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separatist-apologist · 1 year ago

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Buried Alive Inside My Dreams

Summary: An evil enchantress has locked Princess Feyre Archeron in a tower, secluding her from her family and removing her entirely from the outside world. Trapped and alone, Feyre turns her gaze to the stars, dreaming of returning home to her sisters- of finding peace. She's determined to escape before her birthday and the annual starfall that marks the occasion just as soon as she can figure out a way down.

When a thief breaks into her tower, Feyre takes her chances and leaves with him, unaware of who this man is and the price freedom will try and extract from her

Happy @officialfeysandweek2023

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

It was the hottest bath Feyre had ever taken in her life. She was grateful Rhys left her for the hour, giving her time to wash out her hair and her skin, which required her to empty the tub twice so she wasn’t sitting in filthy water. By the time he returned, she was standing naked in the washroom, towel drying her hair.

“I got you something to sleep in,” he called from the other side. “I’ll close my eyes if you want to grab it.”

So grateful he’d brought her anything at all, Feyre hadn’t considered it was Rhys until the silken nightdress was in her hands.

“You’re ridiculous!” she complained, though she pulled the outfit over her head all the same. The thin straps did nothing to hide her shoulders, and the lacy front dipped, revealing the faintest amount of cleavage. It halted above her thighs and felt utterly scandalous to sleep in.

Feyre braided the damp strands before coming out in the cloud of steam. Rhys was laying clothes out on the trunk that were clearly meant for her. Wool-lined pants and a thick, white, long sleeved shirt with stockings and a hat and a deep, purple cape.

“This is too much,” Feyre breathed, noting he’d gotten himself some things, too. “Where did you get all this money?”

Rhys only grinned. Right. He was a thief. She didn’t feel so bad accepting when he’d stolen it.

“One last thing,” he said, pulling out a garment bag. “For Starfall. Everyone will be dressed up. You should be, too. I’m going to take a bath, but there’s food on the table. Help yourself.”

And that was that. She swore she caught a hint of red crawling up his neck before he vanished behind the door. Feyre didn’t move until she heard the tap squeak and the sound of rushing water. Not wanting to think about Rhys without his clothes on, she turned to busy herself with the last thing he’d gotten for her.

It was a dress. The kind of dress meant for a princess, she thought, as she pulled the silvery blue, beaded gown from the bag it had been set inside. Twin combs of pearl nearly clattered to the floor, caught in the skirt just before they could shatter. Feyre wondered if they’d hold her hair back at all and hoped they might. Perhaps she could twist it into a pretty knot rather than its usual, unmanageable braid.

Feyre admired the dress for a long moment before gently putting it back in the back and laying it overtop another nice bag which she assumed must hold something for him. It was tempting to look, but not as tempting as the meat on skewers from the table. She’d see, besides, and that would be enough. The last thing Feyre needed was to spend the next two nights fantasizing about Rhys looking like a prince when she knew the minute he dropped her into Avalon, he’d turn around and leave her.

Scrambling for her pants, Feyre found Rhys’s ring still hidden in the pocket. There was nowhere to put it in her nightdress. Nowhere but her hand, and she thought he might lose it if he saw her wearing it. Making her way to the large bed they were meant to share, Feyre slid it beneath her pillow by the window.

By the time Rhys returned, utterly clean, with droplets clinging to his dark hair, Feyre was sitting at the table halfway through her food. Through all the good, if she was being honest. Rhys merely grinned, ignoring that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and her mouth that was currently hanging open at the sight.

“You eat like an army,” he teased, dropping into the chair opposite hers. “I could have gotten more.”

“Now you know,” Feyre replied, not bothering to mention this was the first good meal she’d had in ten years. Maybe he knew it, because Rhys didn’t make another comment on what she ate.

He merely put things on his own plate, turning his face toward the window to watch the bustling crowds below. Night was only just beginning to fall, leaving street lamps to flicker on. It did nothing for the people moving about. Tables began to fill, set beside warm braziers so the chill didn’t feel so oppressive.

Feyre wanted to be among them. Rhys seemed to guess that, too. “Tomorrow, let’s eat outdoors.”

“Will we be paying?”

“If you’d like,” he said with an easy, handsome smile. “I’d be happy to take you on a date.”

Feyre’s heart nearly exploded in her chest. “It’s not a date.”

“Of course not,” he said with a roguish wink. “We’re just…what are we, then, darling?”

“Whatever two people forced together are called,” she replied, ever the liar.

“Friends, then,” he decided. Yes, that did feel true, in a way. He’d saved her life, and in turn, she’d saved his, hasn’t she? And yet somehow it also felt like a lie—they were “friends” in the most terrible sense of the world, because friends certainly weren’t daydreaming about Rhys taking off his shirt.

And his pants, too.

Feyre hoped he couldn’t tell what she was thinking about. Rhys ate and Feyre kept her expression sullen to keep Rhys from guessing what she was thinking. The undeniable truth was staring them both in the face in the form of that large bed, practically mocking her when there was nothing left to do but get into it.

Rhys busied himself by straightening up, his golden brown skin flushed. Every once and a while she’d catch the violet blue of his eyes snag on her, settling beneath soft blankets until she finally snapped. “Do you plan to sleep tonight? Or are you going room to room offering maid service.”

“Desperate to—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Feyre warned, holding up a finger. “Just get in bed.”

His smug smirk did little to ease Feyre’s nerves. The bed dipped beneath his weight, his legs so long that his feet were flush against the footboard. While she turned off the lamp beside her, Rhys shucked off his shirt and oh. She wished he hadn’t. Rhys was nothing but pure, carved muscle. Up close, Feyre could see little white knicks against his skin from a blade and battles he’d fought and won, marked alongside the black ink of his tattoos.

“What do those mean?” she asked, tracing one of the runes on his shoulder before she realized she was touching him.

“They’re for luck,” he said, though Feyre very much doubted that was the whole truth. What kind of thief needed that kind of protection? And for that matter, what thief was built like he was—like a battle honed warrior who’d been born with a sword in hand? There was a mystery about him swirling like fog. Feyre wanted to untangle it, which was a mistake.

Pulling her hand back, Feyre murmured, “Oh.”

She knew better than to touch him by now. Rhys was too still, his gaze burning her skin. Feyre settled into the bed, turning her back to him. Rhys remained propped against the headboard for a long minute, the wheels grinding loudly in his head.

Don’t comment on it, she thought silently. He heeded her, joining her on the mattress with a soft sigh.

“What are you going to do when you get to Avalon?” Rhys asked her.

Marry a Vanserra and pray he’ll give me an army. “I don’t know,” Feyre admitted. The thought of marrying some foreign prince seemed atrocious to her. “I just—”

Another pause. “You just what?”

“I have this dream,” she dared to say, not turning to look at him. Rhys shifted.

“Tell me.”

“She has my sisters, too. Amarantha, I mean. And in my dream, I imagine the three of us are free. That…that we’re happy again, like we were when we were little. Before she came along and messed it all up. All those years in that tower, and sometimes that thought was the only thing that made me feel sane…and the lights on my birthday. I know they’re not for me, but they come every year and sometimes I’d pretend someone sent them just for me, to remind me I wasn’t alone. That people were looking for me, too. It’s stupid—”

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupted quickly, his voice soft and hoarse. “I think it's a good dream. I—”

Feyre waited for Rhys to collect his thoughts, forcing herself not to turn, not to look at him. She knew whatever she saw would be her undoing.

“Do you need Avalon because you need a prince?” he asked her after a moment. “Do you need an army?”

Heart hammering in her chest, Feyre whispered, “Yes. Someone who can defeat Amarantha.”

“I see,” he murmured. “There are other princes in other realms—”

“None half as strong as the Vanserras, though,” Feyre protested, racking her brain for who he could possibly be thinking of. There was the rumored bastard prince of Illyria, of course, though Feyre assumed him to be little more than myth. A legendary warrior who’d managed to unite the mountainous people seemed more than she could ever hope for. The royal family of Velaris was gone, slaughtered by a vengeful uncle desperate for power. Scythia had a princess—maybe she’d become queen by then—and then Avalon. Everyone else was on other continents, too far to travel over treacherous waters Feyre wasn’t willing to risk.

“He has seven sons,” Feyre added.

“He’s dead,” Rhys told her, his voice finally convincing her to turn and look at him. “His eldest son now holds the kingdom. They say he’s…more forgiving…than his father. You might not need to marry anyone at all if you can offer him something he wants.”

Rhys was on his side, too, eyes bright even in the dark. The scent of him washed over her, dark and masculine from his bath. She wanted to touch him again. Wanted to scoot closer until his strong, muscular arms were wrapped around her.

Feyre didn’t budge. “What does he want?”

“You’ve got magic hair, right? Or blood…or…whatever it is about you?”

“I don’t want to be another pet,” she admitted. That had been her plan once, too.

“How is offering yourself up in marriage any different?” he questioned, a soft bite to his words. Feyre’s heart thudded angrily, her stomach flipping.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Rhys laughed bitterly. “Right. I have no idea what it means to sacrifice. At least I’m honest with myself, Feyre—”

“No, you don’t have any idea because you’re holding a ring for your true love. That’s a possibility for you, but it's not for me! While you’ve been out thieving your way through the five kingdoms, I’ve been a prisoner and this is my only shot to get my life back, so you’ll excuse me if I don’t care to get on my high horse and wax poetic about love and marriage.”

Rhys turned on his back, arms folded behind his head. “The princes of Avalon will be looking for high born women and princesses. Neither of which are you. Either way, you’ll have to tell them what you are if you want to secure their help, and you’ll end up their little toy.”

“So there is no happy ending for me, then?” Feyre asked, hating the way her voice warbled. Rhys turned to look, but she was already kicking off her blankets, unsure where she was even going. Far away from him—because this had been a mistake. Coming here, asking him to stay, thinking she could have peace. All of it.

“Feyre—”

“Shut up, Rhys,” she whispered, certain she was going to cry. Feyre reached under her pillow for his ring and threw it at his face, if only to distract him so she could quickly dress herself. “Just shut up.”

“Feyre!” he said again, her name a plea. He scrambled for it, while Feyre yanked her shirt and pants from the same chair her dress was draped over. That was just another silly dream. Thinking her life was going to turn into something more than just a girl trapped in a tower was a fantasy. Rhys was right. What did it matter if they knew the truth about her? They’d lock her away, too, and Feyre would trade one prison for another, even if it meant saving her sisters.

Rhys caught her before she made it to the door, fingers wrapping around her arms. “Don’t go,” he said, chest pressed to her own.

“I can make it the rest of the way. You have your ring back—”

“I made you a promise—”

“I’m freeing you of it. Go back to your life, I’ll go back to mine, and—”

Rhys lowered his face before Feyre could finish speaking, his lips brushing her tentatively. She froze, her heart exploding with excitement. No one had ever touched her like that before. His eyes found hers, big and wide like he, too, wasn’t sure what he was doing. Feyre didn’t know what to say.

But Rhys did. “I want to celebrate your birthday with you, Feyre.”

“I don’t think you need to be so close,” she replied, praying he wouldn’t move. Rhys reached for her face, callused fingers deliciously rough against her skin.

“I’m not close enough,” was his infuriating reply. “For the next two days, let me pretend you’re mine.”

“What—” Feyre never got to ask him what he meant by that. Rhys finished what he’d started, fingers curling in her hair to bring her closer and oh. He kissed her, mouth soft and warm contrasted against the roughness of the dark stubble gracing his jaw.

When had she reached for his broad, powerful shoulders, nails digging in his skin like he might vanish at any second. Rhys exhaled sharply, slotting his lips between her own and Feyre thought she might be floating. Dreaming, certainly, because this was far better than anything she could have possibly imagined.

Rhys grabbed her hip, yanking her into him and that was, she supposed, the moment the fight was over. There was no pretending she hated him, or was even mad at him. Feyre wanted him so badly she let him hold her closer, trying to get ahold of her thoughts just long enough to figure out what it was she wanted.

Beyond him, anyway. Because the world was reshaping itself around him, remade in his image. Rhys slid his tongue against her mouth, drawing a soft moan from her throat as he tasted her. Groaning, Feyre found herself pressed between his body and the door, grateful for the solid strength of them both. She might otherwise have melted into a pool of water on the floor.

“Stay with me, Feyre darling. Please. Get back into bed,” he whispered, forehead against her own. Rhys was breathing like he’d just run uphill for miles.

“Will you keep kissing me?” she asked, feeling shy for the first time in her life. Rhys smiled.

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to. I thought you knew that by now.”

Feyre smiled. “Two days, Rhys. That’s all I can give you.”

He kissed her again. “I’ll take it.”

RHYS:

Two days. Rhys had two days to figure out a way to convince Feyre not to go to Avalon, but to come back to Velaris with him. His plan had two parts, each more impossible than the last. Step one: tell her the truth. And step two? Make her fall in love with him.

Long after Feyre had grown too tired to kiss him with true enthusiasm, Rhys had plotted in his mind. What did he have? A torture artist and a bastard prince from Illyria and their combined armies, in exchange for sovereignty and a place in his court? And an enchantress he was hoping to make his wife. Who could complain if he showed up already married, Rhys reasoned? Feyre was powerful, with blood that could keep their armies going, that could fix the ails of his people. Surely his court would understand his reasoning.

And if he was successful, well…maybe it didn’t matter if they understood. Once that crown was on his head, he could strip anyone who disagreed with him of their titles, their lands—everything they cared about. He could send them all to the chopping block.

It seemed too daring to dream he could have his home and Feyre.

Two days. Rhys could do this. He woke wrapped around her body, slipping out before he could make a fool of himself, and returning with breakfast before she ever stirred. She needed the sleep and Rhys wanted to give her something she’d never had before.

Comfort.

He suspected she’d been taking care of herself her entire life. Rhys very much doubted Amarantha had lived up in that tower with her, raising her and keeping her safe. Feyre operated like a woman who’d had to learn independence young, eyes gleaming with distrust. So step one was merely taking care of her. Finding her clothes, bringing her food, showing her things he knew she’d never seen.

Injecting romance in the middle of them, so it was still courting. And then he’d bring her back to bed and show her what she meant to him with his lips and tongue and teeth. Barring that, if none of it worked, he’d merely get on his knees and beg. He wasn’t above it. Not anymore.

Not for her, anyway.

Feyre stirred, blanketed in her beautiful hair he was desperate to touch again. Rhys was sitting by the window for practical reasons—the mere sight of Feyre waking in the morning was enough to excite his cock. Laying beside her, arms wrapped around her? Rhys wasn’t convinced he could control himself. Sitting, fully dressed, was far safer. In his dreams, she came to him with those blazing eyes, lips parted, hands—

“Did you get breakfast?” she asked, pulling him out of his fantasy.

Rhys cleared his throat. “Yeah. Come eat with me.”

Or lay back down and let me eat you—

“Did you steal it?”

Rhys huffed. If only she knew. “No,” he offered truthfully, well aware she didn’t believe him. That knowing look on her face was all wrong, but still pretty as she clambered out of bed. Gathering up her hair, Feyre let it drape in her lap as she sat in her chair and Rhys had to remind himself to breathe.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and her mere presence made a mockery of him. Clenching his fingers to fists beneath the table, Rhys nodded at the food. “There are things I want to show you today.

“What kind of things?” she asked suspiciously. Rhys merely clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“You’ve spent your entire life in a tower. Let me show you a little bit of the world, Feyre.”

Those blue eyes of hers widened, pretty pink mouth forming a silent oh. Rhys felt a little too smug, having rendered her speechless. Smugger still when Feyre ate quickly, shoveling food in her mouth so she could slip into the bathroom and dress herself.

The clothes he’d picked out for her were a dream. The pants conformed to the curves of her lithe body, the white shirt clinging to her chest even when she’d tugged it from the band of her trousers in an attempt to hide her shape. Rhys watched her clasp the cloak around her neck before shoving her feet in the fur-lined boots. She’d be warm and, maybe, a little grateful?

Rhys was angling for a kiss.

“Ready?” he asked.

Feyre drank him in and he wondered if she didn’t see him for what he was right then. A liar of the tallest order, running from his destiny in order to show her around. Squashing that thought, Rhys took Feyre into the cold, silent when she leaned a little closer to leach some of his warmth. It would have been so easy to slide his arm around her body, to draw her against him.

She didn’t have that frying pan on her, so the likelihood of giving him a concussion was low, too.

But not impossible.

“What’s so important it couldn’t wait?” Feyre demanded, unable to hide the wonder on her beautiful face.

“The world, Feyre darling,” he replied, eyes glued to her face. “I want you to see the beauty you’ve missed.”

She gave him a look of skepticism—fair, given how the rain left a gray parlor over the world, creating a rather unappealing slush over the roads and buildings. The sun overhead would dry some of it up, but right there, on the curb outside their tavern, the world must have looked just as it always had to her.

A bolt of yearning slammed into Rhys as he began leading her toward the best part of the town. He wanted to show Feyre his home. He wanted her to see snow-capped mountains and lush valleys dotted with spring flowers. Rhys wanted her to dip her feet in the clear water of the Sidra, to see Velaris in the Summer when traveling playwrights put on shows in the entertainment district. He wanted her to taste the food, to learn their dances and songs, to crown her in their jewels and make love to her at night.

Rhys knew it was a fool's errand, because Feyre’s dream was going home—the same as Rhys’s. He couldn’t bring her home for a million reasons he’d already outline and yet he thought he’d die if he didn’t. He had to. He’d like, make her a princess of some sliver of land the lords had forgotten about. Maybe he’d change his agreement with Cassian, demanding he declare her nobility and marrying her would unite them in a tangible way that somehow benefited them both.

Or he’d do what he already wanted to—murder anyone who opposed him, start a new court, and marry Feyre anyway.

Of course, Feyre would have to agree to it, and Rhys still had no army he could promise her. Not without betraying his home—because what kind of king gave his army to a woman he just met so she could battle an immortal witch? How could he show his face before his people, knowing he’d left them to rot in service to his own feelings?

It was so damn unfair.

Rhys spun himself up in knots trying to find some solution, nearly missing the first thing he wanted to show Feyre. She, blissfully unaware of the plotting she was doing on her behalf, kept close enough their fingers kept brushing.

“There are so many people,” she breathed, her words a mingled mixture of awe and fear. “I’ve never seen this many people before.”

Of course not. As the sun rose overhead, more people spilled into the streets to conduct their daily business. Instinctively, Rhys grabbed Feyre’s hand before he thought better of it. A beat passed between them, long enough for her to yank back if she wanted.

Instead, Feyre laced her fingers between his own, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. Rhys exhaled softly, trying to keep himself calm.

“This way,” he murmured, pulling her off the main road toward a glittering fountain he’d always found rather lovely. The statue itself was nothing special—two faeries, with wings carved lovingly of marble that had once been white but now was blue, intertwined in a lovers embrace. The water poured from their open mouths, creating a rainbow of color to spill against the gathered pool. It felt like magic, even now that Rhys was a man and not a boy, seeing it for the first time while clutching his mothers hand.

“They say if you make a wish to the lovers and toss a coin, the gods will grant it. People come from far and wide to make their dreams a reality.” He procured a coin from his pocket, offering it up to her. Feyre eyed it skeptically, sliding her hand from his. “What kind of luck could a stolen coin have?”

“It’s not stolen, darling,” he replied, wishing he could tell her the truth. “Make a wish.”

“Will you make one, too?”

He hadn’t intended to. There was no amount of wishing that could give Rhys what he wanted right then, because Feyre wasn’t something so easily bought. Rhys could scheme until his heart was content and Feyre would likely still walk away from him. It didn’t stop him, though.

Keep us together—let her love me, too.

Rhys flipped his coin, watching it splash into the water before it settled to the bottom. Feyre tossed hers just behind his, biting her lower lip. “What did you wish for?” she asked him, inclining her neck to look. Rhys flicked her nose, earning another of those endearing scowls.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t come true.”

“How does that make sense?” she demanded, yanking her hand away when Rhys reached for it.

Exasperated, he replied, “That’s just the rule.”

“It’s a stupid rule.”

“Tell me, then,” Rhys said, curious what she’d wished for.

Color bloomed over her cheeks. “No.”

“Not that stupid, then,” he teased, bumping her with his arm. Feyre offered the faintest hint of a smile, causing his heart to stutter in his chest.

More, he thought. I want more of that look. “What else is there?”

Rhys grinned unabashed. “Come with me.”

It was nightfall by the time they settled in, choosing a table over a wide bridge that arched against a glittering, violet river. The smell wasn’t great, and the wine was cheap, but Feyre didn’t seem to notice either. It wasn’t starfall yet—merely a prelude. He’d paid a little extra of money he really couldn’t afford to lose, in order to procure two little lanterns and tools they’d need to light them and send them toward the heavens.

“For the souls we’ve lost,” he explained to her when he’d been paying the street merchant. “The lanterns guide their way back.”

After that, it was merely waiting for things to get dark enough. They weren’t the only ones counting down the minutes. Parents gathered along the edge, their children laughing and hollering, playing some game only they knew the rules to. Feyre watched a couple holding hands, the woman whispering something into the ear of her grinning partner. Rhys wished that was them when they stood, paper lanterns in hand.

“Here,” he murmured, holding a lit match. Feyre let him, blue eyes big and reverent as he lit the flame. He was quick to do his own before burning his fingers.

“Now what?”

Around them, little silver and blue lanterns began floating upward. Rhys demonstrated silently, sending his lantern upward for his lost mother and sister and father. Come back safely, he thought silently. I’ll be waiting for you.

Feyre did the same, eyes big and bright and gods, Rhys was about to do something stupid. Something she’d asked him to do, right? Keep kissing me, she’d said. “What do you think?” he asked, grateful she was unaware of how he was crowding her space.

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” she replied.

“Yes,” he agreed, unable to tear his gaze from that look on her face. It wasn’t a smile—not really. But it was soft and beautiful, tying him up in knots. Rhys slid his finger under her chin, delighted when she blinked, looking at him.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he whispered, giving her enough time to hit him if she wanted.

“Why would you do that?” she replied, lips parted. Rhys drank her in, savoring this moment and this time with her. He was going to lose her soon and he wanted to remember her exactly as she was.

“Because you’re beautiful.” Because I’m in love with you.

“Oh,” she breathed.

That was all the permission Rhys needed. Lowering his mouth until they were sharing a breath, he brushed his lips against her own. Feyre shuddered, fingers digging into his shoulders as though she needed to steady herself. Rhys understood that well—the world had tilted all at once, pushing him closer to her.

In retrospect, he realized it was just someone brimming with too much excitement that shoved against him, ending their little dance. Feyre inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering shut mere moments before his own. She melted into the arms he’d slid around her body, holding her close. Feyre smelled like violets and pears, like something familiar and lost to him all at once.

Feyre tasted like home. He could see it behind his eyelids like he was standing at the base of those three peaks that marked his territory. And he could see her, crowned in starlight, grinning ear to ear as she urged him to join her.

Rhys broke away with a gasp. “Feyre,” he breathed, resisting the urge to fall to his knees. She looked up at him, eyes hazy and dark. It was different than before, he thought wildly. That first kiss had been borne of panic, of the thought he might lose her but this? This was pure want, it was need.

It was love.

“Should…should we go back?” she asked, biting that plush, lower lip.

Rhys nearly groaned.

“Yes,” he replied, reaching for her hand. Feyre let him take it, drawing close as wintry wind whipped around them, trying so hard to pull them out of this realm and into another. Rhys swore, right then and there, that he’d figure out a way to keep them together. That Feyre wouldn’t end up in the clutches of the Vanserra’s and their vulgar, ugly sons. That her life would be easy—soft.

He swore, with the gods overhead as his witness, that he’d make her a queen.

#feysand #pro feysand #we're getting somewhere now

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eolewyn1010 · 1 month ago

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Downton Abbey Fashion 43 - festive occasions in 1922

We have a few more special occasions this season that require some extra fashion – very extra in the case of Rose’s debut in society, but I’ll save that for last. Except for the debutante presentation, none of this is really festive, per se, but it is this a little fancier than usual day wear level. And I have an established naming scheme to my posts that I’m too lazy to change at this point.

I’m trying to remember for what Cora wore that initially. I think it is her fancy London afternoon outfit for receiving her mother and the whole shebang? She does keep it into season 5 though. It’s one of those shapeless rectangle numbers, but the ensemble altogether is quite nice. The shirt is just a thing that’s there, but the skirt has a delicate lilac print or embroidery that’s quite charming. The coat matches in color and thankfully gives the outfit some drapery to work with. But, you know, I really don’t like that the hats rolled back on the Edwardian decoration style so much. Just a ribbon? When you could have flowers and feathers and all the stuff?

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Heh, okay, Mary has some plumage on her hat for a visit to the gallery. I don’t love these semi-translucent hats with the brims so deep I’m wondering how they can even still see a thing from underneath, but there’s no arguing with design because it’s the only point of interest in what is a pretty plain outfit. This dress is largely chiffon in a very nice color; why doesn’t it do any cool draping on the hips or sleeves? Note also that she’s the only one wearing sleeves among the three ladies we’re looking at for this occasion.

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Freda Dudley Ward is also at the same gallery exhibition, and she stole one of Edith’s dresses. Okay, no, Edith never wore this, but it’s her color. Like Mary’s dress, this is kept quite simple; unlike Mary’s, it at least has a little beading on the armscyes and neckline. She’s using the plain dress as a backdrop for a somewhat playful necklace design, whereas Mary who goes with more classical pearls. Also, Freda’s hat has a lace brim which looks rather nice.

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Rose’s dress for the occasion is cream and finally giving me something to look at. It’s all tone-in-tone, but I rather enjoy the flower motif piping. Different than the previous two dresses that just go down all the way unbroken, this one has a visible drop waist seam, and an honest-to-god collar. Such novelty! A collar that carries over the piping; I approve. And the hat looks to be pieced together of something like wavy scale elements? It’s not boring, I’ll say that much. It also has a bundle of small pink flowers, which is adorable.

For a date, Rose puts on that particular shade of pink again that I so love to see on her (until it’s basically all she wears). Pretty simple dress; the upper layer seems to be chiffon, but because she’s Rose, she has some white floral decoration on it, beading this time that shapes flowers and these little spiral meanders. A simpler hat for a change, but I guess considering who her date is, she is calling enough attention as is.

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And now we’re on Rose’s debut! I’m grateful it’s Cora who brings her out; can you imagine how Susan would have looked in Fancy™ with their constant dressing her down? Anyway, the first we see of their presentation outfits are these capes matching the colors of their dresses, dusty purple velvet for Cora and white velvet for Rose, albeit with a tad less volume, a cleaner, smoother collar, and a vertical line structure. Also, it seems that, though she has to forgo the ruffle game Cora’s collar has, she gets a bit of fur instead. I like Rose’s cape better in the overall look, but Cora does have a pretty brooch going for her.

Once in the palace, Cora sticks with the dusty Crawley purple, and the upper part of her dress is just a mass of glittering rhinestones on beige, plus a little favorite of mine – lil’ tassels on the sleeves. I mean, the rest of the dress is just plain fabric and a drop-waistband (which I guess is velvet) and a bit of a train, so it’s not like the outfit is cluttered. But I am wondering why Cora also has to wear a veil and ostrich feathers; I thought this was the code for the debutantes. Also, diamond tiara. She can afford one.

Let’s look at Rose’s outfit for the occasion. And her friend Madeleine’s, for good measure. Note that Madeleine wears a white dress of a similar making as Rose’s, but it’s not decorated the same (love the beading down the side of Madeleine’s dress though). So there is a dress code, but not a uniform. Said dress code includes big-ass ostrich feathers and a veil because, virginial bridal symbolism? And we need to talk about the skirt shape. It’s so weird to look at the drop waist combined with a hoop skirt. Reminds me of when regency style did something similar with the leftover paniers, just nonsensically high on the waist instead of low. This isn’t quite as bad, but I’ll admit it looks unbalanced to me and as though tradition had outlived its use. Ah well. I love the silver embroidery on Rose’s dress, and the delicate double headband is nice. I’m so mad that Sybil’s debut season was entirely offscreen; I would have loved to compare this with an Edwardian debutante dress.

#Downton Abbey #historical fashion #Downton Abbey's costume fund

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jade-parcels · 2 years ago

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You’re all mine . . .

No.9 Pantalone x fem!reader (a typical day with this stunning, gorgeous man)

Mentions of bruising, sheltering, dumbing down, possession

He’d happily pick out clothes for you, your whole closet has been meticulously hand picked (and hurriedly bought, his personal shoppers are so stressed) by him. Pantalone deeply enjoys dressing you each morning and undressing you at night. In the mornings, he rolls your stockings up your legs, ringed fingers rubbing up your thighs, he buttons your blouse, slides your skirt up your body, a smirk ghosting his face as the material hugs your hips. The finishing touch is always jewelry. He slides rings onto your fingers, kissing each one as he works, and has you lean forward so he can fasten a necklace clasp around your bruised neck. He’ll adorn your wrists with jingling bangles and hair with sparkling pins. Last but not least, he’ll gently slip your heels on for you, the ones too tall for you to walk in properly but that’s alright, you can hold his arm as you walk to keep yourself upright and naturally, he doesn’t want you walking away from him anyways! So sit pretty by his side, keep those expensive shoes shiny. You look so pretty for him <3 if he was even slightly adept at makeup, he would do that for you too so instead, he has you sit in his lap while you paint your eyelids with neutral colors and color your lips with stunning crimson.

All day you’re cooped up in his office with him. You get to do as you please really, he has staff there who are simply ordered to do whatever you ask. You can ask for expensive food or alcohol (oh how he loves when you get tipsy and dance around his office like a silly little fool), you can point out designer bags or clothes in a catalog and watch them scramble to retrieve those items, you can ask that they recount the latest celebrity news or demand that they play chess with you (Pantalone will glare at those servants if they come too close to winning, he wants to see your smile when you win and get his post-win kiss that you always give him). He spoils you rotten and loves every minute of it because he knows you’ll never leave. Even if you wanted to, you can’t… though he knows the thought has never crossed your mind. Every day you’re dumbed down little by little, every need fulfilled for you so you don’t have to lift a finger. No more cooking or cleaning, no more thinking about that next paycheck. Don’t worry darling, he’ll take care of it. Now lay back and clear your mind, let him keep you close, sheltered, comfortable <3 no need to worry your pretty little head about the tension in Snezhnaya when you can cuddle up against your husbands firm chest, warm and protected, blissfully ignorant

After an expensive dinner, topped off with dessert (which Pantalone insisted on feeding you himself), you’re led back to your shared room. You’re excited to kick off your uncomfy shoes and peel your husbands layered clothes off. The cape, the coat, the vest, shirt, undershirt, each article is tossed to the floor and you feel saliva pool in your mouth as you unravel your treat <3 He smiles his signature, soft smile, allowing you to undress him from the waist up and before you can rip your own clothes off, he takes your wrists, clicking his tongue. Now now… you know better, sweetheart. Only he’s allowed to remove your clothes. When you’re horny like this you’re prone to ripping seams or losing jewelry in the sheets.

Pantalone pushes you back against the fluffy blankets, his silky hair tickling your cheek as he hovers over you. He tells you how stunning you are, how good you are for him, he’s a master at sweet talk. He removes your blouse, kissing down your chest and stomach as he un-does the buttons. Those pretty, slender hands work off your skirt next, groping at your bruised ass and marked up thighs- the stockings stay, those he doesn’t mind ripping off later but now they’ll stay. Your jewelry stays too, pearls sit on your collar bones, gold on your wrists and stones on each finger. Oh archons above, he can barely contain himself- his pants are painfully tight but this is all a ritual he strictly follows. Your bra comes off next, then your soaked, tiny panties. He draws in a breath as he takes in your naked form, mind racing to cook up ideas on where to mark you next oh yes he can hardly wait

He removes the rest of his clothes, allowing his throbbing cock to spring free from the tight slacks he suffered in all day. His pretty gold piercings glint teasingly in the dim lighting, drawing your half-lidded eyes there. You tell him how you can’t wait to feel those shiny studs inside you, obscenities start flowing freely from your mouth- he shoves two ringed fingers to the back of your throat to shut you up… he doesn’t want to hear that right now, you’re riling him up too easily he won’t last long like this- not at all! He uses his free hand to play with your folds, roughly rubbing over your clit. He relishes in the way your body jolts, how you cry for him to give you more, how more slick gushes out of you, your body is just begging for him… He can never say no to you

With little warning other than the way his grip on your waist tightens, he sinks into your welcoming hole, almost sighing in relief as you envelope his aching cock in your sweet warmth. Meanwhile, your cries of ‘too big it hurts!’ fall on deaf ears. Your husband is simply lost in the way you clench in time with his thrusts- see? You didn’t need preparation you’re taking him just fine. And you look absolutely sinful.

He tells you over and over, as he does daily, that you’re his. You’ve been his for so long now, nothing but his his his. His wife, his trophy, his doll, his sweetheart. All his to mark up as he pleases, all his to show off to everyone else, all his to possess, protect, keep away from danger or competition. ‘Cry out for me,’ he demands ‘Tell me how badly you need me.’ So you do. You’re lost in your pleasure, the feeling of his cock and piercings dragging over your sweet spot over and over- the feeling of his teeth sinking into your neck- you dig your nails into his back, arching up into him as you tell him over and over ‘yes- I’m all yours! All for you!’ Fuuuuck you have no idea what you do to him. He’s getting close, he know you are too he can read you like an open book, so he demands that you come with him and of course you do as your husband says.

You’re shaking when he’s done with you. He wasn’t satisfied with one orgasm, he never is, he dragged another three from you and two from himself before he was finally tired out. He shifted you both beneath the covers, pulling them up to your shoulders to protect you from the cold. His hands wandered mindlessly, it wasn’t sexual now just comforting to run his hands along your familiar curves. You listen to his heartbeat as he quietly tells you about tomorrow’s plans. A formal breakfast, a few hours at the office, a game of croquet with a fellow businessman and his wife, a dinner at a theatre show to finish off the night.

Pantalone kisses your forehead as you drift off to sleep, his hold on you is firm and warm, your senses clouded by drowsiness and your husbands cologne. Ah how lucky he is to have you…. He thanks the archons every night that he has you. He’ll never be able to back to a life without you again. So every day will be full of activities together, full of love, full of lust, full of greed.

He’ll keep you by his side forever <3 it’s no trouble at all, really. Now smile, pretty girl, tell him just how much you love him <3 tick tock…He doesn’t like to be kept waiting

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact writing #genshin impact pantalone #pantalone x reader #genshin impact smut #series: notsfw #series: smut

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lunaekalenda · 3 years ago

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daddy.

a/n: okay so this is my try to write something more spicy i guess :D i accept criticisms since i'm not really into this and i was just curious to write it :') sorry for your eyes my dears also big thankies to @prada-issues for reading it and give her opinion aaaa please minors do not interact with this post ! to be honest it is based on s4 kirstein what a surprise

your favorite character x fem!reader (warnings and one shot down the read more)

w: use of words like daddy, baby, good girl or bad girl; fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, mention of adult videos, male m, oral (male receiving), thigh riding, unprotected sex, slapping

You don't like this tone of pink. Or even this laces. But, after all, he bought this for you. Thinking about you. What other way could you please him more than showing him how good it looked on you?

"Turn around." that were the only words said. He's sitting on his little couch, a glass full of liquor on his right hand. His hair is messy, as if he has run his fingers through it. His elbows are on his knees, his body slightly leaning to the front to have a better view. You turn around. "Slowly, princess, slowly." he asks again. Your feet obey before your brain. Actually, you don't dislike this. Being desired with this intensity. He stretches an arm towards you, taking the little pink skirt he bought, pulling softly to make you go closer to him. Then, his attractiveness shots.

He leans back again, a lazy hand unbuttoning his shirt's neck, long and bony fingers entering the fabric to take the button off. You can smell his liquor and see a couple sweat pearls running down his body, disappearing on his clavicle, still covered by the white shirt. He looks at you in the eyes, a dangerous smile appearing on his lips.

"Are you seeing somehing, baby?" he asks, his hands being even more provocative, how his fingers open a way to the inner part of his clothes to take the little plastic out. His tongue caresses his lips when he takes the last sip. He gets up. "I told you to turn around, but you stood still, looking at me. That isn't what I asked you to do, hm?" he says. You can feel his hands playing on your sides, reaching the skirt. "I guess you need a little punishment." he whispers. You find his eyes, lust and desire reflected on them. You don't want to be punished. You want his praises.

"But I like when you call me good g-" you get interrupted by his deep and lustful laugh.

"Good girls do what Daddy ask them to do, hm? They aren't disobeying girls. So..." he says. His hands sneak into your skirt, finding easily your panties. Just with a little touch, he smiles. "... I guess being a bad girl for me isn't that bad, since you keep disobeying me." he says.

When he asked you to start this type of relationship, you didn't know how turned on you could get just by hearing him call you 'Good Girl'. The dominance aura he has around, the way this fits him as if it was made for him. It makes your legs weak and your pretty cunt squelch around nothing.

He gives a little slap on your butt, still covered with that cute pastel pink skirt. He goes back to his couch, sitting. The way his hand unzip his pants, so lazy and unamused about the situation... You take a fast look to his legs. An important bulge is growing on his underwear. "Kneel here for me, hm?" he asks, showing a place between his legs. You kneel, on the cushion he put for you. He always thinks of those little details. He doesn't want to hurt his loved one.

His hand takes out that pretty cock he has. You lean towards it, but his hand stops you. "No, baby. This is a punishment. You're gonna kneel there and watch how Daddy gets off, okay?" He also takes his phone from his pocket, quickly tipping. You look curious at the back of the phone. Is he chatting?

No.

You recognize what he's watching a second before the first sound. Moans and skin slaps coming from his phone. His hand moves as lazy as all his previous movements, his mouth half open, letting some gasps and sighs escape through his teeth. You always loved his hands and, honestly, they look so good around his shift, giving it slow strokes. You also want to help him, but you find this scene so hot...

While your fingers find the end of the skirt, his eyes look at you from above the screen.

"Don't touch yourself, hm? Daddy din't give you permission to" he says. His voice has a raspy tone that makes your interior tingle and he lets the words out in a whisper, as if he was adverting you. He is adverting you. You don't want more punishments. You want to be his good girl again, the one that gets his praises and caresses and kisses. Your hand fastly goes up again, now resting on his knees. He smiles. "That's it." his sentence is followed by a deep moan he lets out, his hand going a little faster while his phone gets all his attention again. You don't like that. You're supposed to be what makes him hard, not that stupid video. He should be getting off with you. It looks so hot, all hard and gloomy. You don't want more punishments, but Daddy won't be angry if you help him a little, right?

You lean closer to him, his eyes covered by the screen when your tongue gives a little kitten lick to his dick. He lets out a groan. Taking his phone out of his vision, he looks at you.

"I thought you maybe needed some help, Daddy." the way that word leaves your mouth, so smoothly and innocent, turns him a hundred times more. He puts his phone near the glass, on the little crystal table near the couch. His hand leaves his dick, now guiding your head.

"Daddy is dissappointed since you disobeyed me again." he says. He makes the shape of your lips with his thumb, feeling the gloss cape on them.

"But I just wanted to help you." you pout. He takes your jaw quietly. His eyes looking directly at yours. His lips curve on a sweet smile.

"Hm, and you're a really good girl for that. Now, open your mouth and help Daddy, yeah? That's what you wanted to do." his words are a win for you. You get closer, his hand quietly guiding you. "That's right, just like that." his head tilted back and his hand rests on your hair, guiding your movements softly. Your tongue spins around his tip, making him gasp louder, his hips starting an unconscious movement against your mouth, not really hard. "Hm, you're making Daddy feel really good... As the god girl you are." You can help but smile, even with your mouth full. He caresses your cheek. "Come on, baby. I taught you how to make Daddy happy with that cute mouth of yours." You know it. He has taught you how he likes to be sucked, from tongue movements to pace changings. A little bulge appears on your cheek. He caresses it, his tip feeling his thumb outside of your mouth. He takes your head with both hands, softly thrusting into you. You can't help but let him use it. He isn't rude, he knows you only want to help him. He just lets his hips make lazy movements against your mouth. He makes you release it, some spit connecting both of you. He spreads it out of your mouth with his thumb.

"You look so pretty, baby..." he doesn't lie. Your blushed cheeks, teary eyes and plumped lips make you look really beautiful. And knowing that him is the reason makes his cock twitch.

Now you're sitting on his thigh, little movements accompanied by moans while you ride on top of his pants, leaving a little wet patch on them.

"Oh, you're that wet? You even passed from your pantie to my pant." he says. His hand is stroking his shift again, his eyes changing from your pleasure expression to your little hip movement. He groans. "So fucking beautiful." He sneaks his free hand between your underwear and your skin, one king and bony finger reaching your inner. You let out a moan.

"Mmh, it feels good..." you say, moving with more need, wanting to feel his finger deeper. He smiles for you, so attractive.

"Yeah? This feels good?" he asks. He puts a second finger inside. "Than think about how well my cock will feel." he says. You moan louder, feeling his hand stroking again while his fingers play inside you. He takes them both out, a hilo de fluids connecting them to you. "Now, ride Daddy." he says. You look at the wonderful sights you have. His sweating body, only his pants and boxers on, with his cock outside them, hard and ready for you. You stand up and, before getting your price, you wait for him to decide with clothes you should leave on your body. "Take off your panties." he says. You do so, anticipating in your stomach all the pleasure you're gonna feel when he gets buried into you. "Leave the skirt, take off the shirt." he asks. You do so, his lips smiling when he founds you don't use a bra, just how he told you to. "So obedient..." he whispers, attracting you to his lap and sitting you. That way, with his hands moving your hips, you can rub your now naked body against his. A deep moan escapes his mouth. You sigh with satisfaction.

"Can I put it in, Daddy?" the way you beg, the way you call him Daddy makes him want to let you do whatever you want with him. He gets so hard and so weak he could cum just hearing you calling him "Daddy" and moving those cute lashes. He nods, his hands guiding your hips up while you grind down on him slowly. You both let out a moan, your mouth open with pleasure. He puts a finger inside, and you suck it. You suck his finger how he taught you. A groan escapes his throath.

"You're so big, oh, godess." you say. He smiles, an smile full of lust, his hands tangling with yours when you start a slow movement against him.

"You're taking it so well, baby..." he says. "You like to feel Daddy's cock inside you, hm?" His hips go up involuntary, thrusts helping your pace. "You're so tight for me..." that made you squeeze him even more. His head went back, showing you his Adam apple and his neck, exhaling slowly. "Like that."

His hands are on both sides of your hips, some casual slaps whenever he wants you to be faster. Your legs hurt because of the impulse but you don't care. It feels so good. He knows it. That's why he takes you, turning you both around, his arms holding your legs while he accommodates your body on the couch, making easier for him to thrust into you. His hips make lascive noises when they hit you, your hands reaching his neck. You need to hold onto something. You feel dizzy from the pleasure.

"More." you beg. Your voice sounds broke, pure desire on it. He knows you're close, really close, that's why his thrusts take a slower pace, hitting the spots he knows you like, making your eyes roll. "More, more." it sound like an oration now, his body finding yours so slowly you think you're burning in slow burn. You can also hear his gasps, his groans, how he's also enjoying soemthing than only you can bring him.

"You're close, aren't you, baby?" he asks. His voice sounds so sexy like that. You're about to cry, you're feeling so well. Your legs start to tremble and your grip on his hair is stronger. His mouth covers yours on a sweet kiss, his tongue finding yours. He parts under your surprise gaze. "I want to hear every single sound you make when you come." he says. And you give it to him, so gladly.

A reward for making you feel that good.

little tag: @espritmuse <3

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imatechbummerliketomholland · 3 years ago

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I wish this trip never ends (sstbthw part 2) - h.h

Word count: 3768

Warning: angst, swear, mention of smoking

Pairing : harry holland

Request: no.

N/A: okay, i took me almost a whole month to write this but i'm kinda need to work on school too. Remember, english is not my first language, so be kind if you spot mistakes, i really tried my best. I asked you who the reader was supposed to end up with ... I'll let you figure it out but ... don't hate me for the end ... because after all ... it might not be the end. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Love you all! xx

taglist : @angeliquekalampoka , @harryhollandsgirlfriend (the one and only harry holland's girlfriend to me)

ღღღ

previously - and you can find part 3

Restoring a relationship of trust and regaining the bond that you both had was particularly difficult. You had to learn to find your place in Harrison's life, but also in his relationship with Grace. You were roommates and friends, but it was complicated to plan meetings with Harrison's busy schedule. Between his job search after the cancellation of his Netflix series, his photo shoots, his dates with Grace, those with his family. It was getting harder and harder to find a moment to reunite with the two of you. It was without counting your schedule.

You were supposed to meet at noon for lunch at that restaurant Harrison told you about where he took his mother earlier this year, for Mother's Day. You felt uncomfortable going to such a place. It was very fancy; you had taken a look at the menu and you knew in advance that you would not be able to afford to split the bill. That was sometimes one of the downsides of being friends with Tom and Harrison. They sometimes forgot that their salary was significantly higher than yours. After all, they were still simple, good-natured guys, never saying no to a quick takeout meal or ordering pizza, drinking a beer at the local pub. And sometimes, they offered to go to prestigious places, not paying attention to money, wanting to please their friends or family.

Currently you were in your room. You were throwing countless of clothes across the room, trying to choose what you could wear to this lunch. Harry stopped dead when one of your dresses flew out of your room, right in front of his nose, blocking his way. You had left your door open and your spontaneity got the better of your best friend.

“Easy, Tiger. I had no idea your clothes had the capacity of Dr. Strange's cape.” He joked before coming into your bedroom.

You turned to find Harry leaning against your doorframe, a smirk encrusted on his face. You gave him an unamused frown and his smile widened. This wasn’t funny at all; you were stressed as hell. It’s not like you still had feelings for Harrison and try to impress him – to be honest, you still had feeling for your friend, but not as intense as before, you had drawn a definitive line on the possibility of a romantic relationship with him, which had helped you a lot. – But you didn’t want to be dressed down and looked like a clown.

“Come on Munchkin, it’s just a lunch. At worst, Harrison can still make it looks like he invited you out for charity, sort of “Make a Wish” event” Harry joked, in his significant humor.

“Go to hell, Robert. Don’t you have a pack bag to make, mister “I’m going to Spain to help my superstar brother to hold his tea while he’s filming”?”

“Rude… I’m a film director, now”

Not for that, you thought to yourself, but don't have the balls to tell your best friend. You didn't want to take this joke too far. You smiled at his cute pretending offended face. You pouted mockingly before biting your lip. You loved the dynamics of your relationship so much. Your humor, sarcasm, your outspokenness, that's what brought you together. Harry pulled you lightly from your closet with a comforting wink. He chose Yves Saint Laurent poppy red wool jersey flared pants that Tom gave you on your birthday. You smiled at his choice. You liked these pair of pants because they were sparkling with vitality, the color was flamboyant. Harry then gave you a satin pearl-colored shirt from Zara and you laughed at the drastic brand difference.

“Oh I see. A classy look but no more than £ 1000 that's pretty smart,” you joked.

The choice of your outfit once again proved the reality of hanging out with wealthy people. You were not poor; you could even be grateful for the life you had had. But it would never occur to you to give your friends clothes that were going over the miles and cents. To be honest, you wanted it. You wanted to live up to the gifts your friends sometimes gave you. But the truth seemed quite different: you had cried over the price of a used Rolex you wanted to give Tom for his birthday. Even having saved for 6 months, you could not afford such a gift.

“Shut up, don’t be so dramatic. Wear that necklace Harrison gave you for Christmas. I’m sure you’ll look fine”

“Thank you,Baz…I guess. ”

You kissed his cheek and then invited him out of your room so you could get ready. It didn't take you more than thirty minutes, time to put on the outfit your best friend had chosen and to put on light makeup. When you were finally ready, you walked to Tom's room. He had offered to take you to the restaurant where you were to join Harrison. But when you got to his ajar door, you could hear the soft sound of a slight snoring. You let out a chuckle before ordering an Uber. You knew he had spent almost a full month in Los Angeles and hadn't returned until early last week. You wanted to leave him as much as possible alone so that he could rest before his trip to Spain for the reshoots of his film Uncharted. Tom was a boy who loved being in touch with those close to him, but you also felt his need to recharge his batteries. That's why you preferred to let him sleep.

You went down to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water before leaving. When your Uber arrived, you left a note on the refrigerator to let the boys know you were safely gone. It was little everyday things that made you look normal that you enjoy. A post-it on the fridge, a table organizing household chores had been drawn up. Note to yourself; It was Harrison's turn to take care of the laundry.

☙♡❧

You had really hoped this was just a grotesque nightmare. That it wasn't real. He was going to arrive; he was just stuck into the traffic. Isn't it?

But you were there, waiting for over an hour and a half, without any news from your friend. Some people watched you with pity eyes, the others didn't give you any attention. You internally thank Harry for choosing your outfit. You didn't look like a lost kitten in this prestigious setting. It didn't prevent you from being ashamed right now. The waiter had urged you to order several times but you had told him that you were expecting someone, that he would arrive any minute. The last time, you didn't know if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

But it never happened. Harrison never came to your dinner. You were alone, sitting at a table, pathetically waiting for your friend to show up. It didn't look like him. He had never stand you up before. And not to improve this embarrassing moment, the waiter came to you again. This time, with a man in a suit. He was elegant, carried himself proud but diplomatic. They stopped at your table, a tight smile on their faces. No doubt the man in the suit was to be the manager.

"Miss, my employee told me that you seemed to have occupied this table for a while now. I am sorry to tell you that if you do not order a few things, you will have to leave the establishment"

You looked at him with misty eyes. You have never been so ashamed in your life. You just nod your head, not trusting your voice just yet. After taking a deep breath, you finally apologize to them before telling them that you are going to leave. The manager of the restaurant, out of politeness awkwardly apologizing for this uncomfortable situation.

You've finished the Dry Martini that you allowed yourself to, paying for it with whatever pride you have left. You pulled your cellphone out of your purse and decided to call one of the boys. After three rings, he picked up.

"Hey ... can you please pick me up?"

Your voice was shaky, you were so ashamed but it was less distressing than having to walk the Walk of Shame to your house or cry in an uber. You hung up and shared your location. You left the lobby, leaving the restaurant, standing in front of the entrance to the establishment. The air refreshed your cheeks burning with shame. Luckily it wasn't raining today. Which was pretty nice compared to that early summer you had had.

When you saw Harry's car pulled up in front of you, you slid into the passenger seat without a word. The curly redhead gave you a heartwarming smile but you definitely could see a spark of annoyance in his eyes. You sigh, resigned while shrugging your shoulders. It was obvious that your friendship with Harrison was still shaky.

"I'm sorry, love. He's a jerk about it."

Coincidentally, like a mitigating circumstance, your phone vibrated, receiving a notification from Harrison. You were chewing your lip with a sort of anguish and irritation, watching the message the blond had sent you.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. My agent called me for a pretty urgent casting briefing. She's detained me until now. Are you still okay for this dinner?"

You were angry. You were mature enough and had known the boys long enough to understand their obligations. The fact that Harrison had a lastminute meeting with his agent and missed your dinner wasn't a problem. The problem was, he made you wait for over an hour and a half before notifying you. You wanted him to call you to let you know, or a simple text just after he knew for the meeting. You typed a short answer, shorter than this was impossible. "No". You rested your head against the headrest, turning your gaze to your best friend.

"Hey, he's a Netflix star now" you replied to his last words.

Your voice cracked on the last syllables and your eyes filled with tears. You weren't usually that emotional but the anguish and shame really took over you. Harry noticed, unsure of how to instantly respond to your distress. He would have liked to stop on an emergency lane to take you in his arms but he already had 2 penalties to pay, respectively for speeding and prohibited parking ... a third fine would not be really welcome. He simply placed his hand on your thigh, drawing circles on your pants to comfort you. He simply moved his hand to shift gears and instantly rested it on your leg whenever he had the chance. This gesture soothed you, enjoying the touch, grateful to have someone as your best friend to mop up your pain.

☙♡❧

Arriving at the apartment, no sign of Harrison. When you walked in the kitchen, you saw Tom sitting at the counter, scrolling his phone. He looked up at you, not directly noticing your annoyed expression.

"Wow..you're ... gorgeous. I love these pants on you"

You smiled, a little amused by the compliment. Of course he loved the pants, it was a gift from him. But your smile didn’t reach your eyes. With a look on your expression then on the clock, the actor understood that something went wrong. Harry was right behind and still no trace of Harrison. It was suspicious. Tom gave you a worried look.

"Do I have to ask…Never mind, I’m still going to ask. How was lunch with Harrison?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask him? Oh wait... right, he didn't show up" you said sarcastically although you could hear the hurt in your voice.

Tom frowned, biting the inside of his lower lip in annoyance. Harrison was his best mate since forever and he knew him so well. It seemed strange from Harrison to not show up. The blond has told him he was happy to see you again and walking through this whole awkward “feeling situation” because he didn’t want to lose you. In a quick movement, he rose from his stool to walk around the counter. The next second, he took you in his comforting arms and you finally let yourself go under the sight of the two Holland brothers.

“It seems like you need a break of all this shit” Tom said while he ran his fingers through your hair.

You let a little laugh escape through your tears. He wasn't wrong. You really needed to get away from this whole situation for a moment. But how? Harry watched the scene unsure of what to do. You were his best friend and it seemed like the solace you found was never in his arms. He had tried in the car, however, as best he could. He walked over to the counter to make you both a cup of tea. It seems that as cliché as it sounds, tea comforts you, as the English person you used to be. As the redhead waited patiently for the water to boil, a flash of genius - according to him - crossed the glare of his eyes.

“Why doen't she come with us to Spain?”

His brother's words seemed to suit Tom, who released his hold on you. You opened your eyes wide, not sure of what you had just heard. Go to Spain, with them? Once again, you knew you were going to argue on this proposition. The idea was not bad, Spain seemed a rather pleasant country. But you had just graduated and had a student job to save as much as possible. However, you could not afford to leave for several days in Spain, at the last minute. Plus, what were you going to do while Tom was filming and Harry was assisting him? He was sure the film's production crew wasn't going to give you a pass because Tom had decided.

“Yeah! That’s it, you’re coming with us”

“Tom, I have a student job. I can’t just…decide to go to Spain.”

“You never take a leave, come on. It’s not negotiable”

You were looking at Harry for help but he just shrugged. After all, he was the one who had initiated the idea of including you on the trip. You were trying to find a valid excuse to stay home. You really didn't want to impose yourself.

“I can’t afford that” you said, trying your best to convince him to quit the idea.

“I don’t care, it’s not even a problem. You coming to Spain with us.”

"Omg, does Z dominate you in bed to make you so bossy in life?"

Harry almost spitted his tea and laughed out loud while Tom gave you shocked eyes with pinky cheeks. You had always been sassy but hanging out with the boys had made you even more sassy than ever. How many times haven't you heard Tuwaine or Harry make fun of Harrison or Tom on the sex subject? Being a girl seemed to make you an untouchable character. The boys had never teased you about your relationships or your sexual partners. And while you've always had feelings for Harrison, you've had your own experiences. Anyway, you had just gone with the flow and Tom's brand-new romantic relationship with his co-star gave you the perfect opportunity.

“That's not the point.” stammered the actor.

Your smile widened, proud of your joke and the way Tom reacted. You heard Harry clear his throat. He had his phone in his hand and his own smile didn't bode well for you.

"The production is okay but it's at Tom's expense."

“You got to be kidding me…”

☙♡❧

You ended up in Spain with two of your best friends. You knew you had limited time before Tom had to fly back to Los Angeles for some Spider-man: No Way Home reshoots. So, you enjoyed as much as possible: accompanying the boys to the golf course - even though you weren't very involved in the sport -, spending time to visit touristic places when they were on set, talking with Rachael and other people from the set. You really enjoyed your trip.

On Wednesday evening you went out to a restaurant with Tom, Harry and two other friends/tom’s colleagues. You couldn't deny that it was fun. You had the opportunity to sunbathe a little while walking through the streets of Madrid. Spain was doing you good and not once did you think about your wobbly friendship with Harrison. You've just left the restaurant when a few fans politely show up to take pictures with Tom. You couldn't help but smile at the thought of how kind Tom had always taken in a few snaps when his fans approached him respectfully - and there weren't too many of them -. You sighed with pleasure before stepping away from the group. You leaned against a wall and took out the packet of cigarettes that Tom had asked you to keep in your clutch bag. Being an occasional smoker, he wouldn't blame you if you took one from him. You tilted your head back to admire the dark starry night when you felt a presence by your side. You narrowed your eyes in mischief as you looked sideways: Harry was there, his nose wrinkled from your cigarette. He didn't like it too much Silence filled your bubble despite the hubbub outside. You were in public and it was not surprising to meet travelers and Madrid residents mingling with the crowd to enjoy this pleasant evening.

"I wish this trip never ends." You finally said, breaking the silence.

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Instead, he was just looking at you. You were a little tanned, the Madrid sun had done wonders on you; your loose hair framed your face and the summer dress you had chosen for the restaurant looked great on you: It was a short red floral summer dress with a shingle collar. Light enough to keep you from suffocating but decent to wear on any casual occasion. You were beautiful, stunning. His heart exploded at the sight of you, so much that it hurt a few times.

"I wish I had been there for you more." he finally confessed

You finally turned your head towards him and shrug your shoulders, smiling shyly but sincerely.

“You were working, Baz”

“I meant…not only here in Spain. I’m sorry to have let you down recently”

You give him a confused look. He hadn't been a bad friend but he kept implying it. You just shook your head negatively to brush his words away. Harry had always been important to you. He had been the first to step towards you. It was him who introduced you to the rest of the gang. He had always been concerned about you.

The night you met, you immediately clicked up with him. And to be honest, for a moment, you thought he liked you that night. But he never took that step towards you and you never did either. You dreaded that if you kissed him, he would think you were interested in his notoriety by proxy. So you just acted like any reasonable person would - accept the status he gave you. And the second time he asked you to join him with his brother and his friends, you met Harrison and your heart exploded.

"I'm glad you brought me here"

“I'm happy you accepted to come.”

“I didn't really have the choice, Baz” you joked.

He laughed slightly. You weren't wrong, he and Tom had practically dragged you onto the plane, leaving you no choice to be by their side. But you could only thank them, especially Harry who had the idea. You took another hit on your cigarette before leaning back to check out where Tom was with his fans. He seemed to be talking with the girls and didn't seem overwhelmed. So, you didn't want to interrupt him and were just going to wait for him to finish. Harry played with his hands nervously, looking straight ahead and then at you. He seemed to be repeating this game for several seconds before finally asking the question that was in his mind.

“Have you heard from Harrison?” Harry asked quite casually

“He sent me several texts to apologize and wished me to have a good time in Madrid.”

“Do you still have feelings for him?”

You swallow hard before looking at him. There was an indecipherable glint in his eyes and you weren't sure what to make of it. You drew another puff from your cigarette, maybe that would save you from entering this conversation. But Harry's presence was all around you and you couldn't really escape. So you've decided to be honest.

“It’s complicated. I suppose so...”

“Mhmm”

“But my friendship with Haz is important, I don't want to lose him because of it.”

“Yeah, you can't imagine how well I understand you” he sighed

“What do you mean? Who’s the lucky girl..or guy ?”

Harry turned to you frankly and you did the same, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette. You are well aware that the conversation was taking a more serious turn. He moistened his lips and walked over to you. Harry was full of things: he was full-loving, sarcastic, talented, daring, impertinent. But Harry was mostly awkward when it came to love. Not just an attraction, no, love with real feeling. Delicately, hesitantly, he reached out to your cheek, stroking it with the back of his fingers, cautiously. You were frozen, your eyes fixed on him admiring his audacity.

"She's the most beautiful girl I ever seen." he said with a small smile.

Harry walked over to you and your heart was pounding at breakneck speed. Harry had ... feelings for you? You were really confused. Since when had he developed his feelings? Why didn't he tell you about it? Why hadn't he tried anything so far? So, were you right from the start? Was there a tension between you since the beginning of your friendship, since your met? But above all, did you want him to take that step? Instinctively, your body responded. You parted your lips and closed your eyes. You enjoyed the warmth of his hand on your cheek and were waiting for the touch of his lips. But it never happened.

"Hey baz, y/n..we're going back to the hotel" Tom said, taking his eyes off his phone. "I…Mhmm sorry, did I interrupt something?"

#harry holland #harry holland x reader #harry holland fic #haz osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield #tom holland

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ottomanladies · 4 years ago

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I have a lot of interest rest in Ottomans. How fashion changed after 1860s in Ottoman women? Ottoman fashion which is shown in Payitaht Abdulhamid in 1890s, was it real? Please explain with pictures

I am sorry for the long wait, I had internet connection problems.

After 1860s is a very specific time but I'll do my best. We can't forget that talking about fashion in a setting like the Ottoman empire is way more difficult because women weren't supposed to be portrayed or photographed so the material is scarce.

It was after the visit of the Empress Eugénie that the women of the palace and the wives of the high functionaries copied as nearly as they could the appearance of the beautiful Empress. They divided their hair in the middle, and spent hours in making little bunches of curls. High-heeled shoes replaced the coloured babouches [slippers]; they even adopted the hideous crinolines and abandoned forever those charming Oriental garments, the chalvar and the entari which they considered symbols of servitude, but which no other fashion has been able to equal in beauty — Zeynoub Hanoum, A Turkish Woman’s European Impressions

The chalvar, called şalvar in Turkish are the characteristic baggy pants that women (and men too) would wear underneath their several layers of clothing. The entari was worn over the undergarments and the şalvar:

These are all XIX century entari.

In any case, rich women began to abandon these clothes for more European ones especially after the visit of Empress Eugénie in Istanbul. This can be seen clearly in children's fashion:

Nazima Sultan in 1876 and Naime Sultan in 1882

Saliha Sultan in the 1870s

In this period [1867], the young ladies and young girls had completely abandoned the old dresses with three tails or trains and the baggy pants underneath; fashion now demanded shirts with a single train which was caught up and attached to the belt – there were now petticoats instead of şalvars or the baggy pants previously worn. The headdresses had also changed with the times and now usually matched the costumes; there were earrings with jewels, medallions and elaborate hairstyles, garnished with precious stones. — Leyla (Saz) Hanımefendi, The Imperial Harem of the Sultans. Daily Life at the Çıragan Palace During the Nineteenth Century

As for outerwear:

Women changed the thicker cloth they had traditionally used for their feraces (long flowing outer garments) for a much thinner material. They changed their yellow boots of morocco leather for shoes with trimmings of imitation gold thread, which they wore with thin, white socks. They began to use thinner veils and they turned covering themselves into a method for making themselves more alluring, a trend appreciated by Ali Rıza Bey, who commented that ‘the veils of our women, which were a means of ornamenting the face rather than concealing it, became finer. How charming the colourful feraces looked! And these finer veils were unable to obscure the beauty [behind]’. — Ebru Boyar, Kate Fleet - A Social History of Ottoman Istanbul

These photographs are great examples of just how fine veils had become. They basically did not hide any feature and this was a problem for conservatives (and sultans as well):

The çarşafs had become merely ordinary dresses, the feraces had turned into sleeveless capes, the veils had become too thin. [Abdülhamid II] issued an order that this should not occur. Further, women were not to wear coats or short, tight-waisted jackets which imitated military styles — Ebru Boyar, Kate Fleet - A Social History of Ottoman Istanbul

In the photograph above you can see a western dress underneath the ferace and several rows of what seem to be pearls.

In the XIX century, women (especially wealthy women of course) began to go out more, especially to pleasure gardens or at the Bosphorus shore. This meant that new accessories began to be used, among them the parasol. As pleasure gardens (ie. parks) were public places, men and women could see each other in these occasions:

A parasol in the rowing boat! It explains what the person wants to say. For example, if it is bent a little to one side, it means ‘I am annoyed with you’, if it is bent over further, ‘I am really angry’, if it completely covers the face, it means ‘you will not see my face again’, ‘I don’t want to see you, have you still not understood?’, if it swings hard from right to left, it signifies ‘don’t stay, pass by’, ‘return, go’, if it falls slightly to the front, it is in the place of a greeting, ‘welcome, sir’, if it falls a lot, ‘my heart has beaten again’, if it goes to the back, it means ‘oh!’, if it leans all the way over backwards, ‘what a state I am in, see me and have pity!’, if it is held to the side, ‘oh, how fine, what happiness this is!’, if it is opened and closed, it means ‘not tonight, tomorrow’, if it is closed and stays so, ‘we will make an appointment for the following day — Ebru Boyar, Kate Fleet - A Social History of Ottoman Istanbul

Men too had secret gestures:

making signs with the eyes and eyebrows, winking one eye, making as if wiping your face with a handkerchief, smelling the handkerchief with which you have just wiped your face, sighing deeply, and placing your hand over your heart. Placing your hand on your temple and half-closing then closing your eyes means ‘I am dying for you’, unbuttoning of one or two buttons of the waistcoat means ‘my heart is palpitating, I cannot bear this beating’. If you have a cigarette in your mouth, even if it is newly lit, and you take it from the corner of your mouth and hurl it away, this is because women do not like addiction to tobacco any more than its smell. To call over a beggar and give him a few coins demonstrates your compassion and generosity. To be busy looking at the posters outside Manakyan’s theatre is a sign of liking romantic themes such as La Dame aux camelias or Countess Sara. — Sermet Muhtar Alus, 30 Sene Evvel İstanbul. 1900’lü Yılların Başlarında Şehir Hayatı

... clothing made in European fashion, top hats, fancy canes, pet dogs, piano lessons, French language lessons, operas, dances, and balls, to the eventual employment of Western literary forms such as the novel, short story, and newspaper and the print culture it introduced, which had profound effects in creating new visions of Ottoman society and the individuals living within it. These literary forms constructed a new image of an Ottoman as a refined man "introverted, very sensitive, knowledgeable in Western music and literature, conversant in a Western language, positivist, attributing value to human beings, and subscribing to a Western style of life" — Fatma Müge Göçek, Rise of the Bourgeoisie, Demise of Empire; Ottoman Westernization and Social Change

Of course the same craze invested the Palace. Sisters Fatma and Mediha are clearly wearing European gowns and accessories:

Fatma Sultan around 1870 and Mediha Sultan in 1888

In the photograph below we can see Refia Sultan dressed exactly like a European woman in 1865. 1865 is very early but she was very interested in everything that came from Europe.

I was not able to identify these people but they're clearly from the Ottoman empire:

the lady is particularly interesting because not only is she wearing a European-style tiara but she seems to be also wearing the Order of the Charity (the white sash) 1st class, which was usually awarded to princesses.

Here we have sisters Hatice, Fehime and Fatma (all daughters of Murad V). The European style of their clothes and accessories is pretty evident.

Rukiye Sabiha Sultan on her wedding day in 1921

other photo of Rukiye Sabiha Sultan’s wedding

So... yeah, by the fall of the empire clothes were completely European.

#anon #ask post #ask: ottoman history #ottoman fashion #ottoman photos #late ottoman empire #nazima sultan daughter of abdulaziz #naime sultan daughter of abdulhamid ii #saliha sultan daughter of abdulaziz #fatma sultan daughter of abdulmecid i #mediha sultan daughter of abdulmecid i #refia sultan daughter of abdulmecid i #hatice sultan daughter of murad v #fehime sultan daughter of murad v #fatma sultan daughter of murad v #rukiye sabiha sultan daughter of mehmed vi

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toasnearlynakedghost · 3 years ago

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CoD Avatar Items

At the end of 2021 CoD had an end of the year sale with avatar items from 2021 events. I’ve been wanting to write my opinions on the avatar items so I’m going to take this as an opportunity to do so. This will not list all avatar items released in 2021 because there are avatar items that came out in draws that I don’t remember.

Items I like: Grape Off-the-Shoulder Top, Lavender Pink Tulle Skirt, Grape Necklace & Pumps, Sexy Amethyst Dress, Natural Pink Cheek, Natural Brown Brow, Flower Bag & Baby Blue Pumps, Navy Sailor Skirt, Coral Lip & Cheek, Ruby Heart Earrings, Buttoned-up Frock, Triple Rose Bouquet, Ruby Fur-Trimmed Bag, Claret Satchel, Shell & Pearl Jewelry, Pastel Star Earrings, Pastel Macaron Dress, Glittery Choker & Hair Charm, Country Charm Eyeshadow, Pink Ballerina Top, Pink Ballerina Skirt, Roy’s Tea Party Ensemble, Emerald Parasol & Pumps, Claret Pumps & Fan, Rose Hairband & Earrings, Komurasaki Butterfly, Luxurious Pearl Necklace, Black Lace Heels, Asymmetrical Purple Top, Layered Purple Skirt, Carnelian Drop Earrings, Fenn’s Butterfly Ensemble, Fenn’s Bejeweled Bracelet, Dreamy Bridal Gown, Dreamy Bridal Earrings, Dreamy Bridal Pumps, Dreamy Bridal Pearls, Dreamy Bridal Gloves, Translucent Camisole, Frilly Knickers & Garter, Lace Tall Socks, Black Rose Fan, Flowery Peignoir, Hoop Bracelets, Pink Pearl Flower Hairpins, Navy Camisole & Knickers, White & Gold Clutch, Crystal Tiara & Bouquet, Forest Flower Crown, Chained Mini Bag, Lilac Glitter Skirt, Mermaid Hairpin & Earrings, Black Rose Heels, Devilishly Cute Ensemble, White Rhinestone Frock, Hallowed Eve Cap & Boots, Floral Lace Gown, Rose Lace Cape, Pink & White Rose Bouquet, Rose Lace Dress, Black Lace Gloves, Jeweled Pin Heels, Glittery Lip, Dreamer’s Cage Heels, Garden Parasol & Gloves, Amber Earrings & Bracelet, Silver Ragwort & Reindeer Antlers, Fluffy Translucent Chiffon Skirt, Colorful Christmas Earrings, Gothic Excellence Boots, Gothic Excellence Gown, Starry Christmas Braids, Aquamarine Ribbon Earrings, Pearly Necklace & Pin Heels, Santa’s Adornments,

Items I’m okay with: Simple Shirt, Simple Slacks, Simple Pixie Cut, Amethyst Hat & Heels, Gauzy Steel Blue Skirt, Sailor Cap & Loafers, Half Pigtails, Ruby Lace Cuffs & Pumps, Amethyst Choker & Pumps, Pinned Chocolate Bob, Cookie Beret & Recipe Book, Basket of Treats, Ballet-Style Pumps, Pretzel Earrings, Cerulean Beige Tote Bag, Emerald Drop Purse, Leaf Barrettes & Pumps, Shimmery Mermaid Skirt, Golden Clutch, Breezy Bucolic Blouse, Ribbon Loafers, T Strap Pumps, Bucolic Flower Crown, Cerulean Gloves & Heels, Gold & Pearl Earrings, Fuschia Rose Hairpin, Magical Feather Duster, Voluminous Pinstripe Dress, Dreamy Bridal Fascinator, Pastel Frilly Cap & Pumps, Frosted Pink Lip, the six prince’s Kingdom Crest items, Iolite Gloves & Heels, White & Iolite Crown, Bright Heart Skirt, Frilly Sapphire Blouse, Red Academy Beret, Beat Chic Skirt, Frill-Trimmed Blouse, Emerald Earrings and Loafers, Flouncy Ribbon Belt, Rosy Earrings & Necklace, Lilac Glitter Top, Pink Glitter Lips, Mint-Blue Pumps & Tights, Nice Nurse Dress, Red Ribbon Hairband, Lace Gloves & Heart Earrings, Pompom Bunny Headband, White Tights and Pompom Pumps, Gold Studded Jacket, Tea Party Heels & Bunny, White Rose Pink Heels, Sweet Treats Skirt, Jeweled Rose Fascinator, Floral Jewel Necklace & Earrings, Jeweled Mermaid Tail Skirt, Jeweled Pear Earrings, Bucolic Flower Dress, Dreamer’s Cage Top, Feathery Hairpin & Necklace, Tights & Fluffy Reindeer Boots, Fluffy Pink Reindeer Top, Pink Striped Candy Cane, Rosy Black Veil, Dark Rosy Trunk, Dark Rosy Lip, Aquamarine Chain Purse,

Items I didn’t like: Brown Bell Skirt, Plaid Governess Dress, Navy Capelet, Simple Bob, Simple Shoes, Pretty Brows, Pin Heel Boots, Tied Gowns in all consort colors, Buttoned Pencil Skirt, Bejeweled Band, Classic Rustic Frock, Amethyst Baguette Bag, Gauzy White Blouse, Frilly Mermaid Top, Loose Blue Curls, Indigo Stitch Shirt, White Toe Shoes, Ivory Lace Gown, Monochrome Handbag, Ruby Eyes, Pink-Frilled Apron, Frilly Cap & Socks, Carnelian Chain Purse, Carnelian Loafers & Bangles, Ivory Summer Lace Dress, Ivory Frills Tank Top, Regal Star Choker, Black Gingham Top, Fluffy Monochrome Skirt, Gold & Gray Ankle Boots, Tasseled Brown Boots, Bright Heart Top, Beat Chic Bustier, Lawful Good Dress, Lawful Good Cap, Lilac Glitter Socks & Pumps, White Jeweled Headband, Nice Nurse Ensemble & Syringe, Pink Heart Halter Top, Flirty Layered Skirt, Black Cavalier Boots, Pink Pompom Bunny Dress, Poison Pink Dress, Black Ribbon Pumps, Buttons & Lace Corset, Sandals & Socks, Gold Tuxedo Dress, Jeweled Rose Blouse, Jeweled Party Clutch, Chocolaty Retro Swing Dress, Dreamer’s Cage Skirt, Champagne Ribbon Heels,

Items I missed that I wished I would have got: (Consort) Crystal Morning Suit, (Consort) White Tuxedo Ensemble, Sleeveless Pink Gown, Sundrops & Hydrangeas, Plaid Christmas Coat, Long Boots & Diamond Earrings, (Consort) Christmas Market Ensemble, (Consort) The Master’s Jacket, Long Crystal Gown, Ruby Ribbon Gown, This is mostly consort items.

#Court of Darkness

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lo-55 · 3 years ago

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Lightning In A Bottle Ch. 2

Nanohana wasn’t changed much, to the point that Nao was beginning to wonder how long she had been inside her crystal prison. She had no idea how much time had passed, but if the boy who had broken her out of the rock hadn’t recognized her or her flag it had to have been a while.

And that hat…

It had to be a duplicate, surely.

Nao tucked her hands into the pockets of her pants. Her high leather boots kept the sand out of her socks, at least, and when Luffy managed to burn whole sacks of Raindance powder her cape kept her dry. At her side, Odenta and Mikazuki hung as heavy comforts in their sheaths. They didn’t garner nearly as much attention in the city as Nao and the Gem’s had when they had arrived however long ago that was. Back there the city had emptied out as soon as they stepped foot in the sand covered streets of the Alabastan port.

No, no one even looked twice at them, there were so many people going through the city.

Not her, or Luffy in his hat.

How peculiar.

Nao made a mental note to get a hold of a newspaper as soon as she could, or maybe visit Ohara. They would have the best records about what she’d missed.

It would have to wait. Ohara was a long ways from Alabasta, and it would be hard to sail Blood Stone without someone else helping her. The ship was just a little felucca, hardly big enough for fifteen people, but she was tough as nails and made for the roughest waters in the world. All the same, it wasn’t safe to sail alone in the Grand Line, where the weather might change without warning, when there wasn’t someone to stay awake and keep watch. Not to mention Marine’s, other pirates, and all sorts of other dangers. Sea Kings probably hadn’t gone extinct since she went under. She’d rather not deal with them.

Nao was so busy contemplating her ship that she nearly walked right by the restaurant that Luffy went shooting into.

She had to backtrack to poke her head inside. A crowd had gathered, and Luffy was ignoring it entirely in face of ordering lunch. A pair of unconscious bodies lay through several broken walls.

Nao cocked her head. Had Luffy done that when hed stretched out and launched himself like a demented rubberband? She knew it had to be a Devil Fruit, but she didn’t expect him to go causing that much destruction mindlessly.

What a weird kid.

Ah well. Pirate.

Nao took a seat next to Luffy while the chef frantically started cooking. Whoever had been in before them had eaten a lot, with dirty plates stacked nearly to the ceiling. Now he was feeding Luffy, and her too.

Nao made a mental note to tip him well.

She casually elbowed Luffy’s face out of the way and stole a whole chicken to rip into.

“Hey!” he shouted around a mouthful of food. His head stretched unnaturally away on his neck. “That’s mine!”

“Finders keepers,” she said succinctly, and shoveled it into her face as fast as she could. Time hadn’t passed for her at all inside the stone. Her injuries from the battle weren’t healed, and she didn’t feel well rested. She was famished, but not starving like she’d spent months unconscious.

Nevertheless, she’d always been a big eater. She needed the energy to keep up with her lifestyle, and to keep herself strong enough to fight. She wouldn't let her broad shoulders shrivel or her powerful legs grow weak if she could help it. It was a death sentence.

She nearly bit Luffy’s hand inhaling spicy noodles next, and a hank of lamb. The chef was sweating and out of breath but he kept putting food on the counter and they kept eating. Luffy was chatting with the locals while he ate.

“Why’s there a hole in the wall? Is that some weird hobby of yours?”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO PUT THE HOLE IN THE WALL!”

She knew it.

Nao was in the middle of a plate of roasted peppers when one of the formerly-unconscious men climbed out of the hole in the wall. She watched him get slammed back down by a man in a fur coat, and the next thing she knew she was getting dragged through the streets of Nanohara by Luffy.

Why are we running? That guy isn’t even that strong...

“Tashigi!” the man chasing them shouted, “Stop them!”

Nao looked forwards to see a girl with a sword.

“I’ll handle her,” she offered Luffy, who nodded and let go so he could go bouncing up onto the rooftops like a ninja or something. In one smooth move Nao drew Odenta from her side and lifted it to block a blow from the other girl, Tashigi.

“Nice sword,” Nao grinned sharply at the girl over their locked blades. Her form was good, but she wasn’t very strong. Too bad.

“Yours is too. It’s a shame it’s being used by pirate scum!”

“Xeshishishi, tell you what, if you can beat me you can have her.”

The man who’d been smashed into the floor landed next to the two. An orange hat rested on his head and he had a bad slung over one shoulder. Black hair fell in soft waves to frame his cheeks, which were covered with freckles.

There was something familiar about him…

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said politely, startling both of them into looking away from their crossed blades to him instead. He tipped his hat towards them, then the building that Luffy had jumped up onto. He was blocked from it by their swords. “I have to catch up with my brother now.”

“Uh, sure,” said the marine girl. They pulled their blades away to make a path for him.

“Why are you telling us this…?” the redhead countered, looking confused. She faltered when she got a good look at his face, recognition shooting through her. Nao sucked in a breath. He looked like-

“Hey, hold on-!”

“Sorry, I can’t,” Portgas waved to them and shot over the rooftops, after his brother and the marine. Nao shook her head. She would see him again, if he was chasing Luffy.

Nao drew back and slashed again easily. Each move was economic and graceful. She spared no energy, partially because she simply didn’t have any. Tashigi blocked, but the force pushed her back a few feet.

Nao parried her next attack and side stepped to smack her on the back of the neck with Odenta, sending her careening to the ground.

Someone screamed, but no blood came from the fallen marine.

She touched the back of her neck in confusion. “Wha-?”

Nao didn’t answer.

She was already gone.

Nao ducked around a corner and ran after Luffy, following his Haki until she caught up with him and a group of colorful people. Hadn’t he said he was a pirate? Or he was going to be King of the Pirates. That was what he’d said. Well, to be king of them you needed to be a pirate in the first place, right?

That sounded right.

So these people were probably his crew.

When he saw her he grinned and threw his hand out. It stretched far enough to grab her by the wrist and yank her forwards.

“Hey! You made it past the sword lady!”

“Well yeah,” Nao landed beside him running. Her leg was starting to ache where a cut had caught her over the knee.

“Who are you supposed to be?” A curly haired young man with a long nose demanded, eying her.

“She’s a rock person I found,” Luffy said cheerfully.

“That. About sums it up,” Nao felt herself smile involuntarily. “I’m Roche Nao,” she said for the second time that day. She really hoped they stopped running soon. Her leg was seriously starting to ache.

“So Luffy picked up someone else weird,” an orange haired girl looked exasperated more than anything else. Nao felt like she should have been offended, but she just shrugged. She was too tired to be upset with people who hadn’t actually done anything to her.

Besides, she wasn’t wrong.

They came upon a pretty caraval, with a sweet looking figure head. A sheep. Nao felt herself smile. It was cute and light hearted, like this crew seemed to be. Nothing at all like the swift, devil faced Blood Stone. Her eyes were two carved rubies, and a pair of snakes twined around her in a macabre necklace that matched the one that hung beneath Nao’s own shirt.

“Permission to come aboard?” she asked Luffy lightly. The boy beamed at her and tipped the brim of his hat.

“Granted!”

They scampered onto the ship and in a whirlwind of motion they set sail. The caravel carried them away from the port. The pirate flag flapped in the wind, showing off a skull wearing a straw hat.

Seriously, what was up with that hat?

Had that up-and-coming volcano really given it to some upstart?

...actually. That sounded exactly like something he would do.

She realized that their little pet (a raccoon?) was staring at her only when he shouted suddenly.

“Ah! You’re bleeding!”

It was a testement to how tired she was that she hadn’t noticed that he was a mink, and not just a weird animal.

“Hah? Where?”

“Your leg! Quick, take off your pants and I’ll- ouch!”

The orange haired girl smacked him over the head. “Don’t ask it like that!” she scolded.

“But I need to see how bad it is! She might need a doctor!”

“You’re the doctor!”

Ah. Nao would have preferred they didn’t know she was actually injured, or weak, but there was nothing to be done about it. They seemed like good people anyhow, as far as pirates went.

“Well then, mister doctor, where’s your office?”

“A-ah! I don’t have a real office yet. We’ve been using the bathroom.”

“Then lead the way.”

The doctor, Tony Tony Chopper, guided her down to the bathroom. The Caravel was small without being cramped. Nao took off her boots and pants, now stained with blood, so he could clean and stitch her leg. He treated her smaller scrapes and bruises as well, and stuck bandaids across her cuts.

He left so she could clean herself properly, wash her hair and get the blood off of her. She watched the pink water wash down the drain and wondered where her crew was. What had happened to Elba, Talisa, Adrien and Pearl? Were Rize and Hinami still injured? Had the marine’s tended to their wounds? Tier had escaped into the sea before a blast from a marine flagship had sent them hurtling out of the little cove they’d been hiding in and beached their ship. Had she made it back to fishman island?

She needed to find out. She owed it to her crew after she had failed them all.

There was a knock on the door.

She cracked it open to find the blond man standing outside, holding a bundle of clothes in his arms. Her red hair dripped across her shoulders, but in a few minutes it would be dry and wildly curly again.

“I bought an extra outfit for Nami or Vivi, but now I see it was destiny that I have it ready for you!”

He had literal hearts in her eyes when he presented them to her.

Nao took them carefully. The clothes were lightweight and soft, so soft that they caught on the sword-callouses on her fingers.

“Thank you?” Her clothes weren’t ruined, by any means. Did she really need a new outfit?

“If you need any help changing I-”

She shut the door on his face. “Nope.”

They definitely didn’t recognize her. No one who did was stupid enough to flirt with her. Her dad would kill them.

Nao changed into the clothes and was disappointed to find that they were dancers clothes.

Yeah. No.

She couldn’t fight in that!

Instead she cleaned her pants as best as she could, used a small sewing kit she kept in her cape to fix the cut in them, and redressed.

She'll have to find a hair tie eventually.

When she came back up to deck the other man they’d run into was crouched on the outer rail. With his back partially to her while he chatted with someone else Nao caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his back.

It was familiar, too. He nodded to Nao when she came to stand beside the green haired man. Solo?

Most of his attention was on Luffy, not her.

“Luffy. Will you come join the Whitebeard Pirate Crew? With your friends, too, of course.”

Whitebeard pirates. Whitebeard. Edward Newgate.

Nao could feel a headache starting to throb behind her eyes.

“No way!”

The man laughed. “Just thought I'd ask! Whitebeard is the greatest pirate I've ever known. I want to make him the pirate king. Not you, Luffy.”

Nao internally winced. Brutal. They were obviously close. Childhood friends?

“That's okay! I'll just fight him.”

Nao blinked at Luffy’s back. Was he stupid? Or just crazy?

Either way, Nao liked him.

She couldn’t start her hunt for her crew yet. She didn’t know how long she was trapped, and she didn’t know where everyone had gone. She also wasn’t in any shape to go rushing off and finding out. Her mother would have killed her for doing something as impulsive as grabbing the nearest Marine and demanding to know where her crew had been taken. And her dad…

Her heart twisted in her chest. Nao shook her head. She wouldn't let herself have a breakdown yet. Not here. Not yet.

“Hey, Luffy.”

He turned his head to look at her. Nao offered him a half bow. “Sorry but, I’m going to have to take advantage of your hospitality for now. Until I can get in contact with my own crew.”

Luffy shot her cheerful grin. “Sure, okay. You can hang out with us for a while.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” the blue girl stepped forwards. Nao really needed to figure out everyone’s names. She only knew Luffy and Chopper. “We’re not here for tourism. Where we’ll be going is bound to be dangerous.”

Nao cocked her head. Yeah. “I appreciate you worrying. But I’m a pirate as much as anyone else. I won’t change my mind just because it’s dangerous.”

Besides, they were going to Yuba, where Nao was supposed to meet with her crew.

Molly should have already gotten there and set up shop.

“Wait for us, Moll. We’ll get there, even if it takes a while.”

Molly pursed her black-painted lips. “I don’t like it, captain. This splitting up stuff. You already sent Harry and Monty back to Zou. We’re stronger together.”

“I know we are. But with dad-”

“Don’t worry,” Nao looked the girl in the eye and lay her hand on Odenta’s hilt. “I won’t ask any of you to be responsible for me.”

“I am my own captain, after all.”

#one piece #One Piece Fanfiction #monkey d. luffy #original character #one piece strawhats #straw hat luffy #straw hat pirates

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from-home · 4 years ago

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𑁍 MARK LEE┊ 𝒔𝒊𝒙𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒔, 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 / one ˎˊ˗

𑁍 summary : the one where mark lee time travels back and forth throughout the past and future with his crush, (y/n) ˎˊ˗

𑁍 pairing : mark lee x older!reader (by like three years lmao) ˎˊ˗

𑁍 word count : 6.7k ˎˊ˗

𑁍 genre : fluff, comedy (i hope??), minimal angst, time travel!au ˎˊ˗

𑁍 warnings : swearing, unrequited love (i know that shit hurts omg), my humour is ass, mark gives me slight second hand embarrassment in this, bad writing??, i gave up like halfway through this lol, first time writing a fic like this pls have mercy, it’s almost 2:30 am i'm too tired to proof read fuck ˎˊ˗

𑁍 a/n : first chapter of my first ever fic on here hehe - idk when the next chapter might come tbh but hopefully i’ll continue this series for my own enjoyment! in the meantime, uni still kicks my ass >:(( but anyway, enjoy and i hope that at least someone will find joy with this! ˎˊ˗

[ 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟬 : 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝟬 ]

when your pastor dad’s best friend was the biggest nerd in high school and became an eccentric scientist

O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,

What a beautiful Pussy you are,

You are,

You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!

If he could write like that, maybe Mark wouldn't need to be here in this boring literature class of his. Don't get him wrong, he liked writing, and he liked the way he could express his emotions through a pen and paper. But for the twenty-one-year-old boy who could barely sit still in one place without his mind wandering off into four different dimensions, it was hard to be interested in whatever the professor was rambling on about. Maybe Professor Jung was telling the story of how she met Dylan Thomas' widow's sister's friend's cousin, and how much of an artistic impact it had on her. She had told the story a good three times in the past two months - Mark kept count.

Yeah, writing was fun and all, but literature class specifically was boring and dull to him. "Oh but Mark, why take this course then?" one might ask. But one should also know that it was a necessary course if Mark wanted to earn his oh-so-coveted diploma.

Curse him for majoring in creative writing. His dad always did wonder why writers even bother writing when the bible exists.

But maybe one day, an hour and a half of John Keats would produce him some ideas for a romantic poem that he could write and gift off to his love of seven years... and counting.

(Y/N), the shiniest of all pearls and the most beautiful of all Mona Lisa's, the older woman and her beauty often left Mark stunned and helplessly in love. He first met her when he was fourteen, when she had been introduced as his seventeen-year-old tutor. She was so pretty back then, and still was now. In fact, it was as if she didn't age at all!

Someone who resembled a goddess like (Y/N) deserved only the most romantic of all romantic poems, and Mark Lee made it a mission to be the one to write it for her. He was so helplessly in love with her that he was able to channel his feelings for her into five different written forms: poems, song lyrics, an 'A for effort?' drawing of her, letters, and anonymous blog posts about how "unrequited love hurts".

Sure, those blog posts were anonymous, but as good as Mark thought he was at hiding his feelings for her, everybody in town and their ancestors' spirits knew about the big crush Mark had on her. But no one bothered to tell (Y/N) about her not-so-secret admirer and nobody bothered to let Mark know that his mysterious crush wasn’t as well-kept to himself as he thought it was.

But it was cute. Not the part where Mark slowly died on the inside as each day passed without his feelings being returned (that was pretty sad, everybody acknowledged), but the part where the adoration in his eyes were so clear for (Y/N). Legend went that he held stars in his eyes whenever his gaze rested on the older woman - like, actual stars from the galaxy. Or so the first-hand accounts go.

Mark Lee was a talented and hardworking boy, that much was a shared sentiment by everybody in town. He excelled at all subjects, mowed the lawn twice just because he thought he missed a spot, gave it his all at church every Sunday by rapping and dancing in the name of Jesus Christ until he was reduced to sweat and threatening to rip his dress shirt off - he was a jack of all trades. There were even rumours that whenever it was time for a 'Make a Wish' patient to... make a wish in heaven, he would dress up as Spiderman and visit them in the hospital to make their final dreams come true. So maybe that's why it was so endearing, his one-sided love for his noona. If there was one person who could jump over that hurdle of "just friends" and out of the friend zone, it had to be Mark, the boy who's always gave it his all in everything ever since he moved here from Canada when he was twelve. It was one thing to have this crush that you desperately wanted to be returned, but it was another to have the whole town cheering for you - it said a lot about Mark's character.

Which is why! There was no other perfect test subject for Scientist Kim, the local eccentric scientist who was obsessed with creating his "next big invention". He also happened to be the best friend of the town's pastor (weird combination, everybody knows), courtesy of their high school days and a misunderstanding over a carton of milk. The town's pastor also oh-so-coincidentally happened to be Mark's father, who had lived in Korea for all his life until he moved to Canada so his wife could give birth to baby Mark. He ended up moving back to his hometown, however, thus creating a new relationship between his best friend and son.

Now Scientist Kim - who liked to go by "Cabbage" as a homage to his idol, Charles Babbage - didn’t really care about Mark's painful one-sided love, but he knew the boy could never say no to his father's best friend from high school, so there was no one better to try out his experiments and inventions than Mark. Like, there was literally no one else at all - the whole town swore Cabbage was out of his mind and were still waiting for the day the newspaper would come out with a headline that he's been charged with involuntary manslaughter. Everybody would be disappointed, but not surprised. But such an incident hadn’t happened yet, so for now, Cabbage was still freely working hard everyday to successfully complete and unveil the invention that would propel him to "the front page of every science magazine and a Nobel Prize in Physics".

And it just so happened to be today, October 30th 2020, when Mark received a phone call from his dad's best friend in the middle of class. He was glad he kept his phone on vibrate, but god, was it distracting. To answer or not to? Why now of all times? Right, he forgot that some people don't have anything else to do with their lives other than... creating things that usually end up on fire by the end of it. You know, now that he thought back on it, the last time Mark willingly participated in Cabbage's experiment which involved some tinfoil, antennas, and laser beam machining, it left Mark's right shoe on fire - thank God he had brought a fire extinguisher over to Cabbage’s house with him.

Just that memory alone convinced Mark to ignore the call, nearly forgetting about it once it had stopped ringing if not for the fact he received another call just seconds later. "What is this, an infatuation?" Mark grumbled to himself, before glancing up at the front to see if Professor Jung was distracted enough for him to take this call without her noticing. It didn't help that he sat three rows away from the front. But she still seemed to be rambling on about how much she loved Dylan Thomas' works, and that was a sign for him to accept the call. He kept his voice to a hushed whisper, however, "Hello-"

"Mark! You have to come over!" There was no way Professor Jung did not hear that screech that came from his phone. He glanced up nervously, noticing his classmate's startled gazes on him. But his eyes wandered over to the front, and judging by how Professor Jung was now going on about Dylan Thomas' "attractive appearance", it seemed he was in the safe for now.

"Cabbage, I'm in class, so could you keep it down?" Mark hissed quietly into the phone.

"Right, right, sorry!" While he was still loud even after lowering his voice down, it was more than quiet enough for Professor Jung not to notice, thankfully. "Mark, I've just completed my latest invention. But this isn't just any invention, it's the invention of both my - and everybody's dreams!"

Mark would be mildly curious if not for the fact that Cabbage said that about every invention of his, but he figured that his dad was going to urge him to go anyway, even if Mark didn’t want to. "But he's my best friend, Mark!" Jeez, because how could he possibly say no to the power of friendship?

"Mark? Boy? You still there?" Cabbage’s voice pulled Mark out of his thoughts, and the boy could do nothing but sigh. This was just going to be like every other time - he’d be introduced to some machine that supposedly did one thing, said machine would catch on fire the next minute, and it would all result in Mark going home an hour later.

"Fine, I'll be there. After class in like, half an hour." Mark reassured the scientist, and he swore, he could hear something catching on fire in the background.

"Great!" He then heard rushed footsteps and... a fire extinguisher? "See you then!" And the call ended.

He just couldn’t wait.

When visitors would come to the humble town of Uicheon (의천), located just thirty minutes away by car from the bustling capital city, Seoul, the first thing they would notice was how much the town gave off Suburban American vibes, like walking through a town where the main characters of some random Disney high school movie lived. All single detached houses, varying in style from Country French to Cape Cod with recent contemporary and modern upgrades to those houses by residents who wanted to "spice it up".

Uicheon was a town seen by others where most of the population was upper-middle class. There was nothing wrong with that at all, and actually, the residents of Uicheon were both happy and welcoming of anybody and anyone who stepped foot into town or even took an interest in moving, no matter of their social or economic status.

If anything, the residents of Uicheon - the ones who've lived in the town for longer than ten years at least - were often worried that those who did show interest of moving in inevitably get... scared off. By one particular daunting house.

It was a beautiful town. No seriously, Uicheon had been mentioned on multiple "Top 5 beautiful towns just outside of Seoul that you should visit!" lists published on the internet. And in the beautiful small town where all the houses provide comfort and beauty, surrounded by flowers on nearly every available patch of grass like something straight out of a magazine, there stood a modern house - the only completely modern house in the town - its exterior all... black. Even the big windows were tinted black, and it was obvious that the house stuck out like a sore thumb. Sometimes, the local kids told stories of how the house was abandoned, and was home to a ghost with a vengeful spirit inside who wanted to steal your teeth. The residents of Uicheon had gotten used to the house's presence already, but it didn’t stop the mutual sentiment of "...really?" amongst them.

And currently, Mark stood in front of its black front doors, ringing the black doorbell and covering his ears as trumpets echoed from inside the house, playing to the tune of the guitar solo of Gun N' Roses' 'Sweet Child O' Mine.' Only seconds later, did the door swing open, revealing a robot, half of Mark's height. "SCANNING FACE... HELLO M-A-R-K, MARK." It greeted, well, robotically.

"Hey, Edison," Mark greeted the robot nonchalantly, walking in and shutting the door behind him, "where's Cabbage?" He asked as he took off his shoes and placed it on the nearby shoe rack.

"LOCATING THE DOCTOR..." Edison's eyes turned yellow, colour blinking repeatedly until it turned into a green light and stayed like that. "DOCTOR LOCATED - HE IS IN HIS LABORATORY DOWNSTAIRS."

Because was it really surprising that the house belonged to a guy who invented things for a living and went by the name of a vegetable in a bizarre way to honour his idol?

"Got it, I'll go meet up with him then." Mark informed, heading down the hall until he reached the black spiral staircase that led both to the third floor and bottom floor. It was really nice up there on the third floor though; Mark had been there before and it even came with a movie room! Too bad Cabbage rarely used it because he "doesn't have time for action sequences". So Mark, being the loyal lab assistant/test subject he was, headed down instead to the bottom floor, where he was greeted by a hallway that was lined up with pictures of old men on the walls. "My inspirations!" Cabbage would say. Among them were the likes of Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison (who he named his robot after, clearly), Nikola Tesla... you got the drift.

Regardless, Mark never stayed in the hall longer than he needed to - he wasn’t sure if portraits of old men who were dead by now staring at him was exactly his kind of vibe.

At the very end of the hall, all that awaited him was a grey metallic door that had some vapour seeping through the narrow space at the bottom of it. "Shit, I didn't bring a fire extinguisher today..." Mark cursed, grabbing onto the straps of his backpacks and readjusting it on his shoulders. "It's okay, Mark. He hasn't killed you before, so he can't kill you today...?" He wasn’t sure what the logic behind that thought was but you couldn’t blame him for trying to... reassure himself for whatever was about to come beyond those doors. It was funny to him; he had been the lab rat of many of Cabbage's crazy experiments and inventions, yet he kept coming back and every time he did, the jitters were always there.

Maybe it wasn’t because he was scared of death. Because he wasn’t - his father always drilled the idea into his head that God would welcome him with open arms when the time came. At the very least, if Mark died - most likely because of one of these experiments and inventions - he'd be bringing Cabbage with him. But hey, that was beyond the point.

If not the fear of death, then what? Maybe, just maybe... one of these days, one of Cabbage's revolutionary inventions would actually be successful. That for all of the craziness that's going on inside the mad scientist's head, it would finally pay off.

If only he knew when.

Mark reached for the handle and twisted it, pulling the door open and nearly coughing when a whole cloud of mist and vapour rushed at him. "Jeez, Cabbage, what are you doing this time?" Mark coughed into his arm as he took a step into the laboratory. He actually couldn't see the scientist at first, waving his hand around in hopes that he'd be able to swat away the mist and vapour. The space around him eventually did clear, though, revealing...

Nothing?

Instead of the usual grand machine that looked like it was taped together, Mark was greeted with... a clear space. The scientist was over at his desk just up a set of stairs that led to a second floor within the big room. "Cabbage!" Mark called after him, waving his hands to get his attention.

Whatever the scientist was busy doing, it was important enough to leave Mark ignored for a good five seconds. It left him pouting, though the scientist eventually did glance over at the boy, his eyes widening behind his circular glasses. "Mark, boy, there you are!" Cabbage sprang out of his seat, quickly rushing down to the boy he had called over. He held some sort of watch in his hands, like it was the most precious thing in the world. Jeez, since when did Cabbage wear Rolex? "Took you long enough! I was bouncing in my seat waiting for you to come over! But in the meantime, I was able to complete another one after confirming my calculations for the twenty-seventh time..."

One thing that nobody wanted to do was sit through Cabbage's rambling, prompting Mark to speak up. "Whoa, calm down, Cabbage. What's going on? Where's your invention?"

"Oh Mark, you're looking at it." Cabbage held out the watch and Mark raised an eyebrow.

"That small thing?" Mark narrowed his eyes at the watch in the scientist's hand. "Are you sure? Last time I came in for one of your creations, it was twice my size and almost killed me." But knowing the kind of person Cabbage was, Mark wouldn't be too surprised if this little watch managed to wreck havoc as well. How ironic it would be, for something so small to cause so much chaos.

Cabbage shook his head, meeting Mark's gaze with oddly serious eyes. "Mark, the creation I hold in my hand can - and will - change the world. If left in the wrong hands, everything could collapse. Society will crumble, the universe will be left in a never-ending stream of terror, reality will no longer exist, the concept of time will-"

"Okay, okay," Mark was left, once again, trying to calm down the frantic scientist, "Cabbage, deep breaths. Tell me, what did you create?" It couldn't be that bad that it left the older man going on some admittedly fear-inducing rant.

"A time travel machine."

One Mississippi, two Mississippi...

"Alright, I'll see you next time then, Cabbage." And almost immediately, Mark turned on his heel, prepared to just dip out of there.

"Wait, no, Mark!" The scientist called after the boy, grabbing a hold of his sleeve, "Please, hear me out!"

"Time travel, Cabbage!" Mark whirled around, disbelief painted in his features. "Do you even hear yourself right now? That's impossible! This is impossible! Listen, I'm fine with being your test subject but even I have to put my foot down somewhere when things get a bit too crazy!"

Despite Mark's reasonable concerns, Cabbage really didn't feel like letting his lab assistant slip away from the tip of his fingers, especially now of all times. "Come on, Mark! Twenty-seven times! I checked my calculations twenty-seven times! Don't let my hard work go down the drain!"

"Then do it yourself! Time travel yourself!" Mark exclaimed.

"I can't! I need you to go so I can stay behind and collect all the data while making sure you don't get stuck in the future or something!" Cabbage explained.

Unfortunately, Mark's face still showed utter disbelief. "You know, this really doesn't help your case, Cabbage!"

"Fine! We'll do this the fair way then!" Cabbage shouted, holding his fist out.

"Are you serious? Rock, paper, scissors?!" Mark cried out, covering his eyes. If there was one thing he couldn't say no to, it was rock, paper, scissors. Why? Maybe because he boasts a seven-hundred-fifty-two win record, with a mere twenty-one losses in the game. As you could probably assume, Mark was the undisputed rock, paper, scissors king in Uicheon, and only two kinds of people would dare challenge him in the game when it came to bets. Those who were bold and those who were desperate.

"I mean it, Mark! If you win, you can walk right out that door and never look back. I won't force this onto you. But if I win..." If Cabbage won, "you have to at least give this experiment a thought."

"Wait, that's it?" Mark uncovered his eyes, surprise in his voice. But hey, it wasn't a bad deal at all - in fact, the opposite. If Mark won - which he was pretty much guaranteed to - he could leave. If he didn't, he could pretend he thought it over and just say no in the end. "Well shit, say no more, Cabbage." And out Mark's fist went. “On shoot?”

"On shoot." The scientist confirmed, the two men placing their fists behind their backs.

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"

Rock for Mark, and... rock for Cabbage.

"You got lucky." Mark rolled his shoulders back. "But this is it." And back their fists went behind them.

"Rock, paper, scissors... shoot!!"

Scissors for Mark, and... rock for Cabbage.

"I won..." Cabbage glanced down at his fist, mouth left agape, "I-I won! Against you!"

Yikes, better make that record seven-hundred-fifty-two wins to twenty-two losses now.

"I-I..." Mark was still in disbelief, for a totally different reason now, however. "I... I lost?" Under such circumstances too... but seriously! Time travel was a bit too much! "H-Hey, that doesn't mean I'm going to be going through with this! Remember, you said if you won, you'd let me think about it!" Mark reminded.

"Yeah, but only because I didn't think I'd actually win!" Cabbage snorted, shaking his head as he tucked the watch safely in the pocket of his white lab coat. "But I am a man of my word, so I'll give you some time to think about it. How about until the end of the day?" He suggested.

"That's a bit too soon, don't you think?" Mark frowned, not really liking the idea of being forced into a decision so quickly.

"Sorry, is that loser talk?" God, that damn Cabbage always knew how to get under Mark's skin.

"Fine, by the end of the day. But don't be surprised if my answer doesn't change." Mark warned. "Now if that's it, I'll be going." Mark huffed, turning around and heading to the door once more. This time, the scientist let him go, but not without some parting words.

"See you soon, Mark."

(Y/N) doesn't know where her life went wrong.

Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration and a dramatic one as well, but it didn't change the fact that instead of living out in the city and pursuing her dream as a world renown film director, she was stuck in her small hometown, working full-time at a film-rental store.

What was even the point of this store anyway? Everything was online nowadays anyway - who did the owner think he was, trying to compete with Netflix?

"One Mississippi, two Mississippi..." (Y/N) mumbled to herself from behind the counter, staring dully at the analog clock hung just above the front doors. An analog clock - what year was this again?

"(Y/N)," the voice of the store's owner, Mr. Yoon, was a less than welcoming disruption to her daily "clock-watching" (as she termed it herself), but at least it was a good way to remind her that the day was almost over, "did the kids all go home already?"

(Y/N) nodded, reaching below into the counter for a piece of paper with names and times. "Yup, Jungwoo and Sungchan just finished their shifts half an hour ago." She pointed to their names on the paper, "Signed out here."

"Great. You're in charge of closing up for today then, I have business in the city." Mr. Yoon informed, proudly readjusting his grip on the handles of his briefcase.

"Godspeed, Mr. Yoon." (Y/N) nodded, watching as the man left with a nod. And as the doors closed behind him, the female found herself alone in the store. All alone... which actually wasn't even that uncommon.

(Y/N); twenty-four years old, graduated from a local college two years ago with a degree in Film Studies with hopes of eventually entering the field of film-making and directing. She had high hopes, especially when she graduated. "To the city and A-list I go!" She could remember cheering that day in her car, diploma in hand and graduation gown still on.

But somebody must have forgotten to tell her that the university you went to mattered - and just how competitive the job market was for... pretty much every job.

Now this wasn't to say the college she attended was bad or anything, it just wasn't... one of the SKY universities. And before she knew it, when it came time for job hunting, the positions were constantly being filled out by "better candidates" and after a certain amount of "we regret to inform you"s, (Y/N) decided to go back home.

Home, in the beautiful yet small town of Uicheon. All she wanted was to make it big, live in a nice condo in Seoul and shop at luxury brands. Yet now, she found herself wearing what was possibly a ten-year-old uniform from the back storage with a name tag that was always tilted at a forty-five degree angle no matter how many times she tried to fix it.

But don't get her wrong! She hadn't given up yet - she absolutely would not! Her films might not be playing in theatres or at the Busan International Film Festival, but she still enjoyed writing up ideas and getting some of her co-workers to act out some scenes for her while she filmed eagerly with her trusty camcorder.

The Sony HDR-CX675; this bad boy cost her a good two months of saving up but God, was it worth it. Jungwoo in a wig and Sungchan throwing pens like they were daggers had never looked so good in HD until (Y/N) had gotten her hands on that beloved camcorder of hers.

"Should I film the clock or something?" She sighed, eyes wandering back over to the analog clock. At least she only had an hour left before the store closed, and she usually spent most of that time cleaning up anyway.

And so that hour began, dreadfully long until with only ten minutes to spare, the front door had opened, prompting (Y/N) to rush back to the counter from the storage room, though not without grumbling to herself quietly about what asshole comes into a store ten minutes before they close.

But it wasn't just anybody who came in - it was Mark, the boy who always complimented her hair no matter how lazy she had been to brush it that day. Still, flattery always earned some brownie points in (Y/N)’s books. So she wasn't hesitant at all when she had greeted Mark. "Hey, it's nice to see you here! Renting a movie?" She asked, resting her arms on the counter top.

"Yeah, looking for some Christian-friendly Halloween movie. For the kids at church this Sunday, since Halloween is tomorrow." Mark chuckled shaking his head.

"Let me see what I can find," (Y/N) grinned as she slipped away from the counter and to one of the shelves, "I'll be honest though, you're probably better off showing the kids some cartoon from Netflix or something."

As if Mark was going to tell her that he insisted to his dad on renting a movie, for he wanted to see and talk to the girl of his dreams who currently had her back turned to him. "Well you know us, terrible with technology." Instead, that was all he could muster up.

"I'll bet." She snickered jokingly, turning back to him with a movie now in her hand, "Toy Story of Terror sound good to you?"

"Better than showing them Scream." Mark shrugged before heading back to the counter with her. "I'll pay with debit."

"Mhm," (Y/N) nodded, taking his card and swiping it for him through the machine, "you know the usual, watch within thirty days and return it after those thirty days." She reminded him with a yawn. God forbid Mr. Yoon ever see that.

"Busy day?" Mark offered a small sympathetic smile as he took his card back as well as the movie. "I kind of get it. Cabbage called me in for one of his inventions today."

"Today?" She asked, watching as the boy across from her nodded. "What was it this time?" Everybody in town felt bad for Mark since he was the one always testing out Cabbage's inventions, but at the same time, at least it wasn't them?

"Gosh, you wouldn't believe me if I said it." He shook his head with a heavy sigh. "A time travel machine - or like, a time travel watch, I guess."

"Time travel?" The gasp from the female was expected; anybody would be surprised. "I always knew Cabbage was ambitious but definitely not to the extent of time travel!"

"Yeah, needless to say, I said no. Or like, I told him I would think about it, you know?" Mark frowned. "I just can't believe... time travel of all things."

"I'll be honest," there was a smile spreading on (Y/N)’s face, to the slight surprise of Mark, "the idea of time travel sounds so cool though. I'd love to try it out." When Mark had brought up what had happened at Cabbage's house, he didn't think (Y/N) would actually be... interested in the scientist's invention. Definitely not when it was so absurd. But she looked so cute, the way she stood up straighter and her attentive eyes as he talked about it. Gosh, he wished he could tell her that it wasn't worth the time. But her interest was clear, that much he couldn't ignore.

"Then... why don't you try it in my place?" Mark suggested hesitantly. He didn't want (Y/N) and her pretty little self anywhere near those dangerous creations, for concern of her safety. But she really seemed to be interested in this, and this... it was the least he could do.

"Alone? No thanks." She giggled softly, to the relief of the boy who had suggested it in the first place. "Maybe if someone else was with me though. Like a time travel duo!" Hold up - someone else?

"This is your chance, Mark!" His inner voice practically screamed at him. Anything for (Y/N), right? "But it's so dangerous!" His other inner voice tried deterring him from going through with what he was about to suggest. But for (Y/N)! "Then," Mark felt his heartbeat quicken, excitement and hope visible in his eyes, "you wouldn't mind if we did it together, would you?"

If his friends Johnny and Donghyuck were here, they'd definitely be cheering and slapping him on the back. It felt like he was asking her out, something he always dreamed of doing but never really having the guts to do so. Rejection was a scary thought, but as he watched the wide smile that spread onto (Y/N)’s face, he knew he had something to look forward to, even if through... this.

"Of course! it'll be fun!" Score! "Too bad only one person can go though, I assume." She frowned.

And for a second, Mark's hopes had shattered once again. But then he remembered something back at Cabbage's house, and maybe, just maybe, it wasn't over yet. "Actually, I think Cabbage mentioned making two watches." After confirming his calculations twenty-seven times. "Why don't we go together?"

"Seriously? You wouldn't mind?" Oh, what Mark wouldn't given just to see that wide smile on (Y/N)’s face every single second of the day.

And with a smile of his own, he nodded. "Of course not, noona."

Love has always been a motivation for man, ever since the beginning of humans. And as time continued on and advanced, a variety of factors had been added to that list of motivation, such as money and power. But one constant above all was always going to be love - something that had always been interpersonal.

So that was why Cabbage wasn't too particularly surprised to see Mark come back to his house later in the evening, this time, with a female companion. And judging by the look of awe on her face, it didn't take much for the scientist to connect the dots. "Mark, you came back!" Cabbage smiled down at the boy from the second floor of his basement lab. "With a friend this time?"

"Right," Mark cleared his throat, gesturing to the scientist, "(Y/N), this is Cabbage as you already know, and Cabbage, this is (Y/N), my friend."

"Hi! It's great to be here! Like, really great." (Y/N) was still enamoured by the many... things going on in the lab, though Mark couldn't blame her.

"Anyway Mark, have you given my invention a thought?" Cabbage inquired, standing up from his seat by his computer and leaning against the railing. "I assume that's why you're here, after all."

Mark nodded. "I have." He confirmed, biting down on his lip. "And I'll do it."

"You will?" The scientist's eyes widened, grin spreading on his face. "That's great!"

"But," Mark began, gaze falling over onto (Y/N) for a short second before back onto the scientist, "with conditions."

"Conditions?" Cabbage raised an eyebrow, pleasantly intrigued.

"Conditions!" (Y/N) suddenly spoke up with a grin, earning a look from the two. "Sorry, it just felt kind of intense so I wanted to ease tensions a bit." She coughed, glancing back and forth between the two. "Please, continue." She urged.

"A-Anyway yes, conditions." Mark cleared his throat before turning to the scientist once more. "I want (Y/N) to come with me. You have two watches, don't you?"

"I do." Cabbage nodded, fishing his hand into the pocket of his lab coat and bringing out two identical watches. "So far, they're the only two I have so I need to make sure that your friend will be extra careful with this."

"She will." Mark reassured without any hesitation. "I know she will, because she's (Y/N)." A man who was claiming everybody's hearts left and right - except for (Y/N)’s though, unfortunately.

Cabbage looked as if he was pondering on the thought for a bit before eventually nodding and making his way down the stairs. "Well, if Mark is vouching for you, I guess it should be okay." Cabbage nodded before gesturing for the two to follow him to the back of the lab, where large screen rested on the wall and multiple smaller monitors on both it's sides, resting on a glass desk. Below it were multiple keyboards, a few touch pads here and there with clearly different functions. It was like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. "This is where I'll be monitoring and communicating with you two while you're in whatever time period you land in." He explained, gesturing to his set up.

"What about the watches?" (Y/N) asked.

"I'm just getting to that." Cabbage nodded, reaching for the two watches once again. "Gather around, you two." He motioned for them to come closer. "It looks like a regular analog watch at first, but if you tap the clock face," he did what he had just said, the other two watching in awe as a small digital hologram had appeared in the air, just above the clock face, "it has information such as your battery life on the right hand corner, the date and time you're in, the option to video call me, and the option to switch time periods." He pointed out each detail on the hologram. "Now the problem with the switching time periods is that once you arrive somewhere, you're stuck there for, at a minimum, twenty-four hours before the voltage and particle energies recharge and allow you to travel elsewhere."

"Wait, so you're staying we might be stuck in a different time for a whole day?" Mark asked, a bit of alarm evident in his voice.

"Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find out the proper calculations to make the recharging process quicker but for the meantime... yes." The scientist sighed. "But hey, at least it's not twenty-five hours...?"

"Cabbage!" Mark groaned, running his hand down his face.

"I mean, twenty-four hours doesn't sound that bad." (Y/N) hummed. "I'd love to explore a different time period, really get to know what it was like!"

"See, at least someone's optimistic." Cabbage sent a not-so-subtle look over at Mark. "But anyway, I actually have a quest for you two."

"Ooh, a quest! I feel like I'm in a video game." (Y/N) giggled, and if it weren't for the fact that she was totally digging this right now, Mark would have just straight up left out of fear for his own safety.

"Exactly!" Cabbage nodded eagerly. "Since you two will be going to different time periods, I want you to bring back a memento of some sort from each time period."

"Anything specific?" Mark asked, wanting to make sure he was going into this with full details.

"Yes, for the purpose of analytic purposes due to their high amount of energy." Cabbage turned to the two, a suddenly serious look on his face. "A meaningful item to at least one person you encounter."

The two waited for him to say more, but nope, all he did was stare back at them. Mark ended up being the first to speak up. "Hm, I think you're missing the part where you, oh I don't know, tell us what you mean by ‘meaningful item’??"

"That will vary from person to person, Mark boy." Cabbage sighed, giving an empathetic pat on the boy's shoulder. "One person's 'meaningful item' might be a necklace that their mother gifted them, or maybe a letter from a lover for a soldier - everything in life is a variable anyway."

"Wait, then how do we know something is a meaningful item?" (Y/N) asked.

"That's where this last function of the watches come in," Cabbage turned his attention back to the watches, "this icon," he pointed to one of the icons on the hologram screen that resembled a heart, "will allow you to scan a person once you've talked to them. This only works one person at a time though, and it does drain a lot of energy from the watch battery. It'll allow you to see particles coming from objects, like sparkles. The more vivid, bigger and brighter the particles, chances are that's your person's meaningful item. So be careful with who you choose to use it on - once you scan that person, you'll have to find their meaningful item before you can use it again. Not to mention that the longer it takes for you to find the meaningful item, the more energy it drains." He warned.

"Talk about ominous, gosh." Mark sighed, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"It'll be exciting though, Mark." (Y/N) glanced over at the boy beside her, a grin spreading on her face. "We're in this together, after all!"

"Noona..." A shade of red coated Mark's cheeks as he stared down at her, eyes sparkling with adoration.

"Ahem, and me too." Cabbage interrupted, "Just, I'll be back here handling everything."

"Yes, of course, because where would we be without you, Cabbage?" Mark sighed, feeling a bit salty over the scientist's interruption during his and (Y/N)’s "moment".

"Love you too, Mark." Cabbage blew a kiss his way before handing a watch to Mark and (Y/N) each. "Are you two ready?"

"Wait, we're doing this so soon?" Mark's eyes widened, staring down at the watch in his hands with a bit of fear.

"Better sooner than later." Cabbage shrugged, helping attach the watch onto Mark's wrist and then to (Y/N)’s. "You guys will be fine, don't worry. I'm here, after all!"

"So reassuring, Cabbage." Mark grumbled, about to protest over the quick timing and suddenness of all of this if not for the sudden feeling of warmth in one of his hands. He glanced down at said hand, eyes lingering on the smaller hand that had clasped his own. And as his eyes wandered up to the hand's owner, he swore she was going to be the death of him.

"It'll be okay, Mark." (Y/N) squeezed his hand softly with a reassuring smile. "We're in this together." She repeated.

"Right..." Mark trailed off before taking a deep breath and nodding. "Together." He then glanced over at the scientist. "We're ready, Cabbage."

With an excited smile, the older man nodded before turning to his set up and taking a seat down in the chair. The sounds of his quick tapping against the keyboard keys had Mark worrying with every passing second, but as (Y/N) held his hand, he figured this wouldn't be a terrible way to die. "Adios, you two!" Cabbage called out before hitting one last button. Click!

And as a bright and large flash of light illuminated within the lab, Mark knew it had begun, especially with the way his limbs practically burned and his consciousness struggling to stay intact.

The things he'd do for love, huh?

#nct fluff #mark lee fluff #mark lee #nct mark fluff #nct 127 #nct u #nct dream #mark lee x reader #nct #nct 2020 #nct fics #nct x reader #nct angst #mark lee angst

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il-papa-patata · 4 years ago

Text

Say your Name Forever

(Cardinal Copia traces the path of his relationship with one Cesarina Gastone de Medici. Cardi C x Female OC. Some domestic stuff, flashbacks & a proposal. Rated T.)

Copia admits. He's a fuck-up.

Upon his rising to Cardinal, he was asked to take holy wine. A drink to ease the meeting of a human and a demon, something which relaxed the body and mind to an extent, encouraged the Unholy.

What a normal person would do is meet with a demon – usually from one's preferred sin, with the strength varying depending on the promise of the individual. A contract would be made. And it provided the new Cardinal with both power and direction. Secondo lives by his master's hand – the righteous wrath of Asmodeus; as does Terzo, who slinks along with the sinuous Lord Baphomet.

Copia had expected perhaps a demon of envy. And he had expected someone not-too-imposing.

Well- no, actually. Copia pretends now that he had expected that, but when he took the holy wine, the only thought on his mind was how bitter the drink was.

He wasn't raised in the Church after all. Spent his adolescence as a Catholic. To him, the sanctity and procedures of these rituals were far-removed, hazy to him.

But he didn't meet a demon. He didn't meet even an imp. He met a human.

Cesarina slips out of her clothing, down to her pretty chemise, trimmed with lace and embroidered in whitework. It's a little damp – her dark hair is still beaded with drops of rain that haven't sunk in. It looks pretty. Like pearls.

When he hands her his cardigan, she slips it on gratefully, pulling it around her body and smiling.

“Thank you,” she hums, pushing her curls over her shoulders again. She holds his stare for a few more moments, and then grins. “Am I that pretty?”

He shakes his head a little, and then balks – “Yes. Very pretty. Sorry.”

She laughs, her full lips parting. She steps out of her petticoats and begins to undo his soaked cassock.

This is maybe the twentieth time they've met. If not that many, certainly over a dozen. He tries not to count them.

Today they had been out when it began to rain, and so he had hurried them back to his little apartment, up the stairs behind the greengrocers', a couple rooms and a small kitchen. He flushed at the mess – a swirl of trinkets and old magazines and general clutter that somehow didn't disguise the sparseness of furnishings – but she had pressed by, unflapped by it.

She pulls the skirt of the cassock up, getting the last few buttons.

Cesarina is – hm. She's a nice lady – she's from Florence, although she spends some time in Rome, which is how they end up meeting more often than not. It's not like he can just head over to Florence any time he felt like it. Letters filled in the gaps between meetings, and though she could just summon him the way she did the first night they met, the issue is him getting back to the anti-Vatican, so she doesn't.

She's –

“All done,” She sing-songs, pulling the cassock off his shoulders, “You should get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold, Faustino.”

Copia aches. He aches and shivers, cold and hot, groaning when a stony-faced Secondo smooths a wet cloth over his forehead.

He's burning.

He can feel the disapproval rolling off Secondo in waves, although the man has diligently taken care of him, at times replaced by nurses or Sisters or even occasionally the Mother Superiors. Mother Bonaventura brought flowers, had fed him some soup, had smiled but looked wrong doing it. That was when he was better, anyhow, could still think like a person, not like this.

Mostly it was Secondo. At first, he was his usual self – stern and quiet, but caring and gentle. Though Copia had fallen ill through his own carelessness, it didn't seem particularly worrisome. Just a cough, and a bit of a chill.

But then the fever came on. Slowly at first – he was still trying to work, to fill paperwork. Secondo brought him a lap desk and a small pile of papers until Copia had demanded more, which had set the first notch in Secondo's brow.

The fever worsened. The cough too. Soon he was hunched over the desk, his shoulders covered in blankets, trying still to work. Anything but stopping.

Secondo's brow notched again. And he took the papers and the lap desk away. When Copia had tried to argue – stood, from the sickbed, and took shaky steps towards him – Secondo had picked him up but the scruff of his pajamas and set him back down in the bed, pressing a hand to his breastbone in a silent demand to stay.

Terzo was nowhere to be seen. He'd left for somewhere else – outreach, maybe – after their fight. Copia simmers now in the need to apologize to his friend, his brother – not by blood but by bond. Copia is not sure Terzo even knows he's sick, or worse, if he knows – if he cares at all.

Copia cries. From the pain, from the loss, from the burning haze in his throat and eyes and limbs. Secondo wipes them away with the wet cloth, but it doesn't help.

“You're a fool,” Secondo says.

“I know,” Copia sobs. He just- he had wanted to hope. To hope that the woman he waited for would be – that woman from the dream, the woman he knew in an instant, who smiled at him and pulled him close, calling him by his name – his name that he chose himself – “Faustino.”

“It looks like we're trapped for a little while,” Cesarina says, combing her fingers through her hair. “Do you have any ribbon?”

“Ah, somewhere,” he says, stripping off his trousers and waistcoat. “Um, maybe that pile of Vogue?”

She pads over to it, her feet bare. It's a surprisingly sensual sound – her feet on the wooden floors of his home. He watches her lean over the pile of magazines, gently flipping through the stack. Her legs are very bare, and his cardigan fits well on her. That pale nape is exposed, the way her hair falls over her shoulder, and he has the sudden urge to bite there.

He focuses on finding another shirt.

“Found some,” she says.

He pulls the new, dry shirt over his head. He chafes at being wet, but being in dry clothes makes it a bit better. He lays some of his clothes on the radiator, hoping they'll dry fine.

She braided her hair along her neck in the meantime, and settled onto his bed with a magazine. He joins her, sitting next to her, hip to hip.

“I didn't know you collected old magazines.”

“I don't collect them,” he says, leaning into her, “I was there. I bought them at the newsstand.”

“Old man.”

He nips at her earlobe, to which she gives a little squeak.

“Crotchety old lady,” he grumps, nipping her more, fingers finding her waist and tickling.

She squeaks again and flutters her legs, trying to avoid his biting, wriggling until she's laid out on his sheets and gasping for breath before grabbing his hands to stop him.

“You're older than me!” She gasps, a big smile on her face, “By a hundred years!”

“Still rude to the elderly.” He flexes his fingers again, but her grip is firm.

But still, she doesn't stop him when he bends down to kiss her.

You wouldn't think summer rain could be so cold.

Faustino waits. He waits.

His cassock is soaked. His biretta is losing shape. His makeup is running.

But he waits.

Just for the glimpse of her. That woman.

It had to be her – although his dream had been hazy, he's certain now – the woman from his dream had been her, the small and pious Celestina. It had been her name he'd said, her waist he'd held, her voice that had said his name.

She's married. But he still – he needs to show her that she-

She comes by, out of the church, her woolen hood pulled over her head, the hem of her skirts pulled up from her delicate feet. She still has a rosary in her other hand, and when she looks up at him, she startles.

“Ah-” he says, stepping to her, “Signora de Medici-”

She shivers, but doesn't back away. “Yes?”

“F-Flowers. For you.” He holds them out. He'd bought them. They were a lot of money, but he needed to – to show that she meant everything to him-

She blinks. Her soft face pulls into a small smile, pleased, her cheeks filling with a dainty color. “Oh, why thank you.”

His heart leaps to his throat. The waiting was worth it for that smile, the dampness and the discomfort-

“Did my husband ask you to deliver these?” She says, perfectly, disastrously warm.

The heat rushes out of him. The warmth.

“Oh,” he says, the warmth replaced by a cold dullness, like winter earth, “yes. He sends... his regards.”

“Thank you,” she says, bundling the flowers beneath her cape, clasping it shut, “Have a good evening.”

“Good evening,” he murmurs. Watches her go.

After a few moments, she disappears from the street. He begins to walk home, soaked. Lifts his eyes to there – their home, where in the window he can see Celestina throwing her arms around her husband's neck, the look of confusion on his face that melts into the kind of joy Copia wanted-

Copia sniffles, wiping away the tears that spring to his face, the heel of his hand smeared with black kohl.

He brings in two cups of coffee. He hands one down to her, which she takes gratefully.

She sips, letting out a soft sigh when she's done – it's sweet, and Faustino smiles.

He settles beside her again on the bed, sipping his own cup. She idly flicks through a magazine, reaches out her hand to hold his.

He reads something else. Church documents. Leans over his lap and reads, their hands occasionally unclasping to flip a page but always rejoining.

The coffee is good. The beans were a gift from Primo, who knew about he and Cesarina long before anyone else in the church (she and him were friends, apparently.) They are deep and chocolatey, with a final mellow zing, good with milk.

The rain falls outside. The radiator lets out a soft tink-tink every once and a while, keeping away the chill.

He watches Cesarina, engrossed in the magazine. Her soft fingers find the end of her braid and fiddle with it, looping it around her fingers.

He smiles. Leans over to her and kisses her cheek.

She perks a little, looks at him, and smiles, before returning the kiss with one of her own.

They go back to reading.

He hears the call. And he likes it. Someone asking Baphomet to come fuck them, albeit in nicer terms.

He feels Baphomet reach for the call, but-

Copia gets there first, strolling through his apartment door.

He enters into a study.

It's nice looking – it's still night here, and it's warm, and the room is lit by the candles lit at the points of a rug – oh, that's clever, it's a rug woven to look like a summoning circle, saves some time and effort.

Probably more comfortable to be fucked on too.

There's a woman in the center of the rug. She wears a fancy dinner bodice, and a rich satin skirt, and her dark hair is tied up against her skull. She's arranged fruit, and candles in silver platters, and cakes in the shapes of- wow.

Her offerings are nothing like the usual meat and rope and rods that people put out for Baphomet. They smell sweet. She smells sweet as well.

“Well,” her voice says, and his ears perk, “That didn't work.”

“Not exactly,” he finds himself saying.

She spins, exposing her face, her wide dark eyes, and her-

Open bodice, which exposes a lovely swath of pale flesh, a deep fissure of cleavage.

He tries to suppress the grin. She's quite the lovely thing.

“Hello. You summoned me-?”

Oh.

“I didn't intend on you,” she says, softly, “Where's Baphomet?”

He swallows, staring at her.

Oh. She's-

“They're pretty hard to get a hold of,” he lies. Suddenly nothing else in the world matters.

It's her.

The woman he saw. That many years ago. Her dark hair, her dark eyes, that nose – even the soft line of her chin and yes, that swath of cleavage is familiar to him.

He kneels before her, taking the cup of wine she offers.

“So you came instead? I was really expecting Lord Baphomet. Are you that confident you can do just as well?”

He smiles, sipping the wine. Even that playful little grin. He wants to kiss her.

He shrugs.

He leans down and kisses her neck, his hand fanning over her knee, nibbling gently on the skin behind her ear, her little moan soft in his.

He has prayed ten thousand times, taken Eucharist and Inverse Eucharist, sat in the holy might of altars and in the infernal wisdom of the Leviathan, but nothing compares to this. The wholeness.

Has he really prayed before now?

“Do you have a name, Signorina?” he asks, fluttering delicate little kisses down her artery.

But, he finds-

As she says it, he says it too.

“Cesarina Gastone de Medici.”

She raises her arms above her head, slipping the hem of her chemise up along her milky thighs, releasing the stretch with a satisfied sigh.

“What do you want to eat? What do you have?”

“I still have some of the produce Giacomo gave me. And Swiss made risotto for me the last time he was here.”

“I could make arancini, then.”

“You know how to make arancini?” He gawps, hands stilling on a crate of summer vegetables.

“Yes!” she giggles. “Giacinta used to make them all the time. It was the first thing I ever tried to cook.”

“Well,” he says, heart still saddened at Giacinta's name these many years later, “The eggplant and tomatoes are perfectly in season.”

She giggles, pulling the small covered dish of risotto off his counter, handing it to him before taking the eggplants from him and beginning to cut them fine.

The woman weeps. Inconsolate.

She had been strong during the service, though he had noticed how her hands crushed the black gloves she held. She had not cried, she had simply held her dark-veiled head high.

Giacinta Vitale, after one death and nearly 200 years, had finally died. An impassioned member of the laity, she could often be found, six-foot-something and strong-browed, yelling at Terzo during his papacy. She liked Copia, and he liked her, and she was always telling him he just had to meet her charge.

“You would love her in an instant, Faustino,” she would say, lounging in his office with a glass of provided claret, “I'm sure of it.”

He meets her ward today, after providing the service, after the burial, after saying goodbye to his dear friend. Her charge had held it together this long, just as long as he had, but somehow, as they linger towards the back of the retreating mourners, it breaks for them together.

She sobs, falling heavily to the grass. It is a perversely beautiful spring morning, the grass still wet with dew, the trees flowering into delicate pink blossoms. It doesn't matter. The woman sobs, a bright, rough sound that pulls the tears from Copia's own eyes.

Despite the tears that stream down his face, he helps her up, carefully supporting her until they reach the door of the chapel, the small pew sat in the vestibule.

Loss never gets easier. Not even when you yourself have died. There was always the chance she could revive, but he knows better than to hold out for that.

She wails. He takes her gloved hand carefully, strokes the back of it. It's not much, but he hopes it's some reassurance.

Slowly, the crying ebbs. So does his own, watching the soft profile of the woman under the veil. The Inverse church wears white in mourning – this woman isn't one of theirs.

Eventually she turns to him, gently placing her own hand atop his, a stack of four hands upon her thigh.

“Thank you, Father,” she hiccups, her voice bashful, “I- thank you.”

“It's no trouble,” he murmurs, “I was a friend of Giacinta's.”

She hiccups again, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Are you perhaps the Cardinal?”

“I am. Are you her ward?”

She laughs weakly. “I am. She told me a thousand times I had to meet you, but I was always so busy.”

“She told me the same,” he chuckles, “and I was also always busy.”

“It's a shame she didn't get to see us meet.”

“Yes.”

They sit for a moment, hands together, before she sighs.

“I have to go. The funeral feast doesn't wait, unfortunately.” She stands, seeming to collect herself, “But I- thank you, Cardinal.”

“Of course. My br- ah, one of the former Papas would have been better at consoling you, but-”

She lifts the deep veil from one half of her face – exposing a pair of lips like a blooming rose – and gently kisses his cheek.

“No, you were just what I needed.”

There's cold roast and the arancini and some sauteed zucchini, along with the zucchini flowers, fried in hot lard. They eat it down with a bottle of dry red wine Terzo had gifted him many years ago, and her ankle hooks with his as they eat at his meager, deck-of-cards sized kitchen table.

“The arancini are perfect,” he says, swallowing down some wine to soothe out the warmth of the rice.

“Well, I didn't know you could fry zucchini blossoms like this.”

He giggles. “We used to make them in the summer at the cloister. The Mother Superior would fry them in a pan with olive oil, since deep-frying was overindulgent.”

“And yet here you are,” she giggles, “Stuffing them with anchovy and cheese.”

“Lucifer prevents no such use of lard,” he grins.

“So what now, morningstar?”

Faustino cuts up the pumpkin that Giacomo gave to him as a welcome back gift. Whisks a cup of thin batter. Flicks a droplet of it into the hot lard. It sizzles.

The King of Hell is at his dinner table, in his tiny apartment, but Faustino couldn't care less. Right now, he just wants to fry this pumpkin. Not think about dying or death or the face of Celestina.

Lucifer hums, watching with another borrowed face. This one is lean, slim, with dark hair and a firm brow. It isn't Lucifer's first face, something almost soft and the color of fertile earth, but still, it looks like him.

“Do you keep chasing? She is still alive, still married. You weren't dead long. You could take what you want still.”

“I don't want it anymore,” he says, cursing at the spit of lard that lands on his hand. “I don't want her.”

Lucifer hums. “It doesn't seem so from here, angelino.”

Faustino says nothing, staring into the frying pot and furrowing his brow.

Lucifer stands, comes to his side, plucks a freshly-fried piece of pumpkin much to Faustino's disapproval. Lucifer grins, snakes an arm around his waist, and snarls, “Well, no more loving for my little Faustus, ah?”

Faustino swallows, hands over the ring.

It's- well, almost a joke, between the two of them, something that started the night he spirited her away from that masquerade, had disappeared in a haze of black smoke with her lifted over his shoulder, to her ringing, pealing laughter. The next morning, he had given over the small ring he'd bought – a gimmel ring, two hands clasping over a small onyx, their initials inscribed on each hand. The hollandaise she watched so carefully broke and the eggs overpoached in their haze of kisses, but he ate it all anyway.

It hadn't been a yes then, and it wasn't yeses the last times either but-

It's certainly not no either. It never has been. She might have waved him off- the distance would be troublesome, Cardinals don't get married – but she never said no to him. To them.

This time- is different. She doesn't laugh when he hands over another ring – maybe the sixth or seventh, a fine piece of rose quartz set into a delicately crimped band, meant for her right index finger. She- smiles, sort of, but it sits oddly, falls quickly.

He swallows.

“You know,” he starts, unable to summon the words, “Well...”

She puts it on, stares at it, how it sits on her finger.

Frowns.

Not frowns, but pulls her mouth into a tight line, her brow squeezing low.

“Ah, Faustino,” she says softly, taking it off and setting it on the table. “Hm.”

He doesn't like that look. How her eyes settle somewhere else, how her shoulder slump inwards. The difficult expression.

A stone sits in his stomach.

“What's the matter?” He manages to ask, throat tight.

“Ah.” Her expression shifts, as if trying to come up with words. Finally she slides the ring back towards him, taking the other three off as well and setting them by him. “I enjoy our time, Faustino. Really, I do. And it's nice to play pretend at these proposals, but-”

She falls silent again.

“But?”

“... But I don't think you could actually mean it.”

Ah.

The apartment creaks, in the way it always does when it rains. There is the soft tink-tink of the radiator, the scent of wool drying, arancini on the air, savory tomato. His heart beats, and so does hers, presumably. He doesn't know if he's breathing.

“What?” he manages.

She shrugs. “I think this is... a nice diversion for the both of us. And it's pleasant to be with you,” she smiles, “But I'm not someone to be married to.”

“Why not?” He leans forward in his seat, grasping her wrist.

She laughs, rattling off a list of words that don't seem her own. “I'm getting on in my years, and I'm too hedonistic and too occupied with my businesses to be much of a good wife, and I'm much more suited to taking lovers.”

“But do you want to be married? To marry me?” He insists, leaning into her. None of those reasons were enough. And they were not about them at all. All the shallow things others said about her.

She falls silent, staring at where he grips her wrist.

“I'm not-”

“I'm asking what you want, Cesa,” he urges, “Not what you think you are.”

She stares at his hand.

Her hair is dry now, falling over her shoulder in a thick braid.

A gentle color comes to her cheeks, and she murmurs, voice catching- “I do. I want to but-”

“But?” He urges, softly, leaning in even closer over the corner of the kitchen table, “But what, mia stellina?”

“I'm not- deathless, like you. And I feel like I'm rushing – we haven't known each other that long, but I always feel drawn to you, I feel like you know my thoughts so effortlessly and I'm-”

She reaches. Gently, softly – strokes his cheekbone with her thumb, their fingers lacing.

“I'm scared you might get bored, living as long as you have. That my- my future years won't hold your interest. I don't want it to be something we'd regret.”

He laughs.

He laughs right in her face, a guffaw of laughter. He doesn't mean to but- she can't be serious.

“What, what's so funny?” she pouts, and he laughs more, surging forward to kiss her.

She yelps against his mouth, but he's already moved on to her cheeks and nose and chin and is laughing, laughing, laughing.

“I died to meet you!” he guffaws, “Getting bored of you! Ha!”

She pouts, but it break into a smile, her hands reaching to ruffle his hair furiously.

“You're making fun of me!”

“No, I'm not! But- hahaha, Cesa! Cesa, Cesa, Cesa...” he trails off, settling against the surface of the table and smiling up at her fondly. “Cesa, I've been searching for you before I even died. One hundred years I've been searching for you. I couldn't get tired of you.”

He laces their fingers gently.

“One hundred...?” She ventures, furrowing her brows. She doesn't believe him.

“Yes,” he chuckles, “When we – the clergy – take the rank of Cardinal, we drink spiked wine to meet a demon patron. Usually they match your sin, and usually how important or powerful you are, and they tend to set a life path for the new Cardinal.” He pulls her hand close, kisses the knuckles. “I saw you.”

She blinks. And then another color ebbs into her cheeks, soft and warm. She pouts. “You saw me.”

“Yes. We held each other. I called your name, you called mine. That was all. But I spent from then until now just trying to find you. I died doing it. Thought I would swear off love and loving forever-

“When you summoned me to your study- I knew you. I knew you immediately. I knew I loved you in an instant, and bella, mia stellina, mia sposa, I've only fallen farther. You are a wonderful woman. And I love you.”

She blinks. Looks down at him, at where their fingers are laced.

It's a long moment, but he feels better for it, to have it all in the open – she knew he was old, knew he was dead, but now she knew a bit more, and it felt alright to have her know. He looks at the woman he died to meet, watches her expression change as she thinks about it all, the soft lips and her curving nose and those deep, dark eyes.

And...

She grins.

The expression lights up her whole face, a transformation worthy of some theatrical magic, and he smiles too.

She puts the rings back on, including the gimmel ring on the proper finger, taking his hand again. She is radiant here in his kitchen, his cardigan on her shoulders and her bare feet pressed against his.

“Well,” she says with her usual playful cheer, “Are we going to have a spring wedding, then?”

#cardinal copia #papa iv #papa emeritus iv #cardi c #ghost oc #will b cross posted to ao3 too #find me at il-papa-patata over there as well #patata fic #more of the ghost-is-ghosts au/headcanon #cardi c is from the mid 1700s and this takes place late 1800s #cesarina is wonderfully belle-epoque and i love her #also yes cardi c's patron is lucifer himself bc despite his low self esteem the boy is massively powerful

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veronicalodgeoutfitanalysis · 4 years ago

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Chapter Fifty-Two: The Raid

What’s this episode again? Oh yeah, that one where Jughead gets thrown out of a three storey window and just walks it off. Let’s jump in!

Our first outfit is a classic opener. Veronica often starts out episodes in her Pops uniform, it’s a good establisher.

Veronica wears this outfit verbatim - minus the farm sticker and her belt - in 2x08, an episode in which she broke up with Archie and worried about her parents relationship. Here she’s trying to stop them from divorcing. Honestly I can’t see why Veronica’s so shocked by her parents divorce, we could see it coming from a mile away. Anyways, I am thrilled that this coat seems to be sticking around again, I missed it in the first half of the season.

Upon seeing this skirt I thought this screams Ted Baker (the florals! the thick scuba like texture! the waist belt!) and lo and behold I was right. Veronica loves a good Ted Baker number and this skirt fits into her wardrobe with ease. It’s paired with this interesting bell sleeved jumper with a velvet bow and a little diamond. This kind of feels like an updated version of her collared jumpers, it’s v classy.

This is why I love Riverdale, I mean where else am I going to get quality dialogue like this?

This is a fun look. This yellow ribbed polo is very Veronica and the yellow colour once again reflects her family troubles. The wardrobe team has added another velvet bow and its very cute! Neck bows have been a season 3 staple.

This is pretty out there, it kinda reflects the fact that Veronica herself is all over herself here dealing with her family issues. Peep her fur collared purple coat on the chair! Polo shirts are nothing new, but the contrasting colours and tartan here is kind of a lot. The yellow plays into her family issues, while the purples are Veronica staples. This skirt is new to us and does kind of strike me as more of a Betty piece, its still cute though. This studded belt might have cropped up in 3x02, and could symbolise Veronica’s abraisive actions here. She’s not in a good mood.

Nice to see the Lodges really bringing it, outerwear wise. This blue coat is new to us but the furry collar style is not, in fact we saw her carrying purple fur collar coat just last scene. I can’t really see underneath but I think she’s wearing the white blouse with the studded bow from 3x10, I hope it comes back again! These black and white strappy heels are new and also fit into the kind of sixties style a lot of the characters have been emulating this season.

Ending with the aforementioned fall out of the window.

Total: Six outfits, a nice round number

Cape Count: Nada

Teardrop Pearl Count: I think I’m going to have to retire the count for now...

Favourite: The Ted Baker skirt and fancy jumper

Catch you later!

#riverdale #riverdale style #riverdale outfits #veronica lodge #veronica lodge outfits #veronica lodge outfit analysis #3x16 #the raid

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un-piorthos-et-tous-pour-un · 4 years ago

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The thrilling adventures of a PA - Chapter Two : The wardrobe malfunction (Adam Sackler x Reader)

After a couple of days on the job, you’re already getting your bearings around the sets and locations where you’re the most likely to go during the day. Shirley & Stew gave you tips on how to be a good PA and some gossips too. You like them, they’re friendly (even thought Shirley’s a little too girly for your taste) and mainly, they don’t make you feel ouf of place because you’re new, both on the team and on the job. The first night, you fell asleep straight away in your bed, something that didn’t happen to you since forever and luckily, before you drifted off, you made sure to set up two alarms. But you’re already feeling better, your internal clock starting to adjust and well, not gonna lie about it, coffee helps (like a lot). As for your job per se, you’re getting more comfortable with Adam. You talked together the previous evening after he was done filming, at his request (which surprised you in a good way), learning more about each other over a little cuppa and you must admit, Delilah was right. He’s not so weird once you understand where he’s coming from, in his private life. He wasn’t too sharing of course, just giving some info here and there about himself, his family & what led him to acting. What was needed for you two to work well together you’d say. Afterall, you’d be seeing each other every day for the next six or eight months so there’ll be plenty of time to chat some more during that period.

Today there is some costume fitting on the schedule and you can’t wait to see that part as you’ve always loved costumes. Nerdy as you are, cosplay is nothing unheard of for you & you dabbled more than once in the craft yourself, the couples of costumes hidden in your cupboard proving it. Fascinated by period costumes, you always thought the people making those elaborate dresses were magicians. Laced bits that looked so fragile, pearls & jewels woven on precious fabrics, cleavages that contained so many details to make the person wearing it even more convincing in their role. And that was only the women’s part. In your humble opinion, men dressed in period clothes had something almost superenatural. A good suit could make a real gentlemen out of anybody (as the movie Kingsman proved it -yeah you really loved that movie-) If lingerie was the secret weapon of women, suits were men’s equivalent. There was something about a well-tailored suit that just made you feel weak in the knees. Suddenly you find yourself picturing Adam in one. He’d look quite dashing you gather, his tall figure would be even more obvious, his frame underlined in the right places... And that’s where you stop yourself daydreaming. You’ve got chores to do before going to the studio so you better start moving if you want to do everything & be on time for work. Last thing you need right now is fantasizing about a man that one, you hardly know, & two, you have no fucking chance to ever be with. Leaving your bike at the entrance, greeting Al the studio’s security guard agent as he puts down the barrier after you, you rush to the catering area to get what you need for Adam & indulge yourself with a little bit of that delicious brownie that stood there, begging to be eaten. And since you only had a toast before you took off, well it counts as breakfast in your eyes. The two cups ready, you thank the barista and walk to Adam’s trailer. No sign of any of your coworkers yet, which makes you wonder if you’re late or something but not much time to second guess, you’ve got a schedule to follow. Knocking on the door quickly, you step back a little since the door opens to the outside and a few seconds later, it reveals the actor, dressed in a grey t-shirt paired with a matching sweat pants and the morning face that goes with it. You chuckle slightly at that vision & automatically offer him his cup of coffee, which he reaches for without thinking, greeting your gesture with a grunt. - “Not a morning person ?”, you ask still a bit amused by the litte scene you just witnessed. - “Usually I am but I didn’t get a proper night of sleep so... Thanks for the coffee,” he motions the cup towards you before gulping some long sips down. - “Sorry to hear about that”, you say with a compationate pout. He shrugs to say it doesn’t matter and you don’t dare ask what kept him awake. It’s not your place and certainly not your right. You’re here to make sure he gets where he needs to be on time, not to befriend him. But still, it hurts to see him like this and you have to block out that urge to hug him that’s creeeping in your mind. “Today’s pretty light regarding your schedule. You’ll have time to rest this afternoon,” you announce, breaking the silence that fell between you two since. - “I doubt I’ll be able to take a nap but nice of you to think about my weel-being”, he replies with a faint smile a he puts the cup on the table near him. - “That’s part of my job afterall”, you retort playfully enven though it trully is. “You’re expected in the wardrobe department in 45 minutes, do you need me to do anything in the mean time ?” - “Hmm... Nothing that I can think of right now, no. How long will the fitting be again ?”, he asks as he reaches for the fridge to get himself something to eat. “Do you want some ?”, he adds as he retrieves some eggs & bacon, turning to the tittle kitchen corner behind him. - “No thanks. I’m all set, thank you”, you decline the offer with a polite smile and add “about 2 hours according to the sheet, could be less, could be more depending on how many they want you to try out and additional fittings.” - “I thought this was your first time as a PA, how do you know all that ?”, he’s breaking an egg in the pan as he asks you that, making you blush instantly. - “It is yeah but... I’m, uh... I watch a lot of documentaries of my favorite movies behind the scenes, precisely because it lets you see that side of the process while making a movie so...”, you answer, feeling silly to tell him the truth and such a glimpse in your little unadventurous life. - “Oh god no, there’ll be one for this movie too. I hate those, I can’t see myself on any screen, I’ll look like a dick again”, he grunts as he’s scrambling the eggs now. You chuckle a little, releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding until then and he looks at you hearing it. “What’s so funny ?” - “I just find it odd that you can’t stand seeing yourself like that since well, no offense but...it’s kind of part of the job ? I mean it’s not like you weren’t aware it would be something you’ll have to do, it has to be included in your contract or something, right ?” - “Maybe, yeah, I guess so”, he says hastily and you can’t help but smile guessing he didn’t pay attention to this fine print when he signed it. He puts his breakfast in a plate and starts eating. “I’ll meet you outside in 25 minutes, I have to take a quick shower first.” You nod simply as he’s biting in his strip of bacon and without further a due, you take your leave. On the clock, 25 minutes later, the actor’s exiting his trailer, hair still wet which gives him some sort of a charm but you start walking in front of him, preventing yourself from making any misplaced look. The walk is silent ‘til you reach the building housing the wardrobe department, where you immediately feel at home, weirdly enough. There is some sort of background buzzing, you can hear & imagine the people working here, like little busy bees, making sure the costumes were perfect in order to sell the character to the audience. If you were a bit more crafty, you’d like to work in that kind of environment, very creative and never dull. - “Adam hi, Y/N welcome ! I’m Dylan, head of the department”, an older man introduces himself to you, very cheerful & full of energy. He’s not standing still and already next to the clothes racks, scanning them to find the ones Adam’s supposed to try out. “We’ve got a treat for you Mr. Sackler, I’m sure you’ll love it,’ he says, completely ignoring you as you return his greetings, Adam smiling uncomfortably at you. You let them proceed to the fitting, sitting in the corner and scrolling through your phone in order to catch up with the latest news & the messages you’ve received from Stew & Shirley. When you look up, you see Adam’s frame, shielded by Dylan but since he’s taller, you still catch a good glimpse and feel your cheek blush. Luckily the doesn’t notice so you check the time and let your gaze wander the room. The amount of pieces is impressive and you’d like to try many of them on. The fabric seems so soft on one dress that’s laying on the rack in the back of the room. Dylan’s talking non-stop & it’s starting to get on your nerves and you notice Adam is feeling the same way as you see his fists clenched at his sides. As your eyes meet, you can’t help but smile to let him know you share his pain. And it seems to help him a little since he smiles back and runs his hand in his hair, unwinding. You take that as your cue to get up and indulge your curiosity, taking a closer look to some of the costumes. Youd hand grazes over the soft velvet from a cape and your mind sets off in another time & place. It’s Adam’s voice that resonates behind you which brings you back, startling you a little. - “Try one on”, he says smiling like an idiot, clearly amused to caught you off guard. - “What ? No, I can’t, I won’t fit in any of them anyway”, you reply, taking a step back as if the rack was going to attack in defense, making Adam chuckle from the motion. - “Nonsense, here, try that one”, he takes one off the rack and hands it to you. “I won’t look, I swear”, he adds and raises his eyebrows, clearly instructing you to change. He stares at you & you know you’re not getting out of this one so you go in the corner and start undressing behind a screen. Surprisingly, you fit in that dress, making you wonder how he knew it’d fit without any doubt. - “I’m done”, you inform the tall man who turns around and smiles as he takes in the sight of you. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, this was your idea”, you add, pointing a finger at him. - “I wasn’t going to”, he says, raising his hands in the air to show his good faith, “but you look good. Purple suits you”; he replies as he steps closer to take a better look. “Turn around”, he asks and you comply. Once again, you sense your cheeks blushing but you take a deep breath as your back is facing him & manage to regain composure before you finish your turn. “My lady”, he teases you, faking a bow and you slap his hand in response. - “You’re mean, as no one ever told you that ?” - “I’ve lost count to be honest”, he quips back, grinning like an idiot. - “Why am I not surprised”, you retort as you walk back to the screen in order to change back in you clothes. But as you try to unzip the dress, you realize something’s off. The zipper is stuck. You curse under your breath and try it a couple more time but it doesn’t move. Just what you needed to ridicule yourself in front of him. - “It’s stuck !”, you yelp quickly, hoping he’ll come to your rescue. And luckily, he does. - “What did you do ?”, he asks, trying to move the zipper further down. - “Nothing ! It’s just stuck ! Get me out !”, you cry out, a slight panic attack coming up for you right now. What if Dylan or someone else catch you in that dress ? You could lose your job and you can’t afford that right now. Adam feels the build up and rests one of his hand on your shoulder. - “Relax. Breathe. It won’t move if you’re about to hulk out of this dress.” You’re close to snap back at him but you know he’s only trying to help you so you do as told and take a deep breath, closing your eyes to focus on anything else in order to calm down. Within a few seconds, your breathing’s even and you feel a sudden relief in your back. The zipper budgeg, you can finally get out of that dress. You let out a sigh of content, not even realizing that it meant Adam could now see your bra. From the back only, but still. - “I’ll... I’ll leave you to it then”, the actor says as he steps back and leave you behind the screen to take off the dress on your own. You felt some hesitation in his voice, was he flustered ? No, of course he wasn’t silly, you think to yourself, shaking your head as you put on your clothes. Why would he be flustered from that ? Stepping out of your hiding spot, you cough to let him know you’re done & you both stay silent for a few seconds. That’s precisely the moment Dylan comes back (you didn’t even noticed he was gone in the first place) and he’s still talking without any signs of stopping, offering you two a good excuse to act like nothing happened. When you both leave after Adam is done, none of you talk about the dress incident and you’re relieved because you’re still wondering if what you saw earlier on was real or just what you wanted to see. The day goes on smoothingly after that, having lunch with the other PAs helps you set your mind on something else and you decide to act as if it never happened is the best way to avoid creating any trouble with the tall man you’re working for.

#fanfic #adam sackler x reader #the thrilling adventures of a PA #i'll admit it lol #the idea came from me rewatching the BTS of the LotR movies #but it was so fun to picture the scene #hope it'll live up to the first chapter

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heysoup · 4 years ago

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Fluffy February Day 4 - Halloween

Phew! I’m a little late, but I managed to make it while the day’s still here. This is day four of @fluffyfebruary and the prompt is Halloween.

Chapter 4: I’ll Be Yours

Pairing: Butch DeLoria/Male Lone Wanderer

Summary: During a Halloween party, Susie suggests that the group of teens play spin the bottle. Jamie isn't one for parties, isn't even one for socializing if he's honest with himself, and he definitely isn't excited to play this game. But Butch has been looking at him all night, and something in his heart tells him this might be different.

Ao3 Link

“Thanks for helping, Jamie,” Amata says from where she’s perched at the top of a step ladder hanging colorful streamers along the ceiling.

Jamie smiles up at her from his own task of making Halloween-themed snacks, “of course.”

She climbs down the ladder and brushes her hands off on the pants of her vault suit, looking up at her handiwork with an approving nod. Orange and purple streamers hang in delicate loops from the ceiling. Hanging among them are dainty origami bats – all handmade by Amata and Susie. They even found some old Christmas lights and strung them up along the walls, hoping that when the main lights were turned off it would create some kind of spooky atmosphere, even if they were red and green.

They’re preparing for their first ever Halloween party as ‘adults.’ Now that everyone in their class was eighteen, Amata had finally gotten her dad to cave and allow them to throw a party at the Mack’s apartment, since it was one of the largest. How she managed to pull it off, Jamie has no idea.

He finally finishes icing the last of his ghost-shaped cookies and walks over to join her, letting out an impressed whistle. “Looks great!” he says, and she smiles at him.

Susie and Wally walk out into the living room from the hallway – they’re wearing freshly pressed vault suits that are tailored a bit closer to their bodies than the normal ones, the blue and yellow fabric even more vivid than usual. Susie’s platinum hair is poker-straight and pulled back into a ponytail with a cherry red bow. Her lipstick matches the bow’s color perfectly. Wally’s hair is plain, but neatly combed – they look nice, but if Jamie’s honest, he doesn’t see how it’s supposed to be a costume.

Amata seems to think the same. “So… what are you guys going as again?” she asks, a sheepish smile on her face. Wally rolls his eyes and elbows Susie.

“I told you they wouldn’t get it!”

“Oh shut it, we just have to do the thing!” Susie pulls at her brother’s arm, who groans in response.

“FINE.” They both look at Jamie and Amata with their cheesiest smiles - Susie’s looking much more genuine than Wally’s – and give them a thumb’s up.

“Uh…” Jamie doesn’t see how that’s supposed to clear anything up for them.

“We’re Vault Boy and Vault Girl!” Susie snaps, crossing her arms. Wally huffs and shakes his head before walking over to the couch and plopping down, reaching into the pumpkin-shaped plastic bowl on the coffee table to shove some chips in his mouth.

“I could tell!” Amata says, trying to appease her. “You look great, Susie! I love the lipstick.” She grabs Jamie’s hand and twines their fingers together. “We have to go get our costumes ready now, but we’ll be right back. Party starts in thirty, right?”

Susie nods, changing into hostess mode once again. “It looks really good in here, by the way. You did a great job, Amata” She smiles and then says, as an afterthought, “uh and Jamie, too, I guess.”

---

Back in Amata’s room, she and Jamie busy themselves with changing into their costumes. Amata is dressed to the nines in a slim-fitting black dress with emerald green accents that she had sewn herself with her mother’s old machine. She has a pair of elbow-length black gloves made from leftover pantyhose and a pearl necklace around her neck that Jamie found in the lower levels of the vault. He kept the details of where he found it to himself. Her costume is pretty close to looking exactly like the original Mistress of Mystery, they've just taken a few creative liberties.

She’s sitting at her vanity, applying her makeup and curling her hair when she asks, “so, are you excited?” Jamie puts down the comic he’s reading and sits up on her bed. He’s already changed into his outfit – just a simple flannel, some jeans, aged brown leather boots that his dad had stowed away in his closet for some reason, and the closest thing they could find to a ten-gallon hat, which is currently around his neck and hanging at his back. A plastic pistol and a makeshift paper holster sit beside him.

“Yeah,” he settles with, trying his hardest to sound convincing. It’s not that he isn’t excited, he’s just nervous. He’s already kind of a social outcast, which is bad enough. What’s even worse is that Butch will be there, which was fine and normal, except for the fact that it wasn’t because just a last week they’d technically had their first kiss down in their hideout, which Jamie had freaked out over and literally ran away from, and then proceeded to pretend it never happened. Outside of work they’d been too busy to hang out recently, so this will be the first time he sees him in such a casual setting since. It’s not like he can ask Amata for advice – she doesn’t even know he’s friends with Butch for one and she’s unlikely to approve, and what if she asks about their hideout? It’s too risky, not to mention humiliating!

“Jamie!” Amata is snapping at him, a soft smile on her face. He blinks and laughs, feeling out of breath despite the fact that all his talking was in his head. What a mess.

“Hah, sorry. Just thinking. I’m kinda nervous, but you know how I am with people.” He shrugs, picking at his nails. Amata walks over and ruffles his hair.

“Hey, it’ll be fun!” she says, trying to sound encouraging. She takes his hands in hers and pulls him off the bed. “But if you get overwhelmed just let me know, we can just come back here and listen to something on the radio – I don’t mind.”

Jamie smiles at her and pulls her close, pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of her head. Man, he missed her.

---

It’s been about an hour and the party is going pretty well. The lights are all off aside from the string lights, which, as Amata predicted, create a pretty nice ambience. Everyone is chilling out and listening to music and talking amongst themselves. A few people are playing board games and enjoying snacks, some are dancing.

Jamie’s nerves have calmed a bit – Wally had the brilliant idea to bribe Stevie to leave them some beer, which Jamie is sipping on contentedly from his seat on the couch beside Freddie and Amata.

Everyone’s costumes turned out great too, Jamie thinks. Freddie came as a werewolf – he’d ripped the arms off his vault suit and used grease paint to draw brown hairs all over himself. He’d even given himself a little black dog nose and glued paper triangles to a headband that could pass as ears. It’s a little messy, but he put effort in.

Paul decided to be a vampire and he’s dressed almost as well as Amata, in a fancy white shirt, black slacks, and a tie – probably the same clothes he wore to prom. He has a long black and red cape wrapped around his shoulders. The fake teeth he’s wearing keep popping out of his mouth when he laughs, and Jamie grins at the sight of him fumbling to catch them across the room.

Butch is next to him, laughing his ass off, flask in hand. Apparently, he’s supposed to be a Greaser – he’s wearing his Tunnel Snake jacket and his hair is slicked into its usual pompadour. The only difference is he’s swapped out his vault suit for a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, which he says are classic. He meets Jamie’s gaze from across the room and smirks, sticking his tongue out at the other boy. Jamie looks away quickly, his face red.

Christine is across from Amata on the other couch, chatting with Susie. She’s dressed in a long white sleeping gown with matching slippers. On her back, she has small, handmade angel wings. Their puffy feathers occasionally fall off and stick to every surface, leaving a trail all over the apartment wherever she goes.

Susie turns the radio down a bit then stands and claps to grab everyone’s attention. “Alright, ghouls and gals,” she giggles to herself, “I think it’s about time we started the real party!” Jamie quirks a brow at her and can’t help but notice Amata’s peeved expression.

Everyone who wasn’t already near the couches crowds around and Jamie jumps when he feels two hands clap down on his shoulders. Butch is leaning over the back of the couch, grinning down at him.

“Hey, Nosebleed,” he says with a smirk, leaning closer to his ear. “Cute costume. Who are ya, Calamity Jane?” He tips Jamie’s cowboy hat down into his face playfully.

It’s supposed to be a jab. They don’t typically act friendly in public; something still just feels off about that and they aren’t ready for their relationship to change that drastically. This feels different, however, and Jamie can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips. He hadn’t spoken to Butch all night, he wasn’t sure if the other boy would want him too, but somehow this felt like an invitation.

“Nice costume yourself,” he taunts. He can still feel the heat of the other boy’s body against the back of his neck even as Butch pulls away and stands up straight again. “You supposed to look like a knock-off James Dean?”

Susie clears her throat, shooting Jamie an impatient look. “Anyway, as I was saying,” she continues, the giddy smile returning to her face as she holds up an empty beer bottle. “We should play spin the bottle!”

Butch groans from behind him. “Come on, Susie, that’s such a kid’s game.”

Susie sticks her tongue out at him. “If you could let me finish! We’re going to play it with seven minutes in heaven rules, obviously. This isn’t middle school. We’re adults now.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “So, whoever it lands on gets to go into the hall closet. That more grown-up for you, Butch?”

Butch shrugs, “I guess.”

“I think it sounds fun!” Christine chimes in.” It’s harmless, anyway. Come on, let’s just play. Who knows if we’ll ever be allowed to have a party again?”

---

After moving some of the furniture and grabbing a few pillows for them to sit on they’re all crowded in a circle on the rug in the living room. Jamie is still next to Amata, then Freddie, Wally, Christine, Butch, Susie, and Paul. There’s eight of them, so the odds would be even, but Wally is related to both Christine and Susie – which he continues to complain is unfair.

“Oh shut it, Wally. If it lands on us, just spin again.” Susie snaps and sets the bottle in the middle of the circle. She leans back on her knees, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “So, actually, there’s two choices. You can either kiss whoever the bottle lands on in the circle publicly,” Christine interjects with a low ‘ooooooh’ and leans closer to Butch, who grins.

“Or!” Susie continues, “you can choose to go into the closet for seven minutes.”

Jamie’s gut twists uncomfortably. He really didn’t want to play this, anyway, let alone when he might be forced to watch Butch slobber on someone. But he’s here for Amata and for his dad, he guesses, who said it would be good for him to behave like a well-adjusted and social teenager for once.

They’re a few spins in and nothing incredible had happened. Wally spun on Susie twice before landing on Paul and the two went into the closet with their handheld games to pass the time. After, Christine landed on Freddie and chose a kiss – which was more of an awkward peck on the side of the mouth than anything else.

Butch rubs his hands together before leaning forward to spin the bottle, making eye contact with Jamie for a split second and shooting him a wink. Jamie’s heart leaps into his throat and he splutters mid drink, trying to hide his embarrassment behind a small cough.

The bottle spins around the circle once before slowing. For a split second, Jamie thinks it’s going to land on him, but it keeps going achingly slow past Paul and… lands on Susie. Christine claps, Amata wolf whistles, and Wally spits out a half-hearted threat about Butch touching his sister. Jamie sees Butch’s smile fade when he looks at Susie, but he catches himself quick and shoots her his most charming smirk.

“How’s about we hit the closet, babe?” he says, laying the greaser schtick on extra thick tonight. Susie blushes red as her bow and stands with him. They hold hands and both go down the hall and into the closet, the door closing softly behind them. Once they’re inside, Christine sets the egg timer they have to seven minutes and the murmur of conversation breaks out among the small group once again.

“How are you doing?” Amata nudges him gently. Jamie didn’t realize he’d just been staring at the bottle, his shoulders tense. He lets out a long sigh and shakes his limbs loose, leaning over to bump their shoulders together.

“I’m fine. This is fun, huh?” He says, trying to convince himself more than anything. He stares at the egg timer, trying not to imagine what could be happening in the closet. He looks back over at Amata and sees her smiling at him, a soft sadness behind her eyes – almost pity. Was he really that obvious?

“I’m gonna get another drink, want one?” he asks, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. Amata just lifts her bottle that isn’t even half empty, a sheepish smile on her face.

“No thanks.”

Jamie walks to the kitchen. He rubs his eyes, his face already feeling warm. He’d only had two, maybe three beers. He definitely isn’t even close to being as drunk as he was when he and Butch… he shakes the thoughts of that night out of his head, dropping his empty beer bottles into the garbage can with a bit more force than he’d intended.

Before grabbing another beer, Jamie pours himself a shot of vodka for good measure. Butch must have brought it from his mom’s stash. It burns like hell going down and Jamie almost gags – how could anyone drink this stuff?

“Yo, Jamie!” He hears Freddie call for him and he grabs his beer and heads back to the circle. Butch and Susie are back. Her lipstick is smudged and she’s fixing her ponytail while whispering excitedly to Christine. Butch doesn’t look much better – his hair slightly mussed up and a bit of cherry red still spread on the corner of his lip. Jamie thinks he might be sick.

The timer goes off just as he sits back down, and Paul walks out of the closet with Amata. He’s scrambling to put his vampire teeth back in his mouth, his cape crooked around his neck, and Amata’s face is flushed when she sits next to Jamie. He can’t help his snort and she slaps him on the shoulder.

“It’s your turn, spaz.” Wally says, kicking the bottle his way. He looks pissed, glaring at Butch. Jamie wonders if they’ll fight later because he played tonsil hockey with his sister. He almost hopes they do, just so Butch can get his ass kicked like he deserves.

Jamie reaches forward and gives the bottle a half-hearted spin, just wanting to get his turn over with as soon as possible. It twirls and lands immediately on Butch. He feels like he’s swallowed a rock.

Butch let’s out a theatric groan, “I ain’t kissin’ you, Nosebleed, so let’s just go to the closet and get this over with.” Jamie’s face is on fire and he slams his beer down on the floor.

“Get stuffed, Butch!” It’s my turn, not yours, so I choose what we do!” Butch quirks an eyebrow at him and barks out a laugh, joined by everyone in the circle – aside from Amata, who squeezes Jamie’s hand reassuringly.

“So, you’re sayin’ you wanna kiss the Butch-man?” Jamie thinks he’s going to die, then. Or kill Butch, and then die. Like a murder suicide. Him and his stupid fucking mouth; he didn’t even think about how that would sound.

“N-No!” Jamie practically yells, his voice a squeak. “Fuck you!” He stands, crossing his arms. “Let’s go, closet then. Get this over with before I kick your ass.” He storms to the closet. Butch gets to his feet and follows him with a smug confidence that Jamie wants to beat out of him.

Suddenly remembering who he’s dealing with Wally says, “Hey! No fighting in my closet. You get blood on my dad’s coats and I’ll pummel you both.” They both turn and simultaneously flip the other boy off before shouldering their way into the closet and slamming the door.

It’s more cramped inside than Jamie expected it to be. Darker, too. The darkness is perfectly fine with him – he doesn’t even want to look at Butch right now. Though, that doesn’t last long as his eyes adjust.

“Hey, Nosebleed,” Butch whispers, his voice and his smile infinitely softer than they were a moment ago. They’re close, really close and Jamie’s head is swimming. Their knees bump when they move and the heat of their bodies radiating through the small space is almost suffocating. He can just make out the details of Butch’s face – the handsome slope of his nose and the playful quirk of his lips. He tries to stay mad, but it’s hard. He wants to kiss him so bad.

“Fuck off,” Jamie breathes, but his aggression is lackluster. Butch’s breath is warm against his face and it smells sweet, like mint. Butch chuckles softly.

“Aw, you’re mad at me?” he coos, leaning in closer and practically pressing Jamie against the opposite wall. “You know I was just kidding, Jamie. C’mon, they don’t know what we do.”

Jamie gulps, wondering if Butch means them just hanging out together or if he’s referencing something more. “As if I’d take Susie’s sloppy seconds ,” he hisses, determined to hold his grudge. Ok, so maybe their first kiss did mean something. He’s pretty sure they’re both drunk again, but they definitely aren’t wasted like before – there’s absolutely no way for Butch to pass whatever happens off as a mistake later. IF something happens.

Butch pulls back a little and looks almost hurt. “Hey, it’s just a dumb game,” he says, tilting his head to try and catch Jamie’s gaze, who refuses to look at him. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, okay? You know how much of a crybaby she can be.”

“Well, I’m not a crybaby, so you can keep it in your pants,” Jamie snaps and crosses his arms, shooting Butch as convincing of a glare as he can manage. The other boy just rubs the back of his neck, his posture suddenly a bit more closed off.

“Dammit, Jamie, ya know that’s not what I mean!” Jamie’s heart is thundering in his ears and his chest is so, so tight. He swallows thickly. He does know what Butch means but fuck it if he isn’t going to make the other boy work for it.

“Maybe I don’t,” he states matter-of-factly. Butch clicks his tongue in annoyance and shoves his hands in his pockets. Jamie can feel the distance between them growing further and he panics, desperate to cling to whatever moment they’re having here.

“What do you want?” he asks finally, his voice barely a whisper as he offers Butch this olive branch. The intensity he finds in Butch’s gaze when their eyes meet almost knocks him over.

“You.” It’s a single word, spoken so softly that Jamie almost can’t hear it, but it steals his breath away, nonetheless. He doesn’t even stop to think when he reaches forward and grabs the lapels of Butch’s jacket. He pulls him close, his eyes closing as their lips crash together in a clumsy kiss. It’s just as good as the last, the other boy’s lips warm and inviting as he returns the gesture with enthusiasm.

Butch grabs the back of Jamie’s head, knocking his silly cowboy hat to the floor, and curls his fingers into his hair. Jamie grins into his mouth when Butch nips his lower lip and he grabs the collar of his shirt, playfully shoving the taller boy against the opposite wall.

“Ow!” Butch hisses when he hits his head off the shelf above them, pulling back for a second to make sure it wasn’t too loud. Jamie’s face goes white.

“Oh god, sorry!” he whispers, letting go and pulling back in embarrassment. Butch just laughs.

“S’fine,” he mumbles, unable to stop smiling. He reaches out and pulls Jamie close again, silencing the other boy’s concerns with his lips.

They continue like that for a while, breathless and excited, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths and their arms holding them close like their lives depend on it. It really does feel like heaven, Jamie thinks, an excited laugh escaping his chest.

They could have stayed there forever, lost in their own little world, but they’re interrupted by a sharp knock on the other side of the door. “Time’s up! You can leave hell now.” Wally is laughing out in the hallway.

Butch and Jamie jump apart, their chests heaving and their lips pink. Butch just grins at him, blue eyes shining with mischief. “Should we pretend we were fighting?”

Jamie laughs. “Sure, but that means you’ll have to admit that I won,” he teases, picking up his hat and turning to leave. Butch grabs his wrist and tugs Jamie back to him. There’s a very serious expression on his face all of a sudden and he's biting his lip like he's thinking before he reaches out to tilt Jamie’s chin up. He leans down and presses one more open-mouthed kiss to his lips and it feels almost desperate. Jamie’s breath is stolen away again, at least whatever was left of it, and when they part, he just stares, dumbfounded, at Butch’s adoring smile.

“Whatever you want, Nosebleed.”

#fallout #fallout 3 #fluffyfebruary #butch deloria #lone wanderer #male lone wanderer #butch/m!lw #fanfiction #fanfic #spin the bottle #mlm #fluff #kissing #jay writes #fluffyfeb

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