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marauder-ing-your-heart · 4 months

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the promised fic has arrived!!

just a cute little thing about the black brothers when they were kids, no angst in this one (though i did get ahead of myself, and have already started a second chapter that is shaping up to be rather depressing)

content: black brothers as kids!, comfort, brotherly love, good brothers!regulus and sirius, bad parents!walburga and orion (but what's new), cute, sweet, reggie being scared of storms [maybe it's because of the loud noises and flashing reminding him of...certain things (but that's for later chapters🤭)], just my favourite brothers word count: 813

enjoy this sweet comfort fic! (while it lasts😈)

Storms and Blankets - black brothers fluff

Regulus silently slipped out of his room, muffling his whimpers and sniffling into the arm of his solid green pyjamas as he stumbled quickly on bare feet to his big brother’s room.

To safety.

Outside, the storm raged, furious and howling, punctuated with flashes of harsh lightning and great explosive booms.

Regulus shivered, clutching his blanket closer to him as he hurried up the corridor, footsteps growing more panicked and rapid as the short distance seemed to stretch. From elsewhere in the house, the obnoxiously gothic ornate grandfather clock tick-tocked loud and harsh, echoing throughout the countless empty, winding hallways of Grimmauld Place.

Regulus flinched, squeaking slightly as the oppressive silence of the night was again disturbed by a threatening growl of thunder, this time joined by an ominous tolling from the aforementioned clock. Twelve o’clock. Twelve resounding tolls punctuated with groans of wood and window panes as wind and rain battered them, terrifying booms of thunder, and blinding flashes of light.

The scene was a perfect replica of a scene from a horror story.

Suddenly, the door ahead of him swung open, washing a patch of the otherwise cold and unwelcoming hallway in warm light. The action was fast and almost could be taken as careless, but Regulus could see how carefully the strength had been measured to prevent it from slamming against a wall, lest it alert their parents.

Sirius’ head peeked out from the door frame, beaming at Regulus, before his brother stepped out of his doorway fully, walking toward where Regulus had frozen.

“Reg! Come, come, quickly! I’ll protect you from the big bad storm!”, Sirius proudly declared, puffing out his chest with his hands on his hips, and generally making a fool of himself. He wrapped an arm around Regulus’ wiry shoulders, and dragged him the few steps remaining to his bedroom, closing the door behind them.

The distance that had seemed so daunting and fearsomely untraversable just moments prior was suddenly revealed to be only a mere handful of steps.

A small smile fought its way onto Regulus’ face as he buried closer to his brother’s warmth.

The pair shuffled over to Sirius’ bed, sides pressed together the whole while, as though they were conjoined at birth, and huddled together under the warm covers of luxurious goose-down blankets. If there was one thing you could be sure of about Walburga and Orion Black, it would be that they loved indulgent finery, and only ever used the best, as was befitting of the Most Noble and Ancient status.

Giggling, Sirius reached a hand over to where Regulus lay curled at his side, stealthy as a snake on the hunt, before quickly lashing out and digging into exposed sides. Regulus barely managed to smother his shriek of indignance, and suppressed a peal of laughter into muffled giggles as his brother began to launch a merciless tickle attack.

“Siri! Siri stop! Hahaha! Siri-” Regulus struggled out between gasps and bouts of frantically smothered laughter.

“Never! Watch out, Reggie! The tickle monster is out to get ya!” Sirius whisper-yelled.

“Noooooo! Ahahaha- Stop it Siri- No! Hahah- Haha!”

Sirius sat back on his heels, looking down at his little brother, satisfied with having lifted his mood. Regulus lay sprawled on his back, dishevelled and wheezing, very un-lordly.

The older Black brother took advantage of the vulnerable position Regulus lay in, and sprawled on top of his smaller and slighter form, knocking the breath out of his chest once again, before rolling over onto his back and clamping his arms around his arms and waist.

“Lemme gooo! Noooo!” Regulus whined kicking ineffectually at his brother’s shins. This only prompted his aggressor to tighten his hold.

“If I let you up, will you grab the blanket and come cuddle with your big brother again?” Sirius teased.

“No! I’m leaving! I hate youuuuu!” Regulus complained.

Sirius laughed and loosened his arms, knowing the squirming mass in his arms would in fact return to his initial position at his side.

True to his thoughts, Regulus sat up and pulled the bunched and discarded blanket, pushed nearly off the bed in their tussle. When he returned to his big brother’s side, however, he curled up with his back facing Sirius, staunch in his refusal to acquiesce and prove Sirius right.

Well, that won’t do, supplied Sirius’ mind.

With a gentle, fluid motion, Sirius wrapped his small arms around the other, even smaller boy, and pulled him until he was snuggled in his warm embrace, back to chest.

“Goodnight Reggie, my little brother!” he whispered into Regulus’ hair.

“G’night Siri…” was the sleep-slurred reply he got.

And with a quiet chuckle, Sirius shuffled himself closer to his brother, tucking him into his chest in an effort to guard and protect his defenceless sleeping body.

The storm howled on, forgotten by the duo as they drifted into a peaceful slumber.

word count: 814

#hp marauders #marauders #marauders era #sirius black #regulus black #black brothers #fluff #my fic #marauders fic

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colourstreakgryffin · 1 year

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Hi! First off, I’d just like to say your writing is so so good! It’s always such a pleasure seeing new posts from you. Second, I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a soft caregiver!Douma for an albino demon reader? :)

Oh. Sure! I definitely can give that a shot! I’ve been doing a lot of Hashira stuff lately so this is a real relief! Let me say, this was quite fun to write!

Warning! Big warning! This has a few spoilers on Douma, so if you’re unfamiliar with his backstory and abilities, please proceed ahead with caution!

Douma heavily pitted you at first. You’re extra weak to sunlight due to your albinism, and since you’re basically a child, you are defenceless

After the Upper Moon 2 saved you from a Mizunoto that tried to kill you for scavenging food, he decided he’d take you to his palace and figure out what to do with you next. He could potentially give you to another Upper Moon

Douma lets go to that idea and his pity in basically no time as he watches you play in the Eternal Paradise Cult with the curtains and awe at every luxurious sight, you’re just so adorable

Why should he give you up when he can look after you himself! He has comfortability, power, servants, food and so much more. You’d be a fool to decline him so he goes for it

Douma forcibly becomes your main caregiver, and grows softer and softer all the more time he spends with you. A demon or not, he won’t let you leave the Eternal Paradise Cult unless you’re with him

It’s not like you’ll say no. His life is very appealing and he seems quite kind so you immediately run to him and cuddle his leg. His dead cold heart flutters at your cute nuzzles

You’re curious over his followers and ask him if you can meet them. Douma simply smiles and begins setting up a dinner so you can make friends with his followers

He grows closer with you each day. He spends every morning messing around with you and impressing you with his Demon Blood Art. He practices making a ice replica of you and shows it off to you

Douma lets you play with his crown, sat in his lap as he listens to his followers’ pathetic little concerns. He’d much prefer to kick them out and spend his time playing with you

You’re the only being allowed to stay in his throne room and you can freely wonder around the Eternal Paradise Cult. But if any of his followers mess up and get you hurt, he’ll hurt them badly

Suspect Douma to run up to you and scoop you into a tight hug. He misses you everytime he has to go out for a mission so when he gets back, he basically pounces on you

Yes, he brags about you to the Upper Moons all the time. He is proud of the cute little demon he cares for and he wants everybody to know that the demon he loves is the best thing this planet has;

“Oh. Akaza-dono. Don’t be so hostile because I have a cute little princess like Dokusha. You all wish you had a child like mine, because she’s better than anything you all have combined!”

Whatever you want is whatever you get. You’re basically the princess of the cult, Douma makes his loyal followers bend over backwards to bring you what you wish. Mention a gift once and Douma will have it in front of you in a snap

The food of his is yours as well. He has plenty of energy and strength to spare so he doesn’t mind sharing his kill with you or even letting you have all of it, he’d rather you eat before him anyway. He is your caregiver after all

He won’t say a single word about him killing the followers to you, since you like them and he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. Though, he doesn’t realise how bad him basically feeding you the bodies of your new friends is

He loves styling your snowy white hair. He doesn’t need the practice but he just likes trying out new hairstyles. He has a bit of a habit where he dresses you in gorgeous fancy kimonos to make you the talk of the temple

He makes jokes about you being his daughter often. You two do have matching hair colour after all. All you need is blue, green, yellow, orange and red, and you’ll have his eyes too! As Douma claims

“Dokusha-chan! I got you- Huh? The kanji in my eyes? Don’t worry about them, they are… I was born with them, isn’t it nice?” Your caregiver won’t tell you the meaning behind ‘Upper Moon 2’ because he doesn’t see any reason to make you worried about his work

Douma is overprotective. He is ten— no— hundred times stronger than you so it’s his job to protect you. Though, it isn’t common for him to show this side since he never brings you to missions

There is only one time. You managed to get out of the temple, chasing a butterfly and accidentally came across a wondering Hashira. Douma came bolting in with steam blowing out his ears, he turned the Hashira into ice shards in mere seconds

Trust me. He’ll never get mad at you, he gets mad at his followers and mad being MAD. It’s their job to watch over you when Douma isn’t around so if you get into anything fishy or break something valuable, Douma targets his followers whilst apologising to you

Even though you can’t sleep, Douma has a routine for you to settle down and relax, resting you on his chest and rubbing your head as you very rapidly lighten up. He just loves seeing your little figure get calmer, you’re usually so full of energy

Douma does actively try to decrease his intense brutality when with you. You shouldn’t have to see a decapitated head in a pot just yet, yes, you’ve seen a dead body before but the pot is a different story

To catch your attention, he bites on your cheek playfully and pulls. He is a bit of a jealous type, he wants you to like him the most! But, don’t worry about him biting, it doesn’t hurt as he is careful and he lets you do the same back so it’s fair

Douma picks you up and carries you around almost all the time, you’re much smaller than him and he feels calmer having his beloved little demon at his side. He isn’t rough at all, he even tries to reframe from poking you with his claws

Since his followers like you a lot too, he’ll let you answer them occasionally. He doesn’t mind at all, he despises this part of running his own cult. You care more for those walking food reserves than he does

Douma is quite twisted and cruel, but with the things he likes, he can’t bring himself to break them. Douma can’t lay his hands on you, no matter how angry he gets. You’ve become important to him in only a few days

He always figured he’d never make a connection with anybody since he doesn’t feel emotions. But you changed that for good, he now feels a overwhelming sense of love for you. He wants to be more than your caregiver, he wants to be your father since he does view you as his daughter

“Dokusha-chan! Dokusha-chan! After this, would you like to go outside and make a iceman with me? Yes? That’s wonderful to hear! I have a special new formation I want to show you!”

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #anime and manga #kny imagines #headcanons #kny upper moons #kny douma #demon slayer douma #douma #upper moons #upper moon 2 #fluff #wholesome #kny spoilers

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blackleatherjacketz · 1 year

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Forbidden Fruit: Chapter 6

Alistair x Female Reader, Jack Russell x Female Reader

Summary: Jack saves you from a vicious vampire attack and you discover you might be more entangled than you thought.

This Chapter: Having no choice but to go along with Alistair, you let him take you underground to prove his devotion to you.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only!, Mature Content, Kidnapping, Coercion, Dubious Consent, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Undressing, Spanking, petting, Vaginal Fingering, Female Orgasm, Finger Sucking, Jealousy, Victorian Furniture and Tchaikovsky’s “Swan Lake”

Word Count: 3k+

Notes: Revised Completley!

Tags: @skittle479 @bullet-prooflove @jessicafangirl @avatarofseshat @sadndnboii-reads @bluemoonperegrine

Read the rest of the story HERE!

Alistair’s hand squeezes tightly onto yours as you both descend the floors beneath the abandoned pizzeria you didn’t even know were there. A watered down version of Swan Lake’s ‘Moderato’ plays from the aged speakers as your stomach does flips each time he looks at you, despite doing its best to keep down the wine and cheese you just consumed mere moments before. That smirk on his lips brings you back to the first time you met, his thumb grazing the inside of your wrist reminding you that this situation could turn out in your favor if all else fails. If Jack doesn’t show up like he promised and Alistair has his way with you, then those endless eyes could be staring back at you for all of eternity.

Where the hell is Jack, anyways? Didn’t he say he was going to get help? How long was that supposed to take?

A high-pitched ding signals your imminent arrival to his desired floor, startling you with a jolt of your shoulders as the metal box slows to a halt. The doors slide silently open as the music continues, revealing a long hallway with centuries old wallpaper and crystal chandeliers dimly lighting the way to a large red door at the very end.

“I just can’t wait for you to see the surprise I have for you.” He tugs on your hand before stepping across the threshold, pulling you out of the world above and into the world below. Into the very belly of the beast. Each step he takes echoes loudly against the ancient walls, almost an exact replica of the house you visited him in before, only without the haunting portraits and landscapes to stare you down.

Half a dozen blackened doorways on either side of you take their place however, seeming to stretch upward in length as you cautiously try to match his stride. His grip on your hand only tightens as you blink repeatedly, trying to make sense of the stretching hallway until he deftly slows his pace. Curling his wrist inward, he reigns you in before deciding to stop in front of the last door on the right.

Taking a key out of his jacket pocket, he slides it into the aged brass doorknob and turns it with delicate ease. He pushes it open to reveal a large bedroom furnished with expensive Victorian furniture, a warm fire popping in the opposite wall behind a wrought iron cage. It warms your face as you enter the doorway, noticing a queen bed tucked in the right corner, four posts made of solid dark walnut draped with emerald green velvet as he leads you into the middle of the space.

The classical music begins to soften as you follow him into the room, fading away until you can no longer hear it at all. The sound of the crackling fire soon takes over, soothing you enough to run your hands over the thick, heavy comforter that lays across the luxurious bed. Your fingertips trace their way up the blanket to the matching sets of pillows embroidered with your initials, etched with golden silk tassels dangling at the corners. A dark bedside table holds a small electric lamp, matching the wood on the rounded corners of a crushed velvet settee sitting near the fire.

“What do you think?” He asks, watching you take inventory of every outfit he’d bought for you in the wardrobe next to the setee.

“It’s beautiful,” you admit, the warmth of the fire and the smell of the wood all but intoxicating you as you take in the extraordinary details of the bedroom. You can’t believe it: it’s as if he’s seen every page you’ve ever collected from your mother’s old Home and Gardens magazine and matched them exactly. No one’s ever done that before, ever taken so much care and effort to give you everything… anything you’ve ever wanted without having to ask or make it seem like a chore.

“I know how much you love that shade of green.” He stands in the middle of the room as you gingerly circle around him, smirking as your expression gives away your enraptured state of mind.

“I do.” You spot a dress of the same color hanging on the vanity as you nearly make it all the way back to the door. Its silk fabric seems to practically drip down from the hanger over the darkened wood of the mirror that shows only your reflection, the vibrant waves cascading over the table and down onto the floor. “Is that dress for me?”

“It’s all for you,” he steps behind you and whispers into your ear, his scent of oak and cinnamon slowly emanating into your nostrils. “Every bit of it.”

You can’t help but hold your breath as he gets closer to you, his hand holding onto your hip as you both stare at the lavish ball gown in stoic silence. Is this supposed to be the last dress you ever wear now that he’s made sure you’ve eaten your last meal? The dress that he bites you in, drains you in? The dress that you die in? Your final burial shroud? All of the sudden, your semi-flippant attitude toward his plans for you begins to crumble, the gravity of your situation now settling into your stomach in a weighty sense of impending doom. You start to wonder when you last called your parents or told them that you loved them, knowing full well that it’s far too late for any of that now.

“Wh… what’s behind the other doors that we passed in the hallway? More rooms like this?” You turn your head to face him, your nose barely brushing against his chin.

Were there other women just like you behind those doors? Each of them locked away into their own beautiful rooms just to be preyed upon at his leisure? If so, how many of them were there? How long had they been there? How many times has he fed on them? Would he ever let them go? Would he ever let you go now that you’re down here?

“Now, now,” he tsks. “You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.” He wraps his hand around the back of your neck before pressing his fingertips into the base of your hairline, massaging your scalp all the way up to your crown. “Why don’t you forget all about that and step out of this ragged little number for me?”

He presses his thumb and forefinger behind your ears, forcing your eyes to flutter shut and your mouth to fall open as that warm, blissful feeling rushes down your spine. He takes the opportunity to snake his fingers down your neck to swiftly remove your bandage before tossing it aside, temporarily washing your worries away with his actions. He takes his time pulling your hooded sweatshirt up above your head and off; the heat from the fire warming the bare skin on your torso as you allow him to continue disrobing you. His chilly palms carefully brush their way back down your arms and breasts, tying a familiar knot into your stomach before they graze their way down to your hips.

“Your beauty never ceases to amaze me,” he kisses his praise into your shoulder as he starts taking your pants off, delicately sliding them down your legs until you step out of them entirely. “Aphrodite herself would be jealous.”

You try to think of something to say, something to match his level of adoration as he stands up and curls his fingers beneath your jaw, but can come up with nothing. Instead you just nod in hushed understanding, acknowledging his tainted compliment as he stares at you through his frigid grip on your face.

“Before you put that on, though, why don’t you let me show you how well I really know you.” He lets go of your chin and shrugs out of his jacket, folding it onto the back of the chair near the vanity. He loosens his tie with a smirk and makes his way over to the bed, pulling the silk garment through the loop of his collar as he finally sits down on the mattress.

Jesus Christ, this escalated quickly. How the hell did you end up HERE like THIS? How the hell did he get you naked again so fucking fast?

“Come here,” he orders, slowly patting his thigh as he summons you with blackened eyes.

Oh, that’s how.

“Yeah,” you huff, taking a few timid steps forward. “Okay.” You pad your way across the hardwood floor until you end up climbing onto the bed next to him, cautiously straddling his legs as his hands glide over your bare body, effortlessly pulling you into him.

“I know you better than he does, better than he ever could.” He gently turns you on to your side, guiding you over his lap so that his hands smooth lovingly over your head and hair once you settle into him. “I know every inch of your body, every hair on your head…” He tucks a strand of it behind your ear, tracing the outline of its shell before following the curvature of your spine down to your lower back with his fingertips. He grazes his palm up and down your back, increasing his pressure on your muscles every time, forcing the fine hair along its path to stand on end. “I know every expression on your beautiful face, and every nuanced tone in your voice.”

“Yeah?” Is all you can think to say as he continues caressing your back, almost as if you were a sort of pet curled up in his lap after a long day.

“Does this feel familiar, darling? He asks, grabbing onto one of your cheeks and pulling it up toward him to get a better view of what he’s after.

You nod as his chilly hand tightens its grip on you, forcing you to inhale quickly as you feel him grow beneath your belly.

“What was that?” He begs for clarity, his lips pressed against your scalp as his breath warms your skin.

“Yes,” you whisper as your nipples harden against the mattress, everything about your past with him becoming crystal clear as the moisture begins to grow between your legs.

“Good.” He kisses your hair and lets your muscle bounce back into place. “It sounds like you almost forgot your words there for a moment.” He wastes no time in sliding his fingers in between your cheeks, dipping them down low enough to glide across your folds as they suddenly become slick with your inevitable arousal.

“Yes,” you moan, the pads of his fingers brushing over your clit with each torturous pass, your body keeping the score as it instinctively responds to his extensive carnal knowledge. “I mean no, I mean ohhhh my God.”

“Only I know what you really like.” He pulls his hand away before bringing it back down with a loud and sudden smack, a sharp twinge jolting your body forward. “What you need.”

A stifled yelp leaves your lips as the pain shoots its way up your spine, the brief pause quickly interrupted by another hard smack, this time to the opposite cheek. You hear him chuckle before his hand comes crashing down onto the other, repeating this relentless pattern one right after the other, hit after hit as it nearly sends you leaping forward off his lap entirely. He manages to keep you still with a hand on your throat, his nose nestled into the base of your neck as your moans morph into guttural groans. Tears well up in your eyes as the pleasure he’s delivering barely outweighs the pain that settles deep into your muscles, his abuse forcing your sex to drip down onto the polyester fabric of his his thigh. His strikes gradually become less frequent, the break between them growing longer as he finally decides to rub his palm over your newly reddened flesh in order to soothe it.

“Now, let’s see if I’m right.” He whispers against your skin, sliding his fingers between your now soaking wet folds as your juices all but drench your needy center. He glides them across your length again with impeccable ease, massaging little waves of bliss into your swollen bud as you begin to tremble beneath his touch. “Looks like I was. Always so wet for me.”

You rock back and forth against his hand as a pattern of gooseflesh ripples up your backside, causing those waves to build up into full blown tremors of ecstasy. They quake through your entire body as he pushes two fingers in, stimulating you from that special spot deep inside your velvety walls as his thumb still presses circles into your clit. He cracks that internal fault line wide open, watching the tears stream down your face as your body convulses around his fingers in a series of uncontrollable shockwaves of euphoria, one right after the other. They rush their way through you, building up from your epicenter with a groan so deep it nearly rattles his bones along with yours as they tremble in its wake.

“Alistair!” You shout, your arms and legs trembling in overstimulation as the sound of his fingers slipping in and out of you echoes loudly against the walls. “Alistair, oh my God!” Your last word comes out in a breathy moan as your muscles fail you, leaving you limp in his lap as the aftershock rocks its way through your system.

“I barely even touched you, and look how well you respond to me.” He pulls his now drenched fingers out of you, bringing them up between your cheeks, across your back and over your shoulder until they’re right in front of your face. “Open.”

You follow his orders and do as you're told, opening your mouth just enough for him to shove two fingers past your lips and across your tongue. There’s no denying the sweet tang of your orgasm that coats your juices still clinging to his digits as he pushes in all the way up to his knuckles. Even as your eyes begin to water, you can’t help but relish in the taste of your own satisfaction as your tremors slow to a complete halt. You run your tongue between his fingers to further savor the flavor until he reluctantly pulls them back out.

A single trail of spit connects you before he shoves them into his own mouth, those dark eyes of his rolling back into his head as the concoction of your fluids momentarily intoxicates him. For a split second, some deranged part of you wonders how good he might have looked when he first tasted your blood, if it was anything close to this or much more gratuitous. But before you know it, he’s out of his trance entirely, his hands roving back over your body in a soothing, gentle rhythm.

“Tell me I don’t know you now.” He leans down to kiss your lips, the embrace seeming almost chaste in comparison as your unique flavor gets passed back between you both.

“You know me,” you confirm, breaking the kiss with a gentle nod.

“Good.” He pets your hair one more time, leaning in just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “I have another surprise for you.” He insists, that Cheshire grin spreading across his lips again.

Alistair helps you into the green ball gown just as carefully as he helped you out of your sweats, his hands tucking you into every nook and cranny of the silk dress as it drapes over your frame. He runs his hands through your hair after zipping you up, cupping your face before smiling with an arrogant sense of pride, almost as if he had created you himself.

“You look absolutely breathtaking, little lamb.” He soberly kisses your cheek before stepping back to admire you in full. “Are you ready for your next surprise?”

“I am,” you tell him, trying to accept that it could be the very last surprise of your life.

The instrumental ballet starts up again as soon as you leave the room with him, growing in volume through a set of speakers you can’t quite seem to locate as you both approach the ominous red door at the end of the hallway you almost forgot about entirely. The song’s previous corporate elevator tones are effortlessly replaced by a symphony of clarinets and bassoons, building onto each other as the plucking of a harp notes every step you take toward the precipice of the doorway.

You watch Alistair raise his eyebrows in giddy anticipation as an assortment of violins showers your senses with their chorus, the tone of the song getting darker and more profound as he wraps his fingers around the handle of the door. You can feel the music inside of you just as sure as you felt him before, the build up of all the instruments now working together as French horns collide with trumpets and drums, pushing the potent emotion of the piece up into your core and out of your body through tiny little goosebumps on your skin.

The red door finally opens.

The devastating sight before you dispels any enchantment Tchaikovsky’s famous work previously had on your senses. The roaring climax of that chilling act fails to prickle its way through the tiny hairs on the top layer of your skin as your heart drops into the bitter acid of your stomach, threatening to bring up your last meal along with it. That harsh and undeniable truth that you’d somehow always feared in the back of your mind has finally come to fruition: Jack isn’t coming to save you.

He can’t.

Confirming your greatest fears, Jack’s wrists and ankles appear to be secured in chains before your very eyes, holding him captive against a cement wall, the shirt you let him borrow now tattered to shreds. Something about these restraints is preventing him from moving too much or trying to escape, his helpless eyes eventually landing on you once you reach the center of the room. You’re too late. He’s too late, unable to save you from this scheming creature of the night as you both share a long look of mutual despair.

“Surprise!” Alistair exclaims as the music fades off into silence, both hands spreading out in a dramatic fashion.

#jack russell #werewolf by night #david dastmalchian #gael garcía bernal #gael garcia bernal #jack russell x reader #jack russell x you #werewolf by night fan fiction #alistair x reader #david dastmalchian x reader #david dastmalchian fan fiction

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pure-ablution · 2 months

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something you agree with?

This is something that my boyfriend does not understand in the slightest. His conception of brand loyalty amounts to which domaine makes Armagnac in the style he likes, which shotgun is best for longevity and reliability, or which violin sounds best to his ears. Every item of clothing, every accessory he owns is handmade to his specifications by a trusted and private artisan in his home country, with nothing but a small and unique stamp to designate the maker—the only exception to this that I know of is his watch, which is a Patek Philippe he inherited from his grandfather. This is because he is an exceptionally privileged young man, who has never experienced a competitive environment, and has never once in his life needed to prove his worth.

I have a large collection of custom-made clothing and accessories, but I also buy from designer brands regularly, and I used to buy replicas of pieces from these brands, too. I do this to appear to fit in with, and perhaps occasionally supercede, those around me. I’m aware of the fact that I’m judged by the status I appear to have, and although I value the level of quality offered by certain brands, of course, status is a significant factor on my mind when I put my outfits together and go shopping for new pieces. Whilst I’d like to wear entirely bespoke and unbranded outfits, I’m not privileged enough to be able to do that. This sounds paradoxical, but it’s quite true; I’m coming from a position from which I’m trying to work my way up, and as such, I can’t afford to not bother with signalling my belonging with the group.

The same goes for anyone who is coming up from below, so to speak. The King of England does not wear any clearly branded items, and neither does his son, the Prince of Wales. His wife, Queen Camilla, on the other hand, who is not royal by birth, regularly wears recognisable pieces from Van Cleef & Arpels, Christian Dior, and Cartier, to name a few—as does her daughter-in-law, the Princess of Wales. The Princess Royal, however, as the late Queen’s daughter, is almost never sighted in clearly branded pieces.

If you are looking to move up in any way—socially, maritally, professionally—then you have to signal to others that you are worthy of the new position. In our capitalist society, at least part of that signalling is done through the brands we wear. You can talk all you like about ‘quality’ and ‘quiet luxury’, but the fact is that you have a need to prove yourself to others, and you benefit from the feeling of status that a branded item gives you. Once you acknowledge this, you can use it to your advantage.

#ask-beauty #fashion

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wolveswatchspace · 4 months

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A Beginner’s Guide to Buying Replica Watches: What to Look For

Replica watches offer an exciting way to enjoy the elegance and sophistication of luxury timepieces without the hefty price tag. However, navigating the world of replica watches can be daunting for beginners. At WolvesWatch.com, we believe in helping you make informed decisions. Here’s a comprehensive guide on what to look for when buying replica watches.

1. Understand the Different Grades of Replica Watches

Replica watches come in various grades, each with different levels of quality and detail. The primary grades include:

Low-Quality Replicas: Often made from cheap materials with poor craftsmanship. These are easily identifiable as fakes.

Mid-Grade Replicas: Better materials and improved craftsmanship, but still lack the fine details and precision.

A5 Replicas: High-quality replicas with exceptional materials, craftsmanship, and details. These are nearly indistinguishable from the originals.

For the best experience, aim for A5 replicas, which offer the closest match to genuine luxury watches.

2. Examine the Materials

The quality of materials used in a replica watch is a significant indicator of its overall quality. Look for:

Case Material: High-quality replicas use stainless steel or gold plating that matches the original.

Crystal: Sapphire crystal is used in premium replicas for scratch resistance and clarity.

Strap/Bracelet: Genuine leather or high-quality metal bracelets are signs of a well-made replica.

3. Check the Movement

The movement of the watch is its engine. A good replica should have a reliable movement that offers accurate timekeeping. There are two main types of movements:

Quartz: Battery-operated and often found in lower-priced replicas. They are accurate but lack the prestige of mechanical movements.

Automatic/Mechanical: These movements are more desirable in high-quality replicas. They mimic the intricate mechanisms of genuine luxury watches.

4. Pay Attention to Details

High-quality replicas pay meticulous attention to details. Look for:

Logo Placement: Ensure the logo is correctly placed and matches the original in size and style.

Dial Markers: Check the alignment, size, and font of the dial markers.

Engravings: Quality replicas have precise and clean engravings, matching the original.

5. Weight and Feel

A good replica watch should have a substantial weight, similar to the genuine article. The watch should feel solid and well-constructed when worn. Light, flimsy watches are a red flag for poor quality.

6. Research the Seller

Not all replica watch sellers are created equal. Research the seller’s reputation before making a purchase:

Reviews and Testimonials: Check customer reviews and testimonials to gauge satisfaction and reliability.

Customer Service: Reliable sellers offer excellent customer service and clear communication.

Return Policy: Ensure the seller has a return policy in case the watch does not meet your expectations.

7. Compare Prices

While price should not be the sole determinant, it can be an indicator of quality. Extremely low prices often signal low-quality replicas. Compare prices across different sellers to understand the market rate for high-quality replicas.

8. Secure Payment Methods

When purchasing online, ensure the seller uses secure payment methods to protect your financial information. Look for SSL encryption and reputable payment gateways.

Why Choose WolvesWatch.com

At WolvesWatch.com, we specialize in high-quality A5 replicas, ensuring our customers receive the best in terms of materials, craftsmanship, and accuracy. Here’s why you should choose us:

Extensive Selection: We offer a wide range of replicas from top brands like Rolex, Omega, Patek Philippe, and Audemars Piguet.

Quality Assurance: Every watch undergoes rigorous quality control checks to meet our high standards.

Customer Support: Our dedicated customer service team is always ready to assist with any queries or concerns.

Secure Shopping: We prioritize your security with encrypted transactions and secure payment gateways.

Navigating the world of replica watches can be challenging, but with the right knowledge and careful consideration, you can find a high-quality replica that offers the elegance and prestige of luxury timepieces. Start your journey with confidence at WolvesWatch.com and discover a world of affordable luxury.

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replicabagsonline · 24 days

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Chanel Replica Bags

Shop for the finest Chanel replica bags at Affordable Luxury Bags! Our collection competes with the best Chanel replica bags, offering high-quality replicas at affordable prices. From classic quilted designs to timeless pieces, we have a wide selection of replica handbags that meet the highest standards. For inquiries and orders, contact us at [email protected] and elevate your style with our exquisite Chanel replicas.

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denimbex1986 · 1 year

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'LONG before Cillian Murphy there was Sam Waterston, and long before Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer there was Peter Goodchild’s Oppenheimer (BBC4, Friday), which is being reshown for the first time in decades.

Goodchild, who was interviewed by Variety last month to coincide with the film’s release, started his BBC producing career in radio drama and later moved to television with the science documentary series Horizon.

When Horizon diversified into science docudramas in the 1970s, Goodchild, who holds a chemistry degree, got to combine his two interests in a successful series about Marie Curie.

It was his idea to make a seven-part miniseries about J Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb, played by Waterston. First shown on BBC2 in 1980, Oppenheimer was a big hit with viewers and critics, winning three Bafta awards. It also garnered Emmy and Golden Globe nominations after it was shown on PBS in the United States.

The budget of £1.5m (about €7.5m today) – 90pc of it coming from the BBC, the rest from WGBH Boston – might seem like a grain of New Mexico sand compared with the £100m price tag of Nolan’s Imax epic.

Back then, however, it was a huge spend for a British drama.

A huge physical production, too, with scrupulous attention to detail. For maximum authenticity, Goodchild, now 83, told Variety, the Manhattan Project’s Los Alamos Laboratory was recreated on a purpose-built set in Colorado Springs, complete with water tower and replica bomb.

The supporting cast was made up almost entirely of American actors based in Britain.

Two notable exceptions were future Poirot star David Suchet as the excitable, voluble Hungarian physicist Edward Teller and Edward Hardwicke (Dr Watson to Jeremy Brett’s Sherlock Holmes) as his Italian colleague Enrico Fermi.

Viewers who have grown used to watching even modestly budgeted dramas shot on HD video that mimics celluloid film may find the switch from Oppenheimer’s interior scenes, which were mostly shot on videotape in a studio in the UK, to the ones shot on film in America a little jarring at first.

But the story is so engrossing you cease to be aware of the contrast after a while.

What’s remarkable is how well Oppenheimer, which was written by Peter Prince and directed by Barry Davis, holds up 43 years later.

There’s none of the slowness or staginess you sometimes see in dramas from the period. Friday’s opening two episodes positively zipped by.

They spanned the years 1938, when Oppenheimer was at the University of Berkley, to 1942, when Lieutenant General Leslie Groves (Manning Redwood), ignoring warnings about Oppenheimer’s long associations with active communists and championing of left-wing causes, put him in charge of the Manhattan Project, which was to be housed in a high-security facility in Los Alamos.

Waterston, just four years ahead of his best actor Oscar nomination for playing Siydney Schanberg in The Killing Fields, is fantastic as Oppenheimer.

You can see why the BBC was prepared to pay him well above the normal rate for appearing in one of its dramas and to put him up in a luxury hotel during filming.

He conveys Oppenheimer’s charisma, intelligence, brilliance and charm, especially to women.

But we also see his ruthlessness and arrogance.

When we meet him, he’s romantically involved with psychiatrist and communist Jean Tatlock (Kate Harper), who suffered from clinical depression (she died by suicide in 1944), yet thinks nothing of casting her aside when he sets eyes on his future wife Kitty Puening (Jana Shelden), who at that time is married to someone else.

They tumble into an affair. In one particularly cruel moment, he humiliates Jean by turning up at a dinner party at her home with Kitty on his arm.

Even at this stage, the seeds of Oppenheimer’s downfall are being sown. Naively unconcerned about the dangers of having communist friends, he doesn’t realise he’s already under FBI surveillance.

A terrific drama from a far more creative age of TV.'

#Oppenheimer #Sam Waterston #Kate Harper #Peter Goodchild #Cillian Murphy #The Manhattan Project #Los Alamos #David Suchet #Edward Teller #Enrico Fermi #Edward Hardwicke #Manning Redwood #Leslie Groves #The Killing Fields

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replica-watch1 · 2 years

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xflashbastardx · 1 year

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☯ + Crowley during Aziraphale's execution

Send me '☯ + a scene from my characters canon' and I will drabble it from my character's POV. | Accepting

"I think you're going to like this. I really do. And I bet you didn't see this one coming."

Well, I could say the same thing to you, Crowley thinks to himself, maintaining an expression that resides somewhere between neutral and pleasant---not an easy task when faced with the smug ear-to-ear grin of the archangel Gabriel. From behind, he hears the thump-thump-thump of heavy boots on marble floors and knows that it must be the "associate" the angels had mentioned previously.

"Don't get this view down in the basement!" the new arrival declares before summoning a pillar of Hellfire. Crowley watches the flames grow, expression never shifting, though inside he is seething. If they'd not caught that last scrap of Agnes Nutter's predictions, it would actually be Aziraphale tied to this chair, awaiting permanent destruction, rather than himself wearing Aziraphale's likeness. These absolute bastards would go so far as to completely and utterly obliterate---but of course they would. He isn't surprised. The cruelty of heaven stopped surprising him millennia ago.

"So. With one act of treason, you averted the war."

"Well, I think the greater good---"

"Don't talk to me about the 'greater good,' sunshine, I'm the archangel fucking Gabriel."

For a fraction of a second, the condescension aimed at "Aziraphale" almost makes the mask slip. Not that he thinks the angels would notice if it did. None of them know Aziraphale, not like he does, but there's far too much at stake to take any risks. His imitation of Aziraphale's amiable smile fades as Gabriel continues.

"The greater good was we were finally going to settle things with the opposition once and for all."

Crowley says nothing. Uriel steps forward, pulling his bindings away with ease and commanding him to stand, which he does in his best replica of Aziraphale's mannerisms. He rolls his wrists a little, adjusts his coat, straightens his bowtie. And then the smile is back.

"I don't suppose I can persuade you to reconsider? We're meant to be the good guys, for heaven's sake."

Just a touch of himself slipped out there, a note of judgement from the demon towards the assembly of archangels. You're. YOU'RE meant to be the good guys. How can you call yourselves good and do this to the best of your lot?

Again, Gabriel and the others don't notice. Relieved as he is that the hairline cracks in his façade have gone undetected, it's really driving home how little they know Aziraphale, how much they have looked down on and dismissed him all this time. And again, Crowley bites back anger.

"Well, for heaven's sake, we are meant to make examples out of traitors---" Oh, Crowley knows. He knows that well. "---so. Into the flame."

Crowley approaches the towering inferno. What would Aziraphale do, in a moment like this? He doesn't have to ponder long. Aziraphale---endless font of goodness and kindness and forgiveness that he is---would surely not hold any resentment or ill will in his heart for the archangels sentencing him to destruction.

That's fine. Crowley can harbour enough for the both of them.

"Lovely knowing you all," he says to his would-be executioners, donning the smile he has come to know so well over the centuries. "May we meet on a better occasion."

"Shut your stupid mouth and die already."

The smile falls and for one fleeting second, Crowley can't hide the complete and utter hatred in his eyes.

Oh, you'll pay for that someday, Gabriel. I'll see to it myself.

Dutifully, he steps into the Hellfire. As the archangels look on in a horrified sort of bewilderment, he luxuriates in the feeling of the flames. Just for his own amusement, he even hisses a little burst in their direction---not enough to actually hit any of them, no, that would be too risky (though he is sorely tempted). But enough to scare them.

Enough to make them think twice before ever bringing harm to Aziraphale again.

#✦ x — ⊰drabbles⊱#✦ flash bastard — ⊰crowley⊱

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noobwristwatch · 1 year

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#noobwristwatch #free noods #roblox noob #panda #rolexdaytona #daytona #daytonapanda #replica #replica watches #replica rolex

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more-than-a-princess · 2 years

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@tvstarkuma asked: 🌷 I offer a flirty boy

Emoji starter meme - Still accepting one more of these!

send 🌷 for a soft starter .

It had been ages, Sonia realized, since she'd visited somewhere so quiet.

Not that the town of Inaba was dead silent by any means: no, it seemed to have its residential and commercial neighborhoods, a train station that she'd barely seen the inside of before being ushered into a hired car, and all the other necessities required to make a community run. But after going from the bustle of Novoselic Castle, to In Utero High School, and finally Hope's Peak just over a year ago, she'd been thrust from schedule to schedule, metropolis to metropolis, that Inaba reminded her of something she hadn't experienced in some time: home.

Not Novoselic Castle by any means, or even the capital of her nation itself where she spent the most of her time whilst there. No, Inaba reminded her far more of the countryside villages and towns in Novoselic: the ones that great manor homes and luxurious ski chalets supported. Japan's system was different: there was no aristocratic family that, technically, owned the land the town was built on but it resembled the country-wide tours she'd accompany her family on in other ways: everyone knew everyone else, everyone could share some of the illustrious history of the town (in Inaba's case, it was mining: something she was told to read in the weighty manual she'd had to peruse on the train from Towa City but also something she was informed of, less than two minutes after settling in the back of the hired car that took her to the nicest inn her team could reserve), and there was a conspicuous absence of otherness. Perhaps even a lack of diversity, Sonia thought as she stepped through the automatic doors of the grandest shop in town, but not in a close-minded way.

Instead, Inaba was far more like those small towns in Novoselic: a preserved relic of the past, of tradition and a simpler way of life that cities (and royal families, if she were to be honest), couldn't provide anymore. As much as her own family, her own birthright, prioritized honoring traditions, they still needed to keep up with the times. Something lost in Inaba, Sonia thought, though it was hardly unsettling. No, in fact it amused her greatly that, no matter where she looked in the department store, there was no sign of import or international goods. Everything seemed locally made, or at least native to Japan.

And since Sonia Nevermind, Hope's Peak Academy's Ultimate Princess and the Princess of Novoselic had some time to kill before her appointed dinner with the Mayor of Inaba and several town council officials, she'd convinced her accompanying staff members that her time would be best spent absorbing as much as she could of the town. Of the normal life, the successes and struggles that composed an Inaba resident's day so, as she sat and listened to their pitch regarding bringing a bit of a real European monarchy to the town (and vice-versa), she might have something intelligent to say in commentary.

In the meantime, though, she'd busied herself first in the grocery department of Junes. Fascinated by cube-shaped watermelons and bottles of mayonnaise packaged in the shape of infant children, she then found her way through housewares, the electronics department (pausing for a good five minutes to watch the anime program that played on the sample televisions), and finally...the toy department. She had an actual mission here: to find something her younger cousins might enjoy. And while they liked sports and planes and martial arts action heroes, Sonia's attention had been diverted from the action figures aisle to, of all things, a display of stuffed animals. Primarily bears, but they'd been posed in a miniature replica of Inaba's main shopping center, taking part in all the activities their human counterparts would.

Sonia smiled warmly at it: the residents truly loved their home and all that made it unique. With a determined nod, she glanced around for anyone in a uniform or apron that would designate them as an employee. After spotting a boy, likely close to her in age with hair nearly as blonde and pale as her own, she approached him, waving gently to get his attention. She wished she'd been allowed to wear her Hope's Peak uniform that day: she would've looked far more normal, like she fit in at some distant school as a foreign student but a student nevertheless. Instead, her deep green dress, with its full skirt and matching cropped jacket and modest heels, made her look far more polished, and dignified, than the average high school student. Her pearl and diamond earrings likely didn't help matters: high school girls hardly ever wore anything but costume jewelry, if Hope's Peak was any proof.

"Excuse me," She asked, her Japanese heavily accented with her native Novosonian tongue, "But those stuffed animals, the bears, are they available for purchase? And are they local to Inaba? I simply find the shop display so charming and would like to purchase a few toys as gifts."

#more-than-a-princess answered #tvstarkuma #Non-Despair AU: Hope's Peak Academy verse #(Emoji starter meme)#(Thanks for the ask! I hope this works for you. I had to look up some info about P4/Junes/Inaba)#(And I took soft as both charming and. well. physically soft! Who doesn't like stuffed animals?)#(Let me know if you need anything changed too)

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