#wooden partition for hall

[gkinteriordesign]

Suit Suit | My Sweet Homes - Awesome Wooden Hall Partition Ideasमाई स्वी...

[justblades]

⋆｡˚ ♰・priest! sunday x afab! reader

┈─ ・(ex)plicit, mdni. contains 2.2 spoilers, blasphemous themes, impregnation, clit stimulation, oral sex, controlling sunday, not proofread.

Even a mere mortal can sense the regret lingering in the atmosphere of the vicinity, a small space dedicated for confessions and atonement of sins committed by those who believe in the Harmony. Numerous pews stand in rows before a single one, each being occupied by two people at best, to which you draw closer to the confession box— one more person to go and it is time to purify your tainted soul.

It was just muffled murmurs of two people from the latter reverberating inside the hall's six walls, along with the sound of the ceiling fans whirring. Your mind starts to drift onto something else: although you have no idea what others hold with regards to their sins, you still could not help but think that yours is shameful.

You can see the person beside you exit the birch box with teary eyes and stuffed nose as she holds a handkerchief to her face. "Next please." a resolute voice echoes, signalling for you to step forward into the confessional. With a wobbly stature, you stand up and tread forward, proceeding to close the oak door behind you.

The golden lights from the hall seep through the confession booth's partition, gleaming upon your stature - creating a silhouette as to where only the advocate from the other side can peer through the woodworks. You attempt to clear your voice before speaking, a dry throat halting the words you intend to verbalize within.

"I humbly ask for your blessings and the forgiveness of Xipe . . ." You mutter as your eyes dart to nothing that catches your interest except for the parquetry etched on the wooden floorboards. Your head held down low, staring at its intricate designing.

"Please feel free to proceed. I have sought their presence within us." The priest answers. "I have committed a grave sin of succumbing to passing emotions. Primarily, I struggled with regulating the purity of one's mind and it was late that I realized I indulged in an extreme activity to quench the thirst for sexual pleasure." 

A reassuring hum resounds. "As a devout follower of the Harmony, I believe my actions do not align with the path I stride. Therefore, I ask for forgiveness and assistance on how I will repent for the sins I have committed." After forming the confession where in sentences you never thought have ever been uttered, it feels as though a heavy weight was lifted off your chest and the shackles on your feet disintegrated.

Glancing at the frosted, colored glass window in front of you, you noticed how the warm yellow lights in the background flicker repetitively in an instant, as well as the birch surroundings creaking. "By committing a grave sin, you've engaged in an activity with a partner you are not married with." The priest reiterates as if the faulty lights are a common occurrence.

You hum in response. "And by committing an even graver sin, you took part in an activity with an objective aside from procreation. Please correct me if I'm wrong."

"Yes, esteemed advocate. Everything you said was indeed correct." Your heart starts racing, "Do you promise yourself you'll turn your back on this lascivious history to start anew?" He queries.

"Yes, Mister Sunday."

"Even if you were to encounter challenges to test your faith for the Harmony?"

Hesitation ruptures through your composure. Your resolution suddenly cracks, as if it was merely a façade with a longing for forgiveness to move on.

"Be honest." Like the advocate could read your mind as of the moment, you believe in the capabilities of Harmony, so there was no use in feigning cleanliness when you know it in yourself, you still struggle. "I wish to seek assistance from those with wisdom."

You receive another firm hum in response, "Very well. Please see me in the reconciliation room a short time after." Your mind spirals into confusion and bewilderment, the emotions painting your features like you were an open book to the audience.

Trekking off the confessional booth, you did not dare to spare a glance back at the priest and only made your way to the distinct, separate room - the reconciliation. It was small, enclosed, and only an oak table, two pairs of engraved chairs, a single ligneous partition and a kneeler reside within the space. Your vision anchors to the sculpted wooden cross sign hung on the beige walls, illuminated by a faint golden lamp on the table.

Patiently awaiting the presence of the priest, you stood still with a heavy heart, seeming like the relief you felt previously was only a glimpse of what you could've been if you didn't commit such grave sin. If only.

The door swings open, followed by the entrance of the figure you were anticipating. Faded sky blue hues of hair tumble upon the male's shoulders, along with the golden earrings he was donning. Feathered ears diluting into white ripple from his footsteps, and his distinct, golden halo stays afloat behind his head.

Being vis-à-vis with the highly esteemed figure of the Penacony like this tugs your heartstrings in unease. It felt bizarre, as you could recall from others' experiences that when you encounter priests or advocates of the Harmony, your heart rests. As for Sunday, it was the polar opposite. Chills run kilometers up and down your spine, your throat starts to become dry.

You trail your vision downwards, setting your sight upon his graceful features. His eyes were a radiant yellow tinged with an ocean blue, framed by his particularly long lower lashes. He purses his lips tightly, curving upwards, flashing a small smile. "Please take a seat." He motions for the chair in front of your figures, your eyes noticing the cross cut out gloves he's wearing.

Sitting down with guard held up high, Sunday follows suit as he opens the drawer from the oak table, retrieving something of a color white and frilly in texture, as you make of what you could from your peripheral vision. "This will certainly be of help to put your faith to test. If you would kindly turn around."

Your hands rest on your lap and as you hear the last phrase that came out of his mouth, you subconsciously gripped a handful of the fabric you're wearing in alertness. Not until your vision was impaired as Sunday blindfolds you with the latter material, it was soft and delicate to the touch - you could not see anything but faint shadows against the lighting. Everything was ivory white in stark contrast, and you could barely peer through the lace folds to see the priest.

"I will now be tuning your mind with the Harmony to which you will face repercussions if statements untrue to yourself are said." He pauses. Unsure where this will lead to, you had no choice but to nod in continuation. "Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore them to shed their light."

What used to be a blurry white in your vision now fringes into colored edges, the prominent colors being purple, white, red, orange, and yellow.

"This will serve as a gentle reminder that I am assisting you to a path where grave sins  are not succumbed to, and only ▅▅▅ exists alongside philosophy to instill moral duties to a functioning member of a society."

His words cut through the thick atmosphere, thawing the glacial tension growing with each passing second.

He lowers his stature to face you, gloved fingers trailing from the hem of the laced blindfold down to your cheeks, cupping your face lightly with a careful grip. "Does this send a shiver down to your spine?" Sunday inquires and you shake your head in disagreement. It seems like he has a whole plan on how this will play out, and you were merely a pawn in his chessboard to see what you would react under these circumstances he will put you in.

The touch ghosts a caress on your lower parts, specifically, the frame of your chest. His thumb twirls on the middle part with an unraveled goal of making your buds perk up underneath the confinements of your clothing - making you grit your teeth as a poor attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

A question arises amidst the confusing situation, a question that will surely be received in a poor taste as it will question his authority and legitimacy. You wanted to ask, is this really necessary?

However, the aura he exudes now was far different from what he displays when he's in front of the audience of the masses. He seems more strict now, judging from the tone lacing his voice from his query earlier. "Does this feel good?" He proceeds to unbutton your top, letting the fabric come undone and fall down to your lap. A singular  gloved hand of his snakes its way to your back, and with a single fidget, your bra was unclasped.

The priest takes his precious time in all these. He carefully observes the clothing that you wear, as he had come to adore the fact that you were wearing pearly white brassiere, one that was similar to the blindfold's texture and design, it was frilly in the edges and soft to the touch.

A light chuckle slips out, "Well? What's your answer?" Desire and temptation brews within your stomach, even spiking higher as he caresses your mounds with both of his hands. His touches feel light and blissful at the same time, like your body was basking in the warmth and enjoyment the priest had to offer. You struggle to keep your body still, knees trembling even though you were only sitting.

"N-No, Mr. Sunday."

A sharp throbbing ache courses through your head, granting him a wince of both surprise and pain. "It appears that you haven't put your mind and whole heart to this yet." He says as he walks away from your stature, leaving you dumbfounded. As silence encompasses the vicinity, you hear the male seat himself on the chair across from you. "Come to me." He simply orders.

"Just take steps forward and trust me."

With blind faith, you solemnly obey - approaching his figure with an extremely bleary vision. As your feet meet with an obstacle, seemingly the chair's legs, you stop in your tracks. "Now straddle my lap." Following suit, you feel a bulging sensation under your remaining clothing. Your breath becomes even more jagged than before, especially now that your clothed folds come in contact with his throbbing dick. It was clear cut enough that it was his erection continuously growing.

A brief moment passes and Sunday continues to envelop your hard buds within his lips, teeth grinding on your nipples in an attempt to inflict pain and pleasure all at the same time. "M— Mr. Sunday . . !" You yelp but he does not halt. He proceeds to twirl his warm, slick tongue all over your glazed areolas, your boob dancing in rhythm with his mouth in somewhat harmonic tunes played by your stifled mewls.

His other free hand pulls you tighter to his chest as he adjusts his position, bucking his hips upwards to create some sort of friction. The tip of his covered cock brushes against your already wet slit, granting him another lewd sound - this time, a soft moan. "I— I— I can't—" your hands clutch on the man's broad shoulders, feeling his long, muted blue and white locks tangle along your fingers. "You can. Yes you can. Only a little bit more you would be rewarded by proving your loyalty to the ▅▅▅."

Your sense of hearing downgrades as your mind drifts into pure bliss, lower limbs becoming numb as more pleasure courses through your veins. As if it's still not enough, Sunday simply lowers your remaining clothes to your feet, revealing your folds sopping wet with arousal already.

With haste and care in Sunday's every movement, he lays your back on the table in between the chairs, forcibly revealing everything down there to him — for him to revel in. The gelid wind traces shivers upon your sweat dewed skin, especially your folds now glimmering with muddy white liquids.

He raises your legs and stands up, resting your lower limbs upon his shoulders. The position is embarrassing enough as it is, but having the priest tower over you is another experience that feels even more intense than what unfolded previously. Not to mention that the throbbing pang in your head brought by your dishonesty upon the Harmony worsens minute by minute.

The male buries his face in your inner thighs first, flicking his tongue over your soft skin while his eyes are darted on your face, in high alert to which action of his you will react the most to. "Need I remind you to be honest this time around? Or is the headache that you're feeling not sufficient for you to stay true to your words?" He asks with a demanding tone, the margins of his lips drawing closer and closer to your slit.

"I have learned my lesson, Mr. Sunda—"

Gloved fingers begin to stimulate your clit, moving in motions you cannot fathom with your current state - your lower body jerking up in response to the stimulation. A sly smile creeps up on Sunday's face, his navy blue pupils fixating on each of your actions and expressions.

All you could think of was the fact that he didn't even let you finish, he went straight to pleasure you more, the sensation becoming more overwhelming as he starts to glide the tip of his tongue on your folds. "Do you feel good?" Although his voice was muffled from the proximity from his face and your pussy, you could comprehend and immediately answer, "Yes! I-I feel good . . !"

You rack your head back once Sunday buries his face further into your inner thighs, wallowing himself in your slit as he sucked on your sweet spot, sticking his tongue into your velvet walls while still toying with your clitoris. You bite back your moans, you cannot afford to lose the remaining dignity you had in you left - if there was any.

"Don't do that."

His voice sounds stern as ever, you were left with no choice yet again but to let mewls and moans come undone at this point in time. You were noisy, along with the sucking sounds accompanied by your hums of pleasure, continually bouncing off of the reconciliation room's four walls. "Very good. As for the last part, you must continue to be truthful, to stand by the ▅▅▅, and to ▅▅▅ to what I ought to be ▅▅▅ for you. Do you understand?"

Much to your relief, your vision was once again back to normal as he unties the lacey blindfold on your eyes. This time, you could see Sunday's disheveled hair, as well as the golden earrings dangling at every movement he makes. He swiftly unzips his slacks, therefore revealing his cock he had been concealing for so long before. It stands in its full glory, hues of purple and indigo veins threatening to pop - it was evident he's at his limit.

"Use your mouth. Make me feel good." He commands and peers at you with a somber expression. You muster enough strength on your body to stand up and kneel in front of him, positioning your head in a perfect angle to receive him. Slowly parting your lips open, he shoves his dick inside you, granting you a hoarse moan of satisfaction slipping past his lips.

You bob your head up and down and as if it felt natural to wrap your digits around the remaining length of his cock, you pump him in accordance to your pace, taking him inside with no hesitation, with only one goal in mind: to make him feel good. You could feel the crown of his dick kiss your throat every time you go deeper, making your eyes water as you try to keep yourself from gagging for the priest's satisfaction.

"That's enough, stand up." Your momentum was cut off as he hooks his arms on yours, making you stand from your previously kneeling position. It seems he has indulged enough in your submission and now it is time for him to try something new, something far more amusing in his perspective.

With both of your statures still standing up, he flips you around, making your back face him. He can examine every nook and cranny of your body in this way, and with a hum of approval, he bends you over slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist and reach for your tits. Your breath deepens, more beads of sweat proceed to trickle down your naked body. "M-Mr. Sunday, are we really going to do it?" you ask as he wraps his hand around himself, brushing his tip on your entrance.

He stops in his movements. "Do you have a problem with that?" A domineering tone laces that sole sentence, one that a person cannot delve deeper furthermore.

With one more stroke, he finally pushes himself inside your velvet walls, molding themselves around the shape of Sunday's dick - wallowing in the pleasure and warmth he emanates inside you. "So . . . warm . . ." He whispers, his breath ghosting a caress on the shell of your ear.

Sunday builds up his pace from a painfully slow one to picking it up, thrusting into you with additional force, pistoning your pussy as he's balls deep. Sounds of skin slapping add onto the lewd tune you two have been playing for the past hour, a whole sixty minutes of pleasure pooling your stomach and arousals seeping out of your holes.

Your legs start to quiver once more, exhaustion gnawing at your bones. But amidst this, Sunday kept you still with his force, hitting your sweet spots with the tip of his cock. If you could beg for mercy as of the moment, you certainly would take the chance. But to who, exactly? To whoever aeon is witnessing this lascivious act unfold in front of them, committed in such a religious place?

Or perhaps to Sunday, who you've knelt to before, received him inside your body in more ways than one. Perhaps. Perhaps it is he who shall show you mercy in the heat of the moment.

"M-Mr. Sunday, please forgive me!"

Interest sparks inside his mind, revelling in the way of being viewed as someone highly, someone sought out, someone in a legitimate authority. "You shall be forgiven." He states as he bites down on the blade of your shoulder, teeth leaving a bite mark and an aching sensation alongside it. You could do nothing but wince in pain, but waves of pleasure start to crush upon your conscious self.

Surely this is too much pleasure to handle for someone asking for forgiveness as they committed a grave sin for partaking in debauchery . . . but to be done this way by a priest is a little too exhilarating.

He picks up the pace, earning himself more moans of pleasure escape your lips, "I'll ▅▅▅ ▅▅▅ inside you." Sunday says as a fair warning, but a sentence you could only form at the present time was a lighthearted "Do as you please, Mr. Sunday."

With one single thrust, strings of satisfaction sprawl inside your womb. It feels warm yet again, but now, comforting in stark contrast to the nervousness welling up in your heart earlier.

"Well done. As you've shown resolution that you're on a path to atone for the sins you've committed in the past, you shall be forgiven."

[peachdues]

A little softness from Part II of The Great War, featuring Giyuu’s unfurnished manor and the first look at the meeting between Reader and the Uzui gang…

READ PART I HERE

Giyuu watched her survey his estate and he felt a flush of embarrassment. He’d never given much thought to its furnishings beyond the barest essentials – namely, his futon and a mismatched assortment of cookwares for the rare occasion he bothered to prepare himself a meal.

Admittedly, he’d never spared much consideration for how empty and barren his home might appear to outsiders. Never before had it occurred to him to decorate; after all, he’d never had visitors in his time with the Corps, apart from the time Tanjiro had come to train with him, shortly before that final battle. But then, as he watched his new fiance slowly take in the sprawling estate before her, he felt a strange unease.

“It’s not much,” he admitted, quietly. “But you are free to do – to decorate – as you wish.”

Y/N still did not answer, and Giyuu found himself in a rush to explain; to justify. “This is your home, too, after all –”

At that, the shrine maiden’s eyes snapped to his, as though suddenly aware he was indeed there.

“Forgive me, I –,” her voice faltered as her eyes swept across the empty interior of the Manor. “I have never had a place I could truly call my own. But now I do.”

She finally looked to him, and Giyuu realized he expression had not been one of wary judgment; it was awe.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her hand rising to settle against his cheek. “Thank you for returning to me. Thank you for this gift.”

As Y/N hurriedly re-dressed in her shrine clothes, she swore she heard a titter of voices join the one which had loudly disrupted her soft morning with her new fiance.

Once dressed, the young Miko quickly looked around her fiance’s sparsely furnished bedroom, desperate for a mirror to ensure she looked presentable, but to her chagrin, there was none. With a grimace, she fished her small wooden comb out of her bag and yanked it through her hair, scowling at some of the knots which had formed as a result of Giyuu’s enthusiastic fingers.

She moved like a storm through the bedroom, finding the delicate hairpin the Water Pillar had gifted her discarded haphazardly to the side of the futon. Y/N quickly twisted her hair back and slid the pin through the knot she’d made, securing it in place. Her hands patted nervously down her front, smoothing any wrinkles or pulls in her shrine uniform. There was little else she could do to ensure her appearance was proper to greet guests, but she would have to discuss the need for a mirror with Giyuu later.

Quietly, she slid the door of the bedroom open and padded softly down the long hallway which led to the front of the Water Pillar’s estate. As she drew nearer, the muffled hum of voices clarified.

“Kanao and that haughty loudmouth of hers are quite cross with you,” the male voice, warm and rich boomed from the front of the Manor. “You didn’t even allow them to examine you once you woke up –”

“I had something I needed to do,” came Giyuu’s even reply. “It could not wait.”

There was a great snort. “You just don’t think, Giyuu.”

Y/N drew upon the last corner that separated her from Giyuu and his guests and she paused. After two quick, steadying breaths, she squared her shoulders and forced her legs to carry her around the partition, her heart lodged uncomfortably in her throat.

The four strangers gathered in the front hall did not immediately notice her appearance, but the Manor’s raven-haired master did. The moment the shrine maiden stepped into the entry wing, Giyuu turned toward her. Though the man – lumbering and massive as he was – had been in te middle of lecturing the former Water Pillar about the need to take care of his health, Giyuu’s attention on her remained rapt, his eyes full of warmth and longing.

Slowly, each of the strangers – three women and one man – turned their attention to what had so ensnared that of their friend’s, and suddenly, Y/N found herself bearing the uncomfortable weight of four additional pairs of eyes.

Three and a half, she corrected inwardly, noting that the one who’d ben speaking when she’d arrived wore a distinct, bejeweled eyepatch over his left eye.

The four strangers continued to stare at her, their faces contorted in various degrees of surprise, from the stunned, raised-eyebrow expression worn by the woman whose hair was slicked back and up, to the gobsmacked, slack-jawed look of pure awe by the girl whose eyes were a distinct shade of brilliant blue.

The male companion blinked. “Well,” he straightened, a massive arm coming to rest on his hip as he flashed her a crooked smile. “I guess this is the reason you were in such a hurry to leave the Butterfly Mansion, huh?”

—

BONUS:

“Who is this, Giyuu?” The silver haired man prompted, eye flicking back and forth between Y/N and his comrade.

“She is everything.” Giyuu said simply, and Y/N felt her cheeks burn. “She is my betrothed.”

such babies 🥺

[2i1han]

pt. 2

not a romance story | park sungho

pairing : intern!sungho x intern!reader addressed as narin ⭑ wc : 5.9k

tags : office rom-com, friends to lovers?, lovers to enemies

playlist : step by step / boynextdoor , amusement park / baekhyun , kiss me / sixpence none the richer , the perfect pair / beabadoobee , ghostride / crumb , panama / sports , ring my bell / suzy , from now on / vincent blue , toothbrush / dnce

with both your competitive streaks, it was only a matter of time before you and your office friend-slash-fling started butting heads over a promotion that could determine your future. the catch? only one of you can get it.

pt. 1

pt. 3

you silently cursed sungho under your breath as you stared at the message, your fingers tightening around your phone. of course he ratted you out. of course he couldn’t help but play teacher’s pet in a clean-cut button-up. you shut your eyes and sighed—deeply, dramatically, as if that might erase him from existence. it didn’t.

marching back into the office, you made a pit stop at your desk, setting your now lukewarm coffee down on the wooden table. sungho looked up from his monitor, raised a brow, and had the audacity to look amused.

you didn’t blink, instead, you gave him your best squint of judgment, the one you usually reserved for slow walkers and people who talk during movies.

straightening the hem of your white blouse, you made your way to the supervisor’s office like you weren’t internally screaming. your knuckles lightly tapped the door before you pushed it open, bowing politely as mr. yoo gestured you to sit.

he looked up from his glasses, then calmly took them off and folded them with the kind of slowness that made you question if you were about to be fired, promoted, or adopted.

"miss yang," he started.

you blinked. "yes, sir?"

"you and mr. park have been two of our top interns."

mr. yoo continued, "i hope you both can set aside your personal… differences and focus on working together. especially on this final project."

you nodded, but your brain was coming up with multiple possible outcomes.

"do you understand?"

"yes, sir," you nodded again, maintaining professionalism.

"dismissed."

you stood and bowed once more, walking out of the room with a curious look. that's it? the best possible scenario you came up with is a suspension slip. the moment the door clicked shut behind you, your polite office face melted into one of mild annoyance. you spun and made a beeline for sungho’s cubicle.

"what was that all about?" you asked, arms crossed, tone somewhere between civil and hostile.

he looked up lazily. "beats me. he called me in too."

then, he had the nerve to shrug and go back to typing like he didn’t just derail your entire morning with unnecessary scare.

you stood there for a second, flabbergasted. you sighed, stomping back to your desk and slumping into your chair like a deflated balloon. maybe you were a little harsh on him earlier. maybe.

you peeked sideways over the partition, eyeing sungho from your seat. he was focused, earbuds in, blank expression. you weren’t sure what bugged you more, the idea that he might’ve sabotaged you or the thought that he didn’t.

────────────────────

you tried to ignore the ominous rumble in your stomach as you stared blankly at the glowing monitor, its harsh white light reflecting off your dull, sleep-deprived eyes. it was almost 9 p.m., and the office felt like a post-apocalyptic silence—only instead of zombies, it was just you and sungho.

the entire day had passed in a painfully boring one, both of you pretending the other didn’t exist. you hadn’t even made eye contact, let alone spoken. if ignoring each other was a sport, you’d both have gold medals. still would argue over who'd get the top podium.

now, the office was deathly quiet except for the soft clack-clack of keyboards—yours and sungho’s, who sat a few seats away again, and the occasional hum from the vending machine down the hall.

once again, you two were the last interns standing. if that didn’t scream "dedicated to corporate suffering," then your blood sugar, currently plummeting rock bottom, definitely did.

you blinked slowly, eyes dragging over a spreadsheet that might as well have been written in ancient sumerian. your hands were starting to sweat, your fingers trembling just enough to miss the shortcut keys. your vision blurred at the edges, the screen swimming in and out of focus like you were trying to work underwater.

"shit," you muttered under your breath, immediately reaching for your bag.

you violently rummaged your bag—lip balm, five pens you didn’t remember owning, a movie ticket stub from 2022, two crumpled tissues that may or may not have been used, but no candy.

you exhaled slowly, eyes closing for a second as disbelief washed over you. of course. of course you forgot it again.

"okay, it’s fine. it’s fine," you whispered to yourself, standing up slowly, one hand gripping the edge of your desk. "just make it to the vending machine. it's not that far. just a short walk."

you took one step. then another before everything around you tilted.

your knees buckled, and you dropped to the cold office floor with a thud. the pain didn't register, but the panic did—your heart pounding faster, your breath catching in your throat.

across the room, sungho’s eyebrows knit together as he looked up from his monitor, frowning. he stood up quickly, the squeak of his chair cutting in through the silence.

"narin?" his voice was urgent and concerned.

you barely noticed the sound of his footsteps rushing toward you. then suddenly, his face was right in front of yours. eyes wide, alarmed. his hand gripped your shoulder, gentle and firm.

"hey—hey, look at me," he said, voice tight with panic.

you blinked up at him, struggling to focus. your head felt like it was floating several inches above your body. sungho didn’t hesitate. he dug into his pocket and, held a small wrapped candy. apple-flavored. your favorite.

without a word, he unwrapped it with steady fingers and held it out to your mouth.

"open up," he coaxed.

you parted your lips shakily, and the candy met your tongue. the familiar sweetness flooded your mouth, and with it, the slow return in reality.

he guided you into a sitting position against the cubicle wall, one arm supporting your back, the other steadying your shoulder as how he’d done this before.

"breathe," he murmured, his voice now softer.

you nodded, focusing on the feel of the apple candy dissolving in your mouth and the faint, comforting scent of his polo. laundry detergent and fading perfume.

you leaned your head lightly on his shoulder, and neither of you said anything for a moment. then, quietly, you asked, "you always carry candy?"

sungho chuckled under his breath, rubbing your arm gently. "you know i do. you always forget to bring some and end up collapsing. kind of a routine at this point."

you let out a weak laugh. "right. classic."

there was another second of silence, filled only by the soft hum of the office air conditioning. you stared down at your hands. "sorry i accused you of ratting me out," you mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

sungho gave a half-sigh, half-laugh. "well, sorry if i acted like i owned the entire project."

"you didn’t," you said, finally glancing at him. "we’re just… stressed. and there’s that announcement."

he nodded, eyes still fixed ahead. "yeah. it’s important to me too. just like it is for you."

"who doesn’t need a job after living off part-time gigs and instant noodles," you added with a bitter chuckle.

sungho cracked a smile. "and the joy of job hunting during an economic drought."

you both sat in quiet agreement.

"also," he added after a pause, "about supervisor yoo. i didn’t tell him anything. he just called me randomly and said we should work together and ‘set aside personal drama.’ his words."

you lifted your head slightly, looking at him. "then… what about the tablet and folders?"

he sighed. "of course you noticed the tablet." he gave you a look, amused. "after his lecture, he asked to see how the draft was going. since you weren’t there yet, i had to show him myself."

you nodded slowly, processing his words. they made sense. "i might’ve been too harsh."

"yeah," he said, smirking. "you can be. you’re too observant. it’s scary."

you gave him a faint smile. "you should’ve told me."

"yeah, well," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "hard to do that when you look two seconds away from throwing a stapler at me. and we weren’t exactly… okay."

"are we okay now?" you asked.

he met your gaze, nodding. "we are."

────────────────────

the hum of the monitor resumed, blending with the low buzz of the office lights. the silence that filled the room felt normal now.

you glanced sideways. sungho was back at his desk, hunched over like usual, fingers clicking against the keyboard. he squinted at his screen, muttering what you could only assume were curse words aimed directly at excel. occasionally, he'd jab the enter key with just enough force to make his frustration known.

and yet, despite being at your own desk again, trying to focus on the layout report, something kept tugging at your thoughts.

maybe it was the way he handed you that candy earlier. no hesitation, just instinct. or the way he held your shoulder, steady and careful, like you were made of porcelain instead of bones and grudge. or maybe it was the apple candy itself. you never told him it was your favorite, but somehow, over the months, he just knew.

you tried not to smile, then your stomach grumbled again, this time not from a sugar crash but from the very normal, very human kind of hunger.

you pushed back your chair, stood up, andwalked over sungho's desk.

"hey," you said. "tteokbokki?"

sungho looked up, then nodded with a grin. "perfect."

────────────────────

the little tteokbokki shop across the street glowed under warm fluorescent lights, the kind that should've been ugly but somehow gave off a warm, nostalgic vibe like late-night study sessions and post-midterm hangouts. you stood outside while the ahjumma packed up your order, the smell of chili paste and fried batter floating through the air.

"i still can't believe mr. kim wears fake glasses just for aesthetic," you said through a laugh, arms crossed as you rocked on your heels.

sungho shook his head, chuckling. "he doesn't even need them. he literally puts them on for zoom meetings only. he even has a little glasses-cleaning cloth in his drawer, like he's fooling anyone."

"it's not even blue light protection, there's a literal hole in the rim," you added, nearly wheezing.

"and don't get me started on sejeong from hr," you continued. "she dilutes the coffee in the pantry so it 'lasts longer.'"

sungho snickered dramatically. "she also turns the fan on max in the break room and claims it 'helps the microwave work faster.' that's witchcraft."

your laughter echoed down the quiet street as sungho leaned on the nearby lamppost, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

you sipped from your soda can, the fizz tickling your throat as you sighed. "i kind of missed this."

"missed what?" he asked, looking over.

"this. talking, laughing," you said softly. "i mean… when we're not lowkey trying to kill each other."

sungho exhaled, glancing away before nodding. "yeah, same."

the quiet settled again, but it wasn't awkward. just full of passing headlights, distant honks, and the faint crackle of frying oil inside the shop.

"i was kinda sad," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "when we stopped talking for a day after the whole... thing. i hated pretending like you weren't there."

sungho looked at you, his expression softening, the usual snark melting into silence.

"you're not wrong," he said. "we made a pretty good team."

you offered a small smile, toeing a pebble with your shoe. "so… maybe no more arguments?"

he smirked. "no promises."

you laughed, elbowing him lightly. "figures."

"but i'll try," he added with a shrug.

you nodded, accepting the compromise. you couldn't promise either. some habits were hard to break.

the ahjumma finally handed over the warm plastic bag, steam fogging the lid. you both bowed and thanked her before heading back across the street.

back at the office, the glow of your screens contrasted against the takeout bag now wedged between open folders and neon highlighters. sungho dragged his chair over next to yours, popping the lid open. the tteokbokki sauce was perfectly spicy, the rice cakes chewy, and the fish cakes soft. you ate shoulder to shoulder, chopsticks in one hand and red pens in the other.

────────────────────

there's only a week and a half left before the end of your internship and everything's working in fumes. the sound of keyboard tapping had become a panic bgm, layered over the hum of the printer, the low hiss of the water dispenser, and ningning’s occasional desk karaoke from her wireless earbuds. the office smelled faintly of burnt coffee, whiteboard markers, and someone’s lunch that definitely included shrimp.

you and sungho sat at your respective cubicles, not looking at each other. instead, both of you stared at the shared google slides deck titled concept_final_v8_forreal_this_time_plsdonttouch.pptx

which neither of you respected the sanctity of, obviously.

you leaned back in your chair, letting out a quiet sigh through your nose. the screen's glow reflected off your glasses, the cursor blinking like an sos. you stole a glance to your side.

sungho sat hunched forward, one hand propping up his cheek, the other clicking his mouse. his brows were furrowed in a way you’d once thought was focus-mode cute, but today looked dangerously close to he’s probably changing my slides again.

───────────────────

for the past three days, things between you and sungho had been surprisingly smooth. suspiciously smooth. after that late-night tteokbokki bonding session and the momentary amendment. it felt like your dynamic was back: the inside jokes, the rhythm, the shared side-eyes whenever sejeong from hr dilutes the coffee in the pantry again.

but today, the air felt tight. like a balloon slowly overinflated. you noticed it when sungho quietly renamed the deck. again. at first, it's not something you and sungho would argued over, but it gets to a point.

you’d opened the file that morning to find the layout of slide 5—the concept moodboard—completely restructured.

muted browns. flat icons. font reduced to helvetica 12pt. you stared at the screen, lips parted slightly in disbelief. your neon gradient buttons were gone.

your fingers hovered over your trackpad, hesitating between fighting back and letting it go. but the sting lingered.

you looked over at his desk, and you caught sungho squinting at the revised opening copy. he leaned in closer to the screen, lips moving silently with an astounded look.

"this refreshing and exhilarating journey will follow our artist through curated challenges and unexpected fun—"

he scrunched his nose, grimacing and muttered under his breath, "curated challenges? unexpected fun? why does it sound like a shampoo ad?" he said as he whipped his head to look at you.

you swiveled your chair slowly toward him, drink in hand. "it’s clean. professional. our artist isn’t a corny meme-machine."

sungho turned toward you in disbelief, gesturing loosely with his pen. "god, narin—it’s a variety show." he rolled his chair an inch closer with a frustrated creak. "it’s literally supposed to be corny. what happened to the pun i added? 'one artist, 100 missions, zero shame'—that slapped."

you arched an eyebrow, taking a long sip of your drink before replying flatly, "yeah, that would receive us a couple of slaps from the panel."

sungho let out a groan, dragging a hand down his face. "you’re allergic to fun."

"and you’re allergic to approval emails," you shot back, tilting your head.

a silence settled, but not hostile, yet.

you both turned back to your screens at the same time, the shared deck blinking with tiny colored cursors like two minds dueling in real-time.

and just like that, after only a few days of being back in rhythm,

another bomb was quietly ticking again between you and sungho.

────────────────────

it's nearing late afternoon. the scent of ningning's fourth banana of the day filled the air. across the room, jisung was practicing his pitch in a whisper, flapping his hands in gestures.

not even an hour had passed since you re-edited your slide, and it was already back to a brutalist nightmare. helvetica. grid lines. clinical white and beige space. you stared at your screen, blinking twice, then once more just to confirm the horror was real.

you stood up, laptop in hand like it was evidence in a criminal trial, and marched over to sungho's desk.

"you changed it again."

sungho didn't look up. his hand dragged slowly across the trackpad. "yeah, the slides were getting cluttered."

"they were dynamic," you snapped back, rotating the laptop toward him. "it's a variety show deck, not a tech startup pitch. color isn't a crime."

"i know that," he said, rubbing his temples with two fingers. "but minimal design reads sharper. right now it looks like a neon bowling alley."

you blinked. "and who made you visual director?"

he finally glanced at you. "the same guy who had to rewrite the show description three times because the last one sounded like it was generated by chatgpt."

your jaw dropped a fraction. "excuse me—"

"'an exhilarating journey of unexpected self-discovery'? that's literally the tagline of an indie film no one watches," he cut in, spinning his monitor around so you could see the slide. the words glowed in soft blue—your work.

you straightened. "okay, mr. 'zero shame'—your humor was fun when it worked, but now every line sounds like a tiktok caption. it's so unprofessional."

he rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair until it squeaked. "i'm trying to make this feel exciting. you've stripped it down to hr-approved buzzwords."

"and you've flattened my visuals into powerpoint lite!"

the argument bounced like a tennis match. voices rising and across the room, the background hum of office life paused—keyboard clicks faltering, as everyone started to notice you and sungho

ningning let out a quiet gasp, a banana halfway to her mouth. jisung dramatically leaned sideways to pry in his chair like his ears had grown antennae.

your tone dropped as you noticed, but your pulse only climbed. "i just don't get why you keep changing the layout. that's my area. i thought we trusted each other's strengths."

sungho's expression shifted—eyes narrowing slightly. "i could say the same. you've rewritten my copy without asking. twice."

"i was fixing it."

"so was i."

the silence that followed was heavier than anything you'd said aloud. the ac whirred overhead. you looked at him and sighed. "i just don't want this to end up looking like your idea. when we worked on it together."

his lips parted slightly. like he had a response ready—but nothing came out. he paused. blinked as if he's hesitating before responding.

"i didn't know we were keeping score."

you're taken aback. it wasn't yelling, and it wasn't dramatic. but it stung. not just because of what he said, but because it was him saying it.

now, even with barely a meter between your desks, you felt the distance. you straightened your back. your voice came out quiet, but hurt. "forget it. you can take the lead if you want."

he nodded, almost hesitating. "fine."

you turned to walk back to your desk. but then, both you, sungho, the other two interns, and even the juniors in the room collectively winced—because there's mr. yoo, standing outside his office door, arms crossed, and blank face. then, without a word, he walked off toward the main hall.

you exhaled through your nose, relieved he didn't give you a scolding and sank into your seat, finally pulling up the next slides. no more re-editing the same old one for the hundredth time, for now.

────────────────────

the sun dipped beneath the huge window, casting a burnt orange hue over the room. the fluorescents flickered back to life in unison, and one by one, employees began to trickle out.

"see you," ningning said, giving your back a gentle tap as she passed. jisung gave you a lazy two-finger salute, already halfway out the door.

you nodded and smiled as you sat still. cursor blinking on a half-finished deck. you assumed sungho would stay too for overtime like he always did.

but you were left with your mouth slightly parted in disbelief as he packed his things without a word. no "want mocha latte?" no "let’s finish one more slide?" hell he didn't even bid goodbye.

he slung his bag over one shoulder, didn’t spare you a glance, and walked out. you stared at the door for a long moment. looks like it'll be your first overtiming alone in this room without sungho. sure, a few senior employees were still in the other offices—but here, it felt too quiet.

your hands hovered over the keyboard. you looked around. the room felt so different without him. you turned back to the deck and clicked through it again. slide 5.

your rolled your eyes as it changed again to his version—flat, minimal, no buildup. no charm. just bland boxes and bullet points that sucked all personality out of the concept.

you groaned quietly, tweaking the colors, nudging a shape or two, but then, with a resigned sigh, you just closed the file. what was the point? he'd probably change it again the second he got home.

your hand dragged down your face, fingers pressing into your temples. it wasn't even about who was right anymore. the project was suffering, both of you were. and worst of all is it wasn't even fun being mad at him.

you reached for your phone and opened your chat with him, your thumbs hesitating for a moment before you typed.

[you] please, don't change any more of my visual concepts. that's my part.

you barely had time to lock the screen before it buzzed.

[sungho] yes, only if you stop changing mine. that's my part too.

your jaw dropped in disbelief. you scoffed, eyebrows raising as you sat up straighter, posture squaring like you were about to go into battle in a reddit thread.

[you] how are we gonna work well together if we don't even like each other's works?

then, no reply. just a damning 'read'.

letting out a sharp breath through your nose, you locked your phone, shoved it in your bag, and finally stood up. the office was creepier than you thought when empty. time to leave.

you stepped out into the hallway, where life rushed back in all at once—chatter from other floors, and the clack of heels against the tiles. you walked out of the building and into the dusky evening air. the sidewalk glowed under the streetlamps, and the city smelled like fried food, car exhaust, and warm pavement.

as you passed a café, its bell chimed just as the door swung open—and a tall and familiar guy stepped out. your friend from college.

"jung sungchan?" you called out instinctively.

he looked around, confused for a second before spotting you. "yang narin!"

he jogged toward you, his smile wide. "hey, what's up?" he said, pulling you into a half-hug before stepping back.

"it's been—what, three years?" you grinned. "i've been good. still interning at a media company," you added with a little eye-roll.

"internship, huh," he said with a nod, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. "i've been teaching dance since graduation."

"that's amazing. back in k-arts you were obsessed with dancing. now you're literally living your dream."

"your life'll find its rhythm too," he said, tapping your arm. "probably sooner than you think."

you smiled, until your eyes drifted to the café window behind sungchan. lit up like a stage. and there's sungho. standing by the order counter, laughing with a girl. long brown hair, wearing a soft yellow sundress like she was in a commercial for iced tea.

your expression dropped before you even realized it. something bitter clung to your chest, and sungchan noticed this.

"hey, you okay?" he asked.

you didn't answer. you were still staring. and then as if sensing your presence, sungho turned, and his eyes locked with yours through the glass.

his smile faded. he looked past sungchan, then back at you. you weren't sure who looked more sour—him, or you.

"i, uh..." you blinked hard, shaking yourself out of it. "i gotta go. it was nice seeing you."

"yeah, you too," sungchan said, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "good luck with the internship."

"you too," you replied, already stepping away.

you headed toward the bus stop with quick, clipped steps, the sound of your own heels too loud against the pavement.

what the hell is sungho doing with a girl? did he really ditch overtime for a date? without even saying a word?

you scoffed at the thought as you sank onto the bench. you peeked around the pole of the stop, eyes trained on the café window one last time, but he wasn't looking anymore.

he was laughing again, that dumb, goopy smile on his face—the one you hadn't seen all day. the one that used to be yours to roll your eyes at. yours to deflate with a sarcastic quip. you folded your arms and looked away. the bus couldn't arrive soon enough.

────────────────────

sunday mornings were the only reward for surviving your nightmare of a job.

you stretched in bed like a lazy cat, your comforter twisted around you like a taco. limbs outstretched, back arching, face half-buried in your pillow, you let yourself melt into the silent morning. no email pings. no zoom calls. no sterile white walls.

just you, your slightly messy apartment, and the blissful idea of ordering three overpriced iced lattes from the café downstairs.

buzz buzz.

your phone lit up on the nightstand.

still half-asleep, you reached over with the speed of a sloth in a quicksand. praying—praying—that it was a meme from your college group chat. maybe another cursed ryan gosling image, or a recap of last night’s drama from wherever they are now.

instead, the horror unfolded before your eyes like a jumpscare.

[sungho] come to my place. we’re finishing the presentation today. we talk. we fix. bring your laptop.

you stared at the message. blinked once, then again, as if you could blink it out of existence. as if it might vanish if you simply refused to perceive it.

"no....no," you groaned, faceplanting into your pillow. "this is my day." you whined as you rolled down the bed, comforter still wrapped around you.

still, five minutes later, there you were—sitting on the floor. squirming in annoyance first before dragging yourself to the shower, barely mustering the energy to scrub your hair, and throwing on the universally recognized outfit of disinterest. a basic pink hoodie, white sweatpants, and fluffy mismatched socks. no makeup, no effort, you even considered not brushing your hair just to make a point, then jammed your laptop into your tote.

────────────────────

by the time you arrived at sungho’s apartment, your brain had already hosted ten hypothetical arguments. you knocked on the door like an angry landlord. then, the door opened with a soft click.

sungho stood there in a white tee and navy sweatpants, hair slightly damp and tousled, as if he’d just remembered mid-shampoo that he summoned someone over to argue about powerpoint.

"you came," he said flatly.

"i wonder why." you muttered, brushing past him unceremoniously.

you tossed your bag onto the edge of his rug, eyeing his spotless living room. it was aggressively tidy. a guitar on the wall, and two dull frames. the interior is painfully minimal too, like a helvetica in color beige. no wonder he has a dull visual concept. the air even smelled like mundane fabric softener.

sungho sat cross-legged across from you at the low table, flipping open his laptop like this was just any other workday.

"let’s just get this over with," he mumbled.

you scoffed, arms crossed. "you said we’d talk, not just fix bullet points."

he looked up blankly. "then talk."

you stared at him, your irritation simmering beneath the surface.

"why are we even like this now?" you asked. "we’ve done five months of projects without issue. but ever since the promotion was announced, suddenly everything feels like competition."

sungho leaned back slightly, his jaw tightening. "maybe because it is now."

you let out a dry laugh. "so you do see me as competition."

"i think you’re trying so hard to prove something that you’re steamrolling me in the process."

your eyes narrowed. "oh, really? you keep editing my work without even asking. i’m not trying to steamroll you—i’m trying not to disappear."

his mouth opened like he had a comeback ready, but nothing came out. he shut it, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

and before either of you could come up with another rebut─

beep-beep-beep. click. the front door swung open.

"hyung?" a voice called from the hallway.

you both snapped your heads toward the sound like startled cats. a tall guy then stepped in, his hair dyed blonde with black streaks, just slightly longer than sungho’s. he had a soft sweater on and held a plastic bag that probably contained something homemade and delicious.

he paused when he saw you both sitting awkwardly at the table, clearly mid-fight.

"oh… am i interrupting something?"

sungho stood up way too quickly, clearing his throat "no. uh—leehan, this is my co-worker, narin."

you blinked, brows slightly creased. co-worker? that’s it? not "my teammate," "my partner on this massive presentation," or even "this person i’ve been arguing with in my living room for fifteen minutes"?

you plastered on a polite smile to hide the tiny bruise to your ego. "nice to meet you."

leehan smiled and bowed. "nice to meet you too. want to join us for lunch? i brought bossam and kimchi from mom."

you panicked, waving your hands off with an awkward smile. "oh—thank you, but i’m good."

"yeah," sungho added, awkwardly backing you up. "we still got work."

leehan shrugged and headed to the kitchen. "alright. you two don’t kill each other."

once leehan disappeared from the view, the silence returned like a fog. you sat back down with a thud.

"well," you muttered.

"i didn’t know he’d be visiting," sungho said, scratching his jaw.

you couldn’t help it—your voice came out sharper than planned. "yeah, maybe you should know who’s coming over. because what if it was your date from last night?"

he blinked at you. "what are you talking about?"

you folded your arms. "i saw you yesterday. laughing with someone at the café. that why you bailed early?"

his brow furrowed, genuinely confused. "you mean… leehan’s girlfriend?"

"what?" you blinked.

"i ran into her while picking up a cake for my mom. her birthday was yesterday. she made me sit with her ‘til leehan came."

"oh," you said quietly, slightly embarrassed.

sungho then raised an eyebrow. "and what about you? you were all giggly with some guy outside the same café."

"what?? he’s an old friend from college. i haven’t even seen him in years."

"see?" sungho shot back. "so stop assuming stuff."

you stared at each other again, the tension now a weird mix of embarrassment and guilt.

"maybe we’re both just overthinking everything," you said, fiddling with your mousepad.

"maybe," he replied, already typing again. "let’s just finish this properly."

"yeah, better."

and for the next few hours, you did. no edits without asking. no sassy slide transitions. no comic sans sneak attacks. just clean, focused work. it felt strange, and foreign but not in a good way you thought it would be.

by the time you packed up, the sun was dipping below the skyline, casting warm light through his curtains. you gave him a half-hearted lip twitch that maybe, barely, counted as a smile. then left.

────────────────────

a new monday. the office was buzzing with the sleepy yawns of a new week—coffee cups clutched like a totem, mascara still drying, someone mumbling about missing their bus.

you sipped your coffee quietly, mind still half because of stress. then, mr. yoo walked in, clapping his hands like a preschool teacher trying to summon order.

"good morning, team! quick announcement."

chairs squeaked as everyone looked up. you and sungho glanced at each other instinctively.

"we’ll be having a team-building trip this friday," mr. yoo said with too much excitement for this early. "just a day outside the city—juniors, interns, everyone’s invited. i want us to wrap up the six-month program on a positive note so that no one will leave here with any... grudges"

he emphasized, definitely looked directly at you and sungho when he said that. so did everyone else. you resisted the urge to slide under your desk as you side-eyed sungho.

"so," mr. yoo continued, "wrap up loose ends, clear your friday, and let’s have a fun, peaceful trip. got it?"

"yes, sir." everyone collectively said with mixed tones. some are groans, cheers, or blank stares of existential dread.

but you just sipped your coffee and thought what's more fun than a team building before you could potentially lose a job. and by sungho's look, he's probably thinking the same too.

[the-tavern-wizard]

Welcome to the Wandering Inn!

I’m Gerard, the proprietor of the establishment.

The Wandering Inn is a place where the travelers or newcomers to Wizard Island Island can come and stay for a while. Or rather, it’s a place that comes to you! In your time of need, call upon the Tavern Wizard and a door will appear. Rest, eat, drink, and enjoy a literally magical atmosphere! It’s your home away from tower!

We feature a variety of comforts, tended to by our staff of inter-dimensional spirits.

Rooms:

Single (3 currency per night) - Room with one bed and one chest for storage.

Double (6 currency per night) - Room with two beds, chests for storage, and a partition curtain for privacy.

Suite (20 currency per night) - two king sized beds, too many methods of storage to count, and a personal washroom. The Wizard will also add an additional custom feature to the room (within reason)

Party Deal (2 currency per bed per night) For groups of three or more, adventurers can get any number of rooms required for only 2C for every bed used. This deal does not apply to Suites.

The Inn also provides an all day mess hall, where you can order any kind of food and beverages you can imagine! Water, bread, and stew of the day are free, but anything more elaborate will cost currency.

Menu

Beverage (1 currency) - Alcoholic or nonalcoholic drink served in our signature wooden stein.

Simple Meal (3 currency) - Small bowl or plate with one food item

Filling Meal (5 currency) - Bowl or plate with two food items and a side.

[tydy-the-megnet]

I am clawing my way out of the ground, dehydrated but still kicking. I've been going through all my old likes and seeing a lot of plance, so obviously I had to write some. Been thinking about it almost all day.

Given I'm posting this a week before Easter I left plenty of Easter Eggs where I could think of them.

...

If one were to ask Katie Holt her ideal way to spend a Saturday, the list did not include waking up at three-thirty in the morning to make a shopping trip because her brother and father had just got off a work binge and needed emergency rations at the lab before they crashed in their cramped on-campus lounge.

And even further down would be forgetting her keys in her apartment, thus leaving herself locked out. Katie checked her phone again.

4:27 A.M. 27% battery. Still no response from Matt or Dad, so they definitely crashed as soon as they finished the snacks she brought them.

Katie turned around and leaned back onto her door, groaning. She slowly slid down the wooden surface until she was sat on the floor. She threw her head back, smacking it on the door just beneath the knob, and turned her phone screen off again. Her eyes found the door across from hers, Apartment 207.

She sighed, "I hope someone's up."

Katie slowly got up and took the two steps across the hall. Glancing around, as if she were about to be caught, she raised an arm to rap on the door. "Hello? Um, anyone awake?"

When no one answered after a beat, she leaned forward to resignedly rest her forehead on her neighbor's door with a soft 'bap.' That's when she heard a reply. "Hold on, I'm coming." The voice was soft and rough and groggy, and Katie whispered an apology to the guy. Then the door opened, and Katie flinched back from it before the man noticed she'd been leaning desperately on it.

The man was Latino, and he wore soft-looking blue pajamas with sleep-cap over his hair. His face was caked with some kind of goop that Katie figured was a self-care thing.

"Um, hi. How can I help you?"

Katie sucked a breath in as she realized she'd been staring. "Um, yeah, hey, my name's Katie. I'm in 206 right across the hall-look I locked myself out a little while ago. Would it be too much trouble to crash on your couch for a few hours until I can call someone to help?"

The man look more bewildered than annoyed, thankfully, "Uh, sure? How'd you lock yourself out at four in the morning?" He asked as he stepped out of the way, inviting her in.

Katie gave him a grateful, if sheepish, grin as she walked in, hunching in on herself as she glanced around the kitchenette the apartments provided. It was laid out much like hers, a linoleum floor that boasted a fridge and electric stove on one wall and a counter with sink adjacent, with a countertop table partitioning the area from the living area that was technically the same room.

She quickly made her way to the couch, glad to be off her feet and on a cushioned seat, as she replied, "I got a call from my brother an hour ago asking for urgent help, so I got dressed as quick as I could-" She grimaced when she realized that had meant wearing a very worn, oversized green shirt that just said 'Fuck people, grow plants.' and some random, stained cargo shorts. "-and hurried over there only to realize that the emergency was just that they needed snacks after they stayed up too late working and the both- he and my dad, I mean, skipped dinner."

"Oh man, that sucks." He replied simply, as opened the door to the bathroom. "Well, it's a good thing I'm a light sleeper, I guess. I'm Lance, by the way."

"Tell me about it." Katie watched, entranced, as the man slowly and methodically took off his face mask at the bathroom sink. Her angle on the couch just barely allowed her to watch as he picked at the goop and peeled it off like paper.

When he was done, he grinned at himself in the mirror and Katie fought a snort when he gave himself finger guns. Then he turned back to her and walked back into the living area and Katie swore he sparkled. Did he exfoliate with glitter or something?

His eyes were also really blue. Katie caught herself staring again, and forced herself to avert her eyes. She tried hard to lock onto anything else. The mermaid painting on the wall, the small TV across from the couch, the Mercury Gameflux II console connected to it with-

"Is that Killbot Phantasm I: Journey to the Depths of the Demonsphere?"

He sounded surprised when he answered, "Uh, yeah. Wanna play? You're stuck here for a while anyway, and I'm definitely not going back to sleep."

"Yes."

...

"Don't you touch her!" Lance shouted as he raised the controller like it would actually help his character raise his laser gun higher. "Take this! Pow! Pow! Pow!"

Katie snorted and asked, "What was that?" as her character came in with her attack bot.

"Laser guns." He grinned at her, and Katie found herself grinning back.

"What? No, they're more like 'ptchoo, ptchoo.'"

She watched him as he frowned and replied, "No way, they-AH! ROVER!" Katie smiled at the intense look on his face before his words registered. She whipped back around to see the last vestiges of her attack bot's health bar disappear. She let out her own yelp as she made her own character go try to repair him, but without his backup, Lance was already in big trouble. A couple attack cycles later, and it was over.

"Ugh, we're never gonna beat the yalmor. We're gonna be stuck in this rainforest forever." Lance groaned. He threw his hands up dramatically and Katie heard the tell-tale 'flop' as they landed on the couch behind her. His controller lying despondently in his lap as he lamented.

Katie glared hard at the 'GAME OVER' screen in front of them. The sprite of the yalmor mocking them above the letters. "We just need to grind a bit more. Once we hit level 27, yalmor will be doable."

"Maybe we should take a break for breakfast." Lance sighed, looking at the sunlight peaking through his teal curtains, "We've been at it for a while."

Katie sighed, dropping her own controller and sitting up to stretch her back out. She sighed in bliss as she felt the 'C-C-C-CRA-A-ACK' resonate through her soul. "Yeah, maybe." She sank backwards to the couch, nuzzling into the soft, warm cushion as she turned to look at Lance.

"What do you wanna-eep-" She froze as she realized the cushion she'd just nuzzled was actually his arm, but luckily he seemed distracted. She shot forward, sitting up again, turning her reddening face away.

"I think I have some leftover bacon and eggs, and I can reliably put butter on toast?"

"Yeah-sounds good." Katie answered, forcing herself to breath normally.

"I'll go heat it up."

Katie took a deep breath as Lance lifted himself up. She rubbed her face, willing the heat away as she whispered to herself, "Honestly, Katie, chill." She glanced over as he reached up to grab a loaf of bread from a shelf and caught a peek of his lower back, immediately setting fire to her face again. She looked down, rubbing her face again.

"You okay?" Came the question to give her pause.

He had seen her rubbing her face like a weirdo.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," she grimaced, "Just, uh, psyching myself up for round two in a bit."

"Ha, more like round twenty." He laughed easily as he dumped a couple of slices into the toaster. "Maybe we should grind some upgrades for Rover so you don't have to keep healing him?"

Katie considered the words as she thought back to the various failed attempts. It wasn't that healing her attack bot was causing issues. She mostly kept getting distracted whenever Lance did something cute.

Which was often.

He stuck his tongue out when he was focused on an attack pattern. He bit his lip when rearranging his inventory. He was so animated during encounters and sequences. And he got so into the story that he actually acted out some of the cutscenes.

"Yeah. Maybe." She answered anyway, watching him watch the microwave as it reheated the bacon and eggs.

"Hey," He asked suddenly, and Katie didn't even notice she'd relocated to the table, sitting across from him as he loaded up their plates. "What're your plans for the day?"

"Huh?" Her eyes widened as she processed the question. "Uh, nothing? It's Saturday, so I didn't really have plans."

He smiled at that, and her heart skipped a beat. "You wanna go do something after we beat Killbot?"

She- "I-huh?" Did he- was that-

"You know, like a date?" He added, "I mean, it doesn't have to be a date. I just think you're really cool and cute and I want to spend more time with you."

"Oh, uh, okay." Holy crow this was happening. "Like what?"

"I..." He looked at her in amazement, "Don't know. Didn't think I'd get this far."

She couldn't stop smiling as he said that.

"Well, we have time to figure that out."

[srim01997]

Second Chance | Aemond T. x OFC

Paring:  Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegin II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Slight NSFW, PIV mentioned

Writer’s note: Sorry for my grammar and I used this web to translate High Valyrian >> This web <<

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Previous Chapter | Second Chance masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter 7 The Unholy

It was strange for Viseara to see Ser Gwayne Hightower in King’s Landing suddenly. After all, the eldest son of Otto Hightower only appeared here during the Dance of Dragons. The rebellious princess couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding—his presence was surely not a sign of good news. Her anxiety grew further when she overheard that Prince Daeron, Queen Alicent and King Viserys' youngest son, was finally returning from Oldtown after being sent there for several years.

She pondered the peculiarity of Daeron being the only one sent away—why him, and not any of his siblings?

Viseara sighed as she sank into her bath, the warm water soothing her muscles after a morning spent training with Aemond. Her nephew had insisted on keeping her company during her sword practice, keeping Ser Gwayne at a conspicuous distance. Aemond's rigid behavior left his uncle baffled as to why his young nephew seemed so irritated.

As she scrubbed her arms with a sponge, a knock on the door broke the silence.

"Who is it?" she called out.

"It’s me, Aemond. May I come in?"

“Come in,” Viseara replied.

Aemond entered cautiously, his tall frame pausing just beyond the wooden partition that shielded her from view. Turning his back to her, he stood stiffly, trying not to glance at her silhouette in the bath, though temptation gnawed at him.

The one-eyed prince began counting silently to steady his thoughts as he heard the sound of water trickling to the floor. He turned briefly, only to see her step out of the tub wrapped in a robe. She seated herself on a chair, her crossed legs revealed just enough to make his throat dry.

“Aunt…you seem quite friendly with my uncle,” Aemond remarked, his eye avoiding her altogether. His tone betrayed a hint of bitterness.

She chuckled softly, her voice laced with amusement. “I was merely exchanging pleasantries, Aemond. Speaking of which, I hear Daeron is returning. Are you excited to see your youngest brother again? May I ask why he was sent away in the first place?”

Aemond shook his head dismissively. “It was my mother and grandfather’s decision. They thought it best for him to stay with family in Oldtown for his education.”

As she dressed behind the partition, Viseara took a moment to consider how much Aemond had grown. The boy she remembered was now a man, taller than his elder brother.

“Are you all right, Aunt?” Aemond asked when she emerged.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, slipping on her shoes. “But we’d better get going before your mother scolds us both.”

Aemond extended his arm to her, escorting her to the dining hall. As usual, King Viserys was absent. Pulling a chair for her, Aemond took his seat opposite, his single eye fixed on her as she dined.

Helena leaned closer to Viseara, whispering, “He’s staring at you.”

“Who?”

“My brother, Aemond.”

Viseara glanced at her nephew, who quickly averted his gaze, sipping his wine. The tension broke as the door swung open, revealing a bright-eyed boy with pale hair and violet eyes. His youthful energy filled the room, and Alicent’s face softened with visible relief and joy.

It must be Daeron, Viseara thought. His aura was far sunnier than his brothers'.

“Mother! Siblings! I’ve returned from Oldtown!” Daeron exclaimed, his smile infectious as he embraced his mother. His demeanor made Viseara wonder if Alicent's other sons would have been so cheerful had they also been sent to Oldtown.

Turning to Viseara, Daeron bowed gracefully. “It’s an honor to meet you in person, Aunt. I’ve heard much about you and Uncle Daemon.”

Taking her hand, he kissed it respectfully. Yet, he flinched slightly, sensing a sharp gaze on him. Viseara offered him a polite smile, her eyes darting toward Aemond, who was sipping his wine with an intensity that could burn holes through Daeron’s back.

The breakfast ended without any stabbings, much to everyone’s relief. Viseara excused herself and found solace beneath the weirwood tree, engrossed in her book. Her tranquility was interrupted by a familiar weight on her lap. Lowering her book, she found Aemond lying across her legs.

“Aemond,” she said, flipping the book open again. “Shouldn't ao jikagon se bodmagho rūsīr ser criston naejot practice aōha egros skills?” (Shouldn't you go and train with Ser Criston to practice your sword skills?)

“Nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon naejot jikagon naejot bodmagho syt nykeā tubis.” (I don't want to go to training for a day...)  he murmured, pulling her hand to his lips. He kissed it repeatedly, lingering over the spot where Daeron and Gwayne had kissed earlier. “Nyke jaelagon naejot sagon rūsīr ao.” (I want to be with you.)

Viseara frowned at his odd behavior. “Kostilus explain skoro syt ao sagon acting strangely? Skoros's pirta?” (Please explain why you're acting strangely? What's wrong?) Aemond, ignoring her question, continued to press kisses to her hand.

“Aemond,” she scolded, “Aemond, keligon kissing issa ondos gō someone sees īlva.” (Aemond, stop kissing my hand before someone sees us.)

He replied with a smirk. “ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon se ivestragī zirȳ gīmigon bona ao issi ñuhon.” (Let them see and let them know that you are mine.)

Sitting up, he met her gaze, his voice low but resolute. “Issa muñnykeā se KepāZma's views won't arlinnon issa desire naejot emagon ao hae issa ābrazȳrys. Should pōnta oppose, nyke prepared naejot gūrogon ao naejot zaldrīzesdōron se dīnagon ao following se uēpa valyrīha.” (My mother and grandfather's views won't change my desire to have you as my wife. Should they oppose, I am prepared to take you to Dragonstone and marry you following the ancient Valyrian.)

Viseara’s eyes widened at his audacious declaration. She could tell he meant every word. “Aemond, ao daor gaomagon bona. Aōha muñnykeā jāhor forbid bisa dīnilūks exactly se dīnagon rȳ ñamar se nephew” (Aemond, you cannot do that. Your mother will forbid this marriage exactly the marry between aunt and nephew.)

“Nyke ȳdra daor care, ñamar.  Jaelan ao hae ñuha ābrazȳrys” (I don't care, aunt. I want you as my wife.) He is whispered in her ear. “Kostilus, ñamar.  Nyke jorrāelagon ao” (Please, aunt. I need you.)

“Yn daor nephew married pōja ñamar” (But no nephew married their aunt.) she reasoned.

Before she could counter, he added, “Ao knew bona Joselyn Bathareon married zȳhon nephew, prince Aemon Targārien.” (You knew that Joselyn Bathareon married her nephew, Prince Aemon Targaryen.) The one-eyed prince kissed his aunt’s neck.  “Sīr, lo pōnta kostagon, nyke kostagon tolī.” (So, if they can, I can too.)

she argued.

“Nephew, pōnta jiōraton married rȳ keskydoso age, se ao issi nykeēdrosa nykeā riñnykeā.” (Nephew, they got married at the same age, and you are still a kid.) His grip on her tightened slightly. “ñamar, nyke daor nykeā riñnykeā dombo, se. Nyke kostagon prove naejot ao bona nyke nykeā vala, daor nykeā valonqar.” (Aunt, I am not a kid anymore, and..... I can prove to you that I am a man, not a boy.)”

Viseara remembered that she had traveled back in time to prevent the Dance of the Dragons and to ensure Rhaenyra became the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But she did not sign up to be tangled up with her younger nephew in broad daylight, in his chambers, which anyone could enter at any moment. (Who chooses a room with two doors for Aemond, anyway? Fight her at the dragon pit instead!)

She couldn't recall how things ended up like this, but the next thing she knew, their clothes were scattered on the floor, and Aemond was lavishing her in a way that nearly made her forget her own wedding night. The room was filled with moans, gasps, the sound of skin slapping, and the rhythmic creaking of the bed as it hit the stone wall.

The one-eyed prince wasn’t wearing his eye patch, allowing Viseara to see his sapphire-blue prosthetic eye for the first time. Her last memory of him before her death in her previous life was of him always covering that eye with a patch.

This was the first time she saw him remove it, even though he hesitated at first, fearing his aunt might be repulsed by his scarred face and missing eye. Relief crossed his face when he heard her say something in Valyrian while her slender fingers gently traced the scar on his chiseled face.

"Aemond, issa gevie nephew" (Aemond, my beautiful nephew).

“Māzigon syt issa, ñamar” (Come for me, aunt), he groaned as his strong hand gripped the bedpost so tightly his knuckles turned white. Together, they reached their peak.

The tall prince collapsed beside her, their bodies still connected. He ran a hand along her back before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Issi ao alright, ñamar?” (Are you alright, aunt?)

“Nyke pretty sȳz” (I am pretty fine), she replied, her mismatched eyes resting against his broad chest. Both their bodies were drenched in sweat, and her thighs were sticky with thick, white fluids. She shivered as Aemond slowly pulled out of her, feeling the damp cloth he used to clean her up.

Viseara tried to rise from the bed to get dressed, but her legs wobbled so much that she had to brace herself against the wooden table.

Her mischievous nephew chuckled under his breath, clearly pleased with himself.

“Skoros issi ao laughing rȳ? Bisa iksos aōha fault.” (What are you laughing at? This is your fault.)

“Iksos ziry issa fault bona nyke fulfilled ao?” (Is it my fault that I fulfilled you?)

Aemond smirked as he observed his aunt leaning against the table, her trembling legs betraying her. Catching the book she tossed at him, he walked over to admire the marks he had left on her pale skin. His strong hands helped tighten the straps of her dress, and he didn’t forget to plant a kiss on her cheek.

He watched his aunt attempt to compose herself as she left his chambers, but he couldn’t suppress a laugh at her shaky steps. Returning to his room, Aemond acted nonchalant as Otto Hightower entered, his sharp eyes scrutinizing the space.

“What were you and Viseara doing in here?”

“The princess and I were discussing philosophy, Grandfather,” Aemond lied smoothly, pretending to read a book. “Though we must’ve debated for quite some time, as I forgot to train with Ser Criston.”

The Hand of the King eyed him suspiciously before speaking. “You should stay away from Viseara. She may be your aunt, but she’s dangerous—”

“Why did you summon my uncle and Daeron to King’s Landing?” Aemond closed the book and looked up at Otto with piercing intensity. “You said you wouldn’t call them unless necessary.”

Otto sighed as he took a seat. “I have plans to wed Viseara to Ser Gwayne and send her to Oldtown—”

“If you paid even the slightest attention, you’d notice your granddaughter-in-law is pregnant. There’s no way my aunt would agree to be separated from her child,” Aemond interrupted with a tilt of his head. “He’d probably end up thrown to the dragons by her after their wedding night.”

Aemond smirked, his sapphire glinting as he delivered his warning. “Grandfather, I suggest you refrain from meddling, especially with the rogue princess. You wouldn’t want Oldtown to end up like Harrenhal?”

It wouldn’t be Viseara who would burn Oldtown to ashes, but him.

TBC.

[graacielas]

−−−  ꧁  starter for @malcontentswanns . after a raven long sent and received about arthur swanns failing health, graciela sits vigilantly by his door as he and will speak alone, awaiting a moment of her brother-in-laws time to get affairs in order.

once warm, herbal liquid has gone frigid by the time it reaches the brunnettes lips. she's been too focused on the horrid cough that breaks silence every few moments. its muffled by the barrier that separates them, and she must fight the urge to barge in and tend to her weakened husband. all that he's spoken of is his desire to see will and she cannot find it in herself to deny him of even the most minute of requests.

so she waits. and waits.

a heavy silence adds pressure to the weight of the thick blanket that envelops her form, only broken by a maiden who replaced a forgotten cup with one anew. quick thanks are given before she orders the hall clear of unnecessary bodies. the robed men who take their place have a purpose, one that causes a lump to form in her drying throat yet she find a way to get her words past it. three knocks laid against the partition follow her mention of his company. a small gesture of respect towards the brothers privacy, the very same they show a husband and wife.

an uncomfortable form is unsure where its natural place is when they enter the candlelit room. she hovers around its entrance like the ghost of woman she's slowly devolved into until she finally gravitates back to her resting place. fabric softens her descent into the wooden chair and a hand reaches for the porcelain cup she'd abandoned for the hundredth time.

"your return has brought him much happiness." cracks in her voice are an audible manifestation of the same ones in her well-tempered armor. she'd never felt so vulnerable, bloodshot veins infecting the whites of her eyes like the plague that eats away at the man shes come to love. she manages a small grin to assure him of the sentiment before weariness takes its righful place. "and as fond as i am of you, brother, it has brought me much despair." motions for the man to join her at the seat parallel to her, likeness identical to hers down to the cup thats been waiting to be utilized since the began its rise into the skies. "our dear arthur is growing weaker by the day, wylliam. and its time we spoke of stonehelms future."

[qubeinteriors]

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[pilalaguna]

Life in the Corazon Rivera Ancestral House

From Cora Relova of the Pila Historical Society Foundation and granddaughter of Corazon Rivera:

Lola’s house (Corazon Rivera Ancestral House) is considered ancestral because it is more than 50 years old and still belongs to the fourth generation of the family. It is a heritage house because the architecture belongs to a certain period and it is inside the declared (Philippine National) heritage zone. It is “taga-gitna” (people with houses in the center of the town surrounding the main plaza are elite).

It was built around 1929-1930. Lola Loring said she was 12 years old when they - Lola Azon (Corazon Rivera), Lolo Ato (Renato Del Mundo, son of Corazon Rivera) and Lola Loring (Loreto Del Mundo, daughter of Corazon Rivera) started living there. The old municipal hall (municipio) used to be located in the property. Lola Azon’s property was where the main municipal hall is located now. Lola Loring said that Lola Azon did not want to build the house directly in front of the church because she felt that the sins being confessed will "boomerang" back to the house or something like that. Can you imagine if she did not exchange her property….we will be in the center of the town plaza.

Anyway, there was no architect hired and Lola Azon was assisted by her nephew Felimon Rebong ("Lolo Imon") who was an engineer, or still an engineering student at that time. The house was built during the American period so it is called a chalet. It had plumbing and electricity. For better air flow the  windows were big and surrounded the house. The lower portion of the windows had “ventanillas” (little windows) covered with wooden sliding doors which can be opened too. The upper portion of the walls had open wood carvings. 

On the landing of the main stairs is the “balcon” (balcony) where one can sit to view the plaza. Aside from the main door there is also a door that leads to the first room. There were three rooms before with small doors leading to each room (the word “privacy” did not exist). The first one that opens to the balcon was occupied by Tita Jovit (Jovita, Cora's sister) and myself. The second one that opens to the sala/living area was occupied by Lola Azon and Tio Ato and family when they visited and the third one which opens to the comedor/dining area was occupied by Lolo Judge (Ramiro Relova, Loreto's husband) and Lola Loring. The 3rd room has a door that connects to the toilet/bath. (I recently had a division made to make the toilet separate from the bath during the renovation of the house).

There is no partition between the sala and comedor. When we were young a cabinet was used as partition. The front of the cabinet faced the dining room. The back of the cabinet faced the living room and the old piano was placed there. Actually the furniture pieces were moved around. The location of the living room set now is the best placement. 

There was a sliding door that was the partition between the dining room and the kitchen. The kitchen was smaller until Lola had it renovated. We had no gas or electric stove. We had a “Kalan” (clay stove) that was made of ash. Charcoal, firewood and “bunot” (coconut husk) were used as fire. I remember that there were three parts so three dishes can be cooked at the same time. Can you imagine how hard it was then? Often there was a lot of smoke but there was a continuous flow of air then so it was not so bad. It is said that the food taste better with this method of cooking.There was also a storage room  in the kitchen for (rice) “bigas”, salt etc. and I think a motor to pump water up the house. The pipes of the house was connected to free flow water fountain in the plaza. There was a stair in front of the toilet/bath used to go down to the first floor “silong” (basement).

The “silong” was where the "katulong" (household help) stayed, where the “sampayan” (clothes line when it rains) was, and the “bodega” - storage for the newly harvested and unmilled rice” palay”. Large blocks of ice were also stored there, covered by palay husks (and they never melted!) Lola Loring also had pens for hens that laid eggs and chickens for our food. I hardly went down because the flooring was not yet cemented and it was a bit dark. 

Lola Azon planted a number of fruit trees. We had macopa (java apple), suha (grapefruit), lanzones (similar to lychee), balimbing (star fruit), duhat (java plum), santol (cotton fruit) and yambo (plum apple). Only the macopa (as old as the house) and the balimbing survives. The duhat in front of the house (by the gate) is only around 20 years old.  

There was a “labahan” wash area for clothes at the back of the house. There was a continuous flow of water because of the pipe that was connected to the free flow fountain. There was a huge “kawa” or cauldron where the water fell and we (Tita Jovit and Tito Vic - Vic Del Mundo, Cora's first cousin and son of Renato Del Mundo) used to pretend “swim” or just fooled around and bothered the lavandera (washer woman) . Sadly, I do not know what happened to the “kawa”.

General cleaning of the house was done twice a year, certainly before the Flores de Mayo and I think after the New Year.  Wives of tenants would come (around 4 ladies) and would work for free but they are fed very well and given travel fare and rice to bring home. It is called “panunulungan”. The ladies used “is-is” (ficus leaves) to scour the “pasamano” (window sill) and the floor before waxing. They used “walis na tingting” (broomstick) for the ceiling, walls, iron works followed by “basahan” (rag) soaked in water with soap in “palangana” (basin). I think it took them 2 days to clean everything. Then a male "katulong" (hired help) would wax the floor manually (very labor-intensive), then used “bunot” (coconut husk) to make it shine “lampaso”. I loved the smell of floor wax and the super clean house. One of the ladies was Aling Dulay who loved to bring Michael (Cora's son) fresh eggs.

I also remember that there was a carpet for the sala set. For cleaning the help would hang it on two chairs on the sidewalk in front of the house and beat it with a walis na tingting (broomstick). The lavandera (washerwoman) would also use the sidewalk to sun-dry clothes before rinsing. 

Lola Azon would sweep the leaves on the ground with “walis tingting” everyday at around 4pm and I loved helping her. The leaves were piled up and burned because it drove the mosquitoes away. Every household did it. But in modern times, due to global warming and fumes, the municipal government forbade the burning of anything.

The wood used for the building of the house was mainly narra. Lola Loring (Loreto Del Mundo, daughter of Corazon Rivera) said that the panels with carvings that divides the rooms from the sala and comedor were made in Paete, Laguna. The windows in the rooms are made of wood with capiz shells. The flooring is also made of narra planks and the ceiling is made of wide solid narra. I remember that the materials used for the lower portion were not sturdy so it was cemented to better support the house. 

After lunchtime and cleaning the kitchen was done, the help would iron clothes in the kitchen area with a plantsadora (iron). I remember that before the electric iron a heavy metal contraption with wood handle filled with burning charcoal was used (now considered an antique). The help would also listen to telenovelas on the radio. We were required to have an afternoon nap “siesta”, and we laid on banigs (woven mast) spread out in the living room.

Capiz Shell Window

Plantsadora (Iron), image from Cora Relova

Image of a Kawa, uncredited photo

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

High Tree Hall, seat of House Archer and Medieval! Lord Oromë

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here.

A/n: Silverwood tree is something I invented purely for this AU.

High Tree Hall is located deep within the ancient forests of Hunter’s Pass. The forests are rarely, if ever, infiltrated by an enemy, as the trees form confusing paths and dead-ends similar to the Labyrinth of Alqualondë. Still, elves and attendants loyal to Lord Oromë carry out regular patrols in and around the forests. Any guests or outsiders visiting High Tree are met on the outskirts of Hunter’s Pass and led down winding paths on horseback while blindfolded.

High Tree Hall and its outer buildings are surrounded by a curtain wall made of stone and mortar. There are two gates, the Hunter’s Gate and the River Gate, and the curtain wall has four bastions facing different directions.

High Tree has its own water supply due to the presence of pools fed by underground springs. Despite this, wells have been dug into the earth in case of necessity.

1.High Tree Hall: High Tree is a long house built around a giant Silverwood tree, and the structure itself is made out of a mixture of roughly hewn stone and mortar and thick wooden bark. The lower branches of the redwood tree spread out beneath the roof.

High Tree has one floor above ground, along with a basement. The floor above ground is partitioned into three separate sections. One corner section is for Oromë’s personal use. This section comprises a bath chamber, a small hall for when Oromë wishes to hold private meetings with his advisors, a little library, Oromë’s bed chamber, and his own armory. The other end is sectioned into small, but well-appointed bed chambers for Oromë’s guests. Each room has its own private bath. 

The center portion of High Tree is called the Great Hall. This hall is used for feasts, dances, and larger meetings. Even on days when there are no planned meetings or festivities, the residents of High Tree would all gather here for their daily meals. Pelts of animals slain during hunts are spread out all over the floor and furnishings, and the skulls are hung on the walls. There are no fireplaces here, only braziers and beeswax candles. The basement comprises a kitchen and cellar. Like all of the Great Houses of Valinor, High Tree has its own ice cellar.

2.The Stables

3.The Kennels

4.The warehouse and stores

5.These buildings are used by Oromë’s warriors, attendants, and their families. Each building comes complete with its own armory.

6.These buildings are used by Oromë’s servants and their families.

7.These buildings are guest manses, and are used to house the retinue of Oromë’s guests.

All buildings listed under 5, 6, and 7 come with their own bathhouse.

8.Smithy

9.Sparring yard

House Shield coat of arms: A mounted archer on a green field

Tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @cilil @edensrose @wandererindreams

[elwenyere]

Passing

BY NOAH BALDINO

The Ware Collection of Blaschka Glass Models of Plants, Harvard Museum of Natural History

The ovaries, when splayed, resemble sliced tomatoes. Or rose windows,

each geometry precise enough to praise. I want to press my tongue

against the bloodroot petal, to run its stamen along my slick shelf of

teeth like a man might with a wheat stalk. Four times so far other tourists

have taken me for a gallery attendant. In the glass, a slow-

sidling crimson spreads over my own skewed reflection: a hesitant

teen in a Harvard hoodie, the fifth, leans in to ask, Excuse me, sir?

Are they really glass? — a testament to how my binder encases

my breasts, my faith in the plum yew’s fruit- shorn frenzy. Dense clusters teeming

with their separate blossoms, any unknowing eye might think they were

living. But I know the lilac’s tell: two blemishes, bulbous where some

hot glass mis-dripped, then caught forever in the filament. Sometimes, I think

I’ll wake to find they’ve finally trickled off me in the night, pooled

molten down the bed and gathered back again. I might thrash off both breasts

in a sleepless fit, or could unfurl my clit like a pollen basket passed

from a honeybee’s hind legs to the hive. It makes its secret

seen. I can only answer yes. Yes, They’re real. I mean, they’re really glass.

You could snap a stem between fingers with such a slight force, one stark blink — 

the flies flitting the gallery would fear the weight of their own landing,

thick wings rapt still. When the public, in their distressed astonishment,

demanded to know how the Blaschkas transported the models without

a fracture in even one pistil, Leopold Blaschka revealed his own

elaborate process: pack each flower tightly in its cardboard

cradle, then strap them down with strong wire to restrict movement, and set each, at last,

in a wooden box wrapped with burlap. They drove them straight from Manhattan

in two hearses. The drivers, of course, wore black suits. Onlookers parted

to allow their small procession past. I like it here, with everyone

focused on the flowers. Hunched, kneeling, as if suspicious, still doubting,

the teen eyes two tiny zinnias, then moves on to another case.

I’ve seen many leave unsatisfied. They can’t bear to be partitioned — 

how can I blame them? Someone made these with their body. They let their breath

unspool to form each impossible bud, crafted every flower’s fold,

then waited on the heat to break to hold just one, wearing special gloves.

Wouldn’t anyone wish for just one lie among a garden this precise?

One daisy swapped out in secret, switched with a common courtyard flower,

now waiting for someone to notice its wilt while its counterparts keep

all their glisten. It does seem to me true punishment: never to change.

Unflinching forever. Sometimes, near closing, when the hall becomes quiet,

I really do believe they’re real.

[maximumprincecollective]

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Sofa & Seating: From sectional sofas to reclining chairs, we provide ergonomic yet stylish seating options that complement the rooms flow.

Storage Solutions: Custom shelving units and concealed cabinets blend into the décor while offering practical storage space.

Mood Lighting: Using layered lighting — ambient, task, and accent — we create a cozy yet vibrant environment.

Styling and Integration with Other Spaces Your living room doesn’t exist in isolation. That’s why our designs are synced with adjacent spaces such as the Kitchen, Ceiling, and Wall Decor. This cohesive approach ensures a fluid visual experience across your home.

For instance:

We extend the theme of the Cupboards and Beds in the bedrooms into the design language of the living area.

Ceiling designs are chosen to maximize space perception and provide visual continuity.

Benefits of Choosing Matrix Interiors

End-to-end service from consultation to installation

Transparent pricing and timely delivery

Innovative 3D visualization before execution

Use of eco-friendly and long-lasting materials

Client-Centric Design Process Our process begins with understanding your daily routines, preferences, and aspirations. We then develop layout options, present mood boards, and refine designs based on your feedback. Our technical team ensures precision in execution, leaving no room for compromise.

Popular Add-ons and Accessories

Custom coffee tables & ottomans

Multipurpose wall shelves

Window seating with storage

Indoor plant integration

Accent rugs and throws

Real Client Transformations Clients in Rajahmundry consistently rate Matrix Interiors as one of the best interiors in Rajahmundry for turning mundane spaces into visual masterpieces. From modern minimalist lounges to classic South Indian family halls, we cater to every taste.

One of our recent projects involved transforming a 3BHK apartment into a luxurious open-plan home. We used soft earth tones, added wooden partitions for zoning, and designed custom entertainment units to meet the family’s needs — all within budget and timeline.

Final Thoughts If you’re searching for home interiors in Rajahmundry, Matrix Interiors is your go-to design partner. Our goal is to transform your living area into an inviting and beautiful sanctuary that reflects who you are.

Let your living room do more than host — let it express, welcome, and inspire. Visit our homepage to explore our services and begin your design journey today.

Matrix Interiors – Crafting Signature Living Spaces in Rajahmundry.

[shaniadsouza]

Sliding Wall Partition: A Smart Solution for Flexible Spaces

In today’s evolving architectural and interior design landscape, flexibility and space optimisation are more crucial than ever. As urban spaces become more compact, the demand for innovative, multi-functional design solutions is rising. One such solution that has gained immense popularity in both residential and commercial sectors is the sliding wall partition.

Sliding wall partitions are an effective way to divide larger areas into smaller, manageable sections without the need for permanent construction. These movable walls offer a blend of practicality, aesthetics, and functionality, making them ideal for modern-day requirements.

What is a Sliding Wall Partition?

A sliding wall partition is a movable wall system that can be easily slid open or closed to create temporary divisions within a room. These partitions are typically mounted on a top-hung track system or sometimes floor-supported tracks, allowing for smooth and effortless operation.

They are available in various materials such as glass, wood, aluminium, or acoustic panels, depending on the specific needs of the space. From sleek glass options that maintain an open feel to soundproof panels that offer privacy, sliding wall partitions can be tailored to match any interior style.

Key Benefits of Sliding Wall Partitions

1. Space Optimisation: Sliding wall partitions are perfect for areas where space needs to be utilised more efficiently. They allow users to create multiple functions within a single room. For instance, a large conference room can be divided into smaller meeting areas in seconds.

2. Flexibility: These partitions provide unmatched flexibility in terms of layout changes. Whether you're hosting an event, conducting a private meeting, or simply reorganising your space, sliding wall partitions make it easy to adapt.

3. Aesthetic Appeal: Modern sliding partitions come in various finishes, from frameless glass to wooden panels, that enhance the overall aesthetics of your interiors. Their sleek design contributes to a contemporary and sophisticated look.

4. Acoustic Performance: In many office or hospitality environments, acoustic privacy is essential. Sliding wall partitions with sound insulation properties help maintain noise control between divided spaces.

5. Easy Installation and Maintenance: Unlike traditional drywall or permanent constructions, sliding partitions are easy to install and require minimal maintenance. Many systems are modular and can be upgraded or moved without extensive renovation.

Types of Sliding Wall Partitions

There are different types of sliding wall partition systems, and the choice depends on your space requirements and design preferences:

1. Operable Walls: Also known as movable walls, these are full-height panels that can be folded or stacked aside when not in use. They are often used in conference halls, banquet areas, or office spaces.

2. Glass Sliding Partitions: Ideal for creating visual openness, these partitions maintain light flow while still providing a clear boundary. They are frequently used in offices, cafes, and homes to create an open-plan environment with optional privacy.

3. Acoustic Sliding Partitions: These partitions are designed specifically for areas where sound insulation is a priority. Educational institutions, meeting rooms, and auditoriums benefit significantly from this type.

4. Residential Sliding Walls: In homes, sliding wall partitions can be used to separate living rooms from dining areas or convert a large room into dual-purpose space. They're popular in studio apartments for creating temporary bedrooms or workspaces.

Common Applications

Corporate Offices: In co-working spaces and modern office environments, the ability to reconfigure rooms quickly is a huge asset. Sliding wall partitions help create training rooms, private booths, or temporary workspaces as needed.

Hotels and Conference Centres: These establishments often require rooms to be split or joined based on the number of guests or event type. Operable wall systems offer the perfect flexibility to serve varying requirements.

Educational Institutions: Classrooms, seminar halls, and libraries benefit from partitions that can be opened for group activities or closed for focused sessions.

Healthcare Facilities: Sliding partitions allow hospitals and clinics to manage patient space efficiently, ensuring privacy while maintaining accessibility.

Residential Settings: In homes, especially in urban apartments, these partitions can make small spaces more functional. Whether it’s a home office, guest room, or temporary play area, sliding wall systems add versatility to home layouts.

Choosing the Right Sliding Wall Partition

Before investing in a sliding wall partition, consider the following:

Purpose: Will the partition be used for privacy, acoustic insulation, or simply dividing space?

Material: Choose materials based on aesthetics, maintenance, and functionality.

Installation Type: Top-hung systems offer a cleaner floor finish, while floor-supported tracks are suitable for load-bearing challenges.

Customization: Work with manufacturers or suppliers who offer tailor-made solutions for your specific space.

Conclusion

The sliding wall partition is more than just a design element—it’s a strategic investment in space management. Whether in a corporate setting or at home, it offers a flexible, elegant, and efficient way to divide and organise space without the permanence of traditional construction.

As the demand for multifunctional environments continues to grow, sliding wall partitions are quickly becoming a staple in modern architecture. From enhancing productivity in workplaces to improving comfort and usability at home, these partitions provide a seamless blend of form and function.

[karthick07k7]

Top-Class Movable Wall Solution for Conference & Meeting Room

Modern architecture dictates the development of intelligent partitions. Tamil Nadu-based manufacturer primarily produces movable walls, which are widely used internationally in conference rooms, meeting areas, banquet halls, and training lounges. Their products offer flexibility and acoustic performance, encased in certified quality and utilizing state-of-the-art technology.

Glass Partition: See-through Elegance.

A glass partition allows natural light to flow while maintaining spatial segregation. These partitions work best for office cabins, meeting rooms, and collaborative areas where visual openness is the key.

Partition Wall Design: Clever & Chic

Excellent partition design acts as one of the elements dividing space and the aesthetics of a room. Custom designs may include sliding, folding, or any other mechanism as required.

Partition Wall: Keep-it-Divided

Good partition solutions allow for a seamless conversion of open to closed layouts. Commercial and institutional setups widely employ it to carve out space.

Wooden Partition: A Touch of Warmth

Wooden partitions provide for an earthy, aesthetically pleasing finish that blends with formal and upscale interiors. An aging appeal indeed, and hence a good choice for boardrooms and hospitality spaces.

Acoustic Panels: Sound Control

Acoustic panels are needed in areas requiring sound control, such as auditoriums, training halls, or executive boardrooms. They improve voice clarity and reduce background noise.

Hall Partition: Divide Without Limits

The hall partition paves the way to sectioning a big hall into smaller areas that can hold events or sessions in parallel. These partitions are foldable and easy to move about.

Wall Partition Ideas: An Option for a Creative Layout

Whether for a corporate office or a commercial interior, wall partition ideas are countless- they can serve both function and aesthetics. Renegotiations range from simple to ornate.

Divider Wall: Utility and Movement

A wall divider, on the other hand, gives you temporary separation with no permanent civil construction. These should serve you well in co-working spaces, classrooms, or retail places where the layout is often rearranged.