#whitewashed brick wall

[bhujerbaa]

Dining Kitchen in Columbus Example of a mid-sized urban single-wall terra-cotta tile and brown floor eat-in kitchen design with flat-panel cabinets, brown cabinets, wood countertops, white backsplash, brick backsplash, stainless steel appliances and brown countertops

[impoliticwestie]

Leper Asylum, Chios, Greece, 2024.

[sponsormusings]

French Country Dining Room - Dining Room Mid-sized french country dark wood floor, brown floor, exposed beam and brick wall breakfast nook photo with gray walls, a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace

[ruhele]

Bathroom Orange County Inspiration for a mid-sized kids' porcelain tile pebble tile floor and multicolored floor doorless shower remodel with flat-panel cabinets, a one-piece toilet, white walls, an undermount sink, quartz countertops and white countertops

[petermorwood]

More on pre-electricity lighting.

Interesting to see this one pop up again after nearly two years - courtesy of @dduane, too! :->

*****

After experiencing a couple more storm-related power cuts since my original post, as well as a couple of after-dark garden BBQs, I've come to the conclusion that C.J. Cherryh puts far too much emphasis on "how dark things were pre-electric light".

For one thing eyes adjust, dilating in dim light to gather whatever illumination is available. Okay, if there's none, there's none - but if there's some, human eyes can make use of it, some better or just faster than others. They're the ones with "good night vision".

Think, for instance, of how little you can see of your unlit bedroom just after you've turned off the lights, and how much more of it you can see if you wake up a couple of hours later.

There's also that business of feeling your way around, risking breaking your neck etc. People get used to their surroundings and, after a while, can feel their way around a familiar location even in total darkness with a fair amount of confidence.

Problems arise when Things Aren't Where They Should Be (or when New Things Arrive) and is when most trips, stumbles, hacked shins and stubbed toes happen, but usually - Lego bricks and upturned UK plugs aside - non-light domestic navigation is incident-free.

*****

Here are a couple of pics from one of those BBQs: one candle and a firepit early on, then the candle, firepit and an oil lamp much later, all much more obvious than DD's iPad screen.

Though I remain surprised at how well my phonecam was handling this low light, my own unassisted eyes were doing far better. For instance, that area between the table and the firepit wasn't such an impenetrable pool of darkness as it appears in the photo.

I see (hah!) no reason why those same Accustomed Eyes would have any more difficulty with candles or oil lamps as interior lighting, even without the mirrors or reflectors in my previous post.

With those, and with white interior walls, things would be even brighter. There's a reason why so many reconstructed period buildings in Folk Museums etc. are (authentically) whitewashed not just outside but inside as well. It was cheap, had disinfectant qualities, and was a reflective surface. Win, win and win.

*****

All right, there were no switches to turn on a light. But there was no need for what C.J. describes as stumbling about to reach the fire, because there were tinderboxes and, for many centuries before them, flint and steel. Since "firesteels" have been heraldic charges since the 1100s, the actual tool must have been in use for even longer.

Tinderboxes were fire-starter sets with flint, steel and "tinder" all packed into (surprise!) a box. The tinder was easily lit ignition material, often "charcloth", fabric baked in an airtight jar or tin which would now start to glow just from a spark.

They're mentioned in both "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings". Oddly enough, "Hobbit" mentions matches in a couple of places, but I suspect that's a carry-over from when it was just a children's story, not part of the main Legendarium.

Tinderboxes could be simple, just a basic flint-and-steel kit with some tinder for the sparks to fall on...

...or elaborate like this one, with a fancy striker, charcloth, kindling material and even wooden "spills" (long splinters) to transfer flame to a candle or the kindling...

This tinderbox even doubles as a candlestick, complete with a snuffer which would have been inside along with everything else.

Here's a close-up of the striker box with its inner and outer lids open:

What looks like a short pencil with an eraser is actually the striker. A bit of tinder or charcloth would have been pulled through that small hole in the outer lid, which was then closed.

There was a rough steel surface on the lid, and the striker was scraped along it, like so:

This was done for a TV show or film, so the tinder was probably made more flammable with, possibly, lighter fuel. That would be thoroughly appropriate, since a Zippo or similar lighter works on exactly the same principle.

A real-life version of any tinderbox would usually just produce glowing embers needing blown on to make a flame, which is shown sometimes in movies - especially as a will-it-light-or-won't-it? tension build - but is usually a bit slow and non-visual for screen work.

*****

There were even flintlock tinderboxes which worked with the same mechanism as those on firearms. Here's a pocket version:

Here are a couple of bedside versions, once again complete with a candlestick:

And here are three (for home defence?) with a spotlight candle lantern on one side and a double-trigger pistol on the other.

Pull one trigger to light the candle, pull the other trigger to fire the gun.

What could possibly go wrong? :-P

*****

Those pistol lanterns, magnified by lenses, weren't just to let their owner see what they were shooting at: they would also have dazzled whatever miscreant was sneaking around in the dark, irises dilated to make best use of available glimmer.

Swordsmen both good and bad knew this trick too, and various fight manuals taught how to manage a thumb-shuttered lamp encountered suddenly in a dark alley.

There's a sword-and-lantern combat in the 1973 "Three Musketeers" between Michael York (D'Artagnan) and Christopher Lee (Rochefort), which was a great idea.

Unfortunately it failed in execution because the "Hollywood Darkness" which let viewers see the action, wasn't dark enough to emphasise the hazards / advantages of snapping the lamps open and shut.

This TV screencap (can't get a better one, the DVD won't run in a computer drive) shows what I mean.

In fact, like the photos of the BBQ, this image - and entire fight - looks even brighter through "real eyes" than with the phonecam. Just as there can be too much dark in a night scene, there can also be too much light.

*****

One last thing I found when assembling pics for the post were Folding Candle-lanterns.

They were used from about the mid-1700s to the later 20th century (Swiss Army ca. 1978) as travel accessories and emergency equipment, and IMO - I've Made A Note - they'd fit right into a fantasy world whose tech level was able to make them.

The first and last are reproductions: this one is real, from about 1830.

The clear part was mica - a transparent mineral which can be split into thin flexible sheets - while others use horn / parchment, though both of these are translucent rather than transparent. Regardless, all were far less likely to break than glass.

One or two inner surfaces were usually tin, giving the lantern its own built-in reflector, and tech-level-wise, tin as a shiny or decorative finish has been used since Roman times.

I'm pretty sure that top-of-the-line models could also have been finished with their own matching, maybe even built-in, tinderboxes.

And if real ones didn't, fictional ones certainly could. :->

*****

Yet more period lighting stuff here, including flintlock alarm clocks (!)

[yanderedrabbles]

✨Kicking my feet and twirling my hair thinking about what cozy basement set up boyfriend would have for me!✨

What are your OCs homes like anyway? Do they like certain decor? Does it smell a particular way? Trinkets lying around?

Yandere boys and their homes

Yandere! Cowboy keeps his boots by the door and his old ropes stacked in the entryway. Definitely a whitewashed farmhouse with an old wraparound porch. There's an old deer skull above the fireplace and a couple of hunting rifles on the wall. He likes the view and most mornings he'll drink his coffee with his elbows resting on the porch railing. He likes it when you pick wild flowers and leave them in vases around the house, but he'll never actually tell you that.

Yandere! Soldier's current apartment is pretty old, probably built back in the Soviet era. He doesn't really keep stuff around - he's always moving and being deployed so he doesn't see the point in keeping trinkets. If it wasn't for you, he'd be perfectly fine sleeping in the barracks. Function over everything.

Yandere! Boyfriend's place is honestly pretty cozy. He keeps plenty of throw pillows and afghan blankets. Lots of wooden furniture - most of it he made himself. It's a pretty manly place, but without being overwhelming. Usually smells like vanilla and fresh baked bread. His basement is totally remodelled, with genuine hardwood floors and fairy lights strung across the beams. It's the perfect place to curl up and watch a horror movie, if you ignore the heavy duty locks on the door.

Yandere! State Trooper is pretty young so his apartment is a bit of a mess. He has police gear dumped all over the place. Mostly Ikea style furniture, modern if a bit bland. The only thing he really added was a hook on his headboard to loop your handcuffs through - he can't have you struggling too much and disturbing the neighbours, now can he?

Yandere! Cop for sure has a bachelor apartment with just a bedroom and kitchen. Very neat and clean but pretty boring. It's one of those newly built places with lots of marble and millennial grey. Besides, he's way more interested in buying you whatever you want for your place. His single piece of decor is a scented candle you gave him. He sometimes lights it after a really long day.

Yandere! Gangster has a shitty New York apartment for sure, exposed brick and one of those noisy old fashioned radiators. It's clean but cluttered and there's basically only two rooms. And the worst part? Rent is still ridiculously high.

Yandere! Incubus has a cell in the abbey. It's almost too neat. Almost like it's not lived in. There's a crucifix above his bed and an uncracked bible on the nightstand. His one concession is his collection of dried flowers. Don't touch - they're all poisonous.

Yandere! Desert Bandit is nomadic and needs to move quickly from one hideout to another. He usually stays in a bayt-al-shar with woven rugs on the floor and oil lanterns burning in the corners. It's much larger than you'd expect and surprisingly warm, even through the icy desert nights. It smells of wood smoke and oud.

Yandere! Academic Rival is a thrift hoe and he knows it. Lots of antiques. He especially loves furniture with plenty of engraving or detailing. He either stays in an uptown penthouse or townhouse that his parents own. Spoiled litte brat.

Yandere! Apocalypse Survivor doesn't stay in one place for too long. And he usually picks places with very few entrances. So be prepared for lots of concrete rooms with boarded up windows.

Yandere! Greek Champion is always fighting, so expect everything from confiscated manor houses to canvas military tents. If he ever returns home, you'll find a villa stuffed with treasure from his conquests. Rare furs and rich tapestries and gleaming bronze urns, built with lots of marble columns and open balconies. He has his own bathhouse and he'll spend hours soaking in the steam, his muscles finally relaxing after months of battle.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Beautiful 1890 Baltimore, MD rowhouse has 5bds, 5ba, 3,168sqft, and is a pretty good buy at $750k, considering. (Why do people in cities have glass front doors?)

Nice large foyer leads to a hallway with original tile floor. Turn left into the lovely sitting room with pocket doors.

The parquet floor may be original, but the the elegant fireplace and the stunning gilded mirror definitely are. According to the description, the owners repainted with Farrow & Ball paints.

This is different- the main hall and stairs are accessed thru the sitting room. It has original tile flooring and railings.

Corner fireplace in the hall.

The other side of the hall accesses a lovely turret dining room with a beautiful original fireplace and cabinet.

The kitchen is wonderfully modern/vintage. Still has the original footprint, whitewashed brick walls, lovely cabinetry, marble countertops, and a classic checkered floor. Excellent remodel.

There's a door to the deck, and servant stairs next to the stove.

The main floor powder room features a shower.

View of the stairs.

A large primary bedroom features a pretty fireplace and an arched doorway to a dressing room/closet.

Renovated shower room.

Nice bedroom used as a playroom.

Beautiful library/home office has a step-up to a small sun room with doors to a terrace.

The room is large enough to fit a desk.

Also on this floor is a vintage bath.

Main stairs going up to the 3rd level.

There's another large bedroom up here.

Plus a TV room with an exposed brick wall and kitchenette.

There's also a nursery up here.

Another lovely vintage bath.

In the back, there's a covered deck and a fenced-in yard with a container garden.

A few steps down the street there's a charming Victorian gazebo.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1726-Linden-Ave-Baltimore-MD-21217/36486427_zpid/

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 1

As a professional artist, you've made a career out of bringing works of art to life. The colors of Zaun are no exception, and your current commission is literally larger-than-life: a mural in the Undercity. But then you meet a young revolutionary named Silco who shows you a side of the underground that you've never seen before...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Fix-It || SFW | WC: 3k

beta readers: @silcoitus @deny-the-issue

ao3 || Masterlist

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There’s color everywhere in the Undercity. It’s not that hard to find, but most people don’t care to go looking for it. But you’ve always been able to appreciate it in all its forms: dandelions straining through cracks in the concrete, eclectic graffiti in hard-to-reach places, pale weak lighting streaming through broken glass and ironwork…

Anywhere you look, there’s always a feast for the eyes.

There are plenty of artists from the Undercity, and you proudly count yourself among their number. But not many of them manage to cultivate a steady clientele; fewer still manage to attract the attention of wealthy Topsiders. They’ve sustained you for years now, since the beginning of your professional career. Making the transition from tagging crumbling stone walls with graffiti to painting on smooth, delicate canvas was a huge learning curve, but you make great money from commissions. And there’s a seemingly never-ending supply of wealthy Piltover families who want family portraits, individual portraits, pet portraits, portraits of long dead ancestors, portraits of them participating in historical events that they weren’t present at…

Whatever opinions you have of your clients, you keep them to yourself. They probably have their own issues with you since you were born and raised in the Undercity. But you wouldn’t give up your upbringing for anything. Certainly not the hallowed halls of Piltover’s art schools, learning to paint only in the styles of long-dead “masters” who romanticize poverty as an abstract concept, something to be studied and observed at a distance. 

Today, your work brings you to the periphery of the Undercity, where Piltover’s largest bridge ends at the aboveground levels of Zaun. You’re working on your biggest commission yet, literally: a mural high on the side of a whitewashed gray brick building in the Promenade, the emergent layer of the Undercity’s glass and iron jungle. Still close enough to the surface to be touched by the sun, illuminated in the early hours on days with good weather. Your artwork is going to encompass at least two-thirds of the wall, over a hundred times larger than most other wall art in this area of Zaun.

The location has you nostalgic for those bygone days of your childhood, but the fresh air and warm sun are miles above where you used to run around in the lowly gutters, competing with your friends for the best real estate and vandalizing each other’s work, showing off who can paint the fastest and most elaborate pieces before Enforcers come stomping around. That’s when you’d all scatter like rats, only to do it all over again the next day.

The mural you’re working on is large enough to warrant the use of a scissor lift, which you’re standing on right now. Its highest extension brings you standing higher than the wall, level with the roof’s ledge. When you lean back and stretch as far as you can, a cool breeze trails through your fingers. You can’t help but savor the beautiful day for a little while longer before getting started.

Just as you lean over a yellow paint can to open it, the sound of running footsteps makes you pause. You lean over the scissor lift’s railing to look down at the alleyway below. It’s narrow due to the close proximity of other buildings, pipes and glass tubes rising above rooftops and wrapping around windows like fungi. You squint hard, trying to make out the source of the noise.

It moves so fast you almost miss it. A blur runs over the irregular stonework on the ground, coalescing into a shadowy figure that dodges and jumps around the landscape with ease, darting and almost flying on a deliberate path. Maybe it’s an avian Vastayan? 

This area doesn’t see a lot of foot traffic around this time of day; you deliberately chose your working hours so you wouldn’t be disturbed. Still, it’s not unusual to see or hear people nearby. But what really gets your attention is when the thing ducks around your scissor lift and peeks out, using your machine as cover to look back where it came from.

You don’t know why you’re watching, but something compels you to. Compels you to defy the first law of survival in the Undercity: mind your own damn business. Or else.

For a moment, it doesn’t move.

Then, it looks up. Catching you staring at it.

No, not “it”—a man. Human, dark-haired with brilliant blue eyes, staring back at you in defiance and uncertainty.

He turns and goes down to his knees, crawling to a nearby manhole cover and lifting it, then jumping in. His movements are swift and graceful, no doubt thoroughly practiced at using this specific escape route. 

Footsteps fill the air again. You turn away to look down the other end of the alleyway where the man came from. These footfalls are slower and louder; whoever they belong to, they’re wearing heavy boots and don’t seem to care about being subtle.

A pair of Enforcers turn the corner, navigating the debris and unsteady ground much more clumsily than the stranger.

“He can’t have gone far! Damn gutter rat…” one of them swears angrily. 

They’re about to pass right next to your scissor lift. 

You hold your breath as you grab two of your paint cans at random and pry their lids off as quickly as you can…

Perch them carefully on the railing…

Take aim…

And then—

SPLAT!!!

Your aim is perfect: the cans drop like bombs, crashing into the Enforcers’ shoulders and clanking onto the ground, spinning wild arcs of paint all over their boots. They’re both drenched in paint from head to toe, prim and proper gold and blue outfits stained in long drips of light pink and pure white, bright enough to be seen even from the great height you’re standing at. Just as you hoped, they stop their pursuit to shake themselves like mangy dogs, trying to swipe the paint off of their sleeves. One of them takes off their hat and whips it frantically up and down, splattering the nearby walls and your scissor lift.

You school your face from a triumphant grin into a serious, mournful expression as you lower the lift to the ground. The loud hum of the machinery drowns out their furious cursing.

“I’m soooooo sorry officers, I didn’t see you there!” you apologize profusely as you climb down to approach them. 

“Dammit, woman!” one of them shouts, brandishing a paint-splattered baton at you. “What the hell—”

“If you want to be reimbursed for your uniforms, just let Councilor Salo know and he’ll cover the costs,” you smoothly interrupt the Enforcer, unbothered by his outburst.

The namedrop makes them pause. You pull your business card and a golden engraved crest out of your pocket. One of the officers takes them both, not bothering to look at your card. Instead, he carefully examines the crest, a pure gold and tacky letter “S” in calligraphic script, set in a delicate filigree of a leafy bush laden with berries. The crest is given by the Councilor to his contractors to give them free entry to restricted areas in Piltover. You’ve only ever used it so far to gain access to his gated mansion, but right now it’s coming in handy too: having Salo as a patron basically tells people that they shouldn’t mess with you unless they want to piss off a councilor.

“It’s genuine,” the Enforcer mutters to his partner and hands the crest back to you. He clears his throat and addresses you in a calmer, more formal manner. “And it’s not a problem, ma’am. We won’t bother the Councilor with something so trivial. Have you seen a—”

You gasp melodramatically, exaggeratedly widening your eyes. “Your uniforms! You need to wash them right away! Or else they’ll stain permanently!”

They glance at each other impatiently. “It’s fine. We’re looking for a—”

“And your skin! Did you get any on you?? It’ll stain you too!!”

That gets their attention. One of them tucks his hat under his arm, rubbing a gloved hand furiously at his pink-and-white cheek. You shove the other Enforcer with all your might, pushing him away.

“Scrub your bodies with tomato juice and then soak in onion peels! That’ll get it all out! But hurry!!”

They finally break out into a run, out of Zaun and towards Piltover where they belong. You snicker to yourself and toss the crest in the air. It flips over and over, casting bright reflections that spin dizzily on the walls as it catches the light. Those Enforcers won’t actually have to do all that to get the paint out of their clothing, but it feels like a small victory against the cruel arm of law enforcement who cause even worse trouble whenever they visit the Undercity.

You catch a glimpse of something twinkling on the ground. It’s the eyes of the man, still watching you from underground. 

As you suppress the instinct to wave hello at him, he pulls the manhole cover back into place, disappearing into the sewers.

The next day starts off like any other, and you’re looking forward to getting more work done. But as you climb your scissor lift, a jolt of fear zaps up your spine. Prickles on the back of your neck crawl upwards to settle at the top of your head. It’s an Undercity instinct, a warning that someone you can’t see is watching you.

And they’re looking down at you like a bird of prey.

You dart into the shadows, crouching low against the wall. You take deep breaths to settle your nerves. The high ground gives them an advantage against you. If they have a gun, it’s just a matter of them pointing and shooting—

But then, just barely, you’re able to catch a whiff of smoke. It smells of cheap nicotine, and you look up to see a ring of cigarette smoke uncurling lazily against the backdrop of a cloudless sky.

The cigarette smoke is as good as a signal fire. If they wanted to hurt you, they wouldn’t make themselves known like that. Still, whoever it is, they know where you work and were waiting for you. That makes you wary enough to grab your sharpest palette knife and hide it in your pocket. It’s not a conventional weapon, but there’s no way you’re going to confront a stranger unarmed when you ask them to leave you alone. Your grip around the knife’s handle is tight as you punch the button to extend the lift to its fullest height. It brings you level with the roof and the person waiting for you.

It’s the same man from yesterday, now close enough for you to notice that his narrowed, suspicious eyes aren’t blue but turquoise, clear as the ocean and just as deep. He’s pointy and whip-thin, leaning against the roof’s ledge with crossed arms, a cigarette squeezed between the clenched fingers of a tight fist.

“What kind of person works for a councilor but won’t turn in a wanted man?” he asks, curious. His voice is low and smoky, a smooth baritone intonation rolling over gravel. It’s a beautiful voice, tempting you into lowering your guard. If you closed your eyes, you could be fooled into believing that his voice belonged to a Topside radio host or a curator giving tours in a museum. 

“Just wanted to help a fellow ‘gutter rat’,” you reply, shrugging. 

“And why would you do that?” His fashion is typical for an average Zaunite: his dark shirt is made of rough and well-worn fabric, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal wiry but muscled forearms. On his left shoulder is a leather pad, studded with brass buttons and stitched with metal wires, all highly polished and shining brightly in the sun, reflections dancing off them like flares. His left wrist is wrapped in bandages while a leather bracelet threaded with silver coins adorns his right wrist. 

“Why not?” you ask. “Isn’t life hard enough already? We should help each other out whenever we can.”

He doesn’t acknowledge your statement with a reply, but instead raises an incredulous eyebrow. You let the silence continue as the two of you mutually size each other up. His high cheekbones and long, narrow and shapely nose are framed by straight hair, black as coal. It looks so soft, parting in the exact middle of his forehead to end in drapes around his chin. His skin is pale with an ashy undertone, a symptom of living long-term in the deepest guts of the Undercity where its denizens rarely get to enjoy any sunshine at all. His lips are thin, the irregular cupid’s bow longer on his right side than the left.

This man’s face would be an interesting challenge to paint. 

“Now that’s not an attitude you encounter every day in the Undercity,” he muses. His eyes are especially striking. They gaze at you with such intensity, it makes you self-conscious of your paint-stained attire, a loose workman’s jumpsuit that prioritizes utility and comfort over style. He doesn’t seem to pay any mind to your painting materials, which you’re suddenly realizing are lying out in the open… He could get a good price for them if he stole them from you. Yesterday’s prank was a spur-of-the-moment decision; losing some easily replaceable supplies was worth inconveniencing the officers, but you suddenly regret painting a target on your back. 

That’s why you have to keep to yourself in the Undercity. If you help a stranger, they could stab you in the back instead of thanking you. 

But the man seems more interested in staring through you, scrutinizing you with such focus that it could put yesterday’s Enforcers to shame. 

“Well, it’s fun to mess with Enforcers, too,” you chuckle at the memory. Staring back with casual indifference, you quietly readjust your grip on your knife. Another rule of survival in the Undercity is to never break eye contact with someone trying to intimidate you unless you want to be seen as weak. If he wants to start a fight, you’ll be ready to finish it. 

“That, I understand all too well.” The stiff line of his lips quirks upward in appreciation before settling again into wary neutrality. He finally breaks eye contact, turning away to take a pull on his cigarette. You let out a low breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Your eyes are drawn to the elegant, lazy movement of his hand as he puts out his cigarette, grinding it against the ledge. The wind carries away small brown flecks of ash in a sudden breeze. 

His demeanor is stony, but not hostile. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking just from looking at his face. But he went out of his way to come here and find you, and that says a lot about his determination overriding his sense of caution. You didn’t get a good enough look at him yesterday to track him down, either to turn him in or demand a reward. He could have just as easily carried on with his own life on a path that never crossed yours again. 

He must be really curious about you. 

You don’t know why, but the feeling is mutual.

“You’re welcome for yesterday, by the way,” you smile at him, relaxing your hold on your knife. “Those Enforcers would’ve caught you if it weren’t for me. Although you’re so skinny you could literally slip through their fingers.”

His impressive façade cracks as he bares his chipped teeth, bristling and ready to attack. “I did not need your help. I was perfectly capable of escaping on my own.”

You thoughtfully stroke your chin. “Guess we’ll never know.”

He stands tall to his fullest height, towering over you, a dangerous challenge in his voice sharpening its edges into a threat. “What makes you think it would be a good idea to antagonize someone wanted by Enforcers?”

“Ooooh, the Enforcers want to lock up little ol’ you. You’re such a big baddie,” you tease. “If they had it their way, they’d have every single one of us locked up. You’re not special.”

He leans forward again, curling his hands over the ledge of the roof. “Perhaps I’ve done something especially terrible to warrant particular attention from Topside.”

“Let me guess,” you purse your lips as you examine him. “You pickpocketed some rich guy?”

He smiles slyly. “Worse than that.”

“Running an illegal Poro-fighting ring?”

“No.”

“Impersonating a councilor?”

“Not quite.”

You shake your head in bemusement. “What was it?”

“Seducing a Piltie noblewoman,” a mischievous twinkle shines in his eyes. “I all but rescued her from a cold and loveless marriage. Unfortunately, her husband didn’t seem to feel the same way.”

“Really?” you laugh again, more out of surprise than humor this time.

“No,” he winks. “I guess you’ll never know.”  

“If I bump into those Enforcers again I’ll just ask them— not that I’d tell them where you are,” you add hastily. It was meant as a joke, but from the way he glares at you with humorless alarm it was clearly the wrong thing to say. “Besides, if you did seduce a Piltie lady, you’d be doing her a favor.”

He raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “And what do you mean by that?”

You blush. It was something you thought when you first laid eyes on him properly, but it just slipped out while you were babbling— he’s handsome. “You’re probably better looking than her husband.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you,” his smile this time is accompanied by a soft exhale of amusement. He leans forward again, this time a slight slouch in his shoulders as he allows himself to relax. “I also owe you my gratitude for coming to my rescue. Thank you, madam.”

You wince at the word. He doesn’t look that much older than you, so there’s no need for him to address you so formally. “Please don’t call me that.”

“May I have your name then?” he asks politely.

You give it to him. He repeats it slowly, as if appreciating the shape of it. Something about the way he says it makes you want to step forward. The opportunity presents itself when he reaches his hand out for you to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Silco.”

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If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! <3

Chapter 2

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Sixty Four

Weeks had passed since Eren had extinguished the Power of the Titans, a monumental act that had reshaped the world. The monstrous shadows that had haunted Eldians for two thousand years were gone, their legacy of pain and division reduced to memory. No longer did Eren, Armin, Reiner, Pieck, Porco, or Annie bear the burden of their titan forms, and the 13-year curse that had once loomed over them was lifted. Baby Ymir was free to grow up untainted by the curse, her future as bright as the open sky.

The island itself was thriving, its people knitting together the fragile threads of unity. The Eldian refugees from Marley and the native Paradisians, once divided by mistrust, were beginning to see themselves as one. Shared labor—building homes, tending fields, planning for the future—had fostered a tentative camaraderie. In Trost, a Marleyan carpenter worked alongside a Paradisian mason, their laughter echoing as they laid bricks for a new school. In a small village, a Paradisian family invited Marleyan neighbors to share a harvest feast, the table laden with bread and fish, the air warm with stories of survival. The process was slow, marked by occasional disputes, but the realization that they were all each other had in this new world was a powerful glue.

At the heart of this transformation stood the orphanage, a sanctuary near the Jaegerist compound, its whitewashed walls adorned with colorful murals of suns and stars, its courtyard alive with the music of children’s laughter. On a golden autumn afternoon, Aurora stood in that courtyard, her eyes radiant with joy. Ymir, nestled in a sling against her chest, gurgled happily, her tiny hands waving, her green eyes sparkling with curiosity. Beside Aurora, Historia clapped her hands, her blonde braid swinging as she cheered on a group of children performing a dramatic tale narrated by Reiner.

Reiner’s voice boomed, rich and animated, as he spun a story of a fearless knight and a cunning wolf. Noah played the knight, wielding a wooden sword with theatrical flair, his dark eyes alight with pride. Gabi and Falco, their faces flushed with mischief, darted about as the wolf’s companions, their antics drawing giggles from the younger children seated on the grass. The audience, a vibrant mix of Paradis natives and Eldian refugees, clapped and cheered, their smiles a testament to the healing power of joy. Aurora’s heart swelled, a warmth spreading through her as she watched. These children, once scarred by war’s cruel hand, would grow up in a world free from titans, their futures as boundless as the open horizon.

Historia leaned close, her blue eyes shining. “Look at them, Aurora,” she said, her voice soft with awe. “They’re so alive. This is what we fought for, isn’t it?”

Aurora nodded, her smile trembling with emotion. “It’s more than I ever dreamed,” she said, her voice thick. “They’ll never know the fear we did. They’ll grow up free, Historia. Truly free.”

Sasha, perched on a nearby bench, munched on a pear. “This place is magic,” she said, her voice muffled. “Reiner’s got a gift with these kids. And Noah? Kid’s a natural leader. Bet he’s running this place someday.”

Mikasa, her red scarf fluttering in the breeze, nodded, her dark eyes soft as she watched the scene. “They’re building a family here,” she said, her voice steady but warm. “Something real, something lasting.”

The courtyard stirred as Captain Levi approached, his sharp gray eyes scanning the chaos with his usual precision. He claimed he was there to ensure the orphanage ran smoothly, but Aurora knew the truth. His gaze softened as it landed on Ymir, who squealed with delight, her tiny arms waving for him. Levi’s lips twitched, a rare almost-smile breaking through his stoic facade, and he stepped closer, his voice gruff. “Brat’s gonna ruin my reputation,” he said, but he held out a finger, letting Ymir grasp it with a triumphant giggle.

Aurora laughed, carefully passing Ymir to him, her hands gentle. “She adores you, Captain,” she said, her voice warm. “And you love it, don’t even try to deny it.”

Levi’s expression remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a deep affection as he cradled Ymir, his movements practiced despite his grumbling. “She’s tolerable,” he said, his voice low. “Just don’t let her spit up on me again. I’m still cleaning my jacket from last time.”

Sasha snorted, tossing her pear core into a nearby bin. “No promises,” she said, dodging Levi’s glare with a grin. “She’s got Eren’s aim, that’s for sure.”

Levi’s gaze drifted to the children, to Aurora, to the friends gathered around, and a quiet satisfaction settled over him, a weight lifting from his shoulders. “This,” he said, his voice barely audible, “makes it all worth it. The blood, the loss, the years. Seeing you brats alive and happy… it’s enough.”

Aurora’s throat tightened, her smile softening as she met his eyes. Levi had sacrificed so much—comrades, dreams, pieces of his soul—to protect them. Seeing him here, holding Ymir, surrounded by laughter, was a reminder that their fight had carved out this fragile, beautiful peace.

…

Inside the orphanage’s main hall, the group gathered for a break, the children scampering off to play a raucous game of tag. Historia poured chamomile tea, her movements graceful, her smile warm as she passed cups to Aurora, Sasha, and Mikasa. Porco lounged beside her, his arm slung casually around her shoulders, his hazel eyes glinting with affection. Aurora noticed the subtle bulge in his pocket, where he kept a delicate engagement ring, its sapphire gleaming with promise. She’d advised him to propose in a private, grand moment—perhaps under the stars by the lake, with a picnic and soft music—and she could see the nervous energy in his posture, the anticipation of a man ready to ask the woman of his dreams to be his wife.

“So, Porco,” Aurora said, her tone teasing as she sipped her tea, “any big plans on the horizon? You’ve been awfully fidgety lately.”

Porco’s cheeks flushed, his smirk faltering as he scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe,” he said, his voice evasive. “Got something in the works. You’ll see.”

Historia raised an eyebrow, her smile playful as she nudged him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice light. “You’re being all mysterious again.”

Porco grinned, pulling her closer, his tone flirtatious. “Just keeping you on your toes, Your Majesty,” he said. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

Aurora exchanged a knowing glance with Mikasa, who hid a smile behind her cup. Sasha, oblivious to the subtext, launched into a story about her restaurant, a seafood haven run with her family and Niccolo, a Marleyan chef who had survived the Rumbling by hiding in the internment zone. “You guys gotta come by,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Niccolo’s got this crab stew that’ll make you weep it’s so good. And no, we’re not in love, so stop giving me those looks!”

Aurora laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “Sure, Sasha,” she said, her tone teasing. “Whatever you say. But those heart-eyes you give Niccolo don’t lie.”

Sasha’s face turned beet red, her protests drowned out by Mikasa’s quiet chuckle. “It’s obvious,” Mikasa said, her voice dry but warm. “You light up around him.”

Reiner joined them, Noah at his side, the boy’s dark eyes bright with excitement. “Guess what?! Reiner’s adopting me,” Noah said, his voice proud, his chest puffed out. “It’s almost official!”

Historia’s smile widened, her hand resting on Noah’s shoulder. “That’s incredible,” she said, her voice warm. “You two are already family, but this makes it real.”

Reiner’s expression softened, his voice rough with emotion as he ruffled Noah’s hair. “He’s my kid,” he said, his eyes glistening. “Saved his life once, and he’s been saving mine every day since.”

Aurora’s heart swelled, her eyes misting as she watched them. Reiner had quit soldiering, his warrior days behind him, and poured his heart into the orphanage. Running it full-time with Gabi and Falco, he had found a purpose that healed the scars of his past. Gabi, once a fiery warrior, now taught the younger children to braid and play, her laughter a melody in the courtyard. Falco, ever gentle, read stories and settled disputes, his patience a quiet strength. The orphanage was a microcosm of the new Paradis, a place where love and hope flourished.

…

As the sun dipped lower, Aurora returned to the cabin by the lake, Ymir dozing in her arms. The wooden structure glowed in the twilight, its porch adorned with wildflowers, the willow tree’s swing swaying gently. Eren was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for a hearty stew, his sleeves rolled up, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He looked up as Aurora entered, his green eyes softening, a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he said, setting down the knife to kiss her forehead, his lips warm against her skin. “How’s the orphanage?”

Aurora smiled, settling Ymir in her crib. “It’s thriving,” she said, her voice soft. “The kids are so happy. Reiner’s storytelling had them in stitches, and Noah’s practically a hero to the younger ones. Captain showed up, too, pretending it was business, but we all know he just wanted to see Ymir.”

Eren chuckled, returning to his cutting board, his hands deft. “Figures,” he said, his tone warm. “She’s got him wrapped around her finger, spit-up and all.”

Aurora leaned against the counter, watching him, her heart full. “It’s strange,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “The world feels… different. No titans, no curse. Everyone’s finding their place. Hange and Armin’s planning the exploration, Mikasa’s training soldiers with Annie and Pieck, Sasha’s got her restaurant with Niccolo. Even Porco’s got something big planned for Historia.”

Eren’s eyebrows rose, a smirk playing on his lips as he chopped a potato. “The proposal, right?” he said, his voice amused. “Guy’s been a wreck trying to plan it. Bet he goes for the lake, stars, the whole romantic deal.”

Aurora laughed, moving to his side, her hand resting on his arm. “You’re one to talk,” she said, her voice warm. “This cabin, the garden, the swing—you’re the king of romance.”

Eren’s cheeks flushed, his smile shy as he met her eyes. “Just want you and Ymir to have everything,” he said, his voice low. “You deserve it.”

Aurora’s throat tightened, her hand squeezing his, her voice fervent. “We have everything,” she said. “Because of you.”

They worked together in the kitchen, the air filled with the scent of thyme and simmering broth, their movements a quiet dance of familiarity. But as they sat to eat, Eren grew quiet, his gaze distant, his spoon pausing over his bowl. Aurora noticed, her brow furrowing, her voice soft. “Eren, what’s wrong?”

He sighed, setting his spoon down, his expression heavy. “Just… thinking,” he said, his voice low. “About the Rumbling. About what I did. People call me a hero, a savior, but I know the truth, Aurora. I killed millions. I’m a devil, no matter what they say. Some nights, I can’t sleep. The nightmares… they’re always there.”

Aurora’s heart ached, her hand reaching for his across the table, her fingers intertwining with his. “You’re not a devil,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re a man who did what he had to, to protect us, to give us this world. I carry that guilt too, Eren. I stood by you, supported you through it all. We’re in this together, always. You’re not alone.”

Eren’s eyes glistened, his hand tightening on hers, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re my light, Aurora,” he said. “You always pull me back. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Aurora smiled, her eyes shining with love. “You’ll never have to find out,” she said, her voice fervent. “I love you, Eren. With everything I have. We’ll carry this burden together, and we’ll live—for Ymir, for our friends, for us.”

Eren leaned across the table, his lips brushing hers in a soft, fervent kiss, his love a quiet vow. “I love you too,” he said, his voice warm. “More than anything.”

They finished their meal in companionable silence, the weight of Eren’s guilt eased by Aurora’s presence. The Jaegerists, now focused on maintaining order under Levi’s command and preparing for Armin and Hange’s exploration, no longer needed Eren’s leadership. Mikasa, Annie, and Pieck had formed an unexpected camaraderie, their training sessions a blend of discipline and laughter. Jean and Connie, high-ranking soldiers, enjoyed the occasional ease of their roles, their banter a constant in the compound. 

Eren, though, had stepped back from it all. The reverence of the people, who saw him as a mythic savior, was a burden he didn’t want. He was no hero, no god—just a man who had fought for freedom and now craved the simplicity of being a husband and father. As they settled into bed, Ymir sleeping peacefully in her nursery, Eren’s hand found Aurora’s, their silver rings glinting in the moonlight.

“When Ymir’s older,” he said, his voice soft, “I want to take her to see the world. You, me, Armin, Mikasa, everyone. The fiery water, the lands of ice, the sandy snowfields. I want her to see what we fought so hard for.”

Aurora’s smile was radiant, her heart swelling with hope. “We will,” she said, her voice fervent. “We’ll show her everything, Eren. The world you created for her.”

Eren’s eyes shone, his love a quiet promise. “It’s a promise,” he said, his voice warm, pulling her close.

As the stars glittered above, the cabin stood as a testament to their love, a home where they could live, laugh, and dream. The nightmares would linger, the guilt a shadow, but with Aurora by his side, Eren could face them. 

…

The autumn sun hung low over the lake, casting a golden glow across the cabin’s wooden facade, its windows gleaming like polished amber. The willow tree in the backyard swayed gently, its swing creaking in the breeze, while the scent of freshly baked bread and simmering stew wafted from the open kitchen window. A few days had passed since the orphanage’s lively afternoon, and now Eren and Aurora were preparing for a long-awaited housewarming party. Though they had moved into the cabin weeks ago, Aurora had insisted on waiting until every detail was perfect—furniture in place, curtains hung, the garden plot blooming with the first sprigs of herbs—before inviting their friends to celebrate their new home.

Inside, the cabin buzzed with activity. Aurora, her hair tied back in a loose braid, moved with purpose, her eyes scanning the living room for any imperfection. The space was cozy, its stone fireplace stacked with logs, a woven rug softening the wooden floor, and a pair of armchairs positioned to catch the lake’s view. The kitchen, small but functional, was a whirlwind of preparation—pans sizzling, a loaf of bread cooling on the counter, a pot of vegetable stew bubbling with the scent of thyme and rosemary. Aurora, in a simple blue dress that hugged her curves, was in her element, chopping carrots with precision while issuing orders to Eren, her voice a mix of affection and exasperation.

“Eren, the table needs to be set!” she called, glancing over her shoulder as she stirred the stew. “And can you sweep the porch? I want it spotless before everyone arrives.”

Eren, sprawled on the living room floor with Ymir, grinned without looking up. The four-month-old was having tummy time, her curls bouncing as she propped herself up, her green eyes sparkling with delight. Eren, shirtless and still sweaty from an earlier bout of chopping firewood, played peek-a-boo, covering his face with his hands and then revealing himself with a dramatic “Boo!” Ymir giggled, her tiny hands clapping, and Eren’s heart swelled, his laughter warm and unguarded.

“Relax,” he said, his voice teasing as he tickled Ymir’s chin. “The porch is fine, and the table’s half-set. I’ve got this.”

Aurora turned, hands on her hips, her expression a playful scowl. “Half-set isn’t set, Eren,” she said, her tone mock-stern. “And you’re still walking around shirtless and sweaty! Our guests are arriving soon, and you look like you just wrestled a bear.”

Eren��s grin widened, his green eyes glinting with mischief as he stood, scooping Ymir into his arms. He crossed the room in two strides, his bare torso glistening in the sunlight streaming through the window, and wrapped his free arm around Aurora’s waist, pulling her flush against his chest. She gasped, her cheeks flushing as his warmth enveloped her, his lips brushing her neck in a soft, lingering kiss. “Thought you were enjoying the view,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his breath warm against her skin. “Caught you sneaking looks while I was chopping firewood earlier. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Aurora’s blush deepened, her hands resting on his chest, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles. Her mind flashed back to their time in Marley, hiding out in their cabin. Eren would chop firewood in the yard, his shirt discarded, his movements powerful and precise, and Aurora, tending her small garden, would steal glances, her heart racing as she admired him. She’d thought she was subtle, her eyes darting away whenever he turned, but now, as Eren’s smirk grew, she realized he’d known all along.

“You… you saw me all those times?” she said, her voice a mix of embarrassment and amusement, her eyes wide. “Back in Marley? And you never said anything?”

Eren chuckled, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a low rumble. “Loved catching you staring,” he said. “You’d get this look, all shy and curious. Kept wondering what you were thinking, sneaking those glances. Care to share?”

Aurora’s embarrassment gave way to a playful spark, her arms sliding around his neck as she rose on her tiptoes, her lips grazing his ear. “I was thinking,” she whispered, her voice husky, “how good it would feel to have you and all those muscles on top of me.”

Eren’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with heat, his arm tightening around her waist. “Aurora,” he said, his voice a low growl, “don’t start something you can’t finish. We’ve got guests coming.”

Aurora’s smirk was wicked, her eyes glinting as she pressed closer, her voice a teasing challenge. “Oh, I can finish it,” she said, her fingers trailing down his chest. “Question is, can you keep up?”

Eren’s grin was predatory, his lips hovering over hers, the air between them electric. “You’re playing with fire,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, but before he could close the distance, a sharp knock echoed from the front door, shattering the moment.

Aurora laughed, stepping back, her cheeks flushed as she smoothed her dress. “Saved by the bell,” she said, her tone teasing. “Go put a shirt on please. Our guests are here.”

Eren groaned, adjusting Ymir in his arms, his smirk lingering. “This isn’t over,” he said, his voice a promise, before heading to the bedroom to change.

Aurora opened the door, her smile radiant as a flood of familiar faces poured in. Historia, her blonde hair glowing in the sunlight, carried a basket of wildflowers. Porco followed, his arm around her, a bottle of wine in hand, his hazel eyes warm.

 Mikasa held a woven blanket as a gift, her dark eyes soft. Armin, clutching a notebook filled with exploration plans, beamed beside Annie, whose rare smile hinted at their growing closeness. 

Levi, ever stoic, carried a small wooden toy for Ymir, his gray eyes scanning the cabin with approval. Hange, glasses glinting, waved a map enthusiastically, already talking about the upcoming expedition. Jean and Connie, bickering as usual, brought a crate of apples, while Sasha arm-in-arm with Niccolo, carried a tray of seafood pastries, her grin infectious. Reiner, with Noah at his side, held a carved birdhouse, Gabi and Falco trailing behind with a basket of homemade cookies, their laughter bright. Pieck, her calm presence soothing, carried a set of ceramic mugs, her smile warm.

“Wow,” Historia said, her eyes wide as she stepped inside, taking in the cozy living room, the fireplace, the wide windows framing the lake. “This place is gorgeous! You guys were hiding out in a cabin like this in Marley?”

Aurora laughed, guiding them in, her voice warm. “Not quite,” she said, gesturing to the polished furniture, the soft rugs, the gleaming kitchen. “The Marley cabin was tiny, just one room, built in a hurry by Eren’s titan form. The furniture was whatever he could scavenge or steal from the internment zone—rickety chairs, a lumpy mattress. But it was our sanctuary for those seven months, our little world.”

Eren emerged, now in a clean white shirt, Ymir in his arms, his smile sheepish. “This one’s a bit fancier,” he said, his voice warm. “Took my time with it. Wanted it to be worthy of Aurora and Ymir.”

Sasha, already eyeing the stew simmering on the stove, grinned. “Fancy or not, it’s amazing,” she said, nudging Niccolo. “Right? Smells like heaven in here.”

Niccolo, his blonde hair neat, nodded. “You two have outdone yourselves,” he said, his eyes warm. “Those pastries are my contribution, but I’m betting your stew steals the show.”

Aurora’s cheeks flushed, her smile grateful. “Thanks, Niccolo,” she said. “But I’m definitely stealing a few of those pastries. Sasha’s been raving about your cooking.”

Sasha blushed, swatting Aurora’s arm. “Stop it,” she said, but her eyes darted to Niccolo, her affection obvious. “We’re just… colleagues.”

Connie snorted, setting the apples on the table. “Sure, colleagues who make goo-goo eyes at each other,” he said, dodging Sasha’s playful swat. “Own it, Sasha!”

Jean laughed, his arm slung around Connie’s shoulders. “She’s in denial,” he said, his tone teasing. “But we all see it.”

The group settled into the living room, their voices a lively hum as they admired the cabin. Mikasa ran her fingers over the woven blanket she’d brought, her voice soft. “It’s perfect,” she said, her eyes meeting Aurora’s. “You’ve made a home here.”

Armin nodded, his blue eyes bright as he sat beside Annie, their shoulders brushing. “It’s like something out of a story,” he said, his voice warm. “You two deserve this.”

Annie, her usual reserve softened, smiled faintly. “It’s peaceful,” she said, her voice quiet. “You can feel the love in every corner.”

Levi, now cradling Ymir, who was now tugging at his cravat, grunted in agreement. “Not bad,” he said, his tone dry but approving. 

Hange, sprawled in an armchair, waved her map enthusiastically. “This place is a masterpiece!” she said, her glasses glinting. “Eren, you built this with your titan form? Impressive! Now, imagine what we’ll find out there—possibly some buildings still intact! You’re joining the expedition, right?”

Eren chuckled, sitting beside Aurora, his arm around her. “When Ymir’s older,” he said, his voice warm. “Gonna show her the world

The group moved to the dining area, the table laden with Aurora’s stew, bread, Sasha’s pastries, and Niccolo’s seafood. The air filled with laughter and chatter, the clink of glasses, the warmth of friendship. Historia raised her wine, her smile radiant. “To Eren and Aurora,” she said, her voice clear. “To their new home, to Ymir, and to the world we’re building together.”

The group cheered, their glasses raised, their voices a chorus of love and hope. Eren’s hand found Aurora’s under the table, his fingers intertwining with hers, their silver rings glinting. “To us,” he murmured, his eyes locked on hers, his love a quiet vow.

Aurora’s smile was radiant, her heart full. “To us,” she echoed, her voice fervent, squeezing his hand.

As the night deepened, the group spilled onto the porch, the lake shimmering under the stars, the willow tree’s branches swaying. Levi, still holding Ymir, listened as Hange rambled about exploration routes, his grumbling drowned out by her enthusiasm. Mikasa, Annie, and Pieck discussed training techniques, their camaraderie a quiet strength. Jean and Connie teased Sasha and Niccolo, who blushed but laughed, their hands brushing. Reiner, Noah, Gabi, and Falco played a game of tag in the yard, their laughter echoing. Armin and Annie sat close, their heads bent over a map, their smiles soft. Porco, his arm around Historia, whispered something that made her laugh, his proposal plans a secret for another night.

Eren and Aurora stood by the lake, Ymir now in Aurora’s arms, the night wrapping them in its embrace. “This is it,” Eren said, his voice soft, his eyes on the stars. “The life we fought for. You, Ymir, our friends. It’s worth everything.”

Aurora leaned against him, her smile trembling with emotion. “Everything,” she said, her voice fervent. “And we’re just getting started.”

They kissed, the world fading away, their love a beacon in the darkness. The cabin glowed behind them, a testament to their journey, a home where they could live, laugh, and dream—a world finally, truly free.

A/N: Only one chapter left you guys 🥹

~

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[cozy-farmhouse-home-decor]

Exposed Brick Walls: The Ultimate Industrial Statement

One of the most iconic elements of industrial living room design is the exposed brick wall. It instantly gives your space that raw, urban feel that’s synonymous with the industrial look. If you’re lucky enough to have natural brick walls, consider yourself ahead of the game. However, if your home doesn’t have brick walls, faux brick panels are a great alternative that provides the same aesthetic without the hassle.

How can I achieve the industrial look without real brick? You can use faux brick panels or wallpaper with a brick pattern to mimic the industrial aesthetic. For an extra touch, consider whitewashing the brick for a softer, more modern look.

[hp-hcs]

PART 3 OF PANSYS BROTHER YANDARE!THEO I BEGGGG

LIGHTHOUSE (Chapter Three of Pansy’s Brother) — yandere! psycho! theodore nott x ftm! parkinson! reader

WARNINGS: abduction/kidnapping, possessive/obsessive behavior

short as fuck but wtv

requests open

it’s a real place! tourlitis lighthouse, just off the coast of andros, greece. absolutely gorgeous, huh?

it’s technically a fully-automatic lighthouse, so there’s no real living quarters inside but yk what i write gay fanfic about wizards on tumblr i can do whatever i want

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You fought against your captor, but their grip was unyielding. They dragged you from the library, ducking into a small alcove before the loud crack of Apparition filled your ears.

Apparating was already an uncomfortable method of travel, but even more so with someone holding you painfully tight from behind. Your captor’s nails dug into your skin as they tightened the hand they had pressed over your mouth, and you could feel your panic begin to rise.

All of the swirling, churning motions of Apparating suddenly stopped, and you would’ve stumbled if hadn’t been for your captor’s firm grasp around your torso.

“Woah- careful, darling. You’re alright. Calm down.”

The stranger’s voice was decidedly male. He slowly pulled his hand away from your mouth, wrapping it around your waist, over top of his other arm.

It was like a really fucked up hug.

Would’ve been sweet of you hadn’t just been, y’know, kidnapped.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You were too stunned to do anything. The reality of the situation hadn’t even hit you yet.

The stranger buried his face into the back of your neck, his warm breath tickling your hair. You shuddered, cringing at the odd display of… affection? Obsession?

You resolutely ignored the man behind you and instead took a moment to look around, to take in your surroundings.

You were indoors, a very small space that appeared to be round. The walls were whitewashed brick, and the front door, just mere feet away from you, was a dark, solid wood. There was only one window, papered over with yellowing Muggle newspapers.

Dim light filtered through the window, but most of the room’s lighting came from a few oil lamps hanging on the walls. The lamps illuminated a teeny tiny kitchen, with a teeny tiny fridge, and a teeny tiny kitchen table which, by the looks of it, folded up against the wall when it wasn’t being used.

A ladder bolted to the wall ran up into the ceiling, where you could catch a glimpse of a fuzzy blanket in what was, presumably, a loft bedroom. The oddly cylindrical house was rather quaint, in a weird way.

“I’m going to let go of you now, darlin’,” the man behind you suddenly breathed into your ear, startling you.

You held your breath as your captor pulled his arms away.

The second he let go of your waist though, you made a break for the front door. You sprinted across the room, yanking it open.

He made no move to stop you, and you only realized why once you took just one step out of the house.

You were on an island.

No, the word island was generous. You were on a rock.

A sharp crash of a wave on the rock below sent sea spray into your face, immediately drenching your uniform.

You ignored the biting chill, instead electing to look around.

There was a short flight of steps cut into the rock that led up to the front door of the house-

The house.

You turned around, unsure of what to expect.

A fucking lighthouse was not in your top one hundred guesses.

“Y/N!”

You glanced down from the light at the top of the building to the doorway, where your captor stood.

He leaned against the doorframe, looking rather unbothered by your laughable attempt to escape.

“Where am I?” You demanded. “Who are you?”

“Aw, you don’t recognize me? That’s a shame.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Wait…you’re Pansy’s friend, aren’t you? Th- Theodore…?”

His face lit up and he broke out in a beaming grin. “You remember! Now, come back inside before you freeze.”

You scoff, fully intending to ignore him. But at that exact moment, a huge wave smacked against the rock, splashing up and soaking you all the way through.

You gasped at the chill. Theodore rolled his eyes and caught your wrist, tugging you back inside with surprising gentleness for the dude who’d just violently kidnapped you.

Shutting the door behind you both, he turned back towards you, frowning when he saw your school uniform dripping all over the floor.

“Wait just one second-” He scrambled up the ladder bolted onto the wall with surprising ease, returning just a moment later.

He held out for you to take: a way too oversized sweater, and sweatpants you were sure would never fit you.

You didn’t take them, stubbornly refusing even though you were shivering quite a bit. “Where. Are. We?”

“Italy,” he responded without hesitation.

You gaped at him.

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

[impoliticwestie]

Leper Asylum, Chios, Greece, 2024

[ditzyblues]

YOU HAVE COOL ASF OCS TELL US MORE THE WORMS NEED TO EAT

WOW... THANK YOU MY WORMS!!!

couldve sworn u guys were parasites just last week... I DIGRESS! i will tell you more about my OCs!!!!!!!!!

if you are Tejano, you know that our communities are few and far between in media coverage. which is why i wanted to set my OCs in South Texas, a primarily Mexican-American area, no matter what. my OCs also predate the Elon Musk-ification of South Texas, set in 2003 for the majority of my depictions for them.

if you are not Tejano, fret not. My OCs are here to clue you into some culture. (first valerie art by droppincofdrops)

Valerie, born Valeria Isabel Velázquez in 1974, is a 1st generation Mexican-American woman. Her parents, like millions before and after them, came to America for a better life. However, the American Dream dies a horrible death in the borderlands of the RGV. This was no different for the Velázquez family. Living paycheck to paycheck in a terrible STX neighborhood, Valerie learned very quickly how to survive. These circumstances would not bring her down.

Her fortitude is something that has taken every beating imaginable. As her home life fell apart, due to her parent’s incompatibility, so did her social life. Valerie immediately didn’t fit into any categories her peers formed at any stage in her schooling. She was too “ghetto,” or spoke too much Spanish. (Her teachers, in an attempt to “ease” her up and whitewash her, opted for calling her Valerie instead of Valeria-Isabel.) And like most cultures, Valerie learned to be ashamed of her female body, and any assertiveness she showed.

To get ahead of the curve, Valerie hung out with older kids on her street and on campus. There was less of a need to control her in each of these circles, which she held dear to her. Valerie figured out to control everything she could. This is her core. If she is not in control, she is in danger.

Valerie turned to odd jobs, here and there. This evolved into sex work. Valerie dropped out of her senior year to pursue a club job. She lied about her age, claiming she was 20 at 17. But Valerie found her first community in this club job. These were pros, and they all looked like her, talked like her, and had stories like her. Despite the occasional drama, all of these girls looked after each other, and respected each other’s independence. This is what Valerie needed.

For the subsequent 12 years, Valerie’s fortitude and willpower carried her to the “top” of this circle. She looks for girls like herself, and doesn’t hesitate to take them under her wing, because the world is too damn horrible for her to let anyone fall. She encourages people, in her own tough way, to take control of their lives any way they can.

Some things Valerie never developed are patience, tact, or grace. She cannot, for the life of her, talk to people one-on-one. You’ll never get anything out of her. She’ll clothe you, feed you, lend you money, kill for you, but never give you her shoulder to cry on. Find somebody else for your emotions, because throwing them at Valerie is like throwing them at a brick wall. She doesn’t have time for interpersonal bullshit, and she certainly doesn’t have the patience to deal with it.

(It was difficult to find characters like her in media I've personally consumed. If anyone has recommendations, let me know. I watch too many cartoons.)

(soz i have no official drawings for rocío </3 yet.)

Rocío Celeste Estrada, born in 1979, is a 2nd generation Mexican-American. The youngest of 4 children, but only daughter, Rocío found herself taking after the trio of Tejano older brothers. Her mother was excited to have a daughter she could share her more feminine interests with, but she quickly gave up on that dream when Rocío followed in her brothers’ footsteps in terms of tastes and hobbies.

Rocío had a good childhood, compared to her peers. She grew up in the “okay” neighborhoods, where there were enough tax dollars for paved roads and working street lamps, but not enough for clean water and good air conditioning. This meant Rocío spent a lot of time in the streets, near the resaca, or playing in the desert land.

However, as quintessential “Tejano” the Estrada kids’ childhoods were, something that differentiated them from their peers was their race. In an area with 95% “brown” (non-white) Latinos, the Estrada’s were black. Their mother, a Haitian-American from Houston, met and married their Valley tejano father, a non-white Latino. This resulted in a complicated identity for each Estrada child. While they were just as Tejano as their peers, no one could make that assumption in this homogenous society. And like most cultures, antiblackness was sewn in. This othering presented itself in adultification, microaggressions, and assumptions/accusations.

Later in Rocío’s adolescence, the siblings discovered their father’s sancha, and other family. A whiter family, notably. This tore the Estrada household apart, and Rocío ended up moving in with her oldest brother, who’d had his own place. They all learned they couldn’t be without each other, let alone leave their Chio behind, so when Rocío was 11, she was set to be raised by her brothers. (short short story here)

Rocío was never fond of the social dynamic. Everyone seemed to dislike her for one reason: they just couldn’t tell if she was a girl or a boy. The girls were put off by her masculine clothing and hobbies and mannerisms, and the guys were put off by her “sensitiveness” and emotional maturity. And everyone was ill-equipped to even begin to acknowledge her race in any well-meaning way. The only times she could exist free of these pressures was in sports. She was tall (she's 6 ft flat as an adult!!!), and good at everything, it seemed. The boys AND girls asked for her in basketball. It was cool. Until high school.

Suddenly, everyone cared more about romance and grades and REALLY intense sports. Rocío, perpetually avoidant of conflict (short short story here), backed away from everyone, save a few friends she made along the way who actually liked her. But people were getting weird. Girls started to look prettier than ever, and Rocío had to reassess her status. She was not only the tall, mixed, weird girl who hardly talked. She was also a lesbian. A very masculine one at that. She’d already accepted her place as a passive wallflower, and couldn’t bring herself to escape it.

Throughout high school, Rocío learned her way around cars and anything with an engine and wheels. Her oldest brother had inherited the garage when their father gave it up, and so the Estrada’s spent a lot of time working shop. This was how they kept their home running, away from their parents. Rocío graduated, and didn’t bother with college despite her brothers’ advice. The garage was her second home, and she’d be amiss to leave it. From 18 to 24, Rocío lived in this cycle of waking up, hitting the garage, and going back home to her own apartment she moved into the second she made enough at the garage. Because brothers get tiring to live with after a while.

Rocío sees the world as an unchanging, continuous force. The social dynamic had never been kind to her, so she always put it on the back burner. However, Rocío found that she had a knack for the interpersonal stuff. She had always been the mediator for her brothers’ conflicts, and her friends at school drifted towards her after fights to figure out how to resolve things. As passive and conflict-avoidant Chio can be, she can be equally as assertive of boundaries (although this doesn’t come naturally/often. It will be nurtured in the future.)

(Rocío also has an underdeveloped, yet passionate sense of right/wrong. This is something she often represses, but it’s present enough for the acute to notice. This is something Valerie is drawn to.)

This is the first time I introduced Valerie and Rocío to each other. It was an Intro to Creative Writing assignment. But outside of this and a few drawings, there's not much out there with the two of em. They're very much a work in progress. Here's a moodboard along with an extended document. I doubt anyone has read this far LOL but thanks for letting me ramble about my chiquititas.

[warner-york]

A GUT RENOVATION OF A NEW CONSTRUCTION TRIBECA APARTMENT BY WARNER YORK. We were tasked to create many fabulous closets where none existed. Create a hidden room and a hidden pantry. We redirected the traffic flow for the master bathroom, to be near bedside as opposed around the corner at the end of the hallway. We were careful to save the white Italianate marble brick tiles. To close up the wall where the door formally was. We had the master Electrician instal and centralize the new panel for all smart home wiring and controls. The previously black painted floors we had stripped completely, to a beautiful custom whitewashed patina finish. 70 overhead recessed lights, custom hardware , a secret washroom, complete with state of the art appliances automatic electric, timed shades throughout. Added bespoke cabinetry in the master bedroom, custom 10’ polished white lacquer walls, recessed flat screens and smart home features! You will see the project from conception, before photos, construction and finished photos, along with the art and furniture & lighting.

This was an incredible project, we worked with one of our FAVORITE contractors, the number one bespoke furniture maker in the country, (the Post Chippendale shoe wardrobe) among all the bespoke closets that we designed with an Italian closet company per our specs.

[onboardsorasora]

Renovation AU

Ok I tried to stop but I couldn't stop thinking about Renovation AU (especially considering I was literally going to write it then got derailed by Enchated AU: Christmas). And then when I wrote this little snippet it was like floodgates. so here it is Renovation AU in all its outline glory all 2k words of it 🥴🥴🥴I'll just put it under the cut

Max is a handyman/contractor. I know I know. We know how his hammer skills are and how he looks holding it and an axe. But let's just pretend he actually learned this skill and he's fucking hot about it and it triggers every competency kink.

He's built, he was able to grow into his stockiness and he's strong (I'm thinking like that tree splitting tiktok guy but not as Thor thick)

Christian hires Nyck as an interior designer and Nyck hires on Max and his small team. They get shit done. Geri wants to redo the whole cottage and they have until the start of the riding season? to get it done. (Don't question me. I know nothing about riding)

So anyways– they’re behind and Christian doesn’t think Nyck can manage the scope of the job so he fires him and hires on Daniel. Daniel’s a little bit more eclectic than Nyck– but he came highly recommended by Lewis and Seb and Geri loved what he did with their house in Switzerland so she had no problems changing directions a bit.

The problem becomes clear because Max and Nyck work well together, they know each other. Max doesn’t like big change and Daniel is a big change. He’s also good looking but that doesn’t matter. He’s annoying and picky and refuses to go by Nyck’s old plans and his laugh is funny and endearing and his face is pretty and his tattoos are cool.

But none of that matters. None.

Daniel is excited to get working, but he thinks Christian could have been a bit more forthcoming about how far behind they were. Daniel was expecting that maybe he’d be starting on some walls or something, he came with with swatches and tiles and everything. But no….the house is still pretty husk-like. And he’s annoyed cause now he’s standing there in his shorts and sneakers looking like a dick on this construction site.

Anyway, it doesnt matter because he comes prepared! He has like overalls in his raptor. So he grabs that and changes right there in full view of god and everyone. Why yes he is wearing his hot pink hot pants, thanks for fucking noticing. The creative juices always flow when he’s wearing them!

So he goes to Max– who is fucking hot– and also very angry with him. And Daniel gets it, because he and Nyck were friends and there's nothing worse than seeing your friend get fired for things out of their control.

No matter, Daniel is profesh. He can work in almost any environment and he’s not going to embarrass Sewis like that. They’re long time clients and friends. And their recommendations are always highly regarded.

So Daniel gets to work, first he’s helping this guy named Simon update the bricking outside, Geri wanted a whitewash on the southern side so the garden doesn’t get too hot and it’ll match with the new patio going in. Then he’s helping a guy named Genty inside the bathroom– a couple of the pipes needed updating. There weren’t any leaks but no one uses lead pipes anymore for reasons. And then he helps GP lay some new tiles in the bedrooms so that the floors are heated in the winter.

So this is going on for a few days, Daniel helping members of the team, building a rapport– keeping a wide berth of Max. Because Daniel knows when to not ruffle feathers. But he can’t avoid him forever, so finally when all the walls are up and the electrical is done. Daniel goes to Max with the new plans– because his part of the show is about to start.

Max…isn’t happy. Sure the changes aren’t that major, and it's not like they’ll be undoing anything his team has already done. But how dare this guy with his hot accent and laugh come in and befriend his team?! If Max had to hear one more inside joke that he has no clue about or hear his crew talk about Daniel this and Daniel that, he was going to throw a hammer.

So when Daniel comes to him one evening to go over plans, Max doesn’t really want to hear it. He’s come here in his shiny truck (untrue, the truck is dirty as fuck– they work in a construction site), in his tight fucking pants (ok true, Daniel’s work pants are a tad on the skinny side), and his fucking city boots (it was one day the first day. And Max will never let it go), and his gelled hair (ok fine, he makes sure to use his curl cream. Daniel is vain), and tries to take over Max’s job site.

So Max lays into him, letting out all his frustration and pent up sexual tension for this guy that he’s barely interacted with but hears all the time and sees his team– his friends enjoy his presence and maybe he also feels a little left out. And Daniel just stands there and takes it, doesn’t interrupt him, doesn’t fight back. Even when Max is saying blatantly untrue things– but he got a good rant going and Daniel wasn’t stopping him so he was just gonna keep going.

“–and your fucking hot pink–” Max cuts himself off because there was no reason to finish that thought. And Daniel gets this smug fucking grin on his face that Max just wants to kiss off.

“My hot pink what now?” Daniel raises a brow in a challenge that Max is so not going to take. But Daniel is nothing, if not a little shit. “Were you checking me out when I was oh so privately changing that one time Maxy?”

“You stripped in the middle of the driveway while everyone was working. That was hardly private, I think Daniel.”

“But no one else has mentioned my hot pink underwear Maxy Max. Did you like what you saw?” Daniel is dragging a finger along Max’s shoulder at this point and Max is just..frozen in place because how did we get here????

“I– well–You are changing in the middle of a site Daniel. You, of course, cannot be crying modesty now!”

“You wanna know what other colours I wear?”

“Don’t be silly Daniel.”

“Of course not Maxy, yesterday when I was tiling the guest bedroom with GP, I wore my favourite bright green pair that has some smokey black watercolour pattern. And when I was outside doing the patio I was wearing this pretty yellow polka dot ones.”

“I think that's enough Daniel, maybe. I do not–” Max is trying to push him away because when did he even get cornered by this wall? Who put a wall here??

“Oh but I think you’ll like the pair for today, you’re Dutch right? Do all Dutchies like the colour orange?”

“That’s enough Daniel I think! We–we can do the plan your way! It should look great–Geri will love it! I–I think I should go. Have a good night Daniel!” And Max manhandles Daniel out of his way and gtfo’s. He does not think about how Daniel’s waist felt under his arms because why did he even grab there??? He does not think about the fucking hot smirk on Daniels stupid face and kissable mouth and he absolutely does not think about Daniel’s ass in orange hot pants. Nope. He doesn’t.

That changes everything of course. He’s way more aware of where Daniel is in the house now. And its not like Daniel is going anything different. They speak now, and Daniel teases him with tool puns and very bad jokes and Max laughs at every single one because he’s down so bad. And everyone knows it.

Daniel makes random comments when they're alone, pouring over the blueprints and notes, about how Max’s thighs look like they can crush things and the he’ll make a loud offhand comment to the guys about having thighs wrapped around his face when they’re all making increasingly lewd sex jokes at lunch.

Daniel tells Max that he likes his thigh holster and Max internalizes the implications. So what if he’s blushing while they install the kitchen– he’s exerting himself!

Anyway they’re getting closer to the deadline, they have furniture delivery coming soon and there's still so much to do. Daniel has the team painting and wallpapering and Genty is doing the crown moulding and GP is finishing up the fireplace in the den and Max and Daniel are arguing about a chandelier that Geri wanted last minute. 

“We can extend it a little lower by three maybe four inches, c’mon Max it’ll really change like the look of the room. If it's too high then it’ll look too small and throws everything off.”

They're standing in the middle of the formal dining room, surrounded by chaos. Everyone is tired and a bit cranky because they’ve truly been going non-stop to meet this deadline. 

“It’ll be too low Daniel and the weight distribution will be off." Max sighs because he’s tired of arguing about this.

"Well if your guys installed the fucking beams–" Max had enough, he was tired, he was annoyed and he would not have Daniel complain about his team and fucking beams so late in the build. He sees white and he pushes Daniel’s chest. He’s mad, you don’t talk about his guys. He’s mad and Daniel is annoying and fuck. Max presses Daniel up against the wall and kisses him hard. And Daniel grips his shoulder and kisses him back.

And literally no one bats an eyelash because fucking finally. They can get shit finished now.

So they compromise on 2.5 inches lower. And Max is now wired because now he knows what Daniel feels like under him, pressed against him. Now he knows how his lips and mouth taste and what Daniel’s stubble feels like against his jaw.

It's late another night, the guys have all gone home and Max is with Daniel in the finally finished kitchen, going over what’s left to be done. Daniel’s team would be coming with the furniture install in 2 days so they needed to have everything done for them to take over.

Their time together is coming to an end and Max can’t stop looking at Daniel’s focused face while he makes a list and tries to figure out the best way to make things work. He’s staring at Daniel’s lips, at his nose, at the furrow of his brows.

Daniel looks up at him like ‘what?’, eyes wide and owlish? They really haven’t spoken about the kiss– not about it or what it meant or anything.

And then Max is kissing Daniel again and Daniel is all in. And it’s a push and pull between them and it’s hot and messy and they fuck right there in the kitchen. Daniel sucks Max’s dick in the nook that the stove’s supposed to go in and Max bends Daniel over the countertop (which they had argued about whether it was the correct height–it was).

Anyway so the house is finished, Geri is in love. Christian is happy with it all and life goes on. Max and Daniel go on a few dates, they fuck a lot and when Daniel got hired for another big job, he hired on Max as his contractor. 

It kinda went that way for a little bit, them doing jobs together, their teams merging until they make the leap to start a business together. Which incidentally happened before they took the step to move in together. Which is funny because they technically already did. A lot of Daniel’s stuff– clothes, plans, swatches– are already strewn around Max’s place and the cats know to leave the tiles and swatches alone. But moving together is a big step. Starting a business together is just smart. Anyway, they love each other and are grossly in love and their guys tease them about it daily. And Daniel now starts every job in his hot pink hot pants.

[wolfertinger]

salem tried to lecture artists about how to draw fat/chubbier characters/people like he doesn’t draw the same fucking hourglass body type he always does, you reposted someone sharing the art book/guide “morpho fat and skin folds”. psst, hey salem, do us all a fucking FAVOR and actually READ THE DAMN GUIDE. “b-but i won’t be able to buy it!!!” YOU HAVE LIKE 11K FROM DISABILITY AND E-BEGGING. you need to understand (this is coming from a fat person who isn’t shaped like salem’s cookie cutter characters, being almost orange shaped), that not all fat people have big DD boobs or wide hips. morpho is a crucial part of my art studies when it comes to drawing overweight/fat characters. salem is such an art snob thinking he’s like a “renaissance painter” when in reality it’s just total complete garbage with bad anatomy, inconsistency, as well as the overuse of filters and basically whitewashing your alter’s character. it’s alright to read guides and ask for help, but clearly you’re too much of a narcissistic art snob that doesn’t want to change, even outside of making art.

you’re pathetic salem, and so is wis, you’re both awful fucking people.

telling salem to do studies, is like telling a brick wall to move. he never will. and it is silly to expect him, to.

kind of like, how he had an asian character, he proudly flaunted as rep. then had to actually learn to draw monolids, after laughing about, "how can you racially code an asian cat, without making them a caricature".

i feel, that says more about salem, than anything else.