#House painted Signs London

[ngssignsmithslondon]

Top 5 NGS copperplate script fonts

Our Famous Slant on Scripts Love Hate Social Club Notting Hill Gallery of hand crafted Copperplate Script sign writing works and inspiration. Fitzbillies of Cambridge Crazy Pig Covent Garden The George Tavern Stepney Soho inspiration Belgium Dutch style Sarf’ Lundun . Script or Cursive lettering is an art and a whole area of expertise that writers either have or not.  Luckily I always…

[gloomwitchwrites]

The 141 boys and the TikTok trend “everybody knows that I’m a good girl officer”

Firstly, I want to say that in this house, we say "fuck the police (derogatory)" every single day. However, I will indulge in this instance because it's our 141 boys and I think the trend with them would be absolutely smoldering. But I will change it up slightly, and pull from my Bodyguard!141 AU Post as well as lean into a security detail aspect for this one.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, dirty thoughts, flirting, secret relationship

Word Count: 1.5k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

Price adjusts the ear piece in his right ear.

The blasted thing doesn’t fit right. It keeps slipping. It’s irritating but it’s manageable. Not like Price is running anywhere. At least, he doesn’t plan on moving too quickly. His job is to stand and observe. To make look after a certain MP’s daughter, and to take her back to the hotel when she tells you she’s ready to leave.

You are no stranger. Far from it.

And it goes far beyond the grounds of appropriate behavior.

Price has completely stuck his foot in it, bedding you when he isn’t supposed to. Stealing kisses in dark corners, and fucking you behind closed doors. He was hired by your father to look after you, and instead, John has taken it much further than that.

But he doesn’t fucking regret it.

Not at all.

John adjusts his ear piece and scans the room from left to right. You’re not in sight but that doesn’t bother him. This ballroom is packed full of rich schmucks who couldn’t give a shit about him.

He scans the room again, and this time he finds you.

You’re walking toward him, hips moving in a sultry sway that steals John’s resolve. You’re gorgeous. Perfect. And he can’t stop staring.

The corner of your mouth quirks with amusement, and John straightens his shoulders, making himself appear bigger. He needs to look professional. He needs to look like he’s not thinking about all the ways he wants to fuck you.

But it’s hard to focus, and when you approach, you glance over your shoulder at him, words leaving your mouth that John doesn’t entirely catch at first. Your foot pops in the air, and the friend you’re walking with giggles, her hand pressed to her painted lips.

Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.

A good girl.

Yes. You are.

You’re John’s good girl.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

High-stakes missions have always been part of Kyle’s life. It is what he knows. What he thrives on. But between the missions, Kyle keeps working, and not with SAS.

Kyle mostly signs up for security detail at different places around London. Sometimes he might work as a bouncer for a club, or be monitoring people entering a music venue. Sometimes the gigs are swanky, and sometimes they’re not. Kyle doesn’t really mind as long as he’s paid.

That’s the whole point.

He’s saving. Wants to buy a house. Maybe find someone to settle down with. Life is going by fast. He needs some stability amongst all the violence.

And tonight? Tonight, he’s nothing more than a glorified security guard.

He looks the part in all-black tactical gear, and he isn’t the only one. There is an entire group of them all lined up in front of large windows, creating a bit of barrier. The event coordinator expected protests. All there is are a handful of people across the street with signs. They’re harmless.

Kyle doesn’t pay them any mind.

He does watch the regular people walking by on his side of the road. Some people are here for the event and others are just passing through.

Standing on the corner nearby is a small group of young women. They’re all dressed up like they’re heading to the clubs. Kyle pretends he’s not looking, but that would be a lie. There is one he keeps glancing at.

You’re fucking stunning. A beauty.

But Kyle has to remain calm. Aloof. He’s not here for you or anyone except the job at hand.

“Go over there.”

“I can’t!”

“Girl. He is so cute. Do it.”

Kyle casually turns his head, only to find you striding toward him. His throat drops into his stomach, and you waltz past him, pausing just to his right, flipping your hair, and batting your eyelashes at him and then your friends.

“Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

Your friends scream, and then you hurriedly run back to them as if you’ve done something you shouldn’t.

A good girl? Sure you are, love.

Kyle smirks and looks away, doing his best to hide a growing smile.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon sits in the driver seat of a large, black SUV. His fingers are itching for a cigarette. He needs the smoke—to feel the burn. To rid himself of some of this agitation.

It’s not annoyance. It’s not frustration. And it sure as shit isn’t anger.

No. Simon has a fucking rager in his pants, and his thoughts are filled with images of you. You—who he’s supposed to be protecting. Escorting you to and from events, pushing back the crowd, and keeping a firm lock on where you are at all times.

The black dress you’re wearing tonight is made of flimsy material. It clings to every curve and swell. Simon is hungry—a feral animal that couldn’t stop stalking you throughout the event.

Now, he’s about to take you back to your hotel. And he knows you’ll invite him in. He knows that the little black dress you wear will be nothing but a pile on the floor in due time.

But this need in his bones isn’t just Simon’s fault. You were a fucking tease all evening. You were bad. Openly flirting with other men in front of him, drinking more than you should have, and genuinely being a little terror to his sanity. All this behavior will only get you punishment. A punishment he’s happy to deal out once he has you behind a closed door.

A car door clicks, and Simon glances up, expecting to see you slide into the backseat. You’re not there. You’re next to him. In the front passenger seat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” asks Simon, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel.

You shrug and settle in. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, leaning on the middle armrest.

Simon can smell your perfume. “Buckle up,” he growls, and you do so casually, as if you don’t hear his irritation.

He pulls out into traffic, and the moment the two of you are clear of the building, Simon feels your hand on his thigh moving dangerously close to his dick.

“This bad behavior needs to stop.”

Your body shifts and you sing-song the next words out of your mouth. “Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

The words are bit slurred. You’re completely pissed, and Simon cannot help but laugh. No punishment then. Not tonight at least.

But tomorrow?

Absolutely.

John "Soap" MacTavish

This isn’t Johnny’s usual job, but it’s easy work.

Usually, hired security and local police take care of concerts and sporting events, but the military has been called in for this one, and Johnny is fine with that. Again, it’s easy work, and they’re paying him more for it.

He stands in one spot, scans the crowd, and acts casual while looking downright intimidating. The intimidation isn’t hard. They have him completely decked out in all-black tactical and balaclava included. All you can see of Johnny are his eyes.

It’s fun, actually. When he put it all on, he pretended to be Simon, only to receive a swat upside the head for it from the man himself.

Johnny has his hands casually resting on his bulletproof vest. No one is really looking at him, and those that do quickly look away. But there is one he can’t stop looking at.

You’re so damn cute, and you can’t stop glancing at him either. You’re with friends, and you keep smiling in his direction. If this were any other night, Johnny would approach you, flirt a bit, maybe even ask for your number. Might even take you home with him if you were open to it.

But Johnny is on the job, and he can’t afford to do that.

As you move closer to him through the crowd, one of your friends keeps saying something to you, moving their hands as if urging you to do something. Johnny isn’t sure what, but he’s curious. You don’t look like danger, and there is nothing about your demeanor that says that you’re looking to cause trouble.

Maybe it’s the balaclava. That seems to be a thing now.

As you approach, there is a pop of your foot, a quick flip of your hair, and a stunning smile. Your friend holds up her phone and you turn away from Johnny briefly to say “Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

I bet you fucking are, love.

Your friends giggle with pleasure, and you quickly move away from him but not before you glance over your shoulder one last time, mouthing a silent “thank you.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

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@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

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@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@arrozyfrijoles23 @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Season Two}

Season one

Chapter Seventeen - End of the season

♡♡♡

The duke and duchess were holding the last ball of the season. It was going to be a grand event to be certain. The whole ton would be there.

You were wearing your last gown made for the season. It was beautiful. A shade of green. It had little jewels sewn into it, so it would sparkle while you danced.

You looked forward to seeing Thomas.

Though you had not secured an engagement within the time of the season, you hoped that you may continue to correspond with Thomas while he was in the country, and perhaps go see him at his family estate, that he may ask.

Your mother would be so proud.

Your maid did your hair and helped the jewellery. It was going to be a spectacular season finale. You could feel it in your bones.

Hastings House was beautiful.

You walked with your mother around the fountain to the main entrance. The ball was to be held in a small courtyard in the middle of the house. Daphne had done a splendid job.

There was a painting of the duke and duchess on display. Painted bt Henry Granville. It was beautifully done.

You stand off to the side while your mother chats with guests. You watch people waltz.

Violet arrives with Eloise. Daphne goes to talk to her sister.

You keep your eyes peeled for any sign of Thomas.

The next to come through the door are the Featheringtons. You cannot deny your relief at seeing Penelope again. Granted, she is wearing yellow, but she is here.

One dance ends, and the next dance begins.

You take a stroll about the ball. Thomas has yet to arrive, it seems. You smile at Penelope as you pass her. She smiles back, too, seemingly surprised you had paid her any attention. People usually don't.

You see Colin parting ways with Benedict across the room. Your eyes follow the second eldest Bridgerton as he walks.

He hasn't noticed you.

Maybe that's for the best...

No.

No. He is your friend and you want to talk to him. You are about to make your way across the room when a servant comes up to you with a note on his tray. You look at him confused.

"For you, ma'am."

You look at the note and pick it up. The servant leaves, and you unfold the paper. The handwriting belongs to Thomas.

I must apologise. I am to leave for York immediately. I shall not be at the Hastings ball. Do have fun on my behalf.

- T. Hardy

You stare at the note in silence. He's not coming at all. He must have left earlier in the day. Perhaps in a rush. You had been at the Bridgertons that afternoon, so if he called the house, you wouldn't have seen him.

If he had called to the house, the butler would have told you, or even your mother. He did not call... So he must have been in a rush.

You sigh. You fold the note back up and leave it on a tray of a passing waiter. They can dispose of it for you.

Glancing up, you find two blue eyes gazing at you. Benedict has seen you. Now you're definitely going to go talk to him. You make your way across the courtyard and come to stand beside Benedict.

"Hello."

"Hello," he replies softly.

Silence fills the space between you, and you turn to the dancers to occupy yourself, and to keep from looking at him again.

"Is Lord Hardy not with you?" Benedict couldn't help asking. He was surprised to see you standing alone tonight.

"No. He left London already. Back to York."

Benedict is even further surprised by the information. He thought Hardy would stay until the very end. He believed the man to be falling for you.

"I see."

You look down and try to keep yourself in check. "I thought maybe I had finally found someone. Someone who perhaps desried me, but it seems I was wrong."

Benedict keeps quiet.

"I wasn't enough for anyone this season. I tried, and I failed. Doesn't matter, I suppose. Next year might be different."

"You didn't fail."

You look up at Benedict. "I didn't secure a proposal or even managed to keep a man interested enough to at least say goodbye before he left."

"You might see him again," he says.

"Somehow, I feel not."

Benedict feels for you. You have been nothing but glorious and wonderful and yourself all year round. You wiggled yourself into the lives of his family and became a pleasant consistent in their lives. You encouraged his passions and made him feel a little more like himself.

"You didn't fail," he says again.

You look up at him and crack a smile. "Next year then."

He nods.

The music changes and the floor is cleared. You notice the duke and duchess approach each other. You knew something had happened between them, but didn't know what. Yet, here they were about to dance for the ton.

You smile at Daphne as dances with her husband. They look like such a handsome couple. You envy them. You envy what they have.

The way they look at each other. How close he holds her to him.

Love.

It is so rare. It's so rare that very few people ever get to feel it for real. You want it. You want to know what it feels like to have, well, a soulmate. The one person made just for you. To love and to hold. To cherish. To share every moment with.

Benedict shifts hisngaze from his sister to look at you. He can see the way you watch Daphne and Simon dance.

Benedict's had fun. He played around. Tested the waters. But looking at you right here and right now makes him rethink everything.

Genevieve has certainly been fun. Yet, if you were going to try again for your own sake next year, perhaps he should, too. You, who inspired his art. Inspired him to try harder and practise more.

Perhaps next season, you will both benefit and grow more as people.

As the waltz continues, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance brings you to look up at the sky. The heavens open and rain pours. You gasp softly as the cool droplets hit your skin.

Benedict instinctively reaches out for you and guides you under the canopy toward the house. You look up at him and then turn back to the ball. Everyone else does the same, seeking shelter from the rain.

Everyone but Daphne.

Simon is holding her hand as if he was guiding her to shelter, but Daphne stops him from doing so. She closes her eyes and lifts her face to the sky, letting the rain fall.

She looks beautiful.

Lady Danbury stops anyone else from going out into the rain. "Everyone... I believe this evening is complete. We shall thank our gracious hosts for such a splendid soiree in the morning. Now, go. Out."

Everyone begins to leave.

Benedict slips his hand into yours and guides you out. You look up at him quietly.

Daphne and Simon have some talking to do.

Benedict guides you through the house and outside to the carriage. It's still raining. His hair sticks to his head and you giggle.

"What?"

"Nothing..." You smile.

He gives you a boyish grin. He helps you into the carriage and stands around in the doorway.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" He asks.

"You leave for the country tomorrow."

"Are you not also?"

"Me and Mama are to stay in London. We don't have a country house to go to in the summer."

Benedict didn't know that. "Did your father not own an estate?"

"We had to sell it when he died. He left us with a great deal of dept."

He realises in that moment how much he doesn't know about you. You're so much more complicated than he originally thought.

Your mother clears her throat and Benedict moves to let her into the carriage.

"See you soon, I hope?" He looks at you.

"I'll write."

He nods and watches the footman close the door. He steps back as the carriage leaves, and Benedict finds himself a little lonely.

♡♡♡

When you rise the next morning, you have no idea of anything that happened within the Featherington house. Lord Featherington died. He was killed.

Penelope spent much of the morning in tears. Elosie had gone to visit her.

Marina went with Sir Philip Crane. The brother of her deceased love who never made it back home. She was to marry him. At least she could have her child and be looked after.

You had decided to go to the Bridgerton house before they all left. It was the least you could do for Benedict and his family. They had all seemed pleased to see you when you arrived, and that made you feel warm inside.

Colin was leaving for Greece. Another reason for Penelope to be upset. Colin was going to be so far away travelling the world.

You waved him off as he rode away on his horse. Benedict had his arm locked with yours.

As the rest of the family headed inside, you struck up conversation with Daphne, Simon, and Anthony. While the duke and duchess are staying in London a little longer, it would seem Anthony intends to find a Viscountess.

That leaves all of you stunned.

Though he follows it up by saying he will keep love out of it to keep things simple. Daphne frowns at that. As do you.

"Perhaps he will learn," she says.

"Perhaps not," you reply.

Eloise hurries over to her brother, who is about to climb onto a horse. You had already said farewell to him.

"Give my regards to Madame Delacroix." She says to Benedict.

"Your regards will have to wait, El," he responds. "She is making a short trip to France."

"Oh? Not going to say goodbye to her?" Eloise asks.

"I did. Last night, if you must know."

Benedict had gone to see her after he bid you goodnight. He went to say goodbye. After seeing you at the ball last night, he decided to change his mind on a few things.

Granted, the goodbye was a long one. He spent a couple of hours at the shop, but nothing untoward happened.

"You said goodbye to her?"

"After Daphne's ball, yes." Benedict then mentioned he spent most of the ball with you.

Eloise worked out that if Madame Delacroix had been at the shop all night. That couldn't have been her in the carriage when Eloise went to protect Whistledown.

Eloise headed back inside.

"Are you coming?" Benedict calls.

You turn and see him on his horse. "Me?"

"Yes, you." He chuckles.

"Where?"

"One last ride around the square before me and my family leave for the summer." He offers.

You smile and look up at him. "I'm not dressed for riding.

"No matter. He offers you his hand."

"Benedict... we cannot create a scandal at the very end of the season."

"Why not?" He grins

"Because I said so."

He laughs.

"Very well. I'm glad you came to see us." He says.

"Me too. Have a lovely summer, Benedict."

"You too." He speaks your name softly, smiling. You both stay like that for a moment, looking at each other. The moment is broken we spurs his horse onward.

You watch him go with a smile.

You look around the square and sigh softly.

Next season was going to be different. It had to be.

♡♡♡

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@biancamde - @ifgslsofbsodbf - @kniselle - @berarenado - @grassclippers - @bwormie - @avengersgirllorianna

[ellatoone7]

Long day (Leah Williamson x reader)

It was getting darker earlier now, a sure sign that winter was nearing, that and the goosebumps littering over Leah’s tanned skin as it whipped through her hair, making the blood rush through her ears in the best way possible.

Winter trainings were always tough, the bitter cold stinging the defenders bright eyes making it nearly impossible to see the ball. It was all worth it though as she was enveloped by the warmth of her car and the thoughts of what was waiting for her at home.

Leah didn’t waste any time getting home, her playlist blaring as she hums gently to the lyrics that always reminded her of you. Leah loved football, it was a huge part of her life and she cherished every second of it, but, it didn’t come close to how much she loved you.

In fact Leah loved you so much that as long as she had you in her life, she would be content with never playing another match again. She didn’t fail to remind you of that every day, from waking you up with soft, loving kisses and breathless confessions of love that was so sacred to the both of you, all the way to the lazy evenings full of cuddles on the couch and whispered affections.

Leah craved those dark mornings tangled in linen sheets and soft limbs, so connected that you couldn’t tell where one started and the other finished. This morning for example, a rare day, where Leah didn’t have to get up at an ungodly hour, now that it was winter her trainings had been pushed further up in the evening, leaving the still mornings at her beck and call.

Strong biceps curled around your midsection, holding on as if you were some divine being that would disappear at the slightest loosen of her grip. The gentle breathing, that the defender claims eagerly is not snoring, though you would beg to differ, fans the back of your neck as the serene surrounding of pure adoration consumes the room fully.

That exact same fondness that paints the walls of your house welcomes the tired blonde back into its familiar structure. Leah’s home however isn’t slabs of concrete or treasured pictures littering every inch of the building, but it’s the comforting figure that she just knows is standing in kitchen, waiting for food to magically appear out of thin air.

Leah drops her kit bag next to the homemade shoe shelf Steph had made the both of you after Leah missed a match due to a single shoe and a rolled ankle. The blonde chuckled at the memory as she threw the keys into the designated bowel while heeling the front door shut.

“Babe?” Although knowing exactly where you were, she couldn’t help but be impatient as she hears the soft pattering of your fluffy socked feet. You smoothly slid into the corridor with the most prized worthy grin lighting up every inch of your perfect face.

Just like her previous actions, you did not waste a second, cupping her defined jaw and pulling her into a kiss that could mistaken the fact that Leah had only been gone for a few hours. The gentle tug of her hair pulled her back into the blissful reality that was you, her hands had found the place on your hips that they had been familiarised with for so long, pulling you in until the space between the both of you was nonexistent.

“Hi.” One simple word mumbled against her lips in a humour full manor, a breathless chuckle following from her own mouth as she peppers kisses against your flushed cheeks.

“God, people would think you’ve been gone for months with this greeting.” You chuckled as lips worshipped your neck, “We won’t tell people that it’s only been a few hours then.”

Her deep London accent was muffled as she placed one final kiss against the volume of your throat.

Foreheads met and eyes locked as you found comfort in each others space, “For what it’s worth, I missed you.” You couldn’t help but melt into her, nuzzling your cheek against hers while breathing her in, “I missed you too.” You pulled back slightly before continuing, “You know what else I missed? When you didn’t smell, go take a shower, Lee.”

A laugh bubbled up as you watched the defender scoff in offence, “Rude!” You nodded while wiping her sweaty strand of hair out of her face with a playful grimace. Leah swatted your hands away as she grumbled childishly, “Okay! okay, I get it.” The blonde started towards the stairs before turning backs around with an eyebrow raised, “Wanna join me?”

“As much as I would love to, I have some baking to do, so I will regretfully leave you to it,” Leah chuckled while solemnly nodding, you watched her slightly disappointed expression and decided to meet her halfway, “…but, I can offer you a kiss?”

Her blue eyes lit up again like they always seem to do when she’s near around you, leaning up on your tiptoes you pressed a timid kiss to her eager lips before quickly stepping back much to the tall blondes dismay. Her lips followed yours and you gave into her meeting her in the middle in a melting kiss.

Her sweaty stature was the last thing on your mind as you wrapped your arms around her neck, she slightly lifted you off the ground pressing you against her fully.

After what felt like a too small eternity, you gently stepped back, “That’ll give you something to think about.” She lightly groaned before quickly stealing one more kiss, “Don’t be a tease.” You giggled before pushing at her chest gently, “Go, get cleaned up and then get down here to help me with these stupid cookies.”

Leah smiled before putting her hands up innocently, she made her way upstairs with a satisfied sigh and you watched her go before heading back to the kitchen.

[reasonsforhope]

"Thousands of demonstrators converged opposite the White House on Saturday to call for an end to Israeli military action in Gaza, while children joined a pro-Palestinian march through central London as part of a global day of action against the longest and deadliest war between Israel and Palestinians in 75 years.

People in the U.S. capital held aloft signs questioning President Joe Biden’s viability as a presidential candidate because of his staunch support for Israel in the nearly 100-day war against Hamas. Some of the signs read: “No votes for Genocide Joe,” “Biden has blood on his hands” and “Let Gaza live.”

Vendors were also selling South African flags as protesters chanted slogans in support of the country whose accusations of genocide against Israel prompted the International Court of Justice in the Hague, Netherlands, to take up the case...

The plight of children in the Gaza Strip was the focus of the latest London march, symbolized by the appearance of Little Amal, a 3.5-meter (11.5-foot) puppet originally meant to highlight the suffering of Syrian refugees.

The puppet had become a human rights emblem during an 8,000-kilometer (4,970-mile) journey from the Turkish-Syrian border to Manchester in July 2001.

Nearly two-thirds of the 23,843 people killed during Israel’s campaign in Gaza have been women and children, according to the Health Ministry in the Hamas-run territory...

“On Saturday Amal walks for those most vulnerable and for their bravery and resilience,“ said Amir Nizar Zuabi, artistic director of The Walk Productions. “Amal is a child and a refugee and today in Gaza childhood is under attack, with an unfathomable number of children killed. Childhood itself is being targeted. That’s why we walk.”

London’s Metropolitan Police force said some 1,700 officers would be on duty for the march, including many from outside the capital...

The London march was one of several others being held in European cities including Paris, Rome, Milan and Dublin, where thousands also marched along the Irish capital’s main thoroughfare to protest Israel’s military operations in the Palestinian enclave.

Protesters waved Palestinian flags, held placards critical of the Irish, U.S. and Israeli governments and chanted, “Free, free Palestine.″

In Rome, hundreds of demonstrators descended on a boulevard near the famous Colosseum, with some carrying signs reading, “Stop Genocide.”

At one point during the protest, amid the din of sound effects mimicking exploding bombs, a number of demonstrators lied down in the street and pulled white sheets over themselves as if they were corpses, while others knelt beside them, their palms daubed in red paint.

Many hundreds of demonstrators gathered in Paris’ Republic square to set off on a march calling for an immediate cease-fire, an end to the war, a lifting of the blockade on Gaza and to impose sanctions on Israel. Marching protesters waved the Palestinian flag and held aloft placards and banners reading, “From Gaza to Paris. Resistance.”"

-via AP News, January 13, 2023

[girlsdressingrooms]

Iris Barrel Apfel, Decorator and Fashion Stylist

(August 29, 1921 – March 1, 2024) 

Ms. Apfel was one of the most vivacious personalities in the worlds of fashion, textiles, and interior design, she has cultivated a personal style that is both witty and exuberantly idiosyncratic.

Her originality was typically revealed in her mixing of high and low fashions—Dior haute couture with flea market finds, nineteenth-century ecclesiastical vestments with Dolce & Gabbana lizard trousers.

With remarkable panache and discernment, she combines colors, textures, and patterns without regard to period, provenance, and, ultimately, aesthetic conventions. Paradoxically, her richly layered combinations—even at their most extreme and baroque—project a boldly graphic modernity.

Iris Barrel was born on Aug. 29, 1921, in Astoria, Queens, the only child of Samuel Barrel, who owned a glass and mirror business, and his Russian-born wife, Sadye, who owned a fashion boutique.

She studied art history at New York University, then qualified to teach and did so briefly in Wisconsin before fleeing back to New York to work on Women's Wear Daily, and for interior designer Elinor Johnson, decorating apartments for resale and honing her talent for sourcing rare items before opening her own design firm. She was also an assistant to illustrator Robert Goodman.

As a distinguished collector and authority on antique fabrics, Iris Apfel has consulted on numerous restoration projects that include work at the White House that spanned nine presidencies from Harry Truman to Bill Clinton.

Along with her husband, Carl, she founded Old World Weavers, an international textile manufacturing company and ran it until they retired in 1992. The Apfels specialized in the reproduction of fabrics from the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries, and traveled to Europe twice a year in search of textiles they could not source in the United States.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute assembled 82 ensembles and 300 accessories from her personal collection in 2005 in a show about her called “Rara Avis”.

Almost overnight, Ms. Apfel became an international celebrity of pop fashion.

Ms. Apfel was seen in a television commercial for the French car DS 3, became the face of the Australian fashion brand Blue Illusion, and began a collaboration with the start-up WiseWear. A year later, Mattel created a one-of-a-kind Barbie doll in her image. Last year, she appeared in a beauty campaign for makeup with Ciaté London.

Six years after the Met show she started her fashion line "Rara Avis" with the Home Shopping Network.

She was cover girl of Dazed and Confused, among many other publications, window display artist at Bergdorf Goodman, designer and design consultant, then signed to IMG in 2019 as a model at age 97.

Ms. Iris Apfel became a visiting professor at the University of Texas at Austin in its Division of Textiles and Apparel, teaching about imagination, craft and tangible pleasures in a world of images.

 In 2018, she published “Iris Apfel: Accidental Icon,” an autobiographical collection of musings, anecdotes and observations on life and style. 

Ms. Apfel’s apartments in New York and Palm Beach were full of furnishings and tchotchkes that might have come from a Luis Buñuel film: porcelain cats, plush toys, statuary, ornate vases, gilt mirrors, fake fruit, stuffed parrots, paintings by Velázquez and Jean-Baptiste Greuze, a mannequin on an ostrich.

The Museum of Lifestyle & Fashion History in Boynton Beach, Florida, is designing a building that will house a dedicated gallery of Ms. Apfel's clothes, accessories, and furnishings.

Ms. Apfel’s work had a universal quality, It’s was a trend.

Rest in Power !

[artandthebible]

Christ as the 'Light of the World'

Artist: Paris Bordone (Italian, 1500-1571)

Date: c. 1550

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: The National Gallery, London, United Kingdom

Description

Christ’s hand is raised with his index finger pointing upwards, perhaps towards heaven, represented by the sunlit sky through the window. He holds a scroll inscribed: EGO. SVM. LVX. MŪD. meaning ‘I am the Light of the World’ (John 8: 12). Christ goes on to promise that ‘he who follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life,’ underlining his role as saviour.

Paintings of this type were kept in houses, especially in bedrooms and also displayed in churches. The painting is signed on the plinth of the pillar.

The hatching of the shadows in Christ’s eyes and the thin horizontal lines of white crossing his irises are typical of Bordone’s style and can also be seen in his Portrait of a Young Woman. The red of Christ’s garment has faded, making the highlights and shadows appear rather hard and abrupt.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The Perfect Send Off

Pairing: Billy Taylor x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of war, slight coercion and corruption kink, loss of (male) virginity, smut. Word count: ~2.1k

Summary: Visiting war torn London, while helping to evacuate her sister and her children back to Cambridge, a young woman finds herself checked in at The Halcyon, and catches the attention of their bell boy, soon to be soldier, Billy. Based on this request.

Author's note: No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“Billy, don’t stare!” Peggy chastises her son with a swat to the arm. “Help the lady with her bags.”

Her eyes move appreciatively over the tall form of the sandy haired young man in front of her. He offers her a tight lipped smile, obviously flustered, considering the shade of scarlet he’s turning, before grabbing her suitcases from the marble floor of the hotel foyer. “Sorry, Mum,” he mumbles awkwardly to the dark haired woman beside him.

“It’s Mrs. Taylor in front of the guests, how many times?!” She hisses quietly, before turning back to her with a charming, painted-on-for-the-guests type smile. “Welcome to The Halcyon, madam. Billy is one of our bell boys, and will take your bags to your room for you now that you’re all checked in. My name’s Peggy, I operate the switchboard. Please don’t hesitate to ring down if you need anything. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

She watches Peggy walk away, each click of her high heels growing quieter as she retreats, before turning back to Billy, who stands there expectantly with her bags in his large hands.

Oh, I certainly will enjoy my stay.

She had arrived in London by train from Cambridge that morning, intending to leave again with her sister and her children. Since war had broken out, the frequent airstrikes over London had made it too dangerous for them to remain, so they’d be staying with her until it was safe to come back - provided they had a home to return to.

It would take a few days for her sister to get packed and have the house and children’s schooling in order, so she’d be staying at The Halcyon until they were ready to leave.

She spares a sideways glance at the bellboy as they stand in the lift together, the reddening of his face from having been caught staring at her only just beginning to fade. He’s younger than her by at least a couple of years, but has chiseled features that make him look handsome despite his bashful nature, and he fills out the grey slacks of his uniform more than adequately.

The reason for her trip to London is a serious matter, but she figures there’s no harm in having some fun with it.

“It’s nice that a young lad like you gets to work with their mother,” she says with a sultry smile, as the lift travels upwards.

His eyebrows raise, blue eyes widening slightly as he turns to her in the small space. “Oh, I’m not a lad, I’m a man…I mean, working with me mum, it’s not forever. Expecting me draft papers any day now…miss?”

He looks at her uncertainly and she huffs a quiet laugh as they step out of the lift together. “Yes, miss is fine, I don’t have a husband.”

Billy presses his lips together and averts his eyes, nodding slightly.

“So, you’re signed up to draft,” she says as they reach the door of her room, “how exciting for you. You’ll have to pop by and let me know your posting once you find out, I’d love to know.”

He falters, the suitcases he’d been carrying thumping heavily to the ground as he stoops to deposit them over the threshold of her room. He straightens, clasping his hands in front of him, and looks at her apologetically. “Oh…yeah, course…yeah, I will!”

She holds his gaze for a few moments, enjoying his barely disguised panic, before she speaks again. “I’d give you a tip, but I’m afraid I’m unsure of which bag I’ve put my purse in–”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, honestly, don’t worry,” he insists hurriedly.

“Nonsense, I have to give you something,” she purrs, “will this do?”

She leans up and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek, watching him carefully as she settles back on her feet.

His eyes go wide, the scarlet hue returning to his skin as he battles to hide a grin, tugging at the collar of his uniform. She hears him mutter “bloody hell” beneath his breath, as his eyes dart nervously down the corridor.

She wonders if he’s ever kissed anyone before, based on his reaction to a mere peck on the cheek she supposes he probably hasn’t.

Oh, my stay here is certainly going to be fun.

“Was that to your liking, Billy?” She asks with a smirk.

“Oh…oh yeah…thanks,” he says, swallowing thickly and trying to regain his composure.

Adorable.

“My pleasure. If that’s everything then, I’ll see you later?”

He nods, retreating from the doorway and down the corridor, sparing glances back over his shoulder at her standing there, until he’s back in the lift and out of sight.

It’s nearly two days later when she’s heading back up to her room in the late afternoon, having spent the day with her sister, that Billy rushes towards her, eyes lit up with excitement and a wide grin on his face.

“I got my posting this morning!” He tells her excitedly as she puts her key in her room door.

“Congratulations, soldier,” she says with a wink, “got time to come in and tell me about it, or have you got to get back to work?”

“Just finished me shift, actually, so I’ve got time.” He loosens the strap around his chin of his Halcyon branded cap, removing it as if to signify the fact. His dark blonde hair is slicked back against his head, neatly parted to the side.

“Great, come on in then.”

Billy trails behind her, his hat held gingerly in both hands as he glances around the room.

“Make yourself at home, Billy.” She gestures towards the bed and he perches on the edge of it, while she takes the armchair opposite. She has never seen anyone look less relaxed and has to stifle a laugh at how rigid his posture is.

“So, about your posting–”

“Yeah!” He suddenly becomes animated again, leaning forward and gesticulating each of his words, “Came in the post this mornin’, tried to find ya, but you were out. I’ve been put on the anti aircraft guns! Can you believe it? I’ll be shooting German planes outta the sky!”

She watches him intently as he speaks, the curve of his lips, the brightness of his eyes. He exudes confidence when he’s passionate, not a trace of shyness to be found and it’s incredibly attractive.

“That’s very brave of you,” she says, “I expect your sweetheart will be worried for you though.”

“Oh,” he furrows his brow, his gaze downcast, “no, there’s no one…no sweetheart.”

“That’s a shame,” she drawls, her smugness at the fact barely concealed. “Tell me, Billy, are you a virgin?”

He widens his eyes, mouth opening and closing as he flushes pink from the base of his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. “N-no…I’ve had it off with loadsa girls…”

“Billy…” she chastises in a stern tone of voice.

He sighs, turning his hat over in his hands, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, I’m a virgin.”

She moves to sit beside him on the bed, her hand caressing his shoulder. “Nothing wrong with that,” she reassures him, “but perhaps you’d like not to be? Can’t send you off to war, never having known the touch of a woman.”

He audibly gulps, staring at her in disbelief, so she takes the initiative, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his.

He freezes at first, she can feel him trembling all over, but he softens as she’s about the pull away and reciprocates, his hat slipping from his hands and landing on the carpet with a soft thud. His mouth moves clumsily against her own, over eager and inexperienced, yet there is something endearing about it. She longs to show Billy the tenderness he deserves.

“I–I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispers nervously against her lips once they part for air.

“It’s okay,” she soothes him, caressing his cheek, “just lay back. Let me take care of you.”

He nods, moving back against the bedspread.

She takes her time stripping him of his bellboy uniform. Billy is undeniably skinny, but his long, lean limbs are corded with wiry muscle, his chest and shoulders well defined and broad as they’re revealed to her as she sheds his jacket, shirt and vest.

His chest rises and falls rapidly with anxious, shallow breaths, his eyes glued to her as she removes her own clothing. His lips part as she bares herself before him, trembling hands reaching out tentatively to trace over her naked flesh.

Her eyes widen with shock and admiration and she removes his briefs. She had not been expecting Billy to be quite so well endowed; his erection is thick and reaches almost to his navel, the ruddy tip glistening with arousal.

Billy hisses through his teeth, brow furrowing as she takes him in hand to roll a sheath over the length of him. She can tell from the way he twitches against her palm that he won’t last long.

“You okay?” She whispers as she moves to straddle him.

His expression is almost pained, only able to nod as he looks up at her with desperation in his eyes.

She sinks slowly down onto him, her jaw going slack at the stretch, hearing Billy groan beneath her.

“Oh…oh god…” he grits out, as her hips sink fully against his.

Trailing her fingertips over his bare chest, while giving herself a moment to adjust, she soothes him with a soft kiss.

He hums into it, his hips bucking slightly upwards and she pulls back with a grin, rolling her hips against his, delighting in the way his thickness drags against her sensitive walls.

He gasps softly, head thrown back against the pillows, a few strands of hair coming loose from his carefully waxed style.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters.

His grip on her hips is vicelike as she rocks against him, she feels impossibly full and yet already anticipates this being an unsatisfying ending for her - she can feel him throbbing inside of her, as he pants hard beneath her.

Her backside slaps softly against his thighs once, twice, three times, and all too soon his eyes are screwing shut as he cries out in ecstasy, twitching as he spills into the condom.

She stills, gazing down at him as he opens his eyes, skin flushed as he gasps for air. He looks like a work of art, no shame or fear of making a fool of himself guiding his behaviour, just utterly lost in the moment.

“Sh-shit…sorry…” he whispers, as she climbs off of him. He pulls off the rubber and discards it in the bedside waste paper bin. “That was really quick.”

She smiles, guiding him back to her side and laying back. “It was your first time, that was going to happen. You’ll last longer next time.”

He grins down at her. “Next time?”

“If you want to, that is.”

“Course I do!”

He kisses her with more confidence, his hands snaking a trail down her body, squeezing greedily at her curves. After a few minutes of their languid kisses and caresses, she can feel him stirring to life against her thigh again.

“Could I be on top this time?” He whispers into her ear, settling between her legs, once he’s found another sheath.

She nods, sighing in pleasure as she feels him slip back inside of her. The change in angle and sensation of his weight on top of her heightens the feeling as each of his gentle strokes brushes deep within her.

While it feels good, it’s not quite enough to get her there, and as she feels his thrusts becoming less controlled, she knows she needs to help him to help her.

“Give me your hand,” she says huskily, taking it and guiding it between their bodies. 

She presses his fingers to her pearl, guiding them to stroke her in quick, tight circles. “Just like that,” she tells him.

He’s quick to learn, stroking her in tandem with each snap of his hips. He groans low into the crook of her neck, stilling as he spends himself a second time, but the movement of his fingers never relents. The combination of his ministrations against her bud and him pulsating within her drive her over the edge, and she climaxes with a moan, clenching around Billy, causing his breath to catch in his throat.

He rolls off of her after a moment, throwing his arm behind his head and pulling her to his chest. “Could get used to this,” he murmurs with a lazy smirk.

“Won’t you get the sack?” She asks jokingly.

“Nah, leaving anyway, aren’t I?”

“Right you are,” she smiles, snuggling against him.

“You up for another send off then? I could die, y’know.”

“That’s manipulative, Billy!” She giggles, swatting his chest.

“Is it working though?”

“Yeah, yeah, it is…” she says quietly, feeling his fingertips dig into the soft flesh of her thigh.

Read on AO3

More Billy Taylor fics

[keelt9]

Chapter 8

Masterlist

We can hear the soft thud of some lights turning off, making me react and take 3 steps back making sure to put a proper distance between us. 

“Ok, I… don’t�� I’m sorry Max but I don’t like you.” Max smirks as I feel the heat of my face increase. 

“I know, still I don’t believe you’re totally indifferent to me.” I scoff feeling the air full of tension. “If it’s that way you wouldn't feel kind of nervous around me.”

He slowly starts to walk right to me. I have decided to prove him wrong. I stand still, biting the inside of my cheek.

“See? Like a rock.” Max sighs, however he doesn’t know how to give up.

I didn’t even notice until I felt Max’s fingers tingle between mine that made me hiss. “A rock hitting by waves.”

I can’t speak because if I do, he notices the air I’ve contained since his fingers touch mine, he smiles with a bloody confidence that annoys me so much.

“MAX!” The screams of Ruppert give me enough time to take another step back and breathe, feeling a burning sensation on my hand where his hand was, forcing me to close my eyes.

The touch on my forehead makes me open my eyes. “Honey, wake up.” 

I sat on the bed so quickly, scaring mom, standing next to my bed. “Thomas is here.” 

She touched my forehead looking for fever, a sign that I probably have a cold. “Are you alright?” 

I smile rubbing my eyes. “Yes, you scare me, that's all.”

Mom smiles and walks to open the big curtains of the room. It's a sunny day in London, the beginning of summer.

“Don’t worry, he guess you probably are sleeping so he’s having breakfast with you dad, take your time.” Mom said before going to the door one more time pointing next to me; a tray with orange juice, fruit and croissant. 

I laid back one more time in bed looking at the roof; since that night that moment keeps tormenting me for a full week.

“I hate you Max Verstappen.” I whisper to myself, like every morning since then.

After 40 minutes I was finally ready. Thomas is talking with my parents in the living room clearly having a great time because of the way they laugh and Thomas keeps eating Mom famous cookies.

“Sorry for the delay.” As I enter the room I kiss my dad's cheek and push Thomas so I can sit next to him on the couch.

“I kind of expected to find you here, you mess up my <Good morning>” Thomas joked with my tendency of sleeping on the couch.

I stuck my tongue out. “Ha ha ha, so funny.” I take a cookie. “Let’s go, we’re late.” I kiss my parents one more time walking to the door. 

“Ain't my fault.” We heard the loud laughs from mom and dad. 

I bet sometimes, they see more frequently than they expected, that two kids walking to the entrance with our coats stuck in our backpacks, shorts stained with grass and probably painting, laughing as we back from school.

“Drive safe honey.” Mom asked Thomas in the front door, he nodded, kissing my mother's cheek. 

Inside of the car it took him 3 seconds asking for the dark circles under my eyes along with a calm face.

“I have to ask or I should wait for you explote.” He asked, watching the road but with a smile on his face.

We’re going to Newport; Thomas insisted he wants me to see the advance of the house and talk about a few changes he will do, for the better; he feels comfortable if I see it at the same time he explained to me, making sure all it’s fine.

The sticker on my phone doesn’t help, intact like if it was new. 

“It’s a silly thought, that’s all.” Thomas kept silent. “With time this will be over.” He nodded, didn't say anything else, eyes on the road and music on the car.

We stayed like that for 5 minutes until I exploited it.

I turn around my phone after seeing photos of Max enjoying his vacation, the social media is cruel most of the time. “Tell me something!” 

Thomas laughs as I see the road rubbing my hands together. “Y/N, you know I’m listening, you speak, I’ll listen.”

He watches the map on the car. “We have 3 hours left.” 

Like if I’m about to say the most complicated story I clear my throat and sit straight. “Ok, ok, ok, feel free of interrupting me at any moment, ok?” 

Thomas laughs. “For christ sake Y/N, spit it out.”

I cover my face, I’m doing such a scene for something I swear I have under control.

“I think I like someone.” I whisper to myself, he just hears a mumbling. 

“What?” Thomas lends to his right for I repeat it one more time. 

I close my eyes, hide my face on my hands and…scream it. “I think I like someone!” 

Thomas gasps but doesn't make a big show, like he said he listens… for 1 hour the full story.

“So?” He asked, raising his shoulders. “Oh, come on Y/N, the story of a boy telling you that is more frequent than you want to believe.”

No one could know that better than him, that was a constant anecdote everytime a boy related my last name with Lewis.

Bluffing lost in my thoughts, is the reason he asks a more specific question. “What do you see on him? What’s different?”

“What?” Thomas chuckles, taking his sight from the road for a second and seeing me.

“What happens that makes you believe this is real?” This time I chuckle darting my eyes to him and the window. “Come on Y/N, I know that fake dimple that comes for biting your cheek.”

I release my cheek, just remembering makes me feel shy. Thomas pushed my arm encouraging me to speak. 

“Ok…”

That night after a quick talk with Rupert and Max, I easily found a way to walk away or that's what I thought.

Max screamed my name making me turned around gripping my coat tight but Max didn't say another word, he just keep staring at me, bitting his lip for finally after shaking my head walking away, let it a loud a <Fuck>

Thomas didn’t say anything, just stayed thinking. “It’s silly right?”

He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. “You see something, it’s just… I'm trying to guess what you see.”

“I don't know, but believe me, whatever I see keeps disturbing my dreams.” Strangely and annoyingly, it doesn’t bother me that much.

The house has made considerable progress, Thomas and his team have been working endlessly; the old house is far gone now, it takes the place of the structure of my new home. No walls or anything like that so you can see to the other side of the house where the old painting room and the big lemon tree reminds like always.

“I don’t get it, why do you want me here? Everything seems perfect.” I asked Thomas as we watched the house from the backyard, letting his team work.

“In case of one last change.” I know he refers to the idea of taking the painting room away and not wasting an unnecessary amount of money to keep it.

“No, I don’t have any suggestions.” Thomas scratches his neck, he’s clearly in total disagreement and it’s easy to notice that. 

Coming out of the house a young woman appears, just like us boots, helmet and a vest, giving some instructions to the people who reinforce the structure of the room.

“Oh, there she is.” Thomas waits until the girl is in front of us. “Emma this is Y/N, Y/N this is Emma”

I heard about Emma, who is the second hand of Thomas, if he couldn’t be in some place, for sure she will be.

Emma smiles and shakes my hand. “I heard a lot of things about you is a pleasure Y/N.”

“The pleasure is mine, I mean I know you´re making sure I’ll have a home by the end of autumn.” Emma smiles, feeling shy for the way she turns her sight from us.

“Don’t be shy Emma, tell her.”  Thomas raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, well, Thomas told me about your project… So, I was walking around Newport these days and I found an old farm.” Emma stops thinking I will interrupt her but I let her keep talking. “It’s a nice place for the shelter, from my point of view.”

Thomas giggles but helps her. “It’s big, really big, but yes, old, a big investment if you asked us.”

“But?” They have a good reason for mentioning that place, even suggesting it to me.

“You must see it.” Emma concluded.

I think for a second. “Are you going to take me or I have to find it by myself?” Thomas rolls his eyes.

“Oh my word, see Emma, get used to it because we have to deal with her for a long time.” I follow the theme through the house observing every room just like I picture.

“Count with that.” 

The farm is 9 minutes away by car. When we take the small road to enter I see it, on both sides, big trees overtake it, at the end of it, green land.

It’s big, really big and by how the house and the barn are, clearly the people stopped living here a long time ago, at the distance is charming the way you can see the whole city.

“The owners?” I asked observing every corner in detail.

“Emma contacted them, if we want they’ll be here next week.” That leaves only a couple of days for Lewis to be here.

“It’s perfect.” I see Thomas and Emma who are waiting for a more specific answer. “I’ll make sure Lewis comes, after all, this is a family project.”

We drove back, we must keep working. I even found a comfortable space next to the lemon tree for me to work. Thomas let his team go earlier claiming it’s been months of hard work plus it’s Friday, time to be with friends and family.

Emma was walking outside of the house when I stopped her. “Emma, thank you, it's the perfect place.” She smiles before walking down the street.

“I’m in the mood for a coffee, you?” Thomas asked, standing next to me. I bluff looking at him. “I knew it, let’s go.”

Newport it’s a calm place, with my family we visited a couple of times when I was a kid, my favorite places were the beach and the local market. I spent hours on the beach walking around, swimming and from time to time building sand castles, the issue was I was terrible at it.

We found a nice coffee shop near the beach, where we can talk and fool around as always.

“So, are you officially asking her?” Mika is the topic of the conversation now.

Thomas takes the last bite of his dessert smiling. “Being honest, you seem more relaxed and who will say you have the trait of blush?” 

“Ok, sneaky girl, let’s end this here.” Thomas stands to go and pays the bill. “We’re on time for arriving at my house for dinner.”

“Thomas.” I choke my head, he sighs looking at the ceiling.

“Soon, ok, soon.” He smiles and pinches my cheek. “Don’t make me nervous.”

A wide smile appeared on my face as I observed people walking. It's summer however the breeze could be cold at night, the reason why they have jackets on. Some walk home and others are ready to enjoy Friday night. 

A small group of boys and girls caught my attention. They looked pretty excited for the way the girls grabbed their hands and the boys had his eyes wide open. I follow the direction of their eyes, curious about what makes them so excited. 

I blink it twice and rub my eyes. If my vision doesn’t betray me, near the beach observing his phone is a blond guy with a Manchester University cap, black jacket and blue jeans is stolling glances from people.

“You must be kidding me.” I ran out of the store, I heard Thomas calling for me but I didn’t even turn around.

I reached him, grabbing him by his arms, turning around, not even sure if he's Max or not, with all the phones which already are focused on him; I remember he said from time to time would like to enjoy a day being anonymous, free of cameras.

Instinctively he pulls his arms from my hands. “Max?” He lifted his eyes, smiling when he saw me. 

My stomach flips in an unexpected way. It’s clear I wasn’t expecting him at all, still it doesn’t surprise me; Max always appears in the most unexpected moments.

“What are you doing here?” The cold breeze makes my voice shutter, it’s really cold here.

Even Max looked so relaxed, his eyes made me feel observed in an intense way. “I’m enjoying my vacation…in a new place.” I learned to know that smile, he’s hiding something else.

I realize I’m still grabbing his arms so I let them go, crossing my arms, taking distance; <In a new place> that doesn’t sound so convincing. Before I could say something I felt my coat on my shoulders, turning around I found Thomas putting on me to keep his hands over my shoulders.

“It’s cold outside, you can get sick.” Thomas smiles but I caught him winking at me. 

Confused, I return that smile to him, but my discomfort begins when Max takes a step right to me. It wasn’t just for the proximity of Thomas with me, in his eyes there is something else.

“A lot of people take care of you, it’s really good.” Max noted in a soft tone, still some things bother me.

I couldn’t avoid raising my eyebrow, I looked down for a moment, and I noticed the same tight grip just this time his phone is paying the price.

“Thomas and I have been friends since we were 5 years old.” It’s jealousy, Max Vestappen is jealous. 

“A pretty long time.” Thomas added, hugging me with one arm. 

I can’t help myself. I kind of enjoy that spark of jealousy on Max's behavior. Kind of charming in some way.

“Sorry, I have to pick this.” I didn’t even hear Thomas's phone, until he mentioned walking away so he could pick it up.

Max took another step close to me, the space between us makes more little in all the possible ways.

“Well, maybe it could be my turn to take care of you.” His voice is low and full of intention.

The way he looked at me made my walls tremble. I know my eyes betrayed me, surprise and a sneaky fun. I've been trying to keep him on the line, but Max it’s making this more difficult than I expected.

“Ready?” Thomas said, making me look right into his eyes, I knew it, he will be fine if I stay, finding out what I have too.

My eyes crossed with Max, I know this conversation it’s going for a path that could be risky for me. 

“Could you take care of me?” The double sense of my questions made him clear I wasn’t referring just to my health.

Max smiles, the tension is more palpable, something I can't ignore.

I bite my lip, I see the small smirk on Thomas face, he already knew. “Hhm, do you mind if I stay? Last train it’s…”

“Train? I’ll take you home.” Max interrupts me with a proud face, looking at me then Thomas.

“Could you take her home?” Thomas tone implied the times I take him literally to his bed. “She’s not a big fan of drinking, don’t worry.”

“Oh my!” I cover Thomas' mouth with my hand. “You’re getting late, right?”

I feel Thomas giggles on my hand but he is limited to nodding, as I walked with him to his car, where I let him go.

“Are you going to be fine?” Thomas asked, holding his door open, I smiled pushing him inside. “If you need something, call me, one of my boys can help you.” 

I leaned on his open window kissing his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

“This is what it feels like.” Thomas breathes in slowly, while I choke my head in confusion. “Be the older brother of a little girl.” 

“Get the hell out of here.” Thomas smiles at me as the engine starts, I wave my hand until he turns around in a corner, trying to calm the increasing beating of my heart.

I observe the people around me, it seems my silly attempts worked because people stop staring at Max, just from time to time glancing at him unsure if they are seeing properly.

I walked back where he’s standing, behind him the sun starts to hide painting the sea with orange and blue tones. 

“So, are you going to tell me why you come here?” My question made him giggle. 

“In a hypothetical way, I remember the places you have written in one of the papers.” Max shrugged his shoulders. “London, come on too obvious, Monaco, I already could see you, just leave me two options, Seattle or Newport.”

“Really?” I narrow my eyes, looking at him, but his laugh betrays him.

He hid his face between his hands, when he saw me one more time, his face was red. “I asked Checo, and he told me.”

That’s more credible. “I knew it.”

“But coming to the beach it’s mere instinct.” He stands proudly. “It took me two days actually.”

I laugh, touched by his effort. “You found what you expect?”

Max cleared his throat. “Actually more than I expected.”

It's my turn to feel my face turn red, feeling flatter for his own words.

“Ok, so, do you have any plans or am I just wasting a way to go home?” He opens his eyes and mouth shockingly. 

“You’re actually going to leave me?” I raise my shoulders, resting importance.

“It was an idea that crossed my mind.” I was fighting to contain a smile, but seeing him perplexed was enough for me to let it out.

Max laughed with me, he extended his hand. “What about a sundown walk?”

I observed his hand shuttering if I should take it or not.

“Is it too cheesy for you?” Max jokes, the truth is I never walked along the beach with somebody.

“The waves increase at this hour; it could be dangerous.” I tried to change his mind, useless for being honest.

“Then hold on tight to me.” His words resonate in my head more than he could believe.

For years I was the one who Caleb supposed to hold on, holding onto him was something unthinkable.

Max smiles softly when I raise my sight from his hand. “You have any idea how much I love that color on your cheeks.”

He starts to walk with his hand tight into a fist, but I take it on the way, surprise him. 

“Tight right?” Max nods, gripping my hand tight.

We spent the night walking on the beach talking about the most silly and serious topics like we've known for so many years. When our stomachs started to growl we drove back to London, it's hard to believe he even rented a car for moving around freely.

We ate a lot of pasta at an Italian restaurant; Mika won't feel proud of my dinner. The hours passed like there were minutes. I realized it was almost 10 pm when a text from mom asking if I'm coming home set my signal for going home.

Following Max's words he drove me home, safe and sound.

“Is it Hamilton's house?” He said as we entered the gravel road.

A big imposing house is clearly visible, surrounded by a huge garden and a few cars on the entrance.

“It is.” I smile, in his mouth you can read <Fuck> 

He parked next to my dad's car. “Thank you for taking me home.” 

I unbuckled my seat belt, “You want to come in?” Max giggles, shaking his head.

“It's fine, it's late.” I thanked him one more time after getting out of the car.

I hear the door open one more time. “Are you free tomorrow?” Max said coming out of the car. 

I play with the keys in my hand. “Of course, after you finish your day of work.” 

He waits for a couple of seconds and rolls his eyes in a funny way. “I know I know, you're busy.” 

Max got inside of the car one more time, fully conscious of my answer.

He was driving back to the gravel road when I made him stop. “Max!” Coming out of the car, don't blame me, it's been a day of taking risks

I bet at least one person inside of the house could hear a distant scream and will be perking on the window, still it was the last of my concern.

I run where he's coming out, feeling my breathing increase, not for my 6 meters running.

“Can you pick me after 5 pm?” Max's eyes bright with a glimpse of a smile. 

My eyes moved all over his face, nervous of his answer but he let it be simple. “5 pm will be.” 

It was a shutter movement full of electricity running all over my body.

I stand on my tip toes grabbing his arm because he’s so damn tall, I give him a peck on his cheek.

“You scored a lot of points today.” I whisper to him, feeling one more time his arm tense on my hand.

He froze in his place, I took my chance to run back to the big wood door of the entrance.

“You'll look better in dark blue, I already can see that!” My lip will be sore for the many times Max makes me feel like this.

[vhstown]

tag team

— hobie brown x gn!reader

summary: Authoritarian regimes aren't immune to a bit of graffiti; you can't do it without Spider-Punk, though.

content/warnings: fluff, banter (that has the... unintended effect), mentions of politics + discrimination, brief mentions of police brutality + being shot (nobody is hurt dw), london slang is used (im a londoner but still might be a bit ooc lol).

word count: 1.9k

a/n: camden version of hobie. reader is a hopeless loser (rnt we all). ambiguous relationship sort of? criticisms accepted + appreciated ! (i dont write hobie much 💀)

"Go on, then."

Spider-Punk — or Hobie, as you knew him, stood opposite you in the backstreet, arms crossed and with a grin you could practically see under his mask. The metal spray paint can was cool in your hand, which was already clammy with adrenaline as you brought the it to the wall.

This was your idea. It was supposed to be a joke at first, but Hobie thought it was brilliant. He wouldn't let it go: tagging up places in this part of town — the part where people like you and Hobie weren't welcome. Behind the fences and less-than-subtle signs to "keep out", entire neighbourhood reeked of Wilson Fisk: anti-punk, anti-rebellion, autocrat, about class and "serving the man" — whatever the hell that meant. Now, it was going to reek of paint that probably wasn't safe to inhale — at least, the back of some rich white bloke's house was.

Well, "rich white bloke" and "random politician" were interchangeable. You'd be fine; that's what Hobie told you anyway.

The can rattled in your hand as you shut one eye, holding your breath before red paint spurted out onto the wall. Hobie watched in silence, probably in amusement too. You debated threatening him with the can as a joke while you marked out the start of your drawing, feeling the eyes of his mask on your back. The breath you'd taken in before left you, and you haphazardly drew in another shallow one.

You'd been thinking about this for a while: making trouble under the guise of your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Punk, or protest, as Hobie liked to call it. His vigilante persona didn't exactly have the best reputation around here, or anywhere, in fact. Maybe you could change that — or worsen it. Either way, you had to breathe, so you took in another breath.

"Ah, shi—" The tight feeling in your throat exploded into a fit of violent coughing, and you were barely able to feel Hobie's hand on your back as you reeled away from the wall. "What the...?" you managed, before your eyes squeezed shut again, feeling another cough wring through your lungs.

"A'ight, that's definitely not normal." Hobie leaned over with a hand on your shoulder before he took the can out of your hands. You could make out his frown behind the tears stinging at your eyes as you tried to swallow back another cough.

"Yeah?" You furrowed your brows, trying to straighten out your shoulders again. "Didn't know paint could give me TB."

"I haven't got TB," he shrugged, gloved fingers tapping at the can.

"Cause you've got a mask." Hobie suddenly gave you a ruthless thwack between your shoulder-blades, making you flinch. "I'm not coughing anymore, stupid!"

The eyes of his mask narrowed as you shot a look at him; the bastard was probably enjoying this. Maybe you were too.

"You wanna wear it?" he asked instead, thumb already hooked under the bottom of his mask before he pulled it back; his actual was expression more subtle, but still just as taunting.

"Don't you have a secret identity to keep?"

"Think you've got lungs to keep, big man." His knuckles knocked at the centre of your chest before pulling the mask over your face in one quick motion.

The fabric warmed your skin as you adjusted the neck of it a little, feeling the mask blink with you. It was weird; it was kind of like you had nothing on your head at all. But the warmth was definitely from the mask and not the fleeting feeling of his fingers on your chest — and not the devilish look he was giving you right now.

Creak...!

The two of you looked around at what sounded like a door opening. You looked at Hobie, and he just shrugged at you, lips pushed up in his usual unbothered half-frown. His Spider-sense musn't have gone off, but your heart rate did. If you were going do this, you better do it quick.

Though your reference was on your face right now, you knew Spider-Punk well enough to remember the mask. Hobie let out the start of a chuckle when he recognised the giant white eyes you painted over the red. The mask definitely helped. Your arm, already covered in specks of paint, made a popping sound as you reached up to do the spikes, finishing the giant mural of sorts of your lanky, loud-mouthed, anarchist best friend.

The punk in question gave you a slightly curious look as you stepped away, the eyes of the mask on your face narrowing as you scanned over the dripping wet portrait. Pulling it off of your head, your hair was somehow still completely in place as you handed the mask back; no wonder his wicks fit in there.

"Well," you started, watching him look at the mural. "Aren't you gonna sign it?"

"It's your work." He tilted his head down a bit, though mirth was already tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah, and it's of you." It seemed like you didn't have to tell him twice before he zipped the can out of your hands with a flick of his wrist, already spraying an X onto the wall despite the mask hanging by his side. He didn't so much as clear his throat (lucky — you nearly died) as the letters F, N, S and M followed in each section of the X. That was the same symbol on the back of his vest, but you'd never bothered to ask about it.

"What does that stand for?" you questioned, arms folding as you mirrored his stance from before.

"Guess."

"I asked so I wouldn't have to guess." A silent grin you didn't want to entertain started forming on his face. "Fine, uh..."

You wracked your brain; it was probably more simple than you thought, but all your brain could conjure up was: "Fascists need stopping... uh, Monday?"

That got a ruthless snort out of him, making you press your lips together to try and take back your words. "Just Monday?"

"You told me to guess," you shrugged, rolling your eyes before they landed on the painting again. It was still wet; it was warm out, so the dripping wouldn't stop anytime soon. For some reason, it was always sunny in these neighbourhoods, almost like those autocrats had bought the sun too. Whatever, you didn't need the sun — a rebellious 6ft punk did just fine anyway; at least, that would explain why you were so warm around him all the time. "You gonna tell me or no?"

"Facists need stopping..." he mused, in a gratingly posh accent, hand brought up to his chin in a dramatic mockery of pondering. "Nah, I was thinkin' we should just leave it, you know? Let 'em be, innit?"

Hobie Brown — the only person you knew who would joke about their ideologies just to poke fun at you.

"Yeah, yeah, every other day of the week," you added dryly, getting a cackle out of Hobie.

"Thought you were meant to be smart, darling." The remnants of his mock-posh voice bleeding into the "darling". You could just tell he was being unserious — it was something you hated and loved about him. Why would you want him to be serious...?

"Thought you were supposed to be helpful," you spat back, getting another entertained breath out of him. Hobie shook his head before you suddenly snatched the can out of his hand, pointing it at him. The both of his loosely came up in mock-defense, but the grin on his face only grew.

"You threatenin' me now, yeah?" It sounded less like a question and more like another jab at your pride. Things had been a bit too quiet between you two recently, and you felt yourself getting fired up; it was a shame that your heart always raced like crazy whenever the banter started rising.

"Do it, then," he proposed at your silence, taking a step towards you and making you step back. "What's a bit of paint? You gonna cough again?"

"I actually will." You attempted to scrunch up your face in annoyance.

"Cough? I bet." His head tilted down to look at you, wicks shadowing everything but the amused glint in his eyes.

"You've got a serious problem." And you'd got a seriously warm face.

"Got more than just one problem, darlin'." You hated the way it came out of his mouth this time; you'd rather he pretend to speak like Fisk.

"Stop calling me that or I'll actually spray you."

"Didn't know you were a cop."

"Hobie." You let out a sigh, only serving to get another low chuckle out of him; he was so close you could almost feel the vibrations of his laugh. The fact that he was freakishly tall didn't help in the slightest, his silence along with the swirling feeling in your stomach making you unconsciously take a step back.

You winced immediately as you felt your back stick to the wet paint. "Oh, what the hell..."

Hobie's snickering didn't help. "You didn't have to move, you know."

You decided to ignore that, peeling yourself off of the wall and glancing behind you to see your back imprinted on the neck of your Spider-Punk portrait.

"Interesting artistic choice," he mused.

"Shut up, Hobie."

"On it, boss." You felt his hand on your shoulder before he turned you around, making the air catch at your throat as he peeked at your back, which now had a portrait of its own. "Blood of Monday fascists — very rebel. Got your outfit sorted for tonight."

"Your gig's tonight?" you groaned, trying not to look at his face over your shoulder and instead tossing the can back into the bag of other paint cans, still managing to catch how his lips pushed up in indifference, and probably mild entertainment.

"Nah, we're going out, darlin'," he snickered, and you felt him pinch the fabric wet with red paint to peel it off of your back. The rest of you was probably about to turn cartoonishly red too; this man just wouldn't give it a rest.

"Right, and I'm supposed to 'go out' looking like I got shot in the back."

"Like I'd let you," he muttered, removing his fingers from your back before shrugging off his vest, tossing it to you with the light clink of pins and buttons.

You raised an eyebrow, but he wasn't elaborating, so you put it on, trying not to cringe at the feeling of drying paint on your back. The vest was comfortable, though a bit heavy; it was cool, familiar, nice-smelling — like Hobie.

"Lookin' like a little me," he teased.

"I swear, if one more word comes out of your mouth—"

Your threat was cut short by the deafening blare of alarms, the wall in front of you flashing with a red that wasn't paint. Rich white bloke...

"Do all of them have alarms?" you whisper-shouted to Hobie.

"Looks like Willy does."

"Willy..." your brows knitted together as you watched Hobie pull his mask back on. "Fisk?!"

You'd just drawn a giant mural of Spider-Punk at the back of Wilson Fisk's house. A giant signed mural.

Without a chance for you to think, Hobie slung his arm around your back, and you weren't sure whether to be worried about being caught, annoyed about the paint pressing into your skin or absolutely bewildered as you felt your feel lift off the floor, clinging to him for dear life.

The bag of paint cans were zipped into his arm, with you, still wearing his vest, held against him by the other. Another one of his relentless cackles ripped through the air alongside the "thwip!" of his webs. Despite how absurd this was, a laugh of your own escaped too when you made out the fuming face of Wilson Fisk himself, a powerless, shouting little stain on the ground as you zipped away.

The fascists could wait 'til Monday. Right now, you had a gig to go to with Spider-Punk — or a date; he'd figure it out once the police were off of his tail.

🕸️🔭🎸

thank u for reading! i rly had to wrack my brain lmao ... not the best at writing hobie but it's okay im trying lol... again feedback is cool!

just fyi "big man" isn't really used as a gendered term! in my experience at least its used to casually poke fun at people. also if ur curious the FNSM symbol stands for friendly neighbourhood spider-man (i feel like im the only one that didn't know this um lmao)

if u liked this, reblogs r appreciated! catch the rest of my atsv stuff here <3

[neewtmas]

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

synopsis: Reader is a solo agent who has a rather unfortunate first encounter with George. Even though both hope it was also the last, they will meet again sooner rather than later.

A/N: Something new from me after a few weeks! This is a tentative first chapter of a little series I might write - I have some ideas but nothing exactly figured out yet (also no title yet). Any feedback would be absolutely amazing and so very much appreciated🩷🧡

taglist: @maraschinomerry @marinalor @oblivious-idiot @lockwood-lover @givemea-dam-break (if you want to be added or removed, just send me an ask:))

masterlist

The key turned smoothly in the lock and you pushed open the door to your little apartment. The green paint of the door was chipped off at the edges and the hinges creaked terribly when the door swung open too slow, but at least with this one, you felt like locking it had an effect. No comparison to the shitty lock to the even shittier apartment you had started your career as a solo agent in two years ago.

The room was filled with the subtle blue glow of dawn, so there was no need to switch on the light as you walked over to your bed, avoiding stepping on the wrinkled clothes and books strewn all over the carpet. You turned on the small lamp on the bedside table, the warm light easy on your tired eyes as you slowly started to untie your sturdy boots. It had been an exhausting night, one of many in the past few weeks. You were glad that available cases weren't hard to come by currently, but that also meant working through most nights. Which in turn took a toll on your energy levels. But at least today, you could sleep in since you had decided to keep the next night free of any work with the supernatural, so there wasn't a need for research in the library either. The sun was already creeping up over the horizon, and even though the morning sky looked beautiful, you pulled the curtains closed to avoid having the sunshine on your face in just a few minutes. You fell asleep almost as soon as your face hit the pillow.

It was late afternoon when you woke up again. You wouldn't have minded just staying in your warm, cosy bed, curled up under the heavy blanket, but your grumbling stomach forced you to get up. Seeing as the day was almost over anyway - at this time of year the sun was setting early, and that meant businesses closed and people hid in their homes much sooner than they would in the summer. But you would still have enough time to get a fresh coffee and some delicious pastry from your favourite bakery if you left now. It wasn't the closest bakery from where your apartment building stood, but it was the one you often stopped by on the way to the archives and they had the best coffee in all of London.

Outside, the air was cold and crisp, the sidewalk littered with autumn leaves in all different colours, some stomped into the mud by the people that had walked there before you, some submerged in puddles from last night's rain. You burrowed your hands in the pockets of your thick winter coat, letting your eyes wander over the beautiful facades of the houses you walked by. You were now in a part of London that was much nicer to look at than where you lived, but you'd probably never see any of those houses from the inside. Even if there were supernatural incidents, this kind of people tended to hire Fittes or Rotwell or any one of the bigger agencies. Not solo agents like you.

A few minutes later, you walked by one of the houses that always caught your eye. The little wooden sign that was attached to the ornate fence in front of the short walkway up to the door read A.J. Lockwood & Co Investigators

You knew who Lockwood was. You weren't his biggest fan, mainly because the one time you met, he had beaten you in a fencing competition. Though the fact that he had also beaten Quill Kipps had somewhat redeemed him in your eyes. Kipps was by far one of the most annoying people you ever had the displeasure of working with, and seeing him poked in the behind by someone several years younger than him had made your defeat sting a little less. You were aware Lockwood had his own agency, but really only since the events at Combe Carey Hall that had sent shockwaves through all of England. Ever since then, they had been in the paper now and then, and you had read every article intently. Even though you told yourself you weren't that interested in them.

Darkness was approaching faster than you had expected and so you sped up a little. The streets were already almost deserted, except for a frail-looking older lady on the other side of the street, but she was clearly in a hurry as well. When you reached the bakery - just a few minutes before closing time- it was empty. You greeted the older man behind the counter, who was already in the process of preparing your usual coffee order as he had seen you approach through the big windows at the front of the shop. You chatted a little with him as you picked out the pastry that you wanted to accompany your coffee. At this late hour, the display was almost emptied. "Do you still have one of the doughnuts with the orange jam filling?", you asked, and the man shook his head apologetically. "I did save one for you just in case you'd stop by, but I just got an order in and unfortunately they came first." He gestured to a small package behind him that contained six different doughnuts. Your favourite, the one with orange jam, sat right on top, almost as if it was mocking you.

Oh well, there wasn't anything you could do. You picked one of the muffins that were still available and searched in your coat pockets for some change to pay for the muffin and the coffee. The man handed you both over the counter and you thanked him. You turned around swiftly, eager to get back home, but you didn't get very far. The collision with the person that had suddenly appeared in front of you knocked the air out of your lungs. You managed to hold on to the paper bag with the muffin in it, but the coffee cup in your other hand was not so lucky. You squeezed it hard in an attempt to not drop it on the ground, but that just caused the plastic cover to pop off and hot coffee to spill all over your hand. You stumbled back, the pain from the scorching hot coffee penetrating your skin. You gritted your teeth to not yell obscenities at the person responsible for your mishap and put the coffee down on the counter. You grabbed some of the napkins that were placed there and patted yourself dry. The person you ran into was some curly-haired dude a little taller than you, and he just looked at you with a blank expression. "How about an apology?" you spat out, adding 'you asshole' in your head. You immediately wished you had said it out loud when he shrugged and uttered a bored-sounding "Sorry", clearly not meaning it. You watched him take the box of doughnuts and leave the bakery, not giving you another glance. "Here, take this." üöä.You turned to the man behind the counter and he held out a new cup of coffee that you took with a thankful smile. "Don't mind him. He's a little prickly at times." You scoffed. That wouldn't be your choice of words to describe this guy who not only caused you to spill coffee all over yourself like an idiot but also apparently stole the last of your favourite doughnuts available that day.

When you stepped back outside, the cold air felt soothing on your hand. Upon further inspection, the skin was just a bright, angry red, but there didn't seem to be any real injuries. Nevertheless, you were still angry about the interaction you just had. This guy had singlehandedly managed to ruin your first free day in several weeks. And then had not even given a proper apology after the whole fiasco was his fault. Your anger remained the whole way home, and it was only when you sat down at the small table in your apartment with the muffin and the coffee that your mood improved a little.

***********George's POV***************

It was a rainy afternoon, and so dark that the streetlamps were already switched on even though nightfall was still hours away. George had his eyes focused on the ground before him as he walked to not slip on one of the many wet leaves on the concrete. He had the hood of his puffer jacket pulled over his head, the box of doughnuts pressed against his chest in an attempt to protect it from the slight drizzle of rain. he was lucky that he still managed to get the usual selection even though he forgot to call until just half an hour ago. The book he had buried himself in after breakfast had been too captivating for him to think about any chores Lockwood had bestowed upon him. Including buying doughnuts for after dinner.

He kicked off his shoes in the hallway carelessly and trudged into the kitchen, where Lucy sat at the table, scribbling around on the thinking cloth. Lockwood stood at the stove, stirring a soup of rather questionable colour in a pot. He put the slightly crumbled package on the table and Lucy immediately pulled it over to her.

"The one with orange jam is mine", George said immediately and he didn't miss the way Lucy rolled her eyes as she picked one of the plain powered ones. "Tell me something new", Lucy mumbled through her mouthful of doughnuts. George ignored her and started pulling out bowls from one of the cupboards to set the table. Lockwood's soup tasted much better than it looked, and for a while the three of them sat in silence, the only sound the scraping of the spoons against the porcelain bowls.

"Some girl spilt coffee all over herself at Arif's today", George broke the silence while he helped himself to a second serving of soup. "What?" "I come in, she turns around and runs straight into me. I'm lucky she didn't pour it over me." Lucy finished her portion of the soup and pushed the empty bowl away from her. "Couldn't you have just stepped aside?", she asked. George huffed. "Why would I? She has eyes, she can see where she goes. But based on how she demanded an apology from me immediately she probably doesn't see it that way." He paused for a moment, then shrugged. "Anyways, it's not like I'm ever gonna see her again."

thanks for reading <3

[animasola86]

↓ LANDMARKS ETC. MASTERLIST

(last updated: Apr 03, 2024) // work in progress!

Dissecting the Intro:

Part 1: London, 1890

Part 2: Victor Rookwood

Part 3: Hogwarts Carriage

Part 4: Dragon Attack

Part 5: Falling

Part 6: Squirrel + MC Showcase

Halloween Edition:

Hogwarts at Night

Death Day Ballroom

Hogwarts Halloween 1 (Transfiguration courtyard, Central Hall, Greenhouses, Bell Tower entrance, Viaduct bridge, Viaduct courtyard)

Hogwarts Halloween 2 (Wooden bridge, Clock Tower courtyard/entrance)

Hogwarts Halloween 3 (Quad courtyard, Viaduct bridge)

Hogwarts Halloween 4 (Great Hall)

Hogsmeade Halloween

The Great Hall and the Four Houses

Winter Edition:

Hogwarts from above

On top of Ravenclaw Tower

Hogsmeade at Night

Hogsmeade

En route to Hogwarts: from the station to the lake

En route to Hogwarts: the Boat House

En route to Hogwarts: the Underground Harbour

...

Christmas Edition:

Signs and Shops of Hogsmeade

A Hogwarts Christmas: Bell Tower

A Hogwarts Christmas: Clock Tower

A Hogwarts Christmas: Great Hall

A Hogwarts Christmas: Central Hall

A Hogwarts Christmas: Transfiguration Courtyard

A Hogwarts Christmas: Grand Staircase

A Hogwarts Christmas: Entrance Hall

A Hogwarts Christmas: Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower

Christmas Common Room: Ravenclaw

Christmas Common Room: Hufflepuff

Christmas Common Room: Slytherin

Christmas Common Room: Gryffindor

...

Special Places:

Library

The Restricted Section (first floor/ghost floor)

The Restricted Section (hallway to the basement)

The Restricted Section (basement)

Kitchens

The Door to the Undercroft

Undercroft

Underground Harbour

Staircase to the Boathouse: the Gazebo

Greenhouses (Interior)

Greenhouses (Exterior/Winter)

Hidden Herbology Corridor

Bathrooms of Hogwarts

The Prefects' Bathroom

The Room of Requirement (pre-phoenix/Ambience overview)

...

Common Rooms:

Slytherin common room

Details of the Slytherin common room

Slytherin dormitories (fifth-years, boys)

Ravenclaw common room

Ravenclaw dormitories (fifth-years, girls)

Gryffindor common room

Details of the Gryffindor common room

Gryffindor dormitories: boys

Gryffindor dormitories: girls

Gryffindor dormitories: fifth-years, girls

Hufflepuff common room and dormitory (fifth-years, girls)

Quidditch posters

Classrooms/Offices/Quarters:

Potions Classroom

Prof. Sharp's Office

Prof. Sharp's Quarters

Prof. Sharp's Secret Hobby Room

Charms Classroom

Prof. Ronen's Office + Secret Rooftop Cell

Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom

Prof. Hecat's Office

Transfiguration Classroom

Prof. Weasley's Office

Prof. Fig's Classroom (Magical Theory)

Prof. Fig's office

Astronomy Classroom/Astronomy Tower

Divination Classroom

History of Magic Classroom

other Classrooms (Muggle Studies, Arithmancy, Alchemy)

Places/Objects in the Highlands:

Isidora's Chamber in the Overlook Mine

Isidora's Chamber in the Mountain Cavern

Paintings in the Mountain Cavern

The Mountain Cavern

The Hogwarts Express

The Forbidden Forest (entrance/with Garreth)

The Forbidden Forest (by night)

The Three Broomsticks (daytime)

The Three Broomsticks (nighttime)

...

NOTICE: If you'd like to see screenshots of any place not on the list yet, don't be shy and tell me!* I'd gladly take even more screenshots! :D

*Please note that it might take me a while to get to certain parts of the game as I am currently focusing on winter/christmas time! Anything before that won't be a problem!

[ SCREENSHOTS MASTERLIST ]

[spiritundaunted]

King George VI with his family, Queen Elizabeth, Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret at Royal Lodge in 1943.

© Royal Collection Trust/ His Majesty King Charles III

This previously unreleased photo is part of the new exhibit at the King's Gallery, Royal Portraits: A Century of Photography .

Dying to see it!!

I've always read that Bertie kept the miniature of Elizabeth that was given to him on his wedding day from Elizabeth's parents on his desk at Royal Lodge so it's very cool to see it there! Only, I always thought is was much smaller - since it's referred to as a "miniature". I guess I was thinking of the miniature portraits on the Royal Orders given to royal ladies by the sovereign. This one is much larger! So sweet he kept it there always.

The miniature of Lady Elizabeth Bowes Lyon given to the Duke of York on his wedding day from the Strathmores. Bertie's "own little darling angel E".

The Queen mother's desk at the Castle of Mey. Sweet that the photo on the right is signed "Bertie". 💘 But I have to say, I really love the profile photo on the left where he is a little older. I feel like that is how she wanted to remember him; a more recent version of him, and still so very handsome.

"She didn’t really have what I would term best friends in the conventional sense and she had been widowed for over forty years when I joined her, so it would be a fair assumption to think she could have been lonely at Clarence House. But if she were lonely, she hid it very well. She never really talked about the King, though there were lots of portraits and paintings of him on the walls of her London home, so he couldn’t have been far from her thoughts." -- from Behind Palace Doors - My Service as the Queen Mother's Equerry, by Major Colin Burgess

😢💔 Her pain on losing him is so palpable. She kept a lot of her feelings to herself.

Adding a photo of my own desk to the mix, just for fun and giggles. No, I'm not obsessed. What are you talking about? 😉

[simstorian-blog]

N O O K S T O N E

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

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(3-bedroom—3 double beds, 2.5 Baths)

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

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[luckyricochet]

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

Read on AO3

Eilidh arrives at Thorpe Abbots.

A/N:

I'm back! I'm so sorry for the wait, but thank you for being patient! Grad school got the better of me but I've managed to pull myself together for an updated. If you are still reading, I appreciate you so much for putting up with the long absence!

The Diss train station was small but seemed just as busy as any Eilidh had seen. The entire train disembarked here, everyone probably all heading towards the same place, she thought as she hurried to catch the vehicle that would take her into Thorpe Abbotts, and then, past that, to the air base. She kept her head down but couldn’t help but observe the rush of people around her. It seemed likely she would end up seeing at least some of them again at one point or another.

The villages that the truck trundled past were small. Before 1939, they had probably been sleepy little hamlets, Eilidh guessed. They were all serviced by one main road, the old stone houses charmingly decorated with ivy and moss in the front and fed by farms and gardens maintained in the back. It was the type of place that made St Andrews, with its three whole streets and town and gown relations, appear downright urban.

Eventually the sparse villages became even sparser, until the truck was rumbling along large open fields on a smooth, newly-laid road. Eilidh watched the green land flash by with mixed emotions. It was beautiful and should have lifted her spirits, but as it passed outside the window, she only felt a cold distance. It was fresh and pristine here, hardly touched by the ravages of the Blitz at all. If only Will had found it within himself to leave London and work somewhere else, had he not been so stubborn…

The road was narrowing, dotted with men and women in uniform. The truck pulled up past a large white sign that read ROYAL AIR FORCE THORPE ABBOTTS. Above it, another sign warned, NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL ALLOWED. I guess I’ll be authorized soon myself, Eilidh thought. A man dressed in olive green came out of a white hut to talk to the driver, and then they were waved in past more long yellow-green fields. After a while the road joined up with what was unmistakably an aircraft runway. Beyond this, Eilidh started to see buildings, bizarrely-shaped like giant cans cut in half vertically and laying on the flat sides. She had seen pictures of them in magazines, but never in real life. The truck came to a stop in front of one of them. Eilidh grabbed her suitcase and approached a man in a uniform who was corralling the new arrivals like her.

“I’m Eilidh Hamilton,” she said with a deep breath. “British Red Cross?”

“Check in’s down that way,” he said, directing her down another gravel road. A short queue had already formed, spilling out of one of the giant cans. A big white sign with a red cross painted upon it had been hammered into the dirt by the door. Eilidh got into the line and a girl with dark hair promptly smiled at her.

“I’m Beth,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Eilidh. Nice to meet you,” Eilidh replied.

The girl’s grin widened. “Are you a Red Cross girl too?”

“Well—assuming they don’t strike me from whatever inspection they’re doing in there,” Eilidh said, nodding toward the office.

“Hey! Keep it moving, ladies!” a voice shouted at them.

Both girls jumped, and, after recovering, shuffled sheepishly inside the hut. It was set up with three rows of desks all along the inside, each staffed by an man doing intake. Eilidh felt a knot in her stomach, even though she had no reason for one. All of her security and background clearance had already been approved as part of her application, months ago; she was pretty sure this was just the military equivalent of attendance in school, making sure everyone who was supposed to be there was accounted for. Another person at the door directed Eilidh towards the back of the room, where she sat down.

The man before her pushed a piece of paper and pen toward her. “You fill that out. I’ll need to see your national identity card.” He tapped some ash off of the cigarette he was smoking. The smell of the smoke was bitter but oddly enticing after her journey.

Eilidh gave him her identity card and glanced down at the form he had slid to her. She filled it out quickly—it was easy, just a repeat of her personal information that she was sure they already had. When she looked up, the man was squinting at her card. He opened up a metal box sitting next to him, rifling through its contents until he extracted another card. He held the two next to each other, peered at her, and then nodded to himself.

“All right.” He grunted and got to his feet. “Turn your chair that way, so your back is to the wall. We’re going to take photo for your badge.” Eilidh did as she was told while the man readied a small camera. She heard it click a few times.

“These are yours.” The man handed her identification card back and then a second, flimsier one. “This one is your temporary security badge for the base. You’ll have the permanent one with your picture once we can get it printed. Until you get it, you don’t leave this base. But you keep your ID on yourself at all times, Miss Hamilton, even if you do leave the base,” he instructed her. “It’s your proof that you’re allowed to be here, so don’t lose it. You do and it’ll be more paperwork for us, and we won’t like that…Got it?”

“I understand.”

“Good. Now go on back there, they’ll show you around.”

And there was a lot to see around the base. Fifty concrete hardstands or along one of the three runways, the longest of which was nearly two thousand meters long and somehow the most impressive thing around, Eilidh thought, even though it was really just a glorified road. Not far from it was a control tower, a squat and square structure topped with a viewing deck. Everyone was most excited about the officer’s club—empty as of yet and still needing tables and chairs, but the two-sectioned space was enormous. Big enough for a band to play on one end, explained their guide, along with a cozy fireplace at the other. Other sites, Eilidh felt confident she would have no reason to ever be near again, so she took advantage of committing their presence to memory, the things like fuel storage facilities and the ammunition dump site. She was more interested in seeing the places that she knew she would actually frequent—the mess halls and the barracks. It was here that their truck driver ended the tour and told them to disembark, conveniently so they could find their beds and begin to settle in. Eilidh was content to find where she would be sleeping; although it was only the afternoon, she was exhausted.

There was hardly any rest to be had, though. Already in the hut she would be staying in were a few other young women, including Beth, the one who Eilidh had met earlier. Eilidh was so tired she was in no mood to talk to anyone, so it was with some reluctance that she went over to introduce herself to their fellow bunkmates. Mary, Susannah, Fran…who’s the other? I’ve already forgotten. Beth, Eilidh soon learned, was happy to do enough talking for the both of them. So Eilidh let her, smiling woodenly and nodding until they were called for supper and a whole new wave of faces met them.

It was like the first day of university. A bunch of strangers thrown together, from all over the country. A little nervous but excited too. As Eilidh’s energy flagged, she forced herself to remember her first days at St Andrews. You liked it there. You’ll like it here too, she told herself fiercely.

It was wishful thinking more than anything else, but at this point, it was all she had.

Eilidh Hamilton’s Diary

14 February 1943

I arrived at Thorpe Abbotts today. There was so much to do and see that I’m quite frankly surprised I’m still awake. The facilities are enormous and really quite nice since they’re brand new.

I must have met dozens of people. Everyone seems so cheery—so committed to the job and all. Not jaded or anything. I can’t fake that sort of thing very well. Maybe for an hour or two, but it’s a lot. I did try my best today, really. I don’t want to disappoint Mum and Dad again by coming home. But I think a lot of the other people could tell that I wasn’t talking much. Maybe they’ll just think I’m quiet. Ha. Wouldn’t that be the irony of the century.

We have to be up at six o’clock tomorrow, so I’m going to sleep soon, right after I write Mum and Dad very briefly.

Eilidh Hamilton to Victoria and James Hamilton

14 February 1943

Dear Mum and Dad,

I’m writing at the end of my first day here. It’s been a lot to take in, so I’m nodding off as I write this but wanted to dash off a few lines to let you know that everything has gone well so far. I’ve met up with the people I’m living with but there hasn’t been much time to get to know them yet and there were so many people to meet that I hardly even remember their names. I do remember the girls’ names, though. There’s Beth, Susannah, Amelia, Mary, and Frances, plus me, for six in total for our quarters. The barracks are bigger than I might have thought. We all have our own bed and even space for a vanity and places to hang up clothes, shelves, that sort of thing. There’s a stove in the middle of the hut so it’s not cold and there’s enough room so that we can put our chairs in a group for when we want to chat. Overall it seems it will be comfortable.

We got a tour of the entire base—it’s absolutely massive. One of the men said we should save up for bicycles if we can, so I’ll probably follow his advice because otherwise I’ll be too tired to do anything else from all the walking.

Tomorrow we have an early start to our lessons on everything we are meant to be responsible for. The base isn’t active yet, so until it is we’re supposed to be training. The biggest thing is learning how to drive, I don’t think there’s any of us who know how to do that, and certainly not with an ambulance. Can you imagine? I’m sure that’ll be a laugh. I’m hoping I can just spend all my time making biscuits and scones, but I’m guessing it won’t play out that way.

I’ll write again in a few days. Love to all.

Eilidh

The next day was no easier than the first. Starting before the sun rose and running only on coffee and a slice of toast, Eilidh and the other girls shuffled into another Nissen hut close to their barracks. Dozens of seats had been arranged lecture hall-style in the rows at one end of the hut, but the rest of the space was a little bit more cozily made-up with a small kitchenette, plush chairs and sofas, bookshelves, and a radio. After a few minutes of the girls whispering conspiratorially about what was going to happen next, the door burst open. A tall woman wearing glasses and graying hair tied sensibly at the nape of her neck strode business-like up the aisle and stepped up to the dais.

“That’ll do,” she said to quiet them.

They all fell silent like schoolchildren, an effect compounded when she reached to her feet and lifted an enormous stack of paper to the podium. The woman split the stack in half and handed one to each side of the front row, a single gesture of her finger indicating they were to be passed around, along with a tin full of pencils. Eilidh glanced at the booklet she had just been handed. Stamped on the front in black letters were the words, British Red Cross—Thorpe Abbotts Station 139. The eponymous cross was emblazoned underneath it. Eilidh fanned the pages open and caught a glimpse of various headings: The Red Cross Girl’s Attitude, Writing the Bereaved, How to Prepare Coffee…

“I am Mrs. Eleanor Thackeray. I’m director of the British Red Cross chapter based here at Thorpe Abbotts.” The woman surveyed them over the rim of her glasses. “For as long as you ladies are here, I will be your supervisor. If you have any problems, you come to me. Let’s be clear that despite working on a military base, you are civilians. We will be working under a different chain of command than the airmen, understand? If you have a dispute involving any of the military personnel, you come to me and we will sort it out, in conjunction with the military, if need be.”

Eilidh didn’t question why Mrs. Thackeray began her speech in this manner; cross-fraternization was a given in this situation.

For the next several hours, Mrs. Thackeray expounded on everything they were to be responsible for at one point or another so long as they stayed with the base. How to write comforting notes to distressed families, how to pack a proper care package, how to type welfare reports, how to serve refreshments and libations, and more. They broke at noon to lunch, eating in the same hut and making use of the entire space for the first time. When it was filled with genial conversation instead a single person talking at them, Eilidh realized it was even nicer than it looked. Towards the end of the half hour reprieve, Eilidh stepped outside for a few minutes. She looked up at the overcast sky and took a deep breath, expelling the stuffy hut air out of her body. There was the smell of a threatening rainstorm on the wind.

The afternoon was more practical. A man came and explained to them the basics of driving, and then they all went out in pairs to test their abilities with the different runways as their practice grounds. Eilidh turned, accelerated and slowed, and parked in accordance to the instructor’s strict guidance and with minimal grief, but there was still lots to learn. All of the girls would be subjected to a daily driving lesson from now until when the station activated that summer, and there wasn’t enough practice to be had. They would have to get used to not just merely driving, but also driving at high speeds, on bumpy terrain, and with the base full of people—all knowing that eventually they would be driving in life or death conditions too, with a man in the back screaming in agony. Their instructor seemed disappointed that it hadn’t rained after all, that they would have to wait before they could try driving on slick surfaces with the windshield lashed with raindrops.

So with that fear of God properly instilled in them by their instructor, it was with even greater anticipation that Eilidh filed into the kitchen of one of the mess halls, where another woman showed them the recipe they were to use for baking the biscuits, donuts, and scones to stock the Red Cross clubmobile. Whereas Eilidh had taken meticulous notes in order to get behind the wheel, she almost didn’t pay attention at all during the baking lesson, especially after she sampled some of the wares that were passed around—she could make a better version of almost all of these things from memory. They weren’t bad, but weren’t spectacular either. They were going to stay that way, though, Eilidh realized, as the woman lectured them about the strict need to stick to the recipe so as to not mess with supplies and ingredients and whatnot. After some more time mixing and shaping and waiting, they all marched off to the officer’s mess again for dinner, now with their first batches of Red Cross biscuits in hand. Eilidh nibbled at hers after eating a helping of shepherd’s pie. It was crumbly and a little sweet, but not as buttery or soft as it could have been if she had made it in her own way. When Beth agreed that they were subpar, Eilidh felt a sense of kinship with the other girl for the first time.

Eilidh Hamilton’s Diary

15 February 1943

We had our first taste (literally) of some of the things we are going to be doing as Red Cross Girls. Most of it was fine like the driving and the packages and so on, but my God—I wish these biscuits and things were not so rubbish. Aren’t they supposed to be for the boys for when they go off on missions? We could at least give them something a little better.

[rosesnink]

Threads of Gold

Author's Notes

A few days ago, I commissioned Thia @oh-so-youre-a-nerd from their Your Characters comms this beautiful piece of Mr. Sinclaire and Marianna, and the moment I saw the sketch, I knew I had to bring it to life.

I am aware that I said I'd stop writing Marianna here, but she's too amazing to just quit writing her here and the brainrot's stronger, lol.

English isn't my first language, so please forgive any typos/grammar mistakes I may make.

To read more of Ernest and Marianna's journey, click here!

Check out my masterlist for more!

Summary: Ernest and Marianna share a cozy and intimate moment

Word Count: 644

Category: Fluff

Rating: G

Book: Desire and Decorum

March, 1812

It was late night, and Ernest Sinclaire found himself in Marianna’s house once again. He had duties in London, and if he had endured them, it was to see her once the moon was out. After a passionate session, they got decent and Marianna prepared some tea before the man went back to his townhouse.

“What am I to you, sir?”

Ernest looked up, blinking, rather confused and drowsy. “Sorry?”

“I asked you what do I mean to you.”

“I… haven’t thought about it deeply. But… I know that I like being with you, and not just because of…” his ears flushed pink, but he carried on “but more than that. I like talking to you, listening to what you have to say…”

Marianna bit her lip “I feel the same. I can’t explain it, but… there’s something about you that keeps drawing me back to you.”

They both stood in silence, the theme on the conversation weighing heavily on them. It was clear that they were more than lovers, yet they weren’t in love with one another. Not at least on his part. It’d be more complicated for her than him. He wasn’t the first man of his station to marry someone like him. Indeed, the second wife of his ancestor, Walter Sinclaire, had married a woman of the night’s daughter who sold oranges for a living, and theirs had been a beautiful and tempestuous relationship that had led to the century-old tale of the duelling pistol hanging in Ledford Park.

He could see that she did not wish marriage. The way she shifted and acted when the word came out in her presence wasn’t difficult to miss for someone like him. He was used to lurk somewhere and observe and read the room, an underrated societal skill few used, desperate to shine in the scene. Many failed miserably, and it was quite pitiful to watch.

But somehow, Marianna always stole the spotlight. Despite being eleven years his elder, she looked like she was his age, maybe younger. Her fair skin shone brightly on the fireplace’s shadows, her golden locks now down and messy. The thin nightgown carved her perfectly plump figure, sign of years of work, children perhaps as well. He suddenly remembered his travels to Italy, and seeing the statues of Aphrodite and being mesmerised by the detail of the naked female body. It came to him that the same proportions had been given to Marianna: beautiful hip dips, her body being plump and soft like a pillow. Her face was earth-shatteringly striking: light blue like the Pacific Ocean, plump cheeks and mildly full lips with the perfect shape that drove him mad every time he kissed them. Her neck was elegant, and her collarbones had this effect on him that he couldn’t describe. She was too beautiful to work there, enduring blithering idiots and blind drunks who sought refuge from their wives. She was a work of art, and he wished he was blessed with the gift of art. He’d gladly paint her. The image sent heart flutters to his chest.

Getting close as she gathered her thoughts, he stroked her hair, smelling the jasmine and the hint of rosewater on it. Marianna softened at his touch, not daring to turn around and face the question in both their minds.

Playing with her hair, he created threads of golden hair, the colour of the sun, and set aside some stray hairs to kiss the nape of the neck “I may not have the word for it yet, but you mean more to me than the English language’s adjectives can provide. Know that. Always.”

Embracing, they observed how the sun slowly rose, and Ernest hoped that, whatever happened between one another, memories like these would prevail in both their memories.