were only after his money and fame, only infatuated with Hyunjin, the celebrity. It was all meaningless.

He was thrown into the sharp teeth of a beast, controlled by his manager and the media, what the people want comes first, never his own wishes, only to someday be chewed up and spit out when he's no longer young, beautiful, interesting, fruitful, trendy.

Hyunjin craved a deeper connection, one that transcends the superficial barriers, one that feels genuine and simple, natural and nurturing, someone to grow him to the sky, someone he can help grow to the sky too, to touch the clouds together.

And between all the darkness that enveloped his heart and mind, you are like a beacon of shining light as you appear before him with a smile that makes even the most mundane things in life look stunning.

"I found a spare toothbrush for you."- you lean on the doorway.

"Great, thanks."- he smiles back as you nod.

"I'll wait for you in my room."- you say and Hyunjin goes to the bathroom to get ready for bed, placing his necklace and rings neatly to the side.

He makes his way to your room and upon seeing you all cuddled up in your blankets, his heart swells with love.

"Come, join me."- you beckon and he doesn't need to be told twice, as he makes his way to you and gets comfortable under your sheets.

You lay close, turned towards each other and your hand is on his cheek again, gently touching his soft skin as he lays his hand on your waist and pulls you closer, his fingers caressing your lower back.

For a few moments, all you can hear is the sound of falling rain through your half opened window, as you let your hand explore Hyunjin's skin.

Your fingertips dance on his jawline, then slowly make their way to his neck. Hyunjin's breath gets stuck in his throat as you touch his sensitive skin, he leans his head back a little to give you more space to move. You scoot closer to him, your bodies heating up together as you trace your finger on his collarbone.

Hyunjin forgets everything in that moment, his hand is steady on your lower back, nails digging into your skin occasionally but just slightly, not enough to hurt you.

You lay your palm on his chest, over his heart as you feel it beating fast.

Hyunjin realizes he has never felt seen, cared for or safe as he did with you which was funny considering you haven't known each other for too long, but it seemed as if you understood him better than some other people who 'knew' him for a longer time.

"Do you believe in soulmates?"- Hyunjin asks, almost cringing at how vunerable his voice sounds in that moment.

His hand slides up and down your back soothingly as you snap out of your trance and crack a smile at him.

"I always wished they'd exist."- you confess, your voice audible enough only for him to hear.

"Do you think that's us?"- he asks, his brows lifted and lips parted and you can't resist touching his lip with your thumb.

Hyunjin inhales sharply, pulling you even closer to his body, your legs entangling together.

"I do."- you whisper and he smiles at you, his eyes sparkly and loving.

"Really? You do?"- he beams at you and you chuckle.

"There's no other way to explain what I feel when I'm with you."- you say.

"Ever since I first saw you I knew you were going to be important to me. They say there's an invisible thread connecting two souls and I feel like I saw it the moment I laid my eyes on you in your flower shop."- he says.

"Hyunjin..."- your eyes water again.

"Please, don't cry."- he pouts at you, his hand wiping your tears immediately. "If you keep crying, I'll start crying too."

You chuckle at his words, holding him tighter.

"It's just happy tears. I've never felt like this before and I'm really scared."- you confess.

"I've never felt like this either. And of course I'm scared too but we will figure it out together, hm?"

"Okay."- you smile and he leans in to kiss you for the nth time that day, never getting enough of your lips, addicted to your taste, to the feeling of pure love your kisses bring to him.

You kiss lazily and sloppily until you're half asleep and Hyunjin tucks his head in the crook of your neck as you hold him tightly.

The rain had stopped, but Hyunjin's eyes water at the feeling of being comforted in your arms, near your heartbeat as you keep him safe from the evil world.

You fall asleep, your nose buried in his hair, inhaling the familiar sweet scent of Hyunjin mixed with your floral shampoo.

Hyunjin's nose is buried in your skin and his arms hold you tight like he never wants to let you go, he falls asleep to the sound of your steady breathing.

They say soulmates have an invisible thread between them, they say that soulmates recognize each other from past lives, that they have loved each other for centuries and that they will always find each other no matter how far apart they are.

And now, you wholeheartedly believe that.

Hyunjin wakes up with the sound of birds chirping outside and in his half-asleep state, he forgets where he is for a moment.

His eyes are still closed, but he can smell you all around him and realization dawns on him. He had spent the night in your embrace.

A blissful smile spreads on his face as he reaches his arm in front of him, only for it to land on an empty spot.

A muffled whine escapes his lips as he keeps searching for you. He cracks one eye open and sees that indeed you have gotten up already, leaving him to wake up alone.

Hyunjin pouts a little, stretching his whole body, he hasn't slept this well... ever.

He sits up, it looks like it's still cloudy outside and the fresh air feels good on his skin, the smell of petrichor filling up his nose and tickling his brain just the right way.

Hyunjin makes his way to the bathroom first before he comes to find you, spotting you sitting outside in your garden.

He smiles fondly, pouring the coffee you made in a cup before he joins you.

You had woken up earlier, almost getting jumpscared when you saw Hyunjin right in front of your face.

You had forgotten he was there, but seeing his sweet sleeping face first thing in the morning made you melt.

Through sleep laced movements you had smoothed out his hair and caressed his cheek, he hummed in his sleep, chasing your touch but he didn't wake up.

You leaned in and pressed your lips gently on his forehead before you quietly untangled yourself from Hyunjin, tucking him in after you got up.

You assessed the damage in your garden, which was really nonexistent, the drainage system was made well, first by your mother and then you did all the upkeeping and made sure that the garden stays safe during storms like this.

You made some coffee for the both of you and found some fruit and cookies to serve as a little coffee snack before actual breakfast or brunch.

"Morning."- Hyunjin's voice brings you out from your thoughts.

"Hey, morning."- you smile as he sets his cup down on the table and rounds it to stand in front of you.

You're about to ask what he's doing but his hand cups your chin, tilting your head back a little as he leans in with a smirk and presses his lips on yours.

"Need my morning kiss."- he mumbles against your lips as he kisses you sweetly.

You smile into the kiss as he takes your breath away.

Hyunjin leans back and kisses your cheek once before sitting down on the other side of the table.

"Did you sleep well?"- you ask.

"Like a baby. Best sleep ever."- Hyunjin smiles, picking up a slice of orange.

"Me too. I actually didn't wake up during the night for once."- you nod.

"Mhm. But you left me this morning."- he pouts.

"Don't be dramatic."- you chuckle.

"I'll try not to."- he winks. "Nothing happened to the garden, right?"- he adds.

"No, the flowers just got a little more water than usually but they'll be fine."- you answer, taking another sip of your coffee. "You wanna take a walk? I always love taking walks after a storm."

"Oh, for sure."

You decide to grab a hoodie and his cardigan that was still in your closet.

"Here, it'll be a bit chilly probably."- you reach the cardigan to him but Hyunjin smirks and grabs your oversized hoodie.

"I think this goes better with my outfit."- he says and you chuckle as your cheeks become rosy.

"But I wanted to return it to you."- you motion with the cardigan.

"Keep it, it looks better on you anyways."- he says and you put it on, the smell of him still lingers, woven into the material.

Hyunjin can't help his urge to kiss you all the time and now that he's sure you reciprocate his feelings, he can't hold back anymore, especially when he sees you in his clothes.

His hands come down on your waist and you squeak a little in surprise as your body falls into his and your arms wrap around his shoulders.

With blissful smiles painted on your faces you kiss and kiss.

"We kinda have to get to the door and actually leave if we wanna take a walk."- you smile in between soft kisses.

"Mhm. In a minute."- Hyunjin keeps kissing you, your head tilted back as you both stumble and you almost his the wall behind you but Hyunjin's hand on the back of your head cushions you, preventing you from hitting the hard surface.

"Jinnie..."- you mumble and he chuckles happily at the nickname before leaning back.

"I'm sorry, I can't get enough of you."- his hands slide up and down your waist to your hipbone.

"We have all day."

"Not enough."- he shakes his head with a smile as you roll your eyes playfully, leading him out and holding his hand.

The two of you stroll in the rain covered streets, your fingers and hearts entwined.

Everything is clean and fresh, each dirty deed, dark thought and bad feeling have been washed away, leaving behind a clean slate, something to begin anew, a blank canvas to be painted by two lovers.

If someone had told Hyunjin a few months ago, that he will be hiding out on a little island and meeting the love of his life there, he'd laugh and say they're crazy.

You never expected either to meet someone you fell so hard for in such a short amount of time, but everything feels perfect, like it was made from your dreams.

Still, there's a nagging feeling at the back of your head and Hyunjin's heart, knowing life is never that easy.

The two of you look at each other, squeezing your hands together as you smile.

The black clouds are gone, but now something new stirs, preparing to rain down.

The next few days pass by in a rosy haze.

Hyunjin and you spend almost every waking hour together, your cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much but your lips never tire of kissing his.

Your hands constantly search for each other, relief in your souls when they entwine.

Of course, the whole island knows and they've expressed nothing but happiness, Isaac went as far as to hug Hyunjin so tightly that the breath from his lungs got squeezed out for a second.

Hyunjin has never felt this much genuine love for the person he is, not for his things or art.

His soul is lifting up to the sky, taking yours together with it as they dance among the stars.

But yours is a heavy heart and as Hyunjin spends another night in your bed, sleeping soundly after the two of you had a laugh together, sharing some funny stories from school days, as the laughter subsided and the dust settled, you start thinking.

Your thoughts swirl like colors on a pallette, bleeding into each other, not letting you close your eyes and sleep peacefully like Hyunjin does.

You're scared that he'll leave, go back to the city that has so much to offer and when he does he will forget about you, who has nothing but your flowers. You wonder what he even fancies about you, you're nothing special, just a lonely flower girl on a small island, doing the same thing every single day.

You think Hyunjin is beatiful inside and out, he is like a work of art, carved out by the very hands of gods, his soul radiating more than yours, you fall back into his shadow and you think he can do better than you.

Your mind starts picking everything apart like it always does, convincing you that it's too good to be true and something bad must happen because there is no way you deserve to be this happy, this easily.

Your tears slide quickly down your cheeks, a choked sob held back in your throat and you're afraid that if you sniffle or make any noises, you'll wake Hyunjin up and disturb him with your nonsense.

You get up as slowly and quietly as you can, making your way to your bathroom where you break down and cry silently, sitting in your shower and hugging your knees to your chest.

How do you tell him all of that without sounding so weak and desperate?

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight @kkamismom12 @its-stayville-forever @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin

[honey-minded-hivemind]

What about a Dreamwalker AU, where Reader is somehow stuck in dreams, and that is how they interact with the X-Men?

Reader perhaps has an enchanted or cursed item that keeps their body from waking up wherever it is, but they can interact with the X-Men in their own world. And Reader has run into them quite a lot, enough that Reader can anticipate where they'll find certain ones at certain places, and where to go and where to hide, or even a few ways to outwit the younger ones.

Reader isn't sure why they end up in these odd places, or why they always walk alone, or why they frequent certain areas more than others. They aren't aren't sure when they get there, just suddenly coming to, and finding themself in a new place, and have to try and explore where they are...

They narrow where they go down to about five areas:

• The Art and Museum Area, where the outer area is full of tall, well-sparsed trees and several ponds and small hills, then the buildings, with grand marble columns and one area that seems to be a museum with art and and nature exhibits, a workshop and craft area, a place for theater, and large rooms that seem to be full of mirrors and paintings and windows...

• The Old Lodge and Mansion, where there's there's old, large wooden house, varnished and polished, with many aquariums and wooden furniture and plush rugs and stony walkways and inlaid paths, winding steps leading up to it, the various tall pime trees and other conifers that surround it, and the streams and waterfall, trickling with fish, amd somw that that fill built-in aquariums... but it's seemingly cut-off from the world...

• The Odd School and Library, with various buildings, fields, halls, and books, full of art and classrooms and an auditorium and lunchrooms, and even tucked-away rooms and odd halls that seem creepy at best...

• The City and Its Shops, full of all kinds of places and streets and long winding ramps and roadtrips, ranging from a large, hive-like mall full of all sorts of stores, the older worn buildings for groceries and general stores, the fast food and restaurants and bars, the tight streets and the old steep park and the offices and occasional dollar store or thrift place...

• And the Woods, far from the city and the school and the other places, where there are safer trails with calmer paths to take... and then the wilder ones that follow rivers and over look ridges and cliffs, that flood when it rains and where vines and trees dangle within reach, and where you can see the animals and the sand and dirt and the mud amd the water...

Reader doesn't know why they like they end up there, or why they see these odd people, they just know they do, and that sometimes, Reader runs. They'd didn't, not in the beginning. But they do now, after encountering them enough times to know they're trying to make Reader stay, to listen to them, to be with them, and Reader just- they can't. They don't know why... but they can't. (It doesn't help that sometimes those odd people would chase after them, or try to sneak up on them, or try to shoot them with a dart or pin them so they couldn't escape. But Reader always seem.to eacape. They don't know how, but they do.)

(Dreamwalkinh isn't Reader's mutation, that's caused by something else, but what do y'all think Reader's mutation could or should or would be?)

[tadpolesonalgae]

Chapter 9

A/N: Please defer to warning section in Chapter 1

-Chapter 8-

You’re transported to a room of low light—Rhys’ bedroom, you realise.

It’s cavernous, decadently large for one male, though there are currently three in the room alongside you. The High Lord releases you enough for you to scan the room—at least allowing you the opportunity to gather your surroundings before they pounce.

Your eyes mark the Spymaster first, stood by the open window, moonlight catching in his inky hair, making it appear like the softest silk. He shifts on his feet, dark, starving hunger in the depths of his gaze, clouds of billowing lust making you swallow.

Movement catches your eyes, tearing them away from the Shadowsinger.

Your eyes widen marginally as you locate Cassian.

He’s been tied up, as Rhys had claimed. The male’s hands are bound to each of the chair arms, the no-doubt enchanted rope shackling his wrists and biceps to keep him still. Each of his ankles are in turn tied to the wooden legs, his torso pinned against the seat to keep him from moving.

There’s a wooden table before him, as if he’s preparing for a feast—the furniture lengthways to him.

His wings flare slightly at his back when he spots you, drawing a muffled sound from his throat.

Shadows are gagging him, you realise.

“Cassian,” you breath, snapping your head toward the Shadowsinger, concern shining in your eyes. “Is he—”

Azriel crushes his mouth against yours, tongue sweeping in with such dominance and hunger it makes your knees weak. His scarred hands cup your jaw, angling you correctly so he can delve deeper, taste all of you, mark all of you.

A needy sound of surprise is pulled from you as his scarred hands grip your waist brutally, tugging you hard against him, hips dragging against your body as he begins to satiate himself. At your back, you feel Rhysand approach, squishing you into Azriel’s chest as you’re sandwiched between them.

His hands grip your hips, dragging his cock over the swell of your ass as he nips and bites at your neck, already beginning to paint his colours into your skin.

You whimper, unsure where to put your hands. You’ve been in this line of business for around three centuries and you’ve never had an experience where you’ve been so thoroughly overwhelmed—so completely dominated. So completely okay with it.

You’re about to settle your hands over Azriel’s upper arms when he growls, hands dropping to your thighs as he shoves the hem of your dress up, pulling it away as Rhys’ deft fingers work on the ties at your back so they can be rid of it. You’re reduced to your underthings within the span of seconds, and the males growl as they take you in.

Azriel’s cold hazel eyes trace over the red lace set you had adorned yourself in, the matching ruby red heels that accentuated the nail varnish you’d decorated the tips of your fingers in—as if they had been dipped in blood. He grips you by the throat while Rhys’ powerful arms snake around your waist, hand settling with proprietary entitlement over your heat. The High Lord’s front presses into you as he rests his chin on your shoulder, watching his Spymaster intently.

“All dressed up, I see.” He says, icily, and you’re brought back to when you first met. How withdrawn he was. Distanced.

Something intrinsic warns you not to speak back.

His eyes shift away from you, turning slightly to draw Cassian’s attention. “Are you pleased, soldier?” He asks, nodding to your red-adorned body. “Is it worth being tied up for? Seeing her in your colour?”

He’s remarkably good at making you feel insignificant.

Awareness lights your body as Cassian drags his wary eyes over you, starting at your shoulders, down over your breasts, the side of your hip—everything he can see from his chair. The shadows vanish from his mouth, and you can make out how the edges of his lips look raw.

“Yes,” he replies hoarsely, dipping his head in a nod, eyes filling with hunger and ravenous lust.

Azriel merely hums, turning his attention back to you. His fingers hook beneath the strap of your brassiere, skimming his fingers over your near bare skin, before dipping to the waist band of your underwear. “I think you need a closer look at her. Gather in all the fine details,” he says blandly, snapping the band back against your hip, watching for a reaction. Seeking one, by the looks of it.

You keep your expression neutral.

Something like approval flickers in his eyes, before he’s stepping back, allowing Rhys to stand to his full height, hand pressing between your shoulder blades as he guides you toward Cassian, shoving you forward roughly. Close enough you can make out the mouth-watering shape of his arousal through his leathers.

But instead, Rhys’ hands grip your upper arms from behind, twisting you sharply so you’re facing the table. “Not that way, darling,” he drawls softly into your ear. “Cassian won’t be getting anything until we’ve had a piece of you. Teach him not to grab at his food.” And then he’s shoving you down, bending you over roughly so your hips are pressing tight against the wooden edge. Darkness binds your forearms at your back, allowing Rhysand’s hands to greedily grip your hips, one brushing over your ass, making you arch slightly into the touch.

“Better?” The Shadowsinger asks, now stood before you, the other side of the table. He’s staring at Cassian, but his hand fists in your hair, jerking you up so the General can get a nice view of you, makeup and other slight cosmetics undisturbed on your pretty face. “Like the sight of her bent over this table? Ready to take both of us?”

Cassian nods, and you mark the heavy roll of his throat.

“Maybe you’ll like her more when we paint her white,” he muses, and you tighten around nothing. Hazel eyes flick to yours, and you could swear you see a spark of dark satisfaction in his gaze, as if he can sense your every reaction to them.

You don’t have time to ponder it when Azriel’s free hand drops to his leathers, undoing the knot at the top, then stepping closer. His hand is still fisted in your hair, keeping your mouth level with his hips, and there’s nothing but lust in his cold, dark eyes as he jerks you lightly. “Untie them.”

Your eyes drop to the front of his leathers, where you can so clearly make out the prominent shape of his arousal. If you weren’t already wet, you would be now. You swallow, shifting forward slightly as your teeth clamp carefully around one of the strings, pulling it lose, allowing it to swing free.

You move to the other one, unable to help the way your nose rubs against his length, feeling how hard he is. His fist tightens in your hair in warning, and you tug the string free, moving lower.

This time, you angle your head to avoid brushing him again, but Rhys subtly rolls his hips, shifting you on the table, your lips pressing firmly against him. Azriel pulls you back harshly, smacking you hard across the jaw, making your nails dig into your palm with the force. “Such a fucking tease, aren’t you?” He growls softly, bringing you back to the ties. “Just have to push your luck.”

You bite the inside of you lip, before offering an apologetic lap up the seam of his leathers, over the ridge of his cock.

Rhys chokes on a laugh, while Cassian groans quietly, noting something you haven’t. What—

Azriel snarls, yanking you back, shadows constricting around your torso to help pull you upright. His hand grips your jaw as his lip curls, forcing your mouth open as he spits onto your tongue. You blink at the pain, then warmth heats your skin as you feel the wetness in your mouth, his flavour coating your tongue, and you want so badly to rub your thighs together, but Rhys is making sure to keep them spread.

Hazel eyes flick to violet ones, and you stiffen when the High Lord’s hand wraps over your neck, forcing you to crane backward, mouth still open as he puts his own saliva down your throat. This time you whimper as he pulls away, cock dragging over your backside teasingly, fingers deftly brushing over your front as he leaves.

“So lovely, finally seeing you giving something back after such a long wait,” the High Lord drawls, hands leaving to attend to himself as Azriel drags you back for the last few ties. “Don’t praise her,” he says roughly, “she’ll feel rewarded.” You can just picture how Rhys shrugs, carrying that air of nonchalance to him, “I can’t help it if I want to reward her. Just look at her. Wouldn’t you agree, Cass?”

Wisely, the male keeps quiet, just watching you with that carnal lust in his hazel eyes, burning bright in the dark. You follow his example of making good decisions, and continue pulling loose the strings in Azriel’s leathers, salivating at the arousing outline on him.

“Reward her when she’s done something, then. You don’t train a pet by feeding them treats nonstop. That’s how they become errant and spoiled,” the Shadowsinger replies, hand tightening painfully in your hair as you move onto the last set of strings before you’ll be able to have him. You hope to the mother he doesn’t make you do this for Rhysand, too.

“I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of whipping the disobedience out of her, Az,” the High Lord drawls, and it occurs to you he might be buying you time. To free you from whatever nasty punishment the Spymaster had in store for you.

Any thankfulness you had felt disappears as he drags his finger down the line of your underwear, stopping as the slight indent in your soft skin, where the lace becomes shamefully wet. He presses against your entrance lightly. “That being said, if you drip onto my shoes, darling, you’re going to have to lick it up.”

You squirm against his shadows slightly, tugging in search for some form of comfortability. “Stop struggling.” The darkness wraps tighter in consequence and you halt the movements of your arms, following his orders. “Better,” he says, though it sounds reluctant.

The ties are out, and you push as upward as you can manage, nose brushing his lower abdomen as your teeth grasp the hem of his leathers, peeling them away from his hips, then you’ll finally be able to—

He tugs you away roughly, gripping your jaw as he forces you to look at him. “Greedy,” he mutters, icy hazel piercing into you, cold enough that you shiver beneath his grip. Amusement surfaces as quickly as it vanishes, his eyes flicking to Rhys’. His gaze returns to you, watching with anticipation as—

The High Lord groans as he pushes the red lace to the side, devouring the sight of your gleaming cunt. He can’t help himself, he needs to— “Rhysand,” Azriel growls in reprimand, about to remind him that you only receive pleasure when you’ve done something deserving of a reward.

“Open.” He snarls, and your legs shake at the inherent dominance in his voice, the power of your High Lord crackling in the air as you spread your legs further, curving your back in attempts to please him. It seems like it’s enough, because he dropping to a crouch, hands spreading you wide as he laps a firm stroke up your heat, groaning as he does so.

You’re vaguely aware of Cassian shifting in his chair as he’s forced to watch, watch as Rhys and Az get to taste you, fuck you, and he’s strapped to this damned seat.

The High Lord cursed under his breath as he buries his face into you, pushing you forward on the table even as you attempt to push back into him, revelling in the hot wetness of his tongue, finally receiving some stimuli. Your eyes roll from the sudden relief, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you keen beneath them.

Azriel’s gaze drags down to you, still cold and unforgiving, but there’s undeniable heat burning deep within him—perhaps one that’s been suppressed for too long. Maybe that’s why you try again, slowly inching forward, getting him to see what you’re wanting to do, seeking permission.

He grits his teeth, but drags you closer, allowing you to pull his leathers away from him. It’s only when he’s fully out that you stop, holding back from licking him up and down, getting a taste of him.

“Rhys,” Azriel commands, “up.”

It seems the High Lord senses what’s about to happen, because he finally stands, but leaving you feeling cold between your legs. You need his hot mouth encasing you again, need the wet muscle of his tongue flicking over your clit.

A needy whimper is strung from your throat, making Cassian buck with that same desperate fervour.

Your lips part in a sharp inhale when you feel Rhys’ tip press against your entrance, dragging himself through your wetness to slick himself up. And then you’re writhing, pushing back against him as that overwhelming need crushes you, the need to be filled, to be fucked, to be utterly and entirely owned, so overpowering it’s all you can think about.

The High Lord snarls his displeasure, hand splaying over your lower back, shoving you down into the table to still your movements as he guides his cock to your entrance, just the head inside of you. “You know, Az,” Rhys drawls lazily, an edge to his voice, “as much as I want to pleasure her, I don’t think she was very good just now.”

You can practically see the gleam in the Spymaster’s eye at the silent suggestion. Just your luck that Azriel has sadistic tendencies in him. “Punish her, then.” Rhysand hums to himself, as if he’s thinking.

“I don’t think it’ll get through to her… Maybe something more unorthodox will encourage her.”

To your right, Cassian hisses sharply, and in your peripherals you see how his body goes rigid. You freeze, turning to look at the Warlord. “Rhys!” You hiss, worried for the General’s well-being. You don’t miss the darkness that slithers away from the sensitive wings at his back, and you heat with a guess at what that hiss was from.

The High Lord only laughs darkly, “that’ll do. That’ll do nicely, don’t you think? Every time you misbehave, we’ll give your pleasure to Cassian over there. I imagine that’s torture enough for both of you.” His hips shift and he presses a little deeper, but this time you keep your head, for both your sakes. “Very good,” he taunts.

You only grit your teeth as you fight your instincts to grind back on him, to slam your hips against him, bury him deep inside your cunt. You try desperately to catch Azriel’s eye, needing something to distract you with, but he does nothing to come to your aid.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

The Shadowsinger shoves you down onto the table, cheek pressing hard against the wood as your eyes lock with Cassian’s. “Watch him,” the Spymaster instructs, and you don’t have it in you to face the repercussions of disobeying him. You can only imagine what he could gladly come up with, given the chance.

Hazel eyes land on your own, and you know his gaze is a reflection of your own, the need, the hunger, the lust, all going unsatisfied. That is, until Rhys pulls his hips back, to slide in further. In. And in. And in. Your mouth drops open as your eyes widen with pleasure, back arching as you feel Cassian’s attention drag down your body, flicking back and forth between your euphoric expression and the male between your legs.

He barely fits all the way in, but you’re taking as much as you can so it’ll have to do. Rhys groans as he feels the wet heat of you encompassing him, wrapped tight in your cunt, finally. His hands squeeze your ass as he pants, fighting the urge to rut into you, fuck you until you can’t stand, can do nothing but blabber and drool around Azriel’s cock.

The Shadowsinger pulls you from the table, yanking you up so he can look at you. For the first time that night, amusement sparks openly in his eyes as he tilts your face to Cassian, gripping your jaw in a bruising grip. “Who’s that?” He asks, supporting your shoulder carefully. “Can you correctly name him?” Azriel drawls, enjoying how you’re already losing your mind.

“No? Can’t do it?” He asks, turning you back forcefully to look at him. Rhys rolls his hips against you as a moan spills from your lips as you struggle to get a hold of yourself. “What about you, hm? What’s your name?” You look at him through half-lidded eyes, and he moves his hand to grip the muscles in your cheeks, lightly squeezing. “Can’t do it, whore? Come on, say your name.”

Cassian hisses from your side, and you know Rhys is playing with him to entertain himself.

You blink up at the Spymaster, panting deeply.

He has to grit his teeth as your lips part a little further, and he knows you’re doing it to tease him—just as you always are. Your back curves as his attention is drawn to your chest, nipples peaking through the thin lace. How dearly he wants the run his thumbs over them, take them in his mouth, flick his tongue over them—

“Pretty thing,” you moan breathlessly, “you like to call me pretty thing.”

He could kiss you. He could really give you anything you wanted.

Azriel groans, lowering you closer to the table again. “That’s right,” he mutters, the words turning guttural, “such a pretty thing.” He guides you to his cock, and honestly nearly loses it when your lips part for him, eyes peering up at him as you flick your tongue over the slit in his head, lapping up the bead of moisture that had gathered there.

It’s the sign Rhys has been waiting for—the go ahead from Azriel.

His hips draw back, and he slams into you, making you moan around the Shadowsinger’s cock. It comes out muffled and wet, and you’re pushed further down onto his cock with the force of the thrust, back curving sinfully as you run your tongue under the base of him.

Cassian takes in a sharp inhale, but this time it’s not from either of them. It’s from you. The sight of you finally submitting to the males, enjoying them, taking them so readily. Cassian could sob, would beg on his knees to be set free, but he knows they won’t allow that. Not until they’ve had their way with you first. To teach him his lesson about not sharing.

A flush warms your cheeks as you pull back slightly, pressing a kiss to the tip of Azriel’s cock, leaving the smallest stain of pigment decorating the milky slit. “I didn’t think you’d be capable of maidenly blushing,” he remarks mockingly, and you tighten around the High Lord.

“We’ll make sure to fuck whatever remaining innocence you have right out of you,” Rhys purrs, gripping your hips as he pounds into you relentlessly. You’ve been craving him for a while now, and you’re responding so well to him, to the touch of his cock inside of you. You won’t last long.

You whimper, taking more of Azriel into your mouth, but it’s difficult to do so when your arms are bound, having to use your abdominals to leverage yourself correctly. And he’s so big, you need every advantage you can get to make sure you pleasure him. To think he’ll be spilling into your mouth, and you’ll get to taste him—

“Deeper.” He commands, and you can’t tell who he’s talking to. But you moan when Rhys bucks his hips, finding that spot inside of you that makes you weep, the spot that’s been undisturbed for a little too long in your time as a pleasure worker.

You writhe against the Spymaster’s shadows, needing to take him deeper. You need to show him how good you can make him feel, in return for the pleasure he’s giving you in allowing you to outlive such a depraved fantasy as this.

Tears brim at the edges of your eyes as you look at him pleadingly, begging him to let you go as you tug at your restraints. You don’t know what you’ll do if you can’t exhibit the full wonders of your mouth to him.

His fist tightens in your hair in warning, and then his shadows release you.

You sob, hand first raising yourself up, then one arm snaking around his hips, the other gripping his waist, dragging him closer as you take him all the way down your throat. Azriel gasps sharply, hands slamming down on the table either side of you as you work him so well. Even with Rhys pounding into you at that perfect angle, abusing that spot inside of you over and over again, until tears are rolling down your cheeks, you’re set on returning every ounce to him.

You only pull back enough to breathe in deeply through your nose, before you’re swallowing him down again, flexing your throat in a way he hasn’t experience before, nails digging into his skin as your nose touches the dark swirls of hair at his base, tongue dancing over him so deliciously.

With a final buck of his hips, Rhys spills inside of you, thick, hot liquid filling you up in a way that has you moaning straight onto Azriel, each of the sensations triggering your own highs. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as you flutter around the High Lord, the feeling the Shadowsinger’s release hit the roof of your mouth, shooting down your throat as your tongue swirls over the slit in his head soothingly.

You’re all panting, bodies slick with sweat, the smell of sex heavy in the air—you can’t imagine the torture it is for Cassian.

Azriel pulls you from his cock, thumb swiping over your lip before landing a firm pat to your cheek, ordering you to open up. You do so gladly, parting your lips to allow him to see his come coating you, painting you white as he had said. He groans at the sight, memorising the sight as he ingrains it in his mind.

“Swallow,” he breathes, and watches as your mouth seals, throat bobbing as you follow his orders perfectly, opening to show him proudly. His thumb rubs soothingly over your lip, and you keen into the touch, eyes fluttering shut as you bask in his attention.

Too soon, you’re being hauled away, Rhysand’s hand replacing the Spymaster’s as he forces you to your feet, shoving you toward Cassian at last, watching as you stumble, dumped between the General’s legs. You can guess that you look obscene, lipstick likely rubbed a little out of place—you’d intentionally selected one that was difficult to smudge, but not impossible.

“Go on,” Rhys drawls, his voice rough and breathless from the orgasm you’d gifted him. “You wanted to mess around with him, didn’t you?” You can hear the feline smile on his hellish mouth, “now’s you chance to repay him.”

And you don’t waste a second, slinking forward as you prowl up onto your knees, fingers deftly untying the strings to Cassian’s leathers and he practically whimpers at the prospect of relief, hips bucking into your warm hands, hands that promise soft, endless pleasure. Well versed in male satisfaction.

But of course it’s not that simple. What would be the fun in that?

You yelp as something cool and silky licks between your thighs, making you pause and look down. You whine when you spot Azriel’s shadows settling themselves between your legs, already soothingly flicking and lapping at your clit, getting heat to build in the pit of your belly.

Your eyes flick to his, but he only growls softly. “Go on.”

Cassian’s eyes practically roll as you pull him free, hand wrapping around his base, and he thinks he might come from that alone, make a mess of himself before you’ve even gotten your mouth on him. Maybe that’s their plan, to humiliate him like that in front of you. It would certainly work. He’s not sure if he could live that down.

But darkness wraps around the base of his cock, constricting. Not the silky darkness of Azriel’s shadows. The deep, powerful type from his High Lord. Hazel eyes flick to merciless violet, and he knows Rhys isn’t doing this to help him. It’s just another form of punishment he has to suffer through.

Your tongue laps over him and he moans, hands fisting as he grits his teeth, cursing beneath his breath. Your velvety mouth feels so good, so hot and wet and perfect. He needs to have you on him every hour of every day. To know this pleasure and be without it would be too much to bare.

“So good,” he murmurs encouragingly, wishing he could thread his fingers through your hair. You seem to sense it, raising your left hand to twine with his right, allowing him that sense of comfort as you take him deep within you, feeling the heat of his strong hand, the bulge of him in your throat.

He needs that release. He doesn’t care if it’s quick. You’ll know him better than that, understand the context. He just needs to come.

“Please,” he breathes, head tipping back in the chair, exposing the strong column of his neck. A muscle ticks in his jaw as he stares Rhys down, “please… I understand. I know better… please…”

The High Lord’s mouth quirks at the edges, but his eyes remain ruthless. Darkness disappears from the base of his cock, and he feels the wave about to crest—

You release a strangle moan as you’re jerked back, Azriel’s shadows having made their way up your body steadily, having now formed a collar around your neck that he uses to pull you away. Cassian snarls viciously, thrashing at the ties that don’t budge an inch.

“Rhysand,” he growls, so guttural you hardly recognise him.

The High Lord merely cocks a groomed brow, removing his shirt, preparing for round two. “Someone needs to teach you that lesson, Cass. I think you’d prefer it to be me rather than Az, here.” Sure enough, Azriel’s eyes are colder, promising a longer, harsher sentence. They soften almost imperceptibly when they dip to you, though.

All the General can do is snarl at the two males as his pleasure is taken away from him, made to crawl across the floor, following the leash back to her master.

You feel bad about abandoning Cassian like that, when you’re partially the reason he’s in the predicament, but there’s really nothing you can do against the two of them. Forces of nature in their own rights.

You follow the leash back, until you’re kneeling at Azriel’s feet, Rhys and Cass too preoccupied as his quiet eyes land on you. You lick your lips subtly, inclining your head every so slightly. The Shadowsinger’s eyes flick between the other two, before dropping down into a crouch to be at your level.

He stares into your eyes, and you wait patiently, curiously.

The argument sounds heated, getting more vicious in the background, but it falls away as you peer into the hazel of his dark eyes. His expression is neutral, but you get the feeling that if you wanted to…

You crawl forward, raising your hand to him. His eyes track the movement but he does nothing to stop you. Leans into your touch as you brush his cheek, fingers threading in his dark, silky locks, and you marvel at their softness.

His eyelids flutter shut beneath your touch, and you take the opportunity. Slowly, quietly shifting forward, before you’re bringing your mouth to his, lips pressing against his own, as if made from heated silk.

But he can’t afford too long, or they’ll notice he’s being contradictory and taking you for himself. Even he would be in trouble if Rhys and Cass decided to team up on him. So he presses into you a little, nipping at your lip before pulling away. There’s the faintest flush of colour on his cheeks as he stands, that leash reconnecting to your collar.

“If you’re done.” He says, tone dropping to the ruthless iciness so easily. The argument ceases, and you feel the weight of Cassian’s gaze on your body. As much as you’re enjoying yourself, you needed that momentary reprieve Azriel provided, able to read emotions slightly deeper than the others. Whether that’s from being forced into so much solitary time as a child, or those shadows of his…

Cold eyes drop to yours. “Get up.”

On trembling legs, you manage to stand, feeling the beginnings of Rhys’s come about to start dripping out. You clamp down, trying to keep him inside of you.

The Shadowsinger nods to the table, “bend over.”

You swallow, but do as he says, shifting to the edge, before slowly laying yourself across the wood, eyes latching on to Rhysand’s. His are warmer than Azriel’s, star-flecked and bright, full of hunger and blind lust, and beneath that…

You tense when the Shadowsinger lands a harsh smack to your ass, gripping and squeezing appreciatively as he pushes your underwear to the side. Suddenly he understands why Rhys went to his knees behind you. You’re glorious.

And he gets to bury his cock into you this time, fill you up so perfectly, let you know you were made for the three of them to take. Theirs. All theirs.

“Open,” he commands, mimicking the first order your High Lord had given you earlier tonight. Your legs spread wider, and Rhys’ hand threads in your hair, not nearly as demanding or rough as the Shadowsinger’s. His free hand cups your jaw, thumb swiping beneath your lip as he pries your mouth open easily.

“Are you going to be good about this?” He purrs, “or am I going to have to treat you like Az did?” You bite your lip, letting him know exactly how you felt about the rough treatment you received. A dark laugh drags from his throat as he tilts your head, guiding you to his tip, still gleaming with your release.

“Look how obedient you’re being. Where was this side of you in all those debates, huh? Incessant teasing all year round, flirting with each of us as if we weren’t all thinking about tying you up somewhere you’d never escape from, so we could use you whenever we pleased.” His fingers brush soothingly over your scalp, nails taking close behind. A gentle reminder of his rougher nature.

“But it was only recently you confirmed you’d like that, too.” He strokes your jaw, encouraging you to open up for him, and he eases in, and you hear Cassian whimper with need. It must be physically painful for him by now. “Isn’t that right, little lynx?” He purrs, guiding himself deeper into the wet heat of your mouth. You hum hoarsely in response, throat bruised from taking Azriel so hard.

You feel Azriel press against your entrance, and your thighs tremble with his size.

“Anytime you want,” Rhys purrs, “I can alter your memory to temporarily forget this ever happened.” He allows you to put your hands on him, taking him into your mouth as his Spymaster presses inside of you, stretching you out in a truly delicious way. “That way we can do this for the first time over and over again,” he smirks. “We can make it as fucked up as you like.”

And it starts all over again.

Azriel draws his hips back, then slams in, his hips smacking against yours as you’re jolted up the table from the force. His fingers bite into your hips as he pounds into you, making your mind practically melt as Rhys fucks your mouth. You moan onto him desperately, letting your High Lord set his own pace, gripping your hair as you keep your mouth open, tongue swirling beneath him, throat bobbing as you contact around him, urging him to spill into you.

Cassian writhes helplessly as he groans gutturally, head tipping back onto the back of the padded chair as his jaw clenched, trying to calm himself, but the scent of your sex is driving him crazy. Mother knows what he’ll do when he’s released, but maybe that’s part of their plan.

Rhysand snarls softly above you, jerking your head back, violet eyes plunging to indigo, to icy blue. “Take your attention anywhere except from me and see what I can do to you,” he growls, fist tightening painfully in your hair as he grips your jaw tight. You whimper when Azriel bucks his hips, targeting that spot Rhys had found, abusing it steadily as he angles your hips so he can make you scream. He needs to know how good he’s making you feel.

“Understand?” The High Lord snarls, and you whine, curving your back, tears brimming at the edges of your lashes as you nod your head. “That’s the last damned warning I’ll give you. You fuck up again and you’ll get something worse than what Cassian’s having.” This time you take the threat to heart, eyes widening pleadingly.

“That’s better,” he growls. “Now set that fucking mouth to work so I can have something to reward you for, yeah?”

The second he’s releasing you, you’re diving down, swallowing him whole as you feel him bulging in your throat. Again, you flex and bob your inner muscles, tightening around him and Azriel to make it as good for them as it is for you. Driven by that need to satiate, to please and pleasure.

Rhys groans above you as you do something wicked with your tongue, making him twitch, a sure sign that he’s close. You moan onto him, half intentional, half because you can’t help it. Azriel’s hitting all the right spots, and you can feel yourself unravelling, parting your legs wider. You want more, more, more from him.

Pants and groans echo throughout the room along with the wet slap of skin against skin. You raise one of your legs slightly, enough for Azriel to get the hint. His hand wraps beneath your shin, cocking your leg as he keeps you spread out, and the new angle makes you scream. Your eyes roll, muscles spasming as you come so hard you nearly black out, the pleasure rolling through you in hard, firm strokes.

Rhysand spills on your tongue, his flavour so delicious you could cry. So intrinsically him. And you can feel the waves of come as Azriel releases deep inside of you, how his hands grip tighter with each wave that crests him, panting deeply.

“That’s it,” the High Lord soothes, thumb brushing beneath your lashes, tracing the paths of hot water as he pulls out, eyes fixated on your mouth as you again swallow. “So good, weren’t you?” You nod wearily, tired out from both of them using you so intensely. You don’t know if you have any energy left for Cassian.

But the Shadowsinger’s hands are gently hauling you from the table, easing out of you as you tighten around nothing, desperate to keep their releases deep inside of you. Tucked away nice and safe.

“Looks like you’ve learned your lesson, Cass.” The Spymaster drawls, slightly breathless from the high—you don’t know how he’s managing to keep himself together. But then he’s pushing you forward, and you’re not sure if you can take any more.

“Azriel…” you whimper softly, “I—…I can’t…not again.” He continues guiding you toward the General, and heat’s already looking in your belly from how sensitive you are—you know this one’s going to be intense. “Az, please…” you beg, softly, tears rolling as you attempt to push back.

“Vanilla?” He whispers, lips brushing against your ear as he’s quiet enough the others can’t hear. And it’s enough of a reassurance—that he’ll stop, that he remembers—that you manage to shake your head lightly. You know you can’t take another one, but that’s the fun. Cassian’s going to force you to ascend to that higher level of lust, just like he promised. With the buzzing beneath your skin, you’re not sure you’ll remain conscious.

Shakily, you stumble forward, trembling as you crawl into his lap, feeling his tip press against your entrance.

“Cassian,” you murmur, quietly, “I’m not sure how long I’ll last…” He shakes his head, as if he isn’t either. “Doesn’t matter. Just need to be in you.” Heat flushes your skin, fingers settling on his shoulders as you slowly sink down onto his lap, breathy moans tumbling from your lips.

And then the ties vanish.

He doesn’t have the strength to hold back, and you don’t want him to.

Your head falls back as your mouth drops open in a silent scream. He’s pounding into you, hips bucking sharply with an energy that intimidates you, hands gripping you tightly as he slams you down on his cock.

White spots dance in your vision and you must black out at some point.

When you come to, you can feel Rhys and Az at your back, helping to ease you off Cassian’s lap. You’re a trembling, whimpering mess in their hands, simply allowing them to do the heavy lifting. You clench desperately, wanting to keep them inside of you, all perfectly mixed up by now.

You can hardly tell up from down as they carefully move you to the bed, making sure you’re comfortable and tucked away before all three of them clamber in beside you.

It’s been a long while since you’ve been so thoroughly satiated, feeling as though you’ve been fucked within an inch of your life. And you know you’ll likely be sore tomorrow, but you don’t have the energy to care. Not with the aftershocks of such immense pleasure still simmering beneath your skin.

And certainly not when you’re surrounded by all three of them.

You’ll show your happiness thoroughly…but tomorrow.

Tomorrow you’ll sort through the hard stuff. For now, you’ll enjoy them. Their scents, mixed with yours, heavy in the air. The sound of their breathing, deep and evening out, down to the steady warmth that’s surrounding you.

They’re perfect.

Utterly perfect.

[fanficonly]

Wenclair X Reader -

What Are You?- Part 5

TW: physical Abuse, description of blood

This chapter was a bit darker than I originally wrote it but it ended up this way so it makes sense for the story in the future.

Please don't read if you will be triggered, it's not a lot but that's my own feelings towards it and everyone's different so be careful beautiful readers

Meanwhile*

You trailed behind the women, reluctant to continue on knowing exactly what was going to happen. You stare down the entire time watching the twigs and leaves crunch beneath your studded black boots while you trudged along warily.

You're lost in thoughts, the image of Wednesday's horror etched into your brain by the blade of your own misfortune. You're so out of it that you don't realise the woman who had stopped so abruptly in front of you causing you to collide into her back and stumble backwards. She lets out a somewhat unnerving giggle before smiling and looking down at you amused.

"We're here" she announces and as you look up expecting an extravagant vehicle or the royal guard, you are instead met with a rusty old cabin, that's falling apart at its edges, looking like it's seen better days.The plastic windows cracked, the splintered door and it's frame mould-ridden and discoloured with it's all round unkempt look being the eye-sore of the beautiful forest it occupied.

"Wow bit of step down for you don't you think?" you speak with a twinge of snark and smirk at yourself, still stood coldly with your hands glued to the inside of your pockets. Honestly one day your sarcasm will be your demise, but it's hard not to be slightly petty with her after everything she had done to you. If you asked the woman however she would say 'After everything I've done FOR you' which would only make your insides twist and turn uncomfortably.

"Hmm" she hums "Inside" she jerks her head in the direction of the door and you walk in hesitating with every step, rather annoyed at yourself for complying so easily. You reach for the door and twist the knob, cringing as it creaked loudly and taking one last look back at her before stepping inside.

Upon entering your eyes grow wide, partially from confusion the rest in awe.

"What the fu-" you begin before the women snaps at you, cutting off your speech.

"Language." She scolds you before the curse could barely even touch the surface of your lips

"Sorry" you mumble still admiring the, deceiving from the outside, rustic cabin. The furniture was very modern, the fire was lit creating a light and calming glow and the inside wooden beams were fully varnished and sturdy. It was as if you had stepped through a portal into a completely different house and you knew it had to be some kind of magic or cloaking. Yet that didn't stop you from feeling a little insane and misdirected. You could clearly see the windows double glazed glass, now uncracked, and patterned like those in a 1 million dollar mansion, your eyes glued to it. Mostly because it proved just how close you were to Nevermore still, where you could see the bricks of the school peaking from between the trees outside. Fair play your vision was currently enhanced right now so you weren't that close but you were close enough that the idea of anyone finding this place made your stomach churn once again.

"It's rather insulting that you would believe me to take up residence in such an unflattering building" she comments while your eyes scan the rest of the decor. Of course, you shrug before again having your eyes pulled wide in realisation.

Take up residence..." There's a pit in your stomach as you repeat her words "You're..." You try to ask "you live..." Again you can't bring yourself to finish the question

"Yes I am currently living here Y/N" she confirms your unsaid question with a slight sinister tone "What?" She asks rhetorically "Did you think I was going to allow you to leave us without some kind of supervision?" She breathed out a chuckle causing your face to twist into a frown. You can't help the rise of anger building inside you. The only silver lining in transferring to Nevermore was the freedom you would have from ... Them. She stares at you but all you can focus on is settling your emotions which you weren't succeeding in.

"I didn't leave I was forced out" you mumble and she tuts a little responding only with

"I"m sorry what was that?"

You knew she wasn't really asking. In fact that kind of tone only meant one thing. She was giving you a chance to change your response or atleast take it back.

So you decline to answer her, shrinking away from her and awaiting further instructions or atleast explanations from her instead. Anything that would make you feel more at ease.

"Your eyes are glowing again Y/N" She gives you a disapproving look, one you had grown far to familiar with in the last 5 years. You wanted to comment. Make a snarky remark, tell her to fuck off, leave the cabin and yet you couldn't. With all the conditioning you had been subject too it seemed to be impossible. So you curse yourself mentally, not just for failing to halt your powers but also for turning into this beaten, broken submissive puppy as you always did. And no matter how hard you tried to hide it. No matter how hard you tried to force it down... You just ... Couldn't.

"Oh no I'm sorry it's fine I can..." Your words become quiet when you watch her leave, you assume to retrieve the one item you really REALLY didn't want her to return with. "I can control it!" You yell louder so she can hear you from the kitchen.

You scrunch your eyes together and begin to breathe deep and slow to attempt to control your emotions. You needed to get a handle on this trigger and FAST.

She returns, a disappointed look still covering her features

"I can control it" you shake your head slowly as she approached, you could only retreat, taking a step back still willing it to go away. It was the single most difficult task you ever had to do, once you had a tiny taste of power any subtle hint of strong emotions would spark it up again like a match hitting gasoline. Control the uncontrollable. No amount of water would mix with that fire.

"Aww" she faked a sympathetic tone "Stop lying to yourself sweetie" the most condescending and venomous tone left her lips so sadistically. There she is. That's the woman you knew. You were sure she took some kind of sadistic pleasure in "helping" you control your abilities

"No I can-I can control it please" You try to reason with her as you had done a thousand times before but her blunt and unbothered expression said it all. Stumbling backwards as the back of your knees hit the velvet couch, you buckled falling back into it.

She ignores your tumble then sits beside you and strokes her hand across your face trailing her fingers to your chin to turn it to face you. With how fast and hard your eyes slam shut it's as if they made a thud sound that violated your own eardrums and again you wince.

"Open your eyes Y/N" she instructs but you just shake your head slowly in response, a stray tear betraying you and trailing down your cheek.

"Open. Your. Eyes." She demands more forcefully this time

You practically gulp in fear, but make no move to even turn towards her let alone look at her.

She sighs again, more disappointment and more irritation rising within her, you can practically feel her negative energy penetrating your own sad aura.

"I'm sorry sweetie you have to learn" she almost sounds sincere this time but you know it's all an act, a trick to lure you into a false sense of security before experiencing the pain you let yourself believe you deserve.

"No I can I can control it please please just" you repeat and pull away from her, refusing to sob and instead forcing the tears to to stay put causing your vision to become blurred and fuzzy.

"I'm sorry" she says plunging her jagged nails into your back, causing your head to fly backwards, your eyes to fly open and the water to finally burst from your tear ducts. She grabs your chin with her other hand, slashing your cheek accidentally due to your twitching and struggling . "Ahhhhhhhhhh" a strained scream erupts from your throat followed by a weak whimper. The sting comes next as she blows a light breath in your eyes, It's almost beautiful, the blue tinted sparkly substance that danced towards your eyes like meteors crashing into the earth. And then they land so lightly onto your open pupils and you scream at the embers setting them alight.

"You need" she digs deeper "to learn" you struggle away from her, the pain of the glittery substance still burning your retinas. "To control it" she digs even further and twist her nails emitting a small charge and watching as you fall to the floor panting breathlessly. Paired with the fire in your eyes, the electricity that was pulsating through your body was almost unbearable and you can't help but scream "Fuck!" As your knees hit the harsh ground and you're left digging your own nails into the splintered floorboards beneath you.

"Language!" She scolds again

"FUCK YOU" you're unable to stop yourself from, twisting your neck to bark the hateful words at her. She rips her hand from your spine and plunges one more time, you throw your head back to the sky the light in your eyes dimming, as you push off from the floor. She pulls away again and you grunt in pain gripping the coffee table now more upright, your powers subsiding aggressively.

"There." She smiles and you look back at her with pure hatred in your eyes "That should do it" she proudly states as if abusing you and forcing you to keep your powers buried within was some kind of proud mum moment.

"You're evil" you spit, between breaths.

"Honey" she sits back crossing her legs and pulling out a hanky to wipe your blood from her finger tips "You know it has to be done. Pain is the only way to control your unique abilities" she explains to you. The same speech you have heard a thousand times over penetrating your ears, now nothing but a pointless explanation falling on deaf ears .

However unruly, you knew it was true. Since the day you started showing signs of being this creature you had been subjected to the horrors of "Controlling your unique abilities" and yet you never got used to the horrid feeling.

"Have they stopped glowing then?" You ask her, looking up hopefully your anger subsiding along with your powers.

"Yes. Now relax I will make us some tea, get you a change of clothes and then you can return to Nevermore" She replies

"Can't I just leave now" You whine barely looking at her as you settled your breathing.

"Oh come on. You don't want to spend time with your dear old Godmother, we're family after all" a wicked smile crosses her lips and she tilts her head unnervingly. You wriggle in your clothes, feeling the wet liquid seeping into your white shirt causing it the stick to your back. A change of clothes started to feel like a necessity but right now you needed to address her weak attempt at declaring herself family

"Just because my parents shipped me off to you when I was 12 doesn't make you family" You breath out one more time now able to stand to move as far from the wicked woman as possible. You stride away and vere towards the door slowly.

"No but it does make me responsible for you" you hear from behind you. She rushes to block the door with her arm and continues "And I would hate to have to bring you back to the society grounds" she explains but it feels more like a threat. Well... It is a threat actually and you know better than to fight the sadistic Bitch.

"It's not even been a day Auntie! You have to give me a better chance" You plead with her, now using the term you knew she secretly somewhat liked hearing you say. But of course it's not enough, it never is and she just responds with iron clad logic and condescension.

"A chance to do what? Run around with wolves stealing thier powers and draining ever student you see" she scoffs and looks away elegantly, extremely aware of how right she was. She doesn't say it. She doesn't say what you are. But you know she hates being near such a dangerous human.

"What did you think I was doing at the society it's no different! Maybe at Nevermore it will be" the glint of hope glazed across your eyes seemed to have no affect on your GodMother and instead she continues

"Nevermore outcasts are stronger than our lot and I was hoping with less ... Emotional distractions it wouldn't be necessary for me to intervene as much as I had to there" she says and your mind drifts back to the countless incidents you had caused over the past 5 years. You shake the thoughts from your head and glare at her in response to her slight jab at you.

"Whatever. I haven't even settled in yet can I go?" You ask finally returning to your usual self and staying blunt, just wanting to leave and get out of here.

"Let me look at you" she grabs you by the cheeks inspecting your features aggressively umm'ing and aww'ing as she did

"Give it an hour" She says and you just walk to sit back down slumping in the chair, complying easily once again. The worst was over, now all you had to do was endure her unfortunate company for an hour.

....

Eventually she let you leave after a grueling 70 minutes of talking and because of this you couldn't help but whine all the way back to Nevermore.

When you reached the gates you took a shaky breath in, preparing yourself to start over.

"Okay ... Do over let's start this again" you say aloud before smiling and taking large strides towards the school. You meditate to yourself in your head and walk through the halls, pulling the information you had been given by the principal out of your pocket to find your room. As you pace up the stairs to the top floor you pass by 2 doors on your right and reach the end of the hall a small almost unnoticeable door to the left and open it.

[sleepydrunkenmisshap]

Aziraphale's Bookshop Hcs!

So after working in a museum for a while, I learnt a lot about the maintenance of old books and all that goes into it. So naturally I started thinking about the books in Aziraphales bookshop and I thought up some hcs about the bookshop.

-Since books take in moisture overtime and mold(especially older books) Aziraphale has always made sure the bookshop has a dehumidifier on all the time. It creates a comfortable feel to the place

-Instead of cataloging all of the books on a computer, Aziraphale 'simply remembers' where every book is. He adores every book he collects so he never forgets one

-He only trusts Crowley with the really old books as they can be extra fragile, Crowley just doesn't trust himself

-Back in the 50s, there was a moth infestation in the shop and since the technology wasn't invented yet to stop it, Aziraphale had to perform a miracle to get rid of them all

-Aziraphale onced mentioned in passing to Crowley that the wooden furniture can give out moisture in the air, he then proceeded to varnish down all of Azirapahle's furniture for him

[a-strawberry-mouse]

I have a conundrum and I crave opinions!

**Context below the poll.**

I've been looking for a wooden folding leaf table for a while. The plan was to get one, strip it, sand, and stain it with some variety of purple. Visible mending is my favorite for many things. Furniture included.

Imagine my outright glee when I found one for $40. And it came with a storage section for chairs with the original four chairs! A year of searching, now over with results.

I looked at the pictures enough to see that it needs cosmetic repair, but it's sturdy. Good bones. The accordion door sticks, but it does work. The varnish has seen better decades, etc.

The seller was fab. Told me about the previous owners(mom and dad) and it was lovely. I bought a couple of other things from the sale. Small stuff I keep forgetting to buy. Very nice experience.

The accordion door(kept up because I haven't found why it's acting up yet)

Original wheels!

The top has water damage.

The hinge has the center metal of the hinge about a cm out.

The leaves have water damage and some scraping.

Mouse damage(I'm innocent).

I look up, "Romanian drop leaf table," and this thing is most likely from the 60s! In better shape they sell for more than $1000. Obviously this one needs work, but I mean, for $40 this is amazing. Past amazing.

But.

Is it okay to alter an antique?

Can I still turn this purple, or is that disrespectful?

I know that no matter what I do someone will be upset. I also know someone has already called dibs on the table upon my death regardless of which direction I go(they're not kidding, but they did say it in a funny way).

With just how much damage it has and the fact that a lot of this is veneer; it seems like a total overhaul is necessary either way. I've been told to scrub the tabletop with a baking soda paste mixture and a toothbrush. I confess, I'm not sure I'm really ready to do that. That sounds like a terrible time.

Originally spray painting the table was an option. It still could be if I do just the top. It may genuinely be the best option for the table's longevity. Quick, thin, and there's a lot of options for color and seal strengths. Plus there's already something that will need paint in the kitchen(this table will be in the kitchen) so they could match.

[ashyronfire]

pride

Title: pride Rating: T Characters: The Knight, Hornet, Grimm, Grimmchild Warnings: Injury, Recovery, Fluff(?), Humor (?), Second Person POV

Author's Notes: For @aewrie <3 This was meant to be something...else. But the Knight's POV always ends up being "why are you so inadvertently hilarious" and I can't stop them anymore lmao

pride on AO3.

“Where was she?” the specter asks, tone gentle, and you do not answer, because you cannot—and he knows that.

Grimm is regarding the disheveled, unconscious form of the spider – your sister, you remind yourself, though it feels more like an afterthought than familial affection.

You found her, collapsed and covered in her own sticky hemolymph, outside of a cave-in in the Crystal Peaks. You don’t know why she was there, and the fact that you happened upon her at all was nothing short of miraculous. You do not venture into that region often; there is little reason to that you have found so far, despite your fondness for exploration.

But you heard the collapse all the way from the Temple of the Black Egg.

You heard it when the infection ripped up the cavern, spreading like blood in water, tinging stone in molten gold. You heard it when the thick vines, like arteries, coursed along the stone walls and gave it a pulse. And you heard it when the stones dislodged themselves and shattered, breaking on the ground.

The child helped you bring her back here, to Dirtmouth, where you went to the only person that you thought might be able to help.

In retrospect, perhaps Iselda would have been a more appropriate option. You are fairly certain that Hornet would have preferred that. By nature, the spider is fiercely independent, and the idea of anyone seeing her in a weakened state will grate her nerves. That the person seeing her this way is someone who could potentially outlive her, who will never forget, is not lost on you. She will find that infuriating, but—

But you trust him. You trust him and you want her to be okay, even if that means earning her ire at a later date.

(You suspect it will be aimed more at him than you, though. How much the spider views you as capable of processing emotion and thought varies on a daily basis.

Nevertheless, you are left with the distinct impression that she would have much preferred for you to leave her to die beneath the rubble, rather than wound her pride by asking another to aid her. That you know this and make this choice despite that fact is, perhaps, telling.

Pride comes before a fall—and it is not you who is injured, so what care have you?)  

The god-in-mortal-flesh tilts his head down and shifts Hornet’s mask from side-to-side. “She does not appear to have been fully crushed but she has definitely suffered contusions, with potential internal injuries,” he observes. He glances at you, then paces across the room to a large cabinet. When he opens it, you catch sight of folded blankets and pillows, which surprise you: he does not sleep on those things, favoring hanging, so what purpose do they serve?

Comfort, perhaps.

Other bugs like that sort of thing. You must constantly remind yourself that you are an exception who has little interest in things that are without proper function.

“Do me a kindness, would you? The table—can you move it?”

You nod. The nymph on your shoulder glides over to the table, as though to indicate what its father is referring to, and together, the pair of you push the old wooden thing to the side. It smells of varnish and the intricate carving work tells you that it was probably expensive—or custom. Much of the Troupe Master’s belongings are like that: old, heavy, seemingly valuable, or custom tailored to his rather eclectic tastes.

(He has a lot of things. No sensible person needs that many things.)

You do not need help. Though your frame is small, the void within you is a veritable tempest; there is no little that can withstand your might when you choose to call it to you, and that includes furniture. Your friend is eager to be of assistance, though, and you find the earnest effort endearing; you pretend that you are struggling more than you are to make it seem like the child is doing more than simply headbutting one of the legs. The dark cherrywood gives a little creak as the base of the legs drags across the ground, and it almost drowns out the sound of rustling fabric. Almost.

When you turn around again, Grimm is behind you unfurling a mountain of fabrics and blankets. They are threadbare and a jumbled mix of fabrics haphazardly stitched together, with little regard for presentation, and yet… you find it charming.

He lays a pillow down, then turns to you. “Thank you. Let us move her here and see how extensive the damage to her carapace is.”

‘Us’ here means him. You barely managed to drag Hornet to Dirtmouth on your own. It involved void tendrils that you were cautious not to touch her shell with, and frequent breaks, with Grimmchild chattering the entire time as an anxious bundle of nerves.

(The spider may not appreciate the child, but the feeling does not seem to be mutual. The nymph seems to greatly enjoy using her as target practice, in part, you think, because she dodges so deftly.

You should likely discourage this behavior. You do not.

You somewhat hope it manages to set her on fire. You may be family, but you are not entirely friends.

You also would find this very funny. Your sense of humor is not the kindest thing ever.)

Grimm carefully gathers Hornet’s unconscious form and moves her to the pile of blankets. He is delicate in each movement, mindful of her wounds, and he uses the pillow to keep her head elevated. You do not miss that he also kicks her needle very far out of reach, so that should she wake, she cannot immediately eviscerate him. This is a good decision because you suspect that she will wake up violent. You cannot pass judgment. If you woke up injured, in a strange place, you would also feel an inclination to start swinging your nail.

You perch at the end of her feet and Grimm unfastens the brooch on her cloak, carefully settling it around her. There is a very vivid split in her shell, black breaking to ooze with transparent fluid.

“This is the source of the stains on her cloak,” he tells you without looking up. Grimmchild alights next to part of the discarded fabric and gathers it into its maw. Grimm looks up at the larva and thumbs with one finger toward the door. “Take that to Brumm, would you, please? He will be able to clean it for her.”

The child nyehs affirmatively and then bundles the fabric in its vestigial wings. You are not entirely sure how it manages it, but it does carry the cloak out of the room. Grimm watches it go with an affection that would make you uncomfortable, were it anyone else. As it is, you find the unusual relationship between father-and-child to be fascinating. They are the same soul, split into two, and there is an undeniable connection shared between them. They are individuals, too, though. Where the father is macabre at times, easily amused, and of a black sense of humor, the child is excitable, enthusiastic, and genuine. You enjoy both.

(You are very close to the child, though, and of the two of them, it is your favorite. It is one of your favorite people altogether.)

To you, Grimm instructs, “There are numerous jars in the cabinet at the back. We will clean these injuries and glue them shut—and she will likely molt them out once they are closed. Go. Open the cabinet and I will tell you which ones we need.”

You nod, while Grimm shifts slightly to rest Hornet’s horns in his lap. This allows him to curl over her, drawing attention to how malleable his shell seems to be; he bends and twists in ways no natural bug ought to be able to. You cross the room to the cabinet and then pull a small box over to use as a stepping stool, so that you can reach the handles.

When you open the cabinet, you are presented with a myriad of colorful glass containers, each sealed with glass and labeled immaculately, strings tied around the top and dates marking each one. You look over the different names, but they are in a language that you do not speak.

“The amber one,” Grimm says from behind you. “And… there is—do you see the square jar with the white powder? Those two. And then the fabric roll, if you would be so kind.”

You nod. The amber jar is very large. Its weight is less of a problem than the shape, which you struggle to hold onto. You are slow as you step off the box and bring it over to Grimm’s side. When you set it down, the fluid within sloshes, and you catch brief sight of his reflection in it—

(Doesn’t match. Pink and red instead of black and red. Too bright eyes. Too much fire. Obscure lines, blurred shape. Not really of this world. Reflections of the truth. This is an illusion. The Nightmare’s Heart in mortal flesh.)

—before you turn to grab the square container.

“This is antiseptic. And that is corn starch.”

Corn starch?

You angle your head to the side in silent question as you carry that particular case back to the Troupe Master. He sets it aside while unfastening the lid on the antiseptic and, in answer to your unvoiced inquiry, he explains, “It is to be our glue. We will clean the open splits carefully in order to avoid… infection.” The word is not lost on him, and you catch a brief smile that registers as amused. “Then I will have you hold her plates together while I mix the cornstarch with water and then use it as a seal on the wound. That will stop her bleeding—this is not enough for a half-wyrm to bleed out, but she is not going to feel very good when she wakes up.”

“I already do not feel very good,” Hornet answers, voice croaking, and Grimm jerks above her. She angles her head toward him. “You.”

“Hello.”

“Of course it is you,” she groans, attempting to sit up, and he puts one hand on her shoulder to force her back down. “Don’t touch me.”

“Too late,” Grimm murmurs.

You go back to the cabinet to retrieve the rolls of fabric. You hear shuffling behind you and when you turn back around, two more legs have come out from underneath Grimm’s cape, to hold Hornet’s arms down. “Do not make this harder than it must be, Princess-Protector; it is not my aim to cause you further injury.”

“I do not need your help. I would rather have been crushed than rely on you.”

Grimm scoffs. “Then perhaps you should have been several steps further back, my dear.”

He releases his hold on her, Hornet stilling enough to make it justified, and then he returns to assessing the damage.

Corn starch. You tune out the pair of them bickering, laying the bandages down at Grimm’s side, to open the container of powder and swipe one hand through it. Corn starch. You would never have guessed that to be used for first aid, but it does make sense.

You put one paw underneath your mask, void shifting and twisting into a mouth to ‘taste’ it off of your fingertips.

You have no idea whether or not you consider it to taste good. You do not think it is meant to be consumed this way.

Grimm and Hornet ignore you.

Hornet stills, though the look she levels on Grimm is one of positively murderous intent. As you expected, it is he that she holds completely responsible, and you would argue that this is your fault, if not for the fact that you are incapable of proper communication. It does not seem to bother Grimm at all, though; if anything, he seems to be fueled by her reactions, his head inclined to the side in obvious amusement.

“You mustn’t struggle so. Your wounds remain open. You were near crushed. You should be thanking the vessel for its kindness in rescuing you.” He takes one of the strips of fabric and then dips it into the antiseptic. Rather than touch her with it, he holds it out for the spider to scent. “Antiseptic. It is a combination of witch hazel and grape seed extract. It will clean the wounds.”

Hornet bristles. She takes a long, slow sniff of the fluid, as though to verify that she is not being lied to, and then exhales.

“Very well.”

It is obvious from the rigidity of her posture that she does not trust Grimm, but you do. You do not believe that he would harm her. Not like this, anyway. That would be rude.

(And not nearly theatrical enough. Grimm likes his showmanship.)

As he goes to clean the large crack with the rag, you decide that you do not like the taste of the corn starch and proceed to excise it from your body—still in powder form—all over the floor of the tent. You can feel Grimm and Hornet both staring at you, but you do not look their way. You look at the flap separating the chambers instead, because you can hear the beating of wings, and sure enough, Grimmchild returns a heartbeat later.

With a metal bucket carried in its maw, the fluid within sloshing to-and-forth.

Good child. You dart to its side to take the bucket and it flops between your horns, panting. You would pet its back to reassure it, but it takes both of your hands around the handle to lug the bucket over to where Grimm and Hornet are sitting. She is sprawled against his chest, her own head tilted down, and it would be an incredibly familiar position if she did not look like she was about to spring off the ground at any moment.

You set the bucket before them and incline your head to the side in silent interest. Your gaze follows the way that Grimm cleans the gouge in her chest, mindful not to pull the broken shell too hard.

“You will molt this off, yes?” he verifies.

“When next I molt, yes,” she agrees. Her gaze slants toward you. “… You went to great lengths to retrieve me from the collapse. Know that I will return the favor, should the opportunity arise.”

Grimm bursts out in a harsh laugh. “That is as close to a thank you as you are going to get, my friend.”

If looks could kill, he would be lying flat. As it is, Grimm does not so much as acknowledge the spider’s discomfort. He finishes dabbing the witch hazel onto her chest and tosses the rag aside, then uses a fresh one to clean around the wounds.

“You will want to visit a hot spring to accelerate the process of healing,” he murmurs. “I assume that you possess your sire’s ability to channel Soul to some degree?”

“Not at the level that it does,” Hornet answers, glancing at you. You bob your head to the other side pleasantly, as if to say, ‘That I do!’ and she ignores it, explaining, “But it will do more good than harm. How long was I unconscious?”

Grimm looks at you and you hold up your hands, counting out on your fingers idly, before settling on just three of them up. That’s a good enough estimate. Three or so—

“Days?” your half-sister asks, appalled.

“I expect that it means hours, Princess; do calm yourself.”

She snatches the wet cloth out of Grimm’s hands, and he holds both of them up as if in surrender. “I am plenty calm,” she insists, though her tone is anything but, and you want to point out to her that she sounds wound tighter than a drum. You can tell from the way that Grimm’s fingers twitch, animated, that it takes every bit of willpower he has to also withhold such an observation. “I can do the rest myself. Stop touching me.”

She really should accept the help, you think. She is badly wounded. Not mortally so, no—she will not die from these wounds—but they cannot be comfortable, and their position means that she won’t be able to accurately see what she is doing. She also should not be walking around, but you know the futility of trying to inform her of that. Grimm clearly does, too, for he untangles himself from around her, his second set of arms going back beneath his cape. He shuffles past you, easy on his feet, unbothered by the spider’s agitation, and you watch her as she never takes her eyes off of him. It is the look of a wounded predator expecting to be put down. It is unmerited. You remain convinced that if Grimm wanted to harm her, he would be far more flamboyant in the attempt. There would be fire, there would be spectacle, there would be a show.

(Grimmchild, on the other hand, might bite her shell off for the doing.)

“Forgive an old bug his whims,” Grimm hums without turning back. “It is good that you are spirited.”

Grimmchild mewls on your head and then, as if in defiance of its father’s words, spits a fireball right at Hornet. She narrowly manages to wiggle her way away from it.

Master of mixed messages, that.

A sharp clink snares your attention, and you look away from Hornet, who is moving to mix the water from the bucket that Grimmchild brought into some of the corn starch. She clearly has experience with doing so, and you suspect that this is not the first time that she’s glued part of her shell back together. You are sure that stitches are her favored method of treatment, though you do not ask whether one is more efficient than the other. That is not your problem.

Grimm is making tea. You recognize the pot.

“I am not at all fooled by your disguise, Nightmare King,” Hornet hisses.

You draw away from her. She is in no danger of sudden collapse; she will not die today, and despite her agitation, you know that she is in good hands with Grimm.

“I know very well that though you say one thing, your actions say another—”

“You would blame me for my child’s actions?” Grimm quips back.

“Your child is you—”

You leave the pair of them to bicker, the last of Hornet’s statement being lost to you as you start back through the tent. The musician at the front offers you a polite nod, continuing to play his accordion, while Grimmchild hangs onto your horns, draped over your mask like a doll. It makes a low noise in its throat as the pair of you depart.

You have places to be. Your task remains unfinished.

Your sister will be just fine.

[uhblyat]

Hi everyone!! I ' ve already posted this fic on ao3 and ficbook , but i I thought it would be nice to post it here too. I bet it's not an explicit content, but it's half of it😆😆

Closer to five in the morning, the summer gentle sun rose, awakening the sensitive nature outside the window. It slid along the trunks and branches of trees, casting long black shadows on the ground; the outlines of objects in the apartment become clearer under the influence of the rays. The fresh morning air replaced the oppressive atmosphere of the night, which no longer had any right to host: the rare roll call of birds mixed with the rustle of green foliage literally took your breath away, creating a feeling of serenity. Such a soft, warm, and genuine morning. The very beginning of the day, when the forces fill your soul, breathing in hope and carrying it through the doubts of the mind. The waves have washed away the footprints in the sand, and the wind is singing its strange song. Meanwhile, Aleksi is not sleeping either: an unknown force lifts him out of bed and calls him to action: in this case, you need to wake up the Olli with the miracle phrase "Are you asleep???" when he sees the tenth dream, but Kaunisvesi decides that only a kiss from a loved one awakens the princess, so he bends down and carefully covers his lips with Matela's, after which he whispers softly in his ear,

—Get up, stop sleeping,— and while he turns around, pointing out about twenty ways where Aleksi can go early now, the percussionist attentively silently watches from the side, not even thinking about ending the torture. Of course, his boyfriend is interested in what the fuck Aleksi is lifting him up for, to which Kaunisvesi waves him off and literally jumps out of bed,

— I came up with something ,Olli, it's just awful how cool, get up, please, we need to do everything just now, while the sun is not at its zenith and Mercury is not Retrograde, come on, please, please, you love me, and brazenly presses on a weak spot, already triumphant in his thoughts about victory and anticipating the upcoming aesthetic delight. Ten minutes later, the bassist throws off the blanket, gets out of bed and slowly, barely stepping over, crawls into the bathroom, and Aleksi, almost bouncing, follows from behind. A plaid falls on Olli's broad shoulders while he swears at this hateful day and no less, at the moment, an annoying little boy who literally erases the last day off from a busy Matela. Kaunisvesi decides that the best way out of the situation at the moment is to escape from an angry man and quickly clean up the mess in the kitchen, because curly is unlikely to appreciate such cleanliness and will definitely force the little one to make a cocktail with Mr. Proper.

It takes only twenty minutes to do this: skillful hands quickly wipe the plates with a sponge and rinse the mugs; immediately putting the dishes in their place. When the water stops flowing almost simultaneously in the bathroom and in the kitchen, something clicks in the dark-haired man's brain and he leaves for a second, bringing two stools into the shower, placing one after the other. On the first one, which is closer to the mirror, he seats Olli, whose face clearly expresses misunderstanding, and he settles on the second piece of furniture, burying his fingers in curls and fingering them. A hand reaches out to a white cabinet and takes out different jars— Alexiarchy has long reigned in this house, which means that all the shelves will be filled with different bottles of his intricately shaped care products, they will definitely not fit into one compartment and will be scattered in different drawers. In one of the palms there is a silver spray bottle with varnish, and in the other, which becomes momentarily free, a wooden comb with sparse teeth. Kauniswesi lifts up a little to see Matela in the mirror, and begins to comb his hair, sometimes twisting and pushing the strands in different directions to make sure his decisions about the hairstyle are correct. The percussionist notices out of the corner of his eye how the victim of his bullying is struggling He tries not to fall asleep, barely opening his eyelids, and this, of course, flatters, forcing him to take pity and do everything faster, speeding up the process of freeing the prisoner of inexhaustible ideas. The comb turns out to be in his teeth, and his fingers fix the hair in the right position, immediately patching the curl,

—Hold your breath for a second, please,—Aleksi asks and continues to fasten the curls. Having achieved the desired effect of elevation after a while, the guy begins to work on the main part of the head, now kneeling on a chair. Conjuring over the patches for another half hour and, finally, having finished with the image for them, Kaunisvesi proceeds to probably his most favorite thing: on the dressing table there are pallets and various tubes with viscous contents, unknown to anyone. The dark—haired man moves to Olli's hips and stays there, throwing his leg over, hinting at the hopelessness of the situation, — I'll put some shadows here and that's it, honestly, - lies, and brazenly and to his face. Actually, as always. Soft brushes soon and often fall on the skin of the face, creating a dark haze, the moist core of the eyeliner touches the place below the mucous membrane, in the area of eyelash growth, and draws the curve of the eye, focusing on the lower eyelid. A couple more strokes, a couple of drooling cotton swabs—Olli doesn't disdain, does he? And thank the gods, as well as the ruined disks: now, Aleksi is not sitting in front of a familiar lover, but a godlike lover, which is what Kaunisvesi was trying to achieve. After admiring his work for a minute or two, the guy notices the missing element and goes after yesterday's parcel, grabbing scissors and hastily cutting the cardboard along with the tape. All sorts of rubbish almost falls to the floor, and the percussionist sits down, now carefully examining the ordered items.The gaze immediately clings to a metal replica of a thorn wreath with thorns, so he quickly unpacks it and hooks it on Matela's head. After sending the stalls with the request "Do we have at least something to chew?!", Kaunisvesi decides to take care of himself and takes off his robe, completely exposing himself and sitting in front of the mirror.

With a large brush, he randomly applies black pigment to the neck and collarbones, enters the chest and shades the edges. Now he is dirty, smeared and at the same time vulgar. A cold chain helps to add peppercorns to the image: it is attached just below the adam's apple, thin stripes flow in different directions from the middle, imitating the bones of the ribs, and the catchy hanging stones on the solar plexus cannot leave indifferent even those far from art. Aleksi's eyelid makeup is extremely different: a neat haze turns into bold strokes, now flaunting on the blind furrow, temples are also decorated with shadows; eyebrows are laid with gel and clear boundaries of their shape are drawn. The image creates a feeling of complete rebellion, avant-garde and a pinch of sharpness; it remains to add pity to the look and form a nest on the head, which Kaunisvesi, of course, did an excellent job with.

The aroma of fresh coffee wafts from the kitchen, and even among these tart notes, a dark-haired man can catch the smell of unique classics: sandwiches made of rye bread, processed cheese and cucumber along with tomatoes. And there's a hunting sausage on top, but a little bit of it so that it's not greasy. Bare feet barely move on the floor, and the guy is already peering through the door jamb, closely watching Matela's actions. He, as the most caring and gentle chosen one, prepares the table for a meal and lays out kitchen appliances, while Aleksi, in his place, would simply throw the dish in his face and fork along with it, calmly saying "Fuck you" and hiding in another room. But no, in the place of such an ignoramus, the kind Olli, who will serve food, and wipe his mouth, and kiss his forehead, — and meanwhile, the dark-haired man was already sitting his ass at the table,— there is more in the house than a guy who clearly does not want to learn manners. — And what are we going to do?,— it comes from another part of the kitchen and Kaunisvesi looks up from the food, looking at her lover,

— So, listen, only carefully! You are my god, I am your sinner. You are the arbiter of earthly destinies, who noticed another mortal for violating the laws and subsequently arranged for him to be judged in heaven. Like the ancient Greek goddess Themis, only in an improved version,"eating a sandwich, Aleksi sometimes stopped to chew food,

—Do you know her? Themis was an ancient Greek goddess associated with divine law, order and justice. She was known for her sharp mind and impartiality, acting as the personification of justice with scales in one hand and blindfolded, which enhanced the effect of a cold mind. She was also associated with wisdom, because indirectly she controlled divination and clairvoyance. And, of course, in front of me, a violator of all the rules, you couldn't resist. Don't worry, nothing below the torso will be visible, at the level of the end of the ribs at most,— grinning, he bypasses Olli's sidelong glance and reproach about clothes, washes down pieces of coffee with milk and rises from his seat,

—I really wanted us to have a beautiful shared photo. And so I can't shame you by just taking a picture of us kissing against the background of some boring nature,— coming closer and tracing the outline of Matela's nose with the tip of her finger, Aleksi smiles and takes her partner's hand,

—Let's go?

Both are standing on a white background in the bedroom, Kaunisvesi is constantly running, fussing and putting a small mirror in front of the couple soon standing together. Having straightened his hair several times and tousled it even more, he stares at the reflection, poses and moves to the deputy of Themis, starting to build up his position,

—So you take this in your left hand, and holds out a sophisticated golden scale, on the pallet of which there are rose petals, — note, only on one side, — Extend your arm, do not bend at the elbow. Lower. Even lower. Now bend over and come to me a little bit. Yeah, put your finger on the long beam and make the scales unbalanced so that the part with the flowers hangs down. Here! Great, you 're doing well. Look straight at the camera, a stern, confident look. Well, no, not like you're ready to kill me, on the contrary, — when a percussionist thinks about his eyes, he completely forgets about the bandage and takes it out of the piled things. It has already collapsed and got dirty, but this apparently does not bother the guy,

—Stand still, — and places the fabric around his neck in an untied state. The ends of the tattered rags fall on the right shoulder, it does not waver at all from touching and Aleksi unconditionally likes it ,— THAT'S RIGHT!!! Bring your eyebrows together a little, the corners of your lips go down a little. Just a relaxed state, okay? Well, don't lower your lower jaw too much, just close your teeth inside. Now put your right hand on my chin, as if hugging me from below. And hold it, lifting it a little towards you. I'll look up to you, you don't react. The palm falls to the right place and slightly squeezes the convex bone, and Kaunisvesi follows his own plan, and, now staring so pitifully, helplessly and sadly, bites his lower lip at the last moment. The timer goes off after ten seconds and the photo is immediately saved on the device, the dark—haired man hurries to look at the result and admires the picture he took,

—Look, we turned out so good here, it's just so sexy, even multiplied by ten to the third power! Well, judge for yourself, — showing the result to Olli, Aleksi stares so hard that his smile doesn't crack at the seams, "Wait,maybe another one?" — and when the lover gives up, realizing that there is hardly any more If they manage to protest, the percussionist puts the camera back and sets the time for the picture. While Matela does not have time to come to his senses, Kaunisvesi stands on tiptoes and wraps his arms around his neck, clinging to a silk beige fabric that artfully flows over his body; arching his lower back and fixing himself in one position while he kisses his chosen one for the second time in a day; and even very cheekily, as a real sinner should, licking his own with the tip sticky drooling from his lower lip; and he is amused by this, because power over God is inherent only to the creator, but here the soul was taken over by a vicious earthly one who does not know what he is doing. The click symbolizes the photo taken, Aleksi does not want to pull away, but he has to. After looking at the result, he grins and stretches contentedly, hanging himself around his neck again,

—But I'll put the last frame on my wallpaper. And you have to do the same with the first one, don't worry, I remember that you're shy,— Kaunisvesi runs his fingers over the back of his head, feels the literally frozen curls and slightly bows his head,

—What if people'd look at your lockscreen? And here is such a shame, such a perversion… Anyway, I'll edit it on my laptop, transfer it later and send it, okay? You're my most beautiful,— Alex said, running his hand over Olli's cheek, then smeared his shadows a little, drawing thin lines down,

—Let me take a picture of you?

[adiwan]

Recently I was helping out clearing a house and while taking out the old furniture out my eyes fixed on a little box in the corner. It was a wooden box from a sparkling wine producer called "Matheus Müller". The old owners of the property liked drinking alcohol. The box was empty and in a good shape, except from some minor discoloration from age because the wood had no varnish on it to give it any protection.

I have no idea what it contained in the past but I knew what it could contain in the future: my miniature paint! My paint was stored in a rather small box that was way too small for the paint I gathered over the years. As you can see in the picture above it's not a little amount. I just needed to expand my storage.

When I got it home the first thing was to get my hands dirty and use sand paper to get rid of the wood discoloration and a huge printed picture. Removing it was quick and the over all cleanup of the surface made it instantly more pleasant. As much as a depiction of a scene with a river with boats and a castle in the background in poop brown has its charm I wanted to give way to a more cleaner look. After that I gave the box a good layer of matte wood polyurethane varnish that I still was good. I prepared a stencil of the D&D logo and printed it out with my 3D printer and used it to airbush a good layer of black primer in the hopes it sticks well enough the the varnish. I wanted an extra protection in case I messed up the stencil part but luckily it was OK. I had some problems as the air pressure of the airbrush lifted parts of my stencil. For my first attempt I'm satisfied. Originally I wanted to put another red layer on top of that but I chickened out and the black was good enough for me.

For the inside I had the idea to use the Gridfinity system. It is an open source system that uses a grid to keep inserted bins and other types of inserts in place when the whole thing is tossed around (within reason of course). I downloaded this file for the grid and bins and this one for my paint in drop bottles. I could print bigger inserts but firstly I wanted to get rid of ABS filament that warps too much if it were any bigger and secondly I wanted to keep it small enough if I wanted to reconfigure the inside of the box in the future. The ABS filament was a huge pain to print out to begin with. It was the cheapest filament imaginable as it was part of a 3D pen. Not only gave me the filament head aches from the fumes but also many many many print failures due to extreme warping and the filament breaking apart.

The only thing that I can rant about is the AWFUL Citadel paint. It dries up way too fast. The STUPID tubs don't seal well enough and it's TEDIOUS to get paint out without contaminating the paint with other paint. It's another story for another time. As soon as I empty the Citadel paint I won't buy anymore of them. This is why I didn't made any special inserts for them.

Despite all the problems I had I am somewhat OK with the result. Yeah... I see the flaws at every corner and step I made, the prints aren't as clean as it could be but I made something from stuff I was already getting rid of for something another one wanted to get rid of. I rather have it at the state it already is instead of chucking it into the bin and doing all the work all over again for minor flaws that don't impede the functionality and practical use of the box.

[cryptid-stimming]

Larry (Sally Face) Stimboard for Anon

x x x / x x / x x x

[Image description: a 9 gif stimboard; from left to right.

First line: A close-up gif of someone adjusting the controls on a black walkie-talkie and holding it in one hand. A gif of someone flipping their long black hair backwards and letting it fall across their face, a blue sky in the background. And a gif panning around a circle of wooden easels and chairs in an art studio, a large window in the background.

Second line: A close-up gif of people's arms in the air at a rock festival, one person making the 'devil's horns' sign. A still image of Larry from the game Sally Face. And a close-up gif of someone adding 'ACAB' stickers to a metal street sign with their hand (to cover up a fascist sticker).

Third line: A gif of someone in a light brown shirt walking across a room with their hands in their pockets (a potted plant can be seen in the background). A close-up gif of someone pouring clear varnish on a wooden artist's palette covered in smears of paint, before working it in with a palette knife (splodges of fresh paint can be seen at the top of the palette). And a gif of someone headbanging, hunched over and shaking their long hair in a 'windmill' motion, an open doorway and furniture can be seen behind them.

End of image description.]

[jeonginsleftcheek]

The sun to me

Chapter V. Carved.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 2.8k

chapter summary: what's carved into the mind becomes carved into the wood, etched forever in the heart even if it bleeds.

warnings: angsty, mentions of drugs, vague descriptions of self-harm and suicide, overall sad chapter

~ Masterlist for the series

~ next part

🤍 Magnolia - perseverance and determination

Isaac stands turned towards the window, his warm brown eyes roam everywhere they can, catching the fleeting sparkle of golden sun rays reflecting off of different surfaces, casting the glow into his irises.

The quiet afternoon is welcoming and warm as he sips on his herbal tea and enjoys the almost completely still world around him.

If he was asked 30 years ago where does he see himself in the future, this is not what he would ever imagine.

Always leading a busy life, living in a hurry, running with the crazy world around him, not ever once stopping to smell the roses.

What was he in a hurry to do? Hurry to see more, hurry to get it done, hurry to die?

He has no idea what kind of force drove him back then, maybe it was just the youthful energy he was filled with back then.

He'd like to think he's calmer and wiser now, flowing like a gentle stream rather than a fast and rambunctious river.

The door closes behind him and he turns slowly to be greeted by the said fast and rambunctious river taking the shape of a young man known by the name Hyunjin.

His backpack is slinged on one shoulder, his jeans are dirtied, his hair is slightly messy and his face wears a blissful and giddy smile, one that Isaac recognizes as he himself wore the same smile many years before.

"Afternoon, Hyunjin."- he greets the young man.

"Afternoon."- Hyunjin answers with a nod, the big smile never ceasing from his lips.

"You look rather joyful."- Isaac says, finishing his tea.

"Oh well, I had a really good day. I planted petunias."- he says, not revealing too much. "And I really need to take a shower now."- he laughs.

"Alright, don't let me stop you from your plans."- Isaac lifts his hand up in surrender. "Do join me in my studio later, please."

"Oh that! Right, I will I promise."- Hyunjin says before hurrying up to his room.

Isaac lets out a quiet chuckle before making his way to his beloved studio.

In the early evening hours, Hyunjin finally gathers the courage to knock on the big wooden door leading to Isaac's studio.

"Come in, come in."- he hears him say, his voice muffled.

Hyunjin opens the door and is immediately hit by the intense smell of wood and varnish, even stronger in the studio than in the rest of the house. If he takes a deep breath in, he thinks he might be sick but at the surface it's not too unpleasant to his senses.

"You'll get used to it quickly."- Isaac chuckles, noticing the young man's face is scrunched up.

"Come, sit here."- Isaac beckons, patting the chair next to him and Hyunjin sits down in the creaky seat.

The studio is big, even bigger than the living room and the dining room together, huge glass windows letting the afternoon sun in as it casts a glow on all of the wooden furniture and sculptures scattered everywhere.

For a moment, it looks as if though the wood is expanding and breathing, like it's still alive, but it's just a trick of the mind, swirling the patterns on the different works of art in Hyunjin's eyes.

He then looks at the table, his eyes roaming all over the different tools and wood chunks spread before the two of them.

"You ready to learn some whittling?"- Isaac smiles, excited to be someone's teacher again, like he was to his son. He wishes he'd been a better teacher then, not just giving him lectures about how his hands should move but also how to help his heart come out of the depths of despair.

"Ready as I'll ever be."- Hyunjin is in a good mood, transferring the giddiness to Isaac.

"We are using basswood today. It has fine texture and it's good for beginners like you."- Isaac says.

"What are we gonna make?"- Hyunjin asks.

"You can make whatever you want and I will guide you how to do it. But you'll need some protection first."- Isaac gives Hyunjin a slice resisting glove for the hand which will hold the wood, and a thumb guard for pushing onto the back of the blade safely.

"I don't know what I can do."- Hyunjin chuckles awkwardly and Isaac shakes his head.

"Maybe let's start with some type of animal or a face, that's easy."

"Doesn't sound easy."- Hyunjin chuckles and Isaac gives him a piece of the wood and a pencil.

"Draw out an owl, for example. You have to sketch before actually dealing with the knife."- Isaac has another bigger and already half-done sculpture of a woman with a dress flying around her as she dances.

Hyunjin does as he said, the familiarity of sketching before doing something he's never done before brings him a peace of mind.

"How did you decide to do this?"- Hyunjin suddenly asks and Isaac looks up from his sculpture, with a small smile.

"Short or long version?"- he asks.

"I like long stories."- Hyunjin gives Isaac a big smile and Isaac leans back, putting his knife down onto the table.

Isaac was 6 years old when he sat in the very same studio for the first time with his father. Every single day, his father would spend hours in the room and little Isaac always wondered what was so interesting in there that it takes up so much of his father's attention.

He thought that there must be something very important and magical about that room, when his father spent more time in there than in any other room of their house.

His mother always told him not to bother him but Isaac was too curious for his own good and one day he stumbled inside. His father turned around with a startle as he was concentrating on measuring wood planks.

"Isaac!"- he exclaimed before putting his tools down.

"What are you doing daddy?"- he'd asked and his father sighed, coming closer to him and gently putting his hands on his son's shoulders.

"I'm making furniture. You know the table in the dining room where we sit and eat every day? I carved that with my own hands."

"Really?! Is it magic?"- Isaac's eyes are wide as he stares up at his father who chuckles endearingly at him.

"No son, it's hard work. I'll teach you some day, right now you're too small and it's dangerous for you. But you can watch while I make measurements and decorate."- he said and Isaac nodded excitedly, joining his dad.

Isaac was 16 when he decided to become a woodworker like his father, following right in his footsteps. He holed himself up in his father's studio when he'd succumbed to his sickness, leaving Isaac only with his mother.

The smell of varnish was something he didn't even feel anymore, after spending so much time inside the studio, working with the precious wood, taking splinters out of his flesh, Isaac soon became desensitized.

His mother, the house, the studio and the furniture he made and broke suffocated him and he decided to move away to the city, to be able to breathe and open his wings.

Isaac was 21 when he met the love of his life, Celia, the most beautiful woman that ever graced this planet in his eyes, a goddess made to be worshipped and loved.

That's what he vowed to do as soon as they got married only 4 months after they've met.

She was a dancer and he started selling his sculptures and furniture, both of them working odd jobs to make ends meet before an important man noticed Isaac's work and asked him to make a sculpture for his big mansion, promising to pay him a big amount of money.

It seemed too good to be true, but Celia begged him to try and give the man a chance. She had just found our she was pregnant and they needed all the money they could get.

As it turned out, the man wasn't a fraud, he was someone who genuinely enjoyed discovering young and talented people, helping them become recognized for their work, as he owned a gallery.

Isaac was quickly invited to make enough sculptures for an exhibition, a dream come true for him, and Celia was proud of her husband for reaching such great heights.

But as it often happens, what flies high has to come down eventually, and while the exhibition was a success, and so was the next one, and the next one, and the next one, Isaac was becoming more and more greedy, blinded by the promise of the distant shining lights.

His wife and his now 5 year old son Leo came second place after the fame he was bathed in and the riches he slept amongst. The people around him were the ones with the white noses, crooked smiles and tainted hearts, and he became one of them. Just another snotty rich man, snorting up the good stuff, his arm wrapped around some random pretty young woman.

Celia endured all of this for the sake of her son who was different since he was small, a sad little boy, always on the side, never playing with his peers, always silent, his voice quiet like an autumn breeze whirling dry leaves up in the air.

Isaac neglected his family in exchange for material things and women, and as his son kept growing up, he holed himself up in his room, finding comfort in whittling.

The knife was sharp, cutting out wood, cutting out skin. There was so much blood as his mother found him, quickly calling the ambulance.

They managed to save Leo for now, and Isaac was late as always, making Celia scream at him and hit him as she kept yelling that it was his fault and he did this to his family.

Isaac would've cried but his heart felt stuck, so he promised to be better from now on, as he took the both of them to the house on the island.

They took a little break here, hoping that the calmness and simple beauty of the island would inspire Leo, and make Isaac remember why he started it all, remind him of his dear parents, now food for the earth, remind him how he loved Celia, carving her beautiful figure into the wood again and again.

But when the wood is rotten inside, there is no way to save it and make it right again. The constant screaming of Leo's parents added to his clinically depressed state resulting in the carving of the skin again.

This time it was too late when Isaac had found him in the very room where Hyunjin sleeps now.

Celia left him after that and Isaac went back to the city, drowning himself in insignificant shit, drugs, fake smiles and sympathethic pats of people who didn't care for anything except their wallets.

He was dancing on thin ice, almost killing himself in the process, not caring about his well being or anything else except numbing the pain of knowing that he effectively killed his son and drove his wife away, driving himself to a fast breakdown.

"And now, I've been here for a long time."- Isaac wipes a single tear as Hyunjin sits stunned, the wood and the pencil still in his hands, as he tries to process the life the man sitting next to him went through.

"I- I don't know what to say. I'm really sorry for everything you went through."- Hyunjin speaks quietly, afraid that if he raises his voice, the room will be disturbed.

"Ah, it's not your fault. I told you all of this because I think you're going down a similar path, isn't that why you're here?"

"Honestly, it is. My manager - he's only hungry for money. And while he pretends to be my friend, I know he doesn't give a shit about me as a person, he only sees me as a source of income. The people around me are disgusting, the type I would never imagine myself hanging out with before. I feel like I fell into a hole and can't seem to unearth myself. It's like something's wrapped and weighing down on my ankles, perpetually pulling me down into the underground. I had to run away and find a peaceful place to find myself again."- Hyunjin confesses, saying everything out loud lifts a stone from his heart.

"I had a feeling it was like that because you remind me so much of myself when I was young. And I told you all of my story so you can learn a lesson by listening, not by doing. It would be a shame to throw your life away on insignificant things and end up alone like I am. Especially when you've found love."- Isaac smiles knowingly and Hyunjin jolts, hand squeezing the chunk of wood in his palm.

"L-love?"- he laughs awkwardly.

"The smile on your face today, it's something I wore many times on my own face. It's the completely dumb-in-love smile I had when I met Celia. I know you've spent the day with y/n, since you said you planted petunias. So what I'm saying is, nurture this. Don't let it slip away through your fingers. Don't make the same mistakes I did, you can still get back on the right path."- Isaac says and he can see the cogs turning in Hyunjin's head but he doesn't say anything.

It's enough for Isaac to see that he's letting the words sink in, so he decides to move onto the tutorial for whittling to actually teach Hyunjin how to sculpt the wood.

There is some classical music playing lightly in the background as Hyunjin learns something new for the second time today, a few push cuts, sweeping cuts and stab cuts later there is a little owl in Hyunjin's hands, with it's wings and eyes closed, looking like it's sitting peacefully somewhere high up in a tree.

"That is some good work for a beginner."- Isaac praises him, of course it's not perfect and it doesn't have to be but being an artist himself, Hyunjin's hands are already used to creating something out of nothing.

"Thank you."- he smiles as he observes the little owl, the symbol of wisdom and intuition, telling Hyunjin to just listen to his gut and try to hear what his heart wants, his heart that has withered in the dry and dark city between loveless people.

"You should add some finish to it to brighten it up and make it resilient to moisture."- Isaac says, giving Hyunjin some wood oil and a paintbrush.

Holding the brush in his fingers and moving it across the wood, makes him miss the feeling when he'd let his heart lead his hand on the canvas, his eyes could even be closed as he takes a moment to feel the art pouring out of his soul.

The time when everything was simple and beautiful, the time when he took back what his mother stole for him, the love he always had for creating.

"Thanks for joining me today."- Isaac says as they eat dinner.

"Thanks for telling me your story and teaching me your craft."- Hyunjin smiles genuinely.

That night in bed, Hyunjin stares at the owl he carved that's now sitting on the night stand and his eyes travel up to the ceiling.

One of his hands is propped under his head and the other draws patterns in the blanket that he threw over himself.

His mind is buzzing with thoughts, every time he ends up thinking about the city and what Isaac told him, there's a knot in his stomach. He wishes he never has to leave, wishes that he never has to go back to the cold and cruel city, that he could continue living here, planting flowers with you every day, helping you take care of your garden, painting with you, holding you close.

He wishes life was that simple but it never is.

Hyunjin knows it's dangerous but he lets his mind settle onto daydreaming about you, creating different scenarios, all soft, loving, erotic, indulging himself with a fantasy he can only hope to live.

He falls asleep around 2am, mind and body tortured with thoughts of art, you, the city, Isaac and ultimately leading him to think about his mother and how she was the one who damaged him even before he damaged himself.

It's a vicious cycle that Hyunjin hopes he can break.

His eyes close and he falls into a dreamless sleep as the little wooden owl guards him, the moonlight casting a glow that makes it look like its eyes are opened and trained on Hyunjin.

And as silence covers the small island like a warm blanket, dark clouds travel from the distance reminding the quiet stars flickering in the sky that the calm always happens before a storm.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight @kkamismom12 @its-stayville-forever

[hometoursandotherstuff]

It seems fitting that Giannetta, a children’s book illustrator in Finland, would live in a pink apt. house. But, wait until you see her whimsical, colorful, illustrated apt. inside. 

The handmade pink sofa was the only option for Giannetta.

The Pandas Giannetta drew on the wall were done while she was designing figures for Tampere University Hospital. The lynx on the door came as a surprise to the artist, herself.

Giannetta emptied an entire can of yellow spray paint on the radio. The bunny painting is by her favorite artist Reetta Isotupa-Siltanen.  

The home has a lot of Ikea wooden furniture that has been repainted. Giannetta also painted lost of clay pots with acrylic colors.

The apartment is full of memorabilia. "Everyone brings their things to us, and I put them on the wall," Giannetta says.

Double doors lead from the living room to the bedroom. Thanks to the yellow color, the sun always shines there.

Giannetta painted birds on the walls, but their size came as a small surprise to the rest of the family.

The kitchen space was renovated by smearing brick mortar over tiles. Paint and varnish were put on top of the mortar and denim was selected as the color of the paint. A mermaid is swimming in the front door.

There are tigers on the kitchen cupboard. The heating pipes were painted in a tomato color, as if ketchup was running thru them. The goal of the blue of the floor is to feel as if your feet are swimming in water.

There is a door from the kitchen to the children’s common room, from which dinosaurs peek out.

They also have a lovely garden space to use on the apt. property.

https://www.meillakotona.fi/artikkelit/kuvittajan-varikas-koti

[dimalink]

At the weekend at the country house. In the last summer day.

It is very good at the country house. While it is summer weather. While it is summer. While it is hot.  Sunny days and clear blue sky – it is very positive. So, when I go to the village place, I just can go here and there, and do a photo of a green grass with a smartphone. And plants that are growing.

Nothing special, grass is green. As it is. It is very beautiful anyway. And everything is green. It helps a lot for positive mood. For cure a nerves, as I can say. To get calm. And to become more positive.

It is good to do something at the country house. To clean grass, to make something with a shovel, to dig a little. Lots of things to do. I clean old soviet refrigerator. Brother plug it in. It works. Country house slowly going into good condition. So, it is idea to be at the country house for several days. As I can say. It is good at summer in a country house.

There is in a house a chair and a table. So, it is minimum. Soviet furniture. And, by the word, I like it a lot. It is made from some dark tree. And covered with special varnish. It is very beautiful. Wooden chairs. And here, at some old table I have asset a place for notebook.

And I take with myself a notebook. It is Asus F3S. With system Windows XP. So, I can play games. I have installed here a programming too, like C, Delphi, Visual Basic. And I have installed Visual Studio 6. So, I have even these things here. But, mainly, of course, to play videogames. To remember some old games, which I like a lot. And to try some games, I have never played. Something very interesting.

To drink tea. May tea. So, it is already a tradition. And after, just to walk with a green grass here and there. So, this way I have a free time. I can watch trees and grass. At the sky. And just go by territory here and there. Around the house. Forward and backward.

Dima Link is making retro videogames, apps, a little of music, write stories, and some retro more.

WEBSITE: http://www.dimalink.tv-games.ru/home_eng.html ITCHIO: https://dimalink.itch.io/ GAMEJOLT: https://gamejolt.com/@DimaLink/games

[top-furnituredubai123]

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Wood skirting adds warmth and elegance to a room, as it can be stained or painted to complement your style. As such, it's popular among homeowners and designers alike. Wood skirting usually matches the material of wood flooring for an integrated aesthetic that complements other decor elements in a room. Furthermore, wooden skirting in Dubai can be sanded down and reused if rework is necessary, making it more resilient than other materials.

Other skirting options available to you are UPVC skirting panels, which offer both an affordable and modern aesthetic. Furthermore, it can provide more sustainable alternatives to wood. UPVC doesn't need much upkeep compared to wood; simply wipe clean using a damp cloth if any cleaning needs arise. However, for optimal results when installing this material professionally.

You may like also read:- kichen cabinet in dubai

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Your skirting-board molding may be secured using glue or nails depending on its species and finish, usually, an acrylic or polyurethane adhesive is recommended, while nails should ideally have steel pins to avoid leaving an unsightly mark on the wall. When attaching it by nailing, make sure the holes for these are countersunk so screws don't leave marks, then cover these screws with pellets (ideally from the same board to match grain) or an off cut from another board (ideally to hide screws from view).

Read more:- stair carpet Dubai

wall to wall carpet in Dubai

[bonfire-at-the-crossroads]

I’ve been busy.

Yeah, this is an older photo of the schoolhouse - but I’ve been beating myself senseless to return it to this earlier, pristine state.

Beloved Cousin Holly from Columbus Ohio is arriving the first week of June - and I cannot believe she will be here with us in Ireland!

Cousin John from Las Vegas will be arriving the end of June - and I am overwhelmed. What can I POSSIBLY find to entertain, beguile, or enchant these good people from a land where things happen? Where there is food, restaurants, theaters, and events a’plenty?! I am so worried that they will take one look around at how we live, and feel they’ve made a terrible mistake by spending their precious vacation time with a pair of old bog-monkeys…..

And so…in the spirit of bright subterfuge and infinite deception - I have spent the last two weeks scrubbing the face of the old house and yard - attempting to look as if we are civilized folk who employ lawn-care workers and professional painters to maintain their home.

I am nearly dead now…

Spent four solid days on my hands and knees digging out the roots of every weed embedded along the perimeter of the house and into the driveway. Mowed the yard (and it already needs doing again..) - washed all the windows. Have dragged the ladder around the house, climbing up and down - and painted every inch of exterior wall and trim. Bought new plants and filled the planters with new blooms..painted the lawn furniture, dragged heavy bags of pine bark mulch up the hill and laid it across the garden areas by the studio. Spent yesterday painting the bathroom, ceiling and all - and then touched up all the paint in the interior of the house. I sanded the thick wooden countertop beneath the bathroom sink, and laid down two coats of new varnish to brighten things up. Scrubbed all the stone floors on my hands and knees with a scrub brush.

As we get closer to the arrival time, I will scrub all the pine floors, dust everything, vacuum like mad, - stand back, and hope for the best.

My hands are so stiff that I can’t close my fingers, every joint is hollering in pain, and I’m bloody exhausted,

But

I will NOT have what is left of my family see the sad shabbiness of our lives. It’s enough that I look and feel horrible - as gawd is my witness, I will not be embarrassed by our home here in this strange old world…

Doing my best, and hoping to survive.

[toasterdrake]

excerpt from a currently non-existent reshirement au fic, based on a prompt by @writersyoga to use the word 'dower'.

Eager for anything other than blades to occupy his restless hands (for whilst dwarves may forge great warriors, they are a people of crafters in their hearts), Thorin had set about mending the many items of Bilbo's home fallen into disrepair.

Bilbo never told anyone the damage had been done during the unexpected stay of the dwarves at Bag End, telling askers instead it was a simple case of neglect, for his heart warmed to see Thorin smile after hammering the final iron nail or applying the final lick of varnish, and he need not harbour any more guilt if Bilbo could prevent it.

He had not seen Thorin smile in a long while. Courteously, many times, but never these gentile grins dashing the worries of both men.

Lost, all furniture repaired as new or better, Thorin had turned his sights to new additions and built a tasteful dower in the garden. Shading the wooden bench on sturdy supports of thin stakes, vines curled up the kitchen window to entangle artfully across the knotted frame.

In summer, drooping flowers bloomed across the lattice, catching Bilbo's smoke rings in their petals unless the unhurried wind shifted and carried them out across the southern field.

Now, on a sunny spring morning, Bilbo and Thorin sat side-by-side on the bench under the budding dower. Thorin twisted gears of an intricate puzzle toy whilst Bilbo filtered through the day's post and puffed on his pipe.

Frodo waited at Thorin's feet, hands on the dwarf's knees ready to spring forward, brimming with impatience.

Finally, the toy clicked with greater confidence than its previous whines and creaks, and grew suddenly from a tiny thing in Thorin's hands to a giant box in Frodo's little palms. Immediately, the boy sat cross-legged in the clipped grass, turning the toy over and over in his hands as it was designed, captivated wholly.

Leaning down, Thorin ruffled his dark curls -- to which Frodo gave not an inkling of acknowledgement -- and stood, groaning and massaging his lower back.

"My body never hurt so much on the Road," he said, nearly a complaint yet just shy of it. "All this peace has softened my joints."

Bilbo hummed cheerily, a little smoke escaping the corner of his mouth. He looked up from a letter he would discard on the fire later, as it was yet another complaint from the Sackville-Bagginses. "Not enough to suffer from a trip to the pantry for lunch, I hope?"

Thorin smiled one of those pleasant smiles. He had found himself quite fond of the Hobbit capacity to take many meals throughout the day, after so long eating scant scraps on the Road.

He had grown plumper for his appreciation of such a habit, but then, who was there left to fight? He could allow himself to grow a little plumper and a little slower. If not now, when could be a better time?

All was well. Nothing unexpected ever dared to touch the Shire; a haven all its own on the fringes of remembrance in the histories of other folk. Sunlight shone sweetly over the meadows, glittered on the water, and only wind rustled the long grasses. Merry voices carried up the hill to the quiet garden. All was well.