#red terracotta tiles

[cest-vogue]

Mediterranean Patio

Example of a large tuscan backyard stone patio kitchen design with a pergola

[venomvices]

Outdoor Kitchen Outdoor Kitchen in Indianapolis

[cclust]

Mediterranean Pool

[lokisgoodgirl]

Third Date [Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: We all know what happens on the third date. (w/c 2.4k) Warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI. Smut. Language. Health and safety violations.

“Try this,” Loki commanded quietly.

All you could feel was each heavy breath as you tried not to wilt beneath his stare. He was a panther, toying with its meal.

Operatic melodies rose and fell all around, bouncing between terracotta arches from an ageing record player in the corner. It was beautiful, whatever it was. Perfect, even. Loki grinned, as the aria began to build.

“E lucevan le stelle,” he murmured knowingly, tilting his head. “Now...try this.”

The gleam of his eyes swam in the candlelight, chin dipped. He had scooped a not unsubstantial blob of his desert to a fingertip and was holding it aloft. You licked your bottom lip, staring at him almost as intensely as he was staring at you. It looked delicious. Stiff and pale and decadent. Not unlike its principal devourer for the evening.

You leant forward, pushing against the checked tablecloth as Loki gracefully extended his hand, the long finger poised. His gaze tracked from your eyes to your lips. Red, and parted. Without breaking your stare, you felt his finger come to rest on your tongue. He had really outdone himself tonight. The private restaurant, the ambiance, the green suit that wore him like ripples on a midnight sea. Conversation had been sparkling, as usual. But now, you suspected the time for conversation was over. His hair was smoothed back at the temples, drawing attention to sharp lines on his face that sank deeper with each glimmer of flame. Candlewax had begun to drip on the tablecloth, spreading in spite of itself. You knew how it felt.

Your lips sucked against his finger, deep to the second knuckle. Panacotta like you had never tasted swished at your cheeks. Rich, thick, and entirely delicious. It found its way across the spread of your tongue, sliding with a swallow down your throat. Your eyes fluttered shut as a muffled moan of pleasure grew and released. Loki’s finger curled, rubbing the roof of your mouth ever so gently.

If his elusive cock wasn’t hard as hard as marble right now, you’d eat your hat. “I think you got it all, darling” he purred. You opened your eyes, met with the sight of a man bristling with arousal. It coursed across his skin like electricity as you sucked backwards, shallow breaths making his shirt buttons strain. The blue of his irises had been consumed by darkness. The tip of his finger rested on your bottom lip. “Delicious,” you smiled. Loki shivered, readjusting himself. “What say we get out of here?” he growled, retracting his finger reluctantly from your lip. “I’ll call the car around.” He lifted the hand with one glistening finger in the air, ready to summon the solitary maître d' hiding somewhere in the back. Seeing his resplendent profile was the final straw. That proud brow, that haughty raise of his chin, those cheekbones. Enough was enough.

“Wait-” you gasped quietly.

Loki’s head swivelled. His brow twitched, interest piqued and momentarily sobered from his lust. A close-lipped smile began to flirt against your cheeks. You pressed your lips together, raising your eyebrows as a finger traced down your cleavage. The god’s eyes followed it. “Really?” Loki hummed with no attempt to contain his amusement. “Bad girl, aren’t you?” There was a loud scrape as he pushed his chair backwards against the tile. The table’s edge obscured your view, but you could tell his hips had widened. His thighs, spread.

“I’m game if you are,” he smirked with a devilish click of his tongue. One hand rested on the crease of his hip, fingertips digging into supple muscle. The other was hidden, but from the movement of one shoulder you suspected he was rubbing his thigh. Eager. Straining against the onslaught of erotic mischief about to be unleashed. Your stomach was fizzing as your mind dangled on the precipice of consequence.

“What about the staff?” you postured coyly. Loki chuckled. “Don’t worry about them,” he said, “do not forget whom it is you are about to fuck.” You bit your lip, feeling heat rise in your face. “Oh, I’m sorry...” Loki started, feigning concern. How he managed to sound seductive and sanctimonious would never fail to amaze. And arouse. He shrugged off his suit jacket, whipping his arms out with practised grace. The cotton sleeves of a crisp fitted shirt clung to the muscles. The subtle bulges cut in deep valleys against the cotton. “Am I being presumptuous in my assumption that you wish to immediately sink yourself onto my cock within this very restaurant?”

Casually, he undid a button on his wrist; proceeding to fold the cuff and roll the fabric sluttishly up his forearm. He repeated the action at the other side, completely un-phased that you had been rendered mute. “Was that not your intent? Or do I take liberties?”

Silently, you stood, letting the napkin in your lap fall to the floor. Loki smirked, resting smugly against the back of the chair. His gaze ran down the length of your body as you walked around the table, pausing to let him enjoy the view. You had chosen this dress with the heat of his breath on your neck in mind as he unzipped the back. All the way. Perhaps he would have kissed down the curve of your shoulder. Perhaps he would have slid his hands beneath the open fabric, around your waist, before it fell to his bedroom floor.

Perhaps, this would be even better.

“I couldn’t take the risk of you being overcome by your gentlemanly nature when we got back to your apartment. Not again,” you purred. The click of your heels twice on the terracotta tile made Loki straighten. He let out a strained chuckle, barely audible over the operatic crescendo playing somewhere on vinyl.

God, he was gorgeous.

You could now see the outline of his ferociously hard cock against the suit trousers. It stretched to his hip, thick and ready to fuck. “Give me a little credit, darling” he chirped innocently, inhaling as you curled your fingers around his shoulder. “Last week was our second date – I was respecting your Midgardian traditions, as inane as they may be.” He looked up, smirking. But his forehead quivered. His brows, slanted ever-so. He was desperate.

You stood between his spread thighs, taking a moment to appreciate the lines of creased fabric thick against his legs. Curves of muscle were visible, twitching. He stared up at you with unbearable hungry. There was a flash of his tongue as he wet his lips, large palms sliding up the sides of your bare legs.

Up they went, pushing the hem of your tight dress higher. Loki groaned, feeling the lace tops of your garters. His brow furrowed as he travelled higher, discovering the taut suspender lines. You had come prepared. Fingertips sank into the flesh, the mild pain making you clench. “You’ll end me, darling,” he breathed, hands settling around your hips. “I can tell.”

Loki guided you onto his lap, pulling you into a devastating kiss. It was a mess of tongue and teeth and desperate desire, hands winding in hair and filthy moans filling the space between you. The god’s fingers slipped between your splayed thighs, tracing the tips over your swollen pussy. The fabric separating his skin from yours was sodden. It tingled. Your breath hitched, moaning Loki’s name into his open mouth. He smiled against the kiss, pausing to mutter in your ear like the sweetest demon. “How ambrosial it is to hear my name on your lips with such...enthusiasm” he growled.

You began to thrust against his touch, cursing the care he was taking. Fingers pulsed in waves on your clit. “Loki, please…” you whined, throwing your head back. Your lover’s kisses traced down your neck, sucking against the skin. “As you wish,” he muttered against your shoulder, free hand flying to his belt.

You looked down between your bodies. The sight of his upturned wrist, veins straining while he orchestrated the blossoming orgasm between your legs made you dizzy. Loki fluidly unbuckled himself, unbuttoning with a flick followed by the zippers hum. The god’s pants were nasal, concentration knitting his brow as he pulled his cock out in a fist. It was as beautiful as you’d hoped it would be. The perfect length. The perfect girth; turgid veins decorating flawlessly velvet, alabaster skin. A bead of pre-cum settled on the tip as Loki squeezed his foreskin upwards, meeting your eyes with what almost looked like nervousness. He pumped the fist down, meeting the base with a dirty groan from the back of his throat. You rubbed a thumb over the leaking tip, before drawing it to your lips. Loki watched, jaw slack, as you sucked it clean. His mouth formed the softest O, lines in his forehead deepening as he pulled your panties to the side. He rolled his knuckles through your folds, his breathing quick.

“So wet,” he murmured in quiet awe as you wrapped your fingers around his cock. “All for you, Loki” you gasped, squeezing the head inside.

The god’s face changed, a shock of pleasure contorting his features. His jaw clenched, upper body rigid as you sank onto his length. An almighty grunt of pure animalism ripped the air. Loki’s chin pointed to the ceiling, lost in the feeling of your little cunt snug around his manhood. Hands found their way to your hips, beginning to rock you back and forth. Each rotation was solid. Covetous, as he edged you all the way down. “Yes..gods, yes; f-fuck,” he groaned, head snapping back up with a burning lust in his eyes. Your blood froze. Never had someone looked at you like this. So raw. So full of base hunger. In that moment, in this place, in all his many ages; there was only you.

You began to bounce, bucking forward against the root of his cock with every turn. “Norns, f-fristelse-” he choked, long fingers spread against your ass. Tightening. Arousal squelched with every slam of your pussy down his length, his restrained thrusts massaging the deepest parts of you.

He pulled you flush to him, his face burying between your breasts. Wet groans sounded against the skin as his thighs pumped upwards; a maddening rhythm of sexual gluttony. More. More.

“More-” Loki gasped open-mouthed against your throat. Your hands were tangled in his hair, long strands wound and bound through your fingers. You tugged it back.

With a hiss, his jaw clenched; teeth bared like an animal in a trap. You squeezed your walls around him, bobbing slowly up and down. Every ridge and vein seemed to drag against the tightness, each inch punctuated by his scratching groans. It felt like you’d known him like this for a thousand years. It was so natural- inevitable. And who knew these days. Maybe you had. He fought against the pull of your fist in his curls, deep lines creased in his forehead. Loki’s eyes blazed, swirling galaxies bursting from smouldering greens and blues. “More,” he repeated darkly. And before you had registered the quick slip of his hands from your ass to your waist, it was over. Loki lifted you into the air, sliding you with a pop from his length and spinning your body. Your palms landed flat on the table, sliding forward to brace yourself. Without thinking, your fingers curled around the loosened tablecloth. They tugged. The howl that escaped your throat as he pushed himself back inside the warmth of your heat was inhuman.

Loki curled against your back. His torso pressed against your spine, the caress of his breath against the shell of your ear making you push your hips back to the base of his cock. Loki snarled filthy curses lapping your neck. “Uhh...y-you...will be – g-gods, f-fuck,” he moaned, sloppy thrusts making your feet spread wider; “-the en-nd of me,” he gasped. A tight smack of his hand landed on the curve of your ass. Your fingers grasped around the tablecloth, pulling as orgasm bubbled and coiled in your belly. “More, Loki-” you cried, not caring as a bottle of olive oil crashed to the floor, smashing. The wine glasses teetered, quickly following. Chiming shards bounced on terracotta.

Loki’s balls slapped with each smack of his skin against yours. Deeper, filthier. The moans slipping from your throat, the crunch of your brow, the dirty wildness. It was everything. Right now, he was everything. “Oh, darling…” he sneered, tightening his grip of your hips, “you want me to fill you, hmm? Want my seed to drip down those pretty thighs all the way home?” You nodded feverishly, tufts of rogue curls from the carefully constructed up-do now falling around your face. Fucked out. That’s what you were. Almost. Loki slipped a finger beneath on of your suspenders, pulling it back. It stung against soft flesh with a filthy thwack. The god growled.

His thrusts slowed, a hand on the base of your spine lowering you gently; flat on the table. “You’re close, I can feel it” he hummed, “give in to me... sweet little thing. Let me show you what it is to be mine.” With each punishingly sensual roll of his hips, Loki pressed the meat of his cock upwards. This undiscovered place, an untouched feeling. A pandora’s box of eroticism only he could open, never to be closed again. Ruined for other men. Stars began to burst behind your eyelids, shattering white light and deep burgundy pulsing. Every muscle in your body tensed to the beat of his rhythm, as you came undone. Unmade.

Your hands gripped the opposite edge of the table, pulling against it with all the force you could muster as climax ripped through your nerve endings. Loki’s gentle thrusts stroked you to completion, the flat of his palm sliding down your back. “Oh,” he gasped quietly, “I...I-” A smouldering roar filled the air, drowning out the opera still playing somewhere beyond. From the sound, you could tell his teeth were clenched, his head likely thrown back in the ties of ecstasy. Loki’s hips tensed as he came, the shuddering and jolting of muscled thighs against the soft flesh your own.

His strangled sighs dwindled as he collapsed against your back, panting heavily. Wet lips pressed to your cheekbone. You tilted your head, meeting his mouth in a winding kiss.

He pulled himself from you with a muted groan, the squelch of your mingled cum sucking on the departure. He raked a hand through his hair before quickly tucking himself back into his trousers; silently watching you pull the sides of your dress down with a smirk curling one side of his mouth.

“That was-” he started, before you pressed a finger to his lips. “-A good start,” you finished.

You slid your hands over his broad shoulders, enjoying the heat of sex wafting from the open collar. Tracing your cheek to his, you sucked his earlobe gently; releasing it with a licentious moan. Loki shivered. “Shall we bring the car around, now?” you whispered. Loki nodded.

Tags (cont in comments) @liminalpebble @pineappleandro @praq123 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @sebstanwhore @mandywholock1980 @sinsandguilt @toozmanykids @km-ffluv @goddessofwonderland @kj-rivia @pics-and-fanfics @chibijusstuff @chantsdemarins @k-writer17 @xorpsbane @jotunqueenneith @lovingchoices14 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lizmaximoff @goblingirlsarah @gruftiela @litaloni @fire-in-her-veinz @literatureatthebowofnails @cultofcarter @fandxmslxt69 @wintersldr @november-rayne @buttercupcookies-blog @anukulee @lotsoflokilove23 @skymoonandstardust @girlwthecurls @presidentlokis-hornyhelmet @donaweasley @litaloni @hollyiswritinglokiagain @cakesandtom @lokischambermaid @icytrickster17

[luveline]

you're writing for bradley!! i am so so excited!! could i request just some domestic fluff with shy!reader and bradley? maybe her coming home from a long day and he's just the perfect boyfriend with a glass of wine and a hug ready for her? love u gorgeous 💗

thank you for requesting, babe, I absolutely adored writing this and him, let me known if you have any more!! —bradley helps you feel better after a bad, long day with wine and a multitude of hugs. fem!reader 1k

You push into your apartment, a ground floor slotting of sandblown terracotta tiles and wooden shutters weakened by termites, and pause. There's something wrong, a humming sound. 

You take a step back toward the door and slide your phone from your pocket. 

Hi Bradley, where are you? I think somebody has been in my apartment. Should I worry? you text him. You've continued a streak of politeness with him even now, too shy to dip into the familiarity you feel when he's holding you close over the phone. You follow it up quickly. Don't worry, I'm sure it's okay. Do you know what time you'll be coming over? Any time is OK.

"It's me!" Bradley calls with an easy chuckle. Couch springs creak as he jumps up, and a second later he appears in the living room doorway with a frankly breathtaking grin, shoving his cell into his pocket. "I'm coming over right now. Holy shit, would you look at you?" 

You hold your bag closer to your side, hair not nearly as neat as it started that morning, the day's chaos etched into the small wrinkles either side of your eyes. "Me?" 

When he smiles, it's all white top teeth and joy. For someone who's been through so much, and who works so hard, he's a shaken bottle of fizzy happiness whenever the moment allows —you barely have time to put your bag next to the rack of shoes (and there, his shoes you must've missed toed off and perfectly aligned with your sandy flip flops) when he's crossing the hall in quick strides and pulling you into an ecstatic embrace. 

"Hey," he says, kissing your cheek, moustache not scratchy but far from soft. It rubs a wonky trail as he kisses without goal. Kiss on your nose, your cheek, close enough to your eye to make you cringe and back away. 

"Hi, Brad," you say breathlessly. 

You need time to prepare yourself for seeing him usually, his sudden closeness catching you off guard. You struggle to make any sense of how much he likes you, but you've given up denying his attention. You want it too badly. 

He doesn't stall at your obvious (embarrassing) flustering; he doubles down. His arms like steel cords behind your shoulders, Bradley noses at the side of your face, his breath warm on your cheek as he says, "Sorry, I thought surprising you might be nice, but I didn't think about your nerves." 

"My nerves," you say. 

"Your bad nerves. You're flighty." He gives it another press, the straight line of his nose digging into your cheek before he pulls away. 

Bradley doesn't give you time to miss his arms around you. He makes for the kitchen, notices you aren't following, and grabs your hand. Tugging, he takes you into the kitchen and elbows open your refrigerator, revealing a better sight than what you'd seen this morning. 

"I had to go out again when I saw your fridge," he says, ducking down to push aside what looks like the makings of your favourite meal to unearth a pretty bottle of red. "Sweetheart, when you said you had a shitty breakfast, I was picturing, like, half a grapefruit. Did you eat anything?" 

He only knows what you'd texted him, shitty breakfast code for the found half of a cereal bar in your jacket. 

You don't like to text Bradley too much in case you put him off, but today was bad, and you know he doesn't mind. He'd told you so only a few days ago. His hand full of your stomach, hot under the collar, you can't remember what you'd been talking about initially, your memory intricately busy remembering the planes of his tightly muscled torso and the feeling of his weight atop you, but suddenly he'd been leaning down, brown eyes pleading. "You can talk to me," he'd said. "About anything. I want to hear it. You know that, right?"

So you texted him somewhere around lunch time and had been delighted to find him puttering around doing a whole lot of nothing. He's been keeping himself busy on leave, staying fit, helping your elderly upstairs neighbour put together her new chest of drawers between half marathons and surfing, regular dreamboat stuff. 

I think I'm having a bad day, you'd said. What are you up to, Brad? Can I still see you tonight? 

Why do you act like I'm not obsessed with you? he'd text back immediately. Kidding. Kind of. What's wrong? Can I bring you lunch? 

Raincheck on lunch? I don't think I'll have time. I'll explain later if that's OK. Miss you. 

Miss you too, baby. I wanna hear all about it tonight.

You blink up from his hands to find him staring at you worriedly. You're in your own head, exhausted and a little muddled after such a long day, and he clearly doesn't like it. 

"Is wine gonna make you feel worse?" he asks, tapping your thigh with his knuckles. 

"Definitely not," you say.

"Before dinner?" 

Your smile turns sheepish. You want the wine much more than the dinner, but if you get both, you won't complain. 

He leans back against the fridge, arms crossed, the neck of the wine bottle held precariously in a confident hand. "Sure you're okay?" he asks. 

"I will be." You take a brave step forward and look up into his face. It's difficult to grasp what it is he sees in you when he's like something out of a movie, all brains, brawn, and bleeding heart. You don't get it, but he wants you, and he's here. "Thanks for coming over, Bradley." 

"This shtick again?" he asks, raising his brows. 

"This shtick again," you repeat, grinning at the implication. 

He hooks your ankle with his. "Thanking me for coming over is like thanking a fish for swimming. Couldn't stop myself if I wanted to." 

Your laugh is a wheeze. Brad does you the generosity of pretending you've made a more intelligible sound and pulls you in for a one-armed hug, rubbing a rough up and down into your side. It's such a nice feeling to be tucked up under his arm that you can almost forget how badly you want a glass of wine. 

"Want the big glasses from the top shelf?" Bradley asks knowingly. 

"Yes. Please." 

[askzloyxp]

favorite minecraft natural block? favorite unnatural block?

Hilariously, Nether Brick occupies both of these XD

It really is deepslate tile before deepslate tile was a thing, makes for great roofing material, super abundant and can be mass produced out of garbage, prompts you to build a supersmelter, can be side-upgraded into Red Nether Brick which is also a super juicy texture, goes well with a bunch of other pink-liliac blocks like magenta terracotta or stripped crimson hyphea..

Dang, I should really build something with it again, and there was that netherite shop I've been amping up to do >:)

[dearharriet]

About Time | Chapter 2

james potter x reader time travel au | 2.5K words | contents

page 2 | back next

04:00 — 4 FEBRUARY

Rounding the corner down the back stairs, James came to the kitchen. It was all a deep, thick violet, blending with the world outside. That was a color that the sun wouldn’t touch for another four hours, if that.

He crept into the room, bare toes on cold terracotta tile, and got the electric kettle going. A tiny red dot rose against the dark expanse of cook-ware as the old thing jumped to life. James leaned back, slumping against the counter and retrieving his phone.

The kitchen gained new illumination as he pried it apart, jostling the center button to wake it. He’d done this song and dance every hour of every day since new years—even the ones he did twice—so it was second nature to press the handful of buttons that led to your contact.

The text exchange stared up at him the same way it always did, and he felt his frustration with himself bubble like the kicking kettle.

1 January

Me 14:14

| hello, this is james! (from new years) :)

Y/N! 15:17

| hi! :)

Me 15:20

| hiya. i was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometime? this weekend, maybe?

Y/N! 15:35

| oh, that sounds so lovely, believe me!! but I actually live in london :/ i was only visiting for the holiday.

Of course she lives in London, he thought, she works with Marlene.

James never responded.

The thing about James was, he could go back and retry anything he failed at—which left a lot of room to do just that, and he was accidentally making the most of it.

The other thing about James was, he rarely knew when to quit. A month of no contact couldn’t be good, but a part of him wanted to see if he could make it work the first time. Every retry felt like a crawl through hell, having to do everything all over again, having to remember the way things were—the way things could’ve been forever.

No, he wanted to believe he could make something good without turning back. He’d done alright so far. It was just proving to be very hard because of you.

When the kettle was something around halfway done, James swung the phone closed, plunged back into darkness. He went to the press and took down a big mug with an odd decal over the front of it, and then looked to fish a tea bag out of the next cabinet. His hand felt around blindly, and he stubbornly persisted instead of seeking help from the house lights.

“What the bloody hell is goin’ on in here?”

In quick succession, James swung around and the overhead lights flashed on, and then his head whacked the cabinet door.

“Oh—fuck,” he swore, hand shooting up to cradle the throbbing area. The kettle was nearing the end of its duty, roaring as loud as the blood in James’ ears. Somehow too, the lights carried a sound of their own, one that you’d only ever hear when everything else is blissfully silent.

Something began thumping, and James peeked out of a watery eye to watch a middle aged man hobble over to the fridge. He was wearing a matching pajama set, blue and white striped and too soft looking for his very immediate brashness.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man ignored James’ very feeble inquiry and opened the freezer, coming up with a cold compress. When he turned James’ way, the boy had to school his initial reaction.

Layered over the strange man’s face were deep-cut scars, spider-webbing across his features indiscriminately. His right eye was a shocking blue, and the corresponding eyelid was healed wide open, giving it quite a mad look. James wondered how he slept.

With the same thump thump thump-ing from before, the man approached James, and James looked down to discover a rickety prosthetic leg on one side of his gait. Then, his eyes were back on the scars, his jaw held firmly between thick calloused fingers.

“That’s the last time you’ll ogle at my leg, boy,” the man said firmly, a measured type of coarseness entering his voice. “You’ve seen it now, no need to worry about it any longer. Understand?”

James blinked, still groggy and disoriented, sleep waiting at the edges of his eyes to be wiped away.

“Can I know who you are? Or, why you’re in my house, perhaps?”

A grating laugh escaped the man’s twisted lips, chased by a wide, toothy smile that didn’t match it. Then he forced the compress in his free hand over James’ tender forehead, and a maniacal gleam in his big eye finally caught the light.

“Oh, ow!”

“The name is Moody,” James’ torturer finally revealed, disregarding the pained whines the boy was making. “Alastor Moody. That’s M-O-O—”

“Oh my god, please shut up,” James groaned rudely, feeling a headache come on. Alastor seemed to take kindly by it anyways, or as kindly as he seemed capable of. He snatched one of James’ hands to replace his over the compress and stomped away. James wondered how he’d missed the sound before, when Moody was elsewhere in the house.

Stealing the big mug off the counter and a second one out of the press, Moody set about concocting some tea for the both of them.

“Why are you here,” James pushed again, falling from the wrap-around counter to the butcher’s block island and folding over it.

Moody, pouring a steaming cupful of tea, glanced over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Thought I’m s’posed to shut up,” he replied, a small jest barely recognizable in the grit of it. James almost laughed, thinking it was something one of his friends might say.

“Touché,” he allowed, too tired to justify his earlier words.

Moody slid the piping mug under his nose, holding onto the handle to say, “I’m yer father’s student. Or, I used to be, at least.”

James took the tea gratefully, dropping a big sugar cube into it as his body fell into a tall bar stool. He glanced at the scarred man, who was settling in beside him and sighing at the pressure coming off his legs.

“You’re a businessman?”

The sharp gritty chortle returned, far too loud for the early hour.

“Fuck no, I’m not,” Alastor laughed, “I’m a sad playwrite in London. I took his class on a requirement.”

At that, James perked up.

“In London, really?”

Moody slurped his tea noisily, grunted, and then grabbed two sugars and stirred them into his cup with one meaty finger. After confirming the taste again, he replied, “Yes, really. And don’t believe what those townie twits say about it. London is a miserable barrel of oil I’d like to set on fire.”

James would’ve liked to agree with that, actually, except that he was the victim of a one track mind, and his mind had eyes on you.

Coincidentally, you were in London.

“So why not move away?” James hunkered further over the counter, shrugging in question. “What’s there for you?”

Alastor sighed long-sufferingly, the way someone sighs when they’ve fallen into a pit that they dug.

“A goddamn pipe dream, that’s what.”

“Seems the right place for that,” James said agreeably, pushing up his glasses to appear smarter, somehow.

Moody shifted to look at him.

“What about you, eh?” Alastor sat forward, peering at James oblong with his gaping eye. “I suppose you’ll sit around this cushy place until your old man keels over, won’t ya? Marry some other high-society lass, play out the whole family runaround…maybe pop down to the city for a few years, but not for any big plan, really. Certainly not because you need to.”

He shook his head then, grumbling and taking to his tea. James jutted his head back, slightly affronted, but mostly confused by the jarring flip in Alastor’s mood.

“I’m sure I could, if I had nothing else in mind,” James agreed, his mind focused hard on the one future he was sure of. “Thing is though, I’ve got a pipe dream of my own, sir. A girl I met.”

Exhaling through flared hairy nostrils, Moody glanced at James again, dubious.

“A girl, you say?” James nods. “Yes, well, I suppose that’s what takes all the good ones. Some girl they met once.”

“Thrice,” James corrected. Alastor shuffled his thinning hair about on his head, grunting in question. “I met her three times.”

Moody just tipped back the rest of his tea and wiped the straggling drops from his chin.

Twisting his lips, James persisted.

“This girl y’see, she lives in the city. And I’ve asked to take her out, quite obtusely, without knowing, and now I think I’ll just have to move to her because—”

A big fat hand came down on the counter, rattling James out of his rant.

“Get t’yer point boy.”

Swallowing, James finally asked, “Can I live with you?”

Alastor gave him a long look and then stood, dumping his mug into the big basin by the window. On his slow march out, he turned, casting a sneer over his shoulder that prefaced his following answer.

“Unless that girl is willing to give you a million chances, you’ve already lost her. That’s just the way women are.”

+

04:00 — 17 MARCH

It took four trills for you to realize the song in your dream was a ringtone, and that it was a real pressing matter in the waking world.

One hazy glance at the clock on your night stand told you it was far too early for a phone call, and a quick check on your throat came up dry and unpleasant, not ideal for talking.

You sat up, blinking blearily at the name scrolling across the notification window on your phone, and convinced yourself you were still fast asleep.

‘James :)’ shimmered loud and proud in the pixelated slot of space, perplexing your delirious brain beyond measure. You played with the possibility of going back to sleep, but your curiosity got the better of you.

Opening your phone, you pressed the green answer button and held it to your ear.

“Hello,” you croaked out, more of a question than a greeting.

The other side of the line seemed to lag for a second, like maybe there was no one there, and then James spoke.

“Hel—hi.”

Even though he was only on the phone, hearing his voice made you sit up a little straighter, tamping your bedhead down with a flat palm.

“James?”

He sucked in a breath, and the way it cracked through the line made it sound like a cigarette pull.

“Yeah, um. Yeah. I’m sorry, I really didn’t expect you to answer. You sound so tired, I feel awful.”

“No, don’t be, it’s—” You caught yourself before you could placate him, because no amount of insisting it wasn’t early would change the hands on the clock, “—it’s fine, honestly. My boss is Irish, so I’ve got the day off.”

There was a pause and some shuffling, and then James said, “oh hell, it’s the seventeenth, yeah. I forgot.”

“What?” you exclaimed. “How could you? Everything’s been green for weeks now.”

James laughed, the sound muffled like it was coming from another room.

“I know, I’m sure, I’ve just been too busy to notice. I’m uh, I’m actually moving tomorrow. Or today, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” You bit your lip, smiling a touch and daring to ponder, “Where?”

Another long pause.

“The city,” James replied, and you thought you could hear him smiling, too. “London.”

Picking at your comforter, you felt your lips ebb and flow, uncertain whether to be happy or sad. You really liked James, perhaps even as more than a friend that you’d kissed once on New Years. He was sweet, and attentive, and he seemed to really like you; Texted you right away, unlike most guys you’d been with.

And here he was calling you, striking up a conversation in the early hours of the morning.

“That’s great,” you said, dredging up all of the joy in your chest to saturate your words with. “Where in?”

He seemed hesitant, thinking about it for a second. “Islington, I think? I’ve only ever been up two or three times, so I’m not really sure.”

You nodded, charmed to silence just by the way he spoke, by the number of things you’d rather have asked him—about his life, about that handful of trips to the big city. You were so involved in the thought that you forgot he couldn’t see you.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes! Yes, sorry, I was nodding.” You laughed a little to lighten the tension. “Um, Islington is great.”

“Really?” James asked. “You’ve been?”

“Well, no.” You laughed some more, and James joined you. “But I live in Shoreditch, actually, so we’ll be really close.”

You hoped that didn’t come off too flirty, and then you hoped that it did, which made you feel terribly guilty. If being on the phone with James was dangerous, you certainly couldn’t be around him in person again.

Eyes closing, you cleared your throat.

“Um, James?”

The boy on the other line hummed in response, and then said, “What?”

“Is there a reason you called?”

It felt rude to ask, but you thought the early hour might cover for you. If you wanted to crawl back under your covers and sleep Saint Patty’s Day away, could he really blame you?

“Oh!” said James, and again your heart thumped hard and cruel in your throat, damming any words inside. “Yes, I’m sorry. I meant to ask you if you were free at all next week? For that coffee I mentioned after New Years.”

Fuzz overtakes the line for the next few seconds as your head falls into your lap. In part, you blame yourself, for being so naive as to think he’d call for anything else. The other part falls on you for different reasons, namely, being on the phone at all with someone you had undeniable feelings for.

For not turning him away in the first place, even though you knew his feelings were just as secure.

“Um,” you started, fighting the frog in your throat, “I’m really sorry James, but I’m actually seeing someone right now. I don’t think…”

You stopped there, because anything that came after would veer immediately into a confession that would hurt you both, and then some.

James was eerily quiet, so much so that you checked your phone to ensure he hadn’t hung up. Then, finally, he breathed out an, “Oh.”

It felt more like a punch to the gut.

For some reason, your face burned with acute embarrassment. Something about admitting to James that you were with someone else felt shameful, like some odd betrayal. Thankfully, he didn’t encourage the feeling.

“Well I hope he’s an alright guy,” James said fairly, and you told him he was. After yet another bout of silence, James just said, “good.”

And then the line clicked.

thank you for reading! xx | masterlist

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[honourablejester]

Fun With Glazed Terracotta in Minecraft

Not going to lie, this started because I'm having a lot of fun currently using excel as graph paper to doodle things. I made a rosette pattern using four colours:

And then figured I'd have some fun in minecraft making big floor patterns using glazed terracotta in this pattern:

Started with red, yellow and black, using blackstone for the fourth element.

Then tried greens, using green wool for the fourth element.

Pinks and purples. The magenta wool was a necessity here because I'm not using magenta glazed terracotta for anything except direction signs.

Blues. I've noticed that yellow glazed terracotta unifies most things, owing to several of the other glazed terracottas having yellow elements. Also it tiles well and is just one of the prettiest.

Then I got a little weirder with brown, light grey, cyan and orange, and I think it actually is one of the best combos? Very busy, but they harmonise really well actually.

This one, though, I think is my favourite. Yellow again, with brown, white and orange. I feel like I got the tessellation of the patterns within the terracottas right with this one. The brown diagonals, the oranges and whites circling the yellow. Yeah. This one's my favourite.

[pwlanier]

PAUL DUPRÉ-LAFON (1900-1971) Spectacular modernist fireplace, circa 1948. The mantle of the chimney has a wide geometric arch formed by a black lacquered steel angle resting laterally on parallelepipeds sheathed with white Burgundy stone slabs. The wide clear brick sole accommodates the important landiers and the fireplace bar. The interior of the chimney is sheathed with riveted steel plates and decorated laterally with lions ridden by loves, the suspended inner coat, bordered by a wide rush, is animated by a succession of six golden stars. The sides and top of the tray, as well as the front siding of the sole, are made of large cream beige terracotta tiles. The top of the chimney is formed by a succession of large Saint Maximin limestone plates, held by large screwed black steel tie rods. The chimney is equipped with two large L-forming steel lighting landiers animated on the facade of yellow copper circles with black steel cut-out ailerons that make it possible to hold the clamp, shovel and bellows. The main lintel is punctuated by wide rivets and accommodates a long red copper cylinder on which rest two internal chenets, with adjustable spacing, formed of cut steel blades and resting at the back on cylinders. Black patina beaten iron pliers and shovel, bellows sheathed on the outside of red leather and on the inside of gold leather animated by a beige leather headband punctuated with upholstery studs. Rare and exceptional modernist fireplace, circa 1948. Featured here is the only remaining of the three large-scale fireplaces designed by Paul Dupré-Lafon. The mantel features a large black lacquered rectangular structure laterally supported by blocks tiled with white stone from the Burgundy region of France. The interior of the fireplace is plated with steel decorated with six golden stars and cupids riding lions. The top and the sides of the mantel as well as the front of the base are covered with large creamy beige terracotta tiles. The upper part of the fireplace (above the mantle) is covered with large Saint Maximin fossil limestone tiles reinforced by black steel strips. The fireplace comes with all its original accessories: andirons, bellows, shovel and tongs. The steel lighting andirons are held together by a long red copper cylinder. The bellows was covered by Hermès with red leather on the outside and with golden leather on the inside. The shovel and tongs are made of wrought iron with a black sheen finish.

Tajan

[carlos-in-glasses]

Happy Wednesday and yuletide felicitations to one and all.

Sharing a section from Where All This Love Comes From, Chapter 7: A Boy's Best Friend (posting on Sunday!)

In which teenage Carlos has been unceremoniously dragged by his parents to visit a newborn baby, and he isn't happy about it. Luckily, there's also a dog. And a boy.

He’s escaped to the kitchen, because here he can hang out with their elderly golden retriever – a glamorous white-coated lady called Zelda – and he’s massaging her head with salad tongs when he notices the time change on his digital watch. For some reason it makes him fiercely angry, and it’s the exact moment Gabriel wanders in to find him like this: Crouched on the terracotta floor tiles, looking furious, while an ancient pup appears to be in a state of total ecstasy because her ear is being rubbed by a large wooden fork.

“There you are,” Gabriel says, carrying his empty coffee mug to the sink. “Everyone was wondering where you got to. Give me that.” He scoffs and snatches the salad tongs from Carlos, dumping them in the sink with his mug.

Zelda whimpers at the loss, so Carlos strokes her snout with his thumb.

“When are we going home?” Carlos asks it like a challenge, stares at the time of his life ticking away.

12:01, his watch says.

He’s expecting his father to huff, to stretch out a pointing arm and demand he get his moody ass back into the living room and coo over the boring baby, but that doesn’t happen. When it doesn’t happen, Carlos finds the courage to glance up. Gabriel is drying his hands on a red gingham seersucker cloth, regarding him with a half-smile.

“Not really your scene, huh?” Gabriel says.

Carlos shrugs with one shoulder.

“I get it. But the girls want to stay.”

“I know.”

“How about you and me go for lunch?”

Carlos gazes at his dad distrustfully, rising to his feet. “Just us?”

“Yeah. I want to take my boy for some food.”

“I’m really, really hungry,” Carlos tells him, quiet and ashamed, like it’s a terrible secret, even though him eating everybody out of house and home is probably the most well-established fact about Carlos Reyes.

Gabriel laughs, slapping the cloth down. “I’ll take you to Mockingbird,” he says, “It’s been a long time.”

Mockingbird Diner. Sometimes, when Gabriel’s shifts had allowed it, he’d meet Carlos at the school gates and take him for a milkshake. When did that stop? It feels like forever ago, but when Carlos thinks about it, he can smell salted fries. He can feel himself holding an ice-cold glass. He’d always get vanilla. If Gabriel had a milkshake too, he’d always get chocolate.

_______________________________

It’s a hectic weekend lunchtime at Mockingbird, but a booth by the window becomes free as they enter. A friendly college-age boy buses them over. The table is still messy with evidence of its former occupants. Carlos watches with interest as half-empty lemonade glasses and plates scattered with crumbs are lifted out of sight. He likes the boy’s hands – the way they open and close and flex as he works to clean up. The way his tanned forearms, with a clear seam of defined muscle, protrude through rolled white shirt sleeves. He probably plays sport at UT. Carlos imagines him as a baseballer.

“I’ll grab you some menus, sirs,” the boy says cheerfully after spritzing and wiping down their table.

Carlos accidentally follows the boy with his eyes as he walks away. When his gaze finally travels to Gabriel – Gabriel is staring back curiously. He doesn’t know how long his dad has been observing him for.

Open tag and tags below!

Tagging: @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @heartstringsduet @paperstorm @strandnreyes @welcometololaland @lemonlyman-dotcom @rmd-writes @reyesstrand @bonheur-cafe @lightningboltreader @chaotictarlos @goodways @alrightbuckaroo @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @eclectic-sassycoweyes @orchidscript @taralaurel @noxsoulmate @liminalmemories21 @ladytessa74 @jesuisici33 @inflarescent @thisbuildinghasfeelings @fitzherbertssmolder @whatsintheboxmh @wandering-night19 @never-blooms @theghostofashton @carlos-tk @redshirt2 @herefortarlos @louis-ii-reyes-strand @chicgeekgirl89 @three-drink-amy @mikibwrites @freneticfloetry @sugdenlovesdingle - if you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever!

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

[bad-fucking-omens]

The Witch Twin (Alec V. x OC) - Chapter 8 - Welcome

Summary: When I thought about my future, I was sure that I had the rest of my life vaguely planned out.

Then, my older sister moved up from Arizona to stay with us — and turned my entire life upside down.

I had no idea just how bad it had gotten until I was standing in a castle in Italy, convinced that I was about to die.

Length: 3.2K words (Complete fic 71.8K words)

Fic warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, explicit smut (M/F), referenced/implied past child abuse, emotional manipulation by sibling

Chapter warnings: None

Read on AO3 or read below

8. WELCOME

I woke up just as the private jet was about to land in Florence, Italy. My eyes fluttered open and I lifted my head from Alec’s shoulder. He smiled at my tired expression and deftly brushed my hair away from where it had fallen across my face.

“Good morning,” he murmured softly.

“Is it morning?” I asked.

Alec’s smile grew. “No. It’s about seven in the evening. The sun is just starting to set.”

He lifted the shade that covered the window next to him. Golden light spilled into the dim cabin and I leaned closer to him to look out of the window.

“It’s so beautiful. . . .”

I could see the entire, large city of Florence beneath us. The Renaissance-style buildings were all varying shades of pale yellow and beige and white, their roofs all lined with terracotta-colored tiles. The basilica cathedral in the center of the city stood above all of the other buildings. A river ran through the city and mountains surrounded the city on one side.

“It is,” Alec agreed. He looked away from the city to look at me. He trailed his cool fingertips along my cheek. “But not as beautiful as you.”

I smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “You’re so sweet.”

“Only for you,” he whispered teasingly. I laughed and laid my head on his shoulder again. Alec hummed and rested his head against mine, taking my hand and linking our fingers together just as the plane began to descend.

Alec carried my suitcase for me as we walked down the stairs from the jet onto the pavement. He took my hand in his again and led me across the landing strip, through the airfield, to the small parking lot nearby. He put my suitcase in the front-trunk of a white Lamborghini. I smirked and raised an eyebrow at him. Alec simply grinned and moved around the car to open my door for me. He closed the door once I was seated and got into the driver’s seat. He took my hand again once he started the car and began driving.

“How far are we from Volterra?” I asked, looking out of the dark-tinted window and watching the gorgeous Italian countryside pass by.

“About half an hour,” he replied.

I nodded, though I could feel the anxiety begin to crawl under my skin at the thought of returning to the place where I thought I would die. Alec rubbed circles on the back of my hand with his thumb and said, “Eve, I promise that everything will be okay. I will be right by your side the whole time, and I would never allow you to be harmed in any way — not that anyone would dare to harm you. You have nothing to worry about, my love.”

My heartbeat slowed as my nerves settled. I looked at Alec and smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

He smiled back at me and squeezed my hand gently, linking our fingers together. He said, “Aro requested that I bring you directly to see the masters when we arrive. Aro wants to greet you properly, as my mate.”

“You’ll be with me?”

“Of course,” he said. Alec lifted my hand up to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of my hand.

Alec drove through the gates of the city. I looked around at the Tuscan-style buildings as he drove carefully through the narrow streets. Volterra was even more beautiful than I remembered, especially now that the streets weren’t flooded with people dressed in red and I wasn’t worried about my sister reaching Edward in time or worried about both of us dying.

The castle where the Volturi resided finally came into view. Alec brushed his thumb along the back of my hand as my anxiety spiked again and my stomach twisted uncomfortably. The wrought-iron gates to the castle opened to allow the car past the tall, pale stone walls. Alec pulled the car into a part of the castle that turned out to be a garage filled with expensive, European sports cars. He parked in a spot near the doors that led inside the castle.

We got out of the car. Alec grabbed my suitcase from the trunk, then took my hand in his once again. He led me into the castle, to the lobby where the receptionist was sitting behind her tall, wooden desk.

“Welcome back, Alec . . . Eve,” Gianna said with a smile.

Alec led me past her, ignoring her without a second glance. Halfway through the hallway that led to the throne room, Alec stopped walking. He drew me into his arms and held me against his body. I closed my eyes and rested my head against his chest, winding my arms around his waist.

“Do you feel a little less anxious, now?” Alec murmured softly. I nodded. He hummed and kissed the top of my head.

“Alec.”

We broke apart from each other and turned towards the voice. Jane was standing a few feet away from us, dressed in a knee-length, black, sleeveless dress with her hair tied back in a simple plait. Her face was neutral, until she met my gaze. Then, her eyes narrowed slightly at me. Instinctively, I pressed a little closer to Alec’s side, glancing down at the floor.

“Jane,” Alec warned, a slight edge to his voice as his arm tightened around me. “Play nice, sister.”

I looked up as she huffed in annoyance. She looked back at me and said begrudgingly, “Hello, Evelyn.” Her crimson eyes flicked back to Alec. “Don’t keep them waiting much longer, brother.”

He nodded. Jane walked past us and into the throne room. Alec looked down at me and brushed his thumb along my cheekbone.

“Let’s go, my love.”

I followed Alec down the length of the hallway. He slid aside the piece of paneling and opened the plain wooden door hidden behind it. Alec walked in ahead of me, clearly protective as he took measured steps and kept my hand firmly in his, using his body to shield mine.

“Ah, you have returned to us, young Eve.”

I gripped Alec’s hand nervously as Aro approached us, smiling. The other two leaders, Marcus and Caius, were sitting in their thrones, a bored expression on Caius’ face and a passive one on Marcus’. The guards I had seen on my previous trip — and several that I didn’t recognize — were gathered in the room, their red eyes all watching me curiously. All the attention was unnerving, so I pressed closer to Alec’s side and he squeezed my hand gently.

Aro laughed lightly and said, “Relax, young one. We are all quite happy that you have decided to join our dear Alec, and us by extension.” I saw Jane roll her eyes from the corner of my vision. Aro either ignored her or didn’t see her. He extended his hand to me. “May I?”

I placed my hand in his. He clasped my hand between both of his frozen ones, his cloudy crimson eyes staring into mine intensely. No one spoke or moved while Aro searched through my thoughts.

Finally, he blinked and smiled, gently patting my hand. “Thank you, my dear. I am sorry that you anguish over causing your father pain by disappearing from your previous life.” My heart twisted in my chest as Aro looked at the vampire standing beside me. “Alec, take your mate to your chambers. We shall allow her to settle in for a while before she is turned.”

“Yes, Master,” Alec said softly.

Alec bowed his head to Aro before he guided me out of the room. As soon as the door closed behind us, he wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me up off the ground. I laughed and wrapped my legs around his waist as my arms curled around his neck. He kissed my cheek, then lightly pushed my head down to nestle in the crook of his neck. I smiled against his ice-cold skin as he carried me through the castle.

I barely felt him move, so it surprised me when only a couple seconds later, Alec loosened his grip on me and let me slowly drop down to my feet. He kept his arms around my waist as I turned to look at the room.

The bedroom was large and rectangular, made of the same, light, beige-colored stone that the rest of the castle was built with. Dark oak-colored bookshelves lined most of the walls from floor to ceiling, almost every shelf filled entirely with books. Some books looked ancient and delicate, made of leather and parchment, while others were clearly more modern. A black leather couch, matching armchair, and a dark, wooden coffee table — which also held a couple small stacks of books — stood in front of a fireplace that was built into the wall. A large, flat-screen TV hung above the fireplace and a few gaming systems were resting on the mantle.

A king-sized bed sat between two of the tall bookshelves, covered with a dark gray comforter and pillows that were tucked into black satin pillowcases. To the right of the doorway to the hallway, there were two doors fitted between another couple of bookshelves. I assumed that they led to a closet and possibly a bathroom. Directly across the room from them, to the left of where we were standing, laid a balcony with an intricately designed wrought-iron railing behind two glass doors.

“Your room is amazing,” I said.

“Our room,” Alec corrected softly. He pressed a kiss to my hair.

I laughed quietly. “Our room,” I repeated. I turned around and rested my head against his shoulder. Alec smoothed his hand over my long, dark hair. I reached up to play with one of the drawstrings of his hoodie, twisting it around my finger lazily.

“My sweet girl. . . . We should put your things away.”

I nodded, though neither of us moved to pull away from each other. Alec chuckled warmly and I smiled. Just hearing his laugh made me feel warm and happy.

Alec wrapped his arms around me and picked me up easily. He moved us over to the couch, where he laid down with me laying on his chest. Our legs tangled together as I rested my head on his chest. Alec pulled a thick blanket that had been hanging over the couch over us, gently tucking it around my body. I hummed happily, nestling into his side as his hand rubbed along my back.

“I’m so happy that you’re here with me,” he murmured, brushing my hair away from my face. He took a deep breath and sighed. “I wasn’t sure that I would ever meet my mate, and I would never have imagined that I would bond with you so quickly, but now I cannot fathom living without you.”

“I think in some ways, I’m still in shock from all of this,” I mumbled. “I mean, it’s crazy that just a few weeks ago, I had no idea that vampires were real, and I could never have imagined that I would fall in love with a vampire. But I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, Alec. . . . Will you tell me something?”

“Anything.”

“What happened to you when I decided to stay in Forks?” I asked, pushing myself up a little to look at him. I could see his hesitation and I said, “Please tell me, Alec. I want to know. . . . Please .”

I could see his resolve crumble at my plea. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling as I laid back on his chest. His voice was quiet as he spoke.

“I . . . I was barely able to do anything other than sit in the corner of my room and focus on the pain in my heart. It . . . it was the second worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. . . . I kept the shirt that I had been wearing when I first met you. It still had your scent on it, and every time I caught your sweet scent, it made the pain worse and better, as strange as it sounds. The day I came for you, Marcus had come to me. He convinced me to go to you.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, curling closer to his body.

“Don’t apologize,” Alec replied quickly. “This was not your fault, my love. You were manipulated and lied to. . . . But you’re here with me now, and that’s all that matters.”

He brushed his lips along my forehead and I let my eyes flutter shut.

“How long do I have until I’m turned?”

“Aro suggested three days. Is that okay?”

I nodded. My eyes fluttered open as Alec very gently pushed my head up with his finger under my chin. He looked into my eyes for a long moment before he pressed his lips to mine for the very first time.

I gasped softly against his mouth. His lips were as hard and cold as ice, yet somehow he was so very gentle. I took a deep breath through my nose, breathing in his perfect, sweet, intoxicating scent — which put my mind into overdrive. Everything except the feeling of his lips on mine faded away. I fisted my hand in the soft fabric of his hoodie and pressed as close as I could to his body. All I could think about was pulling him closer, closer, closer.

Alec pulled away, carefully holding me back with a gentle hand on my shoulder. I sucked in a deep breath, filling my deprived lungs with air. I panted softly as he brushed his hand along my cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asked anxiously. “I’m sorry, I knew that it would be overwhelming–”

“I’m fine,” I assured him, still a little breathless. My lips tingled the same way my skin had when he had first touched my cheek. “Don’t apologize. It was amazing.”

He smiled a little smugly and I rolled my eyes at him. I jokingly slapped his chest, then hissed at the pain that radiated through my hand. Alec quickly wrapped his hand around mine, letting his cold skin soothe away the ache. He raised my hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across my knuckles.

“Careful, sweet girl,” he murmured.

I sighed after a moment and said, “I really should unpack my stuff.”

“We can just lay here, if you want.”

“But if I unpack, then we will have nothing to do other than cuddle together.”

Alec laughed and said, “That’s a good point, love.”

We slowly untangled ourselves and got up off the couch. Alec moved my suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. He put his arm around my waist.

“I can take care of all of this for you in a few seconds,” he offered. “Then we can go lay down again.”

“You’re very persuasive,” I teased with a smile.

“Is that a yes?”

I nodded. Alec hummed and placed a kiss on my cheek. Then, I only saw a blur moving around the room as things disappeared from my suitcase. Mere seconds passed before he returned to my side, only the photo of me and Charlie left. I took it from his hands, smiling sadly down at it.

“I wasn’t sure where you would want it,” Alec said.

“Um . . . I’m not sure.”

“Maybe over here?” he suggested, leading me over to one of the bookshelves. I hadn’t noticed earlier when I was looking around that two of the shelves in this particular bookshelf held small paintings and pictures of him and Jane and a couple other members of the Volturi over the years. He took the picture from my hands and tucked it into the corner of one of the large picture frames.

“We’ll get it it’s own frame soon,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, love.”

“Where did you put my books?” I asked.

Alec smirked and teased, “Somehow I knew you would ask that first.” He took my hand in his and led me over to another bookshelf. He knelt down and traced his fingertips along the spines of the books that I had brought with me to Italy.

“Which one is your favorite?” he asked.

I brushed my fingers through his silky, dark brown hair. Alec leaned into my touch as I said, “That’s a hard question. . . . I really enjoyed Frankenstein when I read it, more than I thought I would.”

“Mm,” he hummed.

I smiled down at him. Alec seemed far more focused on my fingers in his hair than my answer to his question. He rested his head against the side of my thigh and closed his eyes. My smile widened as I watched him, continuing to run my fingers through his soft curls.

“Get off the floor, Alec, you are not a dog.”

The sudden, vicious voice in the room made me jump. I pulled my hand away from Alec’s hair, my eyes going wide as I looked over at Jane. Her lip was curled into an angry sneer, her hands balled into fists as she glared at me.

I looked away from her quickly, glancing down at Alec. Alec’s bottom lip was just barely jutted out into a slight pout, likely from our moment being interrupted. He sighed and took my hand in his, looking up at me as he pressed a lingering kiss to my knuckles. My anxious heartbeat slowed even as I blushed at his affection. Alec stood and turned to look at his twin sister, hiding me partially behind him.

“Jane,” he greeted.

Her eyes finally moved away from me and her gaze lost all hostility as she looked at her brother.

“I was coming to steal you away for a while,” Jane said pleasantly. A surprisingly soft smile curled her lips as she waited for his response.

“Sister, you know that my mate just joined me. I won’t leave her alone,” he replied carefully.

The blonde girl frowned and shot me another glare from over Alec’s shoulder. Guilt twisted my heart.

“It’s okay, Alec,” I said softly. “You should spend time with her.”

Alec turned to look at me, and my heart ached even more when I saw the confusion and slight hurt in his eyes. But only a second later, it all disappeared and he suddenly looked determined. He turned back towards his twin.

“I will visit with you later, Jane. I promise,” Alec added in a softer tone when she sent me another annoyed look. I looked down at the ground. “I want to spend time with Eve right now.”

Jane growled angrily and whirled around, quickly leaving the room. Alec turned fully towards me and lifted my chin gently so I was looking into his crimson eyes.

“Do not put anyone else’s feelings or desires above your own,” he murmured. “Jane will adjust to not being able to monopolize all of my time. We have spent the last twelve-hundred years by each other’s sides. She can handle a few days without me.”

“I just don’t want to come between you,” I said.

Alec took my face in his hands. “You won’t, sweet girl. Jane just needs time to adjust and get to know you.”

I nodded. Alec leaned close to drop a kiss on my forehead.

“Okay. Now, I’ve been a little daft and have forgotten that my beautiful mate is still human and needs to eat,” he said. I smiled with him. “Let’s go get you something to eat.”

“Lead the way.”

[percervall]

Mar, goddess of all things list-worthy, would you be so kind as to grace us with an f1 drivers/tps as Greek gods / goddesses? 💛

I love it when I get to combine my two loves 🧡 and thank you for the high praise! 🥰

Note: gender is a social construct so please take no offence in me assigning a goddess to your fave

Max - Ares, God of war. It's being a good soldier, but fighting with your heart over your brain and thus losing the battle that truly matters; it's giving your all because it's all you know, all you have and it has to be enough, please let it be enough.

Charles - Poseidon, God of the seas. It's both the calm lapping of soft waves on white sandy beaches and the untamed wild nature of the ocean during a storm. It's being able to see every creature through the crystal clear waters and the deep dark ominous blue that hides and catches off guard, that wreaks destruction.

Carlos - Hestia, Goddess of home and hearth. It's candle lit dinners, a fire to keep your heart warm. It's the heat of terracotta tiles underneath your feet, the melting of dark chocolate on your tongue.

Fernando - Dionysus, God of chaos and ecstasy. It's copious amounts of red wine, it's the wicked eyes, the glint of teeth in the dark as you laugh -cackle at the deviousness of it all.

Seb - Athena, Goddess of wisdom. It's fighting battles using logic, being reasonable when others aren't. It's knowing you're better than them without being cocky.

Daniel - Apollo, God of sun. It's the golden hue to brown hair lightened by the sun, it's a dusting of freckles where it kissed your skin, the languid expanse of skin as a body relaxes, reclines. It's raising your face to let in happiness and healing.

Pierre - Aphrodite, Goddess of beauty and desire. It's being unapologetically yourself, a flirtatious smile, a lingering touch. It's whirlwind romance and heartbreak but you would fall over and over again given the chance.

Lewis - Hera, queen of the gods. It's standing here, head held high despite it all.

Toto - Hades, God of the underworld. It's the knowing that you're being lured in, it's being studied so meticulously that you have no place to hide what you're thinking or feeling, it's being made queen and worshipped as if you were the God and he your mere servant

Mick - Persephone, Queen of the underworld. It's rewriting your narrative, it's being allowed to bloom and become who you were always meant to be.

Horner - Hermes, God of cunning and thieves. It's always having a plan B -even for plan B; having a trick up your sleeve, the feeling of water off a duck's back: nothing sticks to you

[fizzycherrycola]

Malaysia/Singapore, 1921

On a dark, rainy night, Singapore finds himself in desperate need of a warm meal and a bright smile. Luckily, he has someone who cares for him very much.

Originally intended to be part of a Hetalia fan anthology, however I missed the deadline long ago. You can find it at @hwsrazzledazzle . This is my first time writing Malaysia and Singapore, so I hope I've done them justice. Please enjoy! If anyone notices inconsistencies or cultural mistakes, please let me know and I'll fix them right away.

December Rain 

Singapore; 16 December 1921 

“Governor, is there really no other way? We are in peacetime, so surely-”

“Unfortunately, this is the way it must be. Perhaps if relations between London and Tokyo improve, then these restrictions may be lifted. But from what I understand, it is unlikely that either of us will witness such a thing happen in the near future.” 

“...I see.”

“I know this is all rather irregular, but even so, I trust you will follow these new regulations once they come into effect. Won’t you, Singapore?”

“Yes, Governor Guillemard, of course.”

“Good. Very good! I had the sense when we first met that we would get along well. That you were an honourable, hard-working young man – or colony, I should say – and that you would cause no trouble. I’m delighted to see that is still the case.”

—

A torrent of water falls from the heavens in rippling sheets. People dart about, some on bicycle and some on foot. They splash through the wide puddles of the civic district, anxious to be home before the dark night sets in. The lucky ones squeeze onboard the bustling electric tram with their elbows and umbrellas poking through the open windows. Unfortunately, Singapore was not one of those lucky ones today. 

Clasping his cold hands together, Singapore rubs his knuckles. He huddles in the seat of his hired rickshaw, grimacing at his situation. The spats covering his shoes are terribly soggy and the rain has soaked his grey trousers up to the thigh. He leans back in his seat, sheltering beneath the rickshaw’s canopy, hopelessly trying to stay as dry as possible. Normally it wouldn't be an issue, but tonight... Malaya is visiting for dinner. It’s the first date they’ve had in months.  

There is a tightness behind his ribs and Singapore takes a steadying breath. He needs to dispel the stress of the business day and the terrible news he was given.

None of that matters at the moment. Even though his disheartening meeting with the Governor went on for much longer than expected, he should still make it home before Malaya arrives, because that silly oyen is often late himself. And to the rickshaw puller’s credit, they are speeding down the muddy streets. 

Eventually, Singapore’s abode reveals itself wedged amongst a long row of shophouses. The vehicle’s rickety wheels slow to a halt and the rickshaw man glances back expectantly. Quickly, Singapore tosses a few coins his way. Then, he hops out of his seat, over the gate, and dashes through the five-foot way. 

He pushes open the wooden door to his house and pauses, holding his breath. The darkened front hall is quiet and none of the oil lamps appear lit. Thank goodness. Tension floods from his shoulders and he releases a sigh. 

He slips off his shoes and carries them inside, hoping to wipe the leather dry and preserve his valuable Oxfords. His bare feet tap terracotta tiles as he pads through the front office, then the smell of firewood hits him, mingled with the aroma of red chili and garlic. Peeking into the hallway, he sees dim light and steam emanating from the kitchen in the back. 

His hairs stand on end and a second later he’s bursting into the warm room. 

“Why are you here so early?!” Singapore demands. 

Malaya flinches and glances up from the stove. “Oh, you’re here!” A bright smile blooms across his face, putting his crooked fang tooth on full display. “Welcome back!” 

“You’re never early! How did…?”

“Ah? I thought I was late. You said we would meet in the afternoon.”

“No, we said it would be in the evening.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Malaya chuckles. “I thought it was strange when I walked in and nobody was home.” 

“Wait, what are you doing?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making dinner!” 

“But I was going to....” Singapore’s words fail him as he gawks at his kitchen. The mortar is smudged with trace remains of crimson spices and his stove is lit with the smoky haze of burning charcoal. Malaya tosses peppers into the wok and effortlessly works the sizzling heat like he was born for it. Singapore sighs. “Never mind. Let me take over from here.” 

Malaya laughs incredulously. “But I’m almost finished!”  

“It doesn’t matter. This is your first time in my new home! You’re my guest.” 

Malaya quirks an eyebrow and gestures to Singapore with the backend of his chuan. “Singa, you’re dripping wet. You’ll get rainwater in our food.” 

Baulking, Singapore looks himself over. His suit is darkened and heavy, leaking droplets onto the floor. 

Grimacing, he deflates. “...I’m sorry.”  

“Ah? You don’t need to apologise.” 

“No, I should have arrived earlier. I had plans for our dinner together; I wanted it to be special.” 

Smiling wider, Malaya seems to melt on the spot. “Sayang….”

“I can take over after I’ve changed.”

“No. This is my cooking now.”

“But–” 

“It’s fine. You work too hard!” Malaya steps away from the wok and nudges Singapore out of the room. “Quick! Go change out of those clothes before the food is ready.” 

Reluctantly, Singapore trudges upstairs to his bedroom, glancing back at the kitchen as he goes. 

Once upstairs, he takes a moment to tend to his Oxfords, the higher priority, before his own comfort. When he’s satisfied that the leather is dry enough, he peels off his wet business attire, shivering despite the humidity, and then towels his damp skin. Throwing on something clean, he pauses in front of a small mirror to tame his dark hair before returning downstairs.  

The dining area is bathed in warmth and an array of dishes decorate the table. Dinner is set out before him: tomato rice with ayam masak merah, a mix of chicken and dried chilies sambal. The saucy red soup glistens in the lamplight and Singapore’s belly rumbles. Malaya snickers, placing the finishing touches on the table and telling him to dig in. 

With a flush rising to his cheeks, Singapore thanks his companion and relents. He takes a bite of the chicken, and a burst of rich, creamy, spice hits his tongue. It’s so delicious that he sighs, the flavour bringing back memories of other rainy Decembers, long past. When it was just the two of them, huddled beneath a small, thatched roof.

“Abang, it’s so good,” Singapore says. “Thank you.”

“Anytime!” A wide grin graces Malaya’s face as he produces a gorgeous bottle of tapai rice wine and pours both of them a healthy glass. Then he sits as well, going for his tomato rice, and talking unabashedly between massive mouthfuls of food. “You know, I think your last house was better.” 

Singapore pouts. “Don’t say that, lah. I was hoping you would like it here.” 

“Well, ah… it’s not what I was expecting.”

“I was able to get this because my markets have been paying well. Would you prefer it if I returned to a timber attap house? Go back to my old kampong?”

Malaya sheepishly raises his hands in mock surrender. “No! It’s just very… different?”

“It’s closer to the city centre. And it’s modern.”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry.” Malaya leans in and gives Singapore a quick kiss on the cheek – an apology. He leaves behind a few sticky grains of rice, and Singapore rolls his eyes before brushing them off. “You worked very hard for this, so I’ll admit, for a city house, it is really spacious and fancy.”

Singapore swallows a few more bites of food while considering his companion’s sentiment.

Indeed, the new dwelling takes some getting used to. Bought last July, Singapore’s abode stands three stories tall and has an elaborate, ornamental façade. Decorated with colourful tiles and plasterwork, it is more stylish than his previous place. If only the floors were worn in, and the rooms smelled of the forest, perhaps then this mass-produced building would feel more like a home. 

It’s no matter, though. He will adjust. As if reading his mind, Malaya pokes his elbow and gestures to the open courtyard. “Plant a garden in the spring; that will help.”

Singapore glances at the bare space and imagines it filled with kang kong, lemongrass, and chili plants. It warms his heart.

“That would be nice.”

Malaya polishes off his rice and sets the bowl down. “So, you meet with Guillemard today?”

“Ah… that’s right.”

“Mm! I’m meeting with him in a few days, too. What did he say?” 

Singapore ducks, suddenly very interested in the wood grain of his table. “I’ll tell you after dinner.”

“Come on, tell me. Is it good news?”

Weight settles on Singapore’s shoulders and bears down on his neck. “No, it’s bad.”

“Now I have to know!”

Singapore sighs. The locks in the back of his mind slowly release, allowing a bitter slurry of unease and gloom to trickle forth. He’s been holding onto this all day and he was never good at hiding things from his dearest.

“You’re not going to like it.”

Malaya downs a swig of rice wine. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Singapore follows his lead, taking a sip from his own cup and allowing the burn to roll down his throat. He swallows, and means to slam the cup down, but it settles with a skittering series of taps. Is he nervous, or just upset?

“Guillemard said… beginning next week, we cannot have any contact with Taiwan, Korea, or any other kingdoms under Japan’s control.” 

The statement falls wet out of his heart to splatter ruin onto his new, tile floor. Malaya blinks, silent for a while, his eyes going wide.

“No, that can’t be right.” 

“Personal contact lah,” Singapore clarifies. “We can’t send them letters, telegrams, or schedule any visits.”

“Not even letters?”

“None.”

Malaya gapes. “Why would he say that? Did he have a reason?” 

“I couldn’t get all the details.” The morning and afternoon were like a whirlwind. Questions flew around the rooms of the Governor’s estate, from not just himself, but even the groundskeepers who he caught whispering in the halls. “I heard there was a conference,” Singapore continues, “and a treaty was signed. Somehow, this new treaty ended the alliance between England and Japan, but it was more than that. Apparently, there has been tension between them for a long time, maybe years. So, it is possible… perhaps a combination of different things ....” 

“Wait, wait!” Malaya cries, jolting Singapore out of his recollection. “Tahun Baru Cina!”

It takes Singapore a moment to understand. “What about it?”

“Taiwan invited us to celebrate with her. You remember; we were meant to visit her in that city... what are we calling it these days?” 

“Taihoku?” 

“That’s it!” 

“I’m guessing that will be cancelled.” 

Malaya releases a puff of air. “They can’t just cancel the New Year!” He slumps, staring forlornly at his empty rice bowl. He looks like a cat, longing for more food, as though that would be enough to fix all the problems of the world.

“Someone else might host,” Singapore suggests. 

“This is terrible,” Malaya mutters.

Singapore frowns at his wine, cloudy and glistening in the lamplight. He imagines it reflecting a sea of red lanterns as they ripple in the night air, a dream of years past. If he concentrates, he can recall the clamour of jubilant voices, the thrum of drums, and the crackle of firecrackers.

Gathering under one roof to welcome the New Year was a tradition they shared. Who started it and when, Singapore does not know, but every house he visited would be brilliantly decorated in a rainbow of colours, and every table would be packed to the edge with food. Different people would host and attend each year; a variety of familiar faces that came and went. Philippines, Vietnam, Siam, Manchuria, Korea, of course China, and more. Sometimes there were so many of them, there were not enough seats to go around! 

Occasionally, the turnout was smaller due to war, famine, or sickness, but it was always a pity when it happened. It’s still a pity now. Singapore sighs, again. “I’m sorry for ruining the evening with depressing news. This date was meant to be special.” 

Malaya blinks, returning to life, and shushes him. “You know, if you keep stressing out, your hair will turn white.” 

Something in Singapore's face must be betraying his feelings, because Malaya’s smile falls almost as quickly as it appears. He shuffles closer and secures a steady arm around his lover’s shoulders.

“Abang….”

Rain pitter-patters on the courtyard stone. The distant sounds of city life grow quieter as night falls. Is it raining in Taihoku as well? Is there a little girl on the other side of the sea mulling over the same sad news? Poor Taiwan. She’s still just a child; she won’t understand.

A knot has lodged itself in Singapore’s throat. Times like these serve as a potent reminder: it is the spiderwebs of alliances that shape their uncertain destinies. Of course, he is not a revolutionist. Order, harmony, and life are too precious to him. All he must do is keep his head down, work hard, and if he does that, he can get by. But sometimes… sometimes….

Without prompting, Malaya whispers, “I know,” and hugs him, lean muscle cradling Singapore’s thin frame. And Singapore doesn’t realise he is clenching his jaw until Malaya strokes his cheek and it slackens. Heat radiates through his ribs like an antidote. A rattling breath escapes his chest and his eyes fall shut. Their bodies slope together. 

They stay that way for long minutes. The weariness of the day begins to levy its toll on Singapore’s consciousness and his head droops. Safe in his companion’s arms, sleep tempts him. He almost doesn’t hear when Malaya whispers: “When do these rules start?”

“Next week,” Singapore murmurs.

Malaya’s lips press gently to his temple. “Then we will send Taiwan and the others some letters. We will wish them an early Happy New Year, before these awful new rules take effect.”

Shifting, Singapore meets his brilliant golden eyes. Dark umber bangs brush the tips of his eyelashes and a firecracker lights in his heart. His oyen is so handsome. They kiss and Malaya’s inviting mouth tastes faintly of chilies.

“Can I stay with you for more than a few days?” Malaya whispers.

“Of course,” Singapore says. “But is that okay? Won’t you get in trouble with the sultans?”

With a wave of his hand, Malaya dismisses the notion. “I’ll just keep begging my bosses until I manage to annoy them into letting me stay. Besides, my sayang is worth it.” A smile dawns on Singapore’s features and they entwine their fingers. Malaya nuzzles his hair. “And after I go, I'll come back in the spring to help you build your garden. We can plant some red hibiscus together.”

“...That would be nice.”

Suddenly, Malaya squeezes him tight and peppers his face with kisses until he’s laughing. And the spark in his heart becomes a booming firework display, so bright and colourful that it threatens to burst from his soul. 

Eventually, Singapore has to push him away, before things get heated and they make a mess of both their clothes and the dining table. He suspects there are red chili smears decorating his face. Malaya relents only after leaving a suggestive bite to his neck, practically purring with delight.

They gather up the dishes from the table, and as Singapore follows his companion back to the kitchen, he finds he is able to stand straighter. Malaya has a kind of resilience, a living strength that courses along the lines of his shoulders and blooms in the curve of his toothy smile. And Singapore has always found it captivating. Despite their misfortune and the struggle of navigating life, his oyen thrives and endures. How lucky he is to share delicious dinners and squander time with this special person. 

Singapore’s thoughts drift to the feathery bed that beckons them both and suppresses a shiver of excitement. Hurriedly, he plunges a bowl into the water basin and scrubs it clean, eager to indulge in the rest of their evening and the precious days ahead.

As long as he has Malaya, everything will be okay.

End / Fin

~~~

Author’s Notes 

Laurence Guillemard was the British-appointed “Governor of the Straits Settlements” and “High Commissioner for the Federated Malay States” from 1920 – 1927. 

“Abang” and “sayang” are Malay terms of endearment. 

Malaya/Malaysia’s national animal is a tiger, which is why Singapore calls him “oyen,” meaning: orange cat.

The first Singaporean shophouses were built starting in the 1840s, under the original ordinances laid down by Sir Stamford Raffles. Over the years, architecture styles changed but the houses remained popular until the 1960s. They are now considered important heritage pieces and are valued as historic examples of architecture.

An attap house is a traditional dwelling made with attap palms, which provide wattle for the walls and leaves for their thatched roofs. They are often found in kampongs (traditional villages) throughout South East Asia.

The Anglo-Japanese Alliance was a pact between the British and Japanese that was signed in 1902. Both parties benefited in various ways, including defensive strategies, trade, and cultural exchanges. However, over the following decades, the relationship would slowly deteriorate. It was viewed as an obstacle at the Paris Peace Conference following WW1, and then battered further by the 1921 Imperial Conference. It finally dissolved on 13 December 1921, when the Four-Power Treaty was signed in Washington DC.

Lunar New Year! In Malaysia, the holiday’s official name is “Tahun Baru Cina”. 

Taihoku was the name given to Taipei while it was under Japanese rule.

“...your hair will turn white.” It’s my personal headcanon that Singapore got his trademark streak of white hair from overworking himself in the 20th century.

[ashotasfireandasdeepastheocean1]

Symi, Greek island

.

A Fairytale-like island

While approaching the port of Symi, one has the overwhelming feeling of entering a perfectly painted image of a scenic traditional village. As a rule, people remain agape and cannot take their eyes off the spectacular sight. A galore of two and three-storey traditional stone houses, painted in all colours but mostly in indigo, ochre and terracotta, with red tiled roofs and cute little balconies with railings set up the peculiarity of the island.

[..]

https://www.visitgreece.gr/islands/dodecanese/symi/

...🌊☀️🇬🇷

.

[salemoleander]

Top five minecraft blocks to build with?

OUGH okay okay I'm making the decision that this doesn't include flowers/partial blocks:

Gotta be terracotta!! It's muted but colorful, plain without being boring, tiles well- if I had to pick just 1 color I'd say white terracotta is my favoritest to build with!

Mangrove planks my beloved. How did we survive without this color- it's absolutely gorgeous, and the trapdoors in particular make for LOVELY lampposts.

Polished andesite. What a workhorse of a block!! Superb flooring block, grey but with flecks of blueish purple that make it look shiny and interesting. AND it's easy to get a lot of, quite early! If they ever give us a borderless polished andesite variant I'll cry tears of joy. (Honorable mention: quartz, which doesn't win bc it's so fucking irritating to get. <- dumbass who keeps using it in thousand-block-long nether tunnel designs)

Barrels. Okay hear me out- no it is not the most exciting block, but it is LIGHTYEARS better than putting chests everywhere. The barrel underside texture as a floor or wall is underrated, and lets you have a ton of 'hidden' storage. This block carries the functionality of all my builds on its shoulders like Atlas supporting the sky.

Blast furnace! This one IS an aesthetic choice- the top, bottom, and sides of the blast furnace are GORGEOUS, and mesh super well with basalt, cauldrons, and hoppers. They're neutral, versatile, AND you can cook ores in them!!

Honorable mentions:

Shroomlight - Delivered us from Mandatory Sea Lanterns

Oxidized copper - GORGEOUS. Favorite color. Could take any spot on this list tbh

Smithing table - Solely for the gorgeous dark red underside, it did not have to go that hard

Redstone block - It has to be occluded by slabs/stairs/glass/etc, but little hints of redstone are SO eyecatching and fun to work with!

[culinaryaspiration]

my latest obsession has been country living in riverblossom hills, especially for my sims in the culinary career track.

here are some of my favorite pics so far.

(image descriptions under the cut)

Courtley Manor Country Radio

[id: a series of eight photos from the sims 2 taken with the in-game camera. the first one features a male rancher with long black hair in a ponytail, wearing a black cowboy hat, bluejeans, and a black leather vest over a white t-shirt, cooking burgers on an outdoor grill, with a black stallion prancing in a corral in the background near a pig and three chickens in a field. the second is of an auburn haired young woman in an apron making lunchmeat sandwiches in a country style kitchen. third is of another auburn haired young woman in pigtail braids and red plaid pajamas cooking pancakes on a cowpoke stove in a country style kitchen with terracotta floor tiles and wallpaper with a floral print. fourth is of a trailer with a flat metal roof and duraluminum siding surrounded by evergreen trees, a trail of smoke rising up from its tall thin cylindrical metal chimney, and a distant barn in the background. fifth and sixth are of the woman with the braids now fully dressed with a grey cowboy hat on and a green flannel shirt with blue denim overalls, first picking oranges in her orchard and then adding them to her juicer bowl in the kitchen in preparation to make juice. in the seventh she's talking with some folks on the porch of an old west saloon with clapboard siding, and in the eight and final pic she's seated inside on a contempto adirondack loveseat sipping coffee (not espresso) next to a tire stack end table and a lit shoddy barrel stove made from a rusty old oil drum mounted on cinder blocks. /end id]