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little-diable · 7 months

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The woman in the painting – Tommy Shelby

A short story written for @zablife celebration – congrats again, darling! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader works as Tommy's maid, she knows all about Arrow House, even about those souls that are no longer alive but still around.

Warnings: nothing, just a grim vibe (700 words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

“Don’t.” (Y/n)‘s voice echoed through the hallway, eyes set on the woman who had stepped foot into Arrow House only a few hours ago. Their eyes met, Mrs Shelby’s eyes full of confusion, (y/n)’s full of fright. For a few seconds neither of them spoke, only the sound of laughter rang through the evening, drunken laughter rumbling through the other Shelby family members.

Slowly the woman took a step away from the painting she had tried to touch, fingers about to come in contact with the old paint, forced to freeze due to (y/n)’s harsh call. (Y/n) cleared her throat, straightening her posture as the woman’s head whipped to her left side, eyes meeting her husband’s piercing ones.

“Everything alright?” The smoke left the man’s nose like a waterfall cascading down old stones, cozying those along who haven’t felt any love nor kindness in years. Tommy’s eyes flickered between his new wife and (y/n), waiting for either one to speak up. (Y/n) had to watch the woman walk closer to her husband, obviously searching his closeness - almost putting on a show for the maid.

“Your maid told me not to touch the painting. I wonder why that is?” (Y/n) was confronted with an almost challenging gaze, lips tightly pressed together. Her eyes locked with Tommy’s, eyes filled with a bone chilling coldness, and yet she saw right through the facade he had built. She knew him, knew him better than any other person currently walking these floors, knew the thoughts he only shared with her late at night, when only a few candles could alight their surroundings.

“It’s time to head back, come.” Tommy tried to guide his wife down the hallway, but the woman stayed put, not moving an inch. Once again they were engulfed by silence, a silence so threatening (y/n) could no longer stop herself from speaking up, unable to keep quiet any longer.

“Because she feels it. She feels every touch, every gaze you throw her way. She feels it all, and yet she can’t move, she can’t laugh, she can’t speak. She’s forever forced to stay in that pose, and all because she -“ (y/n) was interrupted by the “Enough!” roaring through the hallway, ripping through Tommy. (Y/n)’s heart skipped a few beats, gaze instantly averted, not daring to look at the man any longer.

“Let her talk, Thomas.” Mrs Shelby’s soft voice made (y/n) want to hide away, seeing right through the fake smile, not taking the tale (y/n) found herself telling seriously. “Who was she?”

“She lived here, years ago. She was married to a soldier, who died at war, leaving her behind with their young child. But the child got sick as soon as winter hit, and it died quickly. Mary, the woman, was known for her superstitious beliefs, it’s said that she used this painting in one of her rituals, hiding away in the cellar's darkness, trying to get her child and her husband back, wanting to lure them out of death’s cold grasp. But instead of getting them back-” (y/n) stumbled over her words, body covered in goosebumps.

“She trapped her own soul in the painting, and now she is stuck in there, without her child or her husband.” Tommy’s cold voice rang in (y/n)’s ears, focusing on him as he finished telling the tale. For a few seconds neither of them dared to speak up, at least till Mrs Shelby broke out in laughter, shaking her head as her gaze wandered from (y/n) to Tommy.

“As if you’d believe that, Thomas.” The woman’s hand found its way to Tommy’s arm, pulling herself closer, waiting for him to guide her back to the others. He stared at (y/n) for a few more moments before he turned away, walking back down the hallway with his new wife. (Y/n)’s body started moving towards the painting, grasping her apron tightly as her eyes focused on the features of the young woman.

She turned from the painting, hiding away in the shadows, not noticing how one drop after another dripped from the painted eyes, forming a puddle of blood on the ground.

#Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine

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marvelmusing · 2 years

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His Name

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: A soulmate AU where your soulmate’s name is on your wrist. As the Sun Summoner, you’ve been in hiding, whilst the Darkling rules Ravka. Connected by the tether between you, you pay him a visit, and he makes a revelation that will change things between you forever.

Warnings: canon level of violence and war (not graphic, only mentioned)

A/N: I wrote this in one sitting since I just had to get the idea out there, so sorry if there’s tons of mistakes. Also I’ve made some new headers but I’m not sure if I like them so I might change them at some point

My Masterlist

The Darkling is sitting on the edge of a table when you appear. As always, the tether makes everything around you blurred. Everything except him.

You don’t know what room you’re in. If you’re in the Little Palace, or the Grand Palace. You hadn’t given much thought as to where he had chosen to live now that he was king.

A sickening lurch tugs at your heart as you observe the deep red gash at his side. You can breathe a little easier when a Healer comes into view and begins to knit the skin back together.

His shirt lies crumpled on the floor, perfect white forever stained with red. The Darkling’s eyes stay fixed on you, and you can only hope that he can’t read the concern on your face. You don’t want to be concerned about him. You can’t be.

You watch his jaw tense as the healing finishes, his head tilting back slightly, and a stray strand of dark hair falls over his forehead.

He waves the Healer away, and they hesitate only momentarily before leaving.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” he says, his voice low in the quiet, empty space between you both. You wait for him to continue. “The night that Baghra told you what I intended, the night you fled the Little Palace, did you hesitate?”

Your gaze falls to his chest as he picks up a dark shirt that had been folded beside him on the table.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“And in the days after you left, did you ever think of coming back?”

His fingers are delicate as they do up a casual number of buttons, leaving his shirt loose and some of his chest exposed.

“Yes.”

His hands return to the edge of the table, his fingers curling firmly around the carved wood. Something darkens in his expression.

“But you chose not to.”

You don’t know why you decide to speak. But for some reason, you want him to understand. That you hadn’t wanted to leave him. That you had loved your new life at the Little Palace. You had loved learning about your power, your friends, and luxuries you had only ever dreamed of. You had loved him.

Which is why it had hurt so much when you found out it was a lie. That he had lied. So, you tell him as such, as you move closer to him.

“It wasn’t just what Baghra said. You lied to me. You tricked me. You made me think that-“

You stop yourself quickly. You made me think that you wanted me. Almost as soon as the thought crosses your mind, the night of the Winter Fete replaces it. His mouth against your skin, and the frustration in his eyes. The problem with wanting, is it makes you weak.

He sighs softly, running a hand over his face.

“I needed your loyalty. I needed you bound to me by something stronger than duty or fear.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help but trace your fingers over the site of his wound. You can feel his eyes on you, as the room comes into sharper focus. There’s only a faint redness in the shape of the gash.

“How did this happen?” you ask softly, and the Darkling tilts his head aside to watch you.

“A skirmish with West Ravka.”

You nod faintly. You had known that the rebel forces had regular encounters with the Darkling’s army. What you hadn’t thought possible was one of them getting close enough to wound him. The concern must be obvious in your eyes, because the Darkling’s fingers curl around your wrist.

Even under so many layers, the sleeve of your kefta and the binding you always keep around your wrist, you can feel the warmth of his skin settle against the name tattooed on your wrist. The name of your soulmate.

You swallow hard, and the Darkling changes the subject, his fingers still curled around your wrist.

“There are rumors that your Lantsov prince has been sighted.” You lift a brow at him, attempting to feign casual interest.

“Where?”

He glances up at you, a smirk touching the edge of his lips.

“Do you like him?”

“Does it matter?” you say, firmer than you intended. His expression softens slightly.

“It’s harder when you like them. You mourn them more.”

You can feel the truth behind his words. You’ve already lost so many. The small group of friends you have, brought together by hardship and survival. How would you cope if you lost them all? How many people has the Darkling lost? Does he still mourn for them?

“Tell me,” he says, leaning back casually. “Has he claimed you yet?”

You breathe out a sharp laugh. Sometimes the Darkling’s age frightens you. When you see the toll eternity has taken on him, when you see the ache of it all in his eyes. Then there’s times like this. When his old phrases and ideas bring you amusement.

“Claimed me? Like a peninsula?” you remark with a smile. He cocks his head aside, laughter sparkling in his own eyes.

“No blushes. No averted eyes. How you’ve changed.” He adjusts his position, leaning closer as his face hardens slightly. “What about your faithful tracker? Will he sleep curled at the foot of your throne?”

Mal wouldn’t stay if you took to the throne. You know it. He has only ever wanted a simple life. If you became Queen, he would spend every moment he had with you attempting to convince you to run away with him. To go back to being the boy and the girl you used to be.

“Why do you have such disdain for otkazat’sya?”

“Not disdain. Understanding.”

“They’re not all fools and weaklings.”

He shakes his head.

“You misunderstand me.” You wait for him to explain. “The people may love you now, but what will happen when their king ages and dies whilst his wife stays young and beautiful?”

You take a moment to think about it. If you accepted Nikolai’s proposal, you would rule by his side. You would sit and watch him grow older by the day, until he could no longer fight, or run, or joke as he does now. Then you would be alone.

People have always been suspicious of Grisha. You yourself were guilty of it. Can you really hope to change people’s opinions within Nikolai’s lifetime. Even if you did, suspicions would linger. People might think you had cursed him, or stolen his youth for yourself. You remember the stories of Grisha, passed around in the First Army. You would have believed the worst of Grisha.

“You never considered it, did you?” he says, his words soft and low. You shake your head.

He pulls you closer, nestling your body between his legs. With one hand still curled around your wrist, he settles the other one against your lower back. His fingers are strong and solid against your body, despite the fact that you’re not even with him. That you’re actually lying on your bed at the Spinning Wheel, up in the mountains. Far away from him.

“You were meant to be my balance. You are the only person in the world who might rule with me, who might keep my power in check.”

“And who will balance me?” you muse quietly. “What if I’m no better than you? What if, instead of stopping you, I make you even worse?”

He studies you for a long moment. He hadn’t been expecting that from you. But your words are true, and these thoughts have haunted you ever since you had left the Little Palace. What if he is what is right for Ravka, and you are the one who will tear your country apart?

You glance up, and meet his eyes. There’s something resolute there, as if he has decided on something that has been weighing on his mind for some time.

“I want you to know my name,” he says softly, and your breath catches in your throat. “The name I was given, not the title I took for myself. Will you have it?”

No one knew the Darkling’s name, aside from, perhaps, his mother. At some point you had believed he might have forgotten it. How long had it been since someone had known his name?

His fingers brush against the clothed skin of your wrist, and you shiver in his arms.

“Yes,” you breathe out softly.

“Aleksander.”

Your world stops.

Aleksander.

The skin on your wrist tingles, and tears prickle in your eyes. His brows crease together as you attempt to pull away from him. He lets you go, but the tether tightens and you know that if you try to slip away you won’t be able to.

A shuddering breath rattles through your body, and you attempt to swallow the lump in your throat. You force a sharp laugh to the surface, and if tears weren’t clouding your vision you would see the bewilderment in his eyes. You do see him reach for you.

“No,” you say, taking a step back.

He hesitates.

“Stop it,” you plead, shaking your head. “You’re being cruel. I know what you’re capable of, but I never thought you’d stoop this low.”

“And what exactly have I done to make you think so poorly of me?”

There’s no cruelty in his voice, no teasing, or mocking. Still, you laugh bitterly.

“When did you see it? Was it when I was unconscious and you were searching for the Sea Whip? Or before that even, when I was at the Little Palace? Did Genya tell you?”

“Did Genya tell me what?” he snaps, and you huff in exasperation.

You tug your kefta off, throwing it to the floor. His eyes widen but you’re not looking at him. Instead, you pull at the binding around your forearm.

He’s there in an instant. Hand curling around your wrist, stopping you from removing the fabric and revealing the name there.

“What are you doing?”

You look up at him. He looks almost frightened, his mouth agape, and he keeps his eyes resolutely away from your forearm. The tradition has always been that your soulmate should be the first person to see the name on your forearm. Your face softens, and some of your anger leaves you.

“You don’t know,” you say in a whisper.

“Don’t know what?”

You guide his hand away gently, and his eyes stay fixed on yours as the fabric falls from your skin. He doesn’t look down, and you grasp hold of his hand, allowing his fingers to brush against the skin of your forearm.

“Aleksander,” you say softly, and he swallows hard. “Please look.”

You can see the fear and the longing in his eyes. Then he looks down.

He breathes out a startled laugh. It’s soft, and uncertain, but you hear it. His fingers trace over every letter of his name, and you shiver at the feeling.

“Mal has my name on his wrist. I know he does.” Aleksander continues to trail his fingers over your skin as you speak. “When we were kids he showed me, but I had always been a romantic. I wanted my soulmate to be the first to see it.”

Aleksander withdraws his touch, and begins to roll up his sleeve. There’s a jolt of realisation, as you understand what he’s doing. You suddenly feel exceptionally sick. What if your name wasn’t there? What if someone else’s name was there?

He unties the slip of fabric covering his forearm. Dark green cotton falls to the floor.

You step into his arms, your side pressed firm against his chest as you smooth your fingers over the name on his skin. Your name. Once again, tears well in your eyes, but for a wholly different reason.

Aleksander looks down at you, watching as you admire the delicate cursive that has been his only source of hope for hundreds of years.

“Your name didn’t even exist when I was a child,” he says softly, his voice muffled as presses his face into the crown of your head. “My mother wanted me to carve it out.”

You flinch violently, and your heart races. You look up at him.

“Why?” You whisper.

“It’s what she did to my father’s name.” He must see the horror in your eyes, as he pulls you closer and attempts to explain. “She knew he wouldn’t live as long as she did. She never believed that I would find someone that was my equal.”

“But you must have believed,” you say softly, your finger tracing over your name again. You feel him nod.

“I always believed I would find you.”

You press your forehead against his chest, and for the first time in weeks you feel like you can breathe. His arm curls around your body, holding you against him. Then you stiffen.

“Baghra knew.” He frowns at you. “She knew it was my name on your wrist. She knew, and she drove me away from you.”

You press your hands to your face, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. You had believed her. You had believed all the horrible things she had said about Aleksander - about your soulmate.

His fingers curl around each of your wrists, prying your hands from your face gently. His expression crumbles when he sees tears gathering in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head.

“I should have been honest from the start. I should have told you everything.”

Your heart aches as you realise what could have been prevented if you had stayed at the Little Palace, if you had waited for Aleksander to explain. The lives you’ve lost, the damage you’ve done to your country. The damage you’ve done to each other.

You cup his face in your hands, thumbs smoothing over his cheeks. The scars on his face aren’t as prominent as they used to be. All that remains of them is a few thin black lines that run across his features. The right corner of his lip, down to his jaw. His right cheek. Another, on his temple, which reaches down towards his ear.

His fingers trace over your collarbone, nudging the collar of bone away so that he can run his hand over your skin. It’s as if his thoughts are mirroring your own. Imagining the life you could have had together.

Make me your villain. That’s what he had said. But he was never your villain.

He tugs you closer, engulfing you in his arms. A small laugh escapes your lips, as you look down at the two names sitting together. Aleksander raises a brow at you, the corner of his mouth curling into a small smile.

“What is it?”

“Do you know how ridiculously common your name is?” He laughs as well. “I’ve known maybe eight Aleksander’s throughout my life.”

“Did you ever think any of them were the one?” You shake your head.

“The majority of them were idiots,” you remark, remembering Aleks, the boy at the orphanage that had fallen in the river trying to catch a squirrel. “Although, my Aleksander can be a bit of an idiot too.”

His lips part in astonishment, and he feigns offence for a moment, but he can’t stop the smile growing on his face.

“Your Aleksander?” You hum in agreement. “And you’re mine?”

“I’m all yours.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and your entire body warms as your power sings within you. You had always been afraid of the pull you felt towards him. You had tried to explain it away: he was the shadow to your sun, the tether has been created with merzost, that he only wanted you for your power.

None of those reasons mattered now that everything made sense. Your bond made sense. He was your soulmate.

“Tell me where you are,” he requests in a quiet voice, and you shake your head.

“No. I’ll come to you.”

He sighs, pressing his forehead against your own.

“Still trying to protect your little band of rebels from me?”

“Their hearts are in the right places.”

“And what of my heart?”

“Your heart,” you say softly, brushing your nose against his as you lean even closer. “Will be in Os Alta within two days.”

Then you kiss him.

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling x you #the darkling x y/n #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan x you #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #netflix shadow and bone #shadow and bone

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twinkodium · 4 months

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I was tagged by @sebsdaniel thank you love 🥺🧡

Star sign:

Leo

Favorite holiday:

Christmas! Decorating the house with colorful Christmas lights, putting up the tree while the cookies are already in the oven, laughing along with family members, and bringing up old jokes and memories 🥹 Having free time to actually sit down and play some board games with them 🫶🏼 Gifts aren't even relevant when we have each other 🥺

Last meal:

Pancakes with peach jam 😌

Currently favorite musician:

5sos, for a while actually. Others come and go, but they stick forever.

Last music listened to:

Running wild by Pascal & Pearce, Jethro trait

Last movie watched:

Red, White and Royal Blue. I finished the book at 5am last Saturday I think and watched the movie right after 🫣 Book >>> movie adaptation tho 😉

Last TV show watched:

My Life is Murder, I love it so much 🥺 F1 infected brain went feral watching the third season, there was a kid named Oscar in one of the episodes and the art teacher, Ms. Norris. I SCREAMED

Last book/fic finished:

Heartstopper Vol.4 & Slugesh’s last fanfic - So Come and Take It (I literally mark ever other fanfic to read later, his are the only ones I rush to read when I have time 🥺)

Last book/fic abandoned:

God, so many books I started reading but couldn’t connect with and to save time I just moved on 😂 luckily, I don't buy physical books so I don't feel bad doing it. Can't remember when was the last time I've read any fanfic that wasn't from Slugesh 🫣 but usually I don't dnf on any.

Currently reading:

This winter by Alice Oseman, I've entered my Heartstopper phase 👀

Last thing researched for writing/art/hyperfixation:

Probably aesthetically pleasing winter pics for my fanfic headers/moodboards 🤭

Favorite online fandom memory:

None in particular but meeting people with the same interest and making friends and conversing daily is damn awesome 🥹 And how these people turn out to be just as crazy as you are and become a significant part of your life that you can't imagine living without them in it anymore.

Favorite Old Fandom You Wish Would Drag You Back In/Have A Resurgence:

Kpop/jpop, I had like 2-3 people to fangirl with apart from my sister, didn't know about tumblr just yet 😭

Favorite Thing You Enjoy That Never Had an Active or Big "Fandom" but You Wish It Did:

Nice people to connect with through DTM, literally doesn’t have a big audience but I’m glad I started watching it when I did.

Tempting Project You're Trying to Rein In/Don't Have Time For:

Learning languages or polishing my German I neglected after finishing school 😐 Also cycling, I really should be physically more active and planning to do just that this year.

I’m tagging @slugesh @formulahuh @norribobs @landoom @jethro-in-the-tardis @481boxboxbaby @izzief1rambles @mctwinkdom @princesspiastri @otterpiastri @someominousecho @jennarations @avida-heidia-5 @piastrodium @ravenrage27 @borntogayz & whoever sees this and wants to participate (feel free to ignore) 🧡

#tag game #I love these kind of tag games #very exciting 🥺

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samodivaa · 5 months

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I just wanna say I love all your soldat fics!! You’re my go to for my feral winter solder fics I love them all!! Especially the one about his metal arm omg!!

I just wanted to say I love your work and I hope you continue to write these masterpieces because GYAATT DAMNN there amazing.

Everytime I see or read about the winter soldier I just wanna…

Baby GIRLLLL THIS MEANS EVERYTHING TO ME I LOVE YOU

I mean my header imagine says it all, I love his metal arm, okay LMAO and it is so nice to see this message <3 I am brewing something devilish about Soldat - I WILL LOVE HIM FOREVER, OKAY??

I hope that you are having a nice evening/day and thank you so much for your support I love you baby girl

#barking respectfully #barking but with LOVE #daddy soldat for life

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saintsofwarding · 11 months

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WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by @keltii-tea

Chapter 6: A Funeral Rite

Her mother's burial took place on a frozen winter day, the ground so hard it took hours for the gravediggers to hack out a hole in the icy soil. By the time they were finished, the snow had begun to fall again, filling in the grave with a fine dusting of white.

Her father's sobs filled the air. Miranda stood at the front of the silent crowd, her head bent, listening as he howled and railed, a mad thing clawing at the dirt even as the priests read, in their flat, pious affect, the words of the Black God, the last words spoken to the dead.

Miranda was white-faced, her hands folded down her front, her eyes hollow, but dry. She'd done her crying where no one else could see.

For her mother was dead. She'd died anyway, despite the gift given by the Black God, despite the priest's assurances and her father's faith. Hours they'd sat by the table, until the candles burned down, until the night was spent, until the thing pulsing inside her mother's stomach went still, and Miranda knew that it had all been for nothing.

"Was she not devout enough?" her father had said. "She worshipped every Sabbath...prayed every night to all her saints...she schooled me in the ways of the Black God, she couldn't have been unworthy-"

Her father had scrambled after the priest, despite the other man's mutterings and head-shaking. "Tell me, damn you! Tell me!"

Miranda had stood and watched at the window as her father went after the priest with fists flying, until the passersby had to pull him away from the blinking, bleeding holy man sprawled in the snow. She had felt the corpse behind her like a weight on her mind, but did not turn to look at the still body of her mother, already dressed in her coffin clothes, a dress embroidered with flowers that Miranda and her mother had worked on together.

"May she walk through the endless dark..."

The coffin lay in the grave, now, a simple six-winged symbol carved into its lid. Had her father been of a mind to make it, it would have been beautiful, a work of art. This one was little more than a box.

"May her feet trace the path of the saints before her, the dead before her, the dead who will follow her, for all the years to come..."

Someone sidled up alongside Miranda. She glanced over. The fisherman's little boy- his eldest- stood alongside her, staring with bright, mournful eyes into the grave.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her.

"Why are you sorry, Sal? You didn't do it." Miranda's hands curled inside her mittens. "It was the baby did it. The baby poisoned her."

"Papa says it happens. Sometimes." Salvatore shook his head slowly from side to side. "I've been reading lots of books Dr. Nicolescu's been giving me. I want to be good at that stuff. I want to..." He gulped and scrubbed his sleeve over his eyes. "I wish I could have helped."

"You couldn't have." The words came out sharp as a whip-crack. "You're too stupid."

"Am not." But he was crying now in earnest, big tears that dripped and melted the dust of snow at his feet. Miranda's lash of cruelty cooled; guilt crept in. Not enough to cover the hollow, the great ragged thing that filled her up now.

Not grief- that didn't cover it. Hope, maybe. That her mother would survive. That her father would not be reduced to this, this catatonic wreck.

That everything would be all right.

"May the warding saints guide her...may she never lose her way...may she be taken into the Black God's embrace, where she will be remembered forever..."

Her father's wails reached a fever pitch as the priest finished his blessings and stepped back, lowering the holy book, allowing the gravediggers to proceed. The first shovelful of dirt hit the coffin. Miranda made herself watch as more and more followed, as the grave filled up, burying her mother's body like it had never been there at all.

***

Salvatore followed her after the funeral. Miranda had recently turned twelve, but Sal was barely nine, a skinny, homely little boy with curly black hair and a puppylike demeanor, almost stumbling in his efforts to keep up after her.

"Miranda!"

She kept walking, shoulders hunched inside her coat.

"M-Miranda! Wait up!"

"What do you want?" She didn't look at him even as he skidded to a halt by her side, breathing hard, his hat askew.

He reached up to fix it back into place, trying in vain to fit it over his protruding ears. "Where are you going?" he panted. "Your house is that way!" He flung out an arm back toward the village.

"Yes. I know."

"Then why are you going...up there? Your father was crying at the funeral. Shouldn't you be at home with him?"

Miranda shook her head.

"He was so sad." Salvatore went quiet for a while, trudging through the snow next to her as the trees thickened around them and the path sloped, steadily, upward. They were climbing a path away from town, houses and fences and goat-pens rapidly falling away. Soon, all Miranda could see of the village were the turrets and towers of the great, empty castle that shadowed the entire valley, turned blue and misty at this distance.

It had been shut up for years, run by a skeleton crew of caretakers that were still loyal to the long-dead last of House Dimitrescu, the ancestral aristocracy that had once lorded over this land. Miranda had often wondered what lay inside, what secrets, what stories, but she'd never dared to sneak past the gate with its terrifying murals of demons and warrior maidens.

Now, she couldn't care less. She just wanted to be away from the whole place.

"I don't like this place," Salvatore said, glancing at the trees around them. "My pa says there are evil spirits in these woods."

"Your pa has weird ideas."

"I think it's true. I hear howling from up here sometimes."

"Those are things called wolves, Sal." She gave a little annoyed huff. "I hear them too."

"Are you ever scared they'll...jump in through your window and get you?"

"No."

"I am."

"You would be."

"Oh!" He stopped in his tracks. "What's that?"

The clearing rose before them, snowy and lit blue by the fading daylight. A stone dais in its center was ringed with pillars, carved all over with interconnected knotwork, while a vast stone chalice stood in its center, locked into place by some unknown mechanism.

The Giant's Chalice. At high noon, during midsummer, it made for a merry sight, all strung with ribbons and bells and colored lanterns. Miranda went every year with her parents, her mother and father taking her hands to swing her round in circles as musicians played a dancing tune. Now, during the dead of winter, the shadows reached long, snowflakes dancing like wraiths on the chill breeze.

"It's just the chalice," Miranda said.

"It looks different in the dark." Salvatore shivered.

Miranda headed into the clearing, the little boy at her heels. She made a slow circuit around the Giant's Chalice, watching the way the light gleamed off its lichen-scabbed stone. Another thing that like the castle had been here a long, long time, though if the holy books and her father's tall tales were to be believed, it had been here and been old since before the first of the castle's foundations were even an architect's dream.

Further on, through ruins painted with sacred imagery, up a long, long flight of steps, there was more, but maybe Salvatore's nerves were catching. She stopped to look at the path leading to the other ruins and shivered at the darkness.

"You weren't crying, though," Salvatore said. He'd hopped up onto the dais, his nerves seemingly forgotten, and began walking its edge like a tightrope. "Why weren't you crying?"

"I..." Miranda looked away from the path. "I...I don't know."

"Weren't you sad?"

"Yes." Her voice quivered. She stared at her boots. She'd forgotten to shine them for the funeral, and they were scuffed and dirty.

Footsteps approached her. There was a hesitation, then Salvatore put his arms around her. He hugged her round the waist for a long time- that was all he could reach. Miranda stiffened, but after a moment she let it happen.

Eventually he let her go and stood back, balancing on the edge of the dais again, like this was all some kind of big game.

"My pa says your pa went and got the priest when she died and the priest had a box." He paused. "My pa kissed his saint's medal when he saw that box."

"He was right to."

"Why?"

Annoyance spiked. Wouldn't he shut up? Miranda thought about turning on him, maybe picking up a rock and throwing it at him to shoo him off like a stray dog. He stared up at her with his eyes big and round. And if she did? He'd run off crying to his mommy, would probably never bother her to play again. Usually- before- she'd be all right with that.

Now?

Now, she didn't want to be alone.

"He..." She let out her breath. "He had this...thing. A baby in the box. But not a baby. It was a piece of the Black God. A gift. I think. He...he put the baby inside her. He had to cut her open." Her mouth trembled. "He said it would make her come back."

Salvatore didn't move a muscle.

"But she didn't come back." Miranda kicked at the snow. "She just died. And now she's gone."

"Not necessarily," Salvatore said.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's...it's in one of the books Dr. Nicolescu gave me. One of his old ones that he didn't want anymore. It has these, um, amazing pictures...I wish I could show you..."

The last thing Miranda wanted was to look at Salvatore Moreau's book collection. "You can just describe them, I have a pretty good imagination."

"Okay, they were woodcuts, and in one of them the ancient priest-saints of the crystal city, they stand over one of their holy dead, and they put the gift in them-" He lifted his hands, eyes shining, shaping the pictures as he spoke. "-And then the person, they don't rise, but they get sealed up. In a vault. Like a monk who's been bad. And then the next night...they rise again. And they become one of the warding saints. The guardians of the city."

He lowered his hands. "It doesn't just happen, Miranda. It takes a little while."

Miranda's heart thudded against her breastbone. Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips. "My mother," she said. "It's been...it's been a day since, since the gift..."

"Oh, no," Salvatore breathed.

"We have to get back down to the graveyard." She pushed past Salvatore, already running. "Come on!"

She pelted back down the path, her blood fire, her heart pounding. The freezing air tore at her throat and lungs, ripping her hair free from its braids. What if she wasn't fast enough? She heard Salvatore running after her, but she didn't slow, didn't stop even when a tree branch whipped past her face, slicing a line of blood over her cheek.

She burst back through the gate and into the village, the last of the daylight leaving the sky, just a trace of orange sunset lingering between two mountain peaks.

The church rose from the village's heart, its steeple cut sharp against the low snow clouds. Miranda slowed as she passed the lych-gate, her boots crunching on gravel. Already the snowfall had covered the mourners' tracks and filled in the wheelruts of the wagon that had borne her mother's coffin to its grave.

This was an ancient graveyard, centuries of the village's dead buried in its ground. Her mother had not been interred near the church, where the very oldest of the graves had stood for untold years, their dates worn away, lost to time. Her grave was in the far reaches, far from the comforting amber light shining in the church's windows.

Miranda hurried toward it. Salvatore finally caught up. He'd lost his hat running down from the Giant's Chalice, and the tips of his ears were red with cold.

"Miranda," he whispered.

"Hush," she hissed.

"Miranda, it's just pictures-"

"It's history, Sal."

"It might just be a story!"

"Stories are history," Miranda spat at him. "And if you don't believe that then you're just as stupid as you look."

She pressed on. The snowfall had grown thicker, denser. Chewing her lip, she doubled back and unhooked a lantern from by the church door.

"That's stealing!" Salvatore gasped.

"I'll give the priests some lei for it in the morning." Miranda stepped into the snowfall. "Are you coming or not?"

She approached the far reaches of the graveyard. Out here, the shadows were deep, the nearest house further away than a shout could travel. The castle loomed overhead, its shape indistinct through the snow. It seemed to lean in, as if curious about what she was doing.

Miranda glared up at it. What business did it, grand dead thing as it was, have with the affairs of the living?

Her mother's grave was almost hidden under a blanket of white. The lanternlight fell across it in a hazy gold pool, glittering on the fresh, undisturbed snow.

Little puffs of white trailed from Salvatore's mouth as he stood alongside Miranda.

"She didn't come out," he said quietly.

"Not yet." Miranda blinked, then set the lantern on a nearby gravestone. "Come...come on, maybe she needs...some help..."

Shovels leaned against the wall. The gravediggers', she guessed. She grabbed one and stabbed it down into the dirt. The blade made a chuff sound as it bounced off the frozen soil.

"Come on!" she told Salvatore. "Help me."

He hung back, fiddling with his mittens.

"Help me!" Miranda ordered.

If she got her mother out, if she came back alive- maybe everything could go back to normal. She imagined bringing her home, her mother's pretty face aglow with newfound life, as beautiful as one of the gilded saints on the painted ruins out by the Chalice. Her father would rise from his aggrieved slump, and though his eyes were red with crying, they would widen with relief as he lay eyes once again upon his wife.

It worked, Mother would say. You saved me.

You came home, her father would gasp. And you...Miranda...our darling...all thanks to you! She imagined their embrace, the smell of her mother, the smell of baking and drying herbs, her warm, safe home returned to her again.

She just had to get her out. She just had to dig deep enough. Her hands ached on the shovel handle; she felt skin tearing under her mittens as she hacked, feverishly, at the ironbound earth. Salvatore joined in, barely able to get the shovel into position- he was far too small- but trying valiantly nevertheless.

He'd begun to cry again. Miranda ignored him. What was there to cry about when hope was within her grasp? Her shovel hit something hard- a rock, maybe- and jounced from her hands, sending her tottering back. She stumbled and fell hard on her rear in the snow. "Ah-"

"Miranda!" Salvatore dropped his own shovel and hurried to her side. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, don't..." She pushed him away, heart pounding. "We need to-"

"Miranda," Salvatore cut in.

"What?"

"Do you hear that?"

For a moment she thought he meant wolves. They were howling again, far away, their voices so distant they were almost lost in the hish and creak of the wind in the trees.

Then Miranda heard it, and a chill struck her, coiling down to her marrow.

Scratching.

It echoed from below, muffled through earth. It was coming from the grave. At once, Miranda was frozen. Salvatore shrank back, tucking his chin into his scarf.

"Is that..." he whispered.

"Be quiet," Miranda snapped.

She got to her hands and knees, staring at the grave. The scratching went on, one moment long and languid, the next manic, a storm of sound against-

What? The coffin? The dirt? She couldn't tell. Was her mother trapped down there, trapped in smothering darkness?

Terror gripped her, sudden as a blow, but this time all she could think of was the corpse on the table, the pulse of the gift within her belly. The red line carved in her waxy skin.

The scratching stopped.

Silence flooded the graveyard. The only sound now was the wind, Salvatore's soft weeping, Miranda's own too-harsh breathing. She tasted something bitter in her mouth.

"Is it over?" Salvatore whispered.

The soil over the grave erupted in a shower of snow and frozen dirt. A hand, Miranda realized; it burst from the grave and clawed at the air. Miranda and Salvatore pitched backward, screaming. A shape tore its way free, snarling, snapping, the clack of teeth, the air scythed and sliced by hooked, dirt-clotted talons.

Salvatore was yelling something, but all Miranda could focus on as she lay sprawled and rigid was the filthy hair hanging in mats over the thing's face, the hunched shoulders as it shook loose, the flare of green off its eyes as the lanternlight struck them.

The familiar dress, embroidered with flowers. Miranda had done some of those flowers herself. They'd worked on them together.

"Mama?" she whispered.

The thing whirled on them with a growl. The lamplight fell over its face. Miranda's breath caught in her teeth.

Her mother's face. Her lips were drawn back from fangs; they'd forced their way from the gums, warping her jaw out of shape.

But the rest of her- the rest of her was...if she squinted, if she dreamed- maybe she could still be the same-

"Mama," Miranda said. She held out a trembling hand.

"No," Salvatore moaned.

"It's me," Miranda pressed. "It's okay. It worked. You're alive now. It worked."

Her mother blinked. She made a series of little yelping noises, like a hurt dog. Her lips slid down over her teeth, hiding them. She stepped forward, using the knuckles of one hand to swing herself along.

Her belly swung, too, split-open like a log riven with an axe, entrails dragging along the snow after her. They left a streak of blood behind them.

Miranda smelled the gore. The rot.

Tentacles unfurled from the stomach wound. They curled, writhed, reaching for Miranda from deep within her mother's body.

Her lips drew back from her teeth again, and the growl that rippled from her was anything but human.

She gathered herself to lunge-

Silver flashed in the lamplight. The lycan screeched; gore sprayed. The creature swayed there for an instant-

Then fell apart. Her head toppled one way, her body the other. They hit the ground with a wet splack.

Behind them, the old priest lowered the sword: heavy and made for cleaving, its cutting edge bright with the moonlight shine of silver.

A trace of black blood glistened on the blade.

Miranda gasped for breath. Salvatore curled beside her, his head in his hands as he rocked back and forth, sobbing.

"Children," the priest said. He sounded weary as a miller's donkey. "Come. We must make you both a tisane of herbs in case any of the wolf-sick blood touched you."

Miranda blinked. She mumbled.

"What was that, child?"

"You...said...she would live again..."

The old man lowered his eyes. "The will of the Black God cannot be known by mortals," he said. "We can only do as it asks, and hope our prayers will be answered in turn."

He turned and began away toward the church. Salvatore picked himself up and scurried after, still crying, but Miranda lingered. Her mother's body had already begun to crystallize, veins of milky white stone spreading over her remains. Within seconds she crumbled, becoming nothing more than dust on the snow.

She came back wrong.

She was supposed to be alive again-

And she came back wrong.

But all Miranda could think as she hurried after Sal and the priest, as she drank the bitter tea the old man brewed, as she felt it work through her body and drive away the Black God's holy madness, was that it was a miracle her mother had come back at all.

And maybe-

Maybe-

Miracles could happen twice.

#re8 #saints of warding #re8 fanfiction #re8 fic #resident evil village #resident evil #rosemary winters #karl heisenberg #mother miranda #Donna Beneviento #Chris Redfield #chapter 6 #salvatore moreau

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sunnysideprincess · 7 months

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My Tumblr sorted - - →

Art tag # deb does art

More recent tumblr fics #deb writes in between

Older drabbles #deb writes

Winteriron mini-comic series #winteriron subway shenanigans

Blorbo musings and fic ideas # deb thinks out loud

Header and title quotes from my ao3 fic Unfinished, Unending

My Ao3 sorted - - →

#dark

Hell, If It Glitters (ongoing, winteriron)

"Then again," Barnes whispers while pulling away, wiping a thumb over Tony's lips. A move that rips his entire being into two warring sides. "Everything's different when it belongs to you, right?"

Steve broke their bond in Siberia. Tony would be happy if that was it. But no, hell has plans for him and those plans go by the name of James Buchanan Barnes.

Time Bomb (oneshot, OG6 poly)

"You were gone long." He stands still, and forces his breath to remain a steady stream, even as she drags her fingers gently under the hem of his shirt. As she scraps her nails along his scar, pinches his skin a little too harshly.

"Yeah, the paperwork was tedious."

Natasha hums and sighs, her breath smelling strongly of wine and cigarettes. She kisses the nape of his neck, digs her fingers into his skin. Not enough to hurt, but enough to warn him.

"You're a better liar than this, Tony."

My Town Was A Wasteland (oneshot, stevetony)

Howard wants to raise the dead. Even if it's at the expense of his own son. It backfires spectacularly.

Grim Pickings (oneshot, winteriron)

The Winter Soldier goes on a Witch hunt.

Part 1 of Watch The World Burn (ongoing)

The Clock Strikes Out (oneshot, gen)

"Tick tock, Mister Stark."

"Time's running out."

"I need a name."

He blinks and shakes his head. Looks around, tries to see the outlines of his team through the dark spots dancing across his vision. A shock of red hair. A flash of a silver. A blink of blue and red. Something, someone is dragged to a corner by the hair and he thinks it could be Barton.

"A name, Mister Stark. Just one."

What An Expensive Fate (oneshot, winteriron, unrequited stucky)

"I can't hurt him, Stevie. You know that. But, I gotta hurt someone. Who better to dish it out on than you?"

Heavy In Your Arms (oneshot, stevetony)

"Steve, what are you doing?"

"Fixing this."

(Or where Steve changes the world and everybody has a role to play. )

#fluff

Symphony (oneshot, stuckony)

When soulmates destined to be together touch each other for the first time, the symphony is heard across the universe. As if he hasn't heard this story enough times. You'd be surprised just how many people are meant to be each other's forever. Not much when it comes down to the entirety of Earth's population. Yet still enough. Clichéd violins and opera is annoying as it is with the side serving of him hearing the music play while his lady love and the new assistant (who later turns out to be a SHIELD plant) accidentally brush their fingers together. Now there's Steve Rogers, in his all American glory and Tony just wants to beat the crap out of this alien army and go back home. And possibly, plug his ears to drown out the extensive noise.

It's the V-shaped stuckony soulmate AU crack fic

Winteriron Subway Shenanigans (comic)

Tony is lucky he has Bucky to protect him from the dilemma called "public transportation".

Cake Toppers And Fireball Piñata (oneshot, stuckony)

For a bunch of master assassins, spies, and superhumans, the Avengers are lousy at secret keeping. Forget world domination or holding lives hostage, their enemies should just get Earth's mightiest heroes to plan a birthday party and be done with it.

Tony's surprise(?) birthday bash.

Do For You (oneshot, winteriron)

Sex, bare tolerance, and mutually beneficial stress relief is what this was supposed to be.

Guns And Rainbows (ongoing, winteriron)

"Would you STOP shooting at people?" "What do you want me to do? Hug them instead?"

In which Bucky's a little too trigger happy, Tony just wants a quiet night with his secret boyfriend, the Avengers are mostly confused about who keeps leaving flowers in Hydra hideouts and Pepper's just sick of these two idiots.

Baby, It's Cold Outside (oneshot, winteriron)

It's Bucky's first Christmas with Morgan and Tony. He has one important question to ask.

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen (oneshot, polyvengers)

The media paints a picture. The Avengers know better.

My Favorite Things (oneshot, stuckony)

Five times Tony lost something on Christmas and the one time he gains something new.

O Come All Ye Faithful (oneshot, stony)

Christmas now is wrapped up with a satin bow of red and gold and rosy pink. All for Steve.

#stuckony

Symphony (oneshot)

It's the V-shaped stuckony soulmate AU crack fic

Cake Toppers And Fireball Piñata (oneshot)

Tony's surprise(?) birthday bash.

New Old Fashioned Way (oneshot)

There are ways to win his heart. Most of them don't start with murder, but times are changing.

Half of Us (oneshot)

He stands near the window, holding a glass full of the dark drink he seems to have fixated on these days. The view is as always phenomenal. There are no stars in Manhattan. But Tony, ever the futurist, can envision a perfectly clear, dark sky littered with stars and giant alien ships inside a wormhole. The memory still rakes his bones, haunts his dreams and makes his teeth chatter on his best days. On his worst, it makes him weak in his knees and harder to breathe within the mirage of darkness and destruction.

My Favorite Things (oneshot)

Five times Tony lost something on Christmas and the one time he gains something new.

Jingle Bell Rock (oneshot)

Clint knits holiday sweaters. Steve and Bucky reap the benefits.

NLP's Mini Stories

Tangerine Dreams (stevetony, werewolf AU)

Anthony Edward Stark. He's a beautiful baby, with wide, curious eyes and rosy cheeks. Too bad Steve had to make it weird by imprinting on her Godson.

Bleeding Tooth (pre-slash, winteriron)

Someday, Sam Wilson tells him, he will love the possibilities. Someday, choices won't feel wrong. Someday, he won't feel like a ghost anymore.

Red Letters (hydra stucky, stuckony)

Tony never wanted to be Captain Hydra and the Winter Soldier's soulmate.

Old School (stony, fluff)

Tony doesn't understand why Clint ever thought retirement was boring.

The Forever Kind (stony, winteriron, evil soulmate)

Sometimes having two soulmates isn't worth it.

Confinement (gen, short)

In which Steve Rogers is immortal.

***For fics where Bucky Barnes is neither innocent, nor unwilling to do terrible things for what he wants #evil bucky is my jam

#masterpost #old #masterlist #fic list #tag list #long post

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foreverwintertv · 9 months

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people help me find red taylor’s version or forever winter (summer themed (?)) headers pls 😭😭😭🙏

#taylor swift #the eras tour #headers #taylor swift headers #red taylor’s version header #red taylor’s version

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taffyforever · 11 months

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˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ HAPPY JUNE, DUNCIES !!!! ヾ(˵ •̀ ᴗ •́ ˵ )

happy summer, happy pride month, and a happy afternoon from me to you, duncies !! welcome to my BRAND NEW taffyblog !!!!!! i told yall i would do it and here i am !!!! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

as my first order of taffyblog business, i encourage you to look around the site ! i havent edited tumblr html in ages so it was super fun going back to my roots for this project ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ you may notice a... new face in that header..... i didnt want to go thru the effort of creating 2 headers for when i redebut, so congrats ! you get a sneak peek at some new art for the new design ૮(˶˃ᆺ˂˶)

i need to make a dedicated tweet for it, but my comms are very open rn !! if you're looking for a last minute summer outfit, or a very early winter outfit, i'm your gal ! of course my strengths lie in gyaru and similar fashions, but ive done anywhere between elegant seamstress to gothic vampire. send an ask here or dm on twitter/discord if you'd like to comm me or discuss any other services (illust, reactive png, etc) (๑>ᴗ<๑)ぐ〜♡

aight, business out of the way. how have you been, duncies ? (seriously, send me an ask and let me know !) i miss yall a lot, but i know im making the right decision being on hiatus. there's been some recent developments in my life that are making things a lot nicer for me, so i'm doing very well as of late. my physical health is pretty good ! isnt it crazy how when you take medication it makes u feel better lol. i am scared for the summer, as last year's heat wave was a major factor in me getting as sick as i did. i do have air conditioning now ! so hopefully things will be a lot easier. my mental health is also better, though i still need to take many steps in ensuring the best for myself. like, im good now, but im not set forever just yet. we work hard one day at a time 💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼

ultrakill news: i've spent a loooottttt of free time cybergrinding......... like i might just guerilla soon because ive gotten much better since last you've seen. marksman my beloved im coinpilled now <3 i also got a p rank in clair de lune ! (haven't bothered to try the other levels yet i love cybergrind too much)

i have no geoguessr news that game is still as ass as ever </3 still love her tho (✿˶•ᵕ•)♡(• ᵕ •˶)

redebut is still set for august 25th ! very very excited to come back more cracked than ever ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ if you'd like to support me until then, follow my twitch if you havent yet ! you can also support me financially (IF YOU ARE IN A GOOD SPACE TO DO SO) by commissioning me or sending me a gift from my throne ! i am reworking my tipping page, so tips/donos are currently unavailable. i would heavily appreciate anything, but it is in no way necessary. you reading this and supporting me is enough <3 o(⸝⸝✦ᗜ✦⸝⸝)☆

thank you duncies for everything !!!! ⋆˚✿˖° i'll be updating this blog every so often before my redebut to keep yall posted on anything cool in my life. i really appreciate all of you for being here for me. i'm very excited for my return ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) !!!!!!! ♡ ༘*. stay tuned on twitter for some rebrand changes (❀❛ ֊ ❛„)ಇ

TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF BE KIND TO OTHERS KEEP IT P.L.U.R. ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

#taffybrain

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frottana-sims · 2 years

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Check-in tag

Awesome! Thanks for tagging me @plumbtales!!! I've read so many check-ins, I want to do this too!!! :3

Why did you choose your url?

Frottana is my internet nickname and when I went to sign up on tumblr, "Frottana" was already taken, so I chose "Frottana-Sims" because I only wanted to use my blog for Sims content anyway.

How long have you been on tumblr?

I created this blog in October 2013... so I've been here for about 8+ years (time flies!)

Do you have a queue tag?

Nope. But I queue my gameplay pictures. If I didn't do that, I would spam your dashboard uncontrollably. So it's only for your safety. 😅

Why did you start your blog in the first place?

I wanted to follow some cc creators here so I don't have to use bookmarks anymore. ^^

Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

I've been using this avatar since... forever and have never *really* changed it because I don't want to confuse my followers. 😄 (I'm always confused myself when someone changes their icon). You may notice from time to time that the Sim changes a little. :3

Why did you choose your header?

On my blog, I change my header (actually it's more of a sidebar image) from time to time. Mostly it's seasonal, so I change it for autumn, winter, spring and summer.

But at the moment I'm also using these fishies as a header. Just because it’s beautiful and calming. :3

What’s your post with the most notes?

I don’t know actually. But it could be the “Super Duper Hug FAQ” which I should definitely update.. 😶

How many mutuals do you have?

Idk, where can I check this?!

How many followers do you have?

On this blog I have 2.670 followers. 🌱

How many people do you follow?

352. 💚

Have you ever made a shitpost?

I guess not. 😅

How often do you use tumblr each day?

When I'm at the computer, Tumblr is always open. On my mobile phone, I usually check all the posts from the day in the evening.

Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

Nope. Only peaceful interactions here. :3

How do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts?

I feel nothing?! I ignore them. 😂

Do you like tag games?

Yes!

Do you like ask games?

Yes! :3

Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

I think @lesyasun and @deedee-sims are already very well known in our Sims2 Bubble, but there are also a few pre-Tumblr originals that are very well known, like @curiousb, @whattheskell or trapping.

Do you have a crush on a mutual?

Yeah, I wouldn't say " crush" but when I see their posts on my dashboard, it makes me happy. :3

It's hard to choose anyone because my dashboard is full of these posts, so I hope you haven't been tagged yet, or at least this is another "push" for you to do it :3 @simoleontree, @lesyasun, @rudhira, @nerlika-blog and @cozy-sims. Feel free to ignore me :)

#check-in tag #tagged

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pergolasadelaidesblog · 8 months

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The Reasons Why a Pergola Makes More Sense Than Other Options

A pergola can add purpose to your landscape and make it more inviting for entertainment, lounging, and dining. Pergolas Adelaide can be built with various materials, including aluminium, cedar, and vinyl.

Pergolas Adelaide can be positioned by an outdoor fire pit, pool, or any other part of your backyard that you want to highlight. They can also offer shade and versatile shelter thanks to their lattice form.

1. They Can Be Customized

A pergola gives you the perfect spot to relax and enjoy time outdoors. It can act as a shaded area where you can sit and read a book or have dinner with family and friends. You can also add a fire pit or propane heater to use the space well into the fall and winter.

Pergolas can be customized to make them even more appealing. For instance, you can add a set of curtains for privacy or plant climbing vines like wisteria, clematis, or grapevine to add colour and interest to the space. You can also add lighting to create a romantic feel or brighten up the area at night.

Adding a pergola to your home will make it more attractive and increase the value of your property. If you consider selling your home in the future, this investment will pay off in the long run. Moreover, if you plan to stay in your home forever, a pergola will provide you with a beautiful outdoor living space to enjoy every day.

2. They Are Affordable

Pergolas are an excellent choice to make your outdoor space feel more inviting and cozy. They offer shade and privacy without costing much more than a patio cover or gazebo. They can also be customized by adding soft curtains, plants, or intricate privacy screens to reflect your style and taste. According to experts, a well-designed pergola can add up to 20 percent to your home’s value.

Building or buying a pergola can be expensive, but it's worth it if you’re willing to put in the time and effort. Many factors affect the cost of pergolas, including material quality and size, design complexity, and brand reputation. Choosing a simple design will help you save money on the initial investment and long-term maintenance costs. For example, Western Red Cedar is an attractive and affordable option for pergolas because it naturally resists insect infestations and wet weather conditions. However, it would be best to consider other options like exotic hardwoods, which are more expensive but extremely durable.

3. They Are Easy To Build

If you’re looking for an easy way to add structure and shade to your outdoor space without breaking the bank, a pergola may be just what you need. They’re usually much cheaper than a deck or gazebo and are easy to build. Plus, you can always add a few plants, outdoor lantern lights and soft curtains to make your pergola feel even more cozy and welcoming.

You can start by laying out the posts and marking their position. You’ll want to leave about 18-20 inches of clearance for the rafters. Then you can lay the header boards, which create a frame on each side of the structure. The header boards should be 2 x 6 or 2 x 10 for strength and longevity. Avoid using 2 x 4’s, which can easily warp or twist.

You can add the top stringer boards after the header boards are in place. These boards hold the roof, so use strong 2 x 6 or 2 x 10 lumber. It’s also good to mark the rafter positions before nailing them in.

4. They Can Be Built With Different Materials

A pergola is a great way to add shade and privacy to your yard. It can also be used as a focal point to tie together other features in your outdoor space.

Pergolas can be built with a wide range of materials, so you can find the perfect one to match your home’s aesthetic. Wood, vinyl, aluminium, and concrete are all durable options that withstand the elements. They are also easy to work with, making them an ideal choice for DIY projects.

Another advantage of pergolas is that they can provide a great spot for plants. You can grow vines like clematis, honeysuckle, and wisteria on them, creating a beautiful natural ceiling. They can also be covered with a woven wire grid or lattice to offer support for climbing plants.

If you want to build a pergola in your backyard, it’s important to check your area’s frost depth before deciding on the location. If the posts are inserted too deep, winter's freezing and thawing cycle can cause them to break or move.

5. They Are Versatile

A pergola adds a sense of defined purpose to any outdoor space. It communicates to family and guests where they should relax and entertain, creating a visual link between indoor and outdoor living. It also serves as a limited shelter from the sun and rain. If you opt for a modern, bioclimatic pergola like the Azenco R-Blade, it can even have motorized louvres that can be controlled with your smartphone. It allows you to filter light and ventilation and block left-to-right views of neighbouring properties.

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little-diable · 1 year

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The Purest Form of Yourself - Priest!Spencer Reid (smut)

Oh boy. This is @hidingsikki fault, and maybe the one of my dark thoughts. My first ever Priest Reid fic and its quite something, oh well, remember: don't like it, don't read it. But please, if you enjoyed reading this, like and reblog. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader's parents think that she's possessed by Satan, priest Reid is their last hope. And yet, even though he knows that she isn't guided by the dark Lord himself, the man of God can't help but take advantage of the situation.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected PIV, oral (m receiving), intercourse in a church, religious connotations, dom!Spencer

Pairing: Priest!Spencer Reid x fem!reader (2k words)

header by @hidingsikki

Tears glistened on her cheeks as the car kept driving past the all too familiar houses. She had tried to rip herself free from her mother’s grasp, had tried to push her weight against the car door, hoping to escape before her life would forever be changed, though without any luck. (Y/n) could still hear her father’s words ringing in her ears, how he had forced her out of her room, telling her about the only man that could save her from Satan’s grasp.

“The devil’s inside of you, I can feel it, you need to be pure again. Priest Reid shall free your innocent soul.”

(Y/n) hadn’t been able to stop her laughter from bubbling out of her, unsure if her father was making fun of her or if he was truly planning on dragging her to the town’s church. Sounds that had only added more confusion to her parents mind, unsure if the demon was communicating with them. The second her father had grasped (y/n)’s wrists, she had known that there was no way out, all because of the past weeks and the darkening thoughts stretching themselves through her system.

Ever since winter had rolled upon the country, her mood had been dampened, unable to voice out what brought tears to her eyes, unable to voice out the pain she was feeling. Perhaps she should have kept this from her parents, perhaps she should have acted as if nothing was wrong, and yet she hadn’t found the strength to do so, hoping that they’d help her.

“Please, turn around, there’s nothing wrong with me.” Sobs rumbled through her as (y/n) spoke up, groaning in pain. Her throat was sore, tight from the pressure her screams had pressed onto her vocal cords, making her parents believe that something darker was housing in her flesh cage. Neither her mother nor her father dared to reply, eyes focused on the church ahead, praying to God that the priest would help them.

(Y/n) could make out his frame from afar, standing in front of the wooden building with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Priest Reid wore a black, simple suit, the golden cross he usually carried around with himself dangled from his neck like a pendant swinging in front of one’s eyes. For the past months she had found herself growing rather fond of the handsome man, imagining hours spent together, with her hands buried in his curls and her eyes rolling back into her head.

Sinful thoughts she had confessed to after the first night she had made herself cum to the thought of him. The priest hadn’t said much back then, and yet, with a smile tugging on his lips, he had freed her from her sins - very well knowing that he’d claim them soon enough.

The second the car came to a halt, he stepped closer, opening the door (y/n) was pressed against. Strong hands caught her trembling frame, pressing the sobbing woman against his warm chest, “Thank you for bringing her here, I shall take good care of your daughter. You’ll be contacted once she’s freed from Satan’s grasp.”

Her parents didn’t notice how he tightened his grasp on her side, thumb rubbing against the side of her chest, teasing the skin that wasn’t covered by her bra. Her parents also didn’t notice how a slight smile tugged on his lips as his eyes met hers, very well aware that no demon was plaguing her body. Even though the priest knew that she was in no need of being freed from a demon nor Satan, he’d use the situation to his advantage, taking what he had been lusting after for months.

All (y/n) could do was watch her parents leave, not once did they turn back towards her, sparing their daughter one last glance. All (y/n) could do was put her trust in the priest and his guiding touch, hoping that he’d see clearer than her parents. All (y/n) could do was pray that this nightmare was about to be broken by her screams rumbling through her, ripping her from her sleep.

“Come, let’s get you inside.” Tugged towards the church, (y/n) felt herself zoning out for a moment, wondering what he’d do to her, if he’d be willing to listen to her or if he walked the same path like her parents.

The church was dark inside, only a few candles flickered in the distance, flames moved by the silent breeze that stroked along the wooden creation. Priest Ried guided her towards the altar, hand finding her shoulder to push her to her knees. Almost automatically she started praying her Hail Mary, hoping that He was listening. She felt the priest's eyes on her frame, burning through her skin as if she was nothing more than a translucent veil.

“You see, an exorcism takes time, time I don’t have for a woman guided by her primal instincts, by her needs and urges. Your body calls out to me, it may be guided by a demon sent from Hell, begging for the forbidden release, though you’re not guided by Satan. I shall satisfy your needs so you can return to your purest form.” Priest Reid stared down on her, eyes wandering along her frame, the goosebump covered limbs and the cheeks that were still graced by the tears she had cried. Heat brushed through her, urging on the nervousness she felt, unsure if she’d be able to withstand the calling.

“What will you do?” Her voice trembled, wondering if he’d reply to her questions, if he’d even grace her with his sincere attention. (Y/n) could only watch the priest crouch down in front of her, cold hands reaching for her wrists, binding them together with his black rosary. Distracted by the emotions rushing through her like the river Johannes had baptised the holy Son in, (y/n) didn’t fight against the tight grasp, watching the man rise to his feet once again.

“Let me guide you, do as you’re told and you won’t suffer any longer.” His hands worked on his belt, undoing his black trousers to free his hard cock. (Y/n) no longer found the strength to breathe, she had imagined moments like these for nights on end, and yet she hadn’t thought that it would play out like this. With a fire burning in his eyes. With a devilish smirk tugging on his lips. Without taking no for an answer. “Open your mouth.”

She parted her lips, gasping in surprise as he pulled her closer with his hand finding her scalp, forcing his cock into her mouth. Tears welled up in (y/n)‘s eyes, tears glistening on her skin like the sun that had burnt Jesus’ skin, hanging on the wooden cross for all curious eyes to see. The priest didn’t hold back, he fucked her mouth as if she wasn’t gasping for air, forced his length further down her throat as if this was the only way to set her sins free.

His taste would forever stick to her muscle, a reminder of the dark act he was now pushing her through. Veins pulsed against her tongue, pumping blood through his cock to harden him even further. The moment felt almost rushed, perhaps the man wasn’t trying to overthink what he was doing, scared that God would call him out on the wrongs he was committing.

It was no secret that he was now committing a sin himself, using her position to his advantage, and yet neither (y/n) nor the priest seemed to worry about the what ifs and what may follow. His groans filled the church, louder than the drums of Hell, stronger than the archangels calling. A sin overpowering God’s creations, made to bite itself through his flesh.

“Atta girl, I knew you’d be all set on pleasing your priest, such a greedy mouth, you were made for me.” (Y/n) could only moan around him, sounds vibrating on his skin. Their eyes met - hers glassy, his piercing - the interaction forced him to retreat, at least for a moment. It seemed as if he was about to snap, as if her mouth no longer could satisfy his most primal needs. Without a warning, (y/n) was pulled to her feet, forced to face the wooden cross as her front met the altar.

A single “Amen” left her, wondering if anybody was listening and if they were, if they felt compassion for her.

The priest’s hand pushed her further down onto the wooden table before he ruffled her dress up to her waist. She still had her wrists tied together, hands interlaced as if she was praying to the Heavenly Father. And yet no prayer found itself overcoming her lips, no sounds rumbled through her - besides her moans and whimpers. The man took what he needed, he forced himself into her tightness, not giving her the chance to adjust.

“We will set the darkness inside of you free, you’ll return to the purest form of yourself.” His words did little to soothe the ache stretching itself through her tired body. No longer could she differentiate between right and wrong, no longer could she tell what her mind was trying to communicate. All (y/n) could do was stare at the cross, imagining the suffering Jesus had endured, pushed into darkness so the ones with a pure heart could live on.

“Please, I,” a sob clawed through her. A sob of pleasure, of confusion and of pain. “I’ve been good, I prayed, I ain’t no sinner.” But she was. The mere thoughts she had about the man of God have pushed her into Satan’s open arms, folding beneath his piercing eyes and the strong call. She wasn’t pure, wasn’t innocent, a woman falling for a man’s appearance, giving into the play of power.

She heard him spit into his hand, reaching around her waist to touch her sensitive bundle of nerves. His soft fingertips circled her clit, it had been the missing match to alight the cigarette one needed to set a gas station ablaze. The inferno taking down an entire town within minutes was now burning her flesh, leaving a reminder for weeks on end. Their bodies kept searching one another, cock pushed deeper and deeper into her.

There was no escaping, no chance to avoid the eventual release.

Her walls fluttered around him, clenching his cock to keep him close. Any moment now she’d let go, guided by her exhaustion, hoping that the priest would allow her to rest. The man’s pace began to falter, adding more strength to his thrust to push them both over the edge. A simple “Cum” left his parted lips, pushing (y/n) into the soaring waves of her orgasm.

The heavenly feeling swapped through her like the wine Jesus and his followers had poured down their throats, filling their every vein. Priest Ried fucked her through her high, allowing her to call out his name till her voice lost its strength. Only then did he give in, he pulled out of her before he imprinted himself on her behind, leaving his stain with a smirk tugging on his lips.

“You’ll never be innocent, nor shall God ever forgive you for lusting after a man made to spread His words. From now on you shall follow me, from now on you shall bow to my every command.”

Please like and reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this, come talk to me about my writing, let’s spill some tea or thirst over our favorite people. xxx

Use this link to join the taglist

#Spencer Reid smut #little-diable priest #Spencer Reid imagine

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jonismitchell · 8 months

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do you have any forever winter summer themed headers (for when i might need it)?

nope but if you send me more specifications i'd be happy to make one for you!

#yoursummersuns #asking with you

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thelasttime · 9 months

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how do i find a good summer sun forever winter header help

request one!! if you ask an editor very very nicely [and if they take requests] you could probably ask!

#asks #asking you this*#loverenthusiast

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markwatkinsreviews · 2 years

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BOOK REVIEW: GET IT ON by Jon Spurling (2022)

Canterbury-resident, Jon Spurling, has been writing about football for quite a time past now, and not just books, for magazines such as Four Four Two and When Saturday Comes.

Back in the 1970s football was mostly played on a Saturday and Jon encapsulates the decade in his latest hardback, GET IT ON, published by BITEBACK on 3 March, 2022.

Talking of writers, Patrick Barclay says,“ You always know you’re going to get a fascinating read from Spurling, but this is his most vivid book yet – sheer joy! For us old geezers it’s like being miraculously transported back to the 1970s. And for younger readers I can promise you quite an education.”

…and Henry Winter (Chief Football Writer for The Times), “A fascinating, funny and poignant stroll down memory lane of an era that shaped the modern game. The ’70s was the decade when English football went pop. It exploded. Football went from black and white to colour. Players became personalities. Football went from short back and sides to sideburns and mullets. It began with England’s squad singing ‘Back Home’, which sold 100,000 copies a day, as they headed to the World Cup and sadly continued with England staying back home when they didn’t qualify for the ’74 and ’78 World Cups. Even then, the show went on, changing football forever.”

Clearly for these two good sports, GET IT ON has more than ably described HOW THE 70’s ROCKED FOOTBALL and so who am I to argue?

Page after page (of 416 in total) brings us the Argentinian invasion of 1978 and West Bromwich Albion's “Three Degrees” or “Stylistics” - whichever disco band you prefer. Then there’s argumentative ITV World Cup Panels, Trevor Francis diving / winning header in a European Cup Final and the magic of the FA Cup with the likes of Blyth Spartans.

Soccer in the seventies was standing up, fenced in, but full of big characters and great excitement. You can read all about it!!

In fact, so good is this book as a football history of this decade, being somewhat based on original interviews with football players, managers and commentators, the text could be set in schools as a sporting version of The Canterbury Tales!

To quote Chaucer, “Great was the consequence and high the intent” and Jon Spurling has certainly achieved pass marks with GET IT ON.

Rating: 10/10

https://www.bitebackpublishing.com/books/get-it-on

Mark Watkins, Dare radio, 29 June, 2022.

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damienkqqz841 · 2 years

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Distinctive Internet marketing Strategies 60 minutes each day

As being a small business owner is difficult work. Keep in mind that, I realize. Anyone put on a great deal of caps — from human resources, income, and also advertising and marketing in order to more. Nonetheless, small company digital marketing shouldn’t be left aside since it usually is using the 10 million other items your small business seller should do every single day. Also it shouldn’t must be. As being a small business operator, the different options are time in online marketing and stay successful in case you:

Understand what you are doing.

Are great after a while management. Honestly, it will take a lot of practice along with persistence for turn out to be good at each individuals. We figured out to get proficient at digital marketing by means of plenty of errors, what came out of those was the information of marketing as well as time management techniques as being a small company owner.

I additionally learned that that doesn’t get throughout the day to perform internet marketing effectively. Here is the checklist of the I do now — as well as what it is possible to, way too, as being a small business owner — daily for an hr.

Unique Online marketing Ideas in which Don’t Consider Long. Search engine optimisation (A quarter-hour)

Search engine marketing must be a number of one's online marketing method. You wish to make certain that your entire main internet pages are generally effectively enhanced for your keywords that you might want to target. There are lots of items that that can be done to enhance your own SEO.

Initial, make use of tools such as SEMRush or perhaps Ahrefs to find the keyword phrases that you want to pay attention to. Make positive each site is actually enhanced for those search phrases using the different items below:

Meta title

Meta description

Header tag

Body content

URL

Next is finished, you would like to make sure you keep the SEO endeavours. 1 daily task you can do is always to have a website increase that (utilizing Live journal, I hope). You have to be composing original unique content focused on your clients and then for any concerns some may have. Should your consumers possess concerns, these are more than likely seeking the solution out there. Provide this for many years, and you'll build more have confidence in together.

For example, let’s say you possess a smaller clothes store. You might compose persuasive content focused on inquiries that your particular buyers usually request every single day: “What to put on During Winter,” “What Types Are Good for Elegant Dinners,” and so forth.

The objective of making content is to become there for the potential customers after they require anyone, so that it is much more likely they will work with an individual as time goes on.

Rate of conversion Marketing (10 mins)

Make sure that you make sure that you work on your conversion rate day-to-day. This could be responsibilities including transforming wording, altering the colours on the site as well as understanding the latest and finest procedures.

Most significant issues that small business owners usually find wrong is not focusing enough in CRO.

Usually do not exaggerate by using it. It is a marathon, not just a run — and become mindful that sometimes the actual content/strategies might not be a healthy on your enterprise. Nonetheless, if you do find something which would be helpful, help your site companion (which might be an individual) to make updates to your website to boost conversions.

Social websites (10 mins)

Social websites is amongst the best ways to talk with shoppers. You should have a name upon Myspace, Tweets, as well as, forever calculate, add in a different one which makes impression for your enterprise and also sector (LinkedIn, Pinterest, Instagram). Next, each day for 10 minutes, use and also post written content you have, reply to buyers, as well as follow/like other companies and also potential prospects.

A single technique that we do initially when i first commenced ended up being research hashtags for people who experienced problems with their existing suppliers on Twitting then tweet for many years. I ended up a 100-million-dollar-a-year company like a consumer coming from Facebook.

You may also routine your posts weekly to pay added time trying to find regarding potential customers or perhaps replying for you to buyers.

Paid advertising (A quarter-hour)

Discover currently working Pay per click, you should be. As well as, whether or not this doesn’t meet your needs, don’t blame AdWords. It’s certainly not AdWords’ mistake –it’s your skills. In case you are serious, listed here are precisely why most people fall short from Google adwords.

For that remainder who want to leap straight into our game plan for Pay-per-click, you want to go ahead and perform quick 15 minutes regarding optimization. We are assuming you have a fundamental expertise in Pay-per-click and the way to undertake it.

Checklist regarding 15 Minutes.

Generate one brand new Advertising Number of 12 equivalent terms to focus on. Increase the risk for phrases merely expression, actual or changed vast go with sorts.

Produce 5 brand new advertising to switch low performing advertising.

Invest 1-5 brand-new damaging keywords from low undertaking advertisements.

Pause any reduced carrying out advertisements along with advertisement organizations, along with change as you see complement the remainder of the A quarter-hour.

The idea probably will take you a lot more than Fifteen minutes to start out but, after a while, it may be achieved throughout 8-12 units along with, over annually, you will find a suggest, environmentally friendly and also cash-generating PPC device.

Critiques (Ten minutes)

Last, you'll need a great deal of reviews that are positive. That is more robust when compared with any kind of SEO/PPC strategy that you can do as being a local store. Deposit your current top five review spots, for example Google+, Yelp, Thumbtack, etc. Next privately electronic mail buyers a person has had during the past which you did a fantastic task for and order the crooks to notify the planet regarding expertise.

This particular appears basic, yet it's very efficient as well as essential.

Marketing via email (A half-hour [Bi-weekly])

Email marketing, such as testimonials, can be essential. Using a tool like Robly.com, it is possible to send emails with jasa backlink ease. Based on your current business, I would recommend to transmit email messages bi-weekly, however this can change based on which kind of organization you might be. Nonetheless, another few days I would recommend spending 30 minutes to sit down, look for a good theme, and present benefit in your previous consumers via marketing via email.

Going for a new Five percent low cost just isn't important enough. Let them have excellent content, guidance or any other things that they could really sink their enamel within and obtain benefit from.

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