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finniestoncrane · 1 year

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Your One True Nemesis

Chapter 11: also on AO3 Masterlist Here Arkham!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 1.9k i am sorry, i knew this was coming and chose not to tell anyone request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: angst, but also some cutie things!

“I’m going out.”

You turned to Edward, attention pulled briefly and without much enthusiasm from the book you were reading.

“Oh… ok, see you later.”

Returning to the pages, you managed to read a half a sentence before your brain suddenly clicked on and forced you to turn to him again.

“Wait, what?”

Stopped in his tracks as he put on a scrappy looking hoodie, of course in a deep shade of green, he looked to you blankly.

“Out. I’m going out.”

“Why?”

“Does there need to be a reason?”

You could feel your eyes narrowing as you looked at him, but you tried to remain as neutral as possible.

“Not necessarily. But it would be good to know where you were going.”

He looked as though he were considering his options, like it was a significant decision to make to divulge the information to you. And the longer he took, the more suspicious you got.

“I have to make a delivery.”

“What of?”

Eddie tossed his head back and groaned, rifling around in the messenger bag he had on his shoulder and producing a small brown parcel.

“This. It’s a… device. A favour. Just a little thing that’ll aid it’s recipient in the acquisition of information. You see, it draws its influence from mid-fifteenth century torture devices and-”

“Who is it going to?”

Irritated that you had interrupted him, Eddie tried to remain calm. It wasn’t worth it. You were already upset with him and he couldn’t be bothered with the hassle of dealing with you in an even fouler mood than the one you were in.

“Crane. Or rather, one of his henchmen. It’s a trade. I need some materials, some chemicals. Where better to get them than the old crow.”

As he spoke, Eddie was turning, adjusting his hoodie and walking towards the door.

“I could go.”

He stopped again, focusing his face to hide the irritation at the delay in his activities before turning to you.

“You?”

“I’d like the opportunity to go outside. I need some… space. Some fresh air.”

Eddie knew you were still mad at him. You were awkward and stinted, not smiling as much as you did before. Perhaps it would do you some good to get some space. Or, he quickly reframed his thoughts, it would do him some good to be without your bothersome attitude for a while. Truthfully, under normal circumstances, he would have preferred to have sent you in the first place. But he was hesitant to ask anything of you at the moment. He had to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t afraid of your reaction, or of pushing a further wedge between you both. It was just that he found it a waste of time to argue with you. That was all. Nothing else. He wasn’t worried in the slightest that you might leave. That making you do his bidding outside of the depths of his lair might be your final straw. Because he didn’t care you left. He could just train someone else. The thought made his heart sink though. And he reasoned it was likely because training someone would also be a waste of his precious time.

“Ok… either yes or no, Eddie.”

He was pulled from his thoughts by your voice, suddenly realising he was yet to say anything. And in silence, still, he removed the messenger bag and held it out in front of him. You stood up from the sofa, taking the bag from him. He took your phone and added the meet up location into the map.

“Now… the henchmen. I’m not sure which one it will be but they’re very… intense. As Jon is. Although I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

“Yeah… I know who Jon is. I’m pretty familiar with him.”

“Oh, I suppose you have a crush on him too?”

You shrugged, shifting your mouth as you tried to decide if you did or didn’t.

“Who don’t you have a crush on?”

Raising an eyebrow you looked Eddie deeply in the eyes, hurt by the spiteful remark but comforted by the fact that at this point, at least, you definitely didn’t have a crush on him. Turning quickly to avoid any further conflict, you made your way out of the sewers. And alone again, Eddie cursed himself for being unable to have a decent conversation with you.

Finally at the location, taking a longer route than you needed to in an effort to enjoy the freedom and the strangely fresh air, you took a seat on a nearby bench. After a few minutes, you lifted your arm to check your watch, suddenly bombarded by a figure who bounced up to you and dropped themselves down by your side.

“Ok, I’m not even late! And you’re checking your watch with that face on?”

You turned to who you assumed was the henchmen you were to meet. He was younger than you expected, around your age. And he didn’t look like one of Scarecrow’s men at all. You supposed it was an effort to conceal his identity as an affiliated goon, and it was actually refreshing to see a normal person when you had expected some unknown terror to arrive.

“How did you-”

“You’re in the right spot. Lucky guess. Also, you look particularly miserable which just screams ‘I work for Edward Nigma’.”

It was impossible not to giggle.

“Yeah, see… you know exactly what I mean. So, you got the… whatever it is?”

“Oh! Yes!”

Reaching into the bag you produced the brown parcel and handed it over to the stranger.

“God, you’re lucky I’m a nice guy, or nice-ish. You’re just gonna give me that without even checking I have what you came here for?”

Sweat began to form on your palms as you realised how much of a mess you were making of the exchange. In a fit of panic, you looked to his sides, trying to ascertain whether he even had with him the materials you were supposed to be collecting for Eddie.

“Relax, babe. Got it right here.”

From his pockets he produced six glass vials of a clear liquid and held them out to you. Once you had them in the messenger bag you offered him an unsure smile.

“See, told you I was a nice guy.”

Your smile warmed at his own. It was so strange and so pleasant to speak to someone who wasn’t condescending, or waiting for an opportunity to insult you. You’d almost forgotten what it was like, and you hated that it was over so soon. So you stood up hesitantly, slowly, your body unwilling to leave.

“Well, thanks. I should be going.”

“Really?”

“I don’t… I have to get back… don’t I?”

“Do you?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

He laughed, holding out his hand.

“Mark.”

You took it, shaking it as you introduced yourself.

“This stuff usually takes much longer, babe. It’s like a shitty version of the cowboys in a shoot off. No one has trust in the other side. So by my reasoning, you have plenty of time to hang out. You don’t have to though.”

Sitting back down beside him, he smiled with a sigh. Mark leaned back on the bench and put his arms outstretched along it behind him.

“You worried you’ll get into trouble or something?”

With an incredulous scoff you looked at him.

“Scared of the wrath of Nigma?”

Rolling your eyes you smiled again.

“Hardly.”

“Nah, wouldn’t have thought so, you look like you can handle yourself ok. And Nigma… he’s the kinda guy who would try and lecture himself out of a wedgie.”

To a point, you tried to stifle the laughter, but it was cathartic to get it out. And it was only more difficult to contain the cruel joy when Mark did his impression of Eddie.

“Stop that this instant. I will extend to you an offer. Rather than carry on towards your own humiliation and death, I will simply let you walk away in return for a signed statement, testifying towards my superior intelligence and conceding that I have utterly checkmated you. Now let go of my underpants. You’ll rue the day!”

“Wow, you really have him nailed down. You familiar with him?”

“I know of him. Everyone does. I don’t know how you can tolerate working for him.”

Sighing, you tried not to think of the answer to that question. You couldn’t face it at the best of times, and the last thing you wanted to do was ruin this nice moment. One of the only ones you’d had recently.

“I could ask you the same about Jonathan.”

“Fair.”

“Look, Eddie’s… ok. He’s funny, in his own way. And he can be surprisingly… normal. I admire him. I went out looking for him, to work for him.”

“Ah, so you’re kinda stupid?”

With a playful smack to his arm, you got up from the bench.

“Oh, sorry, babe. I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s ok. I really should be going now though.”

Mark was quick to stand up, staring at you as he shifted awkwardly.

“Look… you could… give me your number… if you want? It would probably be easer for us to communicate directly rather than bother the bosses… I think they’d appreciate the initiative there.”

With a smile, you agreed, taking his phone and adding your name and number into his contacts. And with a small wave, you left him, heading back to the sewers feeling renewed and happy.

The feeling didn’t last long though, because the minute you were back underground, Eddie was there to interrogate you.

“Who did they send? Did you get the goods? What took you so long? Actually, you weren’t gone long at all. Did something happen? Did you mess this up? I knew I should have gone myself.”

You interrupted his relentless questioning as you produced the vials and held them out to him.

“There.”

“Ah… I see. So you are capable of following instructions.”

Brushing past him, you made your way to the sofa and slumped down on it, arms folded over your face as Edward continued lecturing you, asking you question after question about your encounter without ever pausing to let you answer. Amidst the rambling, which your brain had managed to reduce to an irritating low hum, you heard your phone ping. You looked at the screen to see a message from an unknown number.

“Hey, it’s Mark! You can save my number now if you want. Hopefully things were all good when you got back to Nigma’s hovel. I bet he’s lecturing you right now as we speak. Good luck!”

The way Mark seemed to know Eddie better than you even did, had you giggling as you stared at the screen.

“Something funny?”

Edward had stopped lecturing and had moved closer to you, standing at the end of the couch and looking down at you.

“Just a message from someone.”

“A new friend?”

“Something like that. I’m going to make a start on dinner.”

You walked away from Eddie, clutching your phone and putting it back into your pocket as you made your way to the fridge. You could feel Eddie’s eyes boring into your back, no doubt pissed off at the way you were fraternising with the enemy. You couldn’t have imagined that he was jealous though, and even he was having a hard time admitting it.

#finnie writes #arkham riddler #arkham edward nigma #riddler x reader #arkhamverse riddler #the riddler #arkhamverse #riddler #the riddler imagine #riddler smut #the riddler fanfic #riddler fanfic #riddler x you #edward nigma x reader #edward nigma #arkham!riddler #the riddler fanfiction #arkham!verse #finnie yotn

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silverdune · 5 months

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..humbug | part three: the christmas of hereafter

"let me ask this: what do you want?"

minors dni. ageless blogs dni. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked.

<- previous | ..humbug masterlist | next ->

character(s): joshua hong as the ghost of christmas future (ft. you as scrooge, jeon wonwoo as your ex, choi seungcheol, yoon jeonghan)

tags: portals, looking into the future, angst, hopefulness, hurt/comfort, alternate universe future, reader has emotions, banter, explicit language

word count: 2.1k

summary: joshua takes you on the last of the three journeys: christmas, 2024. he shows you what it could be like.. if you don't change something now.

a/n: this is up like.. two days later than i wanted it to be sjdjd so sorry! the epilogue should be up pretty soon.. i hope :') anyways, enjoy!

“..N? N? Are you alright?”

You blink a few times, seeing nothing but a blur above you. Everything hurts and you're struggling to open your mouth to speak for a time. It's hard to place exactly where those words came from, but gradually, you come back around and open your eyes.

“Ugh..” You wince as you carefully sit up. It takes no time to work out that you fell on the floor upon your return back to the real world.

“Much less agonising, well done, Jeonghan,” teases Joshua, patting a vexed Jeonghan on the back with a smug grin on his face.

“Shut up, you,” Jeonghan rebuffs, before holding his hand out to help you off the ground. “Please accept my sincerest apologies, I have no idea what happened..” You mutter a thank you as you find your feet again.

Seungcheol speaks up, “I could tell you what happened. You flicked your wrist instead of gently bringing them back to the real world in the same way you left!”

Jeonghan pauses. “Oh, drat! I am so sorry! You know, I thought something felt off about this return..”

“So much for smooth sailing..” mumbles Joshua to Seungcheol.

“Will you stop?” Jeonghan fires back.

Joshua lifts his arms, “Hey, I didn't say anything..” He can't hide a smirk and Jeonghan is fighting every urge to shove him to the floor. With a final scowl, he turns back to you, assuring you're okay.

“Thanks, I promise I’m fine. Just a bit of a rough landing, that's all.” You look back at the box still sitting neatly on the floor. The lid has even been replaced. You pick it up and hear some rattling inside; the gift is back in the box. “Wow..” You place it just underneath the tree, exactly where it was before, then spin back around to face the three ghosts.

Joshua's eyes light up. “My turn!”

“Oh, I bet you were waiting for this, huh..” says Jeonghan, folding his arms.

“Of course I was!” answers Joshua, unaffected by the mockery in Jeonghan's tone. Jeonghan rolls his eyes at Seungcheol, who does nothing but shrug his shoulders. He doesn't like to get in between them.

“Wait-” you stutter out, holding up a hand. Everything has come rushing back to you and you find yourself collapsing onto the nearest sofa. “I need a minute.”

Joshua halts, one foot in mid-air, before placing it back on the ground. “Oh.. No worries, take your time,” he says, putting on a huge grin.

You rest your head in your hand; every single part of it is drumming against your palm. These journeys have both gone by in a flash and have lasted a century at the same time. The words that came out of Wonwoo’s mouth seem permanently drilled there to stay forever.

Seeing your expression, Joshua frowns and takes a seat beside you on the sofa. “While Jeonghan’s section is not my jurisdiction, I understand you’ve been told a great deal about how Wonwoo feels at this current moment.” You nod, remaining silent. “I can only hope that the journey I’ll take you on will provide the courage you need.”

That comment makes you glance up. “Courage? To do what?” You have zero comprehension of anything Joshua could potentially show you that could instil an emotion any different from what the previous two have, less of all courage.

Seungcheol clears his throat to deliberately grab Joshua’s attention. “Remember the rules, you are not to reveal anything that could sway the client’s heart one way or another.”

Jeonghan folds his arms and murmurs, “Quite literally rule one, what is he doing..?”

Joshua sighs, “This is not to sway the heart, but to merely be encouraging. N has been through quite the ringer experiencing what you two have shown them. The least I can do is try and pep them up before the last one.”

Your head is so remarkably groggy that it all goes in one ear and out the other. “Sure, just..” You stand up, slightly off-balance. “Let’s just get this over with.” Above all else, so you can put this whole debacle to bed and go to bed.

Joshua nods once with conviction. “Okay.” He, too, stands. “Could you please do me a favour, N?” You hum. “Could you please close your bedroom door.”

“Uh.. Okay?” You do as instructed then stand to the side. “Now what?”

“Stand back, please.” Joshua lifts his hand and points two fingers at the top of the door while you take a step back. He brings the hand down swiftly, causing a sharp whooshing sound. “Ah. Perfect.”

You stare at the door with your brows knitted. “Wait a minute-” You gesture towards it with your thumb. “Did you just-”

“Portal behind the door?” Jeonghan pipes up. “Yes.”

Your jaw drops and you put a good amount of distance between yourself and the door. “Holy sh-”

“I assure you it is entirely part of the process,” says Joshua. “Now,” he walks up to the door and grasps the handle, “please come and stand just here.” He indicates exactly where you should stand; you nervously tip-toe towards it, newly frightened of what’s going to happen and what’s going to be behind your own bedroom door. Joshua smiles with pride. “Excellent. Now.. Step through this door, if you wish to take a peek into your future..”

You pick up on how all three of them have had some defining introductory statement to the journey they would be taking you on. The theatrics are not lost on you but you keep that comment to yourself.

With a deep breath, you nod a few times. Joshua bows his head, then turns the handle, opening the door away from him to reveal smoke engulfing your bedroom.

Your hands fly to your mouth and a curt squeal escapes you.

“Do not worry, your bedroom is fine.” He holds out his hand. “Everything will be okay.”

Slowly, your hands fall to your side. You gulp and take one step forward, then two, then three. Somehow this is scarier than going into the box or even entering through the mirror. Gently, you take Joshua’s hand, and he leads you into the smoke.

Seungcheol sighs as the door closes behind you both. “What are we going to do with him?”

“Not much,” Jeonghan replies, “he will inevitably fight back.”

Seungcheol can’t help but agree with that.

When you open your eyes, the first thing that comes to mind is how this is the polar opposite of Seungcheol’s trip.

The area that surrounds you is covered in smoke, and you can only see a few metres in front of your face.

Joshua moves to stand beside you. “Pleased to see you again.” His voice has a distinct echo, and sounds the furthest away of the three. Your thoughts piece together on the direct correlation between the three ghosts and how they have depicted their outlook to you.

Seungcheol: shrouded in a wistful light, a faded haze that zeroed in on what you missed the most.

Jeonghan: feet firmly within the world you’re currently in, experiencing it just as anyone else would.

Joshua: unable to show you much more than the barest minimum, for fear of giving away too much.

You realise in that moment just how much power you hold in being put through such an experience. Any future scenario Joshua could show you will have a massive impact on how you perceive the now. It’s striking.

Joshua rests a hand on your shoulder. “Glance ahead, and I will show you one potential future.”

You do as requested, and gradually see a clear image form before you. It’s a little hard to make out initially, but after some time, it’s unmistakable.

It’s Christmas, again. There is a faint stretch of light and you can see snow falling. One person is standing outside a house, glancing up at the lights before sighing heavily.

You speak before you can think. “Wonwoo.” The name leaves you matter-of-factly.

“Yes.” Joshua says no more, allowing you to put the puzzle together yourself.

“This is 2024. It would’ve been two years since we broke it off..” That fact makes your stomach turn. How could time pass by that quickly?

“Yes. And what do you notice?” asks Joshua.

The answer was there before the image even fully materialised. “I’m not there.”

“..While I do not know the full ins and outs of what either Seungcheol or Jeonghan showed you, I do know this: you have harboured many feelings towards him, and those feelings still persist. Everything that has occurred in both your past and present have shaped this potential future. A future where.. neither of you have even talked about it.”

You don’t look away, and instead stare intently at the picture before you. It feels so stagnant; nothing has changed, nothing feels lighter, there’s no sense of closure. Much like Joshua has said, this is not a future where you’ve moved on without each other. It’s a future where you still haven’t even moved.

It seems so obvious, and yet you had your emotions tied up to the point it needed to be spelled out this way. You shake your head and chuckle despondently.

Joshua takes that as a sign to press on. He wraps the old image in smoke then reveals the next one.

This time, you see yourself.

It’s still the holidays, still 2024, and you are still as heavy-hearted as ever. You even detect some shades of bitterness in your attitude that weren’t there before.

In a probable future, you yourself have grown resentful due to extended lack of communication.

The most frustrating thing about all of this is that, by this time next year, you would recognise that had you spoken sooner, all of this would be avoided.

That’s when you realise: all of this can be avoided.

This doesn’t need to be the future you and Wonwoo have. You can change all of this, right now. You can take that first step, and you can alter the course of the next year of both of your lives.

Why am I so scared?

Joshua looks on as you watch yourself go about what you suppose would still be your daily routine. It seems you’d still be working at the same store, still working that stressful Christmas eve shift, and more than any year prior these emotions would be exacerbated by the stone on your back that you’ve been carrying all this time.

Joshua could tell you it doesn’t need to be this way, but he knows you’re aware already.

He takes the image away, leaving you both surrounded by smoke.

It’s the first time you’ve taken a breath since you got here.

“I don’t even know how to make the first move. I guess..” It takes a lot for you to admit. “I guess.. somewhere in the back of my mind, I’ve just been constantly waiting on him. I’ve been stubborn, and not said anything, hoping he would get the hint to come to me first. I suppose I thought, you know, he was the one that said anything in the first place so he had to be the one to continue the conversation..”

“I don’t think anyone would necessarily blame you for feeling that way. When the proverbial ball leaves your court, you are left unable to determine whether or not you should say something,” says Joshua. “Moreover, if you sense rejection or the cold shoulder from the other party, you are even less likely to want to take that step.”

“But at the end of the day, it has to come from both sides. I was feeling hurt, I should have made that clear to him. I was feeling ignored, I should have communicated that to him..” You exhale. “Things would have been cleared up much sooner. Even if we didn’t get back together, we wouldn’t have it looming over our heads after all this time.”

Joshua saunters over to you. “Let me ask this: what do you want?”

You stare at him. “What do I want? I want him back! I love him, he is so very important to me, it upsets me that after three years we just became strangers, like that!” You click your fingers for emphasis. “I don’t want this,” you vaguely gesture towards the smoke, indicating the images you’ve seen, “I don’t want that to be my future, his future, our future.. At this point..” Your heart grows tight in your chest. “I don’t care if we’re never in a relationship again. I just want him back in my life. The Wonwoo I know, the Wonwoo I became friends with before we even got into a relationship!” You brace your hands on your thighs, needing a breather after that avalanche. “I just want to talk to him again..”

Joshua almost beams. “I cannot contain my pride in you.”

“Wh-”

Joshua takes your hand as the smoke overrides all senses. A whirlpool sucks you in and in seconds flat, you are back in your living room with your bedroom door closed behind you.

“See, Jeonghan?” Joshua can’t help but quip. “That is how you do smooth sailing.”

taglist: @minhui896

× tristeetconfus (ave). do not repost. ×

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #joshua scenarios #joshua imagines #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #words.(ave)#fic: humbug

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kmp-modernfurniture · 10 months

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Baroque elements from 18th century #interiordesign in subtle ways that challenge the initial appearance of a mid-century modern interior.

Indeed, the small rounded #sofas, squiggly coffee table, the asymmetric sculptures and arched hallways give off the impression of a contemporary home that emanates softness and comfort.

Intertwined with these modern features we also observe the distinguishing elements of a more classical design. For example, placed directly above the sleek chandelier stands a Rococo style wall moulding with a matching pattern on the corners of each room.

The same design is visible in the white floor to ceiling console mirror, the contrasting black bureau placed strategically against the white walls, and the elegant presence of marble in countertops and in the kitchen backsplash.

Adding an extra twist to this mixture of styles, the #design also incorporates the organic and natural presence of wood through matching furniture, wall panels, and frames.

This way, wood creates a balance between past and present with its timeless quality.

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pedropascalito · 2 years

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Marcus might move a little fast, but his apartment is chef’s kiss. I’d be into it. Bring it on, smooth talking, love bombing, man!

I really dig his mid-century tables. It’s one of my favorite design aesthetics, so I’d immediately feel comfortable here.

I also love the lamps. I’d own that lamp on the side table, no question. But I do wonder how often he’s hit his head on the lamp over the sofa?

Books! Subtle wall lighting! Wooden art accents! A desk in the living room! Lots of windows! Curtains with liners! (Curtains with liners = adult.) It’s like Marcus built a sex trap just for me.

The big gray sofa is wonderful, big enough for two people to comfortably cuddle at night while watching TV or reading. Sigh. (I also have a gray sofa; call me, Marcus!)

The yellow throw blanket is a wonderful pop of color without being too bright. A+ cuddle accouterment.

I owned these exact button pillows. The flower pillow surprises me. He doesn’t seem like the embroidered flower type.

His mugs match the living room.

If I owned this coffee table, I’d constantly be searching for things that fell between the slats.

I love the open magazine; I wonder what magazines he reads? Imma say Smithsonian or Domino. (I love both of these magazines.)

He keeps more magazines in the side table. He’s a reader. You love to see it.

I’m surprised he allows shoes in the living room. Definitely seems like a ‘leave your shoes at the back door’ type.

Of course, he has plenty of art hanging in his apartment. It seems his tastes run toward modern. The FBI must pay their art detectives pretty well.

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #home #luring me in

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mahashankh · 5 months

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50 Most Popular Types of Interior Design Styles- 02

Bridging Timelines: A Guide to Contemporary Classic Interior Design

Contemporary classic interior design is a harmonious blend of the old and the new, where timeless elegance meets modern sensibility. It's about creating spaces that feel both sophisticated and fresh, drawing inspiration from classic silhouettes and materials while incorporating contemporary elements for a dynamic and inviting atmosphere. Bridging Timelines: A Guide to Contemporary Classic Interior Design Shabby Chic Charm: Creating a Home Steeped in Nostalgia and Romance Embracing the Shadows: A Guide to Gothic Interior Design Art Nouveau: Nature's Symphony in Design Step into the Future: A Guide to High-Tech Interior Design Step into the Spotlight: A Guide to Hollywood Regency Interior Design Ahoy, Mateys! Dive into the Charm of Nautical Interior Design Saddle Up for Style: A Guide to Southwestern Interior Design Step Back in Time: A Guide to Victorian Interior Design Immerse Your Senses: A Guide to Moroccan Interior Design Finding Your Inner Peace: A Guide to Asian Zen Interior Design Groovy Grab Bag: A Deep Dive into Retro Interior Design Step into a Storybook: A Guide to Cottage Interior Design Breathe in the Mediterranean: A Guide to Tuscan Interior Design Crossing Borders, Crossing Styles: A Dive into Cultural Fusion Interior Design Skyscraper Chic: A Guide to Urban Modern Interior Design Key Characteristics of Contemporary Classic: - Neutral Color Palette with Accents: A foundation of warm or cool neutrals, like grays, beiges, or taupes, provides a timeless backdrop. Pops of color can be introduced through artwork, accent pillows, or upholstery for a touch of personality. - Clean Lines with Textural Layers: Clean lines and uncluttered surfaces define the contemporary aspect, while rich textures like velvet, linen, or wool add warmth and visual interest. - Classic Furniture with Modern Twists: Traditional furniture silhouettes, like wingback chairs or Chesterfield sofas, are reinterpreted with modern materials or updated proportions for a fresh take. - Statement Lighting: Lighting plays a crucial role in setting the mood. Opt for statement chandeliers or sculptural sconces for a touch of glamour, or sleek pendants for a more modern feel. - Artful Mix of Old and New: Don't be afraid to mix antique pieces with contemporary artwork or modern photography. This juxtaposition creates a dynamic and personalized space. Substyles of Contemporary Classic: - Mid-Century Modern: Think clean lines, pops of color, and iconic furniture pieces like Eames chairs or Noguchi coffee tables. - Scandinavian Modern: Embrace natural materials, light woods, and cozy textures for a warm and inviting take on contemporary classic. - Art Deco: Channel the glamour of the roaring twenties with geometric patterns, metallic accents, and bold statement pieces. Designing Your Contemporary Classic Space: - Start with a neutral base: Establish a foundation of neutral colors on your walls and floors to create a sense of calm and spaciousness. - Choose furniture with clean lines and timeless silhouettes: Invest in quality pieces that will last for years to come. - Layer textures and patterns: Add visual interest with throws, pillows, and rugs in a variety of textures and patterns. - Don't be afraid to mix metals: Combining different metal finishes, like gold and silver, can add depth and personality to your space. - Incorporate personal touches: Add artwork, photographs, or other meaningful objects that reflect your personality and interests. Remember: Contemporary classic is all about balance. Don't be afraid to experiment and find what works for you. The key is to create a space that feels both beautiful and comfortable, a reflection of your own unique style. Additional Tips: - Focus on quality over quantity: Invest in fewer, but better-made pieces that will stand the test of time. - Embrace natural light: Let natural light flood your space whenever possible. It will brighten your interiors and create a sense of airiness. - Accessorize thoughtfully: Don't overclutter your surfaces. Choose a few statement pieces that complement your overall design. - Don't be afraid to break the rules: Contemporary classic is a flexible style. There are no hard and fast rules, so have fun and experiment! By embracing the principles of contemporary classic interior design, you can create a home that is both stylish and timeless, a space that reflects your personal taste and offers a haven of comfort and beauty.

Shabby Chic Charm: Creating a Home Steeped in Nostalgia and Romance

Shabby chic, a design style that blends vintage charm with a touch of elegance, has captured hearts for its ability to infuse spaces with a sense of cozy nostalgia and romantic tranquility. Imagine peeling paint revealing hints of a bygone era, furniture whispering tales of generations past, and soft hues setting the stage for a relaxed and inviting atmosphere. That's the essence of shabby chic, a style that celebrates imperfection and embraces the beauty of timeworn treasures. Key Elements of Shabby Chic: - Distressed Furniture and Furnishings: The heart of shabby chic lies in furniture and furnishings that bear the marks of time. Think chipped paint, worn edges, and faded fabrics. These imperfections tell stories and add character to your space. - Soft Color Palette: A calming palette of whites, creams, and pastels dominates the shabby chic scene. These light and airy colors create a sense of spaciousness and serenity, allowing the distressed details to truly shine. - Floral Prints and Romantic Touches: Shabby chic loves florals! Whether it's on wallpaper, upholstery, or throw pillows, floral patterns add a touch of sweetness and femininity to the space. Lace, ruffles, and other romantic elements further enhance the charm. - Vintage Accents and Collectibles: Shabby chic thrives on the old and the loved. Antique finds, flea market treasures, and family heirlooms add a layer of personal history and unique character to your space. Don't be afraid to display them with pride! - Natural Light and Texture: Shabby chic spaces bask in the glow of natural light. Large windows and sheer curtains invite the sunlight in, while natural textures like wood, wicker, and linen add warmth and depth. Bringing Shabby Chic Home: Ready to infuse your own space with shabby chic charm? Here are some tips: - Start small: Don't try to overhaul your entire home at once. Begin by incorporating a few key elements, like a distressed dresser or a vintage floral rug. - Shop vintage and DIY: Flea markets, antique stores, and even your grandma's attic can be treasure troves for shabby chic finds. Don't be afraid to upcycle or refinish pieces to add your own personal touch. - Layer and mix textures: Shabby chic thrives on layers and textures. Combine soft linens with distressed wood, lace with velvet, and florals with stripes. The key is to create a sense of visual interest without feeling cluttered. - Let the light in: Maximize natural light to create a bright and airy atmosphere. Sheer curtains and light-colored walls will keep the space feeling open and inviting. - Most importantly, have fun! Shabby chic is all about creating a space that reflects your personality and makes you feel good. Don't be afraid to experiment and express yourself through your decor. Remember, shabby chic isn't about perfection; it's about celebrating the beauty of imperfection. So embrace the worn edges, the faded colors, and the quirky finds that tell a story. With a little creativity and a touch of nostalgia, you can create a home that feels both charming and comfortable, a haven where time seems to slow down and everyday moments feel imbued with a touch of magic. Beyond the Basics: While the core principles of shabby chic remain constant, there are endless ways to personalize the style. Here are a few substyles to consider: - French Country Shabby Chic: Think toile fabrics, lavender hues, and vintage French finds for a touch of rustic elegance. - Coastal Shabby Chic: Bring the beach vibes home with weathered wood, pastel blues and greens, and nautical accents. - Industrial Shabby Chic: Add an edgy touch with distressed metals, exposed brick walls, and salvaged industrial pieces. No matter your taste, there's a shabby chic variation that's sure to speak to your soul. So open your doors to the past, embrace the beauty of imperfection, and let the shabby chic charm work its magic on your home.

Embracing the Shadows: A Guide to Gothic Interior Design

Gothic Interior Design Step into a world of dramatic contrasts, rich textures, and haunting beauty. Gothic interior design isn't for the faint of heart; it's a bold statement, a symphony of darkness and light that evokes mystery and grandeur. Dark Majesty: Foundations of Gothic Design Gothic design draws inspiration from medieval architecture and the Romantic era, weaving together elements of drama, theatricality, and a touch of the macabre. Imagine soaring ceilings punctuated by pointed arches, ornately carved furniture casting long shadows in flickering candlelight, and rich tapestries whispering tales of knights and forgotten empires. Key Elements of Gothic Interior Design: - Rich Color Palettes: Deep, jewel tones like emerald green, burgundy, and sapphire set the stage for a dramatic atmosphere. Accents of silver, gold, and bronze add a touch of luxury. - Dramatic Architectural Details: High ceilings with exposed beams, pointed arches, and stained glass windows create a sense of grandeur and mystery. Gargoyles or other sculptural elements can add a touch of the macabre. - Heavy Furniture and Fabrics: Gothic furniture features bold silhouettes and intricate carvings. Think four-poster beds, velvet armchairs, and chests decorated with ironwork. Fabrics are typically opulent, with damask, velvet, and brocade lending a sense of luxury and texture. - Moody Lighting: Candlelight and strategically placed lamps create a sense of intimacy and mystery. Chandeliers and sconces with wrought iron or crystal accents add a touch of drama. - Antiques and Curiosities: Gothic spaces love a touch of the past. Display antique weapons, vintage books, or intriguing artwork to tell a story and add a sense of timelessness. Substyles of Gothic Design: - Medieval Gothic: Think heavy oak furniture, tapestries, and stained glass windows depicting religious scenes. This style captures the essence of medieval castles and cathedrals. - Victorian Gothic: A more ornate and romantic take on Gothic, featuring dark wood furniture with intricate carvings, floral patterns, and velvet upholstery. - Modern Gothic: This contemporary interpretation incorporates sleek lines and modern materials with traditional Gothic elements like dark colors, dramatic lighting, and statement pieces. Creating Your Own Gothic Haven: Bringing a touch of Gothic charm to your home doesn't require a complete overhaul. Start small by incorporating key elements: - Paint an accent wall in a deep, dramatic color. - Add a statement piece like a four-poster bed or a velvet armchair. - Display vintage photos or artwork with a Gothic theme. - Hang tapestries or heavy curtains to create a sense of drama. - Invest in candles and strategically placed lamps for moody lighting. Remember, Gothic design is all about personal expression. Don't be afraid to mix and match styles and eras to create a space that reflects your own unique personality and sense of style. Beyond the Basics: - Play with texture: Combine smooth velvet with rough stone, or wood with metal, to create visual interest. - Don't shy away from the macabre: A touch of skulls, gargoyles, or other haunting elements can add an intriguing touch. - Balance the darkness with light: While Gothic design embraces darkness, it's important to have areas of light for balance. Natural light through stained glass windows can be particularly beautiful. - Most importantly, have fun! Gothic design is about creating a space that feels unique and inspiring to you. Embrace the mystery and drama, and let your imagination run wild. Gothic interior design is a journey into the realm of the extraordinary, a celebration of darkness and beauty in equal measure. So, open the door to your inner goth, embrace the shadows, and create a space that is both captivating and unforgettable.

Art Nouveau: Nature's Symphony in Design

Art Nouveau: Nature's Symphony in Design Step into a realm where nature's curves intertwine with elegant forms, where light dances across shimmering surfaces, and every detail whispers a story of artistry. This is the world of Art Nouveau, a design movement that swept across Europe and America in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, leaving behind a legacy of breathtaking beauty and enduring style. Blooming from the Ashes of Tradition: Born in a time of artistic and industrial upheaval, Art Nouveau rejected the rigid formality of Victorian design and embraced the organic flow of nature. It was a rebellion against the machine, a celebration of hand-crafted artistry, and a symphony of sinuous lines, floral motifs, and vibrant colors. Key Elements of Art Nouveau Design: - Organic Lines and Forms: Gone are the straight lines and sharp corners. Art Nouveau embraces the sinuous curves of flowers, vines, and waves, weaving them into furniture, architecture, and decorative elements. - The Language of Nature: Floral motifs reign supreme, blooming across walls, furniture, and even light fixtures. Dragonflies, butterflies, and other creatures from the natural world add a touch of whimsy and movement. - Rich Materials and Textures: Glass, stained and vibrant, takes center stage, capturing and refracting light in a kaleidoscope of colors. Natural materials like wood, stone, and wrought iron add warmth and depth to the spaces. - Whimsical Touches and Artistic Expression: Art Nouveau is a canvas for imagination. Decorative elements like stained glass windows, mosaics, and sculptures become integral parts of the design, telling stories and adding unique character. - A Unified Symphony: From architecture to furniture to the smallest detail, Art Nouveau strives for a sense of cohesion. Every element flows together, creating a harmonious and immersive experience. Substyles of Art Nouveau: - French Art Nouveau: Characterized by its elegance and floral motifs, often seen in the works of Emile Gallé and Eugène Grasset. - Belgian Art Nouveau: More flamboyant and geometric, as exemplified by the bold architectural creations of Victor Horta. - British Art Nouveau: Known for its emphasis on craftsmanship and natural materials, seen in the designs of Charles Rennie Mackintosh. Bringing Art Nouveau Home: While Art Nouveau's heyday may have passed, its captivating spirit can still be incorporated into modern homes. Here are some ways to add a touch of its magic: - Embrace floral patterns: Wallpaper, upholstery, or even throw pillows can bring a touch of nature's vibrancy to your space. - Let the light flow: Stained glass panels or window hangings can add color and create a mesmerizing interplay of light and shadow. - Choose furniture with curves: Look for pieces with flowing lines and organic shapes to capture the essence of the movement. - Incorporate art and decorative elements: Sculptures, mosaics, or even vintage Art Nouveau posters can add a touch of artistic flair. - Don't be afraid to mix and match: Art Nouveau thrives on individuality. Combine elements from different substyles or eras to create a space that reflects your unique personality. Beyond the Basics: - Play with colors: Jewel tones like emerald green, sapphire blue, and deep burgundy create a dramatic yet elegant backdrop. - Incorporate natural materials: Wood, stone, and metal add warmth and texture to the space, grounding the artistic elements. - Don't forget the details: Light fixtures, door handles, and even cabinet knobs can be chosen to echo the organic forms and floral motifs of the style. - Most importantly, have fun! Art Nouveau is about celebrating life, nature, and artistic expression. Let your creativity flow and embrace the joy of creating a space that feels both beautiful and personal. Art Nouveau's legacy goes beyond aesthetics. It reminds us of the beauty and inspiration found in nature, the power of artistic expression, and the importance of creating spaces that nourish our souls. So, open your doors to the symphony of nature, let your imagination take flight, and experience the enduring magic of Art Nouveau in your own home.

Step into the Future: A Guide to High-Tech Interior Design

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simmillercc · 6 months

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SIMS 4 - WINTER HOLIDAY COLLECTION - BASE GAME

"Sleighbells ring, are you listenin'?"

For those snowy times, for the winter holiday times, or just because you like the aesthetic, grab this set and get to decorating!

The rugs and the paintings both use the same 11 images, so mixing and matching is easy!

And, this set is meant to match two other projects of mine, the Hipster Hugger Sofa Redefined and The Thinker Living Chair Retextured and Unlocked.

ITEMS AND INFO:

PAINTINGS

11 Swatches

COST: 140

LOCATION: Decor>Paintings and Posters

STYLES: Basics, Boho, Contemporary, Cute, Farmhouse, French Country, Holidays, Luxe, Mission, Modern, Shabby, Shotgun, Storybook, Suburban Contemporary, Vintage

AMBIENCE: Happy +2

RUGS 3X2

11 Swatches

COST: 140

LOCATION: Decor>Rugs

STYLES: Basics, Boho, Contemporary, Cute, Farmhouse, French Country, Holidays, Luxe, Mission, Modern, Shabby, Shotgun, Storybook, Suburban Contemporary, Vintage

AMBIENCE: Happy +1

PILLOWS - 2 SETS - USE BB.MOVEOBJECTS ON

18 Swatches in bold traditional colours which contains the mesh, 20 Swatches in light recolours

COST: 25

LOCATION: Comfort>Sofas, Decor>Misc

FUNCTION: Energy, Talk to Objects

STYLES: Basics, Boho, Contemporary, Cute, Farmhouse, French Country, Garden, Holidays, Island, Luxe, Mid Century, Mission, Modern, Queen Anne, Shabby, Shotgun, Storybook, Suburban Contemporary, Vintage

AMBIENCE: Comfort +1

POLYGONS:

LOD0 442 - SHADOW LOD0 440

LOD1 295 - SHADOW LOD0 293

NOTE: These pillows function as a sofa, so they provide extra comfort when your sim is seated, and that is why it's necessary to use bb.moveobjects on :)

This set was previously available elsewhere, however they are no longer at the original site, and there have been some changes to the packages and mesh, so even if you have the old set, I encourage you to download this new version. CF is the only place where the project will be maintained. Thank you 🎀

DOWNLOAD FREE HERE

#ts4 paintings #ts4 rugs #ts4 winter #ts4 pillows #sims 4 paintings #sims 4 rugs #sims 4 winter #sims 4 pillows #s4 paintings #s4 rugs #s4 winter #s4 pillows #curseforge #simblr

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phantomato · 1 year

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2022 Year-End

rules:

post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular),

your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year,

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year,

your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year,

and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year.

Thanks for the tag, @duplicitywrites! @yletylyf, do this with me. 💖

Five works

His Hair, Full of Blooms Tom Jr./Tom Sr.

I was terrified to write this and more terrified not to. Some of my best prose.

Proximity Tom/Aberforth

My new ship tag of the year. Abe snuck into my heart in how he connected to Tom, and I’ll always see them as friends, going forward.

Self-Worship Voldemort self-cest

I think the pining and the language came out beautifully in this.

Sieidi Voldemort/Nott Sr.

This was a light year for Nottmort, and when I returned to it after six months off, I wrote the type of romance that is closest to my heart. It was extremely disappointing to publish, but I am glad that I wrote it.

Widow’s Weeds Walburga/Minerva

I wanted to write this for an entire year before I got around to it. Walburga Black is one of my favorite characters in HP and a font of grief, which is where I’m happiest working.

Four WIPS

I’m not great at maintaining multiple WIPs. Stretching the definitions a bit for this…

Decline pt. 2 - Nottmort, a new chapter for a story I’d meant to be finished

“Why have you come to see me?”

“I missed you,” Voldemort answered, simply, because it was the truth.

“Is that a new state of being?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I have missed you, and I wanted to see you.” He wanted more than to see Thoros. Backlit slightly by soft afternoon sunlight, Thoros’ mid-brown hair glowed bronze at the edges. Voldemort wanted badly to reach over the desk and join their hands, just to hold them; he wanted to pull Thoros to that ridiculous leather sofa—who ever sat in it, anyway?—and kiss him a little, then a lot. They could stop there, even if Voldemort would inevitably want more, if only he could hold Thoros’ face in his hands and kiss him until the sun went down and rose again.

MDN - I can’t reveal too much about this until after the exchange is over, but boy golly does it haunt my thoughts.

George laughed. His pale chest heaved with it, straining up towards me with each of his delighted breaths. I could see what the other men could not—for all of the frippery and lace trimming the neck of his bodice, suggesting a girlish bosom, he was completely flat. The low, square neckline cut across his skin, pressing in just enough to imply soft flesh which was absent. His chest served as no more than a place to rest one’s palm, if one did not mind that it would be empty.

RS - Nottmort with many side friendships, though it likely needs a plot to bear its projected weight. Whether this happens is up in the air.

“I’m contemplating a career change,” you tell Horace, understating enough for this century and the next. “I’ve recently found that my priorities in life have shifted, and I’m at a loss of… precisely what to do with myself. I have the luxury of time to consider my choice,” so long as you’re careful with money and you can gracefully exit yourself from the whole Death-Eating business, “but I’m not sure where to start.”

You breathe in. You’ve admitted to uncertainty. You breathe out. The world has not collapsed around you.

Horace pats his chest pocket for something to do, and then the tea is done steeping, so he takes a minute to fill your cups, to dose yours with a bit of milk and as much sugar as you’re comfortable asking. “Well, Tom,” he says, “I’m afraid that I don’t know how to characterize your current line of work. That does impede the sort of advice I can provide.” He’s very good at not tripping over his own words, and his mustache trembles only a bit, over ‘work.’ Poor Horace.

AC - Another gift fic. My consumption of English public school media is at an all-time high.

“Hand-delivery for you, only I didn’t think you’d want to actually touch the likes of me.” Guy tilted his head to look down; there was a distinct satisfaction in being taller than Fowler, for moments like these, when he was mostly certain Fowler wouldn’t be brutish enough to hit him. “Or perhaps you would enjoy it, if it were your cane.”

Three Improvements

I’ve improved my descriptions of setting and character. No more blank white rooms for me.

I think my period pastiche is getting pretty darn good.

Curating my fandom spaces. This one is a continual effort, but I am working to value my own happiness more.

Two Resolutions

Work on plotting. I’m not a plot-driven writer, but I would like to have the tool in my toolkit—right now, plots are a fluke rather than an intentional choice. I could do more here, and I think practicing with something like e.g. casefic would give me more options. Or, if I truly hate it, at least I’ve faced that head-on.

Use more metaphors. To go alongside the description improvement, above: fine-tune when a metaphor would be better than a physical description, and then create them.

One Line

I don’t think of my writing in terms of singular lines. If I did, I might have better summaries.

#tag game #ask game #year in review

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hostilecityshowdown · 1 year

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[ previous ] ♡ [ ao3 ]

Heartbreak Hotel: Put your loving hand out chapter four

18+ Exclusively.

spinoff of mango’s heartbreak hotel au

as always, co-written and edited by @1-2-3kid. special thanks to @razor-ramons-thighs for being my emotional support punk and @bigzaddycool for rekindling my need to write diesel and finish this fic up

content warnings on AO3! i highly advise checking them out

Pages flew as the registry book struck the gaudy floral carpet, the rings of the binder springing open. A novelty mug full of pens followed and bounced, rolled, came to a stop against the wood paneling of the front desk, pens embossed in hearts scattered amongst red and pink matchbooks. There was a display case mounted in the desk, full of souvenirs littered in broken glass and the shattered remains of a flowerpot. Crushed rose petals and baby’s breath obscured postcards of the hotel’s sweeping, Mid-Century exterior. Even from a distance, Diesel could tell the postcards depicted a respectable resort, nestled comfortably amongst looming aspens and far-away mountains. This confused him for reasons he didn’t understand. For this brief moment, Diesel was alone with the hotel.

His boots were sinking into the carpet, so deep he imagined it continuing to the planet’s core. Above him hung a massive chandelier of brassy gold, candelabras draped in glittering crystals and pearls. Velvet, lace-trimmed plush hearts hung from the chandelier, only inches above his head yet miles above; despite the hotel's vaulted ceiling, Diesel was lucky he could stand up straight. He sunk into the carpet beneath him a little more, feeling the space above his head widen. The only light filtered in through the massive, floor to ceiling windows, despite the apparent pitch darkness outside. He was freezing. It was snowing and it was summer, and the air was still but everything was moving.

Diesel blinked, the red haze easing.

Everything was moving. Shawn had slid across the front desk, chased from behind it by a figure much broader than him and nearly as fast. That was when things fell- but when was that? Just now, minutes ago, years? A fine layer of dust settled on everything, including Diesel, but none kicked up as Shawn sprinted across the lobby, footfalls muffled by the impossibly hungry carpet. All sound was devoured by the wall upholstery of pink, painted silk. Diesel somehow knew there was a mirror wall behind him but, with just as much certainty, knew it would be a mistake to look at it. Do not look at the mirror wall. Do not look at the mirror. Don’t look at the-

Still pursued, Shawn vaulted over the back of a booth in the shape of a horseshoe so tight it was nearly a full circle. Flowering plants fell without making a sound or visible impact, as if they had been lying on the carpet, dead, long before Shawn knocked them over. He landed on a table draped in pastel blue lace and slid, touched down on the other side of the booth, and resumed sprinting. A few of these wrap-around seating arrangements were in that area of the lobby. The conversation pit was behind Diesel, under the mirror. He didn’t look at it, he looked at Shawn. Slowly, Diesel turned his head to follow the hotel proprietor’s escape attempt, watching him climb more furniture and breathe heavily. Shawn used a stiff ottoman as a first step and hopped to the arm of a leopard print loveseat, precariously standing on the sweeping back of the small sofa with all too many pillows. His arms wheeled as he tried to keep his balance, knees bent, hair a mess. The brunette after him lunged from behind, over the loveseat’s cushions, and Shawn sprung off the back like a cat. The loveseat toppled, bringing the other man with it. Shawn was gone. Diesel was there, though, no longer covered in dust, sunglasses darkening the room even more than previously, one arm wrapped around Shawn’s assailant's neck, the other under his arm. The man struggled, grunted, brought Diesel to the ground. Diesel caught a flash of livid, brown eyes and a glimpse of a faded band t-shirt before he was alone again.

All was still. He stood, knees aching, dust floating through his lungs freely. He didn’t cough, but gently pat his leather down before trekking to the front desk, careful not to look at the mirror wall. Instead, he looked at the full key cubby on the far wall. All of the placards were faded red, the gold paint flaking off, matching the telephone on the desk with its receiver off the hook. He couldn’t read any of the placards, even when he inched closer, nor could he hear a dial tone from the phone. Bending to carefully fish one of the matchbooks out of the display case, he nudged crystalline pieces of glass away with his glove and raised the collectable up to his face. He squinted in the low light. It was red, each chain link connecting the silver hearts adorning the borders looking almost hand painted. At the bottom, in black text, read ‘PROTECT YOUR LOVER - CLOSE COVER BEFORE STRIKING.’ At the top, ‘you’re never lonely at the…’ In the centre was a gold heart surrounding two words in blue and yellow cursive:

‘HeartBreak Hotel.’

Diesel dropped the matchbook. It struck the carpet and smoldered at his feet weakly. He cautiously turned his head and looked at the mirror wall.

Barreling through the gauzy drapery, Shawn launched himself through the art nouveau room divider as if it were a portal to his escape. It was a structure of twisted aluminum and peeling cream paint, the opening arched like a tunnel entrance, leading to the bedroom of a honeymoon suite. It was one of the smaller ones, but it had a window behind the backboard of the bed - granted, it was covered by the redwood paneling, but he shouldn’t have trouble ripping that clean off the wall, right? He leapt onto the heart-shaped bed, stepped across the mattress like he was trying not to slip on ice, and began attempting to rip the wall apart. His fingers were bloody before he even started somehow, nails broken painfully, nail polish now wet and oozing onto his throbbing, exposed nail bed. Wincing, Shawn turned and kicked behind him, hearing a sickening crack. Did it again. Another crack, and he collapsed to the bed, face shoved into the silk bedspread as if someone had cranked up the gravity. He choked, spat, struggled to move; it felt like someone kicked him in the spleen. The bedspread was lapping up the blood. The curtains he’d run through were fluttering to a halt, the entertainment centre with analogue television and lamps with shades askew visible through the dense lace.

Something was moving. Panic tore through him and elicited a groan from somewhere deep in Shawn’s chest, heart racing, ears ringing. He went still and hoped they wouldn’t see him, hoped it wasn’t Marty still coming for him.

The shape paused as he did. It heaved and shuddered when he did, and it tilted its head in curious confusion when Shawn did, dangling earrings sparkling far too brilliantly for the dark, dingy room. Drawing his eyebrows together, he slowly began to sit up, wheezing as the force pinning him down eased. His reflection did the same.

“When did I put… A mirror…” Shawn shook his head and dragged himself off the bed, tumbling to the floor and resisting the urge to sprawl across the shag rug. This room had rugs over marble flooring. He never liked this room. It was tacky and ugly and it used too much white and not enough shiny things. He stared into the vague reflection of his own eyes through the curtains, one lens of his flip up sunglasses snapped off, and began to crawl. Shawn used the bars of the room divider to haul himself up and blew his hair from his face as he pushed the curtain aside, locking eyes with himself. He looked horrible. Why didn’t Diesel protect him from this? The bloodied curtain fluttered shut behind him as he lurched forward with a snarl, anger rising within him like an eruption. Before he could take hold of the mirror, it lowered, and Shawn stumbled to his knees in surprise.

He hadn’t put a mirror on the entertainment centre. There was no room to fit a mirror that big, with all its lace trim and pearl bordering. Someone with long, claw-like, black nails was holding it. Someone wearing black lace gloves, with rhinestones in her hair and shimmering eye shadow smoked out from her eyelashes to her eyebrows.

The mirror lowered to Shawn’s kneeling height and, unable to look away from it still, he realised he wasn’t being reflected at all. The Heartbreak Kid stared at him, wide-eyed, kneeling on the marble flooring, draped in jewellery shining blindingly bright. He was smaller than Shawn was, leaner, face softer, clean shaven, his sunglasses unbroken and dark. Lipstick kisses trailed down his jaw and neck, staining the white hem of his vest. The chains didn’t look ornamental anymore, lashed so tightly over his pecs they rubbed the skin raw. His hair was blonder, softer, styled, but he looked horrified. Shawn reached a bloody hand out to him, his false reflection mimicking him, their white gloves both soaked through with red.

The mirror dropped and shattered, and Sherri smiled down at Shawn.

A guttural scream jerked Diesel from sleep, pillows and blanket flying. The motor lodge’s phone was ringing, so excruciatingly loud it felt like machine gun fire. The trucker fumbled with it, dragging it into bed and tangling his wrist in the cord as he scrambled to answer.

“‘Lo?” Fuck. He cleared his throat, which sent him into a coughing fit so harsh it made him drop the phone. He picked it back up quickly. “-uck. Fuck, hello?”

“This is a test of th-”

“-esel? Diese, are you alright?” Kimberly’s voice crackled to life, cutting through a blaring tone so loud Diesel wasn’t even sure he heard it. She coughed, too, wheezing before speaking again. “Diese, are you there?”

“Y-yeah,” he replied, running a hand through his tussled hair. It was practically matted. He must've tossed and turned all night. “I’m here, Kim. Are you…?”

“I’m okay. The hospital’s discharging me today. I need you to convince Dallas to not come get me.” Diesel couldn’t help but grin, eyes tired, sore. Everything was sore. He untangled himself from the phone cord and shook his head.

“I’ll handle it, Kimmy. We’ll make a straight shot to Miami if you can handle seventeen hours on I-95.”

“Oh, god,” she groaned, audibly collapsing against her pillows. Her voice grew quieter, more somber. Almost threatening; a big cat stalking through the underbrush in Diesel’s peripheral. Kim could be scary when she wanted to. “I don’t understand.”

“Miami’s a long-”

“I know,” she interrupted. “A long way from the Poconos, I know. I don’t understand how I’m a long way from Florida. I wasn’t even going north, Diesel, I was going southwest, I-... This doesn’t make any sense. Dallas says I’ve only been gone overnight, but I left home at six PM. How did I get my bike up here and crash it before sunrise? How did I-”

She coughed again and groaned. Diesel could envision her holding her bruised ribs. He’d already put together a care package for her when he made his quick haul to New York, there and back before the hospital had even performed the CT scan on her head. The concussion must be killing her. He could only hope it wasn’t bad, only hope they could get her into occupational therapy fast, convince her to rest long enough to recuperate. That last one might have been the hardest to pull off. Inhaling deeply, Diesel dragged himself out of bed and carried the phone with him as far as it allowed. His morning stretching was half-hearted.

“I get it,” he said, wincing at how stiff his knee was, a sharp pain shooting down his tibia. Nothing unusual. “I don’t get how it happened, but I get it. Things have been weird since I left, Kim, really weird. I’m thinking about coming back.”

“To the Exchange?”

“You think Raze would bite?”

“Not a chance in hell,” she murmured, sipping whatever carton of sugary juice they gave her through a straw with an air leak in it. Diesel could hear her struggling with it. He hated those flimsy little plastic straws, always chewed through them unintentionally. “He’s having too much fun with Kid. His business might be shady, but he’s a flawless sell.”

“But,” she paused. Diesel waited. It sounded like she was holding the phone with her shoulder and messing with the straw. “Studd would follow you to the ends of the Earth and back, Vin.”

They wrapped the phone call up around the same time Diesel gave up on stretching and decided to hit the shower, sticking his little boombox on the counter and dropping in VOWWOW’s Beat of Metal Motion. The CD started spinning even before he poked the drive shut, satisfied with the little click followed by Kyoji Yamamoto’s opening riff for Break Down. It was easy for Diesel to get lost in the music enough to forget to feel relief that he’d booked an end room with a vacancy next door. No one interrupted his shower with noise complaints, but something felt off as he stepped out, dropping a towel over his own head and wrapping it around his long hair. He couldn’t have spent more than fifteen minutes in the shower, especially since he still had an abundance of the warm (never hot) water the motor lodge offered available to him by the time he twisted the faucet off.

He hadn’t heard the CD skip, so how was it playing Sleeping in a Dream House, a track twenty six minutes in? The boombox was quieter than it had been during his shower, too, Genki Hitomi’s poignant crone of ‘I know, I’ll just have to dream alone…’ barely audible. Diesel wrapped the bigger towel around his waist and secured it, waving away more steam than the shower should have been able to produce. The bathroom seemed bigger than it had been when Diesel entered it, the sickly orange light above the mirror no longer able to illuminate the far walls.

“Dreams- and in dreams, in the dreamhouse…” The boombox sounded like it was underwater and Diesel shivered, breaking out in a cold sweat as he inched towards the counter. He could just barely see the little machine’s black and chrome outline on the countertop, which had elongated during his shower. The mirror was no longer a simple oval, either, now spanning the full length of the counter and etched with frosty, floral patterns around the edges. It was rimmed in gold. “Gotta get away, let me out of here… In the dreamhouse I’m alone-”

A burst of deafening static made Diesel jump, one hand instinctively going to his chest. His mouth was dry, the mirror so fogged his reflection was nothing more than a blurry blob of colour. The CD’s audio came back, even more distorted. Deeper, gruffer. Hoarser, with a frightening desperation creeping into the melancholy. “-with my fingers on the walls… Searching for the door that leads to you.”

It didn’t sound like Genki anymore. It sounded like Shawn.

Diesel bolted, finding the door on instinct alone and rattling the knob until the screws came loose. It wasn’t locked but it wouldn’t open, the stereo repeating ‘gotta get away- get me out of here’ on an endless, broken loop. The music abruptly cut off when Diesel took a step back and kicked the door open. Everything was normal when he opened his eyes. The door hung correctly on its hinges, the knob firmly screwed into place, and Diesel clutched his towel around his waist as he slowly turned to face the mirror. It was a small oval, peeling at the bottom left, streaks of condensation running down it. The steam that had filled the bathroom was gone, the counter almost too small to fit everything Diesel laid out on it, the light a warm yellow glow. The CD sat in the tray, unmoving.

He’d never plugged the boombox in.

“Diesel Cool, here to see Kimberly Page,” Diesel tiredly informed hospital security, ID already in his hand. They kept it behind the desk and gave him a visitor’s pass to stick on his shirt, sending him on his way to the second floor. Thankfully, Kimberly’s room wasn’t a long walk away from the elevators. He didn’t wear his knee braces during hauls unless he planned to make a lot of stops and do a good amount of lifting, but his legs were killing him after his freakout. He’d have to talk to his psychiatrist about his anxiety meds and find out if he was supposed to be experiencing psychosis or what. His appointment was still a few weeks off, but he felt like he needed to talk about the Heartbreak Hotel and Shawn as soon as possible. He wasn’t even sure why his psych didn’t comment on his long absence when he was working the hotel, but he wasn’t putting anything past Shawn. Maybe he’d been talking to his psych the whole time behind Diesel’s back. He couldn’t remember if he had any of his medications aside from his testosterone at the hotel, the memories growing fuzzy and blending together already. He knocked on Kimberly’s open door before entering, relieved to see her already packed and waiting for him.

“Don’t even come in, we gotta go,” Kim said, limping to Diesel and grabbing his arm, steering him backwards out the door. He chuckled and turned, taking her bag and carefully draping his left arm around her shoulders as they walked to the elevator. Kim didn’t laugh back, speaking no louder than a whisper when the elevator doors closed behind them. “Something’s wrong with me, Diesel.”

“The CT scan? It doesn’t look that bad-”

“No, not-” she held her breath when the elevator shook, “not that. I saw something.”

“On the road? The asshole that hit you?”

“Here, in the bathroom-” Kim cut herself off when the elevator stopped, smiling brilliantly at the janitor and nurse waiting to enter. Diesel’s stomach soured. She said hello politely in passing, thanked the security guard after he handed Diesel’s ID back with a suspicious glare, and hustled her big man to his truck as quickly as they could collectively manage. Diesel helped her climb into the passenger seat of his truck before rounding it to the driver’s side, Kimberly starting to speak before he even closed his door. “Something was wrong with the window. It wasn’t the hospital window, Diese, it was-”

Frustrated, she motioned with her hands vaguely before throwing them up and letting them fall into her lap. She buckled her seatbelt when Diesel gently reminded her, and was quiet until they merged onto the interstate. Diesel let the radio play quietly, music low enough to be indiscernible. “It was somewhere else’s window. I’m not crazy.”

“Never said you were,” Diesel replied, trying not to clench his jaw too tightly. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “If I did, that’d make me crazy, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw something like that in the bathroom. I had a fucked up dream, Kim. The hotel was trying to get you, Shawn was trying to prey upon you, that’s why I had to get you out-”

“What? Slow down, what? Who is Shawn? What hotel, what bathroom?”

“The- fuck,” breathing out deeply through his nose, Diesel eased off the gas. Last thing they needed to do was jackknife in perfect weather on I-95. That’d just be embarrassing. “I went somewhere, Kimmy. It was like a-a living thing.”

The hours flew by, both travelers content to keep their stops to a minimum. Diesel told Kimberly everything, and she recounted what she remembered of the accident. One minute she was driving down the strip, getting ready to start heading west, and the next she was wiping out three miles from the Sweetheart Corner in Syracuse, New York. She didn’t know the area, but Diesel was familiar with Syracuse, and her description of the ornate, white and red payphone booth struck him as eerily wrong. There was no payphone at the intersection of Route 11 and Taft Road. The Sweetheart Corner hosted a small plaza, boasting a farmer’s market, ice cream, barber shop, liquor store - but no telephone booths. She would have had to go inside to use a phone from what Diesel remembered, but Kimberly didn’t recall anyone setting up shop at the Corner except the Sweetheart Market. That hadn’t been true since the 1960s.

After Diesel rescued her, her motorcycle had disappeared, the police unable to find any remains of the bike near Malden Road, where she reported the accident. She was adamant about that being the location of her crash, but the cops swept the area up and down and couldn’t find anything. The air force base off Malden even assisted in the search and, when they didn’t have any luck, the police agreed to report the bike stolen.

“Not that there was anything left of her to steal,” Kimberly grumbled into her onion rings. They pulled into a diner in Durham, North Carolina, seven hours into their drive. It was afternoon and busy, bustling with more tourists and travelers than locals by Diesel’s guess. He was actually enjoying being around so many people. He didn’t even mind the kids sitting two tables behind Kim, constantly turning around in their seats to make faces at him. Whenever Kim looked down at her food or out the window overlooking the full parking lot, Diesel would raise an eyebrow at them and make them burst into fits of giggles. He couldn’t even remember the last time he saw a kid-

“Ground control to Major Tom.” “Huh?” “Stay with me, space cadet.” Kim was grinning up at him. She cast a glance at the kids behind them and waved, both excitedly waving back until their grandparents made them sit down and eat their brunch or grilled cheese or whatever kids got at diners. Shaking her head, Kim traded an onion ring for one of Diesel’s fries. She had managed to choke down more of her chicken than he’d got through his panini, his stomach still churning with anxiety. Rubbing his right hand and sitting back in his booth seat, Diesel looked Kim over. Plenty of scrapes and bruises, scabbing. She needed two little sutures up in her hairline, she didn’t have any of her makeup or hair products, and she was wearing clothes Diesel bought for her. In the truck, she layered with one of Diesel’s shirts, so much smaller than him she looked like she was wearing a circus tent. They had both forgotten to remove her hospital bracelet. Diesel reached for her left wrist and Kim held it out, letting him peel up the adhesive on the plastic band until he could tear through the last bit.

It was a long drive. It was another seven hours before they hit the Florida state line, and they were exhausted. Diesel was used to it, but not under duress, and the Interstate Commerce Commission had been changing up the industry’s rules like it was going out of style recently. He was just relieved he hadn’t had to drive a cab outfitted with a Qualcomm yet, or he’d have to actually explain what he was up to. For now, he could tell his employer he was using time off to run errands and would be local again in a few days, no questions asked. He’d purchased the cab he drove years ago, anyway, but he anticipated the new regulations were going to phase his cabover out soon. At least the newer trucks had better breaks, if he was forced to trade.

“I’ll ring Dallas, let him know we’re close,” Kimberly said, pulling Diesel from his thoughts. She was grabbing a leather bag from the centre console, her bag phone fully charged after the long ride. She manually dialed his number, being outside the regular service area, and waited. Her face lit up when her husband answered. “We’re in Jacksonville now, heading to Patti’s. Please get me their chicken parmesan, I’m starving. You’ll know what Diesel wants.”

Diesel could hear Dallas laugh on the other side of the line. He followed the signage along Beach Boulevard for the Roosevelt Mall, relieved when the ornate, white siding of the restaurant came into view. Kim was nearly jumping out of the cab before Diesel could park. He related to the sentiment, neither caring to collect themselves before walking across the small parking lot. Dallas was waiting outside for them and lifted Kimberly off her feet in a bear hug so tight, Diesel remembered when he used to expect her to snap in half. He remembered when he used to think he’d snap in half from Dallas’s hugs, too.

“Alright,” Dallas began, setting Kimberly down but still holding her waist. “You’re only off the hook for as long as it takes my wife to inhale a chicken breast.”

Seated in Patti’s, a handful of people wandered over to inquire after Kim, and she regaled them with the harrowing tale of her motorcycle accident. One woman, a former Diamond Doll at Dallas’s club and previously trained by Kimberly herself, hummed the chorus to Leader of the Pack by The Shangri-Las, earning laughs all around the table. It was so normal it was wrong, the trio communicating how surreal it all felt through locked eyes, grazes of a hand against an elbow, an arm draped across the back of a chair. Diesel couldn’t fathom why they had to sit in a restaurant during the late dinner rush and pretend everything was fine, but he followed the Pages’ lead. They’d taken care of him so long, he couldn’t do anything but trust them.

“About that down payment,” Kimberly began, voice taking on that frightening tone again. Diesel had only just started splitting the panna cotta in half to share with Dallas, “on a new bike.”

“Down payment?” Dallas asked, head dipping as if to scrutinise Diesel over his shades. They were tucked away in his breast pocket. “New bike?”

“A desperate man will say anything,” Diesel muttered, stabbing into the coffee flavoured dessert with more force than necessary. “No one should be held accountable for what they say in an emergency.”

“Sounds like you made my wife a promise, Diesel.” Dallas’s tone became as serious as Kimberly’s. Diesel could feel the migraine coming on, alongside a wave of nostalgia. Any second now, Scotty would come tumbling through the door, dancing his way out of women’s arms and hiding behind the biggest guy he could find… “You better keep it. You’re an honourable man.”

“Since when, Dally?” Diesel groaned, elbowing his friend in the ribs. Kimberly laughed, stole a bite of her husband’s panna cotta half. Despite all his complaints, he still slipped Kimberly a check for a couple thousand before the end of the night, knowing Dallas would beat him half to death if he found out before Diesel was halfway up the Eastern seaboard. On their way out, he glanced at the outdoor smoking seats, stopping in his tracks when he laid eyes on one of the ashtrays. It was frosted glass, filled with a gooey substance similar to a lava lamp, and cracked, the liquid and oil inside slowly bubbling out. It held no ash, but the bottom of the tray read ‘HeartBreak Hotel’.

#[ heartbreak hotel au ]#[ put your loving hand out ]#[ voyager ]#[ mango madness ]#long post #the heartbreak kid #big daddy cool diesel #in compliance with poll results i'm posting this as one chapter and then hbk's perspective as the next chapter #aaaand finishing commissions Finally. then writing some things for this au mango wanted me to write. then starting the sixth chapter #unless i get distracted.

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